Thanks to my talented hubby, my blog has a new home on my new website. So please update your bookmark if you have one, and visit my blog's pretty new digs. Hope to see you there!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
retribution
Lately, I have noticed that I have been getting upset over little things and stewing over them for days. This isn't a typical "me" behavior. I am a pushover fairly laid back and can tolerate an enormous amount of BS. I won't say I don't get annoyed easily, but give me five minutes or distract me with a cookie, and I'm over it.
One of these incidents happened on Easter at a local eating establishment. Now, in our town, everyone goes out to eat. That's just the way it is. No matter how many restaurants we get, there will always be a 30-45 minute wait on any given Sunday at lunch - minimum. We knew Easter would be especially chaotic, so Hubby and I went to the restaurant early to stake out a table and wait for my parents. We may have jumped the gun a bit when we told them that mi familia was "right behind us" so that they would seat an incomplete party. It was 11:45, and they usually don't even leave church until 12:15. Consequently, we sat at our table for quite some time before they showed up. We were seated in one of those areas where restaurants like to crowd in as many free-standing tables as possible. This particular table was wedged in between the wall and two other tables, so no one had an exorbitant amount of elbow room or aisle space.
Along comes a family who is to be seated at the table that was squeezed in between the corner and the wall. Suddenly, I hear "can you move you seat forward?", and before I have a chance, I feel my chair being forcefully moved forward for me and my stomach being shoved into the table. I have to admit I was pretty shocked that someone found it socially acceptable to shove a stranger's chair. The perpetrator was a sulky, hefty girl in her twenties. Hubby seemed pretty surprised too, but he tried to diffuse my irritation by pointing out how all the women at the table looked like angry, unhappy people.
Soon my parents arrived, and we had a nice - albeit cozy - meal. While we were enjoying some after-dinner conversation, angry family got up, and without saying a word, sulky, hefty girl actually LIFTED UP the back of my chair and pushed it forward, squeezing me into the table like an orange into a juicer. Okay...like I said before, I am usually not one to get provoked, but I was ready to throw down. It took all the class I could muster to just sit there and not stand up, grab my chair, and bust it over the back of her head Jerry Springer style. But because I am a classy broad, (or at least try to act like one) I remained glued to my seat.
For the next two days, I could not stop being mad about this. And it made me mad that I let this girl make me mad. Why did I care so much? Why couldn't I just forget about it? I think I've finally figured it out, and it all stems back to my adolescence. No, no - stick with me.
Sulky, hefty girl reminds me of the girls who used to bully me in junior high. Granted, I looked like this...
but who isn't awkward at that age? Because I remember all the times that the ringleader, Cynthia, would be mean to me for no reason (like the time I accidentally sat in "her seat" on the bus, and she came up and said, "you've got five seconds to get up before I start punching") and how angry and helpless I felt, I guess that older me still has an urge to protect young, awkward me.
It's amazing how those humiliating experiences from your formative years can stick with you into adulthood. I am nothing like the insecure kid I was; however, I still have a scary amount of anger built up in me from 15 years ago. It's not like I was the only kid that those girls picked on, but at the time, it sure did feel like it. I guess I'll have to just take solace in the fact that those girls behaved the way they did was because of their own insecurity. It's just one big vicious circle.
One of these incidents happened on Easter at a local eating establishment. Now, in our town, everyone goes out to eat. That's just the way it is. No matter how many restaurants we get, there will always be a 30-45 minute wait on any given Sunday at lunch - minimum. We knew Easter would be especially chaotic, so Hubby and I went to the restaurant early to stake out a table and wait for my parents. We may have jumped the gun a bit when we told them that mi familia was "right behind us" so that they would seat an incomplete party. It was 11:45, and they usually don't even leave church until 12:15. Consequently, we sat at our table for quite some time before they showed up. We were seated in one of those areas where restaurants like to crowd in as many free-standing tables as possible. This particular table was wedged in between the wall and two other tables, so no one had an exorbitant amount of elbow room or aisle space.
Along comes a family who is to be seated at the table that was squeezed in between the corner and the wall. Suddenly, I hear "can you move you seat forward?", and before I have a chance, I feel my chair being forcefully moved forward for me and my stomach being shoved into the table. I have to admit I was pretty shocked that someone found it socially acceptable to shove a stranger's chair. The perpetrator was a sulky, hefty girl in her twenties. Hubby seemed pretty surprised too, but he tried to diffuse my irritation by pointing out how all the women at the table looked like angry, unhappy people.
Soon my parents arrived, and we had a nice - albeit cozy - meal. While we were enjoying some after-dinner conversation, angry family got up, and without saying a word, sulky, hefty girl actually LIFTED UP the back of my chair and pushed it forward, squeezing me into the table like an orange into a juicer. Okay...like I said before, I am usually not one to get provoked, but I was ready to throw down. It took all the class I could muster to just sit there and not stand up, grab my chair, and bust it over the back of her head Jerry Springer style. But because I am a classy broad, (or at least try to act like one) I remained glued to my seat.
For the next two days, I could not stop being mad about this. And it made me mad that I let this girl make me mad. Why did I care so much? Why couldn't I just forget about it? I think I've finally figured it out, and it all stems back to my adolescence. No, no - stick with me.
Sulky, hefty girl reminds me of the girls who used to bully me in junior high. Granted, I looked like this...
but who isn't awkward at that age? Because I remember all the times that the ringleader, Cynthia, would be mean to me for no reason (like the time I accidentally sat in "her seat" on the bus, and she came up and said, "you've got five seconds to get up before I start punching") and how angry and helpless I felt, I guess that older me still has an urge to protect young, awkward me.It's amazing how those humiliating experiences from your formative years can stick with you into adulthood. I am nothing like the insecure kid I was; however, I still have a scary amount of anger built up in me from 15 years ago. It's not like I was the only kid that those girls picked on, but at the time, it sure did feel like it. I guess I'll have to just take solace in the fact that those girls behaved the way they did was because of their own insecurity. It's just one big vicious circle.
Monday, March 24, 2008
never boring
Y'all would be so proud of me....in an attempt to actually make my life easier, I've scaled back my commitments. I refrained from joining ABWA, I'm almost done with my provisional year in Junior League, I stopped volunteering at the hospital, and...drum roll...I'm down to ONE job now! (bows)
Now here's why: in less than two weeks, hubby and I will be living in two different locations. He will be coming home on the weekends to work on the house doing electrical, plumbing, hanging doors, building furniture, laying flooring...pretty much everything, and during the week, I'll be priming, painting and caulking 'cause that's about all I can do. What can I say? He's freaking Bob Vila.
On Saturday, hubby and my dad built a new wall and rewired the living room while my mom and I did yard work and stripped the wallpaper in the master bath and the kitchen. After a year and a half of living here, it's cool to see so much progress being made on the house.
Hubby and I always knew we work better under a deadline. Paying rent in Dallas and a mortgage here until we finish and sell the house has proven to be quite the motivator. Just another example of how our lives are never boring. But I'm having fun!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
rant
When I was a child, kids always played around the neighborhood without being under the watchful eye of a parent. We had been taught about Stranger Danger and Just Say No. We knew not to help some random guy find his lost puppy or let him touch us in our "bathing suit area".
Now it seems like parents are more cautious than ever. People use cell phones with tracking devices to keep tabs on their children. We have police posing as children to catch online predators. The fear of pedophilia is rampant. Chris Hanson is a household name.
Now it seems like parents are more cautious than ever. People use cell phones with tracking devices to keep tabs on their children. We have police posing as children to catch online predators. The fear of pedophilia is rampant. Chris Hanson is a household name.
So someone to explain something to me. For the love of God....why do I see these everywhere?
Parents are telling kids over and over not to give out their personal information their MySpace page...and lo and behold, mom is broadcasting it in the parking lot of the HEB.
Meanwhile at the little league field, Sleazy Steve walks up to number 21 and says "Hey, Alex. My name is Steve. I'm a friend of your mom's. She asked me to come pick you up. I have candy."
Monday, March 17, 2008
new chapter
Well, I guess it's official: I'm entering a new chapter in my life. I am moving to a new town. I know, right?
Those who know me well know that I've lived in this town my whole life and that my family has been here since the dawn of time. But those same people also know that I've been itching to leave since college graduation.
It's not that I don't love this town and the people who are in it. It's...well...it's several things. First, I haven't gotten to experience living anywhere else. Sure there was that summer internship at Texas Monthly in Austin, but that felt more like an extended vacation. It was only two and a half months; I don't think that counts.
Also, my field of study isn't exactly valued here. Neither is hubby's for that matter. Our town isn't what you'd call technologically advanced. It's definitely getting better, but it's not there yet. People still design their brochures with Pagemaker or even--God forbid--Microsoft Word. People still think Dreamweaver is cutting edge. In the meantime, we're working like dogs to make ends meet because of the dismal pay scale. So it's difficult to ignore the fact that we could be living very comfortably in a bigger city doing less work.
Finally, for a long time now, I've felt like I was waiting for my life to start. Sure I had finished college, gotten married, and entered the work force, but because I'd never left, mentally I hadn't "graduated" yet. Maybe this is what I was waiting for. Maybe it isn't. But it's going to be a new experience, and I am excited about that.
Those who know me well know that I've lived in this town my whole life and that my family has been here since the dawn of time. But those same people also know that I've been itching to leave since college graduation.
It's not that I don't love this town and the people who are in it. It's...well...it's several things. First, I haven't gotten to experience living anywhere else. Sure there was that summer internship at Texas Monthly in Austin, but that felt more like an extended vacation. It was only two and a half months; I don't think that counts.
Also, my field of study isn't exactly valued here. Neither is hubby's for that matter. Our town isn't what you'd call technologically advanced. It's definitely getting better, but it's not there yet. People still design their brochures with Pagemaker or even--God forbid--Microsoft Word. People still think Dreamweaver is cutting edge. In the meantime, we're working like dogs to make ends meet because of the dismal pay scale. So it's difficult to ignore the fact that we could be living very comfortably in a bigger city doing less work.
Finally, for a long time now, I've felt like I was waiting for my life to start. Sure I had finished college, gotten married, and entered the work force, but because I'd never left, mentally I hadn't "graduated" yet. Maybe this is what I was waiting for. Maybe it isn't. But it's going to be a new experience, and I am excited about that.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
mindsticker
After yesterday's post, The Bloggess mentioned the following Tab ad from the 60s, so I had to check it out. Revel in its awesomeness.
Wow...so all I ever had to do to keep hubby's attention is drink Tab? Dang. To think of all those hours I wasted at the gym. Let that be a lesson to you, Silda Wall Spitzer. None of this would've happened if you'd been drinking your Tab.
Wow...so all I ever had to do to keep hubby's attention is drink Tab? Dang. To think of all those hours I wasted at the gym. Let that be a lesson to you, Silda Wall Spitzer. None of this would've happened if you'd been drinking your Tab.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
the good ol' days
Sometimes I forget how far women have come in such a short period of time. Then I run across vintage advertisements like these. We have it good, ladies.
Well it's nice to know we're good for something.
Vintage domestic violence is charming!
Wow! You mean I don't have to use a hammer anymore?
(P.S. It takes talent to match your lipstick to your ketchup)
Now there's a question... What does that have to do with Palmolive?
Some call it Pep; I call it speed.
My husband would love this one. (P.S. Is that Goldie Hawn?)
Well it's nice to know we're good for something.
Vintage domestic violence is charming!
Wow! You mean I don't have to use a hammer anymore?(P.S. It takes talent to match your lipstick to your ketchup)
Now there's a question... What does that have to do with Palmolive?
Some call it Pep; I call it speed.
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