A Sleep Trance, A Dream Dance

Synchronicty. No, not the Police Album (even though it is one of my favorites.) I’m talking about the experience of two events that are apparently unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner. It’s happening to me more and more, and in more startling ways. Even Zombiegirl is noticing.

Or maybe I’m just in tune with the world these days. Like waving to my neighbor in his red pickup and then seeing four more red pickups -not his- on the way to the train station. I notice things. I’m paying attention.

Example Number 1: I’m web surfing at work and I hit one of my Web Pals. She mentions that she just bought tickets for Roger Waters- The Wall Live. The SECOND I read this an email pops up in my second monitor. It’s an update from Nassau Coliseum. The featured event? Roger Waters- The Wall Live.

Example Number 2: MR drops Zombiegirl and I at the train station. She has inherited her father’s skill in finding dropped items on the ground. She kneels down and picks up a Scrabble Tile piece. Weird enough that there is a game piece at the train station, right? Weirder still that I just ordered Scrabble Tile pieces to make Christmas presents this year. Weirder yet…she turns it over and it’s an “S”. (Insert spooky music here.)

Example Number 3: I just took two books out of the library-"The Little Giant of Aberdeen County" by Tiffany Baker and "Raven Black" by Ann Cleeves. I finished Little Giant (which was really good) and I started on Raven. Somewhere well into the book, they mention one of the characters going to…Aberdeen.

Example Number 4: May 3rd was J’s birthday. Our dear departed friend J. On his Facebook page, one of his friends called him a Rockstar. Walking to the train station that day, I noticed the inscription in the sidewalk that was replaced last year…


Example Number 5: Driving to the gym at 5:30 in the morning, I listen to the Z-morning zoo for the eight minutes it takes me to get there. On the way there, I hear Taio Cruz' Break Break Your Heart. I park, and walk the block to the gym. Halfway into my workout with Mike, I hear Break Break Your Heart. I leave the gym a half hour later, get into my car and guess what song comes on the radio while driving home. Go on, guess!

Example Number 465: This happens all the time to MR and I. That's why the high example number. We'll sit to watch a movie noting who directed it and any actors we know/like. We'll flip through the channels and find another movie by the same director or with one of the actors. WITHOUT FAIL. It's getting to be a little weird...

These are all little things, but noticeable to us. Is anyone else experience coincidences, deja vu or synchronicity lately?

Freaky.

F*CK YOU Friday!

This was a pretty quiet week. I had a great time with Jodi last Friday- we went to see Promises Promises at the Broadway Theater, courtesy of MR. Thanks, honey- that was an awesome birthday gift! Jodi and I had dinner at Iguana on 54th Street first. After the train to the city, and a full day of work, we were looking forward to a drink. I had my first martini (Sexy Cactus Martini) since the Great Martini Debacle. But that's another post...

If you go to Iguana for dinner, I totally recommend the fresh guacamole appetizer. A dude comes over to your table and makes it for you. Holy Guacamole, is it good! Tofu fajitas for me, shrimp tacos for Jodi. This place has never failed me!

The play was really good, too. I always regretted not seeing Kristen Chenowith when she played in Wicked, so I was looking forward to seeing her in this. Due to her recent appearance on Glee, there were a bunch of "Gleeks" there just to see her. Okay, there were also a LOT of GUYS there to see Sean Hayes, who plays Jack on Will and Grace. Jodi dubbed them "Just Jacks." He's a very visual comic, and although he isn't foremost a singer, he did a pretty decent job.

It was a good night.

The week had it's moments, though. Thus the next installment of F*CK YOU Friday!

• More bus drama. F*CK YOU to the Asian lady with the stinky fish riding the bus last Monday. How on earth could one eat something that smelled so disgusting? We all breathed DEEPLY when you got off the bus.



• F*CK YOU to the dude who hit me in the face with his bag on Wednesday. Thank goodness you only had a newspaper in the bag. Look, I totally understand the "bus-stops-short-so-you-grab-the-pole-and-it-swings-you-around." I've been there. Put your bag in the other hand then, man! This way when you grab the pole, the bag swinging from your wrist doesn't smack anyone (me) in the face. My lip still hurts...



• F*CK YOU Faisal Shahzad for leaving a bomb in Times Square Saturday. It was the day after Jodi and I enjoyed a nice stroll after the play through the madness of Times Square. That was a little too close for comfort, you terrorist prick.



• F*CK YOU to oak trees. Mine in particular. There are four LARGE oak trees hanging over my property from the county in the back and my neighbor on the side. I've accepted and have even come to enjoy planting for shade, since that's all I got. But every other year or so, the trees spit out these wormy nurdles and they get all over the place. Walking on my sidewalk is like walking on carpet- your feet don't make a sound. Poor MR has swept up almost every day and we still get piles like this... Apparently these things are called catkins and it's the male stamen that first releases pollen, then falls on the ground. Leave it to a male to make a mess...



• F*CK YOU to all the little mice living in my garage. They've nested just about everywhere- in every box, every bin and bag we have. We've had to clean out box after box of garage sale items, party place stuff and memorabilia. Sadly, we had to toss a lot of things because they were completely ruined. Including all the colored sand I had promised to Little Saints Preschool. Not only was there a nest in the box and all the sand stunk like piss, there were dead mice in the bin as well. Good thing we checked before bringing it to the school! How long have they been in there? Time for more of these.



• F*CK YOU to the visiting team the Panthers played last week. Not only were the parents obnoxious and loud (and on a Player's Weekend- it's a game where the players can play with no distractions from the parents or the coaches) but I counted five, FIVE, white Yukons in the parking lot. Do you know how big a Yukon is? I'd have to drive 100 Prius' to offset the footprint of a Yukon. And really people, did you all PLAN to drive the same car? I'm friends with all Zombiegirl's teammates parents. I would NEVER purchase the same car if one of them bought a new car. T-A-C-K-Y.



• F*CK YOU to everyone who didn't wish me a Happy Birthday (hellooo CAFM TEAM) or remembered the next day. Just because I'm old doesn't mean I'm not young at heart and don't still enjoy celebrating my day. Where's the love, guys?

New post tomorrow! And that picture is taken with my Android. Not too bad!

Cross My Heart

Another post coming soon. Damn work keeps interfering with my blog!

We Love MoMA and Justina*

I crossed my fingers as we went through the revolving doors. This was the fourth time we were trying to see the Exhibit. As we crossed the lobby, Zombiegirl spotted members of her own species- striped, goth-like people wearing articles of clothing featuring that broad, smiling skull face, colored hair and high-topped Converse. Splashes of bright color against dark brooding clothing.

She pointed out to me everyone going to the Tim Burton exhibit.*. She fits right in.

I kept my fingers crossed as we waited on line at the Guest Services desk. Waiting for tickets through my company's corporate sponsorship. This was our only hope since the exhibit has been sold out for weeks and it was closing in five days. This was our only hope since Zombiegirl wouldn't be coming to work with me until the summertime. She was here today because it was Take Our Kids To Work Day and it was her last chance. I crossed my toes just to be on the safe side.

The bored girl at the desk told us there were no more tickets left. They give out the Corporate tickets first thing in the morning and they were all gone for the day.

I wanted to cry. We struck out again.

Zombiegirl looked so upset. She couldn't believe she wouldn't be able to see her hero's work. Burton is the Director of all her favorite movies, the man who has directed her favorite actor. We've tried four times- why couldn't we get in,? she asks.

We have bad luck, I tell her. I offer to buy her something from the MoMA bookstore, knowing they have the Exhibit book.

As we walk back across the lobby, she spies a girl a little older than her sporting Jack Skellington shirt, bag, hat and socks. They make eye contact- Z-girl staring at the outfit, the girl staring at her red-streaked hair. The girl's mother notices them staring at each other and quick turns to me and asks me if I need a ticket. Her other daughter wasn't able to make it that day and she has an extra child's ticket for a half hour from now. I told her I couldn't get another ticket for myself and she tells me to buy an individual membership and they give a free ticket.

A total stranger helps us out.

After thanking her profusely, we go over to the Member Services desk so I can buy an Indivdual Membership. What? It costs $75? No, that must be for a Family Membership. No, it's per person. I turn to Z-girl and tell her I can't afford $75.

That dejected look is starting to kill me.

Do you want to go by yourself? I'll wait outside for you. No, maybe that's not a good idea, I think. Do you want to go with the lady that gave us the ticket? No, she's gone already and I really want to go with you, she says. The walk to the bookstore is quiet and heavy.

Inside, we see the display of Tim Burton books. Zombiegirl picks up an enormous art tome and starts reading. She wants this one- full color photos, harcover, two inches thick. It's $69. This day is killing me! I steer her to the $20 book- she looks through it and agrees. After walking around a little we find TB playing cards. She's a little happier as we wait on line.

When we're called next, we put our purchases on the counter, but the salesperson turns to another customer who had asked her a question. She tells them they're all sold out. Another Burtonesque-type couple asks her something and again, she tells them they're sold out. She turns to us and apologizes as she rings up our things.

What are you sold out of, I ask?

Tim Burton Stain Boy t-shirts. I tell her that's not the only thing they're sold out of- and proceed to lament how we've tried four times to see the exhibit, how much Zombiegirl loves Tim Burton and how we won't be able to come back to try again. How I tried to get tickets through Corporate Sponsorship. She looked at the kid and was quiet for a moment. First, she says, I can give you 20% off your purchases for being a Corporate Sponsor. She asks me if I can wait around for a few minutes, she wants to check something out.

We're not going anywhere.

She tells me, very quietly, that she has to get an employee guest pass for her husband who's coming in later that day. She said she'll check to see if she can get two more for us. She said SHE feels bad that we've tried four times to see the Exhibit. She said Zombiegirl's face makes her sad.
We wait on the side of the line while she runs off, dodging tourists and Burton fans.

Ten minutes later she comes back with two employee passes and a big grin on her face. As she hands them to Z-girl, she smiles even wider, saying the look on the kid's face is totally worth it. As I burst into tears (ignoring Zombiegirl's admonishments about my crying) I ask her for her name. She hands me her card- she's the store manager- and I give her a hug. Thanking her and telling her people just don't DO nice things in New York, we laugh and make our way back upstairs to the Exhibit.

Which was awesome and SO worth the agony of dejection and waiting.

Walking back and forth in the crowd of people recognizing early sketches and artwork of Tim's characters. Seeing the suit Johnny Depp wore in Edward Scissorhands and having Zombiegirl almost faint. Picking out your favorite Jack Skellington head of the 30 on display. Watching the gross but funny Stain Boy cartoons.

It was all worth it.

And it wouldn't be possible without the kindness of strangers.

Thanks, Justina!* You've restored my faith in the human race.


UPDATED: *Names and links have been changed and deleted to protect the innocent and good.

That Started From This Tropic Port Aboard This TIny Ship

One of my favorite gifts I received this birthday was one from Rob.

Rob Schiff. Best Man, musician, personal IT support, printer, Showerhead and all-around great guy.

He's a friend of ours that's closer to our family than some of our family members.

Guys usually don't put a lot of thought into their gifts. MR does, but he's my husband. It meant so much that Rob thought about this gift months before my birthday. He got me this:

I remember going to my great-Grandmother's house and using this little guy to pour milk over my cereal. MR remembers having one too as a kid. I don't know how Rob knew we would remember this from our childhood. He must have known it would fit so well with these.

Thanks, Rob. I think everyone needs a Moo Cow Creamer!

Just Sit Right Back and You'll Hear a Tale, A Tale of a Fateful Trip

No F*CK YOU Friday today, I'm too full of love...

The love started on Wednesday, celebrating my birthday. The girls took me out for lunch to the Brick Lane Curry House Too- the home of the hottest curry dish in North America. No, I didn't try it. I was too chicken. The place was tiny-it seats 14- but the food was delicious. This satisfies one of my 101 in 1001- trying a new restaurant!

After a pretty unproductive day at work, where almost no one (including the team I work with)wished me a Happy Birthday, I left a little early to go home to my family who was waiting to take me to Thai food. Indian and Thai in the same day? This must be Heaven! What made it extra special was that Dad joined us!

Now this wouldn't be such a big deal to most. It was to me since my parents always refused to try anything outside their comfort zone. They knew what they liked. If they didn't think they would like it, they wouldn't try it. This included eating most ethnic food, traveling outside the country and watching popular tv shows. That was okay, though. They stood by their convictions and didn't feel like they were missing anything.

Except dinner with their family on my birthdays.

We would go out for Indian, or Mexican, or Thai and they would meet us back at our house for cake. This time, though, Dad went with us to Frankly Thai (otherwise known as Onzon). AND he tried the spicy, crispy noodles! And lived! I am so proud of him, and honored that he was willing to go out with us. He said it was good, and I'll choose to believe him.

After dinner we had cake back at the house and I opened my presents. A bread maker from Dad (along with three bread mixes,) sock monkey slippers from Zombiegirl, from MR-tickets to Promises, Promises on Broadway, a rain barrel, topsy turvy tomatoes and an Amex Gift Certificate. From Beena- a HUGE bread recipe book. Wonderful gifts from my wonderful family. Thanks you guys!

The best part of this day, though, had to be the fact that I wasn't turning a year older than I thought. Since MR is three months older than me, I automatically start saying I'm the same age he is whenever anyone asks. I must have convinced myself I was already 47 and started saying I was turning 48. It took Soulspeak23 to remind me I'm a moron and I'm a year younger. Hooray! I'm NOT 48!

Avada Kedavra! Just Kidding.

Continuing on with the Zombiegirl's Harry Potter Party…


Since I wasn't going to be holding a Defense against the Dark Arts class, the kids would have no way of knowing what spells to use with their wands. So I figured I would give each kid a spell, charm and potions handbook to take home. During my lunch hours a few months before the party (um, yeah, lunch hour….), I compiled a list of Spells from The Harry Potter Lexicon using their Encyclopedia of Spells. I added Potions and Potion Ingredients from their Encyclopedia of Potions and from Harry Potter Wiki. In fact, these two websites were invaluable to me- this is where I got most of the details for the party. To the book I added a brief History of Hogwarts and a few pages for notes, a title page and a cover. The cover was printed on the same parchment cardstock I used for the invitations- thanks, Rob! The only problem I had printing the book was the layout. I'm not good with pages and printing on two sides so it took me a few sample printings to get the order right in MS Word and at the printer. Finally, the pages worked and I was ready to assemble. Another lunch hour (snort) to assemble the books and staple. My work graciously let me use their deep throated stapler (bwahahahahaaa!)



Now the kids will have the books (no cost to me, yay!) and a place to take notes. The ONLY thing a Hogwarts student would be using to take notes is a quill pen, right? I need feathers. Michaels had packages of turkey feathers in white and different colors (black for Z-girl) so I picked up enough for everyone. When I got them home, however, I realized the shaft wasn't hollow. Well, it would be hollow if it didn't look like it was vacuum-sucked in. I got a Bic pen insert about an inch up the shaft (OMG this is sounding so dirty….) before it couldn't go any further. CRAP! I remember making quill pens when I was a kid using seagull feathers I found on the beach. I definitely couldn't use these Michaels feathers so I started researching were to by genuine feathers online. I found a feather place on West 38th street in the garment district. I called and they confirmed they had feathers I could use for pens.


I promptly forgot about the quills until the Wednesday before the party. I HAD to get these feathers the next day since I wasn't going in to work on Friday (stove repair man coming). I figured I would stop in the morning when I get in to Penn Station. After a late start at home on Thursday, I got into the city and walked up to 38th Street. I turned THE WRONG WAY (WEST) on 38th Street and didn't realize it until I ran out of buildings, somewhere around 9th. I called the place and they said they were between 6th and 5th. Wonderful! It's the first hot day of the year, I'm totally overdressed, and now I'm four VERY long blocks out of my way. And late. I get to Dersch Feather and am blown away by the amount and beauty of all the feathers they have displayed. My mind does a creative flip trying to think of what I could possible do with all this! John snuck up from behind some boxes and when I told him what I needed, he was thrilled! Seems like he's a Potter Head, too. Had the Hogwart's denim jacket to prove it! But…he couldn't tell me what type of feather was used for the quills. He showed me a few and we settled on the turkey feathers. The shaft was indented in like my other feathers, but a little higher- I would be able to get more pen up the shaft. Twelve dollars later (cash- no debit, no credit- I had to leave to find a cash machine) and I had a handfull of long white quills. Since I'm not versed in the Manhattan bus system, I couldn't figure out how to get uptown on the east side, so since I was late anyway, I walked. From 38th Street to 48th Street. Sweating, carting a bagful of Girl Scout Cookies and feathers. Mama's not a happy one, this morning. I get to work, down a full bottle of water, race like a pee horse and log into my workstation. I scout out the supply cabinet for pens, and come up empty. Crap again! I'm going to have to buy Bics. Thank goodness they're cheap, around $2 for a pack of 10.


When I get home I start trimming the ends of the feathers and pulling out the inserts of the pens. I try to stick the pen in the shaft, but again, it doesn't go all the way in. Now I'm desperate, and start cutting the pens to fit. And getting ink all over my hands, the table, the feathers and the scissors. I try to do the rest in a neat and clean manner, but my hands turn slowly blue-black over the course of this craft. It's okay- I managed to get all the pens in, glued where they're a little loose and standing on end so the ink doesn't run back into the feather.


Now our little Hogwart students are ready to take notes!

F*CK YOU Friday!

I'm back to taking the bus to the subway. Oh, I have SO much fodder for F*CK YOU Friday! That and this week at work ...

-F*CK YOU to the bus drivers on the N6 route who don't notify the passengers that the bus is a LIMITED. I got on two buses this week that I swear did NOT have the LIMITED sign on the front, but went Limited anyway. One time I was able to get off at the Limited stop before my stop to transfer. One time I ended up at Shopper's Village and MR had to come get me. Thanks, bus drivers. Now I ask before I get on the bus. Even though I shouldn't.

-F*CK YOU to the guy on the bus the other day. You were talking to the soft-spoken rasta guy. Loudly. And every other word out of your mouth was "F…". Now I can somewhat deal with that- I have friends who use the f-bomb like it's an adjective. The kicker with you, guy on the bus, is that you said you "want to be a F*cking English teacher." Really? Did you realize how stupid you sound? Did you realize that everyone around you was uncomfortable and giving you dirty looks? (I was standing right over you guys and saw EVERYONE'S faces.) And no, thanks- I didn't want to sit. Not that you asked. I pray that an opinionated (hated golf, the ballet and opera) boorish miscreant like you never becomes a teacher.

-F*CK YOU to Kate Gosselin. Every day of the year, you deserve a F*CK YOU. Yes, your ex-husband is a slob and a womanizer, but I don't blame him in the least. You are a harpy. If I were married to you, and took the abuse you gave (it was evident on camera- which means it was probably worse off camera) I would skip out of that relationship with the first person that saw me as a human being instead of the doormat you thought I was. You need to step out of the spotlight and be with your kids. As a mom. I'm sure you have enough money now to live comfortably (maybe give up the big house and the hair extensions) so go home. I'm tired of seeing your face.

F*CK YOU to Dancing With The Stars for even CONSIDERING Kate Gosselin to appear on their show. This woman is a manipulator, an attention whore and an absentee mother. She is NOT a star, she's NOT a celebrity. She's painful to watch. A double F*CK YOU to all the sheeple who are still voting for her. Or is it DWTS subterfuge keeping her on the show for the ratings? In my Google search for "I hate Kate Gosselin" I found this website. Awesome job, Snark.

-F*CK YOU to my job. I've had just about enough of your shenanigans.

-F*CK YOU to State Farm for dropping my Dad's homeowners insurance because he lives too close to the water. The company is reducing their coastal business and eliminating all the homes in a flood plain. That's leaving him struggling to find alternative affordable insurance. And the kicker? Because he no longer has homeowners insurance, his car insurance is going up because there's no more discount for multiple policies. Seriously. Well, State Farm? I'm dropping you as my homeowners insurance. You gave me such a hard time when we were robbed, and my mortgage expert, when reviewing for refinance, said my insurance was on the high side anyway. It'll be tough because basically all of the insurance companies I've already spoke to will not cover me because I am within 11 miles of the water. But I will find other insurance then I can cancel with State Farm with a big F*CK YOU!

-F*CK YOU to the people who drag rolling luggage behind them on the subway or through Penn Station. My feet were run over twice this week. Reel them in, people. No need to roll them so far behind you. And be conscious of other people, please. Those suckers are heavy.

-F*CK YOU to our dog, Spencer. Your habits lately are disgusting. Stop eating your poop. We won't kiss you if you do. And stop throwing up on the rug every morning. Now I have to take you to the vet. And who knows...it. may. be. fatal. Bwah ha ha ha!

Now, I was going to give F*CK YOU's to all the factory farms in the US, but becoming a vegetarian is my way of protesting the use of drugs, genetic testing and abuse on these farms. I DO want to give huge SMOOCHES to Chipotle (I am NOT obsessed with Chipotle, really!) Chipotle uses naturally raised pork, chicken and beef. I don't eat their meat burritos, I adore the Vegetarian Burrito Bowl, but I admire their "Food With Integrity" program. I'm not sure if 100% of their meat is naturally raised, but they're on the right track!

It was a tough week, and there was no resolution today, either. That means Monday we start all over again.

At least the weekend is here!

It's My Deadline and I'll Cry if I Want To

I cried at work today. These tears had nothing to do with a death, or an accident, or a fight with a loved one. These tears were shed out of frustration.

Usually I get angry- spitting mad- when the stupidity of the job gets to me. Today they broke me. I went through a stack of Chipotle napkins (note to self…must get more Chipotle) while hiding behind my cubicle wall so no one could witness my demise. I MUST have been utterly frustrated to actually call someone and cry on their shoulder. I think I scared them. Mamasoo is known as a bitch, not a crybaby.

So, not only was management being reluctant about giving me answers I needed to complete a report I'm working on, I was forced to delay a deadline- twice- because of it. And of course, when I get frazzled, I get sloppy. I get so angry and upset that I don't think things through. The report I had to prepare for this certain manager in order for her to get answers from her manager had to be redone three times. Information passed to me months ago was recanted when brought up, and it skewed the results of the report. At least the CRETIN that scurried over to the manager to inform them I was running the routine wrong (using their information) called and apologized for "getting me in trouble". Then, after correcting the report (not my fault), I neglected to correct a comparison (my fault). A nasty email from the manager informed me of that error. I was already into my fifth napkin by then (they're made without bleach and from 90% post-consumer recycled paper! At least I'm earth-friendly while I cry…) and this just made it worse.

I think I snapped today because lately I've been at everyone's beck and call to produce reports, drawings and proposals for upper management. And we all know upper management needs these reports IMMEDIATELY and extremely dumbed-down because they don't want to have to "think about it", IT being the results of the report.

But when I need something on a deadline- which happens EXACTLY FOUR TIMES A YEAR- no one takes me seriously. I was actually questioned in a meeting with the above-mentioned manager about my deadline date. Management has no idea what my process is, so why am I being questioned? I guess the point of this part of my rant is that I don't question management's deadlines, why should they be questioning mine? As it turns out…it doesn't look like I'll get any answers until the MIDDLE OF THE MONTH anyway!

Okay, I just realized that the middle of the month for me means PMS. That...might explain my reaction to this situation, but seriously, it's still a situation. Do I like being everyone's whore? Do I like being everyone's circus bear- jumping through hoops and juggling balls? My business contacts love me- they've told me so many, many times. My boss has doled out the rare nuggets of praise over the years. But Upper Management? One member of Upper management…has referred to me as "Autocad Lady" and won't speak to me in elevators. Another member has ignored me at the mall. And never respects my deadlines. Am I destined to be a peon the rest of my working career?

I left the answer to that question hanging until I got home. I had two hours of commute to think it over. And the answer is yes…I am destined to be a peon for the rest of my working career. And I'll tell you why.

Even though I've supervised many people, have made crucial decisions and worked on multi-million dollar projects in past jobs and am perfectly capable of being Upper Management it will never happen. Requirement number one to move up the corporate ladder is that you must kiss ass. And the LAST thing I do is kiss ass. I usually tell it like it is, and if I don't like you, you know it.

Requirement number two is you have to attend meetings. I think meetings, especially weekly meetings, are a waste of time. They're usually run by the wrong (read "stupid") people and end up not accomplishing what they've set out to do. Plus being late is a pet-peeve of mine, and it's a requirement that you MUST wait for Upper Management to show up, since they're so busy doing other things they can't possible get to a meeting on time.

Requirement number three is you will probably have to work late. No, let me rephrase that. You'll probably have to stay at work late. Doesn't mean you're necessarily working. You might have taken a LONG lunch hour with the contractor-du-jour and need to catch up. You may be trying to get Lady Gaga tickets for your kids. You may be surfing p0rn sites (even though our company doesn't let you on anything remotely suspicious…) But whatever the reason, you'll be working late. Me? Sorry- I have a family to go home to.

Requirement number four- you have to torture the people under you. After all, they are the people who make you look good. You have to harass them to get you reports that are all ready available if you would have just listened to your underlings when they told you where to look. You have to harass them to print things out for you because it really is too much trouble to find the print button in the document you have open. You have to harass them to make even minor corrections on reports that you've created because you're too busy to make them yourself. Seems the higher you go up the corporate staircase, the less work you actually have to do?

Notice the money didn't even come into consideration. I wouldn't trade my freedom at the job and the freedom at home to make the salary these managers make. I'll stay where I am, thank you. Frustrations and all. As long as I have recycled napkins and a shoulder to cry on.

Happy Borned Day, Zombiegirl!

I wanted to post this on Zombiegirl's actual birthday, but as soon as we got home, the festivities began...and then life quietly spiraled out of control with the holidays and everything else we had to do. So I'm pretending, two weeks later, that the kid turned 11! Yes, 11. My baby is 11! What the hell? When did my little girl get big? In the blink of an eye, she went from this… to this.

She was the easiest and quickest labor of all the kids. We went into the doctor's office in the morning so he could break my water- I was already nine days overdue. (She was supposed to be born on St. Patrick's day. Good thing she wasn't seeing how much I now dislike St. Patty's day…) Dr. Sherman inserted the "crochet hook" and snagged the amniotic sac. After my water seeped out, he told me to go home and rest up before the contractions started. We went home and right after that the contractions started coming fast! We headed out to Winthrop (and didn't get caught at the railroad crossing like we had been kidding about every time we went to the doctor) and they put me in a labor room right away. All hooked up to the fetal monitor and ready to go!

Labor, like I said, was quick. During one of the last pushes, however, I closed my eyes and felt my nose running. A lot. I thought maybe I had ruptured a vessel or something and my nose was bleeding. The doctor looked up at me and said "Oh my God"- not something you want to hear from your doctor during labor. Seems I had a sinus infection and pushed so hard all this snot came streaming out my nose. Dr. Sherman said he'd never seen that color green before! Lovely. Ignore the snot and push...one last push and Z-girl was born!

MR was allowed to cut the umbilical cord, and the most perfect little girl was handed over to me after her evaluation (which she scored so high on!) I remember thinking that she was so beautiful- except for her nostrils- they were a little squished. It wasn't until we got her home that I realized MR's nostrils are the exact same shape.

Kelsey Cecelia was born at 3:13 p.m. on March 26, 1999. She shares a birthday with my beloved Nana Ethel, who was too sick to realize her great-granddaughter was born on her 91st birthday. The time of her birth was the date MR's little brother passed away- March 13, 40 years ago. She was 8 lbs., 13 oz, the second biggest baby of all the girls, right behind Beena, who weighed in at 9 lbs. She was, and continues to be, a wonderful child.

So, Zombiegirl, I want to say, even though I'm a little late, a little scatterbrained...

Your dad and I think you're awesome. That's why we'd do pretty much anything for you. You have a great personality, a wacky sense of humor, and you're really smart! Your flips and jumps while you were in my belly just proved to us how great an athlete you're turning out to be. Daddy already said you're a better soccer player now than he was at this age. Keep kicking, kid. You'll go so far with this sport!

I love the fact that you have your own style. The colored hair proves that. You don't go in for what all the other girls are into- all the Disney chicks and the princess crap. Sometimes you scare us with your love of blood and gore and Johnny Depp, but that's okay- you don't take it too far or too serious. You never seem to realize that people do a double take when they see you pass by with the latest hair color (red and yellow this month). You don't do it for the shock value. You do it because YOU like it. I have a feeling that your creativity is going to come out more and more and I personally can't wait.

Z-girl- I want you to know that I'll always have a lap that you can snuggle on, even if you think you're too big.

I want you to know that you can always have tickle-time and wrestle-time with me, even if you think I'm lame.

I want you to know that you can always talk to me, even if you think I won't understand.

I want you to know that I'll always be there for you, even if you think I won't.

I'm so very proud of you!

I love you, Piglet!