Random Ramblings

randomtuesdayKeely, over at Unmom, does this thing.

You post Random Thoughts on Tuesday. That’s it. Try it – it’s addicting. Then link back to Unmom and see what other people are randomly thinking and typing about.

I’ve come to the conclusion that when people stop blogging, it’s  for one main reason. Y’all want to know what it is? It’s  work. Now,  I’m not talking about how jobs interfere with important stuff like keeping up with your blog, although that’s a problem, sure. No, what I mean is – keeping up with a blog is hard work, y’all.

It’s not like you can just sit right down and start writing. You have to figure out what you want to say, figure out if you think anyone is interested, figure out if you want to post a photo, or not, then try to find the photo you have in mind, give up looking for it because you saved it onto a disk several months (or years) ago, figure out what your title is going to be, decide if you want to just post something without a photo (or there’s always stock photos!) actually get around to writing something, spell check it, preveiw it, decide whether or not you like what you’ve written, worry that it might really sound stupid, go back and edit out the stupid sounding parts, preveiw it again, decide you really do need some kind of photo, spend a half hour perusing all your photo folders, finally pick one out and wait for it to upload, go back and change the title you had written while you are waiting for the photo to download because you obviously need something that sounds more dynamic, preveiw everything again after the photo is in place, go back and rewrite parts of what you had written because now that the title is more dynamic the post doesn’t quite measure up, glance at your watch and realize you are running out of time to get ready for your real work (the one that you earn your living from) save the whole mess as a draft, and try the whole stinking thing over again the next day.

Seriously, who has time for this?

Certainly not me, not this week. Remember my sad little post a few days back, about my grand daughter and her parents moving to Virginia? Well, it’s gotten a little more complicated. Now they are moving to Michigan. Up near Ann Arbor, to be exact.

This little complication has been happening since last Wednesday morning, when after working a twelve hour night shift, we rented a moving van for them to pack all their furniture into – in order to move to Virginia. On the weekend it was discovered that there was no longer an offer of a rental home in Virginia, so after the house they lived in here had been cleaned out, the key returned and the land lord had been kissed goodbye, the excruciating decision was made to move, instead, to Michigan.

Thank God her parents in Michigan had a vacant house that was offered to them. If only it wasn’t so far away.

Are we the only people who didn’t know that yesterday was Columbus Day? And that all the banks were  closed? And that a young couple with a four month old  baby, who are down on their luck, and trying to move all their earthly belongings somewhere, anywhere, with one set of parents in Michigan trying to deposit gas money into a bank account and the other set of exhausted parents working a twelve hour day shift in a place where they are virually cut off from outside communication, would be unable to withdraw any much needed traveling money and be forced to put off moving for another day, while the meter ticks on the exhausted working parent’s credit card to the tune of $60 per day for every day the moving van, which was due in Virginia last Wednesday, but now is being rerouted to Michigan, is turned in late?

Yeah. But it’s all because we love them, y’all.

A few things I don’t love. Like, having to carry a damn radio everywhere with me at work and being forced to listen to everybody’s boring conversations for twelve hours. Like, pretty young women (who know quite well that they are pretty) who spend their whole twelve hours at work giggling and simpering to all the male coworkers after every single sentence that comes out of her mouth. (Really, honey, everything you say is not that funny, OK?) Like, having to have an evacuation drill in the middle of the morning, which forced us to stand out in the parking lot in the beautiful sunshine, knowing that we have to go back into the building for the rest of the day until it gets dark.

Like, having to proofread this post now before I can post it. And edit it. And find a picture. And…oh fiddlesticks!

No picture today, y’all. I’m just not in the mood.

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Random Thoughts about Dog Poop and Dementia

randomtuesdayKeely, over at Unmom, does this thing.

You post Random Thoughts on Tuesday. That’s it. Try it – it’s addicting. Then link back to Unmom and see what other people are randomly thinking.

~I have proclaimed today Official Domestic Goddess Day at my house. That means, I have the whole day off,  I’m home alone and I love it, y’all. I love the silence, I love padding around from room to room with a cup of coffee in hand, thinking about what I want to clean, organize, rearrange and redecorate.

I love writing all this down on a great big ole To Do Today list and then scratching things off. Today, so far, I have walked the dog, started a load of clothes and made a hair appointment. I feel so accomplished.

~I’m still trying to figure out this “how to get people to comment on your blog” thing. This really really puzzles me. I read on one of the authoritive-type “How To” blogs that in order to get people to visit and read your blog (and this, apparantly, is what has to happen before they actually leave a comment) you have to write something that is interesting, thought provoking and/or funny. In other words, quality stuff.

The other day I posted a rant story about how much I hate dog poop. It was funny, if not thought provoking, (at least I thought it was.) More importantly, it took me over an hour to write it. It got three comments.

Now to the three wonderful people who commented, (and y’all know who you are) I thank you. Profusely.

But on my other blog, Wilmington Daily Photo, I posted a picture of my shadow and I wrote two sentences. Two. Anyone wanna guess which post got the most comments? Well, I’ll tell ya. The Shadow post got fifteen! Obviously something is wrong here. Either the experts are all wrong, or I can’t write. Or maybe dog poop stinks isn’t as funny as I thought it was.

OK, I’m done whining now.

~Have y’all been listening to all the news about the alarming rise of dementia cases? This worries me, because I forget stuff all the time. Like what I was going to say. Then, when I pause for what might be long enough to write a short novel a nano second, my husband jumps in with his own version of what he thinks I was going to say, and it’s always something sexual stupid.

For instance, Me: “Sweetheart, I thought of something else we need to put on our shopping list…”

Long pause while I try to remember what I was just thinking of.

Jeff: hopefully, after waiting patiently “…..condoms?….lube?…..vibrator?”

Grrrr.

I hope it’s just another sign that I’m getting older, like all the other things that keep pestering me. What other things, you might ask. Saggy knees, curly white hairs (so stupid considering all the brown ones dyed blond are straight) foot pain, tennis elbows although I don’t play tennis, hot flashes, crazy acne that has persisted way past puberty and really looks disconcerting on my wrinkly cheeks, and of course, hot flashes.

~Still, I’ll take all of those things if I can continue to enjoy the one thing getting older has given me: grandchildren. My God, it is wonderful to hold a baby again.

I have told y’all that I have another grandchild on the way, right? A boy! He’s due January 1st. I can’t wait.

~Yesterday was what we affectionately refer to as “Crappy Day.”Crappy Day is the day after our last 12 hour shift of night shift. My husband, Jeff, and I work together in a factory, the largest one of it’s kind in the world, that makes optical fiber. Optical fiber is that stuff that allows your computers to connect to the internet, just in case y’all didn’t know. And it’s made out of glass. Very hot glass, before it gets turned into fiber smaller than a human hair. I handle the hot glass. Jeff works on the equipment that measures the final product’s properties, before it is shipped out the door.

I know. Boring.

Anyways, we work 12 hour rotating shifts, or “swing shifts.” That means we work nights from 7 pm to 7 am, then we are off for three days and go back into work on day shift, which is 7 am to 7 pm. Then we are off for one day, and we go back on nights. Then we are off for three more days and then we go back in for four days and then we get a seven day break, except we have to work forced overtime for a day or two, and/or maybe a night during that week off.

Confused yet? Welcome to my world.

My doctor tells me that it is a proven fact that folks who work this kind of schedule are 90% more likely than someone who works a regular 9 to 5 job to develope stomach ulcers (right after she diagnised me with one). Apparantly the body does not respond well to the stress of constantly figuring out whether it is supposed to be awake or asleep. Go figure.

Maybe this accounts for my memory loss and my whiny attitude. Maybe shift work causes dementia. I know it causes whining. Just ask Jeff if you don’t believe me, y’all.

Random Tuesday Whining

randomtuesdayKeely, over at Unmom, does this thing.

You post Random Thoughts on Tuesday. That’s it.

Thanks to my friend, Jan, over at Jan’s Sushi Bar, I’ve decided to give this here posting every day thing a try, y’all.

It’s called NaBloPoMo,and I can’t believe how long it just took me to write that. Stands for “National Blog Posting Month”. You post something every day for a month.

*Warning: Full Blown Whining To Follow*

It has been kinda tough posting something every single day this month. It takes more time than y’all would think. Thank God I’m on vacation. I have no idea if I will be able to continue to do this after we go back to work. Not really having any idea what to post about, I decided I would chronicle our vacation with pictures of what we have been doing each day. Sort of a vacation diary, if you will.

This is not going over very well with y’all.

Y’all? Y’all?

*Ginger hears echo*

See, the thing is, there is no one here. That’s right. I’m apparently all alone in my blogging adventure. No one has commented me in two whole days, and the day before that, I only got one comment (thank you so much Jan, at planetjan. Love you. Mean it.) Whine, whine, whine. This is leaving me to scratch my head and wonder what I’m doing wrong. I used to pretty much just post random pictures, and I got a few comments. But that was OK, I really didn’t expect many. Now that I’m taking time to actually write something, nobody is reading me.

*Ginger’s lip is poked out so far she might trip over it when she gets up*

Maybe I should just go back to posting pictures. Maybe I should crawl under a rock and die.

*Heavy sigh*

Yesterday, on my other blog, I posted a picture of a door knocker. A door knocker, y’all. (Wait. Sorry. There is no y’all.) Anyway, the door knocker received 137 views and 5 comments. This blog recieved a grand total of 24 views and zero comments. Clearly, I am doing something wrong. I just have no idea what it is.

*Update: my husband  explained this to me. It was the word “knocker” that did it. Hmm.*

So as long as I am all alone in this here place, I’m going to post some random pictures that make me smile to cheer myself up. Surely, if cats being silly, babies playing piano, wandering peeps, decorated toes and me showing my fat ass my cute, little, southern derriere won’t warrant some comments, then nothing will!

This is my cat, Pixie, pretending to be an elephant ear. She thinks that if her head is hidden, her whole body is, too. Cracks me right up.

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This is my grand daughter being introduced to the piano. She has such long fingers, I can’t wait to teach her to play!

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A mother duck and her brood wandered into our yard.

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Dani decided to draw faces on her step brother’s hairy toes.

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Her finished handiwork.

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Yesterday, to update my Staycation diary, we went golfing. I was pretty much in a pissy mood all day. This is how I expressed myself. I figure this will be a good ending (no pun intended) to this post.

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Unrandom Thoughts On Tuesday

randomtuesday

Keely, over at Unmom, does this thing.

You post Random Thoughts on Tuesday. That’s it.

I don’t think my thoughts are very random, y’all. If you knew my parents, you’d understand. They are both very anal about being organized, keeping a schedule, being on time, making plans, knowing exactly where they are sitting, what they are doing, and where they are going to be. Every minute of each and every day.

Did I mention that they are both a tad inflexible?

If you invite my mother over for dinner, you’d best be specific. “Y’all come on over for supper tomorrow night” just won’t do. If you want to avoid multiple questions, sighing, whining, helplessness, and a major guilt trip, you have to say something like this:

“Hi Mom! We were thinking about having y’all come over tomorrow night for supper, but, of course, we need to check first to make sure you don’t have anything already planned, like a funeral, or a hair appointment, or a Sunday school class dinner, or a shopping trip, or a salsa lesson, or a dance cotillion, or your routine tanning bed visit, or ironing and packing for your next trip. You’re available? Really? Great! Well we were thinking about grilling out. Is chicken OK? No? You had that yesterday and you don’t want it twice in a row. OK, how about steak? Oh, I forgot, you have trouble chewing. Hamburgers? Oh, right. Too greasy for the cholesterol. Tacos? Oh yeah, you “do” spicy. I forgot. Homemade spaghetti? Yes? OK, fine, as long as we don’t add too much pepper. Got it.”

OK, now that we have the menu kinda/sorta nailed down, we move on to the item. “We were thinking about six-ish” is a big No-no. Here’s what you say:

“I know y’all like to eat early, yes, I know you can’t sleep if you eat too late. How about if we eat at 5:16 PM. Yes, Mom, we will eat at 5:16 PM. On the dot. Yes, I will have it ready. On the table. At 5:16 PM. What’s that you say? What time do we want you to be here? Be here at 4:44. Yes. That will give us exactly 32 minutes to say hello, have a pre-dinner drink, pat the dog, wash our hands, help me set the table (with matching silverware or SOMEBODY’S gonna die, y’all) and, most important, figure out the best seating arrangement for everybody.”

Other details that have to be discussed are: what can she bring? who all else will be there? what are we wearing? how long do we expect them to stay after they eat? has the dog been bathed lately? and are we sure that we can have everything prepared and ready by 5:16 Pm, on the dot. Because, Lord knows, don’t ask her to waste any of her precious time by having her show up five minutes early. She’d have to sit around and WAIT, for God’s sake!

Oh, and have real napkins. I know a folded paper towel is acceptable to most people, but it is not a real napkin. Just trust me on this one.

My dad is just as bad. He lives out of town, and he comes to Wilmington exactly twice a year. The weekend before Christmas, and the weekend before Mother’s Day. And it’s always the same. First, we have “the call.”

“The Call” is to announce his plans. It goes something like this:

“Hello, Ginger. This is Pa Bill. We are thinking about coming to Wilmington in two weeks, but we wanted to get y’all’s work schedule. Of course, now, we can’t come next weekend, because we are going to Myrtle Beach afterwards, and we don’t want to be there during Bike Week. We can’t stand all those crowds. And we can’t come the week after, because that is Black Motorcycle Week. And then the week after that is Gay Motorcycle Week, and then starting every weekend after that, I have to teach Sunday school.”

Me: “OK, Dad, well I guess two weeks from now will work out perfect.” (I know better than to challenge his plans. I can do a shift swap, ask for a vacation day, or risk an incident by calling off, but I won’t dare to say I have to work.)

Dad: “Great! Alright, we’re leaving here Friday morning. We’ll stop by the cemetary to put flowers on your grandma’s grave. We’ll get into Wilmington about 4 o’clock. After we get checked in, I’ll call you. That will be around 4:30. Then we’re going to go to dinner early at the Cracker Barrel, because Shelba will be tired. Saturday morning, we are going to take your aunt out to breakfast. Then we’ll go by and pick up your brother and take him to lunch. We will then go back to our hotel room to wash up and rest for a while, but we’ll be out there to your house about a quarter til five. Can you invite all your boys (I always do.) and tell them to be there at 5 o’clock? We want to get there early so we can get the best parking spot (in my driveway, not on *shudder* the street)”

Me: “OK, Dad, sounds great!” (Thinking to myself that if any part of this schedule was  ever any different, the world as we know it would surely end.)

Next, we have to talk about the menu.

Dad: “Now we don’t want you to go to any trouble. We’ll eat anything.” (SO not true! Shelba can’t eat rare meat, steak, mustard, anything with seeds, anything with spices, collards, Mexican food, Chinese food, fried food or anything that was ever at any time anywhere near the dog.)

Me: “OK, great! How about hamburgers on the grill and potato salad?”

Dad: “Hamburgers sound good…but Shelba can’t eat alot of things that are in potato salad….how about just having potato chips? And make sure you get plain rolls. Shelba can’t eat sesame seeds.”

Shelba also can’t tolerate being hot, being cold, drinking from a “heavy glass without a handle”, being outside, going up stairs, sitting on too low of a seat, not having a pillow behind her back, staying out past 7;30 at night, or being in the same room as my dog. And Dad has to have coke, rum and toothpicks. But they are “no trouble”, y’all.

So y’all can see why I am way too organized to have a bunch of random thoughts?

I might could come up with a few things, but it really would be just a list of things I am planning or already have in the works. For instance, I started a new blog, called Wilmington Daily Photo that is taking up a bunch of my time.Y’all check it out!

Also, my middle son’s girlfriend is due to have her baby in about two weeks and I just received the thrilling news that my oldest son and daughter-in-law are finally expecting, too! So we’re about to become first time grandparents of two babies within a year!

But right now I have 27 minutes to shower, dress and let the dog out. Then I’ll have just enough time to drive across town and make my 10 o’clock hair appointment. After that, I’ll swing into Home Depot and pick up a nice houseplant for a housewarming gift for friends that invited us to dinner tonight. At 1:00 PM, I’ll pick my husband up from work, and we’ll need to get groceries and pick up a little something for the new mother, before coming home to make a salad, walk the dog, do a load of laundry, get our Mother’s Day cards ready to mail, practice hitting golf balls for our golf trip tomorrow, and get ready to go to our friend’s house for dinner. At 6 PM, sharp. I’m not sure exactly what time we’ll be eating, but I do know we’re having steak and I volunteered to bring the salad.

Yes, I asked them what time. And about the menu.  But I don’t have to have a real napkin. I swear.

random thoughts tuesdays

randomtuesday

keely over at unmom does this thing.

you post random thoughts on Tuesday. that’s it.

some random thoughts:

i wonder if anyone will care if  i don’t capitalize anything. i wonder if i should CARE if they care. no. i really shouldn’t care. ok then. no capitals today, y’all. it’s kinda like going with the flow. loosening up. typing therapy. not having a plan. (if you’re reading this, deb, aren’t you proud of me?)

i wonder why jan at planetjan is such a stickler for spelling errors. i mean, why does she care? well ok, i know why. she’s a teacher, and it’s her sworn duty. but her head will explode if she reads this blog entry, i’m sure. (if you’re reading this jan, you know i love you.)

i wonder why some people just don’t get it. really. all they do is constantly gripe and complain about how OTHER people aren’t doing stuff that THEY don’t do!(if you’re reading this, co-worker, sorry, but it’s true, hon.)

have you ever noticed that your first impressions of people are often wrong? i have. it has happened to me at work several times. so many times, someone i really didn’t like (at all) turns out to be one of my dearest  friends, and someone i thought i really liked (a lot) turns out to be a real PITA.

i’m sick sick sick of winter. did i mention that i’m sick of winter?

i’m having my first grandchild, y’all. well, i’m not, but, it feels like it. i hope my son and his girlfriend really are able to have a completely pain-free, wonderfuly glorious, natural childbirth experience at home with their midwife and hypno-doula. i hope nothing bad happens to the baby. i hope the midwife washes her hands. i wish i were more trusting of two twenty-something new parents to make the right decisions about something so important. ( if you’re reading this, son, you know i love you.)

i can’t wait to go and get garlic-garlic wings with my hubby tonight. we are celebrating valentine’s day late. it’s what we do….because we’re always working during all the normal hours and holidays that other people have off. ( if you’re reading this, jeff, you know i love you and i don’t care what day we celebrate. every day with you is a celebration.)

i hope my mother can make her doctor’s appointment tomorrow and not wind up in the hospital again. i wish she would just go to the doctor when she gets sick, like everybody else in the world, and not wait until we have to call 911, miss work (and sleep) to hang out with her in the hospital emergency room, and almost develop an ulcer over worrying about her. ( if you ever get a computer to work long enough to read this mom, AND are able to sit up in a chair long enough to do so, you know i love you, but you drive me crazy!)

i wish doctors would “get it”. maybe, just maybe, when someone comes into the emergency room, having trouble breathing because they have almost NO BLOOD left in their body from having a bleeding hemorrhoid for THREE MONTHS, with a blood pressure of 240/204, needing several, emergency blood transfusions, extensive surgery and constant monitoring they should not be sent home THE DAY AFTER the surgery, with no follow up appointment. especially if this patient is MY MOTHER, who has put off going to a doctor to begin with, until she was at death’s door.(if you’re a doctor, especially a proctologist, reading this, i hope you feel awful.)

it’s a battle, y’all. i mean, normal people would be alarmed if they had not pooped for, oh, TWO WEEKS and were having trouble peeing just a minuscule few drops, feeling so faint they have to be held up to keep from falling over, unable to eat, sleep or get out of the bed, wouldn’t they? i’m just sayin’. (still love ya, mom.)

i wish my brother was normal. i wish HE would go for a physical, too, since he’s lost weight, looks like he’s an AID’s victim and  looks like he’s 75 years old (he’s 46). it’s going to be a 911 party with him, too, i’m afraid. (….nah, my brother’s never going to see this…)

i hate leaving my dog for 12 and 1/2 hours a day, every day that we work. in a perfect world, i would be able to just stay home and hang out with her all day. her life is short, compared to mine, after all. it’s like leaving her for a week. sigh. (hannie, i know you can’t read, but i love you, too. even if the lady at the rottweiler rescue site thinks i’m not qualified to own one of HER special dogs. BITE ME, suzie.)

i’m absolutely thrilled over having a couple of days off. i know i should be grateful to have a job in this horrible economy, but work has gotten to be so stressful that it feels like a war zone. i just want to get under the covers, curl up with my husband, my cat, my rottweiler, my computer and a shaker full of manhattens.

and not worry about my mother. or my brother. or my first grandchild coming into the world without the benefit of a fetal monitor and a nearby staff of trained doctors and nurses. oh yeah, and whether jan’s head is going to stay intact.(jan? jan? are you still with me?)

maybe i should go back and fix all this mess.

nah.