I come home to a happy pink "Service Request" on my coffee table. Funny thing, but not the funniest thing, I didn't request any service. In fact, I'd be thrilled if maintenance never entered my apartment again. The funny thing is this: written in barely legible printing was "Be back to finish ceiling in bathroom".
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
You know what, Mr. Maintenance? Don't bother. You can come back to "finish" the ceiling when I move out.
30 July 2008
28 July 2008
Gerber Pureed Pears - Now With Speed!
I love my nephew so much it makes me stupid. I always want to give him kisses and rub my chin on his soft little baby head. I love watching him grow and laugh and smile. And I lovelovelove that he isn't mine.
I spent Friday evening with my nephew (I'll call him Frog. You'll see why.) and his mother (Mom - duh). I arrived at their house around 4:30 and Mom was chilling on the sofa, watching a little TV. She said that she was debating on waking up Frog. I walked over to his pack n play, and lo and behold, he's awake. He looked up at me, and I saw the eyebrows go. Yup, he was gearing up for a squall. I picked him up and he calmed down a bit. Mom prepped his bottle as I smothered him with auntie love. Mom took him to feed him and things were quiet for about 10 minutes. After about half the bottle was gone, Frog got fussy. Burping didn't help much, so Mom decided that it was playtime.
Mom dumped him in one of those "surround baby with stimulation" rocky things. I'm sure there's some sort of smart-sounding name; I don't know it. Frog was happy. There are these 3 cylinders that when spun, make different noises. One is a weak-sounding bell, one is kind of a rattle, and one sounds like you're scratching a record. Frog looks to have a future as a DJ because he was all about the scritchascritch. Or maybe I'm projecting.
Frog looks to be teething, what with the rash and the drool. He happily sucked on my index finger; which is an odd sort of feeling. He started getting a little rammy again, so Mom moved him to his play mat. Sort of a mat with soft arches over it where you can attach various distractions. Frog was alternately amused and annoyed. Nothing seemed to hold his attention for very long. I picked him up and started lifting him up in the air. Pretty soon he was bending his knees as I dropped him to the ground, and straightening them as I lifted him. My little Frog. Anyway, I'm not in horrible shape, but hefting a 15lb baby over your head can be a bit tiring. Eventually my arms couldn't take it anymore and Frog had to content himself with sitting on my foot.
I suppose at this point you are wondering where the pears with speed thing comes in. Frog is at the age where he is getting some semi-solid food. Pureed fruit and this cereal that has a strong resemblance to caulk, mostly. Mom tried pears on Frog and he seemed to enjoy them. I mean, he blurped fruit and cereal all over the place, but that's what babies do. After fruit and caulk, it was bottle time again. Mom and I were hoping that he would nod off after the bottle so we could go pick up dinner and grab a movie. Things were looking good until Mom put Frog into his stroller. Oh no, he wasn't having that. Mom inserted the magic shut-up plug and silence descended.
He was relatively quiet as we got into the car and drove to the restaurant. There was a bit of whinging during the ride from the restaurant to Blockbuster. He was OK at Blockbuster, but by the time we got home, Frog was gearing up for some craziness. He didn't want the play mat, he didn't want the vibrachair, he didn't need a diaper change. Nope, Frog was cracked out on pureed pears. Mom wolfed down her dinner; barely tasting it, I'm sure, and rocked and rocked Frog. He was sort of calm during the movie (Airplane, in case you were wondering) and was flat-out by the end. Mom put him in the pack n play and he didn't even stir. This would have been great, if it weren't for the fact that the last feeding of the night was rapidly approaching. Mom went into the kitchen to prep the bottle. Poor Mom. It never ends.
That is why I don't want to have a baby. I love kids, but I don't think I have the proper temperament to be a parent. I know there are plenty of people out there who aren't suited to parenthood, but I wonder how many of them realize it. People are so inculcated/socialized into thinking that procreating is the way to go and they don't (generally) stop to wonder if it is the way to go. Pfft. And sure, it may be different if I had a kid of my own, but what if it isn't? What if I'm so frustrated and angry and tired all the time? What if all that anger and frustration and exhaustion leads to bad things? I don't want to be in the paper because I end up being a lousy mom who can't control herself.
There's probably an element of selfishness there, too. I don't want to give up my quiet time, and what little disposable income I have. I don't want to have months of fractured sleep, and clothing stained with spit-up, and tons of baby crap all over my home and my car. I don't want to develop a tolerance for the Wiggles, Radio Disney, Chuck-E-Cheese and all the rest. Plus, I don't have the least desire to be knocked-up and then squeeze the kid out. If I ever have a kid, I will adopt the of the kids who are waiting patiently in orphanages and group homes for a family of his/her own.
I spent Friday evening with my nephew (I'll call him Frog. You'll see why.) and his mother (Mom - duh). I arrived at their house around 4:30 and Mom was chilling on the sofa, watching a little TV. She said that she was debating on waking up Frog. I walked over to his pack n play, and lo and behold, he's awake. He looked up at me, and I saw the eyebrows go. Yup, he was gearing up for a squall. I picked him up and he calmed down a bit. Mom prepped his bottle as I smothered him with auntie love. Mom took him to feed him and things were quiet for about 10 minutes. After about half the bottle was gone, Frog got fussy. Burping didn't help much, so Mom decided that it was playtime.
Mom dumped him in one of those "surround baby with stimulation" rocky things. I'm sure there's some sort of smart-sounding name; I don't know it. Frog was happy. There are these 3 cylinders that when spun, make different noises. One is a weak-sounding bell, one is kind of a rattle, and one sounds like you're scratching a record. Frog looks to have a future as a DJ because he was all about the scritchascritch. Or maybe I'm projecting.
Frog looks to be teething, what with the rash and the drool. He happily sucked on my index finger; which is an odd sort of feeling. He started getting a little rammy again, so Mom moved him to his play mat. Sort of a mat with soft arches over it where you can attach various distractions. Frog was alternately amused and annoyed. Nothing seemed to hold his attention for very long. I picked him up and started lifting him up in the air. Pretty soon he was bending his knees as I dropped him to the ground, and straightening them as I lifted him. My little Frog. Anyway, I'm not in horrible shape, but hefting a 15lb baby over your head can be a bit tiring. Eventually my arms couldn't take it anymore and Frog had to content himself with sitting on my foot.
I suppose at this point you are wondering where the pears with speed thing comes in. Frog is at the age where he is getting some semi-solid food. Pureed fruit and this cereal that has a strong resemblance to caulk, mostly. Mom tried pears on Frog and he seemed to enjoy them. I mean, he blurped fruit and cereal all over the place, but that's what babies do. After fruit and caulk, it was bottle time again. Mom and I were hoping that he would nod off after the bottle so we could go pick up dinner and grab a movie. Things were looking good until Mom put Frog into his stroller. Oh no, he wasn't having that. Mom inserted the magic shut-up plug and silence descended.
He was relatively quiet as we got into the car and drove to the restaurant. There was a bit of whinging during the ride from the restaurant to Blockbuster. He was OK at Blockbuster, but by the time we got home, Frog was gearing up for some craziness. He didn't want the play mat, he didn't want the vibrachair, he didn't need a diaper change. Nope, Frog was cracked out on pureed pears. Mom wolfed down her dinner; barely tasting it, I'm sure, and rocked and rocked Frog. He was sort of calm during the movie (Airplane, in case you were wondering) and was flat-out by the end. Mom put him in the pack n play and he didn't even stir. This would have been great, if it weren't for the fact that the last feeding of the night was rapidly approaching. Mom went into the kitchen to prep the bottle. Poor Mom. It never ends.
That is why I don't want to have a baby. I love kids, but I don't think I have the proper temperament to be a parent. I know there are plenty of people out there who aren't suited to parenthood, but I wonder how many of them realize it. People are so inculcated/socialized into thinking that procreating is the way to go and they don't (generally) stop to wonder if it is the way to go. Pfft. And sure, it may be different if I had a kid of my own, but what if it isn't? What if I'm so frustrated and angry and tired all the time? What if all that anger and frustration and exhaustion leads to bad things? I don't want to be in the paper because I end up being a lousy mom who can't control herself.
There's probably an element of selfishness there, too. I don't want to give up my quiet time, and what little disposable income I have. I don't want to have months of fractured sleep, and clothing stained with spit-up, and tons of baby crap all over my home and my car. I don't want to develop a tolerance for the Wiggles, Radio Disney, Chuck-E-Cheese and all the rest. Plus, I don't have the least desire to be knocked-up and then squeeze the kid out. If I ever have a kid, I will adopt the of the kids who are waiting patiently in orphanages and group homes for a family of his/her own.
23 July 2008
The Gray
I am in a gray hole of apathy. No, I haven't gone all goth; I couldn't think of a better way of describing my state of mind. It's not quite a black hole of despair, but it certainly isn't all sunshine and unicorns.
This happens to me fairly frequently. Yes, it's monthly and, no, it isn't a premenstrual thing. In case anyone wants to mark the calendar, I am post-menstrual. Either that, or I spend most of the month premenstrual.
OK, enough about my cycle. The reason I decided to write about my grayness is because there isn't any apparent cause. While I have recently realized that I hate my job; I'm usually fairly good at separating work shit from the rest of my life. I may bitch about work when I'm not there, but I'm not usually actively angry when I do. As for the rest of my life; it's fine. I'm not any broker than usual, my cats are fine, I'm not sick, and aside from the passing of my great-aunt, my family is also fine.
I'm thinking that I can attribute the grayness to a lack of passion in my life. Not just the passion that is associated with love/sex, but the passion that comes from being interested in things/ideas. Let's face it: I don't do a whole lot. I read, I watch TV, and I eat bacon. I do the internet thing and I talk to my friends on a semi-regular basis. I'm definitely not knocking my friends, but we don't do much. Which is fine. I'm not relying on my friends to provide me with passion and excitement.
Are you shaking your head and thinking, "Silly girl. Why is she complaining? People are suffering. Children don't have enough food, people are being killed for shiny rocks, the economy is in the toilet and China makes everything. She thinks a lack of passion is a big deal?" Well yes, yes I do. Just because I'm not dealing with life-threatening illness, or complete economic collapse, or - or whatever, doesn't mean that what I'm dealing with doesn't suck. 'Cause it does suck; it sucks for me.
I am grateful that I have a job and a home and pets that allow me to pet them right after I feed them. I'm grateful that my parents love me and I have the wherewithal to buy bacon. I'm not looking for someone to come along and completely change my life. I don't want to be famous (infamous is another story) and I don't want to be the secret lost child of someone famous. I really just want to feel that life isn't all about nothing.
I've been thinking about the purpose of life a lot lately. It's nothing especially ground-breaking or coherent, but the thoughts are there. Back in the day (yeah, then), people were all about survival and procreation. If you didn't spend all day looking for food you would die. If you didn't spawn your line would die out. (That could lead me into a whole other line of think about why the hell humans find it so effing important to continue their line. Maybe another post.) While survival is still part of the plan, it seems like life is more about things. I'm not going to go off on a rant about materialism and rampant consumerism, but I still see it. You work to have a place to live, to buy food, to buy stuff. Some people are in a position where their job makes them happy and the fact that they get paid - well, that's just gravy. Maybe those people need fewer things. Maybe it's the cubicle drones, the "I didn't want to be a lawyer but my dad wouldn't pay for art school", the undereducated, who need things. Then again, maybe it isn't. Maybe those people have things outside of work that make them happy; things that they are passionate about. I'd hate to be guilty of defining people by their jobs. It's bad enough that people are still often defined by appearances.
Point? I don't know. I guess my point is that I've got to get up off my ass and find my passion(s). I don't like being in the gray and I know I'm not tons of fun to be around when I am. It would be nice if my brain hadn't evolved and I could be all reptile-like. You know, basking on rocks, eating bugs, etc. Or maybe it'd be great if I could turn off the fucking neurochemicals that make me sad for NO APPARENT REASON. That is all.
This happens to me fairly frequently. Yes, it's monthly and, no, it isn't a premenstrual thing. In case anyone wants to mark the calendar, I am post-menstrual. Either that, or I spend most of the month premenstrual.
OK, enough about my cycle. The reason I decided to write about my grayness is because there isn't any apparent cause. While I have recently realized that I hate my job; I'm usually fairly good at separating work shit from the rest of my life. I may bitch about work when I'm not there, but I'm not usually actively angry when I do. As for the rest of my life; it's fine. I'm not any broker than usual, my cats are fine, I'm not sick, and aside from the passing of my great-aunt, my family is also fine.
I'm thinking that I can attribute the grayness to a lack of passion in my life. Not just the passion that is associated with love/sex, but the passion that comes from being interested in things/ideas. Let's face it: I don't do a whole lot. I read, I watch TV, and I eat bacon. I do the internet thing and I talk to my friends on a semi-regular basis. I'm definitely not knocking my friends, but we don't do much. Which is fine. I'm not relying on my friends to provide me with passion and excitement.
Are you shaking your head and thinking, "Silly girl. Why is she complaining? People are suffering. Children don't have enough food, people are being killed for shiny rocks, the economy is in the toilet and China makes everything. She thinks a lack of passion is a big deal?" Well yes, yes I do. Just because I'm not dealing with life-threatening illness, or complete economic collapse, or - or whatever, doesn't mean that what I'm dealing with doesn't suck. 'Cause it does suck; it sucks for me.
I am grateful that I have a job and a home and pets that allow me to pet them right after I feed them. I'm grateful that my parents love me and I have the wherewithal to buy bacon. I'm not looking for someone to come along and completely change my life. I don't want to be famous (infamous is another story) and I don't want to be the secret lost child of someone famous. I really just want to feel that life isn't all about nothing.
I've been thinking about the purpose of life a lot lately. It's nothing especially ground-breaking or coherent, but the thoughts are there. Back in the day (yeah, then), people were all about survival and procreation. If you didn't spend all day looking for food you would die. If you didn't spawn your line would die out. (That could lead me into a whole other line of think about why the hell humans find it so effing important to continue their line. Maybe another post.) While survival is still part of the plan, it seems like life is more about things. I'm not going to go off on a rant about materialism and rampant consumerism, but I still see it. You work to have a place to live, to buy food, to buy stuff. Some people are in a position where their job makes them happy and the fact that they get paid - well, that's just gravy. Maybe those people need fewer things. Maybe it's the cubicle drones, the "I didn't want to be a lawyer but my dad wouldn't pay for art school", the undereducated, who need things. Then again, maybe it isn't. Maybe those people have things outside of work that make them happy; things that they are passionate about. I'd hate to be guilty of defining people by their jobs. It's bad enough that people are still often defined by appearances.
Point? I don't know. I guess my point is that I've got to get up off my ass and find my passion(s). I don't like being in the gray and I know I'm not tons of fun to be around when I am. It would be nice if my brain hadn't evolved and I could be all reptile-like. You know, basking on rocks, eating bugs, etc. Or maybe it'd be great if I could turn off the fucking neurochemicals that make me sad for NO APPARENT REASON. That is all.
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