Everyone has pet peeves- little things that just grate on them, the "fingers on a chalkboard" for those of us of a certain age (not me- it never bothered me, but it did others). And it's fun to discuss them once in a while, to learn a bit more about your acquaintances. What irritates you may be NOTHING to another. What drives your neighbor up a wall may be "just another day in paradise" to you.
I don't usually get irritated over misspellings (even when it's my name that is misspelled) or misused words or other English class errors. But lately- I've become more sensitive or people don't mind appearing more ignorant or they ARE less educated.
For some reason the local florists have taken to running newspaper ads using the work "bo-kay". I've run ads in the paper, they don't charge by the letter. I'm not an English major, I've never pretended to be an eloquent wordsmith - but it just looks WRONG to spell a common word like bouquet wrong on purpose.
And another peeve- Someone PLEASE tell me if it's a regional thing- the word that means 'social blunder' I've always pronounced "foe-paw"; I just heard someone say "foo (like moo)- paw" Is that just a local thing? or just a "that person" thing? I've never head it said 'foo-paw' before. FAUX doesn't look like "foo" would be a possible pronunciation.
I recently heard "faux" mispronounced with a popular hairstyle... the faux-hawk, an almost/pretend mohawk. I guess not everyone saw that season of American Idol, when we all learned what it was, and how to pronounce it. Instead of saying "foe-hawk", it was pronounced "fox-hawk". I can understand that "faux" looks like it could be said "fox"..... but it still grates on my nerves.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friday, June 26, 2009
where will it stop??
Once again I was a victim of progress. Yesterday my middle child and I wandered the wilds of our fair state to register said child in college. While there, I found myself in need of a restroom.
While in the restroom, I noticed that the toilets were the automatic flushing kind, and the paper towel dispensers were the automatic kind. Some restrooms have automatic water dispensers, I've even seen restroom with automatic seat liners- at each flush, the old liner goes down and a new one is put on the seat.
Let me ask you-- how many times have the automatic flushers worked good for you? have you ever walked into a stall that HADN'T been flushed? or had one flush before you were ready? (and splashed you in the process?) or had one not to the full job it's supposed to do. Have you had to wave your hands around in some weird ritual-trying to get water or paper? You, too, have been a victim of progress.
One day, having endured all this progress with disgruntlement, I got to wondering where the progress would end. How far are we willing to go to save energy and protect against germs? Will the future hold automatic wipers on public toilets? What about automatic shakers/tappers/ zipper-uppers at public urinals? This is a very slippery slope we stand on the precipice of.
Oh, and who will test the product?
While in the restroom, I noticed that the toilets were the automatic flushing kind, and the paper towel dispensers were the automatic kind. Some restrooms have automatic water dispensers, I've even seen restroom with automatic seat liners- at each flush, the old liner goes down and a new one is put on the seat.
Let me ask you-- how many times have the automatic flushers worked good for you? have you ever walked into a stall that HADN'T been flushed? or had one flush before you were ready? (and splashed you in the process?) or had one not to the full job it's supposed to do. Have you had to wave your hands around in some weird ritual-trying to get water or paper? You, too, have been a victim of progress.
One day, having endured all this progress with disgruntlement, I got to wondering where the progress would end. How far are we willing to go to save energy and protect against germs? Will the future hold automatic wipers on public toilets? What about automatic shakers/tappers/ zipper-uppers at public urinals? This is a very slippery slope we stand on the precipice of.
Oh, and who will test the product?
Saturday, January 17, 2009
fuzzy face I love you
Apparently those who keep track of such things have determined that hairy chests are coming back in. Yeah, I know, who knew that they were ever out. I'm all over hair on men. I want my man to look like a man, his legs and chest and face should be hairier than mine. I like manly men.
And I guess the knowers-of-useless-knowledge say that is the reason. The age of the metrosexual is gone, no more sensitive guys for us. We're going caveman. Whatever forces out there (ecomony, weather, age, hormones) control our preferences are pushing us toward the hunter-type of yore. The warrior. The Manly Man. And the manly man has hair.
Since the average person on the street doesn't display or see chest hair (unless he is a gorilla, and then we don't WANT to see- there is such a thing as too MUCH of a good thing), lets talk about the male hair we do see.
Before I go on- I do need to clarify that not all manly men have facial hair- that doesn't mean they aren't manly men. Manly men just don't have chest-hairdos like they have fair-hairdos, so we have nothing to talk about.
face hair comes in many different varieties, and I like them all- full beard is great, long or short is fine, just don't do the Capt. Jack Sparrow thing and make it into tiny braids with beads. Neat and clean please. I can run my fingers thru it, and you can tickle me in all sorts of interesting places with it.
the moustache is nice too, just make sure you have enough hair to sport one, 16 hairs below your nose is NOT a 'stache. Let me get my tweezers and deal with that problem. I personally like the feeling of kissing a guy with a moustache, but I understand it was not for everyone- my mom told dad she'd divorce him if he grew one. He never did, and they will be celebrating 50 years of wedded (mostly) blisss this year. He did however grow a beard for a while- Abe Lincoln style, he actually looked like Honest Abe, when we showed pictures of him, folks would do a double take wondering how we got the 16th president in our living room. \
The we get into all the variations -- the goatee beard only, no 'stache, no 'burns; Sideburns a la Elvis; the soul patch a small polka dot of hair just below the bottom lip on NASCAR drivers and 20-something kids; the vandyke beard and 'stache, no 'burns; fu-manchu moustache, handle bar moustache, (sigh).
What ever variety of fuzzy face you choose, the only caveat is to make sure you have the hairs to grow is. We should NOT see skin between the hair. And the scruffy look can only be pulled off by some specialized type of men-- fat rednecks cannot pull it off, they will just look redneckier. Athletic college boys with charming personalities and clean neat clothes can.
OH, and if you want to make sure that your wife/girlfriend/shack-up doesn't end up wearing Department of Corrections orange (it's not a good fashion statement) and you don't end up 6 feet under with a nice marble rock- CLEAN THE SINK after you shave. We like little tiny hairs growing out of your face, not decorating the sink and counter.
And I guess the knowers-of-useless-knowledge say that is the reason. The age of the metrosexual is gone, no more sensitive guys for us. We're going caveman. Whatever forces out there (ecomony, weather, age, hormones) control our preferences are pushing us toward the hunter-type of yore. The warrior. The Manly Man. And the manly man has hair.
Since the average person on the street doesn't display or see chest hair (unless he is a gorilla, and then we don't WANT to see- there is such a thing as too MUCH of a good thing), lets talk about the male hair we do see.
Before I go on- I do need to clarify that not all manly men have facial hair- that doesn't mean they aren't manly men. Manly men just don't have chest-hairdos like they have fair-hairdos, so we have nothing to talk about.
face hair comes in many different varieties, and I like them all- full beard is great, long or short is fine, just don't do the Capt. Jack Sparrow thing and make it into tiny braids with beads. Neat and clean please. I can run my fingers thru it, and you can tickle me in all sorts of interesting places with it.
the moustache is nice too, just make sure you have enough hair to sport one, 16 hairs below your nose is NOT a 'stache. Let me get my tweezers and deal with that problem. I personally like the feeling of kissing a guy with a moustache, but I understand it was not for everyone- my mom told dad she'd divorce him if he grew one. He never did, and they will be celebrating 50 years of wedded (mostly) blisss this year. He did however grow a beard for a while- Abe Lincoln style, he actually looked like Honest Abe, when we showed pictures of him, folks would do a double take wondering how we got the 16th president in our living room. \
The we get into all the variations -- the goatee beard only, no 'stache, no 'burns; Sideburns a la Elvis; the soul patch a small polka dot of hair just below the bottom lip on NASCAR drivers and 20-something kids; the vandyke beard and 'stache, no 'burns; fu-manchu moustache, handle bar moustache, (sigh).
What ever variety of fuzzy face you choose, the only caveat is to make sure you have the hairs to grow is. We should NOT see skin between the hair. And the scruffy look can only be pulled off by some specialized type of men-- fat rednecks cannot pull it off, they will just look redneckier. Athletic college boys with charming personalities and clean neat clothes can.
OH, and if you want to make sure that your wife/girlfriend/shack-up doesn't end up wearing Department of Corrections orange (it's not a good fashion statement) and you don't end up 6 feet under with a nice marble rock- CLEAN THE SINK after you shave. We like little tiny hairs growing out of your face, not decorating the sink and counter.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The cost of kindness
There is a lovely resident at our assisted living, I had met her YEARS ago through one of the organizations I joined as a young bride. She wasn't a regular attendee of these meetings but at some point we did meet, and I know (knew) who, at least one of her boys was because he was a retired big-wig in our state level organization.
I'm going to call this lovely resident Shirley, Shirley Goodness. We don't have any residents named Mercy, but Shirley makes up for it- Shirley Goodness shall follow me all the hours of my shift.
As happens with those that are youth-challenged, they become forgetful. Shirley has even forgotten who's forgetful. Every night, she asks me if she can go to bed now- starting at 6:15 when she leaves the supper table - and every night I tell her, not yet, I will come and get her ready when it's her bedtime. And every night she asks me "you won't forget me, will you?" or she says , "Now, don't forget me". It becomes a regular litany. Everytime I pass by her room, sometimes she even comes looking for me to recite her litany.
When my boys, Bob, Bob and Bob, were little and they would start in on their litanies... 'are we there yet?', 'when are we gonna go [insert activity in vogue here]', I could respond with something very parental, like "Don't make me stop this car" or "we can still go back home", or the all time horror phrase, "If you ask me again, we won't be going anywhere". This technique works well with children. But just imagining the major meltdown that Shirley Goodness would have if I told her "If you ask me again, I won't put you to bed at all" lets me know that this is one instandce that requires ME to cool my jets.
So I smile, tell her (again) how many minutes it will be until I"m there to help and remember not too long ago when she came into the hallway and asked me to "get rid of that man I don't like". With visions of mobsters and tommy-guns ( 'he had it coming....') I was invited into her room, with an impatient sweep of her hand, she pointed out the man I was to get rid of. A push of the power button on the TV , and I had 'gotten rid' of an unwanted man. And Shirley Goodness thanked me profusely.
Too bad we can't get rid of all our problems so easily. Too bad acts of kindness aren't always so simple or quick. But, whatever their cost, they are always worth every effort and the time.
I'm going to call this lovely resident Shirley, Shirley Goodness. We don't have any residents named Mercy, but Shirley makes up for it- Shirley Goodness shall follow me all the hours of my shift.
As happens with those that are youth-challenged, they become forgetful. Shirley has even forgotten who's forgetful. Every night, she asks me if she can go to bed now- starting at 6:15 when she leaves the supper table - and every night I tell her, not yet, I will come and get her ready when it's her bedtime. And every night she asks me "you won't forget me, will you?" or she says , "Now, don't forget me". It becomes a regular litany. Everytime I pass by her room, sometimes she even comes looking for me to recite her litany.
When my boys, Bob, Bob and Bob, were little and they would start in on their litanies... 'are we there yet?', 'when are we gonna go [insert activity in vogue here]', I could respond with something very parental, like "Don't make me stop this car" or "we can still go back home", or the all time horror phrase, "If you ask me again, we won't be going anywhere". This technique works well with children. But just imagining the major meltdown that Shirley Goodness would have if I told her "If you ask me again, I won't put you to bed at all" lets me know that this is one instandce that requires ME to cool my jets.
So I smile, tell her (again) how many minutes it will be until I"m there to help and remember not too long ago when she came into the hallway and asked me to "get rid of that man I don't like". With visions of mobsters and tommy-guns ( 'he had it coming....') I was invited into her room, with an impatient sweep of her hand, she pointed out the man I was to get rid of. A push of the power button on the TV , and I had 'gotten rid' of an unwanted man. And Shirley Goodness thanked me profusely.
Too bad we can't get rid of all our problems so easily. Too bad acts of kindness aren't always so simple or quick. But, whatever their cost, they are always worth every effort and the time.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Men-- perpetually male
The male of our species do not change. It's Jeff Foxworthy, I think, that has a bit in his routine about what a man think about. And he tells us...." I'd like a beer, and I'd like to see something nekkid". (For those of you who don't know, this comedian is from the south. In the south they don't run around "naked", they run around "nekkid")
But south, north, east or west- men don't change.
A square dancing club came in one night to the assisted living to entertain the residents. Since most had gone to their rooms, I went and let them know that the dancers were here, would they like to come watch. One of our gentlemen residents- I'll call him Bob, -as a matter of fact, I'll call ALL the males I talk about here "Bob"- anyway, when I told Bob that the dancers were here, he asked what kind of dancers. I told him square dancers, he replied that he 'guessed not'. But added that next time we should get strippers in- he'd be right there to watch, and he bet another resident, Bob, would be to watch too.
So, ladies, let this be a warning to you, even when they are too old to cut the mustard, ya still can't make nothing out of 'em but a man
But south, north, east or west- men don't change.
A square dancing club came in one night to the assisted living to entertain the residents. Since most had gone to their rooms, I went and let them know that the dancers were here, would they like to come watch. One of our gentlemen residents- I'll call him Bob, -as a matter of fact, I'll call ALL the males I talk about here "Bob"- anyway, when I told Bob that the dancers were here, he asked what kind of dancers. I told him square dancers, he replied that he 'guessed not'. But added that next time we should get strippers in- he'd be right there to watch, and he bet another resident, Bob, would be to watch too.
So, ladies, let this be a warning to you, even when they are too old to cut the mustard, ya still can't make nothing out of 'em but a man
Sunday, November 30, 2008
TCB
Takin' care of buddies. We all want someone to take care of us. We want to be loved and cherished and appreciated for what we do for our friends and families. We don't want medals, but we want to know that the chicken soup when you were sick was welcomed. BUT problems seem to arise when the usual care-giver is in need of caring, or both halves of a couple need caring FOR. That seems to have been theme in my life for the last month or so, and I'm REALLY tired of it.
Normally, I can park the sick kid in my bed, with the TV remote and whatever he feels like eating or drinking, check on him every few hours from work, or home. Or have some sort of supper cooked and in the fridge ready for the microwave for when Mr. Man gets home and is cold and hungry, and I'm in bed. Normally, I'm not the one who needs caring.
This semester has not been normal. Due to bureaucratic miscommunication and quitters at work, I found myself going to school full time AND working full time..... and part time. Many things were let to slide at home (it's a really good thing my children know how to cook and do laundry), and in my relationships. I think I texted my children more than I actually spoke to them this past month. Mr. Man would be crawling into bed when I was headed off to work, and I would be crawling into bed when he was getting up to go to work. About a month ago, I ended up working 48 hours in a row, then jumping in a private plane (no headphones) to go off for our fun adult weekend with 2 other couples-- I was a major mess. I was ready to collapse, literally. I REALLY needed to be taken care of. I was dropped off at the hotel (with the luggage) and I asked Mr. Man to bring me back something to eat, and just leave it on the dresser, I'd eat when I woke up.
I woke up just 3 hours later, but no food...... I called him, and he was out having a good time and told me they hadn't come back, so he hadn't brought me anything. That went on for several more hours. I'm not sure what I was angry about- that he didn't take care of me, that he didn't read my mind, that he didn't put my needs before his or those of the people he was with, or that he was out "having fun" while I was playing the waiting game at the hotel.
Thanksgiving saw about 20-some family members all together, and someone brought a virus. Because on satuday, MANY of us were sick, in about 4 households, at least 9 of us were sick- and I haven't talked with 3 others who were there to see if they were sick. So once again, I needed some caring, and all I got was sick family members.
I think I"m gonna write to the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Pope, and the Patriarch of Constantinople to rewrite the marriage vows so the only ONE person is allowed to be sick or in need of care at a time. Wonder who I would write to about mind reading.
Thankfully, I have had some awesome friends who, knowing I didn't have a working stove for about the last month, sent over meatloaf, banana bread, shredded beef, and a casserole so we could just throw in the microwave. I also have some awesome friends who understand my somewhat sick, somewhat off kilter sense of humor. My friends have truly kept my cheese on my cracker this semester, and I love you all!!!!!!!!!!!!
Normally, I can park the sick kid in my bed, with the TV remote and whatever he feels like eating or drinking, check on him every few hours from work, or home. Or have some sort of supper cooked and in the fridge ready for the microwave for when Mr. Man gets home and is cold and hungry, and I'm in bed. Normally, I'm not the one who needs caring.
This semester has not been normal. Due to bureaucratic miscommunication and quitters at work, I found myself going to school full time AND working full time..... and part time. Many things were let to slide at home (it's a really good thing my children know how to cook and do laundry), and in my relationships. I think I texted my children more than I actually spoke to them this past month. Mr. Man would be crawling into bed when I was headed off to work, and I would be crawling into bed when he was getting up to go to work. About a month ago, I ended up working 48 hours in a row, then jumping in a private plane (no headphones) to go off for our fun adult weekend with 2 other couples-- I was a major mess. I was ready to collapse, literally. I REALLY needed to be taken care of. I was dropped off at the hotel (with the luggage) and I asked Mr. Man to bring me back something to eat, and just leave it on the dresser, I'd eat when I woke up.
I woke up just 3 hours later, but no food...... I called him, and he was out having a good time and told me they hadn't come back, so he hadn't brought me anything. That went on for several more hours. I'm not sure what I was angry about- that he didn't take care of me, that he didn't read my mind, that he didn't put my needs before his or those of the people he was with, or that he was out "having fun" while I was playing the waiting game at the hotel.
Thanksgiving saw about 20-some family members all together, and someone brought a virus. Because on satuday, MANY of us were sick, in about 4 households, at least 9 of us were sick- and I haven't talked with 3 others who were there to see if they were sick. So once again, I needed some caring, and all I got was sick family members.
I think I"m gonna write to the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Pope, and the Patriarch of Constantinople to rewrite the marriage vows so the only ONE person is allowed to be sick or in need of care at a time. Wonder who I would write to about mind reading.
Thankfully, I have had some awesome friends who, knowing I didn't have a working stove for about the last month, sent over meatloaf, banana bread, shredded beef, and a casserole so we could just throw in the microwave. I also have some awesome friends who understand my somewhat sick, somewhat off kilter sense of humor. My friends have truly kept my cheese on my cracker this semester, and I love you all!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, October 20, 2008
LIFE isn't for sissies
I've thought several times of starting a blog, but only now have actually done it. Welcome to the debutof my blog. What to call it has been a bit of a dilemma, I am an estrogen island in a sea of testosterone (3 sons, no daughters, 1 husband, no wives)-- but I am also a night shift worker at the local assisted living-- but I am also a teacher. OK, I WAS a teacher, now I am a student- teacher and teacher wannabe until the great state of redneck decides I have paid enough penance and $$$ for letting my license lapse while I stayed home raising potentially productive members of society. So for now I substitute and study and stay up nights for the old folks.
Now, THAT is a roller coaster ride too, let me tell you. My nice little part time 8 hour shift job became a full time 12 hour shift job about the same time my full time teacher classes started getting hot & heavy. And trying to schedule subbing and student teaching into this mess has been very entertaining- and I don't mean that in a good way.
Once when I was not checking the schedule CAREFULLY, I found myself driving 40 miles to student teacher thursday morning, home to change clothes (OH- don't forget crossing the time zone change each way), bopping up to the assisted living for the 12 hour overnight shift, home friday morning for a hour or so cat nap- up and dressed to sub at school (here, not in the other time zone- thank you Baby Jesus in the Manger)- home after school for a 2 hour cat nap- then back to the assisted living for the next 12 hour overnight shift. I think a deer could have jumped in the back seat of my car on saturday morning, and I wouldn't have noticed it.
I've been doing this night shift thing for almost a year now, so I can handle the up-all-night thing (fond memories- and some not so fond memories- of college days), but the working for 48 hours straight is nuts!!!! YES, my fault- but when you have college costs (me and the first born son) and 2 in braces, .... well.... I learned a long time ago, "sah-blah-nuits", or as we say in English "this, too, shall pass"
Back to the naming of my blog- well, there were so many aspects of my life, and life in general, that were/are going to make an appearance in my mental meanderings, so many varied experiences, both mine and other folks, that I decided that "Tale from (insert special aspect here)" was just too limiting and a friend has already taken "Life is not for sissies" (yes, I KNOW it's "THIS life..... " I was making a point, heifer!) I needed another thought.
More mental meanderings kept me in the same thought-- old age isn't for sissies, motherhood isn't for sissies, teaching isn't for sissies, whatever you are into at a quality level isn't for sissies.
Indeed Life is not for the faint of heart- You aren't getting out of it alive.
So there you go, the blog has been named- You don't get out alive. Tales from the life of a wife, mother, and general crazy woman.
Now, THAT is a roller coaster ride too, let me tell you. My nice little part time 8 hour shift job became a full time 12 hour shift job about the same time my full time teacher classes started getting hot & heavy. And trying to schedule subbing and student teaching into this mess has been very entertaining- and I don't mean that in a good way.
Once when I was not checking the schedule CAREFULLY, I found myself driving 40 miles to student teacher thursday morning, home to change clothes (OH- don't forget crossing the time zone change each way), bopping up to the assisted living for the 12 hour overnight shift, home friday morning for a hour or so cat nap- up and dressed to sub at school (here, not in the other time zone- thank you Baby Jesus in the Manger)- home after school for a 2 hour cat nap- then back to the assisted living for the next 12 hour overnight shift. I think a deer could have jumped in the back seat of my car on saturday morning, and I wouldn't have noticed it.
I've been doing this night shift thing for almost a year now, so I can handle the up-all-night thing (fond memories- and some not so fond memories- of college days), but the working for 48 hours straight is nuts!!!! YES, my fault- but when you have college costs (me and the first born son) and 2 in braces, .... well.... I learned a long time ago, "sah-blah-nuits", or as we say in English "this, too, shall pass"
Back to the naming of my blog- well, there were so many aspects of my life, and life in general, that were/are going to make an appearance in my mental meanderings, so many varied experiences, both mine and other folks, that I decided that "Tale from (insert special aspect here)" was just too limiting and a friend has already taken "Life is not for sissies" (yes, I KNOW it's "THIS life..... " I was making a point, heifer!) I needed another thought.
More mental meanderings kept me in the same thought-- old age isn't for sissies, motherhood isn't for sissies, teaching isn't for sissies, whatever you are into at a quality level isn't for sissies.
Indeed Life is not for the faint of heart- You aren't getting out of it alive.
So there you go, the blog has been named- You don't get out alive. Tales from the life of a wife, mother, and general crazy woman.
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