1. Mom!
2. I want you to HEEEEELP me.
3. I didn't plan on it.
4. Did you wash my clothes?
5. What's for supper?
6. I'm not hungry.
7. I forgot.
8. Can I play Webkinz World?
9. I didn't hear you.
10. What?
11. How are you feeling today?
12. When are you due again?
13. I'm ready for it to be spring.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Busy, busy!
This is what Steve has done today:
7:35 -- got out of bed
7:36 -- took a bagel and milk to the recliner
7:37 - 8:25 -- watched TV
8:26 - 8:37 -- walked Benjamin to school (because I told him to)
8:38 - present -- watched TV
I have been nauseated and dizzy and exhausted all day so I had to lay down a couple hours ago. What has Sarah been doing since? Watching TV.
Just ASK ME how I feel about this.
Update. Steve must have felt guilty for being a such a massive loser earlier today. He came home from a fire call, played DOLL HOUSE with Sarah, and is now taking the kids to see baby chickens hatching at one of the elementary schools. WHOA.
7:35 -- got out of bed
7:36 -- took a bagel and milk to the recliner
7:37 - 8:25 -- watched TV
8:26 - 8:37 -- walked Benjamin to school (because I told him to)
8:38 - present -- watched TV
I have been nauseated and dizzy and exhausted all day so I had to lay down a couple hours ago. What has Sarah been doing since? Watching TV.
Just ASK ME how I feel about this.
Update. Steve must have felt guilty for being a such a massive loser earlier today. He came home from a fire call, played DOLL HOUSE with Sarah, and is now taking the kids to see baby chickens hatching at one of the elementary schools. WHOA.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Theo's Pizza
Called Theo's Pizza today. "Home of the five dollar pizza." We were in town and decided to give it a try.
Pffftttt.
"Thank you for calling Theo's Pizza."
"Hi. Could you tell me what specials you have today?"
"WHAT."
"Specials. Do you have any specials today?"
"We have.... um...today is Wednesday. We only have the $5 pizza. And the medium for $4."
"How big is the $5 one?"
"It's 14" and the medium one is 12"."
"Ok, what does the $5 one come with for toppings, how many?"
"The medium one comes with 1-topping, and the large does too."
"The large is the 14"?"
"Yes and the medium is 12"."
"Ok. I am absolutely, in no way interested in the medium. The $5 is 14" and comes with one topping, correct?"
"Yes. The 12" does too. We just found that some people didn't like as much pizza so we thought we would offer a smaller one at the $4 price."
I hung up.
Called back a few minute later.
"Theo's Pizza."
"Hi. We need to order two $5 pizzas for about 12:15."
"Ok. Can I get your name, honey?"
"Mollie."
"Could you say that again, honey?"
"MOLLIE."
"I'm sorry sweetie, could you spell that for me?"
"M-O-L-L-I-E."
"M-O-L-L -- what was the rest?"
"I-E."
"Thank you, honey. Now what was it you wanted to order?"
"Two $5 pizzas to be picked up at 12:15."
"And what would you like on those?"
"Do they come with just one topping?" (Lol! I had to ask!!!)
"Yes, dear."
At this point I almost took a moment to inform her that I most certainly was NOT a sweetie by ANY stretch of the imagination, nor was I her "honey", or anyone else's, for that matter. I didn't.
"One with just sausage, and one with extra cheese."
"Ok, honey. One with sausage and the other with cheese and extra cheese." (So does the first one come with cheese too? See below for a rant on this topic.)
"Yes. Do you sell 2-liters there too?"
"Yes we do, sweetie. You can just pick one out when you get here."
"Ok. Thank you."
"Thank you, sweetie, and we will see you at 12:15."
So the cheese rant. I HATE IT when people have this conversation:
"What did you want on your pizza?"
"Sausage and cheese."
"You mean extra cheese?"
"No."
"Well cheese comes on the pizza."
"Oh. Ok. Then just sausage."
Have you EVER heard of pizza ANYWHERE on the PLANET being made without cheese? EVER?? Why do people in this modern, pizza-eating world still think that it is necessary to request CHEESE on PIZZA?
Pffftttt.
"Thank you for calling Theo's Pizza."
"Hi. Could you tell me what specials you have today?"
"WHAT."
"Specials. Do you have any specials today?"
"We have.... um...today is Wednesday. We only have the $5 pizza. And the medium for $4."
"How big is the $5 one?"
"It's 14" and the medium one is 12"."
"Ok, what does the $5 one come with for toppings, how many?"
"The medium one comes with 1-topping, and the large does too."
"The large is the 14"?"
"Yes and the medium is 12"."
"Ok. I am absolutely, in no way interested in the medium. The $5 is 14" and comes with one topping, correct?"
"Yes. The 12" does too. We just found that some people didn't like as much pizza so we thought we would offer a smaller one at the $4 price."
I hung up.
Called back a few minute later.
"Theo's Pizza."
"Hi. We need to order two $5 pizzas for about 12:15."
"Ok. Can I get your name, honey?"
"Mollie."
"Could you say that again, honey?"
"MOLLIE."
"I'm sorry sweetie, could you spell that for me?"
"M-O-L-L-I-E."
"M-O-L-L -- what was the rest?"
"I-E."
"Thank you, honey. Now what was it you wanted to order?"
"Two $5 pizzas to be picked up at 12:15."
"And what would you like on those?"
"Do they come with just one topping?" (Lol! I had to ask!!!)
"Yes, dear."
At this point I almost took a moment to inform her that I most certainly was NOT a sweetie by ANY stretch of the imagination, nor was I her "honey", or anyone else's, for that matter. I didn't.
"One with just sausage, and one with extra cheese."
"Ok, honey. One with sausage and the other with cheese and extra cheese." (So does the first one come with cheese too? See below for a rant on this topic.)
"Yes. Do you sell 2-liters there too?"
"Yes we do, sweetie. You can just pick one out when you get here."
"Ok. Thank you."
"Thank you, sweetie, and we will see you at 12:15."
So the cheese rant. I HATE IT when people have this conversation:
"What did you want on your pizza?"
"Sausage and cheese."
"You mean extra cheese?"
"No."
"Well cheese comes on the pizza."
"Oh. Ok. Then just sausage."
Have you EVER heard of pizza ANYWHERE on the PLANET being made without cheese? EVER?? Why do people in this modern, pizza-eating world still think that it is necessary to request CHEESE on PIZZA?
Two-Faced
I've decided that I am quite tired of people being two-faced. I think all this really shows is cowardliness.
Examples? Of course I have examples.
1. "I went to Costco today."
"Oh! I've never been there. I would love to see it sometime."
"Oh! I'll call you the next time we are planning on going. You can come with us to check it out."
Three weeks pass.
"I went to Costco today."
"Oh. I thought you were going to tell me so I could go along."
"Uh. Well I had to stop somewhere else, and I needed to be home at a certain time, and I had to drop something off somewhere, and I didn't know exactly what time we were leaving....."
This shows that the earlier invitation to Costco was made out of sympathy, but with no real intent to back it up. Guess what -- I have lived 34 years of my life without being in Costco. I am fairly certain that an empty invitation was not necessary in order for me to continue living not knowing about the greatness of such a place.
2. "Hey, I'd love to get together sometime; our kids would probably love playing."
"Ok. I have nothing planned for most of this week and could come over anyday, or you could come over here, or we could just meet at a park or something."
No phone calls the rest of the week. Next meeting:
"I was waiting for you to call last week. We had nothing to do and Sarah was begging to play with."
"Oh, well had a cold one day, and then we had to go grocery shopping, and I decided to go to the outlet mall in Oshkosh and found the GREATEST deal on kids jackets! I just forgot."
For a whole week? I live 10 blocks away from you. Its not possible that you ever drove past my house and thought, "Oh that's right -- our kids wanted to get together." Well, guess what again -- if I had not been banking on your (empty) promise of getting together I would have PLANNED something else to do. But, not wanting to offend you or having to blow you off when I had previously claimed to be free all week, I waited to schedule with you before planning anything else.
3. "It would be great to get together and talk sometime. Let's do it when our husbands are home so we can be kidless."
"Sounds great. Steve works this week Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, but I think any other day should be good."
"Ok, I'll check's schedule and let you know a good time for me."
Week passes.
"Hey I was waiting to hear from you about getting together."
"Oh I didn't know your schedule and waiting for you to call me."
Well most people have known me long enough, and well enough, to know that when Steve is working -- he is GONE for 24 hours, but is otherwise home and available to stay with the kids. My schedule is not a difficult thing to figure out in advance. In fact, I can tell you when I will have days free around Christmas because I know that Steve will be working the day before and the day after, but will have off Christmas Day. I am not the one who is unable to plan things in advance. If you do not want to get together to "talk", then don't say you want to.
Basically if you don't want to see me, then don't say you do. You are not going to break my heart. I am grown up enough to know that not everyone can be the best of friends with everyone else all the time. To me, a sign of true friendship is following through with plans or intents, and is telling someone flat-out when you don't have time or ambition to "hook up" this week.
I have grown very frustrated with people who call themselves adults yet do not have the GUTS to act like one when dealing with other people.
Examples? Of course I have examples.
1. "I went to Costco today."
"Oh! I've never been there. I would love to see it sometime."
"Oh! I'll call you the next time we are planning on going. You can come with us to check it out."
"I went to Costco today."
"Oh. I thought you were going to tell me so I could go along."
"Uh. Well I had to stop somewhere else, and I needed to be home at a certain time, and I had to drop something off somewhere, and I didn't know exactly what time we were leaving....."
This shows that the earlier invitation to Costco was made out of sympathy, but with no real intent to back it up. Guess what -- I have lived 34 years of my life without being in Costco. I am fairly certain that an empty invitation was not necessary in order for me to continue living not knowing about the greatness of such a place.
2. "Hey, I'd love to get together sometime; our kids would probably love playing."
"Ok. I have nothing planned for most of this week and could come over anyday, or you could come over here, or we could just meet at a park or something."
No phone calls the rest of the week. Next meeting:
"I was waiting for you to call last week. We had nothing to do and Sarah was begging to play with
"Oh, well
For a whole week? I live 10 blocks away from you. Its not possible that you ever drove past my house and thought, "Oh that's right -- our kids wanted to get together." Well, guess what again -- if I had not been banking on your (empty) promise of getting together I would have PLANNED something else to do. But, not wanting to offend you or having to blow you off when I had previously claimed to be free all week, I waited to schedule with you before planning anything else.
3. "It would be great to get together and talk sometime. Let's do it when our husbands are home so we can be kidless."
"Sounds great. Steve works this week Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, but I think any other day should be good."
"Ok, I'll check
Week passes.
"Hey I was waiting to hear from you about getting together."
"Oh I didn't know your schedule and waiting for you to call me."
Well most people have known me long enough, and well enough, to know that when Steve is working -- he is GONE for 24 hours, but is otherwise home and available to stay with the kids. My schedule is not a difficult thing to figure out in advance. In fact, I can tell you when I will have days free around Christmas because I know that Steve will be working the day before and the day after, but will have off Christmas Day. I am not the one who is unable to plan things in advance. If you do not want to get together to "talk", then don't say you want to.
Basically if you don't want to see me, then don't say you do. You are not going to break my heart. I am grown up enough to know that not everyone can be the best of friends with everyone else all the time. To me, a sign of true friendship is following through with plans or intents, and is telling someone flat-out when you don't have time or ambition to "hook up" this week.
I have grown very frustrated with people who call themselves adults yet do not have the GUTS to act like one when dealing with other people.
People who were pigs in high school are still pigs
I ran into the Home Depot garden center the other day on a mission to find some grass seed for my mother. I only had a few minutes, and not a lot of patience. I walked into the outside entrance and immediately noticed an overweight, inappropriately-dressed, loud, obnoxious, trashy-looking female with three little kids standing precisely in the middle of the walkway whining to the Home Depot employee about something.
I went around.
Looked everywhere for grass seed. This is spring (according to the calendar -- not the weather). People plant grass. Should be easy to find. It wasn't.
I came back to the entrance worker chick and said, "I need to find some cheap grass seed", somewhat indicating the not-so-cheap display of grass seed I was standing right next to ($28 for a tiny bag??) She looked up from counting money and said, "I don't know where it is. I would have to find Joe." She didn't indicate that she was actually going to be LOOKING for Joe, nor did she indicate that she cared that she didn't know where it was. (I was kind of wanting to ask for things until I found something she DID know about -- just to see if there was something.) She then went back to counting money. I stood there for about another 20 seconds wondering if the conversation was now over in her mind, or if I was supposed to be waiting for the mystical Joe to surface. I kind of looked around and saw nothing but the side-to-side sway of the very large rearend of trailer trash girl from above.
I decided that since money-counter wasn't going to find Joe I would have to do it myself. Plus I was completely out of time by this point. I wandered the aisles for a bit, eventually coming back to money-counter, planning to give her a very long, hard look-of-death until she either figured out her job, or found Joe. En route to the entrance, I nearly ran into trailer trash chick, but she took a quick right into a different aisle with the three girls following her. I noticed that the girls all had their arms linked and were pretty cute, laughing as they followed trailer trash mom around. Trailer trash mom turned around at one point and said, "Hey! Which one of you just kicked my foot?" She had a little smirky smile on her face and it appeared to me that she was going to tease the girls for following too close. The middle one (probably about age 5) said, " I did."
Now hold your hats for this one.
Trailer trash mom calmly replies to the 5-year-old, "YOU ASSHOLE!!!!!" Shoots her a dirty look and continues on her way. The three girls kind of giggle and continue walking away.
I nearly threw up right where I was standing. I was certainly stunned into being unable to move any further. In fact, I didn't even know what to do. I heard myself hugely GASPING, but was unable to even think that such an appalling, disgusting, embarassing, horrifying event had occured right in front of me. I was actually even unable to MOVE, or I would have definitely confronted trailer trash chick (not that being confrontational is in my nature or anything) -- but I sincerely could not think straight enough to move my feet.
I eventually was able to continue on my way to the money-counter's hut. She met me just in front, and (recognizing me) whipped out the walkie-talkie radio.
"Yeeeeaaahhhh, I got a customer here who needs some cheap grass seed."
"najshfshfshjkd"
"I GOT A CUSTOMER WHO NEEDS CHEAP GRASS SEED."
"snmkfjsj fnadhfio nfjdahfio kohd ksifu oeurioywe mcndrisoa fjdjuahsjbf"
And she stops and looks at me. "Did you hear that?"
I looked around because I didn't truly believe she was talking to me, but alas, she was. "No."
"He [Joe???] says that there are a bunch of different kinds in aisle 48; there's some cheap stuff there too. All different prices." She stares at me for a minute as though my question has been answered and I need to go away now. She then begins to turn back to the hut.
"Uh -- so where is aisle 48." (I see no numbers anywhere.)
"Oh. Right inside the door. That's aisle 50." She points with the radio antenna.
Well its a good thing I can count - -forward AND backward. I found aisle 48, checked out the grass seed, was appalled by their prices, and turned to leave. At the exit door I ran into the three little girls who had earlier been with trailer trash chick. The oldest is bawling her fool head off and holding the side of her face. Super-paramedic kicked in and I figured I should at least make sure she wasn't disfigured or bleeding to death. She explained to me what happened, and -- seeing that she was ok -- I turned to go. When I stood back up, here comes trailer trash chick.
And it was TAMI BUHLER from high school! For those of your privileged enough to know this disgusting waste of humanity back then, I am in the happy position of being able to inform you that NOTHING has changed for her since then. In the few seconds that elapsed before she reached the scene of the injury -- and before I JETTED out of there -- I did notice a few overwhlemingly attractive things about her.
1. Still has big hair, notably the large poofy bangs.
2. Has approximately 15 tattoos (I was thankfully not close enough to see them specifically) across her entire chest and down her arms. (yummy)
3. Was wearing a no-bra spaghetti strap tank top (yes, this is what inspired the clothing-for-your-body-type rant) in a nice picnic tablecloth, gingham, red-and-white print.
4. Was wearing shredded jean shorts.
5. Blue eyeshadow.
I turned and nearly RAN out of the store. I seriously feared that I would spit in her face, punch her as hard as I could right in the mouth, or kidnap the three beautiful little girls if I were to stay around any longer. As I am RAPIDLY departing, I hear her again B&#*@ING at the girls for screwing around, blah, blah, blah.
I was seriously nauseated by this experience, and I HIGHLY doubt that I will ever be able to go back to the Home Depot garden center without rekindling the feelings of RAGE that were initiated that day.
People are disgusting. Why should a story such as this surprise me?
I went around.
Looked everywhere for grass seed. This is spring (according to the calendar -- not the weather). People plant grass. Should be easy to find. It wasn't.
I came back to the entrance worker chick and said, "I need to find some cheap grass seed", somewhat indicating the not-so-cheap display of grass seed I was standing right next to ($28 for a tiny bag??) She looked up from counting money and said, "I don't know where it is. I would have to find Joe." She didn't indicate that she was actually going to be LOOKING for Joe, nor did she indicate that she cared that she didn't know where it was. (I was kind of wanting to ask for things until I found something she DID know about -- just to see if there was something.) She then went back to counting money. I stood there for about another 20 seconds wondering if the conversation was now over in her mind, or if I was supposed to be waiting for the mystical Joe to surface. I kind of looked around and saw nothing but the side-to-side sway of the very large rearend of trailer trash girl from above.
I decided that since money-counter wasn't going to find Joe I would have to do it myself. Plus I was completely out of time by this point. I wandered the aisles for a bit, eventually coming back to money-counter, planning to give her a very long, hard look-of-death until she either figured out her job, or found Joe. En route to the entrance, I nearly ran into trailer trash chick, but she took a quick right into a different aisle with the three girls following her. I noticed that the girls all had their arms linked and were pretty cute, laughing as they followed trailer trash mom around. Trailer trash mom turned around at one point and said, "Hey! Which one of you just kicked my foot?" She had a little smirky smile on her face and it appeared to me that she was going to tease the girls for following too close. The middle one (probably about age 5) said, "
Now hold your hats for this one.
Trailer trash mom calmly replies to the 5-year-old, "YOU ASSHOLE!!!!!" Shoots her a dirty look and continues on her way. The three girls kind of giggle and continue walking away.
I nearly threw up right where I was standing. I was certainly stunned into being unable to move any further. In fact, I didn't even know what to do. I heard myself hugely GASPING, but was unable to even think that such an appalling, disgusting, embarassing, horrifying event had occured right in front of me. I was actually even unable to MOVE, or I would have definitely confronted trailer trash chick (not that being confrontational is in my nature or anything) -- but I sincerely could not think straight enough to move my feet.
I eventually was able to continue on my way to the money-counter's hut. She met me just in front, and (recognizing me) whipped out the walkie-talkie radio.
"Yeeeeaaahhhh, I got a customer here who needs some cheap grass seed."
"najshfshfshjkd"
"I GOT A CUSTOMER WHO NEEDS CHEAP GRASS SEED."
"snmkfjsj fnadhfio nfjdahfio kohd ksifu oeurioywe mcndrisoa fjdjuahsjbf"
And she stops and looks at me. "Did you hear that?"
I looked around because I didn't truly believe she was talking to me, but alas, she was. "No."
"He [Joe???] says that there are a bunch of different kinds in aisle 48; there's some cheap stuff there too. All different prices." She stares at me for a minute as though my question has been answered and I need to go away now. She then begins to turn back to the hut.
"Uh -- so where is aisle 48." (I see no numbers anywhere.)
"Oh. Right inside the door. That's aisle 50." She points with the radio antenna.
Well its a good thing I can count - -forward AND backward. I found aisle 48, checked out the grass seed, was appalled by their prices, and turned to leave. At the exit door I ran into the three little girls who had earlier been with trailer trash chick. The oldest is bawling her fool head off and holding the side of her face. Super-paramedic kicked in and I figured I should at least make sure she wasn't disfigured or bleeding to death. She explained to me what happened, and -- seeing that she was ok -- I turned to go. When I stood back up, here comes trailer trash chick.
And it was TAMI BUHLER from high school! For those of your privileged enough to know this disgusting waste of humanity back then, I am in the happy position of being able to inform you that NOTHING has changed for her since then. In the few seconds that elapsed before she reached the scene of the injury -- and before I JETTED out of there -- I did notice a few overwhlemingly attractive things about her.
1. Still has big hair, notably the large poofy bangs.
2. Has approximately 15 tattoos (I was thankfully not close enough to see them specifically) across her entire chest and down her arms. (yummy)
3. Was wearing a no-bra spaghetti strap tank top (yes, this is what inspired the clothing-for-your-body-type rant) in a nice picnic tablecloth, gingham, red-and-white print.
4. Was wearing shredded jean shorts.
5. Blue eyeshadow.
I turned and nearly RAN out of the store. I seriously feared that I would spit in her face, punch her as hard as I could right in the mouth, or kidnap the three beautiful little girls if I were to stay around any longer. As I am RAPIDLY departing, I hear her again B&#*@ING at the girls for screwing around, blah, blah, blah.
I was seriously nauseated by this experience, and I HIGHLY doubt that I will ever be able to go back to the Home Depot garden center without rekindling the feelings of RAGE that were initiated that day.
People are disgusting. Why should a story such as this surprise me?
Monday, April 20, 2009
whine whine whine
People have said that I whine a lot in this blog. On the other hand, people have ALSO said that I should write a book as they pee themselves each time they read a new post.
So this is going to be a an entirely positive post of things that I am truly happy about.
1. I am thankful that we are not yet bankrupt given that I am not working; that Steve's job is able to sustain us.
2. I love my car. It runs great, and it perfect for my needs.
3. My kids make me nuts, but at least they are not ugly.
4. I am not stupid. I have heard it said that stupid people do sometimes know that they are stupid, and this would be truly unbearable for me.
5. I am thankful that I am not a fashion model. I like to eat greasy pizza and teen burgers.
6. I am thankful for the handful of friends who have learned to love me for who I am -- sarcastic, realistic, and somewhat DIRECT -- and who can almost appreciate those characteristics.
7. I am thankful that I do not take much very seriously. What a drab life it would be to be panicked and worried and paranoid about everything (and this without Zoloft too!)
8. I am thankful that I know the difference between calculated risk and pure stupidity.
9. I appreciate my give of realism. Although at times frustrating to be the first one to figure out the consequences of a certain decision, I am thankful that I do not waste years of my life making wrong decisions based on idealism.
10. I love that I have learned the true healing and immune-boosting power of chiropractic. What trouble, doctor-visits, and harmful antibiotics and surgeries this has saved me and my children!
11. I love that I am able to make people laugh at themselves and their sometimes disguised stupidity. Everyone needs an occasional boost into reality! I love being able to provide it!
12. I am thankful that I do not have to pay babysitters on a regular basis. What a waste of money!
13. Also related to #12, I am very thankful that I can live a simple life without need for constant diversion outside of my house and family.
14. I am thankful that I have learned the power of destructive eating habits, from fast food to a bag of chips and dip, to eating out at any given restaurant more than once a month -- and even more thankful that I have mastered the self-control needed to avoid this form of self-destruction.
So this is going to be a an entirely positive post of things that I am truly happy about.
1. I am thankful that we are not yet bankrupt given that I am not working; that Steve's job is able to sustain us.
2. I love my car. It runs great, and it perfect for my needs.
3. My kids make me nuts, but at least they are not ugly.
4. I am not stupid. I have heard it said that stupid people do sometimes know that they are stupid, and this would be truly unbearable for me.
5. I am thankful that I am not a fashion model. I like to eat greasy pizza and teen burgers.
6. I am thankful for the handful of friends who have learned to love me for who I am -- sarcastic, realistic, and somewhat DIRECT -- and who can almost appreciate those characteristics.
7. I am thankful that I do not take much very seriously. What a drab life it would be to be panicked and worried and paranoid about everything (and this without Zoloft too!)
8. I am thankful that I know the difference between calculated risk and pure stupidity.
9. I appreciate my give of realism. Although at times frustrating to be the first one to figure out the consequences of a certain decision, I am thankful that I do not waste years of my life making wrong decisions based on idealism.
10. I love that I have learned the true healing and immune-boosting power of chiropractic. What trouble, doctor-visits, and harmful antibiotics and surgeries this has saved me and my children!
11. I love that I am able to make people laugh at themselves and their sometimes disguised stupidity. Everyone needs an occasional boost into reality! I love being able to provide it!
12. I am thankful that I do not have to pay babysitters on a regular basis. What a waste of money!
13. Also related to #12, I am very thankful that I can live a simple life without need for constant diversion outside of my house and family.
14. I am thankful that I have learned the power of destructive eating habits, from fast food to a bag of chips and dip, to eating out at any given restaurant more than once a month -- and even more thankful that I have mastered the self-control needed to avoid this form of self-destruction.
Body types
I can appreciate all body types. Really -- I can; I am no runway model myself, after all. In fact, I am approximately 20 pounds overweight -- and I can't even blame this on the baby yet. Things wiggle when I walk that are not supposed to be wiggling; Sarah once pointed out that my butt jiggles when I brush my teeth (this has long been my standard by which to judge whether I am overweight).
BUT.
I am still at a complete loss at to why people who are extremely overweight, or extremely underweight, show off too much surface area (relative to the amount of surface area they have available to them). I normally don't bother with disclaimers because I tend to feel that if you are not self-aware and cannot laugh at your shortcomings, I am certainly not going to cater to your delusional fantasies about your true reality. But for some people's sake, I will at least say -- WE NEED TO LAUGH AT OURSELVES. GOD MADE US THIS WAY, AND HAS AN OBVIOUS SENSE OF HUMOR. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the crazy ride my brain will take you on.
There are a few classes of clothing that can be used by which to assess if one has appropriately dressed for their body type.
SHORTS:
I was at Kohl's looking for summer maternity clothes. They had about two pairs of shorts, one kind of tank top, and two t-shirts which were made from something similar to cheesecloth (because my bellybutton won't be sticking out enough in 5 months?) I looked at the shorts. I have fat legs. Its a fact. They wobble, and spread out to unmeasureable widths when I sit down. If I sit on the edge of a chair, the flab hangs down about 6 inches below the chair's seat (I happened to notice this in a mirror on the back of a doctor's office door last year -- its really true). I expected that most people who are pregnant are not the stereotypical basketball-type pregnant people. Most people tend to gain a little flab all over the place. On top of my already flabby legs, this little extra flab creates a stunningly flabby effect at around 5 months of pregnancy. I bent over to look at the maternity shorts and realized that the shorts part of them was approximately 3 inches long. That means that when I would sit wearing these shorts, they would rapidly disappear into the great unknown, giving the impression that I was wearing no bottoms whatsoever. Seriously, girls. The stretchy part was actually larger than the denimy part. I could buy pantyhose and wrap those around my butt and achieve the same effect. Now, back to my point -- these shorts would be inappropriate for me to buy (as well as for someone with even a noticeable caboose when NOT pregnant). Not only would these be nauseating when NOT pregnant, but any slight weight gain would instantly render them atrocious unacceptable. Yet the racks were nearly empty. I can appreciate wanting to desperately grab onto that last remaining shred of femininity while growing larger each day, but then -- reality must also play a part in shopping ventures. These shorts would be horrendously inappropriate for someone with flabby legs. The denim part simply would not be able to withstand the pressure of all that flab needing somewhere to spread.
TANK TOPS:
There are several types of tank tops. One type is the normal, Lands' End, fit-under-the-arms-but-not fat-roll-hugging loose type. Another is the spaghetti strap type with the built-in "shelf bra" (have never known what this means; I am just certain that my boobs do not SHELVE appropriately) that hugs your fat rolls all the way down to your waist (and beyond). The last type is the trying-to-be-sexy-but-made-in-a-sweatshop type; these are cute the first day, but rapidly deteriorate following the first hot day or trip through a washer. This last type tends to sag in the armpits, allowing boob material to squish out, and stretch in the neckline, allowing aforementioned boob material to be very visible when bending over to pick up a kid (or another pail of ice cream from the freezer section at Pig).
Let's talk about tank tops. I have found maybe two tank tops in my entire life that truly suit my body type. I got them at Fashion Bug for $9.99 each. They don't stretch out, they don't suck onto my fat rolls, and they don't have a built-in SHELF. These, I would daresay, would be appropriate for most body types. But -- as all girls knows -- once you find something that works, they discontinue it. So they are no longer made (remind me to call that Indonesian sweatshop later...) My alternatives are not so hot. The tank tops I saw in the maternity department that fateful day at Kohl's were a far cry from being acceptable. First of all -- what is UP with the see-through material fad?? It's a TANK TOP -- it's going to be worn when its HOT -- I do not WANT to LAYER it with three other tank tops in order to create a suitably opaque surface! I would have to say that if you try on a tank top and you can see the stitching in the little bow on the front of your bra or the printing on the tag sticking down in back, its too thin.
Spaghetti strap tanks. Where to begin. I will eliminate the discussion of spaghetti strap tanks without the SHELF, because they don't exist anymore. So -- spaghetti strap tanks with the SHELF. Everyone knows you are not wearing a bra. Period. Its a given (see above reason). So I think it is human nature to watch for something to fall out during normal daily activities. In my case, my boobs have doubled in size in the past month and I believe that a previously worn spaghetti strap tank would definitely be hard-pressed to do its containing job. Also, these are supposed to be worn by people with small boobs and 2% body fat, so they tend to wrap snugly around each smidgen of every fat roll all the way to the bottom (including that one that lops over the waistband of the too-tight, but-I-want-to-look-sexy-in-my-lowcut-jeans). If these are coupled with the above maternity short-shorts, there is a good possiblity of looking like a huge balloon not wearing pants and ready to burst at any moment (with a big bellybutton).
PANTS:
This category is a little more forgiving because you can hide a lot-o-lovin' in a good pair of jeans. My main point in this category is the jeans that are so low-cut the zipper is about 1 1/2-inches long -- like the kind where you rip the tips of your nails up trying to grab onto the pull in order to zip them. The area just superior to the hips is where all the fat is supposed to squish in dire situation. If this area is severely minimized, where does all that flab go?? UP and OUT. Yeah -- maybe you (with the help of three friends) can get these jeans on and zipped, but what do you think happens when you stand up, or -- heaven-forbid -- bend over?? That fat has to go somewhere! And it does! I loooooooooove watching someone stiffly walk around in their tight but-aren't-I-so-sexy jeans with the 3-4 inch lop over the top of the jeans. Coupled with a spaghetti strap tank top to securely caress the same lops -- this would have to be the EPITOME of not dressing for your body type. Denial or not; comfortable-with-your-body-type or not, this outfit combo shows just a little to much to everyone else behind you.
I only wear jeans that are loose enough on top to tuck in my fat rolls, especially while sitting down. Like in church. After settling comfortably into my chair for the sermon, the first thing I do is make sure that the fat roll lopping over the front of my jeans is tucked into the waistband. This would not be possible if that waistband is 4-5 inches lower. I may have to bend over a little more to make sure it stays securely tucked, but I will take the height compromise over the fat roll display anyday.
SHOES:
People tend to think that short people wear heels to make them feel taller. Or that any given individual will wear them to feel as though their legs appear "tighter" or "slimmer". But I have noticed that there is a definite weight-class (not height class) which should be wearing heels. As a paramedic I tend to notice things that appear dangerous, or perhaps just slightly wrong for some unknown reason. One thing I have repeatedly noticed is large people wearing heels. Wider heels does not give the same impression of impending doom, but the standard skinnier heels are what I am talking about here. In order to provide an exaggerated visual of what I am talking about -- let's think about an elephant (I SAID EXAGGERATED!) standing on toothpicks. Something has got to give. Also, in proportion to its body mass, an elephant's legs do appear to be rather lean. But this still does not betray the spindliness of the toothpicks. Something is horribly off-balance and will quickly become dangerous in any one of a number of variables changes.
I do not wear heels. And this is not just because I am not nearly coordinated enough to master the walking process. I am simply aware that if I were to wear them, I would appear frighteningly close to that elephant we imagined above. It's simply not proportional. Fat legs + spindly heels = CRASH. There's me on the ground, fat legs spread out, rolls lopping over my too-low-cut short-shorts, and boob material globbing out of the SHELF. (In retrospect this outfit would make me look like an unsuccessful hooker as well........ I might as well add some blue eyeshadow to the outfit.)
OTHER SHIRTS:
This category basically includes two types of shirts: those with functional buttons and those without functional buttons. WITH: Everyone knows that about 80% of guys like boobs. BUT! That does not mean that the 98% of girls who do NOT want to see them should be exposed to them at the same. There may be a time and place for boobage, but I can think of a few places when it is NOT the time: city park playground, church, funeral, grocery store (I didn't include Wal-Mart because everyone knows that being sexy at Wal-Mart rocks). One common trick of too-much-boobage wearers, is the push-up bra. Everyone thinks that a push-up bra was intended to boost your boobs to make it look like you have some, when in reality -- it simply gathers all that flab that is now unable to smoosh out across the above SHELF, and boost it to greater heights. Boobs are boobs; flab is flab. The two should not be interchanged. This is an especially prominent problem with some of today's fashions: you wear the spaghetti strap tank under your functionally zippered/buttoned outer shirt, which is unzipped/unbuttoned just low enough to reveal some form of mushy body tissue. It can be reasonably deduced by the remainder of your body type as to whether this smooshage is actual boob material, or if it is truly displaced flab -- so who do you think you are trying to fool? Someone who weighs 52 pounds and has big boobs -- it's probably boob tissue. Someone who weighs 250 pounds and has big boobs -- wellllllll..... there is a good possibility it is a higher percentage of flab rather than pure boob.
And lastly, shirts without functional buttons. The advantage of wearing shirts like this is that the boobs generally remain where they are supposed to be. Nothing is being pushed in or out or up (at least in that region). But these shirts tend to cause some havoc with the upper arms. For instance: a common t-shirt. There was a phase of these shirts that included short elastic arms. Where to start..... I have fat arms. This is the result of no longer spending 24 hours in a row lifting huge, dead-weight people over and over and over and over again. My huge muscles have now transformed into the dreaded "grandma bat wings". I am aware of this fact. When I would wear short sleeves with elastic at the ends, this newly-tranformed fat would become necrotic due to the way-too-tight elastic. It would seem that the designers didn't appropriately judge the needed ratio of size XL in the torso, to size XL in the arms. While in the process of cutting off circulation to and making Grand Canyon-size indentations within my flabby arms, the sleeves would successfully take all that flab from under my arms (leftover boob flab) and squish it up and out the armholes. Basically in any circumstance, ill-fitted armholes have the magicaly ability to attract stray upper-body fat and draw it out the holes on to the upper arms. This process makes even UNelastic sleeves too tight, and creates an ever-so-slight bulge of flab just below the end of the short sleeve.
I think I am done ranting. I guess the basic moral of the story is: don't wear things that displace body parts, and don't wear things in order to try to fool yourself in thinking you look differently than you truly do. I can appreciate different body types. What I cannot appreciate is people who so un-self-aware that they believe they can fool themselves into feeling like something they are not with a simple piece of ill-fitted clothing. If you are fat, don't pretend that your short-shorts and spaghetti strap top will go unnoticed. It will also not make you feel any thinner; in fact, it always makes me feel slightly fatter -- being able to feel all the displaced flab in places it normally is not (and when I sit down a whole new world of flab is revealed to all around me due to the simple process of constriction). If you are not fat, this is not a free ticket to wear whatever you want. It is still possible to look flabby when wearing the XS spaghetti strap top, causing the boobage to lop over the top of the tank. It is also mush moreso possible to look scanky, and in the case that these are my two options -- I would gladly embrace my flab anyday.
BUT.
I am still at a complete loss at to why people who are extremely overweight, or extremely underweight, show off too much surface area (relative to the amount of surface area they have available to them). I normally don't bother with disclaimers because I tend to feel that if you are not self-aware and cannot laugh at your shortcomings, I am certainly not going to cater to your delusional fantasies about your true reality. But for some people's sake, I will at least say -- WE NEED TO LAUGH AT OURSELVES. GOD MADE US THIS WAY, AND HAS AN OBVIOUS SENSE OF HUMOR. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the crazy ride my brain will take you on.
There are a few classes of clothing that can be used by which to assess if one has appropriately dressed for their body type.
SHORTS:
I was at Kohl's looking for summer maternity clothes. They had about two pairs of shorts, one kind of tank top, and two t-shirts which were made from something similar to cheesecloth (because my bellybutton won't be sticking out enough in 5 months?) I looked at the shorts. I have fat legs. Its a fact. They wobble, and spread out to unmeasureable widths when I sit down. If I sit on the edge of a chair, the flab hangs down about 6 inches below the chair's seat (I happened to notice this in a mirror on the back of a doctor's office door last year -- its really true). I expected that most people who are pregnant are not the stereotypical basketball-type pregnant people. Most people tend to gain a little flab all over the place. On top of my already flabby legs, this little extra flab creates a stunningly flabby effect at around 5 months of pregnancy. I bent over to look at the maternity shorts and realized that the shorts part of them was approximately 3 inches long. That means that when I would sit wearing these shorts, they would rapidly disappear into the great unknown, giving the impression that I was wearing no bottoms whatsoever. Seriously, girls. The stretchy part was actually larger than the denimy part. I could buy pantyhose and wrap those around my butt and achieve the same effect. Now, back to my point -- these shorts would be inappropriate for me to buy (as well as for someone with even a noticeable caboose when NOT pregnant). Not only would these be nauseating when NOT pregnant, but any slight weight gain would instantly render them atrocious unacceptable. Yet the racks were nearly empty. I can appreciate wanting to desperately grab onto that last remaining shred of femininity while growing larger each day, but then -- reality must also play a part in shopping ventures. These shorts would be horrendously inappropriate for someone with flabby legs. The denim part simply would not be able to withstand the pressure of all that flab needing somewhere to spread.
TANK TOPS:
There are several types of tank tops. One type is the normal, Lands' End, fit-under-the-arms-but-not fat-roll-hugging loose type. Another is the spaghetti strap type with the built-in "shelf bra" (have never known what this means; I am just certain that my boobs do not SHELVE appropriately) that hugs your fat rolls all the way down to your waist (and beyond). The last type is the trying-to-be-sexy-but-made-in-a-sweatshop type; these are cute the first day, but rapidly deteriorate following the first hot day or trip through a washer. This last type tends to sag in the armpits, allowing boob material to squish out, and stretch in the neckline, allowing aforementioned boob material to be very visible when bending over to pick up a kid (or another pail of ice cream from the freezer section at Pig).
Let's talk about tank tops. I have found maybe two tank tops in my entire life that truly suit my body type. I got them at Fashion Bug for $9.99 each. They don't stretch out, they don't suck onto my fat rolls, and they don't have a built-in SHELF. These, I would daresay, would be appropriate for most body types. But -- as all girls knows -- once you find something that works, they discontinue it. So they are no longer made (remind me to call that Indonesian sweatshop later...) My alternatives are not so hot. The tank tops I saw in the maternity department that fateful day at Kohl's were a far cry from being acceptable. First of all -- what is UP with the see-through material fad?? It's a TANK TOP -- it's going to be worn when its HOT -- I do not WANT to LAYER it with three other tank tops in order to create a suitably opaque surface! I would have to say that if you try on a tank top and you can see the stitching in the little bow on the front of your bra or the printing on the tag sticking down in back, its too thin.
Spaghetti strap tanks.
PANTS:
This category is a little more forgiving because you can hide a lot-o-lovin' in a good pair of jeans. My main point in this category is the jeans that are so low-cut the zipper is about 1 1/2-inches long -- like the kind where you rip the tips of your nails up trying to grab onto the pull in order to zip them. The area just superior to the hips is where all the fat is supposed to squish in dire situation. If this area is severely minimized, where does all that flab go?? UP and OUT. Yeah -- maybe you (with the help of three friends) can get these jeans on and zipped, but what do you think happens when you stand up, or -- heaven-forbid -- bend over?? That fat has to go somewhere! And it does! I loooooooooove watching someone stiffly walk around in their tight but-aren't-I-so-sexy jeans with the 3-4 inch lop over the top of the jeans. Coupled with a spaghetti strap tank top to securely caress the same lops -- this would have to be the EPITOME of not dressing for your body type. Denial or not; comfortable-with-your-body-type or not, this outfit combo shows just a little to much to everyone else behind you.
I only wear jeans that are loose enough on top to tuck in my fat rolls, especially while sitting down. Like in church. After settling comfortably into my chair for the sermon, the first thing I do is make sure that the fat roll lopping over the front of my jeans is tucked into the waistband. This would not be possible if that waistband is 4-5 inches lower. I may have to bend over a little more to make sure it stays securely tucked, but I will take the height compromise over the fat roll display anyday.
SHOES:
People tend to think that short people wear heels to make them feel taller. Or that any given individual will wear them to feel as though their legs appear "tighter" or "slimmer". But I have noticed that there is a definite weight-class (not height class) which should be wearing heels. As a paramedic I tend to notice things that appear dangerous, or perhaps just slightly wrong for some unknown reason. One thing I have repeatedly noticed is large people wearing heels. Wider heels does not give the same impression of impending doom, but the standard skinnier heels are what I am talking about here. In order to provide an exaggerated visual of what I am talking about -- let's think about an elephant (I SAID EXAGGERATED!) standing on toothpicks. Something has got to give. Also, in proportion to its body mass, an elephant's legs do appear to be rather lean. But this still does not betray the spindliness of the toothpicks. Something is horribly off-balance and will quickly become dangerous in any one of a number of variables changes.
I do not wear heels. And this is not just because I am not nearly coordinated enough to master the walking process. I am simply aware that if I were to wear them, I would appear frighteningly close to that elephant we imagined above. It's simply not proportional. Fat legs + spindly heels = CRASH. There's me on the ground, fat legs spread out, rolls lopping over my too-low-cut short-shorts, and boob material globbing out of the SHELF. (In retrospect this outfit would make me look like an unsuccessful hooker as well........ I might as well add some blue eyeshadow to the outfit.)
OTHER SHIRTS:
This category basically includes two types of shirts: those with functional buttons and those without functional buttons. WITH: Everyone knows that about 80% of guys like boobs. BUT! That does not mean that the 98% of girls who do NOT want to see them should be exposed to them at the same. There may be a time and place for boobage, but I can think of a few places when it is NOT the time: city park playground, church, funeral, grocery store (I didn't include Wal-Mart because everyone knows that being sexy at Wal-Mart rocks). One common trick of too-much-boobage wearers, is the push-up bra. Everyone thinks that a push-up bra was intended to boost your boobs to make it look like you have some, when in reality -- it simply gathers all that flab that is now unable to smoosh out across the above SHELF, and boost it to greater heights. Boobs are boobs; flab is flab. The two should not be interchanged. This is an especially prominent problem with some of today's fashions: you wear the spaghetti strap tank under your functionally zippered/buttoned outer shirt, which is unzipped/unbuttoned just low enough to reveal some form of mushy body tissue. It can be reasonably deduced by the remainder of your body type as to whether this smooshage is actual boob material, or if it is truly displaced flab -- so who do you think you are trying to fool? Someone who weighs 52 pounds and has big boobs -- it's probably boob tissue. Someone who weighs 250 pounds and has big boobs -- wellllllll..... there is a good possibility it is a higher percentage of flab rather than pure boob.
And lastly, shirts without functional buttons. The advantage of wearing shirts like this is that the boobs generally remain where they are supposed to be. Nothing is being pushed in or out or up (at least in that region). But these shirts tend to cause some havoc with the upper arms. For instance: a common t-shirt. There was a phase of these shirts that included short elastic arms. Where to start..... I have fat arms. This is the result of no longer spending 24 hours in a row lifting huge, dead-weight people over and over and over and over again. My huge muscles have now transformed into the dreaded "grandma bat wings". I am aware of this fact. When I would wear short sleeves with elastic at the ends, this newly-tranformed fat would become necrotic due to the way-too-tight elastic. It would seem that the designers didn't appropriately judge the needed ratio of size XL in the torso, to size XL in the arms. While in the process of cutting off circulation to and making Grand Canyon-size indentations within my flabby arms, the sleeves would successfully take all that flab from under my arms (leftover boob flab) and squish it up and out the armholes. Basically in any circumstance, ill-fitted armholes have the magicaly ability to attract stray upper-body fat and draw it out the holes on to the upper arms. This process makes even UNelastic sleeves too tight, and creates an ever-so-slight bulge of flab just below the end of the short sleeve.
I think I am done ranting. I guess the basic moral of the story is: don't wear things that displace body parts, and don't wear things in order to try to fool yourself in thinking you look differently than you truly do. I can appreciate different body types. What I cannot appreciate is people who so un-self-aware that they believe they can fool themselves into feeling like something they are not with a simple piece of ill-fitted clothing. If you are fat, don't pretend that your short-shorts and spaghetti strap top will go unnoticed. It will also not make you feel any thinner; in fact, it always makes me feel slightly fatter -- being able to feel all the displaced flab in places it normally is not (and when I sit down a whole new world of flab is revealed to all around me due to the simple process of constriction). If you are not fat, this is not a free ticket to wear whatever you want. It is still possible to look flabby when wearing the XS spaghetti strap top, causing the boobage to lop over the top of the tank. It is also mush moreso possible to look scanky, and in the case that these are my two options -- I would gladly embrace my flab anyday.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Annoyed
I've determined that there are way too many things that just annoy me about people, in general. I will now find a bunker -- free of other lifeforms -- to live in for the rest of my earthly life. This blog post will be continuously updated as I find more things that annoy me, so please feel free to check back regularly.
1. Asking questions with obvious answers.
"Steve, could you please go outside and pick up that yard waste laying around?"
"Where do you want me to put it?"
"In the big cardboard box."
"Where is the big cardboard box?"
Ok -- a little background information. We have always had 1-2 large cardboard boxes in the garage that are used for purposes such as this. In case the box's location wasn't obvious enough given our past history with them, the latest cardboard box has been sitting DIRECTLY outside the garage door for about 3 months. For some reason unbeknownst to me, Steve has simply never thrown this box out on garbage day. It just sits there, right in the way of the door, getting knocked over nearly every time we enter or exit the house. So in case Steve was not already aware that we throw yard waste into cardboard boxes, he maybe should have been able to figure out that the box he has been running into for 3 months MIGHT POSSIBLY be the one I was referring to, especially given his apparent affection for the same box, having never throw it out.
2. The inability to draw conclusions.
"There is something under the couch. Could you please get it out?"
"Which couch?"
"The only couch that I can see from the kitchen."
Background on this one: we have been busily cleaning for our open house today. I was in the kitchen finishing up some last-minute counter-wiping, and Steve was standing in the middle of the kids' play area, doing whatever it is guys can do while standing perfectly still in the middle of a room. He could just about see me from where he was, as well. After the preceding conversation took place, I realized that Steve actually went into the larger living room and started pulling things out from under that couch instead, never actually putting two and two together.
"Wrong couch."
"Well why didn't you just tell me which one?" (good question, but I will not cave!)
"Because you should have been able to cognitively deduce which couch I was referring to without me holding your hand and leading you to it."
3. Answering questions stupidly.
I sat down on the floor to gather the newspapers in a bag. There is STUFF whirling about me as I sit down. I thought this was a bit strange since I am completely certain I just asked Steve to vacuum this room (and equally as certain I recently heard the vacuum cleaner running).
"Did you vacuum in here?"
"YES."
Rather than answering I went and grabbed the Swiffer and began scraping up the remanants of his "vacuuming" job. I made sure to pull the cloth thingy off right in front of him. I forgot to factor in the can't-move-things-while-vacuuming-because-I-am-male part of the equation originally, and it has now become MY fault that I did not handhold while instructing on proper vacuuming techniques. I'm telling you, when I moved the file-cabinet-on-wheels to check underneath it, things SWIRLED out with the air movement.
4. Asking question rather than thinking of the answer for yourself. (expected from kids, not husbands).
"Could you please clean the laminate in here?"
"What should I use to clean it WITH?"
"The same thing we have used to clean it with for the past 2 1/2 years we have lived here."
Steve was standing approximately five feet away from the only bottle sitting out on the kitchen counter: clearly labeled "laminate floor cleaner". I then handed him the microfiber mop required for the job. This seemed to ring a bell. (Please note that my favorite husband was the one who BOUGHT the floor cleaner and microfiber mop in the first place.)
As a little bonus to this annoyance story, I would like to point out that the proper technique needed to use this floor cleaner is to spray a small area, then wipe it off with the mop. Steve was so mad at me by this point that he sprayed nearly the entire area to be mopped, then had to walk over the wet part to get to the furthest part of the floor to mop it. Serves him right.
5. Relying on innocence as a cop-out for responsibility.
"Did you not SEE the huge smushed bug on my butt all afternoon??"
"No. I wasn't looking at your butt."
Whatever. That's all I have to say about that.
1. Asking questions with obvious answers.
"Steve, could you please go outside and pick up that yard waste laying around?"
"Where do you want me to put it?"
"In the big cardboard box."
"Where is the big cardboard box?"
Ok -- a little background information. We have always had 1-2 large cardboard boxes in the garage that are used for purposes such as this. In case the box's location wasn't obvious enough given our past history with them, the latest cardboard box has been sitting DIRECTLY outside the garage door for about 3 months. For some reason unbeknownst to me, Steve has simply never thrown this box out on garbage day. It just sits there, right in the way of the door, getting knocked over nearly every time we enter or exit the house. So in case Steve was not already aware that we throw yard waste into cardboard boxes, he maybe should have been able to figure out that the box he has been running into for 3 months MIGHT POSSIBLY be the one I was referring to, especially given his apparent affection for the same box, having never throw it out.
2. The inability to draw conclusions.
"There is something under the couch. Could you please get it out?"
"Which couch?"
"The only couch that I can see from the kitchen."
Background on this one: we have been busily cleaning for our open house today. I was in the kitchen finishing up some last-minute counter-wiping, and Steve was standing in the middle of the kids' play area, doing whatever it is guys can do while standing perfectly still in the middle of a room. He could just about see me from where he was, as well. After the preceding conversation took place, I realized that Steve actually went into the larger living room and started pulling things out from under that couch instead, never actually putting two and two together.
"Wrong couch."
"Well why didn't you just tell me which one?" (good question, but I will not cave!)
"Because you should have been able to cognitively deduce which couch I was referring to without me holding your hand and leading you to it."
3. Answering questions stupidly.
I sat down on the floor to gather the newspapers in a bag. There is STUFF whirling about me as I sit down. I thought this was a bit strange since I am completely certain I just asked Steve to vacuum this room (and equally as certain I recently heard the vacuum cleaner running).
"Did you vacuum in here?"
"YES."
Rather than answering I went and grabbed the Swiffer and began scraping up the remanants of his "vacuuming" job. I made sure to pull the cloth thingy off right in front of him. I forgot to factor in the can't-move-things-while-vacuuming-because-I-am-male part of the equation originally, and it has now become MY fault that I did not handhold while instructing on proper vacuuming techniques. I'm telling you, when I moved the file-cabinet-on-wheels to check underneath it, things SWIRLED out with the air movement.
4. Asking question rather than thinking of the answer for yourself. (expected from kids, not husbands).
"Could you please clean the laminate in here?"
"What should I use to clean it WITH?"
"The same thing we have used to clean it with for the past 2 1/2 years we have lived here."
Steve was standing approximately five feet away from the only bottle sitting out on the kitchen counter: clearly labeled "laminate floor cleaner". I then handed him the microfiber mop required for the job. This seemed to ring a bell. (Please note that my favorite husband was the one who BOUGHT the floor cleaner and microfiber mop in the first place.)
As a little bonus to this annoyance story, I would like to point out that the proper technique needed to use this floor cleaner is to spray a small area, then wipe it off with the mop. Steve was so mad at me by this point that he sprayed nearly the entire area to be mopped, then had to walk over the wet part to get to the furthest part of the floor to mop it. Serves him right.
5. Relying on innocence as a cop-out for responsibility.
"Did you not SEE the huge smushed bug on my butt all afternoon??"
"No. I wasn't looking at your butt."
Whatever. That's all I have to say about that.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Commission vs. Non-commission
We need to buy a new videocamera. The "old" (4 years) one died and it will cost approximately $150 more than the original purchase price to repair it. Incidentally, I never did call back the Geek Squad guy to tell him that I obviously wouldn't be repairing it when I could buy a brand new, way-better one for $250 less than that same repair price for the old one.
Went to Best Buy to get a camera that we had seen advertised. We circled the camcorder island a couple times and couldn't even find ANY Panasonic camera, let alone the one we wanted. Steve actually had to go find someone to help him while I wandered elsewhere in the store. They of course don't have the camera in the store, and actually neither does any other store within 50 miles. He can get it in though. He starts talking about the warranty thing they always want to sell you, and I kinda looked at Steve and we were mentally discussing the sense behind paying for this warranty. Meanwhile the guy says the thing that all Best Buy guys say, "Hey -- I don't care if you get it; I don't work on commission." I consider this fairly refreshing. Steve and I proceeded to say we would think about it and then went to browse some appliances we can't afford. We literally looked at, opened up, discussed, and messed with every single stove, refrigerator, washer, and dryer in that store and no one EVER came up and asked if we needed help. Which was fine -- because we didn't.
Then we went to Sears to just look around at the same stuff. Within two steps of entering the appliance department, this chick walked up to us and said, "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"No. We're just looking. Thanks."
"If you need anything my name is Diane and I'll be over here."
"Ok. Thanks. We're not buying anything tonight."
Browsed a few more fridges. Diane stops back in, in case we were lying to her the first time. See -- I don't understand this. I don't even LOOK dumb!
"Is there a particular brand you are looking for?"
"No. We are just going to buy whichever one we like the most."
"Oh." (clearly not what she was expecting) "If you need any help or have any questions..."
The death look stopped her from speaking further.
Moved on to washers and dryers. Here comes "Bob"; I'll call him that since he didn't announce his name on approach.
"Is someone helping you?"
"Not really. We don't need any help. We are just looking."
"Because I can give you some great reasons for buying an LG!"
"I don't necessarily like LG. I'll buy whatever I like. I'm not a brand shopper."
A very short "oh". Apparently this brand freedom thing is perplexing to salespeople.
Then I said, in hopes of getting rid of him permanently, "We have a house to sell and another one to buy and remodel before we will be making any purchases."
It worked. He wished us "luck" (as thought he truly cares that the housing market is bad right now) and turns away.
We continue perusing. Around the next corner is Diane again. She has a stack of papers and is leaning against a nifty-looking washer and dryer. I really wanted to look at the appliance set, but will absolutely, under no life-or-death circumstances go that near to Diane. No need. She comes to us.
"If you like the Kenmore fridges they are all going to be on sale the 17th and 18th."
"Of April?"
"Yes."
"I always work at night because I work at the schools during the day [blah blah blah] so if you want to come back during those days I would be happy to show you....."
"Well we aren't going to be buying anything for at least three months. We'll be back then."
I breeze past her and her stack of papers.
I think it should be illegal for salespeople to walk around telling you when things will be "20%" as opposed to the "whatever %-off" they are right now. I mean, isn't it their job to make money for the store?
And by the way -- remember how Diane assured me she would be "just over there" when we needed her? She wasn't.
Went to Best Buy to get a camera that we had seen advertised. We circled the camcorder island a couple times and couldn't even find ANY Panasonic camera, let alone the one we wanted. Steve actually had to go find someone to help him while I wandered elsewhere in the store. They of course don't have the camera in the store, and actually neither does any other store within 50 miles. He can get it in though. He starts talking about the warranty thing they always want to sell you, and I kinda looked at Steve and we were mentally discussing the sense behind paying for this warranty. Meanwhile the guy says the thing that all Best Buy guys say, "Hey -- I don't care if you get it; I don't work on commission." I consider this fairly refreshing. Steve and I proceeded to say we would think about it and then went to browse some appliances we can't afford. We literally looked at, opened up, discussed, and messed with every single stove, refrigerator, washer, and dryer in that store and no one EVER came up and asked if we needed help. Which was fine -- because we didn't.
Then we went to Sears to just look around at the same stuff. Within two steps of entering the appliance department, this chick walked up to us and said, "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"No. We're just looking. Thanks."
"If you need anything my name is Diane and I'll be over here."
"Ok. Thanks. We're not buying anything tonight."
Browsed a few more fridges. Diane stops back in, in case we were lying to her the first time. See -- I don't understand this. I don't even LOOK dumb!
"Is there a particular brand you are looking for?"
"No. We are just going to buy whichever one we like the most."
"Oh." (clearly not what she was expecting) "If you need any help or have any questions..."
The death look stopped her from speaking further.
Moved on to washers and dryers. Here comes "Bob"; I'll call him that since he didn't announce his name on approach.
"Is someone helping you?"
"Not really. We don't need any help. We are just looking."
"Because I can give you some great reasons for buying an LG!"
"I don't necessarily like LG. I'll buy whatever I like. I'm not a brand shopper."
A very short "oh". Apparently this brand freedom thing is perplexing to salespeople.
Then I said, in hopes of getting rid of him permanently, "We have a house to sell and another one to buy and remodel before we will be making any purchases."
It worked. He wished us "luck" (as thought he truly cares that the housing market is bad right now) and turns away.
We continue perusing. Around the next corner is Diane again. She has a stack of papers and is leaning against a nifty-looking washer and dryer. I really wanted to look at the appliance set, but will absolutely, under no life-or-death circumstances go that near to Diane. No need. She comes to us.
"If you like the Kenmore fridges they are all going to be on sale the 17th and 18th."
"Of April?"
"Yes."
"I always work at night because I work at the schools during the day [blah blah blah] so if you want to come back during those days I would be happy to show you....."
"Well we aren't going to be buying anything for at least three months. We'll be back then."
I breeze past her and her stack of papers.
I think it should be illegal for salespeople to walk around telling you when things will be "20%" as opposed to the "whatever %-off" they are right now. I mean, isn't it their job to make money for the store?
And by the way -- remember how Diane assured me she would be "just over there" when we needed her? She wasn't.
The Dishwasher
Steve and I have lived in the same house for most of our married lives.
We have also owned nearly the exact same model dishwasher for the same married lives.
I have been sick the last 10 days or so. You know -- like flat-on-my-back, not-getting-up-for-anything sick. So the kitchen has been somewhat, shall we say, "let go". (Incidentally, I hate it when people use that term in place of the word FIRED.) Steve is on the last day of his four-day today and he decided that while I was at MOPS this morning, he would clean the kitchen. He informed me of this intention before I left.
Let's take a little interlude here. I REALIZE that I should proud to have a husband who can tell when the kitchen is beyond my human help. I also realize that I should be content that he is willing to help me when things need to be done and I clearly cannot do them under my own power.
That being said: I cannot believe that after all this time, he still does not know how to load the dishwasher to its fullest potential. I do it every other time, and its always done the same way. I have put in some extensive research to figure out with the proportion of types of dishware we use regularly, how the dishwasher needs to be loaded in order to contain all the dishes from the past 24-48 hours -- thus requiring only ONE cycle instead of two.
You know those kids plates made from melamine (probably cancerous), or whatever they are? The ones that say "top rack dishwasher safe" on the bottom? Well I am extremely proud to say that after many personal demonstrations and even a quick English lesson, Steve has now mastered putting these plates on the top only. During the training period, it was necessary, however, to point out that *I* was not saying this simply to complicate his life ("But all the OTHER plates go on the bottom!!") but rather the dishes would melt and warp should they be placed too close to the heating element (I even had to point out where the heating element was with respect to the bottom and top shelves of the dishwasher -- Why? I don't know -- this is CLEARLY a male-dominated area of expertise.) That lesson securely placed in his long-term memory, I have been attempting to gently press in additional tidbits about dishwasher-loading theory.
He doesn't get it. He has apparently maxed out the dishwasher theory portion of his brain.
"But WHY can't the stoneware bowls on on the top? They fit so nicely in those slots!"
"Because we need all those nice slots to put in the kids plastic bowls that need to stay on top." (Hey -- I said he mastered the plastic PLATES, NOT the plastic bowls.) "Everything that can go on the bottom needs to go on the bottom to accommodate all the kids' stuff on top."
And the plates. Some plates lean further back (the Tupperware ones) in the plate-slots than others (the stoneware ones). As a result it would seem common sense to put the further-leaning one BEHIND the non-further-leaning ones in order to facilitate the best washing possible.
[This one required a personalized demo.]
"See how the red plate leans really far back and almost completely blocks the dirty surface of the stoneware plate?"
"Kinda."
"Well if the water is squirting from here [indicating the spinny water-shooting thing] then the water will not be able to squirt onto the stoneware plate. It needs to go in the front."
"What?"
"Do you see the difference in the angles?"
"Yes."
"Do you understand how the water squirts out?"
"Yes."
"SO WHAT IS THE CONFUSION??"
Lesson #4 is later this week.
After finishing a glass of milk, and the kids finishing two individual bowls of sliced apples, I went into the kitchen to place the items in the dishwasher. (Just as a refresher, Steve cleaned the kitchen about 10 hours previous -- loading the dishwasher with the previously dirtied dishes from the counter.) When I opened it up, the first thing I noticed is the stoneware bowl in the plastic bowl slots. I glanced into the bottom rack to make sure that there was sufficient room for the bowl down there and discovered that there was indeed room remaining. NOT ONLY THAT -- but there were already two other stoneware bowls on the bottom, in the spots where we always put them. I realized that these were the bowls that *I* had put in there yesterday, and *he* wouldn't put his bowl down there because we all know it fits nicer in the top slots. I moved the bowl. This freed up space for the two plastic bowls the kids has just finished using. An oddly placed glass (moved to the bottom) freed up room for two more plastic cups to go in the cup spots, which opened up a spot for the dishes on the counter that apparently wouldn't fit in there previously. There was so much room on the bottom that I was able to transplant several glasses from the top to the bottom to allow for more optimal water flowage between the top rack cups. I even had room on the bottom to put in a baking dish I had just rinsed out! (But no -- not enough room for a stoneware bowl!)
It then occurred to me that the dishwasher was SO FULL that it should have been started earlier in the day, before lunch and supper dishes were crammed in as well. In fact -- he could have started and unloaded the dishwasher before I even got home from my morning event and this whole blog rant would have been moot! Nonexistent!
I want you to know that I truly do understand the saying, "If you don't like how I do it, then do it yourself." But I think its equally as important to remember this phrase as well, "If you are going to do something [especially to help your ailing wife] then do it right the first time."
We have also owned nearly the exact same model dishwasher for the same married lives.
I have been sick the last 10 days or so. You know -- like flat-on-my-back, not-getting-up-for-anything sick. So the kitchen has been somewhat, shall we say, "let go". (Incidentally, I hate it when people use that term in place of the word FIRED.) Steve is on the last day of his four-day today and he decided that while I was at MOPS this morning, he would clean the kitchen. He informed me of this intention before I left.
Let's take a little interlude here. I REALIZE that I should proud to have a husband who can tell when the kitchen is beyond my human help. I also realize that I should be content that he is willing to help me when things need to be done and I clearly cannot do them under my own power.
That being said: I cannot believe that after all this time, he still does not know how to load the dishwasher to its fullest potential. I do it every other time, and its always done the same way. I have put in some extensive research to figure out with the proportion of types of dishware we use regularly, how the dishwasher needs to be loaded in order to contain all the dishes from the past 24-48 hours -- thus requiring only ONE cycle instead of two.
You know those kids plates made from melamine (probably cancerous), or whatever they are? The ones that say "top rack dishwasher safe" on the bottom? Well I am extremely proud to say that after many personal demonstrations and even a quick English lesson, Steve has now mastered putting these plates on the top only. During the training period, it was necessary, however, to point out that *I* was not saying this simply to complicate his life ("But all the OTHER plates go on the bottom!!") but rather the dishes would melt and warp should they be placed too close to the heating element (I even had to point out where the heating element was with respect to the bottom and top shelves of the dishwasher -- Why? I don't know -- this is CLEARLY a male-dominated area of expertise.) That lesson securely placed in his long-term memory, I have been attempting to gently press in additional tidbits about dishwasher-loading theory.
He doesn't get it. He has apparently maxed out the dishwasher theory portion of his brain.
"But WHY can't the stoneware bowls on on the top? They fit so nicely in those slots!"
"Because we need all those nice slots to put in the kids plastic bowls that need to stay on top." (Hey -- I said he mastered the plastic PLATES, NOT the plastic bowls.) "Everything that can go on the bottom needs to go on the bottom to accommodate all the kids' stuff on top."
And the plates. Some plates lean further back (the Tupperware ones) in the plate-slots than others (the stoneware ones). As a result it would seem common sense to put the further-leaning one BEHIND the non-further-leaning ones in order to facilitate the best washing possible.
[This one required a personalized demo.]
"See how the red plate leans really far back and almost completely blocks the dirty surface of the stoneware plate?"
"Kinda."
"Well if the water is squirting from here [indicating the spinny water-shooting thing] then the water will not be able to squirt onto the stoneware plate. It needs to go in the front."
"What?"
"Do you see the difference in the angles?"
"Yes."
"Do you understand how the water squirts out?"
"Yes."
"SO WHAT IS THE CONFUSION??"
Lesson #4 is later this week.
After finishing a glass of milk, and the kids finishing two individual bowls of sliced apples, I went into the kitchen to place the items in the dishwasher. (Just as a refresher, Steve cleaned the kitchen about 10 hours previous -- loading the dishwasher with the previously dirtied dishes from the counter.) When I opened it up, the first thing I noticed is the stoneware bowl in the plastic bowl slots. I glanced into the bottom rack to make sure that there was sufficient room for the bowl down there and discovered that there was indeed room remaining. NOT ONLY THAT -- but there were already two other stoneware bowls on the bottom, in the spots where we always put them. I realized that these were the bowls that *I* had put in there yesterday, and *he* wouldn't put his bowl down there because we all know it fits nicer in the top slots. I moved the bowl. This freed up space for the two plastic bowls the kids has just finished using. An oddly placed glass (moved to the bottom) freed up room for two more plastic cups to go in the cup spots, which opened up a spot for the dishes on the counter that apparently wouldn't fit in there previously. There was so much room on the bottom that I was able to transplant several glasses from the top to the bottom to allow for more optimal water flowage between the top rack cups. I even had room on the bottom to put in a baking dish I had just rinsed out! (But no -- not enough room for a stoneware bowl!)
It then occurred to me that the dishwasher was SO FULL that it should have been started earlier in the day, before lunch and supper dishes were crammed in as well. In fact -- he could have started and unloaded the dishwasher before I even got home from my morning event and this whole blog rant would have been moot! Nonexistent!
I want you to know that I truly do understand the saying, "If you don't like how I do it, then do it yourself." But I think its equally as important to remember this phrase as well, "If you are going to do something [especially to help your ailing wife] then do it right the first time."
Monday, April 13, 2009
Why I Will Never Work In Any Other Health Profession Other Than EMS
Went to the doctor today.
The background information: talked to my MD on Saturday (still can't figure out why someone with 20 years seniority was on call for Easter weekend) and she advised me to get loaded up with some fluids if possible. She also mentioned coming in Monday (that's today) morning for additional fluids. I emailed her last night and informed her that since I did not feel better I would be coming in for this.
I called the office this morning and got yet another nurse I don't know (dime a dozen, I tell you).
"Hi. I talked to Dr. Gavin on Saturday and she told me to come in today for some fluids."
"You talked to her Saturday?" (see above, dumb-butt)
"Yes."
"Does she feel you are dehydrated?" (no -- just REEEEEALLY thirsty. I am considering calling back til I get someone I know.)
"I am extremely dizzy and she thinks it might help. I had some fluids Saturday night and it seemed to make it a little better."
"What's your name?"
"Mollie *******."
"Ok. Can you hold the line?" (I have never understood this statement.)
<>
"Mollie?"
"Yes."
"Did Dr. Gavin want to see you first?"
"I doubt it. She just said to come in and get fluids." (I know that nurses can't make a connection between patient and patient care without a doctor in the middle; that's why I said this.)
"Ok." (didn't ask me to hold this time)
"Mollie?"
"Yes."
"She just wants to talk to you a little first so if you can come in at 1:45 she will do that quick, then get you some fluids."
"I can't. I have to be somewhere at 1:30."
<>
"When can you come in then?"
"Anytime but 1:15-3."
"How about an hour?" (now why the heck didn't she mention this time slot in the first place?)
"Sure."
"Ok. Bye."
"Bye."
I am now at the clinic. Nurse calls me back. This is where the real fun begins. She did spare me by not taking a weight (which I did not think was POSSIBLE if you are a M.A.; I always thought doing a weight was at the top of every single care algorithm known to them. I soon find out differently.)
I sit down in the chair and she starts digging for a BP cuff. I took off my coat but purposely left my very thin sweatshirt on because I use this as a test for true intelligence. She failed the test.
"I'm going to need you to take your arm out of your sweatshirt." (large eye roll, but I comply smug in the fact that she has failed my test)
"I also need you to uncross your legs."
"WHY." (NOT complying)
"Because it will affect the accuracy of the blood pressure reading."
"What?? I have been a paramedic nearly 10 years and I have NEVER heard that."
The chick is getting pretty nervous. Her superior attitude has faded because she now knows she is in the presence of another health care professional and she can't talk stupid anymore and expect that I will just blindly follow her instructions.
"Well that's what I was told." (I kindly did not point out that since she is going to be so technical about this truly life-saving procedure that she should really be doing it on my LEFT arm and not my RIGHT. Guess she wasn't "told that" in school.)
I uncross my legs, confident in the fact that since I am clearly smarter than this chick I don't need to make her cry on top of that.
Pressure is 120/80. (she must work for MFD on the side)
She takes the cuff off and tosses it back in the drawer. I am ASTOUNDED.
"Don't you even KIND OF want to know what the pressure would be with my legs crossed?? The curiosity is killing me!!"
"Oh. Not really." She keeps glancing from the cuff drawer back to me.
"What?? How you can just believe something like that and not actually test it??"
Still nervously looking at me and the BP drawer. She lets it drop. I fear she is about to cry so I don't say anything else. As she packs up, the doctor is walking in.
I relate the BP story to the doctor, who starts laughing immediately.
"Yeah, that M.A. is pretty...... bland." (they must not be friends.)
The doctor told me that she vaguely recalls something about not having the patient's legs crossed when doing a BP, but she is definitely smart enough to know that its not going to really make a difference.
This whole encounter amazed me for a number of reasons:
1. Seriously -- how can you NOT wonder what the other reading would be??
2. What happens to the BP reading when the patient is hanging upside down by a seatbelt in a car? ("Um, could you please uncross your legs ma'am? I was told in school that it makes a difference.")
3. What sort of condition does she think I have that such a negligible discrepancy in BP readings would make a difference in my treatment today?
4. Doesn't she know that ANY two BP readings are going to vary enough between consecutive readings as to negate any possible effect of leg-crossing anyway??
When I got down to Urgent Care (I know these RNs from doing multiple transports out in a previous life) I told them this story and the two girls were peeing themselves laughing. So I said, "Is it even an OPTION to not check my pressure twice now?"
Well, RNs or not -- these girls knew that this HAD to be done. So we took the pressure twice (on the LEFT arm, btw). Here were the readings: 117/68, 111/70.
Enough said.
The background information: talked to my MD on Saturday (still can't figure out why someone with 20 years seniority was on call for Easter weekend) and she advised me to get loaded up with some fluids if possible. She also mentioned coming in Monday (that's today) morning for additional fluids. I emailed her last night and informed her that since I did not feel better I would be coming in for this.
I called the office this morning and got yet another nurse I don't know (dime a dozen, I tell you).
"Hi. I talked to Dr. Gavin on Saturday and she told me to come in today for some fluids."
"You talked to her Saturday?" (see above, dumb-butt)
"Yes."
"Does she feel you are dehydrated?" (no -- just REEEEEALLY thirsty. I am considering calling back til I get someone I know.)
"I am extremely dizzy and she thinks it might help. I had some fluids Saturday night and it seemed to make it a little better."
"What's your name?"
"Mollie *******."
"Ok. Can you hold the line?" (I have never understood this statement.)
<
"Mollie?"
"Yes."
"Did Dr. Gavin want to see you first?"
"I doubt it. She just said to come in and get fluids." (I know that nurses can't make a connection between patient and patient care without a doctor in the middle; that's why I said this.)
"Ok." (didn't ask me to hold this time)
"Mollie?"
"Yes."
"She just wants to talk to you a little first so if you can come in at 1:45 she will do that quick, then get you some fluids."
"I can't. I have to be somewhere at 1:30."
<
"When can you come in then?"
"Anytime but 1:15-3."
"How about an hour?" (now why the heck didn't she mention this time slot in the first place?)
"Sure."
"Ok. Bye."
"Bye."
I am now at the clinic. Nurse calls me back. This is where the real fun begins. She did spare me by not taking a weight (which I did not think was POSSIBLE if you are a M.A.; I always thought doing a weight was at the top of every single care algorithm known to them. I soon find out differently.)
I sit down in the chair and she starts digging for a BP cuff. I took off my coat but purposely left my very thin sweatshirt on because I use this as a test for true intelligence. She failed the test.
"I'm going to need you to take your arm out of your sweatshirt." (large eye roll, but I comply smug in the fact that she has failed my test)
"I also need you to uncross your legs."
"WHY." (NOT complying)
"Because it will affect the accuracy of the blood pressure reading."
"What?? I have been a paramedic nearly 10 years and I have NEVER heard that."
The chick is getting pretty nervous. Her superior attitude has faded because she now knows she is in the presence of another health care professional and she can't talk stupid anymore and expect that I will just blindly follow her instructions.
"Well that's what I was told." (I kindly did not point out that since she is going to be so technical about this truly life-saving procedure that she should really be doing it on my LEFT arm and not my RIGHT. Guess she wasn't "told that" in school.)
I uncross my legs, confident in the fact that since I am clearly smarter than this chick I don't need to make her cry on top of that.
Pressure is 120/80. (she must work for MFD on the side)
She takes the cuff off and tosses it back in the drawer. I am ASTOUNDED.
"Don't you even KIND OF want to know what the pressure would be with my legs crossed?? The curiosity is killing me!!"
"Oh. Not really." She keeps glancing from the cuff drawer back to me.
"What?? How you can just believe something like that and not actually test it??"
Still nervously looking at me and the BP drawer. She lets it drop. I fear she is about to cry so I don't say anything else. As she packs up, the doctor is walking in.
I relate the BP story to the doctor, who starts laughing immediately.
"Yeah, that M.A. is pretty...... bland." (they must not be friends.)
The doctor told me that she vaguely recalls something about not having the patient's legs crossed when doing a BP, but she is definitely smart enough to know that its not going to really make a difference.
This whole encounter amazed me for a number of reasons:
1. Seriously -- how can you NOT wonder what the other reading would be??
2. What happens to the BP reading when the patient is hanging upside down by a seatbelt in a car? ("Um, could you please uncross your legs ma'am? I was told in school that it makes a difference.")
3. What sort of condition does she think I have that such a negligible discrepancy in BP readings would make a difference in my treatment today?
4. Doesn't she know that ANY two BP readings are going to vary enough between consecutive readings as to negate any possible effect of leg-crossing anyway??
When I got down to Urgent Care (I know these RNs from doing multiple transports out in a previous life) I told them this story and the two girls were peeing themselves laughing. So I said, "Is it even an OPTION to not check my pressure twice now?"
Well, RNs or not -- these girls knew that this HAD to be done. So we took the pressure twice (on the LEFT arm, btw). Here were the readings: 117/68, 111/70.
Enough said.
There must be SOMETHING good......
I'm sure that men have their strong points.
But putting together a timeline in order of priority is not one of them. Neither is understanding a simple sentence, come to think of it.
Everyone knows that girls can do 52 things at the same time. Everyone also knows that guys cannot. So if Steve and I are doing something in the same room, it may LOOK like I am just returning an email, but in actuality all you girls out there know that I am also thinking about the next load of laundry to be done, forming a grocery list, thinking about what homework the kids have left to complete, and planning meals for at least the next four days. Steve? Well when it looks like he is putting the dominos back in the box, he is really just putting the dominos back in the box.
Sometimes when we are in these close-but-a-world-apart situations I mention things that I need him to do. It's not until well into the little conversation that I sometimes realize he thinks I mean to do them NOW.
For example: "Steve, could you please pick up those dominos?"
He sits down to do it.
One minute later: "This window handle has GOT to be tightened. Its making me crazy."
He gets up to get the screwdriver. The dominos remain. (Keep in mind that I am still going from pot to pot, watering the plants.)
One minute later: "I forgot to dust this bay window. Shoot. When are those people coming over?"
He has the screwdriver in his hand so he puts in into his back pocket (where I will find it a week later when something is BANGING in the dryer), and goes to get the vacuum cleaner -- steps on the dominos on the way over.
One minute later: "Did you ever shut off the garage light?"
Now he is completely overwhelmed. "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO FIRST???"
I look up and realize the position he has placed himself in. It never occured to me that he was actually performing the actions I was talking about. Most of the above were just THOUGHTS, not instructions anyway!
So tonight. It's 5:55pm. I mentioned the package of steak that needed to be grilled for supper. He knows this is his job since I do NOT operate fire-based outdoor appliances. He said he would do them. He puts on his coat and is looking for his shoes (incidentally -- they are in the closest where *I* put them so he is now unable to find them). I had just been looking through Benjamin's backpack and came upon some homework that needed to be done by tomorrow morning. I said, "I need you to go get Benjamin by about 6:30 because he has some homework to get done." Steve stops in his tracks, coat half-zipped, shoes half on. "Bu......." I give him a leveling look and wait for the tremendousness of all these tasks to sink in. "AFTER you do the steak." A look of relief. "Oh ok. Cuz I thought you just said to make the steaks."
Ok. Maybe this doesn't seem very earth-shattering, but seriously! Can't everyone else on the planet figure out that since it is 5:55 and steaks take about 10 minutes that, by the time the steaks are done, he will even have time to EAT before needing to go get Benjamin (who is 10 minutes away).
This stuff makes me nuts. I just don't think I should have to explain the order in which these events need to occur. Although in hindsight, I should have made it REALLY complicated and told him to throw the wet towels into the dryer too......
But putting together a timeline in order of priority is not one of them. Neither is understanding a simple sentence, come to think of it.
Everyone knows that girls can do 52 things at the same time. Everyone also knows that guys cannot. So if Steve and I are doing something in the same room, it may LOOK like I am just returning an email, but in actuality all you girls out there know that I am also thinking about the next load of laundry to be done, forming a grocery list, thinking about what homework the kids have left to complete, and planning meals for at least the next four days. Steve? Well when it looks like he is putting the dominos back in the box, he is really just putting the dominos back in the box.
Sometimes when we are in these close-but-a-world-apart situations I mention things that I need him to do. It's not until well into the little conversation that I sometimes realize he thinks I mean to do them NOW.
For example: "Steve, could you please pick up those dominos?"
He sits down to do it.
One minute later: "This window handle has GOT to be tightened. Its making me crazy."
He gets up to get the screwdriver. The dominos remain. (Keep in mind that I am still going from pot to pot, watering the plants.)
One minute later: "I forgot to dust this bay window. Shoot. When are those people coming over?"
He has the screwdriver in his hand so he puts in into his back pocket (where I will find it a week later when something is BANGING in the dryer), and goes to get the vacuum cleaner -- steps on the dominos on the way over.
One minute later: "Did you ever shut off the garage light?"
Now he is completely overwhelmed. "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO FIRST???"
I look up and realize the position he has placed himself in. It never occured to me that he was actually performing the actions I was talking about. Most of the above were just THOUGHTS, not instructions anyway!
So tonight. It's 5:55pm. I mentioned the package of steak that needed to be grilled for supper. He knows this is his job since I do NOT operate fire-based outdoor appliances. He said he would do them. He puts on his coat and is looking for his shoes (incidentally -- they are in the closest where *I* put them so he is now unable to find them). I had just been looking through Benjamin's backpack and came upon some homework that needed to be done by tomorrow morning. I said, "I need you to go get Benjamin by about 6:30 because he has some homework to get done." Steve stops in his tracks, coat half-zipped, shoes half on. "Bu......." I give him a leveling look and wait for the tremendousness of all these tasks to sink in. "AFTER you do the steak." A look of relief. "Oh ok. Cuz I thought you just said to make the steaks."
Ok. Maybe this doesn't seem very earth-shattering, but seriously! Can't everyone else on the planet figure out that since it is 5:55 and steaks take about 10 minutes that, by the time the steaks are done, he will even have time to EAT before needing to go get Benjamin (who is 10 minutes away).
This stuff makes me nuts. I just don't think I should have to explain the order in which these events need to occur. Although in hindsight, I should have made it REALLY complicated and told him to throw the wet towels into the dryer too......
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