At 58, I have a grown daughter and two grandkids, 12 and 4. It's weird thinking my DNA is running through their body. Traits (good and bad) from my ancestors to them. How do I know if they got the good stuff or the bad? What if one of my ancestors gets ALL my bad habits and NONE of my good ones? Okay...insert wise-ass comment here......
Physical traits are weird enough, but personality traits are what really freak me out. How does that happen? Curly locks of hair the same color as mine until good ol' MN took over and Clairol responded...My nose on the face of a 12 year old girl who has the most beautiful chocolate skin I've ever seen....My chin on BOTH of the grandkids. If I live long enough (and they wait long enough), maybe I'll see yet another generation of children with my traits.
But, the personality traits have got to be reined in. I can't have another generation of kids walking this planet with my temper or my insatiable love of little dogs or my craving for Cake Batter Batter Batter ice cream from Cold Stone...or my ability to put on 10 pounds just walking by a bakery. But, to hear their voices, their laughter and know that I had a little to do with the PERSON they are, is an amazing feeling. The blood of our ancestors, even that escaped convict back in the early 1800's, flows through my veins and theirs.
Will they have my curly hair? Will they go prematurely gray? Will they sound like a teenager even though they're nearing 60? Will they be afraid of heights? Or will they take some of my exhusband's traits? Oh, please NO! It's been more than 30 years since we were married, but some of his traits still haunt me!
How much does their environment affect them? For instance, my daughter smokes. Neither I or my second husband smoked. Her dad smokes, but he wasn't around her much. She KNEW how much I hated smoking and yet she did it behind our backs for many years. Was it a factor of her environment or peer pressure? Will my granddaughter and grandson smoke because SHE does?
My granddaughter is slim and very athletic, unlike me. My grandson is the chubby one in his family, JUST like me. My granddaughter has beautiful high cheek bones. My grandson does not. How does the gene pool work? Is it just mixed up in the petri dish of a uterus and whatever happens, happens? Or is there some grand plan by the man upstairs so that we are so diverse that sometimes people don't look related at all?
If the answer is it's His plan, then next time around, may I please have the SLIM body genes? High cheek bones would be nice, but the slim genes are enough. Honest.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Food,food everywhere and not a bite to eat
From looking at me, you'd realize I haven't missed many meals in my life. So why can I have a frig full of food and nothing sounds edible? Bread, eggs, cheese, onions potatoes, bacon...and I want to go get something from a fast food place. On a cruise off the coast of Mexico with all kinds of food readily available and all I can think of is food from Taco Bell. Hell, under normal circumstances, I don't go to TB at all! So what is it that affects your brain to NEED a particular food?
Okay, I'll confess. Carl's Jr has a great item on their menu that I can't resist...chocolate malts made with REAL ice cream and blended like a real shake. I am so addicted to them that I was stopping after work everyday to get one. I'd drink it down so fast that a brain freeze was inevitable. Some nights I wouldn't eat dinner. I would try to force myself to get on the freeway and avoid the evil drink. Then I would remember that there are two other Carl's on my way home. I was out of control!!
I am happy to say that I think I got the chocolate malt monkey off my back. I'm down to one or two demon shakes a week now. I don't try to deliberately drive by a Carl's on my way home. Now, I'm moving on to Cold Stone Creamery and their Cake Batter Cake Batter ice cream in quart size containers pre-packed for your convenience...
Okay, I'll confess. Carl's Jr has a great item on their menu that I can't resist...chocolate malts made with REAL ice cream and blended like a real shake. I am so addicted to them that I was stopping after work everyday to get one. I'd drink it down so fast that a brain freeze was inevitable. Some nights I wouldn't eat dinner. I would try to force myself to get on the freeway and avoid the evil drink. Then I would remember that there are two other Carl's on my way home. I was out of control!!
I am happy to say that I think I got the chocolate malt monkey off my back. I'm down to one or two demon shakes a week now. I don't try to deliberately drive by a Carl's on my way home. Now, I'm moving on to Cold Stone Creamery and their Cake Batter Cake Batter ice cream in quart size containers pre-packed for your convenience...
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
What constitutes an addiction?
I rushed back to the office today so I could blog during my lunch hour. I'm sitting here eating homemade fried rice (thanks, Sweetie) and blogging. If you had told me a week ago that I'd be doing this, I'd have called you a few choice names and advised you to see a shrink.
But does this mean I'm addicted to blogging? I mean, it's sorta like the days when I rushed home from working in retail (12 hour days were nothing) and headed for the freezer for my ice cold bottle of Stoli. Back then few people knew what Stoli WAS, let alone that it was one of the best vodkas hard earned money could buy. Kamikaze's were my drink of choice and I loved them served in a martini glass, only one or two ice cubes. After the second one, I'd lay down on the couch to watch TV and fall asleep. This was a habit of mine and one that I embraced. My daughter was about 13 or so when she came to me and told me she was worried I was becoming an alcoholic, like her grandmother. WOW, what a shock to the system. Two drinks makes me an alcoholic? Or was it the routine that I was addicted to? I realized that I was in the same pattern as my mother. She "only" drank beer or wine, so she couldn't be an alcoholic. At least that was what she always told us. We never bought it and, eventually, she died alone in a hospital that kept calling my brother to come quick because she wasn't going to make it "this time". That phone call had come so many times to him and me that neither of us would ever believe it really WAS the truth. Well, until this time. So the patterns that she had created over the years of crying wolf, hiding her drinking and alienating her children became HER addiction. She couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop.
I stopped drinking back when my daughter told me she was afraid I was becoming my mother. That scared me and I stopped. Cold. I started up again years later, but never fell back into that routine of coming home from work, drinking and passing out. Well, until recently.....
The job, the career I've chosen (or it chose me), is stressful. A LOT of stress. Not the kind of life threatening stress like firefighters or police officers have that comes with adrenaline. Just the kind of stress that allows idiotic people to call and threaten you on the phone or by email that if I don't do what THEY want me to do, something bad will happen. I don't know about you, but I don't respond well to threats. The brat in me wants to say "Oh, yeah? What're you going to do about it? You can't MAKE me!!!" But then the adult in me makes a quick appearance and I realize that my income is responsible for keeping the roof over our heads, food on the table and all of the other necessities like DVR, On Demand, wireless internet, two cars, a mortgage that is 45% higher than the value of the home....you get the idea. So, the adult in me takes over completely and I try to find a reasonable solution that everyone can be happy with.
But I don't go home and have a drink and fall asleep on the couch. First of all, the meds I'm on prevent me from absorbing copious amounts of alcohol. Secondly, the beagles have taken over the couch. So, I pop my evening batch of meds and head to the bedroom for a nap before dinner. Sometimes I don't eat dinner because the sleep is so much nicer and I can afford to miss about a week of dinners every week for a month!
So, am I now addicted to the naps? The quiet time? Not speaking witih ANYONE for a few hours? Addicted to Judge Judy or the latest celebrity garbage on TMZ? Snuggling with the Maltoodle while she licks my face?
Or am I now becoming addicted to blogging? Rushing back to the office, eating fried rice at my desk....is this Day 1 of a new addiction? And what would be the cure? Do I care?
But does this mean I'm addicted to blogging? I mean, it's sorta like the days when I rushed home from working in retail (12 hour days were nothing) and headed for the freezer for my ice cold bottle of Stoli. Back then few people knew what Stoli WAS, let alone that it was one of the best vodkas hard earned money could buy. Kamikaze's were my drink of choice and I loved them served in a martini glass, only one or two ice cubes. After the second one, I'd lay down on the couch to watch TV and fall asleep. This was a habit of mine and one that I embraced. My daughter was about 13 or so when she came to me and told me she was worried I was becoming an alcoholic, like her grandmother. WOW, what a shock to the system. Two drinks makes me an alcoholic? Or was it the routine that I was addicted to? I realized that I was in the same pattern as my mother. She "only" drank beer or wine, so she couldn't be an alcoholic. At least that was what she always told us. We never bought it and, eventually, she died alone in a hospital that kept calling my brother to come quick because she wasn't going to make it "this time". That phone call had come so many times to him and me that neither of us would ever believe it really WAS the truth. Well, until this time. So the patterns that she had created over the years of crying wolf, hiding her drinking and alienating her children became HER addiction. She couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop.
I stopped drinking back when my daughter told me she was afraid I was becoming my mother. That scared me and I stopped. Cold. I started up again years later, but never fell back into that routine of coming home from work, drinking and passing out. Well, until recently.....
The job, the career I've chosen (or it chose me), is stressful. A LOT of stress. Not the kind of life threatening stress like firefighters or police officers have that comes with adrenaline. Just the kind of stress that allows idiotic people to call and threaten you on the phone or by email that if I don't do what THEY want me to do, something bad will happen. I don't know about you, but I don't respond well to threats. The brat in me wants to say "Oh, yeah? What're you going to do about it? You can't MAKE me!!!" But then the adult in me makes a quick appearance and I realize that my income is responsible for keeping the roof over our heads, food on the table and all of the other necessities like DVR, On Demand, wireless internet, two cars, a mortgage that is 45% higher than the value of the home....you get the idea. So, the adult in me takes over completely and I try to find a reasonable solution that everyone can be happy with.
But I don't go home and have a drink and fall asleep on the couch. First of all, the meds I'm on prevent me from absorbing copious amounts of alcohol. Secondly, the beagles have taken over the couch. So, I pop my evening batch of meds and head to the bedroom for a nap before dinner. Sometimes I don't eat dinner because the sleep is so much nicer and I can afford to miss about a week of dinners every week for a month!
So, am I now addicted to the naps? The quiet time? Not speaking witih ANYONE for a few hours? Addicted to Judge Judy or the latest celebrity garbage on TMZ? Snuggling with the Maltoodle while she licks my face?
Or am I now becoming addicted to blogging? Rushing back to the office, eating fried rice at my desk....is this Day 1 of a new addiction? And what would be the cure? Do I care?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Should I apologize?
Okay, my boyfriend said I may have offended some of the people I work with by my previous blog. If any of you read just the first line and were offended, I'm sorry...that you didn't read the rest of the blog!! Geez, I wasn't referring to YOU when I said I work with idiots....but gosh if you don't READ I can't be held responsible!
Life is short, they say. I don't know who "they" are, but they're wrong. There are weeks when I know I've lived too long. You know, the weeks you have 35 checks bounce at the bank, the IRS says they want to be your BFF and to show how much our relationship is worth, why not send $500 a month to cement it forever, when every last bone in your body decides it's going on strike and the union agrees with them...then your carpal tunnel starts acting up and you can't feel the keys under your fingers... Hell, it feels like life was about two days too long!
Then the gods decide to REALLY mess with you and start showing you all the wonderful things life has to offer... 8 deer running along the road who stop to look at you, a wild turkey that spreads it's tail feathers to impress you and a picture of your grandson playing with his "cooter" because he can't say "s" yet...and you want to yell at the top of your lungs "NO, NOT YET!!! THERE'S TOO MUCH LEFT TO DO!!!"
If I wake tomorrow, which day will it be?
Life is short, they say. I don't know who "they" are, but they're wrong. There are weeks when I know I've lived too long. You know, the weeks you have 35 checks bounce at the bank, the IRS says they want to be your BFF and to show how much our relationship is worth, why not send $500 a month to cement it forever, when every last bone in your body decides it's going on strike and the union agrees with them...then your carpal tunnel starts acting up and you can't feel the keys under your fingers... Hell, it feels like life was about two days too long!
Then the gods decide to REALLY mess with you and start showing you all the wonderful things life has to offer... 8 deer running along the road who stop to look at you, a wild turkey that spreads it's tail feathers to impress you and a picture of your grandson playing with his "cooter" because he can't say "s" yet...and you want to yell at the top of your lungs "NO, NOT YET!!! THERE'S TOO MUCH LEFT TO DO!!!"
If I wake tomorrow, which day will it be?
I'm new at this, so bear with me
So what is all the hoopla about "blogging"?? Is it just thoughts coming through the ends of my fingertips onto the keyboard and onto the page in the universe? Or is it some mindless plot to get all of us to stop producing product and become mindless idiots that will have the "goo" scooped out of our heads like on the Hulu commercials?
I've never been accused of not having enough to say, but enough to write? Why would anyone want to read MY stuff?
I work with people who are completely clueless all day long. It amazes me how people can make the LARGEST purchase of their life and STILL not read the paperwork attached to it. What's wrong with you idiots? Don't TELL me you had a stack of papers three inches thick to initial and confirm that you had read, so you didn't have enough time to actually READ them. Who'd fault is that? So don't WHINE to me about the rules and regulations that you can't follow because you bought a home in a homeowners association and didn't KNOW you couldn't raise chickens in the back yard or bring Aunt Bessie's cow home for the weekend. I don't wanna hear it! Before you call me to complain that I sent you a POLITE letter advising you of the portion of the governing documents that you have violated, READ your doggone CC&Rs and Bylaws. If you find that I'm right, then stop for a minute and take a deep breath. Call me and apologize for doing the WRONG thing and give me a date that you'll get the damn cow out of your back yard. Or don't call and take the cow to the slaughterhouse and send me a couple of steaks for my trouble. Either one works for me.
I've never been accused of not having enough to say, but enough to write? Why would anyone want to read MY stuff?
I work with people who are completely clueless all day long. It amazes me how people can make the LARGEST purchase of their life and STILL not read the paperwork attached to it. What's wrong with you idiots? Don't TELL me you had a stack of papers three inches thick to initial and confirm that you had read, so you didn't have enough time to actually READ them. Who'd fault is that? So don't WHINE to me about the rules and regulations that you can't follow because you bought a home in a homeowners association and didn't KNOW you couldn't raise chickens in the back yard or bring Aunt Bessie's cow home for the weekend. I don't wanna hear it! Before you call me to complain that I sent you a POLITE letter advising you of the portion of the governing documents that you have violated, READ your doggone CC&Rs and Bylaws. If you find that I'm right, then stop for a minute and take a deep breath. Call me and apologize for doing the WRONG thing and give me a date that you'll get the damn cow out of your back yard. Or don't call and take the cow to the slaughterhouse and send me a couple of steaks for my trouble. Either one works for me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)