Total, unadulterated happiness

Aahhhhh....my Amazon order arrived. I have been dancing to George Harrison ever since. And I've got more, too! But George, he is IT.

Nuance, baby. it's all about the nuance.

I am, by nature, pretty darn conservative. But that doesn't mean I can't listen to other opinions.

In fact, my biggest problem with most ultra-liberals I meet isn't their liberal position (unless it's on abortion...I have a hard time with that one) but rather their inability to entertain other viewpoints.

Thankfully, I've found women who can differ, respectfully, and discuss, patiently, and perhaps just as important, change the subject to the latest M Night Shyamalan movie when necessary. You go, Kate!

And in that vein, visit kaka mak.

As I watch myself roll through some crazy emotional crap

Hubby is there, pretty much, to be the hand that holds the kite string. Yesterday, he said, "I think you're just going through a rough patch. I think there's nothing in your life worse than the rest of the stuff we've had to put up with over the years. Depression is just part of life, especially for creative types like you."

Ah. That "creative types like you" part is enough to keep a smile on my face for days, even though I'm only doing hospital web site content revisions for the next week or so. I may spend my time cutting the passive voice from someone else's old page about surgery, but deep down, I am a Creative Type. Woo!

A cool site to remind me

...that I am not a freak.

Quote of the Day:

When we picked up Sons 1, 3 and 4 from their grandparents' house, Son #1 was overwhelmingly affectionate. He has hugged and kissed me more in the past 3 days than in the past 3 months, I think, and tells me repeatedly how much he missed me.

Why, you ask? It's the menu.

"We lived on Ho-Hos and french fries, Mom. And lasagne. By the third day, I would have paid good money for an apple."

You know I'm back, because I'm listing stuff on eBay

Got back from Colorado on the 21st (awesome trip, too much to blog about today) and have been tidying...looking around the house for stuff to list on eBay, in my desperate efforts to make this place look less like a pit.

My other job is Insurance Administrator

I just got my new fax machine yesterday and I swear it will pay for itself in skipped Staples fax fees, stamps, gas, and time before this leg thing is through. Hubby said today that I am working full-time as an insurance benefits administrator, and it sure is starting to feel that way.

On the bright (but still medical) side, I also have been spending a lot of unexpected time at St Mary's Hospital, getting drug screened/infectious disease tested/quizzed on the proper way to lift a patient and protect their HIPAA rights...all because I am doing a freelance writing project for them. It is, in a word, silly.

I keep saying, "You realize I'll never be in contact with any patients, and in fact will only be on hospital grounds, in the administration wing, perhaps one or two hours per month, for meetings?" And they respond, "Yep. Regulations. Take this sheet down the hall." I have already put in about 2 hours just in paperwork/employee physicals. So, let's just hope I end up having a long and profitable relationship with the hospital.

hubby got hired! update

After calls from the singer, drummer, and guitarist in which he was told "the job is yours, man, you're our new bass player," after going out to dinner with the singer and guitarist and hearing, again, "the job is yours, dude," after several practices, after joining the singer at open mike night and being told repeatedly that he "played the shit out of that bass,"; after all this, last night Hubby got the call..."we want you to be our bass player, but we don't want to fire the current bass player. We want to wait until he quits."

This is the bass player they say sucks. The one they say they can't stand as a musician, or on any personal level. The one they know has been stealing money from the band, when he's not just sponging. And, naturally, the one who is obviously not going to quit, because as a member of this band he is tranformed from an unattractive, untalented, mooching jackass loser, into The Bassist Who Gets Attention from Sexy, Drunken Groupies.

Hubby saw this coming. I didn't. I guess it's because these musician types make no sense to me, at all, whereas he's been dealing with their oeuvre since he was a tween. So, he seems less ticked about it than I am.

Perhaps it also helps that his YouTube clips have already attracted the attention of another local band that has asked him to try out for their bassist slot.

But, good grief. How many bands are going to "swear! Man, you are awesome! You are our new bass player!" and then back out before a single paid gig? This makes 2 so far in 2006. I'm going to stop talking about it with Hubby, because it feels like I'm just rubbing it in. But, ugh. Man. Ugh.

Peace Activists in Action

Hubby says they're only doing it to get laid. And if Christiaan Briggs is any example, they take it really hard when they get turned down.

So, ladies, if you can stand it, do what you can for world peace--give a piece to one of those whiny peace activists before they get riled.

One small step for civilization

I'll admit, I'm feeling cranky. Something about lack of sleep, terminal exhaustion and hot flashes. Combine that with yet another interviewee who "forgot" we had an appointment, and I was on a hair trigger when I pulled up at the stop light.

Next to a white guy, trying really hard to be ghetto. Car seat flattened all the way back, arm hanging over the car door, all the windows down, and rap music blasting so loud I could hear it clearly inside my car.

I snapped.

I rolled down MY windows, tuned to the classical station, and blasted violins as loud as I could. He looked over and lurched forward, just about two feet--as far as his car had room to go. He cranked. I cranked. And then the light turned green, and I drove next to him for about a block.

Immature and pointless, I know, but it felt good.

Who's your daddy?

Today Hubby was practicing bass and guitar in the living room. Son #4 walked in and asked him to turn it off. "It was OK at first, but now it's getting a little annoying." Son #1, after a brief bass session, was in the kitchen watching the news for information on Korea's missile testing program.

Pretty weird. Our kids want us to turn off that noisy rock'n'roll music so they can hear the news.

Haircut

I almost never get my hair cut. I tend to push that to the back burner, and have to have been pretty frustrated with my hair for at least a few weeks before I will ignore all urges to the contrary and actually go in for a cut. Mainly because of a horrendous haircut I received about 17 years ago.

This is cheap, and frees up some time, but it makes it hard to establish a relationship with a stylist. I'm that-woman-I-see-every-three-months-for-a-quick-cut-and-eyebrow-waxing.

I have found 2 great stylists here in the Happy Boondocks. One is quite expensive, and her son spends his free time beating the tar out of Son #1. So, not a great option, even though she is a genius with scissors.

The other is affordable, and baggage-free, but SHE QUIT. She no longer works at the Hair Cuttery. I don't know where to find her. Like I said, if I did this more often she would have told me to follow her, but since I hardly ever show up I am stuck.

So, yesterday I went back to the Cuttery, mainly because they have a photo on display these days of a haircut I have always wanted. In fact, in the weeks before we moved to Thailand, I went to a very expensive salon in an attempt to get this very cut...and the hilarious failure that ensued is fodder for a piece I am going to write and sell, so I'm not putting it up here. Suffice it to say I got a radically different 'do, and was mortified.

Yesterday, I also got something far from the photo fantasy cut. I keep running my hand over my hair and saying "whoa, this is not what I'd planned at all."

Two observations:

Firstly, it helps to have a Buddha-like detachment from my appearance. I KNEW, going in, that even if she cut my hair exactly the way I wanted, I would not be transformed into some fabulous-looking glamor queen. I was aiming just for "nice haircut, Frumpzilla". Pretty low standards, right there. So I have discovered that low standards is a one-way ticket to Dontgiveafuckville. The haircut I got is actually very similar to the one, 17 years ago, that made me cry, and I can't rouse myself past mild amusement. The joys of being nearly forty and grossly overweight, folks...not great on a daily basis, but good for mental health.

Secondly, I need to quiz my new stylists. Just because she owns a pair of scissors, doesn't mean she understands that curly hair looks longer wet than it does dry. Forget assuming a professional knows her stuff. Be rude, and let her know.

Cracked Foam

Is, in my mind, another way of saying "ain't no way we're launching".

I'm not sure why we can't get this right. The "environmental wackos are forcing us to use substandard materials" argument makes a lot of sense, though.

I love cashing checks as much as the next person, but

Wouldn't it be simpler to just tax everyone less, instead of using tax money to send monthly checks to people who have children? Canada's child tax benefits are another way to take money from people who earn it and give money to people the government thinks deserve it.

I still haven't heard a good reason for governments to be in the meddling business. But, hey, Canada, knock yourself out.