Monday, January 31, 2005

Monday morning stories with PsychoSal

I've recently had to resign from work in order to be a full time Mom. The thing I'm going to miss the most is Monday morning coffee and stories with my friend, PsychoSal; not her real name in order to protect her innocent victims.

PsychoSal is a short, unbearably thin boozehound who smokes to annoy; meaning she likes to smoke on the bus, takes 15 minute smoke breaks right after lunch, and insits that by refusing to let her smoke when the urge hits her, will damage her ability to reach her productivity goals. she is incredibly good at her job, which means the management bends over backwards to keep her employed and making money for them. She is a single mom, and enjoys being...well...easy.

She has been aching to sleep with Stewart for weeks now, and he's starting to come around to the idea. Last week he started winking, or grinning at her whenever he walked past her cubicle with a cup of coffee. He's been drinking so much coffee lately that he walks by every half hour to and from the toilets.

She tells me this morning that they hooked up over the weekend. She spent a couple hours before the date making sure her hair was right, her underwear was coordinated and sexy and her outfit was revealing enough and her shoes made her at least five foot eight so, very high indeed. They met up, and went to a couple of posh bars and then went on to the Cuban themed club for dancing (Please take a moment to imagine a bunch of drunken Scots dancing to latin music) She was all sexy close lambada and he was all, "Fuck, I hope I don't fall over", and they made that silent decision that tonight was the night and off to her place they went.

They get into her place, they are all over each other; kissing and groping and stumbling towards the bedroom. When he makes a move to undo her bra she suddenly stops, panics and then kisses him again. He goes for her bra gain and she backs away; "I'll do it" she says, and she quickly takes off her top, undoes the bra and tosses them both on the hardwood floor. *Thud* panic, stumble, *squish* *pop* PANIC *splash*.

"That would be your tits hitting the floor then, eh?" he said, laughing.

She nearly ran out, but then remembered it was her house, so she decided to shag him anyway and then kick him out. What really pissed her off was the sex wasn't good enough to compensate for the high-heeled anhilation of her water bra.



Saturday, January 29, 2005

AwwwwRight!

I've never heard of Bettie Page, but She Rocks!! I love the shoes! I'm definitely looking her up and, maybe, I should call into Ann Summers. This is so me...honest...really...I mean it.

You are Bettie Page!
You're Bettie Page!


What Classic Pin-Up Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Things that make me go Grrrrrrrr!

If you're going to eat peanut butter, you must clean the knife. lick it, wipe it off on the bread, your trouser leg, the cat, the dog, your friends; I don't care. The smell of wet peanut butter in my kitchen sink makes me want to vom. New Rule, as proclaimed by ME!

Lyvvie

I knew this was my Second Adolescence....

This test just proved what I already knew. I'm even studying for my driving test. I've lived in the U.K. for almost ten years and never needed to drive (excellent bus system in Edinburgh) but we moved to the sticks a year ago and it's becoming quite lonely, so I'm getting my U.K. drivers license. I've even had to take driving lessons again because here, you have two types of driving licenses; one for driving an automatic and one for driving a manual transmission. If you have a license for a manual, you can also drive an automatic, but not vice versa. I've never driven a stick in my life, but the family car is a manual (I read somewhere, years ago, that men find women who can drive a stick very sexy). I have to take a theory test, and then a driving test. Since I already did this fifteen years ago, my mind is turning to oatmeal at the thought of, execution of and practice of getting my license. The people here drive like freekin loonies too! Jackrabbits on acid! I thought Boston was bad, but I'd rather drive Rt.93 through the middle of Boston on the day before Thanksgiving everyday of my life than drive on any wee back road here. Anyways, hope whoever may read this is having a nice weekend, I have to go and memorize road signs.

Lyvvie






You Are 17 Years Old



17





Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe.

13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.

20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences.

30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!

40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.




Friday, January 28, 2005

I always knew I was a tort...





take the WHAT INTENTIONAL TORT ARE YOU test.


and go to mewing.net. because law school made laura do this.


What kind are you?? Find Out here...

I didn't put the Grrr in there...how interesting, huh.

Lyvvie

Things that make me go Grrrrrrrr!

I really hate it when you are washing the dishes and a spoon gets under the flow of water. Water spraying all over me, the counters, the floors. I've got wet socks, a wet shirt and I'm sure water got into the fiberboard of the counter top so it'll probably start to warp.

It really burns my toast...which is another thing that bugs me!

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Realization is a scary thing

It's so much easier to live in denial. I really want to go back to when I could eat whatever I wanted and not gain any weight, but then I would be only five years old and I've come this far so I suppose I'm just going to have face facts and come to grips with reality.

It's now taken me nine months to come to the realization that, when you work from home; you have easy access to the refrigerator. I'm also the one who buys the food to fill the refrigerator. So taking those two points to heart it can only spell out the truth; I'm overweight because I buy crap, put it in the refriderator and then eat it.


Even though I've just come clean, I still feel myself wanting to defend my actions, like a teenager busted for drinking beer in the basement. I feel I should be able to eat what I want when I want and damn the consequences. I mean what consequences can there be for eating half a loaf a bread before Noon because the taste of cinnamon toast is so relaxing and comforting? How about diabetes. I don't have diabetes, but it runs in my family on my father's side. My mother's side has alcoholism, but I rarely drink and the smell of liquor makes me gag...I usually overcome it though, I'm not teetotal. My Dad had diabetes, and I watched him struggle and suffer until he died at the age of sixty-four. I know he got diabetes when he was thirty-four, I just turned thirty-three, and I'm getting scared.


I've been bread binging for a few weeks. Scones with butter and jam, cinnamon toast, cinnamon raisin bagels, chocolate shortbread cookies. Often I run up to the shops buy something, eat it and hide the wrappers. I prefer cake and bread over candy bars and sweets, for some reason I find binging on candy perverse unless you're in a movie theatre. I feel absolutely miserable; my skin is a mess, I struggle to concentrate, I have no energy and I catch myself losing my temper quite easily. There's a big cloud of shame that I run away from, and anything I do that may hurt my kids, like shouting for no reason or worse, ignoring them because I'm too grumpy and irritable to be bothered makes me feel awful and like a bad parent.


So, this morning I decided to be a bit patrician, and I'm cutting out in between meal snacks. No more fridge-grazing. It's funny how your mind will try and trick you out a goal.

A voice in my head says "go ahead and have a carrot stick, it's only a carrot stick, that's healthy, that's allowed." but I have to steel myself, no food between meals.
After breakfast I made a cup of tea "Wouldn't a cookie go nice with that tea?"

"Well, yes, but I'm not having one. "


"Wha...wha...what do you mean??" the urge pulls tighter.


"No food in between meals!" I say firmly. I make my tea and fill a tall glass with water. I will be drinking water every time I have a craving.


"Well, fine. How about some toast then. A little sugar, some cinnamon. Would go very nice with that tea. We got the kids up and ready, one off to school, go ahead, you deserve it."


"I'm not hungry." and I can't remember the last time I felt my stomach growl for food.


"So. Since when is that an issue?" the urge asks.


"Since now. Since today. You better get used to it."


"I don't think so." The urge pulls again and doubles its efforts. I feel twitchy, nervous and when I can't take it anymore, I stalk out of the kitchen with my two cups. The urge follows. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. How about just a wee drink of maple syrup, or a spoonful of chocolate ice cream? There's peanut butter in the cabinet, get the big spoon, have a half spoon of peanut butter with a half spoon of ice cream..."


"SHUT UP! Shut. Up. I'm not gonna, you can't make me so shut up and drink the water."


The urge was momentarily stunned, but we've been here before. It's a very cocky urge. It's used to having its own way and will annoy and harass me for hours, days, weeks. I'm not looking forward to the crying, screaming tantrum of a nagging urge to consume cake. The hard part is, it's my husband's birthday today, so I know there will be cake, because I'm going to buy one. The urge will feel it's had it's way and the fight will start all over again tomorrow. I'm going to stick to the following rules:


1.) No food in between meals.

2.) Lunch will be soup, any kind of soup, but must be soup and I can have two bowls full if I want to.

3.) Any cravings will be washed down with water until it goes away.
4.)
Eat only when my stomach tells me it's empty.

At the moment I think that's enough. I'm drinking decaff tea and coffee too. I think it will have a positive effect. I hope so anyways. I'm expecting this to be even harder than quitting smoking, with smoking you just don't buy them anymore and don't light one up and don't put it to your lips and inhale. Eating is another thing, I have to go to the grocery store, I have to buy food. This is a bit trickier.


I'm not a religious person, but it's times like these when the words "Let me not be led into temptation..." come to mind and a prayer to God does offer some comfort. A silent ally to help fight a silent urge.
I need a glass of water.

Now, not only do I want a cookie, but I want a cigarette too.


Lyvvie

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Tonight is Burns Night, where the world pays homage to Robert Burns, the most famous of write like ya tawk. It's a time where folks gather for a meal of Haggis, neeps and tatties, down a few drams of a fine whiskey and recite Burns's poems for each other.

We are having a couple of Emily's friends over to join us for dinner, but you really can't serve a five year old a haggis. So we're having rigatoni with mushroom and creamy tomato sauce and...haggis/beef meatballs! They'll never know what goodness they're devouring.
Chocolate ice cream with toffee sauce and whipped cream for dessert not the usual whiskey soaked cake creations as the kids have to be sober for a music concert tomorrow.

My favorite Burns poem.

To a Mouse. On turning her up in her nest with the plough.

1785
Type: Poem

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell-
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley,
An'lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!


Have a tipple and raise your glass, To the Bard, with us.

Lyvvie

Friday, January 21, 2005

Ramble Ramble


Highly Random Bollocks...

I had a phrase stuck in my head...soylent green. I've found out
Soylent green is people...what bad grammar...They should say Soylent green are people, they have feelings you know. Like the Inuits, they may live in a cold place and have some numb body parts but they can feel some things, tactually speaking. Why they're green I don't know. Maybe they live on ships?

Why is it when those guys who walk to the Poles and end up with their
noses frozen off, it goes all black and icky? I read a story about a guy who went up Mt. Everest a couple times and thought he got through the ordeal amazingly well. He was lying in the bathtub all hot and steamy, completely relaxed, when he noticed a couple of his toes floating around. But they weren't black, that would've been a big red flag.

Where do you ever see big red flags anymore? Safety warning colors are
now neon orange...should we be saying "that was a big neon orange flag that something was wrong."? A red flag is still used to annoy bulls in bullfighting, so a red flag would be an invitation to have a fight.

If a hill walker takes a compass, does he then become an Outdoor
Adventurer?? And if an Outdoor Adventurer takes a bow and arrow, some flint and a pocket fisherman, is he now a Weekend Warrior? What if a Weekend Warrior only has a Saturday to go out because he needs to be at his Mom's house for Sunday dinner...is he demoted to Outdoor Adventurer? Where to guys who play paint ball fit into all this? And does the Territorial Army laugh at all of them?

If you define the boundaries will the Territorial Army protect only
within those boundaries, or will they all just run around saying "This is mine and for my country, I shall protect it with my life!" brandishing neon orange flags?

One hot summer day I was sitting in the back yard with my Dad. We were
drinking lemonade and feeling content. Not needing to say much other than "sure is hot...Yup, sure is." When all of a sudden we noticed a whole lot of black ants running around on the driveway. "That's a lot of ants..." "Yeah, hey, lookit that." Within seconds, there were thousands of ants, black ones and red ones. We realized were sitting in the middle of a major turf war. There was only one thing my Dad and I could do; lift our feet, light a cigarette and take a bet who was going to win. I chose black, they'd taken to the field early to set their troops in position. It was a spectacular display of murder, assault, carnage and nature. Five minutes later it was over. The driveway was a bloodless sprawl of ant bodies. I won the bet. "Lookit, some of them have wings.." "Weird...I'll get the hose." And I cleared away the carnage. Topped up the lemonade in our glasses and said, "Damn it's hot."

Okay...I'm done for now

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

My Mantra, My Future.

I Shall Wear Purple

When I am an old woman
I shall wear purple,
With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and
summer gloves. And satin sandals, and say we've
no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement
when I'm tired. And gobble up samples in shops and
press alarm bells. And run my stick along public
railings. And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain. And pick
flowers in other people's gardens. And learn to
spit...
But, maybe I ought to practice a little now? So
people who know me are not too shocked or surprised
when suddenly I am old and start to wear
purple.

- Jenny Joseph

Adolescent Again

I am going through a second adolescece. My hormones have been raging for over a year now with pregnancy, birth, breast feeding and now a return to blazing PMS. I've developed a touch of acne, something I didn't suffer from the first time around and I blame those hormones again. I'm not working, and I have several hours of idleness to fill with something useful.

There lies the difference I suppose with me at 13 and me at 33. At 13 I would spend those hours watching television or trying to find patterns in the stucco ceilings. Things are different now, I have children to care for and a house to manage. Chores and baby sitting. I have lots of tedious chores and yet this time around I don't earn an allowance that I can spend on eye shadow and black eyeliner. I'm also a permanent baby-sitter; full-time, but then that's my fault for having sex, so I can't really moan about it. There is still this element of freedom that I'm learning to come to grips with.

As a teenager, I was bored. I didn't want to do anything, and yet I wanted entertained. I wanted to talk to my friends and be seen in public. I forever thought my life was being broadcast on live television and I better put on a damned good show; and I did. I was loud, obnoxious, flirtatious, promiscuous and a complete pain in the butt. I didn't want to be bothered with cleaning my room, folding laundry, scrubbing floor tiles or dusting; I was creating a life for myself. I colored my hair in outrageous shades of purple and red (never at the same time though.) I wore skin tight jeans and stole my Dad's tuxedo shirts. I had to beg for every inch of clothing from my mother who though buying me clothes was a wasted investment ; as stated before I wouldn't clean, iron or wash so she wouldn't spend good money on good clothes for me to walk on, and borrowed a fair few from friends. I wanted to have fun and homework didn't count, school didn't count, church definitely didn't count and family were a big nuh-uh. I could take care of myself and I wanted to show them all that I could.

Rebellious, angry and feeling neglected for my lack of Eighties extravagance I eventually settled into the fact that I was too young to drink and go clubbing, realizing that and no television camera was perpetually interested in my antics. Big Pout. I was too old to play with toys and dress-up; so where was I? There I embarked on discovering who I was. I was going to "Find Myself". What a waste of time! I wish someone had told me then that you are never the same person from year on year, so discovering yourself was a complete impossibility; a fruitless journey. I had far more fun falling in love several times, moving across the world, getting married (once), having a few fun careers, and then having kids.

Where do I find myself today? I've just filled in the form that tells my employer I'm resigning at the end of my maternity leave. I've had several emotions so far ranging from guilt at letting my co-workers and customers down, happy I'll be spending more time with my kids, sad I'm not following my career goals, happy I'll be able to write more, afraid what so much easy access to the fridge will do to my waistline, terrified at the prospect of using my exercise DVD's and wearing sweats, deviously ashamed at being able to watch General Hospital again, worried my brain will turn to oatmeal with the baby as my constant company, worried further that I wont have any friends anymore, thanking my lucky stars that I'll have no more office politics or performance reviews or customer service complaints.


I have a lot to look forward to and a lot more maturity to notice everything around me, not focus on what's noticing me. I'm going to find a couple of Mom and baby clubs, and meet a few new people, I'll give Tae-bo a serious try this time, I'll dress only in casual clothes I'll wear black eyeliner and, you know, I may just dye my hair purple and red this time.


Friday, January 14, 2005

Feminism and Motherhood

I went to a private all girls school that had a very small enrolment of around 150 students. There were fantastic teachers and a very competitive grading system and it was my mother's Alma mater. We were young ladies being taught by Women who had fought for equality, and I'm sure a fair few actually burned their bras. The strongest message I received was that I had the opportunity to become anything in this world I wanted to be. I didn't have to be satisfied with any historically traditional woman's career like teaching, nursing or being a secretary; I could become a lawyer, judge, business-woman or scientist. All the wars between the sexes had been waged by these frontiers-women so that I could pursue any and all dreams and not be weighed down by marriage, children and a life of mediocrity.

I was a rebellious teenager, as predictable as that is. I rebelled against the feminist education I was receiving. As a former child, I really didn't appreciate feeling guilty for ruining my mother's life. My Mother was a very successful accountant and I'm proud of the hardships she overcame in order to provide for her family and create a career for herself. The downside was having to live in her absence. From infancy I was left with an elderly couple during the week while my parents went to work, at school-age I was a latchkey kid and ate many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and watched long hours of television (I know every episode of Three's Company and Gilligans's Island as well as The Little Rascals and Our Gang) I didn't have friends because none of my neighbours had kids, and I wasn't allowed out to play until my parents came home. I then had to leave them alone because they were tired from working hard all day and they needed to rest. My Dad would lie down on the couch and watch the news. Mom would read a book and listen to the news. I went back to my television or Atari.

There I am, being told on all levels what a career gal I'm now allowed to be, I have my mother and professors as a role models, yet I was feeling lonely and isolated. What I wanted was some love, companionship and fun. Was I supposed to be sitting at home, nose in a book studying anatomy and physiology for the one day I might want to become a doctor? (Once I got a few boyfriends that came naturally), with all the choices now laid out at my feet, where should I start? I could never figure out what or who I wanted to be. I took the career development tests, but nothing really sounded interesting. Everything seemed to be hugely hard work.Intern ships where you earn no money and get a lot of experience at making coffee or typing up letters; sounds like being a secretary to me and that was a step backwards. The military were always very interested in me, which I found scary.

Ultimately, at the age of twenty-eight I found a very happy career working in international banking. I work with nice people, have a pension and a career path; something of a treasure these days. I've been on maternity leave for the past eight months with my second little girl. It's been a fantastic and rewarding experience. I was back to work by the time my eldest was three months old, out of obligation and guilt. Guilt figures a lot in my choices, but that's a story for another day. I felt everyone needed me; work needed me back and my husband needed my financial contribution. So off to daycare the baby went, and she was a happy little thing.

This time, I've had the luxury to be able to take care of my baby myself. This is not a mediocre life. I've been able to witness all her little milestones, and today, she took her first few tries at crawling. I never got to see that the first time around, the nursery did; they told me about it and I felt proud and guilty. I don't have the cleanest house, but you wont get ill and at least you know there's life within these walls. I'm able to walk my eldest to school every morning, and she never comes home to an empty house. My priority is to have these little girls grow up to be confident, strong and happy. I know one day they'll be telling me to back off, give them their space and even to disappear all together. It will break my heart, and make me proud all at once; at least I hope it will.

I still think the feminists gave me too much freedom and not enough guidance. I've shuffled from job to job, and had a few majors in university, but no degree. I learned how to groom and train dogs, but will now never own one due to allergies. I've learned how to invest money, but have none to invest. I had a lot of fun managing a Gap, and I can now manage my home and family. I'm learning how to design web pages, I'm writing a book and I'm keeping the plants in my garden alive; a pure miracle. There's plenty to learn from being a wife, mother,and home-maker. Why did I have to find it all out the hard way, and why doesn't my spell checker include the word Mom?

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

What's wrong with Moms?

We woke up early this morning because the baby decided we should all be up at 6:30. Groggy and feeling limbless due to awkward sleeping positions I stumbled about and got the two girls shuffled downstairs for their breakfast. The baby's hunger is always easy to satisfy with pre-made porridge, milk and fruit and I have some hot grape-nuts with cinnamon. The trouble maker is the eldest. Every morning brings me closer to an aneurysm from the frustration of her indecision. Yesterday she asked for cocoa-pops; we don't have coco-pops, in fact we haven't had those for months.

"I'll make you toast." I say, taking the upper hand to prevent my frustration.

"No Mommy, I'll just have bread. Bread with butter."

"No. That is not a breakfast, I would be a bad mommy if I let you go off to school with only bread and butter in your tummy." I say, perhaps a bit too firmly. "I'll make you some toast."

"Okay, Mummy." She says equally firm.

I'm there, feeling like I won that battle when I think about what I'm doing. What is the difference between bread and butter, and buttered toast? None! Why does toasting the bread make it any more acceptable as a breakfast? I suddenly felt suckered, and not by her cleverness but by my stupidity. Worse, what am I teaching my daughter?

"I'm putting some peanut butter on it." I say quickly.

"Okay." Thank you God. I was expecting her to whine and moan about the protein addition, but she acquiesced. "But tomorrow I want a boiled egg."

"You got it babe." Isn't she a genius.

I was shocked that I was so prepared to dismiss her suggestion of bread and butter and be satisfied with buttered toast. Am I a bad Mom?

Certainly a bit insane.

Lyvvie


Monday, January 10, 2005

A Splendid weekend!

We didn't actually do anything this weekend except go grocery shopping. We had more fun hanging around, watching movies, having a laugh and enjoying each other's company. The baby is learning to crawl so we watch her wriggle about on the carpet and then stick her bum up in the air in yogalike positions. She also said her first word yesterday; "Up". I'm not devastated that it's not Mom or Dada, I'm happy she's able to communicate and chose such a great word...it's as good as "Gimme a cuddle!".

My Eldest girl is five and a half and has been entertaining us all with her fantasy of being a superhero. It started last week on Wednesday morning when I was helping her get ready for her first day back to school. She looked sleepy and I asked if she'd slept well. "No Mummy, I was up all night!" Oh dear I said, how come? "I had to save the city." I give her the 'I don't know what you're talking about but I'll listen' look but she volunteers no further information.

"What city?" I ask

"The city what we live in." I corrected her grammar and then asked her
"You mean you weren't in your bed last night?"

"No, I had to fly out and save the city...like I told you already Mummy."


"Well, how did you get out of the house? I locked all the doors."


"I made myself small like Santa can do and I slipped out the open window in the bathroom."


"Why did the city need saving?"


"There was a big monster smashing the city and I was called to save it."


"Who called?" I asked now fully attentive to the details she'll create.


"The Big Boss of the City." she says as she leans in close, conspiring giving me Lady Di eyes.


"The Big Boss? You mean, the Mayor?"


"Yes. It's a secret. You cannot tell anyone."


"How did the Mayor contact you? I never heard the phone ring." I ask.


"I have a special machine. It's a tiny machine in my ear and he can call me whenever he needs me."


"Wow" I'm amazed, impressed and engrossed, "How did you get to the city, did the Mayor send a car for you?"


"No, Mummy, I can fly you know that."


"No I didn't, when did you learn to fly?"


"I cant fly, but I have special rocket boots."


"Where did you buy rocket boots?"


"At the shops, they're red ones and they have rockets in them to help me fly."
"How much did you spend on them?"

"They cost £30.00"


"Bargain!" I say wondering where I could get some cool red rocket boots.
Alas, the conversation was ended when the chore of toothbrushing interrupted and arguments about what snacks are going the lunchbox. She did want to wear her rocket boots to school today, which are now a pair of grey socks and not red at all, but I had to say no since she'd worn them yesterday and to bed last night. I don't like wearing socks to bed but she insists. I think it just brings sand into the sheets. She is very imaginative.

I miss being five and half.

Generation X has disappeared.

Is it a myth that Thirty year olds exist? Have you seen any recently? The theory is that they all work holed up in offices somewhere glued to computers and living off whatever sugar coated or cheese flavored snack comes out of the vending machine. They are caffeine addicts, having fallen for the lure of Starbucks in their twenties to keep awake for the all night parties. The women who aren't working may be at home with small children, or only go out to drop older ones off at school. I'm told there's a flurry of Thirty somethings in the grocery stores from about 9:30 in the morning, then disappear again. Ghost-like.

Many Thirty-something have bought homes that they pay off in monthly installments, yet never live in. They have cars that they live in, and may also be paying off (or it's an old heap that reminds them of their first car, their first backseat, their first road trip). Debt seems to be a norm for them; mortgage, car payments, credit cards, loans etc. They were the youth of the Eighties where a constant flow of eliteism and wealth was easily yours with education and enthusiasm. In trying to attain that, they've got the bank manager on speed dial.

A Thirty year old is in a second puberty. Starting to get too old to go to clubs as others are late teens calling you the "Crusty" and laughing. Yet too young to enjoy full financial freedom. They discover they are tired, too tired to stay up all night watching crap on telly because they have to be up early. Children are young and full of exhaustive energy that make us feel older than we are. For the first time they start to understand what their parents must have gone through, so rather than rebelling against them, they grow closer to them. They become people; people who worked hard to make their kids happy or in some cases tried to cope with the hell dished out as best they could.


Not for public viewing, is that how they feel? A few pounds heavier now as the sofa becomes more comfortable and who has energy for dancing or cruising around all night? Cosmetics are targeted to women and men to help them not show their age and manage the wrinkles that are starting o creep in around the eyes. Since when has Thirty become old? Friends was cancelled as they all toppled into Thirtyhood; although realistically the actors were already all in their Thirties. There used to be a show called Thirty-something that not many current thirty year olds will have seen; what answers does it hold today?


It just seems the world is forever in ownership of those far older than those hard working Thirties and being enjoyed by those far younger. When will the Thirties have their day? It's the Vanishing of Generation X.

This is supposed to be the place for me to whitter on about things that cross my mind. It may get full quickly as I have a brain that doesn't turn off and often tortures me with lunacy, in a fun way. I'll be able to sort out my family history which begins with a distant grandfather being run out of Scotland "Or We'll hang you!" which is interesting. I can also write about the incredible and imaginative stuff my two kids come up with, that will definitely fill some time. And I can make updates for my novel, insert my spontaneous invention ideas-which I have lots but no drive, education or money to create (some require engineering I have no interest in).

So. Who knows where this may take me. I can dish on my Family and not suffer the stares of being "She who tells" and have a wall to splatter my grey matter against occasionally, see if any interesting patters emerge.

I can't figure out the spell check yet with the pop-up blocker, sorry for the errors.

Lyvvie