Sorry for the lateness in posting awards, but the fam and I went out for a birthday dinner, and then I came home and spent all my birthday money online, ordering crafting stuff.
Many thanks to all for the warm birthday wishes. Y'all make me feel better just by being here.
Now, on to what you all came for -- the spectacular floor show! Uh.... I mean the awards!
In our Whine of Substance category, our winner is Uccellina, whose precious progeny scared entire *decades* off Daddy's lifespan by appearing not to breathe. As if having a poor, sick little one isn't enough, now your husband's a quivering pile of Jell-o. Well, at least he's a parent who cares -- you could have the other end of the spectrum, God forbid.
In our Elevated Risk of Mullet award for best use of beverage-spewing wordsmithery, the award goes to the ever-hilarious Gary (otherwise known as Dr. Corndog) for the following: "Anti-whine: the boys have actually been behaving semi-respectably. My last nerve remains remarkably unjumped upon at this point." May I borrow those boys to demonstrate proper behavior to my boys in my class? Because my last nerve was jumped on, kicked down the hall, put in time out, severed and the shreds thrown to the four corners of the globe about a week ago. Sorry you're flying solo for the interim, Gary, but I know you're a great dad, so you'll do fine.
In the Old Skool category, Margalit wins for bringing the bodily fluids, even though the fluid is animal instead of human. The cat is insistent that its litter box is beneath Margalit's bed, necessitating the sleeping on the couch. Niiiice. Add in the verbally abusive son, and I'm sure tears are in there somewhere.
In a double-whammy decision, margalit also racks up another WW statuette in the "Friends? Who Needs 'Em?" category for friends who know that her family was running low on groceries and money, but still got a case of the ass-chap when they declined the invitation to the "bring your own sushi" party. Sorry that things are so tight right now, and sorry your friend's an asshat.
In my patented "Morton's Salt" award, the winner is Purple Kangaroo, whose tale of the doctor who desperately needs some bedside manner is angry-making in the extreme. You'd think, with your history, she'd have a little more of a clue by now. I hope you get your appointment, and the referral you need. I also hope good days are headed your way, and soon.
Honorable mentions go out to Kathy A., whose daughter lost her ATM card and needs mom to bail her out, and to Sue for back-to-work woes, moving woes, and a bouquet of flowers to her lovely husband, Pillar, for putting up with the crankiness.
Thanks to all who whined this week, and hope all your fall days are blustery in a good way!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
WW: The "To Everything There Is A Season" Edition
It's the changing of the season, Pixies.... To many of you, it means leaves in glorious colors, the harvesting of nature's bounty, and cooler weather.
Here in the tropics, however, fall means a gradual shift from "heat that melts asphalt" to merely "blazing hot weather with intermittent rain." We have more pine trees and palm trees than oaks and maples, so we're mostly gypped on the leaves, too.
To me personally, fall means that I turn another year older. Most of the time, this is a Good Thing. I mean, every day you're not six feet under is one for the win column, right? Except the older I get, the more the number seems to mess with my head. When I turned 30, I was depressed for a few days, all hung up on what I thought I should have accomplished by that milestone age. Now, at almost-38, I find myself very anxious at the thought that 40 is looming ever closer...out there, waiting for me. I know it's all in my head. I have LOTS to be thankful for: a great family, a daughter that I've managed not to kill due her angsty tween goth attitude, a job that I love, friends who are great, and my hobbies, which make me happy. So, why am I so hung up on a number?
Maybe because with age, I can fully appreciate that there is an end out there. That life is finite, and one day, it will end. And I don't want it to. I don't know exactly why I'm stressing, but I think I need to hear someone else's whines to fully appreciate that I'm cracked in the head for worrying about mere statistics.
So, pixies, if you think of me on Wednesday, at 7:21 am, think happy thoughts, and wish me less number-obsession. To all of you, may you enjoy your fall day, and may it bring you bounteous rewards!
Here in the tropics, however, fall means a gradual shift from "heat that melts asphalt" to merely "blazing hot weather with intermittent rain." We have more pine trees and palm trees than oaks and maples, so we're mostly gypped on the leaves, too.
To me personally, fall means that I turn another year older. Most of the time, this is a Good Thing. I mean, every day you're not six feet under is one for the win column, right? Except the older I get, the more the number seems to mess with my head. When I turned 30, I was depressed for a few days, all hung up on what I thought I should have accomplished by that milestone age. Now, at almost-38, I find myself very anxious at the thought that 40 is looming ever closer...out there, waiting for me. I know it's all in my head. I have LOTS to be thankful for: a great family, a daughter that I've managed not to kill due her angsty tween goth attitude, a job that I love, friends who are great, and my hobbies, which make me happy. So, why am I so hung up on a number?
Maybe because with age, I can fully appreciate that there is an end out there. That life is finite, and one day, it will end. And I don't want it to. I don't know exactly why I'm stressing, but I think I need to hear someone else's whines to fully appreciate that I'm cracked in the head for worrying about mere statistics.
So, pixies, if you think of me on Wednesday, at 7:21 am, think happy thoughts, and wish me less number-obsession. To all of you, may you enjoy your fall day, and may it bring you bounteous rewards!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Please give blood. And be an organ donor.
Please be an organ donor. Our young friend Annika just had a transplant last night, and her mom Moreena has been writing about it. Anni pulled through the operation, but it is still touch and go. It is her sweet sister Frankie's birthday today, too.
I can't even think about what they all are going through, except -- I must. It could be me and mine.
And please donate blood. No, it probably won't help Annika directly; but it will help someone else. Someone whose family is pulling for them. One day, the family needing the blood might be any of ours.
ETA: Please, pass it on if you feel moved to do so.
A New Day (edited to add a PSA)
Annika is out of surgery. So far, so good. Today is her sister, Frankie's, birthday. I can't think of a better day for a new beginning. ETA: Please go donate blood in honor of Annika. She is having some trouble maintaining blood pressure.
In honor of this anti-whine, I think that the whining awards are going to be abbreviated.
Risk of Mullet goes to Madeleine for "I don't know why, but trying to think about rats NOT barfing is just as gross as thinking about rats barfing."
Margalit, or, more specifically, her cat, brought The Bodily Fluids this week.
Old Skool goes to Elizabeth for the pimple on her ear.
The Cluestick Brigade needs to be sent to clue in Kathy A.'s mail carrier, Elizabeth's bank and Sue's insurance company.
And last, but definitely not least, we need to welcome a duo of future whiners:
In honor of this anti-whine, I think that the whining awards are going to be abbreviated.
Risk of Mullet goes to Madeleine for "I don't know why, but trying to think about rats NOT barfing is just as gross as thinking about rats barfing."
Margalit, or, more specifically, her cat, brought The Bodily Fluids this week.
Old Skool goes to Elizabeth for the pimple on her ear.
The Cluestick Brigade needs to be sent to clue in Kathy A.'s mail carrier, Elizabeth's bank and Sue's insurance company.
And last, but definitely not least, we need to welcome a duo of future whiners:
- Turtlebella's daughter, Thalia Adelita, born on my very own Mr. Spock's birthday, October 5th!
- Amy, at The Texture of Things, had her baby boy on Friday, October 3rd!
And that is all for today.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
I interrupt today's whining to let you know
Annika is getting a new liver. Right now.
update: It's On. [-- k.a.]
update: Moreena is live-blogging. [k.a.]
update: It's On. [-- k.a.]
update: Moreena is live-blogging. [k.a.]
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Wednesday Whining: Garlic Breath Haiku Edition
Whine: Breath could drop a
Grown moose at a hundred yards.
Anti-whine: Pesto!
What's your week been like? Bring your whines, I'll bring the (parmesan) cheese!
Grown moose at a hundred yards.
Anti-whine: Pesto!
What's your week been like? Bring your whines, I'll bring the (parmesan) cheese!
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Awards!
Happy First Birthday to Esperanza’s Sweet Baboo!
Our Best to Sue as she returns to work next week! And moves the following week!
Old Skool Award to Sarah at Ratatat, who worries her 4-year-old is angry, fussy, and tearful following the recent arrival of his younger sister. Hugs all around during the transition.
The coveted Elevated Risk of Mullet Awards (for funniest line in a whine) go to Sarah for the phrase, "infant lifestyle," to which she attributes sleep deprivation; and to Diane, who advises Amy (tongue in cheek): "blame it on your husband. Always, always blame it on your husband."
Style Award to Margalit, who sums up the worst, succinctly: "Money. Job. Money. All of which are impossible right now." Many hugs on substantive grounds, and glad you are back home.
Perils of Parenting Awards to: Amy, who administered still-unexpired eyedrops from the last round of pinkeye (which we agree is a perfectly sound approach); and JenR, dealing with ear infections, cold, and teething, the first two of which have spread to the parents.
Classroom Crisis Award to Klee, who has an out-of-control student. This special award comes factory-equipped with a magic wand, complimentary time-out corner, football-style padded protection for everyone in the classroom, clue-by-fours for the child’s parents and the school administration, and a Posse escort to The Professional Help This Kid So Desperately Needs.
Conehead Award to Redzils, and we hope your pup feels better.
Like a Heat Wave Award to Uccellina, who feels the heat in the wind and her throat.
Pants That Fit Again Award to Diane. We’re jealous!
Ain’t That the Truth Award to Robert, who observes: "we all depend on our ‘safety nets’ and well-timed ‘bailouts’ at various junctures in our life." Mazel Tov to everyone who has been my safety net, and yours.
Basement of Glorious Memories Award to Pablo, the brave and patient guardian of his four adult kids’ left-behind stuff. Best Use of Plastic Storage Products Award to Sue, who has limited the elsewhere-living adult offspring to one (1) large bin apiece when she moves to the New Place. And many hugs to Amy, whose mom found a broken treasure of Amy’s (long-deceased) brother’s in the basement, and wondered if she should keep it.
The Dollar Cost Averaging Award to Miranda (thanks to Madeleine for the nomination), who finds the silver lining in the financial meltdown, as it relieves us slackers in the investment arena of charges of financial irresponsibility.
Popcorn, beverages of choice, and ready access to the "mute" button to all who are celebrating the Season of Political Angst. Decided or undecided, excited or anxious, I think we can all agree on one principle: enough already with the talking heads and recorded phone pitches. I say, the next idiot who intrudes on our personal space with stuff we don’t want to hear gets all the Christmas catalogs.
Until next time......
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
P.S.: Thanks to Liz -- next week's fabulous host! -- for nominating Sarah for Mullet. And, hope the trip goes well.
Our Best to Sue as she returns to work next week! And moves the following week!
Old Skool Award to Sarah at Ratatat, who worries her 4-year-old is angry, fussy, and tearful following the recent arrival of his younger sister. Hugs all around during the transition.
The coveted Elevated Risk of Mullet Awards (for funniest line in a whine) go to Sarah for the phrase, "infant lifestyle," to which she attributes sleep deprivation; and to Diane, who advises Amy (tongue in cheek): "blame it on your husband. Always, always blame it on your husband."
Style Award to Margalit, who sums up the worst, succinctly: "Money. Job. Money. All of which are impossible right now." Many hugs on substantive grounds, and glad you are back home.
Perils of Parenting Awards to: Amy, who administered still-unexpired eyedrops from the last round of pinkeye (which we agree is a perfectly sound approach); and JenR, dealing with ear infections, cold, and teething, the first two of which have spread to the parents.
Classroom Crisis Award to Klee, who has an out-of-control student. This special award comes factory-equipped with a magic wand, complimentary time-out corner, football-style padded protection for everyone in the classroom, clue-by-fours for the child’s parents and the school administration, and a Posse escort to The Professional Help This Kid So Desperately Needs.
Conehead Award to Redzils, and we hope your pup feels better.
Like a Heat Wave Award to Uccellina, who feels the heat in the wind and her throat.
Pants That Fit Again Award to Diane. We’re jealous!
Ain’t That the Truth Award to Robert, who observes: "we all depend on our ‘safety nets’ and well-timed ‘bailouts’ at various junctures in our life." Mazel Tov to everyone who has been my safety net, and yours.
Basement of Glorious Memories Award to Pablo, the brave and patient guardian of his four adult kids’ left-behind stuff. Best Use of Plastic Storage Products Award to Sue, who has limited the elsewhere-living adult offspring to one (1) large bin apiece when she moves to the New Place. And many hugs to Amy, whose mom found a broken treasure of Amy’s (long-deceased) brother’s in the basement, and wondered if she should keep it.
The Dollar Cost Averaging Award to Miranda (thanks to Madeleine for the nomination), who finds the silver lining in the financial meltdown, as it relieves us slackers in the investment arena of charges of financial irresponsibility.
Popcorn, beverages of choice, and ready access to the "mute" button to all who are celebrating the Season of Political Angst. Decided or undecided, excited or anxious, I think we can all agree on one principle: enough already with the talking heads and recorded phone pitches. I say, the next idiot who intrudes on our personal space with stuff we don’t want to hear gets all the Christmas catalogs.
Until next time......
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
P.S.: Thanks to Liz -- next week's fabulous host! -- for nominating Sarah for Mullet. And, hope the trip goes well.
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