Sunday, November 07, 2010
Meaningful Meetings
I've stayed in touch with the woman named Pam who performed the home study before and after I adopted The Geej. She also decided to adopt as a single mother, and her daughter, Kara, comes from the same region of Russia as Gracelyn. I've kept up with them--seen pictures and watched Kara grow--thanks to email and Facebook, but today, we finally got to have the girls meet each other in person.
It was very cool to talk with someone who knows EXACTLY what the Russian adoption process was like. I am so glad this happened--for all of us. And these two little ladies are so very, very loved my their mamas.
Saturday, November 06, 2010
Oh Lordy.
What you are looking at is 33 boxes of engineered hardwood, underlayment, and flooring-related stuff that will begin being installed on Monday morning. And Doug.
Inspiration.
Today I am attending a workshop sponsored by a women's writing foundation called "A Room Of Her Own." I went to the keynote this morning and got to hear Meredith Hall speak. She wrote the book Without A Map after receiving the "Gift of Freedom" award from ARHO, and she talked about her journey from a pregnant 16 year old in 1965 who was forced to give up her baby for adoption then shunned by her family and friends to now, a writing professor at the University of New Hampshire and respected published author. To say she is an inspiration is an understatement. And this afternoon, I have a session with poet Liz Belile followed by one led by Meredith. The workshop is small (yay!), and I cannot wait to listen and learn from these kick ass ladies.
Why am I telling you this? Well because I am feeling very grateful to live in a city that affords opportunities like this and that I have a family who fully supports my taking a day to retreat from my familial duties and spend simply being inspired and learning. I am a lucky, lucky lady.
Why am I telling you this? Well because I am feeling very grateful to live in a city that affords opportunities like this and that I have a family who fully supports my taking a day to retreat from my familial duties and spend simply being inspired and learning. I am a lucky, lucky lady.
Friday, November 05, 2010
The Anxiety of Home Improvement
Today we're having the floor-redo materials delivered--thirty six boxes of hardwood that will need to sit in our house for 72 hours in order to aclimate and expand/contract according to the temperature and humidity.
Sunday, BH and I will be moving everything out of our main living areas (living room, dining room and kitchen) and into our main sleeping and parking areas (our room, guest room and garage). Hell, we may even have to put some stuff out on the deck because I'm pretty sure we're going to run out of room pretty fast.
Monday, the floor demo (ceramic tile in the kitchen) and pull-up (carpet in the living room; cheap-ass laminate in the dining room) begins. I predict a dusty, nasty mess, and of course this is going to come right on the heels of our once-a-month visit from the housekeepers (who are coming today) because I forgot to call and ask them to reschedule their visit for next Friday. Yay!! Money down the drain!!
Tuesday and Wednesday, installation takes place, and Wednesday night we get to move our furniture and appliances back to where they belong.
And this is all while we're supposed to be conducting our lives in some sort of normal fashion. But where will we sit and eat and cook and...? It's going to suck, and I keep reminding myself that a) the suckage is temporary and b) it's TOTALLY going to be worth it to get rid of the current schizophrenic flooring in those rooms. But it's still going to suck.
I am also trying to prepare myself for receiving my next Mastercard bill which will include the floor charge on it. Granted, I plan on paying it off ASAP, but just seeing an amount that large will probably cause a minor panic attack. Large amounts of interest-laden debt give me the hives.
I will be sure and post before and after photos next week...if I survive.
Sunday, BH and I will be moving everything out of our main living areas (living room, dining room and kitchen) and into our main sleeping and parking areas (our room, guest room and garage). Hell, we may even have to put some stuff out on the deck because I'm pretty sure we're going to run out of room pretty fast.
Monday, the floor demo (ceramic tile in the kitchen) and pull-up (carpet in the living room; cheap-ass laminate in the dining room) begins. I predict a dusty, nasty mess, and of course this is going to come right on the heels of our once-a-month visit from the housekeepers (who are coming today) because I forgot to call and ask them to reschedule their visit for next Friday. Yay!! Money down the drain!!
Tuesday and Wednesday, installation takes place, and Wednesday night we get to move our furniture and appliances back to where they belong.
And this is all while we're supposed to be conducting our lives in some sort of normal fashion. But where will we sit and eat and cook and...? It's going to suck, and I keep reminding myself that a) the suckage is temporary and b) it's TOTALLY going to be worth it to get rid of the current schizophrenic flooring in those rooms. But it's still going to suck.
I am also trying to prepare myself for receiving my next Mastercard bill which will include the floor charge on it. Granted, I plan on paying it off ASAP, but just seeing an amount that large will probably cause a minor panic attack. Large amounts of interest-laden debt give me the hives.
I will be sure and post before and after photos next week...if I survive.
Thursday, November 04, 2010
But I Don't WANT To Write My Own Obituary!
Our final homework assignment in this writing workshop I've been taking was to write our own obituaries. Come on! It’s close to Halloween! It’ll be fun!
Um, no. No it won’t.
You see, I’m not exactly superstitious, but I AM kind of wimp when it comes to tempting Fate. Fate is someone who I don’t want to piss off or even mildly disturb; therefore, the idea of writing of my untimely demise is something that has been very difficult to do.
When it comes to longevity genetics, I’m pretty fucked. My dad died when he was 61, and both of his parents died in their early sixties as well. My mom is still healthy and vibrant at sixty-four, but her mother died suddenly in her early seventies, and her father barely made it to eighty. Also there’s the whole cancer thing. I’ve gotten extraordinarily lucky two times, but I hear the Grim Reaper has a pretty strict “three strikes and you’re out” policy when it comes to The Big C, so the likelihood that that’ll be what gets me, is pretty high. Or I could get hit by a car—again—and that might be it. Who the Hell knows? But thinking about the jillions of ways one could die is surprisingly easier that imagining how you might be remembered in some paper or some website after you buy the proverbial farm. But despite this AND despite that it goes against the spirit of universal karma, here goes:
It saddens us to report on the demise of Karla May Pinecurtain. She passed away peacefully at her home, surrounded by friends and family, and wearing a size eight Betsey Johnson number. She looked absolutely fabulous. She spent her last hours rocking out to Radiohead, taking bong hits of sticky skunk weed and eating spicy fried cheese while laughing at the stories being told by those closest to her. And somehow, despite her gluttony and stoned condition, she remained a wicked smart conversationalist and super hot sex bomb, right up to her last breath.
Karla May leaves behind a fridge filled with too many condiments and leftovers, clothes in her closet that she hasn’t worn since 2001, and a “personal massager” in her nightstand drawer. Also, her house probably isn’t as clean as it should be and you may find books on her shelves that you loaned her years ago. But now she is dead, so please don’t judge her.
Because she was completely debt-free at the time of her death, Karla May also leaves an enormous amount of her substantial estate to various charities she supported during her lifetime, including those focused on the arts, human rights, women’s issues, and of course, homeless animals. She is destined to have scholarships and foundations named for her throughout the years to come.
Her wonderful, patient husband BH—who was also her very best friend—is saddened by her death, but is understandably overjoyed that he will finally be able to build that cabin on the lake he’s always wanted because she left him tons of money earned during her incredibly successful career as a writer and as host of the long-running world-famous television show, “Let’s Pet Baby Animals”.
Her beautiful daughter, The Geej, is of course grieving for her beloved mother. However, she plans to continue her business as “The Singing Veterinarian Pediatrician” that she operates near her estate in Hawaii with her wonderful soulmate whom she met during her Nobel Prize ceremony in 2035.
Instead of a sick-ass funeral where everyone sits around and gets snot all over everything while they lie to each other about “how good” the embalmed body of the dead person in the room looks, Karla May has requested that those who wish to say good-bye to her instead come to a wonderful party that will be held next Friday evening. The party will take place immediately after Karla May’s ashes are dispersed off of Ann Richard’s bridge as the Mexican Freetail Bats emerge for their nightly mosquito holocaust. Karla May always loved Ann Richards and hated mosquitoes, so this is how she wished for her remains to dealt with. At her Adios-a-palooza, there will be an open bar, tons of amazing food, and a live band. Cabs will be provided, free of charge, so that mourners can get as tanked as they’d like and not have to drive themselves home, even if they live all the way up in Williamson county. Tending to your hangover, however, is your responsibility. Even though she's passed over to The Great Beyond, Karla May does not (yet) have the magical powers required to rid you of pains caused by your own overindulgence, but she does recommend the Ice cold Coke/Migas/Shower/Nap cure.
If you can’t join the farewell events in person, please upload your goodbye message to her YouTube (tagged as AdiosKarMay), and it will be played during the party.
Please don’t waste your money on flowers or plants, and instead, take yourself out to a nice meal or to get a mani/pedi with that cash. Seriously--you deserve it!!
Karla May wanted those who cared for her during her long, happy life to know that she will totally be haunting you after she’s gone. Not in a scary boogety-boo kind of a way, but as a guardian angel. She won’t spy on you while you’re naked and/or picking your nose, because really, who wants to see that. But she will be there to lean on whenever you are sad, or lonely, or unsure. She will come to hang out with you in your dreams, and you guys can totally watch "House Hunters" or reruns of "Let's Pet Baby Animals!" and chat just like old times. It’ll be awesome.
Um, no. No it won’t.
You see, I’m not exactly superstitious, but I AM kind of wimp when it comes to tempting Fate. Fate is someone who I don’t want to piss off or even mildly disturb; therefore, the idea of writing of my untimely demise is something that has been very difficult to do.
When it comes to longevity genetics, I’m pretty fucked. My dad died when he was 61, and both of his parents died in their early sixties as well. My mom is still healthy and vibrant at sixty-four, but her mother died suddenly in her early seventies, and her father barely made it to eighty. Also there’s the whole cancer thing. I’ve gotten extraordinarily lucky two times, but I hear the Grim Reaper has a pretty strict “three strikes and you’re out” policy when it comes to The Big C, so the likelihood that that’ll be what gets me, is pretty high. Or I could get hit by a car—again—and that might be it. Who the Hell knows? But thinking about the jillions of ways one could die is surprisingly easier that imagining how you might be remembered in some paper or some website after you buy the proverbial farm. But despite this AND despite that it goes against the spirit of universal karma, here goes:
It saddens us to report on the demise of Karla May Pinecurtain. She passed away peacefully at her home, surrounded by friends and family, and wearing a size eight Betsey Johnson number. She looked absolutely fabulous. She spent her last hours rocking out to Radiohead, taking bong hits of sticky skunk weed and eating spicy fried cheese while laughing at the stories being told by those closest to her. And somehow, despite her gluttony and stoned condition, she remained a wicked smart conversationalist and super hot sex bomb, right up to her last breath.
Karla May leaves behind a fridge filled with too many condiments and leftovers, clothes in her closet that she hasn’t worn since 2001, and a “personal massager” in her nightstand drawer. Also, her house probably isn’t as clean as it should be and you may find books on her shelves that you loaned her years ago. But now she is dead, so please don’t judge her.
Because she was completely debt-free at the time of her death, Karla May also leaves an enormous amount of her substantial estate to various charities she supported during her lifetime, including those focused on the arts, human rights, women’s issues, and of course, homeless animals. She is destined to have scholarships and foundations named for her throughout the years to come.
Her wonderful, patient husband BH—who was also her very best friend—is saddened by her death, but is understandably overjoyed that he will finally be able to build that cabin on the lake he’s always wanted because she left him tons of money earned during her incredibly successful career as a writer and as host of the long-running world-famous television show, “Let’s Pet Baby Animals”.
Her beautiful daughter, The Geej, is of course grieving for her beloved mother. However, she plans to continue her business as “The Singing Veterinarian Pediatrician” that she operates near her estate in Hawaii with her wonderful soulmate whom she met during her Nobel Prize ceremony in 2035.
Instead of a sick-ass funeral where everyone sits around and gets snot all over everything while they lie to each other about “how good” the embalmed body of the dead person in the room looks, Karla May has requested that those who wish to say good-bye to her instead come to a wonderful party that will be held next Friday evening. The party will take place immediately after Karla May’s ashes are dispersed off of Ann Richard’s bridge as the Mexican Freetail Bats emerge for their nightly mosquito holocaust. Karla May always loved Ann Richards and hated mosquitoes, so this is how she wished for her remains to dealt with. At her Adios-a-palooza, there will be an open bar, tons of amazing food, and a live band. Cabs will be provided, free of charge, so that mourners can get as tanked as they’d like and not have to drive themselves home, even if they live all the way up in Williamson county. Tending to your hangover, however, is your responsibility. Even though she's passed over to The Great Beyond, Karla May does not (yet) have the magical powers required to rid you of pains caused by your own overindulgence, but she does recommend the Ice cold Coke/Migas/Shower/Nap cure.
If you can’t join the farewell events in person, please upload your goodbye message to her YouTube (tagged as AdiosKarMay), and it will be played during the party.
Please don’t waste your money on flowers or plants, and instead, take yourself out to a nice meal or to get a mani/pedi with that cash. Seriously--you deserve it!!
Karla May wanted those who cared for her during her long, happy life to know that she will totally be haunting you after she’s gone. Not in a scary boogety-boo kind of a way, but as a guardian angel. She won’t spy on you while you’re naked and/or picking your nose, because really, who wants to see that. But she will be there to lean on whenever you are sad, or lonely, or unsure. She will come to hang out with you in your dreams, and you guys can totally watch "House Hunters" or reruns of "Let's Pet Baby Animals!" and chat just like old times. It’ll be awesome.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Really?!
This is the person that over 21,000 people voted for in the congressional district in which I was born and raised:
This guy--who also got on the "terror babies" bandwagon along with State Representative nutjob Debbie Riddle from Houston who ALSO got reelected last night--doesn't seem intelligent enough to biggie size my #4 combo at Wendy's much less thoughtfully represent people in Congress. It breaks my heart to think that this small-minded nitwit is in Washington and on C-SPAN and where ever else he can get a podium and a microphone reinforcing every stereotype that people already have about Texans/Southerners being slow talking ignoramuses.
I don't care that he's a Republican. I care that he's a fucking idiot.
This guy--who also got on the "terror babies" bandwagon along with State Representative nutjob Debbie Riddle from Houston who ALSO got reelected last night--doesn't seem intelligent enough to biggie size my #4 combo at Wendy's much less thoughtfully represent people in Congress. It breaks my heart to think that this small-minded nitwit is in Washington and on C-SPAN and where ever else he can get a podium and a microphone reinforcing every stereotype that people already have about Texans/Southerners being slow talking ignoramuses.
I don't care that he's a Republican. I care that he's a fucking idiot.
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