TMI

"TMI"
The first time I heard it was from my brother-in-law.  We were sitting outside on Memorial Day too many years ago talking about clothes or body functions or something when he received "TMI". 
"Too Much Information"

Well, I hate that our entire culture is absorbed in TMI.

I know it's happened to you: 

Your cell phone rings.
You fish around in your pocket for it, but your hands are full.
Cause you ran into the store for only two items--no need for a cart.

So the phone is ringing.
A lovely tone chosen specifically by you to bring you enjoyment.
But on it's third ring the lovely tone is brining sour looks from other shoppers.

You juggle the 9 items you've managed to pick up before you reach the second item that was on your list.  You squeeze your hand into your pocket -- those five (fifty!) pounds make it difficult to wrap your fingers around the phone
b
u
t
y
o
u
manage.

And the phone stops ringing. 

The other shoppers are relieved, but do not accept that apologetic look on your face.

You take your time extracting your hand from your pocket, careful not to drop any of your items. 
And why rush:  they'll leave a message,
or you'll call them back.
Everyone has caller ID now, right?

The phone comes out.
No voicemail is left.
You put the phone back in your pocket and head for the check out.

With a sigh you unload your arms and check your call log.

Huh.

It's a number you don't recognize.
But they didn't leave a message.

So, of course, it was a wrong number.
Seriously.
Of course it is.

You pay for your products.
Take your bag to the car, get in and buckle up (where you immediately realize that you forgot the 2nd item on your list when the phone rang but you're too exhausted to haul yourself out of the car and back into the store.  You can live without another roll of toilet paper for one more night...right?).

You check your phone one more time.
Just in case the voicemail was delayed in delivery.
To be safe, because you don't want to fiddle with your phone while you're driving.

And there it is.
The number you don't know,
but that somehow now seems a bit familiar.

Maybe someone from work?
Or school?
Or a friend of your child?
Your sister's work?

Seriously, it really looks familiar now.
Can't be because you saw the number way back when your hands were full of spur of the moment product choices.

And you can't help it.
You press call.

Hello.  This is me, returning a call to this number.
No. I don't know who you are.
Yes. I know you didn't leave a message.
But maybe I know you.
Or maybe you know me.
No?
A wrong number?
A random act of dialing?
Seriously?

Well, that's TMI.
Because back in the day we could leave our homes and return hours later.  If a call came in while you were gone, the caller would leave a message if it was important.  Otherwise, the recipient was none-the-wiser about the calls.

But not now.  Now there's TMI.

No more prank phone calls.
No more "is your refrigerator running?"
No more "do you have Prince Albert in a can?"
No more "This is Pizza Hut confirming your order of 18 pizzas to be delivered in the next 20 minutes."

And that makes me sad.
Seriously.

Staying Late

Working past 5 can be a habit.
And for others, it's a self-imposed punishment.

Things at work are particularly busy right now.  We have a huge event in Washington, D.C., next week so many people are overworked, overloaded, and burned out.  I get that.

But just this afternoon, at 5:08, this gal was complaining--COMPLAINING about "staying late" to work on a project for which the VP decided to wait on until tomorrow.

She went on and on, "I worked over for this?  I worked over and you're gonna do that!?"

5:08.

5:08?

Seriously?  You're going to complain about 8 minutes when you just took a day of vacation at the beginning of the week, and enjoyed lunch each day since?

Seriously?

Get real.

Timing is Everything

I've had weird sleeping habits for as long as I can remember.  For many, many, many years I slept about four hours a night.  And I felt great.

Then came 40.

And suddenly, I require a lot more sleep to feel rested.
But my internal night-clock doesn't understand and so I find myself waking up at 2:12am and 3:40 in the morning.  It doesn't help that my beloved husband comes home around 2:15 for lunch and I can't resist spending some time with him.  Besides...he rubs my feet.

So, here's the time line:
Hubby is up at 9:30pm to get ready for work.  Leaves at 9:50.
Son goes to bed at 10.
I go to bed at 10:15, but tiptoe back to the living room to watch tv til 11:30.
Then I go to bed.

2:12am, I wake up.
2:20 I drag my still-awake self out to the living room to await my husband's arrival.
We visit for about 30 minutes, then he heads back to work.
By then, I'm wide awake and I spend some time on work stuff.  E-mail mostly.
Then I'm stressed so I spend some time watching tv.

By 5:00am I'm back in bed, and have my alarm set for 6:30. In the summer, I'd hit doze every 9 minutes and finally drag myself out of bed at 8:00.  Work starts at 8:30 in the summer.
I arrive around 9. (Though I justify this because I leave the office about 45 minutes - 1 hour later than other staffers.)

But summer is over.  In fact, yesterday was the first day of school.

My son is excited - and so are we - at the possibilities for greatness this year:  For a teacher that inspires, and instills the importance of reading into my son's life.  For a newly updated playground with really cool four square sections on the pavement.

And so we go to bed, miraculously, by 10:45 we're all tucked in.
At 1:45am, my husband gets up.
At 3:40 I wake up.
At 5:40 my son wakes up.
We know this is not good.
But we can't help it:
  There's GREATNESS awaiting us in the morning, right?
But I insist on pretending to be in control and therefore make us go to bed.
So, at 6:15am, the three of us get INTO ONE BED, and I turn off my 6:30am alarm.  I can see Kent on the other side of the bed double-checking his alarm.  He set it before we went to bed the first time for 6:45.

And there we are: three sardines, sleepy and sick from lack of sleep, in bed with thirty blissful minutes of sleep to look forward to before the alarm sounds and the GREAT DAY OFFICIALLY STARTS.

I doze off, and the alarm goes off.
We hit the floor running.
Everyone's (amazingly) in a good mood.

There's even time for toast.
Because it's only 7:00.

But NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

It's not 7:00--it's 7:15.
Because my husband RESET HIS ALARM without telling me!  And it's fifteen minutes later than it's supposed to be.

WHAT WAS HE THINKING?
SERIOUSLY???

The BUS runs at SEVEN FIFTEEN!!!!

So, there we were:  toast in hand, looking through the still-closed curtain when the bus goes by.

Kent and I trudge back to the bedroom to get officially dressed while I ask him over and over and over "what were you thinking?"

It's the first day of school.
The first day of greatness.
The first day of fourth grade.
And you choose to change the alarm without consulting the rest of the family?

SERIOUSLY?

Yep.
We missed the bus,
had to drive to school.
The back doors to the school were locked.
But George looked great.

And isn't that what's really important? 

Turn it Down

I am super-sensitive to noise.
There's this guy in the office near me who sighs and sniffs and reads to himself all day.  He has an unhealthy fondness for Speakerphone, and recently purchased an iPhone but obviously doesn't know how to turn off the audible notification of new messages feature.
Add to this his booming baritone voice and penchant towards schmoozing and what you've got is noise.
Noise NoisE NOISE.

This morning most folks are out of the office for one reason or another so I turn on my music.  I'm listening to Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.  It's loud enough to hear from my chair, but not loud enough to hear over my printer.
And the Baritone asks me to turn it down.
Seriously?
Jerk.

An End Note:
Just now he turned on a video to watch so I asked him to turn the volume down.  He got up and shut his door.
I feel justified.

Time Passes Slowly

NOT!

Just as Kathleen says in You've Got Mail: "When you read a book as a child it becomes part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your life does."  One of my favorite "sayings" came from a book I read as a child.  It actually is some lyrics of a Bob Dylan song:

Time passes slowly up here in the mountains,

We sit beside bridges and walk beside fountains.

We watch little fishes as they float up the stream.

Time passes slowly when you're lost in a dream.

When I get home, I'm going to download that song since I've never heard of it.

Anyway--I digress.

There's this gal in my office who has been bustling around here all day.  Frantically working to get some literature packed up.  Because it ships out on the 7th.

I, too, have literature that will be shipping out along with her stuff on the 7th.  But I'm not panicking.  Because September 7th is next Friday.
Instead, I'm trying to organize marketing efforts for an event I have in October.

I'm sitting at my computer composing a lengthy email outlining the seminar needs and topic for the October event when Bustling Gal stops by to show my this nifty shipping tube she purchased for the umbrellas.  It's cool.  And then she informs me that the lot of the literature will ship out on Tuesday.  And just before I start going off on her because someone changed the date reality hits me:  The 7th is not next Friday.  It's Tuesday.

TUESDAY.

TOOOZDay.

Too-soon-Day.

Cause I though I had over a week to get my stuff around.
But by Tuesday?  Seriously?

Seriously.
Seriously.

I'm in serious trouble.

Give me some time.

There's this chick who works in another department who uses the statistics from my seminars for proposal writing (fund raising) purposes.

And - without fail - she will request information on a program BEFORE I have time to complete follow-up.

Seriously.  Give me a minute to breathe.

Caught

According to policy, we get an hour lunch and two fifteen minute breaks.
But they repurposed our break room so there's no where to steal away for a break.

So I choose a moment to de-stress by heading over to my blog.
Only to have whathisname walk by and I can tell by the way his gait falters that he's seen my screen and thinks I'm goofing off.

Maybe I need to put out a sign:  "I'm on a break."

There must be a way to update blogs by email.  If I could take a break without feeling guilty maybe I could figure it out.

Seriously.

Do Over

I spend time creating a blog, and then wish I could easily go back and change the layout. 
Ditto for:

--my furniture
--my office files
--my outfit this morning
--my shoes today
--my hair today
--what I packed for lunch.

I have a training meeting this afternoon where I need to show some students how to set up a display.  Think lots of bending and reaching and stretching. 
And guess what I'm wearing?

You got it, Sis, a too-low-cut shirt. 
And a purple bra.

It's gonna be fun.....

To the End

I spend all this time composing a thorough email.  Poring over details and proofing my work. Making sure I haven't overlooked anything, so that the reader need only to read the message to have all the information they need to do their job, or to move forward on a project.

The receiver opens the email.
Then promptly sends you a reply asking the very questions that are already answered IN YOUR ORIGINAL message.  Obviously, they didn't read it.

THEY DIDN'T READ IT!

SERIOUSLY?????????????????????????????

Tears in Odd Places

My sister cries at parades. 
I'm not sure why.

It doesn't seem to matter whether or not she knows someone who is featured in the parade.  The bands start playing, the firetrucks start blowing their horns, and the tears start welling up in her eyes.

I love that about her.

This past Sunday my son competed in his first baseball tournament. 
Don't get me wrong: he's been playing baseball since he was 4.  Usually two leagues each summer.
And for the past 3 or 4 years he's been selected for the All-Star team in the Pee Wee league in our hometown. 

But this was "For Real."

Their team entered the tournament in first place.  Their first game was a 1:00, and if they won they'd play again at 5:00.  The coaches anticipated that we'd be in the final playoff game at 5p.m. against the #2 team..."The Camouflage Team". 
The coaches would be wrong.

We started the first game at 1:00.  An hour later, the game was delayed due to lightning.  It was miserable. But the kids didn't mind.  In the end, they won the game by 5+ points, if memory serves.  (I have to keep score on a pad or I can't remember anything.  Since I don't have my paper with me I can't remember anything about this game--not even the name of the opposing team.  Though I'm pretty sure they were yellow....?)

My mom and dad surprised George by showing up to watch his game, so we went home for an hour or so to give George a change to cool down while The Camo Team played their first game of the tournament. We returned to the field around 4:40, only to discover that our game would not begin until closer to 6:00 due to the rain delay.  So we had a few minutes to watch the The Camo Team play.

It was not a pretty sight.
They lost by ... a lot.
Against the Red Team.

I was bummed.  Cause if we were going to lose, I was okay with losing to the Camo Team.  Their coach seemed real personable and always knew George by sight and name.  Was always positive toward our players and seemed to joke around with our coaches.  The Red Team?  Well, I don't even KNOW them.

I quickly search through my score notebook to see how things worked out over the course of the season.  We'd played the Red Team at least three times.  The first time we stomped all over them:  won by almost ten runs.  But each time we played them, they'd improved considerably.  And even though we won each of those games, their stats gave me pause for concern.

So there we were: the red team ready to start the final game.
But some of the Orange Team (us) players had yet to show up so we had to wait until about 6:00, afterall.

By then, the sun was out and the rain had stopped.  And when the wind blew a breeze it was quite pleasant.

The first inning started, and it was going fine.

Just the beginning...

I told my husband that this is just the beginning.
And beware.
Because this is the beginning of the end.
The start of one of the last stages of my life.
The end of my fertility.
The beginning of freedom.
The end of my youth.
Maybe....
I'm talking about menopause.
MENTAL-pause.

I'll be sitting here.
Or standing there.
When it hits me.
NOW.
I'm hot.

Not just hot.  Heated.
Heated to the core.
Now.
Right now.

And as suddenly as it comes on it can go away.
But when it does start, it's an immediate need that has to be met.

With a fan.
An airconditioner.
Some ice.
Laying in the floor.

And it makes me very thankful that we have ceramic tile in the kitchen.  It's a backup for my heat flashes.

And this is just the beginning.

Keepin' It In the Family

I just got an email from my sister that she's started a blog.  I'm completely excited about it!  And a cool name, too:  whatsgoingonwiththekennedys.blogspot.com.

Remember the excitement of picking out the name of your blog?  :)

Fat.

You know it's time to lose weight when you drop your chapstick under the bed and try to think of other things to pick up while you're down there.
And while you're under there you get stuck.

But you manage to unwedge yourself and get out, but now your stomach is aching in places, and so is your rotator(sp?) cuff.
And this is a good reminder:
You're not only fat, you're old too.

Oldies???

Okay, it's just not right.

A few months ago I go in search of online radio stations that I can listen to during work.

Not true internet radio stations, but official brick and mortar radio stations that broadcast simultaneously live over the internet. And I find several.

Several good ones.

And I'm excited.

WNIC, the station I listened to religiously as a teenager is there.

But it's changed. 

Gone is the soft rock and soothing, loving voices of past DJs.

"Pillow Talk" is replaced with something that makes me want to bang my head against a pillow.

The morning crew is...unappealing and somewhat obnoxious.

So I move on.

WRVR out of Toledo is there.

And it's good.  Very good.

But Linda and I used to listen to that during the work day and share thoughts on our favorite songs when they aired. And Linda has since moved on to a better job that she loves.

So 101.5 is a downer somehow.

So I move on.

99.1 is there. And it's okay.

Home.FM is there. And it's okay.  Though a little too "inspirational" for an entire day of listening.

And there are some country stations there.

But country isn't what I need to get me through it all.

Then I discover WOMC.

The Oldies Station from my teenage years.

The Oldies Station that my nephews love.

The Oldies Station that reminds me of my childhood, and makes me feel closer to those whom I've moved away from since getting married.

And I'm psyched.

I load the live stream.

I bookmark the station under my "Radio" bookmark file.

I'm ready.

Get set.

Play.

And it's wonderful.

Perky.

(Since Dick Purton is still there in the mornings.)

A little irritating.

(Since Dick Purton is still there in the mornings.)

And it's great.

Then I listen for an extended period of time.

And I realize that, while I still love it, the "oldies" that it's playing are actually the songs of the eighties that I listened to growing up.  Not the "oldies" of the 50s and 60s. Or even the 70s.

The 80s!!!!!

What's up with that!!!????

It can't be that my favorite music era has now reached the level of being called "oldies," can it?

Say it ain't so!

 

Passing Me By

Life is passing me by.

 

There are many things I'd like to do, to participate in, if I weren't living my life in crisis mode at all times.

 

How do I stop this merry-go-round?

 

It's spinning out of control.

 

I'm barely holding on to reality.

 

What to do, what to do????

Times they are a changin'...

It wouldn't be such a bad thing if I didn't despise change so much.
But I do.

But in this case I can honestly say that I'm scared.

We're faced again with the need to move.
At least we're 99% sure we have to move.

Many months ago we started receiving mail at our house addressed to the landlord. You could tell by the return address on the envelopes/postcards that it was mail pertaining to bankruptcy. One day an envelope came to the house addressed to Kent, and one from the same company addressed to the the landlord.

Kent opened it and it was a flyer advertising a business that can help with bankruptcy and foreclosure. I called the landlord and (eventually) he called back and told Kent that nothing was going on.

Then one day someone posted an auction notice on the tree out front. And another day someone taped a note to the door asking the occupant to contact the new "owners". All the while our landlord is telling Kent that this is all just the procedure he has to go through in order to qualify for a lower mortgage rate. Kent accepted all of this at facevalue because it's what we were told when we were going through the problems with our mortgage company.

And each month the "new owner" company would call Kent to see if he'd heard anything from the landlord because, according to policy, he had six months to buy back the sale.

Last month the six months was up.
So I sent a letter with my rent payment saying that this was the last payment, yada yada yada, and the man never wrote back.

And so here we are waiting to receive some kind of notice about when we have to vacate. And really, if. Because there's always the possibility that we wouldn't.
Right?

Because in today's market who is going to buy this place?

But there are people out there who are buying houses, fixing them up, yadayadayada. But we don't know.

We just don't know.

And it's freaking me out.

My heart is doing crazy things.
My tummy's doing crazy things.
I can't sleep.
Can't eat right.
Can't focus.
Can't remember.

All I know is that I feel like a failure and that my family would be better off without me.

And I feel frantic to find a better place for my son to live.

Because in my mind if we have to move, then it better be for something better.

But I'm afraid that I'm going to pass up something that's "okay" for the hope of "something better" and then in the end wind up having to settle for "liveable."

It's so frightening.

And on top of that, I get this letter from the dentist saying I owe almost $800 from 2008. I never got a bill!!

This is all just too much.

I want to cry.
Seriously.
I want to cry.

I Was Just Gonna Take a Shower

Originally posted March 19, 2009 in Lest I Forget

I was just gonna take a shower.
I had real good intentions.
And out of nowhere comes this memory.
Of how once upon a time an injustice was done to me, and so I'm here to vent.

Because I'm the kind of person who usually "vents and forgets."

I get mad.
I vent.
I rant and rave.
I may even yell.
But then I get over it.

But now I'm thinking it's not always a good thing to just forget.

Even though God tells us to turn the other cheek.

While I don't want to remember these things, I've decided that I at least want to record them. . . . I just hope I don't forget them before I get a chance to write them down.
1. Tim
2. Kim
3. Mom/Sis baby

Okay, that's all I can remember at the moment.
Maybe an entire blog was stretching it a little.

Movie--Yours, Mine, and Ours

Originally Posted: Thursday, March 19, 2009

Yours, Mine, and Ours

Do not be mistaken: this is not the movie with Dennis Quaid and that red-haired chick.

This is the version with Lucille Ball and Henry Fonda as main characters. Also on screen: Tom Bosley, Tim Matheson, and Tracy Nelson. There's another familiar actress, but her name escapes me.

I LOVE this movie. I listen to it every night. At least once. Usually two or three times before sunrise.

When I have more time, I'm going to dissect it. There are so many little things about it that I love and want to explore and examine more closely.

Posted by Margie at 5:48 PM

I Was Just Gonna Take a Shower

Originally Posted: Thursday, March 19, 2009
from my "Lest I Forget" Blog. The only entry I ever made there.

I Was Just Gonna Take a Shower

I was just gonna take a shower.
I had real good intentions.
And out of nowhere comes this memory.
Of how once upon a time an injustice was done to me, and so I'm here to vent.

Because I'm the kind of person who usually "vents and forgets".

I get mad.
I vent.
I rant and rave.
I may even yell.
But then I get over it.

But now I'm thinking it's not always a good thing to just forget.

Even though God tells us to turn the other cheek.

While I don't want to remember these things, I've decided that I at least want to record them....

I just hope I don't forget them before I get a chance to write them down.

1. Tim
2. Kim
3. Mom/Sis baby

Okay, that's all I can remember at the moment.
Maybe an entire blog was stretching it a little..... : )

Movie--The Stepfather 2009

originally posted: Tuesday, October 13, 2009

The Stepfather 2009

I saw a trailer for a movie. This is the second time I've seen it.
And I'm intrigued!

This movie is a thriller. About-no surprise-a stepfather. An evil one.

And I think I have to see this movie....
Even though the preview was too scary for me to watch when Kent was at work. Instead, I fast-forwarded through it. I don't know when the movie is going to be released, I'll have to search about that on the Internet.

I'll let you know if I decide to see it..... eeek!

Simplify

It's time to simplify my life. A little bit. So I'm gonna combine my blogs into one.

My theory is, however, that as I take time to move things around I'll actually decide it isn't worth the time and simply delete everything instead. Which I do not want to do.

Well, here I go!