Ok, so I just got a cd burner and software where I can dowload music for free on the internet! Yippee!
I'm looking for new music and I'm just wondering what cd's you guys are listening to. You know, the ones that you just can't seem to get out of your car stereo's.
Thanks!
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Sunday, February 13, 2005
questions, ugh
There are times when I'd rather eat raw fish that's been marinating in hot sun, than hear my mother ask me how my day was. Put anyone else in the room, and have them ask me the same questions...I'll splurge my innermost secrets and brew a cup of coffee just to linger on the details. I'm not sure why I harbor such an intense annoyance to my mother and her questions, but I think this past weekend might have brought me a little closer to the answer.
In a last minute parental pinch, I was a saving grace overnight babysitter for two brand new teenage boys. I started watching these guys when they were 3 and 5 and now they're 11 and 13. I've watched them potty-train when they would come out of the bathroom, pants around thier ankles, butt-cheeks blaring and a wad full of toilet paper slated for my wiping hands. I've helped them with homework, read them bed-time stories, played pokemon, ping pong and chess until I was tired of losing and I've most recently been shocked by the fact that they're almost taller than me! I guess I've turned into one of those aunt types that reminisces about poopy diapers and marvels at how high the ruler marks on the wall have gotten.
So here I am, driving the mini van back from the movie store where, I later found out, we chose a completely inappropriate movie for creative and moldable teenage minds. And then, right out of nowhere, the questions started flowing..."how's school?" "how are your friends?" "what's your favorite subject?" "What do you want for dinner?" Once I realized that my mother had taken over my vocal cords, I wanted to throw myself out of the mini van and spare these poor kids from the hell that is question land. What's happening to me? Can I not communicate with someone who I once was? I was just trying to break the unbearable silence that had taken over the airspace in our mommy rocket. I just wanted a glimpse into their lives...a synopsis of crushes and peer pressures...a feeling of inclusion in the land of britney spears, eminem, ipods and video games...a godforsaken conversation that I was ready to pull from the backs of their throats to the forefronts of this war where if you answer the question with more than "yeah" or "good" I'll sit there and cry with a joy similar to watching them wipe their own bare behinds for the first time! Oh my God..this is all my mother wants.
I can't believe this is what it feels like to my mom. All she wants is to understand me, be involved in what she raised, share my winnings and losings or atleast get a full sentence about my day rather than "ugh, uh huh." Why am I holding myself hostage from my mother? She, over anyone else, should be privy to what happens in my life. Am I still rebelling like a 13 year old? I can't possibly be writhing with uncontrollable hormones and urges to run away with anyone who'll take me...can I? Do I enjoy making her miserable? I mean, I did cry until I was 3 years old, whined until I was, well...I still whine, turned my nose up at everything but Kraft mac & cheese, and the list of how I torment my mother could go on and on.
I guess I just realized that, yes, I'm an adult. I should be able to converse in an appropriate, civil manner and answer questions just like anyone else. Maybe I'll even divulge information without even being prompted...I'll walk in the house shouting current events...I'll brew coffee and share it with my ma...I'll give her a break, because for shit's sake...she deserves one.
In a last minute parental pinch, I was a saving grace overnight babysitter for two brand new teenage boys. I started watching these guys when they were 3 and 5 and now they're 11 and 13. I've watched them potty-train when they would come out of the bathroom, pants around thier ankles, butt-cheeks blaring and a wad full of toilet paper slated for my wiping hands. I've helped them with homework, read them bed-time stories, played pokemon, ping pong and chess until I was tired of losing and I've most recently been shocked by the fact that they're almost taller than me! I guess I've turned into one of those aunt types that reminisces about poopy diapers and marvels at how high the ruler marks on the wall have gotten.
So here I am, driving the mini van back from the movie store where, I later found out, we chose a completely inappropriate movie for creative and moldable teenage minds. And then, right out of nowhere, the questions started flowing..."how's school?" "how are your friends?" "what's your favorite subject?" "What do you want for dinner?" Once I realized that my mother had taken over my vocal cords, I wanted to throw myself out of the mini van and spare these poor kids from the hell that is question land. What's happening to me? Can I not communicate with someone who I once was? I was just trying to break the unbearable silence that had taken over the airspace in our mommy rocket. I just wanted a glimpse into their lives...a synopsis of crushes and peer pressures...a feeling of inclusion in the land of britney spears, eminem, ipods and video games...a godforsaken conversation that I was ready to pull from the backs of their throats to the forefronts of this war where if you answer the question with more than "yeah" or "good" I'll sit there and cry with a joy similar to watching them wipe their own bare behinds for the first time! Oh my God..this is all my mother wants.
I can't believe this is what it feels like to my mom. All she wants is to understand me, be involved in what she raised, share my winnings and losings or atleast get a full sentence about my day rather than "ugh, uh huh." Why am I holding myself hostage from my mother? She, over anyone else, should be privy to what happens in my life. Am I still rebelling like a 13 year old? I can't possibly be writhing with uncontrollable hormones and urges to run away with anyone who'll take me...can I? Do I enjoy making her miserable? I mean, I did cry until I was 3 years old, whined until I was, well...I still whine, turned my nose up at everything but Kraft mac & cheese, and the list of how I torment my mother could go on and on.
I guess I just realized that, yes, I'm an adult. I should be able to converse in an appropriate, civil manner and answer questions just like anyone else. Maybe I'll even divulge information without even being prompted...I'll walk in the house shouting current events...I'll brew coffee and share it with my ma...I'll give her a break, because for shit's sake...she deserves one.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
potty training victory!
In the wake of my severely emotional self, I have been trying that small piece of age-old wisdom to "take it one moment at a time." Since I moved home, I've created a war zone within my house. Unintensionally, of course. But none the less, there's shattered peices of egos, remnants of screaming in the air and feelings that were hurt so badly, it's giving me nightmares. My body gives me no warning of my outbursts or flames of annoyance towards my kin, but I have a feeling they're ready to disown me. I"M READY TO DISOWN ME! But that's a whole other story.
In order to calm the rage, I rode passenger side in the car with a 40 oz. below window view. A couple of towns later, a mountain in the background and a buzz the size of Texas, I took a deep breath and exhaled with ease for the first time in days. The fog lifted and I actually saw the sunset...the twinkle in my man's eyes...the way the horizon just floats there if you recline the seat far enough so you can't see the road...I actually laughed (and meant it!)...and for a split second I thought I could see the light at the end of my dank dark tunnel of emotional hell.
The reason I was able to take reprieve from my home town was because our country has an obsession with football and cheese dip and cocktail weenies and nitrates and preservatives and ingredients I'll never be able to pronounce. So I threw my nutrional knowledge to the wind and dove head first into that buttery, mayonaissy, cream cheesy cheese ball. Yum Yum Yum and a bottle of Tums.
So on one of my many trips back to the table of incredible junk food indulgence, I struck up conversation with a five year old. I asked him how he liked spending the holiday's with his grandparents a few weeks back. "Oooh, it was so much fun!" he replied. He was telling me about playing games, riding bikes and other normal tid bits of conversation you might expect regarding a family trip. And then, right out of nowhere, he says, "I only had one wet pull-up on the whole trip!" Then he went right back to chewing on his baby carrots like what he just told me was appropriate conversation at the dinner table. It was said with such nonchalance that he might as well have been telling me the score of the game. "Congratulations," I said to him as I realized that this is one of those moments. One of those times in life that makes the whole damn struggle worth it. One of those situations where you realize that life is about eating, sleeping, playing and pooping. Period.
In order to calm the rage, I rode passenger side in the car with a 40 oz. below window view. A couple of towns later, a mountain in the background and a buzz the size of Texas, I took a deep breath and exhaled with ease for the first time in days. The fog lifted and I actually saw the sunset...the twinkle in my man's eyes...the way the horizon just floats there if you recline the seat far enough so you can't see the road...I actually laughed (and meant it!)...and for a split second I thought I could see the light at the end of my dank dark tunnel of emotional hell.
The reason I was able to take reprieve from my home town was because our country has an obsession with football and cheese dip and cocktail weenies and nitrates and preservatives and ingredients I'll never be able to pronounce. So I threw my nutrional knowledge to the wind and dove head first into that buttery, mayonaissy, cream cheesy cheese ball. Yum Yum Yum and a bottle of Tums.
So on one of my many trips back to the table of incredible junk food indulgence, I struck up conversation with a five year old. I asked him how he liked spending the holiday's with his grandparents a few weeks back. "Oooh, it was so much fun!" he replied. He was telling me about playing games, riding bikes and other normal tid bits of conversation you might expect regarding a family trip. And then, right out of nowhere, he says, "I only had one wet pull-up on the whole trip!" Then he went right back to chewing on his baby carrots like what he just told me was appropriate conversation at the dinner table. It was said with such nonchalance that he might as well have been telling me the score of the game. "Congratulations," I said to him as I realized that this is one of those moments. One of those times in life that makes the whole damn struggle worth it. One of those situations where you realize that life is about eating, sleeping, playing and pooping. Period.
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