Archive for November, 2005

In the midst of greatness

Tomorrow we do the whole Thanksgiving deal at my in-law’s. This means great food and conversation as well as lots of laughs. This is a pretty lively and camera-happy crew. You will frequently bear witness to a person taking a photo of a person taking a photo of the food or of some family member’s antics. And sometimes there are some “dueling cameras” moments as well — digitally captured by a third, fourth, and fifth party of course. This is all highly entertaining to watch. But at the same time it is sort of a mixed bag for me.

My father-in-law’s siblings, spouses, and their families, (who are now scattered across the US) are some very intelligent, energetic and overachieving people. One person taught physics at Georgia Tech. My father-in-law is a retired Chemistry professor…. Another is a bankruptcy attorney. Two people used to bowl professionally…. Another was a professional dancer…. Another person runs his own, very large and successful company. One of Marc’s cousins is in Italy working on superconductors and stuff like that. Another is in the CIA…. Another is in the FBI…. Shall I go on?

I come from a long line of German Catholic farmers who were very devout, uneducated and dangerously fertile. I always feel like instead of addressing me as “Lisa”, Marc’s family should just address me as what I REALLY am. “The one who will seriously dumb down their family gene pool.”

I think they are cautiously optimistic Seth has been “spared” and have adopted a “wait and see” plan. If he proves to have the intelligence, creativity, or ambition — I’m in the clear. If not, then I’ll probably just stick to the backyard and lick the leftovers off of the plates at future gatherings.

If you’ve read my previously posted entry, you will see that I should probably resign myself to a spot next to Buddy (the dog) in my in-law’s back yard.

Since Christmas is on its way…


This was only three years ago. And now, I have a little man who wears Bob the Builder tighty-whiteys, worships his daddy, and loves to chat up pretty little girls.
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An open letter to the Assclown @ Mobile

Dear Assclown who decided to come up to me at Mobile this a.m. to lecture me:

I highly doubt you will really see this letter. After all, I know your type all too well… The only thing you like to read is your Rifleman’s Digest or the owner’s manual to your lawnmower while sitting on the toilet. I would bet my life that you don’t even know what the internet is, let alone a blog. But nonetheless… I need to vent.

You came up to me and asked, “Do you like your car?” Most normal people who want to get the attention of a stranger will address them as “M’am” or “Sir”. I smiled and said, ‘Yes I do.” Because I LOVE my Honda. And I thought you were asking because you are in the market to buy. You then started lecturing me in a “you-are-the-most-incompetent-female-I’ve-ever-met” tone about how I took a few steps away from my car while refueling… And how that is illegal. And blah, blah, blah. I didn’t know taking 5 steps away from the tank to throw away a water bottle is THE perfect way to blow up my car. I was just trying to clean out my vehicle. I have a three-year-old. I have to do this often. I understand that you were trying to tell me that what I had unknowingly done was a safety hazard. Thanks and all.

But there are plenty of other and much more polite ways to do this… Lie and say, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” Or something. Talk to me in a polite tone. I treated you with respect (even though I wanted to rip your head off) so I think I deserve the same sort of treatment.

But I shouldn’t blame you for being a social caveman. I watched the way you walked, your mannerisms, and your dress. And you? You are the kind of guy I was surrounded by while growing up. You are the kind of man I SWORE I would NEVER marry. I knew your type before you even stepped out of your gas-guzzling, four-door truck and adjusted your camo-colored trucker hat. I live in the suburbs for a reason — because guys like you typically don’t live there.
I can tell you right now… You? Get laid like twice a year…. Once for your birthday and maybe Christmas or your anniversary – depending on how well you treated the “little woman” that night.

You are the man whose idea of fine dining is TGIFriday’s. You own a clip-on tie that’s 10 years old. You are the man who thinks a deer head on the wall adds class and interest to the décor of a room.

And your wife? She resents you. That’s why you never get laid! She’s tired of laying on her back in the dark with her flannel nightgown hiked up to her chest. She’s just saying the occasional “Ahhh” or “oohh” in hopes that it’ll turn you on and you’ll finish already. And when she gets super-pissed at you? She goes shopping or she eats an entire pie. Because she KNOWS she can not talk to you or remotely reason with you. She has tried for years and you are too damn stubborn.

You’ve been working for the same place since you got out of high school. You’ve carried an NRA card in your wallet for almost that long. You have the same ideas your parents had. That’s not a bad thing. But you’ve never questioned those ideas. And you’ve never had an original thought in your life. You would never say this around anyone but your buddies but you hate gays, blacks, hispanics, democrats, and any person who isn’t your religion. You think any man that can’t rebuild an engine is useless. You think there is only one way to live life and that’s YOUR way….

Ya know what? There’s nothing wrong with being an outdoorsman or driving a truck. I’m not a big fan of using animal carcasses as decor but whatever… And if you aren’t a considerate lover, I really don’t care but I feel bad for your honey. I have a deep respect for people who have an unwavering belief in God. And if you don’t want to expand your skillset, that’s ok. I just don’t want to hear you bitch about how you can’t find a job when your employer realizes he doesn’t need you.

But it really pisses me off that you think YOU’VE earned the right to tell ME what to do… In your world? You’re the smart one. In reality, you’re a social moron and you’re as big a cliché as I am. It didn’t occur to you that people may actually listen to you if you are NICE to them.

STOP thinking everyone else around you is insipid and you’re the only one with any brains. It’s a big world — filled with different cultures, cuisines, lifestyles, ideas, music, art, literature and religions. There are plenty of smart people out there. YOU aren’t what I would consider to be one of them. Keep your mind open to growth and change. Expand your comfort zone beyond the size of a quarter. And for christ’s sake, stop treating your wife like she’s a loon.

Hey, I KNOW I’m not perfect. But at least I don’t pretend to be.

That is all.

Signed,
A woman who appreciates her wonderful hubby even more because he? Is not like you….

P.S. Stop bitching about the price of gas, already. Do you really need that gargantuan truck for ONE person? You weren’t even hauling any damn thing!

Testing… 1,2,3

The past 10 days have gone alittle something like this:

Lower back pain? Check.
Feeling bloaty? Uh-huh..
Tired? Affirmative.
Crabby? Oh yeah.
Zits? You betcha.
Serious need for sweets? Bigtime!
Period? Late.

Oh where, oh where has my period gone. Oh where, oh where can it beeeeee….

Pee on a stick? Been there, done that.
Test says: “Not pregnant”
Lisa thinks: Ok. I guess I’m not pregnant. I didn’t sleep well last night and I feel sort of headachy. I NEVER sleep well the night before my period. And I always feel headachy the day before. It’s coming tomorrow, I just know it.

A few days go by….

Lower back pain? Still got it
All that other stuff? Still got it.
Pee on a stick? Still doing it.
Test says: No dice.
Lisa thinks: Whuh? Ok. I bet its coming tomorrow because last night I didn’t sleep well and today I feel sort of …. blah, blah, blah….”

Its been 11 days…. I’ve peed on FOUR sticks! The fertility gods are totally messing with me… If I’m not pregnant that’s ok. That means I can still drink my Green tea, eat sushi and have an occassional drink and my regular morning soda. If I am pregnant… I need to know so I can stop eating candy and brownies for lunch and schedule my dr visit.

Morning glory

Scene: Its 7 a.m. this morning. Seth jumps on our bed (and us) full of vigor. He’s talking a mile a minute. Still tired, we shoo him off and tell him to go downstairs.

Marc: “For going to bed so early, I didn’t sleep too well last night. Seth kept kicking me. I finally dumped him in his own bed.”

Lisa: “Really? I slept great. That kid wiped me out yesterday. I swear he’s the anti-Christ sometimes.”

Long pause…

Lisa: “The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that putting a moat around his new room will be a really good idea. He may learn to swim that way. And if he does, at least it buys us some more sleep time.”

Marc: “No, I think we should electrify our bedroom door knob instead.”

Lisa: “That’s perfect! Then he’ll also learn to how to dance “The funky chicken.”