Oh Hildi dear! I can't believe you are still pitching that story about the chapstick. I suppose you will tell that lie til the day you die. Face facts- you bit me on the ass. I had the teeth marks to prove it!! I can't believe you're still perpetuating that story about poking me. I think you've blocked the truth from your mind. Like a serial killer who blacks out and comes to with blood on his hands and no idea how it got there!
And frankly, I don't remember the tooth-paste incident. Therefore, it never happened. And if it did...well...you must've deserved it. You were kind of a brat.
But I'm totally here for you with your addiction. I understand the lure of the printed word. Those books entice with their glossy covers and come hither synopses. Their pull is strong! And you think a page or two will suffice, but two hours later you come up for air only to find that the meatloaf is burned, your youngest has fallen asleep on the potty (waiting for you to wipe their bum) and your husband is due home any minute!! True story. But there is help girl. I'm a survivor. I limit my reading time to after I've crawled into bed. Or anytime I'm forced to wait in public (doctors office, DMV, killing time before picking up a kid). Or I'm done with all daily chores and manage to squeeze out a few minutes for myself. Which happens so infrequently I probably didn't even need to mention it.
Now, if I could just get a handle on my internet addiction...facebook, bejewelled, blogging, email....so much to do, so little time.
trading one for the other,
♥Gert
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Addiction!
Hello. My name is Hildi and I'm an addict. I have been an addict for about six years now. It has progressively taken over my life. I have begun to put myself in danger by scoring at such places as the "downtown" library and Half Priced Books! Of course I go in disguise so that no one will recognize me, but I know I am courting scandal should this happen. As of today I have gone through eight books in two weeks, not including Desperation, by Stephen King.
The laundry needs folding, the kitchen needs mopping and really I could use a little fresh air. So, followers and family and Gert, I shall make you a promise. From this moment on; I will not read more than half a book a day[no more than 200 pages], I will take care of my responsibilities first, and I will put said book down at four o'clock every day. My new motto is; Live and love outside the pages!
You know, I really do think I have a slightly addictive personality. Years ago it was an illegal substance, then it was spirits{the liquid kind}, going out, and now reading. Why, oh why, can't it be something productive like cleaning or working? Heck I'd even take exercising. Or not! Ah well, such is life. No I'm not going to mention the smokes, Gert. They don't interfere at all with my reading. I mean life.
By the way. If you tell naughty things on me I will be forced to return the favor. Don't forget the time you told our parents I bit you on the butt and all I really did was poke you with my chap-stick! Or how about the time you punched me really hard in the tummy while we were brushing our teeth, and I nearly choked on tooth-paste! Oh yes sister-dear, I will spill it all. Mooohaha!
Love and getting clean, HIldi!
The laundry needs folding, the kitchen needs mopping and really I could use a little fresh air. So, followers and family and Gert, I shall make you a promise. From this moment on; I will not read more than half a book a day[no more than 200 pages], I will take care of my responsibilities first, and I will put said book down at four o'clock every day. My new motto is; Live and love outside the pages!
You know, I really do think I have a slightly addictive personality. Years ago it was an illegal substance, then it was spirits{the liquid kind}, going out, and now reading. Why, oh why, can't it be something productive like cleaning or working? Heck I'd even take exercising. Or not! Ah well, such is life. No I'm not going to mention the smokes, Gert. They don't interfere at all with my reading. I mean life.
By the way. If you tell naughty things on me I will be forced to return the favor. Don't forget the time you told our parents I bit you on the butt and all I really did was poke you with my chap-stick! Or how about the time you punched me really hard in the tummy while we were brushing our teeth, and I nearly choked on tooth-paste! Oh yes sister-dear, I will spill it all. Mooohaha!
Love and getting clean, HIldi!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Hildi!!! Get your nose out of that book and blog already!
Hildi,
I'm seriously thinking of disowning you. I know I bought you books for your birthday, but you need to put down the book slowly and back away and nobody gets hurt!! I mean it. For serious. Remember that time you threw a porcelain hair brush at me and I ducked and it left a nick in the wall? Or what about the time you spit your grape bubble gum in the back of my hair and mom had to cut it out? And I already had a ridiculous haircut to begin with? I could go on, you know. But I'll stop here...but only if you start blogging again. Don't make me tell people where the bodies are buried. And I know that you know that I know that...oh dear, I lost track. Anyway, just freakin blog. Or I'm not coming to visit you ever again. Or bringing you books. Or pistachios.
I mean, we have followers!! You owe them something. If you won't do it for me...do it for them. For the love of Bob, Hildi! Have a heart! We also have an award to pick up at Heather's place. So put down the book, brush your hair, and kick the kids off the computer. Pull yourself together girl and write an acceptance speech.
your loving but desperate sister,
♥Gert
PS~ If you don't blog back I'm going to tell people that you're in rehab. It won't be true of course (they don't make rehab for book addicts, duh) but people will believe me. And then you'll be sorry.
I'm seriously thinking of disowning you. I know I bought you books for your birthday, but you need to put down the book slowly and back away and nobody gets hurt!! I mean it. For serious. Remember that time you threw a porcelain hair brush at me and I ducked and it left a nick in the wall? Or what about the time you spit your grape bubble gum in the back of my hair and mom had to cut it out? And I already had a ridiculous haircut to begin with? I could go on, you know. But I'll stop here...but only if you start blogging again. Don't make me tell people where the bodies are buried. And I know that you know that I know that...oh dear, I lost track. Anyway, just freakin blog. Or I'm not coming to visit you ever again. Or bringing you books. Or pistachios.
I mean, we have followers!! You owe them something. If you won't do it for me...do it for them. For the love of Bob, Hildi! Have a heart! We also have an award to pick up at Heather's place. So put down the book, brush your hair, and kick the kids off the computer. Pull yourself together girl and write an acceptance speech.
your loving but desperate sister,
♥Gert
PS~ If you don't blog back I'm going to tell people that you're in rehab. It won't be true of course (they don't make rehab for book addicts, duh) but people will believe me. And then you'll be sorry.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Because I said so...that's why...
Okay, so I did it. I uttered those words that I'd promised myself absolutely eons ago when I was young that I would never ever ever say. Because really? It's not a reason. It's a justification. It's an abuse of power. It's just wrong. And frustrating if you're on the receiving end. And up to this point in my parenting career, I have rarely ever fallen back on this once famous stand-by.
So picture me the other night walking into my kitchen to start preparing dinner (because heaven forbid anyone else do it) and I notice that the sink is full of dishes. So call me OCD, call me weird, whatever, I cannot cook in a kitchen where there are already dirty dishes hiding the sink. So I called for Jethro to come unload the dishwasher so that I could reload before I started cooking. I also realize that the venison steaks I removed from the freezer have not thawed out. Not. one. bit.
I take them in hand to Larry, who's sitting in his office.
Me: These steaks are rock hard!! They didn't thaw out at all. They've been out all day!! What does this say about the temperature in this house??
Larry: (takes the wrapped bundle of steaks from my outstretched hand) um. Well this corners a little squishy.
Me: oh well lovely. I'll just cut off that corner and serve it to you. Because that's going to feed us all!
Jethro: maybe someone should just go get a pizza.
Me: I told you I have no money. (I may or may not have shrieked this)
Jethro: okay, calm down. (backing away with his hands out as though I'm a panther about to pounce)
Me: (calmer) No. You don't understand. Usually when I say I have no money, I mean I just don't want to spend what I have. This time I literally have no money. So I have to cook. I guess I'll try defrosting them in the microwave.
So I throw the package in the microwave and hit defrost. It's then that I notice that the bottom cabinet doors are half shut. I go to try and shut them. No deal. The pots, pans, roasters, cake pans and cookie sheets are wedged in there in such a way that the cabinet doors cannot shut. Why am I the only one who finds this unacceptable? When Larry or Jethro put dishes away they just shove them in and hope the door shuts. As I'm already slightly pissy (definitely pms-ing) this just really chaps my hide. So I say to Jethro~
Me: For the love of Bob!! Could you not at least put the dishes away so the cabinet closes?
Jethro: No. Because some moron dug out the big roaster which he then did not even use and now nothing fits in there right.
Me: Um so maybe you could rearrange things? (Is this rocket science? Because it seems obvious to me!)
Jethro: Right now?! While you're trying to cook?
Me: Yes! It's tipping my scales towards crazy and I really want it resolved.
Jethro: Seriously? Right now you want me to drag out all the pans, make a huge mess and rearrange them?
Me: (sighing inwardly) No. Oh hell no! Why would I ask you or your father to correct anything you've done just to suit me? What am I thinking?
Jethro: I just don't see why it's such a big deal and has to be done right now.
Me: (thinking to myself Because it's important to me But then I open my mouth and out they come, those dreaded words...) Because I said so, that's why
To set the record straight...Jethro did not then instantly snap to attention and do what I'd ask. He gave me the "you've finally lost it look" and I told him to just go, do whatever it was he'd been doing. Then I sat on the floor and rearranged my cabinet. Then I shut the cabinet doors. And yes, I felt better. Oh, and the steaks defrosted enough to cook and dinner was delish.
Really?! Is it just me?
♥Gert
So picture me the other night walking into my kitchen to start preparing dinner (because heaven forbid anyone else do it) and I notice that the sink is full of dishes. So call me OCD, call me weird, whatever, I cannot cook in a kitchen where there are already dirty dishes hiding the sink. So I called for Jethro to come unload the dishwasher so that I could reload before I started cooking. I also realize that the venison steaks I removed from the freezer have not thawed out. Not. one. bit.
I take them in hand to Larry, who's sitting in his office.
Me: These steaks are rock hard!! They didn't thaw out at all. They've been out all day!! What does this say about the temperature in this house??
Larry: (takes the wrapped bundle of steaks from my outstretched hand) um. Well this corners a little squishy.
Me: oh well lovely. I'll just cut off that corner and serve it to you. Because that's going to feed us all!
Jethro: maybe someone should just go get a pizza.
Me: I told you I have no money. (I may or may not have shrieked this)
Jethro: okay, calm down. (backing away with his hands out as though I'm a panther about to pounce)
Me: (calmer) No. You don't understand. Usually when I say I have no money, I mean I just don't want to spend what I have. This time I literally have no money. So I have to cook. I guess I'll try defrosting them in the microwave.
So I throw the package in the microwave and hit defrost. It's then that I notice that the bottom cabinet doors are half shut. I go to try and shut them. No deal. The pots, pans, roasters, cake pans and cookie sheets are wedged in there in such a way that the cabinet doors cannot shut. Why am I the only one who finds this unacceptable? When Larry or Jethro put dishes away they just shove them in and hope the door shuts. As I'm already slightly pissy (definitely pms-ing) this just really chaps my hide. So I say to Jethro~
Me: For the love of Bob!! Could you not at least put the dishes away so the cabinet closes?
Jethro: No. Because some moron dug out the big roaster which he then did not even use and now nothing fits in there right.
Me: Um so maybe you could rearrange things? (Is this rocket science? Because it seems obvious to me!)
Jethro: Right now?! While you're trying to cook?
Me: Yes! It's tipping my scales towards crazy and I really want it resolved.
Jethro: Seriously? Right now you want me to drag out all the pans, make a huge mess and rearrange them?
Me: (sighing inwardly) No. Oh hell no! Why would I ask you or your father to correct anything you've done just to suit me? What am I thinking?
Jethro: I just don't see why it's such a big deal and has to be done right now.
Me: (thinking to myself Because it's important to me But then I open my mouth and out they come, those dreaded words...) Because I said so, that's why
To set the record straight...Jethro did not then instantly snap to attention and do what I'd ask. He gave me the "you've finally lost it look" and I told him to just go, do whatever it was he'd been doing. Then I sat on the floor and rearranged my cabinet. Then I shut the cabinet doors. And yes, I felt better. Oh, and the steaks defrosted enough to cook and dinner was delish.
Really?! Is it just me?
♥Gert
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Gunshots and coffee...
So, guess what woke me up this morning? Gunshots. Oh not from the local gangsters. Not a drive by shooting. Nope. It's deer season. Which in case you don't live in central Illinois is something of a holiday. Yep, kids are excused from school if they bring in their deer tag. Gas stations and restaurants put up signs...Welcome Deer Hunters! Open at 4 AM! Nope. I am not making this up.
My own intrepid hunters (Larry & Jethro) arose at the startingly early time of 2:30 AM. I grumbled, told them to be safe and promptly fell back to sleep. They were leaving at 3:30 to meet Larry's relatives at the boat dock in Hannibal to load the boats. Now, why they can't a~ hunt in our county of Adams, they have to hunt in the neighboring county of Pike and b~ load the boats on the other side of the river (Missouri) to hunt in Illinois are both totally beyond my comprehension. I think Larry tried to explain last night but I'm pretty sure my brain was bored and shut down and I only stared at him in complete glazed eye confusion. What I also do not understand is how anyone can motivate themselves to get up at o'dark thirty, layer on massive amounts of clothing (because it was coooolllddd here), top all this with a hideous blaze orange vest and hat (that hurt my eyes to look at), and then ride out in boats on the river (becoming even colder and possibly damp) in order to possibly shoot a poor defenseless creature. (Having said that, there are one or two persons I might be able to do those things in order to hunt...but we'll save my homicidal rage for another day). But off they went. Either they are doing well or they fell asleep or the truck broke down because they've now been gone for 11.5 hours and I haven't heard from them.
I prefer to spend my day in my warm cozy house. Hopefully, none of the hunters get to close. I told the deer they could all hide in my yard...
♥Gert
My own intrepid hunters (Larry & Jethro) arose at the startingly early time of 2:30 AM. I grumbled, told them to be safe and promptly fell back to sleep. They were leaving at 3:30 to meet Larry's relatives at the boat dock in Hannibal to load the boats. Now, why they can't a~ hunt in our county of Adams, they have to hunt in the neighboring county of Pike and b~ load the boats on the other side of the river (Missouri) to hunt in Illinois are both totally beyond my comprehension. I think Larry tried to explain last night but I'm pretty sure my brain was bored and shut down and I only stared at him in complete glazed eye confusion. What I also do not understand is how anyone can motivate themselves to get up at o'dark thirty, layer on massive amounts of clothing (because it was coooolllddd here), top all this with a hideous blaze orange vest and hat (that hurt my eyes to look at), and then ride out in boats on the river (becoming even colder and possibly damp) in order to possibly shoot a poor defenseless creature. (Having said that, there are one or two persons I might be able to do those things in order to hunt...but we'll save my homicidal rage for another day). But off they went. Either they are doing well or they fell asleep or the truck broke down because they've now been gone for 11.5 hours and I haven't heard from them.
I prefer to spend my day in my warm cozy house. Hopefully, none of the hunters get to close. I told the deer they could all hide in my yard...
♥Gert
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The Um. Gee. I Don't Want To Do This Test
So dear Hildi I did it. I went in for the stress test. Now, let me just say that this was totally my doctor's idea and I wasn't really on board from the start. I did ask around and was told that your didn't have to run. Because I was really worried about that. I mean, I was worried they wouldn't provide motivation. And everyone knows I don't run without motivation! Like a bear is chasing me, or there's one snickers bar left in the house and I must beat the kids to it. Something that makes it worthwhile. So I get to the cardio lab and Jethro and I sit in the waiting room filled with old people. I get us both a magazine. Me a Redbook and him a Parenting because, well you can't prepare to early, right? Finally, they call my name.
I follow the perky little nurse back to a room, that houses a gurney, a crash cart, a huge machine and a treadmill. She tells me to take everything off from the waist up and sign the consent form and she'll be back. So I disrobe and then read the consent form, which basically says that if your heart explodes while they're doing this test you can't sue them. Also you can't sue them if you fall off the treadmill. And you can't sue them for saying you're fat and out of shape. Basically, you just can't sue them.
So she comes back in and hooks up all these little electrode thingys and I start to wonder, between xrays, ekgs, this test, mammograms is there a medical person on the planet who hasn't had their hands on my boobs? Seriously, I think the medical community gets more access to my boobs then poor Larry. So after I'm all hooked up and she takes me blood pressure she tells me we have to wait for my doc. So she leaves again. And I wonder around the room (as far as my wires let me) because I'm bored. Then she comes back in and says he's on his way. Get on the treadmill. So I hop up there and she asks if I've ever been on a treadmill before. I say yes, I love treadmills. I've been trying to get our parents to give me theirs for years but they are very busy using it to hang clothes on. The treadmill is going at a nice easy pace and I think. huh. maybe this won't be so bad. WRONG! The doctor comes in and I'm all
Me: Haha. We started this party without you.
Dr: *smile* well that's good. Okay, I want to get your heart rate up to 168 so I'm going to increase the speed and altitude in 5 seconds. Okay? * Is that a real question? Really? Do I get to say no here?*
Me: Bring it on doc. *He then increases the speed and incline and I start to huff a little. Asthma anyone?*
Dr: Now if your chest starts hurting or you can't breathe or you just can't go on, let me know. *Yeah right. I'm not a wuss. I continue huffing along*
Dr: Okay, I'm going to increase you again. How are you doing?
Me: I stopped having fun about 5 minutes ago.
Dr: You've only been on the treadmill for 3 minutes.
Me: Seriously? Well if feels like 5! *speed increases. I'm really huffing and puffing and my calves are tightened up like bowling balls. If I wasn't so committed to not wussing out, I'd have totally told him to stop. At home, I'd have been like "okay, I'm done". Damn stubborn pride*
Dr.: Okay, well we got your heart rate up past where I wanted. I'm going to stop the machine now. But it slows gradually so don't stop walking.
Me: What? You don't want to see me shoot off of here like a human projectile?
Dr: *totally straight face* I've seen that happen. It's not pretty.
Me: huff, puff, huff, puff.
Dr.: So how do you feel? Does your chest hurt?
Me: Um. No. It's a little heavy and hard to breathe but I think that's just asthma.
Dr.: Well your heart looks fine, your BP's great. I think it's just muscle pain from the Fibromyalgia. The heart is a muscle after all.
Me: Fabulous. That's why my calves feel like rocks now too.
Dr.: I think you should start walking though. Twenty minutes three times a week.
I'm pretty sure that was him calling me fat. And out of shape. But I signed the paper so I can't sue. I think they should change the name of the test though. Instead of "Stess Test" they should call it "The Let's See How Glaringly Out of Shape You Are Test". The nurse did say that they get the incline a lot higher then most people ever do on their own. So while I wasn't really running, it was like I was walking up a mountain as fast as I could. It sucked. So I went to the mexican restaurant and had Flan. Because Flan cures everything. Including wounded pride.
♥Gert
I follow the perky little nurse back to a room, that houses a gurney, a crash cart, a huge machine and a treadmill. She tells me to take everything off from the waist up and sign the consent form and she'll be back. So I disrobe and then read the consent form, which basically says that if your heart explodes while they're doing this test you can't sue them. Also you can't sue them if you fall off the treadmill. And you can't sue them for saying you're fat and out of shape. Basically, you just can't sue them.
So she comes back in and hooks up all these little electrode thingys and I start to wonder, between xrays, ekgs, this test, mammograms is there a medical person on the planet who hasn't had their hands on my boobs? Seriously, I think the medical community gets more access to my boobs then poor Larry. So after I'm all hooked up and she takes me blood pressure she tells me we have to wait for my doc. So she leaves again. And I wonder around the room (as far as my wires let me) because I'm bored. Then she comes back in and says he's on his way. Get on the treadmill. So I hop up there and she asks if I've ever been on a treadmill before. I say yes, I love treadmills. I've been trying to get our parents to give me theirs for years but they are very busy using it to hang clothes on. The treadmill is going at a nice easy pace and I think. huh. maybe this won't be so bad. WRONG! The doctor comes in and I'm all
Me: Haha. We started this party without you.
Dr: *smile* well that's good. Okay, I want to get your heart rate up to 168 so I'm going to increase the speed and altitude in 5 seconds. Okay? * Is that a real question? Really? Do I get to say no here?*
Me: Bring it on doc. *He then increases the speed and incline and I start to huff a little. Asthma anyone?*
Dr: Now if your chest starts hurting or you can't breathe or you just can't go on, let me know. *Yeah right. I'm not a wuss. I continue huffing along*
Dr: Okay, I'm going to increase you again. How are you doing?
Me: I stopped having fun about 5 minutes ago.
Dr: You've only been on the treadmill for 3 minutes.
Me: Seriously? Well if feels like 5! *speed increases. I'm really huffing and puffing and my calves are tightened up like bowling balls. If I wasn't so committed to not wussing out, I'd have totally told him to stop. At home, I'd have been like "okay, I'm done". Damn stubborn pride*
Dr.: Okay, well we got your heart rate up past where I wanted. I'm going to stop the machine now. But it slows gradually so don't stop walking.
Me: What? You don't want to see me shoot off of here like a human projectile?
Dr: *totally straight face* I've seen that happen. It's not pretty.
Me: huff, puff, huff, puff.
Dr.: So how do you feel? Does your chest hurt?
Me: Um. No. It's a little heavy and hard to breathe but I think that's just asthma.
Dr.: Well your heart looks fine, your BP's great. I think it's just muscle pain from the Fibromyalgia. The heart is a muscle after all.
Me: Fabulous. That's why my calves feel like rocks now too.
Dr.: I think you should start walking though. Twenty minutes three times a week.
I'm pretty sure that was him calling me fat. And out of shape. But I signed the paper so I can't sue. I think they should change the name of the test though. Instead of "Stess Test" they should call it "The Let's See How Glaringly Out of Shape You Are Test". The nurse did say that they get the incline a lot higher then most people ever do on their own. So while I wasn't really running, it was like I was walking up a mountain as fast as I could. It sucked. So I went to the mexican restaurant and had Flan. Because Flan cures everything. Including wounded pride.
♥Gert
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