I’m a wuss. I have lost sleep, my mouth is dry and I sorta wanna vomit. No, I’m not pregnant, just slightly retarded. All this because, gasp, I have to lead a conference call this morning. To many, it probably sounds like just another day to day function they do at their jobs. Like checking email, pooping and watching the clock. But I hate public speaking, I detest speaking to people I don’t know, and I have good reason to.
For those who have had the pleasure(?) of conversing with me, you’ve said “what” “huh” or “one more time” after no less than 63% of my comments. And that’s almost always in person. You’ve cracked jokes, and I’ve laughed at them, even made my own from time to time about the language known as “Greggese.”
But today I have to go over a process flow for a report I’ve worked weekly for the past two years, so I’m a little worried I might have a stroke. And then on top of the anxiety, is the fact that I feel like a complete idiot for getting so worked up over something so insiginicant. Sure, they’ll call in, and 2 of the 5 might even listen to what I’m attempting to say s l o w l y and clearly. They won’t give my mumble two seconds of thought after the call, and I’ll spend the rest of the day replaying the entire session in my head. I’ll be pissed that I stuttered here, annoyed that I said “um” too many times and wishing I was a mime.
***
Last night, as a family, we took the dog out for a walk. Now she’s a sweet dog, but she’s not without her issues. She’s nipped at kids, and isn’t very fond of smaller dogs. Walking out of our apartment (hey, did I mention we’re getting a house?) the Kyd had hold of her leash. We were talking about how she should hold it, because last week the dog got away from her.
We reached the stairs to the sidewalk and saw a smaller dog across the street, we had just enough time to get nervous, and she was off. Riley was too strong for the Kyd to hold on, and too fast for me to grab the leash. She rushed to this 50 something year old woman and her pint sized dog, that couldn’t have weighted more than 6 pounds. Then she scooped her up, and shook back and forth to the horror of all of us. I ran across the street, which was maybe 40 feet, but it felt like a mile.
When I got there, and grabbed Riley, I feared that if I pulled to hard to separate them that I’d cause even more damage. Luckily we watch “The Dog Whisper” on a regular basis, and he addressed how to handle such a situation. So I held her head up high, so she’d loser her leverage and finally set the poor dog free.
The Kyd screamed, scared to death for good reason obviously, and everyone was pretty shaken up. We gave the lady our info and apologized no less than 83 times. We spent the right of the night discussing what we should do. Give her up, or get a trainer. Try a shock collar and hope it works. Fear what she could do if a kid crosses her path in our back yard, or figure out if we know anyone who could take her.
Not a fun night. And we still don’t know what to do with her. Time to email Cesar. He rehabilitates dogs and trains people ya know. Now excuse me, I'm going to throw up before my call starts.
***
I read that Joaquin Phoenix has retired from acting. And that’s just awesome. Not because I don’t want to see any more of his movies, that’s not the case. It’s just fascinating and strangely admirable to me. I love it when a high profile entertainer just ups and quits when no one expects it.
One of my favorite football players ever, Barry Sanders, retired in the prime of his career. He was a season, maybe two from setting the record for most yards in a career. He was on a losing team, but could have forced a trade. He did none of that. When the fire in his belly was gone, he walked away.
How many athletes, actors or singers do sub-par work just to collect a fat check? And you can’t really blame them, that is crazy money they earn. That’s the kind of money that sets up future generations for a comfortable life, and they thumb their nose at it and do what’s in their heart. I just admire that so much.
***
I just saw a story online about David Caruso’s stalker. Wait, David Caruso has a stalker? Now, stalkers in general aren’t playing with a full deck. But how far have things spiraled out of control when you can’t even pick a respectable victim to stalk? Davis Caruso deserves a stalker like George W deserves another four years.
October 29, 2008
October 28, 2008
Good, Bad, the Hirply
I guess I got my swagger back. Let’s get to it. We’ll lead off with the good news. As I mentioned in my previous post, the Wife and I got a house. We’re talking about a real house, no one living above us or directly next to us. It has yard, garage, basement and a laundry room. All growns up, I tell ya, all growns up. We’re ecstatic, thrilled, jubilant, delighted, overjoyed and elated. I can’t believe that in a year and a half or so, I went from being the lifelong bachelor, to owning an SUV and living in the ‘burbs with my wife and kid. Not only that, it’s the absolute right life for me. I wouldn’t trade places, or one aspect of my life, for anything. Maybe that comes from a lifetime of watching (and dreaming up) blockbuster sport trades that backfired more than half the time. Or maybe it’s just good instinct on my part, and even a little bit of intelligence, that I realize I’ve already won.
We’ve been living among boxes for a few weeks, which is almost as much fun as a trip to a dentist who forgot to order Novocain. The dog is going nuts, but that’s just par for the course. We can’t wait till we get everything moved out, and start unpacking. That’ll actually be fun, and a relief. Then I can spend more of time concentrating on my “one-day” plans for how we’ll finish the basement, aka “Dad’s room.”
The bad news, or the very predictable otherwise better known as duh. The feds arrested some neo-Nazi duchebags who were plotting to kill Presi.. er, Senator Obama. This ranks right up there, I mean it’s neck and neck, with the shock of the “Steve Irwin killed by wild animal” story from a few years ago. Neo-Nazi’s plotting to kill a black man who will be President wasn’t (and isn’t) just a possibility, it’s a mortal lock. And we’ll hear about this for the next 8-10 years. I don’t mean this specific story, I mean we’ll be reading about exposed plots for at least 8-10 years. No matter what kind of job he does, although I’d put my money on “stellar,” there’ll always be assholes out there. And “assholes” with guns have a knack of making the times suck.
What scares me, although not as much as the idea of a threat being turned into a reality, is what this could do to the election. Will those undecided (how could you be undecided a week before the election?!) be scared off because they understand that having our President assassinated could be one of the most horrific events that could happen. So will they vote for the guy, who is even more likely to die while in office, but at least will go for natural causes? You know what? I kinda wouldn’t blame them. Well, until John McCain’s inauguration. Then I’d have some serious blame to pass around. Seriously though, we’re supposed to pay attention to history. Well, history is very clear about this. Put a Black Man in a position of power in this country, and his life will come to an early and violent end.
And now sports. The World Series is going on, even if no one cares (I sure don’t). The Phillies lead the series 3 games to 1, so they just have to win one more game to be the champs. Playing game 5 last night, the rain came down, and the game was delayed in the 6th inning, and will be finished today. How is that for blue balls? Imagine getting all psyched up, going to the game, and then you don’t see your team lose a heart breaker, you don’t see them win, you don’t even finish the game.
What does that compare to? If this was a wedding, it wouldn’t be a run-away bride, but a bride who would walk all the way down the aisle, and then say, “Hey, let’s do the whole vow thing tomorrow. Or maybe tomorrow I’ll bolt.”
It’s going through the entire job seeking process, nailing the interviews, and showing up the day you’ll either get the offer or the load of crap about some other candidate who is more qualified. Only when you show up at the office, they ask you to come back tomorrow.
It’s sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, and the doctor comes out, and he doesn’t have good news. He doesn’t have bad news either, he just says come back tomorrow. This isn’t even a cliff hanger, because you expect those. Hell, you love a cliff hanger that leaves you wanting more. That’s what the bottom of the 9th is.
We’ve been living among boxes for a few weeks, which is almost as much fun as a trip to a dentist who forgot to order Novocain. The dog is going nuts, but that’s just par for the course. We can’t wait till we get everything moved out, and start unpacking. That’ll actually be fun, and a relief. Then I can spend more of time concentrating on my “one-day” plans for how we’ll finish the basement, aka “Dad’s room.”
The bad news, or the very predictable otherwise better known as duh. The feds arrested some neo-Nazi duchebags who were plotting to kill Presi.. er, Senator Obama. This ranks right up there, I mean it’s neck and neck, with the shock of the “Steve Irwin killed by wild animal” story from a few years ago. Neo-Nazi’s plotting to kill a black man who will be President wasn’t (and isn’t) just a possibility, it’s a mortal lock. And we’ll hear about this for the next 8-10 years. I don’t mean this specific story, I mean we’ll be reading about exposed plots for at least 8-10 years. No matter what kind of job he does, although I’d put my money on “stellar,” there’ll always be assholes out there. And “assholes” with guns have a knack of making the times suck.
What scares me, although not as much as the idea of a threat being turned into a reality, is what this could do to the election. Will those undecided (how could you be undecided a week before the election?!) be scared off because they understand that having our President assassinated could be one of the most horrific events that could happen. So will they vote for the guy, who is even more likely to die while in office, but at least will go for natural causes? You know what? I kinda wouldn’t blame them. Well, until John McCain’s inauguration. Then I’d have some serious blame to pass around. Seriously though, we’re supposed to pay attention to history. Well, history is very clear about this. Put a Black Man in a position of power in this country, and his life will come to an early and violent end.
And now sports. The World Series is going on, even if no one cares (I sure don’t). The Phillies lead the series 3 games to 1, so they just have to win one more game to be the champs. Playing game 5 last night, the rain came down, and the game was delayed in the 6th inning, and will be finished today. How is that for blue balls? Imagine getting all psyched up, going to the game, and then you don’t see your team lose a heart breaker, you don’t see them win, you don’t even finish the game.
What does that compare to? If this was a wedding, it wouldn’t be a run-away bride, but a bride who would walk all the way down the aisle, and then say, “Hey, let’s do the whole vow thing tomorrow. Or maybe tomorrow I’ll bolt.”
It’s going through the entire job seeking process, nailing the interviews, and showing up the day you’ll either get the offer or the load of crap about some other candidate who is more qualified. Only when you show up at the office, they ask you to come back tomorrow.
It’s sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, and the doctor comes out, and he doesn’t have good news. He doesn’t have bad news either, he just says come back tomorrow. This isn’t even a cliff hanger, because you expect those. Hell, you love a cliff hanger that leaves you wanting more. That’s what the bottom of the 9th is.
Hirpversation
When I worked at Lenscrafters (man, I miss that hook-up) they taught us about “courageous conversations” and I rolled my eyes. We were supposedly taught how to have conversations with employees, the conversations you just don’t want to have. Tom smells bad, you need to address his BO. Suzy comes back from lunch smelling of Jack, her eyes are glassy and she needs to hold on to the counter to stand still. Those are “courageous conversations.”
I don’t think I learned squat from the classes, which is really my M.O for learning. I either learn by someone else’s poor experiences (drugs, drinking and driving, being a shitty husband, white guy getting Thug Life tattooed on his beer belly) or by the grace of Google. But I never really learned how to have “courageous conversations.” For me, they typically involve a lot of stuttering, repeating the eloquent phrase “um” as often as Sarah Palin says “maverick” and generally sounding like a fool. More so then a typical Hirp-versation.
So last night, the time came for me to call up my buddy V. We’ve been friends since I was 17, and we had the worlds worst Geometry teacher. What did I get from that class? Well, I traded for Manny Ramierez, then traded him away, and got him back no less than three times. Same goes for Steve Karsay and Travis Fryman. I studied the Fab Five, and learned of the Hall of Famer to be, Todd Day. Dwight Gooden was 28, and Bret Saberhagen was a Met. Anthony Young won only 1 more Major League Baseball game than I did, even though he was in 39 more. And not once did that teacher try to tell us to stop. I’ve never been so disrespectful to a teacher, well, publicly anyway. We really bonded over the legendary Jim “Chris” Everett-Jim Rome throw down.
The following year we were on the newspaper staff together. Along with another guy, we were compared to the three Muppets that sat in the booth and made fun of everyone else. I wrote an NBA Preview (I really did call for the Knicks to play the Rockets in the Finals) and a plagiarism claim was falsely thrown my way years later. I didn’t write one story I didn’t want to. I should have, but that teacher sucked. Okay, maybe that was the most disrespectful I’ve ever been of a teacher.
“Red” was there on the sandy beach of Playa Del Car when the wife and I tied the knot. And recently he became engaged himself, and began to plan a wedding in St. Thomas. He asked me to stand up with him, a great honor, and one of the few times in our friendship we didn’t give each other shit. Really, when I announced that I was getting hitched he emailed me “Alright, let me be the first to say congratulations to then. You get one vagina for the rest of your life. Real smart Frank. Way to work it through.” Perhaps the most important result of our friendship, was him introducing me to The Sports Guy. That’s friendship.
So our conversation started as they normally do. We talked sports. Then I mentioned to him the big news, which I’m now putting on here for the first time, that the wife and I were getting a house. And sadly, this probably meant that we wouldn’t be able to attend his wedding. A fact that causes us great guilt and regret, we’d love to be there with them. I knew he wouldn’t be mad, at least outwardly. And he took the news in great stride, being as supportive as any real friend would be. Which probably adds to the guilt total, but so be it.
I guess I did it, finally had a successful “courageous conversation.” But it still sucked. I’d rather tell Jim that he was seen whackin’ it in the break-room while thumbing through the Sears catalog. And if we can some how get the scratch together, we’ll head for St. Thomas, and of course, heckle the hell out of V all the way down the aisle.
I don’t think I learned squat from the classes, which is really my M.O for learning. I either learn by someone else’s poor experiences (drugs, drinking and driving, being a shitty husband, white guy getting Thug Life tattooed on his beer belly) or by the grace of Google. But I never really learned how to have “courageous conversations.” For me, they typically involve a lot of stuttering, repeating the eloquent phrase “um” as often as Sarah Palin says “maverick” and generally sounding like a fool. More so then a typical Hirp-versation.
So last night, the time came for me to call up my buddy V. We’ve been friends since I was 17, and we had the worlds worst Geometry teacher. What did I get from that class? Well, I traded for Manny Ramierez, then traded him away, and got him back no less than three times. Same goes for Steve Karsay and Travis Fryman. I studied the Fab Five, and learned of the Hall of Famer to be, Todd Day. Dwight Gooden was 28, and Bret Saberhagen was a Met. Anthony Young won only 1 more Major League Baseball game than I did, even though he was in 39 more. And not once did that teacher try to tell us to stop. I’ve never been so disrespectful to a teacher, well, publicly anyway. We really bonded over the legendary Jim “Chris” Everett-Jim Rome throw down.
The following year we were on the newspaper staff together. Along with another guy, we were compared to the three Muppets that sat in the booth and made fun of everyone else. I wrote an NBA Preview (I really did call for the Knicks to play the Rockets in the Finals) and a plagiarism claim was falsely thrown my way years later. I didn’t write one story I didn’t want to. I should have, but that teacher sucked. Okay, maybe that was the most disrespectful I’ve ever been of a teacher.
“Red” was there on the sandy beach of Playa Del Car when the wife and I tied the knot. And recently he became engaged himself, and began to plan a wedding in St. Thomas. He asked me to stand up with him, a great honor, and one of the few times in our friendship we didn’t give each other shit. Really, when I announced that I was getting hitched he emailed me “Alright, let me be the first to say congratulations to then. You get one vagina for the rest of your life. Real smart Frank. Way to work it through.” Perhaps the most important result of our friendship, was him introducing me to The Sports Guy. That’s friendship.
So our conversation started as they normally do. We talked sports. Then I mentioned to him the big news, which I’m now putting on here for the first time, that the wife and I were getting a house. And sadly, this probably meant that we wouldn’t be able to attend his wedding. A fact that causes us great guilt and regret, we’d love to be there with them. I knew he wouldn’t be mad, at least outwardly. And he took the news in great stride, being as supportive as any real friend would be. Which probably adds to the guilt total, but so be it.
I guess I did it, finally had a successful “courageous conversation.” But it still sucked. I’d rather tell Jim that he was seen whackin’ it in the break-room while thumbing through the Sears catalog. And if we can some how get the scratch together, we’ll head for St. Thomas, and of course, heckle the hell out of V all the way down the aisle.
October 22, 2008
Failhirp
I know this probably isn’t the most logical of reasoning, but this morning I feel like a failure. As we had dinner last night with my parents, they told us that my niece and her foster parents (who want to adopt her) are headed for Phoenix in the near future. This sucks because she’s moving away, and sucks even more because she won’t have anything to do with my family. Sometimes I don’t know if I can blame her, if I was in her shoes, I’d feel pretty abandoned too.
So where is this illogical reasoning? Here it is: I feel like a failure. I didn’t keep my family together, and that was the job I assigned myself as a kid. No matter what, try to keep the family together. You’d think we were trying to survive Auschwitz. And really, I have to say it again, it’s not as if we had some horrible up bringing. A lot of kids have been worse off, and a lot of kids will be worse off. I had both parents, they loved us, and we had all kinds of advantages.
But last night I said goodbye to my parents. My brother moved his family to Alabama a few years ago. My sister lives in the area, but we couldn’t be further apart. My nieces and nephews, already broken up, are getting further apart. And that all sucks even more because now I have my own family, and I’d love for the Kyd to know all her cousins. The girl that’s just two years older, who she could have lots in common with. She misses out on her 10 year old boy cousin, who could watch out for her. She doesn’t get to know her 16 year old cousin, who was adored by his younger sister, and would spoil her given the chance. And the beautiful, smart and ornery 17 year old cousin, who could give her make up tips (much to my disapproval) who the Kyd reminds me of quite often with her sass and wisdom beyond her years. The Kyd doesn’t have her aunt, my sister, who for years wanted me to have kids, and could have been that cool aunt, who I would have to beg not to give the Kyd beer when she’s 17 or get her smoking when she’s 14.
Then there are my brother’s girls. The oldest has the same name as the Kyd, and could teach the Kyd the Soulja Boy dance, just as she taught her youngest sister. Who is also just a little older than the Kyd, and the two of them hit it off so well the one time they met last Thanksgiving. My brother, sister-in-law and the Kyd had such a good time in Mexico, going into the ocean or going for ice cream.
Such is life. I have my own family to keep together now. Wow, that’s depressing shit.
* Sarah Palin is in the news for running up some nice bills, for flying her daughters all over for various bullshit events. Maybe she should have just kept the jet, rather than selling it at a loss.
So where is this illogical reasoning? Here it is: I feel like a failure. I didn’t keep my family together, and that was the job I assigned myself as a kid. No matter what, try to keep the family together. You’d think we were trying to survive Auschwitz. And really, I have to say it again, it’s not as if we had some horrible up bringing. A lot of kids have been worse off, and a lot of kids will be worse off. I had both parents, they loved us, and we had all kinds of advantages.
But last night I said goodbye to my parents. My brother moved his family to Alabama a few years ago. My sister lives in the area, but we couldn’t be further apart. My nieces and nephews, already broken up, are getting further apart. And that all sucks even more because now I have my own family, and I’d love for the Kyd to know all her cousins. The girl that’s just two years older, who she could have lots in common with. She misses out on her 10 year old boy cousin, who could watch out for her. She doesn’t get to know her 16 year old cousin, who was adored by his younger sister, and would spoil her given the chance. And the beautiful, smart and ornery 17 year old cousin, who could give her make up tips (much to my disapproval) who the Kyd reminds me of quite often with her sass and wisdom beyond her years. The Kyd doesn’t have her aunt, my sister, who for years wanted me to have kids, and could have been that cool aunt, who I would have to beg not to give the Kyd beer when she’s 17 or get her smoking when she’s 14.
Then there are my brother’s girls. The oldest has the same name as the Kyd, and could teach the Kyd the Soulja Boy dance, just as she taught her youngest sister. Who is also just a little older than the Kyd, and the two of them hit it off so well the one time they met last Thanksgiving. My brother, sister-in-law and the Kyd had such a good time in Mexico, going into the ocean or going for ice cream.
Such is life. I have my own family to keep together now. Wow, that’s depressing shit.
* Sarah Palin is in the news for running up some nice bills, for flying her daughters all over for various bullshit events. Maybe she should have just kept the jet, rather than selling it at a loss.
October 21, 2008
From The Hirp
I’m not sure how tonight will go, but my gut thinks it could get kind of emotional. Not that I see myself as some tough guy who can’t cry, it can happen. But tonight we’re going to dinner with my parents, and we’ll probably say our goodbyes. Mom will most definitely cry, and I know it won’t entertain me like it did when she cried at our wedding. Hell, I made it a point to try and ensure her tears. “Sunrise, Sunset” was like taking candy from a baby with no arms.
I’m least looking forward to seeing how my wife and the Kyd react. That’ll tear me up inside like in “Oz” when Nino Schibetta unknowingly digested broken glass. Man, I miss that show. Yeahanyway, I’m not sure how the Kyd will react. She really loves my folks, and they’re nuts about her, but she usually likes to keep her feelings out of the eyes of others. Except for at home, she has no problem letting us know exactly how she feels. I remember when I was just a year or so younger than she is now, and my neighbor and best friend moved to Pennsylvania. It sucked, and it was the first time I had to deal with someone moving away. The experience never really improves.
Then I’m worried about how the wife will take it. From the first time she met my parental units, they’ve gotten along amazingly well. No one’s wife gets along as well, or loves her in-laws more, and has all those feelings reciprocated. There may be some equals, but never more. As long as I’ve known my parents wanted to retire to Arizona, I know for a fact that her joining the family is making it easier for them to move, as well as harder. Easier because they know I’m in good hands, and harder because they’re leaving behind a new daughter.
And that makes the whole move harder on us too. We understand that this is what they want, but the timing sucks. Just a little over 6 months after we get married? No way around it, but it sucks. Although, it’ll be nice to go visit the desert while Kansas City is a popsicle. I just tried calling them, and their home phone number has already been turned off. They’ve had that number, or “they had”, since we moved here in the summer of ’89. Not that I really dial it often, thanks to the phonebook in my Centro, but in some strange way I feel sad about the phone number. I want to bury it, and mourn the loss of that randomly assigned 10 digit number. (I just typed a number, then the words “digit” and “number” consecutively, that’s three of the same thing)
I do have some regrets. I’ve been a bit of an asshole to them since they sold the house. I wish I handled it better, and was more supportive. And I also wish I had aborted the joke about the baby. Wow, I just said “aborted” and “baby” in the same sentence. But when I found out a friends’ sister-in-law, who has the same name as my wife, was preggars, well I couldn’t help myself. So I regret saying, “Chris is pregnant” even if it was kind of funny, it just wasn’t cool. The one time I actually kept a straight face too, go figure.
I’m least looking forward to seeing how my wife and the Kyd react. That’ll tear me up inside like in “Oz” when Nino Schibetta unknowingly digested broken glass. Man, I miss that show. Yeahanyway, I’m not sure how the Kyd will react. She really loves my folks, and they’re nuts about her, but she usually likes to keep her feelings out of the eyes of others. Except for at home, she has no problem letting us know exactly how she feels. I remember when I was just a year or so younger than she is now, and my neighbor and best friend moved to Pennsylvania. It sucked, and it was the first time I had to deal with someone moving away. The experience never really improves.
Then I’m worried about how the wife will take it. From the first time she met my parental units, they’ve gotten along amazingly well. No one’s wife gets along as well, or loves her in-laws more, and has all those feelings reciprocated. There may be some equals, but never more. As long as I’ve known my parents wanted to retire to Arizona, I know for a fact that her joining the family is making it easier for them to move, as well as harder. Easier because they know I’m in good hands, and harder because they’re leaving behind a new daughter.
And that makes the whole move harder on us too. We understand that this is what they want, but the timing sucks. Just a little over 6 months after we get married? No way around it, but it sucks. Although, it’ll be nice to go visit the desert while Kansas City is a popsicle. I just tried calling them, and their home phone number has already been turned off. They’ve had that number, or “they had”, since we moved here in the summer of ’89. Not that I really dial it often, thanks to the phonebook in my Centro, but in some strange way I feel sad about the phone number. I want to bury it, and mourn the loss of that randomly assigned 10 digit number. (I just typed a number, then the words “digit” and “number” consecutively, that’s three of the same thing)
I do have some regrets. I’ve been a bit of an asshole to them since they sold the house. I wish I handled it better, and was more supportive. And I also wish I had aborted the joke about the baby. Wow, I just said “aborted” and “baby” in the same sentence. But when I found out a friends’ sister-in-law, who has the same name as my wife, was preggars, well I couldn’t help myself. So I regret saying, “Chris is pregnant” even if it was kind of funny, it just wasn’t cool. The one time I actually kept a straight face too, go figure.
October 13, 2008
Hirp Terrors
A couple of months ago, after a knock down drag out fight between us and the Kyd over bedtime (you’d think that two parents against one six year old, the parents would have the edge, but Vegas must be familiar with how Rocky did against Drago, and called it even) we saw a glimpse of something, and hoped it was a one time occurrence. You know, like U2’s ZooTV record. After the wife and I finally won out, and the kyd finally drifted off to sleep, we were amazed/horrified/curious/and slightly damp from a (very small amount) of urine in our pants, when the kyd woke up screaming Bloody Mary. It seemed as if she was re-living the entire battle in her sleep, only it was very vocal and even violent.
She thrashed around her bed like Johnny Depp in the first Elm Street. Repeating her argument against the evil bedtime, as if we were still battling over that sacred time like WMD’s. We went and took her from her bed, out to the couch, in an attempt to wake her from what we could only imagine was a “night terror.” She had a gazed look in her eyes, and really wasn’t coherent. You never want to see your Kyd looking like Anna Nicole Smith. The next morning, she had no recollection of what went down the night before.
A few weeks later, again after a rough night, it all seemed to happen again. And again, no memory. All was quiet on the bedtime front, until Friday night. While Hirp was out playing cards (or having the Kyd’s birthday gift money extracted from his wallet as he likes to call it now) the Kyd went to sleep like an angel. I came home around midnight, and all was quiet. About 45 minutes later, she came walking out of her room. Only she wasn’t all there. When we spoke to her, she screamed and ran back into her room. It was happening again, and this time she had gone mobile. She screamed some, thrashed some, and suddenly she was fast asleep. Then, as the wife and I sat on the floor by her bed, she jerked once more and made some loud high pitched noises, causing the both of us to suffer small heart attacks. We’re doing fine, by the way. And then she was asleep again.
So then we’re talking about being afraid of what could happen, if she were out walking around in that state. Google wasn’t our friend, as we read a story about a father-in-law being attacked and his wife murdered, by their sleep walking son-in-law. He was acquitted (note to self). The following night was incident free. And then last night, or to be more accurate it was really early this morning, we had what appears to be incident #4.
The wife heard the Kyd cry out for her at about 5:30 (it isn’t that I don’t wake up for these things, but the wife has Superman like hearing, and springs from bed and into action in milli-seconds) She’s also an amazingly light sleeper, I can’t even fart in my sleep and get away with it. So she goes to the Kyd’s bedroom, finds the door halfway open (or halfway closed if you’re, well, me) and the TV is blaring SpongeBob. The remote is buried on her desk, so it’s not as if she just rolled over and the TV came on. And there were enough toys, including a dollhouse, directly in the path from her bed to where her TV sits, that it amazes us she was able to turn it on without tripping over anything. And she was dead to the world, fast asleep.
And I thought I’d be able to sleep a little bit, at least until she turned 12 or 13. I’ll have to find the alarm system that would alert me if she moves from her bed, a good 6 years before I wanted to. I’ll also have to start putting the knives away before going to sleep.
She thrashed around her bed like Johnny Depp in the first Elm Street. Repeating her argument against the evil bedtime, as if we were still battling over that sacred time like WMD’s. We went and took her from her bed, out to the couch, in an attempt to wake her from what we could only imagine was a “night terror.” She had a gazed look in her eyes, and really wasn’t coherent. You never want to see your Kyd looking like Anna Nicole Smith. The next morning, she had no recollection of what went down the night before.
A few weeks later, again after a rough night, it all seemed to happen again. And again, no memory. All was quiet on the bedtime front, until Friday night. While Hirp was out playing cards (or having the Kyd’s birthday gift money extracted from his wallet as he likes to call it now) the Kyd went to sleep like an angel. I came home around midnight, and all was quiet. About 45 minutes later, she came walking out of her room. Only she wasn’t all there. When we spoke to her, she screamed and ran back into her room. It was happening again, and this time she had gone mobile. She screamed some, thrashed some, and suddenly she was fast asleep. Then, as the wife and I sat on the floor by her bed, she jerked once more and made some loud high pitched noises, causing the both of us to suffer small heart attacks. We’re doing fine, by the way. And then she was asleep again.
So then we’re talking about being afraid of what could happen, if she were out walking around in that state. Google wasn’t our friend, as we read a story about a father-in-law being attacked and his wife murdered, by their sleep walking son-in-law. He was acquitted (note to self). The following night was incident free. And then last night, or to be more accurate it was really early this morning, we had what appears to be incident #4.
The wife heard the Kyd cry out for her at about 5:30 (it isn’t that I don’t wake up for these things, but the wife has Superman like hearing, and springs from bed and into action in milli-seconds) She’s also an amazingly light sleeper, I can’t even fart in my sleep and get away with it. So she goes to the Kyd’s bedroom, finds the door halfway open (or halfway closed if you’re, well, me) and the TV is blaring SpongeBob. The remote is buried on her desk, so it’s not as if she just rolled over and the TV came on. And there were enough toys, including a dollhouse, directly in the path from her bed to where her TV sits, that it amazes us she was able to turn it on without tripping over anything. And she was dead to the world, fast asleep.
And I thought I’d be able to sleep a little bit, at least until she turned 12 or 13. I’ll have to find the alarm system that would alert me if she moves from her bed, a good 6 years before I wanted to. I’ll also have to start putting the knives away before going to sleep.
October 09, 2008
JstShh
Oddly enough, I consider myself to be a private person. Even though I have, and will continue, to put some pretty personal things on this blog for all the world to see, I still consider myself to be a private person. I may write about this or that, but I don’t advertise it. I’m not telling every Tom, Dick and Harry my life story. The fact that I don’t know a Tom, Dick, or Harry has nothing to do with this. But there are some people, and perhaps one or more I work with, that have no problem sharing every detail of their life with anyone with half a good ear and a weak pulse.
Doesn’t matter what happens, they treat it as public information. And for some unknown reason, believe their co-workers actually give a damn. There are some I work with, that I enjoy shooting the shit with, but only one or two have my personal e-mail address. If we don’t intentionally swap home e-mail addresses, I have no need to know anything about you. One co-worker specifically, has no filter when it comes to personal issues.
Not only do we all know that she was off recent to deal with a family issue, as well as knowing the gritty details of what happened, this co-worker went as far as basically advertising the fact. Some of us have dry-erase boards by the entrance of our cel, er, cubes, so we can leave a quick note for those who may be looking for us and didn’t want to e-mail first. Really, we have them incase a higher up decides to cube drop us on a day we may be on vacation or out of the office.
“PTO/Family Issue” isn’t what anyone had in mind when we first got them. You’re on PTO, that’s all we need to know. If it’s because you’re just taking a day to watch the 1986 World Series (I gotta say, it’d be a good day) or if you’re taking the kid to the doctor, all you have to say is PTO. Family issues? I want to know about your family issues about as much as I want to know the cycles of all the women I work with, or which guys shave their balls.
Call my cynical; I just don’t think anything good can come from putting that info in circulation. Call me hypocritical, because I do so in this forum. But, in my defense, it’s pretty much just friends or the occasional web surfer who happened to Google “Tony Siciro” (true story, I get all kinds of visits from people that Google good ole Paulie Walnuts) And the more personal issues, well this is often the only place I’ll freely discuss them.
***
So rumor has it, Jamie Lynn Spears is preggars with baby #2. 16 years old, with a 4 month old, and she’s 2 months pregnant. This stopped being funny a while back, it just gets sadder and sadder. At this rate, she’ll be a grandmother when she’s my age.
Doesn’t matter what happens, they treat it as public information. And for some unknown reason, believe their co-workers actually give a damn. There are some I work with, that I enjoy shooting the shit with, but only one or two have my personal e-mail address. If we don’t intentionally swap home e-mail addresses, I have no need to know anything about you. One co-worker specifically, has no filter when it comes to personal issues.
Not only do we all know that she was off recent to deal with a family issue, as well as knowing the gritty details of what happened, this co-worker went as far as basically advertising the fact. Some of us have dry-erase boards by the entrance of our cel, er, cubes, so we can leave a quick note for those who may be looking for us and didn’t want to e-mail first. Really, we have them incase a higher up decides to cube drop us on a day we may be on vacation or out of the office.
“PTO/Family Issue” isn’t what anyone had in mind when we first got them. You’re on PTO, that’s all we need to know. If it’s because you’re just taking a day to watch the 1986 World Series (I gotta say, it’d be a good day) or if you’re taking the kid to the doctor, all you have to say is PTO. Family issues? I want to know about your family issues about as much as I want to know the cycles of all the women I work with, or which guys shave their balls.
Call my cynical; I just don’t think anything good can come from putting that info in circulation. Call me hypocritical, because I do so in this forum. But, in my defense, it’s pretty much just friends or the occasional web surfer who happened to Google “Tony Siciro” (true story, I get all kinds of visits from people that Google good ole Paulie Walnuts) And the more personal issues, well this is often the only place I’ll freely discuss them.
***
So rumor has it, Jamie Lynn Spears is preggars with baby #2. 16 years old, with a 4 month old, and she’s 2 months pregnant. This stopped being funny a while back, it just gets sadder and sadder. At this rate, she’ll be a grandmother when she’s my age.
October 08, 2008
Jsteat
So I just took a pretty big step. I didn’t call Charter House, close though. I made an appointment to talk to someone about this eating disorder thing I have. I’m sure this thrills everyone in the medical profession, but I kinda-sorta self-diagnosed myself with the help of Google. “Selective Eating Disorder”, so I have ADD and SED. As if I wasn’t sick enough of acronyms from work.
The British Journal of Clinical Child Psychology and Psychiatry states that:
Selective eating is the little studied phenomenon of eating a highly limited range of foods, associated with an unwillingness to try new foods. Common in toddlers, it can persist into middle childhood and adolescence in a small number of children, most commonly boys. When this happens social avoidance, anxiety and conflict can result.
You may think I wouldn’t like that it’s most common in toddlers, but that doesn’t bother me. I’m more worried about the idea that this minor step, of just making a phone call and setting an appointment, could lead to me one day eating a salad or chicken or something gross like that. I’m excited to maybe, oh, grow up, but afraid I’ll throw up. And your momma comes around the corner and licks it up..wait, strike that last sentence.
Years of my parents, friends, co-workers and even a few strangers did little else, except annoy me and make me self-conscious. But hearing the Kyd’s questions the last year and a half, and realizing sarcasm had no impact as a self-defense mechanism is what really got the ball rolling here.
Hey, after this maybe I’ll learn to annunciate (get it?). Next thing you know, I’ll grow a couple of inches and wake up with a full head of hair. Maybe then the stock market will right itself. And monkey’s will fly out of my butt.
The British Journal of Clinical Child Psychology and Psychiatry states that:
Selective eating is the little studied phenomenon of eating a highly limited range of foods, associated with an unwillingness to try new foods. Common in toddlers, it can persist into middle childhood and adolescence in a small number of children, most commonly boys. When this happens social avoidance, anxiety and conflict can result.
You may think I wouldn’t like that it’s most common in toddlers, but that doesn’t bother me. I’m more worried about the idea that this minor step, of just making a phone call and setting an appointment, could lead to me one day eating a salad or chicken or something gross like that. I’m excited to maybe, oh, grow up, but afraid I’ll throw up. And your momma comes around the corner and licks it up..wait, strike that last sentence.
Years of my parents, friends, co-workers and even a few strangers did little else, except annoy me and make me self-conscious. But hearing the Kyd’s questions the last year and a half, and realizing sarcasm had no impact as a self-defense mechanism is what really got the ball rolling here.
Hey, after this maybe I’ll learn to annunciate (get it?). Next thing you know, I’ll grow a couple of inches and wake up with a full head of hair. Maybe then the stock market will right itself. And monkey’s will fly out of my butt.
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