Who I am:
An Arkie in CaliAn editor
A teacher
Mom of two
Wife of one
A dog owner
A Jeep driver
A taurus
A Ph.D.
A twenty-thirty-one-year-old woman
A resident of the Real World...Blogger Style
Links:
- Fark.com
- Yahoo
- Recent earthquakes in SoCal
- UofA webcam
- The Watercooler
- Email the future you
- Mount St. Helens Volcanocam
- Irvine
- More Irvine
Blogs:
- My New Best Friend (Mo)
- The Real World Blogger Style
- The Pissed Kitty
- The Lowland Seed (Sergei)
- Cori
- The Grand Ennui (Boz)
- No More Boz
- Kat's Stuff (Kat)
- Melissa
- A Sorta Kinda Fairytale (Belle)
- Pork Tornado
- More Dusty, because you can never get too much Dusty
- Nacho Steppinstone (Jonnie)
- The Daily WTF
- Rapmastacornflake (Jodie)
- Black Betty (Sandra)
- Subliminal Silence (Marci)
- Dvl
- Bored Housewife (Lisa)
- Flingus (Mad Matthias)
- Whoa That was so deep (Rosa Posa)
- Shannon's Planet
- AmyJo
- Thought Minion (Jer)
- Avatar
- Drew
- Infomaniac
- 63 days
Thanks, Michele:
- Michele
- Birdie
- Juggernaut
- Vit/Madge
- Full Steam Ahead
- Paul Sveda
- Blaugustine
More blogs:
Still more blogs:
Archives:
- 04/01/2004 - 05/01/2004
- 05/01/2004 - 06/01/2004
- 06/01/2004 - 07/01/2004
- 07/01/2004 - 08/01/2004
- 08/01/2004 - 09/01/2004
- 09/01/2004 - 10/01/2004
- 10/01/2004 - 11/01/2004
- 11/01/2004 - 12/01/2004
- 12/01/2004 - 01/01/2005
- 01/01/2005 - 02/01/2005
- 02/01/2005 - 03/01/2005
- 03/01/2005 - 04/01/2005
- 04/01/2005 - 05/01/2005
- 07/01/2005 - 08/01/2005
- 07/01/2006 - 08/01/2006
E-ME!
Email: Nanntz@gmail.com
Oh I get it...like humor...but different.
Monday, January 24, 2005
I see how it is
You don't know what to say when I am serious. Understandable. It happens so seldom. We now return to our regularly scheduled idiocy.
Pisser, what the hell happened to your page?
Sergei, dent in the PLASTER???? Holy hell, man....
Monique, where the hell are you, girl? I miss ya.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You don't know what to say when I am serious. Understandable. It happens so seldom. We now return to our regularly scheduled idiocy.
Pisser, what the hell happened to your page?
Sergei, dent in the PLASTER???? Holy hell, man....
Monique, where the hell are you, girl? I miss ya.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Vignette
She was born in the 1930s in a small, rural town. She was smart...smarter than a small-town Arkansas girl should be. Too smart for her own good. The 1950s wasn't a place for smart girls. She was talented too. She had a lovely singing voice. She had learned all that the small-town piano teachers had to teach her and hungered for more. She was drum majorette. She loved chemistry and thought about being a chemical engineer. She thought about escaping small-town Arkansas. She thought about moving to New Orleans.
But that wasn't what was in store for her. Not in 1951, when she graduated from high school. She was valedictorian. It wasn't far to the University of Arkansas. But it was a trip she couldn't make. She would never make it.
She loved him. Even before they were officially introduced, she loved him, and she wanted to be his wife. That was the path that was logical. Be his wife, have his kids, keep the house. Her mom had done it. Her grandmother. The women before that. If they had entertained other options, she didn't know it.
But she loved him. She loved him with a love that would last for the rest of her life, and he loved her the same way. He thought about getting out too. He had a football scholarship. He went to college for one year, a pharmacy major. But he didn't go back for a second year. What options did he see that he had? What did he consider and discard?
They married.
He was the tall, handsome football player. She was the tiny, lovely egghead. They were the archetypal small-town 1950s couple. Not enough education to ever live comfortably, too much pride to admit that they might have made a hasty choice. No matter. Their kids would live better. Their kids would get that education. Their kids would get OUT.
Two years later, a daughter. Five years after that, a son. They never had anything. But no one in that town ever had anything, so it wasn't really a problem. They read extensivly, talked about any- and everything. They introduced their children to a wide range of ideas. They pushed for good grades. They never accepted any alternative for their children except that they would go to college.
Always, always, she told her children, "Get a good education and get out of here." There was more than a hint of despair in the words, more than a hint of regret.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She was born in the 1930s in a small, rural town. She was smart...smarter than a small-town Arkansas girl should be. Too smart for her own good. The 1950s wasn't a place for smart girls. She was talented too. She had a lovely singing voice. She had learned all that the small-town piano teachers had to teach her and hungered for more. She was drum majorette. She loved chemistry and thought about being a chemical engineer. She thought about escaping small-town Arkansas. She thought about moving to New Orleans.
But that wasn't what was in store for her. Not in 1951, when she graduated from high school. She was valedictorian. It wasn't far to the University of Arkansas. But it was a trip she couldn't make. She would never make it.
She loved him. Even before they were officially introduced, she loved him, and she wanted to be his wife. That was the path that was logical. Be his wife, have his kids, keep the house. Her mom had done it. Her grandmother. The women before that. If they had entertained other options, she didn't know it.
But she loved him. She loved him with a love that would last for the rest of her life, and he loved her the same way. He thought about getting out too. He had a football scholarship. He went to college for one year, a pharmacy major. But he didn't go back for a second year. What options did he see that he had? What did he consider and discard?
They married.
He was the tall, handsome football player. She was the tiny, lovely egghead. They were the archetypal small-town 1950s couple. Not enough education to ever live comfortably, too much pride to admit that they might have made a hasty choice. No matter. Their kids would live better. Their kids would get that education. Their kids would get OUT.
Two years later, a daughter. Five years after that, a son. They never had anything. But no one in that town ever had anything, so it wasn't really a problem. They read extensivly, talked about any- and everything. They introduced their children to a wide range of ideas. They pushed for good grades. They never accepted any alternative for their children except that they would go to college.
Always, always, she told her children, "Get a good education and get out of here." There was more than a hint of despair in the words, more than a hint of regret.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Come Saturday Morning
The Greatest Father in the World is at home, recovering from his broken shoulder. Unfortunately, without the use of this right hand (immobilized so the shoulder can heal), he can't get up or down by himself. And because of his extreme dizziness he couldn't walk by himself if he COULD get up. And because of his come-and-go mental confusion, he really can't get along without someone keeping an eye on him most of the time. My tiny little mom (seriously, not even 100 pounds), who is bent like a question mark by RA and has toes that go east-west when her foot goes north-south, can't help him at all. He's a former football center---over six feet tall, 216 pounds.
So I go down every morning to help him get out of bed and am there for dinner and to put him to bed every night. On work days a caregiver named Robert comes while I am at work. But Robert couldn't work on the weekend, so we asked the care agency to send someone else. Thus began the revolving door of weekend caregivers....
First there was Leo. If you know the comedian Ant, make him Filipino and put about 60 pounds on him and be sure that he is no more than 5 feet tall, and you have Leo. The minute he walked in the door, I knew we were in trouble. Leo would barely be big enough to be a fulcrum. No way he was going to be able to help dad up. And loud, dramatic, flourishy, fidgity. I am thinking "All hopes of a Saturday off to get my housework done are out the window!" But maybe. We decided to give him a shot, see how he did. He had been there no more than 20 minutes when he declared himself to be bored (we are supposed to be entertaining this guy?).
The first time Dad had to get up, I stood by and watched to see how Leo did. I had talked Leo through the process and demonstrated how to do it. Dad has to stand up and then stand there for a while until his knees straighten out. And he must be supported at all times, because of the dizziness. And he has only his left arm to hold on to. It's a challenge, I know. But if I can handle it....
At any rate, Leo used all of his ant+60 pounds of weight to tug on Dad, but he was pulling down, not lifting up...and dad started rotating around like a door on a pivot. Dad was saying, in panic, "Don't push me, don't push me!" I grabbed him...moved Leo out of the way. Helped Dad sit back down.
Then I fired someone for the first time in my life. He was out the door.
A couple of hours later Earl came. Nice man, very good with Dad. Taller, stronger...able to lift UP not pull forward. OK. This is good. I left for about an hour. Great, I am thinking. He will be back Sunday.
No, he won't. About an hour after Earl left, the agency called. Earl is asthmatic. Can't take the smoke. Charlie will be there tomorrow.
Sigh.
Sunday. Got Dad up and going....Charlie came on time and was tall, even taller than I am. Strong. Pleasant. Score!!! I got to take off from 10 until 3, vaccuum, have a great lunch with PU2, take a nap with Hubcap. A nap! OMG, is there anything more wonderful?
Robert is back today...and I think he will be able to work this weekend too. I was delighted to see him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Greatest Father in the World is at home, recovering from his broken shoulder. Unfortunately, without the use of this right hand (immobilized so the shoulder can heal), he can't get up or down by himself. And because of his extreme dizziness he couldn't walk by himself if he COULD get up. And because of his come-and-go mental confusion, he really can't get along without someone keeping an eye on him most of the time. My tiny little mom (seriously, not even 100 pounds), who is bent like a question mark by RA and has toes that go east-west when her foot goes north-south, can't help him at all. He's a former football center---over six feet tall, 216 pounds.
So I go down every morning to help him get out of bed and am there for dinner and to put him to bed every night. On work days a caregiver named Robert comes while I am at work. But Robert couldn't work on the weekend, so we asked the care agency to send someone else. Thus began the revolving door of weekend caregivers....
First there was Leo. If you know the comedian Ant, make him Filipino and put about 60 pounds on him and be sure that he is no more than 5 feet tall, and you have Leo. The minute he walked in the door, I knew we were in trouble. Leo would barely be big enough to be a fulcrum. No way he was going to be able to help dad up. And loud, dramatic, flourishy, fidgity. I am thinking "All hopes of a Saturday off to get my housework done are out the window!" But maybe. We decided to give him a shot, see how he did. He had been there no more than 20 minutes when he declared himself to be bored (we are supposed to be entertaining this guy?).
The first time Dad had to get up, I stood by and watched to see how Leo did. I had talked Leo through the process and demonstrated how to do it. Dad has to stand up and then stand there for a while until his knees straighten out. And he must be supported at all times, because of the dizziness. And he has only his left arm to hold on to. It's a challenge, I know. But if I can handle it....
At any rate, Leo used all of his ant+60 pounds of weight to tug on Dad, but he was pulling down, not lifting up...and dad started rotating around like a door on a pivot. Dad was saying, in panic, "Don't push me, don't push me!" I grabbed him...moved Leo out of the way. Helped Dad sit back down.
Then I fired someone for the first time in my life. He was out the door.
A couple of hours later Earl came. Nice man, very good with Dad. Taller, stronger...able to lift UP not pull forward. OK. This is good. I left for about an hour. Great, I am thinking. He will be back Sunday.
No, he won't. About an hour after Earl left, the agency called. Earl is asthmatic. Can't take the smoke. Charlie will be there tomorrow.
Sigh.
Sunday. Got Dad up and going....Charlie came on time and was tall, even taller than I am. Strong. Pleasant. Score!!! I got to take off from 10 until 3, vaccuum, have a great lunch with PU2, take a nap with Hubcap. A nap! OMG, is there anything more wonderful?
Robert is back today...and I think he will be able to work this weekend too. I was delighted to see him.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Absence
"The Greatest Dad in the World" took a header in the bathroom this past weekend and broke his shoulder, so I have been (and will continue to be) a bit scarce. He is basically fine, but he can't get up and down by himself at all (his right arm is immobilized, and he is, of course, right handed), so he needs help any time he has to change locations. And as he is 6 feet tall and over 200 pounds (former football center) and my mom is barely 5 feet and 90-something pounds, she can't do a thing to help him. She's even too damn boney to be a good fall cushion. But no problem. I am an EXCELLENT fall cushion. :-)
More later.
P.S. Pisser, I am feeling you on the hospital stuff. Been there myself. We just needed to get your grandpa and my dad in the same hospital. At least we could have entertained ourselves by stealing scrubs and oggling the cute doctors.
P.P.S. By the way, the weather has been so bad here lately that California drivers have actually been driving the speed limit for a change! But the sun is out today...nice weather for the first time in over two weeks. *singing* they say it never rains in Southern California........
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"The Greatest Dad in the World" took a header in the bathroom this past weekend and broke his shoulder, so I have been (and will continue to be) a bit scarce. He is basically fine, but he can't get up and down by himself at all (his right arm is immobilized, and he is, of course, right handed), so he needs help any time he has to change locations. And as he is 6 feet tall and over 200 pounds (former football center) and my mom is barely 5 feet and 90-something pounds, she can't do a thing to help him. She's even too damn boney to be a good fall cushion. But no problem. I am an EXCELLENT fall cushion. :-)
More later.
P.S. Pisser, I am feeling you on the hospital stuff. Been there myself. We just needed to get your grandpa and my dad in the same hospital. At least we could have entertained ourselves by stealing scrubs and oggling the cute doctors.
P.P.S. By the way, the weather has been so bad here lately that California drivers have actually been driving the speed limit for a change! But the sun is out today...nice weather for the first time in over two weeks. *singing* they say it never rains in Southern California........
Friday, January 07, 2005
FWD>>Rant
Please don't put me on your mass distribution list. Please don't forward your cute, sentimental, patriotic, cautionary emails to me. If I see emails from you with FWD in the subject line, and there are four or six of them in one day, chances are good that I am not going to bother reading even one of them. If you see something that you know I am interested in, or that is likely to be of help to me, by all means forward it. But four? SIX? I don't think so. There is not a day that goes by that four or six random email threads are likely to pertain to me. Chances are very good that I have read anything you might send me before. It has probably been debunked on Snopes and ridiculed on Fark and circulated ad nauseum for weeks.
Please don't ask me "not to break the chain." I guarandamntee you I will break the chain. You can count on it. I may be a bit shakey in my personal belief system, but I am willing to bet, and bet big, that one does not bring disaster down on one's self by failing to forward an email. Christ on a cracker.
If you have my email address and you would like to actually converse with me, excellent. But if I am just another addy between the commas of your group, no thanks. I don't see a lot of difference between that and spam. Actually, spam is better. I might actually want to BUY some of that stuff.
Note: this is not directed at anyone at all who reads this blog, or is likely to read this blog. Bloggers are a far more sophisticated group than that. It is a random rant occasioned by a long-time friend of mine, someone I recently reconnected with and had hoped to get to know again. But all I have gotten has been recycled garbage. Get an original thought, man!
--end rant--
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please don't put me on your mass distribution list. Please don't forward your cute, sentimental, patriotic, cautionary emails to me. If I see emails from you with FWD in the subject line, and there are four or six of them in one day, chances are good that I am not going to bother reading even one of them. If you see something that you know I am interested in, or that is likely to be of help to me, by all means forward it. But four? SIX? I don't think so. There is not a day that goes by that four or six random email threads are likely to pertain to me. Chances are very good that I have read anything you might send me before. It has probably been debunked on Snopes and ridiculed on Fark and circulated ad nauseum for weeks.
Please don't ask me "not to break the chain." I guarandamntee you I will break the chain. You can count on it. I may be a bit shakey in my personal belief system, but I am willing to bet, and bet big, that one does not bring disaster down on one's self by failing to forward an email. Christ on a cracker.
If you have my email address and you would like to actually converse with me, excellent. But if I am just another addy between the commas of your group, no thanks. I don't see a lot of difference between that and spam. Actually, spam is better. I might actually want to BUY some of that stuff.
Note: this is not directed at anyone at all who reads this blog, or is likely to read this blog. Bloggers are a far more sophisticated group than that. It is a random rant occasioned by a long-time friend of mine, someone I recently reconnected with and had hoped to get to know again. But all I have gotten has been recycled garbage. Get an original thought, man!
--end rant--
Monday, January 03, 2005
Happy New Year
The Weather Channel has been repaired. My life resumes. Hope all is well with everyone out there.
Oh. And two more things. I would like to post my public thanks to Hubcap for being not only a great cook but also ENJOYING cooking (which I don't). He cooked both leg of lamb AND prime rib this weekend. I am so freaking spoiled it's not even funny. Thanks, HC!
And thanks to both HC and PU2 for all the hard work over the long weekend. The remodel is done, the rooms are moved around and redecorated (except for PU2's light kit for her fan---why the hell don't those things just WORK, already?), and I was as happy as a pig in slop.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Weather Channel has been repaired. My life resumes. Hope all is well with everyone out there.
Oh. And two more things. I would like to post my public thanks to Hubcap for being not only a great cook but also ENJOYING cooking (which I don't). He cooked both leg of lamb AND prime rib this weekend. I am so freaking spoiled it's not even funny. Thanks, HC!
And thanks to both HC and PU2 for all the hard work over the long weekend. The remodel is done, the rooms are moved around and redecorated (except for PU2's light kit for her fan---why the hell don't those things just WORK, already?), and I was as happy as a pig in slop.