On Keeping a Ball and Chain - I think

I must preface this blog with a warning. There was a red wine bottle opened a little while ago. It’s now empty. You’ve been warned. I’ve heard that it’s best if you write drunk and edit sober. Some nonsense from Byron or Shakespeare or something (go on, comment on who really said that, I’ll wait, I just don’t feel like looking it up) like that. Since I don’t edit anyways (I’m so sorry.) let’s go.



Ladies and Gentlemen, I have no idea where all of you appeared from to read my blog, but I love every last one of you. Thank you. It means more than I can say in my current inebriated state. Sorry, the wine makes me extra lovey. I’ll try not to grope any of you, but no promises. It’s probably best if you sit a few seats away.


Daddy G and I just had an awesome philosophical/math conversation about uncontrollable equations over byriani and red wine. Yes, yes, you can now carry on about how much of a pretentious nerd I am. I’m already aware and I happen to agree with you. This is one of the reasons that Daddy G and I get along so well. No matter how many times we argue about his traveling to the US without me (you ever loving bastard), he always makes up for it by engaging my mind. He tolerates my unadulterated love affair with red wine and is willing to engage in ridiculously nerdy discussions. When he’s not working that is. Ahem. I love this man.


My eldest daughter asked me today, in the teary-est way possible, what she would do if her husband didn’t love her like her daddy and I did. I told her that without a doubt she should never marry a man that didn’t love her more than we did. This came out of a situation where her sister was found eating food outside (of which she is not allowed, because nut allergies aren’t a joke yo) and how hard it was to say no to friends. I got up on my soap box and preached a bit about how important it was to learn to do this and not worry so much about offending people, which my daughter does. A lot. I swear I’m trying to stop with the soap boxing (see here), but people, it is hard. The hard part came when my daughter asked me what if her husband stopped loving her, like my parents did. I’ve always been open about my mom and dad’s divorce with my kids. Not in the “I have Daddy Issues” way that is always in my own head, but that they had problems they just couldn’t solve.


The hard thing is, there is no guarantee. There’s no promise that you and your spouse won’t change and run into problems that you just can’t solve or fix. Honestly, this terrifies me. I would rather chew off my left leg than have to go through a divorce. Yet, I’m a realist and I can’t honestly say that Daddy G and I will never ever get a divorce. I certainly don’t want one and will do everything in my power to avoid getting one. It feels like a defeat admitting that I can’t even guarantee that we’ll be together always. But such is the way of relationships. There are no guarantees.


Ladies and gentlemen that love and care about your spouses, never take them for granted, and never ever let your problems go beyond what it will take a day to fix. Go on now, go hug your husband or wife. I’m done preaching for today.


Amen.


Becky

Improvement in Increments

Mood: Happy – I have my 4 year old curled up sleeping on me

Listening to: Never Easy – Kurt Nilsen, Love him hard.

I’m generally hanging around waiting for the greenlight on a project and thus decided to do some writing. Sigh. Not that kind of greenlight folks. Hopefully if my life ever gets that amazeballs, I hope I’ll be smart enough not to tell the internetz. You web-tubes just can’t keep a secret, can you, ya gossipy bastards. Although, if life ever took that turn, I probably would tell everyone. Think about it. That would be epic.  In reality, it’s an IT project that I need to make sure is taken off the server before I go in and mess around with stuff.  I love admin privileges.

Speaking of the word epic, I can’t say/write it without thinking of a certain friend and subsequently missing him. I miss you and your epic-ness Da. Whiskey and late night drunken chicanery just aren’t the same without you.

Sorry for the digression. I’m feeling mentally scatter-ish today.

So there are plans to actually exercise today. Stop laughing, I’m serious.  Kettle ball exercise. 5 pm today. I’m sure you’ll all be thoroughly entertained for the next few days hearing about how old/gimpy I am after actually using my non-existent muscles. I’m half excited, half terrified. Ok, after the fan incident it’s mostly terror. If anyone has online exercise video suggestions, I’m still looking for some. Also – what music motivates you when you exercise? I generally stick to some amped up GNR, Metallica, etc. I need some variety. The plan right now is to go back to my old work out of switching off cardio and weights (strength training) every other day.

I’m doing well keeping the coke (a-cola) under control. I think I’m successful at keeping it down to once a week, although I’m still fighting the cookie urge. It’s weird. In some things, I’m disciplined all friggin get out, in others, constant fail. I buy cookies for treats for my kids for school lunch, but it’s damn impossible to keep my grubby little fingers out of them, and it is never just one cookie.

Another thing I’m working on is the breakfast problem. After 5 years on the oatmeal breakfast bandwagon, I have fallen off. It’s not a stupid dieting idea, it’s not boredom with oatmeal, it’s just laziness. I’m a coffee junkie. I will stab someone before giving up my 2 cup a day habit. However, I tend to get sucked into work/Pinterest while enjoying said coffees. Then I just figure it’s too much effort and I’ll just eat more lunch, which never happens. This lends to my decidedly veloceraptorish demeanor when we eat dinner at 9. So yes, breakfast, it needs to happen.

I have found some zinc heavy vitamins that my Md recommended, so the vitamins must happen every day too with the oatmeal.

Hit me up with your exercise/music/life improvement suggestions. I’m all about making it awesome right now.

Becky

P.S - The new blog photo is one of my own hence not credited to anyone else. Don't steal my photo you punks.

Happy Bleedin Father's Day.

Listening to: My Daughter Working on Learning Hindi

Mood: Craving alone time

So I didn’t post anything for Father’s day. For some reason, I mentally rebel at jumping on the train about posting about anything everyone else is posting. School is out? Halloween is coming? I don’t care. If I have something to say, I’ll say it. In lieu of this, I decided to think a while on whether or not I had anything to say.

I definitely don’t have a whole lot to say about Father’s day. Well, at least not a lot of warm, fuzzy feel good things to say that everyone else seems to be chock full of. As I’ve mentioned before, my relationship with my dad is complicated bordering on non-existent. So…Father’s day doesn’t have a lot of meaning for me in that regard. It makes me vaguely sad every year, but that feeling gets shelved along with the other incidents that make me think about my dad pretty quickly.

I’ve heard that the opposite of love is apathy. I think I agree with that statement.  I find anger useless and destructive and sadness a complete waste of time. Neither will change the situation.  The thing that makes me the most sad about this situation is that there really isn’t much I can or will do to change it. Our relationship is what it is (or isn’t) and I’m willing to take responsibility for my part in this whole shit storm, even if I consider this to be the best, albeit a crappy, way for things to be for me. But the vague sadness will continue, because most likely things won’t change.

On the other hand, my kids have an amazing dad. I am forever grateful for the way he cares for them and is committed to seeing them grow up.  However, because of my sensitivities, I’m pretty much thankful for this on a daily basis. It’s one side of a coin that holds both hopes that they’ll have better experiences than I had with my dad and fear that one day he’ll leave them and they’ll turn out just as messed up as I am.

So that’s my reaction to Father’s day. I’m not sure this dithering wandering pout fest has a point. My apologies for that. This is why I don’t talk about my dad much and why I probably won’t be pondering Father’s day again. More than anyone else, I’m pretty tired of this issue. I’m tired of thinking about it, talking about it, and generally blathering on. Moving along.

Becky

Peanut Butter Vs. Nutella

So Michael, from: http://michaeldagostino.blogspot.in/  and Rusty of: http://swinginglikearustygate.blogspot.com.au/ have gotten into an epic battle of Nutella Vs. Peanut Butter.

I never really thought about matching up Peanut Butter and Nuttella in a competition, but it’s rather a brilliant idea. Here are my thoughts.

Peanut Butter:

Ok. So I like peanut butter in a functional way. I could eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day. I like them THAT much. It’s a quick and dirty reliable way of getting some protein into my system. My mom used to use this as a meal so often when I was young, there’s some major nostalgia value. I also love peanut butter combined with desserts. Reeces, peanut butter cookies, etc. I can’t think of much else to use  peanut butter for. I never really understood about peanut butter and bananas, but it’s recently come so highly recommended, I’m going to have to try it. I don’t fall over myself loving it, and with 1 kid in my house allergic to it, I really don't keep much around. 

Nutella:

I don’t have any childhood memories of nutella. I only tried it last year, and can I get a hell yeah! I’m a huge sweet tooth and I’ve been known to be an easy date for anything containing hazelnut and or chocolate together. It turns a humble slice of bread into an awesome dessert. Also, able to be eaten alone, which I just can’t do with peanut butter.

So I’m sorry *Michael, Nutella totally wins.  Anything sweet I can dig out of a jar with a spoon dominates.

Becky

Pretend Friend

Listening to: Groovy Kind of Love – Phil Collins. Don’t judge me people, it’s Daddy G’s and my song.

Mood:  Calm and happy

This post is kind of hard for me to write because I don’t really enjoy writing about frustrating relationships with family and friends.  I try really hard not to be the whiney emo type. I find them irritating.  However, I am a girl, no matter what anyone has told you and I do have feelings. Again, don’t listen to what people tell you. Kidding of course. Ahem.

I’m not the type who makes close friends easily. I have been like this my entire life. The first 2/3 of my life were spent being so painfully shy I hated being around crowds. I’ve gotten a bit better. I’m no longer shy and have a lot of casual friends in the US. It still takes me a long, long time to open up to someone and trust them as a good friend. Once I do, it’s forever. I’m not always a great friend. I forget to write, and call, and have been known to forget birthdays on a regular basis. However, I have genuine affection for most of my close friends and consider them semi-family.

I’m not going to name the person that inspired this post, because that’s just childish and would destroy a few other friendships along with hers. Let’s just keep it anonymous. Hopefully if she ever does read this, she won’t realize it’s about her. Our families have ties that go way back. Well, our husbands do anyways. Since I enjoy her husband’s company a lot, I really made an effort to get to know her and be friendly to her too. We did develop what I considered to be a close friendship. There were a few times along the way when things were a bit awkward and I wondered if perhaps she wasn’t quite as in to the friendship as I was, or perhaps her husband was pushing the friendship as he and Daddy G were old friends.  Nothing ever obvious or said to my face, but subtle things. Flaking on meet ups, over exaggeration of how much she loved coming to my house, eating what I cooked, etc. The kind of thing where it’s so over the top you wonder if she isn't going home and rolling her eyes and wishing she didn't have to deal with you at all. Yet she always greeted me in what seemed to be genuine friendliness and enthusiasm.

Of course, I brushed these things off, being the friendly, but rather socially inept person that I am. She was one of the reasons I was really sad to leave New York. Over the course of the years I had known her, I really enjoyed her company and thought she felt the same.

Fast forward to today. I never hear from this person. Ever. Even light hello emails are met with silence. After a while I quit emailing her because even I can take a hint after a while.

What I want to know is why the fake enthusiasm and friendship? I’m not made of porcelain. If you didn’t want to be friends, or come over, or anything, wouldn’t it have been easier just to be honest up front? I really wouldn’t have been insulted at all. After all, not everyone gets along.  This kind of thing is insulting though. I wouldn’t have bothered with caring had I known you weren’t all that thrilled to be friends. In fact, I hate this kind of shit. The social interactions that make me feel like a ridiculous imbecile because I don’t always pick up on vague, obscure cues. It’s bad enough when it happens with people I don’t know all that well, but it’s a lot worse with someone I think I’m close to. Perhaps she just wasn’t the outspoken type and didn’t like confrontation. I really feel like I have no idea now. Perhaps I was too intense in my friendliness and she was scared I’d do something awkward like cry. Yeah, so not happening.

I’m not devastated, just disappointed. Making good friends isn’t easy for me, so when I think I’ve made one, it’s all the more difficult when I find out it was just a mirage.

Becky

Ye Old Gimp

Listening to: Fat Bottom Girls – Queen. Oh the irony.

Mood:  Calm and happy

So a few days ago, I decided to tackle the disgusting ceiling fans in our house. I am definitely one of those housewives that notice obscure dirt and make a project out of it.

I grabbed one of the 5 (no kidding!) buckets in our house and went looking for liquid soap. I was hoping to use Lyzol (the Indian version of Lysol) that my housekeeper uses for the floor since we didn’t have any regular liquid dish soap. Hmm. She has used all the Lyzol and forgot to ask me to buy a new one. Wonder how long the floor has been swabbed down with just water. Anyhow. I decided just to settle for a hot water and a scrubby textured rag. I grabbed a kitchen chair and got to work. We only have 5 fans in our house. 1 for each bedroom, 1 in the living room, and 1 for the dining room. It was a short and extremely satisfying project even though all of the dirt showered all over me and the floor, even though I was doing my best to catch it all with a soaking wet rag. 15 minutes tops.

The next day I hopped out of bed. Well, perhaps hopped out is a gross exaggeration. It may have been a slow crawl to the coffee powder. I noticed that in one of my legs, more specifically the one I used to lift myself up on to the kitchen chair, was operating funky.  As in stiff, sore, and generally gimpy in my leg and butt muscles. This continued for the next 3 days.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially out of shape. Okay, you can stop laughing now. I haven’t been in shape for the past 10 years. For some reason, in my mind, my recent weight loss was somehow magically connected with being fit. I was happy with this delusion until 15 minutes of unusual movement reduced me to a gimp. I am in desperate need to some weight lifting and muscle toning. Like yesterday. So along with my austerity measures to cut down on soda and cookies, I also need to be doing some proper exercise. When I get done with the hospital and school visits (just general business) I think the gym in my complex needs to be visited.

I love lifting weights and would love to get back into this. I have 5 lbs weights, stretchy bands (the technical term) and a kettle ball at home, so even if I can’t get to the gym, I can start at home.

Anyone have a favorite workout video for toning or even better a kettle ball?

Becky

Swedish Dirty Joke

I made a crack about a photo of mine recently that my Swedish roots are showing. I don't have Nordic ancestry, but it sure does look like it now. A friend of mine told me this joke and it cracked me up. If you're Swedish or Finnish, please, don't get offended. It's funny.

A middle aged man went to a bar for a drink. He sees a young, twenty something, beautiful, white blond girl and proceeds to use his best game on her. She eventually warms up to him and they decide to go home together. Things get on exactly how you think they do and they hop into bed.

When they're done, the man asks her, "Are you finished?"

"Well...no." The girl replies

The man is a bit discouraged, but decides to give it another go. Back to bed they go.

When they're done, the man once again asks her, "Are you finished?"

"Um, no." The girl replies.

The man is a bit worried, but decides to give it one more try. Back to bed they go.

When they are done, the exhausted, sweaty middle aged guy asks her, "Please, please be finished."

"I'm not Finnish. I'm Swedish." The girl replies.



Bwa ha ha ha. Cracked  me up. Also made me miss lots of good friends that were comfortable enough to tell me fun dirty jokes.

Becky