I FEEL LIKE A WANKER

I have been reading blogs from all over the world and picked up a few new terms. My understanding of the word "wanker" from the context I have read it in seems to mean penis. Now, I don't feel like a penis, exactly. I feel like a really limp penis. I worked twelve and a half hours today because "I don't need a calendar, I can remember."

Well, not quite. I forgot that I had an online discussion to run tonight at work and instead of going in later, I went in at my regular, crack of dawn, 8 AM. I didn't even realize I had the discussion until 11 when I was notified, by e-mail, to log on and do a test run. Shit! So, there I was at 7 PM all ready to be the moderator, when the invited guest has computer problems, the manager of the discussion doesn't have her cell phone because her husband took it with him and she has no land line...and, the rules change very quickly. It seems that now, the manager will be the moderator, I will "be" the speaker. I will accomplish this by calling her, submitting the questions the moderator has chosen verbally and type in the answers as she gives them to me verbally.

Now, for over 40 of my 57 years I have lied about my typing. Why? Because I grew up in a generation that if you knew how to type, that's what you did. So, here I am, reading these questions to a very verbal woman in upstate New York and typing in the longest and most detailed answers that anyone could imagine. And, I'm transcribing these like a son of a bitch. After 45 minutes my hands were cramping up and I was watching the clock on the computer crawl slowly towards 8 PM. That's when I realized that the person in New York couldn't see the answers I was typing, the moderator couldn't hear what she was saying and I became an editor. Let me tell you, honey, those long winded answers were pared down to almost snippy replies.

What the hell. I 'm an accountant. I put numbers into boxes and they add up and all is well with the world. I am not supposed to have to deal with people. I, unfortunately, put myself in this position since no one else had volunteered to be the "moderator." And, of course, being the wonderful, people pleasing martyr that I am, said "Sure, I'll do it." I meant moderate. Not be a transcriber to, what I am sure was, a very nice woman who didn't realize how much I hated talking to her, typing answers to a bunch of questions that I could barely field, and not just slip over to Blog Explosion for a little surfing.

So, that's why I feel like a limp wanker. Now, if I were Australian I could head out and play a little "pokie." Which is poker to them, and with a limp wanker attitude would be about all I could manage.

Know what tomorrow is? Another installment of "What's In Sarah's Bed?" It will probably be me, with all the crap piled up and watching Heaven's Gate which I got from Netflix. And, with any luck at all, Monday won't turn into "What's Sarah Going to Whine About Today?" 'Night, all.

THE HOLIDAY STORY OF THE HAMMER THE NAILS...
AND THE LAUNDRY

This is one of those stories that I almost wish I wasn't in. Almost.

Okay, after being separated from my first husband for five years with no divorce the need came about to be married again. The story is kind of dramatic, but in a brief few words it can be summed up like this: Hippie, bisexual, rock and roll, a smattering of drugs, a really bad attitude and a custody battle with my mother for my daughter. None of the things mentioned made me a great mother, but neither did they make me an unfit one. However, for the sake of brevity, my mother would have turned me into the female version of Jack the Ripper if it meant getting custody of my daughter from me and messing with my life just one more time.

Now, I had been supporting my child, loving her, supervising her appropriately and doing all of the motherly things that were necessary, but, I had not bowed to my mother's idea of being the perfect daughter. I got sick, had to have surgery, made the mistake of my life, which meant asking my mother to care for my daughter while I recovered. Whoa, baby. The psychological aspects of that have been totally reviewed and on some sick level, I suppose I was still seeking her approval.

Anyway, the deed was done. Upon release from the hospital, I get home to find she has filed for permanent custody, had been granted temporary custody and I was up the proverbial creek.

How was I going to fix this. Well, let's see. What was the dumbest thing I could do? You got it. I found someone I was certain would normalize me in the eyes of the law and so I married him. Oops. Now, he wasn't a bad guy. But, marrying for the wrong reason, in fact marrying for the right reason...both can get you in a hell of a lot of trouble. Long story short. He wasn't normal enough. I hadn't suffered enough. And, I ended up childless and married. I did get visitation and all of the hell that goes with that type of an arrangement. But, to say it was less than perfect, is the epitome of understatement.

Eventually, custody was returned to me, and, I was still married. He had a propensity towards passive aggressive behavior, sloth and a down and out ability to remain unemployed. The passive aggressive behavior began to drive me crazy. The sloth drove me up a wall. And the inability to find gainful employment became the last straw.

I started to plan my move. Not being one to rush into things anymore, I was busy getting my eggs in a row when my own passive aggressive behavior began to emerge. Shit, I never realized how much fun it could be.

The one thing that had always pushed me over the edge was the inability of this man to find the laundry basket with his dirty underwear. So, as they started to pile up on his side of the bed, I took out my handy hammer and some carpeting tacks, and tacked
them to the floor. Ha ha, I thought, wait until he tries to pick those up. Well, he didn't try and pick them up. They lay there and the pile grew. Here comes the hammer, some nails this time, and tap, tap, tap, the second layer were firmly put in place. Then the third, fourth, and by the fifth, I was on my way out the door. I figured that he was just being more passive than I and wasn't going to say anything to me about it.

Wrong. About three weeks after I left, the phone rings, and there he is, "What the hell is the idea of nailing my underwear to the floor?" I blew snot. It had taken the man over six weeks to realize that I had nailed his dirty clothes to floor. It was great. I was actually glad that I wasn't there when he discovered it. It was much better to just hang up the phone and go on with my life.

The moral of this story, if there is a moral, is that sometimes things you think are being done for all of the right reasons can turn out just as badly as if you had done something else for all of the right reasons. I regained custody of my daughter when my mother died. Overnight, I became all the things that I hadn't been when she was alive. It was the beginning of true growing up for me. To learn that my self righteousness was no different than hers. That things will take care of themselves in the strangest of ways, without our stupid attempts at manipulation. And, that when it comes to laundry, run if you see me with a hammer in my hands.

I am grateful during this period of Thanksgiving that I can look back on all of this without rancor and hate. It was the best gift I ever gave myself. Well, that and the last piece of pecan pie that I finished as I wrote this.

Today I am one tired, sorry cow. The princess and the wild are sleeping right now. Just like I wish I were. But, no, I am at work. And really working hard, as you can see.

We ended up with seven for T'day. On Thursday I got up feeling like I had the world by the tail and by the end of the day I knew it was my tail that was whipped. Cooking and eating can be such hard work, you know.

Highlights of the day included the holding of hands around the table and talking about what we were thankful for. Of course, my daughter and I get misty everytime this happens. And then it was Caden's turn. He turned the mood around immediately by letting us all know that he was grateful for being a "spoiled Kid." At least he recognizes it. I am of the firm belief you can't spoil children. It is necessary to teach them acceptance and respect..."spoiled" children don't have those things. My boy is such a sweetie that after the dinner he came over and climbed in my lap to be rocked like he was when he was a baby. Now this boy is 5'4" tall and just snuggled up next to me while I sang all the songs that I sang to him when he was small...what a moment. I will remember it as being one of the most touching things that has ever happened. I am so lucky.

And, yes, we did have the food fight. With no snow here yet, we decided to have it outside. Easier to clean. The only disadvantage was the little squirt's ability to run just out of reach of my throw. We got each other pretty good, though. When I thought it was over and about to go back inside (it was only 25 degrees) he comes over and takes a handful of food and totally smashes it into my face. What a boy. Takes after his Granny.

Then it was dessert time. Although we were all groaning, out came the pies and we forced ourself to have just a little more. And they were great. We sent quite a bit of food home with everyone, but I am more than happy to have them carry it on their hips as opposed to mine.

By bedtime, I was one . I crawled upstairs and was ready for slumberland when the phone rang. Tina's car had sopped running. Up gets the butt. I go to pick them up and head back to the house, deal with AAA, loan her my car to get home, eat a turkey sandwich, crawl back up the stairs and crash. I rode in with my roommate this morning and couldn't believe it when she asked "Are you getting up?" I slept for nine solid hours and could have packed in another four or five.

All in all it, was the best Thanksgiving ever. It always is. I am truly blessed. Even if I did have mashed potatoes in my ear this morning.

WHAT DID I DO TODAY?

Today was cooking day. Or pre-cooking day. Pies: two pumpkin, one pecan, one strawberry rhubarb. Homemade rolls. Homemade cinnamon buns. Brownie torte. Now that the important stuff has been done, I can kick back.

Tomorrow it's the 26 pound turkey in the Weber. All the side dishes and then on to the gorging. We are only having a total of six this year. It will be the smallest Thanksgiving in over twenty years. My roomate's sister married and moved four hours away. So, she and her boys won't be here. One of the boys may show up, but still unkown at this time. Same roommate's brother and his wife won't be coming up from the Cities. You know, when the kids grow up and start to move away things change.

Tina, Caden and Caden's father will be here. I know that the only reason I would ever move from here would be if Tina moved. It's great what a connection we have. And, as she and Caden are my only family, it's a good thing. I'm not going to get all maudlin here, but, they are my life.

Caden is looking forward to the food fight. It will probably be only he and I, Tina has avoided them from the first time I squashed mashed potatoes in her hair. Tidy girl, she is. (Hey, I'm Yoda!) We will probably have the fight outside this year as there is no snow yet and it's much easier to let the animals clean up the mess than draping the walls with plastic (started that after we got older and washing walls was way too much.) With this few people it will be Granny who gets most of the damage. For some reason, I always seem to.

This total lack of respect for decorum comes, of course, from my youth. Growing up in a less than ideal home situation showed me how important it was to be spontaneous and full of laughter. My mother had some strange rules. For example: I could never say that I was full. "There should be no reference to your stomach. That is rude!" So, the acceptable statement was, "I've had sufficient." Of course, this makes no sense. It's not like I was eating in front of the Queen. And more often than not, it was food retrieved from a dumpster. So, it has become a family joke. Caden and I crack up everytime he says, "I've had sufficient." Way to turn things around, Sarah!

Holidays when I was a child were horrible. All of your typical hysteria surrounding an alcoholic, drug addicted mother. I learned early on that the best way to survive was to be sick. I don't know how many holidays I spent in the hospital, but enough for it to always come to mind. The first holiday I reclaimed was Thanksgiving. It took a while, but, it was definitely a turning point in my life. The ability to be thankful is the greatest gift one can give to one's self.

And this year, as in all years, I have much to be thankful for. The love of a family. The love of friends. The ability to care for myself and other's around me with respect. The fact that I live with my needs being met and having the sensitivity to know that other's aren't and the courage to try and change that. That I have finally come to love myself and learned how truly freeing that can be. That was a hard one and only came about because I was able to quit resenting the past and put it in perspective with the future. And on and on and on.

I hope that you and your families will enjoy tomorrow as much as I will. Hopefully, there will printable pictures of the food fight and you can see that insanity reigns in much of my life...willingly!

What, if anything, does this have to do with Sarah's second marriage?

Tune in Friday for a delightful, if not somewhat mean-spirited explanation.

WEEK THREE AND WHAT'S IN SARAH'S BED?

(THIS IS A BAD WEEK FOR SARAH, I'M NOT GOING TO LIE, BUT I WILL BLUSH)

It's been a busy week and I have been even more of thrashing slob than usual. I tend to hoard and when I am busy I tend to toss. Enough justification, here goes

1. Teach Yourself HTML Visually (getting to be like a partner, but, not quite.)
2. Three remotes (tv, dvd, satellite--hmm, a three way.)
3. A jar of Nutella (ok, I ate it on an apple, that counts as a meal, doesn't it?)
4. Prioritize Organize (book--from my boss, for me to read, think she's trying to tell me something?)
5. Time Magazine (all the news that's almost fit to print from the mainstream media.)
6. Utne Reader (Readers Digest for the liberals.)
7. A long underwear shirt that I had to put on last night because I had decided I didn't have to close the window just yet. I was wrong.
8. New York Times Book Review
9. Mail order catalogue from Ebiza (for those that are interested, I would like the $198 Quan Yin Buddha on page 65.)
10. An empty Pringles can. (Originally purchased for grandson, picked up a new one tonight when shopping for Thanksgiving.)
11. Two unopened DVD's from Netflix that I haven't even had time to look at because I am too busy feeding my internet addiction.
12. "Touchy-feely" handout from work on Group Dynamics and Team Concepts. Blech!
13. Pile of laundry that I am definitely going to put away tonight before they fall on the dog hair covered floor and have to be washed again.
14. The laptop and me. A tired me.

This, of course, gives me just enough room to lay quite still and in a perfect straight line, any movement and piles of stuff will go rolling off of the far side of the bed into the morass of the unkown goodies. (That, my friends, is a very scary place.)

Now there is really no need to feel badly for me...I know I wouldn't be so tired if I ate better than Nutella and Pringles. And if I had put the laundry away before I lay down with the laptop it wouldn't be blocking the remote's ability to change the tv from "America's Biggest Losers"

But, tomorrow is another day and I will be cooking and and preparing for Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday for a number of reasons. I will be surrounded by family and friends, the food, the pies and....hold onto your hats...the food fight! This has been a tradition for 27 years. And this year Caden is the same age as Tina was when it started. Tina has never appreciated it, Caden and I love it. I promise pictures and we don't toss anything good...the jello, the stems and seeds of the mashed potatoes, and one year there was one deviled egg that landed directly on my cheek and stuck there, much to the delight of Caden, who threw it.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday with your family and friends and you are all invited to the food fight, the more the merrier!

I'm worth $1,550,286.10! How much are you worth? I feel so cheap compared to some of you out there. What no masturbation? No smoking dope? Do those increase or decrease your value? Maybe I'll cheat and take it again. Nah...I always was a low end tramp. No reason to change that now.

(I have been known to say that my ass has been around the block so many times it has 8 ply retreads on it, maybe that has something to do with it.)