Thursday, September 25, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Those four things were all I needed today (and yesterday) to get by.
I wore black. It's a daily staple for me. The only fashion addition to my black hair, black jeans and black sweatshirt was blood red, frosted nail polish on my fingernails.
Rummaging through the bathroom drawers, I found a bottle of OPI Rock-a-pulco Red polish. I decided that I had to paint my toenails....next my fingernails. It was an impulse...boarding on a sudden obsession.
Oh, yeah...I don't need the full moon to go full on howling and get furry.
Yesterday afternoon, the migraine tried to emerge. Caffiene...a warm Coke and 2 Excedrin did the job. The migraine abated a little, back to it's little cave. A hot cup of coffee (TRUE Nectar of the gods! despite what the alkies will tell you.) and two sinus tabs kicked it the rest of the way. It's the only way I survive the hormone headaches during the periods my doctor is suprised I'm still having. Believe me, Doc, if it were in my power to shut'er down...don't ya think I would have?! Trust me...this is no joy ride for me or anyone around me during these episodes
Chocolate...even the crappiest type right about now could be the invisability cloke that hides you from the by the big, bad she-wolf. Held out or just thrown on my desk from a distance like a hunk of meat at the zoo, chocolate could be the destraction to momentarily occupy me enough not to completely notice the other crap you could possibly be pulling around my desk that would normally get you killed very quickly.
In this office golf game, you're getting a momentary gimme.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
sailing away on your soul
to pull away
Don the mask
and you are what
you have always longed for
biting the bottom
of your lip
to keep it in
but you can't
of the whip
in the knowing
What was not cool came in the form of a walk through the printroom to get my morning...oh, GAWD!!!! What the hell is that?! Jesus! It smells like rotting mackrel! I mean the funk was overpowering....breathtaking!
Walking further into the foggy ooze, I made my way back to the lab and the breakroom, where Lo! and Behold! Our lab manager is sitting eating egg rolls.
I'm carrying on like a demented woman at the top of my lungs (the considereable sized ones they are) about the stench. I assume it's coming from his breakfast.
The morning goes on....and so does...
It now has a name and is taking on a life all it's own. It prowls the bowels of the lab and the back offices, weaving itself through the clean air spaces and fumes of berry scented Lysol. It waits for the unsuspecting victim to enter the breakroom.
One of the dirt lab guys wanders in and places his mug in the microwave. He presses the button. It happens. The FUNK has just come back to life and is moving rapidly once again throughout the office, gagging everything in it's path.
We have just discovered the lair of the Funk.
The door opens and with it every dark, grey-green, noxious cartoon cloud you ever saw on Saturday morning. The Ghostbusters Weinie monster has nothing on this. Seriously. It has attitude, strength, and the ability to make even a former forensic photographer puke.
The lab manager wades bravely into the cesspool of decomposing mackrel stench to find...exploded rodent.
Yes, sad as it is to say, some poor little mouse had crawled into the back of the microwave and played "Pop Goes the Weasel."
The microwave, carmelizing mouse and all, now sits forlornly on the floor, unplugged, and away from offended noses and unwitting button pushers. It is being moved to its new home...outside the back lab door to the dumpster...where, hopefully, it will stay until it's burial at the Lockwood Landfill. Taps is gently playing...somewhere in the land of the mouse king.
Wouldn't you just love to be a fly on the wall when the unlucky dumpster diver plugs this bad boy in?!
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
I am a mother of two grown sons. When they were children and fell or got made fun of the last thing that I did was coddle them. Sure I would pat them on the back and wipe away tears, but I also turned them around and told them to get up and deal with their situations...whatever they were at that time. I gave them advice. I didn't shield them. I didn't protect them from the blows they were inevitably going to get as kids. I wanted my boys to be able to go out there and tackle anything that would and will come there way as children and now as adults. They've done well.
Mrs. Young, the absolute last thing that your son needs right now is "Momma Coming to the Rescue." Do you have any idea exactly how bad you have made your son look? If he can't handle criticism, you just threw the gates of hell open for him and told the public to eat him alive.
If he has psychological problems he needs to get help....you need to be supportive, BUT from a distance. Let him fight his own battles as a Man. All that a mother or wife does at this point when she speaks to the media is to embarass her son/husband. That could also have gone to Kurt Warner's wife a couple of years ago.
You should also be very thankful that he has Jeff Fisher as his coach and not Bill Parcells. If he pulled any of this with Parcells he may very well never play another down for the team, let alone see the lights of a football field again.
Mother to Mother...Mrs Young you need to SHUT IT!