I KNOW You Didn't Just Do That...

Did you think I forgot about the darling list? Pshaw.

Describe 10 pet peeves you have.

1. Whistling. It drives me crazy. The Scorpions' "Wind of Change" made me think my ears would bleed. Whistling is high pitched and done way to often in bookstores. I used to love whistling. I was a great whistler. My favorite tune to whistle was "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly." I whistled so much as a kid, in fact, that my grandmother informed me that, "Whistling maidens and crowing hens never come to a good end." While I think she meant to dissuade me from whistling, I thought then and now that that was the most awesome thing my grandmother had ever said.

2. Being told I'm wrong, especially if I'm not wrong, and I'm NEVER wrong. I think this is a pretty common pet peeve for know-it-alls. It's so bad, in fact, that I will forsake going about my normal routine and life in order to prove the person wrong is not only wrong but a complete idiot. I don't even have to know this person to straighten them out. This means I might have to skip going to the store and the kids will have to eat peanut butter sandwiches made out of the heels of the bread loaf. Or, I might be an hour late reading bedtime stories to my youngest. If somebody bothers me while I'm proving someone is wrong and an idiot online, I will say, "Not now. Mommy's working." Because it's a JOB to be this right about everything! My husband once sent me the following picture. It is so true of me and this pet peeve. 

3. Lying. I can sniff out a lie faster than you can say liar. It drives me nuts. It's THE rule when my daughter's friends come to my house. Sometimes I let people think they're getting away with lying to me. You never know when you might need to bring up later like when they say you're wrong and you're proving they're wrong and an idiot to boot. I store away all these little lies and smile, smile, smile. If I was going to be all psychological about this, I would say it stems from my mother. Anytime I proved my mother wrong (because I've been a know-it-all brat ALL my life) she would get in my face, scowl all scary like, and say, "Are you calling me a liar?" And it wasn't that she lying. It was just that she was wrong. But it was terrifying enough that I would say no and back off. Now that I'm all grown up, a badass (in my head), and even MORE of a know-it-all, I've taken a personal vendetta against lying...and people being wrong. 

4. Texting while spending quality time with me. Holy cow, this one drives me nuts. It makes me feel like I'm not important or interesting enough to warrant someone's full attention. I don't know which is worse, people that try to do it discretely like I'm not going to notice them messing with their phone, or people who do it right out in the open while I'm talking to them. It really drives me nuts if I'm telling a story and during the middle or even at the end of the story, when I'm expecting a response about the story, the person I'm with states that they just got a text from so-and-so and just had to hear what they texted. This pet peeve has evolved from going out with friends and having them answer ever call while we're eating dinner or waiting for a movie to start. I have texting turned off on my phone. If I am in line at the supermarket getting checked out and my phone rings, I will ignore the call until I'm out of the line. It's just rude and thoughtless. I will even apologize to the cashier if my phone rings while we are doing business. 

5. Having to pick up other people's used Kleenexes. This happens a lot when you're married, and it happens even more when you have kids. I don't even like leaving my dirty napkins for the bus boys to pick up at restaurants. Those things are germy, and the only one who should be handling them is the person who produced those germs. The two places that top my list of most disgusting place to have to throw other people's Kleenexes are in my bed and in my car. Ugh and grr! 

6. Destructive ignorance. This could be racism, sexism, politics, religious views, or even the way people view and treat animals. If your beliefs hurt someone else, whether that be physical, mental, emotional, or even indirectly, it tees me off. There is so much information out there now that is so easy to access (I know people who might not eat, but they have the internet by-god!) that ignorance just isn't a valid excuse anymore for the crap people do. I'm not a pacifist. I'm not afraid to punch someone. But I just don't think it's right to belittle someone because their views are different than yours. For instance, stating whether directly or indirectly that anybody that is not a Christian is not really an American or is one of the problems with America. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Coming from a Christian background, I am quite aware of the idea of free will. Free will got Adam and Eve kicked out of Eden. It didn't matter that they believed in God. Believing in God didn't make them do good things or bad things. Neither did the serpent. Free will did. They decided whether to obey God or disobey God. Based on this reasoning, people that are not Christian can be good or bad based on free will. It has nothing to do with believing in whichever or whatever or nonewhatsoever God/god/goddess/Cthulu. In fact, free choice is such a strong trait in human beings, that no Christian actually knows who will go to Heaven. It's in the Bible. I, personally, don't believe in Heaven or Hell, but it doesn't matter because the principle is the same. God doesn't make us better people. We choose whether or not to be good. We obey or we don't obey. We may use something (faith, inspirational books, therapy, or prescription medications for instance) that might improve our chances to behave ourselves, but it is still in our hands and not God's. 

7. The sound a dog makes while licking its junk. I don't think anything more needs to be said about this. 

8. Songs that spell words. By the time I figure out what they spelled, the song is almost over. Music shouldn't be a S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G B-E-E. 

9. Being late. I used to be 15 minutes early for everything. I was never late. Then I got married, had kids, and met a bunch of English majors. English majors, for those who don't know, are notoriously late for EVERYTHING. Now, I feel like I'm late all the time, and it's often out of my control. Someone else is driving, or a kid has to go pee when we're trying to get out the door, or we're halfway to nowhere when it dawns on the driver they didn't print out directions. GPS is only good if you're going to a business or you happen to bring your address book. There are events and places I avoid because I know there's no possible way I'll be able to get there on time. It drives me that crazy. 

10. Tom Cruise. I hated Tom Cruise long before he jumped up and down on Oprah's couch. His crazy will never be as awesome as Charlie Sheen's crazy. He's arrogant, from his hair, to his smirk, to the pants he wears. He's been in two movies I liked: Legend and Tropic Thunder. I liked Legend, but I didn't like Tom Cruise in it. I loved his character in Tropic Thunder because I didn't know it was him until the end. Tom Cruise should be the running mate of Rick Perry, who I am pretty positive is the Antichrist. 

Look at those arrogant pants!

Guilt, Punishment, and Death

My cousin's funeral is tomorrow. I'm not sure if I'll make it. It's a two hour drive and I'm still feeling pretty lethargic from the surgery. I would really like to be there. Junior came to see my mom when she was dying in the hospital. That meant a lot to me. I remember him on a tractor at my Uncle Pope's house cutting the hay. What I remember is that he was always where you needed him to be, when you needed him to be there, even though he had his own health issues going on. You have to respect and admire somebody like that. The bees that stung him have been destroyed. The woman that crashed into the ambulance that might have killed Junior has not had any charges brought against her. I think the charges are pending on the autopsy report. Nobody knows yet if it was the bees or the automobile accident. Two freak accidents, one man. Seriously. What stars were lined up that day?

I can't say I'm angry at the bees or the woman. Bees are bees. There's not much you can do about that. And that woman has to live with this accident for the rest of her life. I'd like to think she's a normal, nice, every day woman who did something stupid, made the wrong judgement call, wasn't paying attention, I don't know. It could be her fault he's dead. But, even if it was the bee stings, I imagine the guilt of hitting an ambulance is still going to be painful to live with. I would like to think so. Not to bring vengeance against her, but because, again, I want to believe she's a decent woman and a decent woman would be haunted by something like that. Of course, what she did was against the law, and she needs to be punished for that too. But I think that punishment will be small compared to the guilt. What do you think?

My Buddy and Me: A Modest Memorial to Lewis Nordan

I found out on Saturday that a mentor at the University I attend passed away. I waited all weekend for an obit. For an update on his wikipedia page besides the day he died. Anything, really. Nothing. I got a private message from a friend and the director of the creative writing program sent out an email. That's it. No memories, no list of accomplishments, no reason for death, nothing. So, I figure it's my duty to introduce you to Lewis "Buddy" Nordan. You can purchase his books here. 

Buddy was in bad health the last time I saw him. I never got a chance to mentor under him for a semester, but I got to know him and his wife, Alicia. We talked a lot about dogs and their love for rescued greyhounds. Buddy had a wicked since of humor and wasn't afraid to surprise you in a story. He had a sincere, wide smile and steely determination. I remember him reading to the students of the Creative Writing program in a clear and textured voice, perfectly capturing a narrator that has gone too far. He read brilliantly even though it was hard for him to stand, hard for him to handle the pages, and it just plain wore him out. With all my health issues, I hope I can maintain the dignity Buddy did. 

We had a few adventures, Buddy and I. We got lost trying to get to the school cafeteria because he was in a wheelchair, the cafeteria wasn't on the ground floor, and the elevator didn't exactly take you were you thought you were going. I'd fetch his lunch if he let me. I think he felt a little more comfortable with me because I'm disabled too, but I don't think he understood why I really wanted to get his lunch. I just wanted to listen to him. I might have been just another face, just another student to him, I don't know. It doesn't really matter. He made an impression on me. And even though you can't meet him in person, I hope you'll get to know this creative, funny, brave and amazing man through his books.  RIP, Buddy. Thanks so much for the memories. 

Edit: The New York Times released this article today about Buddy. 

The Return of Gary and the Loss of Men.

Wow. These past two weeks have been anything but relaxing. I thought after my surgery I would lay around and watch movies, read, and play video games. Of course, I did all those things, but I can assure you I didn't enjoy it.

On the day of my surgery, 12 tornadoes struck the city where I live. Twelve in one day. I kid you not. Because of the vicious storms, my surgery was delayed for four hours. Unfortunately, the only thing between holding and  recovery is a half wall. I swear I listened to a woman dying for two of those hours. And she was RIGHT behind me. There was beeping, bad smells, moans, nurses, doctors, respirators, and the struggle to breathe. Maybe she lived. I don't know. They eventually moved her, and not because she was doing any better. So I was stuck in this hospital bed, wide awake, no drugs listening to that.

But, the surgery went fine. The surgeon said my gallbladder was pretty inflamed, but they managed to get it out laparoscopily (That may or may not be a real word.). When they woke me up, I hurt and I felt like puking. They told me my gallbladder was out and in a bucket. I said, "I hope it likes it there." Then they moved me from the operation table to the hospital bed and I yelled, "F_ck! Oops, sorry. OW!" Isn't it sad how stupid we are when we're drugged up to our ears? Drugs are bad!

When I got home, my husband put me to bed. An hour later, I had to pee, but I couldn't get up. It's like I forgot how to support my body with my arms to help myself get out of bed. And, of course, it hurt. My husband tried to get me up, and I couldn't get up. I held it for a couple of hours. I thought I was going to have to ask him to get me a bowl or something. But, eventually, I got in a position that he could pull me up from and I got to the bathroom. Two frickin' hours later, I had to go again. It was so cruel! He had to help me out of bed for about three days and we had to go through this each time. 

I couldn't take my Ambien because of all the drugs they gave me, so I didn't sleep well for the first few days. On the fourth day into my recovery, my eye started twitching. I don't mean occasionally or for like an hour. I mean the bottom eyelid was twitching rapidly nonstop for two days. I couldn't read, I couldn't watch movies, I couldn't get on the computer. All I could do was lay there with my eyes closed and a washcloth over my face. My head hurt like crazy and I felt really nauseated. Corey was kind enough to read to me, but the literature of an eight-year-old is pretty limited, even an 8-year-old that can read really well. Ugh. But otherwise, recovery has been fine. 

Friday, a small group of friends of mine (you know them as those people that hug me though I don't like to be hugged and the people who send me Gary Busey pictures) came over to watch horror movies and make me a low fat meal. They made minestrone soup and fruit salad. And that's when Gary returned. He seems to be nicer. I guess he didn't like the bucket.

And now you're all caught up with that. But wait! There's more! 

Two people I know died in the past couple of days. One is a mentor from the Creative Writing program at Carlow University. I was going to talk about him in this blog post, but then I realized he deserved his own post. So you'll be seeing that post very shortly. 

The other person was my cousin. My mother was the youngest of ten. So, my cousins are around my parents age, my second cousins are around my age, and my aunts and uncles were more like several sets of grandparents. So, though he was my cousin, he was more like an uncle. Do you follow? We all knew him as Junior. Today, he was stung by bees. On route to the hospital in an ambulance, a car struck the ambulance and the ambulance fell on its side. My cousin died. He was a very big, gentle, compassionate man and the family is in shock. Please, please pull over for emergency vehicles. Don't try to beat them. Don't play your music so loud that you can't hear them. And please keep my family in your thoughts. 

Gary the Gallbladder and the Animal Inside Me

Tomorrow is the eviction of Gary the gallbladder. I found this cute plush at iheartguts.com. In my mind, Gary is a lot angrier than this, but I can't resist the gall this little guy has.

I bought some dresses today to wear after my surgery around the house. For those who don't know me, I HATE dresses. I'm also currently sporting Sasquatch legs, so I guess I better shave my legs before tomorrow. Sigh.

But let's get back to the list!

If you were an animal, what would you be and why?

When I was in my elementary school days, I would have said a wolf because I loved wolves at that time. I still do, but not as radically. But, when I was in junior high, a science teacher told a story about the sponge and how they would get in fishermen's nets and the fishermen would cut them up and toss them back into the sea hoping to be rid of them, but this of course just made more sponges. I liked that sponges didn't feel anything and were a nuisance. So, the sponge became my answer. Of course now, sponges are harvested like crazy for bath time fun. And there's Sponge Bob Square Pants. I don't want to be Sponge Bob Square Pants. So, sponges are out.

I considered the crocodile. I love gharials. They're my favorite animal at the Fort Worth Zoo. Crocodiles and alligators are awesome mothers and ferocious animals. I'm tough, but I love my kids. Gharials eat mostly fish, and I love fish. But, I don't care much for living in the water. I don't swim well. So, I don't think I really want to be a gharial or crocodilian.

Gharial babies are always attentive. My kids aren't. Can't be a Gharial mom.

Jellyfish are the best of both worlds. They're dangerous like crocodiles, can't feel pain like sponges, they're one of my favorite animals, and they're just so beautiful.

My friend, Angela, bought this for me at the aquarium in Chicago!

But, I'm also creative, logical, smart, and a MAMA. Being a mom is the best thing I've ever done, so that has to be incorporated into my animal.

Bear? Cliche.

Finally, it dawned on me. What animal would I be? The answer is on my legs. My hairy legs. A Sasquatch! Bigfoot! Absolutely! They're primates, so intelligent, creative, and social. They also manage to avoid people, and I like avoiding people. They go barefoot, and I LOVE going barefoot. And, like other primates, they must be awesome with their kids. I would never have to shave my legs again. I get to live in the woods, which I have always wanted to do. And no more BRAS! Woohoo! The Sasquatch life is definitely for me. Besides, who has ever heard of a Sasquatch having their gallbladder removed?