Since I seem to not find the time to write on my blog lately (->am preparing applications to go to Graduate School), I am putting up this quite funny fwd a friend sent to me:
W.I.C.O.E.(Women In Charge Of Everything) is proud to announce the opening of its EVENING CLASSES FOR MEN! OPEN TO MEN ONLY
Note: due to the complexity and level of difficulty, each course will accept a maximum of eight participants. Topics covered in this 2-day course include:
DAY ONE
HOW TO FILL ICE CUBE TRAYS
Step by step guide with slide presentation
TOILET ROLLS -- DO THEY GROW ON THE HOLDERS?
Roundtable discussion
DIFFERENCES BETWEEN LAUNDRY BASKET & FLOOR
Practicing with hamper (Pictures and graphics)
DISHES & SILVERWARE; DO THEY LEVITATE/FLY TO KITCHEN SINK OR DISHWASHER BY THEMSELVES?
Debate among a panel of experts.
REMOTE CONTROL
Losing the remote control - Help line and support groups
LEARNING HOW TO FIND THINGS
Starting with looking in the right place instead of turning the house upside down while screaming for help - Open forum
DAY TWO
EMPTY MILK CARTONS; DO THEY BELONG IN THE FRIDGE OR THE BIN?
Group discussion and role play
HEALTH WATCH; BRINGING HER FLOWERS IS NOT HARMFUL TO YOUR HEALTH
PowerPoint presentation
REAL MEN ASK FOR DIRECTIONS WHEN LOST
Real life testimonial from the one man who did
IS IT GENETICALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO SIT QUIETLY AS SHE PARALLEL PARKS?
Driving simulation
LIVING WITH ADULTS; BASIC DIFFERENCES BETWEEN YOUR MOTHER AND YOUR PARTNER
Online class and role playing
HOW TO BE THE IDEAL SHOPPING COMPANION
Relaxation exercises, meditation and breathing techniques
REMEMBERING IMPORTANT DATES & CALLING WHEN YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE
Bring your calendar or PDA to class
GETTING OVER IT; LEARNING HOW TO LIVE WITH BEING WRONG ALL THE TIME
Individual counselors available
;)
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
time management issues
I'm in a time management class this week, which I had actually scheduled for Dario months ago but he couldn't make it. I had reminded him about it at least 15 times within the past 3 weeks in forms of post-it notes, e-mails, messages on the shopping list, etc. etc. .... maybe he became desensitized and that's why he forgot.
Anyway, so as not to waste the money already spent on it, I joined the course myself. Was about an hour late for class, so maybe it won't be such a bore for me after all. More ironic, however, do I find the instructor's complete and utter lack of time & productivity relation. Every word in the course notes she highlights, then she makes us work in groups to answer simple sets of 3 questions but allots about 20 minutes to each set so I end up having to fill most of the remaining time making small talk with this older Russian programmer, which seems like a really nice man, if only I could understand what the hell he's saying. After having discussed the 3 questions (which seem to appear every few pages in a very similar form) in a dyad ad nauseum, she then has us all repeat our answers to the class, which is then followed by a recap and interpretation of our responses. What is the point of that? Can't I just tell you my answer right away? And when are you going to stop analyzing me ( I know why I'm here: I can't manage time) and give me some proven systems to handle the problem?
Dario says he won't make it to class tomorrow either, so I have to put in another day...
this sucks.
sisi...you need a better attitude...
... I'm working on it....but don't worry, you won't see it here (on this blog)...this will remain the bitchin' spot. ;)
Anyway, so as not to waste the money already spent on it, I joined the course myself. Was about an hour late for class, so maybe it won't be such a bore for me after all. More ironic, however, do I find the instructor's complete and utter lack of time & productivity relation. Every word in the course notes she highlights, then she makes us work in groups to answer simple sets of 3 questions but allots about 20 minutes to each set so I end up having to fill most of the remaining time making small talk with this older Russian programmer, which seems like a really nice man, if only I could understand what the hell he's saying. After having discussed the 3 questions (which seem to appear every few pages in a very similar form) in a dyad ad nauseum, she then has us all repeat our answers to the class, which is then followed by a recap and interpretation of our responses. What is the point of that? Can't I just tell you my answer right away? And when are you going to stop analyzing me ( I know why I'm here: I can't manage time) and give me some proven systems to handle the problem?
Dario says he won't make it to class tomorrow either, so I have to put in another day...
this sucks.
sisi...you need a better attitude...
... I'm working on it....but don't worry, you won't see it here (on this blog)...this will remain the bitchin' spot. ;)
Monday, December 05, 2005
just another rant
One of my friends pointed out to me - after an e-mail I sent containing actual praise for Dario and something about how much I truly appreciate his love - that my blog would make one wonder, why I stay with this man.
Well, first of all ... I wonder that myself...all the time....but truly, there is more important shit than the daily annoyances. His love is important, his embraced responsibility of fatherhood, his understanding and his "always letting me be".
But this blog isn't about that. This is my venting spot and I came here to bitch. And so here my inevitable rant:
I went to the movies tonight. Usually, I feel so grateful that I get to go out and D stays with the kids, I forget that he wouldn't leave the house regardless. So, when I come home I am ok with walking the dog, even though it usually is a rather late hour.
Today, however, when I rode up the elevator with Rosa, I announced my great dread of still having to walk the dog in this cold, late night and she reminded me of something I wouldn't even have noticed.
She said, you know, I can't believe this. Today, before we left, I asked Dario why he couldn't just get one of the boys to come downstairs for a few minutes so he could walk the dog. Your wife has had a long day, took the kids out, came home, did the dishes, cleaned up, fed the kids, bathed them, and put them to bed. The least you could do is walk the dog for her, man.
- Oh, I'm just getting over a cold... is what he answered. I guess, that didn't matter when he spent hours out earlier, running personal errands.
See, this is why I am glad I'm not living with anyone else, Rosa said, I know it's just me and I don't have to expect anything from anyone.
- Well, if you wouldn't have pointed it out, I wouldn't have expected anything either, I said, thanks, now I'm kinda pissed.
Of course, when I then took the dog out, he peed in the elevator (he never has any accidents but he is on some sort of allergy medicine and should be walked more frequently during its administration). With my luck, there was someone with me in the elevator and now it looks like I'm the one who lets her dog urinate in the building and doesn't clean up after him.
I had to rush T out, so the witness couldn't witness me wiping up the mess. sigh.
Needless to say, it didn't help my frustration with Dario's indolence as I was cleaning up dog urine for 15 minutes. When I finally took off my coat, put down the rubber gloves and the antibacterial wipes the clock read 1:30 a.m. I stood there in the living room for a minute, taking in the mess of the house and finally I walked into the bedroom to wake Dario just to tell him that I think he's taking advantage of me. If he doesn't do it, I'll have to do it and he knows that,.. so he is totally exploiting this simple and sad reality I create.
ok. 2 a.m. ... a million things to do. have to work on my grad school essay, decide on portfolio pieces, prepare milk for baby's next waking, take a shower, and tidy up the bathroom mess from my earlier bathing of the kids.
I'm not proof-reading today. too tired. gotta go.
Well, first of all ... I wonder that myself...all the time....but truly, there is more important shit than the daily annoyances. His love is important, his embraced responsibility of fatherhood, his understanding and his "always letting me be".
But this blog isn't about that. This is my venting spot and I came here to bitch. And so here my inevitable rant:
I went to the movies tonight. Usually, I feel so grateful that I get to go out and D stays with the kids, I forget that he wouldn't leave the house regardless. So, when I come home I am ok with walking the dog, even though it usually is a rather late hour.
Today, however, when I rode up the elevator with Rosa, I announced my great dread of still having to walk the dog in this cold, late night and she reminded me of something I wouldn't even have noticed.
She said, you know, I can't believe this. Today, before we left, I asked Dario why he couldn't just get one of the boys to come downstairs for a few minutes so he could walk the dog. Your wife has had a long day, took the kids out, came home, did the dishes, cleaned up, fed the kids, bathed them, and put them to bed. The least you could do is walk the dog for her, man.
- Oh, I'm just getting over a cold... is what he answered. I guess, that didn't matter when he spent hours out earlier, running personal errands.
See, this is why I am glad I'm not living with anyone else, Rosa said, I know it's just me and I don't have to expect anything from anyone.
- Well, if you wouldn't have pointed it out, I wouldn't have expected anything either, I said, thanks, now I'm kinda pissed.
Of course, when I then took the dog out, he peed in the elevator (he never has any accidents but he is on some sort of allergy medicine and should be walked more frequently during its administration). With my luck, there was someone with me in the elevator and now it looks like I'm the one who lets her dog urinate in the building and doesn't clean up after him.
I had to rush T out, so the witness couldn't witness me wiping up the mess. sigh.
Needless to say, it didn't help my frustration with Dario's indolence as I was cleaning up dog urine for 15 minutes. When I finally took off my coat, put down the rubber gloves and the antibacterial wipes the clock read 1:30 a.m. I stood there in the living room for a minute, taking in the mess of the house and finally I walked into the bedroom to wake Dario just to tell him that I think he's taking advantage of me. If he doesn't do it, I'll have to do it and he knows that,.. so he is totally exploiting this simple and sad reality I create.
ok. 2 a.m. ... a million things to do. have to work on my grad school essay, decide on portfolio pieces, prepare milk for baby's next waking, take a shower, and tidy up the bathroom mess from my earlier bathing of the kids.
I'm not proof-reading today. too tired. gotta go.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
cruel honesty
so, I'm slaving in the kitchen for an hour, whining and crying kids hanging on my pantlegs, trying to prepare a half-way decent meal with one little hot-plate and the miniversion of the Foreman- grill (we still have no gas). Then I clean the table, prepare the kids' plates (cute arrangements, bite-sized cut meat, etc. - whatever one needs to endure to make one's children eat) and the first comment out of Maia's mouth is:
- Mo-oom.
- yes.
- ehm. the meat tastes like....curtain.
The analogy was so amusing to me that I really wasn't all that insulted. I was more curious about the origin of this comparison. "And how would you know? Ever tried curtain before?"
- "No," she said. "Then eat up," I ordered ...and then with a bit of reconsideration and pity: "You can have some ketchup if you would like to."
- Mo-oom.
- yes.
- ehm. the meat tastes like....curtain.
The analogy was so amusing to me that I really wasn't all that insulted. I was more curious about the origin of this comparison. "And how would you know? Ever tried curtain before?"
- "No," she said. "Then eat up," I ordered ...and then with a bit of reconsideration and pity: "You can have some ketchup if you would like to."
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
what is life for? epiphanies at 1 a.m.
I am always, always wondering ... like we probably all are... why it is that
a) I believe in God (i.e. is it real belief or is it fabricated through social conditioning? is it me and my emotions, which sometimes create these physical encounters I interpret as a small sign of God saying something like: "hey, it's me. just in case you were wondering where I've been."?
b) if God exists, why is it that so much bad happens in this world and how do people manage to stay faithful to God in situations far worse than we could ever imagine (e.g. civilians in warzones, people struck by terrible fates, illnesses, etc.) ?
To the latter question I come up with plausible explanations once in a while. Not always do I write them down but tonight's thought struck me rather hard and I just had to write it down to get it out of my system.
What if we are just not meant to be happy and blissful in this life? What if that is just an added little bonus given to us in a special way... unconnected to all material values in this world and thus attainable for us all (if we just figure out how). Everyone knows the saying "happiness comes from within" .....
So, what if life is really not meant to be all that great?
This is, of course, a rather depressing thought and maybe I've just spent too much time in the city.
Today, on my way home, I suddenly found myself in the middle of a police-car chase (gunfire in the distance and all), watched an undercover cop put his knee into some guy's neck to handcuff him, and then was forced to back up an entire street (against the one-way direction), almost losing my mirror to one of the police-cars racing by me.
As I was walking the dog later, a bit depressed about the human darkness (yeah, watching Harry Potter tonight didn't help either), I thought hmm, and this isn't even that bad. What about the people in Afghanistan, in Sudan, in Iraq, wherever, ... that's where it really sucks...and what do you do then? When you're trapped in a situation like that? Your children, your family dying around you? People killing each other on a daily basis? How do you find God then? ............ God, ...it really must suck being God. ....... it's hard to keep everyone happy.... So, that's when the thought sprang to mind that this might not be the objective.
Maybe we are here to learn. Learn to help each other. .... But, somehow I'm not seeing that this plan is working....so maybe that isn't the plan. ....ugh...humans suck. ...most of them, anyway.
So, can't you tell me how I could help [in this world] more efficiently? ...I mean, that can't be it, can it? A couple of donations here and there....trying to be a good person..... that can't be all? That's a mighty measly contribution I am making here. Is this all I am here for? Come on, use me.
I am willing to make sacrifices.
And then I thought about the graveness of my easy talk. How much am I really willing to sacrifice? How self-less am I really? Donating money & time is easy.... ..... I am just another human.....
...
a) I believe in God (i.e. is it real belief or is it fabricated through social conditioning? is it me and my emotions, which sometimes create these physical encounters I interpret as a small sign of God saying something like: "hey, it's me. just in case you were wondering where I've been."?
b) if God exists, why is it that so much bad happens in this world and how do people manage to stay faithful to God in situations far worse than we could ever imagine (e.g. civilians in warzones, people struck by terrible fates, illnesses, etc.) ?
To the latter question I come up with plausible explanations once in a while. Not always do I write them down but tonight's thought struck me rather hard and I just had to write it down to get it out of my system.
What if we are just not meant to be happy and blissful in this life? What if that is just an added little bonus given to us in a special way... unconnected to all material values in this world and thus attainable for us all (if we just figure out how). Everyone knows the saying "happiness comes from within" .....
So, what if life is really not meant to be all that great?
This is, of course, a rather depressing thought and maybe I've just spent too much time in the city.
Today, on my way home, I suddenly found myself in the middle of a police-car chase (gunfire in the distance and all), watched an undercover cop put his knee into some guy's neck to handcuff him, and then was forced to back up an entire street (against the one-way direction), almost losing my mirror to one of the police-cars racing by me.
As I was walking the dog later, a bit depressed about the human darkness (yeah, watching Harry Potter tonight didn't help either), I thought hmm, and this isn't even that bad. What about the people in Afghanistan, in Sudan, in Iraq, wherever, ... that's where it really sucks...and what do you do then? When you're trapped in a situation like that? Your children, your family dying around you? People killing each other on a daily basis? How do you find God then? ............ God, ...it really must suck being God. ....... it's hard to keep everyone happy.... So, that's when the thought sprang to mind that this might not be the objective.
Maybe we are here to learn. Learn to help each other. .... But, somehow I'm not seeing that this plan is working....so maybe that isn't the plan. ....ugh...humans suck. ...most of them, anyway.
So, can't you tell me how I could help [in this world] more efficiently? ...I mean, that can't be it, can it? A couple of donations here and there....trying to be a good person..... that can't be all? That's a mighty measly contribution I am making here. Is this all I am here for? Come on, use me.
I am willing to make sacrifices.
And then I thought about the graveness of my easy talk. How much am I really willing to sacrifice? How self-less am I really? Donating money & time is easy.... ..... I am just another human.....
...
Friday, November 25, 2005
my $236 tunafish panini
I am tired of the city. tired tired tired.
Tuesday, Dario and I took the day off for various errands. In the morning, however, we both took Maia for a fitting at The Gap (I'm trying to get her discovered for TV or something, so somebody else can pay for her college tuition...well, I guess, if she'd land a commercial that somebody would be she herself. I'm just not sure how much longer I can deal with these auditions, though. ugh. I'm just not the type for this kind of activity.) Anyway, on our way back up, Maia fell asleep in the car, and I asked D to pull over by this sandwich shop, which -as I just recently discovered - makes the best tunafish salad panini I've ever tasted (and I don't even like tuna).
So, I go in and order. While I am waiting for my sandwich (forever), I see a police car pull over next to our van. I watch as the female officer, packed in a heavy orange rain-coat, steps out and begins writing a ticket. Now granted, we are standing in a busstop, I am surprised that Dario seems to put up no fight so I run outside and ask why she isn't just making him leave. He's sitting behind the wheel and the engine is running. The whole point of him waiting in the car is that he can move in case a bus comes or a traffic-cop.
"This is a bus-stop," she says unimpressed by my plea.
"But we can move right now...it's not like we're parked here," I argue and then notice that Dario is on the phone with his laptop steadied on the wheel, completely ignoring the officer.
"You can tell that to my supervisor," she replies as she clips the $115 ticket behind my windshield wiper.
I sigh, see that there is no point in arguing and walk back into the store to see after my panini.
It still isn't done and I shoot the guy behind the counter a questioning look.
"It's coming. It's coming," he says with an obvious understanding that the kitchen is sure taking a long time with this damn sandwich.
Finally, someone hands me the bag with my lunch and Dario's tea. I turn around and as I step out the store I notice another cop car pulling over next to our van.
I speed up and yell, "we're moving, we're moving!"
"Can't stand here," says one of them as I look to Dario slightly panicking. I can't believe my eyes. He is still on the phone and the laptop is still on. He seems to make no motion to move.
I pull open the door to the driver's side and tell him to move over. It is raining harder now.
"You have to move this car!" shouts the other officer.
"Hold on," I say,"We're going. We're going!" I turn to Dario, "Move over! Get off the phone. What are you doing??" D is unimpressed, steps out of the car and as he is walking over to the passenger's side, still with the phone to his ear, he pulls the ticket off the windshield and tosses it in front of the police car.
"That's it", says the officer behind the wheel, "I'm giving you a ticket!"
And that's when I lost my cool. "No," I cry as I actually try to physically hold back the cop who has stepped out to write another ticket, "we just got a ticket! I don't have money for another one!!!" The panic and whine in my voice, as well as the oncoming tears are embarrassing and I step back immediately to shut up and compose myself. This is how easily things can get of hand, I think, amazing how fast this can go.
It's just a ticket, I tell myself trying to get back my cool, get over it. But I am having a hard time getting the fact out of my mind that we have only a few hundred dollars left on our account with plenty of bills still to be paid.
$236 dollars for a panini, I think, as I receive my ticket with as much grace as I can muster. Now I am a true New Yorker.
Tuesday, Dario and I took the day off for various errands. In the morning, however, we both took Maia for a fitting at The Gap (I'm trying to get her discovered for TV or something, so somebody else can pay for her college tuition...well, I guess, if she'd land a commercial that somebody would be she herself. I'm just not sure how much longer I can deal with these auditions, though. ugh. I'm just not the type for this kind of activity.) Anyway, on our way back up, Maia fell asleep in the car, and I asked D to pull over by this sandwich shop, which -as I just recently discovered - makes the best tunafish salad panini I've ever tasted (and I don't even like tuna).
So, I go in and order. While I am waiting for my sandwich (forever), I see a police car pull over next to our van. I watch as the female officer, packed in a heavy orange rain-coat, steps out and begins writing a ticket. Now granted, we are standing in a busstop, I am surprised that Dario seems to put up no fight so I run outside and ask why she isn't just making him leave. He's sitting behind the wheel and the engine is running. The whole point of him waiting in the car is that he can move in case a bus comes or a traffic-cop.
"This is a bus-stop," she says unimpressed by my plea.
"But we can move right now...it's not like we're parked here," I argue and then notice that Dario is on the phone with his laptop steadied on the wheel, completely ignoring the officer.
"You can tell that to my supervisor," she replies as she clips the $115 ticket behind my windshield wiper.
I sigh, see that there is no point in arguing and walk back into the store to see after my panini.
It still isn't done and I shoot the guy behind the counter a questioning look.
"It's coming. It's coming," he says with an obvious understanding that the kitchen is sure taking a long time with this damn sandwich.
Finally, someone hands me the bag with my lunch and Dario's tea. I turn around and as I step out the store I notice another cop car pulling over next to our van.
I speed up and yell, "we're moving, we're moving!"
"Can't stand here," says one of them as I look to Dario slightly panicking. I can't believe my eyes. He is still on the phone and the laptop is still on. He seems to make no motion to move.
I pull open the door to the driver's side and tell him to move over. It is raining harder now.
"You have to move this car!" shouts the other officer.
"Hold on," I say,"We're going. We're going!" I turn to Dario, "Move over! Get off the phone. What are you doing??" D is unimpressed, steps out of the car and as he is walking over to the passenger's side, still with the phone to his ear, he pulls the ticket off the windshield and tosses it in front of the police car.
"That's it", says the officer behind the wheel, "I'm giving you a ticket!"
And that's when I lost my cool. "No," I cry as I actually try to physically hold back the cop who has stepped out to write another ticket, "we just got a ticket! I don't have money for another one!!!" The panic and whine in my voice, as well as the oncoming tears are embarrassing and I step back immediately to shut up and compose myself. This is how easily things can get of hand, I think, amazing how fast this can go.
It's just a ticket, I tell myself trying to get back my cool, get over it. But I am having a hard time getting the fact out of my mind that we have only a few hundred dollars left on our account with plenty of bills still to be paid.
$236 dollars for a panini, I think, as I receive my ticket with as much grace as I can muster. Now I am a true New Yorker.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
one hit after the other
People around me haven't really shown themselves from their best sides lately. Everyday I seem to be able to add another one to the pile of "humans I've been screwed over by".
Today, it is the hair-stylist who gave me the best haircut I've had in years.
I should be happy but I can't get over the fact that she actually totally screwed me.
A few months ago, a good friend of mine gave me a spa certificate he bought, after some promo-girl from this Aveda spa had approached us having lunch in the park. He gave it to me as a birthday present, and I was quite excited about the fact that for 50 bucks I was going to get 4 visits to this spa/salon, which that PR girl was praising (note to myself AGAIN: if it sounds too good to be true you will be screwed one way or the other.)
So, finally...this week I had time to make an appointment, and I picked the haircut voucher for my first visit. When I called, I was told just bring 10 dollars for the service fee.
Ok, I think, can't be totally free.
However, once I got there and sat down on the chair to be consulted by the hair stylist, she tried to talk me into coloring, highlighting, vitamin-soaking, whatever to which I replied that I do not have much money...am willing to spend maybe another 30 or 40 bucks on adding color and to please refrain from any other cost-adding activities. I'm just happy to get a free haircut.
I was so happy that I actually, for the first time in a long time, had the desire to have a real talk with someone I do not know. Usually when I go to the hairdresser, I am not interested in talking since I hate small-talk and a real conversation is difficult, for it requires an openness and true interest I have long lost. However, today was different. I really wanted to listen and I asked question after question. So, after a few minutes the girl who worked on my hair finally opened up and gave up the small-talk to switch to a real conversation. I listened to her, I exchanged opinions, told her about my life and about my current struggles (and this is something I usually don't do with strangers...unless, you're counting this blog;)).
In the beginning of this conversation of ours(before we got to other topics than hair) I must have mentioned my financial hardship at least 2 or 3 times. I also threw in once or twice how I got this certificate as a present, how I usually just cut my hair like once a year and how I used to get my hair done for 10 bucks up on Dykman and 207th.
So, when she then, after presenting me with the best haircut I've ever received, wrote me a bill for $175 (!!!), I was dumbstruck. I didn't even know what to say. She put me in such a spot that I just found it impossible to argue. I am such a sucker that way. As much as I can bitch, be nice to me and I just can't switch over that quickly.
But, ..I thought...the coloring is like 40-50 bucks extra, I said weakly.
Yes, but I gave you a full head of highlights and that's 120, the girl said.
I have never had highlights done so when she smooth-talked me into it before the cut and didn't mention the difference in price, I was sold. It hurt, I must say, for I remember distinctly pointing out how I do not want to pay more than that extra charge for the color in that same pre-cut conversation during which she advised me to get a few highlights.
Now, what do you do in such a situation? You're standing in a busy hairsalon. You've just received an amazing haircut in addition to having spent an hour and a half talking very nicely and openly with this person who is now screwing you over.
And she knew that she was doing wrong, too. She was trying to justify it in all kinds of ways, she even gave me gift-certificates for my next visit. She just wouldn't shut up and suddenly everything she said seemed insincere (oh, you look great...you look like you're twenty-five now). Ehm, was that supposed to be a compliment? I have no problem being 31. I don't look old. 30 is not old...but I remember how it was when I was 26...30 always seemed like the land of no return...the end of my youth, whatever...so I guess, she (as a 26-year old) was just trying to say something she thought I wanted to hear. sigh.
Rosa, who accompanied me, told me to just let it go. I never spend much on myself and it's ok to splurge once in a while. All I kept thinking was that I do not have this kind of money. I have kids to feed, bills to pay, and a 230 dollar parking ticket on my record from yesterday.
But really, I realized, it wasn't the money. It was the fact that I had once again seen the ugly face of the city-dweller. I won't let anyone else in, anymore, I said to Rosa. I'm going to become bitter and go into recluse. What is wrong with people? Why is everyone trying to screw everyone?
Today, it is the hair-stylist who gave me the best haircut I've had in years.
I should be happy but I can't get over the fact that she actually totally screwed me.
A few months ago, a good friend of mine gave me a spa certificate he bought, after some promo-girl from this Aveda spa had approached us having lunch in the park. He gave it to me as a birthday present, and I was quite excited about the fact that for 50 bucks I was going to get 4 visits to this spa/salon, which that PR girl was praising (note to myself AGAIN: if it sounds too good to be true you will be screwed one way or the other.)
So, finally...this week I had time to make an appointment, and I picked the haircut voucher for my first visit. When I called, I was told just bring 10 dollars for the service fee.
Ok, I think, can't be totally free.
However, once I got there and sat down on the chair to be consulted by the hair stylist, she tried to talk me into coloring, highlighting, vitamin-soaking, whatever to which I replied that I do not have much money...am willing to spend maybe another 30 or 40 bucks on adding color and to please refrain from any other cost-adding activities. I'm just happy to get a free haircut.
I was so happy that I actually, for the first time in a long time, had the desire to have a real talk with someone I do not know. Usually when I go to the hairdresser, I am not interested in talking since I hate small-talk and a real conversation is difficult, for it requires an openness and true interest I have long lost. However, today was different. I really wanted to listen and I asked question after question. So, after a few minutes the girl who worked on my hair finally opened up and gave up the small-talk to switch to a real conversation. I listened to her, I exchanged opinions, told her about my life and about my current struggles (and this is something I usually don't do with strangers...unless, you're counting this blog;)).
In the beginning of this conversation of ours(before we got to other topics than hair) I must have mentioned my financial hardship at least 2 or 3 times. I also threw in once or twice how I got this certificate as a present, how I usually just cut my hair like once a year and how I used to get my hair done for 10 bucks up on Dykman and 207th.
So, when she then, after presenting me with the best haircut I've ever received, wrote me a bill for $175 (!!!), I was dumbstruck. I didn't even know what to say. She put me in such a spot that I just found it impossible to argue. I am such a sucker that way. As much as I can bitch, be nice to me and I just can't switch over that quickly.
But, ..I thought...the coloring is like 40-50 bucks extra, I said weakly.
Yes, but I gave you a full head of highlights and that's 120, the girl said.
I have never had highlights done so when she smooth-talked me into it before the cut and didn't mention the difference in price, I was sold. It hurt, I must say, for I remember distinctly pointing out how I do not want to pay more than that extra charge for the color in that same pre-cut conversation during which she advised me to get a few highlights.
Now, what do you do in such a situation? You're standing in a busy hairsalon. You've just received an amazing haircut in addition to having spent an hour and a half talking very nicely and openly with this person who is now screwing you over.
And she knew that she was doing wrong, too. She was trying to justify it in all kinds of ways, she even gave me gift-certificates for my next visit. She just wouldn't shut up and suddenly everything she said seemed insincere (oh, you look great...you look like you're twenty-five now). Ehm, was that supposed to be a compliment? I have no problem being 31. I don't look old. 30 is not old...but I remember how it was when I was 26...30 always seemed like the land of no return...the end of my youth, whatever...so I guess, she (as a 26-year old) was just trying to say something she thought I wanted to hear. sigh.
Rosa, who accompanied me, told me to just let it go. I never spend much on myself and it's ok to splurge once in a while. All I kept thinking was that I do not have this kind of money. I have kids to feed, bills to pay, and a 230 dollar parking ticket on my record from yesterday.
But really, I realized, it wasn't the money. It was the fact that I had once again seen the ugly face of the city-dweller. I won't let anyone else in, anymore, I said to Rosa. I'm going to become bitter and go into recluse. What is wrong with people? Why is everyone trying to screw everyone?
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
I'm being censored
some people are writing me hate-mails in response to my blogs, so I'm taking it down a notch, have deleted my last entry, and am considering to close shop AGAIN and rebuild somewhere else, where I can finally be free. And this time I won't share the damn thing with anyone. One snitch is enough and the anonymity of this blogspot is gone.
This is my personal page. I can write and bitch about whatever I want but as soon as I open it to someone I know I have responsibilities. People are offended quite easily ... and I understand since I am quite defensive myself. Shit, I wish I'd care less. Dario's state of mind is like my ultimate goal in life. To just give a shit. That's true bliss. ;)
Unfortunately, I think too much.
And I've once again been stabbed in the back by someone I thought was my friend. (I'm not prepared for this shit. I come from a small town in Austria. There was no Highschool grouping, no ostracizing, whatever school-kids do here to kill each other's confidence and trust in each other.)
I won't go into the details, for I would like to forget about this as soon as possible but since this happened to me before, I know it will take a while. I just care too much.
This time it's actually worse. My reputation has been totally dragged through the mud. Someone tried to twist my discretion into a case of dishonesty and I ended up looking like a fool.
One of the things I've learned: don't trust anyone....and... people are childish.
And this is why I need to leave this place soon. If I can make it at all possible, I will get out of here, for I believe this is going to happen again and I will become a bitter person who can't find trust in friendships anymore.
If any of my real friends here could read this right now they'd probably slap me upside down the head. Of course, I have a couple of really great, honest people I can count on as my friends, however, I either close up now to all future possible friendships or I leave. I'm not taking that risk of opening up again. When I give friendship I am prepared to give all I have. This is why it hurts so much when it turns out to be a fake.
I'm serious about leaving. I just don't know how feasible it will be. First thing, I have to find an affordable flight (did you hear about the new post-911 government fee? I tried to book a ticket to Austria for about 300.- including all regular taxes and then when I tried to check-out they added a 500.- govt. fee to the price!!! When will I ever be able to afford to get my whole family home for a visit?) Anyway....I'm trying not to think about that right now. I can start my job-search in Vienna via the internet.
I don't know if anything will be better....politics suck over there, as well...plenty of people are stuck-up or right-winged or whatever else can piss one off ...but,... as I've said before (oh, I deleted that entry) ... at least, you know what you're getting. If they're gonna be nice they're gonna be nice, if they're gonna be assholes they're gonna be assholes pretty much from the beginning. There is no pretense.
I need to find a place of peace.
Maybe I just need to be away from the city...
Can you tell I'm on a low?
It's been a bad bad day.
PS: I've turned off commenting to avoid any more impulsive hate messages from certain cholerics. sigh. If you would like to comment on any of my crap ...feel free to e-mail me.
Maybe there is someone who could tell me that it isn't like that here everywhere in America. And maybe they could tell me EXACTLY where that place is so I can move there.
Obviously, I also like living in the U.S. ....why else, would I have stuck around for so long. I like the diversity of this country, how far people have come, what kind of differences people have made here; I love the landscapes, the fact that I can hop into my car and go from ocean, to mountains, to deserts and to drylands and don't even have to bring my passport (although, nowadays one better carry i.d....after all, I am half-Syrian. ;) ..... my father, who's just come back from visiting home (Syria) tells me that the people on the street are scared over there. They are scared the Americans are going to level them as they have done elsewhere in the Middle-East. This is sad to hear.
Someone told me I might have a superiority complex ...always talking bad about America and praising Europe. Obviously, this person does not know me very well. First of all, I bitch at any government there is...and wherever I see injustice or wrongdoing. When I'm in Austria, I'm actually more upset at the politicians than here, for it is "my country"....I kinda feel responsible for the shit they talk. Half my youth I spent on demonstrations and platforms, writing articles and joining vigils, all in protest of the right-winged party of the government.
And when it comes to bitching about people then know that I usually defend my adopted home (or rather, its individuals) when it is being attacked by anyone I know back home...and that's pretty much everyone by now (thank you, Mr. Bush) ..... but I know better than to throw everyone in one pot....I have friends here, ...I have come to understand the culture of small-talk, I can usually spot superficiality ... nevertheless I'm still lost sometimes.
This is my personal page. I can write and bitch about whatever I want but as soon as I open it to someone I know I have responsibilities. People are offended quite easily ... and I understand since I am quite defensive myself. Shit, I wish I'd care less. Dario's state of mind is like my ultimate goal in life. To just give a shit. That's true bliss. ;)
Unfortunately, I think too much.
And I've once again been stabbed in the back by someone I thought was my friend. (I'm not prepared for this shit. I come from a small town in Austria. There was no Highschool grouping, no ostracizing, whatever school-kids do here to kill each other's confidence and trust in each other.)
I won't go into the details, for I would like to forget about this as soon as possible but since this happened to me before, I know it will take a while. I just care too much.
This time it's actually worse. My reputation has been totally dragged through the mud. Someone tried to twist my discretion into a case of dishonesty and I ended up looking like a fool.
One of the things I've learned: don't trust anyone....and... people are childish.
And this is why I need to leave this place soon. If I can make it at all possible, I will get out of here, for I believe this is going to happen again and I will become a bitter person who can't find trust in friendships anymore.
If any of my real friends here could read this right now they'd probably slap me upside down the head. Of course, I have a couple of really great, honest people I can count on as my friends, however, I either close up now to all future possible friendships or I leave. I'm not taking that risk of opening up again. When I give friendship I am prepared to give all I have. This is why it hurts so much when it turns out to be a fake.
I'm serious about leaving. I just don't know how feasible it will be. First thing, I have to find an affordable flight (did you hear about the new post-911 government fee? I tried to book a ticket to Austria for about 300.- including all regular taxes and then when I tried to check-out they added a 500.- govt. fee to the price!!! When will I ever be able to afford to get my whole family home for a visit?) Anyway....I'm trying not to think about that right now. I can start my job-search in Vienna via the internet.
I don't know if anything will be better....politics suck over there, as well...plenty of people are stuck-up or right-winged or whatever else can piss one off ...but,... as I've said before (oh, I deleted that entry) ... at least, you know what you're getting. If they're gonna be nice they're gonna be nice, if they're gonna be assholes they're gonna be assholes pretty much from the beginning. There is no pretense.
I need to find a place of peace.
Maybe I just need to be away from the city...
Can you tell I'm on a low?
It's been a bad bad day.
PS: I've turned off commenting to avoid any more impulsive hate messages from certain cholerics. sigh. If you would like to comment on any of my crap ...feel free to e-mail me.
Maybe there is someone who could tell me that it isn't like that here everywhere in America. And maybe they could tell me EXACTLY where that place is so I can move there.
Obviously, I also like living in the U.S. ....why else, would I have stuck around for so long. I like the diversity of this country, how far people have come, what kind of differences people have made here; I love the landscapes, the fact that I can hop into my car and go from ocean, to mountains, to deserts and to drylands and don't even have to bring my passport (although, nowadays one better carry i.d....after all, I am half-Syrian. ;) ..... my father, who's just come back from visiting home (Syria) tells me that the people on the street are scared over there. They are scared the Americans are going to level them as they have done elsewhere in the Middle-East. This is sad to hear.
Someone told me I might have a superiority complex ...always talking bad about America and praising Europe. Obviously, this person does not know me very well. First of all, I bitch at any government there is...and wherever I see injustice or wrongdoing. When I'm in Austria, I'm actually more upset at the politicians than here, for it is "my country"....I kinda feel responsible for the shit they talk. Half my youth I spent on demonstrations and platforms, writing articles and joining vigils, all in protest of the right-winged party of the government.
And when it comes to bitching about people then know that I usually defend my adopted home (or rather, its individuals) when it is being attacked by anyone I know back home...and that's pretty much everyone by now (thank you, Mr. Bush) ..... but I know better than to throw everyone in one pot....I have friends here, ...I have come to understand the culture of small-talk, I can usually spot superficiality ... nevertheless I'm still lost sometimes.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
the story with the gas-leak
So, Con-Edison came to read the gas meter yesterday and decided that they smelled gas and must cut off all supply of the latter for the next few months!!!! There are over 70 apartments in this building. Granted, I myself could probably survive just fine on microwaveable foods and sandwiches (I already do most of the time), we need to cook for the kids.... and Thankgiving is around the corner...and X-mas....no dinner invitations this year (Dario probably considers this a lucky side-effect for the lack of a better word....I'm too lazy/tired to look up a synonym...an the battery on my laptop is on 2%...so I might lose all if I keep writing much longer.)
The thing is, I've been told by my neighbors that people have been smelling gas in this building for over 20 years. Unfortunately, now that Con-Ed knows, they can't risk getting sued (in case we blow up), so they just turned off the gas to cover their asses. We (since this is a co-op) get stuck with having to deal with trying to fix this. First estimates 100,000-200,000. Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh.I see a huge assessment heading my way. This sucks.
I remember, before we bought this place, I specifically asked the managing agent whether she'd anticipate the already unusually high maintenance to go up any time soon.
No way, she said... I haven't raised it in 5 years...you should be fine for a while.
HA, ...the damn maintenance went up before we even moved in. Since then it has again risen and is now about to be completely blown out of proportion. aaaaahhhhhhh. I DON't HAVE MONEYYYYYYYYY. Stop giving me bills, everybodyyyyyyy!
....and Rosa tells me they're going to turn off the heat, too....and they might be breaking some walls...
The thing is, I've been told by my neighbors that people have been smelling gas in this building for over 20 years. Unfortunately, now that Con-Ed knows, they can't risk getting sued (in case we blow up), so they just turned off the gas to cover their asses. We (since this is a co-op) get stuck with having to deal with trying to fix this. First estimates 100,000-200,000. Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh.I see a huge assessment heading my way. This sucks.
I remember, before we bought this place, I specifically asked the managing agent whether she'd anticipate the already unusually high maintenance to go up any time soon.
No way, she said... I haven't raised it in 5 years...you should be fine for a while.
HA, ...the damn maintenance went up before we even moved in. Since then it has again risen and is now about to be completely blown out of proportion. aaaaahhhhhhh. I DON't HAVE MONEYYYYYYYYY. Stop giving me bills, everybodyyyyyyy!
....and Rosa tells me they're going to turn off the heat, too....and they might be breaking some walls...
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
things that upset me today
- situation in France and poor, one-sided news coverage (without deeper understanding/analysis)....[finally got something worth listening to at NPR]
- situation in Jerusalem and the way people hate each other all under the name of God(whatever happened to "thou shalt love thy neighbor" or however that goes in English?)
- who's going to be NY major and why ... money and ad-campaigns should be kept out of politics. I was always convinced that ads for politicians lead to corruption (corruption of the politician for he/she must suddenly adhere to PR-rules, and can never admit to wrong-doings [i.e. must lie], for this can be used against him in smear-campaigns of opponents and corruption of the public mind, for they'll buy anything if just presented well enough.)
- most TV-news stations and their ads (with all the super-sensationalist cuts and sounds) and the sad fact that the mass won't watch if they don't do it that way.
- people judging you ( "Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own")
- how many freaking people are trafficking the city at any given moment. (note: sometimes I love that fact but today I hate it.)
- that I seem to not be able to get a grip on the amount of work I am supposed to do.
- the fact that I have had a tooth-ache since September and keep on going back to the same dentist because I think the problem is me - i.e. my stupid, non-cooperative teeth (MOVE ON already!)
...of course, there is more that I think and worry about every day...like world hunger, and people killing or prostituing innocent children, and corruption and self-fishness and just everything but my list wouldn't end and I wouldn't be able to live and appreciate my life....or maybe this is exactly why I am able to appreciate the things I have this much. I am not rich but I have all I need and even though I'm no part of a religion anymore I know God has been good to me and I'm thankful for that. I don't understand how he/she/whatever works and how I get to be lucky as opposed to an innocent but suffering child in the Sudan for example. ...Maybe it really is all karma...and we do have many lives...and whoever I was before has behaved really nicely. Otherwise this whole world is just too random at times. Then again,...it's not that random....since that child in Sudan wouldn't have to suffer if all the people in the world (or even just in its country) would spread their fortune, their knowledge, everything they have .... I wonder what world this would be if mankind would suddenly lose all selfish and malignant thoughts? Maybe it would create an impossible world with new and different problems but I sure would love to see it.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
what's up with the drama in my head?
very disturbing dreams tonight:
first Maia ran away from me as I was trying to get baby out of the car (in a parking lot) and got hit by a car. It wasn't a very bad hit, since it was A) in a parking lot and B) the car almost made it to a stop but, of course, Maia was crying ..and she started bleeding a bit out of her nose and her mouth. So, I wanted to tell the driver not to worry but it seemed like he didn't anyway since he threw in the rear-gear and backed away from us. I was outraged and started running after him, Maia crying in my arms. When I reached his car, as he was waiting to get out of the driveway of the lot, I shouted:
"I can't believe you're going to pull off a hit&run!... It might be nothing but I just want your insurance info in case there are any medical costs.... If you pull away, I'm going to sue you!"
No reaction. Just panic in his and his passenger's eyes. He continued backing up. "I have your license plate number. I will find you!" I shouted angrily. And then they got out of the car. The passenger pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket. Oh, shit...I guess, getting shot is worse than having to pay for Maia's concussion, I thought, let's get outta here. So, I started running. I don't remember if they opened fire, I don't remember if I got shot in the back. All I want to know is why my brain is working up so much drama, especially if one considers the following dream-sequence in which I am in my house's hallway (not really my house but in my dream it is) and I hear a choking and coughing. I push open the swinging door to the kitchen. Nayla is sleeping in a toddler bed, which is standing in the middle of the room. Her body is arching upward, her eyes are closed, her toes are curling...it's as if she is possessed. I am in panic. Should I be calling a doctor or an exorcist? I call Dario. I wake up.
Needless to say, I had no problem facing my very real and unexciting morning with lots of crappy housework to do.
first Maia ran away from me as I was trying to get baby out of the car (in a parking lot) and got hit by a car. It wasn't a very bad hit, since it was A) in a parking lot and B) the car almost made it to a stop but, of course, Maia was crying ..and she started bleeding a bit out of her nose and her mouth. So, I wanted to tell the driver not to worry but it seemed like he didn't anyway since he threw in the rear-gear and backed away from us. I was outraged and started running after him, Maia crying in my arms. When I reached his car, as he was waiting to get out of the driveway of the lot, I shouted:
"I can't believe you're going to pull off a hit&run!... It might be nothing but I just want your insurance info in case there are any medical costs.... If you pull away, I'm going to sue you!"
No reaction. Just panic in his and his passenger's eyes. He continued backing up. "I have your license plate number. I will find you!" I shouted angrily. And then they got out of the car. The passenger pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket. Oh, shit...I guess, getting shot is worse than having to pay for Maia's concussion, I thought, let's get outta here. So, I started running. I don't remember if they opened fire, I don't remember if I got shot in the back. All I want to know is why my brain is working up so much drama, especially if one considers the following dream-sequence in which I am in my house's hallway (not really my house but in my dream it is) and I hear a choking and coughing. I push open the swinging door to the kitchen. Nayla is sleeping in a toddler bed, which is standing in the middle of the room. Her body is arching upward, her eyes are closed, her toes are curling...it's as if she is possessed. I am in panic. Should I be calling a doctor or an exorcist? I call Dario. I wake up.
Needless to say, I had no problem facing my very real and unexciting morning with lots of crappy housework to do.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
it's 3pm and I'm still in my Pajamas
ok. maybe I should be the one visiting that Time Management Course I signed Dario up for.
So, what did I do today. I don't want to do the log-format. Too much work, and I don't have time...gotta finish up some work, get dressed, vacuum and mop this sticky floor (you know there is no more procrastinating when your slippers get stuck on every corner of the house), go get my student-i.d. (5 weeks after my class started - I am taking Yoga...made it to class twice so far), pick up Maia from pre-school, ...oh and I don't even want to think about all the webprojects I have to do tonight....
Ok, so I just explained all that's ahead for the rest of the day when I opened my paragraph up there with the indication that I will write down all that I did so far....so...hmm,...well, there is not that much. Got up 7.30, Dario was off today and for some reason he thought it would be fair if he slept in instead of me. It was too early for me to find a logical counter-argument other than "that's not fair!", so I just let it be and got my butt out of bed. A glance on the calendar told me that I had (for some strange and inexplicable reason) signed up for parents-international-cook-week at Maia's school and was thus expected to bring in a home-cooked (typical Austrian) dish. Since I didn't want to appear as pathetic as last year when I brought in two packs of butter-cookies, claiming that the manufacturers are originally from Austria (...although, Leibniz is a German company, isn't it?..well, didn't matter since it was a pretty sad attempt of being a participating parent regardless of any of my excuses).
So, in addition to having to take care of the kids this morning (make breakfast, get them dressed, etc.), I had to also cook something. Since I am not really that often in the kitchen nowadays, the only thing I could think of was to throw a bunch of frozen veggies on the stove, steam them and then blend them into a big pot of soup which I named "Special Spongebob Super Soup". I've learned a long time ago that Maia will be much more inclined to eat things which she usually wouldn't (e.g. vegetables or fruits) if we blend them into an indiscernible paste and name it something cool (e.g. Mulan juice, PrincessMermaid soup, etc.).
When Dario got up he moved straight to the computer. Hellooooo.... help anyone??
Anyway he then left to take his mother to the eye-doctor.
Once the kids were out of the house (thankfully, Rosa volunteered to take Maia to school), I skipped getting dressed (for what?) and settled down in the office to start working only to realize that something must have died in the walls. A mouse? The smell was so bad that I had to open both windows and apply every deodorized spray I have in the house. And here I still sit, in front of my computer, my back hurting from not having moved from my chair except to pee and to make coffee.
ok, I have to go.
So, what did I do today. I don't want to do the log-format. Too much work, and I don't have time...gotta finish up some work, get dressed, vacuum and mop this sticky floor (you know there is no more procrastinating when your slippers get stuck on every corner of the house), go get my student-i.d. (5 weeks after my class started - I am taking Yoga...made it to class twice so far), pick up Maia from pre-school, ...oh and I don't even want to think about all the webprojects I have to do tonight....
Ok, so I just explained all that's ahead for the rest of the day when I opened my paragraph up there with the indication that I will write down all that I did so far....so...hmm,...well, there is not that much. Got up 7.30, Dario was off today and for some reason he thought it would be fair if he slept in instead of me. It was too early for me to find a logical counter-argument other than "that's not fair!", so I just let it be and got my butt out of bed. A glance on the calendar told me that I had (for some strange and inexplicable reason) signed up for parents-international-cook-week at Maia's school and was thus expected to bring in a home-cooked (typical Austrian) dish. Since I didn't want to appear as pathetic as last year when I brought in two packs of butter-cookies, claiming that the manufacturers are originally from Austria (...although, Leibniz is a German company, isn't it?..well, didn't matter since it was a pretty sad attempt of being a participating parent regardless of any of my excuses).
So, in addition to having to take care of the kids this morning (make breakfast, get them dressed, etc.), I had to also cook something. Since I am not really that often in the kitchen nowadays, the only thing I could think of was to throw a bunch of frozen veggies on the stove, steam them and then blend them into a big pot of soup which I named "Special Spongebob Super Soup". I've learned a long time ago that Maia will be much more inclined to eat things which she usually wouldn't (e.g. vegetables or fruits) if we blend them into an indiscernible paste and name it something cool (e.g. Mulan juice, PrincessMermaid soup, etc.).
When Dario got up he moved straight to the computer. Hellooooo.... help anyone??
Anyway he then left to take his mother to the eye-doctor.
Once the kids were out of the house (thankfully, Rosa volunteered to take Maia to school), I skipped getting dressed (for what?) and settled down in the office to start working only to realize that something must have died in the walls. A mouse? The smell was so bad that I had to open both windows and apply every deodorized spray I have in the house. And here I still sit, in front of my computer, my back hurting from not having moved from my chair except to pee and to make coffee.
ok, I have to go.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
how compliments change when you're in a relationship
Today Dario finished work early and picked me up from the dentist. We grabbed a bite of food and he spent half the meal telling me about other women he has recently met or seen, one being a particularly gorgeous piece of a** (he didn't say this. I am simplifying). If I were to do this I would hear jealous/stupid comments for days.
Anyway, I probably wouldn't mind so much if he would be able to produce a couple of nice compliments for his own wife during the course of the evening.
Instead, this is what he produced:
On the subway, as we are standing close to each other sharing very little space because of the rush hour, he leans over and says: You are such a monkey. Then he smiles lovingly as if he just told me how beautiful I look today.
I say nothing, trying to remember that he is just goofy that way and doesn't realize how wrong some of his thoughtless comments sound. (Also, he tells me often enough how "sexy" he finds me....whatever...these things come over his lips easily...to anyone.... but recently he's been a bit mean to me...)
When we got home and I got out of the car to wait at the crosswalk, a ride with two cute guys slowed down, blocking traffic just to check me out.
I must be getting old, since this actually flattered me. So I turned over to Dario, who was just locking up his car and told him all happy: Hey, I just got checked out!! :)
That doesn't surprise me, he says.
Really? I ask fishing for a compliment from my husband. Why?
You're a girl and you're not fat. So naturally you're getting checked out all the time.
This is were I drew the line in my tolerance for Dario - he's just a man. I was mad and he did not get why. Does anyone get why I would be mad? ....Or maybe he did get it, and he just said it out of jealousy. As mentioned before, he doesn't handle it very well when I am the one discussing other men regardless of how harmless and unimportant the encounter.
....I don't know why I got him laid tonight. He so didn't deserve that. But I think, nowadays I would consider sex-withholding more like a punishment for myself, so I definitely don't think about it the same way as I used to. Before it used to be like this "sacred" act, the mood, the setting, everything had to be perfect, Dario had to not have fucked up for at least 24 hours, and the slightest sound could have thrown me off. I thank my strict religious upbringing for this very dysfunctional attitude towards sex. And I thank my New York girlfriends (most of them younger and much more aggressive and open-minded) for bringing my mind up to date and seeing sexuality in a much more natural way.
(excuse my English today. It is 2.45am. I've been up since 7.am this morning. All I wanted to do is back up a couple of my images, since my laptop tells me I am running out of space. However, of course, any little project always turns into some great undertaking for me. Apparently I have 22,000 images in my Picture folder. I systematically filed and named them, then dragged the first part over to a blank DVD and deleted the originals. And now the DVD doesn't want to burn. aaaaaaahrg.)
Anyway, I probably wouldn't mind so much if he would be able to produce a couple of nice compliments for his own wife during the course of the evening.
Instead, this is what he produced:
On the subway, as we are standing close to each other sharing very little space because of the rush hour, he leans over and says: You are such a monkey. Then he smiles lovingly as if he just told me how beautiful I look today.
I say nothing, trying to remember that he is just goofy that way and doesn't realize how wrong some of his thoughtless comments sound. (Also, he tells me often enough how "sexy" he finds me....whatever...these things come over his lips easily...to anyone.... but recently he's been a bit mean to me...)
When we got home and I got out of the car to wait at the crosswalk, a ride with two cute guys slowed down, blocking traffic just to check me out.
I must be getting old, since this actually flattered me. So I turned over to Dario, who was just locking up his car and told him all happy: Hey, I just got checked out!! :)
That doesn't surprise me, he says.
Really? I ask fishing for a compliment from my husband. Why?
You're a girl and you're not fat. So naturally you're getting checked out all the time.
This is were I drew the line in my tolerance for Dario - he's just a man. I was mad and he did not get why. Does anyone get why I would be mad? ....Or maybe he did get it, and he just said it out of jealousy. As mentioned before, he doesn't handle it very well when I am the one discussing other men regardless of how harmless and unimportant the encounter.
....I don't know why I got him laid tonight. He so didn't deserve that. But I think, nowadays I would consider sex-withholding more like a punishment for myself, so I definitely don't think about it the same way as I used to. Before it used to be like this "sacred" act, the mood, the setting, everything had to be perfect, Dario had to not have fucked up for at least 24 hours, and the slightest sound could have thrown me off. I thank my strict religious upbringing for this very dysfunctional attitude towards sex. And I thank my New York girlfriends (most of them younger and much more aggressive and open-minded) for bringing my mind up to date and seeing sexuality in a much more natural way.
(excuse my English today. It is 2.45am. I've been up since 7.am this morning. All I wanted to do is back up a couple of my images, since my laptop tells me I am running out of space. However, of course, any little project always turns into some great undertaking for me. Apparently I have 22,000 images in my Picture folder. I systematically filed and named them, then dragged the first part over to a blank DVD and deleted the originals. And now the DVD doesn't want to burn. aaaaaaahrg.)
Monday, October 31, 2005
day log
I am trying to figure out where my time goes so I'm going to start keeping a log for a little while. I won't publish every one of them as to not bore you to death but here is my first one...so that you can observe with me how time is just seeping through my hands (is that English?):
7.40am
Maia wakes me up with request for TV.
I convince her to lay down with me for a few minutes.
7.50am
Maia makes me get up with justification that "the sun is out" (i.e. she has a right to be up and about).
8.00am
Nayla wakes up
8.00am-9am
make breakfast for the kids.
Nayla throws Maia's cereal on the floor.
I pick it all up and put her in the highchair to eat.
Nayla eats a bit while I warm up milk; then she flings her own cereal bowl off her tray.
I clean mess. Up-close to the floor, realize how desperately the carpet needs to see a vacuum.
pull out vacuum for a few minutes.
Nayla needs diaper change.
Maia wants more cheese cut into her cereal (yes, cheese).
On the way to kids' room to get Maia's clothes, pick up toys, clothes, books, and potential choking hazards.
I let baby loose and go brush my teeth.
Phone rings. Can I take Luca to school? No problem.
I get semi-dressed. Maia and Nayla start fighting. I go Streit-Schlichten (I'll look that term up later).
9.00am
Nayla's babysitter arrives.
I get update on Nayla's latest activities.
I finish dressing and go fix my untamable hair.
I call Maia 6 times to come brush her teeth.
I brush Nayla's teeth.
9.15
3rd attempt to make coffee.
Rosa calls and offers to bring some instead. Praise the Lord!
No time for breakfast, yet.
breathe.
9.17
Getting Maia dressed.
Helping to get Nayla dressed.
Picking up left-over milk bottles and cups from the night.
Cleaning up kids' breakfast dishes.
The dog pukes. Cleaning that up.
9.25
Pack bags.Put on coats & boots.
Call Rosa to bring Luca, who really does not want to go to school.
9.35-9.45
Trying to convince Luca to get into the carseat.
9.45-10.05
stuck in traffic with two kids teasing each other.
Luca to me: I wish that your car breaks down. That all wheels fall off.
Me: Well, you might want to be careful what you wish for...You are sitting in that car. (and then immediately thinking that that probably wasn't the most mature response).
Luca to Maia: I have a toyyy and you don't.
Maia: Moooommmy, Luca hurt my feelings.
(note: Luca is usually a nice kid...but if you know the workings of 3-year olds then you know how moody they can be. It ain't pretty.)
10.05-10.20
drop off kids. find parking. drag all bags and almost cold coffee to office.
10.25
visit main office and get update on my friend Shelly's life (mother back in hospital; problems in the relationship; etc.)
10.35
back on my desk. computer finally ready to go. Network slow as hell.
10.40
my friend Marta stops by my office. I listen to her life-updates (got into another car accident this morning). Makes me go get breakfast sandwich with her. Feel bad to say no, since whole other accident story just cost her weeks and weeks of time and aggravation (i.e. what kind of friend would I be if I had no time to listen).
10.55am-4.30pm
in front of my computer with one bathroom break.
only personal thing I get to do is to blog my photo of the day, chat for about 10 min., and to respond to about 3 or 4 private mails.
4.30
go see the boss
5.00-5.30
get lunch and listen to my friend Evi's life update (starting new job tomorrow, got married on Friday, family of 10 visiting)
5.35-6.40pm
finishing up with work (on ultra-slow annoying as hell network)
7.15pm
coming home. taking over kids. play with them. bathe them. prepare them for bed. read books. sing songs. clean up a bit (only the tip of the iceberg).
9.00pm
lights out for Maia.
I fall onto sofa and can't move much more than my finger on the TV-remote.
10.00pm
should work on website side jobs. can't find strength to get up.finally motivate myself with thoughts of cookies in kitchen. get to kitchen. face big mess. clean up a bit.
10.30pm
must sleep, I say. go brush teeth, wash face, etc. - end up energized for new activities.
decide to read. reading makes me tired. think about sex but D didn't put out yesterday so today I'll be the one not giving it up (but seriously, am just not in the mood today).
get on the computer for a few minutes. few minutes turns into an hour. here I go. let's see what tomorrow brings.
12.00am (midnight)
still not sleeping. ..and dammit, I missed the Halloween Parade in the Village.
7.40am
Maia wakes me up with request for TV.
I convince her to lay down with me for a few minutes.
7.50am
Maia makes me get up with justification that "the sun is out" (i.e. she has a right to be up and about).
8.00am
Nayla wakes up
8.00am-9am
make breakfast for the kids.
Nayla throws Maia's cereal on the floor.
I pick it all up and put her in the highchair to eat.
Nayla eats a bit while I warm up milk; then she flings her own cereal bowl off her tray.
I clean mess. Up-close to the floor, realize how desperately the carpet needs to see a vacuum.
pull out vacuum for a few minutes.
Nayla needs diaper change.
Maia wants more cheese cut into her cereal (yes, cheese).
On the way to kids' room to get Maia's clothes, pick up toys, clothes, books, and potential choking hazards.
I let baby loose and go brush my teeth.
Phone rings. Can I take Luca to school? No problem.
I get semi-dressed. Maia and Nayla start fighting. I go Streit-Schlichten (I'll look that term up later).
9.00am
Nayla's babysitter arrives.
I get update on Nayla's latest activities.
I finish dressing and go fix my untamable hair.
I call Maia 6 times to come brush her teeth.
I brush Nayla's teeth.
9.15
3rd attempt to make coffee.
Rosa calls and offers to bring some instead. Praise the Lord!
No time for breakfast, yet.
breathe.
9.17
Getting Maia dressed.
Helping to get Nayla dressed.
Picking up left-over milk bottles and cups from the night.
Cleaning up kids' breakfast dishes.
The dog pukes. Cleaning that up.
9.25
Pack bags.Put on coats & boots.
Call Rosa to bring Luca, who really does not want to go to school.
9.35-9.45
Trying to convince Luca to get into the carseat.
9.45-10.05
stuck in traffic with two kids teasing each other.
Luca to me: I wish that your car breaks down. That all wheels fall off.
Me: Well, you might want to be careful what you wish for...You are sitting in that car. (and then immediately thinking that that probably wasn't the most mature response).
Luca to Maia: I have a toyyy and you don't.
Maia: Moooommmy, Luca hurt my feelings.
(note: Luca is usually a nice kid...but if you know the workings of 3-year olds then you know how moody they can be. It ain't pretty.)
10.05-10.20
drop off kids. find parking. drag all bags and almost cold coffee to office.
10.25
visit main office and get update on my friend Shelly's life (mother back in hospital; problems in the relationship; etc.)
10.35
back on my desk. computer finally ready to go. Network slow as hell.
10.40
my friend Marta stops by my office. I listen to her life-updates (got into another car accident this morning). Makes me go get breakfast sandwich with her. Feel bad to say no, since whole other accident story just cost her weeks and weeks of time and aggravation (i.e. what kind of friend would I be if I had no time to listen).
10.55am-4.30pm
in front of my computer with one bathroom break.
only personal thing I get to do is to blog my photo of the day, chat for about 10 min., and to respond to about 3 or 4 private mails.
4.30
go see the boss
5.00-5.30
get lunch and listen to my friend Evi's life update (starting new job tomorrow, got married on Friday, family of 10 visiting)
5.35-6.40pm
finishing up with work (on ultra-slow annoying as hell network)
7.15pm
coming home. taking over kids. play with them. bathe them. prepare them for bed. read books. sing songs. clean up a bit (only the tip of the iceberg).
9.00pm
lights out for Maia.
I fall onto sofa and can't move much more than my finger on the TV-remote.
10.00pm
should work on website side jobs. can't find strength to get up.finally motivate myself with thoughts of cookies in kitchen. get to kitchen. face big mess. clean up a bit.
10.30pm
must sleep, I say. go brush teeth, wash face, etc. - end up energized for new activities.
decide to read. reading makes me tired. think about sex but D didn't put out yesterday so today I'll be the one not giving it up (but seriously, am just not in the mood today).
get on the computer for a few minutes. few minutes turns into an hour. here I go. let's see what tomorrow brings.
12.00am (midnight)
still not sleeping. ..and dammit, I missed the Halloween Parade in the Village.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
the never-getting-done list
Yesterday (or today if you will) I stayed up working until 6 o'clock in the morning. It probably wouldn't have been that long if I hadn't been interrupted by a car crash and its entailing comical scenario in front of our building and the fact that Nayla opened her eyes around 2am without having any desire to return to sleep until about 4.30am. (maybe I'll post a picture of the car accident later. you have to see this. I'm not even sure how the guy pulled this off.)
So, this morning after getting up around 11am (5 hours of z-s) I faced another day of finding myself behind schedule on my endless list of things to-do. And it's not like these things are top priority but this is exactly the problem. That's why they never get done. I just cannot spare any precious time. For example, I have been living in this apartment for 2 years now, and I have not a single picture in any of the rooms except for the living room, which went about a year without images on the walls. And I am a photographer. Not that I hang up any of my work but naturally I am a very visually oriented person...and so I constantly add to a large collection of pictures and frames I would like to combine and hang up but never do.
Another task on my list would be that I have to back-up my laptop's hard-drive. I am running out of space and every day I am adding to the thousands of photographs I have stored there.
So, today - after Dario told me once again what piece of completely unneccessary accessory he found on ebay - I voiced my frustration...or melancholy (since frustration might indicate that I sounded angry when really I didn't).
I just said to Dario:" Damn, I don't understand how I struggle every day to find time to do the 10,000 things I am supposed to do, while you manage to find time to do absolutely nothing and spend your free time researching historical oddities, play video-games, or surf the net for ebay steals. HOW is this possible? We have the same kids. How can you do all this while you are "taking care" of the children? Maybe I just need to get up earlier.
"Yeah, you get up late...and you just don't know how to manage your time." he says.
"8.30 is not that late...I am up until 2am most days. [And about managing time - HA HA HA!! look who's talking.]" Well, I didn't actually say the latter part of this.
Anyway, he started to play the blame-game again... or maybe it's just me being defensive....but I think he gets a kick out of finding my faults. What he doesn't get is that I expose them so he can give me either helpful feedback or acknowledge the fact that I am a F/T working mother with two small children, and a shitload of responsibilities to take care of.
That's what I am really asking for. Emotional support (and here we are again. didn't I just write about that the other day?)...sigh.
So, this morning after getting up around 11am (5 hours of z-s) I faced another day of finding myself behind schedule on my endless list of things to-do. And it's not like these things are top priority but this is exactly the problem. That's why they never get done. I just cannot spare any precious time. For example, I have been living in this apartment for 2 years now, and I have not a single picture in any of the rooms except for the living room, which went about a year without images on the walls. And I am a photographer. Not that I hang up any of my work but naturally I am a very visually oriented person...and so I constantly add to a large collection of pictures and frames I would like to combine and hang up but never do.
Another task on my list would be that I have to back-up my laptop's hard-drive. I am running out of space and every day I am adding to the thousands of photographs I have stored there.
So, today - after Dario told me once again what piece of completely unneccessary accessory he found on ebay - I voiced my frustration...or melancholy (since frustration might indicate that I sounded angry when really I didn't).
I just said to Dario:" Damn, I don't understand how I struggle every day to find time to do the 10,000 things I am supposed to do, while you manage to find time to do absolutely nothing and spend your free time researching historical oddities, play video-games, or surf the net for ebay steals. HOW is this possible? We have the same kids. How can you do all this while you are "taking care" of the children? Maybe I just need to get up earlier.
"Yeah, you get up late...and you just don't know how to manage your time." he says.
"8.30 is not that late...I am up until 2am most days. [And about managing time - HA HA HA!! look who's talking.]" Well, I didn't actually say the latter part of this.
Anyway, he started to play the blame-game again... or maybe it's just me being defensive....but I think he gets a kick out of finding my faults. What he doesn't get is that I expose them so he can give me either helpful feedback or acknowledge the fact that I am a F/T working mother with two small children, and a shitload of responsibilities to take care of.
That's what I am really asking for. Emotional support (and here we are again. didn't I just write about that the other day?)...sigh.
the embarrassment when you fwd an e-mail hoax
I feel soo embarrassed and I can't get over it. I received an Amber Alert via e-mail the other day and usually I am VERY good about checking on any forwarded mails (i.e. I always investigate at urbanlegends.com or something the like). Unfortunately, they got me this time. It looked so real (with image of the missing girl and original message sent by parent on October 17th or something like that) I didn't even check and just forwarded to all the people in my WORK (!) e-mail address book.
Anyway, someone notified me that that alert is a hoax.
shit shit shit. so unprofessional. so embarrassing. what does one do, when they pollute other people's office-email inboxes with internet-hoaxes? send out a recall? send out an apology for one's stupidity? I don't know; and so I am left with nothing but my very long-lasting embarrassment.
AND who the hell makes up an Amber Alert anyway? What purpose does this serve? Crying Wolf....
Some people just don't have shit to do. (but seriously, I am very very curious to know as to what would motivate someone to come up with any such hoaxes.)
Anyway, someone notified me that that alert is a hoax.
shit shit shit. so unprofessional. so embarrassing. what does one do, when they pollute other people's office-email inboxes with internet-hoaxes? send out a recall? send out an apology for one's stupidity? I don't know; and so I am left with nothing but my very long-lasting embarrassment.
AND who the hell makes up an Amber Alert anyway? What purpose does this serve? Crying Wolf....
Some people just don't have shit to do. (but seriously, I am very very curious to know as to what would motivate someone to come up with any such hoaxes.)
Friday, October 28, 2005
scary public school system in NYC
this entry is in response to two extensive comments I received on my last post. I thought, I'd put the reply to the latest comment here in order to intrigue you to go read the comments. If you have kids in New York City and haven't been familiarized with the realities of the schooling system then you'll be shocked that it seems to be worse than you've expected. If you have kids but are not from NYC then you'll be amused and probably very happy where you are at right now. If you don't have kids, then you'll just read them for the sake of staying in my loop ;) ...you gotta stay with the program here!
------------------------------------------
anyway, so now to you - anonymous blogger:
first of all, thanks for making my day, again! I must be compliment-deprived. I get so happy, it's pathetic. ;)
second, ... now I am really scared about sending my girls to public school. I can't believe the stories you are telling me. That is outrageous. This system is worse than I thought. ....
Even though Maia (the older one of my two) is only 3.5 years old, I started looking into schools with strong programs and good reputations. However, when I say looking...that's all I mean (i.e. a bit of research on the Internet, asking around, questioning some teacher-friends). I didn't know I'll be in panic mode for the next two years. ...
shoot. ...but thanks... and I'm not sure if I mean that in a grateful or "hey-I-was-blissful-with-my-ignorance" kinda way.
-------------------------------------
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shit. this is really scary. there is nothing worse I can imagine than seeing Maia's talents go to waste in a failing system...and all because I don't have $$$.
(and, of course, there is worse that I could imagine... any mother knows the masochistic terror thoughts that go through one's head...those fears about the safety and wellness of your children...I just can't turn those off....and it's worst when I have to leave her in someone else's care....without any power to protect her from harm. ..... They grow up too fast..... and I am getting into a different blog topic....and if I haven't done so to you I am beginning to annoy myself with this weird telegraphic writing style.....but it sure makes it easy to let my mind stream.....not having to think about grammar or punctuation....in other words I am a lazy ass.)
------------------------------------------
anyway, so now to you - anonymous blogger:
first of all, thanks for making my day, again! I must be compliment-deprived. I get so happy, it's pathetic. ;)
second, ... now I am really scared about sending my girls to public school. I can't believe the stories you are telling me. That is outrageous. This system is worse than I thought. ....
Even though Maia (the older one of my two) is only 3.5 years old, I started looking into schools with strong programs and good reputations. However, when I say looking...that's all I mean (i.e. a bit of research on the Internet, asking around, questioning some teacher-friends). I didn't know I'll be in panic mode for the next two years. ...
shoot. ...but thanks... and I'm not sure if I mean that in a grateful or "hey-I-was-blissful-with-my-ignorance" kinda way.
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
shit. this is really scary. there is nothing worse I can imagine than seeing Maia's talents go to waste in a failing system...and all because I don't have $$$.
(and, of course, there is worse that I could imagine... any mother knows the masochistic terror thoughts that go through one's head...those fears about the safety and wellness of your children...I just can't turn those off....and it's worst when I have to leave her in someone else's care....without any power to protect her from harm. ..... They grow up too fast..... and I am getting into a different blog topic....and if I haven't done so to you I am beginning to annoy myself with this weird telegraphic writing style.....but it sure makes it easy to let my mind stream.....not having to think about grammar or punctuation....in other words I am a lazy ass.)
Thursday, October 27, 2005
my amazing 3-year old
ok. time to brag a little.
maia, now 3.5 years old, is really developing at an amazing speed. she's always been smart but she amazes me more every day.
yesterday, I told her that we need to go to the dentist. so this morning while brushing her teeth she says:
Mom, am I going to the dentist for a check-up?
Yes, but not today. I have to make an appointment first, I said. In fact, remind me to call the dentist once I drop you off at daycare.
And doesn't the girl remind me, the moment I pull open the door to the daycare center an hour later. Mom, don't forget to call the dentist.
I mean, I know kids have good memory but heck, I'm going to take advantage of that little computer. I forgot to call the dentist about the same minute I said it. It's like my head has reached full capacity and nothing ("irrelevant") fits anymore. It's sad.
Maybe I should start taking my vitamins again. .... if I don't forget.
At the daycare center they've taken her into the Pre-K program early and yesterday her teacher told me that she can write (copy from the blackboard, I suppose) the complete date by herself and writes her letters better than all the 4 & 5 year olds in the Pre-K program.
Here a picture of her writing. I was amazed.....although, my mom says, I was able to read and write at 3, as well, so obviously this isn't a sign of any special intelligence;)
Sometimes, this perfectionism of hers also worries me a bit. I try to tell her that it doesn't matter if she colors outside of the lines. I tell her it doesn't matter if her clothes match. I tell her not to worry about what other people say. (She gets very emotional about things and apologizes for any little misstep. .... The other day, she told me that she didn't like someone because they were ugly, which, of course, shocked me at first which in turn might have made me come off a bit too intense on my "you-shall-not-judge-etc" speech. I really wasn't loud or anything. I just told her that wasn't a nice thing to say...and beauty lies within a person...etc. etc. Anyway, she started crying after like a minute and apologized.
I wasn't sure which shocked me more: her comment or her guilt once I explained the roughness of such a remark. It's like she understood the concept immediately and felt really bad about it.)
maia, now 3.5 years old, is really developing at an amazing speed. she's always been smart but she amazes me more every day.
yesterday, I told her that we need to go to the dentist. so this morning while brushing her teeth she says:
Mom, am I going to the dentist for a check-up?
Yes, but not today. I have to make an appointment first, I said. In fact, remind me to call the dentist once I drop you off at daycare.
And doesn't the girl remind me, the moment I pull open the door to the daycare center an hour later. Mom, don't forget to call the dentist.
I mean, I know kids have good memory but heck, I'm going to take advantage of that little computer. I forgot to call the dentist about the same minute I said it. It's like my head has reached full capacity and nothing ("irrelevant") fits anymore. It's sad.
Maybe I should start taking my vitamins again. .... if I don't forget.
At the daycare center they've taken her into the Pre-K program early and yesterday her teacher told me that she can write (copy from the blackboard, I suppose) the complete date by herself and writes her letters better than all the 4 & 5 year olds in the Pre-K program.
Here a picture of her writing. I was amazed.....although, my mom says, I was able to read and write at 3, as well, so obviously this isn't a sign of any special intelligence;)
Sometimes, this perfectionism of hers also worries me a bit. I try to tell her that it doesn't matter if she colors outside of the lines. I tell her it doesn't matter if her clothes match. I tell her not to worry about what other people say. (She gets very emotional about things and apologizes for any little misstep. .... The other day, she told me that she didn't like someone because they were ugly, which, of course, shocked me at first which in turn might have made me come off a bit too intense on my "you-shall-not-judge-etc" speech. I really wasn't loud or anything. I just told her that wasn't a nice thing to say...and beauty lies within a person...etc. etc. Anyway, she started crying after like a minute and apologized.
I wasn't sure which shocked me more: her comment or her guilt once I explained the roughness of such a remark. It's like she understood the concept immediately and felt really bad about it.)
are other people having better marriages?
I read this article about public vs. private schools and this part almost made me cry. Not because of some dilemma about whether to go public or private (since I almost don't have a choice) but because of the so peripherally mentioned interaction between the author and his wife. Is this what marriage could be like or is he bullshitting? Or maybe he is just describing one of those few moments. I'm sure he's not sitting down in deep conversation with his wife every day, or is he?
[...]
We are not on a beach in France. The woman across the couch from me is not topless. I rub her feet. The boys are asleep. My wife and I toss out concerns like medicine balls.
“I’m sorry,” one of us says, “but I love the idea of smaller classes.”
“I’d like us all to see the Grand Canyon and Europe before they’re 18,” says the other.
"At private, he’ll have electives and better equipment.”
"Shouldn’t matter. The most important learning goes on outside the classroom.”
We feel like Faye Dunaway at the end of Chinatown.
[full article]
Only once would I like to sit down and have a dialogue about a subject concerning our kids in which both parties have done their research. I don't think Dario ever reads any of the articles I send him on raising kids and having a marriage. I think he just assumes, as long as I do my (our) homework we're good.
This is depressing. I need go find a cynical article about marriage now otherwise I'll stay depressed. And what is most depressing (yes, I have used the word three times now) is the fact that I'm in a relatively good phase right now.
[...]
We are not on a beach in France. The woman across the couch from me is not topless. I rub her feet. The boys are asleep. My wife and I toss out concerns like medicine balls.
“I’m sorry,” one of us says, “but I love the idea of smaller classes.”
“I’d like us all to see the Grand Canyon and Europe before they’re 18,” says the other.
"At private, he’ll have electives and better equipment.”
"Shouldn’t matter. The most important learning goes on outside the classroom.”
We feel like Faye Dunaway at the end of Chinatown.
[full article]
Only once would I like to sit down and have a dialogue about a subject concerning our kids in which both parties have done their research. I don't think Dario ever reads any of the articles I send him on raising kids and having a marriage. I think he just assumes, as long as I do my (our) homework we're good.
This is depressing. I need go find a cynical article about marriage now otherwise I'll stay depressed. And what is most depressing (yes, I have used the word three times now) is the fact that I'm in a relatively good phase right now.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
alternate lives
I received a message on my voicemail confirming my dinner with the attorney general tonight at 7pm at some fancy place. When I returned the call to tell the woman that she had dialed the wrong number I came to think of how different my life would be if I had made different choices at certain turning points in my life. What if I had never moved to the Bronx and stayed in Manhattan like the rest of the people I knew then. What if I had stuck to my decision and had never let Dario come with me when I moved out of our crazy 9-roomate-inhabited first apartment? What if I had listened to the encouragement of my mentors and professors and gone on to Harvard as I had dreamed? What if...
So, today when I cancelled "my dinner" with the attorney general I had a moment of mourning of my lost alternate life of excitement and grandeur.;) .... It also made me think about my friend Johnny who has decided to decline his 3rd offer from Wallstreet, quit his PhD program in mathematics as well as his job with a research group of the NASA , and give away all of his belongings to become a Navy Seal and be shipped to the Middle East. As a convinced pacifist and somewhat of a democrat, I needed a couple of hours of questioning him until I finally understood his motivation. It is too deep and too complex to explain in just a few sentences but essentially he woke me up. He reminded me of all the things I don't do, have not done, but am longing to do. Play the piano, learn how to read music (something I skipped when learning the piano in highschool), reacquaint myself with the principles of math (more because of the challenge than because of any love for mathematics), be more interested, be more involved, be more more more. Of course, this is easier for him than for me. He doesn't have any kids, he already is very well read ..and last but not least, he also has an IQ up in the genius level. The only person he has to explain his sudden and complete self-involvement to is his wife...and if she loves him (which she does) she will understand and let him do his thing. He will come back.
I wouldn't know how to deal with a man like that. I wouldn't be able to deal with this whole macho tour. "Every man should know how to be a soldier." ...
Sometimes I wonder what the world would look like if it were ruled by women instead of by men. Johnny thinks it would be mayhem (of course) and wars would be even worse. I disagree with this theory. If women would be the politicians of the world there would be no or few wars. To declare war you have to be very arrogant, and self-involved. It's hard for women to be this way. Women like to communicate, compromise and they work things out. But maybe I am wrong. Maybe power is something that would corrupt any spirit...male or female. I don't know...
So, today when I cancelled "my dinner" with the attorney general I had a moment of mourning of my lost alternate life of excitement and grandeur.;) .... It also made me think about my friend Johnny who has decided to decline his 3rd offer from Wallstreet, quit his PhD program in mathematics as well as his job with a research group of the NASA , and give away all of his belongings to become a Navy Seal and be shipped to the Middle East. As a convinced pacifist and somewhat of a democrat, I needed a couple of hours of questioning him until I finally understood his motivation. It is too deep and too complex to explain in just a few sentences but essentially he woke me up. He reminded me of all the things I don't do, have not done, but am longing to do. Play the piano, learn how to read music (something I skipped when learning the piano in highschool), reacquaint myself with the principles of math (more because of the challenge than because of any love for mathematics), be more interested, be more involved, be more more more. Of course, this is easier for him than for me. He doesn't have any kids, he already is very well read ..and last but not least, he also has an IQ up in the genius level. The only person he has to explain his sudden and complete self-involvement to is his wife...and if she loves him (which she does) she will understand and let him do his thing. He will come back.
I wouldn't know how to deal with a man like that. I wouldn't be able to deal with this whole macho tour. "Every man should know how to be a soldier." ...
Sometimes I wonder what the world would look like if it were ruled by women instead of by men. Johnny thinks it would be mayhem (of course) and wars would be even worse. I disagree with this theory. If women would be the politicians of the world there would be no or few wars. To declare war you have to be very arrogant, and self-involved. It's hard for women to be this way. Women like to communicate, compromise and they work things out. But maybe I am wrong. Maybe power is something that would corrupt any spirit...male or female. I don't know...
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
sex & marriage
you know, sometimes I get tired ...and I just want to tell Dario to go try find someone better because the man just doesn't know what he has in me. I might be bitching around on my blog but really I am always supportive of all his crazy plans (most of them involve months-long travels overseas), I try to understand his shortcomings as a man (yes, I have finally realized that men just function differently than women. it's just a damn fact. of course, I'm only terming it "shortcomings" cuz I'm on a little man-hatin' trip right now); I try to get him laid as often as possible, and I'd say after 10 years & 2 kids putting out every couple of days is not the norm, or is it? I am tolerant of all his little female friends and inappropriate husband-behavior, for I give him my full trust. I try to make him happy, make sacrifices often because I love him, but most of all, I don't ever want to be held responsible for a dream not followed, a life lead unhappily, or any sad circumstances one would like to blame their partner for.
Tonight, after one of our oh-so-rare date-nights (dinner & movie), I snapped and asked him if it really would be so much to ask to be a little bit more romantic sometimes instead of constantly trying to grab my boobs or my privates in public (well, not out in the open...but whenever noone can see). It really would be nice, if he would hold my hand or kiss my neck or even grab my butt ... but just don't turn everything into a freaking porn-moment. It's pissing me off. And since we were already at the subject, I told him that it would also be nice to get some foreplay sometimes. I am not a dude, man, I said, I can't just get right at it. ...and I'm sorry but after 10 years of being with the same man I need a little extra touch to get me into the mood. According to Dario I'm stuck up that way and that Puerto-Rican girls don't need any of that because they're just sexual like that. Geez, could he stereotype any more? He is living in a Reggaeton song.
So I countered: Rosa would beg to differ. And how would you know anyway? You are talking about your highschool experiences...and come'on...in HS we all were freakin' horny all the time. We had no responsibilities...nothing else to do....also, if I would get a new piece of ass I would certainly be hot in a second as well....plus, nowadays it is you who can't keep up anymore, honey. I am definitely getting to my sexual prime. Before, I could have gone without sex for ages...I really did not care much. But ever since I turned 30 my sexual appetite has increased exponentially.
Why is that? Why do women reach their sexual peak in their mid-thirties and men in their early twenties? What is the genetic point of that??
Tonight, after one of our oh-so-rare date-nights (dinner & movie), I snapped and asked him if it really would be so much to ask to be a little bit more romantic sometimes instead of constantly trying to grab my boobs or my privates in public (well, not out in the open...but whenever noone can see). It really would be nice, if he would hold my hand or kiss my neck or even grab my butt ... but just don't turn everything into a freaking porn-moment. It's pissing me off. And since we were already at the subject, I told him that it would also be nice to get some foreplay sometimes. I am not a dude, man, I said, I can't just get right at it. ...and I'm sorry but after 10 years of being with the same man I need a little extra touch to get me into the mood. According to Dario I'm stuck up that way and that Puerto-Rican girls don't need any of that because they're just sexual like that. Geez, could he stereotype any more? He is living in a Reggaeton song.
So I countered: Rosa would beg to differ. And how would you know anyway? You are talking about your highschool experiences...and come'on...in HS we all were freakin' horny all the time. We had no responsibilities...nothing else to do....also, if I would get a new piece of ass I would certainly be hot in a second as well....plus, nowadays it is you who can't keep up anymore, honey. I am definitely getting to my sexual prime. Before, I could have gone without sex for ages...I really did not care much. But ever since I turned 30 my sexual appetite has increased exponentially.
Why is that? Why do women reach their sexual peak in their mid-thirties and men in their early twenties? What is the genetic point of that??
Monday, October 24, 2005
just fyi
some people might get the idea that I don't want to be a mother... and sometimes I wonder myself...but I think, only a parent will understand regrets or frustrations such as mine.
It isn't that I don't want my children. I'd rather die than not have them but sometimes I wish I had waited just a liiittle bit longer to have them. I just wasn't ready and it took me a long time to get used to my new role.
My grandmother was right....you better make sure you're done with all that you wanted to do with your life (all your passions, career, etc.) before having a child, for once you commit to being a parent your life is over and it will from there on only be about your child. (If you plan to be a good parent, that is.)
so, as not to jinx myself (for sometimes I am a bit superstitious... i.e. "be careful what you wish for") .... I thank God for my children every day.
It isn't that I don't want my children. I'd rather die than not have them but sometimes I wish I had waited just a liiittle bit longer to have them. I just wasn't ready and it took me a long time to get used to my new role.
My grandmother was right....you better make sure you're done with all that you wanted to do with your life (all your passions, career, etc.) before having a child, for once you commit to being a parent your life is over and it will from there on only be about your child. (If you plan to be a good parent, that is.)
so, as not to jinx myself (for sometimes I am a bit superstitious... i.e. "be careful what you wish for") .... I thank God for my children every day.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
shouldn't I enjoy parenthood more enthusiastically?
I don't know what's wrong with me. Shouldn't I enjoy the weekend with my kids...my family? Instead I am edgy (trying to hide that almost successfully) and annoyed by the fact that I can't just break out and do whatever I want to do. I really could use a trip to the fitness center right about now but there is no way I will get that time before nightfall...and I mean real night..like past 10 pm kinda thing. And that also only if I ignore the rest of the stuff that needs to be done in the house (laundry, cleaning, etc.). As I am writing this entry my 18-mo. old (Nayla) is hanging on my knee craving full attention. If I don't give her 100% of the latter she is just as cranky as I feel. Am I a bad mother? Am I just overworked and have not enough balance in my life? I don't know. The fact that I feel physically impaired (chronic f*in backpain, and strange stomach aches ever since pregnancy/childbirth) isn't helping either. ok gotta go. Nayla is now crying. sigh.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
strange song requests
Maia (now 3.5 yrs old) is having strange lullaby song requests lately. I can't get away with your regular "twinkle twinkle little star" anymore. She has special requests. Before it was easy. She wanted me to sing a "milk-song" or a "cow & milk"-song.
Nowadays this is what she asks for:
Mom, can you sing me the song with the mermaid and the princess and the queen and the shark, and the shark ate them all, and they all had pointy hats on.
What worries me is that she doesn't mind if the shark doesn't spit them back out, which is how I developed the song for a few nights and then one evening just ended the story after the shark is full to see what she says. She has no complaints, so I started adding happy ends again, and even if it is more for my own peace of mind.
Nowadays this is what she asks for:
Mom, can you sing me the song with the mermaid and the princess and the queen and the shark, and the shark ate them all, and they all had pointy hats on.
What worries me is that she doesn't mind if the shark doesn't spit them back out, which is how I developed the song for a few nights and then one evening just ended the story after the shark is full to see what she says. She has no complaints, so I started adding happy ends again, and even if it is more for my own peace of mind.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
time management issues
i've got too much sh*t to do... here only an excerpt of the things I just never get to because my daily to-do list is too demanding (note the DUE dates;)
Friday, October 14, 2005
MTV reality shows driving me nuts
I'm in bed, sick. So, there is nothing else to do but watch TV on our miniature-sized television in the bedroom. Somehow, I ended up watching MTV, which really I despise lately, for it has nothing to do with music anymore. Moreover, I remember how MTV used to make me feel fat and ugly and it still has that effect. This channel is like a bad drug addiction.
However, today, there was a new addition to my fluctuating MTV feelings. A concern that I never had to deal with before. A thought that sprang to mind while shaking my head at these ridiculously superficial and spoiled brats in "Run's House" and "Laguna Beach". Maia will grow up watching shows like these and in school she will be surrounded by girls who want to be cheerleaders, and pretty for the boys, and ditzy and....aaaaaarhgh.
There was one show I managed to watch: "Made" ... it's about these average, possibly a bit introverted kids who would like to become popular. The episode I saw today, was about this girl who wanted to become a cheerleader. Even though I rooted for her success, I was really disappointed that I never heard one of her parents tell her what the hell she's doing trying to be someone she is not. ...And not someone better. Just someone more popular. It was sad, in a way.
But I remember how it was being a teenager....I know one doesn't care. You just want to be like everyone else tells you to be. Thin, beautiful, popular. However, here in the States this is a whooole different ballgame. It's devastating for anyone who isn't in the in-crowd, whereas in Austria (or at least, where I grew up) it really didn't matter that much.
Watching 5 minutes of "Run's House", however, was all I could take. This is a reality show about Rev. Run from Run DMC and his family. I tuned in when Run's teenage daughter asks him to plan a party. She already has hired some party-planner who is doing the walk-through and unsuspecting Run has to listen to his daughter telling him (seriously) that -FOR THE PARTY ONLY- she wants the pool turned into a dancefloor (i.e. to be covered with glass) which will cost about 10,000 dollars. Then she talks about fireworks, which the party-planner estimates could cost anywhere between $15,000 up to $100,000. Then I have to watch the wife supporting this insane party plan. "Yeah, it could be like when Puffy had these fireworks at his house and they spelled this name. That was really cool." Finally Run cracks and says...no, no that's too crazy. You can have a party around the pool, we'll put up a grill and you can have 50-60 kids over max. A few minutes later they get the daughter crying in her room talking about how she doesn't want her father to think she's spoiled or anything [HA HA HA]...but 50 kids is not that much. What is she gonna tell people when they ask her if they could come?
OH MY GOD! .... I was in shock. And the girl couldn't have been older than 13.
Laguna Beach I couldn't take more than 5 minutes. Those kids annoyed me with their boring little conversations "oh my god, he was like...and I was like...and he was like..." ..."oh and I'm not going to this party...and she's such a bitch... and oh, this necklace looks great on you."
ok. I've had my share of afternoon TV. I'm out.
laterz.
However, today, there was a new addition to my fluctuating MTV feelings. A concern that I never had to deal with before. A thought that sprang to mind while shaking my head at these ridiculously superficial and spoiled brats in "Run's House" and "Laguna Beach". Maia will grow up watching shows like these and in school she will be surrounded by girls who want to be cheerleaders, and pretty for the boys, and ditzy and....aaaaaarhgh.
There was one show I managed to watch: "Made" ... it's about these average, possibly a bit introverted kids who would like to become popular. The episode I saw today, was about this girl who wanted to become a cheerleader. Even though I rooted for her success, I was really disappointed that I never heard one of her parents tell her what the hell she's doing trying to be someone she is not. ...And not someone better. Just someone more popular. It was sad, in a way.
But I remember how it was being a teenager....I know one doesn't care. You just want to be like everyone else tells you to be. Thin, beautiful, popular. However, here in the States this is a whooole different ballgame. It's devastating for anyone who isn't in the in-crowd, whereas in Austria (or at least, where I grew up) it really didn't matter that much.
Watching 5 minutes of "Run's House", however, was all I could take. This is a reality show about Rev. Run from Run DMC and his family. I tuned in when Run's teenage daughter asks him to plan a party. She already has hired some party-planner who is doing the walk-through and unsuspecting Run has to listen to his daughter telling him (seriously) that -FOR THE PARTY ONLY- she wants the pool turned into a dancefloor (i.e. to be covered with glass) which will cost about 10,000 dollars. Then she talks about fireworks, which the party-planner estimates could cost anywhere between $15,000 up to $100,000. Then I have to watch the wife supporting this insane party plan. "Yeah, it could be like when Puffy had these fireworks at his house and they spelled this name. That was really cool." Finally Run cracks and says...no, no that's too crazy. You can have a party around the pool, we'll put up a grill and you can have 50-60 kids over max. A few minutes later they get the daughter crying in her room talking about how she doesn't want her father to think she's spoiled or anything [HA HA HA]...but 50 kids is not that much. What is she gonna tell people when they ask her if they could come?
OH MY GOD! .... I was in shock. And the girl couldn't have been older than 13.
Laguna Beach I couldn't take more than 5 minutes. Those kids annoyed me with their boring little conversations "oh my god, he was like...and I was like...and he was like..." ..."oh and I'm not going to this party...and she's such a bitch... and oh, this necklace looks great on you."
ok. I've had my share of afternoon TV. I'm out.
laterz.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
wifely duties anno 1955 - OHMYGOD
here an article sent to me (and Rosa) by my husband. I found it funny and jaw-dropping but Rosa had a hard time taking it as a joke and is still mad at Dario. ;)
-------------------------------------------------------------original message
An article published in "Housekeeping Monthly" in 1955. It is a measure of how things have changed since then. While it may make the male readers laugh, it will probably enrage the female readers!
1. Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favorite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.
2. Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just beenwith a lot of work-weary people.
3. Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.
4. Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.
5. Gather up schoolbooks, toys, paper, etc. and then run a dust cloth over the tables.
6. Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
7. Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children's hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.
8. Be happy to see him.
9. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
10. Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation aremore important than yours.
11. Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.
12. Your goal: try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.
13. Don't greet him with complaints and problems.
14. Don't complain if he's late home for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through that day.
15. Make him comfortable. Make him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
16. Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
17. Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
18. A good wife always knows her place.
------------------------------------
Rosa's reply:
You would have been okay if you hadn't written read and learn as the subject to this memo. The fictious "men" they are talking about supposedly went to a real job and worked their asses off [to pay for all the wife wished for]. I'm sure you would not like the part you would have to play in order to get us to do what struck you as a wonderful thing when you read this article.
-------------------------------------------------------------original message
An article published in "Housekeeping Monthly" in 1955. It is a measure of how things have changed since then. While it may make the male readers laugh, it will probably enrage the female readers!
1. Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favorite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.
2. Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just beenwith a lot of work-weary people.
3. Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.
4. Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.
5. Gather up schoolbooks, toys, paper, etc. and then run a dust cloth over the tables.
6. Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
7. Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children's hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.
8. Be happy to see him.
9. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
10. Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation aremore important than yours.
11. Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.
12. Your goal: try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.
13. Don't greet him with complaints and problems.
14. Don't complain if he's late home for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through that day.
15. Make him comfortable. Make him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
16. Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
17. Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
18. A good wife always knows her place.
------------------------------------
Rosa's reply:
You would have been okay if you hadn't written read and learn as the subject to this memo. The fictious "men" they are talking about supposedly went to a real job and worked their asses off [to pay for all the wife wished for]. I'm sure you would not like the part you would have to play in order to get us to do what struck you as a wonderful thing when you read this article.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
turning 31
Now I am definitely "30-something" and I better get used to it. Of course, I could start telling people I am 28 and just stick with that story until they just don't believe me anymore.
The day was rather uneventful. I worked a bit, got a couple of BD-calls and mails, and left early to go see a movie with my friend Rosa. The movie didn't catch me (Nick Park's new Wallace & Gromit story), so we left early to go to Target. It's pathetic. I must really be getting old if "Wallace & Gromit" don't do it for me anymore. What is wrong with me? ...Maybe it's the fact that my dentist just put me on Valium to deal with some irritated nerve and extreme muscle-tensions. Even though I take the V only at night instead of the prescribed 3x/day dosage, I think I've had a bit of apathy as a side-effect. Other than that it didn't hold up to the stigma I had attached to this drug. It took me like a week to even get the prescription, for I just didn't want to be a woman who takes Valium (no matter if it's only for a month). The fact that I finally did get it proves how much I have americanized. It worked miracles on my chronically hurting back, though, and I am sleeping like a rock. I don't know if the baby incidentally has begun sleeping through the night or if I really just don't hear her anymore. Either way, I am very comfortable with the amount of rest I am currently getting. So maybe, it's not the Valium that's making me calmer during the day....maybe it's just the fact that I have more sleep and stress less.
Anyway, to recall the rest of the day ..... when I got home from Target (having spent money I do not have for things we do not need -> amongst other things a 100-piece puzzle for Maia, which she is finishing right now), Rosa & co. came down with two cakes happily singing the birthday song.
"Make a wish!" they said and I instinctively wished not to get any older. Only after having blown out the candles I realized that I had just wished for my own death. Thus, I am sharing my birthday wish with as many people as possible, so that it won't come true.
One last note on the day and on Maia's possibly clairvoyant abilities:
When I came home from shopping, Maia came to me and said..."Mommy, can I have some of the chocolate cake with the flower on it and your name on it?"
In a way she gave away the fact that there was a birthday cake for me...so I went to check the fridge. Nothing was to be found. When I asked Rosa later, if Maia had seen the cake (which was chocolate with a flower and my name on it), she said that Maia had definitely not seen the cake. It was bought this afternoon and sat then tied up in a box upstairs until the moment they came downstairs with it singing.
The day was rather uneventful. I worked a bit, got a couple of BD-calls and mails, and left early to go see a movie with my friend Rosa. The movie didn't catch me (Nick Park's new Wallace & Gromit story), so we left early to go to Target. It's pathetic. I must really be getting old if "Wallace & Gromit" don't do it for me anymore. What is wrong with me? ...Maybe it's the fact that my dentist just put me on Valium to deal with some irritated nerve and extreme muscle-tensions. Even though I take the V only at night instead of the prescribed 3x/day dosage, I think I've had a bit of apathy as a side-effect. Other than that it didn't hold up to the stigma I had attached to this drug. It took me like a week to even get the prescription, for I just didn't want to be a woman who takes Valium (no matter if it's only for a month). The fact that I finally did get it proves how much I have americanized. It worked miracles on my chronically hurting back, though, and I am sleeping like a rock. I don't know if the baby incidentally has begun sleeping through the night or if I really just don't hear her anymore. Either way, I am very comfortable with the amount of rest I am currently getting. So maybe, it's not the Valium that's making me calmer during the day....maybe it's just the fact that I have more sleep and stress less.
Anyway, to recall the rest of the day ..... when I got home from Target (having spent money I do not have for things we do not need -> amongst other things a 100-piece puzzle for Maia, which she is finishing right now), Rosa & co. came down with two cakes happily singing the birthday song.
"Make a wish!" they said and I instinctively wished not to get any older. Only after having blown out the candles I realized that I had just wished for my own death. Thus, I am sharing my birthday wish with as many people as possible, so that it won't come true.
One last note on the day and on Maia's possibly clairvoyant abilities:
When I came home from shopping, Maia came to me and said..."Mommy, can I have some of the chocolate cake with the flower on it and your name on it?"
In a way she gave away the fact that there was a birthday cake for me...so I went to check the fridge. Nothing was to be found. When I asked Rosa later, if Maia had seen the cake (which was chocolate with a flower and my name on it), she said that Maia had definitely not seen the cake. It was bought this afternoon and sat then tied up in a box upstairs until the moment they came downstairs with it singing.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Maia gets sarcastic
So now that she's 3.5 years old it's time for another chapter in Maia's sometimes too fast advancing development.
Little example. Tonight. Maia is walking around with big pink bunny ears.
Dario: I see a monkey. I see a monkey.
Maia: Does this look like a monkey costume to you? Hm? (and then slow as to make it easier to grasp for him) I am wearing BUNNY ears!!
here a picture of maia w/ "her" ears.
http://newyork.blogphotography.com/archives/2888_1280467555/95140
Little example. Tonight. Maia is walking around with big pink bunny ears.
Dario: I see a monkey. I see a monkey.
Maia: Does this look like a monkey costume to you? Hm? (and then slow as to make it easier to grasp for him) I am wearing BUNNY ears!!
here a picture of maia w/ "her" ears.
http://newyork.blogphotography.com/archives/2888_1280467555/95140
Saturday, October 08, 2005
I can't hurt a fly ... but a roach is gonna get it
Before I moved to NYC (the potential capital of the cockroach world) I couldn't kill any animals, at all. Well, except for the mosquito but that I justified with the fact that I was acting in "self-defense".
When I moved to New York I thus saw myself in a little situation called pest infestation. The mice (in my first apartment) weren't allowed to be killed by gruesome glue-traps, or the old-fashioned snappy thing. So Dario got a "humane" trap, which threw the mouse into another locked compartment with air-holes. Unfortunately, the mice would come back after Dario would throw them out the window (which, by the way, didn't seem to bother them even though we were up in the 3rd floor). The reason we could identify them as the same mice is because Dario began tagging them with white-out [for my non-American friends: that's Tipex]. The fact that I was feeding them during their entrapment probably wasn't helping.
One day, we caught eleven mice ...and that was the day I decided to get a cat. It worked within a week. The mice were gone.
The roaches, however, stayed. And even though we are now in a mice-free apartment we never got rid of the roaches. No matter where we lived.
I don't know when it happened but I have now put those darn roaches on my black-list with the only other animal I'd kill (the mosquito). I always apologize, for I still feel bad since my motive isn't really any of "survival".
I always wonder about the intelligence of these animals. They know exactly when they're safe or in danger. They seize you up more like mammals than insects. ...(wait, is a roach an insect? yeah, it's in the beetle family, right?) They stretch their little antennas at you to see what you're going to do next and they play this little daredevil game with you. They're propably well aware that it's really hard to kill them. They can withstand unbelievable amounts of household spray, and if you hit them with anything that's not exactly flat, chances are they'll live. And if you've ever swept up a roach you thought was dead you might have encountered their sudden body-bounciness. It's scary.
When I moved to New York I thus saw myself in a little situation called pest infestation. The mice (in my first apartment) weren't allowed to be killed by gruesome glue-traps, or the old-fashioned snappy thing. So Dario got a "humane" trap, which threw the mouse into another locked compartment with air-holes. Unfortunately, the mice would come back after Dario would throw them out the window (which, by the way, didn't seem to bother them even though we were up in the 3rd floor). The reason we could identify them as the same mice is because Dario began tagging them with white-out [for my non-American friends: that's Tipex]. The fact that I was feeding them during their entrapment probably wasn't helping.
One day, we caught eleven mice ...and that was the day I decided to get a cat. It worked within a week. The mice were gone.
The roaches, however, stayed. And even though we are now in a mice-free apartment we never got rid of the roaches. No matter where we lived.
I don't know when it happened but I have now put those darn roaches on my black-list with the only other animal I'd kill (the mosquito). I always apologize, for I still feel bad since my motive isn't really any of "survival".
I always wonder about the intelligence of these animals. They know exactly when they're safe or in danger. They seize you up more like mammals than insects. ...(wait, is a roach an insect? yeah, it's in the beetle family, right?) They stretch their little antennas at you to see what you're going to do next and they play this little daredevil game with you. They're propably well aware that it's really hard to kill them. They can withstand unbelievable amounts of household spray, and if you hit them with anything that's not exactly flat, chances are they'll live. And if you've ever swept up a roach you thought was dead you might have encountered their sudden body-bounciness. It's scary.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
My husband's booty-call agreement
Just so you understand the nature of my relationship. Below is what Dario came home with yesterday. And after my first laugh, I sort of realized that this is something I shouldn't be laughing about, should I? If I made such an agreement with any of my friends the man would lose his cool... but I must be a sucka. Or a really good wife. Or ...someone who understands her man and that this really means nothing. I am any of these things depending on my mood. ... So, here is that booty-call agreement ...I'm sure you'll enjoy it more than I ...being the wife and all.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
the signs to your path are clear they say
so, I'm supposed to read The Alchemist for my bookclub, which basically says that the signs to your right path (or your destiny) are very clear and they are everywhere. I haven't read the book, yet...but a friend told me.
So, now that I am on closer look-out for such signs (especially in my current situation - to be or not to be with Dario) I came across ANOTHER 50 Cent look-alike. If you look at my previous post, I just saw a "Doppel-gaenger" of my "free-cheat-famous-person" this morning. Maybe it's that everyone is copying the 50-Cent-style ..but this guy looked even more like 50 (actually maybe a younger version) than the one from this morning.
I tell you, something is pointing me in that direction. And with that direction I mean to move on already.
However, there is another voice inside of me and it's asking how I can be sure my signs are coming from the right side? What if my "signs" are coming from the evil side. ...Not that I believe in heaven and hell but I definitely believe in evil ...and in a wrong and right path. However, I am not so sure if there are other forces involved when we make our decisions.
And the weaker we are the easier we are pushed onto that wrong path....pushed to make that very bad decision...which we knew wasn't a very good idea to begin with.
So, .. I feel a little bit like Voltaire's Candide today. Very philosophically inclined.
So, now that I am on closer look-out for such signs (especially in my current situation - to be or not to be with Dario) I came across ANOTHER 50 Cent look-alike. If you look at my previous post, I just saw a "Doppel-gaenger" of my "free-cheat-famous-person" this morning. Maybe it's that everyone is copying the 50-Cent-style ..but this guy looked even more like 50 (actually maybe a younger version) than the one from this morning.
I tell you, something is pointing me in that direction. And with that direction I mean to move on already.
However, there is another voice inside of me and it's asking how I can be sure my signs are coming from the right side? What if my "signs" are coming from the evil side. ...Not that I believe in heaven and hell but I definitely believe in evil ...and in a wrong and right path. However, I am not so sure if there are other forces involved when we make our decisions.
And the weaker we are the easier we are pushed onto that wrong path....pushed to make that very bad decision...which we knew wasn't a very good idea to begin with.
So, .. I feel a little bit like Voltaire's Candide today. Very philosophically inclined.
50 Cent is my free ticket
you know how you do these weird pacts with your partner? you've basically got one famous person you are allowed to sleep with (because that ain't never gonna happen, anyway).
For Dario that's Gwen Stefani ..or Julia Stiles (I think) ... for me it's 50 Cent but I think I just changed my mind. Looking for a photo to post on my blog I found a mugshot of his ...and his real name is CURTIS! (oh no, oh no...my beautiful "bad boy" illusion is destroyed.) I have to say, though, this man knows how to deliver the "tough rapper" image. Excellent marketing. You should check out his site ...well, he probably really is tough...but the PR work is still excellent
www.50centonline.com
Anyway, the reason I am making this entry is because today I ran into somebody who looked JUST like 50 Cent. I had to make a double-take and he caught me at it, which made me blush and smile like a shy teenager (not that these girls are shy anymore...nowadays.) A minute later, as I was parking my car (where I wasn't supposed t0), he triple-parked right next to me (to move some weights he had left on the floor before). This then didn't leave any space for the bus behind us to pass and that's how we made contact. We really didn't make contact. I'm a wuss so we just talked for like a second about who should be moving the car (me or him) and then as he was driving away he waved at me with a very big smile.
There goes my free ticket, I thought, too bad I probably won't ever see him again.
This is the kind of place New York is. A city full of beautiful people which I will never connect with. The perfect place for singles (who can be spontaneous and open with strangers). Not so much fun for the commited ones (like me)...who can't offer anything but a smile.
I'm so prude.
sigh.
For Dario that's Gwen Stefani ..or Julia Stiles (I think) ... for me it's 50 Cent but I think I just changed my mind. Looking for a photo to post on my blog I found a mugshot of his ...and his real name is CURTIS! (oh no, oh no...my beautiful "bad boy" illusion is destroyed.) I have to say, though, this man knows how to deliver the "tough rapper" image. Excellent marketing. You should check out his site ...well, he probably really is tough...but the PR work is still excellent
www.50centonline.com
Anyway, the reason I am making this entry is because today I ran into somebody who looked JUST like 50 Cent. I had to make a double-take and he caught me at it, which made me blush and smile like a shy teenager (not that these girls are shy anymore...nowadays.) A minute later, as I was parking my car (where I wasn't supposed t0), he triple-parked right next to me (to move some weights he had left on the floor before). This then didn't leave any space for the bus behind us to pass and that's how we made contact. We really didn't make contact. I'm a wuss so we just talked for like a second about who should be moving the car (me or him) and then as he was driving away he waved at me with a very big smile.
There goes my free ticket, I thought, too bad I probably won't ever see him again.
This is the kind of place New York is. A city full of beautiful people which I will never connect with. The perfect place for singles (who can be spontaneous and open with strangers). Not so much fun for the commited ones (like me)...who can't offer anything but a smile.
I'm so prude.
sigh.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
what is the right answer?
This is what the problem is. I tell Dario my request for emotional support packed into a general complaint. Tonight: perfect example. I ended up babysitting 4 kids from 7.30 until about 10pm and this after a whole day with my own kids, and a previous night of clubbing until 5am. Needless to say I was exhausted and needless to say I was non-stop buzzing around trying to meet the needs of 4 young children during bedtime routine, while trying to clean up the worst mess.
Finally, Dario comes home from his afternoon out on the town and I tell him my frustration or …how I feel. I say something like “my God, I'm really not good at this whole motherhood thing. … If I had four kids, I think I’d go crazy.” –
“so, give the kids to me and I’ll look for one of those good domestic kinda wifeys…you know a Dominican one or an Arabic one.” he says
“you’re an ass” is what I thought. “Why can’t you see that I am asking for emotional support. Why do I have to spell it out? Why can’t you just ask me “why? Why are you saying this?” or why can’t you first and foremost say “stop talking bullshit, you’re a great mother. You give all you have, it’s natural to feel overwhelmed.” (HA HA HA …YEAH, right. Like that is ever gonna happen. An informed, compassionate, mature response to my insecurities.)
Finally, Dario comes home from his afternoon out on the town and I tell him my frustration or …how I feel. I say something like “my God, I'm really not good at this whole motherhood thing. … If I had four kids, I think I’d go crazy.” –
“so, give the kids to me and I’ll look for one of those good domestic kinda wifeys…you know a Dominican one or an Arabic one.” he says
“you’re an ass” is what I thought. “Why can’t you see that I am asking for emotional support. Why do I have to spell it out? Why can’t you just ask me “why? Why are you saying this?” or why can’t you first and foremost say “stop talking bullshit, you’re a great mother. You give all you have, it’s natural to feel overwhelmed.” (HA HA HA …YEAH, right. Like that is ever gonna happen. An informed, compassionate, mature response to my insecurities.)
Friday, September 16, 2005
The 7-year Itch
Well, it's more like the 10 year itch...but it's been really itching since the 7th...so, I'm sticking to the proverb (...ehm, it's not a proverb it's an "expression", Sisi). Oh, great, now I am talking to myself. I REALLY need to get a life.
Yesterday, I couldn't find anyone to go to the movies with me, so I just went by myself. Back in Austria this wouldn't have been a big deal and in no way indicative of anything wrong with my social life but in America going to the movies by yourself is a big stigma. And, since I am not totally immune to the stares of others, I usually refrain from such activities.
Yesterday, however, I didn't give a sh*t anymore. I wanted to hit the movies, there was nobody available, so I went alone. I could have probably gotten my downtown or Queens friends to go but I was entirely too lazy to play the chauffeur, so I just went to a mall 10 minutes up the highway. Besides, nobody would have gone with me to see "The Upperclassman" anyway. This is more of a teenie movie, which I enjoyed very much, regardless. I just ignored the thin plot and focused on the funny kid. ;)
I had a good time.
Then, I raced with some people on the highway. I lost. Well, ...me and my minivan lost. Also, I'm not taking it to death-wish speeds and maneuvers. I'm just too old for that.... and I have children.
After I got home (around midnight), I took the dog out for a walk. Inspired by the rap from D's little i-pod, I walked a little further than usual. I ended up having to cut through a big playground. A group of youngsters were hanging out for a late basketball game, so I just stopped and asked them if I could use their extra ball for a couple of minutes. They were surprised by my appearance but nice enough to let me have the second ball. I tied up the dog, and started shooting hoops on the neighboring (dark) court.
...
hold on...phone is ringing.
....
hmm, somebody just called me singing me a love song ;)
it was too funny. I kept on telling him he's got the wrong number but he was sure
he: "no, no...it's me, Chris. you'll remember me. just hold on. ...let me sing to you...then you'll remember,"
me:"the last time someone sung to me is ten years ago, but now I'm curious what you're gonna sing...so go ahead."
he actually sounded really nice. so nice, he could be doing this for a living. seriously. he sung something by Joe (R&B). when he finished I said: "well, Chris....this was very nice and whoever you're trying to reach is going to be very flattered."
- "thank you," he said," and you, are you taken?"
- "yes," I said thinking "MEN!!" and then saying, "and you should keep focused. who are you trying to reach?"
- "crystal."
-"well, go call crystal. she's gonna be happy to hear you sing."
-"ok."
-"talk to you later", I said thinking "or actually not."
Yesterday, I couldn't find anyone to go to the movies with me, so I just went by myself. Back in Austria this wouldn't have been a big deal and in no way indicative of anything wrong with my social life but in America going to the movies by yourself is a big stigma. And, since I am not totally immune to the stares of others, I usually refrain from such activities.
Yesterday, however, I didn't give a sh*t anymore. I wanted to hit the movies, there was nobody available, so I went alone. I could have probably gotten my downtown or Queens friends to go but I was entirely too lazy to play the chauffeur, so I just went to a mall 10 minutes up the highway. Besides, nobody would have gone with me to see "The Upperclassman" anyway. This is more of a teenie movie, which I enjoyed very much, regardless. I just ignored the thin plot and focused on the funny kid. ;)
I had a good time.
Then, I raced with some people on the highway. I lost. Well, ...me and my minivan lost. Also, I'm not taking it to death-wish speeds and maneuvers. I'm just too old for that.... and I have children.
After I got home (around midnight), I took the dog out for a walk. Inspired by the rap from D's little i-pod, I walked a little further than usual. I ended up having to cut through a big playground. A group of youngsters were hanging out for a late basketball game, so I just stopped and asked them if I could use their extra ball for a couple of minutes. They were surprised by my appearance but nice enough to let me have the second ball. I tied up the dog, and started shooting hoops on the neighboring (dark) court.
...
hold on...phone is ringing.
....
hmm, somebody just called me singing me a love song ;)
it was too funny. I kept on telling him he's got the wrong number but he was sure
he: "no, no...it's me, Chris. you'll remember me. just hold on. ...let me sing to you...then you'll remember,"
me:"the last time someone sung to me is ten years ago, but now I'm curious what you're gonna sing...so go ahead."
he actually sounded really nice. so nice, he could be doing this for a living. seriously. he sung something by Joe (R&B). when he finished I said: "well, Chris....this was very nice and whoever you're trying to reach is going to be very flattered."
- "thank you," he said," and you, are you taken?"
- "yes," I said thinking "MEN!!" and then saying, "and you should keep focused. who are you trying to reach?"
- "crystal."
-"well, go call crystal. she's gonna be happy to hear you sing."
-"ok."
-"talk to you later", I said thinking "or actually not."
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
you know you don't have a life if...
you know you're social life is pathetic when your late-afternoon dentist appointment feels like a nice night out. Today was my third visit there to finish up a root-canal, which is still not done.
Today, you won't feel any pain, he said.
Let's see about that, I responded.
Trust me, he said.
And this coming from a dentist who at my last visit had almost injected me at the wrong side to work on the wrong tooth. My dentist is so comfortable with me (I don't know, I seem to bring it out in some people), that he constantly goes about other business while he is working on me (eg. talk on the phone, walk out to have a staff meeting, figure out his taxes, etc. etc.). The last time, somebody had made him really angry over the phone, and this is when he tried to inject me on the wrong side ...twice.
Fantastic, I thought, it took me two years to overcome my trauma from my last visit here and make an appointment, and then I get this. An angry dentist with an oversized syringe in his hand.
Of course, my experience with nitrous oxide, which I thought might take the edge off, was an abnormal one as well. Just before the dentist left the room after having placed the laughing gas mask on my face, he tells me "Ooone percent of the population reacts to this gas with an anxiety attack, so let me know if all is ok."
Great, why are you walking out the room then? How am I going to let you know? I thought.
I suppose, you know where this story is going: I apparently belong to this odd 1% of the population. I guess, being the control freak that I am I just couldn't handle the fact that I started to lose control over my body. And before I knew it, I couldn't breath anymore, I couldn't open my eyes, I couldn't speak....I was going into panic mode.With all the rational I could build up I tore myself out of my clouded mind for an instant and raised my hand, which thankfully the dental assistant happened to notice as she was passing by.
As you can see the dentist's office is not the place for me to be.In addition to my bad experiences I seem to also have a very high tolerance for anesthetics, for I am usually still sensitive even after 3 or 4 shots.
I can't believe you still feel that, the dentist kept repeating as I was tearing the chair's leather armrest with my fingernails.
Nevertheless, after I was out of the office, my tooth throbbing with numb pain, I walked down 72nd Street and truly enjoyed my "night" out on the town. I say "night" because it took the man until 8.30pm to finish up. Once I realized how pathetic this thought was, nice late-summer evening atmosphere or not, I decided that I really need to work more actively on my social schedule.
Today, you won't feel any pain, he said.
Let's see about that, I responded.
Trust me, he said.
And this coming from a dentist who at my last visit had almost injected me at the wrong side to work on the wrong tooth. My dentist is so comfortable with me (I don't know, I seem to bring it out in some people), that he constantly goes about other business while he is working on me (eg. talk on the phone, walk out to have a staff meeting, figure out his taxes, etc. etc.). The last time, somebody had made him really angry over the phone, and this is when he tried to inject me on the wrong side ...twice.
Fantastic, I thought, it took me two years to overcome my trauma from my last visit here and make an appointment, and then I get this. An angry dentist with an oversized syringe in his hand.
Of course, my experience with nitrous oxide, which I thought might take the edge off, was an abnormal one as well. Just before the dentist left the room after having placed the laughing gas mask on my face, he tells me "Ooone percent of the population reacts to this gas with an anxiety attack, so let me know if all is ok."
Great, why are you walking out the room then? How am I going to let you know? I thought.
I suppose, you know where this story is going: I apparently belong to this odd 1% of the population. I guess, being the control freak that I am I just couldn't handle the fact that I started to lose control over my body. And before I knew it, I couldn't breath anymore, I couldn't open my eyes, I couldn't speak....I was going into panic mode.With all the rational I could build up I tore myself out of my clouded mind for an instant and raised my hand, which thankfully the dental assistant happened to notice as she was passing by.
As you can see the dentist's office is not the place for me to be.In addition to my bad experiences I seem to also have a very high tolerance for anesthetics, for I am usually still sensitive even after 3 or 4 shots.
I can't believe you still feel that, the dentist kept repeating as I was tearing the chair's leather armrest with my fingernails.
Nevertheless, after I was out of the office, my tooth throbbing with numb pain, I walked down 72nd Street and truly enjoyed my "night" out on the town. I say "night" because it took the man until 8.30pm to finish up. Once I realized how pathetic this thought was, nice late-summer evening atmosphere or not, I decided that I really need to work more actively on my social schedule.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
I'm back
For those of you who don't know me this is the continuation of the following blog:
http://austrianchick.blogspot.com
Also known as the "bitchin' mama" blog ...or "an austrian in 'da Bronx" blog.
So, and here I am again. I couldn't think of a good blogname. I liked "bitchin' mama" but that's taken (by me;). So, it is now "I feel like Carrie Bradshaw... if she were a mama" I kept the same template, although I could have probably tried something new. Apparently I don't deal well with change. That and I wanted to tie it in with my old blog.
I tell you it's no easy feat not having a blogspot for so long (...well, 2 weeks?). My head is spinning from all the sh*t I wanted to write down but will probably not be able to reproduce as one coherent piece of text. That's why I'm not even going to try.
To update the few people who have come with me to this new blogspot, I have broken up with Dario last week and it just totally sucks. I don't want this separation to end in anything bad (divorce!) but I think it has to be done (the temporary separating, I mean). I'm talking about where he could move to for a little while, and he's talking about who he could bang for a little while. So, you see we are totally on the same page.
My mother, who is a family therapist in Austria is telling me that my plan is simply stupid. "No relationship gets fixed by breaking up, darlin'", she says, "that's a myth. ... If you want to improve your relationship you need to work on it - while you are TOGETHER."
She is probably right but I am so tired of being the stereotypical woman. The woman, who always has to make things work. The woman, who always has to start and carry the dialogue in the relationship. The woman, who has to just deal with the fact that she is married to a man.
I just cannot believe that all men are the same. I just can't. This can't be true, can it?
I am married to Raymond, to Doug, to all these testosterone-high, infantile guys on the beer, pizza, and burger commercials. That is Dario and that is what the stereotypical man appears to be. What is going on?
I am so disillusioned and frustrated at the moment. So, if this separation really is going to be pulled through, I will be the men-hating female, and he'll be the happy, promiscuous re-enstated bachelor.
The weird thing is that I really do love him and I don't want him to go anywhere. And he loves me, too. My mother says that this is the key-element of the situation. If you don't love him or vice versa, then you would need to go. But you like each other very much and that is not a thing to be taken for granted, she says.
It is really hard to pretend you don't love someone but to pretend that nothing is wrong is much harder.
At this point, I just need an instructions manual (i.e. a therapist).
I need someone to tell me how I should properly react to the things that drive me nuts about D.
I need someone to reinforce the idea that my spouse is NOT responsible for my happiness.
I told my friend Rosa that I am going to talk to him but first I would have to prepare a list of the things that I will change. One of the things would be that I will take 2 or 3 nights a week, and they will be mine. They will be mine to go work out, to go photograph, to do whatever to regain my balance and keep my sanity (in exchange, I will just deal with the fact that I have to carry 80% of our household matters - i.e. stress). However, to make this possible the one thing I would need from Dario is to not give me a guilt trip about it. I just don't want to hear it, I said, to which Rosa told me that this should not be my concern. He is entitled to bitch. He is entitled to express himself. That should not affect how I feel about my time off. It is not connected, she said.
But it is, isn't it? If I wouldn't take that time off he wouldn't have to deal with the two kids by himself. You have to stop trying to make him happy in order for him to allow you to be happy. It's true ... I always leave with the kids either in bed, ready for bed (or if it is during the daytime one napping the other one fed and occupied).
I don't know what's going to happen but I really hate not being with him. If only I wouldn't love him. Also, it isn't exactly an easy decision when kids are involved, either. But I'm thinking better earlier than later. This sucks. sucks. sucks.
http://austrianchick.blogspot.com
Also known as the "bitchin' mama" blog ...or "an austrian in 'da Bronx" blog.
So, and here I am again. I couldn't think of a good blogname. I liked "bitchin' mama" but that's taken (by me;). So, it is now "I feel like Carrie Bradshaw... if she were a mama" I kept the same template, although I could have probably tried something new. Apparently I don't deal well with change. That and I wanted to tie it in with my old blog.
I tell you it's no easy feat not having a blogspot for so long (...well, 2 weeks?). My head is spinning from all the sh*t I wanted to write down but will probably not be able to reproduce as one coherent piece of text. That's why I'm not even going to try.
To update the few people who have come with me to this new blogspot, I have broken up with Dario last week and it just totally sucks. I don't want this separation to end in anything bad (divorce!) but I think it has to be done (the temporary separating, I mean). I'm talking about where he could move to for a little while, and he's talking about who he could bang for a little while. So, you see we are totally on the same page.
My mother, who is a family therapist in Austria is telling me that my plan is simply stupid. "No relationship gets fixed by breaking up, darlin'", she says, "that's a myth. ... If you want to improve your relationship you need to work on it - while you are TOGETHER."
She is probably right but I am so tired of being the stereotypical woman. The woman, who always has to make things work. The woman, who always has to start and carry the dialogue in the relationship. The woman, who has to just deal with the fact that she is married to a man.
I just cannot believe that all men are the same. I just can't. This can't be true, can it?
I am married to Raymond, to Doug, to all these testosterone-high, infantile guys on the beer, pizza, and burger commercials. That is Dario and that is what the stereotypical man appears to be. What is going on?
I am so disillusioned and frustrated at the moment. So, if this separation really is going to be pulled through, I will be the men-hating female, and he'll be the happy, promiscuous re-enstated bachelor.
The weird thing is that I really do love him and I don't want him to go anywhere. And he loves me, too. My mother says that this is the key-element of the situation. If you don't love him or vice versa, then you would need to go. But you like each other very much and that is not a thing to be taken for granted, she says.
It is really hard to pretend you don't love someone but to pretend that nothing is wrong is much harder.
At this point, I just need an instructions manual (i.e. a therapist).
I need someone to tell me how I should properly react to the things that drive me nuts about D.
I need someone to reinforce the idea that my spouse is NOT responsible for my happiness.
I told my friend Rosa that I am going to talk to him but first I would have to prepare a list of the things that I will change. One of the things would be that I will take 2 or 3 nights a week, and they will be mine. They will be mine to go work out, to go photograph, to do whatever to regain my balance and keep my sanity (in exchange, I will just deal with the fact that I have to carry 80% of our household matters - i.e. stress). However, to make this possible the one thing I would need from Dario is to not give me a guilt trip about it. I just don't want to hear it, I said, to which Rosa told me that this should not be my concern. He is entitled to bitch. He is entitled to express himself. That should not affect how I feel about my time off. It is not connected, she said.
But it is, isn't it? If I wouldn't take that time off he wouldn't have to deal with the two kids by himself. You have to stop trying to make him happy in order for him to allow you to be happy. It's true ... I always leave with the kids either in bed, ready for bed (or if it is during the daytime one napping the other one fed and occupied).
I don't know what's going to happen but I really hate not being with him. If only I wouldn't love him. Also, it isn't exactly an easy decision when kids are involved, either. But I'm thinking better earlier than later. This sucks. sucks. sucks.
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