I could also add this to "101 Reasons I am a Comments Whore." Yes, I realize that more traffic does not necessarily equal more comments, but a girl can dream can she not? Not to say that I am not happy with current readership. That is FAR! FAR! FAR! from the truth. Even the Christian Spammer and suckmydick@hotmail.com. *AH* those were the good old days, right? Let's just get right down to business and have another list.
1. The job. My "office suite" as aptly named by the boss (who with that kind of creative thinking should be a used car, oh 'scuse me PREVIOUSLY OWNED vehicle, salesman, I swear) is still in shambles. I have kids to teach tomorrow. Why have I not been to work? Read on.
2. The sickness. I don't know what it is. Alternate "Oh DEAR LORD help me I am going to vomit right now and DON'T even talk about food especially if it has any type of oil in it" nausea and dizziness. Well I would normally attribute this to the "brown bottle flu", I haven't had a drink in 9 days. Yesterday? When I went inside to pay for gas and was trying to look down to select an air freshener so that our car did not smell like ass/oops I mean 6 day old uneaten salmon rice ball left innocently in the back seat aptly described by my husband as "STANK" ? I almost passed out from the dizziness. I had to sit down in the shower not on one but two consecutive days. DH thinks it's a vitamin deficiency. Were that it not accompanied by other girly problems I would be ecstatic to believe him. "CALL THE DOCTOR!" you say. "I Did." I whisper, indicating that I am still, sadly waiting by the phone for them to call me back within the 72 hour period that is assigned to emergencies (PSHAW! And you know I am laughing my ass off here!) of this nature. Sadly, friends, that 72 hour period has come and gone. Oh, the wrath and nausea of a woman scorned. Or ignored. You pick.
3. The Yoga. Despite all my gripes, I am most desperately trying to stay healthy. Except for my unhealthy addiction to all things sodium. I even went and got myself a couple of Yoga buddies with whom I meet two or three times a week to be tortured. I used to be one of those skeptics. Yoga? That's not exercise! Well I was sorely mistaken, no pun intended. As I advertise from time to time, I mostly exercise at home. Meaning, I can stop the DVD, pause it, walk out on it, and it's always there when I am ready to come back. The actual classes? Like the energizer bunny. They just keep going and going and going. The instructor herself? What I would give for that body. Not an ounce of fat on it demostrated by every Yoga-esque pose she makes. She leads us through salutation after salutation in her calm voice while I pant and twist and sweat. It is not a graceful relationship, yoga and my body. But it helps.
4.) The kids. Suffice it to say that it is difficult enough to do overseas parenting in and of itself. (Not by choice mind you. Our offers to let Dh 1 and Dh 2 to come live with us were met with a most polite "over my dead body!" and "it's not going to happen so you need to get that through your head!" But that's a bitch of a different color, so we'll leave it as is.) When you've got a teenager? FORGET. ABOUT. IT. His verbal arguments fluctuating in between fat chicks and making a D in P.E. because he doesn't have a lock and his mom won't buy him one *oops* does have a lock but lost the combination *oops* doesn't want to do the three things a week assigned to him at home *oops* smart mouths the teacher by calling his daughter a fat chick *oops* goofs off in general topped off with a "I'M IN A BAD MOOD I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!" leave Dh and I reeling, looking at each other in disbelief (Which leads to REASON # 42603 I will be a bad parent. My immediate reaction was, "You need to take a long hard look at yourself in the mirror before you make physical judgements about bodily imperfections," while Dh calmly negotiatied the situation without causing psychological trauma which is precisely why he talks on the phone and I wave at him) . Had these actions taken place in either of our teenaged lives, there would've been hell to pay, and rightly so. A slap, a grounding. Dh 1? That kid is an emotional rollercoaster. Only 5 more years 'til he's 18. And supposedly more adult, right? RIGHT?
5. The earthquakes. Last night, DH and I sat on the couch discussing his bug (VW) and I noticed that his gesturing was shaking the whole couch. "Wow," I thought to myself, "he must be really enthusiastic about this!" Slightly nauseated, but not wanting to deter his excitedness, I looked at the Rhododendron plant to my right. Hmph. Also shaking. The light? Shaking. The fish? Sloshing around for dear life in their itty bitty tank. (If I were a slow motion movie clip, I swear you would've been able to watch the realization dawning on my face. Step 1. Confusion. Step 2. Connection. Step 3. Fear. And they say I wasn't cut out to be an actress! What do they know?) "HEY!" I interrupted. "Do you feel that?" And we just looked at each other as we sat motionless, on the couch. Waiting for the building to collapse. We live on the 4th floor. Standing in the door frame or climbing in to the tub probably wouldn't do a whole hell of a lot. So why not get in a little surfing time in your own living room on a Saturday night? I don't know about you all, but I think I am earthquake impaired. The shaking? Doubles the nausea. So imagine how thrilled I was with the 7 aftershocks! For the first two or three, I was horrified, clutching our sage green slipcover as if it could save me from death and hurling. By the fourth I was mildy annoyed, and by the seventh I was standing on the balcony, fist clenched, screaming the only Japanese swear word I know out into the wobbly night.
It's all fun and games here folks, wanna come over?