Gnumoon's Stuff

Riding my drama llama into the sunset

I’ve decided that confrontation isn’t worth it, and that if I were truly going to be the bigger person, I wouldn’t have posted about the situation at all and just ignored it.  Eez a slippery slope, no?
So, I won’t bring it up, but I will file it away. Forgiving without forgetting. I need to remember that this person has some kind of problem with me, and not let my guard down in the future. C’est la vie.

Thanks for the advice all, sorry for the visit from the drama-llama!

PUoTD: Not much to report. Kicking, punching, wax-on/wax-off, and stretching seem to be the favored activities.

a hypothetical question...

Completely hypothetical question of the day…
If someone insults both your unborn child AND your dog, and thinks you don’t know they did so, what do you do?
Bonus: What if you’ve done them a gigantic favor recently out of the goodness of your heart?

Do you:
A. Let it go and be the bigger woman (TAKE THE HIGH ROAD)
B. Confront her, likely causing a nasty scene (TAKE THE LOW ROAD)
C. Say nothing, but make sure that said favor backfires completely. (TAKE THE PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE ROAD)
D. Say nothing (but never truly let it go) and let it fester for years, then one day just explode about it in front of her and others so that you come across as possibly insane and definitely unstable. (TAKE THE WINDING ROAD)
E. Tell me, “Oh, for the love of Pete, Gnumoon, what is this, a damn MySpace page? Grow up.”
F. Other (Please describe)

Normally I'm ridiculously non-confrontational, but these hormones must be jacking me up, 'roid rage style, because I'm fairly close to saying something about it.
She wouldn't like me when I'm angry. Gnumoon SMASH.

My husband is begging me to go with A. on this one, although he’s annoyed about it as well. He cautioned against “stooping to her level.” That level, btw, is on the same maturity rung as "6th grader trying to start shit in homeroom before the bell rings."

All this is completely hypothetical, of course. It's just a "what if" scenario- nothing to see here, move along. (Don't call me worried I'm mad at you. This fictitious person doesn't read my blawg, so therefore it isn't you.).

superpups

It's been kind of a rough day, so instead of a whiny, pity-party post... look at the cute & talented puppy!
More puppy pics here.
 

Simile of the day: "...Like throwing a hot dog down a hallway"

Apparently there is a reality game show in the works called “Virgin Territory” where a male (the casting call is for an 18-34 y.o.) who has never had sex will get to make the beast with two backs with either amateur skankbag Paris Hilton or professional skankbag Jenna Jameson.
Amazing- a program where the Grand Prize is, in the best-case scenario, an utter loss of dignity and a scorching case of herpes. Must be a Fox show, sponsored by Valtrex and Rid.

Umm, what? This is mind-boggling on so many levels...
1. Isn’t this concept basically the same as prostitution? Is it even legal?
2. Is this what the world has come to- this is considered entertainment?
3. There are men left in the world who would voluntarily have relations with Paris Hilton or Jenna Jameson? That should be the death penalty for Bin Laden, only he'd have to sleep with both of them.

My theory is that reality TV, Thomas Kincaid, and our celebrity-worshipping culture are pulling this nation closer and closer to the edge of the abyss, and this show may well shove it over. Just as a meteor in the Yucatan destroyed the dinosaurs, decay and financial ruin caused the fall of Rome, and replacing Fox Mulder with the T-1000 caused the extinction of the X-Files, so could this show spell the loss of western civilization as we know it.

The next step in the reality-TV craze is probably deadly animals vs. people, and then the crazy train pulls into the station the only place it can end up- on the set of The Running Man.

ps- Jenna Jameson is a cautionary tale. Comparing a photo of her in 1995 and today is astounding. The sun damage and plastic surgery (and maybe drugs- she looks really thin) have added years to her- she looks like some type of siliconized orange reptile. Or maybe it's the years in the porn industry that have aged her.

Political mudslinging, literally

I’m not a huge follower of politics. I know I should be better informed about the people who make the decisions that affect our lives, but politics tend to bore me, outside of a few key issues. And I tire of politicians preferring to fight back and forth instead of actually tackling any issues.

And now we have the upcoming presidential election…not any time soon, mind you, but apparently so soon it has to be in the news constantly. It’s true that I don’t agree with our President on pretty much anything, and also true that I’ll be glad to see him go (and further true that the nickname “Chimpy McFlightsuit” makes me giggle), but I’m just not ready to be in “election mode” yet. Americans have pretty short attention spans as it is- can we really keep up with round-the-clock election coverage for an event that isn’t going to happen for a year and a half?

If we’re going to be subjected to it, at least make it interesting. So my proposal for the immediate future is this: The Democratic party should get a gigantic redneck kiddie pool and fill it with mud, jello, or (ideally) apple-cinnamon-flavored oatmeal. The last man (woman) standing gets the nomination. Who’s with me?


PUoTD: Not much to report today. Just that it's inadvisable to take prenatal vitamins on an empty stomach, and you'd think I would have figured that out by now. blecch.   

Why I'm on "The list"

The only thing a pregnant woman can safely take for a heinous headcold is Sudafed.
The active ingredient in Sudafed is pseudoephedrine.

Rednecks make methamphetamine.
The active ingredient in methamphetamine is pseudoephedrine.

So, a miserable pregnant woman must not only drag herself out of the house to the store, but must then take the card for Sudafed to the pharmacy and present 2 forms of ID, then sign an electronic form and fill out a card so the Authorities have it on record that she is cooking up hillbilly heroin in her kitchen.

ps- The nurse suggested that instead of medication, wouldn't I like to try drinking some tea or taking a little nap? She's fairly lucky I hung up before telling her exactly where to put her herbal remedy.

pss- As a pharmacist, which as you more terrified to see approaching your counter:
1. A gaunt, toothless meth addict who has recently used his barren and bloody gums to try to gnaw off his lips and whose skin is sloughing off in so alarming a way as to make him resemble an extra in Dawn of the Dead, or
2. A pregnant woman with a headcold

Trying to explain my fears

It’s a she. The baby is a girl. Fetus Jackson has a gender.

And I wasn’t thrilled.

And the guilt that I’ve been dealing with about not being thrilled has been all-consuming. Me? A tough chick who believes that women can and should do anything that men can do, not thrilled about ushering in a new generation of strong females? It’s been eating, festering, hovering…why do I feel like this?

It isn’t disappointment, it’s anxiety.

Let me try to explain...
I believe that it is harder to be a woman in our society than it is to be a man, from about age 10 on. So much pressure, so many pitfalls…I wanted it to be easier for my child than it has been for me. I don’t ever want her to feel like she’s inadequate because she isn’t thin or beautiful or popular. And conversely, I don’t want her to feel superior to other women if she happens to be thin, beautiful, and popular.

How can I raise her to be well-adjusted and happy with herself when I myself have never managed to be? How can I avoid passing on all my insecurities about my looks, my weight, my personality, and my very worth as a person? I feel like such a failure at so many facets of life, and I never want her to feel that way. But I fear that inadvertently, as easily as my genes will give her light eyes, she will also inherit my hang-ups and bottomed-out self-esteem levels.

I’m not at all saying that boys skate through life, but I think it gets easier for them as they grow up, because it’s a man’s world. That’s just the truth- the world is very divided along gender lines, and I see it every day (although maybe not *quite* as much as I did working in collegiate athletics). It’s just our societal bias- I’ve had to fight for equality in the eyes of almost every man I’ve ever known, and that includes many that I love deeply. (I usually do manage to prove myself equal, but I shouldn’t have to prove anything.)

I want her to feel loved and accepted, and hope that helps her turn out to be a stable and fine all-around person, but every other commercial on Comedy Central shows intoxicated coeds making out with one another and showing off their boobs for Girls Gone Wild. Most of those girls have families and love and support- and yet it still makes sense to them to get drunk and strip for attention (and, from what I hear, a free GGW t-shirt). I’m no prude, but the very existence of that DVD series has always made me sad, and now it scares the shit out of me as well. (And how can one mother compete with a society that has no problem with this?)

A dear friend said that having a girl was better, because as a female you know what they’re capable of pulling and what they will go through. Maybe because I DO know all those things, I worry for my unborn daughter. I don’t want her to go through some of the shit I have, and yet I know she will, because it’s all part of the game of life that I’ve volunteered her to play in. I can’t protect her from life, but how do I equip her with the skills to survive it with her dignity and sanity intact?

There is much more to this- I’ve been pondering it for weeks- but this post just seems to be rambling on with no conclusion or “Voila! This is the answer!” in sight, so I’ll end here for now.  I think I’ve saddled the poor kiddo with enough emotional baggage for one night, don’t you?
There she goes with the kicking again- maybe she’ll be into kickboxing- that’s something strong women do, right? (Or perhaps she’s already mortified by the hideous thighs I’ve passed down and is trying to get in shape for summer.)

ps- I was just reading a Fark thread about changing diapers, and the quote "like wiping gravy off a deck of cards" almost made me spit banana pudding on my computer.
Would AppleCare cover that?

graffito

I've always been drawn to outdoor works left by anonymous artists. Not the rednecky "I luv U Lurlene" sprayed-on-an-overpass variety, but the quirky "Artist with something for you to ponder and/or be amused about" variety that I see occasionally on buildings and in dark corners of alleys. This is one of the better examples I've seen lately.

It looks like there is some Jamie Hewlett inspiration going on there along with a healthy dose of Jhonen Vasquez. Much more interesting than the usual crap people scrawl on the campus tunnel entrances.
Note: There are 2 longish tunnels on campus that are protected areas for painted/written expression. I've always loved the idea, but the reality is that there are a lot of badly-drawn greek letters and symbols with invites to frat keggers.
Last year there was an interesting altercation because a Christian group on campus painstakingly lettered an entire book of the bible in one of the tunnels, only to have it immediately defaced by the rugby team. Those Baptist kids were PISSED, lemme tell ya, and didn't quite consult their WWJD bracelets before retaliating in kind. Good times.

ps- I'm very please to be able to add back one of my favorite bloggers to the 'sphere. She went away for bit, but she's back and bettah than evah.

PUoTD: I got a nasty and alarming nosebleed the other night- the first one I've ever experienced.    
Thanks, 50% extra blood volume!
    The same night the kiddo was booting me pretty regularly, so after a particularly big kick I pushed back on the same spot, and she pushed back against my hand. Pretty neat feeling, although I'm sure it meant "Get the hell out of my house!" more than "Hi mom, let's bond."

When the wolves come out, it's all over. Everyone knows that, even the singletons.

This post randomly involves wolves, twice. I don't think I've ever even used the word "wolf" on this blog before. Hmm.

First off, we finally have covers for the first Gunslinger graphic novel (I'm over 15, so I can't call them "comic books." It has to sound more dignified and arty.) Marvel has emplyed the classic technique to get nerds to buy more than one of the same issue, which is
multiple covers. It always worked on me.

I was hoping that this series would fill in some of the post-Mejis, pre-"man in black fled across the desert" years, but it looks to be mostly a graphic retelling of Wizard and Glass.

Many of the characters/beasties in the series seem like they'd translate well to comic book (ahem, graphic novel) form, like the lobstrosities, Blaine the mono, the wolves of Thunderclap, Mordred himself, and of course the Thing Under the Castle. Being a chick, I must admit I always loved little Oy the best.

The second wolves-related tidbit for today is The Wolves in the Walls. It's a Gaiman/McKean children's book Bif got me for Christmas, and I just love it. I recommend it highly to everyone, regardless of age. Well, it might be a little dark for very young kids, but I don't think there's much of a toddler demographic here at GM's Stuff.

Actually, now that I think of it, many of my favorite books as a small youngster were fairly dark. The Rainbow Goblins was (and remains) one of the best- its themes were decidely morose. Even the old standby, Where the Wild Things Are, could be considered disturbing or scary. But that's part of being a kid- learning that there's a bad guy, or a monster, around every turn and that you have to be prepared for it. It's much more relevant (and interesting) for a kid to imagine battling an anthropomorphic wolf in a wall than dealing with an unreasonable boss at work.

ps- If you're looking to brush up on your Mid-world facts, TheDarkTower.net's wiki is a great resource. Thankee-sai.

PUoTD: I'm not experiencing the outright exhaustion of early pregnancy anymore (I'm 50% done with the whole shebang), but now I'm dealing with a marked lack of stamina. If I sit for more than 10 minutes at a time, it feel sleeeeeeeepy, so sleeepy. Unfortch, this includes while driving. So if you see me driving about with my windows down in the snow, rest assured that the air conditioner is on and my shoes aren't. Anything that keeps me too uncomfortable to drift off!

Back to life, back to reality

We've returned, reluctantly. It was a great trip, despite less than stellar weather.

Also, if you recall seeing the port of Miami almost getting blown up last week...yeah, that was on our ship. We got to be part of a real-life Miami-Dade police department terrorist alert. The most interesting part was when all the port authorities came sprinting out of the terminal and screaming, "RUN! RUN AWAY!" at us. I, of course, took pictures until a very unfriendly man told me to stop.

Turned out it was nothing, but they had to blow up the suspicious package, just to be sure. Sounds kind of like Mythbusters.

Anyway, we're home now, and have spent the day cleaning out the attic storage space in preparation for yet another "Adventure in Home Renovation: Phase VIII, the Guestroom." The aim here is to make it a proper guestroom, and not just an extra storage space that houses piles of junk that can be moved strategically to reveal a bed on which houseguests can sleep if absolutely necessary.

Also, the room currently has some raspberry-colored carpet that is hideous to the point of indecency. Not even the Southernest, politest of our friends can bring themselves to say, "Aww, it isn't that bad" upon looking at it. Mostly they don't say anything, but instead make gagging noises, since a mere glance at the carpet triggers involuntary fits of vomiting. I'd post a picture of it, but I don't want to break my new camera.

Well, it's off to bed so I can be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow as I go off the mountain to help Dr. J pick out a wedding dress and get fitted for my bridesmaid dress (although I wouldn't trust those measurements for a second these days).

In an effort to avoid turning this site into one of the much-hated "mommy blogs," I've decided to put a "PUoD" at the end of my posts (Pregnancy Update of the day). That way, those of you who wish to read about my impending bout of motherhood can do so, while the rest can enjoy my usual snark and cynicism without risking reading a sappy, hormonal posting. So without further ado:

PUoD: DJ finally got to feel the kiddo move while we were on vacation. She kicks (or hits, or headbutts, or whatever she's doing) with such force it can often be seen from the outside, and is exceedingly strange to observe.