I'm such a bad blogger. The first step is admitting it.
It's pretty easy to take an experience, pull one thought from it, and post it on Facebook. But whether it's humor, frustration, confusion, etc., it's just one small piece of a larger part of your life. Toward the end of the year I've rapidly become disillusioned with FB and decided it's much more fun to tell the whole story. This way no one will read just one or two sentences and sit there thinking "What a great picture of her kids! How does she manage?" or "Well, that doesn't sound so bad." or "Wow. I wonder how she's processing/dealing with that?" Now there will be no such wondering. You will all instead be thinking "My God, it took 47 tries to get that picture." and "OH. Now I see she's making a joke to keep from crying." or "Good Lord she is totally bat-shit crazy."
Mildly interesting things that happened in the last few months or so that I did not blog about (but totally should have):
Ashlyn fell on her Heelys and broke her arm. Again.
We moved from Seoul to Pyeongtaek.
Skylar started preschool.
Owen joined the Cub Scouts.
Haley got a boyfriend.
Ashlyn fell down and almost broke her head and Scott threw away everybody's Heelys.
Haley made all A's on her report card, a huge mistake on her part, because now we know she's not dumb like we originally thought, but actually just lazy.
Fat Heidi went on a diet.
Two different doctors diagnosed me with COPD, the third leading cause of death and illness worldwide that has no cure.
Skylar got a boyfriend.
I learned how to download movies and television shows off the internet for free.
I had a lung scan to determine the severity of my COPD and found out I did NOT have COPD.
The lung scan showed a tumor on my 8th vertebrae of my spine. I named him Marty.
I was diagnosed with asthma and given two inhalers and three more oral medications to take daily.
Haley joined the guitar club.
I had several heated arguments with random Koreans.
Fat Heidi lost around 4 pounds in 5 months. She's still fat.
I opted against surgery to remove my tumor because I am afraid of doctors who do not speak English.
Scott broke his nose in the unit flag football game.
I forgot to turn off the stove before we left for the day and nearly burned down the building.
I quit all physical activity while the doctors spent several months altering my medication dosages. I promptly lost 7 pounds.
Scott and I implemented the weekly Thursday Lunch Date. Skylar also attends.
Haley dumped her boyfriend.
Skylar got another boyfriend. I'm relatively sure the first one doesn't know.
The fire alarm went off and we had to evacuate the building. The kids freaked out.
My doctor told me I needed to start seeing a Pulminary Specialist for treatment. I declined, again because of the language thing.
Scott found out he will have to have surgery on his nose.
Skylar asked Santa for a Barbie Dream House, which not ONE SINGLE STORE on the internet would ship to an APO address.
Scott was confirmed a slot in the August 2012 Command and General Staff College 1-year course at Fort Leavenworth.
My parents visited.
Scott's mother spent $75 to ship a Barbie Dream House to us.
We had another fire alarm and had to evacuate again. The kids freaked out again.
I finally found a wii game I could beat Scott at.
I would say one of my New Year's Resolutions is to be better at keeping up with my blog, but there's no fun in that. Resolutions should be about much more interesting and/or controversial things, otherwise nobody wants to hear about it. Nobody cares if you're going to run a marathon or drink more water! That's BORING! I'm not going to sit here and talk about any crap resolutions like that!
How many times have you asked someone about their resolutions and they said I'm going to save more money! or I'm going to eat more salad! or I'm going to read a book a week! YAWN. But hey, let somebody throw in some words like drugs, porn, or affair and OMG people can't get enough. BLOG BLOG BLOG.
Sadly, I don't have anything like that to give up, and I can't even make up some pretend ones because people would take it seriously and the next thing you know I would think I'm going to meet a few friends at Starbucks and instead it would be something entirely different and uncomfortable.
Plus, the things I do that are bad I like too much to give up Like cheat at the wii to beat Scott. Give that up? No way.
31 December 2011
29 December 2011
I'm so un-friendly
About a week ago I decided to cut down my Facebook friend list. I've done this before, but, let's face it, I was all pansy about it and cut maybe 5 or 6 people. This time I cut it from 505 to 218, and of that 218, 69 are family. I went through the list and I'm telling you, there were people on there I'm not even sure I knew.
note: some of the people I still don't actually know, but they know scott through the army, and he recently deleted his fb page, so I kept those people in case they need/want to get in touch with him.
another note: scott deleted his fb page because once he returned from iraq several people he met over there friended him and periodically sent him messages saying hello, how are you, where are you now, etc., and since having the job he has necessitates a top secret security clearance from the united states government it's probably best if he doesn't have a bunch of contact with iraqi nationalists. these people are perfectly pleasant but so is a paycheck. also, scott hates facebook because people try to talk to him. oh the horror.
Lots of people on the list went to Coosa, and I decided I don't need to be friends on FB with someone JUST BECAUSE we went to the same high school. This is weird to me. There needs to be more criteria than that. Just because your name might sound familiar to me doesn't mean I care if you get a new job, get fired, have a baby, get a divorce, etc. And I can't imagine you care about the things I post. Unless you are just nosy.
I also unfriended people who I knew, but who I really don't want to have any type of interaction with, because, you know, I can't stand them.
Example #1: When I was pregnant with Owen Scott deployed to Afghanistan for a year. I moved home to Rome with Ashlyn and Haley. I delivered Owen 13 days after Scott landed in the Middle East. One day a girl came up to me and said "He's so adorable, I'm just really so, so sorry he'll never get to meet his father." And I asked her, "What are you talking about?" And she answered "Well, it's just so sad that his dad will die in the war and never get to meet him, and then you'll have these three kids and be a widow. And all for a war that's only about George Bush wanting to control all the world's oil."
Yes, this person was sitting on my friend list. Thank God for people like her, otherwise I might get over my anxiety issues.
Example #2: There was a girl on my list who, every single time I hear from her, asks me how much I weigh. Because GOD FORBID I were to weigh less than she does. In a way I feel sad for her, because she's obviously unhappy and trying to feel good about herself. It's important to her that she win at this, and I totally understand that, so I routinely add pounds onto my weight when I tell her (if she's telling me the truth about her weight I probably weigh a pound or two less than she does). The crazy thing is that it's a number, and it doesn't even represent a proper comparison between the two of us because 1. I'm taller than she is, and 2. we have different builds.
I really have no reason for deleting her besides the fact that I don't have a group to put her in. All I have are acquaintances, family, close friends, Coosa High School, Shorter College, and Pyeongtaek Area. I don't have a group titled Competition.
I refuse to compete with people. Especially about something like that. There was a time when I would have, but then I graduated from high school. Grow up.
There are other people still on the list that don't need to be there.
Since deleting all these people 6 days ago I have received 9 friend requests. All 9 of them are people I deleted. Six of them are people I'm relatively sure I've never spoken to in my entire life, including FB. One of them I'm not sure I even know. One of them is someone I've never seen post anything on FB at all. One of them is the girl from Example #2.
No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO.
And yes, I realize I could have remained friends with all 287 and simply blocked them. If I was a PANSY.
It's the end of 2011. I'm tired of a lot of things and I've had an epiphany. I will be a much different person in 2012.
note: some of the people I still don't actually know, but they know scott through the army, and he recently deleted his fb page, so I kept those people in case they need/want to get in touch with him.
another note: scott deleted his fb page because once he returned from iraq several people he met over there friended him and periodically sent him messages saying hello, how are you, where are you now, etc., and since having the job he has necessitates a top secret security clearance from the united states government it's probably best if he doesn't have a bunch of contact with iraqi nationalists. these people are perfectly pleasant but so is a paycheck. also, scott hates facebook because people try to talk to him. oh the horror.
Lots of people on the list went to Coosa, and I decided I don't need to be friends on FB with someone JUST BECAUSE we went to the same high school. This is weird to me. There needs to be more criteria than that. Just because your name might sound familiar to me doesn't mean I care if you get a new job, get fired, have a baby, get a divorce, etc. And I can't imagine you care about the things I post. Unless you are just nosy.
I also unfriended people who I knew, but who I really don't want to have any type of interaction with, because, you know, I can't stand them.
Example #1: When I was pregnant with Owen Scott deployed to Afghanistan for a year. I moved home to Rome with Ashlyn and Haley. I delivered Owen 13 days after Scott landed in the Middle East. One day a girl came up to me and said "He's so adorable, I'm just really so, so sorry he'll never get to meet his father." And I asked her, "What are you talking about?" And she answered "Well, it's just so sad that his dad will die in the war and never get to meet him, and then you'll have these three kids and be a widow. And all for a war that's only about George Bush wanting to control all the world's oil."
Yes, this person was sitting on my friend list. Thank God for people like her, otherwise I might get over my anxiety issues.
Example #2: There was a girl on my list who, every single time I hear from her, asks me how much I weigh. Because GOD FORBID I were to weigh less than she does. In a way I feel sad for her, because she's obviously unhappy and trying to feel good about herself. It's important to her that she win at this, and I totally understand that, so I routinely add pounds onto my weight when I tell her (if she's telling me the truth about her weight I probably weigh a pound or two less than she does). The crazy thing is that it's a number, and it doesn't even represent a proper comparison between the two of us because 1. I'm taller than she is, and 2. we have different builds.
I really have no reason for deleting her besides the fact that I don't have a group to put her in. All I have are acquaintances, family, close friends, Coosa High School, Shorter College, and Pyeongtaek Area. I don't have a group titled Competition.
I refuse to compete with people. Especially about something like that. There was a time when I would have, but then I graduated from high school. Grow up.
There are other people still on the list that don't need to be there.
Since deleting all these people 6 days ago I have received 9 friend requests. All 9 of them are people I deleted. Six of them are people I'm relatively sure I've never spoken to in my entire life, including FB. One of them I'm not sure I even know. One of them is someone I've never seen post anything on FB at all. One of them is the girl from Example #2.
No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO.
And yes, I realize I could have remained friends with all 287 and simply blocked them. If I was a PANSY.
It's the end of 2011. I'm tired of a lot of things and I've had an epiphany. I will be a much different person in 2012.
07 July 2011
The High Life
We are staying on the 8th floor at the Dragon Hill Lodge as we PCS from Seoul ALL THE WAY to Pyeongtaek.
BTW, we've found it's easier to move halfway across the world than it is to move 41 miles.
Anyway, back to the hotel thing, yeah. 8th floor. Last night I spent WAY TOO MUCH time considering the fact that it didn't feel like I was 8 floors up. I tried to remember back to when we got here, tried to remember what floor we were on then, but I just can't. I'm leaning toward 5th, but just when I get comfortable with it some little voice in my head says "But what if it was 6th?" and I'm torn. Usually I try to go no higher anywhere than the 2nd floor if it's at all possible. Because if you are on the 2nd floor you still have a chance to not kill yourself it you need to jump. You just never know, THERE MAY BE A FIRE, and you must have a plan, otherwise you die from the chaos. Also, I would have no problem chucking kids out of a second floor window if need be, but anything higher than that and I'd probably feel bad. When we first got here and stayed on the 5th/6th floor (4th?) I probably had this same conversation with myself where I tried to reconcile just what I'd do in case of an emergency, but the time difference really gets you when you get on a plane and go left and cross over the international date line (which I think we did). OH! I remember now! Coming over here we spent an enormous amount of time in a plane over water and God didn't let us die, so I was no doubt feeling cocky.
So yeah, right now I'm trying really hard to concentrate on the fact that I'm 8 floors up and I'm just not feeling it. Which is a good thing, of course, because GOD FORBID I be feeling some type of movement or sway. And I most certainly went to the top of the Seoul Tower not once but twice, and wasn't bothered by it at all. I think it's the hotel part that's freaking me out, because of that one time when I watched the movie The Towering Inferno.
If you've never seen that movie and you're prone to spending time in hotels then I'd recommend you just skip it. Because let me tell you, you'll never be the same. To sum it up, some wires on the 81st floor just happen to spark, the spark falls on some paper in the trash below them, and a fire starts, effectively shutting down the elevators and blocking the stairs, so everyone above the fire is stuck. And there's a party happening at the top, but of course there's a party happening at the top. And Paul Newman and Steve McQueen have to explode a million gallon water tank on top of the hotel to put the fire out. And there's chaos, and fire and death and it's just terrible, and it's a movie. Now I live with an irrational fear of hotel rooms that are higher than what I deem a comfortable jumping height.
Which is crazy, I KNOW THIS, but it's been proven by the people on the Discovery Channel that people with plans have a better chance at survival. Well, people with plans and people with an absurd amount of good luck. So since we have 6 people in this family luck is spread pretty thin, so we need planning. And I don't contribute much to this party going on around here but by God I can plan the shit out of stuff. The bad part of all of this is Scott came over to pick up the keys for the rooms, and had I been there I would have politely asked for SOMETHING MUCH LOWER, but he's all "8th floor? No problem." Obviously I'm going to have to focus harder on his training.
note: I was not present at the picking up of the keys because I was having a heated discussion with a polite man who spoke no English about exactly to what degree he needed to disassemble my kitchen table. Taking the leaf out? Perfectly acceptable. Taking the individual hinges that hold the leaf off too? NOT SO MUCH. I mean, come on.
And now, NOW, we are about to sign for housing at Humphreys. A house we have no other info on other than it's located in a high rise. We had originally planned to move into a 2nd floor condo. We looked at one on the 3rd floor, which had a super high vaulted ceiling and a beautiful view of the adjoining rice paddy, but I opted for the condo of comfortable jumping height. Then Scott got all crazy about how we were going to have to pay millions of dollars out of pocket for electricity because our kids can't turn off a light to save their freaking life, so he wished really hard on a star or something and charmed the Korean ladies at the Housing Office to TRY TO DO THEIR JOB CORRECTLY FOR ONCE and lo and behold they have a house on post for us to live in, where electricity is free. And that? That right there? ALL OUR LUCK. Used up right there getting us a house on post. Now all we've got left is planning, planning, planning. Which is exactly what I do. I've got emergency plans for many things, including but not limited to, bridges collapsing (it's very broad and random, because all bridges are somewhat different, but still), fire in structures within comfortable jumping height (the whole chuck them off thing), getting separated from a child on the subway (you wait in that exact spot, and if any person tries to engage you in any way you kick them viciously in the knee-biting is also acceptable in this case), and compound fractures (which I figure is coming someday based solely on the law of averages). So now I'm going to have to work on a plan for fire in a structure NOT within comfortable jumping height.
Oh, and also one for what exactly we're going to do when we open the box at the new house that the nice movers packed the litter box in. With the litter. And the poop.
BTW, we've found it's easier to move halfway across the world than it is to move 41 miles.
Anyway, back to the hotel thing, yeah. 8th floor. Last night I spent WAY TOO MUCH time considering the fact that it didn't feel like I was 8 floors up. I tried to remember back to when we got here, tried to remember what floor we were on then, but I just can't. I'm leaning toward 5th, but just when I get comfortable with it some little voice in my head says "But what if it was 6th?" and I'm torn. Usually I try to go no higher anywhere than the 2nd floor if it's at all possible. Because if you are on the 2nd floor you still have a chance to not kill yourself it you need to jump. You just never know, THERE MAY BE A FIRE, and you must have a plan, otherwise you die from the chaos. Also, I would have no problem chucking kids out of a second floor window if need be, but anything higher than that and I'd probably feel bad. When we first got here and stayed on the 5th/6th floor (4th?) I probably had this same conversation with myself where I tried to reconcile just what I'd do in case of an emergency, but the time difference really gets you when you get on a plane and go left and cross over the international date line (which I think we did). OH! I remember now! Coming over here we spent an enormous amount of time in a plane over water and God didn't let us die, so I was no doubt feeling cocky.
So yeah, right now I'm trying really hard to concentrate on the fact that I'm 8 floors up and I'm just not feeling it. Which is a good thing, of course, because GOD FORBID I be feeling some type of movement or sway. And I most certainly went to the top of the Seoul Tower not once but twice, and wasn't bothered by it at all. I think it's the hotel part that's freaking me out, because of that one time when I watched the movie The Towering Inferno.
If you've never seen that movie and you're prone to spending time in hotels then I'd recommend you just skip it. Because let me tell you, you'll never be the same. To sum it up, some wires on the 81st floor just happen to spark, the spark falls on some paper in the trash below them, and a fire starts, effectively shutting down the elevators and blocking the stairs, so everyone above the fire is stuck. And there's a party happening at the top, but of course there's a party happening at the top. And Paul Newman and Steve McQueen have to explode a million gallon water tank on top of the hotel to put the fire out. And there's chaos, and fire and death and it's just terrible, and it's a movie. Now I live with an irrational fear of hotel rooms that are higher than what I deem a comfortable jumping height.
Which is crazy, I KNOW THIS, but it's been proven by the people on the Discovery Channel that people with plans have a better chance at survival. Well, people with plans and people with an absurd amount of good luck. So since we have 6 people in this family luck is spread pretty thin, so we need planning. And I don't contribute much to this party going on around here but by God I can plan the shit out of stuff. The bad part of all of this is Scott came over to pick up the keys for the rooms, and had I been there I would have politely asked for SOMETHING MUCH LOWER, but he's all "8th floor? No problem." Obviously I'm going to have to focus harder on his training.
note: I was not present at the picking up of the keys because I was having a heated discussion with a polite man who spoke no English about exactly to what degree he needed to disassemble my kitchen table. Taking the leaf out? Perfectly acceptable. Taking the individual hinges that hold the leaf off too? NOT SO MUCH. I mean, come on.
And now, NOW, we are about to sign for housing at Humphreys. A house we have no other info on other than it's located in a high rise. We had originally planned to move into a 2nd floor condo. We looked at one on the 3rd floor, which had a super high vaulted ceiling and a beautiful view of the adjoining rice paddy, but I opted for the condo of comfortable jumping height. Then Scott got all crazy about how we were going to have to pay millions of dollars out of pocket for electricity because our kids can't turn off a light to save their freaking life, so he wished really hard on a star or something and charmed the Korean ladies at the Housing Office to TRY TO DO THEIR JOB CORRECTLY FOR ONCE and lo and behold they have a house on post for us to live in, where electricity is free. And that? That right there? ALL OUR LUCK. Used up right there getting us a house on post. Now all we've got left is planning, planning, planning. Which is exactly what I do. I've got emergency plans for many things, including but not limited to, bridges collapsing (it's very broad and random, because all bridges are somewhat different, but still), fire in structures within comfortable jumping height (the whole chuck them off thing), getting separated from a child on the subway (you wait in that exact spot, and if any person tries to engage you in any way you kick them viciously in the knee-biting is also acceptable in this case), and compound fractures (which I figure is coming someday based solely on the law of averages). So now I'm going to have to work on a plan for fire in a structure NOT within comfortable jumping height.
Oh, and also one for what exactly we're going to do when we open the box at the new house that the nice movers packed the litter box in. With the litter. And the poop.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)