Monday, July 31, 2006
Today I had to take Nathan in to the blood lab to get a sample of blood drawn and tested for his iron level. This dates way back to when he was constipated and we were told to take him off the iron-fortified formula. Dr. Mulder, at Nate’s 6 month check-up, ordered a requisition for this test and at the time, it came back with one number of something slightly lower than it should have been. He said it was probably due to him being sick at the time and to retest in 6 weeks. Last week was 6 weeks, but unfortunately, Nate came down with that nasty bug while teething, so I postponed it to today.
I went down this morning to the lab and was able to make an appointment for the afternoon, 2:10pm to be precise. The nurse said to be 5 minutes early so I didn’t lose my spot. So I went down and was there about 15 minutes ahead of time just to be super safe. Nathan fell asleep on the way down there and even stayed sleeping on my shoulder as we waited in the waiting room. I only let him sleep for 15 minutes, though, because I didn’t want it to mess up his afternoon nap time. Well, 2:10 came and went… and so did 35 more minutes without us being called and then just as I was about to go complain to someone his name was called. As I walked into the room, there were two nurses chattering on about how much their last patient sucked and how they’re going to file a grievance on him, etc… I thought, “Oh great! They’re in bad moods and they’re going to stick a needle into my son?!!” But I didn’t say anything. I just got Nathan prepped and waited for their next move. As I waited, I heard the younger nurse say: “I’ve never used this type before, have you?”, to which the older one replied: “No, but I guess this is as good a time as any!” and then they headed towards my poor little defenseless baby to perform their psychotic little experimental procedure.
Why am I getting so hung on up this? BECAUSE! They stuck the flex needle into Nate’s poor little defenseless arm and missed the vein so she proceeded to DIG AROUND for it for, and I timed it, 5 minutes… rooting around under the skin for his poor little tiny defenseless vein. There was blood spurting out, and he was bawling and screaming, writhing in pain and I started to cry… I kept apologizing to him. “I’m soooo sorry, honey!! Mommy’s so sorry, it will be over soon… mommy’s here honey!” I cried back to each of his squeals. And then when it was finally over, the nurse taking the blood had the gall to state in a matter of fact tone: “Oh, he’s gonna have a bruise. Mommy you better hold his arm for 5 minutes, because he’s going to have a bruise…” na, na, na, na, na, na! (What, that’s what it felt like she was going to say next).
The whole experience was the sh*ts. Excuse my language, but that’s how it went down and that’s how I felt afterwards as I cried my way home and then tried to stick on a brave face while I fed Nathan his nap time bottle. The thing that REALLY gets my goat is that 7 weeks ago when we did this the first time, the nurse was so gentle that Nathan didn’t even let out one single peep. No word of a lie. How come we had to be the “lucky ones” today and have the crabby nurses with the sh*tty attitudes who hadn’t used the new type of needle before? Now Nathan’s left with a bruise the size of a quarter, and on a baby’s arm, that’s nothing to shake a stick at.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Hmmm, I think that’s all that exists in my brain right now, so guess I’d better pack it in. Was it even worth making this a post? I dunno.
Hey! If you’re out there reading this blog, leave me a comment so I know you’re there and not just writing senseless entries like this to satisfy a public that doesn’t even exist! Don’t worry – I won’t think you’re stalking me…. Unless you are and then I’m sure I’ll catch on eventually! LOL
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Skimples annoy me. A skimple is an “under the skin pimple” that never comes to the surface. It just lays beneath, makes your face red and hurts.
I think every woman should paint her toenails in the summer and sport an anklet and toe ring.
It’s impossible to eat a toasted anything without leaving crumbs.
If something advertises that it’s chewy – it BETTER be chewy!
“The Sky” and “This Guy” sound the same when you pronounce them, but have drastically different meanings.
There are a lot of non-English blogs out there.
Choking on your own spit really hurts.
“This one time, at band camp…” LOL
Not all toilet paper is created equal. Not only that, but it never feels like I’m rubbing a soft kitten on my ass when I’m using Royale. And what’s with this Angel Soft stuff. Angels must not be as soft as TV depicts them to be either.
And that, my friends, is this edition of Julie’s random thoughts.
I never went to another movie with her ever again, and I think this was when I started to hate vampires.
The moral of this story is don’t over analyze things that don’t need to be!
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
It was a very rough day... a rough month and a half while mom was trying to get to the bottom of what was going on with him. Woody was a fantastic dog and it really hit me a lot harder than I thought it would. But I suppose, after 10.5 years you get attached and they become another member of the family. Saying goodbye was super hard to handle. Now Wood’s up with his Daddy and will be able to cuddle up with him every night and keep him company.
Bye, Woody… we love you!
Monday, July 24, 2006
Have I mentioned ever before that I am horrible at clichés? Just dreadfully horrible. I am constantly mixing them up and getting them wrong. Now that I am writing about them I can’t even think of a single example (other than the one above) to post for you. Oh! Here’s one, and I think I’m going to get it right…. Be nice to me and let me down easy if I mess this one up!
Okay, so not only do I mess them up all the time, but I’m not sure I understand half of them. Seriously, that expression is used in terms of indicating something that’s fantastic, fun, great in every way, yet it’s comparing greatness to a cat’s ass. I have 3 cats. There’s nothing fantastic about any of their little puckers. Having said that… I’ve used that cliché several times.
Have you ever noticed that the use of animals is very dominant in clichés? “It’s raining cats and dogs”, “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch”, “Like shooting ducks in a pond… or fish in a barrel”. I could go on and on, if I knew any more. Thankfully, I’ve come across a site which can help me. ClicheSite.com I think I’ll study a new cliché every day and try to find some reason to use it.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Let’s get off that topic, which I find slightly frustrating, and talk about my day. Today, I dropped some things on my right foot and it reminded me not to drop things on my feet anymore. I’m pretty sure I fractured a bone or two with the last drop. It was a fold out lounge type lawn chair and as the metal part crushed the top of my foot, I screamed out in agony and proceeded to limp around for a while, trying to get all the sympathy I could. I didn’t get too much of it. The other item landed on my big toe, just short of the toenail. But I can’t even remember what it was, so it mustn’t have been too traumatic for me. The problem is, when I get busy and have a million things on my mind, as I often do, I tend to get butter-fingery and things slip or slop all over the place because I’m not concentrating hard enough. It’s not that I don’t do a good job at what I’m working on, because I am quite a stickler for doing things well. I just get… slippery! I’ll have to learn how to slow down long enough to really concentrate on my tasks.
But let’s change topic again, sort of. The other day I finally broke down and bought a pair of flip-flops. When I was a kid, they used to be called thongs. I can’t seem to get that out of my head and when I say I like so-and-so’s thongs, I really get funny looks these days. So, I’ve made a change in the rule book. I have decided to call mine either flips or flops, but not flip flops. I’ve determined that this change of names makes it hard, if not nearly impossible to walk in them. It’s like they know I’m disrespecting them by shortening their name and they’ll have none of it. They are always jumping off my feet, or sliding under the edge of something causing me to trip. In the end, I don’t know if my feet were in fact made for flops. Or, maybe I need to splurge on a better pair and spend more than $5. I’m not sure, but I do know that they scare me a little bit and I might have to give them away. Besides, I don’t think it’s natural to have to wear something between your toes. I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, but it just isn’t happening yet and I’ve had them for 3 days now. BUT, for Kim – I’ll keep giving them a try until I just can’t stand it anymore. And then it will be back to my croc rip-off’s. Ironically, if I was wearing shoes other than flops today, my feet would have been much better protected from my case of the dropsies. But would the lesson have been learned, I don’t know.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Have you ever painted a door with that seriously stinky, sticky paint that only comes off with paint thinner? I’m pretty sure I was high about 30 minutes into it, which might explain my white feet. No, seriously… I can’t paint without becoming covered in the stuff. I have the best of intentions. I set out not to get any paint on me at all, but by the end of it, I have handprints on my jeans, paint in my hair and white soles. The thing that really urked me about the feet today is that I didn’t really discover it until I took my first step onto the freshly painted (but dry) basement floor. Luckily, I had a little bit of paint left over in the can and could erase my mistake. Then I had to wait for my feet to dry before going anywhere. It didn’t take long. Now, I can be recognized walking along down the street. If you see me, come up and say hello. I think the worst part is the newly acquired absence of my nostril hair. And the fact that since the paint smell is stuck in my nose and it’s all I can smell, food all tastes like paint. Yum.
It was my mom. She just reminded me that I have another door left to paint (the closet door). See – 2 steps forward, one step back. The story of my renovating life.
PP#7: People who blow smoke into your ear on the telephone. I don’t mean to offend, but there’s nothing more pleasant than listening to someone inhale and exhale into your ear as you can picture the cloud of smoke leaving their body to pollute my air. If you are a smoker, you should be aware that this act sounds like an obscene phone call. If that’s your intent, giddy’ap!
Back to the predicament I’m in. I can only hope that while in the shower with the use of enough soap and a scrub brush my feet will return to normal and that within a few days my nose hair will grow back so that it can serve the purpose of catching dust particles once again.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Kim – thank you for taking this train ride with me. I’m glad we got seated next to each other and have the opportunity daily to add to each other’s baggage. I love you, and don’t plan on getting off the train any time soon. We still have many miles to put on together!
Sunday, July 16, 2006
PP#1: Those people who leave their signal lights on long after they’ve changed lanes or turned their corner and they don’t realize it’s on till the next time they have to use their signal. Honestly, people… blink, blink, BLINK!
PP#2: Stinky feet… yours and mine. I even go so far as to excuse myself and wash my feet in someone’s washroom rather than subject their innocent noses to stinky feet. I don’t get them often, but there was this one pair of sandals that just turned them raunchy on me. I never wear them anymore, yet for some reason they still exist in my closet.
PP#3: Backhanded compliments. You know, the kind where something is said to you and you aren’t sure whether you’ve just been complimented or insulted. They just leave me confused.
PP#4: Blaring music. Today I was in my car, a lane and a car ahead of another car that was blaring its music. The tunes were pumping out of his windows so loudly that every time the bass struck a beat my rear view mirror vibrated. I felt like I was in some sort of wacky earthquake.
PP#5: Chain letter emails. I especially hate those ones that say “if you don’t forward this to (pick a number) many people within the next (insert number of) minutes, you will have bad luck for the next 10 years! So if you have a chain letter email that you just HAVE to send to me, cut out that line before passing it on and we’ll be cool.
PP#6: Selfish people. I do believe we all have to look out for ourselves to a healthy extent, but it bothers me when people can think about nothing but themselves. I had a friend like that once. We’re not friends anymore.
Maybe that’s all for now, I am a pretty easygoing person, after all. I think as the days go on, if I happen to remember any more I’ll just post them up here on that given day. So if you come here and there’s a strange, short entry entitled PP#7, you’ll know that it's not about me going PP for the 7th time that day!
Which in a round about way brings me to the real reason for writing this entry tonight. I am forgetful. I am likely the most forgetful, and still sound of mind, person you’ll ever come across. I am so forgetful that my own family makes fun of me. We’ll all be sitting around telling stories of when we were kids and my parent’s favorite line is: “But you probably don’t even remember that, hey Jule?” as they laugh it off. Actually, I think it’s a cross between funny and sad, and I’m usually a good sport about it. Thankfully my family took pictures. But the major problem with that is I don’t know if my memories of my childhood are actual memories or if they are flashbacks of looking at the images while hearing stories about this or that vacation, etc. For all I know, my parents and siblings could be making up stories of my past to just play with my head!
It’s not that I don’t try to remember. It’s not that I had some traumatic event or some childhood abuse happen to me that I want to tune out. It’s none of that at all. I just simply can’t remember much. I do remember SOME things, and I remember having fun as a child, but that’s about as far as it goes. It seems like mostly I remember the mischief I got into when I was a teenager. And I remember my adult life fairly well, although my dad could talk me under the table when it comes to the dates of things, and I can’t seem to EVER remember when to call or check in Texas Hold ‘Em. (Is that spelled right?)
One of the hardest things for me is people’s names. I’ll be in a grocery store and I’ll see someone I know I should know. They walk over to me and strike up conversation and I chat with them, all the while smiling and wondering at the same time where the hell I know them from, and how they seem to know so much about me! It usually hits me about 3 days later – and when I blurt out “Oh right, that’s so-and-so, from blah - blah!” I feel like an idiot because everyone looks at me strangely.
Is there a pill for mid life forgetfulness? But more importantly, do I want to take it? At least this way I have an excuse for forgetting someone’s birthday, or not showing up on time for something. If it’s not on a list, I’ll most likely forget to get it done. Then, sometimes I forget to renew my collection of post-it notes and I’m really screwed.
Haha! I just realized I’m making myself out to sound like a complete idiot. I think I should close this entry and write about some of my pet peeves, while I can still remember them!
Saturday, July 15, 2006
I was listening to CKGY here not too long ago and they had a guest speaker. I completely forget her name, but I remember clear as day what the topic was.
INTRODUCING: The PMate! LOL! No, seriously! Check it out at http://www.femalefreedom.ca/!
Now you can pee anywhere, without even baring ass to the world! No more worries about dribbling down your leg and inconveniently getting it on your pants when you are in the middle of a hike in the woods with the guy you want to marry. No more worries about sitting on those disgusting toilet seats. No more nightmares about having to enter an outhouse. Never squat beside the vehicle on the side of a busy road ever again… stand there instead! I saw the movie “The Full Monty” a long while ago and was totally flabbergasted at the scene where the two (or is it 3) women go into the men’s washroom and one of them stands up at the urinal, and, while standing, pees like a man! I always wondered if that was just the magic of movie making, or if it was possible. Well, now it doesn’t matter, because with the invention of this little gem, we can!
Curiosity get the best of you yet? I think I’m going to order some.
WARNING: Reading this blog might just become as addictive as reading mine are. C’mon, admit it – you can’t live without me! ;O)
- From The Friday Bottom of the Blog Bag
- Stuff You Didn’t Know About Diet and Exercise
- How Much Does It Hurt?
Friday, July 14, 2006
- Frame the bathroom and storage room
- Run electrical for entire basement
- Completely build spare bedroom (frame, drywall, mud, paint, carpet, trim)
- Completely build a bathroom from the plumbing up, shower, toilet and sink
- Hang lighting
- Frame around all the stupid jiggy jogs in the ceiling where ducting is
- Drywall, drywall, drywall…and just for good measure… drywall all but one room in the basement
- Hire out the mudding and taping and the stippling
- Clean all the drywall dust from the mudder/taper (I don’t think this job ever ends)
- Prime the whole basement
- Hang 4 doors and a closet
- Stain, poly and poly all the trim
- Hang all the trim for the doors, windows and closet
- Run a separate plug/breaker for the central vac and change the bedroom breaker to an ARC Fault protected one
- Re-hang the breaker box cover and paint the office
- Paint the landing, and one red wall
- Paint the new doors
- Re-caulk the upstairs tub and front entry
- Hang the towel bars, etc. in the new bathroom
- Sand the glue off the basement floor and paint it
- Fix the leaky window
- De-clutter, de-clutter, de-clutter
- Lay sidewalk in back yard, define flower bed
- De-weed patio area and parking pad area
- Continuously try to keep up with the weeds in the pea gravel area and front flower beds
- Mulch entire front flower beds
That might be the complete list, or I might have forgotten to include a thing or two. I have to say THANK YOU, THANK YOU, and THANK YOU again to all the family who helped us with this mighty endeavor. It hasn’t been fast, or easy… it’s been labor intensive and extremely maddening at times. It’s been hard tiring work and I want to say thanks for sticking in there with us and helping us out. I just have one question: Mike Holmes says that if you want a good paying job that will keep you in shape, become a contractor. When does the money come flowing in, and how come I’m not in great shape yet?!
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Now, I pride myself on being eclectic when it comes to music. I’m not going to lie and say that I like every band and all genre’s, but I tend to be able to find at least something good about just about any kind of music. It makes my life easier, because it doesn’t matter what’s playing in whoever’s car I’m riding in, I’m usually happy with whatever. I like folk, rock, alternative, country, jazz, blues, classical, classic rock, instrumental, relaxation, golden oldies, 80’s, bluegrass, hip hop, R&B, children's tunes… I like some heavy metal, some rap (although heavy gansgsta rap doesn’t really do it for me). I know there are more genre’s, and chances are that I like something from them too. When I was pregnant, I taught music class and Baby Bean (at the time, now known as Nathan) would just bounce around in my tummy with all the different beats. I hope he grows up being eclectic as well.
But as the story began, I do have a favorite band, when all is said and done. Thank you Great Big Sea for being so great. Thank you for your fast and your slow songs… for your traditional melodies and for your more rock inspired tunes. Thank you for the stories in your songs and the meaningful lyrics that sometimes bring a tear to my eye. Thank you for making me laugh and thank you for being so cute! Thank you for all the instruments you play and thank you, ultimately, to my sister for introducing them to me!
It was boring. My unmarried name is connected with stuff like taxes and chemistry. I almost flunked math and I hated chemistry, how ironic! But did I hate chemistry because of the subject matter, or because of the teacher? In Sr. High, my chemistry teacher was one of those teachers you made fun of all the time because, well… he stunk and he wore the same clothes every day. He had these great big pit stains under his arms and whenever he was pointing at the periodic table or writing on the chalkboard, we all snickered and made fun of him. I’d like to see in his closet, though. Maybe he didn’t in fact wear the same clothes every day. Maybe he had 5 of the same outfits that he just cycled through. Ha ha! Brings back good memories. Ever have a teacher like that?
I guess while we’re on the topic of occupations (did you know that was what we were talking about?), I’d like to say thanks for all the nice comments regarding my writing. I’ve had quite a few people tell me that if I’m not already thinking about writing for a career, I should be because my writing sparks something within them that they just find really enjoyable. So to you I say, thank you, and hey! If you have any job offers out there, I’m looking to work from home, so email me!
At the end of the day, if you are bored and want a bit of a chuckle, Google your name and see what happens. Maybe you were meant to be a burger flipper at Burger King.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
I guess the moral of this short story is not that: you are what you eat… but that you don’t have to act your age, all the time. Accomplish your goals in life, but do it while having fun.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Monday, July 10, 2006
Sis, did you remember to get the thing and put some of the stuff into the thingy?
Yeah, But the thing held much less of the stuff than I thought it would.
Where’s the rest of the stuff?
I put it in the other thingy, over there by the thing, and when that was full I just threw out the rest of the stuff.
This, believe it or not, happens more often that I’d like to admit. But somehow we completely understand each other. Is it some kind of secret language that we use so no one else gets what we’re talking about, or do we just know each other so well that we don’t need to be wordly. I’ll never tell.
P.S. Is wordly even a word in the thingy thing?
Yesterday I saw an entire family of 6 wearing croc’s. A few weeks prior to that, I saw a thing on the news about how croc’s have hit big and how everyone raves about them. Did you know, according to this newscast that you can now purchase BLING for your croc’s? Yes, you read correctly… bling. Someone decided to capitalize on the trend and make little clip on things that you shove through the holes in the top of the shoes to decorate and personalize them. They are like little charms for your shoes. Okay, I just have to say – as if these shoes weren’t stupid enough to look at in the variety of rainbow colors from black to fluorescents to pastels, now you can make them look even more ridiculous by adding little dangling objects that draw even more attention to your feet. A person would assume that the bling is only for children, but you’d be surprised at how many people, adults included, this newscast said were buying the tack-on’s. I don’t know what makes me more mad – the fact that people are decorating their shoes, the fact that they need to decorate their shoes so they can pick out their pair from everyone else’s, or the fact that some twirp is making millions of dollars on the sale of charms for shoes!
You may be wondering, did she stay resistant to the trend? There are knock-off brands that look very similar to croc’s and yes, I have a pair, called AirWalks. I’m not impervious to ALL things fashion. Instead of little circles, mine have little diamonds. That’s how I can tell mine apart from everyone else’s. But how come my pair cost basically the same as the croc’s? Aren’t knock–off’s supposed to be cheaper? If you go to Jysk, you can get the real knock-off deal for like, $8. And WalMart also sells them for around $5. My advice to you is to get either the real croc’s or the air walks. They feel the same. A friend of mine and I accidentally put eachother’s shoes on and couldn’t tell the difference, except that her shoes felt tighter on me and mine felt bigger on her (but let’s attribute that to the size difference and not the quality of shoe). Maybe what I need to do is come out with bling for AirWalks. Afterall, the holes are different, so the bling will have to attach differently. I could be the next millionaire.
Anyway – happy blinging and happy walking… but watch out for the sweaty feet. If you wear these shoes you’ll know what I’m talking about. Just remember, it’s never rude to go wash off sweaty foot smell after a long day of wearing sweaty shoes!
First of all, I’d like to say congratulations… you’ve been E’d! I was first introduced to the concept of being E’d about a year and a half ago and believe it or not, since the time of my fateful introduction, I have actually been E’d probably at least 65 of those weeks, and usually for stretches of 2 or 3 weeks in a row before I get a much needed break.
Let me explain to you what being E’d is. It is the concept that he is still everywhere, seeping into your life in sneaky little ways when you least expect it. The concept plays on the fact that everyone (especially Americans, apparently) gets E’d at least one time every day, making you think of The King in some form or fashion. This can happen in a variety of ways.
- You see a picture or poster of him in a bathroom or restaurant, etc.
- You flip through the tv channels and see a cheesy impersonator
- You go to Las Vegas and see an impersonator (or just being in Vegas makes you think of him)
- You are listening to the radio and hear the word ELV in a song lyric that’s not an ELV song
- You hear an actual song by him
- You are driving behind someone and see that they have ELV in their license plate (which in turn makes you E yourself because the ELV reminds you of his name)
- You see some guy walking down the street sporting an ELV doo and sideburns
- You see some guy walking down the street sporting a white jumpsuit with sequins and you ELV yourself
- You are watching late night tv and an old black and white ELV movie comes on
- You see the Burger King sign which in turn makes you think of “The King”
- Out of no where, an ELV song just pops into your head and it isn’t until you’re in the middle of singing Blue Suede Shoes that you realize you are Elvissing yourself
- Lastly, you are too preoccupied of the thought that you will be E’d today that you in turn keep Elvissing yourself, day after day!
Have I forgotten any? Probably. But just reading this blog, you got E’d, what… 17 times? Do yourself a favor, don’t scroll back down to this blog once you’ve already read it, or you’ll get E’d again!
Kim – thanks for the suggestion to write about it, but I’d already E’d myself yesterday while thinking that I should write about it today!
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Here's another prime example of "put-on-the-spot-edness". I took Nathan to the clinic to get some blood drawn when he turned 6 months old because they needed to test for iron. I get there, get right in and as I'm laying him down on the bed to prepare for the needle, the nurse asks me:
"Can you please spell his name" - to which I aced with flying colors.
"Date of birth..." - to which I fumbled and bit my lip and spouted out December 12, 2006!!! Oh my! The look she gave me! And I felt so stupid, because I'd just said that he wasn't even born yet, and she looked at me and said, "you mean December 8, 2005?" Uh... DUH! How could I draw a blank on my son's birthday? It was only the most important day in my life so far!! Geeeeeez. I made up some excuse that it was my nephews day of birth, but I had no excuse for the year. It's 2007, isn't it?? :OP
It's the being under pressure thing, I think. If you're not naturally a person who has the ability to think off the cuff then being put on the spot is hard! Just remember that next time you ask me for some type of information. Be prepared to wait through my idiocy for a few minutes till I manage to snap back to reality and begin to speak coherently again.