tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2335753080751842902024-01-06T11:29:41.103-08:00Sarcasm 101rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-5150033321257624172013-07-23T19:52:00.001-07:002013-07-23T19:52:47.973-07:00So it just so happens that BlogHer 13 is this weekend and guess who's going? That's right, me. I know, it makes perfect sense doesn't it? A prolific blogger like me going to BlogHer?<br />
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What's that you say? Eight blog posts in the last 12 months does not count as prolific? Whatever. I'm just going for the wine. What? What? I have wine at home? And it's <b>way</b> cheaper than going to BlogHer? OK, shutup. I'm still going. You're not talking me out of it.<br />
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But here's a token blog post, just so that I can say my last post was this week. ;)<br />
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<br />rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-13258555264826588992012-12-11T19:21:00.000-08:002012-12-11T19:21:10.509-08:00How Wrong I Was<span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.983333587646484px;">I am writing this post from my iPhone. This is not the easiest way to write a blog post, but I am doing so because I am trapped under my sleeping 6 year old. Trapped in his bedroom, lying on his bed, with his little body planted squarely on top of me, his arms extending on either side of him and wrapped loosely around me. I was lying next to him at bedtime and mentioned that I would be leaving soon. He then crawled on top of me to prevent my departure and fell asleep about three minutes later. I can extract myself, and will... shortly. For now, I am lying here, soaking in the moment, and contemplating how very differently my pre-mom self would have viewed my current predicament.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);">We all change when we have kids. We all think we know exactly what kind of parent we'll be. In many ways, I actually <b>am</b> that parent my pre-child self envisioned. But in many other ways, I am not. Pre-child me would probably have seen this, my being trapped under my sleeping child, as a sign that I had caved, given in to the pressures of parenting and a failure to live up to my own standards. Not entirely inaccurate, but there's more to it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);">I remember when pre-child me was talking to a mother about her young child's bedtime routine. The parents had moved a twin bed into the child's room because they inevitably ended up lying with the child in his room until he fell asleep. The twin bed was just for the parents. This, swore pre-child me, would NEVER be me. A child is capable of falling asleep on their own and it is a disservice to the child to not teach him to do so. Also, what are the implications to your child's view of the world when you move furniture and modify your own evening schedule to accommodate their wishes. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);">This is the ideal of parenting I held when my first child was born. Thus, he was able to sleep through the night at 8 months. We put him in his crib, he cried briefly, then fell asleep. He was a great sleeper and a very happy baby. When he eventually learned to get out of his bed on his own, he quickly learned that he was to stay in his own bedroom until we came in to get him at 7. By the time he was 3, I was sure I had the child sleeping thing nailed.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);">And then I had my second child and things changed. No, it was not the added draw of my time, juggling two children, or the plain old exhaustion that changed me. It was seeing that tiny baby and realizing that my nearly four year had grown so very much and so quickly. It made me realize with starker focus, that time wasn't just flying by, it was racing. And suddenly my view of parenting changed dramatically. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);">My 4 year old would wake in the middle of the night and want to sleep in our bed, and instead of thinking "it's really best for him if he sleeps in his own bed," I instead could only see my sweet child and the fact that I really only had a few more years left when he'd even WANT to sleep with me. My child was asking to lie next to me in bed, put his arms around me, and feel safe and comfortable and loved. How had I ever viewed this as unhealthy for him? <b>I'm</b> a grown up and <b>I'm</b> much more comfortable sleeping next to my husband than sleeping all alone. Of course my child feels the same way! So now I not only "let" him join us in bed, I embrace the occasions. For this time will be so brief, I intend to take every opportunity I can to ensure that my sons feel all the love I can give them.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.00392157);">Go ahead, pre-child me, roll your eyes. I've "given in" to the idea of a "family bed." But I'll take an occasional night of less than restful sleep (as I'm kicked and slept on), because every time he wakes me up, I use it as an extra opportunity to wrap my arms around him savor these moments. Because eventually he will become.... a teenager.</span></div>
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rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-29484277347240167302012-08-28T20:32:00.000-07:002012-08-28T20:32:10.151-07:00The Bittersweet Take on a Rubyspikes VacationAs you may know, I was on vacation last week. It was fabulous and relaxing and blah blah blah...<br />
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Sorry, folks, but even the best of vacations aren't quite perfect. And that, my friends, is my great talent in life. I don't see it as complaining, I'm pointing out opportunities for improvement! At this, I excel. <br />
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Now before you go on thinking how miserable and ungrateful I am, know that my first post-vacay post was all, "this is so awesome." So at least I'm not always miserable. I've got that going for me. Anyway...<br />
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Here are the top five things that annoyed the crap out of me on my nearly perfect vacation. <br />
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5. Poorly executed commercials. While wasting time channel surfing, I saw a commercial for farmersonly.com. It's a dating site for farmers and other rural folks. In it, some talking cows are discussing a poor, single girl who's taking a walk through the cornfield alone again. (Hey, cows. You should stop feeling bad for the single girl. I've got a feeling her future is brighter than yours.) Meanwhile, the screen shows a girl walking through what I'm pretty sure is a wheat field. I don't know for sure, I don't walk through many wheat fields. But I am from Illinois, so I do know a cornfield when I see one. And that was no cornfield. I felt bad for the rural Americans looking for love. If the farmersonly.com folks can't even identify the type of grain the girl is walkin through, I don't have high hopes for their ability to make a rural love connection. <br />
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4. App designers not usability testing their work. I had some <a href="http://sarcasm-101.blogspot.com/2012/08/how-twitter-mobile-is-making-me-crazy.html">issues with the Twitter app</a> this past week. You may have heard about that one already though. <br />
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3. Noise. You see, when you're trying to unplug and relax, you realize just how damn noisy people can be. Lawnmowers, hammers, garbage trucks, screaming children, iPhones left in neighboring hotel rooms with alarms going off that NEVER TURN OFF for HOURS! Seriously, people, I'm trying to take a 3 pm nap over here. Next vacation I'm heading to Montana. I hear it's quiet there. <br />
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2. People who don't realize the difference between being polite and folksy and being rude and condescending. Case in point, when the 50-something TSA agent calls the 80-something woman he's screening "young lady." Dude! Knock that shit off. 80-something is not young unless she's a Redwood, so you're not being cute, you're being patronizing. Cut it out. If you pull that crap with me when I'm 80, I'm going to smack you upside the head with my cane. <br />
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1. The baggage claim area. God how I hate the baggage claim area. It <b>could</b> work so nicely. But NOOOOO. Some of you jerks need to stand as close to the belt as is physically possible. Can't stand 2 feet back so that everyone else can see their bags as well. Nope, YOU need to stake out your own personal section of the belt. YOU need to make sure that when your bag arrives, not a second of your precious time is lost due to things like "common courtesy" and "human decency." And once one person steps up, everyone else has to step up, too. Partly because you can no longer see the bags coming because of the jerk standing right next to the belt blocking your view, but also because now everyone is standing next to the belt so if you don't get up there, too, there won't be space for you. And then when you see your bag and try to politely say, "excuse me," people look at you like, "you can't fit in here! Go find your own section of the belt!" I'm here to tell you, you're all freakin' idiots. Back the frock up. If y'all would each take two steps back, there'd be room for everyone and everyone would be able to see all the bags. On this trip, not only did a jerk decide to park himself directly in front me (like literally stood with his back 8 inches in from my nose when there was about 5 feet of open space just 3 feet to my right), he decided to build a 9 suitcase wall in between me and the belt. He's damn lucky my suitcase didn't come before his wife came and whisked their suitcases away or I would have climbed over his suitcase mountain to get through to get my bag. Jerk. <br />
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But like I said... Other than that, it was perfect. <br />
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(God, aren't you glad you're not my husband.)rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-19375407681120085642012-08-25T19:17:00.001-07:002012-08-25T19:17:57.339-07:00Relaxation VacationThis past week I have been on vacation. My husband was invited to a work event that took place at the Ritz Carlton in Orange County, California. By attending, his airfare, rental car, and lodging would be covered, hence if I could find some decent airfare and someone to watch our kids, it would essentially be a free vacation for me. I, of course, took the opportunity.<br />
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On my first day in paradise, I struggled with what my plans for the week were going to be. I knew that I was going to need to do SOME work over the course of the week. But I didn't want to spend so much time working that I felt like I was "wasting" my vacation. However, I'm a little too Type A for my own good and I knew that if I just layed around by the pool I would feel like I was "wasting" my time when I could be DOING something. Ugh. Two things are clear at this point. 1) I need to learn how to relax. REALLY relax. And 2) my constant struggle to find balance has followed me on vacation.<br />
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The good news is, this week at least, I found it. I worked a couple hours each morning, but did it primarily from my super-comfy bed with a beautiful breeze coming though the French doors to the balcony and the sound of the ocean waves crashing in the distance. Not bad. I also did my very best to delegate tasks that needed to be accomplished instead of feeling like I had to step in to make sure everything got done. (And of course, the team back home managed just fine without my constant presence.)<br />
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But not only did I find the right work balance, this week I also broke free from relaxation guilt. I decided to not feel guilty about relaxing the way that I really wanted to relax. This was harder than it sounds.<br />
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We arrived at the resort on Monday, so Tuesday was my first full day to relax. Tuesday morning, after a couple hours of work, I decided to grab my iPad and head down to the pool so I could sit in the shade on a chaise lounge chair and read some new as-yet-undownloaded eBook. Tuesday afternoon I hung out with my husband for a couple hours before we both headed to a work-sponsored dinner. Not a bad day. <br />
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Wednesday morning though, was when I made my big decision. I thought about going to the spa or back to the pool or down to the beach. But you know what, those pool chairs weren't nearly as comfy as my bed. And the beach chairs would be the same. I didn't really feel like swimming, and the spa SEEMED good, but I just wasn't really in the mood. (And you don't pay $100+ for a massage unless you actually want one.) The bed I was in was comfy. Like SUPER comfy. And with the doors to the balcony open, there was a beautiful breeze and the constant sound of the ocean, which was awesome. And I finally realized that the spa and the pool and the beach SOUNDED very relaxing, but what I REALLY wanted to do was not have to take a shower, lay in bed, and read. Now normally, this is when a little voice in my head would pester me with thoughts like, "Wow, great use of the resort, with its with great food, a beautiful beach on the Pacific Ocean, a great pool, beautiful views, a spa, great little shops nearby, and so much more, you're going to spend the day doing something you could do at home." But this time, I ignored that voice and, as a result, had a wonderfully relaxing vacation. I did almost nothing the entire time. Slept. Read. OCCASIONALLY showered. Slept and read some more.<br />
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Plus, it turns out, that little voice is feakin' stupid. When can I ever spend 5 consecutive days at home just sleeping and reading whenever I feel like it??? (Skipping an occasional daily shower though, that might not be so rare.)rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-50074940752662755072012-08-23T18:22:00.001-07:002012-08-23T20:48:51.116-07:00How Twitter Mobile is Making Me CRAZY!I'm on vacation at the moment. It's a kid-free, do absolutely nothing kind of vacaton. I'm really enjoying it. I've pretty much been laying in bed, in a beach chair, or by the pool with my iPad and reading. I've been reading a book that's been on my list for a while. I've been reading blogs that I haven't visited in AGES. I've been checking in on the folks on Twitter and Facebook. It's been great. Until today when Twitter has made me NUTS!<br />
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I don't have a million followers on Twitter. I don't even have a thousand. And I follow only about 500 (at the moment). But still, 500, at least for me, is to many to straight up follow without some sort of a system. My system: lists. I just have bunches of lists and I read different ones depending on what I'm in the mood for. <br />
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A while back, a new version of the official Twitter app for the iPhone eliminated the ability to update lists, including updating list membership. This blows. I do most of my tweeting from my phone, so eliminating a key piece of my functionality sort of sucks. Especially when the previous version of the app HAD the functionality. So sometimes I follow new peeps, but if they're not in a list, I really won't ever see their tweets. So then I have to remember to periodically login to my computer and put all the new peeps into lists. A major pain in the ass. <br />
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Today, I figured that I would outsmart the damn Twitter app and use the browser on my iPad. The iPad has a big enough screen to not be really annoying using the full version of most websites. <br />
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I pull out my iPad and go to twitter.com. My first thought: Why does it look just like the app??? Oh! I'm on the mobile site. Ok, where's the link to the full site? I look and look, no link. Anywhere. I type in "www.twitter.com" again like I'm a website idiot (I'm not) just hoping it will take me to the full site, fully knowing it won't. It didn't. I Google it. There's really no way to bypass it without downloading weird apps and other solutions that require WAY too much work. Fine. F*** it. I won't clean up my Twitter lists today, I'll just go back to reading blogs. <br />
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I read a few posts and then remember that I follow some folks on Twitter whose blogs I wanted to add to my Reader. Quick stop back at Twitter to get the blog URL's. Not. <br />
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First, another damn list problem. I know the three people I want to get URL's from are all in the same list, but there's no way to view list membership from the mobile site. All I can see is their tweets, IF they've tweeted recently. I scroll. And scroll. And scroll. Apparently they're on vacation, too, 'cause no recent tweets. <br />
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Fine, I think. I'll just search for them manually. (I know. My life is so hard, but really, this should SO not be necessary.) I can't remember the handle of one person. I know her real name (which is VERY common) and her avi. Neither of those are going to help me. Oh well. Scratch that one. I type in the handle of tweep #2. She comes up. I tap on the little link to "view full profile." No link to her blog! No, not because she didn't list it, it's just not showing! I confirm this by opening my own profile page. No blog link. Oh for the love of God!<br />
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I pull out my iPhone, search for the same someone, and go to her profile page. Voila! There it is. So I'm sitting there with my iPhone and my iPad together, searching for tweeps on my phone, and then typing their blog URL's into my iPad. <br />
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Seriously, Twitter. I love you, but THIS you've got to fix!rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-52628424921324966192012-08-21T18:45:00.001-07:002012-08-21T18:45:42.585-07:00I Need a BookIt has been forever since I read a really good fiction book. I love non-fiction and read a lot of it. What's more, my usual subjects are probably what most would consider atypical. I love A.J. Jacobs, Michael Pollan, Bart Ehrman, Steven Levitt, Michael Lewis, and Dan Airley. If you haven't heard of any of these people, I'm not surprised. They're not really household names. <br />
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But I've been reading Harry Potter to my son at bedtime and boy has it made me miss a good page-turner. We don't get very far each night, so I always find myself wanting to keep going, even though it is clearly time for him to sleep. I do my Mommy-duty and put the book down, but now I need to find another decent fiction book. <br />
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But what??? I have not read either of the two most recent sensations: The Hunger Games and 50 Shades of Grey. I'm just not enthused about kids killing each other. And I'm just passing of 50 Shades. The last good fiction I read was The Help. It was pretty good. And The Kite Runner. Also good. Before that, Angels and Demons and DaVinci Code, but whatever that third one was was not great. Oh, and there was The Red Tent and Replay and Time and Again were good. <br />
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Maybe I should just read one of the classics that I never got around to. <br />
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Oh I don't know. Come on people. Give me some recommendations. rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-35371164809304089012012-08-10T16:57:00.001-07:002012-08-10T16:57:39.845-07:00BenignShortest blog post ever. Update from the last blog post. Both biopsies came back benign. <br />
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Carry on. rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-84121190498978398092012-08-04T18:46:00.000-07:002012-08-04T18:46:36.531-07:00Visiting the Other SideToday, I'm going to take you on a little journey; a journey to the other side. It's a journey I've taken scores of times, so I'll hopefully be a pretty good guide. <br />
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The journey to the other side begins with knowledge; knowledge of the impending pinch. It's not terribly painful, you already know this, but it begins the journey regardless. You're instructed to lie down, which of course, you know is wise, but will not alter your travel plans. <br />
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"You're going to feel a pinch," you hear. <br />
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Then you feel it. Not that bad. Really. Maybe, you think. Maybe I can will myself to stay here. <br />
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And then it begins. A slight, almost imperceptible spinning in your head. It is so subtle that you tell yourself that it's not real, it is just your expectation of what would happen and not an actual feeling. Then a more concrete feeling of nausea begins to take hold and you realize that your journey has not been canceled. Your vision changes slightly as the brightest areas of your vision seem to darken into purple. Then, the wave of discomfort, like the worst nausea ever... times ten. Now you <b>try</b> to let go, knowing that it is the only thing that can take this horrible feeling away. <br />
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Now, in an instant, you are on the other side. You have no memory of where you were a moment ago. You are someplace else, someplace real. It is not a dream. This world is strange, but real. <br />
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And then it starts to fade. You feel yourself being pulled away. You hear voices, but don't know who they are. You feel someone touching your face, hear someone calling your name. You try to make sense of the sensations, try to figure out where you are. Slowly, very slowly, you begin to remember where you are. You realize you've been dreaming. And just as you do when waking from a normal dream, you grasp for the dreams, if only just to remember them. They were so vivid that you want to at least remember them. But unlike your normal dreams, they are gone. You're not even fully conscious yet, but you cannot remember anything about where you thought you were just two seconds earlier, only that they were so vivid that you were certain that they were real. <br />
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The dream state fades. The queasiness that started this journey returns, only with greatly reduced intensity than before. You look at the faces around you and wonder how long you were "gone." What felt like 15 minutes was probably seconds. <br />
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"Welcome back," they say. "Feeling better?"<br />
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Feeling better? Yes. But man, I'd love it if next time I could just pass on this whole experience.<br />
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Yesterday I had a suspicious mole on my shoulder and another suspicious "skin thing" near my eye biopsied. Dermatologist wasn't particular worried, but thought we should do the biopsies to be sure, especially on the "eye thing." (He probably used an official term, I wasn't really listening.)<br />
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At least since I was 10 years old, probably earlier, I have fainted after nearly every shot I've received. I've also fainted when my cat was in a fight and had a gaping wound in his neck, while reading a book in 6th grade about surgery, while watching a movie in 8th grade where I passed out onto the lap of the boy sitting next to me, and on and on. So when I need to have a needle stuck into me (like when getting an IV before giving birth or getting a biopsy), I pretty much know what's going to happen. I find it humorous how often I still need to convince people that it's going to happen. (I know the TB test won't hurt. Trust me, I'm still going to faint.) I'm 38. I've done this a few times.<br />
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But even though I know it's coming, I still hate it. I HATE that <b>HORRIBLE </b>feeling right before it happens. It's really bad. I hate being the high maintenance patient that has to lie down for a simple blood draw. I hate that I feel like an idiot when I come to because I don't really know where I am. I hate that I feel like an idiot when it's really out of my control. I hate that everyone tells me "it's all in my head." Great, and how does that help me? Also, random person on the street, please tell me how much you actually know about vasovagal syncope. I've kind of been dealing with it for three decades.<br />
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Yesterday, I hated it so much more. Yesterday, I didn't just faint. I fainted 4 times! I kept waking up, only to feel a bit better and then be completely overcome with the same sensation and go right back out again. When I woke up the fourth time, it was because I was vomiting. Lovely. Also, that's never happened before. Normally, I wake up and am back to normal in about 10 minutes. Yesterday, 30 minutes later I was still sitting in the doctor's office feeling "off." I decided to go home and nap instead of going back to work. Even at 10 pm I still felt not 100%.<br />
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Today, I am mostly better. Today, I am hoping that this is all ado over nothing. Biopsy results in 14 days. Again, the doc wasn't terribly concerned, I'm not really concerned, but fingers crossed anyway.rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-64954052552122549622012-06-26T21:03:00.000-07:002012-06-26T21:03:11.231-07:00DOMA = Defense of MY ASS!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8Wh65CyOPCxoCpHfLTWGNlVHJ_Pq_mIw1UCYKQteUW_e4WZ6Mg5aPdikMSztPAfgrDFWUBWyPkjjCOlLT0oNckertszcPn2PTFdpg6fxJKRfbYCKeL9PzPTiOJgCG-dwzq_95MPCzQva/s1600/defense+of+my+ass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8Wh65CyOPCxoCpHfLTWGNlVHJ_Pq_mIw1UCYKQteUW_e4WZ6Mg5aPdikMSztPAfgrDFWUBWyPkjjCOlLT0oNckertszcPn2PTFdpg6fxJKRfbYCKeL9PzPTiOJgCG-dwzq_95MPCzQva/s320/defense+of+my+ass.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I try to write profanity-free. I'm not exactly profanity-free in my normal, walking-around-in-the world self, but I just think it looks icky on my blog. But right now, I am so annoyed that this is gonna be hard. HARD!<br />
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So today I learned a couple things about DOMA, and in so doing, learned that I didn't really know much about DOMA in the first place. Basically, I knew that DOMA = the Defense of Marriage Act. I knew that it was passed by Congress and defined marriage by the Federal government as a union between a man and a woman. And I knew that it's a silly waste of time for the conservatives in this country who are trying dearly to cling to their definition of marriage when clearly the tide on this issue is moving against them. It's only a matter of time. OK, that last part was less fact than opinion. But anyway... So really what I thought of DOMA was that it was stupid and temporary.<br />
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Today I learned what DOMA really does. DOMA prevents the Federal government from providing any tax-payer money to same-sex couples in any sort of marriage benefit, even if they were are legally married in one of the many United States that allow gay marriage, since the <u>Federal</u> government does not recognize their marriage. I guess I knew this. Kinda. But gay couples have never gotten any sort of marriage benefits from the Federal government before, so I guess I never thought anything of it. Until I learned about the impact that it has on gay soldiers.<br />
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With the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell, gay and lesbian Americans can now serve openly in the United States Armed Forces. Finally. Finally, your sexual preferences have nothing to do with whether you are able to serve your country. Finally, service personnel do not have to lie about who they are. Finally.<br />
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However, gay couples receive none of the marriage benefits that heterosexual service personnel receive. None. This is not because the military doesn't want to do it or the rules haven't kept up. It is because DOMA prevents any taxpayer money from going to pay any marriage benefits to same-sex couples. Some of the many things gay service members don't receive include:<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">Lower housing allowances, since the military must treat them as if they are single.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">No </span><span style="background-color: white;">on-base family housing.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">No military ID cards for spouses, meaning spouses cannot enter military bases without being escorted by a service member. So no shopping at </span><span style="background-color: white;">commissaries, which often have reduced prices for service members and their families. No access to the military medical facilities. No access to recreational activities that happen on base among military families. </span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">Lower disability payments to disabled </span><span style="background-color: white;">veterans, again, because the military must treat them as if they are single</span><span style="background-color: white;">.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">No survivor benefits to your spouse you are killed in action.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">No ability to be buried next to your spouse in a military </span><span style="background-color: white;">cemetery</span><span style="background-color: white;">.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">No travel allowances to spouses to attend repatriation ceremonies for service members killed in action.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="background-color: white;">Did you get those last ones? You volunteered to serve your country. You were deployed to a war zone, and fought for your country while most Americans were sitting on their couches watching Dancing with the Stars, and then you were killed in action. And now the vocal minority of Americans who think that a commitment between two people of the same gender does more to destroy marriage than the 1 in 2 divorce rate among heterosexuals, have declared that the government cannot assist your spouse in attending your repatriation ceremony or save a burial plot for you in a military cemetery because they happen to be the same gender as you!!! What a freakin' CROCK!!!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">And how about all those services denied to the families of living, gay service personnel? Your spouse can't come on base without an escort? You can't live on base with your family? Because (let's all put our head in the sand and pretend that) you're not really a family!?</span><br />
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I tell you what. If every SINGLE person who voted for and supports the Defense of Marriage Act agrees to serve a single tour in Afghanistan, I'll shut the hell up. But until that time, the brave Americans who are fighting and dying for our country should get every single benefit that they are due. Every. Single. Benefit.<br />
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For those of you that are in the military or who are gay, I am sorry for being late to the party. I know that all of this is old news. But dammit, I am on board now. <span style="background-color: white;">Because <b>THIS </b>is bullshit.</span>rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-2487380552546705902012-06-20T07:03:00.000-07:002012-06-20T07:03:13.353-07:00My Remember List<br />
These days it seems that everyone has a bucket list. I do not. While I am quite a lover of lists, I have decided that one thing I don’t need in my life is a list of things to accomplish before I die to make my life “complete.” Sure, I truly hope that I get to see France before I die. But if I don’t make it to le Midi because I “wasted” all my time in the American Midwest playing with my kids and "sleeping in" next to my husband, I shall still consider my life a great success.<br />
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So to serve as a reminder to myself to keep my days focused on the things that are truly important, at least to me, I created myself a Remember List. These are the things that I will try to Remember every day.<br />
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<br />rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-68597398824443080922012-05-30T19:26:00.000-07:002012-05-30T19:26:21.243-07:00That Awkward Moment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-20435051088635542302012-03-19T19:02:00.002-07:002012-03-19T19:02:46.337-07:00A Pinterest Look at Dieting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLj5oJ63YCTmgtJtrMW-rs8gX6NE1NfzjIxRsmLvElqk2sD95VSHkpzVBTKOf7fNEvbpqUd3Yix-KEEOhzx7hxSXfYxLD9V5_yggjR_WDMdOPEf9ejeqB7yXqGJ6dlq12Nsvxz6IgTVmc/s1600/pinterest+view+of+dieting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLj5oJ63YCTmgtJtrMW-rs8gX6NE1NfzjIxRsmLvElqk2sD95VSHkpzVBTKOf7fNEvbpqUd3Yix-KEEOhzx7hxSXfYxLD9V5_yggjR_WDMdOPEf9ejeqB7yXqGJ6dlq12Nsvxz6IgTVmc/s1600/pinterest+view+of+dieting.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-3888857107107128962012-03-18T12:59:00.000-07:002012-03-18T13:04:45.941-07:00This Week in Tweets: The Only Guy That Can Beat Obama<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvq6AdyyBYLiwkk-5UdGVkpSI5wjdS5nyFNPlXT92cc-uk3AS35uDTgcf1jd3sSsnPU1DtuysH0aa-T2frEhP3AVN4K1uo-ykHMS6lu_AAzbP19Ji-v9SZ3Fs3ui9_2Mfa3ga4cCZ6trsu/s1600/2012-03-18datedthisweekintweetsbuttonlarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvq6AdyyBYLiwkk-5UdGVkpSI5wjdS5nyFNPlXT92cc-uk3AS35uDTgcf1jd3sSsnPU1DtuysH0aa-T2frEhP3AVN4K1uo-ykHMS6lu_AAzbP19Ji-v9SZ3Fs3ui9_2Mfa3ga4cCZ6trsu/s1600/2012-03-18datedthisweekintweetsbuttonlarge.jpg" /></a></div>
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My personal ten favorite tweets from this past week.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8jGedIfVcx9rNksNbyhQx4uG90tavTMxF-KEOEe_8jTdW6alK8L3J_Q_Kf1UDywNaYOL_gSa45xwXD5fkkGMIBFCVSp1rQ-80-4p0ym_Ekdn-gUxiSFnp3kz-3zTU6TlppRUAzuLXt2fc/s1600/2012-03-18+-+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8jGedIfVcx9rNksNbyhQx4uG90tavTMxF-KEOEe_8jTdW6alK8L3J_Q_Kf1UDywNaYOL_gSa45xwXD5fkkGMIBFCVSp1rQ-80-4p0ym_Ekdn-gUxiSFnp3kz-3zTU6TlppRUAzuLXt2fc/s1600/2012-03-18+-+final.jpg" /></a></div>
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This week in tweets made possible by: <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/JohnFugelsang">@JohnFugelsang</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/JimGaffigan">@JimGaffigan</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/Brenvolio">@Brenvolio</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/BorowitzReport">@BorowitzReport</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/smonkyou">@smonkyou</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/gonnakillhim">@gonnakillhim</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/FunnyJokeBook">@FunnyJokeBook</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/LOLGOP">@LOLGOP</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/Cheeseboy22">@Cheeseboy22</a><br />
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Now go... <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/rubyspikes/followthefunny">follow the funny</a>.<br />
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(<a href="http://twitter.com/#!/rubyspikes/followthefunny">FollowtheFunny </a>is a Twitter list of the tweeps that have recently appeared on my <a href="http://sarcasm-101.blogspot.com/search/label/thisweekintweets">This Week in Tweets</a>.)<br />
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<br />rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-30203795817944343372012-03-11T20:27:00.004-07:002012-03-11T20:27:57.985-07:00This Week in Tweets: An Obese Drug Addict<br />
My personal ten favorite tweets from this past week.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYyIwvuHc-m6tBLm9CPHfP-gkUjn671UqwnYJ7x8mZjSkDOmQopNTHYJgPf60r3g7ZFcaH9ah2xGx5mexhGthdrR4urGnr7YEM_nWqBd4jZEV7EGTLxkWlCYhKQY2tiGwfiwEQqigYKL8A/s1600/2012-03-11+-+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYyIwvuHc-m6tBLm9CPHfP-gkUjn671UqwnYJ7x8mZjSkDOmQopNTHYJgPf60r3g7ZFcaH9ah2xGx5mexhGthdrR4urGnr7YEM_nWqBd4jZEV7EGTLxkWlCYhKQY2tiGwfiwEQqigYKL8A/s1600/2012-03-11+-+final.jpg" /></a></div>
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This week in tweets made possible by: <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/jillsmo">@jillsmo</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/LABeachmom">@LABeachmom</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/JohnFugelsang">@JohnFugelsang</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/BorowitzReport">@BorowitzReport</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/SarcasminAction">@SarcasminAction</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/MomIn_AMillion">@MomIn_AMillion</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/MarinkaNYC">@MarinkaNYC</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/Cheeseboy22">@Cheeseboy22</a><br />
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Now go... <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/rubyspikes/followthefunny">follow the funny</a>.<br />
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(<a href="http://twitter.com/#!/rubyspikes/followthefunny">FollowtheFunny </a>is a Twitter list of the tweeps that have recently appeared on my <a href="http://sarcasm-101.blogspot.com/search/label/thisweekintweets">This Week in Tweets</a>.)<br />rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-18013583775777458672012-03-06T16:40:00.002-08:002012-03-06T16:42:32.285-08:00Story SticksThis past weekend we had absolutely no plans, so I decided to make Saturday a project day, inspired by a couple projects I saw on Pinterest. The first project was inspired by this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7KMhTqeN75rVKuEUpM3whAl_A3979kfBiJnKEj2EvBWqRxoGjKQy3cb2TOmb2XcErNwBLS9JdtjspLLTYeI72N33baFuO-8-8Qnd-RCz5SOhKuVq4hfnhusxfY94meXlRUL1K3204aQ/s640/IMG_0771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7KMhTqeN75rVKuEUpM3whAl_A3979kfBiJnKEj2EvBWqRxoGjKQy3cb2TOmb2XcErNwBLS9JdtjspLLTYeI72N33baFuO-8-8Qnd-RCz5SOhKuVq4hfnhusxfY94meXlRUL1K3204aQ/s320/IMG_0771.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from: <a href="http://www.lifeinthegreenhouse.com/2012/02/date-night-in-jar.html">Life in the Green House</a></td></tr>
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It's a cute little jar filled with painted popsicle sticks with date night ideas. Super cute. But I wanted to do something with the kiddo, so I came up with this alternative. It became an entire day activity and kept us both entertained.<br />
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I had talked to the kid earlier in the week about what <b>all</b> of his storybooks had in common. We talked about characters and settings and how all the characters had a problem that they needed to solve. So on Saturday morning we headed out to buy some popsicle sticks and paint. We brought them home and painted 80 sticks four different colors, 20 of each. The painting project took about an hour. An activity that keeps the kid entertained for an hour is a win.<br />
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Once we were done painting the sticks, I had the kiddo gather some of his favorite books.<br />
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We spread out the books and the kid had to place one stick of each color onto each book.<br />
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We then went through each book. For each one we wrote the main character on the yellow stick, the setting on the green stick, and the conflict on the red stick. For the blue stick, the kid could choose any other item that appeared in the story.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-CRdJ1W1FM-E6wYnMoRWzNoOZ1wdTY22umJTS9n1KYjQhqjsJJQH4jFQAejiG8uVdSqweRNeJt-8jlbbbAkbQ06o0wSTAL6sZyfYBJxtOIb7CtuyMUvZ3eBZIMcC1flO7lYNyHmP6W_8/s1600/llama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-CRdJ1W1FM-E6wYnMoRWzNoOZ1wdTY22umJTS9n1KYjQhqjsJJQH4jFQAejiG8uVdSqweRNeJt-8jlbbbAkbQ06o0wSTAL6sZyfYBJxtOIb7CtuyMUvZ3eBZIMcC1flO7lYNyHmP6W_8/s640/llama.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0a5BAWrSVMvkHjdA3BuWrmhMucDqLXuICZGdEHcFtkfQFpL2m46fUxWRWMDfJfs1MzfyRlXbTBB5Pghyphenhyphenj1yboSP5ChXky0xEnZM5RpYp5y7EqLkzzkbuzUpxbuCM3tPhNT25FnovdBW_/s1600/miss+nelson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="598" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0a5BAWrSVMvkHjdA3BuWrmhMucDqLXuICZGdEHcFtkfQFpL2m46fUxWRWMDfJfs1MzfyRlXbTBB5Pghyphenhyphenj1yboSP5ChXky0xEnZM5RpYp5y7EqLkzzkbuzUpxbuCM3tPhNT25FnovdBW_/s640/miss+nelson.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The blue sticks offset the fact that I was trying to keep the characters and conflicts and settings rather general, so I'd occasionally change what he suggested. So instead of Courderoy's conflict being that he "lost his button," I changed it to "lost something."<br />
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This activity amazingly kept him interested the whole time. It was worth the entire project just for this portion. He named the character, setting, and conflict in thirteen of his favorite books and he thought it was a game. Parenting win.<br />
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After we finished each of the books, we had extra sticks left over. We then came up with our own ideas for characters, settings, conflicts, and "special items" that could appear in stories. Conflicts were pretty tricky, so I came up with most of those. He did about half the characters and most of the settings and all of the "special items." When we were done, we had this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSAlzTNMPJM9gz1V98y31etL92TzPPRbyC5LrJS15jTNQ9P7NHDHgOXkiisE-Y60Nwwc-i-gDvzOK8oBMjir18WH5aq3pxAFWmJhDEiTZQD8hZGNhwrQ9bYbRHEgy3xcFWE4ayFJO9XzR/s1600/sticks1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSAlzTNMPJM9gz1V98y31etL92TzPPRbyC5LrJS15jTNQ9P7NHDHgOXkiisE-Y60Nwwc-i-gDvzOK8oBMjir18WH5aq3pxAFWmJhDEiTZQD8hZGNhwrQ9bYbRHEgy3xcFWE4ayFJO9XzR/s640/sticks1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggT3TBjbhHEFKgP8prPZcwV9zJX9tfL7b444IsLMnv3hX54qLizcvb8TzL5jmYcS9JIGwwZcp1BZVzUUb4GSUnioovn-HG4_vNdEH-oHv8T5zO208KQn4-xH77PsOPrKtqEnQRybGqCQs1/s1600/sticks2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggT3TBjbhHEFKgP8prPZcwV9zJX9tfL7b444IsLMnv3hX54qLizcvb8TzL5jmYcS9JIGwwZcp1BZVzUUb4GSUnioovn-HG4_vNdEH-oHv8T5zO208KQn4-xH77PsOPrKtqEnQRybGqCQs1/s640/sticks2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I made a little card that showed a little story arc and we looked at each of the books to see how each one had a character that tried multiple times to resolve a problem, and then finally did in the end.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5hcM6cEP1LnxsthZ07F4jCAvxJDDoEl5Juvsp0aWJpeXNXqw6uqgGXd4K10k4DfCgRsOKFyF5jtKtljtMWsMhi2FMwVYwzQfA5TL0mwiAk_AFMluWFrbNxHcIefJbigahFq_qopxvRsW/s1600/arc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5hcM6cEP1LnxsthZ07F4jCAvxJDDoEl5Juvsp0aWJpeXNXqw6uqgGXd4K10k4DfCgRsOKFyF5jtKtljtMWsMhi2FMwVYwzQfA5TL0mwiAk_AFMluWFrbNxHcIefJbigahFq_qopxvRsW/s640/arc.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Now for the game. We stuck all the sticks into a tall tin. The game was to pull out one of each color and create a story using what you get.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4cQOr2-WFF1J3Kbyr8mQFfs83rJpbeyIpy2g_ZXOBLJnUumGABr0ZLSjsSe87RHVV5QLuYlhW3dlHMPXJvoU2C1OQZ9qxXQSO0WscG3uNguiVNHcIcmsXi9eYLQIoVugS9_cn8IHkF-8H/s1600/game.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4cQOr2-WFF1J3Kbyr8mQFfs83rJpbeyIpy2g_ZXOBLJnUumGABr0ZLSjsSe87RHVV5QLuYlhW3dlHMPXJvoU2C1OQZ9qxXQSO0WscG3uNguiVNHcIcmsXi9eYLQIoVugS9_cn8IHkF-8H/s640/game.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I wasn't sure if the project was going to die at this point, but he was really excited to play. Daddy went first, then the kid, then Mommy. Then we all went again. As a bonus, I think he'll actually want to play again.<br />
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If you're interested, you can check out the kid's first story here: <a href="http://little-ants.blogspot.com/2012/03/story-sticks-bored-wizard.html">Story Sticks: The Bored Wizard</a>.rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-82712474188426185552012-03-04T17:17:00.001-08:002012-03-04T17:17:26.118-08:00This Week in Tweets: I Can't Get that Oompa Loompa Song Out of my Head<br />
My personal ten favorite tweets from this past week.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1AmCbixyVo4mPhrokHISmK1Pj_GfVgxDykCihDwrA6xns_cBsh0ELA65GOwRLMjEkxLb6opLuHYNNeCJyoJLIr7wJpoVsbfxx4fu044kHseWyLzzH0kr78zwlW_zMgMx7WL4AvbAR2NA/s1600/2012-03-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1AmCbixyVo4mPhrokHISmK1Pj_GfVgxDykCihDwrA6xns_cBsh0ELA65GOwRLMjEkxLb6opLuHYNNeCJyoJLIr7wJpoVsbfxx4fu044kHseWyLzzH0kr78zwlW_zMgMx7WL4AvbAR2NA/s1600/2012-03-04.jpg" /></a></div>
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This week in tweets made possible by: <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/mikeyversace">@mikeyversace</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/sbellelauren">@sbellelauren</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/SDenckhoff">@SDenckhoff</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/Cheeseboy22">@Cheeseboy22</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/BorowitzReport">@BorowitzReport</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/MomsBitching">@MomsBitching</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/TheWreckingDoll">@TheWreckingDoll</a><br />
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Now go... <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/rubyspikes/followthefunny">follow the funny</a>.<br />
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(<a href="http://twitter.com/#!/rubyspikes/followthefunny">FollowtheFunny</a> is a Twitter list of the tweeps that have recently appeared on my <a href="http://sarcasm-101.blogspot.com/search/label/thisweekintweets">This Week in Tweets</a>.)<br />rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-77085427225699997432012-03-02T19:42:00.000-08:002012-03-02T19:42:55.349-08:00Hope-y Change-y Gas PricesSo I saw this picture on Pinterest the other day. Of course I didn't pin it and now I can't find it again on Pinterest. Dammit. So instead I turned to Google Images. Bam! (Google, you rock, BTW.)<br />
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Here's one version of the picture:</div>
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Turns out, there are now many of these floating around:</div>
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<a href="http://noshirtsnoshoesnoshamans.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/nobama-gas-pump-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://noshirtsnoshoesnoshamans.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/nobama-gas-pump-1.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lkhih32tMU1qzuq4lo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lkhih32tMU1qzuq4lo1_500.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="http://i847.photobucket.com/albums/ab40/katiepavlich/Screenshot2012-02-18at113723PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="144" src="http://i847.photobucket.com/albums/ab40/katiepavlich/Screenshot2012-02-18at113723PM.png" width="200" /></a> </div>
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Now dear Republicans, I know how you're feeling right now. Really, I do. You<b> really</b> are not a fan of the President and you can't stand the idea of another four years of him in office. Oh how I remember the George W. Bush years when I felt <b>EXACTLY</b> that way.<br />
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Unfortunately, there's a little problem with this whole post-it campaign you've got going here. The first problem is that this argument was first posed by Michele Bachmann during one of the <a href="http://www.politifact.com/truth-o-meter/statements/2011/sep/08/michele-bachmann/michele-bachmann-says-gasoline-cost-179-gallon-whe/">Republican Presidential debates</a>, and really, you should think a little harder before repeating a Bachmann argument. There is sure to be a flaw.<br />
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Have you figured out what it is yet? No, it's not that gas wasn't really $1.78 a gallon. That part is actually accurate. The problem is that there's just about nothing that the President of the United States can do to impact that number. Sure, he can set the energy policy for the country, but even assuming that Congress got on board 100% (which we know is unlikely), that would still have next to no impact on the actual price of gas.<br />
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What's that you say? The President could allow more drilling for domestic sources of oil? Oh yes! I had forgotten how we Americans live in a tiny little bubble and things that happen in the rest of the world do not impact us. Because guess what, it turns out that <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970203441704577068670488306242.html">in 2011, the United States was a net <b>EXPORTER </b>of petroleum products</a>. We actually sold more gasoline products to the rest of the world than we imported.<br />
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And here is where you need to remember your high school economics lessons. It's a basic supply and demand curve, folks. Lots of people in the world using gasoline means that the people who produce gasoline can charge more for it. It doesn't matter where those people live these days, because a barrel of oil pretty much has a single price anywhere in the world at any given point. So we can turn to offshore drilling or drilling on "protected" land all we want. Heck we can start boiling baby seals and bald eagles down into oil, and the price of a barrel of oil isn't going to budge.<br />
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The only thing that's going to make your gasoline bill go down is you driving less or getting a more fuel efficient car.<br />
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So I'm sorry that the President hasn't stopped gas prices from rising. Perhaps you're also upset with him because War Horse didn't win Best Picture or because of the amount of snowfall you received this winter. Sorry folks, but "Hope and Change" didn't mean "I've got a magic wand."<br />
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I know you're not a fan of his policies, but how about you complain about the things that he actually <b>does</b> have control over. Go back to griping about Obamacare or the end of Don't Ask Don't Tell or the creation of The Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. Those are legit and I welcome the debate.<br />
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Come to think of it, the President probably does, too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4_RNn-QKRFStFmzXXq1wFOV7bFFwMtqnur7aC4bWY5rcsDLOcEyTlY0yyr2RTCCwou8LBe4Qte9bGLSgEKnv0_j3GFX3moZHRdowljsfnY1hm_l20T7UV9tD4xTJUC4SslkX2t0Q4O4C/s1600/hope-y+change-y+gas+prices.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4_RNn-QKRFStFmzXXq1wFOV7bFFwMtqnur7aC4bWY5rcsDLOcEyTlY0yyr2RTCCwou8LBe4Qte9bGLSgEKnv0_j3GFX3moZHRdowljsfnY1hm_l20T7UV9tD4xTJUC4SslkX2t0Q4O4C/s1600/hope-y+change-y+gas+prices.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-40138225884806691142012-02-29T19:31:00.000-08:002012-02-29T19:31:29.328-08:00Snark Therapy: InspirationsRecent additions to my <a href="http://pinterest.com/rubyspikes/snark/">Pinterest Snark Board</a>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79798224617425550/">link to Pinterest</a></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #211922; font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Psst. Little orange fish. You wanna know which direction I think the shark is going to come from?</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79798224617430000/">link to Pinterest</a></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #211922; font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Hey, Lady! You might want to stop living the now and open your eyes. The neighbors would really it if you'd cut your grass already.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79798224617366929/">link to Pinterest</a></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #211922; font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">It's lies like this that let the douchebags keep on being douchebags.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://media-cdn.pinterest.com/upload/79798224616960312_XLchfH2D_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://media-cdn.pinterest.com/upload/79798224616960312_XLchfH2D_c.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79798224616960312/">link to Pinterest</a></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #211922; font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Disclaimer: This does not apply if you are going to work, going out to dinner, going to the store, or otherwise going "out." In that case, brush your teeth AND your hair, put on some make-up, and for God's sake change out of your pajama's!</span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79798224617074087/">link to Pinterest</a></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #211922; font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Sign at Bass Pro Shop: "All good things are wild and free" -- HDT. I'm wondering why they didn't add, "and we can help you make it dead."</span>rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-71616410203696667722012-02-26T20:15:00.000-08:002012-02-26T20:15:32.075-08:00This Week in Tweets: The Return<br />
My only recurring blog topic, This Week in Tweets, has been away for far too long. Well now it's back, baby.<br />
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My personal ten favorite tweets from this past week.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5UBBoJk1biaw4DuEcn6wyf3ByWGOgZ9hZQgxoMb8dq7RWj_1R8of9jXxRt_uA9SLMyg4jy_7wb0_eU3TQWTqNkytUhYmxo2bixHUxvJrD88i5CkGuHqtCZVC7VAqqdslG2fLnik806TS5/s1600/2012-02-26+twit+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5UBBoJk1biaw4DuEcn6wyf3ByWGOgZ9hZQgxoMb8dq7RWj_1R8of9jXxRt_uA9SLMyg4jy_7wb0_eU3TQWTqNkytUhYmxo2bixHUxvJrD88i5CkGuHqtCZVC7VAqqdslG2fLnik806TS5/s1600/2012-02-26+twit+final.jpg" /></a></div>
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This week in tweets made possible by: <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/BorowitzReport">@BorowitzReport</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/guiltysquid">@guiltysquid</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/LABeachmom">@LABeachmom</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/AlisonSWLee">@AlisonSWLee</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/MarinkaNYC">@MarinkaNYC</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/SarcasminAction">@SarcasminAction</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/ReaIDosEquisMan">@RealDosEquisMan</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/JohnFugelsang">@JohnFugelsang</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/Cheeseboy22">@cheeseboy22</a><br />
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Now go... <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/rubyspikes/followthefunny">follow the funny</a>.<br />
<br />
(<a href="http://twitter.com/#!/rubyspikes/followthefunny">FollowtheFunny </a>is a Twitter list of the tweeps that have recently appeared on my <a href="http://sarcasm-101.blogspot.com/search/label/thisweekintweets">This Week in Tweets</a>.)<br />
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<br />rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-58934094229866433952012-02-24T18:45:00.000-08:002012-02-24T18:45:42.713-08:00The Bees: Part 3In case you missed it, here are The Bees: <a href="http://sarcasm-101.blogspot.com/2012/02/bees-part-1.html">Part 1</a> and <a href="http://sarcasm-101.blogspot.com/2012/02/bees-part-2.html">Part 2</a>.<br />
<br />
Our house had been invaded by bees. We had sealed their entry point, but had to deal with the fact that there were over a hundred bees in our house at this point.<br />
<br />
Luckily it was a very sunny day and that was drawing the bees to the windows. We brought the vacuum first to the living room with the huge window. We sucked up all that we could. Next to the sunroom. Suck. Suck. Suck. Systematically, we worked our way through the house sucking up bees as we went.<br />
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I started to worry when we hadn't gotten them all and it started to get darker outside. As the sun went down, the bees started flying around the house more since the windows were no longer guiding them to the light. But we kept at it until we thought that we had sucked up almost all of them.<br />
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Now to tackle the hive. Mr. Research had read that the best time to try to rid your house of bees is very late at night. The bees will all be sleeping, so you're less likely to get a fight out of them... at least at the beginning. Mr. Research had also learned what to use to get rid of the bees, so he needed to head to The Home Depot to pick up bee killer. After picking up the poison, we had several hours to kill before beginning our assault, so we headed to a friends' house and hung out and waited.<br />
<br />
Finally, at midnight, we headed back home, rose duster and poison at the ready. Hubby rigged up the rose duster, stuck a tube on the end of it, and put a nozzle on the end of the tube so it would fit into the hole in our ceiling. He climbed up toward the ceiling, peeled the tape back, and stuck the tube in. Research was apparently correct, because when he peeled the tape back, none of our little friends was waiting to come through. They were all sleeping soundly. Then he began pumping the pesticide into the wall. Well, that woke them up. The scratching noise returned as every bee in the hive started crawling around. He must have pumped five pounds of that stuff into the wall before sealing the hole back up.<br />
<br />
Mission accomplished. It was very hard for me to sleep that night. I was sure that there were still bees in the house. Bees that we had missed because we hadn't gotten them all before the sun went down. And I knew that if there <b>were</b> still bees in the house, they would definitely be waking up before I would. I kept having visions of angry bees waking up in the morning and realizing that I had killed all their buddies and seeing me still sleeping in my bed and attacking me. Thankfully, that didn't happen. (Obviously.)<br />
<br />
A few weeks later Hubby got a ladder and cut a hole in the ceiling to clean out the carnage. I wish I'd taken a picture. The size of the bee's nest was enormous. In the end, I decided to be thankful for a lot of things that went right with our little adventure. Super-prepared husband. That Saturday was <b>supposed</b> to have been a day where 20 people were over at our house. Worse yet, they could have bored through that drywall on a day when I was at work and had all day to spill into the house. And I can't even imagine what I would have done had they come through while my husband was out of town. Actually, I take that back. I would have closed the door, locked it, and checked into a hotel. I just don't do bees.rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-52310466740736605292012-02-23T17:18:00.000-08:002012-02-23T17:18:11.130-08:00The Bees: Part 2In case you missed it, <a href="http://sarcasm-101.blogspot.com/2012/02/bees-part-1.html">The Bees: Part 1</a>.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div>
So there we were, enjoying our carefree Saturday. I was playing around on my computer in the office. My husband made a frozen pizza for lunch and called up to see if I wanted some. I came downstairs and we both sat on the couch and watched TV and ate some pizza. After lunch, I headed back up to the office.</div>
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<br /></div>
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As I walked upstairs and past the guest bedroom, I spotted a bee buzzing against the window. I immediately turned to get Hubby to rid our house of the bee. I do not do bees. As I turned, I saw another bee on the skylight above me. I took a step down the stairs and a third bee flew past me, heading toward the large, two story window in our living room. That's when I looked toward the window and saw them. The window was crawling with bees. Dozens of bees clinging to the window or trying to fly through it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Needless to say, I kind of freaked out at this point. I called to my husband. While he was coming, I turned and looked up at the spot where we had heard the scratching noise behind the drywall. There was now a small hole in the ceiling and bees were steadily emerging from the hole and heading toward their comrades at the front window. A few of the bees would occasionally give up at the front window and fly past me toward other windows looking for an alternative exit.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
My husband soon joined me in the living room and sprang into action. His research, it turns out, had paid off, as he had happen to come across information on what to do in the event that the bees ever get into your house. He grabbed the vacuum and headed up to the bedroom. He held the end of the wand right up to the hole and stopped the flow of additional bees into our house and instead directed them into the bottom of our vacuum cleaner.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I, on the other hand, was standing nearby, trying to avoid having anything to do with the bees and hoping he didn't fall out the bedroom "window" and break his neck. And then he tells me, "I need you to come hold the vacuum cleaner."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
"What!!! Why?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well, either he could stand there all day and hold the vacuum cleaner to the hole, or he could go get a piece of tape and cover up the hole so that they couldn't get in.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Fine. That made sense. Yuck. And also, I hate bees, but OK.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I stood on a chair, took the vacuum and held it up to the perfect, little circle in my ceiling. Thump. Thump. Thump. I could feel every bee getting sucked into the hose. Gross. Thump. Thump. They kept coming. About one every 5 seconds or so. Occasionally, one of the bees from the front window would give up on trying to fly through the glass and head back toward the hole in the ceiling, back toward me. As soon as it would get within range of the vacuum, I lowered the wand and sucked the bee out of the air. Every time it happened, at least three bees had emerged from the hole by the time I got the wand back up there, so I had to suck them up, too. Man they were fast.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hubby came back with some packing tape. I kept the vacuum near the hole while he precariously reached for the ceiling and sealed them in. Whew. No more bees getting into the house. Now we just had to deal with the scores of bees that were <b>already</b> in the house and still had to eliminate the hundreds of bees that were still in the ceiling...</div>
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Tomorrow, Part 3: The exciting conclusion.</div>rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-85992337629464828562012-02-22T17:57:00.000-08:002012-02-22T17:57:20.531-08:00The Bees: Part 1A little story from a long time ago...<br />
<br />
My husband and I purchased our very first home on February 29, 2000. At the time, my husband traveled full time for his job, which meant that he left for O'Hare before I even woke up on Monday mornings, and returned home late Thursday evening. Our first spring in our new home meant adjusting to life as homeowners, but with a husband who was only home three days a week. So all the "man jobs" got done on the weekends or not at all. Three short days to squeeze in grass cutting and lawn maintenance along with all the other fixes and handiwork a husband/new homeowner does.<br />
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One weekend while we were in our front yard, I noticed there seemed to be a lot of bees around the garage. I stepped out onto the driveway and watched them fly around to see where they were coming from. I noticed that there were quite a bit more bees flying around above the garage, and that they all seemed to be going to and from a spot where our second story bedroom met our one story garage.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89ZA7u7RAlPpV_HIgu1RhxZ5mFp4XZU6cZnPFRVMVbDbCM_f9iirmBVXdCPfYt1NTASbgXGuAM5aaqO1eH9AtAvhK7IaNjeR7cX83chlQeBBR1MsiNROFeOtXq6jpJWEovpgROoftDal0/s1600/bee-zone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89ZA7u7RAlPpV_HIgu1RhxZ5mFp4XZU6cZnPFRVMVbDbCM_f9iirmBVXdCPfYt1NTASbgXGuAM5aaqO1eH9AtAvhK7IaNjeR7cX83chlQeBBR1MsiNROFeOtXq6jpJWEovpgROoftDal0/s400/bee-zone.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The husband took note and agreed to climb up there and take a look on a weekend in the not too distant future. Sounded like a plan. We finished our yard work for the day, went to bed, and Hubby headed back to the east coast for the week.<br />
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One day while he was gone that week, I stood in my bedroom looking down on my empty living room, thinking about how someday it would not be so barren. Our house had a strange feature where there was a huge, open space in our second story bedroom wall, creating a window that looked down over the main level living room.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX72Ch9e_IE7NiXeI37x4_gRPAnkW0-0yxIQvjQk27P1f1GN950UimLSNJZjhhx66tYraYKh1IMexq0PxeAGJ3TKAzhgXx4gi-xAQ_o48DeqjkNsIP8prfqFxAbxdqLGTzmlg8GImkbu8e/s1600/bedroom-wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX72Ch9e_IE7NiXeI37x4_gRPAnkW0-0yxIQvjQk27P1f1GN950UimLSNJZjhhx66tYraYKh1IMexq0PxeAGJ3TKAzhgXx4gi-xAQ_o48DeqjkNsIP8prfqFxAbxdqLGTzmlg8GImkbu8e/s400/bedroom-wall.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture was taken several years after the "bees incident", but you can see the hole in the wall above the living room and see the ceiling fan that was in our bedroom. If you stood there, you could reach up and touch the ceiling.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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As I stood there, I could hear a soft scratching noise. I moved closer to the wall and listened. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. It sounded like someone was softly rubbing continuously on the drywall with their fingernails. I looked at the wall. Then it hit me. I was standing right next to the spot where all the bees had been coming and going from above the garage.<br />
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As soon as my husband got home, I brought him immediately to the bedroom and stood him in the same spot and watched him as he listened. Yes, he agreed, it was probably bees. He would come up with a plan to eliminate them. Now something you should know about my husband, he is Mr. Research. Whenever we need to buy something, he's all over the Internet reading product reviews and investigating different options and whatnot. It's great. Whenever I need something new, I know he'll do a great deal of homework so we end up with something great. This applies to projects, too. When we needed to stain the deck for the first time, he read all about the do's and don'ts of deck staining. Needed to install a new hot water heater, Mr. Research got busy reading and installed us a new water heater. So when there are bees living in one of your walls, Mr. Research is not about to just climb up on the roof and start spraying Bee-Be-Gone and hope for the best. And since this didn't seem to be an emergency issue, researching an elimination plan seemed like a great idea.<br />
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The weekend came and went, projects got done around the house, and Hubby headed out of town again on Monday. While he was away, he spent some time researching bee removal. A plan was being formulated. When he returned on Thursday, the bee situation had not changed and we proceeded to have an uneventful weekend. We had planned on a small barbecue/housewarming that Saturday, but it had so happened that every person we knew was busy that weekend. So we rescheduled our little gathering for a few weeks later and looked forward to a low-key weekend without any plans. Ahhhhhh.<br />
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The bees had other plans.....rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-73475239200348803672012-02-19T18:55:00.000-08:002012-02-19T18:55:27.596-08:00The Other 84 Million MomsI've been a little busy lately, so you'll have to forgive me for my apparent cave residency, but I only recently learned of the existence of One Million Moms. Someone I know posted a link to one of their "causes" on Facebook, so I took a look. (Mind you, my friend was commenting that this particular "cause" was a bit ridiculous, making it Facebook status-worthy.)<br />
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OMFG! Seriously? I generally don't trawl the Interwebs looking for groups of people who disagree with me, but since I happened to stumble upon them, I just can't help myself. If you happen to be unfamiliar with the group One Million Moms, as I was just a week ago, here is an excerpt from their FAQ page:<br />
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OneMillionMoms.com is an online project of the American Family Association... [that] exists to motivate and equip citizens to change the culture to reflect the Biblical truth.<br />
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OK. Now that I've stopped gagging, let me share some of my other favorite passages from their website:<br />
<ul>
<li><b>"OneMillionMoms.com was begun to give moms an impact with the decision-makers and let them know we are upset with the messages they are sending our children and the values (or lack of them) they are pushing."</b>You know what, I'm a mom, too. And yes, there is a LOT of stuff out there that I don't want my children exposed to. But you know what I do about it? I parent. I screen what my children watch on television, what video games they play, what movies they watch, and what they listen to on the radio. My oldest child is 5, so I have that luxury. And as he gets older, I am going to have to teach him how to make good choices. Because I know what's <b>not</b> going to work: railing against "the media" and "society" for putting bad choices out there for my kids to choose. Of course there are bad choices! There will always be bad choices. It's your job as a mom to teach your kids how to make the right choices. And yes, that can be very hard some days. It's also part of the job description of being a parent.</li>
<li><b>"How can I take action on something that offends me when OneMillionMoms doesn't address it?"</b>This was on their FAQ page. And what a good question it is. How on earth could someone take action if OneMillionMoms is not addressing the issue? Heaven help us if we had to use our own little brains to figure out that we, ourselves, could contact a company that was promoting something that we found offensive.Crazy thought, I know.</li>
<li><b>"Our goal is to stop the exploitation of our children"</b><br />Um... I've looked at some of the "causes" on your website. I would like to know how any of them are exploiting our children. Let's take a look, shall we...</li>
</ul>
<div>
Some of One Million Mom's causes:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><b>JC Penney Offends Traditional Families Again</b><br />OMM is upset that JCP chose Ellen Degeneres as their spokesperson. My word! An openly gay woman! ** now imagine me fanning myself with an invisible fan to prevent myself from fainting ** They go on to say that they're further upset with how JCP has been sending calls from their supporters to voicemail. This is, in their view, "tragic." Yes, tragic, that their supporters are being directed to voicemail to voice their bigotry and closemindedness instead of being able to do so to a real live person. No, OMM, tragic is the 16,000 children who die EVERY DAY from starvation. JCP not wasting an employee on listening to your intolerant views, not so much.<br /><br />Personally, I haven't shopped at a JC Penny in about 10 years. I will be making a point of doing so this week.<br /><br />I am wondering though, how does JCP choosing Ellen as their spokesperson "exploit children" exactly?<br /></li>
<li><b>Macy's Continues to Offend Customers</b><br />OMM is upset that on a recent catalog that Macy's distributed, there was a wedding registry ad that included (cover your children's eyes)... a cake topper with two grooms. ** gasp **<br /><br />Again, I have to ask, how does this exploit our children? Unless... oh no! You don't think Macy's is hoping that those two grooms are children, do you? Well if so, I'm with you OMM. I definitely do not want my son choosing his wedding cake topper until he is at least 18 years of age. But at that point, as long as the person he chooses to wed makes him happy until he is old and gray, I really could care less about his spouse's gender.</li>
<li><b>Family Dollar Stores - Christmas greed at its worst</b><br />OMM was upset that Family Dollar chose to remain open on Christmas Day, thus causing their employees to have to work instead of being home with their families. Yeah, I get how that can suck. In my life I've worked a number of jobs that required me to work on Christmas Day, including working at a hospital and at a casino, neither of which close "for the holiday." Why on earth does OMM feel the need to single out Family Dollar for this travesty? You know how many people had to work on Christmas Day? I'm guessing the vast majority of them don't work at Family Dollar.<br /><br />Oh, and one last time, how exactly is this exploiting our children?</li>
</ul>
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Ugh. I could go on, but what's the point. Clearly, I am not One Million Mom's target audience. But it does REALLY make me want to create my own website: TheOther84MillionMoms.com. You know, the rest of us all American moms that think the one million of you are ridiculous.</div>
</div>rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-46450885223888715182012-01-02T18:43:00.000-08:002012-01-02T18:43:06.227-08:00The Season of Lying<br />
I love Christmas. This last one was particularly delightful. My just turned five-year-old has reached the age of really "getting" the whole deal with the presents and Santa and what-not. I love the decorations, the songs, the gifts, the look of delight on my children's eyes as they tear through the wrapping on toy after toy on Christmas morning. But damn if I'm not delighted that the season of lying is finally behind us. I've started to sort of hate Santa. Seriously, who came up with this idea that we lie to our children in order to make the holiday more special. Ugh.<br />
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You see, my child is particularly fascinated with what's "real" and what's not. And I am the kind of mom who tries to answer all her child's questions as honestly as I can. So I am constantly explaining that unicorns are not real. Whales are real. Fairies are not real. Dinosaurs are real, but they don't live any more. Pirates are real, but they don't wear eye patches and have peg legs. Well, there used to be pirates like that, but that was a long time ago. There are still pirates today, but they dress like you and me. It all gets very complicated sometimes. But he insists on knowing "the details." If we attempt to simplify an explanation too much, we get a stern, "No, Mom. Tell me for real." So we explain about the pirates, how they are real, but how they have changed over the years, and leaving off the part about how his great-aunt was literally attacked by pirates in the Caribbean a couple years ago. We'll save that story for when he's six.<br />
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Having a very analytical child has made this past Christmas season quite frustrating for me. How do reindeer fly? How does Santa know if we've been good? How does Santa know what to bring me? How do you know what reindeer like to eat? (After I suggested we leave out a carrot for the reindeer with the milk and cookies on Christmas Eve.) This year, I decided: no more lying to the kid. I just can't do it. So every question about Santa's magical powers was answered the same way: "I don't know. I've never actually seen Santa."<br />
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Really. How should I know how reindeer fly? Santa has never taken the time to explain it to me. And so I am delighted to have found my loophole. "I don't know" has been my go-to answer for the last 30 days. And I am thrilled that this season of purposeful lying is pretty much done.<br />
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Then tonight at bedtime: "Mom. What if Santa's magic snowball breaks? You know, the one he uses to see if we've been good?" (Thank you claymation Santa Claus is Coming to Town.)<br />
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Me: "I don't know, Dear. What do you think would happen?"<br />
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Kid: "I don't know either. That's why I'm asking you."<br />
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Me: "I don't know. But I don't think you have to worry about that. I'm sure he keeps it someplace very safe."<br />
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Kid: "Well what do you THINK would happen? What's your theory?"<br />
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*** sigh ***<br />
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Is it February yet?<br />rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233575308075184290.post-85110224609394753092011-11-21T18:50:00.001-08:002011-11-21T19:11:49.475-08:00Blessing of the HandsSo I was sitting at my desk today, working diligently, as usual, when a woman stopped by my desk to inquire as to whether I would like to have my hands blessed. No, I am not making this up.<br />
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Now just so that you have the full context, I work at a hospital. So the fact that there is a Spiritual Care department isn't really that strange. And they are big into serving, "the entire hospital community," which includes the employees. Understandable as well. But I do have to say that you've started to cross the quirky threshold when you send a woman to go cubicle to cubicle to ask people to declare on the spot if they would like to participate in a Blessing of the Hands.<br />
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And since the real world me is way less snarky than Rubyspikes, I politely declined the hand-blessing, and then also declined the printed Blessing of the Hands cards she was handing out. But because Rubyspikes is always hanging out in my brain, I offer you these:<br />
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<b>My Top 10 Responses that I COULD have Said to the Lady Who Came to My Cubicle Today and Offered to Bless My Hands</b><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
10. Actually, can you bless my feet instead? </blockquote>
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9. Sorry, I am a contractor. I don't get company benefits. </blockquote>
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8. No. I know how this works. If you bless them today, then I'll just need a re-blessing in a couple weeks and then again in another few weeks and then you'll have me hooked. I'm on to you, Lady. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
7. Would you be willing to bless only one hand? I want to see if there's a difference in a week. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
6. Only if you bless them very, very slowly. I bill by the hour. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
5. What are you implying about the current state of my hands that you think they need blessing? </blockquote>
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4. Clearly you've never heard of me. I'm a miracle worker around here. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
3. Actually, I'm an atheist. Could you please put me on your Do Not Bless list? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
2. Damn! Why weren't you here last week, before my evil hands stabbed that homeless guy in the alley? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
1. Um.... you're not serious, right?</blockquote>
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Clearly, I should have had my hands blessed. Because right now, they are obviously up to no good.rubyspikeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06960381846323445061noreply@blogger.com0