I Can't Get No Satisfaction

This video, while it doesn't accurately portray why I'm frustrated, goes along with my current irritation. Sorry for the TMI, but I can't help it. I've known for many years that, as I come to the end of a pregnancy, the frequency of trips to the bathroom would go up significantly. That has officially happened, but that's not even the big problem. What annoys me is the utter lack of satisfaction. At any other time in my life, an urgent trip to the bathroom resulted in blessed relief. However, my bladder is now squished enough that, rather than feel that blessed decrease in volume, all I feel is that I just don't have to go anymore. It irritates me. But there are worse situations in life. Hence the video.

Boycott the Snow!

I'm all about peaceful protest and plan to simply boycott the snow. Once I figure out how that can be accomplished I will invite you all to join in the cause. At least it's helping fill our reservoirs. Unfortunately, that's all I can say for it. And I was so ready for spring. At least it's not as bad as in the video.

A Dire Prediction

I am a dead woman. At least, that's the best I can figure. Eric and I tried to go to Red Lobster for dinner tonight (mmm....crab legs), but it was way too busy. Instead, we went to Panda Express. After we got the food home I thoroughly enjoyed the noodles and black pepper chicken. We planned on enjoying our fortune cookies after that. Eric's cookie said someone was speaking well of him. Mine said...nothing. I had no fortune. Chinese wisdom must be telling me my days are numbered. Those black spots on the chicken weren't pepper. I think I liked the one about getting an unexpected gift better.

I Am Not A Boy

As my voice, appearance and anatomy will attest, I am not a boy. I like to dress in pink, paint my fingernails, and go to tea parties. Yet people continue to believe I am not female. It's not because I do anything to promote this false assumption, but because my parents were at least 15 years ahead of their time. The year I was born most parents did not name their little girls Jordan. That's what they named their little boys. I learned that very clearly growing up. Every time I met a new adult and told them my name the response was, "Jordan? That's a boy's name." Every time. My favorite was in 7th grade with a substitute teacher. We had a seating chart and he was calling roll. When I answered as he called my name his head shot up in disbelief. He looked at the seating chart, looked at me, looked at the seating chart, counted the seats in the row, and looked at the seating chart again before declaring, "That's a boy's name."

Once I got into high school, things changed. Instead of hearing that I had a boy's name the response to my name was, "Jordan? I have a niece named Jordan." It was also the first time people didn't accept that I was a girl when I said so. There was a boy at the school with my same first and last name. I even got a yearbook signature congratulating me for a sculpture I had in the art room. I had never set foot in the art room. The other person with my name got a scholarship for art. He graduated two years before me and that put the confusion on hold for a little bit. A Valentine's tradition at the school was to fill out a questionnaire and be computer matched for compatibility with other students. During my senior year, one of the geniuses in student council decided I must have been lying when I circled F for my gender. They very helpfully changed my gender to M. It turns out I'm very compatible with a lot of girls I went to high school with.

The last several years have been full of mistakes like this. At least once a month I get a credit card offer politely addressing me as Mr. I get junk e-mail all the time advertising sexy single girls in my area. I can brush all these things off, as these people have never seen me. I was, however, dealt a low blow a few weeks ago while filling out an application for scouting. Most of it had already been filled out for me by a ward member, including my name address, and phone number. The little box for gender had also been filled out...with a big M. At least it was scribbled out and a letter F was placed next to the box. Maybe I'll have to wear frills and ribbons next Sunday as I lead the music in church, just to make sure everyone is clear that I'm a woman.

You Can't Get There From Here

I knew it would happen someday soon. There are five entrances to the shopping plaza I work in: one on the north, one on the east, one on the south (well-hidden), and two on the west. The two on the west have been closed for the past few weeks while they repave the road. I think that's happening today. The one on the north is newly opened from the last bit of construction, so it only makes sense that they periodically close it off again, just to be nostalgic. They did that today. Part of that closure included blocking off the access to the plaza from the east. Grumble. I use the southern entrance so infrequently that I almost forgot about it entirely. Before I remembered it I started concocting a plan to get me to work.

1. Park behind the other store in the plaza for which I have a key and security code (I work there every now and again, so they let me keep my access).
2. Let myself in and relock the door.
3. Turn off the alarm, wait 30 seconds, reset the alarm.
4. Run like heck for the front door before the alarm thinks I'm an intruder.
5. Unlock the front door, let myself out, and lock it back up.
6. Walk across the parking lot to get to the building I wanted to park at.
7. Curse the fates.

Luckily, I remembered the southern entrance. At least now I have a plan B for when they actually do forget to leave a business access. And I got there before the evil white truck.

What I Say vs. What They Hear

I think we all have times when the things we say end up meaning different things than what we intended. Lately that's been happening to me more than usual. People hear things differently than how I said them. What I say is in red, what they hear is in blue.

I'm late, I need to go. She would love to hem three more pants before she leaves.

Hand over the (cell phone, iPod, etc.). It's against school rules. If I whine and call her mean she'll let me keep it.

I'm afraid of spiders. I should dangle one by her nose.

I don't feel so well. Want a piece of cake loaded with frosting roses?

I'm too busy to take on another project right now. Her life is mine.

Maybe I should hire an interpreter to flick people's noses when they miss the translation.

Weeds

I am convinced that only two things will survive nuclear holocaust: cockroahes and morning glory.