Archive for March, 2006

So, for those of you who are of a mischievious nature, this is a warning message. Don’t.Do.It. Yes, tomorrow is April Fools’ Day, you’re dying to try to pull something. Please don’t. I was once the inadvertant victim of a nasty AF prank that wasn’t even directed at me. It all happened 7 years ago…(hazy flashback music and visuals)

When Tom and I moved to Colorado, we were pretty darned broke. We moved from Iowa, which was not nearly as expensive. Let’s compare: we went from two jobs to one, from two cars to one (and our car insurance doubled), our living square footage was cut in half (and our rent doubled), and I had out-of-state grad school tuition. Gah. So I took any kind of part-time job I could find. I taught flute lessons, I was the personal assistant to a blind grad student, my second semester I was one of the band department’s librarians (I loved that job), my second year I was appointed the music department’s (and lemme explain, this is a HUGE music department) instrument/locker manager. My duties pretty much included anything having to do with department instruments that needed to be checked out, and department lockers that needed to be assigned to music students. Not a bad job, it perfectly suited my anal, type-A, love to organize personality. Several weeks into the school year and I had the instruments/lockers organized. I knew where everything was, what condition the instruments were in. I knew which locker had which lock with which serial number and combination. I was on top of it.

April 1, 1999. We lived far enough from campus (remember, one car) that I would drop Tom off at the school where he was teaching and then continue on to the university to study/practice/have office hours for instruments/lockers. Since he had to be at his school at the ungodly hour of 6:45 am for a 7:20 start time, I usually arrived at my campus shortly after 7:00. So that day I naively walked into the music building, where I was greeted by a friend who announced with little preamble: “Jen, I can’t get into my locker.” Hmmmm…that’s strange. So I go down to my “office”, which was little more than a small locker room with a desk and my big honkin’ locker with all my instrument/locker binders in it. Twirl, twirl, twirl…hmmm…that’s strange…twirl, twirl, twirl….my office locker won’t open either. I had a key for my locker on my keyring and opened the locker. Got out the locker binder, where every single lock (you know, the Master locks that we all had in school?) and its serial number and combo are listed. Got out the other locker binder, which listed every locker and which lock it had with which serial number and combo, checked out to which person.

The serial number of the lock I now held in my hand did not match the serial number of the lock that was supposed to be on this locker.

This was not good.

The serial numbers of all the locks on all the lockers around me did not match the serial numbers of the locks that were supposed to be on those lockers.

Someone, somehow, had changed every single lock on every single locker in the music building. This was nearly 1000 locks. I had the only (so I thought) master key and the only access (so I thought) to the binders.

I think it was around this point that my friend asked me if I was ok, as I was getting a bit lightheaded and it showed. I took my master binder, went up to his locker, gave him his new combo. By the time I got down to my “office”, there were another half dozen irate people waiting for me.

It was a long day.

I sent note up to the band office, the secretary (bless her heart, she kept me sane that day) made a crap load of notices and posted them around the music building that people should not panic, just go see me and be nice about it. The Dean of the music college, Dean S., came down every few hours to see how I was doing and if there was anything I needed. The music department kept me in food and coffee that day. My professors were informed that I would not be attending classes that day and it was not to be held against me. Hell, professors had lockers they needed to get into.

I gave out new combos and info and dealt with irate musicians for close to 14 hours that day. It sucked and swallowed donkey balls. That day easily compares to the kind of stress I deal with now as a mom, but I was nowhere near ready to deal with it then.

(flashback music and visuals back to present day)

So I hate AF day. Turns out a piano student had been living (LIVING!!) in the music building. The night before AF day he got bored, somehow snuck into the locked music office, found the other master lock key, and went nuts. He didn’t need the combos to open the locks with that key. He would take off a bunch of locks, scramble them, and put them back on different lockers. All night. On more than a thousand lockers. It was nothing against me, I didn’t even know the guy. But he was angry at the music college, bored, and this is what he did. He was eventually found and arrested. Not for the prank, but because he had stolen and fenced some other stuff from the music department (a laptop computer, recording equipment, the Dean’s office chair). So, for a prank that wasn’t even directed at me personally, it smacked me right upside the sanity.

From that day forward, the music department and (especially) Dean S. thought I was wonderful. If I hadn’t come in that day, or if I was out of town…actually, that’s the first time I’ve had that thought! LOL But I know I really impressed Dean S. that day; I’m pretty sure if aliens landed in my backyard and hauled off my husband, I could go to him and he’d help me find a job at the university to support my boys.

So please, I beg of you. Don’t switch the salt and sugar at breakfast. Don’t turn the volume all the way up on the radio. Don’t pull a prank. Especially on me. I did my time. ; )

These are some of A’s very favorite toys. If you have them, return them. I have to go hunt down all the pieces and get them the hell out of my house.

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I’ve always had a problem with winter, with the short days and cold temperatures and the way it just goes on and on. Chicago winters are abysmal. Long and cold and never-ending. Colorado winters are considerably better. Not quite as long, not nearly as cold, and instead of never-ending, we have the random few days of warm weather to get us through the season.

That said, I have developed a rather nasty bit of the end-of-winter-blahs. Nothing is really wrong and I suppose I should be thankful this hit in March instead of the usual February. Daylight savings is this weekend (don’t forget!), so that’ll help. But I’m just…blah. Tom is sick, A is sick (and it’s spring break, joy joy), there’s this stupid subpoena hanging over me, my email is down more than up, I have to install a new modem, I’m still hauling around poundage courtesy of that freakin’ steroid, the drug cocktail didn’t work and I’m still having sinus issues (doctor tomorrow, whee!)…get the idea? I need a vacation. I have a scrapbooking retreat in 23 days (yes, I’m counting, wouldn’t you?), but I still have to prep for that. I need to run away and be alone for awhile. Tom has school meeting after school meeting and while I appreciate that being that busy gives him/us some good opportunities, I’d really like to go to some of the mom’s group meetings of which I’m the co-leader. Or just out, anywhere.

So I’m pretty blah and I don’t see much of a way out of it any time soon. I really hope that the time change this weekend will snap me out of it. Or having our tree/lilac bushes delivered and planted on Thursday will bring out the promise of spring in me. Cubs’ opening day is April 7th, maybe that’ll do it. Hey, on Opening Day, they’re still in 1st place. This is next year! LOL

I hope A is better by tomorrow so we can go to playgroup (hey, playgroups are for moms!), and Thursday he’ll have a playgroup with his preschool class. And if it’s nice on Friday, I’d like to go do something. We’ll see. These blahs are nasty.

Blahblahblah…

I really don’t have that kind of potty mouth. Just thought you should know. Ok, I have a little bit of that kind of potty mouth. But A doesn’t drop the F-Bomb yet, so we’re good. So far… Watch, J will drop it first; it’ll be his first recognizable word!

Hey! Look, guys! Beer! For you!!!!

Learning to read is overrated…

No, let’s make that rip-roaring pissed off. See, I’m a fairly mild-mannered person. I tend to live by “live and let live.” Things will anger me (see last election cycle and the whole anti-gay marriage thing, that really makes my blood boil), but I tend to leave it to yelling at the TV and stupid drivers. But now something has happened that has left me pissed to the point of silence. I can’t actually form a coherent sentence I’m so angry, so bear with me here.

The day before Thanksgiving last year I was in a car accident. If there was ever an accident to be in where you would be in no way responsible, this was the accident. A friend and I went out to finish making the XMAS presents we were making for the grandparents: ceramic plates with our kids’ hand and footprints on them. On the way home we stopped at a brewpub for a beer and food. We were there for about an hour and a half…on the way out we saw several police cars and laughed that the cops were at a brewpub for their break. As we left the parking lot, where there was a stoplight, a silver jeep went sliding through a red light, almost nailing the car in front of us that was turning. See where this is going? We turn the corner and get caught by the next light. As we are waiting there, WHAM! The fucker in the jeep slams into the back of my minivan. Thank GOD he sorta stopped at that other light or he woulda hit us a lot faster and a lot harder. And Thank GOD our kids weren’t in the van. And Thank GOD that I wasn’t in my little Saturn, or it woulda been totaled and she and I would have been a LOT more injured.

So here’s where it gets interesting. My friend gets on her cell (thank GOD she was still fairly clear headed) and calls 911. As she is on the phone with dispatch (and this is where my language goes downhill, so if you’re easily offended, you’ve been warned), the fucker TAKES OFF. We manage to get his license number to dispatch and that he was getting on the highway and which way. See how I say this this is the kind of “ideal” accident where you’re in no way at fault? Ok, so now we’re in the middle of the street, it’s 10:30 at night, no one else knows we’ve been hit, other cars are honking, so I drive back to the brewpub where the cops were and flag one down. These cops had just gotten our call from dispatch, so one set stayed with us and got our info, and the other goes after the jackass fucker who hit us. They got him within a half hour.

He was arrested and charged with DUI, DUI per se (whatever that is), reckless driving, leaving the scene of an accident, and no proof of insurance. Goodie goodie gumdrops. And now it gets even more interesting. He’s a car salesman. How does he not have car insurance? Even MORE interesting. This jackass fucker of fuckerness has plead not guilty. AND I HAVE BEEN FUCKING SUBPOENAED TO TESTIFY IN A FUCKING JURY TRIAL. Uh-huh. I’m going to have to call in about a dozen favors for someone to watch my kids. And if my friend has to testify too, she has to come in from Phoenix, ’cause she just moved there. See how much fun this is?

So someone explain this to me. How is someone who is so obviously fucking guilty able to do this? Am I that naive? Am I that honest? I must be; I tell cashiers when they overcharge me. I am so pissed. I knew this was coming, I got a letter a couple of weeks ago that this might happen, but shit, you gotta be kidding me. I was in NO WAY responsible for this and this fucker has plead not guilty. My van was in the shop for over a week being repaired; the entire bumper had to be replaced. I had whiplash and am still seeing my chiropractor for it. I spent Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, on the fucking couch with an ice pack. All day, getting up only to pee. I couldn’t turn my head.

So, needless to say, I am royally fucking pissed off. He’s not getting away with anything. This.Is.Wrong.

So how is your weekend?

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I wear glasses. I’ve had a prescription for near-sightedness since I was, oh, 13 or so. Throughout school, I only wore them for seeing the blackboard, going to a movie, that sort of thing. Should have worn them for driving…shh…don’t tell. But my eyes got worse when I was in college and I went to contacts. Loved my contacts. Loved.Them. I could see! Who knew that there were actual leaves on trees? I could see to drive! I could see my music and the conductor! Gasp! It was wonderful! Then I moved to Colorado. Colorado is incredibly arid. So very dry that at this very moment my hands are cracking and splitting and bleeding and no amount of handcream has helped. Contacts, extreme dryness, and my eyes…the Bermuda Triangle of contact difficulties. I tried every possible kind of contact lenses and nothing worked. I was either pouring drops into my eyes every ten minutes, or my contacts were fusing to my eyeballs. Unpleasant at best. So I reluctantly went to glasses. I spent a small fortune on glasses. They had to be super light, super thin, had to have the non-reflective lenses. Small fortune when you’re a grad student. That was 8 years or so ago.

I had thought of getting lasik many times. I know people who have had it and love it. They can see! Gasp! ; ) But I always thought, “oh, later…” or “not me…” or “too expensive…” I just got used to wearing the glasses, despite the irritation. Then last week A’s OT and I were talking about the exercises he had to do, one of them using a lens to strengthen his eyes. I mentioned that without my glasses I can’t see further than about 12 inches clearly. And she looked straight at me and said, “…and how much longer are you going to put up with that?” Bonnnnggggg….it was as though someone smacked a gong next to my head, the lights went on and someone was home. How much longer am I going to put up with this? With my glasses constantly sliding off my face. With my glasses pinching my ears, despite continually going and getting them adjusted. With them causing intense headaches if they are not perfectly adjusted, smudge-free, scratch-free, and the planets properly aligned. Our vision insurance provides discounts for corrective surgery and I’m going to look into it. It’s still expensive, and it won’t happen this year, but I’m going to do this. Yes, I’ll still need lenses down the road for reading, but if I can get out of having glasses day in and day out, I’ll do it. It’s time. My milk money is going to be saved.

I found out last night that my college roommate’s youngest brother died on Friday of leukemia. I knew he was sick, but last I heard he was in remission. Her family has really had a hard time of it in the last 10 years or so. Her mom died of adrenal cancer in 1997, she had extreme difficulties getting pregnant (although she finally had a son in September), and now this. I can’t imagine what she is going through. And her poor dad. I cannot begin to imagine his despair. A wife, and now one of his sons. Both to funky cancers. WTF is in the water there? If I were in his shoes, I’d be damn near suicidal.

Scottie was such a sweet kid. He was only 20, if that. I remember him as a little boy. He was 12 years younger than us, so he was still so little when I knew him. Because of the age difference, Katie was his band director for a few years when she went back to her home district to teach. I barely knew him, but I knew Katie adored him.

So how do I say I’m sorry? How do you say you’re sorry your little brother died because of a shitty disease? How do you say you’re sorry that life has dealt you such a crappy hand? How do you say you’re sorry that you’ve grown apart? That your best friend from college, the maid of honor from your wedding, your confidant for so many years, has been reduced to a Christmas card recipient and not much more? God knows I tried to stay in touch, but should I have tried harder, smarter? I’ll send flowers, and a condolence card, but it doesn’t seem like enough. It isn’t enough, but I don’t know what to do. I can’t make it to the funeral, the distance between Denver and St. Louis is too great. I couldn’t make it to her mom’s funeral for the same reason. We were lucky to make it to her wedding; Tom’s sister got married the night before in northern Iowa and Katie got married in southern Illinois. We drove through the night to get there. I’m just heartbroken that I can’t do more. I’m thankful that she has wonderful friends nearby and a husband who is loving and supportive beyond words.

So I’ll pray for her family. That’s pretty much all I can do and it’s not much. I’ll pray that her family finally gets cut a break. I’ll pray that they remember him with smiles and not tears. And I’ll pray that Scottie and his mom are finally together. But mostly I’ll pray that Katie continues to be one of the strongest women I know.