Dear Wii Balance Board,
You are a jerk. Here is why:
1) You are constantly telling me to do the body test and then when I do you mock me and tell me how off-pace I am to reach my goals. You then proceed to ask me invasive questions about my snacking habits that leave me feeling insecure all day.
2) After said body balance tests, you continually ask me if I walk into things on a regular basis. I don't know what you are trying to get at with this line of questioning, but you should know that it is pretty rude.
3) You are always telling me how old I am and you are always wrong. You know how old I am. You asked me before you would let me do anything else. Ass. Don't try to say it is just my *Fitness Age* I am so sick of that excuse. How can my fitness be 21 one day and 39 the next? What kind of game are you playing here?
4) The other day you told me to go easy on my afternoon snacks. I don't know how you knew I had just eaten four girl scout cookies you psychic bastard, but I really don't like to be lectured about my snacking habits when all I want to do is skateboard in the virtual world.
5) Your batteries are always going dead. For someone who just sits there, you sure do drain a lot of batteries. God, you're so wasteful.
6) When I first got you and you asked me to "Step On," you would always say, "GREAT!" as I did. Now everytime I step on you groan, "OH!" like the last thing you want to do in the entire world is support my fat ass. Well guess what you insensitive prick, I am getting sick of it. I haven't even gained any weight since I bought you, so I don't really know what your problem is. Get over it because I am addicted to the snowball throwing, obstacle course, and skateboarding games now. I kick ass at virtual kung-fu and virtual boxing, and I'm not going to stop now just because of your bad attitude. Oh, and no one cares that you can weigh a freaking dog on you. That is stupid. Was that your idea? I bet it was. Pet and baby statuses? Really?
In closing, I hope this letter has opened your eyes as to why I have been so short and temperamental with you lately. I am sorry I stomped on you the other day when you made my Mii fall off the ice on the advanced obstacle course. That was uncalled for. Please straighten our your attitude though, so that these things will be unlikely to occur in the future. See you at home,
Bec
April 27, 2010
April 21, 2010
The Crazies Are Out
Well, it is summer again and you all know what that means.... The Crazies are out again! Just like the heat and sun bring out the mosquitoes, bees, ticks, and ants, the warm weather is also the cue for letting out the people you want to look at and ask, "How did you get dressed by yourself this morning?" But these people are usually comic relief to the backdrop of my life and so I don't mind them too much (unless they are trying to drive cars or are in my way at the grocery store). No, they are fine. Last night though, I saw a new level of crazy. This wasn't an ant, tick, or mosquito. It was the Queen Bee of crazy!
I was stopping to get gas and a little blue chevy cobalt pulled up behind me. I know a couple of people who drive such a car, so I turned to see if I knew this person. Of course, it was no one I knew. It was an older man, dressed kind of shabbily, with long, messy, salt and pepper hair wearing rather large eye-glasses. So, I turn and get back to my gas-pumping. I am almost finished when I hear this very loud shriek that shocked me so much that it took a few seconds to even realize where it was coming from or what was being said. It was so startling I almost "hit the deck" and threw myself on the floor with my hands over head. I can't even describe it in words... It sounded like a signal to the end of the earth--like the screamer was trying to get the attention of everyone within a ten mile radius. It scared the hell out of me. I thought there was a gun-wielding maniac on the loose and some samaritan was trying to signal for me to get the hell out of there!
I could not find my keys fast enough. The screaming continued. It was definitely coming from the man who just pulled up behind me. I was sure of it now. I turned around to see if he was being ripped apart by coyotes. He was not. He was just standing there pumping gas, a little boy was now standing next to him. It was quiet now, but surely one of them was the screamer! The noise was definitely coming from the parking lot and no one else was there!
I scrambled to get the keys in the ignition, stomped on the clutch to start the car, put her in second (I didn't have time for first at this point!) and left as quickly as possible. Once safely out into traffic, I began trying to process what in the hell was going on behind me. The man with the cobalt was still there pumping gas, now looking as calm as can be. I replayed the screams. I am pretty sure the man was screaming (not yelling, but actually SCREAMING), "GODDAAAAMMMNN CAP!! GODDAMNIT CAP! FFFUUUUUUUUCCCCCKK!"
Now, my word of advice is this: If your gas cap gives you this much trouble, you should probably stay at home. There are many things more complicated than a gas cap out in this big, scary, world. Oh, and if you are that fucking crazy, you probably should not be driving, nor should you be allowed around small children. Please go back into hibernation and quit scaring the shit out of those of us who are innocently pumping our gas!
I was stopping to get gas and a little blue chevy cobalt pulled up behind me. I know a couple of people who drive such a car, so I turned to see if I knew this person. Of course, it was no one I knew. It was an older man, dressed kind of shabbily, with long, messy, salt and pepper hair wearing rather large eye-glasses. So, I turn and get back to my gas-pumping. I am almost finished when I hear this very loud shriek that shocked me so much that it took a few seconds to even realize where it was coming from or what was being said. It was so startling I almost "hit the deck" and threw myself on the floor with my hands over head. I can't even describe it in words... It sounded like a signal to the end of the earth--like the screamer was trying to get the attention of everyone within a ten mile radius. It scared the hell out of me. I thought there was a gun-wielding maniac on the loose and some samaritan was trying to signal for me to get the hell out of there!
I could not find my keys fast enough. The screaming continued. It was definitely coming from the man who just pulled up behind me. I was sure of it now. I turned around to see if he was being ripped apart by coyotes. He was not. He was just standing there pumping gas, a little boy was now standing next to him. It was quiet now, but surely one of them was the screamer! The noise was definitely coming from the parking lot and no one else was there!
I scrambled to get the keys in the ignition, stomped on the clutch to start the car, put her in second (I didn't have time for first at this point!) and left as quickly as possible. Once safely out into traffic, I began trying to process what in the hell was going on behind me. The man with the cobalt was still there pumping gas, now looking as calm as can be. I replayed the screams. I am pretty sure the man was screaming (not yelling, but actually SCREAMING), "GODDAAAAMMMNN CAP!! GODDAMNIT CAP! FFFUUUUUUUUCCCCCKK!"
Now, my word of advice is this: If your gas cap gives you this much trouble, you should probably stay at home. There are many things more complicated than a gas cap out in this big, scary, world. Oh, and if you are that fucking crazy, you probably should not be driving, nor should you be allowed around small children. Please go back into hibernation and quit scaring the shit out of those of us who are innocently pumping our gas!
January 31, 2010
Another Rant about Wal-Mart...
Now, it really is my fault for going into the store in the first place. I mean, I should've known from the start that it was not going to be a fun trip. Besides the mountains of anecdotal evidence from past experiences, there were also signs in the parking lot that I should have just turned around and went back home, or gone a quarter mile further to Shop 'N' Save and paid the 20% mark-up on all the groceries I buy. I mean, what's a few dollars compared to your sanity? But, no. I decided to wait behind the moron, waiting behind the moron in aisle twelve who had yet to even put one bag of groceries into his car. NEWSFLASH: If you are waiting for a parking space occupied by a person who has yet to even unload one bag from his cart, you are an IDIOT unless one or more of the following criteria have been met: 1) It is -10 degrees and you have a car full of tiny children you need to parade across the vast expanse that is the Wal-Mart parking lot, 2) You are 8+ months pregnant, or 3) You are 80+ years old, or 4) Grossly handicapped and all the handicapped spaces are taken. If none of these apply, well then you are just a moron. Sorry about your luck.
Once inside the wonderful shopping atmosphere that IS Wal-Mart's trademark, I was not even greeted by the door greeter. And it wasn't even an old person wearing tri-focals who probably couldn't even see her watch if you asked her the time. It was a girl probably younger than me, with full function of both retinas. You know what... if you aren't going to do your job and at least say Hi to the people walking in, what is the point? You are just being paid to stand there and do nothing. What a waste of Wal-Mart's valuable resources. I mean, they could've paid 20 six year olds in China to make airsoft rifles for a month with your wage, and here you are just taking advantage of your white privilege and slacking on your duty to say, "Hello. How are you this evening?"
Now, I don't know why I wait til Sunday night to do my shopping...it just always seems like the most opportune time to get away from my screaming children. I should really pick a different day though, because many of the things I wanted were sold out. And even though the store was packed with customers, there seemed to be an unseemly number of stockers in the aisles, getting in the way and making each aisle seem like an episode of Ninja Warrior. I mean, it is bad enough that you have to make your way around the idiot customers who seem to LIVE in certain aisles, but when you have to dodge giant racks of produce as well, it gets a little tedious. However, I finally did get through the two mile journey that is the Super-Wal-Mart grocery section, only to be met with Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum in the check-out lane.
They needed two carts instead of one, because apparently their four year old had not yet learned how to walk beside them in the store, so one whole cart was devoted to transporting her. The other one had the groceries in it. Ok, fine. Whatever works for you! However, once they got the little rascal out of her cart and had packed all their bags in the first cart, they never moved the empty cart out of my way... they just left it there in front of the conveyor belt... and did not move far enough out of my way so that I could move the cart without running them over (which I must admit, I was half-way considering doing). They finally did move out of my way, but left the cart there in my way. I mean, shit they just pushed that entire cart around the entire store, they can't be expected to move it 20 feet more. That would just be asking too much.
Now, I realize I am a grown person fully capable of moving a cart out of my way (I do it all the time in the parking lot since no one seems to understand what those Cart Corral things are for), but I find it uber-hard to believe that a GROWN COUPLE with CHILDREN need to be reminded to GET THEIR SHIT OUT OF OTHER PEOPLE'S WAY. How hard is it to pull your head out of your ass for the short time you are around other people?
What really saddens me is that Wal-Mart seems to be the microchasm of the entire American Society. This worries me deeply...
Once inside the wonderful shopping atmosphere that IS Wal-Mart's trademark, I was not even greeted by the door greeter. And it wasn't even an old person wearing tri-focals who probably couldn't even see her watch if you asked her the time. It was a girl probably younger than me, with full function of both retinas. You know what... if you aren't going to do your job and at least say Hi to the people walking in, what is the point? You are just being paid to stand there and do nothing. What a waste of Wal-Mart's valuable resources. I mean, they could've paid 20 six year olds in China to make airsoft rifles for a month with your wage, and here you are just taking advantage of your white privilege and slacking on your duty to say, "Hello. How are you this evening?"
Now, I don't know why I wait til Sunday night to do my shopping...it just always seems like the most opportune time to get away from my screaming children. I should really pick a different day though, because many of the things I wanted were sold out. And even though the store was packed with customers, there seemed to be an unseemly number of stockers in the aisles, getting in the way and making each aisle seem like an episode of Ninja Warrior. I mean, it is bad enough that you have to make your way around the idiot customers who seem to LIVE in certain aisles, but when you have to dodge giant racks of produce as well, it gets a little tedious. However, I finally did get through the two mile journey that is the Super-Wal-Mart grocery section, only to be met with Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum in the check-out lane.
They needed two carts instead of one, because apparently their four year old had not yet learned how to walk beside them in the store, so one whole cart was devoted to transporting her. The other one had the groceries in it. Ok, fine. Whatever works for you! However, once they got the little rascal out of her cart and had packed all their bags in the first cart, they never moved the empty cart out of my way... they just left it there in front of the conveyor belt... and did not move far enough out of my way so that I could move the cart without running them over (which I must admit, I was half-way considering doing). They finally did move out of my way, but left the cart there in my way. I mean, shit they just pushed that entire cart around the entire store, they can't be expected to move it 20 feet more. That would just be asking too much.
Now, I realize I am a grown person fully capable of moving a cart out of my way (I do it all the time in the parking lot since no one seems to understand what those Cart Corral things are for), but I find it uber-hard to believe that a GROWN COUPLE with CHILDREN need to be reminded to GET THEIR SHIT OUT OF OTHER PEOPLE'S WAY. How hard is it to pull your head out of your ass for the short time you are around other people?
What really saddens me is that Wal-Mart seems to be the microchasm of the entire American Society. This worries me deeply...
January 16, 2010
ER Doctor haz a dumb...???
So, the only thing more terrifying than finding yourself in an Emergency Room with weird symptoms that make you feel like you are going to lose consciousness at any moment, is the realization that the doctor you have been assigned to for, no doubt the rest of the afternoon, evening, and night is the same idiot doctor your husband had about a year earlier. The doctor who didn't seem able to comprehend small sentences, didn't listen to any of the answers to the questions he asked, and gave your hubby about three minutes of his time... spaced over about five hours.
Luckily, you are given a nurse who seems to have an IQ that is in fact, higher than his shoe size and even has a sense of humor. He doesn't blow out any of your veins taking blood samples, nor does he ask the same idiotic questions over and over again. However, this cannot save you from Doctor Moron, who dwells on ONE of your symptoms, over-looks all the others, and immediately dismisses you (assuring you that everything is *normal) giving you discharge papers listing reasons to come back. And when you look at the reasons you need to come back up to the dreaded ER, three of the five symptoms are things you presented with in the first place. Lovely. Well, at least you have the comfort of knowing that you will be charged thousands of dollars to find out how normal you are.
So, the next day you go to your own doctor, who is actually NOT a moron and walks you through all the tests the hospital ran. He even shows you all the results from your blood tests and explains what each one means. And guess what? Many of them are NOT normal!!! In fact, some are SO not normal, that he decides that maybe other tests should be run to rule out more serious conditions. I mean, afterall--it isn't everyday that you feel so loopy and out of it that you call someone to pick you up from work and let her drive you to the ER, barely putting up a fight. After ordering his own blood tests, Dr. Not-A-Moron decides also to have an EEG run on you. In fact, you can have it done immediately! And guess what? Lucky YOU, those results need to be sent off to a cardiologist. I mean, not many 26 year olds can say they have had a cardiological consult. But you are so lucky, that you can now!
So, now after this fun, eventful week we can just sit back and play the waiting game. But don't worry too much about me, folks. I am probably just a neurotic mess suffering from some kind of anxiety disorder... Dr. Not-A-Moron just wants to rule out any other possible causes for my feelings of impending doom, near-loss of consciousness, trouble breathing normally and loss of concentration. But, send me some prayers and positive vibes, just in case :)
Luckily, you are given a nurse who seems to have an IQ that is in fact, higher than his shoe size and even has a sense of humor. He doesn't blow out any of your veins taking blood samples, nor does he ask the same idiotic questions over and over again. However, this cannot save you from Doctor Moron, who dwells on ONE of your symptoms, over-looks all the others, and immediately dismisses you (assuring you that everything is *normal) giving you discharge papers listing reasons to come back. And when you look at the reasons you need to come back up to the dreaded ER, three of the five symptoms are things you presented with in the first place. Lovely. Well, at least you have the comfort of knowing that you will be charged thousands of dollars to find out how normal you are.
So, the next day you go to your own doctor, who is actually NOT a moron and walks you through all the tests the hospital ran. He even shows you all the results from your blood tests and explains what each one means. And guess what? Many of them are NOT normal!!! In fact, some are SO not normal, that he decides that maybe other tests should be run to rule out more serious conditions. I mean, afterall--it isn't everyday that you feel so loopy and out of it that you call someone to pick you up from work and let her drive you to the ER, barely putting up a fight. After ordering his own blood tests, Dr. Not-A-Moron decides also to have an EEG run on you. In fact, you can have it done immediately! And guess what? Lucky YOU, those results need to be sent off to a cardiologist. I mean, not many 26 year olds can say they have had a cardiological consult. But you are so lucky, that you can now!
So, now after this fun, eventful week we can just sit back and play the waiting game. But don't worry too much about me, folks. I am probably just a neurotic mess suffering from some kind of anxiety disorder... Dr. Not-A-Moron just wants to rule out any other possible causes for my feelings of impending doom, near-loss of consciousness, trouble breathing normally and loss of concentration. But, send me some prayers and positive vibes, just in case :)
August 5, 2009
The New Happy
Going through life without someone who is *supposed* to be there is extremely difficult. It makes everything so much harder. Times that are supposed to be great, are tainted. You feel guilty being happy about things you should be able to feel happy about. You feel such a variety of emotions on days most people would only feel joy. And it is hard. Sometimes you just sit and beat yourself up about the *good times.* Eventually, you have to give yourself a break...and let yourself lower your standards for *Happy.* They aren't going to be the same as other people. Your happy times will always have that haunting feeling overshadowing the occasion. It is similar to that feeling you get when you know you are forgetting something important, but you cannot remember what it is. Or the feeling I assume shoplifters get when they steal something really good. Sure, they are excited about their new item, but can they really enjoy it knowing it was ill-gotten?
The best way I can explain it is by looking at a jigsaw puzzle. Imagine you have a one thousand piece puzzle. You put that whole damn thing together, only to realize that somewhere along the way you lost three pieces. Sure, you still put 997 pieces together in their correct places, but it still isn't right. Because you know, those other three pieces SHOULD be there...and the picture is a little off without them. But you can't do anything about it. You can't truly be happy that you did all you can do, even though you should be. It isn't your fault the pieces are missing after all...
The worst (unfortunately) is when a fantastic occasion comes up. Your brother gets married to a girl you absolutely adore. Or your son is about to turn one year old. Or your daughter gets along with her new step-cousin-in-law (or whatever the hell the girl is)...You feel that sting in your heart behind every smile. Because you know that this New Happy is the happiest you will ever truly be. And anything above that would feel like a betrayal, a farce, a denial of things past. And it becomes hard to determine what is worse: Not allowing yourself to enjoy any of life's truly amazing gifts, or feeling guilty about everyday that you *do* enjoy. Some days, it's a toss-up. And it totally depends on how much alcohol you have consumed.
So, you have to redefine *happy* for yourself. You have to lower the bar. You have to realize that the hand you were dealt had no wild cards, no straights. Shit, it didn't even have a low pair. But eventually, you have to be ok with it. Sure, the good times will always be bitter-sweet. You will always have that home-sick feeling even when you are already home. But, if you just realize that your Happy is a hard-earned, hard-won Happy--well, maybe it will be all right in the end.
The best way I can explain it is by looking at a jigsaw puzzle. Imagine you have a one thousand piece puzzle. You put that whole damn thing together, only to realize that somewhere along the way you lost three pieces. Sure, you still put 997 pieces together in their correct places, but it still isn't right. Because you know, those other three pieces SHOULD be there...and the picture is a little off without them. But you can't do anything about it. You can't truly be happy that you did all you can do, even though you should be. It isn't your fault the pieces are missing after all...
The worst (unfortunately) is when a fantastic occasion comes up. Your brother gets married to a girl you absolutely adore. Or your son is about to turn one year old. Or your daughter gets along with her new step-cousin-in-law (or whatever the hell the girl is)...You feel that sting in your heart behind every smile. Because you know that this New Happy is the happiest you will ever truly be. And anything above that would feel like a betrayal, a farce, a denial of things past. And it becomes hard to determine what is worse: Not allowing yourself to enjoy any of life's truly amazing gifts, or feeling guilty about everyday that you *do* enjoy. Some days, it's a toss-up. And it totally depends on how much alcohol you have consumed.
So, you have to redefine *happy* for yourself. You have to lower the bar. You have to realize that the hand you were dealt had no wild cards, no straights. Shit, it didn't even have a low pair. But eventually, you have to be ok with it. Sure, the good times will always be bitter-sweet. You will always have that home-sick feeling even when you are already home. But, if you just realize that your Happy is a hard-earned, hard-won Happy--well, maybe it will be all right in the end.
July 23, 2009
Getting Into a Routine
Lately I have been thinking a lot about "routines." Now, if you know me well, you also know that I don't use this word very often, and at times I have even cursed the concept. You also know that I am a giant mess of a person. But, I am working on it. It is hard. Here's why:
You see, when you don't have a routine and you are always flying by the seat of your pants, you realize and accept the fact that your entire day will be rushed and hurried, and you will probably forget things. You learn to live with it and every day is a new challenge. I was really pretty damn good at getting by this way...for a very long time. But, after kiddo number two I decided I should try to be more of a grown up and get my shit together. Stress levels were beginning to reach all-time highs. And besides, I always saw all these other people with all of their shit together and they always seemed way happier than me. So, I figured what the hell do I have to lose? Get a schedule together, how hard can it be?
And I will tell you that it wasn't really hard at all. I had to start waking up half a day earlier than usual so I could have some *me* time. My *me* time includes working out and playing around on the computer. Then I have to get ready for work. Then I have to get the kids ready, get out the door, go to work. It was amazing how everything fell in line once I made a conscious decision to do the exact same thing everyday. Go figure. I started feeling so much better, less stressed, and just happier with my life. It is absolutely amazing...but here is the catch. Once you get into a Feel-Good routine, the minute life throws you a curve ball you are screwed.
Really. I'm serious. It's worse than the days I had no routine at all. You sleep through your alarm clock? Well, pre-routine Becqui would just shrug it off and go about her day. Big deal. I was great at improvising. I could get anything done no matter the time crunch. In fact, I usually thrive under pressure. Now? Forget it. I miss my morning run and I am an absolute lunatic the rest of the day. Out of my breakfast cereal so I have to eat something else? My caloric intake for the rest of the day is pretty much put into a tailspin til I hit the sheets. One little hiccup in the morning schedule, and my whole day is out of whack.
I don't know if anyone else has this problem. I hope so. But if you don't, possibly you have the number of a helpful therapist you can pass along ;)
You see, when you don't have a routine and you are always flying by the seat of your pants, you realize and accept the fact that your entire day will be rushed and hurried, and you will probably forget things. You learn to live with it and every day is a new challenge. I was really pretty damn good at getting by this way...for a very long time. But, after kiddo number two I decided I should try to be more of a grown up and get my shit together. Stress levels were beginning to reach all-time highs. And besides, I always saw all these other people with all of their shit together and they always seemed way happier than me. So, I figured what the hell do I have to lose? Get a schedule together, how hard can it be?
And I will tell you that it wasn't really hard at all. I had to start waking up half a day earlier than usual so I could have some *me* time. My *me* time includes working out and playing around on the computer. Then I have to get ready for work. Then I have to get the kids ready, get out the door, go to work. It was amazing how everything fell in line once I made a conscious decision to do the exact same thing everyday. Go figure. I started feeling so much better, less stressed, and just happier with my life. It is absolutely amazing...but here is the catch. Once you get into a Feel-Good routine, the minute life throws you a curve ball you are screwed.
Really. I'm serious. It's worse than the days I had no routine at all. You sleep through your alarm clock? Well, pre-routine Becqui would just shrug it off and go about her day. Big deal. I was great at improvising. I could get anything done no matter the time crunch. In fact, I usually thrive under pressure. Now? Forget it. I miss my morning run and I am an absolute lunatic the rest of the day. Out of my breakfast cereal so I have to eat something else? My caloric intake for the rest of the day is pretty much put into a tailspin til I hit the sheets. One little hiccup in the morning schedule, and my whole day is out of whack.
I don't know if anyone else has this problem. I hope so. But if you don't, possibly you have the number of a helpful therapist you can pass along ;)
July 3, 2009
Ok, Hardee's We Get It
You may as well change your slogan to, Hardee's: The Preferred Fast Food Chain of Perverts and Sex Offenders Across the Nation.
We get it. You are proud of your perviness and the fact that your marketing executive has the emotional maturity of a thirteen year old. You think boobs, butts, and sexual inuendo are the way to win over America's heart and disctract everyone from the fact that your food isn't fit to give to my dog. WE GET IT. But I just wanted to let you know that everytime I watch one of your commercials or hear about your biscuit holes on the radio I feel like vomitting, taking a shower, and reporting my TV to the local police station for sexual harassment.
We get it. You are proud of your perviness and the fact that your marketing executive has the emotional maturity of a thirteen year old. You think boobs, butts, and sexual inuendo are the way to win over America's heart and disctract everyone from the fact that your food isn't fit to give to my dog. WE GET IT. But I just wanted to let you know that everytime I watch one of your commercials or hear about your biscuit holes on the radio I feel like vomitting, taking a shower, and reporting my TV to the local police station for sexual harassment.
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