Jamma, Jamma, Jamma, Jamma, P. Js!

When Sparring Partner and I first started dating and I was sleeping over (‘cause I was a WHORE!), a set of pajamas was just one thing I didn’t worry about keeping in his dresser drawers. It was Happy Naked Time from sun down to sun up. If I needed a little extra covering out of modesty, I would just borrow a t-shirt from his closet. However, under the covers, nothing felt better than that heated waterbed and spooning skin-to-skin.

The longer we dated, the more modest I became. Weird, I know. Maybe it was his cat and the mocking looks he would give me. They were more retribution than anything since I forced him to give up his favorite snoozing spot, which was exactly where my pillow went. Maybe it was because his SIL thought nothing of stopping by unannounced at all times of the day. Whatever it was, I eventually found myself sporting men’s flannel pants and tank tops or t-shirts, which ended up the uniform du jour once I became a mother. Babies don’t care if you’re naked or not when go to sooth them, but babies also have a natural tendency to grab and squeeze whatever they can get their hands on. Even the barrier of a t-shirt saved me several times from what could have been a baby-dropping, nipple pinches.

I tried nightdresses, but they rode up and bunched around my hips. My thighs, growing in heft, would get uncomfortably sticky and hot. Sexy if this was a torrid romance novel, but not so much in this instance. I always returned to the flannel or percale cotton pants. My favorites came from Old Navy. My only complaint with them was how they also tended to ride up my legs, only now bunching at my knees. Being a side-sleeper, this was very uncomfortable. If someone had designed loose fitting pajama pants with stirrups, I’d been all over that. Except I’m sure they would have inspired nightmares about snakes wrapping around my feet.

I made do for years. This summer, before my trip to Boston in fact, I purchased a real grown-up pajama set of pants and matching top, just in case some in-bed snuggling was to be had. They were of satin-esque material and a bitch to fold, slippery as they were. While I unfortunately never had a chance to cuddle with any of the bloggers I met up with in Boston, I did discover something amazing about the satin-ey pants: they didn’t ride up my legs during sleep! I no longer had to reach down half asleep and pull each leg down to my ankles, or even go so far as to get out of bed just to get everything back in line. I lurv my satin-ey pajama bottoms, even if they don’t seem to breathe as well as my cotton. I could eventually upgrade to a pair of silk bottoms with the hopes that they would be breathable as well as provide less friction for my sleeping comfort, but it’s baby steps for now.

What does your nocturnal wardrobe include and has it changed over the years?

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The Graveyard of Dead Blogs

Remember how during the past couple of winters I had snow falling on my blog? It would seem that there needs to be a WP app that would have tumbleweeds occasionally drift and bounce by. It’s obvious that I really don’t know what I’m doing at this space. Let me elaborate: it’s obvious to ME that I don’t know what to do here anymore judging by my stats. Not that I care about that kind of drivel…pshaw.

When did I get to be such an awful blogger (and you can shut your pie-hole if you thought by responding, “You were never anything but!” that I would find that funny)? If what I’m feeling is what so many others who quit were feeling after they had a baby, they were smart to bow out gracefully while I choose to whimper and limp along.

Of course in some ways it’s wonderful that I’m so out of touch with what brought me here in the first place: infertility and miscarriage. But it also means that the community I loved and felt so much a part of has somehow slipped from my reach and there’s really been no niche I’ve felt comfortable in. When things were running at their peak, I never understood the appeal to lurking. But now? Oh, I totally get it. I also have a new appreciation for my son’s repeated lament to move back into the ‘burbs. It would be so much easier for me to transition into this new phase of my life: the one that means no more babies; the one that is bringing me at lightning speed to the half-century mark; the one where I’m trying to find a new career in a market that finds me past-my-prime; and one that I hate the most as far as physical appearances go.

I saw a facebook update by someone who also blogs that said, “I will not write just to have some filler during my off days and weeks, and if you’ve noticed MONTHS. I will write when the muse returns.”

This comes the day after I post something here without substance specifically to be a filler. Is filler necessary to keep myself out there or is it a detriment to you as a reader? Does it scream desperation or does it reassure you that yes, I’m still here – still alive? Is it better to blog of nothing every day or every other day or is it more interesting to see a post come up once a month – if that – that is filled with substance?

And most importantly, where do Blogs go to die?

Déjà Vue

Do any of you remember the animated series that ran in the late 1960s to early 1970s called Jonny Quest? I loved that show for what are now unknown reasons.

I’m not sure how old I was or what grade I was in, but one of my homework assignments was to write an original short story. My short story was an episode from Jonny Quest and therefore NOT original. When my paper was returned to me with a coveted “A”, I was pretty chuffed. Somehow one of my classmates ended up reading my story (not sure if we exchanged stories or if we were suppose to read them aloud in front of the class) and he ridiculed me afterwards on how I had stolen the story from a cartoon.

My humiliation was intense as not only had a peer caught me cheating, but he knew I watched cartoons! I was too old for cartoons! It didn’t occur to me until days later that obviously my classmate had watched the same cartoon.

I read something today that due to the circumstances and the familiarity of the story, I was reminded of my juvenile indiscretion but I will say nothing. While I don’t necessarily doubt the event happening, I found part of the story almost too similar to an event that happened in a popular movie I had seen recently.

Is it cheating? Is it plagiarism? To take something you’ve seen that may (or may not) be fiction and use it to your advantage? Maybe not even to an advantage, but just a way to add dimension to what could have been a relatively flat story? I don’t think you can easily and patently answer yes. I don’t think anyone’s life is ever really perfectly unique. I especially don’t think that any thought or idea I have had was ever truly and 100 percent mine. It was molded and formed and developed under the ideas of anything and everything I have ever seen or heard; something that may have been seen or heard by one person or one hundred thousand persons.

I don’t know why I’m sharing this with you. I guess that’s what a blog is for, isn’t it? And if you didn’t hear it from me, you’d hear it from someone else. Maybe you already have.

Obligatory

Ever post a blip of nonsense just to post something?

Like I’m under an obligation or something…

Maybe it’s because she’s just too cute not to share.

(and if this post comes across wonky as hell, blame WP email option – not me)

Intolerant

It’s ice cold in the office and yet she sweats profusely. She leaves a little bit of herself behind every time she puts the phone’s receiver to her ear.

There are post-its and print-outs everywhere on and around her desk. Phone numbers and contact names are scrawled hurriedly on notes when the data is actually neatly typed on the rolodex hidden by a picture of her grandchildren taped to the shelf above it. The information that was sent to her from Outlook contacts is deleted from her inbox because she doesn’t know how to save it to her own contact file.

The desk surface has a light dusting of crumbs from the unlimited assortment of crackers she snacks on for nine hours a day. A basket of oyster crackers is hidden behind the monitor. Pretzel sticks are in a jar. A sleeve of butter crackers sits on top of a jar of peanut butter and Potato Stix; and those are squeezed in next to a cup of plastic dinnerware and some paper plates.

There are stacks of paperwork that need to be filed sitting on the corner of the desk and on the shelves, including one that is 8” high. They are not filed because she doesn’t know where they go and she hopes that when she gets back from vacation, they will have been taken care of. She will have to hope in vain.

The drawer that once held a set of back up pens, an eraser, a letter opener and some highlighters has been littered with random paper clips, discharged and removed staples, and a tangle of rubber bands.

She takes numerous personal phone calls on the main incoming line a dozen times a day, including a handful from her mother alone. She is 60. Not the mother, but the employee.

SHE TYPES OUT HER EMAILS IN ALL CAPS AND USES NO PUNCUATION HER TYPING IS ELEMENTARY AT BEST AND INHIBITED BY HER FRIGHTENINGLY LONG NAILS SHE ONLY USES THE SHIFT KEY ON THE LEFT AND ONLY BY HOLDING IT DOWN WITH HER LEFT INDEX FINGER AND THEN ONE FINGER TYPING WITH HER RIGHT INDEX FINGER

She uses her mouse to go from one field to another in a spreadsheet instead of the TAB key. Actually she uses the mouse to click all default menu options.

She was given list of supplies to keep stocked two weeks ago. They still have not been ordered. Included on the list was a special request item. When the employee followed up with her, she said it wasn’t written down. The list was found on her desk. On it was the item in question. She’s to compare prices of supplies with at least two on-line companies. She has no idea how to open two web servers and “toggle” between them so she goes to one site, writes down the prices and then goes to the other site and writes down THOSE prices and then goes back to the original site to order the lesser expensive items. However, she has since grown frustrated with that process and has confided that she’s only ordering supplies from the one site “because it takes too long to compare pricing”.

She has no idea how to create a label on her computer so all documents and packages go out in the mail with handwritten addresses on them. A sheet of return address labels that was prepared for her remains untouched in the tray.

For all these shortcomings and so many more, it is not her that is without a job with benefits and a regular paycheck. It is not her complaining about her fellow employees. And it is most certainly not her dedicating an overly-long and belittling post on her private blog. Who really is the better person? The one lacking skills or the one lacking tolerance?

Second Baby Syndrome or Just Shitty Parents?

You hear the stories and read the articles on how second children commonly get the shaft when it comes to parental attention. I spent the past couple of weeks working on a slideshow for Aitch’s second birthday. Long story short: I still haven’t finished it. Now that her birthday has come and gone, I have even lost incentive to get it finished.

Man, I suck.

It’s not that I didn’t finish the slideshow. I didn’t get her a birthday card.

I know, I know. It’s not like she can READ, right?

But I didn’t get her a birthday cake, either.

Wait, it gets even better.

I did buy her some gifts…

…but we never wrapped them.

Of course, I still have time to wrap them. Do you want to know why?

Because we haven’t given her any gifts.

This is not unusual, is it?

I’m going with my earlier determination:

I suck.