If you read my blog, you know I'm into CFL bulbs. There's only one drawback with them -- when they're done, you have to make sure to bring them to a recycling center (store, etc.) instead of throwing them in the trash. Due to the mercury inside the bulbs, you could not only harm the planet, but kill someone in the process.
Well, I live in a small town and couldn't find a place to recycle the ONE bulb my husband blew while doing some controlled motor experiment for the vent in the bathroom. This was weeks ago and he still hasn't fixed it. Anyhow, husband wanted to take our chances by just throwing it in the trash and killing unsuspecting garbageman, but I begged to differ.
The little bulb sat on a shelf in my bathroom until FINALLY I saw on our local television station that it was time for the once-a-year county-wide hazardous waste recycling event AND they mentioned CFL bulbs, flashed a number and added, 'Only by appointment,' which is weird. I mean, you're basically making an appointment to get rid of hazardous wastes. Wastes people usually just throw in the trash (disguised in boxes and paper bags) or throw along the sides of the road and or in the forest because, "It's easier than going through all the hassle."
And oh dear Lord of the Flies, you are right, Planet Polluters, it IS a hassle. It took FOUR different calls on FOUR different days to reach the ONE person who could actually make the appointment for me. I felt like I was now being patched through to the Great and Powerful Oz. I was nervous, even excited, imagining the flames leaping up from each side of the curtain. The booming voice, insane white hair, but in reality ... an extremely rude man-voiced woman picked up instead:
Her (think Momma from "Throw Momma From the Train" without odd lisp): Yes?
Me: Yes, I'm calling for the hazardous waste event ... to make an appointment.
Me again: I saw it on TV, I've called because of the number that was flashing on the screen because ...
Her (interrupting): Yes, yes, I know. You don't need to go on ... I'm looking for your date.
Me: Ah, then I'll make sure not to tell my husband. (Silence. Get it, bloggers? Date. She's looking for my date. Ah well.)
Me: OK. Saturday is good.
Her (actually yelling at me as if I rammed into the back of her heel with a cart, which is rather impossible since we're both on the phone in separate locations. I'm in the kitchen at my home, she's in Hell.): What TIME on Saturday?
Me: Well ...
Her (interrupting yet again): NO, what time between 9am and noon?
Me (trying to put nonchalant tone in voice like I don't notice her rudeness or interruptions): 10 am.
Her (loudly): 9:45!
Me (wondering how she could get 9:45 confused with 10): No, 10am is fine.
Her (clearly exasperated): No, 9:45 will be your time. Now, what are you bringing?
Me: A CFL light bulb.
Me (trying to fill silence): It's a fluorescent bulb. Mercury. Little. Energy-efficient. Not a regular bulb ...
Her (angry): I know what it is, but is that it?
Me (wanting to sound less stupid for caring about one bulb and the garbageman): Well, no, do I need a list? I mean, I'm sure my husband has paint cans, maybe polyurethane cans. Lots of hazardous stuff he's forgotten about, really toxic stuff, but I just have the one bulb.
Her (done with me now): Ok, OKAY, 9:45 Saturday, but not THIS Saturday, the FOLLOWING Saturday. Not THIS one. Got it?
Me: 9:45 on the 11th, which is the Saturday after ...
Me: 9 ...
Her: Yeah, yeah, good enough. :::click:::
And this is why deviants everywhere are throwing batteries, computer parts, oil, paint, bulbs, nuclear reactors and everything else in the trash.
I think not only should recycling workers HAVE to be nice, but they should also thank EACH and EVERY person who calls to make an appointment. It should be a hearty THANK YOU FOR HELPING TO MAKE THE PLANET A BETTER PLACE, but hey, that's just me.
You owe me bigtime, garbageman. However, not throwing my garbage cans and their tops like it's an Olympic competition will suffice.
The longer my hair grows, the more I want to cut it off. I knew this would happen. Get long hair, fall in love with it, then secretly ogle clippers. I work my butt off, which means cannot wear hair long during the day, dangly, and lovely. Must wear hair in bun, or ponytail, or in massive clip looking more like 18th century torture device. Still, while this may not be huge news to some -- I've decided to keep long hair and just love it at bedtime ... when it's spread all over pillow like fairy princess in beloved story of olde.
Secondly, I have been a non-smoker for one week. Roll out the barrel, do a jig, skin a pig, or however else you may celebrate. I feel good and strong. I have cried a couple of times (about 10) and I have had the belief that I still smoked. (After dinner went to walk outside and have ciggy a couple of times, only to realize I don't have any cigarettes and more importantly, am no longer smoker) I feel good and as of next week, ready to bring running to another level -- hopefully without gasping, coughing ... and gnashing of teeth. (And side note, is it strange to anyone else that celibate and celebrate look so much alike? Seems odd really. Especially when you think no one in the history of the world has ever uttered the words, "This is cause to celebrate .... let us be celibate!")
Finally, have been going through an extremely rough patch with demonic daughter. She has now been with horrible boyfriend for four months. Four LONG months. The more we are around and know about this boy, the more we dislike him. Daughter's best friend feels the same. As do best friend's parents, my mother, and a host of others. I've been handling all this badly and could really do with some advice as advice I've been receiving is total and utter shite. Since daughter is not behaving as expected, should I restrict freedoms even more? (have already started) Any way I could force a break-up and actually believe she isn't seeing him once I do? Really lost on this, uber-depressed as well. (P.S. Have no idea who people in picture were or are ... swiped from Google, but they appear to be happy.)
Still concentrating on my own health as to not get lost in the center of it all. Will run marathon someday if it kills me ... and can think of no better way to die really if it does. More coherent posts to follow after nicotine withdrawal no longer an issue.
When the Harry Potter bandwagon came by, I scoffed. My kids were into it, but I was not. I still bought my daughter the books and took both of the kids to see the first film. I remember watching it trying to convince myself that I didn't like it, which was hard.
Born on Halloween in 1970, it seemed like Harry Potter was made for me. I was always a believer in dark things. I was reading black magic books while other kids my age were reading Dr. Seuss. I wouldn't have traded my blood spells for "Hop on Pop." While other girls were playing with Barbie, I was learning and practicing incantations.
Even with my strange youth, I found myself resisting Potter to the point of making fun of the adults who were not. Then one night about six years ago, I found myself with absolutely nothing to read. I went into my daughter's room to check on her, saw the Harry Potter books sitting there on her desk, and shrugged my shoulders while scooping up the first in the series. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I read every book up until that point, then read everyone that came out after that point. I've watched and purchased all the films. I'm perfectly okay with being a hypocrite.
So, let's get back to last week. Vacation, but let me preface it by saying ... I used to be an embarrassed, ashamed smoker. I didn't smoke indoors, around people, in my vehicle, around my children, around other people's children, etc., but yet I still managed to smoke 3-5 cigarettes a day. And I'll be honest, I was completely addicted to those cigarettes. Those cancer sticks I wasn't even enjoying. The taste, the smell ... everything about them in fact, made me nauseous. No more delicious after dinner cigarette or scrumptious cigarette with morning coffee. All of them now tasted terrible.
What was the benefit? I like white teeth so the extra work I had to keep mine looking their best wasn't it. They didn't keep me from eating and also made all workouts much harder. I did have three times a day outdoors with my husband where we were perfectly alone, without any kids, recounting the day's events. Was that my only reason for not giving it up?
These were my thoughts while in Rhode Island last week. Scampering to find a place outdoors to smoke with my husband, in private, in hiding, in secret and full of shame, I stood puffing on something that was making me sick and I said, "I'm done with this. After vacation, I quit."
Long story short (too late), I've quit. I'd like to say cold turkey, but in fact, the last book in the Harry Potter series -- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows -- was there to help. I finished it just a while ago reading through any stray cravinigs. I tried to drag it out as much as possible, but had to know how it ended. I will not give any spoilers here. I will simply say, not as I had thought, I'm a bit sad to see it end, and yet am glad to join the ranks of non-smoking muggles everywhere. Good-bye Harry, but hurrah to me!
I just went back through old posts/comments and realized I might have offended some people with my Flower People post ... mainly the couple I wrote about in it. That bit about an ex-friend, her husband, and a male friend they're having sex with and comparing it to Tiger Lilies. In my only poor defense, I didn't realize this friend and her husband would not only read it, but would also be back on Blogspot with the actual guy in my little joke as well. I didn't think they'd be reading or still be living together or even be here. So, I can't just erase the post and say, "Whoops." I don't want to ignore his comment or the situation either.
I was being humorous (in my mind) as I don't have any bad feelings about the ex-friend or her husband. While the sexual situation of another guy with myself and hubby doesn't sound appealing to either one of us, I realize it's a lifestyle choice. It's just not my lifestyle choice. Even if Jack Black came knocking on the door, there's still the kids to get in my way and even though my friend is a parent, I realize we all parent differently.
What am I saying? Too much, I think. Let's just say it's out there, I said it, I made a mistake, and I know it. Let's also say my friendship with this woman didn't fail because of her lifestyle choice, but it was a contributing factor. Just one. There were many reasons I wanted to end the friendship, but I will admit it ... I know I'm judgemental. I know this about me.
I do look at people and think they could do better and I don't even take into consideration that they may love how they live. I have the "I'm right" disease. Not when people are single, but if kids are involved, good God, I'm crazed with righteousness.
I am working on it ... little by little. I didn't mean to cause any harm and I really was in my own mind ... just being goofy. I'm glad I'm out of the friendship and am doing this publicly to admit the error and put it to bed as I don't desire further contact. It was in poor taste and I apologize. This will be the last I write on the subject publicly.
The real post on my vacation is below this one. Thanks so much. Over and out.
This picture of my children just about sums up our trip to Rhode Island. I'm sorry to say, especially if anyone is reading this who was born in or inhabits Rhode Island, but ... we hate your state.
We hated driving such long distances to try and find something like ... well, seafood. I mean, let's face it, Rhode Island is surrounded by the ocean. There's just no excuse for driving one hour to pay $25 for a small and shabby bit of lobster.
We hated all the stoplights. Even on the highway. Every ten minutes. Stoplight here, stoplight there, followed by many stop signs. Enough already!
We hated getting lost and ending up in a seaside town that can only be compared to the Compton of the East. Graffiti, gangstas, trash and debris. I'll make this very clear, if you're traveling to Rhode Island BE SURE to go out of your way to miss Oakland Beach all together.
Newport was all right. Didn't rain on that day, but there were too many people trying to grab "nice looking families" off the street to sell them such ridiculous things as ... oh, I don't know ... Rhode Island timeshares, perhaps?
The town of Wickford was lovely and historic, right on the harbor, but once again ... no seafood restaurant. (I mean, you're on the harbor for God's sake and all you have to eat are donuts and pastries?!?)
Along the scenic coast in the south was much better, but as luck would have it, as we happened upon "much better," it began to rain. And by rain, I mean torrential downpour followed by lightning and thunder then start it all over again.
Hubby had bright idea of going on an hour long ferry ride to Block Island to "wait out the rain," but rain was very crafty. Rain began falling in sheets as soon as we stepped off the boat. Rain proceeded to pelt us in buckets while we walked just ten minutes through town. Long enough to buy umbrella and ponchos, which by this point were pointless. Hubby then said, "Let's just sit miserably wet and cold on long ferry ride back to car." Blargh.
I just kept thinking, 'Please, God, let husband not get lost again. Let him either listen to me or stop to ask resident. If this cannot be done, let me drown in the lake-size puddles now.'
Still, hubby and son went sailing together for first time ever. Our suite was quite beautiful, impeccably clean, and quiet. Hubby swam in ocean with kids for first time ever (usually leaves it up to me) and I got in some quality time with my daughter, but Rhode Island is one state we're glad to cross off the list of states we've not been to yet. We're not putting it on the "states we'd like to visit again" list. No way. A most hearty Whitney Houston "HELL to the NO" on that!
It's good to be home with pug ... and wilted flowers ... in New York. Will be visiting all of you soon.
Hubby and I have been all over the map (the map of North America). Between the two of us, we've been to almost every state except a small handful. Rhode Island is in that handful until next Monday, the 16th, when we pack up, throw sleepy teenagers in the back of the Sporttrac, drop Drusilla the pug off at Granny's, and head out for vacation.
The children don't understand why we're going to Rhode Island. Maine, our usual haunt is understandable, but Rhode Island? Confused countenances abound every time it's brought up at home ... even when we mention we'll still be swimming in the North Atlantic, we'll still be on beaches, and we'll still be consuming massive quantities of seafood. It's no good. They just don't get it.
Hubby and I feel it's good to go places you've never been ... and since we can't yet afford that dream vacation to Europe, Rhode Island (Newport to be exact) will have to do. I'm posting this a bit early and will be dutifully checking and reading blogs until I leave, but I wanted to make sure I gave everyone the heads up.
Anyone else have any plans for summer? Still stuck on flower people? Not ready to move on? Well, Violas are the Rhode Island's state flower. Know anyone like that?
I'm spending my off moments in my garden. Lots of new flowers are blossoming. My Thomas Jefferson black-eyed susans, the daisies, the garisols. Even with the snakes, the spiders, and the deer flies, being outside calms me.
My thoughts drift. I think of life. I think a lot about people and situations.
Yesterday I was busy at a graduation party and unable to tend my gardens. I did a lot of it the day before and while watering I thought how much people, all I've met and those I've spoke to from a distance, are like flowers. Friends could be compared to flowers, at least the ones I've had, and even family. Don't let me lose you yet, not before I explain ...
Think about the friend you've had who always had to take center stage. It was all "look at me, I should be a model, but I'm not ..." or "I should be an actress, but I'm not..." or "here, look at all my pictures because I think I'm all that, but really, I'm not..." and tell me that doesn't remind you of one of those showy flowers like rose bushes. They look okay, right? BUT they're a lot of work. They need a lot of upkeep. A lot of pruning and even THEN, there's always pests, the proper soil, the right light. Let one of these things take over and that pretty rose turns into a hag of a bloom. These flower friends can't just take it as it comes. They want the world to believe they're cheerful and beautiful, but deep down, all the people around them know the truth and want to scream --- HIGH MAINTENANCE!
Or, have you ever had a friend for a long time, perhaps a long distance friend who you thought was just such a sweet, lovely person ... then a couple years later you find out they're completely self-absorbed when lo and behold, they're not that sweet either. They've invited some other man into their marital bed and even their husband is shagging this new guy. (true story I've gone through with ex-friend) Tell me that's not like a tiger lily. Pulls you in with the lovely color and some odd black spots and then BAM, they're not happy in their own little patch, they all need to inter-breed like some freak Greek orgy. No self-respecting flower would want to be near them and let's be serious, the tiger lily would choke them out anyway.
And how about perennial daisies? Low maintenance, a classic, and dainty. Faithful? You bet! It'll be there year after year without any work from you. Then bring a bouquet inside and WOW, have a whiff. They stink. This is the friendship that's great from a distance, but up close, hell to the no. It can't be tolerated.
How about the one-sided relationship, i.e. the sunflower? Looks great in the beginning, strong and stately, grows quickly and tolerates even a bit of drought (quiet times) and then when it finally peaks, when you finally feel like you can rely on it a bit, what happens? It droops. Not just a little, no, of course not. It droops so much so that you're forced to hold it up. That's all you'll spend your time doing -- holding something else up. Not so great.
Besides the flower that shags outside of marriage, I've been all of these. Right now I feel more like a black-eyed Susan. Dedicated, unassuming, no work required, no flash or glam, but a bit old-fashioned, a bit set in my ways. Peaceful and prudent.
I could go on paragraph after paragraph on flower people. Don't even get me started on lilacs, but I'm more interested in what flower you think you're like. What about your closest friend? Your mother or your hairdresser? Come on, expand your mind, take a minute, and tell me about your personal acquaintance garden. It'd be good for a laugh.
(Title of Painting: Marvel of Peru, dated 1847 by artist J. J. Grandville) *Blogger wouldn't allow me to title my post in the Title Box.