UPDATE TO Mrs. Flinger October 16, 2015
Because the Universe has a wicked sense of humor, after this delcaration, my blog threw up all over my last upgrade.
So I'm starting over using Craft. Turning 40 and kid entering Jr High next year, sometimes it's just time for a change. These archives will still exist in the way the last child goes off to college and their room is the same for 20 years, but it's just time to move forward.
Why I am not inviting you over for dinner this week Sep 30, 2008
I’m a little obsessed. And by a little obsessed I mean tuned in to The News 24/7 palpitating with each dramatic climb or drop of the market, watching twitter for latest information, basically becoming a human news ticker. “Market down! Market up! Bill didn’t pass! Bill being updated!” and on and on. It’s annoying my own self.
I’m having a hard time focusing on anything other than the Economy. On anything aside from “THE MARKET”. From anything aside from “THE GREAT GLOBAL MELTDOWN OF TWO THOUSAND AND EIGHT IN WHICH THE FLINGERS LOOSE THEIR HOUSE AND FORTUNE.” Because, if I’m honest, we are those people. We believed the nice Countrywide lady. We took a mortgage out with interest only on a 297K condo because the housing market in Seattle was so out of control, we couldn’t get a house. We were smart, really, not wanting to pay more than 300K for anything knowing we couldn’t afford it and yet? Here we are: 45K upside down on our teeny tiny condo praying that in 12 months everything will turn around because we are so totally fucked if it doesn’t. The ARM comes up in 12 months and our kids may be playing with sticks and beating each other with rocks at that time.
Or maybe they already do that but it will henceforth be known as “home.”
So I’m watching for selfish reasons. For concern. As a libertarian I despise all things Big Government. As a stupid idiot, who bought in a high market and will refinance in a low market, I’m giving myself an ulcer.
So forgive me if you come to my house for dinner and I sit with you at the table for two hours telling you why DEARGODWEAREALLGOINGDOWN. Which is what I did last night after fish tacos and two glasses of wine.
I’m really sorry about that conversation. And probably the lack of cumin, too.
And, as is custom when I’m all sorts of “I don’t know how to end this,” Look! My kids are cute!
Brutally Honest Monday is back and just in time for the bailout Sep 29, 2008
So if you were on the House of representatives, or if you were a person who cares about the Country or if you were a home-owner or a parent or a tax payer:
How would you vote for the bailout?
Consider it your first Brutally Honest Monday poll of version two point oh.
*This is totally just information and out of curiosity only. That is all. After chatting with Mr. Flinger about how far away from the people in their party most representatives have fallen, I’m curious if that is indeed fact. It’s your chance to vote in the comments below. Thank you for participating!
<a href=“http://mrs.flinger.us”><img src=“http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3130/2394484739_8a1ed73b65_m.jpg” alt=“Brutally Honest Mondays” border=“0” /></a>
Today I found a lump Sep 28, 2008
About a month ago I found a little mass on my right leg right next to my girlie bits. I thought maybe it was an ingrown hair. It was small. Harmless. And right Down There where I’m never going to see it, and let’s face it, probably nobody else would, either.
A few weeks ago it had grown and I thought maybe it was a boil? Or a zit? Or something very very unattractive down there between my right leg and my girlie bits.
Today I realized it’s grown in to a large, hard mass. A large mass right there on my leg by my girlie bits.
You know me, right? The hypochondriac dramatic freak who was pretty sure she was giving birth to a three headed baby because she ate (GASP) SOFT CHEESE. She, who also was completely convinced the baby would be born blind because she had to take three rounds of anti-biotics during pregnancy and she who was convinced her child was going to die from a three day fever.
You’d also be happy to know I’ve gone on a drama diet. That’s right. Less Drama! More Life! It’s been very lovely, somewhat boring, very mediocre and tame few months. Dare I say Quiet? Not in the “I have nothing to do” but in the “Bygod the world is not collapsing right this minute.” I’ve even maintained this throughout the economy crash and the presidential debates, although it’s been somewhat difficult at times.
So here I am not using google to diagnose myself. BEHOLD the strength of Not Googling. Be impressed. Oohhh you are impressed (I can tell).
I know it’s no big deal. It’s not. I know. My best friend had a cyst removed from her arm just last week. It’s no big deal. Nope. It’s not.
But I’m still a little scared. Mostly because if I don’t get this taken care of sooner than later, I’m afraid of what I’ll find in another few weeks the next time I look Down There. I can see it now: The Mass That Grew In To What Looks A Lot Like One Testicle! Come One! Come All! The Girlie Freak With The One Ball!
Then try to convince my husband to have sex with me.
I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world for that one.
Photo taken by Michelle during the Leisure Olympics
**Oh, what’s that? You want picture evidence from the Leisure Olympics? Fine. Fine. Yes. I’ll post them. Twist my arm.
***Are you sure? It’s just a bunch of pictures of my friends and I drunk and in awkward poses attempting sports in our early to mid thirties.
***You’re right. It’s hilarious.
Lessons from the YMCA locker room Sep 24, 2008
We recently joined the YMCA (que: YYYYY EMMM CEEE AAAIIII ) and I’ve been going at least three times a week. The children do fine, I get an hour to myself and work off some angst and stress. It’s the best investment we’ve made truly for our own good in a long long time.
There are a lot of families at the Y. There are moms. Kids. Teens.
There are also a lot of old women.
Old. Flabby. Women.
Who don’t use towels.
Probably because they don’t fit.
I remember walking around hiding my body back in my teens and twenties. Those same girls still walk around the locker room hiding behind a towel and scurrying to the dressing area like rats in the sun. They’re also so tiny you would hardly know they were there save for the swoosh of the air as the slightest frame wafts by.
Compare that with the older, more established ladies. They come in from swimming class dripping wet, peal off their suits and shower all while chatting about this or that. They walk to the locker with their towel in their arm. They make eye contact. They laugh. They are truly comfortable in their own skin. One lady walks up to me with her towel in her arm, “Where do we place dirty towels?” she asks. I tell her it’s down the hall, just before you leave the building. She thanks me and I half expect her to march down there butt naked in front of God and everyone.
As I’m wrapping my towel around half my body, allowing my left butt cheek to poke out like those hospital gowns that allow for so much dingity, I realize I’m nearing middle age. I’m not the age of self-consciousness, hiding my young, perk body thinking it’s so fat and ugly, but I’m not at the age of towel-less wrinkle pride with a body that’s suffered years and experiences and still carries on. No, I’m somewhere in the middle; half-heartedly covering my stretch marks and wrinkles padding bare-foot to the shower not quite too shy to hang up my towel before dissapearing in the stall but not proud enough to leave the towel behind.
As it turns out, I realized age doesn’t just bring wisdom, it brings comfort in ourselves. The kind of naked, boob-flapping nakedness that sings of self confidence. Or, at least, a lack of caring. And honestly, isn’t that the same thing?
We’re open again: New! Improved! More tired than ever! Sep 20, 2008
The best part about blogging is how it brings together people you might not get to meet otherwise. It’s amazing how like-minded so many of us are, and yet, here we are all so very unique and offering new perspectives daily.
A while back I met a gal from Teh Internetz. She was someone that always made me laugh and we had a billion things in common. Like: WINE! TODDLERS! VERY ACTIVE AND INTELLEGENT OLDER DAUGHTERS! A LOVE FOR CAPS! AND EXCLAMATION POINTS!
I also found out she was a web programmer (for that pesky .NET language, though) and went to Western Washington as an undergraduate. She graduated in 1997. She was probably in one of my classes. She lived in Bellingham not far from where I did for five years.
So I went to meet her in person convinced I happen to be HER and I was writing myself, somehow, like Russle Crowe in A Beautiful Mind but without all the nazis.
She was real.
She bought me coffee.
My kids adored her.
So we kept in touch and read each other daily. We called. We hung out. We became great friends and one day we confessed to each other how crazy life is and how blogging just isn’t in the “Great List O’ Shit To Do Each Day” anymore. It fell right after bathing children and sweeping the floor, which were also rarely happening. Then a great idea was born and I asked her to move in with me.
I told my super close friends Michelle and Laura that I was having a roommate on my blog and asked if they’d join sometimes. They agreed. Then I told Oma to stop in and visit and help me tell stories of my childhood. She promised not to talk about how I was made or post about condoms. Too much.
So here we are: A community of real friends. The people I adore seeing in real life are now the ones you have the joy of reading here along with your regularly scheduled over use of caps and too much information about my sex life.
But really? We just want you to feel welcome in our pad. Come kick up your feet, grab a
bottle of wine and let it all hang out. I know you’re going to enjoy these ladies as much as I do. Consider yourself blessed. I know I do.
Please go read her first ever POSTED HERE LIVE entry she wrote yesterday. Her archives are here, too. Enjoy the goodness of Single Super Mama!
**For the record, it’s not EXACTLY finished. There is the link blog coming back, my stumbled upon faves, the awesomeness of teh community and the “people we read”. And some other things. I forget. But right now I have to go take a few drabs of whiskey to ease my throat and stop my brain from over-using if-statements and global variables.
Was that out loud? Am I still talking? Right. Must be the fever talking. Off to enjoy a “medicinal” shot. Of anything.
Leisure Olympics 2008 Sep 06, 2008
It’s been a long time dream of Mr. Flinger’s to hold a “Leisure Olympics”. Today that dream comes true.
A Few Good Friends of ours will be competing in what will become a national, nay, a world-wide phenomenon. That’s right. Hold on to yer britches (that’s with an ‘R’, people) because today marks the first annual LEISURE OLYMPICS 2008!
:: the crowd goes wild :: much clapping :: much cheering :: possibly some fireworks except only the lame little legal kinds so like a sparkler or two lights up ::
:: Athletes come marching in wearing matching colors in teams. Children are seen running amok in the background. It’s the most anticipated event of our lives. .. ok.. or maybe like since two weeks ago when we decided to do this. Either way IT WILL BE HUGE ::
Can’t compete? Don’t feel left out: For Rules and Regulations, please follow along below. For pictures, please come back tomorrow. For a tweet-by-tweet account, please follow here starting at 4:30pm PST.
In the mean time, I’ll be warming up and stretching for the beer relay and obstacle course which is sure to kick my arse.