Lost in Frustration

So I am fighting a bit of a cold. I am right in the beginning where it can go one way and be over soon or another and be an awful full-blown cold. I am trying to take care of myself to prevent the latter.

This morning when checking out someone's site they posted a funny video of the show Lost and vented their frustrations. The video was so spot on for me I've decided to repost it here as it brought back all my own frustrations a year after the show's finale.

I remember halfway through the last season thinking, "They're not going to answer any questions. They're not going to tell us the point of this whole show." And yet I continued watching, hoping that they could somehow miraculously wrap up years in a handful of episodes.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind the way the show ends, I mind the lack of explanations. And in every interview that Lindelof and Cuse gave afterward they would say condescendingly (as if we are the unreasonable ones), "we can't answer every single question." To which I would yell at the screen (or magazine), "YOU are the ones who created this intensive mythology! YOU are the ones who asked the questions. YOU are the one who introduced billions of characters and storylines and problems and easter eggs and hidden little nuggets! IS IT SO UNREASONABLE THAT WE EXPECT YOU TO ACTUALLY ANSWER THEM AFTER WE INVESTED YEARS I SAID YEARS INTO THIS SHOW?" In fact the vast majority of huge issues went unanswered. Entire threads of a season were pointlessly ignored. I remember people saying, "These writers have no idea where they are going with this show. They are just throwing things onto the blackboard to see what sticks. They have no idea how it's going to end." And I would faithfully defend them. Now, I realize, THEY WERE RIGHT.

Okay, I'm going to take a step back here.  Obviously I have a little bit of remaining bitterness. I am going to go eat a handful of m&ms and you watch this video. It's a good one.

the hugger

Sometimes I think I could write my own seinfeld-esque show about the people in my life. I think Larry David had the right idea. One storyline would be based on this person I know at church. She unfortunately is a hugger. Oh man, it gives me the chills just typing it. Anytime she comes withing a five-foot radius she is hugging all over me. And she's just so dang happy to see me. And not just a light nice-to-see-you hug. No, these hugs are full-on, squeezy, rub-backy hugs. Ugh. And I am not a hugger. Help me.

I am not saying I'm not loving or nice or anything. And I think I am affectionate as well. But my hugs are sincere, and if I hug you, I really mean it or I haven't seen you in ten years or your dog just got hit by a car or you're my child. That's pretty much it. Not every stinkin' time I see you.

I really, really like my personal space. It's in my DNA. At the Marshall family reunions we would kind of sort of get our shoulders close and pat on the back. That was as close to a hug as we ever came. And truly, we loved each other. But just don't hug us please.

So now when I see this person heading down my hall I will turn around and jump in the nearest doorway. Isn't that pathetic? Is there something wrong with me? I'm wondering if anyone else is like that out there or if it's just me. It makes me wonder what little quirks people have.

My husband just left Target with three items in his cart: a new car seat, tampons, and condoms. You supply the joke. Your welcome.

(And if my mom reads this: sorry.)

AAGH!

I am having trouble getting on my dang blog. Don't you love my harsh language? I am a wild woman, I tell you. Anyway, I don't make it up to my bedroom until eleven and then I just practically fall asleep with my clothes on. It's not pretty in the morning, seriously.

Last night I exercised my flat flabby booty off and then today I ate a whole bunch of cookie cake at our preschool Valentine's party. What can I say, it was Publix, and I am a sucker for Publix frosting. Sigh.

I have some cute pictures and videos to post and I can't find the cord to connect my camera to my computer. I will keep looking, and if I get lucky I will post again tonight.

Next week I turn THIRTY-SIX. THIRTY-SIX!!! I'm on the downside to forty, people. It's okay, really. But just think, if I were a pioneer woman I'd be coming to the end of the line, if you know what I'm sayin'. I'd probably have four teeth left and boobs down to my knees and my twelfth kid at my feet. Yikes, I just got a serious chill up my spine. So I guess that it's not so bad after all. And to drag someone else into my misery I like to remind my parents that they have a thirty-six year old daughter.

And then after that, I go to Boston! BY MYSELF!!! Get ready Charlene, I'm panicking already!! Hardy har. Actually, you should probably be the one doing the panicking!

How to Discipline Your Children Southern Style

my mother, thrilled I am taking her picture whilst eating

My mother is a soft-spoken, talented, well-dressed, gentle, Southern woman. She obeys all of polite society's fashion rules, would never wear flip-flops or denim skirts to church or jeans to Walt Disney World ( can you believe the women who wear bikini tops?? I used to work there...I saw all kinds of things). She knows when to use a whom and when to use a who. She says "Pahl-meh-tah" intead of the Yankee "Pall-met-toe." She gives her grandchildren lots of "Shuh-gah" underneath their chinny chin chins. She plays old Southern hymns on the piano and we love to gather around it and harmonize together. She, like all good Southern women has her china, crystal, and silver and knows where each fork goes and how to use it. She wraps Christmas presents beautifully. She makes the best banana pudding with vanilla wafers you have ever had. For real. I adore my mom. I wish I were more like her. She is all of these wonderful things above, but she is also one tough woman. She has had cancer three times, breast cancer being one of them, and fought hard each time.

So it might or might not surprise you to know that this composed, genteel woman could put the fear of you-know-what into us when we were naughty. Let's face it, a southern woman might know her manners and how to entertain, but by heaven they sure as shootin' know how to keep their kids in line.

Exhibit A: My brother, attempted to sass my mother while she was busy cooking. For the record, the only way he even would have thought about doing this is because my Dad was not at home. Sassing a mother in front of a father in these parts is the quickest way to a blackout.

Soooo.... my brother decides to start said sassing. My mom whipped around faster than a tornado, the chicken broth still dripping off her wooden spoon and said, "Son, I will knock you into next week if you ever say that to me again.

Next: Me, younger and dumber (than now). Who knows what I did...really at all blends in together after all these years of righteous living (haha). Anyway, I just remember my mom telling me my all time favorite: "You ever do that one more time and I am gonna rip your arms off and beat you with the bloody stumps."

Runners Up:
"You are going to pick yourself up on the other side of the street."
"I am going to hang you up by your toenails on the neighbor's clothesline."
"What are you, poor white trash?" (Poor white trash is completely different from good simple country folk) (By the way, you can have tons of money and still be white trash...hence the term white trash with money. I used to see these at WDW also, but that's another post.)

A good disciplinarian can stop a kid in their tracks with a look only. Like my mother, I am a teacher and a mom, so my kids don't stand a chance. I can turn around, arch my eyebrow with an "ex-CUSE ME?" and that's that. How about, "What did you just say to me? Are you talking back to me?"

Sometimes my friends and I see a mother who's kid is clearly in charge and feel great pity for her. Poor thing. One time another mother's son was stomping on top of the baby grand piano AT CHURCH. The mother just kind of clapped her hands in that Sweet-Sister-Molly-Mormon fashion and said, "No, no sweetie, please get down." Little sweetie stomped harder. Mama just said, "He is such a little character." I'm not kidding, that's a true story.

I understand that for some raised in other parts of the country it might seem a bit harsh. But southern children KNOW they are loved. They also know which lines they can't cross. We love and kiss and hug and snuggle with our little ones, and we also love them enough to make sure they don't turn into little spoiled brats.

I am posting this with love to my friends ('specially you kymmie) who love to hear my mom's....isms.

Deep Thoughts at Midnight

Upcoming movie I totally can't wait to see: Julie & Julia

Upcoming movie that looks totally stupid as all get out and I would never pay $10 a person to see: G.I. Joe.

I mean seriously, like my brother's GI Joe's from twenty-five years ago are rolling in their backyard graves, crying out for mercy and justice for the injustice of it all. They have been done wrong. So wrong, ya'll.

I'm just sayin'.
I gotta go to bed.
Has it been 25 years? Wow, I'm getting old.