1. Words of Wisdom — or warning

   February 3, 2012 by Marissa

   

   The last cou­ple of weeks and the weeks forth­com­ing are nuts. Crazy. Stress­ful. This is a but­ton that should be promi­nently dis­played on my per­son at all times.

   Category silence is golden, Speaking Words of Wisdom, That's Life, What's Inside Marissa's Head | Tags: | No Comments

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2. Speaking Words of Wisdom

   January 24, 2012 by Marissa

   Here I am again attempt­ing to take a stab at a weekly fea­ture on this blog. This inspi­ra­tion stems from an online photo album I started on Face­book that is enti­tled “Hell to the Yeah!” Some of the quotes will be heart felt. Oth­ers will be cheeky and snarky in their deliv­ery. Here and there (a lot, really) are empow­er­ing to women. Men will still be able to appre­ci­ate the sen­ti­ment, though. I mean, it’s not like I am forc­ing you to watch a chick flick or read my chick lit. If you have daugh­ters, guys, you’re surely wish­ing for them to embody inde­pen­dent spir­its, right?
    

   Oop­sies! I went off on a tan­gent. Here is week one of

   Speak­ing Words of Wis­dom
   

   

   Javier Bar­dem played the char­ac­ter Felipe. Yeah, it makes it all much more sexy now, doesn’t it?

   Category For The Greater Good, getting better all the time, I get by with a little help, Speaking Words of Wisdom, That's Life | Tags: | No Comments

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3. The morning after

   December 26, 2011 by Marissa

   It is Decem­ber 26. For most of you, you’re prob­a­bly lament­ing it being the end of your four day week­end. After all, the day after Christ­mas is an unof­fi­cial hol­i­day that many employ­ers rec­og­nize. Lucky you if you’re one of those asso­ciates who gets to hang at home with the load of gifts you received on Christ­mas. As for me, I’m headed back to work as if a hol­i­day hadn’t even occurred. One day off and back at it! How­ever, I do have friends who didn’t even have Christ­mas day off. For some it hap­pens because of their career of choice, or for oth­ers they took what­ever job could get the bills paid and it just so hap­pens that work­place never closes.

   Ahh­hhh what the hell is the point of this blog post? I have no freakin’ idea. It seemed nec­es­sary for words to occupy the web page. GoDaddy keeps send­ing noti­fi­ca­tions that I need to pay up to keep my domain and web host­ing. Seri­ously, do I care any­more? I mean, when I wasn’t pay­ing jack sh*t on Blog­ger this blog saw a lot more action. Since I’m not mak­ing a dime off my blath­er­ing, isn’t it a waste of my hard earned cash to keep it up? Yeah, I think so. With the econ­omy beat­ing me up a lit­tle more each day, it has been nec­es­sary to eval­u­ate smart expen­di­tures over fool­ish ones. When $14.95 can be bet­ter spent on say, putting a cou­ple of gal­lons in the car to trans­port me to work or buy 3.5 gal­lons of milk for my teen age son, it would be wise not to spend it on a mem­ber­ship for some­thing that serves no pur­pose to my life.

   I need to vent, obvi­ously. There it is. The purpose

   .

   2011 wasn’t what I had hyped it up to be in my mind. Sure, it’s my own men­tal­ity that made it what it was, for sure. A lot of us are in the same boat. It’s been 365 days of ebbs and flows. Oh, wait. That’s just how life is? You mean I can’t always be some cheer­leader ‘my life is bet­ter than your life and your life can be like my life if you just sip on this Kool-aid?’ Sure, if that’s your bag, feel free to carry it. I, on the other hand, have to sip on my own cup of brew and be who I is! Again, some rev­e­la­tion that should’ve always been my phi­los­o­phy. Hey, I’m a late bloomer haha. In hind­sight, which is always 20/20, it has dawned on me that I did too much lis­ten­ing to oth­ers and not enough hear­ing my own voice. Tons of do this not that from well inten­tioned people.

   2012 is already set to start out with me suck­ing it up and mov­ing for­ward. Oh! Yet another bril­liant epiphany. With all the self-help ‘be a bet­ter you’ advice books out there, I think one of the things peo­ple for­get (me any­way) is to thine own self be true.

   What can you expect from me in the com­ing weeks? Well, I’ll let you know when it happens.

   Category deep thoughts with Miss Riss, For The Greater Good, Insane in the membrane, Never surrender, random blathering, Rissues, That's Life, What's Inside Marissa's Head | Tags: | No Comments

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4. The Breakfast of Champions

   December 4, 2011 by Marissa

   Take a gan­der at this photo. At first, I con­sid­ered crop­ping it so it would fit bet­ter on the page. All that extra dead space seemed a waste. Then, I real­ized the impor­tance of the time stamp. 

   

   While at the laun­do­rama mind­ing my own dirty laun­dry, I spied with my lit­tle eye … a mom feed­ing her tod­dler neon orange Chee­tos and Sprite. Again, notice the time stamp. That is AM, by the way.

   Here’s a close view of the child’s morn­ing feast.

   

   Hold up! She has a bot­tle, Sprite and Chee­tos. Surely exactly what a grow­ing girl needs. My judg­men­tal ire came out and I was all ready to point fin­gers and blather on and on about how this is child abuse — some of you may jump on that. Then, I started think­ing about how it isn’t my place to cast dis­parag­ing remarks on this woman. For all I know, this mom and daugh­ter had been up for hours and 9 o’clock in the morn­ing is lunch time. Who the hell knows. I didn’t ask. Lord knows some of the things I’ve done as a par­ent has prob­a­bly left people’s jaws on the floor.

   Before you read the next part, let it be known we make real efforts to eat health­ier food with only an occa­sional dip in the “I can’t believe we’re eat­ing this crap” food category.

   Parental Con­fes­sion: As a par­ent of a once finicky eater, I admit to feed­ing my son what­ever it was he would eat regard­less of the time of day. His pri­mary school years were tricky. As a tod­dler, Man­cub HATED milk but loved cheese. Now he goes through about 4–5 gal­lons of the moo-juice per week. As I was say­ing, the boy was once quite picky. His food choices were based on fix­a­tions. He went through a spaghetti phase. Then, there was the tuna salad with­out bread … just a fork and tuna salad in a bowl while enjoy­ing the Arthur the Aard­vark on PBS. In the morn­ing. Des­per­ate attempts to ensure my kidlette was nour­ished. After all, we’d peri­od­i­cally have break­fast for din­ner because all we had in the fridge were veg­gies and eggs. Hel­looooo omelet! And, here is where you can all throw your nutri­tion books at me and call me a fool­ish mom … Man­cub has eaten Ramen noo­dles for break­fast. Merely feed­ing those to him AT ALL may get your feath­ers ruf­fled. As I said, it was often a strug­gle to get him to eat any­thing before going off to school.

   Back to the photo. It’s not so much that Chee­tos are not a break­fast food. Tech­ni­cally, I don’t think they can be con­sid­ered food at all … but I digress. What point am I try­ing to make here? Oh yeah, par­ent­ing isn’t easy and feed­ing your kids is often a real bat­tle between what you know is best for them and what they will eat. You know the darling’s tummy is rum­bling. So, what do you do? Ide­ally, feed them at home. Prefer­ably a nutri­tious meal. How­ever, if you’re in a jam for what­ever rea­son … and kiddo is whin­ing … you give them any­thing to pre­vent a total melt down. At least she wasn’t eat­ing M&Ms (also avail­able in the vend­ing machine) and wash­ing them down with Sprite.

   Category America the Beautiful, asshattery, Dirty Laundry, I'm so mean, laundry days, Rissues, Stupid girl, That's Life, That's Scary, toss your cookies | Tags: | No Comments

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5. ABCs of Gratitude

   November 24, 2011 by Marissa

   Armed Forces — With­out the self­less­ness of men and women who choose to serve in America’s mil­i­tary branches, I wouldn’t have free­dom as I know it.

   Beach­body — With­out the amaz­ing group of peo­ple and pro­grams made avail­able through this com­pany, I wouldn’t have man­aged to lose weight with­out a gimmick.

   Cof­fee — Mir­a­cle elixir of the morning.

   Dop­pel­ganger — I love the word. I’m not so sure I’d ever want to meet mine.

   Estro­gen — I enjoy being a girl! OK, not ALL the time, but I’m grate­ful menopause hasn’t hit me yet.

   Food — Seems rather basic, huh? There’s always food on my table and in my son’s belly… and a bit too much in mine. It’s a love/hate relationship.

   Girl­friends — Every woman needs close-knit female friends. Mine are diverse and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

   Hum­mus — It’s deli­cious and good for you! Think the kids won’t like chick-peas aka gar­ban­zos? Have them try Hummus.

   Idioms — I use them freely. They are fun and add color to conversation.

   Jump­ing Jacks — Two years ago I couldn’t do them. Today I am able to thanks to los­ing weight and increas­ing my strength and mobil­ity. YEA!

   Kit­ties — I love my feline friends. They may be aloof and annoy­ing at times, but I love ‘em.

   Laugh­ter — Yours or my own. It’s the world’s best medicine.

   Man­cub — He is my world and rea­son for get­ting up daily. He teaches me lessons daily.

   Nean­derthals — The jerks who haven’t evolved. Why am I grate­ful for them? It helps me teach my son what NOT to be.

   Open minds — We need more of them in this world.

   Patience — It is a virtue and not some­thing I typ­i­cally pos­sess. How­ever, when it counts the most it’s with me.

   Qual­ity — In this world of excess, I have learned that qual­ity of time and prod­uct is the bet­ter partner.

   Resilience — My par­ents blessed me with the abil­ity to be resilient. Try to knock me down and I bounce right back. A proud fam­ily trait.

   Sis­ters — I have four fab­u­lous female role mod­els. Each one has offered amaz­ing lessons in my lifetime.

   Tech­nol­ogy — This blog brought to you by Apple.

   Uncon­di­tional love — Best feel­ing in the world to give it and receive it.

   Ver­nac­u­lar — OK, it’s an unusual thing to be grate­ful for, I guess. Wel­come to the melt­ing pot! Plus, I’m cur­rently watch­ing Swamp Peo­ple on His­tory Channel.

   Water — Basic. Sim­ple. Not avail­able to every­one on this planet.

   XX — chro­mo­somes that make me a girl! This makes me think of a Sein­feld episode when Elaine declares to George and Jerry, “I don’t know how you walk around with those things. ”

   Zip­pity Doo Dah! — Yes, I sing it when I’m happy. I sing it when I need to get happy. I sing it when I’m being sarcastic.

   Category All about me, America the Beautiful, getting better all the time, I get by with a little help, kindness, Rissues, That's Life | Tags: | 1 Comment

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6. Sickening

   October 6, 2011 by Marissa

   

   **This post is graphic and may be offen­sive to those of you with weak stom­achs**

   Mon­day evening brought a stom­ach ache that I thought was due to over indulging in home made Chi­nese food. I took a Tums and went to bed after watch­ing Castle.

   Around 4 AM a seri­ous abdom­i­nal grum­bling accom­pa­nied with dis­com­fort woke me. Doing what one would do in such an obvi­ous sit­u­a­tion, I returned to bed with hopes of sleep­ing until my son’s alarm went off at 6 AM.

   Wrong!

   The dis­com­fort was too intense for me to remain in bed. Toss­ing and turn­ing made return­ing to the land of slum­ber impos­si­ble. Rather than fight it, I got up and began my usual morn­ing rou­tine of mak­ing cof­fee, turn­ing on the news and check­ing what was new on Facebook.

   By the time my junior in high school lum­bered down the stairs, full force nau­sea and other stuff had kicked in. It was imme­di­ately clear that my 9:30 AM clock in time at work would not occur. A cup of cof­fee wasted. Two sips and it was clear it was a bad choice.

   Blurgh.

   

   Fast for­ward to the present. Day three and I’m weak and woozy, but no longer pro­jec­tile vom­it­ing air. Air? Yes, air. Until last night (Wednes­day), I wasn’t able to keep any­thing in my stom­ach. After tex­ting my niece who is a nurse, she told me I had to get Gatorade or ice chips in small amounts to stay down or she’d come get me to go to the emer­gency room.

   NO!!!!

   It’s not that I don’t have insur­ance or a fear of doc­tors or nee­dles. It’s just that  … I have no real idea why. Pos­si­bly the loom­ing debt that would come with an ER visit regard­less of insur­ance. It isn’t 100% cov­er­age, after all.

   So, my son brought me a bot­tle of Gatorade — Pow­er­ade, actu­ally– I sipped and sipped until it was gone. Along with each sip I prayed and prayed that it would remain in my system.

   Call it luck or the power of prayer, it stayed in my stom­ach and my headache sub­sided until 2:30 AM. I awoke aston­ished that there wasn’t dis­com­fort any­where but my back which I fig­ured was due to the effects of the intense power of throw­ing up. Seri­ously, that does a num­ber on the entire body. Plus, I’d slept away two days of my life. Another thing, because I’m a weirdo and based on curios­ity, I weighed myself Tues­day morn­ing prior to hack­ing up my guts numer­ous times (and other stuff). This morn­ing (Thurs­day), I stepped on the scale again. Ten pounds. TEN POUNDS in two days. Of course, it is not fat. Hon­estly, by the looks of my ankles, I think it all came from there. I’d been bloated and sport­ing some lovely can­kles since hav­ing not worked out much since my dancing-fool recep­tion knee injury. For what it is worth, my knee no longer hurts nor does it have lim­ited movement.

   Oops, sorry. I was side tracked.

   Now, let us come to the cur­rent day. It’s Thurs­day and I feel about 50%. Show­er­ing was risky.At the time I was about to get in the shower I’d texted a friend to ask that if he didn’t hear from me in 30 min­utes to call 911 because I passed out; hit my head and may be uncon­scious and dying in my tub. For­tu­nately, only a bout of dizzi­ness occurred and I held my footing.

   A lit­tle before noon today my phone rang. Being nearly asleep on the couch, I con­sid­ered ignor­ing it, but some­thing told me not to. Good thing I hadn’t dis­missed the call. It was my son’s school call­ing to tell me that my child who hasn’t missed a day of school since fifth grade was com­plain­ing of feel­ing sick to his stom­ach and a headache.

   Oh, no! What had I done? I infected my own child.

   With­out hes­i­ta­tion I grabbed my keys and dashed to the high school. About a block from my house it dawned on me I prob­a­bly had no busi­ness dri­ving in my state, but my son needed me. Dri­ving with delib­er­a­tion that an over­tired trucker might have, I made it to and from the school with­out incident.

   Within 3.5 hours of my son com­ing home, he was spew­ing into a bucket that I’d put next to the couch. The poor kid doesn’t know what to do! He doesn’t get sick. He may get a snif­fle now and then. How­ever, it is gone within a mat­ter of 24 hours. Let me repeat: HE DOES NOT GET SICK! That is until today.

   I made my child sick.

   If you’re a par­ent you know exactly what I mean when I say that it seems impos­si­ble to ever do enough for your kids. It’s such a help­less feel­ing that we can’t wave our magic parental hand over them and make it all bet­ter … or give a kiss on the boo boo.

   My son is amaz­ing and I have never been shy about brag­ging about him. He and I have had impen­e­tra­ble immune sys­tem until recently. It makes sense, per­haps, that we’d both get sick together. Here’s what is TRULY astound­ing about my kiddo: Before he departed for the day, he picked up his assign­ments from the classes he missed today and is cur­rently doing his homework.

   Go ahead and read that sen­tence again. It’s high­lighted for your view­ing pleasure.

   He vio­lently threw up less than an hour ago and he is now tak­ing care of home­work. It is appar­ent that he has full inten­tions of attend­ing school tomor­row. He doesn’t even know how to play it up (as I did). Egads, how did I get so lucky?

   Now, I’m going to com­mence to pray­ing that my son has expe­ri­enced the last of toss­ing his Gatorade into a garbage pail.

   Category All You Need Is Love, Angels on My Side, freaky shit, Love You Forever, Mama Said, Mancub, Rissues, That's Life, That's Scary, toss your cookies | Tags: | No Comments

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7. Blank

   September 25, 2011 by Marissa

   Why is this post title BLANK? Well, when I sat down to write, my mind was sim­ply blank. The only thing swirling about in my cra­nium was … huh? What were we talk­ing about?

   My day started out with laun­dry HELL! It seems that every­one got out early and brought weeks upon weeks worth of laun­dry simul­ta­ne­ously. One woman was using sev­eral wash­ers (all of the BIG LOAD ones) and when that cycle was com­pleted, she’d reload the machine with more dirty clothes! Then, one dude who had an enor­mous amount of laun­dry left while his clothes were in the dry­ers. They stopped before he returned. Mean­while, peo­ple were wait­ing with wet clothes for those dry­ers … and THEN!!!!! another woman and her help­ful brood came in with wet cloth­ing and used up 5 dry­ers… and they left while the ran. Oy to the vey!!! Seri­ously? C’mon. For­tu­nately, the dude with the but­t­load of dry­ers returned just as my wash­ers were fin­ish­ing their cycles.

   So, y’all know that last week­end was spent cel­e­brat­ing the nup­tials of my niece and her dar­ling hus­band. My knee is still wonky from all the crazy as hell dance moves I was throw­ing down. Who knew the Cupid Shuf­fle could be so dangerous?

   My return to work after four days off was rel­a­tively unevent­ful other than the fact that I was hob­bling about the lab mak­ing it appear that I was in dire pain. It’s not so much a lit­eral pain, but a pain in the tuchus that I can­not straighten my leg fully nor bed it com­pletely. Suck­atude! It is bet­ter today than it was yes­ter­day. Ice and ele­vate along with Ibupro­fen seems to be the ticket. That is, when I’m not required to be on my feet.

   What’s totally stinky about this injury is the lack of work­ing out. I had finally found my groove again with Turbo Fire. Turbo Fire is high inten­sity even if you mod­ify. Grrrr There was an attempt made to work out but take it easy. No way Jose’! Work­ing the upper body with hand weights or resis­tance bands is still doable. So, I got that goin’ for me … which is nice.

    

   With mist falling from the uber gray skies, it seemed a good plan to make beef stew in the crock pot. Gro­cery shop­ping had been tack­led yes­ter­day before my shift at work. It was sunny and beau­ti­ful. The thought of beef stew hadn’t occurred to me. Ingre­di­ents had to be picked up for the autum­nal com­fort food. Hope­fully it will be deli­cious as I haven’t ever made it from scratch. Nor­mally, I use some beef stew sea­son­ing mix from McCormick. For me, no stew is com­plete with­out drop dumplings. How­ever, I may just cheat and use cut up ready made ‘wop’ bis­cuits. Why wop? Because you wop ‘em on the counter to open the can ::rimshot::

   Ohhhh suu­u­u­ure!

   Now that I have resolved myself to stay­ing snug­gled under blan­kets while watch­ing movies on the telly, the sun is shin­ing. Shall I con­sider a change of plans? A local eatery is host­ing their annual chili cook off. Maybe I’ll ven­ture over to see what’s shak­ing. Man­cub has no taste for chili. He’s not a nor­mal human being. It just seems odd that some­one could dis­like chili. I’ve made it numer­ous ways and while he will eat it out of hunger or kind­ness, he’d pre­fer some­thing less … chili-esque. I have no doubt that if I sug­gest the boy and I go to Perry Farm (the site of our pic­turesque adven­tures) … Oh, never mind. I can’t exactly hike or walk with this gimpy knee.

   BLAST!!

   OK, BIG and Indi­ana Jones and the Last Cru­sade are on simul­ta­ne­ously. I’m bip­ping back and forth. If I doze off that combo should make for an inter­est­ing dream.

   ps, by the time this was posted the sun went behind a mass of clouds giv­ing me reas­sur­ance that stay­ing indoors under the blan­kets was a per­fect plan

   Category deep thoughts with Miss Riss, From My Kitchen, laundry days, my mind is a scary place, Never surrender, Rissues, Set backs, That's Life, We Are Family, What's Inside Marissa's Head | Tags: | 2 Comments

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8. Dear Mom

   May 8, 2011 by Marissa

   Dear Mom,

   I’m 45 years old and today is Mother’s Day. My son, your grand­child is still sleep­ing as I write this let­ter. He’s a hoot and a half. While it may seem he’s self-centered, he is not. Man­cub just doesn’t quite under­stand the point of a hol­i­day to cel­e­brate moms. He loves me daily and never goes to school or bed with­out giv­ing me a hug and a kiss. A phone call is never ended with­out exchang­ing “I love you.”

   I am 45 and it has been nearly 30 years since we said our last good bye. Our final “I love you” is merely a wisp of a mem­ory. It is dif­fi­cult for me to think back and recall the exact moment. You’d think that it would have left an indeli­ble mark on me. As you know, for a very long time I dealt with your depar­ture by recall­ing only the angry moments or the times when I felt like a sec­ond class child amongst the other 7 you raised.

   Later, as my anger soft­ened, I became envi­ous of my older sib­lings because they had the chance to be with you much longer than I had. Fif­teen is a really sucky time to say farewell to ones mother. But then, I don’t need to tell you that as I am preach­ing to the choir.

   There’ve been so many moments in my life that I just needed to talk to you. Your advice may not have always been heeded, but it would not have fallen upon deaf ears. Many events have come and gone leav­ing me won­der­ing if I’d had fewer tribu­la­tions had you been able to win the war on can­cer. I’m kind of talk­ing about mar­ry­ing Mancub’s dad. I know! I know. Had it not been for him I would not have the most incred­i­ble child in the world. Take the good  phe­nom­e­nal  with the bad.

   My love life? Yeah, I know it’s rel­a­tively com­pletely nonex­is­tent. Dad always told me I had your gift of mak­ing peo­ple feel com­fort­able in your pres­ence. Maybe men are too com­fort­able and I’m like their favorite sports jer­sey or Dad’s per­cep­tion of me was a smidge off kil­ter. Either way, if you have any pull in that area I’d appre­ci­ate your help.

   I hope you can appre­ci­ate my cau­tious­ness. Being a mom is my num­ber one pri­or­ity. Hey, you did it 8 times over. So, once more I am preach­ing to the choir.  By the way, how did you man­age to love each one of us so uniquely? The mere thought of hav­ing to divide my love up is a con­cept which I find impos­si­ble to fathom. One was the magic num­ber for me.

   If there’s any sin­gu­lar wish I might have for this Mother’s Day is that you look upon me with a great sense of pride. I’ve screwed up plenty along the way, but all of those moments where I lacked good judg­ment are erad­i­cated when I look upon Mancub.

   I love you, Mom. I’ve missed hav­ing heart to heart talks with you. Thank you, though, for giv­ing me four sis­ters. They’ve pro­vided guid­ance and love in your absence.

   Happy Mother’s Day from one baby of the fam­ily to another.

   Your Caboose,

   Marissa

   Category All about me, Always, childhood, deep thoughts with Miss Riss, family, Love You Forever, Mama Said, Mancub, memories, mother, Proud Mom Alert, That's Life, Uncategorized, what becomes of the broken hearted, Wildhair Designs | Tags: | 1 Comment

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9. “I want to be alone…”

   May 1, 2011 by Marissa

   In her husky accent Greta Garbo declared, “I want to be alone.” After exten­sive (Wikipedia) research because I had always heard she was mis­quoted, I found this quote which best sums up how I feel when it comes to my time away from work.

   “I never said, ‘I want to be alone.’ I only said, ‘I want to be let alone.’ There is all the dif­fer­ence.
   

   “You can­not have a vaca­tion with­out peace and you can­not have peace unless left alone.“
   

   I put in my time 100% at ye olde grind. My pay comes hourly and not salary. Even if I was paid salary that doesn’t take away from the fact that time at home with my son or whomever else I choose to dally is my own. It’s not as if my role is so vital that my deci­sions will make or break a multi-billion dol­lar deal. I don’t need to be needed 24/7 to be assured that I’m appre­ci­ated in the work place. I trust that those who are on the clock will make deci­sions in the moment to get through the day. In the moment choices have to be made whether or not they are what I would have done in the same cir­cum­stance. Hun­dreds of skilled peo­ple are just a phone call away.  Peo­ple who are, at that point in time, being paid for their consult.

   I’m vent­ing. Yes, that is what it is and now I can move on with my day off. What peo­ple don’t under­stand about me is that it takes tremen­dous effort for me to relax. Emp­ty­ing my mind requires just as much effort men­tally as rock climb­ing requires physically.

   When I awaken in the mid­dle of the night because I had 24 ounces of water forty five min­utes before bed­time, going back to sleep is ardu­ous. My mind clicks on to what I need to accom­plish in the day; what con­ver­sa­tions need to be had.

   It is irri­tat­ing to an infi­nite degree.

   With that in mind, yesterday’s glo­ri­ous sun­shine and silly girl lit­er­a­ture helped take me away like the Cal­gon bath of the ‘70s.

   After a spell out­doors, I came back in to get my ear buds so I could fur­ther tune out the world. My son, who appar­ently knows me and my sit­u­a­tion very well, asked, “are you able to relax? Is work leav­ing you alone now?” He’d heard me on the phone ear­lier. He knew by my expres­sion that I had not escaped duty. It wasn’t any­thing imper­a­tive. Surely with a lit­tle patience the ques­tion would have answered itself.

   

   I enjoy com­pany. On my terms. Do I want to be alone?

   No, just leave me alone … unless you’re bring­ing a cheeky movie and margaritas.

   Category All about me, coworkers, For The Greater Good, I'm so mean, Insane in the membrane, phone calls, random blathering, silence is golden, take a look at me now, That's Life, what bunk, What's Inside Marissa's Head, work | Tags: | No Comments

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10. Wasps need not apply

    April 30, 2011 by Marissa

    Sat­ur­day 30, 2011 — My day wasn’t event­ful and boy, am I grate­ful for that. My work week seemed to go on for­ever. Kick­ing my skills into over­drive this week had left me drained and seri­ously look­ing for­ward to the week­end off.

    Ear­lier in the day it seemed cer­tain that rain would take over again. Fri­day was gor­geous. I’d been pray­ing for a repeater. Doing a lit­tle dance dat­ing back to my Chero­kee ances­try — Sun­shine pre­vailed. OK, the part about a dance isn’t true. I have no idea if Native Amer­i­cans do a dance of per­pet­ual sun rays. It sounds good,though.

    With a book in hand — total chick-lit — I set out for the sunny cor­ner of the deck. It wasn’t long before my com­fort was disrupted:

    

    Seri­ously? Finally a day off with decent temps and sun­shine and it’s being ambushed by wasps?At any given moment there were 6–10 of these buzzing crit­ters were a mere 12 inches from my feet.

    Zoinks!

    I thought, “do I suc­cumb to this swarm and return to the dull indoors or do I hold firm and bask in the clear, sunny skies in spite of them?”

    It seemed obvi­ous they were too involved in their work to bother with me. With that I remained out­doors to read my book and shuf­fle playlists on Pan­dora. It makes me curi­ous what kind of condo they are devel­op­ing inside that hole of the sid­ing. Hope­fully, they don’t bust through the plas­ter and pan­el­ing inside. Yes, I said pan­el­ing. I rent this abode.

    Any­who, As I lay back look­ing to the sky and con­se­quently view­ing the eves of the house it was clear many wasps had built nests or what­ever. Yikes!

    It also became appar­ent that I have a cou­ple of screens to replace on my bed­room win­dows. Oth­er­wise, Buzzy Berkley and his entourage will be mak­ing nice in my boudoir … and that is not the type of excite­ment my bed­room needs.

    Category America the Beautiful, freaky shit, Never surrender, That's Life, Uncategorized, yawn and stretch | Tags: | No Comments

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