Booster Shot Random

Yes, I had a booster shot.  No. I did not turn into a zombie and run amok among the populace.  I got my shot, and except for some "I got punched in the shoulder" aches and pains, all was well.  I didn't even feel sickly.  From the shot, anyway.  

I usually feel sickly most days right now.  The stress gets me.  I seem to absorb the stress of others, too, while I am at it. They feel better, I go home upset. I find that I am clenching my teeth way more at work, so I don't say what I really want to say.  I have more in common with Roy Kent on Ted Lasso than is probably healthy, but that is what is going on in my head most days.  I may be smiling at you, but in my head there are chairs being tossed.  

My child has gone through FOUR pairs of shoes since August.  He has also taken to kicking a soccer ball against the wall at odd times.  Like when his father and I are watching a show that he specifically asked to watch.  That is pretty odd.  It's like he wants us to yell at him or something, just to check in.  I can't blame him too much. When I was a kid I gauged parental feelings by how freaked out they were.  Nobody freaking out equals everything is cool.  The one time in my life that I completely lost my mind was when my dad said the words, "I think we should go to the emergency room."  

My son is in a PowerPoint Ministry.  Yes, the boy is sitting in a tiny, sweaty room in front of a computer during the Mass, and he pushes buttons so everyone knows what prayer we are on, or the words to whatever song we are supposed to be singing.  You see, they removed all of the missals, and all of the song books from the church because of cooties, but people still need to follow along.  Snoozing in church was never allowed, even if you were a kid.  Except if you were a screaming baby--then EVERYONE wants that kid to fall asleep.  NOW.  But my teen seems to like to be in charge of the computer.  He understands computers, at least, even if he doesn't understand girls yet.  

Does anyone else have the ridiculous urge to find whatever baby is screaming on the other side of Walmart and help them so they stop crying?  I am certainly not one of those who would just let a baby cry, but there are those sorts out there.  I just never saw a point.  It's a baby--they don't know your reasons from a hole in the ground.  They just know that nobody is helping them, and that is just sad.  Not even a year old, and people are letting you down.  That is probably why there is so much anger out there now--somebody just left a baby crying for no good reason.      

Okay, that is it.  But I want you to do something for me.  I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself something nice about your self to your self.  Nobody else has to know.  For example, I will occasionally tell my self that I have nice calves.  It's just a little thing, but it makes me feel better to be kind to myself.  Now you try it.  

Just Not Girlie Enough

Sam Moon opened a store in San Antonio this year.  All of my friends were beside themselves with ecstasy.

"You have to go there! They have the coolest stuff! You just will not believe it!"  They all gleefully told me. For years, since this store was open in Dallas and Houston for some time.  Last week I finally went to Sam Moon. My friends recommended the place so highly!  It must be a great place, and I didn't want to disappoint my friends.  I walked through the door...

Row upon row of handbags, satchel, totes, purses, luggage.   Aisles of bracelets, rings, necklaces, watches, wallets, shoes, hair ribbons...

All sorts of colors, piled high.  All sorts of styles, right there. Shiny. Blingy. Sleek. Elegant. Bridal. Evening. Casual.

But what in the heck is a 'bag charm'? 

Around me, women were losing their minds. One older woman stepped past me with at least ten handbags clutched in her hands and over her shoulder; she was actually 'squeeeing' like a teenager.  Other women were grabbing fists full of scarves, or earrings, and there was some sort of a ruckus in the shoe department.

I walked around. I observed. I felt like I was visiting an alien planet.

I thought about buying a watch, because it is useful, and mine died.

There were hundreds of watches, of every shape, color, and size that anyone in the history of the world might have thought of.  I think that they even had a little sundial watch, but I may have imagined that.  I could have had a nice purple watch, since purple is my favorite color.  I could have had a purple watch with an enlarged dial, so I could easily see what time it was.  I could have purchased a different color or style of watch for every day of the week, if I had so desired. 

Except that I didn't desire. Nothing in that store really got my attention, and I felt a bit awkward about it.

Just once I'd like to look at a pair of shoes and feel that elation, that excitement.   Other women look at shoes and get excited.  I look at shoes and while I might think they are pretty, I mainly look at how high the heel is and consider the potential for ankle injury.  I also look at the price; because why would I pay someone hundreds extra for the express purpose of advertising their product, just because it has their name on it?   Their name doesn't necessarily make it a better shoe, right?  I won't buy anything with someone's name plastered all over it.  Sorry, Louis Vuitton--I think you should pay ME to cart your luggage around.   


See?  Practical.  Not girlie. 

I don't like frills.  I don't like frou frou.  I don't like bows or ribbons. My nails are often messy. I forget to get my haircut in a timely fashion.  And I loathe pink, except in very small doses. 

Not girlie. 

But maybe that is okay, these days.  The time I grew up was very gender specific.  Girls liked dolls and playing house, and boys got to do everything else.  It's not like that anymore.  Nowadays girls are playing with Legos, climbing trees, and doing tricks on skateboards instead of only playing with dolls.  It's a new world, where everyone doesn't have to fit in the same mold to be who they are.

I don't have to be girlie.  I just have to learn to accept that I'm not girlie, and move on.