Darwin vs. Aliens

I had an epiphany today.

I know why Bogda is crazy.

I let my mind wander while she embarked on yet another wild tirade.

My first thought was, "How do I get out of this?"

My next thought was, "Oh yeah. She quit smoking a month ago, her brain is suffering serious nicotine withdrawal..."

Then I thought, "How do I get out of this?"



Oh and the topic of conversation?

Darwin was an idiot. Evolution is too far fetched. It is much more plausible that an alien race mixed with Neanderthal to form Homo Erectus. Then a few thousand years later they came back to see that the new race didn't amount to much and they tried to breed again. They continued these efforts until the modern human was achieved.

So forget the apes-- absurd! We are actually descendants of a real live alien race. Or at least Bogda's German author makes a very convincing argument.

Smart American or Dumb.....?

Actually, I love Bogda. I can't say enough about how she has helped and saved me since we've lived here. But occasionally I find myself tired.

Tired of agreeing with hair-brained ideas.
Tired of saying "I don't know" when she asks me what to do with her ill behaved children.
Tired of listening to her have a conniption over something I feel is pretty mundane.

The other day as we walked our children to school she almost had a coronary describing how Obama is going to ruin our country, society, and the world. I don't know if he is or not, so I just listened.

"Lysa, what? That Osama (her pet name for our Commander in Chief) wants to spend 8 billion to study honey bees?! He's an F%&ing Moron!!"

Don't worry the children were out of ear shot.

It's a good thing she was on enough of a rant that I couldn't get a word in edge-wise, because I was tired and probably would have said a few things I would regret for the rest of the walk.

Then on the way home I tried to change the subject and it somehow turned into a recap of a movie she saw arguing that 9/11 was a government conspiracy. Again, I listened and said, "Yeah... I don't think so...." She continued to present the evidence and tried to convince me.

Again, the opinionated part of me started to boil up, but instead I just shook my head, smiled and said, "The government can't even get health care right, I don't think they could pull it off..." as I walked into my house.

Today the conversation was centered around the cold weather. Bogda is convinced that because she stood in the cold everyday of her childhood and froze her feet and knees waiting for the bus the cold ruined her bones. She attributes her aching feet to those days at the bus stop. Never mind that she works like a horse 20 hours a day.

There are people you can argue with and then there is Bogda. It doesn't pay off, I've tried it before and she still brings it up to convince me I was (and still am) wrong.

It's easier to just let her blow a fuse and be done with it.

I miss my friend.

One of my favorite people moved away today.

It makes me sad.

It has been a while since I have had good friends. It was as much by choice as anything else. I didn't feel like I could relate to people in a way that would mean a close friendship.

But then I went to aerobics and it changed my life. OK, social life.

Korie and I bonded over sit ups, kick boxing, and tricky aerobic dances. I was usually going the wrong way, struggling with my two left feet, and I was always at least one beat behind. So we would laugh as we faced each other (because I turned the wrong way).

But the real bonding took place on Fridays when we would drive to Chick-Fil-A immediately after aerobics. Those Friday lunches are probably what kept me going to aerobics (and kept me from losing any weight).

Korie is the kind of person who is friends with everyone, but when you are with her she treats you like one of her favorite people. That is a characteristic I noticed and admired about her even before aerobics.

So thanks for getting me out of my rut, my shell, my house.

I know it's hard to believe, but I miss you already.

John's dream

A nightmare.

He and I are walking together in the woods.
He slips on gorilla poop (funny!)
The gorillas come out of the bushes and start attacking him.
I turn and look but keep walking

because I don't care.


I wish I knew who or what these gorillas represent

because I do care.

Easy Like Sunday Morning

I hate, Hate, HATE our Sunday schedule this year.

I hate that we don't have church until 1:00.

In my younger (read "childless") years 1:00 church was no big deal.

Sleep in, lay in bed for a while, get up, make leisurely breakfast, read a magazine or watch some mindless TV, take shower, get dressed, go to church, receive spiritual edification, go home, lament the impending Monday blues, go to bed.

These days my kids are up at the crack of dawn and the day struggles along until church at 1:00. And why is it any other day of the week 1:00 comes so quickly? On Sundays my kids are bored, cooped up, and irritable. Oh wait, that's me.

At least we don't have church at 2 or 3... then I would really have to look into Protestantism.

Our Love Language

I've noticed a trend in learning your "Love Language". I have to confess I haven't read the book or attended any lectures. I don't even know the options. I think it is probably interesting and helpful to know how you and your partner express love.

I already know our love language-- Bickering. I'm pretty confident you won't find it defined in the book so I will do that now.

Those who express their love through bickering are often misunderstood by others. The constant banter can be misconstrued as anger. But for the bickerers they are simply stimulating one another's intellect, ability to reason, and formulate logical arguments. Teasing, chiding, and challenging is one way we say, "you are valuable and important in my life."

Complicated and possibly dysfunctional? Totally.

Guilt trip

I am a horrible person.

I skipped church today for no good reason except it sounded like it would take too much energy to go.

I pawned my children off to my mother-in-law.

I read the entire issue of US Weekly that Ashleigh K. Wright keeps getting delivered to our address.

I read said magazine while my children fought right in front of me.

I listened to Wait, Wait... Don't Tell Me on NPR during the multi-annual public radio fundraiser knowing full well that I have never donated money to keep quality radio on the air.

I laughed out loud several times during the radio program, another reason, according to the hosts, to donate money to keep quality radio on the air.

I ate five homemade Churros (thanks dad) and one plate of Valentine's/President's Day cookies (thanks Beth).

Oh, and I also ate a single dip frozen custard from Good Times earlier today (aka the Sabbath).

I should probably donate to NPR.