Way too tired to post a coherent entry today.
My step-daughter has been violently ill for a week now and I've been playing nursemaid twenty-four/seven. Last night, I massaged her head and feet for two-and-a-half hours straight, while she whimpered feverishly. Poor kid. I felt completely useless and just offered cold compresses, cold water and Tylenol periodically.
I don't know how parents of terminally ill patients cope. Seven days has been more than enough for me.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Saturday, August 20, 2005
This Feel Good Moment Was Brought to You by the Makers of Absolut Vodka
I do some of my best thinking when I am driving, something about not having to focus on external stimuli other than road signs and traffic lights.
Today, while driving to and from my cottage, I was reflecting on my life in general. I realise I spend a lot of time on my blog engaging in idle complaints and amusing bitching, but the truth of the matter is that it's really all in the name of good fun; I've never been happier and more at peace than I am now.
It's funny. I'm not particularly ambitious anymore, or at least not in the way I was during my twenties when I felt I had to prove myself to the world at large. Oh sure, there are things I may want to tackle career-wise at some point in my future since I'm not passionate about the profession I'm currently in, but I'm okay to just let things cook awhile before I go full tilt towards anything.
It's been suggested by some that I am yearning for my youth. I guess, the small slice of myself that I've presented here on my blog certainly seems like evidence in favour of that opinion. The truth of the matter is that I wouldn't trade where I am right now for anything. Sure, I'm middle-aged and look it, but with that comes the security and confidence of not caring anymore. When I was younger, I spent a lot of time feeling tense about so many unresolved issues, and worse, lacking the awareness that I had any unresolved issues.
Growing up, my parents always had this thing about not being content with oneself, because in their opinion, once you were satisfied with something, you stopped trying. Therefore, there was no shortage of criticism, and an absolute drought in the way of compliments. I don't think that's necessarily true, based in part on my experiences as a parent, and largely upon my own personal life. I realise that I've travelled a fair bit on my own path to self-development, but that there is still a long way to go. Having gotten as far as I have has only whetted my appetite to keep going.
It took me so long to try and find my place in the world, and now having found it (okay, not professionally though) has brought me such peace of mind and (I hesitate to even use this word) joy.
I realised yet again today on my drive home that happiness has nothing to do with the external circumstances (unless of course, you're in life-threatening or extreme situations eg. starving to death, war, etc.). I'm not happy because I may live in a nice house or drive a big ass truck or any of those other frivolous, materialistic and completely irrelevant facts. The happiness comes from somewhere or something that has little to do with what your living situation may be and more to do with a sense of self.
Having spent more than half of my life struggling with issues of what my self was and where my place in the world was, I've had many moments of feeling deeply unhappy, despite any of the positive external factors in my life.
It's deeply liberating to me now to come to the realisation that so long as I'm alive and own little nuclear family is okay, nothing else really matters.
So just for today, I'm going to be corny and grateful to whatever powers that be that let me find my way to where I am now. Tomorrow, I'll go back to being my usual bitchy self on my blog!
Today, while driving to and from my cottage, I was reflecting on my life in general. I realise I spend a lot of time on my blog engaging in idle complaints and amusing bitching, but the truth of the matter is that it's really all in the name of good fun; I've never been happier and more at peace than I am now.
It's funny. I'm not particularly ambitious anymore, or at least not in the way I was during my twenties when I felt I had to prove myself to the world at large. Oh sure, there are things I may want to tackle career-wise at some point in my future since I'm not passionate about the profession I'm currently in, but I'm okay to just let things cook awhile before I go full tilt towards anything.
It's been suggested by some that I am yearning for my youth. I guess, the small slice of myself that I've presented here on my blog certainly seems like evidence in favour of that opinion. The truth of the matter is that I wouldn't trade where I am right now for anything. Sure, I'm middle-aged and look it, but with that comes the security and confidence of not caring anymore. When I was younger, I spent a lot of time feeling tense about so many unresolved issues, and worse, lacking the awareness that I had any unresolved issues.
Growing up, my parents always had this thing about not being content with oneself, because in their opinion, once you were satisfied with something, you stopped trying. Therefore, there was no shortage of criticism, and an absolute drought in the way of compliments. I don't think that's necessarily true, based in part on my experiences as a parent, and largely upon my own personal life. I realise that I've travelled a fair bit on my own path to self-development, but that there is still a long way to go. Having gotten as far as I have has only whetted my appetite to keep going.
It took me so long to try and find my place in the world, and now having found it (okay, not professionally though) has brought me such peace of mind and (I hesitate to even use this word) joy.
I realised yet again today on my drive home that happiness has nothing to do with the external circumstances (unless of course, you're in life-threatening or extreme situations eg. starving to death, war, etc.). I'm not happy because I may live in a nice house or drive a big ass truck or any of those other frivolous, materialistic and completely irrelevant facts. The happiness comes from somewhere or something that has little to do with what your living situation may be and more to do with a sense of self.
Having spent more than half of my life struggling with issues of what my self was and where my place in the world was, I've had many moments of feeling deeply unhappy, despite any of the positive external factors in my life.
It's deeply liberating to me now to come to the realisation that so long as I'm alive and own little nuclear family is okay, nothing else really matters.
So just for today, I'm going to be corny and grateful to whatever powers that be that let me find my way to where I am now. Tomorrow, I'll go back to being my usual bitchy self on my blog!
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Does Anyone Remember Good Old Rover?
I'd like to throw my children's Tamagotchis out the window.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with what I am talking about -- they are these little computerised toys, that first emerged on the market about ten years ago, and are now experiencing a resurgence in popularity. Essentially, it is is a virtual pet. You start off with an egg that hatches and then nurture it through three other stages of life. The goal is to keep it happy and healthy for as long as possible by feeding it, praising it, playing with it and cleaning up its poop. Through connecting wirelessly with other Tamagotchi owners, you can if you're lucky, raise a second generation Tamagotchi, which apparently is the desired goal..
In any event, my daughter was given a Tamagotchi as a birthday present by one of her friends. She was at first indifferent to it, but then met someone at day camp this summer who had one and explained the joys of owning one. Upon her return from camp that particular afternoon, she unearthed hers from the toybox where she'd carelessly discarded it and the two have been inseparable ever since.
So as a parent, I should probably be behind this kind of a toy because in a way, I guess it's like that old Home Ec assignment of carrying around an egg and treating it like a baby. Ostensibly that assignment is to teach teens how difficult and time consuming having a baby can be, hence making them more responsible sexually, and also appreciative towards their parents for all they've endured. Not sure if that experiment works, but I'm pretty sure that Tamagotchis won't accomplish that goal.
In my daughter however, it has elicited some real highs and lows. The high point was when her egg hatched to become a girl (after an endless string of boy pets). It was quite cute watching her croon with delight, then take off like a shot yelling to her brother "It's a girl! I had a girl!". I felt like I was watching some maternity ward drama.
The lowest point came when her girl died a week later. She cried inconsolably and intensely for about fifteen minutes straight. Now her other male pets had all died, without incident or emotion; she promptly reset the toy and waited for the next egg to hatch. Quite clearly, she'd projected something of herself onto this girl pet of hers and it broke her heart when it didn't make it. After holding her while she cried herself out, I then had to watch her go through the period of guilt and wondering "Did I not feed it enough? Did I feed it too much? What did I do wrong?" It was a terrible sight to behold. And the weird thing is that you actually get swept up into it all. I held her hand and told her that sometimes accidents happen and you don't always understand the logic behind it. My first instinct was to tell her that she could have another girl at a later time, but I held back because I thought how if one of my kids were to die, the last thing I'd want to hear is that I could have another. I told her just about everything under the son except that her pet had gone to a better place. And really, how bizarre and surreal a tableau is that. I mean, the thing is an image borne of a computer chip, for crying out loud!
My eldest son is now lobbying for a Tamagotchi of his own and my daughter is asking if she can have another one as well, so she can increase her chances of having a second generation pet. Moments like these make me think our society is going to hell in a handbasket. Are we really learning how to be properly attached to something if our interactions are limited in such an impersonal and electronic way?
For those of you who are unfamiliar with what I am talking about -- they are these little computerised toys, that first emerged on the market about ten years ago, and are now experiencing a resurgence in popularity. Essentially, it is is a virtual pet. You start off with an egg that hatches and then nurture it through three other stages of life. The goal is to keep it happy and healthy for as long as possible by feeding it, praising it, playing with it and cleaning up its poop. Through connecting wirelessly with other Tamagotchi owners, you can if you're lucky, raise a second generation Tamagotchi, which apparently is the desired goal..
In any event, my daughter was given a Tamagotchi as a birthday present by one of her friends. She was at first indifferent to it, but then met someone at day camp this summer who had one and explained the joys of owning one. Upon her return from camp that particular afternoon, she unearthed hers from the toybox where she'd carelessly discarded it and the two have been inseparable ever since.
So as a parent, I should probably be behind this kind of a toy because in a way, I guess it's like that old Home Ec assignment of carrying around an egg and treating it like a baby. Ostensibly that assignment is to teach teens how difficult and time consuming having a baby can be, hence making them more responsible sexually, and also appreciative towards their parents for all they've endured. Not sure if that experiment works, but I'm pretty sure that Tamagotchis won't accomplish that goal.
In my daughter however, it has elicited some real highs and lows. The high point was when her egg hatched to become a girl (after an endless string of boy pets). It was quite cute watching her croon with delight, then take off like a shot yelling to her brother "It's a girl! I had a girl!". I felt like I was watching some maternity ward drama.
The lowest point came when her girl died a week later. She cried inconsolably and intensely for about fifteen minutes straight. Now her other male pets had all died, without incident or emotion; she promptly reset the toy and waited for the next egg to hatch. Quite clearly, she'd projected something of herself onto this girl pet of hers and it broke her heart when it didn't make it. After holding her while she cried herself out, I then had to watch her go through the period of guilt and wondering "Did I not feed it enough? Did I feed it too much? What did I do wrong?" It was a terrible sight to behold. And the weird thing is that you actually get swept up into it all. I held her hand and told her that sometimes accidents happen and you don't always understand the logic behind it. My first instinct was to tell her that she could have another girl at a later time, but I held back because I thought how if one of my kids were to die, the last thing I'd want to hear is that I could have another. I told her just about everything under the son except that her pet had gone to a better place. And really, how bizarre and surreal a tableau is that. I mean, the thing is an image borne of a computer chip, for crying out loud!
My eldest son is now lobbying for a Tamagotchi of his own and my daughter is asking if she can have another one as well, so she can increase her chances of having a second generation pet. Moments like these make me think our society is going to hell in a handbasket. Are we really learning how to be properly attached to something if our interactions are limited in such an impersonal and electronic way?
Ambivalence
Okay, so hot on the topic of being passive versus active and agressive, comes the fact that I sometimes think I'm a wishy washy kind of person; slow to make up my own mind, and very willing to go along with others' desires. Not sure if this passivity finds its roots in my childhood (yes, I know ... here we go again, with my whole mantra of "blame the parents").
Even physically, I don't pick a side. I'm quasi-ambidextrous. Ostensibly, I write with my left-hand, but that's only really because I use it more often and am therefore faster. I write very legibly and neat with my right hand, and even do calligraphy right-handed (mainly because as a teen I would 'borrow' my dad's calligraphy set without his consent and didn't want to ruin the nib lest my thievery got discovered). I can bat both ways, catch and throw with both hands with the equal strength and accuracy, play guitar right-handed (probably left as well although I've never tried), and do other things with both hands where most people only do it with their dominant ones (before your dirty minds get carried away, I was thinking of things like wiping down counters, carrying bags, eating, drinking, using knives, etc.)
I often catch myself going along with someone else's plan rather than actively making one of my own. Sometimes, I think it's because I lack the passion and interest that others do, and people around me can sense that their desires are stronger, so they act as the guiding arm. It makes me wonder sometimes if my apparent "easy-goingness" (sic) is just really falsely labelled indecisiveness.
Even physically, I don't pick a side. I'm quasi-ambidextrous. Ostensibly, I write with my left-hand, but that's only really because I use it more often and am therefore faster. I write very legibly and neat with my right hand, and even do calligraphy right-handed (mainly because as a teen I would 'borrow' my dad's calligraphy set without his consent and didn't want to ruin the nib lest my thievery got discovered). I can bat both ways, catch and throw with both hands with the equal strength and accuracy, play guitar right-handed (probably left as well although I've never tried), and do other things with both hands where most people only do it with their dominant ones (before your dirty minds get carried away, I was thinking of things like wiping down counters, carrying bags, eating, drinking, using knives, etc.)
I often catch myself going along with someone else's plan rather than actively making one of my own. Sometimes, I think it's because I lack the passion and interest that others do, and people around me can sense that their desires are stronger, so they act as the guiding arm. It makes me wonder sometimes if my apparent "easy-goingness" (sic) is just really falsely labelled indecisiveness.
Monday, August 15, 2005
What Breed is Your "Dog"?
Was engaging in some banter with a quasi-friend/acquaintance today regarding some men's delusions of grandeur vis-a-vis their (ahem) equipment.
I recounted a story about how we used to have this Yorkshire terrier aptly named Peppy. Peppy weighed in at a whopping four pounds soaking wet, but suffered from canine schizophrenia or something, because she seemed to think that she was a German Shepherd or Irish Wolfhound or something. She would strut up and down the street and growl ferociously at pit bulls and threaten to take them on, seemingly ignorant of the fact that these dogs could easily make dinner (or a light snack) of her within seconds flat. Talk about having a problem with body image!
So discussions with my friend quickly turned to who might be a Yorkie and who might be a German Shepherd, and all the variations in between. And how disappointing it can be, if a man leads one to believe that he is a German Shepherd, when the real truth is that he should be so lucky as to aspire to be a Yorkie. How exactly can people get so deluded about what they look like?
(I had an unfortunate memory of a man I once knew who lay claim to being of fairly mythic proportions. And then suffered from nerves when it came time to "produce". It became immediately apparent that he was probably half the man that he'd put himself forth to be. It wouldn't have mattered so much to me, but then I couldn't help but wonder what else he'd told me that was an obvious mistruth).
I don't want to be labelled a sizist, and truly it really isn't all about size, (although I think there is a certain minimum requirement). but to start off a relationship with gross misrepresentation is never a good thing. So men please, if you're a Chihuahua or a Yorkie, own up to it.
I recounted a story about how we used to have this Yorkshire terrier aptly named Peppy. Peppy weighed in at a whopping four pounds soaking wet, but suffered from canine schizophrenia or something, because she seemed to think that she was a German Shepherd or Irish Wolfhound or something. She would strut up and down the street and growl ferociously at pit bulls and threaten to take them on, seemingly ignorant of the fact that these dogs could easily make dinner (or a light snack) of her within seconds flat. Talk about having a problem with body image!
So discussions with my friend quickly turned to who might be a Yorkie and who might be a German Shepherd, and all the variations in between. And how disappointing it can be, if a man leads one to believe that he is a German Shepherd, when the real truth is that he should be so lucky as to aspire to be a Yorkie. How exactly can people get so deluded about what they look like?
(I had an unfortunate memory of a man I once knew who lay claim to being of fairly mythic proportions. And then suffered from nerves when it came time to "produce". It became immediately apparent that he was probably half the man that he'd put himself forth to be. It wouldn't have mattered so much to me, but then I couldn't help but wonder what else he'd told me that was an obvious mistruth).
I don't want to be labelled a sizist, and truly it really isn't all about size, (although I think there is a certain minimum requirement). but to start off a relationship with gross misrepresentation is never a good thing. So men please, if you're a Chihuahua or a Yorkie, own up to it.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Sisyphus Was an Idiot
I have such amazing friends. Of course I know this, but then every now and then something happens to remind me once again of how wonderfully lucky I am to be surrounded by the fabulous people that are in my life.
I had this great conversation today with a close friend whom I've known for about ten years. We see each other every couple of months for a lunch or dinner (bonding over food ... what better past-time?) and she always has something amazingly insightful to say. In this case as I was fretting that perhaps I'm a passive person and should be spending more time actively seeking out my next career rather than just sitting around waiting for someone or something to just drop it into my lap like some kind of rich plum, she interrupted me gently and tried to redirect my thinking.
It's funny ... you do get tunnel vision and tend to funnel everything through one way. I've been feeling mildly guilty for a number of reasons. Firstly, I've been enjoying motherhood so much and haven't spent any time towards thinking about me professionally in years. Secondly, now that I'm beginning to feel that there is something else for me out there other than parenting and/or my current career, I haven't spent any time trying to figure it out, let alone pursue it. In other words, I haven't set any goals for myself. And I've always been led to believe that the absence of concrete goals is a bad thing.
My dear friend suggested that being active vs. passive is not necessarily an on or off thing. She also said that I shouldn't feel guilty because I'm just giving time to just being, as opposed to doing. Now, this all sounds really basic I know, but the practice of this theory isn't so easy. I've been programmed to believe that productivity lies in the carrying out of something. My friend dared to suggest that the fact that I like to spend time doing things like crossword puzzles or reading, rather than laundry, doesn't make me lazy. Rather, it means that I'm simply taking time out for myself, and that in and of itself is really important and valuable. Of course, we all know this at some level, but we don't really necessarily see it as vital and make our quiet quality time a priority. When pressed for time, what's the first thing that doesn't make the cut? It's not laundry, or dinner, that's for sure.
What my friend said was that I need to rethink my whole view of passivity/inactivity. That in fact what I am really doing is nurturing myself and that in so doing, the whole career thing will probably fall into place at some point. She went on to suggest that the reason I haven't figured it out is that I'm not ready yet, and that I'm forcing the issue. So that by being what I term 'passive', in some ways would be productive and lead to activity.
Interesting ... and a part of me, I must admit, felt that she was just humouring me like a good friend, instead of shrieking "You're right! You're a lazy ass, so get off your butt and DO something". It made me wonder if I wasn't just seeking out a license from others, an approval or sanctioning of sorts, for me to continue in the manner that I have. See? Some reflexes never go away.
In any event, regardless of whether or not she is just being a supportive friend, rather than a disapproving critic, I am going to try to stop pushing that rock uphill, and just chill out for awhile.
I had this great conversation today with a close friend whom I've known for about ten years. We see each other every couple of months for a lunch or dinner (bonding over food ... what better past-time?) and she always has something amazingly insightful to say. In this case as I was fretting that perhaps I'm a passive person and should be spending more time actively seeking out my next career rather than just sitting around waiting for someone or something to just drop it into my lap like some kind of rich plum, she interrupted me gently and tried to redirect my thinking.
It's funny ... you do get tunnel vision and tend to funnel everything through one way. I've been feeling mildly guilty for a number of reasons. Firstly, I've been enjoying motherhood so much and haven't spent any time towards thinking about me professionally in years. Secondly, now that I'm beginning to feel that there is something else for me out there other than parenting and/or my current career, I haven't spent any time trying to figure it out, let alone pursue it. In other words, I haven't set any goals for myself. And I've always been led to believe that the absence of concrete goals is a bad thing.
My dear friend suggested that being active vs. passive is not necessarily an on or off thing. She also said that I shouldn't feel guilty because I'm just giving time to just being, as opposed to doing. Now, this all sounds really basic I know, but the practice of this theory isn't so easy. I've been programmed to believe that productivity lies in the carrying out of something. My friend dared to suggest that the fact that I like to spend time doing things like crossword puzzles or reading, rather than laundry, doesn't make me lazy. Rather, it means that I'm simply taking time out for myself, and that in and of itself is really important and valuable. Of course, we all know this at some level, but we don't really necessarily see it as vital and make our quiet quality time a priority. When pressed for time, what's the first thing that doesn't make the cut? It's not laundry, or dinner, that's for sure.
What my friend said was that I need to rethink my whole view of passivity/inactivity. That in fact what I am really doing is nurturing myself and that in so doing, the whole career thing will probably fall into place at some point. She went on to suggest that the reason I haven't figured it out is that I'm not ready yet, and that I'm forcing the issue. So that by being what I term 'passive', in some ways would be productive and lead to activity.
Interesting ... and a part of me, I must admit, felt that she was just humouring me like a good friend, instead of shrieking "You're right! You're a lazy ass, so get off your butt and DO something". It made me wonder if I wasn't just seeking out a license from others, an approval or sanctioning of sorts, for me to continue in the manner that I have. See? Some reflexes never go away.
In any event, regardless of whether or not she is just being a supportive friend, rather than a disapproving critic, I am going to try to stop pushing that rock uphill, and just chill out for awhile.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
My Dog Ate My Homework a.k.a A Good Workman Always Blames His Tools
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I hate technology. It's supposedly designed to make your life easier, when it often seems to make it a living hell.
Twice, I was in the middle of composing my next post, and it was going to be mind blowing and brilliant (hey, some of us have sexual fantasies and some of us just have fantasies), when my computer crashed before I was able to either publish or save the damn thing.
But then again, what can I expect? I own what I have been told is a dinosaur, as my computer is (gasp) about seven years old. It's really kind of scary when you think how quickly one's equipment becomes obsolete.
I feel so old when I think that when I was a child, no one had a PC. When I was fourteen, I enrolled in a computer sciences class at school and to write our programs, we had to fill out those little cards with an HB pencil and then feed it into the computer to read. Then when I was fifteen, my dad brought home a PC from work. We were the big shooters on the block because it was probably about three years before they hit the market and most people started shelling out the big bucks to get them.
The funny thing was that I resisted using a computer during university, clinging doggedly to my Smith Corona typewriter. About a year or two post-graduation, I finally broke down and bought a computer and then just turned my back on my faithful typewriter. I've now gone through about six computers since then and am contemplating throwing this one in the dumpster because of its non-performance issues. The other day when I was storing some stuff in my attic, I tripped over my Smith Corona. On a lark, I brought it downstairs with me, dusted it off, removed the cover, inserted a sheet of paper into and turned it on. My baby revved into action right away. After all these years (and sadly, it has been many), the thing still works impeccably.
What ever happened to the old adage "if it ain't broke, don't fix it"?
I hate technology. It's supposedly designed to make your life easier, when it often seems to make it a living hell.
Twice, I was in the middle of composing my next post, and it was going to be mind blowing and brilliant (hey, some of us have sexual fantasies and some of us just have fantasies), when my computer crashed before I was able to either publish or save the damn thing.
But then again, what can I expect? I own what I have been told is a dinosaur, as my computer is (gasp) about seven years old. It's really kind of scary when you think how quickly one's equipment becomes obsolete.
I feel so old when I think that when I was a child, no one had a PC. When I was fourteen, I enrolled in a computer sciences class at school and to write our programs, we had to fill out those little cards with an HB pencil and then feed it into the computer to read. Then when I was fifteen, my dad brought home a PC from work. We were the big shooters on the block because it was probably about three years before they hit the market and most people started shelling out the big bucks to get them.
The funny thing was that I resisted using a computer during university, clinging doggedly to my Smith Corona typewriter. About a year or two post-graduation, I finally broke down and bought a computer and then just turned my back on my faithful typewriter. I've now gone through about six computers since then and am contemplating throwing this one in the dumpster because of its non-performance issues. The other day when I was storing some stuff in my attic, I tripped over my Smith Corona. On a lark, I brought it downstairs with me, dusted it off, removed the cover, inserted a sheet of paper into and turned it on. My baby revved into action right away. After all these years (and sadly, it has been many), the thing still works impeccably.
What ever happened to the old adage "if it ain't broke, don't fix it"?
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Blogging about Jogging and Snogging
Read an article in The National Post yesterday about research into the link between jogging and sex. The actual heading of the article was "Running Can Make you a Sex God: A Study". Naturally this piqued my adolescent interest and of course, I read this before tackling the article about King Fahd's successor.
According to the article, "people can not only run their way to a better sex life, but also have sex to become better runners". Apparently, the study conducted applied to males only (of course), although it did go on to speculate that women tend to compete better after orgasm, and hence stand to gain "an athletic advantage" from having sex before jogging. Hmmm ... interesting hypothesis. So to recap: if men are allowed to run on a regular basis, they will be better in the sack, and if women want to keep up with men's jogging pace, they should have sex (or at least mind-blowing orgasms in whichever way they can achieve them). Doesn't this smack of some kind of male-perpetrated conspiracy to try and get more sex and free time to "jog"?
Hey, not that I need convincing of course since I'm part nympho. But after doing laundry, making meals, squiring the heirs to the dynasty hither and thither and then being a sex goddess by night, exactly when am I supposed to find time for jogging?
According to the article, "people can not only run their way to a better sex life, but also have sex to become better runners". Apparently, the study conducted applied to males only (of course), although it did go on to speculate that women tend to compete better after orgasm, and hence stand to gain "an athletic advantage" from having sex before jogging. Hmmm ... interesting hypothesis. So to recap: if men are allowed to run on a regular basis, they will be better in the sack, and if women want to keep up with men's jogging pace, they should have sex (or at least mind-blowing orgasms in whichever way they can achieve them). Doesn't this smack of some kind of male-perpetrated conspiracy to try and get more sex and free time to "jog"?
Hey, not that I need convincing of course since I'm part nympho. But after doing laundry, making meals, squiring the heirs to the dynasty hither and thither and then being a sex goddess by night, exactly when am I supposed to find time for jogging?
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Professional Venting
So while my friends get to use the internet for exciting things like phone sex enhanced with cyber imagery, I am online completing some stupid continuing education courses to maintain my license. Basically, it's just the industry's way of soaking us for more money ... as if we don't already pay enough for the privilege of being licensed agents. My only saving grace is that thanks to technology, I now don't have to actually go into the classroom anymore to complete these bloody courses. That was a torturous experience because there was always one keener who somehow thought that it was all going to be an enriching educational experience, as opposed to the farce that it is.
I may sound cynical, but if the powers that be in our industry really cared about keeping us current, they would actually change the content of the courses if only ever so slightly. Since I do the online education for both myself and my husband, I have done all of these courses several times overs and despite their falsely advertised name of "RECO Update", they haven't altered within the last four years. This when there have been a number of changes within our industry that need to be addressed.
The thing that ticks me off is that I get to pay for the privilege of repeating a course deemed to be a "requirement". Needless to say, I blasted them on the optional survey. I mean truly, why don't we just cut out the middleman, and I'll just mail the Council my cheque without asking for them to give me a lame ass excuse for taking more of my hard-earned money.
I hate people who can't just come out and be up front. I'd have no problems if the government and regulating boards would just say "We need more money. We are bumping up your member's fee 25%", rather than saying "Oh we feel that the members need to be better educated and informed so as to protect the community at large, so you need to spend an extra $500.00 or more on courses before we reissue you your license". Yeah, right ... that's why they make it so easy to 're-educate' yourself by offering courses online that can be taken by anyone masquerading as the member.
God, I have to find a new career!
P.S. In case there's any doubt in any one's mind, I am PMSing. Make a note of the date in your calendar, make the appropriate calculations and then stay clear of me each month at the the same time.
I may sound cynical, but if the powers that be in our industry really cared about keeping us current, they would actually change the content of the courses if only ever so slightly. Since I do the online education for both myself and my husband, I have done all of these courses several times overs and despite their falsely advertised name of "RECO Update", they haven't altered within the last four years. This when there have been a number of changes within our industry that need to be addressed.
The thing that ticks me off is that I get to pay for the privilege of repeating a course deemed to be a "requirement". Needless to say, I blasted them on the optional survey. I mean truly, why don't we just cut out the middleman, and I'll just mail the Council my cheque without asking for them to give me a lame ass excuse for taking more of my hard-earned money.
I hate people who can't just come out and be up front. I'd have no problems if the government and regulating boards would just say "We need more money. We are bumping up your member's fee 25%", rather than saying "Oh we feel that the members need to be better educated and informed so as to protect the community at large, so you need to spend an extra $500.00 or more on courses before we reissue you your license". Yeah, right ... that's why they make it so easy to 're-educate' yourself by offering courses online that can be taken by anyone masquerading as the member.
God, I have to find a new career!
P.S. In case there's any doubt in any one's mind, I am PMSing. Make a note of the date in your calendar, make the appropriate calculations and then stay clear of me each month at the the same time.
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