So I just spent I don't know how many minutes hand-adding all my iTunes from my external hard drive to my new computer hard drive, then discovered that none of the songs would play when I ejected, rejected, or whatever it is you do to something attached to your computer. Then read that I have to let iTunes find them, or something. Now they're uploading/downloading/whatever.
And I'm currently listening to this gorgeous, old, overplayed song. I don't care, I love the Bee Gees. It would take some serious deprogramming to get them out of my romantic little 70s girl heart.
My recently-turned-16 daughter has started dating. In the last eight days she has dated the same boy twice - he asked her, then she asked him. First a trip to P-town to enjoy the weird, then today a picnic and Frisbee at a nearby park. He's a seriously cute kid and it's fun and exciting, but of course we're worrying our butts off. Today I lectured her about the need for group dating and coached her about having double date buddies in the ward... Dude, I was just there. Like, yesterday. Ric and I went sledding on Valentine's Day and had a great time. He turned 16 in October and I the next January, and he waited till I had my birthday so we could go on our first-ever date together. The man was made of gold.
On a completely different topic, and kind of gripey, so just skip it if you want:
Does it seem like Facebook is just a pain in the butt now? It does to me right this minute. The novelty has finally worn off. The many arbitrary "upgrades" have killed the enjoyment. I've caught up with most of the people I care to catch up with. I'm kind of done.
So, what's next? Is there anything else left to conquer, out there in Father Al's glorious Internet universe? I've decided to stay off Pinterest....
What are your thoughts, Hobson?
Stuck firmly and permanently in the 1977-1981 range,
Fisher Cutbait
Monday, July 30, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
That Awkward Moment
When you find yourself praying
"Please let it be hemorrhoids."
An older male child has reported seeing a "significant" amount of blood where it should not be, i.e., in the loo. Appointment with the doctor in twoish hours.
Prayers are great.
Snickering is fine too. His sister has already expressed her worry that the doctor will have to "look at his butt," which to her would seriously be a fate worse than death. The laugh cat is out of the bag already. It's OK.
Keeping it together, man,
Fisher Cutbait
"Please let it be hemorrhoids."
An older male child has reported seeing a "significant" amount of blood where it should not be, i.e., in the loo. Appointment with the doctor in twoish hours.
Prayers are great.
Snickering is fine too. His sister has already expressed her worry that the doctor will have to "look at his butt," which to her would seriously be a fate worse than death. The laugh cat is out of the bag already. It's OK.
Keeping it together, man,
Fisher Cutbait
Monday, March 12, 2012
Forget the bullying awareness movements.
I want to know where the "Hey kid, stop being a total douchebag" movement is.
Punch-facingly,
Fisher Cutbait
Punch-facingly,
Fisher Cutbait
Saturday, February 11, 2012
General Information
This week took suckiness to the extreme. But that isn't what I want to discuss. Tonight is about the sharing of philosophies and coping tactics.
This morning I was beyond upset. It's been a while since I came that unglued. I was completely gone.
As I dried up, I decided I must allow myself to think only three thoughts. Three thoughts kept me going:
1. "Love Mr. Cutbait and the babies."
2. "We just have to put our heads down and power through." (Michael Bluth, Arrested Development)
3. "If they don't love it, they can shove it! Frankly I don't care." (Gilda Radner)
I also allowed my brain DJ to play only one song, which was "Bridge Over Troubled Water". (shut up)
And it worked. It was amazing. Whenever I was reminded of some old or new sucky situation, I chose one of those three thoughts to get me through it, and at least one would be pertinent and comforting.
So there's that. I wanted to write this down in case I have to use it again.
Also of note: If you're a friend and you're unhappily married, I would ask you to please talk to someone who can help you and your spouse.
I am not that person.
(This is from an experience that started off as a harmless, "I feel sad about this, this and this situation in my marriage" and has turned into something I feel entirely skeevy for becoming involved with. Don't worry, it's nothing gossip- or bishop-worthy, but for some reason people feel comfortable talking to me about their marital stuff and I'm just going to have to put my foot down from now on. I'm sure you've probably been there.)
(If you haven't, don't tell me)
Having lived and learned,
Fisher Cutbait
This morning I was beyond upset. It's been a while since I came that unglued. I was completely gone.
As I dried up, I decided I must allow myself to think only three thoughts. Three thoughts kept me going:
1. "Love Mr. Cutbait and the babies."
2. "We just have to put our heads down and power through." (Michael Bluth, Arrested Development)
3. "If they don't love it, they can shove it! Frankly I don't care." (Gilda Radner)
I also allowed my brain DJ to play only one song, which was "Bridge Over Troubled Water". (shut up)
And it worked. It was amazing. Whenever I was reminded of some old or new sucky situation, I chose one of those three thoughts to get me through it, and at least one would be pertinent and comforting.
So there's that. I wanted to write this down in case I have to use it again.
Also of note: If you're a friend and you're unhappily married, I would ask you to please talk to someone who can help you and your spouse.
I am not that person.
(This is from an experience that started off as a harmless, "I feel sad about this, this and this situation in my marriage" and has turned into something I feel entirely skeevy for becoming involved with. Don't worry, it's nothing gossip- or bishop-worthy, but for some reason people feel comfortable talking to me about their marital stuff and I'm just going to have to put my foot down from now on. I'm sure you've probably been there.)
(If you haven't, don't tell me)
Having lived and learned,
Fisher Cutbait
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Not a Sports Mom?????
(said in my best Llug from Willow, "Not a woman???" voice)
At my children's sporting events, I feel a keen sense of discomfort, not unlike sitting in the dentist office reception area. (Please no root canal...)
I've been married to the very sporty Mr. Cutbait for twenty years next month and had a number of sporty children. Thankfully, some are more like me than like him, or I'd feel completely outnumbered in this land of mud and sweaty uniforms and insane frantic yelling parents. These people must surely come from another planet, or at least bleed a different color.
Normally I am OK with feeling so out of every sports loop. Today I can't shake it, so it's off to the self analysis room for me. What's my problem?
For one thing: Dude, I don't care which team wins. They should all have fun and be polite to each other. This is basketball, not brain surgery.
Two: I love my boy. He is cute and I like watching him play basketball. However, I'd be just as fine watching him do a funny dance, weed the garden, tell me what happened at school today, and pretty much anything else that doesn't require sitting on hard bleachers in a freezing gym with no cell phone service or access to food.
Three: Unless I know them, the other parents run the gamut from weird to odious to bad-smelling. Sometimes all three, and almost always loud and obnoxious. What's more, I'm pretty sure I put off a severe "I hate sports and I'm not that enthralled with you, either" vibe so again, unless we know each other, they keep their distance. It's a little lonely but it's probably for the best, given all the above reasons.
Fourth: The darling Mr. Cutbait, whose knowledge, skill, and interest in all things sporty leave me feeling practically crippled as a spectator. "How do they look as a team?" he just texted, on his way to our daughter's soccer tournament. Um, well... color-coordinated?
I might as well ask him how many generations ago his ancestors came from England - then we could have matching blank stares.
Fifth: I have no clue what's going on, so any sanctions the referees may foist on my child or his team seem completely unfair, bringing out my Mama Bear response. "HOW DARE THEY. Oh, my kid fouled another kid? Oh. Oops."
Sixth: Taking my youngest along. She is normally well-behaved, but today not so much, which probably heightened my "Why do I hate doing this so much?" anxiety.
It hits me today, again, that when you're a parent, you sometimes do things for your children for the sole reason that you love them. It's not enjoyable (I wish I felt differently). It seems like a gigantic waste of time (ditto). You can think of thirteen hundred different situations you'd rather be in than sitting behind some smelly shouting grandmother with your butt in pain (ditto again).
I miss whatever gene I was supposed to inherit that would somehow help me love sports. The Sports Force, sadly, is not with me.
Is a terrible mother AND references George Lucas movies too often,
Fisher Cutbait
At my children's sporting events, I feel a keen sense of discomfort, not unlike sitting in the dentist office reception area. (Please no root canal...)
I've been married to the very sporty Mr. Cutbait for twenty years next month and had a number of sporty children. Thankfully, some are more like me than like him, or I'd feel completely outnumbered in this land of mud and sweaty uniforms and insane frantic yelling parents. These people must surely come from another planet, or at least bleed a different color.
Normally I am OK with feeling so out of every sports loop. Today I can't shake it, so it's off to the self analysis room for me. What's my problem?
For one thing: Dude, I don't care which team wins. They should all have fun and be polite to each other. This is basketball, not brain surgery.
Two: I love my boy. He is cute and I like watching him play basketball. However, I'd be just as fine watching him do a funny dance, weed the garden, tell me what happened at school today, and pretty much anything else that doesn't require sitting on hard bleachers in a freezing gym with no cell phone service or access to food.
Three: Unless I know them, the other parents run the gamut from weird to odious to bad-smelling. Sometimes all three, and almost always loud and obnoxious. What's more, I'm pretty sure I put off a severe "I hate sports and I'm not that enthralled with you, either" vibe so again, unless we know each other, they keep their distance. It's a little lonely but it's probably for the best, given all the above reasons.
Fourth: The darling Mr. Cutbait, whose knowledge, skill, and interest in all things sporty leave me feeling practically crippled as a spectator. "How do they look as a team?" he just texted, on his way to our daughter's soccer tournament. Um, well... color-coordinated?
I might as well ask him how many generations ago his ancestors came from England - then we could have matching blank stares.
Fifth: I have no clue what's going on, so any sanctions the referees may foist on my child or his team seem completely unfair, bringing out my Mama Bear response. "HOW DARE THEY. Oh, my kid fouled another kid? Oh. Oops."
Sixth: Taking my youngest along. She is normally well-behaved, but today not so much, which probably heightened my "Why do I hate doing this so much?" anxiety.
It hits me today, again, that when you're a parent, you sometimes do things for your children for the sole reason that you love them. It's not enjoyable (I wish I felt differently). It seems like a gigantic waste of time (ditto). You can think of thirteen hundred different situations you'd rather be in than sitting behind some smelly shouting grandmother with your butt in pain (ditto again).
I miss whatever gene I was supposed to inherit that would somehow help me love sports. The Sports Force, sadly, is not with me.
Is a terrible mother AND references George Lucas movies too often,
Fisher Cutbait
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Gary Larson, How I Love Thee
One of my favorite comic strips, The Far Side, once featured a drawing captioned "How fishermen blow their minds" (a fisherman in a boat thinking, "Fish or cut bait? FISH OR CUT BAIT??").
I would post the strip in question, but I just read that Mr. Larson, he no likey.
(One wonders how da Vinci would feel at our using the Mona Lisa so freely and extensively without remunerating him for his work, but Father Al had not yet invented the Internet, so I guess 1. Leonardo doesn't care, 2. Leonardo doesn't understand copyright laws, 3. Leonardo does care and does understand copyright laws but is dead and can only do so much about it, therefore 4. Leonardo's stuff is free game.)
So I won't. Just try to think back to the 80s. Remember them? Ah. I was a HUGE Far Side fan then, to the point that people gave me Far Side books as gifts or as an incentive to shut up about the Far Side for a while.
Trying to choose a favorite Far Side strip is like trying to decide which child is my favorite - it depends on the day - but pretty much every time, I will choose the one of the lady looking out her front window at the pianos and piano benches falling from the sky, several having heavily landed and implanted themselves in the ground. "My word! I'd hate to be outside on a day like this!"
(See, they're not funny when they're just explained, Gary.)
THE DAILY FABULOUS: This is a new feature. We'll see how "daily" it turns out to be.
I was awake at 3:30 this morning, thinking that my youngest daughter, currently age 7, really needs to be in our annual Veterans Day parade this coming November, and I was trying to think of a way to make that happen for her. She wants to be one of those horrible warped pageant-y children - well, not so much that as she wants to ride in a convertible in a parade, wearing a tiara and a sash, waving and smiling to crowds of adoring admirers. Really, who doesn't want that?
(Her ten-year-old Cub Scout brother was just in the parade - that's what put us there in the first place. Not that I don't love veterans, parades, or Veteran's Day parades, but come on - November?)
ANYWAY. I was thinking that if we were really serious about this one little day of her life, we could have her join Girl Scouts (no thanks), or we could start up a troop of Frontier Girls. "Ick," I thought. "I don't want to do that. If I did that, I'd have to be in charge."
"Why can't you be in charge?" my inner fabulous voice said.
***groan***
I don't want to start up a troop of Frontier Girls - what I'd really like to see happen is our ward or stake Activity Day girls participate more in community events, but I'm not sure how or if that would work - but I have decided that my inner fabulous voice should be listened to more often. A voice of challenge, a voice of self-improvement, a voice that celebrates good and beauty, a voice that rises above fears and gripes and "what-ifs" and dares me to be - dare I say it again - FABULOUS.
So here's today's Daily Fabulous: I'm too lazy to locate my phone and take a picture, and figure out how to disengage the "where I was when I took this picture so you can find my house and stalk me" feature on my phone. That's not fabulous, but it hopefully excuses the lack of picture.
What IS fabulous is the pair of awesome blue wool snowflake socks I'm wearing. How I love these socks. They are warm and cute and Yuppies-trying-to-be-woodsy-ish. I found them at Fred Meyer (and they weren't even on my list that day).
I'm starting small... but I am starting.
Daring herself to get the laundry done so she can put something else on,
Fisher Cutbait
I would post the strip in question, but I just read that Mr. Larson, he no likey.
(One wonders how da Vinci would feel at our using the Mona Lisa so freely and extensively without remunerating him for his work, but Father Al had not yet invented the Internet, so I guess 1. Leonardo doesn't care, 2. Leonardo doesn't understand copyright laws, 3. Leonardo does care and does understand copyright laws but is dead and can only do so much about it, therefore 4. Leonardo's stuff is free game.)
So I won't. Just try to think back to the 80s. Remember them? Ah. I was a HUGE Far Side fan then, to the point that people gave me Far Side books as gifts or as an incentive to shut up about the Far Side for a while.
Trying to choose a favorite Far Side strip is like trying to decide which child is my favorite - it depends on the day - but pretty much every time, I will choose the one of the lady looking out her front window at the pianos and piano benches falling from the sky, several having heavily landed and implanted themselves in the ground. "My word! I'd hate to be outside on a day like this!"
(See, they're not funny when they're just explained, Gary.)
THE DAILY FABULOUS: This is a new feature. We'll see how "daily" it turns out to be.
I was awake at 3:30 this morning, thinking that my youngest daughter, currently age 7, really needs to be in our annual Veterans Day parade this coming November, and I was trying to think of a way to make that happen for her. She wants to be one of those horrible warped pageant-y children - well, not so much that as she wants to ride in a convertible in a parade, wearing a tiara and a sash, waving and smiling to crowds of adoring admirers. Really, who doesn't want that?
(Her ten-year-old Cub Scout brother was just in the parade - that's what put us there in the first place. Not that I don't love veterans, parades, or Veteran's Day parades, but come on - November?)
ANYWAY. I was thinking that if we were really serious about this one little day of her life, we could have her join Girl Scouts (no thanks), or we could start up a troop of Frontier Girls. "Ick," I thought. "I don't want to do that. If I did that, I'd have to be in charge."
"Why can't you be in charge?" my inner fabulous voice said.
***groan***
I don't want to start up a troop of Frontier Girls - what I'd really like to see happen is our ward or stake Activity Day girls participate more in community events, but I'm not sure how or if that would work - but I have decided that my inner fabulous voice should be listened to more often. A voice of challenge, a voice of self-improvement, a voice that celebrates good and beauty, a voice that rises above fears and gripes and "what-ifs" and dares me to be - dare I say it again - FABULOUS.
So here's today's Daily Fabulous: I'm too lazy to locate my phone and take a picture, and figure out how to disengage the "where I was when I took this picture so you can find my house and stalk me" feature on my phone. That's not fabulous, but it hopefully excuses the lack of picture.
What IS fabulous is the pair of awesome blue wool snowflake socks I'm wearing. How I love these socks. They are warm and cute and Yuppies-trying-to-be-woodsy-ish. I found them at Fred Meyer (and they weren't even on my list that day).
I'm starting small... but I am starting.
Daring herself to get the laundry done so she can put something else on,
Fisher Cutbait
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
If you love Christmas so much, why dont you MERRY it
Oh. What a terrible pun.
In past years, Christmas was not fun for me. Too much pressure, stress, perfectionism, wanting to do things I didn't have money or time to do. It was my yearly "beat myself up" fest. What a great thing, what a lovely gift, to give oneself for Christmas.
It sucked, because when I was little, I loved it. Who doesn't love Christmas when they're little?
But as I grew up and expectations changed, and most of those expectations were expected of me, it became hard and yucky and a season, sadly, to just get through.
One thing changed that: My stake's Festival of Nativities.
It's usually held the weekend after Thanksgiving, right when all things Christmas (TV and radio ads and crazed shopping) are getting under way. I still remember the first time I walked into our transformed cultural hall and was amazed, almost to tears, at the beautiful scenes and the obvious hard work that had been performed. What a crazy thing to do - ask people to bring their Nativity sets and household furnishings to the church, so we could all experience this awesome Christmas feeling together. And what a huge impact it had on me.
The year I started helping with it changed all my Christmases forever. I don't do anything very important for it - this year I ironed large pieces of fabric and made up the scavenger hunt the hosts pass out to the kids. "Find a Nativity made entirely of frogs... Find the Lego Nativity..." It is service easily performed, and it is completely voluntary and really has nothing to do with me. My name isn't on the committee members list; it's just for fun. It's for my benefit.
This week of helping and this weekend of enjoying sets a sweet tone for the rest of the month, putting the focus on the Savior. He's so nice. And He doesn't care if I get my Christmas cards mailed on time or if I take treats to every family on the block.
There are other things that have resurrected the Christmas spirit in me, but we'll talk about those another time. This is probably the biggest and most important thing anyway. This is my reason for wanting to celebrate of my own free will, instead of doing it just because it's expected.
I wish you success in finding your reason, and I wish you a very merry Christmas, full of letting go, and lowered expectations, and lapsed deadlines, and long deep breaths, and love.
Enjoying the Christmas present,
Fisher Cutbait
In past years, Christmas was not fun for me. Too much pressure, stress, perfectionism, wanting to do things I didn't have money or time to do. It was my yearly "beat myself up" fest. What a great thing, what a lovely gift, to give oneself for Christmas.
It sucked, because when I was little, I loved it. Who doesn't love Christmas when they're little?
But as I grew up and expectations changed, and most of those expectations were expected of me, it became hard and yucky and a season, sadly, to just get through.
One thing changed that: My stake's Festival of Nativities.
It's usually held the weekend after Thanksgiving, right when all things Christmas (TV and radio ads and crazed shopping) are getting under way. I still remember the first time I walked into our transformed cultural hall and was amazed, almost to tears, at the beautiful scenes and the obvious hard work that had been performed. What a crazy thing to do - ask people to bring their Nativity sets and household furnishings to the church, so we could all experience this awesome Christmas feeling together. And what a huge impact it had on me.
The year I started helping with it changed all my Christmases forever. I don't do anything very important for it - this year I ironed large pieces of fabric and made up the scavenger hunt the hosts pass out to the kids. "Find a Nativity made entirely of frogs... Find the Lego Nativity..." It is service easily performed, and it is completely voluntary and really has nothing to do with me. My name isn't on the committee members list; it's just for fun. It's for my benefit.
This week of helping and this weekend of enjoying sets a sweet tone for the rest of the month, putting the focus on the Savior. He's so nice. And He doesn't care if I get my Christmas cards mailed on time or if I take treats to every family on the block.
There are other things that have resurrected the Christmas spirit in me, but we'll talk about those another time. This is probably the biggest and most important thing anyway. This is my reason for wanting to celebrate of my own free will, instead of doing it just because it's expected.
I wish you success in finding your reason, and I wish you a very merry Christmas, full of letting go, and lowered expectations, and lapsed deadlines, and long deep breaths, and love.
Enjoying the Christmas present,
Fisher Cutbait
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