It's 19 Degrees and I'm Hotter Than Ever

Full of good intentions, I sat down at my computer this morning to catch up on some work, pay a few bills and organize my life a bit. I've been here for a few hours now and I'm happy to report, I have done none of the above.

Instead I found myself thrust into the blogosphere, now a familiar place, reading some of my favorite bloggers - who all seem to be writing about the same thing. They are sweeping me up, summarizing the glorious drunken highs and the inevitable sobering lows of the year that was, while offering some fantastically brilliant shards of wisdom for me to ponder in the coming year.

Keeping within the spirit of my bloggy soul mates, I too shall endeavor to reiterate the year that passes before us and prognosticate the year that brings forth a new decade. 

As I write this post, I notice it is the 46th post for 2009. I am 46 years old. There's really no significance to that, just thought I'd mention it. What is significant is that in 2009, I became a blogger. I tested the water in May, creating a template and visualizing what it was I thought I had to say. I took June and July off because I was too busy being in love to be bothered with blogging.

I came back at the tail end of July with the full force and fury of a woman possessed. Don't worry, I was still in love. I have changed my template at least 56 times while writing my 46 posts. I have picked up 49 followers (c'mon, just one more today and I can close the year at an even 50) and I have "met" some seriously supportive fellow bloggers, which has been like finding an unexpected savory side dish I now want served at every meal.

Most of all, what blogging has meant to me is this.  I can now say, "I am a writer".

The other significant happenings in the life of Zen Mama 2009 would be:

Connecting with friends who were lost to me through the time warp portal known as Facebook.

Watching my children blossom into regular little people who are discovering and embracing their own God-given talents as well as their individual, unique challenges.

Completing a ten year commitment as a leader in my industry by chairing a national conference in Hawaii. Nice work, if you can get it.

Noticing I can't sneeze while standing up anymore.  Well, I can but it's not pretty or ladylike.

Growing even closer to the closest of my friends.

Entering into peri-menopause with my usual flair for "if you're gonna do something, do it up really big". Oy vey, can we talk? The emotions, the mood swings, the out of control bursts of violent, sado-masochistic urges to run people over with my car then pick them up, dust them off, hug them, kiss them, love them, then run over them again. And that's just on any given Tuesday.

Toward the end of the year, my body broke but luckily I had a good mechanic and he fixed me right up. 

Figuring out if you right click on a word that has a red underline while you are typing, you get a whole list of possibilities to correct the spelling, check the thesaurus (not that I ever would), use a different language or find a laugh. Try misspelling a word on purpose. I tried the word "robust" and was given the option of "broncobuster". That's funny shit to me. It's also significant because I'm fairly certain I was the last person in the universe to understand how to use the red-underline-right-click maneuver. I just misspelled maneuver and was offered to replace it with manure. The fun never ends.....

Speaking of fun and frivolity, I have four numbers for you 2 0 1 0. I am envisioning significance in the dawn of a new decade. Think of it as New Year's on steroids. You're not to sit there as usual, eating your black-eyed peas while planning out the next year.  Rather, you should frame up the picture of your life, as you see it, or as you want it to be for the next ten years.

If I take a look at the next decade of my life, all of my kids will be grown. I have such a short time left to either successfully equip them with the skills they need to achieve their dreams or to drive them to climb the clock tower where they will henceforth be known by their first, middle and last name. The choice is mine.  I choose option A.

I am ending my 46th post in the 46th year of my life by proclaiming the coming year and the coming decade to be whatever I damn well feel like it being. I think I shall choose to embrace my inner menopausal woman who suffers from hot flashes and define her as a brilliant, prolific writer able to influence the world, or at least her little corner of it while being hotter than ever. Even if it is frickin 19 degrees outside.

Happy New Year, Cheers and L'Chayim (pronounced using the flem in the back of your throat) to you all!

Note to Bill Gates

If I were a God, I would smite thee, Bill Gates. I am not a God, not even a Goddess. I'm just a frustrated mom with a large chip on my shoulder. Actually, it's more like I've got the entire mother board on my shoulder. I have donned my armor and charged into battle against the red ring of death while you, Bill Gates, are happily esconsed in Xanadu, enjoying your eco-friendly mansion. I am wondering if any of the elaborate rooms in your earth-sheltered abode are sporting an XBox 360?

I suppose you don't really have to worry when (not if) the red ring of death comes knocking on your door. Do you keep an extra supply lying around for just such occassions or do you have the units specially manufactured without all of the internal problems? I'm just askin'?

I am not technologically savvy or even technologically aware - I am tech challenged at best. The last time I was considered on top of the tech game was when commands like "C> dir a:*.ex" meant something. I was once the DOS queen. Now I am hopelessly lost in a sea of windows that do not open for me. I get angry sometimes and I forget my limitations. I try things that I shouldn't try. I get pissed, then I get dangerous.

I watched countless Youtube videos on how to repair your vile invention. I learned about X clamps, CPU's, GPU's, heat sinks, and RF modulators. I invested in new tools, an arsenol of Torx screwdrivers, a heat gun and a tube of arctic silver thermal compound. I went to war with these implements and you fucked me over. You scoffed at me while you were playing XBox live in your faux fur slippers.

I feel much better now that I have vented. My son wants me to buy another XBox 360 so he can play one of the many games from his now useless collection. He is heartbroken and I am still pissed. They say the failure rate in the electronics industry is typically 3% to 5%. Depending upon the study or the source cited, your systems fail between 52% to 100% of the time. How DO you sleep at night?

Another Fine Text You Got Me Into

I thought I might have created a new word yesterday. Textlexia. Twice in one day I had misinterpreted entries  aimed at humor, into hurtful, disappointing revelations about his character and our future together. Did I mention I also had PMS?

I woke up this morning wondering if, in fact, textlexia was already a word so I did what everyone does when they need to find out if something exists. I googled it. I found several entries for the word in a site called the "Urban Dictionary" - who knew there was such a thing? If I'm just now brave enough to be texting, I'm certainly not supposed to be aware of things like an urban dictionary containing an entirely different language than that taught by Mrs. Humpfreys in the 7th grade.

Afterall, I have to rely on my 23 year old son to tell me how to speak and write text or to translate text speak into the Queen's English. He even had to tell me how to talk about texting when he caught me referring to the act of sending or receiving a text as text mailing. "Mom", he says with a slight hint of smarmy exasperation, "it's text messaging".

In my very early, rudimentary texting days, a friend once told me to make sure to type little emoticons to ensure the meaning of my texts. A wink ;-) for example, would indicate you were joking. Since I didn't have the benefit of a wink yesterday, I was left to determine the meaning using the time honored female tradition of deductive reasoning. ;-) ;-) Yeah right. This amounts to immediately jumping to the worst possible conclusion and dismissing any other possibilities. All while managing to create a parallel universe where whatever he said must somehow be your fault.

I did find a meaning for Textlexia in the urban dictionary; however, it wasn't related to misinterpreting the meaning of a text. Officially, textlexia is 1.) the accidental use of text language when writing manually, like in composing a business letter or resume or 2.) the inability to spell words when using those frustrating predictive text modes. I tried to find a word to fit my situation but there are approximately 587 words in the urban dictionary using a derivative of the word text. Seriously?

Some of my favorites were Text Massage or getting a text when your phone is on vibrate; Textcrastinate which is to delay your text response or Textually Frustrated which is what happens when you're communicating with a textcrastinator and they are not meeting your textpectations. Since text rhymes with sex - there are tons of sexually suggestive text-slang words but my favorite is the classically simple Textual Intercourse, which when performed means you have consummated your relationship (and you need a cigarette). Can't you just hear it now, "I did not have textual relations with that woman."

After exhausting my research on all forms of the word text, I went on to look up hundreds of other words. With each new word I felt more trendy, increasingly hip and smart, like my 28 year old assistant. It felt like I was an unpopular kid who was finally allowed to hang with the cool kids. Like I was allowed to join a secret club where you have to know what cankles are or that the use of finger guns is strictly limited to creepy people with porn mustaches.

In the end, it looks like it's going to be up to me to coin the phrase to describe the affliction I experienced yesterday. I've decided I had a bad case of Textmorphic Disorder (TMD). Morph from the Greek Morphos meaning form, shape or structure and Disorder from the way I have lived most of my life. It will be defined as the inability to extrapolate tone, inflection or meaning from a text based communication.

There are a few basic guidelines I've come up with to help others who may find themselves impaired with TMD.

1. Do not jump to conclusions.
2. Do not use deductive reasoning.
3. It is best to textcrastinate to a perceived hurtful text - or better yet, do not respond at all.
4. If you have PMS, use the phone!
5. If you did fire back a 'WTF?' or 'SOB!', quickly follow it up with, "sorry, fingers slipped, having issues w/ texterity today.

I wonder if it wouldn't be a lot easier if we could simply all agree to ban the use of sarcasm in text mode. Or, at the very least, it should be mandatory to give a little text wink at the end of a potentially hazaardous message. Or maybe I should just not take things so seriously. Did I mention I have PMS?