It's what's for breakfast...

The problem with protein fruit shakes, bottled in recycleable 16 oz. plastic easy-to-hold containers, is that they so often taste chalky. Delicious in flavor, yet chalky in texture...Why is that?

is it bad to care only a little?

The last time I spoke to my grandma, she hung up on me. This was about three or so weeks ago when I was asking her to please stop attempting to convince my vegetarian daughter to eat meat and she denied ever having done so. It is likely that I will call her, possibly tonight when she is out to dinner with other family members (although I was not invited to that soiree...). This way I can leave her well wishes without having to speak to her. It's not that I'm holding a grudge. Really, I'm not. It's just that I refuse to do this anymore. They (mom, grandma, Angie) will say something hurtful to K and K will tell me. I will, in turn, explain to them that they have hurt K's feelings and that -intentional or no, it STILL hurts her feelings- I would like them to stop. They deny ever having done anything in the first place. I do not like this dance.

I still resent that my grandmother tricked me into believing that she was a kind and tolerant person. I think that she may be under the impression that I still believe this, yet whenever she fears that it is waning, she will spend just a little extra money on me to attempt to distract me. There was a time when that actually worked. I hate the evil things she says about her own daughter's husband's child and also about my sister's kids...who knows what she says about me behind my back? Well, actually, some of it has found it's way back to me: that she thinks I will "outgrow" being a dyke since it is just a phase I'm going through. Gee, grandma, what do you *really* think?

but they might be...

Every day it was the same damn story, it seemed. I postponed errands, meetings, work, life until later in the day so that I could be at home for the metal screeeech, scrape, vah-whummmp of our mail carrier's calling card. Is it there? Should I check? I'm pathetic if I go running down the stairs and filter through the booty this instant. I'll just wait. What if it is there? Am I in? Probably not...it's pretty competetive and everyone wants to be a librarian these days. But what if I am in? Who should I tell first?

This went on for what felt like an eternity. No news is good news, I tried to rationalize. After exactly two months of this odd form of torture, the University of Washington chose to let me in on their decision. As much as I was hoping for an acceptance letter, at this point any envelope with a purple logo as a return address would suffice. On this fateful day, I went through the ritual psychotic inner dialogue attempting to prepare myself for either outcome as I almost went to collect the mail two or three times before I actually had the goods in my hot little hands. When I'd finally convinced myself that I could adequately accept either outcome, I began to flip through the envelopes as I, finally, spy one the with the UW return address and it's THIN. And this is where you are entitled to a disclaimer: I'd always thought that when one is accepted, one is rewarded with the thick package with all the info you need and don't need and when one is rejected, they stuff that slap across the face into a thin envelope.

I was so mad (no, I hadn't opened it yet) that I threw that purple logoed envelope on the ground and started swearing and stomping on it.
"Take that!" my angry stomping feet seemed to say.
After about five minutes of this very adult-like response to an unopened envelope, I decided I should probably open it and "see what they had to say for themselves." I had to read the "we are pleased to inform you" part about five times before I even considered believing it.