Thanks to everyone who has come here from the 2000 Bloggers website. Tino created this project to list the photos of 2000 bloggers. I think he’s getting close to 2000, so if you want to be included, you should check out his blog and post a comment. I have already gotten a little traffic from 2000 Bloggers and may see more. Great idea Tino!

She would play in the mornings while her mother vacuumed and did the breakfast dishes. Small cleaning jobs, like dusting the end tables, were given to Kristi. She also had to pick up her own toys and clean the playroom so there was room to walk through it. The house had to be cleaned before her father came home because if it wasn’t clean, he would yell at her mother for not doing anything the whole day.
Kristi’s mother usually quit cleaning around 11 a.m. before her favorite soap opera. Kristi sometimes watched the show with her. At noon, Kristi’s father would come home for dinner.
In the afternoon, Kristi played in her house while her mother cleaned up after dinner and watched the soap opera that came on at 12:30 p.m. Some days Kristi’s father took a nap after dinner especially if he had worked late the night before watering the grass on the golf course. On really hot days during the summer, her father would stay up all night just moving the sprinklers on the course. The golf course didn’t have automatic sprinklers everywhere, only on the greens, and often they didn’t work. He spent the mornings mowing the greens and moving the cups on the greens and the tee markers on the tee boxes. If he was tired, he would be grouchy after dinner, so Kristi stayed out of his way and played quietly inside the playhouse with the doors to the playroom closed. She didn’t want to wake up her daddy because he would be very angry. His face would turn dark red, darker than his normally red, sunburned face, and he would shout, shaking the pictures on the walls as it bounced off of them.
She went into the playroom to play quietly in her playhouse to play with her doll. The doll had blonde hair and was the size of a six-month-old baby. Kristi had clothes for the doll that she wore when she was that size.
“Susie, Now you sit in the chair and be quiet while I get something to drink,” Kristi said quietly to the doll. The doll’s legs straightened out, and she slid out of the chair.
“I told you to stay in the chair,” Kristi said louder than before. She moved the doll’s legs and tried to keep the doll in the chair.
The playhouse was too dark to see inside since it had gotten cloudy outside. Kristi went to get a flashlight from the kitchen so she could see better.
She often used a flashlight when she played in the house at night.
When she returned, she placed the flashlight on its end in the center of the table. She began to pour the Kool-Aid, which she brought in a glass when she got the flashlight, into the small coffee pot. She set out two plates in the center of the placemats and set the fork to the left of the plate and the knife and spoon on the right just like her mother set the table. She set the cups and saucers on the table to the right of the knife and spoon. Being careful not to spill, she carefully poured the cherry Kool-Aid into the small cups. As she sat in her green wooden chair, she heard the door slam. She knew her father had left to go back to work.
As she stepped out of the playhouse, she heard her mother put the last pan on the rack to dry in the kitchen. Since her mother was finished with the dishes, Kristi knew she could use the sink. She went into the playhouse to pick up the dishes she had left and took them into the kitchen. She also took the flashlight back to the kitchen drawer. She poured out the Kool-Aid and washed the dishes. Then, she set them out to dry.
It was the middle of the afternoon, so “Electric Company” was on television. Kristi sat in a chair in the living room to watch her favorite show. After the show was over, her mother began to make supper. Kristi’s father would be home soon. Until supper, Kristi played with her Play-Doh set in the playroom. She made a cherry pie with little red Play-Doh balls for cherries, but she didn’t let it dry, instead she took apart the pie and put the dough back in the containers. She heard the door open and heard her father’s footsteps. It sounded like and elephant was walking through the house.

…to be continued

Remember my admission of being a geek? Of being just like the girl in this cartoon I posted? Well, it seems that my offspring is also a geek. I don’t know how it happened. My parents weren’t geeks, so there’s really no explanation for me. My son is excited about “pi” and getting to use it in geometry. He talks quickly and excitedly about using a compass to find the bisector of a line. What’s a mother to do? He’s enjoying chemistry problems that the other students complain about. I told him, “You know, you’re a geek.” He laughed, and said he knows worse. Worse? There’s worse? What happened? Where did I go wrong? How did a create a little me? Poor kid.

I swear geekiness isn’t inheritable. Can’t be. My mother can’t figure out how my sister and I turned out the way we did. She didn’t like school that much. She never got excited about math or science.

Can the geek be removed? There must be a school that can undo the geek. I haven’t found one yet though. It probably wouldn’t help me at all. Years from now I may have to apologize for the apparent “geek gene” that I passed on.

I just hope he doesn’t turn out like those boys in the cartoons. You know…the one who sniffs the girls or begs one to go out with him. Odd goods are just that. Perhaps I won’t have to worry about him getting some girl pregnant. I will just have to wonder what kind of girl will want such a geek.

***

As a response to Mr. Fab’s comment, here are the definitions of geek, dork and nerd.

I wanted to revisit some old short stories I wrote back in college. My view is that they aren’t bad, but they could use some more description. These were written in 1989. All copy rights belong to me. For these to show up anywhere else, my permission is needed.

“The Playhouse”

Kristi’s mother transformed the plain refrigerator box into a house. Kristi was able to walk into the playhouse without crouching. The three sides were painted white and the roof was red. The cardboard for the two windows hadn’t been discarded. Instead, they were still attached on one side with a cut through the middle so there were shutters that could be opened and closed. The shutters were painted black.
Today was moving day. Kristi planned to move her round white table with green matching chairs and the metal avocado green refrigerator, stove and sink inside. The refrigerator had a door for the freezer and inside pictures of food were painted on the walls. The brand names were unknown to her. She went to the grocery store with her mother every Saturday and knew exactly what brands of food were available. The sink had two parts and a cabinet below. Water could be put into the small sinks because there were tiny stoppers. She tried to put water in the sink many times, but didn’t anymore because it would leak and make the cabinet wet and cause it to rust. There was a small handle to pretend to turn the water on. The stove had four burners which could be controlled by the knobs at the front. There was an oven door with a window so the food could be seen while it was cooking. She placed the refrigerator and sink next to the wall of the house, and put the stove in the corner next to the refrigerator. She wanted it to look like a real house inside. The table and chairs were put in the center of the left over space to allow room to walk around.
All the dishes and plastic food had to be brought in. The miniature Corning Ware dishes were carefully stacked under the sink in the cabinet. She made sure that the cups wouldn’t fall over and knock the plates out of the cabinet, and the silverware was put in a small tray separating the knives, forks and spoons. The plastic food was put in the refrigerator just like real food. Kristi had made some of the play food out of paper. She had little steaks and even peas. There were small cartons of chocolate milk and colored plastic eggs that could be opened. The eggs had been saved from Easter when Kristi’s mother put candy in the eggs and hid them.
Kristi played in the playhouse every day for hours even if it was warm and sunny outside. Her mother had to yell several times before Kristi heard her and came out of the cardboard house. She had to be careful with the playhouse because it could easily fall over if the walls were pushed or run into. Kristi had promised her mother that she would keep it clean, but if she didn’t, her mother would get rid of the house. Kristi had small brooms and a dustpan so she could sweep the floor in the playhouse. Sometimes the floor inside the house got cluttered with toys she brought in to play with. Doll clothes would lay on the floor when Kristi forgot to pick them up. Her favorite toy, a small piano, would be on the floor when she used the table. Kristi pretended she lived in the house and that everything was real. She liked to play like she was grown up and had a family like her own mommy. She liked to play that in her family there was only herself and her doll. She didn’t always like to play with dolls though. Sometimes she liked to pretend that she lived in the house alone and had friends over. When she pretended to have other people in her house, she would have Kool-Aid in the little coffee pot and cookies on a serving plate. She would pour the Kool-Aid into the cups and place a cookie on each plate. Her favorite cookies were chocolate chip, but she also liked chocolate covered marshmallow cookies. Kristi would talk to the other person as if she was real. Her family didn’t live near any other houses, so she didn’t have anyone to play with except herself.

…to be continued

This comes from BlogTalkers.

My first love was a French exchange student. While most might think it was someone else, it wasn’t. I remember not thinking much of this guy at first. I also remember my mother telling me that she was sure that he was my type. I couldn’t believe that she would have clue. I was in high school, and I didn’t think that my mother knew me at all. She had met him before I did because he was staying with her friend’s family. Turns out she was right, which made me a bit angry.

He was tall, thin with light brown hair and green eyes.  His tan skin, hair and eye color tended to blend together. His English wasn’t that good. Well, not good enough to keep up with my quick talking and unusual use of words. I still get comments about my use of English because I use words (perfect for the situation) that are uncommon. I have a picture of the two of us together somewhere.

His stay was only for the summer. It was a different kind of program since he didn’t go to school. He had graduated from the French equivalent of high school at 16. I had just finished high school myself. He was from Lyon, and his main interest was in Formula 1 race cars–driving them. We spent hours together.
I don’t even remember what it was that made me so crazy for him. Our personalities just seemed to click. It appeared to be mutual, however we never kept in touch after he went back to France. I don’t have clue what he ended up doing. He was supposed to go the University of Lyon. I remember talking a lot about the differences between here and France. I remember all the kissing. He was the first one I wanted to sleep with, but I never did.

I am curious as to what happened to him. Maybe he’s married and has children. I wonder if the car thing ever worked out in some form or if he gave up that dream to please others.

I’m hoping to be able to get some extra sleep today. My neighbors are adding on to their house. At first, I thought they were digging a pool, but now there are walls and holes for windows on this small “building.” It doesn’t appear to be attached to the house yet, but it’s very close. I have been annoyed the past few weeks because they start at 7 am and block my driveway. Each worker has to drive themselves to the house, so there are plenty of extra cars. Beginning on Friday night, I started to get sick. it started out as a scratchy throat, and an hour later I thought I was swallowing knives. I’m a bit better, but I think more sleep would help. I should have spent more time this weekend sleeping, but I felt like doing something else instead.

I’m in a bit of a philosophical mood. I haven’t thought about this question in awhile, and I don’t think I ever came to a conclusion. If you can have sex without love and love without sex, what is love? How do you know? Can it be determined by “measuring” what you would do for the other person?

I think women tend to be at a disadvantage here because we’re taught that you should have sex without love. Perhaps men are taught the same thing, but they don’t act like it. Why is that? I don’t have an answer for that either. It doesn’t make any sense that one gender would think about sex differently, unless that is exactly what we are taught. Of course, by controlling women’s sexuality, you control men’s as well.

Back to love…I think I’d feel better if I had a definition. Certainty. Isn’t that what everyone wants? all I have are questions. If I don’t know if I love someone, how do I know if the other person does? I don’t think you can possibly know with any certainty. I’m not talking about “in love”–that’s pure infatuation. I know lots of people who talk about being “in love,” but with terms like that you can also be “out of love.” Love is more than chemical–that happy, feel-good cocktail of chemicals running through the brain.

Back to sex…Everyone’s favorite subject, right? For something so simple, we humans certainly have a lot of problems in this area. How did it become so complicated? Should it be complicated? Is it possible to have sex without any emotions? Honestly, aren’t emotions of some sort always there, even if there’s no real attachment? The chemical brain cocktail after sex encourages attachment. I’ve watched too many shows on this stuff. I learn a lot about the brain and body, but I never quite figure out the answers to my questions. I know it’s possible to have sex without attachment.

I once asked a friend of mine about love and how he knew he loved his wife. He said he just knew. I understand that, but I have no way of explaining that. I know too. It’s a gut thing. Intuition perhaps. Or you might say that you feel it in your bones. However, most people I have talked to have never known this “knowing” that they love.

So sex and love tangled together… Not for me. Sex can be good. Love can be good. Let’s face it–they can be bad too. But, love and sex makes for one wild ride!

Why the memory of this conversation came to me today I will never know. Recently I was with Mr. O and we were talking to another woman who claimed to be paler skinned than me. Well, I always take that as a challenge. No one ever is. I have very pale skin and until a few years ago, I was lighter than my son. After several years of living in California and being exposed to the sun all the time, I’m a bit darker than he is. Well, believe it or not, this woman does have paler skin than me. Even Mr. O was surprised.

All of this reminds me of a previous conversation on bikinis. I need an outside opinion on swimsuits or I will walk out with the same old one-piece that I normally buy. Sales people are worthless. They only want to sell you something, so they will tell you that you look good no matter what. I’ve been thinking that with this improved and toned body from dancing that I should wear a bikini while I still can. I’ve avoided them most of my life because of the large amount of white skin that is exposed. Mr. O dared to suggest tanning. I responded by asking him exactly how I should do that. What does he say? “Sun.” Although it was said with a bit of question mark. Well, since I only sunburn, I think the sun is out. Besides, look at Cate Blanchett and Nicole Kidman who have made pale skin favorable. Yes, I’m that pale. And I have that coloring.

I think I should just show off the beautiful pale skin, even if some people like darker skin. I’ve met so many who just rave over my skin. For too many years, I was subject to comments on the street about reflective legs or being ghostly pale.

So back to swimsuit buying… It’s worse than jean shopping. I had asked for Mr. O’s opinion on a swimsuit. I might actually have to drag him out shopping. He owes me. I’ve been to the hardware store with him. All I have to to say is “Oh. My. God!” I’m thankful that it wasn’t Fry’s. Now, I love electronics stores to a point. I actually make my son crazy looking at TVs and all the other latest gadgets. but I can only take so much of these stores, especially if you have to start looking at computer parts. Boy, somehow I got off track again. Frankly, I’d rather shop for electronics than try on a swimsuit any day.

One thing that doesn’t change when you leave graduate school is the ratio of men to women in the sciences. I suppose I thought it would. I hardly noticed while I was in grad school. You do notice when you go to work. It’s very obvious when you’re the only female in a room of 30. All eyes are on you and your presentation. I have to say I was respected, but I think that was more out of being more educated.

I understand the desire to blend in and hardly be noticed as one of the few females in a sea of males. It’s easier because being noticed means for some very strange encounters. Weirdness on occasion is okay. Weirdness on a regular basis makes you want to shoot people.

As an undergrad in engineering, I dressed conservatively as well. My sorority sisters often begged me to go to the engineering library. I got interrupted every five minutes by some guy stopping by. The girls thought it was great. They were guaranteed to meet at least a dozen guys through me. Not even going in sweats without makeup made a difference. I hated going to the engineering library because I couldn’t get anything done. I had enough homework that I didn’t have time to play at the library. Going to the engineering library to “study” meant several more hours of study time back at my room. Worthless. Waste.

I dressed very conservatively for work as well. On the occasions that I wore a v-neck, all attention was on the skin above the “v.” It isn’t easy to work when your coworkers and boss are tyring to get a glimpse down your shirt. I was able to be more productive if I wore turtlenecks and long sleeves. No way would I wear jeans. I don’t own a single pair that doesn’t hug every curve. I like them that way, but they are useless for work. Even dressing so conservatively didn’t keep the guys from looking, but at least they could still work. Those lovely tops that are all over the stores were just too distracting for them.

As I mentioned before, there was a group of chemistry grad students who regularly went out to the bars on Thursday nights. Sometimes we went Fridays and Saturdays. Going out on Thursday meant very little work got done on Friday. We were lucky to straggle in by noon in time for lunch. Maybe do a few hours of work in the afternoon before going to the chemistry seminar, which I regularly skipped. It was just too boring to sit there in the dark while some visiting professor droned on about slide after slide of research. Most of these professors were used to the old way of doing things, which means you might get a chalkboard talk. Horrors! PowerpointPowerpoint and similar programs brought an interesting element since animation was possible. At least it was different. Kept the eyes busy.

So we went to the same bar on Thursday nights to drink and listen to music. They had a “band.” The “band” was two guys playing covers–one played piano or guitar, the other played the drums. They weren’t bad, but I can’t really call them a band. So the whole room drinks and sings along to songs they know. I’m sorry to say that I know the woDC’sto AC/DC’s “Big Balls” thanks to these Thursday nights. For some reason, every time we went someone wanted to hear this song. There were other regular songs as well, but this one sticks out in my mind. They played quite a bit of rock and some country. Even a little country was too much for me. Other songs we heard nearly every week: Piano Man, Brown-Eyed Girl and Ring of Fire.

There was this horrible little bar off the beaten path that we would go to because one of the group knew the bartender. This place was a real dive. Cider block walls. One night we were there, two men got into a fight. There was hair everywhere! They started howling and pulling each other’s hair. I don’t even know what it was about.

The best part of going there was the bartender’s own concoction. she made up this drink she called the seven-toed toad. Well it was green (Midori). It had seven different alcohols. She never told us what was in it. It could knock you over though. Tasted great! You couldn’t taste the alcohol at all. But after two (I don’t care how much you weighed), you were very, very drunk. I’ve never drank any mixed drink that has gotten me drunk faster. It knocked the guys a good one too.

Of course, we went there at the end of the night. So that would have been after 6-7 amaretto sours, perhaps a few shots for me, and at least a pitcher of beer for each guy. I never payed much attention to what the other gals drank (there was always a couple others, but they didn’t usually go to the dive bar with the guys). Why did I go? Seems out of place for me. One of the guys was always my ride home. I was stuck going wherever they went.

I have to say that even though all those late nights and hangovers probably increased my time in graduate school, I had a lot of fun.