Peon: N. A menial worker; a drudge

I think I’m having a bitchy day. Which is, contrary to what my hubby says, rare. Sure, I have my moments, but for the most part it doesn’t really reach the bubbling over point.

It is reaching the bubbling over point.

Where I work, I am not the head honcho, so to speak. However, I am sort of over my little part of our department. We are a company (we do the administrative bits) of a bigger company (they contract us to do this for them). My part in all this is the copy center. I produce mass quantities of paper on a daily basis. My head honcho lets me run it how I see fit with very little if any part in it. Everyone I work with knows this.

But most of our customers think everything is done by the head honcho and we are just his little peons scurrying to do his bidding. This is not so and it is getting on my last nerve.

Sigh. I work hard. I really do. A little bit of recognition would be nice. Just a little bit.

Sorry to bitch and whine but I do actually feel much better now. Some good ole hard rock ‘n roll for the ride home should do the trick. Perhaps some Evanescence or Metallica.

Beach Vacation

“There is no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.” Mark Twain

This describes my vacation perfectly. 10 people; 5 of my in-laws, 1 niece (2 1/2 years old), 1 nephew (7 months), and Aaron, Ellie (20 months) and I, spent 5 days at the beach together. Spent it in an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, miniscule camper. Yes, I said C A M P E R!

It wasn’t that bad really. No one at church believed me. But I am the absolute luckiest girl I know. I have marvelous in-laws. Sometimes I think I get along better with them than my own family. I love my family, do not get me wrong, but my in-laws are soooo easy going.

I got burnt slap up on Monday. So bad that I couldn’t stand the sun on my shoulders until Wednesday. We went outlet shopping. I ate like a stuck pig and gained about 3 pounds. But I had a blast! Ellie had so much fun, she is such a water rat. She loved the ocean! She is so brown now, she looks like a little Indian!

I got lots of good reading done too. I finished Ireland, which is a HUGE novel and now my like one of my favorite books EVAH! And I got to read almost 200 pages of gods in Alabama on the way home. It was also great. I will post my reviews too.

All in all, it was a great vacay but I am glad to be home!

Ireland: A Novel by Frank Delaney

Every once and awhile, a book comes along that takes you on the most beautiful, magical journey and in turn ruins you for any other book for the next several weeks. Ireland did this to me. This novel felt like coming home, there was such a sense of belonging and well being emanating from it. This novel is many ancient Irish folklore stories laid out in one big, beautiful story. And it made me realize the value of the oral tradition that many ancient civilizations depended on. My poor humble words can do it no justice.

Ronan O’Mara, age 9, met the most magical, mysterious man. The Storyteller, the only name the man will give anyone, came to his home for a few nights in the late 1940s and changed his world forever. Feeling a strange and inexplicable connection to this man, Ronan spends the next several years desperately trying to find him again, only to meet many roadblocks. Along the way, people share with him the stories the Storyteller shared with them; stories about Ireland’s ancient, rich and beautiful past. As the Ronan grows he learns many interesting things about his family and himself.

Favorite Quotes:

The stranger’s face was chalk-white with exhaustion and he stumbled on the rough ground, his hands held out before him like a sleepwalker’s. He looked like a scarecrow deserting his post. High grasses soaked his cracked boots and drenched his coat hems. A mist like a silver veil floated about the ground, broke at his knees, and reassembled itself in his wake. In the twilight fog, mysterious shapes appeared and dematerialized, so that the pale walker was never sure he had seen merely the branches of trees or the arms of mythic dancers come to greet him. Closer in, the dark shadows of the tree trunks twisted into harsh and threatening shapes.

That evening, in that white house among the fields, a boy’s most passionate dream came true. His father had long talked of the traveling storytellers. He said they possessed brilliant powers; they brought the long-gone past to life vividly, without what he called “the interference of scholars. Those professors,” he said. “They dry out history in order to put it down on paper.” In his father’s view, a tale with the feeling taken out of it had, “no blood and was worth very little.”

Beach books

Okay, I think I have my list of books for the beach perfected. How does this sound?

Ireland: A Novel because I doubt I will finish it before Sunday
Zorro: A Novel by Isabel Allende
gods in Alabama by Joshlyn Jackson
A Factory of Cunning by Philippa Stockley
Tithe: A Modern Fairytale by Holly Black
Shadows of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

6 books should do it. I might take Getting Over It by Anna Maxted too just for spits and giggles but I’m not sure yet. Might possibly throw in a Marian Keyes too, if I can find them. I know I have some I’m just not sure where they are.

Well, if I don’t post by Sunday I’ll blog ya later!


I am so embarrassed to admit to liking some of the music that I like. I want to be cool and listen to cool singers/bands like DMB (which I do occasionally listen too), Tori Amos, Liz Phair, PJ Harvey. I want to like people with a message and real talent! And there are a few bands that I like that I think are pretty cool, like Evanescence. But then, I catch myself singing along with The Backstreet Boys in the car on the way home or bopping my head to Britney’s Toxic.

What is wrong with me?!?!

I should realize that these people are just singing what they are told sing. They rarely write their own music, they can’t play their own music, they are simply there to look good and make money. But I just can’t get into the “smarter” music out there. I did like Liz Phair’s last album, it was catchier music to me, but I have a feeling her old stuff is better. I just can’t get into it. Sigh…

You know, I am the same way about things I read. I want to read the cool, deep, interesting writers like Ian McEwan, Philip Roth, Stewart O’Nan, Salman Rushdie, etc, etc, etc. However, anytime I have tried any of the above my eyes cross and my brain fogs over. I’m quite disgusted with myself.

Playing in my head: Liz Phair’s Why Can’t I Be?
Reading: Ireland and loving it!
Reading next: Either Zorro, god’s in Alabama by Joshlyn Jackson, or Tithe: A Modern Fairy Tale by Holly Black