Blown Fuse

Oh no they di'int!

I'VE BEEN SUMMONED FOR JURY DUTY!

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!

But wait - I can get out of it if I'm:

1) Not a US Citizen (can't use that)
2) Are not a resident of Durham County (can't use that)
3) Have served as a juror within the past two years (hasn't happened)
4) Are physically and or mentally incompetent (um...on some days...)
5) Have been convicted of a felony and have not completed all of my sentence (nope)
6) Are over 72 years of age and have health issues or need exemption due to other concerns (SHIT DAMN FUCK)

Ugh.

So corny that it's good.

Pick of Destiny: have you seen it? It's one of those movies that certainly won't be winning any awards for...anything, but it's so fucking funny that it'll make your eyes water.

It's not funny in a "Man, it must have taken them days to write that joke!" way. It's funny in a crude-humor-cussing-starts-in-the-title-credits kind of way. It's totally worth the space it takes up in your Netflix queue, so check it out if you want to forget your day-to-day hassles for a while. As always, you could probably mute it and figure out what's going on just based on what Jack Black's eyebrows are doing.

(Aside: Damn it, I KNEW that was Meatloaf playing KG's dad! I'd recognize that voice anywhere.)

Cunning, ain't I?

This is so awesomely pathetic that I thought I'd share. Count them - yes, there are 13 stamps on that size 12 envelope. Yup.

I needed to include a SASE in a package I needed Scott to mail yesterday, and wanted to go ahead and put postage on it and seal the outer envelope so that no pieces got lost before he made it to the post office. All I could find for stamps were one first class rate stamp that I had accidentally adhered to an envelope in the past and then snipped off and glued on, and 12 two-cent make-up rate stamps (that the machine gives you back instead of change when you use the stamp dispenser at the post office). I needed $0.63 in stamps, so...there you go.

Jealous?

Lemming? Yes, I am.

Twitter me.

I feel bad about my mess.

My home office/craft room/pumping station (a.k.a. the living room) has become a way-station of clutter. Normally I'm pretty good about creating some semblance of order in the high-traffic areas of the house, but as I've been in a crafty mood lately I'm becoming bogged down in reference materials, electronics cords, half-finished organizing projects, printed photos, scrapbook ephemera, designer paper, baby swag, and so on.

I'm working on it - really, I am. With all the home improvement-type stuff going on in the house right now I'm having to purge out a lot of paper and various artifacts that have been sitting around since the dinosaurs roamed the Earth. I get started cleaning something out and then get distracted by a pretty piece of paper or a new cat piss depositor, so all the stuff I was sorting through becomes part of the overall mess.

I'm going to fix it today - I promise.

So. Go blog about your mess and make me feel better about being a slob.

Word!

Here's another quote from my Stitch 'n Bitch calendar - this one I actually agree with:

"if you always do what interest you, at least one person is pleased." -Katherine Hepburn

That totally opposes last week's tripe, eh?

Bad mommy.

Oops. I guess there are worse things I could do as a parent than let R fall asleep on his play mat with his foot stuck in a toy. Click to enlarge.

Little fucker.

Remember what I said about Puffy and the carpet?

Well, she found it.

Scott must have a great deal more patience than I realized, because if it were just up to me the cat would be gone.

Yeah, that was helpful.

Yesterday I had an appointment with a financial counselor-type person downtown. Although I left in enough time to be 20 minutes early, I got there 20 minutes late (do the math). Downtown Durham is such a clusterfuck of construction that I had to waste that many minutes of my life trying to find a street that is about two blocks long (and one way).

My intentions were to find out whether my debts are excessive, whether they could negotiate some lower interest rates maybe, and any suggestions for creating a liveable budget once my income regulates to more than a very slow trickle of cash in for articles I've sold too cheaply.

98% of the meeting was a waste of my time. I think she probably shut down and went into autopilot once she found out I have a college degree and aren't some schlub who got myself into this situation by being a complete idiot. I sat there watching her plug numbers into a computer program to see if debt consolitation would be a practical way to handle my consumer debt. If you could see the expression on my face right now, you'd know the answer. Not only would I have to pay MORE per month, but they would want to charge me a handling fee for the pleasure of mailing checks for me. No thanks - I have stamps and a mailbox of my own.

She wrote up an action plan for me and the first item was "find job that pays net $220 per week." I have no fucking clue where she got that figure from. That's just for household utilities, gas, baby diapers, and the occasional box of Kleenex, right? 'Cause there's no way in hell I could even afford to work if I was earning that. And, um, daycare? Yeah. Add that figure in, lady.

I should have known I went to the wrong place when instead of the people with the next appointment waiting patiently in the lobby, they knocked on the woman's office door twice and poked their head in to say "Just wanted to let you know we're here." (Yeah, because the walls aren't paper thin and we couldn't hear your loud ass talking out in the waiting room.) Then when I was leaving and the rude woman's girth was in the way of the door, I said "excuse me" because I had to step over feet her a bit. She just looked at me blankly like I was speaking some foreign language that doesn't have courtesy phrases in it. She might have even grunted.

Anyway. I'm pissed. The positive thing is that I got on the ball and shredded four months of old statements and sat down and wrote out the actual total of my debt in preparation of the meeting. That was probably all I needed to do in the first place.

Anyway.

I've been on a sort of informal family avoidance stretch for the past few days. That simply means that since they haven't called me, I haven't spoken to them. I was supposed to [meaning I told them I "might could"] go to Virginia over the weekend to see my mom. I chose not to go for various reasons including fatigue, lack of clean clothing, and the fact that I don't want to show up at a hospital to simply "pay my respects." She ain't dead. I hate it when people have their own ideas of what YOU should be doing.

Anyway, my aunt called last night and I just answered the phone to go ahead and let her pull that guilt-tripping shit they're so fond of doing. Not only did she criticize me for not going, she tried to give me the fucking third degree about my circumstances. You would be very proud of me. Not once did I raise my voice, or make bullshit arguments for my defense. I think the deafening silences I was creating sort of humbled her a bit as silence is not the norm when people in my family get confrontational.

I told her that Scott and I share a car now, so taking off for a weekend would mean stranding him here. From that information she questioned me on:

1 - how much my Jeep payment was that I wouldn't want to keep it.
2 - why I didn't use the Accord as a trade in (when I told her that it wasn't my car to sell, but rather my grandma's, she basically made it sound like I was stupid for selling it and giving her the money.)
3 - if Scott makes so much money, why don't I get him to pay my bills? (a - what my husband earns is nobody's damn business. b - I handle my business as I see fit.)

She then told me that I should just take any old job and pay a ghetto-ass babysitter (paraphrase) to watch the baby in their house until I could "afford real daycare." Yeah, like those babysitters my mom always left me and my sister at who would keep us for hours and never even give us a snack?

First of all, did I not say that I might not want to go back to work? Why should I go back to work just for the benefit of having a car? Does that make sense to anyone else? Because it's sort of going over my head. If I can break even by staying at home and NOT having a car, wouldn't it be preferable to stay here with the kid?

Next, she suggested that I should have taken the bus there.

Yeah, FUCK THAT. While it may be a three hour drive by car, by bus it's 8 1/2 fucking hours. I'm not sitting in anyone's fucking smelly bus station with an infant, I'm sorry. Nor am I going to cram myself in a seat next to some slumbering, snoring weirdo.

*sigh*

Well, the news is that my mom is out of intensive care, but it looks like she'll be in the hospital for a while. I couldn't get a read on her actual condition based on what my aunt was telling me (her claim was that the doctors/nurses all talk negative and they all tell you different things and blah blah blah).

Have blog, will travel.

You know, I kind of want to go to Blogher this year. I'm not tickled about the fact that it's being held in Chicago in the dead heat of summer, but hey - I've never been, so how can I complain about it? I've been blogging for long enough that I could certainly use some help keeping fresh and it'd be kind of interesting coming face to face with some bloggers I've read consistently.

I happen to have a couple of plane ticket vouchers that need to be used by July 31, so maybe Scott and I can use this as an opportunity to use them and both see Chicago. I guess there's just the matter of seeing how much the conference will bleed us (meaning Scott). Shy of staying in a hostel, the hotel accomodation prices are looking kind of ouchy.

The only problem would be what to do with the baby...

Fuck.

I have that damn song "Happy Talk" from South Pacific stuck in my head, and I keep walking around the house singing it and doing the hand signs from the movie.

Someone stop me.

"You need to pick your afro daddy, because it's flat on one side."

For those who don't know (shameful) that's a Erykah Badu reference. It's particularly apropos because as the barometric pressure rises in The South my hair starts to stick together and flatten.

I don't make a secret out of the fact that I don't comb (or brush) my hair. I don't wear my hair this way because I'm making some cultural statement condemning straightening what's meant to be curly. I wear it this way because I'm lazy as fuck.

For the past several months my hair has been perfectly manageable. It curled where it was supposed to and was full of body. I don't know if it was the pregnancy hormones or what, but it was a fabulous time. Come to think of it, I didn't lose any hair until recently so maybe it was the pregnancy hormone dealie.

Anyway, its starting to mat. Because I take the cavewoman approach to hair care (wet and walk away), whenever there's a clump I just rip it out. If it's a really bad clump I bring in the scissors and just cut the whole wad off. I'm afraid to see what kind of mess has been made when I finally do comb it.

I'm making a pact with myself. This week, I have to run a comb through my hair. All of it. I'm sure I'll be cleaning hair out of the bathroom rug for weeks as a result, but it beats feeling like a slob, I'm sure.

Pictures to follow soon.

The definition of masochism.

As read on a page on my Stitch 'N Bitch calendar:

"If something is boring after two minutes, try it for four. If still boring, try it for eight, sixteen, thirty-two, and so on. Eventually, one discovers that it is not boring but very interesting."

-Zen saying.

What. Ever. Lay off the peyote, dude.

Can run, but can't hide.

Ugh. Why can't Sprint have a feature built into cellular voicemail where you can turn it off when you don't feel like being bothered by people?

I know the whole concept behind voicemail is that people are merely informing you that they would like to touch base, but by doing so they're also locking you into an promise you didn't make - that you have to call back.

I just want to press two buttons, shut it off, and just check my caller i.d. for anything that looks interesting. I don't want to have to call Sprint customer service every single time I choose to turn it back off or on.

Maybe I'll just change the number. That'll prevent a lot of those voicemails from getting through. Hmm.

Makes me yearn for hard liquor.

Okay, here's an update. There's been some confusion about the true nature of my mother's condition. My sister and I have been fed information that was altered to elicit the mildest reaction possible. Here's the problem with lying to family members (especially adult ones): the truth is going to come out whether you want it to or not.

The information the neurosurgeon and hospital staff gave my grandmother and aunt on Monday was that my mother did have a stroke, and that there was massive bleeding and damage in her brain. She has both receptive and expssive aphasia, doesn't recognize anyone other than herself, and can carry out no higher thought processes. She knows that if her bladder is full she needs to go to the bathroom, but she can't analyze concepts or engage in any critical thought. The doctor does not feel she will return to her pre-stroke state.

What my grandmother told me on Monday: "They're letting her out of the ICU tomorrow. Yeah, when we left she was eating and her speech was much better. She was having a conversation with us."

According to my sister, my mother will be in ICU for at least another week. It seems that my sister and I are, in the absense of my mother's husband, next of kin since we're her adult children. Not my aunt. Not my grandmother. So even though they're standing right there, they can't really make any decisions for her. That's why a representative from the hospital called my sister in New York yesterday. My sister, thereby having a different account of events than what she had been fed, called my aunt to catch her in a lie (seeing as how my aunt was standing with the hospital rep. when she was speaking to my sister on the phone). My family is choosing to dilute information so that we can't make decisions.

Here's the thing - faith is all well and good, but medicine has its place. The decisions that my sister and I would make for my mother are likely to be vastly different from those that my aunt and grandmother would make. We're intelligent enough to research and ask technical questions and to know when hope isn't enough. I really, truly want my mother to get better. Just because I don't like her doesn't mean I don't love her. She is my mother, after all, and even though she's done me a lot of dirt (and felt justified in doing so), I wouldn't wish her current condition on anyone. My sister and I would never be so dirty as to throw my our mother into a home and let the state do whatever with her (even if we thought that it was Karma catching up to her). We would want her to have the same degree of care and therapy that we would want if we should happen to be in a similar situation.

I'm a little stressed right now. I need to call this woman and verify what she told my sister. If what she said as true, there's a lot of business that needs to be put into order. I'll deal with my grandma later and will just avoid calls in the meanwhile.

The second issue is what will happen to my brother. Should the decision fall to my sister and I, and this is another reason why I'm sure my grandmother and aunt don't want us making decisions, he would either be off in military school or else be a ward of the state. I don't have the energy to explain that situation right now, but I'll just tell you his reaction when my grandmother told him to get dressed to go see his mother at the hospital: "Fuck that bitch."

He's 15.

Bad daughter.

The Tiffany is feeling not too cheerful right now (surprise, surprise, right?). Well, it seems my mother has had a stroke. Before you get all "Oh my God, Tiffany, I'm so sorry," let me just preface this discussion by saying that I'm not broken up over it. I do, however, feel bad that I don't feel broken up.

Let's rewind. I went to my grandmother's house in Virginia on Friday to escape the fumes while the painter works in the t.v. room. You'll recall from posts way-back-when that after my grandmother was last hospitalized a few years ago, my mother moved down to keep an eye on her short-term. Short-term turned into long-term and one husband and two houses later she's still down here. My grandmother could probably move back into her home in NC and do fine with a well-trained dog or Life Alert.

Anyhoo. My mom took off work early on Friday and was at the house by 3:30. As she works on the other side of the state line and at least half an hour away, I was momentarily flattered that she had taken off early to see her grandson. So, that wasn't the case. She had a bad sinus headache and left work early to lie down - she said that it felt like something had "popped" behind her eye and it was excruciatingly painful. She sent me driving all over creation to find Tavist Sinus (which I never found) and made me endure standing in line twenty minutes clutching a pajama-wearing baby at a hellaciously crowded Wal*Mart in the den of Hillbillysville.

The next day she woke up, felt a little better and ventured downstairs for coffee. She commented that she was still feeling really nauseous, and I wondered if instead of a sinus problem if she could be having PMS-related migraines (I'm sorry to admit that I felt she was being unreasonably bitchy). Several hours later, I packed up my kid and drove home because, as usual, she'd said something that pissed me off. I promised Scott that the moment she irked me I wasn't going to stick around like a little silent bunny and take her vitriolic spewing without retaliating. When it comes to my family, I normally keep my mouth shut because they can't take what they dish out. Being a momma has sort of zapped my ability to censor myself, especially when it comes to my own self-defense, so I left before I could cuss her out.

Yesterday, my grandma called and told me that they'd taken my mother to the hospital and that she was pretty much out of it. She was speaking jibberish and didn't really know what was going on. They couldn't diagnose her for anything without doing tests, but as of today based on the symptoms she's displayed, they think she had a stroke. They're going to do some scans to make sure, but I have no doubts that's probably what occured.

The frightenting thing is that I don't feel the way a daughter should about the situation. If it had been my grandmother and not my mom, I'd be on the first thing smoking towards the hospital. Because it is my mom and because of the nature of our relationship (strained), I'm taking a wait and see approach.

My sister said she cried about it while she was in the laundromat this afternoon. That seemed so strange to me - my sister and mother spent much of my sister's adolescence engaging in fist fights. All I could say in response to that was "Wow." Then I gritted my teeth and wondered how anyone could sit around feeling like death warmed over for TWO DAYS and not take themselves to the hospital. I would personally be so fucking afraid that I'd close my eyes and die in my sleep if I felt that way.

She always says when people suggest diagnoses to her that they're speaking "of the devil" and trying to "put sickness" on her. She only needed to pray about it, and all would be well. I'm not one to knock people's spiritual beliefs, but don't Cristians believe that God helps those who helps themselves? Doesn't the highly-evolved human brain that developed scientific method and medicine have a purpose in the Christian God's great scheme? Maybe I'm just pissed off because in all those years I was laid out with endometriosis every month she told me it was in my head. Or maybe it's because when my grandmother was so ill, instead of letting the doctors run the tests they needed to, she became hostile and behaved as if they didn't know what they were talking about. I should have never called her in to make those decisions, but at the time I was too young to be the one to have to deal with the consequences if I chose poorly.

What's more frightening? And without wanting to date myself, my mother is fairly young. She could still have a kid and be agile enough by the time they graduate from high school to help them move their shit out of her house. My uncle had a stroke at about the same age and was affected for a long, long time by it. I worry both that this is something that she'll require a caretaker for afterwards and that this is something that has seeped into the next generation of family members.

To put it mildly, I feel inconvenienced. And mad. The whole situation has clarified the fact for me that I really don't like my mother as a person. I hate that I feel that way. I'm really an exceptionally sensitive person, but I feel like I've been used, taken advantage of, and disparaged just enough times that I don't give a shit anymore. You have to do a LOT of dirt to someone to get them there, and I'm just worn down now.

Perhaps I'll feel differently tomorrow and will be more willing to open that emotional door again. Right now, all I can do is focus on making sure my grandma isn't stressed out. From afar, because travelling out there again with my baby is out of the question.

More news when I have it.

Resemblances and lack thereof

Scott feels I should post something, even though I don't feel particularly interesting right now. He apparently is easily entertained by bullshit.

I finally finished composing the aforementioned email to my sister. It read pretty much like a blogger's "100 things about me" post. I talked about my general appearance, hobbies, interests and so on. I kept it fairly casual, stopping to add the obligatory "and what about you? What do you like to do?" questions.

Honestly, I didn't know what I'd expect to get as a response. I didn't know if she'd be timid or guarded or what. Well, she's neither of those - as far as I can tell from an email anyway. If I could imagine what she'd be like in person from how she writes email, she's probably all over the place and super-energetic. She doesn't have time to capitalize, she moves on to the next thought before she completes the first, and she takes full advantage of smiley images. I imagine that she'd have no problem dominating a conversation, but that's what teenagers do, right?

We definitely differ in that she loves to shop. I pride myself on being able to run into a store and be out within fifteen minutes because I have the store layout memorized to maximize my efficiency. I'm not much of a browser, except when it comes to baby gear and crafting supplies. Those categories are sort of retail black holes.

What's facinating to me is that I myself have limited resemblance to any of my half-sisters. I look enough like my full sister that it's obvious we have the same parents, but because my sister really looks like my father and I have more of my mother's features, it's my sister who actually looks like she's related to them. In fact, my sister looks so much like one of my half sisters (or vice versa) you'd think that the two of THEM were full sisters. I think they all have my father's jaw, cheekbones and eye shape. I don't feel like the odd man out or anything, but I do get fairly annoyed when people (women) comment on how attractive my father is/was. Yeah, that's great. I look like my mother.

I'll scan a picture of my parents as soon as I can get into the t.v. room and root around for it. The painter is in there spraying some stinky shit.

Composing an email to my li'l sis.

You're all aware of the degree of dysfunction ensconcing my immediate family. My half-brother is a hooligan. My mom is a nut-job who's been married three times (going on four). My dad is a man-ho who moves from woman to woman like Henry VIII trying to have a son (my theory). He has six daughters (I'm number three), only two of which I've met (one is my only full sibling so I didn't really have much choice there).

Daughter number four, who I'll refer to as "A" is just barely a teenager: she's 13. My full sister spent some time with her when she was a wee baby back in the nineties but hasn't had much contact with her since then. I don't know a whole lot about her and I'm certain she knows little to nothing about me, other than the fact that I exist.

I recently reestablished contact with my eldest sister after seven years and she's been hooking me up with contact numbers for both my father (haven't gotten around to THAT call yet) and my younger sis. Younger sis is chomping at the bit for some communication from me.

I don't know what to say. I've had her phone number for a week and haven't called. It's not fear. She's 13, for chrissakes, what's she going to possibly say that could offend me? It's some other emotion that I can't really describe. I've always been the younger sister and have never had a reason to take on the brooding protective mother hen role until Rosco was born. I feel like I'm stepping into the game sort of late, know what I mean?

Eldest sister forwarded me A's email address a couple of days ago with a little wondering why haven't I called her and can I please email her. It made me feel like such a heel. I can make excuses and say I've been really busy with my non-napping child (which I was) or that my internet connection has been down (which it hasn't), but it wouldn't be good enough.

The writer makes a confession: I just don't know what to say.

I'm starting that email now. I'll start with simple information: where I am, what I'm doing, what I like. Then I'll let her ask whatever she wants.

I was 13 once. Though I've selectively blocked out most experiences from that year, I can say that if I were in the shoes she's in right now, I'd be upset and curious as to why I haven't reached out to her more quickly.

As luck would have it...

Some good news on the kitchen floor front: the voice of reason (my mother-in-law) suggested that little accidents like that are sort of what having homeowner's insurance is for.

The insurance chickie came out yesterday, measured the kitchen, analyzed the situation, and I guess determined that there's nothing we could have done to intentionally put the floor in that condition (for the sake of having it replaced). So, she's going to cut us a check. That's a helluva lot better of a situation than covering up the problem with the snappy matching utility rugs I purchased at Target...

So, this was sort of a blessing in desguise. We were going to have to replace the subfloor when we tiled the floor anyway, and we didn't want to leap headfirst into that expense just yet. Now that our crooked floor creates a trip hazard and that there's the potential of mold and gunk growing as a result of the little flood, insurance kicks in.

I think this situation calls for a "W00t!"

I'm a little stoked. Like I said before, we'd planned on working on the kitchen last because it needs the most cash thrown at it (fridge needs to be replaced, countertops replaced, ugly stained glass cabinet thingie replaced, floors, etc.). It helps move our timeline up a bit, and bonus points are applied for the fact that the floor needed to be replaced before all that other crap got done.

Okay, one more!

You know, there's just something about having a baby that makes you want to have another one. Or two. Or three.

Not that I'm trying to put myself in that situation right now, but just sayin'...

Angry "Trek" rambles

You know, normally I'd be so excited about the prospect of a new Trek movie being produced that I'd be clenching every spinchter I possess in giddy anticipation, but with the new one? Not so much.

What made the other ten Star Trek movies so successful (and this is success rated by someone who enjoys Star Trek, mind you) is that they were spun out of the television series and used the existing casts. And I'm not just saying that because I think Patrick Stewart is capital A-Awesome. Trek fans were already comfortable with the actors playing their favorite characters. So, for a movie to be produced with NEW actors playing already-established roles is asinine.

I don't care if it's a prequel - William Shatner will always be engrained in my mind as James Kirk, Leonard Nemoy as Spock, and so on. Gary Sinise as McCoy? Matt Damon as Kirk? Adrien Brody as Spock? Frankly, I'm insulted. It's not so much that I don't think these actors don't have a passing resemblance to the actors who originated the roles, but let's be blunt. Star Trek cast members tend to be predominantly stage actors. That's what gives the show it's theatrical flair and corniness that I love so much. What's bringing big budget stars into a Sci-Fi flick going to accomplish other than to have the audience distracted with making cast comparisons? Mark my words - this will be like replacing Darrin on Bewitched or Becky on Roseanne. It'll be unsettling.

What I don't get is why they'd make a fucking prequel instead of trying to pull a movie out of DS9 or Voyager (God, I would love a Voyager movie - I'd even write it myself!). Am I going to boycott this movie? No. But I'm certainly not going to spend [Scott's] hard-earned money to see it in the theater, but when it makes it to DVD in 2009, I'll give it the consideration it deserves (that means I'll watch it as I'm knitting a particuarly complicated sweater).

Smells cleaner than it is.

Mmm, my house smells nice and pineapple-apple-cinnamonny. I had a bunch of generation Z'ers over yesterday for a lunch playdate. What that really means is a bunch of little babies stared at each other in a "So. What size diaper do you wear?" fashion while their moms noshed and chatted about various baby-related things.

Because the true nature of my home is one of chaos and disorder, the event required me to do a good amount of cleaning. I hate cleaning this house because of places like the hallway bathroom and kitchen. The floors in those rooms are so cracked and puckered that I'm more than a little embarrased about them. Oh well, what can you do? They'll get replaced next year. We can't keep NOT inviting people over because we're ashamed of the work the house needs, so we'll have to get over that.

Oh yeah, the pineapple-apple-cinnamon. The house doesn't smell awesome because I did that great of a cleaning job or because I baked pie. I bought a Glade plug-in scented oil refill and tossed a pineapple top into the trash can which has been decomposing in the kitchen all night. I also sprinkled some of that Arm & Hammer Pet Fresh carpet deodorizer on the rug in the front room to neutralize some of the funk created as Bodie and Puffy wallow on the rug as if it were a hog wallow. Makes the house smell all yummy and makes me feel like I should be doing some arts and crafts or something.

Now, because we have cats with no sense of pride in their surroundings, the floors and rugs I cleaned so well yesterday are tracked with fur and cat food crumbs again. Glad I didn't bother to dust.

I can see clearly now the fuzz is gone.

What do you think of my new specs? They're a bit more square than my last pair and I think they fit my face a bit better.

Because the prescription is brand new and due to the fact I hadn't replaced my lenses in umpteen years, things are a bit distorted when I look down - it looks like I'm standing on a hill. In past experience that problem resolved itself fairly quickly. I really like that I don't have to wear these glasses so close to my eyes that my lashes are touching the lenses. They're also very lightweight, which I totally didn't expect.

I'm happy with my choice.