Dude, that wasn't sarcasm -- that was abject humbleness.
Sorry. I am apparently completely unable to detect sincerity these days. Habituation, I suspect.
Oh, Emma, I was so wrong, and you were so right.
Your sarcasm will get you nowhere, Haywood.
Seriously, I do feel a wee tad guilty, it's like I cursed you or something. And in the midst of having two grumpy hormonal pre-adolescents, it's good to be reminded how much better things have got.
Bullshit diagnosis is kind of unavoidable with CFS/ME, isn't it?
Man, don't get me started, Rob. There's an immunologist out there that... well, if he were to walk out in front of our car I'd have trouble finding the brake pedal. Your partner has my deepest sympathies. Also, we had problems with the child I was trying to raise. My partner had to stop working for four years while I slept for sixteen hours a day and got called a lazy selfish hypochondriac bitch.
My other half has ME
I developed CFS as a result of a post-natal infection after the birth of my daughter. Cutting through all the bullshit incorrect diagnoses, when we finally got on the right track, I was told by every health professional I met to stop breast-feeding. Something about the way you could put your fingers all the way around my collar bone. I wouldn't do it, I took her to a year. AND I fed my babies in the food court, not behind the curtain on the armless plastic chair in the 'easy hose down' decor of the parents' room.
And when my son wouldn't stop feeding while I was still in the hospital, and my milk hadn't come in yet so I had nothing to give him, the very nice night nurse took him away to the nursery, did something to him, and I didn't see him again for seven hours.
Self righteous bigotry takes many forms.
I think there are a lot of people shopping a 'one solution for all' thing, and forgetting that every baby and every parent is different. I tend to perk my ears up whenever someone uses the phrase 'well, in THIS case...'
I feel like I've helpfully intoned "ah, but you'll forget the hard times" so often that it even sounds trite and hollow to me.
And you do, until someone writes a piece like that, and it all comes flooding back as you whimper 'yes' and pound on your wrist-rest while crying tears of ironic laughter.
Never mind. In years to come, someone will email you and tell you they're having a baby. You'll attempt to give them some kind of warning, and they'll reply
Jesus wept: your child advice is a little frightening -- but I guess
it's best to expect the worst and then be pleasantly surprised.
And you'll laugh...
Ha! This is a question that can only resolved by military means, Dr Janssen! I propose that our fleets meet at Cook Strait. Don't forget to bring your cutlass, you son of a Dutchman.
There are lower-tech ways of doing this...
If I got into a fight with a 13 year old male, you could bet, all other things being equal, I'd be the one the police would be coming down on for not acting my age.
Unless he was staring at your girlfriend's tits so you slapped him in the face.
And I had a flatmate who used to bring home leftovers from SCA feasts. I don't actually know how you get cabbage to go bright purple, but there are reasons why we don't eat the way we did in the Middle Ages.
Eventually he got so bad the rest of the flat would get together at uni every Tuesday and come up with something to do that meant we wouldn't be going home for dinner.
Great meals? The lamb rack at Hay's, eaten in company with my favourite people. The glazed lamb roast I made for Christmas dinner two years ago when we had Christmas at home, just the four of us. The most relaxed Chrissy I've had in my life. We're staying home again this year, no extraneous family. I asked the kids what they wanted for Christmas dinner, and they said 'spaghetti and meatballs'.
(I forget the exact name... Caffeines maybe?)
Caffeinds. Or Caffiends, can't remember. Not that great but always open and waitstaff would wander around desultorily with lost plates of nachos until you gave up and just claimed them as yours.
Four or five of us braved a late night fish and chip shop stuck away in the corner of the square. It looked iffy, but it literally was the only option
Either the Cat's Pyjamas or the Doghouse. Cat's food was marginally worse but it'd be a close call. Doghouse was staffed by uni students and the source of some of the best OMG food hygiene stories I've ever heard.
Things I love? System threads that get completely, irretrievably sidetracked.
There's nothing wrong with people constantly advertising who and what they are, even if everyone around them already knows
Yeah, but Ben, it sounds like you're still assuming that everyone who's camp is gay and everyone who's not camp is straight. This may not necessarily be the case.
Or you could just watch John Barrowman and Simon Amstell have a gay-off on Never Mind the Buzzcocks and set some stereotypes in stone.