I suppose I should apologize for this. But a blog I'm currently stalking had this posted and I thought "why not? we all need to be scared today."
Friday, October 31, 2008
Scary!
The day started off normal enough. Being that it's Halloween you can never really tell what the day will hold. Will a goblin tug at my pant leg and say "Trick or Treat" and decide a trick is better and throw an egg at me? Will a black cat cross my path and give me bad luck? Or will PMDude's suddenly feel inadequate and get very competitive over a simple little Halloween game? Not that he has a competitive side at all, but he sure was trying to beat my all time high score of 148! Yes. He's failed up til now, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time before he beats me.
Other than the normal work stuff today, it is the Top Ten Worst Songs show by my pals the Dudley Manlove Quartet. You may remember them from a few previous posts. Some would say - argue - that I obsessed a little over them, but whatever. They have some proving to do and I'm hoping tonight they do just that. It's just Blueberry and I tonight sans Flamingo costume, but ghouls beware...I'm feeling feisty today.
Now if you'll excuse me, I must go protect my high score or make it even higher.
Other than the normal work stuff today, it is the Top Ten Worst Songs show by my pals the Dudley Manlove Quartet. You may remember them from a few previous posts. Some would say - argue - that I obsessed a little over them, but whatever. They have some proving to do and I'm hoping tonight they do just that. It's just Blueberry and I tonight sans Flamingo costume, but ghouls beware...I'm feeling feisty today.
Now if you'll excuse me, I must go protect my high score or make it even higher.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
For Sale: One MomUnit who thinks she's funny!
It's begun! I was waiting and I knew it was only a matter of days, weeks even. My "Thank-God-She-Had-A-Day-Job" MomUnit has started what can only be described as cruel and very usual punishment. I could tell you tales of her past "punishments" that would surely cause you running from this blog screaming, never to return to visit. But I won't, I'll let the dastardly deed speak for itself.
Received in the mail today. This card.
Front:
Inside:
I only have one thing to say. Keep it coming. Because at some point I'll remind you, MomUnit, that I am, in fact, your baby. Yah, that's right. The "ugh" that was heard around the world.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
And so are your pants!
I have, one could say, a few phobias in my life. Most I can deal with when they come up. Some I run from the car/room/area screaming (i.e bees). Some I just ignore and put into the “deal with later” folder on my desk (which for the record is a very large folder – which I’ll deal with later in another blog).
There’s one phobia that hits me hard. It hits me in the middle of my chest and then squeezes so hard that I think my eyeballs are going to pop out. There’s never, ever, an indication that this phobia is going to rear its ugly head – it just does. Once it has a grasp on me, and my attention, I know it’s going to be awhile before I can think about anything else. It’s a phobia that is real. It will happen. When it will happen is yet to be determined. No one knows. But I hear it’s like taxes – guaranteed.
Death.
I have a phobia of death. Actually, I suppose it borderlines (Madonna singing just popped into my head) on anxiety. It’s not so much about how I’ll be dying, but it’s about being dead. I don’t want to be dead. Ever. I want to live forever. Life is much more fun. Even with all the up’s and downs of life, I’d gladly take life over death any day. But who wouldn’t?
I was reading this blog about time management. The writer talks about how she starts by asking a class to picture the timeline of their life. She then puts up her left hand and indicates that’s the beginning of their life. Followed by her right hand indicating the end of their lives. She then asks them to mentally place and X on the time line that represents where they are in their life. She goes on to say that most people put the X somewhere in the middle. My X wasn’t in the middle.
My X was to the left….way to the left. In my mind, I’m living forever, so why would I put my X to the middle. Being 39.88888 doesn’t mean my life is almost over, or half over. Does it? But here’s the clincher. Here’s the dirty little secret they don’t tell you upon birth when you put your chips all in…we have no control of the right hand. Did that hit you like it hit me? Insert the anxiety about death now.
See, part of my charming personality is I’m a control freak. I don’t mean to be, but my mom is and so I am. It’s the way I was raised. Controlled. Anyhow, something like death, I can’t control. That bothers me to the core. Okay, some would argue that I can control it…and I get your argument, but the time of death I can’t control. (again, I can hear the argument here, but I’m hoping you’re picking up what I’m putting down).
I’ve been near death only once in my life, that I know of. I suppose there have been several times a car has come careening out of control ready to take me out a few times, but that’s not what I’m talking about here. I’ve only had to fight one thing that nearly brought me to the end, and I didn’t even realize I was on the edge of the cliff with the ground beneath me loosening and ready to give way at any moment. I remember with vivid clarity how alive I felt once I fully comprehended what had just transpired the previous 5 days. I pledged then to live. To plan. To laugh. To one day love and hopefully be loved. And above all, never EVER look back with regret. I started to dream, hope, and wonder about my future. I felt more motivated than ever before to just live and to just experience.
Now, 7 years later, I’ve lost that wonder. I’ve lost that motivation. It’s the missing sock. You know it’s somewhere in or near the dryer, but you just can’t find it. So you put the other single sock in the drawer and hope that one day the mate is found. I’ve lost the sight and have now realized what I never considered 7 years ago…that I couldn’t live as if my right hand extended to forever. Because what ultimately happened was I postponed things. I had created a list of things to do, and I put off living and experiencing for a sunnier day, for when I had more money, or when I had a bunch of people to experience with. I missed out.
This blog isn’t meant to be a downer. Quite the opposite. It’s meant to be an eye opener. It’s a shout out to everyone I know to remind them that there is an end and while you can’t control that, you can control how you spend your days. Spend them and spend them well. Manage your behavior, not your time.
There’s one phobia that hits me hard. It hits me in the middle of my chest and then squeezes so hard that I think my eyeballs are going to pop out. There’s never, ever, an indication that this phobia is going to rear its ugly head – it just does. Once it has a grasp on me, and my attention, I know it’s going to be awhile before I can think about anything else. It’s a phobia that is real. It will happen. When it will happen is yet to be determined. No one knows. But I hear it’s like taxes – guaranteed.
Death.
I have a phobia of death. Actually, I suppose it borderlines (Madonna singing just popped into my head) on anxiety. It’s not so much about how I’ll be dying, but it’s about being dead. I don’t want to be dead. Ever. I want to live forever. Life is much more fun. Even with all the up’s and downs of life, I’d gladly take life over death any day. But who wouldn’t?
I was reading this blog about time management. The writer talks about how she starts by asking a class to picture the timeline of their life. She then puts up her left hand and indicates that’s the beginning of their life. Followed by her right hand indicating the end of their lives. She then asks them to mentally place and X on the time line that represents where they are in their life. She goes on to say that most people put the X somewhere in the middle. My X wasn’t in the middle.
My X was to the left….way to the left. In my mind, I’m living forever, so why would I put my X to the middle. Being 39.88888 doesn’t mean my life is almost over, or half over. Does it? But here’s the clincher. Here’s the dirty little secret they don’t tell you upon birth when you put your chips all in…we have no control of the right hand. Did that hit you like it hit me? Insert the anxiety about death now.
See, part of my charming personality is I’m a control freak. I don’t mean to be, but my mom is and so I am. It’s the way I was raised. Controlled. Anyhow, something like death, I can’t control. That bothers me to the core. Okay, some would argue that I can control it…and I get your argument, but the time of death I can’t control. (again, I can hear the argument here, but I’m hoping you’re picking up what I’m putting down).
I’ve been near death only once in my life, that I know of. I suppose there have been several times a car has come careening out of control ready to take me out a few times, but that’s not what I’m talking about here. I’ve only had to fight one thing that nearly brought me to the end, and I didn’t even realize I was on the edge of the cliff with the ground beneath me loosening and ready to give way at any moment. I remember with vivid clarity how alive I felt once I fully comprehended what had just transpired the previous 5 days. I pledged then to live. To plan. To laugh. To one day love and hopefully be loved. And above all, never EVER look back with regret. I started to dream, hope, and wonder about my future. I felt more motivated than ever before to just live and to just experience.
Now, 7 years later, I’ve lost that wonder. I’ve lost that motivation. It’s the missing sock. You know it’s somewhere in or near the dryer, but you just can’t find it. So you put the other single sock in the drawer and hope that one day the mate is found. I’ve lost the sight and have now realized what I never considered 7 years ago…that I couldn’t live as if my right hand extended to forever. Because what ultimately happened was I postponed things. I had created a list of things to do, and I put off living and experiencing for a sunnier day, for when I had more money, or when I had a bunch of people to experience with. I missed out.
This blog isn’t meant to be a downer. Quite the opposite. It’s meant to be an eye opener. It’s a shout out to everyone I know to remind them that there is an end and while you can’t control that, you can control how you spend your days. Spend them and spend them well. Manage your behavior, not your time.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Biggest Virtue I Lack
When I was a kid, I could barely wait for Christmas to show up. I don't think this was unique to me as kid - I think it's fairly common. But, not only could I hardly stand the secret behind each colorfully wrapped gift for Christmas, but my birthday loomed just 4 days after. It was a week of testing my patience – which isn’t something I was good at then or now. I would pick up each beautifully package and jiggle it. Assuming any sound it made would enlighten me of it's contents. Barbies never jiggled too well.
I’d look throughout the house the month before to see if I could find where mom and dad had skillfully hidden the gifts (which by the way – they were very skilled at hiding them - I think they should have opened their own branch of witness protection). I could barely stand the suspense. I should have known then that I’d struggle my entire life with being patient.
Out of necessity, I’ve trained myself to be better about being patient. Though generally speaking, people tend to try my patience at times. I’ve learned to save for something I want and not just randomly purchasing it on credit. I’ve learned to be patience and wait. It’s almost always more worth it by waiting. I’ve also learned that I need to be patient when some life changing life altering decision needs to be made. It never ends well if I jump to a conclusion and then jump to a decision.
I also have a lack of patience when it comes to waiting for a special occasion or vacation. As the important date or trip gets closer, the antsy-ier I get. I can usually placate myself by reading about the destination or by over planning the special occasion over and over in my head hoping that it passes the time. Though that usually backfires because then I get this perfect plan in my head and expect the special occasion or the vacation to be just like that. When it isn’t, I get disappointed. Still working on this.
My lack of patience is also why I stopped baking many years ago. All the measuring and waiting - ugh - drove me crazy. And so I focused on cooking. Last night, I was painfully reminded about my quest to be patient. You know instantly when you do it, and rarely can take back the action that puts you in a painful situation. Last night, I made stew. I burnt my tongue. I now can’t taste anything. My tongue feels like it’s 4 sizes too big for my mouth and now I’m forced to practice patience until I can taste again.
I’d look throughout the house the month before to see if I could find where mom and dad had skillfully hidden the gifts (which by the way – they were very skilled at hiding them - I think they should have opened their own branch of witness protection). I could barely stand the suspense. I should have known then that I’d struggle my entire life with being patient.
Out of necessity, I’ve trained myself to be better about being patient. Though generally speaking, people tend to try my patience at times. I’ve learned to save for something I want and not just randomly purchasing it on credit. I’ve learned to be patience and wait. It’s almost always more worth it by waiting. I’ve also learned that I need to be patient when some life changing life altering decision needs to be made. It never ends well if I jump to a conclusion and then jump to a decision.
I also have a lack of patience when it comes to waiting for a special occasion or vacation. As the important date or trip gets closer, the antsy-ier I get. I can usually placate myself by reading about the destination or by over planning the special occasion over and over in my head hoping that it passes the time. Though that usually backfires because then I get this perfect plan in my head and expect the special occasion or the vacation to be just like that. When it isn’t, I get disappointed. Still working on this.
My lack of patience is also why I stopped baking many years ago. All the measuring and waiting - ugh - drove me crazy. And so I focused on cooking. Last night, I was painfully reminded about my quest to be patient. You know instantly when you do it, and rarely can take back the action that puts you in a painful situation. Last night, I made stew. I burnt my tongue. I now can’t taste anything. My tongue feels like it’s 4 sizes too big for my mouth and now I’m forced to practice patience until I can taste again.
Monday, October 27, 2008
I Can't Help Falling in Love with Fall
I do think that of all the seasons, fall is my favorite. If you are fortunate enough to live in a state that has seasons, you might agree. The color, the crispness in the air, the sound of dead leaves crunching underneath your step - glorious.
The colors this year have seemed more vibrant than past years. Which could be true, or it could be that I am just more aware of them and more appreciative of them. Either way, it's been a beautiful fall. The PhotoGods took out yesterday and wandered the paths of the Arboretum. We spent a good amount of time in the Japanese Gardens - more interesting things to photograph.
Fall for some reason seems like a time of reflection. Things are dying and getting ready to hibernate, what better time to reflect on things that have passed and perhaps - if you're lucky - learn a few lessons.
My photos are posted.
The colors this year have seemed more vibrant than past years. Which could be true, or it could be that I am just more aware of them and more appreciative of them. Either way, it's been a beautiful fall. The PhotoGods took out yesterday and wandered the paths of the Arboretum. We spent a good amount of time in the Japanese Gardens - more interesting things to photograph.
Fall for some reason seems like a time of reflection. Things are dying and getting ready to hibernate, what better time to reflect on things that have passed and perhaps - if you're lucky - learn a few lessons.
My photos are posted.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Holy Photos Batman!
In typical Jenn fashion, I took WAY too many photos in San Fran. I'm very proud of some though so it was worth taking all those photos. All I can say is thank God for digital. How did I ever use film?
Not ALL my photos are posted for you to take a look. Go ahead, I'll wait.
My favorite photos have to be the angled boat photos - and the aft of the boat....is the front the aft? I have no idea. Actually, wikipedia to the rescue. Aft is an adjective or adverb meaning forward...so just ignore that I'm using it as a noun.
Moving on.
I spent most of yesterday going through all the photos and then deciding which ones I wanted to order for scrapbooking. I only ordered 300 or so photos. That's better then the 600 or so I ordered of the 3 day. Between all four cameras there (well 5 if you count Seattle SIL's original camera that had "exhausted" batteries and so moved on to my smaller camera) we managed to take over 1000 photos.
I've also finally decided what to do with some of my "better" photos. I have this wall see in my apt that is current holding up three pictures we bought in Saudi. I've been thinking for some time about doing a photo collage wall - but I want them to all be black and white and I want them to be all structures or buildings. Finally from the last three year trips (NY, UK, DC, and SF) I think I have the ones I want. I now just need to decide on size of frames and color. I'm thinking black or dark wood and 5X7 or 8X10's only. Watch this space.
Today is a PhotoGod day. We're all meeting to take fall foliage photos. Can wait! The trees here are beautiful this year. So colorful! I'm sure we don't even compare to the East coast, but its beautiful none the less.
Not ALL my photos are posted for you to take a look. Go ahead, I'll wait.
My favorite photos have to be the angled boat photos - and the aft of the boat....is the front the aft? I have no idea. Actually, wikipedia to the rescue. Aft is an adjective or adverb meaning forward...so just ignore that I'm using it as a noun.
Moving on.
I spent most of yesterday going through all the photos and then deciding which ones I wanted to order for scrapbooking. I only ordered 300 or so photos. That's better then the 600 or so I ordered of the 3 day. Between all four cameras there (well 5 if you count Seattle SIL's original camera that had "exhausted" batteries and so moved on to my smaller camera) we managed to take over 1000 photos.
I've also finally decided what to do with some of my "better" photos. I have this wall see in my apt that is current holding up three pictures we bought in Saudi. I've been thinking for some time about doing a photo collage wall - but I want them to all be black and white and I want them to be all structures or buildings. Finally from the last three year trips (NY, UK, DC, and SF) I think I have the ones I want. I now just need to decide on size of frames and color. I'm thinking black or dark wood and 5X7 or 8X10's only. Watch this space.
Today is a PhotoGod day. We're all meeting to take fall foliage photos. Can wait! The trees here are beautiful this year. So colorful! I'm sure we don't even compare to the East coast, but its beautiful none the less.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Simple things that amaze me
I'm always amazed at how the simplest of things fascinate me. This video is a perfectly good example of how easily I'm amazed (and entertained).
Crazy, isn't it? This i show they turn the cable car around when it comes to the end of the line. Who wants to go with me back to SF? Anyone?
Well, sadly I was back to work today and back to a reality that I would have preferred to leave behind. I like being on vacation. Which just means a job is an ends to a mean and nothing more. I work so I can play.
As you no doubtfully have noticed, I had fun in SF. I'm still working my way through all the bloody pictures we took. They'll be posted shortly, I promise. I know you're waiting with baited breath to see them, but never fear...they're coming.
Is it just me or is Nickelback's new song about me? I think they snuck into my journals and plucked out a few lyrics. I think they owe me!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
ZigZagging in SF
Yesterday we almost literally zigzagged our way through SF. We spent the day riding the world famous cable cars. Fascinating little things. So simple and yet so functional. We stopped at the cable car museum too that houses the actual working mechanics of the cars. Yes, I hung out of a car and yes I almost got side swiped by an oncoming cable car. But I couldn't very well go to SF and not hang out of a cable car.
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These are the big cable wheels that pull the cable to make the cars go. There are only three lines functioning now in SF. Originally there were 16 I believe.
Afterwards we got adventurous and landed ourselves on a bus to find the 7 sisters or the Painted Ladies - whichever you want to call them. Of course we only found them after we found ourselves in the Castro district. San Fran's famous homosexual area. Oddly enough I felt safer there then I did in a few other areas of town. So we hopped on another bus that took us exactly to where we needed to be, Alamo Square.
These famous houses are the most photographed icon in SF...so they say. If you ever watched Full House you've seen these houses. The yellow one is the full house house. The tour guide we had the other night said these houses range in the millions - in case you want to buy one. I would have loved to see in side, but I don't think they'd let the riff raff in.
Today we're mostly vegging. We've been on the move for 4 straight days now. Mrs.BraschPir, Seattle SIL and I walked over to the City Hall this morning. We lucked out and got our own guided tour of the place. Beautiful building. I find it amusing here that a lot of their history discussions start with the "Great earthquake of 1906". SF really has had to rebuild itself a couple of times - its no wonder they seem so resilient.
After a trip to the waterfront (sidebar: SF completely throws me off. I always thought it faced west. But in fact, the waterfront is north. It's on a "bay" - dah - but I didn't realize just how much of a bay it really is) for In N Out burgers, then we're going to ride public transit to some cathedral. After which, we plan dinner in North Beach - their Little Italy. I can't wait for that. I love me some good Italian food.
These are the big cable wheels that pull the cable to make the cars go. There are only three lines functioning now in SF. Originally there were 16 I believe.
Afterwards we got adventurous and landed ourselves on a bus to find the 7 sisters or the Painted Ladies - whichever you want to call them. Of course we only found them after we found ourselves in the Castro district. San Fran's famous homosexual area. Oddly enough I felt safer there then I did in a few other areas of town. So we hopped on another bus that took us exactly to where we needed to be, Alamo Square.
These famous houses are the most photographed icon in SF...so they say. If you ever watched Full House you've seen these houses. The yellow one is the full house house. The tour guide we had the other night said these houses range in the millions - in case you want to buy one. I would have loved to see in side, but I don't think they'd let the riff raff in.
Today we're mostly vegging. We've been on the move for 4 straight days now. Mrs.BraschPir, Seattle SIL and I walked over to the City Hall this morning. We lucked out and got our own guided tour of the place. Beautiful building. I find it amusing here that a lot of their history discussions start with the "Great earthquake of 1906". SF really has had to rebuild itself a couple of times - its no wonder they seem so resilient.
After a trip to the waterfront (sidebar: SF completely throws me off. I always thought it faced west. But in fact, the waterfront is north. It's on a "bay" - dah - but I didn't realize just how much of a bay it really is) for In N Out burgers, then we're going to ride public transit to some cathedral. After which, we plan dinner in North Beach - their Little Italy. I can't wait for that. I love me some good Italian food.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
News Flash: Three young crustaceans and an old crab escape from Alcatraz
San Francisco, Ca - Alcatraz is the most difficult maximum security prison in the country to escape from. Many have tried, and many have failed. Yesterday a small band of crabs escaped with little or no problems. The lead crab is reported to have a small back problem that is slowing her down. One of the other crabs is having a foot problem and is most likely going to be as slow as the older crab. They are armed with credit cards and a map. They appear to be somewhat harmless, but be careful if you find yourself between them and a chocolate factory. They were last seen sipping a cup of world famous Irish Coffee. They should only be approached if you're a sugar daddy looking to take care of one of the single younger crabs.
In other news, the crabs will be touring the city on the world famous San Francisco cable cars. There are two lines that will take them up the Ricearoni hill and a couple of the other larger hills of SF. They will also be visiting an In-N-Out burger shop tomorrow to celebrate it's 60th Anniversary. The crabs will be seen walking sideways through the line at In-N-Out. Definitely approach with extreme caution when burger is in hand.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Three Crustaceans and an Old Crab
So I made it to SF. Well, in fact we all made it. I don't have very much time on the interweb to discuss all the insanity that has transpired since we arrived, but suffice it to say we've had some fun.
We arrived in fine spirits yesterday. Promptly deposited our luggage in our hotel and we were off to experience Fisherman's Wharf. An interesting place for sure. It's a waterfront with a ton of tourist shops and what not. Not exactly what I was expecting, but we still managed to have some fun. In fact, as the picture above shows...we got crabs! Okay, so the real story is we were having trouble keeping track of each other. Seattle SIL went in and bought a crab hat. The MomUnit then thought it would be great fun for us all to have them. Needless to say we got a lot of people staring at us, laughing at us, and asking to take hour photos. Who knows, we could be the next Internet photo phenom.
Today we did the Double decker bus tour. It's a hop on - hop off tour meaning at their designated stops you could get off the bus and get on the next one. Seattle SIL and I stayed on for the duration while the MomUnit and Mrs. BraschPir ( a combination of her last name and ours since she's really not related, but she is close enough to be) got off at China Town. Seattle SIL and I road to the end, hopped on the next bus and did the Golden Gate bridge tour. In typical GG Bridge fashion it was shrouded in fog. Oh and did I mention it was freezing and the wind was blowing like there was no tomorrow.
We met up with the MomUnit and Mrs. BraschPir and headed over to the famous Ghiradelli chocolate square. They moved the factory about 10 years ago. All that's there now is a ice cream pallor and a store. Yes we visited both. Ice cream sundae's and a room full of chocolate.
Tomorrow we're off to Alcatraz. That should be interesting. Seattle SIL and I are going to head to chinatown for it's full effect. Then who knows? We're on vacation.
We arrived in fine spirits yesterday. Promptly deposited our luggage in our hotel and we were off to experience Fisherman's Wharf. An interesting place for sure. It's a waterfront with a ton of tourist shops and what not. Not exactly what I was expecting, but we still managed to have some fun. In fact, as the picture above shows...we got crabs! Okay, so the real story is we were having trouble keeping track of each other. Seattle SIL went in and bought a crab hat. The MomUnit then thought it would be great fun for us all to have them. Needless to say we got a lot of people staring at us, laughing at us, and asking to take hour photos. Who knows, we could be the next Internet photo phenom.
Fisherman's Wharf is also home to hundreds of sea lions. There's some story about how they came to the docks after the earthquake in 1989. Several boat owners at the time tried to get them to leave, but they just wouldn't. The fire dept used their high powered water hoses to get them off, which they did, but they hopped right back up there. Eventually they just gave up and the sea lions now own a dozen piers in some of the highest priced marina in the country.
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Today we did the Double decker bus tour. It's a hop on - hop off tour meaning at their designated stops you could get off the bus and get on the next one. Seattle SIL and I stayed on for the duration while the MomUnit and Mrs. BraschPir ( a combination of her last name and ours since she's really not related, but she is close enough to be) got off at China Town. Seattle SIL and I road to the end, hopped on the next bus and did the Golden Gate bridge tour. In typical GG Bridge fashion it was shrouded in fog. Oh and did I mention it was freezing and the wind was blowing like there was no tomorrow.
We met up with the MomUnit and Mrs. BraschPir and headed over to the famous Ghiradelli chocolate square. They moved the factory about 10 years ago. All that's there now is a ice cream pallor and a store. Yes we visited both. Ice cream sundae's and a room full of chocolate.
Tomorrow we're off to Alcatraz. That should be interesting. Seattle SIL and I are going to head to chinatown for it's full effect. Then who knows? We're on vacation.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Stess Kitten - Present and accounted for
Good Lord. What a week. I worked 36 hours in the past 3 days. I'm done. I'm pooped. I'm so ready to go on vacation.
But, naturally, the project had to fall to a million little unidentifiable pieces today. Ugh. The guys I'm working with hit a very serious nerve with me today. See I was raised that if you're work isn't done, you don't play. More importantly, if you have a hard deadline and you've been having complications all day then you certainly don't take an hour lunch and then an hour to carve pumpkins with the office. No, instead you should sit your butt down in your chair and work out the code that doesn't seem to be displaying what we want it to. I'm just sayin.
I was frustrated today because I didn't get to "play" with everyone carving pumpkins because I was actually trying to solve the problem. Silly me for thinking we'd actually hit our deadline today. Oy vei!
But alas, I made it home. Poured myself a tall glass of wine. Had a fantastically delicious dinner and am now sitting her at 9pm just thinking about packing for tomorrow.
So until tomorrow. You know you love me! XOXO
Dream a little dream...
I remember dreams. No, not the "some day I'll fly a plane" dream, but my actual dreams, you know, when I'm sleeping.
9 times out of 10 I have no idea what they mean or what it's trying to tell me. Only on rare occasions has a "dream" vision actually happened. Last night's dream, I'm afraid I know what it's saying to me.
First a little history. The last week I've been heads down trying to get a major project out the door. Things had been going relatively well, considering. Until the day before yesterday. We discovered some massive flaws in part of the content we were given. This caused me to drop everything and focus on getting it ready for this project. Which of course brought stress. Stress = weird dreams.
In my dream I was at work and testing a website. The website we created had all these Easter Eggs on it (you do know what Easter egg's are right? ) Anyhow, each Easter egg showed me a missing child. It showed his/her location too. Which of course I knew I hadn't put in the technical specs for the website. About that time a woman - who I think was my secretary - stopped by to tell me I was late for dinner with my fiance and his son. She handed me a map drawn in crayon and said, "be careful in that neighborhoods, the Cubans are mean." I know weird, right?
So off I go walking through these rather poverty stricken roads where every man/boy looks like a hoodlum. I round the corner to see the restaurant I was meeting "the fiance" in. It was a quite cold place that seemed empty yet full. I was seated and was told my "fiance" would be with me shortly. As I was sitting I noticed those little sugar ants were everywhere. They were on the table, the floor, crawling on my legs etc. I kept hitting them off, but felt like they were biting me the entire time.
Then the fiance and son show up. The son is one of the boys I saw on the Easter egg site. I acted as if I didn't know it and kept asking the boy all sorts of potential new step mom questions like, "do you like chocolate ice cream?" The fiance - who's face I couldn't actually see but he had a tattoo and a gold watch - just sat happy as ever that me and son were getting along.
As it was time for me to leave, the boy tells me he's drawn me a picture of where he lives and our new family. He hands me the paper and I can see the house, the street, the neighborhood everything. Then this loud beeping started happening and the fiance said, "Time to go."
The beeping was the alarm clock. I didn't get to save the little boy. Weird, right?
I suspect there's something more wrong with the current project I'm working on. Either that or I'm in serious need of a vacation. Which thankfully I'm going on tomorrow.
9 times out of 10 I have no idea what they mean or what it's trying to tell me. Only on rare occasions has a "dream" vision actually happened. Last night's dream, I'm afraid I know what it's saying to me.
First a little history. The last week I've been heads down trying to get a major project out the door. Things had been going relatively well, considering. Until the day before yesterday. We discovered some massive flaws in part of the content we were given. This caused me to drop everything and focus on getting it ready for this project. Which of course brought stress. Stress = weird dreams.
In my dream I was at work and testing a website. The website we created had all these Easter Eggs on it (you do know what Easter egg's are right? ) Anyhow, each Easter egg showed me a missing child. It showed his/her location too. Which of course I knew I hadn't put in the technical specs for the website. About that time a woman - who I think was my secretary - stopped by to tell me I was late for dinner with my fiance and his son. She handed me a map drawn in crayon and said, "be careful in that neighborhoods, the Cubans are mean." I know weird, right?
So off I go walking through these rather poverty stricken roads where every man/boy looks like a hoodlum. I round the corner to see the restaurant I was meeting "the fiance" in. It was a quite cold place that seemed empty yet full. I was seated and was told my "fiance" would be with me shortly. As I was sitting I noticed those little sugar ants were everywhere. They were on the table, the floor, crawling on my legs etc. I kept hitting them off, but felt like they were biting me the entire time.
Then the fiance and son show up. The son is one of the boys I saw on the Easter egg site. I acted as if I didn't know it and kept asking the boy all sorts of potential new step mom questions like, "do you like chocolate ice cream?" The fiance - who's face I couldn't actually see but he had a tattoo and a gold watch - just sat happy as ever that me and son were getting along.
As it was time for me to leave, the boy tells me he's drawn me a picture of where he lives and our new family. He hands me the paper and I can see the house, the street, the neighborhood everything. Then this loud beeping started happening and the fiance said, "Time to go."
The beeping was the alarm clock. I didn't get to save the little boy. Weird, right?
I suspect there's something more wrong with the current project I'm working on. Either that or I'm in serious need of a vacation. Which thankfully I'm going on tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Don't hate me cuz I'm beautiful
Last night I was browsing a few of my favorite blogs that I have on my home computer. Many I don't visit too often, but I do stop by to get caught up every now and then. None are on my stalker list - so don't go checking.
One such blog has recently taken up a horrible habit of complaining about other people's blogs. Reading it last night I suspect one of the blogs this elitest is complaining about is mine. Completely unprovoked I might add.
With my self confidence firmly in the gutter now I give you this rant.
Blogs are personal. They can be informative. The two together are not what you'll necessarily find on my blog. But in the case of this blog, the one you're reading right now, it is personal. If I happen to pass on a tidbit of information that you, my avid fan, didn't know, well then bonus for you - and me.
My blog is a direct extension of me. It's almost a third arm. It represents almost everything about me. I say almost everything because the momunit reads this. Well that and my life isn't that interesting. You are, though, bound to stop by and either laugh, cry or say "OMG, what was she thinking?". Either way, you should know that by stopping by you aren't going to be reading an eloquently written piece of work that was so masterfully put together that, if printed, would prop up a Pulitzer. You'll most likely be trudging your way through grammar and spelling errors, misquoted facts, and life.
Here's the thing. That's me. I'm an error. I'm not a mistake (thanks mom for clarifying that) but I do have - ah - a few flaws. My blog allows me to show my soft under belly and submit to the fact that I am far from perfect - despite what I tell everyone else. It reflects all the little aspects of me that exist in real life. It's written from my perspective! I shouldn't have to put disclaimers to say that some facts may not be accurate, or that my opinion isn't founded in an encyclopedia somewhere (or wikipedia for those young one's who read this and have never heard of an encyclopedia). It is what it is. It's me.
One such blog has recently taken up a horrible habit of complaining about other people's blogs. Reading it last night I suspect one of the blogs this elitest is complaining about is mine. Completely unprovoked I might add.
With my self confidence firmly in the gutter now I give you this rant.
Blogs are personal. They can be informative. The two together are not what you'll necessarily find on my blog. But in the case of this blog, the one you're reading right now, it is personal. If I happen to pass on a tidbit of information that you, my avid fan, didn't know, well then bonus for you - and me.
My blog is a direct extension of me. It's almost a third arm. It represents almost everything about me. I say almost everything because the momunit reads this. Well that and my life isn't that interesting. You are, though, bound to stop by and either laugh, cry or say "OMG, what was she thinking?". Either way, you should know that by stopping by you aren't going to be reading an eloquently written piece of work that was so masterfully put together that, if printed, would prop up a Pulitzer. You'll most likely be trudging your way through grammar and spelling errors, misquoted facts, and life.
Here's the thing. That's me. I'm an error. I'm not a mistake (thanks mom for clarifying that) but I do have - ah - a few flaws. My blog allows me to show my soft under belly and submit to the fact that I am far from perfect - despite what I tell everyone else. It reflects all the little aspects of me that exist in real life. It's written from my perspective! I shouldn't have to put disclaimers to say that some facts may not be accurate, or that my opinion isn't founded in an encyclopedia somewhere (or wikipedia for those young one's who read this and have never heard of an encyclopedia). It is what it is. It's me.
And so, evil blog basher, move along. Nothing to see here. If, as I suspect, your only way of filling important or finding something worthy to write about is to use your words to slam others, then I pity you. Well you and your stupid blog. Oh and by the way, you should never EVER end a sentence with a preposition - so check paragraph 3, sentence two. I'm just sayin'.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Simply Beautiful
A weekend with nothing to do but read a good book and catching up on a few TV shows that are among my guiltiest of pleasures. Yes, those weekends are simply beautiful. Too bad it's about to end with a simply boorish Monday morning and a gun to the head boring project update meeting. But still, work is one of the evil's of the world that one who is not independently wealthy or has a trust fund must endure. Thankfully I kind a like my job - sometimes.
This next week will no doubt drag by. See next Saturday you will find yours truly leaving on a jet plane to where I left my heart - in San Francisco. I've not ever been there (which has you wondering why I left my heart there huh? I mailed it. I didn't need it so why shouldn't San Francisco have it?) and can't wait to explore the fabulous city on the bay.
I won't be going alone. Oh no, no traveling alone for this girl. But don't get all excited I won't be traveling with someone who has a Y chromosome either. No much more fun than that - mom, Seattle Sister-In-Law and a good family friend. 4 Women loose in SF. One with a camera - oh boy.
We have our list of things we "must" do and our list of nice to do's. If you've left your heart in SF and know of something that is a "must" do that isn't an obvious must do (Golden Gate, Fisherman's wharf, Ghiradelli's, etc) then do share.
Anyhow, as I mentioned, this weekend has been - well in a word - glorious. I ate breakfast yesterday in a Seattle icon with my favorite PM teacher. It had been way too long since we last got together to chat, so breakfast was not only filling, but she and I are now caught up so we can go another couple weeks before a breakfast is required. And sadly, with as much is happening in my life, we could, most likely, go a month or so before I'll have anything exciting to say. I'm just sayin.
I picked up a book - well three - for my San Fran trip. One must have a good plane book! It's a requirement I believe. One small carry on, one small personal bag and a book. The airlines havent' started charging for a book yet. But give them time.
About a week or so ago I spent way too much time and way too much time at my hair salon. Th
e hair stylists were all a flutter about this book that's been passed around the store. ALL of them have read it and insisted that I too must read it. I had never heard of this book, it's character or the cult following - so I had to investigate. I ordered all three books in the series and started with book one yesterday afternoon. Twilight. Laugh if you must. Its a good book - if you like romantic vampire books. The setting is in a small town here in the Seattle area - Fork - and is a not so average look at a vampire and his human girlfriend. It's easy reading, but the story most certainly has me captivated. It's rare that a book comes around that I can't put down, but I've found one for now. Though I'll have to put it down in about 25 pages cuz that's how many I have left. Then I have to try to restrain myself to not read the other two before my trip. I'd hate to be a girl without a book on a plane - that would be sad. I'd have to *gasp* read a magazine or talk to the person seated in the middle seat. Oh and if you're not a reader, but prefer to watch the movie - you're in luck. Twighlight the movie will be out - sometime soon.
The other guilty pleasure I've partook in this weekend is getting up to speed with Gossip Girl. Again, must you laugh? I saw one episode a couple of weeks ago - realized it was season 2 and knew what I had to do. Log into Netflix and put season one to the top of my queue. Three discs down - and so addicted I may have to check myself into Betty Ford.
And with that, I'm going to do something constructive today - like clean. The MomUnit will be here in a week and we can't have the white glove have anything on it.
This next week will no doubt drag by. See next Saturday you will find yours truly leaving on a jet plane to where I left my heart - in San Francisco. I've not ever been there (which has you wondering why I left my heart there huh? I mailed it. I didn't need it so why shouldn't San Francisco have it?) and can't wait to explore the fabulous city on the bay.
I won't be going alone. Oh no, no traveling alone for this girl. But don't get all excited I won't be traveling with someone who has a Y chromosome either. No much more fun than that - mom, Seattle Sister-In-Law and a good family friend. 4 Women loose in SF. One with a camera - oh boy.
We have our list of things we "must" do and our list of nice to do's. If you've left your heart in SF and know of something that is a "must" do that isn't an obvious must do (Golden Gate, Fisherman's wharf, Ghiradelli's, etc) then do share.
Anyhow, as I mentioned, this weekend has been - well in a word - glorious. I ate breakfast yesterday in a Seattle icon with my favorite PM teacher. It had been way too long since we last got together to chat, so breakfast was not only filling, but she and I are now caught up so we can go another couple weeks before a breakfast is required. And sadly, with as much is happening in my life, we could, most likely, go a month or so before I'll have anything exciting to say. I'm just sayin.
I picked up a book - well three - for my San Fran trip. One must have a good plane book! It's a requirement I believe. One small carry on, one small personal bag and a book. The airlines havent' started charging for a book yet. But give them time.
About a week or so ago I spent way too much time and way too much time at my hair salon. Th
e hair stylists were all a flutter about this book that's been passed around the store. ALL of them have read it and insisted that I too must read it. I had never heard of this book, it's character or the cult following - so I had to investigate. I ordered all three books in the series and started with book one yesterday afternoon. Twilight. Laugh if you must. Its a good book - if you like romantic vampire books. The setting is in a small town here in the Seattle area - Fork - and is a not so average look at a vampire and his human girlfriend. It's easy reading, but the story most certainly has me captivated. It's rare that a book comes around that I can't put down, but I've found one for now. Though I'll have to put it down in about 25 pages cuz that's how many I have left. Then I have to try to restrain myself to not read the other two before my trip. I'd hate to be a girl without a book on a plane - that would be sad. I'd have to *gasp* read a magazine or talk to the person seated in the middle seat. Oh and if you're not a reader, but prefer to watch the movie - you're in luck. Twighlight the movie will be out - sometime soon.The other guilty pleasure I've partook in this weekend is getting up to speed with Gossip Girl. Again, must you laugh? I saw one episode a couple of weeks ago - realized it was season 2 and knew what I had to do. Log into Netflix and put season one to the top of my queue. Three discs down - and so addicted I may have to check myself into Betty Ford.
And with that, I'm going to do something constructive today - like clean. The MomUnit will be here in a week and we can't have the white glove have anything on it.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
The Past
A few weeks ago I traveled to Odessalet for Duetchesfest. I've been to Odessa a hundred times and never really wanted to remember or more accurately put document the past. Because the past was still a real memory for me and one very accessible. I could visit the past any time I wanted - within reason.
This year, for the first time I thought the past, my memories, and those of our family, may be a thing of the past and will soon be forgotten altogether.
I won't go into details, but I will go into some history so that the photos below make some sense.
Somewhere around 1980 I was shipped off to this farm in the middle of wheat land in Washington state. I was, for all practical purposes, a Southern California girl who lived and thrived in the city. Sending me to a farm in the middle of no where, to a town that had 11 people in it (not counting the dogs) all of whom were relatives, and expecting me to enjoy myself was a joke. I wanted to go because it was to Grandma and Grandpa Wraspir's house. Grandma and Grandpa Wraspir were new grandparents to me since mom and dad had just married (he's a stepdad, but a dad nonetheless). I loved these grandparents. When they came to visit they smelled of the past. They smelled of simple folk who, while they had almost nothing, had everything. They were real people. People who worked the earth for a living, who kept bread on my table. I didn't realize then just the sacrifices they had experienced in their lives, but I knew the depression was at least one - so I respected them. Well that and they were my elders and I was brought up to respect those who were older and more knowledgeable than me.
As I was getting on the plane in LA, dad told me Uncle Gene would be meeting me at the airport with Grandma. I hadn't met Uncle Gene yet and had no idea how I'd know him. Asking dad he responded with, "He's a big, tall cowboy - you can't miss him." Cowboy? I thought they only had those in Wyoming. But whatever. I dutifully got on the plane and fretted for 2 hours. This was back in the days (which makes me sound old) where you could actually meet people at the gate - remember those good days where you's step off the plane and someone you loved was there to meet you with a hug? God, I miss those days.
So I stepped off the plane, no cowboy and no grandma anywhere in sight. I started to walk down the aisle of the Spokane airport marveling at how small it was compared to LAX of which I had just 2 hours ago departed. Amazed that two hours could transform me to a world so vastly different from where I came from. And then I saw him. As if he was a beacon of light calling to me. He was "running" - as much as Uncle Gene could toward me holding out these enormous arms that I knew would crush me if he got a chance to wrap them around me. Behind him - Grandma, who to me was a tall woman, and yet was dwarfed by this man. He spoke in a deep voice, "Suzie, I thought you'd never make it." The dolt didn't even know my name - he called me Suzie until the day he died. It was his endearment he bestowed on any girl, child in his life. I eventually became very fond of being called Suzie.
And so we departed to Irby. This little town my dad grew up in. These farm houses that have seen years of life in them, - let me say that again - YEARS of life. Uncle Gene slept in the same room he was born in. As we pulled onto the dirt road to Grandma and Grandpa's house, there's a worn down building. Grandma begins to recount to me tales of this old hotel and how she and Grandpa used to work there. It looked like a pile of wood t me, but they worked there and it was and is still part of their heart. A little further down the road was the old school house. Grandpa schooled there. He and every child in the immediate area. All ages, all grades, all in one room, one school house. Just like on Little House on the Prairie I thought.
To the left was acres of cattle land. Green and lush. Covered in pipes for watering and - well - cows. Lots of cows. I had never really seen a cow up close before and really had no desire to. Ick - cows. Those same cows I would grow to love and look forward to seeing again some day.
And there it was, sitting on a very slight hill, the house. Small and modest. It housed all the love all the pain, all the joy, all the heartache, and my grandparents. I'd later find out it housed a lot of people in it's years, but it was full of love. There was no doubt of that. I won't romanticize it by saying that only loved lived there, anger lived there too fueled by alcohol - but above all it was a symbol of welcoming to anyone. And I do mean anyone.
I settled in to a small room that had a piano in it and a little dressing table. On the walls hung pictures of something. I can't tell you what they were because they became such a part of that little room that they don't have their own memory. The bed was lumpy and comfortable. It was the room. Nothing fancy, but it served it purpose.
I could go on and on about farm memories, I eventually looked forward to my summers at the farm. It had history. It had strength. It had animals, and it had a junk yard.
This trip to Odessa I decided to go take photos of the junk yard. It had sat up there in the hill for years and I knew it would eventually no longer be available to us for all sorts of reasons. On the way to the junk yard, though, we had to pass this little modest house that held so many family dinners, so many family stories. Almost too much for it's four walls to hold. This little house was condemned. The yard that grandpa and grandma took care of (in later years my middle brother did as well) was overgrown and brown. The house looked sad, lonely even. I knew if I entered it would no longer feel as warm has it once did. We moved on to the junk yard. I barely wanted to even look at the house.
In the junk yard we found a treasure trove of old cars, old refrigerators, old washers, twine, barbwire, glass, nuts, bolts, everything. Some of the cars up there looked like the owners surely couldn't have survived the crash that had apparently happened by the looks of it.
This year, for the first time I thought the past, my memories, and those of our family, may be a thing of the past and will soon be forgotten altogether.
I won't go into details, but I will go into some history so that the photos below make some sense.
Somewhere around 1980 I was shipped off to this farm in the middle of wheat land in Washington state. I was, for all practical purposes, a Southern California girl who lived and thrived in the city. Sending me to a farm in the middle of no where, to a town that had 11 people in it (not counting the dogs) all of whom were relatives, and expecting me to enjoy myself was a joke. I wanted to go because it was to Grandma and Grandpa Wraspir's house. Grandma and Grandpa Wraspir were new grandparents to me since mom and dad had just married (he's a stepdad, but a dad nonetheless). I loved these grandparents. When they came to visit they smelled of the past. They smelled of simple folk who, while they had almost nothing, had everything. They were real people. People who worked the earth for a living, who kept bread on my table. I didn't realize then just the sacrifices they had experienced in their lives, but I knew the depression was at least one - so I respected them. Well that and they were my elders and I was brought up to respect those who were older and more knowledgeable than me.
As I was getting on the plane in LA, dad told me Uncle Gene would be meeting me at the airport with Grandma. I hadn't met Uncle Gene yet and had no idea how I'd know him. Asking dad he responded with, "He's a big, tall cowboy - you can't miss him." Cowboy? I thought they only had those in Wyoming. But whatever. I dutifully got on the plane and fretted for 2 hours. This was back in the days (which makes me sound old) where you could actually meet people at the gate - remember those good days where you's step off the plane and someone you loved was there to meet you with a hug? God, I miss those days.
So I stepped off the plane, no cowboy and no grandma anywhere in sight. I started to walk down the aisle of the Spokane airport marveling at how small it was compared to LAX of which I had just 2 hours ago departed. Amazed that two hours could transform me to a world so vastly different from where I came from. And then I saw him. As if he was a beacon of light calling to me. He was "running" - as much as Uncle Gene could toward me holding out these enormous arms that I knew would crush me if he got a chance to wrap them around me. Behind him - Grandma, who to me was a tall woman, and yet was dwarfed by this man. He spoke in a deep voice, "Suzie, I thought you'd never make it." The dolt didn't even know my name - he called me Suzie until the day he died. It was his endearment he bestowed on any girl, child in his life. I eventually became very fond of being called Suzie.
And so we departed to Irby. This little town my dad grew up in. These farm houses that have seen years of life in them, - let me say that again - YEARS of life. Uncle Gene slept in the same room he was born in. As we pulled onto the dirt road to Grandma and Grandpa's house, there's a worn down building. Grandma begins to recount to me tales of this old hotel and how she and Grandpa used to work there. It looked like a pile of wood t me, but they worked there and it was and is still part of their heart. A little further down the road was the old school house. Grandpa schooled there. He and every child in the immediate area. All ages, all grades, all in one room, one school house. Just like on Little House on the Prairie I thought.
To the left was acres of cattle land. Green and lush. Covered in pipes for watering and - well - cows. Lots of cows. I had never really seen a cow up close before and really had no desire to. Ick - cows. Those same cows I would grow to love and look forward to seeing again some day.
And there it was, sitting on a very slight hill, the house. Small and modest. It housed all the love all the pain, all the joy, all the heartache, and my grandparents. I'd later find out it housed a lot of people in it's years, but it was full of love. There was no doubt of that. I won't romanticize it by saying that only loved lived there, anger lived there too fueled by alcohol - but above all it was a symbol of welcoming to anyone. And I do mean anyone.
I settled in to a small room that had a piano in it and a little dressing table. On the walls hung pictures of something. I can't tell you what they were because they became such a part of that little room that they don't have their own memory. The bed was lumpy and comfortable. It was the room. Nothing fancy, but it served it purpose.
I could go on and on about farm memories, I eventually looked forward to my summers at the farm. It had history. It had strength. It had animals, and it had a junk yard.
This trip to Odessa I decided to go take photos of the junk yard. It had sat up there in the hill for years and I knew it would eventually no longer be available to us for all sorts of reasons. On the way to the junk yard, though, we had to pass this little modest house that held so many family dinners, so many family stories. Almost too much for it's four walls to hold. This little house was condemned. The yard that grandpa and grandma took care of (in later years my middle brother did as well) was overgrown and brown. The house looked sad, lonely even. I knew if I entered it would no longer feel as warm has it once did. We moved on to the junk yard. I barely wanted to even look at the house.
In the junk yard we found a treasure trove of old cars, old refrigerators, old washers, twine, barbwire, glass, nuts, bolts, everything. Some of the cars up there looked like the owners surely couldn't have survived the crash that had apparently happened by the looks of it.
If you want to see all the photos, click here.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Cold AND Cheap
It’s cold and I’m cheap. The two are not mutually exclusive – always.
I was reading OnePath and bummed that he took my idea for a blog today, but decided it didn’t hinder me from writing, instead reinforced my current situation.
BRRRR…I’m cold. All. The. Time – it seems.
A handful of years ago, coats weren’t in my vocabulary. Well, that’s not entirely true I do love to buy them, but rarely wore them. My closet is a testament to the many warm, cold negating outerwear I just had to have. It looks good in the closet. The closet is, no doubt, warm. I was the girl you’d see in the dead of winter in shorts and a sweatshirt. I never wore a coat. I figured from the apt to the car – car to the office building – didn’t really require a coat. I was young(er) and apparently had warmer blood. Things have changed. Oh have they changed.
I won’t blame global warming on my own internal thermostat going haywire – I’ll blame age.
Even as I sit here and write this my fingers scream in pain as each tap of the letter from my frozen phalanges hurts. The nerves are frozen. It’s only October for goodness sake. It shouldn’t be that cold. And yet it feels like I’m living in the artic (I suppose there are a few out there who may argue that Washington is – in fact – part of the frozen tundra. I look outside to see if it looks as cold as I feel. It’s sunny, but it has that fall like look to it that tells me it might be a bit crisp out there. Oh and there’s a guy sitting in his convertible with the top down out there, bundled up. Weirdo!
This coldness isn’t new. Last night I got home, walked in the front door and was greeted by the Beast wearing a parka. I believe if I could translate cat – and remove all the cuss words – he was telling me to “Turn on the !#$%^ heat!”
I hate turning on the heat. It’s expensive and I’d much rather spend the extra $150 it’ll cost to heat this apt on say – oh cat parkas, or parkas for closet. Still, I twisted the knob to where I heard the familiar clicking sound that announces the heat has turned on. And I stood to wait for it. You know what I mean. That smell the heat puts out after its not been turned on for months. The burning dust smell. Oh yah, good times.
I changed my clothes into flannel pants and a sweatshirt, grabbed the down couch blanket and settled in for the night. Only then did I realize I was meeting someone for dinner and had to *gasp* change into real clothes. While Megan wouldn’t mind me showing up in flannel PJ bottoms and a sweatshirt; Red Robin may. I removed the frozen cat from my lap (while doing that I giggled to myself about “Frozen Cat on A Stick” – don’t ask!) and changed to go meet Megaroony. Thankfully the car heater hadn’t had too much time to cool down so it warmed up pretty quickly – which heaters do on full blast.
So the apt heater has been unceremoniously turned on. I wasn’t expecting a ticker tape parade or anything, but something more exciting would have been nice.
I was reading OnePath and bummed that he took my idea for a blog today, but decided it didn’t hinder me from writing, instead reinforced my current situation.
BRRRR…I’m cold. All. The. Time – it seems.
A handful of years ago, coats weren’t in my vocabulary. Well, that’s not entirely true I do love to buy them, but rarely wore them. My closet is a testament to the many warm, cold negating outerwear I just had to have. It looks good in the closet. The closet is, no doubt, warm. I was the girl you’d see in the dead of winter in shorts and a sweatshirt. I never wore a coat. I figured from the apt to the car – car to the office building – didn’t really require a coat. I was young(er) and apparently had warmer blood. Things have changed. Oh have they changed.
I won’t blame global warming on my own internal thermostat going haywire – I’ll blame age.
Even as I sit here and write this my fingers scream in pain as each tap of the letter from my frozen phalanges hurts. The nerves are frozen. It’s only October for goodness sake. It shouldn’t be that cold. And yet it feels like I’m living in the artic (I suppose there are a few out there who may argue that Washington is – in fact – part of the frozen tundra. I look outside to see if it looks as cold as I feel. It’s sunny, but it has that fall like look to it that tells me it might be a bit crisp out there. Oh and there’s a guy sitting in his convertible with the top down out there, bundled up. Weirdo!
This coldness isn’t new. Last night I got home, walked in the front door and was greeted by the Beast wearing a parka. I believe if I could translate cat – and remove all the cuss words – he was telling me to “Turn on the !#$%^ heat!”
I hate turning on the heat. It’s expensive and I’d much rather spend the extra $150 it’ll cost to heat this apt on say – oh cat parkas, or parkas for closet. Still, I twisted the knob to where I heard the familiar clicking sound that announces the heat has turned on. And I stood to wait for it. You know what I mean. That smell the heat puts out after its not been turned on for months. The burning dust smell. Oh yah, good times.
I changed my clothes into flannel pants and a sweatshirt, grabbed the down couch blanket and settled in for the night. Only then did I realize I was meeting someone for dinner and had to *gasp* change into real clothes. While Megan wouldn’t mind me showing up in flannel PJ bottoms and a sweatshirt; Red Robin may. I removed the frozen cat from my lap (while doing that I giggled to myself about “Frozen Cat on A Stick” – don’t ask!) and changed to go meet Megaroony. Thankfully the car heater hadn’t had too much time to cool down so it warmed up pretty quickly – which heaters do on full blast.
So the apt heater has been unceremoniously turned on. I wasn’t expecting a ticker tape parade or anything, but something more exciting would have been nice.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Oops I did it again
OMG...Poor Pookie. If I were to follow the recommendations of all the so called "vets" in my life and shave the cat, I guarantee you this is the look I'd get for the rest of my life.
In other flea related news, no fleas last night. No new flea bites. I think the threat of shaving has worked. Though I'm not convinced the threat worked as much as the medicine, but you never know, that cat is powerful.
Now what to obsess on?
In other flea related news, no fleas last night. No new flea bites. I think the threat of shaving has worked. Though I'm not convinced the threat worked as much as the medicine, but you never know, that cat is powerful.
Now what to obsess on?
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Fleas of the world...Unite!
Flea count since last post:
3 - all found on the cat. All dead now thanks to scolding hot water and soap.
Total flea bites:
10! All of them itch, mostly at the same time. I’m convinced they are intermingled so when the one of my foot starts to itch, it transmit the itching-ness to the one on my right knee, which then tells the one on the ankle on my other foot. It’s like the hip bone is connected to the ______ bone.
Discovery about fleas: 1
They are useless little creatures. Most things I despise I can find a logical
reason for them existing. Bees for example. While I hate them, I realize they have an important role to play. Fleas? They have no redeeming quality and should therefore be made extinct. All those in favor? Oh and they can cause tapeworm. Oh goody.
I did find an interesting article on the web about creating a Flea Trap. It’s very elementary and it just might be my next course of action.
As I was combing the beast last night I did have a profound moment. An epiphery if you will (and if you’ve watched the Office you’ll know that Michael Scott calls an epiphany an epiphery.) Anyhow, I was thinking how trying to comb through the beast’s hair to get these little creeps is a lot like we go through when we turn inwards and try to work on some of our less than perfect traits.
I’m a very introspective person. I don’t always do anything about little gems I uncover, but I know they’re there and will deal with them as I need to. Scraping for fleas is the same thing. With each swipe of the comb, I uncover a little bugger that needs to be dealt with. Sometimes it hops off and back into the beast before the hot water bath, other times I am quick to deal with it.
With each swipe of my inner being I find little “traits” that need to be held under a hot water bath. Sometimes, okay most the time, they hop off and scurry back into the depths of my fur. Hiding. Waiting for the moment then can take a bite and remind me they exist.
Other times, I am able, or more accurately at a stable mental point of my life, to deal with the dreaded “trait” and move on. The dealing with the trait may leave a sore spot that requires some scratching, but ultimately it heals.
I cannot believe I just associated cleaning fleas with dealing with unsavory traits in myself. Wow. Maybe the flea medication is getting to my noggin’.
3 - all found on the cat. All dead now thanks to scolding hot water and soap.
Total flea bites:
10! All of them itch, mostly at the same time. I’m convinced they are intermingled so when the one of my foot starts to itch, it transmit the itching-ness to the one on my right knee, which then tells the one on the ankle on my other foot. It’s like the hip bone is connected to the ______ bone.
Discovery about fleas: 1
They are useless little creatures. Most things I despise I can find a logical
reason for them existing. Bees for example. While I hate them, I realize they have an important role to play. Fleas? They have no redeeming quality and should therefore be made extinct. All those in favor? Oh and they can cause tapeworm. Oh goody.I did find an interesting article on the web about creating a Flea Trap. It’s very elementary and it just might be my next course of action.
As I was combing the beast last night I did have a profound moment. An epiphery if you will (and if you’ve watched the Office you’ll know that Michael Scott calls an epiphany an epiphery.) Anyhow, I was thinking how trying to comb through the beast’s hair to get these little creeps is a lot like we go through when we turn inwards and try to work on some of our less than perfect traits.
I’m a very introspective person. I don’t always do anything about little gems I uncover, but I know they’re there and will deal with them as I need to. Scraping for fleas is the same thing. With each swipe of the comb, I uncover a little bugger that needs to be dealt with. Sometimes it hops off and back into the beast before the hot water bath, other times I am quick to deal with it.
With each swipe of my inner being I find little “traits” that need to be held under a hot water bath. Sometimes, okay most the time, they hop off and scurry back into the depths of my fur. Hiding. Waiting for the moment then can take a bite and remind me they exist.
Other times, I am able, or more accurately at a stable mental point of my life, to deal with the dreaded “trait” and move on. The dealing with the trait may leave a sore spot that requires some scratching, but ultimately it heals.
I cannot believe I just associated cleaning fleas with dealing with unsavory traits in myself. Wow. Maybe the flea medication is getting to my noggin’.
Monday, October 06, 2008
The 2 Day Itch
So, the cat has fleas.
I hate fleas.
I have no idea where the big black beast of burden would have picked up fleas - considering he's indoor royalty. And yet, he has fleas.
I came home Friday night to a pile o' hair...and by a pile I mean I could have scooped it altogether and had a second cat. Albeit one that eats and poops less. Anyhow, something seemed odd about these tufts of fur. First and foremost they were as if someone had yanked a handful of fur out and left it on the floor. Not the normal smattering of fur. It's hard to explain unless you have a cat and understand how they shed. I almost took a photo because it was clear where he sat and scratched his itch. There was a void in the fur covered floor that surprisingly looked like his outline.
Having seen this before - last time he had fleas - I knew immediately. Grabbing the cat in one hand and the flea comb in the other, we went into the bathroom. Three little buggers weren't fast enough and they were unceremoniously dunked into scolding hot soapy water. Die you little bastards. Did I mention I hate fleas?
Fleas on the other hand LOVE me. I must have some fine tasting skin to them. A flea feast if you will. I have 6 flea bites and I'm none too happy about this.
After the flea scrape I knew I had to go get the poor little beast some medicine. I decided to wait until Saturday, so three more times Friday night we "scraped" for fleas. The cat loves this by the way...NOT. He squirms and lets out these god awful sounds that makes it sound like I'm drowning him. He just doesn't understand I'm actually helping him. Freak.
So after finding a few more fleas, I let him rest for the night. Bright and early Saturday though, after a restless sleep of me squirming - sure fleas were all over me all night - I was at Petco buying flea medicine. Oh, if you think the cat liked the scraping, just imagine how much he loved the medicine. It's simple to apply really. Just a dab on the back of his neck. Nothing serious. But, again, you'd think I was torturing the beast. I kept telling him it was for his own good, but as a cat would he ignored me.
I also bought a new vacuum filter and cleaned the apt from top to bottom. Which served two purposes really. The first to get any fleas (agh - I itch even as I type this) and two PhotoGirl and The Yank were coming to dinner. (Which by the way was delicious - thanks for asking. Parchment Salmon with pesto, zucchini, carrots and onions. OMG so good.)
Sunday we found just one flea on him. I have two new bites.
Sunday I also broke a record for sleeping. I was supposed to walk in the Walk for Hope 5K - instead I slept until 11Am - which I never do. Got up. Had lunch. Went back to bed. Woke up at 7pm. Got up. Had dinner. Went back to bed. I feel great today - aside from itching like a mad woman.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Welcome to Seattle Weather
This was the forecast on Monday. This is what we get to deal with in Seattle on a regular basis. Light to dark.
It did, however, get me thinking about my own moods at times. Let's say, for example, I'm just sitting at my office desk minding my own business. I've just read the Dilbert online, a comment from Rabitt on my previous blog, and the Dilbert on my desk calendar. I'm in good spirits.
Suddenly I hear the key in the door and the lights in the outer office turn on. I know instinctively who it is. Suddenly, my mood turns dark.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Every generalization is dangerous, especially this one.
I took a trip down memory lane yesterday, and recalled a conversation with my grandmother when I was a preteen. You know the age, I was just on the verge of knowing everything and there’s no way someone WAY older than me could know anything. Well, Grandma and I were in a local store - see Grandma lived in what was then a relatively small town. Well, it was to me coming from the thriving metropolis I called home (only later years would I realize that the place I called home was neither thriving nor a metropolis). Anyhow, it was the summer, and it was hot in Southern California. There were two teen boys in there that were being obnoxious. I can recognize that now, but then I just stood oblivious to their actions. They were being loud, and making rude comments about some magazine they were rifling through. We paid for our groceries and left the store. As we walked out Grandma says, “These kids today.” That’s all she said. I remember thinking there was nothing wrong with “kids today” because I, as it turned out, was one of them and I seemed fine. I was, after all, almost 14.
As I’ve grown up (read: aged) I’ve noticed that the “kids today” comment is coming out of my mouth at an alarming rate. And I often find I extend that “kids today” comment towards other who are not from around here (read: other nationalities).
I was at McDonald’s about 2 months ago (side bar: I went through a week of needing fries – salt – after walking). It was 11:30 am. Behind me stood three teen – brats – who looked like they hadn’t been introduced to a hair brush, or a washing machine.
TeenyBopper #1 – looked to be about 16 says, “So they like, um, end their like breakfast at like 11am. How lame is that?”
I’m not making this up.
TeenyBopper #2 – looking like she needed a Q-tip to remove the mascara under her eyes says, “Like, I know. Who gets up that early anyhow?”
It was 11:30AM. And as quickly as I looked at the clock and saw it was 11:30am, a thought skirted through my mind, “Kids today, sheesh!” And just like that I’m old.
On to a new rant and off of my old rant – get it? Old…
Let me state for the record, I am all for the American dream. If you can come to the US and make money and have a better life, by all means. Come on in. Get a job. Pay your taxes. But please, I beg you, learn to speak the language. I’ve lived in foreign lands and while I wasn’t a permanent resident not did I actually have a job there, I did my best to learn bits and pieces of the language. And I do recognize that English is not the only language in the world. But in Belleuve, Washington it is the language on the street – well it used to be.
And now is when you get to see the not so flattering un-PC side of me that rears its ugly head every now and again when the stars are aligned just right.
Pet Peeve #690,876
If you are working in a service industry – let’s say fast food, and facing the public, hypothetically, please, I implore you, learn English. Having to speak Spanish at a Subway (or Japanese for that matter) isn’t my favorite things to do.
Now, the rest of the story …
Yesterday I decided to go to Subway for lunch. A decision that is not taken lightly by the way. There are several other boring options in the neighborhood, so Subway was fortunate that they were chosen. Their most recent marketing campaign is $5 footlongs. So, I offered PMDude the other half of a foot long – should I go to Subway. He hopped all over that and I was off.
At subway, the worker bee – we’ll call him Paco (see Pet Peeve listed above) asked in broken English – I think – what I wanted? He could have asked me to marry him for all I know. So I said I wanted a foot long Tuna – and confirmed that it was on the $5 list. I had to confirm because not ALL their subs are on that list you see. Paco said, “Jezzz” (please use heavy Hispanic accent) and I progressed with my order. I asked him if he could cut it in half. His puzzled look indicated that 1) either he didn’t understand or 2) that was not part of the process as he had memorized it. He said he couldn’t because it would then be two 6” subs.
Stick with me here.
I agreed with him that yes, they would indeed be two 6” subs, but they were – “cut from the same bread”. Paco said again, that no they would be two 6” subs and thus I’d have to pay for 2 6” subs (which by the way a 6” sub is roughly $4 and some change). So I asked, “Will you be cutting it in half eventually?” Paco’s response, “well? Jezzzz.” So I said, well then if he was going to eventually cut it in half, why did it matter if he was doing it here or there? His answer was simple response really – because apparently I might put different vegetables on the two halves. By this time there was a line queuing up behind me so Paco announced that he’d do it for me this time. I felt surprisingly victorious. It’s the small battles that do count after all.
Down the line my footlong cut into two 6” pieces went.
“ChIIse?”, says Jose (Paco’s cah-ssin – with a strong Hispanic accent)
“Yes, please American,” I respond. Neither of them noted my “American” accent, but whatever.
I loaded up PMDude’s with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and mayo. Mine – just plain please. No veggies.
Shifting continents now, the Wrapper is Japanese. She and Mr. Manager appear to be “cah-ssins”.
The Wrapper says, “Two tuna 6” subs.” At which point, I go through the SAME conversation with Mr. Manager that I had with Paco. My point is simple, it’s 12”. Does it matter WHERE it’s cut? Mr. Manager said, as Paco had, that I could put different vegetables on each and thus they’d be different.
So, I naturally responded with my witty sarcastic rebuttal, “Well, then by those standards, the sub that has no vegetables on then, should be less?”
He yammered something about making me happy and how ridickerous (spelled wrong on purpose – please no emails) I was being and that this time he’d do it, but to next time I’d have to have it cut in the end of the process.
I get back to work – laughing my ass off because you can’t make this stuff up – and explain to PMDude that our lunch $$ almost had to go for bail money had I kept pressing the issue.
Common sense told me that regardless of where you cut the 12” sub, it was going to be 6” each (let’s not quibble about whether you actually cut it in half or not because it totally could be 5” and 7” – I’m just sayin’). Paco had a process. He was being guided by such process. And as a PM I respect process, and appreciate it - half the time. That being said process should also allow for flexibility. And in some cases you have to have common sense to even recognize when you need to be flexible – and I don’t mean in a bendy – touch – you – toes sort of way. I’m not sure what bothered me more, the fact that I had to whip out my Spanish almost to order at Subway, or that their $5 foot long only applied if you kept it a foot long for the duration of the order until they “deemed” it time to cut it? Imagine the horror and confusion I would have caused had I asked them to *gasp* not cut it.
As I’ve grown up (read: aged) I’ve noticed that the “kids today” comment is coming out of my mouth at an alarming rate. And I often find I extend that “kids today” comment towards other who are not from around here (read: other nationalities).
I was at McDonald’s about 2 months ago (side bar: I went through a week of needing fries – salt – after walking). It was 11:30 am. Behind me stood three teen – brats – who looked like they hadn’t been introduced to a hair brush, or a washing machine.
TeenyBopper #1 – looked to be about 16 says, “So they like, um, end their like breakfast at like 11am. How lame is that?”
I’m not making this up.
TeenyBopper #2 – looking like she needed a Q-tip to remove the mascara under her eyes says, “Like, I know. Who gets up that early anyhow?”
It was 11:30AM. And as quickly as I looked at the clock and saw it was 11:30am, a thought skirted through my mind, “Kids today, sheesh!” And just like that I’m old.
On to a new rant and off of my old rant – get it? Old…
Let me state for the record, I am all for the American dream. If you can come to the US and make money and have a better life, by all means. Come on in. Get a job. Pay your taxes. But please, I beg you, learn to speak the language. I’ve lived in foreign lands and while I wasn’t a permanent resident not did I actually have a job there, I did my best to learn bits and pieces of the language. And I do recognize that English is not the only language in the world. But in Belleuve, Washington it is the language on the street – well it used to be.
And now is when you get to see the not so flattering un-PC side of me that rears its ugly head every now and again when the stars are aligned just right.
Pet Peeve #690,876
If you are working in a service industry – let’s say fast food, and facing the public, hypothetically, please, I implore you, learn English. Having to speak Spanish at a Subway (or Japanese for that matter) isn’t my favorite things to do.
Now, the rest of the story …
Yesterday I decided to go to Subway for lunch. A decision that is not taken lightly by the way. There are several other boring options in the neighborhood, so Subway was fortunate that they were chosen. Their most recent marketing campaign is $5 footlongs. So, I offered PMDude the other half of a foot long – should I go to Subway. He hopped all over that and I was off.
At subway, the worker bee – we’ll call him Paco (see Pet Peeve listed above) asked in broken English – I think – what I wanted? He could have asked me to marry him for all I know. So I said I wanted a foot long Tuna – and confirmed that it was on the $5 list. I had to confirm because not ALL their subs are on that list you see. Paco said, “Jezzz” (please use heavy Hispanic accent) and I progressed with my order. I asked him if he could cut it in half. His puzzled look indicated that 1) either he didn’t understand or 2) that was not part of the process as he had memorized it. He said he couldn’t because it would then be two 6” subs.
Stick with me here.
I agreed with him that yes, they would indeed be two 6” subs, but they were – “cut from the same bread”. Paco said again, that no they would be two 6” subs and thus I’d have to pay for 2 6” subs (which by the way a 6” sub is roughly $4 and some change). So I asked, “Will you be cutting it in half eventually?” Paco’s response, “well? Jezzzz.” So I said, well then if he was going to eventually cut it in half, why did it matter if he was doing it here or there? His answer was simple response really – because apparently I might put different vegetables on the two halves. By this time there was a line queuing up behind me so Paco announced that he’d do it for me this time. I felt surprisingly victorious. It’s the small battles that do count after all.
Down the line my footlong cut into two 6” pieces went.
“ChIIse?”, says Jose (Paco’s cah-ssin – with a strong Hispanic accent)
“Yes, please American,” I respond. Neither of them noted my “American” accent, but whatever.
I loaded up PMDude’s with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and mayo. Mine – just plain please. No veggies.
Shifting continents now, the Wrapper is Japanese. She and Mr. Manager appear to be “cah-ssins”.
The Wrapper says, “Two tuna 6” subs.” At which point, I go through the SAME conversation with Mr. Manager that I had with Paco. My point is simple, it’s 12”. Does it matter WHERE it’s cut? Mr. Manager said, as Paco had, that I could put different vegetables on each and thus they’d be different.
So, I naturally responded with my witty sarcastic rebuttal, “Well, then by those standards, the sub that has no vegetables on then, should be less?”
He yammered something about making me happy and how ridickerous (spelled wrong on purpose – please no emails) I was being and that this time he’d do it, but to next time I’d have to have it cut in the end of the process.
I get back to work – laughing my ass off because you can’t make this stuff up – and explain to PMDude that our lunch $$ almost had to go for bail money had I kept pressing the issue.
Common sense told me that regardless of where you cut the 12” sub, it was going to be 6” each (let’s not quibble about whether you actually cut it in half or not because it totally could be 5” and 7” – I’m just sayin’). Paco had a process. He was being guided by such process. And as a PM I respect process, and appreciate it - half the time. That being said process should also allow for flexibility. And in some cases you have to have common sense to even recognize when you need to be flexible – and I don’t mean in a bendy – touch – you – toes sort of way. I’m not sure what bothered me more, the fact that I had to whip out my Spanish almost to order at Subway, or that their $5 foot long only applied if you kept it a foot long for the duration of the order until they “deemed” it time to cut it? Imagine the horror and confusion I would have caused had I asked them to *gasp* not cut it.