I think this is the first time I've gone all out and dressed up for Halloween since I was in elementary school.
A few observations:
The cheap wig? Itchy. Extremely itchy. I'm glad that Liz got me the curved hairpins, even though I was cussing her for it at 4:45 this morning. They're hard to work with, see, especially if you have very short fingernails. But judging by how my head feels right now, I'm glad they're curved. I imagine my head would be feeling much worse if I had straight hairpins. The pantyhose on top of the hairpinned hair is uncomfortable. And the combination of the cheap wig, the pantyhose, and the hairpinned hair makes for a real unpleasant itch.
The greasepaint? Well, greasy, as I should have figured, and I get an itch every now and then. The cool thing is that when I scratch it, I just blend a little and it covers everything back up. I've got these cool violet splotches on the sides of my face that look really disgusting. Whenever anyone looks at me and says how cute I am, I laugh and say that Joe refused to kiss me this morning because I looked too dang ugly.
The dress? Pretty, but really hard to go to the bathroom in. I have to hitch up the skirt, tuck in the dangling ribbons of the corset, hitch up the sleeves, etc., and wiping is a real challenge. It's doable, but challenging.
I really like my black fingernail polish. It looks cool. I'm going to keep wearing it, and not just at Halloween.
I had thought of perhaps staying dressed up while I pass candy out to the kiddos tonight. Ha! And again I say, Ha! No, I shall be leaving the office at 4:00. As one of my co-workers says, I'll head out of here so fast you'd think my butt's on fire. And I'll drive home as fast I can possibly drive, given the traffic situation. And as soon as the door is decently shut behind me, I will be stripping off this costume, ripping off the wig, madly pulling hairpins out of my hair on the way to the bathroom, and hopping into the shower to wash the greasepaint off of my face and to rid my hair of the stench that my sister has promised me I will find once I remove the wig, the pantyhose, and the hairpins.
And then I will put on a sloppy pair of stained blue jeans that are two sizes smaller than I was wearing three months ago, and my big Grumpy sweatshirt, put on a scary movie (until Veronica Mars comes on at 8:00 Central), and pass out candy to the kiddos. And eat some, too, because that's what Halloween is all about, right?
Boo!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
In defense of my silliness...
"Mix a little foolishness with your prudence: It's good to be silly at the right moment." --Horace
Splish! Splash!
Do you know why babies splash in the bathtub? Because it's fun!!!
Do you know why I know that? Because I did it yesterday!!!
Every now and then I get really, really, really silly. Yesterday afternoon I was taking a long relaxing soak in the tub, and for some reason thought about how babies like to slap the water with their hands. And so I did it. And it was fun. So I just sat there and slapped the water with my hands and splashed. And it was really, really fun. And then I sang the rubber duckie song and wished I had a rubber duckie to play with.
Man, if I could just be a kid again, for a little while. Play with toys, play in the bathtub, and no one thinks you're strange.
Do you know why I know that? Because I did it yesterday!!!
Every now and then I get really, really, really silly. Yesterday afternoon I was taking a long relaxing soak in the tub, and for some reason thought about how babies like to slap the water with their hands. And so I did it. And it was fun. So I just sat there and slapped the water with my hands and splashed. And it was really, really fun. And then I sang the rubber duckie song and wished I had a rubber duckie to play with.
Man, if I could just be a kid again, for a little while. Play with toys, play in the bathtub, and no one thinks you're strange.
The Blind Date
This is for the S-Project. As always, comments/criticism are welcome. I have no idea, of course, what was really going on in his head. For what was going on in my head, I was living in a city where I knew NO ONE. I was lonely, answered a personals ad. Regretted it. Yes, I was heavy. My teeth are crooked. His teeth were FURRY. I'm sure he was a perfectly nice guy and I was a shallow bitch. But I'm really happy with my husband; we've been married for about a week shy of 15 years; so I'm really glad that I was a shallow bitch when I had my one date with this poor guy here. And I hope that he's happily married and has as many kids as he wanted and has a beautiful wonderful life. (And I didn't mind that he wasn't Kevin Costner. His teeth just really squicked me out. I don't mind crooked or yellow teeth. I mind furry teeth.)
*****
My mother talked me into it. "You've got to meet a nice girl," she said. "You don't get out enough," she said. "A nice boy like you should get married, have children," she said.
So I placed the ad. "SWM, IBM Engineer, ISO SWF, intelligent, fun-loving." I didn't know what else to say. I couldn't exactly ask for a supermodel. I wasn't blind. The mirror told me the facts. I knew that I didn't exactly look like Kevin Costner or whoever the girls were drooling over.
I got a few letters, emphasis on the word "few." And of those few, only one really stood out. All the words were spelled correctly; she obviously had a sense of humor. I decided to call her.
She sounded nice on the phone. She didn't have one of those hideous, grating laughs that I couldn't stand. She admitted that she was a little heavy, but I didn't mind that. We decided to meet at the mall, and go see a movie or something, and play it by ear.
I was so nervous that day. I made mistake after mistake at work, and finally gave up and cut out early. I took a shower, shaved, and in my nervousness spilled half the bottle down my shirt. I had to take another shower, but I still just reeked of the stuff. I was about 10 minutes late because of the extra shower. I stunk. I was so nervous that I was sweating. Way to make a good impression, dork!
She was waiting where she said she would be. I could tell that she was worried I'd stood her up. She looked a little nervous, a little antsy. She looked pretty. She was heavy, like she said, but not grotesque or anything. She had dark brown hair, a pretty smile. Her teeth were crooked. She was wearing a dark red shirt and black pants. When I came up and said her name hesitantly, she looked blankly at me for a moment, and then smiled at me.
We went to see some movie she suggested. I thought it was going to be a chick flick, some dancing movie, but it was actually pretty good. It turned into an adventure movie, these people escaping from the Soviet Union. "White Nights," I think it was called.
After the movie was over, we sat around and talked for a while. I really enjoyed her company. She was funny and smart. I like her, I thought. I was already thinking about some fun things we could do together. I walked her out to her car, but as we got closer to her car, she started getting skittish. She practically ran the last fifteen feet, calling her good-byes hastily behind her.
Weird. I put it behind me and went on home, whistling. Maybe she hadn't noticed the overdose of aftershave.
I waited two or three days, then called to see if she wanted to get together the next Friday night. She was busy, she said regretfully. Okay, then, how about Saturday? Well, she was busy then, too. Okay, um, next weekend, maybe? Well, no, she was busy then, too.
I'm a little slow on the uptake, okay? So I guess it's not entirely her fault. I guess I pushed her into it. How about the week after that? No, she was busy then, too, in fact, she was really sorry, but she was going to be pretty busy for the forseeable future.
I hung up the phone, a little stunned. We'd had such a good time, I thought. Bitch!
*****
My mother talked me into it. "You've got to meet a nice girl," she said. "You don't get out enough," she said. "A nice boy like you should get married, have children," she said.
So I placed the ad. "SWM, IBM Engineer, ISO SWF, intelligent, fun-loving." I didn't know what else to say. I couldn't exactly ask for a supermodel. I wasn't blind. The mirror told me the facts. I knew that I didn't exactly look like Kevin Costner or whoever the girls were drooling over.
I got a few letters, emphasis on the word "few." And of those few, only one really stood out. All the words were spelled correctly; she obviously had a sense of humor. I decided to call her.
She sounded nice on the phone. She didn't have one of those hideous, grating laughs that I couldn't stand. She admitted that she was a little heavy, but I didn't mind that. We decided to meet at the mall, and go see a movie or something, and play it by ear.
I was so nervous that day. I made mistake after mistake at work, and finally gave up and cut out early. I took a shower, shaved, and in my nervousness spilled half the bottle down my shirt. I had to take another shower, but I still just reeked of the stuff. I was about 10 minutes late because of the extra shower. I stunk. I was so nervous that I was sweating. Way to make a good impression, dork!
She was waiting where she said she would be. I could tell that she was worried I'd stood her up. She looked a little nervous, a little antsy. She looked pretty. She was heavy, like she said, but not grotesque or anything. She had dark brown hair, a pretty smile. Her teeth were crooked. She was wearing a dark red shirt and black pants. When I came up and said her name hesitantly, she looked blankly at me for a moment, and then smiled at me.
We went to see some movie she suggested. I thought it was going to be a chick flick, some dancing movie, but it was actually pretty good. It turned into an adventure movie, these people escaping from the Soviet Union. "White Nights," I think it was called.
After the movie was over, we sat around and talked for a while. I really enjoyed her company. She was funny and smart. I like her, I thought. I was already thinking about some fun things we could do together. I walked her out to her car, but as we got closer to her car, she started getting skittish. She practically ran the last fifteen feet, calling her good-byes hastily behind her.
Weird. I put it behind me and went on home, whistling. Maybe she hadn't noticed the overdose of aftershave.
I waited two or three days, then called to see if she wanted to get together the next Friday night. She was busy, she said regretfully. Okay, then, how about Saturday? Well, she was busy then, too. Okay, um, next weekend, maybe? Well, no, she was busy then, too.
I'm a little slow on the uptake, okay? So I guess it's not entirely her fault. I guess I pushed her into it. How about the week after that? No, she was busy then, too, in fact, she was really sorry, but she was going to be pretty busy for the forseeable future.
I hung up the phone, a little stunned. We'd had such a good time, I thought. Bitch!
Friday, October 27, 2006
Happy Anniversary, Baby!
I love ya so much, I'm givin' you barenaked ladies to look at, for one whole evening!
It struck us both as funny. Our 15th wedding anniversary is on 11/8. On 11/12, the Barenaked Ladies will be at Will Rogers in concert, so we just forked out a tidy little sum of money for a pair of tickets. As we were attempting to justify the cost (he said it was part of our Christmas present to each other, but then I hit on the happy justification of our anniversary), we both cracked up at the thought of giving each other barenaked ladies for our anniversary.
Guess you had to be there, huh?
It struck us both as funny. Our 15th wedding anniversary is on 11/8. On 11/12, the Barenaked Ladies will be at Will Rogers in concert, so we just forked out a tidy little sum of money for a pair of tickets. As we were attempting to justify the cost (he said it was part of our Christmas present to each other, but then I hit on the happy justification of our anniversary), we both cracked up at the thought of giving each other barenaked ladies for our anniversary.
Guess you had to be there, huh?
I coined a new word: blupdate. It's so much faster to e-mail your sister and say, "I blupdated," than it is to e-mail your sister and say, "I updated my blog." Well, I guess it's not that much faster, but it works for me. Of course, maybe it's been used by billions of bloggers around the world, and I'm once again totally slow on the uptake. Or else perhaps it's been considered and rejected by billions of bloggers, which makes me not only totally slow on the uptake, but totally lame as well. Yay! I'm lame! Woohoo!
Joe said he loves it when I say Woohoo! So I'll say it again. Woohoo! He's not here to hear it, and I'm not really saying it, but it's fun to type. Woohoo! Woohoo! It's Friday!
It's nearly the end of October, which means I only get to look at the picture of Jason and Medea for a few more days. That makes me sad. Medea, as portrayed in this painting, looks like a surly teenager mixing a magical concoction with an air of self-importance. Jason is sitting watching her, barely able to sit still; his muscles are all tensed; he's ready to spring into action as soon as her charm or spell is prepared. His interest seems to lie not in her, but in what she can do for him. His eyes are fixed not on her face or her figure, but on the goblet in her hands. She knows it, and so she is dragging it out as long as possible, hoping that she can impel his interest to her. I have really enjoyed my Pre-Raphaelite calendar this year! Shall I take a sneak peek ahead to see what I get to look at during November? I shall: It's a far less fascinating portrait of Saint Cecelia being serenaded by two angels. I'd rather look at Jason and Medea for another month. Who is Saint Cecelia anyway? I guess it's Google time again.
I'm not sure why I'm so thrilled about its being Friday. I actually have to work an extra two hours today, to make up for having had two doctor appointments this week (one follow-up with the neurologist--everything's fine, see him again in 3 months--and one quick visit to the regular doctor about the sore throat--it's allergies, I have a prescription for an antibiotic in case it turns into an infection). And I have to work four hours tomorrow as part of making up in advance for being off next Friday. But it's worth it, since I'll be going to the Fantasy Convention in Austin.
I'm really looking forward to the convention. The last time I checked the preliminary programming schedule, the majority of the sessions I want to attend actually are taking place on Friday. If I had to choose to miss either Friday or Saturday, I'd have chosen to miss Saturday. I had planned to skip the banquet. Who wants to pay $50 for a dinner? Not I. And I'm still not familiar enough with the world of fantasy that I don't know anything about the award nominees. But my best friend Clover called and said that she and her sister want to go to the banquet and she doesn't want me to miss it. She asked if I would let her buy my ticket to the banquet. I swallowed my pride and said yes. How incredibly amazing is that of her???? With everything that she's got to deal with, she wants to do that for me! I don't know Clover's sister yet, but I'm sure that with the 3 of us sharing a hotel room, we'll get to know each other pretty doggone quickly. And if she's even .001 as cool as Clover, she'll be pretty great.
Work proceeds apace on the preparation for NaNoWriMo. The-character-formerly-known-as-Verity is no longer named Verity, but she is refusing to tell me her name. I've been poring over lists of Celtic, Middle English, and Anglo-Saxon names, and haven't found just the right name yet. I wish she wouldn't be so doggone stubborn about this, but my characters tend to be stubborn. I guess they take after their creator in that respect. I did find a phrase yesterday that might work, and it's one I can actually see her mother saddling her with, but I'm not quite sure yet. We'll see. Now I'm trying to figure out if my Big Bad is redeemable or not. He hasn't told me yet. He definitely has some noble qualities, and is not doing evil for the sake of doing evil. But I don't know yet whether he can be brought to a marriage of true minds, or whether the impediment will remain. I want to have at least a reasonable idea of how this story will play out before I start writing.
Today at work there's a pumpkin carving/decorating contest. I have fantastic ideas. But when it comes to actual execution, I pretty much suck. I went to the Wall2Wall Mart last night, and got a foam pumpkin (I didn't feel like dealing with the mess of a real pumpkin), some Halloween-themed finger puppets, and some crepe paper streamers. When I got back home, I covered a cookie sheet with foil, and then put some styrofoam on top of the foil and covered it with black crepe paper streamers. I drew a door and some crescent moon-shaped windows on the pumpkin, and wrote "Trick or Treat" over the door. And I taped the pumpkin onto the crepe paper-covered styrofoam. Then I got some sticks from the back yard that still had some dead leaves clinging onto them, and stuck them into the styrofoam, and strung some of that fake spider web stuff across them. And I put toothpicks into the styrofoam and put the finger puppets on top of those, to be kids trick-or-treating. It's really cute, in an extremely lame sort of way. If I had my camera, I'd take a picture. But I don't. So just imagine it. Cute, but lame. I haven't seen any of the competition--my pumpkin was the only one up there when I took it over to the judging table--but we have some really creative people here. I'm not expecting to win a prize. I'm just saying.
The Weight Loss gods must love Liz and me. See, she works in Arlington and I work in Bedford. We like to meet for lunch once or twice a month, but the only places that are right in the middle are a fantastic hamburger place called Al's (really, really great food, but not so good for the diet), a Chinese buffet (I like Chinese, but the buffets around here stink), Wendy's, and a southern cooking place (Southern cooking, good, but not for the diet). But just last week a Subway opened up in the same strip center that Al's is in. So today we're going to meet at Subway for lunch. I'm happy about that. Decent food, not too expensive, and it fits in with the plan. Tomorrow's weigh-in. It's been a difficult week, because I've been feeling cruddy with this sore throat/allergy stuff, and haven't been doing well eating-wise. So I'm expecting either no loss or a slight gain, which is cool. It's a process. I have to keep reminding myself of that. It's a process that will take time, but if I just keep plugging away, I'll get where I want to be!
Joe said he loves it when I say Woohoo! So I'll say it again. Woohoo! He's not here to hear it, and I'm not really saying it, but it's fun to type. Woohoo! Woohoo! It's Friday!
It's nearly the end of October, which means I only get to look at the picture of Jason and Medea for a few more days. That makes me sad. Medea, as portrayed in this painting, looks like a surly teenager mixing a magical concoction with an air of self-importance. Jason is sitting watching her, barely able to sit still; his muscles are all tensed; he's ready to spring into action as soon as her charm or spell is prepared. His interest seems to lie not in her, but in what she can do for him. His eyes are fixed not on her face or her figure, but on the goblet in her hands. She knows it, and so she is dragging it out as long as possible, hoping that she can impel his interest to her. I have really enjoyed my Pre-Raphaelite calendar this year! Shall I take a sneak peek ahead to see what I get to look at during November? I shall: It's a far less fascinating portrait of Saint Cecelia being serenaded by two angels. I'd rather look at Jason and Medea for another month. Who is Saint Cecelia anyway? I guess it's Google time again.
I'm not sure why I'm so thrilled about its being Friday. I actually have to work an extra two hours today, to make up for having had two doctor appointments this week (one follow-up with the neurologist--everything's fine, see him again in 3 months--and one quick visit to the regular doctor about the sore throat--it's allergies, I have a prescription for an antibiotic in case it turns into an infection). And I have to work four hours tomorrow as part of making up in advance for being off next Friday. But it's worth it, since I'll be going to the Fantasy Convention in Austin.
I'm really looking forward to the convention. The last time I checked the preliminary programming schedule, the majority of the sessions I want to attend actually are taking place on Friday. If I had to choose to miss either Friday or Saturday, I'd have chosen to miss Saturday. I had planned to skip the banquet. Who wants to pay $50 for a dinner? Not I. And I'm still not familiar enough with the world of fantasy that I don't know anything about the award nominees. But my best friend Clover called and said that she and her sister want to go to the banquet and she doesn't want me to miss it. She asked if I would let her buy my ticket to the banquet. I swallowed my pride and said yes. How incredibly amazing is that of her???? With everything that she's got to deal with, she wants to do that for me! I don't know Clover's sister yet, but I'm sure that with the 3 of us sharing a hotel room, we'll get to know each other pretty doggone quickly. And if she's even .001 as cool as Clover, she'll be pretty great.
Work proceeds apace on the preparation for NaNoWriMo. The-character-formerly-known-as-Verity is no longer named Verity, but she is refusing to tell me her name. I've been poring over lists of Celtic, Middle English, and Anglo-Saxon names, and haven't found just the right name yet. I wish she wouldn't be so doggone stubborn about this, but my characters tend to be stubborn. I guess they take after their creator in that respect. I did find a phrase yesterday that might work, and it's one I can actually see her mother saddling her with, but I'm not quite sure yet. We'll see. Now I'm trying to figure out if my Big Bad is redeemable or not. He hasn't told me yet. He definitely has some noble qualities, and is not doing evil for the sake of doing evil. But I don't know yet whether he can be brought to a marriage of true minds, or whether the impediment will remain. I want to have at least a reasonable idea of how this story will play out before I start writing.
Today at work there's a pumpkin carving/decorating contest. I have fantastic ideas. But when it comes to actual execution, I pretty much suck. I went to the Wall2Wall Mart last night, and got a foam pumpkin (I didn't feel like dealing with the mess of a real pumpkin), some Halloween-themed finger puppets, and some crepe paper streamers. When I got back home, I covered a cookie sheet with foil, and then put some styrofoam on top of the foil and covered it with black crepe paper streamers. I drew a door and some crescent moon-shaped windows on the pumpkin, and wrote "Trick or Treat" over the door. And I taped the pumpkin onto the crepe paper-covered styrofoam. Then I got some sticks from the back yard that still had some dead leaves clinging onto them, and stuck them into the styrofoam, and strung some of that fake spider web stuff across them. And I put toothpicks into the styrofoam and put the finger puppets on top of those, to be kids trick-or-treating. It's really cute, in an extremely lame sort of way. If I had my camera, I'd take a picture. But I don't. So just imagine it. Cute, but lame. I haven't seen any of the competition--my pumpkin was the only one up there when I took it over to the judging table--but we have some really creative people here. I'm not expecting to win a prize. I'm just saying.
The Weight Loss gods must love Liz and me. See, she works in Arlington and I work in Bedford. We like to meet for lunch once or twice a month, but the only places that are right in the middle are a fantastic hamburger place called Al's (really, really great food, but not so good for the diet), a Chinese buffet (I like Chinese, but the buffets around here stink), Wendy's, and a southern cooking place (Southern cooking, good, but not for the diet). But just last week a Subway opened up in the same strip center that Al's is in. So today we're going to meet at Subway for lunch. I'm happy about that. Decent food, not too expensive, and it fits in with the plan. Tomorrow's weigh-in. It's been a difficult week, because I've been feeling cruddy with this sore throat/allergy stuff, and haven't been doing well eating-wise. So I'm expecting either no loss or a slight gain, which is cool. It's a process. I have to keep reminding myself of that. It's a process that will take time, but if I just keep plugging away, I'll get where I want to be!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Help!
Can someone who is more html-savvy than I help me with this? I changed templates because I really didn't like my old one. I need to know how to change the color of my titles from this diarrhea-yellow color to something a little more attractive. I also need to know how to move my sidebar from the bottom of the page up to the top.
It would also be nice to figure out how to put my avatar and my blinkies on, but it's not strictly necessary.
If some kind reader could come to my rescue, I'd be eternally grateful. That gratitude could come in the form of cookies, Godiva, books, whatever. Um, I hasten to add, within reason. Let me know. Bless you.
It would also be nice to figure out how to put my avatar and my blinkies on, but it's not strictly necessary.
If some kind reader could come to my rescue, I'd be eternally grateful. That gratitude could come in the form of cookies, Godiva, books, whatever. Um, I hasten to add, within reason. Let me know. Bless you.
Music! Music! Music!
I love music. One of the great things about getting rid of the headaches is that I've been able to listen to music again. I have CDs playing all day at work again. I have the radio or a CD playing in my car all the time again. I have truly missed my music.
I also love discovering new songs. Well, new to me, anyway. They're probably not new to anyone else. I'd say, "Hey, I just heard this great new song! "Political Science," by Randy Newman." And they'd say, "That old thing? It's been around forever." And it has. Apparently I'm the only one out there who never heard it before. So I don't get out much, and I'm woefully lame. So sue me. (Actually, don't bother. I'm not worth the time and expense of suing. I'm just saying.)
The point is, what other fantastic songs have I missed out on? My husband thinks I'm like the music queen of the world because he hasn't heard of a lot of the stuff that's in our iTunes library. I hate to tell him how sheltered I truly am, despite the hundreds of CDs we own.
It's thanks to my sister (I love you, Zard!) that I found the Dandy Warhols and Poe. How banal my life would be if I didn't get to listen to such great songs as “Nietzsche,” “Godless,” and “Bohemian Like You” by the Dandies, or “Haunted,” “Hey Pretty,” or “Not a Virgin” by Poe.
Each time I get a new CD from Crazy Mixed-Up, I listen to it obsessively, picking out the songs that I just have to add to my new list of favorites. And I wonder how I managed to miss those songs before. That's how I found "One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces", which has been around since 1997. And I just met it several weeks ago!
Okay. So I’m begging you—list some of your favorite songs. Tell me who performs them, what feelings they evoke in you, why you like them, whatever you think I should know about them. Give me something to seek out. Expand my horizons. Get me out of this sheltered little isolation chamber I seem to be living in, music-wise.
What will you get out of it? Karma, baby. Sweet, sweet, musical karma.
I also love discovering new songs. Well, new to me, anyway. They're probably not new to anyone else. I'd say, "Hey, I just heard this great new song! "Political Science," by Randy Newman." And they'd say, "That old thing? It's been around forever." And it has. Apparently I'm the only one out there who never heard it before. So I don't get out much, and I'm woefully lame. So sue me. (Actually, don't bother. I'm not worth the time and expense of suing. I'm just saying.)
The point is, what other fantastic songs have I missed out on? My husband thinks I'm like the music queen of the world because he hasn't heard of a lot of the stuff that's in our iTunes library. I hate to tell him how sheltered I truly am, despite the hundreds of CDs we own.
It's thanks to my sister (I love you, Zard!) that I found the Dandy Warhols and Poe. How banal my life would be if I didn't get to listen to such great songs as “Nietzsche,” “Godless,” and “Bohemian Like You” by the Dandies, or “Haunted,” “Hey Pretty,” or “Not a Virgin” by Poe.
Each time I get a new CD from Crazy Mixed-Up, I listen to it obsessively, picking out the songs that I just have to add to my new list of favorites. And I wonder how I managed to miss those songs before. That's how I found "One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces", which has been around since 1997. And I just met it several weeks ago!
Okay. So I’m begging you—list some of your favorite songs. Tell me who performs them, what feelings they evoke in you, why you like them, whatever you think I should know about them. Give me something to seek out. Expand my horizons. Get me out of this sheltered little isolation chamber I seem to be living in, music-wise.
What will you get out of it? Karma, baby. Sweet, sweet, musical karma.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Twilight Zone
Okay, I swear I must live in the twilight zone. I looked again before I started the last long post where I tried to rehash a little of the previous lost post, and that stuff wasn't there!
"I'm not crazy!" she screamed, as the men in the little white coats were trying to suppress her.
"Like we've never heard that before," they grunted, strapping her onto the gurney and carrying her away.
"I'm not crazy!" she screamed, as the men in the little white coats were trying to suppress her.
"Like we've never heard that before," they grunted, strapping her onto the gurney and carrying her away.
Lost Posts, Raucous, and Working Hard
I wrote a long post on Friday, wherein I waxed rhapsodic on the word "raucous," talked about my love of punk rock when I'm in a foul mood, waxed rhapsodic on the word "foul," and blathered on about I now forget what else. I hit "publish post." It took me to the screen where it showed the progress as it was republishing my blog. It made zero progress for 15 or 20 minutes until I finally, in supreme disgust, hit the refresh button and promptly lost my post. It really pissed me off, and in revolt I refused to blog again until now.
But I really have a lot to say, so I'm going to try again. But this time I'm going to copy and save the text of my post before I hit the publish button, so that when Blogger loses my post, I will still have a copy of it.
Okay--the words first. I love words. I mean, I seriously love words. Raucous is one of my favorites. You've probably seen it more than once in this blog. It sounds so lovely--raw and cuss come together in a brusque joining of emotion. Raucous! raucous raucous raucous raucous. And foul--when I say I'm in a foul mood, that's saying something. It's light years beyond being in a bad mood. Foul. It just a wonderful word. If the day outside matched one of my foul moods, the sky would be black and it would be pouring rain, but the rain would somehow be unable to pour away the muck and mire that one simply could not avoid stepping in, muck composed of horse droppings and the contents of chamber pots that had been hurled out of second story windows, and ankle-deep thick slimy mud, and icy water. And one's umbrella would blow inside out despite all attempts to keep it from doing so. That's what I mean when I say I'm in a foul mood. See why the phrase "bad mood" just doesn't work there?
Punk rock. When I'm in a foul mood, I like to listen to punk rock. It just all goes together. Gimme my punk rock, and stay out of my way. I wasn't in a foul mood on Friday, but I still wanted to listen to punk rock. It happens sometimes. I had one of my pissed-off mix CDs at work, but my boss had borrowed it so he could listen to "Run Shithead Run." So I didn't get to listen to the Clash on the way home. I made up for it by listening to "One Angry Dwarf and Two Hundred Solemn Faces" by Ben Folds Five. It's not punk rock, but it's angry and funny and I love it.
I'll finish up, very briefly, employee appreciation day. It went well. Mostly. I'm not going to talk anymore about it. Let's just say that I'm glad it doesn't come again until next year, and next year I am going to very strongly push for it to be held inside.
Weight loss. I lost another 1.2 pounds, for a total of 16.2 pounds. I am not losing quickly. You might have figured that out by the fact that I've been doing Weight Watchers since July 1st and I've only lost 16.2 pounds. But hey! I've lost 16.2 pounds! See? It's all in the punctuation.
What's the slowest delayed reaction, double-take you've ever seen? There's a reason I ask. On Saturday afternoon I persuaded Joe to take me out to lunch. That's after weighing in and going to my WW meeting. It's also after I spent two hours stripping wallpaper border. I was hungry and tired. So we went to Logan's Roadhouse and split grilled salmon, salad, and a huge baked sweet potato. Very yummy. When we got back into the car after lunch, Joe asked if we needed to go anywhere else, and I said that I needed a pair of shoes. He said okay, and was going to take me to DSW, but I told him Payless would be fine, because I only needed a cheap pair of shoes. I directed him to the nearest Payless, and he parked, unlocked the car, and was halfway out the door. He stopped, got back in, stared at me, and said, "You need more shoes?" I can think of no other way to punctuate his question to emphasize his complete and utter shock. I lost it. I sat there and laughed as I explained to him that I did indeed need a pair of either black ballet flats or else low-heeled dressy black pumps, since the soles of my ballet flats had come off long ago. And hey, since the shoes are Buy One/Get One Half Off, it only makes sense to buy two pairs instead of just one, right? So after unsuccessfully trying to talk him into 4 pairs (I was lusting after a pair of bright red shoes with obscenely high heels), I ended up with a pair of really cute dressy black pumps with low heels and a pair of black ankle boots.
In Joe's defense, I do have lots of shoes. Nowhere near enough, because there is NO SUCH THING as enough shoes. Or purses. But I do have a lot. Oh, and he's going to let me get a pair of red pumps with obscenely high heels, but he wants me to get them from Newport News instead of Payless.
Liz and I took a long walk on Saturday night, and then walked a little more before going to dinner at Mimi's. We shared, naturally, and had salad, blackened chicken, fruit, and a really tasty pumpkin muffin. We each ate a third of the muffin, and I frantically poured salt all over the remaining third of the muffin to keep myself from picking at it. I was full and didn't need to eat anymore, but it was so good I knew I'd keep eating it. I also had a cup of French onion soup. They make such fantastic French onion soup. The meal was so good that Liz suggested we take one home to Joe, so we did.
Yesterday I spent vast amounts of time decluttering. I filled two big black trashbags full of stuff for Goodwill; a regular kitchen-sized trashbag full of clothes for Sarah, and started another one that will be full by the time I finish the laundry; got some more trash out; and in general worked until I couldn't work anymore. Joe was pretty cooperative with my giving so much stuff to Goodwill or dumping it, and didn't make me haul anything back out of the Goodwill pile, as he has previously been known to do.
So I think that's all I feel the need to blather about today. Thank you for reading this far, if you did so. You may now return to your regularly scheduled lives.
But I really have a lot to say, so I'm going to try again. But this time I'm going to copy and save the text of my post before I hit the publish button, so that when Blogger loses my post, I will still have a copy of it.
Okay--the words first. I love words. I mean, I seriously love words. Raucous is one of my favorites. You've probably seen it more than once in this blog. It sounds so lovely--raw and cuss come together in a brusque joining of emotion. Raucous! raucous raucous raucous raucous. And foul--when I say I'm in a foul mood, that's saying something. It's light years beyond being in a bad mood. Foul. It just a wonderful word. If the day outside matched one of my foul moods, the sky would be black and it would be pouring rain, but the rain would somehow be unable to pour away the muck and mire that one simply could not avoid stepping in, muck composed of horse droppings and the contents of chamber pots that had been hurled out of second story windows, and ankle-deep thick slimy mud, and icy water. And one's umbrella would blow inside out despite all attempts to keep it from doing so. That's what I mean when I say I'm in a foul mood. See why the phrase "bad mood" just doesn't work there?
Punk rock. When I'm in a foul mood, I like to listen to punk rock. It just all goes together. Gimme my punk rock, and stay out of my way. I wasn't in a foul mood on Friday, but I still wanted to listen to punk rock. It happens sometimes. I had one of my pissed-off mix CDs at work, but my boss had borrowed it so he could listen to "Run Shithead Run." So I didn't get to listen to the Clash on the way home. I made up for it by listening to "One Angry Dwarf and Two Hundred Solemn Faces" by Ben Folds Five. It's not punk rock, but it's angry and funny and I love it.
I'll finish up, very briefly, employee appreciation day. It went well. Mostly. I'm not going to talk anymore about it. Let's just say that I'm glad it doesn't come again until next year, and next year I am going to very strongly push for it to be held inside.
Weight loss. I lost another 1.2 pounds, for a total of 16.2 pounds. I am not losing quickly. You might have figured that out by the fact that I've been doing Weight Watchers since July 1st and I've only lost 16.2 pounds. But hey! I've lost 16.2 pounds! See? It's all in the punctuation.
What's the slowest delayed reaction, double-take you've ever seen? There's a reason I ask. On Saturday afternoon I persuaded Joe to take me out to lunch. That's after weighing in and going to my WW meeting. It's also after I spent two hours stripping wallpaper border. I was hungry and tired. So we went to Logan's Roadhouse and split grilled salmon, salad, and a huge baked sweet potato. Very yummy. When we got back into the car after lunch, Joe asked if we needed to go anywhere else, and I said that I needed a pair of shoes. He said okay, and was going to take me to DSW, but I told him Payless would be fine, because I only needed a cheap pair of shoes. I directed him to the nearest Payless, and he parked, unlocked the car, and was halfway out the door. He stopped, got back in, stared at me, and said, "You need more shoes?" I can think of no other way to punctuate his question to emphasize his complete and utter shock. I lost it. I sat there and laughed as I explained to him that I did indeed need a pair of either black ballet flats or else low-heeled dressy black pumps, since the soles of my ballet flats had come off long ago. And hey, since the shoes are Buy One/Get One Half Off, it only makes sense to buy two pairs instead of just one, right? So after unsuccessfully trying to talk him into 4 pairs (I was lusting after a pair of bright red shoes with obscenely high heels), I ended up with a pair of really cute dressy black pumps with low heels and a pair of black ankle boots.
In Joe's defense, I do have lots of shoes. Nowhere near enough, because there is NO SUCH THING as enough shoes. Or purses. But I do have a lot. Oh, and he's going to let me get a pair of red pumps with obscenely high heels, but he wants me to get them from Newport News instead of Payless.
Liz and I took a long walk on Saturday night, and then walked a little more before going to dinner at Mimi's. We shared, naturally, and had salad, blackened chicken, fruit, and a really tasty pumpkin muffin. We each ate a third of the muffin, and I frantically poured salt all over the remaining third of the muffin to keep myself from picking at it. I was full and didn't need to eat anymore, but it was so good I knew I'd keep eating it. I also had a cup of French onion soup. They make such fantastic French onion soup. The meal was so good that Liz suggested we take one home to Joe, so we did.
Yesterday I spent vast amounts of time decluttering. I filled two big black trashbags full of stuff for Goodwill; a regular kitchen-sized trashbag full of clothes for Sarah, and started another one that will be full by the time I finish the laundry; got some more trash out; and in general worked until I couldn't work anymore. Joe was pretty cooperative with my giving so much stuff to Goodwill or dumping it, and didn't make me haul anything back out of the Goodwill pile, as he has previously been known to do.
So I think that's all I feel the need to blather about today. Thank you for reading this far, if you did so. You may now return to your regularly scheduled lives.
Friday, October 20, 2006
The stream that runs with rapid flow from rocks to roses
Raucous. Raucous raucous raucous raucous raucous. I was reading a few old posts today, and that word came up a few times. I seem to like it a lot. raucous. It describes a lot of the music I listen to when I'm in a foul mood. Foul is another word I like a lot. It's worse than being in a bad mood. When I'm in a foul mood I want The Clash. London's Burning. Don't look at me don't talk to me don't even attempt to intrude upon my personal space go away and for the love of mike don't say faith! You gotta have it! whaddaya gotta have, faith? ya gotta have it! I love bill, he's a sweetie, but there are some days that if he says that to me one more time I'm going to tell him exactly what he's gotta have!
raucous
It's a very satisfying word. It starts with a nice rrrrroowrrrr and then moves into an aww and then finishes with a nice hearty cuss.
raucous
No, I'm not in a foul mood today. I need to go pee again, for the billionth time this week. Only the thousandth time today. That's what happens when you drink a million gallons of water in a week. You pee, pee, pee, pee, pee. What's really scary is when you fall into a nightly pee schedule. You wake up to pee at 11:30 (if you happen to be already asleep at 11:30, which I sometimes am) and 3:30. Only last night I missed my 11:30 pee, and woke up at 1:48. And then I missed my 3:30 pee, so I was dying when I woke up at 5:45. And I've been so tired ever since employee appreciation day ended that when I finished the 5:45 pee, I very foolishly lay back down on my bed. Of course I fell asleep again. I'm not quite sure what woke me up, but I ended sleeping until 6:15. Fortunately, the out-of-state VP is back in his home state, or at least out of my state, so I don't have to be at work at 6:30 in order to have his morning reports printed by 7:30. I get to be at work at 7. I made it on time.
The big event I was working on went very well. Mostly. Almost. Kindof. There were two accidents. One was just a total freak accident. Someone went to the emergency room. Yeah. The other accident happened because someone broke the rules. I feel really horrible about both accidents, even though I had nothing to do with either of them, but having someone get hurt when you were planning a day for people to have fun is really depressing. I don't like people getting hurt. Anyway, I don't wanna talk about it anymore. So I won't.
I have done PERFECTLY on my WW plan this week. I wrote down everything I ate. Followed the healthy guidelines. Sucked down the water, ate whole grains, plenty o' fruit and vegetables, lean proteins, two teaspoons of "good" oils per day, two servings of dairy per day, got in my vitamins, got plenty of exercise. I haven't eaten anything I shouldn't have eaten. I've hardly used any of my weekly points allowance. My scale at home budged beautifully. I finally broke the plateau, got over the same 2-3 pounds I've been playing with for the last month or so. Tomorrow morning I get to weigh in at Weight Watchers. Let's see if their scale cooperates as nicely as my scale at home has. I know the numbers won't be the same; my scale seems to be a few pounds lower, plus I don't get to weigh naked at Weight Watchers, which has to count for a few ounces at least.
When I think that 5 years ago I had lost 70 pounds, to get HALFWAY to my goal, and here I am trying once more to lose the same damned 70 pounds, to get HALFWAY to that same damned goal, I get so ticked off at myself. What happened? Why did I do it? Why didn't I just stop? Why did I let myself get so fat again? I had gotten down to 205 pounds, and now here I am delighted because my scale at home is finally registering down below 260 pounds. It's absolutely disgusting! I HATE being fat. I hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it. I'm not a fat person. I'm just not. I get surprised every time I look in the mirror and see all this fat blubber, because I'm not fat. The intrinsic person, my essence, the me-ness, the whatever that makes me me, isn't fat. So how is it that I'm fat?
I can say that when I lost the 70 pounds before I never changed my eating habits. I ate less of the same crap, but I ate the same crap. I didn't change the way I thought, I didn't change my focus. That probably has a lot to do with it. I think I also thought of it as something temporary, that I would have to do until I got "skinny," and then I could do whatever I wanted. Which of course would mean that I would get fat again. Now I'm determined that I will go to WW forever. And I refuse to be depressed by the thought. I'd rather go to WW forever and stay healthy and slim than stay away from WW and be a fat depressed old biddy. I'd rather go to WW wearing cute sexy clothes from Newport News than stay away from it and wear ugly clothes from Roamans or Lane Bryant catalog (not that I would wear them anyway, because they're fugly beyond belief).
Moving on to something else, if you're getting tired of water and want a little flavor, Target has these flavored spring waters by Archer Farms. I recommend the apple spring water. Very tasty. Calorie free, of course, or I wouldn't be recommending them. I also like my vitamin waters. They're 3 points a bottle, so I only have one a day, but they're worth it to me. It helps me with the vitamin intake, and they're good, and I like 'em a lot!
Raucous! London's Burning! I've got to go get my pissed-off mix CD back from my boss. I loaned it to him on Wednesday so he could listen to "Run, Shithead, Run." But I need it back, because "London's Burning" is on it, and I need to listen to it. I'm not pissed off today, but I need to listen to it.
raucous
It's a very satisfying word. It starts with a nice rrrrroowrrrr and then moves into an aww and then finishes with a nice hearty cuss.
raucous
No, I'm not in a foul mood today. I need to go pee again, for the billionth time this week. Only the thousandth time today. That's what happens when you drink a million gallons of water in a week. You pee, pee, pee, pee, pee. What's really scary is when you fall into a nightly pee schedule. You wake up to pee at 11:30 (if you happen to be already asleep at 11:30, which I sometimes am) and 3:30. Only last night I missed my 11:30 pee, and woke up at 1:48. And then I missed my 3:30 pee, so I was dying when I woke up at 5:45. And I've been so tired ever since employee appreciation day ended that when I finished the 5:45 pee, I very foolishly lay back down on my bed. Of course I fell asleep again. I'm not quite sure what woke me up, but I ended sleeping until 6:15. Fortunately, the out-of-state VP is back in his home state, or at least out of my state, so I don't have to be at work at 6:30 in order to have his morning reports printed by 7:30. I get to be at work at 7. I made it on time.
The big event I was working on went very well. Mostly. Almost. Kindof. There were two accidents. One was just a total freak accident. Someone went to the emergency room. Yeah. The other accident happened because someone broke the rules. I feel really horrible about both accidents, even though I had nothing to do with either of them, but having someone get hurt when you were planning a day for people to have fun is really depressing. I don't like people getting hurt. Anyway, I don't wanna talk about it anymore. So I won't.
I have done PERFECTLY on my WW plan this week. I wrote down everything I ate. Followed the healthy guidelines. Sucked down the water, ate whole grains, plenty o' fruit and vegetables, lean proteins, two teaspoons of "good" oils per day, two servings of dairy per day, got in my vitamins, got plenty of exercise. I haven't eaten anything I shouldn't have eaten. I've hardly used any of my weekly points allowance. My scale at home budged beautifully. I finally broke the plateau, got over the same 2-3 pounds I've been playing with for the last month or so. Tomorrow morning I get to weigh in at Weight Watchers. Let's see if their scale cooperates as nicely as my scale at home has. I know the numbers won't be the same; my scale seems to be a few pounds lower, plus I don't get to weigh naked at Weight Watchers, which has to count for a few ounces at least.
When I think that 5 years ago I had lost 70 pounds, to get HALFWAY to my goal, and here I am trying once more to lose the same damned 70 pounds, to get HALFWAY to that same damned goal, I get so ticked off at myself. What happened? Why did I do it? Why didn't I just stop? Why did I let myself get so fat again? I had gotten down to 205 pounds, and now here I am delighted because my scale at home is finally registering down below 260 pounds. It's absolutely disgusting! I HATE being fat. I hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it. I'm not a fat person. I'm just not. I get surprised every time I look in the mirror and see all this fat blubber, because I'm not fat. The intrinsic person, my essence, the me-ness, the whatever that makes me me, isn't fat. So how is it that I'm fat?
I can say that when I lost the 70 pounds before I never changed my eating habits. I ate less of the same crap, but I ate the same crap. I didn't change the way I thought, I didn't change my focus. That probably has a lot to do with it. I think I also thought of it as something temporary, that I would have to do until I got "skinny," and then I could do whatever I wanted. Which of course would mean that I would get fat again. Now I'm determined that I will go to WW forever. And I refuse to be depressed by the thought. I'd rather go to WW forever and stay healthy and slim than stay away from WW and be a fat depressed old biddy. I'd rather go to WW wearing cute sexy clothes from Newport News than stay away from it and wear ugly clothes from Roamans or Lane Bryant catalog (not that I would wear them anyway, because they're fugly beyond belief).
Moving on to something else, if you're getting tired of water and want a little flavor, Target has these flavored spring waters by Archer Farms. I recommend the apple spring water. Very tasty. Calorie free, of course, or I wouldn't be recommending them. I also like my vitamin waters. They're 3 points a bottle, so I only have one a day, but they're worth it to me. It helps me with the vitamin intake, and they're good, and I like 'em a lot!
Raucous! London's Burning! I've got to go get my pissed-off mix CD back from my boss. I loaned it to him on Wednesday so he could listen to "Run, Shithead, Run." But I need it back, because "London's Burning" is on it, and I need to listen to it. I'm not pissed off today, but I need to listen to it.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
The Primal Scream
Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!
Sorry. I just needed to get that out. I will be really glad when today is done. I haven't been able to get my regular work done, because I've been frantically running around getting things done for the employee appreciation day.
Pushing people to buy tickets to throw pies at management. They don't want to do it. No one carries cash or checkbooks. C'mon people! It's for the American Cancer Society! You can spare $1. Go check your car seat cushions, under your floor mats, the backs of your desk drawers. I know you've got enough change to make a buck. No, I'm not nagging people that mercilessly. But I take this to heart, because I have a very dear friend who's suffering from brain cancer. After 10 months, the tumor has once again reared its ugly self. So now she's on a more aggressive form of chemotherapy, and everyone who loves her is praying for more miracles.
Now I've got to go outside and blow up balloons and tape up streamers. I'll get hot and sweaty. And thanks to the genetic betrayal that is my legacy, I get really red in the face when I get hot and sweaty. No, you don't get it. I get so red in the face that people think I'm sick or dying. They gently invite me to sit down and offer me glasses of ice water. That red. I'm not sick or dying, and maybe not even that hot. I just get red in the face.
And I've already been through three bottles of water, which means numerous trips to the bathroom. Which means more sweat. And my face gets even redder. If that were even possible, which it must be, because it happens.
Gripe, gripe, gripe. Why don't y'all just tell me to get a grip and shut the eff up?
:)
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Still Tired . . .
You know, I had those damned headaches for so long, and was coming home from work every day and crashing for so long that I wasn't getting anything done at home. Now I've got this nice medicine that made the headaches go away. And I'm glad. Really and truly glad.
Now I'm having to face the reality that piled up in the months of coming home from work and crashing because I hurt too much to do anything. It's imposing.
I'll be the first to admit that I'm a slobby packrat. But the condition of my house has sunk to new depths, even for me. I worked for a few hours tonight, only to wreak more havoc in the process of trying to clear some things out. And then Joe came home.
Joe, bless his heart, is even packrattier than I am. He also has memory issues. A few weeks ago I packed up some clothes that are too big for me and gave them to a friend, with his full knowledge and consent. I haven't gotten of all my fat clothes, just some of them. Others I've packed up and have them ready to go into our storage unit. Anyway, today he came home while I was packing some up to take to my friend, and he just about had a cow. I get tired of having the same discussions over and over. And he gets so upset when I say that we've talked about stuff before, and it gets stressful.
And now he's lying on the bed watching Jimmy Neutron. I love having him around, but when I'm trying to declutter a small room, I don't want him lying on the bed watching Jimmy Neutron. I want him in the living room watching Jimmy Neutron, or in the living room playing guitar, or outside playing with Molly, or in the shower, or at Guitar Center, or in the kitchen washing the dishes, or pretty much anywhere that's not here. But I feel guilty, so I'm not going to kick him out of here for another 15 minutes. But then it will be 9:00, and I have to be at work at 6:30 tomorrow morning to try to get a little bit of essential work done before I spend the day running around like a crazy woman getting things done for employee appreciation day.
I'm glad I'm feeling better. I'm glad that I've finally got the energy to start getting my house cleared out and cleaned up. I'm glad that I've got the energy to help my sister get moved. I'm glad that my husband loves me and wants to be with me. I'm glad that I'm losing weight, and have some clothes to pass on to my friend. I'm glad that my friend's losing weight and needs some smaller clothes.
So why am I so cranky right now? I feel ashamed for being cranky, because life is pretty good.
Now I'm having to face the reality that piled up in the months of coming home from work and crashing because I hurt too much to do anything. It's imposing.
I'll be the first to admit that I'm a slobby packrat. But the condition of my house has sunk to new depths, even for me. I worked for a few hours tonight, only to wreak more havoc in the process of trying to clear some things out. And then Joe came home.
Joe, bless his heart, is even packrattier than I am. He also has memory issues. A few weeks ago I packed up some clothes that are too big for me and gave them to a friend, with his full knowledge and consent. I haven't gotten of all my fat clothes, just some of them. Others I've packed up and have them ready to go into our storage unit. Anyway, today he came home while I was packing some up to take to my friend, and he just about had a cow. I get tired of having the same discussions over and over. And he gets so upset when I say that we've talked about stuff before, and it gets stressful.
And now he's lying on the bed watching Jimmy Neutron. I love having him around, but when I'm trying to declutter a small room, I don't want him lying on the bed watching Jimmy Neutron. I want him in the living room watching Jimmy Neutron, or in the living room playing guitar, or outside playing with Molly, or in the shower, or at Guitar Center, or in the kitchen washing the dishes, or pretty much anywhere that's not here. But I feel guilty, so I'm not going to kick him out of here for another 15 minutes. But then it will be 9:00, and I have to be at work at 6:30 tomorrow morning to try to get a little bit of essential work done before I spend the day running around like a crazy woman getting things done for employee appreciation day.
I'm glad I'm feeling better. I'm glad that I've finally got the energy to start getting my house cleared out and cleaned up. I'm glad that I've got the energy to help my sister get moved. I'm glad that my husband loves me and wants to be with me. I'm glad that I'm losing weight, and have some clothes to pass on to my friend. I'm glad that my friend's losing weight and needs some smaller clothes.
So why am I so cranky right now? I feel ashamed for being cranky, because life is pretty good.
I'm tired.
I'm in the process of bullying my sister into moving a few months earlier than she'd been planning to. She needs to, and knows she needs to. But moving is such a horrendous job, and we come from a long line of packrats. I went over to her place last night, ostensibly to write lists, eat dinner together, and watch an episode of Buffy. I actually bullied her into going through her books, bagging up 8 bags of books to go to Half Price Books while I boxed up the remaining contents of the big bookshelf in the living room. I tore apart the bookshelf (that would have collapsed within a few months, being a cheap plastic jobbie from the Wall-2-Wall Mart) and threw it away while she sorted through the basket of mail on top of her end table. I wrote out her assignments to do tonight while she watches Gilmore Girls and Veronica Mars, and promised to go back to her place again on Wednesday night, when we will finish the living room and start on the kitchen. I also promised to go back on Friday night and sleep over, when we will get even more work done. We then took some trash to the dumpster and the 8 bags of books to Half Price Books, where she got more than twice my less-than-optimistic guesstimate for them. And she took me to dinner even though I was a bossy bit-cah.
I've also been working really hard on pulling our employee appreciation event together at work. It takes place tomorrow, and I will be SO GLAD when it's done!!!!!!!!!!! Some of the managers have been whiny babies, and I had to completely rework our fundraiser. But one of the senior managers who's kind of got a reputation for being a whiny baby actually came through and is being a really good sport about things, and has already raised $52 for the American Cancer Society! I'm very happy about that. He's promising to try to sell more tickets, which is very nice of him, because for every ticket he sells, someone gets to throw a pie at his face. Well, "pie" meaning a blob of fake whipped cream on a paper plate, but it's still messy. And the person who raises the most money gets a real chocolate cream pie in the face as well, and I'm pretty sure it will be this guy. So I am truly appreciative that he has come through. And I have to say I have a little less respect for some of the other managers. I had actually volunteered to let people throw pies at me, but as the other managers pointed out, no one would be willing to do so. Apparently I'm too nice. My sister would probably disagree, but she doesn't work here and probably couldn't manage to be here to buy pies to throw at me anyway. But hey--if she wants to, for the American Cancer Society, I'd be happy to let her!
Well, my break's about over, and I really do have gobs of work to do, so I'm going to get back to it. Please send happy thoughts my way. I need to go sit in my car and scream at the top of my lungs, because I'm feeling that stressed, but I don't have time. Maybe while I'm driving home....
I'm in the process of bullying my sister into moving a few months earlier than she'd been planning to. She needs to, and knows she needs to. But moving is such a horrendous job, and we come from a long line of packrats. I went over to her place last night, ostensibly to write lists, eat dinner together, and watch an episode of Buffy. I actually bullied her into going through her books, bagging up 8 bags of books to go to Half Price Books while I boxed up the remaining contents of the big bookshelf in the living room. I tore apart the bookshelf (that would have collapsed within a few months, being a cheap plastic jobbie from the Wall-2-Wall Mart) and threw it away while she sorted through the basket of mail on top of her end table. I wrote out her assignments to do tonight while she watches Gilmore Girls and Veronica Mars, and promised to go back to her place again on Wednesday night, when we will finish the living room and start on the kitchen. I also promised to go back on Friday night and sleep over, when we will get even more work done. We then took some trash to the dumpster and the 8 bags of books to Half Price Books, where she got more than twice my less-than-optimistic guesstimate for them. And she took me to dinner even though I was a bossy bit-cah.
I've also been working really hard on pulling our employee appreciation event together at work. It takes place tomorrow, and I will be SO GLAD when it's done!!!!!!!!!!! Some of the managers have been whiny babies, and I had to completely rework our fundraiser. But one of the senior managers who's kind of got a reputation for being a whiny baby actually came through and is being a really good sport about things, and has already raised $52 for the American Cancer Society! I'm very happy about that. He's promising to try to sell more tickets, which is very nice of him, because for every ticket he sells, someone gets to throw a pie at his face. Well, "pie" meaning a blob of fake whipped cream on a paper plate, but it's still messy. And the person who raises the most money gets a real chocolate cream pie in the face as well, and I'm pretty sure it will be this guy. So I am truly appreciative that he has come through. And I have to say I have a little less respect for some of the other managers. I had actually volunteered to let people throw pies at me, but as the other managers pointed out, no one would be willing to do so. Apparently I'm too nice. My sister would probably disagree, but she doesn't work here and probably couldn't manage to be here to buy pies to throw at me anyway. But hey--if she wants to, for the American Cancer Society, I'd be happy to let her!
Well, my break's about over, and I really do have gobs of work to do, so I'm going to get back to it. Please send happy thoughts my way. I need to go sit in my car and scream at the top of my lungs, because I'm feeling that stressed, but I don't have time. Maybe while I'm driving home....
Monday, October 16, 2006
Rhinestone Psychotic
Doesn't that have a lovely ring to it? Rhinestone psychotic. Maybe that would be a good band name. I don't know. You might be wondering where it came from. Frankly, so am I. I empty my spam folder every few hours. Most of the spam e-mails tell me how I could enlarge my penis, because my girlfriend thinks size honestly does matter. I hate to tell you, but if size matters, my girlfriend (that I didn't even know I had) is in trouble, because last time I checked, I didn't even have a penis! But this spam was entitled "Rhinestone Psychotic." The little bit of text I could see without clicking to open it (and no, I NEVER open spam, no matter how interesting the title looks) read, "Coyote, the christian right and Global Warming." I thought it was amusing that the phrase "christian right" was not capitalized, while the phrase "Global Warming" was. Normally one would see it the other way around.
So what type of story would one make by combining those phrases. Rhinestone psychotic, coyote, the christian right, and global warming? I'm not sure I want to see, although a part of me wants to try. A very tiny part.
Lots of rain this weekend, which has been nice. We've needed it. And it's supposed to be dry tomorrow and Wednesday. I'm very glad, because the employee appreciation day at work is scheduled to take place outside on Wednesday afternoon, and I really didn't want to cope with a rainy day. It would be problematic at best.
Joe and I went to the Handley Street Festival on Saturday morning with Liz, Dad, and Carol. It's this cheesy little street fair we go to every year. I look forward to it, even though it does seem to always rain the day of the festival. My favorite antique store was having a 50%-off sale; unfortunately, none of their hats moved me this time. I've gotten some delicious hats there in times past. The Humane Society was there with a far-too-skinny border collie that Joe and I were playing with. If not for the fact that Molly is too set in her ways for us to bring another dog home, Joe and I might have done just that. The people we spoke with said that border collies have the highest return rate because people don't understand how to meet their needs and how intelligent they are. I was very sorry to hear that, because we've been so delighted with Molly. When it's time for us to get another dog, we'll definitely go to the shelter and get another border collie. In fact, we'll get two. I wish we had gotten two dogs when we got Molly--she wouldn't have been so set in her ways, and it would have been nice for her to have a companion.
Liz unexpectedly got the evening off work on Saturday night, so we did a mall walk, picked up some freebies, and had dinner together. Joe volunteered to reimburse whatever I spent that evening, thinking we might do a movie or something. I bought a pair of trouser socks, a DVD, and paid for dinner. When I gave him the receipts, he said that he meant entertainment-wise, not shopping. I said, "I'm a woman. Shopping IS entertainment." It was only $31, so I say he got off extremely cheaply. He was amused by my wisecrack, and learned to be more specific when he makes offers like that.
Life is good. The headaches have improved to the point where I have them less often than I do, and I'm extremely grateful. I have a follow-up appointment with the neurologist on the 25th. There are some slightly unpleasant side effects with the drug, but they're so much less painful than the headaches that I can totally live with them.
So what type of story would one make by combining those phrases. Rhinestone psychotic, coyote, the christian right, and global warming? I'm not sure I want to see, although a part of me wants to try. A very tiny part.
Lots of rain this weekend, which has been nice. We've needed it. And it's supposed to be dry tomorrow and Wednesday. I'm very glad, because the employee appreciation day at work is scheduled to take place outside on Wednesday afternoon, and I really didn't want to cope with a rainy day. It would be problematic at best.
Joe and I went to the Handley Street Festival on Saturday morning with Liz, Dad, and Carol. It's this cheesy little street fair we go to every year. I look forward to it, even though it does seem to always rain the day of the festival. My favorite antique store was having a 50%-off sale; unfortunately, none of their hats moved me this time. I've gotten some delicious hats there in times past. The Humane Society was there with a far-too-skinny border collie that Joe and I were playing with. If not for the fact that Molly is too set in her ways for us to bring another dog home, Joe and I might have done just that. The people we spoke with said that border collies have the highest return rate because people don't understand how to meet their needs and how intelligent they are. I was very sorry to hear that, because we've been so delighted with Molly. When it's time for us to get another dog, we'll definitely go to the shelter and get another border collie. In fact, we'll get two. I wish we had gotten two dogs when we got Molly--she wouldn't have been so set in her ways, and it would have been nice for her to have a companion.
Liz unexpectedly got the evening off work on Saturday night, so we did a mall walk, picked up some freebies, and had dinner together. Joe volunteered to reimburse whatever I spent that evening, thinking we might do a movie or something. I bought a pair of trouser socks, a DVD, and paid for dinner. When I gave him the receipts, he said that he meant entertainment-wise, not shopping. I said, "I'm a woman. Shopping IS entertainment." It was only $31, so I say he got off extremely cheaply. He was amused by my wisecrack, and learned to be more specific when he makes offers like that.
Life is good. The headaches have improved to the point where I have them less often than I do, and I'm extremely grateful. I have a follow-up appointment with the neurologist on the 25th. There are some slightly unpleasant side effects with the drug, but they're so much less painful than the headaches that I can totally live with them.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
The Phone Call
Here's my latest oeuvre for the S Project.
"C'mon, dude, just pick one already."
"Yeah, dude, he right. You takin' too long."
Raucous laughter echoed throughout the room.
"Hey--maybe he lookin' for a fairy princess."
"Doncha mean a fairy prince?" The speaker exaggeratedly lifted a limp wrist and took tiny mincing steps, encouraged by the guffaws.
They were being ignored by a slight boy, perhaps 13 or 14 years old, who stood intently poring over the graffitoed wall. The reddened tips of his ears were the only indication that perhaps their coarse comments weren't going unheard after all, but his shaggy tawny hair hid his ears, his eyes, and much of his face and hence kept his secret.
Finally bored with the joking, the biggest of the boys took charge. "Look, kid, pick a name now and we outta here."
The boy at the wall shook his head and mumbled.
"What? I can't hear ya."
"I said I can't do it."
"I don't think I heard ya. You was gonna tell me which name you gonna call, right?" The inference was obvious. Pick a name, or you in big trouble.
The boy closed his eyes and pointed.
More strident laughter rang out.
"Good choice kid. C'mon. You don't need to write that one down. It's on the phone booth."
The other boys shoved him out of the bathroom and down the block to a nearby phone booth. They crowded around him as he dug some change out of his jeans pocket and fed it into the hungry mouth of the telephone, eavesdropping with indecent eagerness.
"Hi, Tammy? Yeah, uh, I'm, uh, well, my name's Ted," he lied, stammering. "I got your number from a friend of mine. I hope you don't mind my calling or nothin'."
The other guys stared at each other, bewildered. This definitely was not in the script.
"My friend say you really nice. He say you the prettiest girl he ever seen."
The leader of the group shoved him. "What the fuck you doin'?" he hissed.
The boy ignored him and continued. "Yeah, and my friend say you got the biggest tits on the block, too."
He saw grins growing on the faces of his friends. Taking his courage from their approval, he said, "My friend tol' me you'd screw anything on two legs, and I got a real bad hard-on. I was wonderin' if me and my friends come by would you--"
He grinned broadly and held the phone out so the other boys could hear the shrieks of profanity coming from the other end of the line.
With assumed innocence, he said, "Oh, did I interrupt you in the middle of somethin'? Well, never mind then. Maybe later." He hung up, and swept the hair back from his face.
The biggest boy gave him a beer. "You one of us now, boy. You done all right." The others surrounded him, laughing and jeering, and they strutted off down the street, masters of the universe. They men.
The Phone Call
"C'mon, dude, just pick one already."
"Yeah, dude, he right. You takin' too long."
Raucous laughter echoed throughout the room.
"Hey--maybe he lookin' for a fairy princess."
"Doncha mean a fairy prince?" The speaker exaggeratedly lifted a limp wrist and took tiny mincing steps, encouraged by the guffaws.
They were being ignored by a slight boy, perhaps 13 or 14 years old, who stood intently poring over the graffitoed wall. The reddened tips of his ears were the only indication that perhaps their coarse comments weren't going unheard after all, but his shaggy tawny hair hid his ears, his eyes, and much of his face and hence kept his secret.
Finally bored with the joking, the biggest of the boys took charge. "Look, kid, pick a name now and we outta here."
The boy at the wall shook his head and mumbled.
"What? I can't hear ya."
"I said I can't do it."
"I don't think I heard ya. You was gonna tell me which name you gonna call, right?" The inference was obvious. Pick a name, or you in big trouble.
The boy closed his eyes and pointed.
More strident laughter rang out.
"Good choice kid. C'mon. You don't need to write that one down. It's on the phone booth."
The other boys shoved him out of the bathroom and down the block to a nearby phone booth. They crowded around him as he dug some change out of his jeans pocket and fed it into the hungry mouth of the telephone, eavesdropping with indecent eagerness.
"Hi, Tammy? Yeah, uh, I'm, uh, well, my name's Ted," he lied, stammering. "I got your number from a friend of mine. I hope you don't mind my calling or nothin'."
The other guys stared at each other, bewildered. This definitely was not in the script.
"My friend say you really nice. He say you the prettiest girl he ever seen."
The leader of the group shoved him. "What the fuck you doin'?" he hissed.
The boy ignored him and continued. "Yeah, and my friend say you got the biggest tits on the block, too."
He saw grins growing on the faces of his friends. Taking his courage from their approval, he said, "My friend tol' me you'd screw anything on two legs, and I got a real bad hard-on. I was wonderin' if me and my friends come by would you--"
He grinned broadly and held the phone out so the other boys could hear the shrieks of profanity coming from the other end of the line.
With assumed innocence, he said, "Oh, did I interrupt you in the middle of somethin'? Well, never mind then. Maybe later." He hung up, and swept the hair back from his face.
The biggest boy gave him a beer. "You one of us now, boy. You done all right." The others surrounded him, laughing and jeering, and they strutted off down the street, masters of the universe. They men.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
NaNoWriMo
Thanks to Trista, who pointed me in the right direction, I just signed up for NaNoWriMo. Yes, I'm going to write a novel during the month of November. Any of you insane enough to join me in the attempt, let's be buddies. Seriously. I signed up as chauceriangirl, so I should be easy enough to find.
I don't have time to blog anymore today, as I'm too busy to find a simile to tell you how busy I am.
I don't have time to blog anymore today, as I'm too busy to find a simile to tell you how busy I am.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Ramblings
1. My husband is as vain as a peacock. Yes, I know that's cliched and trite, but he IS! We went out to dinner on Saturday night, and I made him stop at Old Navy for a few minutes. See, I've decided that I'm going to start picking out his clothes. He has a great sense of style for his stage wear, but not so much for daily wear. He doesn't have a bad sense of style, you understand, just not great. So I grabbed a pair of snug-fitting black cargo pants, a black thermal Henley shirt, a black wool blazer, and black wash sneakers with the white toes, and shove them at him with orders to try them on. He did, and dang! The man looked hot! So it took absolutely no persuasion my part for him to decide to buy the outfit. Here's where the vanity part comes in. We hadn't eaten yet, as I made him stop at Old Navy before we went to dinner. So he goes back to the dressing room to change into his new outfit so that he would look chic. At Red Robin. He also wore it yesterday when he went to the grocery store to get me a salad and some vitamin waters (I have been having really bad muscle spasms in my back, and he was pampering me). And I noticed this morning when he stopped by my office for a minute on his way to work that he was wearing the blazer over his work shirt (not a good look, but I wasn't going to argue with him).
2. I joined Trista's Crazy Mixed-Up group. The first mix CD arrived last week, and I am in love with the first song on the mix. Have you ever heard "One Angry Dwarf and Two Hundred Solemn Faces" by Ben Folds Five? It's a great song! It's always a good day for me when I can add a favorite to my songs list. There are actually several on that CD that I really like, but that's got to be numero uno. So yay for Briar! Oh, and while I'm talking about this song, I have the CD in my car stereo. I don't have much headache today, and I had it really cranked when I zipped out at lunch to get a bottle of salad spritzer for my salad. The line "kiss my ass" is repeated several times in the song. Well, as I pulled into a parking space at Tom Thumb, the line rang out just as a little old lady was walking by. She looked at me, gave me the big hairy eyeball, and then looked away from me and determinedly sped up and raced to her car. I'm sorry, ma'am. I really didn't mean to offend you with my raucous music.
3. Back in June I paid my $150 registration fee to go to the World Fantasy Convention in Austin on November 2-5. When I finally got hired at my job, I figured I'd just bag it, since I can't take vacation time for 6 months. But the registration fee isn't refundable, and Joe just about flipped his lid at the thought of my throwing away $150, even though I can't take the time off. I asked my sister if she wanted to go (memberships are transferrable), but she can't afford to. So today I talked with my supervisor. She agreed to let me work extra hours on the preceding Saturday, which is part of that pay period, and through Thursday the 2nd, and will let me be off on Friday the 3rd. So I'll only miss the first day of the convention. I'll just drive down to Austin as soon as I get off work on Thursday, 11/2. Back last November, when I first decided to go, I'd hoped to have my manuscript ready. I won't, oh, all kinds of I won't, but on the positive side, I've done a whole lot of fantasy reading, and have a far better understanding of how to write this manuscript. So when I do go back to the keyboard, it will be a much better manuscript than it would otherwise have been.
4. Taste of Arlington, an annual event that benefits Theatre Arlington and the YMCA of Arlington, takes places this coming Thursday, October 12th. My sister works at Theatre Arlington part-time, and I volunteered to work a shift that evening. I'm looking forward to when she and I get off our shifts, so that we can go see all the exhibits and taste all the yummy foods. I'm going to crash at her place that night. Hmmmm . . . wonder how productive I'll be at work on Friday!
5. I went to Weight Watchers on Saturday morning, but I refused to weigh in. See, I weigh every morning at home, just to keep myself on track. Every morning last week I weighed about the same. But on Saturday morning, the scale was 3 POUNDS HIGHER! I was really ticked off. By this morning it was back to where it had been. I was really dehydrated, and have been drinking a lot of water since then, so maybe that's why the scale was so high. I don't know. Anyway, I don't know how much I really weigh. So I'll report that next Saturday morning. I promise I'll weigh in next Saturday no matter how obnoxious my home scale is. Although if it pulls that stunt again next Saturday morning, I may hurl it out the window before I go to WW.
6. I e-mailed Trista an idea for the next S-Project theme, and she liked it! And she said she wants me to post it. So I will, tomorrow. I lay in bed yesterday (because I couldn't move, because of those nasty back spasms--maybe because of being dehydrated?), and tried to think of a story I could write around that theme. And I realized I have a positive genius for thinking up the most disgustingly schmaltzy schlocky ideas. But hey, at least I realize they're schmaltzy and schlocky. That's got to count for something, right? Needless to say, I'm not going to write any of those. And if you see the theme, and wonder WTF I was going to write about that could possibly be schmaltzy and schlocky, email me. I'll tell you in private. I think I finally came up with a decent idea, if I can only remember it. So when you're reading the theme and cursing and wondering how you're going to come up with a story or a poem about it, don't blame Trista. Blame Canada!
7. If you drink a full glass of water before each meal, during each meal, and after each meal, you'll eat less and feel less hungry. You'll also pee a lot, which means you'll get more exercise. See, not only will you have to go to the bathroom much more often, but some unknown corollary of Murphy's Law will set in, and the urge to go will hit you when you are the furthest possible distance from the bathroom. So you will have to go further, and you will either be walking at a very fast pace or you will be outright running, so you'll get more exercise in. Ask me how I know. On second thought, don't ask. I've got to go. Now.
2. I joined Trista's Crazy Mixed-Up group. The first mix CD arrived last week, and I am in love with the first song on the mix. Have you ever heard "One Angry Dwarf and Two Hundred Solemn Faces" by Ben Folds Five? It's a great song! It's always a good day for me when I can add a favorite to my songs list. There are actually several on that CD that I really like, but that's got to be numero uno. So yay for Briar! Oh, and while I'm talking about this song, I have the CD in my car stereo. I don't have much headache today, and I had it really cranked when I zipped out at lunch to get a bottle of salad spritzer for my salad. The line "kiss my ass" is repeated several times in the song. Well, as I pulled into a parking space at Tom Thumb, the line rang out just as a little old lady was walking by. She looked at me, gave me the big hairy eyeball, and then looked away from me and determinedly sped up and raced to her car. I'm sorry, ma'am. I really didn't mean to offend you with my raucous music.
3. Back in June I paid my $150 registration fee to go to the World Fantasy Convention in Austin on November 2-5. When I finally got hired at my job, I figured I'd just bag it, since I can't take vacation time for 6 months. But the registration fee isn't refundable, and Joe just about flipped his lid at the thought of my throwing away $150, even though I can't take the time off. I asked my sister if she wanted to go (memberships are transferrable), but she can't afford to. So today I talked with my supervisor. She agreed to let me work extra hours on the preceding Saturday, which is part of that pay period, and through Thursday the 2nd, and will let me be off on Friday the 3rd. So I'll only miss the first day of the convention. I'll just drive down to Austin as soon as I get off work on Thursday, 11/2. Back last November, when I first decided to go, I'd hoped to have my manuscript ready. I won't, oh, all kinds of I won't, but on the positive side, I've done a whole lot of fantasy reading, and have a far better understanding of how to write this manuscript. So when I do go back to the keyboard, it will be a much better manuscript than it would otherwise have been.
4. Taste of Arlington, an annual event that benefits Theatre Arlington and the YMCA of Arlington, takes places this coming Thursday, October 12th. My sister works at Theatre Arlington part-time, and I volunteered to work a shift that evening. I'm looking forward to when she and I get off our shifts, so that we can go see all the exhibits and taste all the yummy foods. I'm going to crash at her place that night. Hmmmm . . . wonder how productive I'll be at work on Friday!
5. I went to Weight Watchers on Saturday morning, but I refused to weigh in. See, I weigh every morning at home, just to keep myself on track. Every morning last week I weighed about the same. But on Saturday morning, the scale was 3 POUNDS HIGHER! I was really ticked off. By this morning it was back to where it had been. I was really dehydrated, and have been drinking a lot of water since then, so maybe that's why the scale was so high. I don't know. Anyway, I don't know how much I really weigh. So I'll report that next Saturday morning. I promise I'll weigh in next Saturday no matter how obnoxious my home scale is. Although if it pulls that stunt again next Saturday morning, I may hurl it out the window before I go to WW.
6. I e-mailed Trista an idea for the next S-Project theme, and she liked it! And she said she wants me to post it. So I will, tomorrow. I lay in bed yesterday (because I couldn't move, because of those nasty back spasms--maybe because of being dehydrated?), and tried to think of a story I could write around that theme. And I realized I have a positive genius for thinking up the most disgustingly schmaltzy schlocky ideas. But hey, at least I realize they're schmaltzy and schlocky. That's got to count for something, right? Needless to say, I'm not going to write any of those. And if you see the theme, and wonder WTF I was going to write about that could possibly be schmaltzy and schlocky, email me. I'll tell you in private. I think I finally came up with a decent idea, if I can only remember it. So when you're reading the theme and cursing and wondering how you're going to come up with a story or a poem about it, don't blame Trista. Blame Canada!
7. If you drink a full glass of water before each meal, during each meal, and after each meal, you'll eat less and feel less hungry. You'll also pee a lot, which means you'll get more exercise. See, not only will you have to go to the bathroom much more often, but some unknown corollary of Murphy's Law will set in, and the urge to go will hit you when you are the furthest possible distance from the bathroom. So you will have to go further, and you will either be walking at a very fast pace or you will be outright running, so you'll get more exercise in. Ask me how I know. On second thought, don't ask. I've got to go. Now.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Who Am I? Who-ooh? Who-ooh?
I never wanted to be myself when I was growing up. When we lived in Albany, Georgia, when I was in 1st grade, I wanted to be Dawn, the fearless girl who lived across the street and had older brothers. When we lived in Atlanta, I wanted to be Gloria, the dark-haired, brown-eyed, brown-skinned girl from Belize, or Chaleise, the adventurous black girl who lived down the block, or the girl who lived across the street and looked just like Trixie Belden. I wanted to be Arthur's sister--I can't even remember her name now--Robin? I wanted to be Neal's sister because they had a cool house and a trampoline in the back yard. I wanted to be ANYBODY except who I was.
When I got a little older, I wanted to be Lisa, who was the only girl in a family of boys and whose mother let her paint her bedroom purple. I wanted to be another Lisa, who never hesitated to let you know if she was pissed at you by kicking you in the shins with her painfully hard-toed Mary Janes. I wanted to be Leslie who looked a lot like Amber Benson, although of course I didn't know about Amber Benson until a few years ago.
When I read books, I wanted to be Trixie Belden. I never wanted to be Honey or Diana, beautiful as they were. No, I wanted to be fearless to a fault Trixie Belden. I wanted to be George, Nancy Drew's tomboyish friend. I wanted to be Donna Parker, Lucinda, Hildegarde Dolson, Hildegarde Graham, Rose in Bloom, Adopted Jane, Anne of Green Gables (but I decided I wanted to be Emily of New Moon once I discovered her), Polly from an Old-Fashioned Girl. I wanted to be brave, fearless, strong, true, trustworthy, reliable, honest, brave, good, womanly, brave.
When I got into high school, I wanted to be Ann, the Korean girl who was adopted as an infant. I wanted to be Karen, my friend from Sea Cadets who was on the drill team. I wanted to be Karen, my next-door neighbor who was blonde and cute. The guy I was dating, the guy Karen wouldn't date, wanted me to be Karen too. Can you imagine how destructive a relationship that was?
I wanted to be the third twin to Sheri and Jeri. I wanted to be the third best friend with Jenny and someone whose name I can't even remember anymore. I wanted to be popular. Of course I wasn't. I was a misfit even among misfits.
I spent my whole damn life trying to find somewhere to fit in, a group that I could call home, a place where I would be accepted. I tried to be as bohemian as I could be, which wasn't very. I tried to be a wild rocker chick. Didn't work. I tried to be a Molly Mormon, and probably did that longer than anything else, but finally gave that up when I realized what a fake-out it was, and that I was sick and tired of pretending. That doesn't mean that I have rejected my spiritual beliefs, because I haven't. It just means that I will no longer mistake culture for doctrine.
Why all this introspection? Last night I was thinking about the songs that I want to put on my mix CD for the Crazy Mixed-Up Group. My week is coming up soon. I have extremely eclectic tastes in music. It's hard figuring out what I want to put on my mix. What songs do I want to use to represent myself? For that matter, which self do I want to represent? Which songs represent my true self? I've picked out a tentative mix, and I'll listen to it today to see if it works for me.
I don't know if I'll ever find a place that I fit in, at least, not the whole me. There are places where parts of me fit in. I guess that's a good start, right? There is almost nowhere that I feel free to be fully honest, and that's a little sad. I can be fully honest with my sister, I think I can with Clover, I can with Trista (which is a little weird because we haven't met, but I totally get that vibe from her). And my husband is an angel and loves me madly and deeply and dearly. But I feel like I'm so strange and so bizarre that my weirdness would be more than a little offputting to most people if I allowed it to show. So usually I let only a little of the weirdness out and keep the rest of it locked up and hidden away most of the time.
That means I have a rich, gloriously colorful fantasy world inside my head. It's too bad almost no one else can see it.
Oh, and if you noticed the themes of bravery in the people I wanted to be, I decided it takes a helluva lot of bravery to survive. So I'm brave, damnit!
When I got a little older, I wanted to be Lisa, who was the only girl in a family of boys and whose mother let her paint her bedroom purple. I wanted to be another Lisa, who never hesitated to let you know if she was pissed at you by kicking you in the shins with her painfully hard-toed Mary Janes. I wanted to be Leslie who looked a lot like Amber Benson, although of course I didn't know about Amber Benson until a few years ago.
When I read books, I wanted to be Trixie Belden. I never wanted to be Honey or Diana, beautiful as they were. No, I wanted to be fearless to a fault Trixie Belden. I wanted to be George, Nancy Drew's tomboyish friend. I wanted to be Donna Parker, Lucinda, Hildegarde Dolson, Hildegarde Graham, Rose in Bloom, Adopted Jane, Anne of Green Gables (but I decided I wanted to be Emily of New Moon once I discovered her), Polly from an Old-Fashioned Girl. I wanted to be brave, fearless, strong, true, trustworthy, reliable, honest, brave, good, womanly, brave.
When I got into high school, I wanted to be Ann, the Korean girl who was adopted as an infant. I wanted to be Karen, my friend from Sea Cadets who was on the drill team. I wanted to be Karen, my next-door neighbor who was blonde and cute. The guy I was dating, the guy Karen wouldn't date, wanted me to be Karen too. Can you imagine how destructive a relationship that was?
I wanted to be the third twin to Sheri and Jeri. I wanted to be the third best friend with Jenny and someone whose name I can't even remember anymore. I wanted to be popular. Of course I wasn't. I was a misfit even among misfits.
I spent my whole damn life trying to find somewhere to fit in, a group that I could call home, a place where I would be accepted. I tried to be as bohemian as I could be, which wasn't very. I tried to be a wild rocker chick. Didn't work. I tried to be a Molly Mormon, and probably did that longer than anything else, but finally gave that up when I realized what a fake-out it was, and that I was sick and tired of pretending. That doesn't mean that I have rejected my spiritual beliefs, because I haven't. It just means that I will no longer mistake culture for doctrine.
Why all this introspection? Last night I was thinking about the songs that I want to put on my mix CD for the Crazy Mixed-Up Group. My week is coming up soon. I have extremely eclectic tastes in music. It's hard figuring out what I want to put on my mix. What songs do I want to use to represent myself? For that matter, which self do I want to represent? Which songs represent my true self? I've picked out a tentative mix, and I'll listen to it today to see if it works for me.
I don't know if I'll ever find a place that I fit in, at least, not the whole me. There are places where parts of me fit in. I guess that's a good start, right? There is almost nowhere that I feel free to be fully honest, and that's a little sad. I can be fully honest with my sister, I think I can with Clover, I can with Trista (which is a little weird because we haven't met, but I totally get that vibe from her). And my husband is an angel and loves me madly and deeply and dearly. But I feel like I'm so strange and so bizarre that my weirdness would be more than a little offputting to most people if I allowed it to show. So usually I let only a little of the weirdness out and keep the rest of it locked up and hidden away most of the time.
That means I have a rich, gloriously colorful fantasy world inside my head. It's too bad almost no one else can see it.
Oh, and if you noticed the themes of bravery in the people I wanted to be, I decided it takes a helluva lot of bravery to survive. So I'm brave, damnit!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
What I'm Listening To:
- Pretend To Be Nice, Josie and the Pussycats (I still get embarrassed every time I have to type the name of this group, even though I like the stupid songs!)
- Misundaztood, Pink
- Turning Japanese, The Vapors
- Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Pat Benatar
- Low Rider, War
- Shiny Happy People, REM
- Should I Stay or Should I Go, The Clash
- Ode to Billie Joe, Bobbie Gentry
- London's Burning, The Clash
- She Sells Sanctuary, The Cult
What I'm Reading:
I finished The Green Mother yesterday, Book 5 in Piers Anthony's Incarnations of Immortality. In 12 short minutes I will begin book 6, For Love of Evil. Squee!
What I Watched Last Night:
Veronica Mars, which was excellent, as always. We got to meet a couple of new characters. I like Piz, Wallace's new college roommate. And Logan is as tastelicious as ever. The writers are still coming up with the dialog I love so much, and Kristin Bell still has attitude in spades. Did you watch it? Huh? Huh?
Other Mundane Details: I went to the chiropractor yesterday. I didn't realize that it had been so long since my last visit. I realize it today, though. I feel like I got beat up yesterday. My back really hurts. I went ahead and made an appointment for two weeks down the road. That way it won't hurt so much when I go next time, and I'll get to have a good massage that much the sooner. Have you seen those silly Halloweentown movies from Disney Channel? They're really cute, and I have them all on DVD. Well, Disney Channel has filmed a fourth one! I'm very happy about that, looking forward to seeing it, and all that jazz. The quotation I have on my whiteboard comes from the first movie: "Being normal is vastly overrated." I can say that because I'm so not normal.
Four more minutes until I get to go to lunch and start reading this book. And then I get to pass out credit bureau reports. And then I get to have a meeting for the Employee Appreciation Day Committee, of which I am the head. On the job as a real employee for what, two, three weeks now? Employee Appreciation Day is two weeks from today. I've got a lot to get done in two weeks. Any ideas for fun activities? The theme for our afternoon is "go outside and play." Three more minutes and counting . . .
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
What I’m Listening to:
El Tango de Roxanne, from Moulin Rouge
Godless, Dandy Warhols
Rebel Yell, Billy Idol
Pump Up the Jam
Bohemian Rhapsody, queen
Just Like a Pill, Pink
Like a Virgin, Moulin Rouge
Fat-Bottomed Girls, Queen
White Wedding, Billy Idol
Who Can It Be Now, Men at Work
What I’m Wearing: Grey cuffed cropped pants, black cotton lace-trimmed cami, red and black knit bolero, black tights, black suede peep-toe pumps.
How I'm Feeling: I actually had about an hour or two where I didn't have a headache! Squee! Double squee! It's back now, of course, but I've got to say, I really enjoyed that headache-less time period. I'm going to the chiropractor this afternoon right after work, and am really looking forward to the massage that will finish off my session. Oh, yeah, and the sicky stuff. Um, I felt horrible on Friday, and went home and took Nyquil and sucked on sore throat lozenges. I've had a sore throat off and on since then, but that's all. So apparently I successfully nipped whatever it was in the bud. So yay on that. And I got gobs of walking done this weekend--about 3 hours on Saturday and an hour or two on Sunday. Yay for the exercise.
Other Stuff of Dubious Interest: Lessee now--what else do I have of import to talk about? I finally got around to watching "The Devil Wears Prada" this weekend. I think the ushers had to mop where I was sitting, as I drooled over the luscious clothes Anne Hathaway's character wore in the movie. I have a thing for Chanel. I finally ordered my winter white damask grannie boots from Newport News, and I'm hoping they get here this week, as I've got the perfect outfit planned for Friday. But we can only wear denim on certain Fridays, even denim skirts, so if they don't come this week, I have to wait two more weeks for that particular outfit. Never fear, though; I have no doubt whatsoever that I will come up with something else with which to wear them once they come.
What I'm Reading: I finished the fourth Incarnations of Immortality book yesterday, and I'm about a fourth of the way through the fifth, Being a Green Mother. I'm in love with this series. It was awesome of J. to loan me the series, but I'm going to buy them. I have dutifully returned each book immediately upon finishing it, to be sure I don't abscond with his copies.
What I Will Be Watching Tonight: Veronica Mars has its season opener tonight. Watch it! Love the clever writing and excellent acting that is Veronica Mars. Keep this show alive!
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