I think this particular title comes from a Maurice Syndac book I read when I was little. I recall the book also being fairly small, and in it is a little boy with a very large wooden mixing spoon. I've always wanted a spoon like that. I always figured, The bigger the spoon, the better the soup! I love making soup.
This evening, I walked into the house to find that my housemate (PC-- stands for Pretty Cool. And if her middle name started with a D, she'd be Pretty Dagmn Cool, if you ask me...) is watching a musical on the TV in her bedroom. Loudly. Which is just down the hall from mine. And her door is open for air, since today was actually rather warm. I think summer might still be summering for a few more weeks here after all. sigh...
So anyway, I'm at home, going to my room, and I've gotten to the top of the stairs. In fact, I'm just rounding the end of the banister, not listening particularly closely to the actor in PC's musical, who is listing a bunch of specific ingredients as he mixes them all together...
The man in the musical intones: ...A bit of this, a dab of that, a cup of this, another ingredient or two, and a pinch of cohones.
I stopped with one hand still on the banister railing, and blinked bemusedly at her bedroom door.
...What are cohones? another TV personality asks.
...Don't ask. And the music swells with magic potion billowyness.
"I see breasts. And foam. Of Course the magic potion is foaming." PC says this the same way that one might say "I don't believe you. This is ridiculous. Of course I have a cavity, because this is a dream, and you are an evil dentist." Dryly, with total disbelief at the predictability of the situation.
"Hi PC," I say, and open the door to my room. Just another night here in wonderland. With breasts and cohones and foaming magic potion thrown in for fun. What the hell kind of musical was that, anyway??
Showing posts with label sitcom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sitcom. Show all posts
Monday, August 17
Saturday, August 1
The Other Family
Crazy. I think if you get to know a family well enough, we all have our special brands of crazy. I know my family does. And it was no different with GB's family. In fact, his family tend to wear THEIR crazy in plain view on their forehead-- kind of like the old cartoons of the kamakazi pilots with the white bandanna and the red dot.
The good news is that I got the official stamp of approval from just about everyone except the youngest brother, who clearly has trouble believing that anyone could like GB once they get to know him. The bad news is that after a while, I got the feeling that they all thought I was upper class or somehow better than GB and his family, and that is why they were so excited that he was dating me. Also, his dad seems to think it's my fault that GB is happier since moving out of Sacramento-- and he put responsibility for GB's continued happiness squarely on my shoulders as often as GB left the room.
I just don't think of myself as better or worse than others-- The competition I carry in my head is with myself. How can I improve? What can I do or contemplate or work on today that will make me a better person than I was before? Am I living up to my own standards? Also, I refuse to take responsibility for the happiness of others. Which is different from taking responsibility for how my actions or words affect others. Everything that is making GB happier than he was when he lived with them-- it's stuff he's accomplished or overcome or earned on his own merit.
But anyway, we spent time with the family-- which was the whole point of the trip-- and I totally fell in love with his Grandmother. And we saw some awesome natural wonders while we were at it. I got the scoop on main street, saw the locations of many an exciting moment in GB's personal history, and I met a few of the folks that pepper GB's stories about that same personal history. Hiked part of Horsetail Falls just west of Lake Tahoe. Visited the lake itself, including Emerald Bay which really is a beautiful shade of green.
Discovered that GB is a great roadtrip companion, and enjoyed every day of our trip until the last. I was pretty short on sleep, sore from hiking and all that driving we did, and well-- I was just basically grumpy on the drive back home. And I feel terrible whenever my grumpy comes out around other people-- and there we were, trapped together in a car or in my parents' living room (flying visit on the way north) from 7am until I got home around 10pm Friday night.
ARGH! But GB was very sweet about it. Which somehow made my grumpy worse.
And you know how it goes-- When you meet folks for the first time, you want to make a good impression and find reasons to like the people your companion likes. It wasn't until yesterday that I actually started to think about the trip and recognize my personal reaction to everything that had happened and everyone I'd met.
The upshot is that I actually appreciate and respect GB's intelligence, integrity, and compassion even more NOW than I did before-- because it's obvious he's worked hard and without much support-- or many role models-- to become the man he is today. And somehow, he just doesn't think that what he's accomplished or who/how he chooses to be in the world is anything wonderful or special. It's just the right thing to do, the right way to live. And I agree-- but I don't think many people today actually spend the time and energy it takes to live their lives to that standard.
Call me cynical if you want. Then spend three days in a town where everyone goes armed because picking fights is normal. A town where most folks grow or are addicted to something illegal, bigotry is rampant, and nobody can afford to stop working until they die because no matter how many lottery tickets they buy, they still don't have enough money to pay the bills, health care, or a retirement fund. Welcome to the home of the original California Gold Rush.
Here is a short list of things GB's various relatives liked about me:
The good news is that I got the official stamp of approval from just about everyone except the youngest brother, who clearly has trouble believing that anyone could like GB once they get to know him. The bad news is that after a while, I got the feeling that they all thought I was upper class or somehow better than GB and his family, and that is why they were so excited that he was dating me. Also, his dad seems to think it's my fault that GB is happier since moving out of Sacramento-- and he put responsibility for GB's continued happiness squarely on my shoulders as often as GB left the room.
I just don't think of myself as better or worse than others-- The competition I carry in my head is with myself. How can I improve? What can I do or contemplate or work on today that will make me a better person than I was before? Am I living up to my own standards? Also, I refuse to take responsibility for the happiness of others. Which is different from taking responsibility for how my actions or words affect others. Everything that is making GB happier than he was when he lived with them-- it's stuff he's accomplished or overcome or earned on his own merit.
But anyway, we spent time with the family-- which was the whole point of the trip-- and I totally fell in love with his Grandmother. And we saw some awesome natural wonders while we were at it. I got the scoop on main street, saw the locations of many an exciting moment in GB's personal history, and I met a few of the folks that pepper GB's stories about that same personal history. Hiked part of Horsetail Falls just west of Lake Tahoe. Visited the lake itself, including Emerald Bay which really is a beautiful shade of green.
Discovered that GB is a great roadtrip companion, and enjoyed every day of our trip until the last. I was pretty short on sleep, sore from hiking and all that driving we did, and well-- I was just basically grumpy on the drive back home. And I feel terrible whenever my grumpy comes out around other people-- and there we were, trapped together in a car or in my parents' living room (flying visit on the way north) from 7am until I got home around 10pm Friday night.
ARGH! But GB was very sweet about it. Which somehow made my grumpy worse.
And you know how it goes-- When you meet folks for the first time, you want to make a good impression and find reasons to like the people your companion likes. It wasn't until yesterday that I actually started to think about the trip and recognize my personal reaction to everything that had happened and everyone I'd met.
The upshot is that I actually appreciate and respect GB's intelligence, integrity, and compassion even more NOW than I did before-- because it's obvious he's worked hard and without much support-- or many role models-- to become the man he is today. And somehow, he just doesn't think that what he's accomplished or who/how he chooses to be in the world is anything wonderful or special. It's just the right thing to do, the right way to live. And I agree-- but I don't think many people today actually spend the time and energy it takes to live their lives to that standard.
Call me cynical if you want. Then spend three days in a town where everyone goes armed because picking fights is normal. A town where most folks grow or are addicted to something illegal, bigotry is rampant, and nobody can afford to stop working until they die because no matter how many lottery tickets they buy, they still don't have enough money to pay the bills, health care, or a retirement fund. Welcome to the home of the original California Gold Rush.
Here is a short list of things GB's various relatives liked about me:
- I carry a pocket knife.
- I like rodeos.
- I offered to help with the dishes.
- My dad uses the word "fart."
- I eat sushi (because they know GB does, and they think its weird).
- My ex-husband was in the Army.
- I don't put ice in my water.
- I understand the difference between a single action and a double action pistol.
- I'm still young enough to give them grandbabies.
Thursday, July 23
Smashing
So the Family Reunion was a smashing success. And tomorrow-- or heck, maybe after I go to bed and get up again later this morning-- I'll tell you the story of the five-hour lunch we all had on Saturday. It was a bit like ... umm... well, actually I can't think of anything else like it.
As my best friend often reminds me, my family wrote the book on Crazy. The good news is that we all understand that loving someone (or many someones) is a choice-- and we all just keep on making that choice over and over again. Intentional insanity. I begin to suspect it's genetic. The same way that half of us is allergic to ground pepper. Blame Grampa Speck-- lord knows we all got it from him in the first place.
As my best friend often reminds me, my family wrote the book on Crazy. The good news is that we all understand that loving someone (or many someones) is a choice-- and we all just keep on making that choice over and over again. Intentional insanity. I begin to suspect it's genetic. The same way that half of us is allergic to ground pepper. Blame Grampa Speck-- lord knows we all got it from him in the first place.
Monday, July 6
Bang Bang Bang
There has been on-and-off construction on the house next door, and specifically on the roof-patio that looks into my bedroom windows, since I moved in. And apparently, for two years prior to that as well. Now that house, and the one on the other side (ten feet to the right, if you include the upstairs hallway) both have little 2-year-old boys living in them. Bang Bang Bang.
Actually, I was originally going to call this post "In With A Bang," and then I was going to talk all about the Fourth of July, and the total lack of relationship between today's fireworks parties and any sort of leftover patriogtism about the colonists's war with the British. Except, of course, for the fact that everyone was probably drunk and stogned at the signing of the Declaration of Independence (History Channel), and so were most of the fireworks partiers we encountered on Saturday. But seeing as how this is already the 6th, what happened two days and over two hundred years ago... Well it just seems like old news.
SO... to sum up... Humperdink gonna marry Buttercup in a littlelessan khalph-an-hour. And GB and I went downtown and watched the big fireworks display from the bridge, with 50,000 of our closest friends. It was very cool. Bang Bang Bang.
And then the insurance claims dude came to look at GB's bike this morning, and declared it totaled. Which shocked the hell out of everyone, because there's basically some scratching, a dent in the gas tank, and maybe the handlebars are bent crooked, and some lights and a mirror snapped off... but other than that, she was just fine! Wait... when you put it like that... there doesn't seem to be much left undamaged besides the engine. Huh.
Anyway, GB first introduced me to his motorcycle soon after we started dating. "Innt she beauuuuutiful??" So for him to think of trashing her for the insurance money... well, I suspect it feels a bit like a cold-blooded murder. So as soon as the insurance claims dude left, GB called me up, totally upset that the most logical option seems to be agreeing that his baby is totaled, and letting the cold-hearted insurance robots drag her away. Because the truth is that he was just planning to fix her up and sell her anyway. But going against all his carefully organized manly reasoning and well-thought-out acknowledgment of the financial reality, he just doesn't FEEL LOGICAL about it. And in the background, I could hear his fist on the desk... Bang Bang Bang.
There were three other serious examples of "bang bang bang" in my world today, but one was the sound of my head hitting my desk, one is the way Abbigale's sneezes keep getting louder and closer together, and the other was this new and bizarre "Rule of Three" that the nurse practitioner told me about at Planned Parenthood. Somebody should have told me that a long time ago, thank you very much. And honestly, I just don't want to talk about any of them at the moment. Sorry. Bang Bang Bang.
Actually, I was originally going to call this post "In With A Bang," and then I was going to talk all about the Fourth of July, and the total lack of relationship between today's fireworks parties and any sort of leftover patriogtism about the colonists's war with the British. Except, of course, for the fact that everyone was probably drunk and stogned at the signing of the Declaration of Independence (History Channel), and so were most of the fireworks partiers we encountered on Saturday. But seeing as how this is already the 6th, what happened two days and over two hundred years ago... Well it just seems like old news.
SO... to sum up... Humperdink gonna marry Buttercup in a littlelessan khalph-an-hour. And GB and I went downtown and watched the big fireworks display from the bridge, with 50,000 of our closest friends. It was very cool. Bang Bang Bang.
And then the insurance claims dude came to look at GB's bike this morning, and declared it totaled. Which shocked the hell out of everyone, because there's basically some scratching, a dent in the gas tank, and maybe the handlebars are bent crooked, and some lights and a mirror snapped off... but other than that, she was just fine! Wait... when you put it like that... there doesn't seem to be much left undamaged besides the engine. Huh.
Anyway, GB first introduced me to his motorcycle soon after we started dating. "Innt she beauuuuutiful??" So for him to think of trashing her for the insurance money... well, I suspect it feels a bit like a cold-blooded murder. So as soon as the insurance claims dude left, GB called me up, totally upset that the most logical option seems to be agreeing that his baby is totaled, and letting the cold-hearted insurance robots drag her away. Because the truth is that he was just planning to fix her up and sell her anyway. But going against all his carefully organized manly reasoning and well-thought-out acknowledgment of the financial reality, he just doesn't FEEL LOGICAL about it. And in the background, I could hear his fist on the desk... Bang Bang Bang.
There were three other serious examples of "bang bang bang" in my world today, but one was the sound of my head hitting my desk, one is the way Abbigale's sneezes keep getting louder and closer together, and the other was this new and bizarre "Rule of Three" that the nurse practitioner told me about at Planned Parenthood. Somebody should have told me that a long time ago, thank you very much. And honestly, I just don't want to talk about any of them at the moment. Sorry. Bang Bang Bang.
Saturday, June 27
Delighted. Really.
Have I mentioned the upcoming family reunion yet? It's worthy of mention.
The good news is that my secret plan to shanghai my favorite cousins from the airport, and deliver them to the reunion location several hours later has been officialized by the committee in charge of officializing things.
The bad news is that in those several hours between airport and reunion location, I have now got to cris-cross a major city in search of passengers, find parking at the airport at rush hour on a Friday afternoon, drive a full car load of cousins and baggage to another town an hour or more away, in serious rush hour traffic, on a Friday, in order to celebrate another incoming family member's birthday with the WHOLE FRIGGEN CROWD at our usual celebratory restaurant. And then we drive to the reunion.
I hope they give us a private room at the restaurant. One with padded walls. We're going to be loud, crazy, totally disorganized, loud, and insanely hungry. All twenty or thirty of us. Just think-- my mom, and four of her siblings, and like seven mostly-adult female cousins who GREW UP IN THIS FAMILY TRADITION-- plus kids, boyfriends, husbands, and well, whoever else we accidentally sweep along in our rambunctious and way-too-friendly wake.
I'm sure I'll be keeping you posted on the reunion. OH, and did I mention that my mom's broken hand is healing okay? It is. Really.
The good news is that my secret plan to shanghai my favorite cousins from the airport, and deliver them to the reunion location several hours later has been officialized by the committee in charge of officializing things.
The bad news is that in those several hours between airport and reunion location, I have now got to cris-cross a major city in search of passengers, find parking at the airport at rush hour on a Friday afternoon, drive a full car load of cousins and baggage to another town an hour or more away, in serious rush hour traffic, on a Friday, in order to celebrate another incoming family member's birthday with the WHOLE FRIGGEN CROWD at our usual celebratory restaurant. And then we drive to the reunion.
I hope they give us a private room at the restaurant. One with padded walls. We're going to be loud, crazy, totally disorganized, loud, and insanely hungry. All twenty or thirty of us. Just think-- my mom, and four of her siblings, and like seven mostly-adult female cousins who GREW UP IN THIS FAMILY TRADITION-- plus kids, boyfriends, husbands, and well, whoever else we accidentally sweep along in our rambunctious and way-too-friendly wake.
I'm sure I'll be keeping you posted on the reunion. OH, and did I mention that my mom's broken hand is healing okay? It is. Really.
Thursday, January 29
Addicticism
So talk about your roller coasters!
They finally force-fed my kitty at the vet's right before I came to see her at the end of the day. Then they sent me (and her!!!) home with a bunch of kitty opiate oral liquid pain-killers, and some pepcid. And orders to call with updates, and especially to keep track of her food intake. Of which there wasn't any.
She finally daned to use her litter box for the first time around 8am this morning. I've never been so excited about my cat's peeing habits before, let me tell you. And when I got out another dose of the pain meds, she ran over to me so I could give it to her. RAN OVER TO ME. FOR MEDICINE.
I think she's addicted. Seriously. Of course, being a tortie, that didn't mean she'd actually let me GIVE her the medicine-- she just let herself be caught so I could pry her mouth open, shove the gunk in, clamp her jaw shut, and stroke her throat while she tried to bite off her own tongue. Sigh.
So I was hopeful. Until the Vet called. The final test came back, the CDC (whatever the heck that is, it costs a hundred dollars) and it turns out her white blood cell count is horribly low. So We made an appointment to take her back into the doctor's for another test. This one was to see if she had either feline leukemia or kitty AIDS. Those being the most likely reasons for a low white blood cell count, apparently.
The drama of library conferences has NOTHING on this, folks.
But luckily, I had a massage scheduled (in trade for other work, so neither of us had to come up with cash, thank goodness!) for this morning. So I went ahead and had that done. Unluckily, I realized when my masseuse was a few minutes late that I wasn't going to make it to the vet on time, so I had to reschedule that by a half-hour. Luckily, the noon appointment time was still available. And my cat was still fairly stogned and pliant when I got home to put her in the cat carrier.
Apparently, she was also much calmer about getting her blood drawn this time around. And it only took ten minutes to get the test results back. She is evil illness-free, as far as we can tell. Luckily, it is NEITHER feline leukemia NOR kitty HIV. Unluckily, we still don't know what it IS. I have strict instructions from my vet (who also owns a tortie) to call her with updates.
And LUCKILY, I have a very wonderful update to report. As soon as we got home, she got out of the cat carrier, wandered over to the wet food that has been sitting hopefully in my room for the past few hours, and licked it a few times before wandering back to her blanket in front of the space heater. FOOD!!! She ate a bite of FOOD!!! That's more than she's eaten of her own volition in three days! WAHHOOOO!!!!
And I have finally got some hope back that she'll recover from this insane trip of hers.
Thanks for all your good thoughts, everyone. We both needed them for a while. Maybe we still do. But at the moment, Abbigale is curled up on my bed in the sun pretending that her little fore-arm isn't shaved and listening carefully, just in case I venture over to the pain medicine again. Because, as I said, she REALLY LIKES that pain medicine.
So, basically, nearly a thousand dollars I didn't have later, the only thing we know for sure is that she had some really painful gas, stopped eating, got really dehydrated, and is now hooked on pain killers. Not necessarily in that order. ...sigh.
They finally force-fed my kitty at the vet's right before I came to see her at the end of the day. Then they sent me (and her!!!) home with a bunch of kitty opiate oral liquid pain-killers, and some pepcid. And orders to call with updates, and especially to keep track of her food intake. Of which there wasn't any.
She finally daned to use her litter box for the first time around 8am this morning. I've never been so excited about my cat's peeing habits before, let me tell you. And when I got out another dose of the pain meds, she ran over to me so I could give it to her. RAN OVER TO ME. FOR MEDICINE.
I think she's addicted. Seriously. Of course, being a tortie, that didn't mean she'd actually let me GIVE her the medicine-- she just let herself be caught so I could pry her mouth open, shove the gunk in, clamp her jaw shut, and stroke her throat while she tried to bite off her own tongue. Sigh.
So I was hopeful. Until the Vet called. The final test came back, the CDC (whatever the heck that is, it costs a hundred dollars) and it turns out her white blood cell count is horribly low. So We made an appointment to take her back into the doctor's for another test. This one was to see if she had either feline leukemia or kitty AIDS. Those being the most likely reasons for a low white blood cell count, apparently.
The drama of library conferences has NOTHING on this, folks.
But luckily, I had a massage scheduled (in trade for other work, so neither of us had to come up with cash, thank goodness!) for this morning. So I went ahead and had that done. Unluckily, I realized when my masseuse was a few minutes late that I wasn't going to make it to the vet on time, so I had to reschedule that by a half-hour. Luckily, the noon appointment time was still available. And my cat was still fairly stogned and pliant when I got home to put her in the cat carrier.
Apparently, she was also much calmer about getting her blood drawn this time around. And it only took ten minutes to get the test results back. She is evil illness-free, as far as we can tell. Luckily, it is NEITHER feline leukemia NOR kitty HIV. Unluckily, we still don't know what it IS. I have strict instructions from my vet (who also owns a tortie) to call her with updates.
And LUCKILY, I have a very wonderful update to report. As soon as we got home, she got out of the cat carrier, wandered over to the wet food that has been sitting hopefully in my room for the past few hours, and licked it a few times before wandering back to her blanket in front of the space heater. FOOD!!! She ate a bite of FOOD!!! That's more than she's eaten of her own volition in three days! WAHHOOOO!!!!
And I have finally got some hope back that she'll recover from this insane trip of hers.
Thanks for all your good thoughts, everyone. We both needed them for a while. Maybe we still do. But at the moment, Abbigale is curled up on my bed in the sun pretending that her little fore-arm isn't shaved and listening carefully, just in case I venture over to the pain medicine again. Because, as I said, she REALLY LIKES that pain medicine.
So, basically, nearly a thousand dollars I didn't have later, the only thing we know for sure is that she had some really painful gas, stopped eating, got really dehydrated, and is now hooked on pain killers. Not necessarily in that order. ...sigh.
Thursday, October 23
Glossy
Today, I finally made an appointment with the volunteer business counselors at SCORE (yay free!), and applied for about four writing or researching -intensive jobs in town. It's been quite a day. I have to tell you, I'm frustrated with the online testing idea. It's a great idea, but the kind of people that test well with no context and no actual customer service skills? They aren't necessarily what I'd call a representative sampling of the exceptional customer service and networking crowd, doncha know.
Also, if I have to start over from scratch every time I try to click on something that isn't part of the "acceptable path to success" that they've mapped out one click at a time? They make you start over. Yeah. So the number of clicks seem to be on a golf scoring system-- anything above the proscribed number of clicks counts against you. Also, everything is timed.
I really wanted a moment of Godzilla-ness by the time I ran out of time for being online taking the damn test at the library, and had to log off, after only completing about five of the eight sections of testing for computer skills and speeds and program abilities-- for a CUSTOMER SERVICE JOB!!! And I still don't know who the employer is.
Yeah. In other news, I'm excited to meet with the small business dudes. They are both named David. They are worried that this will confuse me. They don't know anything about my specific "specialty" as they delicately put it, but they are willing to work with me on marketing it. And for all the irony in my blogger-voice, I really do appreciate their willingness to do so. I suspect that working with competent business dudes who are uncomfortable with alternative healing therapies will benefit me in several ways. First, anything THEY like, ANYBODY will like. Second, They'll really know what to avoid mentioning when I go on my quest for sponsorship and micro-loans. Third, they probably have CONNECTIONS.
Thank you, David.
Also, a possible apartment option has opened up near where I already live. And for about the combined price of my storage and current rent payments every month. There's definitely some potential there. AND the person who is moving out is a friend of mine, with cats. And she built them a window-deck for outdoor kitty viewing pleasure. Which she and the landlord will leave up for me, if I end up taking the space. (There is someone else with a one-day head start on the "I want that" process, but move-in isn't until December, and I've got awesome insider connections, so hey.)
Kudos, by the way, to this amazing nutritional booster juice called Ageless Extra. Taken daily, in small doses, it overcomes headcolds in a single leap! It provides boundless youthful energy when you forget to sleep! It slices, dices, and even fills in all the nutritional gaps in ANYBODY's diet-- making your body AND your mind regenerate faster, younger, smarter. (Now with gold body glitter and free tongue-piercing!!)
Okay, I lied about the body glitter. But it really does make a noticeable difference in the elasticity of my health, and my overall daily performance. And I digest it one hella-hundred percent better than any daily multivitamin I've ever tried. Dinner with friends on the nights I need to re-stock my supply is a welcome bonus.
OH-- and I am getting published in a nice little local seasonal newspaper called OpenWays. The issue they tell me I'm in comes out December 1st. Happy Winter, everybody!
....WHEEEEEE.....
Also, if I have to start over from scratch every time I try to click on something that isn't part of the "acceptable path to success" that they've mapped out one click at a time? They make you start over. Yeah. So the number of clicks seem to be on a golf scoring system-- anything above the proscribed number of clicks counts against you. Also, everything is timed.
I really wanted a moment of Godzilla-ness by the time I ran out of time for being online taking the damn test at the library, and had to log off, after only completing about five of the eight sections of testing for computer skills and speeds and program abilities-- for a CUSTOMER SERVICE JOB!!! And I still don't know who the employer is.
Yeah. In other news, I'm excited to meet with the small business dudes. They are both named David. They are worried that this will confuse me. They don't know anything about my specific "specialty" as they delicately put it, but they are willing to work with me on marketing it. And for all the irony in my blogger-voice, I really do appreciate their willingness to do so. I suspect that working with competent business dudes who are uncomfortable with alternative healing therapies will benefit me in several ways. First, anything THEY like, ANYBODY will like. Second, They'll really know what to avoid mentioning when I go on my quest for sponsorship and micro-loans. Third, they probably have CONNECTIONS.
Thank you, David.
Also, a possible apartment option has opened up near where I already live. And for about the combined price of my storage and current rent payments every month. There's definitely some potential there. AND the person who is moving out is a friend of mine, with cats. And she built them a window-deck for outdoor kitty viewing pleasure. Which she and the landlord will leave up for me, if I end up taking the space. (There is someone else with a one-day head start on the "I want that" process, but move-in isn't until December, and I've got awesome insider connections, so hey.)
Kudos, by the way, to this amazing nutritional booster juice called Ageless Extra. Taken daily, in small doses, it overcomes headcolds in a single leap! It provides boundless youthful energy when you forget to sleep! It slices, dices, and even fills in all the nutritional gaps in ANYBODY's diet-- making your body AND your mind regenerate faster, younger, smarter. (Now with gold body glitter and free tongue-piercing!!)
Okay, I lied about the body glitter. But it really does make a noticeable difference in the elasticity of my health, and my overall daily performance. And I digest it one hella-hundred percent better than any daily multivitamin I've ever tried. Dinner with friends on the nights I need to re-stock my supply is a welcome bonus.
OH-- and I am getting published in a nice little local seasonal newspaper called OpenWays. The issue they tell me I'm in comes out December 1st. Happy Winter, everybody!
....WHEEEEEE.....
Monday, October 6
'Weenie
Halloween is coming.
And all the leaves are finally starting to change color...
those that aren't being knocked down by the suddenly cold rain.
Halloween is coming.
And all the politicians are finally starting to ignore color...
those that don't want to be left out in the cold come November.
Halloween is coming.
And all I can think is that I'd really like to get my hands on
that old cult movie called Buffy the Vampire Slayer-- the one that predated the TV series and had that guy from 90210.
Halloween is coming.
And although I really like my housemate and her cats...
those open windows and the lack of heat make things pretty damn cold in this rain.
It inspires in me a strange sort of poetry--
It's an effort to keep my fingers from freezing, and my face from falling into a frown
because Halloween is coming, and Autumn is my favorite time of year.
And all the leaves are finally starting to change color...
those that aren't being knocked down by the suddenly cold rain.
Halloween is coming.
And all the politicians are finally starting to ignore color...
those that don't want to be left out in the cold come November.
Halloween is coming.
And all I can think is that I'd really like to get my hands on
that old cult movie called Buffy the Vampire Slayer-- the one that predated the TV series and had that guy from 90210.
Halloween is coming.
And although I really like my housemate and her cats...
those open windows and the lack of heat make things pretty damn cold in this rain.
It inspires in me a strange sort of poetry--
It's an effort to keep my fingers from freezing, and my face from falling into a frown
because Halloween is coming, and Autumn is my favorite time of year.
Tuesday, July 22
Breakfast with a Boy
...well, okay. Breakfast with my Brother would probably be more accurate. But it was so less titillating! So Big D and I met for breakfast. I actually was pretty worried that I'd written down our final destination wrong when I arrived a few minutes late and didn't see him. Then I called to check, and woke him up. I didn't feel so bad after that.
THE FOOD WAS AWESOME. I'm going back sometime to try some of the other things on the menu that caught my attention-- and thinking about them has made me start to drool. mmmm And breakfast with Big D is a little like making a cameo appearance in a walking comic strip. Something funny is always about to happen, or maybe it just did. For example, our food arrived, and his first comment was, "I'd offer you a bite, but... well..."
We'd ordered the same thing.
And he told me all about the latest movies, too. Apparently the new Dark Knight Batman is REALLY DARK, and the rave reviews of the dead actor's acting are NOT hype or good will or anything of the sort. His acting is genuinely disturbing. I commented that Big D must really have loved the movie, then. "Yeaaaahhhh." He also highly suggests Wally as a great date movie. Apparently, the romance aspect is good but not overwhelming, so you can just enjoy the film. And apparently, half of it is silent because robots don't talk. And the movie that's next on his hit list? Kungfoo Kisses. I'm serious. They named a movie that. He feels a need to support any movie that actually allows for an Asian male lead. And this one is supposed to have a blonde American girl and a really hot Chinese girl fighting over Mr. Asian-- so it can't be ALL bad. All of which he told me BEFORE disclosing the name of the actual movie. Because if he'd said the name first, I'd have been laughing too hard to hear him say anything else about it.
Seriously. Kung Foo Kisses. WTF?!
So breakfast was good. Big D also clarified for me that (in boy world, which I don't even PRETEND to understand) if he picks you up, and it's one-on-one, and you're both single and interested in each other's gender-- it's a date. He's also responsible for yet another great dating question: "When will it be my turn to talk?" Thank you, D. I knew I could count on you.
(As a side note, I often wonder as I walk away from yet another awesome hour with Big D... Where were the cameras hidden THIS time???)
THE FOOD WAS AWESOME. I'm going back sometime to try some of the other things on the menu that caught my attention-- and thinking about them has made me start to drool. mmmm And breakfast with Big D is a little like making a cameo appearance in a walking comic strip. Something funny is always about to happen, or maybe it just did. For example, our food arrived, and his first comment was, "I'd offer you a bite, but... well..."
We'd ordered the same thing.
And he told me all about the latest movies, too. Apparently the new Dark Knight Batman is REALLY DARK, and the rave reviews of the dead actor's acting are NOT hype or good will or anything of the sort. His acting is genuinely disturbing. I commented that Big D must really have loved the movie, then. "Yeaaaahhhh." He also highly suggests Wally as a great date movie. Apparently, the romance aspect is good but not overwhelming, so you can just enjoy the film. And apparently, half of it is silent because robots don't talk. And the movie that's next on his hit list? Kungfoo Kisses. I'm serious. They named a movie that. He feels a need to support any movie that actually allows for an Asian male lead. And this one is supposed to have a blonde American girl and a really hot Chinese girl fighting over Mr. Asian-- so it can't be ALL bad. All of which he told me BEFORE disclosing the name of the actual movie. Because if he'd said the name first, I'd have been laughing too hard to hear him say anything else about it.
Seriously. Kung Foo Kisses. WTF?!
So breakfast was good. Big D also clarified for me that (in boy world, which I don't even PRETEND to understand) if he picks you up, and it's one-on-one, and you're both single and interested in each other's gender-- it's a date. He's also responsible for yet another great dating question: "When will it be my turn to talk?" Thank you, D. I knew I could count on you.
(As a side note, I often wonder as I walk away from yet another awesome hour with Big D... Where were the cameras hidden THIS time???)
Tuesday, July 15
Tagged for Life: A Memoire
So... There's this new form of the "get lucky" email going around. It's a blog challenge based on a mythological bet that Hemingway once made. His autobiographical words were purported to be, “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.”
And here are the rules:
So... Can you sum up your whole life in six words?
Ahem: "wise others curious boundaries open self"
Wise
Others
Curious
Boundaries
Open
Self
Wise
Others
Curious
Boundaries
Open
Self
Wise...
It may change as my life continues. First, there were the wise others who watched me. There were may wise others, curiously. Then there were others, curious about me or about whom I was curious. I spent a lot of time focused on others. Isn't that curious? I also spent a lot of time being curious about HOW this was so... and I discovered that it had a lot to do with boundaries. My boundaries, and those that others had toward me were rather curious for much of my life, really. Curious boundaries, had we. Very open, they were. Yoda, I was not.
And then the curious boundaries opened, and in many ways my life transformed because I gave myself permission to pass them. And then I became curious about life. I decided I wanted to live it. So I started creating boundaries between myself and those who threatened my life. Boundaries. Curiously, my life opened before me as my boundaries became healthy and real. I myself became open. Open to life, open to health, open to change, open to possibility and hope and reality and new beginnings. I opened to myself, and got to know her in a new and intelligent way. Wisdom, they call it.
I opened to Self, and became wise. I became myself more fully and more joyfully than I have ever been before. And here I am. Open, and in relationship with my Self. Learning new ways of being. Making friends with others. Disseminating wisdom to others. Wise. Curiously wise in working with others, really. Especially for my age. I'm about to become 30. I have a lot of life left. And I'm curious about what it will bring...
My six-word autobiography might need some editing and modification and change as I go along.
....TAG! You're it.
And here are the rules:
1. Write your own six word memoir.
2. Post it to your blog including a visual illustration if you would like
3. Link to the person who tagged you in your post and to this original post (http://herebaby.blogspot.com/2008/06/six-word-memior.html) if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogsphere
4. Tag 5 more blogs with links
5. Don’t forget to leave a comment in the tagged blogs with an invitation to play
So... Can you sum up your whole life in six words?
Ahem: "wise others curious boundaries open self"
Wise
Others
Curious
Boundaries
Open
Self
Wise
Others
Curious
Boundaries
Open
Self
Wise...
It may change as my life continues. First, there were the wise others who watched me. There were may wise others, curiously. Then there were others, curious about me or about whom I was curious. I spent a lot of time focused on others. Isn't that curious? I also spent a lot of time being curious about HOW this was so... and I discovered that it had a lot to do with boundaries. My boundaries, and those that others had toward me were rather curious for much of my life, really. Curious boundaries, had we. Very open, they were. Yoda, I was not.
And then the curious boundaries opened, and in many ways my life transformed because I gave myself permission to pass them. And then I became curious about life. I decided I wanted to live it. So I started creating boundaries between myself and those who threatened my life. Boundaries. Curiously, my life opened before me as my boundaries became healthy and real. I myself became open. Open to life, open to health, open to change, open to possibility and hope and reality and new beginnings. I opened to myself, and got to know her in a new and intelligent way. Wisdom, they call it.
I opened to Self, and became wise. I became myself more fully and more joyfully than I have ever been before. And here I am. Open, and in relationship with my Self. Learning new ways of being. Making friends with others. Disseminating wisdom to others. Wise. Curiously wise in working with others, really. Especially for my age. I'm about to become 30. I have a lot of life left. And I'm curious about what it will bring...
My six-word autobiography might need some editing and modification and change as I go along.
....TAG! You're it.
Thursday, June 5
Funny, That
It's a funny thing... I had an email last week from someone I always wanted to know better in high school. I emailed back, and then spent about 20 minutes trying to figure out WHY I thought he was who I thought he was back then. And I've yet to come up with something believable.
I always thought of him as a kind and gentle person, but pretty self-contained and fairly strong. Quiet, possibly even painfully shy, and yet someone with strong ideas of how to get along in the world. What did I base this on? I have no fugcking idea. My most recent memory is of him sitting slouched in the back of a classroom in his poofy down coat, with his pimp-wannabe baseball cap on backwards and a really bored expression on his face. Yeah.
In the whole of high school, I think we had maybe six conversations. And none of them lasted more than 20 seconds-- except the one where my mom forgot to pick me up from school and it was pitch black and the school was totally deserted, and HE showed up and offered me a ride home. That time, the poor guy was stuck in his truck with me for a full 20 minutes of horror.
I think what usually happened was that I wanted so much to be liked by this guy (remember-- high school) and was so self-conscious and weird as only a pre-pubescent girl can be that about 20 seconds into the conversation, I'd say something that was either really dumb, really bizarre, or both-- and he'd get this "deer in the headlights" look, and stop talking to me. This is how I remember ALL of our interactions. I don't even know what his parents did for a living (or do now, for that matter), I don't know his brother's name or age, I don't know what this guy did after school or even what sports he played-- if any.
But anyway, I got this email last week, and thought "HEY! How cool would it be to finally find out who he actually IS-- and maybe have a whole conversation, too!" So I responded. It's been a week, and I haven't heard anything back from his end. And I have to say, I'm finding it funny. THIS time, I don't think I said anything dumb, foolish, or weird. THIS time, I simply have the inclination to laugh at how familiar the whole situation seems to me. And I'm writing him another email if I don't hear back in a few more days. I'd sort of like to know what happened to shut him up. I'm honesty curious. After all-- HE STARTED IT!
Yeah. Between not hearing from him (YET), and not hearing (YET) from any of my applied-to libraries, I'm feeling kinda lost in the sea of interweberry. There's this book of poems that I really loved in middle and high school because the writer echoed so many of my own confused feelings about my life at that point-- the title is something like "Hello World, It's Me- Margaret." I remember the title being pulled from a poem that discussed that feeling of unwanted invisibility...
Invisibility. I has it.
...Funny, That.
I always thought of him as a kind and gentle person, but pretty self-contained and fairly strong. Quiet, possibly even painfully shy, and yet someone with strong ideas of how to get along in the world. What did I base this on? I have no fugcking idea. My most recent memory is of him sitting slouched in the back of a classroom in his poofy down coat, with his pimp-wannabe baseball cap on backwards and a really bored expression on his face. Yeah.
In the whole of high school, I think we had maybe six conversations. And none of them lasted more than 20 seconds-- except the one where my mom forgot to pick me up from school and it was pitch black and the school was totally deserted, and HE showed up and offered me a ride home. That time, the poor guy was stuck in his truck with me for a full 20 minutes of horror.
I think what usually happened was that I wanted so much to be liked by this guy (remember-- high school) and was so self-conscious and weird as only a pre-pubescent girl can be that about 20 seconds into the conversation, I'd say something that was either really dumb, really bizarre, or both-- and he'd get this "deer in the headlights" look, and stop talking to me. This is how I remember ALL of our interactions. I don't even know what his parents did for a living (or do now, for that matter), I don't know his brother's name or age, I don't know what this guy did after school or even what sports he played-- if any.
But anyway, I got this email last week, and thought "HEY! How cool would it be to finally find out who he actually IS-- and maybe have a whole conversation, too!" So I responded. It's been a week, and I haven't heard anything back from his end. And I have to say, I'm finding it funny. THIS time, I don't think I said anything dumb, foolish, or weird. THIS time, I simply have the inclination to laugh at how familiar the whole situation seems to me. And I'm writing him another email if I don't hear back in a few more days. I'd sort of like to know what happened to shut him up. I'm honesty curious. After all-- HE STARTED IT!
Yeah. Between not hearing from him (YET), and not hearing (YET) from any of my applied-to libraries, I'm feeling kinda lost in the sea of interweberry. There's this book of poems that I really loved in middle and high school because the writer echoed so many of my own confused feelings about my life at that point-- the title is something like "Hello World, It's Me- Margaret." I remember the title being pulled from a poem that discussed that feeling of unwanted invisibility...
Invisibility. I has it.
...Funny, That.
Tuesday, April 8
I Need You, Larry!
It's been a strange day. I planned to be up around 7:45am, writing in my journal, preparing for my noon interview with a university back east, cleaning up the stuff I displaced when I finally bought more shelving because I couldn't stand to have all that stuff in a pile on the floor...
Instead, I finally woke up around 9:3oam, to the yowling of the (either highly intelligent or somewhat suffering from altzeimers) cat upstairs. He's 19, and stiff, and somewhat lost at times. But he knows he likes sunshine, kitty treats with glycocemine, and people. In that order. As a side note, I'd just like to mention that spell-check does not have either altzeimers or glycocamine in it, and therefore I have no bloody clue how to spell them. Grow with Love, dammit. Up to this morning, he's only yowled like that when someone forgot he was outside, and left the house without letting him back in. Or, when they left the house without letting him back in, and he didn't realize they'd propped the door open so he could get back in on his own.
This morning? He yowled because he wanted someone to come pet him, and he's come to realize that if he yowls, and I know no one is home upstairs, I come running upstairs. I tried all three upstairs outside doors (in my nightgown, freezing my tucas off) before a little "prrrt" from my neighbor's bedroom lead me to finding him quite calmly stretched out on the bed, waiting to be petted. Huh.
I had the interview at noon. It went fairly well, though I forgot to ask an important question or two-- and the whole thing only lasted about 20 minutes. Huh. Sounds like a fun position to learn and grow in, really. There in the middle of the back-country Pennsylvania with 800 students, one other librarian, and me. If I get the job. And, strangely enough, YET AGAIN, my having a background relating to the military (I was married to it for several years) was a bonus. Apparently, this library has a LOT of Vets for students. Resistance is, apparently, futile.
By the time the interview ended, I was shaking. And I don't remember doing that after past interviews. Quite possibly, I blocked it from my memory so that I could be up-beat about having MORE interviews. Anyway, from that point on, everyone I came into contact with was justifiably grumpy about something in their lives that I have no ability to help them fix. It was very disempowering, really.
And then I managed to get my energy and excitement up for my long-awaited once-monthly Journaling Group (I totally choked last month and only remembered I'd forgotten to go about five days after the fact-- not pretty, especially since I'd arranged to meet someone before the group meeting last month. Oops. ....I think I was reading a book...)--- My Journaling Group ROCKS-- but it's hard to wait a whole month between sessions. And then I got totally lost trying to find my way there from a new direction-- after my upstairs neighbor had even TOLD me how to get there by making a total of two turns-- and I still got lost. TWO TURNS, people!! So, there I am, not the 20 minutes early I'd intended to be, frantically searching for parking.... hoping the place I parked is actually legal to park in after 6pm (before 6pm, it's a loading zone)... RUNNING up to the door...
And it's canceled due to a death in the family. I ache for the family. I really do. But I also have this feeling of inevitability that I've probably gone to my last session of that Journaling Group-- three months ago-- and I didn't even know it. Driving away from the building (no parking ticket in the five minutes I was parked there, thank goodness!), I felt really just DOWN about things. I could actually feel myself falling into a blue funk, and I was kinda pissed about it, to be honest. And me feeling both pissed AND funked is not a friendly sight. Really. Right up there with hung-over walruses and snot-nosed over-tired toddlers and parole officers who run into their charges while on vacation and things. Not Friendly.
So I went to H Street. Where I've had other fun adventures, thinking maybe MAYBE something there would still be open after 7pm on a Tuesday to cheer me up. Maybe. And it turns out that not a whole lot is open after 7pm on a Tuesday. But the ice cream shop and the bookstore are open until 9pm, so hey. Life can't be THAT bad, right? I chose to stop at the book store first. And went in. And found the "travel adventure" section. And picked up a book about a Native Alaskan woman Hero. Who, it turns out, died in poverty, suffering from four broken marriages, TB, and a lot of really bad press from the families of these white men she went into the Arctic wilderness with back in the early 1900's-- and two years later, after nearly starving to death with a sick member of the expedition who was left behind due to lack of food, she was the only one who made it back to civilization. Ever. Ummm... not exactly the pick-me-up I'd been looking for.
By then, even Ice Cream had lost it's appeal, and I felt like spending money frivolously was bad... and so... I headed home. In a grumpy blue funk, with an unhealthy side of guilt and depression brought on by this stupid book. But somehow, I just could NOT go back into the house with this big blue depressive grumpy funk on my shoulders, and the cure had to happen for under $5 and not be too fattening. So I stopped in at this awesome gourmet little corner store about a mile past my little apartment. They have the best of all things that you might possibly think a corner store should have, at a price to match the rather haughty location. I mean hand-dipped designer candles in all twelve shades of green, and specialty chocolates, and organic produce, and not-quite-cuban cigars, and ... all of it in this little corner store. So I go in there, hoping to find something that will cheer me up, and I wander around, and wander around, and wander around, and...
Suddenly, over the PA system, comes a man's sturdy voice:
If anybody needs anything, just page Larry. I'm available.
... Huh.
...maybe I need to page Larry...
And just that quickly, my funk and my grump and even my guilty depression are GONE!
I love you, Larry.
About two seconds later, someone did come on the PA, and make it clear that
"I need you, Larry!"
And about a minute after that, the PA came to life yet again, with a man's sturdy voice:
If anybody REALLY needs anything, just page Larry. I'm available.
...Larry, you ROCK!!! I went and found myself a little pack of dark chocolate M&Ms and a nice ocean-mist-blue tapered candle, (all for under $5) and headed home with a big goofy smile on my face. Life is good, dammit. All it needed was Larry.
Instead, I finally woke up around 9:3oam, to the yowling of the (either highly intelligent or somewhat suffering from altzeimers) cat upstairs. He's 19, and stiff, and somewhat lost at times. But he knows he likes sunshine, kitty treats with glycocemine, and people. In that order. As a side note, I'd just like to mention that spell-check does not have either altzeimers or glycocamine in it, and therefore I have no bloody clue how to spell them. Grow with Love, dammit. Up to this morning, he's only yowled like that when someone forgot he was outside, and left the house without letting him back in. Or, when they left the house without letting him back in, and he didn't realize they'd propped the door open so he could get back in on his own.
This morning? He yowled because he wanted someone to come pet him, and he's come to realize that if he yowls, and I know no one is home upstairs, I come running upstairs. I tried all three upstairs outside doors (in my nightgown, freezing my tucas off) before a little "prrrt" from my neighbor's bedroom lead me to finding him quite calmly stretched out on the bed, waiting to be petted. Huh.
I had the interview at noon. It went fairly well, though I forgot to ask an important question or two-- and the whole thing only lasted about 20 minutes. Huh. Sounds like a fun position to learn and grow in, really. There in the middle of the back-country Pennsylvania with 800 students, one other librarian, and me. If I get the job. And, strangely enough, YET AGAIN, my having a background relating to the military (I was married to it for several years) was a bonus. Apparently, this library has a LOT of Vets for students. Resistance is, apparently, futile.
By the time the interview ended, I was shaking. And I don't remember doing that after past interviews. Quite possibly, I blocked it from my memory so that I could be up-beat about having MORE interviews. Anyway, from that point on, everyone I came into contact with was justifiably grumpy about something in their lives that I have no ability to help them fix. It was very disempowering, really.
And then I managed to get my energy and excitement up for my long-awaited once-monthly Journaling Group (I totally choked last month and only remembered I'd forgotten to go about five days after the fact-- not pretty, especially since I'd arranged to meet someone before the group meeting last month. Oops. ....I think I was reading a book...)--- My Journaling Group ROCKS-- but it's hard to wait a whole month between sessions. And then I got totally lost trying to find my way there from a new direction-- after my upstairs neighbor had even TOLD me how to get there by making a total of two turns-- and I still got lost. TWO TURNS, people!! So, there I am, not the 20 minutes early I'd intended to be, frantically searching for parking.... hoping the place I parked is actually legal to park in after 6pm (before 6pm, it's a loading zone)... RUNNING up to the door...
And it's canceled due to a death in the family. I ache for the family. I really do. But I also have this feeling of inevitability that I've probably gone to my last session of that Journaling Group-- three months ago-- and I didn't even know it. Driving away from the building (no parking ticket in the five minutes I was parked there, thank goodness!), I felt really just DOWN about things. I could actually feel myself falling into a blue funk, and I was kinda pissed about it, to be honest. And me feeling both pissed AND funked is not a friendly sight. Really. Right up there with hung-over walruses and snot-nosed over-tired toddlers and parole officers who run into their charges while on vacation and things. Not Friendly.
So I went to H Street. Where I've had other fun adventures, thinking maybe MAYBE something there would still be open after 7pm on a Tuesday to cheer me up. Maybe. And it turns out that not a whole lot is open after 7pm on a Tuesday. But the ice cream shop and the bookstore are open until 9pm, so hey. Life can't be THAT bad, right? I chose to stop at the book store first. And went in. And found the "travel adventure" section. And picked up a book about a Native Alaskan woman Hero. Who, it turns out, died in poverty, suffering from four broken marriages, TB, and a lot of really bad press from the families of these white men she went into the Arctic wilderness with back in the early 1900's-- and two years later, after nearly starving to death with a sick member of the expedition who was left behind due to lack of food, she was the only one who made it back to civilization. Ever. Ummm... not exactly the pick-me-up I'd been looking for.
By then, even Ice Cream had lost it's appeal, and I felt like spending money frivolously was bad... and so... I headed home. In a grumpy blue funk, with an unhealthy side of guilt and depression brought on by this stupid book. But somehow, I just could NOT go back into the house with this big blue depressive grumpy funk on my shoulders, and the cure had to happen for under $5 and not be too fattening. So I stopped in at this awesome gourmet little corner store about a mile past my little apartment. They have the best of all things that you might possibly think a corner store should have, at a price to match the rather haughty location. I mean hand-dipped designer candles in all twelve shades of green, and specialty chocolates, and organic produce, and not-quite-cuban cigars, and ... all of it in this little corner store. So I go in there, hoping to find something that will cheer me up, and I wander around, and wander around, and wander around, and...
Suddenly, over the PA system, comes a man's sturdy voice:
If anybody needs anything, just page Larry. I'm available.
... Huh.
...maybe I need to page Larry...
And just that quickly, my funk and my grump and even my guilty depression are GONE!
I love you, Larry.
About two seconds later, someone did come on the PA, and make it clear that
"I need you, Larry!"
And about a minute after that, the PA came to life yet again, with a man's sturdy voice:
If anybody REALLY needs anything, just page Larry. I'm available.
...Larry, you ROCK!!! I went and found myself a little pack of dark chocolate M&Ms and a nice ocean-mist-blue tapered candle, (all for under $5) and headed home with a big goofy smile on my face. Life is good, dammit. All it needed was Larry.
Monday, March 31
Blatant Reminders
I find that once you get past the question of why they joined, most Argmy guys fall into two categories: Honor-Bound, and Rat-Pack. Neither group has many scruples against a good mug of beer, a good fist fight, and a good game of explosives now and then... but The HB type is very upright, even when he sits, and appears very clean cut, and knows how not to swear in front of children and old people. The RP type is more of a down-and-dirty kinda guy, who lives for the thrills, and really feels that line about "BROTHERS in arms," deeply.
I've got a new friend in the RP style of things--- and tonight he brought over a buddy of his of the HB variety. To talk with his mom (a good friend of mine whom I was also visiting with at the time), and get advice, in relation to something that happened relating to HB's divorce. And since that was a topic that I'd had experience in, they asked me to be part of the conversation. I was pleased to be there, and enjoyed the talk, but didn't really get to do more than offer "morale" support, if you know what I mean. Can I tell you that I have specifically NOT BEEN in the company of single sexy males my own age for a good 12-18 months now?!
So the universe is taunting me, with a Blatant Reminder that I am not as mature as I'd like to think, and it was so ridiculous that I had to laugh along-- You know, between coughing fits due to a sudden and unexplained allergy attack that occurred right after HB sat down next to me, and shaking like a leaf with a sudden (and more easily explained) attack of stage fright. I tell you, this HB guy was HOT!! And it became clear to me that I do indeed have a "type." Tall, muscular, reserved, funny, and intelligent. With a military hair cut and a ramrod straight spine. Who look like they'd be good cuddlers. Who sat next to me in the couch.
And all I could think was that I didn't want anybody to NOTICE that I was shaking like a teenager with a crush. And that somebody somewhere was LAUGHING AT ME because of course, here I am again, in the company of and attracted to... a soldgier. Great. And, even better, one who is just getting out of a long-term relationship (read: marriage). So I firmly reminded myself that this is EXACTLY why I still need some serious therapy (read: counseling) before I try to have a serious dating relationship ever again. I even made the same suggestion to him. Because I'm still attracted to the same kind of guy that I thought my X was. And I clearly stated that I'd be happy to talk "divorce" with him if he needed to-- which helped me put up a "possible-friend-only" boundary in my mind. (And actually possibly make it USEFUL that they included me in the conversation at all.) Easier not to obsess that way. Like I'm doing here. Over a total stranger who's just a nice, funny, intelligent guy in a bad situation.
See, this guy just happens to be an ex soldier with time in Iraq under his belt who is now in the coastguard while he gets his masters in Ornithology. DAMN he was hot!!! And basically single. And smart, and seemed like he'd be really easy to talk with on just about any topic. Oh and get this-- when his wife brought up the marriage issues, he HE *HE* suggested marriage counseling. And she turned him down. And I was shaking like a leaf for most of his brief visit (he chose to sit next to me on the couch-- did I tell you that already?)-- and had a minor allergy attack. Oh so segxy of me. And I am NOT INTERESTED IN HIM... and that's good because I doubt he'd consider dating me. And because he has, as he put it, a whole new five-year plan now. I thought I was the only person with one of those... Oh, right-- and because he's FUgCKING MILITARY. And one of RP's drinking buddies. RP who is only sometimes on the right side of the law, and is somehow always sure he's right... (And who I really like, but would never want to get on his bad side, which I somehow know I would do if I ever tried to hang out with him NOT at his mom's house. Sigh.)
But it was (and I do admit this, with good humor) kinda funny that the only guy I meet for about 16 months who actually seems attractive to me-- is military. Where are the cameras??? I just know this is another one of those ridiculous episodes of the sitcom that is my life, wherein my grand statements of "never again" and suchlike self-vindicating bull are put to the test and found to be horribly (hilariously?) full of holes.
(And, really, I hope he has good friends who can do more than get angry on his behalf to help him deal with the issues that come up in a messy divorce... I was lucky on that one. With friends like RP, maybe so is he. I love a guy who can acknowledge that sometimes his mom DOES have good advice!)
So yeah-- How was YOUR evening?
I've got a new friend in the RP style of things--- and tonight he brought over a buddy of his of the HB variety. To talk with his mom (a good friend of mine whom I was also visiting with at the time), and get advice, in relation to something that happened relating to HB's divorce. And since that was a topic that I'd had experience in, they asked me to be part of the conversation. I was pleased to be there, and enjoyed the talk, but didn't really get to do more than offer "morale" support, if you know what I mean. Can I tell you that I have specifically NOT BEEN in the company of single sexy males my own age for a good 12-18 months now?!
So the universe is taunting me, with a Blatant Reminder that I am not as mature as I'd like to think, and it was so ridiculous that I had to laugh along-- You know, between coughing fits due to a sudden and unexplained allergy attack that occurred right after HB sat down next to me, and shaking like a leaf with a sudden (and more easily explained) attack of stage fright. I tell you, this HB guy was HOT!! And it became clear to me that I do indeed have a "type." Tall, muscular, reserved, funny, and intelligent. With a military hair cut and a ramrod straight spine. Who look like they'd be good cuddlers. Who sat next to me in the couch.
And all I could think was that I didn't want anybody to NOTICE that I was shaking like a teenager with a crush. And that somebody somewhere was LAUGHING AT ME because of course, here I am again, in the company of and attracted to... a soldgier. Great. And, even better, one who is just getting out of a long-term relationship (read: marriage). So I firmly reminded myself that this is EXACTLY why I still need some serious therapy (read: counseling) before I try to have a serious dating relationship ever again. I even made the same suggestion to him. Because I'm still attracted to the same kind of guy that I thought my X was. And I clearly stated that I'd be happy to talk "divorce" with him if he needed to-- which helped me put up a "possible-friend-only" boundary in my mind. (And actually possibly make it USEFUL that they included me in the conversation at all.) Easier not to obsess that way. Like I'm doing here. Over a total stranger who's just a nice, funny, intelligent guy in a bad situation.
See, this guy just happens to be an ex soldier with time in Iraq under his belt who is now in the coastguard while he gets his masters in Ornithology. DAMN he was hot!!! And basically single. And smart, and seemed like he'd be really easy to talk with on just about any topic. Oh and get this-- when his wife brought up the marriage issues, he HE *HE* suggested marriage counseling. And she turned him down. And I was shaking like a leaf for most of his brief visit (he chose to sit next to me on the couch-- did I tell you that already?)-- and had a minor allergy attack. Oh so segxy of me. And I am NOT INTERESTED IN HIM... and that's good because I doubt he'd consider dating me. And because he has, as he put it, a whole new five-year plan now. I thought I was the only person with one of those... Oh, right-- and because he's FUgCKING MILITARY. And one of RP's drinking buddies. RP who is only sometimes on the right side of the law, and is somehow always sure he's right... (And who I really like, but would never want to get on his bad side, which I somehow know I would do if I ever tried to hang out with him NOT at his mom's house. Sigh.)
But it was (and I do admit this, with good humor) kinda funny that the only guy I meet for about 16 months who actually seems attractive to me-- is military. Where are the cameras??? I just know this is another one of those ridiculous episodes of the sitcom that is my life, wherein my grand statements of "never again" and suchlike self-vindicating bull are put to the test and found to be horribly (hilariously?) full of holes.
(And, really, I hope he has good friends who can do more than get angry on his behalf to help him deal with the issues that come up in a messy divorce... I was lucky on that one. With friends like RP, maybe so is he. I love a guy who can acknowledge that sometimes his mom DOES have good advice!)
So yeah-- How was YOUR evening?
Tuesday, January 22
Somehow, I Managed
About the crock pot...
Somehow, I managed to ruin a rather large and expensive crock pot stew. It was basically a bunch of fresh vegetables, a grain, some mushrooms, chicken broth, water, salt, and a bit of garlic. It tastes... bad. Bitter, and somewhat like warm moldy bread smells. If you ever have such a thing in your kitchen. Happens to me all the time.
... uhh... totally distracted by my cat. She is on top of a box (an empty box) that has a handle hole in the top, and puts her a good two feet closer to the dangling branch of one of my hanging plants. She has so far nearly biffed it by trying to reach up to the plant and play with it, by leaning WAAAAAY over the edge of the empty box to observe her domain from this new height, and by reaching one paw as far down INTO THE BOX (through the handle hole) as she possibly could, just to see what she ran into. Last but not least, she just now nearly biffed it by jumping down off the top of the two-foot-tall-but-one-foot-wide empty box. And she loved every little trouble-making minute of it.
I think I need more glee in my life. That sort of "I know I probably shouldn't be doing this but it is SO MUCH FUN!" gleeful feeling, mixed with a healthy dose of dangerous curiosity.
...sigh...
Yet again, I find myself envious of my cat.
Anyway, the lesson I'd like to share with any other hopeless cookers out there is to BELIEVE THE LABEL on the dried shitaki mushrooms. You want to soak them in water for at least 30 minutes, and then put them into DIFFERENT WATER to cook. And, I also suggest putting them in at the very end of the crock pot cycle, with your herbs. Also, if you try to use barley as your grain, put in something really sweet like ginger or sweet potato or something to help things along. And, most important of all, don't put in more than ONE ingredient you don't usually cook with per crock pot challenge. Or follow a tried and true recipe-- someone else's recipe.
This is actually the secret behind my insistence on cooking very simple foods with only a few ingredients. Fewer things can go horribly wrong. Including my spelling of the word "rescipee."
And if I ever catch the guy writing the script for this, I'm inviting him over for one of my "tasty" home-cooked meals, and I'm going to force him to eat seconds. In fact, there are actually two more helpings of this horrible goo sitting in my fridge right now. And I have no idea what to do with them.
Somehow, I managed to ruin a rather large and expensive crock pot stew. It was basically a bunch of fresh vegetables, a grain, some mushrooms, chicken broth, water, salt, and a bit of garlic. It tastes... bad. Bitter, and somewhat like warm moldy bread smells. If you ever have such a thing in your kitchen. Happens to me all the time.
... uhh... totally distracted by my cat. She is on top of a box (an empty box) that has a handle hole in the top, and puts her a good two feet closer to the dangling branch of one of my hanging plants. She has so far nearly biffed it by trying to reach up to the plant and play with it, by leaning WAAAAAY over the edge of the empty box to observe her domain from this new height, and by reaching one paw as far down INTO THE BOX (through the handle hole) as she possibly could, just to see what she ran into. Last but not least, she just now nearly biffed it by jumping down off the top of the two-foot-tall-but-one-foot-wide empty box. And she loved every little trouble-making minute of it.
I think I need more glee in my life. That sort of "I know I probably shouldn't be doing this but it is SO MUCH FUN!" gleeful feeling, mixed with a healthy dose of dangerous curiosity.
...sigh...
Yet again, I find myself envious of my cat.
Anyway, the lesson I'd like to share with any other hopeless cookers out there is to BELIEVE THE LABEL on the dried shitaki mushrooms. You want to soak them in water for at least 30 minutes, and then put them into DIFFERENT WATER to cook. And, I also suggest putting them in at the very end of the crock pot cycle, with your herbs. Also, if you try to use barley as your grain, put in something really sweet like ginger or sweet potato or something to help things along. And, most important of all, don't put in more than ONE ingredient you don't usually cook with per crock pot challenge. Or follow a tried and true recipe-- someone else's recipe.
This is actually the secret behind my insistence on cooking very simple foods with only a few ingredients. Fewer things can go horribly wrong. Including my spelling of the word "rescipee."
And if I ever catch the guy writing the script for this, I'm inviting him over for one of my "tasty" home-cooked meals, and I'm going to force him to eat seconds. In fact, there are actually two more helpings of this horrible goo sitting in my fridge right now. And I have no idea what to do with them.
Monday, December 17
Crashing
There has been a lot of crashing in my life lately.
Crashing into each wave on the hour-long boat ride from Puerto Vallarta to Yelapa Mexico...
Crashing waves in Yelapa, Mexico...
The folks who crashed the wedding party in Yelapa, Mexico...
The wedding-crasher who had way too much to drink and then crashed in Yelapa, Mexico...
Crashing because I was SO DAGM TIRED when I got home from Yelapa, Mexico...
And my least favorite,
The car crash that happened to me this morning, in the USA, on my way to work the morning after I got home from Yelapa, Mexico.
So... what's new with you?
Okay okay-- I don't have it in me to type up all the great stories from my trip to Mexico right now, but I do want to say that I have never appreciated the very LOUD noise of the pounding surf as much as I did on Saturday Night. And I was also grateful for the mosquito netting around the bed. Not only did it keep all the crawly-biteys out, but it kept me from having a full frontal view of our naked guest after he and my roomie got out of the shower. Shower being a loose term, in this particular instance. In Yelapa, the showers are... rustic... and you get to share them with the local fauna.
Also on that subject, I have a new job title to add to my resume. I became the official lizard-wrangler at the wedding, thus allowing the bride to use the "bathroom" (again, a loose term in Yelapa) prior to the wedding ceremony. I'll have you know that no animals (or reptiles) were injured during my stay. They all went out the front door under their own power. I tell you, I am a master lizard-wrangler.
And my car accident? Well... not happy. Hopefully, I'll get a free rental for a few days. Hopefully, it only takes a few days to fix my car. Hopefully, they install an all-way stop at that dagmn intersection sooner than later. The officer did say, though, that this accident had less residual car-bits to clean up than most accidents at that intersection do. Yay. Nobody was hurt in any visible fashion. That's the good news.
Crashing into each wave on the hour-long boat ride from Puerto Vallarta to Yelapa Mexico...
Crashing waves in Yelapa, Mexico...
The folks who crashed the wedding party in Yelapa, Mexico...
The wedding-crasher who had way too much to drink and then crashed in Yelapa, Mexico...
Crashing because I was SO DAGM TIRED when I got home from Yelapa, Mexico...
And my least favorite,
The car crash that happened to me this morning, in the USA, on my way to work the morning after I got home from Yelapa, Mexico.
So... what's new with you?
Okay okay-- I don't have it in me to type up all the great stories from my trip to Mexico right now, but I do want to say that I have never appreciated the very LOUD noise of the pounding surf as much as I did on Saturday Night. And I was also grateful for the mosquito netting around the bed. Not only did it keep all the crawly-biteys out, but it kept me from having a full frontal view of our naked guest after he and my roomie got out of the shower. Shower being a loose term, in this particular instance. In Yelapa, the showers are... rustic... and you get to share them with the local fauna.
Also on that subject, I have a new job title to add to my resume. I became the official lizard-wrangler at the wedding, thus allowing the bride to use the "bathroom" (again, a loose term in Yelapa) prior to the wedding ceremony. I'll have you know that no animals (or reptiles) were injured during my stay. They all went out the front door under their own power. I tell you, I am a master lizard-wrangler.
And my car accident? Well... not happy. Hopefully, I'll get a free rental for a few days. Hopefully, it only takes a few days to fix my car. Hopefully, they install an all-way stop at that dagmn intersection sooner than later. The officer did say, though, that this accident had less residual car-bits to clean up than most accidents at that intersection do. Yay. Nobody was hurt in any visible fashion. That's the good news.
Monday, December 3
CatTail #347
There I was, sitting at the dining table, reading my favorite comic book and blowing my nose because I have the head cold for hell...
when suddenly, and very quietly, from the direction of the bathroom...
ka-thud.
It sounded strangely like a cupboard door closing. But it's just me and Abbigale tonight. Waiiiit....
My cat must be trying to get into the bathroom cupboard. Again. So I yell a reprimand, and watch the hallway for any nonchalantly emerging kitties. But nobody appears. Sometimes she waits until I actually head toward her to stop whatever it is she KNOWS she isn't supposed to be doing... so I get up from the table.
No dice.
I went down the hall and into the bathroom, stepping carefully in case any guilty kitties tried to flee the crime scene, as they've been known to do. The bathroom was empty. Silent and empty. (Insert shark music here.) So, not being one to give up easily, I opened the first cupboard door I came to. And out popped a kitty. Pmmrrowt? A kitty who had obviously been trying to open the hinged side of the cupboard door for some time with no great success, but was too proud to meow for help.
I really hadn't thought there was ROOM on that particular shelf for a cat, but hey-- I've been wrong before. And she didn't actually knock anything over while she was in there. Actually, I used to barricade that cupboard doors shut with a half-gallon of vinegar, but people kept stubbing their toes and looking at me like I was crazy when they went into the bathroom... They obviously don't know about Abbigale the Intrepid Explorer. But I do. I have photographic evidence of her earlier excavations under the living room rug. And a permanent record of her fangs in the soft wax of a tapered candle that once got in her way. I've occasionally woken to the sound of wind chimes. Inside the house. And thus been called to duty as refiller of dangerously low cat food bowls at 4am-- more than once. So I know that just because I couldn't immediately see evidence of a crime didn't mean one hadn't been perpetrated. Oh no.
A ka-thud in this household, however quiet, is worth a thorough investigation, and probably a good laugh. If it isn't 4am. At 4am, it's only worth throwing a shoe in that general direction and hoping the covers are still warm when you get back under them.
I love my cat. Mostly.
when suddenly, and very quietly, from the direction of the bathroom...
ka-thud.
It sounded strangely like a cupboard door closing. But it's just me and Abbigale tonight. Waiiiit....
My cat must be trying to get into the bathroom cupboard. Again. So I yell a reprimand, and watch the hallway for any nonchalantly emerging kitties. But nobody appears. Sometimes she waits until I actually head toward her to stop whatever it is she KNOWS she isn't supposed to be doing... so I get up from the table.
No dice.
I went down the hall and into the bathroom, stepping carefully in case any guilty kitties tried to flee the crime scene, as they've been known to do. The bathroom was empty. Silent and empty. (Insert shark music here.) So, not being one to give up easily, I opened the first cupboard door I came to. And out popped a kitty. Pmmrrowt? A kitty who had obviously been trying to open the hinged side of the cupboard door for some time with no great success, but was too proud to meow for help.
I really hadn't thought there was ROOM on that particular shelf for a cat, but hey-- I've been wrong before. And she didn't actually knock anything over while she was in there. Actually, I used to barricade that cupboard doors shut with a half-gallon of vinegar, but people kept stubbing their toes and looking at me like I was crazy when they went into the bathroom... They obviously don't know about Abbigale the Intrepid Explorer. But I do. I have photographic evidence of her earlier excavations under the living room rug. And a permanent record of her fangs in the soft wax of a tapered candle that once got in her way. I've occasionally woken to the sound of wind chimes. Inside the house. And thus been called to duty as refiller of dangerously low cat food bowls at 4am-- more than once. So I know that just because I couldn't immediately see evidence of a crime didn't mean one hadn't been perpetrated. Oh no.
A ka-thud in this household, however quiet, is worth a thorough investigation, and probably a good laugh. If it isn't 4am. At 4am, it's only worth throwing a shoe in that general direction and hoping the covers are still warm when you get back under them.
I love my cat. Mostly.
Wednesday, November 7
BTW$
By the way... in case you were wondering...
Higher One knew I'd be checking my phone for messages at 2pm last Friday.
They knew I was expecting a confirmation of wire transfer to my existing bank account, by 2pm, PST. I wanted my money back. Again.
Do Not Mess With The Angry StudentNannyLibrarianLady.
I'm determined, educated, and I have more experience using my voice to Get Things Done than you even want to imagine.
...kthxbai.
I received a phone call from Higher One at 1:47pm. Wire transfer confirmed.
I checked with my bank on Sunday. (I love online banking.)
Wire transfer received.
...I think my blood pressure went down about fifty points....
I love my Mommy Voice!
Higher One knew I'd be checking my phone for messages at 2pm last Friday.
They knew I was expecting a confirmation of wire transfer to my existing bank account, by 2pm, PST. I wanted my money back. Again.
Do Not Mess With The Angry StudentNannyLibrarianLady.
I'm determined, educated, and I have more experience using my voice to Get Things Done than you even want to imagine.
...kthxbai.
I received a phone call from Higher One at 1:47pm. Wire transfer confirmed.
I checked with my bank on Sunday. (I love online banking.)
Wire transfer received.
...I think my blood pressure went down about fifty points....
I love my Mommy Voice!
Friday, November 2
SHOW ME THE MONEY!
Well, it turns out that even after you FINALLY RECEIVE your reissued student loan check, and deposit it into your bank account even though they put the wrong last name on it, and the bank says there are no holds on the check and the money is now available... even then, the lender can make another mistake that means you STILL DON'T HAVE YOUR STUDENT LOAN MONEY FROM JULY!!!!
In this case, they refused to fund the check. So the bank readjusted my balance, and mailed the check back to me. The student loan folks tell me that the Federal Reserve accidentally sent out duplicates of some student loan checks, and although I haven't received the duplicate, my bank hasn't had a duplicate deposit, and the loan company knows all this-- they still refused to fund the check because this was a "duplicate presentment." (Although, I'm sure the govgernment are having no trouble charging me INTEREST on the money I don't have. To help me with basic living expenses while I'm in school. Have I mentioned that I graduate in six weeks?)
Let me tell you, Higher One received the business end of my Mommy Voice yesterday. They have a deadline. And a bank account number. And they will be calling me THIS MORNING with an update that SHOULD include confirmation of a wire transfer.
...third time a charm?
In this case, they refused to fund the check. So the bank readjusted my balance, and mailed the check back to me. The student loan folks tell me that the Federal Reserve accidentally sent out duplicates of some student loan checks, and although I haven't received the duplicate, my bank hasn't had a duplicate deposit, and the loan company knows all this-- they still refused to fund the check because this was a "duplicate presentment." (Although, I'm sure the govgernment are having no trouble charging me INTEREST on the money I don't have. To help me with basic living expenses while I'm in school. Have I mentioned that I graduate in six weeks?)
Let me tell you, Higher One received the business end of my Mommy Voice yesterday. They have a deadline. And a bank account number. And they will be calling me THIS MORNING with an update that SHOULD include confirmation of a wire transfer.
...third time a charm?
Sunday, October 21
Neighborhood BBQ
It's 2am. I'm up and blogging because it's quiet. You know, in comparison to the last 25 minutes, during which time the all-building fire alarm was screaming at the top of its lungs.
Loudly.
But I learned that having some idiot pull the fire alarm at 1am is a REALLY good way to get to know your neighbors. No shigt, there we were. All of us. From the whole building. Standing around in our coats and sweat pants, laughing because we each determined that it wasn't OUR room that was on fire, and therefore tried to dismantle the ceiling alarm in our respective rooms... before we realized that this was not an alarm we could dismantle. No. In fact, someone came up from a different floor to apologize to those of us standing around outside, and explain that he'd left his friends alone in his apartment for a few minutes, and that someone had gone and pulled the fire alarm. Which can only be turned off by the fire department, it turns out. Thank god someone thought to call them.
We also laughed about what each of us thought to bring out of our apartments when we thought the building might be burning down. I brought my cat, my purse, and my book of passwords. I even remembered to put on pants and a coat, and get my car keys before I opened the door to my neighbors and went to stand in the cold for however long it took. The girl below me who thought to call the fire department took a moment to clean up her dirty clothes pile, and then grabbed her purse and her recycling so the place would be clean when the firemen arrived. She even had her make up on. A guy from down the way grabbed ear plugs and his leather coat. The guy below me grabbed his guitar.
Funny what matters most when you can't take everything. Funny that we all checked out our own places and assumed it was our own false alarm (because this happens a lot individually for us all-- any combination of cooking and oil will do it)... and that it took probably 5 or 10 minutes for us all to get out of our apartments. If it had been a real fire, would we have made it out?
I put my cat in the car, and then stood with everyone else on the sidewalk while people who'd been through this before told us how it happens, and how it gets turned off. And the guy with the do-it-yourself tattoos and the idiot friend (and the just-starting party) apologized. And finally the fire truck came. And they turned off the alarm. And we all wished each other a good night, and went back to our respective 2am activities. If my cat catches pneumonia, I know where to send the bill, that's for sure!
I've definitely decided to sleep in. Don't call me, k? And... I'm glad to say that most of my neighbors are pretty darn nice. Even at 2am.
Loudly.
But I learned that having some idiot pull the fire alarm at 1am is a REALLY good way to get to know your neighbors. No shigt, there we were. All of us. From the whole building. Standing around in our coats and sweat pants, laughing because we each determined that it wasn't OUR room that was on fire, and therefore tried to dismantle the ceiling alarm in our respective rooms... before we realized that this was not an alarm we could dismantle. No. In fact, someone came up from a different floor to apologize to those of us standing around outside, and explain that he'd left his friends alone in his apartment for a few minutes, and that someone had gone and pulled the fire alarm. Which can only be turned off by the fire department, it turns out. Thank god someone thought to call them.
We also laughed about what each of us thought to bring out of our apartments when we thought the building might be burning down. I brought my cat, my purse, and my book of passwords. I even remembered to put on pants and a coat, and get my car keys before I opened the door to my neighbors and went to stand in the cold for however long it took. The girl below me who thought to call the fire department took a moment to clean up her dirty clothes pile, and then grabbed her purse and her recycling so the place would be clean when the firemen arrived. She even had her make up on. A guy from down the way grabbed ear plugs and his leather coat. The guy below me grabbed his guitar.
Funny what matters most when you can't take everything. Funny that we all checked out our own places and assumed it was our own false alarm (because this happens a lot individually for us all-- any combination of cooking and oil will do it)... and that it took probably 5 or 10 minutes for us all to get out of our apartments. If it had been a real fire, would we have made it out?
I put my cat in the car, and then stood with everyone else on the sidewalk while people who'd been through this before told us how it happens, and how it gets turned off. And the guy with the do-it-yourself tattoos and the idiot friend (and the just-starting party) apologized. And finally the fire truck came. And they turned off the alarm. And we all wished each other a good night, and went back to our respective 2am activities. If my cat catches pneumonia, I know where to send the bill, that's for sure!
I've definitely decided to sleep in. Don't call me, k? And... I'm glad to say that most of my neighbors are pretty darn nice. Even at 2am.
Wednesday, October 17
Moment of the Day
No shigt, there I was. (That's how all good Army stories start. Makes you want to hear what's going to happen next, doesn't it?) Sitting behind the Reference Desk at the Unnamed Public Library, observing Reference Services in action.
On one side, young guy, quiet voice, girlfriend hiding around the corner:
"Do you guys have the Kamga Sugtra?"
On the other side, mature mother with 8-year-old daughter peering anxiously around Mom's elbow:
"Where do you keep the Frog and Toad stories?"
The juxtaposition of those two requests (and the stages in life of the people making them) was priceless.
I just love the Reference Desk. I really do. Today, among our other requests, we also had one for the history of bread making, one for books about Thunder and Lightning for toddlers (somebody got scared), and a woman who hadn't used her library card in over five years, but really really wanted to check out Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. We also discovered that we have NO books about spiders in stock, and only one children's fact book on mosquitos. It was a sad day for somebody. Also, I discovered that ALL the copies of The Princess Diaries, vol. 1, are checked out until doom's day, or the day after. I have to read it before our next Teen Council meeting, by popular choice, no less. That's going to be fun. Oh, and apparently the third book in some Violent Fantasy series for pre-teens is due out soon, and nobody quite knows when. Solution?
Ask Reference.
And lets not for get that the crazy man wanted to have a staring contest (which we've all been warned NOT TO DO with this particular crazy. Seriously. As soon as they saw him coming, the closest librarian turned to me and said, "Don't make eye contact with this one. He's bad-crazy.") so he made kissy noises at all the women behind the desk until our WONDERFUL security officer of the day came back inside, and crazy man left. Apparently, the crazy man is still smart and sane enough not to cause trouble in front of a cop. Who, by the way, had just finished dealing with another crazy person (female this time) who'd been harassing patrons on their way into the library.
Wednesday is crazy people day.
So yeah. Just another day at the office.
How was yours?
....You know... In retrospect, it occurs to me that some smart producer will eventually realize that libraries are NOT boring, and all the insane stories we librarians have amassed over the years and years and years we've been working with THE PUBLIC (all of it) will finally have an OUTLET. Can you imagine how FUNNY and yet Reality TV Bazarre a sitcom could be if it were based around all the stuff that happens around the Reference Desk at a busy library? I mean-- we've got rebellious teens trying to shock us by asking for info about occult magic (Yes, that section is HERE, and we've got some great websites to suggest as well. Have you read anything by Scott Cunningham yet?); and we've got elderly ladies learning to use computers so they can do online dating; and we've got the little angelic boy who keeps finding new and inventive ways to jam the printer... There is even a whole genre of librarian humor devoted to different terms and best locations for "doing it" in the stacks, you know. And we've found the dirty condgoms to prove it, thank you very much.
That's not even MENTIONING all the drama and hilarity of filming the librarians themselves. How about the 5foot tall ex-rugby player with her dog's footprint tattooed on her back? And the old-school reference lady who turns off her hearing aid when she doesn't feel like helping people? And the ex-Secret Service guy who left Government work and went into on-call reference services at the public library, but likes to act tough and tell war stories from Desert Storm (he wasn't ever officially there, you know) around the few male librarians we've managed to hire...
What about old what's-her-name who accidentally left behind forty-one pairs of black pumps when she retired? (We're still not sure what she wore home from work on those particular days.) Or Henry, who up until a year or two ago, was both head of a well-known Academic Library, and one of the best-loved down hill ski coaches (not to mention his hobby of white-water rafting!) ever. Oh, and that hot children's librarian from Europe, with the cute little accent and the cute little buns... Too bad he's married... And I don't think you could pay me enough to wear those two 8-foot tall cat costumes that require someone else to lead you around because you can't really see out of them... But yet those two cats are seen at every ALA conference, bumbling around after cute library geeks whenever they find one...
I tell you, a sitcom based on library world would strike PAY DIRT. Nobody could make up some of the stories we've got to tell! And believe it or not, I have personally met every one of those librarians previously mentioned. And most of the patrons, too. I have yet to find a condgom, but I know people who have, and I did once find a squatter in the library at closing time. He'd set up his tent back in the Government Documents section, correctly assuming that nobody goes there if they can help it, and was preparing a wiener dog over a propane burner for his dinner when I passed by. I still can't believe the fire alarm didn't go off.
But then... you know my opinion of fire alarms.
On one side, young guy, quiet voice, girlfriend hiding around the corner:
"Do you guys have the Kamga Sugtra?"
On the other side, mature mother with 8-year-old daughter peering anxiously around Mom's elbow:
"Where do you keep the Frog and Toad stories?"
The juxtaposition of those two requests (and the stages in life of the people making them) was priceless.
I just love the Reference Desk. I really do. Today, among our other requests, we also had one for the history of bread making, one for books about Thunder and Lightning for toddlers (somebody got scared), and a woman who hadn't used her library card in over five years, but really really wanted to check out Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. We also discovered that we have NO books about spiders in stock, and only one children's fact book on mosquitos. It was a sad day for somebody. Also, I discovered that ALL the copies of The Princess Diaries, vol. 1, are checked out until doom's day, or the day after. I have to read it before our next Teen Council meeting, by popular choice, no less. That's going to be fun. Oh, and apparently the third book in some Violent Fantasy series for pre-teens is due out soon, and nobody quite knows when. Solution?
Ask Reference.
And lets not for get that the crazy man wanted to have a staring contest (which we've all been warned NOT TO DO with this particular crazy. Seriously. As soon as they saw him coming, the closest librarian turned to me and said, "Don't make eye contact with this one. He's bad-crazy.") so he made kissy noises at all the women behind the desk until our WONDERFUL security officer of the day came back inside, and crazy man left. Apparently, the crazy man is still smart and sane enough not to cause trouble in front of a cop. Who, by the way, had just finished dealing with another crazy person (female this time) who'd been harassing patrons on their way into the library.
Wednesday is crazy people day.
So yeah. Just another day at the office.
How was yours?
....You know... In retrospect, it occurs to me that some smart producer will eventually realize that libraries are NOT boring, and all the insane stories we librarians have amassed over the years and years and years we've been working with THE PUBLIC (all of it) will finally have an OUTLET. Can you imagine how FUNNY and yet Reality TV Bazarre a sitcom could be if it were based around all the stuff that happens around the Reference Desk at a busy library? I mean-- we've got rebellious teens trying to shock us by asking for info about occult magic (Yes, that section is HERE, and we've got some great websites to suggest as well. Have you read anything by Scott Cunningham yet?); and we've got elderly ladies learning to use computers so they can do online dating; and we've got the little angelic boy who keeps finding new and inventive ways to jam the printer... There is even a whole genre of librarian humor devoted to different terms and best locations for "doing it" in the stacks, you know. And we've found the dirty condgoms to prove it, thank you very much.
That's not even MENTIONING all the drama and hilarity of filming the librarians themselves. How about the 5foot tall ex-rugby player with her dog's footprint tattooed on her back? And the old-school reference lady who turns off her hearing aid when she doesn't feel like helping people? And the ex-Secret Service guy who left Government work and went into on-call reference services at the public library, but likes to act tough and tell war stories from Desert Storm (he wasn't ever officially there, you know) around the few male librarians we've managed to hire...
What about old what's-her-name who accidentally left behind forty-one pairs of black pumps when she retired? (We're still not sure what she wore home from work on those particular days.) Or Henry, who up until a year or two ago, was both head of a well-known Academic Library, and one of the best-loved down hill ski coaches (not to mention his hobby of white-water rafting!) ever. Oh, and that hot children's librarian from Europe, with the cute little accent and the cute little buns... Too bad he's married... And I don't think you could pay me enough to wear those two 8-foot tall cat costumes that require someone else to lead you around because you can't really see out of them... But yet those two cats are seen at every ALA conference, bumbling around after cute library geeks whenever they find one...
I tell you, a sitcom based on library world would strike PAY DIRT. Nobody could make up some of the stories we've got to tell! And believe it or not, I have personally met every one of those librarians previously mentioned. And most of the patrons, too. I have yet to find a condgom, but I know people who have, and I did once find a squatter in the library at closing time. He'd set up his tent back in the Government Documents section, correctly assuming that nobody goes there if they can help it, and was preparing a wiener dog over a propane burner for his dinner when I passed by. I still can't believe the fire alarm didn't go off.
But then... you know my opinion of fire alarms.
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