Operation Pink Herring

What I've been up to

(Format liberally borrowed from Janet, who borrowed it from Not Martha)

Reading

The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan.  Although it took me a good month (or three) to get past the first fifty pages about corncorncorn, I am now simultaneously enthralled and horrified.  Did you know cows aren't naturally adapted to eat corn?  Did you know that many organic free-range chickens only have access to a tiny yard outside their shed during the last two weeks of their lives, and by that time they're so used to being indoors that they're too scared to venture out of their shed?  DID YOU?   DID YOU KNOW THAT?  Because I sure didn't.  But if you've been anywhere near me during the past couple of days, I probably told you all about it.  And yes, I do realize I am about two years late on the bandwagon here, what's your point?

Eating

I need to bring three side dishes to a fancy bridal shower in June, and RA helpfully shared two of her tried-and-true recipes for me to practice with.  I had a moment of panic when I realized I wasn't sure exactly what a clove of garlic was (Hey Joel?  How much is a clove of garlic?  Is it the whole thing?  I think it's the whole thing because the directions said to peel it, but that sure seems like a lot of garlic.  But I already put it all in, so I hope that a clove means the whole thing.), and Rachel Ray is smoking some serious crack if she really thinks this recipe can be done from start to finish in 15 minutes (it took me 15 minutes just to peel the clove of garlic), but the salad was delicious.  Bonus points: I made it with spinach I picked up at the local farmer's market!

Watching

The first two installments of the Indiana Jones Trilogy.   Can you believe I've never seen them?   Neither can I.   We're working hard to rectify that before the new one comes out in theaters. 

Oh, and I am also still watching Moonlight, and I'd like you all to know that I actually think that this show is getting better.  Seriously!  It's not like it could have gotten any worse, but hey: progress is progress.

Meeting

Laurel, from Sass Attack!  I had to attend a meeting in NYC for work, and I asked Laurel if she'd like to meet up for drinks before my meeting on Thursday night.  And she said yes!  And I actually found the bar she suggested!  That deserves many, many exclamation points!!!  We had a fabulous time, if I do say so myself.  Can we do it again soon?  Like, tomorrow?  Or how about right now? 

Shopping

With my momma.  After my meeting in NYC, I spent the rest of the weekend in NJ.  Since it was pouring rain on Friday, we went shopping.  I'm proud to report that we came away with an outfit for my mom to wear to an upcoming party AND two pairs of great, non-low rise, jeans.  I also introduced my mom both Ann Taylor franchises, and while she didn't buy anything there, I ended up taking home more than enough for both of us.   Hello, new shoes!

Listening

To that Jordin Sparks "No Air" song.  I have never watched American Idol, but I do love me some Jordin Sparks.  Almost as much as Kelly Clarkson.   

Loving

How much my kitties missed us while we were away for the weekend.  Having a snuggly cat nestled uncomfortably in your armpit all night is almost as nice as sleeping in blissful silence for two nights in a row at your mom's house.  Almost.  Apparently the key to raising loving and obedient pets is to abandon them for the weekend on a regular basis.

Wondering

If I should make plans for the upcoming Memorial Day weekend, or if it would be more fun to hole up at home for the entire three-day break.  Thoughts?

The secret to living a happy and productive life, let me tell you it.

My normal weekend routine includes sleeping until at 10 or 11am, putzing around the house, watching some TV, eating breakfast, eating lunch, organizing, cleaning, possibly changing out of my pajamas to go to yoga, maybe taking a shower, maybe doing some laundry, and eating some more.   

Now, I love this routine.  I get all antsy whenever we have actual plans that keep me from getting in my cleaning/organizing/sleeping/watching TV in pajamas time.  I need my time at home to keep me sane.    But all too often, I find myself feeling depressed on Saturday nights because the weekend is suddenly half over and I've accomplished nothing.  In theory, I strongly believe that rest and relaxation are noble and valid activities for a Saturday.  In practice, OMG NOTHING GOT CROSSED OFF MY TO-DO LISTWAAAAAAAAH I SUCK.

Well, friends: after twenty-seven years on this planet, I have solved my perpetual conundrum.  I have discovered how someone who is NOT A MORNING PERSON can still get the most out of a weekend day, without sacrificing sleep! 

The secret is... go to sleep at 9:30pm on Saturday night.  That's right, you heard me!  Just go to bed at 9:30pm, and you'll be able to wake up feeling refreshed from a hefty eleven hour rest, make yourself a nice breakfast of waffles and Morningstar Farms Sausage Patties (I am convinced that these patties are not at all vegetarian.  They are way too delicious to be made out of soybeans and vegetables), and freshly brewed coffee -- which you made yourself -- and still leave the house by 9am!   I even managed to put in a load of laundry before I headed out to the Farmer's Market!  And it was still before 9am!  I think this deserves at least seven more exclamation points!!!!!!! (!!!)

PS: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After hitting up the Farmer's Market to support my local agronomists (The Omnivore's Dilemma is guilting me into becoming a better person), I also

• Went to Target
• Stopped by Ann Taylor Loft
• Went to Safeway
• Cleaned up the entire back patio, including sweeping, planting flowers, and dragging the hose out of the basement to water the new flowers
• Took down the Christmas lights from the front windowbox, watered the plants, weeded our sidewalk planter box
• Vacuumed the entire house

That, right there, is about two month's worth of stuff.  And I got it all done before Joel came home from his race at 7pm.  Seriously, if I had known this was all it takes to feel so productive, I would have adopted a six-year-old's bedtime ages ago! 

(OK, not really.  I am still a night owl at heart, and I really didn't intend to fall asleep at 9:30.  It just kind of happened.)

In other news: This weekend Joel was informed that he won a Bigtime Coaching Award That I Probably Shouldn't Name On My Personal Internet Site, Now That I Think About It.   So, howza bout a round  of applause for mah man?

In other news (part two): I am absolutely loving everyone's submissions and comments on Mission: Put Together.  Keep em' coming!  You guys are almost making Business Casual fun.  Almost.   

Because if we dont' talk about the stupid reunion, maybe it will just be over

A - ADVOCATE FOR: Animal rights, environmentalism, and other hippie liberal causes.

B - BEST FEATURE: Empathy

C - COULD DO WITHOUT: The term "business casual"

D - DREAMS & DESIRES: That the stupid reunion that I have absolutely no reason to dread so much will be rained out?

E - ESSENTIAL ITEMS: Coffee.  Hand lotion.  Chapstick.  Cell phone.

F - FAVORITE PAST TIME: Watching Law and Order reruns.

G - GOOD AT: Organizing things.  Folding Laundry.

H - HAVE NEVER TRIED: Ordering groceries online.

I - IF I HAD A MILLION DOLLARS: I would quit my job, sell my house, buy a bigger house and a new car. 

J - JUNKIE FOR: Cinnamon PopTarts. 

K - KINDRED SPIRIT: My sister-wife.

L - LITTLE KNOWN FACT: I chose my own middle name.

M - MEMORABLE MOMENT: The day that I went to pick Madison up from the SPCA, January 10th 2004, is still so clear in my mind.  When Joel asked me what I wanted for my birthday that year, I told him I wanted a kitten or a diamond.  At that time, a diamond was completely out of the question; it was my way of saying I wanted a kitten OR ELSE.  I went to the SPCA in Hampden on January 9th, the day after my birthday, and put a "hold" on a tiny, adorable brown tabby kitten named Mouse.  But by the time Joel and I made it back to the SPCA the next morning, my conscience had gotten the better of me, and I released the hold on Mouse.  There were at least a dozen kids with their parents in tow, pointing at the different kittens in the SPCA's nursery, and one in particular had her eye on Mouse and one of his siblings.  We went over to the adult cat enclosure, and I pointed to Madison, who had caught my eye the day before.  We went into the "meeting room" while the SPCA volunteer tried to get Madison out of his cage.  A few minutes later, she brought him into the room, still wedged into the cardboard box he was using as a bed.  "He doesn't want to get out of the box.  I've never seen a cat do this before," she told us. 

On the way out, the other cats in their cages broke my heart.  No one wants an adult cat.  I looked around the room and picked out the one whose index card said he's been there the longest: since October.  The volunteer assured us that Max wasn't overweight, he was just an extra-large cat, and that's the line I've been using ever since, even though Max is now at least two pounds heavier thanks to my inability to deny him the treats he loves so much.  When the volunteer tried to take him out of his cage to "meet" us, Max scurried under the row of cages.  It took two SPCA employees and with a broom to get him out.  When we got him home, he stayed in his box for a week, and then under the bed for at least another week.

N - NEVER AGAIN WILL I: Adopt two cats so that "they can play together" without first checking if said cats actually enjoy playing with other animals. 

O - OCCASIONAL INDULGENCE: Mani/pedi

P - PROFESSION: See: Papers, pushing of

Q - QUOTE: You boys like Meeeexicooo?

R - REASON TO SMILE: High School Musical 2.  Zac Efron's solo desert dance of self-discovery.   WATCH IT.

S - SORRY ABOUT: The fact that weekends are only two days long.

T - TAG SOME FRIENDS: Anyone else who loves Disney Original movies.

U - UNINTERESTED IN: Anything that involves the word "networking"

V - VERY SCARED OF: Snakes, heights

W - WORST HABIT: picking my fingers

X - X MARKS MY IDEAL VACATION SPOT: Hawaii/Europe/Iceland/South America/Ireland/Asia

Y - YUMMIEST DESSERT: the extremely rare Coffee Oreo ice cream

Z - ZODIAC SIGN: Capricorn

Awkward moments at the gym, take two

One of the front desk monitors at my gym (yup, THIS ONE) has taken to calling me “Pinky”.  I find it vaguely annoying, partly because the pink hat I sometimes wear in the winter (the one in the About Me Photo up on the top left) really isn’t extraordinary enough to warrant an nickname and partly because, well, I don’t really want to be called “Pinky”. 

Last night, I arrived just in time for my 5:30 date with the elliptical.  As I swiped my card (which I now pay for with perfectly good money!), he looked up and said “Hey there, Pinky.”

“You’re going to need to come up with a new nickname, I’ve officially retired that hat for the season”, I told him.   (And let me just add that my name pops up on the screen he’s looking at when I swipe my card, so it’s not like he doesn’t know my real name.)

“Pinky’s a good name, though,” he replied.  And I would have just left it there, except I decided last week that I need to be better about actually talking to the people I see daily – the people who work in the coffee shop, the woman who collects my trash every afternoon, the security guard who checks my badge every morning and afternoon.  Here’s my opportunity, I thought.  Time to start being a better person!

“I don’t think I want to be Pinky.  It reminds me of Pinky from Pinky and the Brain,” I said.

“Pinky and the Brain is a great show!”

“Um, yeah, but Pinky is RETARDED.”

“He’s not retarded, he’s funny”

“He’s funny because he’s retarded.”

All the same, I’d rather not share a nickname with a retarded mouse.  Anyway, I’d better get going…

Yeah, you better get to it!  You’re always working hard.   We were just talking about how hard you work here.

(?!?)

You and who? 

Oh, you know, me and one of the other guys here.

(?!?!?!!)

Yeah, not really.  I haven’t been here in like, two weeks.  I NEED to work out harder. (Awkward laugh)

No, you’re doing really great!  We were just talking about how big you’re getting.

(?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!)

What?!  How big I’m getting,  like (arm flex), or how big I’m getting, like (hands on hips)?

Oh, no no, like GOOD big! You’re definitely not getting big!  You’ve lost a lot of weight, haven’t you?

Uh… not really.

Yes you have! 

Uh…. Not really. 

How much?

Like…. Two pounds.

No way.

Um… yes way.  (Can you feel the awkwardness growing?  AND GROWING?)

You’ve lost more than that.   You’ve lost at least like 20-30 lbs!

UM.  WHAT?

Yeah, you’re doing great!

Aaaand that’s when I walked away and drowned myself in the public water fountain.

Important things to remember:

• This guy is a certified personal trainer, not some jackhole who knows nothing about weight or fitness.
• I am five foot one.  I am currently 10 pounds over my ideal weight.  Meaning this dude thinks that at one point I was FORTY pounds over my ideal weight.
• Forty pounds may not sound THAT bad, but let me reiterate: FIVE FOOT ONE.  Forty pounds on me is like sixty on a normal person.
• I have NEVER weighed TWENTY TO THIRTY POUNDS MORE THAN I DO NOW.
• PEOPLE AT THE GYM TALK ABOUT ME. 
• AND THEY THINK I’M FAT. 

Operation: Talk to People/Be A Better Person is officially canceled. 

Aliens are feeding them information. I know it.

I have a profile on LinkedIn, although I'm not sure why.  When I first read about it a few months ago I was curious and wanted to look around... and, of course, it wouldn't let me do that without creating a profile of my own.   So I have a profile, but there's nothing in it -- mostly because I'm not planning to make a long-term career out of my current position or field, and partly because "networking" in general makes me break out in hives.  But hey, it can't hurt, I figured.  Sometimes Joel uses my login to look people up, so it's not useless.  I have exactly four contacts (and two of them are bloggers).  My profile is only 55% complete, whatever that means.

Today I logged in to look something up -- I honestly cannot remember what -- and I spit coffee all over my computer monitor when I saw the welcome screen.  There was a list of "People You Might Know", and on that list were:

1. A dude that was in a couple of my grad classes who now teaches English in Turkey.  I was on his mailing list for awhile and got periodic updates about his life in Istanbul, but I haven't heard anything from him in over a year.
2. Y from Joy Unexpected.  I read her blog.  Once, she replied to one of my comments.  That's as far as our relationship goes.  I doubt she would be pleased to find out that LinkedIn showed me her real last name.
3. My friend's sister. 
4. A girl from my ex-sorority that I haven't talked to in years
5. A friend of a friend -- I thought this one was an error because I didn't recognize the name at first, but when I read her job history I realized that I actually do know her.  Well, sort of. 

So LinkedIn is right, I do know every single one of these people.  But how do THEY know this?  And more importantly, is LinkedIn throwing my name out to random people that I used to get drunk with at sorority formals?  WTF?

I am seriously freaked out.  I want to go home, unplug my computer, and spend the rest of the afternoon making tin foil hats for my kitty cats.

I know that the internet can be a scary place; I understand that nothing on the web is really private.  Heck, I don't even EXPECT things to be private -- I write about my life on a public weblog, for crying out loud.   But sometimes I tend to forget just how much information is out there -- and although I have nothing to "hide", it still freaks me out.  I've been contemplating taking down all the profiles that I don't ever use (MySpace, LinkedIn, etc), but I figured there was really no harm in just leaving them up -- and let's face it, I'm lazy.  But now I'm thinking that maybe that would be a really good project for this weekend -- and I'll make sure to wear my tin foil hat while using the computer from now on.

Checking in

Hi, internet.  What's up?  Oh, me?   No, I'm fine!  No, not really that busy.  It's just a bit of blogger's block.  No, nothing serious, I'm sure.  Yeah, I'll go to my doctor if it gets any worse.   Maybe I'll call in sick tomorrow if I'm not feeling better by then.  Don't want to pass this think around to the whole office, ya know?

******************************

So, my week of "baching it" flew by uneventfully.  I successfully became a vegetarian for the week, if you don't count the lasagna leftovers I ate for two lunches.  Fine, and two dinners.  But otherwise I would have had to throw it away, and how is throwing perfectly good (delicious, meaty) lasagna in the trash saving any cows?  Exactly.  So I'm saying I was vegetarian for the week and I'm proud of myself.  It was actually easier than I thought, and that's probably because I had Honey Nut Cheerios for dinner several times.  And also for breakfast.  And pop tarts for lunch.  Being vegetarian doesn't mean being healthy, who knew?

******************************

Joel came home from his annual Spring Break coaching trip with a nasty cough/bronchitis/Asian bird flu.   I am pretty sure I got myself put on some sort of watch list when I bought every cold and cough medicine the pharmacy had on its shelves.  Dude, I'm not a meth dealer.  But I'll take any spare percocets you guys have lying around.  Hey, just offering.  Waste not, want not and all that jazz.

******************************

As much as Joel's bronchitis/Asian bird flu sucks (a lot) (for him), at least that's all he brought home.  YES, WAY.   SAME CAMP JOEL WAS AT. Needless to say, I've spent the past three days asking Joel if he could check his bags for snakes just one more time.  And what about under the bed?  And in the closet?  Under the sink?  Under the couch?   Oh, AND THEN THERE'S THIS.  Hey, did I ever tell you guys about the boa constrictor that we found living in the dropped ceiling of Joel's old house?  Man, that was a riot.  FUCKING SNAKES.

******************************

In other news, Max went to the vet last night (looong boring story involving calcium levels, but they threw out the big C, and who's NOT going to take their beloved fatty in for the test when they throw "IT COULD BE CANCER" at you?  Not me, that's who) and when they printed out the receipt for me it had a little picture of Max's face in the top corner.   That made paying $179 for a cancer test much more bearable, for some reason. 

Max would like me to note that he does not agree.  NO MOARZ NEEDLZ PLS KTHXBAI.

******************************

We went for a walk last night, and it was downright idyllic.  We were thoroughly enjoying the springtime weather and the lingering daylight until Joel suggested that we walk around the boat/duck pond in the park and came upon quite a ruckus.  A big white duck was trying to drown a smaller mallard duck.  I know what you're probably thinking: he wasn't trying to drown her, stupid.  That's what we call mommy and daddy duck's special time.  Well, that's what I thought too.  At first.  But the more we watched (oh, shut up, you would have watched too), the more suer we became that he was not uh, "loving" her, but in fact drowning her.  Horrified, I turned to find a rock to throw at him and I almost picked up a dead, squished rat.   Ah, Baltimore.   

I found a stick to throw (missed by a mile), and some neighborhood hooligans arrived and managed to actually hit the white duck with their projectiles, giving the female mallard a chance to run off.  As funny as it was watching a duck try to run, for the rest of the night I couldn't stop wondering why that one duck was trying to drown that other duck. 

******************************

Will you guys still be my friends if I admit that I've been watching The Pussycat Dolls Present: Girlicious?  And that I sort of love it, but not as much as I loved The Pussycat Dolls Present: The Search for the Next Doll?  There is too much Robin Antin and not enough of Mike the choreography dude yelling at people in this season.  But still... love.  It's like America's Next Top Model but WITH CHOREOGRAPHED DANCING.

****************************

And... that's all I got.  Time to go check for snakes under my desk.  Again. 

Champion of the sun

I have a confession and a question.  First, the confession.

Bless me interweb, for I fear I have sinned.  I have been led astray by my fancy and somewhat annoying phone.  I no longer think evil thoughts about my phone, but I still could not move past the horrific ringtones.  And then one day I went to visit my brother and he had this ring tone from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and now I have one too.

Day Man is my phone's ring tone.

Actually, the version that plays when my phone rings is this one, but I hesitate to post it because it makes the show look totally insane.  I mean, the show is totally insane, but not in a weird way.  Well, not THAT weird. I swear. And I'll start watching How I Met Your Mother if you'll all jump on the Sunny bandwagon (when new episodes come back).  Deal?

And now for the question: Just how annoying am I?  I love that ring tone.  It's loud enough that I actually  hear my phone, it's distinctive enough that I don't just think "eh, it's probably Joel's phone.  I'll just ignore it".  It's a little injection of happiness every time I hear Charlie and Dennis singing "Day Man! (Ooooh!) / He's the fighter of the night man! (Oooooh!)"

But the sad truth is, no one watches Sunny.  No one gets how funny my ring tone is.  So should I just give up and go back to Bell 1? 

Tell me the truth.

When it rains, it pours

Last weekend my social calendar had more items on it than the previous three months combined.  On Saturday I drove to DC to meet up with Erika and then we continued down 95 to meet up with Lindsey and Sarah and it was excellent.  Then I drove the three hours back to Baltimore, took a power nap and went out for a Daylight Savings Day celebratory dinner (Daylight Savings Day is my favorite holiday of the year and I cannot even express how happy I am that it’s extended this year) at a (semi) new Lebanese restaurant, followed by a movie at the (somewhat) new Landmark movie theater downtown.   Verdict on the restaurant: de-freakin-licious; verdict on the movie theater: a little pricey and possibly too trendy for its own good, but well worth for the sole reason that it’s within walking distance and we didn’t have to cruise around for three hours looking for a parking spot when we got home.

I rang in the new year of Daylight Savings by staying up with insomnia until 3am, which was actually 4am thanks to the pesky lost hour that comes with my beloved DST, and then I got up bright and early and drove to Annapolis to meet up with my friend Tinna.  We got kicked out a bridal shop for not having an appointment (dear snotty peoples: WE WERE JUST LOOKING!  No need to follow us around like we were about to stuff a wedding dress into our purses and run), went out for lunch and did some shopping. 

And then I came home and passed out for three days because that’s more fun that I usually have in a year.

This weekend, Joel left for spring training with his team and I have exactly NOTHING planned.  I have no problem being alone and I don’t consider myself codependent or anything, but last year I was unpleasantly surprised at how lonely I got on the weekends he was gone.  Most weekends, I am on my own while Joel is away at races or practices.  I have no problem filling my time, and the weekend always flies by at an impossible speed and Monday morning is hitting me in the head with a baseball bat before I can say “TGIF!”  But without the knowledge that my betrothed is coming home at some time, even if he leaves before I wake up and comes home when I'm already asleep, this weird time warp takes over our house and the weekend starts to drag on.  I think I almost looked forward to going to work for a milisecond last year, and that's unacceptable.  Weekends must be enjoyed for all they're worth and must -- by definition -- be too short.

So here’s "baching it", to keeping busy, and to watching enough Law and Order to make my eyes bleed!

Things Fall Apart

On our family vacation a few years ago, I blew through the book I was reading faster than I'd expected and found myself sorting through the books my mom had brought along to choose some new reading material for a day at the beach.  She recommended Things Fall Apart and I finished it in just about two days, that's how entrancing it was.  We were discussing it when my brother noticed that the cover looked familiar to him and he announced "Hey, I think I remember that book!" .  "You should," mom responded, "this is your copy.  You were supposed to read it for that World Literature class you took."

Now, my brother and I have this in common: we never read any of the books that were assigned for school.  I have something against being told what to read (for this same reason I'm thinking I should probably quit the book club I'm in) and K just isn't much of a reader. 

We have something else in common:  we're both highly skilled bullshitters.  I am an artist when it comes to test-taking, and I actually perform better when I have no idea what I'm talking about.  K can pick up on tiny bits of information and spin them into a totally believable tale, and he enjoys doing so just to see how far he can take you before you realize he's making it up as he goes along.  I'd like to claim that I taught him everything he knows, but in truth he was born with The Gift and he's a far better BS-er than I will ever be.

K took another look at the book's cover and my mom and I both knew he had no idea what the book was about.  He hadn't even been paying attention to our discussion.  But that didn't stop him from joining in.  "Oh, right!" he said.  "I'll tell you what happens in that book:  Things fall apart.  Tragic, really.  Great book, though."

Whenever I feel like things are totally falling apart around me (which is more often than I'd like to admit), I can't help but think of that story and smile. 

But, internet, things are falling apart here.  Seriously.  Send halp.

Our bedroom is finally finished paint-wise, but all our furniture is still pushed up against the bed and I don't have the energy to even think about moving it back.  If I hadn't bought three new sweaters at Ann Taylor this weekend (for a grand total of $40) I would have had nothing to wear to work today because our laundry pile is overflowing and the dressers being pushed up against the bed makes it impossible to open them to get clothes out.   

When I tried to attack the mess that has taken over our newly painted bedroom yesterday I ended up breaking Joel's rowing trophy and then I had to tell him about it on his voicemail because I was late for the first session of my Photography for Dummies class.

In class I was paired up with the hott guy my two friends and I had been eyeing, and after they despaired that they were single and I am not and it's not faaaaair that I got paired up with the hott guy, I turned on my camera and the forty jillion pictures I took of my own hand came up on the screen.  If he wasn't impressed by that, I'm sure he was floored by my intelligence when I admitted that I thought the little flower icon meant "nature shot".  (Turns out it really means "close-up".)

Oh, and I was going to upload some pictures of our newly painted bedroom, but I can't find the camera cord.   It's probably in one of the dressers that are pushed up against the bed.

I was an hour late to work this morning, and I wish I could blame it on Daylight Savings Time but I just messed up the alarm.   And I left my coffee mug in my car.   

I was even later to work because I was looking for the misplaced mug, but I couldn't find it.  By "it" I mean THE CAR.  Anyone seen a black pigeon-poop covered Jetta?  With a dirty coffee mug jammed into the console betwee the seats?

I'll be waiting for my Nobel Prize!

Question:  Is there a word that sounds like "bench" and could realistically be used in conversation after the words "You're a skinny ____ "?  Because when I dropped my ring off for resizing this afternoon, I'm pretty sure the saleslady called me a skinny wench.   It was sort of noisy in there, but she definitely said "You're a skinny something" when she looked at the size card and I'm guessing that calling customers skinny bitches is probably against the rules for Fancy Jewelery Store Ladies. 

God, I wish I had this problem with a part of my body other than my fingers. 

In other news, let's reminisce.  Remember the good old days, when we all took pictures with real film?  And we didn't have the luxury of instantly reviewing our pictures, and you needed a darkroom to mess around with coloring and lighting instead of Photoshop?  Well, I've actually never used photoshop (the horror!) but at least I know how to use MS Paint and Flickr's editing tools.   Speaking of flickr. remember when we had to lug around photo albums to show pictures to other people?   Boy howdy, how times have changed!  I remember when we all walked to school barefoot and helped Papa in the fields.  When we weren't too busy whitewashing fences and getting into mischief, that is.

Kids these days, they just don't know how good they have it.   They'll never experience the excitement and mystery of coming across an old, forgotten camera with a dead battery and a half-taken roll of film still inside.  They'll never get to spend $11 a sixpence on a new battery, only to open the wrong compartment when they're trying to install said battery, thus overexposing the entire roll of mysterious film.  They'll never learn the art of being patient while they wait for the overexposed film to be developed at Safeway the corner Five and Dime.  And they'll know nothing of the joy of ripping open a newly printed packet of photos and tearing into them, not knowing what you'd see.

They'll never get to flip through the stack of photos and come across a forgotten masterpiece like this one:

Even better, they'll never be reminded of that old futon they used to have and the glorious, peaceful days when cats didn't outnumber humans in the house:

Hey, look at this!  Evidence of a rift in the space-time continuum!  Call NASA!

I don't know why I signed up for that photography class that starts on Monday.  This picture is clearly evidence that I know everything there is to know about taking excellent photographs.

But by far, this one is my favorite:

I mean, what's not to love about this picture?  The skin, the hair, the overall sense of glamour!  And the fact that Madison is smiling for the camera while he simultaneously pulls out my hair and tries to suffocate me -- that's just pure art. 

And we wonder why I have trouble sleeping.   

Man, kids these days.  They just don't know what they're missing.   Nowadays this picture would have been deleted immediately upon discovery.   But I've had three years to grow as an individual since this was taken, and now that I'm older and wiser, I realize that sometimes vanity has to take a backseat so that the internet can experience art like this.  Plus, my skin looks much better now. 

Things I wish I could say to people

“You’re going to do premarital counseling, right?” is not an appropriate response when you learn that I am now engaged.

I don’t want to hear about your daughter. I know she’s my age, but I’ve never met her and I don’t care what she is making for Easter dinner.

Yes, I got your email. I haven’t responded because I’m trying to think of a nice way to say “no”. Sorry to keep you hanging, but I really don’t want to go.

I don’t want to donate to your charity.

Telling me to smile just makes me frown more.  Smiling should be illegal at 8am.

Your awesome staff keeps me coming back despite your high prices. Please give them all raises.

You’re really, really mean.

You are the reason I happily pay $15 for a yoga class. 

Your wardrobe is awesome. I wish I dressed as nicely as you do.

“Computer” and “internet” cannot be used interchangeably.

“Definitely” and “defiantly” have very different meanings.

You are so skinny. It kills me that you think you need to lose weight.

I love your stories about crazy people on eHarmony. Please don’t stop telling them.

You are so genuinely nice to everyone that sometimes I wonder if you have a secret rage outlet at home.

When leaving a voicemail, leave out the chitchat and actually SAY WHAT IT IS THAT YOU NEED.

I hate you. I dream of the day when I’ll know that I never, ever have to talk to you again.

And, finally:

You're the best mom a person can ask for.  Sorry I didn't get to talk to you yesterday.  Happy birthday!

************************************************

Well, I feel much better now!  Thanks to whoever gave me this idea by posting it first.  I can't remember where I saw it, and I swear I searched my Google Reader. 

Why didn't anyone tell me about this before?

There are three things you can't escape in life: Death, Taxes, and... something else.  Maybe there were only two things.  Who can be sure?

Death is depressing, so let's talk about taxes instead.   I'm done with mine. 

Whew, that was an easy entry! 

I've been doing my own taxes like the big grown-up girl that I am for the past four years.  The first year, my mommy did them for me helped me, so it wasn't as bad as I was expecting the whole experience to be.  Why is everyone so gloom and doom about taxes, I wondered?  Taxes are awesome!  All I had to do get the W2 like my mom told me to, write some numbers on some papers, and viola!  I got a refund!  That was easy.

Turns out it was so easy because I made so little money at my work-study job that I didn't actually have to pay any taxes.   I just got a refund for what had been taken out of my paychecks, which wasn't much since I was making about 25 cents an hour.   At least that's how I remember it. 

The next year I was on my own.  Also, I had an actual job that paid about $2 an hour (that's what it felt like at the time, trust me).  Also, Joel and I had decided it would be a good idea to buy a house.

I was a little confused.  But, still, I got a refund.  And I only spent a couple of weeks waking up in a cold sweat after dreaming that the IRS had audited me, and when I tried to explain to them that it was all a mistake, that I hadn't intended to embezzle all those funds, I just didn't understand the forms, they laughed at me. Anybody who can graduate from college can fill out a tax form, they said.  You're either really stupid, or you're lying.  Either way, you're going to jail.

And then my refund came in the mail and I stopped worrying about being audited.  Instead, I started lying awake at night worrying that I had missed deductions and promising myself that next year I would do a better job on my taxes.

Things happened this way for a few years, until last year's straw finally broke the camel's back.  Not only did I mess up my taxes last year, I was TOO LAZY TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT and knowingly sent in forms with an adding error.  And I forgot to sign my return.  And I wrote down my bank account number wrong.   

To say that I was dreading doing my taxes this year would be a massive understatement.  I was actually wondering what would happen if I just didn't file any tax forms this year.  The government could just keep my  money, I don't even care as long as I don't have to bang my head against the wall for an entire weekend afternoon trying to add numbers, since we all know by now that I am not very good at "math".  I say "math" because it's just adding and subtracting that kill me (fine, and multiplication, too) -- I actually like algebra and calculus.  That stuff makes sense to me.  I took Calc III FOR FUN in college.  And yet I cannot add numbers.   I'm talking WITH A CALCULATOR.

Every year I fantasize about going to a certified tax professional, but something about the idea of paying someone else to do something that, theoretically, I can do perfectly well myself doesn't sit right with me.  It would be like paying someone else to wash my car.  Oh, wait -- I do pay someone else to wash my car.  But that's different.   It would be like giving up on something really annoying, something that drove me crazy on a routine basis but that I really wished I could figure out how to do myself.  THAT'S WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE.  GOD.

Also, having all my stuff together to hand over to H&R Block (or whoever) seemed like a lot of work.  And I bet you need an appointment, too, right?  Sigh.

And so this morning I logged onto Turbotax.com just to see what it was all about.  When they offered to let me get started for free, I thought why not?  Half an hour later, I entered my credit card information and... that was it?   Seriously?  What about the hours of crying and looking for forms and trying to find last year's copies? 

I know other people have had bad experiences with ol' Turbo, but as far as I'm concerned that was the best thirty bucks I've spent in my life.   Tonight when I start to have that dream where the IRS comes to repossess our Tivo because I owe two million dollars in back taxes, I'm whipping out my printout and telling them to take it up with The Interweb Tax Peoples.   Imagine if I'd shelled out for the extra "Audit Protection", I might even sleep through the night.  But that would be too extravagant.  Sort of like paying someone to cut my cat's claws for me.   Oh, wait.

MISSING: BELOVED COFFEE GIRL. GRIEVING OFFICE DISTRAUGHT. PLEASE HALP.

BHG is gone.  We haven't seen her in weeks.  At first, my partner in crime caffeine addiction and I weren't too concerned.  She wasn't always there when we went up for coffee.  Sometimes she had the day off.  Sometimes she was off hauling sandwiches in from the hallway or dragging food-service sized bags of coffee beans from the storage room.  We were never really worried if she wasn't behind the counter on any given morning.  She always came back.

Except, nope.  She's gone.  I don't know where, but I think at this point it's safe to assume she's not coming back.   Have you seen my BHG?  Should I put up LOST BHG posters on the bulletin boards and lampposts near the office?  Would that be slightly creepy?  Yeah, that's what I thought.  Plus, I don't have a picture. 

She's been replaced by an overweight, unhappy man who speaks in whispers and gets visibly annoyed when asked to repeat what he just mumbled.   I don't like him.  He doesn't like me.  It's not a happy situation.  He was not at all amused yesterday when the customer in front of me in line went off on a tirade about how awful hazelnut coffee is, how the mere word hazelnut makes her shudder with disgust, how she'd rather chew coffee grinds than drink hazelnut coffee.  Oh yes she did. And then I stepped up and said "Um.  Hazelnut, please!" in my most cheerful voice, and the hazelnut-hating woman turned bright red and started apologizing for insulting the best part of my morning, and we all had a good laugh because to each his own, you know?  You drink your French Roast, I'll savor my Hazelnut Blend, and we'll all be happy in our own way and respect each other's different views on coffee flavors. 

You know who didn't laugh?  Unhappy coffee man.  And if there's one thing I do not need in my life, it's more bitterness in my mornings.

But wait: it gets worse.  This morning, after a particularly shitty night of sleep, my partner (in caffeine, that is) and I went upstairs earlier than usual for our fix.  We were pleasantly surprised to see a very short line waiting for us.  We were far less happy to learn that the unusually short queue was due to the fact that there was no coffee to be had this morning.  The water line broke, or something.  I wasn't really paying attention, because I thought that surely Unhappy Coffee Man didn't just whisper that THER IS NO COFFEE TODAY.  That can't be!  This is a coffee shop!  Sell me coffee!  PLEASE.

In the end, we donned our coats, hats and gloves and went down the street to the other branch of the same coffee shop and we got ourselves some coffee.  The water line upstairs is fixed now, so everything's OK.  But I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope we'd see BHG happily serving customers down the street.  In my heart I've been hoping that she was just transferred, perhaps even temporarily transferred due to some sort of barista shortage down the block, and that one day she'd reappear to ask me if I'd like my usual, and whether I'd care for a slice of free pizza that they were going to throw away anyway.

This Bag is Not A Toy

I have developed a disturbing obsession with Ewan McGregor.   Over the long Christmas and New Year's weekends the stars aligned to bring Ewan back into my life.  First, Joel's parents sent me an Amazon gift card, which I managed to spend within an hour of opening the envelope.  I'd been itching to order some new music; I even added a few CDs to my Amazon wishlist while I was compulsively searching for the Barenaked Ladies/Sarah McLaughlin version of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.  I know, I know, normal people are downloading music and listening to their itunes playlists on their microscopically sized MP3 players... normal people also do not have dial up internet.  At the rate we're going, I'll be driving a flying car before I break down and get an iPod. 

Anyway, I'd been doing a lot of thinking about CDs, so the minute the gift card hit my hands I'd added both discs of the Moulin Rouge soundtrack to my car.  I love this movie dearly, and somehow I managed to lose both the DVD and the soundtrack during one of my many college moves.  The second disc, which I bought from an illegal street vendor in Spain, mysteriously stopped working (imagine that!).   Waiting for regular speed shipping to reunite me with these two old friends was torture, and the minute they arrived I had them in the computer, blasting "Your Song" at full volume.  I defy any of you to name a song that is more romantic than an Elton John classic sung by a hot Scottsman.  I'm listening to it (on repeat) right now.  It makes me tear up EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.  Sigh.  I'm not joking even a little bit when I say that I want this to be the song I dance to at my wedding.   Don't worry, I'm sure Ewan will be able to sing to me and dance in his kilt at the same time.  And maybe we'll even invite Sir Elton!  He can play the piano and sing backup.

The same weekend that the CDs arrived, we also got The Island from Netflix.  I knew that this got terrible reviews, and that's why I love Netflix.  Sure, it bumped off a "better" movie to make it to our house, but I don't feel that I've wasted money when I add a totally ridiculous film to the queue.  Or every single episode of The Office.  Who cares that I'll probably get around to watching it in 2037 since it's currently ranked #189 in the queue?  If the writer's strike continues much longer, we just may make it through the entire list sometime this decade.  Anyway, The Island lived up to the reviews: it was painful.  Three days later Joel and I were still thinking about how awful it was. Why were they even serving bacon in that cafeteria?  How exactly did they explain Pregnant Lady's impending baby? If Clone Ewan instinctively knew how to drive a flying motorcycle, wouldn't he also have known that red means stop? But the awfulness of the movie did not matter one bit, nor did Clone Ewan's horrific American accent, because Evil Ewan SPOKE WITH THE SCOTTISH ACCENT.  FOR, LIKE, TEN WHOLE MINUTES.   God, it was fabulous.

Now, weeks later, I still can't get enough of "Your Song".  I know that Ewan was roomates with Jude Law in acting school, and that he is married with two kids.   And I just found myself wondering if there was some sort of podcast I could subscribe to where Ewan would just talk.  He could talk about how he loves to litter and pollute the oceans, how he takes baths in gasoline and burns down the rainforest, kicks puppies for fun.  Hell, he could drone on about how great mornings are, I WOULD STILL LISTEN.   

Ahem.  In other news, I fear that the "Child" Endangerment Division of Animal Control may soon be knocking on our door to request a home safety inspection.  Just two days after the incident with accidentally ingesting mind-altering drugs, Joel and I came home from his office holiday party to find the house trashed.  The curtains had been pulled off the front window, his bike had been knocked over, and there were plastic bags scattered all over the house.  After confirming that the burglar alarm was set and functioning properly, we speculated that the cats must have had a wild night of their own while we were out. 

And then I found this:

moar funny pictures

Luckily, my Eagle Scout boyfriend had a pocketknife handy and Henry was none the worse for wear after his losing battle with a plastic Safeway bag.

I really need to install a nannycam.

You say you want a resolution

First of all, thank you all for the lovely birthday wishes.  I turned twenty-seven yesterday without incident.   Twenty-seven.  I'm still grappling with that number; it sounds like a perfectly lovely age, but I'm still having trouble with the fact that it's ME.   I've been doing this every year since I was about six, so I know I'll get used to the new number soon enough.  At least I don't cry and try to stay awake all night anymore.  I used to do that when I was a kid - I was terrified that when I woke up and was a seven-year-old, I wouldn't be ME anymore.  Would I still like the same things?  Would I remember my parents?  Better to just stay six, and play it safe.  No thank you, I'll pass on the whole birthday thing.   

For my birthday, my coworkers decked out Tiny Grim with a birthday card dangling from his clanking chains and a Happy Birthday sign taped over his sheet music.   To add festivity, they taped a clown magnet to his candle.  It was such a lovely thought that I almost cried (it was also really early in the morning).   We ordered Chipotle for lunch, they surprised me with a cake in the afternoon, and Joel and I ordered pizza for dinner (my request).   Joel surprised me with an ice cream cake and a very sweet card that featured a street gang of cats on the front.   I got more calls and emails than I could return, and I feel incredibly lucky to have so many wonderful people in my life.  We ended the night by watching the end of the American Gladiators pilot, topped off with a Law and Order rerun for good measure.   Max peed in the litterbox.  It was a lovely birthday.   Thank you all, again.  Really.  From the bottom of my bitter, blackened, holiday-hating heart.

****************

The whole idea of New Year's resolutions is sort of distasteful to me, mostly because I associate Resolutions with the cliched cycle of Resolve, Follow Resolutions to the Letter for Three Weeks, Resolve Quickly Deteriorates and Old Habits are Resumed, End Up in Exactly the Same Place Next Year.  People tend to make unrealistic "resolutions", and then beat themselves up for failing to become the model person they think they should be within a year's time.  Or, maybe that's just me.

But cliches be damned, I still like to make resolutions in January.  It's a new calendar year, it's a new year for me (I am twenty-seven.  I am twenty-seven.  Have I mentioned that I'm twenty-seven?) and it's a good time to reflect on the year that's concluded and the new one to come.  It's a good time to think about what I wish I'd done differently, what went well, and what I'd like to accomplish in the future. 

Without further adieu, I give you last year's resolutions and my thoughts on how each one went.

• Break some of my unhealthy eating habits.  I'm not giving up frozen pizzas or Diet Cokes, but I need to cut back on the chips and other salty crap, and replace them with more fruits and veggies.

I'd give myself a B+ on this one.  I still eat a lot of frozen pizza, drink a lot of coffee and diet soda and I eat more than I should because I love food.  But I have made a conscious effort to keep the fridge stocked with a variety of veggies, to eat salads with dinner, and to eat at least one piece of fruit a day. 

• Continue on my odyssey to become a better cook.  I want to try more cookbook recipes, and add at least three new dishes to the list of Things I Can Make Really Well.

B-.  I did a lot of cooking, but I didn't really expand my repertoire as I'd hoped.  The one exception is eggplant parmesan, which I really would like to have RIGHT NOW.

• Continue reading for pleasure.  This was my big resolution last year, after falling off the reading bandwagon for about 10 years.  I used to average a book a week when I was a kid, and sometimes I'd go through a novel in a single day.  Then school took over my life somewhere around age 13, and I got into this rut where I felt like if I was reading, I should be reading for school... which lasted all the way through college.  Since I never felt like reading for school, I stopped reading altogether until last year.  This year I want to continue what I started, and read at least one book a month. 

A+.  I read 23 books this year and I think I've successfully re-established the habit.   I'll recap the books I read this year and what I thought about them soon, in case anyone cares.

• Start a reading journal.  I am totally copying this from another blogger, because I think it is a great and fun idea.

A.  I did it, and I loved it.  I like to feel some sense of accomplishment when I finish a book; I want to know that somehow, somewhere, the universe is giving me credit.  Keeping track for myself in a reading journal accomplishes that goal, feeds my habit of buying cute paper products, and it's interesting to look back on to boot.  Thanks for the lovely idea, Jemima, and please let me know if there's any specific person in the San Francisco Traffic Violations Department that I should be sending evil thoughts to.

• Write something for fun.

F, Unless this blog counts. 

• Be less judgmental (of myself and others).  I also made this resolution last year, and jury's out on whether or not I succeeded. 

B.  I still need to work on being less judgmental of others, but I've made strides in cutting down the constant backtalk in my head.  I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.

• Find a volunteering gig that I actually like, and stick with it.

D.  I thought about it, thought about it some more, even filled out the application to volunteer at the SPCA.  After much consideration, I didn't send it in.  I think it would be stretching myself too thin.  Theoretically, I would still like to do this, but it's on hold for the time being. 

• Finish some of the billion projects I've started at home.   I would love to finish My Wall, or at least make some really good progress on it.  Ditto for the painting, which has come to a standstill lately as we waffle about colors for the first floor. 

A-.  I finished the Wall.  We just have the bedroom left to paint.  Good progress was made, much is left to be done.  I fear that will always be true.

• Fully fund my IRA.

A+.  Go me.

• Start dressing my age, instead of masquerading as a college student in my sweats-and-sneakers weekend uniform. 

B+.  I did make real progress in updating my work wardrobe, most notably in the shoe department.  But I desperately need some new work pants (business pants!) and I still can't bring myself to wear more than jeans and a sweatshirt on the weekends.  But is that really so bad?

• Stop being sporadic about exercising.  Start running outside once the weather is better, and try to mix in hiking and yoga when I can.

A.  I made a private goal to exercise in some manner at least 5 times a week, and used a very high-tracking system to monitor my progress.  Meaning, I wrote down the date and what I did in a mini notebook on my dresser.  The notebook was a great idea because, like the book journal, it gave me a sense of accomplishment when I got to write something down before bed at night.  It also helped me to keep better track of how I was really doing.  If I started feeling like a lazy cow, I could look back and see that, yes, I had been a couch potato for the past three days -- but prior to that, I'd worked out for ten days straight.  That helped me to keep from sinking into the "well, this week's shot, so I guess I'll just take the rest of the month off" mentality.  In the end, I came up eight workouts short for the year, which isn't too bad at all.  I gave myself a break when I was sick or traveling and didn't count any deficits that accrued during those days -- see, that's me, being less judgmental of myself! 

My private goal was also to lose 15 lbs, getting down to 115 lbs.  I was hesitant to talk about actual weight here for a couple of reasons.   For one thing, HELLO CLICHE.  "I want to lose 15 lbs this year!"  It doesn't get any more trite than that.  But more importantly, I didn't want to look like I was either crying out for help (I'm not, really) or fishing for compliments (again, really... I'm not).  As a recovered anorexic, I'm always hesitant to talk about dieting or weight loss publicly, lest I send my family into a frenzy worrying about my health.  I'm fine.  Actually, I'm great.  I feel that being able to make these reasonable goals, which are more about health than about looking a certain way, is a true sign of recovery.   And I know that "I don't need to lose weight".  But I want to, and I wanted to try.

So anyway, I wanted to lose 15 lbs.  130 is too heavy for a petite person who stands 5'1".  I successfully lost 10 of those pounds, and then gained five back (thank you, holidays!), but I think I'm on the right track.   

As for mixing in yoga and hiking, I did well on the yoga (although I fell short of my once-a-week goal), and OK on hiking.   I also walked and went running outside when the weather was nice, so all in all: not too bad.

***************************

I'll post this year's resolutions soon...  I'm still adding to the list.  "Be more punctual" isn't one of my goals, although maybe it should be.

 

The good, the bad, and the ugly: Monday edition

The Good:  The vet called on Saturday.  I am the proud owner of three parasite-free cats. 

The Bad: Someone has started peeing on the rug in the litterbox room.  I can't be sure since I have yet to catch the offender in the act, but I think it's Max.   In that case, I take back all the nice things I said about being so proud of him and all that bullshit.  WTF, Maxwell?  No, really, WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?

Also, Max and Madison are also both due for their 3-year rabies shots, and I've decided to take them in together.  Time-saver, or official proof that I have gone plum crazy, because OMGWTF ARE YOU THINKING WOMAN?  Only time will tell!  Stay tuned!  And in the meantime, I promise, no more crazy cat lady talk!

The Ugly:  I have somehow managed to sweat through my light, button-down shirt.  It's not even noon.  I only wore a light coat that was completely appropriate for the springtime weather this morning, and I wasn't all red-faced when I got to work.  I'm not a big sweater.  I put on deodorant this morning.  And yet, there they are: two big pit stains (luckily, not overtly visible because this shirt I'm wearing is a light color).   

I think I have my special expensive deodorant to blame for this, but I'm not really sure what to do.  And this is where you come in, interweb peoples, because I need help.  Serious help.  You cannot imagine how much stress I have over Deodorant Issues.

See, all my t-shirts that are even moderately fitted have black/brown pit stains on them.  I don't even buy white shirts any more. I am positive this is not sweat-related because the shirts I wear to the gym and to hot yoga classes have no such stains.  I was at the point of just giving up deodorant altogether last year when I complained about this annoying problem, OMG ALL MY SHIRTS HAVE PIT STAINS, WAHHHH, to my friend, KP, who admitted she had the exact same problem -- until she switched to the Adidas brand deodorant.  Adidas deodorant is aluminum-free, she explained, and it's the aluminum that causes the staining.   I rushed out to the store to buy a case or twelve of Adidas deodorant, and guess what?  Safeway doesn't carry it.  But they do carry Tom's of Maine deodorant, which for the $5-a-stick price tag is also aluminum-free.  It's also  all natural, organic, and cruelty free, which is all good and fine and great, but most importantly: NO ALUMINUM.

Since I've started using my hippie deodorant made from hops and rainbows and unicorn tears, I haven't noticed a single new pit stain.  Not even on the shirts I wear under sweaters, which tend to be tighter and of, ahem, a slightly lower quality than shirts I'd normally wear.  Hooray!  Except that I'm now sweating through my shirts in the middle of winter.  I fear what will happen when the Baltimore Summer rolls around.  I'll probably drown in a puddle of my own sweat before I made it halfway to work.  What am I to do?

Please tell me I'm not the only one who has this many issues with freaking deodorant. And then, tell me how to fix this.  Do you have strong feelings about deodorant?   A favorite?   A magical solution to my problems, preferably one that doesn't include showering more often?   I should mention that I have tried the Dove line, and while I love their "real beauty" ad campaign as much as the next girl, I hate their deodorant and you couldn't pay me to try it again.  (OK, yes you could, but you'd have to make it worth my while because that shit not only stained my shirts like nobody's business, it also STANK after a few hours of normal wear). 

I swear to God, just while I was typing this, I ACTUALLY SWEATED MORE.  My office temperature is normally set to "Polar Ice Cap" and I haven't moved from my chair in over an hour.   WHAT IS GOING ON?   Early menopause?  Global warming?  Severe Case of the Mondays?   I haven't a freaking clue, but I'm pretty sure this is all Max's fault.

Happy Freakin' New Year! (Now with enough linkage to make your eyes bleed!)

So, 2008.  It's a new year, blah blah blah.   Personally, I think that New Year's Eve is the most overrated holiday in the universe; a holiday where at the stroke of midnight everyone is supposed to kiss and yell and throw confetti and drink champagne.  Dude, champagne makes me want to puke.  I don't like crowds, I don't like yelling, and I am generally just no fun at all.  You thought I was a Christmas Grinch?  I am the queen of all things anti-New Years.

But don't get me wrong: I do not, I repeat, DO NOT, hate New Years.  I could not possibly hate any holiday that buys me a 4-day weekend, during which Law and Order reruns were playing 24 hours a day.  That, my friends, is a holiday.  I did pretty much nothing all weekend.  Went to a couple of yoga classes, managed to somehow pull a muscle in my groin (ouch), watched an unhealthy percentage of those Law and Order reruns, and slept.  With a break in my sleeping to watch the fireworks from our rooftop deck.   Getting back to the grind after two four-day weekends has been rough, to say the least.

Anyway, in honor of the new year, I completed that survey that's been going around the internet.  I actually thought this one was really interesting, and it wasn't easy to fill out.  It actually made me think.  And now I need to go lie down and wail about the fact that there are no more four day weekends (fine, yes, we are going on vacation in two and a half weeks, but that is DIFFERENT.  That is going to be fun and all, but it won't include four days of sitting around in my pajamas, reading trashy novels and watching 10000 hours of L&O).

1. What did you do in 2007 that you’d never done before?

Took a full week off of work for Fake Vacation -- to just get stuff done around the house.  Glorious idea, hopefully to become a yearly tradition.   

Got tested for parasites.  Yuck.

Baked cookies from scratch.  Yum.

Got a real (as in, live) Christmas tree.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I’m planning to do a whole post about this later (I prefer to call them “Birthday Resolutions” to buy myself another week).  I did keep some of my resolutions from last year, and I’m proud of myself.  Others, not so much.  But since one of my resolutions was to be less critical of myself, I’m OK with that!  them, not so much with others.  I am pretty happy with my overall performance, and yes, I will be making more for 2008.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Actually, no.  My friends are still all in the getting married phase.  Three weddings planned for next year already!

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Shadow.

5. What countries did you visit?

Just the good ole US of A.   But I did do a whole lot of traveling within the confines of our nation: For fun, I visited New Jersey (many times), Chicago, Miami, Hershey PA, Delaware’s Eastern Shore, Richmond, Reno/Lake Tahoe, Washington DC, New York, and Connecticut .   

For work, I went to Scottsdale AZ, Philadelphia, New Orleans, Decatur IL, Ft Lauderdale, Boston, Chicago, Chicago again, San Francisco, New Orleans again, and Atlanta.

AND BOY, ARE MY ARMS TIRED.  (And so is my mouse-clicking finger, from all that linkage)

6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?

Direction in my career path.

7. What dates from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

February 8th, 2007: The day Henry came back. 
July 25th, 2007: Our five-year anniversary.   
October 27th, 2007: My friend’s wedding day, because it was the first wedding I’ve attended for a really close friend.   
October 27th (again):  The day Shadow died.
 
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Finishing The Wall. 

9. What was your biggest failure?

Not doing more to find #6.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

I had a couple of killer colds and a bout of food poisoning, but other than that I’ve been healthy.   The chronic pain from my broken coccyx was more of annoyance than a real hindrance this year, and I’m incredibly grateful for that.  Yay, yoga!  (And yay, chiropractic!)

11. What was the best thing you bought?

I would say the Tivo, but I think we technically bought that in 2006.  So I’m going to go with de-wormers for Henry. 

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

Max’s.  Don’t laugh.  Max has been a real champ this year, adjusting well to having a new family member added to the household.  He successfully switched to a non-prescription food, and then again to a cruelty free food when I discovered this website: www.iamscruelty.com.  He switched to a new environmentally friendly cat litter with nary a complaint.  He tapered off his anti-anxiety meds without reverting to compulsive grooming.  He stopped being a pushover and asserted himself with Bossy Henry.  I’m very proud of him.  I’m 100% serious, so stop looking at me like that.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

Our handicapped neighbor, who routinely parks in front of his designated handicapped space when he has company coming over.  When his friends arrive, he backs his car into his space and his friends take the empty space in front.   The rest of the neighborhood witnesses this as we circle the block endlessly searching for a parking space of our own.   One particularly bitter resident has contemplated calling the police to report this flagrant abuse, but is always talked out of it by her level-headed boyfriend who claims “it may be an asshole move, but it’s not breaking the law and the cops aren’t going to do anything”.  WHATEVER.   

14. Where did most of your money go?

Mortgage, vet bills, vacations.  In that order. 

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Going to Lake Tahoe, and my week of Fake Vacation.  I think I was equally excited for both, and my expectations were more than met.  If you have a lot of vacation time, I cannot recommend strongly enough taking a few days of Fake Vacation. 

16. What song will always remind you of 2007?

Early Winter by Gwen Stefani.  The whole Sweet Escape CD is great.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) happier or sadder? I wouldn’t say sadder, but I am more frustrated.
b) thinner or fatter? Thinner.  Hooray!
c) richer or poorer? Richer.  Double Hooray, especially in light of #14!

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

I wish I’d done more hiking and hung out with friends more. 

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Worrying about problems instead of doing anything to fix them.

20. How did you spend Christmas?

After celebrating Fake Christmas with my family, Joel and I spent Christmas Day at home, taking pictures of our cats dressed up in holiday outfits. 

21. Did you fall in love in 2007?

Yes, with my Tivo. 

22. What was your favorite TV program?

Well, Law and Order is still my favorite TV show, even though I thrive on the reruns and don’t keep up with the current storylines.  SVU is my favorite, followed closely by The Original, and CI is my least favorite of the three (that’s like my least favorite flavor of ice cream; I still love it, just not as much as the others). 

But if we’re talking “favorite show” in the terms of non-obsessive cult following, I think that my favorite would have to be The 4400.  I also loved Heroes and NCIS.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

No, I don’t think so.

24. What was the best book you read?

I’m also planning to do a Books of 2007 post, but the short answer is Lonesome Dove (thanks, Isabel!)

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Durr… that Gwen Stefani CD I keep talking about?

26. What did you want and get?

A peaceful household filled with pets who get along.

27. What did you want and not get?

To win the lottery.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?

Favorite that we saw in theaters: Live Free or Die Hard.  Or maybe The Bourne Ultimatum.  Both were awesome.

Favorite Neflixer: 8 Below, starring Paul Walker. 

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

It’s a good thing I have a blog, otherwise the answer to this question would have been “Um.  I can’t remember. “ But thanks to this interweb archive of my life, I can tell you that I went to Roy’s for dinner on my birthday last year.  I turned 26. 

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Winning the lottery.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?

Three words: Ann Taylor Loft.

32. What kept you sane?

Coffee, and lots of it.   The dependability of TNT’s nighttime programming.   Tivo.  My fantastic friends.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

Hands down, Scott Foley’s character on The Unit. 
 
34. What political issue stirred you the most?

Tie, between the war in Iraq and gay marriage.   (For the record, I’m wholeheartedly against the former and for the latter).

35. Who did you miss?

My friends Jenny and Beth, who live much too far away and should move to Baltimore right now.

36. Who was the best new person you met?

All the lovely ladies I met in DC: Isabel, Janet, Erika, Sarah, Lindsey, and Lauren.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007.

Just doing something is a whole lot more productive than worrying about doing it.   

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

Dude, I don't know.  Pick anything from the freakin Gwen Stefani CD.

Beautiful Addiction

Yesterday afternoon I was starving, but the can of soup I'd brought for lunch just wasn't doing it for me.  I ventured upstairs to the coffee shop (which also sells overpriced sandwiches and assorted lunch items) in hopes of procuring something more appetizing.  They did have one slice of pizza left.  Their pizza is delicious, but it is also $2.75 per smallish slice.  On this particular day, that was a price I was willing to pay.   

(Despite the high food prices, I love this place with all of my heart and my black little soul.   The people who work there are friendly and cheerful, but without crossing the line into annoying territory.  Their coffee is great and pretty cheap.  They provide me with an excuse to leave my desk when I really need a break.  I really and truly love them.  It's a happy place.)

My favorite coffeeshop employee, Brown Haired Girl, was at the register when I walked up, and she cheerfully asked if I'd like a hazelnut coffee, my usual drink.  "No," I told her. "I'd like that last slice of pizza."  I think I might have drooled a bit, that's how hungry I was.  She got me my pizza and and I tried to hand her my coffeeshop debit card (10% discount on everything!  LOVE!), but she just waved it away.  "No charge," she said.  "It's the last slice."  "T-Thank you!", I stammered.  I wanted to tip her, but all I had with me was the debit card.  I made a mental note to bring cash the next day so that I could leave a nice tip. 

Now, here it is, the next day.  I actually remembered to take cash out of my wallet when I went upstairs to get my hazelnut coffee this morning.  Except, what I thought was a $5 bill actually turned out to be a $1 bill.  When I pulled it out of my pocket, I was horrified.  Not only was I unable to tip Brown Haired Girl, I was 25 cents short.  I didn't have enough to pay for my coffee. 

BHG acted like it was no big deal, like people come up there all the time without enough cash to pay for their coffee.   The worst part is that I felt like a crack addict for that  moment when I realized NO MONEY = ME MAYBE  NOT GET COFFEE. 

May the Good Lord smite me down

Once upon a time I broadcast to the internet all the gripes I had with my new phone.  And then my phone was taken away from me for five days and I learned to never take it for granted again.  Even if the ring tone does still make me want to stab my ear drums with a number two pencil.

Around the same time, I talked some smack about the flu shot.  It was offered for free at my place of employment, and all my coworkers went and got one.  Not me.  I don't do needles, I told them.  Plus, the one time I did buckle down and get a flu shot, I was rewarded with not only a (painful) needle-stick, but also with three days of "flu-like symptoms".  Color me crazy, but I call flu-like symptoms THE FREAKING FLU.  Whether it is caused by a dead virus injected (painfully) into my arm or a live virus sneaking in through my nostril, I still felt like crap for three days and I swore I would never again get a flu shot.  You know, until I am ninety years old and at risk from actually dying from the flu.  (And even then, probably not).

No, I said.  I'll just take my chances with the regular old flu.  Ya'll can contribute to the development of resistant virus strands by getting unecessary vaccinations if you want, but not me.  Thanks but no thanks.

WELL GUESS WHAT, INTERNET.  I THINK I HAVE THE FLU. 

What is this, some sort of curse?  If so, I'd like to go on record saying that I will NEVER, EVER win the lottery.  No, siree.  I am POSITIVE THAT THIS TICKET IN MY HAND IS A LOSER.

Blog Share: Breathe In, Breathe Out

Today I am participating in the Blog Share.  The post below was written by an anonymous blogger.  While the writer shall remain anonymous forever and ever amen, he/she does know that this entry is being posted here, so any comments left will reach the author.

Wow, that sounded all official-like.  Enjoy! (But not too much, because I'm coming back tomorrow.)

*********************

When -R- brought up the idea of Blog Sharing, I was quick to jump at the chance. Being able to semi-anonymously share my taboo worries elsewhere seemed like a great idea; a bit like guest posting just with a little more oomph, for lack of a better word. I say semi-anonymously, because in my mind I like to imagine that a few people might recognize my writing style and figure out who I am. If so, hi! Am busted!

Being the owner of a blog is a strange, strange thing. I have a fairly open stance when it comes to blogging, and of course am thrilled when readers re-visit and take the time to respond. I'm fairly happy to have people I know drop in from time to time, though most don't tend to stick around like other bloggers would. But I do censor myself in certain areas, more as a precautionary measure. And some of that censoring occurs because of my boyfriend.

I actually hate using that word - boyfriend, partner, other half, whatever you'd like to call it works for me. Without going into too much detail, I love him to pieces, but the knowledge that he occasionally lurks on my blog is always present in the back of my head when I'm creating a post. Particularly if that certain someone is the foremost thing on my thoughts, or when I'm in a grouchy frame of mind. It's not that I would be blurting out anything that is super important, but it would be nice just to be able to do it, should the need arise. I suppose that's the downside of willingly sharing your blog with your loved ones.

All of the above rambling brings me to what I feel like discussing today; and (not) surprisingly, it's related to the male species. In actual fact though, it's not just about that - it's more about me. For a long, long time, I've been wanting to take my relationship further. I suppose I've always been in the mindset that if things are good, why wait? Why not make a commitment, make it serious? I'm the more emotional one in the relationship, whilst he is the logical one. (Some days, it would be really nice for it to be reversed, even just for a few short moments...)

Years have passed and other than the occasional talk about the future, things haven't gone much further. Until now, that is. It's really happening. We're moving forward, we're moving out. Or moving in, really. Together. For the first time. To say that I'm excited is an understatement, but in actual fact? It all feels too surreal. And I'm terrified, completely and utterly terrified. I have so many "what if?" scenarios rushing around my head, I have so many things to think about. It's shaken me. People ask me how I'm feeling, and I respond with the usual - "Looking forward to it!", "It'll be great!", "Yeah, really excited!" when on the inside I'm wondering how in the world it's all going to go down. I need somebody to pass me a stiff drink, please. Or just fast forward a few months until this whole process is said and done and I'm a wee bit calmer.

Phew. There you have it; my worries out there for the world to see. Thank you to Operation Pink Herring for allowing me to steal some space on your bloggy home, and thank you to -R- for your organizational genius-ness.

Reunited (and it feels so good)

My phone and I were reunited yesterday.  After our five day separation, I had three missed calls and two unread text messages.  Am soooo popular.

Tomorrow I'll have something special for you here: the first ever OPH guest post!

Bon Jovi, the Big Easy and gray hairs

The Bon Jovi concert was pretty cool.  I'm not exactly "into" Bon Jon... don't get me wrong.  I like his music.  I just don't have REALLY STRONG FEELINGS like some people (ahem, my friends) do.  I think the problem is that I wasn't cool enough in the 80s to be into the popular music.   Jon's songs don't so much remind me of the good ole eighties as they do frat parties freshman year of college.   The only new songs of his that I know are the ones on the radio.  I really do love the "Who says... you can't go back" song that is the theme song of the NJ Tourism commercials.  Now that makes me feel nostalgic.

I had been led to believe Daughtry was opening, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I had never heard of Mr. Daughtry and his self-named band before.  My coworker asked me if Daughtry was opening last week and I said "uh... yeah" because I didn't want to admit that 1. I had no idea who was opening, and 2. I had no idea who Daughtry was.   After a quick Google search and the help of my brother's CD, I realized I knew a few of the songs from the radio.  OK.

Then Joel looked up the concert and told me that in actuality, the All American Rejects were opening.  AWESOME.   Is it weird that I love them?  Like, a lot?  And that I was sort of more excited to see them than Mr. Bon Jovi?

Is it also weird that I just depend on other people to organize things and I have no idea what is actually going to happen until I show up?  That's just how I roll.

Unfortunately, we got distracted by the sangria and tapas we were having pre-concert and we missed nearly all of the opening act.  I got to hear Move Along while we were waiting in line for beer, so it was OK.  That's really the song I love them for.  In fact, I'm not sure that I know any of their other songs.  And our seats were so far up that I wouldn't have been able to see anything anyway, so hearing the song in the beer line = good enough for moi.

Here's a picture of Jon.

That's him, I promise. 

Unfortunately, even when I zoomed in all the way, I still couldn't see how white his teeth were.  Sorry, guys.

And here's a picture of what I saw during the ENTIRE CONCERT.

These ladies DID NOT SIT DOWN AT ALL.  I have a problem with this.  My friends tell me that I'm the one that's in the wrong here, but I really don't see how standing up during a show demonstrates your superior love for the performer.  Sure, stand up and clap when he comes out.  Jump up and dance during your favorite song.  But for the majority of the show, SIT YOUR ASS DOWN.  People pay for seats at a concert, not a square foot of cement to stand on.   But because they decided to stand up, I had to stand up.  For three hours. 

(You know what else pisses me off in the exactly same manner?  People who put their seats back on airplanes.  I know that, again, I'm in the minority here, but I think it's just RUDE. If one person puts their seat back, that means that the person behind them has to either suffer in a teepee-like formation for the duration of the flight, or put their seat back as well.  And then the person behind THEM is faced with the same dilemma.  RUDE.)

(It's possible I've been traveling a bit too much lately.  Ya think?)

Jon puts on a great show.  He played the new album from start to finish, which I guess would have been awesome if I were more familiar with his new stuff.   Then he played the old favorites.  Then he played some more.  And more.  For three hours.