Holy crap!
Mom just sent me this email:
How would you feel about Ditter and Stretch coming over for Easter dinner?
I stared at it for a few moments (whoo! Feel that adrenaline rush!) before replying:
Over where?
It sounded like there was gonna be some sort of Easter confab (editorial update: wrong word. Apparently that's a conversation. I meant: shindig, do, gathering, partay) at my place. The hell? Last I knew, Mom and Dad were coming to pick up Lolly and me on Good Friday and taking me back home with them. I remember asking if that wasn't a terribly long schlepp, and she replied that it was no worse than the drive to the bus stop to pick me up.
I am totally unprepared for company. I'm planning to host Thanksgiving, and it looked like this email was cutting my prep-for-company time from eight months to three weeks. Gaaaaah!
I followed it up with a second reply:
If you mean over here, this is how I would feel: stressed, panicked, unprepared, under furnished, and guilty if I said no.
I'm not ready for people. I don't have enough furniture for people to all sit on something without some folks getting a kitchen chair. I said I'd host Thanksgiving, and that's what I've been shooting for -- eight months from now. I've never hosted a dinner party, let alone a holiday function, and I'm freaking out right now just thinking about it.
Did you already talk to them about it?
Too antsy to wait for an email back, I called her.
Yep. She thought they were spending the weekend with me, gonna play in my garden, stuff like that.
No.
Nononononono.
I couldn't figure out how she got that idea, and told her so. She mentioned something about a phone conversation we had recently, where we mentioned getting pavers for the garden when they came down, and I said, "Yeah. And I remember thinking, we're gonna do all this on Good Friday?"
So. They're staying home and hosting Easter. I'm gonna do Thanksgiving--I've invited my sister, her hubby, and her in-laws. Don't know if they'll come. Gulp. Need more chairs if they do.
I should buy more chairs anyway.
C'mon tax refund, mama needs to go furniture shopping!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A reader's meme
I lifted this meme from Average Jane:
1. Which book has been on your shelves the longest? Jane Eyre, though not the same copy. I keep reading that story to shreds.
2. What is your current read, your last read and the book you’ll read next?
Current Read: Jane and the Ghosts of Netley, by Stephanie Barron
Last Read: The Archivist, by Martha Cooley
Next Book: Magical Thinking, by Augusten Burroughs -- unless something else catches my eye.
3. What book did everyone like and you hated?
I was significantly underwhelmed by The Bridges of Madison County. I didn't see it as romantic at all. I was impatient with him and irritated by her.
4. Which book do you keep telling yourself you’ll read, but you probably won’t?
Not so much that I'm telling myself I'll read it, but that I despair of ever finishing it: A Suitable Boy. I keep picking it up and putting it down. And it's so long between attempts, I usually have to start over. It's good, but it's l-o-o-o-o-o-n-g. Oy.
5. Which book are you saving for “retirement?”
Well, I have to learn French first, but one thing I'd really like to do is read Les Miserables in its original language. Dunno why, I'm sure there are plenty of good translations out there. I just want to read it in French.
6. Last page: read it first or wait till the end?
I wait 'til the end.
7. Acknowledgments: waste of ink and paper or interesting aside?
I like them if they explain who the people are being thanked. If it's just a list of names, I tend to move on.
8. Which book character would you switch places with?
Can't think of anyone.
9. Do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time)?
No, not really. Now, ask me that about pieces I've embroidered, that's a different story. For example, the pillow top I was working on during the long drive back from my cousin J's wedding in Virginia. NASCAR radio was on, I was embroidering in the back seat (roads were well-paved, car had decent shocks, and it was a blunt needle. And my small-hand coordination's very good). I've never finished the piece, 'cause every time I look at it I hear nnnnnnnNNNNNYOWMMMMNNNNnnnnnn in my head.
10. Name a book you acquired in some interesting way.
My aunt gave me the whole "Little House" series by Laura Ingalls Wilder, in hardback, one book every year or so, until I had them all.
11. Have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person?
I've been doing for my aunt's grandchild what my aunt did for me. I think the next one I have to get her is The Long Winter. Need to check on that.
12. Which book has been with you to the most places?
Most of my childhood books are packed away somewhere. I haven't seen them since we moved out away from the Philly area when I was 17. I hope they're still in good condition. Somehow or other Northanger Abbey missed getting packed up with everything else. I got that
13. Any “required reading” you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later?
Nope. I still don't like The Red Badge of Courage, and I can't see "The Big Two-Hearted River" as anything but a fishing trip.
14. What is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book?
Found a photo in one I bought at a used book sale--old black and white photo of a woman holding a baby. Nothing written on the back. I don't remember what I did with it. If Look at Me had been around at the time, I would have scanned and posted the photo there.
15. Used or brand new?
Either. Both. Gimme!
16. Stephen King: Literary genius or opiate of the masses?
Eh. He's all right. Some of his stuff is really good, other works not so much. I think he answered the question himself when he wrote books under the name "Richard Bachman," and they didn't sell until he leaked it that they were his.
17. Have you ever seen a movie you liked better than the book?
I have learned to treat the movie and the book as separate. Other wise I get irritated with what I see as liberties taken with the way the story is told once it's put on film.
18. Conversely, which book should NEVER have been introduced to celluloid?
The Woman in White.
19. Who is the person whose book advice you’ll always take?
My mom's taste and mine seem to coincide. Though my friend G's pointed some interesting books out for me, too. Another one on my list, either after Magical Thinking or before, depending on my mood when I get down with what I'm reading now, is one he recommended called When Languages Die.
1. Which book has been on your shelves the longest? Jane Eyre, though not the same copy. I keep reading that story to shreds.
2. What is your current read, your last read and the book you’ll read next?
Current Read: Jane and the Ghosts of Netley, by Stephanie Barron
Last Read: The Archivist, by Martha Cooley
Next Book: Magical Thinking, by Augusten Burroughs -- unless something else catches my eye.
3. What book did everyone like and you hated?
I was significantly underwhelmed by The Bridges of Madison County. I didn't see it as romantic at all. I was impatient with him and irritated by her.
4. Which book do you keep telling yourself you’ll read, but you probably won’t?
Not so much that I'm telling myself I'll read it, but that I despair of ever finishing it: A Suitable Boy. I keep picking it up and putting it down. And it's so long between attempts, I usually have to start over. It's good, but it's l-o-o-o-o-o-n-g. Oy.
5. Which book are you saving for “retirement?”
Well, I have to learn French first, but one thing I'd really like to do is read Les Miserables in its original language. Dunno why, I'm sure there are plenty of good translations out there. I just want to read it in French.
6. Last page: read it first or wait till the end?
I wait 'til the end.
7. Acknowledgments: waste of ink and paper or interesting aside?
I like them if they explain who the people are being thanked. If it's just a list of names, I tend to move on.
8. Which book character would you switch places with?
Can't think of anyone.
9. Do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time)?
No, not really. Now, ask me that about pieces I've embroidered, that's a different story. For example, the pillow top I was working on during the long drive back from my cousin J's wedding in Virginia. NASCAR radio was on, I was embroidering in the back seat (roads were well-paved, car had decent shocks, and it was a blunt needle. And my small-hand coordination's very good). I've never finished the piece, 'cause every time I look at it I hear nnnnnnnNNNNNYOWMMMMNNNNnnnnnn in my head.
10. Name a book you acquired in some interesting way.
My aunt gave me the whole "Little House" series by Laura Ingalls Wilder, in hardback, one book every year or so, until I had them all.
11. Have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person?
I've been doing for my aunt's grandchild what my aunt did for me. I think the next one I have to get her is The Long Winter. Need to check on that.
12. Which book has been with you to the most places?
Most of my childhood books are packed away somewhere. I haven't seen them since we moved out away from the Philly area when I was 17. I hope they're still in good condition. Somehow or other Northanger Abbey missed getting packed up with everything else. I got that
13. Any “required reading” you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later?
Nope. I still don't like The Red Badge of Courage, and I can't see "The Big Two-Hearted River" as anything but a fishing trip.
14. What is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book?
Found a photo in one I bought at a used book sale--old black and white photo of a woman holding a baby. Nothing written on the back. I don't remember what I did with it. If Look at Me had been around at the time, I would have scanned and posted the photo there.
15. Used or brand new?
Either. Both. Gimme!
16. Stephen King: Literary genius or opiate of the masses?
Eh. He's all right. Some of his stuff is really good, other works not so much. I think he answered the question himself when he wrote books under the name "Richard Bachman," and they didn't sell until he leaked it that they were his.
17. Have you ever seen a movie you liked better than the book?
I have learned to treat the movie and the book as separate. Other wise I get irritated with what I see as liberties taken with the way the story is told once it's put on film.
18. Conversely, which book should NEVER have been introduced to celluloid?
The Woman in White.
19. Who is the person whose book advice you’ll always take?
My mom's taste and mine seem to coincide. Though my friend G's pointed some interesting books out for me, too. Another one on my list, either after Magical Thinking or before, depending on my mood when I get down with what I'm reading now, is one he recommended called When Languages Die.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Jumping the gun a wee bit
So I've been doing Weight Watchers online the past couple of weeks. I can't tell how much I've lost (if anything), 'cause I can't find my bathroom scale. All right, no, I haven't looked for it. I'm afraid. I'll weigh in when I see significant differences other ways. And even then I'll only do it because I'll need to know how many points I should be using in the WW plan (the smaller you get, the less points you have for food).
I was feeling smaller this morning, so I tried a pair of jeans I haven't worn in months. They fit! Huzzah! I decided to wear them to work.
To tell the truth, they're a little snug. Sitting isn't uncomfortable, but I hope I don't drop something today--I bent over to tie my shoes this morning and nearly knocked myself out from lack of air. I probably should have waited another week.
But still! I'm in 'em! Woo-hoo!
In other news: the research on Thanksgiving dinner has begun. We start with napkins. Can't decide between the fleur-de-lis and the diamond pocket napkin fold.
I was feeling smaller this morning, so I tried a pair of jeans I haven't worn in months. They fit! Huzzah! I decided to wear them to work.
To tell the truth, they're a little snug. Sitting isn't uncomfortable, but I hope I don't drop something today--I bent over to tie my shoes this morning and nearly knocked myself out from lack of air. I probably should have waited another week.
But still! I'm in 'em! Woo-hoo!
In other news: the research on Thanksgiving dinner has begun. We start with napkins. Can't decide between the fleur-de-lis and the diamond pocket napkin fold.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
I'm a grown-up!
You'd think, wouldn't you, that buying a townhouse would make me feel like an adult. Or maybe turning forty? Nope. You know what did it? Using the 1040 long form for my taxes, complete with a filled-out schedule A and schedule B.
Except for the year I had jury duty (and couldn't find a space on any other form but the 1040 long form to declare the $14 bucks or so that they paid me to sit around before being dismissed with thanks), I've used the 1040EZ form. One side of one sheet, very little to do except report what I made, what my tax should have been, what they took, and what they owe me.
This year? What I make, what I paid in state and local taxes, what I paid in property taxes, how much interest I paid on the mortgage, how much I paid in private mortgage insurance premiums...subtract that from what I made, along with the usual exemption I get every year (my head is beginning to spin, how about yours?)...two hours of math and form-filling later, it turns out the IRS owes me close to $800! It used to be between $300-$400.
Holy crap.
Except for the year I had jury duty (and couldn't find a space on any other form but the 1040 long form to declare the $14 bucks or so that they paid me to sit around before being dismissed with thanks), I've used the 1040EZ form. One side of one sheet, very little to do except report what I made, what my tax should have been, what they took, and what they owe me.
This year? What I make, what I paid in state and local taxes, what I paid in property taxes, how much interest I paid on the mortgage, how much I paid in private mortgage insurance premiums...subtract that from what I made, along with the usual exemption I get every year (my head is beginning to spin, how about yours?)...two hours of math and form-filling later, it turns out the IRS owes me close to $800! It used to be between $300-$400.
Holy crap.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Neat video
I'm catching up on some Tweets. A bunch of them have links to videos, and I can't really watch them at work, so I'm going through 'em now. Here's one the Bloggess sent out yesterday:
Cool! I love 3-D effect street painting.
Cool! I love 3-D effect street painting.
Sneaky
About a minute and a half after starting work this morning, I gave myself a wicked paper cut on the tip of the middle finger of my left hand. Oh, it's gonna be a good day. After running around with my finger in my mouth for a bit (don'tbleedonthebooksdon'tbleedonthebooks) I finally located a band-aid and slapped it on the wound.
Shortly after that, my old supervisor popped up outside my cubicle and attempted an ambush. It started with desultory conversation about what I was doing (viewing microfilm), and then moved on to this:
"I was going to ask [my supervisor], but thought I'd run this by you first to see what you thought. [A librarian from another section] usually looks after our desk when we have staff meetings and trainings, but he's on sabbatical right now. We were wondering if you and [my fellow refugee] would be interested in doing the desk for us. I mean, I could get one of the students to do it, but ..." and then she trailed off, looking at me expectantly.
"I have so many things going on right now, I just don't think I can take that on too," I lied, sending up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for Malory's warning.
"Oh. Okay. I just thought I'd ask." And then she vanished.
After she left I tracked down my colleague to warn her of a possible sneak-attack. She hasn't been approached yet. At her suggestion I emailed my supervisor (who's out today) to let her know, just in case those people try to do an end-run 'round us and "seek permission" for us for something we don't want to do.
Here's the thing: if the situation were reversed and someone approached one of my old supervisor's employees with an offer like that without checking with her first, you'd hear her screams of rage from as far away as Pittsburgh. Sneaky little mumblegrumbleumph.
D'you think it was an omen, which finger got the boo-boo?
Shortly after that, my old supervisor popped up outside my cubicle and attempted an ambush. It started with desultory conversation about what I was doing (viewing microfilm), and then moved on to this:
"I was going to ask [my supervisor], but thought I'd run this by you first to see what you thought. [A librarian from another section] usually looks after our desk when we have staff meetings and trainings, but he's on sabbatical right now. We were wondering if you and [my fellow refugee] would be interested in doing the desk for us. I mean, I could get one of the students to do it, but ..." and then she trailed off, looking at me expectantly.
"I have so many things going on right now, I just don't think I can take that on too," I lied, sending up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for Malory's warning.
"Oh. Okay. I just thought I'd ask." And then she vanished.
After she left I tracked down my colleague to warn her of a possible sneak-attack. She hasn't been approached yet. At her suggestion I emailed my supervisor (who's out today) to let her know, just in case those people try to do an end-run 'round us and "seek permission" for us for something we don't want to do.
Here's the thing: if the situation were reversed and someone approached one of my old supervisor's employees with an offer like that without checking with her first, you'd hear her screams of rage from as far away as Pittsburgh. Sneaky little mumblegrumbleumph.
D'you think it was an omen, which finger got the boo-boo?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Blame Chief Loon for this one
She sent me this in an email. It's really punny. As she wrote when I emailed back to her that it was awful: The only way to deal with a pun or an earworm is to pass it on.
Share and enjoy:
Share and enjoy:
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Once every three years, whether I need it or not
I hate people touching my head. It's the main reason why I have long hair--it usually takes me about three years from the last time I get my hair cut to talk myself into going back and getting another one. If someone could figure out a way to wave the comb and scissors around over my head and magically make my hair shorter, I'd be so very happy.
I particularly hate the pre-cut shampooing session. Friends have told me that's their favorite part of the experience, that it's like getting a scalp massage--soooo relaxing. Not with me. I lie back with my head in someone's sink, trying to make small-talk and all the time thinking stoptouchingmestoptouchingmestoptouchingme. When I get up from the sink and follow the stylist to her station I have little half-moon fingernail marks in my palms.
Part of this may come from the time I got head lice, right before my eighteenth birthday. Mom spent an evening going all over my head with a bottle of Rid and a fine-toothed comb (I'm starting to itch just thinking about it). But I think that just reinforced an attitude about something I never liked anyway. Maybe I was scalped in a past life.
Anyway, I think it's time to let someone have a go at my hair. I've been resisting the idea for a while. When you get to the point, though, that your hair's too heavy to stay in a chignon, and it tickles your elbows when it's down (making you think there's someone behind you. Fun for someone living alone), it might be time to take action. And then there's what happens when I try to comb it. All my hair does is sit on my head all day, and yet when I try to comb it, I find that it's turned into one massive tangle towards the bottom. Is there some sort of party going on just past the nape of my neck? I sit here at night (or in the morning), combing and howling. The cat sits next to me while I do this, and I'll bet she's thinking, "Stop doing that if it hurts. Stupid."
Think of me Saturday. I'm going into Holiday Hair and asking someone to transform this:
into this:
Wish the poor unfortunate scissors-jockey some luck.
I particularly hate the pre-cut shampooing session. Friends have told me that's their favorite part of the experience, that it's like getting a scalp massage--soooo relaxing. Not with me. I lie back with my head in someone's sink, trying to make small-talk and all the time thinking stoptouchingmestoptouchingmestoptouchingme. When I get up from the sink and follow the stylist to her station I have little half-moon fingernail marks in my palms.
Part of this may come from the time I got head lice, right before my eighteenth birthday. Mom spent an evening going all over my head with a bottle of Rid and a fine-toothed comb (I'm starting to itch just thinking about it). But I think that just reinforced an attitude about something I never liked anyway. Maybe I was scalped in a past life.
Anyway, I think it's time to let someone have a go at my hair. I've been resisting the idea for a while. When you get to the point, though, that your hair's too heavy to stay in a chignon, and it tickles your elbows when it's down (making you think there's someone behind you. Fun for someone living alone), it might be time to take action. And then there's what happens when I try to comb it. All my hair does is sit on my head all day, and yet when I try to comb it, I find that it's turned into one massive tangle towards the bottom. Is there some sort of party going on just past the nape of my neck? I sit here at night (or in the morning), combing and howling. The cat sits next to me while I do this, and I'll bet she's thinking, "Stop doing that if it hurts. Stupid."
Think of me Saturday. I'm going into Holiday Hair and asking someone to transform this:
into this:
Wish the poor unfortunate scissors-jockey some luck.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Kitty's kidneys
We went back to the doctor (to get another shrink...sorry. Wrong song) for Delilah's kidney recheck. He poked and prodded while she put up with it, then he took her out of the room to draw some blood. I'm glad they don't do that with me in the room. Partly 'cause I'd be upset to see it, and partly because I think she'd be upset for me for not helping her get away from the man with the sharp object.
While they were gone, I read this poster with a chart on it that was equating dog and cat years with human ones. It only went up to 15, and at 15 (according to the chart) a cat's age is equivalent to that of a 75-year-old human. Cripes! When Dr. M. came back into the room with my cat, I mentioned that the chart stopped at 15 years. His assistant found me another one that went farther. 18 is 88, 19 is 92, so right now Delilah is the feline equivalent of 90! Yowza.
I got a voice mail from the vet on Thursday. He says she's stabilized, and that actually it looked like her levels had improved a little. He dismissed that as a fluctuation. He wants me to put her on calcitriol, and called Franck's Pharmacy for me--said they'll call me in a day or two. He gave me an 800-number, which made me wonder if this was going to be a mail-order prescription.
I looked them up on the web. It is. They're in Ocala, FL, and it looks like they're the only people who compound calcitriol for veterinary use. Here's the article on the stuff she's going to take, and what it does for her. Sounds promising.
I can't get over the age thing. 90. I hope I'm still galloping around at 90.
While they were gone, I read this poster with a chart on it that was equating dog and cat years with human ones. It only went up to 15, and at 15 (according to the chart) a cat's age is equivalent to that of a 75-year-old human. Cripes! When Dr. M. came back into the room with my cat, I mentioned that the chart stopped at 15 years. His assistant found me another one that went farther. 18 is 88, 19 is 92, so right now Delilah is the feline equivalent of 90! Yowza.
I got a voice mail from the vet on Thursday. He says she's stabilized, and that actually it looked like her levels had improved a little. He dismissed that as a fluctuation. He wants me to put her on calcitriol, and called Franck's Pharmacy for me--said they'll call me in a day or two. He gave me an 800-number, which made me wonder if this was going to be a mail-order prescription.
I looked them up on the web. It is. They're in Ocala, FL, and it looks like they're the only people who compound calcitriol for veterinary use. Here's the article on the stuff she's going to take, and what it does for her. Sounds promising.
I can't get over the age thing. 90. I hope I'm still galloping around at 90.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Fair warning
My fellow refugee from Hell approached me a few days ago and reported the following:
Our old boss and someone she used to supervise (let's call her Malory) are on the same committee. Malory approached my colleague recently to tell her that she (my colleague) and I should watch out. Apparently at one of this committee's meetings, our ex-supervisor said the following to Malory:
"I don't understand why Vee and Cee haven't come down to work on our desk. They said they'd just need a little time to get settled in their new jobs, and then they could do reference work again."
Okay, first of all, I don't know who "they" are. I think my new boss and her boss said to my old boss and her boss that they'd like us to be left alone for a bit until we settled in. Working on a reference desk is something a few of the catalogers do for a couple hours a week--it's called "job enrichment." They were probably saying that eventually we could join the job enrichment program.
While I am interested in using the reference muscle before it atrophies completely (G, your word questions help me there) I have never, ever, ever indicated in any way that I intended or even wanted go back downstairs and work for them for two hours a week.
I would rather be shot.
From a cannon.
So now every time I go downstairs I'm waiting for my ex-boss to ask me about that. I'm ready for her. I'm planning to ask my supervisor if I can do an exchange to another library entirely, one where I know absolutely nothing about the subject matter. 'Cause really that's the point of this program, to learn new skills. Right? Right.
I am so very grateful to Malory for giving us a heads-up, and I told her so. She shook her head and said, "They just don't get it, do they? They're horrible to their people for years and then are surprised and hurt when those people later shun them."
Yep. That about sums it up.
Our old boss and someone she used to supervise (let's call her Malory) are on the same committee. Malory approached my colleague recently to tell her that she (my colleague) and I should watch out. Apparently at one of this committee's meetings, our ex-supervisor said the following to Malory:
"I don't understand why Vee and Cee haven't come down to work on our desk. They said they'd just need a little time to get settled in their new jobs, and then they could do reference work again."
Okay, first of all, I don't know who "they" are. I think my new boss and her boss said to my old boss and her boss that they'd like us to be left alone for a bit until we settled in. Working on a reference desk is something a few of the catalogers do for a couple hours a week--it's called "job enrichment." They were probably saying that eventually we could join the job enrichment program.
While I am interested in using the reference muscle before it atrophies completely (G, your word questions help me there) I have never, ever, ever indicated in any way that I intended or even wanted go back downstairs and work for them for two hours a week.
I would rather be shot.
From a cannon.
So now every time I go downstairs I'm waiting for my ex-boss to ask me about that. I'm ready for her. I'm planning to ask my supervisor if I can do an exchange to another library entirely, one where I know absolutely nothing about the subject matter. 'Cause really that's the point of this program, to learn new skills. Right? Right.
I am so very grateful to Malory for giving us a heads-up, and I told her so. She shook her head and said, "They just don't get it, do they? They're horrible to their people for years and then are surprised and hurt when those people later shun them."
Yep. That about sums it up.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Three-peat
Three posts in one day!
I am at the moment by myself in a large computer lab, 'cause everyone else has better stuff to do at 7 on a Friday night. So do I, as it happens. I'm outta here shortly.
Why am I blogging from here? 'Cause my laptop is throwing fits. I'll be going along, playing a game, reading my email, writing a blog entry, and suddenly for a few seconds it freezes. It's almost like the machine gets a cramp. This used to happen very rarely, so rarely that I didn't take it to get serviced -- because I couldn't be sure it would do it for the tech guys and I didn't want them to think I was a nut. Now it's happening about once every half hour.
And now Circuit City is going out of business and I have no idea what this does to my protection plan. I'm also pretty sure the plan's about to run out. Laptop is old. It was old when I bought it -- it was the floor model, so I got it at a reduced price with the knowledge that it had been on and operating for most of its time in the store. Think it's time for a new one? Maybe.
It'll have to wait until I get my tax refund, and considering my taxes just got more complicated, I don't know how long that will be. Now I have PMI and mortgage interest to declare as write-offs. I think I have to use 1040-long form this year. Eeeee! I'm a grown-up!
So anywho, that's why I'm alone in a computer lab on a Friday evening. Now I'm taking myself off to dinner (just got paid! Woo-hoo!) and am heading home. Here's hoping Creepy McSmarmypants doesn't try his "hey-baby-I'm-in-the-book" nonsense on the bus tonight. It's been a grump-making kind of day, and the filter between my mind and mouth isn't fitting as snugly as it should.
I am at the moment by myself in a large computer lab, 'cause everyone else has better stuff to do at 7 on a Friday night. So do I, as it happens. I'm outta here shortly.
Why am I blogging from here? 'Cause my laptop is throwing fits. I'll be going along, playing a game, reading my email, writing a blog entry, and suddenly for a few seconds it freezes. It's almost like the machine gets a cramp. This used to happen very rarely, so rarely that I didn't take it to get serviced -- because I couldn't be sure it would do it for the tech guys and I didn't want them to think I was a nut. Now it's happening about once every half hour.
And now Circuit City is going out of business and I have no idea what this does to my protection plan. I'm also pretty sure the plan's about to run out. Laptop is old. It was old when I bought it -- it was the floor model, so I got it at a reduced price with the knowledge that it had been on and operating for most of its time in the store. Think it's time for a new one? Maybe.
It'll have to wait until I get my tax refund, and considering my taxes just got more complicated, I don't know how long that will be. Now I have PMI and mortgage interest to declare as write-offs. I think I have to use 1040-long form this year. Eeeee! I'm a grown-up!
So anywho, that's why I'm alone in a computer lab on a Friday evening. Now I'm taking myself off to dinner (just got paid! Woo-hoo!) and am heading home. Here's hoping Creepy McSmarmypants doesn't try his "hey-baby-I'm-in-the-book" nonsense on the bus tonight. It's been a grump-making kind of day, and the filter between my mind and mouth isn't fitting as snugly as it should.
Sometimes work seems like a Fry and Laurie sketch
I found fragments of this post buried in my drafts section. Thought I might as well post it, (after some editing) 'cause even though it is a little out of date, it's still true.
Backstory: The Chief Loon and I both work at the same library. She works in Lending, I work in Cataloging. One of my projects is to barcode volumes of serial titles. The long-range goal is to make sure everything in our library has a barcode attached to it and is in the system. Most of the books are done, but there are thousands of periodical volumes that aren't barcoded. Right now I'm working on a list given to me by someone in another department, because she needs these specific things done for another project.
Anyway, I'd just bumped into a run of volumes that had been put into phase boxes as extra protection for them--they were old and fragile. Not old or fragile enough for Special Collections, I guess. I'd picked up a box in the run and thought it much lighter than its brothers. I had a feeling it was empty. I was right. No book in the box, nor was it anywhere on the shelf or on any of the shelves nearby. I checked in sorting areas, on tables, on the trucks at the ends of rows, by photocopiers--nothing. My last guess at where it could be (besides being stolen, which is probably what happened to it) is to go into the Dewey section of the library, because even though the boxes had Library of Congress numbers on them, the volumes themselves still had their old Dewey decimal numbers. On my way to the Dewey section I passed the circulation desk, where the Chief was on duty:
Chief Loon: Hi there!
Me: Hi. Look at this. [I show her empty box] I think someone stole this book.
CL: Oh, dear.
M: Yeah. I looked all over the place for it, can't find it. My last hope is that someone put it in the Deweys.
CL: Well, that's an idea. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you.
Me: Me too. Fingers, toes, knees, eyes...going to be hard to walk. Well, maybe not eyes. What if I find it with crossed eyes? Then we'll have two. We don't need a duplicate.
CL: Besides, if you go around crossing your i's you'll have to start dotting your t's.
Me: Well, I was cataloging Yiddish materials this morning...*
CL: There you are. [turns to a patron who's just walked up to the desk] Hi! May I help you?
Ah, yes. The absurdist conversation. Another reason I love living in a college town.
And no, I never did find the book.
*See this chart. Middle of the third row, letter called "samekh"
Backstory: The Chief Loon and I both work at the same library. She works in Lending, I work in Cataloging. One of my projects is to barcode volumes of serial titles. The long-range goal is to make sure everything in our library has a barcode attached to it and is in the system. Most of the books are done, but there are thousands of periodical volumes that aren't barcoded. Right now I'm working on a list given to me by someone in another department, because she needs these specific things done for another project.
Anyway, I'd just bumped into a run of volumes that had been put into phase boxes as extra protection for them--they were old and fragile. Not old or fragile enough for Special Collections, I guess. I'd picked up a box in the run and thought it much lighter than its brothers. I had a feeling it was empty. I was right. No book in the box, nor was it anywhere on the shelf or on any of the shelves nearby. I checked in sorting areas, on tables, on the trucks at the ends of rows, by photocopiers--nothing. My last guess at where it could be (besides being stolen, which is probably what happened to it) is to go into the Dewey section of the library, because even though the boxes had Library of Congress numbers on them, the volumes themselves still had their old Dewey decimal numbers. On my way to the Dewey section I passed the circulation desk, where the Chief was on duty:
Chief Loon: Hi there!
Me: Hi. Look at this. [I show her empty box] I think someone stole this book.
CL: Oh, dear.
M: Yeah. I looked all over the place for it, can't find it. My last hope is that someone put it in the Deweys.
CL: Well, that's an idea. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you.
Me: Me too. Fingers, toes, knees, eyes...going to be hard to walk. Well, maybe not eyes. What if I find it with crossed eyes? Then we'll have two. We don't need a duplicate.
CL: Besides, if you go around crossing your i's you'll have to start dotting your t's.
Me: Well, I was cataloging Yiddish materials this morning...*
CL: There you are. [turns to a patron who's just walked up to the desk] Hi! May I help you?
Ah, yes. The absurdist conversation. Another reason I love living in a college town.
And no, I never did find the book.
*See this chart. Middle of the third row, letter called "samekh"
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Ew
I'm on the bus, headed home after a trip to a craft store and a grocery store. As we round the corner onto the street ahead of mine, I glance around at my fellow passengers and see an odd-looking man with long black hair and a brown leather jacket. He's gazing at me with a look that can only be described as knowing. I quickly look away and make very sure I don't look at him again. That would only be asking for trouble.
Too late.
"Do you take this bus often?"
I look up. He's standing right in front of me, on his way out of the bus.
"Mm-hmm."
"Well, I'll catch you next time. My name is [first name]. [First name, last name]. I'm in the book. Give me a call."
And then he strut-swaggers (swagger-struts?) out the door. I catch the eye of the woman across the aisle from me.
"I don't think so," I say after the door closes. She shakes her head and smiles in sympathy.
So now I'm going to be on the look-out for this dude every bus trip, without seeming to be looking for him or recognizing him. I'm hoping he a) forgets me or b) takes a hint from my lack of phone call.
Sigh. I must be some sort of beacon for weird guys on the bus. It almost makes me nostalgic for Twitch. Almost.
On an unrelated note: My blog turned three yesterday. Aside from attending school and being a member of a children's choir (I sang with them from ages 8-12. Had to quit when I turned 13, because the conductor had a rule about no high school children in her choir. I was very sorry to go), this is the longest I've stuck with anything.
And guess what! Momo-Mama referred to me in her blog!
Too late.
"Do you take this bus often?"
I look up. He's standing right in front of me, on his way out of the bus.
"Mm-hmm."
"Well, I'll catch you next time. My name is [first name]. [First name, last name]. I'm in the book. Give me a call."
And then he strut-swaggers (swagger-struts?) out the door. I catch the eye of the woman across the aisle from me.
"I don't think so," I say after the door closes. She shakes her head and smiles in sympathy.
So now I'm going to be on the look-out for this dude every bus trip, without seeming to be looking for him or recognizing him. I'm hoping he a) forgets me or b) takes a hint from my lack of phone call.
Sigh. I must be some sort of beacon for weird guys on the bus. It almost makes me nostalgic for Twitch. Almost.
On an unrelated note: My blog turned three yesterday. Aside from attending school and being a member of a children's choir (I sang with them from ages 8-12. Had to quit when I turned 13, because the conductor had a rule about no high school children in her choir. I was very sorry to go), this is the longest I've stuck with anything.
And guess what! Momo-Mama referred to me in her blog!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
"There's always more work to do."
We interrupt this blog for a brief political message.
If you don't want to watch it, go here for some nice Irish step-dancing, but please do come back. I don't generally do politics, mainly because my family's a mixed-party family, and I'm probably not going to write about it again any time soon. Someone tweeted me the following, and the whole time I watched it I was nodding and saying, "yep."
We now return you to your regular blog. Thank you.
If you don't want to watch it, go here for some nice Irish step-dancing, but please do come back. I don't generally do politics, mainly because my family's a mixed-party family, and I'm probably not going to write about it again any time soon. Someone tweeted me the following, and the whole time I watched it I was nodding and saying, "yep."
We now return you to your regular blog. Thank you.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Ow-woooooo!
Just a teeny tiny post for now. I have a fifteen minute break and nobody to talk to, so I'm blogging. Don't you feel lucky?
I'm a one-woman serials cataloging team today. Everyone else is either on vacation, out sick, or not due in until March (Deena's on a 10-month contract). I's lonely. Pretty sure I just saw a tumbleweed blow by.
I've been spending the day barcoding stuff in the stacks 'cause it's freakin' cold in my cubicle, and yesterday I found out where all the heat is: stack level 2A. That's where I've been most of the morning. Came back for lunch and to input the barcodes from this morning, and after I hit publish I'm headed back over there.
Is it the weekend yet?
I don't know why I'm wishing the day away. There's a massive project headed my way, coming in from another campus. It's due here on Monday. It was Deena's project originally, but they kept pushing the start date back, and now she's gone for two months so it's mine. Huzzah. It's huge, and it has to get out quickly because the room they're going to be storing things is sort of earmarked for something else that should be arriving soon. I suppose I should enjoy the quiet while it lasts, 'cause next week I'm going to be a bit frenzied.
Well, break's over. Back to work.
I'm a one-woman serials cataloging team today. Everyone else is either on vacation, out sick, or not due in until March (Deena's on a 10-month contract). I's lonely. Pretty sure I just saw a tumbleweed blow by.
I've been spending the day barcoding stuff in the stacks 'cause it's freakin' cold in my cubicle, and yesterday I found out where all the heat is: stack level 2A. That's where I've been most of the morning. Came back for lunch and to input the barcodes from this morning, and after I hit publish I'm headed back over there.
Is it the weekend yet?
I don't know why I'm wishing the day away. There's a massive project headed my way, coming in from another campus. It's due here on Monday. It was Deena's project originally, but they kept pushing the start date back, and now she's gone for two months so it's mine. Huzzah. It's huge, and it has to get out quickly because the room they're going to be storing things is sort of earmarked for something else that should be arriving soon. I suppose I should enjoy the quiet while it lasts, 'cause next week I'm going to be a bit frenzied.
Well, break's over. Back to work.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
No news is good news
Hi there.
Been a longish week. Lots of scurrying around from project to project, trying to make room in my schedule for something large that's coming next week.
Nothing new to report on the kitty health front, thank goodness. No more seizures, she's still bouncy, and she likes her food. And, as if she could sense I was writing about her, she just appeared at my feet. It's probably just to tell me it's time for bed.
Ay, caramba, it's cold over here. You know it's bad out when the weatherman promises that tomorrow it will go up to 12 degrees (that's Fahrenheit. It's somewhere below zero in Celcius. Brrrrrr). I am really, really grateful for those flannel sheets I got as a Christmas present. The cat likes them too.
She's still sitting here, staring at me. I suppose I should set up the coffee pot for tomorrow and head up the wooden hill.
Been a longish week. Lots of scurrying around from project to project, trying to make room in my schedule for something large that's coming next week.
Nothing new to report on the kitty health front, thank goodness. No more seizures, she's still bouncy, and she likes her food. And, as if she could sense I was writing about her, she just appeared at my feet. It's probably just to tell me it's time for bed.
Ay, caramba, it's cold over here. You know it's bad out when the weatherman promises that tomorrow it will go up to 12 degrees (that's Fahrenheit. It's somewhere below zero in Celcius. Brrrrrr). I am really, really grateful for those flannel sheets I got as a Christmas present. The cat likes them too.
She's still sitting here, staring at me. I suppose I should set up the coffee pot for tomorrow and head up the wooden hill.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Delilah's health
So the vet called me Thursday night. Delilah's blood work showed some elevated levels of things, not dangerous yet, but still not quite normal. It looks like she has the very beginnings of kidney disease. He prescribed special food for her, Hill's K/D, which is only available through vets' offices. He wants to see her again in a few weeks to see if her blood chemistry changes on the special food. We have an appointment for the 3rd of February.
I went and got some of this food on Friday morning.Thankfully, she likes it (considering it's the only thing she's allowed to eat now). We've had no more seizures, and she's upstairs right now, galloping around. Sounds like a herd of elephants. She hasn't done that in a few weeks, though I didn't realize that until she started to do it again. I guess the food is working.
I've been afraid to blog about this. Putting it in print makes it real.
The disease is not serious yet, but the vet made it sound like this isn't something that can be remedied. We can slow it way down but we can't stop it.
Well, she's 17 1/2. I can't be expecting her to live forever.
Why not?
I went and got some of this food on Friday morning.Thankfully, she likes it (considering it's the only thing she's allowed to eat now). We've had no more seizures, and she's upstairs right now, galloping around. Sounds like a herd of elephants. She hasn't done that in a few weeks, though I didn't realize that until she started to do it again. I guess the food is working.
I've been afraid to blog about this. Putting it in print makes it real.
The disease is not serious yet, but the vet made it sound like this isn't something that can be remedied. We can slow it way down but we can't stop it.
Well, she's 17 1/2. I can't be expecting her to live forever.
Why not?
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
So far, 2009 stinks
Is there some sort of reboot button I can hit to start this year over?
Let's see, rotten head & chest cold that spills over into the new year from the old one, with a nagging cough that hangs around after all other symptoms have departed. And then? My cat has a seizure.
Yeah. Big fun today. Around 2:30-3:00, she's sitting on the back of the couch watching as I dance around to some music and clap arhythmically (because dancing like a spaz without clapping isn't nearly dorky enough), then she starts twitching, loses her balance, and is clinging to the sofa cushions, arching her back, panting, foaming at the mouth, and her pupils are dilating so wide I almost can't see her irises. I scoop her up in my arms, call her name over and over as hold her as close I can.
When she was done, she walked a little bit away from me, swaying like she'd lost her balance, and I don't think she could see there for a few minutes. She wouldn't look at me or respond to anything I said or did.
I called a vet -- the same one I took Dexter and Charlie to when the fostering agency wanted them tested for FIV.
Hang on. I just heard a "thump" from upstairs.
False alarm. Must've been a car door from outside. But that's how I am right now. Delilah seems fine, but I'm jumpy 'cause I'm worried about her health.
Anyway, the vet. They gave me an appointment for 6:40 this evening. I grabbed and locked the cat into the bathroom with me while I took a shower, and when I got out there was a message from the vet offering me a better time. They'd had some cancellations. I took it.
We got there by taxi. Typical Lolly, when I took her out of the carrier to get weighed, instead of trying to hide she wanted to explore the office. The assistants behind the desk remarked that she looked more like 6 than 17.
The vet listened to what happened, examined her, asked some questions, and then took her out of the room to get some blood samples. He's sending the samples off to get analyzed, and told me he should have the results tomorrow or the next day. He said it didn't look like a stroke. The blood tests will narrow down what it could be. Next step (if we need it) is an MRI or something like that. He said when there's another seizure, I'm to time it. And to make her comfortable -- turn off music or the TV, turn the lights down, take her down from somewhere if she's up high when it happens.
a) I don't want there to be another seizure, thankyouverymuch.
b) Acting like another seizure's a given is a good way to make your patient's owner want to bite you.
c) Sorry I didn't time the last one, doc. I was too busy worrying that my cat was about to die. "It felt like it went on forever, but it probably wasn't much over a minute" isn't a good enough measurement for you?
None of this was said out loud, but I'm pretty sure it was all written on my face.
She ate a lot when we came home, but not all at once. She'd go take a few mouthfuls, go get settled somewhere for a moment or two, then get up and go eat some more. I was hoping it was just that the seizure burned a lot of calories, and not that her short-term memory got affected.
Now she's sitting here next to me on the sofa, drifting off to sleep. IF I didn't know this had happened this afternoon, I wouldn't be able to tell. She's been running around and jumping up on things and yowling at me the way she always does. It makes me wonder if this is her first seizure or just the first one I've witnessed. Mom said Needles had these a lot when she got older, and that her vet said Siamese (and Siamese mixes) are prone to things like this as they age.
Fanfreakingtastic.
Let's see, rotten head & chest cold that spills over into the new year from the old one, with a nagging cough that hangs around after all other symptoms have departed. And then? My cat has a seizure.
Yeah. Big fun today. Around 2:30-3:00, she's sitting on the back of the couch watching as I dance around to some music and clap arhythmically (because dancing like a spaz without clapping isn't nearly dorky enough), then she starts twitching, loses her balance, and is clinging to the sofa cushions, arching her back, panting, foaming at the mouth, and her pupils are dilating so wide I almost can't see her irises. I scoop her up in my arms, call her name over and over as hold her as close I can.
When she was done, she walked a little bit away from me, swaying like she'd lost her balance, and I don't think she could see there for a few minutes. She wouldn't look at me or respond to anything I said or did.
I called a vet -- the same one I took Dexter and Charlie to when the fostering agency wanted them tested for FIV.
Hang on. I just heard a "thump" from upstairs.
False alarm. Must've been a car door from outside. But that's how I am right now. Delilah seems fine, but I'm jumpy 'cause I'm worried about her health.
Anyway, the vet. They gave me an appointment for 6:40 this evening. I grabbed and locked the cat into the bathroom with me while I took a shower, and when I got out there was a message from the vet offering me a better time. They'd had some cancellations. I took it.
We got there by taxi. Typical Lolly, when I took her out of the carrier to get weighed, instead of trying to hide she wanted to explore the office. The assistants behind the desk remarked that she looked more like 6 than 17.
The vet listened to what happened, examined her, asked some questions, and then took her out of the room to get some blood samples. He's sending the samples off to get analyzed, and told me he should have the results tomorrow or the next day. He said it didn't look like a stroke. The blood tests will narrow down what it could be. Next step (if we need it) is an MRI or something like that. He said when there's another seizure, I'm to time it. And to make her comfortable -- turn off music or the TV, turn the lights down, take her down from somewhere if she's up high when it happens.
a) I don't want there to be another seizure, thankyouverymuch.
b) Acting like another seizure's a given is a good way to make your patient's owner want to bite you.
c) Sorry I didn't time the last one, doc. I was too busy worrying that my cat was about to die. "It felt like it went on forever, but it probably wasn't much over a minute" isn't a good enough measurement for you?
None of this was said out loud, but I'm pretty sure it was all written on my face.
She ate a lot when we came home, but not all at once. She'd go take a few mouthfuls, go get settled somewhere for a moment or two, then get up and go eat some more. I was hoping it was just that the seizure burned a lot of calories, and not that her short-term memory got affected.
Now she's sitting here next to me on the sofa, drifting off to sleep. IF I didn't know this had happened this afternoon, I wouldn't be able to tell. She's been running around and jumping up on things and yowling at me the way she always does. It makes me wonder if this is her first seizure or just the first one I've witnessed. Mom said Needles had these a lot when she got older, and that her vet said Siamese (and Siamese mixes) are prone to things like this as they age.
Fanfreakingtastic.
Monday, January 05, 2009
Word fun
Just Me did this on her blog, and since I can't think of anything to say, I thought I'd give it a go over here:
The idea is, after answering the first question, to find one-word answers beginning with the same letter as your first name. When it comes to the boy or girl name, you must use a first name other than your own.
WHAT IS YOUR NAME: It begins with "V," and we'll leave it at that.
4 LETTER WORD: vole
GIRL NAME: Vivienne
OCCUPATION: ventriloquist -- other ones also occurred to me, but this one sprang to mind first, so I took it.
A COLOR: violet
SOMETHING YOU WEAR: vest
BEVERAGE: vodka
FOOD: veal
REASON FOR BEING LATE: Vehicle -- usually the one ahead of the bus that has had an accident and is now blocking traffic.
SOMETHING YOU SHOUT: Vroom! (when babysitting little boys who play with toy cars. Okay, it's a stretch, but it happens. Occasionally.)
Anyone else wanna play?
The idea is, after answering the first question, to find one-word answers beginning with the same letter as your first name. When it comes to the boy or girl name, you must use a first name other than your own.
WHAT IS YOUR NAME: It begins with "V," and we'll leave it at that.
4 LETTER WORD: vole
GIRL NAME: Vivienne
OCCUPATION: ventriloquist -- other ones also occurred to me, but this one sprang to mind first, so I took it.
A COLOR: violet
SOMETHING YOU WEAR: vest
BEVERAGE: vodka
FOOD: veal
REASON FOR BEING LATE: Vehicle -- usually the one ahead of the bus that has had an accident and is now blocking traffic.
SOMETHING YOU SHOUT: Vroom! (when babysitting little boys who play with toy cars. Okay, it's a stretch, but it happens. Occasionally.)
Anyone else wanna play?
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Hello, 2009! (Cough, cough, cough)
Happy New Year!
Last night's celebration consisted of me watching the ball drop on Dick Clark's New Year's Eve show, toasting the New Year with some sparkling cranberry juice, 2 tweets, a failed attempt to call my sister's cell, and (bonus!) running upstairs to watch the First Night fireworks from my bedroom window. Where I was living last year I could only hear them.
I wound up not doing my little party of one. I was too tired, and just not into it. Besides, I didn't know whether my GI tract would take kindly to chips, cheese, turkey pepperoni, crackers, vegetables, dip, olives, and hummus. Instead I got it out today while I watched the Rose Parade. I like that HGTV shows it with limited commercial interruption, but I wish there was a way to mute the commentators and still hear the other sounds. One guy was talking about how much work it takes for a bands to get to the parade, how much time is spent in practice, in fund raising, blah, blah, blah, and I shouted at the screen, "Then why don't you shut up and let us hear them?!?"
I'm going a little stir-crazy, here.
Part of the reason behind taking an extra week off of work was to make sure I didn't go back before I was ready (I'm off 'til the 12th), but I didn't figure on catching the Creeping Crud. I don't know who gave it to me, maybe my parents, maybe some random stranger who breathed on me at Shady Maple. I just know that tomorrow, come hell or high water, I am getting outta here. Going to the mall. Or a movie. Something, anything that doesn't involve being curled up on the couch in a nest of blankets with the cat and the remote.
But right now I'm off to bed. Making up for not getting to sleep before one last night.
Last night's celebration consisted of me watching the ball drop on Dick Clark's New Year's Eve show, toasting the New Year with some sparkling cranberry juice, 2 tweets, a failed attempt to call my sister's cell, and (bonus!) running upstairs to watch the First Night fireworks from my bedroom window. Where I was living last year I could only hear them.
I wound up not doing my little party of one. I was too tired, and just not into it. Besides, I didn't know whether my GI tract would take kindly to chips, cheese, turkey pepperoni, crackers, vegetables, dip, olives, and hummus. Instead I got it out today while I watched the Rose Parade. I like that HGTV shows it with limited commercial interruption, but I wish there was a way to mute the commentators and still hear the other sounds. One guy was talking about how much work it takes for a bands to get to the parade, how much time is spent in practice, in fund raising, blah, blah, blah, and I shouted at the screen, "Then why don't you shut up and let us hear them?!?"
I'm going a little stir-crazy, here.
Part of the reason behind taking an extra week off of work was to make sure I didn't go back before I was ready (I'm off 'til the 12th), but I didn't figure on catching the Creeping Crud. I don't know who gave it to me, maybe my parents, maybe some random stranger who breathed on me at Shady Maple. I just know that tomorrow, come hell or high water, I am getting outta here. Going to the mall. Or a movie. Something, anything that doesn't involve being curled up on the couch in a nest of blankets with the cat and the remote.
But right now I'm off to bed. Making up for not getting to sleep before one last night.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Home again, home again, jiggity-jig
We didn't wind up going to the movie. Mom, my sister, and I went out shopping at Michael's, a grocery store, and a make-up salon called Ulta. I bought some Bare Minerals foundation -- the start-up kit, since I have no idea how to use the stuff. Kit comes with 2 jars of foundation, a jar of something called "warmth," three brushes, and a DVD explaining how to apply it.
Shortly after waking up and getting my coffee on the 27th (while I was writing the last post, actually), I noticed I had a scratchy throat. After shopping I came home and uncharacteristically took a nap. Woke up feeling worse. Got to use my Snuggee for the first time, 'cause I was having chills. Managed to make it through dinner, took some cold medicine and went back to bed.
We headed home the next day after brunch. I've been in my jammies, bundled up on the sofa with the TV on and the cat purring in my ear ever since I got home. I felt well enough today to go out and buy stuff for the little "party of one" I throw on New Year's Eve, but as soon as I got home I changed back into pajamas. I'm almost all right, except for an occasional chesty cough.
Now I'm gonna post this, log off, and curl up with the cat. Maybe I'll watch some of the stuff on my DVR. It's 58% full now.
Shortly after waking up and getting my coffee on the 27th (while I was writing the last post, actually), I noticed I had a scratchy throat. After shopping I came home and uncharacteristically took a nap. Woke up feeling worse. Got to use my Snuggee for the first time, 'cause I was having chills. Managed to make it through dinner, took some cold medicine and went back to bed.
We headed home the next day after brunch. I've been in my jammies, bundled up on the sofa with the TV on and the cat purring in my ear ever since I got home. I felt well enough today to go out and buy stuff for the little "party of one" I throw on New Year's Eve, but as soon as I got home I changed back into pajamas. I'm almost all right, except for an occasional chesty cough.
Now I'm gonna post this, log off, and curl up with the cat. Maybe I'll watch some of the stuff on my DVR. It's 58% full now.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Merry Two-days-after-Christmas
Howdy! I'm in my sister's basement right now. Sorry, I mean "rec room" (inside joke). We got here just fine, though my parents didn't get to me until a little before three o'clock. They thought they'd be there around noon, and then I got a call from a town about an hour away at 1 pm saying they'd be to me in 45 minutes. The roads from here to the Lancaster area were fine, though it was a bit foggy in places.
Christmas Day we opened presents until around noon, I think, then played with our gifts until dinner time. Stretch cooked a crown roast of pork this year. I think next year he's going to fry a turkey--Ditter got him an electric turkey fryer. It looks like a Fry Daddy on steroids. Huge.
There seemed to be a few themes this year for Christmas: light, keeping warm, and bling. My mom gave us baseball caps with LED lights in the brim so that you can see where you're going. My parents also gave my sister and me wind-up flashlights. A lot of us got flannel jammies, and those fleecy blankets with sleeves (Snuggs, I think they're called. It's like putting on your bathrobe backwards.) I gave Mom and Dad a thing I found through Mighty Haus a while back. It makes burnable bricks out of newspaper. I figured they can use it in conjunction with their new coal and wood stove. And there was lots of jewelry to go around. And, based on a rant I emailed Mom about my slurping co-worker, I got a nice set of earphones. Yay! Now I don't have to raid my iPod every time I want to block sound!
Yesterday my parents took everyone to lunch at a place called Shady Maple. It's a smorgasbord. I was told it was large, but I wasn't prepared for exactly how large. Wow. Huge. And full. Mr. S. dropped us off at the front door and went to park, and we walked into what looked like a hotel lobby. I wish I'd brought my camera. I think the entire county was in there. After lunch we came home and most of us took naps. I played on the computer until everyone woke up again, and then watched TV with my mom and my sister.
Been a lazy few days. Today Ditter and I are going to see Twilight. 'Cause nothing says "Christmas" like vampires.
Christmas Day we opened presents until around noon, I think, then played with our gifts until dinner time. Stretch cooked a crown roast of pork this year. I think next year he's going to fry a turkey--Ditter got him an electric turkey fryer. It looks like a Fry Daddy on steroids. Huge.
There seemed to be a few themes this year for Christmas: light, keeping warm, and bling. My mom gave us baseball caps with LED lights in the brim so that you can see where you're going. My parents also gave my sister and me wind-up flashlights. A lot of us got flannel jammies, and those fleecy blankets with sleeves (Snuggs, I think they're called. It's like putting on your bathrobe backwards.) I gave Mom and Dad a thing I found through Mighty Haus a while back. It makes burnable bricks out of newspaper. I figured they can use it in conjunction with their new coal and wood stove. And there was lots of jewelry to go around. And, based on a rant I emailed Mom about my slurping co-worker, I got a nice set of earphones. Yay! Now I don't have to raid my iPod every time I want to block sound!
Yesterday my parents took everyone to lunch at a place called Shady Maple. It's a smorgasbord. I was told it was large, but I wasn't prepared for exactly how large. Wow. Huge. And full. Mr. S. dropped us off at the front door and went to park, and we walked into what looked like a hotel lobby. I wish I'd brought my camera. I think the entire county was in there. After lunch we came home and most of us took naps. I played on the computer until everyone woke up again, and then watched TV with my mom and my sister.
Been a lazy few days. Today Ditter and I are going to see Twilight. 'Cause nothing says "Christmas" like vampires.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Kitty's in the doghouse
Running around like a nut trying to get packed and put together, one ear out for the phone (Mom promised to call me when they're about to head out), I walk into my bedroom and hear suspicious rustling. I turn on the overhead light and Delilah slinks away from the presents -- from Schatzi's present, to be exact.
She got all the wrapping paper off except for one piece of tape on the back, and then chewed her way into the package. I'm mad and impressed at the same time. Looks like I'll be making a trip to the store before we head out of town.
They just called me as I was typing this. They're leaving now. If you wouldn't mind, please send good thoughts towards upstate Pennsylvania. The roads were all icy this morning, and it's still raining. My sidewalk is a mess but I don't know if that's any indication of what the roads are like. I hope they've cleared up some now that the sun is out and the salt trucks have been round.
She got all the wrapping paper off except for one piece of tape on the back, and then chewed her way into the package. I'm mad and impressed at the same time. Looks like I'll be making a trip to the store before we head out of town.
They just called me as I was typing this. They're leaving now. If you wouldn't mind, please send good thoughts towards upstate Pennsylvania. The roads were all icy this morning, and it's still raining. My sidewalk is a mess but I don't know if that's any indication of what the roads are like. I hope they've cleared up some now that the sun is out and the salt trucks have been round.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Pre-holiday freak-out
My mother just called to raise my blood pressure.
Well, that wasn't her intention but it sure was the result. She's at work right now, and has been looking at the weather forecast for tomorrow. It looks like her area's supposed to get freezing rain in the morning. She thought maybe she and Dad should leave this afternoon and stay with me overnight, then set out for my sister's house from here tomorrow morning.
Excellent idea, except for one thing. I'm not prepared for house guests right now. I'm trying to bake, wrap presents, do laundry, decorate for Christmas, and straighten up all at the same time. So springing a surprise visit on me right now? Not a good idea.
What was I going to say, though? "No, risk your lives tomorrow morning, I'm not set for company." So I said, sure, fine, come on down.
"Well, I have to run this by your father first, but I thought I'd give him this option, if it was okay with you."
"Sure!" I squeaked.
"He'll probably say we'll be fine tomorrow morning. So don't panic yet."
"Oh, it's too late for that."
She laughed and hung up. Called me back a minute later saying that the line was busy at the house, which means he's probably on the computer. I hung up, did a preliminary cleaning of both bathrooms, sorted laundry and threw a load into the washer, and started to unload the dishwasher. She called again.
"Still no answer at the house. I even sent him an email telling him to get off the computer and call me, but no dice. So I guess you can forget that idea. We'll see you tomorrow."
"Oh. All right."
"I was just thinking of safety."
"Yes, I know. You'll probably won't go down Wykoff Run if the weather's bad, yeah?"
Wykoff Run is this twisty-turny little two-lane road that goes up and then down a mountain. Very remote, lots of hunting camps on it. Dangerous in bad weather, probably, what with all the turns and inclines. Cuts about an hour out of the trip, though, which is why Dad uses it.
"Yes. Which means it'll take even longer to get to you. So. Sorry for the scare."
"No, it's all right. I need a poke to get me moving today. Got to get all sorts of stuff done, and I was having a hard time getting motivated. Thanks for the cattle prod."
"Anytime. See you tomorrow."
Whew. All right, gotta go finish emptying the dishwasher, clear off the kitchen table, finish wrapping presents, make more cookies, straighten the living room, clean the cat box, wash out and refill Delilah's water fountain, do more laundry, wash more dishes, pack, clean the bathrooms, change the sheets, empty the outdoor lint trap, and collapse. Not necessarily in that order. I should probably do the lint trap first, 'cause I'm going to need the dryer in a few minutes. Where are my shoes?
Here's an interesting little thing I found out today: my phone line is voice-over-IP, it comes from the cable company along with my TV and internet access. Before today, I've never had the TV on when the phone rang, so I didn't know that incoming phone calls get announced on the TV. When the phone rings, a little blue box pops up on the screen to tell me who it is. Neat, huh?
Well, that wasn't her intention but it sure was the result. She's at work right now, and has been looking at the weather forecast for tomorrow. It looks like her area's supposed to get freezing rain in the morning. She thought maybe she and Dad should leave this afternoon and stay with me overnight, then set out for my sister's house from here tomorrow morning.
Excellent idea, except for one thing. I'm not prepared for house guests right now. I'm trying to bake, wrap presents, do laundry, decorate for Christmas, and straighten up all at the same time. So springing a surprise visit on me right now? Not a good idea.
What was I going to say, though? "No, risk your lives tomorrow morning, I'm not set for company." So I said, sure, fine, come on down.
"Well, I have to run this by your father first, but I thought I'd give him this option, if it was okay with you."
"Sure!" I squeaked.
"He'll probably say we'll be fine tomorrow morning. So don't panic yet."
"Oh, it's too late for that."
She laughed and hung up. Called me back a minute later saying that the line was busy at the house, which means he's probably on the computer. I hung up, did a preliminary cleaning of both bathrooms, sorted laundry and threw a load into the washer, and started to unload the dishwasher. She called again.
"Still no answer at the house. I even sent him an email telling him to get off the computer and call me, but no dice. So I guess you can forget that idea. We'll see you tomorrow."
"Oh. All right."
"I was just thinking of safety."
"Yes, I know. You'll probably won't go down Wykoff Run if the weather's bad, yeah?"
Wykoff Run is this twisty-turny little two-lane road that goes up and then down a mountain. Very remote, lots of hunting camps on it. Dangerous in bad weather, probably, what with all the turns and inclines. Cuts about an hour out of the trip, though, which is why Dad uses it.
"Yes. Which means it'll take even longer to get to you. So. Sorry for the scare."
"No, it's all right. I need a poke to get me moving today. Got to get all sorts of stuff done, and I was having a hard time getting motivated. Thanks for the cattle prod."
"Anytime. See you tomorrow."
Whew. All right, gotta go finish emptying the dishwasher, clear off the kitchen table, finish wrapping presents, make more cookies, straighten the living room, clean the cat box, wash out and refill Delilah's water fountain, do more laundry, wash more dishes, pack, clean the bathrooms, change the sheets, empty the outdoor lint trap, and collapse. Not necessarily in that order. I should probably do the lint trap first, 'cause I'm going to need the dryer in a few minutes. Where are my shoes?
Here's an interesting little thing I found out today: my phone line is voice-over-IP, it comes from the cable company along with my TV and internet access. Before today, I've never had the TV on when the phone rang, so I didn't know that incoming phone calls get announced on the TV. When the phone rings, a little blue box pops up on the screen to tell me who it is. Neat, huh?
Friday, December 19, 2008
Can't wrap this
I could've used this a few days ago. All the Virginia and (now) California relatives got their presents mailed to them earlier this week. Monday night was spent sweating and swearing over wrapping paper, while the cat looked on in amusement.
“Can't Wrap This” video at DanceJam.com
Ah, yes.
The "California relatives" were "Germany relatives" until earlier this year. My Air Force cousin finally saw reason and is getting himself retrained again so that he can go back to babysitting the nuclear warheads. It's kind of scary when the safest place to be right now is next to the missile silo, no?
“Can't Wrap This” video at DanceJam.com
Ah, yes.
The "California relatives" were "Germany relatives" until earlier this year. My Air Force cousin finally saw reason and is getting himself retrained again so that he can go back to babysitting the nuclear warheads. It's kind of scary when the safest place to be right now is next to the missile silo, no?
Monday, December 15, 2008
Cookie recipe
As I promised in the comments of the previous entry, here's the recipe for the bar cookie that uses raspberry preserves. I found a recipe measurement converter online, so there are metric measurements in parentheses. I rounded up or down to one decimal point, when necessary
Raspberry Coconut Bars
3/4 c. butter, softened (170 g)
1 c. sugar (228.5 g)
1 egg
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract (2.5 ml)
2 c. all-purpose flour (453.6 g)
1/4 tsp baking powder (1.2 g)
2 c. flaked coconut, divided (453.6 g)
1/2 c. chopped walnuts (113.4 g)
1 12-ounce jar raspberry preserves (352.9 ml or 342.8 g)*
1 c. vanilla or white chocolate chips (228.5 g)
1. Preheat oven to 350° F (177° C).
2. Grease a 13" x 9" x 2" baking pan (33 cm x 22.9 cm x 5.1 cm. I looked around on Amazon.co.uk, and I think this would be called a brownie pan).
3. In a large mixing bowl, cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in egg and vanilla. Set aside.
4. In another bowl, combine flour and baking powder; gradually add this to the creamed mixture and mix well. Stir in 1 1/4 c. coconut (285.7 g) and the walnuts.
5. Reserve one quarter of the dough to use as topping. Press the rest of the dough into the greased pan. Spread with preserves. Sprinkle with chips and the rest of the coconut. Crumble reserved dough over the top; press lightly.
6. Bake at 350° F (177° C) for 30-35 minutes or until golden brown. Cool on wire rack. Cut into bars.
This recipe says the yield is 36 bars. I think that may depend on how you cut them.
And personally, I don't think the white chips were necessary. I didn't notice them in the piece I ate. Also, the recipe didn't specify, but I used seedless preserves to save my gift recipients from getting jabbed in the gums.
*Not sure whether jam is measured as dry or liquid, so I did both conversions. Wish I hadn't already thrown the label away.
Raspberry Coconut Bars
3/4 c. butter, softened (170 g)
1 c. sugar (228.5 g)
1 egg
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract (2.5 ml)
2 c. all-purpose flour (453.6 g)
1/4 tsp baking powder (1.2 g)
2 c. flaked coconut, divided (453.6 g)
1/2 c. chopped walnuts (113.4 g)
1 12-ounce jar raspberry preserves (352.9 ml or 342.8 g)*
1 c. vanilla or white chocolate chips (228.5 g)
1. Preheat oven to 350° F (177° C).
2. Grease a 13" x 9" x 2" baking pan (33 cm x 22.9 cm x 5.1 cm. I looked around on Amazon.co.uk, and I think this would be called a brownie pan).
3. In a large mixing bowl, cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in egg and vanilla. Set aside.
4. In another bowl, combine flour and baking powder; gradually add this to the creamed mixture and mix well. Stir in 1 1/4 c. coconut (285.7 g) and the walnuts.
5. Reserve one quarter of the dough to use as topping. Press the rest of the dough into the greased pan. Spread with preserves. Sprinkle with chips and the rest of the coconut. Crumble reserved dough over the top; press lightly.
6. Bake at 350° F (177° C) for 30-35 minutes or until golden brown. Cool on wire rack. Cut into bars.
This recipe says the yield is 36 bars. I think that may depend on how you cut them.
And personally, I don't think the white chips were necessary. I didn't notice them in the piece I ate. Also, the recipe didn't specify, but I used seedless preserves to save my gift recipients from getting jabbed in the gums.
*Not sure whether jam is measured as dry or liquid, so I did both conversions. Wish I hadn't already thrown the label away.
Friday, December 12, 2008
The Tweets you see when you forget your phone
I went to the grocery store after work today armed with a list of things I need for the First Annual Baking Extravaganza here at Chez Vee. I was really wishing I'd remembered to put my cell in my purse before I left the house this morning. I can be much more tolerant of irritations when I am able to secretly snark about them to Twitter.
1) I need a bag of white chocolate chips. I'm finding every kind of chip but that. Chocolate in various forms (dark, semi-sweet, milk, with mint, miniature), butterscotch, peanut butter, cinnamon, but no white chocolate. Am I the only person in town who wants this? Surely there's more than just the recipe I'm using that calls for 'em.
2) I need raspberry preserves (same recipe, as it happens). I find the jelly aisle (after passing it twice), and am to stuck behind a man who is...well, the only word for it is bogarting. Yep. He is bogarting the jelly. I need one 12-ounce jar of raspberry preserves. I can see them but I can't get to them. He is standing in front of me (us, really. Other people are trying to get at the jelly, too) and a little off to my left, swaying, weaving, browsing, dreamily oblivious of anything except the burning question of what should go on his toast. He has a jar of something in his hand already, but he is (I guess) trying to decide if this is the right choice. Dude, it's jelly. Pick something and go. Or at least get outta people's way. He sways a little to the left and I see my chance. I dive in, snag my preserves, turn around and smile grimly at the mother of two (one child in the cart, one hanging off of the edge) who is about to take my place, and move on. And yes, before you ask, people have tried speaking to him. He doesn't respond to "excuse me."
3) Hey look! A whole display of baking items! Three tables' worth! One whole table is covered with varieties of chips from Nestlé, Hershey, Ghirardelli...and still no white ones. Blast.
4) I am now stuck behind a mother and son tag-team of slowpokes. They're meandering cartless up the aisle, looking at everything and finding nothing in particular. They put just enough room between them that I could almost get through, and then close up the gap again right before I decide to try. Mom mentions something to the boy about snacks for his hockey team, maybe something individually wrapped, so I'm guessing that's what they're looking for. As we get to the end of the aisle I will them to turn left. My mind to your mind, your thoughts to my thoughts..... Crap. They're turning right. And I still can't get round them. I duck down an aisle I don't need just to get away from them and get stuck behind them again two aisles later. What on earth are they doing in the frozen foods section? Are they gonna give the hockey team succotash?
5) Just for the heck of it, right before leaving I go back to the baking aisle one more time in search of my white chips. There's a cardboard display that I don't remember seeing before, and on the bottom, shoved way in the back there is one bag of what I'm looking for. I grab it, toss it in the cart, and scurry towards the check out line. Oop! The Slowpoke Hockey Mom just picked that line. Keep moving, try another one. Hey, look! Bogarter made it out of the jelly aisle. Out of curiosity, I get behind him and see what he chose: store brand grape. Aw, c'mon. For all that wavering, he could have at least bought something by Bonne Maman or Trappist.
6) Passing me on their way into the store as I leave it is a mother-daughter duo, going over their list of baking needs. I hear mother say just before the door shuts,
"Don't let me forget, we need white chocolate chips too."
Rotsa ruck, ma'am.
1) I need a bag of white chocolate chips. I'm finding every kind of chip but that. Chocolate in various forms (dark, semi-sweet, milk, with mint, miniature), butterscotch, peanut butter, cinnamon, but no white chocolate. Am I the only person in town who wants this? Surely there's more than just the recipe I'm using that calls for 'em.
2) I need raspberry preserves (same recipe, as it happens). I find the jelly aisle (after passing it twice), and am to stuck behind a man who is...well, the only word for it is bogarting. Yep. He is bogarting the jelly. I need one 12-ounce jar of raspberry preserves. I can see them but I can't get to them. He is standing in front of me (us, really. Other people are trying to get at the jelly, too) and a little off to my left, swaying, weaving, browsing, dreamily oblivious of anything except the burning question of what should go on his toast. He has a jar of something in his hand already, but he is (I guess) trying to decide if this is the right choice. Dude, it's jelly. Pick something and go. Or at least get outta people's way. He sways a little to the left and I see my chance. I dive in, snag my preserves, turn around and smile grimly at the mother of two (one child in the cart, one hanging off of the edge) who is about to take my place, and move on. And yes, before you ask, people have tried speaking to him. He doesn't respond to "excuse me."
3) Hey look! A whole display of baking items! Three tables' worth! One whole table is covered with varieties of chips from Nestlé, Hershey, Ghirardelli...and still no white ones. Blast.
4) I am now stuck behind a mother and son tag-team of slowpokes. They're meandering cartless up the aisle, looking at everything and finding nothing in particular. They put just enough room between them that I could almost get through, and then close up the gap again right before I decide to try. Mom mentions something to the boy about snacks for his hockey team, maybe something individually wrapped, so I'm guessing that's what they're looking for. As we get to the end of the aisle I will them to turn left. My mind to your mind, your thoughts to my thoughts..... Crap. They're turning right. And I still can't get round them. I duck down an aisle I don't need just to get away from them and get stuck behind them again two aisles later. What on earth are they doing in the frozen foods section? Are they gonna give the hockey team succotash?
5) Just for the heck of it, right before leaving I go back to the baking aisle one more time in search of my white chips. There's a cardboard display that I don't remember seeing before, and on the bottom, shoved way in the back there is one bag of what I'm looking for. I grab it, toss it in the cart, and scurry towards the check out line. Oop! The Slowpoke Hockey Mom just picked that line. Keep moving, try another one. Hey, look! Bogarter made it out of the jelly aisle. Out of curiosity, I get behind him and see what he chose: store brand grape. Aw, c'mon. For all that wavering, he could have at least bought something by Bonne Maman or Trappist.
6) Passing me on their way into the store as I leave it is a mother-daughter duo, going over their list of baking needs. I hear mother say just before the door shuts,
"Don't let me forget, we need white chocolate chips too."
Rotsa ruck, ma'am.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
A LOLcat that makes me laugh
Who'd've thought a cat would eat a snow cone?
more animals
I liked this one so much, I downloaded it to my terminal and am going to use it as desktop wallpaper after Christmas.
more animals
I liked this one so much, I downloaded it to my terminal and am going to use it as desktop wallpaper after Christmas.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Public embarassment, bad dreams, and stupid ideas
or, "What the past few days have been like."
Occasionally I have an anxiety dream. It usually involves having to take a final in a class I didn't know I was enrolled in and now cannot drop. Don't know the subject, or the teacher, or even the building the test is in. I spend most of the dream running around campus trying to find this exam. If I find the room before I wake up, it's usually as some faceless voice is saying, "Pencils down." Test's over, I missed it. Then I wake up, and have to calm myself down by remembering I'm not in school any more.
Last night the dream had a new wrinkle. My report card came in the mail (I don't know whether I was a high school student or a college one). I got all A's except for one B+. My mother was ranting and raving about the B+, wanting to know how I could let this happen, this could ruin my future, yadda, yadda, yadda.
Here's the kicker--my mother? Was my old supervisor from a year and a half ago.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!
I told my fellow refugee from Hell this story and she said, "You are really letting that holiday party invitation get to you, aren't you?"
We'd just been invited the day before to the annual holiday "celebration" at the old office, and neither of us wanted to go. We're going, though, partly because there are some people there we'd like to see, and partly to keep good diplomatic relations between them and our people.
Then last night I had another doozy. All I remember from it is a bit about having to go to a morgue to ID my sister's body. And then I woke up sobbing. I had to talk myself out of calling her at three a.m. today to see if she was all right.
What the [bleep] is up, brain? Halloween was months ago, why are you scaring me now?
Then there's the fun bit on the bus this morning. It was raining quite heavily when I left the house. Everyone on the bus and all their belongings were dripping wet. I was talking to a friend and (now) neighbor as I went to get off at my stop (ahead of her, thank goodness) took one step and went jeet, BOOM! down the steps. Three of 'em. Hit my tushie on each one as I passed. I got to the bottom and, clinging to both hand railings, announced unnecessarily over my shoulder to the rest of the bus:
"The steps are slick!"
I drew the attention of people from 50 yards away, it was that impressive a fall. Bus driver asked me twice if I was okay, and then pulled up along side me as I was about to enter my building and asked if I was sure I was all right. I said, "Well, my bottom hurts, but I did just smack it three times. I'm fine."
And I am, for the most part. I'm going to have a beaut of a bruise when it finally shows. Right now it hurts a little if I shift in a particular direction, so I try not to do that.
When I got to work (after relating my story to my team, laughing so hard at myself that I was starting to tear up. I bet it looked hilarious!), I found Santa had stopped by. One teammate had given me shortbread, another gave me a bag of Jordan almonds and a big bottle of bubble bath/shower gel/shampoo. It's from a company called Philosophy, where my sister gets her perfume. Scent is Snickerdoodle. Food. Dessert, even. But I took a good whiff of it, and all I smelled was cinnamon. Not bad. It's a scent I think I can live with.
So tonight, after I got home and got myself some dinner, I decided to go soak my achy bottom in a bubble bath. I don't do baths very often. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I've taken a bath since my mother announced I was old enough to start using the shower. I don't think I'll be doing it again soon.
Try this: Take a small stock pot, fill it almost to the top with hot, soapy water. Then, from a height of about three feet, drop in a bowling ball. The resulting mess will give you some indication of what the bathroom floor looked like when I sat down in my too-full tub. And I wasn't in there very long before I noticed some of me was getting cold, and the water was getting lukewarm. So I emptied some out, refilled, and proceeded to slosh around, getting even more water on the floor in the process. Turns out I couldn't really soak my achy bum because it hurt when I leaned back. Or moved forward. Or stood up.
Sigh.
So now here I am in my jammies, lying prone in front of the laptop on the floor of the upstairs hall (I'd brought it upstairs to play some nice soothing classical music while I soaked. Really, really glad I didn't put it anywhere in the bathroom, but instead left it outside on the carpeted floor, well away from Lake Snickerdoodle), smelling of cookie dough, with an achy behind, and afraid to go to sleep for fear that my brain's gonna toss me another hand grenade tonight.
So. How are you?
P.S. Ditter's fine by the way. She says dreaming about a death usually means there's a birth round the corner. She's been trying to make me Auntie Vee for a little while now, so, fingers crossed.
Occasionally I have an anxiety dream. It usually involves having to take a final in a class I didn't know I was enrolled in and now cannot drop. Don't know the subject, or the teacher, or even the building the test is in. I spend most of the dream running around campus trying to find this exam. If I find the room before I wake up, it's usually as some faceless voice is saying, "Pencils down." Test's over, I missed it. Then I wake up, and have to calm myself down by remembering I'm not in school any more.
Last night the dream had a new wrinkle. My report card came in the mail (I don't know whether I was a high school student or a college one). I got all A's except for one B+. My mother was ranting and raving about the B+, wanting to know how I could let this happen, this could ruin my future, yadda, yadda, yadda.
Here's the kicker--my mother? Was my old supervisor from a year and a half ago.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!
I told my fellow refugee from Hell this story and she said, "You are really letting that holiday party invitation get to you, aren't you?"
We'd just been invited the day before to the annual holiday "celebration" at the old office, and neither of us wanted to go. We're going, though, partly because there are some people there we'd like to see, and partly to keep good diplomatic relations between them and our people.
Then last night I had another doozy. All I remember from it is a bit about having to go to a morgue to ID my sister's body. And then I woke up sobbing. I had to talk myself out of calling her at three a.m. today to see if she was all right.
What the [bleep] is up, brain? Halloween was months ago, why are you scaring me now?
Then there's the fun bit on the bus this morning. It was raining quite heavily when I left the house. Everyone on the bus and all their belongings were dripping wet. I was talking to a friend and (now) neighbor as I went to get off at my stop (ahead of her, thank goodness) took one step and went jeet, BOOM! down the steps. Three of 'em. Hit my tushie on each one as I passed. I got to the bottom and, clinging to both hand railings, announced unnecessarily over my shoulder to the rest of the bus:
"The steps are slick!"
I drew the attention of people from 50 yards away, it was that impressive a fall. Bus driver asked me twice if I was okay, and then pulled up along side me as I was about to enter my building and asked if I was sure I was all right. I said, "Well, my bottom hurts, but I did just smack it three times. I'm fine."
And I am, for the most part. I'm going to have a beaut of a bruise when it finally shows. Right now it hurts a little if I shift in a particular direction, so I try not to do that.
When I got to work (after relating my story to my team, laughing so hard at myself that I was starting to tear up. I bet it looked hilarious!), I found Santa had stopped by. One teammate had given me shortbread, another gave me a bag of Jordan almonds and a big bottle of bubble bath/shower gel/shampoo. It's from a company called Philosophy, where my sister gets her perfume. Scent is Snickerdoodle. Food. Dessert, even. But I took a good whiff of it, and all I smelled was cinnamon. Not bad. It's a scent I think I can live with.
So tonight, after I got home and got myself some dinner, I decided to go soak my achy bottom in a bubble bath. I don't do baths very often. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I've taken a bath since my mother announced I was old enough to start using the shower. I don't think I'll be doing it again soon.
Try this: Take a small stock pot, fill it almost to the top with hot, soapy water. Then, from a height of about three feet, drop in a bowling ball. The resulting mess will give you some indication of what the bathroom floor looked like when I sat down in my too-full tub. And I wasn't in there very long before I noticed some of me was getting cold, and the water was getting lukewarm. So I emptied some out, refilled, and proceeded to slosh around, getting even more water on the floor in the process. Turns out I couldn't really soak my achy bum because it hurt when I leaned back. Or moved forward. Or stood up.
Sigh.
So now here I am in my jammies, lying prone in front of the laptop on the floor of the upstairs hall (I'd brought it upstairs to play some nice soothing classical music while I soaked. Really, really glad I didn't put it anywhere in the bathroom, but instead left it outside on the carpeted floor, well away from Lake Snickerdoodle), smelling of cookie dough, with an achy behind, and afraid to go to sleep for fear that my brain's gonna toss me another hand grenade tonight.
So. How are you?
P.S. Ditter's fine by the way. She says dreaming about a death usually means there's a birth round the corner. She's been trying to make me Auntie Vee for a little while now, so, fingers crossed.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Nifty music widget
Blogger Buzz pointed out a nifty little widget from iLike. It allows you to make play lists and post them on your blog's side bar. I noticed (after trying a few of the links) that it allows 25 free plays of each song. I don't know if that's per IP address or total for the blog. I guess I'll see when (and if) we hit 25. Someone let me know when that happens, okay?
I like remakes, the odder the better. I just like seeing what happens when people put their own spin on someone else's song. Sometimes it becomes so popular, folks think it's the original. Take "Woodstock," for example. That's a Joni Mitchell song, but I always thought it was a Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young song until a roommate of mine played me Joni Mitchell's first album.
I found some of my iTunes playlist entries on iLike, but not all of them. I've listed nine. One I found while actively looking for belly dance music, the other I hunted down after hearing it in class (that would be "Rock el Casbah," and "I Put a Spell on You," in that order. The rest are ones I've heard on the radio, found on CDs I've bought, or heard on my sister's favorite Sirius satellite radio station.
Hope you like 'em.
P.S. Some day, when I know how to do it, I'm going to put a choreography together for "I Put a Spell on You." I wonder if it's long enough and slow enough for a sword dance. Ha! Like I know how to dance with a sword yet.
I like remakes, the odder the better. I just like seeing what happens when people put their own spin on someone else's song. Sometimes it becomes so popular, folks think it's the original. Take "Woodstock," for example. That's a Joni Mitchell song, but I always thought it was a Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young song until a roommate of mine played me Joni Mitchell's first album.
I found some of my iTunes playlist entries on iLike, but not all of them. I've listed nine. One I found while actively looking for belly dance music, the other I hunted down after hearing it in class (that would be "Rock el Casbah," and "I Put a Spell on You," in that order. The rest are ones I've heard on the radio, found on CDs I've bought, or heard on my sister's favorite Sirius satellite radio station.
Hope you like 'em.
P.S. Some day, when I know how to do it, I'm going to put a choreography together for "I Put a Spell on You." I wonder if it's long enough and slow enough for a sword dance. Ha! Like I know how to dance with a sword yet.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Tag, I'm it
So Hotch Potchery gave me an award -- my first ever:
But I have to earn it. So here's the meme I have to answer for this award. I gotta tell ya, part of the reason I haven't posted in a couple of days is that the questions stumped me.
After being tagged for this meme, you must:
1. Say one nice thing about a man in your life.
Erm. First roadblock. What man?
I guess I can write about my father. I'm always impressed by how much he knows and can do. He fixes most things that break in the house all by himself (and unlike Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor of Home Improvement, we don't have to call in repairmen after). He and mom are finishing their house all by themselves, with occasional help from local Amishmen when it's a job my Dad can't do alone. Mom says so far the only thing he hasn't done is masonry, but that was before they put together a stone wall to cover the chimney box for the wood and coal stove they just installed.
2. List at least 6 ways that you measure (get it?) success in your life (or your blog):
And again, stuck. I really don't know how to answer this question, because I don't consciously think about success much. I'm more interested in happiness. Because you can be successful and still be unhappy (the head of the department where I used to work comes to mind. I suppose she's successful -- tenured, published, nationally respected, locally feared. She's also bad-tempered, sharp-tongued, and miserable), and that's really a yes-no question as opposed to a measurement.
So I spent a couple of days trying to figure out how I measure success. It's usually small things:
3. Assign this award to 6 other bloggers, and leave them a comment telling the blogger you've assigned them this award.
Hmm. All-righty. I'm not going to inflict this on six people, though, just two: JustMe of Peanut Butter and Bacon Sandwiches, and Strings of the String Section (she made the mistake of writing that she likes these things). Anyone else who wants to do this, consider yourself tagged. To get the award, right-click on the image at the top, save to your desktop (or wherever), and then upload it to your blog.
But I have to earn it. So here's the meme I have to answer for this award. I gotta tell ya, part of the reason I haven't posted in a couple of days is that the questions stumped me.
After being tagged for this meme, you must:
1. Say one nice thing about a man in your life.
Erm. First roadblock. What man?
I guess I can write about my father. I'm always impressed by how much he knows and can do. He fixes most things that break in the house all by himself (and unlike Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor of Home Improvement, we don't have to call in repairmen after). He and mom are finishing their house all by themselves, with occasional help from local Amishmen when it's a job my Dad can't do alone. Mom says so far the only thing he hasn't done is masonry, but that was before they put together a stone wall to cover the chimney box for the wood and coal stove they just installed.
2. List at least 6 ways that you measure (get it?) success in your life (or your blog):
And again, stuck. I really don't know how to answer this question, because I don't consciously think about success much. I'm more interested in happiness. Because you can be successful and still be unhappy (the head of the department where I used to work comes to mind. I suppose she's successful -- tenured, published, nationally respected, locally feared. She's also bad-tempered, sharp-tongued, and miserable), and that's really a yes-no question as opposed to a measurement.
So I spent a couple of days trying to figure out how I measure success. It's usually small things:
- Did I finish a project, and am I pleased with the result (my latest scarf, for example)?
- I have a whiteboard on the side of the fridge where I list to-do items related to the house. Are they getting done, or is the list just growing?
- I used to beat myself up about my housekeeping, but I don't any more. I'm messy. Deal with it. So there's a former measure of success that I've abandoned because it makes me unhappy.
- Except for the kitchen counter. By Sunday night, I need to have the counter completely clear and clean and ready to get messed up again the next week. I don't know why that is. It started when I moved in.
- And I suppose last month I measured success by posting a blog entry at least once a day.
3. Assign this award to 6 other bloggers, and leave them a comment telling the blogger you've assigned them this award.
Hmm. All-righty. I'm not going to inflict this on six people, though, just two: JustMe of Peanut Butter and Bacon Sandwiches, and Strings of the String Section (she made the mistake of writing that she likes these things). Anyone else who wants to do this, consider yourself tagged. To get the award, right-click on the image at the top, save to your desktop (or wherever), and then upload it to your blog.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Just one word
Hotch Potchery got tagged with this meme, and didn't feel like tagging anyone else. I decided to tag myself. The point (I think) is to answer each question with one word only. Here goes:
Where is your mobile phone? kitchen
Where is your significant other? unmet
Your hair color? brown
Your mother? eclectic
Your father? talkative (my mom says Dad never met a stranger)
Your favorite thing? varies
Your dream last night? traveling
Your dream goal? 135
The room you're in? yellow
Your hobby? embroidery
Your fear? cancer
Where do you want to be in 6 years? Europe (just for a visit)
Where were you last night? home
What you're not? vindictive
One of your wish list items? makeover (preferably after I hit my dream goal)
Where you grew up? Philadelphia (suburbs)
The last thing you did? dinner
What are you wearing? clothes
Your tv? off
Your computer? laptop
Your mood? relaxed
Missing someone? no
Your car? nonexistent
Something you're not wearing? shoes
Favorite shop? Target
Your summer? eventful
Love someone? yup
Favorite color? no (I like 'em all except orange)
When is the last time you laughed? today
When is the last time you cried? dunno
Well, there you go. I'm not tagging anyone either. Feel free to tag yourself.
Where is your mobile phone? kitchen
Where is your significant other? unmet
Your hair color? brown
Your mother? eclectic
Your father? talkative (my mom says Dad never met a stranger)
Your favorite thing? varies
Your dream last night? traveling
Your dream goal? 135
The room you're in? yellow
Your hobby? embroidery
Your fear? cancer
Where do you want to be in 6 years? Europe (just for a visit)
Where were you last night? home
What you're not? vindictive
One of your wish list items? makeover (preferably after I hit my dream goal)
Where you grew up? Philadelphia (suburbs)
The last thing you did? dinner
What are you wearing? clothes
Your tv? off
Your computer? laptop
Your mood? relaxed
Missing someone? no
Your car? nonexistent
Something you're not wearing? shoes
Favorite shop? Target
Your summer? eventful
Love someone? yup
Favorite color? no (I like 'em all except orange)
When is the last time you laughed? today
When is the last time you cried? dunno
Well, there you go. I'm not tagging anyone either. Feel free to tag yourself.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Phew!
Done! I made it through National Blog Posting Month. I posted an entry at least once every day. Sometimes twice, but that's probably just enthusiasm.
Here's what I learned in November:
1) Wow, I'm chatty. Even when nothing's going on, I can find something to talk about if I try hard enough.
2) Writing more often makes me want to write more often.
3) Commenting on blogs is a way to make friends.
4) Provided you're wearing a good enough mask, you can tell your secrets to the Internet and you won't get struck by lightning.
5) No matter how many times I reread Lolita, all I'm ever going to see is an educated, snobbish pervert with an excellent vocabulary mourning over the girl who ran away after he destroyed her. Sorry, literature community. That's all I get out of it.
And with that, I bid you good morning. I have to go Christmas shopping now. I don't know whether I'll be able to keep up the post-once-a-day pace in December, but I think I'll be posting more than I used to. And I'm pretty sure I'll participate in NaBloPoMo 2009, provided Eden doesn't self-destruct by then. There were over 10,000 of us this year, and she added us all to the blogroll by hand. Someone needs some software, I think.
Here's what I learned in November:
1) Wow, I'm chatty. Even when nothing's going on, I can find something to talk about if I try hard enough.
2) Writing more often makes me want to write more often.
3) Commenting on blogs is a way to make friends.
4) Provided you're wearing a good enough mask, you can tell your secrets to the Internet and you won't get struck by lightning.
5) No matter how many times I reread Lolita, all I'm ever going to see is an educated, snobbish pervert with an excellent vocabulary mourning over the girl who ran away after he destroyed her. Sorry, literature community. That's all I get out of it.
And with that, I bid you good morning. I have to go Christmas shopping now. I don't know whether I'll be able to keep up the post-once-a-day pace in December, but I think I'll be posting more than I used to. And I'm pretty sure I'll participate in NaBloPoMo 2009, provided Eden doesn't self-destruct by then. There were over 10,000 of us this year, and she added us all to the blogroll by hand. Someone needs some software, I think.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Photo Sunday, home visit edition
My parents bought a coal and wood stove for heat a month or so ago. They have another heating system that they're planning to use when the house is finished, but it's radiant heat. Tubing installed under the subfloor runs hot liquid all through the first floor, and the heat will rise to the second from there. Problem: system has to be completely installed before you can use any of it. So finish it, you say. I agree. Problem: the floor is cherry wood, and the ceiling on the roof (a loft) hasn't been done yet. Scaffolding will scratch the floor if the ceiling's put in after the floor. So install the ceiling, you say. Again, I agree. But my folks have had a number of things happen that they had to address immediately (some of them construction-related, some health-related) that have kept them from finishing the ceiling. So the upshot of this is that for the past three winters they've had two propane space heaters to act as their heat source, augmented by layers of clothing, blankets, and occasionally by a kerosene heater (when they're in the room with it).
You heard me. Three winters. Last year the propane bill was so outrageous, they decided to do something about it. Hence the stove.
In order to install the stove, they had to finish the hardwood floor in the section where it was going to go. They'd already put the boards in, it was just a matter of giving it a few coats of polyurethane. I got to see it for the first time on Thanksgiving day:
Oh, my goodness. I want this floor.
Here's a shot of the dining room on another day from another angle:
I want my hair the color of that floor. I should have taken one just of the floor itself, but didn't think of that until right now.
I was hoping to get one of the stove in action, but totally misunderstood how long it was going to be before it's operational. Not for a week or two. Maybe if I visit sometime this winter I'll get a shot of it. But instead, here's the view off of the porch this morning.
Trees and snow everywhere, from all sides. Here's another one, with the wrought-iron dinner bell I gave Mom as a birthday present a while back:
Side note: Last day of NaBloPoMo! I did it! Yay!
You heard me. Three winters. Last year the propane bill was so outrageous, they decided to do something about it. Hence the stove.
In order to install the stove, they had to finish the hardwood floor in the section where it was going to go. They'd already put the boards in, it was just a matter of giving it a few coats of polyurethane. I got to see it for the first time on Thanksgiving day:
Oh, my goodness. I want this floor.
Here's a shot of the dining room on another day from another angle:
I want my hair the color of that floor. I should have taken one just of the floor itself, but didn't think of that until right now.
I was hoping to get one of the stove in action, but totally misunderstood how long it was going to be before it's operational. Not for a week or two. Maybe if I visit sometime this winter I'll get a shot of it. But instead, here's the view off of the porch this morning.
Trees and snow everywhere, from all sides. Here's another one, with the wrought-iron dinner bell I gave Mom as a birthday present a while back:
Side note: Last day of NaBloPoMo! I did it! Yay!
Saturday, November 29, 2008
The cat's Christmas present
I have got to do something about this. It's driving me crazy.
It all started back when I lived in the hole-in-the-wall, years and years and years ago. I had two cats then, that's how long ago it was. My tub faucet developed a slight drip. Very slight. I was going to call about it, but then I noticed that the cats (especially Delilah) liked to drink from it. Preferred it to the water bowl, in fact.
Actually, no. It started further (farther? Incidental grammar question for G: Is it farther for distance and further for time? I always forget) back then that. It started with Needles, our very first cat. She discovered that if she sat on the edge of the bathroom sink and stared at her humans expectantly, sooner or later one of them would turn on the tap and let a fine stream of water flow, thereby turning the bathroom sink into Needles' water fountain. Beebop, the dog, watched this and decided what's good enough for the cat was good enough for her. Any time we gave the cat a drink from the sink when the dog was around, we would then have to pull up the stop and fill the sink for the dog, who'd hop up on her hind legs and drink from it.
Fast forward a few years. Needles died (of old age, in her sleep, curled up on the top of the water heater), a pregnant Siamese was left on our doorstep in a cardboard box (someone must've heard we lost our cat), and she gave birth to a litter of kittens, one of whom became mine, another of whom became the father/older brother of the Siamese's next litter of kittens, another of whom is mine. (Yes. You read that right. Delilah's family tree does not fork. We didn't get the boys fixed in time, and we didn't know who the daddy was until every single kitten came out looking like Oreo. Sigh.) This litter of kittens (and the one after it) watched the dog get a drink from the bathroom sink, and decided, much the same way Beebop did, that's what's good enough for her was good enough for them.
And now we get to my bath tub. My cats, up to this point, had been perfectly happy with water from a bowl. Then the tub faucet started to drip, and they drank from that. I couldn't tell whether they stop using the bowl altogether, 'cause water evaporates, see, so I kept filling it.
Things went like this for a while, and everyone was happy. Then my upstairs neighbor's tub developed a leak, and it came through my ceiling. I called the office, and they sent out the maintenance man. This was back when the whole place was taken care of by one grumpy old man who managed to get everything done by himself. When I left, there was a team of very happy-go-lucky idiots who get everything done eventually. Usually. Maybe the old guy was grumpy because he was overworked. So anyway, he fixed the leak in the ceiling, repainted the ceiling and the wall, noticed the dripping tub faucet and fixed it.
And Delilah has never forgiven me for that. Ever. Ten years later, and she still shouts at her water bowl. I wish I could figure out how to record it, because it's a horrible noise, and I want to share. It goes something like this:
"Mow! Mow! MMMMOWWWW! MaWOW-WOW! MAWOW-WOW!MMMMMOW! Mawowowglubglubglub."
Yes. She complains even as she's drinking.
It's not like I leave out filthy water for her. I replace it twice a day. I wash out the bowl every time. And now that we're in the new place, she gets chilled fridge water, just as I do.
Not good enough. Apparently. 'Cause she still howls. In the middle of the night, even. My bedroom is above the kitchen, and my bed is almost directly above her water bowl. When she starts howling in the middle of the night -- and I think she's doing it louder now that we're in a bigger place, to make sure I understand her displeasure -- I lean out of bed and thump on the floor with my fist. It's the only way to shut her up. I've fallen out of bed twice while doing this.
I've tried teaching her to drink from the sink. She wouldn't do it. She wouldn't even attempt to understand what I'm trying to show her. She acted like I was about to drown her. She would rather sit on the edge of the tub, bat her eyelashes at me, and rub the faucet with her face. If I had finer control of the tub faucet, I'd let a little bit run for her, but here's how the stream goes in most tubs, mine included: Nothing, nothing, nothing, Niagara Falls.
About a month ago, the tub faucet started to develop a slow drip. A few days after I noticed it, she did.
I thought, "Hurray! This is what she wants. Now she'll be quiet."
Nope. It's not running fast enough, so she still howls. And it's nice and echo-y in the bathroom. And now thumping my fist on the floor does absolutely nothing but hurt my hand and make me fall out of bed.
So for Christmas, I'm getting her this:
Not the ginger cat, just the water fountain. It has a charcoal filter and a pump that keeps water running continuously. I've already tried one of those self-waterers that looks like a little water cooler. No dice. And if this doesn't shut her up I don't know what will.
It all started back when I lived in the hole-in-the-wall, years and years and years ago. I had two cats then, that's how long ago it was. My tub faucet developed a slight drip. Very slight. I was going to call about it, but then I noticed that the cats (especially Delilah) liked to drink from it. Preferred it to the water bowl, in fact.
Actually, no. It started further (farther? Incidental grammar question for G: Is it farther for distance and further for time? I always forget) back then that. It started with Needles, our very first cat. She discovered that if she sat on the edge of the bathroom sink and stared at her humans expectantly, sooner or later one of them would turn on the tap and let a fine stream of water flow, thereby turning the bathroom sink into Needles' water fountain. Beebop, the dog, watched this and decided what's good enough for the cat was good enough for her. Any time we gave the cat a drink from the sink when the dog was around, we would then have to pull up the stop and fill the sink for the dog, who'd hop up on her hind legs and drink from it.
Fast forward a few years. Needles died (of old age, in her sleep, curled up on the top of the water heater), a pregnant Siamese was left on our doorstep in a cardboard box (someone must've heard we lost our cat), and she gave birth to a litter of kittens, one of whom became mine, another of whom became the father/older brother of the Siamese's next litter of kittens, another of whom is mine. (Yes. You read that right. Delilah's family tree does not fork. We didn't get the boys fixed in time, and we didn't know who the daddy was until every single kitten came out looking like Oreo. Sigh.) This litter of kittens (and the one after it) watched the dog get a drink from the bathroom sink, and decided, much the same way Beebop did, that's what's good enough for her was good enough for them.
And now we get to my bath tub. My cats, up to this point, had been perfectly happy with water from a bowl. Then the tub faucet started to drip, and they drank from that. I couldn't tell whether they stop using the bowl altogether, 'cause water evaporates, see, so I kept filling it.
Things went like this for a while, and everyone was happy. Then my upstairs neighbor's tub developed a leak, and it came through my ceiling. I called the office, and they sent out the maintenance man. This was back when the whole place was taken care of by one grumpy old man who managed to get everything done by himself. When I left, there was a team of very happy-go-lucky idiots who get everything done eventually. Usually. Maybe the old guy was grumpy because he was overworked. So anyway, he fixed the leak in the ceiling, repainted the ceiling and the wall, noticed the dripping tub faucet and fixed it.
And Delilah has never forgiven me for that. Ever. Ten years later, and she still shouts at her water bowl. I wish I could figure out how to record it, because it's a horrible noise, and I want to share. It goes something like this:
"Mow! Mow! MMMMOWWWW! MaWOW-WOW! MAWOW-WOW!MMMMMOW! Mawowowglubglubglub."
Yes. She complains even as she's drinking.
It's not like I leave out filthy water for her. I replace it twice a day. I wash out the bowl every time. And now that we're in the new place, she gets chilled fridge water, just as I do.
Not good enough. Apparently. 'Cause she still howls. In the middle of the night, even. My bedroom is above the kitchen, and my bed is almost directly above her water bowl. When she starts howling in the middle of the night -- and I think she's doing it louder now that we're in a bigger place, to make sure I understand her displeasure -- I lean out of bed and thump on the floor with my fist. It's the only way to shut her up. I've fallen out of bed twice while doing this.
I've tried teaching her to drink from the sink. She wouldn't do it. She wouldn't even attempt to understand what I'm trying to show her. She acted like I was about to drown her. She would rather sit on the edge of the tub, bat her eyelashes at me, and rub the faucet with her face. If I had finer control of the tub faucet, I'd let a little bit run for her, but here's how the stream goes in most tubs, mine included: Nothing, nothing, nothing, Niagara Falls.
About a month ago, the tub faucet started to develop a slow drip. A few days after I noticed it, she did.
I thought, "Hurray! This is what she wants. Now she'll be quiet."
Nope. It's not running fast enough, so she still howls. And it's nice and echo-y in the bathroom. And now thumping my fist on the floor does absolutely nothing but hurt my hand and make me fall out of bed.
So for Christmas, I'm getting her this:
Not the ginger cat, just the water fountain. It has a charcoal filter and a pump that keeps water running continuously. I've already tried one of those self-waterers that looks like a little water cooler. No dice. And if this doesn't shut her up I don't know what will.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Black Friday in the woods
I'm at my folks' not-so-little cabin in the woods. Dad is upstairs with an Amishman named David, putting a hole in the roof for the chimney to a coal and wood stove my parents have bought. At some point they're going to have to go out onto the roof. It's snowing a little, so that should be all kinds of fun. Mom's in the living room, knitting and ignoring the banging from upstairs. Oreo (the cat, Delilah's daddy) is on her lap, under an afghan. I'm at the kitchen table, blogging. Pippin's shut up in the front bedroom so that she stays out of the way of the work. And also because she probably would stand there and growl at David all day.
There are at least eight inches of snow out there. It's probably closer to a foot. Dad just said that over by Ulysses and Bingham the sky was blue and the sun was out. Here where the solar panels need it we aren't getting much sun, so the generator's running. I'm using the battery on the laptop, partly so that I don't siphon off power that we might need later and partly because I don't really trust the generator. It fried my parents' hard drive last winter. Power surge, probably.
I'm using their phone line and an old AOL account of mine that I'm really glad I didn't close. It'd be a shame to get three posts away from the end of NaBloPoMo and miss one because of access problems. It didn't take long for me to forget how long things take with dial-up, though. Click. Wait. Click. Sigh.
The floor in the finished part of the house has been finished itself now. It is gorgeous. It's cherry wood, from trees that grew pretty much right where the wood is laying now. I've taken pictures, and when I get back home I'll post them. Pretty, pretty, pretty. I want hair this color. I wonder if I could take a photo of the floor to a hair dresser and say, "Make it look like this." I'm sure they've had stranger requests.
I made it to almost 8 o'clock before going to bed yesterday. I think I lasted that long because I fell asleep on the couch in the afternoon. Woke up when my sister called to say Happy Thanksgiving. She and Stretch are on a trip to Niagara Falls right now, celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary, which is tomorrow. Hard to believe it's been five years.
And that's it from over here today. If they finish getting the chimney installed and get the stove going, I'll post a shot of that, too.
There are at least eight inches of snow out there. It's probably closer to a foot. Dad just said that over by Ulysses and Bingham the sky was blue and the sun was out. Here where the solar panels need it we aren't getting much sun, so the generator's running. I'm using the battery on the laptop, partly so that I don't siphon off power that we might need later and partly because I don't really trust the generator. It fried my parents' hard drive last winter. Power surge, probably.
I'm using their phone line and an old AOL account of mine that I'm really glad I didn't close. It'd be a shame to get three posts away from the end of NaBloPoMo and miss one because of access problems. It didn't take long for me to forget how long things take with dial-up, though. Click. Wait. Click. Sigh.
The floor in the finished part of the house has been finished itself now. It is gorgeous. It's cherry wood, from trees that grew pretty much right where the wood is laying now. I've taken pictures, and when I get back home I'll post them. Pretty, pretty, pretty. I want hair this color. I wonder if I could take a photo of the floor to a hair dresser and say, "Make it look like this." I'm sure they've had stranger requests.
I made it to almost 8 o'clock before going to bed yesterday. I think I lasted that long because I fell asleep on the couch in the afternoon. Woke up when my sister called to say Happy Thanksgiving. She and Stretch are on a trip to Niagara Falls right now, celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary, which is tomorrow. Hard to believe it's been five years.
And that's it from over here today. If they finish getting the chimney installed and get the stove going, I'll post a shot of that, too.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
I am going to be useless by about 4pm
Good morning.
Take a look at the time stamp at the bottom of this post. That is not a mistake. 3:14 in the bleeding a.m. Why am I up this early? Bus leaves in three hours. Taxi was called for 5:30. Traveller's anxiety set in around 9 last night, and will elevate to panic levels around 45 minutes from now. I set three different alarm times on my cell phone (which I'm still using to get myself up in the morning. I've very effectively hidden my alarm clock in one of the still unopened boxes), and then set the timer on the TV as back up. And I set the coffee to brew at 3, in case I needed a smell to wake me.
I beat them all. I was awake for fifteen minutes before the first alarm went off, and I lay there in the dark waiting for it. The cat followed me around for a bit to see what was going on, but has since decided sleep is much more interesting right now.
I don't know why I get so worried about sleeping past the time the bus leaves. In all the years I've traveled, I've never once missed the bus to due oversleeping. I did miss it once because of road conditions. One year before Christmas we got hit with sleet in the wee hours, and it made the roads very slick. Because of that it the taxi was horribly late and we skidded into the terminal parking lot just in time to watch the bus pull away and disappear. I still had a couple of days before Christmas, so it wasn't such a big deal to try again the next day. Mom was relieved, actually, because she was worried about the bus on icy roads, so it wasn't a big deal. Except that yes, the driver made me pay him for the trip back to my apartment even though his lateness was the reason I needed a ride back.
So for reasons I can't explain, here I am at a quarter past dark, nose in my coffee cup, trying to prioritize all the stuff I need to do before I leave. Some of my clothes are still tumbling around in the dryer, so I definitely need to finish packing. Extra food out for cat, check. Turn off coffee pot, not just yet. Change litter box -- need to do that. Hide Christmas presents that are scattered around the living room -- my parents are driving me back here. Mom needs to go to Lowes. At least, that's what she told me. I think it's an excuse, but well, as long as they're headed this way and they don't mind...which reminds me, I need to finish cleaning the upstairs bathroom. Pack up laptop. Will do that after I hit "publish."
The TV just turned itself on. Hurray! I finally figured out how to use the timer!
All right folks, time for me to go. Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it, and happy Thursday to everyone else.
Take a look at the time stamp at the bottom of this post. That is not a mistake. 3:14 in the bleeding a.m. Why am I up this early? Bus leaves in three hours. Taxi was called for 5:30. Traveller's anxiety set in around 9 last night, and will elevate to panic levels around 45 minutes from now. I set three different alarm times on my cell phone (which I'm still using to get myself up in the morning. I've very effectively hidden my alarm clock in one of the still unopened boxes), and then set the timer on the TV as back up. And I set the coffee to brew at 3, in case I needed a smell to wake me.
I beat them all. I was awake for fifteen minutes before the first alarm went off, and I lay there in the dark waiting for it. The cat followed me around for a bit to see what was going on, but has since decided sleep is much more interesting right now.
I don't know why I get so worried about sleeping past the time the bus leaves. In all the years I've traveled, I've never once missed the bus to due oversleeping. I did miss it once because of road conditions. One year before Christmas we got hit with sleet in the wee hours, and it made the roads very slick. Because of that it the taxi was horribly late and we skidded into the terminal parking lot just in time to watch the bus pull away and disappear. I still had a couple of days before Christmas, so it wasn't such a big deal to try again the next day. Mom was relieved, actually, because she was worried about the bus on icy roads, so it wasn't a big deal. Except that yes, the driver made me pay him for the trip back to my apartment even though his lateness was the reason I needed a ride back.
So for reasons I can't explain, here I am at a quarter past dark, nose in my coffee cup, trying to prioritize all the stuff I need to do before I leave. Some of my clothes are still tumbling around in the dryer, so I definitely need to finish packing. Extra food out for cat, check. Turn off coffee pot, not just yet. Change litter box -- need to do that. Hide Christmas presents that are scattered around the living room -- my parents are driving me back here. Mom needs to go to Lowes. At least, that's what she told me. I think it's an excuse, but well, as long as they're headed this way and they don't mind...which reminds me, I need to finish cleaning the upstairs bathroom. Pack up laptop. Will do that after I hit "publish."
The TV just turned itself on. Hurray! I finally figured out how to use the timer!
All right folks, time for me to go. Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it, and happy Thursday to everyone else.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Memory jogging
I'm on vacation today. I don't go to my parents' house until tomorrow, but I wasn't sure about that when I made my vacation request. So I'm spending the day straightening up some, then doing laundry. Nice to be able to take things straight from the dryer and put them in the suitcase without having to drag something across an apartment complex first.
I was reading the comments from the latest post from the Bloggess and someone said they thought "Corpse Honey" would be an excellent band name (you need to read the post to understand what that was about), and suddenly I thought of something that happened years ago:
In Stratford, Ontario on vacation with a friend. Stratford has a h-u-g-e theater festival, mostly Shakespeare (well, it is Stratford after all). As a by-product of this there's a thriving B&B trade. When this festival started over 50 years ago the town passed an ordinance forbidding hotels within city limits. Didn't want destroy the pretty look of the town with towering buildings. Also keeps a lot of the money that's spent there on lodging right there in town, as opposed to going to some chain of hotels. Very smart.
Stratford's also the home of the Ontario Pork Congress. Ham or Hamlet, take your pick.
Anyway, we were staying at a B&B, walking from our lodgings to one of the performances. We crossed a bridge -- over the Avon, of course. The Avon is full of ducks and swans, as well as canoes, kayaks, and paddle boats that can be rented out at a little kiosk off to the left of the bridge somewhere. As we're crossing the bridge, two kayaks pass under us, each being piloted by a young Mennonite girl -- they have a largish Mennonite community up there too.
"Oh, I just thought of an excellent band name," I said to my friend.
"Yes?"
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage. . .The Kayaking Mennonites!"
She does that fake roar-of-the-crowd noise, then asks,"So what do they play?"
"I'm thinking something along the line of Barenaked Ladies."
Haven't thought of that trip in years. I really would like to go back to Stratford again, but I don't know when I'll have the money to. US dollar has tanked, Canadian dollar is super strong (oil money. I know everyone thinks of the middle east when they froth at the mouth about "foreign oil," but really a lot of our oil comes from Alberta. Hard to get worked up about Canadians, though, isn't it? It's like hating the upstairs neighbors for being quiet), and right now most of my money is going towards my mortgage.
Oh! And I have to go get dressed right now and go in to work anyway, though not for work. I have an overdue library book that I keep forgetting to bring in. Silly. I work there and I can't get my books back on time.
Sorry for the disjointed random feel of this post. That's the way my mind is working today.
I was reading the comments from the latest post from the Bloggess and someone said they thought "Corpse Honey" would be an excellent band name (you need to read the post to understand what that was about), and suddenly I thought of something that happened years ago:
In Stratford, Ontario on vacation with a friend. Stratford has a h-u-g-e theater festival, mostly Shakespeare (well, it is Stratford after all). As a by-product of this there's a thriving B&B trade. When this festival started over 50 years ago the town passed an ordinance forbidding hotels within city limits. Didn't want destroy the pretty look of the town with towering buildings. Also keeps a lot of the money that's spent there on lodging right there in town, as opposed to going to some chain of hotels. Very smart.
Stratford's also the home of the Ontario Pork Congress. Ham or Hamlet, take your pick.
Anyway, we were staying at a B&B, walking from our lodgings to one of the performances. We crossed a bridge -- over the Avon, of course. The Avon is full of ducks and swans, as well as canoes, kayaks, and paddle boats that can be rented out at a little kiosk off to the left of the bridge somewhere. As we're crossing the bridge, two kayaks pass under us, each being piloted by a young Mennonite girl -- they have a largish Mennonite community up there too.
"Oh, I just thought of an excellent band name," I said to my friend.
"Yes?"
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage. . .The Kayaking Mennonites!"
She does that fake roar-of-the-crowd noise, then asks,"So what do they play?"
"I'm thinking something along the line of Barenaked Ladies."
Haven't thought of that trip in years. I really would like to go back to Stratford again, but I don't know when I'll have the money to. US dollar has tanked, Canadian dollar is super strong (oil money. I know everyone thinks of the middle east when they froth at the mouth about "foreign oil," but really a lot of our oil comes from Alberta. Hard to get worked up about Canadians, though, isn't it? It's like hating the upstairs neighbors for being quiet), and right now most of my money is going towards my mortgage.
Oh! And I have to go get dressed right now and go in to work anyway, though not for work. I have an overdue library book that I keep forgetting to bring in. Silly. I work there and I can't get my books back on time.
Sorry for the disjointed random feel of this post. That's the way my mind is working today.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Christmas questionnaire
Received a holiday-themed getting-to-know-you style questionnaire in my email. You know the kind I mean? One of those where the sender has answered all the questions and wants you to answer back. Well I replied to her, and then I thought, why don't I put that on my blog?
So here it is. I noticed when I pasted it over that I forgot to answer a few of the questions. Oops. I'll fix that here:
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Both -- depends on the gift, and whether I'm sick of fighting with tape yet.
2. Real tree or Artificial? Well, I don't have one yet, but it will be artificial when I get it.
3. When do you put up the tree? This year: as soon as I buy one. Next year: some time after Thanksgiving. Whenever the mood strikes me.
4. When do you take the tree down? Whenever I get sick of looking at it.
5. Do you like eggnog? Bleah. It's nasty.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? The doll house Uncle Bill made for me by hand. It was based on one in the Little House books -- the one the Ingalls finally moved into as their permanent home. He made all the furniture himself, and drew the floorboards by hand.
7. Hardest person to buy for? Dad.
8. Easiest person to buy for? My sister
9. Do you have a nativity scene? Somewhere. I stopped putting it out 'cause the cats (I had two at the time) kept stealing Baby Jesus and playing soccer with him.
10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Erm. I buy paper ones, address them, stamp them, and then find them two months later. So. Mail?
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? A Precious Moments figurine. Those little onion-headed dewy-eyed kids are creepy.
12. Favorite Christmas Movie? A Christmas Story ("Fra-Geee-Lay. Must be Italian." "I think that's 'fragile,' honey.")
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I keep an eye out all year.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? No. That figurine? The cat broke it. No, she did. Really. She didn't like it any more than I did. I'd set it out on the dresser in an attempt to get over the way it creeped me out. I came home and it was in pieces on the floor. Good cat. She got cat treats for that one.
15 .Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? My mom's homemade fruitcake.
17. Favorite Christmas song? Ding Dong Merrily on High
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Travel
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer's? Yes: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder, Blitzen, Rudolph, and Olive.
20. Angel on the tree top or a star? Haven't decided what will be on mine. Star on my Mom's, angel on my sister's.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Usually morning, though sometimes Mom would let us open one (that she picked out) on Christmas Eve -- mainly if it was an ornament for the tree or something she wanted us to wear to the Christmas Eve service.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? That it starts so freaking early. This year it didn't even wait for Halloween to be over.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color? Theme: holly and berries; Ornament: my mother has one that's a little nativity scene in a real egg shell. I love that thing.
24. Favorite for Christmas dinner? Well, it's used to be turkey, but last year Stretch did prime rib, and that was pretty dang good.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year? Some rest. And no conversation about politics. And some strawberry motif stuff for my kitchen would be nice.
Anyone else want to do this?
So here it is. I noticed when I pasted it over that I forgot to answer a few of the questions. Oops. I'll fix that here:
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Both -- depends on the gift, and whether I'm sick of fighting with tape yet.
2. Real tree or Artificial? Well, I don't have one yet, but it will be artificial when I get it.
3. When do you put up the tree? This year: as soon as I buy one. Next year: some time after Thanksgiving. Whenever the mood strikes me.
4. When do you take the tree down? Whenever I get sick of looking at it.
5. Do you like eggnog? Bleah. It's nasty.
6. Favorite gift received as a child? The doll house Uncle Bill made for me by hand. It was based on one in the Little House books -- the one the Ingalls finally moved into as their permanent home. He made all the furniture himself, and drew the floorboards by hand.
7. Hardest person to buy for? Dad.
8. Easiest person to buy for? My sister
9. Do you have a nativity scene? Somewhere. I stopped putting it out 'cause the cats (I had two at the time) kept stealing Baby Jesus and playing soccer with him.
10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Erm. I buy paper ones, address them, stamp them, and then find them two months later. So. Mail?
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? A Precious Moments figurine. Those little onion-headed dewy-eyed kids are creepy.
12. Favorite Christmas Movie? A Christmas Story ("Fra-Geee-Lay. Must be Italian." "I think that's 'fragile,' honey.")
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I keep an eye out all year.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? No. That figurine? The cat broke it. No, she did. Really. She didn't like it any more than I did. I'd set it out on the dresser in an attempt to get over the way it creeped me out. I came home and it was in pieces on the floor. Good cat. She got cat treats for that one.
15 .Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? My mom's homemade fruitcake.
17. Favorite Christmas song? Ding Dong Merrily on High
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Travel
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer's? Yes: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder, Blitzen, Rudolph, and Olive.
20. Angel on the tree top or a star? Haven't decided what will be on mine. Star on my Mom's, angel on my sister's.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Usually morning, though sometimes Mom would let us open one (that she picked out) on Christmas Eve -- mainly if it was an ornament for the tree or something she wanted us to wear to the Christmas Eve service.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? That it starts so freaking early. This year it didn't even wait for Halloween to be over.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color? Theme: holly and berries; Ornament: my mother has one that's a little nativity scene in a real egg shell. I love that thing.
24. Favorite for Christmas dinner? Well, it's used to be turkey, but last year Stretch did prime rib, and that was pretty dang good.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year? Some rest. And no conversation about politics. And some strawberry motif stuff for my kitchen would be nice.
Anyone else want to do this?
Monday, November 24, 2008
Why I haven't mentioned belly dancing in a while
Well, see, I bought this townhouse. And I spent all my time either packing, cleaning, painting, unpacking, organizing, reorganizing, re-reorganizing (I did the kitchen cabinets three times and I'm still not happy)....and I kinda stopped going to class. But I did intend to go back, once everything calmed down.
And then my teacher moved to Philadelphia.
Waaaaaaah!
Oh, she didn't leave us in the lurch. She has placed us in another instructor's very capable hands. But this instructor has changed the class times, and they don't suit me. There's a beginner's class at 5:30 on Wednesday, and an advanced class at 4 that same day. I work until 5 on the other end of town.
I realize that this is a flimsy excuse. I think I may just be a little resistant to the idea of a new teacher. I've seen her dance, she's very good, so it's not that I don't trust her. It's more that I don't know her. I probably should start out in beginner again, since she may have a different style, and a different set of criteria for what she considers "advanced." I think I might be able to make that class if I flex my work schedule a little. I wish she had something on weekends, but I understand how she would want her weekend to herself.
Alexa is still out there dancing and teaching, she's just doing it in Philly now. I think it was too hard to make ends meet in our little college town. As I said to a former fellow classmate I bumped into last week, "She's too big for us. Philly's about her size."
Here she is dancing at Rakkasah East 2008 last month:
Until I pluck up the courage to go to someone else's class, I'll probably content myself with dancing along to Shimmy (on FitTV) and dance lessons I find on iTunes.
And then my teacher moved to Philadelphia.
Waaaaaaah!
Oh, she didn't leave us in the lurch. She has placed us in another instructor's very capable hands. But this instructor has changed the class times, and they don't suit me. There's a beginner's class at 5:30 on Wednesday, and an advanced class at 4 that same day. I work until 5 on the other end of town.
I realize that this is a flimsy excuse. I think I may just be a little resistant to the idea of a new teacher. I've seen her dance, she's very good, so it's not that I don't trust her. It's more that I don't know her. I probably should start out in beginner again, since she may have a different style, and a different set of criteria for what she considers "advanced." I think I might be able to make that class if I flex my work schedule a little. I wish she had something on weekends, but I understand how she would want her weekend to herself.
Alexa is still out there dancing and teaching, she's just doing it in Philly now. I think it was too hard to make ends meet in our little college town. As I said to a former fellow classmate I bumped into last week, "She's too big for us. Philly's about her size."
Here she is dancing at Rakkasah East 2008 last month:
Until I pluck up the courage to go to someone else's class, I'll probably content myself with dancing along to Shimmy (on FitTV) and dance lessons I find on iTunes.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Photo Sunday -- video version
I wonder if Delilah would do this, or if she'd hide from it.
And then there's this cat, who's so used to his owner's roomba that they put a cat bed on top of it:
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The last wall
Today (finally) I am attempting the last bit of painting in my house for this year. One corner of the living room still needs a second coat of paint. It didn't get one when I was doing the rest of the room 'cause this is where I shoved everything to get it out of the way last time. I keep saying I'll do that corner "later." Well, I've put it off long enough. Today is "later."
Most of why I kept postponing this is that the TV stand is right in the middle of that section. Here's hoping that the cords and cables are long enough for me to pull things away from the wall without disconnecting everything. And then I have to find places for the assorted junk I've been pretending not to see for months.
So by this evening I shall finally put all the brushes and pans and rollers out in the shed where they belong.
Yay, progress! Time to go change into my painty clothes.
Most of why I kept postponing this is that the TV stand is right in the middle of that section. Here's hoping that the cords and cables are long enough for me to pull things away from the wall without disconnecting everything. And then I have to find places for the assorted junk I've been pretending not to see for months.
So by this evening I shall finally put all the brushes and pans and rollers out in the shed where they belong.
Yay, progress! Time to go change into my painty clothes.
Friday, November 21, 2008
My neighbors across the way love Christmas
They must. Because they started decorating on All Saint's Day. First it was a wreath, then lighted garland round the door and living room window. Then a week later all the bushes got wrapped in Christmas lights. Tonight was the first night it didn't look incongruous, mainly because there was finally snow on the ground.
So far none of the other neighbors have followed suit. I figure they'll wait until after Thanksgiving. I still haven't decided what I'm doing yet. I don't really know how to do outdoor lights. There's an electrical outlet outside by my front door, but do I have to use a special kind of extension cord? I may just skip exterior lights altogether and go with a little electric candle in each window.
Can you see the pumpkins on their doorstep? I think that's a little obligatory nod towards Thanksgiving as they roar past it straight into December.
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