Some things are gonna change around here

You will now refer to me as Princess Liz, and you will do so in such a way as to convince onlookers that you have always called me thus. Those who know me personally (excluding family) will organize yourselves into three categories: Friend, Enemy, or Both. There is no category for those of you who sort of like me or have no opinion of me. You will have to choose a side, although you may feel free to switch from Friend to Enemy four times before automatically falling into the Both column. I now have diva priveleges such as bitch-on-demand, bling, and discounts at over 30 retail clothing stores.

Yesterday, to kick off my new diva status, Mom and I went shopping. Guess where we went.

SAKS.

A lady followed us around and suggested clothing. They're fitting room was bigger (and better furnished) than our bedroom. Nothing was on sale. Well, the bathing suits were on sale for the amazing low price of whatever you would pay for them first-run at any other department store. But y'know what? The feel of the place was so much warmer and nicer than the Parisian we'd just been to. Parisian's stuff was still shamelessly overpriced, but also, the whole place made us feel little and uncomfortable. Saks, which I'd never been inside before for fear of that very same thing, was even more expensive, but we bought stuff there because it didn't have an atmosphere that made us feel like bugs. Was there buyer's remorse? Of course. But while I will probably avoid Parisian like the plague from now on, I might just go back to Saks. When I make $50,000 more a year.

Phlegmatic

We took an indicator test in class today to determine our temperaments along the venerable guidelines of which of our bodily fluids most controls our thoughts and behaviors. Apparently, the compelling voice of that stuff that gets stuck in the back of my throat is the one I listen to most.

This is a pretty different result from the one I got many moons ago when we took a very similar test in high school. I tested melancholy by a nose, one point higher than choleric. Sanguine was dead last. Today, it was the choleric type that got left in the dust with a close cluster of the other three.

I can see clearly that I'm more outgoing than I was back in the day, but apparently I am also more moody, more worrisome, more negative, and less decisive. How can you be easygoing and a worrier at the same time, by the way?

I also defied the norm by marrying someone of similar temperament. Most, I hear, marry their opposite.

No, I can't fit you in at 6.

Yesterday was one of those days that seemed like more than one. I started class yesterday and today, when I think about it, I want to say that happened sometime last week. Because that's the first thing I did yesterday and three days' worth of stuff has gone on since then. So here's my yesterday:

Day 1

I went to my first classes. They're on a different campus which is actually closer to my house (yay!) but also in a scary part of town (boo!). I found the building pretty easily but I thought I was in the wrong place because there were a lot of people around and not one of them was white. I thought, "Well, I guess it could be that all my classmates just happen to be black. More improbable things have occured in the universe." Then a bell rang across the parking lot and they all went into another building. Oh. Right. High school. Just when I was getting all psyched up for cultural illumination. Maybe next time.

So I found the right room and settled in for what I was sure to be a literal pain in the ass. You see, all my classes are in the same room, being taught by the same teacher, so I get to stare at the same walls and listen to the same voice for six hours. My ass would indeed hurt. But as it happened, teacher dude covered the syllabi of all five classes in about 40 minutes. Score. Turns out that three out of these five classes aren't even going to meet on any regular basis. On the one hand, this works very well with my work schedule. On the other hand, what is it exactly about these classess that's worth $1,350?

Day 2

This day started when I got to work. I got a few things done before I accumulated several errands and ended up spending most of the rest of the workday on the road. I planned to visit my grandmother, drop off a bill, go to the bank, and pick something up from WalMart for work. My plan was going smoothly until I got to the bank. Jaimie was two rows down from me at the drive-thru and she didn't see me. How could I pass that up? I had to call her.

Jaimie: Hello?

Me: Hey, it's me. What's up?

J: Hey! I haven't talked to you in forever!

M: I know. I was wondering if you were headed to the grocery store, maybe you could pick some stuff up for me.

J: Oh yeah right. Ice cream and milk, right? How did you know? (At this point, Ms. P is under the impression I'm teasing her about something Crazy Margaret did that I don't even know about.)

M: Well, I figured you had the cash since you've just been to the bank and all.

J: What?! Where are you, you spying whore?

M: Waving from the second row.

J: Yeah, well I'm giving you the finger. You see that?

She didn't really call me a spying whore, but she did really give me the finger. Then we made up and went to the bookstore together where she asked my permission to read a Steinbeck novel and I wouldn't let her. A promise is a promise.

Day 3

This was the day that, after we were done at the bookstore, I hung out at Jaimie's house a while, then I picked up car-less Laura from work and hung out at her house a while, then Jaimie and Jimmy came over with Chinese food and we all hung out together for a while. We tried to play guitars, with some success, but the Cute Kittie Puffball of Distraction marred our efforts. Laura's new kitty is a music lover, as evidenced by the fact that he alternately kept trying to strum, sit on, and crawl into my guitar as I played it. He also fell asleep on my shoulder, which made it difficult to play, but I'd like to see you try to move him. His stare of cuteness is paralyzing.

Day 4

Day 4 started around 9:30 or 10:00 when I finally got around to going to WalMart. At 10:30ish, when I arrived home for the day, I helped Chris design a menu and put together a presentation folder for one of his school projects. Peaceful oblivion came sometime around 1 a.m. I guess there really should be another hour in every day.

Jubilation

Before I get to the meat, I have to tell you what just happened. I already wrote this post once before and I lost it. That's not funny, but how I lost it is a little funny. See, I got this new mouse that's wireless and has the cool red light under it and it's ball-less. Completely emasculated. I call it my fe-mouse. Anyway. It has this neat feature where on the side where your thumb goes, there's two more buttons. You can program them to do pretty much anything (like function keys, right?) but as a default, they serve as Forward and Back browser buttons. So earlier, I was typing out my little blog entry of glee and I pressed the "Publish" button. And while it was thinking about whether or not it would do what I told it to, I was remembering that I'd forgotten to copy my entry to clipboard so that, in case Blogger decided in its infinite wisdom to trash my post rather than publish it, I'd have a backup. So I was highlighting my whole post and getting ready to click Ctrl+C when I bumped my mouse hand on the side of the keyboard and accidentally pressed the back button.

DOH!

Isn't it just like us self-destructive humans to cause ourselves precisely the kind of pain we are trying to avoid?

Following is Attempt #2 to convey the good news I so wanted you all to know hours ago:

My husband is now what we in the Mafia like to call a "made man". Is he untouchable on the hard streets of downtown Gadsdonia? Well, no. But he now has a thing that we in the Mafia like to call "job security". He now has access to Mafia priveleges like "health insurance" and a "cafeteria plan".

That's right, ladies and gents, the boy is full-time. There should be a parade. Really. Set that up. DON'T STAND THERE AND LOOK AT ME LIKE A DUMBASS. GET IT DONE! I'll cut you.

He was up for this very job about a month ago, but he got passed over initially for reasons we could only guess. They were pretty good guesses, but guesses nonetheless. Now, as the result of an unpredictable chain of events (and what must've been some damn fine prayin'), that door was reopened and credit given where it was due. Chris was officially congratulated this morning and, after filling out some paperwork, he'll step into his new position on Friday. The only downside is the four-month overlap after his 40-hour weeks kick in and before he graduates from culinary school. That should be interesting, in a mortalizing, ass-kicking kind of way. So thank you all who knew about this situation and prayed for us, or who didn't know and prayed for us. I'll return the favor.

Sidebar

What is it exactly about the content of my blog that entices spam of the cartoon animal variety? Or at all?

NOTICE TO SPAMMERS: YOU ARE REACHING A GRAND TOTAL OF ABOUT FIVE PEOPLE HERE. I DON'T REALLY MIND THE INTRUSION (YET), BUT YOUR TIME AND ENERGY COULD BE BETTER SPENT ELSEWHERE. END OF LINE.

Know Thyself. Check. Then what?

The Cakeholes are having their first meeting thingy tonight (it is tonight, isn't it?). I think I'll go. I'm feeling all sorry for myself today because I've got 48 things to do at work and I haven't seen my friends all week. It's no way to live.

School starts back on Tuesday. At varying intervals, I am either excited about starting back (oh how I love the schooling), freaked out about it (more exhaustion, less free time, if that's possible), or both. I'm sittin' on "both" at the moment.

You'll be happy to know that the chiropractor said I could go back to the gym. You'll be sad to know that I haven't actually been back yet (except for yoga class...you'd think that as semi-diligent I am about going, I'd be able to stand on one foot for any meaningful length of time by now). I told her she was screwing with my life. I told her that if I got out of the habit, it would be like falling halfway down Kilaminjaro and having to decide whether to start back up or just slide the rest of the way down. I never choose the path of least resistance. But if I stand there thinking long enough, it will generally choose me. Did she listen? No.

I know these things about myself. I consider it a personality flaw, one that comes with a package that also contains some very good traits I wouldn't exchange for the world. But at this stage in life, when I long to be proactive and have many things to be proactive about, I can't seem to force this out of myself. Are some people engineered or predisposed to be along for the ride? I'd refuse to accept that if I were more assertive. Hee. Get it? Oh, nevermind.

Boy are my arms tired

I just got back from a trade show in Atlanta. It was fun. I am ex-to-the-nth-hausted. Highlights of the trip included:

1. Riding the MARTA. If you really want to know a city, you must first become acquainted with its public transportation. I'd give this a rating of 3.5 on a scale of 5 for a nominal degree of friendliness and cooperation, a pretty smooth ride, and an eye-catching color scheme. Points were deducted for unpersonable gate attendants and for the unintuitive nature of the token machines (And what's up with charging $1.75 for a token? I'd rather it be $2.00 so I could do the math in my head while five people waited in line behind me.). Points were added for the wisecracking late-night subway operator who encouraged community and group participation.

2. The Braves game. I call this a highlight mainly because it was so memorable. I've never physically witnessed a team losing that badly. I'm sure a professional baseball team has lost a game 8-0 many times before, but I wasn't there to be embarrassed by it. Now, I don't know much about baseball. If I were Jaimie, I could give you a play by play and tell you who was hot and who was not and what the Braves did wrong. What I can tell you is that a guy named Johnson made some impressive catches in what I'm pretty sure was the outfield, and a guy named Franco (who everyone was very excited to see at bat) was the only Braves player who managed to run two bases in one play the whole game. Also, I had to walk half the circumfrence of the stadium to find the nearest funnel cake and I'd missed seeing Arizona make three more runs by the time I got back.

3. The Irish pub at Underground Atlanta. I specify because Underground Atlanta itself wasn't all that great. It was cool and all, but it was very mall-like; it wasn't the hip, scary, subcultural breeding ground it used to be. It's sad to see cheap, cardboard commercialism seeping right under the skin of the city. Anyway, the pub was still great. They played U2 the whole time, and it made Mom and I giggle that there was not a single employee of the pub who even remotely looked Irish...or even caucasian. I had Guinness on tap for the first time, and it didn't taste different at all. So kudos to the widget people. It works.

That's the nutshell version. I need sleep. And probably a shower.

Take two and call me in the morning

My chiropractic experience to date, aside from the awkward timing of appointments, has not been unpleasant. I have only one complaint, and I'm not sure who to direct it toward.

If my chiropractor is to be believed, here are a few things we should be doing in order to take care of our spines:
1. When getting into vehicles, we should sit on the edge of the seat, swing both legs together, and pivot on an axis. We should not ever get in one leg at a time or sit down heavily.
2. We should not hold a telephone for too long in one hand. We should switch hands often, and if we spend a lot of time on the phone, we should buy a light headset.
3. We should walk with our heads level or slightly raised, never lowered or looking toward the floor.
4. When getting out of bed, we should keep the torso straight and gently bring the feet over the side of the bed, legs and ankles together.
5. We should throw out our La-Z-Boy chairs and replace them with rockers.
6. When working at a desk, we should elevate materials we are reading or working on.
7. We should avoid reaching or anything that involves working overhead. We should be especially careful when combing or shampooing our hair.
8. When bathing, we should sit straight rather than reclining against the back. By leaning back in the tub, we could cause a vertebra to slip out of place.

That's just excerpts from the hand-out she gave me. She also instructed me to stop going to the gym for the time being (even for my precious evil yoga) and to get rid of my brand new Fossil over-she-shoulder messenger bag. I'd like to emphasize brand new if only because she didn't seem concerned about this fact. Does she know how long it takes me to work up the mental fortitude to spend $10 on something as frivolous as a bag? Does she have any idea how long it will take to prepare for that again? Or does she just not care?

If this instruction is in any way inaccurate or excessive, my complaint is to my chiropractor: I wish you would stop scaring people. I understand that the spine is important, but so is the muscle tissue that will go into entropy if I follow your instructions to the letter.

If her instructions are indeed necessary, my complaint must go to God: I know You have an explanation for the fact that You apparently made our skeletons out of bone china. I just wish You would share it with the rest of the class. In my limited understanding, I would've gone with something like stoneware. It's cheaper, more durable, good for any occasion, and microwave safe. In case You wanted my opinion, which I'm sure You'd ask for if You did.

Snip snip

Nibbler came home from the vet yesterday with fewer internal organs. We've been trying to keep her indoors for the past few weeks until we could get her to the vet, but she's crafty. I half-expected to get a call from the vet saying "We're sorry, we can't do the surgery. Your ho-cat is pregnant again."

Then I started wondering, if Nibbler was pregnant, would they tell me? Or would they just...fix it? In their minds I guess it would be safe to assume that if we're having our cat spayed, we don't want any kittens. But surely they would ask. Right?

I think all this guilt over a situation that probably didn't even occur is partly due to the fact that I was guilty about forcing her to be spayed in the first place. Even though I know she can't really decide for herself. Even though if she could decide, she'd probably tell me to let her have all the cat-sex she wants without fear of gestation. Even though millions of cats are starving and homeless due to overpopulation. I know it defies logic and reason and even compassion. I still feel bad that I took something from her without asking. Lame, huh?

Later on I'm going to educate you guys on what you should and shouldn't be doing for the health of your spine. You might be surprised. Tune in to Nightly News at 10!