This is my 100th post. Visualize confetti.
By "the bug", I am not referring to the Icky Throat-itch Cough of Doom you've been hearing so much about, although I indeed still have it. I do, however, have to comment that it will be interesting to see how I'm going to pull off leading worship not once, but twice this Sunday. That's like walking a tightrope with vertigo.
No, the bug I'm referring to is far more insidious, with consequences that could last for decades and affect everyone around us. Chris and I have both felt its icy hand on our shoulders and I fear it's too late to escape its evil thrall.
We're looking at real estate.
Everyone is buying houses. Jaimie. Brad and Cindy. Zach and Kristie. Nathan and Alex (well, if they could find a decent realtor and a homeowner who isn't in a coma). It might as well be the flu. And now Chris and I find ourselves asking each other questions we have no right even thinking at this point.
"Buy or build?"
"Urban or rural?"
"Where's the best school system?"
I mean, hold the brakes. School system? SCHOOL SYSTEM?!? I know this is a legitimate concern, but it annoys the piss out of me that these nonexistent children of ours that I don't even want yet are already butting in on our decisions. Shut up, eye-glimmer! You don't get an opinion until you're 20.
I wasn't really concerned that this would go anywhere until we started talking about our credit histories and interest rates and the housing bubble. These are all topics that make my head hurt because they are beyond my comprehension, so to voluntarily discuss these things has got to be a sign that we're not going to walk away from this alive. So far, we haven't made any phone calls. I'll hold off for as long as I can.
10.12.2005
10.10.2005
While I should've been resting
This weekend, when the smart thing to do would've been to lay in bed doped up on Robitussin and Goldenseal, I instead decided to do a bunch of useful, productive things. I know. Stupid. Chris and I have been in Project Mode for the last couple of weeks, but that was not my plan for this weekend. Just some simple cleaning up, starting with the bedroom.
My first order of business was to get rid of unnecessary clutter, like the luggage bags that were still out from our anniversary trip. Right, to the closet with you. If you've ever seen our bedroom closet, you'd be eyeing these bags trying to mentally sum up whether or not they would fit in there. But I knew they would, because that's where they were before we used them. Apparently, Chris had a system for getting them in and out that I was unaware of, because when I tried to shove them in there on a low shelf, something snapped. In the literal, not the figurative. I didn't know what it was until the rod that all our nice clothing hung on (we keep our hundred-dollar suits in there) fell.
Let me try to describe to you how our closet worked. There was this metal rod spanning the width of the closet. On one side of the closet, a foot or so inside the door, was a wooden plank that had been fixed to the wall with dozens of bent, skewed nails. It ran the depth of the closet. On the other side was a similar plank. The metal rod rested balanced on top of these two planks with nothing much to hold it in place, so it just sort of rolled around in there. With clothes on it, it didn't move around much because from shoulder to shoulder, our hangers took up the entire depth of the closet.
We could've fixed it up in a way similar to how it had been jerry-rigged the first time, but I saw in this tragedy an opportunity. We could buy new shelves and a new rod and have a truly functional closet here. So, when Chris got home, we went to Lowe's.
I don't know why we keep going to Lowe's. There has to be some other place that sells shelves and closet bars. But we weren't really sure what we were looking for exactly and we wanted options. We settled on some 20" deep wire shelves, so we buzzed for somebody to come and cut them for us. And this guy...he was a salesman. By the time we checked out, he'd hooked us up with $200 worth of stuff we would absolutely need to outfit THE TINIEST CLOSET YOU'LL EVER SEE IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. How? How did he do that?
By the time we got back from the emotionally draining experience that Lowe's always is, we'd decided to take half of the stuff we just bought back, which was too late to do since it was Sunday and they close early. So even though technically we didn't make two trips, it still doesn't count as a win because of the inevitability that we will. When we got home, we realized the cordless drill wasn't charged, so we didn't even get to start on the closet rod. Last night, we slept on the couch because clothes, luggage, and various other homeless sundries were piled on top of the bed.
I remember a time when cleaning one's room was a simple thing with simple objectives and few real obstacles. However, I think that in the future it would behoove me to remember that it is not that way anymore.
My first order of business was to get rid of unnecessary clutter, like the luggage bags that were still out from our anniversary trip. Right, to the closet with you. If you've ever seen our bedroom closet, you'd be eyeing these bags trying to mentally sum up whether or not they would fit in there. But I knew they would, because that's where they were before we used them. Apparently, Chris had a system for getting them in and out that I was unaware of, because when I tried to shove them in there on a low shelf, something snapped. In the literal, not the figurative. I didn't know what it was until the rod that all our nice clothing hung on (we keep our hundred-dollar suits in there) fell.
Let me try to describe to you how our closet worked. There was this metal rod spanning the width of the closet. On one side of the closet, a foot or so inside the door, was a wooden plank that had been fixed to the wall with dozens of bent, skewed nails. It ran the depth of the closet. On the other side was a similar plank. The metal rod rested balanced on top of these two planks with nothing much to hold it in place, so it just sort of rolled around in there. With clothes on it, it didn't move around much because from shoulder to shoulder, our hangers took up the entire depth of the closet.
We could've fixed it up in a way similar to how it had been jerry-rigged the first time, but I saw in this tragedy an opportunity. We could buy new shelves and a new rod and have a truly functional closet here. So, when Chris got home, we went to Lowe's.
I don't know why we keep going to Lowe's. There has to be some other place that sells shelves and closet bars. But we weren't really sure what we were looking for exactly and we wanted options. We settled on some 20" deep wire shelves, so we buzzed for somebody to come and cut them for us. And this guy...he was a salesman. By the time we checked out, he'd hooked us up with $200 worth of stuff we would absolutely need to outfit THE TINIEST CLOSET YOU'LL EVER SEE IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. How? How did he do that?
By the time we got back from the emotionally draining experience that Lowe's always is, we'd decided to take half of the stuff we just bought back, which was too late to do since it was Sunday and they close early. So even though technically we didn't make two trips, it still doesn't count as a win because of the inevitability that we will. When we got home, we realized the cordless drill wasn't charged, so we didn't even get to start on the closet rod. Last night, we slept on the couch because clothes, luggage, and various other homeless sundries were piled on top of the bed.
I remember a time when cleaning one's room was a simple thing with simple objectives and few real obstacles. However, I think that in the future it would behoove me to remember that it is not that way anymore.
10.09.2005
3:36 a.m.
May I bitch? Because, not that this is of interest to anyone but me at the moment, but I am awake. Wide awake.
My throat hurts.
Well it doesn't hurt so much as it has that scratchy feeling that I can't really ignore because it makes me want to swallow a lot. How this rendered me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the middle of the damn night I don't know. I just know that I'm waiting patiently for 5 a.m. Nothing will put you to sleep faster than 5 a.m.
I went and bought Pills today (technically yesterday). They went up by $3 from last month. It's gotten to where they go up by a few cents every other damn month, but $3? Now they cost me over $40 a month, and I'm wondering if, in the long run, it wouldn't be cheaper just to have a damn kid. Anyway, I'm wondering what's up with the price hike and when I open the bag, I get my answer.
The box looks different.
For the love, they changed the stupid-ass design and charged me $3 for it. I liked the old box just fine. Can I buy one of those for the old price?
I was on the phone with Jaimie today (technically yesterday) and shared my frustration. She theorized that the right-wing conservative radicals were hiking the price of birth control to prevent people from buying it and thus denying their unborn children the fertilization they deserve. I theorized that the left-wing commie liberals improved the box design to entice more teenagers to enjoy consequence-free premarital sex. Then, we laughed.
I'm going back to bed. Wish me luck.
My throat hurts.
Well it doesn't hurt so much as it has that scratchy feeling that I can't really ignore because it makes me want to swallow a lot. How this rendered me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the middle of the damn night I don't know. I just know that I'm waiting patiently for 5 a.m. Nothing will put you to sleep faster than 5 a.m.
I went and bought Pills today (technically yesterday). They went up by $3 from last month. It's gotten to where they go up by a few cents every other damn month, but $3? Now they cost me over $40 a month, and I'm wondering if, in the long run, it wouldn't be cheaper just to have a damn kid. Anyway, I'm wondering what's up with the price hike and when I open the bag, I get my answer.
The box looks different.
For the love, they changed the stupid-ass design and charged me $3 for it. I liked the old box just fine. Can I buy one of those for the old price?
I was on the phone with Jaimie today (technically yesterday) and shared my frustration. She theorized that the right-wing conservative radicals were hiking the price of birth control to prevent people from buying it and thus denying their unborn children the fertilization they deserve. I theorized that the left-wing commie liberals improved the box design to entice more teenagers to enjoy consequence-free premarital sex. Then, we laughed.
I'm going back to bed. Wish me luck.
10.06.2005
A Series of Recent Events --or-- Playing Catch-up
I'd hoped to post again before being berated for my blogstapation, but alas, I was a day late and a dollar short. I usually post in my office when work gets slow, and that just hasn't happened in a while. In fact, I haven't been in my office for a while. In fact, when I got back to my office, I found a squatter asleep under the desk. I woke him up and he yelled at me to get out of his house and stop stealing his shoes. Don't worry, I set him up in a phone booth. It's more spacious anyway.
Here's a recap on the last little while. Feel free to read it in several sittings and pretend these entries were written on different days.
Fast Times at Culinard High
Chris started his last semester of culinary school this week. It's the one where the students actually run the real live white-tablecloth restaurant that real live people go to eat a five-course meal. Anyway, the poor guy has to get up at 5:00 a.m. every morning to be there at 7:30. He's already been yelled at by some classically trained British fag who thinks he's Gordon Ramsay. And it looks like he'll have an average of two days a week out of the four he works in the kitchen that he'll have to come home, change clothes, and run to the job he actually gets paid to do to work until 2 a.m. This will go on for ten weeks of his life that he anticipates will knock about five years right off the top of his life expectancy. Pray for the dude.
Do-It-Yourself
This past weekend, I felt myself falling into a funk that I experience on many weekends, especially Saturdays, wherein I have nothing specific to do and am all alone in the wooden box I call home for hours on end. This time, I pledged to not let myself waste any more time on the destructive cycle of getting so bored that I don't feel like doing anything which makes me more bored, etc. I consider this a massive character flaw on my part (although my therapist assures me it's not) and last weekend I decided to challenge it to a duel. I pulled all the living room furniture into the middle of the room, laid down a dropcloth, made the two separate obligatory trips to Lowe's that occur whenever home improvement work is to be undertaken, and got to work painting trim and caulking corners. This is a little chore that was left half-done at the time we moved in and that, predictably, we neglected to finish once we were settled in. It has bugged me every day of my life since then. Why, I ask you, why live with that? So I painted, and I painted, and I painted. Then, when all the world was white with a glorious new coat of paint, I looked overhead and saw that it was not yet good.
No crown moulding.
Okay, I don't know how many of you out there have attempted to install crown moulding, but it's not an intuitive process. Not even for guys. Not even for guys who are very handy and industrious. It is a learned skill, and that's all there is to it. So watching me try to analytically break down the elements of the proper cut was...well, there should've been popcorn. Mom was there trying to help, and she brought Mario with her. For those of you who don't know Mario, he works with our company and he is the handiest guy ever. He's also the coolest. A lot more projects around the duplex would've been left undone had he not been there to help. So the three of us, three reasonably intelligent people, one of whom is a whiz at all things utilitary, none of whom are strangers to "projects", end up sitting there at the end of the day with splinters and shards of improperly cut pieces of $1 a foot pre-finished moulding. Now let me put this in perspective. We all work in a business in which our talents are often underrated, because it's the kind of service people often think they can perform themselves. This is a notion we fight against, because we believe that our talents should be recognized, that our skills should be seen for the societal necessity that they are. At that moment, we looked at each other and saw a room full of hypocrites.
Ultimately, it took four more days and the collaborative power of six individuals to essentially nail some boards to the wall. I will never again think little of a man who is good with a miter saw.
Cat Blog
Our little girl kitten, Peanut, has experienced a rite of passage. No, not like that. She got herself stuck on our roof for the first time. We don't even let them out much since they're not snipped yet, but sometimes when I'm sitting outside, I'll let them go with me and play in the yard. Last time I let them out, Peanut shimmied up the tree that grows right next to our front porch before I could stop her. Do cats just live in the "now" or do they lack any sense of foresight? This happened right before I was about to put them inside and go to class, where I had a test to take. And the only ladder nearby was locked up in the garage that my landlords, who were already gone to work, had the key to. Luckily, she found her way down before she made me late. She didn't stick the landing, but it was her first time.
Symbology
Chris and I got married in a field outside my grandparents' house. We cut down some young sweetgum trees and made a little gazebo type thing out of them. It was one of my favorite makeshift touches we added to the ceremony site. When the big day was over, we left them there and we never really got around to taking them down, mostly 'cause we liked it. Yesterday, I drove by the field on my way home from work and I noticed that one of the trees had started sprouting new growth. I'm not talking about vines growing on it or anything. I mean, there were little branches around the top of it with bright new leaves. I know there are some plants that you can cut off a stem and plant it and Voila! New plant. But a tree? With no root system? Maybe it's the last gasp of a fallen plant with a still semi-functional vascular system, but it was pretty and it made me smile.
Here's a recap on the last little while. Feel free to read it in several sittings and pretend these entries were written on different days.
Fast Times at Culinard High
Chris started his last semester of culinary school this week. It's the one where the students actually run the real live white-tablecloth restaurant that real live people go to eat a five-course meal. Anyway, the poor guy has to get up at 5:00 a.m. every morning to be there at 7:30. He's already been yelled at by some classically trained British fag who thinks he's Gordon Ramsay. And it looks like he'll have an average of two days a week out of the four he works in the kitchen that he'll have to come home, change clothes, and run to the job he actually gets paid to do to work until 2 a.m. This will go on for ten weeks of his life that he anticipates will knock about five years right off the top of his life expectancy. Pray for the dude.
Do-It-Yourself
This past weekend, I felt myself falling into a funk that I experience on many weekends, especially Saturdays, wherein I have nothing specific to do and am all alone in the wooden box I call home for hours on end. This time, I pledged to not let myself waste any more time on the destructive cycle of getting so bored that I don't feel like doing anything which makes me more bored, etc. I consider this a massive character flaw on my part (although my therapist assures me it's not) and last weekend I decided to challenge it to a duel. I pulled all the living room furniture into the middle of the room, laid down a dropcloth, made the two separate obligatory trips to Lowe's that occur whenever home improvement work is to be undertaken, and got to work painting trim and caulking corners. This is a little chore that was left half-done at the time we moved in and that, predictably, we neglected to finish once we were settled in. It has bugged me every day of my life since then. Why, I ask you, why live with that? So I painted, and I painted, and I painted. Then, when all the world was white with a glorious new coat of paint, I looked overhead and saw that it was not yet good.
No crown moulding.
Okay, I don't know how many of you out there have attempted to install crown moulding, but it's not an intuitive process. Not even for guys. Not even for guys who are very handy and industrious. It is a learned skill, and that's all there is to it. So watching me try to analytically break down the elements of the proper cut was...well, there should've been popcorn. Mom was there trying to help, and she brought Mario with her. For those of you who don't know Mario, he works with our company and he is the handiest guy ever. He's also the coolest. A lot more projects around the duplex would've been left undone had he not been there to help. So the three of us, three reasonably intelligent people, one of whom is a whiz at all things utilitary, none of whom are strangers to "projects", end up sitting there at the end of the day with splinters and shards of improperly cut pieces of $1 a foot pre-finished moulding. Now let me put this in perspective. We all work in a business in which our talents are often underrated, because it's the kind of service people often think they can perform themselves. This is a notion we fight against, because we believe that our talents should be recognized, that our skills should be seen for the societal necessity that they are. At that moment, we looked at each other and saw a room full of hypocrites.
Ultimately, it took four more days and the collaborative power of six individuals to essentially nail some boards to the wall. I will never again think little of a man who is good with a miter saw.
Cat Blog
Our little girl kitten, Peanut, has experienced a rite of passage. No, not like that. She got herself stuck on our roof for the first time. We don't even let them out much since they're not snipped yet, but sometimes when I'm sitting outside, I'll let them go with me and play in the yard. Last time I let them out, Peanut shimmied up the tree that grows right next to our front porch before I could stop her. Do cats just live in the "now" or do they lack any sense of foresight? This happened right before I was about to put them inside and go to class, where I had a test to take. And the only ladder nearby was locked up in the garage that my landlords, who were already gone to work, had the key to. Luckily, she found her way down before she made me late. She didn't stick the landing, but it was her first time.
Symbology
Chris and I got married in a field outside my grandparents' house. We cut down some young sweetgum trees and made a little gazebo type thing out of them. It was one of my favorite makeshift touches we added to the ceremony site. When the big day was over, we left them there and we never really got around to taking them down, mostly 'cause we liked it. Yesterday, I drove by the field on my way home from work and I noticed that one of the trees had started sprouting new growth. I'm not talking about vines growing on it or anything. I mean, there were little branches around the top of it with bright new leaves. I know there are some plants that you can cut off a stem and plant it and Voila! New plant. But a tree? With no root system? Maybe it's the last gasp of a fallen plant with a still semi-functional vascular system, but it was pretty and it made me smile.
9.20.2005
Back in my own head
As of this past Saturday, Chris and I have been married for an entire year. Paper, baby! Yeah!
We went to Chattanooga and stayed in a suite and ordered room service and went to a white-table-cloth restaurant (which Chris assures me is a title of distinction). All this splurging might've been kept under tighter control if it hadn't been so damn hard to get there.
I went into work Friday morning hoping to make a few phone calls and be back home in an hour to pack and get out of Dodge. I'll spare you the hair-pulling details, but suffice it to say that at noon when I was finally pulling out of the lot, I had a feeling we would not be leaving on schedule.
I'd asked Chris to pick up the house a little and make babysitting arrangements for the kitties while I was gone to work. When I got home, this had not been done. It was no fault of his; he'd gone outside that morning to find that one of his tires was low and knew he had to do something about it before we left or it would be flat when we got back.
So we're trying to rush to get things cleaned up and Chris is like, "Look, Nibbler's the only cat we have who's even allowed to go out yet. We know how much they eat in a day. Let's just set 'em up and let 'em go."
And I said, "Doesn't that make us negligent parents?" And he said, "Not if we don't tell anyone."
Oops. Hee.
I went for it because that would mean we wouldn't have to clean the house up if we weren't expecting anybody to be there, and I tried to brush away the thought that most of the time people are at our house while we're on vacation, they're not expected. But I mean, come on, am I really going to clean my house so that when my friends come by to tie all the knick-knacks together with yarn, they won't think less of me?
So we left the kitties with plenty of food and water and cardboard boxes to discover, and we trucked it. Everything went smoothly until we were about 20 or 25 miles outside of Chattanooga. I started noticing a shimmy to the car that I've noticed before and idly mentioned to Chris that that's probably not a good sign. But it's an old car and I've had lots of old cars and they all shake. So mostly I ignore stuff like that, which is not a good habit, but what're you gonna do? They all shake.
Then the scary noises started, and about the time I got through saying, "That does not sound good," the car suddenly and violently dropped lower on one side and I cringed at the tell-tale thwapthwapthwapthwapthwap. Did I check before we left to see if the car had a spare? No. But Chris didn't either and isn't it the guy's job to think of shit like that? Anyway, we had one. One of those cute little toy ones, underinflated. Eh, it got us to the nearest gas station.
Long story short (don't say it), we got there and had a great time and we got to relax in a hot tub the size of our bedroom. I suppose it was worth the trouble, if you don't count the two hours we had to wait at the WalMart tire center on the way back. Have you ever tried to kill two hours at WalMart without buying something? We managed to spend less than $10.
We went to Chattanooga and stayed in a suite and ordered room service and went to a white-table-cloth restaurant (which Chris assures me is a title of distinction). All this splurging might've been kept under tighter control if it hadn't been so damn hard to get there.
I went into work Friday morning hoping to make a few phone calls and be back home in an hour to pack and get out of Dodge. I'll spare you the hair-pulling details, but suffice it to say that at noon when I was finally pulling out of the lot, I had a feeling we would not be leaving on schedule.
I'd asked Chris to pick up the house a little and make babysitting arrangements for the kitties while I was gone to work. When I got home, this had not been done. It was no fault of his; he'd gone outside that morning to find that one of his tires was low and knew he had to do something about it before we left or it would be flat when we got back.
So we're trying to rush to get things cleaned up and Chris is like, "Look, Nibbler's the only cat we have who's even allowed to go out yet. We know how much they eat in a day. Let's just set 'em up and let 'em go."
And I said, "Doesn't that make us negligent parents?" And he said, "Not if we don't tell anyone."
Oops. Hee.
I went for it because that would mean we wouldn't have to clean the house up if we weren't expecting anybody to be there, and I tried to brush away the thought that most of the time people are at our house while we're on vacation, they're not expected. But I mean, come on, am I really going to clean my house so that when my friends come by to tie all the knick-knacks together with yarn, they won't think less of me?
So we left the kitties with plenty of food and water and cardboard boxes to discover, and we trucked it. Everything went smoothly until we were about 20 or 25 miles outside of Chattanooga. I started noticing a shimmy to the car that I've noticed before and idly mentioned to Chris that that's probably not a good sign. But it's an old car and I've had lots of old cars and they all shake. So mostly I ignore stuff like that, which is not a good habit, but what're you gonna do? They all shake.
Then the scary noises started, and about the time I got through saying, "That does not sound good," the car suddenly and violently dropped lower on one side and I cringed at the tell-tale thwapthwapthwapthwapthwap. Did I check before we left to see if the car had a spare? No. But Chris didn't either and isn't it the guy's job to think of shit like that? Anyway, we had one. One of those cute little toy ones, underinflated. Eh, it got us to the nearest gas station.
Long story short (don't say it), we got there and had a great time and we got to relax in a hot tub the size of our bedroom. I suppose it was worth the trouble, if you don't count the two hours we had to wait at the WalMart tire center on the way back. Have you ever tried to kill two hours at WalMart without buying something? We managed to spend less than $10.
9.12.2005
Vengeance is a dish best served cold
Mom and Dad went to Chattanooga this weekend for their anniversary. Hey guys, which one by the way? Was it the big 2-5? Because I thought you were supposed to have a big blowout with other people for that one. Or maybe that's just if you're not having sex anymore. Hee. Don't hurt me.
Anyway, I find it mildly amusing that I seem to talk to my parents more when they're on vacation than I do when they're in town. Every half-hour or so I'll get a call from one of them which I can only assume serves to rub in my face how great a time they're having. How they manage to always catch me in the middle of doing laudry or watching a really bad SciFi movie because it's the only thing on or some other mundane thing that makes me wish I too was on vacation is a gift I shall never comprehend.
So intermittently over the weekend I'm getting calls saying various things like:
"This is a great hotel! If you can afford it, you should totally stay here sometime."
"Man, there's this great rib place you should really check out."
"We caught this live show on the riverfront. Boy did we pick a good weekend!"
I'm used to this. I just dream that one day, they'll be old and decrepid and Chris and I will be jetsetting and calling them in the middle of the latest episode of The Price is Right (which will still be featuring Bob Barker although perhaps without eyeballs or skin) and letting them know how great Venice is in the spring. Wish you were here! Kisskiss.
But this time? This time, they went too far. Perhaps had I been there to handle it myself, I could've maintained a semblance of control over the situation, but alas, I was working (working on a Saturday...brilliant...HOW DO THEY KNOW?) and Chris answered the phone. He called me at work and said simply, "I hate your parents."
"You hate my parents?"
"I hate your parents."
"What did they do?"
"They invited us to Chattanooga, to a brewer's festival."
"What?!"
"They said they'd pay for the hotel."
"WHAT?!?"
"...If we drop everything and come right now."
"But...you have to work today."
"I know."
"And I have to work today."
"I know."
"And you have to work tomorrow."
"I know."
"I hate my parents."
You guys just give us a few decades. Someday, one of you is going to break a hip and it will be on that day that we invite you to go hiking with us in Colorado.
In their defense, they brought us home some delicious dark brew, the kind that's so fresh and untainted by preservative that it has to be consumed within three days or it just won't be the same. Which was probably a selfish gesture, seeing as it was the only factor which saved them from the involvement of a lead pipe.
Anyway, I find it mildly amusing that I seem to talk to my parents more when they're on vacation than I do when they're in town. Every half-hour or so I'll get a call from one of them which I can only assume serves to rub in my face how great a time they're having. How they manage to always catch me in the middle of doing laudry or watching a really bad SciFi movie because it's the only thing on or some other mundane thing that makes me wish I too was on vacation is a gift I shall never comprehend.
So intermittently over the weekend I'm getting calls saying various things like:
"This is a great hotel! If you can afford it, you should totally stay here sometime."
"Man, there's this great rib place you should really check out."
"We caught this live show on the riverfront. Boy did we pick a good weekend!"
I'm used to this. I just dream that one day, they'll be old and decrepid and Chris and I will be jetsetting and calling them in the middle of the latest episode of The Price is Right (which will still be featuring Bob Barker although perhaps without eyeballs or skin) and letting them know how great Venice is in the spring. Wish you were here! Kisskiss.
But this time? This time, they went too far. Perhaps had I been there to handle it myself, I could've maintained a semblance of control over the situation, but alas, I was working (working on a Saturday...brilliant...HOW DO THEY KNOW?) and Chris answered the phone. He called me at work and said simply, "I hate your parents."
"You hate my parents?"
"I hate your parents."
"What did they do?"
"They invited us to Chattanooga, to a brewer's festival."
"What?!"
"They said they'd pay for the hotel."
"WHAT?!?"
"...If we drop everything and come right now."
"But...you have to work today."
"I know."
"And I have to work today."
"I know."
"And you have to work tomorrow."
"I know."
"I hate my parents."
You guys just give us a few decades. Someday, one of you is going to break a hip and it will be on that day that we invite you to go hiking with us in Colorado.
In their defense, they brought us home some delicious dark brew, the kind that's so fresh and untainted by preservative that it has to be consumed within three days or it just won't be the same. Which was probably a selfish gesture, seeing as it was the only factor which saved them from the involvement of a lead pipe.
9.09.2005
Damn
I want a dog. Jaimie gets a dog. Why can't I have a dog?
Well, you might say, because Liz darling, you don't have a yard.
Well then, I would respond, I want a yard too. And a fence.
But Liz, you would say, first you need a house.
Okay, fine, I reply, I want a house.
I want a house so that I can have a dog. Is that a bad reason to take out a loan?
Well, you might say, because Liz darling, you don't have a yard.
Well then, I would respond, I want a yard too. And a fence.
But Liz, you would say, first you need a house.
Okay, fine, I reply, I want a house.
I want a house so that I can have a dog. Is that a bad reason to take out a loan?
9.05.2005
Times of Crisis
I didn't realize it had been so long. It's been a hard, sad week for a lot of people. My husband is dealing directly with a lot of them who have filtered in this far north. He says it's heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. They're so appreciative of every little thing we do to help.
I haven't been watching the news a lot in the last few days, mostly because I never do. NPR is my source of choice, but I've even been laying off of that. I don't know why. Maybe because it seems to be getting to that point where all our feathers have started to go down and the truth of what's happened has done all the sinking in it's going to do and now...now it's time to get angry. It's time to point fingers and lay blame. Some people are mad at the federal government for not acting quickly or forcefully enough. Some people are mad at those who stayed in the city. Some people are mad at their neighbors who aren't doing enough to help. There's reason enough to be mad at all of them. I myself am liking being angry at the thugs who took advantage of the darkness of the ruined streets of New Orleans by robbing, raping, and murdering fellow human beings who were just looking for a way out and thwarting the efforts of rescue workers who were trying to help. But even with the righteous and rather uncontroversial flavor of anger I've chosen, I still find myself exhausted, frustrated, and discouraged by the adolescent bickering we always seem to go back to in the face of tragedy and devestation.
A hurricane happened. Did everyone do all they could? Did anyone? No. We don't live in a perfect world. We live in a world where people in crisis succomb to their basest instincts, where governments are cumbersome and slow-witted, where friends and neighbors shut their eyes and ignore the pain and suffering of others. We live in a world where hurricanes happen.
I haven't been watching the news a lot in the last few days, mostly because I never do. NPR is my source of choice, but I've even been laying off of that. I don't know why. Maybe because it seems to be getting to that point where all our feathers have started to go down and the truth of what's happened has done all the sinking in it's going to do and now...now it's time to get angry. It's time to point fingers and lay blame. Some people are mad at the federal government for not acting quickly or forcefully enough. Some people are mad at those who stayed in the city. Some people are mad at their neighbors who aren't doing enough to help. There's reason enough to be mad at all of them. I myself am liking being angry at the thugs who took advantage of the darkness of the ruined streets of New Orleans by robbing, raping, and murdering fellow human beings who were just looking for a way out and thwarting the efforts of rescue workers who were trying to help. But even with the righteous and rather uncontroversial flavor of anger I've chosen, I still find myself exhausted, frustrated, and discouraged by the adolescent bickering we always seem to go back to in the face of tragedy and devestation.
A hurricane happened. Did everyone do all they could? Did anyone? No. We don't live in a perfect world. We live in a world where people in crisis succomb to their basest instincts, where governments are cumbersome and slow-witted, where friends and neighbors shut their eyes and ignore the pain and suffering of others. We live in a world where hurricanes happen.
8.27.2005
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.
8.25.2005
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.
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.
8.24.2005
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.
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.
8.22.2005
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.
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.
8.19.2005
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.
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.
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.
8.13.2005
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.
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.
8.05.2005
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.
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.
8.03.2005
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!
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!
7.29.2005
Zombie Doctor
Hear ye all, and cringe.
I'm seeing a chiropractor. I know. Shut up. I hurt.
I went to one way back when (I think I was still in high school) and she took all these X-rays and showed me my spine and how if I didn't get chiropractic care RIGHT NOW AND FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE my back was going to snap like a twig and leave me quadriplegic. She didn't say that, but she did say a lot of scary things and shine a bright light in my face and make me sign a confession...er, a contract. She was always smiling bigger than her mouth looked like it was supposed to stretch and saying that pills are evil. She was really nice, but in that unnerving way that makes you suspect she's a cult member. Or a coke head.
There was no way I was going back to that particular chiropractor, but Mom (who still goes diligently) hooked me up with a different one. This one seems more normal, for a chiropractor, and her plan involves three months of treatment as opposed to FOREVER. But I've been to her office three days in a row, and I'm supposed to go back Monday. Who has time for this shit?
Ooh ooh, and guess what? She called me last night at home, a little after 9 pm...get this...to make sure I was putting ice on my back.
I'm going to be a good girl for this next three months and do everything I'm supposed to. I'll be chronicling my experiences here, along with my findings. Pray I'm not discovered, but if the police tell you I died accidentally from a snapped neck, DON'T BELIEVE THEM.
I'm seeing a chiropractor. I know. Shut up. I hurt.
I went to one way back when (I think I was still in high school) and she took all these X-rays and showed me my spine and how if I didn't get chiropractic care RIGHT NOW AND FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE my back was going to snap like a twig and leave me quadriplegic. She didn't say that, but she did say a lot of scary things and shine a bright light in my face and make me sign a confession...er, a contract. She was always smiling bigger than her mouth looked like it was supposed to stretch and saying that pills are evil. She was really nice, but in that unnerving way that makes you suspect she's a cult member. Or a coke head.
There was no way I was going back to that particular chiropractor, but Mom (who still goes diligently) hooked me up with a different one. This one seems more normal, for a chiropractor, and her plan involves three months of treatment as opposed to FOREVER. But I've been to her office three days in a row, and I'm supposed to go back Monday. Who has time for this shit?
Ooh ooh, and guess what? She called me last night at home, a little after 9 pm...get this...to make sure I was putting ice on my back.
I'm going to be a good girl for this next three months and do everything I'm supposed to. I'll be chronicling my experiences here, along with my findings. Pray I'm not discovered, but if the police tell you I died accidentally from a snapped neck, DON'T BELIEVE THEM.
7.28.2005
Bad Day
Every day that I have to deal with a customer complaint in person is a bad day. The LizBot is not properly wired for confrontation.
You would think people would be meaner on the phone than they are in person, what with the whole you-can't-hit-me-because-I'm-20-miles-away factor. I've found the opposite to be true. They act all nice and understanding to lure you to their property, where they can spew curses at you and threaten to cancel their service, which you secretly REALLY want them to do.
Sometimes, of course, they're justified in being unhappy. But apparently today was National Irrational Behavior Day, or maybe Bitch At The Hired Help Day, or Confuse The Nice Innocent Service Provider With Baseless Complaints When She Can See Perfectly Well That Nothing Is Wrong Day. Whatever. Footwear gets a holiday. I wouldn't be surprised. I just wish it were like April Fools or Candid Camera, where they tell you at the end that it's all a big fat joke and we can be happy again.
I hate people. No I don't. Yes I do.
You would think people would be meaner on the phone than they are in person, what with the whole you-can't-hit-me-because-I'm-20-miles-away factor. I've found the opposite to be true. They act all nice and understanding to lure you to their property, where they can spew curses at you and threaten to cancel their service, which you secretly REALLY want them to do.
Sometimes, of course, they're justified in being unhappy. But apparently today was National Irrational Behavior Day, or maybe Bitch At The Hired Help Day, or Confuse The Nice Innocent Service Provider With Baseless Complaints When She Can See Perfectly Well That Nothing Is Wrong Day. Whatever. Footwear gets a holiday. I wouldn't be surprised. I just wish it were like April Fools or Candid Camera, where they tell you at the end that it's all a big fat joke and we can be happy again.
I hate people. No I don't. Yes I do.
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