Thanksgiving always bears mentioning I suppose.
I've heard so many different accounts of what people did on Thanksgiving, how much they did or did not enjoy it, the gammut of emotional impact it had. Holidays don't always affect people in the way you expect.
Especially upon reading about other people's holidays, it hits me how much I have to appreciate about mine. For starters, it's huge. That's not an inherently good thing, but I'll tell you why it's huge. It's not because we've all had a bunch of kids or made any effort to carry on the family name in spite of the fact that we're notorious for birthing slews of girls. It's because we never leave a man behind. Honestly, I still have cousins that I count among my best friends. Some of them live in other states and they all have boyfriends (or husbands) and jobs and school and completely separate lives. And we all come together anyway, sometimes for family gatherings, sometimes for the hell of it, because not only do we all love each other, we pretty much all like each other. I used to think that that's just how families worked. The more I learn about how the 21st Century family is supposed to function, the more I thank God for mine.
Don't get me wrong. Thanksgiving was exhausting. There were many moments I wanted to be somewhere else. There were people I rolled my eyes at when they said something that was so very much like something they would say. But when I see groups of people all over the place enjoying each others' company just as they would if they weren't required to be there, it takes me down a peg. Who am I to wish for something any better than this?
I guess that's what well-meaning people mean when they try to cheer you up by saying something stupid like, "Count your blessings." Next time one of my aunts pisses me off, I'm going to try to remember what I said here.
11.28.2005
11.21.2005
The Weekly
Because, maybe I should just call it what it is, right? Then, if I blog more than once a week, it's like this nice surprise. Like, ice cream. Like, cherries. As opposed to the crushing disappointment of coming here daily and seeing nothing new and wondering, "Will she ever come back? Is she dead? SHANE!"
Okay, maybe not crushing disappointment. After all, the rule of thumb is that nobody really cares about what happened to you today except you. However, if you're still reading this self-indulgent tripe, you must care a little bit...which makes you kinda weird.
But enough about you. Guess what I did last week?
First of all, I think I got stopped at that same roadblock that Jaimie did. Was it Sutton Bridge Road on Saturday night? My cop was nice and didn't ask me to step out of the vehicle, like that last time. Of course, this time I'd remembered to put my proof of insurance in my visor, instead of in the same glove box where I keep my .44. That always helps.
But I have another story for you today, an uplifting tale of hope and the domination of the human spirit over the evils of college radio.
You see, I was driving home from a very long day at work a couple of weeks ago. It was approaching 9 p.m. and I was in decent spirits, happy to be headed home. I didn't realize the emotional toll the day had taken on me. I didn't realize how much I needed Warren Haynes at that moment. I had the radio turned to the JSU college station, because I listen to NPR in the mornings, and sometimes they play cool songs in the evening, depending on the DJ. So I'm listening to the radio and this song opens on this funky organ solo. It's slow, it's long, it's patient, it's...familiar. Yes, I have heard this song many times before...what is it?
Then it comes to me. This is Soulshine. It's better than sunshine. It's better than moonshine. It's damn sure better than rain. And it's on the radio. I had no idea how much I needed to hear this song right now. The molasses organ crept up on the end of its run and it was almost time for that bottomless voice to tell me what to do when I can't find the light to guide me through a cloudy day. Then, it just. Stopped. Dead air. A pre-recorded announcer told me what radio station I was listening to, and another song came on, some inane garage band ear-bleeder that it's not safe to listen to while driving. Has that ever happened to you? It's happened to me before, but not like this. I knew I no longer had the number to JSU's radio station programmed into my cellphone, but I checked anyway. DJ, whoever you are, thank whatever god your black pagan heart prays to that my old cellphone died a year ago and that I was too lazy to transfer all the saved numbers over. Because that night, you awakened the slumbering wrath of the Amazon Diva within, and you would've wished for death before the end.
And yes, I have that song on CD. I didn't even try to listen to it when I got home. It wouldn't have been the same.
Now for the happy ending (shut up, Nathan). This past week, out of the blue, Jaimie invites me to a Gov't Mule concert at the Alabama Theatre. She had a last-minute dropout. So we went, and Warren sang that song to me. Just me. It was better than a CD. Better than radio. Damn sure better than rain.
Okay, maybe not crushing disappointment. After all, the rule of thumb is that nobody really cares about what happened to you today except you. However, if you're still reading this self-indulgent tripe, you must care a little bit...which makes you kinda weird.
But enough about you. Guess what I did last week?
First of all, I think I got stopped at that same roadblock that Jaimie did. Was it Sutton Bridge Road on Saturday night? My cop was nice and didn't ask me to step out of the vehicle, like that last time. Of course, this time I'd remembered to put my proof of insurance in my visor, instead of in the same glove box where I keep my .44. That always helps.
But I have another story for you today, an uplifting tale of hope and the domination of the human spirit over the evils of college radio.
You see, I was driving home from a very long day at work a couple of weeks ago. It was approaching 9 p.m. and I was in decent spirits, happy to be headed home. I didn't realize the emotional toll the day had taken on me. I didn't realize how much I needed Warren Haynes at that moment. I had the radio turned to the JSU college station, because I listen to NPR in the mornings, and sometimes they play cool songs in the evening, depending on the DJ. So I'm listening to the radio and this song opens on this funky organ solo. It's slow, it's long, it's patient, it's...familiar. Yes, I have heard this song many times before...what is it?
Then it comes to me. This is Soulshine. It's better than sunshine. It's better than moonshine. It's damn sure better than rain. And it's on the radio. I had no idea how much I needed to hear this song right now. The molasses organ crept up on the end of its run and it was almost time for that bottomless voice to tell me what to do when I can't find the light to guide me through a cloudy day. Then, it just. Stopped. Dead air. A pre-recorded announcer told me what radio station I was listening to, and another song came on, some inane garage band ear-bleeder that it's not safe to listen to while driving. Has that ever happened to you? It's happened to me before, but not like this. I knew I no longer had the number to JSU's radio station programmed into my cellphone, but I checked anyway. DJ, whoever you are, thank whatever god your black pagan heart prays to that my old cellphone died a year ago and that I was too lazy to transfer all the saved numbers over. Because that night, you awakened the slumbering wrath of the Amazon Diva within, and you would've wished for death before the end.
And yes, I have that song on CD. I didn't even try to listen to it when I got home. It wouldn't have been the same.
Now for the happy ending (shut up, Nathan). This past week, out of the blue, Jaimie invites me to a Gov't Mule concert at the Alabama Theatre. She had a last-minute dropout. So we went, and Warren sang that song to me. Just me. It was better than a CD. Better than radio. Damn sure better than rain.
11.14.2005
Movie Sign
If you missed the TV movie event of the millenium, it's gone forever. Well, until next weekend probably.
Kris and Laura and Jimmy and Jaimie came over last night to watch Part II of Category 7: The End of the World over beer and Chinese. We laughed at it and had fun times, so thanks for that, CBS. But I have a question. Has there been a sudden upchuck, er, upsurge of silly not-so-small-budget TV movies in the last couple years or am I just now noticing? And also, not to spoil the movie for you or anything, but the world totally didn't end. Yeah, that spoiled it for you, didn't it? Good. I'll only charge you $50 for each hour of your life I just saved you.
I'm wondering if CBS, Sci-Fi, and other perpetrators of the TV movie phenomenon could just take whatever money they had set aside for that next blockbuster and give it to, um, the poor, or something. I mean, it won't turn a profit, but it'll be tax-deductible. And all you rich execs will feel warm fuzzy sensations.
Also, was anybody else horrified by that last scene with Dennis Quaid and Shannon Doherty?
Kris and Laura and Jimmy and Jaimie came over last night to watch Part II of Category 7: The End of the World over beer and Chinese. We laughed at it and had fun times, so thanks for that, CBS. But I have a question. Has there been a sudden upchuck, er, upsurge of silly not-so-small-budget TV movies in the last couple years or am I just now noticing? And also, not to spoil the movie for you or anything, but the world totally didn't end. Yeah, that spoiled it for you, didn't it? Good. I'll only charge you $50 for each hour of your life I just saved you.
I'm wondering if CBS, Sci-Fi, and other perpetrators of the TV movie phenomenon could just take whatever money they had set aside for that next blockbuster and give it to, um, the poor, or something. I mean, it won't turn a profit, but it'll be tax-deductible. And all you rich execs will feel warm fuzzy sensations.
Also, was anybody else horrified by that last scene with Dennis Quaid and Shannon Doherty?
11.07.2005
Schoolhouse Suck
Did I mention a while back about how I'm taking classes in marketing? How I'm taking five courses, only two of which actually meet? How they're in the same room, being taught by the same guy? Did I mention having doubts about the quality of these classes?
Over the time I've spent in class, I have virtually eliminated these doubts. I no longer question whether or not I am wasting my time. I know I am.
Let me take you through these "classes". The first one is called Human Relations. Now remember, these are business classes. However, our "teacher" decided to take a broader view of human relations and dispose of the notion that people might actually be taking these classes in order to learn something about business. He's spent the whole time (so far) showing tapes and holding classroom discussions about personal relationships, focused mainly on marriage and parenting. Now, I'm sure that he finds this all very fascinating and frankly, so do I. I love delving; it's one of my absolute favorite things to do. Did I say I didn't enjoy the class? No. I said it was a waste of time. And yes, the knowledge of that fact does tend to cut down on the enjoyment factor. I pay my therapist by the hour to talk with me about relationships. I pay the school by the hour to tell me something I don't know.
Second "class": Consumer Behavior. At least that title's a little more clear. A little less wiggle room, y'know? This has to have something to do with consumers consuming things. Ergo, business. We're getting warmer. Thing is, our business "teacher" doesn't really seem terribly interested in business, so he shows us a bunch of video tapes that profile various successful businesses and what they do that's so great. Do I have a problem with this? Only one. I could've bought that tape series for about $200 less than it costs to take this "class".
Third "class": Physical Supply and Distribution Management. I like that title. Good strong title. Very specific. It's also the name of our textbook, which costs $100 retail at the campus bookstore and is the only thing I would've needed to do absolutely everything which is required for successful completion of the coursework. This class does not meet. We basically pick five random chapters out of the textbook, read them, and answer the questions at the end. I'm really not kidding.
The fourth and fifth "classes" are so similar they're really not worth mentioning separately. One is an independent study and the other is an internship. For the independent study, I have to work somewhere and write a 3-page paper about what I learned. For the internship, I have to work somewhere and write a 3-page paper about what I learned.
Do you guys have any idea how much it costs to go to school? I already put in my four years, okay? I'm doing this to GAIN KNOWLEDGE. What a motherfucking concept.
I recount all this because this week, it came to a head. Last time "class" met, our "instructor" handed out schedules for what would be available next semester. Would you believe that we'll have five classes, three of which will actually meet, all in the same room, all with the same instructor, who incidentally is the same "instructor" I have this semester. Needless to say, that will not be happening. Business for Dummies, here I come.
Over the time I've spent in class, I have virtually eliminated these doubts. I no longer question whether or not I am wasting my time. I know I am.
Let me take you through these "classes". The first one is called Human Relations. Now remember, these are business classes. However, our "teacher" decided to take a broader view of human relations and dispose of the notion that people might actually be taking these classes in order to learn something about business. He's spent the whole time (so far) showing tapes and holding classroom discussions about personal relationships, focused mainly on marriage and parenting. Now, I'm sure that he finds this all very fascinating and frankly, so do I. I love delving; it's one of my absolute favorite things to do. Did I say I didn't enjoy the class? No. I said it was a waste of time. And yes, the knowledge of that fact does tend to cut down on the enjoyment factor. I pay my therapist by the hour to talk with me about relationships. I pay the school by the hour to tell me something I don't know.
Second "class": Consumer Behavior. At least that title's a little more clear. A little less wiggle room, y'know? This has to have something to do with consumers consuming things. Ergo, business. We're getting warmer. Thing is, our business "teacher" doesn't really seem terribly interested in business, so he shows us a bunch of video tapes that profile various successful businesses and what they do that's so great. Do I have a problem with this? Only one. I could've bought that tape series for about $200 less than it costs to take this "class".
Third "class": Physical Supply and Distribution Management. I like that title. Good strong title. Very specific. It's also the name of our textbook, which costs $100 retail at the campus bookstore and is the only thing I would've needed to do absolutely everything which is required for successful completion of the coursework. This class does not meet. We basically pick five random chapters out of the textbook, read them, and answer the questions at the end. I'm really not kidding.
The fourth and fifth "classes" are so similar they're really not worth mentioning separately. One is an independent study and the other is an internship. For the independent study, I have to work somewhere and write a 3-page paper about what I learned. For the internship, I have to work somewhere and write a 3-page paper about what I learned.
Do you guys have any idea how much it costs to go to school? I already put in my four years, okay? I'm doing this to GAIN KNOWLEDGE. What a motherfucking concept.
I recount all this because this week, it came to a head. Last time "class" met, our "instructor" handed out schedules for what would be available next semester. Would you believe that we'll have five classes, three of which will actually meet, all in the same room, all with the same instructor, who incidentally is the same "instructor" I have this semester. Needless to say, that will not be happening. Business for Dummies, here I come.
11.01.2005
Officer Doof
Is it illegal to direct a display of road rage toward an agent of the law?
This morning on my way to class, I was in a left turn lane behind a SherrifMobile. We got a turn signal and the guy just sat there. I couldn't tell if he was on the phone or eating breakfast or whatever because his windows were tinted darker than civilian windows are allowed to be tinted. So I started to creep up on him but I was hesitant. What do you do when a law dog is being an idiot driver? I realized I've never confronted that situation before. Usually what I'll do is creep up, just so the person in front of me will register the motion and snap out of it. That's my version of a polite reminder. Then if that doesn't work, I'll flash my lights or honk my horn as a last resort. I hate honking at people in the morning because I know it'll put them in a bad mood. And I don't want that. I just want them to get out of my way.
None of those tactics, however, seemed appropriate in light of the fact that this particular idiot driver could strip search me if he felt so inclined. I decided to go ahead with the creeping but it did no good whatsoever. He sat through the whole damn turn signal. At this point, I was wondering if he was doing something "official", something that simple minds like mine wouldn't understand. But when the next signal rolled around, he turned with the easy confidence of a man who had no clue he'd been blocking traffic for the last ten minutes.
He turned into the grocery store and I glared at him as I passed. Take that!
This morning on my way to class, I was in a left turn lane behind a SherrifMobile. We got a turn signal and the guy just sat there. I couldn't tell if he was on the phone or eating breakfast or whatever because his windows were tinted darker than civilian windows are allowed to be tinted. So I started to creep up on him but I was hesitant. What do you do when a law dog is being an idiot driver? I realized I've never confronted that situation before. Usually what I'll do is creep up, just so the person in front of me will register the motion and snap out of it. That's my version of a polite reminder. Then if that doesn't work, I'll flash my lights or honk my horn as a last resort. I hate honking at people in the morning because I know it'll put them in a bad mood. And I don't want that. I just want them to get out of my way.
None of those tactics, however, seemed appropriate in light of the fact that this particular idiot driver could strip search me if he felt so inclined. I decided to go ahead with the creeping but it did no good whatsoever. He sat through the whole damn turn signal. At this point, I was wondering if he was doing something "official", something that simple minds like mine wouldn't understand. But when the next signal rolled around, he turned with the easy confidence of a man who had no clue he'd been blocking traffic for the last ten minutes.
He turned into the grocery store and I glared at him as I passed. Take that!
10.30.2005
Daylight savings!
Thank God I have a computer that's smarter than me, so that when I glance down at the bottom of the screen absently wondering if it's 9:00 yet, it can tell me that no, it is in fact almost 8:00. It can also tell me that in good conscience, I should let Chris sleep another hour and not wake him up early just because I was too absent-minded to realize I could've slept another hour as well. And it can lecture me on why the hell is it exactly I carry around a calendar in my purse if I don't write stuff like this in it. It can draw up an example of what my calendar should look like:
Saturday, Oct. 29:
Angel Food pick-up day
Zombie Parade
Daylight Savings begins tomorrow
Sunday, Oct. 30:
Jaimie & Jimmy coming over for Vampire Bats
Daylight Savings begins
Monday, Oct. 31:
Halloween!
Party @ Catoes
Daylight Savings started yesterday
Sunday, Nov. 6:
Play at Morgan Road Vineyard
Daylight Savings has been ongoing for a week so please reset the clocks in your house instead of doing the math in your head. This is what grown-ups do.
Thanks, Computer! Guys, I know HP gets a lot of flack, but it really has come a long way. Bit of a smartass though.
Saturday, Oct. 29:
Angel Food pick-up day
Zombie Parade
Daylight Savings begins tomorrow
Sunday, Oct. 30:
Jaimie & Jimmy coming over for Vampire Bats
Daylight Savings begins
Monday, Oct. 31:
Halloween!
Party @ Catoes
Daylight Savings started yesterday
Sunday, Nov. 6:
Play at Morgan Road Vineyard
Daylight Savings has been ongoing for a week so please reset the clocks in your house instead of doing the math in your head. This is what grown-ups do.
Thanks, Computer! Guys, I know HP gets a lot of flack, but it really has come a long way. Bit of a smartass though.
10.24.2005
Fall happens
Apparently, Mother Nature's Alabama delegate woke up this morning and realized it was October. I'll be reacquainting myself with my heating bill sometime very soon.
Jaimie's birthday was Friday. She's 28. Or 30 - 2, if your glass is half empty. We had yummy lasagna at her parents' house and she got a new black Jeep. I don't think she's told Red about that yet. But between you and me, the sooner the better. I mean, I like Red, but that relationship was going nowhere fast. Well, it was going nowhere at about 45 mph. Even on the interstate. (I love you Jaimie! No hitting.)
It got me thinking about my next birthday and how far away it is. That's fine, I'm not in any hurry. It's just that it seems like I've been 24 for a really long time. I've been 24 for years. What will happen when I turn 25? I don't know how to be anything but 24. Not to mention that the last time I had to deal with an age that was a squared number, I was 16. 16! That was so long ago. Will I remember how to act?
I must apologize for my silliness. That's what happens when I'm sleepy and bored and have nothing in particular to write about.
Laura brought it to my attention the other day that I never posted a link to my Flickr account, wherein are cute pictures of the kitty cats. So without further ado: http://www.flickr.com/photos/woodlayson
It's on my to-do list to give my Flickr account a little more content diversity, but we know how that can be. Oh yeah, if you want to see the kitten pix in chronological order, start at the bottom of page 2 and work backwards. I don't know why they posted like that and I haven't taken the time to figure out how to switch them up.
Jaimie's birthday was Friday. She's 28. Or 30 - 2, if your glass is half empty. We had yummy lasagna at her parents' house and she got a new black Jeep. I don't think she's told Red about that yet. But between you and me, the sooner the better. I mean, I like Red, but that relationship was going nowhere fast. Well, it was going nowhere at about 45 mph. Even on the interstate. (I love you Jaimie! No hitting.)
It got me thinking about my next birthday and how far away it is. That's fine, I'm not in any hurry. It's just that it seems like I've been 24 for a really long time. I've been 24 for years. What will happen when I turn 25? I don't know how to be anything but 24. Not to mention that the last time I had to deal with an age that was a squared number, I was 16. 16! That was so long ago. Will I remember how to act?
I must apologize for my silliness. That's what happens when I'm sleepy and bored and have nothing in particular to write about.
Laura brought it to my attention the other day that I never posted a link to my Flickr account, wherein are cute pictures of the kitty cats. So without further ado: http://www.flickr.com/photos/woodlayson
It's on my to-do list to give my Flickr account a little more content diversity, but we know how that can be. Oh yeah, if you want to see the kitten pix in chronological order, start at the bottom of page 2 and work backwards. I don't know why they posted like that and I haven't taken the time to figure out how to switch them up.
10.18.2005
They want you!
It's that time again. Pledge week on NPR! Woo-hoo!
www.wbhm.org
That's the Birmingham station. There's also an 800 number that I can't remember. It's one of the worthier causes I can think of and it's $10 a month I think to be a member. Not that you get anything for being a member (except I think maybe a coffee cup). But it's about helping to perpetuate an invaluable social service. And prestige, of course. Maybe they give you a shiny laminated card. I'm gonna ask for one. And if they don't give me one, I'll make my own. I want to be a CARD-CARRYING member.
I'm sure NPR news isn't perfect, but it's the most unbiased, trustworthy source of information out there. That, to me, is worth the price of admission. Had to share.
www.wbhm.org
That's the Birmingham station. There's also an 800 number that I can't remember. It's one of the worthier causes I can think of and it's $10 a month I think to be a member. Not that you get anything for being a member (except I think maybe a coffee cup). But it's about helping to perpetuate an invaluable social service. And prestige, of course. Maybe they give you a shiny laminated card. I'm gonna ask for one. And if they don't give me one, I'll make my own. I want to be a CARD-CARRYING member.
I'm sure NPR news isn't perfect, but it's the most unbiased, trustworthy source of information out there. That, to me, is worth the price of admission. Had to share.
10.17.2005
The Old Man
Have I mentioned that Chris's back has been suffering from The Pinched Nerve of Everlasting Torture? He's been walking around like an 80-year-old man for days. (See Jaimie? I totally bucked the temptation to use the word "octogenarian".) It was sometime last week that he came home from school with a backache and woke up the next day unable to even lift his arms. He went to my chiropractor, who predictably gave him the same doomsday speech she gave me. Only he must be worse off, because she gave him a bunch of cool stuff. He got some little electrode thingies to stick on his back and a neck pillow device that I don't know how to describe other than the fact that it looks like an S&M toy.
He'd been getting better, but when he woke up yesterday morning, the whole thing had started all over. It's like a leg cramp that starts to subside and then you move it the wrong way and that wave of pain rolls back over you again. Only this is taking longer. When I said school was killing him, I wasn't intending to be literal.
Jimmy and Jaimie came over last night and brought us Chinese food, and that was a cheerer-upper. We watched a silly movie on TBS and read our fortune cookie predictions aloud adding the phrase "in bed" at the end, which made us laugh that 12-year-old laugh that's reserved for jokes about bodily functions and unseemly anatomy. It was good times.
He'd been getting better, but when he woke up yesterday morning, the whole thing had started all over. It's like a leg cramp that starts to subside and then you move it the wrong way and that wave of pain rolls back over you again. Only this is taking longer. When I said school was killing him, I wasn't intending to be literal.
Jimmy and Jaimie came over last night and brought us Chinese food, and that was a cheerer-upper. We watched a silly movie on TBS and read our fortune cookie predictions aloud adding the phrase "in bed" at the end, which made us laugh that 12-year-old laugh that's reserved for jokes about bodily functions and unseemly anatomy. It was good times.
10.12.2005
Catching the bug
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.
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.
10.10.2005
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.
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