Merry Christmas

This is NOT Leo.

The tree is still standing.

There is more Bailey's to be had.

Merry Christmas!!

Christmas 2009

The day after Thanksgiving, we put up the Christmas tree.

It's still standing.

This illustrates two things:

One - In our household, it's a Christmas Tree, not a Yuletide Evergreen, Winter Festival Spruce, or Non-Deciduous Holiday Fir.

Two - Leonidas has not destroyed it. Yet.

It's on his list of things to do, of course. He's working it, limb by limb.

Since it's a fake tree, Leo's spending his spare time (in between naps and flooding the kitchen) bending the bottom section only. I figure he's saving the final annihilation for tonight.

Which reminds me, I still have a ton of wrapping to do. It's just not Christmas without staying up til 2:00am wrapping gifts with Bailey's Irish Cream by your side.

Speaking of gifts, I thought I'd tempt death, and make one last trip to the mall this afternoon. I was nearly killed at least three times. For serious.

There was so much stupid on the road. A big, fat, giant, stupid party, filled with stupid morons, driving stupid. And I don't mean drunk – although I'm sure the guy fading into my lane on Route 33 began his Bailey's a few hours ago.

My favorite was the douche bag in the mini van. See, traffic was backed up outside the mall, and I was waiting in line, being nice and taking turns letting people into my line. Out of frickin' nowhere, this guy makes a hard right into the one foot space in front of my car.

He was completely perpendicular. To. My. Car.

He turned so far sideways into our lane of traffic, he had to back up a little before fully pulling into the lane.

F*cktard.

Well, I'm off. Those presents won't wrap themselves.

Let me tell you, I earned that Bailey's tonight.

The Crocodile Hunter On Laundry Day

I've been falling behind on my laundry lately. I planned to do some last night, then I noticed the towel hamper was filled, so I did that instead. This created  some minor trauma, since my daughter neeeeeded to wash her khakis for school. Then I realized she just did laundry on Sunday - three days ago.
 
Odd, I was positive I spent several hundred dollars on clothing when school began. Surely, she had enough to get through a five day week.
 
Apparently all the fine clothing I purchased became unacceptable, in favor of two special pairs of corduroy pants.
 
I probably should've noticed that sooner. There's a school dress policy, so the pants can only be black or khaki. This makes it difficult to discern which pair is which. To me. The Mom. Obviously, my daughter knows exactly which pair is her favorite.
 
Then the wave of bad junior high memories washed over me. The pair of Sergio Valentes that fit the bum just right. The vintage t-shirt that was worn out in all the right places. The Nikes that had the proper amount of smudgies. The favorite pair of undies that didn't wedge. Well, actually, that still applies - but I certainly don't wear the same pair daily.
 
The point is, I really do understand having that favorite pair of jeans, sweater, sneakers or undies..... and this is even more urgently felt in the teen years. I get that.

But.
 
Woe, I am old now. This means I cannot reconcile the favorite pair of pants, with the amount of money spent on the whole lot.
 
I made a strong (and possibly cranky) suggestion to wear something else. Preferably a warm ensemble, since it was going to be 20 degrees with a wind chill near zero.
 
The next morning, she came downstairs in a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts and boots.
 
Well then. After some actual long pants were procured from the bottom of the closet, she tells me "other girls are wearing shorts and boots". 

Oh yes. Those "other" girls that must look like a stiff version of The Crocodile Hunter in Uggs, once their legs succumb to hypothermia.
 

Cheesy Crisps

I had a coupon for these new Crispy Cheesy Baked Crisps - or something like that.

So I thought, "what the heck, I'll try it". I'm wild like that.

The box was a normal-sized box, but the contents were not normal-sized. Inside the box was a small, hermetically sealed baggie.

A bag-lette, really. It was so tiny, it was Barbie-sized.

The bag-lette held about six Cheesy Crisps. This is no way to induce me to purchase this snack - coupon, or no coupon. At least float me 12 Cheesy Crisps.

Also, they were more like Buttery Crisps, not Cheesy Crisps. So I was boned on the cheese too.

Nuclear

This morning, I was overtaken by a stench so rotten, so foul, it made me gag. I heard the scrape, scrape, scraping of giant, fuzzy paws in the litter box, two rooms away. I tried to put it out of my mind - and nostrils - hoping the toxic cloud would dissipate.

It did not.

Leonidas produced a bowel movement so caustic, had he (and his nuclear progeny) been at Thermopylae, the Persians would have disintegrated on the spot.

I got out the biohazard suit and performed the extraction. I survived, but I think all my nasal hair fried off.

His diet hasn't changed, so I've no idea why this happened. Maybe he got into something left in the sink. Or he ate a bug....like a stink bug.

A really big stink bug.

Dorian Gray

I've been lazy. Soooo lazy, I stopped my skincare regimen. Then my face fell off.

Slid down my shoulders, bounced off my boob, and almost smothered the cat.

Seriously. If my cheeks and eye bags get any lower, I'll need a little sling to carry them around in. Maybe something snazzy, like dual fanny-packs hooked to my ears. From Prada.

* sigh *

I scrub my face with rocks to remove dead skin. I have tubs o'crap to replace moisture, collagen, and remove wrinkles. I've had a dermatologist burn off brown spots and broken blood vessels from my face. If I get lazy, as I did the last few months, I look like the Picture of Dorian Gray.

Zits, however, never cut me a break. This teenage malady will continue to plague me until I'm 90. They pretend like they're behaving, then when you least expect it.... WHAMMO! They find a way to be even more disturbing than a standard blemish.

Like the red spot on my cheek. It lurked there for a week, angry and petulant. I learned long ago not to touch them, and they'll go away on their own. But it's been a WEEK now, and there was NO change until this morning.

It was ready to detonate, so I touched it. When I did, a small round pellet fell out. A ball of pellet.

I'm expecting a volcano, but get a white, mini-rabbit turd. Not only was that unsatisfying, but downright weird. Like a tiny alien laid an egg in my face.

Ew.

I just really resent that at 41, there's so much maintenance. Because my metabolism has slowed to that of a three-toed sloth, just getting rid of a few pounds is a monumental task.

When I was 25, I could eat salads for a week and lose ten pounds. Now, I can work out every day of the week, eat a lettuce leaf for lunch and dinner, and lose absolutely nothing.

Maybe it's heredity. My sister, the family archivist, showed me a photo of my paternal grandmother when she was in her twenties – she looked fabulous. Then, in her late thirties, she looked like a few miles of bad road.

On the other hand, the women on my mother's side tend to hold up well. Hardy Irish stock. Maybe there's hope for me yet.

Or maybe I need a potato and Guinness diet.

Guinness is good for you, right?

Commenty

I'm re-enabling comments. We'll see how this goes.

Since my work schedule is tight, and I have to approve them before they'll appear, I'll probably only be checking once or twice daily.

Thanks for your patience.

Learning To Love The Traffic Fireworm

Sorry for the lack of posting. I took some time off after Thanksgiving to recuperate. Our holiday was lovely.

I've heard that the day before Thanksgiving is the biggest travel day of the year. True to form, it took two and a half hours to get home last Wednesday afternoon.

Bumper-to-bumper, never exceeding the 20 mile per hour mark, the taillights left a trail of red as far as I could see. The stretch of I-78 around Clinton looked like the Wendol Fireworm from The 13th Warrior.

Photo Credit: The 13th Warrior

I've been thinking about being thankful. I may have, inadvertently, given the impression that I hate my job, due to my whining about the driving.

Honestly, I haven't been at this position long enough to know whether I like it or not.

However, the work and the drive are two separate things.

The drive is heinous. I've made that perfectly obvious, based on my grumbling over the past few weeks. I'm sure I'll get the hang of it, eventually.

I'm thankful I had the opportunity to work from home as long as I did. Realistically, there aren't any IT jobs in my immediate area, and the chances of finding another work-from-home deal is slim. So I'm driving.

The work itself, on the other hand, has the potential to be rewarding.

I'm honored that I was chosen to join this team, and support some of my company's premiere applications. I also have the opportunity to learn new technology.

The alternative was to take a layoff. Anyone who wasn't placed during this integration would be let go. It might have happened now, or in a year, but it would have happened.

Sometimes when I get home late and I didn't plan dinner ahead of time, I end up throwing it together. Or I'm so tired at night, that I don't do a good a job with the housework. Or spend time with my family. This makes me feel terrible, but it's just an adjustment. We'll get through it.

I have to plan dinners more effectively. I have to plan my after work schedule better, and get to bed earlier. In a way, working from home made me a little lazy, and I never had to plan ahead. I was always at home and accessible. However, this is do-able. We'll pull together as a family.

My family, who I love, and am thankful for.

Inhaling Food

Wednesday morning, I had a lovely cheese omelette nearly ruined by a genetic disorder.

I assume it's genetic, since every female in my family has this problem. We'll be going along fine, then suddenly begin to choke on air. We don't even need to be eating anything. Just breathing.

I could be talking, sitting, eating, reading, driving - just generally existing, the throat locks up, and the coughing fit begins. In Wednesday's case, I was unfortunate enough to be eating something when the attack came. I don't know if I breathed in as I was chewing, or what; but I snarfed egg up the back of my throat, into my nasal passages, then coughed until my eyes teared up. I almost died in my breakfast.

And yes. I blew my nose and there was egg. And cheese.

You're welcome.

Happy Thanksgiving 2009

A funny video from the folks at PJTV

Crap Clothing

In the past year, I bought three, semi expensive sweaters that inexplicably decided to shrink and warp.

I followed the washing instructions: wash on delicate, in cold water, reshape and dry flat. They were not made of any exotic material; two were cotton, and the other was a "washable" silk blend. Normally, I would assume I did something to cause this, but the coincidence here is that it happened to ALL THREE sweaters, and ALL THREE were made by Ralph Lauren. I would expect better quality from Ralphy-boy.

Okay, if I'm going to spend a ton of money on clothing, it better last longer than one washing. The orange one is now so small that it looks like a half-shirt, and is completely warped along the bottom. The blue one has a shawl neck that is now choking me, as well as half-shirty. The purple one has not warped (yet), but is slowly getting smaller with each washing.

This is ridiculous. What's worse, I had to buy these sweaters in extra-extra large, so they fit me properly in the first place. I am by no means a large person. I'm carrying a few extra pounds that have become nearly impossible to remove now that I'm over forty, but I'm not in bad shape. It's INSANE that I should require a large, much less an extra large.

I blame whatever designer decided that all woman's clothing must look like it's two sizes too small. This might be fine when you're a teenager, or a 20-something that weighs less than 95 pounds. Although, my teenager wears this style, and I think it appears as though she's growing too quickly and I'm unable to afford clothing which fits her properly.

Then again, my daughter is a beanpole, but in order for her school polo shirt to fit, realistically, she should be taking a size large - because the JUNIORS mediums from Aeropostale would better fit a toddler.

When I shop, I've noticed that most of the large and extra large tops are among the first to go. So I must not be the only one buying "big". I'm left wondering: Is this being used as another statistic to confirm the obesity of America? If so, it wouldn't be fair. You can't take a toddlers shirt, and say this is the new size small, and then adjust the rest of the sizes based on that. Again, this means most of us "normal" sized women are forced to buy extra larges, which skews the data.

Or maybe it's all a conspiracy to shame us American women into starvation diets so we can fit into these miniature clothes?

Still, even if I'm forced to buy stupidly large tops, I would expect them to last - especially for a designer name. Otherwise, it makes me NOT want to buy Ralph Lauren - or whoever else burned me with a high price tag and low quality. None of this crap is made here, by the way; and probably cost only pennies to make.

Speaking of not made here.....every year I go to the local Celtic Festival, and usually purchase a wool sweater, made in Ireland. These are usually hand made, and are machine washable - even though they are made of wool. These are sweaters I will have for the rest of my life. They never shrink, warp or fall apart. They are practically an investment.

I just thought of something else too. I had a number of "investment" sweaters, back from the earlier days of my career, from Ann Taylor. These too, were wool and washable. I still have most of them, and expect I may have a few of them the rest of my life. I had a Bennetton sweater from the 1980's last me twenty years, and the only reason I had to get rid of it was because I wore out the elbows. I probably could've put suede patches on the elbows and it'd be good to go for another twenty.

So what's happening here? One, we have a ridiculous trend towards insanely small clothing, and two - quality stinks.

In this economy, I cannot afford to blow $80 on a top that won't last til next wash day.

Well, I'm not playing anymore. I'm not buying any brands that have burned me in the past, and I'm going to be much more conservative about the quality and price from now on. Who's with me?

Still Swollen

Geez, I didn't think it was possible, but my eyes are more swollen today. This stuff better start working soon, because I've only got two more days on it, then it's just the antibiotics. At least I don't feel crabby or hungry, like the side effects said I would. I feel a bit zingy in the afternoon though. Zingy = good.

Traffic was insane this morning. I just don't get why some days the highway is practically empty, then other days it's bumper to bumper. There's no pattern to it at all.

I think I'm getting used to the driving. The car helps. A LOT. If I tried to make this commute in the Jeep, not only would it have shaken apart in the first two weeks, but I was only getting about 12 miles per gallon. The Volvo has a setting where it constantly monitors my fuel consumption, gives me the mpg, average speed and how many more miles I can go on my tank of gas. It does other things too, but I'm still reading the owner's manual and haven't figured it all out. On average, I'm getting about 26 - 27 miles per gallon in a mid-size sedan. That's not too bad.

I should've thought to go with a certified pre-owned car before. It's like, half the price of a new one, looks just like the new one, and Volvo practically takes the engine apart, cleans it, puts it back together again and certifies it as fantabulous. Or something like that.

And the warranty is comprehensive. Which is good, because hubby said the engine looks like something the Ancients created on Stargate, and just getting to the battery would be a challenge.

Truth be told, I originally wanted a Smart Car. They're just too adorable! It's so small I could fit it right on the front steps of my house. Then I read they're not great for long commutes because the ride was a bit rough. Two hours a day from PA to NJ and back again, would probably be a hemorrhoid fiesta.

Hemorrhoid Fiesta.....heh. Great name for a rock band.

Thank you Mr. Barry.

I did happen to see one during my commute one morning. It looked ridiculously endangered next to all the tractor trailers. Like a gnat flying with turkey vultures. You might as well be running down the road naked.

Gah. Three cups of coffee, and I just can't wake up today. And my stinkin seedless grapes have seeds. Liars.

So glad tomorrow's Friday.

FYI

Just an FYI - any posts formatted crappily were most likely done from my Blackberry. I try to fix them when I get home, but sometimes I'm just too tired.

Prius

Dear Mr. Prius, 

Thank you for tailgating me for almost nine miles, then flying past me - Obama-Biden bumper sticker glistening in the morning light. 

I was remiss, as I was only doing 75 miles per hour. Surely I should've known 85 was more appropriate. Your eco-friendly statement on wheels has shown me the error of my non-hybrid owning ways. I'm sure that 18 wheeler you lurched in front of has seen the error of his ways as well. Possibly that he missed an opportunity to demonstrate the sheer, hulking mass that is a tractor-trailer, bearing down on a motorized roller skate. 

I see now, how terribly important it is to drive an electric vehicle. There must be great satisfaction in being able to break the speed limit by 20 miles per hour, leaving all of us gas-guzzling arseholes in your wake. Besides, it's all about giving the impression of saving the environment, instead of actually slowing down, and possibly using less gas. Yeah? 

Regards, 

A Slow-Poke In The Left Lane 

Okay, so I'm a little persnickety today. Went to bed at 9:00pm last night and was awake just about every hour on the hour. I think tonight will be an even earlier night, once dinner and housework is done. 

Oh, and BONUS! I read the side-effects of the steroid used to reduce the swelling in my face. May cause crankiness! Touchiness! Foul mood swings! Yay! 

Let's take an ill woman, put her in some Jersey traffic, and add an extra dose of CRAZY! 

If it wasn't for the fact that my face looks like it needs to be deflated with a very large knitting needle, I wouldn't bother.

However, I am desperate.

Overture

It was an Electric Light Orchestra morning.

Apparently ELO was floating around my Zune, and decided to show up during my morning commute. I'd forgotten how good they were.

Stopped for coffee at the cafeteria, the check out clerk was muttering to herself again. She reminds me of a certain older actress who regularly appeared on The Love Boat, back in the 70's. I don't recall her name, but I do remember she was always smacking her husband with a purse.

I checked my email, and had a message from someone working on an old project of mine. It was turned over to him over two months ago, and he's just looking at it now. His questions were along the lines of "can you do this entire analysis for me?". No dude. Your job now. I don't even have access to those systems anymore.

Anyway, I finally went back to the doctor yesterday. I couldn't take the constant pressure behind my eyes. Turns out our home thermometer isn't working properly, and I've got a nice, fat fever, along with a sinus infection. Again.

Doc gave me a "talking to" for waiting as long as I did, because now the infection has embedded itself behind my face. I told him that when I was younger these things usually resolved on their own, which is what I was hoping for. Which why I always wait. He reminded me that I'm no longer 25, and that at my age the immune system is a bit more battered. Thanks Doc. I feel ancient now.

So it's an extended round of antibiotics and a steroid to reduce the swelling in my face. Did I mention the swelling? For about a month now, I've looked like Jabba the Hut. I'm sure my new team is wondering why they hired someone terminally ill.

I really need to get to bed by 9:00pm. I've been getting up at 4:30am in order to have bathroom time before my teenager gets up at 5:00am, then staying up late so I can have some time with my family. That's the part that makes me sad. This commute puts me on a different schedule than everyone else – I'm sleeping when they're awake, and awake when they're sleeping.

So four hours per night isn't cutting it. But, maybe I can handle more late nights once I shake this infection. Right now though, four hours sleep sure isn't helping.

And Also ...

I put on an eye-searingly bright red sweater today, which is new, and I am shedding. There is red fuzz all over my slacks, and everywhere I go. I am literally leaving a trail of fuzzy red crumbs.

A side note: for the past few days there has been a green spider in the ladies room here at work. Today it disappeared. I assumed someone braver than me removed it. However, I noticed it has reappeared outside the bathroom. It's making a break for it, and is probably looking for my cube to build a nest.

The Sun Also Rises: Over New Jersey

Okay. Bad Hemingway reference.

I'm trying to do this post from my Blackberry, so this is fresh and unedited, typos and all.

So. The sunrise over the "Welcome to New Jersey" sign was breathtaking this morning. Seriously. This was the first morning this week where I didn't feel like I had Typhoid, or a hot poker jammed in my left eyeball.

Everyone at the office is sick, so it was only a matter of time before the germs found a new host in me.

What's worse, I haven't been good about getting to bed early, so I'm averaging four hours a night. I cannot begin to explain the physical pain I felt upon getting up this morning. However, once I got on the road, I started feeling better. Although it may have something to do with the quantity of coffee I've consumed this morning.

Today the Zune found some T-Rex (20th Century Boy, Rock On, Bang A Gong), and some Toto (99 and Africa). Is that song really about Agent 99 from Get Smart? I'll have to Google that later.

Got here well before 8am, and had to turn on the lights. This place is weird, no one comes in before 10am. I don't get that. I'd rather get here early and leave early so I still have time to spend with my family at night. Oh well. To each his own, I guess.

Well off to do some work. More to come soon...


UPDATE: I took a 50/50 shot at remembering who wrote The Sun Also Rises, and guessed wrong. So yeah, it's corrected now.

Back To Work

I didn't think it would be such a huge adjustment. The work part wasn't that big a deal – it's the getting up early, washed up and dressed appropriately, then driving an hour.

I put on eye makeup for the first time in months, and couldn't understand why I didn't look normal. Maybe I'm out of practice, but I looked like my eyes were on lopsided. The left one appeared to tilt further towards my ear, and was slightly misshapen.

Dress slacks, sweater, pantyhose and heels – yay! At least it's not a suit. Later, I would find out I was completely over-dressed. Most of my co-workers barely met the definition of “business casual”.

The morning commute wasn't too bad, and I made it there in about an hour. They let me in, and I found my cube. There were dust bunnies rolling around the desk, and the chair looked like someone vomited on the edge of the seat. Other than that, everyone was very nice and helpful. A great group of people. I consider my old team a finely oiled machine, and some of the best I've worked with, but so far this group is pretty awesome.

A few odd experiences though. I guess there's a few pockets of people that aren't used to normal human interaction like: “Hello”, or “Good Morning”. Some ran away, others looked at me like I was nuts. Maybe it was my lopsided eyes.

Also, English is a only a suggestion. There were several occasions this week where I'd get into the elevator, a meeting, the coffee room, and five or six people are speaking in another language. They would continue to do so, even though it was painfully obvious I had no clue what was being said. I was always taught this was rude, but hey, whatever. I'm getting paid, so I'll deal.

The evening commute is heinous. It's like a wild roller coaster where everyone's going the same direction, just not attached to one another. It's up to you not to become bumper cars.

However, I noticed rush hour drivers were considerably more cautious than I would've expected. Rarely did I see people cutting each other off, or doing anything overtly stupid. I suspect it was due to the shear number of vehicles. There's simply no way to go any faster, so you might as well not drive stupid.

Which brings me to an observation: All three lanes of the highway are jammed, but the only way to drive anywhere near the speed limit is in the far left lane. I drove the middle lane the first two days, and it took me an hour and a half to get home. If I stay in the far left lane, my chances of getting home in an hour are considerably improved.

The interesting thing is, I cannot stand people who do this when there's no traffic. They hog up the left lane, never let anyone by them, and you're forced to pass on the right. Now I understand why. I think they're so used to driving in this insane traffic, they just don't think about it anymore.

By week's end, I was exhausted. I think it's the driving. It's stressful – you can't take your eyes off the road for a second.

I'm hoping this week will be less tiring. I'm going to streamline a few things, shower the evening before, cut down on the face paint. I'm sure most of it is just getting back into the swing of things.

Wish me luck!

ZZzzzzzzz.

I've been trying to write a post since Monday.

I have great ideas while driving to work, but most evaporate by the time I get home in the evening.

Once dinner is cleaned up and I finish studying, it's 9pm and I'm fried.

Heck, it just took me close to a half hour just to write these four sentences.

Need sleep. Will write more soon.

I promise.

Must Be Thursday...

I have to go grocery shopping tonight.

Well, it's not that I have to. There's food in the house. It's just that Thursdays are the only evenings I can get the shopping done with a minimum of aggravation. Plus I'm on call. Even if I wanted to suffer the trauma of a Saturday grocery store run, you can pretty much guarantee a server will implode the moment I queue up in the checkout lane, behind 40 other people.

So yeah. Thursdays.

My local grocery store must be feeling the economic pinch, because they always seem to be restocking at irregular times. I could be wrong about that, after all I don't work in the food business, but I always thought most restocking was done on Wednesdays. Now it seems they're refilling shelves every other day, yet many are still empty. Thursdays are the least barren.

Friday evenings are like open house at the lunatic asylum. Go to any grocery store on a Friday evening and you'll find worn out, lost souls on their way home from work desperately attempting to find something easy for dinner.

For example, our store has great takeout: fresh sushi, fish and chips, pasta bowls, Asian cuisine, even pizza. Visit them on a Friday after 5:00pm and your choices will be limited to a solitary pack of California rolls, and maybe a fried crab ball.

Heh....crab balls.

Saturdays, obviously, are very busy since everyone else had the idea to go that day. The stock boys are restocking - again, and have a palette the size of Greenland parked in the middle of every aisle. Honestly, does anyone really want to waste a perfectly good Saturday on grocery shopping?

Sundays are no good between the hours of 9:00am and 2:00 pm, owing to the after-church crowd. Mondays are, well, Mondays, so I try to avoid any additional stress after work other than cracking open a bottle of red.

Tuesdays are a forgotten day.....I know nothing of Tuesdays at a grocery store. I'm usually still stressed from Monday, and there's often food in the house, so going to the store just doesn't even register.

Wednesdays? Like I said, I always figured this was National Restocking Day, so I've avoided it.

However, there are other things that can make grocery shopping challenging. I really try to be polite and not get in other people's way, pull my cart to the side when I'm looking for something on a shelf, look both ways before blowing out of an aisle, etc. I'm one of the few though.

Invariably, there's always someone stopped dead in the middle of the aisle, catatonic in front of the cheeses. Can't go around - there's not enough real estate, so I wait, five carts deep, while Wallace decides between Wensleydale or Gloucester.

Or there's five long lost friends are having a reunion at an intersection, oblivious to the traffic backing up around them.

Hmmmm. Now that I think about it, I bet there's a direct correlation between how people drive their cars, and how they behave in a grocery store.

Now if I could just get that air horn and rocket launcher mounted on my cart...

Giant Crabs Good For America

Not real news from The Onion.

Maybe.

Everybody Loves Pancakes, Right?

Okay, I promised a few people I'd post this pancake recipe. It's really good, and not too complicated. The worst part is the sifting.

After making these, I'll never go back to pancake mix. Well, probably not.

This batter can be mixed up the night before and refrigerated, just bring it to room temperature before baking.

2c flour
2 ½ tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
1 large egg
1 ½ c milk
2 tsp melted butter

1) Sift together flour, baking powder and salt in small bowl.

2) In large bowl, whisk together egg, milk and melted butter.

3) Gradually whisk the flour mixture into the egg and milk.

4) If batter is too thick, add a little extra milk.

5) Whisk until smooth.

6) Add a small amount of butter or margarine to griddle/frying pan. Cook on medium heat (number 4 or 5 on electric stove). The trick here is to make sure the pan is fully heated before adding the butter/margarine and the batter. I've often found I'll start off at the number 5 setting, then end up turning the heat down to 4, once it's hot enough.

7) I use a small gravy ladle to measure each pancake. This is about 1/8 of a cup. You can make yours as big as you'd like.

8) Cook until batter appears to bubble, then flip. Check pancake after about a minute to see how well it's done. They should be slightly browned on both sides, but can be cooked so they're less toasty. Basically, you just want to make sure they're done in the middle.

Stieg Larsson's Millenium Series

I just finished the third, and last volume of Stieg Larsson's Millennium Series. The trilogy contains three immense volumes:

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
The Girl That Played With Fire
The Girl That Kicked The Hornet's Nest

They tell the story of Lisbeth Salander, a highly intelligent young woman in her early twenties, who was deliberately mishandled by a section of the Swedish secret police, SAPO. Her father, Zalachenko, was a Russian agent who sought asylum in Sweden. Because of his connections and the information he could provide the Swedish government, SAPO (similar to American CIA) protected him as a highly valuable informant. Zalachenko created his own crime syndicate, and SAPO looked the other way.

Zalachenko was incredibly vicious. When Lisbeth was twelve, he beat her mother so badly she suffered irreparable brain damage. Lisbeth tried reporting him to the police, but they refused to do anything, as he was under the protection of SAPO. So, at twelve years old, she decided to take matters into her own hands, made a Molotov Cocktail and threw it into Zalachenko's car, setting him on fire.

The fire failed to kill Zalachenko. SAPO saw Lisbeth as dangerous to their interests with him, covered up the police reports of the fire, and doctored Lisbeth's psych evaluation so that she would be placed in a mental hospital for children.

Repeatedly, Lisbeth would try to explain what had happened, yet no one would listen – not the police, certainly not the secret police, and not the psychologists that faked her mental evaluations. She decided then to withdraw completely, and refuse to speak to anyone. This resulted in her being deemed “retarded” by most people she came into contact with, particularly once she was allowed to leave the asylum, under guardianship.

Lisbeth's first guardian was a kindly older gentleman who was making progress in drawing her out. He got her a low level position at a security firm, where her co-workers considered her an anomaly. The owner of the firm, quickly realized she was far from “retarded”, was actually extremely intelligent, and had a knack for investigation and computer hacking.

This basically lays the foundation for the three books. You get a little more of Lisbeth's back story with each volume. Early on in the first book, Lisbeth becomes acquainted with journalist Michael Blomqvist. Because of her investigative and computer skills, she's able to help him solve several mysteries and corporate cover ups.

By the end of the second book, Lisbeth began working towards revenge against Zalachenko, also a subject of investigation by Blomqvist. The third book culminates into a series of events where Lisbeth is arrested for attempting to kill Zalachenko, has to prove her innocence and mental capabilities so as not to be institutionalized again.

I've noticed in several advertisements, this series is being marketed as “a new heroine for a new millennium”, or something to that effect. That's actually a large part of what kept me reading these books. I don't care for stories about victims as heroes. Throughout these books, Lisbeth Salander has been, in my opinion, a “non-victim”. She had many, many bad things happen to her, and chose not to shout her victimhood from the rooftops. She decided that what happened to her was no one else's business, and took her life into her own hands.

From this, she methodically began planning revenge on those who hurt her. Particularly Zalachenko. Throughout the three books, Larsson keeps the suspense high, the mysteries exciting, and throws in a few terrific twists.

I'm sure Hollywood will option these books for movies and completely ruin them. Lisbeth Salander is supposed to be about 4'11'' and around 90 pounds, yet strong and wiry. I can see Hollywood casting Angelina Jolie in the role, even though she's two feet taller, and nowhere near the same body shape. This wouldn't be such a big deal if it weren't for the fact that Lisbeth's size plays an integral role in the stories.

I had two issues with the books. One was a particularly violent rape scene, however it was not titillating or sensualized. It was brutal. While that is not my taste in reading, it was highly important to the plot of the third book. The other issue I had was that the final book became somewhat bogged down, explaining the legalese and government of Sweden. It's worth getting through though, because for those of us not familiar with the Swedish government, it's important to the plot.

Unfortunately, we won't be seeing any more novels from Stieg Larsson. He suffered a massive heart attack in 2004, before any of his books were even published.

A bit of background on the author: It seems Larsson was pretty much a raging communist. This places him squarely in an area of books that I would not normally read. However, I didn't feel there was any overt propaganda when reading his books. They were just great crime novels.

Adventures in Banking

Getting ready to start a new job had me thinking about some of the other places I've worked. My first “real” job was as a bank clerk doing loan closings. Man, did I see some strange stuff.

For example, what do you do when you're explaining a particularly complicated document, and the customer's toup starts sliding off? I'm not aware of any protocol for that. Do you say anything? Make hand gestures? What if it hits the floor and crawls away?

I opted for not looking directly at him or his fuzzy pet tarantula. I also managed to finish my coffee without snarfing it through my nose.

His wife was sporting quite the hairpiece herself. It was huge, and apparently bought from the Dolly Parton Wig Emporium, circa 1982. Also, bright blue eyeshadow and three inch nails. Like Lil from The Squidbillies.

How about a customer decked out in biker gear, spikes all over his jacket, and yellowed fingernails filed into points??? Actually, Beelzebub turned out to be quite gentlemanly and polite. He also taught History at a university in NYC.

Then there was the lady who let her two year old to walk up and down on the closing room table, the bank documents, and the lawyer's paperwork. She became incensed when told to remove said child from the table, even though the bank documents were covered in muddy shoe prints.

Here's my personal favorite. No sooner had I walked into the closing room and introduced myself, the customer stood up, stuck his fist in my face and said he'd punch me if I didn't remove certain bank charges.

I could've understood the anger if I'd been bitchy or something, but I was in the room for all of six seconds. There wasn't time for me to get snippy. I hadn't even warmed up.

I think I was so shocked by his asshole-itude, I didn't have the common sense to get scared. I'm just standing there thinking: “Are you kidding me? Who threatens a 5' 2'' bank clerk in front of witnesses? And no ski mask?”

What I managed to finally say was, “Uh...yeah. I'll be right back.”. I found the nearest bank VP and told him I was NOT going to do a closing that required me to have judo skillz. Kindly send in the nearest armed guard. Kthxbai.

The wussy veep actually had the balls to tell me to go back in. He thought I was being a “histrionic female”. I told him to suck it (in bank lingo, of course). He gave in, and went to see what the customer was upset about. He never doubted me again - the idiot got a chair thrown at him. Histrionic my ass.

There were fun times too. We had a cavalcade of (harmless) crazy people working in the mortgage department - just to lighten things up. Like wacky Darlene who gave us the “bathroom weather report”, an hourly update on the air quality in the ladies room. Apparently one of our co-workers was rotting from the inside out.

Darlene also had a repertoire of off color songs to drive our manager mad. That and her clog-dancing between cubicles. You always knew when Darlene was in the room.

Then we had Jenny, with her overzealous burping habit, used for comic relief (it was probably acid reflux, but this was long before anyone knew what that was).

She's the only person I know of that had “needs to control gas” as a goal on her yearly review.

Yep. Good times.

Disturbing

It seems to me that all news organizations are biased, one way or another.

Most are left leaning. Fox happens to lean right. Regardless which side of the fence you live on, this is still disturbing: