The Bathroom Drawer

The Big Move. Or, Another Day At Sirius Cybernetics

2011-12-30T16:02:00.001-05:00

After a particularly difficult fewmonths at work, I called in a pile of favors and managed a transferto another department.

There was much rejoicing.

Then it came time to move my desk.

I have a great collection of techmanuals, and these bricks are the most difficult when doing a cubemove. However, I never brought them into this office. Theprogrammers in my department were the kind of psycho-weenies thatmemorize every line of our code base, and think anyone who uses booksis a cretin. So I gave in to peer pressure. Besides, why haul booksaround when Professor Google can produce it for you?

My spartan cube consisted of a fewtoys, pictures, magnets, pens, dust, etc. Barely enough to fill acopy paper box. Plus, I didn't have to move my computer monitor.Every cube has the same one, so they're left in place. It's not likethey're heavy anyway. I'm not talking about those those giant, fortypound, boxy things from ten years ago. This was a slim-line, flatmonitor that I could pick up easily with one hand.

Other than my box of cube detritus, theonly other item to move was the docking station for my laptop, whichweighs about one pound.

Now, everywhere I've worked in thepast, a cube move is not a big deal. You pick up your shite and go.Apparently that's not the way it works here at Sirius Cybernetics.

Welcome to the world of bureaucracy andunions.

So, when I started filling my copypaper box with stuff, my cube neighbor, Daphne the Socialist, informsme I can't do this by myself.

“Do 'what' by myself, exactly? Throwsome photos and toys in a box?” I said.

Daphne is super nice, and extremelygood at her job. A real go-to person when you've got an applicationfunctionality question, but all of her conversations gravitate tonational healthcare or that the President is going to give everyone a freecollege education.

“The desktop IT department has tomove your stuff. It's their job!” she exclaims.

“That's silly, I don't have much tomove... ”

She cuts me off. “It doesn’tmatter. It's a union job and they're supposed to do it. I can'tbelieve you didn't know that! You can get in big trouble! Just put in a work ticket and assign itto their group. They'll come over with a hand cart and move yourthings to the new cube.”

Sigh.

Okay fine. Whatever. I relent, and putin my ticket.

(As a side note: This procedure wasput into place back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, because computerequipment was made of rocks, and too heavy for programmers to lift.Now that technology made everything smaller and lighter, it seemsnobody thought to change this rule.)

I waited all day, then called the helpdesk for a status. They told me the ticket would be completed in theorder it was received. I begged and pleaded. No dice.

The next morning, I returned to my olddesk - since that's where my stuff was, and waited. Called again. Nostatus. It could take a while, they said, depending on how busy theyare.

I tried doing some work. New job requiresa bit more concentration, and a bit more quiet. Unfortunately, mysoon-to-be old cube is in the middle of a high traffic row, acrossfrom the men's room, and was apparently constructed of leftover partitions. Half the walls were full size,and the other half being a mismatched pair of four foot high slabsthat left an unusually large exit/entry point. This meant that theflow of screaming, cursing (in several languages), sneezing,bellowing and giggling floated through my cube like a hot cabbagefart. Violent and noxious.

I decided I'd had enough. This wasstupid - I had work to do, and this was holding up my productivity.

I grabbed my copy paper box in onehand, the docking station in the other, and slid out. I just neededto get past a few conference rooms and one of those key-card doors.Once I reached the door, I tucked the docking station under my arm,and with my free hand, pushed the door open.

Sadly, I was unaware that ourdepartment head was also opening the door from the other side (Iswear, I think I only saw this guy twice in all the time I'd beenthere, but there he was). I fell through the doorway, and somehowmanaged not to sucker punch him in the gut with my Box O' Crap.

“Where are you going with that?” heasked.

At that point, something in my brainsnapped. Nothing was going to make me stay in that adjunct ring ofhell for another second.

“Whaaa? Nowhere. Stuff. Box for newcube....moving. Bye!” Then I ran.

With my two measly items, I reported tothe “Facilities Engineer”, “Floor Plan Artist”, “Cube FarmController”, or whatever they're calling the person who assigns thehuman stalls these days. She also lectured me on moving my owncube-shite, tickets, union, etc. Aargh.

Finally, she lead me to my new digs. Nowindow, but hey, no noise or weird smells, either. Desk was filthy,but that's fairly normal – I'm probably the only person whoactually mopped off my scungey desk when I vacated.

However, in the middle of my new cubesat an apparently dead old laserjet with the plastic casing busted, two monitors and giant ball of cables.

“Oh dear,” says Cube Lady, “I puta ticket in for Desktop IT to come and pick those up a week ago. I'llhave to give them a call.”

“Yeaah.....you do that.” I sighed.

Sometimes You Get Pee With That Karma

2011-10-09T21:40:00.000-04:00

I work with a bunch ofpassive-aggressive jerks. Specifically, they love their 18 hour dayso much, they whine about anyone who actually has responsibilitiesoutside the office. Like raising children and feeding them before9pm.

Logging in from home to get a littleextra work done won't get you anywhere, because these lunatics can'tactually observe you working. It's like working with overlycaffeinated, psychopathic kindergarteners.

The superstitious part of my brain saysit's karma. I've been so cranky and stressed about office politics,that I may have inadvertently grown a crusty, bitter layer over allthis awesomeness.

After months of holding it all in, somesquirted out the side and splattered everything with bad karma.

To illustrate:

I spent lovely evening in our veep's officedue to a crisis, only to find it was a non-issue. The person whocreated the crisis, lied about it - in order to get his problemlooked at sooner. A complete waste of time, which meant I couldn'tpick up my daughter from her friend's house, or make dinner for myfamily.

So last weekend, in order to try andrelax a bit, Hubby and I had a daylong “date”, only to findnumerous angry messages from work when I got home. During this time,daughter was tasked with reading a 300 page book for a report due atthe end of the week. Since I was going to be out most of the day,this was her one and only job for the day. She opted to sleep for theentire time instead.

Between getting yelled at by work fornot having my cell phone on me, then trying to pry out of a 16yearold why sleeping suddenly became a moral imperative with a majorassignment due shortly, I think I snapped.

Broke down in tears, had tempertantrum, threw a few things, then stepped in pee.

Apparently during the maelstrom ofstress, Meatball needed to go out, and no one noticed him bouncing upand down in front of the door. Bouncing as well as a Giant PapillionMoose can do.

So I cleaned up the pee, grounded thedaughter, logged into work and fixed the problem, then had a nice,fat vodka martini to compliment the swelling on my mascara-stainedface.

And yeah, other than having a puffyface the next day, the sun rose and life was fine again. Well, exceptfor the work thing. I ended up working all day Sunday.

I think I need to consider a new careerpath. Something that provides a bit more satisfaction, and involvesless screaming.

I wonder how long it takes to getthrough Beauty School?

Not Now Cato !!!

2011-10-06T19:28:00.001-04:00

In my last post from March, I believe Imade the statement “Meatball is only going to grow to about tenpounds, so Leo will still be bigger”.

HA.

He's four times the size of Leo.

He looks like a Miniature Collie withelephant ears.

If he didn't have those officialpapers, I'd swear he was a mutant sheepdog.

He's the biggest Papillion in theuniverse.

Giant Papillion. GP, for short.

GP and Leo still have their dailywrestling match, usually with Leo getting his bladder stepped on by amoose, and the dog getting his neck chomped by vampire kitty.Lovingly of course.

The cat usually instigates it. Helaunches himself off the windowsill like a flying squirrel, and rides the dog halfway into the kitchen before GP shakes him off.

Those are my boys. Cato and Clouseau.

Dear Blog

2011-10-06T13:20:00.000-04:00

Dear Blog,

I've missed you so, please forgive me.

I realize it's no consolation, but I'vethought about you every day since that last post in March. Really, Ihave. I miss commiserating with you after some idiot nearly kills meon the way to work, or when I tell you I have no quiet time in thebathroom, or write about the cat and dog's last smack down.

Ah, those were the days. *sniff*

I've begun so many posts for you, butthey always fizzle, sounding hollow and forlorn.

Life is still throwing me the finger,but I'd like to give it another shot. I can't promise I'll havesomething clever every day, but I'll sure as hell give it try.

Jen

On Top Of Spaghetti

2011-03-17T11:25:00.000-04:00

Last night, we brought home the newest member of the family. His name is Meatball:

Apparently his "fetch" mechanism is built in. He wiggles and bounces everywhere.

He's a two month old Papillion puppy, and the funny thing is, his marking and coloring is almost identical to Leo's.

Meatball is only going to grow to about ten pounds, so Leo will still be bigger. So far we're working on housebreaking. He's had a few accidents, but a few successes as well. It's to be expected. He cried a little last night, but only for a few minutes before passing out.

Leo is taking things slow. He's not sure what to make of his little brother yet.

Head Pigeons

2011-03-13T21:41:00.011-04:00

Just like milk that's gone bad, one always has to share: “Does this taste weird to you?”

So I'm sharing.

I've always been told shampooing your hair every day is very drying, so you should give it a break and wash it every other day. Apparently, this is not an option for me.

A few weeks ago, while I was working days AND nights, I didn't wash my hair every day. No big deal, I wasn't going into the office since I was chained to my laptop at home. Tied my hair up in a clip. When I did wash it, I tied it up as well.

Woke up a few days later with a weird, oily patch of hair. About an inch in diameter, oilier than normal, but not particularly noticeable. Seemed to wash out.

The next day, the patch grew to cover a three inch area, and was beginning to be very noticeable. I looked like I was smacked in the side of the head with an olive oil water balloon. Or that paste my daughter uses to make her hair stick-straight. It was wet, waxy and STICKY.

I couldn't figure out what I got in my hair. Did I accidentally get paste in my hair? Was there something weird in that new bottle of conditioner? Is the cat somehow to blame? He's usually guilty of something...

I polled some relatives, figuring this was another death-inducing ailment passed down through the family. Everyone told me to go to the doctor. Sound advice, however, it requires taking time off work, so I tried Dr. Google first.

I was surprised to see how many other people had this problem. The most common diagnosis seemed to be seborrheic dermatitis, but more likely a fungus.

We're talking FUNGUS here, people.…...FUN-gus. FunnnnGUS.

Evidently this is fairly common, and occurs when you TIE YOUR HAIR UP WET, REALLY, REALLY OFTEN.

Why is it that you can do something perfectly normal, a zillion times, then suddenly you get “head fungus”?

I know....yuck, right?

So I found two solutions, aside from investing in hats: Nizoral and T-Sal. Salicylic acid in T-Sal to break up the waxy, sticky crud, and the Nizoral to eradicate any FUNGUS!

It's been about five days now and I think I've killed it. Or stripped every drop of oil from my head. Either way, it's looking mostly normal, albeit quite dry.

So no more air drying or tying it up wet. I will embrace technology and utilize the tools available - like the hair dryer.

Can you imagine how people handled this 100 years ago? You know they didn't shampoo every day. I don't even know if there was shampoo back then. That's a whole lotta fungus going on.

I just can't get over the fact that this was so random. Out of the blue. I suppose the combination of work stress, hormones, and general oiliness left me open to it.

Either that or the cat was dragging his ass across my pillow.

Because he's usually guilty of something.

Murphy's Law Applied To IT

2011-03-01T00:46:00.003-05:00

When you're on call, there's large swathes of time – literally hours and hours that go by, where no one calls. Nothing's broken, and the business is chugging away at full steam.

However, if that burrito you ate for lunch suddenly needs to make an exit, you can guarantee there will be a network outage at that exact moment.

When you need ten minutes to get your child to the school bus stop by 7am, your servers will sense this and burst into flames.

If you run to the shop for milk - only five minutes down the road - the database will eat itself.

On the other hand, maybe you've had an extremely busy on call week. Maybe you've been awake for 48 hours straight, and those fluffy, bunny-like spiders crawling up your arm don't want to listen to Kylie Minogue on their very tiny iPods anymore. You need sleep.

Five minutes after settling into a cozy cocoon on the couch for a power nap, your cell phone rings. It will be the crisis team informing you that every user on the East Coast can't log in.

Digging Out

2011-02-02T19:47:00.015-05:00

We didn't get the eight inches of snow. More like three inches of sleet, with a glossy topcoat of ice. Lots and lots of ice.

Click to enlarge photos:

And the driveway's probably had it. We had to chop the crusty mess off with shovels, then go over it again with the snow blower.

We've had so much snow now, that there's nowhere to put it anymore.

I call this: Surrendering To The Avalanche:

Then, out of the white, desolate winter, Mother Nature does something amazing. She gives us the double finger:

Or maybe they're peniscicles. Who knows?

Snowbound

2011-02-01T20:44:00.009-05:00

I guess everyone's heard that “Snow-mageddon” is upon us.

It blanketed the Midwest, and now it's headed for the Northeast.

Part One hit last night and dumped about four inches on our little hamlet. Not much, but that's on top of the 20 inches we've already got.

Now the weather nerds can't decide if we're getting eight inches more of the fluffy white stuff, or just several inches of ice. New Jersey is expecting the ice storm of the century, so I doubt I'll be driving there tomorrow. If it's as bad as they say, we'll be without power at least part of the time. Hubby's outside bringing in firewood as we speak.

So.....what else?

I feel obligated to acknowledge the fact that I've been among the missing for three months, but that gets kinda old, doesn’t it? Every time I fall off the planet, I show up again with some crappy excuse.

Where was I? Oh yeah...

Does the job and commute still suck? ...check and check. But I'm employed.

Employed, but still looking for something better. A job that doesn't give me nightmares. Like the one where I'm chased by angry business people, screaming that the application is done in the wrong shade of chartreuse, and they can't find the "save" button.

There's also this strange dream where I'm working in a small, smelly stall, and no one speaks my language. When I ask them a question, they just smile pleasantly, as if to say, "How adorable you are, trying to understand our cryptically written code. I'll just smile at you and hope you go away.".

Oh wait. That's real-life.

Anyway, I also wanted to mention that I finished watching The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo movie trilogy. Last year I wrote about the books, which were fantastic. The movies did not disappoint.

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo was true to the book, with great acting and action sequences. The Girl Who Played With Fire was also good, but not great. Point is, it'll get you to the finale: The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest. The last movie in this trilogy was simply superb. The book was huge, so they had to cut back what went into the movie, but the writer's did an outstanding job. Plenty of intrigue, plenty of revenge for Lisbeth Salander.

Of course, I'm speaking of the Swedish production of these movies, and not the upcoming travesty that Hollywood is putting out in the near future.

The Swedish versions are worth renting. Seriously. I never thought I'd be saying this, but rent them – and don't use the English dubbing. You lose the feel of the movie, and it belittles the acting. Just use your brain, suck it up and read the subtitles. Trust me. It's worth it.

Inertia, Dreams And Sweater Washing

2010-11-07T20:40:00.009-05:00

Layoffs.

Apparently I didn't make the cut. I still have a job.

Sweet package deal too - I'd be able to survive for the better part of a year before having to secure new employment.

Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t talk like that in this economy. I'm just really, really fed up, and looking for another position outside the company would probably be a great idea, but I'm not quite ready to give up my length of service. I've got a few leads, so I'm waiting around to see what develops.

If I'd been given the boot, I had it all planned out:

First, I'd do nothing for the first two weeks. Not out of depression, but because I haven't actually done nothing for that length of time.

Complete inertia. I might not even leave bed. Just me, Dorito crumbs, every book I've been trying to finish, and Quincy re-runs.

FYI - Quincy is awesome. For anyone born after 1985, he's was the original CSI. Take note, and go rent it.

After two weeks of marinating, I'd scrape the funk off myself, and work on all the chores I've been neglecting around the house.

For instance, I'd finish the laundry.

I have sweaters that spent the better part of a decade in my hamper. Mostly due to the incredible difficulty involved in cleaning them. There's the Chilean wool monstrosity that requires hand washing in a bathtub, in order to take in it's entire bulk; the angora that pilled up with bunny-sized balls the first time I wore it; and the red Benetton that required washing in fairy dust and unicorn spit because the color ran so easily.

All washed and Downy fresh. It would be like going shopping! In the 1990's!

Then I'd clean the garage, the basement, and maybe repaint the bathrooms. Such mundane things, but right now it sounds simply exhilarating.

It would also mean that for the first time in 10 years, I'd really be able to enjoy the holidays with my family. Thanksgiving and Christmas with no stress - just cookie baking. Lots and lots of cookie baking.

Come January 1st, after all those cookies, I'd work on getting back to the gym. Maybe take up yoga.

I'd finally get to read all those technical manuals and get up to speed on my skills, before searching for a job.

Yeah, I know. You're thinking I'd never do that.

You're thinking I'd never leave the bed after those first two weeks, then you'd be reading about me being craned out of the house thru a window, because I'd become Jabba the Hutt.

Funny, but I don't think so. I've reached that age where if I won the lottery, I'd go back to school and study all the things I was interested in, but never had the time or money to do.

Study Japanese? Sure!

Obscure field of archeology? You bet.

Ancient literature? Definitely.

Sigh.

I can dream, can't I?

!@#$%&

2010-10-19T19:52:00.005-04:00

Got to work around 9am, had meeting, left at 1pm.

Then, a much needed three hour nap.

As a side note: I've noticed that most of the people I work with behave like big babies. Temper tantrums all around. I also noticed the only thing that makes management take notice is no-nonsense straight talk, sprinkled with well placed expletives.

In recent years, when I get handed some real crap, and the frustration overwhelms me - I don't want to cry or scream. I just get really, really angry.

Two points for not being a pushover, but minus a squillion for potentially getting myself into trouble.

3 am

2010-10-19T03:19:00.007-04:00

Yeah, it's 3:00am and I'm writing a blog post.

Why, you might ask? Because I'm working, of course! ...but I'll get to that in a moment.

Got up this morning at 5:00am – nearly 24 hours ago, got the teen off to school, then headed to NJ for eight hours of slamming my head against a brick wall.

No project requirements? No design documents? Got a project that was mishandled from the beginning, and need someone to make it look like it works?

That's me. It's what I do.

Currently, my boss is upset that the most recent turd rolled onto my desk isn't ready for install.

It also helpful when he pokes his head into my cube every five minutes to ask: "Is it done yet?".

"Is it done yet?"

"Is it done yet?"

"Is it done yet?"

Is there an echo in here?

We're re-writing an entire business process as a "bug fix" instead of a fully funded project, so there's no actual instructions or direction on to how this needs to work. So it will be fudged together into something closely resembling what the business needs, in an insanely short time frame.

Left NJ at 5:00pm, no traffic issues, thank God. Made dinner, cleaned up, laundry, checked email, spent some quality time with teen and hubby, then caught an hour of sleep between 11:00pm and midnight.

Got up again at midnight to run off-hour testing. We all have to take turns doing this, since there's no night shift team.

So I'll be awake for the remainder of tonight, periodically running tests when needed. Hopefully this will wrap up by 7:00am, because that's when I'll need to leave again to drive to NJ for a "mandatory" meeting.

WoooHooo! Livin' on the edge!

One hour of sleep in 24......I can feel the buzzzzzz. Zzzzzzz.

Big Bad Wolf

2010-10-14T17:15:00.008-04:00

I had to work last weekend.

Fifty other dorks and me, babysitting a software release.

They don't let us cover it from home, like a normal 21st century company. Nobody really trusts that new-fangled whooziwotzit called VPN anyway, right?

Either that, or they just don't trust their employees to actually log in and work.

Now that I think about it, that's exactly the reason.

As a silent protest, it's practically an unwritten rule that everyone dresses as grungy and disgusting as possible.

So I crawled into the office around 6am, and Boss was waiting.

"You look like you just rolled out of bed!"

I was sporting my battered Bad Wolf Corporation sweatshirt - hood cut off, and sweatpants. It may also have had mustard stains. At least I think it was mustard.

"Yeah, well...I did. I figure if I have to work over the weekend, you get my makeupless, greasy-haired, unbathed self." I have no shame.

"That's not very professional...."

"Hey, at least I combed my hair. Pradeep's still got his Star Wars jammies on. Seriously, go check it out. I think he's even wearing bunny slippers."

Got Lemur?

2010-09-30T19:57:00.017-04:00

It pissed down rain today. Black skies, no daylight til at least 8:00am. Took three cups of coffee just to get out of the house.

No accidents on the way to New Jersey. The first time in a month without a jam up. I'll take it where I can get it.

Key card. Parkade. Elevator. Home Sweet Cubicle.

Boot pc. Hit the ladies.

Aaaaargh....the bathroom smells like crotch rot.

Not that I have any experience with that – it's what I expect it to smell like: BO and barnyard - with a hint of rotting flesh. Usually it's just pooey, but this was definitely not last night's chicken vindaloo.

Spent an HOUR on the phone with our business people, deciding how to make a screen more user friendly. Bear in mind that our users are also our employees, so they're supposed to be trained, reasonable people with more than just space between their ears.

The offending item causing all the fuss? The “save” button. It was confusing people.

My suggestion was that, at some point, you have to let people make mistakes and they should be held accountable for them. Why are we treating them like idiots?

Or we can make the system completely self sufficient. We wont need humans then.

Maybe we'll just hire lemurs. Evil lemurs.

In Summer-y

2010-09-29T17:53:00.012-04:00

So yeah. Just a bit of blog neglect there.

I guess I slid into a funk. For a while there, I didn't even log in to my home laptop when I came home from work. Too tired, too bored, too depressed. Just didn't feel like it.

One problem though - I need the diversion. Poking around on the internet is better than flopping on the sofa for an evening of House re-runs.

So let's see.....what's been going on?

We had one of the hottest summers on record. More days over 90 than since... FOREVER. Well, maybe. I don't know - but it was a total stinkfest.

Don’t get me wrong, heat is lovely. In Hawaii.

Here in Pennsylvania, the air becomes a sponge. A thick, sweaty, smelly, damp sponge. And it never ends. Just this past week, we had two more days in the nineties. Last Thursday it hit 93 degrees. I'm sorry, but that's just stupid hot for late September.

Anyway, school started. Yay!

To recap, we decided the local, public school was woefully unqualified to impart a reasonable education. The teaching staff was filled with an inordinate number of inexperienced teachers (owing to the population growth in the area), and way too many liberal educators. No dissenting opinions – even politely presented - would be heard. And yes, they had no qualms penalizing any student who didn't think the same.

The school refuses to separate children that want to learn, from the ones that don't give a shit. So they have classrooms they can't control, and end up teaching to the lowest common denominator.

Instead of book reports, they had collages of crayons and glue, representing the theme of a story. Almost all the required reading for the “advanced” Lit class involved only stories of victims – they're the real heroes! No classic literature whatsoever.

What's worse is, every other day I'd see something in the news about gang violence, or kids getting knifed because someone didn't like the way they looked.

So The Teen is going to a different school. This was preceded by several months of hemming and hawing about what a mistake this was, that the uniforms suck, and what if her old friends forget her, and she doesn’t make new ones? What if there's no cute, swooshie-haired boys? What if the girls are bitchy?

So far, the hope of a more serious education looks promising: they had a required summer reading list. Fahrenheit 451, Animal Farm, To Kill A MockingBird and Pride and Prejudice to start. All must be read by the time school began, and there will be tests. Hooo-boy!

Sure, I would've hated that when I was her age - but hey, as an adult I can see the benefits of having been forced to read the classics. Some kids grow up and “get it”. Others blow it off and never pick up anything other than teen angst novels.

And they're reading Orwell. ORWELL. How awesome is that?

Thankfully, now that we're a month into the new school, my daughter's adjusting, friends have been made, and things are finally settling in nicely. Unfortunately, I am told there are no swooshie-haired, Justin Bieber wanna-bees. Sadness.

In other news, work continues to suck loudly and powerfully. I was moved to a failed project that somebody, somewhere up the food chain is attempting to resurrect. It's horrible, and nothing works right. The IT department decided this doesn’t matter, they intend to cram it in anyway.

It's my job to help fix it, with no documentation or resources. Departmental politics prevent me from actually interacting with the other members of my team, because they're technically still tied to other projects. It's a bit of a spy game communicating with one another on bug fixes.

Which leads me to another thing about fixing other people's crap. I'm burnt out on it. I'm not talking about fixing little oddball scenarios where the user right-clicked a field, on a Wednesday, during a full moon, and the web page failed. I'm speaking of the large, gaping holes where someone overlooked an entire business process. I'm tired of trolling through thousands and thousands of lines of code, Scotch-taped together by at least 200 other people, trying to find the mystery exception. Or, in this case, finding whole sections that were apparently not finished – made obvious by all the “add such-n-such here” notations.

I used to think I wanted to just do development work, creating applications from the ground up. Too boring, and a huge personal sacrifice. Our developers put in an average of 60-80 hours a week. Maybe ten years ago I would've had the patience, interest, and extra time, but now I just want to do the best job I can, go home, and take care of my family.

GOLD....1979

2010-07-27T02:45:00.006-04:00

"......cuz people out there turn the music into gold...."

This song brings back memories. It's not a great song, just a piece of fluff from the 70's.

And it totally cracks me up.

Some background: The song is by some dude named John Stewart. No, not from the Daily Show. This guy was from the Kingston Trio, and all I know about them is they're probably a band my parents listened to.

Anyhoo, Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks appeared on the track. Lindsay's guitar work is obviously apparent – and probably a large part of why I like this song - and Stevie Nicks lends her voice. It's not credited as a duet, but it might as well be – you can't miss her vocals.

However, every time I hear this song I get the vague feeling Miss Stevie is singing a completely different song than Stewart.

It's like she's singing along to something in her head, and it doesn't quite match up. Quite possible – it was during her drug addled years.

Still, it works.

I went YouTube-ing hoping to find a live version of them performing this song, but instead found Mr. Stewart's 1979 appearance on Solid Gold.

AWESOMENESS. SQUARED.

Hello....McFly ????

2010-07-08T22:48:00.014-04:00

Since it was Thursday, I went grocery shopping. This is a weekly trial that's always more difficult than it seems. Mainly because people turn into complete morons there. Maybe it's something they pump into the air conditioning system. Or maybe not.

Aside from the usual aisle-hogs and human speed bumps, there was only one real incident. Allow me to share.

I got lucky and nabbed an empty checkout line. No sooner did I have four items on the conveyor, a woman appears in line behind me, slams down the plasticky divider thingy and begins emptying her cart, using the entire swath of conveyor - including the area I was using.

So, the conveyor keeps rolling. Little Miz Impatient's groceries float past me, all the way down to the checkout clerk, effectively leaving me with a cartful of groceries and nowhere to put them. At this point, I might as well just hand them one by one to the clerk.

I shove the plastic thingy along with some of her crap back up towards her, and she barely takes notice. She's all blurry arms flying, tossing everything from her cart en masse onto the conveyor. Thankfully, the clerk realizes what happened and stops it from rolling.

My initial reaction was that maybe she wasn't paying attention.

“Excuse me, ma'am.....could you wait til I've finished?” I said.

She just stares at me, then goes back to putting her stuff on the conveyor.

Hello.... McFly !! Bonk bonk....

So I try again. “Ma'am, I still have a cart full of groceries, could you wait til I've finished, please?!?”

No response.

She's looking at me with irritation. I'm motioning to the conveyor and my cart. I swear something behind her eyes stirred with recognition for a split second.

Then she said, “No habla Ingles”.

Really? .....like, really??

Personally, I don't care what language she said it in, or where she comes from. She could come from Germany, Japan, Iceland - or the moon. I don't care. I'm more than sure she's been in a grocery store before.

Maybe I'm just crabby again, but I'm pretty sure not speaking English is not actually an excuse for being a jerk.

Heyna

2010-06-30T21:20:00.007-04:00

Northeast Pennsylvania has an odd dialect.

Many of us spend the rest of our lives trying to get rid of it.

It's hard to describe.... but I think some of it originates from the Irish coal mining settlers. I hear it mainly in the way locals say "tink" instead of "think", or "tree" instead of "three". But I'm just guessing.

The best one is "heyna" or "henna". Basically, it means "isn't it" or worse, a bastardization of "ain't it".

I don't know why I didn't post this before. A friend sent it to me ages ago - as a joke about where we grew up. The funny thing is, I realized I knew a few of the people from this comedy troupe.

It's quite funny - particularly so if you grew up here.

Brought To You By The Letter Q

2010-06-28T22:00:00.017-04:00

A few months ago, I cut several inches off my hair.

Many, many inches.

It was time. I figured if I hated it, it'll grow back. This was inconceivable just a few years ago. I spent most of my life with long hair, and suffered under the delusion that if I cut it, it might never grow again. Or I might die from lack of follicle. Crazy shit like that.

Anyway.

Six inches less later....and I loved it. It felt liberating. So at the next appointment, I had a few more inches knocked off.

I shouldn't have tempted fate.

My hairstylist/hairdresser/hairartist - whatever they're called these days, is great. Really. This is the only salon I've stayed with for more than two years, and I've been completely happy the entire time.

Until now.

I decided to go with one of those neat angled bobs - short in the back, long in the front. The Anti-Mullet.

She cut, dried and straightened my hair. It looked great. Then she used the thinning shears. Who knows why - I thought it looked fine. Afterwards it just looked...wrong.

Stupidly, I figured I needed to style it myself, and it would be fine. Don't we ladies always do that? We convince ourselves it'll be fine once we “fix it” at home.

Um...no.

The full impact didn't hit til I tried to do my hair the next day. Somehow, the angle was lost, and it looked like a standard, straight bob, except for two looooong chunks on either side of my face. They swooped out from my head like tentacles.

From the side, I looked like the letter Q.

I went back in for an emergency appointment, with the excuse I was apparently too hair-challenged to style it like that everyday, and asked if she could just even it up. Which, of course, the only way to fix that is to remove more hair.

So yeah. It's short. It's also pretty. I'm mature enough to handle the new look and still feel damn good about myself.

Still, I think the experiment is over.

It'll grow back.

Got The Fever

2010-06-20T16:17:00.009-04:00

I saw this on may way to the grocery store:

Because really, what could be better on Father's Day?

Of course, it had to be a joke. With a little googling, I found it was supposed to be a concert: The Twitty Fever Band.

Someone removed the “W”, consistently, as both sides were done.

Heh.

Aaaarrrrgh!

2010-06-08T10:55:00.000-04:00

Blogger is really starting to annoy me. Recently, I find I can't load the site at all or login, yet any other site loads fine. A tracert shows it leaving my network, my ISP, and going out for about 15 hops then dropping into a black hole. Nuthin. Just dead ol' time outs. Then it'll come back a few hours later.

Yesterday, I couldn't even connect thru my phone. I kept getting site overload messages - but that could just be my service.

I hate computers. Heh.

Supernatural

2010-06-06T20:04:00.008-04:00

I'm a bit late to the party on this, but I only just discovered the TV show Supernatural.

It's been running on the CW for years, then TNT picked it up in re-runs. Since they ran it every day, I blew through the first four seasons in about two months. Now I've been waiting for CW to re-run season five from the beginning.

Supernatural reminds me of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, but with two brothers, Sam and Dean, traveling around the country hunting demons, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, ghouls – you name it. Then there's a whole subplot about how Dean made a bargain with a demon to save his brothers life, and spent forty years (hell-time) in hell. Then he gets pulled out by angel Castiel, only to find out there's a “greater purpose” for the brothers (isn't it always like that though?). In this case, it's to prevent the end of the world. Of course.

The end of last season Sam was tricked into releasing Satan from hell and - you guessed it – brought about the apocalypse. So now they're working with a rogue angel to find out how to stop it, and in the meantime, try to find out where God went - because it would seem he's missing.

The first season wasn't so hot, and the stories a little flimsy, but once the show got going, the writing improved dramatically. And it's quite funny. If you've watched Buffy, it's similar to that. It's all scary stuff, with clever one liners mixed in:

Dean: Where's Cas?
Chuck the Prophet: He's dead... Or gone... The archangel smote the crap out of him, I'm sorry.
Dean: Are you sure? I mean, maybe he just vanished into the light or something.
Chuck the Prophet: Oh, no. He like exploded... Like a water balloon of chunky soup.

The summation at the beginning of every episode is quite cool. It's called “The Road So Far”, a collection of previous clips detailing what's happened in the previous episodes, scored to excellent classic rock music.

This is the opening for season five, which is so neat, to AC/DC's Thunderstruck. I tried to embed the whole video, but the party-poopers are insisting it be viewed thru YouTube. (I can alter the code so it'll play here, but I don't need any copyright grief.) Anyways, you'll get a message, but then click again and it'll take you to the folks at YouTube and it'll run there. It's worth it.

Red Admirals!

2010-05-29T11:15:00.010-04:00

There were about fifty of these little guys on a flowering shrub in the garden. Friendly things, I had a few land on me.

They don't stay still for long, so it was difficult getting photos.

Click to enlarge:

And I Was Having Such A Nice Day...

2010-05-14T20:50:00.018-04:00

I get to work, check my cell phone. Seven missed calls. One voice mail.

And what did the voice mail have to tell me? NOTHING. Whoever left it was tenacious enough to call SEVEN TIMES, but not considerate enough to actually leave a message.

Then I realize the number looks a bit familiar. Could be the school....after all, they're probably the only ones who'd call me during my morning commute. So I call it. Yep, it's the school.

Being a neurotic mom, all kinds of things are running through my head: bus accident, schoolyard fight, shooting, knifing.......then I wonder, if something really awful happened, wouldn't the school just leave a message, telling me to call asap? Maybe they called her father when they couldn't get me, and he hasn't gotten in touch with me yet? Maybe they didn't want to leave a message that would scare me. Okay that's just silly, NOT leaving a message scares me more.

I have to fight with the school's IVR system, which keeps telling me to dial zero for the office, except it won't accept zero - or any other number - then it disconnects me. I call back, slamming on the ZERO key, until a human being finally picks up the phone. I tell her "I have SEVEN missed calls, and NO voice mail from this number, so can you please tell me what's going on????".

Apparently the office lady noticed the freak out in my voice, and managed to say, "everything is okay...don't worry!".

Whew... no missing limbs, no knife fights or bus problems....yay. Turns out, my daughter wore a pair of khaki shorts that were too short. An inch above the knee too short, not "hiked-up-the-butt" short. So a teacher sent her to the office, and she tried calling me, repeatedly, to see if I can bring her another pair.

Now, bear a few things in mind:

1) I've been having the clothing talk with her for years now, ever since the school went with a uniform dress policy. Her clothes are too tight, too short, and yeah, I know, my parents had the same problem with me when I was a teen. So sue me. We didn't have a school uniform, and the only dress policy was: a) No shorts. Ever. Long pants only - even if it's 95 degrees in June and the school has no air conditioning. Whatever doesn't kill ya makes ya stronger. Also, b) no tube tops or tank tops for obvious boob-spillage reasons.

2) In addition to number one above, it's not like I let her leave the house wearing whatever she wants. I've sent her back upstairs to get changed plenty of times. However, she's been warned that if something gets by me and she gets caught by the school, she's got to take the conduct card, detention, etc. Yeah, I'm a big meanie.

3) I've reminded my daughter, repeatedly, about leaving me voice mail messages. If she's going to call like a stalker, at least give me the courtesy of leaving a message.

The office lady was very kind and understanding. She also sounded exactly like Grace, The Office Lady from Ferris Bueller. They gave her the choice of detention, or using the school's "spare" pair of capris. Apparently they keep extra clothing stashed around for these exact reasons. She opted for the capris, but whined they were too big.

Afterwards, I told my daughter I didn't care if they gave her a Snuggie – she should smile graciously and say “thank you”.

And yes, I'm giving thanks it was just some silly shorts, and not something worse.

Morning

2010-05-14T06:51:00.013-04:00

It was misty, green and lush this morning. It rained all night, not heavily, but steady. Out here in the country, it leaves everything looking electric green, as if the woods took it's vitamins.

I'm long past my years of worrying about my hair and frizz, and tend to enjoy a day like this, even if the sun isn't shining.

There were four birds in the garden looking for worms. I would've loved to get photos, but I was on my way to the school bus stop, so no camera. Three fat robins and a cardinal that looked SO RED against the intense green backdrop.

I've seen this cardinal in the garden a lot recently. We don't usually have them, so I'm hoping it might build a nest. Often, we have a robin's nest in the hedge and baby bunnies in the snow-in-summer.

I stopped at the grocery store on the way home last night, to pick up milk and few other things, and made the mistake of passing the Tastykake section. We've been so good lately, eating healthy, I broke down and bought a package of the mini chocolate donuts.

I remembered we used to get these as a “treat”, once in a while when I was a kid. My sisters and I would try to be the first to get into the box, and then fight over the ones with the chocolate covered the donut hole - because that meant more chocolate!

Which reminds me, it's time for breakfast. Fiber filled oat/wheat/flaxseed crunch, or a donut?

Mmmmm.......donuts.

Poopsticks

2010-05-12T23:09:00.006-04:00

Since I have soooooo much spare time during my commute to (and from) work..... you know, with all the stopping, starting, and stopping again......I've noticed a few strange things.

On the left side of the highway, in the median, there are sticks. Metal sticks. Covered in what appears to be poop.

Poopsticks.

Not Poohsticks.....that would be cute, and warm, and fuzzy. I-78 is not remotely cute or warm, and definitely not fuzzy.

But it's not really poop. Well, probably not. Maybe. Anyway, that would be really weird, even for Jersey.

However, I've been trying to determine the origin of these sticks, and why they are covered in a substance resembling poop.

Upon further examination, during a particularly nasty traffic jam, I realized these might be metal markers that originally had reflectors on them. A long time ago. Like, maybe in the dark ages. Or 1970.

Now they're all snapped in half, probably due to all the stupid driving going on. Add to that, all the road debris flying around, ready to impale itself on a sharp metal stick: the oil, gasoline, random car parts, body parts, plastic, garbage, blood, and quite possibly, poop.

There you have it.....poopsticks.

As you can see, I've managed to lose what's left of my mind. Four hours of NJ traffic, daily, will do that to you.

Here's a few more fun facts I've learned during my six months of hell:

- It rains rocks. For no apparent reason. Rocks. NOT kicked up from a truck, but falling from the heavens. Like manna. Or bird crap.

- Speaking of rain, it brings out the mentally deficient. Forget snow. Rain turns the PA/NJ commuter into a Tokyo Drifter.

- Under no circumstances should you listen to Motley Crue's Kickstart My Heart while driving. Before you know it, you're buzzing along at 95 mph, inviting a traffic stop and a body cavity search.

Fiber, Fiber And More Fiber

2010-04-23T17:27:00.020-04:00

Hi all.

No new job yet. Still working on that.

I'm currently trying to survive working nights – it's amazing how much my internal clock despises this. I just can't get into the swing of it.

This is probably due to the fact that after working 11:00pm til 7:00am, I'm still expected to be back online by late morning.

I'm rocking four hours of sleep, at best. Thankfully, this won't last much longer, then some other poor idiot gets their turn. But that's a story for another day.

Aside from feeling like shit due to lack of sleep, I've felt like shit in general for the better part of two years now, which I've attributed to having gained 20 pounds.

A note to my relatives reading this – yes, I know. You don't think I need to lose weight. I was too skinny before. Appreciated, but it doesn't help the psyche, especially when I can't get my Irish-potato-picking-line-backer shoulders into that knockout dress hubby bought for me six years ago.

Sorry Mom..... you know I love you :-)

Anyway, I found another diet that sounded reasonable and promising. Eating healthier might make me feel better, after all.

I haven't gotten all the way through the diet book part yet, but I can see it involves a buttload (HA!) of fiber, in the form of oats, groats, insane amounts of veggie, and more oats. Apparently I'm expected to poop out all the excess fat.

Yes, I know, it's cleansing. I'm down with the oats. I even like oatmeal. I'm just a little nervous about spending that much time in the toilet.

The main gist of the book appears, so far, to be: cut the crap out of your diet (not literally, as you will be doing a lot of this), eat fresh things, lots of fiber, exercise, and watch meal portions. Duh.

Okay, so the recipe book does have some good info. I've made a few of the dinners, the beef stew and the chicken cassoulet, and they're not bad. Mostly, they just need some bang. Like extra garlic and spices. Blair's Death Sauce is always helpful. Besides, it's all natural – that's what we're going for, right? It's got no calories and no fat. WIN ! Just don't use more than four drops. Hubby refers to it as Wow-wow Sauce (thanks Mr. Pratchett).

I also found most of these recipes make enough for at least eight people, and I need to cut it in half, or I've got leftovers for a month.

The exercise part is difficult to work in due to my current schedule. I'm hoping once I'm off working nights, my daughter and I can go running again.

I'm thinking though.....maybe I should get Leonidas a leash and walk him. Heh. He needs a bit of exercise, he's looking a bit tubby:

I've Got A Rocket

2010-04-15T20:24:00.013-04:00

I've been a Goldfrapp fan since Black Cherry. Their new cd reminds me of every 80's pop song I heard during my teens and twenties.

But in a good way.

Quite frankly, it's a cool slice of awesomeness.

This is the video for the track Rocket. I just love the way Alison Goldfrapp keeps looking over the guy in duct tape, and making those crazy eyes.

Priceless.

You can go to the website here.

It's pretty cool.

Atlas Shrugged

2010-03-25T23:41:00.006-04:00

Ayn Rand.

Atlas Shrugged.

Go read it.

Bits O' Things

2010-03-21T20:46:00.010-04:00

I've got a few posts half-written: some bits about Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street, an opinion on the liberal nonsense we see in our neck of the woods, as well as something about a local celebrity.

I'd like to say it's coming, but right now it's not even breathing heavy.

Soon though.

I'm finding resume writing to be a bit more of a challenge than I originally thought. This, mostly due to the fact that I haven't written one in ten years. I've just slid into new positions with each company merger.

It also doesn't help that once I finally decided to give it a go, work cranked up the volume, and gave me the "impossible project". It's much like being thrown into a pool of water, filled with sharks, and not knowing how to swim.

You would think the goal would be to simply survive and get out of the pool, but then you're told you're actually going to be tested on your high-dive.

Carded And Crabby

2010-03-14T22:07:00.018-04:00

Friday night I stopped at the wine store. Exhausted, I waited patiently in line while the gentleman in front of me figured out how to swipe his debit card at the check out.

After driving back to Pennsylvania from the I-78 circle of hell, all I wanted was to get some wine, hit the grocery store, then go home.

I put my purchases on the counter, the clerk gives me an odd look, then squeaks out: “Ooooooh sorry! Can I see your driver's license pleeeeez?”

“You cannot be serious,” I groaned, while digging back into my bag.

I start wondering if she's just incapable of recognizing someone who's obviously 20 years over the legal age; then I figure the store must've had trouble with young'uns scoring booze, so now they're gone into reactionary mode, carding everyone, including 80 year old grandmothers.

I hand her the license, and then the confusion hits her face. I could tell she's trying to do the math in head and it's not working out the way she expected. She looks at me, then the license, then back again.

“Ummmm.....sorry about that. We have to card everyone under thirty years old. Uh, you really don't look your age.”

“Right. So, can I get a box for those bottles?”

Meh. There was a time when I thought it was great to get carded. Now, not so much.

Hubby and I were discussing this, and came to the conclusion that there's three life stages for getting carded.

First stage. Just after the 21st birthday. You hope the clerk asks for your license so you can proudly show you've reached that magical age.

Second stage. Anywhere from thirty to forty years old. You get carded and think, “Yaaah! I still got it!”.

Third stage. After forty. You haven't been carded in years. You forget it's even relevant to the checkout process at the wine store. When it does happen, it's just another three minutes of your life you'll never get back.

Hmmm? What's that brittle, crunching sound?

Yep.....it must be the crustiness taking hold.

Slow

2010-03-11T06:46:00.003-05:00

Blogging's been a bit slow this week. Sorry. I love writing, but this week I've loved sleep a bit more.

Seems no matter what time I leave for work in the morning, I still get there around the same time. I-78 is like a slow intestine that only moves once every morning. This is extremely frustrating, as it took me two hours to get to work on Monday.

I'm playing around with leaving earlier and earlier, hoping that if I time things right, I'll hit it just as the highway BM is heaving forward, and maybe - just maybe, can get to work in under an hour.

Along with the exhausting commute, I put in twelve hours on Saturday in support of a project. It's amazing how that can throw off your weekly schedule – and sleep. So I've been hitting the pillow around 8pm every evening, leaving me only two hours to get the dinner made, the teenager crisis worked out, and the rest of the home life straightened.

So, yeah. I've poked around the interwebz locally, and was surprised to find there are jobs. I've updated the resume and plan to get that out there asap.

In other news, I'm shocked to say that most of the snow is actually gone, with the exception of the dirt-glaciers surrounding the driveway. It was so nice this past week, I managed to get Wulfgar, The Gently Used Volvo cleaned up. That lasted til I got home from the car wash. Even though it wasn't raining, there's been so much snow melt that the roads are all mucky anyway.

Oh well. I'll take this over twenty inches of snow any day.

What A Gorgeous Day!

2010-03-09T20:05:00.020-05:00

Had the day off, and went hiking on the trails behind the house.

There's still a considerable amount of snow, but many areas were starting to clear.

Saw lots of deer trails, both muddy and snowy.

Click to enlarge:

Oddly, we found a midden heap we never knew about. After poking around on the internet, it looks like most of these bottles are from the early 1900's. Too bad the jam jar is broken...according to the interwebz, it could be as old as 1895.

Spring

2010-03-05T05:29:00.017-05:00

I actually saw a rainbow on my way to work yesterday.

A freakin RAINBOW, people!!

So it appears Spring may be on the horizon. Our local wacky weatherman says we'll see up to 50-something degrees this weekend, and the worst might be over.

Here in Pennsylvania, when we go straight from extremely bitter cold and snowy, to warm and sunny, it lasts til the end of April, then we get one last storm that dumps six inches of snow on us. Like Mother Nature throwing us the finger.

Temperatures have been warmer this week, and most places are seeing a lot of snow melt. Our backyard is melting, and has maybe four inches of snow left (down from twenty), but the glaciers along the sides of our driveway may be here til May. They're still at least four feet in height.

In other news, I took my daughter to the soccer sign up at the local high school on Tuesday. This is the school she'll attend next year.

I don't go into "that town" much, and I have to admit, I've never been to that school at night before. I knew it was in a crappy section of town, but I was woefully unprepared to see drug deals going down just outside the parking area.

Around the school itself, there were several bombed-out crack houses. Boarded up windows, garbage in the yards, shady types floating around. The works.

This isn't friggin Philly or NY. It's just a small town that's been overloaded with transient people from the city. Back in the 70's and 80's, people moved from NY, NJ and Philly to the Poconos - many looking for a better life and lower taxes, but many others came to sell drugs, real estate scams, and hide from the police.

It's Bronx-lite.

In light of those facts, along with the general lousy reputation and lack of funding for this particular school, we've been forced to look at other schools.

We'll have to cut back and really budget our money, but if it means she'll be better prepared for college and considerably safer - it's worth it.

Mr. Somebody Needs A Slap

2010-02-28T22:16:00.016-05:00

Our school district has the organizational skills of a dead squid.

Most send home information about school sports, and tell us important things like when practice starts, where it's held, if equipment is needed, and if a physical is needed.

Not our school district. Instead, they have a fancy-schmancy, new electronic dialer system that calls us at 3:00am with a recorded message anytime there's a school closing. Or it calls during dinner to tell us there's a bake sale on Friday.

Sports tryouts? PTA meetings? Nope. Nada. Nothing.

Instead, we rely on the teenager grapevine approach:

“Mooooom!” whines the teenager living in our household, “I need to get a physical by next week so I can play soccer.”

“I thought you were going to get all the information first, so we could talk about it,” I reminded her.

“But I just found out tryouts are next week!”

“Okay. So what time is soccer practice over?” I asked.

“I don't know,” says child.

“Is there a sports bus that takes the kids home afterwards?”

“I don't know.”

“Who is the coach? I'll just call him.”

“I don't know.”

“How do you know tryouts are next week?”

“My friends told me.”

“Who told them?”

“Somebody.”

“Okay, so Mr. Somebody came to them in a vision and told them of the impending tryouts? Really? You're not seriously telling me that no one knows when and where practice is, who the coach is, and how long it will be?”

Teenager stomps off.

Until recently, I had a very flexible work schedule. During that time, I encouraged my daughter to do sports or other extra curricular activity. She couldn't have been bothered.

Now that I have ZERO job flexibility, and work an hour away, playing school soccer has become a moral imperative.

So.

To sum up: My job stinks like an old gym sock, and now I've got a pissed off teenager too.

I really need to play the lottery more often.

And Also...

2010-02-24T18:27:00.004-05:00

Yay! Another blizzard!

Last night we got about six inches. That's on top of the ten left over from the storm two weeks ago.

There's two large glaciers at the end of the driveway.

So, to my mother, who is visiting her brother and sister in Hawaii right now - you got out of Dodge just in time!!

Hickory Dickory Dock. No Mouse And No Clock. But We Got Plenty Of Beer.....

2010-02-24T17:29:00.021-05:00

The radio is constantly playing this "Tik Tok" song by a young whippersnapper called Kesha. I had to admit it had a hook. I almost liked it 'til I heard the rest of the song. Yeeeeesh:

"Before I leave, brush my teef with a bottle of Jack
'Cause when I leave for the night, I ain't coming back"

Apparently she's not heard of tooth decay or toothpaste. And Jack? Seriously?

"Aint got a care in the world, but got plenty of beer
Aint got no money in my pocket, but I'm already here"

Okay. I can identify.......that's what we used to call freshman year in college.

"And now, the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger"

Swagger. It just sounds silly. Also, white girls should not use that word. Ever.

But seriously, I laughed out loud at the Mick Jagger reference:

"But we kick em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger"

She wants guys that look like Mick Jagger? Really?? Has she seen Mick lately?

Actually, has she EVER seen Mick? I know he was a heartthrob back in the sixties and seventies, but even the twenty-something Mick is, well......ew.

And the last bit:

"Boys tryin' to touch my junk, junk"

Girls have “junk”? I thought only guys had junk.

I'm so confused.

Hot Flash

2010-02-23T22:40:00.013-05:00

I woke up at 3:00am this morning. It was like turning on a light. One minute I was asleep, the next I was awake.

Also, massive headache. I go downstairs to grab some ibuprofen and a glass of water.

The bottle was empty. I grumble about why someone thought to put an empty bottle back into the cabinet.

Good news! There's an unopened one. Except, have you ever tried opening one whilst half a asleep and with a pounding head? It goes something like this:

1) Pry open box. The flap won't open along the glue line, so I end up shredding the box. It looks like a giant rat ate through it.

2) Cut finger on plasticky seal around the top of bottle. There's supposed to be a perforated spot to tear it off, but do you really think I can find it at 3:00am?

3) Align arrows, pop lid.

4) Jam finger through foil seal found across the top of bottle. Bleed some more.

5) Grab three of those sweet, sweet ibuprofenz, because at this point, three is the only way to deaden the pain in my head and fingers.

6) Stumble back upstairs.

The cat claimed my warm spot, so he needs to be extracted. I curl back up for that last hour or so of sleep, and the hot flashes start. I feel too young for this, but hey, I'm starting to come to terms with my inner crone.

Toss blankets off me, onto cat. The frosty, fifty degree room starts to cool me off, and I start drifting back to sleep. This is when the cat decides it's a really great time for a bath. A loud, gross bath.

SCHLUUURRP!

Licklicklicklick...

SCHLUUURRP! SCHLUUURRP!

Licklick....

I poke the cat gently with my foot. No change.

SCHLUUURRP! SCHLUUURRP!

Poke again. The bathing pauses for a second, then resumes with gusto.

SCHLUUUUUURRRRRRRRP!

I slide my foot under the the cat, and start gingerly rolling him over to make him stop. He barely notices until he almost falls off the bed.

Half hour later......

Body temperature back to normal. Blanket back in place. Sleeping cat securely wedged against my bum.

That Sucker Punch Of Reality

2010-02-21T22:20:00.002-05:00

I'm angry. I'm frustrated.

I promised myself I'd cut back on the work-related postings, because: a) it will eventually bore people, and b) I really don't want to be identified.

After all, I still need a steady paycheck.

But.

I've been fuming for a few days now, and writing is theraputic.

Anyway, The Job.

Something happened.... an occurrence that showed me exactly where I stand.

I've never been verbally abused or distrusted at any job in the last twenty years, but at this company it's standard operating procedure. A daily sucker punch in the face.

Some of my coworkers who noticed my appalled reaction tell me I have thin skin. This is the way it's done here. Get used to it.

Nice, huh?

Vajabond

2010-02-14T22:17:00.015-05:00

When did English class become “Language Arts”? Why must there be a separate class for “Reading”?

When I was in school (back in the Dark Ages), it was called “English Class”, and included diagramming sentences, identifying dangling participles, as well as reading literature.

I've voiced my concern about the quality of our schools before. It's not going downhill anymore. It has now crashed, broken at the bottom of the hill, headfirst in a snowpile.

My daughter has an assignment to do a book report. The teacher wants the students to draw several scenes from the book, and put it together in picture-book style. She wanted them to do the picture-book as if they were making it for a first grader. Those were her exact instructions. It was on the assignment handout sheet.

This is junior high school. They're using crayons and glue for book reports. Way to prepare them for college!

I'm not alone here either. The Gormogons did a very nice job summing it up here.

Want to hear the best part??? My daughter came home with a list of vocabulary words to study and use in a sentence. One of these words was “vagabond”. You want to know how the teacher was pronouncing it?

VAJ-a-bond.

What is that? Super glue for the hoo-hoo?

So, all you ladies out there, have a Happy Valentine's Day, and don't forget your VAJ-a-bond!!

Blizzard Part 2

2010-02-11T21:25:00.011-05:00

Well, most of my photos turned out like crap, but here's the ones that were halfway decent. You can click to enlarge....

This ones my favorite:

This used to be a hedge:

More hedge:

The woods behind the house:

The sky was so clear and amazing today:

Blizzard Part 1

2010-02-11T07:38:00.007-05:00

We have approximately fifteen inches of snow here in Pennsylvania. Some areas got more, some less. Fifteeen is more than enough.

The governor hasn't reopened the main highway near here. Since I live in the middle of Nowheresville, many of our secondary roads are still unplowed and closed.

We normally have snowy winters here, and the average storm can often bring us four to five inches at a time. However, this is a bit extraordinary.

Here's some preliminary photos from last night. I'll post more later today.

Where's My Shovel?

2010-02-10T17:00:00.017-05:00

Yep. Haven't posted in two weeks. Work put me on call - which is so appropriate when you're still new and haven't got a grip on things yet.

My sleep schedule's been reversed because the on call phone only goes off at 2am.

As Murphy's Law would have it, noctural server/application issues always require a minimum of four hours to fix. Before you know it, it's 6am and time to get the kiddo off to school, and you haven't slept yet.

At least the company's reasonable about it. If you worked all night, you're allowed to catch a few zzzz's before heading into the office, or logging in from home.

However, last week was truly the most ludicrous experience to date.

I spent most of my time dealing with the usual problem: getting a straight answer, in English, from several coworkers.

Let me put it this way: if I asked them to give me step by step instructions for shoveling a driveway, they would respond with: "Use a shovel".

While this is technically correct, as well as blaringly obvious, it tells us nothing about where you get the shovel, how you use it, and where you throw the snow.

Speaking of which, we are currently experiencing a blizzard here in the Northeast.

Thankfully, I DO know how to use a shovel.

Damp

2010-01-25T21:42:00.009-05:00

Today started off with a bang. Well, more like a whoosh.

It took more than two hours to get to work due to a torrential downpour.

I wasn't expecting a problem. I'm used to the drive now, and most people behave on the commute.

Apparently reasonable behavior gets washed away with the rain.

For example, I was tired of being tailgaited by an H3, so I put my turn signal on and waited for a tractor trailer to finish passing me on my right. This was meant to indicate to the dipshit behind me that I planned to get out of his way.

Except Dooshie McTwat took that opportunity to lurch into the right lane, pull up next to me, and slosh back into my lane and cut me off. So apparently he showed me.

So.

Rain. And MORE RAIN. Wet water. Flowing.

After an hour, I realized I wasn't getting to work anywhere near on time. Then my bladder let me know it was unhappy. Very, very unhappy.

Some fun factoids:

The urgency starts with a dull throb, then works up to a prickling pain. Like a sea urchin stabbing it's way out your bellybutton.

Then the sea urchin goes to sleep, and your entire lower abdomen goes numb.

Then you throw up. Well, almost anyway.

Vomit-time hit around the last ten minutes of the trip, and I began praying that I could keep both ends sealed until got to the office. God took pity on me, because I made it to work without soiling my car, or myself.

The other highlight of my day was our weekly staff meeting. One of the developers was burbling on about crappy code. I guess he's not thrilled with everyone else's methods. He went on and on about writing beeYOOtiful code. So elegant. So gorgeous and eclectic.

Except.

We're application support. Troubleshooters. Problem solvers. MASH 4077. There's coding involved, but it's not the main part of this job. Most of these guys would rather sit and code all day long. They're happiest in a code tunnel.

That's fine, but personally, I don't enjoy coding. I like the mystery issues. The detective work getting to the bottom of a problem, and the thrill of solving it.

I guess it's just personal preference, but I can't live in a code tunnel all day.

Besides, my code tunnel is dark, smelly and lacking the proper amount of cheese doodles and red wine. I could die of the damp in there.

Ga Ga Gaaaaargle

2010-01-19T20:45:00.008-05:00

I'm soooo ashamed. I downloaded a Lady Gaga song.

I don't usually like music from my daughter's generation, but I was lured in by an infectious hook. I'm also a sucker for pop music that goes BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.

Alas, the chorus is great, but the rest of the song sounds like Madame Gaga is gargling :

"RaaaghraaahOOhhLAlaaaaGAGARomaRomaaaaaaaaagh.....BAD ROMANCE!"

Like she's being throttled by one of her wacky costumes.

Speaking of, I heard a good joke about that:

Didja know Lady Gaga is going to be the new spokesperson for Polaroid? Because you gotta wait a few minutes before you know what the hell your looking at.

Spam Spam Spam Spam Spam...

2010-01-18T06:08:00.002-05:00

Wooo Hooo! Every time I log into Blogger, I get a notification to moderate new comments! Yay!

But no. Not yay. It's sad. So, so sad. My comments are filled with retarded spam and advertisements.

Today's spam came in the form of a hyperlink, which was not even in English, but looked like Kanji characters. However, since I do not read Japanese, I cannot confirm that.

I noticed when I moused over the comment, several links appeared, and since every other word in the links had something to do with sex, I'm assuming it was spam. Either that, or someone in Asia is really excited about this blog.

So spammers, for future reference, I do not read Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese, Korean, Laosian, or any other Asian language. I can barely read Spanish, despite having four years of it in high school, and living in America for 41 years.

However, owing to a bizarre turn of events during those high school years, I can read Latin. Mostly.

Cicero is my friend.

So, in the future, if you're going to spam me p0rn, at least know which part of the world you're spamming and give it to me in English. Or Latin.

The Code Whisperer

2010-01-17T20:39:00.014-05:00

Major breakthrough: I finally have a working test environment.

Yep, it only took an entire month of security requests, and then another month of diddling around with what everyone kept telling me was a code problem.

Interrupty Guy insisted I was using the wrong code version, and someone else told me to get the code from another place, because the original code base was screwed up.

Well, THAT really gives me the warm and fuzzies.

When none of these suggestions worked, I started my own investigation and I traced it back to bad data.

So I sent an email to the team, detailing what I found, and asked who can help me get the data fixed.

No response.

Sent same email to Interrupty Guy. He thought I was crazy, and asked me if I received the most recent version of the code. Again.

After subduing The Fist Of Death, I told him the problem is data and explained why.

"But that's impossible." stated Interrupty Guy.

"I'll show you." I said. "Just let me log in to the app and..."

"It won't make a difference, you need to..." interrupted Interrupty.

"Ccchht!" I blurted, invoking my best Cesar Millan.

"But...."

"Ccchht! Just... Let... Me... Finish!"

So I showed him.

Guess what? It was bad data.

And Another Thing....

2010-01-06T20:48:00.007-05:00

I was going to write a about the second half of Doctor Who, End Of Time, but decided against it. The folks over at Behind The Sofa managed to sum everything up nicely.

Not Dead. Yet.

2010-01-06T20:33:00.011-05:00

So yeah. I'm not dead.

Not yet, at least.

Just a bit of blog neglect. Sorry about that.

I took some vacation over the New Year's holiday, and heartily ignored my work laptop as well as my personal one. I couldn't even look at the internet.

I was trying to think things over and get my life organized. It didn't work.

About a month ago, I wrote that this new position could be very rewarding. I was optimistic that I'd make myself a useful member of the new team. Except no work came my way. No training either. I could've sat in my cube and got paid for breathing. Nobody seemed to care.

Well, I figured if the company had no game plan for bringing me up to speed, I'd dive in and ask for work. I requested a few assignments and said if I had questions, I'll flag someone down and ask.

They unloaded on me. Bulldozed and buried.

Now I have fixes for applications I've never seen before, much less have access to (I'll get to that in a moment), crazy deadlines on coding assignments, and no test environment.

Yeah, I know. I did it to myself. So here's another whiny post about how I can't have everything my way.

Like I said, I have assignments for applications I don't even have access to. Obviously, the first course of action is to obtain said access. Easier said than done.

Requesting this can only be done with an online application. Then it's routed to the proper department, ignored, lost, re-routed, and ignored again.

About three weeks later, access is granted.

If the assignment requires any special software - that'll be another request. If it requires any configuration, settings, etc., there will be NO instructions.

So I've been asking lots of questions and generally being a pain in the arse. A necessary thing too, since no one seems to know, much less agree, on anything - except to give out as little information as possible.

For example, don't tell me the server names or the url of the application I'm supporting. When I do finally manage to dig this info out of you, make sure it's piecemeal, doled out in small bits every week. This way, I'll need to open a new request daily. Hey, it'll keep the security guys hopping with plenty of work!

When I ask a specific question about functionality, or where documentation is located, just smile and pretend you don't understand the question. Or better yet, interrupt me halfway through my question – because you read minds and know what I'm asking before I ask it! UGH. The guy that does this, has never let me finish a sentence, and has never been helpful.

The bureaucracy and red tape is mind boggling. Until I learn to navigate the system, it'll be impossible to get anything done.

In the meantime, I guess I'll just do what I can.

Russell T. Davies......WTF???

2009-12-27T22:33:00.018-05:00

Which is what I was thinking the entire time I watched the Doctor Who Christmas Special, The End Of Time Part One, last night.

In summary:

The Master is dead.

The Master is resurrected.

The Master is dead again. Maybe.

No, he's definitely still alive. With a flashy Skeletor head, electric jazz hands, and can leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Oh, and he's got meat cravings. Including people-meat. Like a zombie Time Lord on crack.

Then some homeless people discuss how Obama is going to save the world economic crisis. Overnight!

The Doctor is chasing The Master! The Master gets away.

Hey it's Donna's Grandpa!

Hey didya hear that Obama is going to save the world economic crisis. Overnight!

The Doctor chases The Master again!

The drums! They're real!

Some EVIL dude and his daughter have an EVIL machine that needs some fixin'.

Hey, EVIL dude wrote a book.

EVIL dude kidnapped The Master and is forcing him to fix the EVIL machine.

The Master looks awesome in that straightjacket.

The Doctor and Donna's Grandpa will save the day!

Ooops! Sorry......The Master got free and is using The EVIL machine to change every human on the planet into a copy of himself.......WTF????

Donna's brain is burning up, and, oh yeah - it looks like the Time Lords are back, and they might possibly be EVIL as well.

Part One ends......

I've been dreading this episode, afraid that it'll be too contrived, or just completely fizzle. So far, it ain't lookin' so hot.

I hope next week's episode will redeem this mess.

Let's do the time warp again?

Merry Christmas

2009-12-25T19:10:00.005-05:00

This is NOT Leo.

The tree is still standing.

There is more Bailey's to be had.

Merry Christmas!!

Christmas 2009

2009-12-24T18:27:00.020-05:00

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

2009-12-17T10:06:00.003-05:00

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

2009-12-14T15:28:00.004-05:00

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

2009-12-10T20:06:00.011-05:00

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

2009-12-07T21:09:00.017-05:00

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

2009-12-02T21:16:00.005-05:00

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

2009-12-02T20:52:00.016-05:00

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

2009-11-27T11:50:00.001-05:00

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

2009-11-26T11:58:00.002-05:00

A funny video from the folks at PJTV

Crap Clothing

2009-11-25T05:39:00.002-05:00

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

2009-11-19T22:13:00.004-05:00

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

2009-11-18T19:55:00.003-05:00

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

2009-11-18T12:56:00.004-05:00

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

2009-11-17T18:09:00.009-05:00

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 ...

2009-11-12T15:09:00.000-05:00

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

2009-11-12T08:00:00.001-05:00

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

2009-11-08T22:17:00.007-05:00

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.

2009-11-04T20:20:00.004-05:00

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...

2009-10-29T10:27:00.010-04:00

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

2009-10-28T11:20:00.008-04:00

Not real news from The Onion.

Maybe.

Everybody Loves Pancakes, Right?

2009-10-28T08:08:00.004-04:00

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

2009-10-27T09:02:00.016-04:00

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

2009-10-26T14:20:00.025-04:00

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

2009-10-23T09:00:00.006-04:00

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:

Beware The Ladybug

2009-10-22T10:27:00.013-04:00

The weather's been rather nice the past few days, with temperatures in the 60s and 70s. This being the complete opposite of last Thursday through Sunday, where we were treated to a preview of a January blizzard.

So the woodland critters made a reappearance in the backyard, as well as the insects. While I was working at my computer, I noticed a tapping on the rear window and sliding glass door.

Ladybugs. Lots of 'em. Smacking themselves against the glass.

Went outside to find the rear of the house buzzing with them. Not swarms like I've heard about on the news, but still, a lot. They were using the drainpipe as a freeway, some traveling up, some traveling down.

This happens just about every October. They're looking for a warm place to hide for the winter, and in some cases, swarm into houses. We've never had this problem, only about ten or twenty actually find their way into the house throughout October. This usually serves as entertainment for our cat (both the old cat which passed way, and the new kitten). I'm the one rescuing them and pitching them outside. The ladybugs. Not the cat.

From what I read, ladybugs can sting, pee on you (defensive bleeding), and smell bad. Honestly, I've never noticed. I handle them all the time, and never had one sting or defensively 'bleed” on me. Then again, maybe we just have really laid back ladybugs.

Here's two of them, hanging out on the side of the house (click to enlarge):

Here's one with an assassin wheel bug (click to enlarge):

About four seconds before I took that photo, the ladybug had been motoring along the assassin's leg, and the assassin was waving it's long, robotic leg around, trying to dislodge said ladybug. Apparently they don't eat them.

I don't pick up assassins. They have a long, pokey stinger on their face, that they probably use for sucking blood from other bugs. I heard they eat spiders, which makes them awesome in my book.

To give you an idea of how weird looking the assassin bug is, here's a better shot. Check out the stegosaurus cog on it's back (click to enlarge):

Funny, I grew up in a small town, and thought we had plenty of insects. I had no idea there were so many weird things living in the woods of Pennsylvania.

Speaking of weirdness, here's a random photo of Leonidas being pathetic. Apparently, waiting too long for his sweet, sweet softie food caused all the bones in his body to collapse:

Snow, Fall

2009-10-20T14:43:00.012-04:00

Well, I was going to write something about teenagers, angst, and how everything in life seems just so difficult when you're 14, but then I decided against it. It'll just make my daughter crankier.

So we didn't get the insane six inches of snow on Sunday. It's bad enough that four inches of snow fell last Thursday. The leaves haven't yet turned color, much less fallen off the trees, so when that heavy, wet snow fell last week, the branches collapsed under all that weight. We lost a lot of tree branches, and have some serious cleanup and pruning ahead of us this weekend.

Of course, today it's 65 degrees outside. The sun is shining, and it almost looks like Spring instead of Fall.

Schizophrenic Pennsylvania.

The Snow Is Falling!!! The Snow Is Falling !!!

2009-10-17T11:19:00.005-04:00

Crap.

It's snowing. Again.

They're calling for an inch throughout today, then possibly another FOUR INCHES overnight. According to the local newspaper, the last time it snowed this much was in 1836.

It's October. In Pennsylvania. It's not like this is the Canadian Northern Territory.

Goodbye Jeep

2009-10-16T14:15:00.014-04:00

Sigh.

Traded in my trusty, rusty, purple Jeep for a pre-owned Volvo.

It was long overdue. She needed a lot of work, and probably wouldn't have survived my new commute.

Poor little Jeep. She was a great car.

R. I. P.

1998 - 2009

Ummmm.....What?

2009-10-15T14:54:00.010-04:00

You see that date up there? The one at the top of this post? I'm pretty sure it says OCTOBER 15TH.

Oc-to-ber.

So tell me, why is it SNOWING?

Here's my backyard. Yes, those are trees that still have leaves on them!!

We are still mowing grass on weekends, and the leaves have not fully changed for Autumn yet, much less fallen off the tree.

It was seventy degrees last Friday. Where's my global warming?

A Few Things

2009-10-13T06:47:00.014-04:00

I took Friday off work for my birthday (yay!), and tried to have a relaxing weekend. I felt great for a few days last week, then I somehow got my cold back. Or it's a new cold. Or something. I don't know, but now I'm officially sick of being sick. Plus, now I'm beginning to stress about being sick and starting a new job shortly.

Looked at cars over the weekend. I'm considering a new one since the Trusty, Rusty Jeep is eleven years old. Plus commuting. And Jersey. And stress.

Also stress-worthy: apparently my daughter's social life is spiraling down the toilet, which is, of course, all my fault. I wasn't even aware it was in jeopardy.

I thought we had better communication than most teens and parents. Then again, most parents probably have the same revelation at some point. More on that later.

Two other things:

ONE - I tried the FullBar. You eat it with a full glass of water, and it fills you up. This works phenomenally well, except for the eating part. It tastes like the air filter from my Jeep.

TWO - Primeval left us with a completely crap ending in series three, but YAY! BBCAmerica has announced it will work with other production companies to fund a fourth series. Which is a bit odd since Primeval actually aired on ITV in the UK, and not BBC. Because it was such a big hit here in the USA, it prompted this unusual partnership. I don't care, as long as they tie up those scraggly loose ends.

Kit's Wilderness by David Almond

2009-10-08T21:46:00.007-04:00

In my pursuit of books that might draw my daughter into reading, I was lucky enough to find this wonderful book. It's categorized as young adult, but it's very readable for us older folks too.

Kit's Wilderness tells the story of thirteen year old Kit Watson and his family, who move back to their ancestral town of Stoneygate in Northeastern England. It's an old mining town, seemingly haunted by the children who died in mine disasters in the early 1800's.

Kit meets the moody, troubled John Askew, whom he shares a connection – they both have the same names and ages of two boys who died in the mines over a hundred years ago.

John and a few other children like to play an game called “Death”. In the game, the one chosen for “Death” becomes entranced, sees apparitions, and is then swallowed by nothingness. Kit is drawn into the game as well. After Kit is chosen for “Death”, he's haunted by the ghost children, playing at the edge of the river, or in the “wilderness” near the mines. The reader is left to decide if the “ghosts” are real, a form of hypnotism, imagination, or dreams.

Kit's grandfather, who is succumbing to Alzheimer's Disease, tells him stories about the ghosts, and what it was like working in mines. One story in particular is about Silky, a ghost boy that never made it out of the mine for burial. The “old timers” in town considered Silky to be a good ghost, and they would say he would protected the miners who've lost their way deep in the mine. The stories, along with the ghost of Silky, form a strong bond between grandfather and grandson.

I don't want to give out too many spoilers, but I will say the story leaves some loose ends to your imagination. This might not go over well with kids that are too reliant on the instant gratification of TV, where storylines are spelled out like a treasure map for a two year old.

I enjoyed this book immensely. A little ghost story, a little growing up story, a little bit family. It made me feel good. Warm. Like Christmastime in front of a warm hearth. With family.

I pictured the grandfather in the story being similar to my mother's grandfather who worked in the mines, here in Northeastern Pennsylvania. I don't recall the exact stories – they were things mentioned in passing by my mother - just bits and pieces floating around my brain. I seem to remember the ring he made her from a stone found in a coal mine. Fool's Gold maybe? How the children as young as eight (sometimes younger) worked in the mines. I know there's more. I hope that someday my Mom, her brother and sister will write those down for us. To my knowledge, we don't have any stories that take place in Northeast PA, like Kit's Wilderness.

David Almond's first novel, Skellig, was a huge success. It won the Carnegie Medal and the Whitbread Children's Book Award, and has been made into a movie by Sky1.

My Little Friend

2009-10-07T18:21:00.018-04:00

We have a grapevine outside the kitchen window. I should've cut it back about two months ago, but I didn't have time, plus it was entertaining. It housed a large number of critters: katydids, grasshoppers, several inchworms, a large nursery web spider, 3 dime-sized orb weavers, a walking stick, ladybugs and various stink bugs.

It's like Animal Planet in my kitchen window.

Today I found this dude hanging outside the window:

(click to enlarge)

Then it saw me:

(click to enlarge)

Here's a close up:

(click to enlarge)

I need to get out of the house more often.

Pickin Berries

2009-10-06T20:34:00.003-04:00

Got a Blackberry last week. It's a cool little toy. One of the biggest benefits in having this phone, is that I can use any MP3 as a ringtone.

I'm no ringtone nut. I would just prefer to have a ringtone that won't scare the crap out of me in the middle of the night. Seriously. A piercing ringtone will ruin your mood at 3:00am. Pity the poor fool who got stuck calling out to you, and the cell ringtone is set to “old fashioned ring” (sharp and painful), or one of those bad techno tones that come with the phone (pump up the jam! ...not at 3:00 am).

I've had two Motorola Razrs. Most of the goodies were locked down. But, I was able to use the record function to make a ringtone. The sound quality wasn't phenomenal, obviously, but it did the trick. Well I went through 2 Razrs – the same problem occurred with both. After about a year, they simply stopped picking up a signal unless I was right next to a tower. Considering I live in an area not known for it's strong cell signal, I began a search for a better phone, and ended up with the Blackberry Tour.

During my research, I saw many complaints about the trackball breaking, and I can see why. That little circumpunct (heh, just read The Lost Symbol and I couldn't resist) is used for navigating everything.

So I seem to be getting a better signal, plus toys and email. And a ringtone that won't make my ears bleed.

My personal favorite for on call: When The Levee Breaks by Led Zepplin. Slow drumbeat at the start, then moves gently into the rest of the song.

Besides, the title is so appropriate.

Contentious D

2009-10-05T21:11:00.010-04:00

I have nasty allergies, and more often than not, the only thing that prevents me from contracting a hellacious sinus infection is a decongestant. I can buy Zyrtec and Zyrtec D without a prescription now, but if I want the D, I have to sign my life away because it contains pseudoephedrine.

This involves waiting in line at the pharmacy and giving the clerk my driver's license. They write down a number of things from my license and log them in a database somewhere, then I have to sign several documents. I'm not sure why I'm signing these documents, I assume it's something to do with swearing I'm not going to make meth.

However, I've managed to catch a nasty head/chest cold, and I'm taking Tylenol Cold and Robitussin Cough. Neither of these formulations contain pseudoephedrine. Yet, today when I stopped in Target to pick up more Tylenol cold medicine – which is NOT behind the counter, and does NOT require me to provide six forms of ID – the checkout clerk asked me for my driver's license:

“I need your driver's license, ma'am.” the clerk asked.

“Whaaa?” I was in a bit of a fugue from being ill.

“Your driver's license. You're purchasing cold medicine.” she said.

I stared at her for a moment and opened my mouth to argue. This cold medicine doesn't contain pseudoephedrine. Why are you busting my balls? But I handed it over anyway, and she swiped my license. I was simply too tired and sick to give good argument. Besides, I wouldn't have enjoyed it.

Afterwards, the more I thought about it, the more annoyed I became. Have you heard about the grandmother in Indiana that was arrested for purchasing Mucinex and Zyrtec within a week period?

Tylenol cold medicine contains phenylephine, which is just the craptastic replacement for real decongestant. To my knowledge, there is no restriction on purchasing this stuff. What does that mean then? Now that the cold medicine Nazi swiped me for Tylenol, am I on the record for having purchased decongestant this week, and therefore have to wait another week before getting any Zyrtec D, if I need it?

Maybe, but most likely not. That's really not the point though, is it? Either she screwed up and didn't need my license for Tylenol, or now some stores are tracking all decongestants, and we're degenerating into even more of a nanny state.

Ugh. My head is pounding, my throat feels like I swallowed glass shards, and, oh great! I just sneezed out “The Thing From Outer Space”. Now I need a shower. And a nap.

Bionic

2009-10-03T18:44:00.014-04:00

I saw something very disturbing on television last night, and it wasn't Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami.

Lee Majors, the Six Million Dollar Man, is hocking bionic hearing aids.

Aside from the fact that this is cheesily called the “Bionic Hearing Aid”, I've got no issue with Mr. Majors trying to make a buck. Plenty of older celebrities have been on TV, lending their name to stuff. Go for it. That's not the disturbing part.

I think the source of the weirdness is:

1) Majors is sitting in a chair, looking sort of uncomfortably propped up. But he's not paralyzed, just frail.

2) This makes me think of childhood heroes, and fondly remember him as Steve Austin.

3) Then I realize how old he must be (70 years old according to IMDB), which makes me feel ancient for even remembering The Six Million Dollar Man.

A bit of a mortality wake up call.

About a year ago, we picked up some of the old Six Million Dollar Man episodes on Amazon.co.uk. Apparently there was a moratorium on selling them here in the USA – I heard this was because Hollywood was in talks to make a movie. I don't know how true that is, but I can't wait to see what a travesty that'll be. I also heard Jim Carrey wanted to do it. There's not enough words to describe how horrendous that is.

Anyway, hubby and I thought the episodes were still pretty good. My daughter, not so much. For us, I'm sure part of the enjoyment comes from our childhood memories. Steve Austin was part American James Bond, part athlete, part superhero.

Heh. Makes me wonder if my daughter will feel the same way in 30 years, when she reminisces about Buffy The Vampire Slayer with her own children.

Celtic Classic 2009

2009-10-02T18:29:00.004-04:00

Every September we go to the Celtic Classic. It's usually great fun, food and beer. They used to serve Guinness, but now it's a knock off called O'Hara's. Both are good. Love the Guinness though... it's like chocolate beer.

In 2006 and 2007 we ran in their 5K event - even my daughter. Now the 5K sponsor separated from the Celtic Classic, and I'm not even sure they run in the same area as the festival. That was a shame, because it was all part of the festival fun – you know, like a tradition. Plus you got a really cool Celtic Classic shirt out of it.

It's been the largest Celtic festival on the East coast for close to 23 years. Now I'm concerned it won't be around much longer.

We went last weekend. Walked in on the Sand Island side, and it looked mobbed. Wall-to-wall people. Paid for some beer and food tickets, got some O'Hara's, and headed through the masses. We got about halfway through it, walked past the Grand Pavilion and all the food vendors, over the bridge to Old York Road, behind the Hotel Bethlehem, and there was nothing there. Nothing!

There should've been more tents with vendors, food and games, but instead it was a parking lot. I ended up asking someone what the hell happened. Turns out, last year there was so much rain, the festival didn't make enough money, so they paired it down. Severely.

They had more rain this year. Last Sunday was a wash out. Who knows if it'll be around next year.

Okay, I was going to end this with “It's just so sad”, but now I'm just craving Guinness.

A Hermit No More

2009-10-01T17:14:00.005-04:00

I've been working from home for about five years now. The job I'm doing now will no longer be needed within the foreseeable future, so I'm transferring to another department. This also means I'll be physically going into the office on a daily basis.

This is still about a month off, and could fall through at any moment, but I'm trying to prepare mentally and physically. For example, this job will be more hands on, so I'm brushing up on a few programming languages that I've neglected over the past year.

There's a few other items on my To Do List:

Daily showers will now be a must, unless I don't want to make friends. You see, working from home means shuffling downstairs, stopping by the kitchen for a cuppa joe, then flopping down in front of the laptop in jammies and bunny slippers. Showers were optional.

New clothing will be need to be purchased, because most of my old wardrobe doesn't fit anymore. This is mainly due to the fact that my home office is right next to the kitchen, and my work uniform is usually a sweat suit. Unfortunately, elasticated pants don't warn you when you've put on a few pounds.

On a positive note, going back into the office may result in weight loss, since I won't have the convenience of working next to where the hot pockets live.

When you live like a hermit for five years, sometimes you forget how to behave around people. For instance, at home, there's no one to share your bodily noises with. At the office, there's a sort of Murphy's Law where this is concerned: Even if no one has visited you all day, or even if it's the day after a holiday and no one's in the building, the moment you silently fart, someone will walk into your cube. See also: rumbling intestines during a meeting in a quiet conference room.

I should probably stock up on the zinc and echinacea, and get a flu shot. I figure by now I've no resistance whatsoever, and germs will feast on my brains.

Snip

2009-09-30T14:22:00.003-04:00

Leo was neutered and declawed last week. He took it in stride, mostly. By the time we picked him up from the doctors office, he had already yanked off those little gluey caps from his toes. He was all, “Yo. I don't need no stinkin' bandages.”

Truly a King Leonidas moment.

They gave us antibiotics in liquid form, and pain killer pills. The antibiotics were no problem, they slide right down. But the pills? One quarter of a pill every eight hours. Not a lot - but honestly, have you ever tried to give a pill to a cat?

Let me explain. Leo gets a can of Fancy Feast at dinner time, and kibbles during the day. Did I tell you he can tell time? Leo knows exactly when 6pm rolls around. You'll find him camped out in front of his bowl waiting for that sweet, sweet softie food.

So we tried mashing the quadrisected pill into subatomic particles, and mixing it into an ENTIRE CAN of kitty food. I don't know if he could smell it or taste it, but he refused to eat it. He'd just look at us like, “You're kidding, right? I know what you did. C'mere, I'll cut you.... YARRRGH! Wha? No claws......damn.”

Eventually, he'd nibble at it. Enough to get some painkiller into his system. At least I assume he did, because he certainly didn't act like anything was bothering him.

My biggest fear was that he'd try to jump or climb up something while healing, and miss badly. I shouldn't have worried......within 24 hours he was vaulting to all his favorite hang outs as if nothing ever happened. He effortlessly launched himself to the top of the front room shutters, reclaiming his territory, and resumed glowering at the neighbors.

After a few days, we noticed he was much less aggressive, probably due to the sudden lack of testosterone coursing through his kitty veins. He's been very affectionate, and not attacking my head when I sleep, so the nad-loss wasn't a big-loss.

Now that Fall is here, it's been chilly the last few days. Leo's not liking the colder weather one bit. Last night he crawled under the comforter, attached himself to the back of my knees, and wouldn't come out. At some point during the night he must've surfaced, because I found him asleep UNDER the edge of my pillow. Because he's becoming a bit of a lard-o, all that fit under there was his front half.

It's 48 degrees outside today, and maybe 62 in the house. Leo's been spending the day between the thick, fleece blanket in the front room, and his kitty tube in my office.

More Wolf Spiders

2009-09-29T15:52:00.004-04:00

Too funny. This guy's wolf spider encounter is MUCH worse than mine!

Open House

2009-09-28T16:07:00.009-04:00

My daughter's school had Open House last week. This is where we get to tour the school, meet her teachers, and basically see what she'll be studying this year.

Well, I must be getting old, because I was not impressed.

She's taking all advanced placement classes. I figured this would be the year they'd finally start treating the kids like young adults, and focus more on preparing them for college. No more reports in collage or papier mache form. Sadly, this is not the case.

This is junior high school, and the teachers still mark good grades with smiley faces and stickers.

The “advanced” reading teacher gave us an overview of the books they'd be reading. "The Outsiders" is one of the books, and the most recognized from my generation. Pretty much everything from S. E. Hinton was made into a movie during the 80's.

In addition to "The Outsiders", they will read three other books, making it a total of four. FOUR. Over the course of EIGHT months. One is about racism in the 1930's, and the other two are about outcasts in grade school, which, "The Outsiders" kinda qualifies for that category as well.

When she signed up for this class, they sold it as an “intensive reading experience” where the student would be reading “many” books throughout the year. Four books doesn't sound all that "intensive" to me, and it's nowhere near the amount of reading that was dumped on me when I was in junior high school.

In fairness, I have to say they are “studying” the characters in these books, and I'm sure they'll also be tested on them. I've already seen homework assignments where they're using vocabulary words from "The Outsiders" book. So I suppose this is where the all the time will be spent. Two months for each book.

Oh, and there will be book reports. In collage form. Again. Because we need to keep the kids interested!

They'll get out their Crayola 64 pack, some glitter and paint, and decorate each report page with a character from "The Outsiders". For serious. The teacher showed us an example. I couldn't believe my eyes.

So, to review: FOUR books in EIGHT months, three of which are about damaged people and victims. And 8th graders. With Crayolas.

There were a few other highlights to Open House. The presentation by the crunchy granola AP Science teacher was fab. He doesn't believe in text books. Nope, he believes in teaching the kids by inquiry. Telling them stories and getting them to ask questions. Okay, fine, but can't we do that in conjunction with text books? Apparently not. He said that no one ever learned anything by reading the text book and doing the questions at the end of each chapter. YES. HE. ACTUALLY. SAID. THAT.

The History teacher was the only one that impressed me, and is the same one my daughter declared “really tough”. I suspect this is because he actually expects junior high school students to behave like young adults. He started off by saying this was an advanced placement class, and he treats the kids as such. He assigns plenty of homework, more difficult assignments, lots of reading, etc. Which is more in line with the “average” teacher I had in school.

I don't know..... I guess I'm officially old enough to see the benefits of hard work, and want the same for my own child. And I'm tired of the bullshit.

Come As You Are

2009-09-24T21:42:00.006-04:00

I cannot get this song out of my head:

Come As You Are by Beverley Knight

Unfortunately, I can't embed the video from YouTube here. Looks like it was disabled. But, I can still link to it.

Anyway, I heard it on a TV show called Hex. I hear she's pretty big over in Britain.

New Jersey Almost Ate My Car

2009-09-24T05:42:00.015-04:00

My Jeep is old, but it's a good car. It does, however, need some minor repairs. For instance, when I go over the dip at the end of my driveway, the back end creaks and groans like it's losing structural integrity: RRRrrrrreeeek.....THUNK!....rwapbapbapbap.

Potholes are even worse.

The source of the noise is actually the clamp that holds the tailpipe in place. It rusted through two months ago. I've ignored it, because I don't drive very far on a daily basis. Besides, it probably needs a new muffler and tailpipe anyway.

Then I found out I had to go to New Jersey for a meeting. Like, immediately.

I figured it couldn't be that bad, I'll take it slow and try not to hit potholes. Hahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahhahahahaah!!

I haven't driven in Jersey for a while, so I forgot just how bad it really is.

I-78 in Pennsylvania was nice and smooth. Which is saying a lot for PA, because our roads generally suck. Once I crossed into NJ, it was a whole other ballgame. First off, you cannot drive slow and just do the speed limit - you'll be run over by a fleet of tractor trailers. On the other hand, you can't speed too far over the limit because the state police are everywhere.

You're forced to keep up with the pack. This puts you somewhere between 70 and 80 miles per hour, depending if you're just cruising along, attempting to dodge that 18 wheeler, or some jackass in a Mercedes S600 cuts you off with only inches to spare: “Dude. Your $150,000 car looks like a shiny Ford Taurus. Is it really a status car at that point?”.

So. Car rattling apart. The problem wasn't even actual potholes, it was the texture and seams in road. There were uneven, cracked off sections that appeared to have been paved over so many times that the pavement resembled crumb cake. Other sections had deep, grotty seams every 10 feet so the tires make a Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! noise.

I'm trucking along, and my car is making some serious rattling, moaning and shaking. Not to mention the Thwap!-ing. I also notice along the side of the road (and sometimes IN the road), there are car parts. LOTS of car parts. A muffler here, a few tire treads there, a wheel, some twisted metal bits, and an entire front hood. Like, how does that happen? Even if it was an accident, don't they usually clean up the big pieces? How does one miss a 4 x 6 piece of sheet metal? Or do car hoods fly off regularly in Jersey, possibly due to corrosion from all the toxic waste fumes?

I figured if I lost a tailpipe or muffler here, it probably wouldn't even be noticed. So there I go, merrily down the Jersey Autobahn, with my tailpipe waving in the wind.

I got to my destination and home again, in one piece. Which is good, because it looks like I'll be making this commute on a regular basis from now on.

So yeah. I'm getting the Jeep fixed. Soon.

Ongoing Diet Project

2009-09-17T18:57:00.005-04:00

I've been using the Gymnema for about a week now, and I'm still not craving sweets. I'm not craving much of anything else either. It could be psychological, and I've convinced myself that I don't have cravings. Either way, I'm happy.

I have one odd side effect, and it's not necessarily a bad one. Food just doesn't taste as good right now. For instance, lunch time comes around and I'm searching for something. Tuna? Salad? Leftover pasta in Alfredo sauce? Nope. Suddenly, none of it looks appetizing, although my stomach is rumbling. Normally, I'd be all over that pasta. Now....meh.

I'm not about to starve myself and create a whole new set of health issues, so I sit down to something healthy like the salad or tuna sandwich. To paraphrase Arthur Dent trying to get a cup of decent tea from a Sirius Cybernetics drink dispenser, “it's not entirely unlike” (tuna, in my case). It's as if the flavor is muted. Which, I'm fine with, as it makes portion control much simpler.

So we'll see where this leads. I may be back to sweets and Alfredo sauce by next week.

But I hope not.

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

2009-09-16T09:08:00.006-04:00

This is probably the most brilliant and coherent article regarding the crass politics on both sides:

The Rise Of The Uncouth

Here's one snippet that I found particularly enlightening:

"The historian Thucydides has a wonderful chapter in his third book on the stasis at Corcyra on all this. In short, he says when rules, decorum, respect, and commonly accepted behaviors are jettisoned for short-term advantage, then the thin veneer of civilization, in other words the law, is scratched away and we peer at our natural Rousseauian selves below. And quite a scary sight that is, natural man without civilization.

Even more brilliant is the historian’s irony. When those on the outs, who excel through seeking the ends by any means, soon find themselves as the establishment, they want no more like themselves.....

.......But too late. Once the walls are stormed, and ramparts of decency in rubble, it is very hard to rebuild the stones to fend off the barbarians, given the power of natural coarseness, and the problem of legitimacy and irony (Why should we believe that you are shocked at Joe Wilson now, when you booed George Bush not long ago?)"

There so much more to this article. It should be read in full.

It's not long, go read it.

Crabby

2009-09-14T10:08:00.015-04:00

I have cramps. I feel like Jack The Ripper is pulling my ovaries out through my kidney, and taking my spinal cord with it. So I guess I'm crabby, which may explain my tirade on LLBean last night.

In kitteh news, I'm calling the vet today to find out when Not-So-Little Leonidas can get snipped and declawed. Leo doesn't know how to interact with anyone without using teeth and claws anymore. He's a maniac with razors.

Unfortunately, he knows he's adorable and can play that well.

When caught doing something particularly evil, like kicking all the litter out of his box, or shredding the papers on my desk, he'll roll over on his back, paws up, and try to look submissive. Or he'll crawl into the crook of my arm and look up at me like, “I wuv you!”. Blink. Blink.

It's been a weekend of behavior relapses for him. He hasn't dumped water in over a week, then this morning he flooded the kitchen. He hasn't been keeping me up at night, but yesterday I went to bed early, so he took that as a cue to tackle my head for two hours.

Yesterday he was busy stealing stuffed toys from my daughter's room. He dragged a giant blue monkey downstairs by himself:

So, yeah. Not much sleep last night. Plus we LOUDLY, lost power at 12:30am. All the air conditioners stopped running at once, and the TV powered on (Our bedroom TV does this when we lose power. I don't know why.). It's amazing how loud the sudden quietness can be. Even though we got it back within 5 minutes, I woke up every half hour after that.

In other news, my diet/exercise regimen is failing beautifully. Remember those Slim Shots I mentioned back in July? Remember I said they didn't taste that bad? Well, they didn't at first. After about a week, I couldn't swallow them anymore. Too plasticky.

I'm still trying to maintain portion control, but my biggest downfall is stress eating and sugary snacks. I bought a book on stress eating which sucked ass. It spent the first 200 pages explaining why we stress eat, and gave examples of people's underlying problems.

I hate to self diagnose here, but I didn't fall into any of the categories which included: child abuse, spousal abuse, wanting to go back to the womb, unable to properly assert yourself, etc. etc. It took 200 pages before I got to a simple “eating because of work related stress”, in which case you're supposed to “challenge yourself” to not eat. They give you some examples of reassuring phrases to use when the urge strikes.

Yeah, I've got enough challenges with just keeping my job. I KNOW I'm not supposed to stress eat. If I need a mantra, I'll start practicing yoga. Which is probably a good idea, actually.

So it doesn't help that I did the grocery shopping whilst hungry, and in addition to the healthful items like lettuce, veg and low fat yogurt, I bought a tray of baklava. It was fresh and syrupy. The fillo crackled “Eat me!” from an aisle away.

I read recently about an herb called Gymnema. Supposedly it was used by herbalists to treat diabetes in ancient India and Africa. Now it's used in some Asian countries as a dietary supplement for weight loss. I got some from the local GNC for 9 bucks. Somehow, it manages to kill the urge for sweets. Or make them not taste quite so good. Since that's my Kryptonite, I'll try just about anything.

So far the Baklava hasn't been calling my name, so who knows. I'll let you know if I'm able to keep my paws off the pasteries. In the meantime, here's a link to the absolute best chocolate brownie recipe I've ever tried:

Baker's Chocolate One Bowl Brownies

Snotty

2009-09-13T21:00:00.031-04:00

Stopped by the local LLBean today. I haven't bought anything from The Bean in years, except wool socks and hiking boots. Most of their women's clothing usually looks like something my Grandma would wear. However, it seems they're trying to revamp their style a bit.

They had some great fleeced-lined hoodies and non-Grandma sweaters. All the salespeople in the clothing section were very nice and helpful.

They even had some trendier shoes that my daughter wanted for school (they have a uniform dress code, so we're talking brown or black flat shoes).

The shoe department was not busy, yet it took an Act of God to get waited on. Every time I'd try and flag down one of the clerks, I was met with an annoyed, sing-songy, "I'll be with you in a MINute.".

A half an hour later....

We finally get waited on, the saleslady brings out a size eight. Too small. We ask for an eight and a half. The saleslady actually made that disgusted "Tck" noise, rolled her eyes, sighed, then said "We don't carry those in half-sizes.". Read: "You're really stupid and wasting my time, I hope you know."

"Well, how about a size NINE then." I said.

She brings out a size nine in a wacky looking blue and yellow, instead of the brown. And no explanation.

"Oh boy. The school won't allow this color." my daughter says, politely.

"I thought you could use them for size comparison." says Snooty Face, oozing disdain.

I'm thinking, you don't have the brown shoes in a size nine, so what exactly am I supposed to be comparing, other than the vile color scheme? I assume we were supposed to see if the nines fit, then order them online, in brown. Possibly. Who knows? She never articulated that. She just rolled her eyes.

Okay, so if you don't have the nines in brown, and I KNOW the eights don't fit, well then, duh, I'm going to go online and order the next size up. Guess what? That would be a NINE!!

By the way, this was a middle-aged woman of about 50, not a cranky, put-upon teen.

This is freakin' LLBean. Itchy wool, plaid skirted, flannel-wearing, Grandma-pants, LLBean.

I'm not trying to flag down a size nine pair of jewel-encrusted Blahniks at the Short Hills Neiman-bloody-Marcus.

I Hate Spiders

2009-09-10T20:06:00.028-04:00

Because of the wet weather this summer, I haven't done much gardening, and the weeds have taken over our side garden. It's this tall, spindly, grassy crap that comes from the forest behind the house:

As you can see from the matted down area in the center, something's been using it as a bed. And believe me, it smelled like it too. There was some serious animal funk in there.

It was a gorgeous, sunny weekend, so I figured I'd yank these pests out in about an hour. No such luck. I was simply not prepared for how “wild” the area had gone. For every fistful of weed, there were dozens of spiders running from their webs. I've never seen so many in one small garden. Little brown ones, big funnel weavers, golden garden spiders with their zipper-like webs. It was soooo gross.

To say, “I'm afraid of spiders” is not really accurate.

I'm certainly not “afraid” old eight-legs is going to corner me in a dark alley and bust a cap in my ass. Or chew off my arm.

It's the creepy factor. You never know where they are at any given moment. In the house, in the grass, in my car.

I think it started when I was a kid. I grew up in a house that was close to 150 years old. We were never without our eight-legged friends. They came with the house. Some of the basement spiders had ancestors that fought in the Civil War.

I was told the basement was blasted from solid rock. Like a dungeon. It consisted of a hallway that opened into a 20 by 15 foot rock-walled room, and 2 coal bins. The “hallway” was more of a deep trough, because the walls only rose about 4 feet on either side. Between the top of this trough and the ceiling, was a long, dark crawlspace of rock. It makes me shudder just to think about it.

Anyway, when my father ran a cable from the basement up to my room for a TV, he made the hole too big. About an inch in diameter, at least. This effectively made my bedroom the underground railroad for spiders.

Before I went to sleep each night, I had a ritual where I checked every corner, under the bed, behind the dresser, and next to the radiator for my little friends. They were always there. It didn't matter if the room was clear when I went to bed, because there'd be more in the morning. At least most of them were your “standard” cellar spiders. Smallish, stick-legged and skinny. Not like the ones I have here.

Now that I live in the country, the woods are my backyard. Spiders are expected. For instance, I expect them in the basement and in the attic. Maybe even the occasional spider on the floor, like a harbinger of Spring. But it freaks me out in the middle of the night when I walk into the bathroom, turn on the light, and I'm eye-to-eyes with Charlotte, hanging from the ceiling vent.

My worst encounter was about eight years ago. We had a heat wave in April, so anything living in the walls of the house was looking for a way out, fast.

Here's the scenario: It's 10:00 o'clock at night, I went to check on my sleeping daughter. There was just enough light that I could see where I was going, and make out the dark outline of kitty toys on the floor.

Catnip mousie, catnip pillow, birdie, another mousie and a fuzzy toy ball. Or was it? I don't remember a ball there before, and this one looked a little strange. There were spokes. Strings? Feathers? Something sticking out of it? At least that's what my subconscious was mulling over as I went merrily down the hall.

After making sure my daughter was fast asleep, I started back down the hall. Suddenly those minute, passing thoughts came rushing to the front of my brain, like The Robot from Lost in Space, “Danger, Will Robinson! ..... NOT a fuzzy ball!”.

I stopped about 2 feet from it in the semi-dark, and tried to get my eyes to focus on it. Yep. Definitely not a kitty toy.

Leaned over and hit the light switch. My brain did somersaults trying to understand what my eyes were seeing: “It's shaped like a spider, fuzzy with eight legs, but bigger than any spider I've ever seen, except on Animal Planet. Wait, we don't have tarantulas in Pennsylvania! Did a neighbor's pet get loose from it's terrarium? Maybe the previous owner had one and it's been living in the walls?”

Then I thought, “I need to capture it, because my husband won't believe me”.

I must've lost my mind.

I grabbed a shoe and smacked it. It did not go down without a fight. It took several beatings before it finally stopped moving.

The exterminator told me it was probably a Wolf Spider. I looked it up online. Biggest eight-legged beastie we have in the Northeast. Hogna Carolinensis.

Oh, and they lie. They say it's somewhere between one and one-half inches long. What they don't tell you is that's body length. Add on those meaty legs and we're talking bloody huge.

Thankfully, I've only seen a few of these. Here's a photo of a smaller one I found on the side of the house. Oh and by all means, please click on the image to get the close up, in all it's spidery glory:

I should note that the vent thingy above it is approximately 6 inches wide. And the ivy leaves are around 3-4 inches wide. So basically, we're talking about a spider about 4 inches across.

Did I mention how much I really hate spiders?

Nature Of Things

2009-09-10T19:55:00.005-04:00

So yeah. Violated. Totally pissed off. Still trying to wrap my head around it.

I know people get hacked, but really. Me? Why?

Because shit happens, I know that. It's the "Wild, Wild West" out here on the old InterWebs, and that's just the way it is. I can be hyper-vigilant over logins, passwords, https, and security questions, and it can still happen.

Now I'm going to try to suck it up and move on.

Notice !!

2009-09-09T01:04:00.002-04:00

For those of you who know me personally, I'm telling you that my email address has been hacked.

NOT the one for this site, but my OTHER one.

I'll be sending a new one to y'all soon.