I've come about face and decided that I'm not going to hide my blog from anyone, anymore. That was a gut reaction, an instictive response to an invasion of privacy; I've reconsidered now. Do you want to read my blog? Then welcome! Enjoy! It's in the public domain and I'm not sheltering it. When I first started this journal, I grappled a little with how much to say, how honest to be. My inner writer and inner editor were at odds until I finally decided that full disclosure was the way to go. I got shaken up again with everything that happened last week, and couldn't post freely-- I wanted to censor myself again-- what if this gets read by the wrong people? It's why I didn't write for a week; I was going through something very personal and didn't want to put it "out there". Well, screw all that! It's behind me now--I'm over it.
My period was a week late, last week. A whole week, even starting on "day 31". It was just enough time to get worried, freak out, and . . . get really exited. Enough time to start conjecturing due dates, daydream about a warm little bundle in a sling. So, getting my period really sucked. The universe's way of saying "nyah nyah nyah," I guess. It's not like we were *trying*, of course, but still...brought me crashing back to earth. It really made me realize how much I want to "start a family", which sounds too sterile to describe what I really want; something warmer, gooeyer, more complicated. It feels like an illicit desire, even though I'm 25 now, not 17 or something. Wanting kids just doesn't seem "done" by my age-group, unless in the context of "down the road someday." I think I'm gonna have to put the pressure on Don full-strength, haha, because who is ever financially 'ready'? If having babies had ever depended on male 'readiness', this species would have died right out. "Not this year, darling, we really just don't have enough mammoth jerky stored up yet, and this cave is too small, we'd have to move, and who knows what next year's hunting is going to be like..."
I'm so ready to move away from Dallas. It was supposed to be a temporary stop, just a couple of years, but it's starting to feel as though if we don't get out soon we'll settle here forever. Don is looking for a promotion this year or he'll start looking outside his company; I'm always at this website http://bestplaces.net/ that lets you compare all these statistics about various places to live. So you can figure that where we live in North Dallas area has a cost of living of 94.1 (of the national average) while, Seattle, Washington's CoL is 145.6 with a median house cost of $459,800 (good grief); but that Seattle votes Democrat (yay!) and has a climatic "comfort index" of 72 compared to our 25. (higher is better). Repeat this for every locale that sounds interesting; North Carolina, New Mexico, Colorado, back to Vermont (I wish). I promised Don after the last time that we'd never move again without having jobs lined up in advance-- those months of unemployment were hell on the savings, not to mention the relationship. The poor guy has up and shipped across country twice now on my account, jumping in head-first. This time the ball's in his court; we won't go anywhere until he has a position there. The only hard part will be leaving my family, again.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Just a Quickie
Yeah sorry for that long silence. It's been a weird week at work, because my manager is leaving, and at home, because Don's boss is on vacation which equals tons of extra work for him. (Yes, I finally tired of calling him "D" all the time. Who cares, anyways?) I have mixed feelings about my boss taking off. On the one hand, she was a good manager and I really like her, but she's moving on to bigger and better things. I'm not scared of change in general, and it might be nice to work under someone new. Wait and see, I guess. I brought a cake for the good-bye party but it came out kinda weird. The icing ran down the sides and pooled under the cake instead of staying on top. Tasted ok though.
Poor Don is so exhausted he went to bed around 8:30 tonight. I got coffee with KK and we came back here and chilled out for awhile, which was nice. I haven't seen that much of her lately and hardly at all just for the heck of it-- usually just dog-drop-off and pick-up.
Tomorrow I will post longer when Don's at work, because it's bedtime now.
Poor Don is so exhausted he went to bed around 8:30 tonight. I got coffee with KK and we came back here and chilled out for awhile, which was nice. I haven't seen that much of her lately and hardly at all just for the heck of it-- usually just dog-drop-off and pick-up.
Tomorrow I will post longer when Don's at work, because it's bedtime now.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
A new day
Cheesy, huh? I felt like a cheesy title today. I feel like a cheesy dinner, too; maybe it's just in my mind or something.
Today was stressful, because I had to be phony and smile to someone; had to, because I wasn't confrontational enough to say to her, "You read my blog! Bad so-and-so! Now I don't like you so let's not be fake, ok?"--and clear the air a little. I'm bad at confrontation but worse at fakin' it. Things will probably normalize soon with some kind of conversation. I will not apologize, though, for writing insulting things here, where nobody she knows should be reading. Least of all her!
So enough with all that, I'm trying to not dwell on it anymore. It was SO SLOW at work today, maybe from the weather. When it's too busy I long for a slow period, but days like this drag on and on. When it's busy, time flies and then it's quittin' time.
My parents are finally giving KK the ultimatum: go back to school full-time or say goodbye to the free money. Talk about years too late! At least this will force some kind of decision on her, though, after years of drifting. Because they've been helping her out the whole time, she has no idea what it's like to work for a living. She doesn't fully realize that not every Starbucks employee can afford trips with friends (Austin, California, Padre, Austin...), expensive concert tickets, lots of beer and cigarettes and (most likely) other certain substances.... Waiting tables won't seem so "fun" if she has to log enough hours doing it to pay rent, utilities, food, gas. She's got until mid-May to sign up for summer school at the community college and re-apply at the university. I think it will be so good for her, either way. Either she finally finishes school and starts taking herself somewhat seriously, or she makes her own way in the world, and starts taking herself somewhat seriously. The free money hasn't done her any favors, and this has been a long time coming. It was "a semester off", four years long!
I'll still puppy-sit for her, though. That's not enabling, right? It's better for the dog. And I like seeing her so often. I think I'm taking D out for dinner tonight, if he's up for it. He's been a little down lately because I'm lending him some money to pay off a debt. He doesn't like to ask for help.
Speaking of which-- if anybody out there is paying off a student loan, KEEP ALL PROOF OF PAYMENT! Forever! In a fire-proof box! With photo-copies! Because the government can come after you 15 years after the fact and say that you never paid up and if you don't have the proof that you did, you have to pay all over again, with 15 years' worth of interest tacked on. And 20 years from now, whatever bank you wrote those checks from will have been taken over several times. Unlike most debts (real or not) that expire after I think seven years, debts to the government like student loans never will, and they can dock your pay. Even when you already have half your paycheck going to child support. So I'm lending my sweetie a little dough. It's a good investment.
Today was stressful, because I had to be phony and smile to someone; had to, because I wasn't confrontational enough to say to her, "You read my blog! Bad so-and-so! Now I don't like you so let's not be fake, ok?"--and clear the air a little. I'm bad at confrontation but worse at fakin' it. Things will probably normalize soon with some kind of conversation. I will not apologize, though, for writing insulting things here, where nobody she knows should be reading. Least of all her!
So enough with all that, I'm trying to not dwell on it anymore. It was SO SLOW at work today, maybe from the weather. When it's too busy I long for a slow period, but days like this drag on and on. When it's busy, time flies and then it's quittin' time.
My parents are finally giving KK the ultimatum: go back to school full-time or say goodbye to the free money. Talk about years too late! At least this will force some kind of decision on her, though, after years of drifting. Because they've been helping her out the whole time, she has no idea what it's like to work for a living. She doesn't fully realize that not every Starbucks employee can afford trips with friends (Austin, California, Padre, Austin...), expensive concert tickets, lots of beer and cigarettes and (most likely) other certain substances.... Waiting tables won't seem so "fun" if she has to log enough hours doing it to pay rent, utilities, food, gas. She's got until mid-May to sign up for summer school at the community college and re-apply at the university. I think it will be so good for her, either way. Either she finally finishes school and starts taking herself somewhat seriously, or she makes her own way in the world, and starts taking herself somewhat seriously. The free money hasn't done her any favors, and this has been a long time coming. It was "a semester off", four years long!
I'll still puppy-sit for her, though. That's not enabling, right? It's better for the dog. And I like seeing her so often. I think I'm taking D out for dinner tonight, if he's up for it. He's been a little down lately because I'm lending him some money to pay off a debt. He doesn't like to ask for help.
Speaking of which-- if anybody out there is paying off a student loan, KEEP ALL PROOF OF PAYMENT! Forever! In a fire-proof box! With photo-copies! Because the government can come after you 15 years after the fact and say that you never paid up and if you don't have the proof that you did, you have to pay all over again, with 15 years' worth of interest tacked on. And 20 years from now, whatever bank you wrote those checks from will have been taken over several times. Unlike most debts (real or not) that expire after I think seven years, debts to the government like student loans never will, and they can dock your pay. Even when you already have half your paycheck going to child support. So I'm lending my sweetie a little dough. It's a good investment.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Flabbergasted and Mindboggled!
Wow. Just . . .wow. I realize that I haven't been blogging very long and that I'm not very savvy about how the Blog-world really works. Of course I know empirically that anybody can read any blog they wish, that a blog is in the public domain unless it's password-protected. I just never thought that anybody I didn't want reading my blog would read it . . . Silly, huh? I thought that blog-readers fall into a few distinct categories: friends, strangers, and weirdos. Friends being those people that you intentionally introduce to the blog and the people they bring along-- the readers of their blogs, etc. Strangers being those harmless lurkers who may never comment but who skim through your blog and maybe come back if they like you. I lurk in some places. Weirdos being those stalker types you hear about, the reason that nobody includes much real information-- full name, address, birth date, that kind of thing.
Now I find that there are other kinds of blog-readers. People who know you; who would read your blog even while knowing that you never intended to share it with them; who would lurk, never commenting or announcing their presence or telling you that they happen to read your blog; who would read things never meant for their eyes. People who would intentionally, blatantly go behind your back, invade your privacy, and use what you write against you in a sphere that has no connection to the blog at all. Imagine if a sister or a cousin found your blog, turned around and complained about it to your parents. Imagine a co-worker researching your blog and turning it into something to discuss with the boss. Imagine some similar situation and you'll see where I am.
Some things I learned today:
1. I have an enemy. I find this a little baffling because I never felt important enough to have a foe. But after all this time it turns out that I'm not paranoid, they really are out to get me. Why, I'm not sure yet.
2. Blogs actually aren't a safe place to vent because anyone freaky enough to search for you will find it. Changing the address will only work for a short time; whatever it was that drove somebody to find it before will find it again. Therefore nobody shall ever be named by name again unless I love them. My fourth-category reader will Hereby be referred to as "Umbridge". (I was thinking "She who must not be named" or "you-know-who" but that made the whole thing too important. "Umbridge" fits much better.)
3. I'm totally out of my league here. I'm not good these two-faced, sneaky, gossip-y, game-playing Machiavellian maneuvers that women use against each other, of saying one thing to one party and something else to another. I generally say what I think, or I keep my mouth shut. Everybody who knows me knows where they stand, all the time. I think I'm screwed...
4. If your behavior is so immature and unprofessional that it drives somebody to rant about it in the privacy her blog (instead of anywhere else), and you read that blog without permission knowing that it's private, and what you read offends you, then maybe you should re-think that original behavior instead of being mad at somebody for stating the bald truth in an anonymous venue.
5. Blogger doesn't do password-protected blogs. I've just gone to ridiculous lengths trying to erase all contacts to the previous address and to my profile.
Now I find that there are other kinds of blog-readers. People who know you; who would read your blog even while knowing that you never intended to share it with them; who would lurk, never commenting or announcing their presence or telling you that they happen to read your blog; who would read things never meant for their eyes. People who would intentionally, blatantly go behind your back, invade your privacy, and use what you write against you in a sphere that has no connection to the blog at all. Imagine if a sister or a cousin found your blog, turned around and complained about it to your parents. Imagine a co-worker researching your blog and turning it into something to discuss with the boss. Imagine some similar situation and you'll see where I am.
Some things I learned today:
1. I have an enemy. I find this a little baffling because I never felt important enough to have a foe. But after all this time it turns out that I'm not paranoid, they really are out to get me. Why, I'm not sure yet.
2. Blogs actually aren't a safe place to vent because anyone freaky enough to search for you will find it. Changing the address will only work for a short time; whatever it was that drove somebody to find it before will find it again. Therefore nobody shall ever be named by name again unless I love them. My fourth-category reader will Hereby be referred to as "Umbridge". (I was thinking "She who must not be named" or "you-know-who" but that made the whole thing too important. "Umbridge" fits much better.)
3. I'm totally out of my league here. I'm not good these two-faced, sneaky, gossip-y, game-playing Machiavellian maneuvers that women use against each other, of saying one thing to one party and something else to another. I generally say what I think, or I keep my mouth shut. Everybody who knows me knows where they stand, all the time. I think I'm screwed...
4. If your behavior is so immature and unprofessional that it drives somebody to rant about it in the privacy her blog (instead of anywhere else), and you read that blog without permission knowing that it's private, and what you read offends you, then maybe you should re-think that original behavior instead of being mad at somebody for stating the bald truth in an anonymous venue.
5. Blogger doesn't do password-protected blogs. I've just gone to ridiculous lengths trying to erase all contacts to the previous address and to my profile.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Potter nerds unite!
I can't believe I only scored "Acceptable" on a Harry Potter test! That means if there were a "Harry Potter" NEWT-level class, I might not even get in. This is a really hard test!
http://www.the-leaky-cauldron.org/#static:quiz
Good luck people.
One of my favorite 'Farside' cartoons shows a bunch of people picketing with signs that read
"Dyslexics of the World Untie!" . Get it? Maybe it's only funny because I'm a good bit dyslexic myself. Mom says that comes from being left-handed but she blames everything about me on that. ("You didn't sleep well? It's because you're left handed. Left-handers die earlier, you know. They don't sleep well either.") Maybe not that bad but it does come up a bit. I say, if she didn't want left-handed children she should have thought twice about marrying a left-handed guy like my father. Same goes for fidgeting.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
On this date...
My birthday: January Seventeenth
3 Events (in this century):
1945 - The Nazis begin the evacuation of the Auschwitz concentration camp as Soviet forces close in.
1975 - Bob Dylan releases Blood on the Tracks, often considered one of his best albums.
1991 - Gulf War: Operation Desert Storm began early in the morning. Iraq fires 8 Scud missiles into Israel in an unsuccessful bid to provoke Israeli retaliation.
3 Births:
1706 - Benjamin Franklin American writer, inventor, publisher, and ambassador (d. 1790)
1899 - Al Capone, American gangster (d. 1947)
1942 - Muhammad Ali, American boxer
1 Death:
1964 - T.H. White, English author (b. 1906)
3 Events (in this century):
1945 - The Nazis begin the evacuation of the Auschwitz concentration camp as Soviet forces close in.
1975 - Bob Dylan releases Blood on the Tracks, often considered one of his best albums.
1991 - Gulf War: Operation Desert Storm began early in the morning. Iraq fires 8 Scud missiles into Israel in an unsuccessful bid to provoke Israeli retaliation.
3 Births:
1706 - Benjamin Franklin American writer, inventor, publisher, and ambassador (d. 1790)
1899 - Al Capone, American gangster (d. 1947)
1942 - Muhammad Ali, American boxer
1 Death:
1964 - T.H. White, English author (b. 1906)
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Read it and see!
D and I had AWESOME SEX last night. Just thought I'd share that, since it's not the kind of thing I would mention to anyone I know out loud and this is my journal so neh. The kind where the next day you just feel all laid back and smiling, and when people annoy you, you just think "jeez, he/she/it needs to get laid already" in a very smug kind of way. Today he spent hours cleaning the apartment when I was at work. And made dinner. (I'm not sure who this stranger is, but I think I'll keep him ;) ) That's my guy. I'll try to see him and match it tomorrow re: the apartment because I'm off of course but he has to work do to the massive anti-anti-illegal-immigration-bill march tomorrow that is going to decimate his hotel's staff for the day. Gosh knows the apartment has another day's worth of labor due at least! We're such slobs.
I'm editing my co-worker Ana's thesis paper for her. It's an interesting task; I have no idea what she's talking about but I can fix phrasing and such. I warned her that's it's for grammar and style only, I can't do content. What I really need from her right now is a general outline of the paper so that I can see where I am; she only gave me a few pages so far and I don't know which pages. I didn't have to do a thesis when I graduated, I don't know if that's because it was a different school, or because I didn't graduate with honors, or what. The stress probably would have done me in as I was already really bad off that final semester with the killer gall-bladder/ulcer/heartburn/I'm-sorry-we-can't-figure-out-what-it-is thing.
Off to see if D's up for it again. Figuratively speaking. I think.
I'm editing my co-worker Ana's thesis paper for her. It's an interesting task; I have no idea what she's talking about but I can fix phrasing and such. I warned her that's it's for grammar and style only, I can't do content. What I really need from her right now is a general outline of the paper so that I can see where I am; she only gave me a few pages so far and I don't know which pages. I didn't have to do a thesis when I graduated, I don't know if that's because it was a different school, or because I didn't graduate with honors, or what. The stress probably would have done me in as I was already really bad off that final semester with the killer gall-bladder/ulcer/heartburn/I'm-sorry-we-can't-figure-out-what-it-is thing.
Off to see if D's up for it again. Figuratively speaking. I think.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Time for a nice Rant!
Another weird night! It's becoming epidemic! D comes home early and leaves to go to a ballgame. I come home, walk the dog. I go to bed. D come home, walks the dog, goes to bed. D gets up and leaves around four. I wake up quarter till 6 alone, wondering if I dreamed him coming home until I find his stuff in the kitchen. All very disorienting... I called him on my way to work to see when he'd gone back to work.
I'm currently ranting internally about the way our society tries to re-form every body to its own image. From cosmetic surgery to tanning booths, they want us all to be the same, tall thin blonde and dumb. We internalize this message to the point that we want to erase all of the little idiosyncrasies and personal traits that make us who we are; to shrink large noses, lipo that round tummy, laser away sexy eye bags, hold in that sarcastic edge. It's ironic because the things we hate about ourselves (because they make us stand out) are the same things that endear us to others and vice versa. I could get a boob-job, because gosh everybody knows that B-cups just don't cut it anymore in this world. But I know of at least one person who loves them the way they are. Isn't it annoying when a friend with beautiful skin, romance-novel skin (you know, creamy, smooth, etc) complains about being pale? We get brain-washed into thinking there's only one pretty kind of skin.
What if you went out and got everything fixed up just the way it should be? What if you dyed your hair blonde, fixed your nose, got the boob job and the liposuction? What if, right when everything was perfect, you met the man of your dreams, and it turned out that he didn't go for any of that stuff? that he prefers the all-natural, doesn't like spherical fake breasts, loves brunettes in glasses? Then what? What kind of people will you attract once you've bought into the barbie-doll image? Someone who wants a barbie, I guess.
The fact that all this stuff is bad for you doesn't even seem to be an issue. The carcinogenic tanning beds, dangerous operations, et al are a small price to pay for artificial beauty. Get your tits fixed and you could have major problems down the road if you ever want to nurse your babies-- not that this would stop anyone now; how long has it been since breasts have been nothing more than decoration/man bait/sex toys? Wait, you mean they had another purpose originally? How weird is that! Kinda gross, really!
That's it, I'm moving back to Vermont, where just shaving my legs makes me ultra-glam and feminine compared to the norm, where there are lots of brunettes, and where very few people seem to feel the need to digitally erase their bags of either saddle or eye variety.
I'm currently ranting internally about the way our society tries to re-form every body to its own image. From cosmetic surgery to tanning booths, they want us all to be the same, tall thin blonde and dumb. We internalize this message to the point that we want to erase all of the little idiosyncrasies and personal traits that make us who we are; to shrink large noses, lipo that round tummy, laser away sexy eye bags, hold in that sarcastic edge. It's ironic because the things we hate about ourselves (because they make us stand out) are the same things that endear us to others and vice versa. I could get a boob-job, because gosh everybody knows that B-cups just don't cut it anymore in this world. But I know of at least one person who loves them the way they are. Isn't it annoying when a friend with beautiful skin, romance-novel skin (you know, creamy, smooth, etc) complains about being pale? We get brain-washed into thinking there's only one pretty kind of skin.
What if you went out and got everything fixed up just the way it should be? What if you dyed your hair blonde, fixed your nose, got the boob job and the liposuction? What if, right when everything was perfect, you met the man of your dreams, and it turned out that he didn't go for any of that stuff? that he prefers the all-natural, doesn't like spherical fake breasts, loves brunettes in glasses? Then what? What kind of people will you attract once you've bought into the barbie-doll image? Someone who wants a barbie, I guess.
The fact that all this stuff is bad for you doesn't even seem to be an issue. The carcinogenic tanning beds, dangerous operations, et al are a small price to pay for artificial beauty. Get your tits fixed and you could have major problems down the road if you ever want to nurse your babies-- not that this would stop anyone now; how long has it been since breasts have been nothing more than decoration/man bait/sex toys? Wait, you mean they had another purpose originally? How weird is that! Kinda gross, really!
That's it, I'm moving back to Vermont, where just shaving my legs makes me ultra-glam and feminine compared to the norm, where there are lots of brunettes, and where very few people seem to feel the need to digitally erase their bags of either saddle or eye variety.
Monday, April 03, 2006
What a weird, smelly day
Saturday after D got home from work (bad D!) we got lunch and window shopped got coffee went to Borders saw Ben bought the Harry Potter Goblet of Fire DVD got more coffee went home made pancakes and watched the movie. So that was all good and he was forgiven. Sunday D was giving his truck a tune-up when something bad happened with the fuel line he was working on. Don't ask me what, I'm not an automechanic. I was just working on the laptop when he stormed up the stairs cussing like a sailor and reeking of gas, trying to wash his ear out under the faucet because it's all filled with gasoline. His ear, that is. The whole apartment filled with the smell of gas and I got a killer headache and had to evacuate to my folk's for the evening. D and I have agreed that future tune-ups will be done by (liscensed) professionals. Some things are worth paying for, and he doesn't need to be lying on his side on the concrete garage floor what with his back and all. Not to mention that if anything had happened like an explosion or fire or something I'm pretty sure the apartment complex could sue us for all we're worth, not that that's very much but still I don't think we're supposed to do engine work on site.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Rambles on filthy stuff.
I feel better than I did when I posted last. For one thing, I didn't think to call Kristen (not annoying-coworker Kristin, but old UTD scientist-friend Kristen) and see what she was up to before deciding that I have no friends etc. Also, spent yesterday evening with Ashli for the first time in ages. She's doing well now; husband working, new raise at work, etc. It sounds like it was pretty hairy there for awhile but now things are looking brighter. Ashli has promised to get better at staying in touch but I'm not holding my breath. Work yesterday was really busy because it was payday for so many people; the every-other-Friday folk like D, the 15th-and-31st folk like me, and the every-Friday folk all got our monies yesterday. They don't line up like that very often, it's like an eclipse. Except that instead of being an amazing celestial phenomenon, it's just a really busy work-day. I did 250 transactions before going home. For those who aren't immersed in the bank-teller world (most everybody, I hope) that's pretty kick-ass.
D promised earlier that he wasn't working at all this weekend, that we'd have lots and lots of "couple time". Then he amended that to say that he had to go into work early on Saturday but just for a few hours. Guess where he is now, at 1:00p.m. Saturday? Well, he's not here at home. Scratch that, actually, because that might be the garage door now. It's not like I asked for this time or anything, just that he oughtn't go about making promises that he knows he can't guarantee. And all week long, I said "that's nice, sweetie, I'll believe it when I see it though" which pissed him off a little even though (or maybe because) he knew I was right.
Perhaps we can spend some time cleaning up this black hole of an apartment that we habit, do the laundry, make it livable. Right now, the place has a 'smell', that "two dogs and a cat occupy this small space and one of the dogs isn't fully house-broken yet and they both smell" smell. If I ever got a huge raise or a higher-paying job, I think that my frivolous-gift-to-self would be a housecleaning service. Just the one time. I think that if I could get half-way there and let them do the rest the apartment could be wonderful for a day or so. My parents have a lady who comes by twice a month to clean; it was the solution to many scary fights they had after my mom started working full-time again. I never understood why mom insisted on tidying-up the night before Carol was coming, it seemed like she was cleaning for the house-cleaner; now I understand. If you pay someone to spend say three hours cleaning your house, she can only get it really clean if it's already tidy. Can't clean the sink if there are still dirty dishes to be done, or vaccuum if there's stuff all over the carpet that needs to be dealt with. I can spend hours tidying the apartment and not even get to the dusting-vaccuuming-scrubbing part of it.
I once tried to calculate what Carol and her sister make (or could make) cleaning houses and it's unreal. And they get paid in cash, which could mean much lower taxes. And they use supplies and machines furnished by the households, that van seems to be the only overhead. Being in business for yourself, no matter how small the operation, is the only way to make real money, I think.
I'm off to clean the bathroom, yay.
D promised earlier that he wasn't working at all this weekend, that we'd have lots and lots of "couple time". Then he amended that to say that he had to go into work early on Saturday but just for a few hours. Guess where he is now, at 1:00p.m. Saturday? Well, he's not here at home. Scratch that, actually, because that might be the garage door now. It's not like I asked for this time or anything, just that he oughtn't go about making promises that he knows he can't guarantee. And all week long, I said "that's nice, sweetie, I'll believe it when I see it though" which pissed him off a little even though (or maybe because) he knew I was right.
Perhaps we can spend some time cleaning up this black hole of an apartment that we habit, do the laundry, make it livable. Right now, the place has a 'smell', that "two dogs and a cat occupy this small space and one of the dogs isn't fully house-broken yet and they both smell" smell. If I ever got a huge raise or a higher-paying job, I think that my frivolous-gift-to-self would be a housecleaning service. Just the one time. I think that if I could get half-way there and let them do the rest the apartment could be wonderful for a day or so. My parents have a lady who comes by twice a month to clean; it was the solution to many scary fights they had after my mom started working full-time again. I never understood why mom insisted on tidying-up the night before Carol was coming, it seemed like she was cleaning for the house-cleaner; now I understand. If you pay someone to spend say three hours cleaning your house, she can only get it really clean if it's already tidy. Can't clean the sink if there are still dirty dishes to be done, or vaccuum if there's stuff all over the carpet that needs to be dealt with. I can spend hours tidying the apartment and not even get to the dusting-vaccuuming-scrubbing part of it.
I once tried to calculate what Carol and her sister make (or could make) cleaning houses and it's unreal. And they get paid in cash, which could mean much lower taxes. And they use supplies and machines furnished by the households, that van seems to be the only overhead. Being in business for yourself, no matter how small the operation, is the only way to make real money, I think.
I'm off to clean the bathroom, yay.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Revelations
Personal, not biblical. Thank goodness. It's been kind of a weird day for me, filled with realizations; not at all usual. I'm at home alone, D's at some work shindig. It kind of pisses me off that he never takes me to these things, keeping work and home life separate blah blah blah. He never used to do that. In the beginning we worked together so it was impossible; in Vermont the town was just too small, I guess.
Anyways. I realized that I really want to explore this proof-reading, copy-editing career-flash-idea that I had recently. I don't know why I've never considered it before; I mean, reading is the single thing that I do best, that I like best, and I'm always editing and correcting what I read in my head, muttering on about clunky writing. There's not much money in it, but it probably beats the heck out of being a bank teller. You get to sit down, for one thing. I'd have to take some classes but that would be ok. My bank would even pay for those, I think. They do that.
I also realized that I'm a fucking loner. I've taken introversion to a level that's not good and I spend my time either at work, with D, with my family, or alone. Reading, on-lining, shopping, bookstore-browsing, driving . . .
Where are all of my friends? When I realized that I had the evening to myself, it came to me that I didn't feel like staying in and reading. How strange. I called my best friend, Ashli. She was busy with family obligations. I called Ben. Ditto. I called....wait. That's it. I didn't have other numbers to dial (like we really dial anymore. Cell-phone one-touch, more like.) Unless I wanted to hang out with my sister (see Family, above) which I didn't. What has become of me? I'm no misanthrope or social outcast! I like people. Some people, anyways. I've just been sucked into the marital/quasi-marital trap in which D and I spend all of our time together. Alone, together. I've always made my friends from the people that I worked with, from that hotel job that turned up D, to the Borders in Vermont with Becca and everyone, to the steakhouse's constant supply of drinking buddies and poker pals. Trouble is, I don't like anyone at the bank enough to try to be friends with them. It's not like I don't like them, just that 40 hours a week is enough. More than enough. I left friends back in Vermont; Holly, Erin, Nicki, Becca. I'm changing this dismal scene, pronto. Mara is now Open for Friendship. No more turning down invitations, staying home because D really is anti-social; no more self-doubting shyness or snobbish Mr. Darcy-ish standoffishness. Maybe I should join a book club or something. :)
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Anyone who reads my blog regularly (right) might be thinking, best friend Ashli? What best friend Ashli? Today was the first we've spoken in months. Isn't that weird? It's not like we had a falling-out, although I was starting to think so. Ashli and I have been friends since seventh grade. We don't agree on anything, not movies, books, religion, politics, marriage, which guys are hot, etc. Our conversations don't tend to include any of the above. And yet we've been close friends for over a decade. She got married last June and I was her maid of honor. I last saw her sometime in October I think.
She sent me a holiday card, kind of generic, signed from her and her husband. I called and left a voice-mail to say thank you, and another to say Merry Christmas. She sent me an email on my birthday, I replied to it and sent a birthday card to her parent's house. I emailed her when my grandmother died, to tell her what happened and could we get together? She replied to that one.
I thought maybe she was just cocooning with the new hubby, or wrapped up in work; but who can't pick up the phone every now and then to say hi, or hit 'reply' to an e-mail? (Don't I sound like somebody's mother? I sound like my own mother.) I was a little pissed, to be honest, and ready to just put the friendship on hold until she saw fit to remember it. Now I wonder, though. The tone of her last email wasn't good and I think that she may be doing that...thing.... where you retreat when things get hard because to talk about it is difficult, to admit that life isn't all grand (especially if marriage has always been the goal, the panacea, and the destination) to make things even harder by trying to do everything yourself. Stubbornness, pride, that paranoid fear of seeing judgment in other's eyes. We're alike in some ways after all, I guess. Or she really has been ignoring me. Maybe she's made cooler friends, friends who don't read Harry Potter. But we're going out tomorrow night so I'll see. I'm still kind of ticked though.
Update on the stupid!Kristin thing... she may or may not have been drunk during the whole accident-and-next-morning thing. True, I didn't notice anything, but then, I never do. Intoxication, like homosexuality, usually goes under my radar completely, unless I have some reason for inquiring into either. Points in favor of intoxication: she didn't call the police about the accident, citing the fact that the other car already left the scene. Doesn't make sense because even I know that they have to make an accident report for the insurance company. But if she were drunk it would explain it better. It would also explain why we had to stop for her to throw up at the bank. We'd only been driving for 10 minutes or so, is that long enough to get motion-sick? I don't know. The other point (less substantive) is that the other bank associates who saw her do think so. Perhaps they're more observant than me. Points against intoxication.... none, really. Oh and even though she doesn't seem at all injured or hurt, she has off from work on a doctor's note until Saturday. The whole thing leaves me ticked off. Go ahead and axe her, then.
Anyways. I realized that I really want to explore this proof-reading, copy-editing career-flash-idea that I had recently. I don't know why I've never considered it before; I mean, reading is the single thing that I do best, that I like best, and I'm always editing and correcting what I read in my head, muttering on about clunky writing. There's not much money in it, but it probably beats the heck out of being a bank teller. You get to sit down, for one thing. I'd have to take some classes but that would be ok. My bank would even pay for those, I think. They do that.
I also realized that I'm a fucking loner. I've taken introversion to a level that's not good and I spend my time either at work, with D, with my family, or alone. Reading, on-lining, shopping, bookstore-browsing, driving . . .
Where are all of my friends? When I realized that I had the evening to myself, it came to me that I didn't feel like staying in and reading. How strange. I called my best friend, Ashli. She was busy with family obligations. I called Ben. Ditto. I called....wait. That's it. I didn't have other numbers to dial (like we really dial anymore. Cell-phone one-touch, more like.) Unless I wanted to hang out with my sister (see Family, above) which I didn't. What has become of me? I'm no misanthrope or social outcast! I like people. Some people, anyways. I've just been sucked into the marital/quasi-marital trap in which D and I spend all of our time together. Alone, together. I've always made my friends from the people that I worked with, from that hotel job that turned up D, to the Borders in Vermont with Becca and everyone, to the steakhouse's constant supply of drinking buddies and poker pals. Trouble is, I don't like anyone at the bank enough to try to be friends with them. It's not like I don't like them, just that 40 hours a week is enough. More than enough. I left friends back in Vermont; Holly, Erin, Nicki, Becca. I'm changing this dismal scene, pronto. Mara is now Open for Friendship. No more turning down invitations, staying home because D really is anti-social; no more self-doubting shyness or snobbish Mr. Darcy-ish standoffishness. Maybe I should join a book club or something. :)
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Anyone who reads my blog regularly (right) might be thinking, best friend Ashli? What best friend Ashli? Today was the first we've spoken in months. Isn't that weird? It's not like we had a falling-out, although I was starting to think so. Ashli and I have been friends since seventh grade. We don't agree on anything, not movies, books, religion, politics, marriage, which guys are hot, etc. Our conversations don't tend to include any of the above. And yet we've been close friends for over a decade. She got married last June and I was her maid of honor. I last saw her sometime in October I think.
She sent me a holiday card, kind of generic, signed from her and her husband. I called and left a voice-mail to say thank you, and another to say Merry Christmas. She sent me an email on my birthday, I replied to it and sent a birthday card to her parent's house. I emailed her when my grandmother died, to tell her what happened and could we get together? She replied to that one.
I thought maybe she was just cocooning with the new hubby, or wrapped up in work; but who can't pick up the phone every now and then to say hi, or hit 'reply' to an e-mail? (Don't I sound like somebody's mother? I sound like my own mother.) I was a little pissed, to be honest, and ready to just put the friendship on hold until she saw fit to remember it. Now I wonder, though. The tone of her last email wasn't good and I think that she may be doing that...thing.... where you retreat when things get hard because to talk about it is difficult, to admit that life isn't all grand (especially if marriage has always been the goal, the panacea, and the destination) to make things even harder by trying to do everything yourself. Stubbornness, pride, that paranoid fear of seeing judgment in other's eyes. We're alike in some ways after all, I guess. Or she really has been ignoring me. Maybe she's made cooler friends, friends who don't read Harry Potter. But we're going out tomorrow night so I'll see. I'm still kind of ticked though.
Update on the stupid!Kristin thing... she may or may not have been drunk during the whole accident-and-next-morning thing. True, I didn't notice anything, but then, I never do. Intoxication, like homosexuality, usually goes under my radar completely, unless I have some reason for inquiring into either. Points in favor of intoxication: she didn't call the police about the accident, citing the fact that the other car already left the scene. Doesn't make sense because even I know that they have to make an accident report for the insurance company. But if she were drunk it would explain it better. It would also explain why we had to stop for her to throw up at the bank. We'd only been driving for 10 minutes or so, is that long enough to get motion-sick? I don't know. The other point (less substantive) is that the other bank associates who saw her do think so. Perhaps they're more observant than me. Points against intoxication.... none, really. Oh and even though she doesn't seem at all injured or hurt, she has off from work on a doctor's note until Saturday. The whole thing leaves me ticked off. Go ahead and axe her, then.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Ack! Feels like Monday!
What a jarring start to my day! I woke up from the dreaded school dream (I've enrolled for classes and about half way though the semester, I realize that I haven't been to this one class at all, that I've missed the semi-finals, it's too late to withdraw, and I'm failing. It's always too late to do anything about it.) It's always the same dream, since about 8th grade, even though it's been a good 2 years since I graduated. I guess my sub-conscious, after 18-odd years of school, just translates any stress into "school". Sometimes the school is a weird, Dali-esque version of my high school, sometimes it's college. It's always a math or science class. Anyways.
My supervisor calls me up at 7:00 (7:00!) to ask me if I can pick up Kristin from her house and take her to this meeting she's supposed to be at by 7:45. I'm in bed, stark naked and half asleep, and I'm supposed to somehow get her across town during rush hour in 45 minutes. RIGHT. She was in a car accident last night and couldn't drive her car. One interesting thing about my work: nobody seems to understand the concept of a taxi-cab: you know... you call them, they drive you somewhere, you pay them. We never make it to the meeting. Between the traffic, which was unbelievable, and Kristin's nausea (we had to stop at our branch for her to barf) I was actually late getting to work. Also feeling sick from the traffic, with no coffee and no breakfast, and I left my enormous buritto at home. The only saving grace was that my boss went out and got me a Starbucks to get me though till lunch.
My supervisor calls me up at 7:00 (7:00!) to ask me if I can pick up Kristin from her house and take her to this meeting she's supposed to be at by 7:45. I'm in bed, stark naked and half asleep, and I'm supposed to somehow get her across town during rush hour in 45 minutes. RIGHT. She was in a car accident last night and couldn't drive her car. One interesting thing about my work: nobody seems to understand the concept of a taxi-cab: you know... you call them, they drive you somewhere, you pay them. We never make it to the meeting. Between the traffic, which was unbelievable, and Kristin's nausea (we had to stop at our branch for her to barf) I was actually late getting to work. Also feeling sick from the traffic, with no coffee and no breakfast, and I left my enormous buritto at home. The only saving grace was that my boss went out and got me a Starbucks to get me though till lunch.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
What I did on my day off
1. Slept in.
2. Tried to sleep longer but was awoke by D's mom. Our phone is turned down so we only hear messages. I was just lying there when her voice boomed out across the bedroom. She has recently discovered the internet and email, with some long-distance tutoring from D and me. ("The icon. No, icon. It's a little picture on your screen. You click on it. What do you mean, how? With the mouse!" etc.) Now she thinks that D has blocked her from sending him email and calls wondering what she's done to make him so mad at her, so upset... All she's ever done is love him and now he's blocked her emails?
Of course he didn't, he just called home last week. She's just email-challenged. Not a great way to start my morning-- I called D at work and told him to call home pronto.
3. Walked the dog.
4. Went to the bookstore, read a book, talked to Ben. Contemplated the fact that I can in no way be considered mysterious or to have an 'interesting' past unless it's by someone who doesn't know me at all.
4. Developed fucking massive sinus-headache-turned-migraine-headache.
5. Went to Tom Thumb in search of Sudafed. They keep it behind the counter like it's cigarettes or dirty magazines.
6. Took Sudafed, took Advil, took shower in the dark.
7. Leaned against the shower wall and cried in the dark because it hurt. If there's anyone out there that wonders if their headache is a migraine, considering the following questions.
Does the headache make you vomit?
Is the light too loud? Do you seek out the darkest corner in your apartment, like the bathtub with the lights out? Then it might be.
I don't understand why this only seems to happen on my off-days. Maybe because I couldn't handle it at work, I don't know.
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Update:
8. After the shower, sat into a hot bath for a long time.
9. Took a nap, until like 6:30. Realized my hair is really soft because I left in the conditioner for the whole bathtime. I feel much better now.
10. It turns out that D's hotmail account will deactivate if he doesn't check it every 30 days, which is why his mom was getting her letters returned. Damn these free services that up and quit on you! He reactivated it and sent her an explanatory email.
11. We went to On the Border and I tried something called the Big Borderitto or something to that effect. Imagine a normal meal, with rice and beans and a chicken burrito with sour cream sauce. Now imagine someone took that whole plate and emptied it into a tortilla. It was an 8-pound burrito! I was, "Hey, where's the rice? where's the beans? oh, they seem to be inside here... and there's sauce. On the inside!" It was good in a messy sort of way, plus I have half of it to take to work tomorrow, as if I have time to eat a 4-pound lunch in half an hour. Ah well.
I'm working a kind of short day tomorrow, mainly because of the 12-hour monster day Monday. I'm so glad that I'm full-time and they can't cut my hours as we finally have new people coming on board so all the part-time folks' hours are being cut back to what they should be, like 20 or 24 hours a week. But it's hard to go back after you get used to being paid for say 30 or 35 instead when we're shorthanded. I'm slated for 40, and I get 40 no matter what, thank goodness.
I inadvertently pissed off someone I haven't even met, isn't that funny? My co-worker Kristin is dating this guy who wants to be a journalist and has to write papers for class. She brings them to work to edit and had me edit them as well because the guy sucks completely as a writer. I merely tried to help him but I guess he's sensitive or something. All I can say is that writing in the first person makes whatever you're writing sound like a 5th-grader's book report. As it, "I totally loved this book! My favorite character was, my least favorite part was..." And passive voice was sucked.
I think I've been put on the track of a new career path: being a mean, heartless editor and cutting pretentious writers down to size. Now how do I go about doing that. Does editing require a degree in English or something, or previous publishing experience? I wonder.
2. Tried to sleep longer but was awoke by D's mom. Our phone is turned down so we only hear messages. I was just lying there when her voice boomed out across the bedroom. She has recently discovered the internet and email, with some long-distance tutoring from D and me. ("The icon. No, icon. It's a little picture on your screen. You click on it. What do you mean, how? With the mouse!" etc.) Now she thinks that D has blocked her from sending him email and calls wondering what she's done to make him so mad at her, so upset... All she's ever done is love him and now he's blocked her emails?
Of course he didn't, he just called home last week. She's just email-challenged. Not a great way to start my morning-- I called D at work and told him to call home pronto.
3. Walked the dog.
4. Went to the bookstore, read a book, talked to Ben. Contemplated the fact that I can in no way be considered mysterious or to have an 'interesting' past unless it's by someone who doesn't know me at all.
4. Developed fucking massive sinus-headache-turned-migraine-headache.
5. Went to Tom Thumb in search of Sudafed. They keep it behind the counter like it's cigarettes or dirty magazines.
6. Took Sudafed, took Advil, took shower in the dark.
7. Leaned against the shower wall and cried in the dark because it hurt. If there's anyone out there that wonders if their headache is a migraine, considering the following questions.
Does the headache make you vomit?
Is the light too loud? Do you seek out the darkest corner in your apartment, like the bathtub with the lights out? Then it might be.
I don't understand why this only seems to happen on my off-days. Maybe because I couldn't handle it at work, I don't know.
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Update:
8. After the shower, sat into a hot bath for a long time.
9. Took a nap, until like 6:30. Realized my hair is really soft because I left in the conditioner for the whole bathtime. I feel much better now.
10. It turns out that D's hotmail account will deactivate if he doesn't check it every 30 days, which is why his mom was getting her letters returned. Damn these free services that up and quit on you! He reactivated it and sent her an explanatory email.
11. We went to On the Border and I tried something called the Big Borderitto or something to that effect. Imagine a normal meal, with rice and beans and a chicken burrito with sour cream sauce. Now imagine someone took that whole plate and emptied it into a tortilla. It was an 8-pound burrito! I was, "Hey, where's the rice? where's the beans? oh, they seem to be inside here... and there's sauce. On the inside!" It was good in a messy sort of way, plus I have half of it to take to work tomorrow, as if I have time to eat a 4-pound lunch in half an hour. Ah well.
I'm working a kind of short day tomorrow, mainly because of the 12-hour monster day Monday. I'm so glad that I'm full-time and they can't cut my hours as we finally have new people coming on board so all the part-time folks' hours are being cut back to what they should be, like 20 or 24 hours a week. But it's hard to go back after you get used to being paid for say 30 or 35 instead when we're shorthanded. I'm slated for 40, and I get 40 no matter what, thank goodness.
I inadvertently pissed off someone I haven't even met, isn't that funny? My co-worker Kristin is dating this guy who wants to be a journalist and has to write papers for class. She brings them to work to edit and had me edit them as well because the guy sucks completely as a writer. I merely tried to help him but I guess he's sensitive or something. All I can say is that writing in the first person makes whatever you're writing sound like a 5th-grader's book report. As it, "I totally loved this book! My favorite character was, my least favorite part was..." And passive voice was sucked.
I think I've been put on the track of a new career path: being a mean, heartless editor and cutting pretentious writers down to size. Now how do I go about doing that. Does editing require a degree in English or something, or previous publishing experience? I wonder.
Friday, March 24, 2006
I'm back.
Sorry for the long absence there, it's been a terrible week. My grandmother died on Thursday and I flew up to Detroit with my family for the funeral and etc. Weirdly, my first reaction was anger at my dad, because he told me that she was doing better. Like it's somehow his fault that his 95 year old mother passed away. . . I guess she was trying to fake us out or something. Even stranger was my next thought, that I didn't have to worry about her dying anymore . . . not one of my more rational moments.
The trip: a bizarre combination of grief and hilarity, mourning combined with a crazy family reunion. Travelling with my parents always seems to reduce me to a child-state, which added to the overall unreality of the trip; going from my usual autonomy to being strapped into the backseat, sharing a room with my sister, and being kept on a need-to-know basis . . .
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Upon first checking into the hotel, KK accidentally crushes our dad and his suitcase between the elevator doors-- she was trying to hit the 'door open' button but got confused. We're all five of us crammed into the elevator with our bags, waiting, complaining about how slow the elevator is, when we realize that nobody's hit the floor button; we're still sitting on the ground floor. Good thing nobody else tried to go up or else we would have filed back out into the lobby. Travelling doesn't bring out the best in my kin, I guess.
On the flight back to Dallas we were all in different rows because we got the tickets last minute. Right before takeoff, my mom calls me-- her cell phone to my cell phone-- to ask where we are. We are on the same plane. She wants to know what row we're in. And if I can see my dad on the plane too. (I can.) One of the many unfathomable mysteries of motherhood, I guess.
The trip: a bizarre combination of grief and hilarity, mourning combined with a crazy family reunion. Travelling with my parents always seems to reduce me to a child-state, which added to the overall unreality of the trip; going from my usual autonomy to being strapped into the backseat, sharing a room with my sister, and being kept on a need-to-know basis . . .
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Upon first checking into the hotel, KK accidentally crushes our dad and his suitcase between the elevator doors-- she was trying to hit the 'door open' button but got confused. We're all five of us crammed into the elevator with our bags, waiting, complaining about how slow the elevator is, when we realize that nobody's hit the floor button; we're still sitting on the ground floor. Good thing nobody else tried to go up or else we would have filed back out into the lobby. Travelling doesn't bring out the best in my kin, I guess.
On the flight back to Dallas we were all in different rows because we got the tickets last minute. Right before takeoff, my mom calls me-- her cell phone to my cell phone-- to ask where we are. We are on the same plane. She wants to know what row we're in. And if I can see my dad on the plane too. (I can.) One of the many unfathomable mysteries of motherhood, I guess.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Car stupidity
Argh argh argh! Total chaos morning in Maraworld. First, have work-dreams all night long, including one in which the bank is robbed. Funnily enough it's not a nightmare, just another stressful-day-at-work kind of dream. I wake up to go to work with that feeling of having worked all through the night albeit subconsciously. I thought I'd go to the gas station before work because I was running really, really low on gas. So low that I run out of gas right before I turn into the gas station, so that my car is stuck out in the intersection with the emergency flashers on as I run to the station, pointing to my car and babbling incoherently. Two nice boys help me push the car back from the intersection so that it's back in the left-turn lane ( by "help me push" I mean, they push the car while I'm inside it) and call me ma'am, which makes me feel very old but also that society is not quite being funneled down a drain and there is more than just hope for the next generation as it includes nice young boys who push cars and stuff. SO embarrassing. Then I'm late for work, and work is beyond hectic and crazy, because as usual we're at least one person short. Can we ever have a day with no call-ins, vacations, off-site meetings...
On the bright side I now know exactly how many gallons I get to a tank of gas. (358 1/2 to fifteen gallons, city miles with no A/C) And I will never let it get to more than 300 again before refilling.
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The last part was written at work after the busy rush. I got to come home and relax, chill with D and the animals for awhile. Then my boss calls me (crying) to tell me that our co-worker, Mary, had just died. She was the one that called in sick, which in retrospect was very out of character. Apparently she had some sort of stomach bug and a fever and went to the hospital, but...
I'm just shocked, it's just too weird. I mean, nothing was wrong with her on Thursday or Friday, at least not that we could see...and it turns out she was fibbing about her age, she was actually 80, not 70 or 72 like we thought. God. I can't believe she's just gone, just like that, that when I said goodbye to her on Friday it was for good. Did I even say goodbye? Did I notice her leaving at the end of her shift, or did I just keep working? I can't remember now. I feel unrationally guilty for impatient thoughts that I had about her as though it makes any kind of difference.
On the bright side I now know exactly how many gallons I get to a tank of gas. (358 1/2 to fifteen gallons, city miles with no A/C) And I will never let it get to more than 300 again before refilling.
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The last part was written at work after the busy rush. I got to come home and relax, chill with D and the animals for awhile. Then my boss calls me (crying) to tell me that our co-worker, Mary, had just died. She was the one that called in sick, which in retrospect was very out of character. Apparently she had some sort of stomach bug and a fever and went to the hospital, but...
I'm just shocked, it's just too weird. I mean, nothing was wrong with her on Thursday or Friday, at least not that we could see...and it turns out she was fibbing about her age, she was actually 80, not 70 or 72 like we thought. God. I can't believe she's just gone, just like that, that when I said goodbye to her on Friday it was for good. Did I even say goodbye? Did I notice her leaving at the end of her shift, or did I just keep working? I can't remember now. I feel unrationally guilty for impatient thoughts that I had about her as though it makes any kind of difference.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Sunday, Lazy Sunday
When I started into the banking business, Sunday became my favorite day of the week. There's no banking on Sundays! It's always, guaranteed, a day off. D and I had our usual Sunday breakfast out, and today we made it early enough to actually be breakfast instead of lunch which is what usually happens. Sign from Poor Richard's Cafe in Plano:
Do Not Leave! We will seat in 10-15 minutes. We seat 260 people. Why would you want to eat somewhere that's not busy?
Why, indeed. On weekend morning/middays their line stretches out the door and around the corner but it does move fast. They have thin bacon there. I hate thick bacon, the way you have to chew at it and in a sandwich it all comes out in one bite because you can't bite through it. But obviously the people that make it think it's great, because you always see advertised, "thick-cut bacon!" Give me thin crispy bacon any day. Anyways.
Because we don't have kids yet I can get away with being judgmental of parents that we see out and about. For example in line at PR's was a family in which the mother is asking her son (maybe 2 1/2 or 3 y.o.) repeatedly whether he wants pancakes or a hamburger. He's just blinking and trying to turn away from her, into his dad's shoulder where he's being held. For pete's sake, I don't think I got my own meal at a restaurant until I was as least 7. At that age you can just give them bits off of your own plate, can't you? A triangle of the French toast, a piece of bacon. Three year olds don't need to make decisions like that, leave the poor kid alone! You know that later she's going to be all, "You said you wanted pancakes! Eat your pancakes!" or whatever. I'm sure that having kids of my own will be very humbling but until then, I can scoff.
Got a terrible sinus headache that D tried to fix by taking me to Barnes and Noble-- he claims that almost anything wrong with me can be fixed with a book and a cup of coffee although in this case he was wrong and it took my usual cocktail of Advil and Sudafed. The problem is that I hate taking medicines so I wait until I feel so bad that there's no other option, so it takes forever for them to work because the headache is kind of ingrained by then. Other headache sufferers will know what I mean-- it takes over your neck and shoulder muscles as well as your whole head and face. Now it's gone, thank goodness. A hot bath (naked!) helps with that. D has to be MOD tonight, he's working 3 until midnight or so. Bleargh. I work all Saturday, he works Sunday. I wish we could get it together better.
It's off to Mom and Dad's for dinner tonight, and KK and I are going to the gym(!) later tonight, so at least I won't be lonely. Also taking advantage of D's absence to play the piano for awhile. It's weird about the working out, because lately I've been wanting to start again and then she suggested it out of the blue. Great minds, I guess.
Do Not Leave! We will seat in 10-15 minutes. We seat 260 people. Why would you want to eat somewhere that's not busy?
Why, indeed. On weekend morning/middays their line stretches out the door and around the corner but it does move fast. They have thin bacon there. I hate thick bacon, the way you have to chew at it and in a sandwich it all comes out in one bite because you can't bite through it. But obviously the people that make it think it's great, because you always see advertised, "thick-cut bacon!" Give me thin crispy bacon any day. Anyways.
Because we don't have kids yet I can get away with being judgmental of parents that we see out and about. For example in line at PR's was a family in which the mother is asking her son (maybe 2 1/2 or 3 y.o.) repeatedly whether he wants pancakes or a hamburger. He's just blinking and trying to turn away from her, into his dad's shoulder where he's being held. For pete's sake, I don't think I got my own meal at a restaurant until I was as least 7. At that age you can just give them bits off of your own plate, can't you? A triangle of the French toast, a piece of bacon. Three year olds don't need to make decisions like that, leave the poor kid alone! You know that later she's going to be all, "You said you wanted pancakes! Eat your pancakes!" or whatever. I'm sure that having kids of my own will be very humbling but until then, I can scoff.
Got a terrible sinus headache that D tried to fix by taking me to Barnes and Noble-- he claims that almost anything wrong with me can be fixed with a book and a cup of coffee although in this case he was wrong and it took my usual cocktail of Advil and Sudafed. The problem is that I hate taking medicines so I wait until I feel so bad that there's no other option, so it takes forever for them to work because the headache is kind of ingrained by then. Other headache sufferers will know what I mean-- it takes over your neck and shoulder muscles as well as your whole head and face. Now it's gone, thank goodness. A hot bath (naked!) helps with that. D has to be MOD tonight, he's working 3 until midnight or so. Bleargh. I work all Saturday, he works Sunday. I wish we could get it together better.
It's off to Mom and Dad's for dinner tonight, and KK and I are going to the gym(!) later tonight, so at least I won't be lonely. Also taking advantage of D's absence to play the piano for awhile. It's weird about the working out, because lately I've been wanting to start again and then she suggested it out of the blue. Great minds, I guess.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Enchiladas
Oh no! Long blog absence. It can be explained though; I've had a really boring week. And a really stressful week. Somehow the two correlate well. We were supposed to be having a baby shower for the girl here at work who's preggers but it's all fallen apart; people who were supposed to plan things didn't, people have called in sick... we are still doing it but it's going to be pretty lame. On Saturdays my goal is usually to get home as soon as possible and forget that work happened at all that day; not happening today. My day off seems to have been moved to Tuesday which is not a good day to have off, it seems to me. Too soon after Sunday and all; it makes the rest of the week too long.
I made chicken enchiladas last night for dinner and they were really good. I was in a weird funk and didn't have the energy to make the rice or the beans or the cream puffs that I was going to bring to the shower but at least I tried a new recipe for the first time in ages. By "make the beans" I mean open the can and heat them up. Those random bubbles of depression really sap your energy.
I made chicken enchiladas last night for dinner and they were really good. I was in a weird funk and didn't have the energy to make the rice or the beans or the cream puffs that I was going to bring to the shower but at least I tried a new recipe for the first time in ages. By "make the beans" I mean open the can and heat them up. Those random bubbles of depression really sap your energy.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Too much month...
at the end of the money! It may be a country song, but once every millennia even country can hit its mark. Slowly but surely, I'm getting my (our) finances under control, making good decisions, figuring things out. If there's one thing I've determined for sure, it's that I don't want to pay any credit-card interest ever again. I figure that for every dime you spend you should get something back, whether it's a roof over your head, health insurance, a latte. Even taxes buy you necessities like roads, schools, those sexy firefighters that come to your house when it's burning down. What the hell does credit-card interest buy you? A little time between when you get something and when you have to pay. Mortgage interest I would pay, because for me to have a house before I could pay for it outright would be worthwhile. But most of the things charged to credit cards are little extravagances--clothes, meals out. That time bought is not worth 20% more money to me; I'll just wait until I can pay cash, thanks. I mean, if I can't afford something in February, what makes me think I'd be able to afford it later and with the interest added? By the time the bill comes, does anyone really remember what they bought? So screw all that, I'm going cold-turkey for 2006! So far, so good. Yesterday I renegotiated my interest-rate with Discover and they lowered it by about 4% just because I asked. Sweet. Not that I plan to incur interest, but just in case of emergencies. My other plan-- to build up my savings so that I could use that in an emergency instead of credit, is going ok. It would go better if I could earn a little more money, but there you have it. Looking at my budget, I realize that each month so far I've spent about 100 extra on big things I didn't anticipate-- car inspection/oil, renter's insurance. Should I assume that every month there's going to be something like that, or are these months anomalies? I guess it will take a few more months of tracking to know.
I haven't heard anything different about my Grandma. She is in my mind all the time right now, I wish I could communicate with her somehow. Let her know that I'm with her in spirit. I'm going to mail the card even though she can't read it right now, just in case she can later.
I haven't heard anything different about my Grandma. She is in my mind all the time right now, I wish I could communicate with her somehow. Let her know that I'm with her in spirit. I'm going to mail the card even though she can't read it right now, just in case she can later.
Friday, February 24, 2006
(none)
Well, the cookies went over well. In retrospect it was too much work though, I always overestimate how much I can do in one evening and start projects at seven. Ah well.
I had only a half-day of work today and am already back home, filled with ambitions towards cleaning the apartment, et cetera. It's nice in here, quiet with just rain and Bach. I found out last night that Grandma is back in the hospital, now with pneumonia. At 95, something like that can really be deadly, especially in combination with her fall and everything. Her mental clarity is pretty bad too, apparently; she's not very responsive. It looks more to me like the fall was the result of another stroke or mini-stroke (whatever the hell that is.) I don't know how to describe what I'm feeling for her and for all of us. I'm so worried and then I feel stupid for worrying, because what I'm really afraid of is that she's going to die. And she is, of course. Maybe not in this round, but someday. It's something I've never seriously considered before--like I said, stupid, I know. I came home last night very upset and D was doing all of the typical male things-- find problem, find solution, fix problem-- and upset me more.
Men do this a lot I've noticed. It's not their fault and it's only because they don't like to see the people they care for upset by something. (Me man, me fix problem at hand. Crying girlfriend= leaky faucet. Where wrench?) It takes some learning to realize that what's required is a shoulder to cry on, not a new gameplan, ideas or airplane tickets. We used to go through this a lot when I was stressed out about school; he'd try to take over and ask all these stupid questions when all I wanted was a hug and maybe some sympathy and/or dinner. It would just make me feel defensive and inadequate, as though I were doing something wrong. As though if I'd done something differently (as suggested) then I wouldn't be stressed or upset, when some things, like trying to graduate, are simply stressful.
This is pretty much the first time that I've had to face the possibility of losing someone I love, and there's not a damn thing that D can do to fix it. He can't make Grandma any younger, fitter, or healthier or stop her from dying; all he can do is be there. I think that's hard for him. I'm being selfish, though, in a sense. My gut reaction is of course that she can't die! That's it's not fair! But I would not have her live to be 100 if it would be 5 years of pain and suffering, of mental confusion and with no independence, to be confined to a nursing home, an IV. Of course not. It's just that she's just such a tough bird, and this all came on so suddenly. Six months ago, she was still driving. Still in her own apartment. Still had the memory and mental accuity of someone half her age. (I mean that she hadn't gotten foggy or forgetful, not that oldsters aren't accute. Still knew the birthdays, addresses, phone numbers of all her grandkids.) To have all of this just vanish is unexpected because I've been in the habit of thinking that she was invincible. But no matter what, she is an incredible woman, an inspiration.
I had only a half-day of work today and am already back home, filled with ambitions towards cleaning the apartment, et cetera. It's nice in here, quiet with just rain and Bach. I found out last night that Grandma is back in the hospital, now with pneumonia. At 95, something like that can really be deadly, especially in combination with her fall and everything. Her mental clarity is pretty bad too, apparently; she's not very responsive. It looks more to me like the fall was the result of another stroke or mini-stroke (whatever the hell that is.) I don't know how to describe what I'm feeling for her and for all of us. I'm so worried and then I feel stupid for worrying, because what I'm really afraid of is that she's going to die. And she is, of course. Maybe not in this round, but someday. It's something I've never seriously considered before--like I said, stupid, I know. I came home last night very upset and D was doing all of the typical male things-- find problem, find solution, fix problem-- and upset me more.
Men do this a lot I've noticed. It's not their fault and it's only because they don't like to see the people they care for upset by something. (Me man, me fix problem at hand. Crying girlfriend= leaky faucet. Where wrench?) It takes some learning to realize that what's required is a shoulder to cry on, not a new gameplan, ideas or airplane tickets. We used to go through this a lot when I was stressed out about school; he'd try to take over and ask all these stupid questions when all I wanted was a hug and maybe some sympathy and/or dinner. It would just make me feel defensive and inadequate, as though I were doing something wrong. As though if I'd done something differently (as suggested) then I wouldn't be stressed or upset, when some things, like trying to graduate, are simply stressful.
This is pretty much the first time that I've had to face the possibility of losing someone I love, and there's not a damn thing that D can do to fix it. He can't make Grandma any younger, fitter, or healthier or stop her from dying; all he can do is be there. I think that's hard for him. I'm being selfish, though, in a sense. My gut reaction is of course that she can't die! That's it's not fair! But I would not have her live to be 100 if it would be 5 years of pain and suffering, of mental confusion and with no independence, to be confined to a nursing home, an IV. Of course not. It's just that she's just such a tough bird, and this all came on so suddenly. Six months ago, she was still driving. Still in her own apartment. Still had the memory and mental accuity of someone half her age. (I mean that she hadn't gotten foggy or forgetful, not that oldsters aren't accute. Still knew the birthdays, addresses, phone numbers of all her grandkids.) To have all of this just vanish is unexpected because I've been in the habit of thinking that she was invincible. But no matter what, she is an incredible woman, an inspiration.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Cookie Monster
Tired....so tired. I keep staying up late for stupid reasons, and I have to open at the bank all weeek. Seven o'clock in the morning is not a civilized time to start work, honestly. Tonight we have a meeting that is also a belated Valentine's Day party and we're supposed to bring valentines for our co-workers. I got the brilliant idea to make lots of cookies and give each coworker a cute bag full of homemade cookies as the valentine.
Right. I was making cookies from 6 until midnight last night. Snickerdoodles, chocolate-chip-walnut cookies, sugar cookiesf cut into hearts and colored with red sugar. I made more than ten dozen cookies. I was in a cookie making haze. Cookie-delirium. I was practically crying by the time I got to the wrapping-and-packaging stage. Why? Why do I do this to myself? I realized last night that it's pure vanity, that's all. I like hearing that they're the best cookies ever etc. I like bringing the good stuff.
I had a three-day weekend (Yay, president's day!) but it didn't feel like it at all for some reason. For a little while it looked as though D and I might be moving to Connecticut but now it doesn't. He might go there on task force, though, and leave me here to fend for myself. Blech. Usually I love this kind of weather but today it's getting me down. Maybe because I'm at work, or maybe I just need a little more sleep. And another cookie.
Right. I was making cookies from 6 until midnight last night. Snickerdoodles, chocolate-chip-walnut cookies, sugar cookiesf cut into hearts and colored with red sugar. I made more than ten dozen cookies. I was in a cookie making haze. Cookie-delirium. I was practically crying by the time I got to the wrapping-and-packaging stage. Why? Why do I do this to myself? I realized last night that it's pure vanity, that's all. I like hearing that they're the best cookies ever etc. I like bringing the good stuff.
I had a three-day weekend (Yay, president's day!) but it didn't feel like it at all for some reason. For a little while it looked as though D and I might be moving to Connecticut but now it doesn't. He might go there on task force, though, and leave me here to fend for myself. Blech. Usually I love this kind of weather but today it's getting me down. Maybe because I'm at work, or maybe I just need a little more sleep. And another cookie.
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