It seems like winter and summer are the seasons to lose shoes. I don't recall ever finding lost shoes in the fall or spring. Just summer and winter.
Last summer, I was walking in the park with someone, and we noticed a forlorn, slightly grimy, tiny bright pink flip-flop with a plastic flower where the straps joined between the toes. It was clearly well-loved, but had been left behind. I was imagining the circumstances under which the tot had probably been forced to leave it behind - perhaps she had been playing in the fountain and hadn't come when her mother had called. Maybe the mother came after her, counting in (what she thought was) a controlled voice, and whisked her away, the flip-flop flying off her foot as she was carried into the air by the angry mama. "Mommy, stop!" my brain told me the little girl cried as she struggled against The Powers That Be (aka, mothers in a fury)...but to no avail. When tired worn out Mom and Small Girl arrived at home, Mom must have been even more upset. Or just have thrown up her hands and chalked it up to a long day.
But maybe the little girl was just forgetful, and, so caught up in the shiny sparkle of the reflection of the sun on the water, took a mis-step and stepped out of the flip-flop, and, being entranced and also used to running around without shoes on, and the sidewalk not being overly hot or cold (given our climate), a small foot could easily slip out of its none-too-restrictive 'holster' and the loss of said flip be unnoticed.
Wintertime shoe losses are a little hard to explain...especially since the lost shoes I see in the winter are usually adult shoes. Just last week I saw a mid-calf sogged synthetic suede boot lying in the middle of a busy road, mired in six inches of slush. Later the same day, I saw a snow boot with the shaft bent sideways at the very low waist as if it were out of breath and just couldn't deal with the snow anymore. A week before that, when it had been dumping rain, I saw a ballet flat akimbo on the base of a streetlight. If the shoe had been on a foot, the owner would definitely have had torn a few ligaments and be in a cast.
Why is it that people lose one shoe, and not two? I understand losing one glove; half of a scarf-hat duet, one mitten, one shoelace, or the removable hood of a rainjacket...but just one shoe? Especially adult shoes? In the wintertime? Plastic children's shoes in the summer, I understand a bit better. But leaving your shoes in the middle of a snowstorm to drown in slush is just plain irresponsible.
So why have I come across so many in the last two or three weeks? Were they having a Lost Shoe Where's Waldo, and nobody bothered to tell me? Or does the winter wet make people get so distracted they lose just one shoe?
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Yogurt Elves
There is an elf in my grocery store. I presume it is the same elf that adores peach yogurt and leaves the blueberry behind (see earlier post).
I say this because on Saturday when I went to the groc (as W would say) to get a few things, I wanted to pick up some of my favorite brand of Greek yogurt: Fage (which, as it says on the label, is pronounced "fAy-uh"), but I am picky and I only like the stuff made with whole milk (they call it Total). It's absolutely divine. It's usually uber expensive, but sometimes they go on sale - individual servings (which are really like 4 servings for me) for $1. So I always swing by the yogurt half-aisle to look for it - but now I always approach with caution, because for nine out of the last ten times, when I arrive on the scene, the Fage Elf has been there. Apparently this elf is on a high-fat, high-protein diet, because he/she takes the total of the Total and there is never any left for me. Seriously. There's 2%, and nonfat, but never Total. All I want is plain yogurt. But this elf continually denies me! And I've had it. >: # ---> angry face.
I even vary the times I go to the grocery store, and the days of the week, just to see if I can catch the elf out...or at least beat it to the yogurt punch...to no avail.
Last week I even resorted to buying a sort of half-serving that had a compartment of honey in it (they have fruit ones, too-and unsurprisingly, there is always plenty of blueberry [see previous post]). There was only one left. I even went so far as to mention it to my grocery manager. I even told him about my firm belief in the Fage Elf that was out to ruin my life. (It's Cap Hill, so I can get away with that. Also, I didn't use the phrase "ruin my life" - but I did mention my belief in the existence of the elf.)
So I was eyeing the greek yogurt section, despairing inside at the lack of Fage, and refusing to compromise my tastebuds for 2% (It's 80% as good. But why settle for 80% when if the darned elf would just give up, you could have 110% tastebud bliss?), when a lady walked up and picked out four cartons of another brand, and when she saw me eyeing her, she raved about how delicious it was. I inwardly laughed, as that's something I would do--buy a zillion cartons of something and give an on-the-spot groc recommendaiton. Unsurprisingly, she took no blueberry, and there were several blueberry cartons left...and not much else. Maybe she was the yogurt elf of the other brand! I thought. So, because I can't let the elves win, I found myself reaching out to put a carton of the substitute in my basket, on her recommendation...I think I took the last honey.
Sorry, blueberry yogurt, you're still not loved.
Not even by the yogurt elves.
I say this because on Saturday when I went to the groc (as W would say) to get a few things, I wanted to pick up some of my favorite brand of Greek yogurt: Fage (which, as it says on the label, is pronounced "fAy-uh"), but I am picky and I only like the stuff made with whole milk (they call it Total). It's absolutely divine. It's usually uber expensive, but sometimes they go on sale - individual servings (which are really like 4 servings for me) for $1. So I always swing by the yogurt half-aisle to look for it - but now I always approach with caution, because for nine out of the last ten times, when I arrive on the scene, the Fage Elf has been there. Apparently this elf is on a high-fat, high-protein diet, because he/she takes the total of the Total and there is never any left for me. Seriously. There's 2%, and nonfat, but never Total. All I want is plain yogurt. But this elf continually denies me! And I've had it. >: # ---> angry face.
I even vary the times I go to the grocery store, and the days of the week, just to see if I can catch the elf out...or at least beat it to the yogurt punch...to no avail.
Last week I even resorted to buying a sort of half-serving that had a compartment of honey in it (they have fruit ones, too-and unsurprisingly, there is always plenty of blueberry [see previous post]). There was only one left. I even went so far as to mention it to my grocery manager. I even told him about my firm belief in the Fage Elf that was out to ruin my life. (It's Cap Hill, so I can get away with that. Also, I didn't use the phrase "ruin my life" - but I did mention my belief in the existence of the elf.)
So I was eyeing the greek yogurt section, despairing inside at the lack of Fage, and refusing to compromise my tastebuds for 2% (It's 80% as good. But why settle for 80% when if the darned elf would just give up, you could have 110% tastebud bliss?), when a lady walked up and picked out four cartons of another brand, and when she saw me eyeing her, she raved about how delicious it was. I inwardly laughed, as that's something I would do--buy a zillion cartons of something and give an on-the-spot groc recommendaiton. Unsurprisingly, she took no blueberry, and there were several blueberry cartons left...and not much else. Maybe she was the yogurt elf of the other brand! I thought. So, because I can't let the elves win, I found myself reaching out to put a carton of the substitute in my basket, on her recommendation...I think I took the last honey.
Sorry, blueberry yogurt, you're still not loved.
Not even by the yogurt elves.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Feeding Your Demons
So I'm reading this book about feeding your demons. The idea is that instead of hating yourself and letting fear rule your life, you can invite your demons over for tea and feed them. Meaning, once you recognize the dark holes inside yourself and acknowledge them, and you can actually use your weaknesses to your advantage.
Visualizing what the demon looks like, identifying what the demon wants, is, according to the author, much better than living in fear all the time.
I was reading this as I was feeding myself at a great restaurant: Veritable Quandary. I saw the name on the map and immediately was in love. That was more than a year ago, and it took me this long to get there. I had a serving of cassoulet. For any of you who do not know what that is, it's French stew stuff. VQ's had handmade sausage (which was good, but I didn't eat most of it because of everything else that was excellent in it) and duck and white beans and red and yellow beets and small whole onions and potatoes and other root vegetables and it was gorgeous. So was the bread.
I thought about all the demons I have. It's hard to follow the advice and think of individual demons when in your mind you can rationally see how Pink Fuzzy Polka-dot Demon is holding hands with Greasy Green Mossy Demon, and they are running away from Night on Bald Mountain Demon, who is swirling around, great and powerful, but then it's sucked away into the Neverending Story's Nothing.
When you think about all the things that could go wrong - all the things you want to change about yourself - it's paralyzing, and easy to think that it's easier to just invite the demons in and not only let them have tea, but also crumpets, cucumber sandwiches, lemonade, and cake. The thing is, not all demons want cake. Some want pickles, or pretzels, or prunes. So you have to figure out what the demons want and then figure out how to trick them into thinking you've given it to them so they'll go away.
I guess I'm fixated on the whole "tea" thing because in the beginning of her book the author says that Gandhi had a British colonel or something over to chat about the salt tax protest. Gandhi's supporters wanted to put nails in the road so the Colonel's tires would pop. Gandhi refused, saying instead he would invite the Colonel to tea. Upon sitting down and asking for the appropriate number of lumps of sugar and stirring them in, the Colonel, I imagine, said, "Now see here, Gandhi, old fellow, let's discuss this futile resistance, shall we?" in a falsely cheery tone. Gandhi reportedly said, "No, no, my friend, there is something more important we must talk about." So they'd talk about something else - who knows? The price of wheat, maybe, or the weather. And then the Colonel would say, "Well, really, Gandhi, good fellow, you really must do something about this salt tax." And Gandhi would repeat himself. This happened for a few cycles before Gandhi apparently had the Colonel wrapped around his finger - he had expressed himself so well and comported himself with such devious dignity that the Colonel had been swayed. In the author's analogy, Gandhi is us, and the Colonel - the oppressor, is the demon. So instead of antagonizing the demon and playing along with its game, the author thinks that we should find a very Demon custom - in this case, having the British take tea - and use its own custom to trick it, and afterwards, banish the demon.
I'm not sure I agree with this line of thinking, or if it will even work. But I do know that just like everybody else, I've got some demons that need reconciling. The demons can have the tea. But I won't share my cassoulet with the demons. It was too good. Don't want the demons thinking they can get any of the good stuff!!
Visualizing what the demon looks like, identifying what the demon wants, is, according to the author, much better than living in fear all the time.
I was reading this as I was feeding myself at a great restaurant: Veritable Quandary. I saw the name on the map and immediately was in love. That was more than a year ago, and it took me this long to get there. I had a serving of cassoulet. For any of you who do not know what that is, it's French stew stuff. VQ's had handmade sausage (which was good, but I didn't eat most of it because of everything else that was excellent in it) and duck and white beans and red and yellow beets and small whole onions and potatoes and other root vegetables and it was gorgeous. So was the bread.
I thought about all the demons I have. It's hard to follow the advice and think of individual demons when in your mind you can rationally see how Pink Fuzzy Polka-dot Demon is holding hands with Greasy Green Mossy Demon, and they are running away from Night on Bald Mountain Demon, who is swirling around, great and powerful, but then it's sucked away into the Neverending Story's Nothing.
When you think about all the things that could go wrong - all the things you want to change about yourself - it's paralyzing, and easy to think that it's easier to just invite the demons in and not only let them have tea, but also crumpets, cucumber sandwiches, lemonade, and cake. The thing is, not all demons want cake. Some want pickles, or pretzels, or prunes. So you have to figure out what the demons want and then figure out how to trick them into thinking you've given it to them so they'll go away.
I guess I'm fixated on the whole "tea" thing because in the beginning of her book the author says that Gandhi had a British colonel or something over to chat about the salt tax protest. Gandhi's supporters wanted to put nails in the road so the Colonel's tires would pop. Gandhi refused, saying instead he would invite the Colonel to tea. Upon sitting down and asking for the appropriate number of lumps of sugar and stirring them in, the Colonel, I imagine, said, "Now see here, Gandhi, old fellow, let's discuss this futile resistance, shall we?" in a falsely cheery tone. Gandhi reportedly said, "No, no, my friend, there is something more important we must talk about." So they'd talk about something else - who knows? The price of wheat, maybe, or the weather. And then the Colonel would say, "Well, really, Gandhi, good fellow, you really must do something about this salt tax." And Gandhi would repeat himself. This happened for a few cycles before Gandhi apparently had the Colonel wrapped around his finger - he had expressed himself so well and comported himself with such devious dignity that the Colonel had been swayed. In the author's analogy, Gandhi is us, and the Colonel - the oppressor, is the demon. So instead of antagonizing the demon and playing along with its game, the author thinks that we should find a very Demon custom - in this case, having the British take tea - and use its own custom to trick it, and afterwards, banish the demon.
I'm not sure I agree with this line of thinking, or if it will even work. But I do know that just like everybody else, I've got some demons that need reconciling. The demons can have the tea. But I won't share my cassoulet with the demons. It was too good. Don't want the demons thinking they can get any of the good stuff!!
Monday, December 19, 2011
letting go
It has come to my attention recently that the effects of love and indifference can, on the surface, look identical. Before your brain boggles, let me explain:
To love a person, you must let him/her go.
You let people go all the time that you don't particularly care about. In dating situations, you might simply just not call for that second or third date. In business situations, you tighten your network. In fb land, you purge your friendlist. You let go.
But you also let go of people you love very best. Mothers send their children off to college every year. And to kindergarten (maybe the same mom doesn't do both every year, but...). Fathers watch their teenagers take the car, wondering if both will make it back in one piece. Caretakers sit by the sickbed, coming to terms with the inevitable in quiet conversations - and often, the sick try to hold on until their loved ones are a little more ready. In relationships, sometimes you love people so much that even though it hurts like a knife to contemplate them being happy with someone else, you know that they wouldn't be happy and it's better to end the relationship sooner rather than later--before it hurts even more.
Love is a 'many splendored thing' - comes in different sizes and shapes. Actually, the love emanating from each person is never the same color or shape or density because no two people are alike...and every person loves no two other people in exactly the same way, so the shape of love between two people is also varied.
Love, as recorded earlier in my All in a Word post, can be unrequited. Or unbalanced. Too giving, or too selfish. No wonder speakers of other languages get so frustrated by the word "love" in English. There's only one word for it. Not like "moisture" (rain, sleet, snow, drizzle, shower, thunderstorm). Adding descriptors is necessary. Maybe the English needed reasons to constantly re-think, re-define, re-actualize their love. Maybe they were just too lazy to come up with new beautiful words to describe their feelings.
In any case, love is a gift - to receive, and to give - each spark of true love is unique, culminating in burning heartfires. So I'm going to treasure each flare of sulphur I receive, and rejoice in every stick of kindling I give...until the time comes to let go.
To love a person, you must let him/her go.
You let people go all the time that you don't particularly care about. In dating situations, you might simply just not call for that second or third date. In business situations, you tighten your network. In fb land, you purge your friendlist. You let go.
But you also let go of people you love very best. Mothers send their children off to college every year. And to kindergarten (maybe the same mom doesn't do both every year, but...). Fathers watch their teenagers take the car, wondering if both will make it back in one piece. Caretakers sit by the sickbed, coming to terms with the inevitable in quiet conversations - and often, the sick try to hold on until their loved ones are a little more ready. In relationships, sometimes you love people so much that even though it hurts like a knife to contemplate them being happy with someone else, you know that they wouldn't be happy and it's better to end the relationship sooner rather than later--before it hurts even more.
Love is a 'many splendored thing' - comes in different sizes and shapes. Actually, the love emanating from each person is never the same color or shape or density because no two people are alike...and every person loves no two other people in exactly the same way, so the shape of love between two people is also varied.
Love, as recorded earlier in my All in a Word post, can be unrequited. Or unbalanced. Too giving, or too selfish. No wonder speakers of other languages get so frustrated by the word "love" in English. There's only one word for it. Not like "moisture" (rain, sleet, snow, drizzle, shower, thunderstorm). Adding descriptors is necessary. Maybe the English needed reasons to constantly re-think, re-define, re-actualize their love. Maybe they were just too lazy to come up with new beautiful words to describe their feelings.
In any case, love is a gift - to receive, and to give - each spark of true love is unique, culminating in burning heartfires. So I'm going to treasure each flare of sulphur I receive, and rejoice in every stick of kindling I give...until the time comes to let go.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Thanksgiving
This year, I deviated from my usual pattern for Thanksgiving and went to J's J's Parent's House for Thanksgiving, and was indoctrinated into Other Ways of Thinking About Thanksgiving as a result.
Meaning, I tried new food.
I had some homemade pickles for the first time on Thanksgiving. They were delicious.
I also had some chocolate mascarpone pudding-ish goodness. It was like...a pudding brownie. Or something. Words can't describe it but it was really yummy. Good enough that I felt like saying, "These mashed potatoes are so creamy" about fifty times because it was, in fact, that creamy. (No, they weren't chocolate potatoes. But the movie quote was just irresistible.)
I also had mashed potatoes with leeks in them. They were also good.
I also had no stuffing. (at least, on Thursday. I had crock pot stuffing on Friday, which was surprisingly delicious.) I didn't even really know I liked stuffing until it just wasn't there. It's still definitely not my favorite...I guess it's all about expectations.
Zucchini-thickened gravy, instead of made with flour or cornstarch. Which didn't make it taste like zucchini, but it added some color to it.
I also had an entire drumstick and didn't gnaw on it. I was proud of myself. The turkey was also soaked in beer, which I had never had either.
I also ate cranberry cheese. That is, cheese with cranberries in it.
And chocolate tortilla chips. Yep. Actual chocolate in the chip. They took me by surprise, and not in a bad way.
And I eyed a "Mock-Apple pie" with distaste and refused some. Apparently you can make apple-less apple pie if you dunk Ritz crackers in apple pie spices and bake it. (Or some such nonsense. It wasn't plausible enough that I wanted to test it out.)
Kale salad with cheese. I had never seen so much kale in my life. The dressing was also very good. And there was cheese on the salad.
Oreo whipped cream. Or, cookies n cream cream. Oreo whipped cream sounds better. Also less like generic brand. (I usually don't much care between brand name and no name, but in Oreo cases, Nabisco always wins.)
I also had some grapefruit, strawberry-jello pie. That's right. Grapefruit, coated in strawberry jello mixture stuff. It was actually really good. The tart of the grapefruit and then the sweet of the jello was a surprisingly attractive mix. It was just the aftertaste that I wasn't sure about.
I also saw a Yoda-head earring in the process of being made, a blue heron, high high tide, a beautiful view of the Sound, won at Sevens, and met twins. Oh. And did some black friday shopping. So all in all, it was an eventful weekend.
I'm thankful that I have a good life. It could be better, but I think a lot of the reason why it isn't earth-shatteringly great on most days is because I could simply have a better attitude and be more grateful for the things I have and try harder to get the things I don't have that are really important to me. But I'm thankful that I do try, and you know, sometimes bad things just happen. But a lot of how good my life will be dependent on how I choose to react to the bad things.
I'm going to go forage for leftovers. In the meantime, hope you all had a great Thanksgiving weekend!
Meaning, I tried new food.
I had some homemade pickles for the first time on Thanksgiving. They were delicious.
I also had some chocolate mascarpone pudding-ish goodness. It was like...a pudding brownie. Or something. Words can't describe it but it was really yummy. Good enough that I felt like saying, "These mashed potatoes are so creamy" about fifty times because it was, in fact, that creamy. (No, they weren't chocolate potatoes. But the movie quote was just irresistible.)
I also had mashed potatoes with leeks in them. They were also good.
I also had no stuffing. (at least, on Thursday. I had crock pot stuffing on Friday, which was surprisingly delicious.) I didn't even really know I liked stuffing until it just wasn't there. It's still definitely not my favorite...I guess it's all about expectations.
Zucchini-thickened gravy, instead of made with flour or cornstarch. Which didn't make it taste like zucchini, but it added some color to it.
I also had an entire drumstick and didn't gnaw on it. I was proud of myself. The turkey was also soaked in beer, which I had never had either.
I also ate cranberry cheese. That is, cheese with cranberries in it.
And chocolate tortilla chips. Yep. Actual chocolate in the chip. They took me by surprise, and not in a bad way.
And I eyed a "Mock-Apple pie" with distaste and refused some. Apparently you can make apple-less apple pie if you dunk Ritz crackers in apple pie spices and bake it. (Or some such nonsense. It wasn't plausible enough that I wanted to test it out.)
Kale salad with cheese. I had never seen so much kale in my life. The dressing was also very good. And there was cheese on the salad.
Oreo whipped cream. Or, cookies n cream cream. Oreo whipped cream sounds better. Also less like generic brand. (I usually don't much care between brand name and no name, but in Oreo cases, Nabisco always wins.)
I also had some grapefruit, strawberry-jello pie. That's right. Grapefruit, coated in strawberry jello mixture stuff. It was actually really good. The tart of the grapefruit and then the sweet of the jello was a surprisingly attractive mix. It was just the aftertaste that I wasn't sure about.
I also saw a Yoda-head earring in the process of being made, a blue heron, high high tide, a beautiful view of the Sound, won at Sevens, and met twins. Oh. And did some black friday shopping. So all in all, it was an eventful weekend.
I'm thankful that I have a good life. It could be better, but I think a lot of the reason why it isn't earth-shatteringly great on most days is because I could simply have a better attitude and be more grateful for the things I have and try harder to get the things I don't have that are really important to me. But I'm thankful that I do try, and you know, sometimes bad things just happen. But a lot of how good my life will be dependent on how I choose to react to the bad things.
I'm going to go forage for leftovers. In the meantime, hope you all had a great Thanksgiving weekend!
Saturday, November 19, 2011
I Feel (Good?)...
11/15/11, 8:06 am CST: Feeling: Sick. I was on Day 5 1/2 of An Exceedingly Bad Cold.
11/15/11, 3:24 pm CST: Feeling: Joy. As I was leaving I got a "star upon thar" in the form of a red star sticker from my niece. She told me I was the Best Auntie Ever for being the first to come visit her in her new house. (Other Aunties, be not jealous. I am sure if you ever visit you will get Best Auntie Ever stickers, too.)
11/15/11, 7:50-8:26 pm PST: Feeling: Pain. I had a head cold and with no decongestant I got on a plane. I think I'm really lucky that my eardrum(s) didn't rupture. The pressure was so bad. I hurt so much. I couldn't even think about being nauseated because the head situation was so bad.
11/15/11, 8:40 pm PST: Feeling: Relieved/Happy. No longer on the plane ride! While I am appreciative of the fact that the landing was butter smooth, the pressure was really a killer. Upon reflection of the events of the day, I smiled because I got a package of Kleenex from a sister to show she loves me (and she let me use up like a whole box while I was there, too), a ride to the airport from a brother-in-law, seven games with Gregor, and Kater watched intently as I packed. The girl who has to be torn from movies wanted to watch me pack! I was nearly overcome.
11/15/11 10:20 pm PST: Feeling: Relieved. Home. Cold. In pajamas. Reading 'directions' on decongestant I purchased as soon as I got home.
11/15/11, 11pm-1am today, PST: Delirium.
11/16/11 6:50 am: Feeling: Like I slept. I went to bed and didn't wake up feeling like there was fire in my nose six times during the night. I'm pretty sure I didn't breathe through my mouth either because I think I was too busy grinding my teeth instead. You know you really need to go see that second and third dentist to get opinions when a lot of your dreams feature teeth.
11/16/11 8:24 am: Feeling: Worried. All the decongestant that was supposed to be slow release, over 12 hours, decided to take effect on my walk to work. I thought my head was going to 'bust a gasket', as my dad would say, before I could safely get to work and take care of the situation. Thankfully, I made it and you did not see "Seattle Woman's Head Explodes; Officials Rush To Clean Up Damage" on the mid-morning Yahoo post. Phew.
11/16/11 1:06 pm: Feeling: Good. I'm sitting in my work chair, downing my not-pho, when I realize: I feel good. I'm not tired. My head doesn't ache. Yeah, I'm sick, but...wait!! I'm sick? Who knew?
11/16/11 2:11 pm: Feeling: Medicated. Holy cow. No wonder I felt good not so long ago! Ick. I seriously think I had some hallucinations. No wonder people can get addicted to cold medicine!
11/17/11 11:30 am: Feeling: Deja vu. I just spend three hours on the phone with the tech guy because my connection to the server went out. I thought I was disconnecting my LAN cord and reconnecting it (at the source end; I'd already tried the computer end) but accidentally disconnected from the tech guy instead because I (in my medicated state) mistook the phone jack for the LAN jack. Ugh. And then when the guy called me back (thank you!) my computer had magically reconnected itself to the server and everything was fine. Yay for being fine. Not yay for randomly having issues and then making people think I'm delusional because they miraculously fix themselves. (I was going to add 'without explanation' there, but figured that 'miraculous' covered that, too.)
11/17/11 2:00 pm: Feeling: Hungry. Late lunch!
11/17/11 7:00 pm: Feeling: Shocked. Still not hungry, but at the grocery store. While shopping for Fage (yum! my new favorite) and gleefully hoarding all the remaining Snack'mm jars of Vlasic pickles because they were on sale for $2.50 (they're usually $4) I realized, out of the blue, that I had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning! That never, ever happens to me. I have never 'forgotten' to eat breakfast before. I blamed it on the cold medicine and decided to abstain from then on.
11/18/11 5:00 pm: Feeling: Relieved. It's the weekend, everybody! Also, I stopped at the library and picked up some good stuff. :) Also, a bit frustrated that I am still not back to 100%. But at least I don't sound like a man-braying-donkey anymore.
11/19/11 9:00 am: Feeling: Like I should get out of bed. But I actually couldn't make myself get out of bed, so I waited until J called me at 10:15 to do so. (I know.)
11/19/11 4:00 pm: Feeling: COLD. And over-shopped. 30 degrees outside and lots of sticker shock can do that to a girl.
11/19/11 9:00 pm: Feeling: Finished with this blog post. Hopeful that tomorrow I will be back to 100%!
11/15/11, 3:24 pm CST: Feeling: Joy. As I was leaving I got a "star upon thar" in the form of a red star sticker from my niece. She told me I was the Best Auntie Ever for being the first to come visit her in her new house. (Other Aunties, be not jealous. I am sure if you ever visit you will get Best Auntie Ever stickers, too.)
11/15/11, 7:50-8:26 pm PST: Feeling: Pain. I had a head cold and with no decongestant I got on a plane. I think I'm really lucky that my eardrum(s) didn't rupture. The pressure was so bad. I hurt so much. I couldn't even think about being nauseated because the head situation was so bad.
11/15/11, 8:40 pm PST: Feeling: Relieved/Happy. No longer on the plane ride! While I am appreciative of the fact that the landing was butter smooth, the pressure was really a killer. Upon reflection of the events of the day, I smiled because I got a package of Kleenex from a sister to show she loves me (and she let me use up like a whole box while I was there, too), a ride to the airport from a brother-in-law, seven games with Gregor, and Kater watched intently as I packed. The girl who has to be torn from movies wanted to watch me pack! I was nearly overcome.
11/15/11 10:20 pm PST: Feeling: Relieved. Home. Cold. In pajamas. Reading 'directions' on decongestant I purchased as soon as I got home.
11/15/11, 11pm-1am today, PST: Delirium.
11/16/11 6:50 am: Feeling: Like I slept. I went to bed and didn't wake up feeling like there was fire in my nose six times during the night. I'm pretty sure I didn't breathe through my mouth either because I think I was too busy grinding my teeth instead. You know you really need to go see that second and third dentist to get opinions when a lot of your dreams feature teeth.
11/16/11 8:24 am: Feeling: Worried. All the decongestant that was supposed to be slow release, over 12 hours, decided to take effect on my walk to work. I thought my head was going to 'bust a gasket', as my dad would say, before I could safely get to work and take care of the situation. Thankfully, I made it and you did not see "Seattle Woman's Head Explodes; Officials Rush To Clean Up Damage" on the mid-morning Yahoo post. Phew.
11/16/11 1:06 pm: Feeling: Good. I'm sitting in my work chair, downing my not-pho, when I realize: I feel good. I'm not tired. My head doesn't ache. Yeah, I'm sick, but...wait!! I'm sick? Who knew?
11/16/11 2:11 pm: Feeling: Medicated. Holy cow. No wonder I felt good not so long ago! Ick. I seriously think I had some hallucinations. No wonder people can get addicted to cold medicine!
11/17/11 11:30 am: Feeling: Deja vu. I just spend three hours on the phone with the tech guy because my connection to the server went out. I thought I was disconnecting my LAN cord and reconnecting it (at the source end; I'd already tried the computer end) but accidentally disconnected from the tech guy instead because I (in my medicated state) mistook the phone jack for the LAN jack. Ugh. And then when the guy called me back (thank you!) my computer had magically reconnected itself to the server and everything was fine. Yay for being fine. Not yay for randomly having issues and then making people think I'm delusional because they miraculously fix themselves. (I was going to add 'without explanation' there, but figured that 'miraculous' covered that, too.)
11/17/11 2:00 pm: Feeling: Hungry. Late lunch!
11/17/11 7:00 pm: Feeling: Shocked. Still not hungry, but at the grocery store. While shopping for Fage (yum! my new favorite) and gleefully hoarding all the remaining Snack'mm jars of Vlasic pickles because they were on sale for $2.50 (they're usually $4) I realized, out of the blue, that I had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning! That never, ever happens to me. I have never 'forgotten' to eat breakfast before. I blamed it on the cold medicine and decided to abstain from then on.
11/18/11 5:00 pm: Feeling: Relieved. It's the weekend, everybody! Also, I stopped at the library and picked up some good stuff. :) Also, a bit frustrated that I am still not back to 100%. But at least I don't sound like a man-braying-donkey anymore.
11/19/11 9:00 am: Feeling: Like I should get out of bed. But I actually couldn't make myself get out of bed, so I waited until J called me at 10:15 to do so. (I know.)
11/19/11 4:00 pm: Feeling: COLD. And over-shopped. 30 degrees outside and lots of sticker shock can do that to a girl.
11/19/11 9:00 pm: Feeling: Finished with this blog post. Hopeful that tomorrow I will be back to 100%!
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Game Face
I really like to play games. I like to win games, too. I don't mind losing, but what I do mind is losing a game that took forever to play and it was clear from, oh, round 4 of 386 that I was going to lose, and lose by a wide margin. It kind of depends on the day. Sometimes you could kick my proverbial trash and I would just smile and blithely whistle the rest of the day away. Sometimes I can get a super grouch face on that doesn't evaporate until you feed me or I sleep or both. Probably both. (Let's be honest.)
During a visit to my sister in TX, I was playing with her boy. He's great at games. He's only five. He is so accommodating and although he does occasionally peek when he's not supposed to, and he sometimes whines when things don't go his way, he is generally very self-regulated and even polices himself when he cheats. He's so cute! (Cute is an understatement, but I thought I'd give you a break from all my hyperbole for this post.)
Anyway, so a lot of this visit has been spent playing games and reading books and sleeping. (This is how almost all my visits go. It's great. Sadly I also got sick this time around, but hey, you can't win 'em all.)
The first night I was in town, I asked Gregor what he wanted to play, and he said, "We could play Memory, or Go Fish with Memory cards."
I said, "Okay..." but before I could finish vocalizing my game choice, he interrupted and said, "Let's play Go Fish with Memory cards, because I don't really like Memory." He said it in the most polite voice. I couldn't help it - neither could his mom - we both burst out laughing.
I guess there's more than one type of game face - poker face, and honest face. I prefer honest face.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Proper Protocol
Imagine falling asleep on the couch - not feeling so hot, meaning to go to bed but just not quite getting there before you pass out. You're sleeping lightly, with the light on (which means you must be really tired), and then all the sudden your eyes open wide because you hear the distinct sound of a key in your lock. It's not your key. Your keys are in their usual spot. (Yes, your eyes check just to make sure.)
The noise, followed by muffled sounds of agitation, and keys being dropped on the ground, comes again as the would-be intruder makes another go.
Not wanting to believe your ears, you cautiously make your way across the floor to the door and slide up to the peephole. Peering out, you see that someone, indeed, is trying to make his way into your apartment. Sagging against the wall, your brain does some mental calculations, runs through a few scenarios as you watch the lock, praying that it doesn't give, and you ask yourself this question:
What is proper protocol when a neighbor mistakes your apartment for his at 1:30 am?
Do you open the door and give him the Evil Glare of Death?
No. Too risky. What if he was inebriated or had violent tendencies?
Do you not say anything and just hope he'll wise up and go away?
No. You might die of adrenaline spiking by then. Besides, what if he got frustrated and kicked the door down?
Do you yell rudely through the door, "Look, buddy, you've got the wrong apartment!"
No. That might wake other neighbors up. Their sleep time is important, too.
I'll tell you what I'd do. It may not be Proper Protocol, but I'd knock on *my* side of the door and say politely, "Excuse me, I believe you have the wrong apartment."
Then hopefully, the keys would drop as the owner was completely stupefied by his mistake. The mutterings would cease. And what would be extra nice would be an apology in the form of: "Oh! I'm so sorry!" being heard through the door.
And I would check the door three times to make sure it was still intact and then huddle in bed until I fell asleep.
The noise, followed by muffled sounds of agitation, and keys being dropped on the ground, comes again as the would-be intruder makes another go.
Not wanting to believe your ears, you cautiously make your way across the floor to the door and slide up to the peephole. Peering out, you see that someone, indeed, is trying to make his way into your apartment. Sagging against the wall, your brain does some mental calculations, runs through a few scenarios as you watch the lock, praying that it doesn't give, and you ask yourself this question:
What is proper protocol when a neighbor mistakes your apartment for his at 1:30 am?
Do you open the door and give him the Evil Glare of Death?
No. Too risky. What if he was inebriated or had violent tendencies?
Do you not say anything and just hope he'll wise up and go away?
No. You might die of adrenaline spiking by then. Besides, what if he got frustrated and kicked the door down?
Do you yell rudely through the door, "Look, buddy, you've got the wrong apartment!"
No. That might wake other neighbors up. Their sleep time is important, too.
I'll tell you what I'd do. It may not be Proper Protocol, but I'd knock on *my* side of the door and say politely, "Excuse me, I believe you have the wrong apartment."
Then hopefully, the keys would drop as the owner was completely stupefied by his mistake. The mutterings would cease. And what would be extra nice would be an apology in the form of: "Oh! I'm so sorry!" being heard through the door.
And I would check the door three times to make sure it was still intact and then huddle in bed until I fell asleep.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Thank you, Gmail
Whenever I sign on to Gmail and look at my contact list for people to gchat with (it's not IM, it's gchat. Amazing job, Google branding team!), there's one name at the bottom that always pulls my heart strings: Rosc W. There's a little grey 'x' by his name, but then again, since I'm invisible, there's always an 'x' next to mine, too. Even though the last time we gchatted was more than a year ago, Gmail's memory, scary-elephantine in its capacity, remembers that R and I chatted. Even though it's irrational, I like to think that Gmail knows how important R was to me, and that's why he is always on my gchat short list. Always there, at the bottom.
I think it's R's little private joke on the big corporation; like he went in the back way and permanently programmed gchat to always include him on my list, thereby reminding me via google that he'll always be there for me, just a memory (or soul [g]chat) away.
I think it's R's little private joke on the big corporation; like he went in the back way and permanently programmed gchat to always include him on my list, thereby reminding me via google that he'll always be there for me, just a memory (or soul [g]chat) away.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Way I Am
by: Ingrid Michaelson. Listen Here. (But don't watch the movie.)
Real Words My Words
If you were falling, then I would catch you If you were falling, then I would catch you
with open arms
You need a light, I'd find a match. You need a light, I'd find a match
(or flashlight)
Cause I love the way you say good morning. Cause I love the way you say good morning.
And you take me the way I am. And you take me the way I am.
If you are chilly, here take my sweater. If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
sorry it's so small
Your head is aching, I'll make it better. Your feet are aching, I'll rub them better
Cause I love the way you call me baby. Cause I love the way you call me baby
And you take me the way I am. And you love me the way I am.
I'd buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair. I'd do the laundry so you have clean underwear
Sew on patches to all you tear. Match your work socks to show I care
Cause I love you more than I could ever promise. Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.
And you take me the way I am. And you take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am. You accept me as I am.
You take me the way I am. You take me the way I am.
Real Words My Words
If you were falling, then I would catch you If you were falling, then I would catch you
with open arms
You need a light, I'd find a match. You need a light, I'd find a match
(or flashlight)
Cause I love the way you say good morning. Cause I love the way you say good morning.
And you take me the way I am. And you take me the way I am.
If you are chilly, here take my sweater. If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
sorry it's so small
Your head is aching, I'll make it better. Your feet are aching, I'll rub them better
Cause I love the way you call me baby. Cause I love the way you call me baby
And you take me the way I am. And you love me the way I am.
I'd buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair. I'd do the laundry so you have clean underwear
Sew on patches to all you tear. Match your work socks to show I care
Cause I love you more than I could ever promise. Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.
And you take me the way I am. And you take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am. You accept me as I am.
You take me the way I am. You take me the way I am.
Fed Up**
I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you.
I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.
You treat me like I'm nothin' when you know full well I'm not.
Don't even have the grace to give me notice of your thought
That maybe we're not good as two and single is your pref
I'm shouting via text to you and you pretend you're deaf
That's why:
I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you
I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.
You never call me when you say you will and that's not cool
Then give me lame excuses like you think that I'm a fool
I tried to make excuses and I told myself 'it's fine'
I truly can't believe I ever wanted you as mine.
I passed initial numbness and moved on to Angry Girl
I'm out of softish objects that it's safe for me to hurl
I skipped right past resigned and now I'm at this new heart stage:
'The lameness that you are should incite a public outrage.'
And so:
I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you
I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.
**All characters in this work of fiction are purely fictional. Any references to real people, events, or places is incidental and should not be construed as anything else. Meaning, I did not write this about me. Or about you. It's what my mom would call a high school poem.
I'm fed up with you.
I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.
You treat me like I'm nothin' when you know full well I'm not.
Don't even have the grace to give me notice of your thought
That maybe we're not good as two and single is your pref
I'm shouting via text to you and you pretend you're deaf
That's why:
I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you
I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.
You never call me when you say you will and that's not cool
Then give me lame excuses like you think that I'm a fool
I tried to make excuses and I told myself 'it's fine'
I truly can't believe I ever wanted you as mine.
I passed initial numbness and moved on to Angry Girl
I'm out of softish objects that it's safe for me to hurl
I skipped right past resigned and now I'm at this new heart stage:
'The lameness that you are should incite a public outrage.'
And so:
I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you
I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.
**All characters in this work of fiction are purely fictional. Any references to real people, events, or places is incidental and should not be construed as anything else. Meaning, I did not write this about me. Or about you. It's what my mom would call a high school poem.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
all in a word
Sometimes, as I've discussed previously, one word can bring an overwhelming image to your mind. Sometimes it's simple, like "sun" or "square" or "blue." Other times it's more complex, taking more words to bring any image at all.
One such word - the kind that requires no explanation: unrequited.
I can't decide if I'm really glad that there's one word that describes so utterly perfectly the stress, angst, sorrow, despair, and loneliness of the condition of being on the giving side; OR if I just want to cry because the need for the word exists at all. (How depressing, to have "unrequited" as a label for your affection!)
Unrequited, you're a slave driver of the giver of affection and the bane of the recipient of your minion's labor. You choose to exert no control and continue to attract participants like moths to a flame. Unrequited, you're no fun for either person. You should always be the first to leave a party, with dignity and poise, but instead you're last. You're clingy and maybe even a bit stalkerish. No good.
Wish I could find a requited partner for you - so you could fit together like puzzle piece sentinels of love. Then maybe instead of 'unrequited' you could be relabeled "happily-ever-after."
One such word - the kind that requires no explanation: unrequited.
I can't decide if I'm really glad that there's one word that describes so utterly perfectly the stress, angst, sorrow, despair, and loneliness of the condition of being on the giving side; OR if I just want to cry because the need for the word exists at all. (How depressing, to have "unrequited" as a label for your affection!)
Unrequited, you're a slave driver of the giver of affection and the bane of the recipient of your minion's labor. You choose to exert no control and continue to attract participants like moths to a flame. Unrequited, you're no fun for either person. You should always be the first to leave a party, with dignity and poise, but instead you're last. You're clingy and maybe even a bit stalkerish. No good.
Wish I could find a requited partner for you - so you could fit together like puzzle piece sentinels of love. Then maybe instead of 'unrequited' you could be relabeled "happily-ever-after."
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Cats
Hekter T. Phoodle
(or, a Cat Resume)
Employment:
Laze-About, Principal Director: birth-present. Job duties include yawning, stretching, occasionally purring, and generally burning minimal calories.
Picky-Picky Cat Food, Nose-Upturner: since memory began-present.
Hello, Kitty! (American Realist) Very Cute Kitten: Age 0-6 months.*
Special Skills:
1. Dandy Danderifier: I spread dander and make people sneeze just by living! This is awesome. You should think so, too.
2. Regeneration: Hair is my specialty. I can shed enough hair in 1 month to clog any vacuum cleaner. Twice.
3. Baleful Hiss: I practice at least 3x daily. Key is to follow the hissing action with:
4. Inscrutable Stare: No blinking. Ever.
5. Expert Shredder: Anything you don't want sliced to ribbons with my genuine, non-imitation, did I mention, not fake, claws. The sharper the better!
6. Meowing: Scorning the stage rendition of my species.
7. Rhyming: Meow::cow, bow, row, dhow, frau, how, Mau, now, ow, pow(wow), sow, tau, vow, wow.
8. Look, Ma! Kitty Litter: Use kitty litter as directed. Most of the time.
9. Purring. Perhaps I should have mentioned this first. I have received 3 Inappropriate Length Purr Awards.
10. Hunting. Self-explanatory in urban or non-urban environments. No further explanation is given.
References:
1. Puss In Boots
2. Cat Lovers Anonymous (ask for V or K)
3. Fiendish Felines
(or, a Cat Resume)
Employment:
Laze-About, Principal Director: birth-present. Job duties include yawning, stretching, occasionally purring, and generally burning minimal calories.
Picky-Picky Cat Food, Nose-Upturner: since memory began-present.
Hello, Kitty! (American Realist) Very Cute Kitten: Age 0-6 months.*
Special Skills:
1. Dandy Danderifier: I spread dander and make people sneeze just by living! This is awesome. You should think so, too.
2. Regeneration: Hair is my specialty. I can shed enough hair in 1 month to clog any vacuum cleaner. Twice.
3. Baleful Hiss: I practice at least 3x daily. Key is to follow the hissing action with:
4. Inscrutable Stare: No blinking. Ever.
5. Expert Shredder: Anything you don't want sliced to ribbons with my genuine, non-imitation, did I mention, not fake, claws. The sharper the better!
6. Meowing: Scorning the stage rendition of my species.
7. Rhyming: Meow::cow, bow, row, dhow, frau, how, Mau, now, ow, pow(wow), sow, tau, vow, wow.
8. Look, Ma! Kitty Litter: Use kitty litter as directed. Most of the time.
9. Purring. Perhaps I should have mentioned this first. I have received 3 Inappropriate Length Purr Awards.
10. Hunting. Self-explanatory in urban or non-urban environments. No further explanation is given.
References:
1. Puss In Boots
2. Cat Lovers Anonymous (ask for V or K)
3. Fiendish Felines
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