I have an apartment!
I think.
It's a whole long story and I was all set to blog about it, but when I told the ladies at Bible Study last night all the sordid details, I realized it is interesting to exactly no one, including me. It's a lot of "she said this, then I said this, then she PROMISED this, then I was disappointed" and not a lot of interesting. But the bottom line is: after thinking I was going to have to abandon this rental company and fight with them to get my money back, they managed to get me into the floor plan I wanted for the price I wanted in the gated protion of the complex like I wanted. Now, I haven't actually signed any documents, so this is really no more secure then the LAST TIME I thought I had an apartment and is actually LESS secure because they have proven themselves UNTRUSTWORTHY since that time, but I'm throwing caution to the wind and getting my hopes aaaaall up. I have no one to blame but myself if I'm disappointed. Well, and them. I will definitely blame THEM. And probably myself not at all.
After the awfulness that was Friday and the recovery period that was Saturday and Sunday, I was not really expecting this week to be spectacular. Then my boss called me in for an impromptu performance review. I say impromptu only because I did not know it was happening that day or that minute, but I DID know it was coming. It was supposed to be last week, but she had to cancel for one reason or another. Anyway, I only really had 15 minutes to fret about it before I sat down at the table and got to it, so that was actually nice. I am, after all, a champion fretter.
I had completed a self-evaluation a few weeks before and knew that she would be adding to it and critiquing it, but I really had no idea what to expect. I've never had a performance review. When I worked for either of the Wonder Twins, they just yelled or sent passive-aggressive emails every few days and it was just kind of understood how my performance was rating (poorly. ALWAYS poorly). Then I worked for my church for a while, and they were mostly just pleased that I showed up at all. I mean, I basically created that job and asked if they wouldn't mind paying me gas money to do it, prettyprettyplease, so it's not like they really had performance metrics built in.
So I go into our newly-tiny meeting room (we recently put up a wall down the center of our conference room to make more offices and now we have a sad folding table and these four giant Executive Conference Left-Over Power Chairs that barely fit in the room) and my boss is late and I'm just fretting away. She comes in, hands me a copy of my self-evaluation and a copy of her edits to the same document. And then she tells me I have one of the highest scores she's ever given a new employee.
What?
No, this is the part where you air all the grievances you've been storing up for the last five months. All the things you SHOULD have talked to me about, but didn't have the guts or the interest, so you just let it fester. This is when you really get to pull that bait-and-switch maneuver my other bosses were so fond of. This is where you yell and I cry and you pat yourself on the back for being a excellent molder the young minds of the future of tomorrow.
Instead, you say that you LIKE me? That you're very glad you hired me? That you're impressed by my abilities and you value my constructive DISAGREEMENT because it makes you better at YOUR job?
This must be black magic.
Seriously, guys. I have no idea. I went in with dread in the pit of my stomach. I expected some dark secret festering rage to smack me in the face. I had NO REASON to expect this (in fact, when she had announced that reviews were coming, I did a nervous chuckle and not-actually-jokingly asked, "Do I have anything to worry about?" and her answer was "No." But that's part of the tradecraft). Everything has been going relatively swimmingly, so I shouldn't expect the worst. But expect it, I did. I guess some of the old wounds still haven't healed, although I think this meeting went a long way to helping them.
She showed me places where I can improve and they were all things I agreed with--even though I totally had to bite my tongue to keep from getting defensive about them because that's ALSO what I'm used to in meetings like this. She showed me places where she was more confident in my abilities than I had been on my review. The overall score she gave me was higher than the score I gave myself. This is partly due to it being on a scale of 0-4 and I didn't know we were ALLOWED to use FRACTIONS, but I still would have probably given myself the same score because SCREW FRACTIONS.
Also, if you gave yourself a 1 or a 4, you were supposed to provide documentation to support it and the only thing I gave myself a 4 on was a statement that said something to the effect of "Is nice to others" and I AM nice to others. Really REALLY nice (at least out loud) and I go out of my way to BE nice, but how exactly do you document that? Anyway, she only gave me a 3 on that because while I AM nice to others and probably even nicer than many on staff, all of the ways I am nice are basically expected of all staff members and a 4 is designated "EXCEEDS expectations" and since we're all Christians and are EXPECTED to be like JESUS, ain't none of us getting fours on that one. Apparently.
Anyway, this is all to say that yesterday was a good day for me. I got an apartment and not only did my boss NOT yell at me (the opposite being a pretty standard Monday in my experience), but she said some very NICE and CONSTRUCTIVE and UPLIFTING things to me. So Monday totally kicked Friday's butt. And by kicked its butt, I mean Monday made a shank out of all the happy things that happened that day and STABBED Friday in its black little heart until it DIED. Wow, that, uh, got a little dark. Sorry. In my defense, Friday was a really awful day.
So I am going to tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing* and leave the title as it is, even though the last time I used that phrase, I had an interview get cancelled and when we finally rescheduled it, I was LATE to it and did not get the job and also other bad things happened. And even though leaving the title as is kind of giving me the heebie-jeebies (which I want noted for the record, which can be used as a mitigating factor in case of an appearance said wrath of the whatever).
Showing posts with label NaBloPoMo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NaBloPoMo. Show all posts
11.19.2013
11.15.2013
Weigh In: Ten Percent and the SPIRAL OF DOOM
I went to my very last WeightWatchers meeting today. For a little while, at least. It's cheaper to do it online and I fume/cringe/gripe though my meetings (if I go at all), so it doesn't seem other the money right now. But I weighed myself on my new digital scale and it looked like I had lost enough weight to equal ten percent of my starting body weight. At WW meetings, you get a cool keychain in the shape of a 10 (that will hold other rewards, like the 25lb washer and the 16-week charm) and everyone claps for you and generally makes a big deal. So I decided I would go to ONE MORE meeting, get my keychain, and peace out. That's exactly what I did.
I wish I had never gotten out of bed this morning.
I REALLY wish I hadn't gone to that meeting.
The meeting was fine. Great, even. But this day, aside from (and directly after) the weigh in, was a complete disaster. I'm raw and teary and angry and embarrassed and eighteen other GIANT emotions. Here's a quick timeline of my day today:
The night did not get better from there. I won't go into more details, but it just sucked all around. For the only the second time since I moved to Texas, I uttered the phrase "I wanna go home." I don't really, but I DO want to run away from the mess that five minutes of excited distraction have cost me. I won't because I'm a grown-up, but it's really tempting. I decided against calling the apartment complex to check in on that mess of a situation (which I'm not sure I posted about, so you might be confused. Basically, it's a mess and I don't actually have an apartment YET, but they took some of my money and I'm not sure if they plan to make good on their promises), because I was done crying at this point and I thought I might yell really loudly if they told me what I expect they will tell me.
I ended the night in the kitchen with Bean with chocolate milk and prayer, because that's how we roll (okay, technically, I'm ending it blogging, but whatever). This is exactly what I needed at the end of this day--to remember I have a God who loves me, whether I break the law or do everything right. He will forgive and He will be with me and this day does not get to win. I'm not trying to get all philosophical--I don't have enough brain cells free at the moment to do that--I just know that this day is not some kind of cosmic mistake and it will not get in the way of the larger plan. And that it is perfectly okay to say "That day SUCKED."
I wish I had never gotten out of bed this morning.
I REALLY wish I hadn't gone to that meeting.
The meeting was fine. Great, even. But this day, aside from (and directly after) the weigh in, was a complete disaster. I'm raw and teary and angry and embarrassed and eighteen other GIANT emotions. Here's a quick timeline of my day today:
7:30 am: Wake up and realize that my body will refuse to go back to sleep, despite my plans to sleep in today. Watch an episode of Flashpoint on Netflix in bed (this show is awesome and you should watch it and I love Canadians).
8:30 am: Get up, greet Bean and baby, convince myself to go to my meeting, leave for my meeting. I spend the drive working hard to stay under the speed limit, which is something I have been very good about since being pulled over on Saturday. I am reformed! REJOICE!
9:15 am: Stop at Starbucks to get a free latte courtesy of a screwed up beverage last month. Go to my meeting, weight in, get my keychain, be lauded, and smilegraciouslyawkwardly. TODAY IS A GOOD DAY!
10:15 am: Leave my meeting, call my mom to tell her about my weigh in, giggle a lot. TODAY IS A GOOD D--wait, why are there flashing lights?
10:23 am: Get pulled over. Apparently, in my excitement about my weigh in, I lose track of my speed. I recognize this before I see the cop and am at the speed limit by the time I see his lights. This does not matter. As I pull to the curb, I catch my tire in a drainage slope and hit the curb HARD with my front passenger tire. Get ticketed for speeding and lacking proof of insurance (which is at home, on my dresser, exactly where one should keep such a document).
10:34 am: Pull away from the cop with ticket in hand. Get half a block away and realize there is something seriously wrong with the front passenger tire. Pull into parking lot. See flat tire. Call my mother and cry. Call Bean and cry some more. Bean sends her family to come rescue me.
12:15 pm: Pull out of the parking lot with a spare tire. Head to the shop where the tires are insured. Get a new tire, costing me only $23. Think maybe this won't be so bad. Realize that the ticket will likely be over $100. Cry again.
12:37 pm: Drive SO CAUTIOUSLY home, staying at the speed limit the whole time. Get passed by EVERYONE, some who do so in a disgruntled fashion. Do not see any cops. Get home and get a lovely hug from Bean. Try not to cry. Grab my proof of car insurance. Spend 20 minutes looking for my medical insurance card. Open two CDPs, because this day needs more than one (thanks, by the way, to Ginger for the make up and Miriel for the necklace! They brought joy to this awful day). Leave the house.
1:25 pm: Arrive at the courthouse to pay my fine and put this all behind me. Stand in line for 23 minutes to be told that the cop has not turned in his paperwork yet (he has 24 hours to do so), that my ticket is not in the system, and that I must return another day. Also I'm notified that the ticket will be $167 BEFORE administrative fees and credit card processing fees. Cry some more.
2:00 pm: Go to an auto shop to get my oil changed, which was on my list of errands before my day took a sharp nosedive. Present coupon for a $19.99 oil change, tire rotation (ridiculously unnecessary at this point), and break check. When my car is returned to me, I'm told about damage to the tire rod on the front passenger side that will cause major problems if not fixed in the next few weeks. But hey! It'll only cost $315. Also: I need new wipers, might need a new battery, and the oil pan is leaking. Forgo all options but the actual oil change (with other services described in the coupon), pay $25.72 for my oil change. Leave confused and weary.
3:15 pm: Return home believing that Crappy Day Presents must be mailed today (it's actually the 30th) and panic about wrapping paper and flat rate boxes. Find the actual ship date and relax. Talk to Bean, who reassures me that, although this day sucks, I do not suck as a human being.
3:37 pm: Leave for the grocery store for milk, a flu shot, and a DTaP. Sign up for shots at the pharmacy, go get milk while they're prepping. Buy the wrong milk (1% instead of skim), ice cream, and candy bars (in an effort to see how much of that 10% I can gain back in one night).
4:12 pm: Get flu shot, which my insurance covers at 100%. SCORE! Pharmacy nurse says good-bye. I ask for my DTaP (which I'd signed in for). She says it was not on her form and it will be several more minutes until she can get it ready. I stare forlornly at my ice cream. Pharmacy tech tells me my insurance will not cover DTaP and that'll be $60. I call my insurance company, whose obnoxious automated system tells me I'm covered for "Adult Immunizations: in network, out of network, in office, out of office; at 100% with no copay." Pharmacy tech shrugs and says her fax machine tells her different. Pay the $60, take another needle to the arm, go home with soggy ice cream.
The night did not get better from there. I won't go into more details, but it just sucked all around. For the only the second time since I moved to Texas, I uttered the phrase "I wanna go home." I don't really, but I DO want to run away from the mess that five minutes of excited distraction have cost me. I won't because I'm a grown-up, but it's really tempting. I decided against calling the apartment complex to check in on that mess of a situation (which I'm not sure I posted about, so you might be confused. Basically, it's a mess and I don't actually have an apartment YET, but they took some of my money and I'm not sure if they plan to make good on their promises), because I was done crying at this point and I thought I might yell really loudly if they told me what I expect they will tell me.
I ended the night in the kitchen with Bean with chocolate milk and prayer, because that's how we roll (okay, technically, I'm ending it blogging, but whatever). This is exactly what I needed at the end of this day--to remember I have a God who loves me, whether I break the law or do everything right. He will forgive and He will be with me and this day does not get to win. I'm not trying to get all philosophical--I don't have enough brain cells free at the moment to do that--I just know that this day is not some kind of cosmic mistake and it will not get in the way of the larger plan. And that it is perfectly okay to say "That day SUCKED."
11.08.2013
Weigh In: Weary and Discouraged
I gained again this week. It's only 0.4 pounds. Still. This is SO frustrating. I should admit right up front that I really didn't track this last week, so I have very little ground to stand on. But I did not over eat. I am sure of it. There are days I left points on the table at the end of the night and there are days I went over, but there's no way I used ALL my daily points AND my weekly points.
I weigh in at home before I go to my meeting, so that I don't get blindsided in front of strangers and end up crying like a baby. Usually, the home scale is ever so slightly lower than the WW scale-- at most 1 pound different. After the week of NO RULES I'd allowed myself to have, I was prepared for not great news when I stepped on the home scale. BUT! As it had all week (I occasionally weight myself before my shower in the morning), it showed me at about 278 or 279--it's an analog, so it's kind of hard to tell (probably the reason for the difference from the WW scale) . I was kind of surprised, but it reinforced my long-held nebulous wondering that I wasn't getting enough calories a week and maybe that's why I hadn't been losing. So I headed off to WW.
I did not change clothing. I did not eat or drink anything. I did not dive into a pool and show up soaking wet. I got in the car, drove two miles, walked into my meeting less than 30 minutes later, and weighed in at 282.2 lbs. That's a HUGE difference. And incredibly disheartening.
I did not stay for the meeting. Maybe I should have. I'm paying for it after all. And they say those who attend the meetings are something like three times more likely to lose weight (or lose three times more weight? I can't remember) that those who go it alone. So not staying for the meeting on a day I gained may have been a bad choice. It's that old adage--when you don't want to the most, that's when you need to. But I find that when I DO stay when I've gained, all I do is sit in the back and fume and try not to cry and silently nit-pick the leader's advice (which is not always sound or conforming to the program's statements). So, it seemed incredibly unproductive to stay. And I didn't want to, anyway.
I got myself a Starbucks on the way home as consolation and they got my order right this time, which is good since I was purchasing it with the coupons they sent me from the time they got it wrong. That cheered me up a little. And baby smiles when I got home helped a lot, too. Putting on my too large jeans did not hurt either. By the time I left to go look at the apartment (more on that another day), I was feeling mostly okay.
I'm just so...weary of this program and this process right now. I know that not doing anything is NOT an option--that's how I found 300 on my scale for the second time in my life. But this isn't really working for me, either. At $42.95 a month plus my $19 gym membership? It's just not feeling that worth it to me. I think I'm going to change plans to Online Only, which was working for me back in December in Far North. It's cheaper than what I'm doing now and I think it will be a lot less angst. My mom bought me a fancy new digital scale while she was here and I'll just weight myself at home every Friday instead of driving to the Disappointment Palace in the middle of my Friday morning to see a woman I have trouble respecting right now. Ugh, I just wish this were easier.
Anyone have any words of encouragement for me today? I'm kind of struggling.
I weigh in at home before I go to my meeting, so that I don't get blindsided in front of strangers and end up crying like a baby. Usually, the home scale is ever so slightly lower than the WW scale-- at most 1 pound different. After the week of NO RULES I'd allowed myself to have, I was prepared for not great news when I stepped on the home scale. BUT! As it had all week (I occasionally weight myself before my shower in the morning), it showed me at about 278 or 279--it's an analog, so it's kind of hard to tell (probably the reason for the difference from the WW scale) . I was kind of surprised, but it reinforced my long-held nebulous wondering that I wasn't getting enough calories a week and maybe that's why I hadn't been losing. So I headed off to WW.
I did not change clothing. I did not eat or drink anything. I did not dive into a pool and show up soaking wet. I got in the car, drove two miles, walked into my meeting less than 30 minutes later, and weighed in at 282.2 lbs. That's a HUGE difference. And incredibly disheartening.
I did not stay for the meeting. Maybe I should have. I'm paying for it after all. And they say those who attend the meetings are something like three times more likely to lose weight (or lose three times more weight? I can't remember) that those who go it alone. So not staying for the meeting on a day I gained may have been a bad choice. It's that old adage--when you don't want to the most, that's when you need to. But I find that when I DO stay when I've gained, all I do is sit in the back and fume and try not to cry and silently nit-pick the leader's advice (which is not always sound or conforming to the program's statements). So, it seemed incredibly unproductive to stay. And I didn't want to, anyway.
I got myself a Starbucks on the way home as consolation and they got my order right this time, which is good since I was purchasing it with the coupons they sent me from the time they got it wrong. That cheered me up a little. And baby smiles when I got home helped a lot, too. Putting on my too large jeans did not hurt either. By the time I left to go look at the apartment (more on that another day), I was feeling mostly okay.
I'm just so...weary of this program and this process right now. I know that not doing anything is NOT an option--that's how I found 300 on my scale for the second time in my life. But this isn't really working for me, either. At $42.95 a month plus my $19 gym membership? It's just not feeling that worth it to me. I think I'm going to change plans to Online Only, which was working for me back in December in Far North. It's cheaper than what I'm doing now and I think it will be a lot less angst. My mom bought me a fancy new digital scale while she was here and I'll just weight myself at home every Friday instead of driving to the Disappointment Palace in the middle of my Friday morning to see a woman I have trouble respecting right now. Ugh, I just wish this were easier.
Anyone have any words of encouragement for me today? I'm kind of struggling.
11.07.2013
You Are Ruining Moving Day For Us
I have been getting nothing done at work recently. I have two major projects that I'm working on and right now they are both in the hands of other people. My boss and the other person I work with the closest are both out this week, so I'm not getting anything new form that corner. I find little things to do (I swear I'm fixing the copier or the receptionists computer every two hours), but nothing keeps me all that busy and HEY BLOGS because it's November. I'm not feeling like a stellar employee right now and I don't really know what to do about it. My boss with be back on Monday, though, so things are sure to pick up then.
Well, okay then. I guess I DID have work to do, since I just stepped away from this for a good 45 minutes to finish up two different reports I forgot were due today. I AM stellar at my job. Geez. Luckily, I was reminded in time to finish them and do it well.
Anyway, none of that is what I actually wanted to tell you. What I WANTED to tell you is that I think I may have found an apartment! I'm trying not to get too excited right now, because I've only looked at it online and called to make an appointment to see it. There is so much that could go wrong or BE wrong about it that I don't want to get my hopes up too far. But it's a huge complex with several openings, so I don't think it's going to get snagged out from under me and I'll be left without options. Probably.
One of the sad parts of my apartment hunt is that I think I will not be able to afford to move into a two-bedroom right now. This place is cheaper than any I've found otherwise (and yet pretty nice and in a good neighborhood--almost sounds too good to be true) and has two bedroom apartments available in my original price range. But looking at my budget, I think I need to build in more wiggle-room than that price allows me. So. What that means in a practical sense is that fostering will not be possible right away. And I'm a little sad about that, but I know I need to be on really sound financial footing before I take on that kind of responsibility, so this is for the best.
The plan right now, especially if I get this apartment, is to live there for about six months or a year and spend like a granny on Social Security and War Bonds. Then, when the timing is right, I might be able to move into a two-bedroom in the same complex (I'm really putting the cart before the horse HERE. Who knows how this is really going to shake out?). In the midst of all this saving and scrimping, I'll still be pursuing relationships with other foster parents and looking at ways to get trained--my church has a foster/adoption ministry with groups and Bible studies geared for that specific interest, so I'll probably start there. Plus, I've heard that the training with the state can take between six months and a year, so I can be doing that while saving up, too.
So this is not a dead end. I'm not even slamming on the breaks. But I do need to slow down and pace myself a bit. I don't really like this. Being patient is not my strong suit. I'm totally happy dragging my heels when God tells me to do something, but I am terrible being patient when I want to do something and He's slowing me down. I am a joy, is what I'm saying. It's a wonder He puts up with me and I am so thankful that He does.
Tomorrow morning after WeightWatchers, I am headed to the apartment complex to meet with a very nice woman (if her phone voice is to be trusted) who will show me around and hopefully not dash all my dreams to bits by telling me the rent is actually quite a bit higher or that many people have died form living in the complex. I'll let you know how it goes.
Well, okay then. I guess I DID have work to do, since I just stepped away from this for a good 45 minutes to finish up two different reports I forgot were due today. I AM stellar at my job. Geez. Luckily, I was reminded in time to finish them and do it well.
Anyway, none of that is what I actually wanted to tell you. What I WANTED to tell you is that I think I may have found an apartment! I'm trying not to get too excited right now, because I've only looked at it online and called to make an appointment to see it. There is so much that could go wrong or BE wrong about it that I don't want to get my hopes up too far. But it's a huge complex with several openings, so I don't think it's going to get snagged out from under me and I'll be left without options. Probably.
One of the sad parts of my apartment hunt is that I think I will not be able to afford to move into a two-bedroom right now. This place is cheaper than any I've found otherwise (and yet pretty nice and in a good neighborhood--almost sounds too good to be true) and has two bedroom apartments available in my original price range. But looking at my budget, I think I need to build in more wiggle-room than that price allows me. So. What that means in a practical sense is that fostering will not be possible right away. And I'm a little sad about that, but I know I need to be on really sound financial footing before I take on that kind of responsibility, so this is for the best.
The plan right now, especially if I get this apartment, is to live there for about six months or a year and spend like a granny on Social Security and War Bonds. Then, when the timing is right, I might be able to move into a two-bedroom in the same complex (I'm really putting the cart before the horse HERE. Who knows how this is really going to shake out?). In the midst of all this saving and scrimping, I'll still be pursuing relationships with other foster parents and looking at ways to get trained--my church has a foster/adoption ministry with groups and Bible studies geared for that specific interest, so I'll probably start there. Plus, I've heard that the training with the state can take between six months and a year, so I can be doing that while saving up, too.
So this is not a dead end. I'm not even slamming on the breaks. But I do need to slow down and pace myself a bit. I don't really like this. Being patient is not my strong suit. I'm totally happy dragging my heels when God tells me to do something, but I am terrible being patient when I want to do something and He's slowing me down. I am a joy, is what I'm saying. It's a wonder He puts up with me and I am so thankful that He does.
Tomorrow morning after WeightWatchers, I am headed to the apartment complex to meet with a very nice woman (if her phone voice is to be trusted) who will show me around and hopefully not dash all my dreams to bits by telling me the rent is actually quite a bit higher or that many people have died form living in the complex. I'll let you know how it goes.
11.06.2013
Things That Make You Go "Ehhh?"
For...reasons...which are neither crucial to this post nor probably very interesting to you, I have a project that requires me to look through a lot of stock photography. Much of that stock photography involves children, babies, and families in holiday regalia. The vast majority of these photos bother me in some way. A few even make me physically uncomfortable. Not like, in an explicit or inappropriate way. Like in a "I folded a newborn baby in half, stuck him in an old wooden chest with his head hanging out the side and propped the lid in a precarious and ALARMING manner over his soft spot and then walked several feet away and busied both of my hands with an expensive piece of equipment" kind of way. Also, occasionally, in a "there is a GIANT flower strapped to this baby's head and we're all trying really hard to pretend it doesn't look like a sentient tumor" kind of way.
Sometimes, the babies are old enough to reach out and put things in their mouths and they are posed with a million tiny choking hazards on a blanket on a set and just...left there. Now, do I truly believe these babies are in any danger? Not really. Probably, the mom is hovering nervously right out of the shot and will leap to the baby's rescue the second the flash goes off. BUT!
If I were, say, to put one of these images on my company's Christmas card, what kind of emotions will it evoke? Will people think, "Ooooh, sweet little Christmas baby!" or will they think "DEAR GOD! Who thought it was a good idea to wrap a string of Christmas lights around an eight-month-old's neck and allow her to chew on a glass ornament?!"
Maybe I'm crazy, but I would fall firmly into the second camp. I know I would, because I am the one looking at these images and I am thinking these exact things. Which is probably obvious, but I feel like stating it anyway. My first response to some of these images is physical discomfort, worry, or stress. I don't think I have an anxiety problem (although this could be a sign of one, I suppose). I'm generally a pretty even keeled sort of person most days. And they ook me out.
Now, the entire point of stock images is for use in situations when you want to convey something--put a smiling child with perfectly straight, pearly white teeth on the banner of your pediatric dentist website and you have conveyed that people should bring their children to you so that they, too, can have perfectly straight, pearly white teeth. An image of someone with a solemn, pensive expression is meant to make us feel solemn and pensive. We all get this, right? It's simple advertising.
So when the props you use or the way you pose the person or even the angle of the shot DISTRACTS me from the message you're tying to convey, it's not a very good shot, right? I mean, I'm assuming you're not trying to make me anxious and squirmy and pleasegivemethatbabyrightnowyouirresponsiblecrazyperson. So why are you selling this photo to a stock photo place? And why are the stock photo places buying these shots? And DEAR GOD WHY are these stock photo places trying to sell them to me?
This also goes for the truly horrifying Photoshop fails. The baby floating randomly through an animated starlit sky. The clothing added or changed to suit the "purpose" of the shot. Oh, you need a screaming kid at Easter AND a screaming kid at Christmas? I'll use my super secret stealth skills to erase the bunny ears and add this too-large and oddly lit Santa hat on top of his blotchy red tear-stained face! What. I especially like what I'm calling the Conglomerate Shot: That rattle in her hand? NOT REALLY THERE. The bench she's sitting on? MADE OF IMAGINATION. That dog playing poker? BORROWED HIM FROM C. M. COOLIDGE. That park she's sitting in? WHAT ARE YOU, NEW? The baby's real though. 100% real. Weeeeeell, okay, like 95% real. Once I got rid of her blemishes. And added a sparkle to her eye. And skimmed off some of that "chub." At least 30% of that baby is the same as the baby who came to my studio.
OH! AND! The "selective colorization" technique? Just stop. A baby on a white blanket wearing only a white diaper and a Santa hat? Fine, cute, whatever. Selectively colorize only the Santa Hat? Great job! It now looks like the baby isn't breathing.
Never. do. that. again.
And while I'm here in Random Rant Central, I would like to make the case that people's personal Christmas photos, INCLUDING THEIR LAST NAME AND THE YEAR, are maaaaayyyyybe not stock photo material. I mean, I cannot think of a situation where someone would buy that. "Look honey! They're the Michaelsons, too. You know how much the kids hate sitting for photos. And, while they look nothing like us and have three more kids than we do, I bet our relatives don't really look at these anyway. Let's just save some money this year and send this one out instead. I mean, the year's wrong, but if they don't notice we've suddenly become Chinese, I bet they won't see the 2012 there either." Huh, I guess I CAN. I just can't think of a situation where someone would buy that AND that would also be a REAL situation.
Some of these pictures are just...crap. There's no better way to put it. The posed family photo where the oldest child is looking off to the left and no one else is in focus? Why purpose could that possibly serve in a publication or on a website or on a flyer. "Bruno's Cheapcheap Photography: at least I'me not as bad as the guy who took THIS." The shot where the baby's face is completely in shadow and nothing coordinates and I'm pretty sure I can see the photographer's right thumb in the lower left-hand corner? Probably not the one you send in for the real cash money, I'm thinking.
I've been needing to take breaks from this project all day, about five to ten minutes in, because my arm waving becomes detrimental to my blood pressure and my work space. It's making it very difficult to get anything done today. I find myself uttering, "What? Oh, okay, maybe. No, wait, what?" A lot. Like the four pregnant women hanging out in bras and booty shorts, showing off their naked bellies and wrapping each other in Christmas garland. Sure, that looks like a normal Tuesday afternoon to me! Or the same baby Photoshopped next to itself in a row of three, each with a Photoshopped pacifier in a different color and one with a Photoshopped Santa hat. Don't believe me? Here. Many of these would qualify for Awkward Family Photos. Except they're Awkward Family Photos You Can Pay To Use As Your Own Photos. Because America, that's why.
11.05.2013
Bright Sides
Sometimes, my job drives me crazy. Sometimes, my coworkers and/or my boss drive me crazy. Sometimes, the mere act of getting out of bed to go to work drives me crazy. Today is not necessarily one of those times, but maybe if I make this list on a good day, I can use it for those other days when I can't see past my tiny, ineffectual, hamster-doing-a-t-rex-impression RAGEARMS.
(Some) Reasons Why I love My Job, In No Particular Order:
I could totally make a longer list of things I HATE about my job, but a) no one wants to read that and b) that's not really helpful to me in keeping this job or being happy about having it. And there are probably many more things I could add to this list (and I might, if I think of them), but this is what's in my head now. And seriously, you guys? EJ is about the wisest and funniest person I've ever met and she's working at this location today (she's usually across town). She makes me want to write list after list like this one.
Do you have an EJ in your life? Or a list of positives you need to focus on? Tell me in the comments and we'll all help each other look on the bright side today.
(Some) Reasons Why I love My Job, In No Particular Order:
- My coworker EJ is the BEST. She mentors me, she speaks truth into me, she prays for me, and she makes me laugh and laugh and laugh. I love her very much and this job would not be the same without her.
- My coworker A is so gentle and sweet and kind and supportive. She helps me see the good in all the other people who make me crazy without making me feel guilty that they do indeed make me crazy. She and I are in this together and I appreciate that so much.
- I get to make a difference, if only in a very small way. This is not just punching a clock.This work is meaningful and I believe in it and I am honored to get to be a part of it.
- I have my own office and a lot of leeway to do what I want with it. I've never had this before and it's just plain wonderful. I bought a red clock and a desk lamp and a picture frame and rearranged all the furniture. Maybe I'll get a plant next.
- I have windows in my office. With daylight. This is better than I ever imagined.
- This job gives me a paycheck. I could say a million things about the size of the paycheck (or lack of size) or the benefits inherent in the paycheck (or lack of benefits), but it's an income. After going so long without one, I am incredibly grateful for this.
- I have flexible hours, meaning that I don't work most Fridays. And when my folks came to visit and I had no vacation accrued, I was allowed to accrue comp time before they came to pull off half-days while they were here.
- I get two weeks paid vacation at Christmas. In addition to the two weeks regular vacation I get per year. This is UNHEARD of. Combine that with my parents' air miles and I get to go home to Far North for Christmas for practically no cost.
- This job is challenging. I am using a skill set that I've never used in a professional setting before and it is stretching me. I don't always have the answer and that's new for me. And I kind of love it.
- I have health insurance. And the premium is entirely paid by my employer. Even if the coverage is crap (I think it's decent), this is excellent. I no longer fear that my appendix is going to rupture violently and I'll live the rest of my life in enormous medical debt. Now to go get my flu shot...
- We're donor-supported, which is usually a pain in the ass, but every once in a while, I get to see staggering examples of human generosity. That's pretty cool.
- I have the ability to work from home when I want/need. This is very helpful and totally saved my butt a few weeks ago when I was ill, but needed the hours. Yay, working in pajamas!
- I don't have to job hunt. Seriously, one of the best parts of HAVING a job is that I no longer have to LOOK for a job or INTERVIEW for a job. I think this may be my favorite part of having a job.
- It gives me a purpose for my days, an avenue for my talents, and a hope for my future. There's not much more I can ask for.
I could totally make a longer list of things I HATE about my job, but a) no one wants to read that and b) that's not really helpful to me in keeping this job or being happy about having it. And there are probably many more things I could add to this list (and I might, if I think of them), but this is what's in my head now. And seriously, you guys? EJ is about the wisest and funniest person I've ever met and she's working at this location today (she's usually across town). She makes me want to write list after list like this one.
Do you have an EJ in your life? Or a list of positives you need to focus on? Tell me in the comments and we'll all help each other look on the bright side today.
11.04.2013
Dreaming
According to my handy-dandy self-imposed Calendar of Things About Which to Jabber, today I am supposed to tell you about my dream house. Past Me is very smart, because she knew that I would be deep into apartment hunting by this time and that what I would REALLY need to focus on are the things I want but cannot afford right now. Huh. Past Me is kind of a jerk. But, since neither Present Me nor More Recently Past Me has not come up with anything better for today's post, I'm diving right in.
So, starting with location: I think my dream house would be near water. The ocean scares me a little with it's occasional habit of hurricaning and tsunamiimg, so a small lake or a creek is probably best. This house would also probably be somewhere with visible mountains and lost of trees and wide-open space. This is sounding more and more like Far north, but I don't think it has to be.
Probably, the most important things are light, air, space, and gathering places. I'm thinking tons and tons of windows. Floor to ceiling windows, wrapping all around my house. Natural light everywhere! And tall ceilings, at least ten feet, but higher is better. At least one main gathering room (like the living room or family room or something) should have vaulted ceilings with windows all the way up, so that I can surveymy kingdom the water and mountains and nature.
I want a giant kitchen that allows me to cook and bake and socialize with people while I do all those things (I have grand illusions that I'm not an introvert and will have amazingly giant, yet surprisingly intimate parties. Riiiight...). Ooooh, and a giant pantry! I love to stockpile dry goods--a product of growing up somewhere with a constant threat of blizzards stranding you for days. I want a semi-open floor plan so that you can move easily form room to room, but I won't feel like my dirty dishes are constantly on display. I don't care about a dining room (versus a kitchen table eating area), although I think it might be necessary if I'm having grand parties all the time, but I would like a little breakfast nook or something where I can sip coffee early in the morning and get some quiet time.
I'd like hardwood floors (or laminate, I'm not that fancy) with rugs every where. And maybe some rooms with big stone tiles. I don't care about fireplaces here in Texas, but they're nice in cooler climates as long as they don't overpower the room with half a wall of brick or stone. I like dark wood on kitchen cabinets and light colored stone counters (probably the same for bathrooms, too). I love crown molding and even like the look of chair rails when they're done well (but no wood paneling as a wall covering. no. stoppit), but all the accent wood should be a glossy white--doors, door/window frames, baseboards, etc. Oh, and arches! I love the look of tall, arched, open doorways.
I want several bedrooms so that I can open my home to foster kids or exchange students or travelling friends and family without feeling cramped. In my bedroom, I'd like enough space for a sitting area, a walk-in closet (not too big, because I don't really have that many clothes, but more than just a hole in the wall with a sliding door in front of it), and a master bathroom with a soaker tub AND a separate shower.
I would love a cozy little office with lots of windows and bookshelves and a good desk chair where I can write in comfort, without distraction. And maybe a comfy sofa or chair for brainstorming when I need a change of pace. OH! And a library. A giant, Beauty-and-the-Beast style library with tons light and bookshelves and ladders to get to MORE bookshelves and maybe multiple stories of book space and little nooks with overstuffed chairs and hidey-holes for reading in secret. That sounds really extravagant and maybe a little selfish (once I read the books once or twice, they just sit there, not being read by anyone), but if I'm dreaming, I'm going to be honest. Maybe I'd encourage everyone I know to come check out books like a real library. Total honor system--just write down what you took and bring it back when you're done. That might alleviate some of my guilt.
Let's see, what else? I've always wanted an attic. Homes in Far North don't really have basements (unless you count the daylight basements, which we didn't) because of the permafrost and most are too modern to have attics. But I've always loved the idea of sneaking away into the quietness of the rafters to look through old photographs or read a book without interruption. And having an actual basement for a playroom / rec room/ TV area with a cushion pit sounds awesome. I'd love to have tons of space for kids--to be the house where my kids and their friends want to hang out because it's safe and loving and fun and welcoming.
I also dream of a big yard with a huge table and twinkly lights strung overhead (definitely not in Far North now) and maybe a grilling pit or something. There would be a big flat green lawn, but there'd also be a good amount of woods for the kids to play in. And a TREE HOUSE! I always wanted one and our trees were too wimpy to bear the weight safely. And a wrap-around porch! With rocking chairs! And a PORCH SWING! AND A HAMMOCK!
I just had to step away and calm down a bit. Sorry about the capslock and the exclamation points. Thisisn'trealthisisn'trealthisisn'treal.
Anyway, I guess if I could sum up (I do this a lot when I talk too much. As if adding more of the SAME words at the end of a lot of words will help people forget about ALL THE WORDS), I want a place where people can gather and that I can use generously to provide hospitality and help. I also want a place that has a lot of natural elements--light, air, water-- with lots of open space. And then I want to add on cozy little nooks where I can get my introvert on. That's my dream home. What's yours?
So, starting with location: I think my dream house would be near water. The ocean scares me a little with it's occasional habit of hurricaning and tsunamiimg, so a small lake or a creek is probably best. This house would also probably be somewhere with visible mountains and lost of trees and wide-open space. This is sounding more and more like Far north, but I don't think it has to be.
Probably, the most important things are light, air, space, and gathering places. I'm thinking tons and tons of windows. Floor to ceiling windows, wrapping all around my house. Natural light everywhere! And tall ceilings, at least ten feet, but higher is better. At least one main gathering room (like the living room or family room or something) should have vaulted ceilings with windows all the way up, so that I can survey
I want a giant kitchen that allows me to cook and bake and socialize with people while I do all those things (I have grand illusions that I'm not an introvert and will have amazingly giant, yet surprisingly intimate parties. Riiiight...). Ooooh, and a giant pantry! I love to stockpile dry goods--a product of growing up somewhere with a constant threat of blizzards stranding you for days. I want a semi-open floor plan so that you can move easily form room to room, but I won't feel like my dirty dishes are constantly on display. I don't care about a dining room (versus a kitchen table eating area), although I think it might be necessary if I'm having grand parties all the time, but I would like a little breakfast nook or something where I can sip coffee early in the morning and get some quiet time.
I'd like hardwood floors (or laminate, I'm not that fancy) with rugs every where. And maybe some rooms with big stone tiles. I don't care about fireplaces here in Texas, but they're nice in cooler climates as long as they don't overpower the room with half a wall of brick or stone. I like dark wood on kitchen cabinets and light colored stone counters (probably the same for bathrooms, too). I love crown molding and even like the look of chair rails when they're done well (but no wood paneling as a wall covering. no. stoppit), but all the accent wood should be a glossy white--doors, door/window frames, baseboards, etc. Oh, and arches! I love the look of tall, arched, open doorways.
I want several bedrooms so that I can open my home to foster kids or exchange students or travelling friends and family without feeling cramped. In my bedroom, I'd like enough space for a sitting area, a walk-in closet (not too big, because I don't really have that many clothes, but more than just a hole in the wall with a sliding door in front of it), and a master bathroom with a soaker tub AND a separate shower.
I would love a cozy little office with lots of windows and bookshelves and a good desk chair where I can write in comfort, without distraction. And maybe a comfy sofa or chair for brainstorming when I need a change of pace. OH! And a library. A giant, Beauty-and-the-Beast style library with tons light and bookshelves and ladders to get to MORE bookshelves and maybe multiple stories of book space and little nooks with overstuffed chairs and hidey-holes for reading in secret. That sounds really extravagant and maybe a little selfish (once I read the books once or twice, they just sit there, not being read by anyone), but if I'm dreaming, I'm going to be honest. Maybe I'd encourage everyone I know to come check out books like a real library. Total honor system--just write down what you took and bring it back when you're done. That might alleviate some of my guilt.
Let's see, what else? I've always wanted an attic. Homes in Far North don't really have basements (unless you count the daylight basements, which we didn't) because of the permafrost and most are too modern to have attics. But I've always loved the idea of sneaking away into the quietness of the rafters to look through old photographs or read a book without interruption. And having an actual basement for a playroom / rec room/ TV area with a cushion pit sounds awesome. I'd love to have tons of space for kids--to be the house where my kids and their friends want to hang out because it's safe and loving and fun and welcoming.
I also dream of a big yard with a huge table and twinkly lights strung overhead (definitely not in Far North now) and maybe a grilling pit or something. There would be a big flat green lawn, but there'd also be a good amount of woods for the kids to play in. And a TREE HOUSE! I always wanted one and our trees were too wimpy to bear the weight safely. And a wrap-around porch! With rocking chairs! And a PORCH SWING! AND A HAMMOCK!
I just had to step away and calm down a bit. Sorry about the capslock and the exclamation points. Thisisn'trealthisisn'trealthisisn'treal.
Anyway, I guess if I could sum up (I do this a lot when I talk too much. As if adding more of the SAME words at the end of a lot of words will help people forget about ALL THE WORDS), I want a place where people can gather and that I can use generously to provide hospitality and help. I also want a place that has a lot of natural elements--light, air, water-- with lots of open space. And then I want to add on cozy little nooks where I can get my introvert on. That's my dream home. What's yours?
11.03.2013
Doomed From The Start
When I was a really little kid, bangs were "in." In for little kids, I guess. I don't know. All I know is that Sister, who is nearly five years older than me had bangs and both my brothers had those bowl-ish cuts with sweepy bang-ish things and it was the eighties and A LOT of people had bangs. I don't know why I'm justifying this. You were all there. There were lots of bangs.
Anyway, at the appropriate time, my mother decides I need bangs, too. Probably around age two or so, when I finally had enough hair that it was getting in my face and she was tired of trying to keep a barrette in it. I could ask her--she's in town right now--but it's really not important. Anyway, she takes the comb, runs it through my hair in the wrong direction so that I look like Cousin It, and whips out her scissors. And before she can make that fateful cut, my hair springs in eleventy billion directions and she realizes I have a giant cowlick on the front of my head that will make bangs more than unfortunate, it will make them nearly impossible. And my mother, being the wise and judicious woman that she is, promptly puts away her shears, uses her trusty comb to part my hair in the center of my scalp, and sends me off to terrorize my siblings. And there my hair stays for much of my childhood.
Many years later, after a few ill-advisied but thankfully short-lived spiral perms and a life time of waffling between the chin-length blunt cut and the scraggly shoulder-blade-brushing snarl, I was ready to take my hair's destiny into my own hands. At the wise and experienced age of fourteen, I threw caution to the wind, along with the advice of my mother's hairdresser, and gave my cowlick the proverbial middle finger and forced her, with many assurances that I knew what I was doing, to cut me some bangs.
Fourteen is not a kind age to most people, especially six-foot tall, chubby, awkward girls just starting a brand new high school. Why I thought I needed to make that transition worse by having the Terrifying Claw of Human Hair attached to my pimply forehead is beyond even the wisdom eleven years distance has brought me. All I know is that I had far too much faith in hair products I had never successfully used up to that point. Spoiler alert: I did not master them until WELL after those bangs had rejoined the ranks of the regularly lengthed hair. Who am I kidding? I still haven't mastered them.
I should mention that it was only THE CLAW on the days I made an effort. Since I was fourteen and getting up early has never been my strong suit, let's just say those days were rarer than they should have been. "Well, great!" you're thinking, "That means it wasn't always The Claw." And you would only be half right, my optimistic friend. No, on the days that I didn't make an effort, they alternated between frizzy and greasy, plastered to my forehead and hanging limply, pathetic and gross, but ALWAYS, always with a giant bald spot on the left side of my head where my cowlick, not able to send the short hairs high into the air in a cascading fountain of teenage angst, would split them like Moses at the Red Sea, if Moses was vindictive and my pimples were the Israelites.
As you can imagine, freshman year of high school was not my favorite. But what your imagination is forgetting is that year was also the year of the INEXPLICABLE hair butterfly. You remember those, right? The hair clips that had metal butterflies covered in glitter and attached to springs so that they jiggled in "life-like flight" when you moved? Anyone? Bueller? Oh, they were the worst. And I thought they were BEATUTIFUL! I wore them more often than I care to admit. And just to give you a REALLY accurate mental picture, at this time I had yet to let go of the scrunchie as a valid ponytail holder. I preferred the homemade CROCHETED scrunchie, if I'm being completely honest here.
This was a BANNER YEAR for me in the hair department, is what I'm saying. I was so sure that with the right combination of will and hairspray, I could tame the giant cowlick on my forehead. I was so incredibly mistaken. And EVERYONE knew it. Everyone told me I would regret it and I swore I would not and "I can just grow them out if they don't work." HUBRIS, thy name is Teenage Girl! There is no time span in the world longer than the time it takes to grow out really unfortunate bangs. I wish someone had told me that. Oh. Right...
I've blacked out how long exactly it took me to get rid of the bangs, but I know that there are far too many photographs in existence to let anyone forget about them for many years after they stopped being visible. I've thought about destroying them all, but I know I could never get to all the high school yearbooks from that year without seeing a lot of people I'd rather never see again or committing a lot of felonies I'd rather not commit.
I bring all of this up, because I'm thinking of getting a haircut this week. What do you think I should get done? Obviously, I'm not to be trusted with a decision of this magnitude.
11.02.2013
New Habit
In an effort to be better at posting more often, I've made a calendar of things to post. And today, I'm supposed to post about a new habit I want to form. Which sounded really interesting when I wrote it a month ago. It's less so now when I have to write it and I have not really given much thought to WHICH new habit I want to form. Planning, I'm good at it.
In light of my post earlier today (which we're all still pretending I posted yesterday, right? good), the new habit I would like to form is getting up in the morning to walk before work. I need to cancel my gym membership because a) money, b) it's cooler out, so I don't need to workout indoors anymore, c) money, d) I wasn't actually going anyway, and e) MONEY. But I still need to move more.
Since I work ten-hour days, it's unlikely that I'm going to go after work when I'm tired and just want dinner. And I don't leave the office at lunch (my boss frowns on that), so it seems the only other time is BEFORE work. Which requires a few more new habits to make it feasible. So, new habits to form throughout the next month:
1. Go to bed at a reasonable hour, because it will make number two much easier.
2. Get up with enough time to walk, shower, get ready, and be to work by 8:00 am.
3. Actually, you know, GET UP and WALK.
Since it's dark at that hour of morning these days, I'm going to take Bean's dog with me, both for safety and company. I think it will be good for him, too. He loves going for walks (if you even touch his harness or leash, he flips out) and I think it will help Bean during the day if he's a little more worn out. Not that he's a handful--he's the sweetest dog I've ever met--but he might be a little less desperate to go in and out of the house fifty million times a day if he gets a nice long walk in the morning. Who knows? I could be completely making this up.
So. That's my new habit, with adjacent habits. Better sleep hours, more movement, and quality time with the puppy. We'll see if I actually make this happen. Pester me, will you? It makes it harder for me to slack if I know someone could ask at any moment. Anyone else working on something like this? Want to crowd-source some self-improvement motivation? Tell me your plans for new habits, and I'll try to remember to pester you, too.
Weigh In: Week Who The Hell Knows Anymore?
Can we pretend that I posted this yesterday, so that I haven't ALREADY failed NaBloPoMo? Failing before you start is one of the saddest things I think you can do. So let's all have some selective amenisia and pretend that I am a responsible and non-forgetful blogger. Thanks, you guys are the best!
Anyway, I've been struggling with only losing teensy-tiny bits while trying really hard and then gaining for no discernible reason. I joined a gym. I WENT to the gym. I ate my extra weekly points. I DIDN'T eat my extra points. I ate my activity points. I DIDN'T eat my activity points. The same or similar, ad nauseum. Nothing seems to correlate.
But now, I have finally reached 30lbs lost. I am way behind my self-imposed schedule and there is no way I'm catching up in time to be at my goal weight by September 2014, but I'm sticking with it because the alternative sucks more. I was going to post each week's weigh in, all in a row, like I have been doing, but that seems like effort, so I'll just post the most recent one (I'm posting on my iPad, so the formatting will look nothing like the other posts. Which matters to exactly no one but whatever).
11/01/13
Original Weight: 312.0 lbs
This week's weight: 282.0 lbs
This weeks change: -1.4 lbs
Total loss: 30.0 lbs
My 10% goal is right around the corner (I was going to say probably next week, but with the way things have been going, it may be forever and a day before I see it and I'd rather not put the pressure on myself) at 31.2 lbs lost. Hopefully, that's sooner rather than later.
For now, I'm trying to focus on the non-scale victories, especially sizing victories. I'm still in that awful in-between stage in pants where my 22s are loose and not entirely flattering, but 20s are way too tight and uncomfortable. But I can get them zipped! So that's something. On top, I'm slimming out much faster, so many of the shirts I brought with me to Texas are too big now, but the rest are still too small. That sucked for a while, until my mom came to town and MADE me go shopping and now I have all sorts of really fun tops that will hopefully only look better as I shrink (because that's a lot of money spent on them if they only last a few months). We tried to pick things that looked good now, but would look even better THEN. We'll see.
While my parents have been here, we've been eating out for at least two meals a day, which is what you do in vacation, but man is it hard to make good choices. Apparently, that didn't matter much, though, since this is the most I've lost in weeks. We've also been moving a whole lot more that I'm used to--we've done the aquarium (which I stupidly did in brand new heels, ouch!), the arboretum, the zoo, and tons of shopping. So I think that helped a ton. Maybe this week will help jump start whatever stalled out back in August. I'm skeptical, but I'm trying to remain hopeful.
How are the rest of you doing? I know many of you doing WW have quit or taken a break, but I'd love to hear about your progress, not matter what program (or non-program) you're doing.
11.30.2011
Who Does Steve Roach Think He Is?
FIFTY THOUSAND WORDS! I wrote 50,000 words this month. Actually, that's not true, because my blog posts are, on average, 800 words and I'm not even counting them in the 50,000 total. Actually, I have no idea if that average is true, but it sounds about right. Where was I? Oh, yes. MY NOVEL. You guys, I finished it! Actually, that's not true either. Apparently, I have become a liar.
Here is the truth. This month, I have written:
Anyway, I finished NaNoWriMo!! I really wasn't sure it was going to happen there at the end, but I managed to pull it off. And I'm so happy I did. First of all, failure and I? We don't get along well. Secondly, it was an excellent way to do the thing I'm always TALKING about doing, but I never actually DO: write. The story has some major flaws and there's so much of it left to tell, but I feel like I've accomplished so much already.
So thank you, for all the words of encouragement you left in the comments. They pushed me on like nothing else could have. Except for Sister, who occasionally threatened to lock me in my room and sometimes withheld TV time until my words were done for the day. Thanks, everyone. You all made this an awesome experience!
This post also marks the end of NaBloPoMo! I can't believe I didn't miss a single day. I mean, I might have missed the mark some days, but I never missed a POST, so that's something. Some of you have asked if I'm going to keep posting daily. And I am! To the best of my ability and Internet connection, I am. Except on Sundays. Because I need an occasional break. And the Sunday posts were lame anyway. I would encourage you guys to go back and read them to verify the veracity of my previous statement, but they aren't worth the effort.
Thank you all for showing up here day after day to read my stuff. I know I tear it down more often than I say anything nice, party because a lot of it IS crap. But I am so glad I started this blog and I am incredibly grateful for the friendships I have made in this community. I'm also very grateful to have a place to share my thoughts with the world. Thanks for being willing to listen. And laugh at my lame jokes.
So now, on to the real post. I know, minds boggle at the fact that the preceeding 500 words were not the actual post. But it's true. I have a story to tell you.
Last night, I wrote over 7,000 words on my novel. I don't remember if I shared it with you at the time, but my previous daily word record was about 6,200 words. And I thought that was amazing. But last night, I just let it all flow from my fingertips. Because I was on a deadline. And I was not going to fail. And for once, the words were there. I crawled into bed at about 3:15 in the morning. But I was still incredibly jazzed from the writing experience. And probably some of the caffeine I'd consumed throughout the day (I totally tried to give it up this week and my brain almost exploded).
Anyway, I was in bed, kind of jittery and pretty excited about where the book was headed. To calm down, I read about 50 pages of magic pantsiness and then my eyes were SO SLEEPY. But I still had all this pent up energy buzzing through my limbs. I have been here before. So I grabbed my phone and started catching up on my feedreader. I read Temerity Jane's cosmo post. And I tired not to wake up Sister with my laughter, which started from the first paragraph and didn't end until long after I put my phone down.
Seriously, go read that thing. It's AMAZING. I'll wait.
I finished reading and decides blogs are too stimulating at that hour. I needed some sleepy-time music. I could feel myself calming down and sinking into my pillows, but I wasn't not quite there yet. I left my stereo remote across the room and even though the stereo is PRIMED with sleepy-time type music, I am too lazy to get out of bed and got get it. Instead, I found some headphones on my nightstand and had a brilliant idea. Because Pandora ALWAYS has what I ask it for. Except for a station based on my lullaby by Josh Kelly called "23." Sad about this, but still tired, I typed in "lullaby" and clicked on a station that DIDN'T say "toddler" or "child."
This station's called "Soundscapes & Lullabies." At first, it was just simple instrumental music. The next song sounded like flowing water, with piano played over it. It was at this point, I thought I might need to pee. The next song was very soothing, but the one after that was kind of strange. It sounded kind of New Agey, but also kind of futuristic. And there was this weird sonar pinging in the background. So I turned on the phone to figure out what THE HECK WAS GOING ON. And I saw this:
Leaving the weird cave painting of an alien superimposed over what seems to be the internal structure of a computer out of the discussion, what the HECK does this mean? Seriously, Steve Roach, what the heck kind of title IS that for an album?
I mean, "dreaming..." is not a terrible title for an album, poor capitalization and ellipsis use aside. But you don't stop there, do you, Steve Roach? No, you don't. I don't even really know what the rest of this MEANS! Seriously, "now, then" "a retrospective" "1982-1997"? Is this the musical form of all of your dreams between 1982-1997. It would kind of explain the cover art, to tell you the truth. But raises some serious questions about your dreams, Steve Roach.
But as I lay there in bed, staring at this image, all I could think about was TJ's commentary about Cosmo's view of sex. Apparently, Cosmo thinks sex has changed SO MUCH in the last year that they need to distinguish their sex tips by putting them in a "best of the year 2011" category. Because last year's sex tips are so out. Or something. Anyway, having just read THAT, all I could think about this nonsense was, "CRAP! They've changed sleep, too!"
I wasn't too worried about them changing sex--I'm sure I'll catch up when the time is right. But sleep? I LIKED sleep! HOW HAS IT CHANGED and WHAT DO I NEED TO KNOW? Come on, Steve Roach! I need ANSWERS!
Here is the truth. This month, I have written:
- 30 blog posts (of questionable entertainment or literary value)
- 50,000 words in novel form (also of questionable entertainment or literary value)
- 6 post-it notes about nothing
- 1 Christmas list
- My name on credit card slips, more often that I care to admit.
Anyway, I finished NaNoWriMo!! I really wasn't sure it was going to happen there at the end, but I managed to pull it off. And I'm so happy I did. First of all, failure and I? We don't get along well. Secondly, it was an excellent way to do the thing I'm always TALKING about doing, but I never actually DO: write. The story has some major flaws and there's so much of it left to tell, but I feel like I've accomplished so much already.
So thank you, for all the words of encouragement you left in the comments. They pushed me on like nothing else could have. Except for Sister, who occasionally threatened to lock me in my room and sometimes withheld TV time until my words were done for the day. Thanks, everyone. You all made this an awesome experience!
This post also marks the end of NaBloPoMo! I can't believe I didn't miss a single day. I mean, I might have missed the mark some days, but I never missed a POST, so that's something. Some of you have asked if I'm going to keep posting daily. And I am! To the best of my ability and Internet connection, I am. Except on Sundays. Because I need an occasional break. And the Sunday posts were lame anyway. I would encourage you guys to go back and read them to verify the veracity of my previous statement, but they aren't worth the effort.
Thank you all for showing up here day after day to read my stuff. I know I tear it down more often than I say anything nice, party because a lot of it IS crap. But I am so glad I started this blog and I am incredibly grateful for the friendships I have made in this community. I'm also very grateful to have a place to share my thoughts with the world. Thanks for being willing to listen. And laugh at my lame jokes.
So now, on to the real post. I know, minds boggle at the fact that the preceeding 500 words were not the actual post. But it's true. I have a story to tell you.
**********
Last night, I wrote over 7,000 words on my novel. I don't remember if I shared it with you at the time, but my previous daily word record was about 6,200 words. And I thought that was amazing. But last night, I just let it all flow from my fingertips. Because I was on a deadline. And I was not going to fail. And for once, the words were there. I crawled into bed at about 3:15 in the morning. But I was still incredibly jazzed from the writing experience. And probably some of the caffeine I'd consumed throughout the day (I totally tried to give it up this week and my brain almost exploded).
Anyway, I was in bed, kind of jittery and pretty excited about where the book was headed. To calm down, I read about 50 pages of magic pantsiness and then my eyes were SO SLEEPY. But I still had all this pent up energy buzzing through my limbs. I have been here before. So I grabbed my phone and started catching up on my feedreader. I read Temerity Jane's cosmo post. And I tired not to wake up Sister with my laughter, which started from the first paragraph and didn't end until long after I put my phone down.
Seriously, go read that thing. It's AMAZING. I'll wait.
I finished reading and decides blogs are too stimulating at that hour. I needed some sleepy-time music. I could feel myself calming down and sinking into my pillows, but I wasn't not quite there yet. I left my stereo remote across the room and even though the stereo is PRIMED with sleepy-time type music, I am too lazy to get out of bed and got get it. Instead, I found some headphones on my nightstand and had a brilliant idea. Because Pandora ALWAYS has what I ask it for. Except for a station based on my lullaby by Josh Kelly called "23." Sad about this, but still tired, I typed in "lullaby" and clicked on a station that DIDN'T say "toddler" or "child."
This station's called "Soundscapes & Lullabies." At first, it was just simple instrumental music. The next song sounded like flowing water, with piano played over it. It was at this point, I thought I might need to pee. The next song was very soothing, but the one after that was kind of strange. It sounded kind of New Agey, but also kind of futuristic. And there was this weird sonar pinging in the background. So I turned on the phone to figure out what THE HECK WAS GOING ON. And I saw this:
I took this picture today (since I had paused the song last night) which is why the time looks wrong. I swear I would never lie to you! I know you're all too smart to buy it. |
Leaving the weird cave painting of an alien superimposed over what seems to be the internal structure of a computer out of the discussion, what the HECK does this mean? Seriously, Steve Roach, what the heck kind of title IS that for an album?
I mean, "dreaming..." is not a terrible title for an album, poor capitalization and ellipsis use aside. But you don't stop there, do you, Steve Roach? No, you don't. I don't even really know what the rest of this MEANS! Seriously, "now, then" "a retrospective" "1982-1997"? Is this the musical form of all of your dreams between 1982-1997. It would kind of explain the cover art, to tell you the truth. But raises some serious questions about your dreams, Steve Roach.
But as I lay there in bed, staring at this image, all I could think about was TJ's commentary about Cosmo's view of sex. Apparently, Cosmo thinks sex has changed SO MUCH in the last year that they need to distinguish their sex tips by putting them in a "best of the year 2011" category. Because last year's sex tips are so out. Or something. Anyway, having just read THAT, all I could think about this nonsense was, "CRAP! They've changed sleep, too!"
I wasn't too worried about them changing sex--I'm sure I'll catch up when the time is right. But sleep? I LIKED sleep! HOW HAS IT CHANGED and WHAT DO I NEED TO KNOW? Come on, Steve Roach! I need ANSWERS!
11.29.2011
Oh Fishsticks!
I am currently curled up on my couch with a glass of sweet red wine,
type-type-typing away on my novel. I need to complete a minimum of 5,000
words today and tomorrow each to get finished on time. I just crossed
the 43K mark, so I still have a lot of work to do. But as much as I hate
my novel right now, I cannot imagine getting to midnight on Thursday
morning and realizing I failed NaNoWriMo with less than seven thousand
words to go. That would be ridiculous.
However, getting to the same time on Thursday and realizing I failed NaBloPoMo by only two days would also be excruciating. So, I'm taking a break from typing that to type this. You're welcome? Probably not... Anyway, I thought I would tell you the sad sad story of Lola Betty, the Betta Fish and her true love Marty Allen, the Bluest Betta.
Lola Betty was my beautiful magenta betta fish... Wait, I should back up.
It was the summer between Junior and Senior year of college. Roommate and I had just moved into our new apartment, finally escaping Liar and the financial havoc she had inflicted. What with the move and finals and jobs and LIFE, we had kind of skipped over Roommate's birthday. I mean, we went to dinner and celebrated, but I hadn't had time to get her a super cool awesome present. Okay, who are we kidding? I am an awful gift giver. They are rarely super, cool, or awesome and are most commonly books.
Anyway, after ages of struggling to figure out what to get her, I just asked. I said, "Roommate, tell me what you want and I will take you out and buy it for you and hand it to you outside the store. And you can just pretend I was thoughtful and also that I wrapped it." Because I am an awesome gift giver.
It was around this time that we had been (half-)joking about getting a puppy--Roommate is not big on cats. But we knew our apartment wasn't really set up for either kind of pet. Plus we had no money and not a lot of time. And? Roommate had never had a pet (I know, right?!), so she was leery of starting with something so complicated. So I would say, "Let's get a kitten!" and Roommate would say, "No cats. How about a puppy?" And then I would say, "We have no money and no time!" and she would say, "Maybe a fish?" So for her birthday, I offered to buy her a fish.
She wanted a goldfish, but I had heard that they were actually rather finicky and died easily and you had to clean their bowls a lot. So when we got to the pet store, I steered her towards the bettas. I knew they were pretty hardy, so she was less likely to kill her first pet, which would be traumatizing and might ruin her for all pets in the future (hint... hint...). We also toyed with the idea of getting a plant first and seeing how it went, but I had great faith in her. So we looked at all of the teensy-tiny cups of bettas.
And look, I know they say bettas need very little space, but I think we go a little crazy with that concept. It's just mean! There were quite a few dead in those tiny cups and others looked nearly there. We wanted to rescue them all. But, like I said, we had very little money. So I ended up picking one for myself. A beautiful magenta female, with long flowy fins. Roommate kept wandering over to the goldfish and I kept telling her, "I'll buy you whatever you want, but I'd rather buy you something that won't die right away." Because I am an excellent gift giver.
Finally, she settled on a dark blue male betta. We carefully picked out glass bowls, rocks, plants, and decorations. I got glow-in-the-dark plastic rocks and a plant that we later discovered (in a very sleepy and strangely terrifying incident) also glowed in the dark. Glew in the dark? No. Glowed in the dark.
When we had everything we wanted, we took our fish and I paid for it all. And right before we got out of the store, we saw that there were some visiting shelter puppies up for adoption. I almost returned the fish--I'm just being honest. On the way home, we discussed names. We couldn't pick just one favorite name and they ended up with middle names. Which is a lot for such a little fish. She had Marty Allen and I had Lola Betty.
Because bettas tend to fight, we set them up in separate bowls. But we had this elaborate and ridiculous (and we knew it was ridiculous, but we thought we were hilarious anyway) story about how they were husband and wife, their love forever hindered by two pieces of glass and four inches of counter space. Sometimes, we thought they might even be communicating, since they would gravitate toward each other, watching through the barriers of their bowls. I'm not sure how often we leaned down to the counter and made stupid fishy-kissy faces at them, but it was a lot. They probably thought we were morons.
We took great care of those fish. We had a feeding schedule and everything. We took turns feeding them. We had a whole system for marking that one of us had fed them. It helped my flaky brain and satisfied Roommate that she wasn't going to kill her first pet. Our friends used to mock us, saying we were like a married couple with kids. "Did you feed Jimmy breakfast?" "Who's picking Sally up from school?" We didn't care. We loved those fish. And we both agreed it was nice to come home to something living at the end of a long day of work, school, and junk.
We had them for almost six months. Then Christmas rolled around. We were both leaving town for two weeks to see our families. It was the first time we were going to be away from the fish for more than two days. We went out and bought vacation feeders for them and Roommate arranged to have a local friend check on them halfway through the break. We finished finals, packed last minute (like always), and headed out of town. In the flurry, we forgot to give the friend a key. "Oh well!" we thought. "They have fresh water and vacation feeders. They're bettas. They'll be fine!"
There were two things we did not take into account. First of all, we had turned down the thermostat to save money while we were gone. Second, a huge storm hit our normally temperate city. The entire city was shut down for over a week due to snow and ice. Roommate's friend couldn't have gotten there to check on them anyway. In the end, all of the details conspired against us. When Roommate got home, she found their bowls covered in a thin layer of ice.
Lola and Marty were no more.
I felt incredibly bad for Roommate, who did everything she was supposed to do as a first time pet owner. We were so worried about forgetting to feed them or not cleaning their bowls often enough. I don't think either of us expected them to freeze to death. And I feel even worse, because when she called me to tell me, I think I made her think it was her fault. I was pretty much only mad at myself. Sorry, Roommate. You were an excellent fish parent. Don't ever doubt that.
It's kind of depressing to think of them slowly dying in the cold water. I imagine Lola shivering and Marty reassuring her that we would come home soon and rescue them. And even though it might be cruel to laugh at the expense of the pet I killed, I have a strange brain. All I can imagine of their last days is an epic, Titanic-style death scene. Freezing slowly, calling out their love for one another. Saying sappy things like, "I'll never let go!" I imagine few of those musical fish from that song on The Little Mermaid probably played a tiny string quartet as the water got colder. Lola wishing she was a salmon and built for this kind of water, Marty wishing he had a tiny fishy door to put Lola on...
Wait, I think I took the metaphor a little too far. I think NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo have broken me.Anyway, that is the Tragic and Totally True Tale of Lola Betty and Marty Allen, the Well-Loved and Very Loving Frozen Fish. The end.
However, getting to the same time on Thursday and realizing I failed NaBloPoMo by only two days would also be excruciating. So, I'm taking a break from typing that to type this. You're welcome? Probably not... Anyway, I thought I would tell you the sad sad story of Lola Betty, the Betta Fish and her true love Marty Allen, the Bluest Betta.
Lola Betty was my beautiful magenta betta fish... Wait, I should back up.
It was the summer between Junior and Senior year of college. Roommate and I had just moved into our new apartment, finally escaping Liar and the financial havoc she had inflicted. What with the move and finals and jobs and LIFE, we had kind of skipped over Roommate's birthday. I mean, we went to dinner and celebrated, but I hadn't had time to get her a super cool awesome present. Okay, who are we kidding? I am an awful gift giver. They are rarely super, cool, or awesome and are most commonly books.
Anyway, after ages of struggling to figure out what to get her, I just asked. I said, "Roommate, tell me what you want and I will take you out and buy it for you and hand it to you outside the store. And you can just pretend I was thoughtful and also that I wrapped it." Because I am an awesome gift giver.
It was around this time that we had been (half-)joking about getting a puppy--Roommate is not big on cats. But we knew our apartment wasn't really set up for either kind of pet. Plus we had no money and not a lot of time. And? Roommate had never had a pet (I know, right?!), so she was leery of starting with something so complicated. So I would say, "Let's get a kitten!" and Roommate would say, "No cats. How about a puppy?" And then I would say, "We have no money and no time!" and she would say, "Maybe a fish?" So for her birthday, I offered to buy her a fish.
She wanted a goldfish, but I had heard that they were actually rather finicky and died easily and you had to clean their bowls a lot. So when we got to the pet store, I steered her towards the bettas. I knew they were pretty hardy, so she was less likely to kill her first pet, which would be traumatizing and might ruin her for all pets in the future (hint... hint...). We also toyed with the idea of getting a plant first and seeing how it went, but I had great faith in her. So we looked at all of the teensy-tiny cups of bettas.
And look, I know they say bettas need very little space, but I think we go a little crazy with that concept. It's just mean! There were quite a few dead in those tiny cups and others looked nearly there. We wanted to rescue them all. But, like I said, we had very little money. So I ended up picking one for myself. A beautiful magenta female, with long flowy fins. Roommate kept wandering over to the goldfish and I kept telling her, "I'll buy you whatever you want, but I'd rather buy you something that won't die right away." Because I am an excellent gift giver.
Finally, she settled on a dark blue male betta. We carefully picked out glass bowls, rocks, plants, and decorations. I got glow-in-the-dark plastic rocks and a plant that we later discovered (in a very sleepy and strangely terrifying incident) also glowed in the dark. Glew in the dark? No. Glowed in the dark.
When we had everything we wanted, we took our fish and I paid for it all. And right before we got out of the store, we saw that there were some visiting shelter puppies up for adoption. I almost returned the fish--I'm just being honest. On the way home, we discussed names. We couldn't pick just one favorite name and they ended up with middle names. Which is a lot for such a little fish. She had Marty Allen and I had Lola Betty.
Because bettas tend to fight, we set them up in separate bowls. But we had this elaborate and ridiculous (and we knew it was ridiculous, but we thought we were hilarious anyway) story about how they were husband and wife, their love forever hindered by two pieces of glass and four inches of counter space. Sometimes, we thought they might even be communicating, since they would gravitate toward each other, watching through the barriers of their bowls. I'm not sure how often we leaned down to the counter and made stupid fishy-kissy faces at them, but it was a lot. They probably thought we were morons.
We took great care of those fish. We had a feeding schedule and everything. We took turns feeding them. We had a whole system for marking that one of us had fed them. It helped my flaky brain and satisfied Roommate that she wasn't going to kill her first pet. Our friends used to mock us, saying we were like a married couple with kids. "Did you feed Jimmy breakfast?" "Who's picking Sally up from school?" We didn't care. We loved those fish. And we both agreed it was nice to come home to something living at the end of a long day of work, school, and junk.
We had them for almost six months. Then Christmas rolled around. We were both leaving town for two weeks to see our families. It was the first time we were going to be away from the fish for more than two days. We went out and bought vacation feeders for them and Roommate arranged to have a local friend check on them halfway through the break. We finished finals, packed last minute (like always), and headed out of town. In the flurry, we forgot to give the friend a key. "Oh well!" we thought. "They have fresh water and vacation feeders. They're bettas. They'll be fine!"
There were two things we did not take into account. First of all, we had turned down the thermostat to save money while we were gone. Second, a huge storm hit our normally temperate city. The entire city was shut down for over a week due to snow and ice. Roommate's friend couldn't have gotten there to check on them anyway. In the end, all of the details conspired against us. When Roommate got home, she found their bowls covered in a thin layer of ice.
Lola and Marty were no more.
I felt incredibly bad for Roommate, who did everything she was supposed to do as a first time pet owner. We were so worried about forgetting to feed them or not cleaning their bowls often enough. I don't think either of us expected them to freeze to death. And I feel even worse, because when she called me to tell me, I think I made her think it was her fault. I was pretty much only mad at myself. Sorry, Roommate. You were an excellent fish parent. Don't ever doubt that.
It's kind of depressing to think of them slowly dying in the cold water. I imagine Lola shivering and Marty reassuring her that we would come home soon and rescue them. And even though it might be cruel to laugh at the expense of the pet I killed, I have a strange brain. All I can imagine of their last days is an epic, Titanic-style death scene. Freezing slowly, calling out their love for one another. Saying sappy things like, "I'll never let go!" I imagine few of those musical fish from that song on The Little Mermaid probably played a tiny string quartet as the water got colder. Lola wishing she was a salmon and built for this kind of water, Marty wishing he had a tiny fishy door to put Lola on...
Wait, I think I took the metaphor a little too far. I think NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo have broken me.Anyway, that is the Tragic and Totally True Tale of Lola Betty and Marty Allen, the Well-Loved and Very Loving Frozen Fish. The end.
11.28.2011
My Failures and Potential-Failures So Far This Week
Here is a blog in unrelated paragraphs. Because I am a REALLY GREAT blogger.
NaNoWriMo ends on Wednesday... I only have 40,000 words and things are not going well in my plot. I really want to finish, but failure feels eminent. I am regretting every plot choice I ever made. So, you know, nothing really new.
**********
I restarted WeightWatchers today. I'm not going to go to meetings anymore, because all the ones near me are so lame that they make me want to cry or hit someone, which is not really conducive to losing weight. I think this was part of the reason I did so badly the last time--I hated going to my meetings and, therefore, began to resent the plan altogether. Well, that and my soul crushing job with saboteurs. Instead, I plan to weigh myself at home every Monday between 9:00-10:00 am and do all my tracking online. I've done really well so far today with the points. Also, when I weighed in this morning, I was so afraid I would be heavier than my original starting weight from 3 years ago (which was over 300 lbs) and have been mentally preparing for the awful number. Praise Jesus, I am not over 300 lbs! But it's close enough. So it's a good thing I'm starting again.
However, I got an e-mail from WeightWatchers today that said that the program would be changing next Monday. I have to say, I got a little bit pissed. On the one hand, how could they know that I was planning on restarting exactly one week before they changed everything? They couldn't. So calm down, self. But on the other hand? They changed the plan around Thanksgiving last year in such a major way that I basically threw my hands in the air and gave up. So to get that e-mail on the Morning of My Renewed Commitment To Avoid Being Fat was slightly discouraging. But I bucked up, because it's either go with the flow or be 700 lbs by the time I'm 30. I think you can see this was not a terribly difficult choice.
**********
Sister and I have finally finished LOST. It took us longer than most shows, but I think it was worth it. I've loved that show for a long time and Sister seemed to enjoy it, too. I know a lot of people hated the ending, but I thought it was kind of poetic and beautiful (even if it IS diametrically opposed to most of my personal theology) and had a nice symmetry with the pilot episode. Also, I'm not sure how they could have worked it out with any kind of closure with the rate that they killed people off, except for the way that they did it. So, in pathetic summation of a not-really review, Sister and I enjoyed it.
We had kind of already moved on to the most recent season of Big Bang Theory in the middle of the sixth season, just to lighten things up, so we finished that on the same day. We were wondering what to jump into next, since we have both now seen every single episode of every single show we own on DVD. But then I bought the first season of White Collar and we're back in business. For another twenty episodes, at least. Then hopefully we'll get something new for Christmas or we'll find something on good sale and be off again. Or there's always rewatching... West Wing, perhaps?
But I could use suggestions in the comments, if you guys have a TV show you like and want to share.
**********
Remember when I told you about how our furnace was acting like a melodramatic emo teen girl? Well, we seem to have fixed it. Except that it still FEELS about 67 degrees in here, but the thermostat SAYS it's 70. I think we may have reached the secretive and lying teenager phase.
Also, every once in a while, there will be a really hot smell coming from the vents. Like when you turn the furnace on at the end of the summer and it has to burn away some of the dust, since it hasn't been used in a long time? Except that NO, furnace, you were on TEN MINUTES AGO--there should be no accumulated dust to burn off. So Sister and I periodically have to run around like crazy people and climb into the half-basement to make sure the HOUSE IS NOT BURNING DOWN (because the one time we don't check, it will be...). So I think we have also made it to the "Teen smokes periodically and secretively in the basement" phase.
Pretty soon, I expect the heating vents to start yelling things like "You're ruining my life!" and "YOU! Are a MURDERER! Of LOVE!!!!"
[Name that quote and I'll make you my BFF for a day.]
**********
Last week, I used one of my favorite insulated polka-dot cups to make myself iced coffee, which was DELICIOUS. But I forgot to wash it out and the last tiny bit of coffe-milk and the melted icecubes have sat in it getting really nasty for several days. Because I keep these things all around the house with water in them, I didn't notice for a little while. LUCKILY, I did not try to drink it--I think I just gagged a little even thinking about it. But it was pretty gross when I opened it, so I had to scrub it really well with hot water and a lot of soap--something I don't do very often if all it carries is water.
EXCEPT?
I totally forgot that Sister had replaced the sponge on our little scrubby thing (you know the kind, with the scrubby sponge and the liquid soap all conveniently stored in the handle?). And the scrubby part of the sponge was all EXTRA BRAND NEW SCRUBBY and I totally scratched the heck out of the inside of my cup. As in, it's no longer transparent, only translucent. In a sad sad translucent way. And every time I go to take a sip of water, it makes me sad. And a little mad at myself for not seeing this coming.
I think my world has gotten really small since I quit my job....
**********
Do you remember when I told you that Satan's Cat has started watching the ice dispenser on the fridge for drips because of that one time I overfilled a cup and she thought the dripping water was a toy? You don't? Well, I'm not going to link to the post, because I'm pretty sure that story is an obscure side-reference anyway and you'll be all confused when you click on the link and the post is all about me quitting my job. So, just remember that she used to watch for drips to chase.
Well, now, she also wants ice cubes. I'm not sure what she thinks she'll do with it if we were to give her one. Sister thinks she might like to chase it across the wood floor and is afraid of it getting stuck somewhere and melting and warping the floor. I think she's more creative than that. Maybe she's trying to make herself a Jack & Coke. We are totally kitty-buzz-kills. And? If she's satanic normally, I fear what she would be like with lowered inhibitions.
Anyway, every time we run the ice dispenser, she comes running and then stands under it crying when we don't let her have one. We have turned the tiny kitty tables on her though. Anytime we need to leave and she's hiding to avoid being put away (it's not like that has EVER kept her from being put away, but it has occasionally made us late for things, so I guess she's still winning), we just run the dispenser for a moment and she appears, as if by magic.
There was one day recently that we couldn't find her anywhere. None of her usual hiding places were occupied, she hadn't gotten locked in the laundry room, she was NOWHERE. We were wandering around, kind of bemused as to where she could have squirreled herself away, because there was NOWHERE we hadn't looked. Then I ran the ice machine and there she was. Magic Cat.
We're hoping that if we do this enough, she will learn our trick and stop showing up at the fridge when we want ice. It might make her harder to find in a time crunch, but we're really tired of making ourselves something to drink with an angry cat blocking the fridge.
**********
Okay, now that I've warmed myself up on this failure of a blog post, I think I'll try my hand at noveling. Again. Only 10,000 more words to go and I still haven't gotten them CLOSE to being in love. I am THE BEST AUTHOR EVER!
NaNoWriMo ends on Wednesday... I only have 40,000 words and things are not going well in my plot. I really want to finish, but failure feels eminent. I am regretting every plot choice I ever made. So, you know, nothing really new.
**********
I restarted WeightWatchers today. I'm not going to go to meetings anymore, because all the ones near me are so lame that they make me want to cry or hit someone, which is not really conducive to losing weight. I think this was part of the reason I did so badly the last time--I hated going to my meetings and, therefore, began to resent the plan altogether. Well, that and my soul crushing job with saboteurs. Instead, I plan to weigh myself at home every Monday between 9:00-10:00 am and do all my tracking online. I've done really well so far today with the points. Also, when I weighed in this morning, I was so afraid I would be heavier than my original starting weight from 3 years ago (which was over 300 lbs) and have been mentally preparing for the awful number. Praise Jesus, I am not over 300 lbs! But it's close enough. So it's a good thing I'm starting again.
However, I got an e-mail from WeightWatchers today that said that the program would be changing next Monday. I have to say, I got a little bit pissed. On the one hand, how could they know that I was planning on restarting exactly one week before they changed everything? They couldn't. So calm down, self. But on the other hand? They changed the plan around Thanksgiving last year in such a major way that I basically threw my hands in the air and gave up. So to get that e-mail on the Morning of My Renewed Commitment To Avoid Being Fat was slightly discouraging. But I bucked up, because it's either go with the flow or be 700 lbs by the time I'm 30. I think you can see this was not a terribly difficult choice.
**********
Sister and I have finally finished LOST. It took us longer than most shows, but I think it was worth it. I've loved that show for a long time and Sister seemed to enjoy it, too. I know a lot of people hated the ending, but I thought it was kind of poetic and beautiful (even if it IS diametrically opposed to most of my personal theology) and had a nice symmetry with the pilot episode. Also, I'm not sure how they could have worked it out with any kind of closure with the rate that they killed people off, except for the way that they did it. So, in pathetic summation of a not-really review, Sister and I enjoyed it.
We had kind of already moved on to the most recent season of Big Bang Theory in the middle of the sixth season, just to lighten things up, so we finished that on the same day. We were wondering what to jump into next, since we have both now seen every single episode of every single show we own on DVD. But then I bought the first season of White Collar and we're back in business. For another twenty episodes, at least. Then hopefully we'll get something new for Christmas or we'll find something on good sale and be off again. Or there's always rewatching... West Wing, perhaps?
But I could use suggestions in the comments, if you guys have a TV show you like and want to share.
**********
Remember when I told you about how our furnace was acting like a melodramatic emo teen girl? Well, we seem to have fixed it. Except that it still FEELS about 67 degrees in here, but the thermostat SAYS it's 70. I think we may have reached the secretive and lying teenager phase.
Also, every once in a while, there will be a really hot smell coming from the vents. Like when you turn the furnace on at the end of the summer and it has to burn away some of the dust, since it hasn't been used in a long time? Except that NO, furnace, you were on TEN MINUTES AGO--there should be no accumulated dust to burn off. So Sister and I periodically have to run around like crazy people and climb into the half-basement to make sure the HOUSE IS NOT BURNING DOWN (because the one time we don't check, it will be...). So I think we have also made it to the "Teen smokes periodically and secretively in the basement" phase.
Pretty soon, I expect the heating vents to start yelling things like "You're ruining my life!" and "YOU! Are a MURDERER! Of LOVE!!!!"
[Name that quote and I'll make you my BFF for a day.]
**********
Last week, I used one of my favorite insulated polka-dot cups to make myself iced coffee, which was DELICIOUS. But I forgot to wash it out and the last tiny bit of coffe-milk and the melted icecubes have sat in it getting really nasty for several days. Because I keep these things all around the house with water in them, I didn't notice for a little while. LUCKILY, I did not try to drink it--I think I just gagged a little even thinking about it. But it was pretty gross when I opened it, so I had to scrub it really well with hot water and a lot of soap--something I don't do very often if all it carries is water.
EXCEPT?
I totally forgot that Sister had replaced the sponge on our little scrubby thing (you know the kind, with the scrubby sponge and the liquid soap all conveniently stored in the handle?). And the scrubby part of the sponge was all EXTRA BRAND NEW SCRUBBY and I totally scratched the heck out of the inside of my cup. As in, it's no longer transparent, only translucent. In a sad sad translucent way. And every time I go to take a sip of water, it makes me sad. And a little mad at myself for not seeing this coming.
I think my world has gotten really small since I quit my job....
**********
Do you remember when I told you that Satan's Cat has started watching the ice dispenser on the fridge for drips because of that one time I overfilled a cup and she thought the dripping water was a toy? You don't? Well, I'm not going to link to the post, because I'm pretty sure that story is an obscure side-reference anyway and you'll be all confused when you click on the link and the post is all about me quitting my job. So, just remember that she used to watch for drips to chase.
Well, now, she also wants ice cubes. I'm not sure what she thinks she'll do with it if we were to give her one. Sister thinks she might like to chase it across the wood floor and is afraid of it getting stuck somewhere and melting and warping the floor. I think she's more creative than that. Maybe she's trying to make herself a Jack & Coke. We are totally kitty-buzz-kills. And? If she's satanic normally, I fear what she would be like with lowered inhibitions.
Anyway, every time we run the ice dispenser, she comes running and then stands under it crying when we don't let her have one. We have turned the tiny kitty tables on her though. Anytime we need to leave and she's hiding to avoid being put away (it's not like that has EVER kept her from being put away, but it has occasionally made us late for things, so I guess she's still winning), we just run the dispenser for a moment and she appears, as if by magic.
There was one day recently that we couldn't find her anywhere. None of her usual hiding places were occupied, she hadn't gotten locked in the laundry room, she was NOWHERE. We were wandering around, kind of bemused as to where she could have squirreled herself away, because there was NOWHERE we hadn't looked. Then I ran the ice machine and there she was. Magic Cat.
We're hoping that if we do this enough, she will learn our trick and stop showing up at the fridge when we want ice. It might make her harder to find in a time crunch, but we're really tired of making ourselves something to drink with an angry cat blocking the fridge.
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Okay, now that I've warmed myself up on this failure of a blog post, I think I'll try my hand at noveling. Again. Only 10,000 more words to go and I still haven't gotten them CLOSE to being in love. I am THE BEST AUTHOR EVER!
11.27.2011
Sundays Are The Hardest Blogging Days
As I've posted before, my Sundays are pretty simple: church, lunch, nap, different food, TV, more food, more TV, bedtime. Admittedly, Sunday laziness is not that different from my current everyday laziness, except for the nap. I don't really nap on weekdays; although I totally could, I just...don't (I think I may be wasting my time of unemployment. I'm now rethinking things...). Also, going to church and doing my media job is actually more work than I do during the rest of the week put together. Which is very pathetic, but true.
Ever since I was a small child, Sundays have been a day of rest. I mean, it's not like there was some kind of Sabbath Code enforced in my house or anything. But after church, we usually gathered for a large-ish meal. And then we would all scatter to parts of the house to do our own thing: watch TV, read a book, do homework, whatever. There was always the expectation that whatever we chose to do would be quiet. Because, inevitably, someone would be napping.
Mom would "rest" her eyes, which really meant a nap. But some kind of magical nap in which she still knew what was going on in the house and could coherently answer the pestery questions of children who apparently did not understand the notion of LEAVE HER ALONE SHE'S SLEEPING! She rarely scolded us--she just answered the queries patiently with her eyes still closed. It wasn't until many years later, I realized that, though her answers were coherent, they were not always conscious or remembered, which was QUITE a trick. Dad would usually settle into the couch with a book or something on the History Channel. And promptly snooze. And all of us kids, in one form or another, would end up with a small rest or full-on nap. When I was younger, I fought naps--it nearly drove my nap loving mother out of her mind. But by early high school, I craved them. And Sundays were ALWAYS nap days.
When I got to college, I had ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD to nap--I had hours between my classes and I never thought to use that time for studying. But I learned pretty quickly NOT to nap, if I wanted to get to class on time and sleep on a regular schedule. It's kind of embarrassing to show up to a 3:45 pm class with pillowcase lines on your face and bleary eyes.
But Sundays? Oh, Sundays. Even when I wasn't going to church (because public transportation was really difficult for me) and the dorm was NOT all quiet and restful like my parents' house had been, Sundays held a strange sleepiness for me. It was like my body knew that it was Sunday, the Day of Napping. It REQUIRED a nap every seven days. It was weird. But who was I to deny my body what it needed?
Now that I live back in my hometown and I refuse to go to bed a sane hour for no good reason other than I'm stupid, Sunday naps have become a staple. Sometimes, Sister and I have naps for lunch on Sundays, instead of food. But since I've been sleeping until 11:15 most days recently, I decided to forgo today's nap in the hope that I will be extra tired tonight and will go to bed earlier. Because I need to spend ALL DAY tomorrow working on my NaNoWriMo novel, which kind of got forgotten over the holiday and is all the sudden TOTALLY BEHIND and I feel like I'm never going to finish by Wednesday. And writing ALL DAY is not nearly as effective if the day STARTS at NOON!
And this is why Sundays are the hardest blogging days. Because the only topic I can think of to post about is napping. Which is like a snooze-fest of words and letters. You're all probably napping by now. Which, if your Sundays are anything like mine, I guess you should thank me for... Yeah, still boring. Because I want a nap. And Sister IS napping. And I'm sleepy. And nothing else really happens on Sundays. Sundays are hard. When NaBloPoMo is done, I'd like to continue with daily posts. But I think I will use Sundays as a Blogging Sabbath. It will be better for all of us. I will get Sundays off and you won't have to read the drivel I try to come up with for Sunday posts. We all win. You're welcome.
Ever since I was a small child, Sundays have been a day of rest. I mean, it's not like there was some kind of Sabbath Code enforced in my house or anything. But after church, we usually gathered for a large-ish meal. And then we would all scatter to parts of the house to do our own thing: watch TV, read a book, do homework, whatever. There was always the expectation that whatever we chose to do would be quiet. Because, inevitably, someone would be napping.
Mom would "rest" her eyes, which really meant a nap. But some kind of magical nap in which she still knew what was going on in the house and could coherently answer the pestery questions of children who apparently did not understand the notion of LEAVE HER ALONE SHE'S SLEEPING! She rarely scolded us--she just answered the queries patiently with her eyes still closed. It wasn't until many years later, I realized that, though her answers were coherent, they were not always conscious or remembered, which was QUITE a trick. Dad would usually settle into the couch with a book or something on the History Channel. And promptly snooze. And all of us kids, in one form or another, would end up with a small rest or full-on nap. When I was younger, I fought naps--it nearly drove my nap loving mother out of her mind. But by early high school, I craved them. And Sundays were ALWAYS nap days.
When I got to college, I had ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD to nap--I had hours between my classes and I never thought to use that time for studying. But I learned pretty quickly NOT to nap, if I wanted to get to class on time and sleep on a regular schedule. It's kind of embarrassing to show up to a 3:45 pm class with pillowcase lines on your face and bleary eyes.
But Sundays? Oh, Sundays. Even when I wasn't going to church (because public transportation was really difficult for me) and the dorm was NOT all quiet and restful like my parents' house had been, Sundays held a strange sleepiness for me. It was like my body knew that it was Sunday, the Day of Napping. It REQUIRED a nap every seven days. It was weird. But who was I to deny my body what it needed?
Now that I live back in my hometown and I refuse to go to bed a sane hour for no good reason other than I'm stupid, Sunday naps have become a staple. Sometimes, Sister and I have naps for lunch on Sundays, instead of food. But since I've been sleeping until 11:15 most days recently, I decided to forgo today's nap in the hope that I will be extra tired tonight and will go to bed earlier. Because I need to spend ALL DAY tomorrow working on my NaNoWriMo novel, which kind of got forgotten over the holiday and is all the sudden TOTALLY BEHIND and I feel like I'm never going to finish by Wednesday. And writing ALL DAY is not nearly as effective if the day STARTS at NOON!
And this is why Sundays are the hardest blogging days. Because the only topic I can think of to post about is napping. Which is like a snooze-fest of words and letters. You're all probably napping by now. Which, if your Sundays are anything like mine, I guess you should thank me for... Yeah, still boring. Because I want a nap. And Sister IS napping. And I'm sleepy. And nothing else really happens on Sundays. Sundays are hard. When NaBloPoMo is done, I'd like to continue with daily posts. But I think I will use Sundays as a Blogging Sabbath. It will be better for all of us. I will get Sundays off and you won't have to read the drivel I try to come up with for Sunday posts. We all win. You're welcome.
11.26.2011
Has anyone SEEN my list, by the way? It's a piece of paper and it says, "Ross" on it...
Now that Thanksgiving has passed and people have celebrated their gratitude by getting into fights at WalMart, the Christmas season is apparently upon us. And every year, around this time, Mom asks me very nicely for a Christmas list. And I tell her I will give it to her. Days and/or weeks later, she kindly reminds me again. I make a mental note to send her one, but I write it on some kind of off-brand mental post-it note that has really poor sticking quality. In order to avoid that frustration this year, I've decided to put it right here on the blog, since she reads it every day.
Elise's Christmas List 2011:
1. One husband. Of the Christian variety, 6'2" or larger. Preferably with a steady income source and the ability to string together more than six words at a time.
2. One baby. With a layaway option on 3 more over the next 8-10 years (like a savings bond). Please keep in mind that #1 is a prerequisite.
3. One job. Preferably one that allows me to work from home and/or one without substantial mental and spiritual trauma.
4. One last phone call to Nana.
5. One teleportation device with portals near Roommate, Big Brother(and therefore Sister-In-Law and Niece), and the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii.
6. One hundred pairs of yoga pants, black.
7. One license to wear yoga pants in public without shame or mockery.
8. One rear end that looks good in yoga pants.
9. One Magic Digestive System that only absorbs the amount of calories necessary for the day and ignores the rest.
10. Umm.... Oh yeah! That World Peace thingy. Because, why not?
I'm not sure which stores carry these items (except for #6--Target has TALL yoga pants), but see what you can do. Otherwise, I'd really like Sims 3 Pets. It's up to you, really. Whichever....
[I apologize for the obscure FRIENDS quote as the title of today's post. It's mostly for Sister. And a little bit for Temerity Jane. So if you didn't get it, just ignore it. Or go watch FRIENDS. Your life will be more complete if you do...]
Elise's Christmas List 2011:
1. One husband. Of the Christian variety, 6'2" or larger. Preferably with a steady income source and the ability to string together more than six words at a time.
2. One baby. With a layaway option on 3 more over the next 8-10 years (like a savings bond). Please keep in mind that #1 is a prerequisite.
3. One job. Preferably one that allows me to work from home and/or one without substantial mental and spiritual trauma.
4. One last phone call to Nana.
5. One teleportation device with portals near Roommate, Big Brother(and therefore Sister-In-Law and Niece), and the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii.
6. One hundred pairs of yoga pants, black.
7. One license to wear yoga pants in public without shame or mockery.
8. One rear end that looks good in yoga pants.
9. One Magic Digestive System that only absorbs the amount of calories necessary for the day and ignores the rest.
10. Umm.... Oh yeah! That World Peace thingy. Because, why not?
I'm not sure which stores carry these items (except for #6--Target has TALL yoga pants), but see what you can do. Otherwise, I'd really like Sims 3 Pets. It's up to you, really. Whichever....
[I apologize for the obscure FRIENDS quote as the title of today's post. It's mostly for Sister. And a little bit for Temerity Jane. So if you didn't get it, just ignore it. Or go watch FRIENDS. Your life will be more complete if you do...]
11.25.2011
Bad Behaviors That Annoy
Today, I'm going to climb on my high horse a little bit and "preach" about some bad behaviors that make me crazy. Like RAGE kind of crazy. I promise that none of this is about anyone in particular (unless it is and then it will be noted). I'm not calling anyone out, so calm down. But a few of these things really bother me and it's my blog, so every once in a while, I get to use it as a soap box. And you know what? I bet at least one of them is something that's bothered you before. Because that's the beauty of the Internet.
Bad Behavior Number 1: People who only know one topic really well and steer EVERY conversation in that direction.
This one will need some background information. You see, I had this boss. I think I might have told you about her once or twice. I called her Crazy Boss Lady. Because she was a lady (using this term to mean only "female" not "genteel and gracious") and she was my boss and she was completely BAT-SHIT CRAZY (yes, I just swore...it's the only way to get the point across this time, sorry Mom). Crazy Boss Lady was incredibly incompetent for the position she held, which she had gained through a series of ridiculous situations that no one seemed to foresee as one of the signs of the impending APOCALYPSE. Okay, maybe not that, but close.
Anyway, Crazy Boss Lady's late husband had been a beloved dentist in our community. And before she got the job in which she tried to stomp all over my soul, she helped him run his dental practice. And by "run his dental practice," I mean, she answered phones at the front desk for a few hours a week. This made her an "expert" in all things dentistry.
And that was the only thing she knew. I'm not kidding. She seemed to have no other skills whatsoever, unless you count the ability to reach inside a person's mind and diminish their will to live by using only fake compliments and creepy smiles. And in case you are wondering, my job (and by default, her job) had NOTHING TO DO WITH DENTISTRY. Oh, but she tried to MAKE it about dentistry. In any meeting with clients, at any meeting with her colleagues, or in any conversation with her employees, she would relate everything back to dentistry, her husband's practice, or the fact that three of her five children had chosen to be dentists. You would not believe how many things can relate to the care of teeth if you try hard enough. It was like playing The Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, but a lot less interesting.
The problem with this is not just that NO ONE wants to talk about teeth that much. It's how selfish AND stupid these people look when trying to turn the conversation toward their interest. Because, although Crazy Boss Lady makes the best example, I have watched countless other people fall into this pattern as well. In her case, I think it had to do with the fact that she wasn't understanding the current conversation and was too insecure to ask for an explanation. But some people do this just because they are bored with what YOU want to talk about, probably because it is not ABOUT THEM or THEIR INTERESTS. I think it's pretty obvious why this is a bad behavior that annoys me.
Bad Behavior Number 2: Thinking that other people think you are amazing and repeating their "praise" of you to others.
I had another boss, right after I had Crazy Boss Lady. We call him Big Jerk Boss Man. Big Jerk Boss Man was about as qualified for his job as Crazy Boss Lady was for hers. Actually, he had three different careers before gaining his role as my boss and he was kind of intelligent in his day, but he's now in his seventies and has some health issues that I'm convinced have affected his brain. Also, he grew up as a scrawny kid in the gangland of Manhattan in the 1940s and 50s, so he pretty quickly developed an inferiority complex and the ability to tear people down with his words (since his hands weren't strong enough).
Strangely, this man had an ego the size of, well, Manhattan probably. Now that I'm away from him for good, I can see that it's all a defense mechanism--he actually hates himself and doesn't want anyone to see it. But the EGO on this man was enough to crush you flat if you stood too close to him. And he was constantly coming to us, his employees, for both validation and to brag about how much people liked him. I think it's pretty obvious why I quit my job....
On occasion, my boss would be invited to speak at community events or business luncheons. Often, we were required to go with, in order to fully appreciate his awesomeness. And he would stand up and begin his speech and I would cringe. He was NOT a very good public speaker. He rambled. He meandered. He used way too much personal detail and made people uncomfortable. He forgot what he had been asked to speak about and improvised. He never prepared in advance and was always flying by the seat of his I'm-too-big-for-these britches.
BUT. Inevitably, some well-meaning soul would approach him after the speech and tell him he did a good job. Or, more often, he would go and ASK people if they liked his speech. Yeah, he would walk up to someone, who was usually in the middle of a different conversation, and would interrupt them to ask, "So what did you think of my speech? It was great, right?" He was a Social Skills Train Wreck. And the person, caught off-guard and cornered, would say something like "It was very interesting..." or "I've never heard anything like that before..."
Now, I think you (and most everyone else in the WORLD) is smart enough to see through the non-answer in those answers. Words like "interesting," "special," "unique," and "informative" (without giving details as to HOW it was informative) are all the lazy man's way of saying "I have nothing better to give you because that speech was boring/weird/bad/uncomfortable and I don't want to offend you and you totally just put me on the spot" and/or "I wasn't really listening."
But, oh how the boss would glow and preen at these comments. He would come back to the office and tell us all about how people LOVED the speech. How he'd gotten SO MANY COMPLIMENTS. How HE WAS THE BEST SPEAKER MAN IN THE HISTORY OF MEN WHO SPEAK. And we would smile politely and give him the same kind of feedback as those who didn't know what to say. Because we liked our paychecks.
And GOD FORBID anyone EVER critique or dislike his speech. They were immediately eviscerated with his words (sometimes in person, sometimes behind their backs), shunned, and ignored forever. This man could hold a grudge like no one I've ever met.
And this brings me to the conclusion of Bad Behavior Number 2: repeating non-compliment compliments in an effort to stroke your own ego is not only arrogant, it's sad and pathetic. Just don't do it, okay? Big Jerk Boss Man was the worst non-compliment compliment taker I've ever seen, but just like Crazy Boss Lady before him, he's no special snowflake. I've heard other people repeat things they think were praise and I hear as "that's the word people use when they have nothing better to say." This has also made me suspicious of praise directed toward myself, since I'm always wondering if it was actually intended as praise or if it was just something you say to be polite.
Bad Behavior Number 3: Women who constantly tear down their husbands and complain about their children on the Internet.
[WARNING: This is where I get less funny and more preachy. I would apologize, but I mean every word.]
I could probably just round this one out into "all people who spend the majority of their time complaining and whining about EVERYTHING THAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD AND THEIR LIVES OMG!" But I'm not going to, because this particular subcategory of complainers makes me rantastically crazy. And really, this is more directed at women who husband-bash than those who complain about their kids, because most women know that they'll get called out if they go too far in insulting their children but that most people will ignore husband-bashing rather than stand up for someone else's husband.
And I'm calling out WOMEN in particular, for these three reasons:
1. I don't spend a lot of time with married men without their wives, so I don't have a good sample of their whining, which therefore means;
2. When I see this behavior, it is almost always coming from a woman and finally;
3. Women just seem more prone to this kind of "public" complaining, which men may do with their buddies but don't seem to engage in online.
I see it all the time on twitter and facebook and a little less often, but still frequently, on blogs. I even find it in real-live conversations at work and church and the grocery store. There are some women who apparently HATE their husbands and their children. Now, I understand that the Internet can be a safe and anonymous place to say all of the things you cannot say in real life, so a lot of venting takes place here. And I also understand that marriage can be difficult and that raising kids is no piece of cake, so there are times when you JUST HAVE TO LET IT OUT.
And, in case I haven't couched this one ENOUGH, it should be noted that I'm not talking about the joking kind of complaining. Like when you say, "OMG, my kid just painted the wall with his poop. In unrelated news, he is now for sale on ebay" or "The baby kept me up ALL NIGHT LONG. I'm so tired I can't remember her name. Remind me why I wanted kids?" Those are funny and real and help us understand that your day has been rough. I'm not asking for sunshine and ponies all day long in your twitter stream.
Btu there are some women (probably not as many as I think, they are just so loud and obvious so it seems like there are more of them than there really are), who never seem to have a nice thing to say about their families. And the things they DO say are so incredibly demeaning and disrespectful and unloving, that I want to vomit. I've seen tweets similar to: "My husband is so EFFING stupid, I don't know how he hasn't accidentally killed himself yet" or "My kids are the most annoying creatures on the planet. Why won't they just shut up and leave me alone?" I'm even bothered by the seemingly more innocuous tweets that say "I am so annoyed at my husband right now" when I've seen the same sentiment more than three times this week from the same poster.
I don't think it's okay to call your husband stupid on twitter and mean it (not saying that he did something stupid, but implying that he is ever in a state of stupid). I don't think it's okay to call him a loser or other derogatory names, when you're obviously not joking. I don't think it's okay to talk about your kids as if you wish you'd never had them. Again, I see this more often directed at husbands than at children, but I still see some really negative things about kids.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I am a single woman and deep down to the core of my soul and the marrow of my bones, I ache to find that one person who will love me for me and know me better than anyone in the world, with whom I will raise a passel of babies and next to whom I will grow old and senile. And every time I see a woman who has all the things I want, TEARING IT DOWN like it means nothing, it makes me kind of sick.
Right about now, I have a feeling a few of you are hiking up your sleeves, about to attack your keyboard in an effort to give me a piece of your mind, because you think I'm talking about you. I'm not. Really. This is a general observation only. But? If you were thinking that, it might be time to examine the percentage of your tweets/updates/posts that are negative toward your family and see how many of them you were "joking" about...
Because ladies? If you're constantly talking that way on the Internet, it's more than likely that some of that resentment and disrespect has already crept into your real-life relationships. And if you're not willing to love and honor and respect your husband, he might go looking for a woman who will. I'm not saying I'm out to take anyone's husband (I am SO not) or that all men who cheat have complaining wives. All I'm saying is that I've watched too many marriages fall apart because "she" tore him down and "he" went looking elsewhere--both wrong, both with devastating consequences. So treasure what you have and be careful with your words. They have incredible power.
Here is where I wish I had a Bad Behavior Number 4 to share, so I don't have to leave the post on such a bummer kind of note. But I don't have another one in mind right now and I'm not going to make one up for the sake of making you forget what I just said above. I'm also thinking about not posting this, because it might offend people or it's a little bit outside of the "Here's some crazy stuff that just happened to me and a recipe or two" thing I have going on. But I thought it and I wrote it and I still think it, so I guess I'm posting it. I'm also thinking of making a series out of these bad behaviors that annoy me, if no one yells at me too badly for this one. We'll see. For now, enjoy my opinionated rant and don't throw too many tomatoes, mmkay?
**********
This one will need some background information. You see, I had this boss. I think I might have told you about her once or twice. I called her Crazy Boss Lady. Because she was a lady (using this term to mean only "female" not "genteel and gracious") and she was my boss and she was completely BAT-SHIT CRAZY (yes, I just swore...it's the only way to get the point across this time, sorry Mom). Crazy Boss Lady was incredibly incompetent for the position she held, which she had gained through a series of ridiculous situations that no one seemed to foresee as one of the signs of the impending APOCALYPSE. Okay, maybe not that, but close.
Anyway, Crazy Boss Lady's late husband had been a beloved dentist in our community. And before she got the job in which she tried to stomp all over my soul, she helped him run his dental practice. And by "run his dental practice," I mean, she answered phones at the front desk for a few hours a week. This made her an "expert" in all things dentistry.
And that was the only thing she knew. I'm not kidding. She seemed to have no other skills whatsoever, unless you count the ability to reach inside a person's mind and diminish their will to live by using only fake compliments and creepy smiles. And in case you are wondering, my job (and by default, her job) had NOTHING TO DO WITH DENTISTRY. Oh, but she tried to MAKE it about dentistry. In any meeting with clients, at any meeting with her colleagues, or in any conversation with her employees, she would relate everything back to dentistry, her husband's practice, or the fact that three of her five children had chosen to be dentists. You would not believe how many things can relate to the care of teeth if you try hard enough. It was like playing The Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, but a lot less interesting.
The problem with this is not just that NO ONE wants to talk about teeth that much. It's how selfish AND stupid these people look when trying to turn the conversation toward their interest. Because, although Crazy Boss Lady makes the best example, I have watched countless other people fall into this pattern as well. In her case, I think it had to do with the fact that she wasn't understanding the current conversation and was too insecure to ask for an explanation. But some people do this just because they are bored with what YOU want to talk about, probably because it is not ABOUT THEM or THEIR INTERESTS. I think it's pretty obvious why this is a bad behavior that annoys me.
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Bad Behavior Number 2: Thinking that other people think you are amazing and repeating their "praise" of you to others.
I had another boss, right after I had Crazy Boss Lady. We call him Big Jerk Boss Man. Big Jerk Boss Man was about as qualified for his job as Crazy Boss Lady was for hers. Actually, he had three different careers before gaining his role as my boss and he was kind of intelligent in his day, but he's now in his seventies and has some health issues that I'm convinced have affected his brain. Also, he grew up as a scrawny kid in the gangland of Manhattan in the 1940s and 50s, so he pretty quickly developed an inferiority complex and the ability to tear people down with his words (since his hands weren't strong enough).
Strangely, this man had an ego the size of, well, Manhattan probably. Now that I'm away from him for good, I can see that it's all a defense mechanism--he actually hates himself and doesn't want anyone to see it. But the EGO on this man was enough to crush you flat if you stood too close to him. And he was constantly coming to us, his employees, for both validation and to brag about how much people liked him. I think it's pretty obvious why I quit my job....
On occasion, my boss would be invited to speak at community events or business luncheons. Often, we were required to go with, in order to fully appreciate his awesomeness. And he would stand up and begin his speech and I would cringe. He was NOT a very good public speaker. He rambled. He meandered. He used way too much personal detail and made people uncomfortable. He forgot what he had been asked to speak about and improvised. He never prepared in advance and was always flying by the seat of his I'm-too-big-for-these britches.
BUT. Inevitably, some well-meaning soul would approach him after the speech and tell him he did a good job. Or, more often, he would go and ASK people if they liked his speech. Yeah, he would walk up to someone, who was usually in the middle of a different conversation, and would interrupt them to ask, "So what did you think of my speech? It was great, right?" He was a Social Skills Train Wreck. And the person, caught off-guard and cornered, would say something like "It was very interesting..." or "I've never heard anything like that before..."
Now, I think you (and most everyone else in the WORLD) is smart enough to see through the non-answer in those answers. Words like "interesting," "special," "unique," and "informative" (without giving details as to HOW it was informative) are all the lazy man's way of saying "I have nothing better to give you because that speech was boring/weird/bad/uncomfortable and I don't want to offend you and you totally just put me on the spot" and/or "I wasn't really listening."
But, oh how the boss would glow and preen at these comments. He would come back to the office and tell us all about how people LOVED the speech. How he'd gotten SO MANY COMPLIMENTS. How HE WAS THE BEST SPEAKER MAN IN THE HISTORY OF MEN WHO SPEAK. And we would smile politely and give him the same kind of feedback as those who didn't know what to say. Because we liked our paychecks.
And GOD FORBID anyone EVER critique or dislike his speech. They were immediately eviscerated with his words (sometimes in person, sometimes behind their backs), shunned, and ignored forever. This man could hold a grudge like no one I've ever met.
And this brings me to the conclusion of Bad Behavior Number 2: repeating non-compliment compliments in an effort to stroke your own ego is not only arrogant, it's sad and pathetic. Just don't do it, okay? Big Jerk Boss Man was the worst non-compliment compliment taker I've ever seen, but just like Crazy Boss Lady before him, he's no special snowflake. I've heard other people repeat things they think were praise and I hear as "that's the word people use when they have nothing better to say." This has also made me suspicious of praise directed toward myself, since I'm always wondering if it was actually intended as praise or if it was just something you say to be polite.
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Bad Behavior Number 3: Women who constantly tear down their husbands and complain about their children on the Internet.
[WARNING: This is where I get less funny and more preachy. I would apologize, but I mean every word.]
I could probably just round this one out into "all people who spend the majority of their time complaining and whining about EVERYTHING THAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD AND THEIR LIVES OMG!" But I'm not going to, because this particular subcategory of complainers makes me rantastically crazy. And really, this is more directed at women who husband-bash than those who complain about their kids, because most women know that they'll get called out if they go too far in insulting their children but that most people will ignore husband-bashing rather than stand up for someone else's husband.
And I'm calling out WOMEN in particular, for these three reasons:
1. I don't spend a lot of time with married men without their wives, so I don't have a good sample of their whining, which therefore means;
2. When I see this behavior, it is almost always coming from a woman and finally;
3. Women just seem more prone to this kind of "public" complaining, which men may do with their buddies but don't seem to engage in online.
I see it all the time on twitter and facebook and a little less often, but still frequently, on blogs. I even find it in real-live conversations at work and church and the grocery store. There are some women who apparently HATE their husbands and their children. Now, I understand that the Internet can be a safe and anonymous place to say all of the things you cannot say in real life, so a lot of venting takes place here. And I also understand that marriage can be difficult and that raising kids is no piece of cake, so there are times when you JUST HAVE TO LET IT OUT.
And, in case I haven't couched this one ENOUGH, it should be noted that I'm not talking about the joking kind of complaining. Like when you say, "OMG, my kid just painted the wall with his poop. In unrelated news, he is now for sale on ebay" or "The baby kept me up ALL NIGHT LONG. I'm so tired I can't remember her name. Remind me why I wanted kids?" Those are funny and real and help us understand that your day has been rough. I'm not asking for sunshine and ponies all day long in your twitter stream.
Btu there are some women (probably not as many as I think, they are just so loud and obvious so it seems like there are more of them than there really are), who never seem to have a nice thing to say about their families. And the things they DO say are so incredibly demeaning and disrespectful and unloving, that I want to vomit. I've seen tweets similar to: "My husband is so EFFING stupid, I don't know how he hasn't accidentally killed himself yet" or "My kids are the most annoying creatures on the planet. Why won't they just shut up and leave me alone?" I'm even bothered by the seemingly more innocuous tweets that say "I am so annoyed at my husband right now" when I've seen the same sentiment more than three times this week from the same poster.
I don't think it's okay to call your husband stupid on twitter and mean it (not saying that he did something stupid, but implying that he is ever in a state of stupid). I don't think it's okay to call him a loser or other derogatory names, when you're obviously not joking. I don't think it's okay to talk about your kids as if you wish you'd never had them. Again, I see this more often directed at husbands than at children, but I still see some really negative things about kids.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I am a single woman and deep down to the core of my soul and the marrow of my bones, I ache to find that one person who will love me for me and know me better than anyone in the world, with whom I will raise a passel of babies and next to whom I will grow old and senile. And every time I see a woman who has all the things I want, TEARING IT DOWN like it means nothing, it makes me kind of sick.
Right about now, I have a feeling a few of you are hiking up your sleeves, about to attack your keyboard in an effort to give me a piece of your mind, because you think I'm talking about you. I'm not. Really. This is a general observation only. But? If you were thinking that, it might be time to examine the percentage of your tweets/updates/posts that are negative toward your family and see how many of them you were "joking" about...
Because ladies? If you're constantly talking that way on the Internet, it's more than likely that some of that resentment and disrespect has already crept into your real-life relationships. And if you're not willing to love and honor and respect your husband, he might go looking for a woman who will. I'm not saying I'm out to take anyone's husband (I am SO not) or that all men who cheat have complaining wives. All I'm saying is that I've watched too many marriages fall apart because "she" tore him down and "he" went looking elsewhere--both wrong, both with devastating consequences. So treasure what you have and be careful with your words. They have incredible power.
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Here is where I wish I had a Bad Behavior Number 4 to share, so I don't have to leave the post on such a bummer kind of note. But I don't have another one in mind right now and I'm not going to make one up for the sake of making you forget what I just said above. I'm also thinking about not posting this, because it might offend people or it's a little bit outside of the "Here's some crazy stuff that just happened to me and a recipe or two" thing I have going on. But I thought it and I wrote it and I still think it, so I guess I'm posting it. I'm also thinking of making a series out of these bad behaviors that annoy me, if no one yells at me too badly for this one. We'll see. For now, enjoy my opinionated rant and don't throw too many tomatoes, mmkay?
11.24.2011
Elise's Honey Wheat Rolls
[I wrote this post yesterday from Sister-In-Law's house.]
The girls and I got together today to bake up a storm. Well, actually, I have no control over the weather, so I'm not baking a "storm" per se. But we are baking a lot. Sister-In-Law is making pie of many varieties--pumpkin, lemon, coconut, and maybe even chocolate cream (which is not really "baked," but whatever.) I'm making honey wheat rolls. Sister is making...coasters. That's not a funny name for a snack food. She's actually making Mod Podge coasters with scrapbook paper and other items on while tiles. She's a good cook and everything, but we'll have so much food that we decided the rolls would be from both of us.
Anyway, I thought I would make this a post about how to make my Honey Wheat Rolls, which I kind of made up, but not really. But kind of. You'll see.
Step 1: Locate the recipe, which was hiding in the back of my Better Homes & Gardens cookbook, disguised as a folded piece of xerox paper.
Elise's Honey Wheat Rolls
1 C warm water
1 C warm milk
2 eggs
2/3 C butter, softened
1/2 C honey
2 t salt
2-1/2 C wheat flour
5 C white flour
4-1/2 t active dry yeast
3 T butter
Step 2: Assemble thecast of characters ingredients:
Oooh and aah over how pretty the honey is. Take a picture or two:
Step 3: Mix (by hand or with a mixer, but the mixer is easier) together all the wet ingredients and the yeast. Be careful not to overheat your water or milk (or even your butter if you're like me and forgot to take the stick out of the freezer in time and you have to microwave it to soften it and you end up with molten liquid butter that sits on the counter for a while to cool). Where was I? Oh, don't overheat or you will kill your yeast and get flat rolls. Just trust me. But don't make it too cold either, or your yeast will take FOREVER to do its job and you'll end up with...flat rolls. This is probably why people find bread so tricky. Just make sure it's a little warmer than your skin, I guess. That's my rule of thumb anyway--no, really...I stick my thumb in it and if it doesn't feel too hot, I use it.
Step 4: Stir in both flours slowly, until it's more dough than batter. You may need a little more or a little less than the recipe calls for--every batch is different. If you need to cut or add, do it to the white flour. Keep all the wheat flour you can.
Step 5: Knead in the remaining flour. Just dump the sticky mass onto a floured surface and go at it. It's quite relaxing, really. This is my favorite part. Really go at it for about 10 minutes.
Step 6: Place the dough in a greased bowl and cover it with a towel--make sure it's in a warm place. If your house runs kind of cold, set your oven to 150 degrees and sit the bowl on top of it. Let it rise for 1 hour.Or until it's doubled. If it seems to be lagging behind at this point, give it another fifteen minutes and then don't worry about it. It rises again later.
Step 7: Separate the dough into 30 pieces (don't be like me a listen to the recipe--32 is a difficult number to make sit in the pans. Just do 30, okay?). Work each piece into a nice round, roll-looking-thing (specific, right?):
Step 8: Arrange them in two 13x9 cake pans and set them aside to rise for 1 hour (covered by a towel again). Or so. Use your best judgement--they will rise more in the oven, but you want them to be pretty large before they go in. And don't be like me (again) and not to the math on the timing and realize you have music rehearsal at 6:00 and the bread won't finish rising until about 6:15, so you leave them on the counter until 11:00 pm, hoping they don't take over the kitchen like that folktale about the magic spaghetti pot (does anyone know what I'm talking about?). So, yeah. Don't do that.
Step 9: Bake at 400 degrees for 10-15 minutes or until light golden.Watch them carefully, because the tops will not be as golden as you expect when the bottoms are done. Take them out a little early than your gut tells you to do, because they will continue to brown a little in the pan.
Step 10: Rub the remaining butter over the top of the hot rolls, allowing it to melt and run down the sides. It's okay if it pools between them. No, wait. It's MORE THAN OKAY. I used an entire HALF STICK of butter for this process and it seemed a little excessive, but they turned out great, so do with that what you will. The butter will make the tops a little more golden, will keep the rolls soft, and will taste like heaven at dinnertime.
Step 11: Serve warm (rewarm in a low oven for a few minutes if serving then next day). Feed them to your friends and family. Allow them to love you. It's okay. You earned it.
The girls and I got together today to bake up a storm. Well, actually, I have no control over the weather, so I'm not baking a "storm" per se. But we are baking a lot. Sister-In-Law is making pie of many varieties--pumpkin, lemon, coconut, and maybe even chocolate cream (which is not really "baked," but whatever.) I'm making honey wheat rolls. Sister is making...coasters. That's not a funny name for a snack food. She's actually making Mod Podge coasters with scrapbook paper and other items on while tiles. She's a good cook and everything, but we'll have so much food that we decided the rolls would be from both of us.
Anyway, I thought I would make this a post about how to make my Honey Wheat Rolls, which I kind of made up, but not really. But kind of. You'll see.
Step 1: Locate the recipe, which was hiding in the back of my Better Homes & Gardens cookbook, disguised as a folded piece of xerox paper.
Elise's Honey Wheat Rolls
1 C warm water
1 C warm milk
2 eggs
2/3 C butter, softened
1/2 C honey
2 t salt
2-1/2 C wheat flour
5 C white flour
4-1/2 t active dry yeast
3 T butter
Step 2: Assemble the
![]() |
1: Yeast; 2: Butter/Margarine; 3: Eggs; 4: Cake pans; 5: Sippy cup of milk, for easy, no spill transport; 6: White flour; 7: Salt; 8: Wheat flour; 9: Honey |
Oooh and aah over how pretty the honey is. Take a picture or two:
Step 3: Mix (by hand or with a mixer, but the mixer is easier) together all the wet ingredients and the yeast. Be careful not to overheat your water or milk (or even your butter if you're like me and forgot to take the stick out of the freezer in time and you have to microwave it to soften it and you end up with molten liquid butter that sits on the counter for a while to cool). Where was I? Oh, don't overheat or you will kill your yeast and get flat rolls. Just trust me. But don't make it too cold either, or your yeast will take FOREVER to do its job and you'll end up with...flat rolls. This is probably why people find bread so tricky. Just make sure it's a little warmer than your skin, I guess. That's my rule of thumb anyway--no, really...I stick my thumb in it and if it doesn't feel too hot, I use it.
Step 4: Stir in both flours slowly, until it's more dough than batter. You may need a little more or a little less than the recipe calls for--every batch is different. If you need to cut or add, do it to the white flour. Keep all the wheat flour you can.
Step 5: Knead in the remaining flour. Just dump the sticky mass onto a floured surface and go at it. It's quite relaxing, really. This is my favorite part. Really go at it for about 10 minutes.
Step 6: Place the dough in a greased bowl and cover it with a towel--make sure it's in a warm place. If your house runs kind of cold, set your oven to 150 degrees and sit the bowl on top of it. Let it rise for 1 hour.Or until it's doubled. If it seems to be lagging behind at this point, give it another fifteen minutes and then don't worry about it. It rises again later.
Step 7: Separate the dough into 30 pieces (don't be like me a listen to the recipe--32 is a difficult number to make sit in the pans. Just do 30, okay?). Work each piece into a nice round, roll-looking-thing (specific, right?):
Step 8: Arrange them in two 13x9 cake pans and set them aside to rise for 1 hour (covered by a towel again). Or so. Use your best judgement--they will rise more in the oven, but you want them to be pretty large before they go in. And don't be like me (again) and not to the math on the timing and realize you have music rehearsal at 6:00 and the bread won't finish rising until about 6:15, so you leave them on the counter until 11:00 pm, hoping they don't take over the kitchen like that folktale about the magic spaghetti pot (does anyone know what I'm talking about?). So, yeah. Don't do that.
Step 9: Bake at 400 degrees for 10-15 minutes or until light golden.Watch them carefully, because the tops will not be as golden as you expect when the bottoms are done. Take them out a little early than your gut tells you to do, because they will continue to brown a little in the pan.
Step 10: Rub the remaining butter over the top of the hot rolls, allowing it to melt and run down the sides. It's okay if it pools between them. No, wait. It's MORE THAN OKAY. I used an entire HALF STICK of butter for this process and it seemed a little excessive, but they turned out great, so do with that what you will. The butter will make the tops a little more golden, will keep the rolls soft, and will taste like heaven at dinnertime.
Step 11: Serve warm (rewarm in a low oven for a few minutes if serving then next day). Feed them to your friends and family. Allow them to love you. It's okay. You earned it.
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