T-Minus 11 hours

The carpet guys will be doing awful things to my living room floor tomorrow...so I'm about to shut down the computer and frantically figure out where to put all the last minute things and get my room ready to do the same but opposite tomorrow night...

Before I do though, I have to share my latest trauma...Wells Fargo sent me back a "legal copy" of the Toyota Finance refund check...that bounced. See, apparently I overpaid my car loan (I know!), so they sent me the difference back in December while I was visiting my family in LA. I lost track of the check until last week when all this cleaning and sorting for the carpet replacement came up. So I guess the fault was my own for not cashing it immediately, or so the customer service representative was trying to convince me. See, it even says so on the check, void after 90 days or somesuch BS. And it is BS.

There is no reason, except utter spite, that Toyota should refuse to allow a valid check # to be cashed. Having worked in an accounts payable office for almost 3 years now? I know the drill: Bank A tries to get funds from Bank B via a check draw. Bank A's check is out of sequence (by a lot) so Bank B contacts the issuer of the check via message/email/in some way, shape, or form so as to get a person to accept or reject the check # & amount. The issuer says it's okay, fund transaction happens, EVERYONE HAPPY.

Toyota denied Wells Fargo my $13.19. Seriously. So who got dinged? Me. Not only did the cashing become a withdrawing, but now I have a $7.00 fee for the service. You bet your aunt Fanny I'm on the phone with Wells in the AM.

However, I feel I must give out the secret password to the internets. If you find yourself in a conversation with a customer service representative FROM ANY company and they tell you that they cannot do anything about the fact that your check has "expired?" It's a lie. Demand to speak with their supervisor. A company cannot "void" your refund/money it owes you. They must clean up their books LEGALLY, and those funds get to go to their home state as unclaimed cash. This takes a LOOOONG time. We wait a year before starting this process. Step #1? Contact the vendor and see why the check was not cashed. It is NEVER void the check and keep the money. No matter how small the amount. Again, ask for a supervisor.

Yes, I may have gotten a bit irate over $13. But really? Listening to the CSR convince herself that this is the way things are done and she can't do anything to change their policy? It galled. It rubbed me so the wrong way. It raised hackles. And then she went and called me ma'am.

Do not believe the money is no longer yours. It lives in their system as an uncashed check. If they keep it? It is officially stolen from you. See, I can't change policy either, but I do know how to read the lovely notices the IRS sends us with regards to unclaimed funds.

I started to wonder how many people believed her story, or any other CSRs similar explanation. They use very level and even voices, sound pleasant even after you've blown your top (ma'am), put you on penalty hold if they think you need a time out...and are very surprised when you're still there...oh yes, I was. I mean, what else did I have to do? Especially now that I felt like I was fighting for every person who had ever hung up/given up. (Blame it on being overworked...I dunno, seriously could not stop myself.)

So I'm being issued a new check. However, I still need to find a way to get Wells Fargo to reverse their $7 BS fee. Maybe someone else in the internets has a success story to share. THEN I will shut down and pack like a madman.

By Waterproof, I Did Not Mean the Yarn Needed to be Superwash...

On Thursday we had such awesomely wonderful weather that I seriously considered playing hookie. We've spoken about my work ethic at length. You know this is not an option. Except Thursday? SO NICE.

But this just means summer is finally here, tra la, not to worry, plenty time for sun and fun and did I mention sun?

Mother nature hates me.

I walked to work IN THE RAIN on Friday. Not fog as Andy said, looking at the forecast on the 'puter, not "mist," oh no, this was rain. But so determined was I to cast on the 150 stitches I need for a hat I'm playing around with (100% wool, superwash), that I trudged through, sans umbrella, and only shoved the hat into my pocket when I noticed the bamboo was no longer slipping through the stitches all that easily.

It's been "All Summer In A Day" here for so long that I'm seriously thinking it's affecting my attitude. Me, who isn't all that enamored of the ball of flame that gives me freckles that are starting to look like perma-stains along my wrinkle lines can think of nothing better to do than stand at the window and let the heat burn the back of my neck as I waited for signatures on checks last Thursday. Mmmmmmm what a lovely memory.

There was a marathon or some-such event today, but except for a quick bento box lunch out, I've been inside sorting and packing and getting ready for new carpet. Yep, they raised my rent but I insisted that if I had to pay more? Then the carpet stain/bleaching the size of doormat that the previous tenants left us had to be fixed. As it's too big to patch? And the carpet reached some magical age? We're getting all new carpet for the entire apartment.

(If I already posted about this, I apologize, it's almost 2 AM and I've been packing and sorting and going insane with the mess all day). I'd feel all put out about missing more nice weather but um yeah, when we were out getting lunch? It was not warm enough to wander about in just the light sweater I'd thrown on. The sun on my face? Lovely. The breeze making me shiver? Not so much. Besides we had work to do. Seeing as we have to move everything around for the carpet guys, we've decided to do a thorough clean and sort of our stuff at the same time.

OH THE MESS!

I am not a neat person. But there is something about the boxes and the unfinished packing ALL OVER THE APARTMENT that is driving me batty. I need a sorting/packing system. I pick an area and I go go go until it is done. It is my way. My nature. Andy, however? Not so much with the patented one-box-until-it's-full method. I'm sure he has a plan of his own, but it's disjointed enough to make we want to weep.

He said earlier this evening that I needed to not spazz out so much, it would get done and it's not as if we're on anyone's schedule (seriously, our choice for what days they come in...), but I can't live like this. It's like moving out without moving out and the boxes are everywhere and I no longer know where anything is! His solution is for me to think of "everything" as my keys. I am notorious for not knowing where they are. I might have smiled, but also maybe stifled a cry.

It's time to pass out now, as there are more boxes and messes to deal with when the sun comes out...that is, if it's not stuck behind some new freak-never-happened-this-late-in-the-year storm. Seeing as we plan on putting a slew of stuff out on the deck to get it out of the way, join me in asking the sun to start summer here already, seeing as it's almost July and all. Just a thought, no big rush or anything...

Apparently I'm Only Tight Up to A Certain Size...

This is a knitting post, promise :). And I know! How long has it been since I wrote about what was once my obsessive passion? Let's just say that same damned bike accident changed even my near addiction to something I could do when sufficiently not hurting...aaaauuuummmm, moving on...

I've posted before...years ago maybe? About my ability to make water-proof socks? Or "stand-on-their-own" non-felted socks even? I have this thing about knitting something utilitarian/non-lacy on super small needles (US1s and 2s), the tighter the stitches (without actually stretching out the yarn...it's a VERY thin line I cross) the more durable/strong/scary the fabric. It works, especially for plain socks.

Not so much for scarves, or lace though.

So for larger-drapey items I use a slightly bigger needle size than called for, you know, a US3 vs US2, or maybe US4, depending. My US7's get lots of use in lieu of US6's (I'm not actually sure if I own a 6...). As well as constant vigilance that I am not gripping the yarn in a death hold. If knitting is relaxing, I should not see white knuckles, right? Right.

Then something wonderful happens after that. Maybe it's because I feel like I'm knitting with pencils? I dunno, but it's magical. If something calls for a US8? I can use an 8. A US9 you say? No worries, 9 it is.

And that's where the magic ends. I have a "Goldilocks Shawl Kit" that I won a while back now sitting and stewing, and maybe losing 1+/- of it's 540 yards in my trying to knit using the called-for 6 mm/US10 needles. I just can't do it! The yarn is too thin, the needle to fat, increasing as the directions called for was near impossible so I did my own, and it looked so bad, especially with the start and restart and restart again and this time try one larger? Okay maybe one smaller....that I seriously had to cut my losses. Mohair/silk? Does not play well if you've had to start again a few times.

So it's in time out. And I'm back to carting my mom's mom's day socks (yes for 2012 at the rate I'm going) and not knitting on them...They are panda-something-or other, and I think that's the problem...I think I need to give those a break and just pull out something more woolly and more forgiving...and maybe willing to become waterproof.

Better...

This morning? Much better.

Something happened on Friday...actually, Thursday. No, I did not go postal on my workmates in the fantastical way I described I could be pushed to do so as I chatted with my mom this morning. Or maybe I did, but only in my head.

See, my back? Got much much worse before it got better. As I sit here typing sitting up straight and trying my best to type at the correct angle (the desk is a might too tall, the chair too short, it's not like I sit here 40 hrs a week, and I do love my desk...but I'm silly that way...where was I? Right, so bad that I could neither sit nor stand nor lie down nor crumble into the aforementioned ball...much less manage to call my "butt-doctor" and see if he could work a miracle. Instead I flat out busted out and cried my eyes out.

That's when I realized that there was a lot more stress tied up into my hurt than what I was giving credit. Mind over matter and all that? Why not? If 800 mg ibuprophen was barely cutting it, I was open to multiple suggestions from everywhere and anywhere.

And people? A good cry is sometimes exactly what the doctor ordered. That and ranting a little to your immediate supervisor who was about to go on vacation (!) about how much you do not look forward to training a new temp because you've actually not been given official notice that your current temp is leaving on Friday and why am I the one in charge of these people if I'm the lowest man on the totem pole!...also helps, LOADS.

See, I've mentioned my horrible work ethic before, right? Horrible in that I maybe care more than my station and take on extra work and responsibilities and possibly get recognized for my efforts, but never ever compensated. I know it's probably because every job I've had was me being responsible for getting my work done without someone having to remind me of my to-do list because: we were a really small office; I was working for myself; or it was just the easiest thing to be the shift supervisor so we could get stuff done.

There is, however, a limit. And seeing as I do not want to end up like my mother with her handful of ulcers and high blood pressure, I need to chill more. If my supervisor is willing to go on a long weekend during our search for the next team member? Check-run be damned, I should not care so much. Eventually, once the team is fully staffed again, we can meet all our goals. Until then? I promise I will not work myself to death.

And so...on Thursday, 5PM we were booted out of our system as we were finally upgrading to the official latest version of our accounting software. So for the first time in how long? I was able to go home...ON TIME. I could not do any more work, too bad, so sad, I know! And Friday? No system. I was able to clean up my inbox like you wouldn't believe. All with little to no interruptions as everyone in the know, knew I had no access to our records, so....I couldn't find any information for them even if I wanted to! And the day was lax enough for me to give my back a break, and yet still be able to get my act together for Monday. Except maybe I think the temp took the key to the lockable drawers in the cube...I'll have to ask about that, later. Cuz you know what? Not really my problem. And that is my theme for the time being.

As the blog as my witness, I absolutely refuse to get sucked into the ball of "must happen yesterday" that my wee little team can delve deeply into. I'm too old for that (yep, that would be me saying everyone else on my team, barring our main boss, is younger than me, it happens, I guess).

And my shoulder is starting to tingle a little...probably from a combination of typing and thinking about all this mess, so that's my cue to stop.

For any dad's reading my crazy-pants musings: HAPPY DAD'S DAY!

Someone to Watch...Over Dummies Like Me...

So I lost my American Express Card on Friday...and didn't even realize it until Sunday when the nice folks at AMEX let me know they were cancelling my card and rushing me a replacement and could I let them know what the last purchase I made was?

Yes, my heart may have stopped/skipped a beat just before performing a hard staccato/piano forte tune. But after a multiple number of expletives (I'm sorry neighbors whose very thin wall is the only thing separating us...I could not stop myself), we realized that the last charge was indeed mine, and nothing more had been placed on the card.

Given that I actually lost the card 7 or 8 blocks away from where it was last used? At a completely different business? This seems rather miraculous to me. Yep, we had dinner near the convention center and meandered closer to where my friends were going to watch a show and found ourselves across the street from a dessert shop, The Chocolate Box. Yep, free advertisement for them because dude! Not only did they have yummy gelato, but someone found my card, kept it "safe," AND called it in to AMEX so they could find me!

I only wish I could say that that's the worst of what happened this weekend.

What? More? I messed up my back carrying groceries...either from the cart return to the car...or from the car to the apartment. I'm not really sure when it happened as it wasn't your traditional all-at-once-omg-I'm-going-to-die feeling that I once got bending over to grab a tupperware. See, there was a twinge a couple times, but I totally ignored it. By the time I was done making myself some dinner? I had no appetite and it was all I could do to keep moving about and not curl into a ball and die...except I doubt I could have gotten myself into a curling position what with my back hating me and all.

And yes, for those of you following along for years now...it's all related to that busted hip/bike accident of years ago. My muscles are not as strong as I wish they were, and my tendons are far more stretched out than I let on. Last night was a reminder, I guess. But what is a non-whiny way to say that I'm so very sick and tired of being a puddle of broken?

Empty Headed...or is it White Noise?

I've mentioned more than a few times that I need a brain-to-computer connection...or a pennsieve (sp?) or similar to get all the vying thoughts smashing into one another in my brain OUT and somewhere where I can sort and enlighten myself, and maybe entertain others.

This morning I finally made time to sit and draft a post (or seven), and as soon as I logged in? Nothing....or rather, too much, yet it's all white noise. I've been sitting here trying to wrack my brain and figure out a starting point...and I can't.

So much is going on in my noggin, all whirly and intertwined and knotted so well that I can't catch even one strand to make even a random list to share with myself, much less the world at large. And yet? Because I am mean and like to torture? I'll try:

- To those who realized my lease is coming up again this month? Chances are 99.999% good that I'm renewing for another year. Until I see the actual lease? I'm not saying for sure. Yes, I know I'm cutting it close, what with that whole 20 days notice...does anyone know if that is business days or calendar days?

- And those of you who wonder if I knit anymore? I feel like I've unknit more than I've knit lately...which is kinda impossible if you think about it...but of the 9 projects I had going, (I know!), I have 2 finished items (baby hats), one that would be finished if I could make a pom pom...which I am absolutely unable to lately (child hat), two that are completely stalled (socks, both for mom), one that I just restarted for the fourth time (a cowl) and 3 that, though temporarily started to look like something (a scarf, a cowl, a hat) that are now pretty little cakes of yarn, or knotted little pieces of ... yarn.

- Yes, all very small projects...good for sticking in my work bag and forgetting completely about because work has been, hard. People shuffled about just enough to leave a HUGE, GAPING hole in my team and as much as I appreciate the temp they brought in? She has the temp mentality, you know, "I'm only here for a month." As such? Of the three things we brought her on to take over? She's only accomplished one. Which leaves me to add even more to my plate. Overtime is nice, but I'd rather have a new hire, stat.

- It's 8:15...I should be heading off to work right this second...instead I'm sitting in my robe typing this. I'm having the adult version of, "I doanwannagoto school." It sucks. Why isn't the guilt kicking in? Oh right, maybe because I didn't leave work last night until almost 7PM.

Gah! Okay, much more later, I hope.

Walking Past Johnie's Machine Makes me Nostalgic for Days Long Gone

This very rainy morning as I walked to work and passed by Johnie's Machine, seriously, that's what it's called, I was surprised that he was open and even more surprised that the smell that emanates from the open garage door is not something that builds up throughout the day, but instead something that is always there.

And when I say smell? I don't mean it in a bad way.

It's the smell of years of motor oil and grease and engines and ancient mechanical stuff.

It's a smell that reminds me so very much of my dad's section of the carport growing up. You know, back when I was young and innocent and, as I had no boobs, was allowed to participate in the striping of alarm locks and pieces of old car engines and getting my fingers black with the goop and grime of a thousand oil changes.

Good times, people.

And as I was figuring out a title for this post, I couldn't help but think of that Primitive Radio Gods song, "Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hand," mostly because of the length of its title...and maybe because it's the same bittersweet mood I got into as I pined for the childhood where I didn't have to be the "girl" or the "sister" but was just a "kid." Getting dirty and fiddling around with stuff that was definitely not pink or soft...

Anywho... As I've taken to embedding things for us all, here's the actual song...and before today? I'd never seen the video for this song before. Thank you internets :).

Stuff, and Superman

I was getting that "cluttered" feeling lately.

But instead of like actually physically cleaning up my space (sorry, Andy), I started sorting through random files on my computer.

Mostly I was looking for music. Most specifically "Superman" by R.E.M. I no longer seem to have that song on my computer. Thinking back? I know I owned the cassette tape...for the life of me, however, I have absolutely no idea if I ever upgraded to a CD of that album, much less put it on my hard drive.

It made me stop and think about technology and its evolving nature and how my parents must have felt with vinyl vs. cassettes. They still have a working turntable, so there is that. For me, however, I have that added (self-imposed) challenge of moving every couple of years. And when the packing boxes come out, I tend to toss things that I just can't stand moving one.more.time.

I did this when I was deciding what to do with my tape collection. I just couldn't stand to schlep it about again especially as the CDs I owned were well, more compact (hence the name, right?!?), so I left them in LA for my brother(s) to commandeer (my older brother ended up passing most of them to my baby brother when he was done with them).

The crazy thing was/is that I never really tried to rebuild my old collection, that gets expensive FAST...so if it wasn't super cheap at the used music store in Santa Cruz, I probably don't own it anymore. That is my excuse for my inability to remember if I own a copy of the Life's Rich Pageant album anymore. Besides, it's far too late to be rummaging around my stuff.

And really, it's only in these once-every-six-months sessions that I'm rooting around for specific music. Thanks to the interwebs, if I must have a listen RIGHT NOW, it's just a google search away.

Here, I'll share:

As a bonus? Christopher Reeve....(sigh). Yep, that old. Sorry.

All Cookies Are the Same Cookie...

Did I ever mention I spent almost a decade in Santa Cruz, California?

That goes a long way to explain my title today, eh?

See, when I was in college (UCSC) and my brain felt too full or the drama got turned to eleven, I'd beg, borrow, or steal a kitchen, and bake...cookies. Chocolate chip cookies to be more precise.

I did not grow up baking things with my mom. I think I may have mentioned this as a comment somewhere some time ago, I didn't even know my mom could make anything other than out-of-the-box cupcakes for the school cupcake sales until the one time she brought home cookies she'd made at work...from scratch. Chocolate chip cookies.

In the Spring quarter of my freshman year at UCSC...oh so very many years ago now, I remembered that moment and the absolute surprise and joy that cookie brought that 9-(maybe 10) year-old me. (College is a very strange time for most kids, far away from home, surrounded by so many people and so totally alone...and way too young to know any better--dear lord, who said that!) So I went out and searched for a chocolate chip cookie recipe. I had a plan, you see, I'd recreate that damned cookie if it was the last thing I did.

I seriously think this little project saved me from having a nervous breakdown. I baked a lot of cookies during the five years it took me to collect a couple sets of initials after my last name, always the same kind, but never quite the same cookie. By the third year it wasn't just my friends that knew they might be able to score some chocolate chip baggies of love, I was literally rolling in dough (hee), having started a side business in selling cookies to homesick classmates (all quite secretive and under the table, mind, I did share the kitchen with the residential assistants, and bubbly-headed and obnoxiously popular they might be, but they were also the law.) These were very much virgin cookies, by the way. The stoners ate them for the munchie need, not cuz they were in any way packed with stuff I had no way of affording, had I even realized the monetary potential.

In grad school, a little north of Santa Cruz, all I had was a toaster oven (!), and I could make exactly 8 cookies at a time...but there were a number of 3AM mornings that found me creaming up butter and sugar and hoping that there was enough chocolate in the house to stem the anxiety.

I stopped the crazypants baking shortly after graduating, getting married, and moving firmly back to Santa Cruz and next door to Zachary...whose very being inspired my title tonight. When my X got into one of his uber-bitter moods, Zach was right there with his, "Positivity, man, no negativity." I wonder where you are now, mr. positivity, I really hope you found your place in this crazy world...

That was the headspace I was in tonight when I remembered I'd set out two sticks of butter when I got home so I could try an oatmeal-cookie-that-looks-like-a-chocolate-chip cookie recipe I saw on Super Eggplant's blog.

See, I may own about 7 or 8 very similar but not quite the same chocolate chip cookie recipes that I've made a million times over in that span of 5 or 6 years (it's a RARE thing for me to make cookies of the chocolate chip variety now), but I never did learn how to make any other oatmeal cookie than the one stamped on the cardboard tube top of the Quaker oatmeal box. And an oatmeal cookie that fooled the eye into thinking it was NOT an oatmeal cookie? This I had to try.

There are 3 cups of oats in there...where they are hiding? I couldn't say. On my hips? Well, yes, there is that.

What I learned:

- I am very rusty at following a new cookie recipe.

- I had to fight against myself so as to follow the recipe exactly and NOT try to turn it into my chocolate chip batter. Except maybe there should be vanilla in there, that's all. And would shaved chocolate do it any harm, really?

- I must use my experience of making cookies all by hand to realize that some sort of mix-master-flash special mixer was present to be able to actually add in and combine those aforementioned 3 cups of oatmeal AS WELL AS the cup and a half of raisins, without creating a caked up mess. I only own a small handheld mixer. I almost burnt out the motor by the time I got to the oats. (See above about following the recipe exactly.)

- Must try again, but ditch the mixer after the egg...or even maybe during the egg? And maybe watch the oven like a hawk so as to take the cookies out when they're still soft in the middle.

- Start much earlier in the evening. 10PM is not the best cookie eating time for me.

I Don't Even Need to Pack a Bag

If I'm to believe the weatherman (which I've learned one does not when one lives in Seattle), this coming Thursday we are to warp space and time (cuz you have to do both) and borrow Hawai'i's weather.

70 degrees and 85% humidity.

Who needs to travel when the weather is coming to us!

But that is days away. All I know is (and oh boy, do I know) is that my internal barometer is rising and dropping faster than I can deal. Sudafed, my dear wonderful BFF, is keeping it kinda sorta at bay, but man oh man, whatever the weather is going to do? Can it please do it, like now?!? Before my head explodes, out my eyeballs?

But enough about me me me.

My mom is doing fine. It was just one of those super paranoid-crazy-tin-foil-hat feelings I was going through yesterday. Although I wanted to share that throughout yesterday weird stuff KEPT happening. Not so much the breaking of things, but for example: at work I had a long message from someone saying they were calling for some big company we lease office equipment from asking me to call them right away with regards to our account. Seeing as we have 4 or 5 accounts with the same company, I went all last-century and pulled our paper files to make sure I was well prepared for them to tell us how much we owed on what invoices...

Well, that account? Not in my files.

So I try calling...And the number I had reached did not exist according the the telephone lady-voice.

And people wonder why I subscribe to the "they really are out to get you" point of view!

Is Today Jinxed?

The necklace I tell everyone my mom gave me (bought with birthday money from her, close enough, right?) broke this morning in a completely unexpected way.

I'm not super superstitious (just enough), but I'm waiting anxiously until I know my mom is done with her morning errands so I can call her.

Or maybe I should just attribute it to it being my unanniversary? Is it to be an "everything that can go wrong," will sorta day? Is it because I've ignored it for so long? My last mention of it (even to myself) was in 2008. And now it's angry at me and wants my attention...or something.

This could explain why this weekend was packed full of fun broken things...my blog, (I'm using chrome today), my sewing machine, and now my necklace. If things happen in 3s, I'm good. It's all taken care of now (hear that, universe? Can you please go find someone else to torment? My X maybe? That'd round things out nicely, I feel.)

Technical Difficulties

I haven't been able to log into my blog all week.

I thought at first it was some work-blocking thingie and to be honest, totally forgot to check at home as these last two weeks've been kinda rough on the workload aspect.

But just now? Also not able to log in from home. Something about cookies being disabled. Only, um, Firefox's preferences tell me that I have cookies ENabled...so I am at a loss. (Yey for blogger's email posting ability!)

Were this my sewing machine, I could just take it apart (again, like I did yesterday?) and tinker 'til everything was working okay. Except, um, does anyone know where I can get a new bobbin winder? Because until I figure out this cookie thing, I can't even order the part from the ONE online store in Georgia that seems to carry it. I suppose I could try (gasp!) calling...or maybe another browser, but man, this is just annoying. Anywho, that seems to be my excuse this time around.

Happy Mother's Day to all my mommy readers!

Test

Just a test.
More later.

But Enough About Target...

Really? I had that post up about my new belt for how long?

This is what happens when work takes over my life. I'm not putting in more than my usual 40 hours...of work working... But lately a whole bunch of stuff has been going on that involves me in meetings about updating/upgrading/making my life at work better that apparently sticks with me long after I've shut my computer off.

Like this morning, when I woke up realizing one of the awesome new changes they are trying to implement for a payment module simply will not work. It took me dreaming about it to realize that we were heading down the wrong road.

And I just finished sending the email to the appropriate contact, who, if she sees the time stamp, will think I maybe need to not be in office mode at 5 AM. I reread the email about 7 times because, yes, this was before coffee even.

And moving on from that...I think I've realized what I'm really good at. You know how people have made it a business to come in, take a look around, and then tell you what you are doing wrong and how to fix it? I don't quite despise those people, but it's close. Simply because they come in and without actually trying to do your job, they are telling you how it "should" be done because it's worked in the past for the hundreds of prior clients they have had. Cuz we are all automatons or something.

I am not one of those people. Who I am, though, is someone that needs to use the systems in place, work with what I am given, see the pros and cons, AND THEN, once it's been something I do for a month or two, start changing them to both benefit who I am, how I work, and those around me.

Too bad it's not the career-making ability like those people I dislike so much who can do it in a day. But it has put me in the position where I am in hours-long meetings to review/revamp/shed light on what has been done and what I think should happen moving forward. Which, in it's vicious-circle style, now has me working ALL THE TIME.

I need a raise.

I Just Spent the Best $7 Ever!

But before I go on and on about my new bad-for-the-environment/made-in-china/children's/labor (no I don't know any of this for sure, but hi, $7?), I want to note here, for future reference, when exactly I resigned myself to becoming my mom.

I promise I will not be all, "That'll never be me" again. Because those "nevers" keep disappearing and I keep thinking, "Well, I guess that explains that particular crazy-assed behavior. And it makes PERFECT SENSE! EVERY TIME! I know not why I ever doubted it." (Except maybe, of course, people of the younger generation that will have to deal with me will be shaking their heads and/or saying, "Crazy-assed lady," to themselves about the exact same behaviors I shook my head at. All I can say is, your time will come, oh yes it will.

See, in the last week I almost got cheated out of $60 dollars.

No, some guy in an shiny leather coat did not come up to me all Lucky-Lenny-style to try to sell me a $30 Rolex. We don't seem to have those guys here in Seattle. Down in LA? I've been offered "leather" jackets, "gold" necklaces, roller skates, even a laptop by fellows (and ladies, let me not be sexist here) in semi-nice looking get-ups trying to scam you out of your fun money (usually at gas stations, in case you're curious).

No, this near loss of almost 4 hours worth of wages has happened at two grocery stores and, well, depends what your Target looks like, I was just going to say Target but my second (or third) topic of conversation today was, when did Target become a grocery store?

Okay, okay, I get that cashiers are only human and they might punch in the wrong code and charge me for $40/oz saffron instead of the $4/lb cumin for the million bulk items I tend to buy, this explains the two grocery incidents. I mean, the numbers can be very very similar and if they have been at the register all day? I get it, bound to happen. And I only noticed it as I stood there and read the names of my items and thought, hmm, I didn't buy saffron, nor did I buy tangerines. Both times we all laughed about it because yeah, I definitely did not have $35 worth of saffron and nope, mushrooms and tangerines look nothing like one another.

But scanning? I've been there, I've done it. The formula has not changed in those 14 years:
One beep = one item.
Two beeps = did I just scan this twice?

And to that Target cashier, I have to say, yes you did. I saw you stop, I saw you look at what you had in your hands, and then I saw you CONTINUE TO SCAN THE REST instead of looking to see if you had one too many items on your screen.

Were this item the $1.00 magnetic note pad I found in the dollar bins (love those bins by the way) even I would have said, too much trouble, or maybe even the gum. But it was that tiny pack of refill blades from my razor. You know, the ones you use until they won't shave no-more because they cost a mint to replace? Yep, I kinda noticed the $20 jump in price there immediately.

She apologized when I mentioned it, and really, her eyes getting that wide was enough for me to see that she hadn't realized how much that wee little box cost, but still, I totally get each and every store visit I ever made with my mom as a kid. She watched hawk-like as the prices appeared on the little LED screen and would not let us talk to her or interrupt her as she stood there making sure the numbers didn't go against what she knew the item cost. At the time I totally thought she was bonkers.

I mean, why would the cashier charge her the wrong price? A million apologies mami, I will never doubt your paranoid old-lady ways again, especially as they have saved me from spending and extra $60 in the last 7 days.

But the $7 purchase that I did make...

I bought a belt!

Okay, I know this is only awesome news to you if you too have taken to wearing the newer style of jeans/pants out in the world of fashion and noticed almost immediately that none of your belts fit anymore because they were bought back in the day when we all wore our pants "at the waist."

So I've been going without. And this is fine for the "first wearing" of most of my clothes. And as most of my clothes are work clothes and accounting work is dirtier than you'd think (paper = dusty like you would not believe, and stress = sweat, so I wash, often.) I put off buying a belt to go with the new sit-on-my-hips pants. After-all, aren't hips there to stop the pants from sliding down, right? And with the main reason I've had to buy all my new pants, my permanent lovely lady lump, there is no way I will ever have a wardrobe malfunction at work.

Then, I got my very favorite pair of jeans. They are "curvy" jeans from Eddie Bauer. They are super comfy because they are JUST DENIM and not a lick of spandex that seem to be in all the other girl jeans I have recently acquired (hello 80s? I have your pants). But after wearing them for 10 minutes, I understand the need for the spandex. They go from sitting "just below my waist" to "on my hips" to "why is my crotch keeping me from taking a step" in 20 seconds flat. Attractive, I know. This does not make running errands all over Seattle a happy thing.

So, in a moment of WTF, Target basket in hand, I walked over to the Accessories department and was ready to plop down some serious cash for something that would keep me from having to haul my pants up every three steps.

That's when I noticed that all the belts I was looking at were $6.99. A sign from the gods of fashion, or something. Whatever the case, I grabbed one that fit and put it on right there. I had no idea why I waited so long to get a belt. The difference was amazing, life altering, almost. Seriously, as far away from home as I was, and Target being only the first of 3 stops I was planning on making, I was ready to go home and give up today's excursion.

As I was in line taking off the belt to get ready to pay, I noticed the lady in front of me asking for her belt to not be placed in the bags and was there a pair of scissors she could use to clip off the plastic bits that I had pretty much ripped off with my bare hands. The cashier said she didn't have a pair so as her husband paid I told the woman I could do that for her as I'd done mine about 20 minutes prior. Then she and I both laughed because we were both buying "emergency" belts so we could run our errands today.

But yeah, before I sign off...I know it's been a while since my last visit, but um, when did Target start selling so many groceries? And really I wouldn't find it so odd except for the fact that the motors for all the cooling fridges and freezers drown out all the noise in the store, so it's just you choosing your shampoo down the way from the wall of frozen pizzas. Not that it's all that different from the big grocery stores out there, except for the fact that I can see the women's clothing section from their chip aisle and that seems kinda weird to me.

Another Post Brought to You By the Paint Fumes...

But different.

When I got off the elevator this evening, the prevailing smell was the very same combination of almost dry paint and industrially cleaned/new carpets that transported me back to my high school, Butler Hall, circa 1980 or so during the warmer part of the day, about late July/mid- August. All the major maintenance done and the classrooms repainted and ready to go for the start of the school year. (I almost posted this on Facebook, but seeing as people from my high school have been friending me, I get that uber-insecure feeling about reminding them that I was the janitor's kid and therefore maybe grew up at that school...I know this is silly of me, but hello, me = very silly and insecure sometimes.)

Right. By the time I reached the end of the corridor and slid my key into the lock? I was already lost in nostalgia, which I think should be classified as some kind of (mild) mental disorder. Or who knows, maybe it is? The fact is, by the time I was stuffing the towel in the crack under the door and opening up a window? I'd been sucked down the nostalgia whirlpool.

So instead of watching LOST (via the abc site), I found myself clicking on the season/series finale of UGLY BETTY. No, I have not actively watched this show since the first season. Once I realized they were not going to follow the traditional mexican soap opera formula and were going to keep Betty as ugly as they could for as long as they could? And make the mexican family so uber-tacky mexican with worse accents than what I have? I lapsed. Bad first generation Mexican-American, no churro for you.

But like the good American soap opera it became, I had absolutely no problem picking up the story line and getting caught up on just about everything (except for the Scottish lady, and maybe the surgically altered sister...but that's what the internet is for). And though it didn't quite end the way I'd expected (and dreaded) it to? Okay, really really didn't want it to? It was a great thing to watch. (I hope that was vague enough for anyone out there who hasn't watched it yet but is still going to.)

See, I never got past the nasty, skeevy, ookie Daniel. The fault is completely mine. I could not separate the Daniel character from the skeevy, ooky, nasty character he played on the L-Word. In fact, he pretty much WAS the same character! And we all HATED him. Yes, I may have seen the entire first season of that show, I mean Jennifer Beals! Am I aging myself when I say her + Sting in The Bride inspired countless terrible fake victorianeque short stories that filled journals that even my best friend never saw? And hello? As 'Alex' she was a freakin' welder in Flashdance! Okay, and maybe a stripper or whatever, but dude! WELDER! Hmm, this explains so much about me that I am laughing as I reread this paragraph.

But yeah! UGLY BETTY, skeevy Daniel, cheesy stereotypy mexicans, and Macy Gray's "Beauty in the World."

The other day I actually wondered out loud how I'd lived (so very long now) without ever having heard anything by The Insane Clown Posse, and now I'm thinking I need to not only listen to ICP (they are rude and crude and make me LAUGH, but I will not subject you to a link), but hi Macy Gray and the lyrics to the song they played to end the show made me cry and feel so good at the same time.

Dude, LIFE SUCKS, but blue skies, butterflies, and shaking your booty to the beauty in the world can make it just a little bit better. Even in front of the Watts towers...or the sketchy alley with the um, interesting decor...Oh LA, how I've missed you:

"Throw your hands up and holler

HEY YEAH

When you don't know what to do,

when you don't know if you'll make it through"

And yeah, I'm in uber-polyanna mode right now, but it seems to be what I need, so we're all good.

Epsom Salt is My Friend

The rumors of my alien abduction have been enormously exaggerated.

I am, in fact, still here. So lethargic I wonder if I'm anemic or maybe have mono. Or maybe I'm just in one of those moods.

I've been dragging bills and thank you cards and stationary of other sorts back and forth from work and not even once getting a chance to pull them out and do something about them. The same goes for the socks I had on the needles...had being the operative word here. Totally hit complete ennui state with that one.

Maybe it's that "time of the year." Yeah, taxes smaxes, mine are done and have been done for over a month, but, hello? IRS? You lie when you say electronic filing = faster returns, because I am still waiting. And now I have to call, or so my tax guy told me to (yeah, I work in accounting but I don't do my own taxes...I used to call that the uber-lazy factor, now I wholeheartedly say it's due to the safety of internal controls). See, apparently no information regarding my filing/taxes can be found via the quick "status of your return" page. Yet another thing to put on my "to do" list that just keeps getting longer.

What I really mean is that I'm burnt out...of being sick, of winter, of having my office torn apart by the yearly audit, of my life right now. I need a break from it all.

And then there's the quiet time that my brain spends mulling over all the bad and wrong and dark thoughts that I need to stay buried when I'm knitting (or unknitting) or cooking or not-quite-reading...you know, when you're reading something easy like The Looking Glass Wars by Frank Beddor (I warn you now, it's a trilogy...yes, I went out and got the second book yesterday). You know, books that are light and easy to get through and leave the rest of your brain to muddle through the thoughts you wish would stay locked up deep inside you.

Or worse, the super quiet time in the Epsom salt bath.

Okay, can someone tell me why it took me 36 years to find out about Epsom salt? It's not just for old peoples' foot baths! It's like the wonder-cure for all your ails! I wanted to wait a bit before I went on my soapbox and preached about the new snake oil, but dudes! It is doing my broken body good!

See, this time of year? The weather is not my friend. Yeah, there are allergens, there are always those, but the extreme weather shifts do a number on my multiply layered injuries (damaged knees from fencing, busted tailbone from crossing the Pacific Ocean to Hawai'i, busted hand/arm from catching my fully-loaded (i.e. all my teaching stuff) bike that one time in my classroom, busted hip from being forced off the road that one time on the way to sign my divorce papers, busted sternum/elbow/back from the orange F150 that I was almost killed by a couple years ago in the rain when biking home).

So instead of drowning in some probably-expired vicodin cocktail, I dragged my sorry self to the local Bartell's Drugs and bought some of the magical salt to see if it could do something for me. And man, does it ever!

I sit in my too-shallow tub letting my hip and shoulder take turns being underwater (if you too have access to a too-shallow tub you know exactly what I'm talking about), as I watch the time tick away....Twelve minutes minimum sitting there listening to myself breathe and trying not to get caught up in all the thoughts that are trying to take over my brain...pretending they are being sucked out of my system along with the swelling and the toxins and whatever else the Epsom salt promises to do on the package labeling.

I know I sound bat-shit insane this morning. I think I shall blame a big chunk of this on the paint fumes. Remember the fire in my building? They've finally gotten around to the painting stage of the repair job. We have crammed a sacrificial towel in the crack under our front door to try to keep most of the fumes out. Seeing as it's all of 40 degrees outside, it's kinda hard to keep a window open so we don't die of fumes inhalation...so instead you get posts like these.

Happy Monday.

No, Yesterday's Post Was Not A "Fool"

The canned air I own officially gave it's lase apoplectic fit last night when I tried using it between the keys to force the water out/channel it to an exit point... So I gave up, turned everything off, turned the keyboard upside down at an angle, and gave it my best, "go with god" look as I went to bed.

It's still kinda "damp" on the inside (if you call big droplets of water that I can see through the clear plastic back "damp," but I have space bar usage once more!

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog

...all the letters seem to work

`1234567890-=123456789=/*-+.0

as do the number & numeric pad keys

I guess I'm back in business.
~~~~~

It must be my punishment for wanting to share what happened yesterday.

I'd blame it on scoring the wrong score on that "How Autistic Are You" quiz that's going around Facebook, but um, I know better. It was just my normal runaway-mean disease. It's happened before, with the same girl. (And yes, I think I'm using that particular label on her because maybe someday she will be all growed up, but her innocent hippie ways make me think of her as very very young...)

Okay, I can blame it a wee bit on the fact that I haven't shaken the poopie cold/cough/eunni/exhaustion that has seriously been plaguing me since my birthday week. I had this super silly notion that it being APRIL yesterday, it would all magically melt away...But it didn't/hasn't, only my patience has, it would seem, for self-righteous/hippie/stupid people.

To refresh everyone's memory, this is the girl who asked me, "Why don't you bike" as I was limping around on a leg swollen to twice its size sometime last year. I maybe got a little offended by her back then, but now I wonder if she'd bust out, "Look at the beautiful sunset!" to a blind person...she is that oblivious to the world...which makes what I said yesterday, with only the barest hint of sarcasm that even I almost didn't recognize in myself, SO MUCH BETTER.

See, she drove in to work yesterday. She looked ABSOLUTELY MISERABLE about not taking the bus or biking, "but it was cold, and raining, and I couldn't get out of bed, and I'd left my umbrella here..."

And I genuinely felt sorry for her and said something like, "Better than getting completely sopping wet trying to get here and getting even more sick." (She too has the office crud.) BUT...instead of agreeing or letting herself feel better, she then goes on to berate herself about how the bus stop is JUST OUTSIDE HER DOOR!

When asked what bus she takes I realized it was one that left you off blocks away from here and said so (again, she's sick and it was pouring) she actually looked at me as if I was an alien and said, "but that's only three blocks away! I could have easily walked that! I do! Every day!"

And right there was when I decided I needed to smack some sense into her mightier-than-thou attitude. So I said, "Yeah, you're right. What were you thinking?"

But it got better. We used to live in opposite ends of the same neighborhood so she asked where I was living now, "About three blocks South of here."

She got all excited, "Oh by the blah blah blah" (Artist lofts/more people fresh out of the peace core/hippie-wanna-bes like her.)

"No, that's North, I said South."

The look on her face was priceless. "But that's like, right next to downtown!"

"Yes. But it's better than right next to the freeway." (The blah blah blah she mentioned.)

"But there are no trees and just other buildings around you."

"We do have trees and grass, on the 8th floor, right next to the dog run."

"The 8th floor?!?" Again, another wonderful can't-believe-you-live-in-such-an-unsustainable-artificial-place-look. (My Xhusband used to get that look, I know it well, and realize he is why I must make this poor girl suffer.)

"Yep, and a pool, sauna, jacuzzi, and the whole building has air conditioning."

If you know me, really know me? You know this is not the way I've ever lived. Nor do I take advantage of the amenities here...I am the strange "country bumpkin" neighbor. I am the person who would live in shared housing with a million people. I was that girl. Had there not been a million people trying out for the "core" when I was her age, I'd have been her even more...so instead, I went off to teach the children of migrant workers the fundamentals of the English language and tried to make their world a better place because dammit, I wanted to save the world! I've mentioned this to the girl. We graduated from the same University, but I'm a decade older.

And tired and broken. And, I've said this a number of times, VERY jaded. And more than just a little mean. And I know I'm gonna burn because as I sit here, listening to the rain smash against my window, I'm wondering if that girl is going to take the bus and get sopping wet and sicker that she should get, just so she can prove (to herself more than anyone) that she is NOT becoming anything like me, ever. And it makes me smile.

Water+Keyboard=NoSpaceBar

Maybe-when-it-dries?

Please?

So-much-for-the-story-I-had-to-share....

Just a Hint of What's to Come

So...since a few days before my birthday and unto this AM, I've had the same eye-jarring, ear bugging, don't-bend-over-or-you-regret-it headache.

And yet I am crazy, because I finished these:

for sock madness #4. (There is absolutely no amount of picture tweeking that will make my ankles look any skinnier or less, um, stumpy, so I didn't even bother. Besides, see aforementioned headache description.)

I have thank-you cards sitting here waiting for me to write up, pictures of crazy nemo that need a bit of tweeking, a check to cash (!) -- I love getting checks for my bday! But not the big fat tax returny kind (which are awesome, don't get me wrong), I mean the ones written for like$10 or $20 from grandma (or in this case, xMIL), they make me feel like I'm still a little kid, um getting checks from grandma...or a godmother or seven seeing as I didn't actually ever get a check from grandma.

Can you tell I might still be on some decongestants/anti-inflammatories? If I didn't have to go in and reconcile other peoples' money for a living? This would be uber funny. Instead I am fighting tooth and nail to clear my head up before leaving the house/apt/whathaveyou. (Seattle, be grateful I walk to work, 'sall I'm sayin.)

More later, promise.