Tidbits is all I gots...

The End of an Era:
(Well, if 7 months can be considered an era, that is. ) Today is my last day as a trained monkey.
Tomorrow I begin my new duties. I'm not sure what kind of punnific/animal nickname I'll use yet, stay tuned.

I Miss Working with Children:
Seriously, if you are almost 40 years old and you are telling my supervisor that you are doing your job wrong because I told you to do it that way? Even after he has pointed out (after asking me about them) my instructions in a handy-dandy cheat sheet and chart? (Hello, I was a teacher.) You can kiss my ass. If you were 12 you'd get, not only a stern look and talking to from me, but a cruising down to the principal's office and maybe a detention, and if I really didn't like you? I'd call in your parents. Why don't we have that in the workplace? Right, cuz we figure people would have GROWN UP by the time they're, well, GROWN UPS. Silly, silly me.

Applying What I've Learned:
One thing I had no idea would be a super-useful rule in life that I got from teaching? NEVER get into an argument with a child. Once you go down that road, you've already lost. I've taken to applying that rule to all the 'kids' in adult bodies I interact with. I can actually feel my blood pressure dropping when I remember, realize, and act on that rule (it's all about follow-through) and just closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, and walking away. (And then ranting about it to my supervisor and Andy, poor guys.)

People Like Me in Places Like This:
Okay, I thought that might be a song lyric but, sigh, google has failed me. I can almost hear the Pet Shop Boys singing/speaking it, but then again, I also tend to play the Pet Shop Boys in my head to tune out some of the above referred to individuals...(Dusty Springfield cutting in, "Since you went away-yay, I've been hangin' around, I been wonderin' why, I'm fee-lin' down!") Sorry, aaaauuuummmm. Hum "The Girl from Iponema" if I've gotten the tune stuck in your head.

Where was I? Right...

The Janitor's Daughter:
That's the feeling I get when I'm in a vulnerable social situation. Like say the lunch room? Or the copy room? Maybe even the mail room? It's more to do with my state of mind than anything. This has not been a good week for my state of mind. Yes, I know it is only Wednesday and I haven't even started today. Monday was the worst. I spent too much money on myself over the weekend. I'd met Andy for lunch on Sunday by walking into Fremont (it's my new favorite sport). There was the Fremont Sunday Market and a necklace with amber, and silver, and if the sun ever comes out maybe I'll get a picture...and it was way too much but I still had birthday money saved up...as well as a necklace fund (I know, I'm weird, I do indeed save up for a new piece of jewelry...once every 5 years or so...).

So I wore it on Monday. It is more girlie and delicate than any accessory I have ever used and definitely (due to its length) only goes with v-neck blouses.

No one said anything about it. It might be a style/taste thing, I get that. If you can't say anything nice, and all that...but in my head the inner comments went something like: "What is she doing wearing that!" "Who is she to wear that!" "Who does she think she is! Doesn't she realize she's a janitor's daughter!"

I swear, there should be a support group, "Children of Custodial Arts Workers." I'd so join.

Okay, work calls.

Unexpected Finger Waxing & Sees Candy for Breakfast

Is it really only just before 11am?

Let's have some random for this Saturday morning:
-My dream life is frightening. Recently I am never myself. And lately there is always someone chasing me with a firearm. Last night I was definitely someone with much longer and stronger limbs, running along paths and jumping over canyon-esque crevices and climbing up crumbly hills...maybe I was a younger, lighter, umm taller me? I dunno, but I did wake up with a burning shoulder. Must have over-used it cresting that one overhang, cuz you know, I climb mountains in my subconscious.

-What is worse that a paper cut? How about a staple-cut? Yup, definitely. I ripped my left palm open just below the edge/beginning of my pointer/first/mouse-button finger as I was "cross-training" my fellow trained monkey on Thursday. I can personally show you to at least three different first aid kits at my workplace. I bled through three band-aids before it calmed itself down. This is just the premise for the next random:

-When taking off a band-aid whose sticky side is actually on my finger, like between the knuckle and second joint let's say? I must must must remember to make sure it has been soaked beyond stickiness...or something. I thought ripping a band aid from my "messican hairy arm" was bad, but Jeebus-help-me, I SCREAMED when I took off my band-aid this morning. I had NO IDEA that a)cheap-assed band-aids stuck so well, and b) I HAD (past tense here) wee little invisible hairs on my finger! People, I don't even wax my "mustache" or eyebrows here (attractive, I know), but finger waxing? Lord, the pain you waxers go through!

-That would be why I busted out a Sees chocolate. It's all my family's fault here. Traumatic event? Give the child some sugar to take the shock off...or something. Whatever, it works. Whether it is just in my head or not, I can measure the difference in milli-give-a-shits this morning.

You made it this far? I reward you with some Italian Coastline:
So don't quote me on this one...but I think that is the Island of Capri in the distance. We were in Positano, I think. I just really like the fortresses and towers on the coast that long protected the Italians from pirates and stuff. That is just so cool!

Wednesday Mutterings...

-OR-
What Happens When I have FAR TOO MUCH Caffeine in the Morning

So as the final initiation/right of passage for my company, we get invited to a "coffee chat" with the CEO. All together we were 11 adults in the room. Part of the protocol was to introduce ourselves and explain how we got here (to our positions, not our life stories or anything).

Right, so unfortunately we hit the magic number for my utter unease. 11 strangers who are all adults and all have to listen (and judge) how intelligent/witty/stupid you sound is just the limit for me. Yes, this is me the former teacher. I can stand in a room of any number of students (my largest class EVER was the time I subbed for a high school Spanish teacher, 68 students, 1.5 hr. lab classes, one week; such fun!--REALLY!), but peers? Adults? Coworkers? And I have to say something about me? I'd rather be tied to a tree and shot in the foot.

What makes this more bizarre is the fact that once the next magical number of adults is reaches...say about 65? I'm fine. 63? God I will cry. And actually I did, and best yet? It was caught on tape. I'm thinking the day they made us introduce ourselves in my Master's program at Stanford. Yet, when called upon to introduce myself to a school's-worth of middle school personnel (teachers, admin, facilities, etc., et. al./more than 70) in Hawai'i? Easy-peazy.

This morning I was so nervous I could hear it in my voice...that awful nervous wavering? It shot color into my cheeks faster than a Cuba Libre, which then brought on the sweating and my thoughts? The words and phrases I had gone over as we were sipping coffee and gathering baked goods and mingling with the others (god I hate mingling, it always makes me down and refill whatever drink--coffee in this case--that I have in my hand), fell away and oh, lord, what did I just say? And why can't I make my mouth stop moving? If I don't shut up soon the freak out will be soon hit me full force and I will lose it!

Fun times.

So I don't know what I said, but they chuckled and nodded and smiled. So either I wowed them with something funny, or they felt really really sorry for me and were so ecstatically happy it wasn't them babbling incessantly in front of the CEO.

Happy Wednesday!

No Photographic Evidence to Worry About

So, I finally decided to look through the pictures taken while visiting Sicily and Southern Italy...last year...about this time...but maybe drier? And more spring-like? Cuz I don't know how it is with you? But it went from Spring to mid-Winter over-night and yeah, I really miss the sunshine, wine, and far too many (but yummy) 10,000 calorie meals.

Ebbro Fauno (Drunken Faun), National Archaeological Museum, Naples:

I know, I know, my arm is all busted and what am I doing fiddling with the root of the problem? Oh contrare! I'm becoming a pro at left-handed mousing.

Hmm, how to put this nicely? There really is no way--really! So living up to my blog name I will simply steam-roller forward. MJ, I love you, you know I do.

So, except for the self-portrait I took that one time I really needed a mirror? (Oh come on, you know you've done it too!) You'd never know I was there. I mean, you'd know some chunky brown-haired FUZZY female was there, but is it really me? Hard to tell.

See, the problem with fancy high-tech-like digi-cameras is that sometimes? Like when little "more mature" ladies are stealing your soul making you pose for a picture? And that wee little screen is just so wee little and they absolutely REFUSE to put on their glasses cuz what if the super hot looks-like-an-italian-antonio-banderas tour guide (that befriended me and therefore all the ladies-ALL OF THEM, including maybe your xMIL-a little-HATED YOUR GUTS and were absolutely certain--except for your xMIL cuz you bunked together the entire time--you'd slept with him and/or maybe even the older Canadian guide with the super tight pants before the end of the tour) were to look this way?!?! Right, did I ever share those stories?

Well regardless, the result is that every, single, shot, that I didn't take or is, ugh, of me, is of a ghastly fuzzy me. It's like looking at the world before I got my glasses. Or better yet, you know when they've dilated your eyes and then the optometrist is like, "okay, now that you are totally unable to focus, let's choose some brand new glasses!" And you spend the next 20 minutes in a Seinfeld episode squinting and backing up and stepping forward and hoping against hope that it really is a mirror and not a poster you're looking at? But everything is so whacked how can you tell-fuzzy? Yep, that's exactly what it feels like when I run into those pictures. Nice.

The guilt I had about not taking the time to make a nice CD of the trip or even boring Andy with them? So totally gone.

"It's Worked So Far, but We're Not Out Yet"

-Dr. McCoy, Star Trek

So when you go out to buy your first sailboat, what you find out pretty durn quick-like is the definition of the word: compromise. Or as I learned it: you have speed, comfort, and size. Only 2 of these words will go together happily.

Such is the state of my slow-to-heal arm. I have: data-entry, knitting, and blogging. Only two of these activities can be done (and never as much as you want/need to do, ever) for me not to have shooting pain between my shoulder blades and down my arm.

So what is a girl to do? Lots of this:
It's a 662-page novel by Patrick Rothfuss. And this would have been enough to distract me from the pain and inability to keep my fingers busy and out of trouble, really, had I not gotten a few calls from my mom...

Remember how I mentioned in the past that knitting calms me? It's much better than chamomile tea. How many scarves have gotten me through this last year??? Well...
This would be why my arm is taking forever to get back to normal. Yes, it's a hat that I'm knitting, flat. Fingering weight. Mindless. 144 stitches of knitting and purling, the big woo hoo was the folded over hem. It'll be Andy's emergency hat for when the other I made falls into the trashcan/on the floor/is too icky to wear, again.

It's just been such a roller-coaster ride for my emotions and feelings of utter helplessness. (I am such my father's daughter...like the feet weren't clue enough?!?) My godmother has been in the hospital for almost a month now...and can I just tell you that the acronym I hate the most right now is I.C.U.

So, yeah...bugger my arm...well, no, more like thank god for 800 mg ibuprophen at the end of the day... Hello universe? I really did mean it when I said I didn't mind my life being boring!

"Esta indecision me molesta"

So "Should I Stay or Should I Go" by the Clash? Totally spur of the moment thing to have the background singing in Spanish. Being last minute and all, however, it was the tape operator's mom from Ecuador who did the translating--that would be why it sounds kinda funny to me...well, that and someone singing in Spanish with a British accent...

Don'tcha just luv wikipeadia sometimes? It fulfills my need for trivial information like nothing else.

Anyhow, it's that time of year again! Our lease is up at the end of July, and being the type of peoples that like plenty of time to over-think and worry and maybe find someplace better/cheaper/closer/smaller/bigger etc. ad nauseum? We (that would be the royal "we" as actually Andy was the only one there at the time...) asked the management what they could do to convince us to stay.

Rather ballsy, I know, especially as we found out there is actually a waiting list for our building!?! Can we pick them or what?!? I guess the sounds of the bridge traffic and the wafting smell of the transfer station is just that attractive to so many others...So to add to my rashy anxiety, their response was that they'd write something up and stick it on our door. And they did...and now the big Clashy question of the hour... should I stay? Or should I go? (nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah)

Yep, if I have to have that song in my head, so do you.

As Andy so aptly put it, our moving dilemma could so very easily be a visa commercial...so I came up with:

-Renting a cheaper, vermin infested, too small apartment closer to work ... $850.
-Renting the place we'd like to live in, in a nice part of town ... $2,000.
-NOT HAVING TO MOVE? ... Priceless.

I think you know the direction I'm heading. Besides, if we stay? It will be the first time in, um, aaaahhhh, 16 years !?! that I'll be able to say I spent 2 whole Christmases in the same apartment! Neighborhood! AND zip code! Dude, that would be so awesome!

But no pressure.

Headache + Choking Coughing Fit = :(

Whoever said an apple a day keeps the doctor away probably never met anyone (like me) who is really much too good at that whole "food going down the wrong pipe" dealy.

 

What with the headache I developed a few hours ago, it's just making my day splendiferous, lemme tell ya.

Wide AND Thick

No, this is not a spam post, regardless of what horrid visions the title might bring to mind. Thus were how my delicate tootsies were described today at a shoe store I "just for the heck of it" entered looking for new work-wear.

I hate shoe shopping. The reality is that I hate all shopping that has to do with girding my loins from top to bottom...and vice versa for you smarty pantses. But shoe shopping is the utter pits in years when European shoes are the mode. Not only are they never wide enough for my pudgy feets, but, as I found out today, they need to be deep enough to encase my "thick" feet. Isn't that just so attractive? Thick feet, and ankles. Thanks, dad. And thanks shoe lady, it's not like I was really looking forward to spending $200 on your ugly shoes anyway...

Now, shopping at cool "junk" stores? That's different.

Can someone please tell me why I so desperately want a portable smith-corona manual typewriter with it's own case? I mean, yeah, it's cool, I understand, but ummmm, not only do I have one at my mom's house, but um a manual typewriter??? Where would I put it? What would I use it for? Did I already ask, where would I put it?

The price tag was the only thing that let me walk away this time. They'd upped it by $10 from last week. (Inflation? No way!)

What I did spend money on:
They were on a tray with dental tools. No lie. I was busy being icked out by some pretty nasty looking forceps, grippers, and various and sundry torture devices when I spied the taped up bundle.
With points like these, yeah, I'd think they were part of the stainless steel little shop of horrors dental scenes too, if I didn't crochet doilies with similar implements of doom.

There are several of the same size (love macro--yes, Andy's camera),
and some are bent and one is missing a point altogether, but I couldn't get anything better for a dollar.
Yep, that's all I paid. Seeing as you can't even find these sizes for less than $5, I think it was well worth it. Now, I just have to get my arm healed enough to endeavor crochet work...

Not a Meme, A Lifestyle

You can only keep a positive spin for so long. It seems my limit is 4.15 workdays...so instead of popping a brain vessel and going postal at work, I am listening to my iPod (which also made the list today) and organizing my thoughts for today's list:

Things that are Driving Me Bat Shit this Friday:

- Emails IN ALL CAPS TELLING ME WHAT I WILL DO -
As opposed to regular sentence case. It's a little pet peeve, I know, but in the modern world of email and such? ALL CAPS MEANS YOU ARE SCREAMING AT ME and I obviously don't respond well to this. Also, a little advice here, people: if you need a favor? Asking me goes much farther. What's that saying? More flies with honey? This is especially true for things that affect me so little and you so very very much.

- Say, my, name! (in that special angry Homer Simpson voice) -
After a string of emails between the four of us, I understand if you get confused as far as to whom you are responding, but really, my first name? It's only 4 letters long. How can you get it wrong?!? It's in print! In front of your face!

- Dead Batteries -
Dear cell phone and iPod,
I know you are old; in electronic years you're what, 60? 80? What is the ratio? 20:1 maybe 30:1? I know I need to be patient with ancient technology, BUT I JUST CHARGED YOU (yes, I am yelling at them). How do you have a dead battery if I just juiced you up this morning?!? But that's not even what is making me insane about you. It's plugging you in and 3 minutes - for one, 10 minutes for the other - later you state that your batteries are full! LIARS!

- Lame Excuses -
One of the things that I've recently discovered about myself and that whole "oh, grow up" phenomena is that yes, I hate being wrong, but if I don't want to feel even more of a dip-shit, I take responsibility for whatever it is I've done. And if it's my fault for being slow or lazy or not knowing what I'm doing? I'll say so. (Is this what that whole adage about age and wisdom come from?) That given? Oh how you are driving me to hurt someone, she-who-must-remain-unnamed for blaming me for your failings. Stop hiding behind the excuses and just deal with the consequences! You are a grown up! ACT LIKE ONE!

- My Good for Nothing Right Arm -
I know I didn't speak too soon with regards to it getting better, because it is...getting better. The thing is? I want it to be better-NOW. I want to be done with the pain and the hurting altogether. It's taken me hours to write this wee little post because I'm trying not to overdo it. And that makes me feel old. And I hate it. I find I have to work my entire body twice or three times as hard to ignore or get over the pain. That ends with me at 4 PM thinking I need to go home and collapse...and then getting home, and collapsing. Funny thing is, that's not the life I'm aiming to have. Silly, I know.


***
There are a few bits and pieces that I want to add to this list, but as other have observed in their blogs, there are things (whether for better or worse) best not blogged about. It's one thing if I email you about it directly (and it is a draft in my inbox, I promise!), and a whole 'nother if I post it for the world to see, even if they are affecting me just as much.

Only a few more hours until the weekend...huzzah!

Random Wednesday: Thinking Positively

1-Cucumbers taste of summer to me.
There was a sale (of course, I am too much of a cheap-ass to buy even veggies at full price, especially during this current economic, um what are they calling it? Flux?) on baby cucumbers...or as Andy calls them, "mini-mumbers." Hi, can you really pass up "Baby Mini-Mumbers?" Neither can I, it's the girl in me. Yes, I also like Hello Kitty and soft stuffed animals (especially if they are dragons), wanna make something of it?

2-Book polygamy is running rampant.
What did I do to while away the hours before knitting took hold of me like crack? I read. I've finished three books this week...but um, not one after another, as in: like the non-monogamous knitter I've become, I was reading three books all at once...

Thursday Next: The First Among Sequels - Jasper Fforde
I am Legend - Richard Matheson (Okay, I read the novella in its entirety, but the other short stories were skimmed if they started to bore (they are kinda dated) or it was just too dark and I am a wuss about the scary stories at night, maybe. Hello, "This is He Who Kills"?!?
The Terminal Man- Michael Crichton (it was in the lunch room, what can I say?)

3-Can you tell from the amount I'm typing that maybe I'm getting better?
The power of a wrist brace at work is amazing... No one has said anything about the extra non-data-entry related breaks/assignments I've been doing (as long as the data-entry happens, who cares, right?) But I am such a candidate for child abuse... When asked what the brace was for? Carpel Tunel? I lied. I totally said I fell. I couldn't even stop myself. No, my daddy didn't hurt me, I fell. Mostly because it's easier to say you've hurt yourself than to say, um no, actually it's acute tendon-something-so-wicked -I've-stopped-reading -the-internet-itis. Because then they ask, "Oh, what is that?" And I'd rather they think I'm a total klutz than damaged goods...or something.

Yep, Andy, and Olga for that matter, think I am being silly. Old habits die hard.

No, my parents did not abuse me. Sure, they spanked me, but that's cuz they loved me and are Mexican. My brother and I, however, used to beat the crap out of one another and would lie to the extremes as to how we um, ran into the side of the house--oh wait, that actually did happen...(cuz really? I am a klutz) but you get the idea, we weren't snitches. (Yeah, we got caught anyway, but not cuz we snitched!)

4-Mylar Balloons...I'm torn.
So someone gifted me a mylar balloon on my birthday and I milked it for all it was worth (we went out for lunch as a department to celebrate all the March and really 1st QTR '08 babies)! But it's now 3 weeks later and the balloon is still in my office and is STILL floating! And it's cute and makes me smile....but...well...I'm not a birkenstock-wearing-hippie-environmentalist (okay, I own birkes, I love the environment, shut up), but I'm now very aware of the damage these things can inflict if they last for so very very very long. But we're being positively random today so I'll just leave it at the fact that the lady bugs and dragonflies and cutsie flowers do actually bring a smile to my window-less, A/C, industrial section work day.

5-Do I even have a 5 or is this that part of my OCD that requires a 5 because I like 5's more than 4s? I think that answers my question.

Happy Wednesday!