Hi! Yeah, I know. And I only have about ten minutes today.
The last two months have been a blur. They included about 20 hours of overtime, so not the kind of blur induced by too many Vodka Tonics or anything as fun.
I've got a million things going on in my head as well. It's times like these that a pensieve and/or a therapist would be super handy. But as I have neither and would actually really prefer a device that I could download everything into to view as a third-party participant...well, there you have it. The best I can do is scribble as fast as I can into a notebook and read and reread and try to decipher the information myself. Why not do this with a therapist? Cuz I would probably lie to them to make the situation not as bad as reality. I am at least honest with myself about that. And yeah, that's how bad it is right now. And the only person I need to judge me, my actions, or those of the people involved? Yeah, my own. Because, again, I am being super honest with myself. I can get loads of awesome and great advice from friends, but really and truly, will I take it? Exactly.
I've also been seeing someone new for the recurring shoulder trauma/pain. I feel a little awkward, like I'm cheating on my Osteopath, but ummm, yeah, see, it was a health faire and he was super friendly, plied me with a free back exam and one thing led to the next...and now I'm interacting with his Pain Management guy too. Okay, I saw him the one time, my follow-up is Wednesday. There were two needles involved. I will not go into details because me and needles? Not a good thing. But there was a sonogram in the picture too.
Did it work? Well, the firey burning sensation down my back and down to my fingertips has not happened since, not even after overusing my arm to make gift bag sacks for the craft fair. Yes, there is still shoulder pain. Yes, I still find myself waking up in awkward sleeping positions because of the pain. But there is improvement. And no, I will not slow down. I will not do less than what I do. This is not an option for me. It sounds bassackwards but I want to heal while doing all the things that "hurt" me so I know that I still can after this treatment is done.
Nothing I do is all that strenuous. Really. Well, except for maybe that one time I picked someone up - bodily, not the "hey baby let me buy you a drink" pick up. Even painting the bathroom ceiling at my mom's house was not something that should make me hurt the way it did. In fact the only thing I have given up is the driving.
I can't drive for longer than about 1/2 hr at a time without wanting to rip my arm out of its socket. Or rather, I couldn't. I haven't tried since starting all this so who knows?!? Maybe that is no longer a "can't."
The bottom line is that I'm trying to keep positive. Onwards and upwards...or whatnot, right?
Monday, December 03, 2012
Tuesday, October 02, 2012
Meanwhile, at the Bat Cave....
The best way to summarize the rest of July, August, and September is to say that nothing and everything happened.
I moved to new digs in a "cool" part of town. Yes, I feel old and kinda wallflowery, but workmates are making me go out into the neighborhood and ignore the fact that everyone else is (or at least acts) 10 years younger than we do. And if one of them can do it while sporting yoga pants, anyone can! Some day I will be more like her, I promise. Until then I will sip on my tea while wasting waaaaay too many hours on facebooking/redditting/getting lost in the google stream as I listen to my rowdy neighbors laugh into the wee hours of the morning. (Don't they work? But I refuse to be the old lady yelling out my window for quiet.) Or my upstairs neighbor POUND his way across his livingroom into the kitchen? Bathroom? If I had to put money on this, I'm going to say the condo I'm renting is the same design all the way up and down.
This is my first place all on my own since that horrible MIL unit I rented in grad school. I think I've definitely moved up in the world since that $400/mo piece of illegal architecture where the walls didn't all quite meet, there were raccoons in the attic/crawlspace that would make the whole place shake when they were getting it on, and if there was any kind of street work happening within a 10 mile radius, my shower (which was barely wide enough for my hips) would not drain. I know, that is exactly the picture that is painted when I say I had a Stanford education. I will admit, it is one of the many experiences that have made me the person I am today.
At the work front, we went from four to two. Not because we downsized, oh no. More like bad timing as the two lower level assistants fled to better positions. I don't blame them, I didn't last very long in those same positions either, I just moved up instead of out.
In the middle of temps and hiring processes, I fled to Hawai'i for my older brother's 40th birthday. 10 days of no work was glorious. He and my SIL had never been, so, childless, we got to know Oahu (I'd only ever been to the Convention Center for school stuff when I lived on the Big Is.) and they got to know the Big Island. I got to see my friends and my Irish Rose...now with a new name...that was a little painful.
She had been stripped down to a bare hull by my ex, apparently, by the time she was sold...twice I think? But her new owner, a Peruvian, has made her beautiful again. He and his wife are going to set sail any time now, and it fills my heart that my little baby is no longer stuck in a storage shed rotting away. Because you already know me, you know I haven't gotten around to downloading any of my pictures from my trip. So I am going to post a picture someone sent me of her:
A few years ago, when the hull was for sale, I almost bought her. But it was going to be for purely sentimental reasons. I knew I'd never be able to get her back in the water, not without bankrupting myself. So for her to be sitting pretty in Reeds Bay again? My hear swells with pride. My little girl is all ready to go out and adventure again. I'm so glad I got a chance to see her and wish her new owners much luck and many fair winds.
And now back to reality.
Yesterday marked my fifth year with my company. I celebrated it at a going away party for the person in HR who I worked with when I was temp at the same company. Yes, double-amusing for me. This is now officially the longest I've worked anywhere. Before this was my four years with my undergrad college library; but can I say four years if I only worked 9 of the 12 months? Meh, let's say yes or my resume looks super spotty. Either someone in the right place is reading my blog, or I'm more transparent than I think I am. Every time I'm ready to jump ship my job seems to change just enough to keep it interesting. I hope that's a continuing trend as it just hasn't seemed like so much time has passed!
And now we're all caught up. Sort of. I only gave myself 30 minutes to think, sort, ramble, and proof this post, and I've run out of time. But I'm still here! If I can get back here more often I'll relay a tale or seven about Hawai'i. Especially if I can get myself organized enough (don't laugh too hard) to get the pictures downloaded. Until next time...
I moved to new digs in a "cool" part of town. Yes, I feel old and kinda wallflowery, but workmates are making me go out into the neighborhood and ignore the fact that everyone else is (or at least acts) 10 years younger than we do. And if one of them can do it while sporting yoga pants, anyone can! Some day I will be more like her, I promise. Until then I will sip on my tea while wasting waaaaay too many hours on facebooking/redditting/getting lost in the google stream as I listen to my rowdy neighbors laugh into the wee hours of the morning. (Don't they work? But I refuse to be the old lady yelling out my window for quiet.) Or my upstairs neighbor POUND his way across his livingroom into the kitchen? Bathroom? If I had to put money on this, I'm going to say the condo I'm renting is the same design all the way up and down.
This is my first place all on my own since that horrible MIL unit I rented in grad school. I think I've definitely moved up in the world since that $400/mo piece of illegal architecture where the walls didn't all quite meet, there were raccoons in the attic/crawlspace that would make the whole place shake when they were getting it on, and if there was any kind of street work happening within a 10 mile radius, my shower (which was barely wide enough for my hips) would not drain. I know, that is exactly the picture that is painted when I say I had a Stanford education. I will admit, it is one of the many experiences that have made me the person I am today.
At the work front, we went from four to two. Not because we downsized, oh no. More like bad timing as the two lower level assistants fled to better positions. I don't blame them, I didn't last very long in those same positions either, I just moved up instead of out.
In the middle of temps and hiring processes, I fled to Hawai'i for my older brother's 40th birthday. 10 days of no work was glorious. He and my SIL had never been, so, childless, we got to know Oahu (I'd only ever been to the Convention Center for school stuff when I lived on the Big Is.) and they got to know the Big Island. I got to see my friends and my Irish Rose...now with a new name...that was a little painful.
She had been stripped down to a bare hull by my ex, apparently, by the time she was sold...twice I think? But her new owner, a Peruvian, has made her beautiful again. He and his wife are going to set sail any time now, and it fills my heart that my little baby is no longer stuck in a storage shed rotting away. Because you already know me, you know I haven't gotten around to downloading any of my pictures from my trip. So I am going to post a picture someone sent me of her:
 |
| My former Irish Rose, moored in Reeds Bay, Hilo, HI |
And now back to reality.
Yesterday marked my fifth year with my company. I celebrated it at a going away party for the person in HR who I worked with when I was temp at the same company. Yes, double-amusing for me. This is now officially the longest I've worked anywhere. Before this was my four years with my undergrad college library; but can I say four years if I only worked 9 of the 12 months? Meh, let's say yes or my resume looks super spotty. Either someone in the right place is reading my blog, or I'm more transparent than I think I am. Every time I'm ready to jump ship my job seems to change just enough to keep it interesting. I hope that's a continuing trend as it just hasn't seemed like so much time has passed!
And now we're all caught up. Sort of. I only gave myself 30 minutes to think, sort, ramble, and proof this post, and I've run out of time. But I'm still here! If I can get back here more often I'll relay a tale or seven about Hawai'i. Especially if I can get myself organized enough (don't laugh too hard) to get the pictures downloaded. Until next time...
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Mary, Destroyer of Keyboards...
The reality is I've got nothing. Okay that is a GIGANTIC lie. Let's just say I have nothing I am ready to expound about at this very moment as my life is now ridiculously so full that I am wondering when exactly I'm supposed to be able to breathe.
However, I'm going to use the excuse of YET ANOTHER KEYBOARD to write something up as I try my very hardest to get used to where all the keys are.
Does anyone else remember the standardization of keyboards? Or was that just me + manual typewriters? And then there were the slew of IBM Selectrics - or whatever they were called. But all the keys were uniform! Damnit! Somewhere along the way someone came up with the word ergonomic and everything went to pieces. Or rather, keyboards did. And just like my Kroger brand sugar jumping on the 4lb bag bandwagon -- I am not the only one to notice this right? Sugar? Used to come in 5 and 10 lb bags. All of a sudden C & H is all about 4lb bags. So screw it! I went generic and bought 5lb bags at the same 4lb price. Except yesterday? I guess they finally ran out of the old bags...so now I get to buy 4 lbs of sugar for 5 lb prices. This is almost as irritating as reading my baby brother's FB posts wherein he butchers the English language...
ANYWAY...They ran out of "new" keyboards in the IT dept., so I was asked to use an old-style not-quite-the big-white-one-with-the-clickety-keys, but slightly twisty with the bigger T Y G H B N keys...you know the style? Which would work if I typed the way Ms. Miller wanted me to with the left hand on the "left side" keys and the right hand on the "right side" keys...but I don't. I space bar with the wrong finger and it's my right hand that reaches across into left hand territory for my B's. Which means I'm going to have strained tendons if I'm not careful.
Oh the fun times I have at work. And if you're still reading? Bless you. You're sweet.
This is my third keyboard in as many months. I'd think that would give someone a clue that maybe the ones they are giving us are poopie. Or I'm being labeled as the destroyer of all things lettered...which would work except for the fact that the last one I handed to them I'd busted the number pad thingie...I am talented, oh yeah.
So Andy and I have been watching the "Vampire Diaries" on Netflix. I know, this means I am less to you than before, bear with me. It's a lark and a laugh and who else would watch that show with him if not me? We do a lot of this, watching TV shows that no one else would watch, together. It's a thing. But seriously? Is it really only Joss Whedon who put it out there that 100+ year old vampires shouldn't get together with 17 yr olds? Cuz really, what do you have in common?
In college I remember having a conversation with my best friend, about certain connections that are absolutely necessary to have a good relationship. And how we all have a "marker." That one thing/rule/connection/whatever you want to call it, that tells you, yes, I can be with this person. Some people aren't all that creative, they verify you were not born in the 90s and you're cool. For others? And here is where my point is coming in, they need a shared history, even if it's just by proxy. The fellow we were talking about would find a way to work in the phrase, "Conjunction Junction" into the conversation. If the beauty he was charming was not able to to fill in the blank (i.e. "What's your function,") it was game over, man.
18 years later, I'm still thinking about this as I watch Damon and Stephan Salvatore try to get it on with a 17 yr old CHILD. Why do I keep watching? It's kinda like a train wreck I guess. I just can't not look! But this is the same me who has now watched all of the original Star Trek, Enterprise, and maybe as much Miss Marple as can find its way onto Netflix. I am not proud...
Okay, I'm going to go try to use this keyboard on actual data entry now. Thank you for indulging me.
However, I'm going to use the excuse of YET ANOTHER KEYBOARD to write something up as I try my very hardest to get used to where all the keys are.
Does anyone else remember the standardization of keyboards? Or was that just me + manual typewriters? And then there were the slew of IBM Selectrics - or whatever they were called. But all the keys were uniform! Damnit! Somewhere along the way someone came up with the word ergonomic and everything went to pieces. Or rather, keyboards did. And just like my Kroger brand sugar jumping on the 4lb bag bandwagon -- I am not the only one to notice this right? Sugar? Used to come in 5 and 10 lb bags. All of a sudden C & H is all about 4lb bags. So screw it! I went generic and bought 5lb bags at the same 4lb price. Except yesterday? I guess they finally ran out of the old bags...so now I get to buy 4 lbs of sugar for 5 lb prices. This is almost as irritating as reading my baby brother's FB posts wherein he butchers the English language...
ANYWAY...They ran out of "new" keyboards in the IT dept., so I was asked to use an old-style not-quite-the big-white-one-with-the-clickety-keys, but slightly twisty with the bigger T Y G H B N keys...you know the style? Which would work if I typed the way Ms. Miller wanted me to with the left hand on the "left side" keys and the right hand on the "right side" keys...but I don't. I space bar with the wrong finger and it's my right hand that reaches across into left hand territory for my B's. Which means I'm going to have strained tendons if I'm not careful.
Oh the fun times I have at work. And if you're still reading? Bless you. You're sweet.
This is my third keyboard in as many months. I'd think that would give someone a clue that maybe the ones they are giving us are poopie. Or I'm being labeled as the destroyer of all things lettered...which would work except for the fact that the last one I handed to them I'd busted the number pad thingie...I am talented, oh yeah.
So Andy and I have been watching the "Vampire Diaries" on Netflix. I know, this means I am less to you than before, bear with me. It's a lark and a laugh and who else would watch that show with him if not me? We do a lot of this, watching TV shows that no one else would watch, together. It's a thing. But seriously? Is it really only Joss Whedon who put it out there that 100+ year old vampires shouldn't get together with 17 yr olds? Cuz really, what do you have in common?
In college I remember having a conversation with my best friend, about certain connections that are absolutely necessary to have a good relationship. And how we all have a "marker." That one thing/rule/connection/whatever you want to call it, that tells you, yes, I can be with this person. Some people aren't all that creative, they verify you were not born in the 90s and you're cool. For others? And here is where my point is coming in, they need a shared history, even if it's just by proxy. The fellow we were talking about would find a way to work in the phrase, "Conjunction Junction" into the conversation. If the beauty he was charming was not able to to fill in the blank (i.e. "What's your function,") it was game over, man.
18 years later, I'm still thinking about this as I watch Damon and Stephan Salvatore try to get it on with a 17 yr old CHILD. Why do I keep watching? It's kinda like a train wreck I guess. I just can't not look! But this is the same me who has now watched all of the original Star Trek, Enterprise, and maybe as much Miss Marple as can find its way onto Netflix. I am not proud...
Okay, I'm going to go try to use this keyboard on actual data entry now. Thank you for indulging me.
Friday, June 08, 2012
You Got to Put On that Party Dress...
Why is it that listening to Tom Petty's "Mary Jane's Last Dance" is the final push I needed to start writing this all up? Oh the mind works in such mysterious ways.
Picture it, Los Angeles, 2012...(okay that's just such a Golden Girls/BladeRunner mash up I have to pause.)
Right. Moving on.
I am now a firm believer in 20th high school reunions. I didn't know this about myself until the end of the night when I was so very happy I'd gone. 20 years is a bloody long time. A whole new human being can become an adult + in that time! A person might have reinvented themselves at least three (maybe four) times since then! Giggling school girls have transformed themselves into moms and teachers and lawyers and doctors and firefighters! (YES! One of my classmates is a firefighter!!! Is that not the coolest? And so telling about me that it's super way more impressive than the other occupations I listed. Remember, I attended an all girls high school.) And finally, FINALLY, we're all comfortable in our own skins. Or at least really good at pretending we are.
It was in no way all bon bons and chocolate dipped strawberries. I was so nervous I wasn't sure I was going to be able to keep myself together enough to do it. Two nights before I was sort of lamenting not having planned a "spa day" the day before the event so I could totally look all super-awesome prepped and polished....then I remembered who I am and stated so to my dinner companions, "I'll be lucky if I remember to brush my hair before I go out the door." Cuz, yeah, at the time I still didn't know which blouse I was going to wear.
OMG, if you were on the flight down to LA with me, I'm sorry if I took up more than my share of overhead bin. I had NO IDEA I could pack that many clothes in my 9X14X22 carry-on -- technically it is the maximum volume allowed, but did you know canvas bulges? I could NOT make that sucker fit in the "top out" configuration that lets at least two other bags fit in the same compartment. Thanks to the adrenaline that fills my system whenever I fly, I was able to lift that sucker over my head with Amazonian ease to slide it into the bin, but yeah...the bulging, um tummy area of the bag, meant my bad boy only fit lengthwise. I shut the bin, sat down, and was all la la la, not my bag....I'd feel worse about this but um, I also want to say it's payback for all the times I had to gate check my bag because everything was full by the time I got on the plane. Yes, justifying this. And I'm soooo glad I did. All the different possible outfits I had shoved in there... and I ended up wearing a blouse my mom bought that was too big for her. Yes, this is also how I roll. I wore a top that a 76 yr old woman had bought for herself. Stylin'. But at least it had real short SLEEVES, not those fakey things that might as well be tank tops! (Damn you fashion world, I do not have the upper arms to pull off that fashion-no.) And what with the LA weather LYING to me when I was in Seattle and selecting 3/4 sleeves and possibly a sweater, I would have MELTED. You know, like my make-up was trying to do.
Yeah, I wore makeup. Or at least tried to. It didn't last long. Especially not after the ugly cry I had.
Oh yeah.
The event included a mass. (Yes, I went down to LA for my nephew's first communion as well as a mass/luncheon reunion. This is indeed more religion in one weekend than I usually do ALL. YEAR. LONG.) At the mass I was fully expecting to see the usual Sr. Suspects, you know, former principals and a teacher or two. But I did not expect to see one of the nuns that used to watch my brother and I when we were super wee. (My mom worked in my high school's maintenance department for 27 years. During the summers my older brother and I used to go with her and hand out with a couple of nuns who tried to keep us out of trouble.) When I saw her as I entered the chapel, I totally lost it. I don't know if it was memories or nostalgia or just a little crazy that took control of me. She's 91 years old now, head of fluffy white hair, and so very itty! Like a hobbit, really. I went from stunned to surprised to clinging, to bawling in a matter of seconds. And like the trooper she's always been, she just held me. Me, who was towering over her by at least two feet. All I could choke out was, "I'm Mary, Anita's daughter," and she remembered (maybe it was my mom she remembered) but she stroked my hair and said soothing and nice things about my mom and my brother and me as a little girl until I chilled the fuck out. I did say I lost it...in a room full of women and administrators there to celebrate all the alumni. I know, I win all the awards here.
But really and truly? After that? I was totally fine! The GINORMOUS ball of EVERYTHING BAD that I'd been carrying around since I boarded the plane was gone. I know this is probably because hi! There is no way this could in any way shape or form get any worse unless I, I dunno, pooped myself.
And it didn't. And I didn't. It actually got lots better. I may have started crying a couple more times, but I definitely wasn't alone, my classmates were just as weepy as me, and for at least one of those instances, it was because we were laughing too hard, and that just made the whole thing awesome.
We gathered that evening at a non-school sanctioned event so we could chill and catch up in a more non-school atmosphere, and it was a blast. Maybe even a little more fun than the official reunion.
Not living in LA, I didn't expect to come away with any new best friends. But it was so awesome to sit and visit and share food and stories with people who were a part of my past. Yes, my facebook friend list is a little longer, and a have a couple new numbers on my phone, so who knows, maybe I'll have a few more faces to see when I go down to LA to visit...maybe not.
So now I'm all preachy, if you have a chance to go to yours? Do. Just do. Even if it's not the "official" one. 20 years! And I'm not dead yet! It's quite a milestone, I think.
Picture it, Los Angeles, 2012...(okay that's just such a Golden Girls/BladeRunner mash up I have to pause.)
Right. Moving on.
I am now a firm believer in 20th high school reunions. I didn't know this about myself until the end of the night when I was so very happy I'd gone. 20 years is a bloody long time. A whole new human being can become an adult + in that time! A person might have reinvented themselves at least three (maybe four) times since then! Giggling school girls have transformed themselves into moms and teachers and lawyers and doctors and firefighters! (YES! One of my classmates is a firefighter!!! Is that not the coolest? And so telling about me that it's super way more impressive than the other occupations I listed. Remember, I attended an all girls high school.) And finally, FINALLY, we're all comfortable in our own skins. Or at least really good at pretending we are.
It was in no way all bon bons and chocolate dipped strawberries. I was so nervous I wasn't sure I was going to be able to keep myself together enough to do it. Two nights before I was sort of lamenting not having planned a "spa day" the day before the event so I could totally look all super-awesome prepped and polished....then I remembered who I am and stated so to my dinner companions, "I'll be lucky if I remember to brush my hair before I go out the door." Cuz, yeah, at the time I still didn't know which blouse I was going to wear.
OMG, if you were on the flight down to LA with me, I'm sorry if I took up more than my share of overhead bin. I had NO IDEA I could pack that many clothes in my 9X14X22 carry-on -- technically it is the maximum volume allowed, but did you know canvas bulges? I could NOT make that sucker fit in the "top out" configuration that lets at least two other bags fit in the same compartment. Thanks to the adrenaline that fills my system whenever I fly, I was able to lift that sucker over my head with Amazonian ease to slide it into the bin, but yeah...the bulging, um tummy area of the bag, meant my bad boy only fit lengthwise. I shut the bin, sat down, and was all la la la, not my bag....I'd feel worse about this but um, I also want to say it's payback for all the times I had to gate check my bag because everything was full by the time I got on the plane. Yes, justifying this. And I'm soooo glad I did. All the different possible outfits I had shoved in there... and I ended up wearing a blouse my mom bought that was too big for her. Yes, this is also how I roll. I wore a top that a 76 yr old woman had bought for herself. Stylin'. But at least it had real short SLEEVES, not those fakey things that might as well be tank tops! (Damn you fashion world, I do not have the upper arms to pull off that fashion-no.) And what with the LA weather LYING to me when I was in Seattle and selecting 3/4 sleeves and possibly a sweater, I would have MELTED. You know, like my make-up was trying to do.
Yeah, I wore makeup. Or at least tried to. It didn't last long. Especially not after the ugly cry I had.
Oh yeah.
The event included a mass. (Yes, I went down to LA for my nephew's first communion as well as a mass/luncheon reunion. This is indeed more religion in one weekend than I usually do ALL. YEAR. LONG.) At the mass I was fully expecting to see the usual Sr. Suspects, you know, former principals and a teacher or two. But I did not expect to see one of the nuns that used to watch my brother and I when we were super wee. (My mom worked in my high school's maintenance department for 27 years. During the summers my older brother and I used to go with her and hand out with a couple of nuns who tried to keep us out of trouble.) When I saw her as I entered the chapel, I totally lost it. I don't know if it was memories or nostalgia or just a little crazy that took control of me. She's 91 years old now, head of fluffy white hair, and so very itty! Like a hobbit, really. I went from stunned to surprised to clinging, to bawling in a matter of seconds. And like the trooper she's always been, she just held me. Me, who was towering over her by at least two feet. All I could choke out was, "I'm Mary, Anita's daughter," and she remembered (maybe it was my mom she remembered) but she stroked my hair and said soothing and nice things about my mom and my brother and me as a little girl until I chilled the fuck out. I did say I lost it...in a room full of women and administrators there to celebrate all the alumni. I know, I win all the awards here.
But really and truly? After that? I was totally fine! The GINORMOUS ball of EVERYTHING BAD that I'd been carrying around since I boarded the plane was gone. I know this is probably because hi! There is no way this could in any way shape or form get any worse unless I, I dunno, pooped myself.
And it didn't. And I didn't. It actually got lots better. I may have started crying a couple more times, but I definitely wasn't alone, my classmates were just as weepy as me, and for at least one of those instances, it was because we were laughing too hard, and that just made the whole thing awesome.
We gathered that evening at a non-school sanctioned event so we could chill and catch up in a more non-school atmosphere, and it was a blast. Maybe even a little more fun than the official reunion.
Not living in LA, I didn't expect to come away with any new best friends. But it was so awesome to sit and visit and share food and stories with people who were a part of my past. Yes, my facebook friend list is a little longer, and a have a couple new numbers on my phone, so who knows, maybe I'll have a few more faces to see when I go down to LA to visit...maybe not.
So now I'm all preachy, if you have a chance to go to yours? Do. Just do. Even if it's not the "official" one. 20 years! And I'm not dead yet! It's quite a milestone, I think.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Gerry!*
If you've ever had the need/want to type "grrr" using IOS 5 on your spiffy smartphone, you know you've texted this word more than once, at least. And titling a post "Grrr" just well...I'll stop explaining. But it made me giggle just now...and that made my life at least 1% less stressful....and every bit counts.
And the cottonwoods are blooming...and I think I might be allergic to the state of Washington...or moldy basements, who knows!
Bottom line? I so want to note all the stuff that happend during my trip down to LA la land in May...cuz that was like almost a month ago now...or it will be in a few very short days...but my head wants to 'splode. But soon! Promise!
*So really it's more Andy and Lev's in-joke but I'm going to use it as it works for me today.
And the cottonwoods are blooming...and I think I might be allergic to the state of Washington...or moldy basements, who knows!
Bottom line? I so want to note all the stuff that happend during my trip down to LA la land in May...cuz that was like almost a month ago now...or it will be in a few very short days...but my head wants to 'splode. But soon! Promise!
*So really it's more Andy and Lev's in-joke but I'm going to use it as it works for me today.
Friday, April 27, 2012
It's Been Twenty Years, Candy...
Just something I can reference when I'm in the middle of it all next week:
Why I am Going to My 20th High School Reunion
Why I am Going to My 20th High School Reunion
- Cuz I can. (i.e. I'm at a place in my life where even if I wasn't already in LA for another commitment, I could totally take a trip to LA JUST FOR THIS. Even though I'm not, and am mostly doing it because I'm already in LA for another commitment.)
- Curiosity. Facebook is one way of keeping tabs on people...if they post. But I've never outright tried to friend everyone I've ever known, nor would I want to. And as I'm finding out with HS contacts...not everyone wants to be on the face-place.
- The experience. How many times can I say I've gone to a 20th HS reunion? (This is especially so as I keep hanging out with HS drop-outs. GED programs don't have reunions, do they?)
- As the daughter of two of the maintenance staff, I pretty much grew up at the place. After 27 years, my mom retired, my dad is getting there...once he's gone, that's it, no real reason to visit except for uber nostalgia...which I love to bask in every once in a while, I won't lie. But those kind of trips generally involve donations that I might laugh at outright. So this is it.
- To visit with my former teachers - that is, if they're still there. Do former teachers get invited to these shin-digs? Now that would be cool.
- To check out the Blue Room. Which was always my favorite.
- Show off. Um, yeah, even if I were that kind of person, nothing to see here folks.
- Worry about my wrinkles (on my face or my clothes). I escaped from LA for a reason.
- Finish unfinished business. See above, 20 years. Even I don't hold silly grudges that long.
- Help in the kitchen, no matter what Sr. Colette might say to me.
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
Tai Chi Latte Tired
Back when I worked at a bookstore, I got so good and figuring out what book or author someone was looking for that I could "name that tune" in three notes...My guess is that baristas are so used to dealing with sleepy/under-caffeinated folk that it becomes second nature to hear some garbled phrase and repeat back what they think you really meant.
Thank you barista for A) waiting for another time to giggle at my order, and B) using your barista-fu to get me a Chai Tea Latte, and C) giving me the realization that I now have a new phrase to describe just how tired I am. I am counting it up there with "Michael-Douglas-Falling-Down-Mad."
Today's Tai-Chi-Tired day is brought to you by jumbled and awful dreams which included a WORKING A FULL DAY AT WORK dream that I think should count on my time card. Really it should.
Remember back when I said I was ready for a change? For something new? I LIED. Really. Make it all go away...it's like that Chinese proverb (or is it? Chinese I mean?) Be careful what you wish for? Or the Terry Pratchett (which might also be Asian but hi, TIRED), "May you live in interesting times" curse/wish?
I am still in my same daily drudgery, but on top of that, I have been given more duties, temporarily, of course, until we figure out how to handle the new tasks among the folk that are here. Or, gasp, pleeeaaase...they actually let us hire a new person. Toss in the yearly audit and I'm done. No, scratch that, beyond done. I am the charred up piece that falls through the grill to the side of the coals to become that desiccated piece of wasted thing.
Sorry, apparently I become a little hyperbolic when there is not enough rest in my life.
Thank you barista for A) waiting for another time to giggle at my order, and B) using your barista-fu to get me a Chai Tea Latte, and C) giving me the realization that I now have a new phrase to describe just how tired I am. I am counting it up there with "Michael-Douglas-Falling-Down-Mad."
Today's Tai-Chi-Tired day is brought to you by jumbled and awful dreams which included a WORKING A FULL DAY AT WORK dream that I think should count on my time card. Really it should.
Remember back when I said I was ready for a change? For something new? I LIED. Really. Make it all go away...it's like that Chinese proverb (or is it? Chinese I mean?) Be careful what you wish for? Or the Terry Pratchett (which might also be Asian but hi, TIRED), "May you live in interesting times" curse/wish?
I am still in my same daily drudgery, but on top of that, I have been given more duties, temporarily, of course, until we figure out how to handle the new tasks among the folk that are here. Or, gasp, pleeeaaase...they actually let us hire a new person. Toss in the yearly audit and I'm done. No, scratch that, beyond done. I am the charred up piece that falls through the grill to the side of the coals to become that desiccated piece of wasted thing.
Sorry, apparently I become a little hyperbolic when there is not enough rest in my life.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
East + West Divided by two = Mid, Right?
I made some fingerless gloves, and I tried to either upload or embed the picture...but failed miserably when trying to use the fancy buttons I've been given in this lovely and updated blogger.
So last year, I made a smoke ring out of some super soft Regia Silk sock yarn. But I had some left over. Just enough to make something matchy and girly and ship it to the middle of the country. I used the same first part of the pattern, which I'm realizing I never actually articulated, bad blogger! It is "Vent d'est vent d'ouest" by Marie Adeline Boyer; which translates into East Wind, West Wind, hence the post title. And then tacked on a made-up fingerless glove pattern based on the different sites that helped me cobble together fingerless gloves that I made my niece and nephew...which I'm thinking I also never mentioned...okay, more on that later, then...
For now though, I wanted something my February birthday girl could wear under big bulky mittens as she waited out her kids' Spring sports practices, or walks outside, or treks to the grocery store for that matter, in the environs of the Midwest. Which is why I chose some hardier yarn, Dale of Norway "Falk" in a matchy gray for the tops of the knuckles and the thumb, as they'd get chafed by the mittens or gloves that would be pulled on over them.
It's hard for me to look at these and not be smug. Yeah, I used an existing pattern for the cuff but wrist up? ALL ME! Okay, just a tube with a thumb sticking out...but I figured out how to make the tube! And make it three dimensional!!! I feel like a little kid that just learned to button up all her buttons ALL. By. My. Self! But even more so after going to the Madrona Fiber Festival Shopping area and seeing some pre-made fingerless gloves for sale and how they decided to shortcut their thumbs. I did not get a picture cuz, well, I didn't think about it soon enough, but their construction was odd and would be comfortable only if you didn't actually plan to DO anything that involved opening your hand all the way while wearing them. Okay, smuggy nature off.
For future referencing: I used US #2s. CO about 56 stitches and wound up with 44 at the end of the cuff, so I slowly added them back to make and add on the thumb. It was a wonderful puzzle to solve, and kept me from getting bored. I'm currently working on socks for my nephew and have reached the foot...and am soooooo le bored. So much so I started another smoke ring, this time for me! Out of some Socks that Rock Medium weight that I procured at the aforementioned fiber festival. I'm going to try to take a picture and will post that as well...it is rather gray out, as the gloves above are proof, not the best picture-taking weather.
I need these more complicated things to keep my brain from wandering and wondering about my previous posts...and thus far all I can share is that I've gotten an email instead of a phone call. But a good one. Well, how about not a bad one. Wait wait wait some more...le sigh. Such is life.
Good thing blogger hasn't completely given up on letting us have the html window.
So last year, I made a smoke ring out of some super soft Regia Silk sock yarn. But I had some left over. Just enough to make something matchy and girly and ship it to the middle of the country. I used the same first part of the pattern, which I'm realizing I never actually articulated, bad blogger! It is "Vent d'est vent d'ouest" by Marie Adeline Boyer; which translates into East Wind, West Wind, hence the post title. And then tacked on a made-up fingerless glove pattern based on the different sites that helped me cobble together fingerless gloves that I made my niece and nephew...which I'm thinking I also never mentioned...okay, more on that later, then...
For now though, I wanted something my February birthday girl could wear under big bulky mittens as she waited out her kids' Spring sports practices, or walks outside, or treks to the grocery store for that matter, in the environs of the Midwest. Which is why I chose some hardier yarn, Dale of Norway "Falk" in a matchy gray for the tops of the knuckles and the thumb, as they'd get chafed by the mittens or gloves that would be pulled on over them.
It's hard for me to look at these and not be smug. Yeah, I used an existing pattern for the cuff but wrist up? ALL ME! Okay, just a tube with a thumb sticking out...but I figured out how to make the tube! And make it three dimensional!!! I feel like a little kid that just learned to button up all her buttons ALL. By. My. Self! But even more so after going to the Madrona Fiber Festival Shopping area and seeing some pre-made fingerless gloves for sale and how they decided to shortcut their thumbs. I did not get a picture cuz, well, I didn't think about it soon enough, but their construction was odd and would be comfortable only if you didn't actually plan to DO anything that involved opening your hand all the way while wearing them. Okay, smuggy nature off.
For future referencing: I used US #2s. CO about 56 stitches and wound up with 44 at the end of the cuff, so I slowly added them back to make and add on the thumb. It was a wonderful puzzle to solve, and kept me from getting bored. I'm currently working on socks for my nephew and have reached the foot...and am soooooo le bored. So much so I started another smoke ring, this time for me! Out of some Socks that Rock Medium weight that I procured at the aforementioned fiber festival. I'm going to try to take a picture and will post that as well...it is rather gray out, as the gloves above are proof, not the best picture-taking weather.
I need these more complicated things to keep my brain from wandering and wondering about my previous posts...and thus far all I can share is that I've gotten an email instead of a phone call. But a good one. Well, how about not a bad one. Wait wait wait some more...le sigh. Such is life.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
I Need A Better Watch
I had to physically stop and take a deep breath and look back at my posting date a couple times this week.
Really, brain, it has only been one week. One looooooooong and stressful, and achingly mind-scarring week. One week that seems like a LIFETIME when all you can think of is "call me." "Call me." "DAMN IT, please call me..." It's like I'm sixteen and dateless all over again.
Tie that together with the "close of year" (yes, in February) deadlines. Or I should say DEADlines, no exceptions what so ever(!), and my sense of how much time has actually passed will grow or contract depending on what computer screen I'm looking at.
Sanity has come from a fellow coworker and the East coast sayings her mom is chock full off. I love them in how positive and so not-Mexican-mom sounding they are. I don't think I'll ever hear my own mom say something even remotely close to "Don't even take that class, girlfriend." Like, ever.
So I made some fingerless gloves that I may have to put in the dryer if they're not ready to go by tomorrow AM...more on that, later.
Really, brain, it has only been one week. One looooooooong and stressful, and achingly mind-scarring week. One week that seems like a LIFETIME when all you can think of is "call me." "Call me." "DAMN IT, please call me..." It's like I'm sixteen and dateless all over again.
Tie that together with the "close of year" (yes, in February) deadlines. Or I should say DEADlines, no exceptions what so ever(!), and my sense of how much time has actually passed will grow or contract depending on what computer screen I'm looking at.
Sanity has come from a fellow coworker and the East coast sayings her mom is chock full off. I love them in how positive and so not-Mexican-mom sounding they are. I don't think I'll ever hear my own mom say something even remotely close to "Don't even take that class, girlfriend." Like, ever.
So I made some fingerless gloves that I may have to put in the dryer if they're not ready to go by tomorrow AM...more on that, later.
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Everything All At Once...Again
I'd like to blame the hormones.
Not necessarily my hormones, either.
How is it we can go weeks, months, possibly years (please, years is nice) with the same ole' same ole' and then all of a sudden, shot-in-the-dark-style, everything right is wrong again (to quote my favorite alternative 90's band.)
Maybe it is just me. I am an ever-changing, adaptable, personable, professional (wait, that's the kind of stuff I put on cover letters, never mind...) But I have to admit, when I get this way, I look for new things. It takes a LOT to get me to this point...I am in love with safe zones and comfort, maybe a little lazy at heart, easily amused, willing to let things slide off of me like juice off washable yarn...yet somehow? It's happened.
NO! Calm yourselves, it's not knitting that's brought me to this point. That would be the exact opposite. I know, I never post ANYTHING anymore, much less pictures of all the things that keep me from exploding. Even the site that I joined that's wholly dedicated to all-things-yarn, well, it has my profile, but I'm just too quick at giving stuff away to document it. Maybe what I need is a twitter for crafts? Critter? (OMG if I just came up with the next million-dollar social media site idea!!! Yeah, no. Way too many of those already.) And it's not Seattle. It's not friends, nor even family. I know you're all intelligent stalkers/readers, so I'll not insult you and just keep going.
Anywho, parts of my life got ummm dull, and very soon started grating against me. First extremely minor, but slowly building up into big whopping against the grain/nails on chalkboard/in the car with your sibling for way too long kind of ways. And seriously I can't tell if it's me being overly sensitive, or if there really is a conspiracy going on against me! You know, so I can be made an example. Be shown "my place." At every-day-that-much-closer-to-forty*, I've learned I can't stand that BS. I graduated high school So.Very.Long.Ago. I do believe 2012 might actually be one of those "significant" years even. Suffice to say? I play very well with others, but I hate silly games. Especially when people are only out to "prove something." So I've officially taken steps.
As my mom said just yesterday when I let her in on what I needed praying for (What? Doesn't everyone ask their religious-bent folken to intercede with their deities on their behalf at times when you think "A little more can't hurt?") we all have to keep moving forward. Cuz, otherwise (thank you A.H. in whose little boy mid-west twang I will always hear this in my head) you're stu-uck. And now it's all about "hurry up and wait." Either this will be a wake up call for them....or me. It goes both ways.
I think I just need to know where I stand in the world. Like I said, significant time has lapsed since I was fresh and young and had a whole life in front of me. I refuse to become a bitterold mature woman. I let a lot of things pass me by and sometimes do wallow in the "what could have beens" I will not lie to you, that would make all of this useless to me, but you don't win the lottery by just watching the adverts.** And I guess I just bought my first scratcher in four years. (Did that metaphor go to far?)
And thank you blog, for being here like an old friend so I can at least let that much out. It's like taking an enormous cleansing breath. I started you so I wouldn't make my housemates go stark raving mad about all the yarn and patterns and WIPs and FOs and rants like these...and I miss you. And I'm trying to come back. Again, taking steps...though some might be itty in comparison.
*I know, I know, I've got a couple years yet to go. I think I hold forty as the new 25. Or something. You know, that "age" that we used to make lists about? "When I am 25 I will have a nice haircut." Or is that something only I used to do?
**I have no idea where some of these sayings are coming from...I blame the creeping anxiety + maybe a little more coffee that I usually drink on a Saturday morning.
Not necessarily my hormones, either.
How is it we can go weeks, months, possibly years (please, years is nice) with the same ole' same ole' and then all of a sudden, shot-in-the-dark-style, everything right is wrong again (to quote my favorite alternative 90's band.)
Maybe it is just me. I am an ever-changing, adaptable, personable, professional (wait, that's the kind of stuff I put on cover letters, never mind...) But I have to admit, when I get this way, I look for new things. It takes a LOT to get me to this point...I am in love with safe zones and comfort, maybe a little lazy at heart, easily amused, willing to let things slide off of me like juice off washable yarn...yet somehow? It's happened.
NO! Calm yourselves, it's not knitting that's brought me to this point. That would be the exact opposite. I know, I never post ANYTHING anymore, much less pictures of all the things that keep me from exploding. Even the site that I joined that's wholly dedicated to all-things-yarn, well, it has my profile, but I'm just too quick at giving stuff away to document it. Maybe what I need is a twitter for crafts? Critter? (OMG if I just came up with the next million-dollar social media site idea!!! Yeah, no. Way too many of those already.) And it's not Seattle. It's not friends, nor even family. I know you're all intelligent stalkers/readers, so I'll not insult you and just keep going.
Anywho, parts of my life got ummm dull, and very soon started grating against me. First extremely minor, but slowly building up into big whopping against the grain/nails on chalkboard/in the car with your sibling for way too long kind of ways. And seriously I can't tell if it's me being overly sensitive, or if there really is a conspiracy going on against me! You know, so I can be made an example. Be shown "my place." At every-day-that-much-closer-to-forty*, I've learned I can't stand that BS. I graduated high school So.Very.Long.Ago. I do believe 2012 might actually be one of those "significant" years even. Suffice to say? I play very well with others, but I hate silly games. Especially when people are only out to "prove something." So I've officially taken steps.
As my mom said just yesterday when I let her in on what I needed praying for (What? Doesn't everyone ask their religious-bent folken to intercede with their deities on their behalf at times when you think "A little more can't hurt?") we all have to keep moving forward. Cuz, otherwise (thank you A.H. in whose little boy mid-west twang I will always hear this in my head) you're stu-uck. And now it's all about "hurry up and wait." Either this will be a wake up call for them....or me. It goes both ways.
I think I just need to know where I stand in the world. Like I said, significant time has lapsed since I was fresh and young and had a whole life in front of me. I refuse to become a bitter
And thank you blog, for being here like an old friend so I can at least let that much out. It's like taking an enormous cleansing breath. I started you so I wouldn't make my housemates go stark raving mad about all the yarn and patterns and WIPs and FOs and rants like these...and I miss you. And I'm trying to come back. Again, taking steps...though some might be itty in comparison.
*I know, I know, I've got a couple years yet to go. I think I hold forty as the new 25. Or something. You know, that "age" that we used to make lists about? "When I am 25 I will have a nice haircut." Or is that something only I used to do?
**I have no idea where some of these sayings are coming from...I blame the creeping anxiety + maybe a little more coffee that I usually drink on a Saturday morning.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
It Happened Again
Google is awesome, really they are, but if they keep changing Blogger from what seems like (to me and my bad posting ways) one day to the next, they're going to go too fast too far too soon for me to keep up.
I guess this is why it's a good thing that my blog is not a popular one. Trying to figure out how to just get here to post was more difficult than I expected. Is that the little old lady inside me trying to get out? Damn technology! Young whipper snappers! Get off my land! -- Oh wait, too far.
I'm probably not supposed to be typing right now so I will keep it short...or short for me. 2012 is the year of the shoulder for me. As the blog as my witness, I'm getting the last bit of my August 25th 2008(? really? that year might change once I verify) "Bike vs F150 Pick Up Truck Accident" taken care of for reals this year.
I don't know if I already mentioned it here (it's just a bit too much for me to look, and rewriting it is way easier) but back a couple years ago my company was gifted free massages from a local massage/chiropractic office that wanted our business. I opted not to sign up as I did not have the means to embark on a massage expense, even if if was just for a co-pay, times were tight. However, my coworker couldn't attend hers so she asked if I could take her 15 min. session. The guy was all smiles and instead of trying to sell me a package - I told him straight up I had no cash, just a hurty shoulder, he stopped being a salesman and just eased the lighting and fire than were ravaging my neck/shoulder/arm. As he worked he noted that whatever was going on was part of a much bigger ache (I so wish I had this ability, touch a muscle and read it's historical woes....). He advised that even if I did not come to his clinic, that I should look into it as it would not heal on it's own.
I tried, and failed, to get my act together enough to see my Osteopath and get some kind of treatment started/continued for the next two years. I failed so badly that last October I was hit with intense soul-crushing muscle spasms that made me cry and voluntarily go to my regular doctor so she could give me lots of drugs. Cyclobenzapreen (spelled differently I'm sure) is the bomb, but not what I want to be taking daily; nor was my increasingly daily use of Cake lyrics to describe the ache/pain in my shoulder (seriously, it really was "monster-truck force.")
Then we moved cubicles the last week of the year. You know, the one I wrote about having to work? The day we finished unpacking I was on the phone scheduling an appointment, which occurred today. I might have to found the Church of the Blessed Osteopathy. I went into my appointment not even knowing where to begin in how wretched my shoulder felt. Typing today was an experiment in masochism. I could not raise my arm enough this morning to run a comb through my hair.
But now? Well, right this second I HURT. My arm feels like it was yanked from it's socket, given a good shaking, then shoved back in. Which is kinda what an Osteopath does but with his fingers and pressing on just the right tendons/muscle groups. More magic, I tell you. But magic that left me feeling like I could pitch a no-hitter! (I don't actually play baseball, so if that makes no sense, just pretend it does, I'm basing my knowledge on such educational films as Bull Durham and Major League. I could try a fencing analogy, but aside from me? No one would get it.) My shoulder/neck/arm felt better than it has for...yeah, going on three months since the muscle spasms from hell.
But tomorrow! Tomorrow should be a day of at lease 50% improvement, and I'm so looking forward to this.
I guess this is why it's a good thing that my blog is not a popular one. Trying to figure out how to just get here to post was more difficult than I expected. Is that the little old lady inside me trying to get out? Damn technology! Young whipper snappers! Get off my land! -- Oh wait, too far.
I'm probably not supposed to be typing right now so I will keep it short...or short for me. 2012 is the year of the shoulder for me. As the blog as my witness, I'm getting the last bit of my August 25th 2008(? really? that year might change once I verify) "Bike vs F150 Pick Up Truck Accident" taken care of for reals this year.
I don't know if I already mentioned it here (it's just a bit too much for me to look, and rewriting it is way easier) but back a couple years ago my company was gifted free massages from a local massage/chiropractic office that wanted our business. I opted not to sign up as I did not have the means to embark on a massage expense, even if if was just for a co-pay, times were tight. However, my coworker couldn't attend hers so she asked if I could take her 15 min. session. The guy was all smiles and instead of trying to sell me a package - I told him straight up I had no cash, just a hurty shoulder, he stopped being a salesman and just eased the lighting and fire than were ravaging my neck/shoulder/arm. As he worked he noted that whatever was going on was part of a much bigger ache (I so wish I had this ability, touch a muscle and read it's historical woes....). He advised that even if I did not come to his clinic, that I should look into it as it would not heal on it's own.
I tried, and failed, to get my act together enough to see my Osteopath and get some kind of treatment started/continued for the next two years. I failed so badly that last October I was hit with intense soul-crushing muscle spasms that made me cry and voluntarily go to my regular doctor so she could give me lots of drugs. Cyclobenzapreen (spelled differently I'm sure) is the bomb, but not what I want to be taking daily; nor was my increasingly daily use of Cake lyrics to describe the ache/pain in my shoulder (seriously, it really was "monster-truck force.")
Then we moved cubicles the last week of the year. You know, the one I wrote about having to work? The day we finished unpacking I was on the phone scheduling an appointment, which occurred today. I might have to found the Church of the Blessed Osteopathy. I went into my appointment not even knowing where to begin in how wretched my shoulder felt. Typing today was an experiment in masochism. I could not raise my arm enough this morning to run a comb through my hair.
But now? Well, right this second I HURT. My arm feels like it was yanked from it's socket, given a good shaking, then shoved back in. Which is kinda what an Osteopath does but with his fingers and pressing on just the right tendons/muscle groups. More magic, I tell you. But magic that left me feeling like I could pitch a no-hitter! (I don't actually play baseball, so if that makes no sense, just pretend it does, I'm basing my knowledge on such educational films as Bull Durham and Major League. I could try a fencing analogy, but aside from me? No one would get it.) My shoulder/neck/arm felt better than it has for...yeah, going on three months since the muscle spasms from hell.
But tomorrow! Tomorrow should be a day of at lease 50% improvement, and I'm so looking forward to this.
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