Have you ever seen such a sight in your life?

I haven’t blogged in several months now, mostly because I only write when something really interesting happens. I’ve been so absorbed by school that nothing has struck me as intriguing enough to actually put my mind to work on anything else. Now that school is over, the fates have sent me something interesting about which to blog.

I like my job. I work in the newspaper industry which is particularly interesting right now because first—the economy sucks all across the board, and second—newspapers are going through a…how should I say this—a transitional period.

As a result, we’ve had to get creative and ultimately spend less money. This has meant wage freezes, reduction in hours, layoffs, leaky ceilings, combination of departments so that we can turn the lights off in half of the building, really slow computers, 1 ply toilet paper, outsourcing, outsourcing and more outsourcing. (Oh, and newsflash to whoever the whiny Micron workers were—we’ve NEVER had company provided Kleenex.) All of this, I’ve tolerated with a good attitude because, well, I still have a job.

Oh, also, it is really cold in our building. I don’t think this has anything to do with the economy—I think this is just how “The Man” keeps us alert. The constant cold breeze flowing by my desk has taught me to keep a hearty supply of sweaters at my desk.

One such sweater sits inside a drawer in my desk. It is lovely and soft and blue and I keep it folded in my desk drawer because that is the best place for it. I haven’t worn this sweater in a month or so because I have others and I like to rotate. (Don’t lose interest yet—I’m telling you this for a reason.)

I opened up my desk drawer this morning and noticed that there was a little unraveled piece of blue string Upon further examination, I found LOTS of unraveled fuzzy blue strings all over the sweater. I proceeded to notice little tiny pieces of brown…something. I haven’t touched the brown things, I haven’t run scientific examinations on them, nor do I plan to, and I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got mice in my desk.

Here’s the fun part. I talked to our maintenance department about this problem and they assured me that they would be calling the exterminator and ordering another (I guess this isn’t a new problem) mousetrap…to be put IN MY DESK! Huh. A mousetrap in my desk. How lovely.
Craig and I had a mouse in our house one time. It scared the *$*# out of me. We caught it in a trap which was horrifying. It was so horrifying in fact, that I bought two cats in order to prevent mouse encounters from EVER happening again.

I am frankly dreading the day that I come into work, open up my desk drawer and find a decapitated mouse corpse in my desk. This doesn’t appeal to me. On the upside—I’ve been trying to find an excuse to bring Otto—my kitten—to work, maybe now they’ll let me.

Where's Waldo?

I grew up in a house where we have had only two family pictures taken since I was born and these were only to prove that we were capable of having family pictures taken. I used to ask my mom why she didn't have any wedding photos on their walls or mantel or anything. She would tell me that she didn't see the point--she saw herself and my dad every day. After we moved into our house, Craig said he wanted to put a wedding picture on our mantel. Ooookaaaayyy..sure hun--wedding picture on the mantel. I guess that's a very normal thing to do. I put it up and I leave it there because I love my husband like crazy and it would be a stupid thing to argue about. Long story short, or perhaps short story long...I'm not sure which--I have a somewhat sickened perspective on family pictures.

I believe I mentioned previously that Craig's family had pictures taken a few weeks ago. We got a disc on Sunday containing all of the photos. There were several really good ones but this one is my personal favorite. I'm not even going to say anything about this picture, but I'd love to hear whether any of my readers find it as amusing as I do. I'll give you a couple of hints as to what I'm talking about. 1) the three 20-something aged women are all daughters-in-law 2) notice the lighting...whose faces are lit and whose are...well--as my mom put it "really easy to Photoshop out".

Disclaimer: in writing this post I do not intend to offend anyone--especially not the lovely lady whose name I keep forgetting who took the family pictures. She did a wonderful job and the hilariously ironic lighting of this picture is just the kind of thing that it would be a shame to not laugh at.

I'm strong to the finich 'cause I eat my spinach.

The following photo is, arguably the worst photo ever taken of me. My husband, however, thought it hilarious and it is now the wallpaper on his double monitor computer at work. The true story is that I had two cavities filled this morning and this is my very best mid-anesthesia smile, but I'm also sending it in with my entry to the Popeye impersonator contest.

Enjoy.

Competition

Part of my job is maintaining the cars.com listings purchased by our customers. The cars.com salespeople make a habit of "stealing" our customers and essentially doing whatever they can to keep us from making money. It seems to pretty much be the way sales works. I tried to use cars.com yesterday and received the following message:

I don't know if you can read the words, but basically it is notifying me that I've done something harmful to cars.com. Huh. I think this is simply the ultimate in competitive sales. Just block 'em from your website. Either that or someone is trying to sabatoge my job. The second explanation sounds more fun...I think I'll go with that one.

Death by Construction Sign

Petra—this one goes out to you!

I don’t know how standardized construction signs are, so I’m hoping my fantastic illustrations will help show you what I’m talking about. (I have used a very sophisticated graphics program called “Paint” to create these images.)

The first image shows what a normal construction sign looks like.
The second image shows what construction workers do here in Idaho when a sign is no longer pertinent, but no one has taken time to pick up the sign yet. They fold the sign in half, leaving a bar protruding out from the side.

I have a history with construction signs. One time in high school, I was running and tripped over one of the bars on the ground leaving me with a nice scar on my left knee.

As a result I make a habitual point of avoiding construction signs. Unfortunately, there is a school under construction on my bike route to work. This construction site has been plaguing me for the past year. First the construction workers started parking their trucks in the bike lane. Then they started parking a little closer to the curb, but with big boards sticking out of their truck beds. Then they damaged the road, rendering the bike lane invisible. Then they put cones in the middle of the bike lane, followed by construction signs. This stretch of road has been a gauntlet for the past year.

Over the last couple of weeks, they’ve started finishing projects up. They’ve re-painted the bike lane, removed the cones, parked their trucks in the parking lot. Things have been getting much better. They’ve also started folding the construction signs in half.

This morning I was riding to work. I think I knew the sign was there, but I also knew it was folded in half and was therefore not in my way. I was thinking intently about the imminent trauma involved with family pictures when—THUNK. My head smacked that stupid post protruding out from the retired construction sign. I made that noise that you make when you are watching a blooper reel and a guy gets hit in the nuts with a baseball. I, rather fortunately, was wearing a helmet so it only hurt a little. I then started to laugh hysterically. It was one of those circumstances where I was completely humiliated, but at the same time, REALLY hope that someone saw my idiotic move of the morning, so that they could have a good laugh to start out their otherwise drab day.

A-sociality...it's addictive.

I just had the most humourous exchange with my boss. He called me into his office to ask an Excel question, which he frequently does. As I was pondering the answer we had the following conversation:

Boss: You know, our jobs would be a lot easier if we didn’t have to deal with people

Maryn laughs

Maryn: You mean like if we only had to deal with numbers and computers?

Boss: Yeah…I think I’m becoming you.

Maryn and Boss laugh rocously

Warm, long days=blog post inactivity

So, I've determined that blogging must be a seasonal illness...much like the flu. I say this because I check several blogs every morning. 1) my brother's, 2) my cousin Hannah's 3) Kerri Morrone Sparling (who I've never met and probably never will meet but she's diabetic and funny and has cats so I enjoy her blog) 4) Matt and Jacci Dare's and 5) my own...just to see if anyone has actually read it. Here's what I've discovered. Once the weather turns nice and people don't have to be locked up inside in the dark all of the time, they actually find other things to do besides write blog posts. This means that I have to find something to do besides read other people's blog posts. So, here's what I've been doing now that the weather is nice and I don't have time to post (oh, and I have a new job where I actually have work to do).
We went on a vacation, went camping, Craig graduated with his MBA and then got a new job (yea!), we planted some flowers (most of which I've managed to kill already because that's what I do), went to the YMCA today where Ali cracked her chin open, went to the ER where the doctor sewed it shut, we've gone mountain biking several times, and we've spent far too much time trying to find this outdoor bed that we saw at Home Depot last year and didn't buy because we didn't have the money and we knew we would be able to find it again this year (not the case). Anyway, it has been a fun Spring so far!

Isn't he hot?!

We discovered last week that Craig's photo is on the homepage for the College of Business and Economics at Boise State. Here you have my very innovative and opportunistic husband and I'm crazy about him!

Too busy to write proper blog post…must get through semester…train for new job…plan vacation while maintaining sanity!

My New Diet...

Is fear of choking a certifiable paranoia? Several months ago I did one of those numbers where you get a little water down the wrong pipe and then you cough it back out. I was home alone and for some reason it made me realize that, while water was manageable, it would be really horrible if I choked on a big chunk of food while I was alone.

Ever since then I’ve been terrified of eating at home alone. This doesn’t pose much of a problem except for times like this week, when Craig is out of town. I mean, I’ve got my cat, but unless I can teach her to dial 911 and say “the lady who cleans out my litter box and feeds me every once in a while is on the floor and she’s turning purple” then there’s not much she can do to help.

So, basically I’m planning on consuming a diet of liquids and pudding from now until Sunday morning. Maybe I can hire one of those Hospice nurses to come sit with me while I eat. I hear they only cost $17/hr. I suppose at that rate I could just go to Applebee’s…ironically enough—I always have French Onion soup there, so I guess I should just stick with my liquid diet at home instead.

My Diabetic Life

In just a few weeks I will celebrate (not sure whether celebrate is the best word) the 15th anniversary of my diagnosis with Type 1 Diabetes. My enthusiasm for taking care of the disease constantly waxes and wanes as it is a disease which requires constant attention and humans get annoyed by anything which requires constant attention. I’ve been reading a lot of other Diabetic’s blogs lately and it is fun to reflect on my own experiences as I read about theirs.

As a result, I’ve moved into one of my “waxing” stages of Diabetes care and I registered for the Diabetic Runner challenge, which is designed to help promote World Diabetes Day (November 14th). This means that I’ve set a goal to run 500 miles before the end of the year…yes, I know the year is more than 25% over. I have a knack for joining things mid-way through. I mean, you have to let someone else test the water first, right?

I know I’ll bore the readers of this blog if I ramble on too much about blood sugars and infusion sites and lancets and insulin reactions, so I’ll keep this one short, but I did want to take a few lines to pay tribute to this often toned down, and sometimes ignored aspect of my life which, in the words of a fellow diabetic—doesn’t define me but helps explain me.

When Reality Escapes Me

I’ve carried a purse for probably 10 years and have always maintained that the ONLY reason I do so is that I’m Diabetic, so I have to carry all of my supplies around. My purse started smelling bad about a month ago. Nothing really disgusting, it is just that if you only have one purse and carry it everywhere and put it down on floors in airports, and churches and in parking lots and restaurants, it starts to stink after a while. Craig suggested washing it in the dishwasher, which proved to be nothing less than genius (reason number 694,493 that I'm married to Craig). I have, historically, destroyed my purses by putting them in the clothes washer which invariably ruins the purse and then I have to buy a new one (which is a really good tactic if you don’t like your purse and WANT to get a new one. I do like my purse and don’t want a new one.)

I unloaded my purse and the pile looked like this (I DID just get home from a trip, which means that lots of random things found their way into my normally organized purse...lol):

Okay, for those of you who enjoy “Where’s Waldo” or “I Spy”, here’s a perfect opportunity for you to find the things that actually relate to my “I have Diabetes” excuse for carrying a purse.

For those of you who don’t like “Where’s Waldo” or “I Spy” (well, first of all, I don’t know who you are and you probably don’t enjoy my blog anyway), here are the photos of the things I actually kept in my purse after sorting through everything.

This is what I carry for my Diabetic needs (see Dr. Christensen, I do have that bill for my labs...just haven't got around to paying it yet):

Here’s everything else that is in my purse.


Huh, I guess at this point, I have to abandon my “I only carry a purse because I’m Diabetic” rationale and just accept that I carry a purse because I’m an adult woman and I can’t run home at various points in the day if I need stamps or a bobby pin, and I forget everything if I don’t have a planner, and I wouldn’t make it through the day if I wasn’t carrying a pen in my purse.

Thinking of You...

Last night Craig picked me up from work after picking his kids up. We were driving down the road and Ali said “look at my owwie”. I looked back and Ali’s injury was, apparently, on her middle finger. I started laughing hysterically and told Ali to show her dad. She did and then we launched into a list of choice people that Ali should "show her owwie" to.

Craig and I laughed so hard that he practically had to stop driving. I then asked her to show us again so that we could take advantage of the perfect photo opp.

Craig just sent me the picture in an email with the subject line “Thinking of You...”.
Awwww, thanks Honey!

It's all relative.

So, I did these color tests yesterday. I have a feeling that there is really no particularly scientific evidence backing them, but they did seem pretty accurate. I’m not sure what the difference is between a “signature” color and a “true” color, but I do know that, as it turned out, both of mine started with “B”. B for boring. Brown and sterling blue (which, it looks like is the most neutral shade of blue around). Now, I mean, seriously, I’m not boring. People think I’m funny—well, sometimes anyway. There’s nothing wrong with being impartial, steady, interested in challenging my mind, being a problem solver, being curious, or logical.

I like myself a lot and my husband likes me a lot and so do my friends and my parents…most of the time anyway!

Here’s the thing though…I’ve been realizing more and more that I’m kind of weird. I grew up in a family that put a very high value on intellectual achievements. I remember one occasion a few years ago where several of my cousins and my brother did a Sunday crossword start to finish in no more than 15 minutes flat. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen with my own two eyes. Growing up in this type of environment, I made it through high school honestly believing that “nerds” were actually the “cool” ones and that “jocks”, who really didn’t even exist in my world, actually wanted to be “nerds”. I wanted to be nerdier and was proud of the fact that I was part of the brainy crowd. I spent my time trying to act smarter than I really was. I never was ashamed of the fact that I hated parties and liked staying home playing speed scrabble with my nerdy family and friends.

I was sitting in one of my graduate classes last semester and my professor said something like “now, keep in mind that those of you sitting in this room are in the minority—you are in graduate school, which means that you’ve, of course, spent some time during your life covering up the fact that you are smart. Don’t pretend that you’ve never been embarrassed about being a “nerd”. I know there’s been a time when you’ve kept it a secret”.

I quite literally almost interrupted her lecture to question my classmates about the validity of this statement. It was quite the epiphany for me as I realized that I’m supposed to be embarrassed about being smart! I probably would fit into normal society much better if I would just take the time to tone down my dorky side once in a while. I realized that reading books at parties and counting cars by color while standing on the street corner and doing crosswords while walking down the street and studying organic chemistry in my free time just for fun aren’t really normal things to do.

I did think for a while about what I would be like if I stopped doing nerdy things—would I be more fun? Would I have more friends? Would I be more interesting? Maybe, but I actually like me for who I am, so I guess I’ll be proud to be a “true brown” with a signature color of “sterling blue” and I’m really hoping to get a new Bill Bryson book at the library today, but only after I memorize my library barcode number like Amy Vecchione who works for the Idaho State Historical Society. She has her barcode memorized which is, to date, the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s even dorkier than me…she’s totally my mentor.

My "Signature" color

What's Your Signature Color?

My Result: Sterling Blue

You've got a good head on your shoulders and you're not afraid to use it. Serious, intellectual types like you meet their match with a cool color that sparkles with the same striking intelligence as you do. That's why Sterling Blue is the ideal match for you! This is not to say that you've always got your head in a book. Not by any stretch. While you may not be the person at the party kicking off the karaoke, you're probably the one starting up stimulating conversations and making your cohorts chuckle with your quick wit. You're likely to have an insatiable curiosity that's catchy, and friends who know that you are a great person to turn to when they need a logical head to help them sort through their problems. So keep it up with your sterling hue of blue. You probably have a way of keeping things deep that people truly appreciate!

What are you?
http://web.tickle.com/jumpto?test=signaturecolorogt&c=50652

My True Color

What's Your True Color?

My Result: Brown

You're brown, a credible, stable color that's reminiscent of fine wood, rich leather, and wistful melancholy. Most likely, you're a logical, practical person ruled more by your head than your heart. With your inquisitive mind and insatiable curiosity, you're probably a great problem solver. And you always gather all of the facts before coming to a timely, informed decision. Easily intrigued, you're constantly finding new ways to challenge your mind, whether it's by reading the newspaper, playing a trivia game, or composing a piece of music. Brown is an impartial, neutral color, which means you tend to see the difference between fact and opinion easily and are open to many points of view. Trustworthy and steady, you really are a brown at heart.

What are you?
http://web.tickle.com/jumpto?test=colorogt&c=50652

From my rainbow colored soap box

Ah—the first day of spring. There is nothing in this world that is better than the first day of spring. Well, I mean, there’s (not in any particular order) hot chocolate…and riding a bike (not at the same time)…sitting in the hot tub…laughing…the feeling of accomplishment…buying a new and fantastic skirt…being in love…the smell of Clorox wipes…digging in the dirt…buying new shoes…smelling flowers…the downhill part of Robie…water skiing…snowboarding…cuddling…an exhilarating song…garden fresh vegetables…okay, I guess there are better things than the first day of Spring, but my point is that it is pretty fabulous. I came to work this morning and realized that today is the first day of spring so I thought I’d update my blog to be a little “springier”. I completely fell in love with my new template. Isn’t it glorious and springy and retro and colorful? Oh, speaking of colorful…insert soap box. Clearing throat…

I have a little…okay, huge infatuation with color. I like all colors…mixed together…a color menagerie or a rainbow of color, if you will, in pretty much all areas of my life. I have a little one man (or one woman) vendetta called “reclaim the rainbow”.
I like to wear rainbows of colors; I like to write with rainbows of colors, I like to look at rainbows of colors. When I decided to actively and blatantly pursue my resolve to wear rainbows, my husband said “you know people are going to think you’re a Lesbian, right?” (Sorry if I wasn’t supposed to capitalize Lesbian—I was trying to be respectful). Anyway, I said that I didn’t care if people thought that and he said he didn’t care either, so I continue to wear rainbows and rainbow colored things and it keeps life pretty interesting.

It is my personal feeling that it is selfish of one particular group of people to claim the rainbow as their symbol. This has nothing to do with my personal feelings about homosexuals. I can think of several other groups of people who also would have upset me if they had taken the rainbow. Cowboys for example—also cheerleaders, scrapbookers, stay at home moms, Republicans, handicapped drivers, professional soccer players, pro wrestlers, the NRA, Type 2 Diabetics, butchers and vegetarians.

Anyway, my new template is quite colorful and fun and I am in love with it, so I decided not to choose the rainbow striped template titled “gay pride”. I’ll leave that for another day when I’m feeling particularly strong about reclaiming the rainbow. I think for today, I’ll just enjoy this first day of spring and walk with a spring in my step, happy to be wearing my rainbow colored mary janes.

My Funny Valentine

Every once in a while, my husband says something that absolutely cracks me up to the point that I can’t function properly. We were sitting at Wendy’s today talking about the subprime mortgage crisis. We are both of the opinion that the government shouldn’t bail people out of paying the consequences of their decisions. (My purpose is not to argue that point, but only to set the context of my new favorite Craig quote). So, anyway, we were talking about how if people don’t have to pay the consequences of their actions, they’ll never learn to use good judgment and Craig said sarcastically “I made a mistake when I got married the first time. Where was NAFTA on that one?” I don’t know why this made me laugh/continues to make me laugh so hard. I think it was the combination of the idea of the government paying for all of our mistakes and the absurdity of the North American Free Trade Agreement aiding Craig in his marital woes. (For the record, Craig does know what NAFTA is). Sigh…he’s so witty. I love that man…

What can you do with $100

My husband works at a medical residency and as part of the training, doctors have to practice various medical procedures and examinations. One such examination is the ultrasound. I am a big supporter of education and probably would have volunteered myself to have an ultrasound done at no charge, but as it was, they offered me $100 for said examination. Score! This post really is not about the ultrasound, but as long as we are on that topic, I might as well digress. I’ve never heard of an ovarian cyst discussed in a positive or even neutral light. Normally you hear “she had to have her ovaries removed because she had a cyst the size of a football” or “she passed out because of the pain caused by a cyst on her ovary” or “ she spontaneously combusted because the doctor told her she had a cyst on her ovary”. Because of the contextual implications of having overheard such discussions for the last 26 years, I was shocked to be sitting in the exam room, legs up on the table, with 6 doctors surrounding me and hear the words spoken casually “see that dark spot there—that’s a cyst”. I went into a state of panic and couldn’t figure out why no one else in the room seemed at all alarmed. Finally, after what seemed like 5 minutes, one of the doctors explained to me that cysts come and go and that there wasn’t anything wrong. Whew.

Moving on—so, I got my check for $100 and when I went with my husband to the bank to deposit the money, he suggested that I cash the check rather than putting it in the bank. What? Seriously? See—when a check is cashed, there is no longer any obligation associated with that money. Cash means that there is no record. Cash means that this money has no responsibility. Cash means that I don’t have to think that maybe I should have paid the Geico bill with this money rather than buying a new t-shirt. Cash is the best thing in the world because I can put it in the waterproof box in my sock drawer and think for weeks, months, even years about what I can buy with my cash. It is better than gold or cold fusion, or a 0% interest no payments for 3 years credit card with my name on it. See—if money is in the bank and we talk about buying new shoes with it—that offer is only good until the money is spent on something else and then the shoes are no more; but cash, well, cash is different. Cash is a dream. It must be savored. It must be treated with respect. It must be cherished.

So far, I’ve thought of the following ways to spend my $100: office supplies, a coat, garden hose, water bottle, workout clothes, yoga videos, titanium mugs, warm socks, hiking boots, shoes, earrings, camisoles, cardigans, funky short dress pants, nice jeans, a swimming pool (okay, I know that one doesn’t add up), books, take my husband to dinner, dish towels, bath towels, anything Dragonfly sells, nail polish or a massage.

So, basically I’ve spent the money 6.8 times, but at the same time I haven’t spent it all. Cash glorious cash. I think I’ll spend it another 10 times before it is gone…or else I’ll blow it all on Wednesday—I have the day off of work!

Some Things Never Change

I loved the game Candy Land when I was a kid. I loved the colorful board, the Rainbow Trail, the dreams of a peppermint forest, a lollypop land, a chocolate swamp…in fact, the only thing I loved more than playing Candy Land was winning Candy Land. There’s not a lot of strategy that goes on in the game. You basically just draw cards and move your game piece based on the color on the card you selected which means that the only way you can actually maintain any really interesting elements over the long term is to cheat at Candy Land.

I have a younger brother. He’s 23 and I’m 26. I should be really ashamed of what I’m about to tell you. Actually, I was really ashamed of what I’m about to tell you, but then I told my brother this same story and I think once he got over the initial period of devastation he had a good laugh about it.

When he was 4 and I was 6 Candy Land was starting to get a little uneventful. I figured out that if you place the Queen Frostine card not at the top of the stack, but the second card down and then let your younger, sweet, and unassuming brother go first, then you look like a good sister for letting him go first, and then 9 times out of 10 you’ll win the game. I don’t know how many times I actually pulled this scheme off. I did it enough times that I remember it well. (Sorry Tony!)

On Saturday, my step-daughter and I played a round of Memory. She’s 5 and she’s getting better at the game, but she’s in that phase where she doesn’t like it if you are giving her the answers, so you can’t do that, but if you let her win on her own merits it takes a Monopoly length of time to play Memory. So, I beat her at memory, with the understanding that we’d be playing Candy Land next and hopefully she’d win that.

So, we started Candy Land. It was exciting—I hadn’t played in years and I felt my well honed, but rusty skills coming back. I hadn’t planned on cheating…but then it happened. Twenty years later I cheated at Candy Land again. Okay, calm down everybody. You know I’m a bigger person than that. So, yes, I did cheat, but here’s how it went down. We were playing and everything was going along just fine. It was my turn. I drew the pink card with the sparkling ice cream cone on it—Queen Frostine!!!! I, almost without thought, moved my game piece to where my mind knew Queen Frostine’s land lie on the board. I was then taken by shock when I saw the words “Princess Frostine”. What??!! Why would the makers of this most time honored, beloved game change the name of our great candy queen? I still haven’t fully recovered from the disappointment and shock, but I pulled myself together enough to re-focus on the game at hand. It was at this moment that I realized I had much bigger problems than the renaming of a practically religious icon. I was going to beat my step daughter at game number 2 for the day. This couldn’t happen. She was supposed to win Candy Land. Crap…what could I do? I panicked as I took my next turn…the double red. This was seriously bad news. A double red meant that I would be too close to the end! I’d only have two, maybe three more turns to somehow get my stepdaughter from the Gumdrop Mountains to King Candy before I did. So, I reverted to the only real Candy Land skill I have. I cheated. Ali had looked away as I drew my double red…so I drew again. This time a yellow. Whew…that I could deal with. So, the game went on and fortunately, as a result of my cheating, I then proceeded to also draw the Peppermint Forest and then my troubles were over.

Yes world—I lost at Candy Land.

It was a great moment for me as I realized that, even taking into account all of the dumb things I do on a regular basis, and contrary to many people’s beliefs, I’ve actually grown up a little bit.

Don't Start Over--Just Fix It!

I try to keep this blog interesting and fun to read, but today I’m going to delve into a little Boise history, so if you think history is boring, keep reading!! I desperately hope that when we die and go to heaven we can, somehow, experience life in other parts of the world, or in other parts of history. It would be so fun to live for a day as a pharaoh in Egypt in 1200 BC (don’t question my time reference, I have no idea when the pharaohs lived), or be the Queen of England for a week, or be a high roller in Vegas for a couple of nights, or spend a day as a kid with a dollar in Boise Idaho in 1930. Oh, you think that last one sounds boring, eh? Well you don’t know what I am about to tell you! If you’ve ever been to the Natatorium, you know that it is a city pool—a pretty cool one as far as city pools go. They have a slide…and a pool…I think they have nachos…maybe a drinking fountain. It is pretty nice. Okay—are you ready for the really, really, really exciting thing you are about to learn? This is pretty much as cool as the movie National Treasure. Here goes—the Natatorium used to be a beautiful building built after the design of a Moorish structure. It had a pool with a huge slide, a rock fountain at one end, was 14 feet deep, had private baths filled with natural hot water, 120 dressing rooms, and banquet rooms with hardwood floors! Additionally, there was a complex behind the Natatorium (in the area that is now a sewage treatment plant) which was called “The White City”. The White City had a roller coaster, a “fun wheel” a little steam train, and a skating rink. (I’m sort of questioning the skating rink—it came from an oral history of someone who I’m assuming was probably pretty old when he gave said history. I’ve heard/read more than one account of all the other stuff though, so I think it was real.) Okay, if you are not convinced that this is absolutely awesome, check out the photos below.

Just like so many other things that have gone the way of the earth, the Natatorium fell victim to a windstorm, a fire and people who wanted to speed up “progress”! I'm going to have to declare "shenanigans" on that last one. This is just one of those cases where new was NOT better!

We'll be in SO much trouble!

I got a new cat yesterday. To those of you who know me this will come as an utter and complete shock. No, I’ve never liked cats much, but here’s the deal. Craig is gone a lot right now. He’s super busy and I thought it would be fun to have someone to hang out with. I LOVE dogs, but they are so high maintenance. Basically I need someone to chill with when Craig is gone and someone who can be completely abandoned when Craig is home. Child? No. Friend? No. Dog? No. Basically I’m left with either a cat or a person who is not my friend but whom I pay to hang out with me at night. Humane Society—here we come!
So, Craig and I headed over to the Humane Society and found my new buddy who we’ve bizarrely named “Couch Kitty”. The explanation is long enough to warrant its own post. So, I don’t have a real picture of her yet, but here’s the picture from the Humane Society’s website.
(At this point I’m going to launch into a completely different topic, so humor me and be sure to note the caption on the photo.)

We are going to be in so much trouble when she turns 16

It is a proven fact that parents think their kids are the cutest kids on God’s green (well, technically blue, green, brown, red) earth. The thing that boggles my mind about this is that they notice this folly in other parents, but are completely oblivious to it in themselves. I spent some time yesterday morning looking at several blogs belonging to mothers who all think that their children are the cutest out there.

One thing that absolutely makes my skin crawl, my blood boil, my vomit rise, is when mothers post pictures with the caption “we are going to be in so much trouble when she turns 16”. Okay, so stick with me for a second while I walk you through the two disgusting things about this caption.

Most girls look like their moms, right? So, basically what a mom is saying in a round about way is: you know how you just said how much she looks like me? Well, think about how hot I am and how much guys want me and yep, guys are going to want her too. So, problem #1 with this caption? Mom is conceited.

Next problem. Kids don’t think much about their sex appeal when they are still pre-school aged, so really, why are their parents? It is SO—creepy childhood beauty queen—to post these photos on the internet of their kid dressed up with jewelry, makeup and hair done. There’s problem #2—mom is making suggestions about her 4 year old daughter’s sexuality.

Alright, this post could be taken pretty seriously, so don’t freak out on me—if you’ve ever scrolled to the bottom of my page you’ve seen my favorite quote which is “Look for the ridiculous in everything and you will find it.” I know I don’t know what I’m talking about since I’m not a mother. I don’t have kids so, no, I’m not capable of understanding your logic. People are constantly imparting that bit of wisdom upon me!

So, as for me, I’m sticking with Couch Kitty. She’s spayed, and I’m pretty sure she’s not a virgin, so I don’t think I have to worry much about the boy cats down the street wanting to hook up with her. Oh, and for the record, she’s the cutest kitty on God’s green earth.

Robie

There’s a half marathon here called “Race to Robie Creek”. It is grueling—8 miles up hill and then 5 miles downhill. I cannot figure out why, but people flock to this race. Okay, not only do people flock to it—I flock to it. I’m not a good runner. I am not built like a runner. I don’t win races. I rarely improve on my personal records, but for some reason I, along with thousands of other people, flock to this race. Maybe it is because we are driven by the sheer intimidation of a race that we can not fully conquer. Some people say it is the beer at summit. I don’t drink beer, so I can’t say how attractive it is, but I’m thinking that if you’re going to drink a beer, why pay $40, run 8 miles uphill, 5 miles downhill, kill your feet, legs and back, and then have to take a half hour bus ride at the end in order to get your beer? Why don’t you just run over to the convenience store? My point is that I think that “they have beer at the summit” is an extremely lame excuse and a cover for some other hidden attraction of Robie. The problem is that the “hidden attraction” has been, for me, impossible to nail down.

Basically, I think Robie is a rite of passage for anyone who lives in southern Idaho who considers themselves a “runner”. Until you have taken on Robie, you are really just someone who lives in Idaho and runs in Idaho, but after you have run Robie, then you can call yourself a runner. You know that any other runner you encounter on the streets will ask you if you have run Robie and you can proudly say that “yes, I have…and I walked the steep part and I’m proud of it!” I’m sure there are those out there who will argue that my theory is a bunch of crap, but it makes a lot more sense than the beer at the summit, right?!

I just read through my last post. For those of you who have been waiting with baited breath to hear how well I survived my desk move (ha ha…all one of you who reads this)…yes, I am still employed, still happy, and still have all of my desk décor happily organized at my NEW desk.

I had several alleged downsides to my new desk listed in my last post. The real ones turn out to be the following:

1. I have to time my blog posts/bank account reconciliation/vacation planning/research/homework/shopping with one particular person’s lunch break. By so doing, I have thus far been able to avoid being fired based on inappropriately using company property i.e.—using the internet when I’m supposed to be working.
2. It is cold over here too.
3. I can’t lean really far over and see out the window…so I’ve resorted to looking at weather.com during a particular person’s lunch break.
4. No one comes to talk to me anymore (except during a particular person’s lunch break). I’ve remedied this problem by going to talk to them (a unique idea, I know), which seems to be working out okay, plus that way I have to walk more and I’ve lost 4.4 pounds since moving to my new desk.
5. My computer speaker wires were damaged in the move. I tried to plug them in on day one and shortly thereafter I began to smell burning. So—I’m working on finding some cheap computer speakers. No music for now.
6. I’m REALLY bored. I get my work done so much faster now that I sit by a particular person…who actually doesn’t take a lunch break every day.

I think those are all of the “bad” things about my new desk.

There is one very big plus. I spent the bulk of my work days last year trying to contrive ways to wear out my computer monitor. It was created in about 1986 and it was that creamy color that NEVER looks clean no matter what you do. I was thrilled the first day I came to work after the move to find out that, not only did the IT department move my tower to the correct desk, but also, they left me with a beautiful black flat screen monitor. It was the best day of my life thus far. Okay, not really, but it is so awesome. The flat screen more than compensated for the fact that my new desk is smaller by taking up such a miraculously tiny amount of space that I now have a gigantic empty area on my desk. Yea! I feel so executive!

Oh, also, I love that my new keyboard has some of the letters worn off. I used to have all of my keys mixed up on my keyboard just for fun, but one time I came back from vacation and someone had put them all back in the supposed “right” place. So, this gives me a little of the feeling of having a renegade keyboard. Rage against the machine, right?!

All in all, I’m satisfied.