Eclecticism At Its Best

Thanks!

2010-01-28T13:39:00.000-08:00

Well guys—sincere thanks to the few of you who have followed this blog regularly.

I don’t live anywhere cool and I don’t have any kids who aren't already being blogged about. Maybe someday if I do either of those things, I’ll bring my “personal” blog back to life, but for now I’m going to focus on A VW for Everybody and Books Fill My Mind.

Please come visit me at one or both of these blogs!

Emily Bear

2010-01-15T10:40:00.000-08:00

A few nights ago I was practicing the piano and wanted to hear a recording of a particular song. I searched for it on my best friend YouTube and stumbled upon recordings by Emily Bear by whom I’m now totally captivated.

I’m not easily impressed by child prodigies as a lot of times they are kids who showed an early aptitude for music after which they were more or less forced to practice constantly, and as little kids, they can memorize like crazy. These kids play better and have a broader repertoire than most adults, but generally they lack emotion, creativity and general musicality (which is fine, hello—they are kids).

While Emily’s life does appear to revolve completely around being a piano prodigy, she is different in a few ways. A) She looks genuinely happy when she plays the piano. B) This kid writes music which possesses emotion, depth, and beautiful chord progressions. C) There is nothing mathematical about her playing. You can tell this stuff comes from her heart. She plays with real sensitivity and dynamics which as a child are very unique to her.

Enough of my talking, here’s a video of her playing one of her compositions. Enjoy.

(Oh, and when I heard her playing Doctor Gradus Ad Parnassum, I thought—oh, THAT’S what that song was supposed to sound like when I played it at age 17.)

The United States of Blah

2010-01-13T08:37:00.000-08:00

America is great and everything, but we are so boring sometimes. I love how people in Asian cultures take time to make things artistic and cute. Take for example—the panda pig correction tape:

Photo from engrish.com

Also, one of my favorites—check out this vehicle’s interior.

Come one people, that is just fun! Are depression rates lower in Asia? I think I know why.

%^&# 2009

2009-12-31T10:04:00.000-08:00

In all honesty, we had a great year.

I feel like I should be all depressed about some of the stuff that happened in 2009. Maybe it is just that I’m heavily medicated or something, but really I’m pretty happy about the way the year went down.

I made a New Years resolution this year that I wouldn’t eat any doughnuts. This wasn’t so much in an effort to be healthy or lose weight or save money or anything logical like that, it was just that I wanted to make a resolution I could stick to and while brainstorming, I walked by a box of doughnuts and voila—the perfect New Years resolution!

Today holds my last chance to muck up my doughnut resolution and as a result, the cravings are coming in strong today. My mind is simply determined to make failure my destiny, but this year it is going to lose. Ha! Take that, brain! (Mmmm...doughnuts...only 15 more hours…)

Moving on to 2010 (I’m so excited to say twenty ten instead of twoooothoouuusssannndddddwhatever, we'll save so much time). Craig decided to join in with me in my—pick-an-attainable-and-somewhat-ridiculous-resolution—idea this year.

We had decided on not going to any movies at the movie theatre in 2010, but then we watched the Alice and Wonderland trailer and lost confidence in that plan. In light of that, right now, our resolution is pending, but I’ll be sure to keep you posted as soon as we are enlightened. I know, you’re waiting on pins and needles, right?

Christmas Spirit

2009-12-16T08:13:00.000-08:00

As we don’t have a tree up this year and the economy has kind of crunched our purchasing activities we have had a really tough time getting into the “Christmas spirit”.

I tried several things—listening to and performing Christmas music, making cookies, drinking lots of Abuelita, and incorporating winter smells into our house, but nothing really worked.

Then the following happened:

1) The ladies in my performing group invited me to participate in the gift exchange that I had bailed out of due to the aforementioned crunched purchasing activities.

2) Went to a Christmas party.

3) Then the big one—three of my co-workers, acquainted with the lack of Christmas décor in my house (due to it being staged), brought me a wonderful little silver tinsel tree and tiny colorful bulbs. Serious turning point.

4) Went to another Christmas party.

5) I worked on some gifts.

6) My grandpa (who had fallen down the stairs and broken his neck and spent 3 weeks in the ICU, 3 weeks in a long term acute center, and 4 weeks in a care center) went home!!

7) My brother (who I didn’t think was coming home for Christmas) will be home next Wednesday!

I guess the biggest thing I’ve learned is that the Christmas spirit seems to be a lot more about having people who care about you than I ever really understood before. Also, having the little tinsel tree on my desk really helps, but probably half of what makes me so happy about that is the fact that there were three people in my office who cared enough about me that they spent the time/money to bring me Christmas joy. I hope I never forget how I felt when they came up behind me and sang “We wish you a Merry Christmas” and I saw the tree. If I can remember that, then I’ll always be able to feel the Christmas spirit.

P.S. I’m entitled to write two cheesy posts devoid of cynicism twice per year. This is one.

Green Eggs--no seriously!

2009-12-07T15:49:00.000-08:00

I always thought Dr. Seuss was just being goofy when he asked if “you like green eggs and ham” but did you know that some chickens really do lay green eggs?

Check it out!!

I love to eat farm fresh eggs but they are so astonishingly expensive at the grocery store. Turns out that one of Craig’s scouts raises chickens and sells the eggs for $2 per dozen. Totally worth it and totally green (pun intended).

Of all of the blogs on my daily blog roll, I think ours is about the only one who hasn’t posted anything about a Christmas tree or decorations.

Truth is that we’re trying to sell our house and it is staged which means that we’ve completely removed every ounce of personality from our house (except for our cat) and it has become Pottery Barn central—gag. Yes, I gag, because it looks nothing like “us” but actually it looks awesome. For some reason the decorator was not a fan of our Cosmo Kramer portrait or the large empty frame on our living room wall, or our Dia de los Muertos dolls…or even our piano for that matter, but I won on the piano.

Our house has its very own URL for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy.

Art.

2009-11-16T14:07:00.000-08:00

I’m a perfectionist (stupid 1st child syndrome). When I was in 2nd grade, we had an assignment in art class. I don’t exactly remember the specifics other than we were (as I understood it) supposed to find a picture in a magazine and then paint this picture (as best we could). I wasn’t exactly an artistic kid, but I did my best on the assignment and was pretty happy with the finished product. I showed it to my art teacher and she said “that wasn’t really what I had in mind”. I think I cried and then decided that I was not artistic and that was the end of my career as an artist.

About 6 months ago, I decided that it was about time I got over being offended by my 2nd grade art teacher and I was going to learn to be artistic. The internet is full of people who produce such amazing, peaceful, inspiring things and they have me enchanted. Unfortunately this doesn’t seem to be the kind of skill you can just decide to develop and voila, you’re an artist. I’ve been trying really hard, but I’m not sure that I’m progressing. (See my fully developed art skills here.)

One of the things I love about my husband it that he is such a “guy”. Between the two of us, we couldn’t paint our way through a halogen lit tunnel. The colors would clash, the figures would be unidentifiable, and we’d both sit down halfway through and decide that it was a stupid project and we should go eat pizza or something.

My mother-in-law made me a shirt for my birthday. This was really sweet of her and I wanted Craig to take a picture of me in the shirt so I could send a thank you card and she could see how well she estimated my size (I was pretty impressed). Craig and I had the following conversation yesterday morning.

Maryn: Will you please take a picture of me in this shirt?
Craig: Why?
Maryn: So I can send your mom a thank you card.
Craig: Oh, that’s nice of you. (He is so sweet.) (Retrieves the camera.) Smile.
Maryn: No, not in here, I want the picture to be more artistic.
Craig: okay, what do you mean?
Maryn: I dunno, you know how people have pretty pictures on their blogs? I need pretty stuff in the picture or something.
Craig: You’re pretty. (Aww, he is so sweet)
Maryn: I think I need to be holding something.
Craig: Okay, hold this Coke.
Maryn: Laughs. Okay, fine.

So, this was the picture we ended up taking. Craig did a great job—especially considering that a) he’s a boy and b) he has no idea what it is I’m asking him to produce something that is only defined in my own head.

I’m convinced that I need the following before I’ll be able to create an artistic photograph. 1) a 12.1 megapixel camera, 2) a Mac, 3) Photoshop, 4) an interior designer, 5) a chest full of vintage knitted pieces, 6) rainboots, 7) a personal trainer and 8) a weekly manicure. Alright 2nd grade art teacher, it is almost Christmas time. Pony up. *

*I feel really awkward joking about my 2nd grade art teacher since she died in a car accident. I’m not really trying to blame her for anything, I’m just screwing around like I always do. It is actually all my mom’s fault. :-)

Cruise Report

2009-11-13T15:13:00.000-08:00

I try to keep this blog from being a) all about my cats and b) a photo journal. I wanted to write about our cruise though, so you’re gonna have to put up with a little photo journaling and next week you’re gonna have to hear about my cat (and yes, I know that gonna isn’t a word).

Our cruise started with a lovely bus ride to the port which I always love because it gives you a good overview of the port city. With a degree in urban planning, I like to pretend that I know a little about city development, suburbs, etc and I like to watch these things go by.

Since I live in a city with no big breathtaking bridges, I am obsessed with them and took about 20 pictures of this bridge. (Craig totally made fun of me.) I’ll just post the one which includes both the bridge and the cruise ship.

Here we are being cute in Cabo.

Cabo San Lucas was a beautiful port. We went scuba diving right next to the ship and the dive ship was outfitted with all of the gear so there was no long boat ride to the dive shop or to the dive site. Freaking awesome! There were sea turtles, hunting seals, a wrecked ship (still think that was orchestrated by the dive company), dolphins jumping in the ocean (that was in the morning before we got to Cabo, not while we were diving), and all of the pretty fish.

I loved Mazatlan because we went downtown instead of the tourist strip. I don’t think that Craig was too crazy about it, but I am a nut for culture and for old stuff, so I had one hell of a time looking at the old cathedral and shopping in the real deal Mexican grocery store. We also got to ride in one of these sweet little VW golf cart taxi cab things. I’m totally asking for one for Christmas. :-)

We decided to do a bike ride in Puerto Vallarta, which ended up being a lot of fun. Here we are at a little church. How quaint.

I think I’ll just leave you and your thoughts to come up with the story of this photo…

Okay, since Halloween is over, this was something at the distillery where we started our bike ride. I don’t know what it is, but I’m hoping that it has to do with the process of making tequila.

Craig and I go on cruises to have fun in the sun, but also to read…okay, we’re dorks, whatever. We always have to find our favorite reading spot, on the ship. This was it.

Comfy chairs, sodas, cookies, books, my favorite person, and peace and quiet. Oh yeah.

Here comes the sun...or perhaps the hurricane...

2009-10-23T14:05:00.000-07:00

We're boarding this cat (spoiled rotten; but the alternative is to come home to a bird blood bath) and we're going on a cruise (tomorrow)! I'm so excited (wahoo!) to get out of dodge with my honey (husband of my dreams) and take a week to decompress. (Plus, they have cheese plates on cruise ships! I love cheese!)

Doesn't hurt to ask...or does it?

2009-10-16T15:28:00.001-07:00

You know the phrase “it never hurts to ask”? Do people really mean that? I, for one, think that it does hurt to ask sometimes. Sometimes people say “no” and that can be unpleasant for both the inquisitor and the respondent.

Now maybe it just hurts me because I’m kind of a highly sensitive person, but I really wish people would start saying something more like: “if you want to increase the probability of getting what you want, perhaps you should ask—even if it crushes your heart into millions of pieces and makes you realize that everyone hates you”. See, isn’t that a bit more realistic?

(Okay, don’t worry, my heart has not been crushed into millions of pieces and I do have friends, this phrase has just been running through my head and pestering me.)

Story Time.

2009-09-28T11:47:00.001-07:00

People often ask me what it is like to have an “insulin reaction” (low blood sugar).
Sometimes it feels like I have the flu and I’m totally unable to function.
More mild reactions feel more like I’ve had a couple of beers and can’t think quite straight. I had one of those yesterday and ended up with this:

Cereal in my Coke. Yumm?

Later on, after having eaten some sugar and having put cereal in a bowl as I had originally intended, I sat down to read some blogs and instead got this:

Seriously—this is Pavlov’s cat. He hears the chink of a spoon in a bowl and then bounds inside and waits anxiously for the little bit of milk that we leave in the bottom of the cereal bowl. He’s a dork. (Oh, and he really doesn't have that snotty look on his face--he's very cute, but the camera flash makes him blink so I can't ever get a picture of him with his eyes open.)

One last story for today. Let me preface this by saying that my husband helps around the house a lot especially with dishes and laundry, making the bed and edging the lawn. Plus he does all of the hard things that I'm to chicken to do like bug bombs and sprinklers and sawing big limbs. I’m very appreciative of his help and am in no way discounting it by telling this adorable story.

I was in California last weekend. I got home Sunday night and was home for just long enough to sleep; then Craig and I went to northern Idaho for three days. Upon returning home, I set to cleaning the house. As I was going into the dining room to sweep the floor, Craig cornered me and we had the following conversation (more or less)

Craig: Oh, by the way, Charlie spilled some chocolate milk. (5 days before)
Maryn: (Laughs) okay, I’m guessing you’re telling me this because you didn’t clean it up
Craig: (a little defensively—and really cutely) no! I did clean it up. I put towels down on the milk!
Maryn: (looking around the corner at the floor) And then you left them there
Craig: Yes.

I love my husband so so much.

A few of my favorite things...

2009-09-14T09:11:00.000-07:00

Craig...Sangria...Mongolian BBQ...VW...cards...and The Eels (though you can't hear them in the picture).
It doesn't get better than that.

P.S. Forgive the attrocious color combinations that I've got on the blog today. It will get better soon.

Weekday Confusion

2009-08-26T08:40:00.000-07:00

This morning Craig and I were discussing plans for Saturday and since things have been quite chaotic lately, we are planning a lazy weekend—specifically, we’d discussed renting a movie. That’s the background for the following Instant Messaging exchange. Ahem.

Maryn says:
How much money do you have left from the fair?
Craig says:
$28
Maryn says:
thanks
Maryn says:
so, you’ve got mad money (Craig’s $20 that he always has in his wallet) and $8
Maryn says:
well, at least we all had fun at the fair…for $100
Craig says:
agreed
Craig says:
$100, really!?
Maryn says:
yep
Craig says:
yipes
Maryn says:
no kidding
Maryn says:
well, anyway...
Maryn says:
so, now you have $8 to rent a movie and buy a treat for our stay at home date tomorrow :-)
Craig says:
date tomorrow?
Maryn says:
oh, remember how we talked about staying home and watching a movie on Saturday?
Craig says:
TOMORROW IS THURSDAY
Maryn says:
&$%*
Maryn says:
rofl
Maryn says:
so it is
Craig says:
LOL
Craig says:
sorry
Maryn says:
that's cool

Sigh...don't you hate it when you think it is Friday--and it is really Wednesday? The sad thing is that I'll probably forget again before the day is over.

Some Things Make me Laugh

2009-08-25T11:44:00.001-07:00

You know how sometimes see something that makes you laugh? Not just chuckle, but like really laugh?
This humidifier did it for me. We ended up buying the Dragon instead as I was afraid I would laugh at the duck all night rather than sleep.

Do you have the time?

2009-08-04T11:36:00.001-07:00

I’ve worn a watch EVERY day religiously for as long as I can remember. I’m thinking that it has been since I was about 12…and before that I wore one at least semi-religiously. So, I’ve been completely dependent up on a watch for at least 15 years—I mean--I go nuts if I forget it. Besides being a time keeper, my watch acts as my life management system as I time most things that I do. This rigidity has also contributed to my anxiety (and not in a good way).

Anyway, a few weeks ago I lost my watch. Don’t even ask me how this is possible, I still think my husband hid it from me. (Just kidding Honey.) I do have two backup watches, but one has a really annoying watchband and the other has a dead battery. For some bizarre reason I forgot my backup watch one day and that night didn’t look at the clock to see what time it was when I went to sleep. (Another compulsive behavior I have is to count the number of hours I’m going to sleep when I close my eyes to sleep.) It was the weirdest thing when, the next morning Craig asked me when I went to sleep. I had no idea! I had read a blog post written by a diabetic girl who said that she never wears a watch because her pump has a clock on it. I think I had this in the back of my head and I felt so liberated by not knowing when I’d gone to bed that I deliberately did not wear my watch that day and then didn’t wear it the next day and the next day and it has now been about two weeks since I’ve worn a watch. SO WEIRD

Life is so much more enjoyable when you only look at the clock when you NEED to know what time it is rather than compulsively checking the time every 10 minutes (or every three minutes if I’m bored). I’ve been running without a watch. Seriously, you should try it. Running is more fun when you can’t look at your watch every two minutes. It is actually relaxing. I’m aware that my performance will probably suffer in doing this, but um, I’m not exactly the performance running type. I’m more the—I’ve made the general observation that old people who have made exercise a lifelong routine seem to be more healthy—runner.

Yes, I do think it is mildly annoying to both Craig and I when we need to know what time it is as either he has to get his phone out or I have to get my pump out, but seriously—it is worth it! You should try it…but don’t blame me if you are late for work

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore"

2009-07-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

Our cat--Ottoman--has proven himself to be quite the hunter of moths and spiders. This has come to my great satisfaction as I have an irrational paranoia surrounding moths. I'm afraid that I may have encouraged his behaviour a little too much because he's found other things with which to play...none quite so helpful as moths and spiders.

We woke up Saturday morning and found an earthworm on our bedroom floor. It was in four pieces. A worm? Really Otto?

We came home from a VW event on Friday night, I rushed in the house to visit the bathroom and almost wet myself when I looked in the toilet and found a bird (gross!) It was not a small bird either. I don't know whether it is normal for cats to put their prey in water, but Otto routinely deposits all of his toys in his water dish when he's done playing. Weirdo.

This morning I woke up and could hear Otto playing with something...turned out to be a baby bird. Come on Otto. Pick on someone your own size.

I am at a total loss as to what to do about this. I mean, I'm glad my cat has found a hobby that he enjoys, but cleaning up animal carcases really isn't my thing. He's lucky he's so freaking sweet (to me anyway...perhaps not so much to other animals).

Our street makes a perfect campsite anyway.

2009-06-13T21:24:00.000-07:00

We had arrived at our campsite on Friday night, had started a fire, popped the camper top, and thrown rocks into the river.

Craig: Guess what we forgot.

Maryn: Oh blank (insert your favorite curse word.) The kids' bed.

Note to self. When taking the kids camping, remember to put their bed in the camper.

Fortunately we were at Grime's Creek rather (45 minutes away) than Challis (5 hours away)--as originally planned.

So competitive.

2009-05-22T14:50:00.000-07:00

Craig and I like to play games. I like it when Craig wins. I like it when I win. Craig likes it when I win. He, however, doesn’t care much about winning himself. Additionally, I HATE to win unfairly.

Sometimes Craig will try to give me a sympathy wedge in Trivial Pursuit if I got the question half right, or took two guesses to come up with the correct answer. I’m not really sure why, but I hate doing this. I simply hate to win unless it is 100% valid.

We’ve been playing Skip-Bo frequently lately and I’ve been experiencing quite the winning streak. My great luck had surprised me a little as Skip-Bo is a game of a lot of luck and a little skill and I don’t often excel in the skill area. We finished up a round on Tuesday night and as we were cleaning up the cards, we had this little exchange.

Craig: have you ever noticed how you always draw a bunch of Skip-Bo cards right at the end of the game?

Maryn: Yeah, I guess so, weird, huh?

Craig and Maryn continue to clean up cards.

Maryn: Wait a second, you’ve been cheating, haven’t you? How are you cheating?!

Craig: Well, you don’t really pay attention when I am drawing, so I hoard the Skip-Bo cards and then slip them onto the top of the pile after I draw, so then you draw them on your next turn.

...yep, that's just how sweet he is. Cheater.

The cheerleader's houses probably look good on Google.

2009-05-07T10:12:00.000-07:00

Remember those embarrassing yearbook photos? Not the “professional” pictures, but the ones taken candidly by the yearbook staff throughout the year. You never know it is coming until the day you get your yearbook and flip through it excitedly only to find that the only picture of you in the whole yearbook is one taken in the hall on that day when you spilled OJ on your white sweater and you didn’t do your hair and your face looks stupid because you didn’t know anyone was taking pictures. The problem, of course, is that you will forever be remembered by your peers as that kid whose clothes were always dirty, who never did her hair and whose face looked weird.

Ten years later—enter Google Street View. Craig and I try to keep our front yard looking presentable. I mean, let’s just face the facts—people judge you buy the condition of your front yard. I got on Google maps this morning and thought I’d check out our house on Google street view. Remember that ONE day like two years ago when we got home from a camping trip and tipped our cooler upside down to drain on our front lawn? Oh, and then there’s the sandbags in our gutter drain placed there by the shoddy construction crew down the street. I mean, these sandbags look unsightly to everyone who drives by, but most of them know why said sandbags are there (yes, they are still there two years later...well, we did a secret ops mission on the first set...the new and slightly less shoddy new construction crew quickly replaced them). Without further ado, I give you—our house on Google Street View for all of the world to see:

So, now for the rest of time (I assume Google will not be updating residential street view anytime soon) when we tell people our address so that they can Google directions to our house, this is what they’ll see. Then I’ll inevitably receive the—oh, something came up, we can't make it—call. Thanks Google. There for a second I thought I was going to be popular next year.

*A little disclaimer here--our house is actually very cute. Really, it is. Use those Google directions and you'll see.

Crazy Knitting Lady

2009-05-04T09:37:00.001-07:00

I set out Saturday afternoon at about 3 o’clock with the goal of getting the materials for a new knitting project.

The afternoon ended up being so infuriating that I have spent the last ten minutes trying to piece together the chronology and CANNOT figure it out. My mind’s ability to suppress is astounding.

Here’s what I know. I went to our new supersized JoAnn’s and I went to Michael’s. I’m not sure where I went first, but I think I may have gone to JoAnn’s twice. I found free instructions for an afghan at one of these stores, got chicken nuggets and a Diet Coke, and changed my clothes at some point.

I came away from this chaos with 5 balls of yarn (I needed 32) and no properly sized needles. I buy my knitting supplies at these sorts of big box craft stores because I am kind of a crappy knitter so if my supplies are inferior, I can’t see that it really matters. I have, however, wanted to visit a certain specialty knitting store near my house and I figured that they’d have the needles I needed. I went to said store, where a really haughty saleswoman informed me that a) they didn’t have the right needles for my project b) she didn’t think this size even existed and c) the closest thing cost $18 (about twice what these needles cost at the big box stores). Um, thanks…

Infuriated, condescended upon, and tired of shopping, I decided that I’d give Craft Warehouse a chance and then would forfeit. By the time I reached Craft Warehouse, I’d been blatantly cut off twice, turned in front of at a dangerous distance, and almost run over. I walked into the store and quite literally had to use every ounce of restraint I had to refrain from pushing a kid out of my way. Hey—he was standing in the middle of the aisle! Pathetic, I know.

I reached the yarn and my frustration melted as I looked up and saw the brand and colors for which I had been searching; in fully stocked bins, floor to ceiling. I think I pronounced my excitement audibly. After gathering the yarn into my basket, I was also thrilled to find that Craft Warehouse also stocked the needles I needed.
I was so excited that I almost gave the girl behind the register a hug. I suppose that would have been weird.

So, back to the afghan instructions I found. They contain a typographic error. This is not a problem, I figured out what was supposed to happen, no big deal, but I wanted to let the company know about the error. In reading the fine print, here’s what I found.

I understand why they feel the need to say that they’re not responsible for typographic errors, but seriously, isn’t this something for which they SHOULD be responsible? I guess that’s why the instructions are free.

I came along, I wrote a song for you.

2009-05-02T19:05:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school I had a sort of freaking fascination/passion/whatever for the color yellow. My car was yellow, my bedroom walls were yellow, I wore something yellow every day (sometimes it was just a yellow hair band).

This disapated somewhat during college (along with my passion for everything else), but has somehow gradually returned. I can't describe the feeling other than to say that I want to absorb and simultaneously be absorbed by everything I see that is yellow.

That sounded weird. I'll try to think of a less odd explanation, but for today--a tribute to yellow.

I'm Back

2009-05-01T13:25:00.000-07:00

Welcome back. As we've started taking on our VW restoration project with ferocity, I've decided to resurrect MinnieMag. I don't have anything to post about at this particular second, but I'm sure I'll have something enrapturing to talk about very soon. (Ha!)

Because Change is Good.

2009-03-03T09:11:00.000-08:00

I’m tired of maintaining two blogs.

After having installed tracking devices on both and realizing that this blog gets significantly less traffic than my other one, I’ve decided to discontinue posting on this blog. Apparently most people would rather read about happenings than the randomness of my brain. That’s cool.

So, to those of you who have actually followed this blog—thank you—and please keep reading at http://www.pennyntranny.blogspot.com

Explanation Required

2009-02-25T10:06:00.000-08:00

I have a very serious question.

Does anyone know how the word “inaugural” is supposed to be pronounced? Neither people nor dictionaries seem to be able to agree on this and it is driving me crazy!

I have a feeling it may be one of those irritating words that has dual pronunciations. Someone please save me from my own obsessive insanity. Petra, please tell me you have an explanation!

V-Day (Saying that always makes me think of D-day)

2009-02-13T14:03:00.000-08:00

I imagine that it will come as no surprise to anyone reading this that I’m an incredibly private person. That's why I'm so cynical--my cynicism makes it so I never actually have to express my true (and very vulnerable) feelings about anything! This is especially true when it comes to things like publicly expressing my love for my husband. I always see people writing on Facebook or blogs about how amazing their husband is, and I never really write that kind of post. I feel all of the things that these people express (seriously, I am not just saying that—I love my husband way more than any of you love your husbands, he he), but I just don’t like writing about it on the internet.

In light of this and since it is Valentine’s Day, I thought I would post a link to a blog post I read today which made me think of my husband, and it is really sweet. It is by a girl (lady? Woman? Chick?) named Kerri whose blog I read primarily because she also has Type 1 Diabetes but also because I'm convinced that we'd be friends if we didn't live on opposite sides of the country...does that sound creepy?

http://sixuntilme.com/blog1/2007/02/the_peanut_butter.html

Craig, my dearest most wonderful amazing incredible husband (I’m totally tearing up right now)—“I’ll always write your name in peanut butter.” (If you are confused, it is because you haven’t read Kerri’s blog post!)

My Most Shallow Post Ever

2009-02-05T09:41:00.000-08:00

Craig and I each have a list of five celebrities who, if they…you know—offered themselves to us, we are allowed to accept said offer. (I do realize that this would ever happen. I’m also aware that most of these people have STDs, and that’s really not the point. Just don’t take this post too seriously, okay?)

We re-evaluate our lists about once every six months or so, when we are bored or are stuck in traffic. I don’t know whether it needs explaining, but men look for something different than women do. I asked Craig this morning whether he had any reasons for his top 5 choices other than that they are hot. He said "no...you have reasons for yours, don't you, like--"I like #3 because he is so talented and when he was only 15 years old he dedicated him to helping locusts in Florida". Well, Craig, you were spot on (mostly). Here are our current top 5s with accompanying explanations:

Craig's top 5:

#1 Angelina Jolie : because she’s hot

#2 Jennifer Aniston : because she’s hot

#3 Leryn Franco : because she’s hot

#4 Paris Hilton : because she looks trashy

#5 Amanda Bynes : because she’s hot

Maryn's top 5 :

#1 Rivers Cuomo: Musician with degree from Harvard, so he’s got to have some kind of brain…and because he’s hot.

#2 Billy Corgan: Amazing musician and something draws me to his creepy mysterious side.

#3 Brad Pitt: okay, well, he’s just hot

#4 Anthony Keidis: I saw him in concert and he is a fantastic performer. His music is incredible and he’s had a tumultuous life…I guess it is the nurturer in me. Plus he has nice arms. (The Hep C is definitely an obstacle…)

#5 Wayne Brady: Saw him in Vegas. He is freaking hilarious…and has nice arms.

Having said all of this, I do want to be clear that I am not criticizing men for the way by which they choose women. I love this about men. They are easy to figure out (at least most of the time), and for this I am glad.

Words That Should Die

2009-02-03T11:39:00.000-08:00

I’ve been working for a while on compiling a list of words (or things that people use as words) that I hate.
Here it is (in no particular order):

Woot
Missy
Hubby
Princess
URL (not the way you should say this—U-R-L—but the way people have started saying it—pronounced—earl.)
Binky
Maverick (Who doesn’t cringe right now when they hear that word?)
Nummy
Ginourmous (not sure how to spell this, but my spelling can’t be incorrect, because this is not a word!)

There is an explanation behind my distaste for some of these words, but some are inexplicable. My mom has pointed out that by saying I don’t like the word “woot”, it means that I’m old. I disagree, because 1) I’m only 27 and 2) I was young when it was cool to say that something was “da bomb” and I hated that too.

I’m pretty sure that I’d upset at least 77% of the readers of this blog if I went into detail about why I hate the words on this list, so I think I’ll take the high road…just this one time.

Lyndon B. Bush

2009-01-23T15:17:00.000-08:00

Craig and I are currently in a—we love documentaries—phase.

This week we watched a documentary on the 60s. This was produced by PBS and was titled something like—The 1960’s: The Decade that Shaped a Generation.

The film was absolutely fascinating and led me to two conclusions: 1) no wonder we don’t protest anything anymore, getting massacred by the police doesn’t look like much fun and 2) Wow—history repeats itself SO fast.

Craig and I found ourselves looking at each other with dropped jaws and astonished guffaws each time we heard a phrase that could have been re-worked and used to describe present day America. Once we ended the documentary, we concluded that by using the following substitutions, PBS could re-market this video.

Original Title: The 1960’s: The Decade that Shaped a Generation
New Title: The 2000’s: Another Decade that Shaped Another Generation…In the Same Way.

Original: Vietnam
New: Iraq

Original: Laos and Cambodia
New: Afghanistan

Original: Communism
New: Terrorism

Original: Johnson or Nixon
New: George W.

Original: Bob Dylan, or Peter, Paul and Mary
New: Green Day or Sheryl Crow

Finally—this one is up for debate—who was the Barack Obama of the post Vietnam War period?

The Gears That Won't Stop Turning

2009-01-16T10:54:00.000-08:00

Just a reminder that: if you are actually interested in knowing what goes on in our lives, you can see all of that kind of crap at www.pennyntranny.blogspot.com . I maintain the blog, therefore, I can call it crap. If you want to read about the twisted way in which my mind works, then stay right here. I like to hear what you think about it.

I possess a classic case of what is referred to, at least in highly reliable (ha) magazines as “high trait anxiety”. This means that I worry about everything, am convinced that everything will go wrong, and think somehow my worrying controls my fate and prevents things from going further into the toilet. I’m pretty sure it is genetic (no offence intended to my progenitors). Some people call me pessimistic; I just think I’m a realist. Tomato, tomato (second one pronounced with a soft ‘a’).

It has come to my attention recently that there may be a correlation between how long you think you are going to live and how long you actually live. Huh…so, I guess that means that lying in bed every night worrying about how tonight is the night that I’ll die in my sleep might not be the greatest for my health. I really, really like my life. This fact, along with both my husband and every other medical professional I interact with telling me that I try too hard and over-think things, gave me, for a while, motivation to 1) stop trying and 2) stop thinking. Ha! That plan was entirely counterintuitive to everything that defines me, so I forfeited rather quickly.

I am now working on a more realistic approach, which entails:

1) Think really hard about how to relax (hey, over-thinking things is in my nature).
2) Think about meditating
3) Think about puppies in snow (a guaranteed relaxation technique)
4) Take half a Xanax whenever people who suck or the kids are around.

I like this plan. I’ll keep you posted on my progress (because you care).

A little action in Garden City

2009-01-12T08:32:00.000-08:00

This blog is normally reserved for thoughts and observations, not purely events, so, if you’d like to read about our
rather interesting weekend click here. (It’s a great read, I highly recommend it.)

My Head Even Tilts to the Left

2009-01-09T15:12:00.000-08:00

When I was in 3rd grade, we had this project in art class. The assignment (at least as far as I understood it) was to pick a picture out of a magazine and paint the picture. So, I did. I was pretty happy with my painting. When I got done, the art teacher looked at the painting and said rather brazenly “well, that’s not really what I had in mind”.

I blame this one incident for my lack of creativity. (Screw genetics—when you’ve got an event like that to use as an excuse, run with it, right?)

My husband thinks I’m creative, and for this I’m grateful. I’m glad I’ve got him tricked—what he doesn’t realize is that every single creative idea I’ve ever exuded was an act of desperation—a survival technique which exists only when I’ve made a mistake. Basically, I’m only creative when I’ve screwed up and don’t have the time or resources to start over.
Sometimes, this means that we buy pizza instead of eating my mistakes, and other times, things turn out incredibly well. I just wish there was some consistency.

I want to be more creative, so I’ve decided to go on a sabbatical from responsibility. No more grocery lists. No more making lunch ahead of time. No more measuring the fabric I buy, or writing things down, and no more instruction manuals. Ultimately, I am going to create as many panic situations as possible, thereby optimizing my creative genius. I see this going really well…watch out world, here I come.

Have you ever seen such a sight in your life?

2008-12-16T10:32:00.000-08:00

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?

2008-07-24T21:25:00.001-07:00

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.

2008-07-10T11:04:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-02T06:28:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-19T08:36:00.001-07:00

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.

2008-06-11T08:11:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-31T21:24:00.000-07:00

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?!

2008-05-12T13:30:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-04-24T14:17:00.000-07:00

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

My New Diet...

2008-04-10T15:55:00.001-07:00

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

2008-04-10T09:46:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-08T12:54:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-03-27T15:21:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-03-26T09:04:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-25T11:12:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-25T10:57:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-20T14:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-17T14:29:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-17T13:46:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-04T15:23:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-02-27T14:06:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-02-26T13:19:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-22T10:55:00.000-08:00

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?!

2008-02-19T13:09:00.000-08:00

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.

Change

2007-12-26T10:07:00.000-08:00

One of my personal mantras is: "change is good". Sometimes I say that because I really feel it and other times it it because I need to remind myself that it is good. Once in a while I say it to shut up other people who would rather complain than embrace change.
Every once in a while, though, my mantra changes to be: "Change is good...except for when it sucks". I found out this morning that I am probably going to have to move to a new desk at work. Yes, my new desk will be in a logical location. According to the management "team" (the word "team" makes me feel like I'm at Target...I can even smell the cheap popcorn...) is the motivating factor behind the desk shuffle.

I love my desk. I told my manager this. I'm guessing he's much more concerned with logical placement than with the following:

1. I have spent 1/3 of my life at my current desk for well over three years now. You don't realize how much your desk feels like your home until you are faced with a potential desk shuffle.
2. I have plenty of warning when someone is approaching my desk--giving me sufficient time to "alt-tab" off of my hotmail window, my threadless window, my bank window, or...my blog window.
3. My new desk smells funny...sometimes like B.O. Sometimes like rotten salsa...sometimes like sewage...
4. My best work friend sits right next to me, so I can work/play at the same time
5. (in a whinny voice) I don't wanna sit by THOSE people!!!! Nobody will come talk to me!! Sigh...
6. I will no longer be able to lean way over to the left and see whether it is raining/snowing outside.
7. Moving sucks
8. My desk only has 2.75 cubicle walls. I like my .25 non-wall.
9. My humongus file cabinet won't fit at my new desk. I can just see it now...people will start thinking about using my file cabinet...then they will push my stuff over to the side a little...then they will start putting their crappy stuff in my file cabinet...then pretty soon they'll steal the key and lock it and I won't have my humongus file cabinet any longer. Then stuff will pile up on my desk and pretty soon I'll be like "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout who would not take the garbage out".
10. Finally--my new desk will be 12 steps further from the entrance to the building than my old desk. This will delay my exit to the building by approximately 3.6 seconds.

Alrighty then...it occurred to me that several of my reasons for not wanting to move stem from my desire to not work the full 40 hours that I'm being paid to work.
So...in the spirit of sick optimism, here is my list of benefits to moving:

1. It is warmer at my new desk (I'm always freezing).
2. Forced detailed cleaning of my desk
3. I'll have to work harder...I don't know how that is a good thing, but it seems like it should be for someone
4. maybe those 12 extra daily steps will help me lose weight...(Okay, I know this one isn't true because I currently walk over to my new desk about 6x per day so I'll actually be walking less)
5. who doesn't love staring at a blank wall all day? (Oh crap...I forgot that I was listing GOOD things now)
6. Change is good

I really did mean that last one. The fun thing about change is that you really don't know what new things you will encounter during a change. You can take time to weigh the pros and cons of a situation like this, but you really have no idea what the pros will be.
So, here I go: embracing this change with a good attitude and lots of hope for a new desk, a new year, and maybe a new unknown talent that can only be unleashed by moving to a new desk. (Okay, that last part was just dumb).

kill 'em with kindness

2007-06-01T16:23:00.000-07:00

Is annoying people with kindness mean? My job is not to answer phones. When I took my job, I didn’t anticipate having to answer phones…but I guess someone has to do it and in order to keep my job, I find myself having to answer phones. I work at a newspaper and I take A LOT of calls from people—just for kicks, let’s call them “crazy people who think they are really cool”—who think several things.
1) THEIR opinion is the only thing controlling the decisions made at the paper. Yes, your subscription is valuable, but truthfully, we don’t value your subscription enough to spend thousands of dollars on a new ad entry system.
2) Yes, they hung up and therefore got out of line to place a classified ad in order to yell at me. That makes it my fault that they got out of line and therefore, I should transfer them to an imaginary line where they don’t have to hold...(FYI—yelling at me won’t get you what you want.)
3) Everyone should be in the office sitting at their desk at all times waiting for phone calls. I’m no journalist, but I think it would be pretty hard to do investigative reporting while sitting at my desk taking phone calls. The kicker is when they tell me that they don’t have time to sit at their phone and wait for a call back…huh…that makes sense.
4) Some people “don’t believe” in voicemail. I have no idea what that means.
5) Some people think that if they don’t get their credit issue resolved immediately, the world will end. I don’t know why they couldn’t call at any point over the last 90 days when our credit rep wasn’t using the restroom. It is remarkable.
6) I spoke with a woman today who was on hold in our classified line for “600 years”. I kicked myself after I hung up with her for not asking whether took time to watch any part of the Revolutionary War while she was on hold.
This is just a sampling of the things that people will do/say/think (or are they thinking at all?) when upset.
So, the question remains—is insincere kindness a method of insulting the customer, or is it the best way to keep people calm? I’m not sure—today a gentleman offered to buy me a drink and is going to send a letter to my manager—all because of my insincere kindness.

And They Say Cars are Just for Driving

2007-05-21T14:40:00.000-07:00

Yes, it has been 41 days since I last posted…it would be boring for me to list out my relatively pathetic excuses and even more boring for you to read them. So—moving on.
When I was born, my parents owned a 1973 red convertible Volkswagen Super Beetle. My grandpa had bought it for my mom as a high school graduation present. This started my family’s now long standing passion for Farfegnugan—the people’s car—German engineering—the cute little body styles and wide variety of colors.
Since then, my parents have gone through two Bugs, two Vans, two Jettas, and two Cabriolets.
When I moved out of my parent’s house I was poor and scared of owning an unreliable car, so I was left alone and depressed; driving a Chevy S-10 truck that was loaned to me by my grandparents. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated their generosity, but if you have ever owned a Volkswagen, you know what it is like to feel the legendary “farfegnugan”; you have felt a connection with your car unlike any other. You know what it is like to sit in the drivers seat, hugging the steering wheel, crying and apologizing to your car for smashing its headlights, hood and fender in the accident; as if it was a friend…uh…maybe that was just me.

Anyway, I find it interesting that the most depressing six years of my life coincided with the six years when I didn’t have a VW in my life.
My first marriage lasted for three years. I should have known that it wasn’t going to work when he convinced me to buy a Mazda. Yes, Mazdas are reliable and well engineered, but for me, they are like a dress from Ann Taylor. Pretty cute…well made…but they just don’t ever fit quite right.

I knew I was in love with my new husband long before I saw his ’64 VW Bus; but seeing it made me believe that he was someone I could love forever. If you are reading this and thinking that the last sentence is the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard, chances are that you don’t have a VW sitting in your garage. My husband and I have a baby blue Cabriolet and his freshly painted red and white Bus sitting in our garage. While our relationship is held together by so many things besides the Volkswagen blood that runs through our veins, it is always nice to know that deep down; we’ll forever remember the happiness we found together as VW drivers.

Easter Dinner...or the Lack Thereof

2007-04-10T14:24:00.000-07:00

My husband and I both hate cooking. When we got married we realized that one of us had to demonstrate a vested interest in food or one of two things would inevitably happen. Either we would starve, or we'd go bankrupt (I'm not sure which is worse, but both seem like hearty punishments).

We don't put much focus on "traditional roles" in our relationship, but with cooking, I have graciously accepted the burden. Well--I've been working on graciously accepting the burden.
My success was evidenced by our Easter dinner on Sunday.

People (namely my husband's ex-wife) seem to be able to sit down and figure out what to eat for the next two weeks and then they make a list, and then go to the store once and don't go again for two weeks. My brain is capable of comprehending a lot of things--calculus, organic chemistry, the history of the universe, but when it comes to organizing a meal plan, I lose all ability to focus, then I start to panic and go into convulsions as I try to figure out how many slices of bread one would need to make toast every morning for two weeks.

My husband and I are Christian, but we fairly standardly forget to put much emphasis on holidays. We have a shopping center located about a mile from our house. On Sunday (Easter), we walked over there, as we often do on Sunday evenings to have dinner at the Mexican restaurant. When we got about 20 feet away, we realized that all of the stores we had passed so far were closed and that the lights seemed to be off at our restaurant. Damn! Yes, we had forgotten that it was Easter (we went to church that morning, but I generally remember things like that for about two hours).

In the end, we decided to try out "cooking". We walked home, and then drove to Wal-mart, where we purchased all the ingredients we needed for tacos (back off--I know I should have already had this kind of standard stuff)--made with refried beans out of the can, and cheese on store bought tortillas. It was really good...I suppose I should have remembered the Easter ham, deviled eggs, and au gratin potatoes, but oh well...maybe next year.

Yeah right--that is about as likely as the ex-wife inviting us over for Easter dinner.

Truth

2007-04-06T07:52:00.000-07:00

Remember when research meant driving/walking/biking down to the library, locating the card catalog, spending an hour trying to find a book on static electricity or Communism, or Ancient Greek relics, only to find four books with one paragraph each on your topic? So, then, you'd go home and copy down what the encyclopedia had to say about the topic (on notebook paper--so archaic); making sure to not include your encyclopedia in your bibliography.

The encyclopedias in my parents house were 1) old, and 2) British. It was always funny to read about things like the Revolutionary War...told from the British perspective. It really makes you wonder how much truth there is out there in the world.

Some people call me skeptical. I just think I'm realistic. I basically don't believe anything anyone tells me. After all, why should I? I remember going to the movie Home Alone 2 with my brother when I was maybe 12. My mom came to pick us up and my brother started to tell her the storyline of the movie. After twenty of my corrective inerruptions, Mom told me a lot of times two people can see the same thing and come away with completely different recollections of what happened. She went on to tell me that I should respect my little brother more and that I'm not always right...but that's not the point.

I guess the real question is, who can we trust? The answer is either no one or everyone. If we trust no one, we never find truth. If we trust everyone, we find truth everywhere (though it may be contradictory sometimes). Fortunately, my husband has a photographic memory, so whatever he remembers is what we consider "truth" in our relationship. I don't mind it when I remember things differnently. After all, if I can't trust anyone else, why should I trust myself?

Wedding Present

2007-04-05T07:41:00.000-07:00

Shopping for wedding presents is always a complete pain in the ass, right? You get the cute little scrapbooked invitation in the mail with pictures of the happy couple and the card that says "so and so is registered at Target, Wal-Mart, Macys, McDonalds, US Bank..." It is amazing the things people come up with.

You go to the store with high hopes of finding that perfect present for your friend/relative but your hopes are immediately dashed as you print the registry and find 75 common kitchen utensils (so boring), towels that the store doesn't stock, sheets that are too expensive, and "decorative" pillows in colors that are so blase, and depressing you wonder if your friendship with the bride and groom should continue...maybe you've grown apart; otherwise, you would have protected them from picking lime green sheets to go along with apricot pillowcases.

I know you are with me so far...now, try this on for size. Imagine shopping for a wedding gift for your ex-husband and his new fiancee--who also happens to be your husband's ex-wife (yes, you heard me right--wife swap).

We were given a wedding invitation--because my husband wanted to see it--with explicit instructions that we are not actually invited. The new wife and I are not on speaking terms (use your imagination), so I had my husband call her to ask--"if we get you a wedding present will you throw it away, or actually use it? We don't want to waste our money". She promised to keep the present, so off I went to Target to find a gift.

After scouring the store for something under the following criterion 1) on the list, 2) under $50, 3)actually in the store, and 4) not ugly or useless, I wound up with a $30 shower curtain. (Insert big exasperated sigh.) The search continued for a $20 supplement.

I hate scrapbooking. Partially because I'm not that patient and find it to be a waste of time, and partially because my husband's ex-wife loves it. I do, however love to look at all of the little stickers and brads and markers and paper that I could spend hundreds of dollars on and organize them in little bins in my office and just let them sit...for years, and years. Yes, I did it--I bought scrapbooking supplies for the newlyweds. I thought it would be cute--you know, so they can scrapbook their honeymoon.

My husband will deliver the gift tonight when he goes to pick up the kids. We'll see what happens. He just might wind up returning home with the new stickers, decorations, and paper for me to uselessly organize in my sewing room.

Here we go.

2007-04-04T13:39:00.000-07:00

Well, here goes--my first blog.

I'm am going to graduate school right now. This is mostly due to the fact that I'm in a dead end job which pays the bills and is overall a good place to be, but leaves me completely unfulfilled. I'll leave discussion of my job to another day.

Anyone who has been to college understands the frustration of waking up early to register for your classes, and the website crashes, and then you find that the classes have filled up without waiting for you (so inconsiderate!).

Anyway, I just got a call from my "academic advisor" who informed me that the class I was planning to take this fall is full (argh!). No big deal, right? At a normal university, that's correct. Pick another section, or find another class. Well, not at this university which shall remain nameless (I'll give you a hint...blue football field...that seems to be our pathetic claim to fame). It isn't possible to find another class or section because most of the courses in my program are only offered every two years and only have one section. I can't believe that I'm paying $250 per credit to deal with this kind of crap.

So, now I'm stuck on a waiting list. Those have a tendency to work out so well. (Yes, I'm being sarcastic.)

I guess life is in and of itself a waiting list. You just wake up every morning hoping that you'll be able to accomplish something. You don't just sit there thinking, hoping that someone will do your job for you; you work hard, you act like someone you're not in order to impress your boss, you exercise. You do all of these things in hopes of actually getting to the top of the waiting list. What it boils down to in the end is that there are no guarantees. Just like a class registration waiting list, the things we wish for in life so often depend on someone else. So, I'm going to go call the professor and hope that some other student gets to the top of their job waiting list and quits school so I can get my spot in the class.