Wednesday, September 30, 2009

I don't know what it is, but for 4000 bucks it's a steal




IMHO - There's no way this thing is a bad idea. I don't care HOW much it costs or what it's really supposed to be used for, it's made of pure awesome and that is that.

Note the man-head, the lady boobs, and the 'alta-gonads' modules on the ground there. ROCK! Plus which? EXTRA ARMS!!

Yes, friends, this sucker is in FACT a do-it-yourself geriatric sex toy, complete with the 'death rattle' vibrator for those with a necrophilic bent! Insert body parts wherever they'll fit, and go to town!

Now with convincing lung and heart action, making your imaginations come true one beat and breath at a time. You can be the first on your block to get jiggy with a pretend Sean Connery and Judy Densch...AT THE SAME TIME!!! Just snap the man-module onto the default androgynous base receptacle, lock the boob unit into place on the chest, pop in a Barry White tape, and pretty soon you'll forget that your new friend is made of plastic casing normally reserved for bomb shelter furniture - you'll be in heaven with your new Mommy-Daddy love doll!

Oooooh, yeah.

Order now and we'll throw in the "Dr. Mengele" IV kit shown here, with full instructions on how to fully infuse your new bosom-ed buddy with THE SALINE FLUSH OF DOOM!

Act now, because this is a real steal at only $3850.

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Clearly, SOMEONE has too much free time today.

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That someone would be me. I'm bored at work, not because there's nothing to do, but because it's boring and I don't FEEL like it right now and there's not even a MEETING to go to today to break up the boredom. I even skipped Some Fun Thing they're doing downstairs because of the all-powerful ennui.

Is it time to go yet?

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

You so totally wish you were here

Somehow, Fall has clattered in our fair 'burg and is putting on quite a show. It's a wonderful cool day, there's a lovely slating beam of sunlight running patterns across the LR carpet, the windows are open and inviting in the chilly breezes, and life is about as good as it gets.

Yeah, I'm working at home again.

Working at home is awesome. I try to do it as much as possible. In the near future, it might become even MORE of a regular thing, for a couple of reasons:

1) Tinkerbell, when in the 'on' position, continues to sound like a half-full gravel truck bouncing over a frost-heaved logging road.

2) the term 'open plan' is being bandied about my workspace.

Reason 1 is all about money, and how I have none to spend on having Tink's engine torn apart yet again so the guys who initially 'fixed' her a few months ago by putting in a new crankshaft sensor, water pump, and timing belt can this time put in the 'balance belt' that should have been replaced ALONG with all the other crap so that it my baby car will no longer sound like her engine (motor?) is trying to shimmy itself loose from its moorings at each turn and slight bump in the way. It's slightly scary sounding, and I can't help but think that the more I drive her the worse the problem is going to get, and lawd didn't I just spend a mortgage payment on her to have the brakes totally redone? Yes, yes I did, and it pretty much wiped out the ol' emergency fund...so no more emergencies for a while is the story there. That 24-mile 1-way to work can't be helping matters.

Reason 2 is about my friggin sanity. In case you didn't know, "open plan" is so much MORE than a cube farm, my friends.

Let me explain.

This is a cube farm (AKA "why I know too much about my coworkers alimentary canals")


See, there's at least SOME semblance of privacy. A girl can kick back if she's got the right cube...prefeably one WAY in the back, that nobody but her has to go past to get to someplace else. In short, a cube like I have now.





Horrifyingly, THIS? Is mother-feggering OPEN PLAN:


You can well imagine my consternation. THERE ARE NO WALLS!!! Open plan is a lifetime of skin-crawling colleague comingling of a sort I cannot conscience. The 'closeness' and 'camraderie" it's supposed to engender (a really good word, and used far too rarely) are blatant lies.

All's I can see happening (because it's clear I'll be able to SEE everything as well as hear it) is that now there will be visuals as well as audibles to distract me/gross me out. I will now be able to see the satisfied look on the Pharter's face after he rips a good one, be able to watch the Stats Man slurp his tea, be able to observe the ladies three workstations away chatter on about this n' that (a pastime that keeps them occupied for much of every day), and what's worse, they will be able to see ME as I try to sit up straight, not pick or rub or scratch, and keep focused on tasks at hand. No to mention the loss of perfectly good internet time-wasting...

Obviously, no good can come of the open plan, and so I intend to boycott it as much as possible by staying away from the office as much as possible. Sheesh, I need my PICKING TIME, people!

You know what? I spent 10 lovely soft warm years in an office with a dang DOOR before coming to cube HELL, and now it appears as if the cube was only the first level down to Lucifer's corner office.

What's next? We sit in each other's LAPS and work?

Again, sheesh.

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I hope you're all keeping well, and that the rabid crab invasion hasn't happened in YOUR part of the world either.

Friday, September 25, 2009

One door closes...

This week has been one long-ass meeting after another, with 'breakout sessions' and 'idea bouncing' and 'punch list checking' and the like as we worked to get a package of info together for sumitting to the regulatroy agencies.

Now listen, y'all...when I say 'package,' I'm not talking about a cute ll' box you can jauntily tuck under one arm while window shopping the fall diesplays at Saks, oh no. I'm talking PACKAGE, as in if all the pages of this things were printed out (So.Many.Words!) it would probably fill the inside of a UPS truck. At least!

We gotsa big ol' package fo ya, right HEEEEERE.

So, this week, the big 'wrap up' week for this project as we move to finalization, involved a lot of moving parts to pin down, many many fine detials to corroborate, a few new ideas to input, and a long list of 'to-do's that, somehow, magickally, astoundingly, got done, at long last, today.

DONE!!

It's enough to make me tear up a little.

See, since the beginning of the year this project has loomed over my work day, occupying much space on the ol' whiteboard, demanding careful tracking and synchronizing of vendors and outputs, reveiws and new analyses, at times there was so much activity that my head was spinning and I simply wanted to crawl under my desk and hide.

But now? After all the hours spent, the anxiety produced,the teeth ground? It's frigging done.

DONE.

I should be dancing in the hallways, but, you see, my relief is to be short-lived, because at 2 p.m. I am attending a kick-off meeting for.....a project just like the one that's now DONE.

The past hour? The one where I didn't HAVE a huge project to work on? Has been one of the finest I've had at work in many a long time.

*sigh*

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Since July I've been reading "Wicked."

Finished it last night. My review is as follows:

It's amazing.

Biff is reading it too, and he agrees that while some of the passages are best read twice to fully tease out what's being said, overall it's a compelling read that takes Frank Baum's original tale of Oz and turns it totally on its head,. I was utterly captivated by this book, and didn't skip a WORD of it, which is a rarity for me.

There's every chance I'll read it agaian very soon. I suspect there are many things I missed, or didn't understand, the first time around.

Don't you just love finding great new reads?

Now it's back to feeding my Terry Pratchett addiction. I only have about 500 of those to go before I've read 'em all through once. ;)

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Wel, it's time to go find out what fresh hell awaits me in this guts of this new project.

Yay.

Y'all have a wonderul weekend, or at least what passes for modestly enjoyable. Declare a 'no moping' zone at your house, and rock on!

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Another fine mess

Spent some time last night horsing around playing Frisbee and tennis. Lessons learned from this experience: I’m better at throwing a Frisbee than I thought, I suck at running to CATCH a Frisbee, and playing tennis in 85 degree/90% humidity weather will make a body sweat.

No wonder people were looking at us funny at the post-workout liquor store run.

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Why is it that some super-fundie Christians who delcare ADAMANTLY that there is only one God don’t believe in having only one wife?

Just a question.

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Having a raw, just-burst blister on the back of my left hand is reminding me of just how often I bump that part of my body against something.

Ow.

And yet, I don’t put a Band-Aid (or equivalent) on there to protect the owie.

Quite possibly that says something about me. Probably having something to do with laziness.

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You know what? Once you start using a spoon rest while cooking, there’s no going back to just plopping a dirty utensil down on the stove or countertop.

It’s kind of like how once you start using fabric softener in the laundry you can’t NOT use it anymore. That shit just doesn’t FEEL right without it.

We’re a Bounce family. And you?

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And now, a poem written in less than 10 minutes, for your enjoyment.

How to make the day go faster?
Let’s research the ‘belly blaster’!
Dig around in Wikipedia.
Learn about synched multimedia.
Troll some stories over at Fark,
Gather facts on Noah’s ark.
Practice more on Bejeweled Blitz,
Look at pictures of turgid (hey! Cut that out!) ZITS.
Find out why the cat’s going bald
Research the etymology of ‘auld.’
When spending time in thusly fashion
Time flying by is not a question
Making work chew hours similarly
Would take considerable booze-y
The time it takes to crank out them widgets
Is enough to give a webaholic the fidgets!

There ya go. Just for you, my internet pals.

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See y’all tomorrow.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Over it

The loss of my recently departed post of awesomeness is less of a sting today, and so I feel I must press on.

And yet, the thought of it brings a hot tear to the inside of my right eye, and a small yet attractive hitch in my throat that may or may not expand to an ever-so-slight chest heave, but nothing too obvious, as a woman in mourning should be hot, yet untouchable in her grief, ne?

My poor baby post.

Which was, as history would tell you if you have any familiarity with this place at all, was a baby formed of dead ends, lame jokey bits, a crooked spine, and a soul made of the acidic wringings of my disappointedly wasted potential.

A pretty picture, no?

:]=

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In other news:

I'm apparently married now to a rock star.

Biff's in a band. Heaven and earth help us all, I feel groupidom coming on. Steelwater, set me FREE!!!

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This morning I missed a meeting by almost 2 hours. Whoopise! Thought it started at noon, so me rolling in at 10 was supposedly cool.

The meeting? The all-DAY meeting? Started at 8:30.

FUCK.

Surprisingly, after I gave my apologies and set down to work, I wasn't censured for a second thereafter. Color me eight shades of surprised....for a minute I felt like I BELONGED.

Sweet.

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Aaaaand, tomorrow will be a day much like today, only without the free lunch. Woot.

Yeah. Woot.

Carry on.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Instantaneous Ennui

Here is the spot in which was supposed to be a post....

A Very Fine Post Indeed, as a matter of fact.

I busied myself this morning in the writing of this post while waiting for documents to upload to a work server. The waiting can take a while, and so I was at liberty to craft a post with much more care than I normally take. Many words were thrown together in an orgy of expression, then massaged gently until synchronous expostulations were reached. Oh, yes, all that concomitant expostulating made one fine post that 1) stayed on topic, 2) only had ONE topic (a rarity here), 3) was humorous without one single TOUCH of snippiness, and, almost incomprehensibly (and yet with a masterful touch) 4) incorporated not only my childhood dreams but also mention of expensive shoes and sycophants.

It was, to be honest, one of the best posts I've done in quite some time indeed.

With a happy heart I pressed the 'publish' button and waited for the fruits of my efforts to be offered up to the quivering lips of the internet. It was, quite simply, a moment awash in satisfaction.

And then?

Blogger ate it.

PHUK DAGNABBIT WHITE BREAD MONKEY FINGERS!

When I say 'ate it,' please understand that I mean ATE IT ate it, as in 'not even saved as DRAFT' ate it. There was a total and complete failure of the system to save those newborn phrases, to fight for their lives within the womb of the intenet. My post was involuntarily aborted, y'all, and I'm in deep deep mourning for what could have been.

Oh, how you would have chuckled at my jokes, and how you would have been wooed by the turns of phrase that so were skillfully crafted they were utterly straight-backed and clear-eyed in their beauty. But no, it now cannot be that you might chuckle or be woo'ed, for Blogger is the baby-killer of unborn posts.

Pardon me as I grieve.

Friends, please support me in my hour of darkness by leaving an expression of condolence in the comments. When I feel up to it, I shall read them and smile wistfully at your generosity, then hope for a better day tomorrow as I wipe perfectly formed tears from my grief-flushed cheeks.

I thank you, in advance, for your warmhearted understanding.

*Sniff*

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Making Proclamations

It's clear that I am becoming an old woman, being as how I hardly know the names of any current musical superstars, don't Tweet or text, and have given up caring much what my ass looks like in jeans.

Perhaps this recognition of my onrushing geezerhood is why I'm enjoying going back through the musical archives of my youth and re-discovering a fuller discography of those I recall as being 1-hit wonders. Recently, I'm been hooked on The Proclaimers and their album "Sunshine on Leith," which was released in 1987. This is the album that brought us the "500 miles" song, which garnered well-deserved popular acclaim back inna day, but the tune that keeps circling around my particular noggin is "Cap in Hand," an anti-English political tune that I'll just bet gets a lot of play in certain pubs in Scotland. Here it is, with subtitles in case you're brogue-insensitive and can't figure out what they're saying just by listening (warning - it's tough to do without a learning aid, as these dudes are way Scottish):



These guys are still around, playing Australia and New Zealand this fall (their Spring, I guess) with the B-52s. Not sure how THAT combination was thrown together, unless it's a show squarely aimed at the pathetically unhip near-grandmas like me who, for a moment, want to pretend they really DO know all the words to every song, just like the good ol' days.

Tin ROOF.......rusted!

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In case you're even the lest little bit interested in what my schedule is like some days (and if you're not, why IS that, exactly?), here's the timeline for my after-work hours yesterday:

Left work at 4:40. Got home at about 5:10. Was out the door at 5:12 to take Thing 1 to tae kwon do. Went grocery shopping to replace the mysteriously disappearing gallon of milk and OJ and bourbon (priorities!), was back home by 5:40. Started some pasta sauce and set some sausage to defrost, and was back out the door again by 6:10 to pick Thing 1 up. Returned home at 6:30, started cooking the sausage, tweaking the sauce, going over homework, greeting Biff, boiling water for pasta, making cheese toast, pulling dinner together, and rounding the troops to eat.

At 8:15.

Yeah, busy night.

Tonight, however, will be much different - the boys are with their Dad, and Biff has practice. It will be just me and the furunits at home. I have NO idea what I'm going to do, which makes me mildly anxious. Sometimes I think I prefer being super-busy to having several hours in which to bore myself to utter death.

Twisted, huh?

As plan A to fill the void, I'm thinking a bubble bath might be involved, and the last few Chapters of "Wicked." And possibly wine.

Hmmm, maybe not so boring after all!

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There are far too many people in the cube farm nowadays. Yesterday saw the addition of two new contractors, one of whom is a regular Chatty Cathy.


Where do you get office supplies? How many kids do you have? What are regular work hours? Do we have to use laptops? Why is my head so big? Do you think I'm creepy? Let's have a staring contest!

Gads, it's going to be a long 6 months.

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That's it for now y'all. There's much to do, starting with getting another cup of coffee. Remember, PRIORITIES!!

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

killin's and winnin's

Tink and I were the death knell for a squirrel yesterday.

Further proof that I should simply stay home all the time.


(<----Shouldn't have gone out without his armor, like this guy!)


That poor little fuzzball had NO chance, as it was jitterbigging around in the middle of my lane on a 2-lane road while there was a car coming the other way and one behind me, with the result that slamming on the brakes OR swerving were not options. So, being as how I'm all inner tree-hugger Mama Earth Mistress of the Anthropomorphication, I tried to aim Tink so that the wee morsel of future Road Ready Flat Snack was as evenly betwixt the tires as possible, thinking that even a squirrel, with its admittedly very small brain, would maybe crouch in fear as the behemoth Tink passed overhead, much as a human cowers when a city-sized alien ship whizzes overhead.

But no. There was to be no crouching. Perhaps squirrels haven’t watched the same sci-fi movies as me?

MY victim, instead of making him/herself as tee-tiny as possible (AKA ‘the sensible thing to do’), did the exact opposite and LEAPT as I piloted ohsocarefully over it.

There was a small ‘thump,’ and then there was only a twitching furry body on the macadam behind me.

Though sorrowful, I was aware enough to hear Tinkebell laugh sullenly in her growly throat as drops of blood and rodent fear washed through her radiator. She’s tasted blood before, has Tink, surviving the onslaught of a full-grown buck once and a near-miss with a crow that left her the proud owner of a couple of long black feathers, and I honestly think she just was hungry again and so maybe did some crouching of her own as we passed over the ill-fated beastie. I can't say if it was a crouch or s simple dip in the road, so won't cast too many (or very loud) aspersions.

So, it's highly likely that it's better she offed a squirrel than getting desperately ravenous and someday veering onto a jogging path to satiate her blood lust. One squirrel down, one baby saved.

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Hey - The ‘name my new bike’ contest went rather well, thanks for asking. Many good choices were offered up from which to pick, as follows:

Squirt
The Quadrangle
Cindy
Patrick Swayze
Bella
Francis
Pixie
Fairy
Whooooa Nellie
Princesll Snicklefritz
Bart
Lucy
Soreass
Bikey Stardust
Toy George
George Bikals
Nemesis
Silver
Jasper
Assper
Asspirations
Sally
Silver Streaker
Gray Ghost

The reasoning behind some of these suggestions are in yesterday’s comments, some of which are so awesome as to put hair on the chest of a 6-year-old girl. Because that's what awesome does, and not coincidentally, why I need to shave between my boobs on a daily basis.

And while I love a fair many of those names, only one made me spit bourbon when I read it, after which I aspirated a little of it, which burned some but I’m OK now, thanks for asking:

NEMESIS

I love it. LOVE! With puppies! And butter!

So thanks, Tracy Lynn, for the antiseptic lung lavage AND the great new bike name.

Now, where can I get me one of those tiny lil’ licenese plates with “Nemesis" on it to attach to her seat?? Anyone got a suggestion for THAT?

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I hope y'all are having a hiphappy Humpday, which is half over by now if you're on the east coast like me (yay!), which also means that we're on the down hill side of this week, which is a grand idea indeed. Tiff out.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Birth announcement!

There's a new baby in da house!

For I, I have a new bicycle. See?? The best ol' bike 300 bucks'll gitcha!

I love her already. She is beautiful, and shiny, all over silver (not the pink and white of the photo (but the form is all hers!)), 21-speeded, as easy to ride as a fat pony, and I hope she is the answer to that horrible runner's knee thing I got going on. My quads, apparently, need some beefing up, and THIS baby is my answer.

A proud machine, of this there is no doubt, but as yet, has no familiar moniker.

Of course you KNOW that this oversight must be corrected. She needs a name!

Suggestions?

Friday, September 11, 2009

Yes, I KNOW what today is.

Eight years ago things changed, and they have stayed changed.

In the 8 years following, thousands more lives have been lost fighting the powers that killed the first few thousand.

In the next 8 years, it’s entirely possible that thousands more will be lost in continued warfare.

In response to this, I have no words. My mind is utterly boggled by how we can do this to one another. For what?

So, because there is no making sense of what happened, what is happening, and what will surely happen in our continued struggle with each other, let's now turn away from gnawing on the dry bones of one of the great metaphysical questions, to chow down on far more digestible fare.

Doesn’t mean we shouldn't think of it though.

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Thanks to all who responded to my ‘are blogs dead’ question of yesterday. Consensus is that they’re not, which I’m taking as really good news.

One thing I was surprised to see is that a lot of folks have taken the step to delete their blog rolls. What? Yes, the BLOGROLL, once the symbol of how many ‘contacts’ a blogger had, is dead, and apparently Google Reader killed it (in 2008, if Grant is to be believed).

Hmmm, it might now be time to me to update MY reader account and axe the ‘roll if I’m going to hang with the cool kids. At the very least, I should cut out the dead blogs, eh? Sadly, continuing to click on them won’t bring them back to life, no matter how much we might want them to.

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It’s come to my attention that a person who sits in Tinkerbell’s back seat and looks into the rear-view mirror sees an image of the driver’s mouth superimposed on the driver’s forehead. Freaky-deaky night-time mirror reflections, dude.

Thing 2 gets wicked creeped out by this, so of COURSE you know that I’m all lip-smackin’ fake kissy goodness as I make our way to school. I swear, that boy was about to jump out the car this morning in a fit of squicked-outedness.

Heh. I think I’ll keep some Oreos stashed in the glove compartment for future black-toothiness. Now THAT should be a memory worth making.

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Which brings me to this thought: what’s you favorite Mom or Dad memory from your childhood?

There are lots of them rolling around in my giant noggin, but this is the one that pops up first today: I remember being 6 or so, sitting on my Dad’s shoulders on a hot summer afternoon as he jumped off a diving board into a sky-blue pool. On his shoulders it seemed like I was 10 feet tall, the ground was very far away. One he’d jumped, the time to splashdown seemed incredibly loooong, almost longer than I could hold my breath, but not quite. Upon surfacing, it’s a good bet I asked to go again.

Because he’s been gone for so long now (almost 18 years), I have a very hard time imagining my dad as the 77-year-old man he would be now. So, I think of him as the not-yet-40 Daddy of my childhood, churning up from the blue depths with me still on his shoulders, both of us panting and laughing, bespeckled with water drops glittering in the afternoon sun.

It’s a good thought to have on this late-summer day.

And you?

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Smelling other people’s lunches makes me wish I’d packed a better one

Last night I went jogging. It was proving to be a really really lame session, being as how the 5-minute warm-up walk was making my hips twinge (and NOT in a happy Saturday Night Boinkme Fever way!), so I had to make the following huge compromise over my goal of jogging at least 3/4 mile without walking: change up 80 paces of walking with 240 paces of jogging. Over and over and over again until the distance goal was reached.

And you know what? That cyclical thang worked awesomely. I felt fantastic, jogged way faster than usual, jogged MORE than normal, and came home feeling like I’d just kicked much ass and taken many names. It’s a good day when that feeling comes along, on that point I think we’d all agree.

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It’s cooling down around these parts, with a temp of 65F this morning at 8 a.m., and a predicted high of only 80 or so. Dudes, that’s like FALL.

It's so much like fall that the chick who normally wears really short sundresses and impossibly tall heels (she’s like 4’10” without them, so it’s understandable I suppose) came to work today in PANTS! She never ever wears pants unless it’s during the 8 weeks of cool weather we get around these parts, so that’s a total harbinger of a long hard winter to come. (Either that or HR came down on her less-that-professional clothing choices, and she’s gone a-wardrobe shopping to keep her job).

Also spotted around the cube farm: socks, dark shoes, the first sweater sighting of the year, and a change-out from summer’s gaudy foam flower cube d├ęcor (someone goes around and tapes this stuff to our cubes and office doors – gnomes, I think) to a more subtle fall-leaf theme. Hey, even if it’s still 80 outdoors doesn’t mean we can’t WISH fall to hurry up and get here already.

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Have y’all taken a look at your blog lists lately? Seems like half the people I link to are no longer keeping a blog, or have locked their sites, or have made them ‘by invite only.’ And that’s kind of sad. Is the wild world of personal blogging is dying?

I think people just get tired of writing. Folks lose interest, and when what you used to enjoy doing becomes more a challenge and an obligation, then of course you’re not going to do that thing anymore. Unless a blogger can find a groove (or niche) that garners either tons of followers or some cold hard cash, the whole blog thing inevitably starts to wobble a little, like a badly-thrown clay pot, and at some point it becomes evident that there’s no saving what used to be such a promising thing.

Unless of course you’re like me, who just slams up random crap on a daily (mostly) basis because 1) topical posts are too much thinkery for me and 2) if I don’t post something the brain chatter boils up to a mind-deafening level. I admire people who only post when they have something to say, I truly really honestly do. I also admire those people who keep plugging at blogging on a daily basis, committing time and energy to the words on the page while veering madly about for content. Further to that, the rare few who can combine a general theme with regular posting is a genius and should be making big dollars off that skill. Enjoying ‘focus’ in any endeavour is a rewardable gift.

I'm curious: if you’re one of those lapsed bloggers, would you tell me why? And if you’re still at it, what keeps you going? Or, if you don't blog at all, what's stopping you?

Discuss, and have a lovely afternoon.

Wednesday, September 09, 2009

Semi-daring sartorial moves can lead to self-love

I hope you're having a spectacular day.

No really, I do.

Honest!

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Went shopping at the ol’ Wal-Mark a couple weeks ago, looking for bargains and perhaps something to augment my pitiable selection of work clothes.

It was time, y’all. I have 2 pairs of pants and 2 skirts that I wear over and over again, and it’s starting to show. Holes in the knees, pilling, hanging threads, the works. Things couldn’t go on like that indefinitely, so off I went.

(and just shut up about me buying clothes at Wally World. I’m cheap to the max, hate clothes shopping, and I could get GROCERIES while I was there! BONUS!)

After utilizing my favorite method of garment acquisition (hold it up and see if it looks big enough) I came home with three new shirts, two new skirts, and a new pair of pants. Now, the skirts are a new thing for me, being that most of my previous ones are LONG affairs, the shortest reaching to a couple of inches below the knee.

The new ones? ABOVE the knee, by at least an inch. Gasp!

This showing of extra skin is actually pretty huge, because for years I wouldn’t show my knees due to having really awful varicose veins, but as you might recall I had those suckers yanked out about 18 months ago and even though I don’t have the best legs ever they’re certainly not the worst and I figured it was time to show them off a little beforeI get too old to do so being as how in a few years my poor knees will be all shar-pei’d out what with the age-related saggage brought about by a notable lack of estrogen.

Therefore, the shorter skirts.

Which are, it turns out, a bit of a challenge. Seems that short skirts, to the unconditioned wearer (that'd be me), often feel like they’re a mite more revealing than one might like, and often feel as though there’s nothing ‘back there’ at all, which as you would imagine is not a really great look to cultivate in the corporate world, and I don’t care how nice your ass is, it’s WORK and we shouldn’t be seeing even the nicest of bare derriers while cranking out the widgets.

So, the situation today is that the skirt I’m wearing is a cute lil’ black number that looks like a kilt, and honestly? I would be ever so much happier with it if I had a sporran. Every daggone time I stand up I feel compelled to reach around and smooth the damned thing down, hoping like crazy it’s still long enough to cover most of the thigh area. Which of course it IS, but I keep checking, and rechecking. People, this skirt is making me go all OCD about my butt, which I think we can all agree is an unusual situation in which to find onesself. All that self-patting is going to start looking a tad odd if I don't stop soon…

Maybe next time I shop I’ll just take the plunge and try the dang things ON. Then walk around in them to be sure I don’t feel like Miss Tarty McAttentionwhore whilst wearing the article of choice.

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The other skirt didn't have this problem. Maybe because I was wearing it with my ONE pair of high heels, and was so concerned about not falling OFF them that I didn't give the skirt a second thought.

Hmmmmm. Either I need to wear more high heels, or I should just stick with pants and ankle-length maxi-skirts.

So hey, intenets, what road do you think I should walk down - High Heels Lane or Hippy Chick Drive?

You have the power to change my wardrobe, you know. ACTIVATE!

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

It's getting self-helpy in here!

I was a thumb-sucker when I was a kid, but I quit when I was 8 (slow learner, much?). I also was an inveterate liar, creating falsehoods with such rapidly growing frequency that at one point it was pretty certain whatever came out of my mouth was a lie. I also picked my nose and ate it. Chewed construction paper. Didn’t brush my hair if there was any way to get around it.

Happily, I don’t do those things any more. Some bad habits we can break, or at least bend so severely that they’re not workable anymore. That's not to say that I don’t TEND toward unattractive behaviors on an almost daily basis. I procrastinate; I avoid difficult situations; I will cadge hard conversations in hurried interchanges, moving as quickly as possible to safer, higher conversational ground; I whine a lot about work. These are not things to be proud of, but I’m working on them.

For example, last week I’d made arrangements to go see my Mom this coming weekend because it’s been a while since we’ve gotten together. However, I’d forgotten that previous to making THOSE plans we’d been invited to a friend’s house for dinner this Saturday, and as it’s a ‘first date’ dinner (the inaugural invitation, as it were) it would be really bad to cancel on them. Plus which, the Biffster has a play date for Sunday morning, and I don’t like to miss those.

Anyhow. A difficult situation was at hand. I had to tell Mom we couldn’t come.

In the old days I’d have put off making the call, too afraid of disappointing her to be honest about something so trivial, and would have gotten myself all upset over forgetting, thereby self-punishing for (gasp!) not being perfect. But now, not so much! I picked up the phone, told the brief tale of woe, we recoordinated calendars and picked a new date. No more than 5 minutes later we had a new plan and nobody was too badly bruised.

Phewf.

I don’t know WHY I feel like it’s incumbent upon me to be this perfect ‘thing,’ because that’s impossible. What I do know is that trying to be perfect leads to a life construct of hastily erected screens that only show a little of what lies tantalizingly behind – a real person with good points and bad, with lessons learned and wisdom from the education.

It’s going to take a long time to be comfortable not trying to be perfect. But honestly? Life just feels better this way.

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So, my Labor Day rocked pretty much all day long. I’d set out with a long mental list of what I wanted to get done, full of hope that I’d see many a checkmark on the list by nightfall.

I got approximately 30% of the list done, and do not feel bad about that percentage at ALL, because I decided to NOT do all that random work-ish crap and instead opted to be a total and complete SLUG for a fair portion of the day.

My day off = my rules.

So, the Things’ bedroom did not get the Mommy treatment, the fridge didn’t get cleaned out, the shrubs didn’t get mulched – what of it? Who is keeping score here? Nobody but me, and I FELT like being a waste of space and so was just that for a happy few hours.

I could so totally get used to this living honestly thing!

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One more other thing about how I’m trying to make this mental switch from ‘expectation living’ to ‘real living’, and that’s allowing myself to do what I have the energy for, when I have the energy. For example, if I feel like reading a chapter in a book while the Biffster is hard at work on some house project, then I’m going to read and NOT feel guilty for not being productively busy. Or, if I feel like doing laundry and leaving the dishes for a while so I can do something else a little less obviously domestic (like….nap?) then nap I shall. Not every dang moment needs to be taken up with pushing toward some perennially distant finish line of ‘totally done.’

That’s not to say that I won’t keep pushing, just not all the time. Breathers are needed, ya know? The peace of mind that comes with doing only what you are comfortably capable of is totally worth a few dishes in the sink.

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Now, it comes time for me to beg your forgiveness with the more-serious nature of the last couple of posts. It gets that way around here from time to time.

I blame September’s arrival, and with it the noticeable swallowing up of large chunks of daylight by the onrushing autumn. While I love Fall, and the prospect of chilly nights, fleece jackets, cold noses at football games and halftime shows, colorful rains of leaves, and the arrival of Hallowe’en, it does take some time for me to get adjusted to the fact that those things I enjoy come with a decreased daily dose of sunshine.

Tiff needs her vitamin D, and it gets harder and harder to find it this time of year. So sad.

Eh, prolly by tomorrow the pendulum will swing back to the silly side. We shall see. I’m sure you’re all on pins and needles, WAITING.

Don’t poke yourself, and I’ll see you around here tomorrow.

Monday, September 07, 2009

Don't we wish this was completely inconceivable?

Man in Georgia shoots 8 people, including children.

Man in Louisiana shoots 4 people, including a 2-year-old and a pregnant woman.

Man in Virginia opens fire and kills 23 college kids.

And on, and on, and on.

Why so much gun violence, America?? This is not what the 'right to keep and bear arms' that Americans have protected by law is all about. That right is based on a civilian militia who are called to band together in defense of this country should the need arise, to use their weapons in self defense or defense of this country in a lawful manner. (Excellent Wikipedia article here, which goes into origination and legal rulings on cases pertaining to personal use of firearms, both here in the U.S. and in other countries) It would seem to me that the authors of the Bill of Rights and the Second Amendment to the Constitution would consider this right to NOT be about having a personal arsenal at the ready should the idea ever arise to slaughter your entire family because you are 1) mad at them, 2) drunk, 3) bat-shiat crazy go nutso, or 4) a God-awful person who is so fucking narcissistic that you believe that other people deserve to die because they made you unhappy.

Reason 1 means you should go chill out with a trusted friend until you've hashed out why you're so angry. Reason 2 means you need to sober the hell up before being allowed access to any weapon, including your car. Reason 3 means you should go see a shrink or counselor about the voices in your head that are telling you to put bullet holes in those people you purport to love. Reason 4 likely means you're an abusive asshole who has a big ol' bag of psych issues that have nothing to do with the folks at whom you're aiming a semiautomatic weapon. NONE of these reasons are enough to kill someone. None.

Would making guns harder to procure make these crimes go away though? Maybe, maybe not. Would it be any better if people had to pass an emotional fitness test before being allowed to purchase a gun? Probably not, because you just KNOW there's a black market out there for the folks who don't want the law knowing they have a firearm.

It would be glorious to live in a world where this kind of bullshit cowardice didn't happen, and that people with problems could recognize their issues and go get help before they ruined the lives of so many people. How on earth does one think that murdering a toddler is going to make anything better? How can anyone believe that slaughtering rooms full of college students is going to cure anything? How can one stand behind the notion that shooting up their estranged family is going to endear them to the general populace, or make their point of view any more understandable?

That, my friends, is crazy talk. Somehow, we should be able to establish a system that maintains our Constitutionally-endowed RIGHT to bear arms for lawful purposes with a policy that would ensure those arms are used in the manner it was intended they be used.

What makes basic common sense is that anyone who would shoot a baby, or a pregnant woman, or their grown son, or even a complete stranger if not in the act of self-defense or war, is a waste of skin and should be given a gun and a bullet to put through his (or her) own skull. After being flogged, of course. And maybe after having a 30-minute session with Chuck Norris, who I'm sure frowns on baby-killing.

Please offer up in the comments anything else that should be done to putrid human excrescences like those mentioned at the top of this post. Feel free to be as evil as you please. These people did.

Friday, September 04, 2009

Anyone want a neurotic dog? She’s free!

Question: is it a valid request to want to work from home because one is apparently suffering from chronic Gurgle Gut?

Qualifying fact: the request comes from someone who works in a cube farm.

Extra qualifying fact: the two chatty Cathies who normally provide SOME decibelic cover-up of the borbyrigmi are out of the office this afternoon, and the rest of us are clustered around the far end of the farm, making quiet little typy noises. Sometimes not even THAT, which means that my work atmosphere is like a tomb, but without all the cool echo effects.

Thank God for that, anyway. Echoes would NOT help the situation.

Seriously, this thing is getting way out of hand. For some reason (and I welcome guesses as to why), my intestines have decided to speak up and be heard every single day for the last 2 weeks or so. It’s getting to be freaking embarrassing! It’s not even like I have some disease or syndrome I can blame this on; not even a TOUCH of IBS or celiac sprue.

To which I say: SPRUE to YOU, my personal giblets! Hush UP down there!

And in response, my alimentary canal blurbles something that sounds very much like a creaky door swinging slowly open.

Nice.

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Cats who don’t normally go outside do NOT care much at all for being forcefully introduced to the great outdoors.

But hey, when they insist on shredding the carpet as their lil’ alarm clock participation, and insist on doing so even though they’re been corrected on this behavior many multiples of times in the past, there comes a moment when ‘tough love’ needs to be doled out.

That moment was this morning.

If you need proof that cats are evil, all you’d need to know is that this pissed-off cat didn’t moan and wail at either of the two doors to the house, oh no. She parked herself right under our open bedroom window, and commenced to raising such a wail as could be heard in all corners of the Tiny House. It ceased being comic as soon as we realized that she has a map of the Tiny House in her head, and knows which space in it belongs to the Secret Kingdom of our bedroom. Even from the outside, where she’s never ever GONE before! Tell me that ain’t spooky.

Ah well, perhaps she’s learned a lesson. At the very least, we’re 100% certain that the HVAC unit is free of spiderwebs…

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It takes less than 20 minutes (which is, coincidentally, the time it takes to drive to the vet’s office for a standard rabies shot) for Skeeter to chew a bloody oozy bare spot on her ass the size of a dollar bill.

Yep – it’s just another service she provides to make our vet think we’re pouring hot oil on her ass and ripping her hair out by the roots as a means to liven up a random weeknight.

I expect a visit from the SPCA any day now.

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That’s it for today. I’m forcing myself into productivity today, in the hope that I can get enough done in the next few hours to ameliorate any need for me to work Monday. Which I probably will anyhow. Because that’s how I roll.

Have a great weekend y’all.

Thursday, September 03, 2009

In which I am chilled, and happily so.

Greetings from Fall! It's in the mid-60's 'round these parts, and I for one am a huge fan of this literal shift in the wind. If the Things hadn't had to go to school this morning, I might still be bundled up in bed, nose peeking out from under the duvet (pronounced "doo-vit"), breathing in blessedly chilly FRESH air. Ah yes, it was windows open last night, for the first time in months.

While this summer hasn't been as beastly hot as other years, it has been consistent in its hotness, with temps rarely dipping below the upper 70's at night and parking in the 90's by day. Some mornings, even early in the morning, going outside was like walking into a dog's mouth. Not today though, and woohoo for that, say I.

This new atmosphere makes going to work REALLY hard. Really really hard. Like, it's 9:30, and I'm not there yet. Oh sure, I've taken care of stuff for work at home, but that's not putting ass in seat and appearing to crank out the widgets, is it?

Then there's the showering yet to do.

Dear me (cough), might I be developing (cough cough) a touch of an ailment (wheeze)? It's been fully two weeks since I copped (sputter) out of work with some lame (ow!) excuse or another (hack).

I'mma go work on that. Y'all have a glorious day, no matter WHAT it's like (creak, groan, achoo!) where you are.

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

Oh my God, I'm posting BLIND

(For some reason I can't see much of the post box on Blogger (though I suspect it's because work only supports IE6, which is being phased out across the boundless void that is the internet. Thanks for being way behind the curve, work!), so if this comes out at ALL it'll be a miracle. PRAY FOR A MIRACLE!!! PRAY!!!)
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I’m feeling naughty today, and so am proposing that we bare ourselves to one another.

No, it’s not Half-Naked Thursday, you cranially sullied fenstermartins, you!

Nay, what I am proposing to you is that we have an unofficial delurk day.

It’s easy! If you have a blog of your own all’s ya do is this:

1) Clean a spot about 3 feet square on the floor
2) Cut an onion in half
3) Get down on your knees in the clean spot
4) Take a whiff of the onion
5) While your eyes are glistening with tears, wring your hands in supplication to the invisible internet, and BEG YOUR FACE OFF for people to leave a comment on your site.

Simple, no? And not at all embarrassing! Those tears are the onion’s fault, and who doesn’t want to kneel on a nice shiny spot on the floor? Nobody, that’s who! Perfectly NORMAL to be doing what you’re doing where you’re doing it!

As in most good games, there is more than one player (though, playing with YOURSELF could lead to interesting results, and not a little bit of concern from your friends that You Might Go Blind From That). If you are READING this, therefore, your turn in the game goes like this:

1) click the ‘shatter the silence/barking monkeys’ thingie at the bottom of this here beggin’ post
2) Fill in the requested information, and if you’re really very truly shy, at least put a nickname in there
3) Type SOMETHING in the box provided (and the first joker who actually types ‘SOMETHING’ is a Little Miss/Mr Literal, which is a trait I adore)
4) Click the ‘publish’ button

Also simple, no? Yes? Si, it is.

What’s fun is that you can play BOTH parts of this game if you want (really, it won't make you go blind), both here and on your OWN site if you have one.

See, I’m sick of waiting for International DeLurk Day or whatever the cool kids call it, because participating in something when everyone ELSE is doing it belies a sheeplike nature that I KNOW you ain’t. You are a black sheep, all of you! You’d be PLAID if you could, but that would be silly and against Mendellian and other forms of genetics and besides which, a tartan sheep would clash with the furniture so no, no plaid. But black, black is cool and awesome and the color of night and the powerful ninja, a stealthy marauder and slayer of shadows.

YOU are the black sheep, and want to delurk to prove you’re not afraid to make your presence known, even if it’s not the officially sanctioned Day of DeLurking! So, strip off that lanolin-soaked mantle of conformity, bleat out your existence in the comments, then bound over to wherever you call home and herd YOUR readers into doing the same thing. Together we can create a cacaphony of commenters, shattering the vast silences between us!

And then? Have a lovely day. Tiff be owt.