I'm tired so I'm going to be quick about this.
The birthday was okay. We're shaking the piggy bank right now so I told hubby not to even think about a present... I'd have felt too guilty otherwise. He made dinner instead which to me is infinitely better than trinkets. A friend and I went out pseudoshopping... we had a lot of fun trying on the ugliest, Barbie-est shoes we could find. Hats too, natch. There are some seriously fugly hats out there...
I'm feeling under the weather today. Been dizzy (no jokes please, if you know me) and slightly off-kilter... I think it's the weather. Ordinarily I love rain, but it's been hot and humid along with the showers which means misery in the plastic bubble I work in. Everyone had headaches today.
Hoping everyone in Katrina's path is okay... prayers to all of you.
I'm taking myself and the latest issue of GAMES to bed.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Random Bits
No news today, except I just got my mother addicted to Kitty Cannon. (It's sick and twisted, but the sound effects are funny. You can find it yourself; I'm not posting a link!)
B's dad had eye surgery today. They found some blood clots, so he'll need to go back, but we haven't gotten any details yet.
Decided to fly instead of drive for our vacation in October. The vacation we were supposed to be on right now, that is... got postponed for the third time. We just don't have the $$$ to drive the Bronco all that way, and it actually IS cheaper to fly. (A year ago I was joking about that. Very sad to see my sarcasm become reality.)
Oh, and the biggest news of the day: B (the hubby) had dinner on when I got home. He made his incredible meatloaf, scalloped potatoes, and broccoli... He really does make one heck of a good meatloaf, using venison and ground sausage instead of burger. Plus the requisite onions and mushrooms and spices and stuff... and NO baked-on ketchup. It doesn't need it!
He's now gearing up to bake a carrot cake for my birthday, like he does every year.
Was my husband replaced by an alien clone, or does he just want something and is sucking up? Neither, actually... he's just a sweetheart. Yes, he does have a brother, who is married. Sorry.
B's dad had eye surgery today. They found some blood clots, so he'll need to go back, but we haven't gotten any details yet.
Decided to fly instead of drive for our vacation in October. The vacation we were supposed to be on right now, that is... got postponed for the third time. We just don't have the $$$ to drive the Bronco all that way, and it actually IS cheaper to fly. (A year ago I was joking about that. Very sad to see my sarcasm become reality.)
Oh, and the biggest news of the day: B (the hubby) had dinner on when I got home. He made his incredible meatloaf, scalloped potatoes, and broccoli... He really does make one heck of a good meatloaf, using venison and ground sausage instead of burger. Plus the requisite onions and mushrooms and spices and stuff... and NO baked-on ketchup. It doesn't need it!
He's now gearing up to bake a carrot cake for my birthday, like he does every year.
Was my husband replaced by an alien clone, or does he just want something and is sucking up? Neither, actually... he's just a sweetheart. Yes, he does have a brother, who is married. Sorry.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Made me laugh out loud.
From PostSecret (link at right). I can sometimes relate. Mmm, enchiladas....
Oops!
To whomever has a username similar to mine:
You should be getting one of those "password recovery" emails tonight. I deleted my cookies and cleared my cache, and had a total brain-drain afterwards. Turns out I got the password right but the username wrong. (I've used the same one for ages... no idea why I went with a variation this time.)
I'd like to see your blog and find out if we have anything in common! ;-)
You should be getting one of those "password recovery" emails tonight. I deleted my cookies and cleared my cache, and had a total brain-drain afterwards. Turns out I got the password right but the username wrong. (I've used the same one for ages... no idea why I went with a variation this time.)
I'd like to see your blog and find out if we have anything in common! ;-)
Monday, August 22, 2005
Launch!
Poinsettias are here.
You're thinking... poinsettias? Aren't those Christmas flowers?
Yep. But they have to grow somewhere. And they take six months to grow and bloom properly. Our site got the cuttings in July; my greenhouse gets the transplanted rooted cuttings and grows them until we either sell them all or get sick of them and stomp on....um.... I mean, until the holiday season's over. Yeah, that's right.
Poinsettias are susceptible to every plant disease known to man, and then some. They attract insects. They get mold, mildew, and scab. They are incredibly sensitive to environmental changes, which is why even though it's been hot as heck in the GH, we've discussed turning on the floor heat at night already. They get too tall, or stay too short, requiring numerous amounts of growth regulators to keep 'em short or shoot them up. It's like Alice and her mushrooms. They need calcium supplements, salt supplements, fertilizer supplements, and possibly One-A-Day vitamins... not sure about that last one but I wouldn't doubt it. Couldn't hurt, anyway.
There is this widespread myth that poinsettias are poisonous. They aren't. Not to humans and most animals, anyway. Might make your cat or your toddler a bit ill, if they ate a bunch of them, but you could have poinsettia hors d'oeuvres at a cocktail party and be more likely to get salmonella from the chicken pate' than die from poinsettia consumption. I wouldn't recommend it, however; I know what we spray on those things. I'd rather play poinsettia bowling than actually eat one. (P-bowling is a great way to release frustration at the end of the year. Due to the shape of the pots, it requires a wicked curve to win.)
I hate poinsettias. Really I do. This year I'm going to put Operation Poinsettia Launch into effect, and see how far I can hurl a six-inch pot using a bicycle tube tied between two posts. INCOMING!!!!! Thwannnngggg..... I feel better already. ;-P
You're thinking... poinsettias? Aren't those Christmas flowers?
Yep. But they have to grow somewhere. And they take six months to grow and bloom properly. Our site got the cuttings in July; my greenhouse gets the transplanted rooted cuttings and grows them until we either sell them all or get sick of them and stomp on....um.... I mean, until the holiday season's over. Yeah, that's right.
Poinsettias are susceptible to every plant disease known to man, and then some. They attract insects. They get mold, mildew, and scab. They are incredibly sensitive to environmental changes, which is why even though it's been hot as heck in the GH, we've discussed turning on the floor heat at night already. They get too tall, or stay too short, requiring numerous amounts of growth regulators to keep 'em short or shoot them up. It's like Alice and her mushrooms. They need calcium supplements, salt supplements, fertilizer supplements, and possibly One-A-Day vitamins... not sure about that last one but I wouldn't doubt it. Couldn't hurt, anyway.
There is this widespread myth that poinsettias are poisonous. They aren't. Not to humans and most animals, anyway. Might make your cat or your toddler a bit ill, if they ate a bunch of them, but you could have poinsettia hors d'oeuvres at a cocktail party and be more likely to get salmonella from the chicken pate' than die from poinsettia consumption. I wouldn't recommend it, however; I know what we spray on those things. I'd rather play poinsettia bowling than actually eat one. (P-bowling is a great way to release frustration at the end of the year. Due to the shape of the pots, it requires a wicked curve to win.)
I hate poinsettias. Really I do. This year I'm going to put Operation Poinsettia Launch into effect, and see how far I can hurl a six-inch pot using a bicycle tube tied between two posts. INCOMING!!!!! Thwannnngggg..... I feel better already. ;-P
Saturday, August 20, 2005
The Numbers Game
I stopped to pretend to put gas in my car after work today. I got 7 gallons of fuel and some Gatorade, and the total was $27.72.
Other than the obvious comment about fuel prices, what's so odd about that?
In 7 days it will be the 27th (my birthday). '72 is the year I was born. 27 and 72 are both divisible by 3; 3/3 (33) is my age.
My mom did a "magic numbers" diagram for me on my self-proclaimed Lucky Birthday six years ago. I was 27 on the 27th. Every single way it computed, if one believed in numerology my day was destined to be a good one.
Guess what? It was my first date with my future husband. We went out for Mexican food, met his sister and future BIL at a karaoke bar (great first impressions there!) and ended the night with the radio cranked and the windows down cruising back country roads in a pickup truck.
What's changed? Well, we never went to another karaoke bar. The rest is pretty much the same. Six years next weekend... Every birthday is a lucky one. I'm blessed no matter how the numbers line up.
Although... I wonder if there's a bus going to Atlantic City next Saturday?
Other than the obvious comment about fuel prices, what's so odd about that?
In 7 days it will be the 27th (my birthday). '72 is the year I was born. 27 and 72 are both divisible by 3; 3/3 (33) is my age.
My mom did a "magic numbers" diagram for me on my self-proclaimed Lucky Birthday six years ago. I was 27 on the 27th. Every single way it computed, if one believed in numerology my day was destined to be a good one.
Guess what? It was my first date with my future husband. We went out for Mexican food, met his sister and future BIL at a karaoke bar (great first impressions there!) and ended the night with the radio cranked and the windows down cruising back country roads in a pickup truck.
What's changed? Well, we never went to another karaoke bar. The rest is pretty much the same. Six years next weekend... Every birthday is a lucky one. I'm blessed no matter how the numbers line up.
Although... I wonder if there's a bus going to Atlantic City next Saturday?
Friday, August 19, 2005
My Inner Imelda Marcos
So what is it with women and shoes, anyway?
I never had that shoe fetish. As a kid, I had sneakers and flip-flops, though it was hard to get me in any kind of footwear at all, most of the time. I'd spend entire summers barefoot if my parents let me.
As a teen, when most girls were begging Daddy for money for the latest trends, I had sneakers (hightops, of course; it was the 80s after all), flip-flops, and three different-colored pairs of Keds. And I still went barefoot quite a bit. Not a lot of variety in the shoe department... believe it or not, I'd decided that turquoise L.A. Gears went with anything. Did I mention it was the 80s?
Then I had to get a pair of boots for riding. I also retired the L.A. Gears in favor of Converse All-Stars during one of their many fashion revivals. Turquoise, naturally. I still had not owned a pair of leather sandals or high heels.
Moving on, I switched to boots. Black motorcycle boots for hanging out, black combat boots for casual days, and black cowboy boots for dancing. It was a strange time... At one point I had a pair of suede knee-high lace-ups for "formal wear." Yes, you read that right.
Eventually I had to break down and buy heels. There were weddings to attend and functions where black boots weren't quite the expected mode of dress. I had the same pair of heels for years... and when they wore out, I bought another pair just like them. I also gave up the motorcycle boots for clunky black Oxfords. I'd pretty much given up on color at this point; everything I owned was black or grey, except t-shirts and one dress for the abovementioned occasions.
Today, I spend working hours in leather hiking shoes, Gore-Tex'd and waterproofed. For all other times I own five pairs of leather sandals, three pairs of glorified flip-flops, four pairs of heels, one good set of sneakers and one grubby set, the old standby combat boots, hunting (snow) boots, rubber ones for work, slip-ons for running next door to the store, and a great pair of black square-toed "witch shoes" I wear at Halloween. Plus boat shoes, fuzzy cow slippers, and a throwback pair of grey-and-black Acme cowboy boots from the Salvation Army in case I ever get the mad urge to line-dance again (hasn't happened yet, but if it does I'm prepared).
To top it all off, Boscov's had an incredible sale this past weekend. I'm feeling a little guilty, but who could resist name-brand shoes for 12 bucks? What I'm trying to figure out is when the Imelda Syndrome hit me. From a shoe-fashion disaster to a closet heel-hound... I never thought it would happen to me.
Ironically enough, when I left Boscov's the first thing I did was take my shoes off, stick them in the bag with the new ones, and walk across the parking lot barefoot. Some things never change.
I never had that shoe fetish. As a kid, I had sneakers and flip-flops, though it was hard to get me in any kind of footwear at all, most of the time. I'd spend entire summers barefoot if my parents let me.
As a teen, when most girls were begging Daddy for money for the latest trends, I had sneakers (hightops, of course; it was the 80s after all), flip-flops, and three different-colored pairs of Keds. And I still went barefoot quite a bit. Not a lot of variety in the shoe department... believe it or not, I'd decided that turquoise L.A. Gears went with anything. Did I mention it was the 80s?
Then I had to get a pair of boots for riding. I also retired the L.A. Gears in favor of Converse All-Stars during one of their many fashion revivals. Turquoise, naturally. I still had not owned a pair of leather sandals or high heels.
Moving on, I switched to boots. Black motorcycle boots for hanging out, black combat boots for casual days, and black cowboy boots for dancing. It was a strange time... At one point I had a pair of suede knee-high lace-ups for "formal wear." Yes, you read that right.
Eventually I had to break down and buy heels. There were weddings to attend and functions where black boots weren't quite the expected mode of dress. I had the same pair of heels for years... and when they wore out, I bought another pair just like them. I also gave up the motorcycle boots for clunky black Oxfords. I'd pretty much given up on color at this point; everything I owned was black or grey, except t-shirts and one dress for the abovementioned occasions.
Today, I spend working hours in leather hiking shoes, Gore-Tex'd and waterproofed. For all other times I own five pairs of leather sandals, three pairs of glorified flip-flops, four pairs of heels, one good set of sneakers and one grubby set, the old standby combat boots, hunting (snow) boots, rubber ones for work, slip-ons for running next door to the store, and a great pair of black square-toed "witch shoes" I wear at Halloween. Plus boat shoes, fuzzy cow slippers, and a throwback pair of grey-and-black Acme cowboy boots from the Salvation Army in case I ever get the mad urge to line-dance again (hasn't happened yet, but if it does I'm prepared).
To top it all off, Boscov's had an incredible sale this past weekend. I'm feeling a little guilty, but who could resist name-brand shoes for 12 bucks? What I'm trying to figure out is when the Imelda Syndrome hit me. From a shoe-fashion disaster to a closet heel-hound... I never thought it would happen to me.
Ironically enough, when I left Boscov's the first thing I did was take my shoes off, stick them in the bag with the new ones, and walk across the parking lot barefoot. Some things never change.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
My Latest PC Add-On
A must-have for anyone running anything connected with Micro$oft. Or for those who mod on volatile message forums.
Monday, August 15, 2005
POOF went the lights
Well, foo. I was halfway through a new post, and our power went out for three seconds... just long enough to kick the computer off and mess up all the clocks.
*Looks outside* No wind, rain, or sirens... so nobody hit a utility pole and no branches down... PP&L must be messing with us again. I think they like to practice in case they ever have to utilize rolling blackouts. Either that, or somewhere there's a squirrel-ka-bob hanging by a smoking claw from a power line...
Back later. Grocery shopping awaits, and I've decided that I'm going to do it in high heels today. Weeee.....I can reach the high shelves!
*Looks outside* No wind, rain, or sirens... so nobody hit a utility pole and no branches down... PP&L must be messing with us again. I think they like to practice in case they ever have to utilize rolling blackouts. Either that, or somewhere there's a squirrel-ka-bob hanging by a smoking claw from a power line...
Back later. Grocery shopping awaits, and I've decided that I'm going to do it in high heels today. Weeee.....I can reach the high shelves!
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Chartreuse and Periwinkle
Mood: melancholy
Tune: "Little Conversations" Concrete Blonde
I'm in one of those moods tonight. Just blah, kinda here, kinda not... introspective. I should go to bed early but I don't feel like dealing with tomorrow just yet, and the sooner I sleep the sooner I'll have to wake up and go full-tilt again. I'm not in a full-tilt frame of mind.
I used to draw all the time. Last night I was IM'ing with my best friend, and something he said just triggered the sudden and unexpected urge to pick up a pencil. I bought a new sketch pad some months ago; I was saddened when I realized I'd used it for the first time only last night. I loved the feeling of whipping an idea onto paper in minutes, like I used to, and having a whole theme for several subsequent sketches already in mind...
And yet... the sketch pad lies closed, inspiration waned, no more than a wistful recollection of enthusiasm remaining. I wish I could get that back. I WANT to draw, but I look at the page and see nothing but blank paper where once I'd have envisioned wild mustangs or sarcastic cartoons or a friend, sound asleep, an unguarded moment captured in graphite... Sleeping people were always some of my favorite subjects.
Where did that go? Where did my obsessive love for Prismacolors and charcoal run away to, and why did it abandon me when for the longest time it was my preferred form of expression? Once upon a time, I lusted after Rapidograph pens... searched determinedly for the perfect nib for that ink drawing I had in mind... combed the art-supply store for the one shade of color I didn't have... And now, other priorities have pushed that all behind me.
I want that feeling back. I need to create! I need to color! I need to... what's that, honey? The porch rails need painting? *Sigh* Better than nothing, I guess... At least I'll get to go buy some paint.
Tune: "Little Conversations" Concrete Blonde
I'm in one of those moods tonight. Just blah, kinda here, kinda not... introspective. I should go to bed early but I don't feel like dealing with tomorrow just yet, and the sooner I sleep the sooner I'll have to wake up and go full-tilt again. I'm not in a full-tilt frame of mind.
I used to draw all the time. Last night I was IM'ing with my best friend, and something he said just triggered the sudden and unexpected urge to pick up a pencil. I bought a new sketch pad some months ago; I was saddened when I realized I'd used it for the first time only last night. I loved the feeling of whipping an idea onto paper in minutes, like I used to, and having a whole theme for several subsequent sketches already in mind...
And yet... the sketch pad lies closed, inspiration waned, no more than a wistful recollection of enthusiasm remaining. I wish I could get that back. I WANT to draw, but I look at the page and see nothing but blank paper where once I'd have envisioned wild mustangs or sarcastic cartoons or a friend, sound asleep, an unguarded moment captured in graphite... Sleeping people were always some of my favorite subjects.
Where did that go? Where did my obsessive love for Prismacolors and charcoal run away to, and why did it abandon me when for the longest time it was my preferred form of expression? Once upon a time, I lusted after Rapidograph pens... searched determinedly for the perfect nib for that ink drawing I had in mind... combed the art-supply store for the one shade of color I didn't have... And now, other priorities have pushed that all behind me.
I want that feeling back. I need to create! I need to color! I need to... what's that, honey? The porch rails need painting? *Sigh* Better than nothing, I guess... At least I'll get to go buy some paint.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Who is Bert, anyway?
I used to live in the South, where there was at least one Huddle House or Waffle House in every town. It was our habit to go there after a night out, since my town had what I believe was the only Denny's in the US that actually closed at 10 P.M. (!!!) and the diner was the only place open at two in the morning. (The Denny's eventually closed due to lack of business... go figure.)
I have numerous Waffle House stories... which I'm not going to share... let's just say, if you leave a large enough tip in plain view of the waitress, it is impossible to get thrown out of a Waffle House.
What I'm getting at is that since I've moved North, I haven't been to any Waffle Houses. There aren't any around here. We have truck stops instead... eh. Just not the same.
Today I found not one, but two! Waffle Houses in the Harrisburg area. (side note: we were able to go to the truck show today after all.) Limited finances barred our usual repast at El Rodeo Mexican Ristorante, and I forgot where Fuddrucker's was, so in a fit of nostalgia B and I dined on patty melts, hash browns WH style (scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, capped, and topped; you WH aficionados don't need an explanation), and Bert's chili. I love Bert's chili.
I am going to be paying for this later... Bert's chili also comes with Bert's Revenge. But it was worth it.
I have numerous Waffle House stories... which I'm not going to share... let's just say, if you leave a large enough tip in plain view of the waitress, it is impossible to get thrown out of a Waffle House.
What I'm getting at is that since I've moved North, I haven't been to any Waffle Houses. There aren't any around here. We have truck stops instead... eh. Just not the same.
Today I found not one, but two! Waffle Houses in the Harrisburg area. (side note: we were able to go to the truck show today after all.) Limited finances barred our usual repast at El Rodeo Mexican Ristorante, and I forgot where Fuddrucker's was, so in a fit of nostalgia B and I dined on patty melts, hash browns WH style (scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, capped, and topped; you WH aficionados don't need an explanation), and Bert's chili. I love Bert's chili.
I am going to be paying for this later... Bert's chili also comes with Bert's Revenge. But it was worth it.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
RANT: EM and TEE Bank
This is not the first time they've messed something up with my hubby's account, but it's by far the worst. He uses the online banking thing just to see what's cleared, and to make sure they took out the loan payment. (He does all transactions in person because he doesn't trust the internet.)
So he sees that a check for a large amount of money has been paid out of his account. He's just mailed checks for all the monthly bills, and with this large amount of money missing, there isn't enough to cover them. He can look at canceled checks online, so he does, and (drum roll) it's his name on the check, but it isn't his check, or his account number, or even his bank! (In fact, the issuing bank was bought out over 5 years ago!) And the address of the nom de same is in a state we've never even been to.
He calls his bank. They confirm that no, it isn't his, and determine that this check has gone through four other banks before being drawn on his account. They say they will investigate. He calls back the next day, and they ask him to come in Monday morning to sign some fraud paper or something. But do they correct his account?
NO.
Therefore, his account is now overdrawn, and not all the bills have cleared yet. Also, he had our weekend money for Carlisle in there...POOF, we can't go now. GRRRRRR....
KNOWING it wasn't him, and CONFIRMING this to him, how hard would it have been to click a couple buttons and fix his balance?
I'm going with B on Monday, and I'm going to speak to the bank manager. They will pay any insufficient funds fees, they will fix his account, and they will apologize for the inconvenience they've caused. Or else I'm going to get a wee bit irate. Hell hath no fury...
Then they can track down whatever bozo actually accepted that check in the first place and beat him with rolls of quarters. Or at least pretend to.
So he sees that a check for a large amount of money has been paid out of his account. He's just mailed checks for all the monthly bills, and with this large amount of money missing, there isn't enough to cover them. He can look at canceled checks online, so he does, and (drum roll) it's his name on the check, but it isn't his check, or his account number, or even his bank! (In fact, the issuing bank was bought out over 5 years ago!) And the address of the nom de same is in a state we've never even been to.
He calls his bank. They confirm that no, it isn't his, and determine that this check has gone through four other banks before being drawn on his account. They say they will investigate. He calls back the next day, and they ask him to come in Monday morning to sign some fraud paper or something. But do they correct his account?
NO.
Therefore, his account is now overdrawn, and not all the bills have cleared yet. Also, he had our weekend money for Carlisle in there...POOF, we can't go now. GRRRRRR....
KNOWING it wasn't him, and CONFIRMING this to him, how hard would it have been to click a couple buttons and fix his balance?
I'm going with B on Monday, and I'm going to speak to the bank manager. They will pay any insufficient funds fees, they will fix his account, and they will apologize for the inconvenience they've caused. Or else I'm going to get a wee bit irate. Hell hath no fury...
Then they can track down whatever bozo actually accepted that check in the first place and beat him with rolls of quarters. Or at least pretend to.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Bring 'em home, Dubya
Proverbs 25:25
As cold water to a weary soul,
So is good news from a far country.
As cold water to a weary soul,
So is good news from a far country.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Creative Writing, husband style
Our refrigerator is dying. The freezer part decided to quit first; ironically, just a few weeks ago, our chest freezer somehow became unplugged, and I ended up cooking a lot of stuff that got partially thawed. We were eatin' good for a few days... I had a couple of turkeys in there, so we had Thanksgiving in July. Twice. Better than wasting it, right?
We lost a lot of the stuff on the top of the freezer, though, and what was still frozen got transferred to the now-nonfunctioning icebox. Tonight we're moving everything in there BACK to the chest freezer. He tosses, I catch... It's almost fun, except for the imminent reality of having to find a new fridge. That's going to bite the budget, since the stove we had to buy when our deluxe 1963 model caught fire for the last time isn't paid for yet. Man, I loved that stove...
Anyway, gotta go. The hubby just tossed me something that I strongly suspect is a deer part of some sort. The big label reading "BAMBI BUTT" kinda gives it away.
We lost a lot of the stuff on the top of the freezer, though, and what was still frozen got transferred to the now-nonfunctioning icebox. Tonight we're moving everything in there BACK to the chest freezer. He tosses, I catch... It's almost fun, except for the imminent reality of having to find a new fridge. That's going to bite the budget, since the stove we had to buy when our deluxe 1963 model caught fire for the last time isn't paid for yet. Man, I loved that stove...
Anyway, gotta go. The hubby just tossed me something that I strongly suspect is a deer part of some sort. The big label reading "BAMBI BUTT" kinda gives it away.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Note to Self: Next time, take a quilt.
I mentioned that I was hoping to catch a nap at the doc's today. Lucky me... Just before I was called, the receptionist announced to the six people there that our doctor had to go deliver a baby, and would we mind waiting? Most of us didn't, since a delivery really isn't something a woman can put on hold until after her doc has discussed incontinence with Mrs. Feedlehoffer. One patient, however, caused eyes to roll in unison by whining, "Well, how long is it going to take anyway?" Um...hon...have you ever had a baby? Just asking... I haven't, but I'm pretty sure a baby's ETA isn't even as reliable as Delta Airlines' and that leaves a pretty wide margin. No pun intended.
I didn't snooze then... I was engrossed in my occasional game of "spot the grammatical errors in today's newspaper" and was proofreading the classifieds when they called me. Ten minutes later (and forty-five minutes after my initial appointment time) I was in The Gown and waiting for Doc to appear. I was listening closely to the voices in the hall, since I like to hear how they refer to the patients by disease or reason for visit instead of name, when what sounded like a Pamplona bull went thundering by the door, hollering "DELIVERY! Gotta go!" And there she went.
Keep in mind that I'd never met this particular doctor. She was referred to me by a friend a few years ago, but thanks to my HMO pulling a power-play with providers, I was unable to see her until the standoff ended. Needless to say, I was a little concerned. Those footfalls made me expect a stiff-spined, matronly, no-nonsense type, the kind that gives you withering looks if you even suggest you might get lightheaded at the sight of a hypodermic.
So I was surprised when, after finally taking an hour-long nap on the exam table, a very petite young woman arrived to see me. I had to ask her name just to make sure they hadn't sent a replacement. It was, indeed, my new doctor. The rest of the appointment went uninterrupted by whiny people or Pamplona bulls, and I found out I'd lost six pounds. Yay!
But I gotta tell ya, that crinkly paper on the exam table makes a lousy blanket.
I didn't snooze then... I was engrossed in my occasional game of "spot the grammatical errors in today's newspaper" and was proofreading the classifieds when they called me. Ten minutes later (and forty-five minutes after my initial appointment time) I was in The Gown and waiting for Doc to appear. I was listening closely to the voices in the hall, since I like to hear how they refer to the patients by disease or reason for visit instead of name, when what sounded like a Pamplona bull went thundering by the door, hollering "DELIVERY! Gotta go!" And there she went.
Keep in mind that I'd never met this particular doctor. She was referred to me by a friend a few years ago, but thanks to my HMO pulling a power-play with providers, I was unable to see her until the standoff ended. Needless to say, I was a little concerned. Those footfalls made me expect a stiff-spined, matronly, no-nonsense type, the kind that gives you withering looks if you even suggest you might get lightheaded at the sight of a hypodermic.
So I was surprised when, after finally taking an hour-long nap on the exam table, a very petite young woman arrived to see me. I had to ask her name just to make sure they hadn't sent a replacement. It was, indeed, my new doctor. The rest of the appointment went uninterrupted by whiny people or Pamplona bulls, and I found out I'd lost six pounds. Yay!
But I gotta tell ya, that crinkly paper on the exam table makes a lousy blanket.
There's no need to fear...maybe.
"A community of people thriving on open in-depth discussion of anything they care to discuss. With only one 'cast in stone' rule; attack the issue, not the individual."
Also prone to wandering conversation, occasional diatribes against career politicians, innuendo, and really bad jokes. Sensitive P.C. people need not apply.
Curious? Ask me about The Underdog.
Just think it to me
Scene: Hubby driving, me riding shotgun, in heavy 6-lane traffic in the city. He has his attention on the road. I'm alternating between reading a map and watching for signs.
Me: "Okay, 22 should be coming up on the...hey, was that a Barnes & Noble?"
He: (without asking) "I'll turn around."
Same scene, another frequent conversation:
He: "So Al saw this flock of turkeys, and...ooh." (glances in rearview)
Me: "Blue two-tone. Nice." (goes back to sign-watching)
He: "Extended-cab longbed."
Me: "4x4, too."
He: "With manual hubs."
Me: "Didn't see any rust on the fenders."
He: "I like it."
Me: "Needs bigger tires."
He: (laughs at me) "So anyway, Al saw the turkeys..."
There can be four lanes of traffic, a median, and three semis between us and a nice car or truck, but we always know exactly which vehicle it is that the other one spotted, even if we only got a quick glimpse as it went the other way at 70 MPH. We're just tuned in. Got Radar Love or something.
Hey, was that a Fuddrucker's we just passed?
Me: "Okay, 22 should be coming up on the...hey, was that a Barnes & Noble?"
He: (without asking) "I'll turn around."
Same scene, another frequent conversation:
He: "So Al saw this flock of turkeys, and...ooh." (glances in rearview)
Me: "Blue two-tone. Nice." (goes back to sign-watching)
He: "Extended-cab longbed."
Me: "4x4, too."
He: "With manual hubs."
Me: "Didn't see any rust on the fenders."
He: "I like it."
Me: "Needs bigger tires."
He: (laughs at me) "So anyway, Al saw the turkeys..."
There can be four lanes of traffic, a median, and three semis between us and a nice car or truck, but we always know exactly which vehicle it is that the other one spotted, even if we only got a quick glimpse as it went the other way at 70 MPH. We're just tuned in. Got Radar Love or something.
Hey, was that a Fuddrucker's we just passed?
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Night of the Living Dead?
I was so tired this morning. I haven't been sleeping too well since the accident, so I've been staying up until I've reached that stage where I pass out from sheer exhaustion. And then the alarm goes off... I have got to work on my pitching. A slider just won't shut that thing up.
I'm actually glad I have a doctor's appointment (routine checkup) tomorrow, because I can leave work at noon and maybe catch a catnap in the waiting room. (Of course, this will be the one time I get called right off the bat, I betcha. Either that, or I'll only have the first two jokes in "Laughter, The Best Medicine" read when they call my name. I hate it when people interrupt my funny fix.) Seems daylight hours are more conducive to sleeping nowadays. I've been a zombie for two weeks... does it ever end?
In other news, our vacation is on for October. It's better than August, since it won't be so hot, the beach will still be an option (but without the crowds), and we can get fresh local oysters. Yay! And with any luck fuel prices will drop (wishful thinking) so we can afford to drive the Bronco down. I calculated the fuel cost at the current price; $300 round-trip in gas alone, as long as we don't drive anywhere else once we get there or run into any detours. Ouch.
I should have bought that diesel '83 VW Rabbit. 45 MPG... I'm still kicking myself.
I'm actually glad I have a doctor's appointment (routine checkup) tomorrow, because I can leave work at noon and maybe catch a catnap in the waiting room. (Of course, this will be the one time I get called right off the bat, I betcha. Either that, or I'll only have the first two jokes in "Laughter, The Best Medicine" read when they call my name. I hate it when people interrupt my funny fix.) Seems daylight hours are more conducive to sleeping nowadays. I've been a zombie for two weeks... does it ever end?
In other news, our vacation is on for October. It's better than August, since it won't be so hot, the beach will still be an option (but without the crowds), and we can get fresh local oysters. Yay! And with any luck fuel prices will drop (wishful thinking) so we can afford to drive the Bronco down. I calculated the fuel cost at the current price; $300 round-trip in gas alone, as long as we don't drive anywhere else once we get there or run into any detours. Ouch.
I should have bought that diesel '83 VW Rabbit. 45 MPG... I'm still kicking myself.
We're gonna need more guest towels...
Eph. 2:19
Now, therefore, you are no longer strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God...
Now, therefore, you are no longer strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God...
Flashbacks
After chatting with some former classmates over the past few months, and especially recently, I've been bouncing around in nostalgia-land.
I'm amazed at the things I remember, and equally incredulous at the things I don't. I mean, from fourth through ninth grade, I was a sentient human, I'm pretty sure. Aliens didn't take over my consciousness or wipe my brain or anything. So how is it that from that entire six years, only bits and pieces come to mind? Sure, I remember certain people, a few teachers, drinking Jolt cola at lunch and getting wired... but the time is mostly blank, with the occasional fragmented memory flickering like a low-watt bulb in a faulty socket. Where was I, all those years? How is it that my memory retention was good enough to ace tests regularly, but not good enough to hang on to the "important stuff" that real memories are made of?
And where can I get some Jolt cola?
I'm amazed at the things I remember, and equally incredulous at the things I don't. I mean, from fourth through ninth grade, I was a sentient human, I'm pretty sure. Aliens didn't take over my consciousness or wipe my brain or anything. So how is it that from that entire six years, only bits and pieces come to mind? Sure, I remember certain people, a few teachers, drinking Jolt cola at lunch and getting wired... but the time is mostly blank, with the occasional fragmented memory flickering like a low-watt bulb in a faulty socket. Where was I, all those years? How is it that my memory retention was good enough to ace tests regularly, but not good enough to hang on to the "important stuff" that real memories are made of?
And where can I get some Jolt cola?
Monday, August 01, 2005
Good Stuff
Italian ice...on a stiiiick. (with apologies to Jeff Dunham)
http://www.phillyswirl.com/products/products.cfm
http://www.phillyswirl.com/products/products.cfm
Virgos are notoriously organized.
Say what?
Organized. Practical. Logical. That's what the description says.
They obviously haven't seen my desk.
No, not my desk at work...that's all of the above. At work I am fanatical about everything being where it should be, not just in my office but in every area I work in. I'm Mrs. I-Know-Where-It-Is-And-By-The-Time-You've-Finished-Asking-For-It-I-Have-It-In-Hand. I hate it when the production crew doesn't line up plants by variety and color. I hate it when somebody moves something and I can't find it. I hate seeing shipping carts on both sides of the walks, instead of lined up neatly on one side only. I've picked up my supervisor's habit of straightening the refuse cans as I walk by them, with the lid flaps aligned with the can handles.
But my desk at home would send Martha Stewart into hyperventilation and an incurable nervous tic. And my coworkers would be incredulous. (Not to mention a little perturbed, considering how I am at work.)
This came about because I'm trying to find my new HMO card (not even going off on that rant right now). I just got it a couple weeks ago, and it isn't with my other necessary cards, which means it's somewhere on the desk. I have a huge desk, by the way. I could sleep on it, if I moved the computer. And the right-side pile of junk mail, which is sitting on top of the scanner... (I have to shred soon, because the stack is blocking my framed Brandon Lee picture from the Crow, and that is so not right.) And I'd have to move the front-right pile of paid bills to the archives (shout-out to CB; my new "filing system" has a label!) and the left-side stack to the regular trash and the printer and speakers and VCR and all the assorted candles and notepads and peripherals...
So in theory I could, in fact, sleep on the desk. But I have to find my HMO card first. I'll probably need a nap after that anyway.
Organized. Practical. Logical. That's what the description says.
They obviously haven't seen my desk.
No, not my desk at work...that's all of the above. At work I am fanatical about everything being where it should be, not just in my office but in every area I work in. I'm Mrs. I-Know-Where-It-Is-And-By-The-Time-You've-Finished-Asking-For-It-I-Have-It-In-Hand. I hate it when the production crew doesn't line up plants by variety and color. I hate it when somebody moves something and I can't find it. I hate seeing shipping carts on both sides of the walks, instead of lined up neatly on one side only. I've picked up my supervisor's habit of straightening the refuse cans as I walk by them, with the lid flaps aligned with the can handles.
But my desk at home would send Martha Stewart into hyperventilation and an incurable nervous tic. And my coworkers would be incredulous. (Not to mention a little perturbed, considering how I am at work.)
This came about because I'm trying to find my new HMO card (not even going off on that rant right now). I just got it a couple weeks ago, and it isn't with my other necessary cards, which means it's somewhere on the desk. I have a huge desk, by the way. I could sleep on it, if I moved the computer. And the right-side pile of junk mail, which is sitting on top of the scanner... (I have to shred soon, because the stack is blocking my framed Brandon Lee picture from the Crow, and that is so not right.) And I'd have to move the front-right pile of paid bills to the archives (shout-out to CB; my new "filing system" has a label!) and the left-side stack to the regular trash and the printer and speakers and VCR and all the assorted candles and notepads and peripherals...
So in theory I could, in fact, sleep on the desk. But I have to find my HMO card first. I'll probably need a nap after that anyway.
You catch 'em, He'll clean 'em
Matt. 4:19
Then He said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men."
Then He said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men."
New Mustang: Addictive
I should never have let him drive. Now he has yet another car on the wish list...
Website of the Moment
www.carsatcarlisle.com
We'll be there this coming weekend for the All-Truck Nats. Just follow the trail of drool to find us.
We'll be there this coming weekend for the All-Truck Nats. Just follow the trail of drool to find us.
7 pounds of chocolate.
(Originally written sometime last year)
Not ounces, or liters, or any liquid measure...the bottle of Hershey's syrup I just bought says 7 lbs.
Why did I buy 7 lbs. of chocolate syrup? Because my husband needed a fix...he's been out for over a week and is suffering from withdrawals. I got tired of paying for smaller bottles once or twice a month, and found the big jugs at a warehouse store, so now I buy those instead. My hubby loves his chocolate milk... it kills me that he's more of a chocoholic than any female I know, and yet he managed to lose 13 pounds in the past 3 months without doing anything. What's worse is that he didn't need to lose any weight in the first place. Women should be so lucky.
I, on the other hand, rarely eat chocolate. I binge now and then, but if we were out of syrup I probably wouldn't notice. I like my 2% milk plain, and (shhh...don't tell the locals!) really don't care for Hershey's chocolate anyway. I'm a Lindt truffle person...white, please.
7 lbs...sheesh. We should buy stock in the company.
Not ounces, or liters, or any liquid measure...the bottle of Hershey's syrup I just bought says 7 lbs.
Why did I buy 7 lbs. of chocolate syrup? Because my husband needed a fix...he's been out for over a week and is suffering from withdrawals. I got tired of paying for smaller bottles once or twice a month, and found the big jugs at a warehouse store, so now I buy those instead. My hubby loves his chocolate milk... it kills me that he's more of a chocoholic than any female I know, and yet he managed to lose 13 pounds in the past 3 months without doing anything. What's worse is that he didn't need to lose any weight in the first place. Women should be so lucky.
I, on the other hand, rarely eat chocolate. I binge now and then, but if we were out of syrup I probably wouldn't notice. I like my 2% milk plain, and (shhh...don't tell the locals!) really don't care for Hershey's chocolate anyway. I'm a Lindt truffle person...white, please.
7 lbs...sheesh. We should buy stock in the company.
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