I think someone, possibly me, should put into effect a service similar to Netflix, only with books. Because I'm always thinking to myself, "That's a book I'd like to read," and then I always forget to write down the title and the next time I'm surfing the library catalog my mind goes blank and I can barely think of a single book I want. So wouldn't it be cool if you could just keep a running queue of books in your "Cybrary" (I'm quite sure I'm the first person to ever think up that word), and so when you finish one and send it back to the library, they automatically send you the next book on your list? No? Because keeping a running list of your own would just be too much trouble.
All of which is just my way of avoiding the packing process. Damn the boxes!
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Saturday, June 02, 2007
New York, NY - it's my kinda town
I've been back from NYC for five days now, but I've been too busy doing things like sitting on my ass to update the blog. Actually, it's all part of my grand plan - I've been slowing down on the updates lately so as to wean you all for the time after I move, when my updates may become even more sporadic (as if). I say may because it occurs to me that after I move I will be unemployed once again, and will have plentiful time on my hands for writing all kinds of blogs. (Access to the Internet is another matter entirely, however.)
Anyway, this is all to say that I'm sorry, I know I suck for not updating more often. On to New York.
For someone who hates DC for its unrelenting urbanity, I actually really enjoyed New York, although I must qualify that by saying that I only experienced it on a holiday weekend when most of the locals were out of town, and I never had to deal with rush hour anything. The weather was stultifyingly hot and humid, which normally I find repugnant but under the circumstances I wasn't too perturbed by it. I finally see why all the tourists around here can walk around smiling inthe middle of our August heat waves, when all I feel like doing is punching someone in the face and making them drink my sweat. (Ew. That was a little over the line, eh?) I guess marinating in your own perspiration is a lot more tolerable when you're not trying to get to/from work without your melting the make-up off your face or sweating through your shirt.
We saw all the typical New York stuff, walked around a bunch, ate bagels for breakfast and pizza every other meal, saw Rent on Broadway, did the shopping on Fifth Avenue (I bought shoes at a Payless Shoe Source - yes, there's one on Fifth Ave.!). We also went to the top, actually the 86th floor, of the Empire State Building. This was the only sour note of the trip, as it became foot-achingly clear that trying to see the view from the Empire State Building at night on a holiday weekend was perhaps the stupidest plan we could have concocted. We also had the asinine-ness to try to do this immediately after seeing Rent, when I was still wearing heels and we hadn't had anything to eat or drink in several hours. Let's just say, after the first 45 minutes of waiting in an interminable line, I demonstrated some disgruntlement. The next 30 minutes became an exercise in pissed-offedness-to-the-extreme-degree, as the whole experience started to look like a facade to trap unwary tourists in a time-warp vortex where we continued to stand in line like idiots, hoping against hope that the elevators will appear just beyond the horizon, while eons pass in the outer world. Eventually, we did finally make it up, the view was very nice, and now I hope I never have to do that again.
All in all, though, I felt like I could actually fit in there - there's such an ecclectic mix of people, no one ever has to feel out of place. Plus everyone is always pushy and extremely irritable - finally, I've found a land where I could be my true self!
Anyway, so we had our nice little gut-twistingly expensive vacation, and now the real stress begins. We are now fully-offically moving at the end of June, with our plane tickets purchased and space on a moving truck reserved, so all that's left to do is sell the car, comb through all our belongings deciding what to pack, what to ship separately, and what to throw away, and combine that with applying for jobs and finishing up my last month of work on this coast. Piece of cake.
Anyway, this is all to say that I'm sorry, I know I suck for not updating more often. On to New York.
For someone who hates DC for its unrelenting urbanity, I actually really enjoyed New York, although I must qualify that by saying that I only experienced it on a holiday weekend when most of the locals were out of town, and I never had to deal with rush hour anything. The weather was stultifyingly hot and humid, which normally I find repugnant but under the circumstances I wasn't too perturbed by it. I finally see why all the tourists around here can walk around smiling inthe middle of our August heat waves, when all I feel like doing is punching someone in the face and making them drink my sweat. (Ew. That was a little over the line, eh?) I guess marinating in your own perspiration is a lot more tolerable when you're not trying to get to/from work without your melting the make-up off your face or sweating through your shirt.
We saw all the typical New York stuff, walked around a bunch, ate bagels for breakfast and pizza every other meal, saw Rent on Broadway, did the shopping on Fifth Avenue (I bought shoes at a Payless Shoe Source - yes, there's one on Fifth Ave.!). We also went to the top, actually the 86th floor, of the Empire State Building. This was the only sour note of the trip, as it became foot-achingly clear that trying to see the view from the Empire State Building at night on a holiday weekend was perhaps the stupidest plan we could have concocted. We also had the asinine-ness to try to do this immediately after seeing Rent, when I was still wearing heels and we hadn't had anything to eat or drink in several hours. Let's just say, after the first 45 minutes of waiting in an interminable line, I demonstrated some disgruntlement. The next 30 minutes became an exercise in pissed-offedness-to-the-extreme-degree, as the whole experience started to look like a facade to trap unwary tourists in a time-warp vortex where we continued to stand in line like idiots, hoping against hope that the elevators will appear just beyond the horizon, while eons pass in the outer world. Eventually, we did finally make it up, the view was very nice, and now I hope I never have to do that again.
All in all, though, I felt like I could actually fit in there - there's such an ecclectic mix of people, no one ever has to feel out of place. Plus everyone is always pushy and extremely irritable - finally, I've found a land where I could be my true self!
Anyway, so we had our nice little gut-twistingly expensive vacation, and now the real stress begins. We are now fully-offically moving at the end of June, with our plane tickets purchased and space on a moving truck reserved, so all that's left to do is sell the car, comb through all our belongings deciding what to pack, what to ship separately, and what to throw away, and combine that with applying for jobs and finishing up my last month of work on this coast. Piece of cake.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Oh the pain, the hideous pain
Where to begin my tale of woe?
It would seem that I am doomed to live a life mired in physical agony. Obviously I am exaggerating and I realize that many people live with chronic pain much worse than mine, but just indulge me for the sake of this post.
So most of you, sadly, know about all the problems with my legs, because I've chronicled them exhaustively here. Well, the problem in my hip/pelvis (in medical speak, my right sacroiliac region) has only gotten worse as the months have passed, to the point where it was almost too painful to do anything more active than sitting on my ass. So I went back to my doctor, even though I said I wasn't going to, because he's on the metro line and it's too hard to get into doctors around here if you're a new patient, so I went ahead and went back to the same guy. Anyway, he wanted me to get a steroid injection into my sacroiliac joint, and I thought this was a good idea, too, since I was tired of the pain and just wanted to get it over with.
So after a week and a half of back-and-forth with my doctor's office trying to figure out a stupid insurance detail, I finally got an appointment for yesterday morning to have the damn injection. First, the morning started off with me taking a metro train and two busses to get out to the hospital where fancy radiologist doctor gives out said injections. Then I wandered around the hospital complex for about 20 minutes trying to figure out where the hell I was supposed to go. I finally get there, have to do a bunch more waiting, and then I get to take off all my clothes, don a hospital gown, lie face down on the MRI table, and bare my naked ass to a roomful of male doctors and technicians for about 40 minutes while they figure out where to stick me. So it was a morning full of fun.
And here's how they figure out where to cause the maximum amount of pain--they take a 6-inch long needle, poke it into my bare ass, which is by the way hanging out for every male in the vicinity (about 5 or 6 of them) to see, and move me, verrrrry slowly, into and out of the MRI machine. Then they come back, move the needle approximately .2 mm to the left, and do the whole thing over again. They repeat this procedure two or three more times, then finally give me the injection. And have I mentioned that my ass, which is bare, is still naked and hanging out? To be perfectly honest, what hurt the most was the injection of anesthetic, so the pain from the actual injection of steroids and antibiotic were not as excruciating as I had feared--it was nothing compared to my latest root canal--but still, no walk in the park, either.
After the stabbing, I try to untangle myself from the sheets and hospital gown, which they have hiked up practically over my head, and they keep trying to barge in on me to see if I can walk OK, since apparently there was a chance that the local anesthetic would make my leg and foot numb, thus making me fall flat on my face. Meanwhile, my bare naked ass is still all over the place. (It turned out I could walk just fine, and in fact walked the mile from the hospital to the second bus, thus bypassing having to wait for the first bus.)
*Sigh*
The worst part is, I don't yet feel a huge relief from the pain, but it sure as hell better kick in, because I am not going through that shit again. Unless I can be guaranteed a roomful of female technicians and a female doctor this time.
[I guess I should note that, other than stabbing my ass repeatedly with a six-inch needle, the technicians and doctor were very nice, and were very concerned that I was there by myself and would have to *gasp* take public transportation "home," i.e. work.]
In other, more uplifting news, BF and I went to see Pretty Girls Make Graves on Sunday night, which was hugely enjoyable, except for the fact that it was Sunday and thus we both had to work the next day. Unfortunately it's their last tour, but they're playing their final show in Seattle on June 9th, so catch them if you can. I had never seen the band before, and interestingly, only the lead singer and keyboardist were girls. Who knew.
Anyway, the BF and I are headed to NYC tomorrow for the long Memorial Day weekend, so stay tuned for forthcoming NYC blog fodder. Hopefully fodder of the non-mugging variety. Please, let there be no mugging fodder.
It would seem that I am doomed to live a life mired in physical agony. Obviously I am exaggerating and I realize that many people live with chronic pain much worse than mine, but just indulge me for the sake of this post.
So most of you, sadly, know about all the problems with my legs, because I've chronicled them exhaustively here. Well, the problem in my hip/pelvis (in medical speak, my right sacroiliac region) has only gotten worse as the months have passed, to the point where it was almost too painful to do anything more active than sitting on my ass. So I went back to my doctor, even though I said I wasn't going to, because he's on the metro line and it's too hard to get into doctors around here if you're a new patient, so I went ahead and went back to the same guy. Anyway, he wanted me to get a steroid injection into my sacroiliac joint, and I thought this was a good idea, too, since I was tired of the pain and just wanted to get it over with.
So after a week and a half of back-and-forth with my doctor's office trying to figure out a stupid insurance detail, I finally got an appointment for yesterday morning to have the damn injection. First, the morning started off with me taking a metro train and two busses to get out to the hospital where fancy radiologist doctor gives out said injections. Then I wandered around the hospital complex for about 20 minutes trying to figure out where the hell I was supposed to go. I finally get there, have to do a bunch more waiting, and then I get to take off all my clothes, don a hospital gown, lie face down on the MRI table, and bare my naked ass to a roomful of male doctors and technicians for about 40 minutes while they figure out where to stick me. So it was a morning full of fun.
And here's how they figure out where to cause the maximum amount of pain--they take a 6-inch long needle, poke it into my bare ass, which is by the way hanging out for every male in the vicinity (about 5 or 6 of them) to see, and move me, verrrrry slowly, into and out of the MRI machine. Then they come back, move the needle approximately .2 mm to the left, and do the whole thing over again. They repeat this procedure two or three more times, then finally give me the injection. And have I mentioned that my ass, which is bare, is still naked and hanging out? To be perfectly honest, what hurt the most was the injection of anesthetic, so the pain from the actual injection of steroids and antibiotic were not as excruciating as I had feared--it was nothing compared to my latest root canal--but still, no walk in the park, either.
After the stabbing, I try to untangle myself from the sheets and hospital gown, which they have hiked up practically over my head, and they keep trying to barge in on me to see if I can walk OK, since apparently there was a chance that the local anesthetic would make my leg and foot numb, thus making me fall flat on my face. Meanwhile, my bare naked ass is still all over the place. (It turned out I could walk just fine, and in fact walked the mile from the hospital to the second bus, thus bypassing having to wait for the first bus.)
*Sigh*
The worst part is, I don't yet feel a huge relief from the pain, but it sure as hell better kick in, because I am not going through that shit again. Unless I can be guaranteed a roomful of female technicians and a female doctor this time.
[I guess I should note that, other than stabbing my ass repeatedly with a six-inch needle, the technicians and doctor were very nice, and were very concerned that I was there by myself and would have to *gasp* take public transportation "home," i.e. work.]
In other, more uplifting news, BF and I went to see Pretty Girls Make Graves on Sunday night, which was hugely enjoyable, except for the fact that it was Sunday and thus we both had to work the next day. Unfortunately it's their last tour, but they're playing their final show in Seattle on June 9th, so catch them if you can. I had never seen the band before, and interestingly, only the lead singer and keyboardist were girls. Who knew.
Anyway, the BF and I are headed to NYC tomorrow for the long Memorial Day weekend, so stay tuned for forthcoming NYC blog fodder. Hopefully fodder of the non-mugging variety. Please, let there be no mugging fodder.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Things I will miss about DC
Number one. Nuuuuumberrr one..........*chirping of crickets*
Kidding. Of course there are things I will miss, even though today I am particularly grumpy at the metro (subway system) for making me a half-hour late to work, a half-hour which I will have to take out of my VERY OWN personal sick leave, which is by the way unacceptable, but since I'm pretty sure no one who reads this blog works for metro, nevermind.
Things I Will (Mostly) Miss About DC When I Am Gone, Which Will Be Soon
1. The subway (most of the time - the rest of the time metro can eat shit and die)
2. Only having to drive a car once a week, to get groceries at Safeway
3. Having the option, not that I ever exercise it, to hear any type of live music or go to any club I get a hankering for any night of the week (and as a corollary: to have said venue be lively and full of people on any night)
4. Being in walking-distance to a number of decent bars
5. The plethora of cabs, and the ability to hail cabs on the street from most places I would ever venture, and that the cabs are mostly reasonably-priced
6. Any type of museum I could imagine within a short subway ride, totally free of charge and open every day but Christmas
7. Cool fireworks
8. Pretty much any major thing that happens in the country, I hear it first (OK, not me specifically, but the news media out here)
9. Intellectual vibrancy, and the vast amount of people who are interested in and pay attention to current events (usually because it's their job to do that, but whatever)
10. Access to nationally-renowned cultural stuff, like Broadway plays, major musical acts, author talks, etc.
11. The E-Street Cinema, purveyor of indie movies, beer, wine, espresso, brownies--things you can't get at a regular old AMC theatre--in a comfortable, well-run establishment. The Grand Theatre in Tacoma (which is neither grand nor a theatre, discuss) is not even comparable.
So now, to be fair, I must also list out the things I will NOT miss.
Things I Will Not Miss About DC When I Am Gone, Which Will Be Soon
1. The assholes. Oh my god, the huge number of assholes I encounter on a daily basis (I am probably one of them, but I don't care.)
2. Have I ever mentioned how much the humidity sucks here? I'm not sure that I have. Well, the humidity, it is SO BAD and it SUCKS.
3. The cost of living. If I told you how much money I pay to rent a smallish one-bedroom apartment (which by the way does not include utilities of any sort), you would cry. You would probably also slap me for being such a sucker.
4. Almost getting run over by ASSHOLES every single time I venture across the street. In crosswalks. With the walk-light clearly in my favor. Every. Single. Time.
5. The lack of fruit-and-vegetable markets and bakeries, which I'm sorry to say are also lacking in the Tacoma/Seattle area. Let's all take a cue from Vancouver shall we? And also, the mere fact that all berries in this city are sold in tiny little packages in grocery stores for $5.00 a half-pint. RIDICULOUS.
6. The very tiny percentage of restaurants that offer tasty food at reasonable prices.
7. The pretentiousness. Guess what? Not every one here gets paid a lot of money, so why pretend like you do? Why is shopping at Marshall's made to seem so shameful? I like Marshall's. I proudly shop at Marshall's. (Marshall's is the same as Ross).
8. There is no natural beauty. I mean, there are green pockets here and there, but you have to drive over an hour to see any sort of view, and same goes for mountains or water--they require hours of driving to get to. Meh. I'd rather step out my front door and see those things, thanks.
9. There are many, many Republicans. And they pop up where you least expect them. Think your co-worker is a reasonable person with a progressive outlook on global warming and gay marriage? Think again.
10. The great yawning chasm between rich and poor, white-collar upper class-mummy-and-daddy-sent-me-to-an-elite-prep-school-and-pulled-
strings-to-get-me-into-Harvard-and-then-they-supported-me-while-I
-took-an-unpaid-internship-and-now-I-have-a-high-paying-job-at-the-
age-of-24 types versus people who work one or sometimes two or three mediocre jobs just to pay the bills and who struggle every month just to make ends meet types. Seriously, the disparity seems so much larger here between those who've never lived a day in their life where they actually worried about making it to the next paycheck and those who either fail to make ends meet or are very close to failing. It's shocking to me. I've never encountered so many extremely wealthy people or extremely impoverished people in one vicinity before in my life.
Kidding. Of course there are things I will miss, even though today I am particularly grumpy at the metro (subway system) for making me a half-hour late to work, a half-hour which I will have to take out of my VERY OWN personal sick leave, which is by the way unacceptable, but since I'm pretty sure no one who reads this blog works for metro, nevermind.
Things I Will (Mostly) Miss About DC When I Am Gone, Which Will Be Soon
1. The subway (most of the time - the rest of the time metro can eat shit and die)
2. Only having to drive a car once a week, to get groceries at Safeway
3. Having the option, not that I ever exercise it, to hear any type of live music or go to any club I get a hankering for any night of the week (and as a corollary: to have said venue be lively and full of people on any night)
4. Being in walking-distance to a number of decent bars
5. The plethora of cabs, and the ability to hail cabs on the street from most places I would ever venture, and that the cabs are mostly reasonably-priced
6. Any type of museum I could imagine within a short subway ride, totally free of charge and open every day but Christmas
7. Cool fireworks
8. Pretty much any major thing that happens in the country, I hear it first (OK, not me specifically, but the news media out here)
9. Intellectual vibrancy, and the vast amount of people who are interested in and pay attention to current events (usually because it's their job to do that, but whatever)
10. Access to nationally-renowned cultural stuff, like Broadway plays, major musical acts, author talks, etc.
11. The E-Street Cinema, purveyor of indie movies, beer, wine, espresso, brownies--things you can't get at a regular old AMC theatre--in a comfortable, well-run establishment. The Grand Theatre in Tacoma (which is neither grand nor a theatre, discuss) is not even comparable.
So now, to be fair, I must also list out the things I will NOT miss.
Things I Will Not Miss About DC When I Am Gone, Which Will Be Soon
1. The assholes. Oh my god, the huge number of assholes I encounter on a daily basis (I am probably one of them, but I don't care.)
2. Have I ever mentioned how much the humidity sucks here? I'm not sure that I have. Well, the humidity, it is SO BAD and it SUCKS.
3. The cost of living. If I told you how much money I pay to rent a smallish one-bedroom apartment (which by the way does not include utilities of any sort), you would cry. You would probably also slap me for being such a sucker.
4. Almost getting run over by ASSHOLES every single time I venture across the street. In crosswalks. With the walk-light clearly in my favor. Every. Single. Time.
5. The lack of fruit-and-vegetable markets and bakeries, which I'm sorry to say are also lacking in the Tacoma/Seattle area. Let's all take a cue from Vancouver shall we? And also, the mere fact that all berries in this city are sold in tiny little packages in grocery stores for $5.00 a half-pint. RIDICULOUS.
6. The very tiny percentage of restaurants that offer tasty food at reasonable prices.
7. The pretentiousness. Guess what? Not every one here gets paid a lot of money, so why pretend like you do? Why is shopping at Marshall's made to seem so shameful? I like Marshall's. I proudly shop at Marshall's. (Marshall's is the same as Ross).
8. There is no natural beauty. I mean, there are green pockets here and there, but you have to drive over an hour to see any sort of view, and same goes for mountains or water--they require hours of driving to get to. Meh. I'd rather step out my front door and see those things, thanks.
9. There are many, many Republicans. And they pop up where you least expect them. Think your co-worker is a reasonable person with a progressive outlook on global warming and gay marriage? Think again.
10. The great yawning chasm between rich and poor, white-collar upper class-mummy-and-daddy-sent-me-to-an-elite-prep-school-and-pulled-
strings-to-get-me-into-Harvard-and-then-they-supported-me-while-I
-took-an-unpaid-internship-and-now-I-have-a-high-paying-job-at-the-
age-of-24 types versus people who work one or sometimes two or three mediocre jobs just to pay the bills and who struggle every month just to make ends meet types. Seriously, the disparity seems so much larger here between those who've never lived a day in their life where they actually worried about making it to the next paycheck and those who either fail to make ends meet or are very close to failing. It's shocking to me. I've never encountered so many extremely wealthy people or extremely impoverished people in one vicinity before in my life.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The dizzying highs! The terrifying lows! I've got to live, Marge, won't you let me LIVE?
Hey kids. Not much new here. Except, did I remember to tell you, we're MOVING?! Yeah, but other than that, everything is just kinda boring.
I've been feeling very incompetent at work lately, I think partly due to the fact that I'm doing a brainless job anyone who breathes could perform with minimal training, so anytime I slip up I get mad at myself for screwing up something my cat could do in her sleep. I feel like yelling to myself, "COME ON, lady! You only have five tasks to do throughout the day, and you screw up ONE of them? What good are you?"
So you can see, I'm not going into the new job-hunt cycle with a lot of confidence. But on the bright side, my utter lack of skills, experience, articulation, and self-esteem should provide for some hilarious blog fodder.
Oy vey. Why am I putting myself through this again? Oh yes, because I hate it here.
In other news, did I mention I went to a black-tie event at the Ritz-Carlton last weekend? It was fun, and not as scary as you would think for a girl who grew up in Boise, Idaho, one generation removed from farmers and loggers. I was a little nervous at the beginning, though, and not because I'm from Boise, but because I was wearing a rather, ahem, low-cut dress and I was afraid that one wrong move would give away all my secrets, if you know what I mean. The dress was cut in a way that made wearing a bra basically impossible, and I didn't want to spend a lot of money buying those boob-cup things, and frankly I don't even know how they're supposed to work anyway. So I thought I would just stick on some double-sided tape J.Lo style and be done with it. But the only problem was that I forgot to buy the double-sided tape. So, in my urgency to find something to prevent slippage in the five seconds I had until the cab came to pick us up, instead I opted for doubling over some regular pieces of Scotch tape. Long story short: not the best idea.
In the end, after much frantic tugging and surreptitious boob-tape checking and hiding under my (transparent) wrap-ing, decided the hell with the tape and just took it off. Which actually worked out okay as long I kept an eye on the girls and made sure to keep my shoulders back and my posture ram-rod straight.
My hair was another story, but then my hair is terminally ill to begin with, so we can't really blaming it for looking like death. I would post a photo of the soiree, but I don't own the photos that were taken at the event, so sadly, you'll just have to leave my low-cut dress and ugly hair to your imaginations.
But yeah, other than the boob-tape debacle, I think the evening went pretty well, except for the fact that none of the BF's coworkers talked to me. I guess I probably forgot to mention that the event was sponsored by BF's work, and I don't know why no one talked to me--they weren't mean, they just weren't very talkative. But I got to dance with the BF and get slightly jiggy with it, so you know. Oh, and also there was free food and a dessert buffet and an open bar, and did I mention it was the Ritz-Carlton? Good times.
And that, my friends, was my week in a nutshell.
Stay tuned for my next post, where I will give a blow-by-blow account of vacuuming the apartment.
I've been feeling very incompetent at work lately, I think partly due to the fact that I'm doing a brainless job anyone who breathes could perform with minimal training, so anytime I slip up I get mad at myself for screwing up something my cat could do in her sleep. I feel like yelling to myself, "COME ON, lady! You only have five tasks to do throughout the day, and you screw up ONE of them? What good are you?"
So you can see, I'm not going into the new job-hunt cycle with a lot of confidence. But on the bright side, my utter lack of skills, experience, articulation, and self-esteem should provide for some hilarious blog fodder.
Oy vey. Why am I putting myself through this again? Oh yes, because I hate it here.
In other news, did I mention I went to a black-tie event at the Ritz-Carlton last weekend? It was fun, and not as scary as you would think for a girl who grew up in Boise, Idaho, one generation removed from farmers and loggers. I was a little nervous at the beginning, though, and not because I'm from Boise, but because I was wearing a rather, ahem, low-cut dress and I was afraid that one wrong move would give away all my secrets, if you know what I mean. The dress was cut in a way that made wearing a bra basically impossible, and I didn't want to spend a lot of money buying those boob-cup things, and frankly I don't even know how they're supposed to work anyway. So I thought I would just stick on some double-sided tape J.Lo style and be done with it. But the only problem was that I forgot to buy the double-sided tape. So, in my urgency to find something to prevent slippage in the five seconds I had until the cab came to pick us up, instead I opted for doubling over some regular pieces of Scotch tape. Long story short: not the best idea.
In the end, after much frantic tugging and surreptitious boob-tape checking and hiding under my (transparent) wrap-ing, decided the hell with the tape and just took it off. Which actually worked out okay as long I kept an eye on the girls and made sure to keep my shoulders back and my posture ram-rod straight.
My hair was another story, but then my hair is terminally ill to begin with, so we can't really blaming it for looking like death. I would post a photo of the soiree, but I don't own the photos that were taken at the event, so sadly, you'll just have to leave my low-cut dress and ugly hair to your imaginations.
But yeah, other than the boob-tape debacle, I think the evening went pretty well, except for the fact that none of the BF's coworkers talked to me. I guess I probably forgot to mention that the event was sponsored by BF's work, and I don't know why no one talked to me--they weren't mean, they just weren't very talkative. But I got to dance with the BF and get slightly jiggy with it, so you know. Oh, and also there was free food and a dessert buffet and an open bar, and did I mention it was the Ritz-Carlton? Good times.
And that, my friends, was my week in a nutshell.
Stay tuned for my next post, where I will give a blow-by-blow account of vacuuming the apartment.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
DC, I hardly knew ye
I guess it's now semi-official--the BF and I are moving back to the Northwest at the end of June.
Let's all breathe a sigh of relief.
I'm not quite sure what will happen with this blog after that point since I won't have DC to rail against anymore, but I'm pretty much a born complainer (no! you say), so I'll probably be whining and moaning about my life in this space for a long time to come. There might be a bit of a hiatus for a while after we move, though, since for at least a month or so we'll be living along the fringes of Middle of Nowhere. We're not exactly sure where we'll be after that, although we are thinking of going back to Tacoma for a bit. We still have friends in the area, we know it well, and it's cheaper than Seattle. And I might have a job prospect there, but it's too soon to know for sure and I don't want to jinx it by saying anything else.
This weekend has erased any doubts, if ever doubts existed, about my determination to get the hell out of here. For two consecutive nights the BF and I hung out with people from various internships he's held while living here, and since his degree involves public policy, all the people were very bureaucratic, entrenched DC-types. Not a single one of them could understand why we would want to move to, of all places, the Pacific Northwest. They know we're from there, all of our family and friends live back there, but still, they couldn't see the logic.
And this is why I want to move.
One person in particular kept asking us, "Isn't it going to be hard to find a job out there? What are you going to do for work?" (As though there are no cities or government institutions or industries in the Northwest, just vast open wasteland. And lumber.)
This is why I want to move.
When BF told him we don't like it here because everyone out here is so career-driven, he laughed skeptically, then proceeded to talk about his job for three more hours. Three loooooong hours.
This is why I want to move.
I need to be able to talk to people about more than my job, because my job a) isn't that interesting to talk about, and b) sucks. And I need to know that I am more than just my stupid boring job. I need everyone else to know this, too.
Here is my bulletin to the the little buzzing worker bees of DC:
PEOPLE. THERE IS MORE TO LIFE THAN WHAT YOU DO FOR A LIVING, OR HOW MUCH MONEY YOU EARN.
So yay! I get to move!
P.S. I guess I should also mention that the BF successfully completed his master's degree, which is why we finally get to move.
Let's all breathe a sigh of relief.
I'm not quite sure what will happen with this blog after that point since I won't have DC to rail against anymore, but I'm pretty much a born complainer (no! you say), so I'll probably be whining and moaning about my life in this space for a long time to come. There might be a bit of a hiatus for a while after we move, though, since for at least a month or so we'll be living along the fringes of Middle of Nowhere. We're not exactly sure where we'll be after that, although we are thinking of going back to Tacoma for a bit. We still have friends in the area, we know it well, and it's cheaper than Seattle. And I might have a job prospect there, but it's too soon to know for sure and I don't want to jinx it by saying anything else.
This weekend has erased any doubts, if ever doubts existed, about my determination to get the hell out of here. For two consecutive nights the BF and I hung out with people from various internships he's held while living here, and since his degree involves public policy, all the people were very bureaucratic, entrenched DC-types. Not a single one of them could understand why we would want to move to, of all places, the Pacific Northwest. They know we're from there, all of our family and friends live back there, but still, they couldn't see the logic.
And this is why I want to move.
One person in particular kept asking us, "Isn't it going to be hard to find a job out there? What are you going to do for work?" (As though there are no cities or government institutions or industries in the Northwest, just vast open wasteland. And lumber.)
This is why I want to move.
When BF told him we don't like it here because everyone out here is so career-driven, he laughed skeptically, then proceeded to talk about his job for three more hours. Three loooooong hours.
This is why I want to move.
I need to be able to talk to people about more than my job, because my job a) isn't that interesting to talk about, and b) sucks. And I need to know that I am more than just my stupid boring job. I need everyone else to know this, too.
Here is my bulletin to the the little buzzing worker bees of DC:
PEOPLE. THERE IS MORE TO LIFE THAN WHAT YOU DO FOR A LIVING, OR HOW MUCH MONEY YOU EARN.
So yay! I get to move!
P.S. I guess I should also mention that the BF successfully completed his master's degree, which is why we finally get to move.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Preaching to the choir (sorry)
Since the seventh Harry Potter book is due to come out in July, and since I have nothing else of consequence to write about, let us enter into a conversation regarding the so-called evilness that is Harry Potter.
Point 1: People, please. Do you really, and I mean honestly, have nothing better to do with your time than to protest the school and/or library board of your local municipality over their selection of these books? Wouldn't it be easier for all of us if you went ahead and took your medication and got some sort of useful hobby, like knitting?
Point 2: Do you want to suck all the fun out of childhood? I guess you don't remember daydreaming during social studies or long-division, wishing you could fly or magically disappear or eat really cool candy or turn someone into a toad. Honey, we have a word for these kinds of fantasies and daydreams. It's called FICTION. If you want to protest something, protest the non-fiction books about the occult, of which I'm sure your local library is filled (actually, I'm kidding here - don't protest them. We also have words for things like that: "democracy" and "open society" come to mind.)
Point 3: Here's what I don't get: no one ever protests the Wizard of Oz anymore. Is it because we've come to accept it as part of our whimsical childhood canon? Is it because EVERYONE and I mean everyone in the western hemisphere has seen the movie about a scillion times, and has come to regard the witches and wizards and other magical creatures in the book and movie exactly as they were intended to be regarded; i.e. as figments of a writer's imagination?
Point 4: I guess what I'm saying is: CHILLAX. Unless your children are developmentally disabled, and even if they are, come to think of it, they will get that this stuff is meant to be a fun little release from reality, and not meant to be practiced at midnight with the local witches' coven.
I think the real problem here is not that people are afraid their kids will somehow get sucked into the occult by reading these books, but that those very same people seem to believe the occult is REALLY weaving an evil, book-purchasing spell around our children as we sit idly by. I'm not saying the occult isn't real--or more to the point, that people don't believe the occult to be real; what I'm saying is that people do not have the power to cast spells on other people. Get a grip. MAGIC DOESN'T REALLY EXIST. And you call yourselves Christian?
Oh, and here's a Point 5 for you: You cannot argue that Harry Potter embodies sin and bad value systems and whatever else you want to say. He embodies standing up for oneself, practicing what one believes in, and fighting the herd-mentality of society that causes people to support things they know to be bad and wrong. (I'm sure there was a more eloquent way of saying that but I'm a little sleep-deprived right now.) These are values every good Christian should stand up and applaud!
I don't get people.
Point 1: People, please. Do you really, and I mean honestly, have nothing better to do with your time than to protest the school and/or library board of your local municipality over their selection of these books? Wouldn't it be easier for all of us if you went ahead and took your medication and got some sort of useful hobby, like knitting?
Point 2: Do you want to suck all the fun out of childhood? I guess you don't remember daydreaming during social studies or long-division, wishing you could fly or magically disappear or eat really cool candy or turn someone into a toad. Honey, we have a word for these kinds of fantasies and daydreams. It's called FICTION. If you want to protest something, protest the non-fiction books about the occult, of which I'm sure your local library is filled (actually, I'm kidding here - don't protest them. We also have words for things like that: "democracy" and "open society" come to mind.)
Point 3: Here's what I don't get: no one ever protests the Wizard of Oz anymore. Is it because we've come to accept it as part of our whimsical childhood canon? Is it because EVERYONE and I mean everyone in the western hemisphere has seen the movie about a scillion times, and has come to regard the witches and wizards and other magical creatures in the book and movie exactly as they were intended to be regarded; i.e. as figments of a writer's imagination?
Point 4: I guess what I'm saying is: CHILLAX. Unless your children are developmentally disabled, and even if they are, come to think of it, they will get that this stuff is meant to be a fun little release from reality, and not meant to be practiced at midnight with the local witches' coven.
I think the real problem here is not that people are afraid their kids will somehow get sucked into the occult by reading these books, but that those very same people seem to believe the occult is REALLY weaving an evil, book-purchasing spell around our children as we sit idly by. I'm not saying the occult isn't real--or more to the point, that people don't believe the occult to be real; what I'm saying is that people do not have the power to cast spells on other people. Get a grip. MAGIC DOESN'T REALLY EXIST. And you call yourselves Christian?
Oh, and here's a Point 5 for you: You cannot argue that Harry Potter embodies sin and bad value systems and whatever else you want to say. He embodies standing up for oneself, practicing what one believes in, and fighting the herd-mentality of society that causes people to support things they know to be bad and wrong. (I'm sure there was a more eloquent way of saying that but I'm a little sleep-deprived right now.) These are values every good Christian should stand up and applaud!
I don't get people.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
What a week
We live in a sick, sad world. And that's really about all the energy I have right now to comment on Monday's horrific events. Every day at work this week has been like attending an eight-hour funeral and I'm just drained.
What makes me particularly angry about this whole thing is that it showcases to the world the most violent aspect of our supposedly civilized society. And we ARE a violent society--this country was founded by guerrilla fighters who started a war with the British because they had the audacity to tax our TEA, for crying out loud. And I won't even go into a tirade over gun control laws because I think this incident speaks loud enough for everyone to hear. (And by the way, I don't think the usual argument--"criminals can get their hands on guns if they want them badly enough, whether or not they're legal"--applies in this case, since this was a middle-class kid from suburbia with a clean criminal background. I don't for a minute believe he would have known where to get an illegal handgun.)
Violence runs through our veins, and each school shooting and Waco and Oklahoma bombing and invasion of Iraq--which I'm sorry, these things DO NOT happen on a regular basis in most other western countries--highlights to the world what we so like to keep hidden under our SUV-driving, Starbucks-drinking facades.
OK, I guess I had a little more energy than I thought.
Anyway, now I'm rambling and I don't know what I'm trying to say, other than that I really, really want to go back to Canada.
And now I'm tired of talking about death and tragedy. During my weekly Thursday afternoon perusal of the Internets, I came across this really stupid thing on the Best of Craigslist, entitled "143 Reasons I Will be the Best Girlfriend You've Ever Had". So to lighten the mood, I've made up my own, opposing list. Enjoy.
What makes me particularly angry about this whole thing is that it showcases to the world the most violent aspect of our supposedly civilized society. And we ARE a violent society--this country was founded by guerrilla fighters who started a war with the British because they had the audacity to tax our TEA, for crying out loud. And I won't even go into a tirade over gun control laws because I think this incident speaks loud enough for everyone to hear. (And by the way, I don't think the usual argument--"criminals can get their hands on guns if they want them badly enough, whether or not they're legal"--applies in this case, since this was a middle-class kid from suburbia with a clean criminal background. I don't for a minute believe he would have known where to get an illegal handgun.)
Violence runs through our veins, and each school shooting and Waco and Oklahoma bombing and invasion of Iraq--which I'm sorry, these things DO NOT happen on a regular basis in most other western countries--highlights to the world what we so like to keep hidden under our SUV-driving, Starbucks-drinking facades.
OK, I guess I had a little more energy than I thought.
Anyway, now I'm rambling and I don't know what I'm trying to say, other than that I really, really want to go back to Canada.
And now I'm tired of talking about death and tragedy. During my weekly Thursday afternoon perusal of the Internets, I came across this really stupid thing on the Best of Craigslist, entitled "143 Reasons I Will be the Best Girlfriend You've Ever Had". So to lighten the mood, I've made up my own, opposing list. Enjoy.
Reasons why I will NOT be the best girlfriend you ever had (and I don’t give a shit if I am or not)
- I don’t give a shit if I am or not. Being in love with someone is not a competition.
- I don’t like the color purple. Ok, that’s a lie, but the point is, wtf does color preference have to do with it?
- I go to the gym, but I still have some cellulite and I don’t look like a supermodel. Sorry.
- I like to eat. A lot.
- I don’t keep up my nails.
- I rarely get my toes done.
- I drive an automatic, when I drive, and I will never learn how to drive a manual.
- I don’t want to watch you work on your car. It will not get me hot. What I WOULD like to see is you volunteering to take the car into the shop to get worked on without me having to constantly nag.
- I don’t care what kind of car you drive.
- I drive a 1996 Ford Contour, baby! Does that get your motor running?
- I’m short but not little, and it makes me mad that I always have to look up to you. (And why would you find it a turn-on for a woman to always have to crane her neck to see you?)
- I wear granny panties.
- My hair isn’t long.
- I can’t guarantee you I won’t steal food off your plate. I’m fat, remember?
- I won’t always let you be the “man” in the relationship. Whatever that means. I will assert my opinions in ways that I see fit, and I might be aggressive about it if I feel I need to be.
- I don’t always smell good, particularly early in the morning or after I work out. There’s a little thing humans do, called sweating. I sweat.
- I don’t even know what “ghost ride” means.
- I’m 30 with the mind of a 30-year-old and the heart of a 30-year-old. If I act like I’m 10, please slap me.
- I might “burden you” with my PMS problems. I can’t help it – it’s PMS. And if you get on my case about it, I might start yelling or crying hysterically. Or I might just shove a piece of cake in my mouth and ignore you.
- I don’t have any of my childhood belongings with me because I’m an adult.
- You + Me + Dancing + Outdoors + Rain = Afternoon spent being miserable because I hate being cold and wet, and you WILL hear about it.
- If I “accidentally” leave my underwear in your bed, you have my permission to be grossed out.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Reasons #1 - 1,097 not to live here
This article by Gene Weingarten pretty much sums up why Washington, D.C. is the worst place on the planet. You might be surprised!
Since I am not naive enough to believe that anyone will actually click on the link and read the article, here it is in a nutshell. The Washington Post hired Joshua Bell, a world-renowned violinist, to play at a metro station, disguised him as a street performer, and watched what happened. Would people be amazed by the beauty of this man's performance, stop to listen, create a crowd of onlookers? Would the man be recognized as the musical virtuoso he is, would he make a load of cash? The answer to all these questions: no. Only a handful of people even looked at the guy, much less stopped to listen to his masterful playing, much less gave him any money. Would I have stopped? Probably not, because, as I have made abundantly clear, this city has eaten my soul alive.
This is what why.i.hate.dc had to say about it:
P.S. I've added something new to my blog, which I realize no one cares about but which I am going to tell you about anyway. It's a link to my new reading log (see sidebar), in which I will critique and/or discuss books I'm reading. It's mostly for my own amusement but feel free to read if you like.
Since I am not naive enough to believe that anyone will actually click on the link and read the article, here it is in a nutshell. The Washington Post hired Joshua Bell, a world-renowned violinist, to play at a metro station, disguised him as a street performer, and watched what happened. Would people be amazed by the beauty of this man's performance, stop to listen, create a crowd of onlookers? Would the man be recognized as the musical virtuoso he is, would he make a load of cash? The answer to all these questions: no. Only a handful of people even looked at the guy, much less stopped to listen to his masterful playing, much less gave him any money. Would I have stopped? Probably not, because, as I have made abundantly clear, this city has eaten my soul alive.
This is what why.i.hate.dc had to say about it:
The other reason I'd walk right on by is that Washington gives its citizens cancer of the soul where the daily grind and death by paper cut slights and inconveniences make it impossible to appreciate anything. I thought that was just me. But this Post article seems to imply otherwise. It's everyone. I mean, check out those videos. The commuters look like cows going to the slaughter. Not even a virtuoso can brighten their day. Yeah, D.C. is awesome like that.I tend to agree.
P.S. I've added something new to my blog, which I realize no one cares about but which I am going to tell you about anyway. It's a link to my new reading log (see sidebar), in which I will critique and/or discuss books I'm reading. It's mostly for my own amusement but feel free to read if you like.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Here's the part where I quote Wayne's World
Hey, where you going? OK, OK, I'm sorry! Come on back, come on back. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll figure something out.
Sorry to be such a downer all the time. But hey, this won't last forever - spring is just around the corner, or so I hear. I wouldn't know, since it snowed again last night. Last night being a night in APRIL. But, you know what they say, April snowstorms bring May NOTHING. I mean, I can accept snow in April if, say, I was in the mountains. However, not only am I not in any mountains, I am no where near a mountain, or even a small hill. Or I could accept snow in April if I lived above the Arctic Circle. Then snow would not only be OK, it would probably be expected. Snow in April is not acceptable, however, if one lives in the midst of a swampy plain, where half the year it is so hot I cannot walk out my front door without breaking into a sweat.
But I digress. Despite the weather sucking my ass, two very good things happened today.
1) We bought a ring. What I remember of it is very pretty, although the details are kind of fuzzy in my mind. We have to have it sized and the stone set, so it'll be about a month before I see it again. But still, ring bought=yay.
2) We just got home from seeing Grindhouse, the Quentin Tarantino/Robert Rodriquez double feature. While it is incredibly gory, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, when I wasn't trying not to wretch. I will probably never watch it again, as it is an incredible investment of time, particularly time during which one cannot snack, since one would run the risk of puking all over strangers if one were to see it on a full stomach. Still, the ending of the second film will have you screaming "BOOYAH, MOTHERFUCKER!" and you will feel like kicking the shit out of someone, but in a good way.
Sorry to be such a downer all the time. But hey, this won't last forever - spring is just around the corner, or so I hear. I wouldn't know, since it snowed again last night. Last night being a night in APRIL. But, you know what they say, April snowstorms bring May NOTHING. I mean, I can accept snow in April if, say, I was in the mountains. However, not only am I not in any mountains, I am no where near a mountain, or even a small hill. Or I could accept snow in April if I lived above the Arctic Circle. Then snow would not only be OK, it would probably be expected. Snow in April is not acceptable, however, if one lives in the midst of a swampy plain, where half the year it is so hot I cannot walk out my front door without breaking into a sweat.
But I digress. Despite the weather sucking my ass, two very good things happened today.
1) We bought a ring. What I remember of it is very pretty, although the details are kind of fuzzy in my mind. We have to have it sized and the stone set, so it'll be about a month before I see it again. But still, ring bought=yay.
2) We just got home from seeing Grindhouse, the Quentin Tarantino/Robert Rodriquez double feature. While it is incredibly gory, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, when I wasn't trying not to wretch. I will probably never watch it again, as it is an incredible investment of time, particularly time during which one cannot snack, since one would run the risk of puking all over strangers if one were to see it on a full stomach. Still, the ending of the second film will have you screaming "BOOYAH, MOTHERFUCKER!" and you will feel like kicking the shit out of someone, but in a good way.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Realizations
It has become increasingly evident to me that I am in the wrong field. By “field” I refer to librarianship, in particular, reference service. I do not like working with people (hence the title of this blog); I do not enjoy helping people figure things out, nor do I enjoy answering their questions, helping them find information, or explaining things in a thorough and patient manner. My ideal job would be to sit in a dusty back room somewhere and never talk to anyone. I sort of knew this was my predilection while I was in library school (ok, honestly, I knew it outright from the beginning), but I thought that I would be able to find jobs in librarianship that would enable me to work more with books than with people. I was wrong. I mean, those kinds of jobs exist, they just don’t exist for me. Most of my background, unfortunately, has been in reference services, and I have no experience doing things that would get me away from people--like say, collection management or cataloging. (And I’m not detail-oriented enough to be a cataloger anyway). I had hoped to work in an environment that would allow me to do a variety of tasks and thus take the focus off all-people all-the-time--and I believe it is probably true that in a decently staffed, normal-sized library, I would only have to work 2-3 hours per day on the reference desk, thus enabling me to keep a modicum of my sanity--but this is not the job I currently have. In the job I have now, I sit on the reference-information-circulation-help-me-I-don’t-know-how-to-use-a-computer desk 6-8 hours a day (the six-hour days are the days when I’m scheduled to be in 2 hours before the library opens). I have no private work space at all, nor any space I can escape to during the day. I don’t drive, so I don’t even have a car I can go sit in if I need to. Most of the time I’m so bored I could cry, which is no fun, but it’s even less fun to be constantly in the public eye, where I can’t even listen to music or have private phone conversations (which makes it a real blast when I have to make an appointment with the lady-parts doctor).
And while you're at it, check out my new and improved Shameless Self Promotion on the sidebar. OK, it's not really improved, but it is new. OK, it's not really new, but at least it's been updated.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
My apologies to the Ducks
It's my fault Oregon lost on Sunday (or whenever the hell it was), because I had to go and root for them, and I know damn well that any team I ever want to win anything never ever wins. So I should have just kept my mouth shut and tried to forget that I knew of a team called the Ducks. Ducks? Ducks who? So, I'm sorry, everyone. I've let you down once again.
The only even half-way vaguely interesting thing going on in my life right now is that I've started watching Extras, the British Ricky Gervais show that's basically just Ricky Gervais being himself, only there are celebrities involved. It is of course a slice of Ricky Gervais heaven, a slice that makes you cringe and wince and bury your head in the couch cushions to get away from all the awkwardness and unbearable social faux pas. So pretty damn funny.
In wedding news, I'm trying to get all geared up for bridezilla-ness and have been reading bridal forums and glancing at Modern Bride magazine, but alas, everything is still too up-in-the-air to begin planning anything. We don't know where we're going to be living this summer, or next summer, or the fall and winter and spring preceding next summer, and we have yet to even narrow down which state--nay, which country-- we'd like to have the wedding in. So I'm in bridezilla limbo. Here's a question, though, for any of you who may be a former bride or know former brides: do you think a simple yet elegant wedding can be orchestrated from the opposite coast of which said wedding will be taking place with only minor nervous breakdowns, and with the couple getting married still speaking to one another by the day of the wedding? Or is that so far away from the realm of possibility as make getting anywhere near Possibility completely fruitless even with a map and typed-out directions?
The only even half-way vaguely interesting thing going on in my life right now is that I've started watching Extras, the British Ricky Gervais show that's basically just Ricky Gervais being himself, only there are celebrities involved. It is of course a slice of Ricky Gervais heaven, a slice that makes you cringe and wince and bury your head in the couch cushions to get away from all the awkwardness and unbearable social faux pas. So pretty damn funny.
In wedding news, I'm trying to get all geared up for bridezilla-ness and have been reading bridal forums and glancing at Modern Bride magazine, but alas, everything is still too up-in-the-air to begin planning anything. We don't know where we're going to be living this summer, or next summer, or the fall and winter and spring preceding next summer, and we have yet to even narrow down which state--nay, which country-- we'd like to have the wedding in. So I'm in bridezilla limbo. Here's a question, though, for any of you who may be a former bride or know former brides: do you think a simple yet elegant wedding can be orchestrated from the opposite coast of which said wedding will be taking place with only minor nervous breakdowns, and with the couple getting married still speaking to one another by the day of the wedding? Or is that so far away from the realm of possibility as make getting anywhere near Possibility completely fruitless even with a map and typed-out directions?
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Go Ducks!
So I see that Oregon made it to the Elite Eight of the NCAA tournament (notice how I sound all like I know what I'm talking about). Not that I have been able to watch any of the games, because (a) me and sports on TV don't mix, but more importantly (b) the network affiliates out here are not aware that there is a whole nuther part of the country beyond the Mississippi River, so they never broadcast any of those games. They probably think that Oregon is one of them Canadian thingamajigs, or maybe just one of those U.S. protectorates, like Guam. So anyway, even though I am not normally much a sports fan, being forced to put up with a bunch of east coast sports snobs makes me happy that our Northwest boys are representing.
In cat news today, the BF is taking Easy to the vet because of her chronic constipation. Oh, the lovely, lovely charms of elderly cats. I, of course, am working, much as I work just about EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE, so will not be in attendance. He's no doubt looking forward to the visit with as much anticipation as one looks forward to one's own visit to the butt doctor, but what can you do. My "job" (which consists mainly of babysitting the printer and copy machine and listlessly surfing the web) sucks all of my time and my life and my will to create anything meaningful. I had a moment of clarity on the subway this morning, wherein I suddenly realized that I only have a finite amount of time on this planet, and yet every moment I spend in this city in this hateful job is completely wasted.
Yeah, so I'm pretty cheerful today. Although still glad that Oregon won last night.
In cat news today, the BF is taking Easy to the vet because of her chronic constipation. Oh, the lovely, lovely charms of elderly cats. I, of course, am working, much as I work just about EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE, so will not be in attendance. He's no doubt looking forward to the visit with as much anticipation as one looks forward to one's own visit to the butt doctor, but what can you do. My "job" (which consists mainly of babysitting the printer and copy machine and listlessly surfing the web) sucks all of my time and my life and my will to create anything meaningful. I had a moment of clarity on the subway this morning, wherein I suddenly realized that I only have a finite amount of time on this planet, and yet every moment I spend in this city in this hateful job is completely wasted.
Yeah, so I'm pretty cheerful today. Although still glad that Oregon won last night.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Senile dysfunction
A few things.
1) It seems that my 14-year-old cat is going senile in her golden years. Is this even possible? There doesn't seem to be any other explanation for her behavior, though--I mean, she's not banging into walls or anything, but what used to be her funny little foibles and quirks have lately turned into full-blown neuroses. For example, she's always been picky about her water dish - she does NOT like stray objects in her water while she's drinking, and this includes cat hairs, dust mites, and itty bitty bits of food (I guess I can't blame her there; it is kind of disgusting to have floaties in your water) - and will splash the water repeatedly with her paw in order to expel the offending debris. She has done this since I adopted her as a kitten, and it's just been one of her odd little things. However, since her kidney disease diagnosis she's gone off the deep end with the splashing splashing splashing SPLASHING. It's gotten to the point where we'll set a completely cleansed and newly filled bowl of water in front of her and she won't even so much as sniff it before the splashing commences. We wake up in the middle of the night to her splashing. We can't walk into the kitchen without wading through a pond of her splashed water, and we've had to change socks more than once because we forgot that, oh yes, our cat has gone insane and splashes water water EVERYWHERE! Of course, her brain is too small to realize that sticking her grubby, furry, dirt-and-litter-covered paw into the water only makes things worse for herself, and I often find a disgusting cement-like substance churning in the bottom of her dish from the various sand and dirt grains she's transported into her Sea of Tranquility.
Another example of her sudden-senility onset: ever since I lived in an apartment in Vancouver that housed a particularly large, cavernous, dusty-and-dark-corned closet where incidentally her cat food was kept, she has chosen one closet in my apartment with which to become obsessed, I guess in the hope that suddenly one day that same closet with the shadowy expanses of investigatory bliss will suddenly open unto her. In my current apartment, her closet of choice is the laundry closet in the bathroom where the washer and dryer are. There is nothing else in this closet except a broom, because there is no room in there for anything else. She knows this, and she has been shown the washer and the dryer many times and found them lacking in interesting features. Yet her obsession with getting a peek inside that closet continues unabated. That sort of behavior I have taken for granted as semi-normal, because she is silly and old and apparently her memory is hazy. But what used to be occasional begging for the magical closet door to be opened whenever BF or I were in the bathroom has turned into a sudden lunge for the bathroom anytime one of us stands up or moves in any direction that MIGHT indicate a visit to that hallowed ground, and she now spends much of her free time sitting in the bathroom staring at the closed closet door.
Should I start calling nursing homes?
2) Anyway. I have decided that Girl Scout cookies should be declared illegal, because 1) they are fattening and are contributing to the obesity epidemic of the nation, and 2) they are laced with crack or a crack-like substance. How else to explain how a calm, rational person can sit down with a box of Girl Scout cookies and think to oneself, "OK, I am going to have two reasonably-sized cookies and then close up the box and put them in the cupboard and not even contemplate eating any more until tomorrow," and then suddenly find oneself thirty minutes later in a fat-induced stupor at the kitchen table staring at an empty box of cookies, with smears of chocolate in one's hair and on one's clothing.
I'm not saying this happened to me, I'm just saying - those cookies ain't right.
1) It seems that my 14-year-old cat is going senile in her golden years. Is this even possible? There doesn't seem to be any other explanation for her behavior, though--I mean, she's not banging into walls or anything, but what used to be her funny little foibles and quirks have lately turned into full-blown neuroses. For example, she's always been picky about her water dish - she does NOT like stray objects in her water while she's drinking, and this includes cat hairs, dust mites, and itty bitty bits of food (I guess I can't blame her there; it is kind of disgusting to have floaties in your water) - and will splash the water repeatedly with her paw in order to expel the offending debris. She has done this since I adopted her as a kitten, and it's just been one of her odd little things. However, since her kidney disease diagnosis she's gone off the deep end with the splashing splashing splashing SPLASHING. It's gotten to the point where we'll set a completely cleansed and newly filled bowl of water in front of her and she won't even so much as sniff it before the splashing commences. We wake up in the middle of the night to her splashing. We can't walk into the kitchen without wading through a pond of her splashed water, and we've had to change socks more than once because we forgot that, oh yes, our cat has gone insane and splashes water water EVERYWHERE! Of course, her brain is too small to realize that sticking her grubby, furry, dirt-and-litter-covered paw into the water only makes things worse for herself, and I often find a disgusting cement-like substance churning in the bottom of her dish from the various sand and dirt grains she's transported into her Sea of Tranquility.
Another example of her sudden-senility onset: ever since I lived in an apartment in Vancouver that housed a particularly large, cavernous, dusty-and-dark-corned closet where incidentally her cat food was kept, she has chosen one closet in my apartment with which to become obsessed, I guess in the hope that suddenly one day that same closet with the shadowy expanses of investigatory bliss will suddenly open unto her. In my current apartment, her closet of choice is the laundry closet in the bathroom where the washer and dryer are. There is nothing else in this closet except a broom, because there is no room in there for anything else. She knows this, and she has been shown the washer and the dryer many times and found them lacking in interesting features. Yet her obsession with getting a peek inside that closet continues unabated. That sort of behavior I have taken for granted as semi-normal, because she is silly and old and apparently her memory is hazy. But what used to be occasional begging for the magical closet door to be opened whenever BF or I were in the bathroom has turned into a sudden lunge for the bathroom anytime one of us stands up or moves in any direction that MIGHT indicate a visit to that hallowed ground, and she now spends much of her free time sitting in the bathroom staring at the closed closet door.
Should I start calling nursing homes?
2) Anyway. I have decided that Girl Scout cookies should be declared illegal, because 1) they are fattening and are contributing to the obesity epidemic of the nation, and 2) they are laced with crack or a crack-like substance. How else to explain how a calm, rational person can sit down with a box of Girl Scout cookies and think to oneself, "OK, I am going to have two reasonably-sized cookies and then close up the box and put them in the cupboard and not even contemplate eating any more until tomorrow," and then suddenly find oneself thirty minutes later in a fat-induced stupor at the kitchen table staring at an empty box of cookies, with smears of chocolate in one's hair and on one's clothing.
I'm not saying this happened to me, I'm just saying - those cookies ain't right.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Sorry, haters
I apologize for my lackadaisical updating as of late, but don't worry, you haven't missed much. I had planned to go into a diatribe about the weather here, but I can't muster the strength anymore. I have surrendered to the will of the mid-atlantic climate. Which sucks. [In case you're wondering though - after the last snowfall we had about five days of warmer, mild weather; on Thursday the high was in the mid-70s, then the temp plummeted by 40 degrees Thursday evening, and it snowed/sleeted again much of the day yesterday.]
What else? I've started watching the Up series - 7 Up, 7 plus 7, 21 Up, etc. - a British documentary series that follows the lives of kids in different socioeconomic classes and catches up with them every seven years. The most recent installment, which I haven't gotten to yet, is 49 Up. I highly recommend watching the films, not so much because any of them are great documentaries in and of themselves, but because it's fascinating to see how the individuals mature and change over time. But then I'm an inveterate eavesdropper, nosey-rosey, and voyeur, so there you go. One of the more interesting facets of the series I've noticed is that as seven-year-olds, there is an obvious distinction between the upper and lower class kids, as far as vocabulary, articulateness (is that a word? whatever it is, it's obviously something I lack), and comfort in front of the camera. However, by the time the kids are 14 those distinctions have for the most part been obliterated and by 21, many of the lower class kids have become in some ways if not more articulate, then at least more self-aware than the upper class ones. And they definitely seem happier. Also, the kids from the lower classes become insulted whenever it's hinted that the upper class kids in the documentary may have had more opportunities - they are very proud of their lives and seem quite content with the way they've turned out so far. I'm really looking forward to seeing how their lives progress and am secretly rooting for certain ones to succeed and others to be taken down a peg or two.
Lastly, BF and I went to Charlottesville, Virginia, last weekend just for the hell of it. It was fun if uneventful. We walked around the University of Virginia campus, which was beautiful and made me wonder why I didn't go to school there, and also visited Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's home. Oh, and we drank a lot and ate a bunch of food. Good times.
Then today I bought two boxes of Girl Scout cookies even though I knew I shouldn't. But I did anyway. And they were good.
What else? I've started watching the Up series - 7 Up, 7 plus 7, 21 Up, etc. - a British documentary series that follows the lives of kids in different socioeconomic classes and catches up with them every seven years. The most recent installment, which I haven't gotten to yet, is 49 Up. I highly recommend watching the films, not so much because any of them are great documentaries in and of themselves, but because it's fascinating to see how the individuals mature and change over time. But then I'm an inveterate eavesdropper, nosey-rosey, and voyeur, so there you go. One of the more interesting facets of the series I've noticed is that as seven-year-olds, there is an obvious distinction between the upper and lower class kids, as far as vocabulary, articulateness (is that a word? whatever it is, it's obviously something I lack), and comfort in front of the camera. However, by the time the kids are 14 those distinctions have for the most part been obliterated and by 21, many of the lower class kids have become in some ways if not more articulate, then at least more self-aware than the upper class ones. And they definitely seem happier. Also, the kids from the lower classes become insulted whenever it's hinted that the upper class kids in the documentary may have had more opportunities - they are very proud of their lives and seem quite content with the way they've turned out so far. I'm really looking forward to seeing how their lives progress and am secretly rooting for certain ones to succeed and others to be taken down a peg or two.
Lastly, BF and I went to Charlottesville, Virginia, last weekend just for the hell of it. It was fun if uneventful. We walked around the University of Virginia campus, which was beautiful and made me wonder why I didn't go to school there, and also visited Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's home. Oh, and we drank a lot and ate a bunch of food. Good times.
Then today I bought two boxes of Girl Scout cookies even though I knew I shouldn't. But I did anyway. And they were good.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Um, didn't we just talk about this?
I give up. Winter and I are no longer on speaking terms. But you can tell Winter for me that he can shove his snow right up his icy cold butt.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
P.S.S. to Winter
OK, now you're just being creepy. I thought I made myself clear last week when I said I didn't want to see you anymore. But today I get up, and whose ugly face do I spot out the window? YOURS. I see you hanging around everywhere I go, and it's just really starting to bug me. Am I gonna have to file a restraining order? Geez, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE ALREADY.
And don't even think about snowing tomorrow. I am so totally serious. Because that would just be crazy insane. Do you hear what I'm saying? Insane.
And don't even think about snowing tomorrow. I am so totally serious. Because that would just be crazy insane. Do you hear what I'm saying? Insane.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Not much going on, really
Some detritus:
1) Lately I've been feeling like starting public brawls. Mostly I get this feeling in situations dealing with the subway. For instance, when someone cuts in front of me at the turnstile, my first instinct is to punch them in the throat.* Is that wrong?
2) I've been so bored during work this past week that I've started reading all of Dooce's archives, beginning with the first post. I'll probably finish them tomorrow at work. Tomorrow being Sunday. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
3) Aforementioned boredom has gotten me depressed about my life again. For awhile I was feeling OK, since I was just happy to be away from the Job From Hell, but now I'm itching to do something with my life once again. Of course, we've already established that there are no libraries in this city that will hire me as a librarian, and if they will hire me, there is something very very wrong with them.
4) My legs have started hurting in all the same old places again, and my shin splints are worse than ever. I need a leg transplant. And today I just received a $74.50 bill from my doctor. Yeah, I got your money right here, buddy.
5) The weather warmed up this week, and all the snow from last Sunday has melted. I remain prayerful, in my atheistic way, that winter does not rear its ugly head once again. Living in the South-that-doesn't-know-it's-the-South has made me even more of a wimp than I had previously been.
*So far I've been successfully stifling this instinct. Who knows how long it will take me to snap, though.
1) Lately I've been feeling like starting public brawls. Mostly I get this feeling in situations dealing with the subway. For instance, when someone cuts in front of me at the turnstile, my first instinct is to punch them in the throat.* Is that wrong?
2) I've been so bored during work this past week that I've started reading all of Dooce's archives, beginning with the first post. I'll probably finish them tomorrow at work. Tomorrow being Sunday. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
3) Aforementioned boredom has gotten me depressed about my life again. For awhile I was feeling OK, since I was just happy to be away from the Job From Hell, but now I'm itching to do something with my life once again. Of course, we've already established that there are no libraries in this city that will hire me as a librarian, and if they will hire me, there is something very very wrong with them.
4) My legs have started hurting in all the same old places again, and my shin splints are worse than ever. I need a leg transplant. And today I just received a $74.50 bill from my doctor. Yeah, I got your money right here, buddy.
5) The weather warmed up this week, and all the snow from last Sunday has melted. I remain prayerful, in my atheistic way, that winter does not rear its ugly head once again. Living in the South-that-doesn't-know-it's-the-South has made me even more of a wimp than I had previously been.
*So far I've been successfully stifling this instinct. Who knows how long it will take me to snap, though.
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