I know - you thought I had abandoned you, right? Fear not. I have not abandoned you, nor have I abandoned this blog. I have about five posts sitting in drafts right now that I can't seem to fully flesh out into something that can see the light of day*, but I'm working on it - promise.
So in the meantime, I thought I would share a little rant with you. Just a tiny one because I miraculously woke up in a fantastic mood this morning. Miraculous because today begins school again, in honor of which I have shifted my work hours from 8-5 to 7-4.
In case you can't do the math, that means I have to get up a whole hour earlier than usual. And we all know how much I love mornings.**
So today begins classes. It is Wednesday, so I should have o-chem lecture followed by o-chem lab. Yesterday I found out that I did not have lab until next week. That was a happy moment. But for the last two weeks, I have been stalking the o-chem website for some information on the course schedule, syllabus, notes....anything. At first it was just casual curiosity. I mean, I would rather be prepared than caught without notes on day one. But as the students invaded the chat room on said website, some of whom are taking o-chem for the second or third time, and planned a study group that begins after the first class I began to get nervous. I mean, don't get me wrong...I have faith in my intelligence. But I'm also not immune to mass hysteria. The reputation for o-chem preceeds the class. It's tough. And if everyone else is already freaking out....well....
So I look for a syllabus. Some notes. A schedule. Something to prepare me for the first day of class.
And it appears....today. At 1:06pm to be exact. For a class that begins at 6:00pm.
And these lecture notes...they're not small documents. I would say they average 40 pages with the largest being 56 pages. Fifty-six pages! And the first lecture dives right into the material. Oh, and the syllabus suggests that to succeed in class, I should read the material ahead of time.
Okay. I'll do that in the, um....hour I have before class. Thanks Mr. Professor, sir!
Now, I realize that I am not a traditional student. I truly do. And I realize most full time students might have time between lunch and their evening class to do the required reading. But I still think that this timeframe is a little short. I mean, I believe that professors begin their school year before the students, right? And I know they're busy people, but part of preparing for their classes is informing the students of what's going on in that class, right? I mean, my first tuition bill was due the 18th... Is it too much to ask that when I pay tuition I have access to my course information?
I'm just so frustrated. I could go on and on.
To his credit, now that one thing is available, everything for the class is available. So I can work ahead to my heart's content. But I just feel like this weekend I will be playing catch up doing the reading for the material that we will cover tonight, instead of being able to read ahead. Again with the non-traditional student, but with classes M-Th evenings, I only have so many hours in which to study.
I guess I should read instead of blog, huh? Okay okay, point taken. Any chance one of you is an organic chem tutor on the side?
*Must work on the snark. The snark, it is heavy in those drafts.
**Personally, I think the iced vanilla latte did a lot for my mood this morning. And I may have stumbled in at 7:10am. Sigh. I'll aim for better tomorrow. I have all semester to perfect the early work arrival.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Like the Back of my Hand
Once upon a time my family went to a convention and I witnessed a husband bring his wife a plate from the buffet, not knowing that she had already gone up to get one of her own.
The plates were identical.
I thought that was so romantic. They had been together for so long and he knew her so well. I decided then and there that I wanted that someday. Someday my best friend will know me and understand me so well, it will be like we're one. (I was such a girl.) Still, I despaired of that ever happening. For all of my routine and resistance to change, and for all of my bluntness and wearing my heart on my sleeve, I tend to think of myself as very complex and difficult to predict. I'm not really sure why. I know the reality, but I guess every woman would rather think of herself as an enigma - a puzzle that her significant other will never really figure out.
Back when the boy and I had money (I call that time BS....before school) we went to dinner at a smallish restaurant near our apartment. It was a Sunday evening, and there weren't many patrons present besides us. In an effort to increase traffic in a restaurant that was surrounded by several other more well-known options, the restaurant had a promotional event each night that week. Completely unaware, the boy and I wandered in on the night there was a magician present.
We ordered and watched as the magician spoke to the few other occupied tables. He was funny and engaging and had the usual repitoire of rope tricks, balloon tricks, and coin tricks. When he got to our table, he asked us if we wanted to help him out with a card trick. Amused, we agreed.
The idea was that I would get to pick a card out of the deck, and put it into a sealed envelope. The magician would then sign a second sealed envelope, and magically my card would appear in that envelope instead. As he walked away to get a second envelope for himself, I was left with the task of picking a card. I perused the deck, picked my card, sat satisfied for about 10 seconds before exclaiming "Oh! I know!" and returning the first card in favor of a second. I then looked at the boy and said in flirtatiously sing-song voice, "I'll bet you can't guess what card I chose"
With my batting eyes and suggestive grin, I figured it wouldn't be difficult for the boy to guess that I had chosen the Queen of Hearts. I'm not generally good at "subtle" and this was an occasion where I was doing my best to be obvious. Still, I was miffed at his air of satisfaction after he guessed correctly. His smug smile suggested that he would have guessed correctly even without my play-acting. So I said, "Okay hotshot, but I'll bet you can't guess which card I initially chose and then discarded."
I sat back, satisfied that he had a 1 in 51 chance of being correct and the odds were completely in my favor. He concentrated for a moment, and despite my prodding, wouldn't be rushed in his guess. Finally, his face cleared. I would be lying if I said I didn't almost choke on my appetizer when he said, "The Ace of Spades."
Now, I know that I chose that card because of Brett Maverick. But WTF? A love of movies is not something that the boy and I share. How on earth did he guess THAT? I sat in stunned silence for a moment and then blurted, "Get out of my HEAD!"
The boy was insufferably proud of himself. Faced with an example of almost exactly what I had wished for, I was flabbergasted. Holy cow! This MUST be the guy for me! He knows me to the depths of my very SOUL! How else could he have possibly guessed which card I pulled? I mean, there are 52 cards in the deck and he picked correctly! I am a complex riddle which he has solved!! He must have so many insights into my personality! He knows me so well. We are going to be together forever and we will be like one. Wow. I am so very moved.
I finally mustered up the courage to ask him how he knew which card I had originally chosen.
"Easy. It's the prettiest one. You're attracted to shiny pretty things. Sort of like a fish."
Apparently no deep insights are needed. I like shiny pretty things. There's no international woman of mystery here - I am like a fish. I was busy comparing myself to the riddle of the sphinx when I should have been looking at a smallmouth bass. Hmmm....
Then I have to wonder, am I dating him because he's a good fisherman, or because he's shiny and pretty?
After all of that, I wasn't at all surprised to have the magician produce my card from the signed envelope. I kept both the card and the signed envelope to remind me that no deep insights are needed here.... just a lot of patience and a little good luck.
The plates were identical.
I thought that was so romantic. They had been together for so long and he knew her so well. I decided then and there that I wanted that someday. Someday my best friend will know me and understand me so well, it will be like we're one. (I was such a girl.) Still, I despaired of that ever happening. For all of my routine and resistance to change, and for all of my bluntness and wearing my heart on my sleeve, I tend to think of myself as very complex and difficult to predict. I'm not really sure why. I know the reality, but I guess every woman would rather think of herself as an enigma - a puzzle that her significant other will never really figure out.
Back when the boy and I had money (I call that time BS....before school) we went to dinner at a smallish restaurant near our apartment. It was a Sunday evening, and there weren't many patrons present besides us. In an effort to increase traffic in a restaurant that was surrounded by several other more well-known options, the restaurant had a promotional event each night that week. Completely unaware, the boy and I wandered in on the night there was a magician present.
We ordered and watched as the magician spoke to the few other occupied tables. He was funny and engaging and had the usual repitoire of rope tricks, balloon tricks, and coin tricks. When he got to our table, he asked us if we wanted to help him out with a card trick. Amused, we agreed.
The idea was that I would get to pick a card out of the deck, and put it into a sealed envelope. The magician would then sign a second sealed envelope, and magically my card would appear in that envelope instead. As he walked away to get a second envelope for himself, I was left with the task of picking a card. I perused the deck, picked my card, sat satisfied for about 10 seconds before exclaiming "Oh! I know!" and returning the first card in favor of a second. I then looked at the boy and said in flirtatiously sing-song voice, "I'll bet you can't guess what card I chose"
With my batting eyes and suggestive grin, I figured it wouldn't be difficult for the boy to guess that I had chosen the Queen of Hearts. I'm not generally good at "subtle" and this was an occasion where I was doing my best to be obvious. Still, I was miffed at his air of satisfaction after he guessed correctly. His smug smile suggested that he would have guessed correctly even without my play-acting. So I said, "Okay hotshot, but I'll bet you can't guess which card I initially chose and then discarded."
I sat back, satisfied that he had a 1 in 51 chance of being correct and the odds were completely in my favor. He concentrated for a moment, and despite my prodding, wouldn't be rushed in his guess. Finally, his face cleared. I would be lying if I said I didn't almost choke on my appetizer when he said, "The Ace of Spades."
Now, I know that I chose that card because of Brett Maverick. But WTF? A love of movies is not something that the boy and I share. How on earth did he guess THAT? I sat in stunned silence for a moment and then blurted, "Get out of my HEAD!"
The boy was insufferably proud of himself. Faced with an example of almost exactly what I had wished for, I was flabbergasted. Holy cow! This MUST be the guy for me! He knows me to the depths of my very SOUL! How else could he have possibly guessed which card I pulled? I mean, there are 52 cards in the deck and he picked correctly! I am a complex riddle which he has solved!! He must have so many insights into my personality! He knows me so well. We are going to be together forever and we will be like one. Wow. I am so very moved.
I finally mustered up the courage to ask him how he knew which card I had originally chosen.
"Easy. It's the prettiest one. You're attracted to shiny pretty things. Sort of like a fish."
Apparently no deep insights are needed. I like shiny pretty things. There's no international woman of mystery here - I am like a fish. I was busy comparing myself to the riddle of the sphinx when I should have been looking at a smallmouth bass. Hmmm....
Then I have to wonder, am I dating him because he's a good fisherman, or because he's shiny and pretty?
After all of that, I wasn't at all surprised to have the magician produce my card from the signed envelope. I kept both the card and the signed envelope to remind me that no deep insights are needed here.... just a lot of patience and a little good luck.
Friday, August 14, 2009
A Change of Heart
I have had a two-dog household again since July 25th, and I am about done. It's not that I don't love Blue, it's just that Casey and I had settled into our routine and we were doing just fine. It's a difficult adjustment to make. Before, the two dog house was the norm. I didn't know how peaceful things could be with only one dog. Now, it's hard to forget.
Not to mention that I had forgotten that Blue slobbers all over everything and farts all. the. time. Oh, and he'll walk all over you and sit right on top of you if you happen to be in the spot on the couch that he has designated as his. And he steals Casey's treats on a regular basis. Doesn't matter how handsome he is, he's your typical boy, and I have gotten used to an all-female household.
So when making arrangements to return him to my parents' house, I was surprised to hear my father say that I could keep Blue after I asked him whether or not he missed having a dog around. That their house really doesn't need any animals at all. Not even the two cats my parents currently live with.
I cautiously said, "Dad, if you don't WANT Blue, I don't want to force him on you. He can stay here, no problem." While inside I was pleading, "no, no! Dear God, NO!!"
My father responded equally as cautiously. "If you WANT to keep him, that's okay."
I considered for a moment. "Dad, he can stay. It's no problem. He's already here and I don't want to put you out at all."
A sigh. "No, it's just that I feel we're being cruel. You know, here he gets to be outside all the time, he gets to lay on the couch all day..."
"...while here he's in a crate all day while I'm at work. I know. But dad, he's a dog. He doesn't understand that. All he knows is that when he's with Emily, this is how it is. It's not better or worse than at your house. It just is. Dogs live in the moment."
"I'll make you a deal. I'll take Blue if you take Dorian."
A little background on Dorian. My parents already had one cat, Indy*, when my brother brought home another cat from college. That cat, unfortunately, perished due to an unfortunate incident after only a short time at my parent's house. But my mother was convinced that Indy was "lonely" without a companion.** So off to the Humane Society they went. And brought home Dorian. Who my brother is now convinced was drugged when they met him.
Since then, Dorian has gotten into the trash, meowed so loudly as to wake my parents, taught Indy that it was okay to meow at all hours to get what he wants, proceeded to overeat (and regurgitate) regularly, and attacks the pit bulls that visit at every opportunity. Even without claws.
Suffice to say that no one really likes Dorian. But since all creatures need love (except for satan-dog) and because of a little pressure from their animal-minded daughter, Dorian stays.
Struggling not to laugh, I responded, "What happened now?"
"Oh, I plugged in your mother's speaker for the TV, and Dorian immediately started chewing on the wires. So I gave him a little kick. And then I came back downstairs later and he had pooped on my seat!"
Having some experience with a vindictive cat before, I am failing miserably at containing my laughter at this point.
"I'm sorry dad, but Laney is an only cat. No other cats would survive in my house."
"Oh that's okay. If she kills him, just dig a little hole out back and dump him in it."
"DAD!!"
None of this diverted me from the worry that perhaps I was shoving Blue into an unwelcome household. Until I spoke to my mother.
"Okay, so we'll meet you to pick up Blue-Blue on Sunday, right?"
"Perfect."
"And the doctors told me that I need to walk as much as possible to avoid blood clots after surgery. So it will be good to have him back because I am going to walk with him in the mornings. Hopefully it won't be as hot as it has been because you know he can't stand the heat. Have you trimmed his nails? Does he miss us?"
And then I realized that it doesn't really matter unless the entire household has a change of heart. As long as Blue is still my mom's baby, he's welcome in their house.
Dorian, on the other hand....
*aka "Super Cat," "Best Cat Ever," and "Cat that thinks he's a dog."
**And I believe, under the assumption that all cats were as fantastic as Indy.
Not to mention that I had forgotten that Blue slobbers all over everything and farts all. the. time. Oh, and he'll walk all over you and sit right on top of you if you happen to be in the spot on the couch that he has designated as his. And he steals Casey's treats on a regular basis. Doesn't matter how handsome he is, he's your typical boy, and I have gotten used to an all-female household.
So when making arrangements to return him to my parents' house, I was surprised to hear my father say that I could keep Blue after I asked him whether or not he missed having a dog around. That their house really doesn't need any animals at all. Not even the two cats my parents currently live with.
I cautiously said, "Dad, if you don't WANT Blue, I don't want to force him on you. He can stay here, no problem." While inside I was pleading, "no, no! Dear God, NO!!"
My father responded equally as cautiously. "If you WANT to keep him, that's okay."
I considered for a moment. "Dad, he can stay. It's no problem. He's already here and I don't want to put you out at all."
A sigh. "No, it's just that I feel we're being cruel. You know, here he gets to be outside all the time, he gets to lay on the couch all day..."
"...while here he's in a crate all day while I'm at work. I know. But dad, he's a dog. He doesn't understand that. All he knows is that when he's with Emily, this is how it is. It's not better or worse than at your house. It just is. Dogs live in the moment."
"I'll make you a deal. I'll take Blue if you take Dorian."
A little background on Dorian. My parents already had one cat, Indy*, when my brother brought home another cat from college. That cat, unfortunately, perished due to an unfortunate incident after only a short time at my parent's house. But my mother was convinced that Indy was "lonely" without a companion.** So off to the Humane Society they went. And brought home Dorian. Who my brother is now convinced was drugged when they met him.
Since then, Dorian has gotten into the trash, meowed so loudly as to wake my parents, taught Indy that it was okay to meow at all hours to get what he wants, proceeded to overeat (and regurgitate) regularly, and attacks the pit bulls that visit at every opportunity. Even without claws.
Suffice to say that no one really likes Dorian. But since all creatures need love (except for satan-dog) and because of a little pressure from their animal-minded daughter, Dorian stays.
Struggling not to laugh, I responded, "What happened now?"
"Oh, I plugged in your mother's speaker for the TV, and Dorian immediately started chewing on the wires. So I gave him a little kick. And then I came back downstairs later and he had pooped on my seat!"
Having some experience with a vindictive cat before, I am failing miserably at containing my laughter at this point.
"I'm sorry dad, but Laney is an only cat. No other cats would survive in my house."
"Oh that's okay. If she kills him, just dig a little hole out back and dump him in it."
"DAD!!"
None of this diverted me from the worry that perhaps I was shoving Blue into an unwelcome household. Until I spoke to my mother.
"Okay, so we'll meet you to pick up Blue-Blue on Sunday, right?"
"Perfect."
"And the doctors told me that I need to walk as much as possible to avoid blood clots after surgery. So it will be good to have him back because I am going to walk with him in the mornings. Hopefully it won't be as hot as it has been because you know he can't stand the heat. Have you trimmed his nails? Does he miss us?"
And then I realized that it doesn't really matter unless the entire household has a change of heart. As long as Blue is still my mom's baby, he's welcome in their house.
Dorian, on the other hand....
*aka "Super Cat," "Best Cat Ever," and "Cat that thinks he's a dog."
**And I believe, under the assumption that all cats were as fantastic as Indy.
Monday, August 10, 2009
All Dogs go to Heaven
So, there's this dog....
Side note: It's gotten to the point where the boy hears a story begin that way and literally shudders. It's not that I pressure him to adopt another dog, or that I even consider adopting another dog (good GOD no,) it's just that he has to hear me talk about another "cutest dog ever" and "greatest story" and lament the fact that I can't save them all (though lord knows I try)...and he's a guy. Apparently he's better at the whole "not getting attached" thing.
So, back to the dog. See, there's this dog. More specifically, there's
this five week old puppy. More specifically, there's this five week old pit bull puppy that was abused. Abused to the point where she had to have her left eye removed.
A fact that makes me want to track down her abuser with a baseball bat and beat them until THEIR left eye has to be removed.
But I digress.
I met her the day after surgery. When she had wiggled out of her little e-collar and the bandage that had been placed across her eye had been bumped askew. She looked like a little pirate.
We found a smaller e-collar that fit her better, removed the bandage from her eye (she really didn't seem cool with the whole bandage-on-her-head thing) and instead taped up her paw so that she couldn't scratch at her stitches.
Her tail was wagging the entire time we were doing this. And she was alterntately attempting to lick my fingers and bite them.
I was in love. And now I must find her a hand-picked home. I mean, she can't just go to anyone. (ahem, Alisa, ahem.)
I took the boy to meet her on Sunday. Given the size of her stomach, I'm going to say she's recovering just fine. Eating and recovering. Recovering and eating. She's a regular little roly poly. The office manager at the clinic wants to call her Winky. Well, she did want to call her winky. Until I explained that winky was also slang for penis. (True story.) So we settled on Wink.
So, internets - meet Wink. Help me find her a home. She'll be a great dog for someone with a big heart. And she's got the bonus of being able to wear the coolest costume ever for Halloween. (Complete with eye patch.)
Side note: It's gotten to the point where the boy hears a story begin that way and literally shudders. It's not that I pressure him to adopt another dog, or that I even consider adopting another dog (good GOD no,) it's just that he has to hear me talk about another "cutest dog ever" and "greatest story" and lament the fact that I can't save them all (though lord knows I try)...and he's a guy. Apparently he's better at the whole "not getting attached" thing.
So, back to the dog. See, there's this dog. More specifically, there's
this five week old puppy. More specifically, there's this five week old pit bull puppy that was abused. Abused to the point where she had to have her left eye removed.A fact that makes me want to track down her abuser with a baseball bat and beat them until THEIR left eye has to be removed.
But I digress.
I met her the day after surgery. When she had wiggled out of her little e-collar and the bandage that had been placed across her eye had been bumped askew. She looked like a little pirate.
We found a smaller e-collar that fit her better, removed the bandage from her eye (she really didn't seem cool with the whole bandage-on-her-head thing) and instead taped up her paw so that she couldn't scratch at her stitches.
Her tail was wagging the entire time we were doing this. And she was alterntately attempting to lick my fingers and bite them.
I was in love. And now I must find her a hand-picked home. I mean, she can't just go to anyone. (ahem, Alisa, ahem.)
I took the boy to meet her on Sunday. Given the size of her stomach, I'm going to say she's recovering just fine. Eating and recovering. Recovering and eating. She's a regular little roly poly. The office manager at the clinic wants to call her Winky. Well, she did want to call her winky. Until I explained that winky was also slang for penis. (True story.) So we settled on Wink.
So, internets - meet Wink. Help me find her a home. She'll be a great dog for someone with a big heart. And she's got the bonus of being able to wear the coolest costume ever for Halloween. (Complete with eye patch.)
Thursday, August 06, 2009
And lo, there were movies
Last week the boy and I went to visit my family in California.
We had a ball.
It was the perfect mix of watching movies and chilling out and doing touristy things. Perfect. Absolutely.
A while ago I blogged that my basic nature is to be selfish, and it was only a childhood trauma that makes me go against that nature. Now? I'm not so sure. I spent almost six full days with my cousin who is one of the most selfless, giving, kind-hearted people I've ever met. I'm pretty sure she would give her left arm to someone she loved with no questions asked - and they wouldn't even need a good reason to need it. I know I'm not that giving, but if that's her basic nature, maybe it runs in the family? Hopefully? At least it gives me something to aim for.
Her husband? Well, he kept insinuating that I wouldn't like him. But anyone who will patiently answer my endless litany of questions about comic book superheroes and never once insinuate that I'm an idiot...well, he gets thumbs up from me. (I have now learned that Marvel comics = good. DC Comics = not as good. And the Hulk? He's sort of good AND bad. And Superman kind of sucks. Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?)
There are several aspects of this vacation that I want to cover, so I'll take it in pieces. The first one is movies. Seeing as how the boy and I are on a tightly controlled budget (ie: "No Money") we haven't been to the movie theater in ages, and we haven't purchased a DVD since lord-knows-when, so we arrived in California starving for new movies in a way that we didn't even know we were starving. When we arrived at my cousin's place, it was like heaven. They are total movie buffs and owned every movie we wanted to see, plus some we didn't know we wanted to see (yet.) Needless to say, we watched some movies. (Bless my family for sitting through movies they had already seen and through my endless questions about "What happens next?" or "Does he die?!")
Some highlights? (NOTE: If you haven't seen the movies noted, there are some minor spoilers. Don't blame me if you want to see these old movies that are already available on DVD, haven't gotten around to it, and yet choose to continue reading.)
The Incredible Hulk with Ed Norton was good. I would rate it as an "I'm glad I watched it, but probably won't own it." I will say, however, that it has one of the best fight scenes I've ever seen. Ever. Seriously. I know you might have the impression that I'm a girly girl (can't imagine why you would think that...) but I do love me some things that are definitely in the "boy" range. A fight scene where Hulk fights Abomination and pulls out his arm bone and stabs him with it would fall into that category. One might say I was impressed with that scene. Perhaps enough to continue talking about it all weekend long. Seriously. He pulls out Abomination's arm bone and then STABS HIM WITH IT. It was so cool.
Taken was another good one. It's relatively new, so I won't spoil anything. I'll just say, as my cousin so succintly put it, "You don't fuck with a Jedi master." I'll put this one on the "I'm glad I watched it and I might own it someday" list. However, it's all about the suspense, and that's one thing that I can't handle. At all. Kudos to my family for not duct taping my mouth shut.
Iron Man was fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. I'll put that on my "Must own SOON" list. I seriously can't say enough about it. It's 126 minutes long but felt like it was no longer than an hour. It FLEW by. Flew. I recommend you go see it now if you haven't. Right now. Go on. This blog can wait. I'm not even going to spoil it for you except to say that the creepy guy is the bad guy. You know, the one who's always the bad guy? (and even when he's not, he's still creepy.)
Which brings me to Watchmen. This one is on my "Wish I could get those hours of my life back" list. But my mom once told me that if I can't say something nice, then I shouldn't say anything at all. So I won't say anything at all. Except maybe to say that it might have been over my head, because I just didn't get it. Oh, and there's a bright blue penis that's pretty distracting in some scenes. Consider yourself warned.
There were other movies also, but I would hate for you to think that we spent the entire 6 days sitting on the couch. Because that would be wrong. Sometimes I sat on the floor :-)
Seriously, we did other things too, and I'll get to those (with pictures) as soon as I can find the motivation. As alluded to previously, we saw redwoods. And we took pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. I'll share soon.
We had a ball.
It was the perfect mix of watching movies and chilling out and doing touristy things. Perfect. Absolutely.
A while ago I blogged that my basic nature is to be selfish, and it was only a childhood trauma that makes me go against that nature. Now? I'm not so sure. I spent almost six full days with my cousin who is one of the most selfless, giving, kind-hearted people I've ever met. I'm pretty sure she would give her left arm to someone she loved with no questions asked - and they wouldn't even need a good reason to need it. I know I'm not that giving, but if that's her basic nature, maybe it runs in the family? Hopefully? At least it gives me something to aim for.
Her husband? Well, he kept insinuating that I wouldn't like him. But anyone who will patiently answer my endless litany of questions about comic book superheroes and never once insinuate that I'm an idiot...well, he gets thumbs up from me. (I have now learned that Marvel comics = good. DC Comics = not as good. And the Hulk? He's sort of good AND bad. And Superman kind of sucks. Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?)
There are several aspects of this vacation that I want to cover, so I'll take it in pieces. The first one is movies. Seeing as how the boy and I are on a tightly controlled budget (ie: "No Money") we haven't been to the movie theater in ages, and we haven't purchased a DVD since lord-knows-when, so we arrived in California starving for new movies in a way that we didn't even know we were starving. When we arrived at my cousin's place, it was like heaven. They are total movie buffs and owned every movie we wanted to see, plus some we didn't know we wanted to see (yet.) Needless to say, we watched some movies. (Bless my family for sitting through movies they had already seen and through my endless questions about "What happens next?" or "Does he die?!")
Some highlights? (NOTE: If you haven't seen the movies noted, there are some minor spoilers. Don't blame me if you want to see these old movies that are already available on DVD, haven't gotten around to it, and yet choose to continue reading.)
The Incredible Hulk with Ed Norton was good. I would rate it as an "I'm glad I watched it, but probably won't own it." I will say, however, that it has one of the best fight scenes I've ever seen. Ever. Seriously. I know you might have the impression that I'm a girly girl (can't imagine why you would think that...) but I do love me some things that are definitely in the "boy" range. A fight scene where Hulk fights Abomination and pulls out his arm bone and stabs him with it would fall into that category. One might say I was impressed with that scene. Perhaps enough to continue talking about it all weekend long. Seriously. He pulls out Abomination's arm bone and then STABS HIM WITH IT. It was so cool.
Taken was another good one. It's relatively new, so I won't spoil anything. I'll just say, as my cousin so succintly put it, "You don't fuck with a Jedi master." I'll put this one on the "I'm glad I watched it and I might own it someday" list. However, it's all about the suspense, and that's one thing that I can't handle. At all. Kudos to my family for not duct taping my mouth shut.
Iron Man was fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. I'll put that on my "Must own SOON" list. I seriously can't say enough about it. It's 126 minutes long but felt like it was no longer than an hour. It FLEW by. Flew. I recommend you go see it now if you haven't. Right now. Go on. This blog can wait. I'm not even going to spoil it for you except to say that the creepy guy is the bad guy. You know, the one who's always the bad guy? (and even when he's not, he's still creepy.)
Which brings me to Watchmen. This one is on my "Wish I could get those hours of my life back" list. But my mom once told me that if I can't say something nice, then I shouldn't say anything at all. So I won't say anything at all. Except maybe to say that it might have been over my head, because I just didn't get it. Oh, and there's a bright blue penis that's pretty distracting in some scenes. Consider yourself warned.
There were other movies also, but I would hate for you to think that we spent the entire 6 days sitting on the couch. Because that would be wrong. Sometimes I sat on the floor :-)
Seriously, we did other things too, and I'll get to those (with pictures) as soon as I can find the motivation. As alluded to previously, we saw redwoods. And we took pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. I'll share soon.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Okay...maybe it was hormones
I just read this, and I'm tearing up at my desk. My boss keeps asking me what's wrong, and I can't exactly tell him that I was reading the best of Craigslist on the sly when I should have been giving the bill paying my complete attention. Nor can I explain to him that I was looking for the good laugh that Craigslist is reliable in providing me (see: this) and instead found a touching story that is making my nose turn Rudolph red, and my eyes puff up like I haven't slept in weeks. (I am not a pretty crier btw.)
So instead I'm just telling him that it's allergies. We'll keep this between us, okay?
Vacation blog coming. Just hold your horses. I'm not known for recovering from non-routine activities very quickly.
So instead I'm just telling him that it's allergies. We'll keep this between us, okay?
Vacation blog coming. Just hold your horses. I'm not known for recovering from non-routine activities very quickly.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Bored. I iz it.
It's currently 4:11pm. That's exactly two minutes since the last time I checked. And the last time I checked? Was approximately the 500th time check of the day.
Today is going sloooooowly.
I don't know why it is. Perhaps because it's summertime and thus the slowest time at work. Perhaps it's because it's all nice and sunny outside, and I want to be anywhere other than in front of my work computer. Perhaps it's because I'm heading down to the parent's house tonight and I have about 15 things to accomplish before I leave. I dunno. I just know that I can only play so many games of Bejeweled, and I passed that threshold around 2:00pm.
I'm certain I'll be dreaming in blue diamonds and purple triangles tonight.
Given the excitement of my day, I'm sure you can imagine the excitement of my life recently. Basically there's nothing new going on, and thus you get no new blogs.
Oh wait, that's not entirely true. I do leave for vacation in a little over 108 hours, but really, who's counting? I will spare you the drama of how I purchased my ticket and say only that I paid more than I wanted to, but less per person than I saw anywhere else at any time. So at least I can sleep at night. Unfortunately, with vacation so close, my demeanor at work has changed. If a customer calls with a problem, I'm still just as nice and helpful as possible, but internally I'm thinking, "Don't care. Leave for vacation soon. Suck it." Yeah. Luckily customers seem to not be having many problems lately. I think someone up there wants me to actually HAVE a job when I get back.
Oh, and I went to see Public Enemies on Wednesday of this week. I figured that since I've been to Dillinger's grave, I had to go see this movie about his life. I would recommend it as a good movie....just be prepared for more violence and gore than I was originally expecting.* In the last two weeks, I've been asked approximately 5 times where Dillinger's grave is located. One time I actually tried to explain it, and three times I just said I didn't know.** It's just easier that way because trying to tell someone how to find a gravestone in a cemetery is much like trying to tell them how to find a tree in the forest. Next time I'm going to offer to take the person there if they want to give me and my pit bull a ride.
4:24pm
I don't think I've mentioned here that I got a new phone last month. This is the first time in the history of Emily that I've gotten a phone that wasn't the freebie included in renewing your cell phone contract. I've always sworn that I wouldn't pay for a phone (why should I? They give them away for free) and stuck to that when I got this one.*** But I think I may have made a mistake. Honestly, I'm never ever going back to the freebie flip phones. In fact, I may never go back to a phone that doesn't have Windows Mobile. Holy crap am I in love with my phone. It has everything. Addresses, reminders about where I need to be at any given time, a great camera....I'm in love, I tell you. In love.
4:29pm
Classes start one month from today. One. Month. Ah summer, I hardly knew ye. I'm not depressed yet, but I feel a sense of urgency that I need to get stuff done. Like my life is ending in a month or something. Seeing as how I'm taking Organic Chem and Physics II, it might just be.
Okay. I'm sorry for putting you through the boredom of this blog. But at least it helped me kill 19 minutes!! Have a great weekend everyone.
*Telling me, "It's a gangster movie, Emily, what did you expect?" will probably cause you bodily harm. Just ask the boy and he'll go into more detail for you.
**The fifth time I pretended like I only spoke Spanish.
***Rebates are my friend.
Today is going sloooooowly.
I don't know why it is. Perhaps because it's summertime and thus the slowest time at work. Perhaps it's because it's all nice and sunny outside, and I want to be anywhere other than in front of my work computer. Perhaps it's because I'm heading down to the parent's house tonight and I have about 15 things to accomplish before I leave. I dunno. I just know that I can only play so many games of Bejeweled, and I passed that threshold around 2:00pm.
I'm certain I'll be dreaming in blue diamonds and purple triangles tonight.
Given the excitement of my day, I'm sure you can imagine the excitement of my life recently. Basically there's nothing new going on, and thus you get no new blogs.
Oh wait, that's not entirely true. I do leave for vacation in a little over 108 hours, but really, who's counting? I will spare you the drama of how I purchased my ticket and say only that I paid more than I wanted to, but less per person than I saw anywhere else at any time. So at least I can sleep at night. Unfortunately, with vacation so close, my demeanor at work has changed. If a customer calls with a problem, I'm still just as nice and helpful as possible, but internally I'm thinking, "Don't care. Leave for vacation soon. Suck it." Yeah. Luckily customers seem to not be having many problems lately. I think someone up there wants me to actually HAVE a job when I get back.
Oh, and I went to see Public Enemies on Wednesday of this week. I figured that since I've been to Dillinger's grave, I had to go see this movie about his life. I would recommend it as a good movie....just be prepared for more violence and gore than I was originally expecting.* In the last two weeks, I've been asked approximately 5 times where Dillinger's grave is located. One time I actually tried to explain it, and three times I just said I didn't know.** It's just easier that way because trying to tell someone how to find a gravestone in a cemetery is much like trying to tell them how to find a tree in the forest. Next time I'm going to offer to take the person there if they want to give me and my pit bull a ride.
4:24pm
I don't think I've mentioned here that I got a new phone last month. This is the first time in the history of Emily that I've gotten a phone that wasn't the freebie included in renewing your cell phone contract. I've always sworn that I wouldn't pay for a phone (why should I? They give them away for free) and stuck to that when I got this one.*** But I think I may have made a mistake. Honestly, I'm never ever going back to the freebie flip phones. In fact, I may never go back to a phone that doesn't have Windows Mobile. Holy crap am I in love with my phone. It has everything. Addresses, reminders about where I need to be at any given time, a great camera....I'm in love, I tell you. In love.
4:29pm
Classes start one month from today. One. Month. Ah summer, I hardly knew ye. I'm not depressed yet, but I feel a sense of urgency that I need to get stuff done. Like my life is ending in a month or something. Seeing as how I'm taking Organic Chem and Physics II, it might just be.
Okay. I'm sorry for putting you through the boredom of this blog. But at least it helped me kill 19 minutes!! Have a great weekend everyone.
*Telling me, "It's a gangster movie, Emily, what did you expect?" will probably cause you bodily harm. Just ask the boy and he'll go into more detail for you.
**The fifth time I pretended like I only spoke Spanish.
***Rebates are my friend.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Really Jac? The Boy's Side?
I wasn't going to blog about this. But then I realized a few things:
A) the boy doesn't read this blog, even though he knows full well where it is located and that I post about him regularly.
B) I was so horrified last night that I had no CHOICE but to share this story
C) I need reassurance that my plan might actually work.*
So, on a recent field trip, I spent the day with the boy's sister. When discussing how much I dread mowing my lawn (but if I make myself do it regularly it's not such a HUGE deal) she indicated (very strongly) that she, too, hated the yard work. In fact, she hated it so much that she's considered paying the boy to take care of it for her. I was surprised. The boy's sister is usually very mild mannered. To have her express such a strong opinion must mean she really hated the yard work.
At this point, a plan began to take place.
I don't know if I've blogged about this before, but the boy? The boy hates to do dishes. I don't know why. Even when we first began dating, his entire apartment would be spotless....and the sink would be full of dishes.** It hasn't gotten any better. In fact, it's gotten worse. Now it's not just the sink....it's the counters...the stove....basically anywhere that he can put dirty dishes. Ew.
And so I decided that the boy would mow his sister's lawn once a week (and trim every other week) and she would do his dishes. To my surprise, she agreed.*** We ended up deciding that she would only do 90 minutes of work on his dishes/apartment per week - approximately the time it would take him to mow/trim.
What do I get out of this deal? Hmmmm. Well, I was going to be there while the dishes were washed, and once clean, I was going to put them all in boxes for storage in my basement. When all is said and done, I plan for the boy to only have one dish, one bowl, one glass, and one set of silverware.
The idea being, of course, that in that situation he would HAVE to wash the dishes after using them. (Because, though the dirty dishes may lead you to believe that the boy is really really gross**** he won't eat off of a dirty dish.) And if the boy DOESN'T wash the dishes, at least there are only five in the sink as opposed to five hundred.***** And in THAT case, the dreaded chore of doing the dishes is only a 20 minute task at most and not hours and hours of labor.
Because seriously? This is what was LEFT after the boy's sister worked
on his dishes for 90 minutes. An hour and a half of labor, and this is what's LEFT! What you don't see in the picture are the two gross gross gross rubbermaid containers that were left to soak in the hopes of drowning the alien life forms that had grown within them.
See? I'm not dating a guy, I'm raising a toddler.
What's WEIRD is that he'll clean a bathroom until it's spotless (a chore that I HATE) but won't touch dishes. His entire apartment could be sparkling, and he'll consider the job done, even with a sink full of dishes. I don't get this avoidance of dishes. HE HAS A DISHWASHER FOR GOODNESS' SAKE!!
So this is a plea. Tell me this will work. It will work, right? I mean, it will work. All I want is for the boy to keep a decent house. That's all. To show me that he CAN (is willing to?) even if his hand is being held. I don't even mind messy....it's the alien life forms that I mind. (Well, that and that satan dog.) At this point, I wouldn't even mind if he wanted to spend money on disposable dishes. Environment be damned. As long as no one has to be subjected to the "before" view of the dishes ever again.******
*Pretty please?
**Ladies? Consider this your PSA to read the writing on the wall! These tiny little things that you overlook could become a HUGE deal later on. Especially if they're there in the beginning when, you know, he's supposed to be putting his best foot forward.
***In my defense, I really did try to explain exactly how bad the dishes were. But I don't think she really believed that I would get the boy to do her yardwork once per week. Oh ye of little faith. Here's your introduction to the will of Emily.
****And I understand it's easy to think that way.
*****Seriously - the boy ran out of glasses, and used an MARTINI SHAKER to drink out of. He ate out of a DISC THAT'S USED FOR DISC GOLF! THE GUY I'M DATING ATE DINNER OUT OF A GLORIFIED FRISBEE INSTEAD OF WASHING HIS DISHES!!!!
******I didn't post it because, seriously, you guys would judge me for dating a guy who lived like that. Seriously. Your imaginations can't even begin to make up how bad it was. I'll spare you the reality.
A) the boy doesn't read this blog, even though he knows full well where it is located and that I post about him regularly.
B) I was so horrified last night that I had no CHOICE but to share this story
C) I need reassurance that my plan might actually work.*
So, on a recent field trip, I spent the day with the boy's sister. When discussing how much I dread mowing my lawn (but if I make myself do it regularly it's not such a HUGE deal) she indicated (very strongly) that she, too, hated the yard work. In fact, she hated it so much that she's considered paying the boy to take care of it for her. I was surprised. The boy's sister is usually very mild mannered. To have her express such a strong opinion must mean she really hated the yard work.
At this point, a plan began to take place.
I don't know if I've blogged about this before, but the boy? The boy hates to do dishes. I don't know why. Even when we first began dating, his entire apartment would be spotless....and the sink would be full of dishes.** It hasn't gotten any better. In fact, it's gotten worse. Now it's not just the sink....it's the counters...the stove....basically anywhere that he can put dirty dishes. Ew.
And so I decided that the boy would mow his sister's lawn once a week (and trim every other week) and she would do his dishes. To my surprise, she agreed.*** We ended up deciding that she would only do 90 minutes of work on his dishes/apartment per week - approximately the time it would take him to mow/trim.
What do I get out of this deal? Hmmmm. Well, I was going to be there while the dishes were washed, and once clean, I was going to put them all in boxes for storage in my basement. When all is said and done, I plan for the boy to only have one dish, one bowl, one glass, and one set of silverware.
The idea being, of course, that in that situation he would HAVE to wash the dishes after using them. (Because, though the dirty dishes may lead you to believe that the boy is really really gross**** he won't eat off of a dirty dish.) And if the boy DOESN'T wash the dishes, at least there are only five in the sink as opposed to five hundred.***** And in THAT case, the dreaded chore of doing the dishes is only a 20 minute task at most and not hours and hours of labor.
Because seriously? This is what was LEFT after the boy's sister worked
on his dishes for 90 minutes. An hour and a half of labor, and this is what's LEFT! What you don't see in the picture are the two gross gross gross rubbermaid containers that were left to soak in the hopes of drowning the alien life forms that had grown within them.See? I'm not dating a guy, I'm raising a toddler.
What's WEIRD is that he'll clean a bathroom until it's spotless (a chore that I HATE) but won't touch dishes. His entire apartment could be sparkling, and he'll consider the job done, even with a sink full of dishes. I don't get this avoidance of dishes. HE HAS A DISHWASHER FOR GOODNESS' SAKE!!
So this is a plea. Tell me this will work. It will work, right? I mean, it will work. All I want is for the boy to keep a decent house. That's all. To show me that he CAN (is willing to?) even if his hand is being held. I don't even mind messy....it's the alien life forms that I mind. (Well, that and that satan dog.) At this point, I wouldn't even mind if he wanted to spend money on disposable dishes. Environment be damned. As long as no one has to be subjected to the "before" view of the dishes ever again.******
*Pretty please?
**Ladies? Consider this your PSA to read the writing on the wall! These tiny little things that you overlook could become a HUGE deal later on. Especially if they're there in the beginning when, you know, he's supposed to be putting his best foot forward.
***In my defense, I really did try to explain exactly how bad the dishes were. But I don't think she really believed that I would get the boy to do her yardwork once per week. Oh ye of little faith. Here's your introduction to the will of Emily.
****And I understand it's easy to think that way.
*****Seriously - the boy ran out of glasses, and used an MARTINI SHAKER to drink out of. He ate out of a DISC THAT'S USED FOR DISC GOLF! THE GUY I'M DATING ATE DINNER OUT OF A GLORIFIED FRISBEE INSTEAD OF WASHING HIS DISHES!!!!
******I didn't post it because, seriously, you guys would judge me for dating a guy who lived like that. Seriously. Your imaginations can't even begin to make up how bad it was. I'll spare you the reality.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Tough Grrrrrl
Um, so I went into my kitchen this morning and found this in my sink. Trying to crawl OUT of my sink, actually. Luckily, 
the sink was NOT full of dishes, and he couldn't seem to make it up the smooth sides of the stainless steel sink.
There was screaming. Oh yes. There was quite a bit of screaming. Um, the picture has nothing for perspective, but the thing was HUGE. At one point I even put the cat in the sink to see if she could take care of the... problem. Unfortunately she was more interested in eating her breakfast that I had foolishly already served. She assured me that she would be back later, but really, how much do you trust a housecat? She prefers flying insects anyway.
So after much shrieking and some wailing and then considering and rejecting several possibilities for exterminating the bug (i.e. calling the boy (or zlionsfan) at 7:30am to come over and assist) I did what any girl would do in my position. I took a picture for my blog (with mega zoom because there was no way in HELL I was getting close to the bug that I was sure had the single minded purpose of sucking my brain out,) and then turned on the water.
Problem solved.
I won't go into how long it took to drown him. How much of a fight he put up, and how he could actually withstand the highest water pressure I could turn on in my sink. Not only withstand it, but continue crawling forward. Holy Shit!
In related news, I'm moving out tonight. Anyone want to come help me pack?
the sink was NOT full of dishes, and he couldn't seem to make it up the smooth sides of the stainless steel sink.There was screaming. Oh yes. There was quite a bit of screaming. Um, the picture has nothing for perspective, but the thing was HUGE. At one point I even put the cat in the sink to see if she could take care of the... problem. Unfortunately she was more interested in eating her breakfast that I had foolishly already served. She assured me that she would be back later, but really, how much do you trust a housecat? She prefers flying insects anyway.
So after much shrieking and some wailing and then considering and rejecting several possibilities for exterminating the bug (i.e. calling the boy (or zlionsfan) at 7:30am to come over and assist) I did what any girl would do in my position. I took a picture for my blog (with mega zoom because there was no way in HELL I was getting close to the bug that I was sure had the single minded purpose of sucking my brain out,) and then turned on the water.
Problem solved.
I won't go into how long it took to drown him. How much of a fight he put up, and how he could actually withstand the highest water pressure I could turn on in my sink. Not only withstand it, but continue crawling forward. Holy Shit!
In related news, I'm moving out tonight. Anyone want to come help me pack?
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Not Suitable for Children Under 4 Months
Proof that sometimes even I can play nice with adorable baby boys with blue blue eyes who are at the perfect age and have a giggle that makes me want to eat their chubby little cheeks right up.
(Although I must mention that right at this moment he just woke up from his nap and is crying in the next room. That's about when reality sets in again.)
(Although I must mention that right at this moment he just woke up from his nap and is crying in the next room. That's about when reality sets in again.)
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
A Sticking Point
This past weekend the boy and I were trapped in a car together for over six hours. It lead to some interesting conversation.* This is noteworthy not because interesting conversation is usually lacking in our relationship, but more because I thought we had already extensively covered every topic of conversation under the sun. I stand corrected.
We discussed our relationship quite a bit. It was old ground that had already been covered...from our inability to live together (with Satan) and his future career ideas. At one point it came up that I did not want an engagement before I was done with vet school. That gave the boy at LEAST five more years to decide whether or not I was the girl for him.** He asked what would happen if I didn't get into vet school?
"Well, in that case I would kill myself, so there's nothing to worry about."***
"We are certainly non-traditional. That would put us at, what, at least ten years of dating before making it official?"
"Wow... Well, we could always be like Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell and never get married."
"We can't be like them. Goldie Hawn is a hippie. You're nowhere near being a hippie."
"My dad thinks I am!! Besides, I know I'm not a hippie, but you TOTALLY are. We both know I'm too type A and traditional to be a hippie."
"Traditional?"
"Yeah. I just hide it well. For example, assuming you do propose, I expect you to talk to my dad beforehand."
"I am so NOT asking your dad's permission."
"Um, then I'm not marrying you."
"You're serious?"
"As a heart attack."
"What, you're going pause a moment after I ask you to marry me, and instead of saying yes, you're going to ask whether or not I've spoken to your dad yet?"
"No. I would probably say yes, and then after freaking out, ask you whether or not you spoke to my dad. If you hadn't, I would return the ring."
"Give me a break."
"You've always known I'm a daddy's girl. Don't act all surprised. Besides, I don't expect you to ask permission, per se. Just talk to him. Take him out to dinner. Get him a scotch. You just need his blessing. It's a respect thing."
"Look, I have all the respect in the WORLD for your dad. But I'm not going to ask his permission. I thought that when I spoke to him it would go something like this...."
At that point the boy launched into an eloquent speech that had no hesitations, no repeats and clearly had been thought out and carefully considered.**** I was surprised and touched.***** At the end I said, "What are you talking about? That's perfect. Complete crap, but perfect! Exactly what you should say."
"I know it's not true yet. But someday. Hopefully someday soon. Besides, I have a lot of respect for your dad, and I think he likes me too.****** I don't think he would say no."
".... Well, he probably won't. Of course, if "soon" is within the next five years, he's been given very specific instructions to tell you to bug off."
"Bitch."
"Yeah, I wouldn't recommend calling me that in front of my dad. It might hurt your chances."
*as well as some napping and a lot of Stephen King literature in AudioBook form.
**he said he had already decided. Cute, right? I countered with "I know. Actually, what I'm doing is giving Tyson more time to pass on."
***Melodramatic? Me?
****It was also completely fabricated and bore no semblance of reality.
*****Until I remembered that it was complete bull.
******He does. Now my mom on the other hand....
We discussed our relationship quite a bit. It was old ground that had already been covered...from our inability to live together (with Satan) and his future career ideas. At one point it came up that I did not want an engagement before I was done with vet school. That gave the boy at LEAST five more years to decide whether or not I was the girl for him.** He asked what would happen if I didn't get into vet school?
"Well, in that case I would kill myself, so there's nothing to worry about."***
"We are certainly non-traditional. That would put us at, what, at least ten years of dating before making it official?"
"Wow... Well, we could always be like Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell and never get married."
"We can't be like them. Goldie Hawn is a hippie. You're nowhere near being a hippie."
"My dad thinks I am!! Besides, I know I'm not a hippie, but you TOTALLY are. We both know I'm too type A and traditional to be a hippie."
"Traditional?"
"Yeah. I just hide it well. For example, assuming you do propose, I expect you to talk to my dad beforehand."
"I am so NOT asking your dad's permission."
"Um, then I'm not marrying you."
"You're serious?"
"As a heart attack."
"What, you're going pause a moment after I ask you to marry me, and instead of saying yes, you're going to ask whether or not I've spoken to your dad yet?"
"No. I would probably say yes, and then after freaking out, ask you whether or not you spoke to my dad. If you hadn't, I would return the ring."
"Give me a break."
"You've always known I'm a daddy's girl. Don't act all surprised. Besides, I don't expect you to ask permission, per se. Just talk to him. Take him out to dinner. Get him a scotch. You just need his blessing. It's a respect thing."
"Look, I have all the respect in the WORLD for your dad. But I'm not going to ask his permission. I thought that when I spoke to him it would go something like this...."
At that point the boy launched into an eloquent speech that had no hesitations, no repeats and clearly had been thought out and carefully considered.**** I was surprised and touched.***** At the end I said, "What are you talking about? That's perfect. Complete crap, but perfect! Exactly what you should say."
"I know it's not true yet. But someday. Hopefully someday soon. Besides, I have a lot of respect for your dad, and I think he likes me too.****** I don't think he would say no."
".... Well, he probably won't. Of course, if "soon" is within the next five years, he's been given very specific instructions to tell you to bug off."
"Bitch."
"Yeah, I wouldn't recommend calling me that in front of my dad. It might hurt your chances."
*as well as some napping and a lot of Stephen King literature in AudioBook form.
**he said he had already decided. Cute, right? I countered with "I know. Actually, what I'm doing is giving Tyson more time to pass on."
***Melodramatic? Me?
****It was also completely fabricated and bore no semblance of reality.
*****Until I remembered that it was complete bull.
******He does. Now my mom on the other hand....
Monday, June 29, 2009
You spent a day where?!
On Saturday, a subset of the book club that I'm in decided to take a day trip to Bloomington Indiana 
which is the home of Indiana University, where the boy's parents live, and roughly 90 minutes south of Indianapolis. I believe the main draw of the trip was Oliver Winery, but in addition to that it became a trip of Greek food, wine tasting, antique shopping, wine tasting, goose avoidance and adult bookstore perusing capped off with chocolate cake.
Did I mention that there was wine? Basically that's all that the invitation had to say.
"Emily, we're going someplace with wine."
"Done. I'll drive."
Nicole* planned the entire thing from start to finish. A fellow blogger was included in the journey, and her take on the day is here.**
I loved that the entire day was decided and I only had to be told where to drive. The food was excellent. Downtown Bloomington was an eye opening experience for me. (I expected something more like my hometown. I suppose I should have expected more from a progressive college town.) Still, it was a pleasant surprise to wander through independent shops and the beautiful architecture. The winery was also a pleasant surprise. Had it not been so beastly hot, I'm sure we would have spent more time sitting down by the water on the landscaped grounds. I also heard that you can take your own picnic lunch, buy a bottle of wine and eat outdoors - an idea I found ideal until I was reminded that there are wasps outside. Especially outside where there are pretty flowers and bottles of wine.
Nicole drove us through IU's campus which I had heard was gorgeous. And even though I was seeing
the campus through wine-colored glasses, my impression was that it lived up to its reputation. Of course, instead of taking pictures of the pretty campus, I was taking pictures like this one. Oh, and Nicole became the third person EVER to drive Curvy - a fact I was surprisingly okay with. That wine stuff is powerful.
But gooooooooood.
After we left the winery, we had some time to kill before dinner. Now, I'm not so much an antique shopper, but, as mentioned, Nicole cleverly planned that portion of the day AFTER the wine tasting.
Turns out, I really didn't it mind so much. In fact, post-wine antique shopping yields pictures like this one. (I would like to note here that I normally am violently opposed to wearing fur. Did I mention there was a wine tasting? Turns out you were allowed to sample between 6 - 8 wines. Guess how many I sampled.) Two of the girls came away with some cute jewelry and I found out that I hadn't had quite enough wine to buy an $85 mink stole. I'm sure that those Visa people are relieved.***
Overall the day was fun-filled and there was a lot of laughter. I keep forgetting how
little time I spend with girlfriends anymore. I think I'd like to go back and spend a day solely in downtown Bloomington. But then again, I seem to remember the wine tasting being pretty fun on its own...
Note #1: All beautiful artsy pictures were taken by Nicole whose talent knows no bounds. All other pictures were taken with a point and shoot that Nicole was foolhardy enough to put into my hands while I was drinking wine. I then felt free to pass it around as I deemed necessary.
Note#2: There were five of us on the trip. I would include a group picture, but it turns out that the Witness Protection Program can place people anywhere so it's better to be safe than sorry.
*I would link to her, but perhaps she would like to keep her anonymity?****
**This blogger was the reason behind the adult bookstore perusing... a fact that I did not see in her blog. It occurs to me that it may be embarrassing to her that I'm pointing this out, but I'm an equal opportunity embarrass-er. Stick around long enough and you'll be on here too.
***And I'm sure Candy would have stopped me. Right?!
****I have learned that some people like to be anonymous and go to great lengths to keep said anonymity. Such as wearing sunglasses in adult bookstores. I don't have the heart to tell them that magic sunglasses don't work.
which is the home of Indiana University, where the boy's parents live, and roughly 90 minutes south of Indianapolis. I believe the main draw of the trip was Oliver Winery, but in addition to that it became a trip of Greek food, wine tasting, antique shopping, wine tasting, goose avoidance and adult bookstore perusing capped off with chocolate cake.Did I mention that there was wine? Basically that's all that the invitation had to say.
"Emily, we're going someplace with wine."
"Done. I'll drive."
Nicole* planned the entire thing from start to finish. A fellow blogger was included in the journey, and her take on the day is here.**
I loved that the entire day was decided and I only had to be told where to drive. The food was excellent. Downtown Bloomington was an eye opening experience for me. (I expected something more like my hometown. I suppose I should have expected more from a progressive college town.) Still, it was a pleasant surprise to wander through independent shops and the beautiful architecture. The winery was also a pleasant surprise. Had it not been so beastly hot, I'm sure we would have spent more time sitting down by the water on the landscaped grounds. I also heard that you can take your own picnic lunch, buy a bottle of wine and eat outdoors - an idea I found ideal until I was reminded that there are wasps outside. Especially outside where there are pretty flowers and bottles of wine. Nicole drove us through IU's campus which I had heard was gorgeous. And even though I was seeing
the campus through wine-colored glasses, my impression was that it lived up to its reputation. Of course, instead of taking pictures of the pretty campus, I was taking pictures like this one. Oh, and Nicole became the third person EVER to drive Curvy - a fact I was surprisingly okay with. That wine stuff is powerful.But gooooooooood.
After we left the winery, we had some time to kill before dinner. Now, I'm not so much an antique shopper, but, as mentioned, Nicole cleverly planned that portion of the day AFTER the wine tasting.
Turns out, I really didn't it mind so much. In fact, post-wine antique shopping yields pictures like this one. (I would like to note here that I normally am violently opposed to wearing fur. Did I mention there was a wine tasting? Turns out you were allowed to sample between 6 - 8 wines. Guess how many I sampled.) Two of the girls came away with some cute jewelry and I found out that I hadn't had quite enough wine to buy an $85 mink stole. I'm sure that those Visa people are relieved.***Overall the day was fun-filled and there was a lot of laughter. I keep forgetting how
little time I spend with girlfriends anymore. I think I'd like to go back and spend a day solely in downtown Bloomington. But then again, I seem to remember the wine tasting being pretty fun on its own...Note #1: All beautiful artsy pictures were taken by Nicole whose talent knows no bounds. All other pictures were taken with a point and shoot that Nicole was foolhardy enough to put into my hands while I was drinking wine. I then felt free to pass it around as I deemed necessary.
Note#2: There were five of us on the trip. I would include a group picture, but it turns out that the Witness Protection Program can place people anywhere so it's better to be safe than sorry.
*I would link to her, but perhaps she would like to keep her anonymity?****
**This blogger was the reason behind the adult bookstore perusing... a fact that I did not see in her blog. It occurs to me that it may be embarrassing to her that I'm pointing this out, but I'm an equal opportunity embarrass-er. Stick around long enough and you'll be on here too.
***And I'm sure Candy would have stopped me. Right?!
****I have learned that some people like to be anonymous and go to great lengths to keep said anonymity. Such as wearing sunglasses in adult bookstores. I don't have the heart to tell them that magic sunglasses don't work.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Checkmate
Back when that silly Facebook "25 things about you" thing was going around, I played it cool for as long as I could, and then totally jumped on board. I took quite a long time on my list, and it was full of silly anecdotes and facts about Emily. I was secretly very proud of it. Since then, the random fact that my friends have most commented on is:
"When I was younger, I would play ping pong with my dad all the time. The games were always close, but he always beat me. Afterwards, he would run around the basement, hands in the air, singing “We are the Champions.” I’m pretty sure I got my competitive nature from him."
I'm horribly competitive. Horribly competitive. Think of the worst winner that you know and then double that obnoxious behavior. That's me. Then think of the worst loser you know and multiply that by about 100. Me again. It's pretty bad. I can sometimes disengage this behavior, but what I've found is that if I like and respect my competitor, it's impossible to turn off. I turn into the worst version of myself, obsessively focused on winning.* I'm really glad my friends know this and don't hold it against me. It's because I like and respect you that I want to kick your ass. Really. If I didn't care about you, I would be all "Meh." (but kick your ass anyway.)
As you can probably infer from the above fact about Emily, my father never let me win. At anything. I used to think it's because he thought this was a good way for his children to learn a lesson about winning, but now I just think it's because he hates to lose as much as I do.** The boy thinks that never winning made me tough. I think I could probably be a little less tough and still be okay. It's not that I ever wished my father would let me win... I guess I just wish he hadn't introduced me to ping pong until I had the capacity to beat him.
Which brings me to chess. I used to play chess. In fact, I was in a chess club in middle school.*** (elementary school?) I don't remember being very good, but then again, Vanessa's little brother was phenomenal and beat me every time. Did I mention that he was FOUR years younger than I was? So I would play with my father for "practice." My dad also beat me every time.
MAN was that frustating.
So when I tell people that I went home for Father's Day and beat my father at chess for the first time in my life,**** they're horrified. "It was father's day! You can't beat your dad on FATHER'S DAY!!!"
Darn tootin' I can. The man never LET me win in my life. I'm sure as heck not going to give him the game just because it's father's day. In fact, I beat him twice. And I'm pretty sure my dad respects me for it. (He told me he's proud of me and that I have a "quick mind." That almost made me act like a gracious winner. Almost.)
Of course, he's also found a chess buddy***** in Evansville and he's practicing for our next meeting. And he's retired. So he's got a LOT of time to practice. Looks like I've got a tough battle ahead of me if I want to beat him again.
But then, I would expect nothing less.
Anyone want to play some chess with me?
*Dawn will never know how many frigging games of Bejeweled I played. And still can't beat her. That might be why I hate that stupid game. Well, that and the fact that she taunted me just enough to push me to the edge of sanity, but not OVER it. Otherwise I would STILL be playing that ridiculous, unwinnable game.
**What I didn't include in that little fact about me was that the very first time I beat my father in ping pong was the very last time we ever played.
***I have never claimed to be part of the "cool kids" clique.
****There MAY have been dancing. And there MAY have been cheerleading in the form of "Give me a W! Give me an I! Give me an N! What's that spell?!!!!!!" It wasn't pretty.
*****My mother was quick to gleefully inform the chess buddy that my father had lost to his daughter. You can imagine how happy my dad was when he told me that story.
"When I was younger, I would play ping pong with my dad all the time. The games were always close, but he always beat me. Afterwards, he would run around the basement, hands in the air, singing “We are the Champions.” I’m pretty sure I got my competitive nature from him."
I'm horribly competitive. Horribly competitive. Think of the worst winner that you know and then double that obnoxious behavior. That's me. Then think of the worst loser you know and multiply that by about 100. Me again. It's pretty bad. I can sometimes disengage this behavior, but what I've found is that if I like and respect my competitor, it's impossible to turn off. I turn into the worst version of myself, obsessively focused on winning.* I'm really glad my friends know this and don't hold it against me. It's because I like and respect you that I want to kick your ass. Really. If I didn't care about you, I would be all "Meh." (but kick your ass anyway.)
As you can probably infer from the above fact about Emily, my father never let me win. At anything. I used to think it's because he thought this was a good way for his children to learn a lesson about winning, but now I just think it's because he hates to lose as much as I do.** The boy thinks that never winning made me tough. I think I could probably be a little less tough and still be okay. It's not that I ever wished my father would let me win... I guess I just wish he hadn't introduced me to ping pong until I had the capacity to beat him.
Which brings me to chess. I used to play chess. In fact, I was in a chess club in middle school.*** (elementary school?) I don't remember being very good, but then again, Vanessa's little brother was phenomenal and beat me every time. Did I mention that he was FOUR years younger than I was? So I would play with my father for "practice." My dad also beat me every time.
MAN was that frustating.
So when I tell people that I went home for Father's Day and beat my father at chess for the first time in my life,**** they're horrified. "It was father's day! You can't beat your dad on FATHER'S DAY!!!"
Darn tootin' I can. The man never LET me win in my life. I'm sure as heck not going to give him the game just because it's father's day. In fact, I beat him twice. And I'm pretty sure my dad respects me for it. (He told me he's proud of me and that I have a "quick mind." That almost made me act like a gracious winner. Almost.)
Of course, he's also found a chess buddy***** in Evansville and he's practicing for our next meeting. And he's retired. So he's got a LOT of time to practice. Looks like I've got a tough battle ahead of me if I want to beat him again.
But then, I would expect nothing less.
Anyone want to play some chess with me?
*Dawn will never know how many frigging games of Bejeweled I played. And still can't beat her. That might be why I hate that stupid game. Well, that and the fact that she taunted me just enough to push me to the edge of sanity, but not OVER it. Otherwise I would STILL be playing that ridiculous, unwinnable game.
**What I didn't include in that little fact about me was that the very first time I beat my father in ping pong was the very last time we ever played.
***I have never claimed to be part of the "cool kids" clique.
****There MAY have been dancing. And there MAY have been cheerleading in the form of "Give me a W! Give me an I! Give me an N! What's that spell?!!!!!!" It wasn't pretty.
*****My mother was quick to gleefully inform the chess buddy that my father had lost to his daughter. You can imagine how happy my dad was when he told me that story.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Blue for President
Okay, so I know that he's technically not my dog anymore. But he's adorable, he's sweet, and he's friendlier to new people than Casey is. 
(And did I mention that he's adorable?) So I entered him to be the Mutt Strutt 2010 Poster Pooch Contest. Since you're reading this blog, you should go vote for him! Vote Early! Vote Often!! Think about how much positive press can be brought to pit bulls by having this adorable, friendly guy as the mascot for a pretty major dog event in Indy! So you're not only casting a vote for the most adorable dog on the list, you're casting a vote to end dog discrimination everywhere!!*
Think of all the negative press you see about pit bulls in places other than this blog. Wouldn't you like to have a hand in showing the masses the other side? The friendlier side of pit bulls?? Blue (aka "stinker" "gooboy" and "bluuuuuuuue") is just the guy to help with that, but he needs your help.
Vote for him here. Feel free to tell your friends and to vote repeatedly. If he wins, I'll make sure each and every one of you get a Blue kiss.**
*Okay....that might be a slight exaggeration. I tend to get carried away when I get excited. You get the idea though, right?
**Um, a $1 donation is required to vote, which sucks, but I will totally buy you ice cream to make up for it. (and it's for a good cause!!!)
(And did I mention that he's adorable?) So I entered him to be the Mutt Strutt 2010 Poster Pooch Contest. Since you're reading this blog, you should go vote for him! Vote Early! Vote Often!! Think about how much positive press can be brought to pit bulls by having this adorable, friendly guy as the mascot for a pretty major dog event in Indy! So you're not only casting a vote for the most adorable dog on the list, you're casting a vote to end dog discrimination everywhere!!* Think of all the negative press you see about pit bulls in places other than this blog. Wouldn't you like to have a hand in showing the masses the other side? The friendlier side of pit bulls?? Blue (aka "stinker" "gooboy" and "bluuuuuuuue") is just the guy to help with that, but he needs your help.
Vote for him here. Feel free to tell your friends and to vote repeatedly. If he wins, I'll make sure each and every one of you get a Blue kiss.**
*Okay....that might be a slight exaggeration. I tend to get carried away when I get excited. You get the idea though, right?
**Um, a $1 donation is required to vote, which sucks, but I will totally buy you ice cream to make up for it. (and it's for a good cause!!!)
Monday, June 22, 2009
Breathtaking
"So I was catching up with a high school friend, Jackie, and she asked me about you. I gave her the same patent response that I give to everyone. 'I don't know what's going on. I don't know where we're headed. I'm taking things one day at a time.'"
"Uh huh."
"I did tell her that I'm impossible, and you're patient enough to handle me. But that sometimes you're so laid back that I want to throttle you."
"That feeling can be mutual."
I made a face. "I also told her that it's like two jagged rocks that have been rubbing up against each other for five years. The surfaces seem to be getting smoother."
"It's like you're an old shirt."
I was not at all offended by this analogy, but I decided to give him a hard time anyway. "An old shirt, huh?" I asked mischievously, "Soft and shapeless? Like, cotton? Am I getting those spots that are so thin you can almost see through the shirt? Like one more washing and you're going to have to throw the old shirt away?"
"C'mon. You know I wear shirts with holes in them."
"Nice." I was openly laughing at this point.
"Actually, that's not a good analogy..."
We were watching some episodes of 'Friends' while having this conversation on the couch with popcorn. For a few minutes there was silence while I concentrated on the popcorn and he gazed at the TV. Then I remembered that his sentence had trailed off and wanted to know the rest of the thought.
"So what am I like?"
More silence while he gazed at the TV. I was again distracted by the popcorn, though this time I was seeing how many pieces Casey could catch mid-air.
"Seriously....are you ever going to answer me? Don't you think things are getting easier?"
He made a little impatient noise that I have come to recognize as meaning 'Woman! You are not giving me time to THINK!' but since patience is hardly a virtue of mine, I pressed on.
"Hello?!"
Frustrated and eyes averted he said, "It is getting easier.... I just can't think of the right analogy.... It's like you're something that I can't live without."
His response took my breath away. And all of a sudden I realized that he hadn't been watching TV at all...he had been trying to figure out what to say and working up the courage to say it. (And that I had thought the discussion was MUCH more lighthearted than it was.) For a moment I was completely speechless.
"Air? I'm like air?"
"I don't know. But I kind of miss you when you're gone."
Still trying to catch my breath, I started to smile. When he finally looked at me, he started to smile as well. "Now why don't you say nice things like that more often?"
"They mean more this way."
"True."
"Uh huh."
"I did tell her that I'm impossible, and you're patient enough to handle me. But that sometimes you're so laid back that I want to throttle you."
"That feeling can be mutual."
I made a face. "I also told her that it's like two jagged rocks that have been rubbing up against each other for five years. The surfaces seem to be getting smoother."
"It's like you're an old shirt."
I was not at all offended by this analogy, but I decided to give him a hard time anyway. "An old shirt, huh?" I asked mischievously, "Soft and shapeless? Like, cotton? Am I getting those spots that are so thin you can almost see through the shirt? Like one more washing and you're going to have to throw the old shirt away?"
"C'mon. You know I wear shirts with holes in them."
"Nice." I was openly laughing at this point.
"Actually, that's not a good analogy..."
We were watching some episodes of 'Friends' while having this conversation on the couch with popcorn. For a few minutes there was silence while I concentrated on the popcorn and he gazed at the TV. Then I remembered that his sentence had trailed off and wanted to know the rest of the thought.
"So what am I like?"
More silence while he gazed at the TV. I was again distracted by the popcorn, though this time I was seeing how many pieces Casey could catch mid-air.
"Seriously....are you ever going to answer me? Don't you think things are getting easier?"
He made a little impatient noise that I have come to recognize as meaning 'Woman! You are not giving me time to THINK!' but since patience is hardly a virtue of mine, I pressed on.
"Hello?!"
Frustrated and eyes averted he said, "It is getting easier.... I just can't think of the right analogy.... It's like you're something that I can't live without."
His response took my breath away. And all of a sudden I realized that he hadn't been watching TV at all...he had been trying to figure out what to say and working up the courage to say it. (And that I had thought the discussion was MUCH more lighthearted than it was.) For a moment I was completely speechless.
"Air? I'm like air?"
"I don't know. But I kind of miss you when you're gone."
Still trying to catch my breath, I started to smile. When he finally looked at me, he started to smile as well. "Now why don't you say nice things like that more often?"
"They mean more this way."
"True."
Friday, June 19, 2009
Needing a Y chromosome
The reason for this blog post began on Wednesday evening. When I got in my car after volleyball and noticed that my low tire pressure light was on. I didn't really worry and just figured that I would check it out when I got home.* When I got home there was no sign of a tire losing air, so I chalked the light up to a fluke and figured I would check the tire pressures sometime the next day.
Thursday came around and I didn't have time to check my tire pressures AND go to Starbucks before work... So I decided to do the responsible thing andcheck my tire pressure go to Starbucks so I would at least resemble a normal human being in the morning.
So it's probably no surprise to any of you that I left work Thursday evening to find Curvy with one flat tire.** After running through the list of men that I know and could call to help with just such a situation, I realized that at some point in the last five years of my life they had all either gotten married or lived really the heck far away from me at that moment.
And so I heaved a deep sigh andcalled my father to freak the hell out calmly pulled out my owner's manual to refresh my memory on exactly how to change a tire. From the beginning, things were against me.
First, I knew where my spare tire was. Duh. I love my car. I know every inch of it. But I had never actually taken the spare tire OUT. Luckily I remember asking the maintenance guy if he checked the air pressure on my spare when the pressure on the rest of my tires was checked. They do. (I love Penske.) So the spare was fine. It was getting the spare OUT of the car that was NOT fine. After reading the manual (which made it seem like removing the spare was as easy as turning a screw) and trying unsuccessfully for several minutes to turn said screw, I was perplexed. WTF? I mean, I am not a weak female. I am not a weak female AND I was super pissed. The freaking wingnut should have given way before me like everything else does when faced with my wrath. Still, it remained stubbornly stuck.
So then I turned my attention to loosening the lug nuts on the tire before I jacked up the car. (As it told me to do with step-by-step illustrated instructions in my owner's manual.)
I should probably take this opportunity to mention that amidst all of this working on the flat tire, I was incessantly calling the boy. Incessantly. If there was one man who was going to be willing, nay, REQUIRED to help me, it was the boy. And yet his phone went unanswered. When he finally did pickup, it was with a wry hello that let me know he figured it was something important.*** He wasn't prepared for the scathing anger that he faced. Luckily it was directed at the flat stinking tire, and not at him. Yet.
I swear to God in heaven that I put every ounce of force that I could muster into loosening those lug nuts one-half turn as directed in the manual. Had I not been wearing flats, and instead been wearing some sort of rubber soled shoe, I would have stood on the stinking wrench handle. As it was the lug nuts would. not. move. Not one teensy millimeter. I pushed. I pulled. I kicked. I cursed. I would probably still be there trying to get the lug nuts to succumb to my will had it not been 82 degrees with 110% humidity outside and my hands hadn't suddenly given up all ability to grip anything. It was at this point that Iacted rationally and waited for rescue again attacked the wingnut that was holding my spare tire hostage. To no avail.
Around this time (the details are fuzzy) the boy answered and assured me that the calvary was on its way.
The calvary was, of course, late, and by the time it arrived, my hands and fingers were showing the early signs of turning the pretty purple color that they are today. The boy was bemused. But his smug smile quickly faded as he tried to turn the stinking wingnut. He failed. I felt vindicated.
So we gave up on the spare for a moment, and turned back to the lug nuts. As the boy prepared to jack up the car, I showed him the illustrated instructions that directed us to loosen the lug nuts by one half turn first. So he shrugged and attacked the lug nuts.
Nothing happened.
After what seemed to be a superhuman effort, the boy stepped back, scratched his head, and said, "Let's jack the car up a little."
I was tired at this point, but the rule follower in me couldn't believe that he wanted to deviate from what the owner's manual was telling me. I mean, there were illustrated instructions! But I was tired. And so after very little protesting, I agreed.
I'm sure you won't be surprised to know that once the car was raised slightly, the lug nuts came off with minor effort. I would go into the physics of why this is, but you're all smart and you can figure it out, right? Too bad I couldn't figure that out sooner. (silly girl.)
So we went back to the problem of the spare tire being held hostage. The boy pulled out some pliers and eventually won over the stubborn wingnut. (It took a LOT of effort and at one point I was concerned that the vein in the boy's forehead was going to explode.) Once removed, we saw immediately why Emily couldn't remove it herself. There was a slight but pronounced bend in the middle of two inch screw that is attached to the wingnut which made it all but impossible to turn. Apparently there was some residual damage from this incident that no one thought to check.
After that it was just a matter of getting the spare on Curvy and driving the three miles (very slowly) to my home.****
As I write this, my tire is fixed and back on my car. Best $30 I've ever spent. I think the lessons that I've learned are twofold:
1) I need to move marriage up on my priority list. Apparently a husband is not only good to have someone to mow my lawn, but also to have someone come and rescue me should I get another flat tire.*****
2) You should never do things "by the book."******
*In my defense, that light was malfunctioning when I purchased the car and pretty much stayed lit for the first four months that Curvy was mine. So I have grown slightly immune to its importance.
**The stream of obsenities out of my mouth probably wouldn't have surprised you either.
***I think the 15 missed calls were a good indication.
****The boy was compensated generously.
*****Not that I won't be able to do it myself next time.
******As J-mac said, "Apparently the owner's manual was written by a woman." Apparently the fact that he lives far away saved him from having to change a tire yesterday and also from getting punched in the knee.
Thursday came around and I didn't have time to check my tire pressures AND go to Starbucks before work... So I decided to do the responsible thing and
So it's probably no surprise to any of you that I left work Thursday evening to find Curvy with one flat tire.** After running through the list of men that I know and could call to help with just such a situation, I realized that at some point in the last five years of my life they had all either gotten married or lived really the heck far away from me at that moment.
And so I heaved a deep sigh and
First, I knew where my spare tire was. Duh. I love my car. I know every inch of it. But I had never actually taken the spare tire OUT. Luckily I remember asking the maintenance guy if he checked the air pressure on my spare when the pressure on the rest of my tires was checked. They do. (I love Penske.) So the spare was fine. It was getting the spare OUT of the car that was NOT fine. After reading the manual (which made it seem like removing the spare was as easy as turning a screw) and trying unsuccessfully for several minutes to turn said screw, I was perplexed. WTF? I mean, I am not a weak female. I am not a weak female AND I was super pissed. The freaking wingnut should have given way before me like everything else does when faced with my wrath. Still, it remained stubbornly stuck.
So then I turned my attention to loosening the lug nuts on the tire before I jacked up the car. (As it told me to do with step-by-step illustrated instructions in my owner's manual.)
I should probably take this opportunity to mention that amidst all of this working on the flat tire, I was incessantly calling the boy. Incessantly. If there was one man who was going to be willing, nay, REQUIRED to help me, it was the boy. And yet his phone went unanswered. When he finally did pickup, it was with a wry hello that let me know he figured it was something important.*** He wasn't prepared for the scathing anger that he faced. Luckily it was directed at the flat stinking tire, and not at him. Yet.
I swear to God in heaven that I put every ounce of force that I could muster into loosening those lug nuts one-half turn as directed in the manual. Had I not been wearing flats, and instead been wearing some sort of rubber soled shoe, I would have stood on the stinking wrench handle. As it was the lug nuts would. not. move. Not one teensy millimeter. I pushed. I pulled. I kicked. I cursed. I would probably still be there trying to get the lug nuts to succumb to my will had it not been 82 degrees with 110% humidity outside and my hands hadn't suddenly given up all ability to grip anything. It was at this point that I
Around this time (the details are fuzzy) the boy answered and assured me that the calvary was on its way.
The calvary was, of course, late, and by the time it arrived, my hands and fingers were showing the early signs of turning the pretty purple color that they are today. The boy was bemused. But his smug smile quickly faded as he tried to turn the stinking wingnut. He failed. I felt vindicated.
So we gave up on the spare for a moment, and turned back to the lug nuts. As the boy prepared to jack up the car, I showed him the illustrated instructions that directed us to loosen the lug nuts by one half turn first. So he shrugged and attacked the lug nuts.
Nothing happened.
After what seemed to be a superhuman effort, the boy stepped back, scratched his head, and said, "Let's jack the car up a little."
I was tired at this point, but the rule follower in me couldn't believe that he wanted to deviate from what the owner's manual was telling me. I mean, there were illustrated instructions! But I was tired. And so after very little protesting, I agreed.
I'm sure you won't be surprised to know that once the car was raised slightly, the lug nuts came off with minor effort. I would go into the physics of why this is, but you're all smart and you can figure it out, right? Too bad I couldn't figure that out sooner. (silly girl.)
So we went back to the problem of the spare tire being held hostage. The boy pulled out some pliers and eventually won over the stubborn wingnut. (It took a LOT of effort and at one point I was concerned that the vein in the boy's forehead was going to explode.) Once removed, we saw immediately why Emily couldn't remove it herself. There was a slight but pronounced bend in the middle of two inch screw that is attached to the wingnut which made it all but impossible to turn. Apparently there was some residual damage from this incident that no one thought to check.
After that it was just a matter of getting the spare on Curvy and driving the three miles (very slowly) to my home.****
As I write this, my tire is fixed and back on my car. Best $30 I've ever spent. I think the lessons that I've learned are twofold:
1) I need to move marriage up on my priority list. Apparently a husband is not only good to have someone to mow my lawn, but also to have someone come and rescue me should I get another flat tire.*****
2) You should never do things "by the book."******
*In my defense, that light was malfunctioning when I purchased the car and pretty much stayed lit for the first four months that Curvy was mine. So I have grown slightly immune to its importance.
**The stream of obsenities out of my mouth probably wouldn't have surprised you either.
***I think the 15 missed calls were a good indication.
****The boy was compensated generously.
*****Not that I won't be able to do it myself next time.
******As J-mac said, "Apparently the owner's manual was written by a woman." Apparently the fact that he lives far away saved him from having to change a tire yesterday and also from getting punched in the knee.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Silly Girl
Author's Note: I wasn't going to blog about this. Because it's about travel and I have approximately 15 people that I need to go visit and must fly to see, but cash to only take about one of those trips. But please know that if it were up to me, I would visit each and every one of you. Seriously. If IUPUI weren't currently sucking up all extra cash, I would TOTALLY be there for a weekend.
I'll be honest. I use credit cards for their rewards. So when I decided to take a trip for my 30th birthday, I opened a credit card that would give me reward miles to make the airline costsmore manageable nonexistent. And I succeeded. (go me!) And to be honest, I didn't look at that credit card again.
But in January, I received a voucher for a companion flight. I read the fine print, and it seemed the companion could fly free with me to anywhere in the contiguous US. Which seemed fortunate because there's this boy, and there's this family that he has yet to meet.*
So I finally pin the boy down on dates, I confirm that they're good with the fam, and I decide to do some online research so I don't book these tickets completely blind. What I found is:
1) Bad: The airline that so thoughtfully gave me a free ticket for my 30th birthday (heretofore known as EvilAir) is significantly higher priced than other airlines that I could also use to get to my family.
2) Good: I have some remaining airline miles!! I can use them to take $150 off the cost of my ticket!
3) Meh: I'm only 20 miles away from being able to take $200 off the cost of the ticket.
So I decide that since it's easy to spend approximately $40 ona new outfit gas, I'll go ahead and use the charge card to get the miles, and THEN purchase my ticket. (I know, right? My logic makes no sense. Even to me and I live here.)
First I must find the credit card. Then I must dust it off. $200 here I come!! Yes, well, there's this expiration date on the card. And it has passed. And Emily didn't notice because she doesn't use the card. Silly girl.
So she calls to get a new card and finds out that it will be a week. Mmmmmkay. So Emily will forgo the extra $50 and just get the tickets anyway. After all, who knows if the price will go up, and my usual MO of waiting until the last minute for cheap flights doesn't seem as smart when there are two people traveling (one of whom will use a companion flight voucher.)
And so I call to book the tickets, only to find out that I must put the tickets on my airline credit card.
Boo hockey.
As I am about to hang up, I decide to use this opportunity as a fact finding mission to find out whether or not the companion flight is everything that it seems to be.
Oh it is. No blackout dates, companion has the exact same itinerary as the other passenger. No standby! Sweet.
And then there's this passing mention of how the other ticket - MY ticket - must be paid full price. I backup to clarify. But, I have airline miles! Lots and lots of airline miles!! I can't use them?
I'm sorry, no. You must pay full price for your ticket in order to use the companion flight. (silly girl)
But!
no.
But but!!
no.
Damn.
Now, the cost of my ticket on EvilAir is still cheaper than two tickets on the other airline that I could take (and be much happier,) so I can't just abandon the plan. But I can sit here and seethe about it for a week until I get my new credit card. After all, it's not that I'm cheap per se. It's just that it hurts me to pay more for something that I know I can be getting for less. Sigh.
But, on the bright side, I also have a week to think scheme and think of alternative plans to save money. Ideas anyone?
*There are also redwoods. We must not understimate the importance that the redwoods have had on getting this boy to actually agree to travel that must be done by air.
I'll be honest. I use credit cards for their rewards. So when I decided to take a trip for my 30th birthday, I opened a credit card that would give me reward miles to make the airline costs
But in January, I received a voucher for a companion flight. I read the fine print, and it seemed the companion could fly free with me to anywhere in the contiguous US. Which seemed fortunate because there's this boy, and there's this family that he has yet to meet.*
So I finally pin the boy down on dates, I confirm that they're good with the fam, and I decide to do some online research so I don't book these tickets completely blind. What I found is:
1) Bad: The airline that so thoughtfully gave me a free ticket for my 30th birthday (heretofore known as EvilAir) is significantly higher priced than other airlines that I could also use to get to my family.
2) Good: I have some remaining airline miles!! I can use them to take $150 off the cost of my ticket!
3) Meh: I'm only 20 miles away from being able to take $200 off the cost of the ticket.
So I decide that since it's easy to spend approximately $40 on
First I must find the credit card. Then I must dust it off. $200 here I come!! Yes, well, there's this expiration date on the card. And it has passed. And Emily didn't notice because she doesn't use the card. Silly girl.
So she calls to get a new card and finds out that it will be a week. Mmmmmkay. So Emily will forgo the extra $50 and just get the tickets anyway. After all, who knows if the price will go up, and my usual MO of waiting until the last minute for cheap flights doesn't seem as smart when there are two people traveling (one of whom will use a companion flight voucher.)
And so I call to book the tickets, only to find out that I must put the tickets on my airline credit card.
Boo hockey.
As I am about to hang up, I decide to use this opportunity as a fact finding mission to find out whether or not the companion flight is everything that it seems to be.
Oh it is. No blackout dates, companion has the exact same itinerary as the other passenger. No standby! Sweet.
And then there's this passing mention of how the other ticket - MY ticket - must be paid full price. I backup to clarify. But, I have airline miles! Lots and lots of airline miles!! I can't use them?
I'm sorry, no. You must pay full price for your ticket in order to use the companion flight. (silly girl)
But!
no.
But but!!
no.
Damn.
Now, the cost of my ticket on EvilAir is still cheaper than two tickets on the other airline that I could take (and be much happier,) so I can't just abandon the plan. But I can sit here and seethe about it for a week until I get my new credit card. After all, it's not that I'm cheap per se. It's just that it hurts me to pay more for something that I know I can be getting for less. Sigh.
But, on the bright side, I also have a week to think scheme and think of alternative plans to save money. Ideas anyone?
*There are also redwoods. We must not understimate the importance that the redwoods have had on getting this boy to actually agree to travel that must be done by air.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
We hold these truths to be self-evident
Internets, I've been lying to you.
All these years, and I've been unintentionally leading you astray. Several times I've referred to myself as short, and I think that once or twice I even said five feet. But it's with a heavy heart that I must issue a retraction and explain that I am NOT five feet tall. I am actually five feet and three quarter inches tall.
I don't blame you if you hold a grudge. I mean, this change of height thing has really gotten to me. If I'm not five foot, what other lifelong beliefs will be proven false? Am I not Peruvian? Not sarcastic? Not cynical? Dear God, what is real? Maybe I really DO have cankles! Who am I? What the hell?
This earth-shattering revelation came about at the doctor's office a few weeks ago. Shoes off and on the scale that I hate, the nurse explained that I was in fact 5' 3/4" tall.* It was truly mind boggling for me. I've always known that I'm sixty inches tall. I mean, I measure things with my height!** Somehow, "sixty and three quarters inches" doesn't roll off the tongue quite as well. Not to mention all the things I have to take into consideration with this newfound height. I mean, can I still wear three inch heels? Am I still considered short? Do I have to duck under low hanging branches now? What about rounding? Do I have to say "five one" or do I say "five foot?"
These three quarters of an inch are no laughing matter.
This whole height identity crisis was brought to mind by my first meeting with a dear friend's "new" boyfriend. His impression of me was "shorter than expected." I feel like I should tell him, "Oh yeah? You think I'm short now? You should have met me a month and a half ago when I was only five feet tall!"
And what about the boy? Now that I'm taller, am I still a bulldog? Or can I be categorized under a taller species of dog now?
I think I have to go lie down. I'm one flying pig away from a nervous breakdown.
*This came after I helpfully shared the detail that I've been sixty inches tall since the fifth grade. Boy did I feel dumb. I even had her remeasure me. She didn't seem happy by my request.
**True story. It's because of my height that I knew that the Holiday Inn in Princeton, IN LIED when they said their deep end was five feet. I was completely submerged and had at LEAST two inches of water over my head. Tell me THAT'S not a lawsuit waiting to happen.
All these years, and I've been unintentionally leading you astray. Several times I've referred to myself as short, and I think that once or twice I even said five feet. But it's with a heavy heart that I must issue a retraction and explain that I am NOT five feet tall. I am actually five feet and three quarter inches tall.
I don't blame you if you hold a grudge. I mean, this change of height thing has really gotten to me. If I'm not five foot, what other lifelong beliefs will be proven false? Am I not Peruvian? Not sarcastic? Not cynical? Dear God, what is real? Maybe I really DO have cankles! Who am I? What the hell?
This earth-shattering revelation came about at the doctor's office a few weeks ago. Shoes off and on the scale that I hate, the nurse explained that I was in fact 5' 3/4" tall.* It was truly mind boggling for me. I've always known that I'm sixty inches tall. I mean, I measure things with my height!** Somehow, "sixty and three quarters inches" doesn't roll off the tongue quite as well. Not to mention all the things I have to take into consideration with this newfound height. I mean, can I still wear three inch heels? Am I still considered short? Do I have to duck under low hanging branches now? What about rounding? Do I have to say "five one" or do I say "five foot?"
These three quarters of an inch are no laughing matter.
This whole height identity crisis was brought to mind by my first meeting with a dear friend's "new" boyfriend. His impression of me was "shorter than expected." I feel like I should tell him, "Oh yeah? You think I'm short now? You should have met me a month and a half ago when I was only five feet tall!"
And what about the boy? Now that I'm taller, am I still a bulldog? Or can I be categorized under a taller species of dog now?
I think I have to go lie down. I'm one flying pig away from a nervous breakdown.
*This came after I helpfully shared the detail that I've been sixty inches tall since the fifth grade. Boy did I feel dumb. I even had her remeasure me. She didn't seem happy by my request.
**True story. It's because of my height that I knew that the Holiday Inn in Princeton, IN LIED when they said their deep end was five feet. I was completely submerged and had at LEAST two inches of water over my head. Tell me THAT'S not a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Did you know...?
...that constantly refreshing your email doesn't make the reply you're waiting for arrive any faster?
...that when you're really concentrating on something (like the best way to buy a plane ticket) little things in your usual routine (like closing the bathroom door) may be forgotten and lead to embarrassment?
...that sucky work permeates suckiness into every other aspect of your life?
...that rain + dirt = mud and mud + dog = dirty house?
...that you can call someone on a whim, and as soon as the phone begins ringing wish you hadn't called at all... but THEN have a conversation that brightens your entire day?
...that laundry doesn't do itself?
...that paying off a credit card is one of the sweetest feelings ever!! (It's unfortunate that sometimes you can't celebrate by buying yourself something pretty.)
...that sometimes girls just need to cry. Boys, sometimes the reason is "nothing" and sometimes it's "everything." Either way it won't make sense to you, so just accept it and move on.
...that the answer to every single life question can be found in an episode of 'Friends?'
...that sometimes the answers to your problems can be found at the bottom of a glass of red wine, and other times at the bottom of a vanilla milkshake?
...that sometimes looking hot in that fitted outfit just isn't worth giving up the comfort of sweatpants?
What do you know? (Favorites will be added as a post publication edit.)
...that when you're really concentrating on something (like the best way to buy a plane ticket) little things in your usual routine (like closing the bathroom door) may be forgotten and lead to embarrassment?
...that sucky work permeates suckiness into every other aspect of your life?
...that rain + dirt = mud and mud + dog = dirty house?
...that you can call someone on a whim, and as soon as the phone begins ringing wish you hadn't called at all... but THEN have a conversation that brightens your entire day?
...that laundry doesn't do itself?
...that paying off a credit card is one of the sweetest feelings ever!! (It's unfortunate that sometimes you can't celebrate by buying yourself something pretty.)
...that sometimes girls just need to cry. Boys, sometimes the reason is "nothing" and sometimes it's "everything." Either way it won't make sense to you, so just accept it and move on.
...that the answer to every single life question can be found in an episode of 'Friends?'
...that sometimes the answers to your problems can be found at the bottom of a glass of red wine, and other times at the bottom of a vanilla milkshake?
...that sometimes looking hot in that fitted outfit just isn't worth giving up the comfort of sweatpants?
What do you know? (Favorites will be added as a post publication edit.)
Monday, June 08, 2009
Work to Live
So, this work thing has been interfering with my blogging. I have informed my boss that this can not continue, but he seems not to care.
Seriously, work has been a madhouse for the last week or so. A new guy has been brought on board, and in an office of three, this causes quite a stir. Can't. Wait. Until. Things. Settle. Down.
As a result, I have had zero time for email checking or blog reading or (most importantly) blog posting. Sorry for anyone I've neglected. I hope to get back to my regularly scheduled programming soon. In the meantime, here are some snippets.
- I managed to make myself look like a complete idiot while walking Casey on Saturday. It was "Bike Day" at Crown Hill, so there were cyclists everywhere. Still, I walk in an older/rarely visited portion of the cemetery, so I let Casey off-leash anyway. I saw a cyclist approaching at a reasonable speed, so I wasn't concerned as I went to corral Casey. When the cyclist was about 50 feet away, she yelled "Does she know what a bicycle is?"
My mind was in approximately a million places at once as I enjoyed my newest playlist, pushed my walk to get it done in under an hour so I wasn't late to meet my friend, and keeping track of Casey so she didn't get in the way of the cyclist. As a result, the only thing that I could think to respond to the woman was, "Um, she's a dog?"
The lady had to stop her bike because she was laughing so hard. After some discussion, we determined that the lady was just asking whether or not Casey was familiar with bikes and knew not to get in the way. I explained that yes, Casey is recently familiar with bikes, but that this was no guarantee that she would stay out of her way, which is why I was herding her over to my side as the cyclist approached. The still-chuckling woman rode off, and I felt like the world's biggest idiot.
- I saw my first horse-show this past weekend. The son of one of my friends from high school was a partipant. It was very cool and I was overall very impressed. I didn't actually realize how tentative I would be around horses, though. My friend said, "Wait a sec, aren't you wanting to become a vet?!" Um, yes. But I never said I wanted to be a large animal vet. Maybe it's because of my short stature, but horses are GIGANTIC! I love horses....I'm just not sure I want to be that close to them. At least not within kicking or stomping distance.
- I did absolutely nothing on Sunday and it felt FABULOUS!
- I have had my bike helmet for over a week now and haven't yet had a chance to use it. I missed out on my bike marathon for the horse show, which was worth it, but I'm still bummed. I need to find time to get back on my bike.
- Drink your milk, kids. I started eating cereal for breakfast every day, and I'm astounded by the changes in my body by the mere addition of daily milk. (not the least of which are fingernails that are longer than I've ever before had them.)
- Unless it's raining, I'm taking the camera on my walk with Casey tonight. I figure it's been long enough since my last photo-blog, and there are some very pretty views at Crown Hill that I'm sure even I can capture with my point and shoot. What I NEED to do is get Ann to go on my walk with me after Baby Boo arrives. But for now, you'll have to make do with my pictures.
- I have a reunion this weekend in Chicago. I'm meeting up with some people that I studied abroad with in Costa Rica. Ten years ago. I hate how old that makes me feel, but I'm looking forward to the fun time that is certain to be had.
Seriously, work has been a madhouse for the last week or so. A new guy has been brought on board, and in an office of three, this causes quite a stir. Can't. Wait. Until. Things. Settle. Down.
As a result, I have had zero time for email checking or blog reading or (most importantly) blog posting. Sorry for anyone I've neglected. I hope to get back to my regularly scheduled programming soon. In the meantime, here are some snippets.
- I managed to make myself look like a complete idiot while walking Casey on Saturday. It was "Bike Day" at Crown Hill, so there were cyclists everywhere. Still, I walk in an older/rarely visited portion of the cemetery, so I let Casey off-leash anyway. I saw a cyclist approaching at a reasonable speed, so I wasn't concerned as I went to corral Casey. When the cyclist was about 50 feet away, she yelled "Does she know what a bicycle is?"
My mind was in approximately a million places at once as I enjoyed my newest playlist, pushed my walk to get it done in under an hour so I wasn't late to meet my friend, and keeping track of Casey so she didn't get in the way of the cyclist. As a result, the only thing that I could think to respond to the woman was, "Um, she's a dog?"
The lady had to stop her bike because she was laughing so hard. After some discussion, we determined that the lady was just asking whether or not Casey was familiar with bikes and knew not to get in the way. I explained that yes, Casey is recently familiar with bikes, but that this was no guarantee that she would stay out of her way, which is why I was herding her over to my side as the cyclist approached. The still-chuckling woman rode off, and I felt like the world's biggest idiot.
- I saw my first horse-show this past weekend. The son of one of my friends from high school was a partipant. It was very cool and I was overall very impressed. I didn't actually realize how tentative I would be around horses, though. My friend said, "Wait a sec, aren't you wanting to become a vet?!" Um, yes. But I never said I wanted to be a large animal vet. Maybe it's because of my short stature, but horses are GIGANTIC! I love horses....I'm just not sure I want to be that close to them. At least not within kicking or stomping distance.
- I did absolutely nothing on Sunday and it felt FABULOUS!
- I have had my bike helmet for over a week now and haven't yet had a chance to use it. I missed out on my bike marathon for the horse show, which was worth it, but I'm still bummed. I need to find time to get back on my bike.
- Drink your milk, kids. I started eating cereal for breakfast every day, and I'm astounded by the changes in my body by the mere addition of daily milk. (not the least of which are fingernails that are longer than I've ever before had them.)
- Unless it's raining, I'm taking the camera on my walk with Casey tonight. I figure it's been long enough since my last photo-blog, and there are some very pretty views at Crown Hill that I'm sure even I can capture with my point and shoot. What I NEED to do is get Ann to go on my walk with me after Baby Boo arrives. But for now, you'll have to make do with my pictures.
- I have a reunion this weekend in Chicago. I'm meeting up with some people that I studied abroad with in Costa Rica. Ten years ago. I hate how old that makes me feel, but I'm looking forward to the fun time that is certain to be had.
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