Life in a bubble

I've been existing in a sort of bubble of unreality for the past month or so.

Moving.
The "Holidays." (Used an excuse for practically anything and everything. Depressed? It's the "Holidays." Too busy? It's the "Holidays." Happy? Lazy? Eating too much or too little? Yep, must be those pesky "Holidays." Kind of like the whole nation gets its' period. (Oops, sorry, got carried away. End rant))
The Mister being on vacation.
Em home from school.
Off to the ocean for a few days.

I have been reluctant to come out of this bubble, as there is work associated with reality that i would prefer to ignore.

While in the bubble, if we get hungry, Hey! No problem, off to a restaurant. In reality, the credit card bills for eating every meal out are nasty. So, back to meal planning and shopping.

In the bubble, the computer is used for playing yet another game of Chainz. In reality, i must answer e-mails and pay bills and converse with lawyers and insurance companies.

In the bubble, moving into a new home meant that i could avoid housework because everything was so clean to start with. In reality, the dust bunnies are raising their grandchildren right out in the open. So, i must find the vacuum cleaner and USE it.

In the bubble, all the eating and drinking has no consequences. In reality, it, um, does. So, back to moderation.

Freeze Frame

It's been cold around here lately. Verry cold. Colder than a witches ......

fountain! Yeah, a witches fountain.

We went to visit our recently vacated house on Saturday. While driving down the driveway i noticed that there was water seeping out from under the garage doors.

Note to self: This is a bad sign.

There was a new water feature at our house!

And like Mrs Piggle-Wiggle's upside down house, the garage ceiling was on the garage floor!

What i enjoyed the most about this is that the big fluorescent lights that were hanging down, still worked.

What i enjoyed the least is that the water had gotten into the house and ruined some of the flooring in the dining room.

But hey, that's what insurance is for, right?

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On a different note, i'm going to have to put word verification on here for a little while. I apologize for that, but some damned ad-bot program is leaving me little presents on all my old posts and i weary of deleting them.

There's a special place in hell for spammers, right next to John Wilkes Booth.

Going for a guilt trip

A phone call from my mother.

She just wants to "drop off" a little present for Em on Sunday. Would that be all right?

So i invite them to come and have lunch with us. Seems like the decent thing to do. They are bringing my child a present after all, and they haven't been to our new place.

After we get the directions and the details all worked out, my mom starts protesting. "Oh, are you sure it's okay? It isn't too much trouble?"

After a few more of these statements, which i have answered with "Oh, no, it's okay" i realize something else is going on, and i say, "Why are you questioning me?"

"Oh," she says, "i had just hoped that YOU would call us."

Ah.

After she hung up it took me a few moments to identify the emotion i was feeling.

Guilt.

Which was exactly her intention. Which made the guilt shift to mad. I do mad better than guilt anyway.

One quiet moment

I took a bus to downtown Seattle the other day, as i sometimes do.

While i sat reading, waiting for my next bus, a rare moment of quiet descended on my little section of the city, causing me to look up from my book.

I looked to my right, curious as to the source of a tiny sound. It was the toenails of one of the ubiquitous pigeons clicking on the sidewalk. He cocked his head to look at me, trying to intuit the possibility of my possessing food.

The quiet was ended by the raucous laughter of two women walking behind the bus stop. I looked over to see them clinging together, one woman hopping on one foot while her other foot was no longer shod.

Her momentum had carried her forward without her shoe when the fashionable heel had been snared by a sidewalk crack.

She hopped back to retrieve her shoe and they continued on, still laughing. I smile at their fun.

Evangelical Atheism

Some fools have paid for advertising on the buses around here that says "Yes Virginia, there is no God."

I am an atheist, but i don't like evangelicalism of any ilk.

As if an ad on the side of a bus would convince anyone of anything.

Can't you just see this happening?

Spying one of these ads, a woman slaps herself on the forehead, "Oh man, that makes SO MUCH sense. Now i know the truth. Thank you Atheism Board."

Yeah, right.

Seems like it's just designed to annoy and upset people.


Obnoxiousness from the other side:

Last week i saw a bumper sticker with this

If you are living your life like there's no God, YOU'D BETTER BE RIGHT!

My bumper sticker response?

If you are living your life like your God is the only true God, YOU'D BETTER BE RIGHT!

As promised

FLUFFY BUNNY!!!

Also, you know i rarely post links, not because it's beyond my skills or beneath my dignity, but because i'm too lazy.

But if you have never been here, please take a few minutes to check it out. You won't REGRET it. (har har)

If you need enticing, it's some of the weirder stuff that makes its way to Etsy, A site where people can sell crafty stuff, or in some cases, crazy stuff.

Back later with the usual ranting.

If i gave birth to you, do not read this

There are only so many responses one can make to complaining, only so many times you can say "i'm sorry," or "that sucks." But the urge to complain is strong within this one (like the force within Luke.)

I finally went to the doctor for my sprained ankle.

I've been sentenced to THE BOOT!

I hate THE BOOT. I spent 8 weeks in one several years ago. THE BOOT makes your calf muscle disappear, leaving it looking like a deflated balloon. Disgusting.

And, the worst visit ever with Em over Thanksgiving.

She was mean and argumentative. Constantly spouting song lyrics or inside jokes from her buddies at school. Which is boring and off putting. Talked about how much she missed her friends and how lonely she was. All this for a week away from them.

I never before have been happy to see her leave.

Guess she's finally doing some separating. In talking about it with other parents, it seems like the sophomore year at college is the worst as far as stress.

I hope so.

So, i'm a little sorry for all the bitching, but it had to be done.

Next up, a post about FLUFFY BUNNIES!

The week in review

Saturday: I sprain my ankle playing squash. It hurts, but the colors are pretty. I try to keep it in perspective by remembering that it's not liver cancer (which a friend of mine has, so i should just shut the hell up.) I am grumpy.

Sunday: I wash my face with hair conditioner. The good news is that my face is tangle free, but my hair is not. Frequent applications of ice to my ankle help reduce the swelling.

Monday: I complete my first load of laundry at the new place. Already, a sock is missing, i kid you not.

Tuesday: The Roomb@ shows up! All of us, including the cat, watch in fascination as it navigates around the house and vacuums up cat and meno hair.

Wednesday: The Mister takes the day off to relax and then spends the entire time watching worker bee dudes fuck around with the lighting and security system. The Mister is grumpy.

Thursday: Thanksgiving with the family. My brother and i fuck up the gravy, but my sister, dragged in for a consultation, manages to rescue it with the liberal addition of sherry. The Mister drinks too much and Em is sick and grumpy. She has to go to work at midnight so we leave early.

Friday: The Mister falls down the stairs whilst carrying a nightstand. We spend 3 hours in the emergency room mostly waiting. He gets his chin glued shut and three stitches in his lip. His face looks like he came in third in an axe battle. He is grumpy.

Stuff it

Boxes and hand carts and newsprint and STUFF, SO MUCH STUFF!

We are moved into our new place, without really being moved out of our old place. In the midst of so much chaos, i find that the one thing i must do every single morning, before the sheets are even cold, (Get your ass out of bed NOW, Mister!) is make the bed. It seems i need to have at least one thing in my life in order.

In our new place, we have a storage locker (Now full of The Mister's STUFF, but really, who notices things like the fact that 90% of the STUFF is his STUFF?) There are also a couple of restaurants in the building, one of which has the storage locker next to ours. It's where they keep the booze.

When we were moving some of our STUFF into the locker last week, someone made a trip to the restaurant's locker and dropped a bottle of beer whilst inside. The whole room full of lockers smelled like a frat house for three days.

Today when i went to our locker to drop off some MORE STUFF, i noticed that the restaurant's storage locker has been left unlocked.

OH THE MORAL DILEMMA!

I peeked in. Bottles and bottles of wine and Patron and Bombay Sapphire and Grey Goose and and......

Oh, how it hurt to go out through the restaurant and tell them.

Rub me the right way

I joined a massage place, kinda like joining a gym, only with massages instead. There is a pretty cheap monthly rate, for which i get one massage a month, and any other massages after that are 39 bucks! THIRTY NINE BUCKS! For an hour massage!

Score!

I have come to realize one thing about massages though, it's hard to relax while keeping your butt clenched.

She's pressing down, HARD, on my back, and it's pretty soon after lunch. Guess i shouldn't have had a burrito. But on the plus side, i did shave my legs this week.

I guess getting face farted must be an occupational hazard of being a masseuse. Not every one can have the butt clenching abilities i possess.

Oh, and that MUSIC they play. One lute accompanied by a stoned harpist. Today i asked the masseuse if she blasts Metallica in her car on the way home after a whole day of this crap. I know i would. She didn't answer yes or no, but she laughed.

It feels so good that each time after they finish with me, i ask the masseuse for her hand in marriage.

So far no luck with that.

Inappropriate

Okay, i am busy moving, but i have the best mother story ever. EVER!

A tiny bit of background:

Seattle built a new trolley in the past few years. It's called the South Lake Union Transit. Amazingly, no one thought about the acronym that would result from this.

Here's the mom part.

I went to breakfast with my sister a few days ago, she told me this story, for which she WINS for all time.

She went to visit my parents for the 16th birthday of her youngest daughter.

The present from my parents was some money, and a t-shirt that said "Ride The Slut."

Oh My God! This for a sixteen year old girl!!

My jaw dropped on my chest and bounced a few times.

The fun thing is that Em's birthday is coming up soon, and my mother often gives the same present to each grandchild. So, thanks to my sister, i am prepared to deliver a total smackdown.

THIS IS WHAT YOU WANT MY NINETEEN YEAR OLD DAUGHTER TO WEAR ACROSS HER CHEST??????????

i don't think so.

In case that's too small to read, it says, "What men see in women or women in men to admire is generally a puzzle to those who know the men and women in question intimately."

It's a quote and picture from a book that is over a hundred years old. It belonged to my grandmother and was published in 1901. the title of the book is Crankisms and the author is Lisle de Vaux Matthewman, with illustrations by Clare Victor Dwiggins.

At some weddings a part of the ceremony is to ask the audience if they will support the newly minted couple. I always enthusiastically answer this question in the affirmative, and i really mean it.

So, some of us don't understand what you see in the man you have chosen. He's not a bad man, i just don't think he's anywhere near wonderful or funny or engaging enough for you.

But you chose him. And i support you in that choice.

I do.

Gentlemen, start your grills

In the past few months i have observed some interesting behavior in regard to meat grilling.

Scene 1: At someone else's house, i watched a male guest critique, and then ultimately take over the grilling of the fish. The host, a secure and calm man, let Mr. Rude Guest take over without a fuss and went off to toss the salad.

(As an aside, the fish was slightly over done.)

Scene 2: Steak this time, also at someone else's house. Three male guests began to argue rather vehemently about the correct steak grilling technique. To sear or not to sear? How long on each side per inch of thickness? Is the grilling fork with the temperature gauge a worthwhile tool or a crutch for the incompetent? Apparently. THESE THINGS ARE VITALLY IMPORTANT!

(My steak was also overdone, but to be fair, i like it RARE.)

Scene 3: Our house this time, and back to fish. The Mister and Mr. Polite Guest were outside. When The Mister declared the fish done, Mr Polite Guest expressed concern that the fish was NOT done. The Mister's explained his theory that the fish continues cooking after being removed from the grill.

(The fish was yummy.)

I'm trying to think if any guest, other than my mother, has ever criticized me while i was cooking. To my face i mean. (When my mother did it, i told her "Great idea. Here, you do it." That shut her up!) I couldn't remember any.

My theory is, if someone else cooks, my job is to offer to help, shut up, and eat it.

Clueless

The Mister and i went to an obligatory brunch with my parents yesterday.

Those of you who have been following the adventures of meno know that my mother likes to talk, and is constitutionally unable to listen.

So all that was needed from me was the occasional "uh huh," "really?" " is that right?" and "you don't say," to keep the monologue conversation going.

As she likes to do, she began to complain about one of my brothers and his wife, who had visited them a few days before. "I never learn anything from them about their lives when they are here," she whined.

"Did you ask them any questions?" i asked.

"Oh you," she answers, "don't be that way." Which is her standard reply when i say something she isn't expecting or doesn't like.

I am not wondering why she didn't learn anything from them.

Fun in bed

Last night, unbeknownst to me, a nickel, yes, a coin worth 5 pennies, was lurking in my bed.

As i rolled over, again, unbeknownst to me, the nickel stuck to my hip. A few seconds later, it detached and slid down my leg, because gravity, it works.

All i knew at that point, is that something vaguely cold was moving down my leg under the covers.

Being the calm and collected person that i am, as well as (sadly) an arachnophobic, i screamed and leapt about 5 feet from the bed, dragging the blankets and top sheet with me.

Oddly enough, this woke up The Mister, who also leapt out of bed, ready to do battle with whatever evil hell minion was attacking his woman. He seemed rather put out that there was nothing to slay.

The nickel remained calm and stayed in bed.

Oh, for a video camera in the bedroom at that moment.

Crank Call

I got to give someone a well-deserved verbal dressing down the other day.

Man, it was FUN!

I was answering phones during a pledge drive at our local public radio station. They had just announced a special premium for a $250 donation. It was two tickets to come and sit in on a live taping of a show featuring Al Gore.

So the phones start ringing, including mine.

"Thank you for calling KUOW. Are you calling about the Al Gore tickets?"

"Yes!"

I raise my hand in the air to make sure that caller dude gets one of the special stickers that denote this premium.

He continues talking;

"I wouldn't give warm spit to see Al Gore!"

I reach out with my hand to prevent the station worker from attaching the sticker to the pledge sheet i had begun to fill out.

"Never mind," i tell her, loud enough for the man on the phone to hear, "he's just calling to bitch."

The other people at my table start to pay attention. We all love a good cranky caller. We trade stories about them during the down times.

"So," i say, "you don't like Al Gore?"

"No!" says my caller. " I think he's a total fraud."

"And you felt so strongly about this that you called me, a volunteer on the pledge line, to complain about it?"

"Well, ah, yes"

"Seriously? I think that was a poor choice. What possible good do you think that will do? What a complete waste of energy."


"Ummmm...."

"And what exactly would you like me to do for you?"

"Ahhhh...."

"Unless you are willing to give me you name and phone number so i can have someone from the station call you back, i'm going to hang up now."

(small voice) "Uh, okay. Bye."

My table mates were quite shocked that i had spoken to this man so sharply, and then hung up on him. But the lady from the radio station said, "You handled that really well!"

I was grinning! So, thanks Mr. Caller Dude. That was fun.

Getting Started

Years ago, like thirty years, i saw an little animated short film called "Getting Started" at one of those ubercool film festivals that universities are so fond of.

The movie depicts the difficulties of just getting started.

A man sits at a piano, hands poised above the keyboard, ready to play. He stops, deciding that perhaps a nice cup of tea would be just the thing.

Back at the piano with tea, hands raised, when his pet mouse appears. He talks to the mouse.

He scratches his nose, he gets up to take a phone call, he stares out the window.

And so on.

I've never been one to blog daily, but i begin to recognize that one of the advantages of it would be that you would not have to get started, you just keep going.

It's like those sexless dry spells that married (and i suppose unmarried) couples go through. After a while, you have to stop waiting for the time to be right, and just DO IT fer crissakes!

Writing is something i do. In many it's ways necessary to me. But the longer i go without writing, the harder it is for me to get started.

Excuses:
1) Things are going on in my life that are hard to talk about. Not necessarily BAD thing, but things.
2) My daughter ferreted out my blog and reads it. That i feel a tad stifled by that.
3) The cat needed to be petted.
4) And so on.

Stuck in the Middle

Scene 1: Dinner with my parents last week.

Partway through the meal, my dad starts complaining about my brother, Tim, how he never sees them and doesn't feel close to them, etc. etc...

My mom chimes in about how busy they always are and how they never return her phone calls. (I'm thinking, 'They return MY phone calls,' but wisely decided not to say that out loud.)

Blah, blah, blah, more complaining ensues.

Scene 2: Dinner at my brother's house Monday.

I tell Tim the good news, that mom and dad aren't going to be around for Thanksgiving this year! (Well, i thought it was good news!)

Tim starts complaining about how busy mom and dad are, and how he never sees them unless he invites them to do something and how they never see their grandchildren.

Uh oh!

My 2 cents:

I tend to think, from past history, that Tim possesses the opinion closest to reality.


Now i'm wondering what to do. Truthfully, i would do nothing if not for the fact that Tim seems truly hurt. If i were to talk to anyone, it would be Tim, as i think he has the more adult view, but i am hesitant to stick my big fat nose into this, because i can see how it could VERY EASILY come back to bite me in the ass.

If you give a Meno a Cookie

I'm staring down a Star8uck's oatmeal cookie right now. I made the mistake of looking up the calorie count on the interwebs after i bought it and before i ate it.

400 calories, 65g of carbs. Wow. I've been in denial and it was a lovely place to visit. I think i stayed too long.

So the cookie is sitting next to me. The struggle is that it cost $1.49 (plus tax) and i hate to waste money. But then, at the end of the day, would i pay $1.49 (plus tax) to have eaten 400 fewer calories? I think i would. If only it were that easy, because what i actually have to do is much harder than spending money. I have to not eat the cookie.

Can she do it?

I don't know.....stay tuned.

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The Mister somehow damaged his Visa card, so he called for a new one. When it arrived he got on the phone to activate it, and was puzzled when he got transferred to an actual human.

"Can you tell me what you use your card for? she chirped.

"To charge things," answered The Mister, thinking "WTF?"

"What kinds of things?" asked little Miss Ch*se Bank employee.

"I'm not willing to answer that. If you want to know, look it up in your records. Is my card activated?

"Yes, sir, your card is activated. We are trying to assess your spending habits in order to sell you shit you don't need better determine your credit card needs," responds Ch*se Bank employee, her accent becoming more pronounced.

"I'm going to hang up now. Bye." And he does.

"Let's cancel that credit card," is my helpful suggestion.

"Excellent idea!"


Fucking marketing.

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Since when did the criteria for pulling in front of someone in traffic change from 'You shouldn't cause them to have to slow down' to 'If there's any possible way that they can slam on their brakes to avoid hitting you, go ahead???'

I must have missed hearing about that new law.

****************************

The cookie is still outside my stomach. For now.

Attend to me!

Today is my birthday.

I mention this for two reasons
1) so you can shower me with attention and,
2) so you can see what a geek i am when i tell you about the presents i got.

I got a wireless mouse for my laptop (the Wireless Mobile Mouse 6000, she's a real beauty,) and a gift certificate to get my car detailed! No perfume or clothes for this woman, no indeed.

Looking over the literature accompanying my shiny new black mouse i notice that (and i quote);

"Failure to properly set up, use, and care for this product can increase the risk of serious injury or death."

OMG! Death by mouse. It happens you know, just like spontaneous human combustion.

Apparently i should also not eat the battery. Good to know.

That is all.