Yeah, yeah, I watch it.
I always try to do a Jillian workout when I get home on Mondays, so I don't feel guilty later in the evening when I'm parked on my chair, drinking beer and eating fries and watching The Biggest Loser.
And I was glad that Danni won. But, frankly, the thing was rigged. Before this season even started, there was talk about how guys almost always win (because they come in weighing more, and thus it's easier for them to drop more), and how this season there would be a woman winner, to keep the audience watching future seasons. And voila! Danni wins.
And she lost ... as much as I weigh right now. She lost ME. In six months. But she wasn't even the one who lost the most weight - the one guy lost a hundred and eighty-one pounds. IN SIX MONTHS.
I still can't figure out how they do that. How the show can take these grossly overweight people, work them like dogs, practically starve them, and not have anybody keel over from a heart attack.
I wonder how many of them keep the weight off? I mean, I hope they all do, but realistically? Once they're back home, without a trainer riding herd over them?
Oh, heck, maybe I'm just being cynical. I mean, if I can quit smoking and STAY quit, anything can happen, right?
So. The Biggest Loser is over. What the heck am I going to watch on Monday nights now?
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
The ballad of Frank and Mary
You would not beLIEVE the drama that goes on in rescue groups. And I'm not even talking about the saving-animals part. I'm talking about the people drama.
Okay, first of all, this post is entirely TL;DR, so feel free to skip to the last paragraph, where I've got a question for ya. Feeling brave? Read on.
I would like to say that I really, really enjoy my time volunteering. It's a ton of fun and really rewarding. It's just that some of these people are CRAZY.
The most recent drama involved two long-time volunteers, Frank and Mary. They are a married couple, I'm guessing early sixties, and they volunteered for a couple of different local rescue groups. They did one evening shift and one daytime shift at the adoption center, and they did adoption events for another group.
The problem was, Frank and Mary were ... well ... let me be blunt here ... useless. At the adoption center, Frank would spend his volunteer time either reading or sleeping in his chair. I'm not talking dozing here; I'm talking full-on sleeping, complete with snoring. He was gruff and loud (when he was awake). Mary? Mary ... hoo boy, blunt time again ... Mary ate her way into a wheelchair. And she would park that wheelchair, and her considerable self, smack-dab in front of the cages. Anyone who actually wanted to SEE a cat had to crane their way around Mary to get a peek. If someone wanted to visit with a cat, Mary was unable to help, and Frank was usually asleep. I cannot TELL you how many people would come in the day after one of their shifts, explaining that they had come in the day before wanting to visit with a cat and had been told to come back the next day. And both of them were ... dirty. Like, food-stained clothes, unwashed-hair dirty. Were there mental-health issues at play? Yeah, I think so, especially when a volunteer who had visited their house said that they were full-on hoarders. Do they need ... help? Yes. Yes they do. I hope they get it.
And Mary liked to gossip. Loudly. She would tell anybody who would listen, including stray passers-by, all about the latest tidbits, whether they knew any of the people involved or not. She would bad-mouth other rescues. She would give incorrect information about adoption procedures. She ... yeah. Why these two were volunteering at all, I have no idea.
So. The rescue who runs the adoption center had a leeetle problem. They were getting complaints from the management of the pet store, from shoppers, and from other volunteers about Frank and Mary. Frank and Mary had to go.
And then, a couple of months ago, a big adoption weekend was coming up at the adoption center. The volunteer coordinator emailed Frank and Mary, asking them to "take the weekend off". (She didn't want them in the store during such a major weekend.) And Frank and Mary BLEW UP.
They showed the email to the pet store management. Who DID NOT WANT TO HEAR THE DRAMA, and told the rescue that they'd better lose Frank and Mary if they wanted to keep their spot in the store. Ouch! The volunteer coordinator, fed up and trying to ease them out gently, told them that they could keep their evening shift, but their daytime shift was being given to other volunteers.
They quit.
THANK GOD.
and then they promptly sent a nastygram email to the coordinator, who just as promptly posted it on Facebook, which wasn't very kind, but frankly, I think she was trying to get revenge on Frank and Mary for showing one of HER emails to the pet store management and
holy sh*t, it's high school all over again.
and this crap goes on ALL THE TIME with these people.
Tell me, what are your experiences with volunteer groups? Do the people act like adults, or does it descend into ridiculousness on a regular basis? Is it just the animal rescues? Or does this kind of stuff happen with all kinds of groups? Enquiring minds want to know.
Okay, first of all, this post is entirely TL;DR, so feel free to skip to the last paragraph, where I've got a question for ya. Feeling brave? Read on.
I would like to say that I really, really enjoy my time volunteering. It's a ton of fun and really rewarding. It's just that some of these people are CRAZY.
The most recent drama involved two long-time volunteers, Frank and Mary. They are a married couple, I'm guessing early sixties, and they volunteered for a couple of different local rescue groups. They did one evening shift and one daytime shift at the adoption center, and they did adoption events for another group.
The problem was, Frank and Mary were ... well ... let me be blunt here ... useless. At the adoption center, Frank would spend his volunteer time either reading or sleeping in his chair. I'm not talking dozing here; I'm talking full-on sleeping, complete with snoring. He was gruff and loud (when he was awake). Mary? Mary ... hoo boy, blunt time again ... Mary ate her way into a wheelchair. And she would park that wheelchair, and her considerable self, smack-dab in front of the cages. Anyone who actually wanted to SEE a cat had to crane their way around Mary to get a peek. If someone wanted to visit with a cat, Mary was unable to help, and Frank was usually asleep. I cannot TELL you how many people would come in the day after one of their shifts, explaining that they had come in the day before wanting to visit with a cat and had been told to come back the next day. And both of them were ... dirty. Like, food-stained clothes, unwashed-hair dirty. Were there mental-health issues at play? Yeah, I think so, especially when a volunteer who had visited their house said that they were full-on hoarders. Do they need ... help? Yes. Yes they do. I hope they get it.
And Mary liked to gossip. Loudly. She would tell anybody who would listen, including stray passers-by, all about the latest tidbits, whether they knew any of the people involved or not. She would bad-mouth other rescues. She would give incorrect information about adoption procedures. She ... yeah. Why these two were volunteering at all, I have no idea.
So. The rescue who runs the adoption center had a leeetle problem. They were getting complaints from the management of the pet store, from shoppers, and from other volunteers about Frank and Mary. Frank and Mary had to go.
And then, a couple of months ago, a big adoption weekend was coming up at the adoption center. The volunteer coordinator emailed Frank and Mary, asking them to "take the weekend off". (She didn't want them in the store during such a major weekend.) And Frank and Mary BLEW UP.
They showed the email to the pet store management. Who DID NOT WANT TO HEAR THE DRAMA, and told the rescue that they'd better lose Frank and Mary if they wanted to keep their spot in the store. Ouch! The volunteer coordinator, fed up and trying to ease them out gently, told them that they could keep their evening shift, but their daytime shift was being given to other volunteers.
They quit.
THANK GOD.
and then they promptly sent a nastygram email to the coordinator, who just as promptly posted it on Facebook, which wasn't very kind, but frankly, I think she was trying to get revenge on Frank and Mary for showing one of HER emails to the pet store management and
holy sh*t, it's high school all over again.
and this crap goes on ALL THE TIME with these people.
Tell me, what are your experiences with volunteer groups? Do the people act like adults, or does it descend into ridiculousness on a regular basis? Is it just the animal rescues? Or does this kind of stuff happen with all kinds of groups? Enquiring minds want to know.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Now, THAT'S just mean-spirited
License plate seen in traffic yesterday:
"MRYWIDOW"
Talk about kicking a guy when he's down. er ... dead.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Age Discrimination
A few weekends ago, I worked an adoption event. My last for that particular group, as it turned out. I'm still at the adoption center with a different rescue; I'm concentrating my efforts on that group for now. A group with fewer crazy people, if ya know what I mean.
Anyway, this is the time of year when we generally don't have any kitten-kittens, just older kittens, so things are usually a little slow.
But! A lovely elderly woman was smitten with Moses. Remember Moses? He'd been in foster care for a while, and was turning from a kitten to a teenager. So I was really, really glad when this woman expressed an interest in him.
She had a six-year-old cat who had passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago. She lived alone, and all of a sudden her apartment was awfully quiet. She was looking for a cuddly, affectionate cat, which describes Moses to at T. He had gone from being a shy little kitten to being a friendly, almost needy young man. Perfect match!
She filled out an application, and I called the FC to let her know. Imagine my surprise when I was going through emails that evening, and saw this email, to the FC, from another volunteer who attended the event:
"An older lady filled out an application for Moses. She seemed quite taken with him and he seemed to like her. I'm a little concerned about her age and his habit of winding his way through your legs. I would hate to see her trip and break a bone. I also don't know what would happen to him if she passes away. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes for this application."
whaaaaaaaa?
As I've said before, during The Great Catnip Toy Debacle of 2013, I'm not sure I'm cut out for this volunteer stuff. ARE THESE PEOPLE INSANE?
My reply:
"I think Moses would be fine for this woman - her cat who passed away was fairly young (six years old), so it's not like she wasn't used to having an active cat around. She loved to take it to the community room in the complex so the other residents could play with it. And the woman's sister also lives in the same apartment complex, so it's not like the cat would be deserted if the owner passed away. And the woman's daughter was with her today - there are plenty of people to care for the cat, if something should happen. And the woman is still active and driving - it's not like she's an invalid.. I just feel like turning somebody down because they're "too old" is, well - I just don't agree with it. Just wanted to add my two cents - "
LOOK. I think it's perfectly fine to ask an elderly person who wants to adopt, "Have you thought about what might happen to your pets if something happened to you?" I think it's alright to ask that of EVERYBODY, as far as that goes. I DO NOT think it's alright to have an "age limit". Oh, some shelters and rescues do. Some of them cut people off at age SEVENTY, which is CRAZY.
You know what? *I*, at the ripe old age of 50, might get hit by a truck tomorrow. Hey, it could happen! And yes, as you age, your odds of, well, dying, increase. But to say to someone, "No pets for you!" because they've "too old" is just plain nuts.
As a matter of fact, at that same adoption event, I was chatting with the local librarian, who happened to stop by. And she was talking about how her father-in-law had just adopted a cat to keep him company. His age? Ninety-three. You know what I said? Yippee! Good for him for adopting an companion animal.
Does he need to make provisions for the cat in case something happens to him? Of course. I did it for my pets. (They will go with one of my sisters. We have a reciprocal pet agreement.) We all need to make plans for our pets in case of our deaths. That said, you make the provisions, and then life goes on. For all of us.
I do not understand these crazy-ass cat people. I just don't get it.
Anyway, this is the time of year when we generally don't have any kitten-kittens, just older kittens, so things are usually a little slow.
But! A lovely elderly woman was smitten with Moses. Remember Moses? He'd been in foster care for a while, and was turning from a kitten to a teenager. So I was really, really glad when this woman expressed an interest in him.
She had a six-year-old cat who had passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago. She lived alone, and all of a sudden her apartment was awfully quiet. She was looking for a cuddly, affectionate cat, which describes Moses to at T. He had gone from being a shy little kitten to being a friendly, almost needy young man. Perfect match!
She filled out an application, and I called the FC to let her know. Imagine my surprise when I was going through emails that evening, and saw this email, to the FC, from another volunteer who attended the event:
"An older lady filled out an application for Moses. She seemed quite taken with him and he seemed to like her. I'm a little concerned about her age and his habit of winding his way through your legs. I would hate to see her trip and break a bone. I also don't know what would happen to him if she passes away. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes for this application."
whaaaaaaaa?
As I've said before, during The Great Catnip Toy Debacle of 2013, I'm not sure I'm cut out for this volunteer stuff. ARE THESE PEOPLE INSANE?
My reply:
"I think Moses would be fine for this woman - her cat who passed away was fairly young (six years old), so it's not like she wasn't used to having an active cat around. She loved to take it to the community room in the complex so the other residents could play with it. And the woman's sister also lives in the same apartment complex, so it's not like the cat would be deserted if the owner passed away. And the woman's daughter was with her today - there are plenty of people to care for the cat, if something should happen. And the woman is still active and driving - it's not like she's an invalid.. I just feel like turning somebody down because they're "too old" is, well - I just don't agree with it. Just wanted to add my two cents - "
LOOK. I think it's perfectly fine to ask an elderly person who wants to adopt, "Have you thought about what might happen to your pets if something happened to you?" I think it's alright to ask that of EVERYBODY, as far as that goes. I DO NOT think it's alright to have an "age limit". Oh, some shelters and rescues do. Some of them cut people off at age SEVENTY, which is CRAZY.
You know what? *I*, at the ripe old age of 50, might get hit by a truck tomorrow. Hey, it could happen! And yes, as you age, your odds of, well, dying, increase. But to say to someone, "No pets for you!" because they've "too old" is just plain nuts.
As a matter of fact, at that same adoption event, I was chatting with the local librarian, who happened to stop by. And she was talking about how her father-in-law had just adopted a cat to keep him company. His age? Ninety-three. You know what I said? Yippee! Good for him for adopting an companion animal.
Does he need to make provisions for the cat in case something happens to him? Of course. I did it for my pets. (They will go with one of my sisters. We have a reciprocal pet agreement.) We all need to make plans for our pets in case of our deaths. That said, you make the provisions, and then life goes on. For all of us.
I do not understand these crazy-ass cat people. I just don't get it.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Locomotion
A few weeks ago, I got an email from a local arts council. They were looking for submissions for a fundraising show. The show would be non-juried, meaning no possibility of prize money, but it was a fundraiser for the council, and heck, I hadn't done anything "creative" for a while (short of bullsh*tting clients on the phone about why my boss hadn't returned their calls yet), so I thought I'd give it a shot.
The catch? All artwork submitted for the show had to be seven inches square.
Sh*t!, I thought. That eliminated me pulling something old off the wall, dusting it off, and sending it in. I'm pretty sure that's why they popped in that qualifier, come to think of it.
Seven inches square.
I pulled out a piece of foamboard and cut a seven inch square. I thought about just cutting a photo enlargement down to size, but nobody wants photos. Too easy.
Collage, I thought. Also easy, but I wasn't getting paid for this, so whatever.
I dragged out my boxes of artsy crap and got to work.
The catch? All artwork submitted for the show had to be seven inches square.
Sh*t!, I thought. That eliminated me pulling something old off the wall, dusting it off, and sending it in. I'm pretty sure that's why they popped in that qualifier, come to think of it.
Seven inches square.
I pulled out a piece of foamboard and cut a seven inch square. I thought about just cutting a photo enlargement down to size, but nobody wants photos. Too easy.
Collage, I thought. Also easy, but I wasn't getting paid for this, so whatever.
I dragged out my boxes of artsy crap and got to work.
Well, it ain't much, but it got me back in gear again.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Lady of Spain, I adore you
That's Allie, my latest foster, on the left, and Sodapop on the right. They are faaaaaaaascinated with each other, but I am keeping her separated from my guys until she shakes whatever bug she's got. (There's plastic sheeting on that door.)
It should be interesting when they finally get to meet.
Friday, March 08, 2013
Such! Excitement!
So! Last night around ten o'clock, I'm wrapping things up, getting ready to head for bed, when I see lights reflected on my living room walls.
Red and blue lights.
"What the ..." I wondered, and pulled aside the living room curtains, to discover three fire engines, five emergency response vehicles, and a cop car pulled up in front of my house.
Turns out my neighbor B., he of the dipshit variety, had started tinkering with his gas furnace, got into trouble, got scared, and called 911.
The 911 operator, evidently thinking that ol' B. was about to blow up the neighborhood, sent everything she had.
Thankfully, the neighborhood did not explode, and I am beginning to think that ol' B. may not be long for the nursing home.
And! ALSO last night, I got a call. There was a cat! emergency! One of the cats at the adoption center had gotten sick and needed to be pulled out, pronto. Could I keep her in my spare bedroom for a few days while she recovered?
Yep. Sure. As of this morning, pretty Miss Allie is gracing my spare bedroom, with her meds in my fridge. Welcome, Allie. I was actually really glad to get her, because she has been struggling at the adoption center, and I think she could use a few days of R&R.
And! In breaking news of the much better kind, this Sunday will mark the one year anniversary of Pony and Soda coming to live with me. Maaaaan, has it been a year already? Time flies when you get old, I guess.
Any big news in your neighborhood?
Thursday, March 07, 2013
... and now I know it is SURELY Spring ...
... because a cardinal was singing outside my bedroom window first thing this morning.
Okay, okay, cardinals don't really sing, they do that swoopy-chirp thing, like little ray guns, "pew! pew! pew!", but hell, it was a bird making noise, and I haven't heard much of THAT since last summer. Sure, the cardinals are here all winter, but they only start to sing when Spring is here.
And then! and then! On my way out to the car, I could've sworn I heard a red-winged blackbird.
And the daffodils are poking up! Which means I'd better get the netting back on the garden beds, pronto, before the a**hole deer eat half my flowers, like they did last year. Jerks.
I think I'll just ignore that pesky weather forecast calling for two to four inches of snow tonight.
How about you? Is it Spring where you are?
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
Isn't it good Norwegian Wood
Okay, so, the cat I talked about in this post, who hissed at everyone who passed the adoption center?
I had a family who was interested in her on Saturday, her first day there. They were willing to look past the fear and the hissing, and wanted her very much. They filled out an application, and I gave them a recommendation in the volunteer notebook. I assured them that they were "first in line", and then I checked the rescue website the following day, and that very same cat had twenty-five on-line applications.
Curious, I checked her site description and discovered that she had been listed as a "Norwegian Forest Cat".
Holy sh*t, marketing in action.
Honestly, I have no idea what a "Norwegian Forest Cat" IS, but evidently they are really, really popular, because this rather non-descript, long-haired, anti-social cat is the hottest cat in town right now.
Buyer beware, guys. Rescue groups will label a cat with a breed name if the cat in question bears even a faint resemblance to the breed. Any long-haired cat is a "Maine Coon". Any light-colored cat with dark facial features is a "Siamese". And people lose their ever-loving shit if we put up a "Ragdoll".
Jeezus, I mean, whatever it takes to get these cats into good homes. I just wish sometimes that people could look past the "status" labels. But since they seem to have a problem doing so, I thought I'd come up with designer names for some of the less-popular cats.
For a long time, rescues have been calling black cats "house panthers". We could call orange cats "house lions", although frankly, the orange guys don't need the help. They're the second-fastest to be snapped up, right behind the white cats.
Let's see. Mackerel tabbies (the ones with the stripes) could be called Zebra Cats. Cow kitties (black-and-whites) could be Mini-Moos. Tortoiseshells could be Egyptian Tortoise Cats.
Anybody else? Let's think up some new breed names!
I had a family who was interested in her on Saturday, her first day there. They were willing to look past the fear and the hissing, and wanted her very much. They filled out an application, and I gave them a recommendation in the volunteer notebook. I assured them that they were "first in line", and then I checked the rescue website the following day, and that very same cat had twenty-five on-line applications.
Curious, I checked her site description and discovered that she had been listed as a "Norwegian Forest Cat".
Holy sh*t, marketing in action.
Honestly, I have no idea what a "Norwegian Forest Cat" IS, but evidently they are really, really popular, because this rather non-descript, long-haired, anti-social cat is the hottest cat in town right now.
Buyer beware, guys. Rescue groups will label a cat with a breed name if the cat in question bears even a faint resemblance to the breed. Any long-haired cat is a "Maine Coon". Any light-colored cat with dark facial features is a "Siamese". And people lose their ever-loving shit if we put up a "Ragdoll".
Jeezus, I mean, whatever it takes to get these cats into good homes. I just wish sometimes that people could look past the "status" labels. But since they seem to have a problem doing so, I thought I'd come up with designer names for some of the less-popular cats.
For a long time, rescues have been calling black cats "house panthers". We could call orange cats "house lions", although frankly, the orange guys don't need the help. They're the second-fastest to be snapped up, right behind the white cats.
Let's see. Mackerel tabbies (the ones with the stripes) could be called Zebra Cats. Cow kitties (black-and-whites) could be Mini-Moos. Tortoiseshells could be Egyptian Tortoise Cats.
Anybody else? Let's think up some new breed names!
Tuesday, March 05, 2013
It must be Spring ...
... because I had a Girl Scout at my door last night taking cookie orders.
Maaaaaaan, I just finished up the Halloween candy, too. (There was a lengthy side foray into Christmas cookies in December and January.) Looks like I'm in trouble again ...
Monday, March 04, 2013
It's nice to hear
I was at the adoption center this past weekend, out front with one of the cats. A passing shopper paused, touched my arm, and said, "You're doing a good thing."
Awwwww.
Every so often, I get a comment like that. "Thank you for what you're doing." "You're making a difference." Even, "God bless you", which, hey, I'm an atheist, but if you want to bestow your god's blessings on me, I'm down with that.
And while I certainly don't need the praise, it's nice to hear once in a while. I mean, I'm standing out there like an idiot, hour after hour, chatting with people and answering their questions and showing them cats and even walking the cats on leashes (well, the mellower ones, anyway). And sometimes I feel like the world's craziest cat lady, or some kind of chump, volunteering all these unpaid hours. And then someone comes along and says, "Thanks", and I don't feel so bad.
It kind of balances out the other comments. "I can't stand to see cats in cages." (ME NEITHER, LADY.) "I can't BELIEVE how much you charge for a stupid stray cat." (It's eighty-five bucks, dude. You spent more than that on weed last week.) "The Chinese restaurant called - they'll take all the cats you have." (HA HA HARRRRRRR.)
And it helps to make up for the scratches (my hands look like I plunged them into a rose bush) and the hisses (we have a cat right now who HISSES at any passer-by, including small children, which is a big hit as you can imagine) and the cats who fight tooth and nail to prevent being put back into their cage.
So yeah, if you see someone busting their butt out there volunteering, it's okay to say "thank you". It's nice to hear.
Awwwww.
Every so often, I get a comment like that. "Thank you for what you're doing." "You're making a difference." Even, "God bless you", which, hey, I'm an atheist, but if you want to bestow your god's blessings on me, I'm down with that.
And while I certainly don't need the praise, it's nice to hear once in a while. I mean, I'm standing out there like an idiot, hour after hour, chatting with people and answering their questions and showing them cats and even walking the cats on leashes (well, the mellower ones, anyway). And sometimes I feel like the world's craziest cat lady, or some kind of chump, volunteering all these unpaid hours. And then someone comes along and says, "Thanks", and I don't feel so bad.
It kind of balances out the other comments. "I can't stand to see cats in cages." (ME NEITHER, LADY.) "I can't BELIEVE how much you charge for a stupid stray cat." (It's eighty-five bucks, dude. You spent more than that on weed last week.) "The Chinese restaurant called - they'll take all the cats you have." (HA HA HARRRRRRR.)
And it helps to make up for the scratches (my hands look like I plunged them into a rose bush) and the hisses (we have a cat right now who HISSES at any passer-by, including small children, which is a big hit as you can imagine) and the cats who fight tooth and nail to prevent being put back into their cage.
So yeah, if you see someone busting their butt out there volunteering, it's okay to say "thank you". It's nice to hear.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
He. protected. child. molesters.
I swear, I am watching the news coverage of the Pope's last day, and I just do not understand it.
(a) Supposedly, God speaks directly through the Pope, am I correct? I mean, as far as Church doctrine goes? So does the Pope even GET to choose to "resign" from God speaking through him? I mean, what if God decides to keep right on talking? "Pope. POPE. I'M NOT DONE YET. GET YOUR ASS BACK TO THE VATICAN."
(b) Dude was a member of the Hitler Youth. And right now, that's the LESSER of his offenses. I think it's saying something when a past association with Nazism is not your biggest problem.
(c) He. Protected. Child. Molesters.
Quite frankly, I am not sure how anyone can still be a member of the Catholic Church in good conscience. Apart and aside from the fact that believing in God makes as much sense as believing in the Easter Bunny *ducks*, I simply do not understand how anyone would want to belong to a club whose higher-ups hushed up known pedophilia for YEARS. I don't get that.
I don't get it at all.
(a) Supposedly, God speaks directly through the Pope, am I correct? I mean, as far as Church doctrine goes? So does the Pope even GET to choose to "resign" from God speaking through him? I mean, what if God decides to keep right on talking? "Pope. POPE. I'M NOT DONE YET. GET YOUR ASS BACK TO THE VATICAN."
(b) Dude was a member of the Hitler Youth. And right now, that's the LESSER of his offenses. I think it's saying something when a past association with Nazism is not your biggest problem.
(c) He. Protected. Child. Molesters.
Quite frankly, I am not sure how anyone can still be a member of the Catholic Church in good conscience. Apart and aside from the fact that believing in God makes as much sense as believing in the Easter Bunny *ducks*, I simply do not understand how anyone would want to belong to a club whose higher-ups hushed up known pedophilia for YEARS. I don't get that.
I don't get it at all.
Found
Recently, I found a couple of snapshots in a book I bought at a library sale.
I'm guessing mid-80s? The big glasses are kind of a giveaway. I do admire her choice in lipstick, though. Not sure what's going on with the white windbreaker.
Ah, the time-honored "bathroom shot". Again, I'm guessing mid-80s, going by the scrunchie. And I love the tin of Bag Balm on the back of the toilet.
I wonder where they are now?
I'm guessing mid-80s? The big glasses are kind of a giveaway. I do admire her choice in lipstick, though. Not sure what's going on with the white windbreaker.
Ah, the time-honored "bathroom shot". Again, I'm guessing mid-80s, going by the scrunchie. And I love the tin of Bag Balm on the back of the toilet.
I wonder where they are now?
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
The thing about The New Yorker
Every couple of weeks, I go to the library and get some magazines to read. Usually I throw a couple of New Yorkers into the mix, because who doesn't want to read a 50,000 word article about ice sled racing in Finland or the way the justice systems treats sex criminals or the different methods of ... organizing a magazine article? Ummmm ...
Yeah, that last one kind of broke me. I used to subscribe to The New Yorker, because some of the articles were actually interesting, until I realized that the ratio of articles that were interesting (to me, anyway) to articles that were boring were about 1 to 100. If that makes me a less-than-sharp tool in the shed, so be it.
I am sure that every single nine million word article in The New Yorker is interesting to ... someone. The author, probably. And the people he interviewed to research the article. And most of the articles in The New Yorker start off interesting. It's just when you get to the third or fourth page and start leafing ahead and realize that there's still another five or ten pages to go that things can get tough.
"Doesn't this magazine have an editor?", I wonder, as I plow through an endless article about bread-making in France. And then I laugh, because I'm sure that New Yorker editors are legendary and brilliant, and the people who have articles accepted into The New Yorker are obviously way, WAY above the slobs who write for GQ and People.
just please, please don't ask me to read another long-ass article about moss scientists or the theories behind testing mathematical equations or the various ways to reduce a pasta sauce on a molecular level.
Any nobody got time for that sh*t.
I mean, I try. I really, really try to read every single stinking word of these articles. I just ... my brain just fogs over after a while. And then, when I'm already near my endurance limit, the author starts from the beginning, AGAIN. "Craig Matthews was born to a seamstress and an itinerant brush salesman in 1942, which would serve to explain his later fascination with quantum physics, in that the way that a blahblahblah" oh my God I CAN'T.
I'm sorry, The New Yorker. You're just too damn smart for me.
Yeah, that last one kind of broke me. I used to subscribe to The New Yorker, because some of the articles were actually interesting, until I realized that the ratio of articles that were interesting (to me, anyway) to articles that were boring were about 1 to 100. If that makes me a less-than-sharp tool in the shed, so be it.
I am sure that every single nine million word article in The New Yorker is interesting to ... someone. The author, probably. And the people he interviewed to research the article. And most of the articles in The New Yorker start off interesting. It's just when you get to the third or fourth page and start leafing ahead and realize that there's still another five or ten pages to go that things can get tough.
"Doesn't this magazine have an editor?", I wonder, as I plow through an endless article about bread-making in France. And then I laugh, because I'm sure that New Yorker editors are legendary and brilliant, and the people who have articles accepted into The New Yorker are obviously way, WAY above the slobs who write for GQ and People.
just please, please don't ask me to read another long-ass article about moss scientists or the theories behind testing mathematical equations or the various ways to reduce a pasta sauce on a molecular level.
Any nobody got time for that sh*t.
I mean, I try. I really, really try to read every single stinking word of these articles. I just ... my brain just fogs over after a while. And then, when I'm already near my endurance limit, the author starts from the beginning, AGAIN. "Craig Matthews was born to a seamstress and an itinerant brush salesman in 1942, which would serve to explain his later fascination with quantum physics, in that the way that a blahblahblah" oh my God I CAN'T.
I'm sorry, The New Yorker. You're just too damn smart for me.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Update and Recently Read
So! I survived the weekend. I dosed myself up royally so that I wouldn't be coughing or sneezing on anybody and soldiered on. I'll finally have a day off ... let's see ... next Sunday. *sigh* Oh! And there is all kinds of drama going on with the volunteers at the adoption center, and where once I would have eaten that stuff UP, now I'm just, like, "keep me out of it!" Man, that stuff gets tiring.
Now! On to Recently Read. As usual, skip it if you wanna.
1. The Living by Annie Dillard. Novel about settlers in Oregon in the 1800s. The basic storyline was good, but I never did get involved with any of the characters. Meh.
2. The Glass Lake by Maeve Binchy. Yep, it's Maeve Binchy book. I enjoyed it - it's Maeve Binchy!
3. Movie review time! The Queen of Versailles is a doc about a family who goes from insanely wealthy to just crazy-wealthy in the most-recent real estate bust. Interesting. And guess what! The Queen of Versailles is from my home town! No, seriously - the woman in this doc grew up in the town next to mine.
4. I'm Sorry You Feel That Way by Diana Joseph - Humorous essays - meh. She's quite frank about what a f*ck-up she can be, which is refreshing.
5. Fields and Rivers New by John McCormack - Memoir of a veterinarian who began practicing in Alabama in the sixties. I'm a sucker for a good vet memoir, and this was a fine example of the genre.
6. Room by Emily Donoghue - Novel about a woman and child held captive for years - The premise was certainly interesting, and parts of the book were really compelling, but overall it was a bit simplistic. Still, it was a fast and interesting read.
7. Another movie review! Jiro Dreams of Sushi. I think I've talked about this one before - A man, some fish, whatever.
8. The Lost Continent by Bill Bryson. Essays from a guy driving cross-country. He portrayed the people he met with disdain. It was supposed to be funny, but I just found it mean-spirited, and I didn't finish it.
9. Tinsel by Hank Stever - An examination of a modern-day Christmas season in Texas. Eh.
10. Queen of the Road by Doreen Orion - Memoir about an RV trip across the US - Interesting and funny.
11. Movie review! Beasts of the Southern Wild is about a little girl with a sick dad and a big imagination. The little girl was incredible, and the movie was full of striking images. Good.
So! That's what I've been reading (and watching) lately. How about you?
Now! On to Recently Read. As usual, skip it if you wanna.
1. The Living by Annie Dillard. Novel about settlers in Oregon in the 1800s. The basic storyline was good, but I never did get involved with any of the characters. Meh.
2. The Glass Lake by Maeve Binchy. Yep, it's Maeve Binchy book. I enjoyed it - it's Maeve Binchy!
3. Movie review time! The Queen of Versailles is a doc about a family who goes from insanely wealthy to just crazy-wealthy in the most-recent real estate bust. Interesting. And guess what! The Queen of Versailles is from my home town! No, seriously - the woman in this doc grew up in the town next to mine.
4. I'm Sorry You Feel That Way by Diana Joseph - Humorous essays - meh. She's quite frank about what a f*ck-up she can be, which is refreshing.
5. Fields and Rivers New by John McCormack - Memoir of a veterinarian who began practicing in Alabama in the sixties. I'm a sucker for a good vet memoir, and this was a fine example of the genre.
6. Room by Emily Donoghue - Novel about a woman and child held captive for years - The premise was certainly interesting, and parts of the book were really compelling, but overall it was a bit simplistic. Still, it was a fast and interesting read.
7. Another movie review! Jiro Dreams of Sushi. I think I've talked about this one before - A man, some fish, whatever.
8. The Lost Continent by Bill Bryson. Essays from a guy driving cross-country. He portrayed the people he met with disdain. It was supposed to be funny, but I just found it mean-spirited, and I didn't finish it.
9. Tinsel by Hank Stever - An examination of a modern-day Christmas season in Texas. Eh.
10. Queen of the Road by Doreen Orion - Memoir about an RV trip across the US - Interesting and funny.
11. Movie review! Beasts of the Southern Wild is about a little girl with a sick dad and a big imagination. The little girl was incredible, and the movie was full of striking images. Good.
So! That's what I've been reading (and watching) lately. How about you?
Friday, February 22, 2013
The cure for the common cold
Anybody got one? A cure, that is.
I have come down with ... something. Sinus headache, sneezing, sore throat, general malaise. And I have to put in a full day at the office today, and then work a special adoption event all weekend.
Help?
I took some Nyquil last night and within an hour was shivering so hard I thought my teeth were going to rattle out of my head. I don't know if it was because of the Nyquil or because of the cold, but the Nyquil did knock me out enough (finally) to get a good night's sleep. Well, except for the waking up and moaning from the sore throat part. So then I got a cough drop and went back to sleep, hoping that I didn't aspirate the cough drop and choke to death. NOT what I want in my obit, thankyouverymuch. Dying from a cough drop is just so ... lame.
Chocolate milk is helping with my sore throat, but my other sick-time standards (coke with ice, saltine crackers) don't even sound good right now, so if anybody's got any favorite shaky-stomach foods, I'm all ears.
It's gonna be a long weekend.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Tale of the tails
From the left:
Tinks, part Maine Coon and part Siamese, as best as anybody can guess. Former stray. His tail is a thing of beauty.
Sodapop, mutt cat, former crazy-trailer-hoarder-lady cat. I sometimes call him Stubby, because his tail is short, at least compared to Tinks' and Pony's.
Ponyboy, mutt cat, former crazy-trailer-hoarder-lady cat. His tail is long, lean, and ringed.
Three cats, three tails. There ya go.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Some observations on yoga
Okay, so, first off, "My 600 pound life: Melissa's story" is on TLC right now. It's my favorite doc on obesity, ever. Very honest. Very good.
Now. Tonight was a night off from Jillian, so I thought I'd try a yoga DVD, because I'm, like, the least flexible person ever, and I thought some yoga might help. Because, obviously, doing a yoga DVD once is going to improve your flexibility. Ha.
And there was lots of plank position, just like Jillian, and some moves that, well ... at one point, I swear to God, the demonstrator actually levitated her entire body off the palms of her hands, which, well, I predict I will be able to do that ... never. Is it an age thing? Should I be able to do all of the things the much-younger demonstrator can? Because somehow, it seems like maybe I should be able to do this stuff, well, after practicing for a while, anyway, regardless of age, but what do I know?
And while I liked the lady instructor, I kind of yucked out when the man instructor came on. Leg hair? Armpit hair? Yeeccccccccch.
Does this mean I'm gay? Yeah, no, I don't think so. (Insert standard "not that there's anything wrong with that" disclaimer here.) It kind of skeeves me out, frankly, when Jillian pretends to bite the butts of her (female) demonstrators. It's like, jeezus, Jill, we already KNOW, okay?
Rocky. Thinking way too much about workout DVDs tonight. Excuse me while I go dispose of the mouse that Ponyboy brought in. Don't mice hibernate during the winter? Evidently only the smart ones, because my cats have been making a killing lately.
Now. Tonight was a night off from Jillian, so I thought I'd try a yoga DVD, because I'm, like, the least flexible person ever, and I thought some yoga might help. Because, obviously, doing a yoga DVD once is going to improve your flexibility. Ha.
And there was lots of plank position, just like Jillian, and some moves that, well ... at one point, I swear to God, the demonstrator actually levitated her entire body off the palms of her hands, which, well, I predict I will be able to do that ... never. Is it an age thing? Should I be able to do all of the things the much-younger demonstrator can? Because somehow, it seems like maybe I should be able to do this stuff, well, after practicing for a while, anyway, regardless of age, but what do I know?
And while I liked the lady instructor, I kind of yucked out when the man instructor came on. Leg hair? Armpit hair? Yeeccccccccch.
Does this mean I'm gay? Yeah, no, I don't think so. (Insert standard "not that there's anything wrong with that" disclaimer here.) It kind of skeeves me out, frankly, when Jillian pretends to bite the butts of her (female) demonstrators. It's like, jeezus, Jill, we already KNOW, okay?
Rocky. Thinking way too much about workout DVDs tonight. Excuse me while I go dispose of the mouse that Ponyboy brought in. Don't mice hibernate during the winter? Evidently only the smart ones, because my cats have been making a killing lately.
Hey, he's no dummy
The cats' favorite spot on cold winter nights? My recliner. (That's my preferred spot as well.) Second favorite? Directly in front of the space heater in the living room.
(And yes, his eye looks like that all the time. It's because of his wonked-out immune system. Yes, he's on meds. No, surgery will not help. Yes, he is under veterinary treatment. Yes, he will have this condition permanently. Thanks for asking.)
What's the favorite spot in your house?
(And yes, his eye looks like that all the time. It's because of his wonked-out immune system. Yes, he's on meds. No, surgery will not help. Yes, he is under veterinary treatment. Yes, he will have this condition permanently. Thanks for asking.)
What's the favorite spot in your house?
Monday, February 18, 2013
Say my name, say my name
On Saturday, I took my mom out to lunch.
She didn't know who I was.
That was ... odd.
Mom has Alzheimer's disease. And as it eats away her brain, she remembers fewer and fewer people. My niece, who mom sees daily, is "that woman". My niece's kids, mom's great-grandchildren, are "those children". She's always polite to people, but it's clear that she knows who very few of them are.
And now I've joined the "forgotten" list.
Oh, it's not sad. I mean, it IS, but it's not like anything can be done about it. Just like nothing can be done about how mom can't cut up her own food anymore, or really even eat without getting half the meal on the floor and in her lap. It's just the progression of the disease.
And my mom is not unhappy. Just as the disease takes away her memory, and her ability to handle a knife and fork, it takes away the realization that there is something terribly, terribly wrong going on in her brain. Mom has no idea that she's not, well, herself anymore. She is what she is.
Sometimes, I just miss what she was.
She didn't know who I was.
That was ... odd.
Mom has Alzheimer's disease. And as it eats away her brain, she remembers fewer and fewer people. My niece, who mom sees daily, is "that woman". My niece's kids, mom's great-grandchildren, are "those children". She's always polite to people, but it's clear that she knows who very few of them are.
And now I've joined the "forgotten" list.
Oh, it's not sad. I mean, it IS, but it's not like anything can be done about it. Just like nothing can be done about how mom can't cut up her own food anymore, or really even eat without getting half the meal on the floor and in her lap. It's just the progression of the disease.
And my mom is not unhappy. Just as the disease takes away her memory, and her ability to handle a knife and fork, it takes away the realization that there is something terribly, terribly wrong going on in her brain. Mom has no idea that she's not, well, herself anymore. She is what she is.
Sometimes, I just miss what she was.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Adoption Center Cats
Crazy Grace:
Isn't she pretty? She has ... issues. I have no idea what happened to her before she came into rescue care, but she hisses and spits and swats and scratches and ... does not care for most people.
Rorschach:
Isn't she pretty? She has ... issues. I have no idea what happened to her before she came into rescue care, but she hisses and spits and swats and scratches and ... does not care for most people.
Rorschach:
Rorschach (named after the ink blot. Get it? Get it? Gah.) still has lots of play in him. As of last Sunday, he had three applications, so he'll be going home soon.
And Superstar Scruffles:
Isn't she lovely? Those eyes! That fur! She is friendly and cuddly and one cool cat. I really thought she'd be adopted by now. We are trying to get her adopted out with her housemate, Skittles. Skittles is somewhere between eleven and fifteen, age-wise. He's a sweetheart.
From what I understand, there will be a new pair of kittens at the adoption center when I go there tomorrow, so things should be busy! Everybody wants kittens. I wish it was that easy to adopt out the older cats.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Sports bra
Okay, so, what's the dealio with these things?
I mean, I bought one because the straps on my regular bra kept slipping off my shoulders while I worked out. So I figure a sports bra was in order.
Are they supposed to ... squish everything like that?
I'm not the most chestically-blessed in the first place, and when I put that sports bra on, well ... I look like a boy.
And it's NOT comfortable. It's like wearing a bra made of Spanx or something. Are sports bras supposed to hurt?
Belatedly I realized that if my only bra-workout-problem was sliding straps, I could take one of my regular bras, criss-cross the back straps, and problem solved.
Oh well. At least I can say I own a sports bra.
I mean, I bought one because the straps on my regular bra kept slipping off my shoulders while I worked out. So I figure a sports bra was in order.
Are they supposed to ... squish everything like that?
I'm not the most chestically-blessed in the first place, and when I put that sports bra on, well ... I look like a boy.
And it's NOT comfortable. It's like wearing a bra made of Spanx or something. Are sports bras supposed to hurt?
Belatedly I realized that if my only bra-workout-problem was sliding straps, I could take one of my regular bras, criss-cross the back straps, and problem solved.
Oh well. At least I can say I own a sports bra.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Soda says, Hey!
Soda took umbrage about his tail being the only part visible in the family portrait.
Okay, okay, here ya go, Soda:
Ha, just kidding, Soda. Here you are:
Soda says, Ta Da!:
Okay, okay, here ya go, Soda:
Ha, just kidding, Soda. Here you are:
Soda says, Ta Da!:
That's my boy.
p.s. According to blogger, this is my 2,000th post. Can you believe it? Me neither.
p.s. According to blogger, this is my 2,000th post. Can you believe it? Me neither.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Stupid question
Okay, so I'm watching the live CNN feed about Christopher Dorner. Right now he is supposedly holed up in a cabin which is burning to the ground.
And because this dude was evidently pretty heavily armed, it got me thinking about the whole gun-control debate.
And on the CNN feed, they were talking about the tactical weapons that the San Bernardino and LA police would be able to deploy. Things like infrared stuff and high-tech surveillance and all kinds of James Bond-like stuff, and I'm thinking, well yeah, but why couldn't Dorner have access to that stuff too?
Because it's fantastically expensive.
Today my boss and I were separately surfing the web in work areas adjacent to each other, when all of a sudden I could hear "Chiquitita" by ABBA blaring from his computer. And the song went on, and on, and on, until I started laughing and said, "Boss, I didn't know you were an ABBA fan!" And he said, "I'm watching the new Bugatti ad, and that's the song they're using." And he went on to say that the new Bugatti has dual engines, and a top speed of 246 mph, and costs a cool 1.6 million.
And I'm thinking, well, that's excellent, if you've got 1.6 mil to blow.
So. My point. I do have one.
I do not know what semi-automatic weapons cost. I really don't have any idea. But why not, say, pass legislation that says that if you want to buy one, fine, but we're gonna slap a tax on it. A tax of, say, thirty grand per weapon.
Wouldn't that get them off the streets? I mean, sure, people would still have access to Saturday Night Specials, if they're so damn intent on protecting their home or robbing people or whatever. But the shit that fires sixty rounds a minute? Yep, you can still get it, the same way you can buy a Bugatti, but it's gonna cost ya. And yeah, you could still steal one, but how many of them would actually be OUT there, available, if they cost thirty grand each? I'm thinking they'd be about as common as Bugattis.
I dunno. I'm just throwing it out there.
And because this dude was evidently pretty heavily armed, it got me thinking about the whole gun-control debate.
And on the CNN feed, they were talking about the tactical weapons that the San Bernardino and LA police would be able to deploy. Things like infrared stuff and high-tech surveillance and all kinds of James Bond-like stuff, and I'm thinking, well yeah, but why couldn't Dorner have access to that stuff too?
Because it's fantastically expensive.
Today my boss and I were separately surfing the web in work areas adjacent to each other, when all of a sudden I could hear "Chiquitita" by ABBA blaring from his computer. And the song went on, and on, and on, until I started laughing and said, "Boss, I didn't know you were an ABBA fan!" And he said, "I'm watching the new Bugatti ad, and that's the song they're using." And he went on to say that the new Bugatti has dual engines, and a top speed of 246 mph, and costs a cool 1.6 million.
And I'm thinking, well, that's excellent, if you've got 1.6 mil to blow.
So. My point. I do have one.
I do not know what semi-automatic weapons cost. I really don't have any idea. But why not, say, pass legislation that says that if you want to buy one, fine, but we're gonna slap a tax on it. A tax of, say, thirty grand per weapon.
Wouldn't that get them off the streets? I mean, sure, people would still have access to Saturday Night Specials, if they're so damn intent on protecting their home or robbing people or whatever. But the shit that fires sixty rounds a minute? Yep, you can still get it, the same way you can buy a Bugatti, but it's gonna cost ya. And yeah, you could still steal one, but how many of them would actually be OUT there, available, if they cost thirty grand each? I'm thinking they'd be about as common as Bugattis.
I dunno. I'm just throwing it out there.
Family Portrait
Pony, Tinks, Me, and Soda (well, Soda's tail):
Close-up:
Foot-hance:
Yeah, the recliner's the most popular spot in the house on cold winter nights.
Close-up:
Foot-hance:
Yeah, the recliner's the most popular spot in the house on cold winter nights.
Monday, February 11, 2013
The weekend
So! I have been diligent with my Jillian workouts (if diligent = working out more than once a week) (and I hesitate to call it "working out" - it's more like "flailing around spastically"), with one minor problem.
My bra straps keep sliding off my shoulders while I exercise. Like, over and over and OVER again. It's disTRACting.
So I went and bought a sports bra. Awwwww! Rocky's first sports bra. It has racerback straps, which hopefully will end the bra strap slide. I'll let you know, when I actually get around to doing Jillian again.
And then! I found a package of Christmas cookies in the freezer that I had totally forgotten about. Jillian, we're going to have to work a lot harder.
Saturday night, I watched "Jiro Dreams of Sushi", a doc about, well, a guy named Jiro who makes sushi. All the reviews made it out to be, like, the best documentary EVER, but I just found it to be ... meh. I can't get that excited about raw fish.
And oh! On Friday, I watched my neighbor L move their cars into the park next to my house. Why? I have no idea. The only thing I could think of was that they wanted to get the cars out of their driveway in advance of the storm so that when their plow guy came he could clear their whole driveway, but ... well, the town plow would've plowed the park in, so they would have had to dig their cars out of the park, and the whole thing made no sense. I figured that B, L's husband, had to be behind it, because, well, B's an idiot. And then! A couple of hours later, L moved the cars back into their driveway. And then back into the park. And then back in the driveway. This poor woman is pushing eighty and she's out there in a snowstorm playing musical chairs with the cars.
"These people are insane," I thought, only to find out Saturday morning, when chatting with their son, that indeed, B has been diagnosed as Bipolar. THAT explains a LOT.
And, let's see, yesterday I was at the adoption center, where there was another! escape! Luckily, I was able to grab the cat, as he already has three applications on him. Everybody wants him. And oh, the cat is named "Rorschach". Because he's black and white, like an ink blot, get it? I DO NOT NAME THESE CATS. But listening to people stopping by the center trying to pronounce "Rorschach" was pretty amusing. "Like Horshack from Welcome Back, Kotter!," I tried a couple of times, only to be met with blank stares. Yeah, I guess I'm old.
Horshack? Anybody? Anybody remember Horshack?
Snowfall totals! Let's hear 'em! I got ... a measly five inches. How about you?
My bra straps keep sliding off my shoulders while I exercise. Like, over and over and OVER again. It's disTRACting.
So I went and bought a sports bra. Awwwww! Rocky's first sports bra. It has racerback straps, which hopefully will end the bra strap slide. I'll let you know, when I actually get around to doing Jillian again.
And then! I found a package of Christmas cookies in the freezer that I had totally forgotten about. Jillian, we're going to have to work a lot harder.
Saturday night, I watched "Jiro Dreams of Sushi", a doc about, well, a guy named Jiro who makes sushi. All the reviews made it out to be, like, the best documentary EVER, but I just found it to be ... meh. I can't get that excited about raw fish.
And oh! On Friday, I watched my neighbor L move their cars into the park next to my house. Why? I have no idea. The only thing I could think of was that they wanted to get the cars out of their driveway in advance of the storm so that when their plow guy came he could clear their whole driveway, but ... well, the town plow would've plowed the park in, so they would have had to dig their cars out of the park, and the whole thing made no sense. I figured that B, L's husband, had to be behind it, because, well, B's an idiot. And then! A couple of hours later, L moved the cars back into their driveway. And then back into the park. And then back in the driveway. This poor woman is pushing eighty and she's out there in a snowstorm playing musical chairs with the cars.
"These people are insane," I thought, only to find out Saturday morning, when chatting with their son, that indeed, B has been diagnosed as Bipolar. THAT explains a LOT.
And, let's see, yesterday I was at the adoption center, where there was another! escape! Luckily, I was able to grab the cat, as he already has three applications on him. Everybody wants him. And oh, the cat is named "Rorschach". Because he's black and white, like an ink blot, get it? I DO NOT NAME THESE CATS. But listening to people stopping by the center trying to pronounce "Rorschach" was pretty amusing. "Like Horshack from Welcome Back, Kotter!," I tried a couple of times, only to be met with blank stares. Yeah, I guess I'm old.
Horshack? Anybody? Anybody remember Horshack?
Snowfall totals! Let's hear 'em! I got ... a measly five inches. How about you?
Saturday, February 09, 2013
Sports bra, Christmas cookies, "Jiro Dreams of Sushi" and the neighbors
Sometimes just thinking about what I'm gonna blog about makes me happy. So much to talk about!
(And was there supposed to be a comma after Sushi? I'm not really sure what the rule is about the last item in a list.)
Friday, February 08, 2013
Freaky Friday!
A while back, I noticed that someone - perhaps Vintage Vixen? - had decorated a chandelier with bead necklaces. What a fabulous idea, I thought.
So, I thought I'd give it a try. I don't have a chandelier, but I do have a stained-glass fixture in my kitchen. (Please ignore that horrible, horrible ceiling. As soon as I win the lottery (HA), every ceiling in the house is getting ripped out and replaced.)
Before:
So, I thought I'd give it a try. I don't have a chandelier, but I do have a stained-glass fixture in my kitchen. (Please ignore that horrible, horrible ceiling. As soon as I win the lottery (HA), every ceiling in the house is getting ripped out and replaced.)
Before:
After:
Well, *I* think it's festive.
and in other news, HOLY F*CK WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE.
Yes, it's Snowmageddon Part MCXXIII around here. Yet another "snow event" of "historic" significance is bearing down on us poor souls here in the Northeast.
Hey, for every half hour of shoveling I do, I figure that's the equivalent of one Jillian workout. It actually gets marked down on my workout calender (which doubles as Pony's medication calendar). Instead of "J2.2", I write down "shovel" and call it even.
Works for me! Bring on the snow. I'd rather shovel than do mountain climbers or plank jacks, any day.
(And what the hell is that move where you do push-ups while bringing your knee up to your elbow? CAN ANYBODY ACTUALLY DO THAT? Because every time I try, I just end up in a crippled heap on the floor. I can do the push-up. (Well, kind of.) I can do the side knee move. I CANNOT do both at the same time. I'd be interested in knowing if anyone outside of the gals on the DVD can actually do this move.)
(Another one I'm having difficulty with? The jump-rope-and-skip thing. HAHAHAHA I cannot jump rope and skip. My legs just go all ... spastic, like I'm being cattle-prodded or something.)
(Come on over to my place and watch me work out, guys! You'll laugh your ass off. Guaranteed.)
Thursday, February 07, 2013
Understatement of the year
From a book I recently read (The Living, by Annie Dillard):
"It was in May that the Sharp family met with an accident; they all drowned, except for John Ireland."
"It was in May that the Sharp family met with an accident; they all drowned, except for John Ireland."
Tuesday, February 05, 2013
Seen on Craigslist
These are all from the "Pets" section.
1. "A bit skid-dish, but lovable as well. I do not know why he is skid-dish"
It's "skittish", you dipshit. "Skittish". Jeezus Christ.
2. "They do have flea's"
They have flea's what? His guitar? His amp?
3. "Free long hair oragan tabby cat"
I have no idea what an "oragan" is.
From the same ad:
"litter trained not fixed but doesnt spay"
Your cat does not perform spays? That's a pity, because you could make a ton of money if he did.
4. Im sad i have to do this because hes a very loveing kitty im going to miss him but im pregnant and i think getting rid of him is my best option hes about a year old supper friendly loves to cuddle at night hes also funny he will sit with u watch movies and eat pop corn and chips with you he loves them...ive only let him 2 times because i dont want him to get sick but the vet said it was ok for him so i did....not the point anywho im going to be giving him away for free please be kind and treat him good i gave him away to a family and they where mean to him so i took him back just hopeing he goes to a great home this time...
Okay. A. Obviously no one has ever been pregnant and had a pet at same time. Moron.
B. The fact that anyone with grammar, punctuation and spelling problems of this magnitude is pregnant makes me feel sorry for the kid.
5. I am a college student that is moving into student houseing and I unfortunetly can not take my dog with me. He is a five year old pure bread pekingese, with gold hair. He is looking for a good home and a paitent owner who is familure with this breed. Cantact me if interested.
College student? Really?
I swear, Craigslist makes me lose faith in humanity.
1. "A bit skid-dish, but lovable as well. I do not know why he is skid-dish"
It's "skittish", you dipshit. "Skittish". Jeezus Christ.
2. "They do have flea's"
They have flea's what? His guitar? His amp?
3. "Free long hair oragan tabby cat"
I have no idea what an "oragan" is.
From the same ad:
"litter trained not fixed but doesnt spay"
Your cat does not perform spays? That's a pity, because you could make a ton of money if he did.
4. Im sad i have to do this because hes a very loveing kitty im going to miss him but im pregnant and i think getting rid of him is my best option hes about a year old supper friendly loves to cuddle at night hes also funny he will sit with u watch movies and eat pop corn and chips with you he loves them...ive only let him 2 times because i dont want him to get sick but the vet said it was ok for him so i did....not the point anywho im going to be giving him away for free please be kind and treat him good i gave him away to a family and they where mean to him so i took him back just hopeing he goes to a great home this time...
Okay. A. Obviously no one has ever been pregnant and had a pet at same time. Moron.
B. The fact that anyone with grammar, punctuation and spelling problems of this magnitude is pregnant makes me feel sorry for the kid.
5. I am a college student that is moving into student houseing and I unfortunetly can not take my dog with me. He is a five year old pure bread pekingese, with gold hair. He is looking for a good home and a paitent owner who is familure with this breed. Cantact me if interested.
College student? Really?
I swear, Craigslist makes me lose faith in humanity.
Monday, February 04, 2013
Gold Rush. Bamazon. Ax Men.
Yeah, I can't watch any of those shows.
Don't get me wrong, I love some reality tv, but those shows are, basically, about people destroying the environment as fast as possible so they can make as much money as possible.
I'm not really into that.
Maybe I'm just ultra-sensitive, living here in upstate New York, where a pitched battle is being waged over hydrofracturing, a method of getting natural gas out of the ground.
The pro side says it's a safe, efficient way to reduce our dependency on foreign fuels. The anti side says it's a rape of the environment that may carry consequences for years to come.
All I know is Montrose.
Montrose was a beautiful little town just south of the border from me, down in PA where fracking is already allowed. It was a picturesque small village, with a little town center, mom-and-pop stores, and churches, surrounded by rolling hills.
Today? Montrose is an industrial waypoint. Heavy equipment trucks roll through the streets constantly, on their way to the fracking sites, and all kinds of big-box crap has sprung up to accommodate the out-of-town gas workers. Crime has skyrocketed, and so have rents, as there isn't enough housing to accommodate the fracking workers.
Is it a boost to the local economy? Absolutely. Will people's property taxes go down as a result of all the commercial development? Probably. Will some previously-struggling farmers hit the jackpot by leasing their land to the frackers? Damn straight.
Is it worth it? Is it worth selling out a beautiful natural environment to make a few bucks? To change the tone of your town, possibly forever, in order to make some money for a few years?
The people who are benefiting will say hell yes. The people who have nothing to gain and a lot to lose say hell no.
And me? I say no. Once you sell your soul, it's hard to get it back.
Just my two cents.
Don't get me wrong, I love some reality tv, but those shows are, basically, about people destroying the environment as fast as possible so they can make as much money as possible.
I'm not really into that.
Maybe I'm just ultra-sensitive, living here in upstate New York, where a pitched battle is being waged over hydrofracturing, a method of getting natural gas out of the ground.
The pro side says it's a safe, efficient way to reduce our dependency on foreign fuels. The anti side says it's a rape of the environment that may carry consequences for years to come.
All I know is Montrose.
Montrose was a beautiful little town just south of the border from me, down in PA where fracking is already allowed. It was a picturesque small village, with a little town center, mom-and-pop stores, and churches, surrounded by rolling hills.
Today? Montrose is an industrial waypoint. Heavy equipment trucks roll through the streets constantly, on their way to the fracking sites, and all kinds of big-box crap has sprung up to accommodate the out-of-town gas workers. Crime has skyrocketed, and so have rents, as there isn't enough housing to accommodate the fracking workers.
Is it a boost to the local economy? Absolutely. Will people's property taxes go down as a result of all the commercial development? Probably. Will some previously-struggling farmers hit the jackpot by leasing their land to the frackers? Damn straight.
Is it worth it? Is it worth selling out a beautiful natural environment to make a few bucks? To change the tone of your town, possibly forever, in order to make some money for a few years?
The people who are benefiting will say hell yes. The people who have nothing to gain and a lot to lose say hell no.
And me? I say no. Once you sell your soul, it's hard to get it back.
Just my two cents.
Friday, February 01, 2013
Greenery
Yeah, I think this winter is finally getting to me.
Oh, I know all the tricks. Light up the house like a landing strip at O'Hare, keep track of how sunset is a little later every day, make sure to exercise, blahblahblah.
Frankly, by the time February rolls around, I'm scrounging around in the bottom of my bag of tricks, looking for ways to make the winter endurable until Spring sashays in.
So when Walmart had a clearance sale on houseplants last week, well ...
I bought a Schefflera. Then I bought a Ponytail Palm. Then, I went back last night and bought a Marginata Palm. I have no idea if I even spelled any of that correctly, I'm just going by what was printed on the little tags, but AT LEAST I HAVE GREEN STUFF TO LOOK AT.
It is a comfort on mornings like this one, when I wake to discover that - surprise! - we got a couple of inches of unexpected snow last night, and I had to shovel, AND the plow guy had not bothered to come through by the time I had to leave for work, meaning I had to muscle the car up onto the main road to even get to the office, and
Hang in there, pretty green plants. It's you and me until the Spring.
Oh, I know all the tricks. Light up the house like a landing strip at O'Hare, keep track of how sunset is a little later every day, make sure to exercise, blahblahblah.
Frankly, by the time February rolls around, I'm scrounging around in the bottom of my bag of tricks, looking for ways to make the winter endurable until Spring sashays in.
So when Walmart had a clearance sale on houseplants last week, well ...
I bought a Schefflera. Then I bought a Ponytail Palm. Then, I went back last night and bought a Marginata Palm. I have no idea if I even spelled any of that correctly, I'm just going by what was printed on the little tags, but AT LEAST I HAVE GREEN STUFF TO LOOK AT.
It is a comfort on mornings like this one, when I wake to discover that - surprise! - we got a couple of inches of unexpected snow last night, and I had to shovel, AND the plow guy had not bothered to come through by the time I had to leave for work, meaning I had to muscle the car up onto the main road to even get to the office, and
Hang in there, pretty green plants. It's you and me until the Spring.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Don't hate me because I'm dutiful
First thing this morning, I got a mammogram. After work, I did a Jillian workout - Ripped in 30, Level 3.
And I feel like I should get a flippin' award. Maybe two.
I swear to God, there is something wrong with me. I get all sanctimonious because I do something that normal, competent people do every damn day.
Walking out of the dentist's office? Mother Teresa's got nothin' on me.
And alert the press when I exit the voting booth. I WIN AT LIFE.
God, I'm lame. It's like I feel like I should make the nightly news for being ... an adult. Ha. "And in other news, RockyCat managed to function like a human being today. Update at eleven!"
So tell me - What do YOU do that's medal-worthy? Please tell me I'm not alone in this.
And I feel like I should get a flippin' award. Maybe two.
I swear to God, there is something wrong with me. I get all sanctimonious because I do something that normal, competent people do every damn day.
Walking out of the dentist's office? Mother Teresa's got nothin' on me.
And alert the press when I exit the voting booth. I WIN AT LIFE.
God, I'm lame. It's like I feel like I should make the nightly news for being ... an adult. Ha. "And in other news, RockyCat managed to function like a human being today. Update at eleven!"
So tell me - What do YOU do that's medal-worthy? Please tell me I'm not alone in this.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
I'll bet somebody got paid big money to come up with that
So, I'm leafing through the coupon supplement of last Sunday's paper (yes, I know it's Tuesday. These things take time), and I come across an ad for Land O'Frost ... something.
What is Land O'Frost? Well, let's see, according to the ad, it's a brand of "Great Tasting Lunchmeat".
Really? Lunchmeat? Land O'Frost?
Because when I look at that name, all I can think of is freezer burn. Of the several months-old, ice-encrusted packages of sliced ham and pastrami that are no doubt residing in the back of my freezer right now, because God knows I never clean that sucker out.
Yum ... freezer burnt pastrami ...
I think it is safe to say I will not be buying any Land O'Frost products any time soon. If I want cold-scorched deli meat, I've already got some at home, thankyouverymuch.
Oh! And another ill-advised product name! "Turkey Hill" ice cream.
For some reason, when I think of "Turkey Hill", I think of a crap-encrusted hill out in a turkey pen somewhere. I DO NOT WANT turkey crap in my ice cream.
How about you? Any product you won't buy because the name is so ... unfortunate?
What is Land O'Frost? Well, let's see, according to the ad, it's a brand of "Great Tasting Lunchmeat".
Really? Lunchmeat? Land O'Frost?
Because when I look at that name, all I can think of is freezer burn. Of the several months-old, ice-encrusted packages of sliced ham and pastrami that are no doubt residing in the back of my freezer right now, because God knows I never clean that sucker out.
Yum ... freezer burnt pastrami ...
I think it is safe to say I will not be buying any Land O'Frost products any time soon. If I want cold-scorched deli meat, I've already got some at home, thankyouverymuch.
Oh! And another ill-advised product name! "Turkey Hill" ice cream.
For some reason, when I think of "Turkey Hill", I think of a crap-encrusted hill out in a turkey pen somewhere. I DO NOT WANT turkey crap in my ice cream.
How about you? Any product you won't buy because the name is so ... unfortunate?
Monday, January 28, 2013
Scruffles the Superstar
I volunteered at the adoption center yesterday. There were a few new cats there, including a cat named Scruffles.
Scruffles ended up in rescue care when her owner passed away, leaving behind fourteen cats.
Yep. Fourteen. Luckily, he had made some advance provisions with a sister, who is having all the cats vet-checked and is working to find places for them.
One of the rescues I am involved with was able to take three, and other area rescues are working to make room for the rest.
And Scruffles? Is gorgeous.
She's a five-year-old, long-haired tabby. She is sweet and friendly and she started loving on me as soon as I opened her cage. She has green eyes. She let me put a harness and leash on her and walk her through the store
I've been volunteering there for over a year now, and she is the second cat, out of hundreds who have passed through, who let me walk her on a leash.
Oh, Scruffles.
No, I won't be taking her home. She won't have any problem finding a new home. And while it's a common misconception that rescue workers "cherry-pick" the "best" pets, it really isn't true. We end up with the rejects, the losers, the ones with medical problems, the ones who languish in rescue care for months. We adopt the ones nobody else wants, because we know a little secret.
The losers make the best pets.
So, Superstar Scruffles will be going home with someone else. I'm betting she's gone by the end of the week. I sure will miss her.
Scruffles ended up in rescue care when her owner passed away, leaving behind fourteen cats.
Yep. Fourteen. Luckily, he had made some advance provisions with a sister, who is having all the cats vet-checked and is working to find places for them.
One of the rescues I am involved with was able to take three, and other area rescues are working to make room for the rest.
And Scruffles? Is gorgeous.
She's a five-year-old, long-haired tabby. She is sweet and friendly and she started loving on me as soon as I opened her cage. She has green eyes. She let me put a harness and leash on her and walk her through the store
I've been volunteering there for over a year now, and she is the second cat, out of hundreds who have passed through, who let me walk her on a leash.
Oh, Scruffles.
No, I won't be taking her home. She won't have any problem finding a new home. And while it's a common misconception that rescue workers "cherry-pick" the "best" pets, it really isn't true. We end up with the rejects, the losers, the ones with medical problems, the ones who languish in rescue care for months. We adopt the ones nobody else wants, because we know a little secret.
The losers make the best pets.
So, Superstar Scruffles will be going home with someone else. I'm betting she's gone by the end of the week. I sure will miss her.
Friday, January 25, 2013
The Nuclear Option
Remember the person who wronged me? And how I plotted furious revenge, and then I decided to wait a bit, and then she got nervous, and then her husband got involved, and then I decided to wait a bit longer?
Well, I had a whole post ready to go about how I'd undergone a sea change, and I was really over the whole thing, and hell, I've got a thick skin, so while she had wounded me, no real lasting damage had been done, and I was ready to be the bigger person, and blah blah blah.
and then?
She twisted the shiv.
Evidently thinking that my silence meant I had decided not to act, this stupid, stupid person could not resist taking one last little dig at me.
And now?
It's on.
All systems engaged, everything go, and man oh man is she going to regret this.
I tried to be the better man. I really did. But I failed.
And please forgive me; it feels great.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Maybe it's just me
One of my co-workers has, as the screen saver on his computer monitors, a photo of ... himself.
Is it just me, or is that a little ... odd? I mean, I could see if it was a photo of his girlfriend, or his kid, or even his DOG, for Pete's sake, but ... himself?
I don't know. I only look at myself in the mirror long enough to put on my makeup in the morning. I can't imagine staring at myself all day long.
Right now, my screen saver is a photo I took of a cloudy sky. What's your screen saver? Is it a photo of yourself? Maybe this is a new thing that I'm missing out on?
Is it just me, or is that a little ... odd? I mean, I could see if it was a photo of his girlfriend, or his kid, or even his DOG, for Pete's sake, but ... himself?
I don't know. I only look at myself in the mirror long enough to put on my makeup in the morning. I can't imagine staring at myself all day long.
Right now, my screen saver is a photo I took of a cloudy sky. What's your screen saver? Is it a photo of yourself? Maybe this is a new thing that I'm missing out on?
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Dear United States Postal Service: F*ck You
Okay, so this is basically the most TL:DR post I've ever done. Long story short? The Post Office lost a package, and they don't give a flying f*ck.
Want the long version? Here we go.
December 11: I mail a package full of Christmas presents via the United States Postal Service. Expected delivery date? December 17.
December 13: Package is processed through a facility in New Jersey.
December 18: Package is processed through a facility in Dallas, TX. Twenty miles from its final destination.
December 18: Package leaves Dallas facility.
December 18: Package falls off the face of the earth.
December 27: I call the Post Office's 1-800 consumer help line. I am told that it is "not unusual" for a package to take sixteen days to be delivered. I am told to call back the following week.
December 27: I go on line and file a complaint at the USPS site, although the site is byzantine and has no clear instructions on HOW to officially file a complaint. The site says I will get an email response in two to three days.
January 2, January 3, January 4: I call the 1-800 number. I speak with a representative, am given a case number, and am told to call back the following day.
January 7: I receive an email response to my on-line complaint of December 27. I am told to contact my local Post Office and file a Mail Recovery Center Report. The "local Post Office" phone number the email gives me is for a Post Office in Texas.
I call the Post Office in Texas as instructed. The woman I talk to tells me I need to come in a file a report in person.
Road trip! I wonder if the Post Office will comp my expenses. Decide probably not.
January 10: I go to my actual, local post office - the one I mailed the package from. I take my paperwork with me, and tell the woman working there, a woman who has worked for the postal service for as long as I've been working for MY company, that I need to file a Mail Recovery Center Report.
She's never heard of it.
She takes my information and phone number, and promises to look into it for me.
January 11, now ONE MONTH after my package was mailed: The woman at the local post office calls me back. She says that she's done some digging, and my package was apparently reported as "damaged in transit" on December 19 in Dallas, and opened by a postal inspector. She tells me that damaged mail is sent to the Mail Recovery Center in Atlanta, and gives me the phone number of the Mail Recovery Center.
January 11: I call the Mail Recovery Center in Atlanta and get a recorded message which says, "If you know your party's extension, please dial it now. If you do not know your party's extension, there is no one available to take your call and you may not leave a message." *click*
*insert head exploding sound here*
I call a few more times and miraculously somehow get a live person on the line. She asks for the zip code from which the package was mailed, and informs me that I need to call a USPS Consumer Affairs office in Albany, New York, to file a Mail Recovery Center Report. No, I may not file the report with her, even though SHE IS PROBABLY IN THE SAME LOCATION AS THE PACKAGE. You can't file a Mail Recover Center Report WITH the Mail Recovery Center! Don't be silly!
January 11: I call the USPS Consumer Affairs office in Albany. I get an answering machine. I leave a message. I receive no response.
January 14: I call the USPS Consumer Affairs office in Albany. I get an answering machine. I leave a message. I receive no response.
January 15: I call the USPS Consumer Affairs office in Albany. I get an answering machine. I leave a message. I receive no response.
January 16: I call the USPS Consumer Affairs office in Albany. I get an answering machine. I leave a message saying that if I don't hear from someone by the following day, I will contact the state Attorney General's office. I get a response. A very nice woman calls me back, stating that my local post office, the one I visited on January 10, should have been able to file a Mail Recovery Center Report for me.
Oh for the love of CHRIST.
The woman in Albany prepares the report. She explains that she will email it to the Mail Recovery Center, and that I should give them two weeks to find the package, after which time I will be welcome to start the entire process AGAIN. Because, after all, she says, the Mail Recovery Center is the size of three football fields, and every piece of damaged mail in the COUNTRY ends up there, and what are the odds of them actually locating my package on the first try?
In the meantime, I mail a SECOND package to the same location, using UPS. It gets there in five days.
This is why the Post Office is going broke, folks. THIS is why.
*sigh*
Want the long version? Here we go.
December 11: I mail a package full of Christmas presents via the United States Postal Service. Expected delivery date? December 17.
December 13: Package is processed through a facility in New Jersey.
December 18: Package is processed through a facility in Dallas, TX. Twenty miles from its final destination.
December 18: Package leaves Dallas facility.
December 18: Package falls off the face of the earth.
December 27: I call the Post Office's 1-800 consumer help line. I am told that it is "not unusual" for a package to take sixteen days to be delivered. I am told to call back the following week.
December 27: I go on line and file a complaint at the USPS site, although the site is byzantine and has no clear instructions on HOW to officially file a complaint. The site says I will get an email response in two to three days.
January 2, January 3, January 4: I call the 1-800 number. I speak with a representative, am given a case number, and am told to call back the following day.
January 7: I receive an email response to my on-line complaint of December 27. I am told to contact my local Post Office and file a Mail Recovery Center Report. The "local Post Office" phone number the email gives me is for a Post Office in Texas.
I call the Post Office in Texas as instructed. The woman I talk to tells me I need to come in a file a report in person.
Road trip! I wonder if the Post Office will comp my expenses. Decide probably not.
January 10: I go to my actual, local post office - the one I mailed the package from. I take my paperwork with me, and tell the woman working there, a woman who has worked for the postal service for as long as I've been working for MY company, that I need to file a Mail Recovery Center Report.
She's never heard of it.
She takes my information and phone number, and promises to look into it for me.
January 11, now ONE MONTH after my package was mailed: The woman at the local post office calls me back. She says that she's done some digging, and my package was apparently reported as "damaged in transit" on December 19 in Dallas, and opened by a postal inspector. She tells me that damaged mail is sent to the Mail Recovery Center in Atlanta, and gives me the phone number of the Mail Recovery Center.
January 11: I call the Mail Recovery Center in Atlanta and get a recorded message which says, "If you know your party's extension, please dial it now. If you do not know your party's extension, there is no one available to take your call and you may not leave a message." *click*
*insert head exploding sound here*
I call a few more times and miraculously somehow get a live person on the line. She asks for the zip code from which the package was mailed, and informs me that I need to call a USPS Consumer Affairs office in Albany, New York, to file a Mail Recovery Center Report. No, I may not file the report with her, even though SHE IS PROBABLY IN THE SAME LOCATION AS THE PACKAGE. You can't file a Mail Recover Center Report WITH the Mail Recovery Center! Don't be silly!
January 11: I call the USPS Consumer Affairs office in Albany. I get an answering machine. I leave a message. I receive no response.
January 14: I call the USPS Consumer Affairs office in Albany. I get an answering machine. I leave a message. I receive no response.
January 15: I call the USPS Consumer Affairs office in Albany. I get an answering machine. I leave a message. I receive no response.
January 16: I call the USPS Consumer Affairs office in Albany. I get an answering machine. I leave a message saying that if I don't hear from someone by the following day, I will contact the state Attorney General's office. I get a response. A very nice woman calls me back, stating that my local post office, the one I visited on January 10, should have been able to file a Mail Recovery Center Report for me.
Oh for the love of CHRIST.
The woman in Albany prepares the report. She explains that she will email it to the Mail Recovery Center, and that I should give them two weeks to find the package, after which time I will be welcome to start the entire process AGAIN. Because, after all, she says, the Mail Recovery Center is the size of three football fields, and every piece of damaged mail in the COUNTRY ends up there, and what are the odds of them actually locating my package on the first try?
In the meantime, I mail a SECOND package to the same location, using UPS. It gets there in five days.
This is why the Post Office is going broke, folks. THIS is why.
*sigh*
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
This is a public service announcement
Dudes. Duuuuuuuudes.
Better World Books is having a flash sale - If you buy five or more books from the Bargain Bin, you get 'em all for forty percent off.
I've currently got 28 books in my shopping cart. Unfortunately, their server keeps crashing from the massive increase of traffic to the site, so you may need to exercise patience.
Sale runs through Wednesday afternoon. What are you waiting for?
And!
BOGO starts at Payless today. Big whoop, right? But at least here in the Northeast, they are ALSO having a clearance sale on tights/leggings/stockings. Two bucks a pop. After BOGO, that works out to a buck-fifty a pop.
You're welcome!
Better World Books is having a flash sale - If you buy five or more books from the Bargain Bin, you get 'em all for forty percent off.
I've currently got 28 books in my shopping cart. Unfortunately, their server keeps crashing from the massive increase of traffic to the site, so you may need to exercise patience.
Sale runs through Wednesday afternoon. What are you waiting for?
And!
BOGO starts at Payless today. Big whoop, right? But at least here in the Northeast, they are ALSO having a clearance sale on tights/leggings/stockings. Two bucks a pop. After BOGO, that works out to a buck-fifty a pop.
You're welcome!
Monday, January 21, 2013
The plot thickens
Okay, so, in that earlier post (you need to scroll down to "Vengeance is mine ..." - I am EXTREMELY INVOLVED in a Biggest Loser episode right now), I toyed with messing over someone who had treated me shabbily.
Ever since she done me wrong, I've been ignoring her. I mean, due to our professional connection, I couldn't totally shut her out, but I've been maintaining radio silence as much as possible.
And I'm sorry I have to be so obscure, here, but really, I can't see myself getting Dooced over something like this.
ANYhoo, evidently she's getting a leetle nervous over what-all happened, and she keeps reaching out to me. Offering opportunities that normally I would jump all over, but right now? "I'll have to think about it".
Tonight?
Her HUSBAND emailed me.
Dudes, I can't. I just can't deal with this level of WTF. If she's too chickensh*t to deal with what I believe she is now realizing to be the possible consequences of her actions, that's one thing.
But to involve her husband? I mean, unless I've been totally snowed over in some kind of Machiavellian style, her husband had been totally unaware of what was going on.
Until now.
This ... this ... this is kind of ... odd for me right now. I think I need to sit on things for a few more days.
Ever since she done me wrong, I've been ignoring her. I mean, due to our professional connection, I couldn't totally shut her out, but I've been maintaining radio silence as much as possible.
And I'm sorry I have to be so obscure, here, but really, I can't see myself getting Dooced over something like this.
ANYhoo, evidently she's getting a leetle nervous over what-all happened, and she keeps reaching out to me. Offering opportunities that normally I would jump all over, but right now? "I'll have to think about it".
Tonight?
Her HUSBAND emailed me.
Dudes, I can't. I just can't deal with this level of WTF. If she's too chickensh*t to deal with what I believe she is now realizing to be the possible consequences of her actions, that's one thing.
But to involve her husband? I mean, unless I've been totally snowed over in some kind of Machiavellian style, her husband had been totally unaware of what was going on.
Until now.
This ... this ... this is kind of ... odd for me right now. I think I need to sit on things for a few more days.
Sauerkraut
On Saturday, before things went from "I feel a little queasy" to "Oh no oh no oh no", I made myself a Reuben sandwich for lunch. Yum! I put the leftover sauerkraut in the fridge.
It was Saturday night when things really went south, and by Sunday afternoon, when I shakily made my way out of bed and opened up the fridge to grab the diet Coke, well, I am pretty sure that the last thing on earth that I needed to smell right then was ...
sauerkraut.
Holy Mary Mother of God, that almost did me in. I slammed the fridge door shut and leaned against it. "Maybe it wasn't that bad," I thought. "It's just my upset stomach that's making that sauerkraut smell so disgusting."
I turned around and cautiously cracked the fridge door open.
Slam.
Yeah, it was that bad.
Now, I am in no way, shape or form blaming the sauerkraut for my intestinal distress. I felt queasy when I woke up on Saturday morning, when the sauerkraut was not yet even on the horizon.
But that does not negate the fact that because I was sick, that sauerkraut smelled DISGUSTING, and I had to get it out of the house.
"Just ... just ... fling it out the back door," I thought. But hell, even I'M not THAT white trash.
I finally steeled myself, opened the fridge again, grabbed the container of sauerkraut, and, trying desperately not to breathe, quick-stepped to the garbage can. The OUTSIDE garbage can. The one all the way out by the SHED.
*Whew*. Crisis averted. Except, sadly, I may never be able to eat a Reuben sandwich again.
It was Saturday night when things really went south, and by Sunday afternoon, when I shakily made my way out of bed and opened up the fridge to grab the diet Coke, well, I am pretty sure that the last thing on earth that I needed to smell right then was ...
sauerkraut.
Holy Mary Mother of God, that almost did me in. I slammed the fridge door shut and leaned against it. "Maybe it wasn't that bad," I thought. "It's just my upset stomach that's making that sauerkraut smell so disgusting."
I turned around and cautiously cracked the fridge door open.
Slam.
Yeah, it was that bad.
Now, I am in no way, shape or form blaming the sauerkraut for my intestinal distress. I felt queasy when I woke up on Saturday morning, when the sauerkraut was not yet even on the horizon.
But that does not negate the fact that because I was sick, that sauerkraut smelled DISGUSTING, and I had to get it out of the house.
"Just ... just ... fling it out the back door," I thought. But hell, even I'M not THAT white trash.
I finally steeled myself, opened the fridge again, grabbed the container of sauerkraut, and, trying desperately not to breathe, quick-stepped to the garbage can. The OUTSIDE garbage can. The one all the way out by the SHED.
*Whew*. Crisis averted. Except, sadly, I may never be able to eat a Reuben sandwich again.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Friday, January 18, 2013
Vengeance is Mine, Saith the Rocky
Somebody f*cked me over recently. Treated me really, really poorly.
She didn't have to do it, and I'm not even sure WHY she did it, but she did it.
And now I'm pondering revenge.
I could really work this person over good, should I so choose. I'm not really sure why she didn't consider that before she worked ME over; maybe she just didn't take the time to think things through.
But I have.
And, well, this is not something I'm exactly PROUD of, but I am really, really good at retribution. I can blindside this gal and mess her over big time. It's been a while since I've had the opportunity to go medieval on someone.
It's just ... I don't know. For one thing, if I take her down, it's also going to take her husband down, and he seems like a nice enough guy. He'd end up being collateral damage, if you will.
But if I DON'T take her down, then she gets away with what she did to me.
And that ain't gonna stand.
I guess I've got to ponder on this a little more.
She didn't have to do it, and I'm not even sure WHY she did it, but she did it.
And now I'm pondering revenge.
I could really work this person over good, should I so choose. I'm not really sure why she didn't consider that before she worked ME over; maybe she just didn't take the time to think things through.
But I have.
And, well, this is not something I'm exactly PROUD of, but I am really, really good at retribution. I can blindside this gal and mess her over big time. It's been a while since I've had the opportunity to go medieval on someone.
It's just ... I don't know. For one thing, if I take her down, it's also going to take her husband down, and he seems like a nice enough guy. He'd end up being collateral damage, if you will.
But if I DON'T take her down, then she gets away with what she did to me.
And that ain't gonna stand.
I guess I've got to ponder on this a little more.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
I dunno
Today at work I'm wearing a dress that is ... let's see ... four inches above the knee.
Is that too short? I mean, I AM an old lady now.
In my defense, I'm wearing heavy tights underneath. It's not like I'm flashing a bunch of bare leg and frightening the cattle or anything.
Whaddaya think? Too short for an old broad, or still acceptable?
Is that too short? I mean, I AM an old lady now.
In my defense, I'm wearing heavy tights underneath. It's not like I'm flashing a bunch of bare leg and frightening the cattle or anything.
Whaddaya think? Too short for an old broad, or still acceptable?
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
They say it's your birthday ...
Today is Ponyboy's second birthday!
Happy Birthday, Pone-Pone! Champagne wishes and caviar dreams.
Or, you know, mousie wishes and catnip dreams. Whichever you prefer.
Happy Birthday, Pone-Pone! Champagne wishes and caviar dreams.
Or, you know, mousie wishes and catnip dreams. Whichever you prefer.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Looks like "Hallelujah", by Leonard Cohen, is the new "'Amazing Grace"
And I'm cool with that.
Amazing Grace got worn out with 9/11, and it's still been the go-to song ever since, any time a tragedy, major or minor, occurred. Any time a memorial service got televised, look out. Here comes Amazing Grace. And if the bagpipes came out? Yep. Evidently, the bagpipes OWN Amazing Grace.
But now it looks like "Hallelujah" is in the lead. And I'm glad. It's time for a new official Sorrow Song.
Like Amazing Grace, it's got a beautiful melody. Unlike Amazing Grace, its lyrics are a little, well, PG.
But it's a pretty song. And who can argue with the sentiment of the word Hallelujah?
Not me.
Just don't ever set it to bagpipes, please.
Amazing Grace got worn out with 9/11, and it's still been the go-to song ever since, any time a tragedy, major or minor, occurred. Any time a memorial service got televised, look out. Here comes Amazing Grace. And if the bagpipes came out? Yep. Evidently, the bagpipes OWN Amazing Grace.
But now it looks like "Hallelujah" is in the lead. And I'm glad. It's time for a new official Sorrow Song.
Like Amazing Grace, it's got a beautiful melody. Unlike Amazing Grace, its lyrics are a little, well, PG.
But it's a pretty song. And who can argue with the sentiment of the word Hallelujah?
Not me.
Just don't ever set it to bagpipes, please.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Recently Read
As always, skip this if you wanna.
1. Light a Penny Candle by Maeve Binchy - Gosh, I always love her books. I was sad to learn that she'd passed away. Light a Penny Candle was about what Maeve Binchy books are always about - People in England, usually in one small town, living their lives. I did not like the ending on this one - I thought it was lame and out of character - but the rest was good. But oh! Why does there always have to be at least one good-woman-stays-with-bad-man storyline in each of her books? THAT gets kind of annoying.
2. The Dry Grass of August by Anna Jean Mayhew - Novel about a girl growing up in the 50s segregated South. Good.
3. Movie review time! The Man Who Would Be King - This came out in 1975 and was based on a Rudyard Kipling story. Michael Caine and Sean Connery play British Army washouts who decide to take over a remote Asian country in the early 1900s. Starts out slow, but builds to a rip-roaring finish. I remember seeing this as a kid and being fascinated by it, so it was fun to see it again.
4. Girlchild by Tupelo Hassman - Started out good, but developed a sour attitude about two-thirds of the way in. I didn't finish it.
5. 11/22/63 by Stephen King - Meh. I felt like he phoned this one in.
6. Another movie review! The Hunger Games. This was okay. It reminded me of the novella "The Long Walk" by Richard Bachman/Stephen King.
7. Rachel and Her Children by Jonathan Kozol - Nonfiction - Study of poverty and welfare programs in NYC. It was interesting, if somewhat dated (published in 1988). I wonder if the programs are any better-run now than they were at the time this book was written.
8. Are you ready for another movie review? First Position is a documentary about a youth ballet competition. This thing would usually be right up my alley, but I think I've seen so many documentaries about competitions that I'm pretty much over them. But! I did hear that they are making a musical out of Hands on a Hard Body, which makes me hopeful that THAT doc, which I have never actually seen but have heard plenty about, mainly from a radio episode of This American Life, will someday come out on DVD.
(And by the way, I cannot see any way that a musical version of Hands on a Hard Body would be anything but a hilarious failure, but that's just my opinion.) (And no, Hands on a Hard Body is NOT about porn. Sheesh.)
So! That's what I've been reading, and watching, lately. How about you?
1. Light a Penny Candle by Maeve Binchy - Gosh, I always love her books. I was sad to learn that she'd passed away. Light a Penny Candle was about what Maeve Binchy books are always about - People in England, usually in one small town, living their lives. I did not like the ending on this one - I thought it was lame and out of character - but the rest was good. But oh! Why does there always have to be at least one good-woman-stays-with-bad-man storyline in each of her books? THAT gets kind of annoying.
2. The Dry Grass of August by Anna Jean Mayhew - Novel about a girl growing up in the 50s segregated South. Good.
3. Movie review time! The Man Who Would Be King - This came out in 1975 and was based on a Rudyard Kipling story. Michael Caine and Sean Connery play British Army washouts who decide to take over a remote Asian country in the early 1900s. Starts out slow, but builds to a rip-roaring finish. I remember seeing this as a kid and being fascinated by it, so it was fun to see it again.
4. Girlchild by Tupelo Hassman - Started out good, but developed a sour attitude about two-thirds of the way in. I didn't finish it.
5. 11/22/63 by Stephen King - Meh. I felt like he phoned this one in.
6. Another movie review! The Hunger Games. This was okay. It reminded me of the novella "The Long Walk" by Richard Bachman/Stephen King.
7. Rachel and Her Children by Jonathan Kozol - Nonfiction - Study of poverty and welfare programs in NYC. It was interesting, if somewhat dated (published in 1988). I wonder if the programs are any better-run now than they were at the time this book was written.
8. Are you ready for another movie review? First Position is a documentary about a youth ballet competition. This thing would usually be right up my alley, but I think I've seen so many documentaries about competitions that I'm pretty much over them. But! I did hear that they are making a musical out of Hands on a Hard Body, which makes me hopeful that THAT doc, which I have never actually seen but have heard plenty about, mainly from a radio episode of This American Life, will someday come out on DVD.
(And by the way, I cannot see any way that a musical version of Hands on a Hard Body would be anything but a hilarious failure, but that's just my opinion.) (And no, Hands on a Hard Body is NOT about porn. Sheesh.)
So! That's what I've been reading, and watching, lately. How about you?
Friday, January 11, 2013
Hoo boy
What a day!
First thing this morning, my work computer crashed. On a day when I had a lot of work to do on line.
I managed to hop on another computer, but still. All of my files are on MY computer, so yeah.
And I was afraid to tell my boss my computer had crashed, because HE was having an awful day. When I finally fessed up, he spent a couple of hours working on it before *I* finally figured out that it was the monitor that had tanked, not the hard drive. Aye caramba.
I am STILL trying to locate the missing package that was sent to Texas on December 11. Some progress was made, but man oh man oh man does the post office have its head up its ass. Holy cow.
A co-worker and I spent spent half the damn afternoon trying to track down a mysterious meowing in my office building. Tentative conclusion? A stray cat has somehow managed to crawl up into a cantilevered crawlspace and can't get out. Efforts to reach the cat from the inside of the building were unsuccessful. Tomorrow morning, the landlord is going to start dismantling the exterior shell of the building in effort to free the cat. Good luck, Mr. Gordon! Good luck, cat!
On the bright side, the SECOND Christmas package I sent to Texas has reportedly arrived.
Thank goodness it's Friday, is all I can say.
First thing this morning, my work computer crashed. On a day when I had a lot of work to do on line.
I managed to hop on another computer, but still. All of my files are on MY computer, so yeah.
And I was afraid to tell my boss my computer had crashed, because HE was having an awful day. When I finally fessed up, he spent a couple of hours working on it before *I* finally figured out that it was the monitor that had tanked, not the hard drive. Aye caramba.
I am STILL trying to locate the missing package that was sent to Texas on December 11. Some progress was made, but man oh man oh man does the post office have its head up its ass. Holy cow.
A co-worker and I spent spent half the damn afternoon trying to track down a mysterious meowing in my office building. Tentative conclusion? A stray cat has somehow managed to crawl up into a cantilevered crawlspace and can't get out. Efforts to reach the cat from the inside of the building were unsuccessful. Tomorrow morning, the landlord is going to start dismantling the exterior shell of the building in effort to free the cat. Good luck, Mr. Gordon! Good luck, cat!
On the bright side, the SECOND Christmas package I sent to Texas has reportedly arrived.
Thank goodness it's Friday, is all I can say.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Because apparently I can't let anything go
Okay, first off, scroll down to the previous post to get caught up with the Great Catnip Toy Debacle of 2013.
Now! Here's an email I received this morning from the FC, in a continuing conversation from the previous emails.
"Unfortanetly, not everyone realizes that they should cut it off and in this sue happy world, we can't be too careful."
Okay, I'm not even going to get INTO the whole "Unfortanetly" thing. (It actually took me several tries to even RECREATE that spelling, so let's hear it for language creativity! And God knows I've been known to misspell a word or two, although rarely in so spectacular a fashion.)
Here is my reply:
"Gee, that's too bad. I liked making those toys. Even if I stopped putting the ribbon on them, someone could say that a cat could rip open a toy and choke on the stuffing.
I guess we'd better stop selling the yarn spider toys, too - I mean, there's a choking/strangulation possibility right there. And we'd better stop putting blankets in the crates at adoption events - after all, a cat could suffocate under one of them. And forget about the bake sales - talk about a choking hazard!
I wonder how PetSmart gets away with selling all of those toys with ribbons/jingle bells/elastic pull-strings on them? Oh yeah - they probably tell people that if they're worried about a toy, they shouldn't buy it."
Harsh? You betcha.
Burning bridges is my specialty.
Now! Here's an email I received this morning from the FC, in a continuing conversation from the previous emails.
"Unfortanetly, not everyone realizes that they should cut it off and in this sue happy world, we can't be too careful."
Okay, I'm not even going to get INTO the whole "Unfortanetly" thing. (It actually took me several tries to even RECREATE that spelling, so let's hear it for language creativity! And God knows I've been known to misspell a word or two, although rarely in so spectacular a fashion.)
Here is my reply:
"Gee, that's too bad. I liked making those toys. Even if I stopped putting the ribbon on them, someone could say that a cat could rip open a toy and choke on the stuffing.
I guess we'd better stop selling the yarn spider toys, too - I mean, there's a choking/strangulation possibility right there. And we'd better stop putting blankets in the crates at adoption events - after all, a cat could suffocate under one of them. And forget about the bake sales - talk about a choking hazard!
I wonder how PetSmart gets away with selling all of those toys with ribbons/jingle bells/elastic pull-strings on them? Oh yeah - they probably tell people that if they're worried about a toy, they shouldn't buy it."
Harsh? You betcha.
Burning bridges is my specialty.
Wednesday, January 09, 2013
Christ on a f*cking cracker
I make catnip toys for my rescue group to sell at adoption events. They're just bits of mouse-shaped fabric, stuffed with catnip and polyfill, with little ribbon tails sewed in.
Email I got tonight from the FC:
"Let's keep the ribbon off the catnip toys. I've had several people express concern, then last month one of the agway employees was upset that we had it on the toys cause her cat was euthanized because he had a tumor on his tongue that may have been caused by a piece of ribbon."
My reply (and I have to tell you, I REALLY reined it in here):
"Wow ... If people are too stupid to take a pair of scissors and CUT the ribbon off of a toy if they think it's dangerous ... well, I have no words. And that Agway employee? Yep, we'd better ban ALL ribbon, EVERYWHERE, in memory of her cat. I'll just stop making the stupid things if people are having a cow over them."
I really, REALLY wanted to throw in a bunch of f-bombs, but the FC is a former Mennonite, so I didn't think it would be appropriate.
Okay, first off. I am currently looking at a cat toy that I bought at PetSmart last weekend. It's a big stuffed mouse, with long arms and legs. And a piece of ribbon tied around the neck. And jingle bells on its feet that could be chewed off and swallowed. Ditto, button eyes. And feathers. And a piece of elastic (gasp!) attached for pulling it along the floor.
Yes, cats can swallow ribbon. It can happen. They can also swallow tinsel and yarn and string and sewing thread and twist ties and NINE MILLION OTHER THINGS that the average household contains. One of my co-worker's dogs almost died when he ate one of his girlfriend's tampons.
BAN TAMPONS. SAVE THE DOGS.
Jesus f*cking CHRIST. I give UP.
Email I got tonight from the FC:
"Let's keep the ribbon off the catnip toys. I've had several people express concern, then last month one of the agway employees was upset that we had it on the toys cause her cat was euthanized because he had a tumor on his tongue that may have been caused by a piece of ribbon."
My reply (and I have to tell you, I REALLY reined it in here):
"Wow ... If people are too stupid to take a pair of scissors and CUT the ribbon off of a toy if they think it's dangerous ... well, I have no words. And that Agway employee? Yep, we'd better ban ALL ribbon, EVERYWHERE, in memory of her cat. I'll just stop making the stupid things if people are having a cow over them."
I really, REALLY wanted to throw in a bunch of f-bombs, but the FC is a former Mennonite, so I didn't think it would be appropriate.
Okay, first off. I am currently looking at a cat toy that I bought at PetSmart last weekend. It's a big stuffed mouse, with long arms and legs. And a piece of ribbon tied around the neck. And jingle bells on its feet that could be chewed off and swallowed. Ditto, button eyes. And feathers. And a piece of elastic (gasp!) attached for pulling it along the floor.
Yes, cats can swallow ribbon. It can happen. They can also swallow tinsel and yarn and string and sewing thread and twist ties and NINE MILLION OTHER THINGS that the average household contains. One of my co-worker's dogs almost died when he ate one of his girlfriend's tampons.
BAN TAMPONS. SAVE THE DOGS.
Jesus f*cking CHRIST. I give UP.
Live blogging the plumber's visit!
Well, the water heater is shot. I kind of figured - it's ten years old.
Price to replace it? Six-twenty-five, including install, which is fair.
We'll see how much the toilet fix is. It's been flushing fine since Monday, so I'm hopeful that he'll just snake the line and leave it at that. hopehopehopehopehope
What was my guess? Let me see ... $759.36. Hmmm ...
Price to replace it? Six-twenty-five, including install, which is fair.
We'll see how much the toilet fix is. It's been flushing fine since Monday, so I'm hopeful that he'll just snake the line and leave it at that. hopehopehopehopehope
What was my guess? Let me see ... $759.36. Hmmm ...
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
Let's play a game!
Let's try to guess how much the bill will be for the plumber who's coming to my house tomorrow!
Yes, the plumbing has finally forced my hand.
The water heater's been leaking for a while. It's ten years old, so it's probably on its way out. I was delaying the inevitable by placing a drip pan underneath the leaky valve, but, well, the leakage is increasing.
Still! While it was on my "to-do" list, it was hovering somewhere near the bottom, in the vicinity of "take down Christmas lights" and "change furnace filter".
But! Last night, the toilet clogged.
*shudder*
Oh sweet Jeezus, if THAT'S not a worst-case scenario, I don't know what is.
I managed to plunge it out, and this morning it's flushing, if somewhat reluctantly, but
it was time to call a plumber. THE TOILET MUST FLUSH.
So! What will the bill be?
I am guessing that the water heater needs to be replaced. I am guessing that the toilet needs to be ... snaked, or whatever it is they do to reluctant toilets.
I am guessing $759.36. Care to take a guess?
Yes, the plumbing has finally forced my hand.
The water heater's been leaking for a while. It's ten years old, so it's probably on its way out. I was delaying the inevitable by placing a drip pan underneath the leaky valve, but, well, the leakage is increasing.
Still! While it was on my "to-do" list, it was hovering somewhere near the bottom, in the vicinity of "take down Christmas lights" and "change furnace filter".
But! Last night, the toilet clogged.
*shudder*
Oh sweet Jeezus, if THAT'S not a worst-case scenario, I don't know what is.
I managed to plunge it out, and this morning it's flushing, if somewhat reluctantly, but
it was time to call a plumber. THE TOILET MUST FLUSH.
So! What will the bill be?
I am guessing that the water heater needs to be replaced. I am guessing that the toilet needs to be ... snaked, or whatever it is they do to reluctant toilets.
I am guessing $759.36. Care to take a guess?
Monday, January 07, 2013
Rescue Porn
I was going to write today about how, this time last year, my cats had not yet come into rescue care. I was going to write about the bad situations they were in, this time last year.
But the more I thought about it, the more I didn't want to write it. There is a tendency in rescue care to, well, one-up worst-case situations. "My cat was rescued from under a trailer!" "Well, MY cat was rescued from under a TRAIN!"
It would be like if every time I was introduced to someone, the person doing the introductions said, "This is Rocky. Back in '85, she was living in a trailer park and working at a fast-food restaurant!"
I mean, yeah, it's true, and I'm not ashamed of it, but it's not who I am today. It doesn't define me.
So cats, I promise to stop telling your "rescue" stories. You're here now, and that's what matters.
And dudes, I promise I'll always do good by you. I might be far from perfect, but I'll always treat you right.
Saturday, January 05, 2013
Christmas Shopping. In January. Thanks to the United States Postal Service
Yep, I spent today Christmas shopping. And wrapping presents. And getting them boxed up and ready to ship.
All thanks to the United States Postal Service, into whose trust I placed a package for delivery.
On December 11. Of last year.
According to the tracking number, it left a processing facility in Dallas on December 18. After that ... well, it's anybody's guess, really. MY guess is the old proverbial "fell off a truck" scenario, but it's hard tellin', seeing as how when I call the United States Postal Service customer service line, each and every day, they tell me, optimistically, to "try back tomorrow."
Emailing? Oh yeah, I tried emailing. I'm still waiting for a response to the email I sent on December 27.
Dear United States Postal Service: F*ck you.
When this next package goes out, on Monday? It's UPS all the way, baby. I am done and done with the United States Postal Service. A**h*les.
p.s. It's actually kind of FUN to shop for Christmas presents in January. Shhhh. Don't tell anybody.
All thanks to the United States Postal Service, into whose trust I placed a package for delivery.
On December 11. Of last year.
According to the tracking number, it left a processing facility in Dallas on December 18. After that ... well, it's anybody's guess, really. MY guess is the old proverbial "fell off a truck" scenario, but it's hard tellin', seeing as how when I call the United States Postal Service customer service line, each and every day, they tell me, optimistically, to "try back tomorrow."
Emailing? Oh yeah, I tried emailing. I'm still waiting for a response to the email I sent on December 27.
Dear United States Postal Service: F*ck you.
When this next package goes out, on Monday? It's UPS all the way, baby. I am done and done with the United States Postal Service. A**h*les.
p.s. It's actually kind of FUN to shop for Christmas presents in January. Shhhh. Don't tell anybody.
Friday, January 04, 2013
I do not understand Bloglandia
Amalah put up a post about her little boys' socks and got 72 comments. So far.
Crappy Pictures put up a post about teeth brushing and got 148 comments.
And don't even get me started with Pioneer Woman. A poem about her CAT? 238 comments.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not jealous. I'm more ... incredulous.
I read some of the popular bloggers. I enjoy some of them. But the idea that seventy-two commenters felt a need to chime into a conversation about kids' socks?
I don't understand Bloglandia. I guess I never will.
Crappy Pictures put up a post about teeth brushing and got 148 comments.
And don't even get me started with Pioneer Woman. A poem about her CAT? 238 comments.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not jealous. I'm more ... incredulous.
I read some of the popular bloggers. I enjoy some of them. But the idea that seventy-two commenters felt a need to chime into a conversation about kids' socks?
I don't understand Bloglandia. I guess I never will.
Thursday, January 03, 2013
Outplay, Outwit, Outlast
We have a kind of Mexican standoff in the office, here, on days when the garbage goes out to the curb.
Way back when I first got hired, as the lowly secretary, taking care of the office garbage was one of my job duties. And then, about fifteen years in, I broke my wrist one winter, and one of my co-workers offered to take over garbage detail.
Once my splint came off, I offered to take up the garbage mantle again, but the co-worker said no, no, he didn't mind, he'd keep taking care of it.
Except, well, he was a guy, and you KNOW how guys are about anything they consider vaguely "home-maker" related - they stall and stall and put it off until finally YOU do it, just to get the damn chore DONE.
Want proof? Ask a guy to do a load of laundry. Let me know how that works out ...
... Oh, and there's that THING that guys are so good at, where they f*ck up the execution of a chore SO BADLY, repeatedly, that you finally give up and stop asking them to help. Food-encrusted *washed* silverware, anyone? Christ.
Yeah, there's a whole lot of passive-aggression going on when it comes to chores. Anymore, office-garbage-wise, we all just wait each other out until somebody gets SO TIRED of shoving the garbage in their desk garbage can down with their FOOT just to get out of garbage duty for another week that they finally cave and take out everybody's garbage.
Because you can't just take out your OWN garbage. That would sail right past passive-aggression and into a**h*le land, and you've gotta be careful with people you work with every day, doncha know.
The one place where I definitely lose the standoff? Bathroom cleaning. I have been with this company for many, many years, and as far as I know, I am the only one who has EVER cleaned the (one, co-ed) bathroom.
I'm sorry, but I just can't use a bathroom that looks like it's been transported whole from a Tijuana truckstop. That just ain't right. I end up cleaning the bathroom EVERY TIME.
Way back when I first got hired, as the lowly secretary, taking care of the office garbage was one of my job duties. And then, about fifteen years in, I broke my wrist one winter, and one of my co-workers offered to take over garbage detail.
Once my splint came off, I offered to take up the garbage mantle again, but the co-worker said no, no, he didn't mind, he'd keep taking care of it.
Except, well, he was a guy, and you KNOW how guys are about anything they consider vaguely "home-maker" related - they stall and stall and put it off until finally YOU do it, just to get the damn chore DONE.
Want proof? Ask a guy to do a load of laundry. Let me know how that works out ...
... Oh, and there's that THING that guys are so good at, where they f*ck up the execution of a chore SO BADLY, repeatedly, that you finally give up and stop asking them to help. Food-encrusted *washed* silverware, anyone? Christ.
Yeah, there's a whole lot of passive-aggression going on when it comes to chores. Anymore, office-garbage-wise, we all just wait each other out until somebody gets SO TIRED of shoving the garbage in their desk garbage can down with their FOOT just to get out of garbage duty for another week that they finally cave and take out everybody's garbage.
Because you can't just take out your OWN garbage. That would sail right past passive-aggression and into a**h*le land, and you've gotta be careful with people you work with every day, doncha know.
The one place where I definitely lose the standoff? Bathroom cleaning. I have been with this company for many, many years, and as far as I know, I am the only one who has EVER cleaned the (one, co-ed) bathroom.
I'm sorry, but I just can't use a bathroom that looks like it's been transported whole from a Tijuana truckstop. That just ain't right. I end up cleaning the bathroom EVERY TIME.
Wednesday, January 02, 2013
Happy New Year!
... and I've already got clients calling me this morning with "emergencies" that have to be solved RIGHT AWAY, doncha know.
*sigh*
Meet the new year, same as the old year.
Words to live by, clients: When everything's an emergency, nothing is.
How's everything at your office today?
*sigh*
Meet the new year, same as the old year.
Words to live by, clients: When everything's an emergency, nothing is.
How's everything at your office today?
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
Okay, now I've heard EVERYthing
So, I was at the adoption center today, and it was pretty slow. Which is fine, because it gives me time to work with some of the cats who need extra attention, and all is cool.
And then an elderly couple came up, and started talking about their cats. They have four.
And let me say right here, I love that. I LOVE that. That is why I am there, to talk to people, and listen to their stories. And view LOTS of cell phone photos. Ha.
And this couple started talking about their blind cat, who had recently passed away.
"Was it blind from birth?," I asked, curious.
"Oh, no, no," the woman said. "As he got older he developed cataracts. But you know, he kept right on going outside."
"Excuse me?" I said. "You had a blind cat who went outside?"
"Oh yes," she said, chuckling. "He was a wild stray who never did want to be inside the house much, except to be fed, and once his vision started going, he still wanted to be outside. If we didn't let him out, he'd hop up on one of our laps and pee on us! So we'd let him out, and you could watch him feeling his way around the yard. He could feel the difference, of course, between the blacktop of the driveway and the grass of the lawn, and he'd even venture out into the neighborhood, before his vision went completely. He passed away at home one night. He was eighteen! Gosh, I miss that cat."
Lady, I miss him too. And I never even met him.
And now I've heard everything.
And then an elderly couple came up, and started talking about their cats. They have four.
And let me say right here, I love that. I LOVE that. That is why I am there, to talk to people, and listen to their stories. And view LOTS of cell phone photos. Ha.
And this couple started talking about their blind cat, who had recently passed away.
"Was it blind from birth?," I asked, curious.
"Oh, no, no," the woman said. "As he got older he developed cataracts. But you know, he kept right on going outside."
"Excuse me?" I said. "You had a blind cat who went outside?"
"Oh yes," she said, chuckling. "He was a wild stray who never did want to be inside the house much, except to be fed, and once his vision started going, he still wanted to be outside. If we didn't let him out, he'd hop up on one of our laps and pee on us! So we'd let him out, and you could watch him feeling his way around the yard. He could feel the difference, of course, between the blacktop of the driveway and the grass of the lawn, and he'd even venture out into the neighborhood, before his vision went completely. He passed away at home one night. He was eighteen! Gosh, I miss that cat."
Lady, I miss him too. And I never even met him.
And now I've heard everything.
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