My fabulous South Florida aunt sent this to me today and I got a good giggle from it. Nothing like an entire party philosophy built on hypocrisy, hatred, and a complete lack of logic! Get out and vote- FIGHT THE RIGHT!!!!
Liberal Love,
L.
To be a Republican, you need to believe:
1. Jesus loves you, and shares your hatred of homosexuals and Hillary Clinton.
2. Saddam was a good guy when Reagan armed him, a bad guy when Bush's daddy made war on him, a good guy when Cheney did business with him, and a bad guy when Bush needed a "we can't find Bin Laden" diversion.
3. Trade with Cuba is wrong because the country is Communist, but trade with China and Vietnam is vital to a spirit of international harmony.
4. The United States should get out of the United Nations, and our highest national priority is enforcing U.N. resolutions against Iraq.
5. A woman can't be trusted with decisions about her own body, but multi-national drug corporations can make decisions affecting allmankind without regulation.
6. The best way to improve military morale is to praise the troops inspeeches, while slashing veterans' benefit and combat pay.
7. If prophylactics are kept out of schools, adolescents won't have sex.
8. A good way to fight terrorism is to belittle our long-time allies, then demand their cooperation and money.
9. Providing health care to all Iraqis is sound policy, but providing health care to all Americans is socialism. HMO's and insurance companies have the best interests of the public at heart.
10. Global warming and tobacco's link to cancer are junk science, but creationism should be taught in schools.
11. A president lying about an extramarital affair is a impeachable offense, but a president lying to enlist support for a war in which thousands die is solid defense policy.
12. Government should limit itself to the powers named in the Constitution, which include banning gay marriages and censoring the Internet.
13. The public has a right to know about Hillary's cattle trades, but George Bush's driving record is none of our business.
14. Being a drug addict is a moral failing and a crime, unless you're a conservative radio host. Then it's an illness and you need our prayers for your recovery.
15. Supporting "Executive Privilege" for every Republican ever born, who will be born or who might be born (in perpetuity.)
16. What Bill Clinton did in the 1960's is of vital national interest, but what Bush did in the '80's is irrelevant.
17. We should support hunters who shoot their friends and blame them for wearing orange vests similar to those worn by the quail.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Halloween! Halloween! This is Halloween!
Happy Halloween!!!
Yes, Halloween.
Not "Autumn Carnival" or "Harvest Festival" or "Fall Fling."
IT'S FREAKIN' HALLOWEEN, PEOPLE!
Living in the big ol' shiny buckle of the Bible Belt, I am constantly reminded of how completely insulated, out of touch, and bored so many of my fellow South Carolinians can be. Today's holiday is one prime example.
Halloween is a hot button issue down here. Christian conservatives in this state spend a lot of time focused on keeping their kids away from all things remotely related to the celebration of this overwhelmingly commercialized, secular holiday. (They do not apply this same logic to Christmas.) To help combat the truly malevolent forces of things like Power Ranger costumes and jack-o-lanterns, you wind up with a lot of schools/churches/community groups sponsoring celebrations meant to take the place of the usual trick or treating. Kids can show up for rides and candy and other fun "fall" stuff. Some of them even permit costumes- so long as said costumes are nice and benign. Lots of angels and kitties; absolutely no vampires or zombies allowed.
This is f***ing ridiculous.Halloween is a holiday with a long, mixed history. Yes, some of it is pagan. And some of it is religious. Yes, some people have used the holiday as a mark for their own dark purposes. And some people use it as a fun, imaginative, silly holiday. People, it is what you MAKE OF IT. For 99% of America, this means kids in costumes inspired by televisions shows who are out to get jacked up on sugar. Letting little Suzie and Johnny dress up as Dora the Explorer and Jack Sparrow is not the gateway to their eternal damnation. Going from house to house gathering a bag full of dental doom will not result in your children joining a cult and drinking human blood for kicks on weekends.
What baffles me most about these anti-Halloween zealots is the amount of energy they devote to the absolute wrong things. There is enough legitimate evil in the world that should scare the ever-lovin' hoo ha out of people with kids. Why do these people insist on seeing darkness where it clearly doesn't have to exist? A couple of costumes from Target should be the LAST thing on a parent's radar in terms of things that could potentially harm their child. This is the insulated, out of touch part. Halloween is an evil they can handle, that they feel they can combat. The really scary things in the world are too big and too complex; so they channel their attempts to be a "good parent" into fighting against something ridiculous like Halloween.
I realize there are elements of the macabre in Halloween. Any holiday for which skulls and bloody severed hands are acceptable decorations is clearly not entirely G-rated. But it's PRETEND. It's IMAGINARY. Kids have a much better grasp on those concepts than we do. Taking things entirely too literally is a skill acquired much later in life. Ghost stories and other entertainment with supernatural/gory themes are part of our history, save for that brief flirtation with Puritanism. They represent our attempts to explain that which we cannot with a little mystery and some shocks thrown in for good fun. For the majority of us, dressing up as a vampire (even with a bunch of fake blood) will not deter us from becoming semi-respectable law-abiding citizens.
And while we're on the topic, can I note some of my own highly unscientific purely anecdotal findings? Let's face it, the kids who grew up in households that forbade Halloween and ear piercing and secular music were WAY more likely to hit the path to sin and degradation running. Seriously. Write down the names of all the kids in your neighborhood and note which ones are coming up in overly-conservative alarmist households. (Extra points for home-schooling for moral or religious reasons.) Tuck that list away and Google those same kids in about 10-15 years. I guarantee you the kids you've got noted from the special families will have been in trouble at a disproportionate rate to the other kids.
So this is my battle call: go forth and celebrate Halloween!! Wear your zombie and mummy costumes proudly! Buy that shrieking graveyard decoration! Take your kids trick or treating and skip that lame-ass church carnival!
Then go home and combat some ACTUAL evil. Campaign against every Republican running in your state.
Happy Halloween, everyone!
Yes, Halloween.
Not "Autumn Carnival" or "Harvest Festival" or "Fall Fling."
IT'S FREAKIN' HALLOWEEN, PEOPLE!
Living in the big ol' shiny buckle of the Bible Belt, I am constantly reminded of how completely insulated, out of touch, and bored so many of my fellow South Carolinians can be. Today's holiday is one prime example.
Halloween is a hot button issue down here. Christian conservatives in this state spend a lot of time focused on keeping their kids away from all things remotely related to the celebration of this overwhelmingly commercialized, secular holiday. (They do not apply this same logic to Christmas.) To help combat the truly malevolent forces of things like Power Ranger costumes and jack-o-lanterns, you wind up with a lot of schools/churches/community groups sponsoring celebrations meant to take the place of the usual trick or treating. Kids can show up for rides and candy and other fun "fall" stuff. Some of them even permit costumes- so long as said costumes are nice and benign. Lots of angels and kitties; absolutely no vampires or zombies allowed.
This is f***ing ridiculous.Halloween is a holiday with a long, mixed history. Yes, some of it is pagan. And some of it is religious. Yes, some people have used the holiday as a mark for their own dark purposes. And some people use it as a fun, imaginative, silly holiday. People, it is what you MAKE OF IT. For 99% of America, this means kids in costumes inspired by televisions shows who are out to get jacked up on sugar. Letting little Suzie and Johnny dress up as Dora the Explorer and Jack Sparrow is not the gateway to their eternal damnation. Going from house to house gathering a bag full of dental doom will not result in your children joining a cult and drinking human blood for kicks on weekends.
What baffles me most about these anti-Halloween zealots is the amount of energy they devote to the absolute wrong things. There is enough legitimate evil in the world that should scare the ever-lovin' hoo ha out of people with kids. Why do these people insist on seeing darkness where it clearly doesn't have to exist? A couple of costumes from Target should be the LAST thing on a parent's radar in terms of things that could potentially harm their child. This is the insulated, out of touch part. Halloween is an evil they can handle, that they feel they can combat. The really scary things in the world are too big and too complex; so they channel their attempts to be a "good parent" into fighting against something ridiculous like Halloween.
I realize there are elements of the macabre in Halloween. Any holiday for which skulls and bloody severed hands are acceptable decorations is clearly not entirely G-rated. But it's PRETEND. It's IMAGINARY. Kids have a much better grasp on those concepts than we do. Taking things entirely too literally is a skill acquired much later in life. Ghost stories and other entertainment with supernatural/gory themes are part of our history, save for that brief flirtation with Puritanism. They represent our attempts to explain that which we cannot with a little mystery and some shocks thrown in for good fun. For the majority of us, dressing up as a vampire (even with a bunch of fake blood) will not deter us from becoming semi-respectable law-abiding citizens.
And while we're on the topic, can I note some of my own highly unscientific purely anecdotal findings? Let's face it, the kids who grew up in households that forbade Halloween and ear piercing and secular music were WAY more likely to hit the path to sin and degradation running. Seriously. Write down the names of all the kids in your neighborhood and note which ones are coming up in overly-conservative alarmist households. (Extra points for home-schooling for moral or religious reasons.) Tuck that list away and Google those same kids in about 10-15 years. I guarantee you the kids you've got noted from the special families will have been in trouble at a disproportionate rate to the other kids.
So this is my battle call: go forth and celebrate Halloween!! Wear your zombie and mummy costumes proudly! Buy that shrieking graveyard decoration! Take your kids trick or treating and skip that lame-ass church carnival!
Then go home and combat some ACTUAL evil. Campaign against every Republican running in your state.
Happy Halloween, everyone!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Dear Mr. Limbaugh: Go to hell.
Dear Rush Limbaugh:
“Shamless?”
Look in the mirror.
How low will you stoop, you egomaniacal pompous windbag?
You question a man who suffers from a legitimate degenerative disease? A man who has never done anything but try to use his time, his money, his energy (even as his own body is failing him) to help cure that disease?
What’s incredible is that your challenge of Michael J. Fox’s appearance demonstrates a horrific ignorance of the symptoms and progression of Parkinson’s Disease. What you saw in those political ads was a really good day for someone who has been living with PD for as long as he has- even with medications on board.
What’s even MORE incredible is that someone who has been publicly outed as a horrific hypocrite would have the nerve to question another man's credibility as they try to do good. What you SHOULD be doing, Mr. Limbaugh, is thanking God Almighty that you have the disease of addiction rather than having to endure the hell that Mr. Fox lives in day to day. You know how to control your disease (although you have repeatedly chosen not to). I’d be willing to bet that Mr. Fox would give anything to have that luxury.
I have to say, though, that your despicable tirade about Mr. Fox gives me great comfort. You’re scared, Mr. Limbaugh. You are frightened that you and your right-wing-nut-job friends are losing your hold. You’re so frightened that your reign of influence by publicly broadcast irrational fear, blame, and oversimplification is finished that you’ll kick a good man when he’s down but still trying hard to help.
Guess what? You should be scared. And now you’ve gone an extra step in exposing yourself for the unholy cowardly, hypocritical, power-hungry asshole devoid of any substance that you truly are.
We thank you for that. And someday, when you’re suffering from a disease that can be cured with medicine involving stem cells, you’d be right to thank us too. But you probably won’t. No biggie- you can explain it to God. I’m sure She’ll have some questions for you anyway.
The Liberal Child of a PD Patient
“Shamless?”
Look in the mirror.
How low will you stoop, you egomaniacal pompous windbag?
You question a man who suffers from a legitimate degenerative disease? A man who has never done anything but try to use his time, his money, his energy (even as his own body is failing him) to help cure that disease?
What’s incredible is that your challenge of Michael J. Fox’s appearance demonstrates a horrific ignorance of the symptoms and progression of Parkinson’s Disease. What you saw in those political ads was a really good day for someone who has been living with PD for as long as he has- even with medications on board.
What’s even MORE incredible is that someone who has been publicly outed as a horrific hypocrite would have the nerve to question another man's credibility as they try to do good. What you SHOULD be doing, Mr. Limbaugh, is thanking God Almighty that you have the disease of addiction rather than having to endure the hell that Mr. Fox lives in day to day. You know how to control your disease (although you have repeatedly chosen not to). I’d be willing to bet that Mr. Fox would give anything to have that luxury.
I have to say, though, that your despicable tirade about Mr. Fox gives me great comfort. You’re scared, Mr. Limbaugh. You are frightened that you and your right-wing-nut-job friends are losing your hold. You’re so frightened that your reign of influence by publicly broadcast irrational fear, blame, and oversimplification is finished that you’ll kick a good man when he’s down but still trying hard to help.
Guess what? You should be scared. And now you’ve gone an extra step in exposing yourself for the unholy cowardly, hypocritical, power-hungry asshole devoid of any substance that you truly are.
We thank you for that. And someday, when you’re suffering from a disease that can be cured with medicine involving stem cells, you’d be right to thank us too. But you probably won’t. No biggie- you can explain it to God. I’m sure She’ll have some questions for you anyway.
The Liberal Child of a PD Patient
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Denise Austin Porno & Cooking School
When I flipped on the television yesterday morning, the volume was turned up pretty loud- something I wasn’t aware of before hitting the power button. So I was justifiably alarmed to hear Denise Austin’s voice boom through the house:
“OOOHHH YEEAAH!!! FEEL THAT?? IT’S SUCH A NICE STRETCH IN THE BUTTOCKS!!”
Having casually tossed the remote down, I scrambled like a crazy woman to retrieve it and quiet Ms. Austin before my neighbors called the police about the pervert blonde at the back of the cul-de-sac watching bad porn at outrageous volumes.
I was awake after that. So, thanks Denise!
On a completely different note, let me make a few comments on the Lauren School of Culinary Design. A woman we know recently asked if I would teach her to cook. I hesitated, but not out of unwillingness. I just wouldn’t know how to teach someone to cook- it’s not a step by step process I can outline while someone takes notes.
See, here’s the thing… much of my “cooking” is instinct and (to be totally honest) just making shit up as I go along. I can’t count the number of times Husband has enjoyed something I made and asked where I got the recipe.
Um… recipe? You mean, like instructions? PFFT! Recipes are for AMATEURS!
Seriously- being able to cook well is about 1/3 knowledge of basic flavors and processes, etc. The other 2/3 is just having the nerve to throw some stuff together and see what happens. Sometimes this goes very well; and the more attempts you make, the more often it goes very well. Sometimes it goes very very badly and all you can do is apologize and fetch the Tums.
Last night was an example of when things go well. I frequently get it in my head I want to make some particular dish (last night’s wild hair was beef stew.) So I go out and look at a number of different recipes for that dish.
But I almost never follow any of them.
Once I have a feel for the basic genre, I pick and choose bits of each recipe, add my own creative twists, and sometimes scrap everything to start from scratch. The beef stew recipes I looked at varied widely. So yesterday morning I got up and threw in the crockpot:
2 pkgs of stew meat pieces (I think they were “round”- don’t know- they were pre-cut and that’s all that matters)
2 big ol’ packages of sliced mushrooms
A ton of canned beef broth
A couple of tablespoons tomato paste
A number of pressed garlic cloves (What do you mean “how many?” How many can you get your hands on???)
Healthy doses of kosher salt, ground mixed peppercorns, and some fresh herbs (I think it was parsley, oregano and thyme… could be wrong)
I let it ride all day while I was at work. When I got home, my concoction was entirely too thin and watery for my taste. More soupy than stewy. (Stewy. That word creeps me out.) It made sense- there really were no starches in there. Note for next time- add potatoes. So I made a nice little thickening agent (a roux if you will) out of cornstarch and water. Threw that in there and voila, a nice thick consistency. Legitimate stew. (Wouldn't that be a cool band/album name? "Legitimate stew?")
Then I had to remedy the aforementioned absence of starch. I had Bisquick, so I made up some biscuit dough with some fresh herbs and parmesan cheese for good measure. Dropped those puppies onto the cookie sheet; 10 minutes in the oven; topped them with melted butter, kosher salt, parmesan, and garlic powder. TA DA! Fancy biscuits! Emeril, eat your lard-lined heart out!
Next time I will either add a variety of vegetables to the crock pot mixture OR I will make it stove top after work and add a little red wine instead. If I do the latter, I will switch to crusty French bread for the starch. If not, the biscuits stay.
See? Making shit up! Told you!
*Note: I do not recommend this technique for baking. Apparently measuring and using the “correct” ingredients is much more important when it comes to cakes, pies, etc. My laissez-faire add-what-feels-good approach results in disasters like this:
Yes, the Damnable Red Velvet Cake. As blogged about here and here.
“OOOHHH YEEAAH!!! FEEL THAT?? IT’S SUCH A NICE STRETCH IN THE BUTTOCKS!!”
Having casually tossed the remote down, I scrambled like a crazy woman to retrieve it and quiet Ms. Austin before my neighbors called the police about the pervert blonde at the back of the cul-de-sac watching bad porn at outrageous volumes.
I was awake after that. So, thanks Denise!
On a completely different note, let me make a few comments on the Lauren School of Culinary Design. A woman we know recently asked if I would teach her to cook. I hesitated, but not out of unwillingness. I just wouldn’t know how to teach someone to cook- it’s not a step by step process I can outline while someone takes notes.
See, here’s the thing… much of my “cooking” is instinct and (to be totally honest) just making shit up as I go along. I can’t count the number of times Husband has enjoyed something I made and asked where I got the recipe.
Um… recipe? You mean, like instructions? PFFT! Recipes are for AMATEURS!
Seriously- being able to cook well is about 1/3 knowledge of basic flavors and processes, etc. The other 2/3 is just having the nerve to throw some stuff together and see what happens. Sometimes this goes very well; and the more attempts you make, the more often it goes very well. Sometimes it goes very very badly and all you can do is apologize and fetch the Tums.
Last night was an example of when things go well. I frequently get it in my head I want to make some particular dish (last night’s wild hair was beef stew.) So I go out and look at a number of different recipes for that dish.
But I almost never follow any of them.
Once I have a feel for the basic genre, I pick and choose bits of each recipe, add my own creative twists, and sometimes scrap everything to start from scratch. The beef stew recipes I looked at varied widely. So yesterday morning I got up and threw in the crockpot:
2 pkgs of stew meat pieces (I think they were “round”- don’t know- they were pre-cut and that’s all that matters)
2 big ol’ packages of sliced mushrooms
A ton of canned beef broth
A couple of tablespoons tomato paste
A number of pressed garlic cloves (What do you mean “how many?” How many can you get your hands on???)
Healthy doses of kosher salt, ground mixed peppercorns, and some fresh herbs (I think it was parsley, oregano and thyme… could be wrong)
I let it ride all day while I was at work. When I got home, my concoction was entirely too thin and watery for my taste. More soupy than stewy. (Stewy. That word creeps me out.) It made sense- there really were no starches in there. Note for next time- add potatoes. So I made a nice little thickening agent (a roux if you will) out of cornstarch and water. Threw that in there and voila, a nice thick consistency. Legitimate stew. (Wouldn't that be a cool band/album name? "Legitimate stew?")
Then I had to remedy the aforementioned absence of starch. I had Bisquick, so I made up some biscuit dough with some fresh herbs and parmesan cheese for good measure. Dropped those puppies onto the cookie sheet; 10 minutes in the oven; topped them with melted butter, kosher salt, parmesan, and garlic powder. TA DA! Fancy biscuits! Emeril, eat your lard-lined heart out!
Next time I will either add a variety of vegetables to the crock pot mixture OR I will make it stove top after work and add a little red wine instead. If I do the latter, I will switch to crusty French bread for the starch. If not, the biscuits stay.
See? Making shit up! Told you!
*Note: I do not recommend this technique for baking. Apparently measuring and using the “correct” ingredients is much more important when it comes to cakes, pies, etc. My laissez-faire add-what-feels-good approach results in disasters like this:
Yes, the Damnable Red Velvet Cake. As blogged about here and here.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Dispatches from the Baby Sis
My baby sister is hilarious. She recently moved from Gigantic City A to Sort-of-Gigantic City B to take a job with a non-profit doing community outreach and sex education. This was her email today:
Friends and Loved Ones:
Just a quick shout out from the Sort-of-Gigantic City B.
I'm settling in quite nicely. After two weeks, my belongings FINALLY arrived, and I am currently living out of half-opened-dug-through-boxes. I have, however, located such useful things as a rainbow lai, a 20 foot telephone cord (still in the box!), a pair of cat ears on a headband, and my potato masher (and since my mashed potatoes are world famous, I think this is an essential item).
The job is marvelous. I spent my days teaching sex ed to teenagers, meeting with community leaders, and taking donors out to fancy-pants lunches. You would hardly believe the sudden in-take of breath, the shock and awe, when I explain to 14 year old girls that, yes, in fact they have THREE HOLES (not two)! I particularly enjoy the exercise when we have 15 year old boys write down all the slang words they know for vagina, penis, and sexual intercourse... I go around the room and read all the words outloud in a deadpan voice. There is nothing like trying to say "one eyed big spitting snake" and "pink hairy taco" to a group of adolescent males without cracking a smile.
My apartment is vast (and mostly empty). I've made friends with the pot smoking jazz musician downstairs and the single mother of Kiddo (also downstairs). Kiddo likes to talk... a lot... so I am learning all there is to know about dinosaurs, macaroni and cheese, and the alphabet. My neighborhood is... charming in its own derelict way. I have only seen one prostitute, and we do in fact have a liquor store.
Friend M gets the gold star for the first (and only to date!) piece of mail. Please write, so that I might have your address to write you back in the many quiet hours of a tv free apartment (tv free by economic necessity, not by choice. I have missed TWO WHOLE WEEKS of America's Next Top Model, and it is truly painful).
All my love,
Baby Sis
Friends and Loved Ones:
Just a quick shout out from the Sort-of-Gigantic City B.
I'm settling in quite nicely. After two weeks, my belongings FINALLY arrived, and I am currently living out of half-opened-dug-through-boxes. I have, however, located such useful things as a rainbow lai, a 20 foot telephone cord (still in the box!), a pair of cat ears on a headband, and my potato masher (and since my mashed potatoes are world famous, I think this is an essential item).
The job is marvelous. I spent my days teaching sex ed to teenagers, meeting with community leaders, and taking donors out to fancy-pants lunches. You would hardly believe the sudden in-take of breath, the shock and awe, when I explain to 14 year old girls that, yes, in fact they have THREE HOLES (not two)! I particularly enjoy the exercise when we have 15 year old boys write down all the slang words they know for vagina, penis, and sexual intercourse... I go around the room and read all the words outloud in a deadpan voice. There is nothing like trying to say "one eyed big spitting snake" and "pink hairy taco" to a group of adolescent males without cracking a smile.
My apartment is vast (and mostly empty). I've made friends with the pot smoking jazz musician downstairs and the single mother of Kiddo (also downstairs). Kiddo likes to talk... a lot... so I am learning all there is to know about dinosaurs, macaroni and cheese, and the alphabet. My neighborhood is... charming in its own derelict way. I have only seen one prostitute, and we do in fact have a liquor store.
Friend M gets the gold star for the first (and only to date!) piece of mail. Please write, so that I might have your address to write you back in the many quiet hours of a tv free apartment (tv free by economic necessity, not by choice. I have missed TWO WHOLE WEEKS of America's Next Top Model, and it is truly painful).
All my love,
Baby Sis
Friday, October 13, 2006
The Simple Life
The last two weeks at work have sucked the ever-lovin' life out of me. There's no need to delve into the gory details, but let me make these notes.
Before going live with new time keeping/payroll and travel systems, it would be wise to:
a) finalize the details of how said systems will work, so that the training department can TEACH PEOPLE TO USE THEM
b) do so prior to the DAY THEY GO LIVE so that the training department can learn the systems and TEACH PEOPLE HOW TO USE THEM
It was a wild, wild few weeks. Suffice to say that I owe my assistant manager (Coworker Wally) about 500 pints of Starbucks ice cream and about twice that many days of comp time. So on Monday, I declared that the training department (um... that would be me... and Wally... and that's it) would be closed on Friday.
That being said- as much as these past few weeks sucked, this morning was all kinds of cake and ice cream fantastic! Around 4:30 a.m., I kind of about 1/8 of the way woke up. Not enough to annoy me, but enough I was conscious. And I thought "gee, I only have an hour until the alarm goes off." And then I thought "oh yeah.... I don't have to go to work today!!!!" It was the nicest moment of warm happy fuzziness. I was at the perfect temperature, the bed was all comfy, a nice cool breeze was coming in the window from the quiet stillness outside, Husband was snuggled up behind me... and I DIDN'T HAVE TO GO TO WORK TODAY! I fell back asleep smiling. Well, in my mind I was smiling. Didn't have a mirror handy. It's the little things, people.
It's 10:00 now. I've been up for an hour and I've managed to settle in on the couch still in my jammies with my second cup of coffee and some bad daytime television. OK, so I did throw in a load of laundry and feed the pets. And put some dishes in the dishwasher. And answered a couple of work emails.
This may be a sickness.
On to more good stuff. Sunday is our second wedding anniversary! That's right, I have somehow managed to keep Husband conned into putting up with me for TWO WHOLE YEARS. The man is a total saint. He's even indulged my new addiction to Dancing with the Stars. (Yes, yes, I know. I'm disgusted with me for you.) To celebrate 24 months of blissful brain-washing (you're getting sleeeeepy.... you reeeaaally love going to Ann Taylor...), we're taking a golf lesson and going to a nice dinner.
And in two weeks, I turn thirty. Thirty. As in twice fifteen. Three times ten. HALFWAY TO SIXTY. Wow. Is 2 weeks out too early to start drinking in "celebration"?
Before going live with new time keeping/payroll and travel systems, it would be wise to:
a) finalize the details of how said systems will work, so that the training department can TEACH PEOPLE TO USE THEM
b) do so prior to the DAY THEY GO LIVE so that the training department can learn the systems and TEACH PEOPLE HOW TO USE THEM
It was a wild, wild few weeks. Suffice to say that I owe my assistant manager (Coworker Wally) about 500 pints of Starbucks ice cream and about twice that many days of comp time. So on Monday, I declared that the training department (um... that would be me... and Wally... and that's it) would be closed on Friday.
That being said- as much as these past few weeks sucked, this morning was all kinds of cake and ice cream fantastic! Around 4:30 a.m., I kind of about 1/8 of the way woke up. Not enough to annoy me, but enough I was conscious. And I thought "gee, I only have an hour until the alarm goes off." And then I thought "oh yeah.... I don't have to go to work today!!!!" It was the nicest moment of warm happy fuzziness. I was at the perfect temperature, the bed was all comfy, a nice cool breeze was coming in the window from the quiet stillness outside, Husband was snuggled up behind me... and I DIDN'T HAVE TO GO TO WORK TODAY! I fell back asleep smiling. Well, in my mind I was smiling. Didn't have a mirror handy. It's the little things, people.
It's 10:00 now. I've been up for an hour and I've managed to settle in on the couch still in my jammies with my second cup of coffee and some bad daytime television. OK, so I did throw in a load of laundry and feed the pets. And put some dishes in the dishwasher. And answered a couple of work emails.
This may be a sickness.
On to more good stuff. Sunday is our second wedding anniversary! That's right, I have somehow managed to keep Husband conned into putting up with me for TWO WHOLE YEARS. The man is a total saint. He's even indulged my new addiction to Dancing with the Stars. (Yes, yes, I know. I'm disgusted with me for you.) To celebrate 24 months of blissful brain-washing (you're getting sleeeeepy.... you reeeaaally love going to Ann Taylor...), we're taking a golf lesson and going to a nice dinner.
And in two weeks, I turn thirty. Thirty. As in twice fifteen. Three times ten. HALFWAY TO SIXTY. Wow. Is 2 weeks out too early to start drinking in "celebration"?
Thursday, October 05, 2006
This just in: I'm an idiot.
Email I sent to the ENTIRE company regarding an error message in our new time keeping system:
All Associates:
When you approve your time, you may get a pop-up box message telling you the approval is for both time pair and supplemental earnings.
Just lick OK and then your time should be approved!
LGR
Emails I received in return:
Do you really want us to "lick" it?
Just LICK o.k.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! o.k.!!!!
I can tell you are rushed, you said to "lick" OK.
Take a few deep breaths, or better yet have lunch.
Just "lick" OK? : )
You so funny!!!
I licked the screen 4 times, but nothing happened!
Email I had to send out to my smart aleck coworkers in response:
All Associates:
Please do not lick the pop-up box. The static electricity from your screen might zap your tongue, which would hurt.
So in accordance with our commitment to workplace safety, please CLICK the OK in that pop-up box.
LGR
All Associates:
When you approve your time, you may get a pop-up box message telling you the approval is for both time pair and supplemental earnings.
Just lick OK and then your time should be approved!
LGR
Emails I received in return:
Do you really want us to "lick" it?
Just LICK o.k.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! o.k.!!!!
I can tell you are rushed, you said to "lick" OK.
Take a few deep breaths, or better yet have lunch.
Just "lick" OK? : )
You so funny!!!
I licked the screen 4 times, but nothing happened!
Email I had to send out to my smart aleck coworkers in response:
All Associates:
Please do not lick the pop-up box. The static electricity from your screen might zap your tongue, which would hurt.
So in accordance with our commitment to workplace safety, please CLICK the OK in that pop-up box.
LGR
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Another Edition of Funny Husbands Rock!
Last night, Husband and I caught a few minutes of the SMU/Tulsa game on ESPN2. OK, so he actually saw a few minutes of the game. I just half-listened while trying to get comfy in the bed. That spawned this conversation.
Me: Why are they playing on a Tuesday night? That’s weird!
Husband: SMU would play on a Monday morning if they could get on national television.
Me: Oh.
Husband: Tulsa’s mascot is a Golden Hurricane. It cracks me up that a team from a land-locked state picked a hurricane, a tropical weather system, as its mascot.
Me: Really? A hurricane? It’s Oklahoma- where the wind comes rushing down the plains. Not where the wind comes blowing in off the coast.
Husband: Exactly!
Me: They should be like… the Tulsa Tumbleweeds.
Husband: Yeah, ‘cause those are intimidating. Tumbleweeds inspire fear.
Me: You don’t know! Those things could be very prickly!
Husband: The Tulsa Tornadoes would be good.
Me: Or the Tulsa Rabid Prairie Dogs. Now THAT’S scary!
Husband: (laughing) Yes, yes, it is.
Me: Why are they playing on a Tuesday night? That’s weird!
Husband: SMU would play on a Monday morning if they could get on national television.
Me: Oh.
Husband: Tulsa’s mascot is a Golden Hurricane. It cracks me up that a team from a land-locked state picked a hurricane, a tropical weather system, as its mascot.
Me: Really? A hurricane? It’s Oklahoma- where the wind comes rushing down the plains. Not where the wind comes blowing in off the coast.
Husband: Exactly!
Me: They should be like… the Tulsa Tumbleweeds.
Husband: Yeah, ‘cause those are intimidating. Tumbleweeds inspire fear.
Me: You don’t know! Those things could be very prickly!
Husband: The Tulsa Tornadoes would be good.
Me: Or the Tulsa Rabid Prairie Dogs. Now THAT’S scary!
Husband: (laughing) Yes, yes, it is.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Friend J
Email Exchange Between Me and Friend J in California:
ME: I am so so sad about this Amish school shooting. How far into the depths of hell do you go for shooting AMISH CHILDREN?????
J: Pretty far. I believe it's the "Circle of Total Bastards."
ME: Exactly. Why can't any of these crazy people at least do something helpful during their homicidal rampages? Like shooting that senator who was soliciting pages? Or Anne Coulter? R. Kelly maybe? I mean, if you're going to take your own life in a hail of gunfire, at least let the final act you're remembered for be something GOOD FOR THE WORLD.
J: I always love how it's the repressed republicans who wind up involved in bizarre (icky) sexual tawdriness.
ME: Yep, and have you noticed it’s always the ones who have introduced legislation to crack down on these kinds of things? Like this guy- who introduced that bill in ’03 cracking down on pedophiles? Ah, self-loathing… very useful!
And later:
ME: Cauliflower is a wretched, God-forsaken vegetable suitable only for inducing vomiting in poison victims.
ME: I am so so sad about this Amish school shooting. How far into the depths of hell do you go for shooting AMISH CHILDREN?????
J: Pretty far. I believe it's the "Circle of Total Bastards."
ME: Exactly. Why can't any of these crazy people at least do something helpful during their homicidal rampages? Like shooting that senator who was soliciting pages? Or Anne Coulter? R. Kelly maybe? I mean, if you're going to take your own life in a hail of gunfire, at least let the final act you're remembered for be something GOOD FOR THE WORLD.
J: I always love how it's the repressed republicans who wind up involved in bizarre (icky) sexual tawdriness.
ME: Yep, and have you noticed it’s always the ones who have introduced legislation to crack down on these kinds of things? Like this guy- who introduced that bill in ’03 cracking down on pedophiles? Ah, self-loathing… very useful!
And later:
ME: Cauliflower is a wretched, God-forsaken vegetable suitable only for inducing vomiting in poison victims.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
The Billy Lab Report. By Jack Daniels Robbins
Hi, it’s me, Jack!
Yep, Jack! The dog. I like dirt.Do you have food?
My Mom is at work. Work gives you money. To buy food! Lots and lots of food! I love food. My Nana has been giving me food this week. And not just crunchy food, the slurpy gooey kind of food, too. She’s nice.
But Mom said I should tell you my tummy is doing good. Wait… I mean, well. (We’re working on my grammar.) I like dirt! Did I tell you that?
They took out a big part of my intestine. Which is part of your guts. And guts are gross- I like gross stuff- like the possum I played with one time! He was gross- sticky and kind of smelly. That was cool.
OK, I have to go dig now. ‘Cause I like dirt! And rocks, too. But now when I pick up a rock everyone starts fussing and going “NO, JACK, NO!”
What’s wrong with rocks?
Licky-face for everyone!
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
The Littlest, Perkiest Loser
Dear NBC:
Last night I watched the season premiere of The Biggest Loser on DVR. Loved the 50 states theme! That could have gotten hokey, but you kept it on track. Loved that Caroline Rhea is back! She seems sincerely interested in the well being of the contestants and she isn’t some stick figure herself, which makes her even more endearing. Loved that Bob returned! He’s a great trainer, he’s genuine, and did I mention he’s hot? (A note: I think Bob finally coming out of the closet would make a super addition to the finale this year.)
And then the lady trainer came zipping down next to Bob. And my inner dialogue went like this:
Yay Jilli-…wait…. that’s not Jillian!
Who the hell is that?
Why is she so damn perky? And why is she doing that cheerleader jumpy thing?
Does she really think we’ll believe those boobs came with her body?
SHE’S going to be the tough-as-nails trainer?
But what about her hair? She can’t sweat and keep her hair like that?
NBC, I am ashamed of you. You dump a great person like Jillian for this fluff? It’s not hard to figure out what happened here. Jillian was terrific- but not tremendously “feminine”. Her gravely voice and lean, cut body weren’t unattractive, but hardly conventional female beauty. She was aggressive in training the contestants; nobody would have ever called her sweet. (Not that she was uncaring. Oh, and she got the results!) Again, not typically “female”.
She’s been replace by a large-breasted conventionally pretty woman who is (so far) the portrait of stereotypical kindness and caring. She’s been replaced by a woman who is so keenly aware of how she appears to everyone that she has to constantly remind us all that she’s “not a Barbie.” Jillian was replaced by a softer cuter kinder version of the female trainer that will be more palatable to gender-norms-obsessed conservative America.
And this from a tv show that’s supposedly sending a message of self-esteem and acceptance regardless of appearance?
Shame on you, NBC.
Bring Jillian back.
Sincerely,
One Disgusted Female Viewer
Last night I watched the season premiere of The Biggest Loser on DVR. Loved the 50 states theme! That could have gotten hokey, but you kept it on track. Loved that Caroline Rhea is back! She seems sincerely interested in the well being of the contestants and she isn’t some stick figure herself, which makes her even more endearing. Loved that Bob returned! He’s a great trainer, he’s genuine, and did I mention he’s hot? (A note: I think Bob finally coming out of the closet would make a super addition to the finale this year.)
And then the lady trainer came zipping down next to Bob. And my inner dialogue went like this:
Yay Jilli-…wait…. that’s not Jillian!
Who the hell is that?
Why is she so damn perky? And why is she doing that cheerleader jumpy thing?
Does she really think we’ll believe those boobs came with her body?
SHE’S going to be the tough-as-nails trainer?
But what about her hair? She can’t sweat and keep her hair like that?
NBC, I am ashamed of you. You dump a great person like Jillian for this fluff? It’s not hard to figure out what happened here. Jillian was terrific- but not tremendously “feminine”. Her gravely voice and lean, cut body weren’t unattractive, but hardly conventional female beauty. She was aggressive in training the contestants; nobody would have ever called her sweet. (Not that she was uncaring. Oh, and she got the results!) Again, not typically “female”.
She’s been replace by a large-breasted conventionally pretty woman who is (so far) the portrait of stereotypical kindness and caring. She’s been replaced by a woman who is so keenly aware of how she appears to everyone that she has to constantly remind us all that she’s “not a Barbie.” Jillian was replaced by a softer cuter kinder version of the female trainer that will be more palatable to gender-norms-obsessed conservative America.
And this from a tv show that’s supposedly sending a message of self-esteem and acceptance regardless of appearance?
Shame on you, NBC.
Bring Jillian back.
Sincerely,
One Disgusted Female Viewer
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Billy Lab: The Post-Op Report
Good grief.
Jack did not have a tumor. What he did have was a HUGE (volleyball-sized, I’m told) callous-like thing where something he ate had TORN OPEN HIS INTESTINE and his body had tried to heal itself up. He also had a digestive track packed full of sand and rocks.
Now it’s time for obvious Q&A with Lauren:
Q: How on earth did the dog live through that?
A: We don’t know. The docs don’t know. He is a miracle of veterinary science.
Q: Why didn’t you take him to the vet sooner? He could have died!
A: We would have taken him sooner… IF HE HAD GIVEN US ANY INDICATION HE WAS SICK! Vets tell you to watch for changes in appetite and behavior. He had neither.
Q: How’s he doing now?
A: Very very well for someone who had their bowels excavated less than 24 hours ago. He’s resting comfortably, as they say.
Q: When does he come home?
A: Tomorrow. And he’ll be spending next week in Spartanburg with Nurse Nana who will see to his post-op care while Mommy & Daddy work overtime to pay the vet bill.
Q: Oh yeah… how much is this going to cost?
A: We’re not going to ask that question until we have to pay in order to get our dog back.
Q: How are you going to keep him from doing this again?
A: Good freakin’ question. There’s a handsome reward (o.k.- we’ll make you dinner and get you drunk) for anyone who gives us the magical solution!
Jack did not have a tumor. What he did have was a HUGE (volleyball-sized, I’m told) callous-like thing where something he ate had TORN OPEN HIS INTESTINE and his body had tried to heal itself up. He also had a digestive track packed full of sand and rocks.
Now it’s time for obvious Q&A with Lauren:
Q: How on earth did the dog live through that?
A: We don’t know. The docs don’t know. He is a miracle of veterinary science.
Q: Why didn’t you take him to the vet sooner? He could have died!
A: We would have taken him sooner… IF HE HAD GIVEN US ANY INDICATION HE WAS SICK! Vets tell you to watch for changes in appetite and behavior. He had neither.
Q: How’s he doing now?
A: Very very well for someone who had their bowels excavated less than 24 hours ago. He’s resting comfortably, as they say.
Q: When does he come home?
A: Tomorrow. And he’ll be spending next week in Spartanburg with Nurse Nana who will see to his post-op care while Mommy & Daddy work overtime to pay the vet bill.
Q: Oh yeah… how much is this going to cost?
A: We’re not going to ask that question until we have to pay in order to get our dog back.
Q: How are you going to keep him from doing this again?
A: Good freakin’ question. There’s a handsome reward (o.k.- we’ll make you dinner and get you drunk) for anyone who gives us the magical solution!
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Billy Lab Update
Seems that in addition to "a lot of rocks in his stomach," the vet has also found a large tumor on Jack's small intestine. They are removing a portion of said small intestine right now. :(
Poor sweetie.
Poor sweetie.
New Breed: Billy Lab
Poor Jack.
Loyal readers will recall that our sweet doggie Jack has a history of interesting digestive episodes. He has the eating habits of a billy goat with a tapeworm, so this latest development shouldn’t surprise anyone.
About a week and a half ago, I took Jack to the vet for his annual visit and to address some weight loss issues. They did a bunch of tests and found nothing, but decided to deworm him just in case. 10 days later he was back at the vet, down another 3 ½ pounds and with what I shall politely call some potty problems.
Again, bloodwork and other tests showed nothing remarkable, except for some slightly altered levels in a few proteins. Phrases like “exploratory surgery” and “ultrasound with biopsy” and “masses in the abdomen” began to be thrown around. But our vet (a funny, kind, practical woman we adore) suggested that we first take an abdominal x-ray to see if it showed anything obvious. Jack apparently supported this idea – he cooperated long enough to be x-rayed without sedation.
The vet came back in with the x-ray and said “Leave it to your dog…”
To which I replied “Oh God… .what did he eat?”
Vet Lady: “I don’t know… but there’s a lot of it.”
Me: “Well… there was that Texas ball cap. And the three toys he chewed up last week. Oh, and he likes paper napkins a lot. He gobbles up rocks on walks. Did I mention the toy plane? He only got half of that….” (you get the picture)
Vet Lady: "Wow..."
Me (looking at x-ray): “Is that half a tennis ball?”
Vet Lady: “Hmmm… could be.”
Me: “What is THAT? Some kind of twine? String?”
Vet Lady: “I won’t really know until I get in there. But see those bright white flecks? That’s probably metal.”
Me (to the dog): “Nice work, Jack!”
Jack: *slurp* *lick* * BELCH*
So the result is that our boy is going under the knife as I type. Neither I nor the vet nor anyone in the vet’s office can tell what he’s got in there, but whatever it is, it’s blocking his colon and parts of his small intestine. The good news is the vet assured us this did NOT look like a tumor or other naturally-occurring mass. So provided we can keep him from eating half a landfill again, he shouldn’t have any more troubles after the surgery.
Right.
Will they let me use my flexible spending account to put back money for next time?
Loyal readers will recall that our sweet doggie Jack has a history of interesting digestive episodes. He has the eating habits of a billy goat with a tapeworm, so this latest development shouldn’t surprise anyone.
About a week and a half ago, I took Jack to the vet for his annual visit and to address some weight loss issues. They did a bunch of tests and found nothing, but decided to deworm him just in case. 10 days later he was back at the vet, down another 3 ½ pounds and with what I shall politely call some potty problems.
Again, bloodwork and other tests showed nothing remarkable, except for some slightly altered levels in a few proteins. Phrases like “exploratory surgery” and “ultrasound with biopsy” and “masses in the abdomen” began to be thrown around. But our vet (a funny, kind, practical woman we adore) suggested that we first take an abdominal x-ray to see if it showed anything obvious. Jack apparently supported this idea – he cooperated long enough to be x-rayed without sedation.
The vet came back in with the x-ray and said “Leave it to your dog…”
To which I replied “Oh God… .what did he eat?”
Vet Lady: “I don’t know… but there’s a lot of it.”
Me: “Well… there was that Texas ball cap. And the three toys he chewed up last week. Oh, and he likes paper napkins a lot. He gobbles up rocks on walks. Did I mention the toy plane? He only got half of that….” (you get the picture)
Vet Lady: "Wow..."
Me (looking at x-ray): “Is that half a tennis ball?”
Vet Lady: “Hmmm… could be.”
Me: “What is THAT? Some kind of twine? String?”
Vet Lady: “I won’t really know until I get in there. But see those bright white flecks? That’s probably metal.”
Me (to the dog): “Nice work, Jack!”
Jack: *slurp* *lick* * BELCH*
So the result is that our boy is going under the knife as I type. Neither I nor the vet nor anyone in the vet’s office can tell what he’s got in there, but whatever it is, it’s blocking his colon and parts of his small intestine. The good news is the vet assured us this did NOT look like a tumor or other naturally-occurring mass. So provided we can keep him from eating half a landfill again, he shouldn’t have any more troubles after the surgery.
Right.
Will they let me use my flexible spending account to put back money for next time?
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Terrier Wishes & Gamecock Dreams
Another post on the topic of perspective, folks, but this one slightly less serious.
The University of South Carolina Gamecocks played the Wofford Terriers yesterday. As predicted, USC won. But not by much. 27-20, as a matter of fact. Here’s where perspective comes in.
USC is a VERY large public university with an incredibly well funded athletics program, the expenses of which include the multi-million dollar salary of one Steve Spurrier. Wofford is a small, 1,2000 student private school (Husband’s alma mater, by the way) that has a very nice size endowment for a 1AA school, but usually has about 8,000 in attendance at their games compared to USC’s roughly 70,000. You’d have to superglue two of Wofford’s linemen together to get one of USC’s.
This match up was supposed to be a veritable bloodbath at the hands of USC. Husband and I joked as the game began- that Wofford was essentially entering the Coliseum and their players should watch out for those pesky lions. The injury report could read “Smith- decapitation by lion- out for season”. Can’t you just see Spurrier giving the emperor-esque thumbs down? The trainers could attach a laurel wreath to that @#$@#%$#@ stupid ass visor. We figured Spurrier could give some good playing time to the guy who replaces the urinal cakes. You get the idea.
AND USC ONLY WON BY SEVEN POINTS. Wofford was the David and USC was the Goliath. To make matters worse, there was some … um… sketchy officiating, shall we say? Wofford got mistreated by the refs a couple of times which should have only made the routing by USC even worse. But no. USC barely squeaked out the win by subverting a Wofford touchdown in the last moments.
As usual, the local media outlets refused to be bothered by reality. To hear “Gamecock TV” and other local sports reports tell it, the game went something like this:
USC showed up early, studied for a few exams, donated a kidney each, and had a prayer circle. They then proceeded to thwart a terrorist attack, save a litter of homeless puppies, help a few old ladies across the street, cure cancer, and win the game by about 700 points. Steve Spurrier was officially declared the second coming of Christ and the players were awarded Nobel Peace Prizes.
The delusional allegiance to USC football baffles me. They play like second-string high school kids and barely beat a team they should have stomped, but it’s treated like a bowl game win against Ohio State.
On another note, I’ve coined a new football term. You’ve heard of “coughing it up”, right? Here was last night’s conversation:
Husband: Uh-oh… he **coughing noise** coughed it up
Me: Oh, honey… that wasn’t a cough… that wasn’t some mild-mannered dry heave. He vomited that football. That was a SPEW.
Husband: Man, if I was a commentator, I’d totally use that. ‘Lee, he vomited that football like an airsick guy with a hangover at an exorcism!’
The University of South Carolina Gamecocks played the Wofford Terriers yesterday. As predicted, USC won. But not by much. 27-20, as a matter of fact. Here’s where perspective comes in.
USC is a VERY large public university with an incredibly well funded athletics program, the expenses of which include the multi-million dollar salary of one Steve Spurrier. Wofford is a small, 1,2000 student private school (Husband’s alma mater, by the way) that has a very nice size endowment for a 1AA school, but usually has about 8,000 in attendance at their games compared to USC’s roughly 70,000. You’d have to superglue two of Wofford’s linemen together to get one of USC’s.
This match up was supposed to be a veritable bloodbath at the hands of USC. Husband and I joked as the game began- that Wofford was essentially entering the Coliseum and their players should watch out for those pesky lions. The injury report could read “Smith- decapitation by lion- out for season”. Can’t you just see Spurrier giving the emperor-esque thumbs down? The trainers could attach a laurel wreath to that @#$@#%$#@ stupid ass visor. We figured Spurrier could give some good playing time to the guy who replaces the urinal cakes. You get the idea.
AND USC ONLY WON BY SEVEN POINTS. Wofford was the David and USC was the Goliath. To make matters worse, there was some … um… sketchy officiating, shall we say? Wofford got mistreated by the refs a couple of times which should have only made the routing by USC even worse. But no. USC barely squeaked out the win by subverting a Wofford touchdown in the last moments.
As usual, the local media outlets refused to be bothered by reality. To hear “Gamecock TV” and other local sports reports tell it, the game went something like this:
USC showed up early, studied for a few exams, donated a kidney each, and had a prayer circle. They then proceeded to thwart a terrorist attack, save a litter of homeless puppies, help a few old ladies across the street, cure cancer, and win the game by about 700 points. Steve Spurrier was officially declared the second coming of Christ and the players were awarded Nobel Peace Prizes.
The delusional allegiance to USC football baffles me. They play like second-string high school kids and barely beat a team they should have stomped, but it’s treated like a bowl game win against Ohio State.
On another note, I’ve coined a new football term. You’ve heard of “coughing it up”, right? Here was last night’s conversation:
Husband: Uh-oh… he **coughing noise** coughed it up
Me: Oh, honey… that wasn’t a cough… that wasn’t some mild-mannered dry heave. He vomited that football. That was a SPEW.
Husband: Man, if I was a commentator, I’d totally use that. ‘Lee, he vomited that football like an airsick guy with a hangover at an exorcism!’
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Better Days, Worse Hotels
Feeling a little better today. It’s a strange business, this grieving. Yesterday was a deep dark hole. Today is better- easier. Tomorrow? Who the hell knows. That’s tomorrow.
I’m headed to Ocean City, Maryland on business today. The website photos remind me very much of every generic cheesy boardwalk hotel in Myrtle Beach. You know the places… décor in pinks and turquoise with seashell motifs, nautical themed restaurants with roped pilings and fake seagulls. Great cheap spots if you’re headed to the beach with a gaggle of elementary-school aged kids who will enjoy having a miniature golf course on every corner. Icky. We’ve been making fun of this place for weeks now and the running joke has been about how many of these hotels have BOWLING ALLEYS in them. Yes, bowling alleys. In the hotel. No SPA, mind you, but rental shoes galore! In the spirit of these tacky accommodations, we’ve come up with the klassy boardwalk hotel trifecta. You must have:
A bowling alley
A lazy river
A ferris wheel
Of course the ferris wheel can be within 4 or 5 blocks and still count. (They are hard to actually fit into the hotel proper.) You also get extra credit for having more than 4 miniature golf courses visible from the front door of the hotel. Oh, and SUPER extra credit if you can get a hotel bowling shirt embroidered with your name!
So the full report on the hotel and the shenanigans of my trip when I return. I’m traveling with Wally and we’ll be seeing V.D., so it ought to be interesting! In the mean time, will someone please take a casserole by my house so that Husband won’t eat Applebee’s boneless buffalo wings all three nights????
I’m headed to Ocean City, Maryland on business today. The website photos remind me very much of every generic cheesy boardwalk hotel in Myrtle Beach. You know the places… décor in pinks and turquoise with seashell motifs, nautical themed restaurants with roped pilings and fake seagulls. Great cheap spots if you’re headed to the beach with a gaggle of elementary-school aged kids who will enjoy having a miniature golf course on every corner. Icky. We’ve been making fun of this place for weeks now and the running joke has been about how many of these hotels have BOWLING ALLEYS in them. Yes, bowling alleys. In the hotel. No SPA, mind you, but rental shoes galore! In the spirit of these tacky accommodations, we’ve come up with the klassy boardwalk hotel trifecta. You must have:
A bowling alley
A lazy river
A ferris wheel
Of course the ferris wheel can be within 4 or 5 blocks and still count. (They are hard to actually fit into the hotel proper.) You also get extra credit for having more than 4 miniature golf courses visible from the front door of the hotel. Oh, and SUPER extra credit if you can get a hotel bowling shirt embroidered with your name!
So the full report on the hotel and the shenanigans of my trip when I return. I’m traveling with Wally and we’ll be seeing V.D., so it ought to be interesting! In the mean time, will someone please take a casserole by my house so that Husband won’t eat Applebee’s boneless buffalo wings all three nights????
Monday, September 11, 2006
Selfishness
I’m filled with a lot of sadness today, but not for the reasons you might think and I’m struggling with my own selfishness. Yes, I have thought of the families of the victims of 9/11. It would be difficult not to with every news source on the planet doing a blitz of five-year-memorial coverage. And yes, I am sorry for their losses. It was an awful, tragic, hateful, ugly thing for their loved ones to be ripped away just for going about their business in the wrong place at the wrong time or on the wrong plane. It’s not that I don’t recognize their pain and it’s not that I don’t care about what they suffered, what our country suffered, that day five years ago.
But I find I don’t have room in my heart or in my head for their sadness today. My own sadness is not yet five months removed, much less five years. True, my tragedy was on a much smaller, much quieter scale. Just one life was lost and not a word of it was on the news. I completely appreciate how my baby's death pales in respect to what happened in NYC and DC and Pennsylvania. It wasn’t a violent cataclysmic event that affected the psyche of a nation or the course of history.
But it affected my psyche. And my history. And those of my sweet Husband and our families. And we are not yet recovered. In fact, I think my own recovery has just begun. In the weeks immediately after Cecilia’s birth, I was the portrait of carefully measured mourning. I applauded myself for my own stoicism- for handling things so rationally, so logically. I acknowledged my grief, but I was never overcome by it. I returned to my normal daily life quickly and seemingly without incident. I was very proud of how well I’d done and how little bother I’d been to anyone.
What’s that phrase? “Calm before the storm?” In this case, the storm consists of alternating floods of anger and sadness that threaten to drown me; they are so all-consuming. I’m furious with the woman in the department store who is short with her two little children. Does she have ANY idea how lucky she is? I begin to cry when I see tiny pink feet peeking out carriers and strollers. Fortunately I am sane enough never to consider it, but a small dark part of me understands how a woman who has held her baby’s lifeless body could come to a moment in her grief when picking up that beautiful newborn from the grocery cart and simply walking out the door would be too much to resist. I can’t even begin to describe the sickening mixture of resentment and sadness brought on by the sight of hugely pregnant women.
I’m well aware of my selfishness and of how irrational I’m being. My logical mind knows that none of these people had anything to do with the damned missing chromosome that robbed us of Cecilia. It has certainly occurred to me that I’m awful for not just being happy that someone else doesn’t have to endure what we went through. I’m sorry, but I’m just not feeling that charitable.
And I’m sorry if I can’t muster a moment of properly somber silence for the victims of the terrorist attacks. Forgive me if I don’t attend the memorial services and freedom marches. I truly do wish their families well and I can appreciate that I am a horrific bitch for my callousness towards their plight on what should rightfully be their day of remembrance. It's just that my memories are all too fresh- my baby should have been born next week, but she died four months ago and there just isn’t room in my heart for anything else. I doubt there will be for some time.
But I find I don’t have room in my heart or in my head for their sadness today. My own sadness is not yet five months removed, much less five years. True, my tragedy was on a much smaller, much quieter scale. Just one life was lost and not a word of it was on the news. I completely appreciate how my baby's death pales in respect to what happened in NYC and DC and Pennsylvania. It wasn’t a violent cataclysmic event that affected the psyche of a nation or the course of history.
But it affected my psyche. And my history. And those of my sweet Husband and our families. And we are not yet recovered. In fact, I think my own recovery has just begun. In the weeks immediately after Cecilia’s birth, I was the portrait of carefully measured mourning. I applauded myself for my own stoicism- for handling things so rationally, so logically. I acknowledged my grief, but I was never overcome by it. I returned to my normal daily life quickly and seemingly without incident. I was very proud of how well I’d done and how little bother I’d been to anyone.
What’s that phrase? “Calm before the storm?” In this case, the storm consists of alternating floods of anger and sadness that threaten to drown me; they are so all-consuming. I’m furious with the woman in the department store who is short with her two little children. Does she have ANY idea how lucky she is? I begin to cry when I see tiny pink feet peeking out carriers and strollers. Fortunately I am sane enough never to consider it, but a small dark part of me understands how a woman who has held her baby’s lifeless body could come to a moment in her grief when picking up that beautiful newborn from the grocery cart and simply walking out the door would be too much to resist. I can’t even begin to describe the sickening mixture of resentment and sadness brought on by the sight of hugely pregnant women.
I’m well aware of my selfishness and of how irrational I’m being. My logical mind knows that none of these people had anything to do with the damned missing chromosome that robbed us of Cecilia. It has certainly occurred to me that I’m awful for not just being happy that someone else doesn’t have to endure what we went through. I’m sorry, but I’m just not feeling that charitable.
And I’m sorry if I can’t muster a moment of properly somber silence for the victims of the terrorist attacks. Forgive me if I don’t attend the memorial services and freedom marches. I truly do wish their families well and I can appreciate that I am a horrific bitch for my callousness towards their plight on what should rightfully be their day of remembrance. It's just that my memories are all too fresh- my baby should have been born next week, but she died four months ago and there just isn’t room in my heart for anything else. I doubt there will be for some time.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Cryogenics in the Workplace
So. Cold. In. Office.
Blankets. Please. Send. Blankets.
Seriously, folks, the inability of corporate America to use climate control systems with any degree of success is a major blight on this country’s reputation. We can put people into space, but every office building on the planet must remain at sub-zero temperatures? WTF???? For a supposed superpower, we sure are subverting our own workforce. Note to the “powers that be”: it is very difficult to type when you CAN’T FEEL YOUR FREAKIN’ FINGERS!
The absurdity of it just kills me. I have to wear layers of clothing to allow for the temperature in a building that has an elaborate electronic thermostat system. My nose runs from the cold when I’m sitting at my desk. I rarely worry about refrigerating my lunch… spoilage? Not on this building manager’s watch! The women who work downstairs have blankets and quilts in their cubicles for use/wear in the meeting rooms, which are even colder than the office space. I have actually looked forward to printing large documents because it means I get to sit with my icy digits pressed up against the heat radiating from the printer! My laptop is a Dell, but let me just tell you, there is absolutely no chance of my battery catching fire- it’d have to burn through the layer of permafrost first. It’s 1:15 p.m. and the diet Coke I’ve been sipping since 11:00 a.m. is still chilled to perfection.
So here’s the million-dollar question… WHY? Are they trying to stave off absenteeism from illness by creating an environment in which no bacteria stands any chance of survival? Do they believe that warm=sleepy=unproductive? Is someone running a secret black market kidney transplant business on the 4th floor?
This issue weighs heavily on my mind. (And this snowsuit is weighing heavily on my body…)
Blankets. Please. Send. Blankets.
Seriously, folks, the inability of corporate America to use climate control systems with any degree of success is a major blight on this country’s reputation. We can put people into space, but every office building on the planet must remain at sub-zero temperatures? WTF???? For a supposed superpower, we sure are subverting our own workforce. Note to the “powers that be”: it is very difficult to type when you CAN’T FEEL YOUR FREAKIN’ FINGERS!
The absurdity of it just kills me. I have to wear layers of clothing to allow for the temperature in a building that has an elaborate electronic thermostat system. My nose runs from the cold when I’m sitting at my desk. I rarely worry about refrigerating my lunch… spoilage? Not on this building manager’s watch! The women who work downstairs have blankets and quilts in their cubicles for use/wear in the meeting rooms, which are even colder than the office space. I have actually looked forward to printing large documents because it means I get to sit with my icy digits pressed up against the heat radiating from the printer! My laptop is a Dell, but let me just tell you, there is absolutely no chance of my battery catching fire- it’d have to burn through the layer of permafrost first. It’s 1:15 p.m. and the diet Coke I’ve been sipping since 11:00 a.m. is still chilled to perfection.
So here’s the million-dollar question… WHY? Are they trying to stave off absenteeism from illness by creating an environment in which no bacteria stands any chance of survival? Do they believe that warm=sleepy=unproductive? Is someone running a secret black market kidney transplant business on the 4th floor?
This issue weighs heavily on my mind. (And this snowsuit is weighing heavily on my body…)
Friday, September 01, 2006
Be careful what you ask for...
I am the Training Manager. When people need training, they fill out a form requesting said training. The form asks a lot of generic questions- name, phone extension, department, etc. But since we have offices in something like eight states, the form also asks for the location of the employee(s) to be trained. The form I received today responded to the location question with:
"At desk."
"At desk."
Another edition of... Funny Husbands Rock!
Me (yawning while talking): YOOODOTADOFFUNNN?
Husband: Um…
Me: What? You didn’t get all that?
Husband: I’m sorry, the subtitles didn’t come up.
Even in his tremendously-stressed-about-work state, he's a funny monkey! :)
My Favorite New Song: "Here It Goes Again" by OK GO
What does it mean when the temperature drops to a high of 83 and you start pulling out hoodies? (Note to self: get iron level checked.)
Husband: Um…
Me: What? You didn’t get all that?
Husband: I’m sorry, the subtitles didn’t come up.
Even in his tremendously-stressed-about-work state, he's a funny monkey! :)
My Favorite New Song: "Here It Goes Again" by OK GO
What does it mean when the temperature drops to a high of 83 and you start pulling out hoodies? (Note to self: get iron level checked.)
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