I talked to my sister last night. CPS inspected their home and found nothing wrong, and then they went to the kids' schools (three different schools for four kids), pulled them out of class, and interviewed them. My sister got a call later and the rep said that she had "four delightful children". All concerns have been dropped, and now CPS is following up on the false allegations.

Damn skippy.

Labels: drama, family, journal, misc

Posted by Laura at 8:34 AM | Permalink | Comments

There are several topics of conversation that I have meant to post here and never got around to it. Contrary to my usual forgetfulness, I actually remember what they are, and here you may read, in no particular order:

The box. So, the day before Thanksgiving I got another box from my Uncle with stuff he (or really, his non-pack-ratty girlfriend) wanted to remove from their basement (mentioned here).

"We stopped back at my uncle's (it's weird to say it's his place now, rather than Grandma's) for a few more minutes, and I went through some of my old belongings to weed out what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to throw away. Calvin was cracking up at my old school papers (a two-foot tall stack of them dating from kindergarten all the way through high school), and I pointed out to him the multiple A's and 100's. I laughed at my old high school yearbook and some attempts at artwork (I was never artistically inclined), and my uncle and I discussed how best to ship my mother's sterling silver flatware.

Though maybe he should hold onto it, in case we end up moving to Maine in the near future."

My Uncle decided to send along the papers from my elementary and high school years, a painting of my mother and father in their wedding finery, the silver flatware set, assorted pictures and albums, and an appointment book that my mother kept during the year 1959, when she was sixteen years old.

I promptly sat down on the couch and read the entries aloud to Calvin. It was really cool to get this glimpse into her life back then. However, we were both astonished by one glaring observation. Not to put too fine a point on it, but my mother got AROUND. She'd note a date with one boy, where they went, what time she got home (often after 2:00 a.m.), then the next day she'd note a fight with said boy, then the next day she'd record a date with a different boy. Now, this would be funny if it had been recorded thus once or twice, but there were multiple notations of this cycle happening - always a date with the originally mentioned boy, after which there would be a fight and she'd go out with someone completely different, every time. Often mentioned too were the times she was out with someone else and saw the first boy at the same place, also with someone else. Fights usually ensued then, too.

That boy ended up being her first husband. Natch.

The Grandparents. A couple of days before Christmas we went to Calvin's sister K's house for the traditional family get-together. Food was eaten, conversation was discussed, gifts were opened, children were causing havoc. When things started to die down, I noticed Calvin's Grandfather sitting by himself on the couch. I had been sitting at the dining room table, also by myself (everyone seemed to congregate in the kitchen all of a sudden), looking at old picture albums of Calvin and his sisters when they were little. There were a lot of pictures of his mother and the grandparents from back in the 60's and 70's as well.

I grabbed one of the albums and went over to sit next to Grandfather. He is in his 80's and is getting rather infirm. Sometimes it's hard to talk to him because he's not altogether lucid all the time. And on this evening it seemed like he was fading - either from illness or from just being tired, I don't know. Grandmother came and joined us after a few minutes, too. She's as spry and sharp as ever, and has been going through a lot lately trying to keep Grandfather's health up.

Now, being as sensitive to Grandparents as I am, I had an immediate feeling of time running out in which to spend time with this lovely man. So I knew I wanted to create a memory with him, and with Grandmother, and so I sat and opened the album. I pulled out one of their wedding pictures and passed it to Grandfather. His gaze sharpened and his face lit up, and he started telling me all about his wedding day with Grandmother. She interjected details, and they laughed and sighed about how young they were. I asked them how they met and Grandfather told me all about how a friend introduced them and he used to have to drive for hours whenever he wanted to see Grandmother. Grandmother said they had to get married because, "Grandfather wasn't getting any sleep." We all had a good laugh at how naughty that sounded. They married three months after meeting.

I removed more pictures and passed them between Grandmother and Grandfather. There were a couple of them in their jammies on Christmas morning back when Calvin and his sisters were little, and Grandfather said, "Now these pictures should have stayed tucked in the dresser under the underwear, Grandmother! How'd they get out?" It seemed like the more we talked and the more pictures we looked at, the more animated and articulate Grandfather became. I was a little worried that the nostalgia would just serve to depress them, but they really seemed to enjoy going back through the memories.

I'm so glad I got to spend that hour with them.

My sister. My sister and I have had our differences. The primary reason for that is because we are different. However, we are also very, very alike in some respects. So differences are usually put aside fairly quickly. I'm glad to say that after the misunderstandings of this summer we're back to talking on a fairly regular basis.

I called her on Christmas to wish her and her family happy, and she didn't pick up. Now, regular readers are aware of the tag-like nature of our contacts... to whit, I leave her a bazillion messages and she takes her time getting back to me. So I figured this circumstance was no different, except for the fact that it was Christmas and so therefore a little odd that she didn't pick up.

She finally called me back (three messages later in which I sobbed, "You don't looooove meeeee, you're favorite (only) sister, anymore!") on New Year's Eve.

And so I heard the saga of why she hadn't been calling.

Seems her family and a nearby neighbor family are feuding. They used to be very close friends... they are, in fact, the family that we all hung out with while Calvin and I were back in Maine in May. Now, the details of the feud are a little fuzzy to me since she was desperately upset while she was sharing the story. From what I got, the neighbors have been plowing across my sister's driveway, thereby building a large snow bank that they can't drive past and have to pay to have excavated. The neighbors were asked several times not to do this, they kept doing it, so my sister (I think) threatened to call the neighbor's employer about the fact that he was using a company vehicle (the plow) for personal use.

The neighbors retaliated by breaking into my sister's suburban (parked at the bottom of the driveway because they can't get past the snow bank), taking all of the Christmas presents hidden in the back (hidden there because there's no place to hide presents from the kids inside the house), throwing them out on the street and running them over.

ALL the Christmas presents. My sisters four kids had no Christmas this year because of this.

To boot, the neighbors called and filed completely untrue and erroneous charges with Child Protective Services, saying that my sister and her husband were abusing their kids, that the house was unlivable, and that the kids should be removed from my sister's custody.

Of course, CPS has to investigate every charge (even though they were made aware of the fact that these neighbors were then heard bragging about the trouble they had caused my sister and her family, down at the local pub). They visited yesterday, and my sister hasn't returned my message to let me know how things went.

I'm sure everything is fine - one thing my sister is VERY capable of is motherhood, and those kids are healthy and happy and crazy. I just can't believe that people can DO this kind of thing to other people. If I had this family's name (I gather from my sister that it's the wife more than the husband that's being spiteful), I would post their name right here on this site and encourage my readers to send them hate mail. Just the very idea that someone WITH KIDS can purposefully ruin the Christmas of SOMEONE ELSE'S KIDS, and then proceed to mess with their happiness and sense of security... well, there's a special level of Hell reserved for that kind of person.

The kids of both families continue to be friends, oblivious of the ridiculous machinations going on. In this case, the kids are being much more mature than my sister's idiotic neighbors.

Labels: family, journal

Posted by Laura at 2:50 PM | Permalink | Comments

339 = the number of e-mails awaiting me when I logged in for work this morning. I guess when you divide that number by the number of days it's been since I've been at work (16), that's only 21 messages per day. I'll be gosh-darned if I'm going to log in on my vacation just to maintain my e-mails, though. Sixteen days of blissful ignorance is worth the three or four hours it's going to take me to plow through these and weed out the urgent ones.

I spent two hours yesterday picking up land mines in the back yard (I swear I'm going to stop feeding those dogs), then scrubbing out, rinsing, and re-filling the hot tub (it's been empty since shortly after Thanksgiving). Now I need the hot tub to relax the muscles in my back that are screaming because of yesterday's activities.

It's been raining off and on since last night, and the northern elevations are getting snow like gangbusters. We will probably do some in-state skiing in the coming weekends. And then need the hot tub again. Because we are old and out of shape and skiing is a young, shapely person's sport. Yet, we are game. And perhaps foolish.

Today's Manic Monday activities include: work (natch), laundry, grocery shopping at two different stores, picking up critters for the critters, picking up prescriptions, cleaning the kitchen, cleaning the cat closet, taking back the rental movies, and working out. Aaaaand soaking in the hot tub.

Calvin and I went to see the new National Treasure movie. It was fun, historically inaccurate, and highly improbable. We did not go to see a history lesson, however, and so we enjoyed.

My husband and I now know what we want to be when we grow up. Bartenders. We shall sell and get out of Arizona, buy a condo or loft in the Old Port in Portland, Maine, and get jobs within walking distance as bartenders. You'd all be shocked at how completely serious we are about this. We even have a bartendress friend at our oft-visited local that is willing to teach us the ropes. At the end of this year, or the beginning of next, we shall begin to make plans in earnest. We're just waiting for the housing market to turn back around so we can get enough equity out of our property.

Finally, I am determined to lose thirty pounds. My plan is to eat 1000 calories Monday through Friday (easing up but not going overboard on the weekends), work out six days a week, and finally do something about this nonsense. I'm serious this time. No, really. I'll stand on the scale in front of Calvin if I have to in order to kick myself in my own ass and get some motivation.

For crying out loud.

Labels: goals, journal, movies, Op:Goddess, work

Posted by Laura at 8:44 AM | Permalink | Comments

Drat, I just spilled tea on myself. I cleared my throat just before I took a sip, Zoe (sitting at my side on the couch) took that to mean something in her squeaky twittery alien cat language, butted my elbow with her head while uttering her weird "prrrowt?" (always questions with that one), and thus I sloshed on myself. And just now Oz tried to jump up to snuggle with me, Zoe growled at him, he jumped back down, and now he's sitting on the rug with his back turned and his ears expressing his disdain.

No snuggling in a patch of sunlight and giving mutual tongue baths for these two.

I have a load to do today, which is my penance for not having to work when Calvin does. I'm hoping to have the house clean, the groceries purchased, and the potato soup in process before he gets home. We never go out on New Year's Eve - too many drunk drivers, and neither one of us are fond of crowds. I usually make up a load of munchies that we can graze upon throughout the night, we mix cocktails galore, and watch movies until midnight.

Tonight's munchies include chips and veggies and dip, baby roast beef sandwiches on potato rolls, the aforementioned potato soup, cheese and summer sausage and crackers, and maybe I'll do up a batch of deviled eggs. If I could do "appetizer meals" every night of the week, I would. In fact, Calvin and I frequently order several appetizers at restaurants in lieu of actual meals. I guess our palates have ODD.

Tonight's movies include Shrek The Third (I do not have high hopes) and Stardust (I do have high hopes). Tonight's cocktails include the standard Fat Tire and 1554 brews, tequila, vodka, and possibly oatmeal cookie shots.

We're going to go out of 2007 the way we went into it... buzzed.

I'll probably post again later, but if I don't, Happy New Year you guys!!!

Labels: holiday, journal

Posted by Laura at 11:30 AM | Permalink | Comments

This is the first time I've felt like writing since, well, the last time I wrote.

I came down with a Bug of Misery on Christmas Day night. After all of the cooking, cleaning, further cooking, family stuff, more family stuff, yet MORE cooking, wrapping, eating, and more cleaning, my body did indeed decide to "collapse in a heap" as I had previously envisioned. My preferred "heap" would have been a pyjama-wearing book-reading festival of laziness. The actual "heap" ended up being a pyjama-wearing pillow-drooling medicated celebration of mucus.

Deee-lish.

I owe many people phone calls (hi Heather!), e-mails (hi Jayne!), and instant messaging (hi Jen!). I love you all. Really, I do. I have an excuse, nay, a reason for not responding to you all. I have been completely off-line - Internet, telephone, or any contact with the outside world whatsoever - since Tuesday.

It was kind of refreshing, in a medicine-induced coma sort of way.

At any rate, I'm better today. Well enough to work out for the first time in, well, forever, even. Tonight Calvin and I are going to Dark Horse to watch the Patriots celebrate their victory over the Giants and record the fourth undefeated regular season in NFL history. Them's my boys. And I am SO not jinxing it. It WILL happen. Mark my words.

Anyway, I'm back. So, hi there.

Labels: health, journal

Posted by Laura at 3:06 PM | Permalink | Comments

Today is the last day that I physically have to be in the office until January 8th. I "work from home" (picture air quotes on purpose) tomorrow, which really means I will be logged into the network and will periodically check for new e-mails or IM's, but really I'm going to be cooking, waiting for the FedEx guy to deliver the lobsters (de liver de lobsters de sooner de better de later de lobsters de madder I getter!), and wrapping presents. All without getting dressed. Because that's just how I roll. Then I'm on vacation for two glorious weeks. Weeks which will be filled with, well, glory. At least, they better be.

Yesterday was a Very Bad Day. I was Stressy McStresserson at work and had to work until 6:00 when all I wanted to do was get busy on the stuff piling up to be done at HOME. Calvin was not having a good day either, so what prompted him to go Christmas shopping for me at the MALL at 5:00 on the Wednesday before Christmas is beyond me. He rode off on his motorcycle while I was on a teleconference (having come home in time to take it in my jammies). I finished up and was in the process of making Walnut Chews in the kitchen when he came exploding back into the house. And I do mean EXPLODING.

While trying to pay for my gift, his card was declined at the counter -- in front of everybody. Now, nobody enjoys this particular experience, but for Calvin it's just about the worst, most embarrassing thing that can possibly happen. The card was declined because the bank detected fraudulent charges against his debit card number, so they shut off the card. Without informing us.

How rude. I mean, I appreciate them putting the brakes on after a whole three dollars and seventy-four cents got charged against our account from someplace in Maryland. But they could have at least called us to let us know. Especially since its, you know, Christmas, and the use of our primary method of, you know, paying for shit, should be, you know, accessible.

So Calvin comes busting into the kitchen, grabs the phone and dials up the bank. He gets the automated "press or say x" fuckbot nonsense that for some reason automated telephone system developers think actually makes things easier. More convenient. Faster. Except that all of that? Not.

He goes through several machinations, loud repeats, and cursing which confuses the automated phone fuckbot. He finally gets a representative. Who tells him to repeat all of the information that he already told the fuckbot. What followed was not pretty. Calvin kind of went off on the customer service chickie. Or maybe it was a guy? I'm not sure. When he was asked to confirm a bunch of charges and continue to repeat himself, he said, "This is bullshit."

The customer service chickie hung up on him. Calvin held the phone away from his ear, looked at it, looked at me. He turned red. He turned white. He started breathing in huge heaves. I could hear the dial tone from where I was standing on the opposite end of the kitchen.

Calvin very, very carefully put the phone down on the receiver. He turned around, walked across to the patio door, and exited the building. I have no idea what he did out there in the back yard to calm down, but five minutes later he came back in. Breathing normally.

Duuuuuuuude. I thought his head was going to pop right off his shoulders.

We have both decided that we hate Christmas, more and more with every year that goes by. This whole year has been a pisser, and we feel like we're just going through the motions of the holidays for the kids, who take turns between being deserving and being not particularly so. Next year we are going to be COMPLETELY OUT OF THE STATE when December 25th rolls around.

Fuck this noise.

Labels: Calvin, holiday, home, journal, wtf

Posted by Laura at 9:00 AM | Permalink | Comments

I can't call my truck a lemon. The strict definition of a lemon is a vehicle that has been serviced multiple times in a given timeframe for the same issue. My truck has been serviced multiple times for multiple issues.

I shall call it... a pineapple.

Off the top of my head, it has gone in for A/C issues, a weird squeaking sound coming from one of the vents, battery issues, molding separating from the door frames, stereo/speaker issues, and starting issues. To that, I must add...

POLTERGEISTS.

So late last week when I got into the truck to drive it, like I always do, it dinged at me, like it always does. Usually it's because I haven't buckled my seatbelt fast enough to satisfy it. But the belt was buckled. I looked at the dash, and the message said, "PASSENGER DOOR AJAR". So I got out, circled the truck, opened and FIRMLY shut each door, climbed back in, buckled up, and put it in reverse.

"DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING!!!!!" (There are always 8 dings.) "PASSENGER DOOR AJAR." So I got out again, circled the truck opening and shutting doors again, got back in, buckled up, hit reverse...

"DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING!!!!!"

So now I realize there's a sensor problem with one of the (NOT ajar) doors. Because the truck thinks one of the doors isn't closed, the auto locks don't work properly (they usually lock when the truck is put into drive, and unlock automatically when the truck is put into park).

Along with this issue is a stripped gear in one of the rear passenger windows, thereby leaving it stuck in the "down" position when utilized and necessitating manual levitation to "roll" it up again. So I figured I was going to take the truck back in (again) anyway, and would have this additional issue to add to the list.

So, that was last week. Fast forward to today, when Jen and I went to lunch at Red Robin. The truck did its ding-thing when we got in to drive off, but otherwise acted normally on the way to the restaurant. We had a nice lunch with an EXTREMELY attentive waitress who kept taking my half-drunk Coke away and replacing it with a full, new glass of Coke because she couldn't stand the thought of me drinking watered-down soda. Jen's tea got refilled four times. We finally had to leave before we floated away.

We got in the truck. It had its usual identity crisis when it identified its door as a jar. I ignored it, until about halfway back to work. "DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING!!!!" The truck decided to remind me that the door was ajar, having previously been satisfied to just tell me once, right when I got in the truck. Then, "Shh-click! Click. Shh-click. Click. Shudder shudder shudder shu shu shu shhh-click!" "DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING!!!!"

The doors started locking and unlocking themselves furiously. The dinger dinged over and over and OVER AND OVER. The message center lit up with the "PASSENGER DOOR IS AJAR" message, then disappeared, then re-appeared, then disappeared. As we were driving along, this chaos erupted that prompted Jen and I to completely lose our shit and crack up laughing.

"The truck! It's possessed!" Jen cried.

"Poltergeists!" I yelled back.

"Shh-click! (DING DING DING) Click. Shh-click. Click. (DING DING DING) Shudder shudder shudder shu shu shu shhh-click! DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING!!!!"

By this time I could hardly see the road, I was laughing so hard. Jen was all, "Don't hit that truck!" I'm fairly sure we looked a sight driving along bawling laughing, weaving along on the road.

We're supposed to get our Christmas tree tonight. THAT should be fun.

Labels: friends, humor, journal, work

Posted by Laura at 1:25 PM | Permalink | Comments

I am, on occasion, dumb.

I've been sitting here for a few minutes, contemplating my excessively wired condition. I feel almost buzzed, except that I haven't indulged today at all. In alcohol, that is.

I had a cup of coffee this morning, and two diet pills. A cup of Irish Breakfast tea mid-morning. A Coke with lunch, and two more diet pills. And another cup of Irish Breakfast tea beside me right now.

Hello, caffeine buzz.

My friend Jen is a very very good friend. Her Christmas gifts to me included a clock to replace the one that was stolen from my desk at work, and a Chuckles, the Former Congressman 2008 Calendar (Dooce fans unite!). She also made an itty bitty pet photo album of my Flickr photos, on Snapfish. I heart Jen.

The clock has a temperature gauge. When I got to my desk this morning, it was reading 66.6 degrees. An ominous temperature. Right now it's 72.6 in my cubicle. And barely fifty degrees outside. Sweater weather has graduated to coat weather. Hallelujah.

I handed out packets of fudge to my co-workers yesterday. It has been proclaimed by many to be the richest, creamiest, sweetest, fudgiest fudge they have every had. Go forth and make some.

Lilly still hasn't sent me updated photos of Robert, Devlin and Roman. It looks like I shall have to drive over to Texas myself and beat her about the head and shoulders. Lilly, if you're reading this, consider yourself warned.

I have to make six tins of cookies to hand out as gifts next week. I want to have a variety of types; does anyone have any favorite Christmas cookie recipes that they'd like to share? I'm already making Magic Cookie Bars, Walnut Chews, Vanilla Rum Balls, Hershey's Kiss Cookies, and Chocolate Coconut Snowballs.

Hmm. On second thought, maybe I have enough variety. OH! I know. I'll make a batch of chocolate chip cookies... and I just hunted around on my website because I could SWEAR that I posted this recipe before, but I can't find it. Calvin, who is excessively picky about his cookies, raved over these (recipe courtesy of RecipeZaar):

Soft Chocolate Chip Cookies

36 cookies

2 1/4 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup shortening
1/4 cup sugar
1 (4 ounce) package instant vanilla pudding
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon almond extract
2 eggs, beaten
2 cups chocolate chips

Preheat oven 350 degrees.
Combine flour and baking soda.
In a large bowl beat brown sugar, sugar, butter, shortening, pudding mix, vanilla, and almond extract.
Mix until well blended.
Add eggs and mix well.
Beat in the flour mixture.
Stir in chocolate chips.
Drop by rounded teaspoonful and bake 10-12 minutes.

Do not overcook! The cookies will still be soft when you remove them from the baking sheet, transfer them to wire racks to cool completely. There are limitless possibilities with this recipe - use chocolate pudding and caramel chips (our favorite), coconut pudding and white chocolate chips, or vanilla pudding with peanut butter chips. I also used a full cup of butter instead of 1/2 butter and 1/2 shortening, and it turned out just fine.

Labels: journal, recipe

Posted by Laura at 1:30 PM | Permalink | Comments

Today is the day that I catch up on the crap I didn't do on the weekend, because I would rather spend my time snuggling on the couch with Calvin. So, in addition to doing my day job, I always have a pile of other crap that make my Mondays exceptionally busy. And that's also why you guys tend to get a "to do" list as a Monday entry. So I can remind myself of what the hell needs to get done around here.

Today I get to do laundry, clean the kitchen, go grocery shopping, go to Pets Inc. to get critters for the critters, make fudge (hi Jen, female fudge!) (no nuts), crank out the Christmas cards that need to be mailed, put together the packets of fudge and cards for my co-workers, and dig through the Christmas decorations. Oh, and work out.

And work. Hello day job that makes all of this joy possible.

It's overcast, rainy, cool, and quiet. All of my inclinations are severely steering toward laying in bed with the cats.

I'm getting up. NOW.

Labels: home, journal, listy goodness

Posted by Laura at 9:00 AM | Permalink | Comments

Finances have been stressing me out lately. Well, forever, really. So today I spent some time working up some figures and making a plan to resolve some of the problems I've been having. And I think I have it all figured out. Of course, part of the plan involves my motorcycle, you know, actually selling. That would be terribly helpful. But beyond that, the other part involves just being a little patient, and by the end of February we should have more breathing room. And three completely paid-off credit cards. Which will then PROMPTLY AND IMMEDIATELY be cancelled. And cut up. And perhaps set on fire.

The truck should be paid off by the end of next year, at which point I shall womanfully hold Calvin at bay with his slathering desire to buy a new car, and use what I would have paid for the truck payment to pay off our remaining debt.

THEN Calvin can have a car. Or another motorcycle. Or whatever motorized vehicle is causing his little heart to go pitter-pat. But the debt payoff comes first. Because I am BOUND AND DETERMINED to go to England on my next Sabbatical, and that shit ain't cheap. According to my sidebar countdown, I have 668 days until I'm eligible, and a couple of months after that before I actually take it, since I'd rather go on a two-month vacation in the spring/summer than the fall/winter.

Lo, my somewhat down and Grinchy mood has turned right around, after putting thought to head and pen to paper and fingers to calculator. I am a big fan of having A Plan.

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 12:09 PM | Permalink | Comments

I worked from home yesterday (translation: I fought several fires in between drug-induced naps). Remember this entry? Yes, well, I succumbed to the inevitable. I mean, with odds like that, and an immune system like mine, the outcome of the crap shoot was a foregone conclusion.

So, I'm feeling ookey, but I'm at work today. I figure I'm all incubated and shit, so I'm no longer contagious. Of course, I'm as far away from being a doctor as a person with a Google MD can be, so what the hell do I know.

Calvin was extremely nice to me yesterday, and brought me food and drinks and medicine and hugs while I lolled around in bed and complained. A lot. I threw together some Minestrone Stew in the crock pot so that we would have steamy nummy goodness for dinner. Opening cans and frying up burger meat was about as much thought as I was prepared to put into making dinner.

Some random thoughts, the only kind my brain is capable of holding at the moment:

• This writer's strike is really irritating me. Not that I don't support them, and not that I don't think all of their points and needs are valid. No, I'm totally selfishly bemoaning the fact that all of "my" shows are over for the foreseeable future. The one I miss the most? Big Bang Theory. _{Hah! You thought it'd be Gray's Anatomy, didn't you? Shows you what I think of the current season.}


• All of my Christmas "shopping" is done, in that I have purchased one gift each for four whole people and everybody else is getting money, and that's it. Well, okay, I have one more person to buy for, and then I'll be done. This will be the CHEAPEST CHRISTMAS EVAR, which is totally in keeping with my Grinchy spirit this year. Not to mention my budget.


• Sliders are my new favorite food.


• I have added several new journals/blogs to my list of "regular reads". I recommend for your enjoyment the following: Cracked, Daily Coyote, FemMarine, Running in Wellies, and Vespa Vagabond (who is the same author for Daily Coyote).
  

To steal a line from Nance, I'm outta here.

Labels: headspace, health, home, journal

Posted by Laura at 10:47 AM | Permalink | Comments

According to the thermometer outside on the patio, it's 49 degrees.

Gypsy and Gadget, having been let out for the morning for their constitutional, are currently curled up in balls, cat-fashion, in a patch of sunlight. Zoe is warming my feet on the couch and occasionally butting my mouse-hand for attention, Oz is in the bed snuggling with Calvin (who Ozzy calls "The Daddy", what, can't your cat talk too?). Kali the snake is lounging across the length of one of the ledges in her vivarium, directly underneath the heat lamp. Cheeto and Lucy are in semi-brumation (a form of hibernation but not as deep) and nap most of the day, but deigned to stir this morning to chomp on some veggies. Portia is thumping around in the side yard in her usual destructive manner.

We have a lot of frickin' animals.

This house is a disaster. The kitchen is destroyed, there's clothes all over the bedroom, the stack of newspapers on the fireplace is threatening to topple, and there's clutter on the bar and on the kitchen table. Kali's pond is in desperate need of cleaning, the floors could use a good sweep/mop/vacuum, and the wind from yesterday blew in a metric ton of dust.

Obviously, I'd rather write about the condition of my house, rather than actually do something about it.

I will get to it today, I will. There's cooking to be done and decorating to begin (I am trying to do something about my Scrooge attitude, at least). Neither of those things can happen while the house is in the condition that it's in.

But first, I think I'll have another cup of coffee.

Labels: home, journal, pets

Posted by Laura at 9:32 AM | Permalink | Comments

It has been a wonderful couple of days, weather-wise. Most would not consider two straight days of raining to be all that wonderful, but this country girl stuck in the desert sees the blessing in the blah. We attempted to open up all the doors and windows today, but the rain showers were precipitated (no pun intended) by a gusty insistent wind that, at one point, simultaneously SLAMMED shut the front door, the living room door leading to the patio, and the bedroom door also leading to the patio. Calvin in the bedroom, myself in the living room, did a simultaneous (we discovered) painful start of a jump. I went seeking him out afterward for a heart-slowing hug.

Last night we were invited to a party at the home of a gentleman that I've worked with since I started at Acronymco 12 years ago. I think he'd be an outside-of-work bud to Calvin and me if we hung out. Anyway, the rain didn't figure into the plans of an outdoor house party in Arizona (the benefit to living in the desert is that you can pretty much guarantee at most times to have excellent weather for any planned outdoor activities, even if such activities are planned months in advance), but luck wasn't with him and last night proved to be the first rainstorm we've had in months. Not to be deterred, he put up a 40-foot tent in his back yard, that extended to the overhang of the patio.

Open bar, catered food, a dance floor in the back yard, a hired DJ, and a basement boasting a pool table and pinball machines. I can't even begin to estimate how much all this cost him and his wife - there were at least a hundred people there (including the neighbors - smart of them). MAN, did we have a good time, though. We brought Calvin's sister (middle, not youngest, for those of you keeping track at home). I dragged her out to the dance floor once (I think it was KC and the Sunshine Band), she dragged me out once (that line dance song where you "stomp one time... stomp two times... sliiiide to the left... sliiiide to the right... now cha-cha..."). The rain (well, humidity, really) destroyed all the ladies' hairdos, but at a not-too-far-into-the-night point, nobody cared. I danced with a gent from work that until this point had been very staid and proper in my mind... but he can jitterbug, so how stiff can he be? Calvin became fast friends with a couple that he'd never met before (I do appreciate his ability to jump into a party). Calvin and his sister traded jibes and shots at each other throughout.

We left near midnight and parted ways with Calvin's sister. The drive home is a little vague to me. What happened when we GOT home is not. Heh.

We've been slouching around the house all day today (no, we're not hungover, thanks for your concern), watching TV, reading, surfing, munching, napping. The ASU/UofA game is on right now - ASU has the better team (I think) but UofA is currently ahead. I watched a little of the Army/Navy game earlier, too. Funny to see all the dress uniforms in the stands. Ozzy is snoozing next to me, I have a shot of tequila awaiting consumption at my side, and a cool breeze is coming in through the window next to me.

Life doesn't suck right now.

Labels: Calvin, home, journal

Posted by Laura at 8:55 PM | Permalink | Comments

He slammed his hands over the keyboard just as I got done typing the title, which inadvertantly published just the title, and thus he was thwarted despite his own efforts at hiding his true nature. Good has once again conquored over evil. And you all have another small insight into just what I deal with, on a minute-by-minute basis, in being married to him.

The man can be a supreme pest. Cute, but a pest. With all the post-nap energy.

Back to work tomorrow, which thrills me about -->this<-- much. Back to being on the computer every day - I actually managed to stay off-line for three whole days during my vacation. Back to taking my vitamins, working out, eating right, drinking water, trying to get at least ten minutes or so of sunlight a day, hauling out the lotion since it's bone dry in the state now that the cool weather has finally hit. Back to taking conscious care of myself, instead of just lounging about in my PJ's and convincing myself that this much rest is healthy, really.

It could be worse. I only have, like, three weeks until my next vacation. More than two weeks off with that one. Still, I can find it in myself to whine just a little bit that it's back to the grind tomorrow.

Labels: Calvin, journal, vacation, work

Posted by Laura at 7:45 PM | Permalink | Comments

I woke up at 7:30 this morning, which is only a half-hour later than the usual 7:00 wake up time that I have on normal work days. Why I can't sleep on my vacation is beyond me, but there it is. It's not so bad, really, sitting here with Zoe perched directly behind my head on the back of the couch, Oz eyeing her from the floor, coffee at my side, laptop at hand. It would be peaceful and serene if it weren't for all the flipping barking dogs in the neighborhood. At this moment in time I can count five distinct barks. None of them are our dogs, who if not smart, are at least polite. I could close the windows and door to block the sound, but I rather like having it finally cool enough to wear my robe.

A FANTASTIC dream about me and McDreamy (apparently I can hold my breath underwater for a long time in my dreams) was interrupted by my walnut-sized bladder (hmm, come to think of it, that's probably why I was dreaming of water), and from there the brain kicked in with thoughts of all the things I need to get done today. None of the tasks on my list were inflicted on me by Calvin in a fit of protest over my time off, though that's what I fully expected to happen. No, he was going to allow me my week of sloth, but I have discovered that I need to live a purpose-filled life. Thus I compiled a self-directed honey-do list.

First thing's first, though, so I have to write an entry about it. ("Wrote a song about it. Like to hear it? Here it goes.")

Ozzy's nose is out of joint because he just jumped up on the couch to discover that Zoe had moved to nestle against my hip. My lap is occupied by my computer, which means there is no snuggle space for him. He just raced off to climb up three separate doorframes and the column of the half-wall in the living room. Now he's trying to figure out other ways to get my attention and is playing Captain Explorer behind the television. With all the wires. A sure way to get hollered at. Any attention is good attention, I guess.

We're selling my motorcycle. I hardly ever ride it (I actually find that I prefer the bitch seat behind Calvin, because I'm a big ol' chicken in Arizona traffic), we could use the money, and I'd actually prefer owning one of these. I placed the ad last night and am grimly awaiting the round of telephone calls to begin. I hate that part about selling crap, but what are you gonna do.

Now Oz is trying to get into the cabinet underneath the snake's vivarium. That cat thinks that everyone in the household should operate under his schedule and won't settle down until I feed him. Bastard.

Okay, they're fed. Now maybe they'll leave me alone. CRAP. I forgot to grab the camera while I was up. Dammit.

OKAY. And now, for some pictures. Hover over them for comments.















Man, I'm REALLY putting off getting started on my list.

• Grocery shopping
  
• Go to the bank
  
• Sweep, vacuum, mop, dust
  
• Clean the kitchen & bathroom
  
• Laundry
  
• Litter boxes
  
• Adjust the sprinklers
  
• Take the movies back
  
• Dig up the motorcycle title
  
• Empty and clean the hot tub
  
• Work out
  

Alright, I'm outta here.


_{Momentary Thought: There's a massive amount of birds cheeping away in the backyard. I miss chickadees and whippoorwills, though.
High: It's actually chilly this morning.
Low: I have a craptastic amount of stuff to do today.
Obsession: I'm doing new pie recipes for Thanksgiving this year. I need to make them enough in advance that if they turn out like crap I can still run to CostCo and buy a couple.
Grin: The dream I had last night.
Playing: Birdsong and barking dogs.
Location: Living room.}

Labels: home, journal, listy goodness, motorcycle, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 7:56 AM | Permalink | Comments

This is one of those times where I feel like I haven't quite mastered this whole grown-up thing. I envy Marie's frequently-expressed relief that she's moved back home with us and no longer worries about money, making ends meet... essentially, she's put off being an on-her-own adult for another little while.

I wish I could move back in with my parents. Except, how weird would that be - lack of, you know, actual existing parents aside. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't know what to do with parents if I did have them. But if they were anything like how Calvin and I are toward our kids, my parents could be counted on to pick up the pieces, kiss the boo-boos, ride to the rescue, and provide the vehicle for bailing me out of pretty much any situation.

Heh. How backwards is that. If I had a mom I'd want her to be just like me.

Maybe that's a little sad, too, as well as backwards. Perhaps I should not dwell on that thought.

It's not that I don't like being an adult. I wouldn't go back to being a teenager if my life depended on it. Okay, well perhaps ONLY if my life depended on it. My teenage years, wonderful though many aspects of them were, weren't exactly what I would call fraught with fond memories. I was overly serious, studious, responsible, and worried. Very representative of the attitudes that are continuing on to this day. The difference is, when you're a responsible teenager people express their admiration at the wonder and rarity that is you. When you're a responsible adult, well, you're just doing your damn job.

I need to stop comparing my attitudes as a teenager and young adult to the attitudes of the teenager and young adult I'm occupied with parenting. I've turned into one of those, "Back in MY day, things were different," sorts.

Which isn't to say (again) that I'm looking for accolades. Really, I'm just rambling along with this entry. I do a lot. I don't do enough. I'm busy. I'm bored. I want to be flippin' patted on my head and told I'm doing a good job. I want to be told everything's going to be okay. I want to be surrounded by loved ones. I want to be left alone. I want to have control. I want to be taken care of. I want to be a center of calm. I want to throw a massive tantrum.

Apparently, I want to be conflicted. Mostly, I want to turn off my brain.

Labels: headspace, journal

Posted by Laura at 8:48 PM | Permalink | Comments

I want to take a long, hot bubble bath tonight, but it's McThursday so that may or may not happen. The Necessary needs to get done before 8:00 - working out, soaking the lizards (heh, that sounds naughty, but I mean it literally) and feeding them worms, making and consuming dinner (which does not involve worms), and doing the Night Chores (mail, coffee, work clothes, not making my lunch for tomorrow because Jen and I have plans to go out). I like to have everything done before Marie and I sit down to watch Grey's Anatomy together. So the bubble bath may have to wait.

I want it to be cold. I want to nest and I can't nest while it's still ninety-frickin-degrees outside. I just put together the menus for Thanksgiving and Christmas and have my shopping lists. I'm all about the cooking, and I'm really looking forward to next Friday afternoon when I can call myself officially "off". I plan on cooking a lot, but just what I don't know yet (other than the aforementioned Thanksgiving Menu). I think I'll look through my lovely collection of cookbooks and pick out something new each day - I might even try baking my own BREAD, for gosh's sake. Look at me, planning my own spontaneity - it's not like the grocery store is that far away so if something strikes my fancy and I don't have all the ingredients immediately to hand, it's not a bother. I'll have to watch out for the impulse buys, though. I'm worse at that in the grocery store than in any other kind of store.

I'm really crossing my fingers that the cold weather sets in by the time I'm off. I don't know why it's so important to me, but it is. Temperatures below 70 degrees are absolutely necessary for me to enjoy this season. I'm trying to generate my own happiness here before I go nuts with the homesickness, and a little cool weather would be helpful.

This entry doesn't have an ending, it just kind of stops. Right here.

Labels: food, headspace, journal

Posted by Laura at 3:13 PM | Permalink | Comments

I periodically like to record a "day in the life" entry. I like to go back and compare them and see what's the same, what's different, and what is proof positive that I am VERY FIRMLY set in my ways. (For instance, compare today's entry to this one, or this one.)

5:30 a.m. - Alarm goes off for Calvin. I grunt and roll over.

6:18 a.m. - Calvin's phone rings. And rings. He comes running in from the other room to answer it. I grunt and roll over.

6:25 a.m. - Calvin kisses me goodbye. I grunt and roll over.

6:36 a.m. - Zoe prrrrowts in my ear. And touches me on the face with her wet nose. And pat-pats me on my face with her paw. And reminds me of this entry. I scritch her and roll over.

6:40 a.m. - Oz jumps up on the bed. Zoe beats me to death trying to dive off the bed, and under it. Oz follows.

6:40:15 a.m. - Growl. Hiss. Growl.

6:40:25 a.m. - HISS. GROOOOWWWWLLL. SPAT!

6:40:30 a.m. - I holler at the cats and thump the headboard. One runs out, I don't see which but I assume it's Zoe.

6:50 a.m. - Zoe prrrrowts in my ear. And touches me on the face with her wet nose. And pat-pats me on my face with her paw. I squint at the clock, debate getting up 10 minutes early. Dismiss it as a bad idea.

7:05 a.m. - The alarm goes off again. I mutter something that sounds like, "This is bullshit." I turn off the alarm, start the shower.

7:05 - 7:15 a.m. - Wash face, shampoo, conditioner, wash body, rinse rinse rinse, dry. Pick out and put on clothes (blue jeans, white T, maroon zip-up hoodie, socks, sneakers).

7:15 - 7:20 a.m. - Acquire coffee. Coooooffffffeeeeee. Take vitamins and prescriptions.

7:20 - 7:40 a.m. - Hold conversation with Zoe (who likes to sit on the edge of the tub while I perform my ablutions) while moussing and combing out hair, moisturizing face, cleaning out ears, putting on deodorant, putting on makeup, drying and styling hair, brushing teeth.

7:40 - 7:55 a.m. - Put water in snake's tank, turn on waterfall and UV light. Put water in dog's dish outside, give them a cookie and pets all around. Put canned food in dish in Oz's closet, put canned food in Zoe's dish in the weight room. Fill up indoor water dish. Shred summer squash and tear up dandelion greens, put a handful in Cheeto's dish and a handful in Lucy's dish. Turn off A/C, lock bedroom doors, defrost two slices of spelt bread and slather with cream cheese, put in baggie and then in work bag. Take pork chops out of the freezer to thaw for dinner tonight. Grab bag, keys, badge, out the door and in the truck and on the way to work.

7:55 - 8:00 a.m. - Drive to work. Listen to one of the TUS mix CD's.

8:00 - 8:10 a.m. - Get to desk, put down bag, dock and start up laptop, grab water cup and tea mug, rinse them out in the bathroom, head down to the cafeteria to fill up water cup and get hot water and honey for tea, head back to my desk, log into the network, put tea bag in hot water, settle down with my baggie 'o breakfast.

8:10 - 8:30 a.m. - Answer e-mails, eat breakfast.

8:30 - 9:00 a.m. - Start this journal entry and update with morning activities.

9:01 a.m. - Stop! Potty time!

9:05 a.m. - Start balancing checkbook and paying bills.

9:15 - 9:35 a.m. - Life is interrupted by an AcronymCo fire drill. Lights flashing! Alarms blaring! People filing out of the fire exits like lemmings! Lots of standing around in the parking lot while the building sweep is conducted. Then, more filing! More lemmings! Aaaaaand I'm back at my desk.

9:35 - 9:40 a.m. - Take a phone call and answer questions.

9:40 - 10:30 a.m. - Resume paying bills and balancing checkbook. Run a Quicken report to show Calvin how much money we spend on groceries and on going out to eat. Boggle a bit.

10:30 - 11:00 a.m. - Enough of that nonsense. Answer e-mails, place PO's, field phone calls (hi, Calvin!), get annoyed by a new cube neighbor moving into our territory, NOT OF OUR GROUP. Grr.

11:05 a.m. - Stop! Potty time!

11:07 - 11:15 a.m. - Go down to the cafeteria, procure a Caesar salad, stand in the LOOOOOONG line forever as the POS system dials out for each individual credit card transaction. Contemplate that the flow of purchases is faster with cash, in direct contradiction to the current Visa commercials.

11:15 - 11:25 a.m. - Back at my desk, start to eat, phone rings. Chat with Calvin. He tells me things about an FX 40 and a Niagra something and sensors and whatnot. I'm lost.

11:25 a.m. - 12:05 p.m. - Continue eating. Read Bitchypoo. Peruse ICHC. Read Dysfunction Junction. Read Chaos Theory. Check in on Laurell K. Hamilton. Read 6YearMed. Read Because I Said So. Read Crazy Aunt Purl. Read Miss Britt. Determine that I shall use the phrase, "What le fuck?" in the near future. Read Avitable. Read BurtsStache. Pry off my wedding ring, take off my watch, apply hand lotion. Put ring and watch back on. Read Sunday Undies. Update this entry.

12:05 - 12:25 p.m. - Turn, with a sigh, back to the 140 e-mails awaiting response, deletion, and/or categorization in my in-box. Method involves sorting e-mails by subject to group all of the FW's and RE:'s and RE:RE:RE's together to find the latest message in the string, and delete the others. Manage to weed e-mails down to 87 by using this method. Then I start back in chronological order, oldest first, and disseminate as appropriate.

12:25 - 12:30 p.m. - Recall something Calvin mentioned to me, and check Hotmail. See message from Maine Lobster Direct about a deal on live lobsters. Place our Christmas dinner order (6 1-1/4 pounders, 4 lbs of king crab legs) for nearly $80 less than I was expecting.

12:30 - 12:35 p.m. - Update this entry some more.

12:35 - 12:50 p.m. - Do work stuff: run consignment inventory usage report for the last 12 months for one of my suppliers; approve request for new part number to be added to inventory; set up new part number in the stockroom database.

12:50 - 12:55 p.m. - Stop! Potty time! Grab a piece of candy from the dish on the admin's desk on my way back.

12:55 - 1:40 p.m. - Do more work stuff: Check my queue for any purchase orders that need to be placed, find three and submit them; dig out iPod and headphones to combat the boredom ("I believe it's time for me to fly..."); take pain pills to combat the headache I've had since I woke up, curse being a woman; terminate a requisition; ("I've heard people say that... too much of anything is no good for you..."); weed through e-mails some more, enlist a CM's assistance for an issue with a non-responsive supplier; ("Tell me whatcha eat, I might cook for you..."); determine if a discontinued chemical is going to effect the factory; ("Spent my days with a woman unkind... smoked my stuff and drank all my wine..."); request a quote from a vendor for a needed part; ("Welcome to your life... there's no turning back..."); research a vendor payment issue and try to communicate clear instructions in a different way than the clear instructions I sent to them last week; curse Accounts Payable; ("Every time I look in the mirror, all these lines on my face getting clearer..."); ("You own the money, you control the witness..."); revise the prices on a purchase order; ("Now if you're feelin' kinda low 'bout the dues you been payin'..."); adjust part prices in stockroom database; ("You know what the midwest is? Young and restless...").

1:40 - 1:45 p.m. - Stop! Potty time! Then walk down to the windows and press my nose against the glass before returning to my desk. Contemplate the lack of Vitamin D in my life.

1:45 - 2:25 p.m. - Do more work stuff: ("I can play the guitar like a motherfuckin' riot."); adjust a purchase order; request tracking information for an overdue shipment from a supplier; ("She's a craze you'd endorse, she's a powerful force..."); complete a feedback survey for my manager; ("And she won't give up, cuz she's seventeen. She's a frozen fire..."); reconcile an on-time delivery report; ("Far four winds blow, there's trouble and it won't go..."); approve a Level 2 purchase order; ("I got the call today, didn't wanna hear, but I knew that it would come..."); make updates to yet another purchase order; look up status of requested order; ("And here's to you Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know..."); make change to yet ANOTHER PO; ("Well I fight authority, authority always wins..."); research parts in inventory to see if we can share with another site in need; compile shipping memo to share parts; ("Oh what a night, late December back in '63..."); edit a form for a new part request.

2:25 p.m. - E-mail count is now down to 23, eleven of which are in "green flag" status (my code for "waiting for someone to get their thumb out of their butt and respond to me").

2:26 - 2:35 p.m. - Sigh heavily. Update this entry some more. Think about going home early, because, well, feh.

2:35 p.m. - Stop! Potty time! Which strangely coincided with fourteen other women's need to pee.

2:40 - 3:10 p.m. - Decide a mental break is in order. Read Draw the Girl. Read Body of Work. Check ICHC for new pics. Look at pictures of Chuck on Dooce. Go back to where I left off yesterday in my Colloquial archives.

3:10 - 3:15 p.m. - Talk to Calvin on the phone. He's mad at me because he wanted me to make ANOTHER phone call to the title company (we're still trying to get the "free and clear" title for Michael's motorcycle) to find out the status. I've mailed them once, faxed them twice, and had phone conversations with them FIVE different times. So today? I just... didn't. I don't know why, I just didn't do it.

3:15 - 3:45 p.m. - Talk to a manager at the Oregon AcronymCo plant. Discuss a training plan for a new buyer over there. Discuss plans with my manager. Decide upon a series of teleconferences rather than a face-to-face meeting.

3:45 p.m. - Close enough to 4:00. Shut down my computer, grab my stuff, and I'm outta here.

3:45 - 4:10 p.m. - Drive home, again listening to one of the TUS mix CD's. Arrive home, dump my bag on the bed, say hi to Calvin, get run over seven times by Portia saying "Hi! Hi! Hi there! Hi!" Change into comfy clothes.

4:11 p.m. - Lay down for "just a minute" on the very comfy bed.

5:14 p.m. - Wake up with a snort. Zoe prrrrowts in my ear. And touches me on the face with her wet nose. And pat-pats me on my face with her paw.

5:15 - 6:10 p.m. - Go out into the living room, sit on the couch and put Calvin's feet in my lap, tickle his feet while he naps. Watch last week's episode of Bones.

6:11 - 6:15 p.m. - Get a call from Marie about some "weird shape light thingy" lighting up on her dashboard. I have no idea.

6:15 - 7:35 p.m. - Ride the motorcycle over to DarkHorse with Calvin. Have some Moosedrool and some grub. Watch the Suns lose. Watch a couple of poker games going on in front of the bar. Get annoyed by the guy sitting next to us. Pay up and head home again.

7:35 - 9:00 p.m. - Hug Marie for cleaning the kitchen - a task I didn't look forward to doing when I got home. Be amused as she cannot stick with just washing the dishes, but also has to reorganize all of the cupboards and closets. Feed the dogs. Get the mail. Flip through "Cover and Bake" and "Baking Illustrated". Get the coffee ready for tomorrow. Change into my jammies. Sit on the couch typing this while half-watching "Let's Go To Prison". Shut down the snake's and beardies' tanks.

9:00 - 10:00 p.m. - Watch miscellaneous TV. Get Calvin's clothes together for work tomorrow. Put my breakfast and lunch together for tomorrow. Set the alarm. Go to bed.

Labels: home, journal, listy goodness, meme, misc, pets, work

Posted by Laura at 9:00 PM | Permalink | Comments

I'm perusing through my original journal archives and just re-read this entry. What an awesome time we had.

And I'm beginning to realize just how verbose I've been over the last seven-plus-years:

- Original Journal Archives, 2000-2006
- Colloquial Archives (the original weblog, which started out as Uno Momento), 2003-2005
- Operation::Goddess (archives are listed in the right hand frame), 2002-Present
- Waking Mind (moved to WordPress in 2007, started in 2006 I think)
- Storyteller Archive, 2001-2005

And this blog (2005-Present), the archives to which are in the right hand frame. Thousands upon thousands of words. Apparently, I have a lot to say.

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 4:27 PM | Permalink | Comments

Marie and I just got back from going to Pets Inc for "critters for the critters" (a medium rat and three dozen superworms), then to the grocery store for people food. She volunteered to go with me, and we gabbed and ooh'ed at the lizards and spiders and snakes, and impulse-bought food (at the grocery store) we didn't need. It's nice to have her back around the house again.

So right now the snake is writhing around on the floor of her vivarium, and the tail of the rat has just disappeared like a string of spaghetti into her mouth. A gape to re-hinge her jaw, and lunch is over. It's fascinating, in a totally gross kind of way.

I really had to push myself to stay on the elliptical this morning, and still only finished 35 minutes of my allotted 45-minute workout. I start negotiating with myself after about 20 minutes... "Okay, that's probably enough. Well, no, after the end of this song. Okay, the next song... five more minutes. Thirty minutes is long enough, right? Okay, dammit, thirty-five is close enough."

I appeased my guilt at shortening my workout by spending the next hour cleaning. I'm sure I killed more than enough calories that way.

Oz and Zoe are re-enacting WWII's Battle of the Bulge. Zoe is backed into the weight room and Oz is holding territory beyond the hallway. Volleys of hissing and spitting sail back and forth approximately every three minutes. In the end, Zoe will lose and go back to hide under the bed and sulk.

Labels: journal, Op:Goddess, pets

Posted by Laura at 2:51 PM | Permalink | Comments

I'm having to re-write this entry because I accidentally hit the "back" button on my browser and STOOPID BLOGGER didn't save a draft. Dammit.

Anyway. Tonight is happy hour at Kona Grill with some work cronies. Tomorrow is Grown Up Responsibility Day with the cleaning and the yardwork. Tonight is the Suns Game (though basketball takes a back seat to football until February), tomorrow is the ASU vs. Oregon game, and Sunday is the Patriots vs. Colts game.

I love this time of year. I just wish that it felt more like fall. It's supposed to be in the mid- to high-80's all weekend and all next week. Which is nothing to grouse about, I'm sure, especially with the protests I can hear coming from my loyal readers of chillier climes. Still, my KINGDOM for just ONE day of sweater-weather.

The cooking extravaganza continues. Last night I made a Tamale Pie that was really good, except that it was so spicy that even I, the girl who eats nacho-sliced jalapenos by the handful, was reaching for the water. It falls under the category of "make again", though next time I'll cut back on the chipolte peppers and the adobo sauce.

Chipolte Tamale Pie
(modified from the recipe from RecipeZaar)

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 lb lean ground beef
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 green bell pepper, diced
2 garlic cloves, finely minced
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 (15 ounce) can pinto beans, drained and rinsed
1 (8 ounce) can diced tomatoes
2 chipotle chiles (found in the Mexican food area of the grocery store), chopped, *plus*
1 teaspoon adobo sauce, from canned chipotle in adobo
1 cup grated cheddar cheese
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro leaves
1 (8 1/2 ounce) package cornbread mix (such as Jiffy)
1 egg
1/3 cup milk

- Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.
- Spray an 8-inch baking or casserole dish with non-stick cooking spray and set it aside.
- Heat the olive oil in a nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add the onions, green peppers, and garlic and cook until transparent and softened.
- Add the ground beef and cook until it no longer pink and is cooked through. Drain off any excess fat and sprinkle the meat mixture with the cumin.
- Add the beans, tomatoes, chiles and adobo sauce to the skillet and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer until heated through and slightly thickened, about 5 minutes.
- Remove pan from the heat and stir in the cheese and cilantro.
- Spread the beef mixture in the prepared baking dish, pressing down on it with the back of a spoon or spatula to make an even, compact layer.
- Combine the cornbread mix with milk and egg (note: this will NOT be according to package directions) and spread the cornbread batter over the beef mixture.
- Bake until the cornbread is golden-brown, 20 to 25 minutes. Let the tamale pie stand for 5 minutes before cutting into squares and serving.

I have the week of Thanksgiving off (two work-provided days, three vacation days) and plan to alternate between cooking a new dessert recipe and a new dinner recipe each day. I shall surely post the results herein. To aid me in this endeavor, I have recently purchased several new cookbooks, namely Cover and Bake, America's Test Kitchen Family Cookbook, Baking Illustrated, and America's Best Lost Recipes.

Calvin's family (the only family we have here in AZ) hasn't mentioned what the Grand Turkey Day Plans are, but rest assured I'll be conducting my usual Gastronomical Culinary Extravaganza at home.

I've used the word "extravaganza" twice (now three times). That's a good entry, right there.

Aaaand then after Thanksgiving I'm going on a full-out Cooking Strike until it's time to "Kill the Wobsters!" (think Elmer Fudd ala "What's Opera, Doc?") at Christmas. An Animal Planet tradition since 1998!

Labels: food, home, journal, recipe

Posted by Laura at 1:12 PM | Permalink | Comments

Last night I succumbed to such hysterical laughter that I cried. I was so pissed off about something that I broke into hysterics. I just pointed stiff fingers at Calvin and said, "Raaaaaage." Then laughed, and laughed, in a very maniacal way. I couldn't stop laughing. It was psychotic. Tears rolled down my face, I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't stop myself. It was like I was having a seizure. Except that endorphins are endorphins, even if the laughter was rage-induced. So after I finally got a hold of myself I felt really good for a while.

Calvin thinks I'm a little bit crazy.

When a person suffers from depression, it never just goes away. You're never cured, you just manage it until it goes into hiding, and when it comes back again you manage it again. It's a disease that there is no complete escape from, it just goes into remission now and then.

At this moment in time I am choosing to manage my depression through non-pharmaceutical methods. I cook, I clean, I write, I exercise, I read, I watch movies and TV, I wrestle with Calvin. Some days are better than others. Some hours are better than others. I've been struggling a bit over the past month. Decided for about a week to go back on a prescription. Gave it up in anger at myself because I felt like I was taking the easy way out. I can find ways to re-wire my brain on my own, without drugs, dammit.

I take a lot of naps. Something about depression makes me tired. I know I'm trying to avoid my own mind by turning it off.

Lately I've been wishing that I was someone else. Someone else inside my head. I don't want a different life with different people, I just want to swap brains with one that is whole, calm, and at peace. I have a good life - I'm married to my best friend, I have a decent job, I have a nice home, and all of my material needs are met. The only specific things that I am unhappy about are money and the fact that we don't live in Maine. Last night Calvin assured me we would get there, someday, we just have to figure out how.

The knowledge that he's on board with moving back home, and that he's going to help me figure out how to dig us out of debt, is very comforting to me. I don't remember being depressed when I lived in Maine. Granted, I was nineteen when I moved away, but is that the variable that will switch my brain back to normal? It certainly can't hurt, that's for sure.

I asked Calvin last night if he ever wanted to be someone else. He said not permanently, but he wouldn't mind inhabiting the body of Kate Beckinsale's husband for a weekend. That's my guy.

Labels: headspace, journal

Posted by Laura at 8:24 AM | Permalink | Comments

Ahhhh. The summer, she is finally over. It was in the 70's and 80's all weekend long, and this morning it's 60 degrees. We rode around on Calvin's motorcycle Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I can't on the offhand recall where we went on Friday, but Saturday we went to Mill Avenue for the MOST AWESOME-EST cheeseburgers EVAR, and on Sunday we went for a ride through the foothills before hitting Rock Bottom for a couple of beers and appetizers.

Zoe and Oz are driving me BATSHIT this morning. They want to be together, but they don't. I have this (marvellous) routine in the morning where I lock Zoe in the weight room so she can eat and poo in peace without Oz all, "Whatcha doin? Are you my friend yet?" I feed Oz, per usual, in his dish in the "cat closet". He eats three bites (if that), then hightails it (heh) back to the weight room door to talk to Zoe under the crack, rattle the handle (like I said, I have to LOCK the door so he doesn't open it), come in my room where I am steadfastly working (or, you know, writing an entry), fuss at me to LEEEEEET him IIIIINNNNN, then when I finally open the door so she can come out/he can go in, instead of acting like long-separated lovers they FIT at each other for the rest of the day. Oz just follows Zoe around from hiding place to hiding place. Occasionally they can stand to be in the same space (sitting in front of the screen door, hanging out on/in the bathtub) for about five minutes, then suddenly Zoe will look at Oz like he's grown horns and gets all, "WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?!?" And she fits, and hisses, and growls, and Oz is all, "Geez, woman, PMS is a bitch, innit?"

Plus, you know how Marie is moving back in? Well, so is her dog. In the past two weeks we added another cat AND another dog as permanent additions to the household. Current count for those of you playing at home is two cats, three dogs, two bearded dragons, and a snake. All of whom I get to take care of. I am not kidding, nor am I exaggerating, when I say that I spend a total of probably two hours a day, split between morning and evening, taking care of the animals. AND it seems I will have to take Cheeto to the vet, as the poor dear is constipated. We can't have a constipated lizard on our hands, now can we?

Yeesh. At this point I am SO qualified to be a vet.

Anyway. Last week's drama is calming down a bit, but I still have anxiety up the wazoo. Marie was having troubles with her ex-boyfriend that resulted in us having to ride to her rescue in the middle of a work day. She'd moved all of his belongings - i.e. all of the furniture (she is apparently a strong black woman trapped in that teeny white girl's body) - out onto the patio of her apartment. Ex-BF was blowing up her phone with threats and angst, she called us. We showed up, then HE showed up with his brother to get his stuff. Argument ensued during which he and his brother got all up in Calvin's face.

Ahem.

SO! Calvin deterred that shit right there, then phoned the police. Who very promptly showed up to supervise the removal of the furniture and belay comments thrown from the Ex-BF in Marie's general direction. In the meantime the Ex-BF's mom showed up, and we got to witness first hand where her son got his charming personality. They left, the police left, we left, then went down to the court house to get proceedings started on a restraining order.

So, that was fun.

AAAAAANNNNNNNND then I discovered fraudulent charges against my checking account. It seems that Calvin's debit card number has been compromised. So I got to deal with that last week. On top of the refrigerator dying, buying a new refrigerator, waiting around for said refrigerator to be delivered, spending $300 on groceries to replace those lost, dealing with Marie's ex-BF, dealing with New Pet Issues, and everything else that normal life dishes up when one has a full time job and a more-than-full-time life.

Current tally: angsty shit - 10, Laura's ability to cope - 0.

BUT! Calvin and I are going to see Jersey Boys again tomorrow with Calvin's sister and her husband. I am looking forward to that like nobody's business - probably even more than I was looking forward to seeing it the first time, and despite the fact that I have had "Can't Take My Eyes Off You" firmly entrenched in my brain for, like, ever.

(baaa DA baaa DA baaa da DA da da...) "I love you baby..."

Labels: headspace, home, journal, kids, motorcycle, pets

Posted by Laura at 8:46 AM | Permalink | Comments

Once again waiting related to a fridge. This time, it's the new one that's supposed to be delivered SOMETIME today. I spent an hour throwing away a metric ton of spoiled food and cleaning behind/under the old refrigerator. Whatever the ook was that was back there is cancer-causing, I'm positive.

Right now I am putting together a grocery list of epic proportions. In keeping with my plan to create moments of happiness for myself, I have decided to kick my cooking hobby back into gear and make two new dinner recipes and one new dessert recipe per week. This week, well, I'm going overboard. Beef stroganoff is lined up for tonight, stuffed peppers on Saturday, Jamblaya on Sunday, and Enchilada Chowder next Thursday (standbys of burgers, tuna noodles, spaghetti, and the best meatloaf in the world fill out the rest of the days in the week, if you're curious). Plus I'm planning on making my grandmother's apple cake and her pumpkin bread this weekend.

My diet is taking a firm back seat to my happiness at the moment.

I don't remember if I mentioned it or not, but Calvin and I went to see Jersey Boys last Saturday at Gammage Auditorium. The show was ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE. Even Calvin loved it, and he's not a musical kind of guy. If you don't know much about them, check this out (be patient through the Sopranos tribute stuff). This was their performance at the Emmy's this year, and WAY doesn't do justice to the entire production:



This was the performance that prompted Calvin to suggest that we get tickets when they were in town (quoth I, "You do realize that this is a musical? Where people randomly dance about and burst into song?"). Which they are now. We might even go again, it was THAT good. Plus, of course, we went out on Calvin's birthday and bought a couple of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons CD's. "Walk Like a Man", "Can't Take My Eyes Off You", "December 1963", "Grease", "Who Loves You", and "My Eyes Adored You" have been on constant spin around here.

Loved the show. LOVED. IT. Go see it so we can still be friends.

You know? There's a CRAPTASTIC load of drama going on around here, but now that I've gotten to this point in the entry, I am in no mood to write about it right now. So you'll have to wait in barely restrained anticipation until I work up the gumption to put all the crap into some semblance of cohesion.

Labels: best things, food, headspace, home, journal, kids

Posted by Laura at 12:36 PM | Permalink | Comments

I am and always have been an proponent of the theory that true happiness comes in little bits and pieces. Oh sure, sometimes the "big happy" comes along - an unexpected win, a vacation you didn't think you'd be able to swing but then pulled off, a relative who didn't actually have to die in order to give you their heaps and heaps of cash, just because they wanted to be around to see you enjoy it.

You know, that kind of thing.

For the most part, though, happiness comes along and hangs out with you for a little while. For an afternoon, a day, the length of a favorite song. It comes in the form of a rainy afternoon or a new recipe that falls under the category of "make again -- soon". And you stop, acknowledge the little upwelling of good feeling, and move along with life with that little feeling lingering in the background for a while.

Day to day life can be neither "happy" or "negative". It is what it is, as Calvin is wont to say lately. You live, you work, you do your thing. There exists neutrality to most of life in which there is nothing to say "woo!" over, but also nothing to say "waah!" over.

Amongst this day to day thing-doing, however, there are little bits and pieces of good, and fun, and positive. My belief is that your life - or to break it down into more manageable chunks, your day - is what you make of it. "Fake it till ya make it" is a favorite expression of my own. Push yourself to be in a good mood until you are. Search for your happiness, even amongst the shit, until you find it. Because it IS there, somewhere. Buried, sometimes, but present.

I think we as people tend to have an "all or nothing" attitude about happiness. People want to be euphoric all the time, and if they aren't then that must mean their life is the suck. It just doesn't work that way. Every day brings a little of both pleasure and pain - some days its a lot of one and a little of the other. And it just doesn't tend to balance out in the end with life's experiences tallied evenly between negative and positive. We are, as a species, full of angst. Which is why we need to look for, find, acknowledge, accept, and create for ourselves those small moments, those little pockets of peace.

Being happy takes effort.

Labels: headspace, journal

Posted by Laura at 3:45 PM | Permalink | Comments

Actually, I'm waiting for the refrigerator repair guy. Our fridge - just seven years old and WHAT happened to the kind of appliances that lasted, like, 25 years and your parents only replaced because the 70's motif of olive drab and orange didn't match the decor anymore??? Anyway, our fridge is on the fritz - refrigerated part not cold enough, freezer part not freezing. I had to throw a ton of stuff out yesterday, which was annoying. Most of it was frozen veggies, though, so cheap and easily replaceable. We've already had to replace the washer and dryer (14 years old) and dish washer (7 years old) this year. A new fridge is NOT on our list of money spending priorities at the moment.

I am starting to feel discouraged, like we're making no forward progress in our current lives. Marie has decided she needs to move back in with us (we'll have to pay the EXORBITANT fees for breaking the lease on her apartment, which Marie is going to pay back to us in installments), and Michael never moved out, so we're back to (or will be soon back to) having a full house. Which is fine, really - we all get along quite well. There will be household citizenship RULES, however. Not the least of which is that Calvin and I should never have to wash a single dish or take out a single bag of trash for as long as the kids are living with us. And this coming and going at 2:00 in the morning nonsense will be NO MORE.

Aaaand the fridge repair guy just left. The compressor is shot. We have to buy a new fridge. Fuck a duck. Another $1500 (at least) out the door.

Does it ever end?

Labels: home, journal, kids, wtf

Posted by Laura at 11:00 AM | Permalink | Comments

We have a new cat. Her name is Zoe. She's kind of a bitch.

Last Sunday Calvin and I took a motorcycle ride to the local animal shelter. We'd been talking off and on for several weeks about getting a companion for Oz. I wanted a kitten, figuring Oz would acclimate more easily with one. Calvin wanted an adult so we wouldn't have to go through the hated "kitten stage". Let me clarify, he hates the kitten stage, specifically the "clawing of the furniture" stage.

So. Shelter. I'm going to tell you right off the bat, I HATE THAT PLACE. The feeling of utter despair completely permeates the place. It is the most depressing, most evil, most awful place on the face of this planet. Sam could totally return his recaptured souls there instead of the MVD.

We walked up and down all the lanes of cats and kittens, dogs and puppies. They all stared STRAIGHT INTO MY SOUL. Every one of them. And I positively knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that each and every one of those animals would make a fabulous family addition, and just about each and every one of those animals would never get adopted.

By the second lane of animals I was womanfully choking back tears. But the third lane of animals I gave it up as hopeless and just BAWLED. Dear fucking lord (sorry, that's way taking His name in vain), I HATE THAT PLACE. All those beautiful, sad, tragically hopeful animals.

Calvin discovered a kitten, a little orange guy, that had a super personality. So I coo'ed and snuggled him, fully expecting to take him home. Calvin said he'd just check beyond the door marked "more cats through here", then he'd come back and we'd make arrangements to take the little guy home. A few minutes later he poked his head back into the room I was in, and asked me to come check out a cat he found. So I handed the kitten back to the volunteer and followed Calvin.

He lead me to a cage that had a lone occupant. At first glance she looked startlingly like Ozzy. The information sheet posted outside of her cage said that she was approximately two years old, and upon handling her we discovered that she was declawed in both front and back feet. Which meant that she was also probably spayed, but the information sheet didn't say. They had no history on this animal - not even a name - just the fact that the owner "didn't want her on the property anymore" and turned her in on the 9th of September. That day was the 23rd.

We went to the administrative desk (I was still crying like a stupid stupidhead - this time feeling guilty about the orange kitten we'd changed our minds about. I know, though, that kittens have a MUCH better chance at adoption than adult cats), filled out forms and paid our fees, and requested that when she was checked for spaying that they also test her for feline leukemia. We were instructed to come pick her up on Wednesday.

We went to Chili's. I had a beer and a shot. I felt better.

On Monday I posted that whole long list of crap I had to get done. Immediately after that I checked the voicemail messages (someone beeped in while I was talking to Calvin) and found a message from the shelter - the cat turned out to be already spayed and she was ready to be picked up. SO! After several failed attempts to call them back (disconnections, no answers, GUH-ROWL) and find out if the leuk test came back negative, I decided to just drive up there. If she was tested and all was fine, I'd take her home. If she wasn't, I'd re-instruct them to test her and come back again to pick her up.

I stopped at PetSmart on the way to get a litter box and dishes and whatnot, then went to the shelter's clinic. I also HATE THAT PLACE. I was buzzed in and handed the carrier over to the technician on duty, and then sat there listening to the WAILING cats and dogs inside the clinic. I almost started crying again. I double checked with the technician when she returned with the cat, who confirmed that they had tested her for feline leukemia and the tests came back negative. I peeped into the carrier and said hi to the little girl, who gave me a very plaintive mew in return.

The technician told me that if she hadn't been adopted, she had been on the list to be euthanized on Friday. Which is today. I might start crying again.

Now, usually when I put Ozzy in the carrier to go to the vets or some such thing, he MROWLS at the top of his lungs like he's being killed. This little girl just kind of squeaked and pdddrrrt at me as I talked to her on the drive home. I got her home, put her in the workout room, arranged her food and water and litter box, then sat on the floor to get acquainted.

What a SWEET little cat she is. She climbed up into my lap, purred and purred and PURRED, "talked" up a storm, and kept butting at my hands if I paused in my petting. She looks VERY like Ozzy, especially around the head. She's a little darker, her hair is a little whispy-er, and she's SO SOFT.

I kept her shut in the room to let her get settled. When Calvin got home he, of course, wanted to see how she and Oz would interact with one another. So he opened the door between them.

Oz was all, "Hi! Who are you? Are you a person too? You look like me! Will you be my friend?"

The new cat (now named Zoe) was all, "GET YE GONE, YOU MINION OF SATAN."

Aaaaand that's how it's pretty much gone all week long. Zoe is wonderful and sweet and loving and craves attention from people, tolerates the dogs, and goes into a spastic fit every time she sees Oz. Oz alternates between hurt confusion, indifference, and "Fuck you bitch, you want to spat? I'll show you a spat!" There is much yowling and growling.

So after we introduced the cats and they'd been spitting at one another for a while, we got another message from the animal shelter. They were SO SORRY, but the cat had in fact NOT been tested for feline leukemia, and we could bring her back, and blah blah blah, and DAMMIT.

I made an appointment with our vet for the next day. Oz and Zoe had already been introduced. If she was sick there was little we could do about it now. Fortunately, the result of the trip to the vets was a clean bill of health and a negative result on the leuk test. Still. The shelter can suck a bag of dicks. They could have gotten my Ozzy sick. The bastids.

I find the dispute between Oz and Zoe somewhat amusing - they can't hurt one another, and they're really just talking. They haven't gotten physical with one another. Calvin finds it very frustrating. He wants them to be BFF RIGHT NOW. I know the cats will find their own peace and their own positions in the household. Calvin wants to force them to be friends. Yeah, right. Forcing a cat to do anything is like pushing a rope. Currently, I am keeping the cats separated unless we are home to monitor them. Oz is enjoying taunting Zoe under the door, from his position out in the hallway. Zoe doesn't really care unless she physically sees him. The one who is most upset in the household is Calvin.

I don't think kitty treats work on him.

(Pictures forthcoming as soon as I get them off my camera.)

Labels: home, journal, pets

Posted by Laura at 9:11 AM | Permalink | Comments

First, let me (and Jen, nyah) say, THANK GOD.

Second, Calvin and Marie and I went to Kona Grill last night in celebration of Marie's birthday. Much food was eaten, and a good time was had by all. (I was going to write this entry yesterday but I promised Marie I would leave her "Happy Birthday" message up as the uppermost entry for the WHOLE DAY in her honor.)

Third, I got four inches cut off the length of my hair last Friday, and as a result I have the Best Hair In All The World.

Fourth, today is National Talk Like a Pirate day. Avast!

And now, the weekend.

So, Friday Lucy was tearing around her tank like a crazy person lizard, running back and forth and scrabbling up on the sides and digging digging digging. So I took her out of her tank and into the living room, where I set her on the floor so she could run around. The cat was fascinated, and she kept running at him to check him out, at which point he would squint at her and flinch like he expected her to spit in his face or something, and then run off to the nearest hiding spot. Calvin and I were mightily amused by this.

Then suddenly Lucy squatted as if she was going to take a poo on the rug. Calvin warned me and I scooted her off the rug and onto the tile, the easier to clean up the impending mess. Except that instead of poo, out plooped... an egg!

We must have stared at it for a full minute before I exclaimed, "Hey! It's an egg!" Commence with the scrambling around as Calvin went off to Home Depot to secure some soil (for a laying box) while I called Pets Inc. to see if they knew where to purchase an incubator in a hurry. Calvin came back and we used a giant Rubbermaid storage container to put the soil in. I moistened it and packed it down so Lucy could dig a little cave to lay in. We put Lucy in and put a couple of screens over the top and rested a heat lamp on the screens. We watched expectantly.

She stared back up at us.

We stared back down at her.

She just sat there and didn't seem interested in digging a nest. So I dug what is called a "starter hole" to see if that would get her instincts to kick in. Nuthin. She totally had no idea what to do. She layed a half-dozen eggs (non-viable, which is common for a first clutch) on the surface, then spent a lot of time scrabbling up the sides of the box trying to get out.

Throughout the entire weekend she would lay an egg here, an egg there, an egg in the tub when I soaked her, an egg in her and Cheeto's tank after I put her back in it because I thought she was finally done with all of this nonsense (we have since separated them into their own individual tanks)... here it is Wednesday and I'm not entirely sure that she's done with the egg laying yet.

So! That was fun.

Friday night Calvin and I met a friend up at Iguana Mack's for some beer (and some more beer) and conversation. The weather, at least at night, is finally to the point where riding places on the motorcycle is comfortable again. I'm back to being a lightweight because I haven't been drinking very much at all, really, since we came back from the beer festival. So I got loopy and silly, as is my nature, and suffered a mild hangover the next morning. Phooey.

Saturday morning we watched "Invincible" on TV, and I drooled over Mark Wahlberg.

(pic courtesy of mark-wahlberg.org)
Being in a football frame of mind, Calvin secured tickets to the Arizona State/San Diego State college football game at Sun Devil Stadium. We left a couple of hours early in order to putter around Mill Avenue and the college district before the game. We ended up at House of Tricks (I once wrote an entry about it here). We sat at the bar and ordered drinks (whiskey and beer for Calvin, iced tea for me... stoopid hangover) and an appetizer, and just sat conversing and laughing and enjoying the cool-ish weather. We brought the camera with us and Calvin shot a few pics, then a nice man from across the bar came over and offered to take a picture of us together.









We left Tricks about a half-hour before the game started, and walked and walked and WALKED because we parked closer to the stadium than to the action-side of Mill. Now, I LOVE Sun Devil Stadium. I love the crowd, I love the college students, I love the atmosphere. I love the tributes to Pat Tillman, whom I was fortunate enough to see play when he was an ASU Sun Devil AND when he was a Cardinal.

I think I like being at a college game better than being at a pro game. There just seems to be more energy - the chants, the band playing, the students bouncing a blow-up doll among the crowd:



Some more pics:












The Devils beat up San Diego with a final score of 34-13. We left at halftime, though, to go back down to Mill (walky walky walky) and hang out at a bar for an hour or so. We watched the culmination of the game from a place called Coconuts.

We rode home. We wrestled. We went to sleep.

The phone rang at 2:00 in the morning. Calvin rolled over and grunted into the receiver - it was Marie's boyfriend saying they had a fight and Marie said she was going to our house, and was Marie there? Calvin got up and checked... no Marie. The boyfriend was informed, we knew Marie would head to a friend's house first, and we went back to sleep.

The phone rang at 3:00 in the morning. Calvin rolled over and grunted into the receiver - it was Marie asking if we had called her. Calvin said no. Marie said she'd gotten a call from our home number. Calvin said it wasn't us. He got up and checked the house to see if maybe it had been Michael who had called. Michael was at his girlfriends. We deduced that Marie's boyfriend called from our house to see if he could get Marie to pick up, having let himself in.

That caused some consternation. Not a lot, because we know this kid and know he wouldn't do anything wrong or rash or mean. But still. We shared an "Oh no he DI-INT" moment with Marie, and went back to sleep.

(Later) Sunday morning we woke up and discovered Marie asleep on the couch. The rest of the day was spent talking with her, talking with Marie's boyfriend when he showed up, watching TV, and napping. Currently, the boyfriend has moved out of Marie's apartment, and Michael is considering moving in with her.

(Snoopy dance!)

So! That was the drama of last weekend. This weekend is shaping up to deliver some NICE weather (supposed to be 88 on Saturday), so I'll probably have more pics to share of whatever trouble Calvin and I can find to get ourselves into.

Labels: booze, journal, kids, lizards, photography

Posted by Laura at 8:26 AM | Permalink | Comments

Gah, I'm tired. I've had an obnoxious amount of energy during the day for the past week or so, and now it seems I have hit the wall. That, or the 214 parts that I had to deactivate, one at a time, in the AcronymCo database, turned me in to a zombie.

I bet that's it.

I've been weirdly nesting over the last couple of weeks, too (no, I'm not pregnant, stop it). I cleaned the whole house on Friday afternoon and have been doing my best to keep it that way. I've been finding myself looking forward to the colder weather so I can make soups and stews and bake things. I've even found myself looking forward to Thanksgiving, of all things, because I enjoy cooking up the feast. Of course, half-way through the process, every year, I always wonder why it was I volunteered to do this nonsense. But looking at it from this end of things I've forgotten the pain of laboring in my kitchen and just fondly recall it as a fun afternoon stirring and chopping and baking.

Clearly, I am insane.

I invited my cousin and her husband out for Thanksgiving - they live in Maine and would bring a little piece of it with them should they accept our invitation. I really hope they do - they're good people. I have a feeling we would all get into a LOT of trouble during their visit.

I am determined to have all of my Christmas shopping DONE before Thanksgiving. Yea verily, I have spoken.

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 3:04 PM | Permalink | Comments

I'm not having the best of days.

Calvin and I had a big ol' argument last night, which is extremely rare and never fun. I am left with a general feeling of anxiety and unhappiness. I'm not sure of the resolution.

School continues to be a concern, as AcronymCo pulled their support of the school I was going to, and subsequently I have to transfer to an approved school if I want to continue to get tuition reimbursement. I may or may not have to take my SAT's. At 33. The very idea.

I am working quite hard to get fit and lose weight, and yet the scale persists in its stubborn refusal to move. Though it is not moving UP, it is also not moving DOWN. This angers me.

Work is work and although nothing BAD is happening there to upset me, I am completely bored in a disconcertingly mind-numbing way.

Hellooooo depression. You motherfucker.

Labels: headspace, journal

Posted by Laura at 9:50 AM | Permalink | Comments

I spent two and a half hours cleaning my bedroom today. I practically put myself into anaphylactic shock with all the dust I kicked up. Calvin's shoes were EVERYWHERE. Now they are in two places, neatly arranged. A metric ton (or thereabouts) of clutter and crap has been moved to The Storage Room Formerly Known As Marie's (five trips up and down the stairs). The laundry explosion has settled and everything is folded and hung up. I love my Dyson, and so does my carpet. I also love the Swiffer, though I went through three dusters in the course of my attack.

The speakers have been uncovered from the piles that surrounded them. The bed can be (and has been) made now that the footboard is no longer housing fifty pairs of jeans. Who needs as many pairs of jeans as we own, I ask you?

The water dragon is not adapting well to his new home, mostly because it is on cat-level and Oz delights in fucking with the lizard. Just that one. He doesn't mess with the beardies, and I think he's a little bit afraid of the snake. But the water dragon he taunts constantly. So, I put newspaper all along the outside of the tank. Oz has been thwarted, and is decidedly grumpy at me about it. You may ask how I can tell if he's grumpy, and how I can tell that said grumpiness is directed specifically at me:

1. Brodies that pinnacle up onto the (formerly) folded pile of laundry, thereby scattering said laundry to the floor.
2. A game of "Bite the toes from under the dust ruffle" as I walk around the bed while making it.
3. Glaring balefully at the newspaper-sided tank, then glaring equally balefully at me.
4. Refusing to get out of the (now empty) laundry basket so I can put it away.
5. Mrowing at me in a very disapproving way from under the (now overturned) laundry basket.

Perhaps I should address overhaul-type cleaning as a weekly goal that is focused on a single room. Then by the time the last room is clean, it will be time to start over again. God knows I'm looking for any kind of method or system to motivate myself with, here. This house is a disaster.

But! My room is clean.

Labels: home, journal, pets

Posted by Laura at 3:05 PM | Permalink | Comments

Okay, this is turning out to be the best day EVAR. I enjoyed the thunderstorm this morning from the safety of my covered patio, then Calvin got up and we had some coffee and spent some quality time (ifyaknowwhatimean) (andithinkyoudo). Then we got dressed and went for a ride on the motorcycle in the 80-degree weather (!), and went to The Good Egg for pancakes. THEN when we got back we watched TV for an hour or so before crashing for a two-hour nap.

This day has just been a combination of all of my very favorite things. If the trend continues, this evening Calvin and I will cook together in the kitchen while dancing around to 80's music. Then someone will stop by with that pony I've always wanted.

Labels: best things, home, journal

Posted by Laura at 3:32 PM | Permalink | Comments

It's nearly 4:00 in the morning. I'm up. It's raining; the fat drops are hitting the skylight like pennies. The thunder is still off in the distance quite a bit, but the wind is starting to pick up and soon, I'm sure, our house will be in the thick of it.

The quiet of the pre-dawn house and the muffled sounds of the storm could be serving to make me feel lonely, but instead I feel content. Happy, even. I love it when it rains. It's almost worth it to be awake for it at four in the morning. The cat, blinking at me through squinted eyes at the sudden appearance of light, might disagree with me.

I don't mind insomnia when it's a novel thing. Calvin and I went to bed at about 10:30 last night, so I got about five hours of sleep before I found myself awake, suddenly. Instead of tossing and turning and bothering him, I decided to (quietly!) grab my laptop and move into the living room with my pillow and a sheet. Oz, asleep on the couch, look rather affronted when I turned the light on. But the words rummaging around in my head must out, so light there must be.

Right now, I am happy. In a few hours Calvin will be up and we will be drinking coffee and reading the paper and conversing about what's going on in the world. I love being on this end of the weekend.

The rain is coming down hard, now.

Labels: insomnia, journal

Posted by Laura at 3:56 AM | Permalink | Comments

The anniversary of my Grandmother's death is on the 18th. It's been six years. If you had asked me before her passing if I could imagine a world without her in it for even one minute, I would have said it was impossible. But here I am, surviving after six whole years, and it still hurts.

Tears are closer to the surface around this time of year. Depression is harder to fend off. And I always think of Heather, whose own "bad anniversary" is this time of year, too. She lost her mom around the same time I lost Grandma. Her friendship and commiseration were a great comfort to me during the awful first months after Grandma's passing, and I hope Heather can say the same about my friendship.

Thinking about Grandma also starts up the homesickness, since my memories of Maine are part and parcel with my memories of Grandma. I went to Maine twice this year. I didn't visit her grave either time. I think I was subconsciously avoiding it. I feel like a bad granddaughter. But I think about her all of the time, so is that an equal tribute to placing flowers on her place of rest? I don't know.

I had a conversation with my uncle when Calvin and I were home in May. I think he was troubled that I miss my grandmother much more than I miss my mother. I think it upset him that my grandmother's death effected me in a much more profound way, than did the death of my mother. His relationship with my mother was an extremely close one. I think he understands intellectually, but not emotionally, that I didn't really bond with my mother the way I did with my grandmother. I hardly saw my mother when I was small - she died when I was 8, and my early childhood memories more involve other people taking care of me than my mother. My mother worked nights and slept days, and was often in the hospital. My grandmother, my aunt, and my sister all took turns taking care of me.

Then, after my mother passed away, I went to live with my grandmother. It was an easy transition, given how much time I already spent with her. My real childhood happened at Grandma's, with Grandma. So it's no wonder that her house is "home" to me, rather than the house I lived in with my mother. It's no wonder her memory is the one I conjure when I'm craving a mother figure.

Obviously, I still feel guilty. Guilt and death are often hand-in-hand, I've found. I didn't do enough, I didn't say enough, I didn't show enough. Even after six years, it eats at me. And, I suppose, even after twenty-five.

Labels: headspace, journal

Posted by Laura at 10:38 AM | Permalink | Comments

The theme song (cluck?) to Robot Chicken is stuck in my head.

Friday night Calvin and I went to the Tempe Improv to see Louis CK. We rode up on the motorcycle and suffered 105-degree heat after the sun went down (to which I am tempted to add "...for chrissakes"). I managed to spill an entire glass of ice water in my lap once we were seated, and I felt so much better I wasn't even mad at myself.

Going to see a comedy show is usually a sure bet for an entertaining night. Calvin and I have gone to the Improv a lot in our years together. In addition to Louis CK, we've seen Lewis Black, Christopher Titus (twice), Wayne Brady, Larry the Cable Guy, Mitch Hedberg (with Heather), Carlos Mencia (at the Dodge Theater), Ron White, Lisa Lampanelli, Robert Schimmel (twice), Harland Williams, and a bunch more that Calvin will probably remind me of once he reads this entry (did we see Jeff Foxworthy or Bill Engvall? I forget.) Calvin saw Eddie Murphy once, but that was before me. I wanted to see Eddie Izzard's upcoming show, but it's sold out. I saw Steven Wright once with my ex.

Anyway! We came home to some drama that we attempted to diffuse, and went to bed at around 2:30. I told you that detail so that I could ask you this: WHY does my body insist on waking up at 7:00 on a Saturday morning, regardless of how much sleep I have (or have not) gotten the night before? And WHY can I not convince said body to go back to sleep, after reasoning with it for a good fifteen minutes ("You got barely four hours of sleep. It's Saturday, you don't have to go to work. The bed is sooooo comfy...")? I just gave up and got up.

I did catch a nap later in the day, though. I love naps so much that I might just start getting up early on the weekends JUST to have an excuse to take a nap in the afternoon. (Hush, Calvin.)

Saturday evening we watched the first disc of the first season of Robot Chicken, courtesy of NetFlix. We laughed, we cried, (we didn't get some of 'em), it became a part of us. Seth Green is an evil genius. Some of the skits were SO WRONG. Which is precisely what appealed to us, of course. If there's any kind of sense of humor we have, it's a sick and twisted sense of humor.

(Case in point, I found this to be hysterical. I know! I'm sick.)

We also watched, like, three episodes of The Two Coreys (I watched under protest), and were then motivated to watch The Goonies and identify every familiar place we saw during our visit in Oregon.

Sunday Calvin and I got tickets to the Diamondbacks vs. Washington Nationals baseball game, eschewed the riding of the motorcycle in favor of the nicely air-conditioned truck (hello, heat advisory!), and found decent seats a stone (cup?) throw away from the beer.

The D-backs lost. Phooey.

Sunday evening we wisely took our other Netflix offering, "Shortbus", into the bedroom to watch. The film caught our interest after watching an Indi channel documentary on the history of film ratings (G, PG, etc...). Shortbus was described to be what the rating "X" was intended to be - adult content but not pornography (hello, search hits!). And I have to say, sensibilities aside, I really liked the movie. I couldn't describe it to save my life (well, not without blushing HARD), but I would recommend the film to OPEN MINDED people who aren't offended by a wholly sexual topic and sex scenes in which the parties are NOT pretending.

What an interesting weekend. Comedy, Robot Chicken, Coreys, 80's culture, a baseball game, and full frontal (sideal, backal, upsidedownal, rightsideupal) nudity.

Labels: humor, journal

Posted by Laura at 3:16 PM | Permalink | Comments

You know, as soon as I got the answer back from that company in Maine, I completely ceased to think about it at all any more. As many of you probably suspect, they did decide to go with another candidate for the position. As I told Dawn during one of our recent EPIC e-mail marathons, "They shall RUE THE DAY that they chose someone else!"

I wasn't even really that disappointed or upset, which is probably why I totally brain-farted about posting about it. When the contemplation of such a large life change is in the works, things hardly ever work out exactly the way you want them to on the first try.

So! C'est la vie. We have goals a-plenty right here in this house, right here in Arizona, to keep us occupied until this mythical Life Changing Event takes shape.

Labels: journal, Maine, work

Posted by Laura at 5:15 PM | Permalink | Comments

Yesterday I slept until 11:00, read in bed until 1:30 (thanks again for the books, Jen!), received clothes shipped from Old Navy, tried on said clothes and discovered that all but one item fit perfectly, took a VERY long bubble bath, went to the grocery store with Calvin, watched Calvin bake not one, but TWO cakes (yellow with chocolate frosting, and devils food with caramel frosting), hung out with Marie and her boyfriend, consumed the steak dinner that Calvin also cooked, and had two pieces of cake.

I also received a card from Dawn, a phone call from my sister, a phone call from Ann Marie, and an e-mail from Heather.

It was a very nice birthday.

(Today I am going to pick up the veggies from the co-op, then sit patiently and await the delivery of Harry Potter from Amazon.)

Labels: best things, Calvin, home, journal

Posted by Laura at 8:17 AM | Permalink | Comments

I still haven't heard from that company in Maine. Motherfuckers.

I am shocked and a little awed (after having just balanced the checkbook and paid the bills) at the sheer amount of money we spend going out to eat. If we could just STOP DOING THAT, this paycheck-to-paycheck bidness could probably end. But going out to eat is not only the procurement of necessary nourishment - it is a form of entertainment for us. Mostly me. Clearly we need to find other ways to entertain ourselves. Ways that don't involve spending money.

I am a very outdoorsy person, normally, but it impossible to do outdoor-type-entertainment things in Arizona in the summertime. And yet? I still see joggers out there, every afternoon when the temperature is at its 116-fuck-degree hottest. And I ponder to myself: what unpronounceable mental condition do these people possess? Or is it a physical problem (also unpronounceable) that prevents people from feeling the heat (Googling... hold please... Familial Dysautonomia)? I can understand the need to get/remain fit. I can even somewhat wrap my brain around the thought that some people in fact enjoy running. But nothing in the world can make me comprehend the reasoning behind running in July in Arizona. That's just all full of The Crazy.

(Channelling Dawn, with whom I have been exchanging some EPIC e-mails this week.)

Remember how last weekend I said that Calvin and I were going to spend the entire weekend clearing out the garage and moving a bunch of stuff from the house and garage into the newly-obtained storage unit? Yeah. Well. We went as far as to take a trip to Home Depot on Saturday to acquire some storage containers. And Calvin purchased and put together a fan and attachments to make a mister to run in the garage during said cleaning out activity.

That's as far as we got. Seriously. We showered, napped, and sat on the couch watching movies. For the rest of the day on Saturday, and ALL DAY Sunday. We didn't do one damn useful thing at all. And felt really guilty about it. So this weekend we have renewed our motivation to accomplish the shitload of shit we need to get done. I have a list. It is long.

And now, a list of the movies that Calvin and I have used to distract ourselves from the guilt of not accomplishing anything:

Catch and Release - Starring Jennifer Garner and Timothy Olyphant. Cute enough. Decent, even. The dead guy pissed me off, but it ended good. I shall purchase the soundtrack.

Fur - Starring Nichole Kidman and Robert Downey Jr. What a freaking WEIRD movie. Normally I LOVE anything RDJr is in, but this one? Just weird, nothing else.

Zoom - Academy for Superheroes - Starring Tim Allen and Courtney Cox. Calvin picked this one out, it's his fault. DUMB.

Tourista - Starring nameless B-rate actors. Calvin watched this one while I read a book. And when it came to the underwater scene, I took my book into the bedroom. I don't like horror movies, and I can't STAND scenes where people are trapped underwater. GAH.

Shooter - Starring Mark Wahlberg. Decent, though with much pointless violence. It was interesting to see Danny Glover play the bad guy.

Blood Diamond - Starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Connelly. I still don't much like Leo. Plus there was A LOT of pointless violence in this one... which I guess accurately depicted the conditions of that part of Africa in the 90's.

Black Snake Moan - Starring Christina Ricci and Samuel L. Jackson. Certainly not what I expected, though I don't think I had expectations of this movie. It was decent. I still think Christina looks like one of the aliens from Mars Attacks!, though. Creepy.

Music and Lyrics - Starring Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore. Very cute. I couldn't get the final song out of my head for days.

Bridge to Terabithia - Not what I expected, I thought it was going to be far more fanciful and far less literal. A good movie, though it struck a VERY STRONG chord because the similarities with what happened to Brad. Right down to the dog, for crying out loud.

The Devil Wears Prada - Starring Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway (with a minor role by our favorite, Stanley Tucci - I WISH they would put him on Grey's Anatomy). Saccharine and cute. Anne Hathaway does well dressed ala Audrey Hepburn, circa "Sabrina" and "Breakfast at Tiffany's".

And finally, Battlestar Galactica, seasons one and two. We've been getting the discs via Netflix since late March/early April, and just finished the last disc of season two last week. I am anxiously awaiting season three to come out, so I can watch it before season four starts on TV in November. What a great series. Calvin and I are both really enjoying it. Though the use of "frack" is really starting to get annoying. Also annoying, the last three or four episodes - Lee went from Captain to Commander in, like, two and a half episodes; Starbuck's trip to Caprica to rescue the rebels was very abbreviated, topped off by a bullshit message from the Cylons that they "made a mistake" by practically wiping out humanity; they elected a new president, found a planet, inhabited it for over a year, and were invaded by Cylons in one episode.

They never jumped around in time like that before, and they never hurried the storyline so much before. It makes me wonder why executives make decisions to mess with the story like that.

As far as summer television goes, everyone knows that it is The Suck. Calvin and I just end up watching reruns of sit-coms, comedians on the Comedy Channel, whatever's running on HBO (if we watch "Over the Hedge" one more time...), whatever's on the Discovery Channel, and hours upon HOURS of WWII documentaries (Calvin's a buff) on the History and/or Military channel. However, we have started watching episodes of "Kathy Griffin - My Life on the D List" (on Bravo? E!? Some cable channel...), and I've got to say, that woman CRACKS ME UP. She dines upon her foot with hysterical frequency, puts herself out there CONSTANTLY for judgement and ridicule, and doesn't give a SHIT. It's awesome. I want to grow up to be just like her.

Dear Lord, in reading back through this entry, it is very VERY obvious that Calvin and I need to put some meaning back into our leisure time.

Labels: food, goals, home, journal, movies, TV

Posted by Laura at 11:51 AM | Permalink | Comments

Hi guys. A lot of you have e-mailed/commented, asking if I've heard anything back from that company in Maine that I interviewed with a couple of weeks ago. I haven't heard anything yet, but they did mention not to expect to hear from them until sometime around the 9th of July. Which is today. So I should know something soon, and you guys will be the second to know. Behind Calvin, of course.

I hate doctors completely. Absolutely. With the white-hot passion of a thousand burning suns. I went to my GP on Friday to see if they could do something about the screwed up thyroid levels appearing on my blood test results, so that I wouldn't have to wait until the 31st to see the endocrinologist (see entry on 6/26). I have almost all the symptoms of hyPOthyroidism (lethargy, weight gain, body aches, among others). Yet the doc said that the test results show that I should be experiencing hypERthyroidism, whose symptoms (heart palpitations, high blood pressure, excess of energy, weight loss, among others) are the exact opposite of how I've been feeling.

Here's the part where I got mad. She said that I'm probably depressed, and should take meds. I told her, "No, I know what that feels like. I've been on anti-depression and anti-anxiety meds before, and went off them back in November. I'm not going back on them, this is different."

She just smiled at me in a condescending fashion, said, "I think you should consider it, since that would be in keeping with all of your symptoms," and pat-patted me on the arm. As if to say, "You can't fix the problem until you admit there is one." Bitch. You all KNOW what hell I went through with my depression and anxiety, and for someone to suggest that I'm in denial or don't know what I talking about REALLY cheesed me.

She wanted to order up yet another round of blood tests and a follow-up appointment, which I absolutely flat-out refused. I am God-awful sick and tired of getting poked with needles. The year is only half over and I've had at LEAST six or seven blood tests already, for a variety of things. And I'm sure the endocrinologist (who I am still seeing) will order another round, since their office wasn't the one who provided this latest blood test, and it will be a couple of months old by the time I finally see them.

Not to mention the fact that each doctor's office uses different sets of ranges and parameters to measure blood and body chemistry, which I find to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of. Where is the industry standardization? How do they expect to measure results over time, across disciplines, if their methods of measurement are all different? How do they expect to identify trends? I can't compare the blood tests that I got from the GP, the OB-GYN, and the Gastro doc because they use different measurements and scales for the same labs. It boggles the engineer and data analyst in me.

Let's see, what else? Ah, yes. Back on the 29th, Calvin and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary (see here for the entry I did about the wedding). What better way to celebrate than to eat steak, and watch steak! We went to The Keg for some blue cheese crusted filet mignon (uh. mah. gah.), then went to the Jobing.com Arena to watch the pro bull riding competition. I'd never been to any sort of bull riding or rodeo event, even though I've lived in the "Wild Wild West" for coming up on up on fourteen years.

I tell you what, we had a pretty darned good time. I was rooting for the bulls the whole time, of course. We sat next to a group of guys that were out for a buddy's birthday, and ended up gabbing a bit with them and sharing the flask-o'-whiskey around. There was a very pretty girl with a low cut top and hiked up assets sitting in the section below us, and every time she would climb up (and then back down, natch) the stairs on a beer run, the guys would all yell, "Puppies!" Yeesh.

Anyway, we took a billion and three blurry bull pictures. Bulls standing on their heads. Bulls standing on their tails. Bulls leaning at 90 degree angles. Cowboys staying on, cowboys falling off, cowboys getting their privates trounced. And a very entertaining rodeo clown that sang and danced to 80's music. All of the pictures are here, but I think this one sums it all up:


Bull's got hops.

Calvin and I are going to Oregon in a few weeks for the Oregon Brewer's Festival. I also intend on visiting Powells, and Moonstruck. We're staying in downtown Portland and will be there for four days. Are there any readers out there that are native to the area, or have been there, that want to recommend a place to go or a sight to see? Send an e-mail or leave a comment, thanks!

Labels: health, journal, Maine, work

Posted by Laura at 10:39 AM | Permalink | Comments

The forecast says it's supposed to be 112 degrees F today. It's 73 degrees in my office (I have a clock-slash-thermometer on my monitor stand). I am cold. WTF?

Calvin and I spent all day yesterday in our jammies, except for the 10 minutes where he got dressed to make a beer run. There was no braving of the Fourth of July crowds (and DUI checkpoints) for us. I've never been particularly interested in fireworks shows since my Uncle stopped putting on his own shows when I was a kid. It may have been the everything-is-grander-scaled perspective of a grown up looking back on a child's memories, but he really did seem to go all out with his fireworks displays. Of course, they were legal in Maine back then. They don't seem to be legal anywhere anymore, not even harmless Morning Glories and sparklers. So. I guess I just grew out of fireworks. Perhaps that's a little bit sad.

There was a "Back to the Future" trilogy marathon on HBO yesterday, and once Calvin got wind of the fact that I have only EVER seen the first BttF (how I managed that is beyond me), we had to watch ALL THREE. My original assumption was correct - anything after #1 was not worth seeing. Ah, well, at least now I can cross that off my list of "things to do before I die". Except that it was never on the list to begin with.

We got a storage unit this week, and this weekend will be occupied with filling it with all of our shit priceless belongings. We have a Very Long List of things to do around the house, but the #1 item was to de-clutter so we don't have to move all of our shit priceless belongings around as we try to clean/paint/repair. We're hoping that motivation will beget motivation, and once we get rolling it will be easier to force ourselves to do the subsequent tasks.

Okay, I'm boring myself. Over and out.

Labels: home, journal, movies

Posted by Laura at 9:13 AM | Permalink | Comments

I wish I could just hire somebody to come in and SUPERCLEAN this house. I'm sure by the standards of a visitor or other outsider the state of cleanliness is just fine. To me, and to Calvin, it's just ookey. The walls need to be cleaned. The baseboards. All of the nooks and crannies. The windowsills. The windows. The curtains and window coverings. The doors and doorjams. All of the closets. The ceiling fans. Cobwebs. All of the stuff that doesn't get the weekly (or thereabouts... feh) attention of dusting, floors, and bathroom.

I know I just have to start with one room and get it all done, then move to the next room, and the next room, and on. Sooner or later, by using this method, it would get done. But... just... ew. Housework. Nasty. No fun. Yucky.

I just want to move out of this house, leave the dirt and clutter to whoever buys it, move into a brand-new place where there are no dust bunnies, and start over. Keeping a place clean is one thing... and we used to be really good about it. Back when the house was new we were obsessive about keeping it clean. Lately? Not so much. Getting a place to a state of cleanliness in order to keep it there... well, that's entirely another thing. Is that thing right there that we have to get to right now. Along with the million and three other "fix it" things we need to do to the house to get it ready for eventual sale. Weekend after weekend of potentially productive time has gone by with me and Calvin sitting on the couch, watching TV and eating snacks.

Obviously, we don't wanna.

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 2:08 PM | Permalink | Comments

I am starting to get quite jealous of Fred and Robyn's garden. Lookit this picture! And this one!

Life just can't be as difficult as it has lately, for crying out loud. Calvin and I are in one hell of a slump, mood-wise. No motivation or general cheeryness to speak of. Just... none. We're even starting to be not-nice to each other, which is the red flag of red flags. Because generally we're on the same side, but lately we're just nitpicking at each other. Plus I haven't been feeling well, which I'm sick of, and which Calvin is sick of, and for Pete's sake, can I not just be HEALTHY?!? I take care of myself, I take my medicine, and it just seems like every time I go to the doc's there's something else wrong with me. Allergies. Asthma. Pancreatitis. Gallstones. Kidney cysts. Acid Reflux. Hyperthyroidism. I don't even want to wonder what might be next.

Just shoot me now.

So how does one swing this pervasive mood around, when there is just nothing but WORK WORK WORK to look forward to? Working at jobs we dislike, working on the house to get it ready to sell it, whenever we're ready for that. Working to reduce our debt and not add to it. Working to keep ourselves and each other happy, content, satisfied, amused. What have you.

Feh, I'm just in a crummy mood today. My morning didn't start out well, with tummy troubles that I will forgo the TMI on. And WHY does the cat have to know what I'm doing when I use the commode, I ask you? He should just mind his own business. I don't poke my head in his business when he's scratching and thumping away in the litter box, after all.

Gadget and Gypsy went to the vet (well, I took them... I'd like to see Gadget try to reach the gas while Gypsy steers...) yesterday. Gadget still has a bad case of kennel cough courtesy of Marie's puppy (who is just the cutest sweetest thing and I PROMISE, Heather, I will take pictures of her the next time she visits and post them!), and Gypsy has a milder case, PLUS infections in both ears. PLUS some kind of growth in her mouth that she'll need surgery to remove. They're walking (panting) petri dishes, for crying out loud. So it's drops in Gypsy's ears twice a day, antibiotics for both of them twice a day, and cough medicine (which I'm picking up from Walgreens today) for Gadget every six hours.

Aww, they're just like Mama, falling apart at the seams.

Straight unsweetened organic cranberry juice is NAS-TAY. You remember that episode of Tweety and Sylvester where Tweety fed Sylvester alum, and Sylvester's mouth puckered up to the dimension of a straw, through which he tried to suck Tweety? Yeah, well, that's what this cranberry juice is doing to me. The things I do to try to stay (get?) healthy.

Feh again. Baaaaaaad mood.

Labels: blogs, health, journal, pets

Posted by Laura at 12:03 PM | Permalink | Comments

(This isn't the first entry on which I've used this title.)

So, I'm back! For those of you who want the short version, then I'll just say that everything went well and I should hear back from them with a yea or nay by the second week of July.

For those of you who want the slightly longer version, with pictures, here you go.

I flew out of Arizona at 6:30 a.m. on Thursday morning. It's a three-hour leg to Chicago, then a two-hour leg to Maine. On the first leg, I sat next to a lady that was laughing HYSTERICALLY, way out loud, over the book she was reading. On the second leg, I sat next to a little nine-year-old boy who was travelling by himself to a lacrosse camp in Maine. On the layover in Chicago in between, I sat at the Fox Sports Bar and had myself a beer and a crab cake. During both entire legs of the flight I studied my brains out, going over all of the Factiva information that I printed out about this company, its parent entity, and the industry. I took copious notes. Very copious. Also, I like to say "copious".

I landed in Maine just before 5:00 p.m., grabbed my rental car and swung by the hotel just long enough to shower and change. My hotel was right next to the airport, but could have been in the middle of the wilderness, there was so much greenery around. Plus, there's like three flights a day out of Portland (I exaggerate, but it's no O'Hare), so I could leave my window open all night long and not be disturbed by 737's flying overhead. Here is the view from my hotel window:



I then departed again, and followed the directions from the hotel to the company I would be interviewing with the next day. That discovered (after only a slight mix up and turn-around), I high-tailed it to the nearest Amato's for Mecca Moment #2 of 2007 (see here for Mecca Moment #1).



Then, not wanting to just take my sandwich back to my hotel room to eat, I decided to explore "down the road a piece" and see if I could find a place to sit by the ocean. Well, down the road a piece took me to Prouts Neck. I gawked at the OH MY GOD houses, then pulled into Ferris Beach, took off my flip flops, grabbed my camera, cell phone, and crack (italian and Humpty Dumpty "All Dressed" potato chips), and walked down to the sandy beach. I sat a few feet from the surf, scarfed my food, and called Calvin to describe to him where I was and what I was doing (and how it was totally surreal that I was back in Maine again, but without him this time).

Despite the fact that I was missing Calvin, I was HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY to be there at that moment in time. I can't even begin to describe it, but I think the other patrons of the beach were wondering why I had a constant and wacky grin on my face.

I walked up and down the beach for an hour or so, taking pictures and sucking in the wonderfully cool salt air (it was 116 in Phoenix that day, 68 in Maine at dusk, and I was trying very womanfully to NOT rub it in with Calvin).

















I REALLY didn't want to pull myself away from the beach, but I knew I had a couple of hours more study time to put in before my interview in the morning. So I meandered back to the hotel, got into my jammies, put some TV on in the background, ironed my suit, and wrote notes until my hand cramped. Then I called Calvin and went over the information I'd found and the questions that I'd listed to ask, just to make sure I didn't sound like a dumbass.

The alarm went off at 7:00 the next morning, and I got ready to go, had two cups of coffee, drove to the business, and had about a half-hour to spare before my 9:00 appointment. So I sat and fretted and listened to the radio until about ten 'til. I signed myself in and got a stinkin' badge, then cooled my heels for another few minutes before the administrator came to get me.

She sat me down in a conference room and had me perform a timed logic test. The type were there are a series of letters and/or numbers that form a pattern that may or may not be obvious, and I have to produce what the next letter or number of the pattern would be. For instance, if "aabbcc" was the pattern provided, the next letter would be "d". Believe me, they started out that simple but didn't stay that way for long. After a while I was scratching my head and muttering, "What the fuck?" I was relieved when the administrator reappeared to say my time was up.

At 10:00 I met with the man that would be my boss. We ran through my resume and I described to him my work history. He described what the position would entail and a bit about the company, and at half past the hour he was wrapped up with his questions, and asked me if I had any of my own.

Heh. So! I opened up my portfolio, set aside the stack of papers I'd researched, flipped through my PAGES of notes, and asked him a WHOLE BUNCH of questions. I kept him going on those for another half an hour. I think a couple of times he was surprised at what I knew and what I'd gleaned about the company from the reading that I did.

At 11:00 I met with one of the VP's of the company, and right off the bat he told me the first gent would be the one to make the decision, and his role was just to see if I would be a good fit, personality-wise, for the company. He said he could see that I was obviously "well qualified", so I was chuffed at that. We really just chit-chatted about the group, the person who'd previously held the role that I was interviewing for, his own tenure of over 25 years, family stuff, AcronymCo's industry versus the one they are in, and just basically tangented a lot. He asked me why I wanted to move back to Maine, and totally understood when I described to him how I just wanted to come home again.

At noon the first gent picked me up in front of the lobby, and we met two other folks from the company for lunch. They talked a lot about common acquaintances and common experiences, so I just basically nodded and smiled a lot. Then the gent and I went to take a tour of one of their facilities and inspect a project that was going on there. Finally at about 2:30 in the afternoon he dropped me back off at the lobby, and I was finally done.

I went back to the hotel and got out of my suit (and pantyhose, ugh), and called Calvin to tell him how it went. Then I called my sister and left her a message letting her know I was in town, and called my uncle's house to talk to his girlfriend (he was out of town).

I showered and dressed in jeans (thank GOD), and drove over by the mall to kill some time. I browsed through Borders Books and Music, and called my cousin to see if she and her husband wanted to get together with me that evening. We agreed to meet at LL Bean in Freeport at 9:00 that night, so I grabbed a quick beer at Uno's and went back to the hotel for a nap.

I got up at about 5:45 and was away again by 6:00. My plan was just to meander my way up to Freeport from Portland, taking the back roads and maybe stopping at one or two beaches along the way. Driving the roads in Maine is just so beautiful, even when you're not going anywhere in particular. It's wonderfully enjoyable to poke around the curvy, twisty roads, looking at all of the trees and beautiful farms and houses, with glimpses of the ocean beyond the foliage.

I got lost on purpose. I'm one of those people who HAS to know where a road leads. So I'd find a likely turn, wander down that road until another one caught my fancy, then steer down that one. I actually talked to myself, "My lordy, I am so lost. I don't even know what town I'm in anymore. Hey, I wonder where this road goes? It's got to come out somewhere. It's fun being lost..."

"La la la."

When I purposefully tried to get myself back to where I needed to be, I ended up taking a road that dumped me right in the middle of Freeport directly across the street from LL Bean. I am that good, people.

It was barely after 7:00 when I arrived at "Bean's", so I spent a leisurely hour shopping for clothes. I got myself a pair of light, white cotton pants, a baby blue camisole, a slightly darker blue knit button-up sweater, and a pair of Bean's signature slides. It was durn chilly by the time I was done, so I put the sweater on immediately, and wandered around talking with Calvin on the cell and looking for a way to kill another hour before my cousin and her husband showed up.

I went to Jameson Tavern and had a beer while enjoying the live guitarist, and left again at 8:30 to stroll back towards Beans. Calvin kept me company on the phone until they arrived.

My cousin and I used to spend a lot of time together when we were children. She is the only daughter of my mother's oldest brother. We spent entire summers together, a few weeks at her house, a few weeks at my house with Grandma, every holiday, and many weekends. She's a little over three years younger than me - we played hard, fought harder, then would catch each other's eye in the middle of a knock-down-drag-out wrestling match, and laugh hysterically.

Since we've grown up, and of course since I moved away from Maine, we've hardly seen one another at all. So I was very excited and really appreciated that they'd take the 45 minute drive, when they had to work the next morning, to come down to Freeport from where they live in Augusta, just to have dinner with little ol' me.

We went back to Jamesons and took a table in the restaurant side. We gabbed AND gabbed AND gabbed, about absolutely everything, trying to pack years of catching up into a couple of hours. My cousin and I are scarily alike, a fact that her husband commented on several times.

We paused to take a breath and look around, and realized it was almost 11:00 and we were the only ones left in the place. Which closed at 10:00.

Oops.

We went outside and sat at the little bistro tables they had set up on the front porch of the restaurant (a house built in 1791 and renovated), and talked for ANOTHER hour. We finally wrapped it up a little after midnight, since they had to work in the morning.

I took one more beeline through LL Bean to use their bathroom before getting in the car to drive back to Portland. They're open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, even Christmas. You'd be surprised how many people were there shopping at 12:15 on a Friday night/Saturday morning.

I forgot how dark it gets in Maine at night. There aren't many street lights around, so I practiced my high beam skills. Hit the high beams, watch for cars coming toward you going in the other direction, hit the low beams, wait for them to pass by, hit the high beams, watch for cars... hit the low beams... wait for them to pass... hit the high beams...

I got back to the hotel at a little after 1:00, called Calvin to let him know I was safe, and hit the sack.

I slept in until 9:00 the next morning. My flight didn't leave until 1:30, so I took my time getting ready and packing. I had breakfast in the hotel restaurant while reading a book, and checked in at the airport at 11:30.

During the leg from Portland to Chicago I got to have a row of seats to myself. But the guy behind me was such an obnoxious conversationalist that I put my iPod on in self-defense. I mean, he was going on and ON about how he would only hang out with people with "old money", never with "new money". WHAT ever.

Chicago O'Hare was an absolute ZOO. My gate information wasn't on the board when I arrived, so I checked in with customer service, then sat at the bar at Chili's for a beer and southwestern egg rolls. It turned out that my flight, that was originally supposed to leave at 5:10, didn't actually get off the ground until nearly 7:00. If I had known I was going to be that delayed, I would have called Heather and asked her to hang out with me. I paced, I read, I got Starbucks, I pee'd about fifty times, I read some more. Then when I finally boarded the plane, I got seated next to this guy that smelled of cigarettes and bad breath, and he wouldn't stop getting into my personal bubble space. He annoyed the hell out of the other person in our row, the flight attendant (he pushed the call button, like, ten times to ask her why the fasten seatbelt sign was on... EVERY TIME it came on), and even the people in the row across from us. And he was in the MIDDLE seat, so you know that he had to lean across the other lady (I was in the window seat) to annoy the others.

Feh. By the time we landed in Phoenix I couldn't get off that plane fast enough. I called Calvin, who was circling the area, when I got my luggage, and he pulled up in front so I could just hop in and go. We stopped at home long enough for me to change and freshen up, and then got dinner at the Elephant Bar.

So there you go. A whirlwind, 6000-mile round trip from (almost) coast to coast, in about 60 hours. Peppered with good food, good conversation, a nerve-wracking interview process, and many many calls home.

I'll let you guys know as soon as I hear anything about the job. Thanks again for all of your well-wishing and support!

Labels: journal, Maine, photography, work

Posted by Laura at 5:58 PM | Permalink | Comments

See previous installment here, which was a little over three years ago. And most things still apply. But I am a very complex woman, ergo you get to know two hundred things about me.

1. I like my eggs over medium. Just right for dipping triangles of toast into the yolk, without grossing myself out with undercooked egg.


2. I like Disney endings. Therefore, any book/TV show/movie/whathaveyou that doesn't have a happy ending, pisses me off.


3. I will not touch any bug, ever. Not to step on, not to slap, not to squish. When I feed the lizards their worms and whatnot, I use the feeding tongs.


4. I only get manicures and pedicures when I'm going on vacation.


5. I love maps. I love looking at them, plotting trips and routes, and putting little flags on them where I've visited. My office walls are lined with maps, which tells people (accurately) that I'd rather be anywhere but my office.


6. I have a very limited amount of patience for stupidity. The amount of time that elapses between my encounter with a stupid person, and my inevitable implosion, decreases with each passing year.


7. I HATE folding laundry. Second to that on the list of top household chores that I hate is cleaning out the vivarium.


8. As long as I have good music to listen to, I have an inexhaustible amount of patience when stuck in traffic.


9. When I was little I used to listen through walls using the old ear-to-glass method. You'd be surprised how well that works. I wouldn't have to resort to spying if my family hadn't kept so many damned secrets.


10. My sister found the notebook I used to scribble my spy-findings in (ala Harriett) between the mattresses of my bed years after I had moved away. She brings it up a lot, there were incriminating things about her in it.


11. I can whistle pretty darned well.


12. Once when I was in my early teens I made a recording of myself singing some Chicago (the band, not the musical) songs. It got into the wrong hands. That ranks as one of my most embarrassing moments.


13. The other most embarrassing moment was the first time I ever farted in front of Calvin. If I recall correctly, I think I cried.


14. As I get older, I regret with more frequency that I do not have a mother.


15. I have never liked Moxie, which in Maine is grounds for deportation.


16. Every time Calvin and I go through an automated car wash I'm tempted to suggest that we hop in the back seat and have sex.


17. I'm good at my job, but I don't particularly like it.


18. I believe in spankings. I do not believe in beatings.


19. The 2008 Presidential Elections will be the first in which I am a registered voter. However, I will still exercise my right not to vote if there are nothing but bozos on the ticket.


20. I would eat a lot healthier if I were single. But I eat a lot funner being married.


21. I totally resent exercise.


22. I have been known to read three entire books in a single day.


23. I ignore the entire world when a new book from one of my favorite authors comes out. Especially if I've been waiting for a long time. I'm looking at YOU, Jean M. Auel.


24. This go around, I'm having a harder time coming up with 100 things than I did last go around.


25. My self-image is probably a lot harsher than reality.


26. I am obsessed with this website.


27. I confess that Calvin and I have gone out and bought a featured booze after seeing it on Three Sheets. The last purchase made thusly was a bottle of Pappy's.


28. I will never understand nor condone the use of watermelon in any soup, hot or cold.


29. I will never understand nor condone the purchase and wearing of Crocs (the original traditional weird ones - they've expanded their product line and have some more acceptable options now).


30. I hate having my toes pulled on.


31. The last time I had to have an IV, I cried a little.


32. I can tolerate watching The Sound of Music, now that I am 22 years beyond performing as Brigitta.


33. If I didn't have my iPod with its noise cancelling headphones, I would have performed a homicide at work by now.


34. Every time I think of it, it still seems weird to me that Patrick Dempsey is from Maine.


35. Garlic salt has replaced all regular salt on my food. There are no circumstances that I have come across where regular salt should be used instead. Except for baking pies, cakes, and cookies, that is.


36. Grandma used to get mad at me for eating all of the sweet peas out of her garden before they ever had a chance to make it to the table.


37. I have always wanted to visit the Puget Sound in Washington.


38. Of all of the foreign countries I could visit, Europe is at the top of my list and Asia is at the bottom. I don't exactly know why that is. The funny thing is, given my job and the company that I work for, I am more likely to go to Asia than I am Europe.


39. I have never been in or near a tornado, but I have nightmares about them.


40. I like strawberries better than blueberries, but I'd rather have blueberry pie than strawberry pie.


41. My favorite kind of pie is coconut cream. NOT meringue.


42. To me, eating meringue is like eating fluffy plastic.


43. I hate the use of the phrase, "without further ado". I mean, READ that. It makes no sense.


44. Lilacs are my favorite flower and scent.


45. I kind of wish that werewolves and vampires were real.


46. If I could have a superpower, I would want the ability to fly. Sometimes I have flying dreams that are so vivid, that when I first wake up I could swear that I could retain the ability while conscious.


47. I'm disappointed that the Storyteller project never really got off the ground.


48. I haven't written a short story since this one. I need to tap into that hobby again.


49. I don't like watching baseball on TV, but I like going to a game. I could say it's because of the beer that I like to go to the ballpark, but I could drink beer at home while watching it on TV, so I don't know. I'm a complex person, I guess.


50. It might make me a bad person, but I have favorites among my pets. I claim the Fifth on that question with respect to my children.


51. I am pro-choice, but would not have an abortion myself.


52. I think someone should take a contract out on Paris Hilton. If it actually happens, well, I saw some kids running...


53. Most weekends I wake up at about 8:00. I can lay there staring up at the ceiling with my brain wandering around (nice visual, that) for over a hour before I finally lever myself out of bed.


54. No matter how hot the summers get (and it gets HOT here), I still want a steaming cup of coffee first thing in the morning. In fact, 'want' doesn't cover it. It's more of a necessity - for me, and everyone who may have to deal with me that day.


55. Some times I contemplate "coming out" on my journal and using my real name. Other times I am quite grateful that not much at all comes up when you Google my real name.


56. Yes, I HAVE vanity Googled. And so have you.


57. Something about car trips makes me need to pee frequently. But I can go all day sitting in my cubicle without having to go once.


58. I don't really like Clint Eastwood. Oh, as a person I'm sure he's a nice guy. I've just never cared for his movies.


59. I bought a guitar in December but I haven't played (with) it very much at all. I have plenty of opportunities to practice, I just... don't.


60. I'm not the only one who thinks that pizza is the universe's answer to the perfect all-in-one food. Meat, dairy, grains, veggies, it's all there.


61. Sometimes I forget to breathe. This is less related to the fact that I have asthma, and more related to the way that I deal with stress. I guess turning blue is part of my process.


62. I have very few friends from my childhood that I still keep in touch with.


63. My favorite color is blue and has been for my entire life.


64. I'm a little bit afraid of my motorcycle. Though it could be more the idiots that are on the roads around here that are scaring me more than my own (lack of) riding ability that is scaring me, I don't know.


65. I didn't plan where my life has ended up thus far. I hope that my lack of planning continues to be this successful.


66. I sleep with three pillows. One to lie on, one to snuggle with, and one to throw on the floor at some point during the night.


67. I used to have a bad recurring nightmare about featureless faces staring in at me through my windows at night, and as a result I can't leave the blinds open after dark.


68. Oz likes Calvin more than he likes me.


69. I have read the "Little House on the Prairie" series entirely through approximately seventeen times. My favorite book was "Farmer Boy".


70. I like Matt Damon infinitely more than Ben Affleck. It seems to me that Matt Damon becomes his characters, while Ben Affleck is just Ben Affleck playing some guy in a movie.


71. Spell check is not working on this entry for some reason, so it will probably be fraught with mistakes and I will be outted as illiterate.


72. A pretty boy is less attractive to me than one that can make me laugh.


73. I like to eat cold Chinese food right from the container with my fingers.


74. I use a file sharing program to download songs to see if I like the song/album/artist. If I do, I usually go out and buy their CD. Using this method, I have far less "listen once and then ignore forever" CD's in my collection.


75. The first time I ever met a black man I told him in complete innocence and earnestness that he had a nice tan. I was six and he was a friend of my sister's. They laughed their asses off while I tried to figure out what was so funny.


76. I am so entrenched in my morning routine that I sometimes stop in the middle of things and can't remember if I completed a step. Case in point, I once shampooed my hair twice because I couldn't remember after I put the conditioner in if I had shampooed first.


77. I have a gun and I know how to shoot it, but I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if I was standing five feet in front of it.


78. I used to go for a long drive when I was upset or angry, doing a circuit of the freeway systems and blasting cathartic tunes. I haven't had to do that in a long time.


79. I DON'T FLOSS. Four out of five dentists lecture me every chance they get.


80. I can remove my bra without taking my shirt off. This magic trick is passed from female to female during the super secret First Bra Ritual.


81. I could never be a school teacher. I don't have the patience. I'm a really cool babysitter, though.


82. I get songs stuck in my mind for DAYS.


83. I hated Taco Bell for years. Now we eat it about once a week. My favorites are the chicken quesadilla and double decker taco supreme.


84. I'm starting to become a fan of Formula One racing.


85. I'm still not a fan of NASCAR.


86. Aimless whistlers are first on my list to take down.


87. Last month I saw Porky's (one AND two) for the first time ever. Calvin was horrified that I had somehow missed this pillar of cinematic genius. He went out and rented the movies the moment I admitted this gap in my cultural upbringing.


88. I used to LIVE for swimming when I was little. Now I can't remember the last time I went swimming. That probably has less to do with any distaste for the act, and more to do with how I look in a bathing suit.


89. I think text messaging is dumb. And not just because I am extraordinarily bad at it.


90. I would totally have sex with the guy that invented blue jeans.


91. I know every word of every song on WHAM!'s "Make It Big" album.


92. The first record (RECORD, as in vinyl) I ever bought was the "Footloose" album. Or was it Michael Jackson's "Thriller"? One of those.


93. When I was a teenager, my bedroom walls were papered with horse posters, and my locker was lined with posters of Johnny Depp and Richard Greco.


94. I have flip flops for every occasion.


95. I can't wear lipstick. It drives me nuts.


96. Some people's ring tones make me want to shove their cell phones... where the sun doesn't shine.


97. I probably inspire that feeling in others. My current ring tone is "Dancing Queen".


98. If I sat on my hands I wouldn't be able to talk.


99. My worst habit is interrupting people when they're speaking. That's mostly because if I don't speak the thought right as it comes to me, I'll forget what I wanted to say.


100. I'll probably try this exercise again in another three years. I'll still be blogging, you bet your bippy.

Labels: blogthings, journal, meme

Posted by Laura at 8:49 PM | Permalink | Comments

Yesterday I dropped Calvin off at the airport, went to Trader Joe's and stocked up on salads for my lunches and dinners for this week (I do NOT cook for myself if I don't have to - this behavior hearkens back to when I was single and eating plates of asparagus for dinner), got home, folded/hung up/otherwise put away five loads of clean laundry, got the call from the company in Maine for me to fly out and interview with them next week, freaked out a little bit, did some work-work, washed and dried the sheets and put them back on the bed, talked to Calvin when he landed in Texas, did some more work-work, dusted and de-cluttered the bedroom, talked to Calvin as he was driving from the airport to his hotel, cleaned the kitchen for an HOUR (even though that is MICHAEL'S JOB but I was sick of seeing the mess after three days of not getting done and apparently the "talk" that Calvin had with him last week did LOADS of good), talked to Calvin when he got to his hotel room, worked out, fed the dogs, fed the cat, fed the lizards, fed myself, talked to Calvin while he was at a restaurant eating his dinner, read off and on, got the coffee ready for the morning, packed my lunch for the next day, read some more, talked to Calvin before he went to bed, then went to bed myself at about 9:30.

When Calvin is away I tend to keep myself busy. Tonight I plan on giving the dogs a bath, moving Lucy to her own tank because Cheeto keeps picking on her, watching the next disc in season two of Battlestar Galactica, and probably reading some more.

As of yesterday, Marie is officially moved out. I say officially, even though she's been pretty much living with her boyfriend for a couple of months, because she removed all of her clothing, her stereo, and her snake. She and her boyfriend are sharing a house with another friend of theirs (they were staying at his mom's house before), about two minutes away from our house. She doesn't want me to come over and see their place until "everything is put away and set up and CLEAN". Heh. They went shopping for towels and linens and bedding yesterday. Heh again. I remember when that kind of stuff used to be sooooo coooool. Playing house is fun, in the beginning.

I haven't seen much of Michael since he got his motorcycle back up and running on Sunday night. I'm kind of annoyed at him right now, for the whole not-doing-the-kitchen thing, among other things. Calvin's talking-to should have had him stepping up and doing his chores and LOOKING for other things to do around the house, just to please us. I also researched and printed up a LOOOONG list of potential jobs that he could be applying to, since he doesn't make enough at his current job to enable him to move out, and he didn't seem inclined to do the research himself. To my knowledge, he hasn't followed up on any of those. Calvin told Michael that he had to be out by August 31st, and that we needed to see a plan from him on how he's going to be out by then. So far, not a peep of what he's done or what he's doing or what he's going to do. When he is around, he's either asleep or upstairs with his girlfriend. When he isn't around, he's either at work or hanging out elsewhere with his girlfriend.

So, I am frustrated. It got to the point a long time ago where I am just as civil to him as the situation warrants, but I don't go out of my way to talk or be nice or much of anything. My shoulders creep up to my ears and my neck ceases up when I hear him come home, and I pretty much just want to close myself in my bedroom and avoid dealing with him altogether. I feel guilty for feeling this way, until I remind myself that his behavior has eroded away my good regard of him until there is not much left but this feeling I have right now.

Michael is the type of person where you can have a "talk" with him, and even yell at him, and even maybe have an argument, and the next day (sometimes that very same day) he will expect everything to be just dandy. As if to say, "What, you're still mad at me? But that was yesterday." He's been eroding away my good regard for a long time, so it's going to take the same amount of time on good behavior to get my good regard back. I don't think he understands this.

And according to my estimation, "good behavior" hasn't even started yet. The issues I've mentioned here are not an all-inclusive list, to be sure.

I haven't been writing about this because I don't want him to read it and get his feelings hurt. But dammit, MY feelings are hurt - have been GETTING hurt for months now - and this is my journal, and I'm not saying anything OF him that hasn't been said TO him, so here I am.

I feel a little bit better now.

Labels: blogthings, Calvin, headspace, journal, kids, misc

Posted by Laura at 1:57 PM | Permalink | Comments

I have a tedious and time consuming task to complete at work, and I am stalling (briefly) by writing an entry.

Michael (and, we suspect, a friend) drank all of Calvin's beer and the rest of his whiskey last night after we went to bed. That is a foul of major proportions and the child shall be spoken to this evening.

I am tired of juggling around my laptop, my purse, and my lunch bag as I go to and from work. Therefore, I purchased this, in navy. I was going to purchase this, but it wouldn't fit my lunch bag. Mama's gotta eat.

I heart eBags.

My Assessment of Prior Learning evaluation came back, and the stuff I learned at AcronymCo equates to 12 credits toward my degree. I think I'm done now, with the exception of maybe one or two last classes. Woot!

Calvin is leaving on a business trip for a week, in mid-June (is there a less cumbersome way to write that sentence?). That is poopy. But! I can cook "weird" things for dinner and watch reruns of CSI and Grey's Anatomy till the cows come home.

I got Calvin a 6-month subscription to the Beer of the Month Club for Father's Day. If Michael drinks those, he's a dead man.

I also bought something for our upcoming (five year!) anniversary, which I am eager to see how it turned out. Once I am no longer in danger of spoiling the surprise (say, in a week when I get it, even though our anniversary isn't until the 29th but you all KNOW how I can't keep a present from the person it's intended for until the date it's intended for) I'll tell you all about it.

Don't people that whistle tunelessly bother the HELL out of you? Once again I am turning in desperation to my iPod. I HATE working in a cubicle. But! I heart Luther Vandross. And also the new Finger Eleven CD that I bought.

Marie says she is moving out in two weeks. While not unexpected, it still comes as a shock to contemplate the thought that our youngest child is grown up enough to be on her own. Any danger (hah!) of empty-nest syndrome is unfortunately effectively crushed by the reminder that Michael ain't going anywhere until we're, like, retired.

Marie and her boyfriend, typical of all young couples eager to be all grown up and play house, have purchased a puppy from the local shelter (quoth Marie, "Hey, better a puppy than a baby!"). A very cute and sweet little pit-bull mix, who very kindly shared her kennel cough with Gadget and Gypsy.

Sigh.

Okay, I have to get crap done. Sigh again.

Labels: boredom, journal, misc, work

Posted by Laura at 1:31 PM | Permalink | Comments

My ability to cope seems to have taken a hiatus today. I'm stressy - the stressors are no different today than they were yesterday, but for some reason they're on my conscious mind today and messing with me.

I had a job interview over the phone with a company in Maine this morning. It went well, I think... they like it when you ask them questions instead of abandoning the interview as soon as the, "Tell me about a time when..." questions are over with. Conversely, the success of the interview started me worrying - what if they actually offer me a job and the compensation is enough to make it worth our while to move to Maine? Will we be able to sell the house? What will the kids do? Should I leave AcronymCo with my tenure and four weeks of vacation a year and another sabbatical coming up in two years? Will Calvin be able to find a job? Will he want to kill himself (or me) halfway through the first winter? Will convenient access to J's Oysters be enough to compensate for that? Will we have to live apart for an undetermined amount of time??? God forbid on that one.

Did you know that acid reflux feels remarkably similar to anxiety? I just took a Rolaids (I've been living off of 'em, and Tums, and Mylanta, and Pepto...), and I have another appointment with the doc the first week of June. So is my physical discomfort causing my stressy feeling, or is my stressy feeling causing my physical discomfort? ("Yes.")

One at a time, the things I'm stressing over are not hugely urgent. But together for some reason they feel like they're taking me over. And it's not like they're unresolvable, panic-inducing concerns. I'm just being a BDB (that's Big Damn Baby) today.

Problem: The house is a complete disaster.
Solution: Clean it until it is clean.

Problem: The truck is still in the shop.
Solution: I have a rental car, so I am still mobile. And the truck's under warranty.

Problem: The kids (well, Michael primarily) have not left the nest.
Solution: Have a serious discussion with them (him) tonight about what their (his) plans are.

Problem: There are many things we need to do to the house to prep it for potential sale.
Solution: Get a storage unit this weekend and get started offloading the clutter. Make a list of all the stuff that needs to get done.

Problem: My health.
Solution: Doc's appointments next week and the week following, plus a renewed (again!) determination to eat better and exercise regularly. Until I give up again next week.

Problem: The sprinkler/drip system is on the fritz.
Solution: I have contacted our landscaper to get us a new control box.

Problem: We (I) are (am) still conflicted about moving, jobs, staying, going... will we progress or will uprooting ourselves send us into a spiralling descent into destruction that will leave us having to work for the rest of our lives?
Solution: Beer.

Labels: goals, headspace, journal

Posted by Laura at 11:29 AM | Permalink | Comments

The thing I couldn't recall about Wednesday of our vacation day is taking a stroll with Calvin along the Eastern Promenade in Portland, after doing laundry but before pub crawling.


Thursday (5/10 for those of you following along at home):

Thursday we spent the entire day driving up (and then down, natch) the coast of Maine, following Route One (murder during tourist season, but we were early by a few weeks). First we hit Waldo's ("Hey, I found him!"), a convenience store/gas station/ice cream shop/hair salon/small engine repair (I kid - but there are actually a lot of combo places of bidness like that in Maine) in Falmouth, to stock up on road-trip munchies and beverages ("All Dressed" Humpty Dumpty potato chips are THE BOMB). "Up the road a piece", we stopped at the Muddy Rudder in Yarmouth for brunch (MORE SEAFOOD, PLEASE), getting there a few minutes before they opened but not having to cool our heels long at all.

Our waiter was very, very swishy.

From there we drove north (and then south - peninsulas are weird that way) to Boothbay Harbor. Now this is definitely a town that's only awake during tourist season - nearly every place we checked was closed until the next week. We wandered into a gift shop (hello walnut sized bladder), where Calvin picked out a really pretty little starfish necklace for me. I love it when he does that. We bought a couple of little souvenirs and wandered around looking at the ketch that can only be found in these little hole in the wall places in Maine.

We discovered that McSeagull's was open, and we stopped for a couple of beers and tuna tartar.




We listened to the conversation of a trio of chimney workers just back from their morning stint over on Squirrel Island (man, you can find ANYTHING on Wikipedia). We conversed with them a little as we all enjoyed our beers out on the patio - that was one thing Calvin was exclaiming over during the trip, how friendly the people are and how often they just want to gab.

That's where I get it from.

Upon leaving McSeagull's we wandered around a little more, but not much was open. I got some ice cream (black raspberry! yes!), Calvin got a couple of cigars, and we got back on the road heading south. We detoured at around the Bath area to ooh and ahh at the destroyers in the shipyard at Bath Iron Works, where my uncle used to work. You can see the HUMONGOUS cranes stationed there from miles away; certainly a major fixture in my childhood memories.

We then went down along another one of the "fingers" protruding along the coast, to check out the town of Phippsburg and Fort Popham. I'd directed Calvin and the kids to Popham Beach back in '99 when the four of us were in Maine, but we never made it to the fort.

Our attention was immediately caught by the pod of seals just off-shore. They and the loons were having a merry old time fishing; there must have been a large school of fish in the area to keep them there as long as they were. We took picture after picture (after picture - 19 made it through Photoshop and onto Flickr, but there were many more), getting our feet and pants wet in the process as we failed to notice the incoming ("INCOMING!") tide.


We then wandered around the fort, taking another bazillion-and-three pictures (36 made the cut). I think the best one is this one, with Calvin peering into the pitch-black cell ("I am NOT going in there...") and me lighting it up with the flash behind him.







We drove back to Portland with the top down, adding to our wicked scalp sunburns. When taking a road trip in Maine, I highly recommend picking up one of these. Not only does it show every single nook and cranny of Maine's craggy coast (plus the rest of the state, of course), it has a ton of information on recreation and activities.

Upon our return to our room, we got cleaned up and then went right back out again for another meal at J's Oysters. Calvin got a double order of crab legs - MAN were we moo-ing that night.

Friday:

We slept in a bit on Friday morning, and I once again ordered us a bit of room service so I wouldn't have to stumble down to the Map Room for their complimentary coffee. We left at around noon to head back to New Gloucester to visit with my uncle, and also my old neighbors the Marshalls (Brad's parents). My uncle and his girlfriend hosted us to a "little lunch" - fresh shrimp cocktail, baked asparagus spears wrapped in filo pastry, softball-sized steaks, and baked potatoes.

Moo. Again. Seems I was stuffed to bursting for the entire vacation.

It was so nice to be home, in the house that I grew up in. Absolutely nothing has changed, other than a little paint and updated decorating ala my uncle's girlfriend. The years just peeled away from me as Calvin and I walked up the Marshall's driveway, the way I used to so often, so long ago. We sat in their kitchen and talked for about an hour. They're such good people, and I got to see Brad's sister Christine for the first time in years, too. And a bunny! And their black lab, who is a clone of Brandy.

And they still have the swing in the barn.

It is such a relief to know that nothing changes about home. I can go home whenever I have the opportunity, and other than a few new houses and a few new stores (and a few closed businesses - the Burger King I used to work at when I was first married to X(m) is closed, and good riddance), everything stays the same. Thank God for that.

We stopped back at my uncle's (it's weird to say it's his place now, rather than Grandma's) for a few more minutes, and I went through some of my old belongings to weed out what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to throw away. Calvin was cracking up at my old school papers (a two-foot tall stack of them dating from kindergarten all the way through high school), and I pointed out to him the multiple A's and 100's. I laughed at my old high school yearbook and some attempts at artwork (I was never artistically inclined), and my uncle and I discussed how best to ship my mother's sterling silver flatware.

Though maybe he should hold onto it, in case we end up moving to Maine in the near future.

We intended that night to meet my sister and her husband in the Old Port for one final pub crawl on our last night there, but she never returned my multiple voicemail messages. Nor has she returned the messages I have left since my return to Arizona. I'm kind of pissed off at my sister right now.

I was feeling kind of crappy come Friday night anyway, coming down with the cold that is still lingering as I type this, two weeks later. Calvin and I went to back to Gritty's and back to 51 Wharf, but I was wilting fast, so we called it a night at around 10:30.

Saturday:

More room service, and I packed us up fairly quickly. We took one last stroll through the Old Port to secure a couple more souvenirs - including T-shirts for Calvin, Michael, and Marie's boyfriend that feature a black dog in what I will call the "pooping pose" emblazoned on the back. It's that Maine humor.

We ate lunch at Mim's (decent, but not thrilling - here is one person's take on it), then checked our car out of valet for the last time. Back on I-295/95, we drove south and detoured over to Kennebunkport to check out the sights. We had some time to kill before we had to make our 5:30 flight out of Manchester, so we drove slowly through the back roads checking out the village and the million-dollar houses.

In Wells we stopped at the House of Pizza for some wicked good three-way (a three-item pizza, for you flatlandahs).

Another hour on the road saw us at the Manchester airport. By this time my cold had really set in and I was miserable. To make matters worse, by the time we finally meandered to our gate (after killing a couple of hours in the airport bar and gift shop), we discovered that our plane was delayed due to bad weather in Philadelphia (our connection).

Thus began the terrible saga of our journey home.

Calvin was in fine fettle, as you can imagine, by the time we finally boarded our flight to Philly, nearly two hours late. We arrived at around 9:00, a half-hour late for our connecting flight to Arizona. Mayhem ensued as we tried to find a US Airways rep to get us booked for the next flight out.

The following morning.

10 hours spent overnight in an airport terminal. Because weather delays are not the airline's fault, and no reimbursement would be given for hotel or airfare.

Did I mention I was sick?

Calvin and I got some truly mediocre pizza at the two-minutes-to-closing S'Barro's. Yeee-uck. Then we found our terminal and moved two blocks of chairs together, because they all had arms so we couldn't stretch out without combining two sets and lying down the middle. It was freezing, blazingly bright with the nearby TV at full volume, and I was miserable. I bundled into all the clothes I had - a hoodie AND a sweatshirt which Calvin described as my "baglady look". A couple of airport employees stopped by to give us scratchy airline pillows and paper-thin "blankets", and we huddled in a miserable pile from 11:00 at night until 5:00 in the morning.

GOD what a suck night that was.

Sunday (12 hours after we should have been home already):

The plane from Philly to Arizona left at 7:30, and Calvin and I had the very back, non-reclining row. Of course. We leaned, layed, and scrunched (fortunately, no one else had the third seat), and slept the best we could.

We waited for EVER for our luggage (which fortunately made it on the same flight we were on), then grabbed the first ride out of the airport that we could. We were finally home by about 11:00 in the morning.

I'll tell you what, I am NEVER flying US Air again, and I am NEVER taking a connection through Philly. The airport was in chaos, with terminals that could only be accessed between one another via shuttle bus. ONE shuttle bus, with fifteen other perfectly functional shuttle buses just sitting idle on the tarmac. US Air employees are indifferent at best, rude at worst, and remarkably disinterested in being helpful or kind or polite AT ALL. Fuckers.

So, it was a homecoming suitable to our mood, since we were huffed that vacation was over and we didn't at all miss Arizona one minute, not one little bit.

Labels: best things, Calvin, food, journal, Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 3:41 PM | Permalink | Comments

I'll do the entry on the last few days of our vacation soon, but there are other things on my mind that are interrupting my thought processes.

I'm feeling pretty discouraged today. The most minor contributor to that is that my back is out, again. I turned wrong and dared to *breathe* at the same time, and out it went. The pain radiates from underneath my left shoulder blade up my shoulder and neck. It's nearly impossible to sit or lay comfortably. I drove Calvin crazy last night with all of my tossing and turning.

Stress is what causes this particular issue. It flares up a few times a year - I just got over one bout of it before we went on vacation, and hark! Here it is again. I don't know why but I carry all of my stress in this one area of my body. I'll have to find another cranio sacral therapist, since mine is only in Arizona a couple of days a month.

Of more concern is Calvin's youngest sister and a bunch of negativity she is going through right now. I don't want to disregard her privacy by writing about it all here, but suffice to say we're worried about her and her family. She was in a car accident on Friday and while she and her son (who was with her) are okay, it's just a culmination of a long history of negativity, bad luck, bad choices, and issues in general.

Finally there is Michael. On Saturday night he wrecked the motorcycle with him and his girlfriend on it. They're both okay - major road rash for him, more minor for her. Cosmetic damage for the most part to the bike; it looks like they just layed it over on its right side and skid along for a while. It's the damage to their helmets that gave us the most pause - scrapes and dents that would have represented major damage to their heads, had they not been wearing their helmets.

As I said to Calvin yesterday: "Of all the lessons that we've tried to teach Michael that he's disregarded, I just thank God that wearing his helmet was the one lesson he chose to listen to us about."

Calvin and I talked about getting a storage unit this morning, so we can start off-loading our clutter and neatening things up around the house to prepare it for sale. We need to feel like we're moving forward with our goals, if only in the smallest degrees. Some day we will look up after all of these baby steps and find the culmination of our goals staring us in the face.

It can't come too soon for me. Cross your fingers, I have a phone interview with a company in Maine on Friday morning. I'm not really expecting anything to come of it, but it heartened me that someone had an interest in my resume!

Labels: headspace, journal, kids

Posted by Laura at 10:11 AM | Permalink | Comments

Wednesday:

Let's see. Just a week since we've been home and things are already starting to get fuzzy in my memory. Wednesday morning I ordered us some fruit, pastry, and coffee from room service and spent the morning reading, photoshopping, and relaxing while Calvin did the same with the paper and the TV. Around noon we took the car to get some gas, then drove to Dimillo's (a short walk from our hotel but we didn't want to put the car in valet again) to have lunch with my uncle, his girlfriend, my cousin and her husband. We were there for over two hours, enjoying fillet (Calvin) and baked stuffed haddock (me), drinks, and conversation.

My uncle presented me with my mother's class ring, which had been lost at one point and then rediscovered and kept for me. I got caught up with my cousin, whom I hadn't seen since my Grandmother passed away. I don't know why, but it continues to startle me how well I get along with my uncle, when I was so fearful of him (out of respect and the threat of his righteous anger to get me to behave) when I was little. My sister doesn't get along with him at all - she has a different history with him than I do. But more on all of that in a different entry.

Anyway, we all parted company at a little after 3:00, and secured an invitation for lunch at my uncle's (my Grandmother's, where I grew up) on Friday.

Calvin was out of clean jeans, so we looked up the nearest laundromat and spent an hour or so futzing around with the more mundane aspects of living out of a suitcase. We may or may not have taken a nap after getting back to the hotel, I don't really recall.

What I DO recall is the BEST evening spent with my favorite person (that'd be Calvin), doing a pub crawl all over the Old Port. We went back to Bull Feeney's for a quick beer, then wandered down toward the wharf so I could show Calvin the spot that I took pictures from Sunday evening, while he was napping.


After rave recommendations from my uncle, we had dinner at J's Oyster Bar (the link is to another blogger who reviewed the place and took the pictures of the outside that I did not). The place is, like, three square feet and when I say it's an Old Port "institution", I mean that in the truest and most respectful sense. We went there more than once in our short stay. They had the best crab legs Calvin and I have ever experienced. Plus I got my much-craved steamed clams (and my yearly recommended allowance of sand). It's dim and crowded and shabby and fantastic. Real food with real people running the place, and the most unpretentious sort of clientele.


God, we loved that place.

Breathing deeply of the crisp night air, we set out with no particular destination in mind, and no plans other than to crawl our way through some pubs. We hit Gritty's and sampled some of their great house brew. I just have to say that I love the bars in the Old Port - all housed in old, old buildings with exposed brickwork and wooden beams, funny crannies and architecture that screams "converted".

Next stop was a bar on Wharf Street called "Cake" (can't find a link to it). It's newly opened and the bar tender (and part owner?) was eager to please. We sat on the whiskey bar side - the dance club side was empty in early evening awaiting clientele. We grabbed a couple of beers and ordered steak tartar and some crackers with cheese and caviar (very fancy schmancy are we on vacation!).


From Cake we crossed Wharf Street and went to 51 Wharf, a contemporary bar that was offering salsa classes that night, of all things. We declined the lessons and had a couple of Jamesons at the bar (after he tried to serve us SOCO. Yeesh.). The bartender was fantastically inattentive but we're low maintenance customers so after we got our drinks straightened around it wasn't much of a problem.


By the time we stumbled out of 51 Wharf it was quite late, and I honestly don't remember us getting back to the hotel room. Which means we had a GOOD night.

Labels: best things, booze, Calvin, food, journal, Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 6:08 PM | Permalink | Comments

Monday:

We couldn't have asked for better weather for just about the entire week we were in Maine - a fact that the "natives" were more than happy to inform us on a number of occasions. After having the Patriot's Day Storm just a couple of weeks before our arrival, the nice weather we experienced was considered to be "freak".

Calvin and I went to Eggspectations for breakfast on Monday morning. This was the place that I took Marie and her friend a few times when we were in Maine during my Sabbatical in '03. I believe they were more enamored of the waiters than the food. Suffice to say, the food was acceptable but no more. A strange occurrence when you consider the RHAPSODIES we generally had over our meals during vacation. Ih, what can you expect from a chain restaurant. The ONLY chain establishment we ate at the entire vacation, by the way.

After breakfast we drove through Portland's West End, which is occupied by many stately manors and old Victorian and Colonial architecture. We had to stop at the State Street Church for about a thousand pictures (okay, ten that I posted, but a bunch more that didn't make the cut).


Driving on we took the Casco Bay Bridge over to Cape Elizabeth for the traditional and required visit to the Portland Head Light and Fort Williams (here is an interesting article on the Forts of Maine). We lingered for several hours at the light, exploring the tidal pools among the rocks below. I just sat and breathed for a long, long time. It felt so good to be there, and when it came time to leave I kept stopping and looking around to try to infuse my spirit and mind with the peace I felt there. The whole trip was filled with moments like this, as I tried to take away as much of Maine as I could, not knowing the next time I would be able to be there again.


We spend a couple of hours after leaving the light, exploring around Cape Elizabeth and gawking at the OH MY GOD houses there. Multi-million dollar properties perched along the rocky cliffs, owned by old money and old people who probably have rat bastard children who don't deserve to inherit the properties.

Hmm. Moving on.

Our next stop was The Lobster Shack, situated on the edge of Two Lights Park in Cape Elizabeth. Some adjectives: "cozy", "quaint", "teeny", "delicious"... and very, very typical of a Mom and Pop establishment in Maine. Complete with attack seagulls that whisk away your popcorn shrimp if you so much as glance in another direction, if you happen to be sitting outside on the picnic tables. Which we did not, but were vastly amused by a shrieking woman who did. Damn flatlandah didn't know bettah.


Leaving Cape Elizabeth, we headed back to Portland for a drive around Bayside and Back Bay/Back Cove, then north a bit to Falmouth Foreside for some more gawking at some more houses that we would never in our lifetime be able to afford. I guess any homes right on the ocean are going to be like that, no matter where they are.

We had a lot of fun with our little Audi A4 (and Calvin was devastated to learn how far outside of our financial reach its big brother the R8 is). We both got some pretty wicked sunburns on the top of our heads from buzzing around with the top down. Who remembers to put sunblock on their HEAD, for godsakes? But the weather was glorious, the roads beautiful with the trees just starting to bud their leaves, the ocean everywhere you looked, and the smell of the crisp salt air tinged with green, growing things. The best smell on the planet.

We went back to the hotel in the early evening for a shower, dinner, and then bed at a reasonable hour for us old folks.

Tuesday:

Tuesday was another early starter for us - who wants to sleep when they're on vacation? Except for the times when that is the point exactly. Anyway, we again grabbed breakfast at 20 Milk Street before driving south a little ways to Old Orchard Beach. We were early enough (in the day and in the season, come to find out), that very few shops and restaurants were open. We were okay with that, though, as we were mainly there to walk along the sandy beach. I love the fact that Maine has rocky coastlines to explore and sandy beaches to walk along. I took my shoes off to stroll barefoot in the FUCKING COLD sand dampened by the FUCKING COLD ocean. And there were actually people SWIMMING. Or, well, running in, shrieking, running out, then running back in again. Whatever, weirdos. Our stay was fairly brief (I had to GO, SO BAD, and no restrooms were around and/or open), and Calvin and I were suddenly struck with weariness, so we decided to go back to the hotel for a nap.



A couple of hours later we were awakened by the hotel front desk. Apparently there was a leak (we didn't do it, SWEAR) in the room below us, and in order to get to it they had to go in from above the leak, and would we mind terribly moving to a different room for the rest of our stay? Well, since it meant a free upgrade to a suite (we were in a standard king room), we said "Hell, yeah," and packed in record time. We left for a hour or so for lunch at Sebago Brewing Company, and when we returned they had moved all of our belongings to our new room. We ooh'ed at the flat panel TV and the skylight in the bathroom and the general increased roomyness, then unpacked and made ourselves at home again.

Departing the hotel once again (and the valet guys made a killing off us that week, I swear), we set off to see if I could remember the location of "that really old cemetery off of Stevens Avenue". I must say that Calvin gave me some rather strange looks when I told him where we were going. I believe his exact words were, "You're going to take pictures? Of graves??? That's just creepy, Laura. Why the hell would anybody think to go to a cemetery for FUN??? Oh, wait, this is YOU we're talking about..."

Huff.

I've always liked the Evergreen Cemetery - it's enormous and just seems to keep on going and going. And it's way old, with graves from the late 1600's and early 1700's, all the way up through present day. I find it very interesting to read the inscriptions and look for family associations - mother to child, sisters, brothers, husbands lauded with fancy inscriptions while their wives get just a name and "wife of...". Lots of babies dying in their first year, lots of mothers dying in childbirth, many people in general dying at an age we would consider to be young today. Evergreen also contains a lot of monuments to historic people - Samuel Wilde, Henry Goddard Thomas, and the Wadsworth Longfellow's are some of the more commonly known.


The inscription portion of the photo contest still has yet to be won, by the way.

We left the cemetery after taking fifty million pictures (34 of which made the cut) and drove north to my old stomping grounds of Gray/New Gloucester. We had some time to kill and stopped at Cole Farms to satisfy another one of my, "When I'm in Maine I have to eat HERE," cravings. My mother worked at Cole's up until she passed away, and I spent a lot of time there when I was little. Plus it was a popular employer of the local high school students, and one of the few restaurants close enough to where I lived to warrant a mid-week visit if the craving struck. Calvin got himself a burger, and I ordered fried clams with french fries and a side of their house dressing. Dipping fries in this dressing (when I was little I called it "doodle sauce") is something I used to get cravings for when I lived there. Calvin ordered dessert just because he knew I wanted a slice of their chocolate cream pie (to. die. for.) but was going to deny myself because I was, once again and perpetually during this trip, full.

We moo'ed our way back to the car and drove "out Poland way" to visit my sister and her husband and four kids. Their driveway was inaccessible without a four-wheel-drive vehicle (which we DEFINITELY weren't driving), so we agreed to meet them all at her neighbor's, who kindly opened up the use of his garage (heh, a Maine thing) for us to congregate, drink, and be merry. It's a distinctly Maine trait to fix up one's garage/barn/shop before "finishing" the actual home.

Propane tank behind the garage - left side's ladies room, right side's mens.

Calvin and I took turns taking all of my sister's kids out for rides in the convertible, and I got to have a little bonding time with my niece, who is 14 and taller than I am. My sister is fond of accusing her of being, "just like your AUNT LAURA." As if that could possibly be a bad thing. She is a lot like me, though - same sense of humor, same sarcastic mouth, same inability to NOT make little zinging comments about everything in general. I love the hell out of her.

We hung out for a few hours just gabbing, reintroducing my sister and her husband to tequila, greeting my sister's friends who have known me since I was born (she used to drag me to her parties if she was stuck babysitting me), and gawking at the stars (which are SUPREMELY visible in Maine and nonexistent in Arizona). It being a Tuesday, though, we didn't want to keep everyone up when they all had to work the next day, so we excused ourselves at around 10:30 and made plans with my sister to go partying in the Old Port on Friday night.


Okay! Next part will be up sometime this weekend. And I have a TON more I could have written about this trip so far.

Labels: best things, Calvin, food, journal, Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 11:55 AM | Permalink | Comments

I didn't provide too much detail during the week Calvin and I were in Maine, because, well, I wanted to be OUT DOING instead of IN WRITING. So you got your little drabs and your BIG amounts of pictures, which I hope helped to tide you over. That is, if you needed tiding. Perhaps you were completely and entirely disinterested. Who knows what goes on it that brain of yours, anyway?

Moving on.

The problem with going home is that at least two days out of every vacation are fully occupied with travelling. We left Arizona at 7:30 in the morning Arizona time on Saturday, and got to our hotel in Maine at 7:30 in the evening Maine time. That's flights, layovers, and the drive from Manchester NH to Portland ME. Coast to coast travel is a bitch, people.

Saturday, The Remainder:

The hotel (The Portland Regency, and I doubt we'll ever stay anywhere else, the place was AWESOME) was a MUCH WELCOME sight when we finally rolled in, even though we only paused long enough to shower up and change clothes, then we were out prowling the Old Port.


We stopped in the Armory Lounge, the hotel's bar, for some alcohol soaking food (Chicken Gorgonzola for Calvin, lobster salad on a croissant for me), and then went down the street and around the corner to Bull Feeney's, an Irish Pub that was packed and happenin' (and did YOU know that lobsters love Guinness? I didn't.).

I already mentioned the oddity that is Cinco de Mayo in Maine, with the Irish drinking songs and the VERY WHITE GUYS sporting very black fake moustaches and sombreros. There was "Fred", who loved everybody, and told everybody that fact repeatedly. There were these two guys that were wasted and standing, weaving, calling catcalls and encouragements to the live entertainment, and trying with little success to sing along. Calvin and I enjoyed ourselves hugely, drank tequila (which is per our standard, but the folks in the bar thought that was Very Authentic of us), got hugged by Fred about twelve times (who, it turned out, was just back from Iraq), and finally stumbled our way back to our hotel a little after 1:00 a.m.

Sunday:

Tequila = ow.

I already described how I woke up ridiculously early and how Calvin was forced to get out of bed against his will. How he could sleep through the constant calls of the seagulls was beyond me - they woke us up pretty much every morning. If I lived there I'd probably get sick of it, but at week's end it was still novel to me. The hotel is one street up from the harbor, and with all of the fishing boats coming and going, there was a lot of seagull conversating going on.

"Mine? Mine? Mine?"

We ate breakfast at Twenty Milk Street, the restaurant in the hotel. They had a very fancy-schmancy Sunday Brunch going on, but we ordered more standard fare. Calvin had corned beef hash made with actual corned beef (not those weird little Dinty Moore cubes) and poached eggs Benedict, and I had eggs over medium with bacon and toast. Good LORD people, can I just rhapsody a moment over the bacon? I don't know what they do to the pigs in Maine, but whatever it is makes the bacon taste like meaty strips of heaven.


You do know that this entry is going to be primarily about food, don't you? Maine is very VERY big on producing and selling locally grown produce, dairy, meats, and of course seafood. Very little (if any) of the food we ate was from "away". Except for the tequila (and some guy randomly told us in Bull Feeney's that there's a tequila manufacturer in Maine. I'm not sure I believe him. A cactus would never survive the Maine winters, even indoors.).

Anyway. We took the car out (valet parking at ten bucks a day plus a fiver tip every time you take it out) and drove "out New Gloucester way", taking the drive I used to commute every day to and from work (and whoever thought I ever would have wanted to do that for fun??). From there we drove the back roads to Freeport, stopped briefly at LL Bean for the required souvenier gifts for the gang back home, then wandered back toward the Old Port. Lunchtime rolled around and, utilizing the directions we got from the bartender at The Armory the night before, we went to the Amato's on India Street for my Mecca Moment. I tell you what, we had to wait for over a half an hour for those darned sandwiches - the folks behind the counter couldn't get their acts together and misplaced our VERY SIMPLE ORDER (one large regular, one small roast beef, guess which one was mine), like, three times. But we finally made it back to the hotel room with the Italians and the Humpty Dumpty salt-n-vinegar chips (an institution, and what an awesome website MaineGoodies.com is!!!), and the Sam Adams.

I think I ate that entire foot-long sandwich in three bites. Oh, the pickles! Ohhh, the bread. Ohhhhhh, the fact that I'm three thousand miles and God knows how many months away from having another one...

Ahem.

After lunch we went looking for a sports bar with a TV that would sport the Suns game ("The who? What game are you looking for?" ("Basket. Ball.") "Uhhh... the Red Sox are playing...") We walked into one place and turned around and went back out almost immediately, having assessed their TV-less-ness. A (rather drunk) guy standing just outside the door looked at us funny and said, "What'd you do that for?" Calvin bristled, still operating on Arizona Standard Defense mode, and said, "What do you mean?" So the guy slurred, "Why would you wanna walk into a bar, then walk right out again? Oh, you have a camera. You're trying to (hic) capture something..." I just laughed and pulled Calvin away, reminding him that in Maine, any questionable circumstance would most likely turn out to be well meaning but weird, instead of violent and confrontational.

We finally settled in the Old Port Tavern. There was absolutely nobody there (it being Sunday afternoon), and the more beer I drank, the sleepier I got.


Calvin got a little annoyed that I would want to take a nap (don't worry, the irony kicks in later). After about an hour of fighting it, I finally gave in and we went back to the hotel. I crashed in the room for ONE HOUR AND TWENTY MINUTES, that's it. He hung out in The Armory to watch the game (and have two more beers, and a PORT, of all things). He came back up to the room at about 5:20, at which point I woke up and got up to get myself ready for another evening of prowling around the Old Port. As I was in the process of dressing and grooming my hot self, he FELL ASLEEP. Fully clothed. Watching the game.

So. I figured, okay. I'll let him rest. I needed a nap too, after all. I grabbed the camera and went down toward the wharf to take a bunch of pictures.


I was gone for probably an hour or so, taking my time and enjoying the evening and the weather and the light. I wandered back up to the room at about 6:30. Tried to wake Calvin up. Got a grunt and a snore. So I sat at the computer and photoshopped the pictures. Tried to wake Calvin up once every half an hour or so. Finally gave up at 8:30 and let Calvin sleep. For the rest of the night.

Ahem.

I went down to The Armory with my book (The Dreamhunter by Sherrilyn Kenyon, and I have to say I didn't particularly like the book), grabbed a burger and gabbed with the bar guys while they ROARED over The Family Guy. I don't get that show At. All. There was a random 10-minute sequence where the dad on the show battled it out 007-style with a man-sized chicken. For no apparent reason. And then just stopped. Again, for no apparent reason. Something was lost in translation for me, that's for sure.

When I was done eating I went to the Map Room (which I never actually took a picture of, but it's a lovely sitting room with leather and mahogany furniture and model ships and maps everywhere) and read for about an hour. Then I went back up to the room, didn't take too much particular care to not disturb Calvin (not that it would have made a difference because I would have needed a marching band AND an earthquake), and went to sleep.

Aaaaand obviously I can't "summarize" to save my life, so I'm going to post this stuff in chunks. More tomorrow! I'm sure your riveted.

Labels: best things, booze, Calvin, food, journal, Maine, photography, vacation

Posted by Laura at 3:16 PM | Permalink | Comments

Heh. I just asked Calvin, "Is it okay if I write about what's been going on with you? With your neck meat and stuff?" He said, "Yeah," and I said, "That's going to be the title. 'Neck Meat.'"

I haven't been writing about this since it all started because a) we didn't know what we were dealing with; b) Calvin didn't want to freak out our family and friends; and c) we didn't know how freaked out we should be.

About six weeks ago Calvin was bothered by a lump along the right side of his neck (which he refers to as his "neck meat", hence the title). He figured it was a swollen gland, went to our General Practitioner, and was handed a prescription for antibiotics. Two weeks later, the lump was still there, had grown bigger, and was beginning to hurt. The GP referred Calvin to a specialist, who stuck a scope up Calvin's nose and down into his throat (yarg), didn't really see anything, and ordered a CT scan of the area. The specialist thought there was something going on with Calvin's carotid artery (which Calvin calls his "cartoid", also hence the title) but couldn't determine what without more tests.

Of course, we exercised our Google MD's, and started researching what could possibly be wrong. We found information on carotidynia, and of course cancer and other scary things. I don't know how doctors do it - the same symptoms can be caused by so many different things.

So. Calvin went and got a CT scan. On Thursday of last week he got a call back from the doctor who said that there is "definitely something there" and that they wanted to get some labs done and do a neck biopsy "right away". The doctor was rather urgent about it all and said it couldn't wait until we got back from vacation (then a little more than a week away). Calvin called me at work from his truck, on his way home. He was upset and worried and was going home a bit early. So of course I was upset and worried (and after I hung up with him I went and freaked out a little bit in the bathroom), so I went home early too.

Commence with the freaking out.

To have the medical unknown happen to you is a fucked experience. Calvin and I were both approaching panic, and we started having those conversations. The heavy ones with the life insurance and the will and the "what if" and the "holy fuck". Conversations that make you assess how you've been living your life and the stuff that you've taken for granted, and the changes you're going to make and the light that has been shed upon your blessings.

Any unknown mass automatically makes you think "cancer". Plus it is in Calvin's neck and they wanted to do a "fine needle biopsy". In his neck. With a needle. GACK, much?

We took Friday off for labs, and the biopsy was scheduled for today. We prepared ourselves for a stressful weekend. Waiting is hell, the unknown is worse, plus NECK. And NEEDLE.

Friday morning we went and got his labs done. Then in the late afternoon we got a call from the review radiologist nurse, representing the radiologist who had examined Calvin's CT scan. She said that the radiologist said a biopsy couldn't be performed on the area, and that the procedure for Monday was cancelled. She said we'd have to take "a different approach".

Since she was just the messenger, Calvin didn't freak out at her. But he very pointedly said that he wanted to talk to the actual radiologist. What does "different approach" mean? Could we stop worrying, or did we need to worry more? What the hell, really, was going on?

More phone calls back and forth. The radiologist tried to get ahold of the specialist working with Calvin, but couldn't. They discovered what we had been dealing with for the past month - the specialist's office turns on their phones late in the morning (like, 8:30 instead of the 8:00 that their message claims) and turns off their phones early in the evening (as in, 4:30 instead of 5:00). This particular day (Friday), the specialist just decided to take a day off, and was "on call". So we, and the radiologist, tried to deal with the specialist's answering service. To no avail. No call back, no new information, and now we are in further limbo than we had been before.

You can be sure that we're telling the GP not to recommend this guy to anyone anymore.

We were assured that we would receive more information, and the results of the labs taken on Friday, today. The radiologist was to confer with the specialist, who was to call us and arrange that "different approach" so that we could finalize any procedures that need to happen this week before we leave for Maine on Saturday.

We haven't heard back from anyone. Calvin has called and left messages. We are owed calls back and assurances and MORE GODDAMNED SOLID INFORMATION. It is complete bullshit that doctors can be this cavalier about communicating with their patients. Patients who are worried, with families who are worried, who just want to know what the fuck is going on. We want to know what we're dealing with. We want to know if this upcoming vacation should be used for celebration, or used to prepare ourselves.

I want to know what is wrong with my husband.

At this point, a lot of the panic has been replaced with exasperation. We're still very worried, but hopeful and optimistic and just damned irritated at most medical professionals in general. I will be sure to keep everyone appraised of what's going on. It's tough not to write about something that is so primarily on my mind.

Labels: Calvin, health, journal

Posted by Laura at 12:56 PM | Permalink | Comments

A post about what's goin' on.

Calvin and I decided to make our Maine trip a total vacation trip, instead of spending half of it in a seminar. We've had some major stress over the past couple of weeks, with health concerns going on with both of us, plus work, plus the kids, plus plus plus...

The upshot is that we just really need a decompression break. A week during which there will be no thinking about serious shit - something that we have been doing waaaay too much of over the past couple of weeks. So there will be more time for walking on the beach, visiting the lighthouses, prowling around the Old Port, and hanging with the family. The seminar can wait when our mental well-being is much more important.

I talked to my girlfriend AB last Sunday night, and she (and her daughter) were so shocked that I called that I felt like a complete choad. If your friends are shocked when you call, that means that you don't call enough. I shall try to be a better friend from this point forward.

Speaking of which, I called my sister three different times and left messages, and she hasn't called me back. So now I think she kind of sucks and she's going to have to work to get back into my good graces. Buying me an italian sandwich and having a bonfire at her house comes to mind.

Whenever I "hear" Lucy's voice in my head, she "sounds" like Ivana Trump. Cheeto "sounds" like Bill Murray (ala Garfield). Gadget "sounds" like Hammy from Over the Hedge (Steve Carell). Gypsy "sounds" like Caroline Rhea. And Oz sounds like Stewie from Family Guy (Seth MacFarlane). My imagination is a very strange place.

Cheeto and Lucy have been thrashing around in their tank all morning long - chasing from perch to perch, Cheeto bobbing and Lucy waving, both of them traipsing through their veggies and creating general mayhem. Just a few moments ago Lucy crawled back under one of the logs where she's spent most of her time for the past few months. Bearded dragons brumate (a semi-hibernation) for part of the year - usually the winter months. Her clock must be off, though, because it's in the (fucking) 90's and sunny 90% of the time. I think maybe their tank is too small and she's sleeping a lot because she's depressed. That's what I do when I'm depressed, anyway - crawl under a log (or the covers) and sleep it off. I think we'll get them a rabbit cage to set out in the sun on the lawn for them to hang out in on nice afternoons.

Michael bought Calvin's sport bike off of him, and now he's (Michael) constantly pestering him (Calvin) to go for a ride. The boy is hyper. And today is his 24th birthday. Lilly called and put the boys on with their birthday wishes - Calvin got to talk to them, too. As it was, like, 6:30 in the morning, I was still unconscious. X(f) (Michael and Marie's mom, for those of you who haven't plowed through all of the journal archives) is taking Michael to a baseball game tonight. Marie was not invited. That kind of ticks me off. It has been several years, now, since Marie and X(f) have spoken. But X(f) speaks to Michael quite often. I don't get that woman.

I have been tanning, a couple of times a week, at this place that is exactly two minutes away from my house. At first I was totally claustrophobic in the TANNING COFFIN OF DOOM, but I got used to it after the first few visits. I started at six minutes, worked my way up to eight, and now I'm a total pro at ten minutes. I'm a hussy and I tan nekkid - I thought I'd give you that mental image as a bonus, just for being such good readers. I kind of like the process over laying out in the sun, since it's so much quicker and I don't have to expose anyone to seeing me in a bathing suit. The only problem is that you get weird negative areas in your tan, like under your arms and on your tailbone. I don't think I'll keep up with it for very much longer - my purchased month of "all you can tan!" is over on the first, and I doubt I'll go beyond that. It was just one of those whims I got one day when I looked at myself in the mirror and said, "Damn, girl, you are one pasty looking bee-otch!"

I got an MRI on Monday, looking for issues beyond the pancreatitis. THAT was an interesting experience. It was cold, noisy, sensory-depriving, and much less horrid than the CT-scan I got a couple of weeks ago (no IV! no needles! no problem!). I wore elastic waisted jogging pants and a t-shirt with no bra (woo-woo!), so I didn't have to further demean myself by wearing the svelte little gowns they give you. The scanner-man was very nice and encouraged me all along the way, asking frequently through the monitor if I was okay. I wore headphones that channelled 98.7 The Peak FM, which cut out every time he spoke to me. It seemed weird to call my "Yep, okay in here," into the air, but the MRI Tunnel O' Love had a microphone through which he could hear me. Then it was 35 minutes of "Deep breath in, blow your breath out, deep breath in, and hoooold your breath..." At least he told me how long I was going to have to hold it (16 seconds, 28 seconds, 22 seconds...), so I could do a mental countdown. During two scans - one eight minutes long and one five minutes long - I just had to lay still and breathe normally. All I had to do was listen to the "EEEEEHHHHHHHH... CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK... EEEEEEHHHHHHHH", which pretty much drowned out the music. Despite the noise I almost fell asleep, then had to rouse myself for some more "... and hoooold your breath." After every breath holding session, the scanner-man would be all like, "That was very good!" Uh, thanks? I've been practicing.

I got a message yesterday afternoon from the doc's, and the scan came back normal. I still want to look at it, though, and check out what my innards look like. I bet there's kittens and posies and sparkly things all up in there.

Labels: headspace, journal, Maine, vacation

Posted by Laura at 11:03 AM | Permalink | Comments

My day is NOT starting off well. I slept like crap last night because my back is killing me, and when the alarm went off the first thought that entered my mind was, "Oh, this is bullshit." So I got up to get situated on the couch with my laptop, and when I went to look for the ice pack in the freezer to help alleviate my back pain, it was gone. Which doesn't surprise me, since lately it seems like every time I go to look for something to end some sort of misery I'm in, it's been taken. Last week it was my allergy medication, a couple of weeks ago it was cookies, this morning it's the ice pack.

I really, REALLY can't wait until the occupancy of this household is decreased. It is one child in particular that is ALWAYS taking things, and I'm really sick of it. That's all I'm saying.

Every morning my boss meets with the folks from manufacturing and then sends an e-mail to the folks in my group with all of the help needed for the day. Invariably my name is always all over the thing. Because I'm special that way. Well, he did say during my review that he wants me to become the "go-to" person. Guess he got his wish... not exactly mine, though. There's nothing like a half-dozen or more "gotta have it NOW" things shot at you first thing in the morning to get your day started off right!

Then Calvin just called me, and the guy that was responsible for hiring him into his company just resigned. It doesn't mean that much will change for Calvin's job, but this was one of the "good guys" and things will just be a little more of the suck now that he's leaving. Which got us talking along the lines of what we want to do and how we want to make our lives happier, which THEN got us down the conversational thread of how much we don't like what we're doing with our lives right now.

AND the cat is about to get murdered because he's just PISSING ME OFF. If I don't feed him as soon as my feet hit the floor when I get up in the morning, he starts looking for things to that will get him in trouble. His hope is that since I'm up to chase him away from whatever badness he's doing (because yelling at him SO doesn't work), I'll just go ahead and feed him since I'm up already. And the fucker is right. I've had to yell at him (again, ineffectually) for jumping up at the water dragon, trying to paw a soda can down off of the half-wall, messing with the wiring behind the TV, scuffling around under the couch, and jumping up on the kitchen counter. The little asshole.

I've got an MRI scheduled for 11:30, then a girly-doctor appointment for 3:30. Since going to the doctors has now become my least favorite thing to do, this double-appointment day is not helping things.

Feh. It's just going to be a bad day. At 9:30, I can just tell.

Labels: Calvin, headspace, health, journal, kids, pets, work

Posted by Laura at 8:42 AM | Permalink | Comments

One year ago today I listed all of the things (that I could think of) that I want to do on my 43 Things account. Today I got the reminder message for those things I set to "remind me in one year".

1. Own all the seasons of Buffy. Okay, so this one keeps getting put off. Every time I go to make an Amazon purchase, this gets reprioritized and something else gets bought. Some day my Buffy jones will overcome my need for anything else.

2. Go to Ireland. This one I've actually made a little progress on. I bought a couple of Frommers-type guides and the tentative plan is to add Ireland to the "European Tour" during my next sabbatical in 2009. (DUDE. That's in two years. Where does the time go?? Seems like we were JUST in Hawaii.)

3. Learn how to scuba dive. Dude (why do I keep using this word?), I haven't even seen the ocean since we went to Canada, and them's cold waters to be learning to scuba in. I'll get to it, some day.

4. Learn how to snowboard. Again, the last chance I had was when we were in Whistler, and then there was no snow on which to learn. So we drank, instead.

5. Visit Westminster Abbey. See #2.

6. Write a book. While, quantity-wise, I write enough to fill a book, I haven't actually written anything linear enough for long enough to suit a book format. Perhaps I will actually try NaNoWriMo this year, instead of just contemplating it and then deciding not to, like I have done every other year.

7. Get out of debt. This one's doing pretty good, actually. Barring some budgetary slips during which we are less like slipping and more like ignoring, we make measurable progress every month.

8. Learn how to play the piano. When I bought my guitar I was going to pick up a keyboard to learn on, too, but I thought better of it. Good thing too, judging by the amount I actually practice on my guitar.

9. Own horses. Yeah, this is less like a "goal" and more like a "dream". Seems every year I get further and further away from realizing this one. I just never imagined when I sold my last horse that I would never have one ever again. I figured it would be a couple of years, tops. Here it is, SIXTEEN years later. My God, has it really been that long? How have I survived???

10. Simplify my life. Barring some family and health drama, my life is actually fairly uncomplicated. Calvin and I are terrific, the job is going well if busy, and our routine runs as smoothly as can be expected.

11. Buy a Nikon D70. I was just thinking about this the other day. Since we're doing some travelling this year, it would be nice to have a new camera. And the price of these has come down now that it's not the most wizzy-bang thing out there anymore.

12. Lose weight. Feh.

13. Drive the Pacific Coast Highway. Well, we'll be in Oregon in July and we're planning on hitting the coast as part of our trip. So while that's not the Monterey-to-Vancouver BC drive that we wanted to take, it's something.

14. Move to Maine. We're going to Maine (two weeks from today! WOO!), but not moving. I think I'd have to work REAL hard to convince Calvin to do that. And I have, and I am, and I will, but Oregon is probably more logical. Still, hope springs eternal and all that.

Labels: goals, journal

Posted by Laura at 9:34 AM | Permalink | Comments

Crystal interviewed ME because she loves ME and only ME and no one ELSE but ME except maybe her dog Moose.

1. I’ve read your goddess journal with regard to your illness (btw, update it more, I am so sure!) and want to know: how are you feeling? How are things with your health?

I am feeling much, much better. The proton pump flux capacitor photon torpedo inhibitors (aka: Protonix) seem to be doing the trick with the ol' pancreatitis. I haven't had any caffeine or alcohol since April 1st. Or jalapenos, or raw onions, or really anything else that encourages the pancreatitis to flare up. I shall continue to behave myself until the end of July, at which time a) the doctor says I should be fine to re-introduce the "no-no" items in moderate quantities; and b) Calvin and I are going to the Oregon Brewer's Festival and all non-drinking bets will be off.

On Monday I'm getting the much-delayed MRI, just to make sure it's just ("just"! Hah!) pancreatitis, and not something else like stones in the bile ducts and whatnot.

2. How did you meet your loving man?

Calvin and I met at work, and the sheer odds that we met at all are staggering. I had just moved 3000 miles to Arizona. I got a temp job working at AcronymCo, for a construction company building one of their office buildings. Calvin worked in Facilities for AcronymCo itself, and was one of the folks assigned to the new building project. My boss very randomly assigned me to go out to the newly constructed Mechanical Support Building and monitor the building controls alarms coming in as the systems were set up. Calvin was the go-to guy on AcronymCo's behalf for these systems. So I sat in the MSB office and called back alarms via the walkie talkie, and he came in and sat down at another workstation. We chatted and flirted, he typed "696969" on the calculator I was using and slid it over in front of me (SUCH a Calvin move you have no idea), I laughed at his dorky audacity, and it was all over but the cryin' at that point.

For those of you following along at home, yes I met him very soon after moving to Arizona, and yes that means that I was still married at the time to X(m), and Calvin was still married to X(f). But this is indeed how we met.

3. Which is better, America’s Next Top Model or Project Runway, and why? Answer wisely.

Oh geez. There's going to be trouble in our innernet lesbian marriage now. Crystal is NOT going to be happy to find out that I don't watch either one of these. Reality shows just pretty much drive me crazy. I can't see the point to them at all.

4. Is Oprah Winfrey Jesus or the Devil, and why?

Well, Crystal, since you said your own self that you and Jesus are one and the everlovin same, that must make Oprah the Devil by default. Do you see? I PAY ATTENTION.

5. Name the last three books you read that really impressed you---NON-FICTION.

A Year in the Maine Woods by Bernd Heinrich. I really enjoyed this book for multiple reasons. First, of course, is because it's about Maine. As I grew up in the Maine woods, the subject matter resonated with me. The second appeal the book had for me is that I have always wanted to take a hiatus from life and just escape to a simple place and live a simple life. Heinrich immerses himself in the natural world, the simple culture, and the rhythms of the forest for an entire year. Reading about it made me jealous of his opportunity, to be honest.

America - The Book by John Stewart. This counts as non-fiction, right? Even though Stewart pretty much bastardizes historic fact? This thing had me laughing my ass off throughout. I mean, just the fact that the layout, dimensions, and even the paper it's printed on is EXACTLY like a high-school history book, was hysterical. Then there's all these little asides (i.e.: "see fig. 1") about the personal (and questionable) life and motivations of historic people... well, not everyone will "get" this book, but it appeals to my sense of humor. And John Stewart is damnsexy.

River Town: Two Years on the Yangtze by Peter Hessler. I bought this book because I was doing a paper on the Yangtze River for my college class on Pacific Rim culture. I really didn't expect to like this book as much as I did. It's about two young men in the Peace Corps that went to Fuling, China (along the Yangtze River) who stayed for two years as teachers at the local college. They were very American and foreign (the first foreigners to be in that area of China for 50 years), and hijinx ensued as they tried to fit into the local culture.

And you all thought I only read trashy romance novels. Shame on you.

Okay! If anybody would like me to interview them, leave me a comment or shoot me an e-mail!

Labels: blogthings, Calvin, journal, misc, Op:Goddess

Posted by Laura at 11:24 AM | Permalink | Comments

One of the entrances/exits into my neighborhood is situated in such a way that I have to cross two lanes of busy traffic and through a gap in the median in order to get into the southbound lanes on my route to work. This gap in the median is also frequently used as a U-turn for southbound traffic wanting to reverse direction.

This morning as I pulled up to the exit lane of the neighborhood, a (fat, sweaty) man in an overloaded work pickup pulled wide and stopped sideways across our neighborhood entrance lane, pulling up to face me as he waited for me to get out into traffic so he could complete his U-turn. The problem was, he was situated in such a way that I had to hang back and try to see the traffic coming north through his windshield. I couldn't pull forward to see past him because I would have been halfway out into traffic, and I couldn't see over his bed because it was piled high.

So I'm craning my neck to see past him, he's getting impatient, and then a little old lady pulls up behind him trying to get into the neighborhood. I gestured to the guy that someone was behind him and that he should just pull into the neighborhood and turn around in a driveway. He gestured to me to GO ALREADY. I gestured to him that I couldn't see past his (fat, sweaty) ass and didn't feel like getting into an accident today. The little old lady crept around his tailgate and drove between us.

The guy rolled down his window. I rolled down mine. He spoke first.

"There's twenty fucking feet in front of you. If you would just pull up you could see past me..."

"...you dumb fucking cunt."

I blinked, momentarily believing myself transported to New York City, not Suburbia, Arizona.

Then I leaned into my window, flipped him off, and said, "You have yourself a nice day." I then sat there as opportunity after opportunity to get into traffic passed me by, effectively trapping him into awaiting my pleasure.

Oh my, did he turned red. Every time I turned my head in his direction to check northbound traffic, I smiled at him. And MAN did he fume. I made him sit there for probably only another sixty seconds, but I'm sure it felt longer to him.

Then, as I finally pulled into traffic, I waved at him. And he flipped me off. He got the last "word", but I think I won.

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 8:31 AM | Permalink | Comments

I feel like writing but I don't feel like I have anything to write about. That ever happen to you?

I submitted an Assessment of Prior Learning form to my college last week. It essentially takes a look at all of the classes and OJT that I've had at AcronymCo and applies that toward credits and classes that I need for my degree. I'm
-->this close<--
to being done with the whole damn thing, and I'm crossing my fingers that the APL will give me my last needed credits without having to take any more classes. We shall see.

My resume is very pretty, and with the finished degree and APICS certification (which I'm pursuing this summer/fall courtesy of AcronymCo) added to it, it will be all bright and shiny when Calvin and I finally decide to move away and do something different.

Has anybody else noticed that Dr. Phil is declining in the direction of Jerry Springer? How's the drama working for ya, Dr. Phil? Calvin and I stopped on his show tonight and it's yet another episode with out of control parents and fucked up teenagers. Calvin is hollering and "Oh no he didn't"-ing and I'm quite convinced that he couldn't clean up his language enough to appear on Dr. Phil.

Not that I would want him to. I'm sorry, but "spare the rod spoil the child" is an excellent philosophy to me. I was spanked, Calvin was spanked, my parents were spanked, his parents were spanked, generation upon generation of children before us were spanked. And yet it is THIS "time out" way of raising children nowadays that has provided for the most messed up children in history. Hmm... correlation much? I'm not saying beat the crap out of them and make them bleed, but damn. There must be something to corporal punishment for it to have turned out mostly normal people up till now. Perhaps the government will give me lots of money to fund a study.

Bring on the hate mail. Shall I talk about gun control now? Heh.

Well, yeah. Chris Rock (and whoever he stole it from) had it right. Gun ownership is fine... just make the bullets $5000 a piece. That'd fix a lot of problems.

What a weird entry.

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 6:57 PM | Permalink | Comments

Calvin and I got up at a reasonably reasonable time this morning, put off the inevitable for as long as we possibly could, then cleaned the hell out of the house. Listening to tunes and working together, the task becomes almost (but not quite, entirely unlike) entertaining. We followed that with a ride on Calvin's motorcycle up to Kona Grill for some sushi (do you SEE how I'm rubbing off of him??? He actually ATE SUSHI. I CAN DO ANYTHING.) Reluctant to go home after that, we rode over to the Tilted Kilt for some patio time, a beer for Calvin, and an iced tea for me.

Ever since I got sick back on the first of the month (happy fucking April Fools), I haven't had anything alcoholic to drink at all. I thought it would suck worse than this. HAH! I can stop any time I want to. Now, the heroin on the other hand...

I'm feeling a lot better, and the release from the constant pain that hung with me is such a relief, you have no idea. I was supposed to have an MRI to further investigate my innards, but I haven't heard back from my health insurance to get their approval. Fucking HMO's. I could be DYING ("You're not dying, you just can't think of anything good to do.") and bleeding out my eyes, and they'd still delay on the tests I need.

Anyway, right now Calvin's taking a nap, the house is quiet with the absence of the offspring, I've got my headphones plugged into my laptop jamming iTunes, and I'm working on playlists that I can burn to CD once I finally get another stash of blanks. There are so many great new songs out there, I'm going to have to make a "Mixiness 2007" mix CD. Plus another dual disc project - Disc 1 will be all thrash and jam and be named "Crack Pipe". Disc 2 will be mellow and feel good and be named "Peace Pipe". I am damn good at this stuff.

Newest downloads:

Paralyzer - Finger Eleven ("If your body matches what your eyes can do, you'll probably move right through me on my way to you.")
Girlfriend - Avril Lavingne ("Hell yeah, I'm the motherfuckin' Princess.")
Read My Mind - The Killers ("I never really gave up on breaking out of this two-star town.")
Makes Me Wonder - Maroon 5 (AWESOME SONG) ("God damn, my spinning head. Decisions that made my bed, now I must lay in it and deal with things I left unsaid.")

Labels: journal, misc, music

Posted by Laura at 6:02 PM | Permalink | Comments

Calvin and I have been talking about moving over the past couple of days. How to get started, what the steps are, where to move to and what to do for jobs when we get there, what the point of it all is. Calvin hems and haws at moving, first falling on the side of enthusiasm, then falling on the side of protest. I call him a chicken and accuse him of being stubborn and unenthusiastic and change-adverse. And yet, I need to be kinder and remember what it was like when I first contemplated moving away from Maine. One side of my mind was excited, the other side extremely sad. The extremely sad side dominated and has stayed present in the forefront ever since.

I don't want Calvin to experience the same crushing homesickness that I have. And it's not fair of me to assume that he wouldn't, just because I don't happen to like living in Arizona. It's where he was born and grew up. His roots are here, although most of them are paved over with mini-malls. So though I can't for the life of me see how anyone could develop a sense of home and rightness about this place, I must assume that it is indeed possible, and that my husband feels affection for our current home state.

I want him to hate it here as much as I do, but that's just mean. And unfair. I want him to want to get away as badly as I do, but I can't force the feeling onto him and I shouldn't want to.

It comes to this - I can't imagine ever being happy here. But can I stay for the sake of Calvin's happiness? Are there changes to our current life that would make me happier to stay in Arizona? Nothing comes to mind, but in order to be totally fair about this I have to at least entertain the exercise.

Even though the thought of staying here forever just chokes the spirit right out of me. I don't intend to use that as emotional blackmail (I know he's going to read this), it's just the very real and true way that I feel. I want to up and leave. Sell the house, pick a direction, and go. Figure the rest of it out when we get there. That simplistic of a plan is not only unrealistic, it's irresponsible.

But, it's also not impossible. Where there's a will there's a way, and I've always been a fan of having a simple life. Do I have to have a career making as much money as I do now? I'm not career-oriented, and if we downsize our life we won't need the salaries we currently require. Do I have to have a big house and fancy cars? No, just a little place that feels like home and something that runs. The things that are REALLY important to me - my connection with Calvin, my connection to the place that I live, the nourishment of my spirit - all of those things would be met and even improved upon if we just moved to somewhere that spoke to us, and de-complicated our lives.

But in order to make things uncomplicated, first they have to be more complicated. Beginning with the first and biggest complication - getting both of us on the same page about moving.

I have to be patient, I have to be fair, and I have to listen to all the things that Calvin is saying and not saying. But it's hard to bring myself to that sense of stillness, when my heart and mind are wild to get out of this place.

Labels: headspace, journal

Posted by Laura at 12:29 PM | Permalink | Comments

Whenever we go to Taco Bell, we get the Grande Meal with half bean burritos no onions, and half soft tacos. We also get two combination burritos with no onions, a Mexi-melt, two crunchy tacos, and a chicken quesadilla. And a large Pepsi, because for some reason the Taco Bell near us has the best fountain Pepsi EVER. Sometimes Calvin gets frisky and asks for a tostada. The total always comes to $18.08. You can get an ass-load of food for less than twenty bucks at Taco Bell.

Whenever we order pizza (usually Domino's), we get a large thin crust with pepperoni, bacon, and beef, one large regular crust with just pepperoni, and one medium vegetarian thin crust. We order the same thing so often that I can call them (I've memorized their number) and ask for "the usual". The total always comes to $38.00. Domino's is somewhat more expensive than Taco Bell, and yet is still cheap in its resident food category. Plus, they deliver. I refuse to go to Peter Piper Pizza.

Marie has been getting on the scale, and then yelling, "God! I can't gain weight!" Every time she does this, I want to kill her just a little.

Marie spends most nights at her boyfriend's house, but we usually see her at some point during the day. During that time, she does a high-speed download of everything she's thought about, done, or has happened to her. I have a feeling that even when she moves out, we'll talk every day and get this download. If there is one thing that this family doesn't have a problem with, it's communicating.

When the Suns game is on an HD channel, we stay at home and watch it because our TV is like being there. When the Suns game is not on an HD channel, we go to some sports bar and yell at them from there.

Oz is less of a cat, and more of a child, in this household. He has this thing for shredded cheese. Every time... and I mean EVERY time... we get into the fridge he runs over, "speaks" to us, practically climbs into the fridge, paws the drawer that we keep the cheese in as if to say, "It's in here," then walks over to this certain spot on the kitchen floor that we have been putting his little cheese piles, and waits patiently until we oblige him.

Oh! Did I tell you guys about this? I forget. Anyway, you know how Oz "kills" his stuffed toy Kanga, and carries it through the house from wherever it was into our bedroom, mrowring and carrying on at the top of his lungs, EVERY night just as we get into bed? Yes, well, one night about a month ago Calvin and I went into the bedroom and got ready for bed. Calvin shut and locked the door that leads into the hallway, so that Oz wouldn't try to open it during the night (you remember that he can open doors, right? AND turn on lights) and wake us up. He left the door leading into the bathroom cracked, and the pocket door on the opposite side of the bathroom leading into the entry room cracked as well. Got that?So, lights out, we're all comfy, and we hear Oz from the bowels of the house, his mrowring coming at us louder and louder as he came downstairs (he'd delivered Kanga to Marie's room during the day), came through the dining room and living room, and padded down the hall toward our bedroom door. He stopped outside the door, tried to lever the door handle down with his paw (a trick he does so many times a day and so well that there's no more of a pause in the opening of the door than there would be with those of us with opposable thumbs), dropped Kanga (we could tell by the un-muffled quality of his voice), and meaowed a question at us when he found it locked. As if to say, "What the fuck, people. Let me in." Calvin yelled, "Go around, Oz! The door's locked!" I teased Calvin for talking to the cat like he could understand us. And then... you know what's coming next, right? I'll be damned if that cat didn't pick Kanga up, go back down the hall, through the dining room and entry room, through the cracked pocket door and through the bathroom into our bedroom, and deposit Kanga triumphantly at the foot of our bed. Calvin and I started cracking up. "He went around!" we gasped at each other. I swear to God, that cat is more of a person than a lot of people I've met.

We love our new dishwasher - it actually gets the dishes clean, even when Michael loads it. It is very loud, though.

I have been listening to Fall Out Boys "Infinity on High" a lot this past week. It's one of the random CD's of which I enjoy pretty much all of the songs. Plus, how can you go wrong with lyrics like, "I could write it better than you ever felt it."

A dove has built a nest in the palm tree along our front walk. She's right at head-height and not really tucked away or hidden at all. So each day we walk by on our way to/from work, getting the mail, what have you, and we say hello. And she looks at us with those liquid eyes and wishes that we would just go away and let her hatch her damn eggs, already. It's all very Discovery Channel.

Speaking of which, we have been enjoying the hell out of the Planet Earth series on Discovery HD. We've also been watching Dresden Files and Raines (which I don't think is long for this world, as it just got moved from Wednesday night to Friday night). When it begins, we'll be watching Drive. At some point soon I shall rent the first season of Battlestar Galactica and start watching that, too.

Despite all the TV we watch, we still seem to do a startling amount of other stuff as well. Like, two weekends ago Calvin and I cleared all of the garbage out of the garage.

Calvin is selling Michael his 929 (sport bike), at which point there will be three asses and three motorcycles in the household (Marie's ass doesn't count). I think Michael has visions of the three of us going riding around together, but I know I'll just get left behind because I'll be obeying the speed limit.

I was supposed to go to Pudong (a district of Shanghai) on a business trip, but the plan got nixed due to budgetary limitations. I was disappointed, I really wanted to get a shot glass to add to my collection. So far I have shot glasses from Maine (natch), Arizona (ditto), Chicago, Hawaii, Ireland, Holland, Canada (Whistler), California, and the Bahamas. I would happily accept any shot glasses that any reader would care to ship from me, from any location on the planet. That was only a little weeny hint.

We go through more Ranch dressing in this household than all families on the planet combined. Salsa holds a close second, followed by Worcestershire, and green Tabasco. Ketchup, usually holding the role of most-consumed condiment in most households, is lucky to make the top five in ours.

I made a bet with Calvin that I wouldn't read any books between now and when we leave for Maine (at which point it will be mandatory to be able to read, to keep sane during the long-ass flight). I made this bet on March 22nd, and thus far I haven't picked up one physical book, nor have I opened one e-book. This bet was pretty much spurred by his observance of the loooong list on the sidebar listing the forty books I've read since January 1st, and his (subtle!) insinuation that I might actually get a lot of useful things done should I spend my free time elsewhere. I have a lot of books waiting on my dresser and in the LL Bean bag I keep next to my side of the couch, plus a TON awaiting my pleasure on my hard drive. I will never be to the end of the list of books I want to read. And yet, I have survived for over a week, which I think is a record for me. One thing to note: it strikes me that I didn't designate any terms of my recompense from Calvin should I win this bet. I am taking suggestions.

Every morning at exactly 8:17 a.m., I have a sneezing fit at work. The admin, who sits across the isle, always yells her blessing. It is as if my spirit cannot move forward into the tasks of the day until this little ritual has been performed. We've been laughing about it for weeks, now. Today, I got stuck in traffic behind the clean-up of a large accident. I got out my cell phone and dialed the admin to let her know I was running late. As I left the message on her voicemail, I had to pause, mid-sentence, for a sneezing fit. I laughed, told her the blessing was complete for the day, and hung up. I looked at the time on the cover of my cell - 8:17 a.m. Insert Twilight Zone theme music here.

Calvin is working this week on the south campus of AcronymCo (in other words, the "other campus" that I don't work at). He keeps running into people he'd worked with at AcronymCo and the company he worked for previous to the one he works for now. He commented today on how small a world his particular industry in, and how AcronymCo hasn't changed in the nearly nine years its been since he worked there. I have nothing profound to say, here. I just think it's a little sad. And also, I wish he were working on my campus so we could have lunch in the cafeteria and make fun of the people we know, like we used to. Oh, and make out in the stairwell. Like we used to.

Labels: home, journal

Posted by Laura at 7:27 PM | Permalink | Comments

What a fucking day.

I'm covering for Jen, who is on vacation. It is all her fault that I'm having a fucked day.

Heh. Not really, but it makes me feel better to blame her.

Really, the stuff I'm covering is not hers yet, it belongs to another person who is leaving soon and for whom Jen will be taking over - who is also on vacation, as it happens. So really? It's all her fault.

There, now I made Jen feel better, too. Speaking ill of a person makes their ears burn... does typing ill of them make their fingers burn? Or no, to follow that analogy to its logical conclusion, it would have to be their eyes that burn. Thus I ponder.

I wonder what it is about covering for someone that makes everything go wrong at once the moment their Out Of Plant notice is up? I swear, at one point I was e-mailing, talking on the phone, and conducting two separate IM conversations, all about different things that were going wrong at the same time. I'm not even kidding.

I would speak more about what makes work so fucked, but I'm trying to avoid getting dooced. (And yes, I searched Wikipedia to see if someone had written a definition of my website. Alas, nothing. I am, I admit, not as interesting as Heather and do not deserve to impact cultural slang.)

But, the salad I'm eating for lunch is making me happy. Spinach and lettuce and candied pecans and dried cranberries and diced chicken and diced melon and poppyseed dressing and cubed swiss cheese. Gastronomical goodness. Though something this calorie-laden should not be termed a salad. It's misleading.

And yet, I eat.

Labels: journal, misc, work

Posted by Laura at 11:35 AM | Permalink | Comments

Soy un perdedor. And also, schprechen sie deutsches?

Heh.

You can't write if you can't relate. Truer words were never... um... chanted? Beck didn't exactly sing that song, now did he? Good lyric, though. Actually, I love that whole song ("Loser" by Beck, in case you didn't spot it). And this reference to this lyric will make much more sense further on in the entry, I promise.

Coming off of a really great weekend. Pictures are to follow as soon as I can bogart them from Heather, who has been in town for the past week. Friday night Calvin and I met Heather and a few other folks up at Rula Bula for some reunion-esque happy-houring. I was rather giddy, giggly, and (I'm told) annoying, without the excuse benefit of being inebriated. That's what I get for being cute, I guess. It was just so NICE to get some quality Heather time. Eventually, someday, I will go to Chicago and hang out with her there.

Then Saturday Calvin and I went to Luke Days at the Luke Air Force Base. So, when was it alright for me to get all emotional about airplanes??? I swear I did. Twice. Once when the F-18 Hornet (or some letter-number-insect combination thingy... I am a girl and can't be expected to know these things) did a high speed pass over the demonstration grounds and a vapor cone appeared. Like (searching the internet for an image...) this:



(photo courtesy of McMahan Photo)

Okay, so maybe what got me crying was that it was that cool in real life (photos, while a close thing, don't really do it justice over it happening right in front of you), and also that the crowd was utterly silent for a split second after the jet passed, and then absolutely erupted into applause and whistling and, well, awe. It was wicked cool.

The second teary occasion was when they did "Tora Tora Tora", the recreation of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. There were all of these Japanese planes "bombing" the hell out of everything (there were a lot of pyrotechnics incorporated into the demonstration), and one lonely American plane chasing after the Japanese. I kept yelling, "Git 'em!" to that one lone plane (much to Calvin's amusement), and I can really imagine how awful it was trying to rally against such an attacking force.



(photo courtesy of Commemorative Air Force website)

If you have the ability to go to a "Days" event at a nearby Air Force base, I highly recommend it. Wear comfy shoes and sunblock, though. Beer's cheap, that'll help.

Sunday, Heather and I went to the Ren Fair for a couple of hours (I had my first turkey leg, awwww...). We got sunburned and stuffed full and spent a lot of time trying to avoid "The Queen", whose entourage was somehow always right on top of us. It was nice to have her all to myself (insert evil laugh here) and get caught up on the stuff she doesn't post about in her journal. The content of which could fill a book rivaling the length of War and Peace.

Has anybody ever read that book, I wonder?

Then we went to the store to load up on fun drink ingredients, got into our comfy clothes, ordered some pizza, and watched a bunch of movies. She hadn't seen the latest Harry Potter movie, so we watched that, even Calvin. You begin to see the effect that a Heather visit has on the household, don't you? We also watched the most recent "Pirates of the Caribbean", which she also hadn't seen yet (and I have no issue sitting through a repeat of a Johnny Depp movie). Last up was "The Holiday" with Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet, which was adorable and saccharine and probably grossed Heather right out but she was too polite to say so. Or maybe she was asleep - she and I were the last hold-outs of the evening amid the pile of pillows and blankets on the couch, and I couldn't quite see her face.

She spent the night and left early the next morning (yesterday, for those of you following along chronologically), and she goes back to Chicago today. Leaving me bereft with no idea when the next Heather fix will be coming.

::sob::

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 1:09 PM | Permalink | Comments

Long time readers are familiar with the fact that I am very honest about my health, the issues I have experienced, and my opinions of topics related to wellness, nutrition, fitness, and exercise. I am comfortable with sharing - probably to the point of oversharing, sometimes. I do this with the hope that relating of some of my experiences will help educate other people regarding their own health concerns, offer resources they may not have known were out there, or at least let them know they are not alone in the world. I have gotten feedback from lots of folks on a myriad of topics, both from this site (and the main journal) and from Operation::Goddess, which gives me encouragement that my sharing is a good thing.

So, here I go again. I just posted an abbreviated version at Operation::Goddess about this, but I felt the need to expound in greater detail here.

I have suspected for a while that I suffer from hormone imbalance, specifically symptoms of perimenopause, which is really not uncommon for women in their 30's. Of these symptoms listed (courtesy of this site), I suffer from a startling number (though, thankfully, not all) of them:

Fatigue
Cravings for sweets or carbohydrates
Weight gain
Hot flashes or night sweats
PMS
Feeling depressed or overwhelmed
Mood swings or irritability
Insomnia or restless sleep
Headaches
Loss of desire
Fuzzy thinking
Digestive issues
Stiffness or joint pain
Anxiety
Heart palpitations
Breast pain
Urinary dysfunction
Hair loss/dry skin
Vaginal dryness
Irregular periods
Fibroids

Now, like most people, I figured a lot of these symptoms were from depression, stress, poor diet, or just plain "getting old". All of you will recall that I saw a therapist for depression and anxiety, I had digestive issues that resulted in my gallbladder being removed, and I've been battling for some time to find the right "secret" that would result in weight loss for me. I've tried MYRIADS of things to help fix all of the things I've mentioned here, plus some other things that (you'll thank me) I didn't post about. The links I provided don't even scratch the surface of all of the entries I've written about my, erm, adventures.

I've seen doctor after doctor - specialists, therapists, nutritionists, general practitioners, OB-GYN's. I've mentioned, repeatedly, my concerns over my various symptoms. Their reactions have ranged from looking at me like I'm crazy, to prescribing things that will individually treat one or two symptoms (until at one point I was taking 8 prescriptions simultaneously), to telling me this is all normal "for me" because "everyone is different", to blaming it all on stress and telling me to "destress" my life (yeah, right), to flat-out stating that it's all "in my head". I've been tested for food allergies. I've had my blood drawn more than all the victims combined in all seven seasons of Buffy. I've done stuff covered by my insurance, and stuff not covered by my insurance.

After all of that, nobody seemed to come up with an answer that satisfied me. And, my symptoms started worsening. So, I said, "Fuck that noise," and decided to do some research on my own. Which is what lead me to my self-diagnosis of hormone imbalance. I mentioned this thought to my general practitioner (oh-so-helpful as she always is), who figured it was as good of a reason as any for my complaints.

So! This week, I am starting a personalized program with Women to Women, which happens to be the OB-GYN that I saw when I lived in Maine. I was very pleased to find them at the top of the Google search when I entered in "hormone imbalance". I think on a regular basis, when doing the girly necessary annual crap, that I wish I could still go to the W2W clinic in Yarmouth, Maine. They were fantastic - very understanding, knowledgeable, and most importantly they took their time with each patient and actually conversed. It always made me feel like they actually cared about what was going on with me, and weren't trying to brush me off in order to get to their next patient (a complaint I hold VERY dear regarding my current doctor). Plus, their facility is in a very nicely converted Victorian home, which made me feel like I was visiting a friend rather than a doctor's office. Next best thing to being able to physically go to their clinic is getting their support long-distance, via e-mail and phone support, which thus far has been excellent.

This program involves nutritional changes (based on the Schwarzbein Principle, of which I am already familiar), a supplement regime, and a bioidentical progesterone cream. All of it targets the rebalancing of hormones and the relief of perimenopause symptoms.

This is NOT another one of those "fix it fast" fad regimes. It's actually developed by doctors, whose clinic I actually utilized. There's information on a bunch of evidentiary studies for those people (like me) who need the stats and figures and formulas and expert mumbo-jumbo in order to make a decision. The fact that I have met the doctors (in fact, the W2W co-founder and director was my OB-GYN), experienced their care, and have actually physically been to their clinic, was the combination that convinced me that this program is worth a try.

Here is information on their personal program, information on their supplements, and information on their recommended free profile.

I will post updates on my progress and experiences over at Operation::Goddess, just so journal readers can choose how much TMI they want to indulge in. I hope at best that some of this helps someone out there, or at worst that I don't scare off any readers!

Labels: health, journal, Op:Goddess

Posted by Laura at 12:06 PM | Permalink | Comments

Calvin and I were pretty down (dooby doo) over the weekend. Nothing specific was bad, it's just that nothing specific was good either. Other than the old standby of being in (relatively) good health (Calvin's got some throat thing going on), having a nice home and food to eat and clothes to wear, and having each other. All very good things to be happy about.

But, not enough to keep us out of the doldrums. Perfectly normal, to have a nice life and yet feel down sometimes. And apparently I should NOT put the pressure on myself of expecting myself to be in a good mood all the time, just because I've gotten my depression and anxiety under control.

It seemed that all we wanted to do was sleep. We both took a long nap late Friday afternoon, slept in on Saturday, took a nap Saturday afternoon, slept in Sunday, AND took a nap Sunday afternoon.

Today? I am awake.

It concerns me when our down moods coincide like that. Neither of us can lift the other out of the blues, and so we sink and wallow and sleeeeeep. We need a positive life change in a BIG way. The more we think about it, the more we want to move away from AZ, and change careers, and do something that involves the both of us together. I think we're one of those lucky couples that would not kill each other if we had to work together.

Maine in May. And probably Oregon around September-ish. Anyone live there? Anyone been there? Anyone want to recommend some sights? We're taking a long weekend to check out the area and see if it's where we want to relocate.

In the meantime, we keep on with the keeping on. No more weekends like last weekend, though. I hope.

Labels: Calvin, headspace, journal

Posted by Laura at 2:37 PM | Permalink | Comments

Occasionally Calvin has a romantical fit and suggests activites (not those activities... well, yes, those activities, but other activities as well...) for us to do together which aid in the whole relationship-foundation-cementy thing (and the get-away-from-home-and-have-hotel-sex thing). Such as his suggestion to go to Sedona on Friday afternoon. Long time readers will recall that this was the location of our wedding, so Sedona holds a place near to and dear to and slightly to the left of our hearts.

Anyway, we made the decision to leave at 1:00, and by 2:30 had made hotel reservations, packed, loaded up the truck, and was pulling out of the driveway. Calvin wanted to ride the motorcycle up, so I followed behind him in the truck. My iPod got a lot of use on the way up and on the way back, since I had no one to converse with and nothing to do but drive and stare at Calvin's backside for two and a half hours (not a bad passtime, that). I have an iPod transmitter that would allow me to listen to my iPod through the stereo speakers... if it worked well. But it doesn't. It's all crackly and the sound is distorted. It's a curiously isolated feeling to drive with noise-cancelling headphones on. For the first twenty minutes I was paranoid that I wouldn't hear a cop or a fire truck screaming up behind me, and I checked my rear-view mirror obsessively. I got over that in short order, though, and broke the speed limit with nary a twinge of guilt.

The drive up to Sedona (well, and back from, too) is lovely, if one can ignore the FUCKING TRAFFIC that you have to deal with until you get out of Phoenix. I-17 from the I-10 interchange until the city limits is one bastard of a drive. It astonishes me how many people prefer to drive with their thumbs up their asses. You'd think that would get uncomfortable, but it seems to be popular among Arizona drivers. I've never had the urge to try, myself.

We stopped at a rest stop about halfway there to pee and hydrate and wash the bugs off of Calvin's helmet. Continuing on, we arrived at about 5:30 and was greeted by lovely 75-degree weather. Since the Valley is already up into the 90's (hello, harbinger of summer), it was heaven to roll down all the windows and actually enjoy the 30-MPH traffic crawl from the freeway exit into Sedona proper. After a bit of confusion and wrong turns, we found our hotel. Calvin and I got separated looking for the place - I found it first, then lurked around out front watching for Calvin to direct him into the place. People in traffic kept stopping for me, thinking I wanted to cross the street. Funny how manners come back when you're away from the city.

Our room was a cute little thing, with a fireplace and mini fridge and wet bar and microwave. Our first order of business was to get cleaned up and then search out the restaurant that was generating the incredible steak smell we experienced as we checked in. We figured we'd go to the Cowboy Club - another favorite of ours - and grab a street-side patio table. None were available, but the hostess took us on a trek through the restaurant, out the back alley (quoth the hostess, "Don't worry, there's really a restaurant back here!"), and across an empty lot to their sister restaurant, Redstone Cabin.

I immediately kicked myself for not bringing my camera, because the outdoor seating was lovely. We were seated right next to a little waterfall, under the open sky, with a fire pot nearby. We were served complimentary appetizers, and chose a beer and a whiskey to go with our meal. Calvin had the fillet, and I had the roasted duck. They did something to their vegetables (summer squash and zucchini and baby carrots) that even had Calvin raving about them. I mean, Calvin. Vegetables. Seriously. We lingered over dinner, the warm-fuzzy lovey-dovey feelings mounting by the minute, for a solid two hours.

We staggered (and moo-ed) over to a nearby convenience store for a laying-in of beer, back to our room briefly to stash our loot, and then back out to find some trouble to get into. Sedona doesn't believe in Trouble, though. The entire town closes down at night - Uptown Sedona was nearly deserted (at 8:00!), but we managed to find a place that wasn't closed. We sat at the bar at The Orchards Bar & Grill, yet another favorite of ours. Vernon the bartender regaled us with stories of life in Sedona, and discourteous neighbors, and corporate outsiders who buy out local institutions and then are thwarted by the proximety of a new church. We toasted the triumph of the little guy, chatted a bit with a couple up from Vegas, and then were run out when the place closed at nine. Calvin and I, a bit giggly by this point, plopped down on a bench along the main street to watch what little of the world was going by. I couldn't begin to tell you what we talked about or why it was so damn funny, but by the time we got back to our room our sides were aching. I guess you had to be there.

Back at the hotel, we did a little sumthin' sumthin' that's none of your heighty-doo, and a good time was had by all.

The next morning we rolled out of bed at a respectable 7:45, got showered and dressed and checked out (we tried for another night, but they were booked - much to our disappointment and desire to delay our return to reality by another day). We hit a little cafe across the street with the World's Most Annoying Waitress and the winner of the Scariest Penciled-In Eyebrows Award, and indulged in corned beef hash and eggs.

We left the truck parked at the hotel and took the motorcycle to gas up. Then we headed down through Sedona and along Highway 89-A, the scenic route between Sedona and Flagstaff, and easily the prettiest drive in the state. We've gone along this way more than a dozen times, but never together on the back of a motorcycle. It's really lovely to be able to see all around without being enclosed in a vehicle. We made a quick stop at a convenience store along the way for some fortification in the form of Jack, and I did the tourist thing with the camera.







Our turn-around point was Oak Creek Canyon Viewpoint, where we stopped for a potty break, some pictures, and conversation with other visitors. As Calvin paused to take my picture, a gent from Tennessee came up and asked if we wanted our picture taken together. He and his family were in Arizona on vacation, and headed toward the Grand Canyon, and then Scottsdale later in the week. We chatted for a few minutes about the best places to go and what to do and see, and then we continued on our way along the walk.

Calvin lined me up for another picture, and this time a little old man from Kansas asked him if we wanted our picture taken together. So once more we surrendered our camera and grinned into the lens. We ended up chatting with him for a good fifteen or twenty minutes. I love talking to older folks - this guy in particular has been everywhere and seen everything. He'd driven the exact route we were on back in 1935 when it was just a dirt road. We talked for a long while about all the changes the world has seen since then - some good, some bad - then his wife came to claim him. Calvin and I shot a few more pictures, then hopped back on the motorcycle for the ride back down the mountains and into Sedona.




Back in Sedona, we stopped at Canyon Breeze for some lunch (and beer and tequila, heh), and a conversation with a bartender who hailed from Boston. I recognized his accent immediately and asked where he was from. Once he realized how much of a kick I was getting out of listening to him talk (and MAN was it making me homesick, weirdly enough), he kept coming back around to chat. Calvin and I had a good long conversation about changes we want to make in our lives that will result in more quality time together such as we had been enjoying in Sedona. It made it that much harder to think about coming home, so after lunch we wandered around Sedona a bit, then took the trail down from Upper Sedona to L'Auberge resort where we got married. It was absolutely lovely to stroll around hand in hand, think about the last five years together and all that has happened, and just enjoy the greenery and the sights and sounds of the creek.







After our stroll around L'Auberge, we climbed back up to the village (sadly, the hillavator was out of order), made a last brief visit with Vernon at The Orchard for a quick beer, then got ourselves together to head back down the mountain and home again. If anything, the drive seemed longer heading back, but that impression was probably aided by the 20-minute detour we took in Anthem, trying to find a way around a dead-stop traffic jam. Reality returned with a vengance as soon as we stepped in the door at home, and more than once Calvin and I turned to each other and said, "Why was it we didn't stay in Sedona, again?" But it's short trips like this that make us appreciate our lives and our relationship, so we're grateful that we have even this small opportunity for escape from time to time.

And also? I am totally in love with my husband.

There are tons more pictures of our weekend on my Flickr site. Phew! It's been a mighty long time since I've done a picture-heavy entry. Hope you enjoy.

Labels: Calvin, journal, vacation

Posted by Laura at 1:22 PM | Permalink | Comments

Bringing you the world of miscellany, one entry at a time.

Ladies and gentlemen, my new favorite song (from whence the title came): "This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race" by Fallout Boy.

This right here is just all fucked up.

I'm stuck at work. Calvin is home right now, and he gosh darn well better be installing our new dishwasher. Maytag. Purchase inspired by the aforementioned washer and dryer lurve.

Here ye, here ye, Dawn says she's going to be writing again, once she comes back from a vacation to N'awlins. We'll just see about that, the damn tease. That's right, missy! You're a T-to tha-E-to tha-ASE. Word.

I am about to seriously RIP MY NOSE OFF. I moved to Arizona expecting my allergies to improve. Because, you know, that's just the sort of false advertising the AZ Chamber of Commerce likes to indulge in, to lure in us transplants. Check this out, just to be able to, you know, breathe while trying to go to sleep last night, I had to blow my nose seventy bazillion times, take two different kinds of nasal spray, take my inhaler, AND apply a Breathe Right strip. And I was still jacked up. That's just all kinds of messed up, right there.

Okay, that was weird. I just got off the phone with one of my suppliers - someone I speak with infrequently and only briefly, all about business matters. The conversation went a little something like this:

me: "Hey, what can I do for you?"
him: "I gave up sex for Lent!"
me: "Uhhh, good for you?"

Hmm. I'm sure professional courtesy is not high up on that person's list of amenable qualities. That was just really strange.

Yeah, I got nuthin' else. Calvin and I are supposed to go to Sedona this weekend. I'll probably take pictures. I posted some pics of our trip to the Ren Fair to Flickr if anybody wants to stare at corseted boobies.

Laura OUT.

Labels: boredom, journal, misc

Posted by Laura at 11:34 AM | Permalink | Comments

Reader Megan, who lives near me and yet we have never met which is a shame, also answered the request for topics. She writes:

"Jean asked some of the same things I've been wondering about. Thanks for opening yourself up! They really are coffee table subjects--what an apt description. But I've also--what happened to Sideburns? I think you mentioned it once or twice a long time ago and when I saw it turning into...what is it, Asain now...I just wondered. Also, did you end up doing the Three Day? If so, how was it? If not, why not? Also, have you ever tried making an oil crust? It is much easier than a traditional crust and I think about as tasty, though probably more caloric. I could send you the recipe if you haven't tried one. It's just Better Homes and Gardens though, if you have that cookbook. Finally--thanks for the Dance Bitches! CD. It arrived on my due date for #3 who is now one and by the time I was up and about for sending thank yous, it just seemed too late..."

Sideburns was Calvin's mom's restaurant in downtown Chandler. She and her husband decided to get out of the restaurant business (and I sure do miss their burgers, and chili, and potato salad, and...). They sold to a person who did indeed turn the place into an Asian restaurant. I haven't been in there yet... I don't know, would it seem disloyal or something? Anyway, the restaurant business was certainly taking its toll on my MIL and her husband; they're doing model home cleaning now and I think they like that better.

I did not end up doing the Three Day Walk for Breast Cancer last November, and I was sorry to make that decision. I'm going to have to have surgery on my feet at some point soon, and they would never be able to hold up over three days and sixty miles. When I talked to my doctor about it last summer, he said that while the cause was wonderful, it would really be bad on my feet and probably make surgery more urgent. Bunions. Gotta hate 'em. They've totally changed the shape of my feet and I've really got to be careful what I wear and how much I walk, or else I'm in agony ("Aaaah-goooone-eeeeee").

I've never heard of oil crust, but I'm willing to try anything. I'm still relying on Pillsbury and their insta-crusts. And I don't mind the increased calories - you've got to assume that anything that requires a crust probably isn't wholly healthy, anyway. I mean, to me crust = pie. With ice cream. And whipped cream.

I'm really glad that everyone seemed to like the "Dance, Bitches!" CD I sent out last year. I'm toying with the idea of doing another mix CD, maybe compiling songs suggested by readers and sending them out to everyone. Judiciously peppered with songs of my own liking, of course. For instance, I am a newly minted fan of the Dropkick Murphys after watching "The Departed" last night and then immediately having the need to download "I'm Shipping up to Boston".

Thanks so much, Megan, for playing along! I've got to say I'm really having fun with the reader questions, so I hope they keep coming. Again with the subtle hints...

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 10:40 AM | Permalink | Comments

In my last entry I sent a request for readers to suggest topics that they would like to know about. Long-time reader Jean responded asking how personal the questions could be. I told her to fire away, and she wrote back:

"Well, for instance....I wonder how the whole Lily/Michael divorce thing came about. I'm curious to know if you have any struggle with the decision to not have children. I want to know if you're still friends with Heather. I'm curious about your sister and how her life goes. See? Personal stuff that you would share with a good friend over coffee (or adult beverage, if you weren't so conscientious about your figure.....)."

I really appreciate the interest, so I am going to respond to each question.

I don't think it came as a shock to anyone when Lilly and Michael decided to separate. We were certainly hoping that things would work out, but a lot of factors were working against them - marrying so soon after meeting (they met in November and married in January), being married so young (she was 18 and he was 19), having a military marriage (which statistically do not last long, though there are some fantastic relationships out there that defy that particular statistic), having so many kids so young and so close together (Robert came in September of their first year together, Devlin came 14 months after that, Roman arrived 16 months after that). Plus, they just plain ol' didn't get along. They were abrasive to one another, kind of fought like brother and sister, and played relationship games that are best left behind in high school. Like I said, too young for marriage and kids.

We tried to offer the best advice and help that we could, and we were all hoping things would get better once they left the military (June of '06) and moved back home. But things didn't get better, and Lilly left with the boys back in October to move back to her parents' home in Texas. Which of course upsets us here in AZ, since we never see the boys and repeated requests for pictures from Lilly of the boys have thus far yielded no results. Hmm. I'm going to have to call her today and get on her about that.

Which kind of leads into the next question of, how goes my decision not to have children. I will say that having the grandsons around nurtured that maternal part of me that wanted to have babies. I was knee-deep in babies there for a while (see this entry, and this entry, and this entry, and this entry, and this entry, and this entry, and this entry, and this entry, and this entry, and this entry). It was mostly heavenly, occasionally frustrating, and certainly a good dose of babyness. Plus, I've had the raising of Marie and Michael since they were young, so I thwarted my maternal instincts with them as well.

At this moment in time, I am very okay with not having kids of my own with Calvin. I'm fond of saying, "If people had to raise teenagers first, nobody would be having babies." And I really think that's true. I would say that years 0 through 5 are the best years to experience parenthood, and it goes steadily downhill from there. Which isn't to say that parenting stops being rewarding and nice and dandy after the child turns five... you just have to try harder to "look for the jewels", as my former mother-in-law would say it. You have to try harder to see the good, to be positive, and to enjoy the parenting ordeal process. I'm very cynical about my kids right now (I've never been one to attach the "step" moniker onto how I address Michael and Marie - they're as much mine as they are their biological mom's, if not more). I'm sure as they become less frustrating, my pleasure in parenting them will return.

I would like at this point to make very clear that I am NOT a child hater, and I do not in any way share the feelings of that weirdo group of "Child-Free" people that have bothered Rob on occasion. Really, I just feel like I've had kids and I am now in the stage in which I am eagerly anticipating comfortable with them leaving the nest.

Let's see, what's next? Ah, yes, Heather. Yes, she and I are still really good friends, and I miss her all the time. BUT! She's coming to Arizona for a mutual friend's wedding in March and so I'll get to hang out with her and knock back a couple of ciders at Rula Bula. She doesn't update often enough to make me happy (grr... arrg...), and she's gone through a rough couple of months with the details of her life, but for the most part she's good and I CAN'T WAIT to see her and get caught up.

I'm curious about my sister and how her life goes, too. We don't talk very often, but when we do it's a whirlwind conversation of what mischief she's been up to, what mischief her kids have been up to, and how crazy their life is at that particular moment in time. She's on the Board of Selectmen in her town, and she's usually the lone voice voting against the majority. I'll say one thing about my sister, she's got a STRONG moral compass and the stuff she's been up to is all Erin Brockovich in epic-ness. Some of her opinions and actions have made her rather unpopular with the other members of the Board and other town officials. She's very popular with the town's residents, though - the last conversation I had with her, she was considering running for re-election this spring. Originally she was going to stop at the end of this term, but so many people asked her to run again that she thinks she will. It's amusing to read the meeting minutes of the board meetings - it's not too hard to read between the lines and see that my sister (and sometimes her husband, who regularly attends the selectmen meetings to support her) is pissing people off. And that makes me proud. She's pissing the right people off about the right kinds of things. Maybe she'll run for Mayor next. That would be cool.

Calvin and I are really looking forward to seeing my sister and her family when we go to Maine in May. Though in order to get completely caught up with them, I should have scheduled an extra week of vacation. Still, a short visit is better than no visit at all.

This was fun! Thanks to Jean for asking such great questions. I hope more readers will e-mail me or leave comments with more topic suggestions.

Gee, that wasn't a very subtle hint, was it?

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 9:19 AM | Permalink | Comments

Calvin turned me onto this group called "Blue October". I really like their song, "Into the Ocean" and I highly recommend it to iPod owners everywhere.

Ho.ly. Shit. I pulled my credit report and Calvin's credit report from Equifax, with the intent of cleaning things up, making sure our identities are not being thieved, etc. My report is 73 pages long. Calvin's is just as long but I'm not going to count the exact number of pages in his packet because doing that once in my lifetime is enough. Now begins the exciting work of looking at every single entry, verifying the information, and then contesting the crap entries with the THREE reporting agencies. Who use different forms to contest things. Oh, my life is so. much. fun.

Some things:

Britney Spears' hair, or lack thereof. She figures she's been out of the news for long enough, so now she has to do something to get back into the public eye that doesn't involve bodily endangering her children (this time). And also, she's an idiot. And probably drug addicted. But mostly, she's an idiot.

Sting should totally bag the whole rock-n-roll bit and stick entirely to singing in Gaelic. However, he has my permission to delay this genre switcheroo long enough to go on his reunion with The Police. Tickets go on sale Monday...

OH! Speaking of reunions, Genesis is getting back together, complete with Phil Collins. You've GOT to know that we'll be snarfing up tickets as soon as they're available.

I approve of reunion tours, much more than repeating a "farewell tour" six or seven times (Cher, I'm looking at you).

Labels: journal, misc

Posted by Laura at 3:47 PM | Permalink | Comments

Calvin will need to decide if he wants a skinny chick, or a chick who drinks. Because, unfortunately (and hopefully only temporarily), he can't have both. I've been cutting back on my drinking to aid in the shrinkage of Ye Olde Waystelyne, and every time I refuse a beer or a whisky or a wine, he looks at me all cock-eyed.

I still accept all offers of heroin, however. Heroin = skinny!

Today is Wednesday. I've almost made it to Thursday. Or, as I call it, "Grey's Anatomy-day". I have some predictions that I have voiced to my family members. I have an uncanny ability to predict what's going to happen in a TV show or movie. If my predictions for Thursday's episode come true, my streak as Head Idiot Savant remains unbroken.

It's a toss-up in our household as to which animal is the most stupid. Gadget and the Waterdragon Currently Known As Nameless are neck-and-neck. Gadget, with his busted out back and his propensity toward seizures, still operates under a single speed - breakneck. When we let him in, I can't count the number of blow outs he has as he skitters around on the floor. He also growls and bites at Gypsy's ass whenever we let them in, and again when we let them out. It's like a compulsion. The waterdragon, on the other hand, leaps directly at the walls of his plexiglass enclosure with startling force. We can hear him hit from our bedroom - the kids can hear him hit from their bedrooms, upstairs. He'll climb up to a perch, leap soaringly into the air, THUNK! against the glass and plummet to Earth, sit on the bottom of the enclosure for a moment contemplating his aching nose, then climb back up and do it again. Over. And over. And over. I think the winner of the Stupid Pet Award goes to both of them. There can be a tie, right?

Many other journalers are doing this, so I am getting freaky with the bandwagoning. If there are any topics anyone would like me to post about, please e-mail me and I will endeavor to be entertaining, yet poignant. And also fabulous.

Labels: journal, misc

Posted by Laura at 3:21 PM | Permalink | Comments

I was browsing through my archives the other day, reading back through my history as a stepmother. It's been a while since I updated in any step-parenty sort of way. That would be because my feelings toward them alternate between tearing frustration and amused tolerance, and I usually experience several swipes of the pendulum daily.

I know it's a huge failing of parenthood to assume that "doing it MY way" is the only way "it" is done. With that said, I do believe that Calvin and I are pretty good parents, and pretty good human beings in general. We have our heads mostly screwed on straight, and in the areas where they are not screwed on straight, we can be termed "eccentric" or "progressive". "Fabulous", even.

So. When we explain, and re-explain, and re-RE-explain, how to do things thus and how to address things such and how to prioritize things so, it is because we have indeed been there, and have actually done that, and presently enjoy the sort of mostly-successful and responsible lifestyle that comes with not making too many fucked up decisions. And so we try to impart this hard-won wisdom onto our innocent, fragile, dumbass somewhat naive children.

Who think they know everything already, and the speed at which the words, "I knooo-oowww" depart in their singsongy way from the fucking sarcastic lilting throats of our beloved children, well, it is something to behold. One is truly left thinking that they do indeed know, and how very presumptuous of us to even try to instruct such genius when, clearly, they have it all figured out.

Really, we should be learning from them.

Many of my current complaints have occupied a comfortable spot in my determination for many years now. For example, any occasion that the kitchen gets cleaned at all by either child constitutes a minor miracle, much punctuated by martyr-ish sighs and slamming cupboard doors. The next child that puts a dirty dish into the cupboard will be WEARING that dirty dish. This is not a difficult lesson to learn. One would think that a single gentle reminder of, "Darling child, please do not put a dish away in the cupboard that is still encrusted with the remnants of a meal," would suffice. Common sense, at the very least, would dictate that the putting away of a dirty dish is probably not the most intelligent thing to do. And yet, Calvin and I persevere, selecting one dish after another from out of the cupboard, and having to discard it in the sink in our search for a dish that is actually clean. We even understand that the dishwasher is on its last legs, but that does not entitle the Cleaner of the Kitchen to pretend that they "didn't notice" that the dish was dirty when they put it away.

(Even now, Marie is reading this and yelling, "I don't do that, Michael does!!!")

The speed at which both children will throw the other under the bus during an argument or discussion is astonishing. If we start to get on Marie about needing to follow through with some plans for her life, she immediately throws Michael's current circumstances into the conversation. If we remind Michael for the millionth time to take care of his chores, he immediately brings up Marie's lack of discipline in that area. If either one senses that they are about to be brought under a negative spotlight, they bring up the other's flaws immediately in an attempt to deflect the negativity onto their beloved sibling.

(Even now, Michael is reading this and yelling, "I don't do that, Marie does!")

Some somewhat newer complaints:

One of the conditions set upon both children of continuing to live in our household "rent free" after high school/military, was the requirement that said child be enrolled in college. Not even full time - part time will suffice. Marie started, and then dropped out because physically going to class on-campus was too much of a pain in the ass. So we told her as of the first semester of '07 she was to be signed up in on-line classes at the very least. Today's date is February 20th. She is not enrolled. Michael, too, expressed the desire to go to school after the military. He went through some machinations in order to claim the GI bill to pay for college. He's been out of the military since last July. No progress there.

If I hear either one of the kids ever mention again EVER that they work harder than either Calvin or myself, they may not live to see the day when they do, indeed, work harder than either Calvin or myself.

If Michael smokes inside the house one more time, and pretends not to understand how we could possibly accuse him of such a sin when obviously he is SUCH a model child, he will discover what it feels like to smoke out of his ass.

If both kids don't figure out how to start supporting themselves, hold down decent-paying jobs, and pay their bills, it is clear that the only choice Calvin and I will have is to sell the house out from under them, move to a different state, and not leave a forwarding address. I mean, as things stand today there will be no way possible for either kid to be on their own in the near future. They seem to think that holding status quo (living at home, minimum wage job) is fine and dandy, and what the hell are we complaining about? Plans? They don't need no stinking plans.

Except that it's high time that Michael be on his own, and Marie isn't far behind him. One doesn't just fall out of the front door of their parents' house and fall right into success. Neither of them are poised to hit the ground running.

Of course, it's not like we want to get rid of them or anything. Everyone who knows me and who reads this website is clear about the fact that Calvin and I adore the kids. They'd have to annoy us a whole hell of a lot more to make us love them any less, if that's even possible. But, damn, people. I'm no saint, and I've gotta blow off some steam, here. If we could just see a little progress made, by either kid, there'd be a whole lot less frustration.

To throw some leaven in this lump (because I can't dish out a whole lot of bad without throwing in at least a little good), I will say this:

Marie has been very responsible about her employment, and as far as I know is never late to work and never blows off her shift. She mentioned this morning that she might be laid off, and if that is the case I'm sure it's not because of anything she did.

Michael has been steady in his job lately as well (after a rough start and several mornings of being late). If he's overwhelmed by bill collectors and impending divorce, he is at least trying to keep a good attitude about things.

Both kids come and go as they please, all hours of the day and night. But they try to be quiet if they're up when we're in bed, the house isn't destroyed in the morning when we get up, and they keep the traffic of friends coming and going to a minimum.

Finally, neither of them is an addict or has been arrested. And really, at the end of the day, what more can you ask for?

Labels: journal, kids

Posted by Laura at 1:44 PM | Permalink | Comments

Friday, 3:00, before a long weekend. If anyone ever wanted to discover a way to slow down, stop, or reverse time, I think I have it. I'm not wishing my life away, or wishing that time would pass more quickly. No, I am wishing I was elsewhere experiencing this particular drag in the linear movement of time.

I looked up every possible spoiler that the Internet had to offer about the next episode of Grey's Anatomy. I read my regular journals, and I tried to find old journalers who seem to have dropped off the face of the earth (Footnotes, Shelleyness, Journalalia). I drank four (count 'em!) 20-oz bottles of water. I went to the bathroom six (count 'em!) times.

Oh, and I did some work, too. Typical of the past few weeks, the frenzy I have experienced all day every day Monday through Thursday settled down to a trickle by 10:00 this morning.

When I get home I'm going to soak for about three hours in the tub. Calvin and I have no specific plans for this weekend. We should probably do something productive, but will probably end up doing nothing whatsoever productive. We want to see "Wild Hogs". There's some DVDs from Netflix that need watching, too. And DVR'ed stuff that needs to be consumed.

I am very, VERY rarely bored. But at this second in time, I really, really am.

I'm going to buy some wine on my way home, for the aforementioned tubby goodness.

Gack. MOVE IT, clock.

Labels: boredom, journal

Posted by Laura at 3:11 PM | Permalink | Comments

Calvin just went for a ride. Marie called me from Pets Inc. asking if we needed crickets. Michael is at work.

Do you even KNOW how long it's been since I had the house to myself, even for a minute? Forever. Seriously.

I have nothing else to say, really. Just wanted to share the boggle.

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 5:18 PM | Permalink | Comments

Today is Grammy's birthday.

It occurred to me that I achieved the pinnacle of redneckedness (rednekkidness?) at one point in my teenage years, and I could have died then a fulfilled woman, had I realized it. This pinnacle? That I have actually ridden in a car whose bucket seats were actual buckets. Beat that, Foxworthy.

To the anonymous commenter who said that Calvin and I would not be able to "handle" the sobriety mandatory for the running of a Bed and Breakfast: who says sobriety is necessary? We're very functional drunks, thankyouverymuch. Now, if we could just kick the heroin...

We dropped our taxes off today. I'm bracing myself for a spanking from the IRS. We file at the earliest possible moment each year just to get the pain over with. The anticipation is usually worse than the reality. Yet, not this year, I fear.

I have read twenty books in the one month that is 2007. And yet, I have managed to keep the house (somewhat) clean (hush, Calvin), stay on top of all of my work at AcronymCo, gather all of our tax crap together, watch copious amounts of television, participate in the lecturing of the children, spend quality time with Calvin, go out to eat a bunch of times, manage our finances, go for a bunch of motor rides, download many songs for my iPod, keep up on my regular journal reads, post in this journal quite a bit, and take naps. I think that while reading I have an unconscious ability to stop time, so that entire books can be consumed while no actual time is expended. Hey! I'm like Hiro Nakamura! Yatta!

Labels: journal, misc

Posted by Laura at 11:35 AM | Permalink | Comments

I mentioned briefly in the content of an earlier post that Calvin and I are going to Maine in May. To say that I'm "looking forward to it" would be a gross understatement, for several important reasons.

First, it will be the first trip that Calvin and I have been able to take ALONE in years. Since he and I have been together, there have been three (count 'em) occasions that he and I have traveled alone. One week in '98 when we went to Maine when we first got together so he could meet my family and decide if he wanted to run away screaming, one weekend in '99 to San Diego to celebrate his birthday, and one weekend in '04 (or was it '03?) up north in AZ to go skiing. Marie was supposed to go with us but she opted to stay with friends instead. Every other trip or vacation has included either one or both of the kids - which has been on purpose, since we wanted to build memories and experiences together while the kids were young. They're 18 and 23 now. So, we are DUE.

Second, it's Maine. Home. Italian sandwiches and real seafood and the ocean and the Old Port and all my familiar favorite places. Any occasion to get back home is cause for celebration. Plus, for the second half of the week we get to stay in the house I grew up in, the one I refer to as "home" in a way I don't speak of the house I currently live in. My sister and her family are going to have a bonfire at their place - the last one back in that trip in '98 was the size of a barn. A LARGE barn. Actually, I think it had part of a barn in it. And a boat. And a car.

Third, the first half of the week will be spent staying at a bed and breakfast in Kennebunkport, attending an "Aspiring Innkeepers Seminar". We're taking the first step in investigating if B&B ownership is something we want to pursue. This three-day seminar is structured to answer a lot of questions and help us figure out if this sort of lifestyle is really for us. To be sure, it would be a drastic (and needed) change from the life we're currently living. We're tired, and we want to occupy ourselves in a fashion that is 180 degrees from what our lives consist of right now.

Other people make a leap and completely change their lives around with success, there is no reason why we can't be an example of that as well. We think the B&B industry would be a good match for us since we like meeting new people, we like being hospitable and entertaining, we want a career in which we can work together, and Calvin makes a WICKED breakfast.

I think we could make a go of it. We're thinking Oregon would be a good place to have a B&B (darn Discovery channel and Travel channel with their "No Reservations" and "Beer Nuts" and other shows that just happen to feature Oregon lately), though the east coast is certainly an option. It was just a (happy) coincidence that the seminar is being held in Maine - there are others, of course, but I used the excuse of this particular schedule to indulge my homesickness. Sue me.

Anyway, this life altering decision will be made carefully and with all of the information we can possibly gather. You all know how I research things to DEATH, and Calvin is a Must Have Plan kind of guy. We've started on the path, though. I, for one, am really excited.

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 2:59 PM | Permalink | Comments

Randomly with all the randomness:

A surefire way to improve one's mood at work is to listen to the Grease! Soundtrack.

Sometimes I put my iPod on at work out of sheer self-defense. Kitty-corner in one direction is a cube neighbor who has the MOST ANNOYING AND LOUDEST VOICE EVER. Kitty-corner in the other direction is a cube neighbor whose cell phone is CONSTANTLY ringing, and she's never there to answer it. And it's got a very annoying ring tone.

Song change! "Oh let the sun beat down upon my face..."

I have a lighthouse-themed calendar on my cubicle wall. It makes me happy. All lighthouses are automated now, but I really wish they were still manned. Calvin and I would make excellent lighthouse keepers.

If I say that I don't like how a movie ended, it's because the wrong person died, or the guy didn't get the girl, or the horse/dog/cat/monkey bit it. Case in point: City of Angels = WORST MOVIE EVER, GODDAMMIT. Flyboys = the ending wasn't completely awful, but didn't make me particularly happy either. 8 Below = I won't even watch it.

Song change! "I need direction to perfection, no no no no help me out..."

My idea of a day perfectly spent is to wake up in the morning with Calvin, get ourselves together and go get some breakfast (iHop crepes!). Then come back home, lock ourselves in the bedroom, indulge in some playtime, and take a nap. Then wake up, run to BevMo to stock up the fridge in the bedroom, lock ourselves in again for some more playtime, then lay around nekkid talking and swigging. Raid the kitchen (well, put some robes on first) for some munchies, pile back into the bedroom, snuggle and watch bad TV, playtime, nap. Alone. Uninterrupted.

The bad thing about noise-cancelling headphones is that one's boss can enter one's cubicle unheard while one is indulging in a sanity-keeping blogger post.

Our children are very bad at keeping up on their chores. Well, chore, singular. They're supposed to switch off on the upkeep of the kitchen (dishes, trash, etc.). Sometimes it'll get done five days in a row, other times it'll sit for three days, get done, sit for two more days... grr. It's the ONLY thing we ask them to do around the house. Grr again. I kvetch because I had to wash out my travel mug for the third morning in a row, this morning.

Song change! "...you're so exotic show me where you're comin' from..."

Song change! "Sheep go to heaven, goats go to hell."

Labels: journal, misc, work

Posted by Laura at 9:04 AM | Permalink | Comments

I'm at home (drinking a beer - Michelob Ultra Amber, which isn't too bad but certainly not my favorite, that happens to be Fat Tire at the moment), waiting for Calvin to get here so we can head out on the motor to hit a sports bar and watch the Suns game. The deep freeze FINALLY lifted (in January, who woulda thunk it??) and it's riding weather once again.

Speaking of which (sort of), I was driving on the freeway this afternoon headed to the pet store to get some critters for the critters (rat for the snake, worms for the beardies, crickets for the water dragon, cricket feed for the crickets - reptile husbandry is a complicated and rather ookey business), and at one point hit a dead stop in traffic. It was stop-and-go for about four miles, and then wouldn't you know? The "disturbance" came into view - a patrol car parked in the median with its lights going, and nary a road blockage in sight. There was NO impediment to the flow of traffic, and yet it slowed to a crawl for miles (in both directions, I observed while passing the traffic piled up on the other side) just because this cop was sitting on the median.

But that didn't tick me off. Even though I was in traffic for an extra 20 minutes. I had my iPod and the windows rolled down to the 65 degree weather, so not much was wrong with my world.

HOWEVER. When I pulled into the parking lot at the pet store, I angled through the isles so that I could pull straight-on into a parking spot I spotted up front. Except that just as I pulled up another truck coming in a different direction squeaked into it just in front of me. Seriously, I had to stop short. And then, cursing, I had to circle around again and park somewhat further away.

Now THAT ticked me off. There's just no telling, with me.

Heh. Before I left home I was sitting in the truck in the driveway, hooking up my iPod to the FM adaptor and stereo, and finding a good song before starting out. I glanced down and to my left, and saw a teeny clear colored spider hanging from the thread of a web. I squeaked, and rolled down the window. Apparently, the web was hooked to the window, because as it descended, the spider descended. Eep. Now it was on the arm rest on the door. So I grabbed the pack of Trident that was on the console, hoping to coax it onto the paper and then flick it out the window. Except that as soon as I approach it, it LEAPED INTO THE AIR and landed on my leg. At which point I flopped in my seat (getitoffgetitoffgetitoff) and brushed at it, and it landed somewhere on the lower seat or floor.

I think.

I jumped out of the truck and jumped up and down on the driveway (getitoffgetitoffgetitoff), brushing at my pants. I didn't see it, on me or in the truck. Which means it's probably, like, in my bra right now or something.

I wonder if the neighbors saw me.

It makes no sense whatsoever that I handle worms and crickets and reptiles on a daily basis, and still beat myself to death when a little spider crawls on me.

(Song: "Luv 2 Luv U" - Timbaland & Magoo)

Labels: boredom, home, journal, lizards

Posted by Laura at 4:03 PM | Permalink | Comments

Can't sleep. Normally, I don't mind insomnia, because I have plenty of things with which to occupy myself during the "wee sma's" (that's the wee small hours of the morning for those of you who didn't grow up in my Grandma's household). I mind tonight, though, because I have to get up in a timely manner tomorrow morning for work. I guess I really screwed up my sleep schedule while on vacation, but I can't "force" myself to go to sleep. I tossed for a good 45 minutes and annoyed the bejeezus out of Calvin, so now I'm back out on the couch.

I surfed the web. Read up on all of my regular journal reads. Futzed around some more with WordPress. Personalized my Google homepage. Looked for new songs to download. Changed out a load of laundry. Made myself a mug of spiced cider. Looks like I may have to "go run around the block", as my Grandmother used to instruct me to do in order to burn off excess energy.

How ambitious do I feel like being, tonight? I want to consolidate my blog archives onto a separate page instead of having all of the months listed down the sidebar. I also want to list my post label categories in the sidebar, which feature isn't automated for my particular template. After all, someday I might get a hankering to read all of my entries about "lizards" or "boredom".

Yeah, I'm not that ambitious tonight. I'll probably watch Buffy episodes on-line, or read another book.

Labels: insomnia, journal

Posted by Laura at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments

The other day I was trying to put together something and the directions were less than clear, and I couldn't figure it out. I felt an unfamiliar yet familiar feeling - my chest tightened, my movements jerked, my eyes smarted, and my breath hissed from between my teeth.

Good God, I was losing my temper.

My friends, that hasn't happened in YEARS. I mean, I got angry when provoked to it, I've even yelled and slammed things. But it has been so long since I've lost patience over an object that wouldn't cooperate with me, at first I didn't recognize the feeling for what it was.

I didn't know what to do, at first. I just wanted to... break it, or something. I actually had to step away, sit for a second, and try to remember what I used to do when I lost my temper. This time, I worked out HARD while listening to loud music, and that did the trick. Next time, hopefully, I'll be within range of my elliptical and my weight set. If not, well, walking away still does the trick.

It was so weird, though. Like the Effexor and Wellbutrin I've been on for the last several years have managed the emotions for me, without me having to do it for myself. I felt sad when I was supposed to, angry when I was supposed to, happy when I was supposed to, but it's like the emotion was dealt with for me, without me having to think about it. I observed and participated in the feelings, but didn't generate them myself and didn't deal with them myself.

Is this making any sense? ("No, but that's common in head injuries." "My shoes!" Heh. Spot the reference!)

Upon further examination and discussion with Calvin (who really is an excellent listener and advisor), I realized that I was back to having to manage my anxiety again, too. I'm sure I'm having normal levels of the type of anxiety that we all deal with all of our lives, but somehow it seems so much more profound, since I haven't really felt ANY anxiety for a couple of years. I mean, literally, none. Not even the helpful little signals that usually help people get things done... like, "Oh, gee, I better balance the checkbook before we have no money." The meds just made me go, "Eh, it's no big deal." To a LOT of things, I'm now realizing.

Calvin's going to read that paragraph and say, "So that's what her problem was!" Poor guy has been scratching his head at my lack of motivation for a while, now. Well, duh. We both should have realized what was going on.

So, I'm trying to remember how I dealt with anxiety. Action seems to be the answer. Physical energy needs to be expended when I lose my temper... but specific action needs to be taken when I'm anxious. Worrying about money? Balance the checkbook, examine the current status, make a plan. There, I feel better. Worrying about Calvin? Make a phone call, talk to him, search him out wherever he is and get a hug. There, I feel better. Afraid the end of the world is around the corner? Distract myself by reading a book, watching a movie, working on some project I've got going, cleaning the crap out of the house.

I know how to manage my own mind, my own emotions. I probably know better than most people, even. It seems that I just forgot how and actually have to remind myself to do it, now. I knew there would be physical side effects to going off the meds (dizziness, the shakes), and emotional side effects (kind of like PMS for a whole two months, then it was better and I was leveled out). Now I'm having to manage my own, oh, mental stability, if you will.

I used to have all of these mechanisms in place before, when I was a mess. Now that I'm no longer messy, I'm finding I need to still keep a bead on myself. Take stock every now and then and do some self-examination of my behavior and emotions. I can't ignore them anymore and get away with it, because the meds are gone and it's just me keeping an eye on things, now.

I feel kind of dumb, like I just made this great discovery that everybody on Earth already knew about. It's a good thing to look inward on a regular basis to make sure I'm not being an asshole.

Labels: headspace, journal

Posted by Laura at 11:20 AM | Permalink | Comments

It's 45 degrees and raining here in Arizona today. I talked to my sister on the phone. It's 45 degrees and raining in Maine today.

Gee! It's like I never left! Except with irony!

I braved the mall briefly this morning to pick up a final gift for Michael. It wasn't my lack of planning that put me there on the second-to-last shopping day before Christmas. No, it was a botched on-line order that never got delivered. Best intentions? The road is paved. Y'all come back now, y'hear?

I spent the day mailing a package for Marie (Lilly, more presents are on the way!), picking up a few things at the grocery store (Magic Cookie bars = second batch this week), braving the mall and the smoke shop, baking the aforementioned Magic Cookie bars, watching "Burned Bridges" on CMT, doing laundry, wrapping presents, putting the stockings together (I went WAY overboard on the candy - it gets a stocking of its very own), putting together the gifts for Calvin's side of the family, and picking up food for the gathering we're going to later tonight at the G-Rents'.

I'm getting all of the busy out of the way, because tomorrow is Lobster Day (crap, I still have to go grocery shopping and make Baked Potato Soup) and Sunday is Munchies Eve (thus named because Christmas Eve is less about cooking and more about making and consuming a bunch of appetizers and likker), and Monday is Loot Day. Then I'm going to read the book my friend Jen gave me (and Jen? I'm almost done with "Lover Awakened" by J.R. Ward if you want to borrow it). That's as far as my planning takes me.

There will be the mandatory (annual) surge of motivation that precedes its own demise, that of dieting and exercising and becoming more goddess-like before being seen in summer clothes. And riding the motorcycle, and practicing the guitar (Calvin got his Esteban! guitar a couple of days ago... we've noticed it's impossible not to add the exclamation point on the end, there). I'm going to try to cook something different and new, meal-wise, each day. I'm not so sure how Louis and Clark I'm going to be about it all, though. It depends on my laziness factor, which is usually five hundred and twenty-three to one against.

It's been so cold that the lizards have been positively torpid these last couple of weeks. I'll come home in the evening and more often than not they're in the exact same spot they were in when I left. It's hard to be a lizard when it's 45 degrees.

Heck, I'm so spoiled for balmy weather that I'm having a hard time myself. But I love today's weather - I would have love it more, though, if I hadn't had some much FRICKIN' things to do. Today is a grilled cheese and tomoato soup, curled up on the couch with a book and the cat, kind of day.

Oh cool, I hear Calvin at the door. Later!

Labels: journal

Posted by Laura at 4:40 PM | Permalink | Comments

Slowly, over today's passage of time, I have become a Cubicle Zombie. I've somewhat managed to whittle down my "To Do" list, but I had to sacrifice my sanity in order to do so. I spent ALL DAY trying to resolve overdue invoices for my plethora of vendors. Our AP group is tough to deal with, to say the very least. Oh, I'm sure as individuals they're fine, but as a process it rather sucks balls.

Thank God for Calvin. For many reasons, tis true, but especially for the fact that he rescued me for brunch today, and I got to have eggs and homefries and sausage. I like my sausage like I like my pancakes, smothered in maple syrup. Heh. You thought I was going for something dirty there, didn't you? Frisky readers.

We've been dating a lot lately. It's a marvelous thing to go on regular dates with my husband of almost five years. And we've been together for almost nine. For instance, on Sunday Calvin and I rode up to Grimaldi's for The Best Pizza on Earth(tm), then went across the street to the Sugar Cone for a banana split and a mocha malt. THEN we walked to one of the shops nearby (Old Town Scottsdale is very pedestrian friendly), where he proceeded to buy me a leather motorcycle jacket for Christmas. Even though I told him I didn't need anything (else).

All this was his idea, mind you. Sometimes he gets all romantical and stuff. He wants us to go on another date on Friday to see Eragon at the theater (just because he knows I really want to see it), and have some dinner. And ride the motorcycle some more.

My bike is excellent for us to ride on together. It's a lot easier to snuggle up against Calvin's back than on his street bike. If we're riding without our helmets (oh, I KNOW - we say it's only because we're going slowly and a short distance, but you don't have to preach about the potential for accidents. We're risk takers, we are) then I prop my chin up on Calvin's shoulder and we converse while we're riding along. It's really, really nice.

We've been riding a lot together, hitting various bars and restaurants, or just toodling around. It makes us happy. And one cannot overemphasize the importance of simple things that make day to day life - and day to day married life - enjoyable.

In other news, my fingers hurt. I've been practicing the guitar and it's MURDER (I tell you!) to fret the 1st and 2nd strings. However, I can occasionally make noise come out of it that sounds less like a dying cat and more like (slow, halting, mistake-fraught) music. Calvin is getting a guitar as well ("Dear God, please forgive me for ordering off of QVC... and help me to hold strong against the powers of Esteban..."), and we're toying with the idea of taking lessons together.

The family that plays together, stays together? I can just see Marie on drums and Michael on the tambourine (I can hear his protesting "HEY!" when he reads this). Heh. The Partridge Family ain't got nuthin' on us.

In other, other news, we've officially tried Absinthe. ACK. ACK, ACK, ACK. ACK. Yarg.

I love the buzz (like cannabis, except that **cough** I wouldn't know what that's like **cough**), but the taste is just plain vomitous. Very STRONG black licorice. Thick, with a STRONG aftertaste. That leaves you burping up (ack) licorice for three hours afterwards.

Of course, that's if you drink it straight. If you drink it the traditional way (1pt absinthe to 3pt water, poured slowly over a sugar cube), it's less vomitous, but the buzz is less profound.

And dude, we SO ain't drinking this stuff for the taste.

Labels: booze, Calvin, guitar, journal, motorcycle

Posted by Laura at 3:05 PM | Permalink | Comments

I'm so not in the holiday spirit this year. Had I been, the house would be decorated by now (sans tree, which is always about 10 days before Christmas). The decor is still snugly stored in the garage. Maybe it would be different if Lilly and the babies were still here - Christmas stuff is so much more fun when there are little ones around.

Christmas shopping is DONE, though. I heart Amazon. The gifts will be delivered within the next week, and all I'll have to do is wrap. We're going low-profile on the loot this year. I found a couple of cool gifts for Marie and Michael, but money goes over much better than anything else I might wrap and put under the tree. Why wrack my brain trying to find THE perfect gift when they'll just say, "Oh, gee, thanks," and stick it in the corner of their closet?

I'm looking forward to Calvin's reaction to his gifts, though. One of them in particular I feel is pretty cool and will garner the, "Oh, SWEET!" reaction I always look for. I like to find unique things that no one asked for and no one would think of, but when they receive it they really, really like it.

For myself, Santa has come early this year. I have instructed Calvin to purchase me NO gifts this year, as he has already been generous (and tolerant). On top of the motorcycle, which I continue to love, I have also purchased a guitar. A very pretty guitar.

http://www.musiciansfriend.com/product/Ibanez-AW40-Acoustic-Guitar-with-Solid-Sitka-Spruce-Top?sku=512465

I plan to try to teach myself, though if I prove to be particularly dense about it, I'll take a half a dozen lessons. Ah, if only I had decided to do this (counting) fifteen (!?!) years ago. I would've wow-ed 'em at the high school talent show.

I'm cooking a turkey dinner today, as we had the turkey for Thanksgiving already purchased before we knew we were going to the Grandparent's. It's an excellent way to occupy one's time, while watching Sunday afternoon football in HD. Oh, man, speaking of which. We almost didn't make it. We almost DIED. Swear. Last weekend the lamp in the TV died, so we put in a service call. The repair man wasn't able to get to us until last night, which meant that we were stuck watching TV in the bedroom on a regular old tube TV. Man, it was like living in the stone age. But we're all happy now. We watched "Superman - The Return" (right?) last night to celebrate. Which I thought was decent, though when did Lois and Superman have sex??? Kevin Spacey makes an excellent Lex Luthor. And I continue to hate Parker Posey. I just don't like her, never did. I don't know why.

One of the water dragons is very ill, and it looks like we'll have to put him down. I think he developed the muscle and bone disease that they're known for - he's not using his hind limbs at all. Such is the downside of owning critters - sometimes they break, and sometimes you have to say goodbye. Sigh.

And on that happy note, back to basting the turkey, which is an every-twenty-minute requirement. Have a good one!

Labels: food, guitar, journal, lizards

Posted by Laura at 11:40 AM | Permalink | Comments

I just realized that I'm on vacation from December 22nd through January 7th and don't go back to work until the 8th. That's 17 straight days off. AND, coincidentally, I have 17 more working days until vacation.

Tenure is such a good thing.

Labels: journal, work

Posted by Laura at 9:07 AM | Permalink | Comments