I don't know how many of you are out there reading my postings, I know for certain there are six of you. For you six, plus anyone else reading, I offer an apology for not writing more frequently. Even as I sit here apologizing to you for not writing I feel like this post is sucking monkey balls and I don't want to finish it. It's just that I haven't had a lot to say which is surprising since I'm not lacking things bumping around in my head -- trust me, it's like a goddamn roller skating rink in there -- thoughts just keep going round and round and round and round....getting dizzy...and I'm afraid of what will happen when the song stops and I need to make sense of it all. I'm avoiding it. And in the last 20 years I've crafted some very strong avoidance techniques so I'm really good at it. Huh, too bad there isn't some way to get paid to avoid things......what?
Honestly, I have been trying to decide what to write about for the last couple weeks and when I finally get a nugget of a topic started in my head, I lose it before I get the time or energy to start writing. To help explain how it feels, let's keep going with the roller skating analogy. It's like the thoughts that are going round and round in my head daily are the expert speed skaters, the kind that do all those fancy tricks and backward skating in the middle of the rink. They are effortless and unlimited. Then the creative ideas, the lists of things to do, the weekend plans and compliments for friends, care and concern to give, decisions and Christmas wishes are the little kids on skates for the first time flung to the outer edges of the rink. Barely able to stand erect, they cling to the shag carpeted walls on the outside and try to muster the strength to make it a quarter of the way to the next exit. Here their skates hit the worn carpeted safety zone and they feel that relief that the attention is no longer theirs. All the while the advanced skaters are doing bigger tricks and skating faster and more furious with the extra room that has been created with the exodus of all the carpet clutchers.
This is what is happening. This is why I apologize to you six (teen?) readers. I just don't want to write about the thoughts that are the speed skaters in my rink. And I'm afraid until they've exhausted themselves, or I cut off their feet, I have no choice but to wait it out.
That said, today is December 1st. It's almost a year since Test Your Pen's conception. I'm really proud and really thankful that you bother to come back and check it out, it means a lot to me. You should register and be counted with the other brave 6 souls that are "followers." While it won't get you a free meal or cup of coffee, it does make you a member of a very elite group. Act now and for anyone who registers before the end of the year that person can name the topic of a posting I have to write about. Your registration, your choice of posting topic. What a deal! Hurry, only 30 days left!! Just think, you could play a huge part in making the speed skaters stop so the newbies can come back to the rink and entertain you!
December 1, 2009
November 5, 2009
Just around the corner
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort.
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.
The time will come. But until I get to raise a pint with you again, my friend, try and stay out of trouble. Remember, you still owe me that re-match; I'm going to miss the shit out of you until then.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort.
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.
The time will come. But until I get to raise a pint with you again, my friend, try and stay out of trouble. Remember, you still owe me that re-match; I'm going to miss the shit out of you until then.
Peter Ferrigan
November 5th, 2009
November 5th, 2009
October 7, 2009
Holy Hot Strips!
Hell, that fucking hurt.
Ladies, here are two tid-bits of knowledge for you:
1. If you should decide at some point in your life to begin waxing, realize you can never stop. Not for NOTHING. If it's a money issue, cancel cable or stop eating food. Always be sure to allot the time and the funds. If you are going to do it, it becomes priority numero uno.
2. When the aesthetician says, "Looks like I bruised you" don't giggle. She's not making a funny aesthetician joke and it is entirely possible she did.
Not only did I have a chance to reenact the Kelly Clarkson scene from 40 Year Old Virgin, I can also say proof-positive that there isn't a place on me that isn't capable of bruises.
I'm wondering if I got the tip right seeing how I was the one that left with bruises.
Ladies, here are two tid-bits of knowledge for you:
1. If you should decide at some point in your life to begin waxing, realize you can never stop. Not for NOTHING. If it's a money issue, cancel cable or stop eating food. Always be sure to allot the time and the funds. If you are going to do it, it becomes priority numero uno.
2. When the aesthetician says, "Looks like I bruised you" don't giggle. She's not making a funny aesthetician joke and it is entirely possible she did.
Not only did I have a chance to reenact the Kelly Clarkson scene from 40 Year Old Virgin, I can also say proof-positive that there isn't a place on me that isn't capable of bruises.
I'm wondering if I got the tip right seeing how I was the one that left with bruises.
September 21, 2009
I wish I were kidding
Thanks to a really great guy I now spend a lot of time noticing bikes and gear and stuff related to bikes. I am pretty regularly (and easily) entertained by this. Big bikes, little ones, custom made, tricked out, expensive, mountain vs. hybrid vs. road, clip shoes, messenger bags, saddles....the list goes on.
So not all that surprising that as I was walking to the gym tonight I came upon a lady -- probably in her mid-sixties with silver grey hair gathered in a loose ponytail, wearing comfy but functional attire -- putting a brand new awesome looking bike transporter on the back of a new-ish red hatchback car (probably eco-friendly) and looking quite happy with her accomplishment. Not at all surprising that I found myself starring at the contraption, curious about the brand and how it was attached to her city-appropriate, eco-friendly car.
No not surprising. What was surprising was that I chose to say the following words........out loud........while walking right past her and her proud new purchase........................................"Hey, nice rack."
Yeah, and I am not joking. Not even a little.
So not all that surprising that as I was walking to the gym tonight I came upon a lady -- probably in her mid-sixties with silver grey hair gathered in a loose ponytail, wearing comfy but functional attire -- putting a brand new awesome looking bike transporter on the back of a new-ish red hatchback car (probably eco-friendly) and looking quite happy with her accomplishment. Not at all surprising that I found myself starring at the contraption, curious about the brand and how it was attached to her city-appropriate, eco-friendly car.
No not surprising. What was surprising was that I chose to say the following words........out loud........while walking right past her and her proud new purchase........................................"Hey, nice rack."
Yeah, and I am not joking. Not even a little.
September 17, 2009
Blur
AAAAARRGH. If I don't escape out of the city soon, I think there will be some serious issues.
I need to be away from my desk.......
Away from phone and email.........
I need open sky.......and a kanteen of wine.
I haven't sat in front of a campfire
or watched stars, rowed a boat
or walked on the beach yet this Summer.
My insomnia is back, I can't resist snacking and my face is a mess
I'm quick to lose patience and I can't make a decision to save my life.
I want to be excited and surprised; goofy and optimistic. If I continue with this current state I'm going to be thought of as that snarky ugly girl with dull hair and a bad attitude. I'M TRULY NOT A BAD ATTITUDE KIND OF CHICK!! WHILE NEVER MISS SUNSHINE, I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO BRIGHTEN SOMEONE'S DAY, I AM CAPABLE OF IT. I think.
But lately I find myself doubting my ability to be a good friend, a good daughter, co-worker or neighbor. I can't imagine why anyone puts up with my distracted behaviour and my total apathy toward making plans and arranging outings. I'm just so tired.
And it's all been so blurry. I need to get out of the city.
I need to be away from my desk.......
Away from phone and email.........
I need open sky.......and a kanteen of wine.
I haven't sat in front of a campfire
or watched stars, rowed a boat
or walked on the beach yet this Summer.
My insomnia is back, I can't resist snacking and my face is a mess
I'm quick to lose patience and I can't make a decision to save my life.
I want to be excited and surprised; goofy and optimistic. If I continue with this current state I'm going to be thought of as that snarky ugly girl with dull hair and a bad attitude. I'M TRULY NOT A BAD ATTITUDE KIND OF CHICK!! WHILE NEVER MISS SUNSHINE, I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO BRIGHTEN SOMEONE'S DAY, I AM CAPABLE OF IT. I think.
But lately I find myself doubting my ability to be a good friend, a good daughter, co-worker or neighbor. I can't imagine why anyone puts up with my distracted behaviour and my total apathy toward making plans and arranging outings. I'm just so tired.
And it's all been so blurry. I need to get out of the city.
August 27, 2009
August 26, 2009
Marilyn's Wisdom
I read this every single day. Sometimes it registers that I'm reading it, other days I'm just skimming the words, habitually. Today is one of those days the meaning is not lost on me. I know someone for whom it will not be lost on either. You're a tough chick, my friend. This will be a part of your past and better things will come along.
I believe that everything happens for a reason.
People change so you can learn to let go.
Things go wrong so that you can appreciate them when they go right.
You believe lies so you eventually learn to trust yourself.
And sometimes good things fall apart so that better things can fall together.
- Marilyn Monroe
I believe that everything happens for a reason.
People change so you can learn to let go.
Things go wrong so that you can appreciate them when they go right.
You believe lies so you eventually learn to trust yourself.
And sometimes good things fall apart so that better things can fall together.
- Marilyn Monroe
August 25, 2009
A True "Commuter" Breakfast: sometimes a hardboiled egg just doesn't cut it.
My new favorite meal.
1 egg
1/3cup egg whites
1/4 cup chopped Canadian bacon
1/4 cup fat free Feta cheese
1/4 cup diced green pepper
Spray Butter or Pam*
4 slices fresh tomato*
2 slices whole wheat bread, English muffin or bagel*
Pepper/Hot Sauce*
In a glass Mason jar - with lid - crack egg and add the next four ingredients. Tightly secure lid to jar. Throw it in your bag and jump on your bike. Ride approximately 8 miles.
Spray a microwave safe dish with butter spray or Pam and dump in egg concoction. Microwave on high for about 3 minutes or until egg is no longer liquid. While microwaving egg, toast bread and slice tomato. Divide egg concoction between the two pieces of toast and top with pepper, hot sauce and tomato.
*Because I regularly make this at work, I keep fresh tomato, hot sauce and bread on-hand at the office rather than try and commute with it.
1 egg
1/3cup egg whites
1/4 cup chopped Canadian bacon
1/4 cup fat free Feta cheese
1/4 cup diced green pepper
Spray Butter or Pam*
4 slices fresh tomato*
2 slices whole wheat bread, English muffin or bagel*
Pepper/Hot Sauce*
In a glass Mason jar - with lid - crack egg and add the next four ingredients. Tightly secure lid to jar. Throw it in your bag and jump on your bike. Ride approximately 8 miles.
Spray a microwave safe dish with butter spray or Pam and dump in egg concoction. Microwave on high for about 3 minutes or until egg is no longer liquid. While microwaving egg, toast bread and slice tomato. Divide egg concoction between the two pieces of toast and top with pepper, hot sauce and tomato.
*Because I regularly make this at work, I keep fresh tomato, hot sauce and bread on-hand at the office rather than try and commute with it.
August 18, 2009
Deficient in more ways than one
I've learned that I have a rather extreme vitamin 'D' deficiency. Since learning of my inadequate-ness I have decided all my troubles must be a result of low levels of Vitamin D......Physical, mental, financial and personal frustrations......they must all be affected by not having enough vitamin D.
All I have to do is get more vitamin D and everything will be perfect. I'm on my way to the drugstore, want me to pick some up for you too? Maybe that's all any of us need......more D.
All I have to do is get more vitamin D and everything will be perfect. I'm on my way to the drugstore, want me to pick some up for you too? Maybe that's all any of us need......more D.
August 13, 2009
Someone's Over Reacting
Hmmm........who could it be now? Who could it be?
Me. I'm the over reactor. Add it to the list.
I went to the doctor today. Routine, mostly. Though I haven't been feeling tip-top lately. I experience regular bouts of insomnia and I've had it pretty consistent for the past month. I've tried to be excited about it -- think how much I could get done with an extra four hours every night! But it's really annoying. I want to sleep when I'm supposed to be working, I'm a zombie on the train in the morning....it's just not a good time. I decided it would be best to go ahead and have everything ruled out, so blood work was on the agenda today. I also knew that I had to get a booster shot. Tetanus, Diphtheria and Whooping Cough.
Whooping Cough? Yeah.
Initially I was more freaked out about the booster than I was about the blood work. I don't like needles. I don't like the smell of rubbing alcohol. And I make sure to tell the nurse that when she walks thru the door. Today was no different. Except that it was.
Things got all out of order and I ended up sitting in that horribly designed paper napkin night gown ----which I don't understand why they bother saying "ties in the front" because it's not like it stays tied or conceals anything. I'd say just save the forty-two cents and have the patients sit naked as a jay bird ---so there I sit and the nurse comes in for the blood work, except that I'm expecting Dr. B so then when she knocks and comes in its like a big party. And I look like the guest that thought it was a clothing optional soiree. Party foul.
So I sit there trying to be nonchalant and casual in my barely there dress and stocking feet while the two ladies catch up on the gossip around the office. When they remember I'm there they get down to business and start to prep my arm for the taking of the blood.
Now, let me state that while I hate needles I'm lucky that my left arm's vein is like Old Faithful. It's accessible and cooperative. With the exception of today. As I sit there with my eyes averted I feel the pinch and the burn and then I hear her say, "hmmm, honey did you not drink any water this morning?"
Great.
So now I start getting a little panicky and I feel her start rooting around trying to latch in and strike a vein. She finally gets it and starts sucking out the four vials she'll need. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. About the third one in I hear Dr. B say, "Honey are you feeli----" and then I was out. How fortunate that I was already seated on the table because it came in handy. Not only am I the party guest that shows up scantily clad, but now I have flashed the other guests. I'm never getting invited back.
I was only out for a matter a seconds but the nurse made the mistake of worrying about me and not the blood that was running down my arm from when I fell back. So when I come to and look at the mess the bees start buzzing and I feel like I'm headed back to the pass out palace. By the time the exam was thru and the booster came, I was as seasoned as a junkie. Bring it.
I deserved a gold star and a cookie. Instead, I got a non-latex band-aid and a co-pay. Life can be really unfair as an adult.
Me. I'm the over reactor. Add it to the list.
I went to the doctor today. Routine, mostly. Though I haven't been feeling tip-top lately. I experience regular bouts of insomnia and I've had it pretty consistent for the past month. I've tried to be excited about it -- think how much I could get done with an extra four hours every night! But it's really annoying. I want to sleep when I'm supposed to be working, I'm a zombie on the train in the morning....it's just not a good time. I decided it would be best to go ahead and have everything ruled out, so blood work was on the agenda today. I also knew that I had to get a booster shot. Tetanus, Diphtheria and Whooping Cough.
Whooping Cough? Yeah.
Initially I was more freaked out about the booster than I was about the blood work. I don't like needles. I don't like the smell of rubbing alcohol. And I make sure to tell the nurse that when she walks thru the door. Today was no different. Except that it was.
Things got all out of order and I ended up sitting in that horribly designed paper napkin night gown ----which I don't understand why they bother saying "ties in the front" because it's not like it stays tied or conceals anything. I'd say just save the forty-two cents and have the patients sit naked as a jay bird ---so there I sit and the nurse comes in for the blood work, except that I'm expecting Dr. B so then when she knocks and comes in its like a big party. And I look like the guest that thought it was a clothing optional soiree. Party foul.
So I sit there trying to be nonchalant and casual in my barely there dress and stocking feet while the two ladies catch up on the gossip around the office. When they remember I'm there they get down to business and start to prep my arm for the taking of the blood.
Now, let me state that while I hate needles I'm lucky that my left arm's vein is like Old Faithful. It's accessible and cooperative. With the exception of today. As I sit there with my eyes averted I feel the pinch and the burn and then I hear her say, "hmmm, honey did you not drink any water this morning?"
Great.
So now I start getting a little panicky and I feel her start rooting around trying to latch in and strike a vein. She finally gets it and starts sucking out the four vials she'll need. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. About the third one in I hear Dr. B say, "Honey are you feeli----" and then I was out. How fortunate that I was already seated on the table because it came in handy. Not only am I the party guest that shows up scantily clad, but now I have flashed the other guests. I'm never getting invited back.
I was only out for a matter a seconds but the nurse made the mistake of worrying about me and not the blood that was running down my arm from when I fell back. So when I come to and look at the mess the bees start buzzing and I feel like I'm headed back to the pass out palace. By the time the exam was thru and the booster came, I was as seasoned as a junkie. Bring it.
I deserved a gold star and a cookie. Instead, I got a non-latex band-aid and a co-pay. Life can be really unfair as an adult.
August 4, 2009
Giving all new meaning to, "Bend an elbow"
Holy Crap.
I'm sorry fellas...this one's for the ladies tonight. I was sitting here thinking about the post I was going to make about Summer smells and Summer sounds.....but I just can't seem to get that started because my mind keeps drifting. It sort of goes with the Summer theme. Sort of. So let's put that post on the back burner and let me charge ahead with this other one.
White tee-shirts.
More specifically, men IN white tee-shirts.
Are you warm? Can you turn a fan on? Because it's getting hot in here. Stark white, soft grey, athletic grey.....oh my, oh my. I am not a chic who gets mad at guys for checking out other chics in dresses, tank tops, tight jeans-whatev. If it looks good, appreciate it. It would be hypocritical of me to get bothered by it because you better damn well believe that I check out those tee-shirt clad guys on the train or the sidewalk or the office building across the way.
Oh hell yeah I do. Specifically, I love that three inch space between the elbow and the sleeve.
SEE?! You can understand how I am too distracted tonight with these thoughts of tee-shirts to write a Summer post about fireflies, full moons, garden hoses and screen doors. Yeah, I'd rather contemplate elbows and sleeves. Simple, inexpensive, yet effective, turn-ons.
Don't worry, if this wasn't what you were expecting to read from me, I'm sure it will pass and I'll be back to my sarcastic witty self in the next post.........come back and see for yourself.
Just know it sure would be cooler if you have a tee-shirt on.
I'm sorry fellas...this one's for the ladies tonight. I was sitting here thinking about the post I was going to make about Summer smells and Summer sounds.....but I just can't seem to get that started because my mind keeps drifting. It sort of goes with the Summer theme. Sort of. So let's put that post on the back burner and let me charge ahead with this other one.
White tee-shirts.
More specifically, men IN white tee-shirts.
Are you warm? Can you turn a fan on? Because it's getting hot in here. Stark white, soft grey, athletic grey.....oh my, oh my. I am not a chic who gets mad at guys for checking out other chics in dresses, tank tops, tight jeans-whatev. If it looks good, appreciate it. It would be hypocritical of me to get bothered by it because you better damn well believe that I check out those tee-shirt clad guys on the train or the sidewalk or the office building across the way.
Oh hell yeah I do. Specifically, I love that three inch space between the elbow and the sleeve.
SEE?! You can understand how I am too distracted tonight with these thoughts of tee-shirts to write a Summer post about fireflies, full moons, garden hoses and screen doors. Yeah, I'd rather contemplate elbows and sleeves. Simple, inexpensive, yet effective, turn-ons.
Don't worry, if this wasn't what you were expecting to read from me, I'm sure it will pass and I'll be back to my sarcastic witty self in the next post.........come back and see for yourself.
Just know it sure would be cooler if you have a tee-shirt on.
July 31, 2009
Whoops
Dear Upstairs Neighbor,
My sincerest apology if I scared the beejeesus out of you this morning. Your apartment was not being broken into. I mistook your apartment, on the third floor, for mine, on the second floor. You can understand how easily that second floor slipped right past me as I was climbing the stairs, right?
If you suffered any trauma or damages to your property when I was banging on the door and cursing, such as shitting your pants or wetting the bed, I will gladly reimburse you. It's the least I can do for not realizing the reason my key wasn't working wasn't the doors fault, it was my own stupidity hard at work.
Were you able to get back to sleep? I know 6:30 a.m. is a bit on the early side for your morning to start. I usually don't hear you until at least 7:45. I hope you were able to enjoy a good breakfast with the extra time I provided you. Hey, maybe some afternoon we could even meet in person for the first time and share a laugh over this little incident. Whadaya say?
Sincerely,
The Moron Who Lives Below You
My sincerest apology if I scared the beejeesus out of you this morning. Your apartment was not being broken into. I mistook your apartment, on the third floor, for mine, on the second floor. You can understand how easily that second floor slipped right past me as I was climbing the stairs, right?
If you suffered any trauma or damages to your property when I was banging on the door and cursing, such as shitting your pants or wetting the bed, I will gladly reimburse you. It's the least I can do for not realizing the reason my key wasn't working wasn't the doors fault, it was my own stupidity hard at work.
Were you able to get back to sleep? I know 6:30 a.m. is a bit on the early side for your morning to start. I usually don't hear you until at least 7:45. I hope you were able to enjoy a good breakfast with the extra time I provided you. Hey, maybe some afternoon we could even meet in person for the first time and share a laugh over this little incident. Whadaya say?
Sincerely,
The Moron Who Lives Below You
July 29, 2009
Can Tomorrow NOT Be Like Today?
I firmly believe that every kitchen cupboard in every home should always have sprinkles handy. No matter if there are kids around or not. You just never know when there will be a need for sprinkles.
Rainbow colored sprinkles to be exact. They always seem to turn my mood around -- try swearing, or crying, while eating something with sprinkles, I think you'll agree that it's more than challenging. I've even started my day with rainbow sprinkled oatmeal with bananas. Or on my yogurt.
We've already established that I'm a pretty simple chic. I don't require a lot of maintenence. I don't need all the extra drama. I prefer things natural and easy going. So I like knowing that if I've had one of those days (I have) ....the kind where riding the train in an endless loop sounds like a good way to spend the remainder of the day....or playing hide and go seek, with no one seeking.....I like knowing that it will only take some rainbow colored sprinkles to make me feel better.
Rainbow colored sprinkles to be exact. They always seem to turn my mood around -- try swearing, or crying, while eating something with sprinkles, I think you'll agree that it's more than challenging. I've even started my day with rainbow sprinkled oatmeal with bananas. Or on my yogurt.
We've already established that I'm a pretty simple chic. I don't require a lot of maintenence. I don't need all the extra drama. I prefer things natural and easy going. So I like knowing that if I've had one of those days (I have) ....the kind where riding the train in an endless loop sounds like a good way to spend the remainder of the day....or playing hide and go seek, with no one seeking.....I like knowing that it will only take some rainbow colored sprinkles to make me feel better.
July 28, 2009
Clean up in aisle 7
Ok WTF?!
Let's talk groceries. Specifically bad taste, band wagons, shortcomings and science projects. All of which somehow came into my knowledge within the past 24 hours. And I'm not joking.
I mistakenly selected a new flavor of Yoplait Light yogurt from the dairy case yesterday. I didn't realize until I got home that it was Cinnamon Bun flavor. I don't even like cinnamon rolls so imagine my disgust to find that I had brought home the cold, fat free, dairy version of one. But I'm sort of frugal. So I figured......it must have some redeeming quality since the taste testing focus groups held across the country voted yay to seeing it on the supermarket shelves.
Well, apparently this country's taste testers HAVE LOST EVERY LAST ONE OF THEIR TASTE BUDS FROM SMOKING ALL THE CRACK. Fuck frugal. It went into the trash faster than icing melts on hot buns.
Next: Little Debbie, yeah that whore, has apparently jumped on the 100 calorie band wagon and is now pushing her snack-wrapped crack-cakes to 'health conscious' snackers who can't bear the thought of denying their lust for Little Debbie while they work to take off that pesky 100 pounds they somehow picked up.
Take for example the Nutty Bar. The glorious ooey-gooey wafer bar drenched in chocolate and wrapped two in a package. Now there's a single wrapped bar option which short changes you on the chocolate and calls itself a 100 calorie deal. As if you should be THANKFUL that Little Debbie has provided you her baked goods in a healthier version. Sorry Debbie, you don't go to the strip club hoping to find someone to take brisk Sunday afternoon walks with. You go in knowing full well what you are getting into. And that it's going to cost you a whole lot. Same thing with your Nutty Bars. If I'm going to do it, I'll do it knowing damn well that there's a days worth of calories nestled between those delicious wafers of yours. You've always been better at playing the temptress, Little D. Now is not the time to try mend your evil ways.
Then there was today's embarrassment for my Sargento "light" string cheese. I was pleased as punch to find this lower calorie version at my Jewel. Normally I purchase the Trader Joe "light" string cheese but I wasn't going to make it there yesterday and I was out. Well, imagine my surprise when I took Sarge out of the package only to find that it was noticeably shorter compared to Joe. So much so that I immediately thought about what they say to middle aged men who drive sport cars...."Nice car. Sorry about your penis." I considered that what Sarge lacked in size he made up for in taste. Meh. So-so. I guess Sargento feels better about its shortcomings by marketing itself as "light" rather than "inadequate." Whatever works for you dear. I'm usually not a picky girl when it comes to these things, but I think I prefer my inch more from Joe. What a stud.
And last, you probably want to hear about the science project. Now, I will say that I have yet to validate this, but it comes to me from a trusted source. Apparently, if you put bologna in direct sunlight it will tan. Great. Just when I thought bologna couldn't be more disgusting I find out this gross little factoid. I promise if I'm ever walking down the sidewalk and there's a piece of bologna lying there, tanning, you'll see a girl hurl.
Let's talk groceries. Specifically bad taste, band wagons, shortcomings and science projects. All of which somehow came into my knowledge within the past 24 hours. And I'm not joking.
I mistakenly selected a new flavor of Yoplait Light yogurt from the dairy case yesterday. I didn't realize until I got home that it was Cinnamon Bun flavor. I don't even like cinnamon rolls so imagine my disgust to find that I had brought home the cold, fat free, dairy version of one. But I'm sort of frugal. So I figured......it must have some redeeming quality since the taste testing focus groups held across the country voted yay to seeing it on the supermarket shelves.
Well, apparently this country's taste testers HAVE LOST EVERY LAST ONE OF THEIR TASTE BUDS FROM SMOKING ALL THE CRACK. Fuck frugal. It went into the trash faster than icing melts on hot buns.
Next: Little Debbie, yeah that whore, has apparently jumped on the 100 calorie band wagon and is now pushing her snack-wrapped crack-cakes to 'health conscious' snackers who can't bear the thought of denying their lust for Little Debbie while they work to take off that pesky 100 pounds they somehow picked up.
Take for example the Nutty Bar. The glorious ooey-gooey wafer bar drenched in chocolate and wrapped two in a package. Now there's a single wrapped bar option which short changes you on the chocolate and calls itself a 100 calorie deal. As if you should be THANKFUL that Little Debbie has provided you her baked goods in a healthier version. Sorry Debbie, you don't go to the strip club hoping to find someone to take brisk Sunday afternoon walks with. You go in knowing full well what you are getting into. And that it's going to cost you a whole lot. Same thing with your Nutty Bars. If I'm going to do it, I'll do it knowing damn well that there's a days worth of calories nestled between those delicious wafers of yours. You've always been better at playing the temptress, Little D. Now is not the time to try mend your evil ways.
Then there was today's embarrassment for my Sargento "light" string cheese. I was pleased as punch to find this lower calorie version at my Jewel. Normally I purchase the Trader Joe "light" string cheese but I wasn't going to make it there yesterday and I was out. Well, imagine my surprise when I took Sarge out of the package only to find that it was noticeably shorter compared to Joe. So much so that I immediately thought about what they say to middle aged men who drive sport cars...."Nice car. Sorry about your penis." I considered that what Sarge lacked in size he made up for in taste. Meh. So-so. I guess Sargento feels better about its shortcomings by marketing itself as "light" rather than "inadequate." Whatever works for you dear. I'm usually not a picky girl when it comes to these things, but I think I prefer my inch more from Joe. What a stud.
And last, you probably want to hear about the science project. Now, I will say that I have yet to validate this, but it comes to me from a trusted source. Apparently, if you put bologna in direct sunlight it will tan. Great. Just when I thought bologna couldn't be more disgusting I find out this gross little factoid. I promise if I'm ever walking down the sidewalk and there's a piece of bologna lying there, tanning, you'll see a girl hurl.
July 26, 2009
Alberto Contador, The Criterium and me
The Chicago Criterium 2009
I spent the day in the loop today being a spectator at the 2nd Criterium held in Chicago. Cyclists from all over came to compete and many fans, friends and family lined the route to cheer their rider on. While I didn't have one rider in particular to cheer on, it didn't matter. The talent of all these athletes deserves cheering for.
I wish I had started biking along time ago. As it stands, I've really only been biking a few short months. Since starting back in May I've already participated in three organized Chicago events: Bike the Drive, Bike to Work and the L.A.T.E. Ride. I've also ridden the North Branch trail twice. Being on my bike makes me happy.
I am reminded of my mom telling me her story of how she became an avid cyclist -- and in the beginning not one with a fancy shirt and matching shorts or helmet or fancy clip pedals. She became a cyclist because she had to. Her bike was all she had to call her own after a very big life change. After I was born she continued to ride and I have many memories of being in her bike seat. I also remember the four of us riding the back country roads as a family. Her blue bike even became the one I rode when I was big enough to reach the pedals.
And now I find myself on the seat of another one of mom's bikes. This time it is a fancy bike that does have clip pedals and fancy upgrades. Some she added, some I have added. No matter what I put on it additionally, the bare bones frame and two tires represent something very similar to me that mom's first bike meant to her. It's what I have to depend on. This bike gets me to places on the day to day (work, grocery store, errands) and on those other days it gets me far away. As far away as my legs will go. I am starting again, on my own this time, and this bike accompanies on my journey.
Sometimes the road seems to end or the daylight runs out before I get to where I need to be. And I don't mean the destination. I mean where I need to be in my head. When I bike I find myself focusing on so much of the tension that swims in my head -- with each turn of the wheel, I fit another puzzle piece together and the picture continues to take shape.
I had a class in college that was a mandatory seminar for Seniors. Supposedly it was to prepare us for the stress that was to come with graduation and I guess the "start to life." Except that I had already been living real life --renting at 18, full time work and full time school-- so it seems this class was about six years too late on the whole helping deal with stress theme. Who's bitter? In this class, which involved a lot of journaling, we were asked to share what our "flow" was. Well, I couldn't come up with one. At all. In fact, I still have the journal and just flipped back to recall what I had come up with. I had written, "cleaning." Yep. How sad is that? But I wasn't riding a bike then. If I were to be asked to complete that assignment today I wouldn't even hesitate. It's biking.
So for all of you who are years ahead of me on this, I am happy to join you in the peloton. I'm really very comfortable here in the middle and I thank you for pulling me along while I learn the ropes and take in the sights. I'll do the same for you when I get stronger.
The peloton travels as an integrated unit, like birds flying in formation, each rider making slight adjustments in response to the riders around him (or her) (particularly the one in front of each). When developed, riders at the front are exposed to higher loads, and will tend to slip off the front in order to rejoin the pack further back. In some cases, with sufficient room to maneuver, this will develop into a fluid situation where the center of the peloton appears to be pushing through its own leadingJuly 13, 2009
I Double Dog Dare Me
Shit.
I realize I've been getting a little too complacent in my old age. I get into my groove and look up to realize half a year is gone and I haven't done anything much out of the ordinary. I haven't sought any excitement. That's not how I promised myself I would grow old. New adventures, new experiences. Small ones, big ones, life changing ones....anything as long as it's constantly new. This time a few years ago I was stranded in the desert wondering if the tow truck would actually come find us and even if they did, would the bike start? You talk about out of the ordinary...try watching the sunset in the mountains of the Arizona desert and realizing very quickly that there are no street lamps that will flicker on once that sun passes the horizon. But eventually the tow came and the adventure turned into a great story to tell. And that's important. It's not my money or status or age or beauty (OK, yeah that matters some) rather it is is when I am in a conversation that my audience finds me captivating.
And captivating isn't easy. I know, because I am continually working on it.
You'd think my fear of being boring would overwhelmingly admonish the complacency trait. The small voice in the back of my skull (that we ALL have) is constantly wondering if the words coming out of my mouth are intriguing to the listener. I honestly will say there are many a time when that little voice will say, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP" but it's as if the words are riding an express bus out of my mouth. If there are interesting stories being delivered on that express bus it redeems my conversation.
But you have to do shit to have shit to talk about.
Don't get me wrong, I love my routine. I love that I only have to consider one source (ME) and I am really easy to please so I play well with myself....oh stop giggling, that's not what I meant. I don't have to check-in or worry about conflicts. I do whatever floats my boat. Granted it's a little old row boat, but it's afloat.
But I'll admit, it gets lonely in my row boat. I would love to row up to a passing dock and take on a traveling companion once in awhile. I love to hear stories. I love to share my stories. I continue to believe that you experience things each and every day, but if you aren't able to experience them with someone occasionally it will feel like you imagined it. That passenger can assure you that you didn't.
If you are ever interested in sharing some stories with a girl in her row boat, just wave from the beach. I'd be happy to make room for the adventure.
I realize I've been getting a little too complacent in my old age. I get into my groove and look up to realize half a year is gone and I haven't done anything much out of the ordinary. I haven't sought any excitement. That's not how I promised myself I would grow old. New adventures, new experiences. Small ones, big ones, life changing ones....anything as long as it's constantly new. This time a few years ago I was stranded in the desert wondering if the tow truck would actually come find us and even if they did, would the bike start? You talk about out of the ordinary...try watching the sunset in the mountains of the Arizona desert and realizing very quickly that there are no street lamps that will flicker on once that sun passes the horizon. But eventually the tow came and the adventure turned into a great story to tell. And that's important. It's not my money or status or age or beauty (OK, yeah that matters some) rather it is is when I am in a conversation that my audience finds me captivating.
And captivating isn't easy. I know, because I am continually working on it.
You'd think my fear of being boring would overwhelmingly admonish the complacency trait. The small voice in the back of my skull (that we ALL have) is constantly wondering if the words coming out of my mouth are intriguing to the listener. I honestly will say there are many a time when that little voice will say, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP" but it's as if the words are riding an express bus out of my mouth. If there are interesting stories being delivered on that express bus it redeems my conversation.
But you have to do shit to have shit to talk about.
Don't get me wrong, I love my routine. I love that I only have to consider one source (ME) and I am really easy to please so I play well with myself....oh stop giggling, that's not what I meant. I don't have to check-in or worry about conflicts. I do whatever floats my boat. Granted it's a little old row boat, but it's afloat.
But I'll admit, it gets lonely in my row boat. I would love to row up to a passing dock and take on a traveling companion once in awhile. I love to hear stories. I love to share my stories. I continue to believe that you experience things each and every day, but if you aren't able to experience them with someone occasionally it will feel like you imagined it. That passenger can assure you that you didn't.
If you are ever interested in sharing some stories with a girl in her row boat, just wave from the beach. I'd be happy to make room for the adventure.
July 6, 2009
June 22, 2009
Lifestyle of the clumsy and sleep deprived
Just like the riddle, "which came first....chick or egg," I have to wonder if my clumsy ways are due to the sleep deprivation or if the sleep deprivation is there because I'm so afraid of rolling out of bed while asleep that I freak myself out just enough that I never get to the REM sleep.
You think I'm joking, don't you. Well, two facts remain: I haven't had a full seven hours sleep in about three weeks -- I'm averaging about four, four and a half on the outside. And the stupidest of self-inflicted injuries was added to the list as of Sunday afternoon. While folding laundry.
Which brings me to the post. I was asked tonight, after giving all the sordid details of my latest dumb-fuck move, if I was generally a clumsy person. I quickly answered an emphatic, "No." I mean, we all slam our fingers in the silverware drawer or get papercuts from time to time. So perhaps I answered a bit quickly wanting it to be true, knowing it wasn't. Though I will say that of the Zimmerman girls, I will ALWAYS come in second to my sister who is the undefeated champ in the pissing contest with gravity. The girl nearly broke her collarbone FALLING OFF A STOOL showing someone her new shoes, her head was mistaken for a softball when she was three, she fell off my bed at five (allegedly due to a misplaced chair she was sitting in. Which may or may not have been put there by me. Allegedly.) and split her leg crawling into her apartment through the kitchen window.
.....Ok, so that may have had less to do with gravity and more to do with vodka, but I think you can see how even sober that could have played the same.....
God help us all if I ever manage to defeat her title. But obviously it's not for the lack of trying.
Take for example my attempts: Stepping on razor, barefoot. Being taken for a walk by my Granddad's black lab...through the hedges. Mistakenly putting lip cream on my eyes and eye cream on my lips after a bad sunburn and having my eyes swell shut. Laying in insulation because it looked like cotton candy (by the way, anything that color pink should be edible, not be made up of glass shards.) Punching myself out with a right cross in a group fitness class. Coming up to a red light and stopping my bike precisely next to a pot hole and almost falling off my bike when I set my foot down into it. Introducing my face to a slippery pile of wet rocks, twice.
.....Ok, so that may have had less to do with gravity and more to do with beer, but I think you can see how even sober that could have played the same.....
and my latest feeble attempt....Nearly breaking my wrist slamming down on the back of couch frame. I'm brilliant I tell ya, brilliant. I now realize my previous answer tonight must be retracted and, "Yes, yes I am clumsy" must be noted for the record.
Don't think for a hot second that I don't appreciate what hasn't happened to me, self-inflicted or other, because I know damn well there are much worse things out there. Please, please, know that I don't need to experience any of them. Not when I can just go ask my sister.
And you can keep the belt, sis. I don't want to defeat title.
You think I'm joking, don't you. Well, two facts remain: I haven't had a full seven hours sleep in about three weeks -- I'm averaging about four, four and a half on the outside. And the stupidest of self-inflicted injuries was added to the list as of Sunday afternoon. While folding laundry.
Which brings me to the post. I was asked tonight, after giving all the sordid details of my latest dumb-fuck move, if I was generally a clumsy person. I quickly answered an emphatic, "No." I mean, we all slam our fingers in the silverware drawer or get papercuts from time to time. So perhaps I answered a bit quickly wanting it to be true, knowing it wasn't. Though I will say that of the Zimmerman girls, I will ALWAYS come in second to my sister who is the undefeated champ in the pissing contest with gravity. The girl nearly broke her collarbone FALLING OFF A STOOL showing someone her new shoes, her head was mistaken for a softball when she was three, she fell off my bed at five (allegedly due to a misplaced chair she was sitting in. Which may or may not have been put there by me. Allegedly.) and split her leg crawling into her apartment through the kitchen window.
.....Ok, so that may have had less to do with gravity and more to do with vodka, but I think you can see how even sober that could have played the same.....
God help us all if I ever manage to defeat her title. But obviously it's not for the lack of trying.
Take for example my attempts: Stepping on razor, barefoot. Being taken for a walk by my Granddad's black lab...through the hedges. Mistakenly putting lip cream on my eyes and eye cream on my lips after a bad sunburn and having my eyes swell shut. Laying in insulation because it looked like cotton candy (by the way, anything that color pink should be edible, not be made up of glass shards.) Punching myself out with a right cross in a group fitness class. Coming up to a red light and stopping my bike precisely next to a pot hole and almost falling off my bike when I set my foot down into it. Introducing my face to a slippery pile of wet rocks, twice.
.....Ok, so that may have had less to do with gravity and more to do with beer, but I think you can see how even sober that could have played the same.....
and my latest feeble attempt....Nearly breaking my wrist slamming down on the back of couch frame. I'm brilliant I tell ya, brilliant. I now realize my previous answer tonight must be retracted and, "Yes, yes I am clumsy" must be noted for the record.
Don't think for a hot second that I don't appreciate what hasn't happened to me, self-inflicted or other, because I know damn well there are much worse things out there. Please, please, know that I don't need to experience any of them. Not when I can just go ask my sister.
And you can keep the belt, sis. I don't want to defeat title.
June 17, 2009
Hold on Dorothy, Oz is just around the next bend
Miss me? I've been around, just not able to collect my thoughts long enough to post. I've been feeling a bit like Dorothy caught in the tornado on her way to waking up in Oz. When last you checked in with the Pen Test site, I was feeling the effects of gigantic plastic mugs of PBR. Since then I've been finalizing some details. I can finally announce that it's finished. I am moving.
I wish I could announce it was to the other side of the Pond, but not yet. However, I'm proud to share that I have found a new apartment (in Chicago). I know the six readers I have may understand why that's a big deal, maybe not, but many of you who I have not yet met (and I do hope there are at least 15 of you) may wonder what the hell the big deal is? People move all the time. Well, not this people. That's why I feel a little like Dorothy.
It's been seven years that I've lived in my Lincoln Square apartment. My home. I've had laughs and heartbreak, hangovers and recoveries, dinners and board games, showers and fights here. I've watched one occupant leave and another replace him. I've shared many a sorrow and made more memories than seem possible. If the walls could talk, I'd be in trouble. It's time to leave and I think dwelling in this one place for as long as I have, while unexpected, was necessary. There's been a good deal of truth and reality had here, it's time to take the lessons and put them to use. In my own space. White walls, ready to soak up my new experiences like paint. I've never lived alone and while it seems daunting to spend even more time with myself, I can't wait.
Corri, I have loved having you as my roommate and friend. Somehow Porch Counsel has to find a way to continue. There's a special place in my heart for you and I know the reason for our move is a good one; Congratulations on the engagement! And while he's a boy, Scott will make an even better roommate than me. Come visit me in Oz sometime....
I wish I could announce it was to the other side of the Pond, but not yet. However, I'm proud to share that I have found a new apartment (in Chicago). I know the six readers I have may understand why that's a big deal, maybe not, but many of you who I have not yet met (and I do hope there are at least 15 of you) may wonder what the hell the big deal is? People move all the time. Well, not this people. That's why I feel a little like Dorothy.
It's been seven years that I've lived in my Lincoln Square apartment. My home. I've had laughs and heartbreak, hangovers and recoveries, dinners and board games, showers and fights here. I've watched one occupant leave and another replace him. I've shared many a sorrow and made more memories than seem possible. If the walls could talk, I'd be in trouble. It's time to leave and I think dwelling in this one place for as long as I have, while unexpected, was necessary. There's been a good deal of truth and reality had here, it's time to take the lessons and put them to use. In my own space. White walls, ready to soak up my new experiences like paint. I've never lived alone and while it seems daunting to spend even more time with myself, I can't wait.
Corri, I have loved having you as my roommate and friend. Somehow Porch Counsel has to find a way to continue. There's a special place in my heart for you and I know the reason for our move is a good one; Congratulations on the engagement! And while he's a boy, Scott will make an even better roommate than me. Come visit me in Oz sometime....
May 30, 2009
Pass the Schnitzel and the.....PBR?!
May Fest (LNSQ): Drinking PBR out of a giant plastic mug doesn't make it any more German or any less disgusting. It will, however, make it easier to hear oom-pah music for hours and be less hostel when getting jostled around in a crowd of 1,500 other giant plastic mug carrying drunkards.
Good times.
Good times.
May 21, 2009
May 20, 2009
Go ahead, open your umbrella indoors
Had one of those moments on the train today. You know the one, where you're reading along in the paper and all of a sudden your brain actually comprehends what it's reading and had it not you would have just kept skimming over the sentences pretending wholeheartedly to read the paper.
Yeah, I knew you knew what I was talking about. One of those moments.
Anyway, when the mental brakes engaged, I threw it in reverse and traveled back to the beginning of the horoscopes.
What? Yes, I read the paper including the comics, horoscopes and the weather. So what if the most redeemable part of the Chicago Tribune happens to be everything outside of the daily news? As a side note, here are two interesting facts:
1. The sections I read, in this order: Sports, Chicagoland, the "fun" section (Food, Live!, or the Friday section etc...) Business and then the Front page if there's time.
2. I only have the paper delivered Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday. I find that it's challenging enough to stay current on four days let alone all seven. I, too, find myself with unread Sunday papers at brunch.
Anyway, back to the Horoscope section this morning because it concerns you.....and you.......and you over there pretending not to be paying attention with your sunglasses on and your earphones in.....I know you're starring at me. Listen up. You'll all be interested to know that not one of us, not the Capricorns, or the Aquarians, the Libras, Sagitarians or Geminarians are in for anything less than a "6" day today.
See why my brain went, "Whoa!?"
Typically I read this particular section and search out the high sign, the sign that gets to have a "Today is a 9" day and I think, "Lucky bitches" because it's most always NOT my sign. I don't take this personally because I happen to know quite a few Aquarians so I feel that we can bond over our unfortunate ranking. On the blue moon occasion when I find out the Aquarians happen to be Prom Queen, I get all giggly and can't sit still. Like it's a birthday party or something.
After looking for the big number, I'll skim to find the sign that should quite possibly not get out of bed, the "Today is a 2" day. What sucks ass is when it's my sign and I'm already dressed and on the train, reading the paper. Sometimes it pays to sit leisurely at home and read the paper BEFORE getting dressed and heading out. I mean, if you read that your entire day's success rate is only going to top out at a 2, wouldn't you give some serious consideration to a sick day?
So imagine my perplexion (it's a word) when I can't find the niner and there's no little pip-squeak two among any of the signs. We are all either a 6 or a 7. The only explanation I came up with is that the Zodiac was either feeling apathetic and couldn't be bothered to dole out anything more than a tiny bit better than mediocre (which would be a 5) or it was still in bed and not alone....if you catch my drift *wink, wink* *nudge, nudge* and just needed to finish assigning success rates so it could get back to bizness. Either way, I guess you could say it's a win-win for all parties involved.
That would be all of us, people.
Hope you took advantage of your 6 or 7 and made choices you might not have made had today been a 2. Or paid a little closer attention to detail since you weren't given the gift of a 9 today. I bet it's just one of those wacky coinky dinks that won't happen again for a coon's age.
Or until the Zodiac gets lucky again.
Yeah, I knew you knew what I was talking about. One of those moments.
Anyway, when the mental brakes engaged, I threw it in reverse and traveled back to the beginning of the horoscopes.
What? Yes, I read the paper including the comics, horoscopes and the weather. So what if the most redeemable part of the Chicago Tribune happens to be everything outside of the daily news? As a side note, here are two interesting facts:
1. The sections I read, in this order: Sports, Chicagoland, the "fun" section (Food, Live!, or the Friday section etc...) Business and then the Front page if there's time.
2. I only have the paper delivered Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday. I find that it's challenging enough to stay current on four days let alone all seven. I, too, find myself with unread Sunday papers at brunch.
Anyway, back to the Horoscope section this morning because it concerns you.....and you.......and you over there pretending not to be paying attention with your sunglasses on and your earphones in.....I know you're starring at me. Listen up. You'll all be interested to know that not one of us, not the Capricorns, or the Aquarians, the Libras, Sagitarians or Geminarians are in for anything less than a "6" day today.
See why my brain went, "Whoa!?"
Typically I read this particular section and search out the high sign, the sign that gets to have a "Today is a 9" day and I think, "Lucky bitches" because it's most always NOT my sign. I don't take this personally because I happen to know quite a few Aquarians so I feel that we can bond over our unfortunate ranking. On the blue moon occasion when I find out the Aquarians happen to be Prom Queen, I get all giggly and can't sit still. Like it's a birthday party or something.
After looking for the big number, I'll skim to find the sign that should quite possibly not get out of bed, the "Today is a 2" day. What sucks ass is when it's my sign and I'm already dressed and on the train, reading the paper. Sometimes it pays to sit leisurely at home and read the paper BEFORE getting dressed and heading out. I mean, if you read that your entire day's success rate is only going to top out at a 2, wouldn't you give some serious consideration to a sick day?
So imagine my perplexion (it's a word) when I can't find the niner and there's no little pip-squeak two among any of the signs. We are all either a 6 or a 7. The only explanation I came up with is that the Zodiac was either feeling apathetic and couldn't be bothered to dole out anything more than a tiny bit better than mediocre (which would be a 5) or it was still in bed and not alone....if you catch my drift *wink, wink* *nudge, nudge* and just needed to finish assigning success rates so it could get back to bizness. Either way, I guess you could say it's a win-win for all parties involved.
That would be all of us, people.
Hope you took advantage of your 6 or 7 and made choices you might not have made had today been a 2. Or paid a little closer attention to detail since you weren't given the gift of a 9 today. I bet it's just one of those wacky coinky dinks that won't happen again for a coon's age.
Or until the Zodiac gets lucky again.
May 9, 2009
Expense Report
Job-related trauma. It's a common occurrence. There is even worker's compensation to provide assistance for someone injured while "on the job."
Police persons are at high risk of being shot at. EMT's could easily get in a car crash. Chefs, burned or cut. Athletes, jock itch. Vegas dancers, bunions. Lifeguards, ending up on a new version of Baywatch (shutter!) these are all traumatic injuries.
So when I discover that my elbows are chaffed, from sitting at a desk......
Chaffed elbows. From typing. At my job. What?!
.........I wonder what worker's comp I could qualify for. Probably not more than a soft gauze pad or maybe a flexible band aid. My luck I'd be handed a maxi pad and told to tape it to my elbow for extra padding. Which got me thinking of all the things an office professional such as myself would expense given the chance.
Weekly massages. Without hesitation I put this at the top of the list. Forget pretty coffee mugs or fresh cream. I could care less about free soda in the kitchen or bagels on Friday. Give me ninety minutes being rubbed and pressed and stretched.
Ergonomic chair. Seeing how I sit for such extensive periods, I may as well be comfortable. I'm not asking for an Easy-boy.
Hydraulic desk. In the event the ergonomic chair isn't adequate enough on its own, I'd like the option to stand. This shouldn't be hard to convince my boss. He has one.
Coffee. I try not to drink a lot of afternoon coffee but sometimes it's a necessity and if I am buying it, chances are I'm looking for a good excuse to leave the aforementioned ergo chair and desk, so the right to expense it seems fair. Not to mention the fact that we have an employee who'll make the occasional afternoon pot of coffee and applies the Kellogg Raisin Bran slogan, "Two Scoops in Every Box" as her measuring guide.
Pencils. Yeah, I realize this is old school but my love for Ticonderoga's isn't going anywhere. Technology has a tendency to have intermitent outages now and again.
There's probably more, but you're probably reading this thinking, "But I have these things at my company."
Consider yourself spoiled and don't complain about the long wait at the elevator bank in your building. And if you could spare a couple of cotton balls and some flexible band-aids, I'd appreciate it. My elbows aren't getting any softer.
Police persons are at high risk of being shot at. EMT's could easily get in a car crash. Chefs, burned or cut. Athletes, jock itch. Vegas dancers, bunions. Lifeguards, ending up on a new version of Baywatch (shutter!) these are all traumatic injuries.
So when I discover that my elbows are chaffed, from sitting at a desk......
Chaffed elbows. From typing. At my job. What?!
.........I wonder what worker's comp I could qualify for. Probably not more than a soft gauze pad or maybe a flexible band aid. My luck I'd be handed a maxi pad and told to tape it to my elbow for extra padding. Which got me thinking of all the things an office professional such as myself would expense given the chance.
Weekly massages. Without hesitation I put this at the top of the list. Forget pretty coffee mugs or fresh cream. I could care less about free soda in the kitchen or bagels on Friday. Give me ninety minutes being rubbed and pressed and stretched.
Ergonomic chair. Seeing how I sit for such extensive periods, I may as well be comfortable. I'm not asking for an Easy-boy.
Hydraulic desk. In the event the ergonomic chair isn't adequate enough on its own, I'd like the option to stand. This shouldn't be hard to convince my boss. He has one.
Coffee. I try not to drink a lot of afternoon coffee but sometimes it's a necessity and if I am buying it, chances are I'm looking for a good excuse to leave the aforementioned ergo chair and desk, so the right to expense it seems fair. Not to mention the fact that we have an employee who'll make the occasional afternoon pot of coffee and applies the Kellogg Raisin Bran slogan, "Two Scoops in Every Box" as her measuring guide.
Pencils. Yeah, I realize this is old school but my love for Ticonderoga's isn't going anywhere. Technology has a tendency to have intermitent outages now and again.
There's probably more, but you're probably reading this thinking, "But I have these things at my company."
Consider yourself spoiled and don't complain about the long wait at the elevator bank in your building. And if you could spare a couple of cotton balls and some flexible band-aids, I'd appreciate it. My elbows aren't getting any softer.
May 8, 2009
Can I get another?
It's no wonder that booze is readily available at funerals and going away parties.
Why don't we turn to brussel sprouts for comfort? Is there something unfriendly about things that are pulled from a garden? Is comfort best felt when it comes from something derived in a barrel or concocted in a barn?
Any emotion be it frustration, sadness, anxiety, stress is all the more manageable when we wrap a warm soft blanket of alcohol around it. The brutal week, the rough patch, the unexpected goodbye....they all seem easier to conquer when we feel a little blurry......our breath is slow and easy......our reaction time lethargic.
It's as if we've been caught in a flash from a camera. The tracers linger and for just a moment nothing can be seen, it's all a wall of bright reflected light. Like static for the eyes.
Then, as quick as the shutter opens, the eyes blink and the scene becomes focused, no more soft fuzzy edges. And then we order another hoping to get right back under that blanket. Oh boy what a day today has been. What I wouldn't give to be on the beach in Manistee wrapped in my personal blanket and starring up at the stars. The beach coupled with the whiskey I've entertained tonight would do this girl some good. Open space tends to calm me.
Before my last ice cube sucks the glass dry, I raise my glass and bid a fond farewell to a rockin' co-worker and friend. Here's to tamales, injury reports, cussing, cackles and sunshine. Safe travels and many happy successes to you.
Why don't we turn to brussel sprouts for comfort? Is there something unfriendly about things that are pulled from a garden? Is comfort best felt when it comes from something derived in a barrel or concocted in a barn?
Any emotion be it frustration, sadness, anxiety, stress is all the more manageable when we wrap a warm soft blanket of alcohol around it. The brutal week, the rough patch, the unexpected goodbye....they all seem easier to conquer when we feel a little blurry......our breath is slow and easy......our reaction time lethargic.
It's as if we've been caught in a flash from a camera. The tracers linger and for just a moment nothing can be seen, it's all a wall of bright reflected light. Like static for the eyes.
Then, as quick as the shutter opens, the eyes blink and the scene becomes focused, no more soft fuzzy edges. And then we order another hoping to get right back under that blanket. Oh boy what a day today has been. What I wouldn't give to be on the beach in Manistee wrapped in my personal blanket and starring up at the stars. The beach coupled with the whiskey I've entertained tonight would do this girl some good. Open space tends to calm me.
Before my last ice cube sucks the glass dry, I raise my glass and bid a fond farewell to a rockin' co-worker and friend. Here's to tamales, injury reports, cussing, cackles and sunshine. Safe travels and many happy successes to you.
May 7, 2009
Chicago on my mind
I am unbelievably happy sitting here having had an outrageous whirlwind afternoon. It's amazing what can be done in 122 minutes. I've been on the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier (check!) and had bonafide sushi (check!) which included eel, smoked salmon and super white tuna. There's a chance there was some Tobika, but I'm highly doubtful. Or suspicious that it would have agreed so well with me. All I remember is sitting there while I was humming with pleasure. **Shout out to Meiji
I know you may find it hard to believe some maki and an eight minute ride around a wheel would make me so reflective, but it does. I truly feel, as I sit here at my desk considering how many unknown, unexplored streets and corners and pockets of the world there are out there, thrilled to have done something grand with a random Thursday.
Yes, I find that it is terribly unfair not to be out in it doing and seeing and experiencing....right. this. minute.....It just makes me appreciate it that much more when it happens. The whole "Stop and smell the roses" theme is beginning to be clearer and clearer to this chic. You can't take anything for granted. Each and every minute can be exhilarating, you just have to pay attention.
I know you may find it hard to believe some maki and an eight minute ride around a wheel would make me so reflective, but it does. I truly feel, as I sit here at my desk considering how many unknown, unexplored streets and corners and pockets of the world there are out there, thrilled to have done something grand with a random Thursday.
Yes, I find that it is terribly unfair not to be out in it doing and seeing and experiencing....right. this. minute.....It just makes me appreciate it that much more when it happens. The whole "Stop and smell the roses" theme is beginning to be clearer and clearer to this chic. You can't take anything for granted. Each and every minute can be exhilarating, you just have to pay attention.
April 27, 2009
The List
Throw a dinner party - soup to nuts
Visit the Makers Mark Distillery (Kentucky)
Go camping
Ride the NYC Subway
Ride horses in Montana
See the Aurora Borealis (Northern Lights)
Buy Original Artwork of an artist I meet
Boat Cruise on Lake Michigan
Water taxi down the Chicago River
Have BBQ in Louisiana
Go to New Orleans, New York, Boston, Austin, Amsterdam, Valencia, Italy, Ireland, Vancouver..........
Ride in a Hot Air Balloon
Take a burlesque lesson
Perform burlesque lesson
Makeout in a pool
Skinny dip in a lake
Night Canoeing
Canoeing down the Chicago river
Prom re-do
Be painted on like canvas
Go back for Masters degree
A career position in the Nutrition field
Learn to play a Theremin
Paint my own original artwork
Make tamales
Ride in a convertible
Learn to drive a stick shift
Go to a shooting range and practice
Laser Tag
Make Freezer Jam
Volunteer to rock babies at the hospital
Attend the Symphony
Go to Ravinia
See Keith Carter's photos
Go to a Masquerade Ball
Learn Italian or Spanish
Adopt a dog
Seattle Space Needle
Tattoo
Underground Dining
xx - Take a tour on the other elevated trains of Chicago
xx - Belly Dancing Classes
xx - L.A.T.E. Ride (July)
xx - Night Swimming
xx - Ride the brown line from Rockwell to the loop to Kimball station (loop)
xx - Bike The Drive (Chicago)
xx - try 100% true Sushi (not fake veggie maki)
xx - Wake up to play in a night rainstorm
xx - Sing in public -- karaoke not included
xx - Watch the sunrise on Lake Michigan (Chicago)
xx - Ferris Wheel at Navy Pier
April 23, 2009
Tinkle Tinkle Little Star
There are 33 quick steps from my desk to the ladies room at my office. I know. I counted.
What? I'm a thirsty girl. Thirsty girls have to pee. All day long.
Good Golly Damn Criminey, I must make more trips to the bathroom than the guy who smokes* goes outside.
I wonder what smoker guy thinks of my frequent dashes past his office (on step 25) and if he keeps count. First of all, if he is keeping count that's just creepy. He should stick to surfing his kid's friend's Facebook profiles (this too is creepy, it just doesn't involve me so creep on smoker man). Secondly, I hope he's timing me. I'm super fast.
I'm so fast that I once had a line of guys chip in and buy me a drink because of my super fast ability.
Ok, that sounds superbly dirty. But honestly, this is one of the innocent stories.
Here's what happened....It was Mardi Gras at the Venice Cafe in St. Louis a few years back. Myself and about 200 other close drinking buddies had been celebrating for about a half a day (seriously a good time was being had) and there were two bathroom locations: one down a flight of rickety stairs and another up a wide staircase to the second floor. The downstairs toilets were separate boy/girl rooms with a few stalls each. The one upstairs was a single unisex bathroom. As any of you half-day celebrators know, falling up stairs is a lot less painful than the opposite. I headed up.
When I got to the top there was a decent size line outside the ONE STALL UNISEX TOILET. So I took a spot behind some of my fellow half-day drunk friends and waited.
And waited. And then waited some more. Oh, and guess what? More waiting. The line was moving pretty damn slow. Then I realized that standing in front of me was a group girls. Giggly, drunk girls. With large purses.
About the same time this situation became apparent to me, it also dawned on the guys lined up behind me. When the door opened, the giggly drunk girls (with purses the size of overnight bags) slid right in...all together as if they were carpooling to work.
I kid you not, seven minutes went by. Seven painful, bladder-close-to-erupting minutes shared between me and my new friends in guy-club. Ok, actually they didn't really start off as friends, they were more like angry enemies looking at me with disgust. They thought I was another one of those giggly drunk purse carrying bitches who was going to take another painful seven minutes of their lives with my turn. Except I don't travel in a pack to the bathroom and I only bring a purse to places that my backpack is out of place.
I had to clear my name before I cleared my bladder. So I turned to the guys and said, "Do you see me carrying anything? I guarantee there's no makeup hiding in these pockets...no cell phone for texting while I'm supposed to be drying my hands....and no gossip drama I have to share. I'm here to do one thing and do it fast."
A few of them looked quite hopeful. One guy who might have been their club President did not and said, "How can we believe that you won't fuck around in there like the others?" Who by the by, still have NOT come out of the bathroom yet--I get why the girl/bathroom stereotype exists. The bet became that I could do the thing, wash and dry my hands and be out of the bathroom in under three minutes. They were doubtful and said they'd buy me a drink if I succeeded. I did.
I think I set a record that night, at least that's what it seemed like from the responses of guy-club members who consequently bought me a beer and a shot for my excellent, super fast ability.
*Yep, just one smoker in our office. We're a healthy bunch.
What? I'm a thirsty girl. Thirsty girls have to pee. All day long.
Good Golly Damn Criminey, I must make more trips to the bathroom than the guy who smokes* goes outside.
I wonder what smoker guy thinks of my frequent dashes past his office (on step 25) and if he keeps count. First of all, if he is keeping count that's just creepy. He should stick to surfing his kid's friend's Facebook profiles (this too is creepy, it just doesn't involve me so creep on smoker man). Secondly, I hope he's timing me. I'm super fast.
I'm so fast that I once had a line of guys chip in and buy me a drink because of my super fast ability.
Ok, that sounds superbly dirty. But honestly, this is one of the innocent stories.
Here's what happened....It was Mardi Gras at the Venice Cafe in St. Louis a few years back. Myself and about 200 other close drinking buddies had been celebrating for about a half a day (seriously a good time was being had) and there were two bathroom locations: one down a flight of rickety stairs and another up a wide staircase to the second floor. The downstairs toilets were separate boy/girl rooms with a few stalls each. The one upstairs was a single unisex bathroom. As any of you half-day celebrators know, falling up stairs is a lot less painful than the opposite. I headed up.
When I got to the top there was a decent size line outside the ONE STALL UNISEX TOILET. So I took a spot behind some of my fellow half-day drunk friends and waited.
And waited. And then waited some more. Oh, and guess what? More waiting. The line was moving pretty damn slow. Then I realized that standing in front of me was a group girls. Giggly, drunk girls. With large purses.
About the same time this situation became apparent to me, it also dawned on the guys lined up behind me. When the door opened, the giggly drunk girls (with purses the size of overnight bags) slid right in...all together as if they were carpooling to work.
I kid you not, seven minutes went by. Seven painful, bladder-close-to-erupting minutes shared between me and my new friends in guy-club. Ok, actually they didn't really start off as friends, they were more like angry enemies looking at me with disgust. They thought I was another one of those giggly drunk purse carrying bitches who was going to take another painful seven minutes of their lives with my turn. Except I don't travel in a pack to the bathroom and I only bring a purse to places that my backpack is out of place.
I had to clear my name before I cleared my bladder. So I turned to the guys and said, "Do you see me carrying anything? I guarantee there's no makeup hiding in these pockets...no cell phone for texting while I'm supposed to be drying my hands....and no gossip drama I have to share. I'm here to do one thing and do it fast."
A few of them looked quite hopeful. One guy who might have been their club President did not and said, "How can we believe that you won't fuck around in there like the others?" Who by the by, still have NOT come out of the bathroom yet--I get why the girl/bathroom stereotype exists. The bet became that I could do the thing, wash and dry my hands and be out of the bathroom in under three minutes. They were doubtful and said they'd buy me a drink if I succeeded. I did.
I think I set a record that night, at least that's what it seemed like from the responses of guy-club members who consequently bought me a beer and a shot for my excellent, super fast ability.
*Yep, just one smoker in our office. We're a healthy bunch.
April 16, 2009
Staycation -- who's genius was this?
I sat there reassuring myself, "This IS exactly what you should be doing."
I sat there feeling, "Megan, you are reeeally late for work."
It's Thursday. I took two days off for me. My coworkers asked where I was headed and what I was doing and my reply became, "Nowhere. Nothing." And that was really the plan. Just the way I had wanted it.
That is, until I find myself here. Feeling guilty, like I'm playing hookie. Listing things in my head that I should be doing. Beating myself up for still being in my pajamas at 9am. "Take a chill pill!" I hear myself say. "You are on vacation."
I have trouble with the execution of a "Staycation." In theory, it sounds marvelous.....no money spent on transportation to another city, where you'll sleep in a hotel room and try to find the cool places to eat and shop and take souvenier photos. Wouldn't it be a privilege to stay in the town that you've lived in for so many years yet taken for granted? All the special things that made you fall in love and stay this long happily together? As if it was my 14th anniversary and I rediscovered the hidden treasures of my relationship. Yet, in practice.....much more difficult to get started. Somewhere along the way I have convinced myself that when I'm laying around watching movies, putzing around window shopping, napping, taking a bath, or walking the lake that I am truly avoiding my real life's responsibilities. Unless you do these things with someone, in which case they become "plans," or activities and that's much more acceptable.
Maybe I'll just log into my work email for a mi----I'm not supposed to do that!
I decide to pack up and head out into the beautiful day; see where my feet take me. That's when my luck changed. I walked right into Wrigleyville and realized the Cubs had home field advantage. Work....Shmerk! I can't tell you how in love with Chicago I was when standing in front of Wrigley Field, on the corner of Clark and Addison, blue sky sun shine and a "Staycation" as my legitimate excuse.
Play Ball!
I sat there feeling, "Megan, you are reeeally late for work."
It's Thursday. I took two days off for me. My coworkers asked where I was headed and what I was doing and my reply became, "Nowhere. Nothing." And that was really the plan. Just the way I had wanted it.
That is, until I find myself here. Feeling guilty, like I'm playing hookie. Listing things in my head that I should be doing. Beating myself up for still being in my pajamas at 9am. "Take a chill pill!" I hear myself say. "You are on vacation."
I have trouble with the execution of a "Staycation." In theory, it sounds marvelous.....no money spent on transportation to another city, where you'll sleep in a hotel room and try to find the cool places to eat and shop and take souvenier photos. Wouldn't it be a privilege to stay in the town that you've lived in for so many years yet taken for granted? All the special things that made you fall in love and stay this long happily together? As if it was my 14th anniversary and I rediscovered the hidden treasures of my relationship. Yet, in practice.....much more difficult to get started. Somewhere along the way I have convinced myself that when I'm laying around watching movies, putzing around window shopping, napping, taking a bath, or walking the lake that I am truly avoiding my real life's responsibilities. Unless you do these things with someone, in which case they become "plans," or activities and that's much more acceptable.
Maybe I'll just log into my work email for a mi----I'm not supposed to do that!
I decide to pack up and head out into the beautiful day; see where my feet take me. That's when my luck changed. I walked right into Wrigleyville and realized the Cubs had home field advantage. Work....Shmerk! I can't tell you how in love with Chicago I was when standing in front of Wrigley Field, on the corner of Clark and Addison, blue sky sun shine and a "Staycation" as my legitimate excuse.
Play Ball!
April 14, 2009
Megan Jeanne's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day Award
We all have bad days. Don't fool yourself that you are alone in that parking lot. Look around....there's a shitload of cars parked out there with occupants sitting inside screaming obscenities and accepting their own award for Most Craptacular Day.
It became so frequent an occurrence that I was personally nominating myself and accepting the award for having a T.H.N.G.V.B.D. that I had to purchase a whole storage locker to hold my collection. But then things leveled out and I quickly became the second-runner up many times over. I even retired the rant that was my acceptance speech.
While this is most always a self-nominated category, I am making an exception. In light of recent events, I am nominating and also choosing the recipient. The winner of this T.H.N.G.V.B.D. title is being presented with a sash and a crapcake crown all his own. Hands down he wins. Unanimously.
I'm regretfully accepting this award tonight on his behalf. I'd like to believe if he were here he'd have a mouthful of obscenities which would make us laugh uncomfortably and possibly cry and most definitely applaud his ability to stand up and say, "This award sucks giant blue monkey ass and I hate having been nominated but moreover hate winning. "
I'll sadly give him his envelope and crown and then offer to be the on-going winner in this category if it meant his days would be free of T.H.N.G.V.B news. I'm just so sorry.
It became so frequent an occurrence that I was personally nominating myself and accepting the award for having a T.H.N.G.V.B.D. that I had to purchase a whole storage locker to hold my collection. But then things leveled out and I quickly became the second-runner up many times over. I even retired the rant that was my acceptance speech.
While this is most always a self-nominated category, I am making an exception. In light of recent events, I am nominating and also choosing the recipient. The winner of this T.H.N.G.V.B.D. title is being presented with a sash and a crapcake crown all his own. Hands down he wins. Unanimously.
I'm regretfully accepting this award tonight on his behalf. I'd like to believe if he were here he'd have a mouthful of obscenities which would make us laugh uncomfortably and possibly cry and most definitely applaud his ability to stand up and say, "This award sucks giant blue monkey ass and I hate having been nominated but moreover hate winning. "
I'll sadly give him his envelope and crown and then offer to be the on-going winner in this category if it meant his days would be free of T.H.N.G.V.B news. I'm just so sorry.
March 27, 2009
Thought while walking....
Do you think that the Afterlife has technology? Will there be upgrades and updates like in the Nowlife? How advanced are they already? Will it remind me of the first time I sent an instant message or heard, "you have mail!"
Will it be as foreign a concept as Twittering?
Or will it revert back to old technology so things are slower. Like using the card catalog?
Will it be as foreign a concept as Twittering?
Or will it revert back to old technology so things are slower. Like using the card catalog?
March 24, 2009
Trapeze swinging fishes
I'm good at alot of things. I make my bed, I recycle. I say hello to neighbors on the sidewalk. I make a good bloody mary and I can grill a steak. I know when it's time to stop fast forwarding thru commercial break of a recorded show. I can grow plants, flowers and vegetables. I can make strangers feel welcome at a party (even one I'm not throwing) and I remember my Grandma's birthday. I can mostly tell when someone needs a joke, a hug or to be left alone.
I remind myself, I am good at many things.
However.
Taking things at face value is not one of them.
It's so stunning the level of energy I use trying to come up with a hidden message. It can not possibly be as simple as it is stated in words. I must decipher what is clearly not being said. It is my paramount need to understand something that I know to be there but it's just missing. Give me time and I'll find it. I know I will.
I swear, if there was a secret language that no one spoke and no translation existed, I'd be the expert.
Why yes, I have received a PhD in Deciphering Nothing. It has taken many long years and required hours upon hours of debating and re-reading with furrowed brow. But as with any other degree, it's only in hindsight that I realize I dedicated time and effort that was overall unnecessary and at great expense I now hold a degree in something that does not prove useful to me.
I'm like a kid learning to ride a bike. Until I get used to the idea of falling, I won't ever want to take those training wheels off.
I remind myself, I am good at many things.
However.
Taking things at face value is not one of them.
It's so stunning the level of energy I use trying to come up with a hidden message. It can not possibly be as simple as it is stated in words. I must decipher what is clearly not being said. It is my paramount need to understand something that I know to be there but it's just missing. Give me time and I'll find it. I know I will.
I swear, if there was a secret language that no one spoke and no translation existed, I'd be the expert.
Why yes, I have received a PhD in Deciphering Nothing. It has taken many long years and required hours upon hours of debating and re-reading with furrowed brow. But as with any other degree, it's only in hindsight that I realize I dedicated time and effort that was overall unnecessary and at great expense I now hold a degree in something that does not prove useful to me.
I'm like a kid learning to ride a bike. Until I get used to the idea of falling, I won't ever want to take those training wheels off.
March 21, 2009
Washing Windows
I've always been fascinated by things in which order is created upon completion. I admit, this stems from a mild case of OCD. It's not so much turning the light switch on and off 43 times before walking clockwise three times around the bed before getting in OCD, it's more that everything has a place. Things look better to me....more in focus, clearer....peaceful....when in order.
A very close friend of mine (yes you, Anne) is the direct opposite of me. It's not really all that surprising that we are friends, opposites attract. Except when it comes to works of art. Our current game is finding art for her office. She'll search online and then email me at my desk (we work together) that she has some choices to show me. I prepare myself and go in.
"Ok, here's the first one...."
Please believe me when tell you it was as if someone had blindfolded the artist, spun them around and instead of "pin the tail," it was "paint the canvas."
(I think my eyes started to water)
"Not so much? What about this?"
Oh come ON! That's just not a good use of paint. Imagine the artist painting the pile of Pick-up Sticks.
(My head hurts)
"Duly noted. Here's the final pick...."
Evil. Just down right wrong. If someone could paint the sound of screaming, this would be the result.
(I may have passed out)
My idea of art, she reminds me, is B-O-R-I-N-G. Snoozefest. Really? I don't see how a perfect horizontal line running across the canvas is wrong. Starring at it makes the radio stations that seem to playing in my head (simultaneously, sometimes non-stop) quiet down. All broadcasting ceases to exist. It's so wonderful.
I'm not crazy. Pinky swear.
I know my habit of creating order is apparent to others. A perfect example is the dishwasher. Loading and unloading is a form of art to me. I was unloading it one time and my mom commented, "I just like to watch you. Every move you make plays off the last move. It's choreographed so beautifully." Aw, shucks... thanks mom.
She's right and I hate admitting that, but I know what she means. I feel it. I know when things are lining up right -- I don't have to pay attention, it's fluid. It's how I imagine dancers or jugglers, guys who toss/catch the fish in Seattle, chefs or speed freaks on the highway feel. Things line up and it allows you to just do what you know.
That's why I love watching the window washers who do the outside of high rise buildings. It's systematic: Soapy water, squeegee, swing to the right and repeat. What's left in their wake is a streak-free clearer picture.
What got me started thinking about all of this happened on my way home from the loop today. Being a Saturday, the Thompson Building (aka: the State of Illinois building) was empty and there was a group of guys working on washing the windows.
HAVE YOU SEEN THE THOMPSON BUILDING? The windows are like, forty feet up and on a slant. These guys had the most amazing equipment and talent I've ever seen. Being awe struck at the process, I headed to the train. As the train pulled up and the doors opened, the song on my satellite radio changed.......to Van Morrison's Washing Windows. Seriously. No shit. And I can promise this to you because while I like VaMo, I only know a handful of his songs and wouldn't have ever given this title as an answer in a trivia contest.
So I dedicate this post tonight to the redheaded-window-washer-master and Van. Thanks for giving me some much needed clarity.
A very close friend of mine (yes you, Anne) is the direct opposite of me. It's not really all that surprising that we are friends, opposites attract. Except when it comes to works of art. Our current game is finding art for her office. She'll search online and then email me at my desk (we work together) that she has some choices to show me. I prepare myself and go in.
"Ok, here's the first one...."
Please believe me when tell you it was as if someone had blindfolded the artist, spun them around and instead of "pin the tail," it was "paint the canvas."
(I think my eyes started to water)
"Not so much? What about this?"
Oh come ON! That's just not a good use of paint. Imagine the artist painting the pile of Pick-up Sticks.
(My head hurts)
"Duly noted. Here's the final pick...."
Evil. Just down right wrong. If someone could paint the sound of screaming, this would be the result.
(I may have passed out)
My idea of art, she reminds me, is B-O-R-I-N-G. Snoozefest. Really? I don't see how a perfect horizontal line running across the canvas is wrong. Starring at it makes the radio stations that seem to playing in my head (simultaneously, sometimes non-stop) quiet down. All broadcasting ceases to exist. It's so wonderful.
I'm not crazy. Pinky swear.
I know my habit of creating order is apparent to others. A perfect example is the dishwasher. Loading and unloading is a form of art to me. I was unloading it one time and my mom commented, "I just like to watch you. Every move you make plays off the last move. It's choreographed so beautifully." Aw, shucks... thanks mom.
She's right and I hate admitting that, but I know what she means. I feel it. I know when things are lining up right -- I don't have to pay attention, it's fluid. It's how I imagine dancers or jugglers, guys who toss/catch the fish in Seattle, chefs or speed freaks on the highway feel. Things line up and it allows you to just do what you know.
That's why I love watching the window washers who do the outside of high rise buildings. It's systematic: Soapy water, squeegee, swing to the right and repeat. What's left in their wake is a streak-free clearer picture.
What got me started thinking about all of this happened on my way home from the loop today. Being a Saturday, the Thompson Building (aka: the State of Illinois building) was empty and there was a group of guys working on washing the windows.
HAVE YOU SEEN THE THOMPSON BUILDING? The windows are like, forty feet up and on a slant. These guys had the most amazing equipment and talent I've ever seen. Being awe struck at the process, I headed to the train. As the train pulled up and the doors opened, the song on my satellite radio changed.......to Van Morrison's Washing Windows. Seriously. No shit. And I can promise this to you because while I like VaMo, I only know a handful of his songs and wouldn't have ever given this title as an answer in a trivia contest.
So I dedicate this post tonight to the redheaded-window-washer-master and Van. Thanks for giving me some much needed clarity.
March 11, 2009
French Horns and Accordions
I really like to laugh. Which is good because when I laugh everyone around me knows. I laugh like I hug, every part of me joins in, it just comes bursting out from somewhere inside. I like how it feels just after laughing. You know what I'm talking about, those little tremors that if not heeded would bring about a fit of giggles and right back into full-on laughing all over again.
Man! There can never be too much laughing for me. Chances are, if you and I don't share a laugh, any from the list below, I probably wouldn't be expecting a Facebook friend request any time soon.
There's the small smile from seeing someone do something sweet or kind for someone else. Offering up their seat on the train, picking up a dropped item or random litter, offering an umbrella or an arm across the street, even catching someone do something silly and think (or hope) no one noticed. Come to think of it, this small smile (not to be confused with a smirk) is also the reaction I have with compliments. They're great to get, just hard not to squirm around when getting them. A small little one sided grin which doesn't mean I don't want it, it means I don't know what to do with it. Like Anne tells me, "Just say thank you."
Then we've got the full toothy grin. Even my eyes will join in and light up with this. It's real. I've seen it in pictures that I didn't know were being taken. I have a smile like this from when Robyn and I celebrated our 31/32 birthdays. I look at that and immediately get the same goofy grin. I like to think that this grin makes people wonder...what's gotten into her?
Occasionally this happens when I am riding on the train or walking around. It's when I'm quiet and reflective that I can take time to really see my surroundings. I love noticing someone do something crazy and out of the ordinary. Catching someone cartwheeling down the sidewalk or getting good news on the phone and doing a little jig. Often little kids can make this happen. Or dogs. They are both always so damn happy to just run around. Who wouldn't smile wide from such innocent play?
But then we get to the silent laugh. You'd think the silent laugh is the polite laugh -- when something is not all that funny but you have to pretend so....and you would be incorrect. The polite laugh, a.k.a. the uncomfortable "it's not funny or I don't get it" laugh is more like the character Janice on Friends. It's awkward and too loud and just feels metallic to your ears.
Kinda like chewing on tinfoil.
No, the silent laugh is the kind that I have to hold in or it's going to go everywhere....it's just that damn funny. Most times my shoulders get involved. I really like this one because it minimizes the number of unexpected audience participants (those folks unfortunate enough to be close by when the out loud laugh breaks).
And now we come to the last two. The doozies. My very best friends, family and unlucky co-workers know these all too well.
There's the Cackle. A full out loud laugh that might be likened to a machine gun. Rapid bursts of laughs. I wouldn't liken it to that. But I know it is. It usually starts with the hard burst of laugh and progresses into the next stage. This is when the unexpected audience participants turn their heads to see who's laughing and begs the question, "What's so funny?"
Which precedes the final stage....the Mt. Everest of my laughing.....the Wheezies.
Yup, I'm one of those. Imagine your Uncle Al, the Lucky Strike smoking, whiskey drinking Uncle. Tell him a dirty joke and see where it takes him. Now, add some tears from laughing and you'll have a fair representation of me. I know it sounds obnoxious and it's probably damn annoying if you aren't a part of the fun, but I can't help it. I don't know how some people have a great laugh -- the kind you could listen to all night long -- and others have, well, the Wheezies for example. But I know for sure that won't stop just because it sounds ridiculous. I don't remember laughing like this when I was growing up, though I do remember trying to practice laughing -- yeah, that didn't last long. I wonder if it will morph again into something down the road a few years. God I hope it's not worse sounding than the Wheezies!
Until that should take place, and I wouldn't hold your (laugh!) breath, please feel free to join in with me. Shake what your Momma gave ya, and all that jazz! I mean....even an Accordion has a place in a pop song every once in awhile. You just have to accept it and decide if you like the noise it brings to the table.
Man! There can never be too much laughing for me. Chances are, if you and I don't share a laugh, any from the list below, I probably wouldn't be expecting a Facebook friend request any time soon.
There's the small smile from seeing someone do something sweet or kind for someone else. Offering up their seat on the train, picking up a dropped item or random litter, offering an umbrella or an arm across the street, even catching someone do something silly and think (or hope) no one noticed. Come to think of it, this small smile (not to be confused with a smirk) is also the reaction I have with compliments. They're great to get, just hard not to squirm around when getting them. A small little one sided grin which doesn't mean I don't want it, it means I don't know what to do with it. Like Anne tells me, "Just say thank you."
Then we've got the full toothy grin. Even my eyes will join in and light up with this. It's real. I've seen it in pictures that I didn't know were being taken. I have a smile like this from when Robyn and I celebrated our 31/32 birthdays. I look at that and immediately get the same goofy grin. I like to think that this grin makes people wonder...what's gotten into her?
Occasionally this happens when I am riding on the train or walking around. It's when I'm quiet and reflective that I can take time to really see my surroundings. I love noticing someone do something crazy and out of the ordinary. Catching someone cartwheeling down the sidewalk or getting good news on the phone and doing a little jig. Often little kids can make this happen. Or dogs. They are both always so damn happy to just run around. Who wouldn't smile wide from such innocent play?
But then we get to the silent laugh. You'd think the silent laugh is the polite laugh -- when something is not all that funny but you have to pretend so....and you would be incorrect. The polite laugh, a.k.a. the uncomfortable "it's not funny or I don't get it" laugh is more like the character Janice on Friends. It's awkward and too loud and just feels metallic to your ears.
Kinda like chewing on tinfoil.
No, the silent laugh is the kind that I have to hold in or it's going to go everywhere....it's just that damn funny. Most times my shoulders get involved. I really like this one because it minimizes the number of unexpected audience participants (those folks unfortunate enough to be close by when the out loud laugh breaks).
And now we come to the last two. The doozies. My very best friends, family and unlucky co-workers know these all too well.
There's the Cackle. A full out loud laugh that might be likened to a machine gun. Rapid bursts of laughs. I wouldn't liken it to that. But I know it is. It usually starts with the hard burst of laugh and progresses into the next stage. This is when the unexpected audience participants turn their heads to see who's laughing and begs the question, "What's so funny?"
Which precedes the final stage....the Mt. Everest of my laughing.....the Wheezies.
Yup, I'm one of those. Imagine your Uncle Al, the Lucky Strike smoking, whiskey drinking Uncle. Tell him a dirty joke and see where it takes him. Now, add some tears from laughing and you'll have a fair representation of me. I know it sounds obnoxious and it's probably damn annoying if you aren't a part of the fun, but I can't help it. I don't know how some people have a great laugh -- the kind you could listen to all night long -- and others have, well, the Wheezies for example. But I know for sure that won't stop just because it sounds ridiculous. I don't remember laughing like this when I was growing up, though I do remember trying to practice laughing -- yeah, that didn't last long. I wonder if it will morph again into something down the road a few years. God I hope it's not worse sounding than the Wheezies!
Until that should take place, and I wouldn't hold your (laugh!) breath, please feel free to join in with me. Shake what your Momma gave ya, and all that jazz! I mean....even an Accordion has a place in a pop song every once in awhile. You just have to accept it and decide if you like the noise it brings to the table.
February 19, 2009
Whatever it is, take it back!
Walking from the train to my office this morning I almost collided with the oncoming traffic of the morning commuters on the sidewalk.
(it's a very busy intersection...)
(even when it's not, I have to dodge pedestrians...)
It would have helped if I'd been paying attention. But I was distracted. By the woman with the hat. The stark white hat. The stark white hat that looked vaguely familiar?
Hair.
Maybe a certain kind of wool?
Hair.
Maybe an old sweater or hat of my own perhaps?
Hair.
Could it be possible it was.....nah.
Hair.
A stark white hat that I'm pretty positive was a bad dye job and a perm gone horribly wrong. I don't mean to bring more attention to what was probably a salon failure and resulted in tears and possible loss of employment, but it was awful. I have seen a bad color or two, a perm that was left on a little too long and bangs that looked like the stylist was "in the cups" if you get what I'm saying...so it's not just that. It was catastrophic because of the odd shape that it was. The shape that threw me at first glance to think it was a stark white fuzzy (shapeless) hat.
I apologized to the lady I had run into but who was equally apologetic for doing the same thing to me. As we situated our bags and coffee cups and newspapers we parted ways, eyebrows raised, sharing that brief non-verbal conversation.....was that a hat?!
(it's a very busy intersection...)
(even when it's not, I have to dodge pedestrians...)
It would have helped if I'd been paying attention. But I was distracted. By the woman with the hat. The stark white hat. The stark white hat that looked vaguely familiar?
Hair.
Maybe a certain kind of wool?
Hair.
Maybe an old sweater or hat of my own perhaps?
Hair.
Could it be possible it was.....nah.
Hair.
A stark white hat that I'm pretty positive was a bad dye job and a perm gone horribly wrong. I don't mean to bring more attention to what was probably a salon failure and resulted in tears and possible loss of employment, but it was awful. I have seen a bad color or two, a perm that was left on a little too long and bangs that looked like the stylist was "in the cups" if you get what I'm saying...so it's not just that. It was catastrophic because of the odd shape that it was. The shape that threw me at first glance to think it was a stark white fuzzy (shapeless) hat.
I apologized to the lady I had run into but who was equally apologetic for doing the same thing to me. As we situated our bags and coffee cups and newspapers we parted ways, eyebrows raised, sharing that brief non-verbal conversation.....was that a hat?!
February 17, 2009
A dedication of sorts: Calling all Courage. Come in Courage.
If courage is the car, than strength is the fuel.
Problems. Humungous, teeny, petty or possibly life-altering...they come in many different packages. They come at many different times. Sometimes one right after the other with no remorse.
It takes courage to pull the blinds up and peer into the hot mess that is your life and realize shit needs to change. Courage helps to admit that healing steps must be taken. If left alone, fear and denial can build up and make your stomach seize or your mouth go dry. Courage stops by, knocks on your door and offers you a breath mint and a chance to help you take the first step out the door.
But just because courage gets you to take the first step doesn't mean you won't turn and retreat at the first sign of difficulty. That's where strength enters in. It keeps you moving forward. Holding onto the banister and steadily taking one stair step after another.
You can't successfully have one without the other.
I applaud you. I raise my glass and toast in your honour. I know you wanted to find comfort and safety hiding out in your living room, secure behind a locked door and a loud television keeping you distracted, but yet you chose to get in the car (proverbial car) and hit the problem head-on.
Yeah, okay so it was a total collision...but hey, I say go big or go home! The result? A fiery mess of problem being dealt with.
Take that you dirty, pissy, no-good sissy-ass problem!
You are strong. And as I sat and listened to us volleying the "life can be sucky" ball back and forth I realized the depth of your strength. Your gas tank must be huge to hold all the strength it has taken over the past year. It's astounding.
Here's my way of telling you that you inspire me to be courageous. To have strength. And to remember that I must stop by the gas station and refuel every now and again.
(By "gas station" I mean conversations with good supportive friends, like you)
Thank you for this insight. Thank you for the fill-up.
Problems. Humungous, teeny, petty or possibly life-altering...they come in many different packages. They come at many different times. Sometimes one right after the other with no remorse.
It takes courage to pull the blinds up and peer into the hot mess that is your life and realize shit needs to change. Courage helps to admit that healing steps must be taken. If left alone, fear and denial can build up and make your stomach seize or your mouth go dry. Courage stops by, knocks on your door and offers you a breath mint and a chance to help you take the first step out the door.
But just because courage gets you to take the first step doesn't mean you won't turn and retreat at the first sign of difficulty. That's where strength enters in. It keeps you moving forward. Holding onto the banister and steadily taking one stair step after another.
You can't successfully have one without the other.
I applaud you. I raise my glass and toast in your honour. I know you wanted to find comfort and safety hiding out in your living room, secure behind a locked door and a loud television keeping you distracted, but yet you chose to get in the car (proverbial car) and hit the problem head-on.
Yeah, okay so it was a total collision...but hey, I say go big or go home! The result? A fiery mess of problem being dealt with.
Take that you dirty, pissy, no-good sissy-ass problem!
You are strong. And as I sat and listened to us volleying the "life can be sucky" ball back and forth I realized the depth of your strength. Your gas tank must be huge to hold all the strength it has taken over the past year. It's astounding.
Here's my way of telling you that you inspire me to be courageous. To have strength. And to remember that I must stop by the gas station and refuel every now and again.
(By "gas station" I mean conversations with good supportive friends, like you)
Thank you for this insight. Thank you for the fill-up.
January 20, 2009
The Panic Room
Jody Foster may have her fancy totally-titanium, fully-computerized secure panic room, but I have....my bathroom.
I should mention that I share a family phobia of mice. I know that there are very few people that actually enjoy finding a mouse in their house, but when I say my Dad and I have a phobia, I mean the break-out-in-hives-sweat-dripping-from-head-to-toe-pale-I-can't-breathe sort of F-O-B-I-A. You don’t believe it’s true? Ask Corri. She’s seen it happen, twice.
While I rationally know that this crisis has been taken care of, a large part of me still has the heebie-jeebies and I can’t bring myself to go into the kitchen for any long period of time unaccompanied. Tonight’s dinner was peanut butter and a spoon because it was the first thing I could grab. I just keep seeing this:
That’s why when Scott and Corri walked in the door tonight my hearbeat calmed and I knew I would have sleep. No panic tub for me tonight.
In years past I have had the unfortunate luck of a Winter Mouse. It's like the coming of Santa Claus, only smaller and more hideous (And I don't think children run screaming in the opposite direction from Santa).
Well, okay maybe a few of them do. Maybe I did.....but never you mind my old fat men in red velvet suits paranoia. We are talking about the nasty mice, people.
I should mention that I share a family phobia of mice. I know that there are very few people that actually enjoy finding a mouse in their house, but when I say my Dad and I have a phobia, I mean the break-out-in-hives-sweat-dripping-from-head-to-toe-pale-I-can't-breathe sort of F-O-B-I-A. You don’t believe it’s true? Ask Corri. She’s seen it happen, twice.
Last year I had a mou-----wait, did I mention there's a warrior cat? How fucking stupid of a mouse are you to hideout in a house with a feline warrior? I should really give him a little tuna cake for earning his Boy Scout Hunting badge two times over. It is true that for all the shit I give Owen, he deserves my love and admiration today.
So, last night I was making some dinner while my roommate was getting ready for her class. Quietly focused on reading the directions from the back of the box of noodles, I was totally caught off guard when the fucking mouse leapt from somewhere off to my left across the counter in front of me and scurried off in the direction of the coffee pot. I can only assume to hide behind the coffee pot at the other end of the counter. I’m assuming this last part because the second it jumped I started screaming and running.
Screaming. And running. In blind PANIC.
When Corri’s heart started beating again she lovingly tended to her whacked out roomie (THANK YOU AGAIN) and asked what happened. I tried to explain that the monster had shown itself and it looked like this: 
When we braved the kitchen we couldn’t find it and Corri was late for class. Bidding her a terrified and frightened "Goodbye, please come home soon" she was off. Not five minutes later I was looking for Owen "the Hunter" and couldn’t find him. As if he heard me mentally calling him he trotted out of Corri’s room with Winter Mouse dangling from his mouth. And even though it makes NO DIFFERENCE WHATSOEVER in my panic covered head, Winter Mouse looked like this: 
When we braved the kitchen we couldn’t find it and Corri was late for class. Bidding her a terrified and frightened "Goodbye, please come home soon" she was off. Not five minutes later I was looking for Owen "the Hunter" and couldn’t find him. As if he heard me mentally calling him he trotted out of Corri’s room with Winter Mouse dangling from his mouth. And even though it makes NO DIFFERENCE WHATSOEVER in my panic covered head, Winter Mouse looked like this: Being the phob-a-riffic chicken I am, I made a B-line directly into the bathroom (aka the Panic Room) and into the tub. I called Corri-- because she’s step two of my emergency plan after first securing myself in the tub – and she made a quick call to Scott -- her step two in an emergency plan -- and she assured me he was on his way. I kid you not Scott rectified the emergency Winter Mouse 09 crisis in a matter of minutes armed with only a pair of rubber gloves, a soothing voice and a blue plastic shopping bag. Scott deserves my love and admiration today as well.
While I rationally know that this crisis has been taken care of, a large part of me still has the heebie-jeebies and I can’t bring myself to go into the kitchen for any long period of time unaccompanied. Tonight’s dinner was peanut butter and a spoon because it was the first thing I could grab. I just keep seeing this:
That’s why when Scott and Corri walked in the door tonight my hearbeat calmed and I knew I would have sleep. No panic tub for me tonight.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)