How Could An Angel Break My Heart?

There are no words in my head eloquent enough to do justice to this. Today I lost my best friend. For almost 15 years I cared for her and loved her, from our early days when it wasn't certain either of us would survive her puppyhood and my inexperienced single motherhood, to the last 9 months since she was diagnosed with a multitude of health problems. Considering the severity of all that was wrong with her, her tenacity and spunk were nothing short of miraculous. Even today, the worst day of our lives together, she didn't know she was sick. After a terrible week and a harrowing morning of what can minimalistically be described as digestive problems, her expression and disposition never faltered. In fact, when the time had come to go to the vet, she first enjoyed an outing at the park complete with the hunting of pinecones she had been unable to do in the limited walking we had done since her mobility became an issue. We played tug with a stick and walked round and round an area she used to love when she could walk for hours. I brushed her one last time. She was anxious to get into the car however- she smelled a road trip from a mile away. She panted in the front seat and stuck her wet nose out the window, catching the breeze that is doggie-psychedelic.

Even on the table at the vet, she was alert and while somewhat confused, certainly not in pain. I said my goodbyes as quickly as I could, so as not to allow her to become stressed. When the time came, I held her and breathed in the sweet doggie smell of her soft ruff. I told her I loved her, would love and miss her my whole life, and would keep her with me always. As terrible as this was, I was comforted that I had found the strength not to wait until she was in agony or delirious or panicked. Of course, the dichotomy of having to let go of a compromised pet who still wanted to eat and bark and romp and play is wrenching. But there was nothing more to be done, and within days it would have caught up with her.

Right now and forevermore, I am the only one of us who is suffering. I imagine I'll get through the next days and weeks the same way I've gotten through the last 6 hours. I can still feel her silky fur and the shape of her as she fit next to me when I held her.

Safe passage and until we meet again, my sweet angel. Mommy loves you more than you'll ever know.

Waiting Game

So, about the real estate.. So far, I've seen about 25 places and been outbid twice. The first time was a 2bd/2ba condo listed at 545k. I bid 30k over and didn't even come in 3rd. The second time was a 2bd/1ba 65year old house- I overbid by 70k and didn't get that one either. As I type this, I'm waiting to hear if my offer for a 3rd place is accepted, rejected, or countered.

Update: as I typed THAT, my realtor called and said the seller is interested in my offer but is 'looking for a little more' money. This, however, is more promising than anything else that has happened in the last two months. Especially since the open house on the property is in progress right now. Not willing to continue playing the game of Frenzy that is the real estate market here, I offered only 16k more than asking. I do have some wiggle room, so we now wait to see just how much more the seller is looking for. Odd that the seller's realtor didn't have the answer to that question when she called my realtor.

More work email hilarity

Today an email was received by the every single person working at the courthouse, from a fellow worker. It said, to wit, with no revisions from me: "Dear friends, May I have your empty tuna cans please. Wash first; then deliver to (my room number). I'm trapping earwigs."

This is the kind of absurd shit I find very funny. That someone working in the Superior Court would think to write, much less send, an email of such epic inappropriate, nay, white trash proportion to all judges, clerks, staff attorneys, supervisors and managers... well, it just cracks me up.

Then I started wondering if her desk area was infested with earwigs, or WTF? Because, we do work in the same marble and cherry wood building... I hate earwigs. And then it occurred to me, WTF is she TRAPPING THEM FOR?

I work with some really odd ducks.

Naming the Baby

When I go to work tomorrow, I get to do research on the juvenile history of one Almond Jamoky ******* (last name withheld for confidentiality). I bet Pops called him Fudge for short.

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here

So, I've been thinking about moving for about a year. First though, I needed to wait until I'd had my refinanced loan for a full year, to avoid pre-payment penalty. I still perused the multiple listing service, and often felt kicked in the gut at my inability to consider what appeared to be the perfect new home for me. Finally, the end of October came and I was free to divest myself of my condo and loan. But then it was almost winter, and the always-steaming housing market here in the Bay Area slowed a bit. I knew my dog was terminally ill, and thought it better to wait until spring, to allow her to pass away without the turmoil of moving and to better my chances with more inventory to pick from.

Well, spring is here, Easter is finally over, my dog is still kickin' it wit me, and inventory has swelled- right along with interest rates and housing prices. What it would have sold for in December or January means NOTHING now. Add about 50k. Had I bought last spring, I would have spent roughly 100k less than today. Surreal estate, they call it. If you don't live here, you just have no idea what it does to one's psyche to make more money than many large families in other parts of the country live on (and live WELL) in a year, and not be able to afford a 2bdrm dump in a bad neighborhood. (Ok, DivineMissK, I know you know!) I'm talking a condo, too, not a house.

A really fun part of Bay Area real estate is that the list price has nothing to do with reality. The list price is high, but you never offer that. Even with no contingencies (woe unto you if you have contingencies- just fuggetaboutit!), you offer at least 20k over list, and you'll probably get outbid anyway. I offered 30k over list last week on a 2bdrm condo and got outbid by at least 5k.

If I could afford a 700k mortgage, I could buy something small (say, 3bdrm/2ba house), habitable, in a good neighborhood. Not the Ritz, mind you.. but totally doable. It makes me heartsick to realize that will never happen for me here. I guess I'll stay where I am and keep hoping for something simply affordable to appear on the market...

SourdoughDay, not Saturday!

Befitting a resident of the SF Bay Area, I found a loaf of sourdough left at my door just now. Even though my door was open and I heard the rustling coming and going of someone, I assumed it was my next door neighbor and didn't get up to look. That would have solved the mystery of WHO IS LEAVING BREAD AT MY DOORSTEP EVERY FEW WEEKS!!!???!!!

So True...

"Failure's hard, but success is far more dangerous. If you're successful at the wrong thing, the mix of praise and money and opportunity can lock you in forever." -- Po Bronson, What Should I Do With My Life

Today's Pondering

Is it possible that there REALLY ARE so many stupid people in the world, or is it just that I've been singled out as She Who Shall Bear Witness to them all?

Just wondering.

London Waits for Me

This is really only part of the story, a few pieces of the stained glass that make up the mosaic. I find it on my mind and pushing to spill out onto the page. When I kept a diary, years ago, I'm sure I wrote about it- but without the clarity that hindsight has given me.

When I was 17, I left home in Seattle to move to Los Angeles to attend the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. I had been accepted to UCLA after graduation the year before- things were so different then, I'd applied on a whim and gotten in- but late in the game they discovered that having graduated as a junior meant I didn't have enough English or Foreign Language credits for their requirements. Long story short, I decided to attend AADA instead. I spent a fabulous year there, and then came home for the summer. Or so I thought. I didn't get invited back for the 2nd year of the acting program. I was heartbroken and shocked. I should have returned to LA anyway, as planned- working, taking classes, and most importantly, being where it all happens. But the summer break had been kind to me: I'd been working non-stop in theatre, and other theatres were beginning to take notice. I stayed in Seattle, then quite the theatre town, and worked at a young software company called Microsoft at its world headquarters (and therein lies another bittersweet hindsight story). I planned a trip to Europe with a girl I'd met at a Europe Through The Back Door seminar. We would fly to London and spend two months travelling the entire continent- Spain, Germany, France, Italy, Greece. I laugh to myself now, because it was such an ignorantly ambitious plan for two small town girls who had never been outside of the US. The night before we were due to leave, with all of our tickets and Eurail passes and even some currency exchanged, my companion's family scared her into not going. There had been a bombing in a German disco and some other incidents. While at 19 I had been through a devastating romantic breakup and the school rejection, nothing prepared me for how disappointed I was in her cancellation of our plans. I could have gone alone, but knew my social ineptitude would keep me isolated for the entire time I was there and it just wouldn't be as much fun for me. So I stayed home. The day we were to have landed in London was the day the US bombed Libya and killed Quaddafi's daughter. My companion felt justified in not going, since we had planned on spending so much time in Greece, so close to Africa.

We planned a road trip instead, to San Francisco and LA. That decision was the catalyst for why I am still in SF, and I see it now as my divergent path in a snowy wood. Life had other plans. I never made it to London.

Years later, another trip was planned, this time with my jazz pianist as a reconnaissance mission for our combo. We were going to London because he had supper-club contacts there, and a major travel bug. He was also a travel agent, and we had first class non-stop tickets on Virgin for $699 round trip. We had comped rooms at an elegant boutique hotel, and meetings set up with hotel entertainment directors. We may not have been able to book many jobs in SF, but by God we were going to take Europe by storm. I remember reminding my mother that I wouldn't talk to her for several days hence because I would be in London. She caught her breath and said "Oh." and then, "I just got a shiver like someone was walking over my grave." I said, "Thanks a LOT, Mom! Like I'm not already anxious about flying so far for so long!" She apologized and said she shouldn't have said anything. She wished me a wonderful trip. I guess I should have trusted her foreshadowing: our departure date was September 12, 2001.

I've stopped making plans for Europe; they seem to guarantee international incidents. Me and London, we're just not meant to be.

Bread and No Roses

Someone keeps leaving a loaf of bread at my front door.

The first time it happened, a couple years ago, I thought for sure my marginally retarded next-door-neighbor dropped it. I put it in front of her door. But like all the pretty little flowers she allows to die and dry out, it sat there for a few days before I exasperatedly shit-canned it. (The pretty little flowers, and once a tomato plant, sit there for weeks and then months before I make them disappear. Oh, we share a landing; otherwise I would not care what dead thing she was not tending on her doorstep.)

So 3 months ago, someone did it again. I had all but forgotten the first incident. More puzzling was the fact that it appeared in the 10 minutes I was out with the dog. Then a few weeks later, again with the bread! And today, sometime between my lunch home visit and after work, another loaf. My neighbor never gets any; only me, and the two condos under me. There is no common denominator between us. None of us appear to be underfed. The bread is never the same- sometimes white (bleh), sometimes wheat, sometimes sourdough, always cheap and near last-sale-date. I always throw it away and so do my neighbors.

No one seems to know what it means. I figured it for some kind of ethnic blessing... or curse. But I can't find the answer. I like to think it means that someone sees me living my life, caring for my sick dog, minding my own business, and lays the bread at my doorstep as some sort of respectful symbolic offering. But if it really means that someone is cursing me with the fleas of a thousand camels, I'm gonna be really pissed.

What's in a name?

TRASHELLA.

Nope, not kidding. As a variation on Michelle, Rachelle, or Nichelle, one might have thought that Mom could have figured out that Trishella would be, oh, maybe a better spelling with the same pronunciation. Or maybe Treshella/Tryshella. But instead, in an attempt to be unique and different, she gives her daughter the gift that never ends: a name that starts with garbage.

This odd phenomenon of handing out crappy names and otherwise bad parenting has another name. I call it Job Security.

Lionheart

All her life I have watched over her, cared for her, worried about her, ensured her needs were met, fed her, bathed her, medicated her when necessary, walked her, played with her, hugged her, kissed her. I have loved her with all my heart. I have not been a perfect guardian. I have left her alone too long, pursuing my dreams or my obligations. I have let time slip away all too quickly. I have been late to the table of gratitude in all things concerning her. I have long known these days would come, indeed worried about them far too prematurely. Yet in my precise and detailed payment of attention, I have let the obvious get past me. I have regrets. In the wee small hours, I wish I could go back and relive every single day with her. So many things I would do differently. The moon is a harsh mistress.

Now, when she needs me the most, I am hapless and helpless. Almost seven months ago, I learned the sun was going down on our horizon and nightfall was fast approaching. No miracle of science would have been as kind to her as my decision to refuse to traumatize her further, to take her home with me and keep her safe and happy for as long as I could. This I know. The universe has been very kind to me- while my heart breaks into tinier pieces every day, it has prolonged her time with me and kept her from suffering. She does not know she is ill. It is her amazing spirit in the face of what must be a confusing adversity that keeps me putting one foot in front of the other. For her. As we walk together, slower now, with me coaxing her instead of her dislocating my arm from my shoulder, I see the shadow of her lionheart enveloping us both. More protective of me now than ever before, she straightens into her full height when she senses danger approach us. She pulls every ounce of her strength into her posture and steady gaze directed at any stranger passing by me. I know that if called upon, even in her present weakness and vulnerable physical state, she would fight to the death for me. The best I could ever give her is as small as the least she gives me every day.

Holiday-ayy! Celebray-ayyt!

I love holidays. This is my second 3-day weekend in a row, thanks to Feb 11th's Lincoln's Birthday festivities (I still have confetti in my underwear from that one) and today's President's Day. When you work for a municipality, you get lotsa holidays. The next one is not until the end of March, when we take the day off to revere and remember Cesar Chavez. I'm pouting. We're headed toward the slim holiday time of the year- after CC Day, we plod through April and May until Memorial Day. Then nothing in June! Then 4th of July. Nothing in August! Then Labor Day. After Labor Day, we get back to our one or two holidays a month bonanza until March again. I really do think a 4-day work week (some people off on Mondays, some on Fridays) would improve everything about this crazy nation.

As a consolation for the lack of city holidays, we're also heading into the time of the year when there is less traffic during commute hours. It's sort of inexplicable, but during the spring and summer, I guess more people are taking vacations or changing their traffic routes because they're not dropping kids off at school first. After a summer of breezing to work, the first day of school (especially college) is a shocking wakeup call on our freeways. Did everyone forget how to exit and enter over the summer?

I've spent the week and weekend working on my application to become a Court Supervisor. They want the city application, a resume, a Statement of Qualifications, and a quasi-essay on each of six different aspects of the job, where you experienced each, and how much of a percentage your involvement in said aspect affected the outcome. Since I haven't been taking copious notes on my daily activities for the last 20 years of work history, I'm pretty much reaching into the recesses of my mind and peppering my memories with college-words to describe them. This is all just to APPLY for the job. If the reviewers deem you unqualified based on your application, you will not proceed in the interview process. Bear in mind, my friends, that I actually WORK WITH AND KNOW people who are supervisors and managers, and I can't believe some of them got promoted when they can't even spell. Frankly, I like my current assignment and large-ability-to-goof-off factor; so while my heart takes this process lightly, my competitive nature is kicking in- if I'm going to apply at all, it has to be the BEST application their pea-brains have ever seen!

I also finally got off my ass and prepared a picture and resume to send to ABC Television's Pilots and Casting Project- a rare opportunity to do so, through my membership in the Screen Actors Guild. I really need new headshots, but if they call me in to read for a 20-something part, maybe I can wow them into casting me as her older sister anyway! :-D

Really truly a fresh clean scent

This stuff freakin' rocks, ok? People will wander toward your home/office to ask you what that fabulous fresh scent is.. Even if you don't have a pet, trust me and try it!

Morning Glory

I have been an early riser for many years- chalk that up to being the sole caretaker of a sweet, goofy dog. During the work week, I take her out by 7am, so it stands to reason that Saturday and Sunday are no different for her. I have her to thank for my adoration of early mornings. Oh, she usually has to prod and whine and poke and woof me from my warm bed, but once I'm up and outside (brrr!), I'm awake. My love for early morning is conditional- I only love it if I don't have to go to work. And this is one of those mornings.

Yesterday was gorgeous- 70 degrees! Today holds the same bright promise, and that's what I love about mornings. Getting up early means I get to watch the sky go from pink to blue, watch the sun come up, putter around, make coffee, play online, breathe in the sweet moments of a brand new day before it is filled with hustle and bustle. In my mind, a day turns ordinary around 11:30am- everyone's up, it's almost afternoon, and by then I feel behind in whatever it is I need to do. But from about 7am to 10am, to me that's the time when anything is possible and what I might accomplish this day seems limitless. My beloved dog is curled up at my feet, having gone back to sleep without a care in the world, while I sit in my easy chair and drink my coffee and write to my heart's content. All is right in my world, right now.

New Words to Enjoy and USE!

The Washington Post's Style Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this year's winners.
1 - Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
2 - Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
3 - Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
4 - Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
5 - Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
6 - Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
7 - Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.
8 - Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
9 - Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
10- Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
11- Glibido: All talk and no action.
12- Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
13- Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
14- Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
15- Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in the fruit you're eating.
16- And the pick of the literature: Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

Won't You Not Be My Neighbor?

I am, admittedly, a neat freak. While I wouldn't recommend you eat off my floors, they look like you could. Mostly. I am a clutterphobe. Maybe it's my theatre background, but I must see tidy stage pictures in every room. I hate imbalance. There is no way I could live amidst piles of papers, anything on the floor that doesn't belong there, unstraightened beds and pillows and throws. I even turn the "3" elevator button upside right when it has fallen over on its side, and a million germazoids touch that button every day. So I am not as much of an asshat about CLEAN, but order is important to me. (Ironically, I was so messy as a kid my mom hung a sign on my bedroom door that said "Welcome To The City Dump" and required that I keep my door shut at all times.)

So imagine my horror when walking by, oh, many MANY of the condos in my complex, when the front doors are open for all the world to see inside. Oh, the humanity! For one thing, prices here are outrageous, so we often have 4-6 people living in the same amount of space that I have blessedly always had to myself alone. From the outside, because of the home owners association, all looks uniform, tidy and neat. But peek inside these multi-occupant dwellings and it's enough to send me screaming. I cannot believe how people live. "Bears With Furniture" comes to mind (thanks Rita Rudner!). I've seen stuff that would make me call the Health Department and hire a conservator if anyone I personally knew lived there. But the worst of all, the one that has to be seen to be believed, is the old man who lives with his ANCIENT mother in a one-bedroom, and every CENTIMETER of counter, cupboard, wall, doorway, door, and CEILING is covered with beanie babies. Beanie. Babies. Little beanie shoulder to beanie shoulder. Everywhere the eye can see. ATTACHED to everything. And they leave their front door open all the time- perhaps to feel less suffocated? If I get up the nerve, I'll take a picture and post it here sometime.

Don't even get me started on my neighbor who barbeques every single night of the year... I'll talk about Barbeque Guy With the Kid Who Only Says 'Eeep!' some other time.... his place is a disaster. I wouldn't eat anything he fixed if he were Wolfgang Puck.

Not Quite Ready for the Work Week

I called in sick today. I woke up late, and it was raining. Rushing around and dealing with a compromised dog in the morning causes me a lot of stress, and consequently makes my shoulder/arm injury flare up. There was nothing on calendar today at work. So I said screw it. I didn't go back to bed, but I took my time and relaxed and made coffee. Then I took a shower and went out to run a few errands. Then I came back home and relaxed some more, spent some time with CS. I'm about to work on the Adoptions files I brought home over the weekend- I have to do final paperwork to close the files and make sure the families get their child's new birth certificate. I will take the dog out again and go get the mail, and then pick up a little bit around the house. And I have had my first pain-free day in months. I had forgotten what that feels like. The rain washed all the yellow acacia tree dust off my clean but unfortunately black car, that makes me happy too. Oh, and Friday is a court holiday. It's the little things that make all the difference.

Super Sunday

When the NFL Championship is on the line, the tough go shopping.

As someone who is trying to pay off debt and considering buying a bigger condo, I almost talked myself out of going. I didn't feel great, what with my work-related injury and the side effects of the pain meds I'm taking (hello Vicodin, goodbye regularity). But I was at the Rack a month ago and wished I had more time, so the possibility of cute clothes at 40% off lowest marked price was just too tempting on a day when I most assuredly would not be distracted by a CffS (certain football freak someone). Little did I know that the same cute summer tube-top dresses I saw a month ago would now be 75% off lowest marked price. I bought one in brown, pink, and black, and paid a little more for the same dress a month ago in a shimmery teal. Girls, my entire summer casual wardrobe is taken care of, courtesy of Nordstrom Rack, to the tune of FOUR DOLLARS AND 25 CENTS PER DRESS. I am one happy camper.

And the coolest part is that I could wear them outside now, in February. Can't do that in New England!

More heartwarming stories from the trenches

Earlier I posted about a juvenile delinquent we had in court named 'Ashtray'. As his given, legal name. Not a street name.

Today I heard about another juvenile, a girl... again, for real: her name was Latrine.
What the hell is wrong with people???

Meanwhile, over in the Foster Care part of my work world, I heard about a mom whose kid was taken away from her, so she filed in Small Claims court to get him back. Because "he's small." I really wish I was kidding.

Every day, work reminds me how lucky I am to be me.

Oh, the dangers of "Reply to All"

The Superior Court Presiding Judge's secretary sent out her monthly email link to a Supreme Court news release today. Someone in the building (Julie), a girl I don't know (otherwise I would tease her about this incident until the day she died), was obviously talking online or via email with someone else about WHAT I CAN'T IMAGINE when she made a terrible faux pas. She hit "Reply to All" in response to the Supreme Court news email after typing this tidbit of information: you're right on that I think I would try anything.To date I've tried pigs blood, cow testicles, alligator, snake gizzards, hearts, liver,any kind of fish....seafood & organs, any vegtable (sic), I've yet to try frog semen..but my girlfriend says its good..I'll let you guys know...

I swear I heard a moment of silence throughout the entire courthouse when we all received this little peek into her life. When I say all, I mean all judges, commissioners, staff, and I think the Administrative Office of the Courts and/or Judicial Council. I bet that was quite an 'ohnosecond' to behold, right after she hit Send.

It was everything I could do not to Reply to All "Hey everybody! Dinner at Julie's!"

Please send help! Can't find remote!

I'm stuck watching one of those CRAPTASTIC local evening 'magazine' shows. You know, they're always about things and places locally you'll never do or see. Borrrring, usually. This one, oddly enough, is about the Wine Country. Everyone here has already done the wine country! Oh wait, it's called "Wine Country". Please God, someone find the remote!

And as a completely unrelated aside, what the hell is a 'ringtoe'? Toe ring, I have that figured out. But ringtoe? Huh?

60-something Saturday

Yes, it was in the 60's today- sorry Nanooks! Nary a cloud in the sky, dawning bright and clear, it was a wonderful day. My best friend Lisa and I celebrated my birthday by meeting in San Mateo's downtown area for lunch, movie, shopping. Parking was a breeze (such a rarity in the Bay Area) even though we did almost have a punch-fest with the stupid parking box thing that stole my money and seemed pointless since there was no one attending the garage anyway. The theatre was next door. We found a hamburger joint, I opened my presents, we went to see Sideways (not exactly the MOVIE OF THE YEAR!!! as everyone proclaims, but interesting enough to us non-wine-snobs), and then we walked around some more and got some coffee. I met a Corgi puppy, Lisa and I shared a delicious dessert called Blackout Cake, and I bought a few things at Hallmark. We discussed getting out of the rat race and working as waitresses in a small town in the Santa Barbara wine valley area, in our alternate lives. Simpler people, simpler lives, it does look appealing sometimes. I decided this evening that based on a touching scene in the movie, Lisa is definitely the cabernet... I am the pinot. And on a shallower note: our hair color matches our grape personas!

Delusions of Gravity Defiance

Today is my birthday. Since I am stealthily creeping up on the underbelly of THE BIG birthday, I found it humourous that an ad for making one's 'final arrangements' at Skylawn Memorial Park fell out of my morning paper. Later, after having been reminded by a certain someone (CS) that I am closer to "kicking 40 in the ass" now, constant daytime television ads for funeral insurance and burial expense plans weren't really so tee-hee. A scathing evaluation in a full-length mirror later, I have decided that what I REALLY need to do is start getting up at 4:30am to potty the dog, hit the gym by 5:15am, be back at home by 6:15 to prepare myself for work. I haven't gained any weight recently, but boy it sure seems my skin is no longer scofflaw-ing gravity! Doubting that this only seems so due to the wintry fading of my almost-perpetual tan, I resolve to do something about it! I'll try it for a week. I can do anything for a week, right? And by the end of that week, I bet it won't seem so bad. It's not that cold here- I can get out of bed at 4:30am if I resolve to do so. Lady will wonder what the hell is going on, but she's usually up for an outside trip no matter what time it is. In fact, she'll get TWO, because I'll take her out again before I leave for work. After a week of THAT, she'll probably wake me at 4:30am whether I'm hitting the gym or not. Damn her naturally thin frame!

Nerd-free Zone

This quiz made me realize I really should have gone to Science class more often...

My Manchurian Codephrase

There's a phrase that Lisa and I utter to each other, five syllables that spring us both to life on the rare holiday we both have off: "I'm totally broke."

And with that, a bright light appears, our eyes glaze over, and we turn into catatonic robots and are forced to go shopping.

(Actually, it works on non-holidays too, as we have found from past experience.)

So shopping we went, she for a job-interview outfit and a birthday gift for her mother-in-law, me for myself as usual. I bought a new cordless phone to replace the one I bought maybe a year ago for almost a hundred dollars. Said old phone displays the term "Out of Range" when it's sitting IN ITS CHARGER. And runs out of NEW battery life within 20 minutes of talk. (Am I a professional justification technician or what?) Then we bought girlie primping items at Walgreen's. Lisa's spell was broken for a moment, when she stopped me from buying a $6.99 lipgloss at 2 for 1. "It will still be on sale next week, o broke one." *Note to self: Must have Lisa re-programmed because something is obviously leaking.* Then we had yummy Mexican food at a hole in the wall with a line out the door.

When I got home, I had a message from a man interested in buying my treadmill- I put signs up in all the laundry rooms at my condo complex a month ago with ZERO response. Turns out, my sole caller was the security supervisor on the premises! He came over, I showed him the treadmill and how multifaceted it is, and we agreed on a price. I think I clinched the sale when I explained how the steep incline will tone his butt. He will pick it up tomorrow and I will be NOT SO BROKE til payday after all! :) Buh-bye, big behemoth living room hog!

See!! Shopping motivates the God of Windfalls in my money house. It does so!!! (See previous comment re: prof'l justification tech).

Today Part II

I work in Family Court, which includes Juvenile Delinquency and Dependency. It didn't take me long in this part of my varied work history to realize that society should simply ban MARRIAGE- why stop at gay marriage? And also, one of my personal mantras now is "Be careful who you have kids with" after what I've seen and heard in court. Actually, I'd be a proponent of sterilzation at birth, with a reverse of the procedure when you could prove you were emotionally and financially ready to have a child, if it would ever realistically work or pass into law. Some of the saddest stories you'd never want to hear are in juvenile. But I digress... the reason for this post is to share the WORST name I've yet to hear being bestowed upon a child who wound up in juvie jail. Now, we see lots of crazy juvenile names- all trying so hard to be unique, they wind up ridiculous. Names with crazy spellings. Names with more apostrophes than letters (example? Tr'a'n tae', stuff like that). Names that are a combination of mom and dad's names (example? Roberivia). Names that are dad's name spelled backwards (example? Dranoel. Not kidding). Names with extra letters and syllables that the parents and kids insist are SILENT! (example? Ronalie pronounced Ronel). Names that are an abridged version of a grocery store product (example? Lemongello and Orangello. Again, not kidding). But this was the worst name I'd ever seen on a kid, and no wonder he's in trouble: his name was Ashtray. I bet Ashley and Trayvon were so intent on giving their newborn a moniker that reflected the deep love and committment they had for each other (ahem) that they didn't even see what they were doing to him.

Today's Thoughts

1. Good thing I didn't slip and fall on the patch of ice (it was that cold last night!) I slid through this morning while pottying the dog. I would have landed on the hand holding the plastic bag of poo. Stuff like this only happens to me when I decide I'm sick of pants and put on a skirt and pantyhose. And am already late to work.

2. Some terms for the legions of bad drivers we have here.
"Meanderthals" (my mom thinks she created this one, but I think I've heard it elsewhere): People who just wander down the road, with no particular intent or destination, apparently no coherent thought, and no consideration for anyone else on the road. Why they're up at 7:30AM competing for road space with those of us who WORK FOR A LIVING is beyond me.
"#2 Squatters": People who squat in the number 2 lane on the freeway, doing about 60mph. Folks, the number 1 lane is for passing and those of you imbeciles driving what you think of as a fighter jet. The number 2 lane is not for taking a leisurely dump on the rest of us, despite its misleading designation; it's for driving FAST and yet being out of the way for said fighter jet imbeciles. The number 3 lane is for reasonable, Type B people, and the number 4 lane is for people who are exiting within one mile.
"Ears on the Road": People who drive with their ears watching the road, because their eyes are busy facing the person in the passenger seat and talking. Or swivelling around and around looking for something, at a good clip in heavy traffic, instead of pulling over and figuring out what the hell the plan is.
"Bedheads": People who drive as though they suddenly woke up and found themselves behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. "What the..? Am I DRIVING?? How did this happ..".
"Blinkization Point": The moment the guy in front of you realizes he's had his blinker on for 5 miles. Usually occurs when he decides to signal toward the OTHER direction. If you're so unconscious you don't hear your blinker for 20 minutes, you probably shouldn't be driving.

C'mon, the first one's free!

This blogging thing is inexplicably addictive. I'm not saying anything that a fellow blogger reading this doesn't already know, but I feel like I'm making NEW FRIENDS with people who don't even know I exist. Which sort of sounds like I need a conservator and a psych evaluation, but I have several blogs I visit daily to see what new thing each exceptionally witty and entertaining girl has written about the minutae of her life. I'm a verbal and literate person, but BOY.. some people can really WRITE! It all started with Jennsylvania, and I don't even remember how I happened onto her blog (when it was allaboutjen.com), and from there I have found new sites from her links and their links and so on, and so on... Wish I had time to post whenever a thought worth sharing occurs to me. I had some good blog thoughts earlier this week but they've escaped me now! Grrr.

Duly Warned

So a few months back I hurt myself at work- sort of a cumulative strain thing going on in my neck, shoulder, arm. I thought it would go away, but lately it has gotten much worse. Finally yesterday I went to the worker's comp doctor to start the process of getting treatment. One of the two medications he gave me has this to say in the warnings section of the pharmacy literature: "Stop taking this medication and notify your doctor immediately if you vomit anything that looks like coffee grounds." Coffee Grounds? Yes, even though I'm sure I do need to be warned not to use my hairdryer in the bathtub or while sleeping (thanks big unremovable sticker on the cord!), I like to think that I wouldn't need to be told to seek medical attention if I vomited anything that looked like coffee grounds. I'm on it!