I’m sorry for not communicating, but sometimes it’s very hard to write on a moving planet September 25, 2008
I get by with a little help from my friends August 27, 2008
Yesterday, ‘job-with-added-responsibilities’ turned into job wherein I was told that I now have 17 direct reports [That’s 17 people that REPORT. DIRECTLY. TO ME.] So, heading home last night armed with that knowledge, coupled with various action items I was given to do but didn’t exactly know how to & wrapped in a sensation of being swept downstream in a swift moving current – also while wearing lead undies – I am not ashamed to tell y’all that I went home & my shit fell apart. And by fell apart I mean that I ate a bowl of cereal for dinner & instructed my family that if they wanted sustenance & nourishment that they should do the same. If they wanted to. It was ultimately their decision. Then I flopped down on the couch & proceeded to fall directly asleep. I’m talking the kind of sleep wherein you answer questions like a crazy person straight out of your everloving head. And you frighten the children.
H: “Honey, have you fed the dogs yet?”
L: “Clogs been shed yet?”
H: “Dogs been fed yet?”
L: “I want you to go to bed now.”
H: “I’ll take that as a NO.”
So, I was completely incoherent on the couch until 1:20 a.m. before finally dragging off to bed. And once there, I started thinking. About work. And ‘job-with-added-responsibilities’. And 17 direct reports. And I couldn’t fall back to sleep for what seemed like all the minutes that ever were. But then I did. And for another 4 hours I enjoyed sweet slumber. With no thoughts of work. Zzzzzzzz. Yeah, but then I woke up.
[Cut to ‘job-with-added-responsibilities’]
I had just gotten in & was sitting in my office dreading all that lay before me when my lovely friend Holly came in all, “You look very pretty today.” [Just … awwwwww!] And proceeded to toss a purple envelope at me. “What’s thi…?” “Hey, where are you goi… ?” “Um, ok.” And with that she was gone.
I opened the purple envelope. It was a card. JUST FOR ME! And it said,
“My Guide to a Happy Life
Pursue a passion.
Enjoy the simple things.
Have a wonderful friend like you.”
With a warm, personal sentiment about how glad she is that we’re friends!
Aw, you guys! Just … honestly. Wasn’t that so nice. Seriously?! WASN’T THAT NICE? I don’t deserve her! She is all rocking and kick ass and good looking and wise. And also TIMELY. It was just what I needed & I appreciated it so much.
So in conclusion, a little bit of friendship goes a long way. Go show some friend love today. To me if you want! And thanks, H for making my day.
Busy, busy, dreadfully busy August 6, 2008
Here’s the scoop:
1. I am alive.
2. Thank you for asking.
3. Things were very busy.
4. Oh, wait. They still are.
That’s … pretty much it. Hello.
Me = Being consumed whole by new job and lots of other activities, but
Me = Still loves you. Really.
You = Patient. And also,
You = Good looking. Did you get a haircut? Is that a new shirt? Because
You = One sexy beast. I’m just saying.
Anyway. Y’ALL. This new job? The one I haven’t told you about yet. The one where I am when I go to work in the morning? It is really BUSY. They want a lot of this “work” business, and apparently it will calm down soon, once I learn what the heck I am doing, but right now I am hoping someone will just show up and KILL ME ALREADY because Hoo Boy. Ow, with all the work and learning. It hurts my head.
I’m only human, Boss People. I know I look capable; that is an illusion! In reality, I don’t have the faintest idea of what I am doing! Shh!
But … uh. I couldn’t allow that last post to remain for one minute more, so here I am [Hi!] typing drivel.
Because I love you. So it’s loving drivel. Don’t hate me today. I JUST CAN’T HANDLE IT.
Okay, see, there was this thing? And then there was this other thing, and the net result of all of these things, and all of the SHEER PANIC and TERROR inspired by these things, and then, there was this:
I’m taking on a new role at work.
See how I said that? Taking on a new role? I’m wondering if that accurately conveys how I’m not just changing roles, but in ADDITION to the role I already have, I am “absorbing” a whole NEW role? One that another human being used to do. As their job. Like, as their ONLY job. But now I’ll be doing it, on top of the one I already have. See that? Two jobs at once. And contrary to how I seem to be freaking-the-heck out about it. I AM happy about this! Wheeeeee! [See? Happy.] I had even verbalized before how if I had to have another job, this would be the one I’d want to have. But I will admit that I am suffering from a harsh case of lack of confidence in my own abilities, I have concerns people. Everyone else is completely confident in me. Thanks. You’re sweet.
I’ll let you know how that’s going.
And also, there has been the perpetual stream of evenings [occasionally even followed by some early mornings] parking cars at the ATP Tennis Tournament. This is a requirement of the Mish kids & their parents [the acting group Ashton is in]. They make a lot of money from it. It’s a good cause. I keep telling myself that. Anyway, the ATP tennis tournaments, wherein I have been berated, yelled at, shot the stink-eye, and I’m also pretty sure one lady told me to blow something out of somewhere. Because she wasn’t handicapped and I was working the handicap lot and apparently I take my job very seriously.
On another occasion I was working the golf lot [which means making sure that if someone pulls in there that they are, in fact, golfing & not walking over to the tennis tournament. It’s the principle, people.] So a man pulled in and I’m all, “Good morning sir, what are you here for?” [NOTE: Do NOT ask them if they’re golfing, because, y’all, PEOPLE LIE!] So he’s all, “YES, is that ok with yooooooou?” “Um, yes. [jerk] But, if you’re golfing, how come you don’t have on a collared shirt?” A-HA! SUCK IT! I’M A GOLF LOT GENIUS! “I’m going to put it on after I shower. Ohhhhhh,kkkkkkkkk?” <blink> “Ohhhhhh,kkkkkkkkk”, I responded. And then, cinching up his face as if he’d just got a whiff of a dirty diaper filled with Indian food he went, “Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!” <blink blink> “Well, you have a good day sir. And also, I hope for your sake that you walk in with clubs or you’re getting towed. Have a nice day.” <smile>
Did I mention that we’re leaving on Sunday for vacation? Are. Which will also entail getting our very bad dogs to the vet to be kenneled, except for Buster Brown, who is fortunate enough to be spending the week with my dear friend Holly & her girls. He’s being evaluated for adoptability so he’s been given instructions to “turn on the charm”. There will be a hefty price to pay for bad behavior. He’s been warned [wink].
Working, learning, parking, shopping, delivering, planning and packing. What in the heck am I doing on the computer!?
Once I have mastered ADDITIONAL ROLE ABSORBTION, completed infinity hours of parking cars & survive family travel, they should probably name a holiday after me, and I think we should all take it right now, no matter where we live and whether or not we like Andy Griffith, I think we should look past our little differences and just take a nap.
Anyway. I love you. And I will be back in a few days, with something interestinger. Hugs!
Working on my fitness. You’re my witness. June 20, 2008
Apparently, as human people, we are supposed to want to eat right and get in shape and lose weight and look fabulous. Apparently, these things are very desirable. But apparently, I am missing this gene. Because I’ll be honest. I don’t particularly WANT to eat healthy, or get in shape. I mean I want to be in shape. It’s the getting there part I’m not so keen on. I want to eat crap, and I consider “working out” to be the sort of thing that responsible people do. You know those people who have magazine sorters and slot things for their bills and who keep all of their documents organized in a file cabinet? They work out. People like myself, whose file cabinet is in my purse and on top of the crockpot and on the kitchen table and tucked into the utensil rack, also in my tote bag and sometimes on the passenger seat of my car? People like me do not work out.
Have I told you I’ve been working out?
A few weeks ago, Jude invited a few friends & I to join her at the gym to take a cardio kickboxing class. This is when I apparently blacked out, because before I knew what had happened, I had replied saying I would love to go! EVERY NIGHT OF THE WEEK IF I COULD!!!
I could make any good excuses about how I accidentally broke my leg last night while sleeping or how I can’t find my left arm. But I’m a terrible liar. I don’t even try. So I was stuck. Instead I opted to email her again, explaining that I may need some gentle coaxing to get me there. A reminder phone call here. A gently persuading email saying, “You suck, get off your butt & let’s go!” email there. That would maybe help. I was also very clear about another thing; I HATE TO SWEAT! She assured me that this would be a problem. Now, it isn’t just that I’ve never worked out. It’s just that I tend to lean towards lower impact exercises that don’t cause me to sweat. I HATE TO SWEAT. And know what gyms are like? Smelly. People sweat in there. Ew!
But I steeled myself and met the ladies there. And as we stood together in this scary, terrible place, I resigned myself to working on my fitness. I joined the gym, purchased my boxing gloves [that’s right people, I own boxing gloves!] and tackled class #1. This is also when a small voice in my head whispered, “You are going to die.” 45 minutes later class was over. I had actually dripped sweat. From my body. Into my eye! But I had done it! Right then, I didn’t feel like I was going to die. I felt pretty good & satisfyingly accomplished. I was going to be all right!
So of course, you know where this is going. About two hours after we’d finished working out, I began to feel something strange in my legs. Ow. About three hours after working out, I stopped being able to fully extend my legs. OW. And by day 3, I was walking around like I was ninety-four and bowlegged and had rickets, shrieking about how my LEGS were BROKEN, and this is ALL JUDE’S FAULT, and she had best bring me some WINE!
Well, y’all, it has been almost a month since I went to the gym for the first time and I continue to go back 3 times a week. Without even being coerced! I know! I’m feeling good and I have actual muscle definition. The next thing I know, my legs are going to be all toned and tanned, right? I’m thinking, what? One. Maybe two more classes? Hey, maybe I can become one of those crazy workout people! I can talk about endorphins and my gym and resistance training and cardio. And all those words I don’t think should be used in polite conversation. I’ll become an exercise machine! My steel-like thighs will be the envy of all! My butt will be so gorgeous and shapely that it will be suitable for framing! This is what I am thinking. Right?
Well, maybe no. Because the other day, there was a disheartening incident. See, there is a boy that goes to the gym that my daughter knows. I’m guessing he’s like, 15. Normally he’s not in my class, but the other day he decided he was going to stay after his regular class & work out. Right next to me. So we’re in the midst of doing our floor work [crunches, weights, stretches, etc.] and he’s all,
Boy: “No, no … not like that. Like this.”
Me: “Oh, ok.” [Continue doing it how I was.]
Boy: “I bet you wish you could do this.” doing a flailing-type thing :::grunt grunt grunt:::
Me: “Oh, yeah.” [No.]
Boy: “You’re supposed to be doing this … the way you’re doing it is wrong”
Me: “Oh.” [Continue doing it how I was.]
Boy: “Oooooh, yeah, look at this. I bet you can’t do this.”
Me: “Hmmmm.” [What? Be a complete jackass?]
Boy: “Something, something, look at my muscles, blah-blah I do lots of exercising dee-blah, something about SUCK IT!”
Me: <blink> [Did he just tell me to suck it?]
Boy: “Man! That was even hard for me. I bet it was REALLY hard for you!”
Me: <blink blink>
Me: “You’re single, aren’t you?”
So anyway, now I have new motivation. Getting in shape enough to kick his ass. Wish me luck.
Have a great weekend!
I am not brilliant June 10, 2008
So, here is something that I find enormously funny and also mortifying at the same time. That is pretty much all the explanation I can provide for my actions, which are both innocent and criminal. But, even though I can’t give you an explanation, I can give you some backstory. Which I will begin … now!
A few months ago, I was walking through one of the departments at work when I walked past a couple of cardboard boxes sitting outside of someone’s cubicle. The boxes were full of discarded books & magazines. Among them, ‘People’. Well, I’m more than a little ashamed to tell you that I was just unreasonably excited because, God help me, I love People magazine! And there they were for the taking. So I did. And I continued to do so for the next several months. Magazines, hardback books [including recommended reading from Oprah’s Bookclub] & paperback books alike.
On Friday I stopped by to check out her stock and was pleased to find a fresh batch of ‘People’ as well as an entire years worth of ‘Cincinnati Magazine’! Which, you guys! This was very exciting because they are a very handy resource for restaurant reviews, things to do, events, etc. Again, I was embarrassingly excited, scooped up the lot of them & off I went, thinking to myself, “You know, I should thank this person. It’s really very generous AND eco-friendly of them to recycle their reading material. I’ll do that next week.”
So, I decided to swing by the boxes on my way back to my office from lunch today and people, I DO NOT have to tell you how MORTIFIED I was to now see a sign hanging above the boxes reading:
VETERANS MAGAZINE AND BOOK DRIVE ITEMS HERE
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Y’all! I’ve been jacking reading material from the Veteran’s! For months!
People, I cannot emphasize this enough. I STOLE FROM THE VETS.
STOLE! FROM! VETERANS!
At this realization, I scurried away in INTENSE DISCOMFORT at the thought that I am going to have to return these pilfered items! Frankly, the only thing that could make this situation any more awkward would be to get caught RETURNING them and have them be all, “Awwww, thank you so much for your contribution to the Veteran’s of America.” To which I’d have to come clean and reply, “You’re welcome.”
I’ve always been a Goonie! June 2, 2008
In his most recent blog entry, John! had the following words of wisdom [along with a fun flashback] for us all.
Go back into the annals of beloved ’80s films, and you’d be hard pressed to find a movie closer to the hearts of thirty-somethings than The Goonies. I’ll spare you the synopsis, as you most likely already know it, but if you don’t, no need to worry – you’ve seen 20 other movies like it in its time. The template: nerdy but affable underdog(s) suffer unrelenting ridicule by jocks in varsity letter jackets but ultimately have their comeuppance, usually stealing a smoking hot girlfriend or two in the process.
In the case of The Goonies, a band of awkward, socially outcast kids set off to find a buried treasure, narrowly averting almost certain death and outrunning, among others, a popular high school jock named Troy. Troy is one of the classic cinematic archetypes of the 1980s; the jock. He’s good looking, rocks a period-relative badass Mustang convertible, and he’s a total prick. All we can do from the moment Troy enters the frame is to wait with baited breath to see Troy lose and the Goonies win.
And in that end, back in 1985 when the underdogs had their day, (and their bag of jewels), and the final credits rolled and we called our parents for a ride home, we realized something fantastic: It’s true, we weren’t Troy. But for the first time, thanks to The Goonies, we no longer wanted to be Troy. It was okay to be us, thank you very much.
Cut to present day.
What happened to the better part of a generation that once walked out of their local theater rooting for the Mikeys and Chunks and Datas of the world? They’ve turned into Troys. Troys who can’t accept the differences in others and condemn the things they don’t understand. Finger-pointing, shit-talking Troys.
Ask yourself: with whom do you identify more these days, Troy or the Goonies? And if you’re reading this and you happen to be an Internet shit-talker, could it be because you think I’m Troy? Because honest to God, I’ve always fancied myself a Goonie; the underdog who toppled over the narrow-minded naysayers and walked away with a treasure.
So maybe this whole thing is one big misunderstanding and it turns out we don’t need to go down as a generation remembered as having spent the ’00s wearing our asses like hats after all. Maybe it will turn out that we needed a little time to figure out that in the end we’re all just a bunch of Goonies.
Yes! I AM A GOONIE [to exactly noone’s surprise] Look! Just one more thing John & I have in common. I’m a Goonie. He’s a Goonie. Coincidence? I say destiny.
Beware of booty traps. You mean boobie traps? That’s what I said, booty traps. God, these guys!
Pet Sitting Guide [or how to deal with way too many dogs who refuse to be housebroken!] May 22, 2008
[Forgive the wonky formatting. I don’t know what’s going on there …]
Tomorrow, the fam and I are going camping with the Sexton’s & her brother’s family, for the weekend. And you may already know this, but camping entails a LOT of preparation y’all! So, while I don’t have the time to get in to it right now, I did find it funny that when I sat down to write out pet sitting instructions to leave my Mom for our three, small, very bad dogs, I realized something. Not only are they bad, but they’re really high maintenance too!
Pet Sitting Guide [or how to deal with way too many dogs who refuse to be housebroken!]
Let dogs out OFTEN.
Let dogs out prior to leaving & immediately upon returning.
Give them a treat when they come in [1 a piece; either a frozen green bean or biscuit. Green beans sparingly unless you want to walk around little green land mines all weekend.]
If a #2 accident occurs, please pick up & flush or chuck into the yard. Clean up of a #1 accident is at your discretion. We would appreciate if you would drop a paper towel over the accident, step on, and then discard it. Understandably, if this is outside of your realm of comfort, just leave it. If this were the case, tiny “Wet Floor” signs would be appreciated so we’ll know where to clean up. [Just kidding, of course … but we will need you to point them out].
Max gets a full cup of food.
Millie gets ¾ cup of food.
Buster Brown gets ½ cup of food.
At dinner time only, add a serving spoon full of the organic wet food to each of their bowls [sort of adjust the amount according to whose bowl you’re filling ie. large scoop for Max, slightly less for Millie, rounded spoonful for Buster Brown. I usually cut it into the dry food with a fork & knife but if this is above & beyond the call of duty, just plop it on top.
The little dogs eat in their locked cages. Max eats in the dining room.
Let them all out about 15 minutes after they’re done. Make sure they actually leave the porch to go potty. This is roughly how long after they eat before they need to shit.
Feed roughly at the same times you’d feed yourself. Breakfast, lunch & dinner.
Max can sleep with you but the little dogs need to sleep in their cages. You can leave the gate down at this time.
Keep gate to upstairs closed whenever the puppies are out.
Enjoy your weekend!
Y’all have a wonderful, safe Memorial Day weekend! If I have the strength, I’ll tell you all about mine on Monday [possibly after shampooing the rugs.]