Saturday, July 14, 2012
Minutiae...or this post is being written on the fly
The interwebs had me confused at the blog title. I'm trying to do a post that captures the last few days/weeks since I last wrote (because really, time has no meaning at the moment...it could be Tuesday, or May, or 7).
I spelled minutiae as I did above. And then thought that maybe I was adding an inappropriate silent "e". And we all know I would never be inappropriate. So I looked it up.
Of the Google results that ensued, it became clear that no one out there really knew either. One source had minutiae as the various parts that make up fingerprints, and minutia as the correct spelling. Other sources used them interchangeably.
You're getting the silent "e" spelling because, well, it looks way more fancy. And I'm all about the fancy...I'm writing this while wearing a tiara and heels. Plus, with that many options and my resulting need to explain to you, we're now four paragraphs in on minutiae/minutia and I haven't even gotten to the stuff I'd planned!
Planned you say? Lists you say? Yes! I made lists. As I've mentioned before, I often come up with ideas for blog posts at inconvenient-to-write-them times. Like 3 am. Or when I'm driving. Or basically anytime that I'm not near a computer. Or paper. Etc.
I have a composition book. Which, by the way, seem to be everywhere here in the US but I can't recall them being any kind of anything in Canada. Being the connoisseur* of stationery products that I am, I have embraced it wholehandedly.
*ZOMG I actually pulled the correct spelling of that word out of my head first try!
Actually I have several composition books, littered around my universe. And I've been furiously jotting down notes in them all. Tonight, as I sit down to share my unique take on the world with y'all, I grabbed the one from my bed side, confident that I'd find something in there that would engage, amuse, and delight my audience (all four of you are still out there, right?).
Here's what I found.
Page 1: A list of the items that can be made using tiki mojo in Island Paradise, a game now defunct on Facebook.
Page 2: Blog ideas. Yay! Um, okay of the 10 on the page, 5 are from last week, so I still understand what they are. The other 5 items I can't even read. Of the 5 I can read, 4 are minor rants that won't even take a paragraph. Fail. I am amused that one of the newer ideas is about writing longhand...since apparently I can't even read jotted notes, I'm thinking this is not one of my better ideas.
Page 3: Ah yes, one of the many pages dedicated to trying to wrap my head around the novel characters, pre-storyboard. Which I've bought but haven't actually used yet.
Page 4: More novel character/storyline. I can read it, but I have no idea what it means. Or if I did write it, or should write it. Hmmm. (At which point I realize that I'm slacking on that, especially if I'm going to get geared up for the November writeathon.)
Page 5: A list of things I need to do around the house. Including such fascinations as ironing, laundry, and organizing my beads. I've had clean undies so at least the laundry got done.
Page 6: Blog ideas. This time I can read them all and may even be able to write something on it. I am amused that I actually wrote "bitches!" as part of the note on one of them.
The rest of the book is blank. Now I'm pondering how many other notebooks of this stunning quality I have out there.
********
Ignoring the epic fail of blog ideas from the comp book, I will now give you the best "facepalm" moment from last week...and there were many.
We were at the dealership with our truck (this is apparently the summer of "check engine" lights) when an older lady drove her car into the bay beside where we were checking in. And asked if she could have the airbags disabled. Naturally, the service people declined as disabling safety devices is not usually in their best interests liability-wise, plus they might feel bad if they did that and someone died. The woman was very upset, because, you see, her husband was going to be having open heart surgery and if the airbag went off it could be very damaging to his healing wound.
I later asked Mr. Eggshells if the service people had suggested her husband sit in the back seat while convalescing. He looked at me, amused that I'd missed that part of the conversation. He was going to be the one DRIVING.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
A Girl Named Frank...
Before I head into today's blog post, you will undoubtedly be pleased to hear that I have cleaned out my vegetable drawer (erm the day after the last post actually...and where did June go???), and moved the basil plant outside. So those of you that were going to form a posse to come lynch me over this can just stop it right now!
Oh, wait, that was a posse to come lunch me. I actually am up for that.
Today I'm going to tell you the story of how I ended up being called Frank during my junior year of high school. But first I have to explain to my US readers that Grade 8 is the same as 8th Grade. It seems to be confusing so I thought I'd throw that out there. Also in deference to the confusion that is wrought over said use of Grade either before or after the numeric modifier, I actually spent a good deal of time trying to figure out that Grade 11 (11th Grade) is Junior year. Because my "high school" was Grades 8 through 12 (8th through 12th Grade) so those freshman etc. labels didn't work so well so I never learned them. You're welcome.
Next time I'm adding French to the translation above. I think it might make it clearer.
In said high school, the first three years (yo, bitches, I'm a writer! I can work around the whole 'grade' debacle!) had remedial, regular, and challenge classes based on, well whatever they base that stuff on. In the latter two years, the classes diverged into two groups, people planning to move on to University levels and those more geared toward trades, or technical schools. I had been in the challenge classes for the most part, with more or less the same group of people. Then in junior year, the classes/students all changed.
To an introvert like myself, such a drastic change is stressful. (That sentence by the way is a massive understatement, and we won't go into just how hard the first weeks were for me to manage so many new people. Plus, teenager! Angst!) I also really didn't like the spotlight or the attention on me in any way.
For those of you that only know me online, I also have a stubborn streak. People that know me in real life generally have that part figured out. :P
Throughout my school years, at the beginning of each new class, the teacher would always ask me what name I went by. See, my Mom had put both my first and middle names on the registration so teachers would always ask if I went by Pamela or Dianne. I've gone through a spate of variations on those, but I've noticed people tend to start with Pamela, then shift to Pam or Pammie depending on relationship. Throughout high school my nickname was Pammie Di.
It was English 11 where the teacher, who also doubled as a drama teacher and general asshat (colored in no small part by the story I'm telling) was taking roll call the first day and asked me the question. Only he threw me for a loop when he asked if I went by Pamela or Pam. So I responded with "Both." Because it was true.
That answer was not well-received. "What is your preference?" My response was "I don't have one."
I'm not sure where his head was at in this, as an adult I'd love to know what was prompting the arrogance that followed, but I was really happy that my stubborn nature completely stomped on the introvert during the following conversation.
"You have to have a preference."
"No, actually I don't. It's my name. Either can be used and I'll answer."
"But there must be one you prefer."
"No, there isn't."
"What do you want us to call you?"
"Either of those are fine."
"You have to have a preference."
By now this exchange had been going on in circles for several minutes, and if I'd given it any thought I'd have likely been mortified at the attention. As it was, he was mostly just pissing me off by not allowing my perfectly reasonable answer.
It was about at that point that the guy beside me I didn't know, obviously done with it all, called out loudly, "Fine, we'll call you Frank." I laughed and told him that was fine as well. Fortunately it was enough to get the teacher to back off and move on to the next person. (Fortunate for him, because when stubborn mode is on, I can outlast anyone. ;) )
I don't remember what the teacher ended up calling me that year. But I do know that I got called Frank by pretty much everyone in that class, in the classroom and out. It was to the point where I'd be in the mall and someone would call out Frank and I'd turn to look and respond if it was me.
Oddly enough, that one incident became a huge learning experience for me in terms of meeting new people openly and without fear. And the guy who named me became a really good friend through my last years there, and a lot of fun to boot.
Now when anyone asks me what I'd like to be called, it's easy to answer too. "No preference, you'll figure it out."
Oh, wait, that was a posse to come lunch me. I actually am up for that.
Today I'm going to tell you the story of how I ended up being called Frank during my junior year of high school. But first I have to explain to my US readers that Grade 8 is the same as 8th Grade. It seems to be confusing so I thought I'd throw that out there. Also in deference to the confusion that is wrought over said use of Grade either before or after the numeric modifier, I actually spent a good deal of time trying to figure out that Grade 11 (11th Grade) is Junior year. Because my "high school" was Grades 8 through 12 (8th through 12th Grade) so those freshman etc. labels didn't work so well so I never learned them. You're welcome.
Next time I'm adding French to the translation above. I think it might make it clearer.
In said high school, the first three years (yo, bitches, I'm a writer! I can work around the whole 'grade' debacle!) had remedial, regular, and challenge classes based on, well whatever they base that stuff on. In the latter two years, the classes diverged into two groups, people planning to move on to University levels and those more geared toward trades, or technical schools. I had been in the challenge classes for the most part, with more or less the same group of people. Then in junior year, the classes/students all changed.
To an introvert like myself, such a drastic change is stressful. (That sentence by the way is a massive understatement, and we won't go into just how hard the first weeks were for me to manage so many new people. Plus, teenager! Angst!) I also really didn't like the spotlight or the attention on me in any way.
For those of you that only know me online, I also have a stubborn streak. People that know me in real life generally have that part figured out. :P
Throughout my school years, at the beginning of each new class, the teacher would always ask me what name I went by. See, my Mom had put both my first and middle names on the registration so teachers would always ask if I went by Pamela or Dianne. I've gone through a spate of variations on those, but I've noticed people tend to start with Pamela, then shift to Pam or Pammie depending on relationship. Throughout high school my nickname was Pammie Di.
It was English 11 where the teacher, who also doubled as a drama teacher and general asshat (colored in no small part by the story I'm telling) was taking roll call the first day and asked me the question. Only he threw me for a loop when he asked if I went by Pamela or Pam. So I responded with "Both." Because it was true.
That answer was not well-received. "What is your preference?" My response was "I don't have one."
I'm not sure where his head was at in this, as an adult I'd love to know what was prompting the arrogance that followed, but I was really happy that my stubborn nature completely stomped on the introvert during the following conversation.
"You have to have a preference."
"No, actually I don't. It's my name. Either can be used and I'll answer."
"But there must be one you prefer."
"No, there isn't."
"What do you want us to call you?"
"Either of those are fine."
"You have to have a preference."
By now this exchange had been going on in circles for several minutes, and if I'd given it any thought I'd have likely been mortified at the attention. As it was, he was mostly just pissing me off by not allowing my perfectly reasonable answer.
It was about at that point that the guy beside me I didn't know, obviously done with it all, called out loudly, "Fine, we'll call you Frank." I laughed and told him that was fine as well. Fortunately it was enough to get the teacher to back off and move on to the next person. (Fortunate for him, because when stubborn mode is on, I can outlast anyone. ;) )
I don't remember what the teacher ended up calling me that year. But I do know that I got called Frank by pretty much everyone in that class, in the classroom and out. It was to the point where I'd be in the mall and someone would call out Frank and I'd turn to look and respond if it was me.
Oddly enough, that one incident became a huge learning experience for me in terms of meeting new people openly and without fear. And the guy who named me became a really good friend through my last years there, and a lot of fun to boot.
Now when anyone asks me what I'd like to be called, it's easy to answer too. "No preference, you'll figure it out."
Monday, June 4, 2012
I've been missing you...
Did y'all miss me? I'm pretty sure you must have because I've been missing myself and if it's gotten to the point where I miss myself, well you know it's bad. I didn't even know I was missing. Or that my aim was that crappy.
The reason I haven't been around is largely work-based but I'm also wrapped up in other writing projects at the moment so haven't been giving my blog the time and attention it deserves. As evidenced by the fact that I completely missed the month of May. Bad blogger! Bad! No cookie!
The other problem I'm finding is that I get these great ideas for blog posts at 2 am, and they're so clear that I'm sure that I'll remember them in the morning, and then, well, I don't. I'm going to put that down to the lack of sleep in the wee hours of the morning and not the fact that every single day of my life I'm aging and the brain cells that I have accumulated appear to be undergoing spontaneous combustion.
So...as a result, this morning I decided to jot as much as I could down from the wee hours mental rambles. And now for your viewing pleasure...
1. I need to clean out the vegetable drawer. Seriously, this is the stuff that keeps me awake at night. KEEPS.ME.AWAKE.AT.NIGHT. And I can now hear you all asking, well, why don't I just clean it out and be done with it? Because I keep forgetting it needs to be done when it's daytime. Or when it's evening. Or when I'm at home.
Apparently lower brain owns this and higher brain could care less. Frankly I suspect that higher brain should just stab lower brain, but lower brain has some automated mechanism to stop that. No wonder I'm awake, with those two fighting all the time. And I doubt yelling "Settle down you two, don't make me come in there!" will really work. They know I'm squeamish about blood. And brains too. Bastards know way too much about me.
Apparently lower brain owns this and higher brain could care less. Frankly I suspect that higher brain should just stab lower brain, but lower brain has some automated mechanism to stop that. No wonder I'm awake, with those two fighting all the time. And I doubt yelling "Settle down you two, don't make me come in there!" will really work. They know I'm squeamish about blood. And brains too. Bastards know way too much about me.
2. I bought a basil plant that needs to be planted somewhere but I'm feeling so lazy about it, I'm considering just making (more) pesto and being done with it. Of course, I still have the pesto from the last time I made it (the great food processor debacle of 2012), so that's kind of a lame decision. No, I'll just have to wait until the plant dies suck it up and deal with it .
*******
Okay I'm back. It's really not my fault, I was paged to Facebook to attend a thread about my boobs. And not one that I started either. *ponders if my boobs need their own page*
*******
3. That part above about no cookie is a total lie. I have a cookie on my desk right now. SUCKERS!
4. I forgot the rest of my list.
5. Oh yeah, I made a note on my phone (technology, bitches!). A shampoo bottle rant! Why oh why do the manufacturers insist on making the same shaped bottles but with openings on opposite ends of the bottle for shampoo versus conditioner. Seriously, it's hard enough finding my hair first thing in the morning never mind trying to figure out how to open them.
And how the heck am I supposed to tip whichever one upside down to get the last dregs when the top of the bottle is slanted. Now I need to make my husband McGyver something to get the bottle to stay up so I can get my full money's worth of this stuff.
It may look pretty but did we do any sort of a usability test in the real world? No? Thought not. That's the last time I believe one of those commercials with all the scientists standing around in lab coats telling me how awesome their stuff is. I'm no scientist and I can figure it out. Hmph.
6. #5 is a first world problem. It might even only be a my world problem.
7. I make way too many lists.
I have another idea for the next blog post so stay tuned. Don't fall asleep. And don't wake me if I do.
*******
3. That part above about no cookie is a total lie. I have a cookie on my desk right now. SUCKERS!
4. I forgot the rest of my list.
5. Oh yeah, I made a note on my phone (technology, bitches!). A shampoo bottle rant! Why oh why do the manufacturers insist on making the same shaped bottles but with openings on opposite ends of the bottle for shampoo versus conditioner. Seriously, it's hard enough finding my hair first thing in the morning never mind trying to figure out how to open them.
And how the heck am I supposed to tip whichever one upside down to get the last dregs when the top of the bottle is slanted. Now I need to make my husband McGyver something to get the bottle to stay up so I can get my full money's worth of this stuff.
It may look pretty but did we do any sort of a usability test in the real world? No? Thought not. That's the last time I believe one of those commercials with all the scientists standing around in lab coats telling me how awesome their stuff is. I'm no scientist and I can figure it out. Hmph.
6. #5 is a first world problem. It might even only be a my world problem.
7. I make way too many lists.
I have another idea for the next blog post so stay tuned. Don't fall asleep. And don't wake me if I do.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Sunday Bloody Sunday, or My New $1000 Food Processor
I couldn't decide on a title. So you get two. Just because I have an abundance of love for you all. (Or I'm just wordy.)
And as thought-provoking as the first title is, this post is not about U2's international hit or the political machinations and the horrific death toll that inspired it all those long years ago in Ireland. (And if I've already lost you, that's okay...I'm totally asleep right now so you're just lucky I'm blogging this at all. LUCKY!)
But then, you might have already guessed that from the second title.
And as thought-provoking as the first title is, this post is not about U2's international hit or the political machinations and the horrific death toll that inspired it all those long years ago in Ireland. (And if I've already lost you, that's okay...I'm totally asleep right now so you're just lucky I'm blogging this at all. LUCKY!)
But then, you might have already guessed that from the second title.
Okay what was I talking about? Oh yeah, the day I almost got kicked out of a restaurant. Because of Mr. Eggshells. Who won't admit it was his fault, even though it totally was. And then to prove it I had to cut my finger off. Well not off, but a lot. Well not a lot, but some. It HURT, darn it!
It all started with breakfast. We went out to the local diner to get a good portion of breakfast-y goodness...me with a normal sane breakfast omelette and Mr. with some totally disgusting raw hunk of meat and fried eggs. *shudder* We've stayed married this long by a) his only having that kind of meal at restaurants and b) my staring adoringly into his eyes so I don't catch sight of that food at any point during its consumption.
Anyhow, there we were at breakfast and, after having eaten, were finishing our drinks. The empty plates were toward the edge of the table, and the waitress came by and double-checked with me before picking up my plate, completely ignoring Mr's absolutely empty plate.
A little disconcerted, Mr. moved the plate closer to the edge of the table. Another waitress came by and took my now-empty toast plate from the table, completely ignoring his plate again. As she left, the look on his face was priceless, and so like any good wife, I laughed at with him. He held up his hand to make sure he wasn't invisible, and then told me what was going on.
"They've been to my website: Keep your hands off my plate, bitch."
My giggling was getting harder at that, since between that and the face he was making, it was so so funny. And then he sealed it, by saying after the perfect amount of pause for effect:
"dot com"
I LOST IT. Completely. I was laughing so hard I was crying, drawing the attention of pretty much everyone in the busy place. Mr. was looking more and more like he wanted to bolt and leave me to my solo embarrassment. This went on for several minutes until I got myself under control.
And just as I did, it was at that moment that our waitress came by and without even stopping or commenting, picked up his plate.
I looked at Mr. and he looked at me.
"She's not online."
I lost it AGAIN, and Mr. got up to pay the bill.
****************************
So later that day, we were doing the usual Sunday home stuff and my old friend, "accident" decided to pay us a visit. It was while I was happily and FINALLY getting to play with my post-Christmas food processor. I'd made pesto and shredded some zucchini while Mr. was prepping the Thai peanut chicken that would be our lunches for the week.
It was while I was washing the dishes that the wonderful blade that sliced through the pine nuts so beautifully, leaped out of the sink and attacked my right pinkie (apparently spellchecker doesn't believe that pinky is correct...I swear I'ma fire her soon).
I would have liked to report that this sort of event was so far removed from my life, and that this was the first time I'd had such an accident, but I can't. See, I can't even be original about these things any more, since about 15 years ago I sliced the EXACT SAME finger open with a food processor blade. (And no, before you ask, it was not on purpose either time...despite how much fun it is in the Emergency room here in this very scary town, it's not my favorite way to spend the evening.)
After the initial home triage and determining that yes, it would need stitching, we made our way to the hospital...3 minutes away from home, not an accident...I married a Boy Scout/Marine who is awesome at preparedness. (I re-wrote that sentence like 15 times because no matter how I put it, it sounded like I was declaring myself a bigamist. Which I might be, you don't really know now do you? By the way, do multiple personalities count toward that? Cuz we could be very well past bigamy between Mr.'sand my personalities...).
Okay where was I? Oh yes, bleeding to death in the meth capital of the county on a Sunday evening in the only hospital. I do have to segue here...it seems that every single time I end up in the Emergency room (which, with my usual level of accident-prone-ness is surprisingly seldom), I get asked if I have a head injury. Now, that would make sense if I in any way looked like I did, but it's usually after I start answering questions in Triage. Something about the way I act, joking and friendly, makes people think I have a brain injury. There's probably a lesson to be learned from that, and it's probably time one of you did. Because I really have no idea.
I was finally brought back to treatment and was dealt with well...they seemed to understand my personal brand of humor. Although the doctor did scoff when I had less than half the anticipated stitches but in my defense I couldn't count because I was bleeding out of one of my counters.
I did learn a new rule. When you have to go to the hospital, you get whatever you want for dinner. I'm not sure this was a good lesson for me to learn, because it seems a little drastic just to get a milkshake.
"They've been to my website: Keep your hands off my plate, bitch."
My giggling was getting harder at that, since between that and the face he was making, it was so so funny. And then he sealed it, by saying after the perfect amount of pause for effect:
"dot com"
I LOST IT. Completely. I was laughing so hard I was crying, drawing the attention of pretty much everyone in the busy place. Mr. was looking more and more like he wanted to bolt and leave me to my solo embarrassment. This went on for several minutes until I got myself under control.
And just as I did, it was at that moment that our waitress came by and without even stopping or commenting, picked up his plate.
I looked at Mr. and he looked at me.
"She's not online."
I lost it AGAIN, and Mr. got up to pay the bill.
****************************
So later that day, we were doing the usual Sunday home stuff and my old friend, "accident" decided to pay us a visit. It was while I was happily and FINALLY getting to play with my post-Christmas food processor. I'd made pesto and shredded some zucchini while Mr. was prepping the Thai peanut chicken that would be our lunches for the week.
It was while I was washing the dishes that the wonderful blade that sliced through the pine nuts so beautifully, leaped out of the sink and attacked my right pinkie (apparently spellchecker doesn't believe that pinky is correct...I swear I'ma fire her soon).
I would have liked to report that this sort of event was so far removed from my life, and that this was the first time I'd had such an accident, but I can't. See, I can't even be original about these things any more, since about 15 years ago I sliced the EXACT SAME finger open with a food processor blade. (And no, before you ask, it was not on purpose either time...despite how much fun it is in the Emergency room here in this very scary town, it's not my favorite way to spend the evening.)
After the initial home triage and determining that yes, it would need stitching, we made our way to the hospital...3 minutes away from home, not an accident...I married a Boy Scout/Marine who is awesome at preparedness. (I re-wrote that sentence like 15 times because no matter how I put it, it sounded like I was declaring myself a bigamist. Which I might be, you don't really know now do you? By the way, do multiple personalities count toward that? Cuz we could be very well past bigamy between Mr.'s
Okay where was I? Oh yes, bleeding to death in the meth capital of the county on a Sunday evening in the only hospital. I do have to segue here...it seems that every single time I end up in the Emergency room (which, with my usual level of accident-prone-ness is surprisingly seldom), I get asked if I have a head injury. Now, that would make sense if I in any way looked like I did, but it's usually after I start answering questions in Triage. Something about the way I act, joking and friendly, makes people think I have a brain injury. There's probably a lesson to be learned from that, and it's probably time one of you did. Because I really have no idea.
I was finally brought back to treatment and was dealt with well...they seemed to understand my personal brand of humor. Although the doctor did scoff when I had less than half the anticipated stitches but in my defense I couldn't count because I was bleeding out of one of my counters.
I did learn a new rule. When you have to go to the hospital, you get whatever you want for dinner. I'm not sure this was a good lesson for me to learn, because it seems a little drastic just to get a milkshake.
Monday, April 2, 2012
I Wrote Something!
SQUEE! My lovely Facebook friend is hosting some of my writing on her blog. Check it out at Martha's Digital Creations. :)
Martha has some really cool crafty stuff there as well...check the rest of her site out!
(Okay so announcing I wrote something is kinda dumb, but it's first thing in the morning and I'm not stellar yet. Except for my ability to sit upright on a balance ball chair...which is pretty amazing since I can barely keep my balance on level ground...)
Martha has some really cool crafty stuff there as well...check the rest of her site out!
(Okay so announcing I wrote something is kinda dumb, but it's first thing in the morning and I'm not stellar yet. Except for my ability to sit upright on a balance ball chair...which is pretty amazing since I can barely keep my balance on level ground...)
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Two Things
Thing 1
I have about 17,987 (approx.) blog posts I've been working on, but they've all been while I'm doing everything else in the world. They're all in my head. At some point I may get them down onto paper (um, how archaic), erm typed into my spiffy word processor and then you will benefit from them. Truly you will. Even if it's only to think "Wow, I'm way so much less f*ed up than her." Assuming you swear. If you don't you might use a different word.
Thing 2
I just had to call two different customer service departments to find out where my supposedly-delivered package may have gone. Since it wasn't actually delivered as far as we can see. I was not upset in any way shape or form, mostly just following the process I thought I needed to in order to get a resolution. I know that customer service people are trained to speak in a non-confrontational manner, including apologizing for inconvenience, etc.
My experience with both reps was good...but throughout the whole thing - with both of them, mind you - I got the impression that they were trying to make sure they weren't going to become my verbal punching bag. Since I wasn't even starting to sound upset, I'm guessing that it's a knee jerk reaction because they do get those types.
Which makes me mad. I mean, stuff happens. It really does. I just don't get why anyone would feel the need to freak out at some person on the other end of the phone because something didn't go their way. Most reputable companies have a resolution process...and their c.s. people get paid to help you through that...not to take shit-storms of abuse because you didn't get your *insert random item*.
I'm not perfect by any means (as anyone who has been near me at work can attest, and I can't even completely blame it on PMS or anything either, darnit), but I try to make sure that I'm not crapping all over other people even when I'm not happy about something.
Perspective is a good thing.
So is karma.
(And okay, Thing 2 was a bit of a soapbox rant, but I can admit it. Plus, my blog! Ha!)
Thing 3
Ha! Fooled you. Thought of another thing. If I continue to eat Quiznos Honey Bourbon Chicken and subsequently each time spill some sauce on my shirt, which incidentally, stains and does not come out, I think I will need to go shopping. Maybe the weekend my husband is in an all day Saturday conference for Toast Masters (which in my head I pronounced as Teletubbies). And now I'm laughing out loud, and not able to proofread this.
Thing 4
There's really not a Thing 4, it's just acknowledgement that I can't count. Which is not news at all, to anyone.
I have about 17,987 (approx.) blog posts I've been working on, but they've all been while I'm doing everything else in the world. They're all in my head. At some point I may get them down onto paper (um, how archaic), erm typed into my spiffy word processor and then you will benefit from them. Truly you will. Even if it's only to think "Wow, I'm way so much less f*ed up than her." Assuming you swear. If you don't you might use a different word.
Thing 2
I just had to call two different customer service departments to find out where my supposedly-delivered package may have gone. Since it wasn't actually delivered as far as we can see. I was not upset in any way shape or form, mostly just following the process I thought I needed to in order to get a resolution. I know that customer service people are trained to speak in a non-confrontational manner, including apologizing for inconvenience, etc.
My experience with both reps was good...but throughout the whole thing - with both of them, mind you - I got the impression that they were trying to make sure they weren't going to become my verbal punching bag. Since I wasn't even starting to sound upset, I'm guessing that it's a knee jerk reaction because they do get those types.
Which makes me mad. I mean, stuff happens. It really does. I just don't get why anyone would feel the need to freak out at some person on the other end of the phone because something didn't go their way. Most reputable companies have a resolution process...and their c.s. people get paid to help you through that...not to take shit-storms of abuse because you didn't get your *insert random item*.
I'm not perfect by any means (as anyone who has been near me at work can attest, and I can't even completely blame it on PMS or anything either, darnit), but I try to make sure that I'm not crapping all over other people even when I'm not happy about something.
Perspective is a good thing.
So is karma.
(And okay, Thing 2 was a bit of a soapbox rant, but I can admit it. Plus, my blog! Ha!)
Thing 3
Ha! Fooled you. Thought of another thing. If I continue to eat Quiznos Honey Bourbon Chicken and subsequently each time spill some sauce on my shirt, which incidentally, stains and does not come out, I think I will need to go shopping. Maybe the weekend my husband is in an all day Saturday conference for Toast Masters (which in my head I pronounced as Teletubbies). And now I'm laughing out loud, and not able to proofread this.
Thing 4
There's really not a Thing 4, it's just acknowledgement that I can't count. Which is not news at all, to anyone.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Short and Sweet
Tonight, after fighting with my newly re-OS'd computer and getting printers up and running because all I wanted to do was print some coupons, the following conversation ensued:
Me: What was the thing that had the cloud that had the 2 free things?
Mister: Drop box?
Me: Yup that's it.
The moral: My husband speaks tired me. Which is a really really good thing. :)
Me: What was the thing that had the cloud that had the 2 free things?
Mister: Drop box?
Me: Yup that's it.
The moral: My husband speaks tired me. Which is a really really good thing. :)
Cookie and the Coloring Book
Before I post about this, I need to confide in y'all that I miss the "u" that Canadian words have. It makes them seem fuller or more balanced or something. I no longer type them in by accident anymore but I still think it looks strange to type "color" instead of "colour". I also think it's fairly heinous of Microsoft to make me choose one spell check language. But that's a rant for another day.
Now onto the show. Erm, story.
A few days ago one of my Facebook friends posted a NSFW link to a coloring book. Since I was at work, and despite the fact that we have relatively little issue around such things, I decided not to click it. (Okay the real reason was that I was actually super-busy at work. I know, right? What's up with that??)
I did, however, feel the need to send it on to my work partner-in-crime. You remember her from this post (and if you haven't read it, then you're behind and a bad reader. No cookie for you. Heh, get it? Because it's FUNNY!).
I prefaced the link with the fact that it was not for children's viewing without some discussion and that she should make sure her impressionable youngsters did not get a full view without some dialogue.
A coloring book seems innocuous enough, but this was an aid to discussing reproduction with children...and it was a coloring book of vaginas.
Now I'm not anything like a prude, nor am I against understanding and knowledge. I was taught the "facts of life" (you take the good, you take the bad...) age-appropriately and knew how babies were made from the age of 5 or so. My parents encouraged questions and answered them without stigmatizing anything to do with the sex act. I remember being at friends' houses and sharing their books on the birds and the bees (complete with cartoon people who looked nothing like Barbie and Ken). Actually thinking about it now, those cartoon characters kind of looked like Peter Griffen. Both of them.
But I have to admit, the vagina coloring book is kinda weirding me out. I mean, I get that it could be very useful...but I'm having trouble picturing some child sitting down and coloring in the anatomically correct hoo-hoo. I can't imagine it holds any major attraction...it's not like a Disney Princess or Dora the Explorer. There's nothing really tangible for a child to connect with. And older kids, who might be around the timing to actually learn from it, would generally seem to be well past coloring stage.
In and among this confusion, I ship the link off to Cookie, mostly for a laugh, truly. And of course, her pre-teen daughter walks in on her looking at it, full screen, vag-city.
"Ewwww MOM!"
The obvious connotation that her Mom spends the work day pre-occupied with sex aside, that seems to be a pretty clear indictment of the vagina coloring book...when the intended audience is really not all that interested.
And I'm not even going to tell you all about the sperm cookbook link I sent her too. Suffice it to say, the interwebs are a vast and scary place, and Facebook is an automatic delivery system.
Now onto the show. Erm, story.
A few days ago one of my Facebook friends posted a NSFW link to a coloring book. Since I was at work, and despite the fact that we have relatively little issue around such things, I decided not to click it. (Okay the real reason was that I was actually super-busy at work. I know, right? What's up with that??)
I did, however, feel the need to send it on to my work partner-in-crime. You remember her from this post (and if you haven't read it, then you're behind and a bad reader. No cookie for you. Heh, get it? Because it's FUNNY!).
I prefaced the link with the fact that it was not for children's viewing without some discussion and that she should make sure her impressionable youngsters did not get a full view without some dialogue.
A coloring book seems innocuous enough, but this was an aid to discussing reproduction with children...and it was a coloring book of vaginas.
 |
| Oh baby, oh baby |
But I have to admit, the vagina coloring book is kinda weirding me out. I mean, I get that it could be very useful...but I'm having trouble picturing some child sitting down and coloring in the anatomically correct hoo-hoo. I can't imagine it holds any major attraction...it's not like a Disney Princess or Dora the Explorer. There's nothing really tangible for a child to connect with. And older kids, who might be around the timing to actually learn from it, would generally seem to be well past coloring stage.
In and among this confusion, I ship the link off to Cookie, mostly for a laugh, truly. And of course, her pre-teen daughter walks in on her looking at it, full screen, vag-city.
"Ewwww MOM!"
The obvious connotation that her Mom spends the work day pre-occupied with sex aside, that seems to be a pretty clear indictment of the vagina coloring book...when the intended audience is really not all that interested.
And I'm not even going to tell you all about the sperm cookbook link I sent her too. Suffice it to say, the interwebs are a vast and scary place, and Facebook is an automatic delivery system.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Half?
Recently, I had an interesting revelation when it came to my husband and I. (No, not that we're totally adorable, even though that is true. But I've known that for years so it doesn't quite count as a revelation.)
No, it's that it is overwhelmingly obvious he grew up with two siblings and I was raised with one. (Although I should probably said he was raised, because we all know he never really grew up. ;) )
That's not the revelation. Of course I knew that long before we were married. But y'all should know by now that I build up to my huge announcements of life-altering proportions. I mean, what's the point in cultivating a teensy bit of a flair for the dramatic if I'm never going to use it?
Mr. Eggshells gave me three cookies in my lunch today. See? Proof positive!
No, it doesn't matter what kind of cookies they were (Oatmeal Rocks...and aren't you all jealous - and if you don't know what those are, just suffice it to say you are very very jealous!!!), but that there were three of them. Not two, not four, but three.
To a person raised with two siblings, three - or multiples thereof - is the number of balance, harmony, and sharing. To a person raised with one sibling, three is a number of immense confusion, adjustment and, dare I say it, fractional math. I dared.
I never realized how much that particular concept had attached itself to everything I did until I married the Mister. I allocate everything into the balance of my own paradigm. Even numbers are fair, easily arranged, and comfortable to me. That's why I buy four apples, and why when he buys three oranges I'm unconsciously yet frantically trying to figure out where the extra one goes. (This week it went into an orange and fennel spinach salad with a raspberry vinaigrette that you're jealous of as well, by the way.)
But I digress. The point is, that it's a complete revelation to me at age(40+) 29 that my childhood patterned so strongly and so subliminally that it actually causes me to acclimate to the "stressor".
I have no idea if my purchasing or providing four items jars the Mister as much as three does to me. I suspect not, because he's more comfortable with math than I am, and the fraction thingy doesn't drive him nuts. Plus his OCDemon isweirder different than mine.
It does make me ponder, however, what other behaviors of mine are ingrained to this degree that I haven't figured out yet...
In the end however, I guess it doesn't really matter. I got THREE cookies after all. Yay!
No, it's that it is overwhelmingly obvious he grew up with two siblings and I was raised with one. (Although I should probably said he was raised, because we all know he never really grew up. ;) )
That's not the revelation. Of course I knew that long before we were married. But y'all should know by now that I build up to my huge announcements of life-altering proportions. I mean, what's the point in cultivating a teensy bit of a flair for the dramatic if I'm never going to use it?
Mr. Eggshells gave me three cookies in my lunch today. See? Proof positive!
No, it doesn't matter what kind of cookies they were (Oatmeal Rocks...and aren't you all jealous - and if you don't know what those are, just suffice it to say you are very very jealous!!!), but that there were three of them. Not two, not four, but three.
To a person raised with two siblings, three - or multiples thereof - is the number of balance, harmony, and sharing. To a person raised with one sibling, three is a number of immense confusion, adjustment and, dare I say it, fractional math. I dared.
I never realized how much that particular concept had attached itself to everything I did until I married the Mister. I allocate everything into the balance of my own paradigm. Even numbers are fair, easily arranged, and comfortable to me. That's why I buy four apples, and why when he buys three oranges I'm unconsciously yet frantically trying to figure out where the extra one goes. (This week it went into an orange and fennel spinach salad with a raspberry vinaigrette that you're jealous of as well, by the way.)
But I digress. The point is, that it's a complete revelation to me at age
I have no idea if my purchasing or providing four items jars the Mister as much as three does to me. I suspect not, because he's more comfortable with math than I am, and the fraction thingy doesn't drive him nuts. Plus his OCDemon is
It does make me ponder, however, what other behaviors of mine are ingrained to this degree that I haven't figured out yet...
In the end however, I guess it doesn't really matter. I got THREE cookies after all. Yay!
Friday, February 10, 2012
Things and Stuff
This is a guilt post. I know, I know, it's my blog and I shouldn't feel guilty but I haven't posted since mid-January. MID-JANUARY. You people were just left hanging and I didn't even come back and check on you. No Kitty, that's a bad Kitty! (Yes, I've been watching Southpark, damn you Netflix streaming!)
So what's new? Oh right this is really one-way communication unless y'all comment back. Hey, there's an idea. What do YOU all want me to talk about? Leave me a comment or an email (ceriserose at gmail dot com) and suggest something. I may not use it, but at least then I'll know who of you have opposable thumbs and who don't.
Now on to why I'm posting. I have no topic so today it's going to be all about things random.
1. I'm completely addicted to Pandora Radio. If you haven't tried it, you absolutely should. You set up a station or two based on artists you like and it gives you other similar artists in the mix and plays you all sorts of songs. I've rekindled love for some artists I'd forgotten about and found many new ones. (And in a related rhetorical question, just how many covers of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" are there anyway?!?)
2. I've been having trouble getting back into the novel, but it's mostly due to storyline threads that I keep either changing or losing. One of my favorite writers posted a picture of her work space on Facebook and it hit me. I should be using post-it notes to keep track of the plot. Only instead of a wall (since my work space is wherever my rear-end lands), I bought some neon-coloured (heh, Canadian) 11x14 poster board and will use those. Since I'm trying to keep two separate storylines going before they converge, this should help immensely. Since my head just doesn't manage that kind of convolution.
And aren't I a meaniehead for mentioning the book that I haven't finished writing and continuing to whet your appetites? Yes, yes I am. :)
3. My house makes me crazy. We've been spending a good deal of time doing renovations for the last several years and "stuff" just keeps getting moved from one pile to another, one room to another. This Spring I've decided to just sit down and get real with all this stuff, and sort the crap out of it. (It can't read, so unless one of you tells the stuff what my plans are, it shouldn't be forewarned and hide or multiply or something. And you won't do that because you so don't want to awaken my ire. Plus, just by reading my blog you are automatically entered on my side and must work with me not against me.)
Websites keep showing me ads for Professional Organizer Certification. The Internet is just taunting me now.
4. I have yet to get out my end-of-year/Christmas/Yule/New Year's letters. (Actually I have yet to write one, but that's beside the point.) I have a strong suspicion that those are not going to happen for several months. I've decided that maybe I'll just do a late Summer one, since I've come to realize over the years, that September is when my mind and body re-set for the year. Of course, most of you that know me, and know me well, know better than to hold your breath on that score.
5. Wow, made it to 5. Um, well this is getting really long, so I think I'll just stop and figure out what to actually write for next time. :D
So what's new? Oh right this is really one-way communication unless y'all comment back. Hey, there's an idea. What do YOU all want me to talk about? Leave me a comment or an email (ceriserose at gmail dot com) and suggest something. I may not use it, but at least then I'll know who of you have opposable thumbs and who don't.
Now on to why I'm posting. I have no topic so today it's going to be all about things random.
1. I'm completely addicted to Pandora Radio. If you haven't tried it, you absolutely should. You set up a station or two based on artists you like and it gives you other similar artists in the mix and plays you all sorts of songs. I've rekindled love for some artists I'd forgotten about and found many new ones. (And in a related rhetorical question, just how many covers of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" are there anyway?!?)
2. I've been having trouble getting back into the novel, but it's mostly due to storyline threads that I keep either changing or losing. One of my favorite writers posted a picture of her work space on Facebook and it hit me. I should be using post-it notes to keep track of the plot. Only instead of a wall (since my work space is wherever my rear-end lands), I bought some neon-coloured (heh, Canadian) 11x14 poster board and will use those. Since I'm trying to keep two separate storylines going before they converge, this should help immensely. Since my head just doesn't manage that kind of convolution.
And aren't I a meaniehead for mentioning the book that I haven't finished writing and continuing to whet your appetites? Yes, yes I am. :)
3. My house makes me crazy. We've been spending a good deal of time doing renovations for the last several years and "stuff" just keeps getting moved from one pile to another, one room to another. This Spring I've decided to just sit down and get real with all this stuff, and sort the crap out of it. (It can't read, so unless one of you tells the stuff what my plans are, it shouldn't be forewarned and hide or multiply or something. And you won't do that because you so don't want to awaken my ire. Plus, just by reading my blog you are automatically entered on my side and must work with me not against me.)
Websites keep showing me ads for Professional Organizer Certification. The Internet is just taunting me now.
4. I have yet to get out my end-of-year/Christmas/Yule/New Year's letters. (Actually I have yet to write one, but that's beside the point.) I have a strong suspicion that those are not going to happen for several months. I've decided that maybe I'll just do a late Summer one, since I've come to realize over the years, that September is when my mind and body re-set for the year. Of course, most of you that know me, and know me well, know better than to hold your breath on that score.
5. Wow, made it to 5. Um, well this is getting really long, so I think I'll just stop and figure out what to actually write for next time. :D
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