Who's Gonna Save Me? Or the post with the potential-plethora of parentheses problem

I have no reason for the post title except that I was listening to Midnight Oil while trying to figure it out.  I guess it could be a valid question though, thinking about it.  I wonder what all I need saving from these days.

Ooh, sounds like a list!

1. Political ads.  This should be self-explanatory.
2. "Fun size" chocolate bars.
3. Writer's Block.  
4. *mumbles something*
5. Cats that got left alone for 1.5 days and ohmygodthedrama.
6. Myself.  


That's probably about it.  At least that's as much as I can trick out of my brain.

As I'm writing this, Hurricane Sandy is opening a can of whoop-ass on the denizens of the US's East Coast, and I just want to let my friends there know that I'm thinking of you and crossing my fingers and toes for y'all to be safe.  Of course this is only gonna be read by people who still have power.  The rest of you are likely ignoring this blog anyway, with the lame excuse that you have no power.  Hmph.

Of course, being from the rainy Lower Mainland of BC (which translates from its native Canadian to a rough "Pacific Northwest" in US English - which is actually an oxymoron, because it doesn't sound anything like English at all - and I have too much punctuation in here now so I'm confused and have no way to gracefully remove myself at this point so I'm going to pretend that this is completely planned and you can't say it's not, well you could, but I don't have to agree and I can delete your comments anyway so NYAH!), I have webbed feet so I don't get my tail feathers in a knot over rainy weather. But I will concede that the wind is worrying.  

(By the way, I know that last paragraph was a mess, but I'm calling it a creative foray so shut up.  Writer's privilege.)

It's been proposed that Sandy and the weekend's 7+ point earthquake off BC's coast are a direct result of my actions.  Honestly I have not found evidence to refute that proposal; to the contrary all indicators point to my involvement.  

I went camping this past weekend.  Apparently the balance of nature was completely tossed and Ms. Nature is having fits at my daring to leave my natural habitat.  I'd tell her off but she gets really nasty.  Plus, I live closer to Mt. St. Helens than I did growing up and I know she's gonna use that one on me one day.  The old adage of "never piss off an active volcano or its momma" still stands today.  If only the Brady kids had figured that out when they went to Hawaii, Greg wouldn't have died in that surfing accident.  Or something.

Actually the news that I went camping isn't such a big deal.  The news that I survived camping is.  Of course, I went with two grown up boy scouts (that sounds very wrong), a very savvy chica, and a two year old that has numerous survival skills superior to mine (seriously, that is not a joke).  I did manage not to cut off a limb (no one let me have anything sharp), burn myself (didn't get to throw myself in the fire for warmth), or drown (they made me walk around the puddle between the cabin and the indoor washrooms).

Yes, cabin and indoor washrooms.  There was even a heater in the cabin.  Because my type of camping rules.

I jest a very little though, I was a Brownie, and a Girl Guide - *ponders if I need to explain this to the non-Canadians and decides, no, that Google is your friend so do your own damn research people!* - and have camped in all seasons and all kinds of weather.  Here's the thing though...on the first multi-day camping trip, I was handed a jack knife** and proceeded to "whittle", ultimately producing a lovely scar on my left index finger.  (Seriously, what numb nuts hands a jack knife to an accident-prone 8 year old?  I'm lucky it was just a flesh wound.  I could have been killed!)

**Brief segue - years later, like maybe last year, I finally put together a "jack-knifed semi" that was named as such because it looked like a jack knife partially distended.  Who knew???  Not me, that's for sure!  Mr. Eggshells laughed at me, but really, flashes of brilliance can happen anywhere.

Anyway, I camped as a child when I didn't have to do all the work, left the outdoor survivalist groups when they conflicted with my regular viewing of "The Greatest American Hero" (I know...I wish it was for something way more poetic, like "The A Team" but that wasn't on the air yet), and as an adult I camped with people who offered to teach me the ropes/fill in the gaps (which largely consisted of me being the water fetching and dishes girl).  Needless to say (which is really a dumb phrase, because it's obvious I'm going to say it), I didn't learn much about putting up a tent (most pointedly does not say pitching a tent because I have learned that well), securing tarps and the like.  

Essentially, I didn't learn much about that this time either, but it was a good trial run for the next camping trip.  Since Mr. Eggshells and I had never been camping together, despite our many years of marriage and the almost yearly conversation of "we should go camping", cabining was a relatively easy dynamic to start with.  By the time we work our way up to tenting, I might have convinced him to let me play with matches.

Holy Crap, it's still September!

Okay, just barely, but it still counts!

I would still be counting, but once I'm done with my fingers and toes, that's it, that's all you're getting out of me.  It's been a really busy Summer, with a really busy intro-to-Autumn chaser; despite my belief that we were winding down, it looks like we're still on the Summer pace.  Looking at my schedule through the end of November, if I'm still alive at Christmas, it will be proof there -is- a Santa Claus.

Because of said busy-ness (which is not spelled 'business' but that does explain a lot about why my job is beating me to a pulp of late), I have not been able to put two concrete thoughts together.  Oh who am I kidding, I haven't been able to put together two jello thoughts.  Or jello shots.  Which actually might have helped.

So without further ado, I will attempt to summarize my life since the last time I shared here:  Random Thoughts for the Month of September

Goals

I'm a big believer in setting goals...so much so that I set goals for myself daily.  True, some days the bar is set very low - "get out of bed" - but for the most part it's a daily thing.  Relatively recently I have discovered a couple of things about the goals I set myself.

One, is something I read that intrigues me.  The article was talking (in a deep chocolate male baritone no less) about how it's possible that goals aren't met because when the goal-setter shares the information or intent of the goal, that's enough to satisfy the 'goal-fulfillment'.  Essentially the action of telling someone that you have a goal provides a feeling of completion so the drive to achieve the goal itself is minimized.

I find this really interesting because, as I mentioned earlier in this blog, I had set a goal for myself to write daily starting on September 1st.  My achievement of this goal is abysmal, but I've learned it's not my fault.  It's because I told you all about it that I failed, not because I'm a lazy slacker.  Absolution!  

Two, is that goals need to be achievable.  I have a really cute tendency to overload myself with way too much and then stress myself out.  Actually all my tendencies are cute.  It's just my way.

But I digress.  I've been trying something new...pacing myself.  It's definitely a learned activity but I'm practicing well.  I'm also counting everything I do toward my day's activities (hence the goals of getting out of bed, getting dressed, etc.).  In fact, pretty much any moment I'm lucid and upright, I'm giving myself points.

All my points go into sexiness.  

Critical Reading

I've re-started reading a series I enjoyed back in the 90's.  What it is isn't important (FBI type thriller), but what I'm noticing is that I'm not simply reading to enjoy it.  It's been long enough that they story lines are "new" again, but I'm reading them with analysis.  What makes the characters tick, why do they appeal to me?  How does the author use pacing, and tension?  It's kind of odd because I've always been able to lose myself in a story and now I'm thinking through it.  It's not bad...actually it's kind of neat to be able to enjoy it on two levels.  It's just weird.

Paper

I swear to goddess it's multiplying overnight.  Where does it all come from?  I clean up everything I can see, shred, recycle, file.  Within hours it's accumulated again.  I'd think it was Mr. Eggshells but I've had him tied to a chair for the last week, just to make sure, and it still multiplied while he was unable to contribute.  

Thinking about it though, I didn't check the cats.  I'll just bet he convinced them to work for him on this.  Bastards!

Video Games

It's still one of my greatest joys in life to watch my husband do what he calls "driving" in video games. 


Intelligence and Learning

Despite being a fairly intelligent person as well as a quick study, I have determined that I have some extremely interesting gaps in my knowledge base.  For example, a joke that Mr. Eggshells told me last night went right over my head because I didn't know the term 'lead' in reference to aiming and firing a gun.  I.e. you aim to where the moving target is going to be, not where they are.  There was math and probably science but I tuned that part out.  So now whenever he kills some bad guy in the video game, I exclaim "Yay, you shot him in the lead!"  He just looks at me and smiles.

Getting a Rock is a Good Thing

I'm still fuzzy on how the conversation turned the way it did...but with the advent of Fall, Mr. and I have resurrected the phrase "I got a rock.", uttered by the beleaguered Charlie Brown in the Peanuts Hallowe'en special.  (No, I'm not explaining it, you should know it.  Do your part!)

We had finished grocery shopping and that phrase came up again.  Only somehow it turned out that the "rock" was frozen urine (seriously, it made total sense at the time and I wasn't even drunk!).  And that the frozen urine was only Mr's.  I said that it bothered me that I wasn't sure if I should be upset or not that he wasn't collecting my urine as well to freeze and hand out on Halllowe'en.  

It was about that point that we decided we'd go out that night instead of handing out anything to trick or treaters.  Because we're obviously confused.

We did agree, though, that if we were trick or treating and got a rock over frozen urine, we'd be happy.  

****

Okay I'm tired and I need to go to bed because, as you probably deduced, the subject quality of this post tanked around the 3rd line.  From the top. 

Hopefully will be back sooner than the end of October.  

Holy Crap, it's September Already!

Hi!  Remember me?  Yes, I'm still here.  I hope you're still here too...otherwise I'm talking to myself.  It wouldn't be the first time, nor, daresay, the last.

Now that the season of activity is winding down and our social life down to its usual simmer over the rapid boil that was our summer, I'm getting back into "projects".    These are everything from house stuff (did you know that it never ends?  I mean seriously), crafts, reading, and of course, writing!  While it's not all blog related, there should be a good increase of that from the current dry-as-dust riverbed with its teeny trickle.  

The goal I started on September 1st was to write daily.  This is in preparation for the NaNoWriMo event that kicks off November 1st.  Unlike last year, this year I plan to be prepared when I start, and hope to even attend some of the local 'write-ins'.  

Of course, I missed September 2nd, but it wasn't my fault.  I had to watch Slither again.  (Hey, there's only so many hours in a day!)  Plus, don't look at me like that, I'm a grown up - at least chronologically.


Okay, now life stuff.  Just what have I been doing when I wasn't here?

• Kicking ass in Munchkin.  Not always winning but doing much better with the game in and of itself.  Of course, it helps that one of the rules encourages cheating (a tasty paradox).  Being the good girl I am (shut up!), I tend to play fair unless I'm allowed to play dirty.   This sets me up in the perfect scenario because I'm told to be bad.  Oh, it feels soooo good.  ;)
  (By the way if you don't know about Munchkin or haven't played, you are a loser!  Okay not really, but honestly, super fun stuff there!)
• Job!  OMG so much volume, and lots that I'm still learning.  Apparently from all sources I'm kicking ass there too.  Come to think of it, if anyone wants their ass kicked, apparently I'm your gal.  Step right up!  I think I still have my Dad's old steel-toed boots around here somewhere.
• Being social.  Or should I say Social.  Because it is a fairly auspicious event when a cave troll manages as much time outside the cave as I have, so I think it deserves to be capitalized.  Especially since I can't take my happy little Xanax pills right now, so I've been going straight.  (The horror, the horror.)  Let's not ask Mr. Eggshells how many breakdowns before and after each event I've had...it'll be our little secret.
• Traveled!  Starting with a trip to Eastern Washington for a wedding, and most recently a whirl-wind trip to Seattle, we've been uncustomary in our "out of the house" time.
• House 'stuff'.  Continuing work on the bathtub install/bathroom renovation.  This is the last major thing to be done before a few minor ones and then we can list it.  Because commuting an hour plus each way for work bites.  And not in a good way.  Starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel...
• Grieving.  One of my dearest friends has had devastating loss in a brief period of time.  Considering my history with loss, this situation has brought to me some things I've needed to cope through.  I've valued it, though, because it's helped me be in the right mental place to help her through where I can.  Which has been very important to me, and I hope, of help to her.
• Writing!  I have been writing, just not here, and never as much as I'd like.  You know, if anyone wanted to adopt me so I could just write all day, every day, I'd be okay with that.  Let me know.
  
  Anyway, I have a few different writing projects on the go, and am enjoying them.  So at the very least there's that.  My hope is to actually finish one or two even.  

But now I may need a nap.  This was a lot of thinking for a holiday Monday.  

Wildlife and Other Such Calamities

As evidenced by this earlier post that you really should have read already, I am most decidedly a city girl.  Well even a suburban girl would work as a descriptor.  What I am not is a rural girl.  The upshot of this is that it makes for some really good anecdotes and aren't you all so lucky that I'm sharing.  (Fully expects you all to be nodding at this point...off to sleep perhaps but in my world you're just agreeing with me.  ;)  )

We recently made our way to Eastern Washington to attend the wedding of one of our beautiful nieces and spend some quality family/friend time.  Deciding it suited our scheduling needs, we stayed in Spokane and traveled the hour or so to where family was.  As such, we spent a lot of time going up and down that highway number I can remember when I'm there but can't remember when I'm not.   Yes, that one.

I don't do a lot of the driving around that area; Mr. Eggshells schooled, worked, lived there most of his life so he's much more familiar with the streets and such.  Actually, if I drive our truck too long he's in real jeopardy of my declaring it to be "my" truck, and he likes it too much to risk that.  Plus, a lot of the driving is in decidedly rural areas, which, as I've already established, is not my ideal match.

I will now confess that I'm afraid of cows.  I take a lot of crap for this fear, being assured by rural people that they are harmless.  Bull!  (See what I did there? *flex*)  I believe this to be a reasonable fear; they are, actually, several hundred pounds bigger than I am, and I'm sure they know I've drank their milk and eaten their cousin.  I'm fairly certain they are currently plotting a coup, but sadly, I cannot find enough proof to back my claim.  I saw something similar with chickens in a movie once (and holy crap, that movie came out 12 years ago?  WTH?), and it was totally true. 

Needless to say, from the farming on the hill slopes to the variety of wild animal life there is to be had in that region, it is a fairly good understatement to say I'm out of my element.

It happened on the off-ramp of that one highway to get onto the other highway where, as Mr. Eggshells was navigating the abrupt curve (seriously there's acres of land, no curves need to be abrupt...these people went to planning school at the same place as the guy in our town who designed the northbound access on the I-5 - a neat little some kind of math/circle degree curve that's really awkward).  Where was I?  Oh yeah, the curve and it was there that I saw the stuffed animal.

We'd just gotten past it when I commented to hubby that someone had put a dead stuffed animal on the off-ramp concrete barrier.  He gave me a look and asked me to clarify what I meant.  I told him that I'd seen this upright animal on the guardrail, and that someone must've put it there as a joke.

It was about this point that I got the other look, the one that's half-amused and half-incredulous with just a smidgen of "facepalm, let me educate you", and he informs me that it was likely a real animal...based on my description, a marmot.  

Okay so I've heard of marmots, at least.  Apparently they're fairly prevalent in that area, and I was forced to believe him when he pointed another one out in the same location the next day....that moved.  

I still think the first one was a college prank.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.'s and 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.  

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...)

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.