Okay, so thirty-four miles with a bike seat stuffed up your sizeable ass is still thirty-four miles, even if much of it is downhill.
Start: Mt. Hood Meadows, end: Hood River. Scenery: fabulous. Top speed: 37.4 mph. Approx. time spent on the bike: 3 hours. Time spent coasting: about one hour, near as I can figure. Coolest things: the mountain, all craggy and with glaciers here and there; pear orchards so heavily laden with fruit that the branches are propped up with 2x4's; cattails nearly as tall as I am; fancy-lycra-pants bicyclists changing their skinny, expensive flat tires while I zoomed on by on my crappy twelve-dollar commuter tires; lip-balm-cozy freebie from the Subaru tent: my Chapstick and I need never part!
Busy week, busy night, must run.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Stolen Meme
I got this off yellojkt. I may be sorry for it too someday, but what the hell.
GRUB-OLOGY
What is your salad dressing of choice?
Safeway Organic something or another. It's like an Asian thingy. It's fat free too.
What is your favorite fast food restaurant?
Hm. Taco Bell is where I go for the least guilt. Burgerville for the milkshakes...
What is your favorite sit down restaurant?
We go to this local Vietnamese/Thai place for salad rolls, pot stickers, pho (beef noodle soup), and other stuff. But the meal I come back to a lot is this one time we met up with a friend and went to a restaurant called Geno's, had like a shrimp scampi thing, good conversation, etc. It was the perfect night, kinda late, kinda cold out, felt cosy and intimate and warm in the restaurant.
On average, what size tip do you leave at a restaurant?
About 20 percent. We round up a bit generally; way, way up if the baby is along.
What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick of?
The aforementioned salad rolls, with peanut sauce. I had some tonight.
Name three foods you detest above all others.
Cream cheese, sour cream, anything hot-pepper hot.
What is your favorite dish to order in a Chinese restaurant?
Garlic chicken, or garlic and black bean chicken if it's available.
What are your pizza toppings of choice?
We get pine & swine a lot, but given my druthers, I like sausage, mushrooms, and onions.
What do you like to put on your toast?
Butter and peanut butter, or butter and cinnamon sugar.
What is your favorite type of gum?
I like Bubblemint flavor, I don't remember which brand that is, I want to say Orbit.
TECH-OLOGY
Number of contacts in your cell phone?
Probably around 20.
Number of contacts in your email address book?
Same.
What is your wallpaper on your computer?
This is a new machine so it's some pinky orangey sunset thing that was in the sample photo folder. I like to change it a lot so once I have time to get photos onto this thing, it will vary alot. Frequently the baby figures pretty heavily.
What is your screensaver on your computer?
Five photos of the baby which I include one of now:
Are there naked pictures saved on your computer?
Probably one of the baby, on the other machine, but I doubt much of her personal regions are showing.
How many land line phones do you have in your house?
One VOIP, two cell phones.
How many televisions are in your house?
Two, one in the family room and one in the bedroom.
What kitchen appliance do you use the least?
The pasta maker. I guess it's more of a gadget.
What is the format of the radio station you listen to the most?
Kind of a pop-rock thingy, not too alternative, not too bubblegummy. That and NPR.
How many sex toys do you own that require batteries?
Yikes. I'm so not answering any sex questions.
BI-OLOGY
What do you consider to be your best physical attribute?
My forearms. They are reasonably shapely. My wrists are quite nice also.
Are you right handed or left handed?
Right handed, like all normal people. Ha ha!
Do you like your smile?
Better since I got my funky front tooth fixed (crown was too white and too big and stuck out when I smiled). But way too many chins.
Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
Hm. I guess a chunk of my leg bone, I had a bone tumor. And my wisdom teeth.
Would you like to?
Nah.
Do you prefer to read when you go to the bathroom?
Well, now that all depends. Sometimes it is the first opportunity I've had all day for some unattended peace and quiet.
Which of your five senses do you think is keenest?
Eyesight, if corrected. I don't miss much.
When was the last time you had a cavity?
It's been a few years. I don't recall offhand.
What is the heaviest item you lift regularly?
The baby, age 26 months, around 28 pounds.
Have you ever been knocked unconscious?
Nope.
MISC-OLOGY
If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
Tough one. Maybe, just so I could prepare the baby for it, or prepare a videotape if she was too young to understand yet.
If you could change your first name, what would you change it to?
I've always been partial to Frodo. Ha ha, just kidding. The names that come to mind are all weird Celtic ones like Fiona.
How do you express your artistic side?
Calligraphy, beading, scrapbooking, blogging.
What color do you think you look best in?
Blue, or green. Depends on the shade.
How long do you think you could last in a medium security prison?
However long I had to. Hopefully never.
Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake?
Not that I recall, but once I did find myself chewing on something as I rode my bike when I was a kid. It turned out to be an earwig. Also, some of the meals served to us in youth/tourist hotels in Soviet Russia were sort of borderline non-food.
If we weren’t bound by society’s conventions, do you have a relative you would make a pass at?
No. Which is not to say that I have unattractive relatives, but eeeuw.
How often do you go to church?
Most Sundays.
Have you ever saved someone’s life?
Not that I know of.
Has someone ever saved yours?
Don’t think so. But now I have that Elton John song running through my head.
DARE-OLOGY
Would you walk naked for a half mile down a public street for $100,000?
I once ran through a crowd in my swimsuit at a triathlon, then had to walk back to the transition area when it turned out I was too late for the swim. So naked a half mile would be okay, if I could see the cash beforehand. And I got to wear sunblock.
Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
Hell yeah. Where do I sign up?
Would you have sex with a member of the same sex for $10,000?
If in this theoretical situation I was single, and they were attractive, then I might do it for free. But not for money. I am nobody's whore. Generally. And if I were, 10 grand would not be enough.
Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
With anaesthesia? Maybe the left one.
Would you never blog again for $50,000?
Probably.
Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000?
Tastefully a la Vanity Fair, yes. Hustler, no.
Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000?
I'd need a lot of Tums, but maybe.
Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000?
Never. Only in self defense or defense of others. Let's hope in that case there would be a hefty reward.
Would you shave your head and get your entire body waxed for $5,000?
Show me the money. But I'd opt for laser hair removal in certain key areas, not to avoid pain but because then I would never have to shave again.
Would you give up watching television for a year for $25,000?
Hell yes. I kind of wish someone would pay me 25k so I could be broken of this bad habit.
Remote blogging
Have purchased laptop, named it Retail Therapy, and it is happily interfacing with free wifi provided by Our Fair City. I am deeply, deeply happy about this. At last, I can realize my dream of sitting in Starbucks with my overpriced coffee drink, declining to interact with my fellow humans, wasting bandwith on frivolous blogging and surfing. So this is what it's all about...
What's really making me happy is that my Better Half is starting to feel better after a brief illness. That's all I can say about it here. But it is cause for jubilation.
The other cause for jubilation: short version, I took an exam today that I thought would be horrible, very difficult, etc., and I got 84 out of 90. Longer version: See, the quizzes were open book and fiendishly hard, and I was up super late frantically cramming, and I thought the exam would be similar to the quizzes and I bombed a quiz in my other class this week, and it was just all rolling into a Big Hairy Ball of Anxiety and Hopelessness. I found myself murmuring, "I am so fucked," as I studied and crammed and wandered the house tensely fingering random objects between bouts of wearing out my second highlighter on my textbook. True story. Then, I finally went to bed, spent a few minutes reading fluffy chick fiction, went to sleep, and woke up a bajillion times with my head spinning before finally getting up at 5:30am to review a bit more. I was actually shaking when I sat down to take the test. Of course, I drank two sodas after 8pm and didn't have any brekky, but I think most of it was nerves. I should probably have known that a closed book exam would be less horrific than an open book quiz, but I have this way of catastrophizing... The test was quite reasonable and at least one of the questions I knew the answer to but just didn't think it all the way through so I got it wrong.
In other news: Am participating in bike ride this weekend. Will post the least hideous photo, which means there is a good chance there will be no photo. Anyway it's that 34 mile downhill one, after which my butt will still be sore but I shouldn't be too bad off otherwise.
Life is a little bit less horrible today. Hallelujah.
When I was a kid I had this terrible stepfather and I generally take every opportunity to vilify him as completely as possible, but just now I remembered something he used to say that was funny: "Life is just a shit sandwich, and every day you take another bite." Part of what made this funny was that it was something we said when something non-catastrophic went bad, like if you dropped your ice cream into the dog water dish, not for things that were super bad (because then it would just be depressing), and the other thing was the cadence of it, said properly: Life is just a shit sandwich, and every day you take a-nother bite. It's hard to express in print but it had its own certain vitality.
No bite for me today.
What's really making me happy is that my Better Half is starting to feel better after a brief illness. That's all I can say about it here. But it is cause for jubilation.
The other cause for jubilation: short version, I took an exam today that I thought would be horrible, very difficult, etc., and I got 84 out of 90. Longer version: See, the quizzes were open book and fiendishly hard, and I was up super late frantically cramming, and I thought the exam would be similar to the quizzes and I bombed a quiz in my other class this week, and it was just all rolling into a Big Hairy Ball of Anxiety and Hopelessness. I found myself murmuring, "I am so fucked," as I studied and crammed and wandered the house tensely fingering random objects between bouts of wearing out my second highlighter on my textbook. True story. Then, I finally went to bed, spent a few minutes reading fluffy chick fiction, went to sleep, and woke up a bajillion times with my head spinning before finally getting up at 5:30am to review a bit more. I was actually shaking when I sat down to take the test. Of course, I drank two sodas after 8pm and didn't have any brekky, but I think most of it was nerves. I should probably have known that a closed book exam would be less horrific than an open book quiz, but I have this way of catastrophizing... The test was quite reasonable and at least one of the questions I knew the answer to but just didn't think it all the way through so I got it wrong.
In other news: Am participating in bike ride this weekend. Will post the least hideous photo, which means there is a good chance there will be no photo. Anyway it's that 34 mile downhill one, after which my butt will still be sore but I shouldn't be too bad off otherwise.
Life is a little bit less horrible today. Hallelujah.
When I was a kid I had this terrible stepfather and I generally take every opportunity to vilify him as completely as possible, but just now I remembered something he used to say that was funny: "Life is just a shit sandwich, and every day you take another bite." Part of what made this funny was that it was something we said when something non-catastrophic went bad, like if you dropped your ice cream into the dog water dish, not for things that were super bad (because then it would just be depressing), and the other thing was the cadence of it, said properly: Life is just a shit sandwich, and every day you take a-nother bite. It's hard to express in print but it had its own certain vitality.
No bite for me today.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Lurk, lurk, lurk
Zucchinis lurk. They lie in wait beneath their huge, ideal-for-concealment leaves. The leaves are scratchy which deters all but the most intrepid gardener. It's all part of the plan for Worldwide Zucchini Domination, in which we are all reduced to fertilizer components except the few they keep enslaved to run the hose and shovel the components around on their vast fields thick with zucchini plants. They will achieve this by growing so large that they smother us unexpectedly when we go to harvest them and they fall on us as we try to lever them into the wheelbarrow, after which they will lure our impressionable children outside by mimicking the ice-cream truck song. They will then wrap their tentacles around them and the enslavement begins. I am sure of this. It will take time but if they can just reach saturation density in the suburban garden vector, the plan will go forward and we can all stop worrying about the prime interest rate and prayer in the schools and all that crap that doesn't matter anyway. In a way, it will be a blissful relief to most of us.
Last night I found four more monsters hiding under a heretofore unexplored region of the zucchini sector of our garden. I managed to wrestle them into a bag and hand them off to a trained expert before they started recruiting vegetables growing in the adjacent rows (tomatoes and beets) to join them in their nefarious plans. They will be reduced to zucchini bread and other tasty delights before the end of today, so I am told.
End zucchini imperialism! Saute' a few in garlic butter today!
Last night I found four more monsters hiding under a heretofore unexplored region of the zucchini sector of our garden. I managed to wrestle them into a bag and hand them off to a trained expert before they started recruiting vegetables growing in the adjacent rows (tomatoes and beets) to join them in their nefarious plans. They will be reduced to zucchini bread and other tasty delights before the end of today, so I am told.
End zucchini imperialism! Saute' a few in garlic butter today!
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Zucchini Freakout!
I got five responses to my "Free Zucchini" craigslist ad within about five minutes of posting it! I quickly deleted the ad or there would have been more! Who knew?!
Yes, it's HOT ENOUGH FOR ME
It was 104 degrees here yesterday. Tarzan couldn't take this heat... It's cooling off little by little over the next few days. Which is good because despite the air conditioning, it's just annoyingly hot and humid out there.
I craigslisted some monster zucchinis from our garden this evening. Here is the photo, featuring car keys for scale. Not to worry, there are still plenty left for anyone who might like one; talk nice to me and I might even overnight them to you, I am that desperate to find homes for them. I went out there and prowled around this evening, after a few days of inattention to the garden other than watering, and lo and behold, lurking in the shadows beneath the giant, prickly leaves: two proud squash, fairly pulsating with vegetabley goodness. So I listed them in the hopes that some cheapskate out there is just dying to make zucchini bread or something. I tried feeding some to our new bunny the other day but he's smarter than you'd think and wouldn't touch it.
Speaking of whom, he's out of his cage and dorking around the room as we speak. At last, I post a photo: meet Exidor.
Wonder if I'll be able to catch him when it's time to put him back in his cage...
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Human Garbage
Now normally I have a certain reverence for Life, and a fair amount of respect for the rights of others to have views that may differ vastly from my own, even if they are completely wrong, as they so often are.
Normally, I do.
This evening I was sitting quietly under a shady tree outside my classroom doing a little last minute studying... okay, I was talking on my cellphone. Nonetheless, I was minding my own business, just sitting there. Then some bonehead pulls up and parks in the lot adjacent to where I was sitting and sits in his car with the stereo blasting and all the windows down. I could hear the "music" blaring but was preoccupied with my phone call and so the lyrics didn't register until sadly it was too late. I finished my call and had packed up and was heading into the building when I realized that the current song lyric was repeating something derogatory about persons of the Jewish persuasion. Really, really derogatory.
So I consulted a posting about How to Contact Security and informed the helpfully earnest young woman on the phone what had just happened. She told me that I had to report it while it was in progress next time, but took the license plate and make/model of the guy's car from me anyway. Then she asked me, out of curiosity, what kind of things the songs were about since she had never heard any racist songs of that nature before, and when I told her "we'll wash ourselves with (n-word) blood" or something like that, she audibly gasped.
I saw the piece of human garbage departing from his car and later he walked past me, whistling, while I was outside my lab making yet another phone call. He fit the stereotype: short, muscular, cocky, almost-shaven head, though he was not dressed as a skinhead or anything like that. I wanted to bash his moronic, ignorant, bigoted face in, but of course being a peaceable sort and a bit wimpy, plus unversed in the finer points of pugilism, I refrained from doing so and merely hoped inwardly that one day he would get what he richly deserved by way of prosecution. Or persecution. I'm not picky. And if he gains understanding by getting his ass kicked, well, who am I to argue with the natural order of things.
That being said, guess I'll toddle off to bed. Righteous indignation is very tiring.
Normally, I do.
This evening I was sitting quietly under a shady tree outside my classroom doing a little last minute studying... okay, I was talking on my cellphone. Nonetheless, I was minding my own business, just sitting there. Then some bonehead pulls up and parks in the lot adjacent to where I was sitting and sits in his car with the stereo blasting and all the windows down. I could hear the "music" blaring but was preoccupied with my phone call and so the lyrics didn't register until sadly it was too late. I finished my call and had packed up and was heading into the building when I realized that the current song lyric was repeating something derogatory about persons of the Jewish persuasion. Really, really derogatory.
So I consulted a posting about How to Contact Security and informed the helpfully earnest young woman on the phone what had just happened. She told me that I had to report it while it was in progress next time, but took the license plate and make/model of the guy's car from me anyway. Then she asked me, out of curiosity, what kind of things the songs were about since she had never heard any racist songs of that nature before, and when I told her "we'll wash ourselves with (n-word) blood" or something like that, she audibly gasped.
I saw the piece of human garbage departing from his car and later he walked past me, whistling, while I was outside my lab making yet another phone call. He fit the stereotype: short, muscular, cocky, almost-shaven head, though he was not dressed as a skinhead or anything like that. I wanted to bash his moronic, ignorant, bigoted face in, but of course being a peaceable sort and a bit wimpy, plus unversed in the finer points of pugilism, I refrained from doing so and merely hoped inwardly that one day he would get what he richly deserved by way of prosecution. Or persecution. I'm not picky. And if he gains understanding by getting his ass kicked, well, who am I to argue with the natural order of things.
That being said, guess I'll toddle off to bed. Righteous indignation is very tiring.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
'Morning
Baby woke up at 2am whining thusly: "My Smacky... my Smacky... my Smacky... " Good mama that I am, I sprang into action and toured the house searching for Smacky, her beloved doll and charter member of the Complete Naked Baby Doll Collection(TM). Turns out that Smacky was still in the crib with her, she'd only thought that she had tossed her out with the other critters that she was lobbing over the side of the crib, you know, for fun, at two o'clock in the morning.
Then she woke for good at about 6:40am and thus commences the whining. She refused to nap yesterday and went to bed a little bit late so now she is sleep deprived just enough to be Whiny VonUbercomplainer. So I did what any red-blooded American parent would do, I fired up the Disney channel and left her to it. I'm a little sleep-deprived myself and it's this or turn into Ragey McThrowsthings.
Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we go to a movie. Not just any movie and not just at any theater. We are headed to the new Pirates extravaganza, which yes is mainstreamy and blockbustery but hey! It's full of pirates! Work with me here! And we are seeing it at the local Luxury Theater Experience, which I trust is worth the twenty bucks it will cost us to see this thing (tax included). We have engaged two highly trustworthy pals to stand watch over our precious possessions... oh, and the baby also.
This almost makes up for the scads of time I'm having to spend reading about microbiology and nutrition. I'm finding my internet class to be a real time-saver and love not having to slog around to campus, although I can see how a person might be tempted to put things off. I have anxiety dreams about missing deadlines, exams, etc at school so I'm trying to keep on top of things. I did already have a close call what with thinking the last microbiology quiz was on Thursday instead of Tuesday, but managed to pull a 23.5/25 score right outta my ass (so to speak), and that, ladies and germs, has made all the difference.
Okay, better run before my child's brain turns yet mushier.
Then she woke for good at about 6:40am and thus commences the whining. She refused to nap yesterday and went to bed a little bit late so now she is sleep deprived just enough to be Whiny VonUbercomplainer. So I did what any red-blooded American parent would do, I fired up the Disney channel and left her to it. I'm a little sleep-deprived myself and it's this or turn into Ragey McThrowsthings.
Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we go to a movie. Not just any movie and not just at any theater. We are headed to the new Pirates extravaganza, which yes is mainstreamy and blockbustery but hey! It's full of pirates! Work with me here! And we are seeing it at the local Luxury Theater Experience, which I trust is worth the twenty bucks it will cost us to see this thing (tax included). We have engaged two highly trustworthy pals to stand watch over our precious possessions... oh, and the baby also.
This almost makes up for the scads of time I'm having to spend reading about microbiology and nutrition. I'm finding my internet class to be a real time-saver and love not having to slog around to campus, although I can see how a person might be tempted to put things off. I have anxiety dreams about missing deadlines, exams, etc at school so I'm trying to keep on top of things. I did already have a close call what with thinking the last microbiology quiz was on Thursday instead of Tuesday, but managed to pull a 23.5/25 score right outta my ass (so to speak), and that, ladies and germs, has made all the difference.
Okay, better run before my child's brain turns yet mushier.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
More Microbial Fun Fun Fun!
Took my first science quiz last Thursday. I am proud to say I got 23.5 out of a possible 25. I would have gotten 24.5 but I forgot to go back and finish one question. Urgh!
Of course, there was another quiz today that I was completely unaware of until about 90 minutes beforehand, but even that one seemed okay. I mean, I don't think I blazed any new trails in microbiology or anything, but I'm pretty sure I passed. We get to dump one quiz score so that might well be the one.
Today we looked at our petri dishes from last week. We were ostensibly "streaking for isolation." Mine were so very isolated that they didn't actually exist... so I'll need a bit of practicing. We also prepared slides for Gram staining, which should be fun with all the cute little squirty bottles of exciting colored dyes etc. Sadly, we skipped a step resulting in the ruination of three of our four slides, but we can re-do them on Thursday.
I would like to note that today was our first inaugural successful lighting of the Bunsen burner with no help from the instructor. This is an important milestone in any lab class participant's career and should be celebrated. We pondered the method of celebration: speechifying, presentation of certificates, ribbons, etc., on through fanfares and brass bands, and settled on a modest yet exuberant parade. Volunteers are encouraged to gather near the lab entrance this Thursday just before 7pm.
In other news: cute baby anecdote alert! This evening before leaving for school I was folding a quick load of laundry. The baby spotted a pajama shirt that she hasn't worn yet (a new hand-me-down from her cousin) and decided it was her coat. "My coat! My coat!" she demanded, until I handed it to her. As she held it out, eyeballing it appreciatively, I asked her if that was her coat. "I fink so!" was her very excited reply.
Of course, there was another quiz today that I was completely unaware of until about 90 minutes beforehand, but even that one seemed okay. I mean, I don't think I blazed any new trails in microbiology or anything, but I'm pretty sure I passed. We get to dump one quiz score so that might well be the one.
Today we looked at our petri dishes from last week. We were ostensibly "streaking for isolation." Mine were so very isolated that they didn't actually exist... so I'll need a bit of practicing. We also prepared slides for Gram staining, which should be fun with all the cute little squirty bottles of exciting colored dyes etc. Sadly, we skipped a step resulting in the ruination of three of our four slides, but we can re-do them on Thursday.
I would like to note that today was our first inaugural successful lighting of the Bunsen burner with no help from the instructor. This is an important milestone in any lab class participant's career and should be celebrated. We pondered the method of celebration: speechifying, presentation of certificates, ribbons, etc., on through fanfares and brass bands, and settled on a modest yet exuberant parade. Volunteers are encouraged to gather near the lab entrance this Thursday just before 7pm.
In other news: cute baby anecdote alert! This evening before leaving for school I was folding a quick load of laundry. The baby spotted a pajama shirt that she hasn't worn yet (a new hand-me-down from her cousin) and decided it was her coat. "My coat! My coat!" she demanded, until I handed it to her. As she held it out, eyeballing it appreciatively, I asked her if that was her coat. "I fink so!" was her very excited reply.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
We All Make Sacrifices for Freedom
In my case, it's my sweater.
We bought us up a pile of fireworks and went to light 'em this evening, with J's sister who lives across the street. Now, I'm from Oregon and as I said in last year's 4th of July post, Oregon fireworks just suck. I just can't even believe what is legal in Washington. It's unreal.
So for 28 bucks we got a pile of little odds and ends, your Ground Bloom Flowers, your Roman Candles, some Busy Bees, a few Strobes, a couple of those ones that shoot a zillion little rounds in the air -- plus a mortar with 6 rounds. J's sister spent a similar amount and got two of the mortars, with seven rounds apiece. You place the mortar in the supplied cardboard tube, light the long, long fuse, and wait. Ostensibly, a flaming ball shoots some 50+ feet in the air (by my admittedly crappy estimate) and then explodes into a shower of colored sparks, with or without crackles, whistling, what have you. These things only cost about six bucks a set, so each flaming ball sets you back only a dollar! This is why I love America. And China.
Okay, so it turns out that there's a right way to place the round in the mortar. And thus a wrong way. And J's sister S. and her husband had a little miscommunication about that, and a round was placed in the mortar upside down, and kaboom! The thing just blew all apart. The explosion happened as it would have in the air, but on the ground instead, and one of the long, flaming fingers of doom shot right at me and landed on my sweater. I could not get out of that lawn chair fast enough, but I managed to get it off me before it did more than leave a smallish mark on my favorite sweater. Hopefully most of the damage will wash out, but it's a casual sweater so I don't care all that much that it's got a bit of a blemish. It'll make for an interesting story anyway, i.e. "Did you know there's a little hole in your sweater?" "Funny you should mention that, it's an amusing story..." We all laughed about it for some time after, in that "Oh my God it could have been so much worse, but since nobody was hurt, wasn't that funny?!" way.
Later when our own pile was spent I tagged along with S. and son T. to the neighbor's. We live on a loop and there are a couple of families who really go all out with the pyrotechnics. This one set of neighbors pooled their funds to the tune of about 400 dollars and got many, many flaming shooting exploding crackling things. I only stayed 15 or 20 minutes but they set off probably a dozen rounds much larger than ours in that time.
This is one of those things where I'm kind of amazed at what we are allowed to do, along with pumping our own gas. Seriously, the potential for great bodily harm is so huge. My own step-nephew was injured with fireworks a number of years ago; of course, he was emptying a bunch of Whistling Petes of their gunpowder so as to make something highly illegal and destructive, so maybe he's not such a good example. (He was just engaging in some good old fashioned "let's blow shit up" teen behavior and not plotting anyone any harm, in case you're thinking he needs treatment or something. He suffers from a slightly underdeveloped Common Sense gland, maybe, but he's pretty normal otherwise.)
We bought us up a pile of fireworks and went to light 'em this evening, with J's sister who lives across the street. Now, I'm from Oregon and as I said in last year's 4th of July post, Oregon fireworks just suck. I just can't even believe what is legal in Washington. It's unreal.
So for 28 bucks we got a pile of little odds and ends, your Ground Bloom Flowers, your Roman Candles, some Busy Bees, a few Strobes, a couple of those ones that shoot a zillion little rounds in the air -- plus a mortar with 6 rounds. J's sister spent a similar amount and got two of the mortars, with seven rounds apiece. You place the mortar in the supplied cardboard tube, light the long, long fuse, and wait. Ostensibly, a flaming ball shoots some 50+ feet in the air (by my admittedly crappy estimate) and then explodes into a shower of colored sparks, with or without crackles, whistling, what have you. These things only cost about six bucks a set, so each flaming ball sets you back only a dollar! This is why I love America. And China.
Okay, so it turns out that there's a right way to place the round in the mortar. And thus a wrong way. And J's sister S. and her husband had a little miscommunication about that, and a round was placed in the mortar upside down, and kaboom! The thing just blew all apart. The explosion happened as it would have in the air, but on the ground instead, and one of the long, flaming fingers of doom shot right at me and landed on my sweater. I could not get out of that lawn chair fast enough, but I managed to get it off me before it did more than leave a smallish mark on my favorite sweater. Hopefully most of the damage will wash out, but it's a casual sweater so I don't care all that much that it's got a bit of a blemish. It'll make for an interesting story anyway, i.e. "Did you know there's a little hole in your sweater?" "Funny you should mention that, it's an amusing story..." We all laughed about it for some time after, in that "Oh my God it could have been so much worse, but since nobody was hurt, wasn't that funny?!" way.
Later when our own pile was spent I tagged along with S. and son T. to the neighbor's. We live on a loop and there are a couple of families who really go all out with the pyrotechnics. This one set of neighbors pooled their funds to the tune of about 400 dollars and got many, many flaming shooting exploding crackling things. I only stayed 15 or 20 minutes but they set off probably a dozen rounds much larger than ours in that time.
This is one of those things where I'm kind of amazed at what we are allowed to do, along with pumping our own gas. Seriously, the potential for great bodily harm is so huge. My own step-nephew was injured with fireworks a number of years ago; of course, he was emptying a bunch of Whistling Petes of their gunpowder so as to make something highly illegal and destructive, so maybe he's not such a good example. (He was just engaging in some good old fashioned "let's blow shit up" teen behavior and not plotting anyone any harm, in case you're thinking he needs treatment or something. He suffers from a slightly underdeveloped Common Sense gland, maybe, but he's pretty normal otherwise.)
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Office Beautification
I said I'd post photos for my own personal gratification, and here they are. Bear in mind that it's just a bit of paint and some organization, I'm not claiming to be some fancy-schmancy interior decorator or anything. I just get a real sense of satisfaction having this pleasant, functional space. In fact I find myself stepping in and gazing upon it in wonderment from time to time. Sadly, I have no "before" pictures, but imagine a) white walls, b) junk everywhere, c) poorly arranged furniture, and d) no real floor space to speak of.
That being said, here we go:
The desk and shelves area. The computer under the desk is the one we're junking.
The computer we actually use, on an antique round oak table. I want to find a different configuration, the printer is crammed behind one of the massive, elderly speakers and is awkward to get to. But for now it will do.
My better half installed a clever hook for my portfolios to hang from, in some dead space along the side of the desk. She's very handy and smart.
Everything is aggressively organized and labelled. I hate having to rummage around any more than absolutely necessary. These little chests were purchased unfinished from I-Inexpensive-K-European-E-Megalo-A-Mart. I finished 'em up and I ruv them very much. The glass knobs on the blue one are antique, from some built-ins in my Mom's old house. She put new knobs on them for some reason and I ended up with the old ones.
Anyway thanks for looking. :)
That being said, here we go:
The desk and shelves area. The computer under the desk is the one we're junking.
The computer we actually use, on an antique round oak table. I want to find a different configuration, the printer is crammed behind one of the massive, elderly speakers and is awkward to get to. But for now it will do.
My better half installed a clever hook for my portfolios to hang from, in some dead space along the side of the desk. She's very handy and smart.
Everything is aggressively organized and labelled. I hate having to rummage around any more than absolutely necessary. These little chests were purchased unfinished from I-Inexpensive-K-European-E-Megalo-A-Mart. I finished 'em up and I ruv them very much. The glass knobs on the blue one are antique, from some built-ins in my Mom's old house. She put new knobs on them for some reason and I ended up with the old ones.
Anyway thanks for looking. :)
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Microbes and You!
Started classes yesterday. Okay, one class. Microbiology. It's four-plus hours of nonstop microbial hijinks and mayhem! First we have lecture, which is presided over by a pasty, button-downed soft nerd-guy. He's really very likeable, but he has slender little wrists. He disguises his second chin with a well-trimmed beard, and wears plaid short-sleeved shirts and jeans. I'm fairly sure he can neither high-five nor catch a frisbee. But, as I said, he is likeable, in an authoritative way that borders on, but does not enter, smug-dom.
Then we move on to lab, also with Pasty Nerd-Guy, and we perform our elementary lab exercises and activities like the bunch of female nursing students that we mostly are, which is to say without the hardened scientific neutrality found in your more serious hard-core students. I am grossly generalizing here and use female only to accurately describe the scenario to the reader. If there is one. But we are indeed mostly female, mostly nursing students, mostly pretty earnest, and mostly not with lengthy backgrounds in the hard sciences, or aspirations thereto.
We got to muck around with petri dishes last night. I do not have strong feelings about petri dishes, they are just dishes with gelatinous media in them, but I find myself wanting to say Eeeeuw nonetheless. Maybe from all those movies with the tell-tale petri dish of Black Plague in the pivotal lab scene. At any rate, we got to culture room air, our fingers (unwashed and then washed), the lab tables (ditto), our lips, and our tongues (before and after swishing with an antiseptic mouthwash).
I turned to my lab partner, a droll woman probably a few years older than myself, saying that we could flip a coin to determine who had to lick the agar, but she volunteered to do it. "It'll be the most action I've seen in a while." I think she's my newest best friend. She really got into it, too, no feeble, virginal single-lick action. She attacked that dish like it was the last of the Thanksgiving gravy. I have a strong initial respect for her. I would've turned away and done it furtively, sparingly, and shame-facedly. I'm like that.
So now I'm a student. God help me.
In other news, today Delia did some new things.
First off she got all jazzed about putting on Swim Panties to go hit the pool, at about 8am. It's way too cold for that at 8am, plus we were going to the library, so I explained all that and she actually said, "Okay," and moved on to other pursuits without the screaming fit, distraction, or bribery that is normally required.
Then later I had to go to the doctor for this thing (more on that in a mo') and I explained to her that we were going to the doctor only for the doctor to look at Mama's foot, not to look at Delia. She consented to being taken along (not that she had any choice) and when we arrived there and she saw the exam room we were headed for, and started to get apprehensive, I explained it again and she settled down and was totally fine for the entire visit. She even took off her shirt and shoes, activities typically reserved for home or the library.
Then, as we waited to be seen, she drew random scribblings on the little kid-height chalkboard that they have in the exam room and accidentally drew an upside-down "V" shape. She very excitedly exclaimed that it was a mountain and drew another one! This is her first graphic representation of anything, albeit accidental in origin, though she has seen me draw many things for her. Then she made some lines on the board and declared that they were sticks. A very exciting day for Delia, overall.
Also yesterday morning when I asked her if she wanted some breakfast, she told me, "No. I'm riding a bicycle." I peeked around the corner and she was indeed sitting on her tricycle in the living room. And today we went to visit the ginormous macaw at the mall pet store, on our usual rounds after storytime, and she held various stuffed-animal dog toys up saying things like, "Wookit the hedgehog, Wocky."
She's so damn cute it's almost poisonous. I need supplemental insulin.
Oh, the foot thing. I have gotten this weird bump on top of my left foot, right where it's really bony toward the big toe side, a couple of times. Yesterday it was so painful it felt like I had dropped something heavy on it, but I hadn't. So I went in, and it turns out it's swelling around the tendon associated with moving your big toe up and down. I must have aggravated it in some way over the weekend or ??? Ice and generally being easy on it should take care of it. No big deal, but mystery solved.
Then we move on to lab, also with Pasty Nerd-Guy, and we perform our elementary lab exercises and activities like the bunch of female nursing students that we mostly are, which is to say without the hardened scientific neutrality found in your more serious hard-core students. I am grossly generalizing here and use female only to accurately describe the scenario to the reader. If there is one. But we are indeed mostly female, mostly nursing students, mostly pretty earnest, and mostly not with lengthy backgrounds in the hard sciences, or aspirations thereto.
We got to muck around with petri dishes last night. I do not have strong feelings about petri dishes, they are just dishes with gelatinous media in them, but I find myself wanting to say Eeeeuw nonetheless. Maybe from all those movies with the tell-tale petri dish of Black Plague in the pivotal lab scene. At any rate, we got to culture room air, our fingers (unwashed and then washed), the lab tables (ditto), our lips, and our tongues (before and after swishing with an antiseptic mouthwash).
I turned to my lab partner, a droll woman probably a few years older than myself, saying that we could flip a coin to determine who had to lick the agar, but she volunteered to do it. "It'll be the most action I've seen in a while." I think she's my newest best friend. She really got into it, too, no feeble, virginal single-lick action. She attacked that dish like it was the last of the Thanksgiving gravy. I have a strong initial respect for her. I would've turned away and done it furtively, sparingly, and shame-facedly. I'm like that.
So now I'm a student. God help me.
In other news, today Delia did some new things.
First off she got all jazzed about putting on Swim Panties to go hit the pool, at about 8am. It's way too cold for that at 8am, plus we were going to the library, so I explained all that and she actually said, "Okay," and moved on to other pursuits without the screaming fit, distraction, or bribery that is normally required.
Then later I had to go to the doctor for this thing (more on that in a mo') and I explained to her that we were going to the doctor only for the doctor to look at Mama's foot, not to look at Delia. She consented to being taken along (not that she had any choice) and when we arrived there and she saw the exam room we were headed for, and started to get apprehensive, I explained it again and she settled down and was totally fine for the entire visit. She even took off her shirt and shoes, activities typically reserved for home or the library.
Then, as we waited to be seen, she drew random scribblings on the little kid-height chalkboard that they have in the exam room and accidentally drew an upside-down "V" shape. She very excitedly exclaimed that it was a mountain and drew another one! This is her first graphic representation of anything, albeit accidental in origin, though she has seen me draw many things for her. Then she made some lines on the board and declared that they were sticks. A very exciting day for Delia, overall.
Also yesterday morning when I asked her if she wanted some breakfast, she told me, "No. I'm riding a bicycle." I peeked around the corner and she was indeed sitting on her tricycle in the living room. And today we went to visit the ginormous macaw at the mall pet store, on our usual rounds after storytime, and she held various stuffed-animal dog toys up saying things like, "Wookit the hedgehog, Wocky."
She's so damn cute it's almost poisonous. I need supplemental insulin.
Oh, the foot thing. I have gotten this weird bump on top of my left foot, right where it's really bony toward the big toe side, a couple of times. Yesterday it was so painful it felt like I had dropped something heavy on it, but I hadn't. So I went in, and it turns out it's swelling around the tendon associated with moving your big toe up and down. I must have aggravated it in some way over the weekend or ??? Ice and generally being easy on it should take care of it. No big deal, but mystery solved.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Photogenic, after the screaming stops
Took the small one to the local kiddie photo place for some commemorative 2-year-old photos.
You would think we were trying to get her to eat bugs from the way she hollered and carried on, at first anyway. By the time we were done, you know, long after we had taken all the photos, she was playing and goofing off as if she did this kind of thing every day.
At any rate, the woman taking the pictures was worth her weight in gold. She got smiles outta my kid that we've never seen in the wild.
These images are in their raw form, so they haven't been cropped and centered and all that. You can see a stuffed toy on the far left of one of them, and the close-up was cropped to exclude her hand which looks almost like it has an extra finger and is all grippy and tense compared to her smiling little mug. You can see her little hair-fweeps above her ears, where she has grown these little foofy curly things that are much longer than the rest of her hair but we aren't ready to cut her hair yet so there they stay.
She's pretty cute, if I may say so myself.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Filthy Lucre
It was a free-for-all. Lordy. We had a gazillion people come from all over and buy our junk. It was very chaotic on Friday. Like, we made 380 bucks. And nothing we sold was priced for more than ten dollars, except our patio table which we had found be just too large for our patio and decided to off-load for twenty bucks. Most things were in the 50 cents to one dollar range. Saturday was quite mellow in comparison, we did maybe a hundred dollars total that day. I guess Friday is the big day now in garage sales.
Nephew Tommy set up a pop stand with icy cold sodas and juice drinks for 50 cents (or 30 cents for the juice ones) and made $21.00 on Friday alone. Most of it was sodas, so he sold around 42 of them. It was nuts. People would come, look around, buy some junk or not, and then invariably get a soda! The fact that it was around 90 degrees didn't hurt a bit.
The ugly part of the day (you knew there had to be one) came right at the end. We had closed up, stowed all the goodies in the garage, and eaten some take-and-bake pizza, which I must say hit the spot in a big way. Then I went out to load up the patio table to deliver to a very nice woman who wanted it but didn't have a vehicle big enough to haul it. All was going well until A Certain Someone stepped in to assist.
I had measured the table and the inside of our Family Truckster and figured that I stood a good chance of just lifting it up and tucking it neatly inside, without having to dislodge the baby's carseat which as we all know is a total pain in the ass to install. I failed, however, to clarify this with J. who felt that the table should be turned upside down so as to glide easily over the floor of the Truckster.
Did I then say, "Let's just try it this way, I did some measuring and I think it'll just fit right in, and I'd rather deal with it not sliding that easily than have to take out the baby's seat or tie the hatch down" ? Did I? No, I did not. I caved without a word. Then when it did not fit, I asked (asked!) if I should get some rope or something to tie the hatch shut. Nah, J. says, and grabs the third-row seatbelts, looping them around the table legs. Good enough! Drive on.
By now I am really getting mad and send J. inside. I am angry because there is no way I'm driving anywhere with a slippery glass-topped table unsecured and ready to shoot out onto the road at any moment.
Then I discover that the seatbelts have ratcheted down on the table legs and won't loosen, and the only way to remove them from the table legs is to dismantle the table.
Now I'm really pissed, because I only figured that out after going and furiously yanking the carseat out, which turned out to have no actual effect on the situation.
J. has complained by this point that it's not fair because J. does not get pissy at me if I (bleep) something up. I am not yet ready to concede at this point in the skirmish so I just get more surly.
I get tools, remove the legs, shove the whole mess into the Truckster and drive fiercely to the woman's house.
It's an elderly single-wide trailer in one of those parks where the trailers are crammed in like cordwood. She lives there with her husband and three kids.
I am such an asshole. I live in a nice 'burb house and drive an SUV. I speak fluent English and if people treat me badly, it's not because of my ethnic heritage.* My kid has a college fund and with luck won't be forced to work as a mall custodian or gas station attendant or landscaper.
So, I unloaded the table, re-attached the two legs, and drove home. As I drove, I called J.'s sister, who witnessed some of my fury, and apologized for losing my temper. Then when I got home I apologized to my wife who was only trying to help.
Why did I do that to myself? Why didn't I just speak up? Well, because when you're a 10-year-old girl and your stepfather Fathead ridicules you constantly and treats you like you don't know anything and can't do anything right because you're a 10-year-old girl, you learn not to speak up. Plus, if you speak up or object in any way but the exactly perfect way, you'll make him mad and then you'll get in trouble.
Years later I was in a therapy group and there was a guy there who looked exactly like my stepfather. I could hardly speak with him in the same room at first.
So, dear reader(s), I hope that you treat your kids as though they are human beings even during the trying pre-teen/teen years when you really just want to lock them in the basement until they are more palatable. Or else they might end up like me.
*Although I was teased mercilessly as a child for having red hair: who's crying now, kids? Half of my tormentors probably went on to dye their hair red later in life.
P.S., I should clarify that my mother divorced this man when I was about 18 and didn't remarry until about three years ago, to the most fabulous stepfather a person could have. I didn't want anyone confusing Fathead with my current stepfather, Mr. Wonderful.
Nephew Tommy set up a pop stand with icy cold sodas and juice drinks for 50 cents (or 30 cents for the juice ones) and made $21.00 on Friday alone. Most of it was sodas, so he sold around 42 of them. It was nuts. People would come, look around, buy some junk or not, and then invariably get a soda! The fact that it was around 90 degrees didn't hurt a bit.
The ugly part of the day (you knew there had to be one) came right at the end. We had closed up, stowed all the goodies in the garage, and eaten some take-and-bake pizza, which I must say hit the spot in a big way. Then I went out to load up the patio table to deliver to a very nice woman who wanted it but didn't have a vehicle big enough to haul it. All was going well until A Certain Someone stepped in to assist.
I had measured the table and the inside of our Family Truckster and figured that I stood a good chance of just lifting it up and tucking it neatly inside, without having to dislodge the baby's carseat which as we all know is a total pain in the ass to install. I failed, however, to clarify this with J. who felt that the table should be turned upside down so as to glide easily over the floor of the Truckster.
Did I then say, "Let's just try it this way, I did some measuring and I think it'll just fit right in, and I'd rather deal with it not sliding that easily than have to take out the baby's seat or tie the hatch down" ? Did I? No, I did not. I caved without a word. Then when it did not fit, I asked (asked!) if I should get some rope or something to tie the hatch shut. Nah, J. says, and grabs the third-row seatbelts, looping them around the table legs. Good enough! Drive on.
By now I am really getting mad and send J. inside. I am angry because there is no way I'm driving anywhere with a slippery glass-topped table unsecured and ready to shoot out onto the road at any moment.
Then I discover that the seatbelts have ratcheted down on the table legs and won't loosen, and the only way to remove them from the table legs is to dismantle the table.
Now I'm really pissed, because I only figured that out after going and furiously yanking the carseat out, which turned out to have no actual effect on the situation.
J. has complained by this point that it's not fair because J. does not get pissy at me if I (bleep) something up. I am not yet ready to concede at this point in the skirmish so I just get more surly.
I get tools, remove the legs, shove the whole mess into the Truckster and drive fiercely to the woman's house.
It's an elderly single-wide trailer in one of those parks where the trailers are crammed in like cordwood. She lives there with her husband and three kids.
I am such an asshole. I live in a nice 'burb house and drive an SUV. I speak fluent English and if people treat me badly, it's not because of my ethnic heritage.* My kid has a college fund and with luck won't be forced to work as a mall custodian or gas station attendant or landscaper.
So, I unloaded the table, re-attached the two legs, and drove home. As I drove, I called J.'s sister, who witnessed some of my fury, and apologized for losing my temper. Then when I got home I apologized to my wife who was only trying to help.
Why did I do that to myself? Why didn't I just speak up? Well, because when you're a 10-year-old girl and your stepfather Fathead ridicules you constantly and treats you like you don't know anything and can't do anything right because you're a 10-year-old girl, you learn not to speak up. Plus, if you speak up or object in any way but the exactly perfect way, you'll make him mad and then you'll get in trouble.
Years later I was in a therapy group and there was a guy there who looked exactly like my stepfather. I could hardly speak with him in the same room at first.
So, dear reader(s), I hope that you treat your kids as though they are human beings even during the trying pre-teen/teen years when you really just want to lock them in the basement until they are more palatable. Or else they might end up like me.
*Although I was teased mercilessly as a child for having red hair: who's crying now, kids? Half of my tormentors probably went on to dye their hair red later in life.
P.S., I should clarify that my mother divorced this man when I was about 18 and didn't remarry until about three years ago, to the most fabulous stepfather a person could have. I didn't want anyone confusing Fathead with my current stepfather, Mr. Wonderful.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Garage Sale
Tomorrow is the big sale. I am so hoping that people flock to us from all around, extolling the vast superiority of our wares in comparison to those charlatans and ne'er-do-wells having sales in our immediate vicinity. As long as I'm at it, I should hope also that they will shower us in currency while washing our cars and mowing our lawn. As it is, reality probably dictates that we will sell some of our crap and the rest will be unceremoniously dumped at the nearest non-profit charitable organization.
I am trying to fob off some elderly computer games: Dark Age of Camelot, Baldur's Gate, that sort of thing. Please, somebody, buy this crap so I can hold my head up high... Otherwise I have to donate them to charity and hope that some hopelessly out-of-date computer nerd happens upon them. Though it does give me a warm fuzzy feeling to think that my cast-off pc games might bring joy to some geeky recluse. I also have some sports games for the pc like Tiger Woods Golfing something-or-other and Madden (football? Like I would know) and Superbike racing. So perhaps a hopelessly out-of-date sports nerd will benefit as well.
My Mom is coming all the way from where she lives, one hour away, to peddle her junk also. Her husband (Mr. Wonderful, and I really do mean that) won't let her have a sale at their house because a) there is a scarcity of parking, and b) he's afraid someone might be casing the joint while shopping for bargains. He does have a point, but we can't help but take this opportunity to mock him for his extreme hoarding tendencies. He has much stuff. He also will have a full-on woodworking and metalworking and machine shop once he's put it all together. He's really putting it together, too, it's not just wishful thinking at Home Depot or anything like that; he has very fine equipment, not stuff for the mass consumer. So, we josh him but he's probably better off being cautious. Plus, if his tools get ripped off who will fix things at Chez Swamp?
Back to the salt mines... I will be dreaming about Sharpie markers and little fluorescent price dots tonight... if I ever sleep...
Update: it's 1am and I'm still up. I stopped pricing things at around 10pm but then got sucked in to a tv show and then decided to clean the kitchen. What's wrong with me?!
I am trying to fob off some elderly computer games: Dark Age of Camelot, Baldur's Gate, that sort of thing. Please, somebody, buy this crap so I can hold my head up high... Otherwise I have to donate them to charity and hope that some hopelessly out-of-date computer nerd happens upon them. Though it does give me a warm fuzzy feeling to think that my cast-off pc games might bring joy to some geeky recluse. I also have some sports games for the pc like Tiger Woods Golfing something-or-other and Madden (football? Like I would know) and Superbike racing. So perhaps a hopelessly out-of-date sports nerd will benefit as well.
My Mom is coming all the way from where she lives, one hour away, to peddle her junk also. Her husband (Mr. Wonderful, and I really do mean that) won't let her have a sale at their house because a) there is a scarcity of parking, and b) he's afraid someone might be casing the joint while shopping for bargains. He does have a point, but we can't help but take this opportunity to mock him for his extreme hoarding tendencies. He has much stuff. He also will have a full-on woodworking and metalworking and machine shop once he's put it all together. He's really putting it together, too, it's not just wishful thinking at Home Depot or anything like that; he has very fine equipment, not stuff for the mass consumer. So, we josh him but he's probably better off being cautious. Plus, if his tools get ripped off who will fix things at Chez Swamp?
Back to the salt mines... I will be dreaming about Sharpie markers and little fluorescent price dots tonight... if I ever sleep...
Update: it's 1am and I'm still up. I stopped pricing things at around 10pm but then got sucked in to a tv show and then decided to clean the kitchen. What's wrong with me?!
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Nudity
I should clarify that the rampant nudity in question involves the baby, to clear up her rash. Much as I might enjoy taking a few hits off the cough syrup bottle and frolicking through the back yard au naturel, alas, all they told me was to drink more liquids, get plenty of sleep, etc.
We let the little tyke go commando in the back yard this evening and she was quite cheeky about it, in every sense of the word. What's really funny is that to get her to put clothes on, which is normally a bit of a struggle, all you have to do is say, "Hey Delia, let's go put some paste on your rash." She then follows you to the couch repeating, "Paste on my wash!" (because her R's aren't fully on board yet) and Assumes The Position. "Let me try!" she says, while trying to stick her finger in the little bottle of Special Diaper Cream issued forth by our HMO.
Another new phrase is, "My turn! My turn!" Where does she get this? We rarely run around the house saying, "My turn, my turn."
In other news, spent the afternoon feeling pretty punky to the point that J. came come to find us on the couch taking in an episode of Spongebob. It was actually my favorite episode, in which SB and his pal Patrick take their neighbor Squidward out jellyfishing. I have seen maybe six episodes all told but this one I've seen three times and it just keeps getting funnier. Anyway am about to toddle off for my last dose of happy syrup for the day and hit the sheets.
We also got the first season of NCIS from Netflix (I cannot say enough good things about NF) and watched the first episode this evening after Little Miss Pasty Wash went to bed. I can't explain why I love this show as much as I do, but I just do. Mark Harmon: totally hunky. And I'm a lesbian. And he's old -- er -- old enough to be my much older brother. Can't explain it. Actually I think it's more to do with a fun ensemble cast than anything else. I just like Mark Harmon in general, but not so much in the biblical sense.
Okay, enough personal revelation. Off to sleep.
We let the little tyke go commando in the back yard this evening and she was quite cheeky about it, in every sense of the word. What's really funny is that to get her to put clothes on, which is normally a bit of a struggle, all you have to do is say, "Hey Delia, let's go put some paste on your rash." She then follows you to the couch repeating, "Paste on my wash!" (because her R's aren't fully on board yet) and Assumes The Position. "Let me try!" she says, while trying to stick her finger in the little bottle of Special Diaper Cream issued forth by our HMO.
Another new phrase is, "My turn! My turn!" Where does she get this? We rarely run around the house saying, "My turn, my turn."
In other news, spent the afternoon feeling pretty punky to the point that J. came come to find us on the couch taking in an episode of Spongebob. It was actually my favorite episode, in which SB and his pal Patrick take their neighbor Squidward out jellyfishing. I have seen maybe six episodes all told but this one I've seen three times and it just keeps getting funnier. Anyway am about to toddle off for my last dose of happy syrup for the day and hit the sheets.
We also got the first season of NCIS from Netflix (I cannot say enough good things about NF) and watched the first episode this evening after Little Miss Pasty Wash went to bed. I can't explain why I love this show as much as I do, but I just do. Mark Harmon: totally hunky. And I'm a lesbian. And he's old -- er -- old enough to be my much older brother. Can't explain it. Actually I think it's more to do with a fun ensemble cast than anything else. I just like Mark Harmon in general, but not so much in the biblical sense.
Okay, enough personal revelation. Off to sleep.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Happy syrup
Am not malingerer -- have been officially diagnosed with brochitis. Even got a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia so I wouldn't have to take antibiotics. Since I am allergic to all the good ones, they always give me the wussy kinds that you have to take four times a day for eternity, so a chance to avoid them is worth a few roentgens IMHO.
So, I am the proud new owner of a shiny albuterol inhaler and two lovely, marvelous bottles of cough syrup with codeine. With refills!
I should say that I can take a fair amount of codeine and still be amazingly functional. I am prone to sinus infections and more than once have been given this elixir of comfort and joy, and worked and went to class largely unaffected by it. I mean, it suppressed my cough and did not make me unfit for operation of heavy machinery etc. Of course I was working in a candy store, which, sadly, seldom involves use of forklifts, D-9 Cats, road graders, and the like, but still. I could make change and carry on conversations that were not too bizarre (from my end, anyway; the store was downtown and there are some weird folk there to be sure).
Once I was given Vicodin when I had pneumonia a few years back and took it with great trepidation, fearing it would make me all loose and vague and I might like it too much and become a crackhead or something. (Hey, I watch made-for-TV movies sometimes. Okay, I don't, but I did as an impressionable child.) I might as well have eaten a Tic-Tac. I'm a codeine girl, all the way.
Oh, and albuterol inhalers? Eeuw. I don't know how people can deal with it. Inhaling things that are not air is completely against my personal creed. Case in point: I don't smoke, never have. I took a puff off this inhaler and it grossed me out big time. Of course, some practice might help, as I think most of the medicine actually landed on my tongue. So I'll try again. But I don't like it.
Little Delia also went to the doctor with me. We all went. I wanted J. to meet the doctor since she needs one at our HMO. Poor Delia, she realized where we were and commenced to hollering and carrying on. She calmed down a bit and watched what happened to me with interest, in between pointing at things and speaking very seriously about them, in some other language as far as I could tell.
Then we parted company as I went off for my chest films and Delia had her own appointment to deal with that pesky rash. Oh, the humanity. We were in the same general area of the clinic and I had no trouble pinpointing their location when I was done. The piercing, wailing screams of despair led me right to her. She got some fancy paste for the affected area and all will be well after a day or two of rampant nudity and application of said paste.
So, I am the proud new owner of a shiny albuterol inhaler and two lovely, marvelous bottles of cough syrup with codeine. With refills!
I should say that I can take a fair amount of codeine and still be amazingly functional. I am prone to sinus infections and more than once have been given this elixir of comfort and joy, and worked and went to class largely unaffected by it. I mean, it suppressed my cough and did not make me unfit for operation of heavy machinery etc. Of course I was working in a candy store, which, sadly, seldom involves use of forklifts, D-9 Cats, road graders, and the like, but still. I could make change and carry on conversations that were not too bizarre (from my end, anyway; the store was downtown and there are some weird folk there to be sure).
Once I was given Vicodin when I had pneumonia a few years back and took it with great trepidation, fearing it would make me all loose and vague and I might like it too much and become a crackhead or something. (Hey, I watch made-for-TV movies sometimes. Okay, I don't, but I did as an impressionable child.) I might as well have eaten a Tic-Tac. I'm a codeine girl, all the way.
Oh, and albuterol inhalers? Eeuw. I don't know how people can deal with it. Inhaling things that are not air is completely against my personal creed. Case in point: I don't smoke, never have. I took a puff off this inhaler and it grossed me out big time. Of course, some practice might help, as I think most of the medicine actually landed on my tongue. So I'll try again. But I don't like it.
Little Delia also went to the doctor with me. We all went. I wanted J. to meet the doctor since she needs one at our HMO. Poor Delia, she realized where we were and commenced to hollering and carrying on. She calmed down a bit and watched what happened to me with interest, in between pointing at things and speaking very seriously about them, in some other language as far as I could tell.
Then we parted company as I went off for my chest films and Delia had her own appointment to deal with that pesky rash. Oh, the humanity. We were in the same general area of the clinic and I had no trouble pinpointing their location when I was done. The piercing, wailing screams of despair led me right to her. She got some fancy paste for the affected area and all will be well after a day or two of rampant nudity and application of said paste.
I'm just down to the one lung
Made a doctor's appointment today, one for me and one for Delia actually. The one for me is because it's been a week and I'm still coughing up a lung and feel crappy. I plan to lie like mad when they ask if I've been resting and getting lots of clear liquids.
The appointment for Delia is for a funky little rash on her... uh... "parts." That's actually what she calls her personal regions: parts. Her bottom is called cheeks although if you ask her where her bottom is she points to the appropriate area.
In other news: house still somewhat torn up from the Great Colossally Mis-Timed Office Remodeling Project. Getting slowly better though. Which is good because this weekend is the garage sale and then the weekend after we are having a party to kick off my return to academia. So I have my list of stuff to do (a sampling: vacuum house, oil change in the Family Truckster, water indoor plants, hang outdoor plants -- could my life be more boring?) and what am I doing? Blogging, of course.
When the office is done I'll post a photo or two just for the benefit of closure, but you aren't required to look at it or make supportive comments unless the spirit moves you. I'm just happy to put an end to the dump-and-run era.
The Prodigal Daughter just brought me the dental floss which she calls sting and after being given a short length of it, playing with it, and abandoning it, has removed one sock and possibly her pajama pants and sprinted out of the office, presumably to harrass the cat and/or dog. I'm fairly certain this is good practice for some future endeavor but I'm not sure what. Exotic dancing? Animal husbandry?
The appointment for Delia is for a funky little rash on her... uh... "parts." That's actually what she calls her personal regions: parts. Her bottom is called cheeks although if you ask her where her bottom is she points to the appropriate area.
In other news: house still somewhat torn up from the Great Colossally Mis-Timed Office Remodeling Project. Getting slowly better though. Which is good because this weekend is the garage sale and then the weekend after we are having a party to kick off my return to academia. So I have my list of stuff to do (a sampling: vacuum house, oil change in the Family Truckster, water indoor plants, hang outdoor plants -- could my life be more boring?) and what am I doing? Blogging, of course.
When the office is done I'll post a photo or two just for the benefit of closure, but you aren't required to look at it or make supportive comments unless the spirit moves you. I'm just happy to put an end to the dump-and-run era.
The Prodigal Daughter just brought me the dental floss which she calls sting and after being given a short length of it, playing with it, and abandoning it, has removed one sock and possibly her pajama pants and sprinted out of the office, presumably to harrass the cat and/or dog. I'm fairly certain this is good practice for some future endeavor but I'm not sure what. Exotic dancing? Animal husbandry?
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Seals! We gotcher seals, right here!
Get 'em while they're hot!
We took the baby to the beach today. Last time she went was when she was just a few months old so naturally she doesn't remember much.
There's a little podunky aquarium with a bunch of seals in a tank at the local Spring Break Mecca beach town. They are rescued seals who can't be reintroduced to the wild for whatever reason so they live fat and happy doing self-taught tricks to get tourons like ourselves to fling them bits of chum. Actually we did not personally fling any chum as it was a buck a pop and enough other folk were doing it that we didn't need to. The seals are quite sleek, and very cheeky, so clearly they are getting sufficient amounts without us getting our hands all fishy and gross.
Anyway once she warmed up to the idea Delia was pretty excited by all the honking and flapping and splashing. We failed to get really good reaction photos but did get some pretty good shots of an actual baby seal nursing. Evidently rescued seals reproduce pretty handily since there were three little fuzzy young ones in there laying around looking adorable. I had to hold the camera up above the wire enclosure so compositionally it's not the best shot ever, but I am pretty pleased with it since it's not every day I can photograph seals nursing. The two seals on the right side of the picture are the nursing mother and pup.
We walked along the promenade with her a bit also, in search of the ubiquitous salt water taffy. She'd heard that John Cleese has had a hip replaced and can no longer perform Silly Walks, so she practiced a bit so as to be ready to take up the mantle when she is of age:
Sadly, we did not have the video camera along to capture the full effect, but suffice it to say that we have a worthy candidate here. You should see her run! It's a wonder she locomotors at all, with all the flapping and non-aerodynamic-ness going on. Obviously she gets this from my side. I think my family name translates from the original Swedish as "Those people who fall down a lot and throw like girls."
So, it's been a week and thanks to my dissolute lifestyle (staying up too late, failing to drink enough, or any, water, etc.) I am still sick. Better overall, but still coughing and congested. It's been such a long time since I had a chest cold that it's taken me quite by surprise. I haven't gone to the gym in a solid week, or more I think. I understand they frown on patrons coughing up actual lungs while using their fancy equipment, as the other patrons find this off-putting. Bunch of weenies. Coughing is a form of aerobic exercise, right?
We took the baby to the beach today. Last time she went was when she was just a few months old so naturally she doesn't remember much.
There's a little podunky aquarium with a bunch of seals in a tank at the local Spring Break Mecca beach town. They are rescued seals who can't be reintroduced to the wild for whatever reason so they live fat and happy doing self-taught tricks to get tourons like ourselves to fling them bits of chum. Actually we did not personally fling any chum as it was a buck a pop and enough other folk were doing it that we didn't need to. The seals are quite sleek, and very cheeky, so clearly they are getting sufficient amounts without us getting our hands all fishy and gross.
Anyway once she warmed up to the idea Delia was pretty excited by all the honking and flapping and splashing. We failed to get really good reaction photos but did get some pretty good shots of an actual baby seal nursing. Evidently rescued seals reproduce pretty handily since there were three little fuzzy young ones in there laying around looking adorable. I had to hold the camera up above the wire enclosure so compositionally it's not the best shot ever, but I am pretty pleased with it since it's not every day I can photograph seals nursing. The two seals on the right side of the picture are the nursing mother and pup.
We walked along the promenade with her a bit also, in search of the ubiquitous salt water taffy. She'd heard that John Cleese has had a hip replaced and can no longer perform Silly Walks, so she practiced a bit so as to be ready to take up the mantle when she is of age:
Sadly, we did not have the video camera along to capture the full effect, but suffice it to say that we have a worthy candidate here. You should see her run! It's a wonder she locomotors at all, with all the flapping and non-aerodynamic-ness going on. Obviously she gets this from my side. I think my family name translates from the original Swedish as "Those people who fall down a lot and throw like girls."
So, it's been a week and thanks to my dissolute lifestyle (staying up too late, failing to drink enough, or any, water, etc.) I am still sick. Better overall, but still coughing and congested. It's been such a long time since I had a chest cold that it's taken me quite by surprise. I haven't gone to the gym in a solid week, or more I think. I understand they frown on patrons coughing up actual lungs while using their fancy equipment, as the other patrons find this off-putting. Bunch of weenies. Coughing is a form of aerobic exercise, right?
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Actual weekend accomplishment
I did get the office painted, completely, and even cleaned and put away all the painting supplies! For me this is a big deal as I am generally the world's biggest slacker when it comes to putting stuff away. But, I was delirious and half out of my mind with fever, so that probably accounts for the dreamy way the day passed. I would just pop in a dvd, something familiar and amusing, and two hours later the show would be over and I'd be done with another wall.
I painted two adjoining walls green and the other two walls blue. I'd go into excruciating detail as to which two walls are which color but lordy, do you really care? But this computer sits on a round table in a corner, and on one side of the monitor the wall is green, the other side blue, and it's all pretty groovy.
Maybe you're wondering about the fever. I thought I was having seasonal allergies but I'm happy to say it's just an especially slow-moving summer cold. I'd rather be sick for a few days than have allergies that drag on and on. I have very minor ones and they seem to be getting very slightly worse over the years, so the thought that I might be feeling that crappy for half the summer was really bringing me down.
So now the contents of the office, less the larger pieces of furniture (two tables, a cheap white laminate cabinet, and a cheap metal filing cabinet) which I worked around, are spread out all over the rest of the house. I will devote the next few days of my life to a) blowing my nose and coughing, b) keeping my child fed, clothed and out of mortal danger, and finally c) sifting through the piles and piles of junk everywhere and chucking as much of it as possible to the garage so that in two weeks we can put it out on tables in the driveway and hope that people will show up and pay us pennies on the dollar for what it cost us years ago when our judgment was evidently poorer. What remains will go back into the office, but I'm trying to keep it somewhat more minimal than previously. Which is to say, with fewer bits of crap stuffed into every nook and/or cranny.
I was so crafty. I got off work unexpectedly early Friday night and had time to drop by a store for some shelves to put on the wall, and brought them in stealthily and hid them so they could be a surprise. Sadly, I didn't have time to get them onto the wall before J. got home, plus I lack in confidence when it comes to driving screws into the studs. I tend to accidentally strip out the screw heads and get all mad. So, I fessed up and J. has agreed to assist me. I'm hoping we'll have time tomorrow.
I also removed the extremely ugly curtains that previously hung over the window. They kept the sun out, so they did their duty, but did they have to be so homely? The woman who owned this house before us spent a lot of time traveling for business and seemed to have come away from that with tastes distilled from 80's motel rooms. I wish I'd had the sense to take photos of the desecrations she installed on every window in the house -- all different, yet eerily similar, and desperately, desperately ugly. She is a nice woman but I'm really glad she's not an interior designer.
In other news, I'll be headed out to the college tomorrow to purchase my books. Let's hope there are some decent used copies. I was going to try to cut costs by searching for them on the internet but those that I found were either just as expensive plus I'd have to pay shipping, or else the seller didn't list which edition they were, or other frustrating issues like that. Screw it, I'll just hike down and pony up. At least I'll know I'm getting the right books.
Lastly, I must describe some amusing baby things. No photos of this as yet but I swear they will be forthcoming.
Delia got a "Dora the Explorer" book-with-music-player-thingy for her birthday. It looks like a teensy cd-walkman and it plays these 4 different teensy plastic pretend-cd's. It plays instrumental (think midi file) songs, several on each teensy cd. Delia likes to put it on the floor, crouch down to put in a cd, which she can do without help already, and push the button to play a song. Then she jumps up and dances in little circles around the book and player. It's a total hoot. When the song is over, she goes over and pushes the button again to make the next song play, and returns to dancing (i.e. jumping and flapping her arms in a seemingly random fashion). How can I keep from laughing my head off at her utter cuteness? Well, I can't. So I try to disguise it as enthusiasm, smiling and saying, Good dancing! But really I'm just dying at how adorable she is.
The other thing is, I've discovered the secret that all parents of toddlers figure out at some point: you can ask your kid stupid questions to get them to say or do things that will crack you up so bad you'll have to leave the room or else pee on the couch. I was reading some book or another to her this evening, a library book with a dog in it and at some point the dog was wagging his tail. I asked Delia where her tail was and she indicated the seat of her pants. Then I asked if she could wag her tail like the doggy in the book, and she jumped down off the couch, patted herself on the butt a couple of times, and started waggling all over the place. I like to split a seam trying not to fall off the sofa.
Also tonight she gathered up an armful of stuffed animals (she calls them "critters") and handed them to me one at a time, gravely intoning the genus/species of each: "Bear, grumpy troll, nummer bear, nummer grumpy troll."
How can you not just want to eat her completely up? This so totally makes up for the months of constant screaming.
I painted two adjoining walls green and the other two walls blue. I'd go into excruciating detail as to which two walls are which color but lordy, do you really care? But this computer sits on a round table in a corner, and on one side of the monitor the wall is green, the other side blue, and it's all pretty groovy.
Maybe you're wondering about the fever. I thought I was having seasonal allergies but I'm happy to say it's just an especially slow-moving summer cold. I'd rather be sick for a few days than have allergies that drag on and on. I have very minor ones and they seem to be getting very slightly worse over the years, so the thought that I might be feeling that crappy for half the summer was really bringing me down.
So now the contents of the office, less the larger pieces of furniture (two tables, a cheap white laminate cabinet, and a cheap metal filing cabinet) which I worked around, are spread out all over the rest of the house. I will devote the next few days of my life to a) blowing my nose and coughing, b) keeping my child fed, clothed and out of mortal danger, and finally c) sifting through the piles and piles of junk everywhere and chucking as much of it as possible to the garage so that in two weeks we can put it out on tables in the driveway and hope that people will show up and pay us pennies on the dollar for what it cost us years ago when our judgment was evidently poorer. What remains will go back into the office, but I'm trying to keep it somewhat more minimal than previously. Which is to say, with fewer bits of crap stuffed into every nook and/or cranny.
I was so crafty. I got off work unexpectedly early Friday night and had time to drop by a store for some shelves to put on the wall, and brought them in stealthily and hid them so they could be a surprise. Sadly, I didn't have time to get them onto the wall before J. got home, plus I lack in confidence when it comes to driving screws into the studs. I tend to accidentally strip out the screw heads and get all mad. So, I fessed up and J. has agreed to assist me. I'm hoping we'll have time tomorrow.
I also removed the extremely ugly curtains that previously hung over the window. They kept the sun out, so they did their duty, but did they have to be so homely? The woman who owned this house before us spent a lot of time traveling for business and seemed to have come away from that with tastes distilled from 80's motel rooms. I wish I'd had the sense to take photos of the desecrations she installed on every window in the house -- all different, yet eerily similar, and desperately, desperately ugly. She is a nice woman but I'm really glad she's not an interior designer.
In other news, I'll be headed out to the college tomorrow to purchase my books. Let's hope there are some decent used copies. I was going to try to cut costs by searching for them on the internet but those that I found were either just as expensive plus I'd have to pay shipping, or else the seller didn't list which edition they were, or other frustrating issues like that. Screw it, I'll just hike down and pony up. At least I'll know I'm getting the right books.
Lastly, I must describe some amusing baby things. No photos of this as yet but I swear they will be forthcoming.
Delia got a "Dora the Explorer" book-with-music-player-thingy for her birthday. It looks like a teensy cd-walkman and it plays these 4 different teensy plastic pretend-cd's. It plays instrumental (think midi file) songs, several on each teensy cd. Delia likes to put it on the floor, crouch down to put in a cd, which she can do without help already, and push the button to play a song. Then she jumps up and dances in little circles around the book and player. It's a total hoot. When the song is over, she goes over and pushes the button again to make the next song play, and returns to dancing (i.e. jumping and flapping her arms in a seemingly random fashion). How can I keep from laughing my head off at her utter cuteness? Well, I can't. So I try to disguise it as enthusiasm, smiling and saying, Good dancing! But really I'm just dying at how adorable she is.
The other thing is, I've discovered the secret that all parents of toddlers figure out at some point: you can ask your kid stupid questions to get them to say or do things that will crack you up so bad you'll have to leave the room or else pee on the couch. I was reading some book or another to her this evening, a library book with a dog in it and at some point the dog was wagging his tail. I asked Delia where her tail was and she indicated the seat of her pants. Then I asked if she could wag her tail like the doggy in the book, and she jumped down off the couch, patted herself on the butt a couple of times, and started waggling all over the place. I like to split a seam trying not to fall off the sofa.
Also tonight she gathered up an armful of stuffed animals (she calls them "critters") and handed them to me one at a time, gravely intoning the genus/species of each: "Bear, grumpy troll, nummer bear, nummer grumpy troll."
How can you not just want to eat her completely up? This so totally makes up for the months of constant screaming.
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