OOC= Out Of Control. I wanna be the one. In control. Miss Jackson. I AM NASTY! I have tried to extricate myself from the Angry Eyes. HOWEVER. Now, the slipshod construction in our employee bathroom is making me mad, and I am viewing this as a sign of the apocalypse. I should not be this upset over doors that don’t close quite right, or bang open when another door shuts. BUT COME ON. Sometimes the only peace I find is in the quietude of the bathroom stall, and to have to worry that the door’s gonna fly open, that just jangles my nerves. The metal box for – you know, stuff you don’t want to carry around, and need to throw away? That thing sits on the floor because it’s not installed correctly. ICKY! The paper towel dispenser has a sharp edge on one side & people have cut their hands on it. Why don’t we just re-tile with broken glass & put some ammonia in the soap dispensers for good measure?
It’s not my company’s fault, it’s the building’s fault. Sometimes, the lights are out. For hours. If you use the Skinny Person’s stall, which was narrowed for the OSHA handicapped stall, you crack your knee into the toilet paper dispenser. OH GOD. Don’t get me started back on those damned toilet paper dispensers. I got so mad I almost broke it one afternoon. Thank our Merciful Father that it was working ok today, because I might have found some Herculean strength & pulled the entire unit off the wall. OFF THE WALL. Michael Jackson. Great album. What happened, man? I’m disappointed in you. And let me tell you, that is NOT THE COLUMN YOU WANNA BE IN these days.
Month: January 2005 (Page 2 of 6)
It seems that in my role-playing of Mr. Potato Head, I have only packed Angry Eyes this week. Well, and the monkey chow. (For the monkeys.) Fortunately, the Angry Eyes are only in place during, oh, basically, daylight hours, so you can draw your own conclusions about the source of my luggage.
I was thinking on my drive in to work today that I should practice forgiveness. Frequently. More Often. And then my mind countered with the fact that I would spend half my day forgiving Stupidity, which, while probably worthwhile, won’t necessarily contribute to the humility and inner peace I’m striving for. In fact, it just made my Angry Eyes feel like they suctioned on to my skull a little tighter. It might be advisable for me to wear sunglasses for a while.
And then doesn’t that just make you think of that horrible ’80’s song, by Corey Hart, “Sunglasses at Night?” AAARGH. My brain tortures me. I should forgive him for such a terrible song. Maybe after some coffee.
Knittourettes: sounds like a group of synchronized knitters, hm? Like the Rockettes, but with needles and yarn instead of headgear & pumps.
Nope. It’s the affliction my knitpal Abbey suffers from – it started a couple weeks ago, when she started using Judy as her personal ka-cha (that’s a row counter for you non-knitters). However, Judy was also knitting, so anyone near Abbey was enlisted to help her remember if she was on a knit row or a decrease row. Eventually, it became Abbey shouting (randomly, mind you, to the rest of us) “KNIT ROW!” or “DECREASE!”. Last week, I made the diagnosis: all she needed to do was spice up her shouting (e.g., “DECREASE motherfuckerWHOOP!”) and she would be bona-fide: KnitTourettes.
OK, ok. I make everything open season & laugh at it all. So here’s the PSA portion of today’s blog. If you, or someone you love, is experiencing anything resembling Tourettes, there is hope. Visit this website: www.tourettes.com and find out more. The more you know, the more you grow. WHOOP!
Ooops. I did it again. I never learn.
I got a friend in trouble with the people at the Bedwetter information hotline, once (this is a mini 8-track flashback) – a girlfriend & I were playing a joke on our co-worker, Steve. (There was plenty of give & take, don’t feel too sorry for him. Yet.) We signed him up to be a Red Wing Shoes salesman (and I circulated a memo to the department, asking for business), he got stuff from the NRA after we signed him up for gun cleaning classes by mail, etc. All at work! And we all laughed about it (yes, he did, I’m not just saying that.) But the worst was when we signed him up for more information on bedwetting – and they did a follow-up phone call. At work. And he told the person that it was a practical joke, and the guy went OFF about how bedwetting is SERIOUS, and NOT TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY OR MADE FUN OF, EVER. Poor Steve, just stammered some apologies and got off the phone – our secretary said he shoulda said, “Hold on, let me transfer you to my wife, Jennifer, she’s the one who sent in the card.” He didn’t, but at least he got taken off their mailing list.
Sometimes I think my personal tagline should be: “Alienating the universe, one person at a time.”
On one of our systems, we get a “Message of the Day” when you first logon. I don’t know if it’s something created here, most likely it is part of the program & it has a ton of these – and gets updated all the time, because I’ve never seen the same one twice. I think most people ignore it & move on into the program – but not me. Sometimes they’re Mae West quotes, and I love her! Todays message? Kinda scary, in a sci-fi sorta way. And you can apply it to your government, your workplace – it’s downright scary in its universality.
“The very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common. Instead of altering their views to fit the facts, they alter the facts to fit their views… which can be very uncomfortable if you happen to be one of the facts that needs altering.” – Doctor Who, “Face of Evil”
I need some coffee, and that is not a fact to be messed with.
Champion eaters, that is.
I met Roger & David for breakfast today, & of course was ten minutes late. Driving there, I realized I’d forgotten to charge my phone last night – so it was one tiny bar o’ charge & my car charger wasn’t working – and then the gas light came on. “Who’s idea was this to meet at 9 a.m.?” I thundered, mentally. Well, that would be mine. Nobody should ever listen to me when I say we should meet anywhere, at anytime, before 10 a.m. on the weekends. It’s folly fueled by idealistic dreams and everyone should have learned that by now, myself included. (NOTE: Unless it is December 26, or the day after Thanksgiving. Then, I am on a mission and there is no such thing as too early.)
The Cute Gay Boy waiter who’s worked at The Corner restaurant for years saw me and sang, “There she is!” and I felt like the princess that I am. Roger, surprised, said, “How often do you come here?!” I said, “Not that often.” David observed it was probably my Evil Lime Green boa that made him feel at home. CGB hooked me up with coffee & we waited for our assigned waiter.
I always assume half the waitstaff has rolled out of bed hungover, and our waiter was actually still wearing his coat, a coat I recall seeing on classmates back in sixth grade. It’s good to see styles recur.
So we ordered. Roger: “Two banana-pecan cakes, a side of potatoes.” (Me: “The Atkins platter?”) David got a scrambled egg platter. Me: “Two corn cakes,” (Roger: “OOOO! What are corncakes?!”) and a potatoful with spinach, tomatoes, onions and cheddar. Oh and bacon. What the hell.” Roger: “Oh yeah, and a half order of biscuits & gravy.” (to me: “You’ll eat some, right?” me: “Oh sure.” See, it’s just so easy to do, because everything’s $2-$3 per “side”, and it’s like Breakfast Tapas, plates and plates and plates to sample. But I tell ya, if you get their filled pancakes, like the banana pecan? They’re GINORMOUS and you can’t really have three other sides, unless you shove them in your pockets & reheat later. So that’s why I went with the corncakes, thinking they’d be smaller. It didn’t matter. Everything’s big, not small, like Tapas and we embarked on our Greco-Roman Buffet O’ Breakfast.)
Our waiter was writing everything down and explaining to Roger (I’m a little fuzzy on the exact wording) that corncakes were like kettle corn, you know, popcorn but sweeter. Feeling a little self-conscious about everything we’d willy-nilly ordered, I said, “We haven’t eaten in a week. We chain ourselves to the radiator & we get to come out on Sundays.”
Confirming the “just rolled in hungover” theory, our waiter simply nodded at me. Like he’d heard it before, many times. Ah, the old “chained to the radiator” diet. Well, it was a hell of a breakfast & we ate like marathon athletes, training for a – well, a buffet.
Driving to Kristin’s birthday party, I caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror of a quarter-inch chunk of bangs, sticking straight out at a 90′ angle from my forehead.
Without even thinking, I started smoothing it down using my index finger, middle finger, and MY OWN SALIVA. Miliseconds later, a part of me inside started shrieking, only to be silenced by another part of me admonishing, “But it’s working.”
I have become an old lady. That or a cat. If it’s the latter, that’ll be bad news because both JWo and I are allergic. Look out. Heaven help you, if you have a smudge on your cheek or forehead, because I WILL LICK MY THUMB AND CLEAN YOUR FACE.
Happy Birthday, my dear. Looking forward to your party today, and wishing you unfettered, bountiful joy in the year ahead.
Or, in the words of a dear old friend of mine, “Chin Up, Boobs Out.”
Last night in the car, James was talking about a message Tim had left him re: hunting this weekend. “He said, ‘Houston, we have a problem’.” and he went on to talk about the weather & winds and such. If you’re a smart monkey like me, you’ll connect the dots and that line is practically the title of yesterday’s blog! And Tim (after helping move the sofa in) had been on my computer. It’s a funny thing, this blog. Something like an exhibitionist diary, and everyone uses theirs differently. When I started, basically it was two-three people reading my blog – friends at work & knitters. And it took a while for the BlogAddiction to set in. Not that I was keeping anything a secret from my husband, per se, I just hadn’t gotten to the point of saying, Hey, check out my blog! And six months later & a daily obsession of writing in it now seemed a little late, like there WAS a secret. But secrets often seem like they’re bad, and they aren’t, always. Like one of my favorite children’s books, The Secret Garden, where there is this great sanctuary with tangled beauty and imperfections and a place of healing. (Ok, I give my blog a LEETLE more credit than it may deserve. Stay with me.)
So partway through dinner I asked, “Have you been reading my blog?” and it turns out no, he hadn’t, but I gave him the address & he went through a bunch of it last night (me on the other computer, nervous, wondering if I’d inadvertantly upset him accidentally or else he’d want to edit my writing. I’m a paranoid sort.) Honestly, he mostly skimmed, reading for entries about him (and while that made me laugh, and I protested there is MORE TO ME THAN YOU, BUSTER, it’s exactly what I would have done.) And then you know what? Turns out HE started a blog before I did. But. Only one entry! The first entry! We chuckled, and I made sure he read the blog in October where I wrote about how much I love him & how overwhelming that love feels sometimes, because I really value the written word, and while it’s more time consuming, I think it’s still the best way I can really clarify & elucidate what I think and feel. And I’m glad he’s reading my stuff now – after all, we spent the first couple of years of our relationship communicating primarily through the computer via IM and email, during the week & on weekends we didn’t see each other. I hope he picks his own blog back up, because he also loves to write, and I’d love to read what he has to say. :)
I got home from Knit Night around 10:45 last night, and I told myself as I unlocked the door, “The sofa didn’t fit. They didn’t get it in.” I was pleasantly surprised: the sofa was IN!
IF you’re just tuning in, I foolishly did not spend the extra $50 for delivery & we rediscovered just how badly we move furniture together. The largest and most unwieldy piece, the sofa, has been in the garage since January 3rd. We’ve had lots going on and the weather hasn’t been really cooperative, so it’s just been a waiting game, like a ticking bomb, and I’ve mentioned several times how much I did not want to be his moving partner on this escapade, mostly fueled by a desire to keep my marriage afloat. So, he called his buddy Tim, who came over after work & they maneuvered it in together, probably only communicating through grunts and whistles. (I did not even go NEAR our house, going straight from work to Hobby Lobby & then on to Knit Night!)
Hubby woke up as I crawled into bed. I told him the sofa looked great, and thanked him again.
I asked, “Was it hard to get in?”
The reply: “We would have killed each other.”
I See You! Just a little tease for my knitting friends…… 