I’ve mentioned before my cheap thrill of glibly lying to strangers in situations that harm no one, but amuse me greatly. Here’s another one, starring many of the same characters.

Two days ago, Miss Kristin and I did our usual LunchAdventures! where we go eat something and then search for magical Life Solutions in the form of yarn, office supplies, or random things obtained at CostCo. This week, it was office supplies. I view office supplies as a way of getting closer to my personal, unattainable deity, Goddess of Organization. I firmly believe that having the right set of pens when the sun is in the fourth quadrant and you’re born in the Year of the Monkey, you can Become Organized. I guess it’s like Cleansing Your Thetan in the Church of Scientology, but pens? MUCH CHEAPER.

So we are standing at the altar (checkout) of Office Depot, and Kristin is in front of me, purchasing some pens (Salvation!) and an excitedly-discovered “My Chores” list complete with sparkling stickers. The checkout girl is literally checking her out. In both ways. I swore, she was SO friendly, I thought she was trying to swoop in and take advantage of the office supply frenzy & convert Kristin to Lesbetarianism and finally get that toaster oven. So, she’s fawning all over the “My Chores” item, and talking talking talking, and I pipe up, “Is that for your niece, Denise?” and the very act of saying this takes me to that hilarious & awful place. You know the one, where you can barely breathe, your legs feel like they won’t hold you up, and anything you try to say comes out in little wheezy gasps & tears are coming out the corners of your eyes? Kristin did not hear me, and turned and said, “What?” and that made me paralyzed AND frustrated, because I wanted to sustain the lie, to keep the niece Denise alive & waiting anxiously for her gift from Auntie K, because it would also keep the checkout girl in a forward-motion of continuing her efforts to lick Kristin’s forehead.

Alas, my amusement at myself worked against me, and I couldn’t speak until we got to the car. All I can say is, our niece Denise is lucky to have such thoughtful aunts & we will sure teach her about the Office Supply Religion.

We are a Netflix home. And we absolutely love it. In fact, JWo has mentioned several times in the past week how he doesn’t understand why anyone would even GO to the video store anymore. And I chuckle, because the notion of someone who, say, has more money than Midas and say, owned a whole bunch of video stores that might constitute a dying industry, amuuuuuses me greatly and that’s all I’m going to say ’bout that. I digress.

I think the notion of a shared Netflix account, one where you don’t ever really discuss the movies you’re picking, you each just pick them & add to the list, and then at times reshuffle the Queue Order to launch things to the top? This is worthy of a psychology student’s thesis on marriage. I am the first to admit that our 90+ list of movies, patiently waiting to come & visit us, are dominated by my picks. (That’s what happens when you decide you must see Nip/Tuck, all seasons, and The Office, all seasons, and oh, looky! They have all the Prime Suspects, too! Those are all like, 5 discs for a season.) The account is in JWo’s name & email, so he’s the one who gets the updates on “movie returned” & “incoming movie”, and when I open the little red square envelopes, it’s always a surprise, because I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to the Queue. I pick and mess around every couple of weeks, but it’s not on my daily radar. I realize I can add my own email, and have my own Queue and blah blah blah, but quite frankly, I enjoy the surprise of it all. And sometimes, there are unexpected surprises, like tonight, when I opened the first envelope and saw we had moved “Devo: Live In The Land Of The Rising Sun” to the top of our Queue. What the hell???? Granted, I rolled my eyes when I saw “The Dukes of Hazzard” in our Queue, but I hadn’t even seen this one on the list. This was an “Add and Accellerate” selection. Like buying that box of teddy grahams because they’re 2 for $5 and they’re right there in front of you on the endcap and by god, that sounds like a GOOD IDEA and we’re gonna buy that Cool Whip right there, too, and dunk ’em. Dunk ’em. Dunk ’em good.

I had no idea I’d married a Devo fan. He called from backgammon tonight, just to chat – and I asked him, what was up with that movie? Apparently? JWo is a HUGE fan of the Devo. And now, I’m going to have to hide all my good bundt pans before he decides he needs to wear them around the house AS HATS.

I am a hybrid mix of loving a bargain, and spending money on things I don’t need. Not that those are mutually exclusive, but all the same, if I’m going shopping, I love a deal. Conversely, I also hate buying things I know will be on sale, like holiday gift tags for $0.99 before Christmas, and in two days will be $0.49. Or anything at Hobby Lobby that isn’t already on sale, because eventually, it will be half off.

So this is why I never buy calendars until after the start of the new year. I know they will be marked down by 50%, and I can muddle through a couple of days without a calendar. The only hitch is that if you want your calendar to perfectly express who you are, you are throwing the dice with this shopping maneuver.

Over lunch, I ran up to Half Price Books, and was a little worried at first. I thought they only had two rotating displays of calendars, and the selection? Scary. The first one was dominated with kitten calendars. Mmm. Works for the cat lovers, but for me? Not so much. I found a Gustav Klimt calendar and snatched it up. On the next display (and by now I saw there were more stands, spaced apart), I was horrified by large drooling GOBLINS! Goblin calendars! Oh yes! And Camelot! And Bible songs, and Outhouses. This calendar industry sure does find their niche groups, hm? Well, where’s my Kittens in Goblin Suits planner, hm? I settled on a Christopher Marley insect art calendar for home, because there were no black labrador retriever calendars to be found, and then randomly found a knitting calendar, complete with patterns, plus a dog desk calendar, and then the store gave me a free calendar, so I’m now up to my gills in calendars.

None of which (except the knitting) are really speaking for me? But hey. They were allllll half price. And I know, at some point, I’ll go back out and find & buy the day-by-day Get Fuzzy calendar. Even if it’s not on sale…. (but it better be.)

Like a new pair of sneakers
Gleaming white, never worn
A new year before us
Ours to tend, ours to shape

We silently whisper
Promises and goals
Ideas to be hatched
Dreams to be followed

By springtime, we discover
Life is not kind
Mud puddles and scuffs
Shoelaces break

Sandals replace
Our footwear, come summer
By fall, our sneakers
Are in a pile by the door

Whatever you dream,
Whatever you whisper
To yourself in the dark
At the start of the year

Be kind and realistic,
Take each day as its own.
Our journey is Life
Built upon each single day

Not on a paper with boxes
And numbers, and letters
Or sneakers
Or dreams.

Just on placing each foot
In front of the other
With direction and focus
The journey is ours

Laughter and love,
Peace and good health.
Dreams come to fruition
Is my wish for you.

Two days ago, I made sure I stayed home between 2 & 5 pm, to meet the cable guy. With the HD TV and the HD cable box, all the regular channels look like they are being filmed off a TV in Alaska, during the middle of a snowstorm. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but still, the clarity on the regular channels suck. First Tech Dude determines there is a problem with the signal on the main line. Little pinholes let water in, the line goes to hell, or a rogue gang of squirrels has chewed it up. Second Tech Dude will come tomorrow. I stay home. STD (god, isn’t this indicative of how things are going) shows up and says FTD (where the fuck are my flowers?) should have installed an amplifier (for my rock band) because the signal at the house is just fine (15) but at the cable box, not so good. (-5). We are losing 20, and the amplifier should fix it. Someone will come out tomorrow (meaning today) between 2 & 5. So I bust my lovely lady lumps to Target first thing in the morning, score an amazing deal on some holiday dinnerware & charger plates (75% off! $15 for 8 plates & 8 chargers!), get back home and there’s a blinking light. A message. From Third Tech Dude, who was told to install an amplifier on the OUTSIDE of the house, and he cheerfully tells me I don’t need one, cuz the signal’s 15.

This is when I go blind. I call up Time Warner and explain how I was told this afternoon, how I have had to accommodate two techs already, and someone is coming back to my house TODAY. She puts me on hold, and then disconnects me.
Did you know I can leave the earth like a rocket ship? Even if I’m already blinded. I shot through the ceiling, through the roof, went to the sun and it hid behind a cloud out of fear. You think the SUN gets hot? Sweet cheeks, was I pissed. I call back, and go through their punchity-punch-punch punch mother humping menu at lightening speed and get an new CSR (Cretin-Suck-ass Representative). She puts me on hold for the lifetime of a fucking cicada, and then comes back on to tell me this has to go to a supervisor level and he will call me back. I levitate off the ground, but stay within cell phone range. I explain I will wait. She cannot put me on hold for him. I express my need that he call be back before noon. Oh, did I mention JWo had the misfortune to call in the midst of this? I don’t think I needed a phone to tell him what was going on, he could have just rolled down his truck window and listened like the RCA dog.

Anyway, then I sulk and stew and steam and spew and scrunch up my face in irritation for two hours. Noon comes and goes. At 1:00, I call back. Now, I’m using my very calm, very angry voice. Everything I touch, crackles as it freezes immediately and shatters. I explain this is my third call, and we are heading towards a fourth day I have spent on my vacation accommodating their technicians. She puts me on hold. For 20 minutes. I concentrate on rotating the coconut-sized ball of fire that is sitting in my stomach. I mist it with gasoline, focusing on creating blue arcs of light. Finally, a man comes on the line. Presumably the supervisor. I re-explain everything, the light tinkling of ice shards falling all around me as the air now freezes from my voice. For the first time, I get an apology, instead of an accusation for not being home this morning. Eventually, we have resolution. Not perfect, but they are coming Thursday evening, and he waived the charges. Oh, there’s the white hot arcing again. Charges? STD told me the amplifier was no charge. Oh, no. They’re $45. Plus $15 to plug them in. My eyes are narrowed and irritation sloughs off my skin like dry skin getting loofahed in the shower. Then, the final olive branch: the last two weeks credited to my account. I finally reach contrite, but I know one thing: the charges WILL appear on my bill, and I WILL have to call back to get all my credits applied to my account. But when that time comes? I have this person’s ID number. And a big arcing ball of fire.

My father had his hip replaced yesterday, and is doing well – as well as can be expected, anyway. My understanding is that the physical therapy for recovery is the worst part of the process. He’s an irascible sumbitch, and has forbidden visitors, even sending his wife home last night. I understand it somewhat, because it’s a bitch when you’re not feeling well and everyone comes in and looks at you with this concerned face & you have to expend energy to reassure them (or as he views it, entertain them.) So we’re going to wait until he’s gone through the worst of his recovery before we go and visit, but of course, I wanted to send him something so he’s reminded of how much he’s loved & wished a speedy recovery.

First thought, flowers. I looked online at various arrangements, including plants and gift baskets, and then…. then….. the perfect notion came to me. Betty Jane’s Candy. One quick google search, and I was ecstatic to discover they had a good website. I talked to my stepmother this morning & got all the medical updates, his room number, etc., and then three minutes after they opened, I was on the phone with a sweetheart of a candy store order-taker. There’s something about how the accents change, gradually, as you move north through the Midwest, and I’m from northeastern Iowa, so while we don’t “tube” our O’s (think of the movie “Fargo”) quite as much, when I talk to people from there, I’m just awash in the memory of sounds and speech patterns and as much as I wanted to leave home as a teen, the homesickness surfaces.

I end up telling this woman my life story (well, ok, just the part that relates to Betty Jane’s Candies), of how my dad & I would always stop at the candy store on our way out of town (Dubuque is the closest “big” town, and would be the only place to get certain things). Our candy of choice was chocolate-covered orange peel. Milk and dark, mixed. (Holy crap. Just typing that caused a huge surge of saliva into my mouth. Hi, Pavlov, you rang?) Anyway, Dad would buy about ten pieces, and we’d savor them on the hour-ride back home. It truly was “our” thing, something we shared and was a bond, odd as that may seem. Of course, I tell the Betty Jane Lady all this, too. She was so diplomatic; she just said, “You know, that particular candy, it seems like one of those that you either really really love it, or you want nothing to do with it.” Her way of saying, “Jennifer, I don’t share the crazy love for the orange peel, nor am I telling you where I live.” Anyway, I got him a pound of those, and then, since they deliver in-town for a nominal fee, I also got him a pound of chocolate covered nuts. We’ve never been much on the cream centers, because there’s always that ONE you get that brings the candy-consuming experience to a screeching halt. I couldn’t even tell you what ONE that is, usually for me it’s something artificially fruity, like strawberry (yecccch), and I didn’t want to mess with it.

I have no idea if candy helps the recuperation process more than flowers, but knowing my father, chocolate-covered orange peel will certainly help his spirits, and he will know his only child loves him beyond words, as expressed through the language of chocolate and memories.

Yeah, I am still a little blinky-eyed at yesterday.

5:30 am BAHHN BAHHHN BAHHHN the evil awakening machine summons me from sleep.
7:00 am arrive at office to carpool to airport
8:30 am depart KC in an aluminum sardine can
9:30 am starving, grateful for small chewy granola bar & tomato juice
It was a 2 hr 40 minute flight to Salt Lake City, but they’re an hour behind us. I do not do well with the time-travel-calculation-continuum, and if I’m only staying a day, I’m not bothering to figure it out. Upon arrival, we get our rental car & drive in to the client.
Have meeting with client, while silently praying they do not hear my stomach growling. Finally, go have lunch at 2p their time.
After lunch, collect things, go back to car, go back to airport, and do about 1.5 miles of walking between car dropoff, going to the wrong terminal, getting to the right terminal, getting to our gate which is apparently in the Provo zip code. Say aloud, “I am having a drink when I get home!”
4:20 pm (SLC time) Boss buys us a drink.
5:00 pm (SLC time) board identical sardine can
8:15 pm (KC time) touch down, am grateful to have lived, because I had a dramatic (false) preomonition last week that I was going to DIE on this flight. Appreciate the fact that coming home, the same flight is only 1 hr, 50 minutes. God bless the wind.
9:00 pm arrive back at agency to get car, drive home
10:00 pm eat leftover thai food for dinner
11:00 pm COLLAPSE

I did have interesting seatmates, and they were both perfect in that they were inclined to chat & talk during preparation for takeoff & then landing, but not the 2 hours in between, so I could read my book and they could listen to music/work. My boss recounted a seatmate he’d had long ago, who had asked about the book he was reading. And then after my boss had read two pages, the guy said, “So! What’s happening now?” Hi, I am going to stab you with my watch and shove you in the trash bag when the flight attendant comes by again.

So today, I feel pretty wiped out, and am so glad I took today & tomorrow off! My cold is almost gone, and I’m going to (hopefully) get some of my projects done this weekend that I’ve been meaning to get to for some time. I know I’ll be watching some movies & knitting – which for me, is an excellent way to ring in the new year. Yes, I’ve gotten old. er. older. Maybe even wiser!

I am steeling myself for the next couple of days…. Today will be a major work day, with tons to get done & reassurances made. Tomorrow, I head to the land of Beth and Dooce, because nothing says “long day” like a day trip to Salt Lake City! And yes, I am that fat woman you have to sit by on the plane. Sorry.

I lay in bed last night, my mind racing. I wrote about six blogs in my head (all of them? Brilliant!), and made mental lists of everything I need to do in the next couple of days. Tomorrow, for instance is Unlimited Trash Day in Kansas City. This is huge! I must find & amass all the trash in the house to take advantage of this one-day opportunity! Plus, there’s laundry! Prepare for cleaning lady! The lists, they go on and on.

One of my mental blogs was a half-hearted wish for some gigantic machine that dispensed energy (daytime) and sleeping (nighttime) pills, based on the list of needs you gave it. Average workdays – average energy, perhaps you didn’t even need a pill. Today? I need one that crams 12 hours of work into 6, gives me plenty of zip & zing, and then the ability to chase it with a pill that gives me a rested night sleep in under 5 hours. So I can get up & travel (pill please, one that shrinks my butt), present to the client, and then travel back home again (inflate butt upon landing, you know, for extra safety), to drive home & collapse. I’m betting I won’t need a pill for sleeping on Wednesday night…..

I’m hoping yesterday was the worst of my cold. It felt like someone had packed my sinuses with sand – pretty! I started the morning with a last-minute dash to Target, to pick up a few more gifts for our nieces, and then we were off to Arrowhead, where we watched the Chiefs resoundingly stomp the Chargers, though it’s a magical mathematical formula that must happen if we’re going to get into the playoffs. After the game, we were off to James’ mom’s house, where we watched the girls open their gifts, played cards & hung out until around 8:30. By then, I felt like I’d been dipped in tempura batter & tossed in the fry daddy – I was DONE with the day. :)

I had long-ago declared today as a Day of Sleep. I don’t know if that’s really going to happen, but it was nice not to be awakened by an alarm for the first time in a long time. It’s also an Official Day of Laundry – yippee! I can find many, many things to celebrate, given enough time & cold medicine. For all of you (who are even on the computer – I think this is a “slow week” in Blogland), I wish a merry happy day, may your burdens be lifted & may you find joy & happiness in the moment as we have time together & the hustle & bustle pauses – if only for a day.

I’m off to celebrate a Box of Kleenex.

So yes, the big tv came into the home, along with a new surround system, the primary purpose for which was to stymie and madden me to the point I would become weak and a cold bug would sneak in. But nevermind that, it was an anticipated and planned purchase. Apparently, the microwave had some Grecian tragedy love affair with the old television, because on Sunday, we came home from James’ family’s Christmas, he tried to reheat some thai food, and KERPOW, the microwave was. no. more. Deader’n a Monty Python parrot.

We knew it was on the decline, as it would groan and struggle sometimes to heat things. It gave a last hurrah on some gravy a couple weeks ago, as I warned my friend Shelley, it might take a while because it’s starting to die. Apparently the microwave heard me, because in less than a minute, the gravy was molten nuclear sludge, and the container was almost warped in half. Sorry! In any event, it did finally bite the dust, and since it had lasted 13 years, we nodded solemnly & went off the next night and bought a new one.

Now? Apparently the cordless phone carried some Shakespearean torch for the microwave & is preparing for its own swan song death. I knew it was also on the decline, because a month or so ago, it became very difficult to press the number “3” on the keypad. Since we don’t use the home phone that much, it was only inconvenient when we’d call across the state line…. the prefix there being 91 :press press press BEEP: 3. Then, last night, it started emitting a harsh tonal honking in the middle of our conversation. So in a preemptive strike, I’m getting a new phone today, and saying a little hopeful prayer that we don’t have to buy any more new electronics equipment in the next couple of months!

God only knows what random item in the house has pined longingly for the frickin’ cordless phone & will also commit hari-kari once the new phone moves in……Yes, I’m lookin’ at you, Mr. Sonicare Toothbrush.