I had a whole conversation about "man boobs" with someone today. Had never given the subject much thought. Evidently, it is quite a concern.
My advice: "Those aren't man boobs . . . those are "huge pectoral muscles". (must be said in Ren voice from Ren and Stimpy)
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Walking B Movie
I've had the same headache for 36 hours now . . . and my palate hurts, so my sinus "thing" might be back (sounds like a sci fi B movie, "The Girl with the Thing in her Sinus).
My days are being spent in either the 5th or 9th circle of hell and the sad thing is I can't tell anymore . . . logical thinking is not in play.
But as I'm supposed to cheer the F&*k up . . . good news. The yearbook is done!
My days are being spent in either the 5th or 9th circle of hell and the sad thing is I can't tell anymore . . . logical thinking is not in play.
But as I'm supposed to cheer the F&*k up . . . good news. The yearbook is done!
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Miss Crankypants
I don't know whether it that I just spilt my dinner on the floor, or if it's because I'm turning 35 in less than a month, or my hormones are outta wack, or that my profession is currently located in the 6th level of Dante's inferno, or what . . .
but I'm really cranky today. I've been cranky for the last few days and I can't seem to shake it. Princess has suggested that it's the haircut. I pointed out that my ovaries are shrinking like raisins . . . so maybe it is a "I'm turning 35 and this is not what I pictured my life to be" crisis.
Anyhow, I need to get over it.
but I'm really cranky today. I've been cranky for the last few days and I can't seem to shake it. Princess has suggested that it's the haircut. I pointed out that my ovaries are shrinking like raisins . . . so maybe it is a "I'm turning 35 and this is not what I pictured my life to be" crisis.
Anyhow, I need to get over it.
Monday, March 27, 2006
What Do You Mean I've Been Tagged?
Yes, I know this is dumb.
Four jobs you have had in your life:
1. library page
2. meat processing
3. lifeguard
4. teacher
Four movies you would watch over and over:
1. Sixteen Candles
2. Sin City
3. To Kill a Mockingbird
3.5 La Femme Nikita
4. Romeo and Juliet (since I have to for school anyhow)
4.5 Shopgirl
Four places you have lived:
1. Cleveland, OH
2. Wyandotte, MI
3. Canton, MI
4. Detroit, MI (my friends from the west side of the state would argue that Canton, Plymouth and Berkley ARE Detroit, MI)
Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. Alias
2. CSI
3. NCIS (mmm. . . Mark Harmon)
4. Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Four places you have been on vacation:
1. Paris
2. Miami
3. NOLA
4. Hawaii
Four websites you visit daily:
1. dooce.com
2. blogger
3. hotmail
4. dailymumps.com
Four of my favorite foods/restaurants:
1. Strawberries
2. Vanilla Yogurt
3. Guinness
4. "Stout" in Brighton
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. in my bed
2. on the sun porch in Milford
3. 1976 (very little responsibility that year)
4. on a random road trip
Thanks to M1 for providing the topic of the day . . . otherwise I would have gone on a rant about genetic engineering.
Four jobs you have had in your life:
1. library page
2. meat processing
3. lifeguard
4. teacher
Four movies you would watch over and over:
1. Sixteen Candles
2. Sin City
3. To Kill a Mockingbird
3.5 La Femme Nikita
4. Romeo and Juliet (since I have to for school anyhow)
4.5 Shopgirl
Four places you have lived:
1. Cleveland, OH
2. Wyandotte, MI
3. Canton, MI
4. Detroit, MI (my friends from the west side of the state would argue that Canton, Plymouth and Berkley ARE Detroit, MI)
Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. Alias
2. CSI
3. NCIS (mmm. . . Mark Harmon)
4. Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Four places you have been on vacation:
1. Paris
2. Miami
3. NOLA
4. Hawaii
Four websites you visit daily:
1. dooce.com
2. blogger
3. hotmail
4. dailymumps.com
Four of my favorite foods/restaurants:
1. Strawberries
2. Vanilla Yogurt
3. Guinness
4. "Stout" in Brighton
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. in my bed
2. on the sun porch in Milford
3. 1976 (very little responsibility that year)
4. on a random road trip
Thanks to M1 for providing the topic of the day . . . otherwise I would have gone on a rant about genetic engineering.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Exhibit B
Junior year picture for yearbook . . . as we can see, I really liked this hair style for some reason. 
I Swear it Looked Good When I Was There
Okay, back to the hair crisis . . .
Back in 1986, I willingly submitted to a haircut that would be later be described by my boyfriend at the time as "You look like a little skater boy." I will scan in the yearbook picture as soon as I get home, but I did look like a skater boy.
Yesterday, Jennifer (my "hair care professional") was stacking clients, so I waited a little longer than usual. Therefore, I had more time to look at the hair magazines . . . always a dangerous activity. I'm a firm believer that my hair stylist does not tell me how to teach art . . . so I should not tell her how to cut my hair. She is a professional and knows much more about cutting hair than I do. So maybe it was the fumes . . . or the goo on my head burning into my brain, when I marked two pictures and said, "Hey Jen, look at these!"
"Oh, fun!" was the reply.
It looked great in the salon. The color looked right this time, which is always a challenge. My hair looked good. All was right with the world. I swear they pipe nitrous oxide into that place.
Later, as I was talking to my brother in Miami on the phone about the motorcycle debacle . . . "Damn it! My hair is orange." My brother, who used to dye his hair bright orange ON PURPOSE, was less than sympathetic. "I don't know why you go get it done in the first place. You could just do it yourself." As he was talking, I'm noticing that some of the hair is bright yellow . . . Big Bird yellow and I sigh, knowing that I will now have to go dye my hair immediately. So he is probably right. And then I catch my head again out of the corner of my eye. "S&*%! and this haircut looks dykey . . ." My brother laughs.
So my hair looks very much like it looked in 1986 and in 1992 . . . as pictures will show. Have to remember to stay away from the hair magazines. Luckily, it grows out . . . but right now it's way too short.
Back in 1986, I willingly submitted to a haircut that would be later be described by my boyfriend at the time as "You look like a little skater boy." I will scan in the yearbook picture as soon as I get home, but I did look like a skater boy.
Yesterday, Jennifer (my "hair care professional") was stacking clients, so I waited a little longer than usual. Therefore, I had more time to look at the hair magazines . . . always a dangerous activity. I'm a firm believer that my hair stylist does not tell me how to teach art . . . so I should not tell her how to cut my hair. She is a professional and knows much more about cutting hair than I do. So maybe it was the fumes . . . or the goo on my head burning into my brain, when I marked two pictures and said, "Hey Jen, look at these!"
"Oh, fun!" was the reply.
It looked great in the salon. The color looked right this time, which is always a challenge. My hair looked good. All was right with the world. I swear they pipe nitrous oxide into that place.
Later, as I was talking to my brother in Miami on the phone about the motorcycle debacle . . . "Damn it! My hair is orange." My brother, who used to dye his hair bright orange ON PURPOSE, was less than sympathetic. "I don't know why you go get it done in the first place. You could just do it yourself." As he was talking, I'm noticing that some of the hair is bright yellow . . . Big Bird yellow and I sigh, knowing that I will now have to go dye my hair immediately. So he is probably right. And then I catch my head again out of the corner of my eye. "S&*%! and this haircut looks dykey . . ." My brother laughs.
So my hair looks very much like it looked in 1986 and in 1992 . . . as pictures will show. Have to remember to stay away from the hair magazines. Luckily, it grows out . . . but right now it's way too short.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
I Now Have a Free Pass
or . . . no paternity test needed.
I went out to the neighborhood of Stately Wayne Manor to get my hair redone (which we will talk about later). I called my father, Mr. Crabbypants, on the way to plan lunch for after. My father was chipper . . . amazingly so, considering that he has been trapped in the house all week "resting" with his Frankenstein scar. I was to call after my hair was done.
Two hours and some bad decisions later (again, we'll talk . . . with pictures), I called Stately Wayne Manor, figuring since I was in town, I could walk and get the table. My brother D. answered the phone and for a moment I thought that I had accidentally called him instead of my parent's house. After a short conversation about who I had actually called, I told my brother to ask Mr. Crabbypants where he wanted to go to lunch. "Dad dropped the bike."
It was snowing. The freeways were all clogged with accidents. The statement didn't register. "What?" "Dad dropped the bike." What bike? What was Dad doing on a bicycle in 32 degree weather? "No, we were going to sell the motorcycle today . . . " Oh shit, THAT bike.
When my father bought the motorcycle from a friend, my brothers and I all took the motorcycle safety course at the community college. My father passed the first time, D. decided that motorcycles were not for him, J and I had to take the course twice to pass.
My father had also bought a little 250cc bike in pieces, thinking that it would take J. all summer to rebuild. J. had the bike built in less than a week. Dad's bike was more than I liked to handle (850cc and too high . . . plus you could drop the little Kawasaki without guilt, but not wreck Dad's) so J. would ride Dad's and we would ride the back roads of the west side. My father was very serious about being properly prepared to ride and I have never been on a bike without gloves and boots. Even spent $300 on a full face helmet (a huge amount in those days . . . ) because I had spent too much on orthodontics to chance it. We were not so serious about our motorcycles (though I would still like a little 500cc one) but very serious about safety . . . or at least calculated risk.
D. didn't know what was going on, it had all happened so fast. All I got was "on the way to the hospital" and I hung up the phone. Ended up at Stately Wayne Manor to do the vigil with my brother (my mother didn't want us at the hospital). I really freaked when I found that she had driven to U of M. St. Joe and Providence were broken arm locations . . . U of M was serious.
D. had thought my father was talking about taking the motorcycle for a ride ON THE DRIVEWAY. "I kept saying on the driveway . . . and I looked up and he was gone." D. then mentioned that he had told my father not to put his helmet on as to not "mess up the scar". But he was just going to be on the driveway. D. told me there was no blood. Father was talking.
So my father, my so responsible father, upstanding citizen that he is (the Bush's Christmas card still on the fridge) decided to go see if the motorcycle's brakes worked, while it was snowing . . . without a helmet, or gloves . . . and wearing loafers. And kids, this is where I share with you that I am so lucky still to have a father . . . with his brains still in his head, even though they weren't working very well to begin with, obviously.
He had the brakes lock up at the gazebo in the neighborhood, less than a mile away. He had called my mother on his cell phone, telling her to come get him . . . that he had broken his leg. At this exact moment, D. had noticed that Mr. Crabbypants was not still in the driveway and had gone done to the end (Stately Wayne Manors have really long driveways) to look for him. (My mother insists that D. was futzing in his car and NOT looking for Dad, or even noticing that he was gone) (either way, D. is no longer in charge of Dad wrangling . . . for a while) Some neighbors were walking their dog and came upon my father lying in the middle of the street (not the first time this has happened) and one was a nurse. They loaded my father into my mother's jeep, leaving my brother (who doesn't like motorcycles) to deal with the bike.
In motorcycle school, they warn you to never have a bike that you can't lift upright from the ground. This is the other reason I never liked that bike. My brother somehow got it up and pushed it back to my parent's house. Managed to get it up the driveway, bravely using the clutch. It was already in the garage when I called. It wasn't sold yesterday. I'll sell it to you now, cheap. Slightly dented. Be careful with the brakes, evidently the master cylinder is too full.
My father has a broken shoulder and a messed up knee. The knee is so swollen that they don't know how messed up yet. Broken shoulder means no crutches, so we have a fun wheelchair. Both injuries are on the same side, so getting up and down are interesting tasks, as is getting him to the bathroom. He seems very realistic about his bout with stupidity. However, J. and I are doing a little dance . . . we are usually the stupid ones. And we now have a free pass for at least a year.
"Oh yeah Dad? Well remember when you wanted to check the brakes on the motorcycle?"
I went out to the neighborhood of Stately Wayne Manor to get my hair redone (which we will talk about later). I called my father, Mr. Crabbypants, on the way to plan lunch for after. My father was chipper . . . amazingly so, considering that he has been trapped in the house all week "resting" with his Frankenstein scar. I was to call after my hair was done.
Two hours and some bad decisions later (again, we'll talk . . . with pictures), I called Stately Wayne Manor, figuring since I was in town, I could walk and get the table. My brother D. answered the phone and for a moment I thought that I had accidentally called him instead of my parent's house. After a short conversation about who I had actually called, I told my brother to ask Mr. Crabbypants where he wanted to go to lunch. "Dad dropped the bike."
It was snowing. The freeways were all clogged with accidents. The statement didn't register. "What?" "Dad dropped the bike." What bike? What was Dad doing on a bicycle in 32 degree weather? "No, we were going to sell the motorcycle today . . . " Oh shit, THAT bike.
When my father bought the motorcycle from a friend, my brothers and I all took the motorcycle safety course at the community college. My father passed the first time, D. decided that motorcycles were not for him, J and I had to take the course twice to pass.
My father had also bought a little 250cc bike in pieces, thinking that it would take J. all summer to rebuild. J. had the bike built in less than a week. Dad's bike was more than I liked to handle (850cc and too high . . . plus you could drop the little Kawasaki without guilt, but not wreck Dad's) so J. would ride Dad's and we would ride the back roads of the west side. My father was very serious about being properly prepared to ride and I have never been on a bike without gloves and boots. Even spent $300 on a full face helmet (a huge amount in those days . . . ) because I had spent too much on orthodontics to chance it. We were not so serious about our motorcycles (though I would still like a little 500cc one) but very serious about safety . . . or at least calculated risk.
D. didn't know what was going on, it had all happened so fast. All I got was "on the way to the hospital" and I hung up the phone. Ended up at Stately Wayne Manor to do the vigil with my brother (my mother didn't want us at the hospital). I really freaked when I found that she had driven to U of M. St. Joe and Providence were broken arm locations . . . U of M was serious.
D. had thought my father was talking about taking the motorcycle for a ride ON THE DRIVEWAY. "I kept saying on the driveway . . . and I looked up and he was gone." D. then mentioned that he had told my father not to put his helmet on as to not "mess up the scar". But he was just going to be on the driveway. D. told me there was no blood. Father was talking.
So my father, my so responsible father, upstanding citizen that he is (the Bush's Christmas card still on the fridge) decided to go see if the motorcycle's brakes worked, while it was snowing . . . without a helmet, or gloves . . . and wearing loafers. And kids, this is where I share with you that I am so lucky still to have a father . . . with his brains still in his head, even though they weren't working very well to begin with, obviously.
He had the brakes lock up at the gazebo in the neighborhood, less than a mile away. He had called my mother on his cell phone, telling her to come get him . . . that he had broken his leg. At this exact moment, D. had noticed that Mr. Crabbypants was not still in the driveway and had gone done to the end (Stately Wayne Manors have really long driveways) to look for him. (My mother insists that D. was futzing in his car and NOT looking for Dad, or even noticing that he was gone) (either way, D. is no longer in charge of Dad wrangling . . . for a while) Some neighbors were walking their dog and came upon my father lying in the middle of the street (not the first time this has happened) and one was a nurse. They loaded my father into my mother's jeep, leaving my brother (who doesn't like motorcycles) to deal with the bike.
In motorcycle school, they warn you to never have a bike that you can't lift upright from the ground. This is the other reason I never liked that bike. My brother somehow got it up and pushed it back to my parent's house. Managed to get it up the driveway, bravely using the clutch. It was already in the garage when I called. It wasn't sold yesterday. I'll sell it to you now, cheap. Slightly dented. Be careful with the brakes, evidently the master cylinder is too full.
My father has a broken shoulder and a messed up knee. The knee is so swollen that they don't know how messed up yet. Broken shoulder means no crutches, so we have a fun wheelchair. Both injuries are on the same side, so getting up and down are interesting tasks, as is getting him to the bathroom. He seems very realistic about his bout with stupidity. However, J. and I are doing a little dance . . . we are usually the stupid ones. And we now have a free pass for at least a year.
"Oh yeah Dad? Well remember when you wanted to check the brakes on the motorcycle?"
Friday, March 24, 2006
All Dressed Up . . .
. . . and no place to go.
I need a new wingperson . . . one that doesn't get all headachey and tired at 11 p.m. Now I'm home with too much lip gloss on (for home anyway) and nothing to do. Would just go to the Front by myself, but I think that is asking for trouble, in more ways than one. It has been promised that we will go "out" tomorrow . . . but I hate that bookclub, all older men and weird oldest profession types.
And now that I'm hyper-aware of being noticed, I did have a boy say good-bye to me at the restaurant. I could go back, but it is my former employer (Princess' choice) and I was tiring of talking to former cronies. Hate doing the smiley nicey-nice, "Oh, how are the kids?" routine with the people who were fired . . . who are now working there again. Worse yet, time has stopped there, no one has done anything . . . and the place has gotten lame. So the "I haven't seen you in a year" (when Princess drags me) conversation is not very stimulating. It's the same conversation from last year.
I need a new wingperson . . . one that doesn't get all headachey and tired at 11 p.m. Now I'm home with too much lip gloss on (for home anyway) and nothing to do. Would just go to the Front by myself, but I think that is asking for trouble, in more ways than one. It has been promised that we will go "out" tomorrow . . . but I hate that bookclub, all older men and weird oldest profession types.
And now that I'm hyper-aware of being noticed, I did have a boy say good-bye to me at the restaurant. I could go back, but it is my former employer (Princess' choice) and I was tiring of talking to former cronies. Hate doing the smiley nicey-nice, "Oh, how are the kids?" routine with the people who were fired . . . who are now working there again. Worse yet, time has stopped there, no one has done anything . . . and the place has gotten lame. So the "I haven't seen you in a year" (when Princess drags me) conversation is not very stimulating. It's the same conversation from last year.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
The Week that Will NOT End
I never wanted an existence where I only looked forward to the weekend . . . but I'm afraid this week has gotten the best of me. I just want it to be Saturday . . .
Have to work late tomorrow. The whole week has been freakshow. Haven't been home before 10 p.m. in two days, and tomorrow is not looking good either. And as I sleepwalk through the end of the week, I cling to the magical moment of being curled up in bed on Saturday morning when I will think of nothing.
And spring break is how far away?
Have to work late tomorrow. The whole week has been freakshow. Haven't been home before 10 p.m. in two days, and tomorrow is not looking good either. And as I sleepwalk through the end of the week, I cling to the magical moment of being curled up in bed on Saturday morning when I will think of nothing.
And spring break is how far away?
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
With fingernails that shine like justice
"Wow, Emily! You look great. Nice suit." she says in a tone of wonderment and surprise. She doesn't know me very well and this is the first time she has seen me dressed as a grown up. (and personally, I think I should ditch the red shirt I'm wearing . . . but I want to look like I have something on underneath my suit.)
I should just say "thank you" but instead say, "yeah, I clean up nice, don't I?" And I do clean up nice.
Makes me wonder what she thinks of my other clothes though . . .
Excuse the Cake song title. My fingernails do not actually shine like justice . . . and I will never trade my truck in for a Chrysler LeBaron.
I should just say "thank you" but instead say, "yeah, I clean up nice, don't I?" And I do clean up nice.
Makes me wonder what she thinks of my other clothes though . . .
Excuse the Cake song title. My fingernails do not actually shine like justice . . . and I will never trade my truck in for a Chrysler LeBaron.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
This Took Forever
Luckily, I have to wait for my nails to dry, so I have the time to mess with Blogger and it's issues.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Quotes
"It and I have worn away together. The mice have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth of mice have gnawed at me." -- Miss Havisham, Great Expectations
"Don't think 'cause I understand, I care
Don't think 'cause I'm talkin', we're friends." -- Sneaker Pimps, 6 Underground
"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours first
Let's compare scars, I tell you who's is worst
Let's unwrite these pages
and replace them with all wrong words" -- Rise Against, Swing Life Away
"I'm drunk . . .
and right now I am so in love with you
and I don't wanna think too much about
what we should and shouldn't do . . ." -- NIN, The Only Time
"Don't think 'cause I understand, I care
Don't think 'cause I'm talkin', we're friends." -- Sneaker Pimps, 6 Underground
"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours first
Let's compare scars, I tell you who's is worst
Let's unwrite these pages
and replace them with all wrong words" -- Rise Against, Swing Life Away
"I'm drunk . . .
and right now I am so in love with you
and I don't wanna think too much about
what we should and shouldn't do . . ." -- NIN, The Only Time
Sunday, March 19, 2006
The Week Ahead
As I prepare for my weekly Royal Oak ritual, I realize that I am dreading this week. The headache I currently have is not helping. I'm trying to be more in the moment lately, but the thoughts still creep in . . .
So after I get home, I will try on all the suits in my closet. Find conservative yet elegant shoes, go buy two pairs of pantyhose. Agonize about whether wearing red makes the hair look "more normal" or accentuates it too much. I hate dressing up as a grown up.
I'll have to do my nails tonight, which means sitting still for two hours, something I do not do well. Redye the hair, so it's not orange. (which is worse than the red, trust me)
I had a dream l last night (this morning actually) that one of my teeth fell out. Just got wiggley, like when you were a kid and pulled out, root and all, from the left side of my bottom jaw. Had to check to see if it was still there when I woke up. So wonder what that means? Other than I should make an appointment . . . I hate weird stress dreams.
So after I get home, I will try on all the suits in my closet. Find conservative yet elegant shoes, go buy two pairs of pantyhose. Agonize about whether wearing red makes the hair look "more normal" or accentuates it too much. I hate dressing up as a grown up.
I'll have to do my nails tonight, which means sitting still for two hours, something I do not do well. Redye the hair, so it's not orange. (which is worse than the red, trust me)
I had a dream l last night (this morning actually) that one of my teeth fell out. Just got wiggley, like when you were a kid and pulled out, root and all, from the left side of my bottom jaw. Had to check to see if it was still there when I woke up. So wonder what that means? Other than I should make an appointment . . . I hate weird stress dreams.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Saturday Night
Oh, the exciting life of a single girl in Detroit on a Saturday night. With Princess staying in . . . which she is allowed since I left her hanging with the "sorority" sisters last night, leaving her to win the Euchre tournament while being the only person under the age of 45 . . . and others somehow getting lives (and not calling me back), I have no wingperson. So I went grocery shopping instead.
Topped off a shopping day really. Went to Twelve Oaks on the way home from Stately Wayne Manor and tried on at least 142 pairs of jeans. Princess was right, the DKNY bootcuts DO make your ass look amazing . . . but they don't come in the right length. I'm tired of stepping on my jeans and I don't care what Vogue says, I'm not wearing heels with my jeans.
Came home and took a long nap. Went to Somerset to try on more jeans. Then tried on this amazing Calvin Klein suit . . . and lusted for it. Decided that I needed to audit my closet before paying $200 on a suit (on sale from $300). So didn't buy anything . . .
So going back and buying the DKNY jeans as a treat after parent teacher conferences . . . maybe I can get them hemmed. Oh and grocery shopping was a blast, as always. At least they had yogurt this time.
Topped off a shopping day really. Went to Twelve Oaks on the way home from Stately Wayne Manor and tried on at least 142 pairs of jeans. Princess was right, the DKNY bootcuts DO make your ass look amazing . . . but they don't come in the right length. I'm tired of stepping on my jeans and I don't care what Vogue says, I'm not wearing heels with my jeans.
Came home and took a long nap. Went to Somerset to try on more jeans. Then tried on this amazing Calvin Klein suit . . . and lusted for it. Decided that I needed to audit my closet before paying $200 on a suit (on sale from $300). So didn't buy anything . . .
So going back and buying the DKNY jeans as a treat after parent teacher conferences . . . maybe I can get them hemmed. Oh and grocery shopping was a blast, as always. At least they had yogurt this time.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Stargazing
As this is one of my least favorite holidays, despite my quasi-Irish heritage, I went out to Stately Wayne Manor this evening. Mr. Crabbypants only lost a dime-sized piece of this face and basically then received a free face lift . . . but only on one side. He has to "relax" for two weeks, which will be harder than the surgery. My mother wanted me to park my truck blocking his jeeps so he can't escape.
The stars are much brighter here, without all the light pollution and I had to surpress the urge to lie down in the middle of the street just to look up. (If Z had been here we would have) Spotted some planets (I think), Orion, the Little Dipper . . . finally appreciate what little I remember from that Astronomy class I suffered through. Could even tell the subtle differences in color.
So glad that Mr. CP now has "clean margins". I will take him to Starbucks tomorrow to get him out of the house. We are drinking the wine I brought back (and sat through Customs for) from France . . . and he is already yelling at my mother (about cars), so he must be feeling okay.
The stars are much brighter here, without all the light pollution and I had to surpress the urge to lie down in the middle of the street just to look up. (If Z had been here we would have) Spotted some planets (I think), Orion, the Little Dipper . . . finally appreciate what little I remember from that Astronomy class I suffered through. Could even tell the subtle differences in color.
So glad that Mr. CP now has "clean margins". I will take him to Starbucks tomorrow to get him out of the house. We are drinking the wine I brought back (and sat through Customs for) from France . . . and he is already yelling at my mother (about cars), so he must be feeling okay.
Blogger Backload or Why is it so Light in Here?
Blogger was down for a whole 20 or so hours . . . and it took me about an hour last night to figure out that it wasn't just ME but the whole of blogger that was "F"ed up. In the sinking feeling of "oh, crap this really doesn't work" (without, of course, checking the help section) I decided to make at least a quick backup of what I had written so far, in case something was the "fatal error" that it was saying it was . . .
It should be pointed out that I have another blog set up, an extra one . . . set up when playing at first and never taking down. And last night I could post to that one. Thus the panic that the year of blog would be lost, while the blog with one post sat smugly. "I'll show for giving me a name that is not as easy to remember."
So the archive has been made . . . in word because it was quick. I was in bed by bedtime. All was (sort of) right with the world. And then I cracked my eye open (right one for those who care) and wondered why the room was so light. I looked at my watch . . . yes, I wear one to bed, I'm blind and can't see my alarm clock, because I have to put my alarm clock very far away, because . . . well, it's just too many becauses. 7:05. I usually leave the house at 6:55 a.m.
Managed to get to work on time . . . wasn't pretty and forgot a bunch of essentials, like say, my phone, but was on time. So add buy new alarm clock (or maybe fix this one) to the list of duties for the weekend. I'm pretty sure it was operator error, not the alarm clock's problem . . . but I really like a shower in the morning.
It should be pointed out that I have another blog set up, an extra one . . . set up when playing at first and never taking down. And last night I could post to that one. Thus the panic that the year of blog would be lost, while the blog with one post sat smugly. "I'll show for giving me a name that is not as easy to remember."
So the archive has been made . . . in word because it was quick. I was in bed by bedtime. All was (sort of) right with the world. And then I cracked my eye open (right one for those who care) and wondered why the room was so light. I looked at my watch . . . yes, I wear one to bed, I'm blind and can't see my alarm clock, because I have to put my alarm clock very far away, because . . . well, it's just too many becauses. 7:05. I usually leave the house at 6:55 a.m.
Managed to get to work on time . . . wasn't pretty and forgot a bunch of essentials, like say, my phone, but was on time. So add buy new alarm clock (or maybe fix this one) to the list of duties for the weekend. I'm pretty sure it was operator error, not the alarm clock's problem . . . but I really like a shower in the morning.
Post From Last Night
Walked the short course tonight, after getting home at 10 p.m. Now painfully aware that I shouldn't be walking this late at night (especially with headphones) since D just gave me a lecture. But did it anyway.
Am so tired that I can hardly keep my eyes open . . . took some decent pics tonight, considering the lighting conditions. Now I don't have to worry about what the kids take or if the kids even take them. Have been interested in other things, when I should be doing the mundane . . . laundry being of high priority this weekend, grading essays . . . sleep. Was supposed to take tomorrow off, as Mr. Crabbypants is having minor surgery. Was going to sit in the waiting room and knit with my mother but was told that is unnecessary . . . and lessons plans for a substitute are often harder than just going to work.
So for D's piece of mind, I was very careful. Didn't walk my road, went into the neighborhood. If I scream twelve people will run out of their houses. Do need some reflective tape though. Wonder where you get that? And no, I will not wear one of those vest things. Forget it.
Am so tired that I can hardly keep my eyes open . . . took some decent pics tonight, considering the lighting conditions. Now I don't have to worry about what the kids take or if the kids even take them. Have been interested in other things, when I should be doing the mundane . . . laundry being of high priority this weekend, grading essays . . . sleep. Was supposed to take tomorrow off, as Mr. Crabbypants is having minor surgery. Was going to sit in the waiting room and knit with my mother but was told that is unnecessary . . . and lessons plans for a substitute are often harder than just going to work.
So for D's piece of mind, I was very careful. Didn't walk my road, went into the neighborhood. If I scream twelve people will run out of their houses. Do need some reflective tape though. Wonder where you get that? And no, I will not wear one of those vest things. Forget it.
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