girl at large

Kindness Stings

A few of my favorite gems from the family gathering last week in Edgar, Nebraska:

"But she's so pretty! I just can't imagine why she's still single" (Yes, I was standing right there).

"So are you bunking with Stella since you're single?" (Stella is my 5 year old niece).

"You seem really comfortable with who you are. You know, you seem ok with it". (That started out good...)

Replies to the "No" after "Do you have kids?" and/or "Are you married?":

    -"Don't worry, Jesus must have other plans for you".

    -Silence. More silence.

    -"But you're so pretty!" (Well, if I'm pretty enough to be married, but not, I must be a total bitch.)

    -Pained look, then silence.

    -"That's ok". (I hope so--what, is someone rounding up the childless for an internment camp? Are there cocktails?)

Two Steps Forward, One Ghetto Step Back

The Jetta has been serving me nicely, and has been much more pleasant to live in since I began making small improvements--updating the tape deck, installing bluetooth, new tires, installing headrests, removing the 14lbs of dog hair, etc.

But yesterday, it rebelled against all the gentrification. I went into a shop with a fine, clear windshield. Came back out from the shop to a big-ass crack right up the middle. 

I Have No Idea What I'm Doing

Ever have one of those days when you make mistake after mistake, perhaps beginning with oj in your coffee? And ending with losing a big-bucks business deal?

I'm having one of those years. I'm swimming in a brand new pond, and though it's been precisely a year and I should feel moderately capable, I'm feeling totally incompetent and worst of all.....like an island in a bay of very busy, very successful know-it-all dolphins.

More proof of my ineptitiude? I just misspelled 'incompetent' three different ways and had to google-check it. Did I just misspell ineptitude?

More Little Fixes

Gotta love eBay! I found replacement headrests for the Jetta's back seat for 20 bucks! I'm not sure I even want to know why two of the three rear headrests were missing in the first place. 

But between the serious cleaning, the new antenna and the new headrests, it's looking a lot less ghetto. Next up: doing something about the torn upholstery. 

The Best Part of Getting Fed Up

How I'd like to see that goddamn Folger's ad go:

"Really honey, you want to get married this soon? Are you sure? Why don't you get out there and get a job first, and your own place, or at least start paying rent here. Here, have a cup of coffee and think it over..."

Grrrrrr...it's a good thing I'm not on anti-psychotics.

You can't do my refill until tomorrow? Because of some "30 in 24 days" insurance rule? No exceptions, even if I'm traveling the entire next week, including the day I will run out of medication that very clearly states on the actual bottle not to miss a day? 

Ok, fine, I'll just pay for it then. Yes, I can get it if I just pay for it....how bad can that be? It is a generic. $140. You've got to be kidding me, for a generic?!? Ok, can you just give me a week's worth then? No? Because that's not what the prescription is for and then the insurance wouldn't cover the remainder when I get back....and so on and so in circles.

And I'm a lucky one, I have "health insurance"...or as I like to call it "Expensive, Systematic Roadblock to Actual Care Organization".

I wonder what my medication would cost if it were truly on an open market with fair competition, and not dictated by what amounts to a racketeering monopoly? Probably twenty bucks. 

One Stone at a Time

I've lost 10.3 pounds (yes, there's an ap for that) of the quitting-smoking weight! But on me, it's hard to tell---when you take one apple out of a bushel, you still have a bushel.

I Blame The Red Wine.

Every year or so, I have just one glass too many and leave my credit card too near the computer and then, magically, I'm enrolled in an online dating site! How did that happen again? And as always, the photos. Guys, the photos!! Here are a few of my favorite "Don'ts". -Don't include shots that show you drinking shots. -On that topic, generally, bar shots are a no-no. And house party pictures? Really? You're 42 and enticing me with a picture of yourself surrounded by dozens of those cheap red plastic beer cups? -Don't crop out the ex-girlfriend if doing so also eliminates more than 30% of your own head. -Limit pets to those that are furry, big-eyed and cuddly. No matter how cuddly, limit the number of pets in one photo to two. -Do not include guns, swords or weaponry of any kind unless it is directly related to your profession (as in policeman, zoo keeper, sword swallower).

The Gross Out Award

I sell used furniture. There's no getting around that. I was on site today for my first sizable installation of workstations--there to go over the design plan with the installers, watch the offload process, learn and ...clean. By the time they get to the next customer, workstation components will have bumps and bruises and be in need of a cleaning--but at less than a third the cost of new (and green too!), that's ok. Boogers, however, are not ok. Someone sat at their desk for years (literally years), picked their nose and wiped it on the bottom of the pencil drawer. The flaky, crusty, smearing mess was spectacularly on display when the desk was staged on its end as it was being moved into it's new home. And yes, I had to scrub brush it off.

Snow Days

It started last Sunday (my birthday!) and was a welcome winter break---even the rumor of snow and ice here is enough to bring Portland to a stand still. I had the day off, and enjoyed watching the pretty white flakes fall, as I finished making my own snowflake ornaments for the holiday. By Tuesday, I was house-bound, ice-bound and bored. My apartment is up a steep hill, then around a bend, and up another steeper hill (think San Francisco covered in three inches of ice). It's a hill that never sees a plow truck. Or salt. SALT, people, SALT! Yes it ruins your car, yes it kills the salmon---but it melts the ice! I had an adventure I'm not ready to share yet, due to embarrassment, on Monday when I tried to get out by car. Let's just say that was the nicest cop I've ever met. On Wednesday, after a friend helped me get to my car to get to work, the white stuff started flying again. My treacherous hill was even more treacherous. So, I had to get....chains. Yes, chains. It's medieval, but here in the hilly Northwest, it's what they do. This story is less embarrassing. In fact, I come off quite capable, almost butch. I left the empty store early and headed to the tire store. After waiting in the Russian-style queue, I got my bag of tire chains. I joined the others huddled around the television in the corner, not to catch the lastest news, but to watch a tire-chain installation instructional video. Crouched down in the cold, wet and dirty curb, I managed to wrestle the tire chains on. Greasy, muddy and with frozen fingers, I pulled out slowly and headed home. Well, I headed to the grocery store for reinforcements of wine, firewood, and chocolate first. Then home. As I made it up the first and easiest hill, I had to pull aside to let the wrecker through---towing a UPS truck! As I had made my slow way through the slippery streets, I noticed that some cars had chains on the front, some on the back tires. At the last minute, just before I was going to attempt to mount the hill that had terrifyingly defeated me on Monday, I asked the UPS guy if I had the chains on the correct tires. "Do you have front wheel drive?" "Um, I have no idea" -quick check of owners manual, yes, it's front wheel drive. Who knows these things? "Then they should be on the front tires" Out in the muck again, embracing my tires as I removed the chains from the rear wheels and put them on the front. It's a messy, dirty job. But once you put them on the first time, you'll always remember. I'm a pro now. And I'll be damned, those ancient traction devices did the job--I made it up the slippery slope and safely home! I've made it in to work the last four days, despite the continuing storm, which is worsening tonight. No more excuses, no more snow days--I am a lady with chains!

I Could Too!

Today's work place quote: " I could rock a suede skirt." -me -look of doubt from co-worker "I could too! I could totally ROCK a suede skirt" -me, incredulous and insistent -24 year old co-worker walks away with look of mixed amusement and pity, not at the prospect of my about-to-be-thirty-six year old bottomside straining under an unfortunate hide, but at my lame and inexperienced use of the word "rock".

Yesterday's Revelation

It just occurred to me: I should be PAINTING! I should be having SEX!

Maybe You Can Help Me

Ah, Therapy. After an orientation meeting more than a month ago, today was, at last, my first therapy appointment at Kaiser (my health care plan provider--a huge, corporate and unpleasant medical beast). My goals for Therapy are simple--just want to improve a few key issues, work through my workaholic-ism, and figure out why my libido is kaput. In reception, I answered a questionaire explaining my complaints and issues. I described the libido issue extensively. Perhaps I should have done that AFTER learning which therapist I was assigned to! Don't, don't, don't be an ADORABLE, smart, funny man my age. Just don't! God help me, it's poop soup all over again.

Oh, The Irony. (It is Irony, right?)

Falling in love with a tv series where everyone, everywhere, smokes. Every scene. And I've just quit. It's cruel. And yet so good. Mad Men.

102nd Thing To Do Whilst Not Smoking

I had given Mom a small set of drawers to use during her stay. Today, as I fidget for more to do, I tackled emptying them out so they can be moved to storage. Here's what I had to triage; some items destined for the trash, others to Goodwill, and if I can locate her particular Greek isle, to send back to her aboard Daste: -package of Hammond's Old Fashioned Peppermint Sticks -6 magazines and catalogs -half pack of Extra Winterfresh gum -bottle of MucinexDM -Mission Impossible II DVD -piece of Japanese printed silk fabric -one black sock -two bras -one pair undies -half pack of Kleenex -temporary wrap-on sunglass thingies from the eye doctor's visit -a pair of gloves -one brown sock -one black sock that does not match the other black sock -one airline travel pack (sleep mask, toothbrush, toothpaste, socks) -Tea Tree Oil spot stick -tweezers -Portland walking map -wood-handled back brush -3 euros, twenty US cents Did I mention this is a small set of drawers? (very small--only 12" wide, 14" deep, 26" high) Oh, mom.

101 Things To Do Whilst Not Smoking, cont'd

18) Clean out closet. 19) Clean out other closet. 20) Make trip to Goodwill. 21) Empty out ten years of old files. Reciepts, instruction booklets for appliances long gone, maps, clippings, etc. Shred. Shred. Shred. 22) Make week's supply of Crumble. 23) Wash, iron and rehang shower curtain and liner. 24) Bleach grout. 25) Bathe dog. 26) Clean all picture frames and glass. 27) Hang mirrors long forgotten in back of closet. 28) Clean computer keyboard (Q-tips!).

101 Things To Do Whilst Not Smoking

1) Vacuum the mattress. 2) Clean the plastic tracks of the sliding windows (Q-tips!). 3) Bleach the refrigerator. 4) Alphabetize the bookshelf. 5) Re-organize the bookshelf by topic instead. 6) Re-organize the bookshelf by color and size, within topics. 7) Wash, iron and re-hang all the curtains. 8) Snip each pulled thread from the bathtowels. 9) Undo twenty rows of a scarf-in-progress. 10) Examine pores. 11) Make elaborate four course meals. 12) Calculate the price differences for tv, internet and phone services from the phone company vs. cable company. Call both, get best offers. Calculate savings vs. benefits, over a year. Change phone service, add DVR and internet to Cable plan. 13) Hand wash, dry, fold and put winter sweaters into sweater bags, complete with cedar chip, for the season. 14) Switch to all padded hangers. 15) Clean baseboards. 16) Magic Eraser the fireplace surround. 17) Update tetanus shot.

Goodbye Old Friends

Caffeine, out. Cigarettes, out. Salt, out. They may get those vices, but I'll be damned if I'll give up my beer. They'll have to pry the bottle out of my cold, dead hand. I am from Wisconsin afterall.

But Everybody's Doing It

I have insurance, and if I can be converted into LOVING my chiropractor, than how bad could therapy be? We've been having Work Therapy at work. And it's, well, working. I LOVE our work therapist. I figure if it's helping that much at work, maybe I should consider some personal therapy. This is a more difficult decision to come to than you might think. For me, going to Therapy is not, as it seems to be for many, like popping into the corner Starbucks. My Latte does not come with a pump of Prozac. You see, at one dark time in my life (ok, two dark times), I really NEEDED therapy. Serious therapy, and meds. Serious meds. It was a frightening, lonely experience. Being hospitalized for Crazy at a young age, unless you get a book contract, is not a point of pride. I've worked diligently to get the Crazy behind me, and continue working hard to keep it's tentacles at a safe distance. So, admitting that I might need HELP to accomplish a few personal things is tough. In my mind, it's like admitting I need help to poop. It's just not done. Therapy is for serious Crazy, not Just-Kinda-Struggling-A-Little. But, I'm coming around. Maybe a weekly chat with someone will help me focus on the things I want to change and/or improve. Maybe asking for HELP will not result in a long-term stay at Hotel Crazy. Here are my complaints: -The lack of sunshine and warm weather in Portland makes me suidical. (Ok, not literally, and I know I should rephrase this when speaking to a doctor.) -I feel I'm entering my Angry Years. Everything, and everyone, pisses me off. And I get no satisfaction from my anger--I'm furious, everyone else sees "Silly Kate". Did you not just hear me say Fuck Off? Right, I never actually say that, I just very politely stew. Ok--I want to LEARN to say Fuck Off. -My libido has died. I can't determine if my libido has died because I'm not getting any or if I'm not getting any because my libido has died. Memorial Services pending. -I have problems with money. I don't have money problems, I have a problem with money. -I want to make big changes in my life, and I wonder if I can or should. The issues above are all in the way of the changes I want to make--namely, I want a family. No libido, problems with money--kinda key issues if you want to make babies. So, there it is. I have Therapy Orientation this afternoon, wish me luck! Maybe I'll learn to LOVE my therapist too.

I'll Just Buy a Dremel and Do It Myself

I had a tooth dream last night. You know the type--one or more of your teeth fall out. They are very real feeling, and leave me feeling distressed when I wake up. The horrors of my dental experience this year elavate the distress. Let me share the saga, in a timeline: November 2007: I call Kaiser Permanante, my health insurance plan/provider to make an appointment for an annual Cleaning. The first opening is in December. And that's only for an initial 'consultation'--no actual cleaning can take place without that first. Ok. December 2007: The day before, I get a voicemail cancelling my appointment because the dentist won't be in. I call to reschedule, the next opening is in February. Ok. February 2008: My consultation appointment reveals one large cavity and one small one. I knew about the large one. Hygenist: "Where is the cavity you said you can feel?" "Um, it's the gaping hole right there" "Oh, yes indeed!". Indeed. Absolutely nothing happens at this appointment--no cavity filling, no Cleaning. They schedule me for two appointments--in March. One of the appointments is to extract the remaining root of a wisdom tooth--that I can't feel, that doesn't bother me and that TWO previous dentists have just left alone. March 2008: The wisdom tooth root is extracted--and in the process, the tooth next to it is CRACKED. Things you never want to hear in a dentist's chair: "Oops" Another hour and half in the chair to repair it and one of the cavities. Two months of chiropractic visits to get my tensed-up back corrected. Still, NO CLEANING. April 2008: The second appointment, for the second cavity. This one actually goes quickly and painlessly--it's a tiny little cavity, didn't even need any novacaine. Hmm, couldn't they have done this during the last visit? Seriously, it took 6 minutes. Nope, no cleaning yet...wait for it... April 2008: I get a voicemail cancelling my cleaning appointment because the hygenist is out sick. I call to reschedule--the next opening is at the end of May, at 7am. May 2008: Woo-hoo! Cleaning day! I get in the chair, at last, before the sun even rises. The verdict? I'll need FOUR appointments to do all the cleaning required because it's been so long since I've been in. My favorite part--"Why haven't you been in sooner?" Really? You really want me to answer that?!?! The hygenist completes part one of the cleaning--a painful scraping with no visible results. I'm scheduled for the next available opening for round 2----in AUGUST. My brain starts a high-pitched squealing here. EEEEEEEEEEEE.

Back Again

I did my back in again this week. On Dad's advice, I got myself a "nifty little garment", aka a back brace. Soooo sexy. Just about as attractive as the grunting sounds I make when trying to pick up a pencil. I can't bend, I can't turn, I can hardly walk--I'm doing the 'back pain' shuffle. I gave the dog her water this morning with a watering can because I can't reach her bowl. Good thing she's wired to eat anything, anywhere--I tossed a handful of dog food on the floor. She thinks it's a new game-Find the Kibble That Rolled Under the Fridge. My doc gave me meds --Vicodin and Flexeral. The Flexeral works great, loosens it up so I can move and maybe try to walk it off a bit. But I'm in so much pain, I have to give in and take the Vicodin afterall--which gives me just a tiny window to get a few things done around the house before I fall into a drooling stupor. Kate + meds= snoozeville. I got the meds by phone, but in desperation, I did go in to see her yesterday. I really strained it this time--there's a huge knot over my right hip, the muscles are in nearly continuous spasm. She advised having my "Husband, Boyfriend, Girlfriend or Partner" help work out the knot. Blank look. "Boyfriend?". "Partner?, Girlfriend?" Bless her, she was so focused on being 'pc' with the inclusion of a same-sex significant other that she didn't even consider there'd be a big fat Nobody. And I thought the worse pain I would feel this month was the dental work last week. Oh, how I wish that were true.

Things People Say

Just a few gems that I've been subject to this week at work--- "I just don't know if I can order those chairs today, I just lost $150,000 in the market!". (Excuse me, how rude is that? Lady, look at me--I'm a retail clerk. I'll never, in my entire life of working, have $150,000 to gain or lose!) "You look like you lost A TON of weight!" (Um, I haven't lost any, but thanks. Wait, just HOW FAT did you think I was?)

Ah, the charmed life I do lead.

Overwhelmed with tasks, customers and staff....it started at 10am. "Kate, the women's toilet is clogged." Ok, ok, whatever. Can't you see I'm busy here? You take care of it. Of course, I didn't say that. What I said was "Ok, I'll look into it in a minute". A minute turned into three or four fire-filled hours, solving problems, taking orders, and answering phones. Then: "Kate, I think there's a dead rat in the utility room". Jesus. What do you think I can do about it? And again, not what I said out loud, which was this: "Alright, I'll look into it." All day long, time after time, staff member after staff member --"Toilet's still clogged". "Something smells dead in that back room". Someone even used the toilet a second time! When I was 18 and striking out on my own, working loser clerk jobs and dreaming of being a grown up, of 'making it', of having a career....yes, this is what I dreamed my life at 35 would be like....success, respect and ability, talent and meaningful work.... Clogged toilets and dead rats. Yep, that's me on my 35th birthday--living the dream.

Welcome! (I think).

Mom has arrived! In less than 24 hours she managed to: -comment on the size of my breasts, the shape of my eyebrows and the 'cuteness' level of my butt. -find the only dusty spot in the house. Who wipes down the top of the refrigerator? -use more toilet paper than is allotted the average Ukranian village in a month. -spread debris through out my previously tidy house, including balled-up kleenex, empty cigarette packages, boating magazines, gloves, and what looks like a personal support garment. -insult my television. Can appliances have hurt feelings? -wear a red "Wisconsin" sweatshirt, momentarily throwing me back into 1991. -out-crass the crassest person I know. -make dinner of an unidentifiable meat package left in my freezer since move in day. Oh Mom, so glad to have you here!

Snappy Replies

A few ideas for replying to the too-often asked "Are you married"? I had a husband, but I killed him, that's why I'm here at the paint store buying a plastic tarp. Have a nice day! No, I prefer to sleep with other people's husbands. Is yours busy today? Not anymore, I sold him on E-Bay. Shipping was a bitch. Yes, but I'm the second wife. He and I and his other three wives live in a trailer on the edge of town.

I'm going to make chit-chat cue cards.

I have anxiety about having to make small talk with the technician when having a manicure. Here I am, spoiled beyond reason with the extra dough and time for such a luxury as a bi-monthly manicure. I have no family to keep me home tethered to the washer and dryer, so I work 6 days a week instead, and take home a healthy salary to spend on only myself. I live like 1% of the planet. And all I can think is, what a hassle this is to have to talk to this person I don't really want to talk to, for no reason other than I talk to strangers for a living and I'm tired of it today. I feel like a horrible, stupid, wretched person who doesn't deserve what she's got and should be hung by her pretty fingernails for being so unkind to a perfect stranger just trying to do her job in a friendly manner. Then the technician opens with "Are you married?". WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP ASKING ME THAT? NO NO and NO, I'm not married, I don't have kids, I'm about to turn 35 and CAN'T WE PLEASE FIND SOMETHING ELSE TO TALK ABOUT!?!?! I don't feel so bad about it afterall.

Past and Future, both in envelopes.

The Breckenridge brochures arrived in today's mail, along with a notice from the US Dept. of Education ---my little cottage specs and my biggest debt in the same mail pile. This is the second time that the US Dept of Ed. has messed up my automatic loan repayments--all this time, nearly two years, I thought my monthly payments were being automatically deducted. They weren't. Now the loan is in default. And this time, it's not my fault! I actually got through to a live person at the other end of the 800 number, and this time, they promise me the arrangements will be kept. Of course, now, it's a higher payment and a black mark on my already sketchy credit rating. But at least it's a step forward. Maybe my little cottage on the coast is meant to be. Perhaps I was meant to get serious about taking care of this messy bit of finance so I can see a path to getting my little cottage mortgage. I realize that this entry seems out of the blue, there are about five or six entries I haven't written yet to describe how I got to ordering trailer home brochures...will post soon, under the category "Cabin on the Coast".

a new low

I've tried speed dating, Match.com, set-ups, social clubs.. you name it. And nowhere can I find a date that isn't deeply, deeply wrong. Is searching the Craig's List Missed Connections in pathetic hope that you might have been noticed by some stranger, is that as sad as it feels? Even sadder when I realized the only place anyone would have the opportunity to notice me is at the grocery store?!!?

vorbotten

I know, I know...I haven't blogged regularly in ages...aside from being overwhelmed with work, lately I've had Technical Difficulties. Each attempt at posting brought the same malfunction message: "FORBIDDEN". I don't know what irritated me more: being Forbidden from my own damn diary, or feeling like a complete moron for not being able to fix it, despite all my brother's assistance. We finally figured it out tonight, it was something simple I was doing wrong but couldn't see clearly for lack of good sleep and perhaps because of the the nasty cocktail of back meds I still need on occassion. Anyway, it's all good now and I owe Tom a Krispy Kreme or something. Thanks Tom. (who, by the way, hardly has time to deal with a cranky sister with minor malfunctions..he's launching a HUGE project (WoWtv) full of it's own, much more important and more interesting functions.

Vicadin anyone?

I recently informed that I've been inexcusably remis in my blogging....more than 25 days without entry...well, let me share the explaination: Me a few weeks ago: shuffling, old lady style, pacing back and forth because sitting is intolerably painful. Bent forward in an awkward position, grimacing. The grimace is for the August 1994 copy of House Beautiful laying on the waiting room table. The awkward position? The result of another 'thrown back' incident. I move furniture every day, have for years. I'm fat, but freakishly strong. What did me in? Leaning over (from the waist, forgot to bend the knees, take note!) to empty the waste paper basket. The. Waste. Paper. Basket. That's right folks. First thing in the morning, a simple wrong twist and I'm toast. Worst of all? Let me tell you... After managing to drive myself to the Urgent Care Center, I had to wait nearly three hours to be seen. It was tough enough to leave work as it was, waiting with nothing to do was torture. I come from midwestern stock, where the highest honor is given to those who drop dead at work ("He was a hard worker" = "I loved him" to a Lutheran). How humiliating to explain that a puny little trashcan did me in...why couldn't I have been lifting a car from off a trapped child? At last, I get in to the exam room and am handed the gown. I can barely stand, can't sit at all, can't lift my arms above my head--the only way to keep white-hot pain at bay is to shuffle back and forth at a 45 degree angle. Getting undressed takes half an hour. Getting the gown on? Well, let's just say I had to be creative...the wrap-dress is back in style, right? So, crunched and crabby, completely freaking out that I might be useless at work or, god help my Midwestern soul, NOT MISSED during my convelesence...there I barely stand, in yesterday's skivvies... ...and in to the exam room walks THE MOST GORGEOUS MAN ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH. Your mother was right about the fresh undies thing. Every day ladies. Every. Day.

quote of the day

Someone I have to see nearly everyday: "You look nice today, Kate...". Compliment, good. Wait for it, here comes the insult-disguised-as-expanded-compliment: "...you have your own special little style, don't you? And somehow you make it work". Nice, well done. Excellent stealth-attack, admirable use of the non-compliment, I never saw it coming.

Untapped Talent

I have difficulity with gardening. Overcoming my fear of houseplants wasn't easy, but I've done it (as long as they are smaller than the dog). But I still can't get the hanging fuschias to last longer than a month. Currently, I have two hanging Dead Things. I do however, have a way with growing other things... I have a small patch of grey hairs at my temple, under the bangs. I'll be wearing bangs into perpetuity of course. Seemingly manageable, these little white devils have been until recently restricted to this small garden patch of aging. Until recently. Until last week, when under Law and Order style lighting, tweezers in hand, I saw in the magnifiying mirror to my horror that I had escapees! There, on the other side of my part..a long white hair! The more I looked, the more I saw. Like day workers crossing the border, white hairs have jumped the fence of my colic and been spotted in all areas of the Cute Hairdo. I'm grateful that they are pristine white as opposed to dull grey. I like that these new residents maintain the same part-curl texture of the previous tenants, lazy as it is (either curl or not, you know? why this half-ass effort?). But to be so migratory? To set up camp in so many locales? To be so, so ...visible! There are many things I planned to have before I had white hair...a degree, a kiddie or two, a serious relationship, a house...heck, I don't even have a full-size refrigerator yet!

It's been one of those weeks.

In the car, three blocks later.....realized that "Oh, not much, just spring cleaning" was NOT the answer cute fellow that I ran into again in grocery store was after when he asked what I was doing this evening. In the laundry room, two seconds after putting cap back on bleach bottle, realized that this load was NOT whites.... In the bedroom, three minutes after finishing up last phone call to credit card company....realized that wallet was in OTHER pair of jeans, NOT Lost or Stolen.

Habit

We all have them--the dried-out Sharpie, the unrefillable mechanical pencil, the leaking pen. Why do we hang on to them? Why do we refuse to throw them away when they so obviously no longer do their jobs, and continue to irritate us? Why have I just reached for the same offending, leaking pen (with the globbed-up tip) when it just not ten minutes ago left a stain on my hand?

I wonder what the 70 year-old lady in the fish bowl next to me had in her handbag.

My boss said something the other day that I will add to my list of favorite sayings: "You've done a great job wallpapering the bedroom closet, but the fire that started in the kitchen is now in the living room". It's a perfect analogy for the retail business--keep your head down too long on a piddly project, and you miss the bigger picture (usually sales). It also applies to my experience at the Portland Airport Security Checkpoint. I had a metal card-holder in my back pocket (especially when traveling, I like to keep one credit card and form of ID in my purse, another set in my pocket--if a thief gets one, at least I have the other). I had forgotten about it when emptying my person of metal goods before walking through x-ray. I had removed my earrings, necklace, coat, shoes, even my belt. These security checks are humbling enough, does the container for my personal belongings really have to be a dog dish? Don't get me started. So, the machine beeps at my card holder. I immediately realize my oversight and pull it out, "Oh, here, it's this, I forgot, so sorry." Not good enough. I'm pulled aside into the clear-glass paneled exam area (the 'fish bowl'), told to stand with my feet apart on the diagram (designed for 6ft tall men) and then patted down by Attila. She didn't even want to look at the offending object. It was tossed aside, along with my passport (!) and ticket, onto a chair in plain view and easy reach of anyone still lingering at the exit of the security area--which was a lot of people. Putting on their shoes and buckling their pants. Out of context, it looked like the last five minutes of an orgy. I don't mind being hand-scanned. I can spread my legs and open out my arms wide. I don't mind being cooperative. I do, however, mind the loud running commentary: "I'm going to touch your breasts now, How's that underwire working for ya?, Ok, free government back rub!" Free government backrub? Excuse me? No one can bear to hear lame attempts at funny when being stared at by fifty strangers, held in an akward physical position and fondled by a government agent in an ill-fitting uniform. Could we perhaps do this with some dignity?? After another few humiliating moments, I was allowed to proceed. Which meant making my way back through the fray to pick up my belongings (out of the school desk tray and dog dish). My coat, shoes, and purse had not been further inspected, I was free to go. In my purse? A lighter, a crochet hook and thread scissors. All contraband.

getting cranky

I'm one of those people who lives life quite happily without a cell phone. I'm also turning into one of those people who becomes frustrated, annoyed and generally cranky when surrounded by folks chatting, yelling, shouting, babbling into their tiny cell phones. On the return flight, as we taxied to the gate on arrival, seat belt light still on, the passengers behind me and to my right and to my left all made cell phone calls. The tires weren't even cool yet. If it were up to me, cell phone use on planes would be banned altogether. Isn't it bad enough that we are all packed in there together in the same stale air for umpteen hours? Do I really have to listen to your one-sided, shouting conversation? On the same topic, overhearing cell phone conversations is not only annoying, it can be downright alarming. Overheard in Chicago: "Well, all I'm saying is I don't want you to do anything crazy like get a gun and shoot someone."

nosy checkers

When I have a bad day, I have a feel-better routine. First step? Stop into the grocery store on the way home from work for the supplies. The supplies? Frozen pizza (the horror!), one gourmet chocolate brownie, a bottle of Framboise and the latest copy of People magazine. It's a recipe for recovery from exhaustion, work stress, even a break up. It helps me anyway. What doesn't help? The check out clerk commenting on my purchase. Commenting on every single item. Beep, comment. Beep, comment. Beep, comment. Sharing these comments with other customer in line. Both people chuckling. Bagger joining the hilarity. "Oh, somebody's single!" "Oh, someone's addicted to this (waving bottle of booze around)!" "Oh, look at that, looks like a great night in" "Isn't it Friday night?" Just give me my f***ing groceries and leave me alone already!

I came back to America for what again?

it'sjustwork.it'sjustwork.it'sjustwork.it'sjustfurniture.it'sjustfurniture.it'sjustfurniture. more wine, please.

Are we what we eat? Or are we where we shop?

I just spent an hour in the grocery store (could you guess?) and I am in the depths of depression. I usually single-girl shop at the local "gourmet" grocery store and the deli across the street. Portions are reasonable (where else can you buy one pork chop?), the fresh produce is respectable and they have some familiar foods from frenchieland that I would otherwise miss. What little cooking I know, I learned there, with those ingredients, so I enjoy having them. And they have cheese. Real cheese. However, in a recent drive to save pennies (for a car, oh the pun!), I've decided to cut back my somewhat luxurious food budget. Into the Fred Meyer I go. What a mistake. You know what I really noticed? Not one single human being anywhere near the food. Oh shoppers and cell-chatters sure, but service people? No. No butcher. No deli person. No cheese man. Even the humans at check out have been eliminated: U-Scan. I looked hard, but didn't see much food either. Only plastic. Everywhere I looked, everything packaged, boxed and wrapped in plastic. Vacuum-sealed, sealed for my protection, economy-packed, you name it. Call me crazy, but I want an aproned man touching my chops before he wraps them. In paper. The car can wait.

The McMansion on Steriods.

As this subject pertains in a small way to my work, I have to tread lightly here. Let's just say, that for work purposes of the networking/chatting people up nature, I recently attended a local event showcasing the latest in home building and aspirational living. Let's call it SNOT. The grand opening SNOT event was Black Tie. After parking in a rocky, dusty field, we trudged in our Black Tie attire up to an entrance adorned with balloon arches. Next to the balloon arches; porta-potties. Classy. We were attended to by 12 year old ticket takers. Twelve year olds were a dominant feature in this event--as greeters, ticket takers, servers, escorts. Sunburned adolescent girls in too-tight prom dresses seeing to the needs of the so-called movers and shakers of the community, picture it. Jail bait seals many a real estate deal. The designated mingling, drinking and eating area was a gravely, dusty bit of road strewn with food tents and white plastic Walmart tables and chairs. I'm reminded of Walleye Weekend, only fishing enthusiasts don't wear bugle beads. SNOT Opening Gala goers, having dished out $100 per person to attend, were treated to hot-lunch line trays of unidentified asian-esque stirfry and bbq chicken wings. Yum. Next, a self-guided tour of SNOT's Dream Homes. Dream Homes include the following features: -orange-peel wall finishes (walls should hurt when you brush up against them) -top-of-the-line plastic moldings, windowsills, and door frames -hollow-core laminate doors available only at the big box hardware stores -room layouts that make the most of 20 ft ceilings and the least of 5000 square feet -kitchens that take 20 minutes to circumnavigate (by the time you find the sink, your pizza is done!) -Butler's Pantries for the butler you'd never have because it's not pc -a laundry room big enough to house that stray migrate worker family -on the second floor, nylon wall-to-wall carpeting to soften the sounds of your desperate wailing -'wood' laminate flooring in the public areas so visitors know that you really are classy -faux-finished cabinetry throughout -for 1 million more, you can have the faux-Tuscan look complete with wall murals of a place you've never visited because the people don't speak English -three-SUV garages -outstanding examples of both The Roofline Museum and The Window Museum (guaranteed minimum of five varying rooflines and a minimum of eight, count 'em eight!, different window shapes) -swimming pools that you can use four whole a weeks of every year! -a stunning, expansive view of the proof of our progress: power lines -oversized, professional-grade kitchen appliances that say "I could really cook if I knew how". -Master Bedroom Suites featuring a drop-down big screen television set over the bed, complete with thundering surround sound (it's so much easier to ignore a lacking sex life with surround sound) -a matching big-screen 'theater room' to numb the little ones into submission All this for a mere 3 million dollars. My little 500 square feet in the city has never looked better. So glad to be home.

did i really live there?

damn you, Rick Steves, and your PBS special on the Cote d'Azur--I'm soooo very frenchie-homesick!!

what is he thinking???

It's also the little (to us because we don't pay attention) policies and positions of our current government that gain us such ill-will from other parts of the world, for example, his (GWB) stand on marriage and abstinence over condoms, described in this article from IHT about how even marriage in Africa can kill. grrrr.

Oh Canada!

It's alot easier than you'd think to emigrate to Canada.

open letter to my roommate

Miss Ruby and her playdate, Monsieur Oscar I love you RoobieDoobie, but there is dog hair IN the keyboard of my brand new lovely computer. DOG HAIR. In the keyboard. I can deal with it on the bathroom floor (on every floor truthfully), on the sofa, woven into the handtowels, floating in bunches under the chair legs, lingering on the curtain edges (by the way, why exactly do you sit under the window with the curtain wrapped around your head?), on the bed, and on every piece of clothing I own, but... the computer keyboard?? The brand new shiny computer?!?! What gives little dog? What exactly is it that you do when I'm away?

double entendre

Male customer, to me, as I reach up and slide the rug racks back for his viewing convenience: "Nice rack!" I'm forgiving him only because he had his two kids with him and was mortified at the slip--he honestly meant the rug rack.

it's all too much

Just when I think I can't take it anymore, American life throws another one at me: strawberries.* A simple fruit treat, right? Wrong. Now they are "GIANT" strawberries. Even the ones not labeled "GIANT" are monstrously-proportioned specimens. That I can't fit in my mouth. And trust me, I can fit alot of things in my mouth (sorry Grandma). Am I the only one who enjoys popping in a berry and enjoying it in one bite (maybe two)? We're talking four, five bites a piece here people. They're not strawberries, they are miniature melons from the planet Giganto. I dreamt of a book I wish I could write last night: 'BIG AMERICAN LIFE' Why we believe bigger is better, and why we might be wrong. And don't even get me started on cell phones---and I do get that, contrary to everything else in our expansive land, they are actually getting smaller and smaller, to the point of being ridiculous lozenges. Lozenges that rule people's lives. When was the last time you let a shrill, screeching, interrupting annoyance rule your every waking minute? Isn't that why we leave our mothers? *I know this will all wear off in time, but I hope that a few things stay with me---the calm I feel when I realize that I don't have to answer a ringing phone. The desire for little more than I need. The pleasure of a regular, sit down evening meal, even with just myself. The health of walking, rather than driving, to the corner store. I'm writing these things down, so when I get lazy and re-accustomed to this fastness and hugeness, y'all can find this page and remind me.

oops

I popped into the pharmacy the other day to have a prescription filled---there was a wait, so I left my basket of other sundries at the counter and agreed to return for the prescription after finishing my shopping at the grocers next door. I forgot to return. Completely. Until three days later. One of the items in my basket of pharmacy goods was a bottle of MEMORY supplements.

more of the same.

four month itch

a shot from the November roadtrip....wishing I was back on the road. any road.

bristling

I nearly lost it in the dental care aisle of Target the other night---too many toothbrushes to choose from. Seriously, there must have been nearly 200 different types on display. I didn't know where to begin. Why I should be made to decifer and contemplate MEANINGLESS differences in type, features, benefits?? Either it has bristles or it doesn't. Either it's a toothbrush or a stick. Other than size and softness/firmness differences; any dentist will tell you that they are all the same. It's HOW you use it that makes the difference--don't you remember those little pink pills in second grade? Oh, I'm ranting...but really... Does having so much choice TRULY improve our lives?