April 2007 Archives

as you know, and if you don't then i'll tell you, i like to sew.  this afternoon i was upstairs sewing my little heart out.  rocking to the bad party music that was blasting downstairs.  i was snipping and clipping and sewing and being oh so cool as only someone who sews can be.

and then snip.  i snipped my finger.  with my gingher scissors.  my über sharp gingher scissors.  snip.  snip.  ow.

it bled everywhere.  i could not for the life of me get it to stop and i get queasy when i am injured.  (side note: if you are injured, i'm there for you.  me.  i am the biggest pu$$y on the face of the earth.  no joke.)  i managed to drive myself to dr. friend and have him look at it and tell me that i was nuts, that it was ok and no i did not need stiches (or stitch) but on the bright side i need my tetanus updated.

so.  the lesson of the day is: watch what you're doing.

how do i classify my need for caffeine?  it is hard to say.  recently, i have had a conversation with a friend and we have discussed the meaning of addiction and what it means in relation to caffeine.

i am the first to admit that their are side effects to caffeine and that i feel them (including right now) when i do not have it.  but does that mean i have an addiction to it?  the problem that she and i both have with the term addiction is related to the "urge" or "compulsion".  check out the definitions yourself.

you see.  although i love coffee, as much as shoes, i can go a day without drinking it.  i can even go that entire day without giving it a passing thought.  today is a perfect example.  i am not "urged" to go and "get some".  i am not obsessed with having some form of caffeine in my system.  i'm not even compulsively looking for it. 

so then, what is this that i feel when i do not have enough caffeine in my system to feed my dependency on it?  i can clearly walk away from it and easily not have any.  yes, there will be some withdrawal, but the behavioral compulsion is not there... so what does this make me?  a social caffeinator?

the thing is, i a lead a fantastic life and i am not complaining here.  but.  (isn't it funny how people say they mean something and then attach a big old bedonkadonk to it, thus negating what they are saying.  i love that.)

but i don't have a saturday to myself until memorial day weekend.  how did that happen?  for the past two weekends i have had work related things.  and for the next three weekends, i have something every saturday.

i'm not sure which god i pissed off to have this happen to me.  does anyone know what i need to sacrifice in order to get my saturdays back?  is it a small child?  a rotisserie chicken?  a favorite pair of shoes?

dear you know who,

you know that we love living near you in the neighborhood.  we have been friends ever since you moved to this sweet little town, way back when.  we love having dinner with you and your family.  we love joking with you.  we love your kids.  but i am writing to you to ask you to please stop cursing me.

you see, when you see me leave the house, you pull over in your car to chat for a moment and then ask me if i would like a ride.  which we both know the answer is no.  you then pull away.  and for whatever reason, you take the energy and power that is in my ipod with you.  you, sir, kill my ipod each and every time you pull over.

in conclusion, to resolve the problem, i suggest that you just keep on driving and let me have my music.  i don't want to think my thoughts in the morning.  i want to sing.  i want to dance.  i want to have a party in my head.  why must you kill my ipod?  why?  oh, why?

sincerely,

jeorg 

this evening we bid farewell to a colleague who has decided to do something else with her life.  sad.  but happy.  in the meantime, i have managed to get myself rather tip-sé off of one lemon drop martini and have decided that instead of dialing drunk (which i am not, just tip-sé) that i would blog tip-sé.

i have noticed that i am waaaaaaaaaaay more flirty when drinking.  this is not news to anyone since i am already flirty sober, but add a bit of booze and everyone is bound to get hit on.

my personality is about ten times more me when drinking than when i am not drinking.  it isn't that i get over inhibitions because i am willing to do things sober, it is that i become me amplified.

i am bound to do something funny like pull out my lime green galosh (singular of galoshes) while looking for keys clearly indicating that i have been drinking.  i think i did this in style, but to be frank, i may have just done that tip-sé and therefore misinterpreted my style.

tip-sé is fun to say.

i have spent the last few weekends busy.  really really busy.  and this weekend is no better.  it seems that i cannot catch my breath and take time for me.

what i really would like to do is go to a bookstore, buy some books, sit down for a bit, and read.  peruse the books, smell the print, read some, decide on about four or five books and then spend some time being lazy in twenty different locations.  coffee included.

instead, i have some work to do, things to prep, things to read, thoughts to think and some stuff to find out, a husband to love on and kiss and make-out with... oh yeah!

so for the past two days i've been at a local conference.  this evening was a blast as it always is since there was the end of conference soirée that has plenty of vino, food and one really nasty cheese that none of us liked.

but anyway, that isn't my point.  i have been blogging about music lately.  or at least, i have in my head.  to me, music is a foreign language that people speak and it is one that i am not as familiar with.  by blog hopping, i recently discovered salvadore and his ability to graph music.  he is a fu©king genius.  the only thing is, you have to guess at the song, and i am a bit of suckage at this game because he seriously has a wide variety of songs that he graphs.  enjoy.

i am quite the commercial connoisseur.  i love tv for the commercials and frankly, there are not enough good ones out there. 

there is one that i abhor.  one that makes me vomit a bit in my mouth every. single. time. i. see. it.

who thought it was a good idea to make a commercial of gravy being sucked through a straw?  that person should be punished.

today at lunch, my colleague and i were totally not impressed with our meals.  it consisted of goldfish crackers (the snack that smiles back) and a bbq pizza.  at one point, while we were eating, the following conversation happened:

me: you know what i really want?

her: what?

me:  grilled cheese and tomato soup.

her:  why did you say that?  pouty, i am pregnant face.  melty cheese, mmm.

me:  nothing is going to satisfy me today.  except a grilled cheese and tomato soup.

her:  yeah.

i invited her to dinner tonight where she and i had, yep, you guessed it, grilled cheese and tomato soup.  and d@mn it was good.  miam miam.

it is hard not to talk about it.  yesterday when i saw the news i was shocked.  i had no idea the danger.  no idea the situation was so grave.  no idea the desperation, panic and fear people felt.

i am disappointed in the governor of the state who says that gun control shouldn't be discussed at this time.  let's not talk about it.  it's inappropriate because this isn't a political issue.  not at all.  so people are to say nothing?  we don't quiet the people who lose someone to a drunk driver when they want to talk about drinking and driving.  we say something about the laws.

i am sorry this happened.  it is scary that this happened.  that this could happen.  that this continues to happen in our country, time and time again.

i am tired of everyone being quiet.  i am tired of  nothing happening because someone will say it is my right to have a gun in five minutes.  well bully for you.  apparently it was his right too and we see what came of that.  i personally am willing to try it out and see what happens if we make people wait just a bit longer and fill out a lot more paperwork.

i don't think it is too much to ask, considering i can't take a bottle of water through security at an airport.  but let's give people guns in a day and say nothing because that clearly makes sense.

i believe that everyone should carve out their own personal style and share it with the world.  little things like certain combinations or colors, or kinds of clothes.  but people don't seem to do this anymore.  or is it that they don't have the courage?

i love it when someone plays with expectations and does something silly like wear a tshirt that says: i have nothing to wear.  then, when you look at the whole ensemble, they are also wearing brilliant costume jewelry that sparkles like no other with a tiara.  this was probably my most favorite moment in fashion history.  when i realized that what you wear can be cool, trendy and ironic.  this was not me, but someone that i saw at the age of 18 and admired deeply.

today, i think i carried on that admirable tradition by wearing a lovely pink top- that has the junior league written all over it- with my white pearls.  while wearing pigtails.  pearls and piggys.  oh yes.

what's a girl get called when she manages to eat all the dark red jelly beans out of the bowl?

witch with a capital b!

and i'd dig them all out, all over again.

currently, i am sitting on the couch, alone, still a wee tipsy from the drinks i had earlier this evening.  did i mention i am alone?  and you know what?  i really, really, really, would luuuuuuuv it if t were home...

so i walk quite a bit.  i walk to and from work.  but what makes me wonder is the people that honk at me while i am walking on the sidewalk.  as if they have never seen a pedestrian before.

i understand honking when you are leaning out of the window screaming some sort of foul obscenity at me like hey hot momma.  but when you just honk and don't even bother to slow down, then i really wonder if you mean it.  do you?  do you really mean it?  or is it that your tiny brain does nor comprehend that someone could use their feet for a purpose like walking someplace, or putting up your a$$ for being so stupid?

i want you to know that i married a veritable manpod.  he rivals the ipod on many levels in that he sings me songs, however, only when the song is playing in the background.

now the thing about my manpod is that he has a certain kind of music stored in him.  and this is not the kind of music any husband would be proud of, unless, you were a husband born and raised in europe, germany in particular.  germans love bad music.  they love techno.  they love one-hit wonders.  they love eurotrash.  and thomas is no exception.

the other day, he put it on one of those tv channels that plays music while we cooked dinner and did the dishes.  during this time, thomas was able to identify all the 80s singers and songs.  now i am not talking u2 here.  i am not talking michael jackson or madonna.  nothing that easy.  i am talking about the slow song, one-hit wonder, can sing along to the lyrics of the guy who had a hit for one day back in 86 that people know they've heard, but don't remember anything about it song.  and.  and.  and, he can. sing. along.

i should have known what i was getting into when i found out his first concert was roxette.

so.  it dawned on me today that i nap like a hobbit eats.  all the time.  i napped like thirty of the twenty-four hours today.  i'm not kidding.  i am either a sleepy hobbit or a cat.  maybe i am a cat-hobbit.

on a regular basis, i deal with foreigners, people not from here.  i love people from all sorts of places with all sorts of backgrounds.  i love them all.  i even married one.  my own little special foreinger.  hi thomas!

but right now, one of them, one of those cute little foreigners is doing something that drives my little miss manners self nuts.  and i know it is totally american etiquette here.  and s/he does not know the difference.  that s/he has good intentions and is not aware of the awkward situation created, nor that things are done a certain way.  i also know that muricans are just as guilty of doing this.  but let me just say:

when it comes to a party, don't invite yourself or assume you are invited just because you know the honoree.  it makes the honoree feel guilt and it imposes on the hostesses.

*the reason i single out foreigners in this one is because it deals with a "shower" and since showers are typically an american thing, i tend to deal with this a lot when showers come up... foreigners don't always know how these things go down and on an occasion, as in for the past week, things get very uncomfy.

growing up, there was one thing that i got me mocked by all the other kids.  i am not crying over this nor do i have angst but i won't lie when i say it bothered me and i didn't really understand why.  i am a girlie girl... save for one thing.

let me digress for a moment here.  i never understood why it was funny that i ran like a girl, since, let me state the obvious here, i am a girl.  i never understood why i should have to climb a rope in gym class.  we never did ballet in gym and i think that would have been just as fair as having to learn to play basketball.  i still think that gym is geared towards "boys" and not girls.  and for those girls that are athletic and capable of climbing the rope, bully for you.

i have one thing to say to all of you:

so die dog thinks she is funny.  you see, she likes to go in for the kill on all things plush.  she likes to gut them with the smallest of incisions and then proceed to shred them.

a while back, i came home as usual.  i got the usual greeting of, "you're home! now let me out!"  and she proceeded to run to the back door.  while i was at the door, i turned and gasped.  yes.  i gasped.

there, nicely laid out in her bed, was my-- MY-- fozzie bear.  in preop, being readied for the torture to begin.

i took a photo for proof because thomas' dog has it in for me and all of my things, including MY fozzie bear.  die evil dog is really out to get him.  and all he ever did was tell a lousy joke or two.