Trauma: The Drama

Foresight

2012-01-08T07:14:00.000-08:00

When I was a little kid and it was hot in the summer, Tom, Maura and I used to sometimes sleep on the deck. It was like camping for a family that never camped. Maura invariable woke up with a mosquito bite on either her eyelid or her lip, both swelling to a disfiguring state, but that's a story for another time. My brother Chris, eight years older than me, would sometimes come up and lay down in the middle of the three-across formation and tell ghost stories to help us not sleep in the Bruce Lane dark. One of those stories stuck with me for years, and now it's something to sort of think about.

Chris told us one night that he had a friend in the army, and that the friend told him the army had recently shot down an alien space ship. They questioned the aliens inside, and they told their captors that they would come back in the year 2012 and destroy our planet. The story while told, I'm sure, was probably much more involved and colorful, but I don't remember all the details. I just remember trying to do the math in my head to figure out how old I was going to be when I died.

This was like in 1970 or so, so I think I was thinking I'd be about 42 (which is wrong. I have never been able to do math.). Anyway, I remember that throughout my life, even as I matured into the kind of person that doesn't believe a word Chris says (or said), this thing still stuck with me. Back in 1970 nobody was talking about the end of the Mayan calendar. 2012 wasn't this thing that sat in the near future, taunting believers and nonbelievers alike with the possibility of doom and destruction. It was just a year off in the future where we would be flying hovercrafts to work and dressing like the Jetsons. It was like talking about having a billion dollars - just some random number that was totally unattainable.

But seriously, it stuck in my mind. I can tell you that over the years as my math "improved" from five year old TtheD math to eight year old, twelve year old, fifteen year old TtheD math, I never really landed on the right age. I just knew I'd be in my forties and that was plenty old enough to have lived a long and fulfilling life before being blasted to bits by some pissed off aliens who were holding a grudge.

Now that I'm older, am way less naive, and have the benefit of a ten-key, I realize that this was probably all a bunch of hooey. But isn't it KIND of interesting that he would land on the year 2012 lo those many years ago? And the fact that not one, not two, but THREE psychics have all told me that I was Mayan in a past life? And that I held on to this particular story my whole life when all that has ever come out of Chris's mouth is a constant steady stream of bullshit? Maybe there IS something to this 2012 thing. I mean, you've been to Chichen Itza (or at least seen pictures). Explain the pyramids.. Mayans with really strong calf muscles?

Or aliens..?

Spaz

2011-12-19T18:20:00.000-08:00

Suddenly I'm old.

I woke up like Thursday last week feeling like I slept on my shoulder wrong. The pain went away after a while, but returned Friday night and has stuck around every night since. Barbie thinks it's arthritis. Suddenly. Out of nowhere.

Then Saturday morning I woke up completely stiff in my lower back. Pain. Like I could barely dress pain. I had four million things to do and I did them, but I was like Frankenstein all day and I looked like a jackass getting in and out of the car. I took Advil and stooped instead of bent and looked up the possible causes on WebMD and pretty much covered all the I-don't-go-to-the-doctor bases, and Sunday when I woke up it was actually better. It still hurt, but it was better.

Today was a completely different story. Spasms. My whole life I've never had back problems. Now suddenly it's spasming in the shower and in the car and while I set up the office this morning before my 7:30. Good Lord. I could barely feed the cats.

When that Sandi came in I asked her about it - she'd experienced a similar situation recently herself, and luckily I wasn't so self-absorbed that I remembered. She said to ice it - twenty minutes on, maybe thirty to forty off. I did. All day. I took more Advil. I took two Aleve at like 3pm. I've been icing. Still spasming.

I made it home, and here's the problem with being me: did you know that if you don't use the ice in the ice cube trays for a long while they eventually evaporate? I didn't. You know, until tonight, when I needed to make another ice pack. So now I know. At least I have bags of frozen vegetables that clearly aren't being eaten to use while the real ice freezes.

The good thing about being me, however, is that I am industrious. I couldn't stoop down low enough without seizing to get the kibble in the kitty bowls, let alone get the water dish, so I now have a step ladder in the kitchen next to the kitties' food station. I unfold it, I sit down on the step, I lean over for the dish, I stand up and fill it, I sit back down, I lean over and put the dish down. It took me ten minutes to feed the dang kitties.

This is a flipping nightmare to me because I think it's my bed and not the fact that this happens to people as they age. I'm not that old. Seriously, I'm not. Sandi claims the ice packs will help in a day or two, and I'm hoping so, but I've been icing and dosing all flipping day and it still hurts to sit here and type this (but I suffer for all seventeen of you). Plus I'm afraid to go to bed now. Because I'm still convinced it's my bed and nothing else. And I can't even fathom having to buy a new bed. I don't even know where to start, and I certainly don't want to spend the money on something so ridiculous.

But it's probably not my bed.

God damn it.

Swan song

2011-12-11T08:32:00.000-08:00

Wednesday night, atop the third floor of El Asador on Avenida Yaxchilan, I proclaimed that I would never again visit Cancun. Was I on JagerBomb number three in that hour? Had I been drinking for the last ten hours and convinced everyone to skip dinner for a spontaneous trip to Centro? Were JagerBombs the least potent of anything I had had as a shot that day? Yes to everything. But it dawned on me even when I landed the Friday before and was being shuttled to Kim and Arturo's house that the odds of me coming back to vacation in Cancun were not good.

It's not that I don't like it anymore. I mean, who doesn't like the beach? But there's just something not there anymore that used to be and I really doubt that it will come back. Kind of a been-there-done-that sort of thing. Plus tourists irritate the crap out of me.

But what a great trip you guys all missed out on! Naked Steve and his wife Sue showed up as a grand surprise for Marita and Dave, Marta and I cohabitated somewhat reasonably well, I didn't spend TOO much money, didn't get hit by a car, only ended up with three bruises and one cut, taught Lumpy the meaning of "no", and got a fairly good tan. Our weather was perfect, we were ridiculously popular, and the staff dug the hell out of us. What more could you ask for?

Maybe that feeling to come back. The one that makes me want to turn the plane around and go back. That feeling of "I'm home". It's just not there anymore. And that's not a bad thing, it's just a "let's do something different next year" thing.

I'll try to get some pictures up but I just thought I'd let you know that I'm back and there isn't any need to ask me if I am moving there again. Because I'm not. Believe me.

Waiting for the bank to open while I think about how much I hate leaving my cats

2011-12-01T06:51:00.001-08:00

So Marita described it best: homesick and I haven't even left yet. I'm off work since yesterday, and today there is much more to do - because I dread cleaning the bathrooms. Seriously, one of them is like two feet by two feet if you don't count the shower, but it's a dread I feel anyway. I think it's just a residual throw back from when my job as a kid was to clean the boys' bathroom. Who knows why I still cling to that, I mean it's not like anyone is peeing on the floor here.

I have to go to bed tonight at like 8, so I can get up at 2. Some might question why I would even go to bed to begin with. Becky. But it's not really an option, and I have to get up so early so that I can shower before Gay Neighbor Geoff drives me to the airport at 3:20. That's AM, folks. My flight leaves at 5:30am, and the ticket counter at US Air opens at 3:45. I am certainly not one to NOT abide by the "two hours before your departure" rule, but what can you do when even THEY can't meet that? So abide I will, at the expense of a fabulous neighbor who is also going to watch the kitlets. He doesn't really drink so I'm not sure what I will be bringing him back as a fabulous gift, but I'll think of something. I'm really lucky to have these friends, considering how surly I am.

So I'm meeting my fabulous friends Marita and Dave and their mini-posse, staying with that Marta, which will be fun for her, I'm sure, since I'm an awesome roommate (right, Liz?) and tomorrow night I get the added bonus of staying with that Kim, which is awesome in itself for obvious reasons, the least being that it reminds me of actually living there, but without all the unpleasant details, like wondering what that thing is moving under my shoes, power outages when it rains, not being able to find a taxi on Sunday, and watching America's Next Top Model on a 9 inch TV.

But oh how I hate leaving the tiny kitties. They're on to me right now, you know, even though the suitcase is still in the office. They get suspicious when I clean. I don't really blame them, it's not like it's a weekly event or anything.

Well, I'm pretty sure the BofA's call center is open now, so I'll get to work for the day. If I don't see you tomorrow morning, enjoy your week and think about how ridiculously tan I'll be getting as it progresses.

Getting to thanks.

2011-11-24T07:01:00.000-08:00

Lame, right? It's like anything else in my life: a big woosh of activity and then.. stop. Like I was having Sunday morning coffee about a month ago with Neighbor Geoff and he had just gotten his new iPhone 4s. ALL I WANTED after that was an iPhone 4s. I called the Best Buy daily and then every other day and then every week and then.. nothing. Meh. How many stupid questions can I actually ASK Siri, anyway? It's not that I have patience waiting for the fervor to die down, it's that something more shiny got in the way. What, I can't say, but I am easily distracted and sometimes an effort just isn't worth it.

I have been MIA mostly because these last couple of weeks have just about killed me work-wise. Just about. Like last night I had this throb on the side of my head that I was sure was a stroke, but now it's gone because I am past the thirteen hour days and ready to jet off to a warm and sunny locale. So when I get home after a thirteen hour work day, the last thing I'm thinking of is sitting down to tell YOU folks about it. You don't want to hear about how I have to bite my tongue when I'm on the phone with a moron (or sixteen). Or how after ten hours of non-stop work with nothing in my belly but string cheese from eight hours before you're pretty much on autopilot, knowing you can't stop for at least another two hours. Or how my cats run away when I get home because I have become a stranger to them. Or how I haven't been to the gym since last Friday despite still getting up at 4am to go to work instead. Or how yesterday I'm not kidding you EVERYbody was an asshole. EVERYbody. What the fuck? It's the holiday season, you jerks. Have a little joy. Fuck.

No, you don't want to hear about it. And I'm wondering if you even want to hear about what awaits me just one week and one day away.. Do you really want to know that I will be doing the polar opposite of what I went through the last couple of weeks - laying in the sun, drinking my weight in free booze and luxuriating in a complementary bathrobe and fuzzy slippers while I sip coffee on the deck overlooking the blue blue of the Caribbean? Probably not. But yeah, that's where I'll be. Missing the goddamn cats because I'm getting soft in my peri-menopausal state. Thank goodness for Neighbor Geoff and his theory that single people need to take care of each other. And each other's cats.

This vacation couldn't come soon enough, either, since it's been raining like a big fat whore and I honestly don't know how much longer I can take this. It's always flipping dark outside. And my eye doctor suggested I try bifocal contacts during the rainiest week of the year. It takes about a week to get used to (not being able to see) them and this particular week seemed like as good a week as any.. right. The only time I have seen daylight this week was in my (pretty frequent, actually) dashes outside to grab a smoke. I haven't even had time to visit my Deli Boy boyfriend. Anyway, I could see fine out of them in the office and I could read stuff and they were pretty much treating me like a bifocal should, until I got behind the wheel of a car for the drives to and from work, and then LOOK OUT. Seriously. Shapes with pretty sparkly lights, that's pretty much all I could make out. Luckily I could drive to Orenco blindfolded (but there really is no accounting for mad pedestrians that wear dark coats and dart into traffic on poorly lit streets..), so, you know, I made it, but by Day five I just said Fuck it and ripped them out of my eyes and put my old ones back in. Monovision: it works for me. Sorry, Doctor.

So hey, it's Thanksgiving. Let's be thankful for what we have and we are able to do. Let's be thankful that I'm off that desk because I'm not kidding you I would have committed a homicide if I had to spend one more day on it (that's right. Homicide. Pre-meditated murder. I would have thought it out, planned accordingly, and followed through. No case for manslaughter whatsoever.). And let's be thankful that I will very soon be very tan, very drunk, and very happy.

Ready

2011-11-14T18:53:00.000-08:00

So I have a friend who is, like me, in her mid-forties. Divorced for a while, no kids in the house, living the dream. Recently she started dating a guy that is about the same age, maybe a year or two older. He's a good guy, I know this because I pretty much know everybody these days and he has a good name. They have been taking it slow. And when I say slow, I mean S-L-O-W. They barely make out and it's been two months since they started dating.

Very recently she had to broach the subject of taking things to, uh, the next level. Because seriously, kissing after two months is stretching it. In my opinion. I mean, for God's sake what are you waiting for?

I get being cautious, and I get developing a relationship and then when you DO finally knock it out it's just about the best thing since sliced bread. But I also get being in one's mid-forties and having had lots of ... life experiences... and subsequently having needs. NEEDS. And I most definitely get knowing what you want and asking for it.

So the question is, at what age does one stop being considered a tramp, or forward, or fast, or whatever you want to call it? At what point can you say, "Look, it's no secret I've had a lot of sex in the past, and I would like to continue that trend now that I've found a really good guy, so can we just get it over with already?" without sounding like you are some kind of nympho? I believe strongly in letting one's true feelings and desires be made known to (whoever cares to listen) a potential paramour, so I wonder how other people (particularly the potential paramour) might feel about being so... forthcoming?

I think it shocked the new boyfriend, but at least he knows what's up. I mean, in this case, it isn't ALL about the sex part, but the sex part IS important (and in some cases, it IS all about the sex part, but that's not really what this is about), and I just don't see what's wrong with getting it out there on the table and letting it be known. I mean, what guy wouldn't LOVE that?

I think the rules change when you pass the forty mark. I think that when you pass thirty, you are so relieved to not be in your twenties anymore that it takes a little while for you to figure out who you really are and what you really want. And then when you pass forty you really don't care what the reaction is going to be so long as you get the message out.

Let's hope for my friend's sake that the boyfriend isn't freaked out by this and is, instead, impressed that she would go ahead and tell him that she's ready. Because you can't get what you want if you don't ask for it, right? And anyway, how would she know she wants to keep him if she hasn't kicked the tires a little bit..?

Obligated, but I just can't be bothered.

2011-11-13T11:39:00.001-08:00

Has there been quite a bit going on? Yes. Did the Ducks beat Stanford Saturday night and in the process thereof, did I practically have a stroke and burn out the batteries on two phones texting? Indeed. Have I mentioned that I'll be in Mexico three weeks from now working on my tan and already have a January Palm Springs trip on the agenda? Maybe. Am I feeling philosophical about all the signs and signals that are being thrown my way by the universe? Definitely. Do I have a few things that I really should do today before being buried alive in work this week on a crazy-busy high maintenance desk? Absolutely. Am I going to write about any of these things?

No.

Instead, I'm going to give you a recipe for the easiest chili on the planet. It's on the stove now, and I started it like six minutes ago.

I use a lot of Morningstar Farms meatless products because when I was five my dad told me I didn't know how to buy meat. Those sort of things stick with you when you're a kid. I'm really bad at buying meat. So I just don't.

I use the MSF Grillers Crumbles (it's fake ground beef) (but it's all protein) but you could certainly use ground turkey if you wanted. I brown it in a stockpot on the stove, throw in whatever spices are handy (today it was chili powder, cayenne, garlic powder, salt, cumin, and cinnamon), throw in a can of black beans, and a can of chopped tomatoes (I actually found a can of Rotel tomatoes and chilis in the cupboard that still had another year left on the label and used that instead today, mostly because I didn't buy any tomatoes yesterday). Stir it all up and let it sit on low for however long you feel like it, maybe an hour or two. I threw in a couple of tablespoons of ground flax seed too because Gay Neighbor Geoff gave me some last week and it's never a bad idea to keep the product moving.

So there's dinner for the next three days or so. And it's actually pretty healthy, when you consider we need all those things to function properly.

Don't say I never gave you anything.

A tan will hide the dark circles, though.

2011-11-06T08:25:00.000-08:00

The cats didn't let me have that extra hour of sleep this morning. They barely allow me to sleep until 4am as it is. Right now one of them isn't even letting me blog.

I think the only thing "Falling Back" does to me is set a precedent to get up EVERY weekend day at 4:45am. That's not good. Sooner or later there will be dark circles under my eyes.

Booked for Mexico, and with less than a month to spare. A teeny tiny window of opportunity opened and luckily that Marita found it - fare through Phoenix (way better than the Texas airports) for less than $850. Like $320 less. Sure the flight back leaves at 9am on Saturday with a four hour layover, but I'm a cheapskate and there is NO WAY I was going to pay $800 for airfare alone on this trip. The pluses are that I get to hang out with that Kimberley on Friday (and I even get to spend the night, though I'm not sure her cats are okay with that) and I won't be home in the middle of the night on the following Saturday. Oh and I get to actually be at the same resort as that Marita and Dave (and Marta, of course!) for the first time in ever (we did do that Isla trip, but technically it doesn't count because we had to buy all our own drinks). So on top of getting crazy tan (I talk a good game, don't I?) I get to hang with my favorite people. And I only have to wait like three weeks or something like that before I go.

Which means I have to tan in earnest. I started yesterday at the Cut Rate salon, but I really hate laying in a tanning bed for flipping 20 minutes, so I'm thinking I'll probably re-up for a month at the super fancy expensive one. It's way more convenient considering I'll be in Hillsboro for the entire time I am tanning (save the next three days).

Anyway this wasn't supposed to be about the Mexico prep. It was SUPPOSED to be about the cats and how suddenly I care about things and hate leaving them, and every time I see a wild animal out and about (chipmunk, deer, rat, crow) in potential peril of getting run over, I think of the kitties and I get all sad like somehow they would ever be able to get out of the house and race immediately to the busiest street they could find and then something horrible would happen. Because isn't that what inside kitties would do? Just like when you drop something, anything, it automatically lands UNDERNEATH something? I used to be so carefree and unaffected by the plight of others (okay that's not really true, but I HAVE been known to not give a shit about anyone but myself...). Now every time I see a carcass on the roadside or a chipmunk wondering if now would be a good time to run across the street, I think of my kits and how that could be them. Whose idea was it for me to have animals to begin with?

Nearing the time to have coffee with my neighbor (I've been up for hours, been to the gym, the Dutch Bros, showered... still killing time talking about nothing) but I figured after the barrage of posts from a couple of weeks ago, I'd keep up the trend. Sorta. Seriously, nothing is going on. Except, you know, Mexico.

Hair in, hair out

2011-10-23T10:25:00.000-07:00

So I'm using this new shampoo that's GUARANTEED to make me not bald. I don't know if it's the shampoo manufacturer that's guaranteeing it or the fine folks at Evolution where I faithfully get my hair colored and cut on a very regular basis, but hey, a guarantee is a guarantee as far as I'm concerned. What is this miracle shampoo that brazenly touts the ability to make my hair grow fuller, stronger, faster (maybe that's not a good thing considering I already color every four weeks), you ask? It's called Revita. That's right, just Revita. I thought it was something like "RevitaFast" or "RevitaPoo" or something a little bit more flashy, but apparently they don't need to be flashy. They just need to make me not bald.

Literally every time I go to the salon I work in the fact that my hair is falling out in clumps (I tend to be a little dramatic) since I'd recently lost some weight. Either I'm asking my stylist to strategically style around the female pattern baldness, or I'm asking both my stylist and my colorist pointblank if they notice way less hair than last time. They have consistently blown off my concerns, but last Friday when I went in, my colorist practically jumped me at the door to tell me about this new shampoo. Which got me thinking that all this time they were being less than truthful.

I'm crazy-vain about my hair. If I wasn't, I wouldn't spend the fortune on it that I do. So the idea of having way more of it in a somewhat timely fashion (ninety days!) intrigued me enough to break out the cash and drop an additional $100 on the shampoo and conditioner combo (not EXACTLY $100, but almost..). The kicker is I have to use it EVERY DAY (or every washing actually) (which for me really is pretty much every day) and I'd start to notice results in as little as two weeks. Instant Gratification Girl loves this idea. My stylist has been using it, and she says she totally can tell a difference, even after three weeks. This is important to me because our hair is very similar. AND it's guaranteed, so, really, what have I got to lose?

So I just started week two today and the good news is I've stuck to the regimen. Which is no small task for me. My whole life my hair has had a mind of its own, so I have to be really creative with shampoo, conditioner and product. Like I always have to switch it up. Like daily. Like I had probably four different kinds of shampoo and four different kinds of conditioner in the shower and in an effort to make my hair somewhat agreeable, I'd have to switch up combinations every day. I'm no mathematician, but for those of you who can actually do math, that's the potential for a lot of combinations (right? Seriously, I can't do math).

Now, however, I am a one shampoo/one conditioner kind of gal. I even bagged up all the other shampoos and conditioners in my shower and put them in the bathroom closet (I didn't throw them out, there's something like $575 worth of product in there. You think I'm kidding.). The good news is the conditioner is not heavy and does not weigh down my hair like literally EVERY OTHER CONDITIONER ON THE PLANET does. Weird hair.

So the way it works though, and this is the hard part for me, is that you have to have it on your head for two minutes. EACH. So two minutes for the shampoo, rinse, two minutes for the conditioner. I'm seriously Fast Shower Taking Girl, and two minutes is a long time if you don't have much to do in there. I wash of course, thoroughly and completely, but how long can THAT take? Certainly not two whole minutes. I mean it. Count out two whole real minutes right now. It's a long time. Anyway, I had to come up with some other things to do in the shower while the RevitaPoo worked it's magic, so I finally broke down and decided to shave every day. Something I've never done.

I've gone whole seasons without shaving before. Winter? Why in the world would I shave in the winter? Taking my cue from the cats (and based upon utter laziness), that extra coat of fur helps keep me toasty in my spinsterdom. It's not like anyone is going to feel my leg anyway. And in the off chance that I might venture out to a bar mid-winter, I'd hope for at least a day's advance notice to hack through the overgrowth that would keep me just this side of human (never shave your legs on the DAY of an event that potentially could end up in a heated make-out session. Your chances of actually making out are ruined. This is a proven fact.). But I digress. Sort of.

Seriously I have never been so smooth in my life.

And I'm single. So really, what's the point?

A lustrous, full-bodied head of hair, that's what.

I'll check back with you in a couple of weeks and let you know how it's doing, the regrowth. It's exciting to have a project. I feel like a scientist. A mad, not-so-bald scientist.

I'm really trying, people.

2011-10-20T07:46:00.000-07:00

So a few Saturdays I got a speeding ticket coming back from the Winco in Tigard. It was kind of early (for everyone else) and there was pretty much zero traffic on that stretch of Highway 99W just as you're passing Greenburg Road - my whole life there has never been zero traffic on 99W - so apparently with all the caffeine and excitement I took full advantage. He got me going 55 (in a 35, which isn't hard to do) but after my wit and charm got ahold of him he wrote the ticket for 45. The bail was set at $145, and we had a long talk about various and sundry me-related things (totally amped on caffeine), and after I promised not to speed for the whole rest of the day he let me go on my merry way.

Yesterday was court. He suggested that I go to court so that the judge reduced my fine. But by Tuesday I was kind of thinking, well, what the hell. What do I say? I mean obviously I was guilty, so what do I do when I plead? Just stand there like an idiot? I called the court clerk and she told me pretty much, yeah. So I did.

Lots of people there before me, which made me mentally tally how much the city of Tigard gets in revenue for this crap (but the tallying didn't take long since I can't do math), and I got to listen to the various infractions and fines that appear to happen on a regular basis over there in Tigard. Interesting, but really boring.

Here's what kind of shocked me, though. Seriously, it's COURT. Sure, it's TRAFFIC court, but it's still court. Shut up, people! The lady that checks you in reminds you to turn off your phone, but that wasn't the distraction. Most people came with someone, or in one case ran into someone they knew, and just chatted away during the whole deal. Like, loudly. Like, with no real regard for the judge or what was going on at the front of the room. Chatting away, like it was a bar or something. I gave up giving the stink eye after about twenty minutes, but seriously, it was ridiculous. The guy in front of me was even showing a video (on his phone that was supposed to be off) to his buddy and giving him the color commentary. The judge did nothing about it, and there was no real bailiff, probably because this shit must be normal and what can he do.. he's just a judge. Nice. Show some respect.

When it was finally my turn, he was very nice to me, pleasant, told me if I had to get a speeding ticket it was a good kind to get (within 10 miles of the speed limit), and complimented me on my great record. Then he reduced the fine to $109 and sent me to the clerk to get my paperwork. The next case behind me involved some broad who apparently couldn't speak for herself, so the blowhard she met there did the talking for her (it was comical actually so me and the clerk listened for a little while). We chatted about how shocked I was at the noise level and she said since there ARE no bailiffs, nobody does anything about it. We lamented about the lack of respect for something like this, I mean, you have your whole life to chit chat with your friends, you can't shut up for an hour during something like court? Then she gave me my paperwork, I paid the cashier, and went on my way.

It wasn't horrific, but it also wasn't the greatest time in the world to have to pay $109 to anyone, let alone a city I've never been that big a fan of, but it taught me a lesson, I guess. Speed in Beaverton, maybe? I don't know.

All I know is that stupid $109 might have helped with the sting of paying flipping $600 for airfare in December. Might have (still having a hard time swallowing that). But we live and learn and pray our insurance company doesn't do a random search and increase our rates just in time to book a trip, abide by the no-heat-til-December 1 rule, and break down and buy a winter coat.

Every couple of weeks is not acceptable.

2011-10-18T19:17:00.000-07:00

I've been in Lincoln Tower more in the last few weeks than I have been all year. It's the branch closest to my house, shortest drive, easiest access to a Dutch Bros coffee, and I am literally never there. I like it there. I like the people, the proximity, and the iced coffee in the afternoons from Minh at the deli (not to mention the Bi Bam Bap she makes when you really need some eatin' food - holy cow that's good).

Here's what I don't like: I don't like the dungeon (the parking garage and the only "legal" smoking section left since we had a change in building management. Yeah, I smoke. I'll get past it sooner or later.)(And hey, so will you). It's dark, cold, and this time of year spiders are literally dangling from the concrete rafters just waiting to land in your hair. It's dank and dreary and depressing even on those days when it might be sunny outside. We still sneak outside in the parking lot, but depending on the security guard on duty, it's dicey. But it sure is nice to have some sun on your face for once this year.

I also can't stand the bathrooms. The bathroom closest to our office has smelled bad since forever. Not just because women seriously are way worse than men when it comes to leaving a mess behind but there's just this foul sewer smell in there all the time that no amount of air freshener they try to put in there will ever take away. Recently the (somewhat) new management company has installed automatic soap dispensers in that bathroom, along with changing something in the faucets that makes the water come out in more of a light spray than an actual stream of water. My guess is that this is all in an effort to save money.

So here's what happens when you use this stinky, disgusting hell-hole of a bathroom twenty-seven times a day like I do: Hold your breath while you do your business, and run the faucet long enough to get the hot water running. I don't know the first thing about plumbing, but somehow, since the management change, the water goes cold within seconds of the faucet being turned off. It's a main floor bathroom that gets a lot of traffic, so I'm not sure how one day you turn on the normal streaming faucet and the hot water is ALWAYS hot, and then the next they put these grate thingies on and the water is always cold. Or maybe tepid if you let it run long enough, and then back to cold if you wait still longer. The automatic soap dispensers do not work consistently, especially first thing in the morning - you hold your hand in the obvious position, and it sort of spits out this weak soap that's already been sudsed up for you. You have to wave your hand under it several times to get anything close to a lather, and by the time it's time to rinse your hands the water is freezing again. Often times when you go for soap it doesn't even come out. It just stops working all together. Which is fantastic considering what you've just finished doing.

I'm sure it's a cost-saving attempt, but nobody likes a quitter, and I pretty much let that faucet run for as long as I can to a) warm up, b) lather and actually wash my hands, and c) rinse off this cheap filmy soap. It's probably not very environmentally conscious, but it's my little rebellion against a management company that makes me go to a dungeon to get a cigarette. Bastards.

Not much else going on, had some fun weekends, though I lost my toe ring. I'm not even sure when. I noticed it missing during Monday's shower, but it wasn't in my socks or in any shoes I'd worn that weekend, and it wasn't in my bed. So it COULD be in Kim's guest bed but who knows. I mean, I took two showers after crashing there and didn't notice my toe ring-less toe, and it's kind of hard to miss. It's been on my toe since like 2001 (it's not one of those adjustable kind of rings, it's one that I had to jam over the toe pad with a good dose of lotion to lube up the process. I mean, it was on there. I just don't know how it could have happened.) so I'm kind of bummed. Kind of. I guess I really only think about it when I shower.

I'm down to the decision with Cancun in December, and the thing that is killing me right now is airfare is the most expensive it has been in years. It's like $600. Killing me. This will be the most money I've spent on a week in ages. I better be flipping black by the time I get back or there will be hell to pay.

So there, kids, I've done it. Blogged without being threatened by Becky. She's not even in the country right now and I blogged. She'll be so pleased when she gets back because I totally intend to blog again before then.

Yeah, we'll see how that goes.

You're Done.

2011-10-09T13:16:00.000-07:00

(Becky told me she was going to leave me if I didn't blog soon. I can't risk it. She might be all I have left.)

So I'm driving around today dropping off some stuff at Mark and Becky's, running a little bit of errand at the Albertson's (because for some reason you can't find ground cloves at the Trader Joe's OR the Target's supermarket section, and it turns out it's because GROUND CLOVES ARE APPARENTLY GROUND WITH DIAMONDS they're so flipping expensive), when, at the close of my journey, as I am waiting to take a left on to my street, the song "Old Time Rock 'n Roll" comes on the radio. And it all comes crashing back to me.

All the times I hear that song while I'm in the car and can't switch the station fast enough. All the profanity spewing from my mouth as if I'm suddenly possessed by a demon that hates that song even more than my sane self does. All the obvious digits my blood pressure increases in the space of the one second (because I can name that tune in less than one second) that I hear any part of that song. I really don't like that song.

You know, it probably started out as a pretty good song, one hundred and fifty years ago when it first came out. But it isn't anymore. Because despite the fact that the song is easily one hundred and fifty years old, it gets more air time than it ever should have. Still. I think K103 still plays it at 5pm every Friday to signal the end of the work week even. Why they seem to think that a horrible song like "Old Time Rock 'n Roll" would signal the end of the work week in any universe is beyond me. It's not giving me ANY kind of signal besides ohmygodchangethestationchangethestationchangethestation.

And it's not just on the radio. Now and again I am asked to see this or that friend's oldies' band at some random bar on a Friday, and I go, because I feel badly that I never see this or that friend, since I'm a big fan of spending my weekends doing what I want to do, and not what I feel obligated to do, and you can bet any amount of money that said oldies' band will have "Old Time Rock 'n Roll" on their playlist. Why? It's not a good song. It's a terrible song. A terrible song that has been overplayed for centuries and that should finally and once and for all be put to bed.

I've heard it sung by people for whom English is a second language (which actually makes it better than the orignal). I've torn up karaoke slips when people have requested to sing it (I used to be a KJ. A thousand years ago I used to be a KJ. I also tore up slips for people who requested to sing "Hit Me With Your Best Shot", "Summer Nights" and "Wonderwall", but this isn't about those songs). I've heard it in the doctors' office, the supermarket, and even as musak in elevators. I don't understand why ANYone would think this is a song that needs to be played so many years after that stupid Tom Cruise movie where it obviously lived its heyday.

It's over, "Old Time Rock 'n Roll". It's time to put you out to pasture. The fact that a song affects me so much that I have to come in here and pound out this post is enough proof that you are a stupid, stupid song that has extended your fifteen minutes WAY past your shelf life. And though I really wasn't expecting to thank you today, I do appreciate that you gave me an opportunity to not lose Becky.

Writer's blocked

2011-09-29T21:07:00.000-07:00

I don't know anything right now.

Nothing is happening and everything is happening. I'm slipping into boring but spiking on not-so-boring-but-too-not-boring-to-tell-the-internet. I haven't lived any stories lately that should grace TtheD and I've lived too many story-ettes to remember them long enough to write them down.

But I do know this much:

I'm in week four of a six week binge of nightmarish work assignments. Each one is more horrific than the last. I get a day or two reprieve of not being completely slammed and then, once I'm mildly comfortable, I get slammed again. It sucks. I'm tired. I'm pissy. I'm starting to get really mean at work again.

And I know I can't drink very well anymore. I mean, when I'm DOING it, I'm fantastic. I'm so much fucking fun to be around you can't even believe it. But then the next day I'm dying slowly on the couch with no motivation to do anything but sleep and sometimes get up to go to the bathroom. It worries me because I'm not that old. Oh wait. Maybe I am.

I know I need a pedicure, bad. During one of those stories I can't really tell you about I somehow ripped my pinkie toe nail down to the quick and since I have brown polish on them right now, it looks really dumb. I know I'll get one Saturday, but I also know I want to bring my neighbor to the farmer's market because he's never been there. And that I want to get my errands done early so I don't have to deal with Beaverton in the rain. But you can only do so many things in a morning. And that sort of gets me down. Like walking around with half a pinky toe nail. Same kind of down.

I know too that right now it's 9:15 and my bed time is getting earlier and earlier. Because my get-up time is getting earlier and earlier. Because my go-to-work time is getting earlier and earlier. Because I am in the cycle of hell work-wise, and there isn't a whole lot of light at the end of this tunnel. Yet.

Never forget that, either.

2011-09-11T08:41:00.001-07:00

(Seriously? Has it really been since August 22? Woops.)

I got up at around 4:30 this morning because I had to take my nephew Cody to the airport - he'd flown in for his first game at Autzen as an official Duck. It was dark and when it's dark I always get sort of introspective and lonely. It's also 9/11, and because of that, this weekend I've been thinking about that day ten years ago a lot.

I'm seeing a lot of posts on Facebook about "where were you" and "never forget". It's haunting to read them, and brings me back to my own experience of that day. What I remember most is how, in the days and weeks to follow, we as a society were a lot more mindful of one another. We looked at strangers as though we were friends, we let people in front of us on the street and in the supermarket, we held elevators and opened doors for others. And we looked each other in the eye - always in the eye. Searching for that commonality, and finding it. We were in this together, and it was sobering and scary. A bunch of my friends and I went to the Mt. Angel Oktoberfest the next weekend wearing our US flag tshirts and stopping on the freeway to light candles with strangers, and late in the night we formed a line, arm in arm, friend next to stranger, and marched down the middle of the festival singing "God Bless the USA". We watched footage, we scoured newspapers, we swore we would never forget.

But I kind of think we may have forgotten already.

Not the events of 9/11, not the loss of life, not the sacrifices of the fire- and policemen, not the news coverage that brought the horror into our living rooms and office lunch rooms. I'm sure no one will ever forget that. But I think we've forgotten how we felt about one another, the brothers-in-arms-ness, the we're-in-this-together-ness. Slowly we stopped being mindful of one another, eventually we stopped letting people cut in front of us. We stopped looking each other in the eye and went back to being mindful only of ourselves and what was ours.

I guess it's human nature - you can't expect that kind of consideration when life goes on, can you? Every day the work that needs to get done gets done because we are on track, focused, driven to get out there and get it done. Slower paces drive us crazy and time is money. But really, I still got just as much done ten years ago today, this week, this month, when we were still reeling from the shock of it, from the fear that formed the solidarity we as Americans felt. I still finished my errands, and got to work on time, and pleased my clients just as quickly and efficiently as I do now, while I'm not necessarily being mindful, when I know the other person isn't being mindful, of a sense of community, of that we're-in-this-together-ness.

The sentiment remains: Never forget. It was a terrifying and confusing time, and we WILL never forget. But I propose we also never forget the effect those events had on each of us, and try to remember that solidarity, that mindfulness, and that consideration of our fellow countrymen.

Kah Nee Ta

2011-08-22T06:34:00.000-07:00

We aren't having a summer again this year. Last year we didn't have a summer either, except for like three days in July where the temps reached 100 degrees. Before and after that, nothing. So, like last year, I had to find some real sun to convince my skin that tanning bed bulbs are not the only source of color in my world. Last year at this time we went to Palm Springs for five days of 100+ degree heat; this year, because I'm a cheapskate and seriously am going to Cancun in December (God damn it), I chose something a bit closer to home: Kah Nee Ta.

I haven't been to Kah Nee Ta since either 1984 or 1985. I can't remember exactly when, because we made a few day trips out that way back then, but I DO know that the last time I did, I got so sunburned that my face swelled up like that kid in "Mask" and then it dried out and cracked like the Sahara desert and when it peeled, it peeled off in huge sheets of skin that would slide off my face and into my lap at the slightest crack of a smile. It was horrid.

So anyway, this time we decided to stay there a couple of days since I didn't go to North Dakota but still had some days off. We left on Friday about mid-morning and arrived around 2:30 or so. The place was packed. The resort's policy is a two night minimum, and they have pretty much no cancellation policy, but since it's reservation land, I think you pretty much have to put up with it. You know, since we raped them of their land and threw them on these reservations and introduced them to booze that kept them down for years and years until they started to sober up and realized that the white man likes to gamble and built a bunch of casinos and are turning the tables now. It seems like a pretty fair trade off, when you think about it.

Which is kind of what I had to remind Cece when the kid at the front desk kept telling us our room wasn't ready until EXACTLY 4:30, which coincidentally is the "guaranteed" time. We were kind of cranky because there were no chairs to be had at the pool (luckily when we got there another girl I work with was in the pool and had great chair positioning, so we were at least able to put our bags down and attempt to float on the air mattresses), we were totally unsettled, and just wanted to lay down. But all that is forgotten when you finally have all your shit together in one spot and you've cracked open an icy cold beer.

The chair game is alive and well in the high desert of central Oregon. We got so-so chair positioning at 6:45am Saturday morning (it doesn't even become mildly warm until around 9), but it was nice to assume the position knowing there would be no leaving the area until much later in the day.

People are always crazy friendly in a resort situation. It's easy to put out of your mind that these are the same bastards that cut you off on the freeway, steal your cart at the supermarket and are most likely Beaver fans. But at the pool everyone is your best friend, sharing their more expensive floaties and watching your Kindle when you have to go to the bathroom. There's nothing more relaxing then laying out all day, even if this WAS a family resort and there were 897 screaming kids in the pool. I think I still got tan.

We intended to do the Salmon Bake that night - we had a view of the venue from our balcony. It was billed as a showcase of Native American dance and rituals and then the barbecue and a bunch of food and fun. We figured we could skip the culture-y part and just go down and get the food part, but when the entertainment showed up at 5:15pm for a 4pm show and dressed into their native costumes in the parking lot, I don't know, the charm sort of fell away. Behind-the-scenes footage did nothing for the ambiance. We ate in the restaurant instead.

Where the busboy was talking about a wildfire that kind of lost us. Apparently there was a pretty good one going on outside between the lower part of the resort and the lodge where we stayed. But I think the busboy was kind of slow or maybe he just thought we knew about it and chose to have a fine meal while his living quarters were threatened. We noticed the helicopters and planes overhead when we left the restaurant, and it clicked..

It was something to watch, definitely. I mean, it was REALLY close. There were unsubtantiated rumors that the Village area was evacuated, and the Hamlets, where the staff is housed, was right in its path. You could see the flames shoot out over the ridge at one point, and every time a tree went up it was pretty frightening. We also learned a lot about firefighting in the desert. We watched the action for about an hour or so and then kept one ear open all night just in case of lodge evacuation. Seriously. It was that close.

Sunday morning we gave it a couple more hours in the sun and then hit the road. Traffic over the mountain was a bitch and by the time we hit the Marquam Bridge it was ridiculous, so being home was nice. It was good, quick weekend getaway that hopefully results in a lasting tan. It better, since it was the last tanning opportunity of the summer. The summer we didn't have.

I would recommend this resort based on it's close proximity and because it's pretty much always sunny there, and the fact that it's the high desert and I love that terrain. The service is lacking in some areas, but if you're laid back about it it won't get to you. Just remember who holds the cards and you'll be fine.

What, me complain?

2011-08-14T09:54:00.001-07:00

I feel like I haven't bitched in a while. So I'm gonna.

I'll admit it. I bought into the whole Starbucks thing. For, like, ever. When I lived in Cleveland in the early- to mid- 90s I had Starbucks coffee delivered to my house, because they hadn't quite made it out of the Pacific Northwest yet. I've been somewhat faithful to the brand for a long time, and I'm not really sure why, when you consider their coffee tastes burnt and is ridiculously over-priced. The nice thing about buying into the brand, though, is the fact they are EVERYwhere. If you don't feel like getting out of your car at the non-drive thru one on your way to work, there's a drive thru one a block away. There is always one conveniently located to anywhere you happen to go - in the mall, by the gym, inside the supermarket. If you are a total Starbucks devotee, you will never find yourself far from one.

A couple of years ago I discovered Dutch Bros coffee near one of the branches I work in, and whenever I work there, I go to Dutch Bros on the way in. Dutch Bros is fantastic tasting coffee. Seriously. You don't need to hide the burnt taste with crazy syrup additives and foam. It just really tastes good. And it's inexpensive, AND they can knock out your order in no time. AND they are friendly. Chit-chatty. Tip inspiring.

Lately I've been off Starbucks because the one closest to my house, and closest to the gym, the obvious choice of getting a post-workout coffee, is always packed and the staff just sucks. They suck. They are constantly getting orders wrong, they take forever to fill said orders, the lines for waiting for your coffee are longer than the lines to order your coffee. They have piss-poor attitudes and appear to be annoyed with anything you might order. Often times I will go the extra two or three miles out of my way to hit the Dutch Bros when I come back from the gym on a Sunday, because of the good coffee, the friendly staff, and the fact it would take me the same amount of time to drive clear over to Washington Square, wait in line for my order, and come back to my house as it would to get a cup from the Starbucks a mile away. From a bunch of bastards. For more money.

I noticed signs for a Portland Bagel Company going up in the Murray-Scholls shopping center a while ago, and it's in the same strip mall situation as the stupid Starbucks that I hate going to but sometimes do anyway out of convenience (only to be irritated upon my departure). I'd considered going in but hadn't yet. This morning as I waited in the long (but shorter than the pick-up-your-coffee line) order line, I googled Portland Bagel Company to see if they offered espresso drinks. According to the brief page I read, they did. So I left the stupid Starbucks line (that hadn't moved), walked past the irritated customers waiting for their incorrect coffee orders, and walked two doors down to the bagel place. It was empty.

I asked if they had espresso or was it just drip coffee. They said they have espresso in other stores, but this one was drip only. I cocked a thumb toward the Starbucks and said "Because of them?" and he said yes. I tried to illicit some kind of opinion from the guy, but he was too nice to bite, and listened politely to my mini-rant of the injustices of it all with a customer-is-always-right-even-if-a-little-bit-crazy-sounding smile on his face. I ordered a drip coffee and a bagel and after some more chit chat with the friendly counter guy, I left with plenty of change in my wallet and a really good tasting cup of coffee. Irritated.

How about a little friendly competition, Starbucks? You already have consumers so snowed into believing your coffee is the best out there, so who cares if this little bagel shop serves espresso too? Are you concerned that once people taste what coffee is supposed to taste like, meaning not burnt, they'll leave your stupid location and spend all their money two doors down? And who died and made YOU king of the strip mall, by saying PBC can't sell espresso at this particular store? Are you worried that if your customers discover that they can actually get friendly service at the other place, YOUR staff might have to put on a smile and listen to the order the first time? Or possibly wipe off the counter from time to time? It irritates me that rather than strive to be better than a competing coffee shop, Starbucks would prefer to throw their weight around and not allow said competing coffee shop to even compete. But I know the truth - the bottom line is that even this cup of drip coffee I am currently sipping on is a THOUSAND times better than any cup of coffee I have ever had at Starbucks.

I will say as an aside that there are Starbucks locations where the staff IS friendly, the store IS clean, and the service IS accurate and somewhat speedy (well, relatively speaking.). But not this particular one, who from this moment on will never see a dime more from me. Not just because the coffee tastes like shit, and the staff is surly and incompetent, but because they KNOW they are terrible, and have no intention of improving. That's just sad to me. Sad, stupid and lazy.

And crazy irritating.

Reuniting

2011-08-06T06:50:00.001-07:00

It's reunion weekend.

Not MY reunion, but my brother Tom's 30th, and I SO wanted to crash it. When I went to Beaverton it was still a three-year high school, so as I was entering my sophomore year, Tom was entering his senior year. Thankfully he had established a pretty good circle of friends, which was integral to my own budding social structure. I can't imagine what would have happened if he hadn't become friends with the guys he did.

Through his connections I had access to all the good parties, and didn't necessarily look like a complete idiot showing up to them with my own friends (I say "necessarily" because generally no senior girl wants a bunch of sophomore girls homing in on all the senior boy talent. Senior girls start realizing their advanced age at 17 and 18 and those dewy faced 15 and 16 year olds were too much of a threat to their intended good times, I guess.). Plus Tom's friends seemed to like me (as a sister, unfortunately for my dewy faced 15 year old heart) so THEY didn't mind if I was there drinking all their beer (and trust me, I did).

Plus I had that score-keeping gig for the varsity baseball team, and seriously, there wasn't an ugly guy on that team (well, maybe one or two). So awkward, inexperienced, fresh-out-of-catholic-school TtheD was almost immediately plunged into the world of popular star athletes and the mean-spirited groupies/girlfriends that came with them. I am pretty sure that's how I developed my hard candy shell. Some of those bitches were ruthless.

I really wanted to crash the reunion tonight because the number of boys I had crushes on in that class is too high to count. I suppose I really just want to relive that life of an innocent naive girl surrounded by confident young bucks drinking beer and wanting to make out, but the truth is none of them are so young anymore and the baggage around that no-host bar is going to be worse than Thanksgiving weekend at PDX. And you can pretty much cut the hair follicle number in half, if not more. But still.. wouldn't it kind of be fun to go back one more time to those days of being fresh and new and ripe for the picking? Only now, in the More Worldly Less Naive suit you've been sporting for the last twenty years? Of course.

I think Tom wouldn't mind me crashing, but the Class of '83 girls to whom I suggested it didn't bite. So I'll run my errands today, maybe lay by the pool, do some laundry and light cleaning, just like any Saturday of my adult life. And who knows, I might need to drive by the Stockpot later in the evening, just in case the path of my errands leads me in that direction. Just to be 15 years old and ripe for the picking for three seconds again.

And now for something funnier than anything.

2011-08-02T18:46:00.000-07:00

Kudos to the guy that made this. I've watched it like five times already. I apologize in advance (after the fact?) for the language to any of my more sensitive readers, but it's really nothing worse than you normally see here.

Drained.

2011-07-31T07:08:00.000-07:00

Oftentimes my ridiculously young friend Sara will fill us in on her weekend plans involving either driving home to Seattle to hang out with friends and/or family, or entertaining friends and/or family here. I find myself exhausted just listening to her - the sitting in a car for hours, the running around all day, the bar-hopping until the wee hours, the absolute zero me-time. I wonder how she does it. And then I remember when I was ridiculously young and did pretty much the same thing. At my advanced age I can't even imagine what it would be like to have zero me-time on my agenda. But that's kind of what this weekend has been about. Kind of. Because at my advanced age I can change plans at the drop of a hat if I want to and not feel guilty about it.

After a grueling (and I do mean grueling) month end week as an assistant on a crazy desk, getting up every flipping morning at 4am, I might add, I met up at that Mark's house (soon to be known as "That Mark and Becky's House") at around 6:30 for a backyard party. I wish I could have stayed longer and had more than two beers, but an out-of-town wedding was on the plate for Saturday and I never think I'll have enough time to get shit done, so I stayed for a couple of hours and dutifully left. I'll admit I was a bit out of sorts, considering I had started my period for the third time this month (...), was whacked by a crazy last day of the month, and kind of stressing about the next day, but had I been in my right sensibilities I would have really enjoyed hanging out with these people I haven't seen in a really long time. Alas, age is making me cognizant of my responsibilities (and the fact that if I drink more than five beers there is NO getting up and going in the morning anymore). So I half-houdini'd (meaning I said goodbye to the hosts but that was it) at a respectable 8pm. On my way out, however, I was texted from a friend who was needing some fair-food and since I was already about fifteen feet from Hillsboro, I met her at the Washington County Fair for a pronto pup and a quick lap. Not on the agenda, what with all the laundry that was needing to be done, but it's hard to turn down a corn dog, and I like the livestock exhibits at the fair (except I stepped in some unidentifiable livestock poo and just found it last night on the bottom of my flip flop. Nice.).

I think I got to bed around 11:45 (completely unheard of for me anymore) after having finished all the laundry. Got up around 6am (also crazy unheard of on a Saturday. What kind of luxury is that?) and ran copious amounts of errands, showered, and ran off to SE Portland to pick up that Whit and head east toward Hood River for the wedding. Wouldn't it have been nice if the wedding was in Hood River? I understand the Naked Winery there is nice. And no crossing that God-damned green bridge either. But alas, that Marci had her heart set on Gorge Crest Winery in beautiful Underwood, Washington. Beautiful only if you already live in Washington State and don't have to cross the Columbia River on a narrow, rickety bridge made of steel grates that allows JUST enough room for two mid-size sedans to pass each other without tearing off their side view mirrors. And it was a toll bridge, so for the low low price of $.75, I got to crawl across this flipping thing with ZERO control over the car for what seemed like forty-five minutes, gripping the wheel, clenching my teeth, certain that one wrong move would land me in the drink. I hated that bridge. I still hate that bridge. It's a stupid, stupid bridge and if I never drive over it again I'll have lived a successful life.

The good news is we were crazy early to the wedding, so we got a good parking spot.. the wedding itself was really quite beautiful.
I'll be covering the bride and her trusty sidekick, Sherri, for the next two weeks (assistants, again, but this time two, on crazy-busy desks - yay!) so there was some light-hearted (to them) joking about Monday being horrific. A nice drive home that involved NOT going over that stupid, stupid green bridge and instead paying an additional $.25 to go over the much shorter, much wider Bridge of the Gods.*

Home at 9:15. Fall into bed. Realize I can't keep this life-style up (I'm only half kidding). Up at 6am. Supposed to go lay in the white-trash pool today. Realize I simply can't. Because I still have to go to the gym, clean this casita, and nap. NAP. What I do on weekends. What I haven't done on a weekend in what feels like FOREVER. Am I REALLY getting old? Or am I just feeling sorry for myself since I'm on the rag again for the third time this month and yesterday was the thirty-first anniversary? Or is just that I'm selfish?

It's probably the selfishness.
_________________________
*I'm not going to complain about the sun being in my eyes for most of the drive home because we never get sun in summer anymore and if I bitch about it it will leave us again. I'm not taking responsibility for that.

Maybe it doesn't read as badly as it sounded in my head.

2011-07-24T06:34:00.000-07:00

This has been drifting around in my head lately. I don't know really how to write it out without sounding like a complete bitch. So I'll preface, I guess, by saying that I have been very lucky to have some great friends in my life. In every state, in every life-stage, in every weird situation in which I've found myself, I've always had some kind of support system, someone who was always there to make me laugh so hard milk would have shot out of my nose, if I was a milk drinker. I'm certainly not looking a gift horse in the mouth. And I am not belittling the importance of these people in those stages of my life. I have a great memory and these individuals are right there, every detail just as vivid as if it were yesterday, and I hold them in the same esteem as I always have. I'm thankful for them. So it's hard for me to not sound like an inconsiderate bitch as I go on.

Thanks to the wonders of social media, a lot of those friends come back. This is a great thing. With each discovery, we get to experience those good times all over again, sit back and remember the good, the bad, the ugly, all knowing that we wouldn't be the we we are without them. We might send a little note, hey, how are you, where are you these days, you look great. And then, well, then, they do their thing and we do ours and it's just a really great feeling to know that they are there, hovering in the background, while we live our lives and they live theirs. It's like, everyone wants to be a part of some one's memory, and social media (the recreational kind, not necessarily when used for marketing..) allows that to happen. It's warm and fuzzy and makes you feel like you made an impact of some kind to someone at some time.

(Here's where I feel like an ingrate) But sometimes our "now" lives are so different than our "then" lives that when the "then" people come back, we don't have an enormous amount of time to spend on them. Everybody has SOME time, just not ALL the time. Like DAILY time. Or even three or four times a week time. Or even ONCE a week time. It's not that we don't want to know what's going on with them, we probably do, but there's just so much else going on that it's kind of hard to add a whole other person, with their needs and requirements and feelings in tow, to the list of obligations. So the phone calls slow down or go unanswered, email is answered maybe not quite so right-away, promises to converse are maybe just a little less enthusiastic.

Why can't it just sort of stay in the past? Memories are a fun and fabulous way to relive your life, when you have the time to kick back and reminisce. It's great to reconnect, fabulous, really, but when it starts to become an issue if you don't get back to someone right away, or if you can't take the last four phone calls, and so you don't, isn't it sort of ruining the memory of the "then" with the irritation of the "now"?

I have long thought that a friendship that makes you have to take a deep breath and paste on a smile before you start a conversation is probably not that great of a friendship. Friendships are supposed to be easy and natural. If you see someone on your caller ID, your reaction shouldn't be "shit" said under your breath before you consider the consequences of not answering. Sure, there was a time when I was happy to see that phone call come through. But it starts to get a little tainted when the phone call comes through daily, at crazy hours, when I am in the middle of my "now" life. So I don't answer. Because I can't drop everything and be someone I was twenty years ago for two hours. Nobody has that kind of time. Right?

So here's the gist of it: People come in to our lives for a reason, and we are so grateful to have that connection, that camaraderie, that support. They propel us forward as we live and grow and become a part of society. And sometimes they come back in to our lives, years later, and it's great - hey, hi, you've done so well. An occasional phone call, a more than occasional email update, all fabulous things. But when you start feeling like you HAVE to keep up this friendship that took a twenty year hiatus, and you find yourself running to another room when the phone rings, or you wake up feeling guilt and dread because you said you'd try to call sometime this week but you just haven't had the time, well, I don't know. It just shouldn't be that much work.

It just should be enough to stay in the "then" and keep the "now" to a minimum. Because the "now" is worlds away from the "then", and there's nothing anyone can do to change that.

Golden silence

2011-07-22T06:24:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, it's been weeks. You aren't missing anything. Besides the incessant ranting and raving of a person who seems to be a target for all the slow-driving-let's-cut-off-the-Honda assholes making their way around greater Portland lately. The weather has been shitty, I've lost all confidence in my (fantastic) escrow abilities because of my last two assignments (I suck as an assistant. I'm not sure I've mentioned that.), I feel like a sow, and my mood has been horrific for days.

On a brighter note, I'm not going to North Dakota. I still have a four-day weekend, though, so I have to figure out a way to get some tan time in. What about Kah-Nee-Ta? Hmm. I'm also diligently shopping Cancun for December. I got a bonus, bigger than normal, so hallelujah on that, now I can buy shampoo (it's really expensive). And I'm bringing back the bag I bought at the Anniversary Sale, but I'll get some boots instead maybe.

You're not missing a thing, because nothing's happening. At all. Adventure has eluded me. I'm bitter, but I don't mind the down time. For now.

Making the effort

2011-07-11T21:20:00.000-07:00

The last two Mondays have been the kind of Mondays I used to have when I had my own escrow desk. Stupid, sullen, anti-social, bleak, blah, tired, stupid. Little by little I get better, but yeah, today just kind of sucked. I'm feeling stupid and untalented on the desk I'm on, and I seem to be just a tiny bit off the mark in my interaction with clients. Also, just this very second I am realizing I double booked a 4pm for Tuesday. Nice. Let's see how I figure THAT one out.

I meant to mention that I was recommended to (yet) another wax girl and went last Thursday. She used to work at Blush but when her husband's work schedule changed, she quit and gave it a shot at doing it from home. She seems to have quite a schedule booked out. My colorist (who recommended her) raves about her, so I gave it a shot. She was really good. Quick, cheap, and very good. I'll go back.

Because not only did she do my Albert Einstein-like eyebrows (things had gotten completely out of hand) and my bigota (that's "mustache" to you non-Spanish speakers), she threw in a soul patch and - get this - a NOSE! Don't worry, it wasn't like a 75 year old man up in there, but still.. I'm peri-menopausal; I got hair growing all over the fucking place.*

But seriously, it was awesome. It wasn't something I could post on Facebook, and I can tell you here because seriously I think I'm down to like thirteen readers, but I'm not kidding you, it was awesome. Clean, breezy, I just don't know of any other word to describe it. AND it didn't hurt. Simply fantastic. I highly suggest you try it if you have the opportunity.

Tomorrow is going to be all funky because I am taking Barbie to the hospital for surgery at 8am, and that puts me in the office around 8:30 or so, when I normally get there at 7. Wrenches in my routine can be off-putting. Let's hope the sun shines a little bit to cheer me up.

It's July, right?
_____________________
* One of the many things that make me so date-able.

Right this minute

2011-07-08T19:58:00.000-07:00

I lost another ring. I'm bitter. One of the drawbacks to having lost a couple pounds means my fingers shrunk and I had to start wearing my Tiffany ring on my index finger. In the mornings it would fall off and after I washed my hands things would be dicey. Now it's just gone. Don't tell anyone but when I re-parked the car (I discovered it as I was driving away from work this evening) and retraced my steps from this late afternoon, I went through the trash can in the bathroom. I didn't go all the way to the bottom, though, so if it doesn't turn up somewhere in the office at Lincoln Tower then I will forever be thinking about it, sitting in the bottom of the black trash liner, in a dump somewhere. Nice.

But it's sunny and I have stuff to do this weekend and a little bit of cash and the pre-sale at Nordstrom and a fresh pedi and naps and kitties and I have my health and it was just a stupid ring in the grand scheme of things.

But now I need something to perpetuate the tan line on that finger that is slowly fading. I should have tanned after work tonight. I still could right now, but I'm really tired and don't want to bother with it. I should go put some laundry in, I should go vacuum, I should go tan. Instead I'm catching up on my DVR and then I'll probably go to bed around 10 because this, folks, is what my life has become.

Sitting at home on a Friday night, watching Million Dollar Decorators and the Real Housewives of New York, mourning the loss of a Tiffany ring, waffling between getting dressed again to tan or traumatizing the cats with a good vacuuming.

It's not so bad.

Another bitch about the lost art of customer service

2011-07-01T09:49:00.000-07:00

As a part of my job covering others while they are on vacation, I get to work with pretty much everyone’s clients. It’s a good thing. I know more industry folks than most, and I’m usually able to tell someone who works with whom. I also have access to their email as a part of that responsibility, but since I’m really trustworthy, it’s fine. I don’t read their personal stuff or anything. Really.

This morning I was looking at the overnight email from the person I’m covering (who is in Mexico, which mildly pisses me off since I haven’t been in like forever), and saw an email from a loan officer with whom I have a couple of files going. I had no problem reading it because two days ago he gave me a sign that said “Queen of Everything” because I pretty much am. Anyway, his email wasn’t about the files. It was, instead, a statement about a file that he had closed in April that just failed an audit.

It was a purchase of an REO property, and the seller (the bank) uses a centralized escrow company for the processing and closing of their files. I have a personal interest in this subject because escrow is what pays my bills (and now and then gets me to Mexico..) and if local escrow branches don’t get the business then I pretty much lose my job.

The gist? Centralized escrow service = bad. Very bad.

His file failed audit because of an error that even his own company had missed, and that’s understandable, in the end, he takes responsibility for it. But he can’t call someone, and he doesn’t have anyone specific who cares about this particular file and that it’s done properly. Ultimately he is on his own.

And so is his buyer. The centralized escrow company is some-goddamned-where else, and so they use mobile notaries to sign the buyers. Random strangers that have no idea what’s been going on in the file, don’t know a thing about the buyers, don’t know what the buyers have gone through to get this house, don’t know the loan officer or real estate agents, know NOTHING except they’re meeting the buyers some place and it will take about an hour out of their day. I work with a bunch of mobile notaries – some are really good. I use them when I need to. But some suck pretty badly and so I don ‘t use them. I honestly don’t think a centralized service gives a crap about whether or not the notary is good, they just want to pump out the numbers.
Why is this sucky, besides being a threat to my bank account? Because nobody is really thinking about the buyers. You go to buy a house, first time, fifteenth time, I don’t care what it is, it’s a pretty big deal. You want somebody to be a little bit enthusiastic. You don’t want some person you have never seen before who was just picked out of a hat twenty minutes after your HUD was approved to take your drivers license number and point to the signature lines of the 98 or so pages you are going to sign. You don’t want some complete random stranger to NOT be able to explain things, to assure you it’s going to be great, to let you know you can call them should something come up. You want your hand held. You want a little customer service. Shit, we ALL do.

Centralized companies like the one this loan officer had to use think volume, not individual escrow transactions. It’s data in and data out, and then on to the next one. They don’t know the neighborhoods, they don’t know the brokers, they don’t know anything about anything but the numbers placed in front of them. I’ve closed enough escrows to know that people want to feel important, even for just an hour, whether it’s for a refinance or a purchase or sale. You cannot sit there and tell me that it doesn’t matter anymore. Customer service simply has got to matter. It just does.
So I’m mildly bitter about it, but mostly because I can’t do anything about it. Whoever makes the decisions never see the customer anyway, so they don’t care. Save the penny. All that matters anymore is money.

On a happier note, it’s sunny, it’s casual day, it’s the Friday before a three day weekend. And it also would have been my dad’s 85th birthday, so happy birthday to him!

By request.

2011-06-22T18:45:00.000-07:00

Yeah, hi. That Becky made me feel guilty for not posting in a while so here I am. Seriously, I have like NOTHING to talk about. Busy, not a ton of free time (and my God that infuriates me), trying to maintain some kind of tan while working all day in my totally misunderstood industry*.

It's not that I'm not thinking about blogging, I think about it all the time (Becky even suggested that I carry around a small notebook to write things down in, like all serious writers do. Which would be a great idea if most of my inspiration didn't come while I'm behind the wheel of a car. They say no TEXTING while driving; nobody ever said anything about pulling out a ball point pen, flipping open a spiral notepad, and jotting down a few thoughts. Perfectly legal. Pretty safe, too, I bet.), I just can't retain things long enough to retell the story. Do I sound like a broken record right now? (It might also interest you to know that I just had a great thought pop into my mind, and in the time it took to write that last sentence, I forgot it. What does THAT mean? Do I need to start doing sudoku**?) I may not have an action-packed life right now, but a lot goes on any given day and for some reason I think you guys should know about it. But then I forget and you don't get to know about it and, I don't know, it's probably true that your lives haven't changed one way or the other as a result of it.

Here's something though. You wanna know how to really irritate the shit out of me? How about be a pretty much one-sided friend (not like, forever, but be like a really good friend for a long while and then suddenly become this totally self-absorbed person who only wants to talk about yourself and what's going on in your life) and if I have even the smallest bit to add or share don't listen to me and forget everything I might have mentioned in the past year and then if you ask my advice, totally find fault with it, knock down everything I say, even argue the advice (that you didn't plan to take or consider anyway, it was clear you were just trying to make me think you are not self-absorbed), and THEN, when I have made it absolutely clear that if I don't want to or cannot talk I simply won't pick up the phone, how about start leaving me messages and texts about how you don't know why I won't talk to you and even sound ANGRY in some of them, like you're scolding me, and then in the next one make it sound like you're sad, and continue to try to use every angle in the book in the form of a message or text to see which one of them will make me break down and call you back, so that I can listen to your self-absorbed-ness again and just be more irritated once I hang up again. (This is actually kind of funny - my phone is in the other room and I heard a text come through but didn't go look to see who it was because I assumed it was this person and then another text came through and then the phone RANG and I thought holy MOTHER and stormed off to the phone to see who it was and it was actually poor Janice who told me she was calling tonight anyway. The texts weren't this person either. I get irritated for no reason most of the time.). Anyway, if you want to irritate the shit out of me, do all that. It's going to be pretty awkward when I DO finally answer the phone though.

Oh yeah, here was another thought from earlier today. This hat:
Can I just ask? WHY is this fashion? This is the ugliest fucking trend I've ever seen. Hey, white girl, guess what? You're NOT a Rastafarian. You don't need that big ass hat to hold your dreads in. You look ridiculous and sloppy. Stop it.

So can you kind of tell the wind is a little bit out of my sails all of a sudden because I just got off the phone talking to that Janice about trip-planning in the Yucatan? Now I'm all sad again and want to go to Mexico. Soon, damn it.

Okay, then, Becky. I hope if nothing else I was able to kill seven minutes of your day. I promise to start writing shit down. Really. Because really funny stuff happens to me in the course of any given day, and for some reason I think you guys should know about it.
__________
*"Misunderstood" because nobody really knows what it is I do. None of my friends, certainly none of my family members, and roughly 87% of the people that call our branches in the day. Just for the record, "title insurance" is totally different than "car title loans". Hopefully my mention of this will decrease incoming call volume by 25% tomorrow. Hopefully.

**Did I even spell "sudoku" right?

Recap

2011-06-14T20:30:00.000-07:00

What we did:

- Woke up at 3am for a 7am flight
- Hit horrific turbulence over the central valley
- Made it out of the airport and to Redondo Beach in record time
- Had a beer with a friend
- Had lunch (and beers) with my brother, sister-in-law, niece and nephew
- Hit the desert at around 6pm
- Wandered the parking lot looking for the unit while desperately needing to use the bathroom
- Unpacked
- Got dressed
- Hit Melvyn's and got hammered
- Made all kinds of plans to go back to Melvyn's but never did
- Had coffee at the Coffee Bean every day with the same people
- Laid in the sun for hours daily
- Had afternoon coffee at the Coffee Bean
- Had casual beers in street-side restaurants
- Ate too much Mexican food
- Ate the same meal twice in a row
- Rode the tram to the top of Mt. San Jacinto

- Took pictures in front of Liberace's house and in front of Elvis' house
- Drove no less than 30 miles every day
- Didn't find the farmer's market
- Had someone almost walk in on us with their own key to our unit
- Fed ducks
- Petted dogs
- Got attacked by bits of cellophane that very well could have been a snake
- Sprayed Raid on the ants
- Went to a street fair
- Made friends with the guard
- Never tried a date shake
- Had cocktails at a friend's house
- Saw "somebody" at the museum
- Drove to Laguna Beach
- Drove to Huntington Beach
- Got lost in Long Beach
- Flew home in the exit aisle with no intention of saving anyone beyond ourselves in the event of a plane crash.

I always have these grand illusions about blogging about a vacation, and it never happens. We had big fun. Cece is considering buying a condo. We'll be back because we already know pretty much everyone there.

Off

2011-06-03T20:55:00.000-07:00

Off work
Off the clock
Off into the wild blue yonder

Imagine how tan I'll be when I get back.

I hope I can retain enough to give you the report.

Ciao!

Getmeonaplanegetmeonaplanegetmeonaplane

2011-05-28T07:41:00.001-07:00

As expected, last week kind of kicked my ass. Not the whole week, more like the end of it. It started out fairly smooth and easy, then started building a crescendo by Wednesday, and by Thursday and Friday all hell was breaking loose. The good news I had sort of a cool-down period from 4:30 to 5pm on Friday. Full circle.

I have mentioned that it always rains when I work in the Beaverton branch, and this week was no exception (but they changed the filter on the water dispenser in the kitchen so it no longer take 125 seconds - I've counted - to fill a 25 oz bottle of water), but despite the bitter cold, sideways rain and general gloom of what is now a traditional northwest Oregon May, I had a pretty good time. Mostly because any time my head was about to pop off I remembered I'm leaving for vacation next Saturday morning. That makes me happy. What DOESN'T make me happy is all the crap I have to do around here between now and then.

I need a pedicure. I NEED a pedicure. I'm not kidding you, these feet are atrocious. I'm just hoping the gals at the salon I have chosen to visit today are able to understand "Be really careful around my open wound" in English and exaggerated gestures. Then I have to tan (daily, by the way), clean the house from top to bottom (but specifically the kitty bathroom) and figure out what to pack. Oh and I still need bathing suits. And my eyebrows waxed. And to get through next week.

But oh glorious three-day weekend! The biggest thing on my mind late in the evening of the Friday night before a three-day weekend is how LOOOOOONG I'm going to sleep in on Saturday. So of course I was up at 5:15am. Because there is just no sleeping in. You'd think by now I would have at least vacuumed. Best I can do for you is have a load of laundry in while I sip coffee and pretend like the internet is interesting.

So yeah, three-day weekend, then four days of oh-holy-night Judy L's desk, and then, THEN, the AIRPORT. And a PLANE RIDE. And the BAGGAGE CAROUSEL. And the CAR PICKUP. And SUN. And KING HARBOR. And then YORBA LINDA. And then PALM FRICKING SPRINGS. Where I will commence to laying down for a week.

I think I can handle just about anything this coming week throws at me provided I keep my eye on the prize. And get through all the rest of the crap I have to do around here between now and then.

Noteworthy

2011-05-25T18:37:00.000-07:00

Another example of why having Blogger develop a device that one could implant in one's thigh and never again forget a great post idea: That Marci and I were chatting during work yesterday about something that irritated me or pissed me off or something, and all I remember now is me saying "I am SO going to blog about this" and thinking I should write a note so I didn't forget. I didn't write a note, I did forget. Now look - we ALL miss out.

So today we tried (in vain) to remember what it was about, and I DID end up writing a couple of notes on topics, but let's face it, it's not the same. My days, no matter what I'm doing, are pretty eventful when it comes to just STUFF happening, but what good is it if I don't remember or don't take the 2.7 seconds it would take to just write a note? Reading TtheD these days makes my life seem boring and stupid. It kind of is, but little stuff happens, and everyone needs a bit of spice now and again. I've totally let you down.

So what are the contents of those notes I wrote? Certainly not as exciting. But this bears noting: Marci is getting married in July and is firmly ensconced in all things wedding related. For the most part she seems to be having a pretty good time, but there are issues... Aren't there always? I may be a spinster, but I've also been in nine weddings (that's right. Nine.) and I hear the same things over and over again.

This time it's a person who seems to think that the position they are in allows them to invite all manner of crazy non-essential guests to this wedding-that-isn't-theirs. Which would be fine if Marci and her betrothed were loaded. They're not. And they're pretty much paying for everything (I'm guessing, because I'm sure I've asked but you know how I generally ask questions and don't wait around for the answers.. anyway, it sure seems like they are, because the other day she had $4 to use on groceries for the rest of the week and we all spent some time wondering what in the heck she could buy with $4. And at the Albertson's, no less. You can't find a Winco in Oregon City, for crying out loud?). So my feeling about this person throwing their weight around is that someone needs to sit them down and give them a stern talking-to. But this person being who this person is and the position they hold, well, neither one of them is going to do it. I think that's what maids of honor and/or best men are for. If I were the maid of honor I think I'd do it for her.

But then you think about it - you get a wedding invite and you don't really consider how much all these people are costing the couple, do you? I never really have. I mean, unless they've told me. You just RSVP right away and if you have a date you mark "2" and if you don't you mark "1" and you show up on time and drink all their beer and maybe eat some of the food they spent buckets of money on. You don't think about how much they spent to get you there and put this food in front of you (and you certainly don't care how much they spent on booze, especially if it's an open bar), you just make the choice to either eat it or skip it because food's a buzz kill in any social situation. Right?

So now I'm back to this person who probably KNOWS money is tight and STILL doesn't give a shit and adds thirty more people to the guest list, people the groom hasn't seen since he was six years old and the bride has never even heard of, let alone met. It's downright rude. If you want them to come, fork over some cash. Otherwise, leave the guest list to the couple, sit down, shut up, and eat your chicken cordon bleu.

Ah, weddings. I always said if I got married I'd just go to Vegas and then later have a big party. It's fun frustration that costs a fortune and yes it will make for fabulous memories and a good time will definitely be had by all, but for me, yeah. I wouldn't have the kind of focus and dedication it takes to see something like that through to the end. I mean, it took me two months to book the stupid car rental for NEXT WEEK'S VACATION. But enough about me.

The other topic I am not going to write about tonight because I think my rice is almost done. And it's a horrible subject. But the good news is I wrote myself a note and blogged tonight, because I have to blog, because I know you are dying to know what's going on in my work-a-day world and not just on Saturdays when the world is supposed to end.

Have I mentioned I'm getting tan again?

Hoping not to sleep through the rapture

2011-05-21T06:28:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, when my friends and I decided to go back to Cancun for vacations, we met a couple from New York. Typical of couples, she was tough and opinionated and he was the nicest guy you'd ever want to meet. She turned us on to the joys of timesharing resales and long-distance friendships, and our relationship was a mix of west-coast courtesy and east-coast ball-breaking. We loved her vodka-soda-vodka cocktails and she loved our never-ending eagerness to be entertained. Despite the fact that after putting up with her increasing drunken raves at my inability to "make it" in Cancun (I wasn't trying to "make" anything, I didn't have to work and I only planned to be there for the time that I actually WAS there) I had to end our friendship, she remains a person who has made an impact on me: the best kind of impact - not all good, not all bad. Joanie died in her sleep last week. I wasn't there in the end, but she'll be with me forever in many ways. As the saying goes, rest in peace, Joan. Nobody will ever say you didn't jump into people's lives and drop anchor.

After I got the news, I started up with that introspective thinking that one entertains when the latest news one gets about a long-lost friend is about their death. I started thinking about past relationships that have fallen by the wayside, and how it's a pity that we let that happen, and how nothing couldn't be unbroken when it comes to the people that have once been important to us. I thought about mending fences and how life is short and swallowing pride and making peace. I considered phone calls and emails and looked for signs in everyday life.

Then the next day I considered something else. Everything happens for a reason. Not all broken relationships need to be mended. Sometimes people just don't come back. Isn't it better, in theory, to remember the good times and not tempt fate with the attempt to revive them? I suppose it's good to reach out, let them know you think of them sometimes, wish them well and promise to meet for coffee. But isn't it a bit self-serving to only have these inspirations when you hear that someone died?

I think I believe that the past, for the most part, should be relived in stories and not rehashed in person. Sometimes you just can't go back. Sometimes when you go back it's a disaster. Sometimes the only thing you have in common with someone IS the past, and all that does is make for a future full of awkward pauses. I'm not going to force the issue - if it doesn't happen organically, then maybe it just wasn't meant to happen anyway.

And on that note, I understand the rapture is happening this afternoon, and if that's the case, none of this matters anyway. I haven't read anything of real substance on the subject, because I don't like newspapers and long boring articles on the web - I'm more of a "brief enough for a Facebook post" kind of a gal. Apparently I think my time (even the time it takes to read a five-paragraph article) is way more valuable than that. Anyway, from what I've gleaned, all the goody-two-shoes (I mean the Saved) will be floating up to Heaven at around 6pm and the rest (of us?) will be down here for a number of days in pure pandemonium. It should be interesting. I suppose if I read any of the articles I'd know if they would actually be floating up, or if they'd just disappear in a poof of dust, but in any event, it would be interesting to see. I hope I'm not napping during that because it'd be a shame for you guys to miss out on my first hand account of it. You know, because I live right by a Christian church and I'm guessing the Saved will all be meeting up beforehand.

Pre-rapture, however, means I've got to get the hell off my ass and shower (no bad hair for the end-of-days) and then go on the hunt for some swimwear and assorted vacation-style clothing. Because the only real upward-moving I want to do is the ascent on JetBlue that levels off at 32,000 feet and takes me south.

Somebody get me on a plane already, for God's sake

2011-05-15T10:09:00.000-07:00

Waking up to rain is not good for my psyche.

Some people find it soothing. I am not one of those people. It's been fairly dry the last few days, even sunny (I won't say "warm" because it just hasn't been and to make matters worse, the office I was in for the end of the last week has an a/c vent sitting right over the desk chair blowing cold, cold air all day. Horrific.), but that doesn't help this morning. I had every intention of going to the gym while my sheets washed, running an errand or two, maybe hitting the Nordstrom Rack, and even doing a little cleaning. Instead I've pretty much hovered around the cracktop since about 7am. My ass hurts.

I was also thinking about getting a pedicure and maybe starting the tanning process. After all, I AM taking a vacation in a few weeks.. I held off on the tanning out of deference to my dermatologist, with whom I had an appointment on Thursday, just so he wouldn't freak out at my savage tan while performing Frances-less surgery. Unfortunately for everyone, he decided not to do the surgery. He says there just isn't enough skin around the wound and that it's healing, though very slowly. He decided to just let it continue its healing process and we set a follow up for two months from now. I should be good and tan by then. That'll show him.

It's 10:16am now on Sunday and I have a) not gone tanning, b) not gone to the gym and c) not researched a pedicure destination. I wonder if today will be one of "those" days: no shower, nothing really productive gets done, half-hearted attempts at cleaning are sprinkled with lounging and reading and not much of anything else. I don't have a huge problem with "those" days, but something DOES need to be done about these feet. I feel pretty good about my yesterday, though, having shopped and hit the farmer's market and knocked out the grocery shopping, but I always feel like the weekend has been wasted if I don't at least attempt to leave the house on a Sunday.

I have to say I'm pretty fired up about the Palm Springs trip. We'll get to cruise the South Bay and see some old friends, and then there's the whole laying in the sun for a week thing. Adventure. I need it. I need it badly. I feel like I have nothing to offer if I don't have a good story to tell.

So get me on a plane already and let the mayhem begin. Or the lack of it. Just get me out of this rain. For God's sake get me out of this rain.

I'm not really expecting that I'll actually GET your thoughts, but maybe this will make you think.

2011-05-08T07:30:00.000-07:00

So I have a friend on the other side of the country that I've known for many many years, though we have only reconnected in the last six years. He's one of those friends where you can go for months without talking and then when you hear from them, it's like time never passed and you just pick back up where you left off and everyone is happy. Those are the best kind of friends, you know, because we all have lives to live every day and sometimes if you don't have the time to phone or email someone it doesn't mean you don't care, it just means you have your life to live. I am happy to say I have a lot of friends like that, but I also have friends that are NOT like that, and that can be a little tiring. But that doesn't really have anything to do with anything right now.

So this friend of mine has been married for something like eight years (which sort of pisses me off because long, long ago we both agreed that if neither of us were married by age thirty we'd marry each other. Remember when thinking that thirty was old enough to be worried about not being married? Wow, I sure didn't know shit back then, did I? But by the time we were thirty, we had both moved on to other lives and lost touch and really, when I turned thirty I wasn't really thinking about tracking him down.), and for the most part, this marriage has been more of a cohabitation of friends rather than marital bliss. The wife is kind of a slacker. I mean, she's probably really nice (I've talked to her) but she doesn't work and alleges she is too agoraphobic to go find a job (I say "alleges" because she smokes a whole bunch of pot and it's probably that she doesn't have a lot of motivation to go get a job and ruin this idyllic life she has created). The husband, my friend, on the other hand, is hard-working and responsible and well-educated and smart and really funny and compassionate. So basically he's getting taken advantage of.

Recently he reconnected with someone from high school and they have developed a bit of a relationship. She lives in another state. She's been single for years herself and apparently isn't the most ... confident person in the world when it comes to her looks. My friend is like the perfect guy for that kind of a chick, by the way, because he's all about the compliments and the self-esteem-boosting (he's had lots of practice). Anyway, prior to their situation moving on to the "next level" (sex), he sat down with his wife and had "the talk" (I will say that I had much to do with this - simply because I think living in a love-less marriage is craziness.). "I love you but I'm not IN love with you." So they have arranged and discussed divorce and living situations and the house and the dogs (there are no kids) and all the right things and then he went down to the other state and knocked it out with the other broad and he's all happy and shit and taking it slow and being all pursue-y with her (she's been a bit leary, though, and I don't blame her) and through all this I try to give him perspective on where she might be coming from because, you know, I'm a chick and have really good intuition about human nature.

MY POINT IN WRITING ALL THIS DOWN, however, is this: What's the first thing that popped in to your mind when you read all this? If this new chick was your friend and she asked you about him and the situation, what would you say? You'd say "Watch it - he's just coming out of a relationship and he might say just about anything to get in your pants." Or you'd immediately think there was something not quite right about this, even if you didn't know what. Because we are skeptical about this kind of stuff, in general. The chick was all happy (though cautious) and then she asked her dad for advice and he said, in no uncertain terms, Run, do not walk, away from this guy.

But see, I know this guy really really well and I know that his feelings are genuine. What makes him any different from the "right" guy? What's the difference anyway? How long is a person supposed to be out of a relationship before they morph into a good catch? Everyone has baggage, everyone past the age of twenty-five, anyway.

I think we make snap decisions about other situations based upon our own past experiences (Okay, we're supposed to do that) but I think we tend to staunchly defend our advice when asked for it. All men are pigs, right? All they want is to do the deed and then they'll drop you like a hot rock, right? Well, maybe not ALL men are like that. And I think it's important to note that there is a difference between "He IS out for one thing" and "He MIGHT BE out for one thing." I don't know, I think giving advice when asked is a pretty important task that deserves thought and consideration of all the facts. Because people who ask you for advice probably respect your opinion.

I'm just throwing this out there because last night I was thinking about how sometimes all we do is throw around our opinions and treat it like advice and don't realize that others might be really listening to what we're saying. And it might keep two people apart who really should be together. Or keep two together who really should be apart.

What IS my point? Hm. I don't know. I guess maybe spend less time yammering and more time really thinking through what you say to people and it just might make a difference in our already challenging lives. That's it. I'll go with that.

Any thoughts?

Blogging for Becky

2011-05-04T18:22:00.000-07:00

I have been neglecting TtheD of late and to my faithful seventeen readers, I apologize. I just haven't had a ton of excitement lately. Well, maybe I have, but I have retention issues and since I can't drop everything in the aftermath of something major and blog away, it's probably not going to stick with me for long.

So what's been up.. Not much, really. Just working away. Trying to be a good human. Battling TriMet buses and pedestrians and being thankful every time we get a day full of sun. The usual.

I think I'm getting allergies. Did I write about this last year? Because I find myself, on sunny days full of blossoms on the trees and that white cottony stuff that floats into your sunroof, getting kind of stuffed up. And a tiny bit sneezy. I've never been allergic to anything in my life (besides that flamboyan flower) so if this a new development of almost-middle-age, I think I want my money back.

So I started the week in Beaverton and found myself at Lincoln Tower today, which is good because it's closer to my house, and Nordstrom (which can be bad), but whenever I stop and start something midweek I'm all kerflucked and I can't get my head together. So all week I kept thinking it was the next day, and as I sit here right now I'm wondering why "Community" isn't on, and then it kind of pisses me off because I can't believe tomorrow is only Thursday. I'm Judy L. for the next four business days, and here's what I found under her desk this morning. What the heck is this? It's kind of hard NOT to put your feet on it and pedal away while you work up a HUD or quote fees to someone who doesn't believe you when you say you can't negotiate title fees or try to figure out if she actually SCHEDULED that courtesy down in Salem. Luckily I have a lot of experience on the elliptical so I don't like get short of breath or sweat or anything. I just pedal away. It's rather invigorating.

I'm a little bit sad about leaving Beaverton because the coffee shop downstairs' iced Americano with sugar free almond and room is like FOUR THOUSAND times better than the same version at the coffee shop in Lincoln Tower. The one I had today at LT tasted like foot.

On account of the sunshine and the location, I found myself at Nordstrom after work looking for pants. And here's my observation on that end: Not Your Daughter's Jeans have always kind of pissed me off, but just because of the name, and only because I feel like they are totally discriminating against me because I can't be in their stupid "I have a daughter" club. Like since I don't have any kids I can't pay $98 for a pair of obviously mom jeans. Feeling rather rebellious today, however, I tried on a pair anyway, and the end result is that it's not just the name that pisses me off, it's also all that flipping spandex and girdle-like material. I'm all J-Lo in those things. Seriously. These pants literally gave me MORE ass than I already have. Who needs that? Decision? Let's just start calling them Not Your Sister's Jeans. Or Not Your Aunt's Jeans. Because they aren't just for middle-aged mothers of girls. And they certainly aren't for someone who doesn't need more ass.

I'm exhausted right now (must have been all that footwork under the desk) and have to go, but I promise I'll be back to tell you about how I booked for Palm Springs and how I'm going to the Go-Gos with My Three Gays and other exciting things that I haven't retained long enough to tell you about.

Thanks for listening. Go Ducks.

Spontaneous reunion

2011-04-25T21:55:00.000-07:00

(What's with all these people from my past coming back into my life these days? Should I be paying attention to signs?)

And this wasn't even Facebook-related.

I got a call today that an old friend of mine was going to be in town for one night. He's traveling with Mike Watt and the Missingmen, oddly enough, and they're doing this crazy cross-country tour where they pretty much play every night. Tonight they were here, at the Doug Fir, just over the Burnside Bridge. Tomorrow night they'll be in Vancouver BC. It's kind of nuts.

It's a Monday. You people should all know by now that I am not the kind of person who comes home from work, waits around a couple of hours for a phone call, then throws on Levis and drives across a bridge at 7:45pm just to reconnect. I'm good with a phone call, really, especially when I have strict rules about bed-times and routines.

But this is different.

It's always different with him.

I don't know what it is about a guy I've known since I was ten years old, dated when I was 19, and haven't seen or heard from consistently in 25 years, but whose birthday I always remember, and whose old phone number I haven't forgotten, and who comes to mind whenever I hear anything by Husker Du or X (which is surprisingly a lot). He's not the kind of guy that keeps me awake at night, the memories aren't so earth-shattering that I would pine for him. There's no pining at all. Weeks, months might go by without him even coming to mind. But if I know he's around, well, I just go see him.

Because I have to. I don't know what I believe about past lives, but I do strongly believe in the connections we make in our current lives. I know that for whatever reason I am inexplicably and forever drawn to this guy. Not in any kind of sexual way, I mean, not anymore I guess, it's not that kind of an attraction. Wait. Maybe it is. Or maybe it WAS and that part just became familiar, second nature, so now I don't think about it like that anymore. The end result of all of this is that he's out there, and if he's near me, I just go see him. Even on a Monday night at 7:45 and across a bridge.

I didn't stay for the show. I sat in the bar with him, and then we went backstage and to the green room while he put away his stuff, then we stepped outside for a smoke and so that he could give me a CD. I don't think I followed 85% of what he talked about (and he talks a LOT), but it almost didn't matter. I drove home feeling like whatever my showing up meant to me meant a thousand times more to him.

And it wasn't even that hard to do. I don't know how many people I would do this for (you guys are probably thinking "What's the big deal going out on a Monday?", but believe me, for me, it's pretty big), but there are a few. Lately they have been coming back (coming AND going, but that's just a pattern I have to learn to live with), and though it makes me happy, I have to wonder what it means.

So I'll go to bed (late, I might add, have you seen the time?!) and feel good and remember the good times and the times in between then and now, and know that the good ones in your life, well, they come back. Maybe it means something and maybe it doesn't. And that's okay, because right now, I just feel good.

Back at it

2011-04-20T06:54:00.000-07:00

Well, here it is. Last day of my vacations. I have mixed emotions about getting up to an alarm, showering expediently, and sitting at a desk, especially how it relates to doing it at work. I've accomplished very much and very little at the same time these last ten days; I'm hoping to accomplish very little today. As a matter of fact, I'm hoping that I don't even have to shower today (the hair is looking rough but I don't really NEED to go out for anything..). The good news is I work for two days and then have a weekend, but I'm not going to lie to you when I tell you working a full week next week might pretty much kill me.

It's amazing how few things faze you when you don't have an agenda. Like waiting for my car at service yesterday. Or sitting in line at the Dutch Bros. Or picking the entirely wrong line at the Target (when I'm NOT on vacations I find myself mentally thanking the gods that I never applied for that concealed weapons permit). It was nice having so much free time on my hands and taking that little jaunt down to Eugene, but I guess all good things come to an end. And frankly I don't want to get used to not having anywhere to go because we all know what that means, especially in my industry.

So I guess I'm rested if not tan, and I suppose it's time to book air for the next actual vacation, the one like I'm used to, where I go somewhere with a pool and lay down next to it for eight hours every day. My skin is so white (I haven't ventured forth to tan due to Frances-less) it might just burst into flames when I get out there, but it's a chance I'll have to take. God knows I don't want my skin to heal or anything..

Quick jaunt south

2011-04-17T09:00:00.000-07:00

Thursday I had the opportunity to go down to Eugene for the University of Oregon Women's Football Clinic. This clinic is designed to give women the basic understanding of the game as it pertains to the Oregon way. I know plenty about football, but the opportunity to be this close to the coaches and tour the facilities was too good to pass up. Maura was planning a trip south to drop off some items to her daughter, so she came with me. We met up with that Sara and Tootie from work, and all in all a good time was had by all.
I actually learned some things, which kind of surprised me but kind of didn't. Maura and I stayed the night and the next day did a lap at the bookstore, met Tootie and Nostraduckas for breakfast, and then took a lap of the campus.

I haven't been on campus in YEARS, and I may be biased, but it's just a fantastic campus. I don't know how a kid touring the school (and a recruit visiting the facilities) could ever say no. Say what you will about the amount of money spent on the facilities there, but if you were an athlete alum that had a shit ton of money to contribute, you'd contribute it to your own alma mater, too.

It was a great 24-hour jaunt, and a good time on every level. And it never hurts to get a little bit more fired up for Duck football.

Do I really have to say it? GO DUCKS!

Off

2011-04-14T10:08:00.000-07:00

Determined to make something out of this vacation, I am waiting patiently to leave for a little over-nighter to Eugene. I won't elaborate too much about it because I kind of have the shakes (not sure why, it's not anticipation or anything) (or even too much coffee). I promise to take pictures. I know I said I would earlier this week but I just didn't quite get around to it. Now you all can see what I-5 South a couple of hours looks like.

I'm probably not going to Ontario this weekend because suddenly it's snowing like a big fat bitch over Mount Hood and it's probably a safe bet that going over passes this particular April is a bad idea. I should have known. I'll be alright with the decision, though, because apparently I don't feel like I've lounged enough this week.

Also I will not be having my additional Frances-less surgery on the 21st as planned. Instead it will be May 12. Maybe. The doctor wants the swelling to go down some and me to wear this stupid sock more. All I know is it BETTER HAPPEN THEN because I want it to be a memory by the time I board a flight to the desert.

I'll be back tomorrow or Saturday with an adventure I hope. Stay tuned.

Tuesday Tuesday

2011-04-12T07:15:00.001-07:00

The cleaning frenzy continues.

Though I wouldn't exactly call it a "frenzy". The bedroom hasn't looked better since I moved in here. Clutter-free, vacuumed, dusted, organized. How long do you think THAT will last? That was Sunday's chore, so Monday, since I showered early (very necessary), I decided to go buy a Kindle and some groceries and relax a little bit. Taking a big fat nap at around 1:15 in the afternoon means pretty much I am not doing anymore cleaning for the day, so, yeah. I wouldn't call it a "frenzy".

The other day while racing to get to that Sara's house so we could hit the PSU Farmers' Market before the bell rang (?) I found myself behind a van whose driver either a) was still drunk or b) brought in a ringer when it came to getting his driver's license. I can't stand that. You're on a road where there is no going around someone and they are fucking around or lost or drunk and have NO IDEA what they're doing or where they're going. So I think what I'm going to do is run down to the DMV and grab about fifty Oregon Drivers' manuals, and every time I encounter an idiot going below the speed limit or turning on their left blinker to go right or not going at a green light, I'm going to pull up alongside them and hurl one of those drivers' manuals at them. I think it would be more effective if their window was opened, but I gotta at least try. I figure fifty manuals would last me about a week. I don't know if I could ever survive a career that involved driving all day. Just getting to the supermarket is enough to put me over the edge.

Today is a rare day on this work-less week because the forecast calls for sunshine. That makes me happy. And since I have bathrooms on the list for today, I figure I'll knock those out, shower, and maybe hit the outside world so that I have some picture content for TtheD. Wouldn't you all love to see what Portland looks like in April?

That Marita and Dave are delivering photos from their vacations in PdC and Tulum as promised. I'm sad that I'm not there. But there's no place like home. I guess.

On the Frances front, the wound appears to be healing. It didn't drain nearly as much as it had been in recent weeks (you love to hear this, don't you?) and it is itching a lot (isn't that a sign? I don't often have big gaping holes on any part of my body so I'm not sure if this is normal), so maybe we're turning a corner. It still hurts a lot though. I'm pretty tough, so it's no big deal (right.).

Well, blogging for me is the big procrastination tool, so I better get to it. Cleaning, that is. I refuse to let this week pass me by without some major accomplishments on the home front.

Plans

2011-04-10T06:57:00.000-07:00

So I'm off for the next 10 days or so.

When I requested this time I had huge ideas of meeting that Marita and Dave in Cancun. One glorious week at VCI and then three days in Playa del Carmen. I researched, I almost booked. And then I realized I'm not some kind of Rockefeller so I didn't book. I probably could have pulled it off, but, finances being what they are right now, it would have set me back even worse than I am now. Plus with Frances* and all the grief she's been giving me, well, I'm pretty sure I made the right decision. Except right now Marita and Dave are there and I'm here and it rained last night. So despite it being the right decision, it still sucks.

So what to do with these 10 days yawning in front of me? Well, cleaning, for one thing. I'm not a really MESSY person, per se. But I'm also not like my sisters, at all. I used to make fun of Maura by saying she'd wipe down the coffee maker after she made a piece of toast. But really, it's probably better to be that frantic about a clean kitchen than to be how I am. Sure I wipe down the counters after I cook. I do the dishes. But I leave them "soaking" in the sink and drying on the drainboard (I run the dishwasher only when I find I am out of coffee mugs, so that's maybe once a week) for days at a time. And stuff piles up on the breakfast bar. It's sort of cluttery. There are too many small kitchen appliances on the counters and I rarely put the scissors back in the knife block. My kitchen looks "lived in", if I lived with three or four people. But I don't.

Living with kitties, I get kibble thrown about and fur on most surfaces, but that's just a part of life. There are kitty toys and strings and stuff they stole off the shelves scattered on the floors of every room, but I really only pick them up right before I vacuum. And then I put them back. Because the kitties get pretty bored hanging out while I am at the keyboard or elevating Frances or at work.

I guess my point is that for the next seven days I'll be cleaning. I'm pretty proud of myself for having done a bunch of laundry and cleaning off that blasted dresser that I use as a catchall for anything I may have worn in the last few days. The sheets are about ready to go into the laundry and I'm seriously considering emptying the vacuum canister and going to town on the bedroom floor. I figure if I can attack one room a day, I'll be in great shape to leave on Saturday morning.

Saturday Barbie and I are going to Ontario to visit that Helen, who, despite a broken arm, has agreed to put us up (put up with us) for a few days. Now that I-84 isn't a solid sheet of ice it's time to head back east. No big plans over there but I'm secretly plotting to get them to both go to Boise one day. Boise! The big city! I haven't been there since 1995 when I cruised through with a friend who drove back with me from Ohio. And even then didn't count since we just stopped at a bar and had a drink. I just want to see what it's like.

Meanwhile, here's what's new with the flipping situation on my leg: So the big gaping hole isn't really healing (I don't think anyway) and I ended up ruining two pair of pants with all the drainage (nice, right?) and it's not like I'm made of money so I called the advice nurse who suggested I come on by ~ I am now on antibiotics even though they did a culture and it is NOT infected, per the doctor, but my ankle below the hole is red, angry and swollen and it hurts like crazy all the time, and they demanded (after several more calls) that I wear support hosiery, to the tune of $35, which would have bought me another pair of pants, to keep the swelling down. It's an enormous pain in the ass and I'm not sure they'll go in and get the rest of Frances on the 21st like they wanted. I just am tired of this big gigantic wound and all it entails. And pain. I'm tired of that too.

So in theory, with all this time on my hands, I might actually blog some more this week. By the looks of things it won't be that exciting of stuff, but you never know what might happen when I throw myself out in public. Stay tuned.
_________________
*Frances is what Whitney and I named the second nose. We named it a long time ago, and it's important to note that this is FrancEs, with an "e". Currently she is often referred to as Frances-less, but not as often as she was, because I know there's more in there and what is left is not letting me forget that she's still around. My leg hurts like a bitch.

Why I'm happy and why I'm not

2011-04-06T06:28:00.000-07:00

Happy:
(Pay no attention to the really bad hair - I had just walked to Starbucks and, imagine, it was raining.)
I won the college basketball tournament bracket at work. I'm happy here because I won $200, despite having to split it with Nostraduckas. But, hey, I know nothing about basketball, college or otherwise, and actually don't like the sport at all, and I'm still $100 richer than I was Friday. I'm still broke, though.

Not happy:

I'm not linking to it this morning because I can't bring myself to look it up again, but the "60 Minutes" segment Sunday about the mortgage industry and all the fraud* going on there as it pertains to foreclosures pisses me off. Google it yourself. It's amazing that this was happening and they ACTUALLY THOUGHT they could get away with it. I mean, clearly they are, but now people know about it. Not that THAT'S going to do any good. But how the hell do you fix THIS mess? Good God we're all going to hell.

______________________
* The fraud to which I refer doesn't have anything to do with originators and the shit they put on people's loan applications to get them into these loans to begin with. I still stand firm with the whole idea of "IF YOU CAN'T AFFORD IT, DON'T SIGN YOUR NAME TO IT." I still believe that if 100% of these buyers that feel like they were "forced" to get into loans they couldn't have a prayer of paying back just had a set of balls big enough to say "No" we wouldn't be in the mess we are in. But seriously, google it and it may just piss you off, too.

Bah

2011-04-02T06:01:00.000-07:00

It's nothing for me to get up early on a Saturday, but 4:45am is probably pushing it. Today is the annual ALTA seminar for those (some) of us in the escrow world. I won't explain what it is except that I have to go because we're required to have x amount of education hours to do what I do and I have one. I'll get the rest of them today, but it means getting up at 4:45am and doing all the things I do on a regular work day. It also means not being able to grocery shop until tomorrow, and not hitting the Target until later, and a bit of grumpiness during my favorite part of the week, and a myriad of other things like figuring out if I can get away with wearing my slippers or how I'm going to get more water than what I've brought or finding something to wear that doesn't look like a potato sack.

I'm bitching because that's what I do, but I shouldn't be because this time NEXT week I'll be on vacation for ten days. I thought I was going to Cancun, you see, but my bank account decided otherwise. So instead I'm taking a couple of small road trips and cleaning. And just being on vacation. That'll be nice.

So there isn't much new except moving around from branch to branch some. I have a little bit of a crush on a guy that works in the building I worked in this week, but all I really got to do was some minor chit chat with him. Crushes are harmless (and I'm not altogether sure that the guy isn't gay, so this one may be COMPLETELY harmless, or worthless, one of the two) and give me some sort of motivation to shower every morning. I don't have them nearly as much as I used to, but that could be age (or bitterness, or both. Or even the fact that the one person I WISH had a crush on me is largely avoiding me).

Right now my only real work-related project (besides this that gets me out of bed and showered so early on a Saturday) is giving that Sara a list of rules that I feel is in her best interest to live by. She wrote some down (and named them Joyce-isms, which is the second time someone I work with wrote a list by that name, and the other list wasn't as nice as this one) and so I hope that when she remembers (learns)the rest of them she'll have a nice little list that I can post here. I think it's best for everyone to live by most if not all of these rules. Because clearly I am 100% confident that I am right about everything.

So, because it's Saturday at 6:19, and I have to leave in 40 minutes, I will sign off by wishing everyone except the people I will be seeing later a happy weekend. Somebody has to have a better reason than this to get up and shower.

Mildly irritated, but I don't think you can tell.

2011-03-27T09:14:00.000-07:00

Just because I should blog.

Oddly enough I don't have much to bitch about this weekend. Sure, people have pissed me off this week. And the second nose/third nostril has been weeping pretty consistently. And I am the candidate of the year for the escrow surgery in my opinion after this week's fun that isn't showing any signs of ending soon. And I was forced to clean the casita like it's never been cleaned before (okay, that's kind of an exaggeration but I did clean the crap out of it yesterday). And I'm waiting on docs for a 9am Monday buyer that they PROMISED I would have by Friday afternoon, which inspired me to make the 9am appointment Monday, which makes me want to kick myself for believing them and further strengthens my distrust of anyone in this business and makes me believe that everyone besides me and maybe Jodi is a big fat liar. But I'm not bitching.

I AM a little bit bitter, though, because I'm supposed to go to this wedding in August in North Dakota, of all the God-forsaken states, and have NO INFORMATION ABOUT IT WHATSOEVER (besides the date). Where are we staying? What's the itinerary for the weekend? Do I fly in Friday and out on Sunday, or are there family-related events I have to be at before and/or after? Is there a room block? Where are you registered? These are things that people travelling from out of state need to know. The betrothed is my nephew, and his fiance (or, rather, "finance", as she spells it on Facebook) is apparently in charge. And doing a piss-poor job of it, I might add. My sister sent an email to the nephew recently asking for details, since she has to fly four people out to the middle of a state we know NOTHING about because we never thought in a million years we'd ever NEED to know anything about North Dakota, and Finance responded on his behalf (is that normal? Do couples share email passwords? Are there NO BOUNDARIES in coupledom?) "Relax. It's five months away." Uh. CLEARLY you don't fly much. Or you have unlimited funds and it doesn't matter to YOU that airfare is increasing rapidly due to the cost of gas and other such nonsense.

I've been looking for any excuse to not go to this wedding, as I envision myself standing around in a barn with hay bales for seating and pork and beans and grain alcohol and a bunch of guests in San Francisco Riding Gear and checkered shirts, and this might be it. I can't stress enough about how life is pretty much a game (and I do it all the time in this blog), so if you want a motherfucking present from your dear Aunt TtheD then by God you better start learning how to play the I'm-Getting-Married game or you're getting nothing from me.

So yeah, I'm bitter and don't want to waste my money or my vacation time (actually I have a ton of one and not so much of the other) going somewhere I don't want to go and witness this vapid, vanilla girl marry my nephew. So just give me an excuse. Any excuse. I am prepping myself for a sternly-worded email to send to the both of them outlining EXACTLY why, at five months out, they need to get their shit together and tell the family what the fuck the plan is (the bitterness is growing as I type). Because I would rather spend my hard-earned money on a plane ticket to Palm Springs and Mexico than on a ticket to Nowheresville, North Dafuckingkota. Am I getting my point across?

Sooo, other than all that, fairly productive work week and weekend, and now I'm off to restock the freezer with green beans and fake meat. There are a thousand other things for me to bitch about, but today I've chosen you, Finance, and you better rest up, because the email I'm about to send you isn't going to do anything to reduce your stress level. Although it's doing wonders for mine.

Second nose

2011-03-21T21:12:00.000-07:00

So I have had this situation growing on my shin for a few years. It's only been this kind of bump thing, nothing major, not really anything to think about, let alone fret about. But after December's Cabo trip, I noticed it started to grow. Actually, it grew kind of fast and I was messing with it a little one night and off it popped. Nothing major. Just like a dry patch. Except then it gained some momentum and in a few days it was growing bigger, and then darker, and then one day I looked down and there it was, this second nose in the middle of my shin.

So I decided to be an adult and call the doctor. It started to throb when I talked about it, like it knew suddenly it was the center of attention and was trying to show off. It didn't really hurt, it just sort of throbbed. Pulsed, maybe. Puffing out its chest. It's brown, looking-like-a-second-nose chest.

I was at work, and I mentioned it to some coworkers, as I will do when I am trying to avoid things like being an adult and calling the doctor. Another coworker had a situation on her leg as well - different kind of situation, but nevertheless, a situation. So we decided we'd both call our doctors.

When I went in and showed it to my normal doctor, he didn't seem concerned (not that it probably didn't gross him out kind of, but I think they teach you not to look horrified when your patient shows you the second nose on their shin), and told me he'd refer me to dermatology. I asked him if I should be concerned, and he said if it was the bad kind of situation, he'd have had me downstairs in dermatology already, and he thought it would be fine if I just made an appointment in regular time. So when I got back to work I phoned dermatology and they scheduled an appointment for today.

In the meantime, another coworker and I named this second nose. The second nose became a sort of part of me, and I was learning to dress around the second nose and cover the second nose with my finger when I shaved my legs. Since the second nose realized it wasn't such a big deal anymore, the throbbing stopped and it was just another .2 pounds I was carrying around. No big deal.

Today I went in for my appointment thinking that I would leave with the second nose intact; I did not. He shot it up with anesthetic and sliced (dug?) that baby off (I didn't watch. I told him I had to lay down because I didn't want to see, but wouldn't shut up and demanded a play-by-play accounting of the removal). He checked the rest of ... me... for a third or fourth nose, but found nothing. Then he told me it was clear I did an awful lot of sunbathing and that for someone as fair-skinned as I this was not a really good idea. Then he cauterized the divot (it's a divot), waved around the little bottle he had put it in, slapped a bandaid on it and told me not to freak out if it looked deeper while it healed. He did not say anything about it running, like it's doing now.

I'm a wimp so I haven't pulled off the bandaid to clean it or wipe away the runniness of it, but sooner or later I'm going to have to. Which means I have to look at it, and I don't want to. This is what people like me do - avoid stuff like second noses and what they become.

A third nostril.

Ew.

Too bad I haven't bought stamps in like 15 years.

2011-03-15T19:02:00.001-07:00

(I'm sure I'm going to get some grief for this)

Dear Bicycler:

Hi. I saw you earlier on my way home from work, and I thought maybe you didn't realize a couple of things, so I thought I'd remind you.

The truth is, I didn't actually see you until the van in front of me going 20 miles per hour in a 35 mph zone finally had room to go around you. Then I saw you. Probably because you're so much smaller than the van. And my Civic. Do you remember seeing me? It was raining pretty hard and you were all covered up with rain gear and a helmet so I doubt you did. Since you're NOT a car, you don't have a rear view mirror anyway, so I'm positive you didn't see the look on my face when I realized that you were the reason I almost missed the longest light on the planet with a long list of things I had to get done before I could go home tonight. My windows were up on account of the rain, so I'm guessing you didn't hear all the names I called you at the same time. So that's probably good.

See, here's the thing, Bicycler: you're not a car. And as such, you don't get to ride in the middle of my car-intended street. You have these littler lanes, on the side of the road, out of the way of big vans and medium-sized sedans, and they're the perfect fit for you and your ride. I'm sure you've seen them, most of them have "BIKE LANE" painted in astoundingly white letters so you know where to go. Car lanes don't need those signs because pretty much everyone knows that cars don't have many other places to go but streets and the driveway. So basically it's understood out there in traffic which vehicle goes where.

I wonder if you think that helmet is going to offer much protection should you one day find yourself slowing traffic almost to a halt in front of a really angry motorist who simply doesn't care what happens to him and is driven only by the red spots he sees when somebody really pisses him off. I also wonder what would happen if one day I just decided to drive in YOUR lane instead of my own, at like the normal posted speed, coming right at you with no real warning because your head is covered in plastic. I know I would get in a lot of trouble if I got caught, so is this your motivation? You know that in this town nobody will give YOU any shit for riding in an area that is not designated for you and causing all manner of traffic jams? Because we're so green and all that? It seems like a bit of a risk, but I guess that's the chance you take when you are trying to prove something.

I don't ride a bike to work or to the supermarket, mostly because I don't own one right now, but also because I have a lot of stuff that I have to carry around with me. So I have a car, and I'm sure that smug look on your face means that you find me disdainful and selfish while I single-handedly pollute the atmosphere. That's okay, it's a fairly fuel-efficient car, and while I'm not really into science and don't get how all that equates to the effect on our air quality, I think I'm maybe a little bit more responsible now than I was when I was driving that '78 Chevy Nova. Plus I feel pretty safe in it, what with it's steel frame and all those airbags. Which, you know, you don't have. Even remotely.

So I guess what I just wanted to remind you, dear Bicycler, is that you are not a car. You're just a guy, a human body with no real protection surrounding you, on a little non-motorized vehicle that relies solely on your legs to move faster, throwing yourself out into traffic on a rainy Tuesday night, risking others perhaps but most certainly yourself, and pissing people off that you never knew you shouldn't piss off. Not people like me, but big, mean, pissed off people on the edge of despair that might not be nice enough to just drop you a note.

Take care out there,

TtheD

I just want someone to feel sorry for me

2011-03-08T20:29:00.001-08:00

Hey look. It's March.

MIA because I'm working a lot and this desk has become what it always was. I've been on it for six weeks almost. I'd been kind of dreading it before I started on it, it being the desk it is, but the first three weeks were cake compared to what it normally is. And then, you know, all that changed and it started to show it's true colors. And now it's TOTALLY showed it's true colors and some other colors too, some lying, cheating colors and some very nasty ugly colors that should never show. Today was long and never ending and tomorrow will be the same. My guess is so will Thursday.

Plus too when I got home tonight I realized it was still only Tuesday. It felt like it should at least be Wednesday. I feel sort of cheated. Because since I thought it SHOULD be Wednesday at least, now I have to actually DO Wednesday and somehow that isn't fair.

I could tell you about Saturday and how fun that was, and then how I got to talk to one of my favorite people in the world on Sunday, and how even though I am not going to Mexico (did I tell you that?) in April, I might instead go to Cape Cod, but we'll see about that one, and maybe to Palm Springs, but if I do then that would make you not feel sorry for me. So instead I'll just mention that I'm working my ass off in the swan song of my time on this desk, and how I got dumped on by a drunk woman today that took roughly six years off my life that I'll never get back, and how I missed my eyebrow waxing appointment last Thursday with the Master of All Eyebrow Waxing because of this desk, and how I rescheduled for tomorrow at 11:40am, and announced to the entire staff as well as one realtor how there was NO way, NO file, NO CIRCUMSTANCE WHAT SO EVER that would make me miss tomorrow's appointment, only to get a call from Nordstrom tonight to tell me that the Master of All Eyebrow Waxing is sick, and can I reschedule for Friday? I did, but, for now, I cannot be responsible for my caveman-like eyebrows and their hideous unruliness while I close files like a mad woman for the rest of this week. It just isn't my fault. It's this desk's fault.

I'll get through it, I always do. But I won't do it quietly and I won't be happy about it. It will be colorful, no doubt about that, but that color might be a little bit off.

Things I can be assured of on a Sunday

2011-02-27T10:28:00.000-08:00

(It's not what you think - it's February, for Pete's sake. If it was October I'd of course mention that I can be assured that I will never be able to watch a Browns game on TV.)

- I'll wake up early and not feel like showering.
- I'll dick around on the computer for something like four hours before finding the motivation to do the things I didn't do on Saturday.
- While making the bed, the minute I fluff the hell out of the feather bed, one or two kitties will jump up on the fluffiest part and tramp it down just as I am putting on the fitted sheet.
- I change the litter box on Sundays, and when I do, I take the big lid off it and put it in the only available spot - the hallway. Then I go about the task of putting the old Wonderbox in a trash bag, cleaning out the bottom of the main box, refilling a new Wonderbox and putting it back together. Invariably, when it's time to take the lid out of the hall and put it back on the main box, there is a kitten hiding under it, which, when I lift it, scares the shit of her, causing her back feet to get tangled up in it, me to shriek, the other kitty to run for cover, and the aftermath of reassuring the kittens that their WHOLE LIVES this has been happening and I don't see a change coming in the foreseeable future.
- I'll put on clothes, rearrange my non-showered hair into something reasonably acceptable for a Target run, then sit back down to the computer for another half an hour.
- After a brief expedition to the outside world, where church-traffic is completely unmanageable and people are out Sunday-driving, if you can remember THAT term, I'll come home, unpack the crap I for some reason HAD to have, put my houseclothes on and lounge around for the next few hours. Naps are not uncommon.
- I'll feel major guilt for having only cleaned ONE bathroom and for not having vacuumed. Which means I'll haul out the vacuum cleaner and stare at it from the sofa for about an hour.
- I cannot be assured that I will actually turn the vacuum on.
- I will, at every turn, have kittens laced in and out of my feet as I walk or sit. If we are together too long in the house they try to annoy me into leaving.
- I thank the stars that I haven't pulled the plug on my HBO subscription when one of their Sunday night dramas come on. I am glad I still think I have money.
- I start to stress over what I have on the agenda for the work week.

Never been a huge fan of Sundays, but I suppose that as soon as I come to terms with the fact, finally, that I have never been a big fan of cleaning or being productive on No Shower Sunday either, this will get easier to bear. Maybe.

Let it (not) snow

2011-02-23T17:58:00.000-08:00

They've been forecasting all week for Snowmaggedon here in the Portland area, and, you know how it is here. They are rarely right. But this one looks like it's supposed to be pretty big (for here), and if that's the case, then in theory we'll wake up tomorrow to 6-8 inches of pure hell.

Oh wait. That was what they thought on Tuesday.

Now it's possibly up to 1 inch. And slush. But it's supposed to be really cold tonight, so my bet is on ice. Because that's so much better.

All week, then, I've been planning my back up. I have a bag full of active files that are supposed to go for month end sitting in my living room just in case I have to call that Amanda and have her pick me up and take me to Lincoln Tower. I have my tennis shoes at the ready (since I don't own boots). I have gloves. I plan to wear socks tomorrow. I have a clip for my hair. I have the telephone number of my 8:30am courtesy signing Hollywood is supposed to do for me just in case it's so bad that the whole city is locked down. I have various and sundry supplies - food, water, kibble, kitty litter. I have 75 books I have never read in case the power goes out. I'm so dialed it's insane.

Which means that tomorrow I'll get up, take a shower, haul all these files back to the car, and drive in to the Beaverton office as if it was just another Thursday.

Please God. Because that's what I do. I make contingency plans to the nth degree and then it doesn't happen. I'm banking on this one. I'm too busy at work for this crap. I don't have to tell you that I live on a hill, that they never clear my parking lot, and that I am currently working at a branch on another hill, or that I'm a big wuss when it comes to snow here in Portland because we don't plow and/or use salt and it's just a big clusterfuck. You already know this.

Here's the good news - one of my heaters in the living room died on Friday night and today was the first day I could get the property manager to come in for a look. They did. They replaced it. It could be warm here again soon. That's a big fat Yay because these days I am cold ALL THE TIME and tonight, whether they are right about the snow or not, it's going to get cold.

Always a silver lining. Let's hope those weather guys are wrong again.

Shopping

2011-02-19T16:52:00.000-08:00

(It seems to be a big part of my life these days, though that's probably not the best of ideas. Here are some observations.)

I was napping this afternoon and when I woke up I decided to run to the Macy's and see if I could find something fun and cheap. They're having a sale, you know. They are ALWAYS having a sale. But I also have one of those 20% off coupon thingies that will expire next week and so I figured I'd get some mileage out of it.

Racks and racks of sale items. Hoards of people. A DJ. Playing Brittany Spears. I think. It was loud.

I don't like big huge sales racks (which is why I cannot shop at places like Marshall's and Ross) - all that crap crammed in all over the place and you can't really see what's there. It seems the second I touch something it falls off the hanger. I can't stand that. Plus it always drives me nuts when someone takes something or somethings off their hanger, and then when they decide they don't like it they just throw it on top of the rack. So here's these long drapey things covering up the stuff that's hanging. It's sloppy and irresponsible. Being all about texture I generally keep an eye out for that - color and texture. I don't like to go through the racks item by item, I just look to see what jumps out at me, and then take a look. When there is long drapey crap on top of the rack you can't see what's under and you could be missing something. That's my point. Just hang it back up. Come on.

I saw a sweater in a brand I wouldn't normally wear and the color was good and the texture was good but when I pulled it out it had one of those sewn in inserts - you know, like, it LOOKED like it already had a tank top in there. But you know it didn't because it was just sewn in around the v-neck. That's a huge pet peeve of mine. First of all, when I wear a v-neck sweater, I'll wear a tank or camisole under it not necessarily for the fashion of it, but also for the fact that it's a sweater and I feel like it shouldn't be right up against my skin. There should be some kind of buffer. So you don't scratch. Or heaven forbid sweat all over the wool. Which in my sweater-wearing-weather will never happen. But still. You also see those sewn in inserts on cotton v-necks, but this time the insert is like a blouse. That one drives me bananas. You should probably have a blouse or a tank top in your wardrobe already that you can wear under the sweater you choose. It's no fair cheating with fake stuff. I'm just really not a fan. Worse are the ones that are cardigans with the entire front of a looking-like-a-blouse insert sewn in. Like nobody's going to be fooled by THAT one? What happens when the wind blows or you find yourself having to walk really fast? Everyone will know you were either too lazy or too cheap to buy the cardigan and the blouse separately. And you look like an idiot.

I drove over some glass, and behind a 1984 Camaro with a brand new Oregon State sticker on the back of it (so that seemed about right), and sale shopping stresses me out because people bug me. But I finally did find a sweater I liked ($128 down to $38, so you really can't beat Macy's) and the DJ finally started playing Earth Wind and Fire, and the sales counter I found was open when I walked up. So these are all good things. I'll let the positives outweigh the negatives today. It's sunny.

"Strategic Default"

2011-02-11T21:32:00.000-08:00

I'm cruising channels tonight, because I've watched all my shows on DVR, and it's just a little bit too early to go to bed on a Friday night, and I stumble upon "60 Minutes on CNBC". I click on the info bar on my remote and see that it has to do with the mortgage debacle. Intrigued, but knowing it's probably going to piss me off, I hit enter just in time for the opening of the segment.

The first couple lives in Arizona, in a newer subdivision with the requisite cherry-cabinet-stainless-steel-appliances-granite-counter tops kitchen and three bedroom/two bath wonderfulness. They bought it a couple of years ago for $250,000 and their financial situation has not changed since then. They recently tried to sell it but apparently they determined its current value at around $145,000.

The second couple bought a bungalow, also in Arizona, about three years ago for over $400,000. Again, financially they are just as sound as ever, but they discovered the current value of THEIR home is now about $85,000.

The common denominator? They both are "walking away" from their homes. They feel that, what with being so upside down in their properties, the most reasonable thing for them to do is walk away and let the banks foreclose.

Um. Hang on a minute here. Didn't you sign a promissory note to borrow the money for those houses? A contract, if you will? Sure you did. So tell me the thought process here again?

One day you've decided to house shop and you find the perfect house and it's fabulous and you simply must have it because it's just a great thing and turns out the price is right and you qualify for a mortgage loan and you've got the down payment and you have a great job and your kid grows up with a back yard and this is just fantastic all around. Then suddenly the bottom drops out of the market and everywhere you read and everything you hear on TV is all about how everyone is upside down and property values are spiraling into nothingness and oh my hell you owe $250,000 on a house worth $100,000 less than that. But you still have your job, and you probably have had a couple of raises since you bought it, and here's hoping you paid a little toward the principle just in the normal course of amortization. So, what, again? No real reason, you just decided you don't WANT it anymore? What the fuck kind of plan is that?

Here's the thing, kids. If I see a sweater at Macy's and I really like it and it makes me look tan and the price is reasonable enough so I buy it, but then two weeks later I'm cruising past the Goodwill and I see one just like it in a window for $45 less than I paid for it originally, guess what? I don't get my money back. I have to live with the fact that the price I paid for it when I paid for it was my decision, and I am responsible for the consequences. This is what happens - values increase, values decrease. Just because everyone in your neighborhood lost their homes which resulted in really bad comps for your home doesn't mean that you should get any kind of special treatment. You bought the house, you can still afford it, you either need to sell it and pay the difference in what is owed to the bank, or keep flipping living in it. Why do you have to move anyway? You just told Morley Safer you were still financially sound!

I'm so sick of this. I am so sick of the selfish, simple minded people who feel like just because somebody else "gets" to walk away from their mortgage, from their LEGALLY BINDING CONTRACT, from the CREDIT OBLIGATION, that they should be able to, too. Yes the unemployment rate is a nightmare anymore, I know, half my friends are facing just that dilemma. Why? Because the housing market is in the toilet because there is too much bank-owned inventory pouring in daily and banks are terrified to lend money to NEW buyers. Why shouldn't they be? I just saw on fucking "60 Minutes" that half of America doesn't NEED to go into foreclosure but they are doing it ANYway because they WANT to. Not because they NEED to, but because they WANT to. Sickening.

They called this phenomenon "strategic default" and it makes me sick. These two couples know that their credit will be shot, but on TV they say to the camera, that's okay, I'm making more money now that I don't have to pay that horrid house payment (that horrid payment you have NO PROBLEM paying, by the way), so I'll just pay cash for everything. Which will be great for you when you need credit in some way and can't put electricity in your new rental with out a deposit, for instance, or can't buy that new Wii at the Best Buy you have to have, you fucking sheep, because your buddy has it and that means you have to have it, too.

We give the banks a lot of shit for getting us in this mess we're in, and I'll give you that. I'll agree greed is a terrible thing when it comes to corporate America. But what about personal responsibility? What about being aware enough of the risks of owning a home? What about signing a contract and actually abiding by it? That's not the fault of the banks - that's the fault of our society saying we DESERVE granite counter tops, and we DESERVE a new car every two years, and we DESERVE a 55" flat screen TV. Entitlement. It makes me sick. These idiots do not realize they are not a part of the solution.

Talk about the fall of an empire. Strategic, indeed.

Work with me, people...

2011-02-07T18:43:00.000-08:00

Can we talk just a minute about communication? It's really important. It lets other people know that you got their message, or that you understand what they want or need, or that you're alive. Most people are pretty good with it, now that in today's world you don't really need to pick up a phone. You can write on their wall or tag them on Facebook, you can send an email or a text. You can answer them via instant messenger, and if they aren't online, well, they'll get the message when they log back in.

I have friends I haven't spoken to in a while - they're friends, and I think they understand that sometimes it's just too busy to sit and chat. Sometimes there are just too many things to do in your free time that a good old fashioned telephone conversation is difficult to do. I hope they understand that, anyway. I understand it when I don't hear from them. Because I know they are there. They "like" my status or they send a text or an email. We know each other are out there and it's fine.

But work? No. With work it's pretty important to communicate. When it's business related you can pretty much bet I'm not asking for a check in just because I'm bored and want you to come play with me. If I send an email, or an attachment that needs your review, anything that is beyond "fyi", let me know you're out there. Let me know that, although you are not in a position to drop everything right now for MY needs, you will get to it when you can. Don't make me think that you have just glossed over my request and have back-burnered it. Because seriously I hate being ignored.

And that's what I'm thinking. If it's been five business hours since I sent a reasonable request (meaning something that doesn't require you to do five hours or more of research on it), then all I can assume is that you don't have any intention of responding to me. And when you ignore me, I lose my head. A lot of people can attest to what happens when I lose my head. It's not pretty. Feelings get hurt, names are called, it's awkward when we finally see each other face-to-face.

I do my dangedest to be the very best that I can be at my job, but it's not easy. Because it's not the kind of job you can do alone. I am nothing without all of the people that make my job exist. So if I ask for something, your approval of a document or a status update, it's not because I'm sitting around trying to make work for myself. It's because I can't get the answer myself, and I need your help. We all look good when we communicate. It's been the cornerstone of our existence as human beings since the cavemen and I think something that's stuck around that long is probably worth something.

Story-less

2011-02-06T09:41:00.001-08:00

Blog blog blog. I'm really trying. Sitting here this morning, killing time, knowing I should write something but not really having anything to say.

So... What's up? Work has been painfully slow (comparatively speaking, when I'm on this desk) and it's a frightening, frightening time out here in escrow-land. I am so wanting to book Cancun for April but am holding off. Too scary. People tell me I don't have much to worry about but look what happens when you start getting all comfortable..

So, really, in times like these, why NOT go jack up the balance on your Nordstrom card by buying all manner of clothes? Right? But I think I'm taking back the jeans I bought because, let's face it, I'm not really a "boot-cut" kind of girl. It's the kind of boot-cut that looks smashing with a pair of pointy-toe heels. Like the pair of pointy-toe heels Marcia the Sales Gal had my try on with said jeans. They looked great, but it was quite a little trip down the hall to the big mirrors in those babies. "Practice!" says Marcia the Sales Gal, to which I say, "I'm 45 years old; I do not need to practice walking in this kind of shoe."

So back to Nordstrom they go, and then I might just replace them with something more "me" - Calvin Klein or Ralph Lauren. Something straight. That you can wear with shoes that are not an ankle waiting to snap.

Fascinating, isn't it?

It's relatively dry out so there is no denying it: I need to get out and do some shit. Because honestly, you cannot waste this kind of weather. Time to try to coax a mini-adventure out of this Sunday. Things need to pick up a little bit, kids. I know I say it every year (Month. Week.), but I'm in need of a story.

That's all I have to say

2011-02-01T17:59:00.001-08:00

Please(pleas)d

2011-01-30T07:54:00.000-08:00

Because I know you all care deeply, the purse replacement has arrived safely, the one with the hole in it returned smoothly, and all is right with the handbag world. Except that when I returned the holey one I found a fabulous Marc by Marc Jacobs that is of course THE PERFECT BAG. I didn't even look at the price. How do you go through a three-year bag drought and then suddenly find the perfect bag? You buy another one. That's how.

I met that Tracey for coffee yesterday. She's had a couple of readings with a psychic we met a few years back at a psychic fair (faire?) and she had to tell me all about her most recent one. The psychic is spot on with her and her situation, and I REALLY want to have her read me since it's been a while (a long while..) despite the fact that her prices are high. I guess I just need a little guidance.

During coffee I got a text from an old friend who is in town for his brother's funeral. I saw him for the first time in years at the funeral on Friday (it was huge, such a tribute to the brother) and he was leaving town today, so we met for lunch. Sometimes when so much time passes you wonder what the hell you are going to talk about (we chat from time to time on the phone and via email, but sometimes face to face is different), but it was great fun and felt a little like old times. He lives in Texas. We were discussing my future in this crazy industry I'm in and he suggested I move to Texas. Texas? Hmm. Texas.

I like busy days like yesterday that keep you running because it helps me avoid the obvious chaos currently reigning in this casita. Unfortunately the only thing I need to do today is hit Trader Joe's, and after that there is no denying the vacuum/laundry/kitty box extravaganza going on here. Slightly cranky because as a result of all the escrow surgeries going on out there (lady-part removal), I seem to be picking up the slack for everyone and just continually in a state of .. um .. reproductive preparation. Get it? Being 45 is awesome.

There is simply no denying it - I'm booking airfare for Cancun this week. Period.

So as this is just another tool I use to procrastinate, there is simply nothing else left to do but get the heck moving. So off I go to de-fur the living situation. I hope for all the rest of you that today is much better on your end.
_____________________________________
Can I just say something? This is ridiculous. It has gone on WAY too long and I even had a dream last night that made me wake up this morning thinking about how RIDICULOUSLY long this has been going on and I don't know what the hell is going on but for crying out loud, can this just end already? Come on. Help a sister out.

Handbag Blues

2011-01-27T20:56:00.000-08:00

So I bought that purse, right? Discovered on Saturday a hole in it. It happens. Luckily, I thought to myself in the parking lot of the Fred Meyer, I bought it at Nordstrom.

Nordstrom has fantastic customer service. Anyone who lives near one and has ever shopped there knows this. They are simply perfection. Almost to a fault - a couple of Anniversary Sales ago I bought a bag, used it daily for a year, chock full of the crap I seem to need to cart around, and finally one day the strap broke. I called Nordstrom immediately to find out if I could have it repaired, and the salesperson told me to bring it in and they'd have a look. I did. It was pretty thrashed, so they said they would just refund my money. What?

I'd carried it for a YEAR. Full of CRAP. HEAVY. Purse abuse. I tried to tell them no, that I'd certainly got my money's worth, but they weren't having it. Back on to the Nordstrom card went a full credit, so I promptly took my new-found riches and bought a pair of pants.

So you can imagine my loyalty.

The thing is, customer service is a complete phantom anymore. There's no such thing. Seriously. It doesn't matter where you go, how you act, what you need, how you ask for it, how much you smile. People in the service industry today just don't give good service. Checkers are surly, telephone numbers only lead to infobots with no hope of getting a live person, live person telephone lines are fed offshore where they just read off a script and don't really get the concept. Nobody cares anymore, and nobody wants to do a good deed. Or offer a suggestion. Or apologize for your unpleasant experience with their company or product. I'm sick of it. It's a bandwagon I refuse to jump on, because I decided long ago that I will always be like Nordstrom.

Sad that we live in a society today that is genuinely surprised when someone provides them with good customer service. It's disheartening to know that when you are faced with having to call a company the odds are good you will hang up after the call defeated, frustrated and oftentimes angry. How hard is it to provide decent service? Does it take that much of an effort to put a little personality into a phone call or a sales transaction? Or to return a phone call when you say you will? I would imagine it's harder to avoid the person who needs your service.. but then again, I couldn't imagine treating my customers they way I am routinely treated.

It's kind of a bummer, this post.

I was supposed to get my replacement bag via UPS today, but the label Nordstrom put on the box ended up not showing my company name, and since I am not always in this office, they couldn't figure out where to deliver it. The UPS guy did really try to figure out how to help me, but his hands were somewhat tied. I tried to take the burden off my Bag Lady at Nordstrom by tracking it myself, but the UPS system wouldn't let me add my own suite number to the label. In the end, my Bag Lady took care of it, and the bag will arrive tomorrow.

Because Nordstrom rocks, and everyone else needs to take a lesson.

AMJ

2011-01-21T18:59:00.000-08:00

I think I might be that old.

This week I was in Orenco, and Jodi's grandson needed a song for some project at school, I can't remember exactly what/where/why, but it had to have meaning of some sort, God, who knows, but ANYway, it all came down to Jodi decided the song he needed to have was "Abraham, Martin and John" by Dion. She sent out an email to the branch asking if anyone had a copy of it, and emotions ran rampant.

Pretty much all by me.

Three of the girls are young. Like barely past 25. And the rest are in general the generation that might actually know a) who Dion is and b) this song. I saw the song title and immediately got chills because I LOVE this song. Discussion ensued, and it turns out, the younger set had NO IDEA what this song was. Neither did one of the girls who is like 2 months younger than me. From which another emotion sprang forth, and that is, what is this crap you've been listening to your whole lives that you've never heard this song? Who are your parents that they've never played music that THEY might like in front of you? I know a full range of music, from Big Band to Old School Gangsta Rap, and I appreciate how popular music has evolved over the decades. But you can't tell me that when you were like seven you didn't hear some of the music your parents played, or you never worked in an office where the guy next to you listened to an oldies station? Good Lord.

Jodi figured out how to get the copy for herself (which in itself was pretty funny) and brought it in today, which was good, because I'd been singing it all week. Dion is a lot better at it than me. So we had a planned listening of it, but I couldn't wait and took it in to Rita's office to give it a listen. Chills. I love this song. But while we were listening (Rita's more my age), I got a little bit angry, because, again, who doesn't know this song? I mean on top of everything else, it's iconic. I mean listen to the goddamn thing. It was with great horror (are you getting all these emotions down?) that I realized then that I had suddenly turned into an 83 year old WWII vet bitching about kids today, and their God damned music, and then it hit me: I'm old.

Like when people (the young coworkers?) describe me to their friends, they probably say, "This old broad in our office is kind of losing it." Or if I say something that doesn't make sense they might just be thinking, Well, I guess it's happening. More and more shopclerks are calling me ma'am, and just yesterday a little girl called me La Vieja while walking past me on her way to the doctor's office upstairs. So when did THAT happen?

It's disconcerting to some degree, but then again, crazy old ladies get away with a lot... I could look at this like an opportunity.

Maybe when I'm really ready to seal the deal.

But for now, please enjoy this fabulous video. Get a tissue, because seriously, the song is hard enough, but with the video? Killer.

Sheesh

2011-01-18T21:15:00.001-08:00

Tonight I had dinner with that Marshy at Cafe Yumm. It's funny, because I can't stand it when people yum stuff. I am sure I've mentioned this somewhere. It was pretty good, and when I can finally eat grains I'm fired up to go there again. Yum-o.

Also, that Jan-o is in town again and I thought we might be able to meet for dinner but I had forgotten that I had planned to meet with that Marshy, and in the end it all worked out because that Jan-o had a long day. Tomorrow perhaps.

So, you know, I'm getting out and stuff.

Today it rained like a big fat bitch and it was cold and I didn't wear my coat so I continue to freeze and probably will be frozen until I've been in my big fat two-comforter-flannel-sheets bed for about an hour. And then I'll inexplicably wake up bathed in sweat and not because of too many comforters but because of something else. Something. Else. I think you know what that means.

I went shopping with Barbie Sunday as she needed shoes, and I thought, hey, maybe I'll break down and buy a god damned coat, but instead I bought a fantastic Brahmin bag and I'm pretty much over the coat thing. It's January. It's practically not even coat weather anymore. I'm so optimistic (I'm so in denial).

Again, not planned out, but I resolved to blog more and by God I'm doing it, whether you guys enjoy it or not.

I'll be interested in seeing how I actually pull off this Cancun-in-April gig.

I had Monday off and though I vacuumed and cleaned out the litter box and the kitchen and the kitties' bathroom, I was done by like 12n and promptly took to the couch for a three hour nap. It's one of the seven deadly sins, you know. Sloth. It's bad. But every time I go out, I spend money. And seriously, I really don't have any.

Not much to report, as usual, but I'd like to mention that I hope I am not one of those people on FB that constantly post about how they are overcoming the struggles of everyone hating on them. Do you know what I'm talking about? Not quotes, necessarily, which I do on the days I work, but like, you know, constantly posting about how other people perceive them. Like it sounds to me like people are constantly putting them down in real life, so they go on FB and say stuff like, "I won't let small minds keep me down", or, "I'm thankful that I have a handful of true friends", or, "Everybody hates me but I want all you nearly-strangers to know I'm strong" (essentially..). Because that's what I think it means. I think they (um, not they, this one person) want her FB "friends" to think she is this strong woman overcoming great odds when in reality it just makes me think she's an asshole to everyone and not just to me and it's no wonder people give her so much shit she has to post that it doesn't bother her. I so want to comment one time, "Wow, it must suck to have so many people not like you. It's totally you're personality, too bad you can't do anything to change it."

Would that be rude?

Adult ADD

2011-01-11T20:17:00.000-08:00

By the way, I still haven't bought the coat.

And I'm very proud of the Ducks. And you Beaver fans can gloat all you want but your last hope is going to the NFL so I guess you'll have to continue to be just slightly below mediocre. That's all I'm offering.

The meteorologists predicted that we would have snow and/or freezing rain in the valley today, right around rush hour. We didn't. I just looked out the window and the pavement is wet, but it's not raining or snowing right now and a car drove through the parking lot with ease. I am not upset, quite the contrary. I don't like crappy weather and I certainly don't want to drive in it, and since it's Tuesday, I'm happy that my drive tomorrow will simply be like any other day in Portland - dark, wet and stupid. I just wish that I could be wrong 95% of the time in my job and still get paid ridiculous amounts of money.

I tried to buy it today, and found one on Lands End's website, but then Neon Dionne told me about coupon codes and we found one for free shipping (the stupid coat cost like $40 and free shipping just got me all excited) and then I had to go do something work-related or go to the bathroom or something for like two minutes and when I came back and tried to buy the stupid coat it ended up no longer being available. The hell is that? Is it because of the coupon code? I didn't go back to the normal site to find out, so it's anybody's guess. Something seems to be holding me back on this stupid coat purchase.

Kind of worried about my job again. "Kind of" meaning I'm really worried about it but I don't want to mention it or show fear or anything. What the hell else can I do? Do I have the strength for another reinvention? I just sighed after typing that. Seriously.

Let's talk about the sun, shall we? Planning an April Cancun trip. I am wearing Cleveland Browns gloves with the fingers cut off so that I can type. This matters because I am not outside. I'm actually inside with all of the heaters on, sweatshirt, sweatpants, thick socks, slippers and these gloves, and I still can't feel my hands. Wait. I thought we were talking about the sun. See how easily it slips my mind?

I sat down just now to check email and FB and suddenly decided to blog, so this wasn't one of those well-thought-out, I'm-here-to-make-a-point posts that I'm known for (...). It's just me sitting here, cold, with cut off Cleveland Browns gloves, telling you about a coat I will never own.

Since things should mostly have a purpose, my brother-in-law Paul is at it again with his road trip adventures ~ this time to sunny Baja California. Watch him progress at www.lastgreatroadtrip.com and leave him some words of encouragement and support. He's not getting any younger and the crises are starting to multiply.

The coat, the dilemma, and an opinion

2011-01-09T09:03:00.000-08:00

We'll start with the coat. The stupid, motherfucking coat. I took Barbara's advice and tried Nordstrom's men section at both the regular store and the Rack. Nada. I had already checked Macy's men's and women's sections. Nothing. I even went out to the Coastal Farm and Ranch yesterday and found stuff that would do in a pinch, but how badly do I want Carhart or Dickie's plastered all over my body? Obviously not badly enough. So I am still coatless and it's supposed to snow Tuesday night/Wednesday morning (for the commute. Of course, today is Sunday, so that means they are so far off that it might just be 78 and sunny by Wednesday morning.). I DID, however, find exactly what I want online at LL Bean, and I've been ordering LL Bean since forever and they have never done me wrong, and if I had only just ordered the dang thing when I first got this ridiculous wild hair I would probably have it by now. Balls. Ordering it today. I allege.

The dilemma is this: tomorrow is the biggest. day. of. my. life. and I've been invited (actually I was begged) to a friend's house to watch it. I hope you've been paying attention. Though I've disproved the theory that I have to be home alone in my own house watching the Ducks for us to win, (Cabo) (I still kind of don't want to talk about it) (not Cabo, but missing the game), I am still really nervous about this situation. Not just because I'm working out in Hillsboro this week and she lives clear the motherfuck in southeast Portland and my plan even just to get to Beaverton for kickoff included me leaving the office at 4:30, but also because, well, the obvious. Other people. There will be other people there. People that she claims are huge Duck fans, and that they spend most of the time yelling at the TV and pacing and storming around, like me, but still. I mean, I doubt they are EXACTLY like me. I doubt any one of them will hide behind the sofa or the collar of their sweatshirt at any given time. Or race to the bathroom to throw up (which I will admit has not happened with any solid results since the 1st quarter of the Stanford game), or go into the kitchen and throw around whatever happens to be drying on the drainboard. Or cuss really REALLY loud. I don't know. I just don't know if I'm ready for it.

But she begged. So I feel badly (after having already said I would go) telling her at the last minute that I can't do it. And in theory, it's a social event (in theory, because who am I kidding? This is harder work than even the toughest of escrow desks I work on), and I have resolved to be a little bit more social in the new year. (But really, is THIS the right situation in which to exercise the social muscles?) Then there are the other Duck faithful that I work with who implore me never to leave the house for a Duck game and who, in the event our defense is looking a little sketchy or DT is having an off quarter, will text me and ask, "Are you even HOME?!" What about them? Why is it okay to let THEM down and not this other friend, who, in all honesty, has spent her entire Duck fandom without me? Barbie told me to be true to myself. I think I've made my decision.

So since the dilemma isn't really a dilemma anymore, let me now voice my opinion. I'm glad that there are Duck fans coming out of the woodwork right now. I'm happy to see more Duck sweatshirts and decals and flags (kind of. I still have flag issues) out there. But I have strong feelings about bandwagons and "support Oregon teams" and all that. You see, in my world, there are Duck fans and there are Beaver fans and then there are people that are into NASCAR. When the Ducks didn't have a baseball team, and the Beavers went to the College World Series, I didn't root for them, I didn't support them at all. I'm a Duck fan. Period. You don't cross a line simply because your school doesn't have a program. I'm not a "state of Oregon college" fan, I'm a Duck fan. And as a Duck fan, I hate the Beavers. So why would I ever root for them? I have much respect for Beaver fans who want nothing to do with the Ducks going to the National Championship (now, THERE'S a line no Beaver will ever be able to type), because they shouldn't be Duck fans suddenly after years of being Beaver fans. If, in fact, someone claims to be a Beaver fan but buys the Duck sweatshirt and roots for the Ducks in tomorrow's game, fine. But then the truth is that they never were Beaver fans to begin with. Do you get me?

There's nothing wrong with being a fair-weather fan, just don't do it around me. I take this shit seriously. And please do your sudden burst of Duck gear shopping at the Fred Meyer because it's flipping a nightmare in the Washington Square Duck Store these days, and it pisses me off that TRUE Duck fans have to wait in ridiculous lines behind people who never thought to be a Duck fan until it became chic and was mentioned on late night TV. I guess it all boils down to this: do what you want to do, support the Ducks, be all happy for Oregon schools and the PAC-10, great. Just don't try to start a conversation about it with me, because I don't buy in to it. Not being elitist (since there are some of us who have been strong, solid, never-say-die Duck fans for our ENTIRE LIVES, win or lose, good years, bad years and everything in between), just saying. Keep it away from me. Because seriously, I'm not very nice when I'm pissed off.

See this is why I am worried about watching this game in public. The nausea is setting in. I might have to lay down before I hit up LL Bean.

Go Ducks!

How I spent my first vacation of 2011

2011-01-05T13:38:00.000-08:00

(Don't worry. It's not that exciting.)
I cleaned. Not as much as I could have, I mean, that box of recyclables is still in the dining room. And I didn't really dust, per se. But I vacuumed, and I steam-mopped, and cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms, and completely overhauled the closet. That's the big one. I now officially have absolutely nothing in terms of clothing (but the Goodwill sure does..). Organized shoes, sweaters, sweatshirts, tshirts, I even vacuumed in there! Crazy.

I made sure to nap daily (which I still have hopes to do after I write this) and I also really considered blogging. Which I have to do now or I won't do at all. Why is it such a block for me, I wonder? I've lost all readership (and frankly it wasn't that much to begin with). I shopped a lot too. Pretty much failed at it, but I sure tried.

I need a coat. I have a winter work coat (it's huge but I am going to eek every last cent out of the $50 I paid for it three years ago, by God), but I don't have a jacket. Like a coat you'd wear with Levis or on a Saturday or something. I want a barn coat but Instant Gratification Girl can't seem to find one in the stores. If I had one more day of vacation I'd drive (the hell) out to Cornelius and look in the Coastal Farm and Ranch because I bet they'd have one. I still should look at the Burlington Coat Factory (that place stresses me out), but how does that help me RIGHT NOW? It doesn't (mostly because I have to be somewhere this evening and I would rather nap than be warm).

I went to Ikea and bought nothing, went to the mall and bought nothing, went to Bridgeport and bought nothing, went to the Fred Meyer and bought nothing, went to the Trader Joe's and bought green beans, and went to the DSW and bought nothing. So besides Saturday's sweater extravaganza (which was like forever ago so it totally doesn't count), I bought beans. That's it.

I also went and met Becky and Mark (hi Becky!) for a bit at the Broadway last night. And I have dinner tonight on the east side (good Lord), so, you know, I've been somewhat social.

The cold snap (dry, cold, sunny) ended and now it's back to rain and 40 degrees. God I hate January. And February, too, except that pitchers and catchers report so there is some kind of brief glimmer of hope.

So yeah. That's pretty much it. Cutting this short due to limited nap time, and plus I don't want to like over-exert myself. Or shock any of you due to this being the second time in a week that I've blogged.

Happy Wednesday. I guess.

Resolving to Resurface

2011-01-01T20:01:00.000-08:00

Wooooooow. I just spent like 45 minutes reading (scanning) old posts from 2010. Why? Because I needed some inspiration. Like I was thinking I need to blog for Pete's sake since I haven't in almost a month, but I STILL don't have anything to say, and I was thinking, Hmm, maybe I'll do sort of a summary of 2010. Because of my failing retention, I had go read what I actually DID all last year. And you know what? All I did was bitch about rain and talk about work and bitch about money.

But I did do some other things, like get in a fender-bender that caused much strife fighting with the insurance company and then dealing with the piece of garbage they gave me as a rental car. And have my purse break on me in the middle of the Quizno's and then having Nordstrom give me a full refund for it after a year. And then I went to Palm Springs and Cabo San Lucas and eastern Oregon, so it's not like I'm not getting out.

Anyway, it's the new year, and I guess I'm going to start by saying, besides this being the best time of my life (Ducks in the National Championship)(like I have to explain), the new year is always a good time to take stock in what you have and what you think you should do and be in the coming year. Right? I still have a job, and I hope to keep it again this year, and I still have a car that runs great and will be paid off in less than two years, I still have a great place to live despite the fact that when it's 25 degrees outside it's 30 degrees inside and it takes forever to get warm, but it's convenient and affordable and has plenty of room for the kits to run around in.

Speaking of that, I have (again, I noticed) extended the new year's weekend into a six day weekend. Meaning I go back to work next Thursday. I have way too much vacation accrued. So my plan is (and it's Saturday today, right? Because I keep thinking it's Sunday) to clean and organize the living shit out of this place in the coming days. I really believe I'm going to do it, too. I mean, for sure I know I'll tackle the rest of the closet. There is stuff up on those shelves I haven't looked at in three years and that doesn't even fit anymore, so why not get rid of it? And I know I'll vacuum, and clean the bathrooms. So I can totally do this and feel good about starting out the year on a good note.

Right now I'm unwinding from a day of successful sweater shopping (seriously, nothing in my closet fits) and prepping myself for a possible trip to Ikea or DSW tomorrow, and I'm feeling pretty good about the year ahead. I'll do a Mexico trip in April, and maybe a desert run in the summer, or maybe the east coast in the late summer. Broadening my horizons by baby steps. I'm optimistic.

So change is good, and I think one of the changes I'll be making this year (or month anyway) is to try to be a little bit more faithful to TtheD. I'm sure you all have missed me. I apologize for this post, because it's obvious I'm out of practice.

Happy New Year to the faithful and loyal ~ may all your hopes for the new year ring true!

GD

2010-12-19T12:45:00.000-08:00

(Can't seem to blog lately. It's not a time thing, or even a thought thing. It's a can't-seem-to-make-the-words-flow thing. But here I am, because this bears noting.)

This is literally the best time of my life. I have been a Duck fan since I shot out of the womb (as I'm known to say), through good, bad, ugly, beautiful, fabulous, heartbreaking, mediocre, extra special. I always have been and always will be a Duck, no matter what. So the fact that we've come this far and have achieved this status, well, it's the best thing that has ever happened to me.

And, as most of you know, a lot of really, really good things have happened to me in my life.

Any true, absolute, die-hard Duck fan will tell you: there is no greater time than now. We have the Football Jesus for a coach, we have a fantastic team, we have great fans, we have incredible supporters. Merchandise is flying off the shelves, Beaver "fans" are congratulating me, hell, several co-vacationers in Cabo came up to congratulate me after the Civil War game. We're on the map, my friends, and it feels great.

I remember when I moved to Southern California in the '80s and only the college football faithful even knew what a Duck was. I remember moving to Cleveland in the '90s and having to search the satellite feeds at Gonzo's to get even a glimpse of a Pac-10 game. I remember all those years of calling Taylor's on the evening after the Civil War game to get a score because the odds of it being in the paper were nil. Through it all, I wore my colors. Through it all, I call myself a Duck. Through it all, I defend my boys to the end.

Now we're everywhere. I met my new BFF and her husband from Minnesota in Cabo and her husband and I talked Duck football. I've met Duck fans in every airport I've been to in recent years. I give a "Go Ducks" to anyone in colors these days (you can always tell the bandwagoners, but that's okay - if you would have told me 15 years ago that anyone was jumping on the UofO bandwagon I would have laughed out loud). Friends from out of state are snapping up Duck gear, not as a nod to me, but because they are truly impressed. It's astounding.

I'll be where I am supposed to be on January 10, and no matter what the outcome, I'll be prouder than I have ever been. As much as I have to sometimes stop and think, Holy crap. National championship?, I beam continually through harrowing work days and crazy traffic. Because let there be no doubt: This is the best time of my life.

Back

2010-12-10T13:20:00.000-08:00

to reality.

Cabo was big fun. BIG fun.

We drank, we met new friends, saw old friends, drank some more, rode ATVs, laid in the sun, drank still more, laughed, got drunk, walked around the marina, met at the trough, took a boat ride, went to the Walmarts, drank even more, ate tacos.. I think that sums it up.

Here are some photos. I'm not big on taking pictures, but I did some.

Did you know they filmed a scene or two from Planet of the Apes on Lovers Beach? I didn't. Thank God I found out in time to actually submit to going.

Big fun. I'll recap later as the mood strikes, but for now, I've had an exhausting morning of laundry and cat litter. I think I better go lay down for a while.

Up up and away

2010-12-02T04:24:00.000-08:00

New adventure. It's dark out and I'm cold, but soon enough I will not be. Time to go see my friend and enjoy my vacation (drink).

Here's hoping that the kitties are okay, my bag is not overweight, and the Ducks kick the living shit out of the Beavers on Saturday. I'll let you know if I survive it all.

Hasta luego, amigos.

Black Friday (or, Why Am I Showered This Early When I Don't Shop For Anyone But Myself?)

2010-11-27T08:10:00.000-08:00

Oh yes. Black Friday. For you not paying attention to the news for the last fifty years, Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving, when stores open super early and offer crazy deals on all the must-haves of the year. People start (and finish) their Christmas shopping, buy big-screen TVs and Cabbage Patch dolls and socks. The air is festive and Christmas-like, people are friendly and happy and courteous and don't steal your cart.

Oh wait, yes they do. Plus they're not friendly. Or happy. Or courteous.

That Marshy and I descended upon the Fred Meyer at around 6:30 - no small feat for her since she drove to my house from Scappoose (which seriously is like 750 miles away). Fred Meyer, I recently found out, has all their socks on sale 1/2 off on Black Friday, and God knows I need socks, so right when you walk in to the main entrance their are tables and tables of socks. And people. You don't want to get in the way of a dedicated sock buyer in a situation like this. We scored a cart and parked it and took turns watching the cart and finding socks, but when it came time to find some slippers, I foolishly left the sock-filled cart in an inconspicuous spot and jumped into the slipper fray. Bad idea. Moments later we found ourselves cart- and sock-less, like the last thirty minutes never happened. I'll never understand a person who steals someone else's cart.

We spent a good amount of time in the Fred Meyer, definitely. Marshy had a pretty big list and there were so many (happy..) people it made maneuvering a bit difficult. Last purchase on the stop was a TV - 47" for the low, low price of $749. We had a boy help us load the monstrosity into the CRV and headed to the mall.

In true TtheD fashion, I hit the Nordstrom and bought absolutely NOTHING on sale. After a torturous half hour at the Game Stop, and a boot purchase for Marshy at the Macys, we trundled back in the CRV and headed toward the Target. We were almost through it purchase-less (there were better advertised things at the KMart and our dogs were starting to bark) when we happened upon two random Magnavox 46" TVs just sitting in the children's section with a sign that said $492. What? $250 less for just one less inch? This is madness! We deliberated on what to do for a little bit, being as how there was already one big screen TV box in the car, and figured we could probably pull it off - purchase and load, then run back to the Fred Meyer and return the other. Which is what we did, after a little bit of a fiasco with the diligent security folks at Bank of America.

Back to the Fred Meyer, back to the socks, this time with a gigantic TV on top of the cart. People were still so FRIENDLY! Mmhmm.

That done, we made a quick stop at the Trader Joe's, and then off to the KMart - by this time the 5-11am deals were done and the parking lot wasn't horrible. We knocked out quite a few things on the list, and finally, after six hours of running around shopping like I had some kind of purpose, she dropped me back at the casita. Where I napped hard. Then forced myself to tan and then came home in time for kickoff. And texted all night long with my favorite person in the world, Brad C. in Cleveland.

It was a very fun-filled day all around, if I do say so myself, despite the crowds and the elbow shots to the ribcage and my confronting several determined women and the parking spot stalkers and the rain and my cracking fingers. Let the holidays begin, I say! May it be frantic for everyone else and super-relaxing for me!

Slumpy

2010-11-24T06:12:00.000-08:00

I've started and stopped a dozen posts and had three times that in my head at any given time. Just can't seem to get it down on screen. Slumps pass, that's all I'm saying. I'll keep trying.

I did want to ask a simple question, though: 17? Why does it have to be 17 degrees when I wake up? I think this particular slump is passing us, though, but I would like to add that if we get another cold snap next Thursday morning there will be hell to pay. HELL TO PAY.

I'm always cold, and in my current condition I am colder than usual. Getting out of bed just seems like a bad idea all around.

Happy Day-Before-Thanksgiving. I'm out of cauliflower and I need it for tomorrow. This can only spell disaster. Forget about paranoia, procrastination is what will destroy ya.

You get what you pay for

2010-11-16T21:20:00.001-08:00

so it's a pretty good thing nobody's giving me any money for this.

This is the time of year that my skin starts just randomly cracking. It's not used to electric heat again and because my staunch rule of No Coat Before December 1 also includes No Gloves, my fingers are dry and exposed to the cold and couple that with pushing paper all day, well, you can't expect anything less than sudden, random cracks. Lotion doesn't really help since by the time I realize they are there they are pretty much open wounds, and they take forever to heal on account of the No Gloves/more electric heat/much paper-pushing situation. It's a vicious cycle. I guess I should be thankful that I HAVE hands, because I could be like the cats and push this paper around with my face. THAT would be an issue.

Have I mentioned the Ducks remain #1 in the BCS?

I don't care about #1, so long as it's #1 or #2. Honestly.

Hi Becky! I had fun on Saturday even if it was only for a couple of hours. With everything I had to do after that, I barely made it home 30 minutes before kickoff. No wonder my hair is falling out.

I've been all over the map at work these days and it should be noted that when I am on someone's desk and respond to or send an email, the recipient has no other choice but to think I should remain a point of contact. So I get a LOT of email. Every day. All day. About stuff I can't remember.

I'm going to Mexico in two weeks and so far I have tanned exactly twice. At this rate I won't be allowed in the country. Things simply must be stepped up, but after work it's SO HARD to go straight to the salon and get it knocked out. I wish spray tan worked for me but I have come to the realization that it does not and will never.

There's kind of too much going in my head, but I said I would try, and that's the best I can do. I'll try it again sometime in the next day or two. Plus I have something to bitch about work-wise but if I bitch about it in the middle of it it could ruin what I am expecting to be a successful outcome, so I'll wait until it's over. That's how it works.

Not on Saturday

2010-11-06T08:01:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of friends from pretty much everywhere. Moving to different states and countries (okay, one different country) affords me that. It's a good thing, having a lot of friends. Most of them are the kind of friends where, if you haven't talked in a long time, when you DO talk, it's like no time has passed and nobody's feelings are hurt for the distance that has come between.

That being said, I'd like to just say something.

Please don't call me on Saturday. If you're local, you might know what my schedule is, but if you're not, and so many of you are not, you probably don't know. Saturday is football day for me. Generally I am running around trying to get shit done prior to kick off. I've been fairly lucky of late that many of the games have been later in the day, but there is still that occasional 12:30 kick off, like today, and I have a ton to do before I can settle in for the afternoon.

It's not that I don't want to talk to you, it's just that I'm not going to be focused. And I'll be nervous that I won't be able to get you off the phone in enough time to tune in. My interest in your interests is a six-days-a-week gig; on Saturday, I just don't care. Calling in the middle of the game is even worse - I get pissed (not your fault, I know, but still), distracted and irritable when I should be paying attention and focusing all energy to my team.

Thanks to the magic of social media, most of you pretty much know what is going on in my world (nothing. Seriously. Nothing.), and nothing beats a good phone call to catch up. But not on Saturday. And don't take my launching you in to voicemail as a sign that I never want to speak to you again. I do. Any other day of the week.

That being said, Go Ducks!

Game day

2010-10-30T06:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Ducks:

Well, it's game day. Though I've been a bit distracted this past week and feeling a bit nauseous periodically, I have come to some conclusions that I thought you should know about.

Today is a huge game, gigantic for us Duck fans. For you, I'm guessing, it's just another game day. Your coach is fantastic, and there is no doubt he has employed many strategies to bring you all around mentally and face such a formidable opponent. I survive merely by believing this. And this Saturday morning I'm somewhat at peace.

Because you are the Ducks, my team. A team I have watched faithfully not only for my entire life, but for this season up to now. I know what you can do, I know what you struggle with, I know what you excel at. I know the entire country will be watching, and I know that this is a team that doesn't seem to have a problem with that.

Football is a contest between two opponents, sometimes well matched, sometimes not. Today you face a very talented opponent, and, as in all contests, the best team will win. I have every faith, as I have for years, that you will be that best team. I may hide behind a Pendleton throw through most of the first half, I will probably vomit a little bit, my hands will shake and I won't be able to sit still. There will be much cursing and yelling and jumping and pacing. But that's what I do.

You know what you do. Do your best for your team, your coach, your fans. Nothing more can be asked of you. No matter what, no worse for wear, I'll be here, on the other side, as I've been for forty-five years.

Today I go forth to run my errands, buy new tires, fulfill my obligations, all with the knowledge that my team plays fantastic football and will make me proud. I will fiercely defend my colors, I will give the ojo negro to anyone who smirks or doubts, I will defend confidently.

So yes, perhaps it is just another game day.

Go Ducks!

Faithfully,
TtheD

Mindrat

2010-10-23T08:44:00.000-07:00

It's dangerous for me to be fired up about our #1 ranking in most polls, but what the hell. Go Ducks! I just finished up a ridiculously busy week in Hillsboro (well, not really as I'll be back Monday morning to ease the escrow officer back on to the desk) and let me tell you. Friday afternoon was never so welcome. It was tough, I swore a lot, I threw a couple of things around the office but not nearly as badly as I used to, and it was a little bit of old home week to boot.

I've been in touch quite a bit with an old friend from Southern Cal days - not much to it due to his current status, which believe me is FINE with me, but apparently he's enjoying reliving the old days. Okay. Then I got a call for a referral on one old coworker (much more recent) from another old coworker (even more recent) and a phone call from yet another old coworker, who, later in the week, dropped by. It's always fun to reminisce and catch up. Except for when, for every five minute break you take, you get 18 new emails and voicemails. So that kind of sucks. But hey, here I am on the other side of it alive. There you go.

I'm starting to get fired up about Mexico in December. Not super-fired up, as it's a month and change away, and I haven't started tanning yet, but now and again I'll look up from the pandemonium and say, Oh hey, I'm going on vacation. That brightens my thoughts for about 3.5 seconds until I'm forced to read an email from an agent who would prefer I do HIS job instead of HIM doing his job. In retrospect, I should have just responded, Hey, happy to do that for you. Now, what time can I expect you over here to work up three refis, give four fee quotes, scan in some extensions, pull CCRs on a defunct HOA, do three net sheets and work up a short sale HUD?

It's raining. I have some errands to run and the mother to grocery shop for (oh yay) and then, because the Ducks played Thursday, plan on spending a leisurely afternoon watching the Oklahoma game. It's a calm day.

It wasn't so calm earlier in the week, however. All work business aside, I got home on Monday night to the kitties going batshit in my second bedroom/office. Batshit. Running from one wall to the other, climbing up on things, meowing crazily, running, spinning, trying to get something that I couldn't see. I ran in to the kitchen for the Raid and when I came back they were still at it, but I could see nothing. I didn't want to think the obvious, and after a while they mellowed out, but when I reported it back to the girls in Hillsboro the next day the general consensus was "mouse". In my walls. How long does it take do you think for them to chew through my wall?

The next day or two later I called my landlords and they arranged an exterminator. I don't exactly live in the country so I don't need to put up with this. The only problem was that when said exterminator phoned me back he told me it most likely was not a mouse but, rather, a rat. Wow. Thanks for that.

We arranged for me to meet with him Friday morning to set traps and check it all out, but of course there was NO way I could get out of work, so he came alone and set them up outside. Nice. And just now I have been hearing bangs and thuds all over the place in here. The cats aren't freaking out so either it's just me and my vivid imagination, the old broad upstairs, or the kitties are just used to the new member of the family. What the hell. I have nothing else to worry about.

That's it, longest post I've written in ages so I hope it tides you over. I'll keep you posted if necessary regarding the vermin, because we both know there isn't much else going on around here.

MF

2010-10-21T19:53:00.001-07:00

Motherfucking work is so motherfucking busy I don't have time to motherfucking do anything for myself let alone motherfucking blog. I can't motherfucking wait for Friday to be here and gone. I also would have preferred to put this on Facebook but I can't say motherfucking this much anywhere else so here I motherfucking am.

That is all.

Oh, and if you're wondering why I'm blogging in the middle of a Duck game, it's halftime. What do you think I am, an idiot?

Look for the shout out at the end

2010-10-16T13:26:00.001-07:00

Um, hi.

So another week goes by, and I'm sure you all have been scratching your heads and wondering where in the heck I am. Because you think of me when you're not near the computer, don't you?

So where have I been? I've been in Beaverton all week, that's where. On a busy, busy desk. Luckily I had the help of a very experienced escrow office that was pulled out of retirement to help the officer on her desk, and I gotta tell you it's made a WORLD of difference. I can chat, screw around, go to lunch... just kidding. It HAS made a world of difference, because that desk is brutal, but at least I wasn't working 6am to 6pm like I normally would.

Next week is Hillsboro, on another crazy desk, but the officer I'm covering is vacationing in Cancun, so it's totally worth it for me. And Hillsboro is a fun office (not that we didn't have fun in Beaverton - I'm all about the fun), so I'm looking forward to it as usual.

Ducks have a bye week so I am totally stress-free right now, but I AM looking forward to the Wisconsin-Ohio State game at 4pm. What else? Basically I have spent my morning running around and I, as usual, thought of a million things I wanted to blog about but kind of can't remember them right now.. wait. Let's see.

Okay. So people suck at driving around here, rain or shine. That's obvious. Oh, and I was going to mention at some point how much I hate Nebraska. Not the state, necessarily, but the football team. How are you ranked? Half the teams you play are just nobody. But Nebraska fans are all up on themselves, thinking their shit doesn't stink because a long time ago it didn't. Whatever. I fucking hate them. I could tell you how much I hate the Beavers but you already know that. And since we're on the subject I'm not getting how Boise State is #3 when they are basically playing high school level teams for the rest of the year (except for Nevada). I don't mind Boise State, though, I just don't get it. It's the WAC. Have you seen the WAC? Whatever.

Ohhh yeah, booked Cabo. I don't know exactly WHERE yet, but the flight is booked. That Bruja and I are going and it's been a long time since we sat down and had some drinks together so I'm looking forward to that. I guess what is difficult for me is trying to figure out where to stay - Cabo San Lucas or San Jose del Cabo - one WAY more touristy than the other. I don't like touristy. I don't like paying $10 US for a drink. That's why I like Cancun - I know where to go to spend my money. Here, I don't. I don't want to think about it anymore right now. But yay vacation! Fun!

Okay I think that's it. I really will try to blog more, but I can't promise much. It's freezing again in the casita (no heat 'til November 1 rule in effect) but I guess that's why I have 478 sweatshirts. And I think I'm going to vacuum again today. Um, that's like 2 weeks in a row. IN A ROW. I'm not sure what's up with me.

Happy Birthday to Kimberley today and Happy Birthday to that Becky T (nka Rebecca H.) tomorrow!

It was dark until like 8:30 this morning.

2010-10-10T08:13:00.000-07:00

Wow, a week already. I'm not sure what it is that keeps me from blogging. Is it a fear that the nothing I do most of the time isn't enough to keep you interested? Or is it merely the fact that I do ... nothing?

Except work, come home, putter around, and go to bed. Love the upcoming winter, let me tell you. I read somewhere that we are going to have a La Niña winter again, which apparently means wet and snow and cold and just general crap. So you can imagine how much blog fodder THAT will give me. Maybe this year I'll buy boots. I should probably buy tires first, though, but my God they're expensive. Everything is expensive. It's pouring down rain outside right now and all I can think about is how flipping expensive everything is and how I don't have any money. Bright and sunshiney right out of the gate after a week's absence..

I have very little to report this week except that that Marita has been given the challenge of finding vacation options for me and a couple of friends. Cancun is probably out. Probably. But Cancun is only a teeny tiny part of Mexico, and I'm going to be tan in December, God damn it. Considering Los Cabos but my fellow blogger and friend Jackie said it's expensive as all hell. I don't know. Marita's really good at this so we'll see what comes up.

And Go Ducks! After yesterday's game (and seriously I had no doubts through any of it, no stomach knots, nothing), however, I am thankful we have a bye next week. I'll leave it at that. Nice to be 6-0 right now.

Today, in the rain, I swear to God I am going to clean up this house. And by "clean up this house" I mean vacuum. That's really the worst of it. I don't know why, either, because I LOVE it when it's done. Why am I depriving myself of something I love? (Okay. I realize psychology probably isn't going to work in this instance, but it's worth a shot.)

So it's nearly Monday again, a day in Hillsboro and then four days in Beaverton, and with any luck at all I will not be wearing two different colored shoes on any of those days like I did on Friday. Maybe a clean house will create a clean mind and a clean mind will create focus. Maybe. Or maybe it will just inspire a really long nap.

In cold wet rainy weather.

Money poorly spent

2010-10-05T19:26:00.000-07:00

Saturday, in an effort to take my mind off the approaching game, was spent doing what I apparently do best: spending buckets of money on the wrong things. While chatting with my sister on the phone, my mouse suddenly took a dump. Just died. Right there in front of me. Which, you know, is fine, because I bought that thing with its wireless keyboard buddy back in 2004 right before I moved to Mexico. It's been back and forth with me twice. And it outlasted the original laptop I bought back then, too. The keyboard died about a year ago, but I got used to using the laptop keyboard, and now, finally, no more mouse.

I was in the Tanasbourne area so I went to the Best Buy and shopped around a little bit. Flipping $59 later I bought pretty much the same Microsoft wireless keyboard/mouse set, and then, after stopping at the Nordstrom Rack for pants (which I took back today) and a sweater, then stopping at the kitty store for some liners, and then stopping at the Fred Meyer for some groceries (which included the foulest of coffee purchases I have ever made) (because they didn't have my Cafe Bustelo) (for God's sake just about every grocery store carries it now and that Fred Meyer couldn't be in a more Spanish-speaking area), I finally made it home.

So I'm bitter now. The new mouse sucks. The keyboard is taking some getting used to but the mouse... ugh. It's not smooth, the little wheel thingie on it doesn't work, it's jerky and I hate it. But it's all out of the box and used and I'm not sure if the Best Buy will take it back. I hate it. But I need a flipping mouse. I guess during another one of my painfully long stretches of having nothing to do at work tomorrow I'll phone them and see if they WILL take it back, but good Lord. Tanasbourne? It's like 420 miles away from where I'm working right now. I wonder if I can whine more? Or if they'll take it back at the Cascade Plaza store?

The game itself was awesome, despite the beginning, and all the vomiting and pots-and-pans throwing around going on in this casita. Ultimately it was a relief to win, but I was so exhausted on Sunday that all I could do was go out and find my Cafe Bustelo and forget the other purchase ever existed (because I'm pretty sure the Fred Meyer isn't going to let me return the coffee I bought there). I didn't shower, I took two naps, I did one load of laundry and didn't do anything else the whole day. It was like being hungover except it was no vacation so I clearly didn't drink.

I'm sort of looking forward to this weekend because I'm getting a little bit sick of throwing up, and I could use a good productive couple of days. It's been a great season so far all in all, and really, all I can add to wrap this baby up is GO DUCKS!

Weekend

2010-10-02T06:52:00.000-07:00

Already. I've had quite an horrific week. I had to close a gigantic transaction on Friday and started working on it pretty much Thursday. Gigantic. Strangely enough, we pulled it off. So, you know, whew. The swan song for my two week stint at the circus.

Huge game today. Huge. A lot of you read this only during the work week, so you'll already know the outcome by the time you log in. Who knows - this could be it for me. If it's Monday morning and you haven't seen me around, maybe call someone to check on me. Just in case.

I of course don't have much to report, except remember my rant about that one service provider we just started using that sucks so bad? Yeah. They're not getting any better. As a matter of fact, they're now laughing at our receptionist when she phones in requests. Laughing. Can you imagine? And the guy that works for us that made this switch in service providers? We tell him the problem, he calls Blow Hard, Blow Hard says "Sorry, I'll talk to them" and it only gets worse. I'd just like to go out on a limb here and say that that particular approach isn't working.

Think about it. How is the guy that sold you this service successfully going to fix the reality of how shitty this company is? He's just spent months convincing you they're great. What's he going to do, say, Oh yeah, well, we do kind of suck but I promise to make you not see how bad in the future? That's all he CAN say. He won't though, because he's Blow Hard and he's pretty much going to rant and rave and stomp his egotistical little Blow Hard foot and say I'll fire everyone if they fuck this up again! Blow Hard to the rescue! And then he hangs up and takes another call. Because I hate to break it to you, Guy That I Work With That Made This Decision, they DO suck, we were sold a load of shit, and it's NOT going to get better. Because the little phone people that get paid $9 an hour and the drivers that get paid worse honestly could give two shits if our company is less than thrilled with their performance. They don't care. They just don't. It's not going to change. And we're going to have to compensate for it over and over again, like we've been doing all month. Thanks for trying, but it didn't work. Now do something to fix it before escrow goes postal on your ass.

Okay. Gotta run, College GameDay on ESPN is in Eugene and I need to go do something to settle my stomach.

GO DUCKS!

Twenty minutes until How I Met Your Mother

2010-09-27T19:40:00.000-07:00

...I just really love that show.

I know, I know, I haven't blogged. But the vast amount of nothingness going on is the best explanation I can offer. If it makes you feel any better, even I check in on TtheD once in a while, just to see if maybe I lapsed into some kind of fugue state and blogged, or if perhaps one of my other personalities has logged in to fill the void.

Just to keep you in the loop, in the last week, I've
- driven to the Walmarts in Cornelius and discovered they do not carry oyster sauce or shiritake noodles
- had my brakes fixed (or did you know that?)
- had an ant explosion that came out of no where
- had a spider situation that kept me trapped in the casita for roughly thirty minutes until I could muster up the strength to face the dang thing, kill it and take the trash out
- had ANOTHER spider situation that caused me to call the condo association to kill it, which they did NOT, so I
- had to call poor Neighbor Robert to come kill the motherfucker once and for all, because I am not kidding you, that thing was flipping huge
- almost fell off a step ladder
- dry heaved during one game and then
- threw up during another (not very much though, but I'm worried about next Saturday)
- watched ANTM FINALLY in the Timms' media room
- ran out of Raid

I don't know why but being out of Raid makes me feel all nervous and unprotected. I ALWAYS have Raid. I need to get to the store and refill pronto. I'm not sure I like how this feels.

Okay, that's pretty much it. I still have ten minutes to go before the show, but preparation takes time, and I'm just going to focus on that for now.

Fail.

2010-09-22T19:21:00.000-07:00

So I was telling MaryAnn today at work that I figured out the reason why we are getting substandard service from some of our vendors these days - nobody has allowed me to talk to them. I told her I'm sick to death of us being the only people who actually give a crap out there anymore. And frankly, our vendors need to hear about it.

The other day one of the copy machines at the circus was acting up, taking paragraphs mid-page on every document and scrunching them into teeny tiny bold paragraphs. What with us being the number one title company on the planet, it doesn't look so good. So service was called and the same guy who always comes out came out and messed with it and spent a good amount of time in there and then he left. Shortly after he left I made a copy set of seller docs (small package) and the normal default setting made them all on short paper. Which, you know, they shouldn't have been on. And which, you know, has NEVER been the default setting. I swore a couple of times and recopied. Somewhere, another tree died.

This morning, still within 24 hours of the guy being there, I walked in to use the copy machine and sure enough, big box on the readout said CALL SERVICE. Because it was broken. It didn't work. Whatever it was he did to it, it surely wasn't copy machine repair. That kind of thing just pisses me off. It's not like he's a copy machine repairman and a podiatrist; he's JUST a copy machine repairman. He has one thing to do: fix the copy machine. If I failed fifty per cent of the time I would be out of a job.

We also have a new vendor, one that our industry relies on very heavily, especially my end of the industry. We'd used them in the past, maybe eight years ago, and they started sucking really bad and so we switched vendors and have been happily with this other company ever since. Sure they mess up sometimes, everybody does. But they were genuine and friendly and we knew them all and we in the trenches liked them pretty well. But apparently they were getting expensive, so we switched back to the people we used back in the day. Because of their sales manager, a blow hard who gave quite a sales pitch and landed our business again.

We've been back with them for about a week and a half, and I know I shouldn't be so quick to judge, but I'm severely disappointed with their service. The pitch and presentation Blow Hard gave to the entire company has turned out to be pretty much smoke and mirrors, because all of the things he said they would and could do they haven't been doing. Which pisses me off. Because what do you take us for? Perhaps it's just newbie quirks that need to be worked out. But I don't know. It's a pretty simple service, really. I mean, there isn't a lot to it. It's step one and step two and then you're pretty much done with the request. But they keep fucking it up and way too often when I'm around and Blow Hard comes in with cookies and thinks that's going to be all it takes to make us broads happy. Or rather, "his gals", as I am sure he refers to us, since that is what he had called his staff in the dog-and-pony show he put on convincing us we'd be happy with him.

Good God I hate that. Intellectually I run circles around you and your half-assed attempts at getting the job done. I am not your "gal". You cannot come in face-to-face and apologize, or ask me who I want fired as a result of the latest fuck up, or any other bullshit blow hard jackass attempt at making me happy. Because it won't work. You wanna know what'll make me happy, Buddy? How about doing what you get PAID to do? This one little simple service that you have been doing for years, and obviously not doing well or we wouldn't have canned your ass to begin with. Fucking step one and step two, poof, end of request. Because the way I understand it, that's all your company does. So why is it so tough to get straight? Sell me your services, cut your rates, make whoever made the decision to go with you again all impressed with your shpiel, but in the end, all I care about is you doing your job. Because, again, if I fucked up HALF as much as you guys have in flipping EIGHT DAYS I would be out on my ass living in a box. Fucker.

So yeah. I've been a little fired up about this.

All they need to do to fix this is let me talk to him. I am telling you I will get results.

The week not reviewed.

2010-09-19T12:43:00.000-07:00

No input, no motivation, nothing new to report.

I was going to write about how it's school bus season again and I didn't realize it until my first drive to Orenco last Monday but then I didn't.

I was looking for a clip of the episode of the Partridge Family where they are in the wild west or some dang place and Reuben was the bad guy and Keith was the town minstrel because for some reason "I think I'll eat my lolly later" popped into my head in the middle of the week but I couldn't find one.

I was going to talk about the anticipation of another Duck victory and then again about another Duck victory, but I got sidetracked and just didn't.

I was also going to write about how my niece is starting at the UofO next week and the whole generational thing and how it's exciting and all that, but I haven't really formulated anything and I'll probably be more in to that later in the week.

But then I realized that after all this time I haven't blogged at all and that kind of sucks, so I sat down, and there's just nothing there.

So you can imagine how much fun it would have been to read all those posts that never were.

Imagination is a good thing. You can thank me for making you use yours.

Another year passes

2010-09-13T21:38:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm forty-five. Shit.

Facebook is pretty much the only way I can remember all but a few birthdays these days, and from the looks of things, it's the same for a lot of people. Not everyone from there reads TtheD, but those who do, I can't thank you enough for the barrage of happy birthdays I received. Seriously. There were like 80 of them.

Work may have kicked me in the ass today, but the rest of it was a-ok.

Waking up at forty-five in Beaverton, Oregon is probably not such a bad thing after all.

Saturday flashback

2010-09-11T09:23:00.000-07:00

In the Spring of 1994 I moved into an apartment in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. It was just a few blocks from my friends' Kelly D. and Pat S.'s (it's hard to not type their last names because I always called them by their first and last name.) apartment. It was a great little pad, railroad car style, but it was Spring and I didn't realize how ridiculously hot it would get in the middle of a northeastern Ohio summer. It was an old building with no hope for window a/c, the electrical system couldn't handle it. It had a boiler downstairs and sometimes the radiators would leak, which I never understood. I still don't. Perfect place, except for the spiders - it was riddled with them. I've never lived in a place that had so many. Seriously, they were everywhere. After I pulled one off my arm in the middle of one night I started sleeping with a can of Raid. You can imagine why I have such a phobia - they were in every room, every day. I'm still shivering.

A couple of months later Pat and Kelly moved into the building next door. Kelly, who I met while collecting at National City, went back to work as a bartender at our local, Chelsea's. We all liked to drink. A lot. Kelly introduced me to Harvey Wallbangers and it was pretty much all over for me.

But here's what I loved the most about living in the Falls: Saturdays Kelly would have to work around 2 or 3 (can't remember, really) and Pat would usually drive her in and stick around. Not long after my move to the Falls, I'd go with them. It worked out great because, in theory, since Kelly was working, she'd be the most sober to drive us home at 2 or 3 am when the bar cleared out. Pretty soon, Pat and I would just go earlier and Kelly would meet us there when her shift started. Spending Saturday afternoons at Chelsea's was seriously one of the best times of my life - hanging with the vacuum cleaner salesman, the biker, the rest of the drunks, oddly enough made me feel like I was a part of something. As the afternoon wore into evening, more of our friends would come and pretty soon our little portion of the bar was standing-room-only. Tom Petty and Frank Sinatra on the jukebox, seven or eight Harvey Wallbangers lined up, Coors Light all around (except for Pat, he was a Bud man), I loved it.

I really miss those days, though not in the sense that I want to go back. Just a reminder of a simpler time, I suppose.

This morning I called Kelly to check in, and Pat answered. Suddenly it was sixteen years ago, and I asked him if he wanted to go to Chelsea's. Despite the real-life agenda of running taking his kids to swim practice, the mall, the grocery store and day camp, he said yes.

I can taste the Harvey Wallbangers already.

Blahgging.

2010-09-07T20:18:00.000-07:00

I saw it in the forecast, I knew it was coming. Rain. It poured down rain like a crazy sonofabitch right around 2:30 today, .31 of an inch per OregonLive.com.

We so didn't have a summer. I feel totally cheated. There were maybe five days total that it hit higher than 90, and the rest of it was in the 70s and 60s. This is all I can remember of the last two months.

Something's got to give in my life because seriously, even after having had a somewhat dry run for the last month, one day of this just gets me so completely down. I don't like the way it looks, I don't like the way it feels, I don't like the way it ruins my hair, I don't like anything about it. I cannot for the life of me figure out why I have been living here (for the most part) for the last fifteen years again.

Fifteen years, as my dear friend Kelly D. reminded me yesterday. Fifteen years ago this fall I hit I-80 west from Cleveland and never looked back (well, yes I did, a little bit). And though I did move out of the country within these past fifteen years, I certainly don't feel like I've accomplished much more than that.

My main reason for leaving was that I didn't want to wake up one day at forty-five living in Akron, Ohio (I lived in Cuyahoga Falls, actually, but it's a suburb of Akron, close enough). So yeah. Waking up one morning at forty-five and living in Beaverton, Oregon is better? Because that's what will be happening next week. There really isn't a whole of time left to make that impact I figured I was drawn here to make..

This rain and the approaching Fall are making me think too hard about things, question things, take stock in what I'm doing. And continue to wonder what's next. Because seriously. This can NOT be it.

I probably shouldn't have blogged tonight, because there is no substance.

But maybe that's the message.

And you call yourselves "fans".

2010-09-05T10:21:00.001-07:00

I just got off the phone with my brother Tom and now I'm all fired up so I thought I would share it with you. You lucky bastards.

Here's what irritates the shit out of me about Beaver fans:

YOU'RE NOT FANS.

So yesterday after watching the Ducks beat (the crap out of) New Mexico (72-0 - records beaten and tied all over the place), I jumped in the car to finish up some Saturday errands. On the way to the Target, I passed roughly 20 cars in various states of Beaver Nation-ism (or whatever the hell they are calling it this year) - people in black and orange, decals on the car, flags flying from the windows, you get the idea. In the parking lot of the Target it was the same - tons of Beaver "fans" in their colors getting out of their decked out cars to do a little Target shopping. Here's the problem: It was 4pm. The Beaver game started at like 3:15pm. Against TCU. Does anyone see where I'm going with this?

WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT THE TARGET IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GAME?!

If you're such huge supporters of OSU football, shouldn't you be WATCHING THE GAME? I can't even begin to describe how pissed off I was about it. If I hadn't been on the phone with Barbie at the time screaming at HER about the situation, I swear to God I would have been ramming my cart into these bastards. What. The fuck. Why spend the money on the gear, the decals, the flags and all that crap when you don't have ANY intention of even watching the flipping game? Don't call yourself a fan if you don't even know, or care, that the game is on.

I don't have a problem with Beaver fans that are actual fans. Not everyone is a Duck fan in the state (clearly obvious by reading KATU.com and Oregon Live and seeing NOT ONE headline about the Ducks but fourteen stories about the Beavers' defeat by TCU), and that's great, that's what rivalry is all about. But for fuck's sake, WATCH FOOTBALL. It wouldn't have bothered me so much if there were just a handful of Beaver "fans" in the parking lot, or even if most of them were actually LEAVING the store (so that I could assume they were rushing home to watch the last 3/4ths of the game) but I'm not kidding you - there were a TON of them. Just a bunch of assholes strolling around wearing a color that only a very few can pull off without looking ghastly NOT caring that the game is on, NOT fired up for the season, NOT interested in seeing how "their" boys looked against TCU. Seriously I am just disgusted by this. If you want to be a fan and sport the colors and deck out your car then for GOD'S sake stay out of the public eye for a lousy 3 1/2 hours on a Saturday. Is that so difficult?

I don't know. Maybe all these people are OSU baseball or basketball fans and all decided at the same time to wear their gear on a sunny Saturday in early September. Does it make me feel better thinking that? Not really. Because all this illustrates to me is the bandwagon-ism bullshit that surrounds me in this state. I don't like to see it, and I certainly don't want to be bombarded with it when I'm out buying kibble and razors.

I'm not asking for much. Don't call yourself an OSU football fan if you're not one. Nobody thinks your cool, and nobody wants to see you in your getup when they know your game is being nationally televised on ESPN. You're an embarrassment to the real Beaver fans out there, and it's irritating. Just watch football. And if you don't want to watch football, wear something else.

It's that time of year again

2010-09-04T08:28:00.000-07:00

This is why I get up so early on Saturday mornings. Enjoy a little "me" time (when isn't?) before getting started on my errands, only to realize with mounting horror that I'm pretty far away from home with time before kickoff dwindling, beating cheeks to get through Beaverton traffic and home safe and sound in front of the TV. Yes, folks, it's college football season again in the casita. For your viewing pleasure (for the love of God I have to get in the shower already), I give you a little bit of hype from my world*.

I know I don't have to say it, but GO DUCKS!
______________
*Thanks to Alex M. for his FB post that got me all fired up last night.

Editor's note: Look for "The Pick" at about a 1:50 - poetry. I'm tearing up.

Losing it

2010-09-02T20:31:00.000-07:00

I'm fading and it pisses me off. I have a pretty unhealthy perception of my own skin color, growing up lily white and all, and so I tan. Kind of a lot. Because it looks better that way. But sometimes I'm tan and I think I'm white and tell people that and they give me shit. But whatever.

So my tanning package allows me to freeze it for like $5 a month (and then when you unfreeze it you get that money back as a credit for product which is a bargain because that shit is expensive at the salon and I can't be bothered with buying it offsite), and at the beginning of August I was so sick of tanning that I froze it beginning September. Then I tanned a little bit more and went to Palm Springs where I got NO color (I mean NO color. I thought I had some but seriously I had NONE. I came back paler than I was when I left.) and so before August ran out I tanned like once more which did nothing. So NOW, though I don't have to suffer the ridiculous monthly fee that I pay to tan, I have to live with the consequences of being pale.

I don't like it. At all.

But that's the deal with life, you know, one plus begets a minus.

(The plus is I'm saving $79 a month on tanning. Add that to the fact that I am now bringing my lunch and not going to Starbucks or Dutch Bros now which in itself saves me roughly $100 a week, and well shit I might just make it to Mexico in December after all.) (WHERE I WILL BE TAN AGAIN.)

The End!

2010-08-30T20:47:00.000-07:00

So what more can I say? Tuesday was hot. Like 115 degrees hot. It was mostly pool time but seriously when you are that hot, you can't really lay out. We tried (in vane) to get floatie rafts for the pool one morning (Sunday? Or was it Monday?) and hit the Target and the Walmarts, and the only thing we could find were noodles. Which were fine, but I didn't have the balls to do that spider-looking thing that Cece did with them, and we only bought one each because we thought they were $10 but they ended up only being like $3. $6 I can leave behind, but $20? I'm too much of a tightwad these days. Silly me. We made it to about 2:30 or so in that kind of heat then went to clean up and hit the outlet mall in Cabazon.

It's this superfantastic high end one (though it did have the regular outlet mall stores in it too) and it was huge. It was sixteen miles away (I know this) and though we hit quite a bit of it, my heart wasn't in it and all I purchased was lotions from L'Occitaine. After the mall we decided to check out the other desert cities, beginning at Palm Desert and working our way back to Palm Springs, googling things like The Betty Ford Clinic along the way. We almost found it, too, but apparently it's not as easy to find as it used to be back in the day. We put a lot of miles on that Versa, mostly because I have no sense of direction and get lost and turned around easily, but the whole area is beautiful. It was dark when we made it up the 111 back into our home turf, but we stopped at a shop or two before heading back to the casita to pack up.

We had to be out of the unit by 11ish, and I thought it might be a good idea to get out of the desert and back closer to the ocean before it got all shitty on the 91, so we laid out first thing Wednesday for a couple of hours and then went back to clear out. We drove west(ish) and hit Newport Beach for a little bit, chatted with a lady about a beach front rental, and then headed up PCH to Huntington. Wow has that area changed! I realize it's been something like 20 years since I've been there but for Pete's sake. There's a Duke's there, for crying out loud. I bought a sweatshirt.

Made it to the airport relatively unscathed (except for almost getting killed in the glorieta that came out of no where and then not being able to find a gas station) and in plenty of time, and got back to Portland around 9pm. I was home by 10. It was really a great trip and now that I am back and have worked a full day my mind has been completely drained of anything vacation-like.

But I'll go back. I may not be that tan, but for under $500 per person, August in the desert is the only way to go.

More Palm Springs

2010-08-29T07:52:00.000-07:00

Is my head in it today? I think so. I have grand intentions of doing a bunch of stuff today so let's see how long that lasts. I'm completely out of creamer and sugar so the coffee will last me exactly this cup, no danger of getting amped on caffeine and then needing to take a nap at 12n. Like yesterday. But I digress.

Seriously I'm not going day by day on this thing. I'm already starting to forget stuff.

So Sunday we moved to a different pool because the Santa Monica girls just wanted to challenge Cece politically and apparently stupid people irritate her. I can dig it. We started the morning tradition of getting up at 6 and getting coffee at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf downtown. Since it was a chilly 86 degrees most mornings, this was a pleasant way to spend the morning, chatting with locals and cooing over the gay men's dogs. There isn't a lot of tourist activity in August, being as how it's in the 100s by noon, so we had a lot of opportunity to drill the locals about the whats and whys of Palm Springs.

We talked about doing the tram at some point, and since we are both afraid of heights we decided Sunday was the day to do it. Our condo was conveniently located across the 111 from the tram entrance (who knew from the signage that it was 4 miles up from the 111? And who knew that in extreme heat there would be highway signs advising you to turn off the air conditioner? Thank God it was a rental car, because I never would have punished my own car the same way I did going up that dang hill). After getting some supplies (fruit, soda, water, styrofoam coolers) at the Stater Bros and the Dollar store, we finally headed out to the (other) pool. HOT. We pretty much had the pool to ourselves the whole time, except in the early afternoon when that VERY good looking, tan, built, Boston-accented guy came out to swim. We never did catch his name but he was fun. And not hard on the eyes. At all.

Our agenda pretty much entailed "try to get to the pool by like 8:30 or so, lay out til around 2:30 or 3, and then do something". For the most part we did that. Sunday was tram day, and we had found out earlier that if you take it after 3pm you save like $3. Perfect. Cece had purchased a book about the tram and was busy throwing out fast facts to pretty much anyone at the pool (meaning me and the Boston guy). That whole tram thing is pretty spectacular, just so you know, and is worth the trip. Down.

The trip up sucked (for me). The operator was good but holy mother of Christ I don't like heights and there was just no where to look that didn't scare the crap out of me. It's like a 10 minute trip and sometimes it's bumpy and it's really really high and it seemed that any time I opened my eyes we were flying straight into the sheer rock wall of Mt. San Jacinto. Neat! By the time we got to the top I was a wreck. Thank God everywhere in Palm Springs (including there) serves Stella Artois on tap.

It's pretty high up there.
It was roughly 30 degrees cooler up there too, which was nice. We took some photos and then hung out for a bit having beer and chatting (again) with some broad and her nephew and friend who gave us some good dinner ideas. The trip DOWN, after a little over an hour, was much easier. In the same way that I prefer landing to taking off in an airplane, going down the tram was awesome.

We had some dinner at a great Italian place I can't remember the name of (Calura? I don't know), and were in for the night.

That's the theme, I guess. Pool til 3ish, shower, go do something. Monday we were joined by Boston Guy and another fellow, not sure if he was Cheech or Chong (I'm going with Chong), who was full of deep insight and existential points of interest (no, up til now, never thought about the earth's core..), and a working knowledge of where Elvis's Palm Springs estate was. Cece's sort of a pop culture junkie so after cleaning up, we headed up another hill in search of the King. Thank God for the iPhones (kinda) because Boston Guy and Chong's directions were a little bit off. After some driving around and u-turns (I'm not the best driver), we made it.

I know he's dead but apparently he lives on in the form of chimney art.
From there we found Liberace's house and then drove down to the Ingleside Inn for a cocktail at Melvyn's (a must-do per Chong and Boston Guy).

So glad we did that! Not only did I sit in the very bar stool that Tony Curtis sat in not 2 weeks ago, we were charmed by the very eccentric and polished Maitre d'Hotel Sir Michael Campbell, who does not, in fact, go on cruises, but rather, travels by ocean liner, and Scotty the gay bartender who had spent one year in the Pacific NW and ran screaming back to the desert. How can you blame him? This flipping place was the shit. Seriously. It was oozing old Hollywood. We had a blast and three martinis each there, and finally went back to the condo feeling like stars.

Okay. It looks like this is going to be a three-parter. I might be back later today because vacation is over and I won't want to write about it past today, I'm sure. And it's just not fair to any of you to leave you hanging.. I know it was a long one today but hey, I threw some pictures in so that had to be worth it, right?

Okay. On to my productive Sunday.

So I went to Palm Springs on Saturday

2010-08-27T06:58:00.000-07:00

It's really hard for me to come back from vacation and give a rundown because it begins to sound all "trip-report"-y and nobody does trip reporting like Janie. So I won't give too much of a blow by blow, but we'll see if we can't hit some of the key moments.

First off, yeah. Palm Springs in August? Awesome. It's somewhat dead on account of the heat, and for someone who doesn't like crowds (people), it worked out pretty well. Cece was on time for the pickup and we didn't have much waiting around for the flight. That's another huge plus - 2 hour flight. Dig it. I flipping hate taking off, and only having to do it twice in five days was pretty awesome.

So right out of the gate (so to speak) things were looking good. Long Beach Airport is tiny, so the only real wait we had that morning was for the rental car, a spiffy little Nissan Versa (I've never heard of one either) for a steal of a deal on Priceline. I'd do that again. We hit Lakewood Blvd to the 91 (after having to flip the first bitch of the vacation pretty much almost immediately - one could argue that I shouldn't be the one behind the wheel since I have zero sense of direction and am easily distracted), then took the 91 to the 60/215/60 to the 10 to the 111. Take a left on San Rafael. Boom.

I can't remember who it was that told Cece to make sure she tried In-n-Out Burger, but since it was like 11am on Saturday morning we decided to make that the first stop. I can't remember what possessed me to find that In-n-Out in Yorba Linda, but this is how fate works. So since I haven't lived in Southern California in something like 17 years (seriously, I can't believe how old I am), I figured I'd stop in the areas that were more familiar. Taking the 91, Yorba Linda seemed to fit the bill. My brother Chris and his family live there, and I've been there within the last five years. I put Cece to work on finding the In-n-Out on her phone but we were having some challenges (she hadn't added the "Around Me" app yet) so I took an exit (Weir Canyon? I think) thinking maybe it was over in that super gigantic strip mall that has the Target and the Pavillions and all that. It wasn't there so I parked for a bit to try to find the thing on MY phone (all this matters). I said, You know, I COULD call Jill (Chris's wife) and ask her, but then she'll make us stop and I don't want to, we're on a mission. We were within blocks of their house and it was just not a part of the original agenda - in theory we wanted to be poolside by noonish (but we were already behind that schedule. Still...).

So I decide (I'm not sure why) to drive back out of the gigantic strip mall and get back on Weir Canyon and we have to turn left at a light that had two left turn lanes and sure as shit, there, next to me in the other turn lane, is my brother Chris. Busted. I yelled for him and he looked, shocked, since nobody REALLY knew I was around, and then I yelled, Where's the In-n-Out Burger? He pointed toward Imperial Hwy and yelled stuff I couldn't hear, but in the end, Jill phoned and gave me directions and then DEMANDED we swing by. I caved. We did. Cece got her burger and fries and also got to see Chris's pool and we spent an hour chit-chatting.

It bears noting that once we got back on the freeway again there was another In-n-Out about two exits away.

But it was fun and in true Jill fashion, we walked away with a whole bunch of stuff that she markets.

We made it to Palm Springs at around 3pm I think, I can't really remember. The unit (the $49-per-night condo that everyone was convinced would be a dump) was great. We changed clothes and headed out downtown to get some water and beer and chippage to just have, and stopped at a bar for a couple of Stellas. It was hot. We made it back to the pool by around 5:30 or so, past sun time, but with time to swim a bit and cool off and chat with two women who were out from Santa Monica for the weekend.

So in my attempt to be brief, we're only at day one. I can't believe I've written THIS much, frankly, so I might have to actually extend this. For those of you that hang on my every word, this is fantastic news. For those of you who just have me on your Reader and don't really linger over the words, sorry. You're stuck with another couple of posts before we're through this one.

Until later...

Procrastination

2010-08-20T20:45:00.000-07:00

Did you know I have 821 posts on this blog? Well, after this one, 822. I'm stunned you people don't go back and read EVERY SINGLE ONE of them when you stumble upon this thing. That was sarcasm, in case you were wondering.

I'm procrastinating. I have to get up at like 3am (seriously), shower, make sure I have everything, chase after the kitties to give them extra love, empty the dishwasher, take out the trash, remember something(s) I forgot, and then Cece will be by at around 4:45 to pick me up.

Tomorrow at this time I will be one or all of the following:

- slightly sunburned
- crazy tired
- thrilled with the fabulousness of my thrifty vacation-planning
- hammered
- realizing I forgot something important

I guess at this point I'm pretty much packed except for the bathroom-related items, most of which are packed but some of which you can't pack until the very end. Like the toothbrush, the hairdryer and the curling iron. I have definitely over-packed but it fits in the middle-sized suitcase so I'm feeling pretty good about things. I really should be going to bed soon.

So let's hear it for adventure, and I'll be back in five days or so to give you the lowdown. That is, of course, if there is anything to tell.

Let's face it, there will be.

It doesn't have to make sense

2010-08-17T06:42:00.000-07:00

I haven't heard this song on the radio or anywhere else in years, so it should have surprised me that when I woke up this morning this song was stuck in my head.

It should have, but it doesn't. God only knows where my mind goes when I fall asleep.

Obituarizing

2010-08-14T07:11:00.000-07:00

So I was chit chatting with my friend and coworker Annette yesterday at the circus. She seemed pretty stressed out. Work has been busy, and to top it off she is one woman living in a house with a husband and two teenaged sons. She calls them all pigs (which is pretty normal, I think, I mean, my brothers were in charge of the yard, and the girls of the housecleaning - in Oregon, yard work really happens for maybe 3 months out of the year if you play your cards right). Anyway, she told me one day she was completely fed up and gave them an assignment - write your own obituary. She meant it so that they would realize what, if any, impact they had made on the world, but deep inside it was self-serving: once she killed them, she'd still have to figure out how to eulogize them. Don't worry, Annette isn't a psycho killer disguising as an escrow officer, but let's be honest - the job is enough to want to make you go postal. Coming home to a house full of non-productive boys can't make it any better.

She asked me if I thought she was a terrible person. I told her no, that I thought it was a great idea. I don't think teenage boys with little motivation would find it a challenge, but for someone like me, staring down the barrel of 45? Great idea.

It has never been my intention to have accomplished certain things by certain ages in my life. I have always just sort of gone where the wind takes me. Considering I am still in this apartment after two years, which is pretty much the longest I've lived anywhere since 2004, and the fact that I have pets, well, I feel myself sort of ... stopping. Slowing down, anyway. Grounding myself, but that implies that I'm trying to ground myself, and I'm not sure that I am. I have a sort of resistance to the security that staying in one place for too long brings. If I didn't have a general mistrust of doctors I might have that looked at, but alas..

So what will someone say about me when they stand up in front of the handful of people that might attend my funeral (this sounds sort of morbid, doesn't it? But death is a part of the circle of life, my friends. Everything is inevitable.)? What have I done? Have I made an impact on anybody besides making people laugh? Is there anything more tangible than just trying to pull somebody out of a crappy mood or helping someone work up a file? Surely someone's life is better out there because of me, right? But whose? And what have I done? (By the way, these are rhetorical questions; I'm not fishing for answers.)

I guess the ultimate goal should be to walk away from my own obituary thinking, That was a good person. This is an exercise I have to put some thought into, and who knows, I might even publish the result for the 14 of you that are left reading. For now, think about Annette's idea and consider the impact you have made on your world. And then consider there is still time to change anything that doesn't sound so good.

(Fairly deep for a Saturday morning, yeah?)

Here's why I'm a sucker for marketing

2010-08-09T21:01:00.000-07:00

This is not my bedroom. I wish it was, but it's not. Currently my bedroom has a bed on a frame with no headboard or footboard, two mismatched antique chests of drawers, two comforters and four pillows, all with mismatched textiles. There are shoes on the floor in front of the smaller chest, which holds a dusty fan and several tshirts, a pair of jeans and some cotton shorts. There is a mirror on one of the walls and a TV on the other chest. It could be described at the very least as functional. But it's not the bedroom in the picture.

I like simple, almost stark, clean, pure lines. I like big fluffy comforters with duvets in rich tones. I like a bed that screams out to the living room, "Come on in and lay down!" For some reason I have never actually had that kind of bedroom.

I got the Ikea catalog in the mail today, and I love Ikea because Ikea for some reason knows exactly the life I want to live. Or at least the place I come home to after having lived it. I want every one of the duvet sets and all but a few of the beds. I want throws and big comfy sofas and wicker chests with big brass buckles that I'd use as a coffee table. I want simple prints in silver frames lined up along one wall. I want soft linen panels that hang from a cafe rod over my slider and softly billow in the breeze. For some reason I want a dining room table that's already set with earth-toned plates and bowls and napkins in wooden rings. I want something at least marginally more attractive than what I currently have to set my old-school tube TV on. I want rugs, and throw pillows, and hooks to hang my coat on when I come in the door. I want to walk in to the bedroom and toss my sweater on to the bed and have it LOOK like it's supposed to be there.

The people who live in the Ikea catalog do not have cats whose claws have absolutely and irreversibly ruined their sofa. They do not have to vacuum constantly to get the hair up, and do not find stuffed mice in their shoes. You never see kibble on the kitchen floor or little splashes of water next to the bowl. They don't wear houseclothes, or if they do, they are certainly nothing like mine. They dust (or someone does it for them). They lounge, they eat whole wheat pasta with feta and quinoa salad and sip red wine. They watch public broadcasting and are working on their next novel. They don't realize they have to take the trash out the minute the bra is off, the make up removed and the hair is pulled on top of the head. They prefer bicycles to cars and are responsible enough to phone the Beaverton Honda to schedule their rear brake repair. They balance their checkbooks and have ironing boards and like to knit. I'd never make it in the Ikea catalog world.

But I think I want a bed, at least a bed, that looks like this one. It's time I had one, don't you think? Maybe if I start with a bed, it will inspire me to build the life I've always supposed I should have. The life the Ikea catalog says I should have.

Debated

2010-08-07T12:17:00.001-07:00

To drink or not to drink... that was the question.

I woke up this morning thinking about all I had to do today and promptly spent the next three hours on the internet and the phone. Why am I surprised? It's like any other Saturday. It's past noon and all I have done is gone to the mall for some necessities. I still have to tan, hit the supermarket, clean, hit the Target, hit the Petsmart, and find time to relax.

Rewind to this morning at 6am when Lava convinced me to get up (I slept in): I have this party tonight and I wasn't sure about drinking at it.

Isn't that funny? What a decision! Like anything I wrap my head around, I become almost obsessed with the consequences. I had a ride, so I didn't have to worry about driving, and that's one of the reasons I don't drink so much anymore (only on vacations - it used to be "only when I'm out of the country" but I'm going to Palm Springs and I fully intend to drink while there). I started thinking about Sunday morning, and how I would feel, and even if I didn't drink that much I might psychosomatically feel more hungover than I really would be and would spend all day on the sofa when I should be doing something productive like cleaning the cat box or vacuuming. Then I went on to Monday morning, and how I was sure that I'd be bitter going in to work feeling completely cheated out of a weekend day, which would make me cranky and not fun to be around. For God's sake it's just beer.

But then Lori sent an email with regard to directions to my house, and I replied, you know... why don't I just drive? Because I won't miss the drinking part and it's probably better all around. Was I hoping she'd say, No no no it's fine, we'll drive, to give me an excuse to have a beer (or 13)? Kinda. But she jumped on it and I'm happy about it because in the end I am really not going to do any major cleaning today and I'll need tomorrow to finish up the shit I won't get done today.

So there it is. Now you know the battle that wages in my head any time there is an opportunity to drink socially. It's not so much that I think I'll get hammered and wrap my car around a telephone pole, it's more the fear of driving period. The Nordstrom girl said to me, well, you can have ONE beer, to which I replied, Yeah.. no I can't.

I really don't miss it that much. I don't like crave it or anything. Sometimes it would be nice to have a couple of beers and chill. But I haven't been able to stop at a couple since I was about 16, so really it's better this way. And if the Nordstrom girl knows about it now, then it's not like I won't have a problem being chatty tonight, right?

It'll be fun and tomorrow will be productive, and that's the way I like it.

They're the luckiest people in the world

2010-08-05T21:28:00.001-07:00

You can't say that I don't get out much. I get out. I just sometimes prefer to be home. I have a job that can be at times very frustrating, very busy, very draining, and after a long day I mostly just want to put on my houseclothes and be in for the evening.

When I do go out, however, I have a really good time, and wonder why I don't go out more often. The first Wednesday of every month I meet for dinner with a group whose common denominator is my colorist. It's not a huge commitment and I get to go to places I wouldn't otherwise go (meaning I cross the river. I rarely cross the river). It's a diverse group (though there are two in the escrow biz like me) and the conversation is great.

But I'm a creature of habit - or should I say I'm somewhat chained to my routines? I like to be in bed by 10pm and I like to get up around 4:45am. Change these up a little and I feel like a wrench has been thrown into my whole day. I'm getting better, but I still find myself checking my watch at 8:15, wrapping it up by 8:30, and then racing like the wind across town before I have to turn on my headlights (have I mentioned I HATE that I have to turn on my headlights now at 8:45pm? I hate it when summer goes). I find myself a little bit rushed, patterns off, and though I go to bed at mere minutes past 10, I wake up the next day tired and feeling a little hung over (it's important to mention I haven't had alcohol since Dec 12..). There is no question it's all in my head. The real question is how do you make it get OUT of there?

Saturday I am meeting a couple of high school friends and heading over to another high school friend's house for a mini-reunion. We did this last year, though the players may change this time around. Seems like it will be smaller. I think I'm looking forward to seeing a couple of people and then calling it good, but again, it's something different. Getting out. Being social. Un crazy-cat-ladying myself. Maybe.

The good news is the Palm Springs trip is on (major clusterfuck on that one - I booked the wrong week. It's worked itself out though) and soon I will be laying out in 110 degree heat for the tan of the year. I've also priced out Cancun, and it's doable. But at the same time my rear brakes are out now, my front brakes will be done in 5000 miles, and I'll need new tires before winter. So it's a good thing I'm flat ass broke or I'd have a hard time deciding what to pay for first.

Things are mel, it's summer, I've got some potential worries but I'm not letting them get me down. I'm looking forward to being social and needing people around me again. For a little while, anyway.

Wish list

2010-08-03T06:38:00.001-07:00

I wish that I could wake up in the morning and not have to clean up cat vomit.

I also wish that I could remove this plumbing and not have to deal with this crap every month. There's a big trend of that going on in my offices these days. Why can't I get in on that? What did my uterus ever do for me?

I'm bitter and sick of cat vomit.

How I remember it

2010-07-30T05:13:00.000-07:00

It was summer and Darby had a little league game at Alpenrose main. I wanted to go - I went to all the games with Brenda and her family, even after they moved out of our neighborhood a mile or so to Highland Hills. Things weren't looking that great at my own house, there was a kind of finality in the air. I was 14; all I wanted to do was what I always did - go watch the baseball game.

So I left at, I don't know, around 3 or so, to walk over to Brenda's. I don't remember exactly but I'm guessing the game started around 6 so we would leave from her house at around 5:30. I remember sitting in their dining room, just waiting around to leave, when I heard a siren in the distance. And knew.

About 15 minutes later my brother Tom showed up to take me home, but I didn't want to go. I remember not crying or really even saying anything, I think I just wanted it to be normal, until Brenda's mom found me and hugged me, hard. Then I think I just cried because I didn't like being the center of attention, that this wasn't going to be a regular summer night and that I wasn't ready for this sudden change. I told Brenda's mom to make Tom leave because I wasn't going with him, and so he left.

A little while later Barbie showed up. She was 26, so she was old, and there really was no saying no to her. I had to leave with her and I wasn't happy about it, and I know Brenda and Lenore didn't really know what to say or do so they stood there at the top of the stairs and watched me leave. I don't think I spoke in the car or even at home, though Barbie did, and I remember her speech, but I didn't want to cry in front of everyone because they expected me to. Anyway there were enough people at my house when we got there that I could just fade into the background.

By the time we got home the body was gone. I remember Mom calling Alaska to tell Benny and Chris. I remember Brad and I going to Burgerville (a very rare occasion - we never had fast food). I remember my mom being pissed at the ambulance company for running the siren when she specifically asked them not to (and I still think that was for me), but I don't remember much of anything else. Sitting around, too young to drink, wondering what was next and not wanting to find out.

Brenda and Lenore phoned me from Alpenrose. I remember that because I can imagine how hard that must have been for them. That was like really shocking to me, that they cared enough to call. We were neighborhood friends since we were toddlers, we were more like siblings than actual friends. I guess I was just surprised to see how people treat you when they care about you.

The rest of it was just auto-pilot. The first time I ever got drunk was the day of the funeral; that was the first time I ever met my Aunt Pat, too. Auto-pilot, act like it's just another family event, don't let them see you sweat. Nobody tells a 14 year old how they are supposed to act at a time like this.

Since then I have always been the girl without a dad, back when divorce was what happened to public school kids. Nobody on my end of the family ever talked about it; it happened and then it was over and then life just went on.

I went to public school, I made lots of friends, I drank too much too young, I sort of went to college, I learned a great work ethic, I moved out of state, I had relationships, disappointments, victories, memories. I can be friendly, intimidating, mean, loud, helpful, thoughtful, moody and irritable. I've been every age to 44, but still sometimes I'm just 14.

And that's that.

Self respect - it's worth the effort

2010-07-28T06:26:00.000-07:00

I usually listen to 105.9 during the afternoon drive home because I like their show. They have my sense of humor. Whenever commercials or music comes on, I change, because the only time I allow not singing in the car is when I am listening to Mark and Brian in the morning and the folks in the afternoon. Unfortunately, in the afternoon, their isn't much talking, and the music on that station isn't consistently good, so I guess I don't listen to them THAT much, just enough.

So yesterday apparently (because I missed the original lead-in) there was a caller, a mom, who wanted to let them know that she is raising her daughter to enjoy sex whenever she can get it, and get really good at it, because it's fun and she should enjoy life. I think her daughter is like 12. This elicited much feedback from the rest of the listeners, of course, and all of it, of course, was anti-this mom. Of course. It should have been. This mom is a whack job that shouldn't be raising kids. But truthfully, some of the feedback had me a bit worried.

I'm not a mother (to human children, anyway) and never wanted to be one. Because of this I rarely opine about how people should raise their children. But I think that when people are raising their kids, it doesn't hurt to remember what it was like to BE one.

Not in the sense of "When I was a kid my parents didn't let me do ANYthing, so I'm going to let my kids do EVERYthing". More in the sense of "When I was a kid, my parents didn't let me do ANYthing, but I sure found some ways to do it all!" Kids are crafty and resourceful - their minds are not yet jaded and shrouded in the bitterness that only "real life" produces. So when a parent says to a kid, Don't do this, it's wrong and it's bad, and you'll go to hell, and it'll go on your permanent record, the odds are pretty good that kid is going to find out just how true this advice really is. So when the callers calling to say Oh my God, horrible Skank Mom! You're teaching this girl that she is rubbish and she as well as all others should not respect her!, I think to myself, well, if the kid doesn't think sex is all that big of a deal, then maybe she won't be that interested in getting it early and often. Reverse psychology, although that's a pretty big gamble.

I have a friend who read on her under-18 year old kid's FB page something about getting some pot for a party. The kid is pretty responsible (at the surface, I mean, really, who knows? I made a pretty good impression myself back in the day..), and it was a shock to my friend, so she called her kid and chewed him out over the phone in front of his friends, etc. She called me later to tell me about it, and as much as I wanted to say (well, I DID say), Oh my hell, pot's NOTHING compared to what we were doing at his age! I knew that none of that mattered. She HAD to yell at him, he HAD to be in trouble, she HAS to be a hypocrite. Because that's how it works. You throw out some boundaries, they test them, they get in trouble when they get caught. None of this feel-good-so-long-as-your-safe-and-understand-the-consequences bullshit. Chew 'em out, take away the car, ground them, make them suffer. They'll either not do it again or just learn to not get caught, but that's life's lesson right there - once they are out in the "real world" they'll need to know how to overcome obstacles all the time (which is a nice way to say "get away with bigger, more important stuff").

But I digress. So the Skank Mom is pretty much not a great person. And her kid is going to be all fucked up in the end, no question. But I guess what kept bothering me about the other callers was the undercurrent of all of this was: Sex is a bad thing that only bad people do, and the only one who loses the respect of others when they DO have it is the girl. Talk about a double standard. I think once we start teaching kids self confidence and self respect, the rest should fall into place. Doesn't that make sense? A kid looking for love in all the wrong places is doing so because they can't find it from within. And that, my friends, is the moral of today's long, disjointed post.

Bottom line, all you people who chose to have kids, be a parent. Which means "parent". Set boundaries. Be the bad guy when you have to. Anything else is just irresponsible. Or just don't reproduce for the sake of having a mini-me.

Almost famous

2010-07-25T06:47:00.000-07:00

Apparently TtheD was featured as the Blog of the Week in the Oregonian on Saturday. The entry from July 11 where I didn't take a shower and tried to find a fan. Desperately exciting post. I don't get the Oregonian but my brother Tom does and he is also a TtheD reader so imagine his surprise. I think it's probably only in the west side editions because it was in a community-related section and they obviously change those out so their Sandy residents don't have to read about what's going on in Aloha. It has had absolutely NO impact on traffic to the site, however, but that's okay. It's not like I'm looking to become famous or anything. Famous people have to shower constantly.

I've been everywhere this week (almost), and have had a lot of ideas to blog about but now I can't really remember what they were so we're back to pretty much nothing. Trying desperately to find a vacation for August. I think we've landed on Palm Springs/Palm Desert, if the price is right. I'm a complete cheap skate and want to spend as little as possible for luxurious opulence. Since my vacation is less than a month away I might as well get right on it.. I need real sun. I don't know why I don't go to my own pool here at the casita, but I don't. Usually when I think about it it's Sunday and Sunday is Screaming Child Day here, apparently. I'm not sure why Saturday isn't, but Sundays are pretty much relentless with the kiddies at the pool. I didn't even think that many kids lived here. At least I don't see very many of them the other days of the week.

It's been a long week, surely I had to have done SOMEthing.

Oh.

Tuesday afternoon I made a last minute decision to go to a broker open house in Lake Oswego with Whitney and Sheree' (I was working downtown). Good choice. This house is phenomenal - right on the lake, incredible views and a guest house that I would love to live in if I could only find someone to buy the property. The girls went on a boat ride while I chitchatted with the realtor client, and we ended up staying until around 5:30, chatting on one of the five balconies, enjoying the view and the afternoon sun. That's the way to live. None of this hoping-no-one-is-parked-in-your-carport-can't-use-the-pool-Sunday-because-of-screaming-kids-need-to-run-all-over-town-for-a-fan-for-the-living-room crap. But the flip side is that someone would need to keep that place clean and I have a hard enough time doing that in a two bedroom flat. Oh well. In my next life I'll have the wherewithall to afford that kind of lifestyle.

Adult ADD Me just realized the Anniversary Sale is going on now, so perhaps I should finish cleaning the bedroom and shower and hit the Square. And leave you all with the confidence that this particular entry will never be Blog of the Week anywhere.

iFeliz Cumpleanos!

2010-07-21T06:26:00.001-07:00

Happy Birthday to Becky!

This fabulous girl is a great friend from the Mexico days ~ just one of the many reminders of what great fortune I have had over the years.

Hope your day is wonderful and that all your wishes come true!

Because I just have nothing to say, mostly because of this ear and the meds that aren't sitting right and frankly, I like this song. It seemed to fit.

2010-07-19T20:25:00.000-07:00

Is someone trying to tell me something?

2010-07-16T06:12:00.000-07:00

One has to wonder what kind of a day it will be when it starts like this:

- The only dreams that are the clearest and easiest to remember from last night involve plane crashes
- You wake up, twice, thinking you have slept through the alarm due to your ear infection that has rendered you, once again, deaf in one ear, all in a panic until you realize it's an hour earlier than you woke up thinking it was
- Just before it's time to go in and plug in the curling iron, you see one of your cats ass-out behind the kitty litter jug in the bathroom, tail swinging furiously, trying to get "something"
- You realize what that "something" is and go back and sit at the computer with your coffee, hoping she'll get it and you won't have to deal
- Five minutes later you see her chewing on "something" in the hallway
- On your way back in to plug in that curling iron you see what is either a piece of rolled up thread or the remains of your kitty's morning snack
- You decide you just don't want to know which one it is
- One of your first thoughts of the morning is, Hm, I wonder if I'm going to get my ass chewed out more, or less, today from that attorney that called me an idiot yesterday
- You realize you can't seem to let that one go
- You also realize that you have back to back to back to back signings starting at 8:30 this morning and you are not fully ready for the last two
- You're pretty much ready to go at 6:19 am and don't have anything to blog about so you just decide to go to work

Happy Friday. Give me strength.

Well I guess I could give you the recipe..

2010-07-13T21:16:00.000-07:00

Really? You want to make something I call "ghetto pasta salad"? You asked for it. But first, some background.

I've been poor most of my adult life, except for that 4 or 5 year stint where I had no bills, paid next to nothing in rent, and had insane disposable income while saving to move to Mexico. Of course, I lived in the house of cards, which was fine if you ignored the carpenter ant issues. But then I moved away, spent all my money, came back, made some more, moved back, spent even more money, racked up my credit and am back to being poor. The circle of life. Anyway, back when I was just newly on my own, living in Southern California on next to no money, I used to have to dream up concoctions for dinner that would utilize what might happen to be in the cupboard at the time and still tasted somewhat decent. Some of these concoctions will never be replicated; others, like my ghetto pasta salad or my ghetto fried rice, are still a part of my diet. I don't expect anyone to bring this pasta salad to their next potluck, nor do I expect you to even want to try it, but I think it's pretty tasty. Of course, I have kind of weird taste.

So here goes.

Ghetto Pasta Salad

You'll need -

Pasta - any size, shape or amount except the long skinny stuff. These days I use whole wheat pasta.
Lawry's Season Salt
Oregano
Olive oil
Water
Sliced black olives
Mild white cheese, cut into cubes - I used to use Farmer's cheese before it got popular (and ridiculously expensive) - now I use white Mexican "Casero" cheese because it's cheap at the Winco

To prepare -

Boil your noodles (I shouldn't have to tell you that)

Make your dressing - 5 tablespoons olive oil and 6 tablespoons water. I don't know why but that's what works. Add the season salt and oregano - heavy on the oregano. If you're not sure, you can always make up for it, so go sparingly on the salt until you're used to making it. There's no fixing too much season salt. Stir and set aside.

Drain your cooked pasta, and run cold water over them until they get cool. You don't want any heat left in them at all. Drain well.

Add the noodles to the dressing, add the sliced olives and the cheese, and mix well. Here's where you can taste to see if you need a dash more season salt, or more oregano. I like the taste of the oregano so I generally will add more in this step. It's just not ghetto pasta salad if you don't leave the table with oregano in your teeth.

Chill and serve.

I'm not a mayonnaise person so I like this, and I'm not really sure what 22-year-old me was doing living in her dumpy Huntington Beach apartment with olive oil and Lawry's Season Salt in the cupboard, but I guess it's a good thing I had it. I usually make enough to last me a few days, because I'm not a big fan of cooking for one mid-week and it gets better the longer it sits in the fridge. I suppose you could add to it, but then it wouldn't be my recipe, would it?

Provecho!