17

I made the appointment for P.J.  This is going to be harder than I thought.

Un-Happy Feet

Today, for the first time in months, I am wearing socks and shoes to work.  I pushed the sandals as far as I could, and today I had to relent.  No more cropped pants, either.  So sad.

My feet are unhappy, for a short time, until they will be able to wear boots.  Maybe next week?  Within a few weeks, I hope.  It must be attributable to my weird mix of hippie and punk — sandals or boots, no other footwear please.  Besides figure skates, of course, the prettiest of all footwear.

Now I’ll have lots of socks to wash, not just wee socks for the gym or mowing the lawn, but many, many socks, mostly black, which will need to be properly paired up before being returned to their sock drawer.  What a pain.  If I could afford to, I’d stock up for the winter and toss each pair in the trash at the end of the day, just to avoid the whole laundering/pairing process.

It’s amazing what can bring out the laziness in me.

=^..^=

Last Night

So, which of last night’s events am I more excited about, the news that the not-so-competent instructor is leaving the school or the phone call from Lala?

The correct answer would be (A) the news that the not-so-competent instructor is leaving the school.

I’m banking on the odds that her replacement will be better, not worse.  This is particularly good news as we are scheduled to complete theory in March.  I (and a number of my classmates) have been concerned about mastering theory well enough to be successful in the subsequent speed classes.  Goodbye and good riddance to the scatterbrained instructor!  Let the improved learning begin!

As for Lala, I’m more curious than excited.  Let’s see, we last left off about six months ago when, following a passionate smooch, he was going to call me upon return from his trip to Japan.  Predictably, that never happened.  The call, that is, not Japan.  Maybe Japan, too, but how the hell would I know?  So, last night, he calls out of the blue.  Don’t you just love the way he keeps popping into my life, like herpes or something?  Anyway, I agreed to go out with him tomorrow night (no school prior to holiday weekend).  This is strange, even for him.  I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on in that head of his.

Lastly, I want to thank previously unknown to me reader Sheila for her wonderful idea about displaying my great-gram’s doilies:  Framing.  It’s perfect.  I plan to frame them and hang them in my bedroom, either alongside my bureau mirror (hung in a vertical row) or replacing my trio of colorful straw hats (hung horizontally, as the hats are).  It will be like snowflakes, year-round.  I especially like that they will be cat safe.  Many thanks, Sheila.

=^..^=

What I Hate About You

“Reconfirm.”  One of the many reasons I loathe BFB Bob.  And attorneys in general.  When faced with an undesirable response, they tend to just keep asking the same question, often rephrased, until a desirable response is obtained.  Corporate nagging, if you will.

How about allowing me to reconfirm my hatred for you, you annoying, waste of my time, pain in the ass?

=^..^=

Did I Mention It’s My Birthday?

‘Cause it is.

Another birthday, another childhood photo.  This one’s from second grade:

The dress is purple, though it appears blue in this scratched up, faded photo.  I was all about the purple in second grade.  It was the year I met my dear friend Olivia, who shared the purple passion.  We even had almost identical purple plaid skirts.  Tres chic.

Nice Letterman gap between my front teeth.  Fortunately, that closed up within a year or so, and it didn’t concern me in the least at the time.

The scary thing about this photo is that this is what my hair currently looks like!  Medium-long, brown, straight, bangs, sides pulled back (in an ear-level clip now, not a high up hair ribbon).  Eeek!  This has to be a bad thing, right?  Thank god I’m getting a bob soon.  I’m freaking now, seeing that I have my second grade hair.  I mean, WTF?

Dinner with Mom yesterday.  The coolest thing she gave me was several of the doilies my great-grandmother tatted (crocheted).  I’m not a doily person, but the fact that they were made by Great Gram Georgianna, the only great-grandparent I knew, makes all the difference.  Amazingly, the doilies are still gleaming white, no yellowing whatsoever.

Great Gram did lots of fine crocheting — doilies, trimmed handkerchiefs, doll dresses — many of which Mom still has.  So cool.

Lastly, a bunch of September birthday shoutouts:

Emma (September 4)
Kelly (September 19)
Michaela (September 20)
Audrey (September 23)

Happy Birthday, all!

Here’s the card I made for ladybug lover Emma:

The wings part to reveal the message.  Hopefully, more cards to come and maybe even some in the Etsy shop, if I ever get going on that.  With school and all the time it takes up, I make no promises.

Maybe by the next birthday.  Maybe.

=^..^=

Friday Night Live

Friday night class = no bowling.

It’s a good thing I like school, so there’s no resentment.  We finally have our computer class, learning to use the translation software.  Yeah, our steno machines connect to computers, and the software provides instant English translation from our cryptic writings.  Back in the day, court reporters had to type all their notes to produce transcripts.  Now, all we have to do is proofread, edit, and perhaps do some tweaking to the format.  But first, gotta learn how to use the software, of course.  Should be interesting.

The class runs to mid-December.  There are a couple of nights off, so I’ll probably be a substitute for the bowling league.  It seems that they lost a lot of bowlers this year.  As always, they have picked up some new people, but not as many as they needed to replace all the departed bowlers.

As for the second half of the season, who knows?  I’m hoping I will have the opportunity to test out of the English class that is scheduled for Fridays beginning in January.  Successfully test out, that is.  I think the emphasis in that class is going to be punctuation, so let’s see if Mrs. Fournier’s (the punctuation Nazi) teachings have stuck over the years.  I still have the textbook from her class and plan to do some reviewing.  I really don’t want to have to take that class.  I think it would be painful having to sit there and re-learn punctuation with people who have already demonstrated that they know little to nothing about possessives, gerunds, and independent clauses.

Yes, let’s hope that I am bowling for the second half of the season.

=^..^=

P.S.  Just got in a little aerobic workout, dashing out to the parking meter that I knew had just expired.  Expired but not yet ticketed.  I win!  On the way back, I noticed someone in full pirate regalia by the ATM.  Yes, the art students are back.

Corporate America Sucks, Part VI

Sister-in-law Jackie soon will be unemployed, as will a number of her coworkers.  Her job with Big Health Insurance Company is being outsourced to India.  Way to go, assholes.

USA and Corporate America, striving to keep unemployment rates in other countries low.

=^..^=

Sunday with the Donovans

Jenny’s sister Robin is here for a rare visit.  I haven’t seen her since she was in high school, which means I was still in elementary school.  Wow.  She isn’t quite so tall as I remember.  I would have recognized her, though, because I’ve seen photos over the years.  Otherwise, I might have expected waist length hair and frayed bell bottoms.

 

We waited out the showers and took in an arts festival.  After we browsed through the vendors, I offered to give Robin a ride back to Smalltown, saving Mr. Donovan a trip.  No surprises, upon arriving at Mr. and Mrs. Donovan’s house, when Jenny and I were asked to stay for dinner.  Mrs. Donovan, cook extraordinaire, filled us to the gills with a yummy three-course meal.  She loves having people to cook for, but these days it’s usually just dinner for two.  Glad I could make her day, and my tummy thanks her.  The roasted potatoes were awesome, and I’m not much of a potato person.

 

Anticipating the dinner invite as we drove to Smalltown, Jenny and Robin told me they would be grateful to have me as a buffer.  You see, Robin is a lesbian, and her parents have never fully come to terms with it.  As much as I love Mr. and Mrs. Donovan (I’ve known them since I was six, so they’re almost like second parents), they are VERY Catholic, and well… T-e-n-s-i-o-n.  Hence, Robin’s rare visits from Arizona.

 

It’s sad, really.  I saw the late, great Andrew go through the same thing with his parents.  Even at his memorial service, when Christy and I were speaking with his mother, I remember her saying, “He really was a good person after all, wasn’t he?”  After all?  It was like she NEEDED to hear from someone — someone straight, that is – that he wasn’t some deviant, criminal, sinner.  Ugh.  I know, it’s a different generation with a different way of thinking, but I couldn’t imagine feeling any different about my child (if I were a parent) on the basis of sexual orientation.  Christy and I remember when Andrew came out to his parents, and how he injected his own wonderful humor into the story (too funny; I must relay it someday), but we knew how truly hurt he was by their reaction. 

I suppose all I can do is forgive the elders for being brainwashed into narrow mindedness.  I just wish they could let their love get them past the hurt.

Anyway, back to Robin.  She’s a cool-ass chick, super mellow with a great sense of humor.  I’m glad I got to hang with her after so many years, and it was my pleasure to make the family’s Sunday dinner less tense for all.  By the way, Robin’s Olympian client won a medal in track.  Robin is a sports massage therapist, and I knew her client brought her to the trials in Oregon, but I kept forgetting to ask Jenny if he made the team.  So, congratulations to both.

=^..^=

The PalinNameGame

Bristol, Piper, Track, Willow, Trig.

Let’s pretend Ms. Palin is having another baby (her own, not a grandbaby).  What will the name be?

My answer:  Hemp

Your turn to play.

=^..^=

P.S.  Loved Letterman’s comments last night about her prom hair and also when he referred to her husband as a “professional Zamboni racer.”  Ha.

The Office

I don’t want to be here.  It’s like this every day.

I don’t want to be here; I don’t want to do this work; I don’t want to be around (most of) these people.

I don’t want to be here.

But I think I must be using the wrong words, because no one seems to really understand what I mean.  It’s not just a flip comment.  I really don’t. want. to. be. here.  Ever.

Ever, ever, ever.

If I didn’t have bills to pay (including school bills), I would just pack up my stuff and leave.  Without saying a word.  And it’s like that every day.

Work alternates between mind numbing and just plain pesky.  The attorneys are a bunch of obnoxious assholes.  The staff are like blind, unthinking sheep who come in day after day and do their jobs without a complaint in the world.  Like they are content being constantly told what to do, no matter how meaningless.  Less mental strain for them, I suppose.  I want to get in their faces and yell, “Hey, man, don’t you get it?!”

It is sheer torture being here, especially knowing that I have to come back again tomorrow.  I mean, what about MY LIFE?  These bastards won’t be happy until there’s absolutely nothing left for me.  Or of me.

This place robs me of my personality, robs me of my identity.  The mere thought of my job depresses me.  Sometimes I even allow it to fuck up my weekends, if I forget to just push it aside.  It’s not always that easy.

But I won’t let them win.  I am better than this.

I am too numb to scream, and I think I need some chocolate.

=^..^=