terribleturnip: (percy)
While I've spend a lot of time over the past couple of years honing my communication skills, self-examination and personal development, I wanted to let you know that while I'm all ninja-skilled in some directions, I remain an idiot and danger to myself in others.

This morning, after carefully filling the tall recycle bin with all of the recyclables from both home and Faire, I promptly backed into and spilled it all over the road. That was me, dressed up, late for work and running down the road chasing cider cans and pickle jars.

Just a half an hour ago, I said to colleague "Dude, ass off the plant". He was leaning against one of the potted plants that I adopted. And I struggle a bit with professional language on Mondays. Sigh.

Out to lunch with a friend and she pulls out her phone, says "hang on, let me check the mirror" and starts fiddling with her hair. And I say, "oh, I've been wondering if there was a mirror app, that would be really handy" and she says "wait, what? Just use your camera." Oh, right. But they didn't used to...never mind. Yes, phone cameras work both ways now.

Pulling a rose out of my hat so that I could put it in the vase, it got hung up on the pin that keeps the side of the hat upright. So, I pulled harder. And punched myself in the eye with a flower. A flower.
terribleturnip: (percy)
#1. What stops me from writing is that I think I don't have time to get all the way into something interesting and after NOT writing for so long, I feel compelled to make a serious effort and deliver something fabulous. This is also what keeps me from exercising and cleaning the house. I need to knock it the hell off; it's really a stupid way of dealing with things. And being prideful about my procrastination being driven by high standards is even dumber. This is me, running after that thinking with a sword and pummeling it to death.

#2. I should stop throwing things. Forever. I use rocks at the bottom of my garden pots to faciliate draining. I wound up with extra ones, so I tossed them into the driveway, which is gravel. And pretty much nailed my car with the entire handful. Seriously, you have only gotten worse in a whole lifetime of throwing things...just give up and let other people throw things. (And yes, of COURSE there were witnesses to me pelting a fistful of rocks at my own vehicle. "It was pissing me off" I said.)

#3. I need to slow down when I read things. I don't know what kind of crazy lunatic taught me to read, but I don't really read left to right...it's more of a bouncing back and forth that somehow my brain turns into coherence. (Perhaps by robbing the "ability to throw" part of my brain of all of its resources.) On the one hand I read very quickly. And manage to have excellent comprehension. However, now that my eyes aren't what they're used to, I'm making more mistakes than usual. And the patterns in my brain are beginning to take over and fill in the meaning THEY want, rather than the meaning that's there. Which is especially troublesome when I'm scanning the web. So, when I read a headline: "Are atheletes getting faster, stronger, better?", I see "Are atheletes getting tastier?" which, at the time, makes perfect sense. But four clicks later, the rest of my brain catches up and says, wait, what? And I have to scroll back to find that much more mundane, rational headline. Maybe I can rent my head to The Onion.
terribleturnip: (percy)
Ah, it's that time of year when I once again remind myself that I shouldn't be so cavalier about being attacked by ants while working in the garden. It's sort of fun, in a way, trying to rearrange the rock border and having them swarm all over me, mostly ignoring them, sometimes brushing them off, yelping a little "ow!" when one of them sinks its tiny mandibles into me. It only hurts a little, and I'm always impressed with their bravery and determination.

And this time, feeling an occasional pinching around my lower belly, I had a great giggle, when finally I resolved to explore, and yep, there was a little ant, crawling around giving me a nip now and then. I had ants in my pants! (Sorry, but my inner eight year old was giddy with it. If you didn't at least smile at thinking of it, then maybe you should pull your inner eight year old out of the attic, clear the cobwebs off of him/her and let out to play.)

Of course, two days later, covered with big crazy-itchy welts that will last for two weeks or more, I thought "Why can't you remember that now you're allergic to this stuff?" Clearly the formic acid also messes with short term memory.
terribleturnip: (percy)
How's my day going? Well, to give you an idea, I just looked down at the time on my computer monitor and thought "ooh, I only have to hold on for another 37 minutes!" as there's a happy hour for a departing co-worker tonight. And I may work late from time to time, but not when sunshine and alcohol abound.

How sad was I, when I came back from asking a colleague a question, to find that it was still 37 minutes from quitting time? Or, in other words, to find out that I'm such a moron...or SOOOOO looking forward to the end of this day, that I hopefully mistook the date for the time.

More proof that the only reason they haven't taken away my Girl Card is because they just haven't gotten to me yet:

Shopping recently in Chico's, my Garanimals for adult women store, I picked up a couple of pieces in a new material, black of course, and the sales manager said "oh, and we have it in navy as well." I failed to edit, and said "oh, no, then I'd have to start up with navy shoes." He looked at me quizzically, and then with slight horror as I explained that I only buy work clothes that go with black shoes so that I can just always buy black shoes because that's easier. I tried to save with "oh, but I do have like ten pairs of black shoes" but pretty much rolled a 1 on a d20 on that.

(That, children, is a reference to Dungeons and Dragons, where rolling that 1 is a critical fail at whatever you were trying to do. I was legendary at my ability to roll ones. Thus the whole werewolf thing. But that's another story.)

I'm trying harder to do real grown up make-up. I mean, MistressFetch looks at me putting on my make-up and I can see the reflectionin her eyes of a monkey with fingerpaints, and I feel so sad to let her down, but my life just doesn't have room for more than a couple of products and about 2 minutes worth of effort, and my fingers don't have the coordination to do paint by numbers or anything at all artistic. But I'm trying to address the Danish pores and grease slick that is my T-zone (that's your chin, nose and forehead, for those of you still following along with the make up talk, where teenagers and young women, and middle aged Danes, apparently) that cause me to go through packs of blotting paper, dabbing up the oil that accumulates across my nose, chin and forehead. So, I got this stuff that's supposed to "prime" those areas and shrink pores, which is fine and easy. And then, also, a "finishing/setting" spray, which I started using for stage/halloween make up and realized that it really does help with the XL pipeline that is my face. Why now I can wait until 10:30 before I have to pull out the blotting paper, instead of as soon as I get to work!

But it's a spray. I have to put on the make-up and then spritz this stuff over my face.

My, my, I have awesome reflexes! It took two weeks before I settled down and stopped jerking away from the spray. Then another two weeks until I mastered the art of pointing it at me, closing my eyes, and then still have it point at my face. That was four weeks of a lot of finishing spray in my ears, let me tell you.

Finally, I'm all attuned. Although I may have gone too far, because now sometimes I forget to close my eyes, which means the sound of me putting on make-up ends with "spritz, ow, expletive, god damn it, spritz, augh, christ!" with a little bit of staggering around the bathroom. I'm pretty sure it's a great imitation of Ozzy Osbourne.

In other news, I jotted down this phrase from Sirbombalot's tumblr: Fill your heart with bees. If someone breaks your heart, then they have to deal with the bees. Some jackexpletive commented "No, fill it with wasps, because they're meaner and then the bitch will have to deal with angry wasps." And this angry WASP wanted to hunt that guy down and plunge his head into a wasp nest because, well, okay, I was having a bad day, so maybe I was overreacting. But seriously, dude, chill. And you're missing the damn point. Heart filled with bees. Who wouldn't want a heart filled with bees? All working together, industriously, in harmony, all downy and polleny, doing their happy bee work, building wax, making honey...

And if no one breaks your heart, you've spent your whole life with a heart full of happy bees! I aspire to have a heart full of bees. That's a great metaphor! Don't expletive it up just because you're still bitter about being dumped.

(Admittedly, I probably DO have a heart full of wasps, but seriously, they also create crazy things from mundane materials, and are very keen on taking care of their kith and kin. And yeah, okay, if you really provoke them, they will sting the daylights out of you. And unlike a bee that stings and dies, I will keep coming at you until the problem is solved. But really, we'd rather just buzz and scare you off.)

Finally, In honor of Shakespeare's birthday, here's a guy who does Duke of Clarence's speech as spoken by different celebrities. I don't normally like impressions, but this guy's ability to transition is amazing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j8PGBnNmPgk

Now I want to spritz makeup finisher in my eyes and see if I can extend my range beyond Ozzy.
terribleturnip: (percy)
Is there anything as heartening and hopeful as a brand spanking new engagement book/planner? You take it out of the package, or assemble it, and there it is: full of opportunities – things to do, things to plan, another year in which you think THIS year I’m going to get my expletive together and plan and prioritize and not get overwhelmed. This is the year I’m going to schedule more stuff for ME.

Why, you can even start plugging in events that you know are already set and it’s all neat and orderly and non-conflict-y. Although you can detect a slight whiff of something…despair?....wafting in like the ghost smell of a dead mouse somewhere in the walls. The faint carrion tang of “you know that you haven’t even plugged in all the obligations yet and already almost half the weekends are full with something, right?”

But there’s weeks before the new year starts yet, and a month of smelling Christmas tree in the house and right now you cling to the satisfaction that you have already decided to move one annual event to an every other year thing and this coming year is a skip year, so hey, ONE more weekend that’s MINE. In complete denial that you’ve already volunteered to set up a “girl’s weekend” for your mother, aunts and female cousins, and the fun/free time to work/obligation rate will probably be the same. But at least it will be different!

Okay, I’m going to change tracks before I tarnish all the hope on my brand new engagement book. And yes, it’s paper. I’m going to get one of those bumper stickers that says “You can take my pen and paper when you can pry it out of my cold, dead fingers.” Hey, I’m not a complete luddite. I’m all Google calendaring, and setting up electronic reminders. But let’s be realistic. That’s one tiny damn screen there. And my near vision is not likely to get any better. At any point in time, I’m juggling work, personal and volunteer priorities. Keeping calendars, contacts, to-do lists, reminders, notes, and learnings for the future. It’s hard to juggle all of that on a large monitor, much less a 4x2 screen. With non-conductive ham fingers.

And honestly, I’m more likely to remember something if I write it down, as opposed to type it. I don’t know whether that’s a product of my having grown up writing and that’s the way the pathways are laid down in my brain – so kids growing up with a keyboard as their primary device, are they better able to remember things typed than written? Or it could just be me: I memorize things by writing them down. It’s the only way I’ve ever been able to remember scripts is to write the dialogue, over and over again. I tried typing and it just doesn’t work. Except the fifth time, I can type it way faster. But only my fingers seem to be memorizing, not my brain. Even a shopping list – as long as I’ve written the list down, I’m likely to remember all, or at least most of it. Although maybe I should start writing ON the list: don’t forget to bring the damn list to the store, moron. Because, of course, the thing I tend to forget on the list is ALWAYS the primary reason I had to go to the store in the first place.

Literally.

Dec. 10th, 2013 10:22 am
terribleturnip: (percy)
I've joked about having a brush of Asperger's -- which isn't to make light of people with ASD, I am trying to stop that pattern because I think it's offensive to people who do have ASD, but it's going to take some time to rewrite that. I mean I do believe that as we learn more, we'll learn that there's no hard line between neurotypical and neuropathy. And of course, overall neurotypical doesn't meant you don't have varying degrees of ability/skill in all the subsets. My overall social skillset leave me comfortably neurotypical, although some of the social was purposefully learned and overcome. But there are definitely areas of weakness, even impairment. Certainly, if you just took my scores on literalness/failure to hear nuance and added that to my scores on bluntness and blurting...

Like, for example, when I post on Faceborg that those of us who had to get ourselves into work today, despite the weather, would appreciate it if those of you who got to stay home wouldn't gloat. Thus prompting several of my "friends" to not only gloat but do it right there, not even on their own page. Now, intellectually, I reason "okay, some of your "friends" are just morons. Others are just chucknuts and took it as a dare. Some think you have way more nuance than you actually do and think you'd find it funny."

But the me that was the primary me until about high school is sitting in chair, hunched over a bit, frowning, jiggling one knee and asking "why? I asked them not to, and they did it anyway. Why would you do that?" I don't have the time/headspace to really care about implementing my threat to track them down and ruin their day. Although I will freely admit, that if I were crazily wealthy? I'd hire someone to go leave a bag of flaming poop on each and every one of their doorsteps. Because I MEANT it.

Diego can attest to my ability to expletive a joke by taking whatever's been said...literally. Which still make it funny for him, I suppose, so not all's lost.

Last night, killing time while I was getting new tires, I wandered the mall and went into storefront currently occupied by an art cooperative. I'd read the signs, so when the volunteer behind the counter said "Can I tell you about our organization?" I really wanted to just say "No, thank you." But I thought that would sound dickish, so instead I said "Well, okay, as long as you're quick about it." Which sounded really reasonable to ME. But the look on her face and on the other person's face -- here's where I'm holding down the other side of the neurotypical scale, 'cause I rock reading body language -- was more than a bit taken aback and slightly offended. Expletive volunteers, my inner curmudgeon grumbled. But I tried to cover with "oh, you know, passion of a volunteer, we tend to go on."

And then she launched into not only a description of the organization and what they were doing there today, but also....sigh, history, other venues, shows they did elsewhere including a sidebar disagreement between the two volunteers about the actual name of certain shows and whether they had already mentioned one and which one was "the big one". And when they finally finished, because I was filled with goodwill toward men and am well aware of the fine line I often tread between blunt/literal and posteriororifice, did NOT say "See, that's what I meant about taking too long. Seriously, google 30 second elevator speech and practice it."

My boss: Oh, you made it in today! Me: Yes, that's why I left early yesterday, to get new tires so that I could get in today. Boss: Well, I know, but most people, new tires or not, weren't able to make it in. Me: Um, that was the deal.

And then he laughed. Which is probably how I got this way. Fountaingirl and others have congratulated me on being brave or having a set of brass balls, etc. When really it's just a social impairment. Me just being me, and then while I'm having second internal thoughts about how that was probably an artless phrasing or why can't my brain edit faster and the other person bursts out laughing. Which, after all, is a huge positive reinforcement. Which just makes me more likely to keep it up.

And the whole time there's this wide chasm -- because they're laughing because they think I said something really funny. I'm laughing because they think I'm kidding. And I just totally got away with being a complete posteriororifice.
terribleturnip: (percy)
So, reading with interest the new plan Amazon’s got to eventually deliver packages with drones. Please oh, please, let this plan not ever come to fruition while I still walk the earth. I’d have to wear a helmet every time I left the house. Avoidance subroutines, schmubroutines, have you MET me? Or read this blog? I do a daily dance of death with my cats in the kitchen, hallways and living room as both of our avoidance subroutines clash and conflict. My brain and spotty synapses can circumvent any logical and effective avoidance programming on this earth. Let me show you the scars on my ankles from the Roomba. I’d come out of the house and there’d be the drone headed for my door, all peaceably like. And we’d be fine. Except then while I was looking at the drone, I’d accidentally step into MommaCat’s water bowl, lose my balance and lurch to the side, which the drone would niftily dodge. Except nothing in its programming could possibly anticipate that I’d over-compensate for falling, and come lurching back in the other direction, which the drone would just barely adjust for…but then be doomed when I bounced off the railing (do everything with maximum force is my motto) and came back again and then, well, it’s hair full of rotors, isn’t it?

I’m just bummed that it’s in the news now. Because if this were right before Halloween, I’d have drones caught in the giant spiderweb, being eaten by carnivorous plants, being grabbed by the giant Chicken man, a heap of them smouldering, courtesy of dry ice, in the birdbath, carefully watched by bird skeletons, impaled on tombstones, caught in ghost tendrils….and I, of course, would be dressed as a this decade’s Tippi Hedren. (Look it up children, Tippi Birds Hitchcock)

I am no more competent when it comes to passwords. For starters, my fingertips have some property that not only makes them pretty non-reactive to touch screens – seriously, my future will include surgery to insert conductive chips in my fingertips so that I can continue to function in a touchscreen world – but also eats away at the letters on a keyboard. M, N, V, and B are particularly vulnerable. And you can probably tell right away, that any temporary password I’m going to get includes….MNVB in some combination. As a touch typist, albeit one that yes, can type without looking at the keyboard, but engages the backspace key and retypes probably half the letters struck, I suppose that would be the idiot-savant version of touch typist – I can mistype and retype words very quickly. Typing them correctly in the first place? Not likely. So, to address this password problem, where you really can’t engage your touch typist brain. (Well, I can’t. I type words, not letters and have no idea what my fingers are doing really.) But when I look down to hunt and peck, hmm, all of these blank keys….but hey, I engaged the big brain and viola! I printed out an image of a keyboard and keep that tucked underneath the real one. Ha! So, there.

(Please note, viola, as opposed to voila, is purposeful. Because it’s funny. Typed. Not spoken. Trust me on this one.)

So, you want to know why I deserve a medal right? )

Last Words

Nov. 27th, 2013 11:55 am
terribleturnip: (percy)
I'm posting these random bits because for four days I've had a headache on one side of my skull that is probably NOT the same thing as having a spike driven through it, but in my weaker moments, I liken it to that. At one point, when it started, I was laying down and it woke me up and I thought, ah, I'd better not stand up. What if it's a blood clot and I shake it loose and then it hits my heart and BAM, dead. I should just lay here and maybe...I dunno, it might dissolve? And, as queen of the glass half empty, but also empress of WASPY worrying about things that really don't matter, I started worrying. I should leave a note so people know where to find things like bank accounts and insurance. Hmm, the litter box isn't very clean and that'll be problematic. Did I leave something upstairs on the nightstand that should probably be put away, in case my mother's the next person in here? I should put more cat food in the bowl so they don't have empty stomachs and start nibbling on me too quickly. Or text a neighbor and ask her to check up on me if my car's still in the driveway tomorrow afternoon. And as seriously worried as I was about standing up and shaking DEATHCLOT free, I got up anyway because damn the litterbox really did need cleaning, and I had to pee. And I lived. But now it's three days later and it still hurts and I'm stuck in the conundrum of "if I go see a doctor, it will be NOTHING and I'll have to feel embarrassed for not being able to ride out a little headache" or "No one will know what it is, and after dozens of tests and shrugged shoulders, I'll just have to learn to live with it, which I should have done in the first place". OR, blow it off and drop dead over Thanksgiving weekend. So, I'm going to the doctor, but just to cover all pessimistic bases, I didn't want these gems to linger in my drafts folder. (Don't worry, I'll totally live. How could I die, knowing that these were my last words? Seriously.)

Cut for length, 'cause I do go on, even with stabbing head pains )
terribleturnip: (percy)
Okay, I've been hanging onto this one as I figured I'd better get the results (negative) back before I put it up, since I couldn't bear the thought of sympathy or others worrying about me....and I suppose you can enjoy the funny with a clear conscience then.

Not the entry to read if you're shy about ladybits...although it's the kind of talking about ladybits that's entirely clinical and should leave you still able to look me in the eye at a cocktail party without flinching. Assuming you can do that now.

Cut to cater to your sensitivity )
terribleturnip: (percy)
So you get home and get out of the car, and The Consort has gotten to the house before you did, but as you pull in you see a neighborhood gathering across the street so you wander over, thinking you'll check it out before going inside to greet TC. Or bring him out if this is a social gathering...but on closer inspection, it's mostly kids and just the mother of two of them and the owner of the house. And she says to you "help, I need an adult. I can be an adult for the kids, but I can't be an adult for the squirrel."

And you notice that the kids are gathered around the driveway where young squirrel is frantically running in circles. And it stops, and quivers a bit, and holds its head funny and then panics and whirls around in more circles. And it doesn't take a veterinarian to realize that we're talking neurological disorder...thankfully not rabies, but clearly it probably can't see and may have suffered some sort of brain injury...and you're thinking either poison or impact injury.

And another neighbor shows up and you're both discussing the options...although in your minds there's just one option and it's just a question of how and when, really. Surrounded by eight under-twelves. Who catch enough words to realize that you're talking about killing the squirrel and not taking it to the emergency room vet.

And you, being you, have only honesty and no-bull when it comes to kids, thinking they don't always need all the details, but they should understand the basic concepts of life and living. So, when several of them say no, we should catch it and set it free in the woods, you tell them "well, that sounds like a good idea, but it's really not the kindest thing we can do. Let's face it, this poor squirrel is very sick and he's going to die. So we can take him somewhere and set him loose and he'll probably just starve to death or die very slowly from whatever has happened to him. So the kindest thing we can do is to help him die fast so he doesn't have to keep suffering."

And although you realize that the other two adults are looking at you with trepidation that you laid it out like that, several of the kids nod solemnly and then begin a discussion of just how it's going to happen and one of them starts making jokes and one of the adults says "hey, don't minimize this poor animal's life by treating it like a joke" which I think is a fine sentiment. And we trap it in a bucket and the other neighbor goes off to get a board to slide underneath so we can remove the squirrel to a more private location for its ending. And the kids, demonstrating that the bloodthirsty, amoral beings I sometimes accuse them of being, decide suddenly that playing on the trampoline in another yard sounds like fun. And then the mom takes the littlest child inside on an errand to distract him from what's going to happen.

And you hear the squirrel under the bucket making sounds of distress, which just tears at your heart. And you look around and realize that all the kids are gone. And that there's a flat shovel leaning against the fence where you can reach it. So, you steel yourself -- you have done this hundreds of times because you are the person that other people turn to for these things, but it is never easy, and you don't want to tear your heart more by screwing up and making it not-fast -- and you grab the shovel, flip the bucket and kabang the poor little squirrel's skull into pancakehood. Fetch the bucket and scoop up the little squirrel corpse and tip him inside.

Realizing that while you thought no one was around to watch...the odds are pretty high that The Consort had been watching out the window while you, in your dress and pantyhose and high heels, brained the hell out of a squirrel with a shovel.

And when you finally go inside to greet The Consort and he doesn't even flinch when you reach for him? That's some strong and brave, right there.
terribleturnip: (percy)
So this morning I was running a load of laundry upstairs and managed to run the corner of the laundry basket into the door frame, which shot the opposite corner straight into my gut, which knocked me off balance to such as extent that I slammed the opposite shoulder into the other side of the door frame. Note to self: set up nannycams all over your house, because if expletive like this is going to happen…and hurt so much…you should at least be capturing footage so you can bring joy to the rest of the world.

Yesterday, I went over to my admin’s cube to see if she had a spare binder and while I was talking to her about the relative merits of the various binders…blame my job, things aren’t just THINGS anymore to me; it’s all PRODUCT…she got a quizzical look on her face and said “Umm.” And I was till rattling about binders and she pointed to my arm and said “UMMM.” So, I looked and there’s blood running down my arm, dripping onto the floor. I guess I got a little aggressive with that mosquito bite. Now I’m going to have to write two reviews for her. The real one and one where I “coach” her on the proper way to handle someone who’s bleeding all over your cube…like maybe “hey, stop bleeding on my floor!”

So the shoulder bruise, gut bruise and now bandaid on my arm go nicely with the forehead bruise, which is thankfully right above my hairline. You know, right about where a station wagon rear hatch clocks you when its hydraulics start to go and the door now doesn’t fully open unless you push it all the way up. It happens to all my cars. I’m kryptonite to those damn lift support things. And I can’t seem to remember to push it open all the way until I smack my head into it. Although to be fair, the repeated head injuries are probably not helping with the memory thing.

This afternoon is our community service day – where our department goes someplace to help out a charitable organization. And instead of doing fun outdoor activities like raking, weeding, cleaning out old barns/sheds, minor carpentry, which is what we used to do for a historical site, now we go to a place where we fill bags with an assortment of food/snacks so that underprivileged kids have food on weekends. Which is worthy…and appeals to my colleagues who used to complain about the other work being “too hard, too hot, too dirty.” If you know me at all, you can just imagine what I think about those complaints. Ahem. Although it did help me to sort out which of my colleagues will become jerky right away if the zombies come while I’m at work and we have to be holed up here for a while. Yep, I’ve already sorted out who’s NOT going to be wasting the limited food and water supplies. Although some of the slightly more energetic ones I may hang on to for a while just in case I need chain them to something as bait to distract the zombies while I escape.

Anyway, instead we’ll go to this place and fill plastic sacks with food…and I’ll have to bite my tongue because I’ll immediately spot how it could be made much more efficient. And then get frustrated with colleagues who can’t even handle THIS simple task without whining. And then sit through the prayer at the end where the very nice woman who runs the group thanks God for sending us to help the kids. And I will bite my tongue, because again, it’s a great cause and I’m so glad this woman is devoting her life to making sure these kids have a fighting chance, but seriously, lady, you can thank my company for choosing to value this sort of experience, you can thank me for showing up and working, and you can thank our suppliers who are donating some of the food, but seriously, if God took the time to make us show up or want to do this? Maybe he should use that time to fix these poor kids’ lives in the first place. Fix what’s broken so they don’t wind up hungry in the first place.

Anyway, off that soapbox that I clamber onto. I probably wouldn’t care, but that damn prayer is twenty minutes long, and I’ve heard it three times already. I usually throw in a non-work supported day to help them do food pickups and thankfully I just get a quick hug and a “praise the Lord for sending you to us” which is more manageable.

Work has been less than fun lately, but I did get charged with sourcing some products for a large customer, which led me to watertight, disposable, eco-friendly ice buckets and coolers, many of them made of cardboard. And you know if you can make a quick assembly cardboard waterproof cooler, you know what else you can make that needs to be very, very, securely waterproof?

Yes, disposable coffins! (You know, so that you actually return to the earth if they bury you, as opposed to slowly creepily mummifying and then maybe decay over decades, assuming the seals on the casket give way. Or, if you’re going to be cremated and you’re like hey, let’s not waste a lot of money on a wooden box we’re just going to set on fire. )

And there are all sorts of basic ones, and nice ones…and then I found a company that almost makes me regret my decision to not have any kind of service or viewing. Because I so want all you expletives to show up at a funeral parlor, walk into the somber viewing room and see THIS bad boy:
http://www.creativecoffins.com/coffins/peas/

I know, RIGHT? Be sure to check out the other ones…and yes, you can get them customized…so I dunno, maybe a female Viking…

Although I’m also thinking the popcorn box and have the coffin rigged with sound so that halfway through some damn weepy eulogy, you start hearing popping noises from inside the coffin.
terribleturnip: (percy)
I am a big giant sap. This cartoon made me cry, in the middle of my lunch. Big Time. At one time I was rather proud of my ability to burst into tears on cue – extremely handy for theater and role-playing for counseling classes. I did it by having a short list of memories that would trigger me – “Bambi, your mother can’t be with you now” was always a stand-by. I can now add “I’ll remember your bee, orchid. I’ll remember you” to the list:

http://xkcd.com/1259/

Of course, now I’ve got to spend the rest of the afternoon de-sensitizing myself to it, since I’ve already got a short list of the expletives amongst you that will come up to me this weekend and use that phrase.

Yes, I have a new smart phone. One that is clearly smarter than I am, since I barely can figure out how to use it. I figure it’ll take me about 18 months to get a handle on it. Sigh. I had a little trouble getting it set up, and the woman on the other end of the line who was trying to help me then insisted that I do a test call to make sure it was up and running…which was sweet, but it meant that I had to scroll through pages of set-up stuff and was barely use-literate enough to get from one screen to another, not sure if I was supposed to be touching something, swiping something, typing, whatever. I was not at my best – sorely irritated that something that is so easy for everyone else was something that I was struggling with. Self-shaming makes me really, really crabby. Plus, I was keenly aware that she was waiting for me to get through it all so I could make the test call and she could move on to the next customer. I really get stressed out when I feel like I’m holding people up. And me knowing how call centers work and how performance is measured, made it worse. It was awful.

Not made better when she consoled me “oh, don’t worry about it. Once you have a chance to sit down and just play around with it for a couple of hours, you’ll totally master this.” She was being very sweet, so I clamped down the full Imperial Dragon that wanted to unleash itself with a “Do I strike you as someone whose got HOURS to play around with ANYTHING? I’ll NEVER learn this, if that’s what I have to do! Why don’t you have an expletive user manual?” roar.

A week later and I’ve made minimal progress, but okay, I can handle some of the basic stuff, so the panic level is down. Although I still can’t figure out why it randomly “DROID”s me. I think it gets angry from time to time.

I ordered additional screen covers when I got it. I’ve just now placed ANOTHER order for screen covers, since I’ve had the phone a whopping total of seven days and the current screen cover looks like the plexiglass wall of an agitated Komodo dragon’s enclosure. Claw marks, scrapes, poisonous saliva and drippy nose smears.

(For the record, we now know that a komodo dragon’s saliva is not actually poisonous, just loaded with a dragon-ton of bacteria that causes rapid sepsis in the dragon’s prey targets. But I was already grossing myself out so I went with the more poetic, but less accurate.)

My most favorite of Liars hit the nail on the head – in order to write regularly, you have to write. And it’s hard, once you’ve gotten out of the habit, to get going again. I’ve been beating myself up about it and then realized part of my problem was not just that I had stopped making myself write daily, but that I’d fallen out of the habit of jotting down notes. For some reason, I was letting myself believe that I would REMEMBER that witticism, that interesting spark, that turn of phrase. Despite years of hard evidence that I do NOT remember, pretty much always.

At a certain point in the evening, after having spilled your glass of wine into the laundry basket of clean clothes…and then again onto your keyboard…you realize enough’s enough! Time to set limits! Enough damn laundry and writing, time to focus on drinking the wine.
terribleturnip: (percy)
In my inbox this morning was this pearl of wisdom:

How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then rest afterward. -Spanish proverb

I don't even know what that MEANS.

The fortune cookie I got last week makes way more sense to me:

"You lead a useful life no matter what riches are coming to you"

Useful and not holding my breath on the whole "riches" thing....yep.

AIYEE!

Aug. 1st, 2013 04:21 pm
terribleturnip: (percy)
One of the things I love about my corner of the veal pens is that I have a window. And beyond the parking lot/garage is woods. And on either side of the building to the right and left, are ponds. And I'm on the sixth floor. So, there are crows going back and forth to their rookery, vultures flying by, great blue herons, hawks, ravens, and even some small birds like goldfinches doing their swoopy flit. And sometimes they fly really, really close to the building, so I get a great level view. Which is cool.

However, that also means that when I look up and see a giant bug suspended outside my window, there's a fair measure of freakout. Because a heron flying by, okay, that's cool, and my brain does the math on how big a bird that far away actually is. Sadly, it does the same math on a stinkbug, not factoring in that the stinkbug is actually on the surface of the window, not 25 yards away, so my head keeps making it much, much bigger.

Yes, "keeps making it".

I'm starting to wonder just how many times I'm going to look up, have a little freakout, AGAIN, before my brain gets too exhausted to screw up the perspective any more. I'm hoping the damn thing will just fly off soon, because my brain's feeling pretty energetic.
terribleturnip: (percy)
I'll meet you at Happy Hour, I said, I just need to finish a couple of things up and then drop my things off in my car and then I'll be right over.

Hey, give me your keys and I'll drop them off now, I'm parked right next to you and doing the same thing.

Wait, how did you know it was MY car?

Umm, a case of diet mountain dew, a roll of duct tape, a rubber chicken and some dead animal's teeth on the dashboard. Who else's car could it possibly be?

Fair enough.
terribleturnip: (percy)
So, my parents are finally coming into town. It’s been nearly five years since they were last down and the last time was really just a drive-by, in town for a reunion and just stopping by for a couple of hours before they got back on the road.

I am freaking out.

And now begins the self-analysis: )
terribleturnip: (percy)
That last one wasn't funny. I started out there, then went to the walking sticks and then got all soapbox-y. So here:

You know when your modem goes offline and you have reboot it and you crawl underneath your desk (note to self for the MILLIONTH time, fix the damn cords so that you don't have to go UNDER desk) to flip the switches and you pause for the sixty seconds it takes for the space-time continuum to restitch itself. And then you start to come back up but as you back out, your bra strap catches on the back edge of the keyboard slideout drawer, so no matter how far you back out, the drawer comes with you, attached to your back, and your head is still just as far underneath the desk as before and you're sort of trapped?

No?

Really?

Because I totally do.
terribleturnip: (percy)
Is this:

At the conclusion of a meeting today, an attendee said to me "You're the only person I know who could use the words "hard-on" and "abhorrent" in the same business meeting."
terribleturnip: (percy)
Some nights, your menu tells a story.

You’re just not sure it’s a story you want to BE in. Doing my expense reports, I come across a restaurant receipt from my last trip.

Here’s one night’s dinner: Walking Dead, Roasted Duck, Brussel Sprouts, Forlorn Hope, Chocolate Tart, Hum.

Depending on how you choose to define that last one, it could have ended well...or not.

(Walking Dead, Forlorn Hope are cocktails and Hum a liqueur)
terribleturnip: (percy)
2.5 pounds down this week.

Okay, now we’re talking. And that includes completely falling off the wagon on Sunday night and having several Strongbows and cheezy, chili-encrusted nachos. As well as a midweek stress dive into a small bag of potato chips, and an emotionally vulnerable evening where I stayed up too late, definitely drank too much wine, and then binged on a container of low-fat cottage cheese. But I give myself “good decision points” because I’ve got a two pints of ice cream in the freezer, so if I’m going to eat half a container of something, cottage cheese was the way to go.

Because I hate it. I stock my house with foods I don’t really like. Because if I have something yummy, and desirable, I’m all over it. It’s all I can think about. I bring home a bag of potato chips and a good portion of my mind will be fixated on them…thinking nothing but “potato chips, want potato chips, potato chips” over and over again, like some kind of low-IQ cockatiel until finally I wrench open the bag and eat them. ALL OF THEM. Just so I can stop thinking about them. Plus also, then I feel horrible and guilty and overindulgent and queasy, thinking “SEE, this is why we can’t have nice things to eat!” And it keeps me from buying them for about another six months, until I have another moment of weakness. (Don't think I'm too brave for skipping the ice cream -- it's pistachio and green tea. I don't really have a sweet tooth, so it would take the added incentive of chocolate or caramel to get me into that pint. How can you have two pints of ice cream in the fridge while you're on a diet? They're "meh" flavors.)

So, I’ve been making these great salads for lunch – mixed baby greens, plus arugula, with shredded cabbage, Brussels sprouts, broccoli and kale. Topped with pumpkin seeds and chopped pecans and diced cucumber. Half a chopped apple. It has all the things a body needs – a little bit of protein, nutfats, tons of vitamins, minerals, phytonutrients, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, little bit of salt. Plus – the thing that people often forget when dieting – it takes some effort to eat, has texture and mouthfeel. My stomach feels completely sated and I can roll through most of the afternoon without even thinking about having a snack. Unless I’m really stressed out and then I get the salty-crunchies. I’ve got pickles to fall back on, but we all know that even if you love pickles as much as I do, they are to the salty-crunchies as a celery stick is to someone trying to kick cigarettes. NOT an acceptable substitute. At all.

But every time I eat that salad, my mouth is pissed off. Bacon, it thinks, you know what would make this AWESOME? A hot bacon vinaigrette. Or feta. Or shaved Spanish cheese. Oh, c’mon, give me some cheese…you’re making my SOUL hurt. This is freaking FORAGE for chrissakes, what am I a GOAT?

Mother Nature, it would help if you could throw a couple of rays of sunshine my way at lunch time. Gloomy, grey and cold is making this salad a very, very hard sell to my mouth. Who, admittedly, is a huge pain in my ass. But owns a lot of space in my brain, and is very convincing.

If anger were a sport, I’d definitely be a sprinter. Not many people could beat me in the ten foot…but anything longer and I’m toast. Although right now, having had an hour and a half meeting turn into three hours, which means I still have an hour and a half of work to do, if not more, but still need to get to the PetSTore before it closes, and to keep my head from popping off my body in frustration and pissed-offedness (mostly because I should have KNOWN better) I’ve resorted to my old friend C6, Cheez-It’s. Damn it.

Oh, well, six more days to do better.

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