Just Kidding

Good looks catch the eye
but a GOOD personality
catches the heart.
You're blessed with both!




Don't be flattered, this message was sent to ME!!
I just wanted YOU to read it.

Learning and Laughing

I’m teaching a co-worker to crochet. She has been admiring my work for months and asking me to teach her. I told her exactly what supplies she needed and that I would make myself available at her convenience during lunch. I even, after months of talking about it, took her to buy the supplies.

She’s hooked! (ha, little crocheting pun)

Today was day two of lessons. We eat quickly and whip out our projects. I’m working on a 63 square blanket that will probably take me 3-6 months to complete even with me working daily on it. She is learning the single crochet stitch, ten across sampler. Just to get the feel of it. She already dreams of what she’ll make when she “gets good”.

We chat and get to know each other. Her husband is a Baptist minister at a local Hispanic church so we have much in common. She is nearing retirement and says she can’t wait to have all day to crochet for her granddaughter. I warned her that once you get started people (especially the kids) start making requests (and sometimes demands) on what they would like you to make them.

So we are alike (co-workers, Christians, crocheters) but very different (Anglo, Hispanic, 20 years difference in age, different places in our family life). I’m enjoying her company and I’m betting she will teach me more than I teach her.

Her joke at lunch today had me rolling.

A man is dying and doesn’t have much longer to live. He smells his wife’s famous enchiladas coming from the kitchen. It takes all his strength but he manages to drag himself off his deathbed and into the kitchen. There on the table is a dish of enchiladas. He takes one bite and his wife smacks him on the head with a rolling pin. “You can’t eat those! They’re for your funeral!”

Visiting Countries

I’m not extremely technical in computer areas. Heck, I can’t believe I set up this blog without assistance. So I’m still navigating the wonderful world of blogs. I can’t figure out how to put in pictures and the help column is written in techno babble so I don’t see it happening. I did figure out how to add a counter and view reports. It doesn’t give me personal data on who reads this (thank goodness) but it does tell me what country the visitor is from.

So far I’ve been visited by Iceland, Canada, Portugal, Sweden and Australia. Sweet! I wonder how many visitors read English? Ok, I also wonder what they think when they read it. Do they think “Wow, I knew the Americans were weird but this proves it.” Oh… What language do they speak in Iceland? I think its Finnish but I could be wrong. And why have I not been visited by my neighbors to the south? Heck, we’re only 3 hours apart. They could just drop by for a quick read for goodness sake.

Sorry to take up your time but I just thought it was cool that such foreign countries came for a visit. You know what would be really cool? Greece or France stopping by…

Blogame Mucho, Blog Caliente

I went to see who was checking me out and found this at Blogame Mucho, Blog Caliente which is written by an apparently young woman from Lisboa, Portugal. Now, I am only guessing since I don’t actually read Portuguese. I did take 4 years of Spanish so I picked thru her blog and seemed to grasp her dislike of President Bush and Condalesa Rice as well as her enjoyment of the Black Eyed Peas. Amazing... We live so far apart and yet we are so similar. In case I get more Portuguese readers, I am posting a portion of her blog for their enjoyment.

O cérebro da nova administração Bush é, também, a sua faceta mais sinistra. A Condi é negra e, portanto, símbolo americano do triunfo das liberdades individuais. Contudo, como estratega da repressão do eixo do mal (que entretanto redefiniu e já conta, agora, com a pobre Bielorrússia), dificilmente se encontraria um republicano branco mais autista. A América republicana é tão bera quanto isto: até o triste sonho americano comprou para, vitoriosa, colocar ao serviço da guerra santa. Como num filme hollywoodesco série B, com actores de quinta categoria, cujo final se topa assim que começa.

Arroz carolino
Esta mulher tem olhos de má e é difícil explicar impressões doutra maneira que não seja afirmá-las e pronto. Uma impressão não é uma reflexão profunda, nem requer (sequer!) bibliografia.Não gosto dela, da Rice. O que é uma estupidez, dito assim sem qualquer justificação. Pronto, quando não há justificação há, ao menos, um instantâneo ilustrativo. Não justifica nada, eu sei, mas eu também disse que isto é instantâneo, é isso que está ali em cima, um instante dela.Não gosto nada dela, assim instantaneamente. Vem-me dela um frio feio, daqueles olhos para fora.Claro que também pode ser por ela ser tão parecida com aquele tipo efeminado e sem pelos que foi ao último Big Brother, o Castelo Branco. Ambos alisam o cabelo e ambos têm ar de quem se purga. De purgatório.


Conjunto: Black Eyed Peas - Where is the love?
O que há de errado com o mundo, mãe? as pessoas vivem como se não tivessem mãe acho que o mundo está viciado em drama só sente atração pelo que traumatiza no exterior, tentamos acabar com o terrorismo mas ainda há terroristas morando aqui nos EUA, a grande CIA os Bloods, os Crips e a KKK mas se você só ama a sua raça...

Sad days

I just found out that a couple from Church quit. (little Princess says you can’t “quit” church.) They were active engaging Christians. I’m befuddled. I want to know why. It seems to be happening more frequently than I remember in the past. It still feels like a divorce when people I’ve worshipped and shared life’s path with choose to leave. I feel like if they would just tell me what I’ve done wrong to make them want to leave, I’ll change. They always claim we’ll still see each other and remain close but we both know it won’t happen.

Big Princess knew about it before I did. I’m way out of the loop apparently. But maybe I’m out of the loop because I choose to be. Maybe its just none of my business. I’m gonna miss them.

And to top it all off, someone asked me to be an elder and presented a good argument. I didn’t get that gut clenching, want to puke feeling so I said ok. I guess I can always puke later.

What time is it and are you a car?

Many Who Plan to SEEK GOD at the 11th Hour Die at 10:30

Just going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.

I heard these two phrases today for the first time. They make me laugh!

The first one is the perfect answer to those fools who ask me:

“Why can’t I just live my life however I want and then ask God to come into my heart and forgive me at the end. You know, like those deathrow prisioners who become religious right before they get executed. They’re in heaven, right?”

The second one is how 90% of Christians act.

“Well, I go to church every Sunday and I put money in the offering plate.”

Hip hip hurray! Maybe you’re a car.

Job Titles

I’ve been named “Floor Warden”. It sounds cool. Will I get to wear some sort of belt with handcuffs and a night stick on it? Do I get to walk around and bully prisoners, I mean employees? W A R D E N…It sounds butch. I wanna be the “lipstick” warden.

Upon further checking, apparently I am responsible for figuring out if everyone from my floor is out of the building during any type of evacuations, (ie. Fire drills, Bomb Threats). I don’t know how many people exactly that is, more than 20, less than 100? Do I need to assign buddies, specify a meeting location outside and then take attendance like in elementary school? Am I supposed to be the last man to leave and run through the building ensuring everyone’s out? I’m kind of a “every man for himself” person.

I also forgot to ask how exactly I was appointed to this position. What happened to the last Floor Warden? Did they retire or was there some incident related to the job that caused them to leave. Did a committee vote me in because I am so very capable or did they draw names from a hat.

No matter, I plan to start practicing a “Warden Walk”. It will be some sort of swagger. I think I’ll get a sign to hang outside my cube too.

Why don't you tell me?

I had drinks with a friend I don’t get to see enough last week. We started as co-workers almost 10 years ago and realized we were neighbors as well. We only worked together for a year but the friendship remains strong. She’s the type of friend that can ask me for anything and if it’s within my power to give her, it’s hers.

We have traded strange favors over the years. She took my cat and newborn kitten into her home over Christmas one year after a surprise birth only days before our two-week vacation out of state. I’ve taken long 12-hour road trips with her. Driven her to the bus stop in the middle of the night. We have shared our ups and downs for the better part of a decade both personal and business. We finally seem to both be on a smooth stretch of road both at home and work at the same time.

Highly unusual.

We drank chocolate martini’s and traded stories, catching each other up on what’s been going on in our lives. It was sweet. I told her that I gave myself this blog for my birthday.

“What's a blog?”

It’s like my secret public diary.

“Your what?”

It’s where I vent, boast, dream, lament, wonder and write about nothing. It’s out there in cyber space for people to stumble across and no one knows who I am (for the most part). I call it: ps. I Love You.

“Why?”

That’s a good question. I think I don’t say the words often enough, both to others or myself. I need to remind the people in my life that I love them. And I need to remind myself that in order to love others I need to love myself first. Is that a good enough reason?

“Yeah, it was a present to yourself.”

I giggled as I told her about 100 people a month read my blog. Now that’s no where close to being a famous blogger like my friends at RLP and Main Point who probably get more than that many people on a daily basis. Plus that most people are just stumbling over mine accidentally, where as my friends have regular readers who check in with them on a daily basis. (Probably because they are excellent writers. Not just someone recounting their daily journey.)

“Tell me again, why people would want to read your diary?”

I don’t know, maybe they’ll tell me.

Duck Dad

“My dad’s getting on my last nerve!”

I hear this kind of thing quite a bit. Amazingly its not from my girls but from their girlfriends. I occasionally end up driving their friends places without them.

“Mom, so-and-so’s mom didn’t pick them up for the game and she’s freaking out. Can you bring her up to the school?” or “I’m going to be late for work and I still have to take so-and-so home. Mom, do you mind?”

I always pretend that its shocking but not unusual that their father’s are annoying them. I know most of the dad’s, so I ask “what’s he doing now?”

“Well, he thought we were fighting but we weren’t and so anyways, he’s like, bla bla bla, you girls are always fighting! Bla bla bla, I’m sick of the fighting! Bla bla bla, I’m going to punish you! And I’m like, but dad we weren’t fighting. And then he goes, don’t lie and I’m like, I’m not.”

So I’ll bite.

“Are you girls usually fighting?”

“Yeah, but not this time.”

“But he heard loud voices and you two are usually fighting?”

“Maybe”

“Ok, I see two things coming into play here. Possibly your father has had a long day and your past history of fighting with your sister. Sometimes, if it walks like a duck and sounds like a duck, its probably a duck.”

“Are you saying my dad’s a duck?”

“All righty now, here’s your stop. Buh-bye.”

Yea! I win!

One of my bosses doesn’t believe in vacations, jury duty, sick days, etc. So we try to word our requests for time away from the office very carefully to avoid using words that offend him. I recently emailed him that “I'd like to take Feb. 11th off.”

His reply: “This is not vacation, is it?”

Did I mention he is the corporate attorney? Or as he likes to be called “General Counsel”. He is also one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. He likes to sit in the conference room and play his guitar when he needs a break.

How to get around using the “Vacation” word?

My reply: “Let’s hope that our complicity with the broader effort to narrow and define information architecture’s field of practice is merely a misguided application of our penchant to organize and categorize anything within reach.”

His response: “Ahhh, what was the question?”

I'm not Embarrassed

Thermometers registered a low of 54 degrees below zero at Embarrass, Minnosota yesterday. Think about this, we will reach 55 degrees above zero today. This means we will be 100 degrees hotter than those poor people. Following this pattern, as the folks in Embarrass reach 32 degrees and begin to thaw, we will approach 132 degrees and begin to fry. Wow, that’s just like August weather…

A Bold New Move

Well, here I am, less than 250 days from turning 40 and I have for the very first time in my life painted my living room a color other than white and other than moving out. Am I getting bolder in my middle age? Ok, its not really much of a color, its dark tan.

We have family coming for Big princess’ graduation and I wanted to do something inexpensive and quick to make the house look better. Nothing picks up a room faster than a coat of paint. I picked a nice medium tan but after painting one section I realized that the color was the same as the dirty wall. So I went back and picked a much darker tan. After it dried, think weak chocolate milk color. I like it. It also made the ceiling look whiter without having to paint it.

I failed to consider the 70 gallon fish tank. Too heavy to move, too much work to drain. And the bookcase of crap. Every piece of paper no one knows what to do with ends up in the bookcase along with books, puzzles, photo albums, etc. So I still have to paint behind that and the computer area but overall its about 85% painted. I even did the baseboards that no one will see behind the furniture.

We rearranged the furniture. I hung new blinds and curtains. Bought a cool floor lamp with three flexible necks. It feels like new, except for the crappy section sofa, scratched by cats and ferrets, stained by children. But hey, one thing at a time. I’m also kinda waiting for the kids to leave home before I buy anything too nice. I’m not sure this will help as its my husband who makes the biggest messes. (Don’t tell him that, it pisses him off.)

I’m on a roll. What’s next? I’m considering painting the kitchen yellow! My life is sooo exciting. But it beats sitting on my butt and watching TV as the house crumbles around me.

Tune up for ol’ Davie

Ol’ Davie has not been himself lately, grumpy, snapping at the cats. So I took him to the vet for a little look see. Well, his anal sacs were full and that’s enough to make anyone cranky.

MORE THAN YOU EVER WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT ANAL SACS OR WHY IS MY PET SCOOTING? (taken from http://www.marvistavet.com/html/body_anal_sacs.html)

Many people own pets for years without ever learning that anal sacs exist at all. Anal sacs (also called "anal glands") are two small glands just inside your pet's anus. The material secreted into these glands is thick and foul smelling. Most animals can empty these glands voluntarily for scent marking or in self defense (like a skunk might do). Domestic animals have largely lost their ability to empty these sacs voluntarily. Walking around and normal defecation serves to empty the glands but some animals become unable to empty their glands on their own at all. The sacs become impacted and uncomfortable. Dogs with impacted anal sacs usually scoot their rear on the ground in an attempt to empty the glands. Some dogs will lick their anal area and other dogs will chase their tails.

OK, now we know about anal glands.

HOW OFTEN SHOULD ANAL SACS BE EMPTIED?This is a highly individual situation. The best recommendation is to let the pet tell you when the sacs are full. If the pet starts scooting again, it is time to bring him in.

Great, now I have to actually listen to my dog instead of just talking all the time.

WHAT IF MY PET'S SACS SEEM TO REQUIRE EMPTYING ALL THE TIME?To avoid the expense of having the sacs emptied, you can learn to empty them yourself at home but most people feel it is well worth having someone else perform this service.

If you are of weak constitution, do not read any farther. Seriously.

A rag or tissue is held up to the anus and both sides of the anal area are squeezed. If the secretion is very pasty, this method may be inadequate to empty the sacs.

A lubricated gloved finger is inserted in the anus and the sac is squeezed between thumb & forefinger into a tissue held externally. The procedure is repeated on the opposite side

[Cough], excuse me? You want me to do what?

My dog better get a job to pay for anal sac emptying or get over it totally cause I don’t see me doing it for him. Heck, I wouldn’t do that for my husband.

I'm gonna try it

wink -- (closing one eye quickly as a signal)

Who winks any more? I can remember older people doing it when I was small. It was usually some conspiracy between grandparents and grandchildren meant to leave parents out of the loop.

“I’m just going to take little Johnny with me to the drug store.”
“Ok, Pops, but no soda or candy. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
“Sure, no soda or candy, I got it.” Wink, wink to little Johnny.

Then there were the friendly middle-aged men that seemed to wink a greeting to everyone. Now, these were men whose children were grown and who wore hats regularly, not just to church. They called women “Ma’am” and young ladies “Miss”. Boys were referred to as “Young Man” and everyone else was “Sir”. They tipped their hats and winked in greeting when passing you on the sidewalk.

There’s a man in my office who winks. It’s not a tic and I don’t think we have some conspiracy between us. He’s not flirting. He’s just friendly. He calls me Ma’am and offers to carry boxes for me. He whistles while he works. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen and heard him get pissed off but he always seems to be able to shrug it off with a wink.

It’s hard to be angry and wink. Try it.

Crash and Burn (What I've been up to)

I've lost track of how many computers I've worn out in the 8 months I've work here. Yesterday makes number 4 or 5 (I think, certainly no more than 6 but definitely more than 3). So my whole Monday was down the tubes. All I did was boot up and check emails from the weekend and BAM, there she went. IT did respond quickly and I had a new machine on my desk by 11 am. Spent the better part of any hour trying to reset tool bars, normal.dot files, etc. Then I spell the receptionist on Mondays for Lunch and Mail. I could have stayed home and gotten more done.

I felt renewed by 7 hours of sleep and ready to accomplish something this morning.

I dropped the dog at the vet's office where he proceeded to take a crap while walking down the hallway (even though I had given him the opportunity to take care of it prior to going in the office). I told them he has been acting weird (and here is my example, "who takes a crap while walking down the hallway") and would they please have doc check him over.

There is no way to cut across town from the vet to the office. I repeat, NO WAY. So after zigging and zagging across town I arrive at work, 1 hour late. Nobody's in town so its no biggie. I logged on and was ready to get some work done.

Holy Crap, did I do it again! Did I actually save the file I have been working on to the desk top instead of the server with a link to the desk top? I did! I could take a crap while walking down the hallway I'm so upset. It has taken most of the morning to figure out what files I had compiled the info from and it will probably take all afternoon to put it back together. Day 2 in the crapper.

My boss will come back tomorrow and ask what I accomplished. Absolutely nothing. My only hope is for it to be groundhog's day and Monday will repeat and I can atleast salvage my file before the crash.

On the plus side, IT said companies pay people like me big money to try and crash their systems. I asked for a name and number.

I'm gonna go eat my lunch now. Thanks

Dessert for Breakfast

I wouldn’t call it a diet but I am paying attention to what I’m consuming and making a conscience effort to treat my body better. I started a ten day cleanse six days ago. I’m supposed to eat lots of fruits & vegetables and clear liquids. I’m supposed to absolutely avoid fatty and fried food. I wasn’t doing too bad until lunch yesterday.

We had the field safety guys in the office for a meeting and we all went to lunch at Macaroni Grill. I ordered the portabella chicken knowing I could make two meals out of it. Well, I got to talking and next thing I know my plate is clean and the waitress is putting a beautiful tiramisu in front of me. I don’t know what happened.

Then this morning I’m making my cup of oatmeal and there are six dozen Krispy Kremes. I’m weak. I ate one and my oatmeal. Hey, I told myself, just consider it your dessert for the day.

To top off my poor choices today, I went to lunch with three divorcees from the office. I ate ok at the Thai restaurant, staying away from noodles and sticking to meat and veggies. I did boo boo at the spring rolls (2) and 1 scoop of ice cream (to stop the curry burning my tongue).

I have discovered that I don’t have much in common with the three divorced women but you definitely hear a lot different gossip. I’ve learned who’s dating who in the company, who dresses like a slut and why no one will say anything about it and who had sex in the elevator and got caught by the security guard. Ick, remind me not to touch anything in the elevator. I would have probably been better off brown bagging it today.

Who's your pimp?

Tomorrow starts Girl Scout Cookies sales and I will be calling in all favors to secure my little princess a week at camp. I will order several cases extra of each cookie and pimp them without shame at work, church, to neighbors, family and friends and even total strangers. If you don't want cookies I suggest that you head over to Asia to help with the Tsunami relief efforts until the end of March. Otherwise start saving, they're only $3 a box and it gets little princess out of my hair for a week in the summer.

It used to be easier when she was a little tiny Brownie. Who could say no to her when she flashed the "look". Once a neighbor said no and she turned around and hung her head and kinda sniffled, the guy came running out of the house and bought 3 boxes. But almost 6 years later, its a little harder. Gone is the adorable Brownie outfit, replaced with green khaki with no cute factor. Gone is the little girl who couldn't understand how anyone could not want cookies from her. She has been replaced with a smarter version.

Little princess knows how to work it. Still gotta have the uniform on for identification purposes. After all, who wants to buy cookies from just any kid, you want them from an actual girl scout. But she knows "cute" sells so up goes the hair into pig tails, on goes some glitter. She stands in front of the mirror physicking herself to sell, practicing her smile.....and her sad face for when told "no thank you", rehearsing her comebacks to all the objections.

Watch out, she could be coming to your door.

Today’s weird names list

Here are some of the more interesting first names of employees I’ve had the pleasure of butchering today.

Truitt
Stash
Kermit
Nazalone Shead

I had to include Nazalone’s last name because I’m sure you were wondering what kind of last name goes with Nazalone. Shead sounds Irish to me. Like they dropped the “O” when they arrived in America. I didn’t even want to ask ol’ Stash about his first name after he assured me that was his legal name.

Every time I think I’m about to wrap a report up, something goes wrong, the wrong SIC codes, the wrong locations, the wrong supervisors. I have to go back and research the problem, find a solution, inform and get approval from the director to proceed and then get back to the report. I hate it when I haven’t finished anything all day. I feel unproductive. So I have piles and I have to remember where each pile is, both in location and process.

I will win this battle of paper and computer files!

What’s in a name?

Some of us have plain Jane kind of names, Mike, Dave, Sue, Debbie. Others have exotic names, China, Cion, Jovan, Denzin. Some get family names, Clifton, Sergio, Veryl. A lot goes into a name, they can be thoughtful, profound, spiritual, and empowering. Your name might take into consideration where your family hails from, what they did for a job long ago, where they’d like to live (Dakota, Antonio). And then you have nicknames, Buddy, Bambi, and initials, TJ, AJ.

That pretty much just leaves the crazy and the made up names. This is probably where most people just give themselves a nickname, unless your parents gave you a legal nickname.

I’m working on a lot of reports that have lists of employees. Sometimes the guys are listed by their nicknames and for reporting purposes I need the legal name. So I call them (many for the first time).

“Hi, is Sugar Ray there?”
“Yeah, this is him.”
“Ah, I’m calling from the corporate office and I’m working on the Operator Qualification program. I need to get your full legal name for the report.”
“Ok, its Sugar Ray, R-A-Y.”
“Ahhhh, no middle initial?”
“Nope”
“Great, thanks for the help.”
“No problem”

“Hi, is Tony Muniz in the office?”
“This is Tony.”
“I’m calling from the corporate office and I’m working on the Operator Qualification program. I need to get your full legal name for the report.”
“Sure, its Curtis A. Muniz.”
“Wait, is this Tony?”
“Yeah, but my legal name is Curtis A. Muniz.”
“So why are you listed in the directory as Tony Muniz?”
“I just liked the name Tony better.”

Its the end of the world according to Davie

My poor dog is still freaking out over the fireworks. It doesn't help that people are still 2 days later popping off some here and there. Davie can hear them long before I realize that's what's freaking him out. He becomes a drooling needy insane shaking hairy blob. He suddenly thinks he can get on the sofa (all 80 lbs of him) and even the bed. He follows me everywhere and I was kinda afraid to leave him new year's eve he was so stressed.

"It's just fireworks", my husband says. "What does he think is going to happen?"

I'm not sure what takes a big dog that protects my children and I and turns him coward. It surely must seem like the apocolypse to him. His eyes open wider and I can see the whites around them. He trembles and shakes and drools. He wants me to hold him.

I guess that's a symbol of how much he loves me. When the end of the world comes he looks to me for comfort.

Dating in the married world

I thought I'd have all day to get ready for New Year's Eve while my husband was at work. I'd planned the whole day. Get some errands done, pick up the liquor, buy a new shirt, go to the gym, make food to take to the party (I use this word loosely), and then shower and get ready before Big Daddy got home.

I got back to the house around noon and bam, there he was. Work was slow so he thought he'd come home and take a nap so he could hang with us all night.

I think it takes the mystic out of the relationship to have him see wht it takes to make me fabulous. A long shower, some shaving, plucking, perfuming, powdering. I like to let my hair air dry if I'm going to style the crap out of it. We had a little private thing going where I was going to wear pig tails for our next big night together. So I pulled off a cheerleader make up and hair ensomble and we wore matching red outfits. Awwwww too cute!

We just went over to some friends house and taked and watched the best of COPS and drank pina colodas. We were going to go for a hike at midnight to see the fireworks but I decided we'd skip it and head home.

Wow, its a lot more fun to be wrestling together in bed at the stoke of midnight than stand outside and yell "Happy New Year".