Baby boom

You know that a there's a baby boom at the office when breast milk can be found reliably in the shared refrigerators.

Lesson

So I learned a valuable lesson last week about posting while angry. Apparently I'm not the cold and rational being I wish to be, but in actuality am a creature that lashes out with deliberate cruelty when wounded. And, as you don't always get to take stuff back (or, such as in my family, pretend that it was never said, doesn't affect you, or that you forgot it), I think I will return to practicing the Arte of Discretion (i.e., private email).

What she heard

I'd really like to marry you, because I'm legally prohibited from asking either my mother or sister.

So there! With tomato sauce.

Yesterday I ate at The Olive Garden (my idea!) and it was good (well, mostly).

Take that, reputation for food snobbery!!!

Clearing out your throat

I, ever the optimist (waiting to get my teeth kicked in), naively suggested that, "chicken processing most likely means washing and packaging of chicken parts, yes?" The description in the file was sufficiently vague about the facility's operation, I thought, as to allow this interpretation. I stoutly declared that, "as long as it's not a slaughterhouse, I'll be fine." My cleverer counterpart, however, prepared herself for the worst.

Later, standing in a pile of feathers drenched in...some red semisolid stuff...we listened to the facility manager explain, "here is where we receive the birds. Here is where they are placed on the line. Here is where we knock them out with electricity and here is where we cut their..."

Gulp.

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One of my dining companions, a sweet, fresh-faced young woman, innocently used the term "spanking my kitty," to describe how her literal, feline cat likes to play. I thought I heard some guys at the next table over choke on their food...

things you want to hear when traveling

Currently: tired and only recently non-sticky/stinky

I think my favorite term to hear while traveling is "you've been upgraded." Wait, or maybe it's "on time." Hmmmm, which is it? While both are very nice to hear, I think being on time beats the upgrade. How do I know? Well, I can certainly live without an upgrade if all my travel plans go smoothly and everything runs on time, but even an unexpected upgrade can't make up for not being on time (only 3 hours late).

(Of course, the perfect storm is when you get both. Then you are flying high!!! First class from California, ahh...drool...)

(The other perfect storm, consequently, is when you don't get both. In that case, I think it's safest to stay out of my way for awhile...)

A good day to be nice to Dad

While in the store, picking up a last-minute Father's Day card (not too shabby, considering that I originally thought last week was Father's Day), I came across a card I really, really wanted to get (in and of itself, this is already a miracle. Commercial greeting cards stink, quite frankly, and I can hardly ever find one that conveys a sentiment I don't disagree with). A cartoon girl on the cover muses (and I paraphrase):

"Dad, I know the relationship between between a father and a daughter isn't the same as that between a father and his son..."

On the inside, she grins and says:

"But I could drop a few IQ points to recreate the experience!

Happy Father's Day!"

Brilliant! Funny, cute, true, this card has it all! I go to buy it, until I stop to consider the implications in the relationship between my father and myself. Hmmmm...perhaps now is not the time to point out that I'm not the number one son my father always wanted. He resented me for it and I'd always been slightly bitter about that, so best not to dredge up old wounds. Also, now is probably not the best moment to highlight the differences in, er, professional/intellectual success between his male and female children. Jobless wonders can be very sensitive, you know (OK, that was mean, but we are no longer allowed to talk about his situation anymore because it might "pressure him" or "hurt his feelings"!!!).

I pondered all this for a moment, as people dashed around me to find an acceptably sentimental card for their own dear dads, decided that Father's Day should focus on happy, fluffy-type feelings, and bought a blue card instead.

Taking care of busyness

Currently: the stomach knots slowly unwind

Yesterday was a banner day in angry "talking," shame feeling, and liberal use of written, verbal, and expressive (facial and hand gestures) exclamation points. A difficult sort-of client called me (she's become "my" person, because she has all my numbers and I always - stupidly - answer my phone!) to vent unpleasantness over matters for which I have no control. Unreasonably-held accountability makes me want to vent in turn, producing strings of invectives and loud and excited "talking" (pretty much shouting at this point) in my audience. This, however, is fine. 'Tis, in fact, the natural order of the office ecosystem. The line of blame-gaming moves briskly down the (food) chain of command, tumultuous steam is let off, and life continues.

What is even less pleasant, though, are gratuitous displays of disapproval pointed in my direction that are somewhat to richly deserved. Fairly caught, for once (and isn't this why I do it? So someone will tell me to work harder, work smarter...whatever, just work - Dammit!), in the web of my own slacking, I cannot summon compensatory indignation or anger, and thus wilt before displays of righteous wrath. Some of it wasn't my fault, exactly, but other parts really were. Working pretty much nonstop from that moment until, um, now, hasn't really lifted the burden of guilt, and the churning pit in my stomach shows no signs of letting up. I can actually feel that my blood pressure is high right now (is that even possible? I swear I feel it!). I tried to sleep for a bit last night, but gave it up and kept working when my eyes stayed wide open and my thoughts kept worrying the same beaten paths of atonement.

I thought that stressing out about leaving unfinished business and worrying about getting caught in the act was the hard part. That's only because I haven't experienced disapproval and disappointment for being bad in a very long time. Turns out that worrying about getting in trouble is one thing, but if you are a throbbing ball of guilt like me, dealing with the aftermath is pure agony.

The lesson: When you bite off more than you can (lazily) chew, expect to get deservedly SPANKED.

(back to work)

Bouncy is bad

Sometimes, when running in what I consider to be an unobserved environment such as the stairwell at work, I clutch at my...um, chestal area, to diminish the bouncing and keep from getting knocked out by my own self. Anyone else? Bueller?

(I hope to god there is no security camera in the stairwell.)

JC, da supahstar

Currently: rockin' for the JC man

Last night's performance of Jesus Christ, Superstar was a blast. Great weather, pleasant company, and a small but energetic crowd. I haven't heard so much hootin' and hollerin' for Christ (Jesus enters the stage in a cloud of smoke and the crowd goes wild! Seriously!!) since my fervent days of Asian youth group (just picture it - glasses waving! Straight black hair flying! Supplication for worldly knowledge mostly related to getting good grades!). There were fist pumps and everything!

To the despair of the distinguished line of music professors who taught us to mock and belittle Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber (in one of my seminar classes, someone write a paper entitled, "Stephen Sondheim and ALW, why can't we all just get along?"), I must say that I really enjoy early ALW. Perhaps it was the innocence of youth or maybe it was the music explosion of the early 70s; whatever it was, I've always loved Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (it's one of my standby driving and singalong CDs), and now I understand why folks love JC, Superstar. The music is fantastic and the lyrics and depiction of the story are definitely edgier (in almost any staging I can imagine) than typical musical fare. The shriek-singing of both Jesus and Judas made me wonder if their parts influenced Steven Tyler, or if it was the other way around. Holy high-pitched moly!

So that makes two musicals that I like based on bible stories, while the other ALW musicals fall flat in comparison. Perhaps he should stick to biblical text - an acoustic tribute to Noah? A rock opera starring Moses? Eh, maybe not...

double dip!!

I have just learned, to my sadness, that I could have been double dipping hotel points, car rentals, and frequent flyer miles the whole time I've been traveling for business. Consider this a public service announcement and shove your frequent flyer card at everyone for while, just to see if they will take it, because chances are, they will. Hawaii, here I come!!

Car follies

I trudged into the parking lot and looked upon the rows of PT Cruisers, gleaming in the darkness, and almost sobbed in vexation (oh, I hate them so!). The lot attendant took pity on me (probably because of the lateness of the hour and my ripe...scent of weariness) and let me pick from the shiny Monte Carlos and sporty SUVs. I chose the dark red Equinox, threw my luggage in the more-than-ample (for which it was chosen) stowage space, and zoomed off into the night, well pleased with the outcome.

The next morning, I found out that I'd left the stupid rental car unlocked all night long at the hotel. The lock clicker was broken and the shutting off of the lights had been completely coincidental. Not a big deal, but remembering to hand-lock all the doors is difficult when you can feel the clicker in your hand.

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Turns out, without using the clicker to unlock the doors, the car thought it was being broken into by the person using the key and would sound the alarm each time I tried to enter the car. Every single time. Joy.

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Once you leave the urban area proper, the outlying areas of Sacramento look like "god's country," flatlands of yellowing grasses, grazing livestock, and far-flung signs of settlement and civilization. Accordingly, the only radio stations that I can ever find (that I like) play country, Christian "rock," and more country music.

Until I noticed the preset station marked with a preceding "X." Dare I hope? Could it really be? Yep, this car came equipped with satellite radio. When I have satellite radio, I listen to dance music, period. Hard techno, trance, a smattering of house and deep house, I love it all. Except, I learned, when you are even slightly late. Then, dance music leads to a constant tapping of fingers, manifesting a growing inner anxiety that is only exacerbated by the driving bass...aaaaaand we're back to country (I like the sound of most Xtian rock quite well, in fact, but when I bother to listen to the words I feel both superior and slightly guilty). The music of pain, yes, but also of drawling tranquility. Ahhhhh.

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While driving around Sacramento, I saw a sign that made me gasp out loud, laughing. It was one of those, "how many miles till..." signs, and the entries were:

Some town nearby 3

Sacramento 13

Ocean City, Maryland 3,078

Hee! Shout out to home! Also made me think of those "directions from the US to some point in Europe that involves swimming the thousands of miles of the Atlantic" that are circulating from Googlemaps, lately.

Keeping my big mouth shut

Current mood: absurdly proud

As I was ushered through the SSSS (super special secret security? seriously silly stripping shenanigans?) line, the kindly (??!!) TSA folk observed my markedly limping gait. The agent in charge of my sniff tests (for my possessions) gently inquired about my injury. For once, I took notice of the person I was talking to (a larger, older, and exceedingly dark African-American gentleman) and did not go on and on about the horrors of my blacktoe, how terrible it was that my toe was black, that my blacktoe was being discriminated against, and how the Man was keeping the blacktoe down, etc. Instead, as I meekly lamented about my aching and angry purple toe, he smiled sympathetically and told me to "take care."

That so never happens to me! I am the original foot-in-mouth awkward girl! Hooray! Personal growth and awareness of others may have occurred!

One of these things is not like the other

Currently: ow. OW!

What's in a toe, anyway? It's such a small, insignificant piece of the body...until it's broken.

Behold my puffy foot!

So this blacktoe is quite hurty, yes? And yet, I still tried going in to my volunteer job, which entails standing upright on stairs or slanted concrete for hours upon hours. That is, I tried...until I called in last minute, wailing that, "I'm not skipping because of the rain I swear I wuv Swamp Romp it's because my g*dd*mned foot won't fit in my shoe!!!!#$%^&*!!!!"

Talk about good timing - I have to wear steel-toed boots all week :(

Twu Wuv

Love is...

long, engrossing discussions about...

body hair?

Eh?

WTF?

Hee.