Safely, Softly Home Again...

I have returned from my travels. I was in Queretaro, Mexico. It is about 3 hours by car north on 57 from Mexico City.

Apparently the fates decided that the 22 hour roundtrip to Washington DC on Friday was enough to amuse them because the rest of the trip was fairly smooth sailing, especially for me.

Okay, granted the earliest I'd left work the week prior was 7:30 pm, and I finished breaking my jeep outta parking prison and returned home at 2 am Friday night and was back at work at 7 am on Saturday AND I was back at the airport by 6 am Sunday for the flight out AND the mucus-producing disease that my dear cousin gifted me with returned with a vengence but, all in all, smooth sailing.

Sunday:
Arrived at airport by 6 am, fell asleep in terminal, woke up long enough to board the plane to Charlotte, slept through flight, woke up long enough to leave plane in Charlotte and board plane to Mexico City, slept through flight to Mexico City.

Collected supplier, luggage and lucked into the correct *really freaking long* line at immigration. Got thru immigration with no problem, met driver, took off for Queretaro. I gotta say, I thought I was a nutso driver. Holy crap! It took the rest of the drive to remove my fingernails from the seats after careening thru Mexico City. Arrived in Queretaro, checked into hotel, went to fabulous restaurant (El Goucho, something like that) for dinner - it was Argentinian and they had delicious steak. Yum! And a lot of tequila.

Monday:
Boring work stuff all freakin' day (with a time out for lunch at a chain restaurent called 'Wings' which didn't suck), back to hotel, chased a pretty blue hummingbird around with the camera for an hour, then to dinner at Chucho de Rotto - which was even better than the first restaurant. I tried the cactus salad (it kinda tastes like green pepper) and an appetizer of goat (YUCK! Goats do not equal food.) Then the main course was 'chicken carolina.' OMG. It was so good - a stuffed (with cheese, squash flowers and some other stuff) chicken breast served with veggies, rice and a yummy sauce. This was served with lots of tequila, some of it in the form of margaritas. This is a possible explaination for me forgetting how to turn off the flash on the camera and having all of the pictures I took of the beautiful, very historic, downtown area turn out blurry (neat trick with an automated digital camera) and over-exposed. Maybe.

Tuesday:
More boring work stuff all freakin' day (except for a yummy lunch at a really cool restaurant, complete with tequila), dinner at the hotel and an uneventful evening, except for another humiliating defeat at the hands (wings?) of the hummingbird. Also, funny black birds with large tails proved quick only at eluding my picture-taking. I begin to sense a conspiracy.

Wednesday:
All day trapped doing work stuff. Brief appearance of hummingbird at window - the same one, now taunting me?? Then a large group of us returned to Chucho de Rotto to eat and I was very adventurous in trying some ant egg dish (Ugh - crunchy. Very crunchy. Tasted kinda green.) and a ceasear salad that was prepared at the table (mash the little fish in a wooden bowl, add garlic, oil, an egg yolk, etc, beat 'till your arm falls off then individually stir leaves of lettuce in dressing). Here's the awful thing - I prefer the taste of the artificial ceasear dressing. Foodies around the world are cursing my name right now. I had the chicken carolina again. Yum! And 3 margaritas and I don't even remember how many drinks of straight tequila. Returning to the hotel is kind of a blur, but I think a taxi was involved.

Thursday:
Wrap up of boring work stuff. Then me starring in my own reality show wherein I am turned loose in the streets of downtown Queretaro with $US40 worth of pesos (around $480), 45 minutes to shop, a bunch of trinkets to buy and no grasp of the native language. LOL - not surprising to those who know me, I managed to outshop even the Spanish speakers in our group and successfully procur everything on my list (including a lovely carved wooden owl, a tooled leather covered wooden box, a nifty crystal, postcards to mail, mini-postcards to make up for my camera disability, silver jewelry (there're mines nearby) including earrings, necklaces and a bracelet, and a cute frog magnet, plus some other stuff - all from different stalls/stores). It was fun. I love a challenge. Then we went to a really, really cool restaurant located in what used to be a family hacienda. It was just gorgeous, but I don't remember the name. The food was good too.

Friday:
The driver picked us up at 7:00 am, and we were on our way back to Mexico City to the airport. I got home around 10:30 pm. Then I slept all weekend. I've figured out how to get the pictures off the camera and onto the computer, so one of these days I'll share the picture or two that actually kinda turned out.

What I Learned About Mexico:
* They don't think about tequila the way I always have. I've always considered it a shot. They sip it, with a tasty little V8, tomato beverage called sangrita.

* It takes FOREVER to eat in Mexico. I have things to do. Feed me and let's move on. Lunch took 2 hours. Dinner took at least 4 hours. It drove me freaking nuts.

* They apparently have no rules of the road, except survival of the bravest. No one stops for stop signs. They slow down for lights IF there's already traffic in the intersection, lane lines are for losers and if your car isn't shaking from the stain, you aren't going fast enough. Just to add to the adventure, every now and then they have installed speed bumps. These things are over a foot high, a couple of feet wide with a dip in the middle and are not painted or marked in any way. You just need to know that they are there. And if you hit one going faster than 5 km/hr or so, you'd better kiss your ass goodbye 'cause it's over.

* You cannot judge Mexico by border towns or even resort towns. There is no comparison. Queretaro is beautiful and I yearn for a week or so of free time to explore at will.

Adventures in Traveling...

Today's lesson, kids, is this: Don't procrastinate. Get your passport NOW 'cause you just never know when your company is going to up and demand that you travel to Mexico to visit a supplier... in a week.

I've had all of the paperwork filled out for MONTHS. I did not have my birth certificate until last week, and I didn't get the pictures taken until I was home at Easter. But guess what I did yesterday? Yup. I drove to Washington DC, which is the location of the closest regional passport office and I spent the day getting my passport.

Aye carumba! I love my Jeep Cherokee, but it gets lousy gas mileage and it already has 104k miles, so I rented a car on Thursday. I now live in a tiny town. It does have a regional airport, and that is where the only car rental places are located. (This is important later.)

After managing to haul my carcass outta bed, I was on the road by 4:30 am. The drive wasn't bad. Okay, so most of it was through a torrential downpour, but it still only took 6 hours. It was easier than I expected in large part because in addition to Mapquest directions, I went to AAA.com and printed a TripTik as well. It took FOREVER to print but the maps were SO much better - it actually gives road names and everything! The passport place has a parking deck in the same building, which made things easier so I was through security and standing in the first line at 10:30 am.

At 11:30, my turn came around and I handed over my compulsively organized packet o'required information: birth certificate, 2 acceptable pictures, application form, itinerary to prove that I needed to leave the country on Sunday, and driver's license and the nice man behind the thick window gave me a slip of paper with my appointment number on it. Have you ever seen Beetle Juice- at the end where he's waiting in line and has some huge number and they're calling, like, 5? Well, I now have an all new appreciation for that. An hour after that, my number came up and I scurried over to another really thick window and handed over the packet plus the credit card to pay $157 for expedited service. The guy stamped some things, and had me sign some things and then handed me a receipt and told me to be back in the building before 3:00 'cause that's when they closed the doors.

I spent a couple of hours wandering around Washington DC. You know, it's a beautiful city, very architecturally interesting. I found a couple of really nifty stores and quite enjoyed myself. At the Chocolate Moose, I found this, which I HAD to have. All the holy grilled cheese samiches I can eat from now on! Eat your heart out, Golden Palace Casino! And I found a Borders. Oh, how I miss thee, temple of crisp new books! Then I scarfed down food and hustled through the doors at 2:55.

And that brings us to the next chance to wait in a really long line - to hand in the receipt, which apparently tells them that I'm in-house and waiting to pick up the passport. And then I waited. For a couple more hours. Then they called my name and I picked up the passport, checked to make sure it was right and scooted outta there... and right into rush hour traffic. Yay.

The drive home took a bit longer than I expected and I went straight to the airport to return the rental car... only to find that the airport was closed. Totally dark, not a soul around. I didn't know that airports did, in fact, ever close. You learn something new every day. So the most exciting part of my day was at one this morning, breaking my Jeep out of the long-term parking. I hope there aren't cameras there, 'cause I had to go bouncing over the curb, the sidewalk and some grass to escape.

And then I fell into bed around 2am, and I'm sleepy. *yawn*

I leave for Mexico tomorrow, and (hopefully) return on Friday. I'm sure my adventures will be many and varied. Have a great weekend!

Stupid Work.

I'm really only awake and conscious right now because I had to go into work today. Blech. My stupid problem child supplier screwed up AGAIN and had to send 3 people to our facility first thing to rework a bunch of parts so they didn't shut down our production.

After I left work, I stopped at home to pick up library books, and I took the opportunity to maul my furballs so I'm totally covered in cat hair. It's a good look for me. Well, at least it's one I'm used to anyway.

I think I'll go take a nap - nothing exciting here, I'm afraid!

We Interrupt This Program...

Some day soon, I'll write about the hilarious antics of the furballs and their adventures in moving. And I'll post about my adventures at my cousin's wedding (the groom wore a purple zoot suit, and was attacked by shrubberies). And I'll whine and moan about the job.

Today though that's on hold. It's on hold while I curl up in a corner and rock and wish that my parents were close enough for me to hug. Right now I don't want them leaving the house, much less undertaking a road trip to come visit me. I don't want them leaving the cotton batting that I'd really like to wrap them in. I've been off living life in the real world, and it's been bumpy. My best friend's dad has been having serious hello-nursing-home-with-restraints health problems. My aunt had surgery on her cancerous kidneys. My brother split with his girlfriend of 2 years. And I make it back to blog-land, and all hell's breaking loose here too.

First, Sharfa lost her dad. Yeah, she knew it was probably coming. So what? Still sucks beyond words. But what really knocked me over, dropped me for the count, was MM's loss. Oh god, oh god, oh god. To have everything poppin' up daisies one minutes and then the next... gone.

I've got some baggage going on here that really makes this resonate for me. After 45 years, Dad is retiring from the really big tire company. This, even more than the grey hair and the aches and pains, has made me have to admit to myself that he is aging. And I gotta say that he is aging more gracefully than I'm accepting. So anything that makes me look at parental mortality right now hits a pretty big bruise.

And the other thing freaking me out is that I know that stretch of highway. I know it very well. I drove it every time I headed for home, and I had a couple of narrow escapes along the way. So seeing that was a shiver down the spine.

As much as it pains me, I know that I have no idea. Because I can call my parents and talk to them and they'll make it better or try to. So I don't know what he's going through, the pain that his whole family is experiencing. It's like a back injury, I think. Yeah, it gets better - with lots of time. But you're never all the way back to normal and you never know when you're going to turn or twist the wrong way and send a jolt of agony from your toes up through the top of your skull. So I'm sorry, MM, for your loss. I'd help if I could.

But...

There's another thing stuck in my craw too. I can find things. I've always been able to - it's a gift. With the introduction of the internet, there's very little that I can't track down in fairly short order. When MM posted about his Japanese sex book, I found him. Nothing like an image search if you know where to look. And I looked at the squiggly lines on the page, and I looked at the "translate this page" button... and I didn't. I closed the window and surfed away. Because I consider him a friend, though one I've never met who wouldn't know me from a hole in the ground. I'm invested in his life, in the stories he choses to share. And if my friend wants to tell me something, I'll listen. If it's none of my business, I'll walk away.

So him having to deal with being outed on top of everything else just fries my bacon. And the worst is that it's going to happen from people who also consider him a friend. Please, don't post links to articles about the accident. Or the obituaries. Don't mention names. Don't sign guest books. DO NOT show up for calling hours or funerals. As a friend, the best thing you can do is post a comment on his blog and then leave him alone.

Yes, I know it's with good intentions. And he really doesn't care now. But things on the internet last longer than you'd think. I know because I find them. And every link posted and shared and every comment on a guestbook will be there, waiting for someone to stumble across, like a little timebomb. And in time, when things are better - or at least, not as awful - I think he'll care. A lot. And I really don't want him to leave us for his own good. Please, just back away slowly and let him, and his, just be.

Settling in...

Good heavens, time does fly. I'm still computer free, and depending on the library for most online access. And man, does THAT suck. There are some strange people hanging out here, let me tell you. Yeah, I'm probably one of them.

I've moved into the HUGE house that I'm renting. I pitied my tasty-looking movers this time. Just wait 'til I move out of this place, 'cause I've already added furniture and I've barely started.

As I'm now about half an hour from the coast, I'm even more of a vacation destination than I was in Chicago. So I'm in the market for several sleeper sofas, since I will have housefuls of people beginning soon.

Crap. Library closing. Gotta go! More later.

Stuck In The Middle With Me...

Honestly, I'll stop whining about changes soon, I promise. Just not quite yet. I'm almost at the point where I'm sick of listening to myself.

I'm back in Chicago for an extended weekend. Tomorrow, the movers will arrive between 8:00 am and 10:00 am to pack up all my stuff. Then on Tuesday, they'll show up again and load all my stuff. Then I fly out on Wednesday, pick up my keys on Thursday, and the movers will arrive with my stuff during the window of Friday, March 30 and Monday, April 2. Then the next weekend, I'll fly back here, load up the rental SUV with anything and everything that the movers wouldn't take, turn in my keys to the landlord, make sure the electric and such is in his name again and drive back to North Carolina - with a stop at home for my birthday.

I've got to tell ya, my apartment is currently a pretty depressing place to be. The cats aren't there, and it's very strange being able to set things down and leave them. And, most everything I REALLY needed I took with me, so my apartment is fairly barren. It's very strange. Feels kinda like it does when I go back to my parents' house - I'm visiting a place I used to belong. Weird. Very weird.

But I'm going over to a friend's and we're going to sit on her porch and enjoy the beautiful weather (I think I brought it with me) and possibly enjoy adult beverages and maybe leer at her lawn boy, aka fiance. Then, if we can still walk, we're going to go make her wedding invitations. Those should turn out well. And remind me, when I have the bottle in front of me and can remember what it's called - 'cause the alcoholic beverage to be inhibed is really freaking yummy! It's Belgian, I think, and it's raspberry soda flavored. Very tasty.

And, if you're in the Chicago area - ever - and in need of alcohol, check out Binny's. OMG. It's the best store EVER. There's a bunch of them and they have, seriously, damn near every alcoholic beverage available. Love 'em! Yay, alcohol! (Their prices are really good too. I'm tellin' ya, these people rock!)

Alrighty, off to drink.

Later!

Assorted New Things...

I'm not homeless! Of course, I'm not moved either, but I'm getting closer. I've put a deposit down on the house I'll be renting. Two trips back to Chicago have been scheduled - one to meet the movers for pack and load days and a second, over Easter, when I fly in and drive back for the final move. I need to go in and start figuring out where stuff is going to go, and start measuring things. I was going to do that today, but I ended up having to work.

While I continue to think that more and more of their practices are totally ass-backwards, I am settling into the job. One of the guys I work with forwarded a presentation that I sent as an FYI to him to the big cheese in the global headquarters. *Squeak!!* I chewed him up one side and down the other 'cause that was my first stab at it. An hour later, the big cheese sent something back saying that it looked great and he's going to use it for the basis of a huge meeting in a couple of weeks. So I spent most of today adding data to my spreadsheet to take it from six months to over a year. I didn't go in for that - there has to be a quality engineer in the building if production is running, and I volunteered for today 'cause I'm about the only one left who isn't currently sick. So, next week, I'll make like I know what I'm doing with Minitab and get all statistical on its ass. Take that, data!

I talked to my mom today and learned that my dad has filed the papers to retire from the really big tire company. They offered him a buy-out and apparently, he took it. He doesn't know his last day yet - the company has 90 days to get back to him. And they've still got him working seven days, with a double on the last day. The place is going to fall apart without him. For some reason, this is really throwing me for a loop. I think it's the idea that Dad is old enough to retire. I'd rather not think about him getting old. *sigh* Older. And there's that whole hating-change thing. He's been there, what?, 45 years or so? They try to sell their house and I'll really freak out. I can't even think about that. Next topic!

My poor Sophia is just beginning to forgive me for the car trip down here. Another two weeks and she's moving again. The Peanut was totally fine less than ten minutes after exiting the carrier... not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Sophia? Still not settled completely down.

I broke the washer in the temp housing this weekend. Apparently it locks during the spin cycle. Something happened to it and it just stopped. So I gave it an hour or so and then went to poke at it. I had to pry up the lid - breaking the hold-the-lid-down-thingie that was probably important, and it was full of water. Swell. So I wrung out my clothes, tossed them into the dryer, turned it off and then waited to see if the water would drain out on its own. It did, but I still need a washer. *sigh* Not like I work for a company that makes 'em or anything...

So, in the next three weeks, I will have all of my belongings here from Chicago, will be out of temp housing and into the beautiful house that I'm renting, will have renewed my drivers license and plates (in Ohio, let's not get all crazy with the relocating just yet, thankyouverymuch), found a bank here that isn't totally stupid, gotten a library card, and figured out how far I have to drive to get to a decent shoe store. (Already found the book stores, and the needlework stores.) And and and... I'll be much calmer when it's all done. I don't like being unsettled. But, it's getting there!

Hey, Check It Out, I'm Not Dead!

Oh, where to start? Well, I'm not dead. Cool. Moving on...

The trip... was hell. I couldn't fit my plants in the Jeep, so I'm going to have to either 1) depend on the kindness of strangers (ie the movers) to move my plantlets or 2) fly back to Chicago and do the drive again. Oh the rapture. At least I won't have to deal with two screaming cats.

First leg of the trip: home to Ohio wasn't too bad, except for the screaming cat part. Then I actually broke my personal vow to myself and stayed at my parents' house. Yes, in the acid green formerly-mine room. It was lovely. But, mom was being, well, mom and frankly I didn't trust her alone with my cats. Isn't that a sad state of affairs? She's got three indoor/outdoor cats with claws. I have two indoor declawed cats. I saw no value in further stressing my furballs with an introduction. And I did NOT want my cats getting outside. And I wasn't thrilled with the idea of my cats being exposed to whatever strange wormy little cooties that her cats have. Mom ignored all that and kept yammering on about how great it would be to see them all playing together. So I stayed, and rode herd on my mother.

Second leg of the trip: My brain has protected me by making that day a twelve hour long haze of stress induced fogginess. I was on the road by 8:30 am. The drugs worked on the Peanut briefly. That was the best three hours of the trip. It poured rain the whole way, unless I had my own personal raincloud following me. In the mountains, it was so foggy that you couldn't see a car length in front of you. I narrowly avoided a nasty pileup at a toll booth. I arrived in North Carolina at 9 pm in a pounding thunderstorm, heading into hour 14 of my day to find the keys to the temporary housing... not where they were supposed to be. A friend helped me hunt down a phone number for the HR guy at home and he arranged for me to stay in a hotel for the night. At least this time, unlike the interview, I was settled in early enough to find delivery pizza open.

So, I didn't start on Monday 'cause my boss was out of town so the HR guy said to just get settled into the temp housing and relax and then start on Tuesday. So I did.

I may have jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Their supplier situation is even more convulted than my last company. Eek! And there's confusion over who I actually report to - HR and all the paperwork says one person, someone in my office is saying that I report to him. We'll see how that works out.

I'm adjusting to the South. Sorta. I've gotta say, y'all have more pork products in your grocery stores than I previously knew existed. This is a rhetorical question 'cause I do NOT want to know what it really is, but pork crackings? Ugh. As I expected, the traffic is making me nuts. Too slow!!!! Get outta my way! And for god's sake, when the light turns green, don't think about moving for several seconds, GO! There's a little pedal on the right. You should play with it and see what happens when you depress it. Gah.

This morning was exciting. I was walking down the outside stairs of my temp housing when an older pickup came screaming into the lot and stopped directly behind my Jeep. The driver jumped outta the truck, pounded up the stairs and started beating on my neighbor's door. "Open up you )(#*)@#$*%)@(*)$! I know you're in there, you )#*)#(%*)#@(." Good heavens. Ever willing to rush in where angels fear to tread, I yelled up at him to please move his truck. He snarled over the edge for me to do it myself. Since his keys were still in it, I did. Apparently he wasn't expecting that, 'cause the look on his face was priceless. I think he wanted to yell at me, but he just sputtered. I moved his heap back enough to escape, hopped out, smiled at him sunnily, wished him a nice day, jumped in the Jeep and took off.

I've got scads more to babble about (I know this shocks you) but it's almost closing time at the library. The new company is very strict about the internet. They've got all outside email, all blogs, all music and video, and all auction sites blocked. There's a bunch more too. I've GOT to get moved in and hooked up at home. Not seeing everyone's blogs every day is KILLING me.

T Minus One and Counting...

Right. So, it's finally starting to sink in. Tomorrow is my last day here. And even though the last few months have been rough, I'm now getting ridiculous. Completely, hormonally nuts... as in *sniffle* "This is the last time I just jumped for my life out of the elevator" and "I'll never sit in another meeting with you, you gassy, obnoxious pain in the @$$ coworker. *sob* I'll miss you!" I think I've finally lost it.

Let's not get into all of the things that need to be done. No, really. Let's not. My head will explode, I'm almost sure of it. So I'm just going to go sob because this is my last blog from *this* computer. Then I'm going to try to soak the craziness outta my head. I may drown first.

See you on the other side!

Llama Llama Duck

Happy Thursday!

For the original llama-y goodness, click here.

Here Goes Nothin'

Well. My time here in Chicago is drawing to a close. This morning, I verbally accepted an offer for a really big company in North Carolina. I start there on February 26th. Eep. Totally freaking out here. I haven't put my notice in yet, 'cause I'm chicken and I'm stalling. I want to go, but I want to stay. I'm going to go, it's a very good opportunity. But, I'm going to cry the whole time.

Vicki the Biker?

*sigh* Here's the thing. I'm mostly (in my own head, anyway) a very normal, boring person. White bread, middle America, straight down the line. I go to work. I goof off at work, playing on my blog. I go home, eat something approximating dinner and then fall into the soul-sucking depths of my recliner. Sometimes, I wake up there the next day. You'll have that. Then I do it all again. The excitement of my life is stupifying. Really.

But there's another side too. That's the side I try to keep under wraps. The same one that got one tattoo, and is wondering where to put the next one. My evil twin, except the Sybil-living-in-my-brain version. She thinks that an occasional bar fight is the perfect stress relief, and that we (um, I) don't have nearly enough things pierced. She's the one that worked up the nerve to take off for California for several months, and the reason (most probably) that I had the gumption to leave everything I knew to move here for the job.

Lately, I'm afraid she's getting out more than she used to. And, others are starting to suspect. What led to this confession is a pair of shoes. I'm quite the stereotype girl when it comes to shoes. Oh, I loves me some shoes. And shoe shopping? All over it. Like white on rice, baby. My friends and family have laughed at me for years, 'cause no one knows how tall I am at work because I'm always in shoes with at least 3 inch heels. Always. Even my snow boots have heels.

Someone sent me a link to a store, where they bought a dress. I arrowed straight to the shoe section, where I found these. OMG. They are wonderful!! I must have them. I must.


Yes, that's my confession for the day, folks. I don't just love shoes, I love hooker shoes. Silver and clear, 6" platforms THAT LIGHT UP. I've found nirvana.

Pay Attention Much?

Last night, I had a phone conference with my esteemed colleauges in Japan and Singapore. Just out of curiosity, if WE are the global headquarters, why is my ass at work for a call until midnight?! Fucking time zones.

At any rate, I went home, snarfed down some cereal and fell into bed. I did not, as per my usual, pack a lunch. Or set out clothes. Or ready the coffee pot (which died on me the other day. *sob* Oh, faithful friend, how I miss thee.)

I'm just now getting around to eating the lunch I packed this morning. Wow. No wonder I do this sort of thing the evening before. I have 3 apples and 3 string cheese things in there. Apparently this morning, I just circled helplessly from the fridge to the lunch bag and back for a while. *headshake* Alrighty then.

I did only grab one granola bar. But here's the thing. I've been buying the same brand and the same flavor of granola bar for YEARS. [yes, I enjoy my rut - thankyouverymuch] I vaguely remember having to fumble around with a new box this morning, but until I pulled the thing out of the bag a minute ago, I didn't notice that it is totally the wrong size. And brand. And flavor. So instead of my yummy chewy granola bar, I have 2 bars of strangely flavored rock which are crumbling to dust in my keyboard as I speak. Um, type. How the hell did I end up with these things? I must have been unconscious in the store too.

More terrifying is the thought that I AM turning into my mother - she's renowned for going to the store and coming back with the wrong thing (ie going for sour cream, coming back with french onion chip dip, that sort of thing). I'm so doomed.

Wish Me Luck...

I fly out on Sunday to an interview in North Carolina. The town sounds neat, the job sounds good, we'll have to see how it goes. I really don't like interviewing. I don't like change. I'd really rather just stay in my comfy little rut.

But, my job has reached all new levels of hell, and the writing's on the wall - I really think that they'll be phasing out my department. It would be good to be the one to make the decision to leave.

So, off I toddle to try to impress these people. Now, am I dazzling them with bullshit or baffling them with brilliance? I get so confused. I'll be back on Tuesday. Cross your fingers for me.

Mascot Trauma

You know, my life didn't start out this way. I attended the same school from kindergarden through graduation, and our mascot was the viking. It varied from a hairy, Hagar the Horrible type to the sleek profile used by the Minnesota football team. But, all in all, a mascot to be proud of.

Then I went to college. To the University of Akron. And what exactly is our fearsome mascot, designed to strike terror into the hearts of our foe?

Yup. Zippy the Kangaroo. Not only that, but the sordid truth of the matter is that something is um, well, off with Zippy. Everyone has always referred to him as a him, but the picture above clearly shows... a pouch. Boy kangaroos don't have those, as I understand it. So, Zippy is transgender, or a hermaphrodite, or a cross dresser.

The friendly, happy Zippy is the one that I'm used to. Shortly after I graduated from UA, they gave Zippy a makeover. He's now a fierce, frowny, 'roided out, blue Zippy. Maybe just me, but I'm still not overly intimidated by him. It. Her. Whatever.

About the only sport I feel is worth watching (quit throwing beer cans at me, it's not nice) is baseball. And which team do I follow? Cleveland of course. With Chief Wahoo. Another mascot dud. (Although here I must add that I'm very change-adverse, and if those wackos with nothing better to do than bitch about non-pc mascots get their way, and Chief Wahoo goes the way of the dodo, I'm probably going to be pissed off enough to stop following the Tribe. What can I say? I hold grudges for things like that.)

It could be worse. I could follow Cincinnati. The Gapper? What's up with that?? What is that thing anyway?

And now, the teams getting national recognition right now - Ohio State and Florida State. Florida's mascot makes sense. Think of Florida, and what comes to mind? Oranges and gators (and that overly commercialized rodent, but that's neither here nor there). What's Ohio State's mascot? The buckeye.



Hello, folks. It's a nut. From a tree. That's even worse than the kangaroo. Although tailgate parties could include those tasty little candies... Maybe that's what they were thinking. Hmm.

So, what's your school/team mascot?

Spiders in Nature

This is what you'd end up with if Jack Handy was doing nature videos.

And Here We Are Again...

It doesn't feel like a brave new year. Feels just like the same one I fled last week. The re-org announcement finally came out, so I've spent most of the day fielding paniced calls from people wondering who is going to be doing all the stuff I've been doing. So that has been marginally amusing - sending everyone over to the turncoat.

In other news, I'm beginning to understand what people mean when they say that getting older isn't for the faint of heart. I ache, dammit. In those wild salad days of yore, I spent 22 hours straight driving a standard transmission from Phoenix through to Dallas. (It took 22 hours 'cause I got REALLY lost and wandered back into New Mexico at some point.) Yesterday I spent less than seven hours (zoooommmmm!) driving from Northeastern Ohio back to Chicago's southwestern suburbs. Today, I hurt. My butt is sore, my knees are complaining and even my elbows are unhappy with me. WTF? And I have a sinking feeling that it's all downhill from here. *sigh*

The Good Old Ways?

We used to need these signs, when I was growing up. There was a sizable Amish population around us, as well as a large number Mennonites. They had hitching racks outside the stores in town, and sometimes there would be horses and buggies attached to them. The area has grown up too much - the Amish have retreated. The signs still hang, 'cause my little town has become quite the tourist mecca, and tourists love shit like those signs, but it's been probably 15 years since I've actually seen a horse and buggy clopping down the street.

Right now, I'm thinking they have the right idea. I have no right to whine, really, 'cause I'm more fortunate than most - but that's not going to stop me. Yes, I realize that without a slightly more modern vehicle, the trip home could not have been accomplished in the six and a half hours that it took. Still...

When Dad asked what I wanted for Christmas, I said that the best thing he could give me was time - car maintanance time. My Cherokee went over 98000 miles on the trip home, and some things needed worked on. For one thing, it was oil change time again. For another, I'm really freakin' sick of not having a working heater. The air conditioner not working didn't phase me, 'cause I'm usually freezing and I never turn it on. The heat, though, that's a bit more critical.

So Wednesday, I hauled myself and my Jeep over to my parents' house so Dad could work on it. My brother even promised to help. Well, in the course of changing the oil and lubing everything, they discovered that my U joints were about shot. So I had to haul it over there again so they could replace those. Then on my way back to my aunt's, the damn thing overheated and dumped coolant all over the driveway. Then they got the u joints replaced, and it started shaking at 55 mph. Now they're going to change the thermostat to the radiator and I have to bring it back tomorrow so they can fool around with it some more.

And... my heater still doesn't work. Dammit.

If I feel like being really picky about things, I'll whine about the rest of it too. Like how the pull-thing for the hood broke off a while ago, and I'm currently yanking on the fish stringer line sticking out from under the hood to get it open. And how the driver's side map light only works when it wants to. As does the overhead light when I open any of the car doors - sometimes it comes on, sometimes not. And how passengers can open the window occasionally, and other times the Jeep doesn't like 'em and won't listen.

*sigh* I'm just very lucky that I have people willing to work on it for me. I've tried the mechanic route - last year, I dumped over $3000 into the damn thing 'cause my mechanic replaced the radiator (for nearly $400) and then 'discovered' the crack in the block that required someone to machine it out for over $2600 and THEN my service engine soon light came on - and the son of a bitch charged me another almost $400 to replace an oxygen sensor. Rat bastard. My brother is of the opinion that whatever they did to the radiator probably broke the block. Since they charged me $168 to do the "diagnostic" last time - after I told them what was wrong 'cause Autozone checked it for free - I've decided to find someone new. For now, that would be my brother and my dad.

Just for the record - don't trust a mechanic named Sparky. Especially when he's got $40,000 worth of Matco tool cabinents in his garage.

Glad Tidings, And Yummy Cheese, To All

Well, Gentle Readers, I'm off shortly to brave the mall to finish up my Christmas shopping. Then I will go home, and in the time available before Sunday, I will wrap gifts, clean my grungy home, pack, organize all the things to go home, and load the vehicle. I must also stop by the post office and the bank and the library - and do a bunch of other stuff I really hope I have written down somewhere - all the things you do when preparing to leave for a week.

Once I'm home (and I've been dreading the several hour long car trip for days), my computer time will be fragmented at best. I will pick up as much of my former life as possible, meeting with friends and family, visiting old haunts, etc and who knows how much time I'll have to slave over a hot keyboard.

It is December 21, and here in Chicago, it's raining and 51 degrees. There are worms all over the pavement. It just doesn't feel like Christmas - especially, I suppose, to the worms. I'd rather drive in rain than sleet/ice/snow, so I'll postpone my wishes for a white Christmas until I'm a bit closer to home. But for all of you, I hope your holiday season - whatever you happen to be celebrating - is all that you want it to be.

If, like me, you have a huge annual New Year's party to go to, try this recipe - it is SO good.

Marinated Cheese

1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 cup white wine vinegar
3 tbsp chopped fresh parsley
3 tbsp minced green onion
1 tsp sugar
3/4 tsp dried basil
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp freshly ground pepper
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 (2 oz.) jar diced pimiento, drained
1 5 1/2 x 2 x 1 inch block sharp cheddar cheese (8 oz), chilled
1 (8 oz) package cream cheese, chilled

Combine first 10 ingredients in a jar, cover tightly and shake vigorously. Set marinade mixture aside.
Cut block of cheddar in half lengthwise. Cut crosswise into1/4 inch thick slices, set aside. Repeat procedure with cream cheese. Arrange slices alternately in a shallow baking dish, standing slices on edges. Pour marinade over cheese slices. Cover and marinate in refrigerator at least 8 hours.
Transfer cheese slices to a serving platter in the same alternating fashion. Spoon marinade over cheese slices. Garnish with fresh parsley sprigs, if desired. Serve with assorted crackers.

Cheers!

Ummm Yeah

So, photography is kind of a hobby of mine. I take a lot of pictures. I'm fairly good at it. If you were to wander through the homes of my friends, you will find pictures that I took framed in all of them. I've been told on several occasions that the pictures that I took turned out better than the professional photographer hired for the occasion, and a couple of friends on budgets have just had me photograph their weddings for them.

I have a point and shoot type camera that I love - partly 'cause it's got a super cool little remote. I also have a Pentax ME Super that my dad got me for my birthday years ago. It's an older one, and completely manual. (I'm still figuring out some of the buttons and dials.) I've got a couple of flashes and several different lens, and a very official-looking bag/suitcase thing to lug them all around. I have gotten into places I had no business being 'cause people assumed I was a news person.

So, the taking pictures part of the program is not the problem. The problem is the rest of the procedure. I currently have nine rolls of film, spanning a couple of years (plus two rolls of film from eleven years ago - curse you, Seattle Filmworks!) that still need to be developed. That, unfortunately, is only part of the problem as well.

The rest of the problem is what happens after they're developed. I have 2 dresser drawers, plus an entire drawer of one of those huge four drawer lateral filing cabinets, plus a couple of boxes FULL - stuffed full - of pictures, and frames. I have some things organized into albums, but not many. Most of them are still in the packets from the developer, waiting for me to do something with them.

It's one of the things on my "to-do" list for the new year is to organize them. Of course, that has been on the to-do list for a couple of years... But now that I have a kitchen table, I have a work space, so maybe it'll happen. Hey, it could happen!

I will look, lookingUp, for the tree-rock picture. And I will develop the pictures of the new (now six months old) kitten. And I will find the wedding/baby/random cool pictures that I owe to so many people. And hopefully it will happen this year. Sometime. But not now. Now I'm busy freaking out over the holidays. But, if, erm when, when I find them, I'll post. Promise!

Here A Slipper, There A Slipper

So, just the other day, I posted about what an icky gift slippers were. Maybe I should have been more specific. They're an icky gift to give me. I have four or so pairs right now (all gifts), and I very rarely wear them. Even in the depths of winter when my toes are like ice cubes, I prefer to be barefoot while in the house.

Last Friday, I went to a work friend's fourth annual holiday party. (I'll have to do a whole post about my crazed, but really fun weekend. Good Lord above, it's almost like I have a life or something!) Part of this party was a gift exchange, so I needed to hunt down a cool $10 gift. I am not good at buying random gifts when I don't know who will be getting it. Even if I have no clue who the person is or anything about them, if I have a name, I can stalk their friends and find something that I think they'll like. Just a random gift - I'm clueless. And what if no one picks your gift, and it just sits there, the last one on the table? It's like getting picked last for the kickball team at recess. The pressure was killing me.

Thank the stars for jewelry parties - I picked up a bracelet for $11. Then I went to Target and got a really cool box to put it in. But the bracelet looked so small in the box that I went rooting around in my craft stuff and made a tree ornament to go with it.

I'm still not completely clear on the concept behind stealing gifts at these exchange things, but that's probably just me. Everyone picked a number, and of 16 people, I was number 14. Then we went in order. You could pick an wrapped present or steal someone else's unwrapped present. If you stole, that person got to chose another wrapped one. Each present could only be stolen three times total. There was some really cool stuff too - a very pretty handbag, candles, bath stuff, chocolate, a tin of homemade cards, etc. What did I get? Go ahead, guess. Did you say... slippers? Yup. *sigh* The fates were obviously retailating against me for being an ungrateful chit about the whole slipper gift thing.

And actually, it worked out well. My friend's gift got stolen from her and she ended up with coffee, which she doesn't drink. But, she'd worn holes in her last pair of slippers. So we waited 'till we were walking out and we switched.

Then (and this is the really sad part), I was wandering around the internet, looking for a suitable slipper image to head this post when I found these. Are they not the cutest things ever? Bunny slippers don't count towards the slipper geis. I want a pair! And, I bought a pair for my best friend for Christmas. So, I think I'll just pipe down about slippers 'cause I obviously don't know what I'm talking about.

(And as it happened, my gift was a hit. It didn't get stolen from the original person, but since she threatened people with bodily harm if they took it from her, that isn't a major surprise. We work at the same company but in completely different departments, so I rarely see her - but she was wearing the bracelet the last time we bumped into each other. Score!)

Ah, The Talent...

Isn't it pretty? I made it myself, and then hung it in the window of my cube. Yes, that would be my head at the bottom. Peek a boo! So, I'm just all full of myself right now. I made a pretty 3D snowflake, which was cool. Then (and here's what gets me all atwitter) I took a picture of it with my shiny new phone and then, using the same shiny new phone, I emailed the picture to myself. How cool is that? Once again, I'm feeling quite technologically savy.

And yes, I did spend quality work time playing with paper and tape. Why not? The last reorg (shared a week ago, effective on the first) has essentially made me a file clerk so I'll be over here, applying to every job on Monster and making snowflakes 'till I get the f*** outta here.

If you'd like to make your own cool snowflake, check out this site. I had no idea it existed, but I've found all sorts of nifty things.

Ramblings and Random Babblings, Part 2

Ramble, babble or rant - you decide.

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I have to conclude that cat people are crazy. Okay, I'm a cat person - I live alone with two of them. One day soon, I'll really start collecting them and I'll end up on the news or something. Hey, everyone needs a goal. But some cat people are a cog or two short of a wheel. (Whisker short of a kitten? Fin short of a tuna? Tuna short of a school? Something, anyway.) I posted something several months ago someplace else about the kitten - something along the lines of "What the hell was I thinking?!?!" I updated this post in the last couple of weeks ago with a new listing of the things that the demon has destroyed, and then I goofed. Totally blew it. I mentioned in one post that I intended to have her declawed in the front and (oh, the horror!!) I feed Sophia Purina One. Wow, did the fur fly!
I should be drug into the street and shot. I shall rot in hell for all eternity for being house-proud. I'm putting my furnishings, my clothing and my flesh above my sacred cat's happiness and well-being. AND, I'm trying to poison the other one while I'm at it. If I loved my cats, they would be invited to shred anything that was in reach of their unmolested little daggers, and I would spend my days dicing up mice and endangered songbirds for them to nibble on, while they sipped from bowls of freshly melted Antarctic glacier. Sure.

Okay, people. Lookie over here at the shiny light. See it? It's called reality. I know it hurts, but let's look into the light for a moment, shall we? Sophia is declawed in the front. She came from the shelter that way. Her little nose has a bloody scab on it now from the hellspawn swatting her, daggers extended. That beast's claws ARE coming out. The fact that Peanut spends her days jumping up the walls and shredding the paint and wallpaper enforce that this is the right decision. I rent. I have a security deposit that, greedy wench that I am, I'd really like to see again. Deal with it.

On to the poisoning. I've had Sophia for three years now. She's been on Purina One (hairball formula!) since the day she came in. The vet says she's in perfect health. And, she won't eat canned food. Or organic free range protein enhanced this-is-really-meat-honest-we-swear cat pellets. And she drinks mostly from the bathroom faucet, so she won't be ingesting too much of that flower water I would buy, if I were a good petparent. She and the kitten both drink the water in the saucers after I water my plants - dirt, dead leaves and all - so don't try to guilt me into buying spring water for them either.

Maybe I'm being unnecessarily bitchy here, but if you spend that much money on "essentials" for your "furbabies" (a word I personally loathe) and that much time, I am going regard you with a look very similar to the one I usually reserve for fat old men in shiny red convertables. Get a life. I may be bursting a bubble or two here, but your cat is not your child. If you die in your home, they'd better find you fast 'cause cats survive, and they're pretty unsentimental about it.

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Speaking of free range, wild animals, if you have a chance, you should really try to watch Hogzilla. Believe it or not, it's a National Geographic Explorer. I can only assume that NG has been bought out by the Weekly World News. But, I think one of the best job titles ever is "Feral Hog Expert." How does one become an expert in this? Can there be enough need for this expertise (hard won, I'm assuming) to sustain life?

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Ramblings and Random Babblings, Part 1

I've got oodles of things floating around in my brain that I've been meaning to dump here, and holy crap, it ended up being way longer than I thought so I'll split it up somewhere in the middle.

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I finally got a new cell phone. I had my old one for 8 years. Yes, eight years. It drove my friends nuts. They called it either the brick or the ghetto phone. Sprint hated me 'cause I had been gloriously plan free for like six years or so. I was like the free range, wild chicken of cell phone plans.

Between the phone just not working well - I haven't had an undropped call in weeks - and Sprint making me spend an hour or so on the phone to customer service every month while they "reprogrammed" my phone so it would call out instead of calling them - "You owe... zero dollars... and must pay... zero dollars" - I finally decided that it was time.

Of course, I've tried before. Last winter, I went into a Sprint store at home. Sprint signs everywhere. Little guy in a sprint shirt came zipping over to help me, and I told 'em I wanted a new sprint phone. His whole face fell, and he informed me that he couldn't help me. He didn't have any Sprint phones. *blink* Beg pardon? It turns out that up 'till the week before, they'd been a Nextel store. They had the signs and everything, but no phones. Glad Sprint had its priorities in order, right?

When I was home for Thanksgiving, I stopped by a Radio Shack for batteries (which, btw, ended up being of a sort that they had never seen before and certainly didn't carry *sigh*), realized that they had Sprint phones, and grabbed a pretty one. I started out with a Katana or some such thing, but that had a mail in rebate and the Razor was an instant one. I now am SO trendy, with my spiffy charcoal Razor phone. Now if only I had some clue how to work it...

The part I shall really miss about the old phone is chewing on the antenna. It's a wonder I haven't fried myself.

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What else? Oh, the drive home for Thanksgiving was trippy. I encountered freezing fog. My cousin lives in the mountains in Oregon and she's told me about this stuff. She's sent pictures, and it's really pretty. The drive across Indiana wasn't pretty. It was like driving through a cotton ball. A grey one. As water would condense on the Jeep, it would freeze instantly. I had to stop a couple of times and de-ice the antenna 'cause it was waving around and I was sure it was about to snap off. When I got to my brother's house, the whole front end of the truck was encased in ice. Weird.

Between that and the thundersnow, I'm really starting to wonder about our weather. (The thundersnow happens when you have thunder and lightning while it's snowing. It's really cool looking. I'm not sure what braintrust came up with the term thundersnow, but I am not mentally capable of saying it without sounding like an announcer for WWF Raw or used cars or something.)

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Another thought: as you go about your gift giving this season, don't give slippers. Just don't. Given, I'm a hick and prefer to be barefoot. Also given, I LOVE shoes. Shoes do not equal slippers, people. And trying to smile and show appreciation for slippers with huge mutant Scooby heads on 'em is tough. Especially after you try to walk in them and fall flat on your face. Believe me on this one.

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I can't decide whether or not to put up a tree. I have one of those pre-lit things in a box. But, most of my ornaments are glass. I haven't really posted much about my adventures with the kitten, but suffice to say, she's a demon-spawned hellchild. No ornament anywhere on the tree would be safe. Hell, the tree wouldn't be safe. And my Sophia, much as I love her, is no slouch in the tree-destroying department. Last year, I had a small tree (about 2.5 feet high), and I had to wire it to the wall and the table and then wire all of the ornaments onto it. It took me a couple of hours. And every night, I'd come home to find a glitter-covered kitty 'cause she'd spent the day whacking at it, trying for a weak spot. These aren't my cats, but the idea is the same.

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I find this hilarious. People are destroying their TVs by throwing their Wii remote thingies at 'em and having the strap break. Then the remote thingie goes winging into space, until it impacts something expensive and breaks it. OMG, people, turn it off and go outside!

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Solid wood furniture weighs A LOT. I brought my table and chairs back with me from Thanksgiving. The table is a pedestal-style, and we had to remove the top to get it crammed in the Jeep. Turns out that this was lucky for me 'cause there is NO way I could have pried it out of the Jeep with it still attached. As it was, I laid down blankets in a path from the Jeep to my door and rolled the table top into the apartment. Yesterday, I put it back together and hauled it upright. HEAVY! But, I now have a dining room table, and chairs! Yay!

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Check out tomorrow for the rest of this brain dump.

It's Snowing!

Okay, so they said it was going to snow yesterday. I totally didn't believe them.


'Cause they always say it's going to snow and it never does. Didn't believe 'em even when they showed me this:




Well, even a blind squirrel occasionally finds an acorn 'cause holy crap, we have snow now!



It was raining last night on my way home. Okay, actually, it was kind of slushing but even then I didn't believe their storm warning. And later, I could hear icey-sounding things hitting the windows. Still didn't think a whole lot about it.


I woke up this morning to a wonderland. We had over 10" on the ground and it is still falling. And it's the heavy, sticky kind of snow that makes for a great snowball fight. It's killing me to be here at work today. I wanna go play in the snow!


I may go sledding this weekend, or just out walking. The snow is sticking to the trees and everything - it's beautiful. Yeah, I know. I've moaned and groaned about winter for years, but for some reason, this snow is making me happy. Maybe 'cause it's Friday and I don't HAVE to spend time out in it if I don't want to. Or because this is the first significant snowfall of the year and I've still got enough kid in me to think it's kinda magic to wake up to a whole new world.

I'm going to fill a storage tub with snow tonight and drop the kitten in it. It will undoubtedly keep me entertained for quite a while. And I think I'll build a snowman. Maybe I'll go completely wild and try to photograph a flake or two. Whatever I end up doing, happy winter everyone!

Beta Blogger

Well, so far, it sucks.

It can't remember my password, so I have to log in for every comment and post, complete with the four hundred and one security boxes each time. It says you can still log in with your blogger account, but if you try that, you get a snarky little message about having to use the google account. I'm not very happy with their privacy policies, but I suppose that's neither here nor there, and I'm already seeing an increase in the amount of spam I'm getting so that's got me pissed off too.

More disturbing is that the damn site's been down and I've gotten more errors in the week of beta blogging than I got in over a year with the original. I've been trying for over an hour, on and off, to visit MM over at the Masthead. Every time, I get a page that says "google error, try again in 30 seconds."

This week, I've lost two complete posts when I tried to publish - it even ate the in-process versions that I'd saved as I went. And guess what? That's two more posts than I've ever lost before.

So, boo to google. Fix this or gimme the old one back.

Eep. I'm Scared.

Every time I show up here at my little blog, I get that message about my new beta bloggie things being ready to go. They've started getting more forceful about it too, so it's only a matter of time before they take matters into their own hands and just switch me over.

So, now that I know my user name and password, I guess I'll click that button to switch over. *gulp* Hope this goes well...

Furniture Update

I went home to vote last weekend. Stupid absentee ballot. Stupid me for totally forgetting to send in the stupid application for the stupid absentee ballot. *sigh* Oh well, what's another thousand miles on the Jeep?

In addition to getting to spend time at home - yay! - my little trip also allowed me to ferry more furniture back from my storage unit. If I'm not careful, this apartment will start looking like someone lives here.

It's funny. I have furniture. I have beautiful furniture. Is it in my apartment, where I can use it? Well. No. It's in a storage unit at home in Ohio. Good place for it, don'tcha think? My adventures in acquiring said furniture are detailed here. Yes, it was a year ago.

I've managed to get things somewhat organized. The dumpster dived end tables finally made it to Goodwill. The cardboard is mostly gone - hooray for friends moving! And for recycling! Four of the six bookcases are assembled and filled so the piles of books have decreased substantially. I have a baker's rack, and despite previous intentions, I didn't steal it. (I don't like it as well either. Maybe I'll switch 'em. It's not too late!) My flora cart is assembled and full of plants. I bought a recliner, so I do have some places to sit.

And slowly, I'm hauling my haul to my lair. The hall table and mirror came first, along with the little table lamp thing. My huge coffee table (they call it a cocktail table, whatever that means) is here, as is my end table/night stand. And, new this last trip, my dresser. (The picture above of the same model. Special bonus - the sweater chest is also the same model as mine.)

The dresser is a Vaughan-Bassett model - Grandma's Treasures. This is the one that Mom was supposed to talk me out of. Obviously that worked. At any rate, my dad and I crammed it into my Jeep Cherokee. The dresser is 45" x 56" x 19" so it was something of a squeeze. We had to remove the spare tire from its hanger on the side wall to get the dresser to fit. Here's the really amazing part - I actually called for help to get it back out of the Jeep when I got back here. I think I could have gotten it by myself - it just takes determination - but Dad made me promise that I'd get help before he'd help me put it in the Jeep. He's such a killjoy.

My original plan was to put this dresser into my spare room to hold my crafting whatsits... But I determined that with the other dresser, the table for my sewing machine, and the four drawer lateral filing cabinet in there, if I actually added the dresser (assuming I could get it through the door), I wouldn't have any room to set up the inflatable queen sized mattress that I use for company. *sigh* New plan - this dresser shall be my sideboard in my dining area. I've already started loading the drawers - tablecloths and placemats in one, my sprinkles/sugars collection in another, cookie cutters and presses in yet another. I love having a place to put stuff!

So, when I go home for Thanksgiving, I'm going to try to stuff the sweater chest in the Jeep next. I'll already discovered that my kitchen table just won't fit. No way, no how. And I'm afraid the chest won't either. Aw well, maybe if I just scoot the seats up a bit... Wish me luck!

Again With The Invisible Things...

It's started again. This time last year, I posted about my Sophia and the no-see-'ems that she hunts. I wondered if the presence of the Peanut would affect her behavior. The answer? Nope. But, the kitten doesn't appear to see the things either. Last night, and for the last couple of weeks, Sophia has been on the prowl for the migrating whatsits, while the psycho kitten sprawls across the coffee table and watches her with a puzzled look.

Peanut is always ready to help, and sometimes she follows Sophia in the stalk, but she has no clue what's going on. It's been highly entertaining. Last night, Sophia apparently catch one, and then came over and dropped it next to Peanut - like she was trying to teach her to hunt these things. Peanut didn't get it. At all. Finally the thing tried to run and Sophia recaptured it, and ate it. (No, I can't see 'em either - I'm taking it on faith that there is *something* there that Sophia hunts. *shrug* Could be true, who am I to judge?)

I find it interesting that this hunting the invisibles behavior occurs with such regularity. Ghost mice? Critters from the fourth dimension? My cat needs lithium? Who knows, but it is fun to watch.

Happy Halloween!!

I love Halloween. I think it might be my favorite holiday. Part of that is that I can wear my cool spider earrings and not get whacked up alongside the head with a newspaper. Man, that hurt. Part of it is that a lot of the things that I like are cool for one day - bats and spiders and snakes, oh my! and spooky old houses, and creepy trees and the crackling of leaves underfoot. I like that for one night a year, we dress our children up and send them off into the night to demand candy from strangers. It's the one time of year that all of my little spider friends can spin their webs in my corners and no one comments on it, or threatens to hoover them up.

One of the reasons I have always been so fond of it doesn't really apply as much anymore. No one used to be that into it. When did it get so commercial?!? I don't remember if I've ranted here before about those inflatable lawn decorations, but I don't like 'em. Well, I am kinda fascinated by the snowglobe ones with the snow flying around inside. But aside from those... one of my neighbors goes crazy EVERY freakin' holiday with those things. And I don't care what the stores tell you, planting seven foot tall, manical Easter bunnies in your yard is creepy not festive. But I digress. As usual. For Halloween, this neighbor has an assortment of inflatables in his yard. No, not that kind. Please. It's a family oriented neighborhood, although that would be really funny... Where was I? Right. Halloween decorations. This is not a large yard we're talking about here. But, he has a Frankenstein, the stack o'pumpkins with ghosts, new this year - a large black cat archway over the sidewalk, a witch, and the one that really freaks me out - the vampire Pooh. This is just wrong. OMG - I just searched for an image and found that you can get a whole Disney vampire family. I am so disturbed right now. The wonderful thing about Tiggers is that they vant to suck your blood?!? Eek. That's just not right.

This is totally not where I wanted to go with this post. Can you tell that I'm on my third pot of coffee? No, I'm sure not. Actually, you now have a pretty good idea of what trying to hold a conversation with me is like. ZOOOMMMMMMM - Let's go here! No here! No there! *blink* Who're you? I am a treat, let me tell you.

Now, what the hell was I *going* to babble about... Ooh, right. Cookies. Part of my problem today is that I'm sleepy 'cause I was up half the night on a wild cookie decorating tear. I think I've mentioned before my occasional Martha Stewart tendancies. I got in a mood last night and just went to town. Thanks to the Wilton Tent Sale (oh, how I love thee!), I have the equipment to go nuts for damn near any special occasion ever. My original plan was these cool cookies that you pipe out to make spider webs, but the dough was too stiff to get through a pastry bag, so I turned it into cut-out cookies instead. I raided my supply of cut-outs for a bat, a cat, a ghost and a pumpkin. Then I frosted them, and then I went bug nuts on the sprinkles then I went back and added details with more frosting.

My ghosties were white, with sparkly white sugar, and black eyes and mouths. My bats were purple, with sparkly purple sugar and red eyes. I turned the pumpkins in Jack O'Lanterns with green stems and black eyes, noses and mouths - complete with ragged teeth. And my cats were black with green eyes and white fangs. Ooh, my bats had fangs too. Wow, those were a pain. Did you know that it takes FOREVER to make little bat and cat fangs with white frosting and a toothpick? And teeth on a pumpkin... *eye roll* What was I thinking?

Once the icing dried, I arranged them festively on a tray and went and fell into bed. Here's the sad part, which I was expecting: They didn't make it 'till lunch. The office hoard descended like the sugar-loving buzzards that they are and there weren't even any crumbs left. Hell, I'm lucky to have kept all ten fingers. And I wasn't awake enough last night to take a picture so no evidence exists that they ever happened. Well, except for the pile of cookie sheets waiting for me to go scrub them.

Actually, there is some evidence. Completely without meaning to, I managed to wrap a trick into my treats. The black sugar that I used for the cats? It's really cool. And, as an added bonus, it turns your mouth a dark purple when you eat a cookie, oh say like a cat shaped one. *smirk* So, there are people running around here looking like children, with dark purple lips, teeth and tongues. And since I used the sprinkles to make the icing black for the details on the ghosts and the pumpkins, no one really got off color free. Tee hee.

Oh, my picture is from here. I've never tried to use power tools on a pumpkin before! Brilliant! Next year, my pretties... I'm firing up the sawzall! Bwahahahahahaha! Spend a few minutes on their site - this guy is a hoot. Must remember this next year. Must write a memo to myself to remember this next year. Wonder where I put my post-its. Hmm. Off to search. Later!

Boo! A Ghost!

I suppose that it's the right time of the year for a ghost story. In my world, any time of year is usually appropriate. Allow me to explain. Home is the old farmhouse that I grew up in. It was built in/around 1902 and it's only had 5 owners since then. My parents bought it in the early 1970s and have lived there ever since.

We haven't talked about it much as a family - my mom has decided that my brother and I just have vivid imaginations, but some odd things happen in that house. For one thing, I'd swear that the house recognizes us when we come home. Scott and I have both noticed how warm and welcoming the house is when we walk in - regardless of the actual temperature. Both of us have had friends that the house didn't appear to care for as well - there've been several people that just didn't feel welcome in our home, and were always freezing the entire time they were there - again regardless of the temperature or time of year.

For whatever reason, I think the house regards me as a plaything 'cause it (or whatever's there) has always been more active when I'm there alone. Lights turn themselves on and off, the curling iron gets unplugged, things occasionally move around. One morning in particular, the coffee pot turned itself off every time I left the kitchen. You do not trifle with my caffeine. I don't care what plane you exist on. Finally, I got pissed off enough that I yelled something along the lines of "G*dd*mn it! Leave my coffee alone, or I'll exorcise your ass!" The coffee pot flipped back on, and it's never screwed with my caffeine again.

I could go on for quite a while about the oddness that is normal around our house, but I have one tale in particular in mind. For my fifteenth birthday, my dad gave me a set of house keys. This was a VERY big deal - entrusting me with the keys to the kingdom so to speak. (Scott still doesn't have a house key.) He put them on a brass keyring with my initial. It was quite the moment.

I was phobic about keeping track of those keys. I knew where they were every second of the day. Then, one night, I put them on the dresser where I always put them. The next morning, they were gone. I tore my room apart. Then I tore the house apart. I tortured my brother, thinking he'd snatched them to screw with me. Nothing. Nada. They were gone. Vanished in the night. Finally I told Mom and Dad that I couldn't find them. Whew, boy, did I catch hell! I had left the door open to potential home invaders. Psychic ones, that would get their hands on my keys and just know where we lived and when we wouldn't be home so they could waltz in and loot our stuff. And the insurance wouldn't cover it 'cause they didn't have to break in 'cause I'd gone and given them a key. *shudder* It was thoroughly unpleasant.

Months went by and we started the renovations on the former master bedroom. (We were turning it into a library, with a loft and everything.) I came home from school, changed into my demolition clothes and started in on one wall. Dad was working on another wall. We pulled down the plaster (which I regret now. It was original, with the horsehair running through it.) and the lathe boards to expose the joists. This was the first time that this wood had been exposed to the light in like 80 years. So, about half way down the wall, there was a huge nail spanning the joists about four feet from the floor. This nail was squared off, about 14 inches long and about 1/4" in diameter. Dangling from that nail, dead center between the joists, under the original lathe and plaster walls, was my key chain.

I'm glad that Dad was there when I was pulling down the wall, 'cause otherwise he'd have never believed it. Hell, I didn't believe it. I whirled around to him and demanded to know how he'd gotten the keys in there. It took us quite a while to move that damned nail enough to get my keys out of the wall, and I think that more than anything convinced both of us that it was real. I have that keychain today. It's still got my house keys on it. That nail is still in the wall, between the joists. And I still have NO idea how my keys came to be hanging in that wall. As Mr. Shakespeare said,"There are stranger things in heaven and upon earth, Horatio,
than dreamt of in your philosophy." He wasn't kidding.

Slimy, Worthless, Untrustworthy Scum-Suckers

I'm speaking, of course, of recruiters. Some people are alive only because it is illegal to kill them. I don't remember who said this originally, and lord knows there are plenty of people out there that this little axiom can be applied to, but I think that recruiters are a particularly odious bunch. Them, and furniture salesmen.
(What part of 'please do not stalk me around the store' is SO hard to understand?!?)

At any rate, I went home last weekend to interview for a job. I was a bit suspicious during the phone interview when the VP of HR asked me to describe what the recruiter told me the job description was. Then, during the plant tour, the veep asked if the recruiter had talked to me about smoking. Erm, no. Well, it turns out that this company does not hire tobacco users, and they've specifically told the recruiter to find out prior to an interview whether or not the applicant uses tobacco. He apparently sent them a smoker and they told him that if he didn't start screening the way they wanted him to, they weren't going to use him anymore. I don't smoke but the HR guy is all up in arms 'cause the recruiter didn't ask me.

Then, I went and made it worse when I asked if they needed me to fill out a travel expense report or something. The recruiter told me that I would be reimbursed for mileage. My asking about it was the first time that the interviewer had heard anything about it, so the recruiter lied to me to get me to travel over 1000 miles round-trip, take 2 days off of work, and spend over $200 in gas and tolls to be there for this interview. Nice. He did this without knowing (since he didn't know whether or not I smoke) if I was even qualified, by the company's terms, to work there.

As I was leaving, the HR guy told me that having to work with this recruiter, and having to relocate me, were going to be obstacles in getting the job.

I wish I could even say that I was surprised. My dealings with recruiters have been nearly uniformly poor. Let's see, there was the time I drove to Michigan for a first interview for what I thought was a process engineering position. Turns out they were hiring for a warehouse supervisor. Then there was the time I drove five hours to an interview only to be told that since the job called for travel in Latin America, they weren't going to be hiring a female since male engineers in Mexico aren't, apparently, capable of dealing professionally with a woman. The recruiter sent my name in as Erick A to get me the interview. The back of my head nearly blew off during the course of THAT little conversation. And the list goes on.

What is wrong with these people? If you get paid based on matching the person with the job, perhaps you should keep in mind that the key term there is "matching." Sending me to so-called opportunities that I've grossly over- or under-qualified for, or to jobs that you know, based on conversations about my goals, are NOT going to be anything that I'm interested in doesn't help either one of us. So why?

Why? Why? Why? *growl*

Comfort Food

I'm back. For now. I may have mentioned once or twice how I feel about fall. It sucks. Everything dies, it gets cold, the sun goes into hiding. Ugh. There's just something about a dreary autumn day that makes me feel small, alone, and well, desolate.

I retreat into a funk and find it nearly impossible to get anything done. I overslept on Monday. Tuesday, it got bad enough that I just called in sick and slept all day.

Finally, sometime yesterday afternoon, my sniveling self pity made me disgusted enough with myself that I hauled me out of bed and got crackin' - in a small, mostly insignificant way. I did a load of laundry - the bathroom rug and my junk towels; I took the trash out; cleaned out the litter box; watered plants; straightened up the kitchen; then - ugh! - I ended up scrubbing out the fridge 'cause when I dug around for the stew meat, I discovered that the package had been shoved to the back and kind of tipped and it bled all over the back of my refrigerator. Yuck, yuck, yuck! Now, my hands are all cracked and dried from the bleach, but you could, if necessary, perform a sterile operation safely on any inside surface of the fridge.

Then I made comfort food - braised beef and noodles. Yum! I'm feeling better now, although I did burn the roof of my mouth. Ouchie. So, if you're all depressed on a grey fall day, spend a few hours making this, then curl up with a cat, and a good book. Things will fall back into place in fairly short order.

Braised Beef and Noodles
from the kitchen of... my mom

Trim excess fat from package of stew meat and cut (if necessary) into bite sized chunks. Add enough olive oil to a large pot to cover the bottom. Brown beef, then add about half of a coarsely chopped onion and 3 or 4 cloves (not the whole bulb, the little cloves!) of garlic, minced. Cook, stirring frequently, until onion is soft.

Add water to fill pot. (Last night, I used a stock pot and filled it about half way - with approx. 8 cups of water.) Add 2 teaspoons each of garlic powder, onion powder, salt and pepper. (Depending on your fondness for pepper, you may want to add closer to 1 tsp - 2 is kinda peppery.) Simmer, covered, for 2 hours.

Add 3 beef bouillon cubes. Boil for 10 minutes. Add 4 potatoes (peeled and quartered, lengthwise) and half a bag of egg noodles. Cook until potatoes are done.

Optional bit that we always do: removed meat, noodles and potatoes from pot. Make a paste of flour and water. Bring liquid to boil, drizzle in flour paste slowly, while stirring constantly. Bowl for a minute or two, stirring constantly. When thickened to taste, put meat, etc back in pot.

Note: the image above is the soup tureen that Mom always serves this dish in. I love this pattern - Johnson Brothers "The Old Mill." It's one sure way of getting me to do the dishes 'cause I pitch a fit if she tries to put the tureen into the dishwasher.

What the ....??

So, suddenly, my blog went apeshit. Why did the blog part of my blog migrate to the bottom? And, my blog roll and past events look bigger. Why is it doing this? Gah! Just when I was thinking I knew what I was doing!!!

EEP! Snow!

It SNOWED today. I'm so not ready for this. Wah! Whine! Moan! Complain!

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Okay, so I went wandering off looking for an appropriately dreary picture for this post, and I found the coolest pictures! (The one above is an example.) Check out this site - for some odd reason, they're growing their own snowflakes. Rather like chiapets, I guess.

Since I'm capable of switching focus with lightning-like quickness (read: attention span of a hyper fruit fly), I went from totally bummed to totally intrigued. These people have the right idea! Live someplace warm and grow pretty snowflakes. I like snowflakes on a one-on-one basis; it's when they form a mob that we disagree. And the pictures are beautiful - the post office agrees. Stamps with some of these images will be available in October.

Now, I guess I'm not so bummed about the snow. I guess. *shiver* What was I saying before I got distracted with the pretty shiny things? Hmm. Not a clue. I'm cold. Winter sucks. Is it spring yet? Why in the world am I living near Chicago? I've lost my tiny little mind. Actually, it probably froze solid and shattered. I need more coffee. Later!

Temeraire

I love dragons. I always have. They're just so cool. And quite by accident, I discovered a new author who has become one of my favorites: Naomi Novak.

Her publishing company took the unusual step of having her first three novels come out in a single year. This was awesome, since I devoured all three in a weekend. This sucks, 'cause now I have to wait for a year for the next one. NOW, dammit! How dare you attempt a life?!?! Just sit there and write!

Anywho, her books are about the adventures of a former sea captain who, during the Napoleonic Wars, manages to accidently bond with a young dragon. Temeraire was captured from the French as an egg and hatched before the ship could get into port. As England is struggling with the French, and dragons are crucial for aerial combat, Lawrence reluctantly gives up his ship for a life in the Corps, defending England from the air. Temeraire ends up being a very rare Chinese dragon, known for their grace and intelligence and the two of them get into all sorts of fixes.

It's a very engaging series, and makes me even more bitter that I can't have a dragon of my own. For a quick taste, you can check out a short story (set between the first and second books) on her website.

So, curl up with these books and a cup o'joe and enjoy. You can thank me later. ;-)

Newest news: A movie is in the works, directed by Peter Jackson. I loved LOTR, so I'm not too worried about the books being butchered by some witless movie dork. Really, I'm not. *gulp*

Golf Outing

Okay, so I'm not a golfer. I've never actually done it before. Not even at a driving range. I'm not even particularly capable of miniature golfing. The last time that I went miniature golfing was several years ago, and I nearly killed an old guy. The hole in question required you to whack the ball up a hill and under a little bridge. It curved around in a loop until it went over the little bridge to the hole. I was having a bit of trouble getting it up the hill - it kept rolling back to where it started. So, I had a mild temper tantrum and WHACKED it whereupon it lifted into the air, hit the little bridge, rebounded back through the air and whacked the guy standing behind us in the forehead. He went down like he'd been hit by a hammer. Turns out he had a concussion. So I'm not exactly batting a thousand here. And mostly, I'm okay with that.

But... every year my company has a golf outing, open to everyone. Last year, all of my friends went and had so much fun that they're STILL talking about it. So I determined that this year, I would not be left out. It was originally scheduled for September 24th, but we'd gotten so much rain that the course was underwater, so it was rescheduled for October 1. I thought Sunday was an odd day for it, but maybe that's just my ignorance showing through.

I ended up on a team with a friend, we'll call her Laverne, who has also never golfed before; another friend - we'll call him Lenny - who golfs once a year or so and Lenny's 11 year old son. We'll call him Squiggy. Squiggy's never been on a golf course before. I told Lenny that this outing probably wasn't the best place for a child and it was okay to have a threesome but he'd "already told Squiggy and he was excited."

A point to remember. I do not have children. I prefer it that way. OPKs (other people's kids) are okay in small doses if they are well controlled. A choke chain works. Lenny, who is a very close friend of mine, does not believe in discipline. Actually, he and his wife are completely subservient to their little angels, to the point that they've not been invited to peoples' homes because other people don't want their uncontrolled beasts running amuck in their houses. But I digress.

Laverne and I were in one golf cart, Lenny and Squiggy in another. Let me pause here briefly and backtrack.

My friend, D, WAS going to take me to the driving range prior to this little expedition but the weather and her family schedule didn't cooperate. She did, however, set me up with spare clubs. Right-handed ones. Have I ever mentioned that I'm left-handed? Right, well. I am. More ambidextrous than most but still... left-handed. D and I drove together to the golf course, which was in the middle of freaking nowhere. It took us over an hour to get there. But we arrived, and they handed us beer and keys to the golf carts, nearly in one motion. That just seems wrong to me, but whatever.

So, Laverne and I in one golf cart, Lenny and Squiggy in the other. Tee off was at 1:00. At 12:45, Squiggy is whining that he wants to go. Go now. Why should we have to wait, let's just go... with the cart in reverse, so it was squawking that high pitched beep noise. Before we even started, and I'm ready to really hurt Squiggy. Finally, mere moments before I snap and start pounding on the brat with a nine iron (or a six, what's the difference?), the guy in charge makes his announcements and we're all off.

Here's something odd. The golf course has an air strip running right down the middle of it. It's a tiny one - just grass with rows of cones but it separates the first nine holes and the second. The whole day was spent being buzzed by cute little planes taking off and landing. You had to make sure the coast was clear before crossing back and forth over the fairway. Very early in the day, we nearly lost the beer cart 'cause the lady crossed in front of a plane taking off and froze in the middle of the runway. The plane pulled WAY up and managed to miss her by about two inches. Very exciting stuff. I'm told that this is not normal for golf courses.

So we get to the first hole, which for us was hole 6. This was to be a scramble, playing every shot from the best and using at least three shots from every member of the foursome. So Laverne sticks her tee in the ground, balances the ball and gets ready to swing... and Squiggy yells that he wants to be first, runs in front of her and puts his tee in the ground about 9" ahead of hers. And Lenny remains quiet. Squiggy nearly brained Laverne going first as she scrambled backwards out of the way. It took him several tries to hit the ball, which went about four feet beyond the tee box. He then yells that we will be using his shot. Laverne tees again, gets ready to swing and Squiggy starts yapping, just to distract her. She hits, then I hit. Okay, I swung a couple of times and then connected but it wasn't too bad. Then Lenny nails the poor little ball a couple hundred yards. Holy crap! If it were a baseball, it woulda been outta there!

So we hop in our carts and we're off! Laverne and I split it equally - she drove the first nine holes, I drove the last. Lenny let Squiggy drive. Actually I suppose a better way to say it was that Squiggy didn't let Lenny drive.

The entire day was an exercise in not bashing that child's head in. We didn't talk to anyone else, because everyone knows what Lenny's spawn are like and won't come anywhere near them. At every hole on every shot, the child yelled, squealed, barked, threw balls, drove the cart in front of the tee box - whatever he could do to distract you from hitting your shot. He ripped the hell out of the course - several pounds of every sandtrap onto the green, divets the size of the rodent in Caddyshack, stabbing the flag into the ground, moving the markers. Ooh, and on several occasions, someone yelled "fore!" and a ball came bouncing by, and Squiggy took them. He left that day with quite the collection of balls from other players. The entire time, Lenny was correcting him - but he never once followed through with anything. Squiggy didn't even look over at Lenny while Lenny was telling him not to do something. Lenny told Squiggy four freaking times that he was done driving for the day, and when it was time to move on, Squiggy hopped behind the wheel, and Lenny sat down next to him and didn't say another word about it. Once, Lenny got the wheel away from Squiggy, and used the opportunity to show the little darling how to skid sideways to a stop a la Dukes of Hazard. Fortuately, that was near the end of the day, so there weren't too many huge ruts from the cart.

Finally, FINALLY, we finished - at a bit after 6:00 and went in to dinner. That was about the longest five hours of my life. And on top of it all, dinner sucked. The salad was good. Our other choices were squishy California mixed vegetables, instant mashed potatoes, very fatty ribs and half cooked chicken. Yummy. We sat at a round table for 8, so others got to experience some of the joy that is Squiggy. He took only a huge plate full of mashed potatoes, and spent dinner playing with it - molding it into a castle using the water glasses and bread sticks. They took our scorecards, and then had people go up and chose from a table of prizes bases on their scores. Squiggy went up and helped himself to as much as he could carry. The guy in charge had to come to our table and extract items to put back. Once again, Lenny was completely ineffective.

D and I left as soon as we could. On the whole, I wouldn't mind trying it again - with left-handed clubs and without children. On the way home, D said she had no idea how I didn't do damage to Squiggy. I'm not sure either.

Positives:
* The drive to the course was fun and scenic.
* I had fun with Laverne.
* I really liked zipping around in the golf cart.
* It was a BEAUTIFUL day and I was happy to be out in it.
* Golfing, if you have good company, the proper equipment and some clue what the hell you're doing, may not entirely suck.

Not So Positives:
* We'll probably have to find a new course next year, 'cause the owner did NOT look happy with us. Turns out their insurance doesn't allow for children driving the carts, which he told Lenny and Lenny ignored.
* I've learned that good friends can be pretty crappy parents.
* I've learned that the same good friends can evidently be completely oblivious to their offspring's unpopularity. At one point during the day, I looked at Lenny and said "Next year, the kid stays home." Yes, exactly like that. During the course of the day, Lenny tried to get either Laverne or I to switch with him in the cart "because Squiggy's driving was so bad." Evidently the whole concept of not letting your child drive is foreign.

The Next Day:
Lenny and I IM (instant message) back and forth throughout the day. When I came in on Monday, I wondered if Lenny would be talking to me, based on how I treated his child the day before. I logged on and almost immediately got a message from him thanking me for my patience with his son's behavior.

Here's the really weird thing:
I can't decide if Lenny is really that clueless or if he's hoping that I'll take his children in hand. He said something at one point about how he felt his son would be a good helper for me. I replied back with "Only if you want to see him hurt. I demand obedience from my minions, and I'm willing to beat them until I get it." He said he was fine with whatever methods I decided to employ. Then he said something about how next year, he and Laverne would share a cart and Squiggy and I could duke it out. I responded with "Not bloody likely."

Oh The Irony:
Also the next day, Lenny was complaining about how his back hurt. He whined for quite a while about it. I thought it was from the swinging, since he didn't golf that frequently. Nope. It was from Squiggy driving. Apparently they were playing a game where Squiggy would slow down and drive past a ball and Lenny would lean out of the cart and grab it on the fly. Except that Squiggy would wait for Lenny to lean out and then would slam on the brakes - and he kept doing it throughout the day. This is why Lenny's back hurt. Okay, maybe this is just me, but if you have back trouble anyway and your kid pulled something like this, how would you react? Continue to allow it to happen? Beat the brat senseless right then and there? Take the wheel of the golf cart and wait 'till you got home to pound on 'em? Probably most parents would go with something like option three. Option two looks best to me. Lenny chose option one.

Sometimes I ask for others' viewpoints before I say anything because I frequently do not look at things the same way as others. This time, however, I've had nearly everyone that was there tell me that they have no idea how I put up with Squiggy for the day.

Aww well, live and learn. Next year, I shall have left handed clubs and I shall pick my foursome more carefully!