This week has been unusual. I've been living the life of someone who has a real (corporate?) 'job,' as my boss invited me to attend networking event for a regional nonprofit group. There was no objective for this trip other than to network, site see, have fun and eat. Where was I?
The highlight of the trip (and the real purpose for me going - as a reward, can you believe it?) was a whitewater rafting trip. When I arrived, I discovered the rafting was to take place on a man made course - somewhat lame, but still great. My group of six rafted the level 2-3 rapids course eight times, each time demanding that our guide up the skill level, until we finally did the "hero run." Amazingly, no one fell out of the raft, although there were some close calls.
Today, I'm sore - with lots of paddle bruises and raft burns from trying not to bounce into the water. And I remember the days where being put up in a hotel with an expense account was the norm, back before I decided to work in the hills in an old church without real healthcare or pay. But I honestly wouldn't trade it. I actually found myself feeling like all the money being spent on my good time this week was a waste - shouldn't this money be fueling real change or something?
For now though, I'm thankful for this strange, foreign world of 'perks'; it could be a long time before I experience something like this again. Thank you, oh poverty gods, for having favor with me - if only for a few days. Stuff like this puts it all into perspective and affirms that I'm where I should be.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Burnin Down the House
Last Friday I returned home a little early from a fun day outside, chock full of electrofishing and macroinvertebrate hunting. When I turned the key and stepped inside, I immediately smelled something foul burning and noticed a lamp overturned on the floor in the living room. I walked over to the lamp, and it was indeed smoking; but the real shock came when I picked it up off the floor and a chunk of shag carpet and wood was fused to the bulb. Below, a hole (approximately four inches in diameter) had burned through not only the funky synthetic fibers, but also the padding, floorboards, and into the sub-floor. At the very bottom of this hole, the wood was smoldering like a campfire about to burst into flame. I ran into the kitchen and filled a cup with water to put out the tinder. I truly believe if I had come home just a little later, my house would have been up in flames.
This drama left me quite shaken -- with the house full of wispy smoke and the crispy hole still steaming from the dousing -- as I imagined little Stella burned to a little pile of cat-ashes.
Stella. Which brings us to the "How did this happen?" question. I came to the following conclusions: 1.) Brandon left the lamp on during the work day. 2.) Stella leapt into the window knocking the lamp on the floor and forcing the shade from the bulb. 3.) B&I have been waiting to switch to CFLs in this room, but have been waiting until our orig bulbs burn out -- a mistake because CFLs are all cool-to-the-touch and stuff.
Not such a big deal when viewed in isolation. But consider the following ridiculous scenario from a few months ago:
We were watching a movie, when I smelled gas in the house. A lot. Like the omg, my house is about to blow up amount. So we called the fire department and asked them to come out to check for a leak.
We expected a fire dude or two with their little gas meters, but soon we heard the sirens - Screaming through the west side of Athens, the fire department blocked off our street and THREE full fire engines filled the narrow road. FIVE firemen, in full gear came busting into the house. Their gas meters were clicking away like crazy and they became very worried - yes, your house is full of natural gas. This could be very dangerous...
They traced the leak to its source by following the increasing intensity of the clicks - all the way to the the kitchen stove. They checked behind it. No busted gas line. all looked well. To the oven itself - not on. To the burners - aha! The front burner was turned on by just the slightest amount - not enough to light but just leak a bit, slowly filling the house. We are idiots.
So the crew packed up, looking a little disappointed. They were bored and it appears we had gotten them out of the station for a little while, only to find nothing exciting once they got there. No home explosions tonight.
When we went back into the kitchen to consider how this had happened, we remembered we had not used the stove at all that day (or the day before). But we had placed a bowl on a nearby table, thereby creating a navigable bridge to the stove top for our furry friend. In fact, I HAD seen Stella playing on the range that afternoon, come to think of it. She must have bumped the knob when we shooed her down. The creature has a death wish. And I have panic attacks, thinking she's going to kill us while we sleep.
This drama left me quite shaken -- with the house full of wispy smoke and the crispy hole still steaming from the dousing -- as I imagined little Stella burned to a little pile of cat-ashes.
Stella. Which brings us to the "How did this happen?" question. I came to the following conclusions: 1.) Brandon left the lamp on during the work day. 2.) Stella leapt into the window knocking the lamp on the floor and forcing the shade from the bulb. 3.) B&I have been waiting to switch to CFLs in this room, but have been waiting until our orig bulbs burn out -- a mistake because CFLs are all cool-to-the-touch and stuff.
Not such a big deal when viewed in isolation. But consider the following ridiculous scenario from a few months ago:
We were watching a movie, when I smelled gas in the house. A lot. Like the omg, my house is about to blow up amount. So we called the fire department and asked them to come out to check for a leak.
We expected a fire dude or two with their little gas meters, but soon we heard the sirens - Screaming through the west side of Athens, the fire department blocked off our street and THREE full fire engines filled the narrow road. FIVE firemen, in full gear came busting into the house. Their gas meters were clicking away like crazy and they became very worried - yes, your house is full of natural gas. This could be very dangerous...
They traced the leak to its source by following the increasing intensity of the clicks - all the way to the the kitchen stove. They checked behind it. No busted gas line. all looked well. To the oven itself - not on. To the burners - aha! The front burner was turned on by just the slightest amount - not enough to light but just leak a bit, slowly filling the house. We are idiots.
So the crew packed up, looking a little disappointed. They were bored and it appears we had gotten them out of the station for a little while, only to find nothing exciting once they got there. No home explosions tonight.
When we went back into the kitchen to consider how this had happened, we remembered we had not used the stove at all that day (or the day before). But we had placed a bowl on a nearby table, thereby creating a navigable bridge to the stove top for our furry friend. In fact, I HAD seen Stella playing on the range that afternoon, come to think of it. She must have bumped the knob when we shooed her down. The creature has a death wish. And I have panic attacks, thinking she's going to kill us while we sleep.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Birthday Fortunes
While in Seattle a few weeks ago, I purchased only one item for myself - the "Fortune-Telling Birthday Book," from Elliott Bay. I just couldn't resist its patent-leather-esque red cover and gilded pages (I really have a weakness for the gilding...), vintagey illustrations, and the wonderfully appropriate fortunes it gives for each birth day of the year. Plus, I can keep all y'alls birthdays organized, and fortunes are fun.
Today's fortune is very appropriate - shout out to JessM whose b-day fortune reads: "You are a loyal and steadfast friend, and you hold your friendships. You are exacting, you like your own way, and you are very determined in your efforts to get it. You are witty, sociable, and an interesting conversationalist..."
Today's fortune is very appropriate - shout out to JessM whose b-day fortune reads: "You are a loyal and steadfast friend, and you hold your friendships. You are exacting, you like your own way, and you are very determined in your efforts to get it. You are witty, sociable, and an interesting conversationalist..."
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G B-E-E. spelling bee.
Three pals and I attended the second annual literacy center spelling bee last night as the only spectators. As KTD explained, "Spelling is kind of like our sport."
With a steep entry fee of $300, our sad national service selves couldn't afford to enter, but we should have - seeing how we hold impromptu bees at work with words like "hobbledehoy" and "hartebeest," and we turned into total spelling snobs when words like "felony" and "bisect" were read from the podium at yesterday's official contest.
There were seven bee teams, consisting of three members each. We quickly became the groupies for the APL team, who ended up winning on the word "rhonchus." A worthy championship word, for sure.
Our tablemates made the evening even more interesting, as we were seated with the IFC (Interfraternity Council) for OU. We had lots in common, as you can imagine. Sadly, yet not surprisingly, they were the first team eliminated.
The highlights of the evening, though, were mostly from the horrible pronouncer, whose reading was so terrible that teams were given do-overs from the judges based on "pronunciation error." Emaciation became "EmaNciation." Resonant became "Resnant." These errors caused outrage on the part of APL-team dude who would yell out "That was a MISpronunciation - SAY IT AGAIN!" Lots of eye rolling and scoffing on the part of the superspellers ensued. Woah, drama.
Tension was running high at the bee, and on more than one occasion in response to protests from the crowd, the official rulebook had to be busted out. E.g. "If the team does not have a Spellagain voucher to submit for a second word, of if the team spells the second word incorrectly, the team is eliminated from the Bee." In times like these the MC would say things like, "Point of order. The judges must confer." I was dying.
Meanwhile, my pals and I spelled along at our table, proving our spelling superiority by writing down the words as they were announced and debating the correct spellings. This was our Nerd Olympics.
The competition culminated in a literacy death match known as the "spell off." When it was down to only two teams, the Newsies v. the APL superstars, the whole room erupted into the slow chant "SPELL OFF, SPELL OFF, SPELL OFF." Was this really happening?
Next time I'm in the library I'm so going to approach the circulation desk and the woman who pulled off "rhonchus" and with total admiration be all, "I saw you at the Bee. You were AMAZING!" And then I'll think, "But we SO would've destroyed you, " as I snort, push up my glasses, and adjust my pocket protector.
With a steep entry fee of $300, our sad national service selves couldn't afford to enter, but we should have - seeing how we hold impromptu bees at work with words like "hobbledehoy" and "hartebeest," and we turned into total spelling snobs when words like "felony" and "bisect" were read from the podium at yesterday's official contest.
There were seven bee teams, consisting of three members each. We quickly became the groupies for the APL team, who ended up winning on the word "rhonchus." A worthy championship word, for sure.
Our tablemates made the evening even more interesting, as we were seated with the IFC (Interfraternity Council) for OU. We had lots in common, as you can imagine. Sadly, yet not surprisingly, they were the first team eliminated.
The highlights of the evening, though, were mostly from the horrible pronouncer, whose reading was so terrible that teams were given do-overs from the judges based on "pronunciation error." Emaciation became "EmaNciation." Resonant became "Resnant." These errors caused outrage on the part of APL-team dude who would yell out "That was a MISpronunciation - SAY IT AGAIN!" Lots of eye rolling and scoffing on the part of the superspellers ensued. Woah, drama.
Tension was running high at the bee, and on more than one occasion in response to protests from the crowd, the official rulebook had to be busted out. E.g. "If the team does not have a Spellagain voucher to submit for a second word, of if the team spells the second word incorrectly, the team is eliminated from the Bee." In times like these the MC would say things like, "Point of order. The judges must confer." I was dying.
Meanwhile, my pals and I spelled along at our table, proving our spelling superiority by writing down the words as they were announced and debating the correct spellings. This was our Nerd Olympics.
The competition culminated in a literacy death match known as the "spell off." When it was down to only two teams, the Newsies v. the APL superstars, the whole room erupted into the slow chant "SPELL OFF, SPELL OFF, SPELL OFF." Was this really happening?
Next time I'm in the library I'm so going to approach the circulation desk and the woman who pulled off "rhonchus" and with total admiration be all, "I saw you at the Bee. You were AMAZING!" And then I'll think, "But we SO would've destroyed you, " as I snort, push up my glasses, and adjust my pocket protector.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Love It
TV definitely has its redeeming moments, like this. A four-part series highlighting the crisis of solid waste and our wastefulness, Dumped is one of the best things I've seen on television, oh, ever. We devoured this program - I called my mom every few minutes to make sure she was watching and still watching. Then I dreamt about it.
BBC told these people they'd be taking part in an "Eco-challenge," but they had no idea what it would be. Some speculated they'd be whisked away to a tropical paradise like Barbados for a Survivor-like experience. Their faces were priceless when they stepped off the bus into the landfill. Love it. Their challenge was to live in the landfill for three weeks, making a fairly comfortable life for themselves from the things people have thrown away. Love it more.
Although B & I pride ourselves on the relatively small amount of waste we throw "away" each week - only one small bag - watching this program has made me want to buy an even smaller "rubbish bin" and try to cut down our waste even more.
In particular, I want to be more conscious about packaging - since most of what I throw "away" each week is simply that. I also have had many excuses for not composting at our house (we're renters and can't have an outdoor pile in the yard); but I think we're finally going to stop being such bums and get a worm bin.
These are in no way new ideas for us - I just think we've finally reached the tipping point where we care enough to spend more money (a lot more) to be more responsible consumers. It's tough living at 105 percent of the poverty line, you know. (Although I've recently been wondering if my 'income' is even close to accurate anymore - since minimum wage has gotten a serious boost in OH and our stipend hasn't budged...)
Speaking of which...when I heard Bill Clinton speak a couple weeks ago, he said that Hillary, if elected, will DOUBLE the AmCorps stipend. For real? Sounds like a good plan. I was impressed that this issue was important enough to mention on the stump. It went something like this: "get out of Iraq, universal healthcare, double the stipend, eliminate No Child Left Behind." It was one of those "one of these things is not like the other" moments in terms of this-doesn't-seem-like something-most-voters-know-or-care-anything-about.... but I loved it nonetheless.
BBC told these people they'd be taking part in an "Eco-challenge," but they had no idea what it would be. Some speculated they'd be whisked away to a tropical paradise like Barbados for a Survivor-like experience. Their faces were priceless when they stepped off the bus into the landfill. Love it. Their challenge was to live in the landfill for three weeks, making a fairly comfortable life for themselves from the things people have thrown away. Love it more.
Although B & I pride ourselves on the relatively small amount of waste we throw "away" each week - only one small bag - watching this program has made me want to buy an even smaller "rubbish bin" and try to cut down our waste even more.
In particular, I want to be more conscious about packaging - since most of what I throw "away" each week is simply that. I also have had many excuses for not composting at our house (we're renters and can't have an outdoor pile in the yard); but I think we're finally going to stop being such bums and get a worm bin.
These are in no way new ideas for us - I just think we've finally reached the tipping point where we care enough to spend more money (a lot more) to be more responsible consumers. It's tough living at 105 percent of the poverty line, you know. (Although I've recently been wondering if my 'income' is even close to accurate anymore - since minimum wage has gotten a serious boost in OH and our stipend hasn't budged...)
Speaking of which...when I heard Bill Clinton speak a couple weeks ago, he said that Hillary, if elected, will DOUBLE the AmCorps stipend. For real? Sounds like a good plan. I was impressed that this issue was important enough to mention on the stump. It went something like this: "get out of Iraq, universal healthcare, double the stipend, eliminate No Child Left Behind." It was one of those "one of these things is not like the other" moments in terms of this-doesn't-seem-like something-most-voters-know-or-care-anything-about.... but I loved it nonetheless.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
A Brief Convo at Bob Evans
After our enormous breakfast during our glorious snow day yesterday:
Peppy hostess girl behind the register, to Brandon: "Hey, I remember you! I used to call you Abraham Lincoln."
Brandon: awkward chuckling...
Girl: "Do you have a kid yet?" (glances from him to me)
Me: emphatic head shaking, more awkward laughter
Girl: "Yeah, the cooks are all, 'Hey, Abe's here with his wife,' and I thought you might have brought your baby, and I had to come check it out."
Peppy hostess girl behind the register, to Brandon: "Hey, I remember you! I used to call you Abraham Lincoln."
Brandon: awkward chuckling...
Girl: "Do you have a kid yet?" (glances from him to me)
Me: emphatic head shaking, more awkward laughter
Girl: "Yeah, the cooks are all, 'Hey, Abe's here with his wife,' and I thought you might have brought your baby, and I had to come check it out."
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Primer Impacto!
I've taken up a new (and annoying) hobby - watching the Spanish language TV channel, "Univision." You know the one - on basic cable, all hidden away at number 98 or something.
Right before I've been falling asleep I'll turn it on and watch the ladies behind the news desk chatter away about violencia in Tijuana, commericials for the Pasiones, and the dudes who try to be all Anderson Cooper covering the Obama-Clinton showdown. I understand maybe .5 percent of what they're saying, yet I'll stare blankly, listening to the rolling "r's" for a rrrrridiculously long time. It's actually become a fun new game - how long will Brandon sit there while I watch the espanol before he goes crazy...
Right before I've been falling asleep I'll turn it on and watch the ladies behind the news desk chatter away about violencia in Tijuana, commericials for the Pasiones, and the dudes who try to be all Anderson Cooper covering the Obama-Clinton showdown. I understand maybe .5 percent of what they're saying, yet I'll stare blankly, listening to the rolling "r's" for a rrrrridiculously long time. It's actually become a fun new game - how long will Brandon sit there while I watch the espanol before he goes crazy...
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Yes, I have a spleen
Last night was productive, pals. We finally submitted our Peace Corps app - which really means we're just beginning a much longer application process. The best part was our preliminary health questionnaire, which asked us things like if we've ever had a goiter or gout. Or if we've ever had our retinas disconnected. Or if we have cysts on our rectums. Hilarious.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Stupid Swedes
Stupid Michael Moore. Stupid universal health care. Geeze. I watched Sicko last night - although a little over the top at times (taking 9/11 rescue workers to Guantanamo Bay for treatment), the film made a bunch of really good points that I already know - points I know well because I feel like I'm drowning in them sometimes.
We spend so much time thinking about old medical debt, new (and necessary) medical debt, potential Peace Corps medical packet costs, and MM just reaffirmed everything I normally feel - let's move to Europe. now.
Seriously - how can we get good jobs in the Motherland and move there? B & I throw this around a lot - move to Deutschland or Scandinavia or somewhere equally glorious and birth some babies there so they're dual citizens and aren't screwed like we are lots of the time. A full year of maternity leave - I'll take that. Paternity leave - even better. Free university ed - count me in. Crusty Deutsche Brot und Breze - drool. I'm really looking into this post-PC.
We spend so much time thinking about old medical debt, new (and necessary) medical debt, potential Peace Corps medical packet costs, and MM just reaffirmed everything I normally feel - let's move to Europe. now.
Seriously - how can we get good jobs in the Motherland and move there? B & I throw this around a lot - move to Deutschland or Scandinavia or somewhere equally glorious and birth some babies there so they're dual citizens and aren't screwed like we are lots of the time. A full year of maternity leave - I'll take that. Paternity leave - even better. Free university ed - count me in. Crusty Deutsche Brot und Breze - drool. I'm really looking into this post-PC.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Maybe I should join AARP
This week's been ridiculous - three nights in a row of oldster meetings. I'm taking tomorrow off to sleep and see my long lost husband. I don't talk about him very much anymore, and sometimes people even think it's weird when I use the phrase "we" because I'm always by myself. So I'm filling my time with all this other stuff, which is good but overwhelming when it's all at once. Tonight's our first Session meeting @ the Presb - it's going to involve lots of boring documents and such.
This weekend should mix it up though- Martin Luther King Jr Day bitches! We're doing the GW Walk and there's a Martini Luther King party Sunday w/the promise of a sleepover and tasty breakfast. What a needed break.
This weekend should mix it up though- Martin Luther King Jr Day bitches! We're doing the GW Walk and there's a Martini Luther King party Sunday w/the promise of a sleepover and tasty breakfast. What a needed break.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Improvements...
It's all about quality control: you speak, I listen.
I've been told that commenting isn't so easy on this blog, since I've been operating in default settings. I made the changes and comments should now be open to everyone, even anonymous commenters - so have at it.
I've been told that commenting isn't so easy on this blog, since I've been operating in default settings. I made the changes and comments should now be open to everyone, even anonymous commenters - so have at it.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Jesus Face
My sister and I used to play an amusing game called "hide the Jesus." When we started going to church in our teens, my grandma took this as a sign. So one memorable Christmas I opened gift after gift with a common Jesus theme: stone knickknacks of praying hands, inspirational books of Bible quote, and most notably, giant posters of Jesus' face. You know the one - very caucasian, looking towards the heavens with a warm halo and fuzzy glow all around. It was enormous - probably 2 1/2 by 3 feet, and there were two of them under the tree, one for my sister and one for me. You can imagine our excitement.
The predicament became clear, though, when we returned home from grandma's. You definitely don't want to keep the thing (hang it on your bedroom wall so the J-man can watch you day and night?), but something just doesn't feel right about throwing it away. Can you see it - Jesus' eyes peering up at you, pleadingly, as you close the lid on the can or as you tighten the Hefty drawstring?
Our solution was to take the posters, and when the other sibling wasn't around, hide the Jesus in a startling place - you're getting in the shower first thing in the morning, there he is. you go to pull back the comforter and crawl into your cozy bed, BAM! Jesus face. And so it went: behind the coat in your closet, in the trunk of your car, in the tv cabinet.
When I left for college, I'm not quite sure what became of the Jesus faces, but I know that my mom is a ruthless purger and pitcher. Waste Management loves her, I'm sure. So the fun had come to an end, until yesterday.
While visiting B's mom to celebrate her birthday, she suddenly remembered that she had an exciting gift to give us. "Oh, wait till you see what 'boyfriend' made for you!" as she pulled out a small frame containing the familiar print. "Don't you remember when you two gave 'boyfriend' one of these for Christmas a few years ago?"
Obviously this was a hideous joke.
We soon realized that she truly believed we had gifted one of these to her boyfriend - a very large version with a white frame, evidently. (Note that our teen-hood Jesuses were unframed and so were not the one in question).
We're chalking it up to that slight confusion that sometimes settles on family members as they age - like when your grandma calls you "Heather, Emily, Ben, Angela" before settling on "Katie" and your name is Jennifer. In the same way, the MIL and co. really think we gave them the J-face and they just wanted to return the "thoughtful gesture."
And so I foresee that the game will be continuing. Just this morning when I arrived at work, I went to lock up the car and saw the Face peering at me from the floor of the backseat. Guiltily, I unlocked the door to turn it over, so he wouldn't be staring at people as they walked by in the parking lot. Even so, as I break now to go to lunch, I'll be driving to Subway with my buddy in the back, plotting on the way all the places he will go.
The predicament became clear, though, when we returned home from grandma's. You definitely don't want to keep the thing (hang it on your bedroom wall so the J-man can watch you day and night?), but something just doesn't feel right about throwing it away. Can you see it - Jesus' eyes peering up at you, pleadingly, as you close the lid on the can or as you tighten the Hefty drawstring?
Our solution was to take the posters, and when the other sibling wasn't around, hide the Jesus in a startling place - you're getting in the shower first thing in the morning, there he is. you go to pull back the comforter and crawl into your cozy bed, BAM! Jesus face. And so it went: behind the coat in your closet, in the trunk of your car, in the tv cabinet.
When I left for college, I'm not quite sure what became of the Jesus faces, but I know that my mom is a ruthless purger and pitcher. Waste Management loves her, I'm sure. So the fun had come to an end, until yesterday.
While visiting B's mom to celebrate her birthday, she suddenly remembered that she had an exciting gift to give us. "Oh, wait till you see what 'boyfriend' made for you!" as she pulled out a small frame containing the familiar print. "Don't you remember when you two gave 'boyfriend' one of these for Christmas a few years ago?"
Obviously this was a hideous joke.
We soon realized that she truly believed we had gifted one of these to her boyfriend - a very large version with a white frame, evidently. (Note that our teen-hood Jesuses were unframed and so were not the one in question).
We're chalking it up to that slight confusion that sometimes settles on family members as they age - like when your grandma calls you "Heather, Emily, Ben, Angela" before settling on "Katie" and your name is Jennifer. In the same way, the MIL and co. really think we gave them the J-face and they just wanted to return the "thoughtful gesture."
And so I foresee that the game will be continuing. Just this morning when I arrived at work, I went to lock up the car and saw the Face peering at me from the floor of the backseat. Guiltily, I unlocked the door to turn it over, so he wouldn't be staring at people as they walked by in the parking lot. Even so, as I break now to go to lunch, I'll be driving to Subway with my buddy in the back, plotting on the way all the places he will go.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
An Experiment
So it's official - Kitimaus is coming to live with me as of this evening.
If you don't know her story, maybe this will help:
Kitimaus is Gravel version 3.0 (also known as a stray from the mean streets of Trimble). My loftmate KTD was going to to take kitty home with her after work one day, but sometime during the workday, she was shot in the face and abdomen with a pellet gun. People can be amazingly terrible... After a couple surgeries, she's doing great - and who can resist a one-eyed kitty?
She'll be sharing our house for awhile - nine months at the most - and then will return to live with KTD. It's really an ideal situation - a temporary pet that we won't have to give away when/if we leave for the PC. Ideal, that is, if she's able to cohabitate with Stella.
If you don't know her story, maybe this will help:
Kitimaus is Gravel version 3.0 (also known as a stray from the mean streets of Trimble). My loftmate KTD was going to to take kitty home with her after work one day, but sometime during the workday, she was shot in the face and abdomen with a pellet gun. People can be amazingly terrible... After a couple surgeries, she's doing great - and who can resist a one-eyed kitty?
She'll be sharing our house for awhile - nine months at the most - and then will return to live with KTD. It's really an ideal situation - a temporary pet that we won't have to give away when/if we leave for the PC. Ideal, that is, if she's able to cohabitate with Stella.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
A Yuletide Obsession
On occasion, Brandon and I treat ourselves to a stroll through Big Lots - the apparent mecca for Athens residents abstaining from WalMart shopping. This store often has a strange effect on us, like when we walk in and the store is brimming with Pier 1 merchandise marked down 85 percent. Our trip last weekend was no exception to this pattern, with Brandon immediately falling into a strong and mysterious trance upon walking through the doors.
As we entered there was one of those obscenely large flat panel TVs there to greet us, interestingly placed in the same spot as the people who give you your cart at WalMart... On the giant shiny screen played a fireplace scene, complete with flames flickering happily and the sounds of crackling wood. In the background, songs described as 30 "Christmas favorites" were playing softly (not the favorite versions - more like the Yanni version of Christmas). Brandon was instantly hooked. "WE HAVE TO GET IT!"
The "it" was a DVD entitled, "The Yule Log," which you can conveniently pop into your player for instant festive ambiance - or so his argument went. "IT'S ONLY THREE DOLLARS!" I ordinarily protest these whims, but he was so thrilled I couldn't argue. He grabbed a cart and threw in a cheap, red plastic case. Although I was somewhat horrified by the idea of the Yule Log abiding in my house, I must admit that Brandon's love of the log amused me greatly and that quirks like this are a reason why we like each other so much.
Twenty minutes later we went to the checkout with only the Yule Log to purchase. As we exited the store, I looked back at the monstrous stack of Yule Logs still on the table and we both agreed that we were probably the only people to every actually buy one.
Not pausing to remove his coat or shoes, Brandon went directly to the television when we got home to crank up the cheer, or something like that. "IT HAS MULTIPLE VIEWS!" After he coerced me to gather round and observe, I saw that indeed you can choose from up-close, just-fireplace view, OR you can zoom out and have an entire Christmas scene complete with mantle, stockings, and gifts abounding.
To Brandon this is perhaps the most hilarious thing to ever happen to Christmas. He is very amused with his log and is planning on bringing it home with us to ambush our families. His plan: during Christmas Eve gift exchange - LOG. during Christmas morning breakfast - LOG. at my parents' house - LOG. at his grandparents' house - LOG. You get the picture.
Until then, I imagine myself coming home from work to find him sitting on the couch, smiling, watching the log flicker and pop, adjusting the volume of the crackling. Did I mention it plays in a continuous loop? No need to restart after the two-hour initial running time.
As we entered there was one of those obscenely large flat panel TVs there to greet us, interestingly placed in the same spot as the people who give you your cart at WalMart... On the giant shiny screen played a fireplace scene, complete with flames flickering happily and the sounds of crackling wood. In the background, songs described as 30 "Christmas favorites" were playing softly (not the favorite versions - more like the Yanni version of Christmas). Brandon was instantly hooked. "WE HAVE TO GET IT!"
The "it" was a DVD entitled, "The Yule Log," which you can conveniently pop into your player for instant festive ambiance - or so his argument went. "IT'S ONLY THREE DOLLARS!" I ordinarily protest these whims, but he was so thrilled I couldn't argue. He grabbed a cart and threw in a cheap, red plastic case. Although I was somewhat horrified by the idea of the Yule Log abiding in my house, I must admit that Brandon's love of the log amused me greatly and that quirks like this are a reason why we like each other so much.
Twenty minutes later we went to the checkout with only the Yule Log to purchase. As we exited the store, I looked back at the monstrous stack of Yule Logs still on the table and we both agreed that we were probably the only people to every actually buy one.
Not pausing to remove his coat or shoes, Brandon went directly to the television when we got home to crank up the cheer, or something like that. "IT HAS MULTIPLE VIEWS!" After he coerced me to gather round and observe, I saw that indeed you can choose from up-close, just-fireplace view, OR you can zoom out and have an entire Christmas scene complete with mantle, stockings, and gifts abounding.
To Brandon this is perhaps the most hilarious thing to ever happen to Christmas. He is very amused with his log and is planning on bringing it home with us to ambush our families. His plan: during Christmas Eve gift exchange - LOG. during Christmas morning breakfast - LOG. at my parents' house - LOG. at his grandparents' house - LOG. You get the picture.
Until then, I imagine myself coming home from work to find him sitting on the couch, smiling, watching the log flicker and pop, adjusting the volume of the crackling. Did I mention it plays in a continuous loop? No need to restart after the two-hour initial running time.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Cash Monies and Picket Lines
So it's over. f-day has come and gone. We made $12,500 yesterday, with more to come in stock pledges and in the mail. This is an improvement over last year's sad $8K, so I feel good but not thrilled. I'm able to breathe now - and I slept 17 hours yesterday.
I called home to give my parents the report - (they are surprisingly interested in this part of my "job.") My mom was all, "Wow! That's a lot of money!" But for some reason, it never seems like enough. One of our volunteers commented that when the total was announced, there was no celebrating; he thought it was a shame because that's a whole lot of cash. Maybe we were just exhausted, or maybe we don't really know how to celebrate our accomplishments, I don't know.
So when I called, I was feeling a range of emotions about the whole event. To make me laugh and take my mind off of analyzing everything (which I'm very prone to doing), my mom told me the following story, which has kept me laughing until now:
Yesterday my dad didn't go to work as usual; instead he was going to protest poor labor practices by standing on a busy street corner in Columbus near the entrance to Easton Towne Center. The plan was for five or six of his fellow union workers to join him with placards denouncing unfair hiring at a certain business, which stood behind them in the distance.
Unfortunately for Mario P., the others didn't show, save for his sidekick, affectionately known as "the Midget" by his fellow workers. So Mario and the Midget stood on the corner, braving the chill and wind with their signs held high, with the Rat towering in the background.
Rat, you ask? As Mario tells the story, he mentions this detail matter-of-factly: "Yeah, we were standing there, and it was so damn cold, and the Rat was blowin all over the place in the wind."
The Rat turns out to be an inflatable creature standing fifteen feet tall. It is red with gray accents.
When we asked why they chose a rat as their protest mascot, he also answered us very simply, as if this was most obvious. duh. "You know, the owner, the guy's a rat, you know. He's a RAT." I'm sure most people driving down Morse Road in rush hour will understand the symbolism.
Because the Rat was causing them so much trouble, blowing around and all, they decided to move closer to the building. And by closer I mean they tied the Rat to the building. It didn't take long for a police officer to come by and explain that the building was private property and they'd have to relocate the Rat back to the street corner.
I called home to give my parents the report - (they are surprisingly interested in this part of my "job.") My mom was all, "Wow! That's a lot of money!" But for some reason, it never seems like enough. One of our volunteers commented that when the total was announced, there was no celebrating; he thought it was a shame because that's a whole lot of cash. Maybe we were just exhausted, or maybe we don't really know how to celebrate our accomplishments, I don't know.
So when I called, I was feeling a range of emotions about the whole event. To make me laugh and take my mind off of analyzing everything (which I'm very prone to doing), my mom told me the following story, which has kept me laughing until now:
Yesterday my dad didn't go to work as usual; instead he was going to protest poor labor practices by standing on a busy street corner in Columbus near the entrance to Easton Towne Center. The plan was for five or six of his fellow union workers to join him with placards denouncing unfair hiring at a certain business, which stood behind them in the distance.
Unfortunately for Mario P., the others didn't show, save for his sidekick, affectionately known as "the Midget" by his fellow workers. So Mario and the Midget stood on the corner, braving the chill and wind with their signs held high, with the Rat towering in the background.
Rat, you ask? As Mario tells the story, he mentions this detail matter-of-factly: "Yeah, we were standing there, and it was so damn cold, and the Rat was blowin all over the place in the wind."
The Rat turns out to be an inflatable creature standing fifteen feet tall. It is red with gray accents.
When we asked why they chose a rat as their protest mascot, he also answered us very simply, as if this was most obvious. duh. "You know, the owner, the guy's a rat, you know. He's a RAT." I'm sure most people driving down Morse Road in rush hour will understand the symbolism.
Because the Rat was causing them so much trouble, blowing around and all, they decided to move closer to the building. And by closer I mean they tied the Rat to the building. It didn't take long for a police officer to come by and explain that the building was private property and they'd have to relocate the Rat back to the street corner.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
These things are difficult right now:
*Getting through the next week.
The infamous fundraiser is looming, and it's causing me to have nightmares pretty much every time I fall asleep. It will all be over just one week from now. I made the mistake of asking how much $ is in the annual budget for this event; that was a bad idea.
*Applying to the Peace Corps (two of us).
I have really forgotten how to do things like write motivational essays. What happened? I used to be a superstar at shameless self-promotion. I also need to get a lot of financial information from my parents without explaining why I need it. In lieu of recent family woes, we are not telling our fams about our applications until we're definitely in and have an approximate departure date.
*Giving up my house.
I know I need to tell my landlord that we're not staying another year, but for some reason, that's really scary. We like it there - it is a very happy first place we've had together - and if we don't get into the PC or can't leave when we want to, we will have given up the house for nothing. If we're staying in Athens for another year, I want to stay there and plant flowers in my brick beds.
I'm glad last weekend was so relaxing (aside from all the steak-pain). We saw Into the Wild, which was great. This movie bothered me enough to stay with me for a couple days (and give me more nightmares). You should see it.
Many wonderful things are happening now too, though. I'm starting to work with the Timothy House and the ARC, maybe My Sister's Place too (oh, and did I mention I'm now an elder at the Presb? ...) - all of a sudden I've remembered my former, hyper-busy self. In the past few years (also know as the abyss of college), I forgot that I was a joiner. I mean, at first it was intentional: "I'm taking a break from all this joining. No more activities for me." I was president of several community organizations, on advisory boards and committees of many others; indeed, my brain was melting circa 2002/3 from all the busyness. But somehow, this turned into five years, and now it feels like I'm slowly waking up from a long nap, and it feels really good.
The infamous fundraiser is looming, and it's causing me to have nightmares pretty much every time I fall asleep. It will all be over just one week from now. I made the mistake of asking how much $ is in the annual budget for this event; that was a bad idea.
*Applying to the Peace Corps (two of us).
I have really forgotten how to do things like write motivational essays. What happened? I used to be a superstar at shameless self-promotion. I also need to get a lot of financial information from my parents without explaining why I need it. In lieu of recent family woes, we are not telling our fams about our applications until we're definitely in and have an approximate departure date.
*Giving up my house.
I know I need to tell my landlord that we're not staying another year, but for some reason, that's really scary. We like it there - it is a very happy first place we've had together - and if we don't get into the PC or can't leave when we want to, we will have given up the house for nothing. If we're staying in Athens for another year, I want to stay there and plant flowers in my brick beds.
I'm glad last weekend was so relaxing (aside from all the steak-pain). We saw Into the Wild, which was great. This movie bothered me enough to stay with me for a couple days (and give me more nightmares). You should see it.
Many wonderful things are happening now too, though. I'm starting to work with the Timothy House and the ARC, maybe My Sister's Place too (oh, and did I mention I'm now an elder at the Presb? ...) - all of a sudden I've remembered my former, hyper-busy self. In the past few years (also know as the abyss of college), I forgot that I was a joiner. I mean, at first it was intentional: "I'm taking a break from all this joining. No more activities for me." I was president of several community organizations, on advisory boards and committees of many others; indeed, my brain was melting circa 2002/3 from all the busyness. But somehow, this turned into five years, and now it feels like I'm slowly waking up from a long nap, and it feels really good.
Monday, November 05, 2007
I Should've Known Better. And I'm Sorry About That.
I should've known better about the pumpkins. Putting them on my front steps in Athens was a very bad idea on Halloween. After we returned from the uptown revelry (which wasn't all that boisterous), the spooky tree and skull were still safe and sound - at about 2am. No worries, I thought - if they've lasted this long, they'll make it. But when we woke to go to the Presb, the steps were bare and Brandon had to shield my eyes as we drove past the piles of pulp on the corner of Walker and First.
I'm sorry about this page - it seems my screen settings at work are all messed up, and the colors appear normal and pleasant; yet, when I viewed this blog on a computer at Alden Library, I realized it's actually quite hideous. Yep, I apologize.
Yesterday will go down in history at GluttonFest 2007. (It will also be known as my first wedding anniversary). To celebrate, we visited the Gator yet again for some serious protein: Brandon consumed more than a pound of steak. I made the mistake of ordering a chicken, rice and garbanzo bean soup on top of my entree, and the rest is pain.
I'm sorry about this page - it seems my screen settings at work are all messed up, and the colors appear normal and pleasant; yet, when I viewed this blog on a computer at Alden Library, I realized it's actually quite hideous. Yep, I apologize.
Yesterday will go down in history at GluttonFest 2007. (It will also be known as my first wedding anniversary). To celebrate, we visited the Gator yet again for some serious protein: Brandon consumed more than a pound of steak. I made the mistake of ordering a chicken, rice and garbanzo bean soup on top of my entree, and the rest is pain.
Monday, October 29, 2007
My Parachute is Pumpkin-Colored
This fall I have found a new passion: pumpkin art. You'd think I would have figured this out earlier in life, with all the years of picking, scooping and carving behind me in P-town. But no, we always made those lame-o jack-o's, the ones with triangle eyes and simple smiles. On occasion, we'd get super fancy and add some teeth, or maybe I'd mix it up with a star-shaped lid instead of the basic circle or square, but this year, I put all former, geometrically-featured pumpkins to shame with my AMAZING spooky tree carving.
My obsession began when Brandon and I purchased one of those carving kits with all the tools (like mini jig saws) and intricate stencil patterns. We chose this particular kit for the spooky tree pattern for me and a rad skull face for Brandon.
When we opened the packet we saw that each design had a difficulty rating, ranging from one pumpkin (easy/beginner) to the mac-daddy five pumpkin expert level. Of course, my spooky tree was rated a five. I am an overachiever.
Thinking this would be pretty much impossible to pull off (recalling all my past experience with triangle eyes and circle noses), I didn't hold out much hope. I started with the stencil, but then decided to just freehand the thing, and to my amazement, it turned out great! Brandon's skull was pretty sweet too. Who would've thought?!
Soon thoughts of starting a pumpkin-carving enterprise flooded my mind - maybe I could make some under the table deals (not cool for my "job," which forbids other forms of income), selling fancy jack-o-lanterns to people too lazy or busy to make their own. Instant stoop art! I was going to be rich!
Later that night we placed our pumpkins happily on the front steps, arranging them amidst assorted gourds and feeling quite proud.
We walked across the street to visit our neighbor for some rum and cider - so appropriate for the day - and had a great time watching our tree and skull glow cheerfully from her front porch. It was a wonderful fall evening.
My obsession began when Brandon and I purchased one of those carving kits with all the tools (like mini jig saws) and intricate stencil patterns. We chose this particular kit for the spooky tree pattern for me and a rad skull face for Brandon.
When we opened the packet we saw that each design had a difficulty rating, ranging from one pumpkin (easy/beginner) to the mac-daddy five pumpkin expert level. Of course, my spooky tree was rated a five. I am an overachiever.
Thinking this would be pretty much impossible to pull off (recalling all my past experience with triangle eyes and circle noses), I didn't hold out much hope. I started with the stencil, but then decided to just freehand the thing, and to my amazement, it turned out great! Brandon's skull was pretty sweet too. Who would've thought?!
Soon thoughts of starting a pumpkin-carving enterprise flooded my mind - maybe I could make some under the table deals (not cool for my "job," which forbids other forms of income), selling fancy jack-o-lanterns to people too lazy or busy to make their own. Instant stoop art! I was going to be rich!
Later that night we placed our pumpkins happily on the front steps, arranging them amidst assorted gourds and feeling quite proud.
We walked across the street to visit our neighbor for some rum and cider - so appropriate for the day - and had a great time watching our tree and skull glow cheerfully from her front porch. It was a wonderful fall evening.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Now I Bore You With Stories of My Cat
The creature that shares my home is violent - violent beyond normal cat-violence, I believe.
Stella lunges at me (from underneath ottomans, couch, duvet or chair leg) with such speed and ferocity that my heart skips several beats and I have to sit down and rest for a minute or two. Her pupils dilate as her claws come out and sink into the naked flesh of my calves. I hear that lying in wait under furniture and pouncing is typical, at least for the first couple years of feline life, but the uncommon part about this is that it is no hit-and-run attack; Stella digs her fangs into my legs and refuses to let go.
On Monday, I suffered my worst wound to date:
While climbing the stairs, Stella lunged from behind a loaf of bread on top of the refrigerator. With incisors deep inside the tissue of my left leg and a basket of laundry filling my arms, I used my right foot to try to push her off me. Instead, she digs in harder, and when I push her downward, she just drags her claws down my leg, leaving a wonderfully Halloween-appropriate tearing wound. Imagine the kind that you'd glue to your forehead as part of a Frankenstein costume. Who needs a trip to Halloween USA when I've got "lifelike wounds by Stella" being created in my very own home!
I should also mention that her aggression has manifested in other ways, most notably angry urination. (It appears she's reverting to her most infantile methods of upsetting me).
On Sunday, as Brandon cleaned the litter, I looked over to see Stella "snuggling" in the lid of the box - (we have one of the enclosed types with the filter in the top). How cute, I thought.
Soon, though, I noticed a puddle forming in the bottom of the box - when we lifted it up, there was a pond on the floor. She had pissed in the filter! In the filter!
We thought this behavior had subsided when we gave her the beanie baby (named "Sizzle" by the Ty Corporation) - a flame red fuzzy teddy bear, all velor with a red bow around its neck. For a month or more, Sizzle occupied all of Stella's crazy energy and indeed was a blessed portal for all her evil. But somehow Sizzle's spell has worn off and my bare legs are once again her game.
Stella lunges at me (from underneath ottomans, couch, duvet or chair leg) with such speed and ferocity that my heart skips several beats and I have to sit down and rest for a minute or two. Her pupils dilate as her claws come out and sink into the naked flesh of my calves. I hear that lying in wait under furniture and pouncing is typical, at least for the first couple years of feline life, but the uncommon part about this is that it is no hit-and-run attack; Stella digs her fangs into my legs and refuses to let go.
On Monday, I suffered my worst wound to date:
While climbing the stairs, Stella lunged from behind a loaf of bread on top of the refrigerator. With incisors deep inside the tissue of my left leg and a basket of laundry filling my arms, I used my right foot to try to push her off me. Instead, she digs in harder, and when I push her downward, she just drags her claws down my leg, leaving a wonderfully Halloween-appropriate tearing wound. Imagine the kind that you'd glue to your forehead as part of a Frankenstein costume. Who needs a trip to Halloween USA when I've got "lifelike wounds by Stella" being created in my very own home!
I should also mention that her aggression has manifested in other ways, most notably angry urination. (It appears she's reverting to her most infantile methods of upsetting me).
On Sunday, as Brandon cleaned the litter, I looked over to see Stella "snuggling" in the lid of the box - (we have one of the enclosed types with the filter in the top). How cute, I thought.
Soon, though, I noticed a puddle forming in the bottom of the box - when we lifted it up, there was a pond on the floor. She had pissed in the filter! In the filter!
We thought this behavior had subsided when we gave her the beanie baby (named "Sizzle" by the Ty Corporation) - a flame red fuzzy teddy bear, all velor with a red bow around its neck. For a month or more, Sizzle occupied all of Stella's crazy energy and indeed was a blessed portal for all her evil. But somehow Sizzle's spell has worn off and my bare legs are once again her game.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
"Attention Kroger Shoppers: There's an Idiot in Aisle Ten, an Idiot in Aisle Ten."
A snippet from our last trip to the grocery:
B. and I stand in line behind two other carts - a man in his early seventies (wearing all khaki, looking very retired with house shoes and driving cap) is directly in front of us, and a smart looking woman (blond bob, business attire) is in front of him.
When the line lulls a bit, although B. and I don't even notice the pause, the man turns to Brandon - since he's so macho looking and all - and comments, "It's not me holding up the line. Must be a female thing."
Brandon, not interested in this strange effort at male bonding, continues to flip through the TV Guide and pick out which Kit Kat he wants. When the woman returns from checking a price, the line moves forward and she goes on her way.
The man, now at the register, waits as good old Corey the clerk scans his netted bag of oranges. A frown grows on Corey's brow. Turning first to the man and then to the bagger he asks, "Do you know how much these cost?" Shrugs and blank looks all around, so the bagger shuffles off to check the sticker in the produce section.
The man now avoids eye contact with us, shifting his weight awkwardly on the spot.
We can't contain our snickering, and although I try to control myself, I'm all, "A female thing? A female thing?! Who's female now!?" at the man and Brandon attempts to hide my glee by plastering the TV Guide over my face.
B. and I stand in line behind two other carts - a man in his early seventies (wearing all khaki, looking very retired with house shoes and driving cap) is directly in front of us, and a smart looking woman (blond bob, business attire) is in front of him.
When the line lulls a bit, although B. and I don't even notice the pause, the man turns to Brandon - since he's so macho looking and all - and comments, "It's not me holding up the line. Must be a female thing."
Brandon, not interested in this strange effort at male bonding, continues to flip through the TV Guide and pick out which Kit Kat he wants. When the woman returns from checking a price, the line moves forward and she goes on her way.
The man, now at the register, waits as good old Corey the clerk scans his netted bag of oranges. A frown grows on Corey's brow. Turning first to the man and then to the bagger he asks, "Do you know how much these cost?" Shrugs and blank looks all around, so the bagger shuffles off to check the sticker in the produce section.
The man now avoids eye contact with us, shifting his weight awkwardly on the spot.
We can't contain our snickering, and although I try to control myself, I'm all, "A female thing? A female thing?! Who's female now!?" at the man and Brandon attempts to hide my glee by plastering the TV Guide over my face.
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