In no particular order:
This list is constantly under review.
Runners-up (who occasionally rotate onto the list)
MY sister (not YOUR sister – MY sister (well, maybe your sister, but I don’t know her, so this is for MY sister) passed her oral exams today! Comps is (are?) over, and she passed with flying colors. Go Min! I asked her if she was AB-Masters, but she said, to be accurate, she’s actually AB-double Masters. Show-off. 🙂
I’m a snorer. I can’t help it. Most of the time, if I snore at all, it’s quiet enough and not constant enough to bother John. (Or so he says. It certainly doesn’t bother me.) Unfortunately, we had a little change in the weather recently, and I’ve been the tiniest bit congested the last two nights. Just enough to start snoring. Just enough to keep John from sleeping. His reaction to my snoring? Jiggle the bed with his leg. It’s like a small earthquake, but I know it’s a signal from John that means “Ohmygodyou’resnoringpleasestopNOW.” So I roll over onto my side and try to go back to sleep withOUT snoring. It doesn’t last. More bed-jiggling, more rolling over, more guilt on my part ’cause the last thing I want to do is keep John from sleeping, and while all this is going on, neither of us is quite awake enough to consider moving to the guest room. This morning, though, that was the first thing on my mind. I’m awake, I’m exhausted, and I’m sleeping in the other room tonight.
Isn’t every day supposed to be Valentine’s Day when you’re in love? What makes today so special? And why should we let somebody else dictate to us when we should celebrate our love?
On the other hand, celebrating love is a whole lot better than celebrating war or other bad stuff.
I love Russell Brand. Happy Valentine’s Day!
Riley usually doesn’t care about treats (unless it’s steak or fish or something irresistible like that), but tonight we’re only talking about a tortilla chip. John offered it to him, and he slobbered all over it, but ultimately declined. Walked away uninterested. So John put the chip in Roxy’s bowl (she was outside). A few minutes later, we heard a loud crunching sound coming from the other side of the island. Unmistakable. Roxy never knew what she missed. And Riley may have developed a love for chips.
Why so many title pages? This book has THREE.
First
Second
Third
They’re all in a row, one after the other, and that’s not even counting the page before the FIRST title page that basically works like the back of the dust jacket, with the title and author AGAIN (and a short bio). I don’t understand. Why so many? Does Random House think I’m going to forget what book I just picked up? Every one and a half seconds?
I don’t get it. But I do think Random House is a cool name for a company. Maybe I’ll call my bookstore Random Books. Or Random Reads. Random Readers. Random Shop. Maybe just Random. Maybe not.
Wanna see the worst haircut I’ve ever gotten? I hated it. It was the summer after my freshman year in college. I was going for a pixie cut, something really short, something I’d never done before (and have never tried since), but that Mom and Mindy do really well. If they can do it, I can, right? Maybe I wasn’t clear enough with the stylist. She gave me something that looked kinda like Julia Roberts as Tinkerbell in Hook. With a mullet.
With a mullet. And not so many layers, I think. I don't remember. I've blocked it out.
It was awful. I got home, cried, and went somewhere else the next day to try to get it fixed. Which wasn’t really possible. So I hated my hair that whole summer. I recently came across a picture of me from later that summer, and while I still don’t think it’s a good haircut, I don’t think it was quite as bad as it seemed at the time.
It’s not something I’d do again, though.
And to bribe you into saying nice things about this old picture of me (or at least non-commital not-mean things), here’s Mr. Toad.
Maybe only linking to two things doesn’t count as linktastic, but they’re totally worth it.
Link #1: Today’s XKCD comic. I’m a little twitchy now.
Link #2: By way of nn.c (and yesterday’s post, no less – I’m a little late), here’s a video both amazing and adorable. It’s making me wish for a really good video camera so I can do the same thing with Riley racing at full speed around the yard.
Yeah, yeah, it’s less a link and more an embedded video, but I think you’ll forgive me.
#)(*$%^&*%#!
I would choose to use a mouse over a touchpad any day of the week. If I’m sitting at a desk or a table or a coffee table or any flat surface. If my laptop is actually in my lap, a mouse is more of a hindrance. I mention this because I’m sitting at my little desk between the dining room and the kitchen, and I reached over with my right hand to move the mouse. The mouse that isn’t there. But my hand made the mouse shape and tensed to hold it under my palm. Weird feeling to tense for a mouse and miss. It’s very much like going upstairs while carrying something that’s blocking your view so you can’t tell when you’ve reached the top and your foot looks for the next step only to find nothing but air so you stumble a little as your foot misses and hits the floor. It’s like that.
My brain has been buzzing all day, but only about work stuff, and I wish it would stop. I was asked to volunteer for some outside-normal-working-hours work, and that project finally started to need me, so work is reaching into my evening and weekend hours again. Thankfully, this particular project is due in two weeks, so the pain will be short-lived.
I have a desperate dog trying to crawl into my lap, making typing difficult. He’d climb into my skin with me if he could. Needy animal. We’re going to try group meditation (me and the dog) and see if he’ll calm down once I’m fully relaxed. Deep breaths, Riley. You can do it.
Thanks to Emily (and the totally random subject of an email she sent to John), I think I’ve found my calling. Or at least another job possibility should I decide 9-5 in the IT world isn’t doing it for me anymore. I could totally be a life coach. I just googled it – there are certification courses in life coaching. Who would pay someone for that? More to the point, who would pay ME for that? And how can I convince them to?
No segues come to mind, so let’s work together on this and pretend I found one so I can abruptly change the subject.
Here’s a transcript of a voice recording I left for myself on my phone (that I’d forgotten about), I think from early December:
We’re driving home from John’s parents’ house, and we just passed a sign that says we’re in a highway safety zone for the next three miles. I said, “What does that mean?” John said, “It means you can dance…if you want to.”
And then the giggles I was suppressing broke free and I think that might be a snort right at the end of the recording. Unfortunately (for you, maybe, but I think I’m okay with it), it’s not saved in a format I can convert to mp3, so you don’t get to hear it.
It’s funny what an unexpected internet outage can do to an evening. Since yesterday was my day off from exercising, I’d planned to spend some time reading my regular blogs (it’s been a couple of days) until John came home and we ate dinner. Instead, I got home from a whirlwind day in DC with my boss (We commuted together and were in almost every meeting together – that’s a LOT of quality time. I value my time alone in the car after days like this; I need it to relax and let the day go. Didn’t happen.) to find that we had no internet, we had no phone (we have Vonage for the house (needs internet) and my cell phone battery was dying), and the problem seemed to be with the cable company. At least we had power. It was cold in the house, so, while I waited for John to come home so we could have stir fry for dinner, I made myself some de-caf Earl Grey and curled up under a blanket on the couch with my book. My new book, a mystery set in post-WWI England with a haunted detective.
The internet came back this morning (obviously). I missed it.
My academically- (and otherwise, but let’s stay on topic) talented sister is in the throes of comps right now for her masters in speech pathology, and all day today she’s been getting results from the written portion. So far, she’s passed 9 out of 12 subjects, with no rewrites necessary, and her three best subjects are the three she hasn’t heard about yet. Are we worried? Not in the least. She’s kicking some comps ass.
Happy Melday!
Every once in a while, the need to drop everything (except John and the dogs, of course) and walk away gets almost overwhelming. It bubbles up and boils over and I burst into tears thinking about everything it would take to make it happen. And make WHAT happen is part of the problem. What is it exactly that I want to change? I’m good at what I do, and I like it well enough, but I don’t love it. Not a bit of my identity is tied up in what I do for a living. So that could go, but what would I do instead? Be a librarian? Sure, but I don’t think there’s much demand anymore for librarians in public libraries, which is the kind I’d want to be. Be a teacher? Of what? Maybe math, but I don’t want to teach kids who aren’t interested in being in class. So adults, then.
Whoa. Just did a quick search at ala.org. A whole bunch of universities have started offering 100% online courses for a masters in library science since the last time I looked (which was when we were living in our last house, so more than 5 years ago at least – makes sense). Okay, I have some research to do.
Erik and Margaret came over this afternoon so we could get some very important things figured out about their wedding: what music they should use for the processional and what wines they should serve at their reception. Very important. The music part was definitely worked out (but it’s a secret – I’ll tell you only that there will be guitar and singing). The wines…a little more testing (and tasting) might be needed.
Maybe I’ll become addicted to classes at the gym. There are worse things. I feel SO much better than I did all day. It was, to be blunt, a shitty day. A few people at work were in bad moods and were being pricklier than usual, and that put the rest of us on edge, so we were all sniping at each other most of the day. I texted John around lunchtime and said I was considering pretending to get sick just so I could leave early. I wanted out of there. But no, I stayed all day.
But then, I went to my new gym (I joined today – they won me over) for what was described as a high energy dance fitness class. Everyone in the class was super-friendly and the steps were fun and I had a wonderful time and I feel MUCH better.
Really, I am. It says so right there, on my blue, Lucite, sharp-edged award. It was awarded to me (because it’s an award and that’s how you get them) at our annual work thing this afternoon (a speaker, team discussions, yearly awards, etc). Pretty cool. It looks like the missing murder weapon on Law & Order. You know, the victim’s head was smashed in with a heavy blunt object at the office, but no one has been able to find the murder weapon. Then one day the cleaning crew notices one less thing to dust on the shelf in the executive’s office, and when they finally find the weapon (which was shoved in a box in the closet), it turns out to be an award for excellence in consumer relations that has been hastily (and not thoroughly) cleaned off. Plenty of evidence to convict.
Mine looks kinda like this, but blue. And a little more substantial. And therefore dangerous.
I may also have committed myself to playing golf with my boss when the weather warms up. She’s aware that I’ve never played before, that I’ve never even picked up a real golf club (I don’t think putt-putt counts), but that might be part of the appeal for her. I’m someone she could beat. Maybe she’ll forget. Oh, look! A problem to solve! I’ll get right on it.
It’s GROUNDHOG DAY! And in about half the country, no one can even find any woodchucks in the driving wind and snow. Have you seen that Geico commercial?
Dang woodchucks.
The internet conspired to make me laugh today, which is good ’cause my workday left me feeling irritable. First, The Bloggess. Naturally. Time-share ponies = awesome idea. Then, John and I watched an episode of Castle on Hulu tonight (we’re maybe three episodes behind – it was the one with Donna from That ’70s Show), and there was one scene we laughed so hard at we had to pause the show and go back. Then, I read an email from last week (I’m not that behind – I must have missed this one) that’s a compilation of winning Style Invitational entries and alternate definitions of words. I can’t find the actual list online anywhere, so I think it’s just an email thing that was put together who knows how long ago (I’ve seen some of them before) and by who knows who, but it’s really funny. My favorite was lymph: to walk with a lisp.
Maybe you had to be there.
I really really do. I loved the ballroom dance lessons John got us for our anniversary a couple of years ago, I loved faking my way through tap dancing in 42nd Street in high school (I probably would have loved actually tap dancing if I’d taken more than two lessons), I love aerobics classes with dance steps, I love to dance around my living room…
I went to an aerobics class tonight at the gym I may or may not join. The class was a Kukuwa dance workout, which incorporates moves and music from African, Indian, and Latin traditions, and it was FUN. All you need is coordination and sense of rhythm. I have those. When it was over, the instructor said I picked up the steps really quickly and then she asked me if I had any dance experience. Flattery will get you everywhere. Including back to her class, which I’m sure was the point. Still – I WANT TO DANCE. Who knew?
I want to sing, too. I could be a triple threat! Except for the triple part. I can’t act. To save my LIFE.
The dogs and I met the most adorable little puppy named Otto today. Twelve weeks old, SO cute. He looked like the poky little puppy, except with the colors reversed.
Otto was mostly black, with white and brown on his face, ears, and paws. So cute I wanted to gobble him up. He handled being rushed by Roxy and Riley pretty well, too.
I want one.
I downloaded a second installation of WordPress, created a second database on my hosting site (so it would belong to my domain), copied the theme over so it would match, and linked it here. Run, Zannah, Run! exists as a second blog at www.inanechatter.net and you can find it by clicking the link for it under Pages on the right. If you’re interested. You don’t have to be. It might only be interesting to me, and I can’t even say that for sure.
Not a good sales pitch.
Anyway, I took it down on Blogger just now. Which means I should probably disable the link in the last post. Hang on.
Done.
Now let’s talk about what irritated me today. Last night, while thinking about this whole being healthy thing, I stopped by the gym closest to our house to look into membership options. (It’s in the shopping center where the Bloom used to be.) They’re month to month only, no initial fees, no cancellation fees. All equipment and classes are included, and the only extra fees are for things like personal trainer sessions and massage therapy. It’s a chain, but it’s a small one (I think), and I talked to the owner of this one on the phone before I went for a tour. They gave me a free pass for the week to check it out. I’m mainly interested because I want to be able to join a class (yoga, dance-type aerobics, etc – something that’s not running) AND (more interesting to me) I want the availability of a treadmill when the streets and sidewalks are covered in ice or snow. So really, the month-to-month thing is appealing because I can join for December, January, and February, and then quit until next December. And it’s less than a mile from the house, IN the neighborhood. Anyway, I got the tour, everything looks nice, and the guy (not the owner) said the front desk isn’t manned all the time, but members can get a keycard for access during those hours. I didn’t think to ask which hours were the ones that require a keycard, and he didn’t volunteer them. Which brings me, finally, to why I’m irritated. I got all dressed to go run at the gym (in the warm), got in the car, saw the OPEN sign all lit up in the window, and then couldn’t get in the door. There’s a sign on the door listing the hours you need a keycard, and it includes most of Saturday and Sunday. AND the early morning weekday hours I was planning to try out the gym this week. Frustrated (just a tad, you know?), I went home to change into warmer clothes so I could run outside. Stupid winter. Tomorrow, I’ll try to get in touch with the owner again and see if he’ll let me borrow a keycard during my trial week.