It’s nearly the end of the year and, I must say, I’m rather looking forward to 2008.
I can’t say I’m sad to see 2007 go. It hasn’t been the nicest year. But, despite the hardships of the last 12 months, there have been blessings mixed in there as well.
This year saw the passing of Cassandra, my beloved rabbit and furry companion for five years. As saddened as I was by her death, Rebecca and I welcomed Slim Jim and Teyla into our home.
The house had some issues in 2007. There was the gas leak back in February — the one that I caught only because I was doing laundry at two o’clock in the morning after a day-long "Lord of the Rings" marathon. There was the ticking-time bomb otherwise known as my water heater which, fortunately, was able to be fixed by friends. And, of course, there was the break-in. We don’t need to rehash the suckiness that was the violation of my home and the loss of my iBook but I can’t ignore the good that eventually came out of the ordeal.
Hedwig had her share of difficulties. My faithful Ford sedan has had a lot of (relatively costly) work done since last January. She had some original parts, that apparently aren’t meant to last more than 100,000 miles, replaced as well as a few few odd items like new brakes, tires, coolant reservoir and oxygen sensors. The good news is that most of this routine stuff that most cars experience should be caught up now and we won’t need anything for a while again.
As we say goodbye to 2007 in a couple of hours, I’m looking forward to 2008 and the wonders it will bring. I have high hopes for the coming year, full of promise and possibility and opportunity.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Miss Communication
Communication is, really, the most important tool we have at our disposal. Proper and thorough communication, in my opinion, would lessen almost all of the world’s ills.
Get that look off your face. I’m serious.
The simplest things can be blown completely out of proportion when we don’t communicate well. Accidents happen when people don’t communicate their intention through proper use of turn signals. Feelings are hurt from misinterpreted comments. Ailments go untreated when the patient can’t describe their symptoms or the physician doesn’t take the time to listen. E-mail, one of my favorite modes of communication, often leads to misread intentions because you can’t see or hear the entire message from reading words on the screen. Or, sometimes, communication can be completely misinterpreted or ignored.
Years ago, one of my roommates picked on me because I always informed her when I was going out, where I was going and how long I was going to be gone. This, to me, was a common courtesy in case she or someone else wanted or need to know where I was. She, apparently, was annoyed and made the comment that she wasn’t my mother. Not only did she hurt my feelings by negating my efforts to communicate with her but she also missed a chance to share in the effort.
Something that goes along with communication, or the occasional miscommunication, is forgiveness. Okay, sure, somewhere along the line someone got something wrong or forgot to tell someone something but that doesn’t mean we need to hold a grudge about it. It’s come. It’s gone. It’s time to move on. Hard feelings aren’t going to make communication in the future any easier. If you really have an issue, communicate with the appropriate individual so you can move on with your relationship.
Ouf.
And that, my friends, was the sound of me falling off my soap box. Considering the multiple disagreements I’ve had with gravity lately, maybe I shouldn’t stand so high off the ground.
Get that look off your face. I’m serious.
The simplest things can be blown completely out of proportion when we don’t communicate well. Accidents happen when people don’t communicate their intention through proper use of turn signals. Feelings are hurt from misinterpreted comments. Ailments go untreated when the patient can’t describe their symptoms or the physician doesn’t take the time to listen. E-mail, one of my favorite modes of communication, often leads to misread intentions because you can’t see or hear the entire message from reading words on the screen. Or, sometimes, communication can be completely misinterpreted or ignored.
Years ago, one of my roommates picked on me because I always informed her when I was going out, where I was going and how long I was going to be gone. This, to me, was a common courtesy in case she or someone else wanted or need to know where I was. She, apparently, was annoyed and made the comment that she wasn’t my mother. Not only did she hurt my feelings by negating my efforts to communicate with her but she also missed a chance to share in the effort.
Something that goes along with communication, or the occasional miscommunication, is forgiveness. Okay, sure, somewhere along the line someone got something wrong or forgot to tell someone something but that doesn’t mean we need to hold a grudge about it. It’s come. It’s gone. It’s time to move on. Hard feelings aren’t going to make communication in the future any easier. If you really have an issue, communicate with the appropriate individual so you can move on with your relationship.
Ouf.
And that, my friends, was the sound of me falling off my soap box. Considering the multiple disagreements I’ve had with gravity lately, maybe I shouldn’t stand so high off the ground.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
My, what big ears you have
 Slim Jim |
 Teyla |
I was playing with my new vacuum this evening (again with the lameness, I know) and pondered an interesting thought.
Of my two rabbits, whose hearing is the more sensitive?
My assumption has been that Teyla’s sense of hearing is the greater as her ears are several times bigger than Slim Jim’s. Since I wanted to use the vacuum on Teyla the English Lop’s cage, I was concerned about making sure she left the room while I did it. Being the nosey bunny that she is, Teyla didn’t stay gone long and came back and hopped into her cage while I was working, apparently nonplussed by the loud noise of the vacuum.
Heartened by this, I decided to then vacuum the hay and fur from the lounge chair in the rabbits’ room. As I did this I kept an eye on Teyla to make sure she was still doing alright — only to then discover that Slim Jim was the one being driven crazy by the noise. Poor Slim Jamison. His erect Mini Rex ears, while smaller than Teyla’s, must be more difficult for him because they’re stuck open and he can’t really control what he hears. I’m still convinced Teyla’s ears are more senstive (she’s the one that freaks out in the middle of the night to noises Slim Jim, Rebecca and I can’t hear) but I think Slim Jim has the disadvantage of not being able to shield himself from the noises around him. As I rock out to loud music most of the time I’ll have to be mindful of this in the future. The good new is that he, like Cassandra before him, seems to enjoy my taste in music. You’ll perhaps recall that Cassie was a big fan of System of a Down’s first album and liked to sit in front of the subwoofer during certain tracks.
Silly wabbits.
Monday, December 24, 2007
“Getting to Know You” — Christmas Style
I got one of those fun forwards today where you answer questions about yourself (my favorite topic, by the way) and, since I’m pretty bored because my sister is going to her in-laws and I’m left to my own devices for a while, I figured I’d just do another Web log post with it. And, since I’m long-winded, there’s some actual meat to all my answers.
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Wrapping presents is my favorite part of the season of giving. I like to buy the nice stuff from Hallmark because then I can curl strips of the wrap into matching ribbon for embellishing the gift just a bit further. I’m not sure why I enjoy the presentation of the gift so much. From as far back as my older brother can remember my mom has been recycling old wrapping paper (if you tear it, you don’t get to keep your present Christmas morning) and my sister insists on using newspaper because it can be recycled afterward.
2. Tree — Real or Artificial?
Gosh. I’d love to have a real tree and I’m fortunate that my parents’ still get a real one every year. The one at my house is artificial which works for me because I’m still a bit paranoid about the potential fire hazard. Maybe one of these days I can rely on my husband to help me keep an eye on it but, for now, the cat and I can’t be trusted.
3. When do you put the Christmas tree up?
If I could get away with it, the day after Halloween. But, since there’s no way I would hear the end of that, I like to do it a week or two before Thanksgiving. And not just the tree — all the Christmas decorations. And, no, not just because most of the holiday decor has my name on it.
4. When do you take the tree down?
Mid-January. I love my tree and I like to enjoy it’s light as long as possible.
5. Like egg nog?
I’m not a huge fan but I usually enjoy at least one glass every year. It’s just part of the holiday season.
6. Do you have a nativity scene?
I do not have a nativity scene myself but my mother has several. The baby Jesus doesn’t show up until Christmas morning.
7. Favorite gift received as a child?
Samantha, An American Girl doll. I had asked for her for Christmas for three years and it only took major surgery (an appendectomy) to finally get her.
8. Hardest person to buy for?
My mother — she never wants anything but she did give birth to you so you feel more than a little compelled to still find the perfect gift.
9. Easiest person to buy for?
My sister is usually pretty easy to buy for. I’m always so excited about whatever I got her, though, that she usually gets it long before Christmas.
10. Worst Christmas gift?
I can’t think of a “worst” gift but, somehow, a few years ago it became tradition for my mother to get me something creepy. This gift is usually second-hand from Goodwill or a yard sale or some such source. I don’t know if she is purposefully looking for the creepiest gift she can find but it just ends up that way. One year it was a doll much like Samantha with the eyes that open and close. This doll was creepy because of the way it was jammed into a box that was much too small — and still had the $2 Goodwill tag on it.
11. Mail or email a Christmas card?
Again with the Hallmark mentality but I send out my Christmas cards by mail at the beginning of December. I know it’s better to give than to receive — and that’s how I usually feel about gifts — but I really wish I got more cards in return.
12. Favorite Christmas movie?
“The Night They Saved Christmas” with Jacqueline Smith is probably my all-time favorite Christmas movie. I’m also a big fan of “The Santa Clause” franchise.
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
I actually stock-pile gifts all year long but still end up doing the brunt of my shopping in mid-December.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
I’m not opposed but I’ve never done it.
15. Favorite food to eat on Christmas?
My dad gets quality steaks and cooks them up for Christmas dinner and that excites me to no end.
16. Clear or colored tree lights?
Either is fine with me but if you’re going to mix them up try to be tasteful about it.
17. Favorite Christmas Song?
The Chipmunks singing “Here We Come A-Caroling.”
18. Travel during Christmas or Stay home?
I travel to my parents’ house. That’s sort of like home, right?
19. Can you name Santa’s reindeer?
Yes, I can. Will I? Sure. Blitzen, Chet, Comet, Cupid, Dancer, Dasher, Donner, Prancer, Rudolph and Vixen.
20. Angel or Star on tree top?
I want a star for the top of my tree but I’ve yet to find one that I like.
21. Open presents on Christmas Eve or morning?
Christmas morning!!
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
I can’t really think of anything particularly annoying. I truly believe that it is the most wonderful time of the year.
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Wrapping presents is my favorite part of the season of giving. I like to buy the nice stuff from Hallmark because then I can curl strips of the wrap into matching ribbon for embellishing the gift just a bit further. I’m not sure why I enjoy the presentation of the gift so much. From as far back as my older brother can remember my mom has been recycling old wrapping paper (if you tear it, you don’t get to keep your present Christmas morning) and my sister insists on using newspaper because it can be recycled afterward.
2. Tree — Real or Artificial?
Gosh. I’d love to have a real tree and I’m fortunate that my parents’ still get a real one every year. The one at my house is artificial which works for me because I’m still a bit paranoid about the potential fire hazard. Maybe one of these days I can rely on my husband to help me keep an eye on it but, for now, the cat and I can’t be trusted.
3. When do you put the Christmas tree up?
If I could get away with it, the day after Halloween. But, since there’s no way I would hear the end of that, I like to do it a week or two before Thanksgiving. And not just the tree — all the Christmas decorations. And, no, not just because most of the holiday decor has my name on it.
4. When do you take the tree down?
Mid-January. I love my tree and I like to enjoy it’s light as long as possible.
5. Like egg nog?
I’m not a huge fan but I usually enjoy at least one glass every year. It’s just part of the holiday season.
6. Do you have a nativity scene?
I do not have a nativity scene myself but my mother has several. The baby Jesus doesn’t show up until Christmas morning.
7. Favorite gift received as a child?
Samantha, An American Girl doll. I had asked for her for Christmas for three years and it only took major surgery (an appendectomy) to finally get her.
8. Hardest person to buy for?
My mother — she never wants anything but she did give birth to you so you feel more than a little compelled to still find the perfect gift.
9. Easiest person to buy for?
My sister is usually pretty easy to buy for. I’m always so excited about whatever I got her, though, that she usually gets it long before Christmas.
10. Worst Christmas gift?
I can’t think of a “worst” gift but, somehow, a few years ago it became tradition for my mother to get me something creepy. This gift is usually second-hand from Goodwill or a yard sale or some such source. I don’t know if she is purposefully looking for the creepiest gift she can find but it just ends up that way. One year it was a doll much like Samantha with the eyes that open and close. This doll was creepy because of the way it was jammed into a box that was much too small — and still had the $2 Goodwill tag on it.
11. Mail or email a Christmas card?
Again with the Hallmark mentality but I send out my Christmas cards by mail at the beginning of December. I know it’s better to give than to receive — and that’s how I usually feel about gifts — but I really wish I got more cards in return.
12. Favorite Christmas movie?
“The Night They Saved Christmas” with Jacqueline Smith is probably my all-time favorite Christmas movie. I’m also a big fan of “The Santa Clause” franchise.
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
I actually stock-pile gifts all year long but still end up doing the brunt of my shopping in mid-December.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
I’m not opposed but I’ve never done it.
15. Favorite food to eat on Christmas?
My dad gets quality steaks and cooks them up for Christmas dinner and that excites me to no end.
16. Clear or colored tree lights?
Either is fine with me but if you’re going to mix them up try to be tasteful about it.
17. Favorite Christmas Song?
The Chipmunks singing “Here We Come A-Caroling.”
18. Travel during Christmas or Stay home?
I travel to my parents’ house. That’s sort of like home, right?
19. Can you name Santa’s reindeer?
Yes, I can. Will I? Sure. Blitzen, Chet, Comet, Cupid, Dancer, Dasher, Donner, Prancer, Rudolph and Vixen.
20. Angel or Star on tree top?
I want a star for the top of my tree but I’ve yet to find one that I like.
21. Open presents on Christmas Eve or morning?
Christmas morning!!
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
I can’t really think of anything particularly annoying. I truly believe that it is the most wonderful time of the year.
You are getting very sleepy
It's a holiday miracle. I just got eleven hours of sleep. More importantly, I got four of those hours by sleeping past my body's usual wake-up time of 6:00 a.m. As uncomfortably as I tend to sleep while staying at my parents’ house (my back, as expected, is killing me) I at least usually sleep pretty hard because, frankly, my sister Gina tends to exhaust me. She's a very go-go-go person and always wants to be doing something, which is something I happen to admire.
Of course, what I really admire about Gina is that she can sleep anywhere and at any time. It’s probably because she never lets herself sleep so when her body thinks it’s got at least a chance of getting some shut eye it just shuts down. I wish I could sleep in the car, on the couch, in the movie theater, at work — okay, she’s never fallen asleep at work. I have, actually, but it was after I had my wisdom teeth removed and it was their own fault for making me come in so soon and still on drugs.
But I digress.
I have to wonder if the reason I’m such a high-strung and oft-cranky individual (according to everyone else, at least) is because I never seem to get enough sleep and I’m constantly jealous of those who can. Even when I’m in a perfectly comfortable bed I can’t fall asleep without the comforting white noise of my beloved box fan (a nice miniature one that travels with me). What kind of raw deal is that?
I'm sure my inability to sleep usually stems from the hyperactivity of my brain. It’s just always going. The worst part is that it’s connected to my mouth and I end up talking too much and, usually, about inappropriate things. What no one seems to realize is that I actually have a pretty heavy-duty filter in place because what I say is only a fraction of what I think. And how scary is that?
Oh, look. I’m digressing again. Surprise, surprise.
Anyway. I’m quite pleased that despite my sister making gifts in her “workshop” last night, my father’s 5:30 shower, my mom shoveling at 8:00 and Gina’s rabbit making a ruckus every couple of hours, I got eleven hours of sleep. I just don’t know what to do with such a well-rested self.
Of course, what I really admire about Gina is that she can sleep anywhere and at any time. It’s probably because she never lets herself sleep so when her body thinks it’s got at least a chance of getting some shut eye it just shuts down. I wish I could sleep in the car, on the couch, in the movie theater, at work — okay, she’s never fallen asleep at work. I have, actually, but it was after I had my wisdom teeth removed and it was their own fault for making me come in so soon and still on drugs.
But I digress.
I have to wonder if the reason I’m such a high-strung and oft-cranky individual (according to everyone else, at least) is because I never seem to get enough sleep and I’m constantly jealous of those who can. Even when I’m in a perfectly comfortable bed I can’t fall asleep without the comforting white noise of my beloved box fan (a nice miniature one that travels with me). What kind of raw deal is that?
I'm sure my inability to sleep usually stems from the hyperactivity of my brain. It’s just always going. The worst part is that it’s connected to my mouth and I end up talking too much and, usually, about inappropriate things. What no one seems to realize is that I actually have a pretty heavy-duty filter in place because what I say is only a fraction of what I think. And how scary is that?
Oh, look. I’m digressing again. Surprise, surprise.
Anyway. I’m quite pleased that despite my sister making gifts in her “workshop” last night, my father’s 5:30 shower, my mom shoveling at 8:00 and Gina’s rabbit making a ruckus every couple of hours, I got eleven hours of sleep. I just don’t know what to do with such a well-rested self.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Back Outta Whack
It turns out I got a little more out of my tumble down the stairs than a new collection of bruises on my leg.
Yep. I went ahead and hurt my back. Again. Pretty badly, in fact, if the daily trips to the chiropractor are any indication. Don’t get me wrong, I love my chiropractors, but the necessity of seeing them every day is a real pain in the neck.
And shoulder.
And lower back.
And I’ve got a headache.
And my hip’s been acting up a bit.
See what I mean?
The pain I’m in is my own gosh-darn fault. I probably should have known bouncing down the steps wasn’t good for my back (not to mention the other battered body parts) but didn’t really think anything of it at the time. By Tuesday I began having daily headaches that I blamed on either my TM-Jaw or the remaining vestiges of the cold that refused to go away. I went for my regular chiropractor manipulation on Friday — and then went back Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and tonight. It actually wasn’t until after my adjustment on Tuesday that I really began to think that my problems were probably from the staircase mishap and not from shoveling half a foot of snow from my drive and walkways.
You’d think after four spinal manipulations I’d be feeling almost right again but a) I really did a number on myself (which is something I’m known for) and b) this has not been a very good week for the care and keeping of Joy. Not only has it just been busy with the holiday season but work has been a bit on the crazy side and I’ve been very tensely sitting at my desk all week — a couple of hours later than I should have been most nights.
I have high hopes that work tomorrow won’t be nearly as distressful to my myriad sore bits (because, when my back’s out of whack, the rest follows) and, hopefully, I can spend some time relaxing this weekend and allow my body to repair itself from the damage inflicted. Of course, as discussed in previous posts, I have a hard time letting that lesson sink in: taking care of myself always ends up as such a low priority in the not-so-grand scheme of things and then I end up paying the price. As it is, I'm already in a considerable amount of pain just from sitting here on the couch (your back’s worst enemy according to one of my chiropractors) and writing this post to a Web log that no one reads.
Yep. I went ahead and hurt my back. Again. Pretty badly, in fact, if the daily trips to the chiropractor are any indication. Don’t get me wrong, I love my chiropractors, but the necessity of seeing them every day is a real pain in the neck.
And shoulder.
And lower back.
And I’ve got a headache.
And my hip’s been acting up a bit.
See what I mean?
The pain I’m in is my own gosh-darn fault. I probably should have known bouncing down the steps wasn’t good for my back (not to mention the other battered body parts) but didn’t really think anything of it at the time. By Tuesday I began having daily headaches that I blamed on either my TM-Jaw or the remaining vestiges of the cold that refused to go away. I went for my regular chiropractor manipulation on Friday — and then went back Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and tonight. It actually wasn’t until after my adjustment on Tuesday that I really began to think that my problems were probably from the staircase mishap and not from shoveling half a foot of snow from my drive and walkways.
You’d think after four spinal manipulations I’d be feeling almost right again but a) I really did a number on myself (which is something I’m known for) and b) this has not been a very good week for the care and keeping of Joy. Not only has it just been busy with the holiday season but work has been a bit on the crazy side and I’ve been very tensely sitting at my desk all week — a couple of hours later than I should have been most nights.
I have high hopes that work tomorrow won’t be nearly as distressful to my myriad sore bits (because, when my back’s out of whack, the rest follows) and, hopefully, I can spend some time relaxing this weekend and allow my body to repair itself from the damage inflicted. Of course, as discussed in previous posts, I have a hard time letting that lesson sink in: taking care of myself always ends up as such a low priority in the not-so-grand scheme of things and then I end up paying the price. As it is, I'm already in a considerable amount of pain just from sitting here on the couch (your back’s worst enemy according to one of my chiropractors) and writing this post to a Web log that no one reads.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Pet Peeve: Shopping Carts
My pet peeve isn’t against the shopping carts themselves. I love shopping carts. They serve an incredibly useful purpose — especially as I’ve got a bad back and wouldn’t have a very easy time of carrying my groceries all throughout the store by my lonesome.
So, as I said, I’ve got nothing against shopping carts.
It’s the people who leave the shopping carts wherever they please in the parking lot that bother me. No, bother’s too light of a word. Last night, as I tried pulling into a space for some late-night grocery shopping, I was beyond irritated by the shopping cart standing in the middle of the spot — when the cart corral was only two spaces away.
First of all, isn’t that one of those things we learn in kindergarten? To put our toys away when we’re done with them? That’s what I thought.
In my opinion, unless your legs are broken or there is a metal plate in your head is there any real reason not to push the shopping cart all of 20 feet — usually less — to the cart corral. And, really, even with either of those challenges it’s really not much to expect that you could still put the cart away.
Maybe it’s just because I tend to go above and beyond the call of common politeness when it comes to a great many things but, seriously, doesn’t anyone ever think about how their laziness is going to affect others?
So, as I said, I’ve got nothing against shopping carts.
It’s the people who leave the shopping carts wherever they please in the parking lot that bother me. No, bother’s too light of a word. Last night, as I tried pulling into a space for some late-night grocery shopping, I was beyond irritated by the shopping cart standing in the middle of the spot — when the cart corral was only two spaces away.
First of all, isn’t that one of those things we learn in kindergarten? To put our toys away when we’re done with them? That’s what I thought.
In my opinion, unless your legs are broken or there is a metal plate in your head is there any real reason not to push the shopping cart all of 20 feet — usually less — to the cart corral. And, really, even with either of those challenges it’s really not much to expect that you could still put the cart away.
Maybe it’s just because I tend to go above and beyond the call of common politeness when it comes to a great many things but, seriously, doesn’t anyone ever think about how their laziness is going to affect others?
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Punky Bruise-ter
I bruise easily and quite often have mysterious bruises on various parts of my body that I assume are from the myriad of things I run into on a daily basis because I’m a bit of a nob and tend to run into stuff (furniture, walls, pets, etc.).
I bruise so much, in fact, that during a routine medical exam back in college my doctor started asking subtle questions about if I was still seeing my high school sweetheart, how things were going and the like — basically he wanted to know if my BF was the reason for the various bruises. As if. I only outweighed the boy by forty pounds — I totally could have taken him if I had to.
With all the bruises I acquire with no certain recollection of having gotten them, I’m always mildly excited when I do something and think to myself “that’s going to leave a mark!” Strange for such excitement, to be sure, but I, myself, am a little strange.
My most spectacular and rewarding bruise was from a tumble I took on the ice-covered steps in front of my apartment a couple of winters ago. For one thing, I rather wish someone had caught the actual fall on candid camera as it was rather impressive. My legs literally went out from under me and ended up above my head as I came back down to land solidly on my backside. I actually laid there for a few moments as all the air was forced from my lungs upon impact and I surveyed the extent of the damage to the rest of my body. The good news is that I didn’t damage anything I was going to need later but I did have a sore posterior for the rest of the day. The next morning, passing the hall mirror on my way to the shower, I was more than a little surprised — and a bit excited — by the bruise that encompassed a large percentage of my bum. This was a bruise worth writing home about. The size was impressive by itself — it was huge! — but the fact that the bruise was nearly black was enough to make me want to show it to anyone I could that decency would allow. Needless to say, based on the location of the bruise, this didn’t include a lot of people and I should probably feel at least a little ashamed for the few I did insist on mooning because I was compelled to share this most bodacious of bodily blemishes. I don’t, though.
For as excited as I was about that bruise, you can well imagine the disappointment from notable injuries that don’t bear the fruit of a at least mild skin discoloration. I thought this was the case from a slightly less remarkable tumble I took down my basement steps this past weekend. I was able to catch myself with the railing before I caused any permanent damage at the bottom of the stairs but I still took quite the beating as the combination of warm fuzzy socks, rushing and being slightly light-headed from a lingering cold forced me to skip a couple of steps on my way down to check the laundry. The good news is that, again, I didn’t break anything I might find useful later but the even better news is that I’ve finally developed a nice collection of bruises on my left leg — the one that got left at the top of the stairs while the rest of my raced for the bottom. Again, as no one was there to witness the spectacle that was my limbs heading in as many opposing directions at once as possible, at least I didn’t come away with nothing to show for it.
I bruise so much, in fact, that during a routine medical exam back in college my doctor started asking subtle questions about if I was still seeing my high school sweetheart, how things were going and the like — basically he wanted to know if my BF was the reason for the various bruises. As if. I only outweighed the boy by forty pounds — I totally could have taken him if I had to.
With all the bruises I acquire with no certain recollection of having gotten them, I’m always mildly excited when I do something and think to myself “that’s going to leave a mark!” Strange for such excitement, to be sure, but I, myself, am a little strange.
My most spectacular and rewarding bruise was from a tumble I took on the ice-covered steps in front of my apartment a couple of winters ago. For one thing, I rather wish someone had caught the actual fall on candid camera as it was rather impressive. My legs literally went out from under me and ended up above my head as I came back down to land solidly on my backside. I actually laid there for a few moments as all the air was forced from my lungs upon impact and I surveyed the extent of the damage to the rest of my body. The good news is that I didn’t damage anything I was going to need later but I did have a sore posterior for the rest of the day. The next morning, passing the hall mirror on my way to the shower, I was more than a little surprised — and a bit excited — by the bruise that encompassed a large percentage of my bum. This was a bruise worth writing home about. The size was impressive by itself — it was huge! — but the fact that the bruise was nearly black was enough to make me want to show it to anyone I could that decency would allow. Needless to say, based on the location of the bruise, this didn’t include a lot of people and I should probably feel at least a little ashamed for the few I did insist on mooning because I was compelled to share this most bodacious of bodily blemishes. I don’t, though.
For as excited as I was about that bruise, you can well imagine the disappointment from notable injuries that don’t bear the fruit of a at least mild skin discoloration. I thought this was the case from a slightly less remarkable tumble I took down my basement steps this past weekend. I was able to catch myself with the railing before I caused any permanent damage at the bottom of the stairs but I still took quite the beating as the combination of warm fuzzy socks, rushing and being slightly light-headed from a lingering cold forced me to skip a couple of steps on my way down to check the laundry. The good news is that, again, I didn’t break anything I might find useful later but the even better news is that I’ve finally developed a nice collection of bruises on my left leg — the one that got left at the top of the stairs while the rest of my raced for the bottom. Again, as no one was there to witness the spectacle that was my limbs heading in as many opposing directions at once as possible, at least I didn’t come away with nothing to show for it.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Rake me up before it snow-snows
Mid-Michigan was supposed to get hit with 2-4 inches of snow and freezing rain last night and, in preparation, I needed to get the last of the fallen leaves (which, I must say, took their sweet time falling) raked and bagged.
It was about 20 degrees when I began raking at eight o’clock Saturday morning and I have some observations to share about the whole experience.
First of all, being me and already cold, I was properly attired in long underwear, jeans, thermal sweater, turtleneck, hooded sweatshirt and insulated vest as well as two pairs of gloves, knit cap and wool socks. Even with all that it was a chilly start to the morning. The good news is once I started wrestling with the frozen ground to give up its goodies I got warm enough to peel off a couple of layers (and work up a pretty good [and less than attractive] sweat).
Since it was below freezing, there was a good deal of frost covering the leaves. In some ways, having the ground be frozen was actually kind of nice because it was like sweeping the newly-fallen leaves from nature’s hardened floor. But, of course, as the ground was frozen so were some of the leaves that had been sitting there a while and that made the job a bit more difficult.
When raking in sub-freezing weather, it’s important to treat your rake with care. Plastic becomes brittle in cold temperatures and if you become overzealous with the rake (as I did) you’ll end up braking a couple of its teeth off. The good news is that ACO Hardware — an establishment that has let me down repeatedly in the past — had rakes on sale and I was able to get a new one when I had to make a bag run. Despite all the raking done by the Superfriends, I ended up with twelve bags of leaves and debris.
As everyone knows, I need music. I drive to it. Dance to it (badly and in the comfort of my kitchen). Clean to it. Code to it. Sometimes, like Xander, I like the quiet but, for the most part, I need musical accompaniment to whatever I’m doing. Raking first thing in the morning demanded the use of my iPod. Though I was a bit worried about the cold temperature’s affect on the iPod, I was more frustrated by its affect on the earbuds. Or, really, my ears. As my ears got cold the earbuds refused to stay in place. So I’d be raking along, enjoying Drowning Pool or Rob Zombie (motivational yard work music), and then have one — if not both — of the earbuds fall out. Grrr. Argh. Then, obviously, I’d have to take off my gloves to readjust them only to have a repeat performance shortly thereafter.
The tempermental earbuds, broken rake and cold weather all contributed to a mounting frustration I was feeling as I rushed to finish raking so that I could make it to the chiropractor’s office before they closed at noon. And, naturally, I wanted enough time to shower before going to the chiropractor as I was, I’m sure, pretty gross from the morning’s endeavors. Much like the trigger for turning mild-mannered Bruce Banner into the Hulk, frustration leads to anger and I turn into into my father. Don’t get me wrong. My father is a wonderful man. I couldn’t really ask for a better dad but he does have a temper and it was his gift — the kind that keeps on giving — to me. So, much to my poor neighbor’s discomfort, I’m sure, there was much cussing and grumbling and, perhaps, a bit of yelling toward the end of my raking extravaganza. The verbal abuse dealt the yard waste bags, leaves, rake, earth and whoever else was in hearing distance was probably uncalled for and I do apologize.
The good news is that, despite the many cons of raking in sub-freezing temperatures, I was able to finish my raking and make it to the chiropractor. A challenge to be sure but that made the feeling of accomplishment all the better.
It was about 20 degrees when I began raking at eight o’clock Saturday morning and I have some observations to share about the whole experience.
First of all, being me and already cold, I was properly attired in long underwear, jeans, thermal sweater, turtleneck, hooded sweatshirt and insulated vest as well as two pairs of gloves, knit cap and wool socks. Even with all that it was a chilly start to the morning. The good news is once I started wrestling with the frozen ground to give up its goodies I got warm enough to peel off a couple of layers (and work up a pretty good [and less than attractive] sweat).
Since it was below freezing, there was a good deal of frost covering the leaves. In some ways, having the ground be frozen was actually kind of nice because it was like sweeping the newly-fallen leaves from nature’s hardened floor. But, of course, as the ground was frozen so were some of the leaves that had been sitting there a while and that made the job a bit more difficult.
When raking in sub-freezing weather, it’s important to treat your rake with care. Plastic becomes brittle in cold temperatures and if you become overzealous with the rake (as I did) you’ll end up braking a couple of its teeth off. The good news is that ACO Hardware — an establishment that has let me down repeatedly in the past — had rakes on sale and I was able to get a new one when I had to make a bag run. Despite all the raking done by the Superfriends, I ended up with twelve bags of leaves and debris.
As everyone knows, I need music. I drive to it. Dance to it (badly and in the comfort of my kitchen). Clean to it. Code to it. Sometimes, like Xander, I like the quiet but, for the most part, I need musical accompaniment to whatever I’m doing. Raking first thing in the morning demanded the use of my iPod. Though I was a bit worried about the cold temperature’s affect on the iPod, I was more frustrated by its affect on the earbuds. Or, really, my ears. As my ears got cold the earbuds refused to stay in place. So I’d be raking along, enjoying Drowning Pool or Rob Zombie (motivational yard work music), and then have one — if not both — of the earbuds fall out. Grrr. Argh. Then, obviously, I’d have to take off my gloves to readjust them only to have a repeat performance shortly thereafter.
The tempermental earbuds, broken rake and cold weather all contributed to a mounting frustration I was feeling as I rushed to finish raking so that I could make it to the chiropractor’s office before they closed at noon. And, naturally, I wanted enough time to shower before going to the chiropractor as I was, I’m sure, pretty gross from the morning’s endeavors. Much like the trigger for turning mild-mannered Bruce Banner into the Hulk, frustration leads to anger and I turn into into my father. Don’t get me wrong. My father is a wonderful man. I couldn’t really ask for a better dad but he does have a temper and it was his gift — the kind that keeps on giving — to me. So, much to my poor neighbor’s discomfort, I’m sure, there was much cussing and grumbling and, perhaps, a bit of yelling toward the end of my raking extravaganza. The verbal abuse dealt the yard waste bags, leaves, rake, earth and whoever else was in hearing distance was probably uncalled for and I do apologize.
The good news is that, despite the many cons of raking in sub-freezing temperatures, I was able to finish my raking and make it to the chiropractor. A challenge to be sure but that made the feeling of accomplishment all the better.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Roll down the window for some fresh air
It’s nearly December in Michigan — it certainly feels that way at any rate — and I saw something pretty disturbing today on my way home for lunch.
The temperature outside was maybe — just maybe — thirty degrees. And there were people driving around with their windows down.
I know. Crazy, huh?
Just wait. It gets crazier.
There was a specific reason why these nut jobs had their windows down. They wanted to get some fresh air — because they were smoking.
I knooooow. Crazy.
It’s getting so rare to see smokers out and about that I find myself mildly surprised when I run into one. Well, not actually “run into” one. That would be bad. I might get burnt by their nasty butt. But you know what I mean.
I think I’ve gotten spoiled by the lack of smokers in my life. I only have a handful of friends who still do it plus one sibling. Most of the restaurants around here have gone to smoke-free. Very few in my work environment smoke or, if they do, they don’t actually do it at work. It’s really quite nice. And, as I said, I’ve become a bit spoilt by it.
Mind you, I’m not complaining. Far from it. I just don’t get opening the window in below-freezing weather to enjoy a couple puffs of less-than-fresh air.
The temperature outside was maybe — just maybe — thirty degrees. And there were people driving around with their windows down.
I know. Crazy, huh?
Just wait. It gets crazier.
There was a specific reason why these nut jobs had their windows down. They wanted to get some fresh air — because they were smoking.
I knooooow. Crazy.
It’s getting so rare to see smokers out and about that I find myself mildly surprised when I run into one. Well, not actually “run into” one. That would be bad. I might get burnt by their nasty butt. But you know what I mean.
I think I’ve gotten spoiled by the lack of smokers in my life. I only have a handful of friends who still do it plus one sibling. Most of the restaurants around here have gone to smoke-free. Very few in my work environment smoke or, if they do, they don’t actually do it at work. It’s really quite nice. And, as I said, I’ve become a bit spoilt by it.
Mind you, I’m not complaining. Far from it. I just don’t get opening the window in below-freezing weather to enjoy a couple puffs of less-than-fresh air.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Just Because I’m Paranoid...
Doesn’t mean that my house isn’t out to get me.
Seriously. I’m endeavoring to be a good homeowner and do nice things for and around my house but I get the distinct impression that it’s trying to kill me.
Okay. Perhaps not. But I have had three potentially very bad things in my house that a) should have probably been caught during the inspection and b) could have ended badly for me and, quite possibly, my neighbors.
The first was the discovery that the outlet for the stove was wired quite badly and barely made a solid connection. This fire hazard was discovered when the stove/oven was producing heat without any semblance of consistency. I am grateful to the nice man from Consumers Energy who went above and beyond the appliance service call and took care of the issue.
The second potential hazard was the slow gas leak that had been, apparently, present from the day I moved into the house in June until I discovered the leak and called out Consumers Energy on a very cold and very late Saturday night in February. At first glance it was discovered that the natural gas lines to the furnace and water heater were sealed with plumber’s tape — great for water but not so much for gas. These slow leaks were responsible for the always present smell that I had chalked up to “creepy basement smell.“ I was fortunate, really, that an elbow joint had actually cracked and was feeding large amounts of gas into the house else I probably never would have noticed the smell in a high enough concentration to bring it to the attention of the professionals.
The third threat was discovered just this week. My water heater is very noisy when warming the water and I’ve become somewhat used to the banging and clanging that rings out after I run the dishwasher or take a hot shower. It was suggested that draining and flushing the water heater would get rid of any sediment in the tank that may be responsible for the noise. So, during the day-long household maintenance extravaganza mentioned previously in the “Superfriends” post, John and Dave drained and flushed the water heater. A week later I discovered that the bucket we’d left beneath the nozzle as a precautionary measure was full of water. I got ahold of John and we came up with a couple of theories based upon internet research and the limitless expertise of our handy-friend Ryan. All of our theories pointed to the less-than-positive prospect that the pressure release valve had issues. And, boy, did it ever. The pressure release valve wasn’t in any condition to release anything as it was being choked with calcium and lime deposits. John and Dave, being extraordinary people, drained the water heater again, gave it another flush, chipped away the calcium and lime and replaced the pressure release valve. Just so everyone knows, the pressure release valve on your water heater should be checked at least once a year and, yes, when you open the valve something -- water, steam, air -- should come out of it. If nothing comes out, call a handy friend or professional and get it taken care of. There are videos online (here’s one from Myth Busters) of exploding water heaters and they ain’t pretty.
Just as with the stove not working properly and the broken elbow pipe, I am blessedly fortunate that the water heater started leaking else the bad outlet, slow leaks and none-releasing pressure valve would never have been corrected. It is often said that the Lord works in mysterious ways or, as I often say, the Universe has a sense of humor and nothing drives these points home more than dodging a bullet you didn’t even know was being shot at you.
Seriously. I’m endeavoring to be a good homeowner and do nice things for and around my house but I get the distinct impression that it’s trying to kill me.
Okay. Perhaps not. But I have had three potentially very bad things in my house that a) should have probably been caught during the inspection and b) could have ended badly for me and, quite possibly, my neighbors.
The first was the discovery that the outlet for the stove was wired quite badly and barely made a solid connection. This fire hazard was discovered when the stove/oven was producing heat without any semblance of consistency. I am grateful to the nice man from Consumers Energy who went above and beyond the appliance service call and took care of the issue.
The second potential hazard was the slow gas leak that had been, apparently, present from the day I moved into the house in June until I discovered the leak and called out Consumers Energy on a very cold and very late Saturday night in February. At first glance it was discovered that the natural gas lines to the furnace and water heater were sealed with plumber’s tape — great for water but not so much for gas. These slow leaks were responsible for the always present smell that I had chalked up to “creepy basement smell.“ I was fortunate, really, that an elbow joint had actually cracked and was feeding large amounts of gas into the house else I probably never would have noticed the smell in a high enough concentration to bring it to the attention of the professionals.
The third threat was discovered just this week. My water heater is very noisy when warming the water and I’ve become somewhat used to the banging and clanging that rings out after I run the dishwasher or take a hot shower. It was suggested that draining and flushing the water heater would get rid of any sediment in the tank that may be responsible for the noise. So, during the day-long household maintenance extravaganza mentioned previously in the “Superfriends” post, John and Dave drained and flushed the water heater. A week later I discovered that the bucket we’d left beneath the nozzle as a precautionary measure was full of water. I got ahold of John and we came up with a couple of theories based upon internet research and the limitless expertise of our handy-friend Ryan. All of our theories pointed to the less-than-positive prospect that the pressure release valve had issues. And, boy, did it ever. The pressure release valve wasn’t in any condition to release anything as it was being choked with calcium and lime deposits. John and Dave, being extraordinary people, drained the water heater again, gave it another flush, chipped away the calcium and lime and replaced the pressure release valve. Just so everyone knows, the pressure release valve on your water heater should be checked at least once a year and, yes, when you open the valve something -- water, steam, air -- should come out of it. If nothing comes out, call a handy friend or professional and get it taken care of. There are videos online (here’s one from Myth Busters) of exploding water heaters and they ain’t pretty.
Just as with the stove not working properly and the broken elbow pipe, I am blessedly fortunate that the water heater started leaking else the bad outlet, slow leaks and none-releasing pressure valve would never have been corrected. It is often said that the Lord works in mysterious ways or, as I often say, the Universe has a sense of humor and nothing drives these points home more than dodging a bullet you didn’t even know was being shot at you.
Product Endorsement: Proactive
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Here’s another product endorsement that I’m not getting any money from.
For anyone who’s known me any significant length of time, you know that I’ve had a bit of an issue with acne. I actually went through my formative years with relatively blemish-free skin. It wasn’t until late junior year of college that my face erupted into uncontrollable volcanic chains. A former roommate thought it served me right as she had suffered a long battle with facial blemishes while I would quite often go without washing my face before bed and then slather perfumed and oily lotion on while she was trapped in a nightly routine of special medicated wash and moisturizer.
I’ve tried a couple of different products and practices over the years to treat the angry and bumpy splotches on my face and have finally found a reliable companion in Proactive Solution. I use the three-punch skin care system nightly (they recommend once to twice a day but my skin dried out with morning and night washes) and have to say that I’m much prettier than I used to be. I still get the odd pimple or two (there’s a nice dot forming in the middle of my forehead that I’m blaming on Thanksgiving) but they seem to be isolated incidents rather than the small colonies that had previously settled on my chin and surrounding areas.
Though I’ve been warned by others who’ve used Proactive that it eventually lost its effectiveness for them I can’t be anything but pleased with the product now. You can (sort of) see from the (tiny) pictures above the improvement Proactive has made to my complexion and overall confidence in myself. I’d like to say that Proactive also helped to improve my fashion sense as I no longer where the bright green Oscar the Grouch hat but, really, that’s just because my beloved knit has gone missing.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
The Superfriends
First of all, no, not the Saturday morning cartoon from way back. Tonight's "Superfriends" is praise to my friends who worked their posteriors off with various chores around my house.
Thank you to Beth, Deborah, Steve, Lexi, Sierra and Alyssa for raking and bagging leaves and other debris in the yard.
Thanks to Tom and Ben for cleaning and repairing the gutters (additional kudos to Ben for hanging out on my roof to do it).
Thanks to John and Dave for using their plumbing expertise to fix my noisy toilet, delinquent bathroom sink and dubious kitchen sink. Not to mention draining the the water heater and restringing belligerent blinds.
In addition to the above tasks, with the help of the Superfriends, my garage is organized, the front screen door handle repaired, the light fixture in my bedroom repaired, the dining room light brighter, the corner pine tree cut back and my lilac trimmed to bush size. Not to mention the previous help with a leaking kitchen faucet, clogged dryer duct, stopped-up utility sink and leaky kitchen pipes.
It's always nice to have friends but oh so much more so when they're Superfriends.
Thank you to Beth, Deborah, Steve, Lexi, Sierra and Alyssa for raking and bagging leaves and other debris in the yard.
Thanks to Tom and Ben for cleaning and repairing the gutters (additional kudos to Ben for hanging out on my roof to do it).
Thanks to John and Dave for using their plumbing expertise to fix my noisy toilet, delinquent bathroom sink and dubious kitchen sink. Not to mention draining the the water heater and restringing belligerent blinds.
In addition to the above tasks, with the help of the Superfriends, my garage is organized, the front screen door handle repaired, the light fixture in my bedroom repaired, the dining room light brighter, the corner pine tree cut back and my lilac trimmed to bush size. Not to mention the previous help with a leaking kitchen faucet, clogged dryer duct, stopped-up utility sink and leaky kitchen pipes.
It's always nice to have friends but oh so much more so when they're Superfriends.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Lame!
It's not even nine o'clock yet on a Friday night and I am ready to go to sleep. In fact, I'm one computer and a lamp short of being asleep. It wasn't so long ago that I couldn't sleep no matter how much time I tried devoting to it and this week it seems I can't get enough. As I've uttered about a dozen times to various coworkers: it's been a long week.
I know, logically, that one week can't be longer than the other because, by definition, a week is 7 days long. But some weeks just take more out of you than others. This was one of those weeks. As the clock inches nearer to nine, I'm not even sure I have the energy to stay up for Stargate: Atlantis which doesn't start for another hour.
How lame is that? (the being too sleepy to stay up part, not the bit about Stargate: Atlantis.)
With as tired as I am I hope I'm not coming down with something. Again. I have this overly ambitious immune system that likes to beat on perfectly healthy tissue -- you'd think that would mean that I'd get sick less often, right? Apparently it doesn't quite work that way. It just means that I'm supposed to get more sleep than I regularly do during a good week and makes the bad weeks that much worse for not being 100% healthy. Maybe that's what my body is currently trying to remind me. I really do need eight hours of sleep a night and the six and a half hours -- maybe -- that I get just isn't cutting it. Silly body trying to tell me what's good for us.
Anyway. It's lame but I think I'm off to set the VCR to record SG:A and then I'm going to get some, apparently, much-needed sleep.
I know, logically, that one week can't be longer than the other because, by definition, a week is 7 days long. But some weeks just take more out of you than others. This was one of those weeks. As the clock inches nearer to nine, I'm not even sure I have the energy to stay up for Stargate: Atlantis which doesn't start for another hour.
How lame is that? (the being too sleepy to stay up part, not the bit about Stargate: Atlantis.)
With as tired as I am I hope I'm not coming down with something. Again. I have this overly ambitious immune system that likes to beat on perfectly healthy tissue -- you'd think that would mean that I'd get sick less often, right? Apparently it doesn't quite work that way. It just means that I'm supposed to get more sleep than I regularly do during a good week and makes the bad weeks that much worse for not being 100% healthy. Maybe that's what my body is currently trying to remind me. I really do need eight hours of sleep a night and the six and a half hours -- maybe -- that I get just isn't cutting it. Silly body trying to tell me what's good for us.
Anyway. It's lame but I think I'm off to set the VCR to record SG:A and then I'm going to get some, apparently, much-needed sleep.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Product Endorsement: Mr. Clean Eraser
If Superman were bald and squishy he would be the Mr. Clean Eraser. I seriously don't know if there's anything this marvel can't do. Well, I know of several things it can't do -- cut vegetables, roast marshmallows or fry eggs -- but there's very little cleaning-wise that it can't accomplish.
The Mr. Clean Eraser was part of a house-warming gift basket from my real estate agent. I'd actually forgotten that I had it hidden away under the kitchen sink. But, oh, wonder of wonders when I did manage to find it -- it's unstoppable!
Last night, as I wrestled with the dreaded "ring" around the bathroom tub I remembered the Eraser and used it. Boy, let me tell you. I didn't even realize how dirty the bathtub was until I took the Eraser to it's not-quite-white walls. Goop from enthusiastic shampoo bottles and leaky body washes that have refused to dislodge for the past several scourings disappeared with a few swipes of the Eraser. Caulk remnants -- from the shoddy job my house's previous owners must have done -- also vanished with the Eraser. As I used the Eraser to make tub stains a distant memory, I thought it would make a great Christmas prezzie for my nearest and dearest (surprise! if you're reading this).
The Eraser -- I believe it's name is actually "Magic Eraser" -- is also great to have on hand if any part of your home is ever dusted for fingerprints. After The Break-in, the front door (well, the screen door as I needed a new entry door) had black stuff all over it from where the nice police officer dusted for prints in hopes of catching the [insert appropriate derogatory term] who broke into my home. The perp was likely wearing gloves so the dust/ink from the finger printing kit did nothing, really, expect leave a big mess. A mess that stayed for several months as nothing I tried worked to clean it off. I used a scrubby and dish soap. I used Windex. I used bleach. Nothing worked. Then, one day, as I was looking for something else I discovered the Magic Eraser in its hiding place beneath the kitchen sink. Seriously. Like magic, with only a couple of swipes, the black stain disappeared from the front door. Like. Magic.
Just so you know, I'm not getting anything out of the Mr. Clean people for writing this. Just the satisfaction of letting everyone who reads The World According to Joy (both of you) that I found a great product and you should try it out.
The Mr. Clean Eraser was part of a house-warming gift basket from my real estate agent. I'd actually forgotten that I had it hidden away under the kitchen sink. But, oh, wonder of wonders when I did manage to find it -- it's unstoppable!
Last night, as I wrestled with the dreaded "ring" around the bathroom tub I remembered the Eraser and used it. Boy, let me tell you. I didn't even realize how dirty the bathtub was until I took the Eraser to it's not-quite-white walls. Goop from enthusiastic shampoo bottles and leaky body washes that have refused to dislodge for the past several scourings disappeared with a few swipes of the Eraser. Caulk remnants -- from the shoddy job my house's previous owners must have done -- also vanished with the Eraser. As I used the Eraser to make tub stains a distant memory, I thought it would make a great Christmas prezzie for my nearest and dearest (surprise! if you're reading this).
The Eraser -- I believe it's name is actually "Magic Eraser" -- is also great to have on hand if any part of your home is ever dusted for fingerprints. After The Break-in, the front door (well, the screen door as I needed a new entry door) had black stuff all over it from where the nice police officer dusted for prints in hopes of catching the [insert appropriate derogatory term] who broke into my home. The perp was likely wearing gloves so the dust/ink from the finger printing kit did nothing, really, expect leave a big mess. A mess that stayed for several months as nothing I tried worked to clean it off. I used a scrubby and dish soap. I used Windex. I used bleach. Nothing worked. Then, one day, as I was looking for something else I discovered the Magic Eraser in its hiding place beneath the kitchen sink. Seriously. Like magic, with only a couple of swipes, the black stain disappeared from the front door. Like. Magic.
Just so you know, I'm not getting anything out of the Mr. Clean people for writing this. Just the satisfaction of letting everyone who reads The World According to Joy (both of you) that I found a great product and you should try it out.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Happy Birthday, Rebecca
Three years ago there was a dark and mysterious visitor to my apartment. Not really thinking about the consequences, I invited this strange visitor into my home and fell in love.
It was three years ago this month that I adopted Rebecca Anne -- the silly stray who somehow knew that I was just the right sap to turn those big green eyes on and guarantee a plush living for the rest of her days. As she lays curled into my side while I play on the computer, I'm reminded of some of her funnier quirks.
First of all, as most know, Rebecca isn't much of a cat. Oh, she looks like a cat. All black fur and twitchy tail and ever-alert ears. But in temperament and behavior she more often resembles either a dog or chicken.
Rebecca is easily frightened and runs for cover whenever things aren't as they should be in her home. Strange visitors will have her hiding in the basement ceiling for hours sometimes. She's warmed up to most of my friends and only takes a few moments to warm to their presence now -- but there are some who don't even believe that I have a cat as they've yet to make her acquaintance.
When she does warm up to you, however, Beccer's canine qualities come out to play. She's quite demanding in her bids for attention -- butting your hand with her head in attempts to get some petting. She tends to follow me around the house in dog fashion. I'm usually greeted at the door whenever I come home. She comes when called. She sleeps at the foot of the bed (unless it's particularly cold and then she likes to cuddle). When I return from a significant amount of time away she seems to forget that cats are supposed to play hard to get and doesn't leave my side for at least a day for fear that I'll leave again all-too-soon. And, lately, she's taken to this weird habit with her water dish of moving it from one side of the kitchen to another throughout the day -- an action I've only seen previously from my niece when she visits. And, when given the chance, she likes to drink out of the toilet.
Despite Rebecca's animal uncertainties I can't help but love her. At times, I'll admit, I'm not as appreciative of her attentive and loyal ways as I should be (if I wanted to be followed around all the time I'd have gotten a dog), but she's an important part of our family and I don't know what I'd do without her little black presence in my life.
It was three years ago this month that I adopted Rebecca Anne -- the silly stray who somehow knew that I was just the right sap to turn those big green eyes on and guarantee a plush living for the rest of her days. As she lays curled into my side while I play on the computer, I'm reminded of some of her funnier quirks.First of all, as most know, Rebecca isn't much of a cat. Oh, she looks like a cat. All black fur and twitchy tail and ever-alert ears. But in temperament and behavior she more often resembles either a dog or chicken.
Rebecca is easily frightened and runs for cover whenever things aren't as they should be in her home. Strange visitors will have her hiding in the basement ceiling for hours sometimes. She's warmed up to most of my friends and only takes a few moments to warm to their presence now -- but there are some who don't even believe that I have a cat as they've yet to make her acquaintance.
When she does warm up to you, however, Beccer's canine qualities come out to play. She's quite demanding in her bids for attention -- butting your hand with her head in attempts to get some petting. She tends to follow me around the house in dog fashion. I'm usually greeted at the door whenever I come home. She comes when called. She sleeps at the foot of the bed (unless it's particularly cold and then she likes to cuddle). When I return from a significant amount of time away she seems to forget that cats are supposed to play hard to get and doesn't leave my side for at least a day for fear that I'll leave again all-too-soon. And, lately, she's taken to this weird habit with her water dish of moving it from one side of the kitchen to another throughout the day -- an action I've only seen previously from my niece when she visits. And, when given the chance, she likes to drink out of the toilet.
Despite Rebecca's animal uncertainties I can't help but love her. At times, I'll admit, I'm not as appreciative of her attentive and loyal ways as I should be (if I wanted to be followed around all the time I'd have gotten a dog), but she's an important part of our family and I don't know what I'd do without her little black presence in my life.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Baby Got Baked
Up until pretty recently, I’ve been pretty much useless in the kitchen. Not completely useless, mind, as I can wash dishes and fix a bowl of cereal with the best of them. It’s only been within the last two years that I’ve taken to more complicated tasks.
It all started in my efforts to eat better to lose weight. As convenient as TV-dinners and Ramen Noodles are, they’re not so much with the healthy and definitely contribute to the padding on my mid-section. So I’ve learned to do creative things with a chicken breast (heh heh heh), made various plays on the vegetable soup theme, prepared fishy dishes that don’t taste fishy and figured out ways to make eggs fun even after three weeks of Fat Flushing.
Having tackled the preliminary culinary skills of basic dinner preparation, it was time to move on to baking.
LeAnn, a wonderful woman and a fantastic baker, offered to teach me one of her favorite cookie recipes so that I could master the elemental process of baking nummy treats for friends, family and coworkers. Under her watchful eye, my first foray into the world of baked goods was a tasty success.
And then I tried it on my own.
I was first quite pleased with myself by how many basic ingredients I already had in my kitchen. Vanilla, sugar, brown sugar and the like. I even had baking soda, eggs and baking powder. Of course, I didn’t realize these three were all expired until after I got home with the rest of my groceries. Once I had all of my ingredients ready, I pulled up LeAnn’s recipe to have a go on my own — completely unsupervised.
First of all, I should have printed the recipe off or written it down rather than running back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room to review Scooby’s screen. The kitchen is no place for my beloved MacBook and I think if the recipe had been in front of me I wouldn’t have messed up the mixing order which would have, perhaps, made things a bit easier. Then, of course, there is the small issue of me not having a mixer. I know, I know. But I don’t bake — or, at least, I didn’t — so what was the point of having a mixer? Plus, there’s something kind of therapeutic about “creaming the butter and sugars” with your bare hands and then mashing in the rest of the ingredients.
As a result of my man-handling the dough, the consistency was probably not as it should have been. And I balled the dough too big thus cooking the cookies too long to compensate. And I didn’t realize the cookies should be a little soft when you take them out of the oven. And I didn’t know about this whole trick of removing the cookies from the rack while they’re still warm so they don’t stick so heartily to the pan. Otherwise, though, they turned out alright and were well-received by my friends. I still have half the dough in the ’frigerator that I can play with tomorrow. We’ll see if smaller balls bake better.
It all started in my efforts to eat better to lose weight. As convenient as TV-dinners and Ramen Noodles are, they’re not so much with the healthy and definitely contribute to the padding on my mid-section. So I’ve learned to do creative things with a chicken breast (heh heh heh), made various plays on the vegetable soup theme, prepared fishy dishes that don’t taste fishy and figured out ways to make eggs fun even after three weeks of Fat Flushing.
Having tackled the preliminary culinary skills of basic dinner preparation, it was time to move on to baking.
LeAnn, a wonderful woman and a fantastic baker, offered to teach me one of her favorite cookie recipes so that I could master the elemental process of baking nummy treats for friends, family and coworkers. Under her watchful eye, my first foray into the world of baked goods was a tasty success.
And then I tried it on my own.
I was first quite pleased with myself by how many basic ingredients I already had in my kitchen. Vanilla, sugar, brown sugar and the like. I even had baking soda, eggs and baking powder. Of course, I didn’t realize these three were all expired until after I got home with the rest of my groceries. Once I had all of my ingredients ready, I pulled up LeAnn’s recipe to have a go on my own — completely unsupervised.
First of all, I should have printed the recipe off or written it down rather than running back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room to review Scooby’s screen. The kitchen is no place for my beloved MacBook and I think if the recipe had been in front of me I wouldn’t have messed up the mixing order which would have, perhaps, made things a bit easier. Then, of course, there is the small issue of me not having a mixer. I know, I know. But I don’t bake — or, at least, I didn’t — so what was the point of having a mixer? Plus, there’s something kind of therapeutic about “creaming the butter and sugars” with your bare hands and then mashing in the rest of the ingredients.
As a result of my man-handling the dough, the consistency was probably not as it should have been. And I balled the dough too big thus cooking the cookies too long to compensate. And I didn’t realize the cookies should be a little soft when you take them out of the oven. And I didn’t know about this whole trick of removing the cookies from the rack while they’re still warm so they don’t stick so heartily to the pan. Otherwise, though, they turned out alright and were well-received by my friends. I still have half the dough in the ’frigerator that I can play with tomorrow. We’ll see if smaller balls bake better.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Sometimes...that's just life
Believe it or not, I try hard to be a pretty upbeat and positive person. I have my dark and sardonic moments, sure, but even when life throw's curves at me I still try to see the challenges as something I'm meant to learn from or overcome in this grand journey we're all on.
And then, sometimes, even I let the rough stuff get to me.
The other night, on my way for a night of shopping with a friend, I discovered that my beloved Hedwig had been sick all over the driveway. Hedwig is my loyal and beautiful Ford Taurus, a faithful companion for more than six years. She's had a lot of issues over the past months and all of them have been costly. Despite this, she is still my beautiful and loyal driving companion. We've only recently hit 100,000 miles and I fully expect that with proper care she'll go at least another 100,000 miles. Her recent issues have been things that every car experiences -- we just happen to be experiencing them all at once.
But, as per usual, I digress.
At first, I was unsure of what it was that Hedwig had, frankly, spewed all over the driveway. It smelled like coolant -- in fact, it was the smell that first caught my attention 'else I may not have noticed the darkened pavement beneath her front end -- but it really didn't look like coolant. I'm used to car fluid's being color-coded for ease of identification. Oil is brown, transmission fluid is red, washer fluid is blue and coolant is green. Apparently, coolant doesn't stay green after 100,000 miles (or at least the 70,000 miles I've had Hedwig for -- in which time we've never had a radiator flush).
I will admit that I had a very distressful evening trying to ascertain what was wrong with Hedwig, wondering if she was safe to drive and, if not, what was I supposed to do as a lone female with only a passing knowledge of auto mechanics. I'm very lucky that one of my neighbors was able to stop over and confirm my diagnosis of coolant being the culprit and his estimation that, considering the size of the puddle, it'd be best not to drive.
So, disheartened, I called my friend to say that I wouldn't make it shopping and went inside to feel sorry for myself. Actually, I was still looking for something to throw to vent some of my frustration. I got over both dark feelings pretty quickly and tackeled my filing -- a task I've put off since May, if not before, and desperately needed to be done.
The next morning, when Hedwig was towed (woo hoo AAA!) to O'Donnell's "On-The-Spot" Repair, it was definitely coolant all over the driveway as there was none in the radiator when they took a look.The mechanic working on Hedwig was "mystified" because he could not find any hoses that were cracked/disconnected and there didn't seem to be any leaks in the radiator. When I left the O'Donnell's, they were giving Hedwig a stress test (something about pressure to get the engine hot so they could observe the process through cool-down). During this they discovered that there's a crack in the reservoir and that's where the coolant is spewing from once everything gets all nice and hot and pressurized. Replacing the reservoir was a little more expensive than a busted hose (which is what I was hoping for based on alternatives) but a heck of a lot less than a new radiator.
So, Hedwig and I are back together and things are well. We've got a short road trip planned this weekend that I'm looking forward to. I love a good drive and it's always nice when the two of us can bond on the open road. It gives me time to relax from the things life throws at us. Sometimes, that's just life and we have to deal with it the best we can.
And then, sometimes, even I let the rough stuff get to me.
The other night, on my way for a night of shopping with a friend, I discovered that my beloved Hedwig had been sick all over the driveway. Hedwig is my loyal and beautiful Ford Taurus, a faithful companion for more than six years. She's had a lot of issues over the past months and all of them have been costly. Despite this, she is still my beautiful and loyal driving companion. We've only recently hit 100,000 miles and I fully expect that with proper care she'll go at least another 100,000 miles. Her recent issues have been things that every car experiences -- we just happen to be experiencing them all at once.
But, as per usual, I digress.
At first, I was unsure of what it was that Hedwig had, frankly, spewed all over the driveway. It smelled like coolant -- in fact, it was the smell that first caught my attention 'else I may not have noticed the darkened pavement beneath her front end -- but it really didn't look like coolant. I'm used to car fluid's being color-coded for ease of identification. Oil is brown, transmission fluid is red, washer fluid is blue and coolant is green. Apparently, coolant doesn't stay green after 100,000 miles (or at least the 70,000 miles I've had Hedwig for -- in which time we've never had a radiator flush).
I will admit that I had a very distressful evening trying to ascertain what was wrong with Hedwig, wondering if she was safe to drive and, if not, what was I supposed to do as a lone female with only a passing knowledge of auto mechanics. I'm very lucky that one of my neighbors was able to stop over and confirm my diagnosis of coolant being the culprit and his estimation that, considering the size of the puddle, it'd be best not to drive.
So, disheartened, I called my friend to say that I wouldn't make it shopping and went inside to feel sorry for myself. Actually, I was still looking for something to throw to vent some of my frustration. I got over both dark feelings pretty quickly and tackeled my filing -- a task I've put off since May, if not before, and desperately needed to be done.
The next morning, when Hedwig was towed (woo hoo AAA!) to O'Donnell's "On-The-Spot" Repair, it was definitely coolant all over the driveway as there was none in the radiator when they took a look.The mechanic working on Hedwig was "mystified" because he could not find any hoses that were cracked/disconnected and there didn't seem to be any leaks in the radiator. When I left the O'Donnell's, they were giving Hedwig a stress test (something about pressure to get the engine hot so they could observe the process through cool-down). During this they discovered that there's a crack in the reservoir and that's where the coolant is spewing from once everything gets all nice and hot and pressurized. Replacing the reservoir was a little more expensive than a busted hose (which is what I was hoping for based on alternatives) but a heck of a lot less than a new radiator.
So, Hedwig and I are back together and things are well. We've got a short road trip planned this weekend that I'm looking forward to. I love a good drive and it's always nice when the two of us can bond on the open road. It gives me time to relax from the things life throws at us. Sometimes, that's just life and we have to deal with it the best we can.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
American Football, Sparty Style
My plans to do very little of anything today (except maybe laundry and some filing) was waylaid by an invitation to attend the MSU-Northwestern game at Spartan Stadium (followed by a round of really bad golf) with my brother.
It's not secret I'm not a very good Spartan. Having graduated from Michigan State, it is expected that I should have working knowledge of current Spartan athletics. The truth is that I don't know the names of any of the key players, have only a vague idea of how the Spartans have performed thus far in the football season and, really, don't care as a general rule. But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to jump at the chance to spend an afternoon with my brother.
Even if I was his last choice for the spare ticket.
And discovered that, despite how many college t-shirts I have, I don't have a single MSU ones. Sweatshirts, yes. A long-sleeved tee, sure. But no Spartan t-shirt. I've got shirts from Oklahoma State, Central Michigan, Colorado State, Western Michigan, Ohio State, University of Michigan -- all part of my collection of shirts from schools I didn't go to -- and not a single MSU t-shirt.
At least I've got a green tank to wear. It was expected to be 86 degrees and sunny. I may be cold but even I get warm sometimes.
The weather during the game was just as hot as expected -- for the first half, anyway. Then there was a freak monsoon during half-time that cooled things down nicely for the second half. Seriously. It was a monsoon. Okay, maybe it wasn't a monsoon but it was definitely freakish and it rained hard for about twenty minutes -- soaking me quite throughly while my brother was off getting Melting Moments ice cream sandwiches. We actually had a similar freak rain storm yesterday, which I informed the family next to me of because I like striking up random conversations with complete strangers.
Speaking of, my brother and I made friends! It's doubtful we'll exchange holiday cards but I did enjoy chatting with the father and son seated behind us.
There were things going on down on the field that I enjoyed as well.
I witnessed probably one of the best fakes in the history of football (or at least in the history of games Joy has ever watched). There was a pass-off and I'm totally intent on watching this guy run with the ball -- only to see the ball go flying out of the quarterback's hands behind him. Maybe this particular Spartan has a future in acting because I really believed that he was cradling the football to his chest as he ran toward the field goal. The fact that the QB never let go of the ball still floors me. It was bloody amazing.
Tackles are something else that amaze me. The way these big burly bodies collide with one another and knock each other to the ground is nothing short of astonishing. Or when a player gets thrown back several yards by the colliding of other players. Or, a particular favorite, is when two guys -- the tackler and the tacklee -- go down and bounce off the turf. Is it wrong that I love that?
Though the Spartans lost in overtime, I enjoyed the game. I've been pretty fortunate that I've found something exciting about all three matches I've attended at Spartan Stadium. Does that make me a better Spartan -- or, at least, less bad?
It's not secret I'm not a very good Spartan. Having graduated from Michigan State, it is expected that I should have working knowledge of current Spartan athletics. The truth is that I don't know the names of any of the key players, have only a vague idea of how the Spartans have performed thus far in the football season and, really, don't care as a general rule. But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to jump at the chance to spend an afternoon with my brother.
Even if I was his last choice for the spare ticket.
And discovered that, despite how many college t-shirts I have, I don't have a single MSU ones. Sweatshirts, yes. A long-sleeved tee, sure. But no Spartan t-shirt. I've got shirts from Oklahoma State, Central Michigan, Colorado State, Western Michigan, Ohio State, University of Michigan -- all part of my collection of shirts from schools I didn't go to -- and not a single MSU t-shirt.
At least I've got a green tank to wear. It was expected to be 86 degrees and sunny. I may be cold but even I get warm sometimes.
The weather during the game was just as hot as expected -- for the first half, anyway. Then there was a freak monsoon during half-time that cooled things down nicely for the second half. Seriously. It was a monsoon. Okay, maybe it wasn't a monsoon but it was definitely freakish and it rained hard for about twenty minutes -- soaking me quite throughly while my brother was off getting Melting Moments ice cream sandwiches. We actually had a similar freak rain storm yesterday, which I informed the family next to me of because I like striking up random conversations with complete strangers.
Speaking of, my brother and I made friends! It's doubtful we'll exchange holiday cards but I did enjoy chatting with the father and son seated behind us.
There were things going on down on the field that I enjoyed as well.
I witnessed probably one of the best fakes in the history of football (or at least in the history of games Joy has ever watched). There was a pass-off and I'm totally intent on watching this guy run with the ball -- only to see the ball go flying out of the quarterback's hands behind him. Maybe this particular Spartan has a future in acting because I really believed that he was cradling the football to his chest as he ran toward the field goal. The fact that the QB never let go of the ball still floors me. It was bloody amazing.
Tackles are something else that amaze me. The way these big burly bodies collide with one another and knock each other to the ground is nothing short of astonishing. Or when a player gets thrown back several yards by the colliding of other players. Or, a particular favorite, is when two guys -- the tackler and the tacklee -- go down and bounce off the turf. Is it wrong that I love that?
Though the Spartans lost in overtime, I enjoyed the game. I've been pretty fortunate that I've found something exciting about all three matches I've attended at Spartan Stadium. Does that make me a better Spartan -- or, at least, less bad?
Friday, October 05, 2007
Here come the drums
Look what I found!
How fun!!
I love YouTube.
Doctor Who: The Sound of Drums - Voodoo Child
How fun!!
I love YouTube.
Doctor Who: The Sound of Drums - Voodoo Child
Sunday, September 30, 2007
They all fall down
The leaves, that is. They're the ones doing the falling. It's almost fall. Actually, is it fall? When's the change? Did I miss it? Well, anyway, it is fall and, without a doubt, my favorite season. There's a crispness to the air and the crunch of leaves under foot that feels like home to me. There's very little about the fall that doesn't appeal to me. I'm even excited for leaf raking when the time comes (not quite yet but my backyard's getting there).
There's really only one thing about fall that I find vexing. Not even vexing. A bit troublesome, perhaps. Anyway. It's what to wear. One of the things I get excited about this time of year is the reintroduction of warm and fuzzy sweaters into my wardrobe. But, because it's fall and it IS Michigan, a fuzzy sweater day could be followed by a shorts and tank day. Like today. It's supposed to get close to eighty degrees eventually. That's hard to believe with how chilly it was this morning and even harder to dress for when you're still chillled from the first hours of daylight.
It's not just a question of do I wear shorts or jeans. Or even, t-shirt or sweater. Oh no. There's quarter-length sleeves and capris pants to consider. Not to mention what do you wear on your feet. Are you going to be warm enough in sandals? Do you need socks? Can I ge away with wearing a sweater with sandals? Shorts with trainers? What about a light jacket? Would that solve all my problems?
Well. I'm off to stare at my closet and hopefully the right outfit will jump out at me. If not, well, that will certainly be awkward when I run to get groceries later.
There's really only one thing about fall that I find vexing. Not even vexing. A bit troublesome, perhaps. Anyway. It's what to wear. One of the things I get excited about this time of year is the reintroduction of warm and fuzzy sweaters into my wardrobe. But, because it's fall and it IS Michigan, a fuzzy sweater day could be followed by a shorts and tank day. Like today. It's supposed to get close to eighty degrees eventually. That's hard to believe with how chilly it was this morning and even harder to dress for when you're still chillled from the first hours of daylight.
It's not just a question of do I wear shorts or jeans. Or even, t-shirt or sweater. Oh no. There's quarter-length sleeves and capris pants to consider. Not to mention what do you wear on your feet. Are you going to be warm enough in sandals? Do you need socks? Can I ge away with wearing a sweater with sandals? Shorts with trainers? What about a light jacket? Would that solve all my problems?
Well. I'm off to stare at my closet and hopefully the right outfit will jump out at me. If not, well, that will certainly be awkward when I run to get groceries later.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Being Sick Sucks
First of all, we're not talking about the usual kind of sick associated with Joy. I mean, yeah, I'm one sick puppy at times. Or at least an inappropriate puppy. Or Captain Inappropriate as it says on my JLA membership card. Or, y'know, it would if the JLA would let me in.
Anyway. I'm sick. Ill. Under the weather. Not feeling quite up to snuff. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
I have a cold that is mostly presenting itself with a persistent and annoying cough. And insomnia. Yeah. The most important thing you can do when you're sick is to drink plenty of fluids and get plenty of rest. But will my body cooperate? NO! My doctor, a lovely woman, even gave me this super powerful cough suppressant that is, essentially, supposed to knock me out so that I can get some much-needed sleep that has been sorely lacking the last week. It's been almost two hours since I took my first lovin' spoonful and I'm still awake. Oh, sure, I'm a bit tired and I'm sure most of this post won't make much sense when I go to read it later, but so far I've not felt the tug of dreamland and it's making me a mite cranky.
And, wonder of wonders, I've got a bit of a fever and I'm very warm. You'd think that'd be a good thing since this is me we're talking about and I am perpetually chillled but, oh no, being overwarm just means that I'm having an even more difficult time getting comfy for the sleep-thing. I'm about to crawl into bed, turn the fan on high and point it in my direction and see if maybe, just maybe, the heaviness my eyelids are finally experiencing will yield the comforting results of a good night's sleep.
Let's hope.
Anyway. I'm sick. Ill. Under the weather. Not feeling quite up to snuff. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
I have a cold that is mostly presenting itself with a persistent and annoying cough. And insomnia. Yeah. The most important thing you can do when you're sick is to drink plenty of fluids and get plenty of rest. But will my body cooperate? NO! My doctor, a lovely woman, even gave me this super powerful cough suppressant that is, essentially, supposed to knock me out so that I can get some much-needed sleep that has been sorely lacking the last week. It's been almost two hours since I took my first lovin' spoonful and I'm still awake. Oh, sure, I'm a bit tired and I'm sure most of this post won't make much sense when I go to read it later, but so far I've not felt the tug of dreamland and it's making me a mite cranky.
And, wonder of wonders, I've got a bit of a fever and I'm very warm. You'd think that'd be a good thing since this is me we're talking about and I am perpetually chillled but, oh no, being overwarm just means that I'm having an even more difficult time getting comfy for the sleep-thing. I'm about to crawl into bed, turn the fan on high and point it in my direction and see if maybe, just maybe, the heaviness my eyelids are finally experiencing will yield the comforting results of a good night's sleep.
Let's hope.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
The night before Easter
’Tis the night before Easter
And I’m at my parents’ house
Waiting to decorate eggs
And hopefully not my blouse.
My sister is tired
But I’m sure she'll be excited
When the colors start flying
And the Bunny is sighted.
I'm hoping for sweets and
lots of them, please do,
I’ll have to eat them all tomorrow
And start dieting anew.
And I’m at my parents’ house
Waiting to decorate eggs
And hopefully not my blouse.
My sister is tired
But I’m sure she'll be excited
When the colors start flying
And the Bunny is sighted.
I'm hoping for sweets and
lots of them, please do,
I’ll have to eat them all tomorrow
And start dieting anew.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
It's been a long time...
Which just makes me think of that pretty lame Rod Stewart song they use as the opening song for Star Trek: Enterprise. Something about that song just bugs me — yet I can’t help but sing along whenever I hear it. That bothers me even more.
Anyway. It has been a long time since I’ve posted to The World According to Joy. I’m feeling pretty badly about it, too. I’ve had some very busy and kind of rough months, though, so I’m hoping both of you who read this blog (by accident, I'm sure) will forgive me.
To recap since last time:
Wish me luck.
Anyway. It has been a long time since I’ve posted to The World According to Joy. I’m feeling pretty badly about it, too. I’ve had some very busy and kind of rough months, though, so I’m hoping both of you who read this blog (by accident, I'm sure) will forgive me.
To recap since last time:
- Cassandra, my beloved rabbit, passed away
- I'm participating in a local magazine's weight-loss challenge (30 pounds in 2007)
- I adopted two new rabbits (Teyla, an English Lop, and Slim Jim, a Mini-Rex we saved from the meat truck)
- Work — which I usually love — has been crazy-busy since the end of January with no real break in sight until mid-May
- A gas leak was discovered in my basement — and it turns out I've had a slow leak since I bought the house back in June (inhaling natural gas for more than half a year explains a lot, right?)
- I decided I couldn’t afford to continue with the Taekwondo classes but have been going to the YMCA regularly to work out (complimentary membership as part of the weight-loss challenge mentioned above)
Wish me luck.
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