...to wonder why I sometimes smell dead things in and around my house, but can't find the source?
...to wish that the people that worked at the dry cleaner's next door would stop talking so loudly in the parking lot that I can hear them inside my house with the doors shut?
...to ponder letting the dogs out because I know they'd run to the fence and said dry cleaner employees would run screaming back into their building?
...to wait until the 16th to buy a new vacuum, making it a month and a half since my house has been vacuumed?
...to hope that I don't go overdrawn in my checking account before the 16th?
...to be anxious that today is exactly six months till my wedding! (thank you, Simon...)
03 July 2008
02 July 2008
...just another brick in the Wall...?
Now, apologies to the Almighty Pink Floyd...
Just a short observation I wanted to share since I ONCE AGAIN CAN'T SLEEP...I was interpreting in a group setting today and made an interesting discovery at the end of the session. While I can tell you in minute detail who the the deaf clients were (well, I could, but I won't, confidentiality and ethics and all...), I have no real memory of any of the other faces in the room. I have a sort of photographic memory, but when I call up my memory of that room I can't make out any of the faces. I can tell you who was African American, who was male, who was female...but if I were to pass any of those people on the street I can guarantee that they would recognize me far before I recognized them. And I suppose that's as it should be. I just wonder why. Their faces, in my memory, look like the melted/distorted faces of the school children in the "Another Brick in the Wall/We Don't Need No Education" part of Pink Floyd's "The Wall." No definition, nothing, just blank. For you Doctor Who fans, it was like the moment in the episode "The Idiot's Lantern" when the Doctor finds the caged up people with no faces...the room, in my memory, is filled with people with no faces.
On the one hand, that's good because it preserves confidentiality for the group members. But in a way, it almost trivializes them, at least in my memory, because there is nothing individual about any of them. But that's good as well, I suppose, because I'm remembering them as a group of people focused on a common healing goal rather than as this man or that young woman or the like. I have to admit that even though I certainly do not wish to share the illness that brought those people to that group, I always leave those situations feeling a bit like an outsider. I know that's what I am, really, but when you've spent an hour being someone else, speaking their words, signing their thoughts...when it's over and everyone separates into groups and you're left standing there it's just an odd feeling, like breaking through the surface of the water to find that everyone has already headed for the beach.
Profundity. A CLEAR sign that I need sleep. Cross your fingers it comes soon...
Just a short observation I wanted to share since I ONCE AGAIN CAN'T SLEEP...I was interpreting in a group setting today and made an interesting discovery at the end of the session. While I can tell you in minute detail who the the deaf clients were (well, I could, but I won't, confidentiality and ethics and all...), I have no real memory of any of the other faces in the room. I have a sort of photographic memory, but when I call up my memory of that room I can't make out any of the faces. I can tell you who was African American, who was male, who was female...but if I were to pass any of those people on the street I can guarantee that they would recognize me far before I recognized them. And I suppose that's as it should be. I just wonder why. Their faces, in my memory, look like the melted/distorted faces of the school children in the "Another Brick in the Wall/We Don't Need No Education" part of Pink Floyd's "The Wall." No definition, nothing, just blank. For you Doctor Who fans, it was like the moment in the episode "The Idiot's Lantern" when the Doctor finds the caged up people with no faces...the room, in my memory, is filled with people with no faces.
On the one hand, that's good because it preserves confidentiality for the group members. But in a way, it almost trivializes them, at least in my memory, because there is nothing individual about any of them. But that's good as well, I suppose, because I'm remembering them as a group of people focused on a common healing goal rather than as this man or that young woman or the like. I have to admit that even though I certainly do not wish to share the illness that brought those people to that group, I always leave those situations feeling a bit like an outsider. I know that's what I am, really, but when you've spent an hour being someone else, speaking their words, signing their thoughts...when it's over and everyone separates into groups and you're left standing there it's just an odd feeling, like breaking through the surface of the water to find that everyone has already headed for the beach.
Profundity. A CLEAR sign that I need sleep. Cross your fingers it comes soon...
01 July 2008
Liz, you might as well just look away...
...and Susan and Dave, for that matter, though I know for a fact that Susan has boogied to some country tunes in her day...
This song is speaking to me today, and I swear it has nothing to do with how NICE Keith Urban looks or the fact that I'm an absolute sucker for a New Zealand/Australian accent...
Maybe it's because I'm just up to my eyeballs and beyond with work and stress and this just seems like a good idea...
This song is speaking to me today, and I swear it has nothing to do with how NICE Keith Urban looks or the fact that I'm an absolute sucker for a New Zealand/Australian accent...
Maybe it's because I'm just up to my eyeballs and beyond with work and stress and this just seems like a good idea...
Gone, Daddy, Gone, the house is Gone
My apologies to both the Femmes and Gnarls Barkley...
It occurred to me this past weekend that The Other House is now the property of the Guy From Out Of Town that couldn't wait till December to move in and caused me to have to move down the street for six months. I hope that he is enjoying the slightly drafty windows and the mice as much as I'm enjoying my new place...complete with a staircase that would make the machines at the gym shrink back in awe and a backyard that my dogs can actually RUN in, rather than just spin in circles while trying to avoid the concrete and the oddly placed Sandy Spot.
We're doing well so far, living one block down the road. The dry cleaner next door is an absolute pill, but other than that it's not so bad. Seriously, who needs their clothes drycleaned at 11pm on a weeknight, and if it's just what they do as a business why is it only on certain nights? Do they have my house bugged so that they will know when I am having yet another fit of insomnia which causes even the slightest noise to bring me back WIDE AWAKE? I ask because the noise coming out of their building isn't slight. Seriously, who needs LOUD machinery in a METAL building in this day and age? My favorite part, though, of living next to them has got to be the fellows that blow all of the garbage and leaves out of their parking lot INTO MY YARD at 8am every Monday morning. Seriously. The smell of the gasoline from the blowers is intoxicating.
Mills has adjusted to the new house...he now runs the Feline 500 up and down the stairs rather than by running from the office to the kitchen and ending up clinging to the side of my bed like a tiny furry mountain climber. I just wish he wouldn't do it at 4am because it makes me think Hunky has taken the fast track to the downstairs. And I wonder why I can't sleep?
It occurred to me this past weekend that The Other House is now the property of the Guy From Out Of Town that couldn't wait till December to move in and caused me to have to move down the street for six months. I hope that he is enjoying the slightly drafty windows and the mice as much as I'm enjoying my new place...complete with a staircase that would make the machines at the gym shrink back in awe and a backyard that my dogs can actually RUN in, rather than just spin in circles while trying to avoid the concrete and the oddly placed Sandy Spot.
We're doing well so far, living one block down the road. The dry cleaner next door is an absolute pill, but other than that it's not so bad. Seriously, who needs their clothes drycleaned at 11pm on a weeknight, and if it's just what they do as a business why is it only on certain nights? Do they have my house bugged so that they will know when I am having yet another fit of insomnia which causes even the slightest noise to bring me back WIDE AWAKE? I ask because the noise coming out of their building isn't slight. Seriously, who needs LOUD machinery in a METAL building in this day and age? My favorite part, though, of living next to them has got to be the fellows that blow all of the garbage and leaves out of their parking lot INTO MY YARD at 8am every Monday morning. Seriously. The smell of the gasoline from the blowers is intoxicating.
Mills has adjusted to the new house...he now runs the Feline 500 up and down the stairs rather than by running from the office to the kitchen and ending up clinging to the side of my bed like a tiny furry mountain climber. I just wish he wouldn't do it at 4am because it makes me think Hunky has taken the fast track to the downstairs. And I wonder why I can't sleep?
26 June 2008
Anger...Chicken Style
I love Savage Chickens. So many times it is dead on describing what's going on in my life...like today's cartoon...and how it applies to me at work...
Please click on the link in the title or on the Savage Chickens link in my blogroll. You won't be sorry.
Please click on the link in the title or on the Savage Chickens link in my blogroll. You won't be sorry.
25 June 2008
Are we there yet?
I have written before about how I hate to hear the news of deaths in the Middle East due to the "war." But when I hear things like the following that I just heard on NPR, it really makes me sad.
Is it January yet? Are we to the point of finally talking about getting our brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, friends and colleagues out of this "war" and back home where they are safe?
A pair of insurgent attacks in Iraq's northern Nineveh province on Tuesday killed three U.S. soldiers and their interpreter, the military said.Even though that was a spoken language interpreter, the job that he/she did and the job I do are the same...and I feel like a colleague, a peer, even a family member, has died rather than just one more nameless casualty of "war." I hear that word above all others, every time another interpreter is killed, loud and clear, above the numbers of soldiers or the name of the place where he or she was killed...I feel it, if that makes sense. I think about whether or not I would have the courage to do that job, were I a speaker of that language rather than American Sign Language and English.
Is it January yet? Are we to the point of finally talking about getting our brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, friends and colleagues out of this "war" and back home where they are safe?
23 June 2008
Hot Dogs at the Ballpark
So it sounded like a great idea at first...the Greenville Drive, our local minor league baseball team, partnered with the Greenville Humane Society to host "Bark in the Ballpark," a day where baseball lovers could come out to the park and bring their furry family members along as well. Our greyhound group discussed making an appearance and the local greyhound club took the reigns to organize something with the Drive/Fluor Stadium so that not only could we have a tent to sit under, but we could talk about greyhound adoption in between innings. The kids and I headed downtown, me with "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" ringing in my head and them with "She's Taking Us Out of the House!!" written all over their smiling greyhound faces.
Those smiles faded quickly, though, when we arrived. I had budgeted for free parking (What was I thinking? Just because Greenville is littered with parking decks that there would magically be one at the stadium? Silly me...) and $5 general admission, leaving me a bit of cash for a drink and maybe some ice cream...it is June in the southern United States, after all.
No parking deck was to be found but there were lots of helpful people with orange flags ready to direct me into the surrounding parking lots and take $5 of the cash I'd brought so that I could park there and walk to the stadium. We did that, and started up the hill on the hot pavement toward Fluor Stadium. Got to the ticket window and there were all kinds of dogs there...on flexi-leads. I'll save that rant for another post.
Up to the window...1 for general admission, please? She asks if I have dogs. Yes. She asks how many. Three. She explains that all the dogs are in the reserved seating so that will be $6. Okay. My $5 plan has become $11 in a matter of minutes, but I'm still hanging in there. That's what man made debit and credit cards for, right?
I asked her about where the tent for the greyhounds would be, and if that was in the reserved seating. She didn't know what I was talking about. That should have been a sign for me to take the money and run (sorry...had the car radio on 70's rock all weekend) but I didn't. We headed into the stadium.
The Greenville Humane Society had a tent right at the entrance with water bowls...we skipped that because I was just positive that we'd have plenty of water at our tent.
Only there was no tent.
The organizer, the one that had called to set up the tent and the between-innings appearance wasn't there. In fact, I only found three other families from my adoption group still there by the time we got there. We, along with all the other dog people, were put out on the concrete just behind reserved seating (if you're looking at the baseball diamond we were just behind first base). Next to us was the concessions area with blessed shade, and before I'd even found my group I was headed there so the kids could cool off from the walk from the car/standing in line in the sun to get tickets.
A very apologetic young man in a Greenville Humane Society shirt stepped in front of me to tell me that dogs weren't allowed under the shade at the concession area, but that he would be glad to hold them for me while I went to get food.
Let me just process that a moment...I don't fault the humane society because they were just doing what they were told by the stadium...but you'd think, being the HUMANE SOCIETY they would see a flaw in not allowing dogs in the one place in the whole stadium that has shade...in June, in South Carolina, at 4pm in the afternoon when it is 80+ degrees Fahrenheit outside. But I digress.
I found the other members of my group and stayed about half an hour. We shared our car mat to at least give some barrier between the dogs and the concrete. They shared water and Miss Becky even got an ice cream for them to share with her boy Stormy. Finally I decided that I'd had enough and that the dogs had long since had enough, so we left to go home.
Perhaps this is why I prefer soccer?
Those smiles faded quickly, though, when we arrived. I had budgeted for free parking (What was I thinking? Just because Greenville is littered with parking decks that there would magically be one at the stadium? Silly me...) and $5 general admission, leaving me a bit of cash for a drink and maybe some ice cream...it is June in the southern United States, after all.
No parking deck was to be found but there were lots of helpful people with orange flags ready to direct me into the surrounding parking lots and take $5 of the cash I'd brought so that I could park there and walk to the stadium. We did that, and started up the hill on the hot pavement toward Fluor Stadium. Got to the ticket window and there were all kinds of dogs there...on flexi-leads. I'll save that rant for another post.
Up to the window...1 for general admission, please? She asks if I have dogs. Yes. She asks how many. Three. She explains that all the dogs are in the reserved seating so that will be $6. Okay. My $5 plan has become $11 in a matter of minutes, but I'm still hanging in there. That's what man made debit and credit cards for, right?
I asked her about where the tent for the greyhounds would be, and if that was in the reserved seating. She didn't know what I was talking about. That should have been a sign for me to take the money and run (sorry...had the car radio on 70's rock all weekend) but I didn't. We headed into the stadium.
The Greenville Humane Society had a tent right at the entrance with water bowls...we skipped that because I was just positive that we'd have plenty of water at our tent.
Only there was no tent.
The organizer, the one that had called to set up the tent and the between-innings appearance wasn't there. In fact, I only found three other families from my adoption group still there by the time we got there. We, along with all the other dog people, were put out on the concrete just behind reserved seating (if you're looking at the baseball diamond we were just behind first base). Next to us was the concessions area with blessed shade, and before I'd even found my group I was headed there so the kids could cool off from the walk from the car/standing in line in the sun to get tickets.
A very apologetic young man in a Greenville Humane Society shirt stepped in front of me to tell me that dogs weren't allowed under the shade at the concession area, but that he would be glad to hold them for me while I went to get food.
Let me just process that a moment...I don't fault the humane society because they were just doing what they were told by the stadium...but you'd think, being the HUMANE SOCIETY they would see a flaw in not allowing dogs in the one place in the whole stadium that has shade...in June, in South Carolina, at 4pm in the afternoon when it is 80+ degrees Fahrenheit outside. But I digress.
I found the other members of my group and stayed about half an hour. We shared our car mat to at least give some barrier between the dogs and the concrete. They shared water and Miss Becky even got an ice cream for them to share with her boy Stormy. Finally I decided that I'd had enough and that the dogs had long since had enough, so we left to go home.
Perhaps this is why I prefer soccer?
17 June 2008
The Traveling Wilburys...err...Lassiters...err...
Here's a quick summary of the past three weeks of our lives.
4th-6th June
Took time off work to pack and get ready to move, hoping the movers would be available on Friday, 6 June. Wrong. Book them for Saturday, 7 June instead. Took my time doing anything, really, that resembled packing/cleaning until late on Thursday, 5 June when I realized that my parents would be arriving the next morning.
7th June
Movers arrive on time. All goes well until they try to get my sofa, chair, and refrigerator in the house. After much prodding, struggling, and some disassembly, all three items are in place and movers leave. Mom and Dad hang around for a bit and then head home.
(And from the files of this ONLY happens in my family, they were hit by a bear on their way home...at least that's how Mom tells it. Poor BMW. Poor Bear.)
8th June
Sorted out what's left of what is now referred to as "The Other House." Cleaned the front of the house. Stacked all that's left to be moved (from the front rooms) in the sitting room by the door and vacuum. Looked despairingly at the rec room and headed to "my house" to plug in the cable box and modem and watch TV/surf the net/play Everquest in an attempt to forget about said rec room.
(Did I mention that when I called Charter to transfer my service I found out that the folks that lived here before me never cancelled their service when they moved and I therefore had to wait till I could provide proof that I lived here - a lease - before they would transfer it? Did I also mention that I was advised BY CHARTER to go on and use the connections that were still live in the house until it could get transferred because it was already paid up in full? No? Ah. My bad.)
Plugged in cable box...waited for 12:00 to magically switch to the time. Waited a little longer. Wonderedwhy the box says 105 (BBC America, natch) but nothing is happening on the screen. Found cable wires all over the house and started attaching them one by one to the modem. Wondered why nothing is happening. Called Charter.
Discovered that a. the family that was here before didn't use Charter for television, hence the black screen on the telly-box and b. that there was at least ONE live connection for the internet somewhere in the house. I just had to find it. Further discovered that when the first Charter employee told me that all I had to do was be at the house when the tech showed up, lease in hand to prove occupancy...well, the nice way to put what he said was that she was wrong. Canceled that appointment...which was a mistake. (Found out later that because it was canceled I now have to start all over with a very long visit to the local Charter office...but thanks to a lovely employee called Maria I'm set for this coming Friday to have my TV and internet back.)
Found hot line for modem. Logged into email and Everquest and happy happy happy. Slept downstairs on the sofa with the dogs around me wondering if this was all going to turn out to be a mistake.
9th- 13th June
Have you ever had to go to work AND try to live out of two houses AND try to move out of one into the other all at the same time with NO television to keep you sane? If not, all you need to know is this...I got a lot of use out of "Oh what FRESH HELL is this?" that week (thank you Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory, Episode "The Dumpling Paradox")...including a trip to Orangeburg, SC, for work that turned out to be a no-show appointment. Boo-YAH.
14th June
Saturday came and went and was largely uneventful. Had a visit from a friend in town on greyhound business. It was not until later on Saturday that I found that my best friend Leah had fallen and broken her ankle. She was in the hospital and would have to have surgery. Kick my anxiety level on up another notch, will ya? Not quite high enough. That news colored everything that came after.
15th June-Father's Day
Plan: Go to Georgia, arriving 1:30. Have lunch with parents, visit, return home.
Actual events: Receive phone call that house will be shown at 4pm that day even though I didn't have 24hrs notice and I had no way to get the animals out of the house prior. Spend day trying to be happy and celebrate with my dad but internally churn up enough anxiety to drive me inpatient, convinced that my house was being sold out from under me and that I'd have to move AGAIN. Return home, receive lease and reassuring email from landlord that I'm safe here till December. Much Everquest ensued.
Yesterday and today have been pretty normal workdays. Leah came through her surgery about forty pounds heavier in the foot (steel plate, etc) but otherwise fine. No more fresh hell, at least not for the time being. I got to see the mid season finale of Battlestar Galactica on You Tube. I will say, though, that I may have put myself off The Big Bang Theory by the time I get television up and running on Friday...I've watched the same few episodes several times and can quote "The Dumpling Paradox" episode.
"Hey Sheldon, you forgot something!"
"What?"
"This plasma grenade. Looook! It's raining you!!"
4th-6th June
Took time off work to pack and get ready to move, hoping the movers would be available on Friday, 6 June. Wrong. Book them for Saturday, 7 June instead. Took my time doing anything, really, that resembled packing/cleaning until late on Thursday, 5 June when I realized that my parents would be arriving the next morning.
7th June
Movers arrive on time. All goes well until they try to get my sofa, chair, and refrigerator in the house. After much prodding, struggling, and some disassembly, all three items are in place and movers leave. Mom and Dad hang around for a bit and then head home.
(And from the files of this ONLY happens in my family, they were hit by a bear on their way home...at least that's how Mom tells it. Poor BMW. Poor Bear.)
8th June
Sorted out what's left of what is now referred to as "The Other House." Cleaned the front of the house. Stacked all that's left to be moved (from the front rooms) in the sitting room by the door and vacuum. Looked despairingly at the rec room and headed to "my house" to plug in the cable box and modem and watch TV/surf the net/play Everquest in an attempt to forget about said rec room.
(Did I mention that when I called Charter to transfer my service I found out that the folks that lived here before me never cancelled their service when they moved and I therefore had to wait till I could provide proof that I lived here - a lease - before they would transfer it? Did I also mention that I was advised BY CHARTER to go on and use the connections that were still live in the house until it could get transferred because it was already paid up in full? No? Ah. My bad.)
Plugged in cable box...waited for 12:00 to magically switch to the time. Waited a little longer. Wonderedwhy the box says 105 (BBC America, natch) but nothing is happening on the screen. Found cable wires all over the house and started attaching them one by one to the modem. Wondered why nothing is happening. Called Charter.
Discovered that a. the family that was here before didn't use Charter for television, hence the black screen on the telly-box and b. that there was at least ONE live connection for the internet somewhere in the house. I just had to find it. Further discovered that when the first Charter employee told me that all I had to do was be at the house when the tech showed up, lease in hand to prove occupancy...well, the nice way to put what he said was that she was wrong. Canceled that appointment...which was a mistake. (Found out later that because it was canceled I now have to start all over with a very long visit to the local Charter office...but thanks to a lovely employee called Maria I'm set for this coming Friday to have my TV and internet back.)
Found hot line for modem. Logged into email and Everquest and happy happy happy. Slept downstairs on the sofa with the dogs around me wondering if this was all going to turn out to be a mistake.
9th- 13th June
Have you ever had to go to work AND try to live out of two houses AND try to move out of one into the other all at the same time with NO television to keep you sane? If not, all you need to know is this...I got a lot of use out of "Oh what FRESH HELL is this?" that week (thank you Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory, Episode "The Dumpling Paradox")...including a trip to Orangeburg, SC, for work that turned out to be a no-show appointment. Boo-YAH.
14th June
Saturday came and went and was largely uneventful. Had a visit from a friend in town on greyhound business. It was not until later on Saturday that I found that my best friend Leah had fallen and broken her ankle. She was in the hospital and would have to have surgery. Kick my anxiety level on up another notch, will ya? Not quite high enough. That news colored everything that came after.
15th June-Father's Day
Plan: Go to Georgia, arriving 1:30. Have lunch with parents, visit, return home.
Actual events: Receive phone call that house will be shown at 4pm that day even though I didn't have 24hrs notice and I had no way to get the animals out of the house prior. Spend day trying to be happy and celebrate with my dad but internally churn up enough anxiety to drive me inpatient, convinced that my house was being sold out from under me and that I'd have to move AGAIN. Return home, receive lease and reassuring email from landlord that I'm safe here till December. Much Everquest ensued.
Yesterday and today have been pretty normal workdays. Leah came through her surgery about forty pounds heavier in the foot (steel plate, etc) but otherwise fine. No more fresh hell, at least not for the time being. I got to see the mid season finale of Battlestar Galactica on You Tube. I will say, though, that I may have put myself off The Big Bang Theory by the time I get television up and running on Friday...I've watched the same few episodes several times and can quote "The Dumpling Paradox" episode.
"Hey Sheldon, you forgot something!"
"What?"
"This plasma grenade. Looook! It's raining you!!"
29 May 2008
It's been...one week...
Not really, it's actually only been three days since I last posted, but I somehow have that BNL song in my head this morning. Perhaps it's because in one week I will be living out of boxes and ready to move down the street.
I don't like chaos. I don't like flux. I don't even like spontaneity, truth be told. I know why...I moved a lot when I was growing up and I never really felt like I belonged anywhere. Once you started to sprout and sink roots they were yanked up and moved to the next patch of soil. Some people compensate for that by learning to love adventure. Me? I learned to yearn for the "after the move" time.
Like now. I can't wait until this time next year in some respects. This time next year I will wake up every morning and see Simon in person, not in 2-D on my laptop screen. This time next year I will be married and moved and hopefully planning visits from my American friends. We will have a house that I won't have to leave in 6-9 months. I will be settled.
But you know, you can't ever really say that, can you? What is settled, but saving up energy for the next change in your life? The one thing I can say for sure is that this time next year I will be spending a lot of time in front of the laptop screen again...but this time I will be talking to my new niece or nephew...because I can finally say here at the Lettuce that my sister is pregnant! And I, for one, can't wait to meet the newest Allen Grady.
Got my wedding dress on Monday so that's one thing ticked off the list. Oh, two things actually, because the electricity will be transfered to the new house next Friday. Now to take care of the water, gas, and mail delivery...notify my bank...notify all my two credit cards...and hope I haven't forgotten anything.
Leap...and the net will appear. I just hope it doesn't have a hole in it.
I don't like chaos. I don't like flux. I don't even like spontaneity, truth be told. I know why...I moved a lot when I was growing up and I never really felt like I belonged anywhere. Once you started to sprout and sink roots they were yanked up and moved to the next patch of soil. Some people compensate for that by learning to love adventure. Me? I learned to yearn for the "after the move" time.
Like now. I can't wait until this time next year in some respects. This time next year I will wake up every morning and see Simon in person, not in 2-D on my laptop screen. This time next year I will be married and moved and hopefully planning visits from my American friends. We will have a house that I won't have to leave in 6-9 months. I will be settled.
But you know, you can't ever really say that, can you? What is settled, but saving up energy for the next change in your life? The one thing I can say for sure is that this time next year I will be spending a lot of time in front of the laptop screen again...but this time I will be talking to my new niece or nephew...because I can finally say here at the Lettuce that my sister is pregnant! And I, for one, can't wait to meet the newest Allen Grady.
Got my wedding dress on Monday so that's one thing ticked off the list. Oh, two things actually, because the electricity will be transfered to the new house next Friday. Now to take care of the water, gas, and mail delivery...notify my bank...notify all my two credit cards...and hope I haven't forgotten anything.
Leap...and the net will appear. I just hope it doesn't have a hole in it.
25 May 2008
Faith 0, Humanity 2
So the dogs and I went out for a meet and greet at a local pet store yesterday, right? While we were there, Hunky had an appointment to get groomed in the hopes that a professional could get the extra hair out of his coat that is currently covering my furniture and kicking up my allergies.
Our appointment was at 1:45. I brought his rabies certificate in as requested, discussed with the groomer what I needed done and what I didn't need done, and left him in their care. I was concerned, as I always am when I leave my animals with people I don't know...and to make it worse, they were adamant that if he was on the grooming table I should make sure he couldn't see me. They seemed concerned that he would get very excited when he saw me and try to jump off the table. I mentioned that he couldn't see that far or through a glass window anymore anyway, but I don't think she believed me.
Back to the meet and greet...Daisy was anxiously waiting for me and Jeany looked like she was miserable. Status Quo. We met and we greeted (how tempted was I just now to type "gret?") and all was well until a strange little man with a little too much bling on his hands and an aversion to looking any of us in the eye approached the table. It seems that he was a representative of an invisible fence company, and wanted to try and convince us that an invisible fence was the only way to go if you love your animals.
I'm going to take a second, dear readers, and mention that if you (or someone you love) has an invisible fence and you (or that special someone) can sleep at night knowing that you've strapped an electrode to your dog that would make you almost wet your pants were you to hold it in your hand and approach the perimeter, or that while your dog can't leave the yard without a zap the other neighborhood dogs who are irresponsibly left to run loose can enter your yard and harass your dog at will, or, even better, that if your dog is a greyhound that can be at full speed in three strides so you're basically playing Russian roulette with his or her life that he or she will be moving so fast through the perimeter that the only pain he or she will feel is when he or she is struck by a car outside of the perimeter of that bloody stupid invisible fence...then have at it. But never, ever let it be said that someone doesn't know my opinion on invisible fences...and that my opinion on the fence colors how I feel about someone who would leave their "beloved" pet behind one, waiting to get shocked.
Whew! Okay, so back to yesterday. Fence Man tries everything that he can to convince us that as a group we are mistreating our hounds because our group does not adopt to people that use invisible fences for containing their animals.
Let me say that again...we do not support invisible fences. I'm sure we all said it numerous times yesterday...so one wonders why Fence Man continued to try to sell it to us?
Fence Man made outrageous claims, our favorite being that he could personally guarantee that the fence would work for each of our hounds. Is that right? You can guarantee that my dog, who, by the way, can be at 40 mph in three strides from a standing position, will be contained in your fence? Is that because you ramp up the voltage to get my dog's attention? Is that really a selling point? Oh no, he assured us, it's because he personally trains the dogs and the owners on the proper use of the fence. It's a week long training.
Seems to me it would take about five minutes. Put electrode on dog. Take dog to perimeter. Watch dog writhe in agony. Take dog away from perimeter. Watch dog go back in house and never ever leave again. All done! Dog contained.
My argument about the dog being at 40mph in three strides was the only one that he didn't have an answer for, by the way. We told him they will ignore it if their prey drive kicks in and they take off after something. He countered that his training would break them of that habit. Habit? Um, sorry Fence Man, that's actually thousands of years of instinct. We told him about the other animals being free to wander in and out of the yard. He countered that under controlled situations that was never a problem. I'm sorry, isn't the reason for this torture device so that it will control the situation and I don't have to lift a finger?
Finally Fence Man was reduced to lying. Outright lying. He told us that he worked with "that big group in Greensboro, NC" and that he had personally trained lots of their greyhounds with the fencing and that "they totally support me and what I do." He then wanted to know what was wrong with our group. Now there are two fairly large adoption groups in Greensboro and I am about 95% sure that neither of them would support this kind of "fencing" for their hounds they adopt out. When we confronted him with his lie, he resorted back to insulting us. "I can't believe you don't really love these dogs." "It's just ridiculous that your group wouldn't take advantage of a free offer to show you how well this fencing will work for your dogs." He finally left after saying the bit about the free offer again and being told that our group did not support his fencing, but if he wanted to talk to the group's director that he was welcome to do so.
Oh, and on the way out, we saw him with a nice 40lb bag of total crap dog food that he was taking home to feed his beloved dog that was probably bald around the neck from being zapped when it tried to escape.
Well, okay, but it was Beneful dog food. That part is true.
After all that ruckus things settled down and I waited for them to bring my handsome and no longer shedding boy out to finish him up so that I could show him off to everyone and not drop enough fur to make a new dog in the process. No Hunky. Dropped off at 1:45 and it was now past 3pm. She had told me it would take about 3 hours to do a groom on him which I thought was suspicious because it doesn't take me that long when I'm chasing him around the yard with a hose trying to wash off the soap! But I digress. One of the other ladies went in and asked after him, to be told that he was in the back drying off and then he'd be done.
What? In the back drying off? Isn't that why they have those drying machines, so that my dog doesn't have to drip dry? Unless they put him under a dryer like my mother used to sit under when I'd go to the beauty shop with her, they let my dog drip dry because I watched the girls that were working...working on other dogs. I ran to the toilet and when I came back, one of the ladies at the table was holding my Hunky, my gorgeous...fluffy...slighly damp Hunky. Hunky was fluffy with visible loose fur in his coat and still damp in spots almost three hours after I left him with these people.
Oh, and let's talk about the "fragrance" they left on my dog. On second thought, let's not, it made my head pound just riding in the car with him on the way home yesterday. Thank goodness he loves his dog bed that has cedar in it.
Apparently when I didn't want them to do his teeth or toenails (teeth don't need it and he hates them to be brushed and his toenails are always potentially ready to shatter) I also excluded him from a certain package of service that includes de-shedding treatment of some sort. Hunky got brushed (I'm still not certain of that), bathed, "fragranced" (he smelled like a man on the pull, all he needed was a gold chain and some Colt 45) and was so happy to see me I thought my heart would break.
I have to admit here, dear readers, that I might have done something I shouldn't have. I went in to get Hunky's rabies certificate back because without that we don't get into England in January and there was no one at the desk. I'm sure that they have to keep it on file, so I hope they had already xeroxed it because I snatched it and headed back out the door.
My poor boy. My poor nerves. I was literally (Susan? LITERALLY!) shaking by the time I got home. And I will never, EVER subject any of my dogs to that again unless the groomer is someone I know personally that I know will not make my Hunky into Leon Phelps. Seriously. That is disgusting.
Our appointment was at 1:45. I brought his rabies certificate in as requested, discussed with the groomer what I needed done and what I didn't need done, and left him in their care. I was concerned, as I always am when I leave my animals with people I don't know...and to make it worse, they were adamant that if he was on the grooming table I should make sure he couldn't see me. They seemed concerned that he would get very excited when he saw me and try to jump off the table. I mentioned that he couldn't see that far or through a glass window anymore anyway, but I don't think she believed me.
Back to the meet and greet...Daisy was anxiously waiting for me and Jeany looked like she was miserable. Status Quo. We met and we greeted (how tempted was I just now to type "gret?") and all was well until a strange little man with a little too much bling on his hands and an aversion to looking any of us in the eye approached the table. It seems that he was a representative of an invisible fence company, and wanted to try and convince us that an invisible fence was the only way to go if you love your animals.
I'm going to take a second, dear readers, and mention that if you (or someone you love) has an invisible fence and you (or that special someone) can sleep at night knowing that you've strapped an electrode to your dog that would make you almost wet your pants were you to hold it in your hand and approach the perimeter, or that while your dog can't leave the yard without a zap the other neighborhood dogs who are irresponsibly left to run loose can enter your yard and harass your dog at will, or, even better, that if your dog is a greyhound that can be at full speed in three strides so you're basically playing Russian roulette with his or her life that he or she will be moving so fast through the perimeter that the only pain he or she will feel is when he or she is struck by a car outside of the perimeter of that bloody stupid invisible fence...then have at it. But never, ever let it be said that someone doesn't know my opinion on invisible fences...and that my opinion on the fence colors how I feel about someone who would leave their "beloved" pet behind one, waiting to get shocked.
Whew! Okay, so back to yesterday. Fence Man tries everything that he can to convince us that as a group we are mistreating our hounds because our group does not adopt to people that use invisible fences for containing their animals.
Let me say that again...we do not support invisible fences. I'm sure we all said it numerous times yesterday...so one wonders why Fence Man continued to try to sell it to us?
Fence Man made outrageous claims, our favorite being that he could personally guarantee that the fence would work for each of our hounds. Is that right? You can guarantee that my dog, who, by the way, can be at 40 mph in three strides from a standing position, will be contained in your fence? Is that because you ramp up the voltage to get my dog's attention? Is that really a selling point? Oh no, he assured us, it's because he personally trains the dogs and the owners on the proper use of the fence. It's a week long training.
Seems to me it would take about five minutes. Put electrode on dog. Take dog to perimeter. Watch dog writhe in agony. Take dog away from perimeter. Watch dog go back in house and never ever leave again. All done! Dog contained.
My argument about the dog being at 40mph in three strides was the only one that he didn't have an answer for, by the way. We told him they will ignore it if their prey drive kicks in and they take off after something. He countered that his training would break them of that habit. Habit? Um, sorry Fence Man, that's actually thousands of years of instinct. We told him about the other animals being free to wander in and out of the yard. He countered that under controlled situations that was never a problem. I'm sorry, isn't the reason for this torture device so that it will control the situation and I don't have to lift a finger?
Finally Fence Man was reduced to lying. Outright lying. He told us that he worked with "that big group in Greensboro, NC" and that he had personally trained lots of their greyhounds with the fencing and that "they totally support me and what I do." He then wanted to know what was wrong with our group. Now there are two fairly large adoption groups in Greensboro and I am about 95% sure that neither of them would support this kind of "fencing" for their hounds they adopt out. When we confronted him with his lie, he resorted back to insulting us. "I can't believe you don't really love these dogs." "It's just ridiculous that your group wouldn't take advantage of a free offer to show you how well this fencing will work for your dogs." He finally left after saying the bit about the free offer again and being told that our group did not support his fencing, but if he wanted to talk to the group's director that he was welcome to do so.
Oh, and on the way out, we saw him with a nice 40lb bag of total crap dog food that he was taking home to feed his beloved dog that was probably bald around the neck from being zapped when it tried to escape.
Well, okay, but it was Beneful dog food. That part is true.
After all that ruckus things settled down and I waited for them to bring my handsome and no longer shedding boy out to finish him up so that I could show him off to everyone and not drop enough fur to make a new dog in the process. No Hunky. Dropped off at 1:45 and it was now past 3pm. She had told me it would take about 3 hours to do a groom on him which I thought was suspicious because it doesn't take me that long when I'm chasing him around the yard with a hose trying to wash off the soap! But I digress. One of the other ladies went in and asked after him, to be told that he was in the back drying off and then he'd be done.
What? In the back drying off? Isn't that why they have those drying machines, so that my dog doesn't have to drip dry? Unless they put him under a dryer like my mother used to sit under when I'd go to the beauty shop with her, they let my dog drip dry because I watched the girls that were working...working on other dogs. I ran to the toilet and when I came back, one of the ladies at the table was holding my Hunky, my gorgeous...fluffy...slighly damp Hunky. Hunky was fluffy with visible loose fur in his coat and still damp in spots almost three hours after I left him with these people.
Oh, and let's talk about the "fragrance" they left on my dog. On second thought, let's not, it made my head pound just riding in the car with him on the way home yesterday. Thank goodness he loves his dog bed that has cedar in it.
Apparently when I didn't want them to do his teeth or toenails (teeth don't need it and he hates them to be brushed and his toenails are always potentially ready to shatter) I also excluded him from a certain package of service that includes de-shedding treatment of some sort. Hunky got brushed (I'm still not certain of that), bathed, "fragranced" (he smelled like a man on the pull, all he needed was a gold chain and some Colt 45) and was so happy to see me I thought my heart would break.
I have to admit here, dear readers, that I might have done something I shouldn't have. I went in to get Hunky's rabies certificate back because without that we don't get into England in January and there was no one at the desk. I'm sure that they have to keep it on file, so I hope they had already xeroxed it because I snatched it and headed back out the door.
My poor boy. My poor nerves. I was literally (Susan? LITERALLY!) shaking by the time I got home. And I will never, EVER subject any of my dogs to that again unless the groomer is someone I know personally that I know will not make my Hunky into Leon Phelps. Seriously. That is disgusting.
22 May 2008
I'm moving to England
I know, you guys all know that already. I know that already. My family, bless them, know that already.
So why is it that just this week, this month, it seems so real? Maybe because I'm starting to get ready to move down the street for my last six months in the US? Maybe because I'm thinking about what I can go on and ship over to Simon now? Maybe because I've gotten the animals microchipped and vaccinated and started that process in motion?
Maybe because I've finally let myself admit that it is happening, and I'm trying to make the most of my six months that are left...eat lots of Chick-Fil-A, drive (as much as the insane gas prices will allow) on the right side of the road, hang out with my deaf friends/co-workers and use ASL...things that I have taken for granted for my first almost 37 years that I won't be able to enjoy more than a few times a year after I move.
Or maybe it's because I'm finally able to admit that I'm excited, I'm even looking forward to the adventure of moving, with all the scary bits and new experiences and everything that would normally scare me into just staying put.
Six months. That's about 24 more Mondays. 182.621099 more sleeps...plus two days in January to lose my mind and then I'm Mrs. Dunne and on my way. I just hope I'm ready.
So why is it that just this week, this month, it seems so real? Maybe because I'm starting to get ready to move down the street for my last six months in the US? Maybe because I'm thinking about what I can go on and ship over to Simon now? Maybe because I've gotten the animals microchipped and vaccinated and started that process in motion?
Maybe because I've finally let myself admit that it is happening, and I'm trying to make the most of my six months that are left...eat lots of Chick-Fil-A, drive (as much as the insane gas prices will allow) on the right side of the road, hang out with my deaf friends/co-workers and use ASL...things that I have taken for granted for my first almost 37 years that I won't be able to enjoy more than a few times a year after I move.
Or maybe it's because I'm finally able to admit that I'm excited, I'm even looking forward to the adventure of moving, with all the scary bits and new experiences and everything that would normally scare me into just staying put.
Six months. That's about 24 more Mondays. 182.621099 more sleeps...plus two days in January to lose my mind and then I'm Mrs. Dunne and on my way. I just hope I'm ready.
18 May 2008
13 May 2008
What to do when you can't sleep...
Make lists.
1. Sleep.
2. If number one doesn't work, play Everquest.
3. Still awake? Cruise iTunes and discover that your new favorite band, Bitter:Sweet has a new album out. If you caught the first season of Lipstick Jungle, then you heard Bitter:Sweet in the theme song, The Bomb. I've been waiting for the album to come out and just happened to log into iTunes on the very day. Fate, I tell ya.
4. Weird Electronica not your cuppa? Try Christine Kane. Folksy, uplifting, just pretty darned awesome is how I'd describe her. One hundred thousand thank you's, by the way, to Katy for introducing me to this wonderful singer/songwriter. My recommendation is one that seems to be mirroring my life at the moment, a song called Right Outta Nowhere from the album of the same name.
Hmmm...I think I may have bored myself sleepy posting...
6. Post to the Lettuce...zzzzzz...
1. Sleep.
2. If number one doesn't work, play Everquest.
3. Still awake? Cruise iTunes and discover that your new favorite band, Bitter:Sweet has a new album out. If you caught the first season of Lipstick Jungle, then you heard Bitter:Sweet in the theme song, The Bomb. I've been waiting for the album to come out and just happened to log into iTunes on the very day. Fate, I tell ya.
4. Weird Electronica not your cuppa? Try Christine Kane. Folksy, uplifting, just pretty darned awesome is how I'd describe her. One hundred thousand thank you's, by the way, to Katy for introducing me to this wonderful singer/songwriter. My recommendation is one that seems to be mirroring my life at the moment, a song called Right Outta Nowhere from the album of the same name.
Some choices hold you down5. Still no good? Well, it's probably again not your cup of tea, but I'm loving Say by John Mayer. I love John Mayer, there, I said it...and this song is just one more in a long line of songs that tend to get set on repeat when they come on the iPod.
Some chances set you free
Right outta nowhere
You open your heart
And let go of everything
You're going somewhere
And all you need to know
Is that you're free to go
Dream and the way will be clear
Pray and the angels will hear
Leap and the net will appear
Hmmm...I think I may have bored myself sleepy posting...
6. Post to the Lettuce...zzzzzz...
08 May 2008
From the files of I Can't Make This Stuff Up...
So I was playing Everquest tonight...yeah, I play, so? Anyway, it was getting close to this Bonzo's Bedtime when the game crashed on me. As I was waiting for it to load back in, I dozed off.
Oops, forgot something important. About 5 minutes before said crash I'd let the dogs out in the yard. Checked it for critters and stray cats and came back inside "just to check on the computer" before going back outside with the dogs until they were done and ready to come in.
Now then, we rejoin the blog where I fell asleep. I was out for only a few minutes, but came to because I heard furious barking from the yard. I was on my feet running for the door before I was fully awake.
I flew through the door and rounded the corner of the house to see a police car in my driveway. Never.Ever.Good. The police were leading my neighbor (who is mentally challenged) back into his house...apparently he was walking around the neighborhood inappropriately attired. I struck up a nice conversation with one of the policemen after he asked about the dogs. Simon, good foster that he is, even stood up on the railway sleeper that is at the base of the fence so that the man didn't have to reach far to get to greyhound ears.
All of this on the heels of one of the most stressful days I've had at work in quite some time. Literally, I was teetering on the brink a few times of emailing my resignation letter and running away to Montana or somewhere nice...where you don't have to drive two hours one way to get to work ever, nor do you have to fight with Columbia traffic or spend several hours thinking that even though you've already been down there once you're going to go again and not get home till very very late...but I digress.
I got the work issue mostly sorted (sadly not without resorting to sounding like a pissy teenager in emails, but still) and made my dinner. Handmade (seriously, no spoon, only my "paws," can you believe it?) salsa turkey burger on a whole wheat bun with sweet potato crisps. Lovely and more filling than I'd thought it would be!
Sat down to play EQ, was having a lovely time but getting sleepy, and that, beloveds, is when I let the dogs out...only to break a land-speed record getting out there when I heard that bark a few minutes later.
Silly doggies...they were rubbernecking worse than drivers on I-26 in rush hour on a Friday...I nearly had to drag them inside. And now? Now I'm putting Bonzo to Bed. I've been up WAY too long today and that little catnap here at the desk didn't even touch my tiredness.
Envy me, why don't you, and my never ever dull life...
Oops, forgot something important. About 5 minutes before said crash I'd let the dogs out in the yard. Checked it for critters and stray cats and came back inside "just to check on the computer" before going back outside with the dogs until they were done and ready to come in.
Now then, we rejoin the blog where I fell asleep. I was out for only a few minutes, but came to because I heard furious barking from the yard. I was on my feet running for the door before I was fully awake.
I flew through the door and rounded the corner of the house to see a police car in my driveway. Never.Ever.Good. The police were leading my neighbor (who is mentally challenged) back into his house...apparently he was walking around the neighborhood inappropriately attired. I struck up a nice conversation with one of the policemen after he asked about the dogs. Simon, good foster that he is, even stood up on the railway sleeper that is at the base of the fence so that the man didn't have to reach far to get to greyhound ears.
All of this on the heels of one of the most stressful days I've had at work in quite some time. Literally, I was teetering on the brink a few times of emailing my resignation letter and running away to Montana or somewhere nice...where you don't have to drive two hours one way to get to work ever, nor do you have to fight with Columbia traffic or spend several hours thinking that even though you've already been down there once you're going to go again and not get home till very very late...but I digress.
I got the work issue mostly sorted (sadly not without resorting to sounding like a pissy teenager in emails, but still) and made my dinner. Handmade (seriously, no spoon, only my "paws," can you believe it?) salsa turkey burger on a whole wheat bun with sweet potato crisps. Lovely and more filling than I'd thought it would be!
Sat down to play EQ, was having a lovely time but getting sleepy, and that, beloveds, is when I let the dogs out...only to break a land-speed record getting out there when I heard that bark a few minutes later.
Silly doggies...they were rubbernecking worse than drivers on I-26 in rush hour on a Friday...I nearly had to drag them inside. And now? Now I'm putting Bonzo to Bed. I've been up WAY too long today and that little catnap here at the desk didn't even touch my tiredness.
Envy me, why don't you, and my never ever dull life...
05 May 2008
Back to the Grind...
But it's going to be a slow week and a short week, so maybe it won't be too awful. I swear, last week lasted about a month, and having a short weekend due to spending yesterday at the Georgia Renaissance Festival didn't help. The older I get, the more I need to spend lots and lots of time doing lots and lots of nothing to make up for the lots and lots I do.
Yesterday at GARF was lovely. The people down there are so nice to us and we love going to visit, even if it does get hotter than the surface of a dying star quickly in Georgia in the spring. I was amused yesterday to think of how many of the folks that work there (and at the Carolina festival) I can recognize by sight but have NO idea what their names are...sometimes not even their character names.
I've had my scotch egg fix now, though, and should be good until CRF in October. I did get a little misty on the ride home yesterday (in between blasts of cold air from the A/C in an attempt to stay awake) thinking that I had just finished my last performance with GARF.
There are going to be a lot of those this year...my last time going to CRF, my last Beach Bound Hounds...and it's so easy to get wrapped up in sadness and slide off my plateau that I've mentioned in other posts. But this morning I was doing a flickr surf and found some photos of an interpreting colleague of mine and his family...and that helped because I was looking at him and his wife and kids and thinking, "Now I can have that too...Simon and I can have kids and trips to the zoo and nursery school programs and field days and and and..." and somehow that made the melancholy lift a bit.
Off to get the house cleaned up...someone is coming to appraise it for the upcoming sale (yay for rental house living...you just never know...) and if I don't get it tidy then the poor man won't be able to reach the walls, let alone measure for square footage!
Yesterday at GARF was lovely. The people down there are so nice to us and we love going to visit, even if it does get hotter than the surface of a dying star quickly in Georgia in the spring. I was amused yesterday to think of how many of the folks that work there (and at the Carolina festival) I can recognize by sight but have NO idea what their names are...sometimes not even their character names.
I've had my scotch egg fix now, though, and should be good until CRF in October. I did get a little misty on the ride home yesterday (in between blasts of cold air from the A/C in an attempt to stay awake) thinking that I had just finished my last performance with GARF.
There are going to be a lot of those this year...my last time going to CRF, my last Beach Bound Hounds...and it's so easy to get wrapped up in sadness and slide off my plateau that I've mentioned in other posts. But this morning I was doing a flickr surf and found some photos of an interpreting colleague of mine and his family...and that helped because I was looking at him and his wife and kids and thinking, "Now I can have that too...Simon and I can have kids and trips to the zoo and nursery school programs and field days and and and..." and somehow that made the melancholy lift a bit.
Off to get the house cleaned up...someone is coming to appraise it for the upcoming sale (yay for rental house living...you just never know...) and if I don't get it tidy then the poor man won't be able to reach the walls, let alone measure for square footage!
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