Why, yes.

One of the ROTC guys came into the office to ask some questions about something-or-other and started perusing the shelves above my desk. He pointed to my action figures and asked, "Who are those people?"


Me: "They're characters from Stargate Atlantis."

Him: "Wow, you really are a nerd, aren't you?"

Me: "In the words of TV's Frank: let your freak flag fly."

Hmmm...still need to get a Todd the Wraith figure.

Favorite wrong word usage of the day: Once bitten, twice shy

I was reading a story where the Marines in said story were described as "handbitten".  Um, no.  The Marines would be "hardbitten".  Otherwise, you have someone going around biting the hands of the USMC's finest and that's just...weird.

I mean, really.  Raise your right hand, take your oath, and then stick your hand out in front of you.  Don't mind the little guy coming around.  He never breaks the skin...

Posting twice in one month...where's my handbasket?

The Spousal Unit and I went to see The Dark Knight Rises Saturday.  It was a good end to Nolan's version of Batman although probably not the best of the three.  That honor, IMO, goes to The Dark Knight.  While Batman Begins started off Nolan's version of Batman in a credible way, it still has Katie Holmes (pre-Crazy Tom Cruise) and nothing can overcome the black hole that is Katie Holmes attempting to act.

The only thing I really didn't care for was the way the sound was mixed.  Tom Hardy (Bane) is already acting with a handicap since he has a mask over the majority of his face that electronically distorts his voice.  That alone made some lines hard to understand.  It was worse when the soundtrack came booming in.  Now, I loves me some Hans Zimmer but Hans also loves his percussion for the Batman movies, and the sound mixer constantly left the soundtrack at levels above the speaking/looped voices of the actors, leading to unprecendented levels of "What did he just say?" looks between the Spousal Unit and me.  Still, it was not nearly the nausea-inducing experience that seeing The Avengers in IMAX *and* 3D was.  Gah.  Never, ever doing that again.

After the movie, we re-created our second date ever when we went grocery shopping :).

The SU is doing all right.  He's maintaining at this point and I have give him the room and the grace to make his own decisions - although that doesn't mean I don't search his usual hidey-holes.  I did go to a support group on Friday night but I don't think it's a format/group that is going to work for me.  The church that is running it is obviously doing something right based on the number of people there but there were some drawbacks to my experience:

1.  It took me three calls over two days just to get someone to verify that the support groups still met there and the groups weren't simply issue-centric (e.g. AA versus Al-Anon).  I understand the guy who is in charge and his assistant were in a conference at the church over those two days but nobody I talked to on the phone seemed to know anything and that was a little disheartening and not very welcoming.

2.  The small group I was in was *very* small - as in I was the only other person besides the leader for about the first five minutes.  The leader also didn't seem to be very good at facilitating. I understand about crosstalk, etc., but if no one had anything to say, we just sat there...in silence.  *singsong voice* Awkward! *end singsong voice*

I may look at some other, similar groups to try them out or I may look at one or two other avenues as far as support and confidentiality.

On other topics:

Question for anyone that has a Kindle.  Do you buy books that you already have paper copies of and, if so, are you keeping the paper copies?  I buy a mix of both new-to-me books and books I already have.  I have been giving away some of them and keeping those that are out of print or hard to find but I'm debating not keeping those, either.  We live in an apartment and it is a small apartment.  What does anyone else do?

(Oh, and Bug, I found one more Mary Russell hiding in the back of my bookcase that apparently missed being sent in the first batch.  If you want it, send me your address again...)

Went to the doctor Friday and the low dose of the meds wasn't working at all.  No change.  At this point, it's starting to come down to the Hail Mary pass (thank you, John Sheppard) because nothing really seems to be getting the point across to my pancreas that it is not on an indefinite vacation, thankyouverymuch.  So, I talked with my doc who apologized for being just about out of ideas, and I'm going to do the medicine one more month at the high level to see if it will at least jump start the stupid organ like it did the first time I used it.  Then, I'm going to attempt a particular diet plan that is supposed to help restore pancreatic function.  If that doesn't work, then I will just consider myself beautiful at whatever size I remain. 

Reason #487,592,293 why I don't use Bing as a search engine:  it keeps trying to suggest that I am somehow interested in Jennifer Aniston.  Um, no.

And I am ridiculously addicted to this game:

$140 million and rising...

Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride

Brief observation: I have come to the conclusion that there are certain Southern traditions that I will never be able to get behind, thus leaving me always in the "transplant" category versus "native".

Case in point?  Okra.  Ewwww.  Okra is Satan's boogers.

Why I Dislike Urban Fantasy "Tough Chicks" (UFTCs)

You know, as I look through the list of books coming out at Amazon, I find myself snickering over the female urban fantasy "tough chick".

1.  Long flowing hair - nothing better to grab in a fight than untamed hair.  Here, Mr. Demon/Succubus/Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man!  Let me give you a handle by which to yank me around and snap my neck!  Of course, if it's tied back, then said heroine can't be pictured in her moonlit alley with hair gently wafting in a nonexistent breeze (which always makes me think of a wind machine just off to the side and a director yelling, "Sparkle!").

2.  Speaking of moonlight, do none of these people hold down regular jobs?  They work for so many shadowy, underground paranormal agencies that I'm starting to think they should unionize.  Either that or they are the "go it alone" types until they meet the really hot demon/half-demon/had a bad date with a wereturtle they're supposed to kill/maim/bring in for a bounty/give fashion tips to.  Suddenly, it's much less hunting and a lot more boinking.

2a.  And alleys?  Seriously.  You know how bad those things smell and what they're used for?  Well, in your world, they're apparently used for posing hip-shot with your breasts trying desperately to escape your flimsy tank top (or the ever popular "look over the shoulder" pose) versus peeing, shooting up, trash disposal, etc.

3.  The tramp stamp.  Siddhartha on a hippo, the tramp stamps.  First, thanks for the totally unwanted pictures of y'all's backsides with the waist of your jeans riding low enough to give me way more information than I will ever need, but seriously?  You guys can't come up with anything more than a vaguely Celtic-y or Native American-ish tramp stamp to provide some "authenticity" and "individuality"?  I'm starting to think any application to become a UFTC either has a place to describe your tramp stamp or you have to sign a form stating you will get one within your first six months of employment as a UFTC.

4.  The clothes.  Why must UFTC's dress like they just got hired at Hooters?  More accurately, the Amish Hooters - long pants required.  Let's see, you're fighting demons, ghosts, and other paranormal things - many of which are armed.  So, when choosing an outfit, let's got for something that shows miles of skin and provides basically no protection to boot - I've got it!  A tank top and a flimsy pair of "leather" pants.  To finish off the outfit, we'll put on some boots with stiletto heels because nothin' says I can run like the wind like a five-inch boot heel that is as big around as a toothpick.  If they don't die from falling and breaking their flipping necks, do the UFTC's have a health plan that includes bunion surgery?  And with the tight pants, please tell me you get coupons for Monistat.

5.  The ridiculous big swords or guns they hold behind their backs in the "look over my shoulder" pose.  Number one, unless you are Immortal, there is NO WAY you are going to be able to hide that sword anywhere that is not going to cause (a) a wardrobe malfunction, (b) serious injury or (c) some of both.  Besides, WE KNOW WHAT THEY ARE SUBSTITUTES FOR.  Same for the guns, sister.

6.  Please stop bemoaning that you will never fit in with the rest of the world.  You chose this gig.  No, saying you were somehow chosen by a higher power/your Chinese fortune cookie/a prophecy/family lineage doesn't work.  You picked this gig.  Stop whining.

7.  Yes, yes, we know.  He's a bad boy.  You're so conflicted.  Should you trust him?  Oh, who cares?  Just screw him silly and then act like a thirteen-year-old girl who needs a Valium the size of a pudding pop the next time he does something you don't agree with.  Rage against The Man about how he doesn't treat you as an equal in your dangerous world of demon hunting/ghost chasing/ballroom dance.  Pout and write in your diary when he does something that makes you think he's "gone bad" again.  But for God's sake, never apologize when you find out you're wrong and his motivations were all good.  *He* had nothing to do with it.  It was all down to your magic hoo-hoo.

7a.  And if you're really that untrusting, perhaps a bit of counseling.  Or maybe date a nice accountant.

Things that make you go "Awwwww..." followed closely by "WTH?"

I got up this morning and went go to workout in the gym.  That was fine.  Very sweaty.  Then I cam ehoome, showered and went to the grocery store.  All well and good.

Came home to find a fire truck parked in front of my unit in the complex.  When I got out of the car and grabbed some groceries, I could see our downstairs neighbors with their three boys and the the boys were getting their pictures taken "driving" the fire truck.  Awwww...cute.

I'd pulled most of the groceries out and gotten them into the apartment (hello, flight of stairs!) and when I came back down for the last load, my neighbors were coming back up the walkway.  I asked them if everything was okay, thinking that maybe they knew some folk in the fire department or something.

Well, no.  Seems that since 10pm last night, their a/c unit had been dripping on their hot water heater and it had been smoking and giving off other rather ominous signs.  They had been calling the complex emergency line since that time and NOBODY ever answered.  They called the fire department this morning because, you know, fire...not so good.  The fire department came and put it out but if our neighbors hadn't been home, our entire unit could have gone up in flames.  The fire department has also been calling the emergency line and NOTHING.  In fact, they're still out there.

Man, I so do not want to be the complex manager when the Fire Marshall finally gets hold of them...

(and thank you, God, that our neighbors were home and our apartment and cats did not end up crispy crittered.)

This is the grad student you are looking for (apologies to Star Wars)

Thanks to everyone who said I was smart enough for grad school :).  I was officially accepted this week and turned in my letter verifying I would be entering the MPA program.  I'm still wibbling a bit - found an older syllabus from the professor this morning and kinda went Kermit the Frog for a few minutes:




Aaaaah!  In class presentations!  Small group work ('cause I always get stuck with the person who decides to coast on everyone else's work)!  And a research paper!  I've written those for my undergrad but drat Social Sciences majors and their reliance upon the APA style :P.

*breathes deeply*  All will be well, young Jedi.

How to Tell You are Completely Insane

I have applied for Graduate School...hold me.

Momentary lapses of reason

1.  Ow.  My back has decided it wants to be in pain for some reason.  I mean, granted, I'm missing a kind of important disc but, really, Mr. Spine?  I'm hoping the cause is from the lovely medicine that is convincing my pancreas to stop being such a helicopter parent about my insulin and release it into my body versus storing it up like some Biblical famine is on the way and only the insulin in my stomach can save us :P.  If it is continued weight loss, I can (someday) get my spine adjusted so it is used to carrying a lighter load and stop trying to have the nonexistent disc help with matters.

2.  I really need some new books to read.  Since I apparently have the self-control of a lemur, I have devoured all...well, let's just say "lots of" books in a new series I found and I need to find something else engrossing that either has multiple books or many, many pages for Mr. Kindle because...

3.  I get go to Alaska to see my grandbabies! (and I need something for the plane ride).  My mother has been incredibly generous and is paying for the Spousal Unit and I to go to Alaska with her and see our grandchildren for the first time.  The SU got to see Rylie for a few hours when she was a baby but she is just over two years old now and we haven't seen Emery in person ever.  So very excited to love on grandbabies in a little over a month.  I would do a happy dance but did I mention "ow"?  Would y'all settle for a fist pump instead?

4.  How do my cats shed so much and not end up naked?  I would get them shaved again but Arkansas requires they have tags and up-to-date shots and (a) they are almost eleven years old, (b) it would cost $250 to get what is required *before* I could even get them shaved and (c) carting 30+ pounds of cats in carriers down flights of stairs to the vet and back again just doesn't seem work the entertainment value of watching them adjust to their shaved selves once more.  The Spousal Unit keeps making noises about Valium and an electric razor, though...

Munchkin after we had her shaved the first time:  "Aaaack!  You're one of those people who thinks it's funny to take pictures of people in the shower, aren't you?"

Grace after her initial shave:  "I hate you...but you're petting me so I will let you live."

Life ate my brain

I have had a post percolating in the back of my head since the Beth Moore event (which starts the thread) through these last 2-2.5 weeks with the Spousal Unit being ill and then needing surgery and various occurances in between. But...exhausted (also a theme) and brain hurty now. I'm hoping I can marshal my neurons into something approximating intelligent thought and/or the English language maybe by tomorrow (c'mon sleep!). But for now, there will be another Project 365 post coming your way :).

To The Cats

Dear Felines,

If you could manage to time the, er, occasional re-visitation of your morning meal a little better, it would be greatly appreciated.  See, when you do it after the Spousal Unit leaves?  That means I’m stuck dealing with it and you both know Mommy’s gag reflex is on high alert at times like that.  Not to mention you both choose while I’m on my knees blotting up the Resolve Pet Stain to come around and rub up all over me as if “See, Mommy, we’re sorry!  We really love you!  Kisses!” is honestly going to help at that point.  Besides, I think the meaning loses a little something when you go over the coffee table and express your deep, undying devotion to it next.  Consider that a small hint for you.  So while you’re off telling the coffee table, the couch, and the DVD player how much you love them too, just know that Mommy is fantasizing about kitty throw rugs.

If you do it before Daddy heads out the door, he will clean up the mess which is good for Mommy.  Also, you know better than to try and tell him how much you love him right then.  You both have the good sense to wait until he is done moaning, calling you names and threatening you with an introduction to the food chain before you try and butter him up with the big eyes and the pink noses that promise never to commit such an atrocity again (hah!).

We don’t ask for much.  Neither of you have ever had to work a day in your life.  Indolence is your credo.  Yes, we shaved you both once (and it was really funny) but we’re the ones that keep you in water and kibble.  Truth be told, when we go shopping and I pick up a bag of your food, Daddy is the one that asks if we have to keep feeding you.

So, please, think of Mommy.  Remember, she has the kitty treats and you have no thumbs.

Bullet Point Day

I've been seeing people doing "Wordless Wednesday" or "Thankful Thursday" but I find I just can't be that alliterative so I'm having Bullet Point Day today!

• There is a notion floating around at work to make me full-time.  My boss has brought it up before a few times and I told her I'd be amenable to discussing the option if it came about and today I was apparently on the meeting agenda.  It's not set in stone if it's going to happen but it's out there and I'm trying to determine how I feel about it.  I have worked full-time for decades; heck, before I was sixteen.  And it's not like we couldn't use the money from when God had us open a coffee shop.  But this is the first time I have ever worked part-time and I've really enjoyed the freedom and flexibility of such a schedule.  I know I'm putting the cart before the horse in a way; still, it's something to think about as a potential change to the CH/SU household.
• My cat is snoring.  Loudly.  It must have been an awesome game of cup hockey.
• I hate my insurance company.  In medical terms, my body chemistry has gone whacko.  That, along with my PCOS, is causing various and sundry unwanted and unenjoyable effects.  The medicine that looks like it might have the best chance at actually alleviating some of the symptoms and issues is, of course, not covered by my insurance because I do not technically fit under the qualifications for it.  Ergo, I'm having to go the conventional and totally ineffectual routes first to prove they don't work so we can petition the insurance company to try the Best Chance Drug.  In the meantime, I get to enjoy a buffet of side effects like constant neuropathy in my hands and feet, nausea, fatigue and somnolence.
• I want popcorn. I have none. Must fix that soonest.
• QVC must die.  I need to find a way to block QVC from my mom's TV and somehow use my amazing Karnak-like mental powers to spirit her credit card out from her wallet and over to where I live.  I'm pretty sure if her credit card bill doesn't contain a comma in it, she gets a get well card from the channel.  Granted, she ships most of it back every month, but still...
• I hate my ovaries.  That is all.
• Oooooo!  Chocolate milk!  Chocolate milk makes everything better.

Doesn't quite do what it says on the label

Another semester is down and it's time to start dealing with my college's contenders for graduation in the Spring 2011 semester. I keep all the applicants' names on a spreadsheet. If I don't have a copy of their department's degree plan yet (DP), I have an asterisk next to their name; also means I don't have a file built for them yet. This is important for playing along with the home version :P.

I come in this morning, thinking I'll get started on the apps this morning. I have my weekly latte with me and coffee often lulls me into a false sense of security regarding my intelligence. So, feeling somewhat smart, I grab my spreadsheet and very carefully start wending my way through looking for the files I do have...until my brain grabs me by the back of my collar and has the following conversation with me (my brain will be playing the role of, well, Brain. I, apparently, have been cast as Pinky):

Brain:: Um...'scuse me? Remember the asterisks on this list?
Me: Yes, Brain. I see them right there.
Brain:: This means what?
Me: That I don't have their DP yet.
Brain (ever so patiently): Aaaaaand?
Me: WHAT? *light dawns* Ohhhhh....and that I...don't...have a file yet.
Brain: Exactly. So why don't you just pick up all the files and take them to your desk? Honestly, I don't know why I let you get coffee this morning.
Me: *meekly picks up files* So what are we doing tomorrow, Brain?
Brain: I'm going to try to take over the world. You...not so much.

Coffee. It promises so much yet delivers so little :P.

"Silent" Monks Singing Hallelujah

I saw this video on another site and thought it was really cute :).  The "story" is that these monks have taken a vow of silence but have found themselves caught in a quandry:  the Bible says to make a joyful noise unto the Lord.  How do they do that without violating their vows?  This video is the "monks" on tour with their solution.  (This is a thing that apparently made the rounds of several churches' and schools' Christmas services/concerts a few years ago but these kids seemed to be having the most joy with it.)

Despicable Me

It's so fluffy!

(and I still have another week off from work!  Fear...)

Post-Thanksgiving Moments of Sloth and Momentary Lapses of Reason

1. I managed to avoid any Walmart Black Friday shoppers by doing my grocery shopping about 10 am today. Yay for uncrowded aisles.

2. Kindles are of the good. Unlimited funds with which to load the Kindle would be even better (or "would be Harlan" if you are a Stargate SG-1 fanatic. Komtraya!).

3.  Spending the entire day (minus the trip to the store) in your jammies, taking an early morning and late afternoon nap with your husband, and eschewing the healthy breakfast for the last bit of Captain Crunch is made of win!

4. It seems that wearing flannel jammie bottoms, socks and sitting in a chair with a blanket wrapped around me (and did I mention the socks on my feet?) does not somehow equal to the Spousal Unit that I might be cold. Must remember to check his logic capacitors.

5. Why, oh why, when I see a black lump in the middle of the road with a white stripe on it must I sniff as I drive by juuuuuuuuuuust to make sure that it's a skunk? Because the white stripe and the odiferous stench lingering in my car via the heater vent isn't enough? I just have to be that much extra sure? Pepe le Pew, indeed!

(Note: No skunks were run over during the making of this post. Contents may settle during shipping. Batteries not included.)

Mixed Messages

I was driving to Fresh Market yesterday and saw one of those marquee signs that flashes messages in big red letters every few seconds. The first message was "Be happy with your body!".

The next message was "Get liposuction!"

Errrr.....

Argh.

My sinuses have conspired against me.  They must die.

And the colitis is back which means my sphincter is like Sergeant Schultz:  "You poop no-THINK!"

So, yes.  Picture entirely appropriate today.

Ed Note:  Thank you, God, for the creation of 7-Up, thereby assuring me that I am still only a nominee for the Pukeys and not a winner.

Maximus is not amused

There are some days where it quietly, gently, ever-so-subtly goes to hell. Then there are days where you walk in and the moment you do, the shit misses the fan and hits your face.

This day was just...weird.

I came into work, unlocked the room that needed said service, and then opened up my office to boot up my computer and check whatever e-mails came in overnight from desperate students. But soft! What light on yonder phone blinks? It is my voice mail!

I punch in my code and I hear one of the professors telling me that it's now 11:30 at night and he's going to bed. Would I be so good to call his house at 8 a.m. to wake him up?

There is not enough coffee in the world to make that request make sense. I probably stared at the phone for about thirty seconds thinking, "The hell? No wife? All your alarm clocks were stolen? Did I sleep at a Holiday Inn Express last night?"

The answer to all three questions pretty much being "no", I called, let the phone ring twice and hung up. The professor in question called back to tell me his wife beat me to it.

Yeah.

Then I faxed over new business card requests to our PR office to have them approved. I got a call from the fax-ee telling me that I should scan and e-mail instead since that is free and their fax cartridges cost money.

Ooooookay. So, it's really not a fax. It's just a fax-shaped paperweight?

After that, the Student Who Makes and Cancels Appointments called to set up another appointment. It's like my own personal Groundhog Day.

The kicker for the day was when my husband forwarded me an e-mail with a letter attached. This letter was from a New York law office and told us that we must immediately (a) change the name of our coffee shop and (b) immediately desist from offering live music under our current name or they're going to sue us. Apparently, a 40 seat coffee house in the South is competition for a club in New York. The mind, she boggles. The eyes, they roll. The check, it goes to the lawyer.

Now I'm going to make a rather LARGE drink and hope that I don't choke on an ice cube or slip on a banana peel or something that would really make the day complete.