I'm just sayin'.
July 2005 Archives
I got another bike. It's not a new bike, not new by far, and it in no way replaces the one that was stolen. I didn't realize how good the other one was until I got onto this pitiful excuse for a bicycle.
It's a Huffy, so that should explain most of it. No CrapMart brand anything is going to be that great.
It's smaller than my last one, so I feel like my knee is going to smack the handle bars. The seat doesn't go up far enough. One of the gears doest play nicely with others. The brakes require actual arm muscles to squeeze them. The seat is not gel. The color is kinda purple, but more of a magenta that completely clashes with my helmet.
It was free, so I shouldn't complain too much. But I'm on the hunt for a better bike. I hope I can get another nice one at a garage sale.
I'm sitting* in a bookkeeping crash course, something I never liked. Numbers, I like. Numbers are nice and concrete-sequential, just like code. But I prefer to do exciting things with numbers, like derivatives and integrals and balancing chemical equations. Hunting for missing pennies in a non-profit budget? Not my bag, baby.
The bookkeeper tried to pump us up and bribe us with a while lot of cheap chocolate and noisemakers, and I admit I was excited by all the shiny things, but in all reality it is still just pages and pages of figures. I know it's a great idea to have the staff aware of the organization's financial positions, but gosh. How do people do this all day long.
Oh man I cannot stop eating this choco-flavored wax. It's gross; I can feel it coating my unsavory body parts with more blubber.
I think I was just given an assignment. "Valette will give a presentation on that, since she would have the best ideas. It's not something I am going to mandate, instead it will be something that is decided by Valette." I feel like George from Seinfeld, plugging along in a job where I don't know was is expected from me. Perhaps I should pay a bit more attention.
* This was written during the meeting and typed afterwards. You really think I could get away with being on a computer-like device during a meeting?
Alaskan boy scout leaders were electrocuted in a horrific accident yesterday, and all I can think of is a joke about Alaskans not being used to this newfangled 'electricity' stuff.
Which makes me feel ashamed, because four men are dead.
Inspired by Laura, this is a picture of my office first thing Monday morning. With notes! So click on the picture!
I try to spend the last half hour of each Friday tidying up so I have a clean slate Monday mornings, but last Friday the staff got the afternoon off. Can't argue with that.
Plus I think I'm on a sleep deprivation high this morning as I only got three hours of sleep and I haven't had even one drop of caffeine. However, talk to me at 2pm. We'll see how the rest of the day goes.
There was a time where I dreamed about her very often. At first she was the main focus of a dream as my subconscious tried time and time again to save her. I would drive in circles looking for the hospital as she bled next to me, I would stand between her and imminent danger, I would watch again and again as I could not save her.
More time went on and she slid into the background of many of my dreams. She wasn't the main focus, but she was still there watching and waiting. I still needed her to be present, a silent partner, to be there while I worked through other issues.
She is not in my dreams much anymore, a sign of my healing grief.
I've been trying all day to recover from last night's dream. The song on the radio, the softball pitcher practicing at a nearby field, little things are pointing me in her direction, towards he absence in this world.
I can still feel my arms around her, can still feel her head on my shoulder, still feel the need to protect her. I still don't want to let go.
I just discovered that my bicycle was stolen last night.
It was definitely there at 8pm, and definitely not there at 2pm today. My landlord found the cut lock while mowing the lawn this morning and figured we already knew the bike was gone. This is the second bike stolen from the apartment here, our third bike ever stolen. Goodbye sweet gel seat.
All of which is making me incredibly depressed. This whole 'exercise' thing is just not worth it, apparently.
Also, why couldn't I find anyone to talk smack with me at the parade and street fair today? Instead of making fun of the tourists and their mid-summer parkas I stood quietly with my camera. Note to self: record sounds for camera to talk trash.
I just finished my last follow-up visit with my OB/GYN (I have my own OB/GYN! How adult is that!) regarding my ectopic pregnancy a few months ago.
In the middle of the visit, she suddenly burst out with, "I saw you in the paper! And I saw your website! That's so great!" She was impressed that I had chosen to write about my pregnancy here. My OB/GYN read my website!
Everything is a-okay, and you have no idea how happy I am to have a normal day of cramps ahead of me today.
Sitting at a stop light on my lunch hour a man on a riding lawn mower pulls up on my right, also waiting for the light to turn. He is in his mid-70s, maybe, and seems like he is enjoying the sunny afternoon.
He turns his head towards me, grins a large life-loving grin, and proceeds across the intersection when the light turns green.
All while eating from a very large bag of popcorn.
The archives should be a bit more helpful!
The yearly archive pages list each entry by their title.
Actually, I don't know if this is really more helpful or not.
I've never been accused of being a girly girl. I am definitely girlier than most of my family (most, not all), but that really isn't saying much. I wear makeup less than ten times a year; I do not brush my hair every day; I poke dead animals with sticks; I spit; I pick my nose; I eat it.
The girliest activities I partake of are painting my toenails, planting a garden, and shaving my legs when B complains of rug burn. And the whole menstruating thing, guess I should count that.
Things that gross out or frighten other girls do not bother me. Getting a truck stuck? Cleaning a fish? Petting a snake? Chasing a wasp? Mouse in the house? Jellyfish in your eye? Skinning a black bear? Bring it. I will roll my eyes far into my head at your squeamishness and throw accusations at your "so-called" Alaskan citizenship.
But. I have met my match.
B calls it a junebug, but this thing looks nothing like the pictures my internet has shared with me. Oh no. This thing, it is not of this world, not of our Lord's creation. It has these... talons. Yes, that must be what they are. Large Talons that curl in front of their bodies while they wreak havoc on our peaceful little planet.
The depths of Hell hath rejected it, and thrown it into my path to convert me into a GIRL who hides behind the couch screaming at B to GET IT GET IT DAMMIT I AM SO SERIOUS GET IT.
I have goosebumps just thinking about it.
It buzzed in my ear a bit, sounded like any other peaceful, nature-loving bug or bee. But then, THEN, he had to say it. "Oh look, a junebug."
I jumped out of that chair and behind the couch faster than B could turn a page in his book while the Bug Of Hades fell down behind the speaker in the corner. I commenced with the yelling while B looked behind the speaker and proclaimed he "saw nothing."
Safe behind the couch, I made him move the chair and the speaker so that he could get it because he was not taking me seriously, and I would totally take the dog and move, leave him to fend for himself against The Bug With Large Talons. Our wedding vows said nothing about my having to put up with The Bug With Large Talons.
He sicced Lacey on it, and before I could let loose a wail of terror and grief she had drowned the thing with her slobber. It took a few more tries, but she finally pierced its heavy armor and swallowed it in two pieces.
Reason #532 to own a dog: protection from The Bug With Large Talons.
Karen at the coffee shop pretending to be Valette writing a blog entry:
"So I went to the coffee shop across the street and saw a coworker and her friend. They were pretty boring, but then they are a lot older than me. I'm so glad I still have my youthful good looks."
Now that I am The Famous Fairbanks Blogger, I need an I'm Blogging This shirt.
Look, Mom! My cleavage made the front page of the newspaper!
A reporter came to my apartment Saturday afternoon and interviewed me for a local spotlight on my website. How she got her editors to go for that, I have no idea. But she sent a photographer over on Sunday, and it actually made it into today's paper, so it must be true.
The woman at Safeway this morning asked if I really wanted to buy five newspapers. Really? All five of them?
When I insisted, she looked at me, really looked at me for the first time, and asked, "Are you the blogger?" I smiled and nodded my head.
I uploaded a scan of the article for all to read. Ms. Hart did get one detail wrong: Melissa's boyfriend survived the accident. Mom, rest assured your copy is in the mail.
My coworkers won't shut up about it, and one volunteer even insisted that I autograph his copy. One volunteer has decided to call me Bloggy McNerd. Can you just feel the love?
Considering the possibility of the mess, the kinetic energy of the mess one could say, I am surprised it wasn't worse. And that it didn't happen sooner.
If it wasn't for my greed, tilting the bowl towards me to lick the rim of from-scratch brownie batter, I wouldn't have gotten chocolate all over my tank top.
But if it wasn't for my greed I wouldn't have licked the bowl rim full of from-scratch brownie batter. Can't beat that.
Last night the sun was shining, the weather was slightly uncomfortably warm (nearing the 70s, in other words), the lasagna took for-freaking-ever to cook, and I just had a ton of stuff dumped on me at work.
I needed to get out, I needed to drive, and I needed to drive fast.
With my windows all open and my iPod blasting through my speakers I headed out of town. Too soon to fully enjoy the wind, yet too late to turn around, I remembered that Alaska doesn't, in fact, have a 'summer.' What other states call 'summer' we call 'construction'.
I was halted by a the sound of large trucks, the sight of flaggers in orange, and the smell of tar and asphalt. Mmm. Tar.
Completely put a kink in my groove.
After exiting the maze of orange safety cones I briefly pondered how far towards the Canadian border I could get in one night. I probably would have wussed out around Delta, being without my spouse or dog or any other sort of company besides my MP3s.
One of the things I did this past weekend was poke around in my weblog archives, somewhat because I realized I had missed my four year blogiversary but mainly because I was lonely and the dog couldn't care as long as she has fuzzy pillows upon which to sleep.
Four years ago, I was 20. I suffered from insomnia, apparently, but mostly I had no job and no classes to skip and nothing to do and no one to see and no car to use and a new husband who worked extremely long hours and was depressed from lack of human interaction. What better reason to start a blog?
But also, four years ago, I was a woman who still had a living, breathing sister. A sister who would call me in the middle of the night because a party had gone suddenly wrong, her boyfriend was an ass, or she missed me.More...
Right, the purse. Made from a pair of jeans I bought at a garage sale last summer but hated that it didn't have back pockets, so I never wore them. Much nicer as a purse.
The two flaps up front were the hem of the leg and now cover actual pockets. It has a lining and everything! The handle was half of the waistband. The rest of the purse uses the wrong side of the fabric because the stripes are raised, and I love how it feels.
Bow in awe of her mad skillz!
Why yes, I did actually scrub my bathtub this weekend. Nothing screams God Bless America! like a sparkly clean bathroom.
Thanks for asking.
But I also stayed up way too late giggling with Steve, went garage saleing with two coworkers, rented a few movies that I can never convince anyone to watch with me, sewed a purse, and cooked exotic meals B refuses to eat such as orzo salad, vegetarian lasagna, and salmon.
This weekend has taught me that I should listen more to my friends' movie preferences, I need to spend more time with my friend 3am, B is a freak for not liking salmon, and, more importantly, I can survive a few days without personal, face-to-face human interaction.
Yes, I really have nothing better to do than play with silly memes.
If you really must know what each and every item is, you can click on the image to read my notes.
What's in your bag?
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