September 2005 Archives
September 30, 2005
I just got a medical bill in the mail, and under "Explanation of Activity" is listed:
POS: 3 OFFICE VISIT, EST, V RAGLAND
POS: 3 SMEAR, STAIN & INTERPRET, WET PRE
Now, isn't that quite possibly the most disgusting explanation they could have used? It was a routine gynological checkup; could they have not called it something less icky?
Suggestions inspired by my email spam filter:
AWKWARD WOOWOO CONVERSATION
A GREAT SMILE WILL GET YOU ALL THE ATTENTION
RIDING THE STIRRUPS LONG AND HARD
DONT EXPOSE YOUR INTIMATE LIFE
GIRL ON GIRL H0TT LE5B0 ACTION
FILL UP YOUR GIRLFRIEND WITH PAIN
AS SEEN ON SEX AND THE CITY
September 30, 2005
Submissions are open for this year's Boobie-Thon, and the photo page should open tomorrow. Please consider participating with your beautiful bosom or your wonderful wallet.
I may or may not be participating this year. My husband would kill me and my mother might keel over dead if I told you I was participating. So I won't tell you.
But it's a good cause, plus boobies!
Who doesn't like boobies!?
September 29, 2005
You spin me right round, baby / Right round like a record, baby / Right round round round
How often, would you think, that thus song is played on the radio? Judging by the selection in my fair (and snowy) town tonight, it comes on three times a night! Dead or Alive every night!
Yeah, I got nothin'.
September 28, 2005
snowflakes are falling
right at this very second
they are not sticking
September 28, 2005
Before I left work yesterday I tried to stop thinking about the newsletter snafu and went about updating two computers' anti-virus software. The decree had come from on high to use Norton Internet Security, so I paid for and downloaded the installer. The installer was being saved to a network location so that it would only need to be downloaded once for the entire office.
Except the computer that was downloading the installer is still, for various reasons, running Windows 98. The system decided to crash just as the downloaded installer reached 99%. I forced a restart and decided to use the other machine I was updating, using Windows XP, to download the installer and save to the desktop. It was then 5 o'clock and I went home, planning on installing the program first thing this morning
And now, the installer that was saved to the network location (the one that wasn't fully downloaded) is some kind of FUBAR such that when one merely clicks on its icon in Windows Explorer using any networked computer, the entire computer freezes.
I have tried everything save deleting it with DOS, but that will need to wait until the network resource is not being used by the entire staff and volunteers. I do not want to risk that station freezing while 15 people are still connected to it.
Meanwhile, a co-worker who has been trained as a therapist has loaned me a sign. Let it serve as a warning to others.
September 27, 2005
As the editor of our organization's bi-monthly (cough) newsletter, I cannot sing the wonders of Flickr and their Creative Commons photographs. Need a picture of a dog sitting on a car? No problem. People praying? Sure! A homeless person? Oh you bet!
Also, as the editor of our organization's bi-monthly newsletter, I cannot stress the importance of getting a proof from the printer. Otherwise the original that the editor incorrectly laid out will get printed ten thousand times precisely like the incorrect original, causing much grief and forehead slapping and shameful blushing.
September 26, 2005
Note to Self:
It is a great idea to ask questions during staff meetings, especially clarification questions. You just might find out about a lot of work you have to. Work that was decided without you. Work that had not been mentioned to you before you ask said clarifying question.
September 23, 2005
My husband just threw a wet bar of soap at me.
A bar of soap that I got from the under-sink cabinet, unwarpped, and handed to him.
I knew it was coming, so I had stepped out into the hallway to avoid said bar of soap. I knew it was coming because he threatened to throw it, and I had responded with a dare. A double dog dare.
He threatened to throw it because I had turned off the light and left the bathroom door open such that the temerature dropped noticeably.
Which I had done because he smeared soap all over my forehead when I leaned in to kiss him after delivering said bar of soap.
The only recourse? To hide his coffee.
How long until he discovers it?
September 23, 2005
I spent last night with a giant need to Do Something. Preferably something to honor my sister's memory (meaning something borderline illegal or stupid but loads of fun), but just about anything would have sufficed.
The only problem was that my partners in crime were unavailable. They were either at welding class, their phone was disconnected, or they up and moved to California. Which is quite inconsiderate, wouldn't you agree?
We were out of bread at our apartment, something that normally wouldn't have bugged me but for the toasted PB&Js I had missed out on earlier that day. So I went out and Did Something: I went to the store for bread, hair ties, and ice cream.
Yes, I honored Melissa's memory by eating ice cream and chatting on the computer. I would have honored her further had I started three IM conversations and then ignored them as I walked into the other room and watched a movie.
I never was any good at that.
September 22, 2005
It has been three years since your accident, over one thousand days since I have seen your smile and heard your laugh. And while you have not been as regular in my dreams as you have in the past, you are still there.
And while I do not miss you through my tears every night, and while I do not ask God why, why, why every night, I still wonder the reason for your death. I still miss you.
I still tear up when I visit your grave even though, or perhaps because, I know you are not really there. I still tear up when a character in a movie or a book loses a loved one. I still tear up when I remember being late to see you before you flew to Minnesota. I still tear up when I miss you.
But more often I balance those tears with laughter. the time we broke the seat in Mom's car when driving B to Seward. The time my friend Matt had a huge crush on you. The times I compared your 5th grade height to that of my 8th grade classmate. The races we had on four wheelers, races you always won because I always let you have the better, faster machine.
And I think that is how you would have it. Laughter among the tears. And then you would tell me that my makeup looked horrible, and everything would be okay.
And you know what? I think everything will be okay.
Always your big sister,
September 21, 2005
I've told you stories about other siblings as they became pressured into blogging. Now is time for a story about John.
John is the second oldest of my siblings, and as such is twelve years my senior. Like a senior citizen. Meaning OLD. He also has a afro he refuses to cut. But this story is not about his hair; it is about his glasses. And the fishing boat. Now all of my family members know what story is coming.
I was very young, too young to be doing anything on the boat other than playing and being adorable. Five years old, maybe six. Which puts him in the last years of high school, 17 or 18.
And he was picking on me relentlessly. Teasing me, calling me names, tickling me, poking me, hanging me from the boom. My mother told him at one point to stop it or he would deserve whatever he got.
I've had to combine different accounts of this story because I was so young I do not remember all the details.
I was six, you see. Five, maybe. But what I do remember with crystal clarity was the feelings of anger and frustration and the need to make him stop.
I turned around and, right outside the cabin door, slapped him as hard as I could.
I was young and not very strong, but I had grown up tough. Being the fifth child after a gaggle of boys, you learn to be tough. Even though I was not strong, I was accurate. A smaller person can overcome a larger person if she places her attacks precisely.
And precisely is just how I slapped him. My hand made contact with his face and his glasses, his glasses they flew.
Off his face, over the side of the boat, and into the water. Where they promptly sunk with a satisfying bloob-loob-loop sound. After which I only remember silence from his stunned face and my mother saying that she had told him so.
September 20, 2005
This day just gets better and better!
Everyone watch Valette's stress meter peak!
September 20, 2005
I am grumpy this morning because I had to wake up much earlier than deemed healthy so that my husband could drive me to my office before going to his shop a half hour before his shop opens for business.
Do not ask why he has to be at work so damned early, he just does and could not possibly get there any later. Asking such a thing while in a grumpy mood might cause him to develop grumpiness.
I had to get a ride to work because my car is in the shop getting body work done. Body work that needs to be done because some idiot smashed into the side of my car while it was parked most happily in my apartment parking lot Friday night, sleeping as God intended.
Said idiot did not stick around to claim responsibility, nor did said idiot leave a note. None of the other apartment dwellers saw or heard anything resembling my car being crushed by a larger car. Which is amazing, because the impact was large enough to move my car's rear tires six whole inches.
I filed a report with the police and a claim with my insurance company; yay for full coverage. But even so, I am grumpy.
September 19, 2005
I have a mix CD that I made up for the Metafilter swap that keeps getting postponed. Like the last times I made a CD, I want to offer this mix to anyone who might be interested. If you want a CD, email me by the end of the week with your address.
If you would really rather download the songs instead of getting a hand-crafted compact disk in your mail box, that might just be possible. I'll even include the liner notes so you don't feel left out.
September 17, 2005
April 7, 1995
When you get this letter, I expect that you have been through High School (with Honors) and either in college, or out of college. Right now, it is the end of my eighth grade year -- I am 14. My ambitions are to go to Medical school, achieve my MD, and set up a pediatric clinic in Homer, Alaska. I also plan to be married with children. How much of that have you completed? I'm not going to say that you should drive a red porsch, or have a hampster named Fluffy. But, a porsch would be nice. (hint, hint)
I have a very close relationship with my family. If you have drifted away, please take my advice and straighten everything out.
Keep in touch with Sarah & Holly. If you haven't, write to them.
Peace, Love, Happiness
My junior high advanced studies teacher had us write these letters to our future selves. She saved them for ten years, and I got mine today. I had wondered about this letter perhaps six months ago, but had since forgotten about it. My fourteen-year-old self was bossy, confident, and refused to capitalize Porsche.
I remember when writing this that I could not visualize exactly how old I would be in 2005, so I wrote a bunch of generalizations. Perhaps I should get a hamster and name it Fluffy.
September 16, 2005
The policeman looked to the sky for inspiration, coughed to clear his throat.
"A good woman," he said, "is like a good she goat. She is beautiful, graceful, forgiving, abundant, and fertile. She is a good companion and abolishes solitude. Farides is beautiful, graceful, forgiving, and she has already abolished the solitude of Profesor Luis. Only time and activity will tell if she is fertile." He winked slyly, and the people cheered bawdily. The policeman held up his hand for silence. "And a good man," he continued, "is like a good he goat. He is handsome, noble, protective, and fertile. He also is a good companion and abolishes solitude. Profesor Luis is all these things, but only time will tell if he, too, is fertile! May I take this opportunity to wish you both all of the energy you will need to find out if this is so!" The people cheered again, and once more the policeman raised his hand.
"A good couple is like good music. The be good, it must be female and full of grace and tenderness, but it also must be male and full of strength and will. Then you will have true duende and true saudade. In Profesor Luis I see machismo, and in Farides I see gracia. May they always make sweet music together!"
Chapter 28, "The Battle of Chiriguaná," of Louis de Bernières' The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts
September 15, 2005
Do some people really believe that everyone around them is following along with their own internal monologue? Either you know the kind of person I mean, or you are the kind.
The kind of person who emails a one line, "I think it's a great idea," with an ambiguous subject line. Or the kind of person who calls and says, right off the bat, "So what did you think about doing that there?" Um, about what? And doing it where?
I admit that I have done this on occasion. Once or, possibly, twice. But when met with a blank stare I realize my folly and rush to fill in the blanks Mad Libs style.
But these people never seem phased that I must ask five questions to pull concrete nouns and verbs from them, nouns and verbs that would have taken little effort to include in their original sentence. Nouns and verbs that are obvious to one person only.
Perhaps these are the people who use the word obviously in debates and discussions (a word I have used nine whole times [too many] on my blog).
September 13, 2005
To make up for the broken internet yesterday, I spent a ton of time going through the photos I took while in Homer. And since I know the internet is dying to see how I spent my pre-pubescent summers, I uploaded a gallery of my father's commercial fishing boat.
I have so many stories associated with this fishing boat, I hardly know where to start. So I won't start. I just want you to imagine four teenage boys, two young girls, and two parents sharing this tiny space for five days every week of every summer (we came to shore for church and more food every weekend), trying to pull in as many salmon as possible.
Also, please keep in mind that the last time we fished as a family was in 1993, and it has not seen much use since. This boat has not been even started in over a year.
September 11, 2005
At my mother's birthday party:
Sister-In-Law 1: Did you read about the Importance of Wearing Underwear? That email I sent?
SIL1's mom: Oh yes, that gave me a good chuckle.
Mother: No, I don't think so. What was it about?
SIL1: Maybe I didn't send it to you. Someone else will have to tell it as I am conveniently going to do something far over there.
Mother looks at SIL2.
Mother looks at Brother 2.
Brother 2 blinks.
Mother looks at Valette.
Valette blinks and clears throat.
SIL1's mom tells the story rather tactfully, using fewer nouns that previously thought possible.
SIL2 and Valette sigh in unison, grateful to have not offended Mother's delicate sensibilities.
SIL1's mom: See, clean jokes can be funny too.
Brother 2: Wow. And you didn't even say the word 'GONADS.'
September 10, 2005
If you or a loved one wears a boulder-holder (aka tit-slinger, aka brassiere) for any business / recreational / everyday purposes, I cannot stress nearly enough the need to get those puppies measured and fondled by a cute woman with an Eastern European or Russian accent who has been trained in such delicate matters.
I'm not talking about the sleazy broad flipping through a magazine behind the counter at your local adult entertainment store, with whom you should not be on a first-name basis. She may feel you up, but I guarantee you would not like it.
I mean a reputable place of style and class, where attendants do not wear carhearts or plaid hunting hats. Places that are very, very, extremely difficult to find in Alaska.
I found my cute Russian
wife lingerie attendant at Nordstrom's.
Not only did we engage in a bit of bondage in the far back dressing room with her measuring tape, but I also found out that I was wearing the wrong size, a trait that I not only knew about but also a trait I share with most other women.
Most likely, the bra you wear is too large of a band size and too small of a cup size. The majority of the weight should be supported by the band, not the straps. If your straps dig into your shoulders, or if your underwire does not sit flush against your side (behind the swell of your breast), or if your breasts make your back hurt, then you are wearing the wrong size. Get thee to a lingerie store for immediate assistance.
After determining my proper size within 3.2 seconds of computing time, my cute Russian attendant ran all over the lingerie department for me grabbing different styles and colors and sweet, sweet underpinnings that you could just lick right there on the rack.
They forced me to take five beauties home because I drooled all over them. It put a dent in the budget, but it is more than worth the hefty price to ensure my ta-tas are secured and presentable. And now I can have others drool all over me while in them.
Which is the point, n'est pas?
September 9, 2005
While I was in Homer I got to see my father in the hospital. He had just had surgery, where the orthopedic surgeon added to his leg a rod, two plates, thirteen screws, and a squirt of bone paste for good luck.
I was excited to be present for the first dressing change after the surgery. The good doctor explained how nasty the whole thing might be, what with all the oozing and bleeding and weeping and gnashing of teeth, so I made doubly sure to bring my camera. You can imagine the disappointment when I saw how clean everything looked.
These photos are pretty graphic, and I understand if you do not want to look at them. They show a bagajillion staples on his knee, some nasty black bruises, and a few huge impact blisters. He almost passed out while looking at his knee; I absolve myself from an injury incurred to your person or computer if you faint from these photos.
September 8, 2005
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With A Free Set Of Ginsu Knives!
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September 7, 2005
I just got back from a long trip to my homeland for my mother's surprise 60th birthday party. Which should explain the lack of activity around here.
The reason I was hush-hush about it, the reason I did not tell you of my absence, Dear Internet my Love, is that you have a really big mouth and would have blabbed the entire thing to my mother. And I couldn't have that.
- Making my mom cry in front of a whole ton of people
- The Glacier Drive-In being closed on Mondays and missing my chocolate peanutbutter fix (damn you, Sonny)
- Heidi's tiny wiener dog going for Lacey's jugular and my arm getting in the way
- Visiting my dad in the hospital, who was seeing cats in the television
- The staff at Benihanas mangling my name when singing my happy birthday song
- Pretending it was my birthday at Benihanas
- 28.8kbs dial-up intarweb connection
- My dad's Frankenknee
- Getting to second base with the Nordstrom's lingerie sales associate
More details and pictures will be forthcoming, but for now I have to go... "spend some time" with my husband. Meanwhile, my dog caught the blogging bug
while in Anchorage.
September 5, 2005
One more family memeber to add to the list of Infected By Blogging. The internet is no longer safe; look what I started.
September 3, 2005
I'm getting more spam with the new Movable Type 3.2 than I ever had with 3.16 and the SpamLookup plugin. What is the deal??
September 2, 2005
I've been berated for not blogging enough, especially now that my entire family is blogging. But do you really want me to blather on and on here about why I'm not blogging?
Well, I'm not going to tell you.
Ha. Take that.
I will tell you that my garden is tasting yummy, and all the leaves are dying here. And the dog is driving me nuts. And this week is broccoli week on my photolog. And WWF is so fake it's stupid; it's not even amusing in its fakeness. Who chooses those outfits, anyway?
And ... what? What would you like me to talk about? Ask me anything; worst that would happen is that I will answer it.
September 1, 2005
I've had a flood of comment spam that the new MT 3.2 anti-spam features just yawned at and turned the other cheek.
These spam comments were rated with three criteria: IP known as a spam IP? Commenter URL exists on a previously published comment? Commenter email exists on a previously published comment?
Now, because a whole slew of comments got through and published, then each one automatically got a thumbs up on the last two criteria, which completely overrode the first criteria. Good thinking, there.
And it looks like the "trusted" and "banned" commenter feature is only applicable if I used Typekey.
I hope this spam thing doesn't keep me busy this weekend.
September 1, 2005
I had to scrape the frost from my windshield this morning.
I really shouldn't complain; at least I don't have it as bad as some.