Sunday, May 22, 2011

Did it

Well folks, its done.

Prof and I signed the contract, and forked over a non-refundable check to build this house.

Its going to be a 4 month process and in the next two weeks, we have to do a tremendous amount of choosing, paying and mortgage applying. Nothing like not having a break! I finished school on Friday, turning in my last final, then spent 3 hours on Saturday doing paperwork, that is going to lead to more paperwork, that is going to lead to more paperwork... Then, just as school starts again in the fall, we should be ready to move in.

I feel good about our decision - no anxiety, no puking. Just relief that we have made a decision and are moving forward.

And we still haven't celebrated our 2-year anniversary. I think signing the contract might have to suffice.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Here goes everything

Prof and I have an appointment tomorrow at 10am to sign the contract to build our new house.

No, no. Don't worry about me, I've self medicated tonite so I can sleep.

Its good. Its a good location. Its a good lot. Its a great house. And its a huge commitment.

But whatever, I'll have a big front porch and a garage.

In like, 6 months.

More details later. Unless Judgement Day really happens tomorrow. In which case I'll probably have better things to do, like fight zombies and build my bomb shelter.

I'll have to ask our sales rep if the house comes standard with a panic room/bomb shelter, just in case Judgement Day actually happens in 2012, like the Mayans predicted.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Get down with OCB, yeah you know buffet

Two years.

It has been two years since my first date with the Prof and we have yet to celebrate any of our anniversaries (all two of them).

For our first anniversary, we had plans to go to a fancy schmancy dinner in the big city but instead, we both laid on the couch with our snot rags, hacking and coughing and being generally miserable. I bought a fancy sexy shirt and everything, and never got to wear it.

Today is our second anniversary and oh boy, did we do it up.

At Old Country Buffet.

That's right, you heard me. Old Country Buffet, a tacky, horrific smorgasbord that adds so much salt, fat and bacon to even the vegetables that it is nearly impossible to eat anything there, unless your taste buds died decades ago. And from the average age of the people in the place (90), that's exactly what happened. Keep eating there old ladies, and you aren't going to live to experience their special Thanksgiving buffet.

Why were two vegetarians at Old Country Buffet at 2:30 pm on a Sunday, you ask? Well, its a long complicated story, but it begins with my mother's 60th birthday and ends with a stomachache. You can't ignore your mother's 60th birthday, even if its your anniversary. Even if it involves Old Country Buffet and intestinal distress. You just can't. And so, we didn't.

My mom's boyfriend started it, and I had a shit fit when he said Old Country Buffet, but I'm too busy to do anything about it right now, and I don't have a house where I can host lots of people so my hands were tied. I called family members to invite them, apologetically, to the place. And then looked forward to it all week (you know, the same way you look forward to pap smears).

I tried to focus on the fact that my mom doesn't care its Old Country Buffet, but she was going to be so happy to see all of us there to celebrate her, and she deserves to be celebrated. She does so much for so many other people and gets so little for herself, so I really did a good job on focusing on her happiness rather than the jello salad.

And she was happy and nearly cried when she saw us all there (did I mention how difficult a surprise party at OCB is? Jeezus). And she got food, and presents and cake and we sang and it was awesome. For her.

So Prof and I will have to have our celebration another day, although he did point out to me that we did do something special. We picked up the house contract from the sales rep so we could review it and let our lawyer review it. And, we took mom to the lot we've selected so she could see it. I think that made her day. Our day will have to be made some other day.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Playing Catch Up

As life gets more complicated and busy, I've had a really hard time keeping up with my girlfriends. Phone dates with my far away friends took a hit when Prof moved in - I bitched about my day to him every day, instead of calling someone and chatting. By the time I'm done talking to him, I'm usually talked out (hard to believe, yes, I know). And then, the new driving while cell-phoning ban went into effect. I used to get some really good chatting time in while driving between work and home and school, the cell phone ban has left me alone and quiet in the car. I've tried two different hands free devices but they both suck ass. I've got a headphone that keeps falling out of my ear, and a speaker thing that no one can hear me on because the road noise from my car is so bad (mostly due to the roof rack which I'm way to lazy to take off).

Less phone time and less time for trips and special events has cut me off from a lot of my friends. And it sucks.

And this weekend, I'm turning it around!

I caught up on some phone calls late last week. Well, until the cell phone died. Time for an iPhone?

Today, I went to lunch with two friends who were in town who I haven't seen in over a year. One lives in Alaska now, so I never get to see or hear from her (I hear WiFi is limited in Alaska's back country.) We got there a little after 12. We left at 4. I don't think I've ever had a four hour lunch in my whole life, and it was awesome to be able to be able to relax and enjoy their company and catch up on their lives. The waiter may not have enjoyed it as much, but at least we kept ordering stuff.

But, as we were ordering more coffee and peanut butter pie, I had to keep reminding myself that it was ok to be taking time for myself and that its important to be "there" while I was there. I've still got school work on my back, but I was determined to take some time for myself.

I'm topping off my four hour lunch with an overnight visit from Kiwi who is driving through on her way to much better places. We'll stay up late and drink wine and make fun of people and eat bad food and I can't wait. I think Prof is planning to go to bed really, really early. Its in his best interests, really.

But tomorrow, I'm back in the grind. I've got a rough week at work and final school work to finish up. And, maybe a house to buy. May has been a serious marathon and I can't wait for it to slow down, so I have more time for blogging and bitching!

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Struggling to be indifferent

Prof and I have been slowly working out way to signing a contract to build a new house. We aren't in any real hurry (until the homies come out) so we've been taking our time asking questions, considering options, weighing upgrades, adding them in, taking them back out and trying to find a price we are comfortable with. There aren't a whole lot of lots in the place we are looking, and only one that we really like. Its wooded on one side, so we'd only have neighbors on one side, and nobody across the street.

Well, its a pretty popular lot, given those things. And today we found out that someone else has put a contract in on it.

We knew this was a possibility, and we've still been taking out time, not wanting to rush into anything and regret it later. But now I feel this horrible feeling inside my stomach. Despite trying very, very hard to not get attached, I might not have been successful. I felt like that lot belonged to us - but of course, it doesn't.

I'm a bit miffed with the sales rep for not telling us before hand. Maybe we would have hurried up on our decision. Maybe we wouldn't have.

The lot wasn't perfect - as we looked harder and harder, we found lots of flaws. Like, its really close to the railroad (within 500') - a railroad that blows its horn several times between 10pm and 4am. The woods next to it are also owned by someone else - they aren't protected or preserved in any way. Any day, the owner could decide to come in, clear cut the trees and build something super-ugly and/or noisy. That would suck.

So I'm confused about what to do and how to feel. Its hard to want to continue on with a house purchase in this market when you don't 100% love the lot you are buying.

So, I start off the week with a disappointment.

Here's a picture for you so you can share my disappointment too. The woods would have been to the left of the front porch, so I could sit there and sip my beer and chill to the sounds of birds. Or chainsaws.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Whatchu Talking about, Will(i)s?

I now have a will. And one of those documents that says if I'm in a coma, somebody better damn well pull the plug. And of course, I had to designate someone to pull the plug. And for the first time in my life, that person is not my mother - its the Prof.

And he's got reason to pull the plug, since he is now the sole beneficiary of my estate, for what its worth. Hey man, I've got a townhouse, a VW with 216,000 miles and 2 decrepit cats. He's set for life!

I'm not a big overthinker. If I was, I think I would have been having panic attacks this morning while we were signing the paperwork. It makes sense. We aren't married, but our lives are now completed intertwined and he's got no legal right to my house of my stuff without the will. Its even more important though as we talk about buying that big old house. We both need to be protected financially if something happens. Last week, we both changed the beneficiary on our life insurance, and I actually upped mine to a level that would pay off most of the big new house, should we decide to get it. If we don't get it, and I get run over by a bus sometime soon, Prof is going to be able to lead a life he never thought possible. But I'm sure he will miss me forever and ever and ever and donate all that cash to a worthy cause and live the rest of his life as a hermit wondering what he could have done to prevent my tragic death.

Or, he could just find a hot grad student and spend my money on her.

I like the first scenario better though.

I feel like a real adult. We have FILE FOLDERS WITH WILLS IN THEM! And we are going to put a copy in the SAFE DEPOSIT BOX. Who the hell has a safe deposit box, except for your grandma? Well, apparently, we do.

And apparently, nobody else has a will either. In informal polls conducted around the office and at parties (I am SO fun at parties) I've discovered that nobody has a will. N.O.B.O.D.Y.! What the hell people. Suck it up, write some stuff down and notarize it, so your siblings aren't arguing over your wicked awesome vinyl record collection. Or your in-laws aren't arguing over who has to take the kids.

(In order to legitimize this giant house purchase we are getting very close to making, we are now accepting most requests to take care of your kids if you die in a tragic accident, so write that will now before we change our minds. But you'd better leave us enough money in a trust fund to pay for their car, college and the occasional bail.)

The whole thing is totally creepy, but its worth it. Go do it. Get your Will done, and if you don't know who to give your stuff to, just leave it to me and I'll take care of it.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Knick-Knames Challenge

Prof and I have reached a new point in our relationship. No, its not buying a house.

Its nicknames.

He just called me sugar muffin (or something like that). It was a joke, but I had to reprimand him, as no nickname should ever remotely imply the dreaded muffin-top. So he asked me what else he could call me. I don't know why, but when he challenged me to come up with something, my mind went blank except for a weird episode of "hoarders" where rotting gourds of various species were scattered all over the house in varying stages of decay. So, all I could come up with was "smushy pumpkin" (although, now, come to think of it, smushy might also imply muffin-top).

Yes, I am a profoundly strange person.

So, he's given me a choice. I get to tell him one adjective or one noun, and he gets to pick the other part. And I need you to help me come up with a good one. So, if we wanted to stay with the pumpkin theme, I would say "pumpkin" and he would get to choose "smushy" or "smelly" or "snuggly". Or, if I choose "beautiful" he would get to come up with "elbows" or "bum".

So, whatchu got interweb friends? What's a good noun or adjective for my new nickname?

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Resurrection and Resuscitation

I miss blogging and my blogging friends. Even more, I miss having things that I can blog about.

There's only so much whining about being busy and overwhelmed and stressed out that I can do (without adding to my being busy, overwhelmed and stressed out), and while Prof provides me with lots of "aren't boys silly" and "boys sucks at housework" material, it seems patently unfair to him to reveal our mundane everyday relationship details to the world (albeit with a sarcastic and humorous spin).

So what does that leave me with?

Not a whole lot, really, unless you want a picture every week of what comes in our CSA box, or videos of Leroy the cat being an asshole to Arlo the cat.

So, perhaps I need a blog resurrection (see the Easter theme? Pretty clever of me, eh? Wait, is that heresy? Can an atheist even commit heresy? If an atheist commits heresy in the forest, does anyone hear?) Maybe its a resuscitation, rather than a resurrection. I mean, the blog isn't dead - its just in a little coma.

I will tell you a little something that might help it come out of the coma, though I'm not sure what will come of it. I'm going to try therapy again. I've scheduled an appointment with a local therapist. I am both hopeful and cautious - there are still demons in my closet that have never been dealt with, but they are fairly ugly and I think will take a lot of self discipline to face up to. I'm not the best at facing things in my personal life: I'm much more of a swallow it down, keep it hidden, pretend it doesn't exist, kind of person.

Just like my mom. And my grandmom.

Hmm, self discovery already.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Just another manic Sunday

Sunday nights are my least favorite night of the whole week. As soon as I wake up, I start having mild panic attacks about accomplishing every single one of the unrealistic goals I had for myself for the weekend, that of course I haven't started.

This weekend, mine went like this:

  • Take time to relax (ha!)
  • Go on wicked long hike (check)
  • Wailin' Jennys Concert (check, and fucking amazing)
  • Big House hunting adventure (check)
  • Make all dirty laundry magically get cleaned and put away (no check)
  • Weed the garden and plant stuff (no check)
  • Organize a closet. Any closet (no check)
  • Finish all necessary homework (no check)
  • Start packing for Amsterdam (no check)
  • Get new glasses readjusted so they stop making dent in my head (no check)
  • Pack lunch (no check)
  • Pack gym bag (no check)ut
  • Spend quality time with Prof (check)
  • Spend quality time with friends (quasi-check)

I feel this pressure to have everything completely perfect and done in the house on Sunday night, because come Monday, ain't nothing getting done, and its a slow decline into chaos by the end of the week. The more chaotic it starts on Monday morning, the worse and worse it gets through the week. It wasn't always quite this bad - but Prof adds twice the amount of laundry to the mix, and twice as many groceries to buy (no, nix that. Three times as many). He pulls his weight, don't get me wrong, but always falls asleep before the laundry is done. Like now. So, even if I go get it, I can't put it away and I start monday out in chaos.

And this is why I hate sundays. It was like this in 8th grade (I don't WANNA go to school tomorrow), I thought maybe someday I'd be over it. But I'm not.

I don't WANNA go to work tomorrow.

I also don't want to stay home and do laundry. So, I guess I have to put on my big girl pants and go. That is, if my big girl pants are clean.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

House Hunt

I've become obsessed with our house hunt - which is funny really, because its not so much of a hunt anymore as it is deciding to actually DO something about it.

I've been "eh" about every house that has come up for sale in our target area since August, when we put in an offer on one. Good thing we didn't get it, because now that I think about it, I'm pretty "eh" about that house too.

So, a big horrible national company is building 12 new houses down the street from the house we offered on last summer. We've been talking with the sales rep on and off for a while, asking questions, thinking, asking more questions, looking at the plans but I wasn't really ready to decide.

Building a new house is rife with problems, like, it takes forever. And like, you have to pick out every single little detail (ever seen me try to order at a restaurant where I have more than 2 choices? Its not pretty.). And then you have to like, pay for those little details. Particularly when you like the expensive details. And then when you are done, you have a spec home. A spec home that has to be painted and decorated and landscaped and breathed life into.

But shit, let's face it. 98% of the east coast is spec homes. Even my friend's charming downtown house, with hardwood and crown molding and pocket doors was ordered from a Sears catalogue. Most of them have turned out ok.

So I've been going back and forth on this for a while. Do I sell out and build a new home, when there are hundreds of houses sitting there waiting for a new owner? Do I buy a house I don't like that much and spend weekend after weekend after weekend fixing it up?

Then, they dropped the prices by twenty grand.

Hello. Game on. Now the decision isn't really whether to build new, its whether to build the reasonable house, or build the ridiculously too big for two people house (perfect for entertaining!).

I really like the ridiculously too big for two people house...

The sales lady is putting the pressure on; telling us she's got "holds" and contingent contracts on several lots already and that they are going fast. My ass. But, even though I know she's exaggerating (or maybe just flat out lying), I'm starting to get panicky. I mean, there really are only 12 lots; and they have just made it a really, really good deal.

So Sunday, Prof and I are going one more time to look at some models and try to figure out what will work the best for us. And then I guess we might actually start the process, and buy ourselves some fancy new digs.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Update and stuff...

Hi. Remember me? I'm Susan, the girl who used to blog here on a fairly regular basis. But that was before I:
  1. Moved in with a boy (specifically, Prof)
  2. Got saddled with one diabetic cat, and one hyper-thyroid cat. Pill for you. Shot for you. Special food for both. Pill for you. Shot for you. Oh Look! More poo on the floor! I love my kitties.
  3. Decided to take 2 classes, both which require time off from work because the bastards only offered them during the day. The benefit? One of them involves a trip to Amsterdam.
  4. Decided to take weekly time off work to attend said classes during the busiest and most stressful time in my career.
  5. Decided that despite the glut of perfectly good already built homes on the market, we should seriously consider building a new one. This has resulted in obsessive google searches and several daily visits to the online virtual tour plus lots of visits to half built model homes with desperate sales reps.
  6. Started weight watchers online. You wouldn't think that simply tracking the garbage I put in my mouth would be that difficult. Ha! But I have shed 5 pounds in the first month or so!
  7. Stopped exercising. Seriously, I can't tell you the last time I went to spin class, or god forbid, jogged. This has been mostly because of my bum hip, which has been a serious issue of late, but sprinkled with a healthy dose of "I don't feel like it!"
  8. Started DVRing Little House on the Prairie. The simplicity of Pa Ingall's black and white morality coupled with fluffy dresses and the occasional pony (not to mention Nellie Oleson!)... well, it speaks for itself really.
So, that about brings you up to speed. I've had lots of stuff I wanted to rant and rave about (I mean, discuss with you), but I guess it wasn't interesting enough for me to tear myself away from the shenanigans of Laura Ingalls. Now that you are up to speed, perhaps the rants can begin again.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

FTD - F'ing Terrible Deal

If you've been paying attention to the news that really matters, and not all that revolution in Egypt stuff, you would know that this weekend there was a great Groupon Scandal, and I was victimized by it. The deal basically is this: FTD created a special site for its Groupon customers and jacked the prices up, negating the coupon (or worse for some!).

I just joined Groupon a couple weeks ago - its only been recently that they've branched out enough to have deals local enough for me to care about (and still, they aren't really that local, but maybe if I lived nearer to civilization it wouldn't be such a problem). I mostly hit delete everyday - "50% off Waxing!" Uh-uh. I have a live-in boyfriend now - body hair is no longer an issue. "Romantic get-away weekend for only $450." A weekend that costs more than my mortgage? Nah. But then I saw "20 dollars for 40 dollars worth of flowers."

This was 4 days before Valentine's day, and I decided to let the cheap side of me (96%) merge with the sentimental side (4%) and send Prof some flowers at work. I knew there was no way in hell he would expect flowers on Valentine's Day (especially from yours truly), so it seemed extra special for some reason.

It wasn't really extra special, but it was extra expensive.

So, I bought my groupon (specifically for purchases to be delivered on Valentine's Day or before), and immediately headed to FTD to buy my man some not-too-girly and embarrassing flowers. It was early and I wasn't fully caffeinated, so I wasn't really paying attention, but the prices didn't seem quite right. I should have been more suspicious. I mean, what flower company really needs more business on Valentine's Day? It would be like an accountant screaming for more returns to do on April 14.

But, like I said, it was early and I wasn't really thinking.

So, I pick out a decent bouquet of roses and pink tulips enter my Visa info and click on the delivery day. And was promptly told that delivery wasn't available that day. Or Sunday. Or Saturday. The only day my groupon was good for was Friday delivery.

I didn't want Friday delivery. Who sends flowers on Friday? They need to go to the office on Monday, so they sit on your desk for five days and all your friends are jealous. On Friday afternoon, nobody sees your flowers, because they all already went home. Oh and, p.s. when you order flowers on Thursday for delivery on Friday, extra shipping fees apply.

But at this point I was trapped, and fuming, but I had to deal with Friday delivery because I had work to do and couldn't spend time calling FTD and yelling at them.

Prof loved his flowers and they were a big hit with the 3 people that were still in his office Friday afternoon, but I kind of feel like I bought them for myself. Friday flowers have to come home with you for the weekend so you can actually enjoy them before they start dying off. So, we both get to enjoy them, I guess.

What I will really enjoy is the refund FTD is promising. I'm not holding my breath.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Groundhog Day

Punxsutawney Phil is full of shit, and couldn't predict a rainstorm even if he was drowning in his little burrow. Its proven! He's right less than fifty percent of the time (39% according to the National Climatic Data Center). How can even a groundhog be right less than 50% of the time, on a yes/no question?

I don't know if you pay attention to rodent meteorologists, but little Phil didn't see his shadow yesterday. This is supposed to mean that we will have an early spring. A bit hard to believe, considering that Phil's region was having a snowstorm of cataclysmic proportions. And every week, the weekly forecast has little pictures of sleet or snow or freezing rain every few days. Including this weekend.

I've had it. Prof has had it. My friends have had it. The cats have had it. I'm sure you've had it too (unless you are in the southern hemisphere, in which case, can I come for a visit?).

I yearn for the sun. To be able to go for a walk in the woods. To get in my kayak. To roll the windows down in the car. To sit on the deck. To get my hands in the dirt and plant something. To eat fresh basil. Oh basil, how I love you.

There was a small ray of hope today. I walked outside and saw that my crocuses had put up shoots, not unusual since they tend to do this in February every year, but at least it was a small reminder that I'm not going to be this cranky for much longer.

I hope.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Groundhog Poosday

Holy crap people. Last week was a shit-storm and Tuesday was just the beginning. I had so much to write about all week, but was so busy and exhausted and headachy that I couldn't form the words in my head, let alone stare at my computer screen long enough to type them.

Two important things happened: the first is awesome, the second is utter crap. Let's start with the awesome....

I had a migraine for 3 days straight last week (yes, this IS the awesome part. I told you it was a shitty week). The first day I thought it was menstrual. I took a migraine pill, got my ass drugged up, felt better and fell asleep. In the morning, my head felt slightly achy and by the end of the day, I had another rager. Ok, I thought, maybe the headache isn't menstrual, maybe its stress (and there was plenty of that to go around), so I repeated the process. Pill, drugged up, better, sleep. And then, I woke up with an ache. I'd had enough and called my chiropractor for an emergency appointment.

And she fixed me. My neck was out of alignment, she pushed me back into place and within six hours, I was feeling great without the aid of drugs that do god knows what to my central nervous system. Score.

I'm still trying to figure out what the difference is between my headaches that are caused by stress, and those that are caused by my period and those that are caused when I'm out of alignment. But, I'm getting there. Moving forward and finding new ways to deal with the head. Progress is good.

Now the bad. Oh so bad.

Leroy the cat, the poosday shitter, was diagnosed with diabetes. Kitty Diabetes! He's five! Kitty diabetes is a disease that old cats get. Old and fat cats. Leroy is young and fat. Its not fair.

Prof went to the vet with me on Thursday when we took him in for the initial visit, and I was so thankful that he was there. When the vet came back with the test results, I just shut down. I couldn't focus, I couldn't ask insightful scientific questions. I could just nod and say "uh-huh." Prof asked great questions, remembered what the vet said (I didn't), and helped me get over my initial shock.

My house has become a kitty infirmary. Arlo takes a variety of pills a day, and to add another sick cat to the load... well, it made me unhappy. And, diabetes hits pretty close to home. I know he's only a cat, but the whole thing is just so familiar. Cat diabetes is pretty much the same deal as human diabetes, and I know exactly what happens when a human has diabetes. Its not been that long since I haven't had to care for a diabetic human, now I have to care for a diabetic cat. Diet, exercise, glucose levels... its all there, just in a smaller, furrier package, with sharp nails.

I wanted to think about treatment for a while. Was I really ready to give insulin injections two times a day? EVERY DAY?

Selfishly, I immediately started thinking about what that means for us. Shots every 12 hours is no big deal monday through friday, but what about on the weekends? What about when we want to pick up and go to the beach, or go to Maine, or Europe? Throwing some food and water in a bowl and letting them go at it for 3 days isn't an option anymore. Especially with a diabetic around the house.

And, I didn't want to burden Prof with cat care. Arlo and Leroy are my problem, not his. But, they are in the house with us, so its hard for it to not be his problem. He initiated the conversation; as I was struggling with what to do, he told me what he would do. Insulin injections. He said that the cats were his cats now too, and that he was there to help me. I couldn't ever have done this on my own, but together, we made the decision to give the insulin a try.

We started this weekend. The vet showed us how to do the shots, we bought our (very expensive) supplies and tried to figure out where in my tiny house we could put the sharps container. He's really taken the initiative, giving 3 of the 5 shots we've given so far.

Leroy hardly notices the shot; but it will be difficult to try to arrange our lives so that we can get the shots in him on a routine basis. I think I'm going to have to get out of bed earlier in the morning to make it happen. And I'm not getting enough sleep as it is.

I never thought I would go to such extreme measures to keep an animal alive. Particularly one that bites and scratches and chews up my important paperwork. But, he is occasionally cute. And he's got too much life in him to not give this a try. And I have Prof to help me. And I found a cat-sitter well versed in diabetic cats.

Its all just more proof that life never gets easier. The challenges just change.

Thank god I have a new strategy for getting rid of migraines. I have a feeling there are going to be a lot more of them coming up.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Crappy Poosday

Too bad I didn't know that yesterday's bank excrement incident was a foreshadow of the things to come today. I would have taken a tranquilizer and stayed in bed. For days.

We had a sloppy mess of a winter storm last night. After spending 20 minutes chipping ice off my car, I nearly hit a car in front of me at a stop sign. Apparently, nobody bothered to chip the ice off the road.

When I got to work, I was immediately handed the phone and told "this guy sounds angry." Excellent. I spent 45 minutes on the phone with guy, an angry tea-party government conspiracy theorist, while he berated me and my work and threatened to bring us down, embarrass us and expose us. 45 minutes. I remained calm. Didn't engage with him. Gently disagreed. Pointed him to other resources and eventually was able to get off the phone.

I emerged from my office dazed and shared snippets with my co-workers, who managed to be both sympathetic and gleeful at my plight.

Not too long after, I learned that our massive database somehow got corrupted. No one can figure out when or why it happened, but it did. One of our date fields indicates that most entries were made on December 31, 1899. I'm going to have to go back and check, but I'm pretty sure Microsoft Access wasn't around in 1899, so I'm pretty sure those entries are wrong.

While dealing with those two messes and simultaneously juggling several thousand other things, my computer lost changes to documents I was working on, and forced a shutdown to install new programs. On most days, this would have been minor. Today, it brought me to the verge of angry tears of frustration.

Then I came home. To poo. Cat poo. And lots of it. Smelly poo. In places it shouldn't be, like the living room. Leroy the cat has developed a serious issue. Now I've got both Leroy and Arlo pooping all over the house.

Every time I turned around at home, I was dealing with more poop. Real poop. Emotional poop. Douchebag poop.

I gave up before 9pm, and got in bed. I can only hope that today will bring better things.

Monday, January 17, 2011

A different kind of bank deposit

My friend T called me this morning to chat. I often find myself telling her something along the lines of "do something fun for YOU today." And it was no different this morning. But when she asked me what I was going to do that was fun, my response was: "go to the bank and the grocery store." Yeah. Not really so much fun, but still probably better than anything that she's got going on, since she lives in the middle of a god forsaken area, hours away from a decent grocery store where you can buy tofu and beer.

And although going to the bank isn't really that much fun (ok, no fun. at all. whatsoever.), I really didn't expect to find what I found when we got there.

Human excrement. On the floor. (and then on my shoe. And my pants)

I don't know what the TD in TDBank stands for, but as far as I'm concerned, its "Terrible Diarrhea."

We had taken a very long way to get to the bank, driving around looking at houses in a neighborhood we like, so when we got there, I kinda had to pee. And, remarkably, there were public bathrooms there. Prof stood in line so we could sign up for a savings account, and I headed for the bathroom.

Except, that as I was going in, a bank employee, who might have been all of 13 years old, came out of the ladies room, holding her nose, gasping for breath and making a face. Ok drama queen. Whatever. Sorry you can't deal with some one's fart smell. Grow up.

So, I went in. And she was right - it smelled like someone had died in there. Died, and then taken a big sloppy shit. But, I was in and I had to pee and I've faced worse situations before. I can't think of one off the top of my head, but I'm pretty sure I've had to deal with something worse than that. Ooops. Many are coming into my head, but I will spare you the details. You really don't want to know.

It stunk in there, but that wasn't all. The paper towel holder was also opened, and the tiny little hole in the wall paper towel receptacle was overflowing, with a big pile of towels on the floor. And the maxi pad dispenser looked like someone had tried to rip it off the wall. Something very bad had happened in there.

I wiped the seat down and hovered above it, vowing to wash my hands really, really, really, really well when I was done. Then I saw it. A tiny pile of loose human poo on the floor. Next to my foot - except, it was partially under my foot.

Ew, ew, ew, ew. But I was squatting and hovering and mid-stream, so I was kinda stuck.

I was completely indignant that the 13 year old TD Bank intern had not told me to wait and that she would be right back to clean up this horrible mess, and like I often do, I took matters into my own hands. I grabbed a huge handful of toilet paper and wiped the poo up off the floor. Then twice. And then flushed it down the toilet.

And then washed my hands for a really long time. And then my shoe. Or maybe it was the other way around. Actually, I really hope it was the other way around.

When I came out, I expected that there would be somebody there with a mop and a trash can and some of that shaky powdery stuff your elementary school custodian would pour on vomit. But nope, the 13 year old was behind the counter, processing bank transactions like there was nothing in the world amiss in the ladies bathroom. And like she wasn't trying really really hard to not have to pee.

While Prof and I were doing our banking business, I saw several women going in and out of the bathroom, and none looked too distressed when they came out (you are welcome). 13 year old bank teller didn't once try to stop anyone or warn them, or get a trash can to haul out the overflowing container, that could have very well been hiding more poo droplets.

I said nothing to anyone about it. There were no actual adults apparent anywhere in the bank, so I can't imagine anyone was going to take care of it. And they certainly weren't going to reward me in any way. I doubt that any of the interns are authorized to give me a better interest rate because I wiped human poo up off the floor for the greater good of womankind.

Its quite amazing to me really, that this chick did absolutely nothing about the bathroom situation. She could have closed it. She could have put a warning sign on it. She could have had someone empty the trash can. But she chose to ignore it completely, and let a customer take care of it.

Customer service is officially dead.

I'm going to sue if I get any kind of weird disease.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Indecision: Its what's for dinner

I've suddenly found myself able to participate in work conversations that I haven't been able to participate in for quite some time: spouse bitch sessions. Yes, I know Prof isn't my spouse, and yes, I know he is a Renaissance man and I have nothing to bitch about.

But we all know good and well that no matter how good I have it, I'm going to bitch.

The topic the other day was dinner. And who makes it. And who plans it. And who buys the food. And who cleans it up. Consensus was, if the woman didn't plan dinner, make sure ingredients were there and cook it, dinner would consist of cereal. Or McDonald's. Even when there are children involved. Children whose future success in life relies entirely on whether they consistently eat dinners that include a vegetable, a starch and a protein.

We have come a long way ladies, but we are still lagging way far behind on this front. Way. Far. Behind. Healthy, well-balanced meals seem to be something that the male mind just can't wrap itself around. A well-balanced meal to them is one they can eat with one hand while playing x-box. So why do we care so much about it?

I've asked myself this question an awful lot. Mostly right after I stop at the market on my way home from work to get the ingredients for the several healthy meals I have cooking in my head. Then think about how long its going to take to cook the stuff. Then clean it up. But really, why is it that I spend so much time thinking about this? Prof doesn't jump up at 7pm on Sunday night when he realizes that he forgot to make hard boiled eggs for healthy mid-morning snacks during the week - why do I?

(Because I am insane and a bit compulsive, but that's totally besides the point)

So tonite, I had physical therapy for my hip and was going to be late getting home. I thought maybe Prof might want to start dinner before I got home. I'm silly that way.

Me: "Wouldn't it be nice if you had dinner waiting for me when I got home?"
Him: (laughter)
Me: (silently - "why is that funny?")
Him: I wouldn't know what to make.
Me: We have butternut squash, and sweet potatoes and fake turkey. And stuff for burritos. And, fresh green beans.
Him: How long does the squash get cooked?
Me: 45 minutes to an hour.
Him: What about the potatoes?
Me: 10 minutes in the microwave.
Him: I'll just wait for you to get home.
Me: (silence)

And I have one of the GOOD ones!!

Monday, January 3, 2011

Resolvers Be Gone!

I forgot that it was the first Monday of the new year when I decided to skip my lunchtime spin class and go to the gym in the evening instead. I was busy and trying to get my head around having to work five days in a row; running off to the gym at lunch would have derailed me.

Instead, I got derailed by the frigging Resolvers at the gym.

Listen, I really love it when people make a commitment to be healthy and change their lives for the better. I was once one of them. The size 10, bum hip, orthodic shoe inserts, and creaking shoulders didn't just happen miraculously. I worked my ass off (literally and all) for them. And so, I understand what its like to be new at it and I'm helpful to the newbies at the gym who can't figure out how to program their machine, or set up their spin bike. I smile encouragingly at people. I move my stuff over in the locker room to make space for someone else.

But this total and complete onslaught of Resolvers, I cannot tolerate.

There was a line 16 people deep waiting at the front counter to sign in, and I had to wade my way through them and look pathetic before the dude would scan me in. When I made my way into the gym, there was exactly one piece of aerobic equipment available, and it wasn't the one I wanted. The sound of several dozen machines all running at once was sort of mind numbing, and the number of little heads bobbing up and down was a little dizzying. When the bike I wanted (with the video game) finally was open, I made a dash for it, but lost because I wiped my machine down. F'd again for doing the right thing!

I couldn't wait to get done and get the hell out of there.

The vast majority of the Resolvers will be gone by mid-February, which is actually quite sad. I think that's what the gym counts on - selling new memberships and dealing with the overcrowding for a little while, eagerly anticipating the time when the new members will continue to pay, but not come. I know it makes me a bad person, but I'm eagerly anticipating that time too.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Let's try again in March

I'd like to make the world a very serious proposition.

Let's move the beginning of the year from the beginning of winter to the beginning of spring. Or better yet, the beginning of summer. Yes, yes. I know. The new year starts just as the days start getting longer again. Its very symbolic. But wouldn't be just as symbolic to start it at the equinox? When days and nights are equal, and days start winning out over nights?

Think about it - you could ring in the new year in Times Square without wearing 18 layers of thermal clothing. You could wear a nice dress to the theater without freezing your tits off. You might actually be able to have a little barbecue. You could make fruity girly drinks and actually enjoy them. And, when you were hung over the next day, it would still be light outside when you finally managed to drag your ass out of bed.

At 7:30 pm.

Yes, I am speaking from experience. I spent my entire New Year's day in my bed. When I wasn't hanging on to the toilet anyway. I would have dragged myself up earlier than that, but by the time I started feeling halfway normal again, the sunlight was already fading. Why bother getting up when the day was already over?

Its so very seriously unfair. I wasn't drunk. At. All. There was no slurred speech or naked, lampshade wearing table dancing. There was only Rock Band and cocktails and pleasantries. I'm sure the late night champagne was trouble, but then I also remembered that I drank a big glass of Gatorade before going to bed in a desperate attempt to rehydrate myself.

But I didn't have red Gatorade, my miracle liquid. Or even orange Gatorade, red's slightly less trustworthy sibling. I had lemon-lime.

I have a very sneaking suspicion that whatever fake chemical acidity they put in that crap to make it taste like lemons and limes combined with the champagne and chocolate martinis and turned my stomach into a chemistry experiment gone bad. Seriously, seriously bad. And then, when I tried to rehydrate later, it happened again. I had about 3 sips of the lemon-lime, and I was off to hug the toilet. Again. I finally started feeling better when Prof went to the store and came back with a bottle of Red. Lovely, lovely red. I instantly started to feel better.

But even though I'm no longer hung over, I still feel like shit. I missed the first whole day of 2011! I know it doesn't really mean anything, but to start off the new year like that rattles me a little. But I at least have a new resolution: no more lemon-lime. I think I'll be able to stick to that one pretty easily.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

2011 - f. u.

Seriously 2011? Do we have to have a talk already? You are only 3 hours old, and already you have turned into a chimpanzee shit thrower.

Or maybe its not the fault of 2011. Maybe its the fault of 3 too many chocolate martinis, some carrot cake, a cheese log and a half bottle of champagne?

Nope. Let's blame 2011.

So, here it is. Just after 3:00 am on Jan 1, 2011, and I am sitting at my dining room table. Blogging. You know why? Because I am afraid to go to bed.

Because I just threw up. Four times.

Seriously folks. I am 35 years old. I am way too old for this shit, and I didn't even do anything to deserve it. Except have sushi for dinner, drink three very stiff chocolate martinis, cram carrot cake and crackers down my gullet, and top it off with half a bottle of champagne.

As I said, I've done NOTHING to deserve this.

F.U. Food Lion Carrot Cake.