Brother-Sister

Even without a bookbag...

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Fri, 01 May 2009 15:37:00 +0000

I was amused by Sister's post of two days ago, which you should now stop to read....

It seems odd to me that she's so fixated on the idea of looking like a prostitute. Sister is not nearly trashy enough or unhealthy-looking enough to be a prostitute -- unless she's really let herself go since late December -- and I doubt her workplace encourages the wearing of slutty outfits. I can think of several more probable explanations for the incident described:

1. He might have been trying to be nice. I know, you find that inconcievable, but there ARE people out there who have failed to catch the exaggerated paranoia that infests modern culture, and who honestly don't realize that some of you might be frightened by them.
(Personally, I find it inconceivable that so many of you are terrified of being attacked, and yet still choose to walk around unaccompanied, unarmed, unfit, distracted by your cell-phones, and wearing shoes that prevent you from running. You're getting a "worst of both worlds" situation there.)

2. He might have been trying to pick up a woman who DIDN'T look like a prostitute. He can't very well offer to buy you a drink when you're not in a bar, can he? As Jerry Seinfeld once pointed out, most men really have no idea how to meet women, and will often try things pretty much at random. "You know that guy honking his car horn at women in the street?" Jerry asked. "This is a man who is out of ideas!"
(When I was in college, girls tried to pick me up a couple of times by asking if I needed a ride somewhere... I don't think I looked like a prostitute, even without a bookbag.)

3. He may have been a homicidal psychopath, and you happened to fit his profile. I find his low-skill strategy somewhat pathetic -- sure, that works on little kids, but you're not going to transfer it to adult women just by removing the offer of candy. Clearly, he has no real talent or experience at this, and you should be glad you avoided the embarrassment of being ritualistically disemboweled by a complete amateur.

If not for my book bag....

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 02:05:00 +0000

This morning I was two long strides away from my bus stop (a glass shelter with a bench) when I heard a honk and saw a car had stopped in the road, even with the shelter. The driver--a man--pointed and sort of gestured at me. I thought maybe he needed directions or wanted to ask which buses came by the stop. (People always seem to pick me to ask for directions. I almost always know where I am and how to get to wherever, but I fear my typical style of giving directions is an incomprehensible mixture of "turn somewhere near the big chicken" and "travel exactly 2.43579 miles west.")

I took one more big step in the direction of the bus shelter and the car and leaned down a bit so I could see the driver's face and maybe hear him. He said, as he started moving things off his passenger seat, "Do you need a ride? Where are you going?" Ummm, what?!! I responded, "No. I'm fine, thanks," and waved him away with my hand. He drove on.

So, while I waited for the bus, I started thinking, "What thirtysomething woman (in her right mind) gets in some strange man's car?" When I got to work, I told a co-worker what had happened. I said to her, "Who would get in a strange man's car? Do you think he thought I was a prostitute?" She said, "Did you have your book bag with you?" "Yes, my book bag and my lunch bag." "Well, then, he wouldn't have thought you were a prostitute."

Now, logic was a bit of a struggle for me in college* and I often leave the logic puzzles in those big books of games--the ones that come from the grocery store--blank, but I think from the exchange with my coworker we can make two conclusions:

1. I usually look like a prostitute--however it is that a prostitute looks.
2. My book bag is the only thing that makes me not look like a prostitute.

Great. Just. Perfect.

*This is what I remember most from my semester of logic: The philosophy professor who taught the class had a completely bald--maybe shaved--head and wore a black leather cap. Oh, and arguing against an idea by exclaiming, "That's a logical fallacy!" is really satisfying. Unfortunately, the only logical fallacy I can reliably recognize is ad hominem, so I don't get to say it very often.

House... no, not the TV doctor

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 18:28:00 +0000

I moved into my new house last week. Well, that's not technically correct, since the house isn't actually new, and I didn't have a house to begin with, so it's not like there's my "old" house and my "new" house. I moved into the house I recently bought, how's that?

I had no idea I had so much stuff to be moved... my father criticized my decision to get the 17-foot Uhaul truck, but after we got all the stuff in, he changed his mind and realized I had been right. Now, of course, I'll be slowly unpacking for weeks, as I gradually find that I need this or that item which is still in a box.

Can I be a czar, too?

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 00:26:00 +0000

I just heard on the news the U.S. now has a "Border Czar." I told TZM that I'd like to have a job with a title that included the word "czar." (I'd be fine with "tsar," too.)

I told TZM that the appointment of this new "Border Czar" job reminded me of when former Florida governor Bob Martinez was named "Drug Czar."

By the way, I think the word "czar" used to describe anyone but a Russian ruler sounds illicit.

At the time of Martinez's appointment, I thought, "Why is the news media reporting this? A former governor has had to turn to heading a drug cartel? This isn't good!" Of course, now I know what "Drug Czar" means, but I believed for several months that the former governor had turned to a life of crime.

I explained to TZM that I was quite young at the time--thus, my confusion. But, Wikipedia suggests I was actually about 18. I think it's pretty clear I should never be the Politics Czar or Current Affairs Czar.

Happy Anniversary, Blog!

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 00:13:00 +0000

Tomorrow is our blog's 5th anniversary. I believe that means a gift of wood. Brother will be closing on a home this month--a LOG home--so I think that covers the gift. Next year, the 6th anniversary, the traditional gift is candy. I'll handle that--no problem.

I've been trying to remember where I was (physically and mentally) on each of the past April 8's:

2004: Man, was I ever unhappy in 2004! I didn't realize it then, but that year "ate it," as TZM would say.
2005: By April 2005, I'd moved somewhere then moved back to almost the same location I was in 2004. I had a new job that was nearly the same job (only full-time instead of part-time) I'd had in 2002. Looking back, it seems I hadn't really grown in any aspect of my life.
2006: By April 2006, I'd ditched my new-old job, had a new-new job, and moved to a new city. I had new friends and was about 2 months away from having to get a new car. New, new, new! Everything was new.
2007: In April 2007, I was really happy. Nothing major that I can remember happened. Oh, yes, that's right...I showed Tizzy that I could open a beer bottle on the edge of a trash can. It was a formative experience in my life.
2008: In April 2008 I was in the midst of what TZM and I call "the long, national nightmare" of dental work. The roots (ha-ha) of said dental work can be found here and also here and then again here and should have rightfully been mentioned 100 more times to equal the number of dental appointments I had by the time 2008 was over. Despite all that "open, open a little wider, hold open just a little longer" time, 2008 turned out to be a good year. TZM and I declared ourselves engaged (secretly) not long after April 2008 and married in July.
2009: Most of 2009 is left so I can't comment much, but I finally realized how important it is to floss!

Quick update...

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 19:45:00 +0000

I suppose the big news is that I'm buying a house. One of my friends insists that this is the cause of the recent rally in the stock market -- my cheapness has obviously attained quasi-legendary status among my peers, although my complete inability to navigate still gets more comment.

It took me a long time to find something that suited my preferences. If anybody's read "Black Order" by James Rollins, that mansion in South Africa toward the end is right up my alley -- hidden in the middle of an unexplored jungle (under a forest canopy so dense that satellites can't get infrared images through it) which itself is in the middle of a huge wildlife preserve in a district controlled by officials who are mostly in the pay of the house owners. Oh, and surrounded by aggressive wildlife and bands of unsociable tribesmen. With something like this as an ideal, you can imagine the multitude of compromises I have to make when trying to pick something within my price range and driving distance from work.

My new alarm clock is smarter than your honor student.

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 05:07:00 +0000

I bought myself a birthday present: a new alarm clock.

Maybe that doesn't sound like much of a self-present--why not a massage? or some shoes? or a whole box of chocolates just for me to eat? That stuff pales in comparison to this clock. It's by far the best self-present....maybe ever.

When I started dating TZM, I was using my cellphone as my alarm clock. Right after we moved in together, I cancelled my cellphone. TZM had brought his alarm clock into the relationship so I continued to be awakened in the morning at the correct time. By the way, the clock was on his side of the bed--that detail is important in the next paragraph.

Almost eight months ago, TZM retired. Not long after that he told me he thought the alarm clock should be on my side of the bed so it would be easier for me in the mornings. "Okay, whatever," I thought. "Big deal." Well....oh. my. god. "Big deal" is right because that alarm clock was THE most frustrating, confounding piece of....crap! If I had to write a review for overstock.com, you know I'd call it "The Devil's Alarm Clock."

I'll give the clock its due: it told time, the alarm sounded when needed, and the display was not so bright that it could double as an airport runway light. But, changing the alarm time and the regular time was a nightmare. The little buttons that controlled the hours and minutes required a particular amount of pressure on one specific part of the button. Too much pressure or too little pressure in the wrong spot, and nothing happened. On top of that, I'm positive the pressure and spot to push changed EACH TIME.

Sometimes I got up earlier than I needed to just to avoid having to fool with the alarm time. "Spring ahead" and "fall back": I dreaded those words each year because that meant I'd have to reset the time. And when the electricity went out.....ARGHHH!....time to reset the &$%@#!$ clock! (I have my suspicions TZM retired so he'd have a good reason to move the clock from his side to my side of the bed. Clever.)

Now maybe you can understand why I decided a new alarm clock was the best present I could give myself. It may not be as great as Brother's old clock, the Optimus Prime....I mean Spartus Neptune*......but it's pretty great:

The new alarm clock has two alarms that will remember on which days I want them to sound: weekdays, weekend days, or both. I can forget turning the alarm off on the weekends because the new alarm clock knows I don't want it to wake me up.
The new alarm clock has one, simple up/down button for setting the hours and minutes.
The new alarm clock has a little battery inside it that helps it remember things, like the time and date when the electricity goes out. (I'm afraid to imagine what else the new alarm clock may be storing.)
And, oh yeah, the new alarm clock's display is so bright I have to cover it up at night. ("My [new alarm clock's] so bright, I gotta wear shades.") That's a negative, but I think I can live with it.
Added 3-8-09: The new alarm clock remembered to spring me ahead an hour even though I had forgotten about the time change.

I keep asking myself why I put up with that clock for a year and a half. It was made out of plastic not gold. And TZM admitted--after moving the clock to me, of course--that he hated it, too. I think I forgot there was a better way to live.

*Turns out the "Tale of the Spartus Neptune" is one of Brother's most commented upon posts!

The Decorating of Hill House

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 19:18:00 +0000

Yesterday, I went looking at houses with my realtor. Most houses are about as boring as you'd expect a big featureless box on a large square of grass to be, but this time we saw one that was interesting by virtue of being eye-searingly tacky.

First of all, it was pink. Seriously. A pink house. Not hot pink, or Owens-Corning fiberglass insulation pink, but still a very distinct "Hello Kitty" sort of pink... pretty much the same shade as ninety percent of the surfaces in the bedroom of my friend's five-year-old. The porch floor was something like British Racing green, and the various railings and spindles were Velveeta yellow.

Indoors, most of the walls were also pink, except where they were about the same shade of yellow as Tweety Bird from the old Saturday morning cartoons. That was where we could SEE the walls, of course, as most of the wall space was covered with.... stuff.

Pictures... artwork... macrame things of one shape or another... giant wooden spoons with cartoon farm animals painted on their bowls... ceramic dolls in elaborate Victorian-style dresses... plates both commemorative and not... certificates earned by various grandchildren in various programs... sconces... if it could be hung on a wall, these people had it -- usually in an offensive color.

Every flat surface in the house was ALSO covered with stuff, including bowls, teacups, lamps, figurines, candles in elaborate holders, ashtrays that had surely never felt the touch of a cigarette, more dolls, more photos, more artwork, more certificates... more of pretty much everything you can think of. If you told me there was also a gold-plated crankshaft from a Chevy small-block, set with semi-precious stones and tiny crystal figurines of kittens, I'd be willing to believe it.

The realtor and I just wandered through this house in amazement, trying to figure out what sort of demented people would want to live like this. I had to hold my arms in close to my body and look around carefully before moving, in order to avoid knocking over some potentially priceless whatchamacallit that would look like junk to me but probably sell for thousands on "Antiques Roadshow".

Everywhere we looked, there was more stuff -- even in the spaces between stuff. The place reminded me of one of those fractal patterns that continue to look the same no matter how much you magnify them. We couldn't imagine how anyone could overcome the sensory overload long enough to actually consider buying the house.

Usually, my realtor says "Well, are you ready to go see the next one?". This time, she was already headed toward the door as she said "Let's get the hell out of here!"

Happy Birthday!

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 04:18:00 +0000

It's almost not my birthday anymore. While some birthday remains, I'll recap:

Opened my present from TZM at 12:05 a.m. (Yes, I stayed up until it was my birthday so I could open my present--I'm that silly.)
Slept.
Awoke and got ready for work. (I thought my dress was probably about an inch too short to be work appropriate, but decided to wear it anyway.)
Worked, then was feted with a cake by my boss and co-workers.
Gave a presentation to a group of new employees. (I'm pretty sure I'm not the worst speaker/presenter in the world, but I'm always overcome by doubts and worries about my performance afterwards. I think, "Oh, god, I'm insufferable.")
Worked.
Came home and was served shrimp and a wonderful shrimp-Gorgonzola pizza courtesy of TZM. "It's your 'special' day."
Candles and more cake from TZM.

Overall, it has been a very happy birthday!

"'Cause you were all yellow"

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 02:20:00 +0000

This evening--bopping down the street from my office to the chi-chi grocery store by the bus stop--a man strolling by said, "Well, yellow is your color. . . . cute legs, too."

I had on yellow tights and a yellow scarf with white polka dots.

There was a time when I would have been outraged by his comments and condemned him as an objectifier, wielding his "male gaze" like a weapon. But, now I'm just happy someone noticed the effort I'd made to try to look cute. (And, I'm glad he didn't add, "You're kind of squat, aren't you? And, what's with the huge calves?")

I just said, "Thank you" to both comments and kept on walking. He didn't mean any harm. Besides he was old enough to be my dad....or, oh, yeah...my husband!

You heard it here first, sort of...

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 19:31:00 +0000

A couple of weeks ago, I posted derisively about the peculiar blanket-coat hybrid known to insomniac local TV viewers as the Snuggie. Well, I was sent this just yesterday, read it:

http://www.usatoday.com/life/lifestyle/2009-01-27-snuggie_N.htm

Keep a lookout for the next product I mock here... and, apparently, buy stock in it!

From the Devil's Closet*

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 02:59:00 +0000

Today I wore the most uncomfortable shoes....in the entire world!

They don't look evil--low, wedge-heeled, slingback, black leather peep-toed shoes--but they are....they are! Too bad I didn't know that before putting them on this morning. I'm lucky to still have toes!

At lunchtime I hobbled two blocks to a thrift/consignment store to find some other shoes, any other shoes--although they had to match my outfit, of course--to buy to wear instead. It's saying a lot that a pair of three inch heels, 1/2 size larger than ideal was 4.7 million times more comfortable than those shoes, those Devil's shoes! I asked the cashier to please cut the tag off because the shoes I had on were killing me. She did and I put them on right there at the cash register.

Thank god the evil shoes were also originally from the thrift store and weren't expensive...I think I understand now why they were there.....

Now my dilemma is whether they should go back there. Don't worry, I'm not thinking of keeping them! But should I donate them in case there's someone in this world with the feet for them? Or just throw them away and save someone else the agony I experienced?

*I know, "What?!": Tizzy ordered a kitchen mixer from an online store with customer reviews. She found a review that said the mixer was surely from the "Devil's Home" because it sprayed liquid all over her kitchen or maybe it was her family or perhaps it ruined her entire xmas by chopping instead of mushing. Whatever that mixer did, it was bad enough to make her think it must have come from hell.

5 things you may not know about Sister (me!)

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 03:22:00 +0000

I heard that John Updike tried to write at least 3 pages per day, every day....so, surely I can write more blog posts....and lists are a good place to start.

Here are some things you may not know about me:

1. I have a large head.

Although that could, perhaps, be taken figuratively, I mean it literally. Most people are shocked when they find out my hat size. I won't list the size here since the number is too large to fit on the blog. I heard my mother and TZM talking about my head during our xmas visit. Mom remembers that I saw an episode of Oprah (a long time ago, obviously, because I haven't been able to stand watching Oprah for decades) in which she talked about her own large head and mentioned her head circumference. I immediately went and measured my own head, then said, "My head is the same size as Oprah's!" I've told TZM he's cleared to use "pumpkinhead" as an endearment.

2. I have disproportionately large calves.

Maybe this is only an assumption on my part. All I know is that I've spent 2 years trying to find a pair of zippered knee-high boots that will actually zip over my calves: it can't be done. Those boots are being worn by somebody, but maybe most women have this problem, too. Yes?

3. When I'm out in public, I often think, "What if that person there could read my mind?"

That thought usually comes right after I've thought something unkind about someone, but lately I'm preoccupied with what it would be like to be able to read minds.

4. I don't read many books anymore.

Shouldn't I be reading all the time? I'm a librarian!
But, yeah, no...I read a lot of stuff online, but when I get home, end up not reading many books. But, I love books and check out stacks and stacks of things I'd like to read.

5. I buy PowerBall tickets.

I had never bought a lottery ticket...ever...until about 3 weeks ago when I bought a ticket for the first Florida PowerBall drawing. You know, you've got to be "in it to win it."

Library Patrons Gone Wild

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 02:24:00 +0000

I haven't been able to post about real library patron encounters in a long time since I don't have much face-to-face interaction with them anymore. Every few weeks I pull a shift that puts me in a library in the patron crosshairs....like today:

I'm shelving and shifting, what I end up doing for hours when I pull one of these shifts. (I'm so glad I went to graduate school for this!) I always end up shelving for hours, but today was the first episode of shifting--I just couldn't stand seeing the topmost shelves jam-packed while the lower shelves were less than half-full. So, I shifted and shifted until the top shelves were empty. If you hate that, too, and visit your local library this week and find a small Dewey division no longer has books on the topmost shelves, you know who to thank. But, I digress...

I'm standing in the shelves, pondering space issues, when I hear: "Hey there, lady!" I step closer to the patron computers and say, "Yes?"
"Do you work here?"
"Yes." (No, I just wear a nametag and move books around for kicks.)
"Are you a fairly intelligent girl?" (Is 'yes' the right answer? Or 'no'? I don't know.)
".....What do you need?"

(Let me pause to point out the computer-using patron had slow, slurred speech and difficulty keeping her eyes open.)

"Yeah, uhh, I don't know how to do this [gestures toward computer screen], but I want to find out how much it costs to go to a casino in XYZ city."

I can see the computer screen is displaying a "search this site" on a phone company website. I say, "Have you tried G----- or another search engine?"

"Naw, I don't know how to do that."
"Well, type G-----.com in the address bar."
"Here?"
"No, here."
"OK." (G----- comes up.)
"So, you want to find out how much it costs to go to a casino on a trip?"
"No, I want to find out how much a casino costs."
"...."
"Yeah, I want to buy a casino in XYZ city."
"........."
"Like, I know the T---- Casino isn't for sale, and I don't want to build one. But, I'd like to take one over and run it."
"..............."

We discussed a few strategies for finding the information and I retreated into the shelves.
That was probably the last question I expected to be asked by a patron with few computer skills who may or may not have been drunk and/or stoned.

Undercover...

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 17:48:00 +0000

One of my neighbors commented the other day about my car being under a cover. (Not a carport-type cover -- more like what you girls out there would probably call a "car cozy".) It occurred to me that I can always tell car-people from non-car-people by their reactions to seeing me put the cover on.

Car-people are the predictable ones -- they already know that exposure to the sun and other environmental factors is bad for cars, and immediately recognize the utility of keeping one covered up if you want to preserve its appearance and the proper condition of the rubber, paint, plastics and fabrics. They say things like "Oh, your paint will last a lot longer that way" or "I bet your interior stays a lot cooler in the summer" or even "I used to have one of those for my Porsche, but was too lazy to use it all the time".

Non-car-people, on the other hand, produce a much more varied range of comments when they see me pull this big wad of space-age polymerized fabric out of my trunk and fit it over the car. My mom refers to it as "putting your car back in its bag". I get asked if I'm trying to hide the car, whether the car feels cold, etc. Somebody once suggested it was a burial shroud for the car -- perhaps destined to be dug up from the post-apocalyptic ruins by a future race of intelligent machines, who notice the faint Mazda emblem worn in the fabric and decide that it's an artifact of their god.

The World According to The Zen Master

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 05:01:00 +0000

I find myself speaking like TZM more and more, using his terms. I suppose if I lived with someone with a distinctive accent, I'd start to pick that up, too. Anyway, I thought it might finally be time to share TZM-speak with the rest of the world.....

In this list, I'll put the usual word or phrase first and then TZM's term--this will be kind of like the analogies section of the GRE:

bananas = yellow ones
arm = wing
legs = wheels
the evening news = the report
television = the set
radio = squawk box
small = baby (For instance, a small spoon is a "baby spoon." Those new SMART cars are "baby cars.")
dinner = platters
lunch = luncheon platters
George = Source ("This Week with George Stephanopoulos" is "The Report with Source.")
unexplained (in an eerie way) = Twilight Zone (My knuckle that healed really quickly that time was a "Twilight Zone finger.")
gross/disgusting = world's most horrifying (The Travel Channel's "Bizarre Food" show is "World's Most Horrifying Platters.")
a lot = 4.7 million (For example: How long did you have to wait at the doctor's office? 4.7 million years.)

There are many more, but I think you get the idea.

One more time: How was that spelled?

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 03:03:00 +0000

TZM likes to stay up late--really late--at night. He stays up so late that it's more accurate to say he goes to bed "early in the morning" instead of "late at night." That means he's usually asleep when I get up to get ready for work. I putter around in the mornings watching The Weather Channel and getting dressed while he sleeps completely unaware that the cat that freaks him out the most is pushing open the bedroom door, getting on the bed, and peering intently at his face.

This weekend I decided one of my goals for the new year was to sort through my enormous collection of clothing and pare down a bit. From someone's blog I picked up the notion of making an effort to wear everything in your closet: if you're not wearing it regularly, why do you have it? And, if you put it on and don't want to wear it, then you should get rid of it. I planned to start that Monday morning with a skirt I got from the thrift store long ago but had never worn.

I put on my skirt, picked out a shirt, and shoes. I thought, "Is this skirt too long for me?" but decided I would wear it anyway and decide later. My shirt needed a quick pressing, and I had a little time. I plugged in the iron and got out the ironing board.

I'm ironing when out comes TZM. He's awake so early!
"Good morning!" I say.
"Uh-oh, hot dog," he says--something he picked up from MadTV--as he shakes his head at me.
"What? You don't like my skirt."
Shakes head again. "It's a little librarian, don't you think?"
"Is it too long?"
"You know what you look like?"
"...."
"You know some modern nuns don't have to wear habits...."
"...."
"And those shoes!" Shakes head. "Those shoes look like 1950."
"Well, I have a shorter skirt I could wear."
"You should never wear skirts below your knee. Your length is well above your knee."
"...."
"When you wear a skirt below your knee, your legs look squat. Squat. S-Q-U-A-T. Squat...." (on and on he went for what seemed like 10 minutes).

Gee, it's so great when TZM gets up early!

He kept saying "squat" like I'd never heard the word before. I'm 5'3" (and a half!) with proportionately short--maybe even a little shorter--legs. Believe me, I know from "squat."

Needless to say, my too long skirt will likely be passed on to a longer-limbed friend. (That's you, SQ!) I guess that was my goal; I just didn't want to go about it quite this way.

Friday the 2nd

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Sat, 03 Jan 2009 04:20:00 +0000

I just saw this TV ad for something called a "Snuggie". It's a fleece blanket with sleeves, intended for people who want to wrap themselves in a blanket, but feel the need to keep their hands free for eating and tossing footballs and such.

So the ad shows people wrapped in their sleeve-blankets, walking around the house, cooking marshmellows over a campfire, etc, and they all look like MONKS. Seriously, the Snuggie looks exactly like the sort of loose robe that monks usually wear -- in what little monk-related fiction I've seen, anyway. Monks at a cookout... monks in the bleachers cheering on their team... monks playing Monopoly (isn't that a violation of the vow of poverty?)... monks raiding the fridge... it's kind of creepy, actually.

Ummm, yeah....well, that didn't work out.

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 01:45:00 +0000

Almost a year ago, I followed advice I saw online about setting goals--not resolutions, goals, there's a difference, I think--for the new year which is now the old year (that is, 2008).

Ummm, yeah, some of those goals weren't achieved, but I'm a bit surprised now to see what I wrote then and see that I did work on many of them:

Goals for 2008

-Go to the doctor and dentist regularly, scheduling appointments in the 1st quarter of 2008.
That's affirmative for the dentist. I did go to the doctor, but in the 2nd quarter. However, I've been to the dentists so many times this year I think I get A-plus-plus for effort on this goal.

-Make new decisions about finances.
Do the multiple trips to the dentists count as decisions about finances? They should.

-Walk or exercise at least 4 days per week, 30-60 min. per day.
Surprisingly, I did do this until around the end of September.

-Make everything I own useful or beautiful.
Yeah...no, didn't happen, but the thought persists.

-Become a Photoshop expert!
Uhh...again, no, but I do know more now than then.

-Read at least 1 book a month, ideally 2 per month.
No, and this one hurts the most considering I'm a librarian. I check out tons of books, but I ended up not reading 1 book a month.

-Go to bed early at least 5 nights per week.
Again, no, although this would have been a really good idea. I end up feeling ill and stressed out far more than necessary because I don't go to bed early enough.

-Continue to avoid alcohol.
Yes! And, I feel a lot better for it.

-Work on or learn a new craft.
No, didn't happen.

-Carefully consider sugar and caffeine intake.
Yes, well, I considered it. I could have reduced it more than I did, but I did consider it.

-Avoid unnecessary emotional dramas.
Yes!

-Eliminate negative self-talk.
Uhh, probably not. See that recent "What I Don't Suck At" post for confirmation that this didn't take hold.

-Avoid worrying, embrace action instead.
Well, I'm a bit better about not worrying so much, but I could work on this a lot more.

But, I wasn't exposing any skin!

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 23:34:00 +0000

As a teenager out shopping with my mom, I'd get so exasperated by her nearly universal unwillingness to go try things on in a dressing room. I'd say, "Why don't you try this on to see if it fits?" She'd say, "Oh, I think it will fit; if not, I'll bring it back." She told me once that she didn't want to go through the bother of 'wopsing' her clothes off and then putting them back on.

I thought she was nuts.........but now I do it, too.....sometimes.....for the same reason she did....and as often as possible.

Except, I don't not try things on......I try on clothes over my clothes.

This doesn't work all the time:

(1) This method is very much dependent on what you are wearing when you look for other clothes--it's best not to be wearing things that are bulky or baggy.

(2) It practically requires a full-length mirror out in the store rather than only in the dressing rooms.

(3) Some stores give off a vibe that this kind of thing "just isn't cool."

(4) Some clothes just have to be tried on without other clothes underneath them or call out for a three-way mirror so you can see the view from behind.

But, it's useful in all sorts of situations: jackets, of course, really don't require a special trip to a dressing room, sweaters are the same, and I've found that T-shirts don't either.

So, recently I was in a store and had picked up several non-clothing items to purchase when I came upon exactly the sort of skirt I had been wanting--on clearance! Now, I didn't want to trek to the dressing room, leaving my non-clothing items with the dressing room gatekeeper, take (or 'wopse') my clothes off, try on the skirt and then maybe have to do it again to try on another size.

No, I took the skirt over to the nearby full-length mirror and put it on over my jeans. So cute! But a size too big because it fit fine over my jeans. I took a few steps and got another size. It did fit over the jeans but much tighter: success!

As I was stepping out of the skirt and putting it back on its hanger, a sales clerk came over to me and said, "You know security can see you, right?"

Huh? I wasn't slipping merchandise under my shirt--just over my pants! And, it's not like I took my pants off in the middle of the store.

I said, "That's alright. I'm not stealing anything!"
"Yeah, I know. But some people don't know security can see them here."
"Lady, I didn't need to be reminded I'm in the panopticon!"

OK I didn't say that, although I wish I had. Instead I said, "Well, I guess they can have a good laugh, makes their job interesting today," and moved away from her.

You'd think she'd never seen someone trying clothes on over her clothes!

I felt eyes on me as I paid and was sure I was going to be tackled right outside the exit door. I imagine thieves don't feel such guilt. Here I was racked with guilt, but I'd paid for all my merchandise!

Bah-Humbug! or Woo-Hoo!: I'm on the fence.

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Sat, 20 Dec 2008 02:02:00 +0000

I don't hate Christmas--look, I didn't write "xmas"!--but I do despise Obligation Christmas Gifts.

I don't know if someone has coined a clever name for what I'm talking about, but I know you know what I mean if you've every worked somewhere--especially an office--with other people at Christmastime. I refer to the practice of giving a gift (of something, usually something small and inexpensive) to everyone who works with you or in your department or at your shop. (And, I mean everyone, whether you know them or they know you, regardless of whether you've ever spoken to each other....EVERYONE!)

I don't hate Christmas gifts. I love to give gifts. I love to receive gifts. I love gifts that mean something: a gift that I know (or think I know) the recipient will enjoy or get a chuckle out of.

Obligation Christmas Gifts (OCG) are the opposite of meaningful gifts. I find them so impersonal they are depressing.....unless the gift to everyone is candy, baked goods or one of those cocoa mix deals packaged with a pretty, seasonal mug--those options are all A-OK to me.

Last year my place of work was knee-deep in OCG. This year has been okay--I credit/blame the bleak economy for co-workers eliminating unnecessary spending.

This morning, however, when I got to work there was an envelope on my chair. It was an envelope addressed to....well, "To:". Yes, "To:", no name, just "To:".

Note: If you can't be bothered to write a person's name on the envelope you are about to give, or hey, maybe you don't even know the name, you are about to give an obligatory gift. Please stop immediately and reconsider what you are about to do.

I opened the envelope meant for "To:" and found a pretty card with 2 lottery tickets inside.

Lottery tickets...damn!

I was all ready to despise the giver for the "To:", surely the height of impersonal giving, but lottery tickets dampened my righteous indignation. I think lottery tickets are a decent gift. Give lottery tickets and you could be giving someone the ticket out of a lifetime of working for the man.

So, I'm torn: Does "To:" trump lottery tickets? Or do lottery tickets compensate for "To:"?

This won't change my overall view of OCG--please, just say no to OCG--but I'd be willing to put lottery tickets in the acceptable list with candy, baked goods and cocoa mix.

What I Don't Suck At

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 04:01:00 +0000

I read this post last month and thought I needed to make a list of things I don't suck at for myself. "Why?" you ask. You see, on the way to work, during work, and upon leaving work, I regularly find I'm thinking, "Ughhh, I suck! I suck so bad."

It's taken quite a while to get into the proper mindset for making the list. When I'm feeling really positive, a list of things I don't suck at seems silly. Then, when I'm feeling really negative, I can't think of anything that I don't suck at for a list. Like Goldilocks, I've had to wait for the day when I'm not feeling too positive or too negative, but feeling just negative and positive enough.

I want this list to remind me on my least hopeful days what I don't completely suck at.

I don't suck at....

....remembering stuff: details, numbers, names, facts, trivia, etc. (For a librarian, a good memory really comes in handy.)

....using Photoshop. (I'm no expert, but I can do what I need to with it.)

....coordinating/matching colors. (I don't mean clothes but choosing colors that "go" for flyers, posters, and stuff like that.)

....teaching stuff to other people. (If I can do it, I can teach someone else to do it.)

....learning to do new stuff. (Sometimes I feel like I could learn how to do anything that I wanted to do, but realistically, I know I'm a quick study and could learn most things I would need to if I put my mind to it.)

....looking at the big picture.

....paying attention to details.

....troubleshooting--computer or other problems. (I'm much more empirical than I would have ever thought possible several years ago.)

....being entertaining and generally pleasant to be around. (I worry often about coming across as annoying or obnoxious--whatever the hell obnoxious means!--but if I'm honest with myself, I know there's no real evidence to support that fear.)

....being clever, novel, and creative (within my job duties).

....thinking quickly (although I seldom make decisions quickly).

....trying to make newcomers feel welcome and included.

....finding information. (This is really important for librarians.)

....proofreading other people's work, but not my own so much.

....typing. (Man, I love to type.)

Now I feel lame, but if I can ever come up with more items, I'll add them.

What a day!

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Sat, 13 Dec 2008 05:09:00 +0000

Today is our father's 66th birthday AND exactly 6 years since I graduated from library school.

(Yes, I see that's 3 sixes: I once had a library patron who didn't want to get a card because the number underneath her card's barcode had 2 sixes next to each other and then a third six farther along in the string. I dug through the stack of new cards until I found one for her with just the 2 sixes. Even then, she was worried.)

Six years of librarian-ing! I never would have imagined it.

By popular demand... sort of

noreply@blogger.com (Brother) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 18:55:00 +0000

Commenters in Sister's post prior to this one (go ahead and read it, I'll wait) have asked that I share my scented candle preferences. Well, one commenter, anyway... which is pretty much a quorum as far as this blog is concerned.

I have to confess I find the whole "candle" thing a bit off-putting. Any time I leave my apartment, I obsessively check to make sure all heat-producing devices are turned off. I keep most of my appliances unplugged except when actually using them. I have my little space heater sitting on a 50-pound iron barbell plate, to provide a buffer between it and the presumably-combustible carpet. The idea of maintaining an OPEN FLAME in my living quarters doesn't exactly appeal to me.

Assuming some sort of non-flame-driven scent-releasing device, I still have trouble thinking of scents for it.... most of the smells I can think of are unpleasant ones.
People tend to smell bad. Markers and paints and cleaning products and alcohols (pretty much all the volatiles, actually) such have a sort of "itchy" scent that reminds me of being dragged into carpet stores as a kid -- my eyes always started burning from the chemicals outgassing from fifty tons of synthetic fibers in an enclosed space. I don't like new-car smell, either, despite years of stand-up comedy pushing the idea that if perfume was actually intended to appeal to men, it would smell like a new car.

Good ones include: meat being grilled outdoors, the air just before a storm, and newly-mown grass. Some kinds of wood smell pretty good when they're run through a table saw. Steel has an interesting smell when it's recently been machined in a lathe, but it's a very weak scent and probably unsuitable as a household accent. Really, most of the scents I like come from food. I suppose that makes sense in the obvious Darwinian way.

The scent of gun solvent was suggested. I've heard many older shooters endorse Hoppe's #9 as having a distinctive aroma, but I've always used Break-Free (an uninteresting scent, in my opinion) so I can't comment on that.

Really, the best scented candle I can think of would be one which just neutralizes all the offensive smells that already fill the modern world -- human sweat, carpet fibers, cleaning products, plastics, markers, car exhaust, dirty socks, etc. -- without adding its own stink to the mixture.

That sweet elixir

noreply@blogger.com (Sister) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 03:15:00 +0000

Have you seen the Nyquil commercial that depicts a group of guys camping in an RV?

One of the guys has sneezing and coughing along with a stuffy head, aching, fever, and the inability to rest. The other guys use a survival guide to diagnose him until one of the guys says, "He's got 'morning drive,'" and hands him a bottle of Nyquil. "You good for the morning?" "Definitely."

Next, we see the RV barreling down the road and cut to a shot of the driver after his night of Nyquil. He's wild-eyed and happy, yelling, "Woohoo!"

Uhhhhh, doesn't anyone else realize that driver is high and shouldn't be driving after a Nyquil night?

As a fond--I'm not knocking Nyquil: I love it!--and once frequent Nyquil user, I laughed and laughed. If that commercial was 10 seconds longer, we'd see that RV swerving into a ditch.

Regarding another commercial, I discovered today that those Glade candles that are supposed to be like fancy, boutique candles are quite fragrant and lived up to my expectations.