Desperate Working Momma

Summer Cuts and Other Stuff

cat — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 19:01:15 +0000

Tanner lost the curls (no fear, they’ll be back with a vengeance in a month or so…).

Hannah lost about 6 inches of what was fast becoming the HEAVIEST head of hair EVER.

Oh, Alli didn’t get a summer haircut. I chose this picture because– while you can barely see her– she’s totally perched in this awesome climbing tree in OUR FRONT YARD. Of OUR HOUSE. In which WE LIVE. Our family. And our two parakeets. All in our house. Just living and whatnot. It’s a whole Living In Our House That Is Ours thing. YOU know.

I’ll have you know it took every ounce of willpower I have to refrain from breaking into… the Talking Heads song. YOU know the one. I will not mention it lest I lose my already tenuous grip on my impulses. I hope you admire my restraint.

Stressed?! Who’s Stressed?!

cat — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 11:49:47 +0000

One more reason moving can be super stressful, thus officially No Fun At All…

…internet withdrawl? SUCKS.

That is all.

Freaking Out Top Ten

cat — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 11:15:28 +0000

Top Ten Reasons I am FREAKING Out:

10. Boxes everywhere! Seriously! All over the place! In my new house! Big boxes full of stuff I probably don’t REALLY need! And dust! Big boxes full of stuff and DUST! Dear LORD, the dust!

9. I am frantically putting the finishing touches on the PowerPoint I needed to post, like, last week, for the presentation I am giving in Cincinnati NEXT week. And, everyone knows–as Dwight Shrute once said–”PowerPoints are LAME.”

8. I will be leading a session at an industry Expo next week using said heretofore unfinished PowerPoint (see 9).

7. Despite several calls and frantic emails, I still have not been able to successfully register for my GovTrip account.

6. I do not have a travel itinerary for my business trip next week, mainly because I CANNOT SUCCESSFULLY REGISTER FOR GOVTRIP and therefore have not been able to buy my plane tickets.

5. I can’t find my favorite comfy jeans. Because there are BOXES ALL OVER MY HOUSE!

4. My allergies are out of control. Probably because of the dust. You know, in the boxes? All over my house?

3. I’m 99 percent sure I have a room reserved at the conference center in Cincinnati to which I may or may not have transportation. It’s that remaining 1 percent of uncertainty that has me by the short hairs.

2. Speaking of… my previously straightened hair is being completely ornery about all this humidity, and is like “Aw, hell no!” the minute I step out the door. Naturally, my flatiron is no where to be found. YOU know why. Honestly. Don’t MAKE me explain the “Boxes! Boxes Everywhere!” situation again.

1. New houses awesome! Physically moving, however? NOT awesome.

The One in Which Cat Snakes the Ride or Elevator Ride of Shame

cat — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 12:21:26 +0000

This morning I did that thing again. You know, that thing where I say “ha HA!” a bit overloudly– perhaps!– after I JUST make it through a door before it closes on me? And people stare and point and whisper to one another as they move as far away from me as they possibly can in the confines of the crowded elevator I have just stormed? But I don’t even care? I just smile all sunnily and say, “Four, please!” to the dude over by the elevator buttons? Because I freaking SNAKED it, yo?

In other news, I am an idiot.

Fresh Feeling

cat — Wed, 20 May 2009 14:20:31 +0000

Is it weird that I am the creator slash administrator of my high school’s Facebook reunion page, and I have quite suddenly realized I am totally not even remotely interested in attending? The reunion, that is? Like, at all? Not even a little? (Okay, maybe a little.)

I’m thinking… no, not so weird, actually.

See, the mystery? Gone. Wiped. No more. Or, solved, if you will. Facebook did it’s wacky Facebook thang, you know, where the group goes from 1 to 15 to 50 to 300, and now I’m like, eh. Curiosity satisfied. I won’t go so far as to say that I was absolutely jazzed about attending the reunion until I realized there wasn’t anyone I really wanted to actually, you know, SEE. Like, in person? Because, RUDE? So I’ll just chalk it up to realizing that it was a long frakking way to go to see a bunch of people I really didn’t NEED to see. You know, in person? Because they are totally on Facebook! You see? Right at my fingertips! Am I right?! Am I?! Up-to-the-minute updates! Photos! Favorite things! Photos! Hobbies! Lots of photos! Family and friends! And PHOTOS! So, see? Where’s the incentive? You know I’m right.

Because, honestly. You can break down the reasons for attending your high school reunion into three main categories:

Reason number one, to reconnect with old friends. But if you’ve never, I don’t know, DISCONNECTED with old friends, then that reason falls by the wayside. I’m only saying. So long reason number one. It’s been fun.

And reason number two, to settle old scores. What? No way, you say? That is so not true? It’s all about reconnecting, you say? Whatever. Your mad flurry of dieting, working out, shopping for clothes, scheduling hair appointments and facials, and coaching your significant other in how to be the most awesomest significant other EVER tells a different story. Oh! Not that there is anything WRONG with that story! For real! I don’t judge! Honestly! I’m all about settling old scores! I’m still biding my time before laying the smackdown on TGIM for that time when he snuck into the bathroom while I was showering and poured an entire pitcher of ice water on me from the other side of the shower curtain! And that was YEARS ago! So whatever! It’s a different story, that’s all I’m saying. It’s just not MY story.

Which brings me to reason number three: curiosity. Sheer, unadulterated, unabashed curiosity. Like, Hey! Whatever happened to Cheerleader? So-and-So? What’s Her Face? The Ugly One? And then it’ll be like , “Oh, why, hello The Ugly One, you’re looking so makey outy tonight.” (Sorry. My kiddos are maybe a bit addicted to Teen Girl Squad. Perhaps!) All I’m saying is reason number three is all about finding out if the person voted most likely to succeed actually DID (which, ironically, is rarely the case), if the Mean Girls and Bullies got there’s, and if the jerk who shattered your heart into tiny pieces in the tenth grade actually went on to get married and divorced three times and now works in a dead-end job at a Jiffy Lube in Tucson. And lives with his parents! And drives a stupid, ugly car! That’s RIGHT!

*ahem*

What? I didn’t say there couldn’t be CROSSOVER. Gosh.

My point? Well, I totally have one! See, I didn’t think all this through when I set up the reunion site. That’s all I’m saying. Facebook, with the photos and the favorites and the updates and the photos? It’s, like, a nostalgia voyeurs’ dream! But not in an icky, scary way! Because, freaky?! And now? The reunion and I? Well, we just aren’t seeing eye-to-eye. Because… curiosity satisfied, you know? And if that’s wrong, then baby, I don’t want to… well, you know the rest.

Wait. There’s a “but” coming.

BUT… if I am in any way wrong, and this is a horribly offensive, way rude commentary about a joyous, time-honored tradition that I should be embracing rather than eschewing, than I am totally joking. It’s not that I don’t totally WANT to go– because I absolutely DO– it’s just… I have to work that week. I do! Just a working fool, that’s me! I’m not even joking at all! So, yup. Working.

Darn.

How to make a Momma choke on her hot fudge sundae. And hee!

cat — Thu, 07 May 2009 14:05:19 +0000

While riding in the backseat of the car with your momma and daddy and sister, on the way to the BIG bookstore at the mall– you know, the one with the escalator and the cool cushy seats that are Just Right and NOT just those uncomfortable wooden rocking ones that make your bum numb?– to find a book for the school Read-In that you will pay for with your very own money, by setting aside the hot fudge sundae you have been messily enjoying to respond to some loud-mouth on the radio who is yelling about dumb political issues– “…and they’re only concerned about genitalia! It’s all about sex and race! SEX AND RACE!”– which, by the way, is SO not the driving tunes you requested, and piping up from the back seat in your best disgusted, nine-year-old woman-of-the-world, drama queen voice, “DAD! Can you turn that OFF?! We’re trying to EAT here!”

“Spin With It” or “The Stupid Wasp”

cat — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 21:22:52 +0000

I’ve been feeling anxious lately. Unsettled. Discombobulated, even. And if you’ve ever been combobulated, you know how unsettling the opposite of THAT can be. I’m only saying.

Perhaps it is the heat. Here I am hard at work inside, while the sun is shining away outside, all, “Come out and PLAY, cave dweller!” And I’m like, “Don’t interrupt! RUDE.”

Perhaps it is the sounds of imminent summer pressing against my bedroom window. The first wave of summer bugs and their veritable cacophony of buzzing, chirping, whirring, zitzing. Distant mowers and leaf blowers whining and buzzing intermittently. A wasp, trapped between the window and screen, thumping fitfully against the pane. I am painstakingly ignoring the wasp’s plight; hornets make me cranky. I am aware of the inherent pun.

Even still, my house seems unnaturally still, somber… withdrawn from the restless, almost-but-not-quite-summer day brewing outside, and I wish I could withdraw and still the restless anxiety softly brewing inside.

Of me, not my house. Pay attention.

It is as if I am waiting, holding my breath, but I don’t understand why or for what. You know how there are times when you gaze out the window of a moving train or vehicle or airplane, and find yourself mesmerized by the scenery flying by… but not while you are the one in actual physical control of the vehicle or plane because that would be super dangerous? And although the scenery is moving by in lightning-quick flashes of lakes and trees and earth and sky, you struggle to capture it, to put it in your pocket, all of it—the meadowy greens and azure blues, the earthy browns and oranges and purples, even the strips of barren desert or occasional muck along the way—because it is just… so… breathtaking… it is!… and all that beauty is yours at that very moment, and you have no doubt in your mind that if you could just grab it and hold it all in your hands for even a teensy second then it would be the most wonderful, most perfect second of your life?!

But you can’t touch it because you can’t slow down, you can’t just stop, you’re not where you’re supposed to be yet? And your chest tightens and you can barely take a breath? Because as the scenery continues to pass by, to elude you, it changes, it always changes, and though it is still oh-so beautiful and utterly mesmerizing and you know that there is more to see, so much more, you also know in your heart that the you can never get it back, and you will never see it exactly the same way again? And even though you never had it, not to keep, not really, because it was never yours to take… still, you feel the loss?

Yup. The anxiety I’m feeling is a lot like that.

Like my life is speeding by in a whirl of restlessness and obligations and TGIM and my kiddos are only a mesmerizing blur along the way—lightning quick flashes of growing and changing and learning and becoming—so beautiful, yet so fleeting… and I can’t make it stop! I can’t snatch my children out of time and hold them close to me just as they are, so lovely and young, so full of innocence and love and trust, because there are miles to go and places to be and that’s just the way it goes, this life. And before I know it my son is a teenager with braces and hormones and opinions, and my daughters are not quite as grossed out as they used to be when they see people kissing and they will soon be too cool to cuddle up with me and ask me to read them bedtime stories.

So I’ve been feeling anxious lately. Unsettled. Discombobulated.

The wasp is still trapped. I hear it thumping futilely against the pane, and it strikes me that its only thought right now is probably to get out, get out, get OUT of the place in which it is stuck. And if the stupid thing would only slow down for a moment, take a breath—although insects technically breathe passively, but work with me here—maybe it would realize that, hey, it got itself IN there—it crawled right in, uninvited and whatnot—so it can certainly get itself the hell out. There is ALWAYS a way out! A way to move onward, to be free from the frenzied, futile thumping, because what you are doing is not WORKING.

Except for when I open the window and swat it dead, of course.

Hey, I TOLD you. Hornets make me cranky.

But, I’m thinking. Just like the poor deceased wasp, maybe what I ought to do to dispel the unnamed restlessness is to slow down for a moment, breathe, look around. Take notes. Enjoy the view. I mean, I have traveled this far, and I know the ultimate ending, but if I am always waiting, holding my breath, always searching for something more, or looking for a way to get… oh, somewhere else, I am missing what is plain, what is right in front of me. The mesmerizing blur, so to speak. And I can’t get that back! Like it says in “World Spins Madly On” by the Weepies:

Everything that I said I’d do
Like make the world brand new
And take the time for you
I just got lost and slept right through the dawn
And the world spins madly on

So, pay attention, me!

Also? Occasionally I am melodramatic and strange.

Wii Blackmail Bargain, 4-Year-Old Style

cat — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 14:49:00 +0000

HA!

I just tried to call my BFF Paige, but her 4-year-old answered and told me, “When she lets me play Wii, I’ll let you talk to her.”

What can I say? Props to the boy for his mad bargaining skillz.

Doctors and Lab Tests and Tumors, Oh My!

cat — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 11:19:05 +0000

Today I’ve decided to actually ATTEND my pre-op doctor’s appointment. Which was rescheduled? You know, due to the I-am-a-complete-airhead factor? I know, right?! Truthfully, I contend that I am just too busy and important to be bothered by silly things such as my health and ridickalous benign tumors residing in my foot and whatnot, but think what you want. I don’t even care. But don’t judge. RUDE.

Hey, we can’t be rebels ALL the time, okay?! We can’t be running around all willy-nilly-like, blowing off appointments and forgetting to schedule lab tests and such. Sometimes we have to suck it up and simply say, “Fine! TAKE my blood! TEST my urine! Hey, want a kidney while we’re at it?! Seriously! Take it! Go on! Take it! Take it! GOSH.” Because that is what grownups DO.

“…the back of your head is ridickalous!”

cat — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 19:37:16 +0000

I hate to be a drive-by poster (TechnoGeekery Show #42: Blogging Blues), but Darrel had me at “Excuse me, can I talk to you for a minute?” You can’t help but admire his tenacity. That said, no freaking WAY dude would score this gal’s “beautiful-ass number”! I have actually been on the receiving end of this “Can I have your number” spiel, though, and I must say… it isn’t nearly as funny in the moment. For REAL. It’s ridickalous!

DWM Pet Peeve Friday

cat — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 10:19:57 +0000

Pet peeve number… some high number:

Public Restroom Groaners, or PRGs, if you will. Oh, and PR Sighers! Honestly. Because you know what? PRGs? At home? In total private? Cut loose! Go for it! I mean, if you have to be trying that hard to do… um, your business… you should maybe consult a gastroenterologist, or, you know, eat more fiber or whatever, because all that straining is SO bad for you (*cough*hemorrhoids*cough*). But whatever. I’m only saying.

And YOU? PRSs? If you are so relieved upon, you know, relieving yourself that you can’t help but to heave creepy, near orgasmic sighs– that’s right, I said it!– then you are clearly holding it way too long which any urologist and Jim Carrey’s character in “Liar Liar” will tell you will only lead to problems down the road. Infections. Impotence. And remember Fergie?! Do you?! Peed herself right on stage! In front of God and her fans and everybody! Cautionary tale right there! But it’s your body. Do what you want. I don’t even care. At ALL.

Unless, that is, you happen to park yourself in the stall next to me at work, in which case, cut that crap out right now!

Oh.

Well, you know what I mean.

Hey, NBC! Don’t Chuck With My Favorite Show!

cat — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 22:06:36 +0000

Okay. After Veronica Mars and Pushing Daisies, you’d think I’d learn, right? You would think it! Hey, Cat! Don’t fall in love with a TV show! The network will let you down in the end.

That said, Angel Cohen over at Television Without Pity gives a compelling argument for why Chuck, a show on the bubble, should be renewed for a third season. And c’mon! This is Television Without Pity! As in “Spare the Snark, Spoil the Networks”! That is totally their motto! So there you go.

Wait. What does “on the bubble” mean? Well, I will tell you. No need to be pushy, there, hotshot. GOSH. See, a show that is “on the bubble” is a show that does a’ight for itself, but it hasn’t gotten the green light yet on a pick-up for next year, meaning that the outlook is, shall we say… uncertain. Like, the Chuck bubble o’ goodness could burst at any time! POP! Get it? Get it? Bubble? BURST? Because the show gets CANCELED? Which, BTW, would totally blow.

Oooh, pun SNAP!

So I have to concur with all the kudos for the well-written storylines (with adequate suspension of disbelief, naturally), the fabulous and quirky cast, the will-they-won’t-they angst of Chuck and Sarah’s relationship, the gruntiness of Special Agent Casey, the sweet bromance between Chuck and Morgan, and the pop-culture fun woven into every episode of Chuck. Oh, and Jeffster. Can’t forget the Jeffster! I mean, any show that can seamlessly weave “Africa” by Toto into an episode is aces in my book. Aces!

And does it need to be said that Zachary Levi (AKA: Chuck) is totally Nerdalicious? Because I will totally say it if it needs to be said. I will. Don’t think I won’t because you would be so wrong. He is Nerd-a-licious. And Yvonne Strahovski as Sarah? Come ON. Plus, we get to see Captain Awesome shirtless in practically every episode, which, AWESOME?!

I’m not going to lie. Despite my best efforts to harden my heart, I will be genuinely crushed if they cancel Chuck, my favoritest show on TV.

Basic Blog Skillz 101

cat — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 11:46:26 +0000

I’m kicking it Old School. Or is it “taking it back to the beginning”? Starting anew, perhaps? Is anew even a word? It doesn’t LOOK like a word. Maybe I’m thinking of afresh. A’fresh? A’new? Whatever. English is stupid. I’m switching. Hablare’ espanol ahora!

Okay, as my choices of foreign punctuation are limited on my iPhone… Ich werde Deutsch jetzt sprechen! Or something!

Darn. My choices of conversational German phrases are even more limited than my iPhone’s foreign punctuation options, so FINE. I will stick with stupid English for now. Under protest! Because it’s STUPID.

I had a point earlier. I’d better start anew.

Oh! Yes. With the afreshness of blogging. Blog Skillz 101. I’m so totally focused now. See, I’m out of practice. You know, with the blogging? It used to be that I would see something, or hear a noise, or eat a yummy pastry of some sort, and BOOM! Blog idea! But the blogging senses? When they are neglected? Underused? Cast aside, if you will? They get rusty.

I know, right?! I totally thought it would be like riding a bike, you know? Just hop back on and pedal like crazy, and VROOOM! Off you go! A blur of blonde pigtails and pink pedal pushers, with sparkly iridescent ribbons dancing in the sunlight as they stream from the handlebars…

You know, like that.

But NO. It has to be DIFFICULT. Like, what do I write about? Why aren’t those moments jumping out at me? The blog moments? The ones that practically scream, “Blog me! Good LORD, what are you waiting for?!” and I’m like, “Okay! I will! Shut up now!” and they are all, “Fine!” and I’m like, “Fine!” and then we kiss and make up because, honestly, it’s silly to fight with those moments because they are only trying to HELP.

So I am going to have to consciously LOOK for those moments and practice BLOG writing (as opposed to the OTHER type of writing I do all day long, which, incidentally, is one of the main factors contributing to my blogging slackage… just so’s you know).

So, yeah. Basic Blog Skillz 101. If anyone has any suggestions for curriculum, please let me know. Except if you’re going to say AI recaps because WE ARE NOT SPEAKING. And I don’t have cable, but that is secondary to the We Broke Up thing. I might be amenable to Chuck recaps, though, because DUDE. The TWoP Chuck recaps? Suck. I know, right? It’s a major disappointment in my life. Right up there with the fact that I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier. AND I didn’t get accepted into the Evil League of Evil. HUGE disappointment there, obviously.

But I’ve registered for the class and I’m a totally quick study– and a bit of a kiss-ass, truth be told– so I should be fine! It should be fine.

Right?

Confessions from a DWM

cat — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 11:31:09 +0000

Yesterday? I did something. Something I swore I’d never do. Something I have come out strongly against. Something about which I can be a leeeettle bit judgmental. Judgy McJudgerpants. Judge-o-ramma lamma bing bangish. But it was late! Almost two hours later than I usually leave work! And my kids were wondering where I was! And I had limited cell service in my building! And I only had a small window of opportunity to call home before I hit the Metro and lost all service! And I think I might have even been a little delirious due to hunger and sleep deprivation! I’m only saying it is POSSIBLE, okay?! A colossal lapse in judgment brought about by an unhappy confluence of desperation and opportunity! Because I needed to call home and I had already left the office suite and I had one more super quick stop before heading out and the one place in the building with almost all bars was…

Gosh. This is so much harder than I thought it would be. I can hardly bear to say it. But the sad truth is…

Y’all? Yesterday evening? As I was leaving work? I… I… I was a public restroom cell phone user.

GAH! I know! RIGHT?! The SHAME.

DWM and TechnoGeekery are BACK, Baby!

cat — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 11:09:22 +0000

Fooyah! See, I just used my mad blog-slash-server-fixin’ skillz and FIXED those bad boys, getting all my sites back online and whatnot. It was fantastic.

Right?

Right?!

So… now all I need is a few days of vacation and a freaking CLUE as to where I can find my mighty mojo o’ bloggerificness–which appears to be missing, yo?–and we’ll be good to go!

*sigh*

Whither has thou gone, mighty mojo? Whither?

Watch Out, Britney and Justin!

cat — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 17:43:55 +0000

Conversation in the car, minutes before Alli’s next-to-last basketball game:

“Momma, I hope we win this game! Then we get to play in the… the…”

“…the playoffs,” TGIM supplied.

“Yeah, playoffs,” Alli agreed, bouncing excitedly in her seat. “It’s like a dance-off… but for basketball!”

Watch out, opposing team. Alli’s in the hizzouse!

Bonus Points for Effort

cat — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 17:56:48 +0000

On Saturday night TGIM and I went on a double date with Paige and TGSheM. Naturally, we left TD home with his sisters, plus two of Paige’s girls (one TD’s age, the other a few years younger than Alli) with the somewhat optimistic idea that extra bodies in the house would help prevent any kind of sibling squabbles or blood feuds in our absence.

Hey. It could work. You don’t know.

Toward the end of the evening, however, TGIM received a phone call from home. We knew it was The Call. You know. The one where the kid calls and is all, “So… I just thought you might want to know that Hannah is sitting on Alli’s head and I think the toilet is broken, but the towels got most of it, and the smoke detector in the kitchen WORKS, if you were wondering, and no one is even listening to me”– interrupted by background screams of “Tanner’s a LIAR! Don’t LISTEN TO HIM! LIAR! LIAR! Pants on FIIIIRE!” and “Get OFF me! GET OFF! Mooooooommmmmmaaaa!”– and always ending with, “um… so when are you coming home?”

I watched TGIM take the call, trepidation creepy crawling down my back, and waited for The Response. You know. The one where the parent is like, “Is anyone bleeding? Is? Anyone? BLEEDING?!” and then, “Then WHY are you CALLING?! We’ve talked about this! Rule number one: Don’t call unless there is blood or broken body parts! Now tell Hannah to get off her sister, stay out of the bathroom, don’t go NEAR the kitchen, and we’ll be home in a bit!”

But the only response from TGIM was a grin.

“Well,” I hissed sotto voce, “what’s he saying?”

TGIM covered the phone, held it away from his mouth, and answered loudly enough for all of us to hear, “He said, ‘When are you coming home? It’s pandeminium over here!’”

He uncovered the phone and replied, “Pandeminium, eh?”–I covered my mouth to stifle a giggle–”Well, we’ll be home soon, so hang in there.”

Afterward, we all agreed. Developing a larger-than-average vocabulary mostly through reading?

As it turns out, not always optimal.

Wild Hair in the Employee Lounge

cat — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 16:01:48 +0000

As I passed the employee lounge refrigerator this morning I had this almost irresistable urge to shake every single bottle and can of soda in it. All of ‘em! Every last one! Leave no can unshaken! And not at all because I am trying to get off the Diet DP, you know, because it is too spaz for me, not to mention unhealthy–water is best! water is best!–no, not at all, because hello? Grown woman? Seriously. And water is BEST so I don’t even care at ALL if other people are drinking those nasty caffeinated spazzilicious beverages that are NOT water and are therefore NOT best. It’s their lives! DRINK the soda! It’s none of my concern! It’s–

Okay, even I’m not buying it. *sigh* I’m just a bad person. A bad person with evil soda-shaking thoughts. So I hope you properly admire my restraint.

But if I did give in to my baser instincts, come lunch time, there WOULD be a whole lot of excitement going on around here, I tell you what! Woo!

Whatever. A gal can dream. That’s all I’m saying.

Go gentle into that good night. Go on!

cat — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 23:19:24 +0000

Sometimes? I get this naggy, achy feeling, deep down, deep in my heart, and I am struck by an almost overwhelming desire to walk away from it all. And by “it all” I mean the world wide web. Just to be clear. I’m not referring to my job, or my television shows, or TGIM and the kiddos. I mean, I don’t want all y’all thinking I’m going to pull a Marie Osmond and leave the nanny with credits cards and blank checks, all like, “I’m OUT of here!” For one, I don’t have a nanny. So, you know, there’s that. Also, Chuck and Heroes and Ugly Betty are back, so I can’t just pick up and GO, right? Madness, that’s what it would be. Sheer, unadulterated madness! Chuck is in 3D this week! I know, right? 3D! AND Joss Whedon’s new show, Dollhouse, is set to air in a week or so. Like I would miss that! Hello? It shall be awesometastic. Oh, yes it shall.

So… when I say walk away from it all, I mean the web. The Blogosphere. To simply drift away from the Twitter and the Facebook. To walk away from the vidcast and the blog. It’s been a good run! Who knew back in 2004 that I would still be here, here in the Blogosphere, writing and filming and friending and tweeting? Who knew? Certainly not I. I honestly had no idea what I was getting myself into, what I would learn and become, and sometimes… well, it feels like too much. See, I’ve gone and developed Expectations. And with Expectations comes Self Doubt. Envy. That big meanie, Judgy McJudgerpants. And I start to wonder stuff. Like, “Oh NO. What if I run fresh out of pithy thoughts? What if suddenly I’m pithyless? What then?” That is exactly the moment when I get the naggy, achy feeling, and there’s a part of me that wants to slip away. To go gentle into that good night.

And by “go gentle into that good night” I mean walk away. You know, from the web. Just to be clear. When I quote Dylan Thomas, I am speaking metaphorically. There is no need for intervention. ARE WE CLEAR?

I do understand that walking away from it all would be bittersweet. Bitter because I slightly neglected several well-loved hobbies to delve into the new ones, and where would that leave me if I turned away? But sweet, because I’ve made so many friends through all of it. See, this is why I am all about the milk chocolate. Bittersweet chocolate blows. Michael Scott had it right. “Why not just sweet? I mean, who are you helping?” And that’s what I keep asking myself. Who am I helping? Me? Who? And does it matter? Does it? With the gajillion bloggers out there, will anyone even notice if I fade away? I don’t know! But truthfully, I can’t help but think it hugely presumptuous of me to think anyone will. Notice, that is. Because, bold much? Honestly.

If I’m going to power through the Self Doubt and the Envy, and push aside the antics of one Mr. Judgy McJudgerpants, if I plan to rage, rage against the dying of the light, I guess I feel as if it should be worth it. I don’t want to be taken in again, as with American Idol, who strung me along for years and years before finally revealing itself as a sham and a liar and a time-suck of epic proportions! I should have learned after the Ruben-Clay fiasco of ‘03, but no. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that relationship and where did it get me?! Huh?! Nowhere, bucko, that’s where! And I can’t get all those late-night hours spent dialing and voting and recapping BACK, no sir! That’s all I’m saying. I don’t want to look back and be all, “Dude. Why did I hang on to that relationship with the web for so long? Good LORD. What was I THINKING?”

You see?

It’s a conundrum, I tell you what. And by “conundrum” I mean… conundrum. Just so we’re clear.

In other news, I am occasionally melodramatic and strange.

Dance in the Stillness

cat — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 18:43:11 +0000

I have the house to myself.

It’s been so long since it’s been this quiet. This still. So here I am, curled up under my comforter savoring the view of the small patch of grayish blue sky I can see while staring through the slightly parted curtains of my bedroom window. There is something so freeing about lying in bed in the middle of the day with the curtains open, letting in the sun and the sky and the light, not blocking it all out, not shutting it all away, even if I might want to nap a little or perhaps just close my eyes for a bit—just a few moments!—because I know it will still be there when I open my eyes again. The sun and the sky and the light. There. Quiet and still. In the middle of the day that is MINE. I can’t explain it! I can’t! It is just so.

The thin branches in the tree outside are softly swaying and waving as the bitter winter breeze batters and bends them, tearing from them any remnants of clinging leaves, setting them free. But these leaves, remainders of the fall, they don’t dance with the wind. They are crinkled and paper thin and they break apart, disintegrate before my eyes, and swirl and twirl away, painting the air with warm earthy hues of russets and browns until they are out of sight.

But I push these thoughts away, because it is my day, my light and sky and peace, and I am snug, burrowing deeply into the soft down duvet. I’m soothed, running my hands across the top of the blanket, savoring the feel of the smooth expanse of well-worn cotton against my palms while I again allow my thoughts to drift upwards and out. Unfortunately, my thoughts never will stay elevated for any great length of time, and while I want to close my eyes, to enjoy the peace, I quickly lose myself in thoughts of the mundane. Chores. Responsibilities. My developing MarioKart skills. How I really ought to be filming a TechnoGeekery episode or doing something productive, dammit, rather than burrowing away from everyone and everything, staring out the window. Frustrated, I close my eyes, which is particularly effective in shutting out unwanted, intruding thoughts. Ah, stillness. Quiet. Peace. Gradually, however, my thoughts slip into imagining that new pair of Uggs I am absolutely coveting because they may be the fugliest footwear imaginable, but DAAAY-UM they keep my tootsies toasty and make mighty fine slippers and my old pair have absolutely no traction and I don’t want to bust my ass again slipping down the icy steps…

I just opened my eyes and the digital clock on my bedside table caught my eye. It is staring at me in silent condemnation, all “Look at the time you wasted! Just LOOK!” With a rueful grin, I move to throw back the covers, and then another leaf catches my attention. It swirls and twirls and disappears from my view. Then another blows by… and another.

And I realize that I am holding on too tight, I’m not letting go, when I should be breaking free to dance with the wind, to swirl and whirl and paint the sky, lush forest green with hints of olive, goldenrod, and palest yellow, and perhaps even a thin streak of burgundy running throughout, with really only one possible destination, but it is okay, more than fine, because it is my time to fly, my journey to enjoy, not half-assed, but wholeheartedly.

I smile and sink back into my cocoon of blankets, stretch lazily, and welcome the sound of stillness as it washes over me, through me.

Let it blow, I think to myself. I’m ready to dance.

Random Thoughts on a Snowy, Dreary WAH Day

cat — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 21:49:43 +0000

Sometimes during especially long meetings, thoughts tend to run through my mind unchecked as I daydream about the tasty animal crackers I have back at my desk or ponder why I am compelled to add “haha” any time someone says “brouhaha” or wonder why it is called “after dark” when it really is “after light” because, seriously, what is up with that?

Also, do you know what is an inherently funny word? Freckle. Right? Am I right? Honestly. When someone says “freckle” I just laugh and laugh…

Finally, you know that thing you do sometimes when you are all alone at night and you hear noises and maybe– perhaps!– get a little freaked out, and your heart begins racing at three times the rate of your normal cardiac cycle, so you grab a bat and you tiptoe from room to room throwing open closet and bathroom doors while letting loose with an ear-splitting “AAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEGH!” and totally swinging that bat with all you’ve got? Because adrenaline is POWERFUL and you could probably do some DAMAGE if someone was actually behind said closet and bathroom door(s)? Also, it is good aerobic exercise? You know, that thing?

No?

Me neither. Tachycardia is nobody’s friend.

More Passive-Aggressive PTA Shenanigans

cat — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 00:04:11 +0000

Oh, HELL no.

I cannot BELIEVE I have been ambushed by the PTA! Again! I walked right into it, too, which is such an embarrassment and a true testament to how sleep-deprived I truly am due to the evil Nintendo and its wily Pokemon Diamond ways (I caught a Dialga. It’s a Legendary. I know, right?) Damn the PTA! DAMN THEM TO HELL! It’s supposed to be an orchestra concert, not an impromptu PTA meeting! Or, not so impromptu… just planned unbeknownst to me. Totally NOT beknownst! To me! Or most of the parents here, apparently, as 90 percent of them whipped out a Blackberry, iPhone, or other electronic device of choice seconds after the PTA president said, “Well, while you’re all heeeeeere… we may as well hold a SUPER quick PTA meeting, okay? Seriously! Five minutes. Maybe ten. Not that you have a choice, ha ha ha!… No, seriously, sit down. This is HAPPENING.”

I did NOT sign up for this. I call passive-aggressive PTA shenanigans! FAIL! Dear LORD, they are talking about the budget now. The BUDGET! Okay, just kill me now. Seriously. Just make it quick. And not in any way painful. Or gross.

Whatever. There better be some tasty cookies this time, that’s all I’m saying, or the PTA president is going DOWN.

Speaking of presidents, I am genuinely shocked by how many people I know who are totally on a first name basis with the President of the United States. For reals! They are all like “Oooh, Barack said this” and “Ooooh, Barack did that” While I, with no apparent claims of familiarity, am forced to stand on ceremony and call him “President Obama.” Or, if I’m feeling bold and sassy, perhaps “Mr. Prez, sir.” Hey! I said perhaps! Anyway, color me impressed.

Oooooh! Time for the concert. What the…?! The sneak-attack PTA meeting only lasted twenty-six minutes?! A personal best.

Happy Birthday to You!

cat — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 15:22:06 +0000

The fact that Hannah was born on the day my brother Jon was born, which also happens to be the day my Dad was born is just a crazy random happenstance. But I do admit, I LOVE that I have a super-duper built-in birthday reminder so I don’t forget at least TWO of my family members’ birthdays! Most of the time!

Shut up. I can’t help how I am.

Happy birthday, Hannah, Jon, and Dad. I love you guys.

Strange and Shouty Thanks

cat — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 13:56:30 +0000

I am not updating to toot my own horn (I’m not comfortable with self-horn tooting) but because a few of you asked me to. So, here it goes:

I did it! I stopped and smiled at the strange, shouty man on the corner (sorry, Jake, but he IS both strange and shouty, and that is how I shall describe him), and I put something in his outstretched cup (again, none o’ your business). He said (or, rather, shouted), “Yeah! Yeah! That’s right! Ha ha! Thank you! Thank you! That’s what I’m talking about! Yeah!” And, honestly? I could tell he totally meant it.

It was kind of awesome.

I mean, it’s one thing to give annually to CFC (if you’re Fed, you know CFC), but it is quite another thing to stand face-to-face with someone on the receiving end of your contribution. Sure, it can be a little awkward and scary and outside of your comfort zone. Oh, not pee-your-pants-in-freaking-terror scary or anything, but awkward nonetheless.

But guys? It can also be kind of awesome.

Oh, Think Twice

cat — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 01:29:00 +0000

There’s a man… living in a cardboard box… down by the White House.

I want to joke. It’s what I do. You must understand: it is genetic. I had absolutely no say in the matter. Because, yes, you see, I have inherited the Loud Laugher/Loud Talker gene from my mother’s side of the family, which makes for good times in cubicle-land, let me tell you. Especially when I get phone calls. Or an especially funny email. I get shushed. I do! And when I break my butt walking down icy stairs , I laugh (after I pass out). When I pass out (again) while locked in the ER restroom, resulting in a twisted ankle and a bruised up face, I laugh. When my husband hits me in the head with a racquetball going mach 7, after I cry like a baby and cuss him to bits, I laugh. When I joke about someone hurting my feelings or breaking my heart, I laugh. I can’t help how I am.

But I can’t find the funny in this.

I work in DC. A block away from the White House. (And that’s all the details you’ll ever get out of me. Because it’s none of your business where I work, THAT’S why. STALKER.) And when I remember to get my hyper-focused self out of my cubicle and into the fresh air, I see him. During the bustle of the midday lunch crowd, there he is, right there on the sidewalk, fast asleep on a ratty old bed of blankets and newspapers, wearing several layers of clothing, his only possessions (as far as I can tell) an old metal shopping cart, a coffee cup filled with change and folded-up dollar bills, and a plastic drugstore bag filled with well-worn paperback books and assorted paraphernalia that is usually resting against the abandoned storefront window. The first time I saw him, I thought, Why doesn’t anyone steal his money? Or his bag? He’s SO out. Because I am a horrible person and that was the first thing that popped into my head. Theft. Yes, my parents are so proud. But in thinking that thought, I realized that no one stole his stuff… because they didn’t see it.

He wasn’t even there.

She calls out to the man on the street
“Sir, can you help me?
It’s cold and I’ve nowhere to sleep,
Is there somewhere you can tell me?”

And now it’s winter, and it’s bitter cold, and today I actually remembered to get my hyper-focused self out of my cubicle and into the fresh air. And I discovered that where the ratty old bed of blankets and newspaper used to be is a cardboard hut, built in a sort of half-hexagon shape and propped pretty solidly up against the abandoned storefront window. It’s a pretty intricate structure, with a swinging door (blocked by the shopping cart when I walked by). The coffee cup was there, filled with the usual change and folded-up dollar bills. And this time I thought, How did he build that? Did people stop and watch? Did anyone help him? The authorities have to know he’s here. Are they going to make him tear it down? Good LORD, he is LITERALLY living in a cardboard box! People don’t live in cardboard boxes. You can’t LIVE in a cardboard box. And I thought all this as I pulled my coat more tightly around me and pulled on my mittens to help ward off the icy wind blowing by.

But y’all? There’s a man living in a cardboard box down by the White House.

I have a confession: If he were awake when the crowds bustle by, perhaps sitting on his blankets reading, or talking to himself, or simply staring into space, I probably wouldn’t be able to recall such vivid details of the living space he has staked out as his own. I couldn’t. Because I know in my heart that I would probably look away. Like I do when the strange, shouty man at the corner of the street by the Metro entrance waves his coffee cup full of change at me as I rush to get to the train on time. Because I never have cash, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do with it. Is it like a Ding Dong Ditch? Drop in a dollar, make no eye contact, and hurry by? What happens then? Will I be obligated to drop money into his cup every time I pass him? Will he expect it? I don’t know! I don’t!

Today, from across the street, I watched covertly as others hurried by him. Some dropped change and dollars into his cup, thus earning his strange, shouty thanks. Some smiled in his direction as they passed, flashing him a “Sorry, buddy, not today” type of gesture. But mostly? People walked on by, some even quickening their step or swerving as far from him as possible as they passed.

He walks on, doesn’t look back
He pretends he can’t hear her
Starts to whistle as he crosses the street
Seems embarrassed to be there

Yes, the economy sucks. Yes, people are losing their jobs. Yes, we need a change. Yes, we need hope. So I can’t help but be bewildered by this sense of complacency regarding homelessness I perceive in our nation’s capital, this abandonment of the needy, people who have the time and the wherewithal to build cardboard huts on the streets, right in front of us, right outside buildings where thousands of people work, only a block away from the home of the most influential person in the entire country, and yet… there they are? Are we, as a whole, complacent? ARE we? I don’t know! I don’t! I’m not judging. I’m ASKING.

Because there’s a man living in a cardboard box down by the White House. And I can’t find the funny in that. I just… can’t.

Oh think twice, it’s another day for
You and me in paradise
Oh think twice, it’s just another day for you,
You and me in paradise

Just think about it.

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