Id Rather Be Blogging

Traffic Jam

2009-07-10T17:41:00.002-05:00

Is it too much to ask that after a long hard day at work, for an event-free smooth drive home?

I mean really...

Not only do I have to slalom through a multitude of bright orange cones and ridiculously lengthy detours so prevalent in the few short weeks formerly known as Summer (these days it is more aptly named "Construction Season").

Now I have to deal with traffic congestion - even in the Suburbs.

The line up of cars at a standstill in BOTH lanes.

And the honking.

Oh, the incessant honking!

Geez.

Come on!

Move it! Move it! Move it!

I just want to get home.

Damn slowpokes.

Crossing in the middle of the street like they just don't care.

They think they own the road just because they're cute AND Canadian.

Thx, But I'm Not Thirsty Anymore

2009-07-08T00:01:00.004-05:00

Or perhaps ever again.

While visiting the West Acres Mall in Fargo last week, I came across a kiosk called "The Old 52 General Store". It was a smaller version of a local emporium just south of Moorhead that stocks "mock vintage" toys, candy and soda pop.

Because I am both a cat owner and blogger, I just couldn't pass up purchasing the following:

The ingredients are as follows:

Pineapple and Orange flavor.

Carbonated water, pure cane sugar, natural and artificial flavors and colors, citric acid and sodium benzoate (a preservative).

The only thing that worries me....

I'm afraid to discover what the hell those "natural" flavors could possibly be.

A Funny Thing Happened...

2009-07-04T18:24:00.010-05:00

... while waiting at the Walk In Clinic.

It wasn't bad enough that Daughter had to come down with the flu a few days back whilst we were in Minneapolis.

Oh no.

Today, she awoke to the lovely sight of Pink Eye. Well, the lovely single-eyed sight of Pink Eye, for one was glued shut with Pink Eye Goo. (Was that TMI? Apologies.)

So, because Fate decrees that these things never happen on a weekday during regular office hours, we were off to the nearest Walk In Clinic to endure a few hours sitting amongst other sickos and screaming kids.

Except for one little sweetie with bouncy blond curls who arrived with her mom shortly after us. She must have been about four; in a pink frilly frock and matching pink sandals. It wasn't long before she asked her mom to read her something, so the tiny girl headed over to the bookshelf and raised herself on tiptoes to carefully pick out a magazine.

She returned to her seat in the row in front of us, proudly presenting her find by slapping it upon her mother's lap with the high-pitched request to "please read to me Momma".

I couldn't help but snicker as I noted the "magazine" she had chosen:

As the child climbed up on her lap for reading time, the mom turned her head and rolled her eyes with a wide smile back at me. We both cringed at what lie ahead. It started out well, with a comic strip Mom could bluff her way through.

But then the bluffing became increasingly harder.

"What's dat?" she innocently enquired.

"Booze." Mom responded and quickly turned the page.

"What's dat?" she asked again.

"Cigarettes." Mom answered.

"What's dat?"

"Ummmmm. I don't know." Mom blubbered.

I couldn't hold it in any longer... I had to let out a gaffaw as Mom turned back at me with a laugh and a shrug.

That was enough Fake Story Time for her. "Why don't you go pick out another book honey?"

And with that, the little girl jumped down, skipped across the room and came back with a new offering. Her tiny hands now clasped a Health and Lifestyle periodical. As they flipped through the pages, a tiny hand stopped on an ad for Dukoral.

Here we go again. "Why dat man sweating Momma?"

"He's hot sweetheart." Bravo... dodged another one.

I do believe it's high time the Walk In Clinic invested in some REAL children's books.

It's Been A Busy Week

2009-06-30T11:03:00.009-05:00

Last week was filled with final preparations and celebrations of Daughter's graduation from high school. After months of planning limos, flowers, parties, purchasing gowns, shoes, jewellry, preparing nails, hair and makeup... the day finally came to Honour the Honour Student with a Wednesday's Grad Dinner, Dance and Safe Grad until 4:30 am, and the Convocation ceremony on Friday morning. Then she was off to do it all over again for her boyfriend's graduation Friday evening until the wee hours of Saturday.

But at least the stress and sleep deprivation of those days would soon be rewarded with a vacation that started Sunday. Daughter, Sam (here modelling her new Patriotic shirt) and I were off in our rented candy apple red Endeavour to Fargo, and now Minneapolis for a week.

Yep we're finally here. Our hotel is just blocks away from our final destination; the Mall of America.

So it was with great anticipation that I awoke this morning for an incredibly sinful IHOP breakfast before hitting the Mall for the day.

And so it was with great disappointment that Daughter awoke this morning... sick.

Gad.

Set The WayBack Machine to 1972 Sherman

2009-06-24T00:00:00.024-05:00

If this post from nearly two years ago didn't convince you of my Uber-Geekiness, then this latest re-discovery certainly will clinch it.

While cleaning out the garage, Hubster (OMG, he is finally cleaning the garage!) unearthed a treasured item from my youth in ~~The Stone Age~~ the early 70s:

My Jewel Stone Rock Tumbler.

Yep. I was A Lapidary.

Well, my Dad was.

I was, in reality, A Lapidary Assistant. A Lapidary Protégé. A Lapidarian Apprentice.

Even though my parents had given me the tumbler, Dad ensured the required recipes of grit type, water and proper periods of electrical power were adhered to.

I helped pick out the stones. From then on everywhere I went, I travelled with my head down, searching for just the perfect specimens. After awhile, I got to know which type of raw rock would make the best polished gemstone.

But the most important ingredient was patience.

And luckily, my Dad has the patience of a Saint. He even kept the whole kit, stones and all for me. When unpacking it last night, not unlike Indiana Jones, I made an incredible discovery: one jar had remained sealed after all these years. Following numerous futile attempts at prying it open, I finally succeeded - to find it still had rocks inside!

After washing them up, I added them

to even more he had stored in an old ice cream tub in the box:

Yes, it's a good thing I had that Jewel Stone Rock Tumbler. In just a few decades, I had polished rocks like Mother Nature would have created...

... in erm, just a few decades.

Thank Goodness For Timmie's

2009-06-20T20:24:00.011-05:00

It sucks driving to work on a Monday morning.

It sucks even more having to drive to work on a Monday morning in the rain.

It really sucks having to drive to work on a Monday morning, in the rain, behind a police car that just turned onto the street up ahead.

Because no matter how slow they drive (and of course they drive as s-l-o-w-l-y as legally possible) no one has the guts to pass them. It doesn't matter that we are all law-abiding citizens. All the traffic slowed down too.

Including me.

Stay out of their sight! Don't do anything stupid!

Are my tail lights working? Gad, I didn't do my "walk around the car checking them all before every trip" this morning. To be honest, I have NEVER done my "walk around the car checking all the lights". Ever. (Well, not since that day I got my licence in 1976).

Is my insurance sticker still stuck to my licence? I put it on in February... maybe it fell off.

Are my windows clear? Are my tires inflated properly?

Gaaaaaah!

Stupid police car.

But I knew the snail-like procession wouldn't have to crawl behind them much longer. There was a Tim Horton's up ahead.

Yup. True to form, the Call of the Donut saved Rush Hour once again.

After they turned off, we all rushed past to make up for lost time.

Summer Vacation

2009-06-17T07:53:00.002-05:00

It's not just for humans anymore ....

The Fledgling

2009-06-11T00:01:00.042-05:00

Ahhhhhh. Finally. Home after another long workday. With the house to myself for awhile at least, I was looking forward to relaxing before the family came home for dinner.

So I sat in my favorite recliner by the front window and put my feet up as the laptop booted. Outside, a commotion caught my eye. A blackbird was attacking another bird on the lawn; a tiny thing only capable of verbally berating it, until two more birds swooped into the fray and chased the bully blackbird away.

Aw... it was a Fledgling Robin, with Mom and Dad Robin hovering protectively nearby. Wisps of down still crowned his head and his stubby wings flapped, but were not yet capable of flight. So he hopped everywhere around our front yard, quickly ducking into the short grass when a car roared past. His parents took turns digging into our lawn for some wormy sustinance, and opening its beak as wide as possible to reveal his bright orange gullet, he greedily gobbled his dinner down.

Each time pedestrians walked nearby, the parent Robins flew into a nearby tree or bush, leaving The Fledgling to scrunch down alone into the camouflage of the grass. When it was safe once again, they soared down to feed their baby more wriggling treats.

Then it happened. While the parents were away, the Fledgling decided to explore and to my horror was inching dangerously close to the busy street.

I was out of my chair in a flash. I'm sure the neighbors thought me crazy, shooing the tiny adventurer back towards the house. When Mom and Dad Robin returned, they watched my every move from the birch tree, as I successfully herded their Baby back to safety.

Perhaps I was too successful. After taking some closeup photos of my new friend, I began to walk back inside the house.

Only to hear a frantic "Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!" behind me.

The Fledgling was following my footsteps across the lawn.

"No no, sweetie... You stay here." (Yes, as a matter of fact, I DO talk to animals.)

And as I returned to my chair by the window, I smiled to see Mom and Dad Robin taking turns feeding their mischievous Fledgling yet again.

The Hummer

2009-06-08T18:18:00.029-05:00

You'd think in this day and age people would be a tad more considerate. I mean really; instead of acting like they live in a bubble, I wish they would start thinking of their neighbors. And realize that their actions affect us all; the people who have to share the same earth.

But noooo.... they just breeze through their life, only concerned about themselves, not caring a whit that they are polluting everyone's environment.

What am I ranting on about?

The Hummer.

Yep, the crazy woman my daughter and I were forced to listen to as we awaited the Orthodonist.

Seconds after we arrived in the dental waiting room, my ears were assaulted with a strange sound; not unlike the buzzing of an irritating mosquito... but I couldn't quite pinpoint its origin. My face must have revealed my aggravation, for daughter nudged me, rolled her eyes and nodded her head toward the culprit. Duh! The only other person in the otherwise silent room was sitting at the end of our row of chairs, reading a magazine and humming.

And humming.

And humming some more.

And not quietly. Oh no. This was LOUD humming.

The kind that prevents any kind of concentration on anything...

... except the humming.

So in lieu of scrambling over the chairs and forcably attempting to mute her, WE began to hum. Really loudly. Sadly... it didn't work. It didn't even faze her.

She just kept on humming. The LEAST she could have done was hum something decipherable, but regrettably it was the musical equivalent of gibberish.

Daughter was overjoyed when her reprieve finally came to leave and get her braces tightened. I was left to bear a far greater pain. For I had to wait alone and endure...

The Hummer.

Oh, you didn't think I meant THIS type of Hummer

did you?

Well, yeah, I hate those Hummers almost as much.

Almost.

Beam Me Up Scotty

2009-06-05T08:33:00.009-05:00

Me: How about we go see Star Trek on Sunday?

Hubster: Sure!

Me: Yep. On SUNDAY.

Hubster: Okay...

Me: Because it's a Special Day.

Hubster:

Me: You don't know what's on Sunday, do you?

Hubster: Er.... Star Trek?

Me:

Hubster:

Me: SUUUUUNDAY. A "Special Day".

Hubster: *Click* Oh! (Face contorts into that Holy Crap! expression)

Me:

Hubster: I nearly forgot!

Me: I know. (Yeah... NEARLY forgot....) Happy 29th Anniversary to you too there honey.

Math For Cat Owners

2009-06-03T07:19:00.018-05:00

What do you get when you perform the following calculation:

Do you get:

a) One ear-splitting, nerve-rattling KE-RASH!

b) One kajillion tiny shards of glass, melted wax bits and small decorative stones strewn across three rooms.

c) One severely pissed-off cat owner who was just preparing for bed.

d) One hour of crawling on hands and knees, picking said kajillion tiny shards of glass, wax bits and small decorative stones from carpet and dining room chair seats.

e) One protracted stream of curse words whilst picking out nigh-invisible, yet still painful, shards of glass from fingers and thumbs.

f) One thrilling session of vacuuming after midnight.

g) One freaked-out cat hiding for her life in the basement.

h) One grumpy blogger barely functioning on four hours sleep.

i) One shopping trip to re-purchase a large glass hurricane lamp.

j) All of the above.

And even if you don't have a cat, I'll wager you know the answer too.

Damn Those Horror Flicks

2009-05-30T10:02:00.037-05:00

Skritch. Skritch. Scratch.

What the hell was that?

Of course, Fate HAD to do this to me when I'm alone in the house; just so it could watch me freak out. Fate has a sick sense of humour you know.

I turn down the volume on the TV to ensure I wasn't imagining.

Skritch, Scratch.

There it was again! I look around and realise it was coming from...

... the fireplace. Up INSIDE the fireplace.

In the chimney.

Scuffle, Scratch, Skritch.

Holy crap. There it was again! There was definitely something up there. I check the resident zoo. One, two, three cats all accounted for... easily done, as they're all sitting beside me, heads cocked sideways staring wide-eyed at the fireplace too.

Okay, so it's not a cat.

What the heck do I do? Was something caught inside? What if it was an injured bird, unable to free itself???

Scratch, Scuffle. Clang.

The cats back up slowly.

Not a good sign.

I open up the front of the fireplace (gad, I should clean this thing out once in awhile) and check the flue door.

Phew! Closed up tight.

Maybe I should open it so whatevertheheckitis can get out.

Waitaminnut... what the heck am I going to do IF whatevertheheckitis DOES come scuttling out? Am I going to chase it around my livingroom? I need a bag. I need a box.

No, I need my CAMERA.

Hah! Now I'll find out whatevertheheckitis... I open the flue door and suddenly my hand begins to shake uncontrollably as scenes from every stupid horror movie flash through my head.

[You know the one; where the heroin (aka me) screws up enough courage (not me) to shove her hand up some awful place (my dirty chimney) searching for the door whilst a John Williams' soundtrack reaches a crescendo as the camera, from the monsters point of view, descends speedily at his target, to be kept at bay with a last-second slam of the door. (Ha! Safe once more!)]

What if whatevertheheckitis comes down and bites me? What if whatevertheheckitis is evil and grabs my hand and drags me to...

Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

It's probably a bird. Or maybe a mouse. What if it's a bunch of mice! Ahhhh!

The scuffling and skritching become louder. I take a deep breath, point the camera up into the chimney and FLASH! take a photo.

Scuffle!!! SKRITCH!

I check the photo. Nothing. Nada. No hairy beast. No evil eyes peering down.

Not even feathers.

Crap.

And then I get creeped out once more; outside the weather suddenly changes. The formerly bright blue sky now is blackish green with dark swirling clouds. Trees bend in 100Km winds and everything not nailed down in the neighborhood begins to fly everywhere. Dust and gravel pelt the windows...

... and I see a bird swoop from our roof to the safety of the large pine tree in the front yard.

Okay. So now I know whatevertheheckitwas inside the chimney.

But that still didn't keep the panic from swelling up inside at the unnatural tornado-like storm that suddenly appeared. Maybe I DID disturb something evil in the chimney after all...

Damn, those horror flicks.

The Times, They Were A'Changing

2009-05-27T21:45:00.013-05:00

If you were a kid in the 60s like me, as well as an admitted Geek like me, you'll recognize the image above. The ad that could be found at the back of every comic book... for recruitment into the J.S.C.A.! It sounded very official.

Wow! Not the J.S.C.A.!

Yep. The Junior Sales Club of America.

Oh. THAT J.S.C.A.... um, what was it exactly?

Jeepers! Your Free Membership to the J.S.C.A. made you eligible to earn money or win Other Grand Prizes!!! Who wouldn't want that??

Yes, upon further reading of the small print, kids were told "it's easy and loads of fun" to earn a whole 55 cents for every box of lovely All Occasion Greeting Cards you ~~guilted~~ er, sold to relatives, neighbors and friends! Or you could win valuable PRIZES from their Big Prize Catalog.

Cool stuff like Cadet Sleeping Bags, an Instant Load Flash Camera Outfit, a Tyco HO Train with Power Pack, a Portable Electric Mixer (??), a Deluxe 3 Speed Hi-Riser Bike (with Click Stick Shift!), or even this fashionable "Poodle Dog Radio" (although this particular model looks more like a "Poo Radio" to me):

Or how about these ultra-keen "Intercom Telephones"!!! Can you imagine being able to phone someone from anywhere in your home? Well, that is from anywhere close enough to plug them in, that is.

It was enticing alright.

And just look at those fresh faces... the girl with the bow in her hair, the clean-cut boy; both smiling at the fact that they could actually WIN a College Scholarship! Wouldn't your parents be so proud!

Yes, those were the early days of the J.S.C.A.

Then came the 70's and the J.S.C.A. wasn't so cool anymore. If they wanted to keep kids hooked, they had to change with the times.

It seems the clean-cut freckle-faced kids were replaced by Partridge-Family clones. The boy's hair lengthened, the sweater is gone, replaced by bell bottoms and a guitar. The girl is decked out in knee high boots and psychedelic duds. No more hair bow.

Surprisingly, the "prizes" didn't change all that much... except for something noticeably absent.

The J.S.C.A. no longer offered College Scholarships.

Reflecting the era of " Turn On, Tune In, and Drop Out ", no doubt.

*Sigh*

I never did join the J.S.C.A.

But I did want that groovy bike with the banana seat and high rise handlebars.

Just a Quick Question

2009-05-24T16:14:00.007-05:00

If you add melted butter to Extra Buttery Popcorn, does that make it:

a) Extra-Extra Buttery Popcorn

b) Extra-Squared Buttery Popcorn

c) Extra-Scrumptious Buttery Popcorn

or

d) Extra-Workout Buttery Popcorn ?

Then again, maybe I don't want to know. What I DO know is:

I devoured it Extra-Extra fast.

Deflated

2009-05-21T07:39:00.007-05:00

Today is a special day… I am no longer legally responsible for the kid. Crap, I guess I can’t call her that anymore.

Yes, my baby girl turns 18 today (which in Canada, means you’re an adult and can now legally drink – which basically takes most of the fun out of it).

In preparation for this momentous occasion, I made a card, bought and wrapped her gift, arranged for dinner out tonight and will be cooking and cleaning for the next two days before the family comes by for another celebration.

I also wanted to surprise Daughter this morning with 18 balloons piled high on her bathroom vanity with birthday greetings written all over the mirror in dry erase markers. But we had no balloons, so I delegated one job to The Hubster.

Me: “Can you pick up 20 balloons?”

The Hubster: “20?”

Me: “Yes. I need 18 to put in her bathroom Thursday morning. Two are extras in case some break.”

The Hubster: “Okay.”

So yesterday, as I was cleaning up at the end of the workday, my phone rings. I notice it’s Hubster’s cell number, so I decide to pick up (and don’t even TRY to tell me you don’t screen work calls two minutes before you leave).

Me: “Hello?”

The Hubster: “Hi. I’m at the store.”

Me: “Good….”

The Hubster: “Yeah, I’m standing here in front of the balloons.”

Me: “Um, that’s good too.”

The Hubster: “Okay, but there are different kinds of balloons.”

Me: “Just pick up enough to ensure we have 20. If they come in packs of 10 or 12, get two packs.” Duh.

The Hubster: “Oh. Here are some plain ones; ten per package.”

Me: “Get two of those.” Glances at clock which is now past 3:30. Dammit.

The Hubster: “But there are also packages of 10 with “Happy Birthday” written on them!”

Me: “Okay, get THOSE.”

The Hubster: “They cost more.”

Me: “That’s okay, get the best quality ones.”

The Hubster: “Yeah, good idea. Ohhh! Look! I just found a BIG package! A quarter pound of balloons!”

Me: “I don’t think we can…”

The Hubster: “They come in all different shapes!”

Me: “Just get 20 balloons. I don’t care which ones.” Crap. I could be well on my way home by now.

The Hubster: “Okay. I’ll get a variety.”

Me: “Alrighty then.”
* Sob. *

I love the guy, but I now fully realize why I am the decision-maker in the family. At least for things a tad more important than balloons.

Shoe Hunt

2009-05-18T15:04:00.027-05:00

Not a quest to find shoes for myself. Oh no, that would be fun.

I'm on a search for the owner of a certain pair of shoes.

I know. I sound crazy. And I probably have you thoroughly confused.

I'll start at the beginning then; which for this particular tale, occurred about a month ago when someone at work started chucking used paper towels on the floor right in front of the garbage recepticle in the woman's bathroom. Now I know that's not a huge deal -- sometimes people just miss the mark. At first I did what I usually do; simply throwing them out myself and then washing up. But then it seemed like every time I went in there, there they were littering the floor again. Three or four wadded up towels discarded adjacent to, but not in, the garbage.

Every frickin' day.

And every frickin' day I picked them up.

An anonymous Miss Piggy was in our midst messing up our new pristine plant-adorned community washroom. My OCD was being stretched to the limit and the final straw came when I realized I was now picking up toilet paper (erm, UN-used, of course) off the floor as well.

I finally had enough. I could stand it no longer.

I marched out into the main office area and declared in my best Authoratative Managerial Voice (I used to be a manager, so I have one, you know):

"Would the person who can't bother to throw away their own paper towels stop chucking them on the floor, because I'm sick of having to clean up after you!"

It seemed to work. For the next few days, the washroom remained clean.

And then it happened. Shortly after I arrived one afternoon, someone else stepped out of thier stall, washed and dried their hands and left. Of course I didn't know who it was; all I had seen under the partition were her black shoes.

And when I went to wash up I couldn't believe my eyes.

The paper towels were back on the floor. Mocking me.

Holy crap. Now at least I knew the perpetrator wore black shoes, but I couldn't see WHO was wearing them.

So I am now on the hunt... then I'll know for certain who it is. Although I have a sneaking suspicion, since this all started shortly after we hired a new person.

Watch out, Miss Piggy.

Cuz if I ever catch you dropping another used paper towel on our bathroom floor....

I'll ...

I'll ...

probably pick it up agian.

Crap, I'm such a wuss. But at least I am a clean wuss.

Fun With Sam

2009-05-14T10:08:00.014-05:00

"So Sam… how about another trip to America at the end of June?"

What?

"You know… a road trip to Minneapolis; just us gals again. Like the one we did in March.

Didn’t you have fun then?"

Oh yes. I remember. Good times...

Playing hide and seek at IKEA was fun.

Relaxing at Starbucks was fun.

Shopping at Victoria Secret was fun.

Meeting Jeff from View From The Cloud was very fun.

Eating at IHOP was fun too!

But may I suggest that we skip Underwater Adventures at the Mall of America this time.

That…

Wasn’t so much fun.

K? Thx.

You're Giving Me Chest Pains

2009-05-11T00:01:00.013-05:00

It's a unique place to work, to say the least.

I'm surrounded by doctors, nurses and secretaries possessing a whole range of personalities and educational levels. And each one seeks me out when they have some sort of "technical" crisis with any piece of electronic equipment. Computer or not.

Apparently unbeknownst to me, the first page in our Policies and Procedures Manual reads:

"If you plug it in and it doesn't work, immediately call Maureen, our Computer Applications Specialist. Ensure the use of your best frantic tone to fully communicate it is a life or death situation. Especially when it clearly is not."

What amazes me the most are the calls from the Cardiologists and Surgeons... you know; those incredible individuals who have successfully completed decades of intense schooling so they can literally open people up and repair their hearts. Without gagging.

Yet the simplest of tasks befuddles them.

"Arrrrgggghhhhhh!!!! My printer suddenly stopped working!!!!"

Yes. I can see that. After careful analysis (ie. at first glance), I can confidently concur it may have something to do with that huge wad of paper jammed, accordion-style, inside. You know, that white stuff you obviously tried unsuccessfully, may I add, to remove since the edge has been torn and shredded, with pieces of it strewn, blizzard-like all over your desk.

"GAHHH!!!!! The AV projector won't display my PowerPoint presentation!!!!!"

You might try actually turning ON the computer. Even with the incredible advances in technology, the projector still can't read your mind, or your memory stick, without power.

At times I even have to resort to standing right behind them to watch exactly what they are doing. Take for example, the many, many times unexpected errors occur and I am summoned posthaste.

"Have you rebooted lately?" I always ask.

"Of course I have! Just this morning... multiple times!" I always hear.

I never take their word for it any more. So I drop what I am doing, trudge to their office and ask them to please do it again while I watch.

And inevitably, they simply LOG OFF.

"No. Please re-boot. Shut down." I patiently ask once more.

"Oh! Okay."

They LOG OFF again.

Sigh.

"No, please go to 'Start'. Select 'Shut Down'. Select 'Shut Down' again from the drop down box and hit 'OK'. The computer will power right off so we can clear the memory and turn it on again."

"Oh! Oh I NEVER do that!"

Duh! Yeah, I can tell. Miraculously, their programs work and all is right with the world once more.

* Sob. *

Well, at least I can rest easy knowing that WHEN I drop of a massive stress-induced MI, there are trained personnel close at hand to save me.

Unless someone forgets to turn on the damn defibrillator that is.

It's A Day Long Remembered

2009-05-06T07:09:00.015-05:00

Yes, a day that will forever be known as the "Day The Christmas Lights Were Extinguished".

It's true I tell you!

When I emerged from my home this morning, I was met with an unbelievable sight before me... my heart burst with joy at the realization that the neighbor had finally turned off and taken down their Christmas lights yesterday.

I blinked back tears.

No more neon blue glowing beacons that had marked Christmas Day.

Then New Year's Day.

Valentine's Day.

St. Patrick's Day.

Easter Sunday.

May Day.

But poor Cinco de Mayo. It had no neon blue lights to celebrate May 5th.

Nope.

The lights were finally extinguished after being turned on

every day
and night
since last fall.

So I am enjoying the respite while I can... because in a few short months, I just KNOW they'll be back to burn my retinas once again.

May The Fourth Be With You

2009-05-04T08:28:00.016-05:00

Unless you are a Star Wars ~~geek~~ er, "fan", you probably didn't know that May 4th is Star Wars Day.

Crap. I didn't even get a day off for it.

I should have. After all, I am an Uber-Fan.

Er, at least I was... until 2005 when regretfully I suffered a severe case of SWBO (Star Wars Burn-Out).

I succumbed shortly after I experienced the ultimate Star Wars trip - an invitation to George Lucas' Skywalker Ranch in California. I mean, what more could a science fiction nerd wish for? It was the culmination of years of dedicated fandom... nothing I would ever do again would top that.

Then I had to step back. Like a drug, it had taken over my life.

It had taken over my basement.

It had taken over my wardrobe.

It had taken over everything I did...

Don't believe me? Then check out this part of my old Star Wars website, which has been online since 1997:

Maureen Geeking Out at Star Wars Conventions

I can't believe it's been 10 years since that first Star Wars Celebration in Denver.

Yep, I not only watched Star Wars, I LIVED it. I worked for Rebelscum.com, spoke at conferences, worked with the stars, appeared on television, international radio and in the newspaper. I amassed a collection of over 7,000 items, all of which are still on display in my basement.

Even though I am not totally immersed in that Universe any longer, Star Wars will always hold a special place in my heart.

So Happy Star Wars Day. May the "Fourth" be with you, forever.

The Perfect Mother's Day Gift 2009

2009-04-29T08:53:00.018-05:00

Forget the perfume.

Scratch the chocolates idea.

We don't want flowers this year either.

Nope. For 2009, THIS is the best gift of all:

Plain old white and green surgical masks aren't just for doctors, dentists and the odd bandit anymore. Nope. They've evolved:

I predict these will be all the rage this season, soon to be featured on high fashion runways. Now available in a wide range of colors and patterns, coordination with her wardrobe will be a breeze for your Mom! Yep, this IS the Must Have Accessory For '09. She can wear it to the office, at the theatre, or even while strolling the mall... heck she'll need it everywhere she may accidentally come across another human being!

So get out there and get Mom the gift that not only says "I care", but also clearly conveys your truest, deepest thoughts:

"Quit coughing on me".

Yer welcome.

The Best Laid Plans

2009-04-27T12:20:00.015-05:00

10:30 pm Sunday

Stifling a huge yawn, I finally finish surfing, pack up my laptop and prepare for bed. At least if I head off now, I’ll get a decent night’s sleep for once. After all, I have to get up in 7 hours.

11:30 pm Sunday

Finally hit the sack after folding that last load of laundry I forgot in the dryer, letting the dog out and cleaning up a tad. After all, I have to get up in 6 hours.

12:30 am Monday

Attempt, unsuccessfully I might add, to evade the suddenly-energetic cat who decides it’s now time to play the “Pounce On the Human's Toes” game. Dammit, I wish I had never taught her that... and as I cringe in pain, I also wish I had clipped her needle-sharp nails lately. After all, I have to get up in 5 hours.

01:30 am Monday

Referee the cat fight that has erupted on my chest. Spitting, snarling and howling ensue as my three felines jockey for “Best Spot” that is, apparently, somewhere on top of me. But I need to get to sleep. After all, I have to get up in 4 hours.

02:30 am Monday

Let the dog out after her incessant whining prevents my falling asleep anyway. And I know all too well what happens if I ignore her. I shiver in my PJs and stare out into the pitch black backyard while she does her business, wondering if I'll ever get to sleep. After all, I have to get up in 3 hours.

03:30 am Monday

Let the dog out again; obviously she is not feeling well. Neither do I… it looks like I am not going to get those seven hours of blissful slumber I had planned. Hurry up, dog. After all, I have to get up in 2 hours.

05:30 am Monday

Slap the snooze on the alarm… Crap! I reluctantly pull myself out of bed and get dressed.

11:30 am Monday - Lunchtime at work

Place head onto desk for a quick nap. After all, *yawn* I have to go home in 4 hours…

I Killed Christmas

2009-04-23T21:32:00.015-05:00

If you've been around here for awhile, you may recall the following post from last summer in which I totally embarassed myself at a place called "Department 56" a Christmas specialty store at the Mall of America:

See Maureen vacation

Go ahead and read it if you haven't already; I'll wait.

La dee dah...

La dee dah...

Oh, back already? Great.

Why the heck am I taking you back in time to last August? Well, when Daughter and I ventured once again to ~~Nirvana~~ er, the Mall of America a few weeks back, the one store I did NOT want to set foot into was Department 56.

I was positive they would remember me.

Remember what I did.

They probably had my photo up in a "Wanted" poster at the door.

But I couldn't resist... I needed to take a look.

Oh Gad:

Yep. Closed up. Empty.

No trees. No uber-fragile ornaments. No reindeer. No understanding clerks. No brooms. No dustpans. No hard slate floor.

All gone.

No, scratch that. The hard slate floor WAS still there...

And I swear as I peeked through the bare windows, I could still see a tiny shard of shattered glass ornament glistening off it.

You Named Your Kid What?

2009-04-19T08:29:00.034-05:00

I see a lot of patient names in the reports I create at work. Often I will notice some, well, I'll be kind and call them "unique" first names.

Unique but also familiar somehow.... and then I realized a definite pattern was emerging.

When paired with their date of birth, it's a cinch to see what those new parents were being influenced by when faced with the ultimate decision: "What the hell are we going to name this kid?"

Here are just a few first names and their years of birth I have come across in the last few months:

Elvis - 1958, 1960, 1966

Actually, there are too many instances to list here.
The fifties and sixties must have spawned a whole army of Elvis'.

Elvises?

Elvi???

Marlo - 1972

Uh huh. "That Girl" Marlo Thomas.
Later in life she was Rachel's mom in Friends. But in the 70's, she was all the rage as an independant young woman finding herself in all kinds of comedic independant-young-woman situations.

Elroy - 1975

I swear, naming your kid after a cartoon character should be grounds for disownment.

I'll wager they have a dog called "Astro" too...

Kalel - 1981

Scary to think that there is someone crazy enough (other than screwed-up Nicolas Cage, that is) to bestow this "super" name on thier child.

Farrah - 1976

I'll bet it was Daddy who chose this one.

And I'll bet he STILL has that poster.

Skywalker - yes, the FIRST NAME - 1999

Again, got to be Daddy's choice.
I hope they saved up for therapy sessions. And this coming from a Star Wars fan.

Even so, I don't call my vacuum R2.

At least not out loud.

A whole plethora of Johns, Pauls and Georges from the 60's.

I'd wager these were Beatle-influenced rather than Pontiff-related names, as there are quite a number of John-Paul, John-George, Paul-George... all the permutations of possible first and second name combinations.

Except for Ringo.

Nope, I haven't yet come across THAT one yet.

Of course I work in Cardiac Sciences, not the Psych ward; so that may explain why.

It Shouldn't Be This Difficult

2009-04-15T19:28:00.013-05:00

"I'd like two Big Crunch sandwiches and a Fries Supreme please."

With a burst of static, the guy on the other end of the KFC drive-through speaker clicked on.

"TWO Big Crunch sandwiches, right?"

"Um, yep. Two."

"Regular or Spicy?"

"Regular."

"Sandwiches only or the meals?"

"Sandwiches only."

"And fries?"

Grrr... he was NOT listening.

"Yes, the Fries Supreme, please."

"Just one?"

"Please."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Anything to drink?"

Okay. I am getting pissed now.

"No thank you."

"Alright then. That's two regular Big Crunch sandwiches and a Fries Supreme. Right?"

Arrrrrggghhhh!

"Yes please."

"Would you like anything for dessert?"

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I screamed.

To myself, of course. Damn overly-polite Canadian manners was the only thing keeping me from strangling him when I finally reached that take-out window... if I ever got there, that is.