Winner of the "best brother-in-law ever" award

Monday night, Keem and I were listening to our voice mail.  Keem put the phone on speaker (always fun).  There was one from my mother, asking me about the doctor's appointment (it was fine, they're running tests, I don't want to talk about what I had to do to get the tests run).

The 2nd one was amusing and also incredibly sweet. 

I knew that he had called because I had been speaking to Kari earlier and he had asked if I got his message.  I also knew what he had called about.  But hearing the call was quite the experience.

Eric:  Hi, Dana.  I know it's late.  I know it's 2 in the morning.  Anyway, I went to a bar in Mahtomedi, not sure which one.*

*I am assuming there are more than the 3 bars that I remember when growing up.  Oddly, I've never been in any of them (Well, unless you count the bowling alley.  I only went to the bowling alley to bowl or play video games (and yes, buy drugs in the parking lot on occasion but that was many, many years ago and now I am a sweet and angelic person who would never ever do that again.  Plus, is he ever lucky that I didn't hear the phone.

He goes on to tell me that he ran into some guy and they started talking.  Turns out that this guy went to high school with me.  He continues on with his story.  There is the slurring of words.

Keem:  Is he drunk?
DM:  Well, considering he called at 2 AM, I'd think so.

Eric then says that this guy told him to "Tell Dana I always liked her.  And I hope she understood that I wasn't making fun of her.  It was the group."

High School was not fun for me.  There was a lot of harassment, the incredibly clever fat jokes (and by incredibly clever I mean "Wow.  I'm fat?  You're kidding.  I guess I never figured that out.  How great it is that you called me a cow because that makes me to drop a whole bunch of weight right now!"  Um, try make me eat like crazy, folks), etc.  I hated getting up and going to school.

English made it worth while, I adored my English and Drama teacher Miss Lambert.  I also made friends on the newspaper and yearbook.  I was in a lot of plays and managed to skate under the Unpopular radar most of the time.  But yeah, there was a lot of the mocking and the laughing and the "gosh, we're better than you'll ever be."

I remember the guy that Eric ran into vaguely.  Not in a "Oh my God, I hate that person" way that I reserve for some of the people I knew.  I'd really have to look him up in my yearbook to be sure if it's the person I'm even thinking of.  I do not remember him as being one of the jerks that used to pester me constantly.

When I think about High School, I remember the good.  The fun that I had working on

And Eric's message continued, making me adore him so much more.

Eric:  If you want, I can kick his ass for you.

I don't want.  I don't need.  But it's nice to know that there's someone who would stand up for me over something that happened almost 25 years ago (sob.  I am so old).

Also, Co-Worker Christy and I were talking about another Co-Worker and her jerk of a fiancé and we decided we need to clone Co-Worker Rykken because he is so normal and nice and never does anything bad like cheat on people or make them feel bad about themselves.  And then we decided to include some of Christy's boyfriend's DNA with cloned Rykken because he is very sweet.  And then I said we needed to include Bryan (karaoke host Bryan) because he can sing and that's very important.

Christy:  We need someone with rock hard abs. 

She turns to Rykken.

Christy:  Women like that sort of thing.
DM:  Hmm.  Oh!  Jason Statham.
Christy:  Okay!  That works.  Could you imagine?  Rykken combined with Jason Statham?

Christy and I have a Jason Statham moment.  Rykken looks vaguely uncomfortable.  But he's so nice and normal that he later makes a suggestion that we inject some Sam Cook DNA into the mix (apparently that's Rykken's favorite singer).

So if we ever figure out how to clone someone and mess around with DNA and stuff, there are going to be some perfect men out there.  I look forward to this day.  I mean, granted, I'll probably be over 100 before science makes any sense to me but still, it would be worth it. 

Stuff

Just some things that have happened lately. 

Impartial, not-biased at all review of Hancock

When your sister says "Hey, Josh wants to see Hancock.  Have you heard anything about it?" she's actually looking for is not if it will sustain his interest (because, hey, he's 4 and 1/2.  He's got a fairly short attention span) like you thought but whether there's a lot of swearing and/or violence. 

Guess what?  There's a lot of swearing and/or violence.  And you will spend part of the movie trying not to laugh at your sister who is glaring at you while she is covering your nephew's ears. 

Also, if you are attending a movie with your sister, make sure that you do not let her have a drink of your pop.  Because when she figures out it is Mountain Dew, she will then start lecturing you.  And she is damn good at it.  As I am sure the other people in the theater can attest to (she probably wasn't that loud, I remember a lot of hissing under her breath).

Kari:  You are going to kill yourself.  Do you want to be around for when your nephew grows up?  Blah, blah, blah.  Listen to me, blah, blah, blah.

DM:  Give me my pop back!

Because of course she is holding on to it now.  I do finally get it back.  And I enjoyed every delicious, syrupy moment. 

Hancock was fantastic.  Lots of violence and the occasional car chase.  I was amused greatly and also cried.  Because that's what I do.  I cry at movies.  Doesn't matter what movie it is, I will probably cry at least once.  I have also been known to cry at previews but those are typically horse movies.  I don't know what it is about horses but they make me cry (as Beth and Keem can attest to after watching me sob after the preview for Spirit:  Stallion of the Cimarron).

BUNNY!

So my last post was inspired by a visit to Beth's two weekends ago.  After a nice, relaxing weekend (where I organized my scrapbooking stuff while she was at work on Saturday night and mowed her front lawn on Sunday (and she cooked out!  On her new grill!  It was fun)), we are relaxing in her back yard.  There has been a small rabbit hopping around in the neighbor's yard, looking incredibly cute.  Beth and I watch him for awhile.  He eventually hops into her yard and behind her garage.

It is the perfect evening.  There is the smell of fresh cut grass, the evening isn't too hot (and we were in the shade since both Beth and I do not deal well with the sun (although I don't actually hear my skin sizzling when I'm in direct sunlight for more than 5 minutes (that might be an exaggeration but not much of one))) and her neighborhood is quiet  (Neighborhood quiet is different for Beth than it is for me.  Her neighborhood is filled with the sounds of dogs barking in the background, the occasional car driving by, the sound of bike wheels turning (apparently there's also a highway nearby but I don't notice it unless she points it out).  My neighborhood is filled with police sirens and traffic.  You know how in My Cousin Vinny, Joe Pesci couldn't sleep until he was in prison?  Yeah, it's kind of like that for me as well).

I am reading my book (The Spellman Files by Lisa Lutz.  Fantastic and the third time I've read it this year.  Apparently there have been two sequels!  I am missing out!) and Beth is playing solitaire on her iPod.  She mentions that she might go in and get her headphones.  I ask her where it is and am on my way inside when Beth softly calls my name.  The baby rabbit is right behind the grill which is on my way to the kitchen.

We sit and watch him again.  He is exploring, eating the occasional stalk of grass and looking around.  He hops toward the garage and disappears from view.

Beth:  Did he just go into my garage?
DM:  I don't think so.

I stand up and see a tiny little cotton tail hop through the side door.

DM:  He went into your garage.

Beth gets up and walks over to her kitchen steps.  She is talking to him quietly, something about how he doesn't want to go into the garage, and I come over and stand near her.  The bunny just looks at us.  He's not afraid.

I may have squealed something about him being "so brave."  Occasionally I am a squealer.  Not often.  I try to maintain a squeal-free existence.

Eventually he tires of watching us and hops along to the driveway.  I go inside and get Beth's headphones. 

Sitting in Beth's backyard reminds me of what I am missing by living in the city.  It reminds me of growing up and having what I thought was the world's largest backyard.  I think what I miss the most is the tickle of grass on my bare feet.  I can do without the mosquitoes.  Not many mosquitoes in downtown Saint Paul.  I think the exhaust kills them.

I am a city girl but my roots are in the suburbs.*  It's nice to be able to experience both sides of me now and again.

*Not the country.  The country scares me.  Although on road trips I try to pass time by talking to Keem about our future farm.  And she tells me to shut up because we are not going to live on a farm, no matter how many kittens we could have.  And the scrapbooking opportunities.

Hanging with Beth and Betsy on a Thursday night

Last Thursday, Beth picked me up after she was done with work and we went to the Chalet.  It was packed and, when we arrived, Betsy was having a conversation with some guy at the bar. 

Beth:  Betsy got stuck talking to someone again.
DM:  Yeah but she seems to be enjoying the conversation.*

*Apparently Betsy has a better fake smile than I do.  Mine is more of a grimace.

The guy eventually moved over to the other side of the bar, I got an NTN playmaker (you can play trivia at bars now.  It's very cool and can also be a great way to discourage weirdoes from talking to you ("Can't talk.  Playing.  You go now.")) and joined Betsy.  We're both a little competitive and it can be irritating to watch my niece kick my ass.  Especially when she makes comments like "Well, you're old."  Grr.  There's also a video game that is rarely empty so Beth was happy to start playing a game called Word Dojo.

Later on, the guy Betsy had been talking to left but not without first writing his phone number down on a coaster.

Betsy:  That guy is more confident than he should be.
DM:  Um, yeah.  I could do better so you certainly could.*

*I may be biased but I think she's quite cute.  I used to be that cute once.  Well, I was in the vicinity of that cuteness.

Betsy:  It's mean but I was thinking 'I've rejected guys who are more attractive and less drunk than you.'
DM:  I know!  I could take his number and call him and pretend to be you!
Beth (pretending to be me):  Can you come pick me up?  I don't drive.
DM:  And then when we meet, he'll be all shocked and I'll say 'You've heard of beer goggles, haven't you, dude?'

Yes, yes, we're mean.  It takes a lot of courage for guys to ask women out, blah, blah, blah.  In this guy's case, it probably took about 12 glasses of courage.  Beer should not be used as a cologne.  Not attractive.

Betsy and I observed this one guy playing the game that involves a claw and you try to get stuffed animals.  What is that game called?  I don't know but the Chalet has one of them now and the guy managed to get two stuffed animals.  As he was walking out the door, he offered them to Betsy and I because he didn't want them.  Apparently it is the thrill of the hunt that is enough for him.

Betsy and I agreed and then spent the next ten minutes annoying Beth with our mock puppet show.  Betsy received a small winged devil that is carrying a black heart that says "Love" on it.  I got a small purple and white dog with floppy ears. 

Betsy (growly voice):  I am the devil.  I am dark and carrying a black heart.  Because love is awful and cruel and etc.*

DM (high-pitched voice):  I am a dog.  I am cute and adorable.  My ears are floppy and everyone loves me.
Beth:  Not everyone.

*I am paraphrasing.  This conversation took place last week.  I can't remember conversations that I had today.

It's a hard habit to break

Today was business casual.  People come to tour NABABNA every once in awhile and we try to convince them that we're the perfect place for them to do business.  Apparently making me shove my feet into shoes that are too small helps convince these random people of this (not that they actually talk to me (and no, it's not because I scare people.  I don't scare people.  I might be somewhat cynical and really weird but I'm not scary).  I'm not in the right department for touring.  And I like it that way). 

Anyway, a few months ago, I picked up a nice black and white shirt at Catherine's.  Short sleeved, linen, button up, sort of tailored (or it was until I got my hands on it.  I wrinkle clothes just by looking at them).  It also happened to have sequins and beads on it.  Some people wonder (usually out loud) why I buy shirts that have sequins on them.  Some people have predicted how long it will take for me to take the sequins off of the shirt.  I am not sure why but sequins annoy the heck out of me.  Or, let me rephrase that.  I like the way the sequins look (well, it depends on the shirt.  There are some god-awful sequined shirts out there) until that first stitch pops and the first sequin falls off.  And then I will start cutting the rest of them off. 

I've been receiving a few odd looks because the left side of the shirt is sequinless but the right side still has a bunch.  Plus, there is a sequin trail all around my cubicle.  I can't help it, people!  I have a problem.  I admit it. 

Speaking of clothing, I was admiring Co-Worker Michelle's skirt today (very retro, 50ish, yellow with red and blue print, wrap around tied with a red ribbon) and she told me that it was a curtain.  She found it at a thrift store, bought the one curtain (because thrift stores don't care) and then got a wide red ribbon to use as a belt.  It is quite possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen and now I want to steal the idea.

DM:  That is such a great idea.  You are very crafty!
Co-Worker Michelle:  I was a girl scout for many years.

If I would have known that being a girl scout would result in me knowing how to sew and do other cool things, I might have lasted longer than the ill-fated Brownie camping trip (all I really remember about this trip is I apparently gathered a brown bag full of garter snakes.  Which my mother wouldn't let me take home (I am terrified of snakes so I have no idea who this strange child was.  I apparently also ate tomatoes at one point in my childhood.  I even liked clowns for awhile.  Perhaps there was a terrifying clown, tomato and snake incident that I am repressing)).

I have just spent the last fifteen minutes trying to figure out why I'm singing to myself.  Googling the lyrics, I realized that I have been entertaining myself with the chorus to Chicago's Hard Habit to Break.  Typing a title is all it takes to get a song stuck in my head.  This is very disturbing.

The ingenuity of the Internet

So I found another blog the other day.  If I am entertained by a comment left on a blog that I am reading, I will click and read that person's blog.  This one is Kristabella, Full of Snark* and I am pretty sure it was a comment she left on NPW's site that led to the discovery of quite possibly the most excellent use for Excel ever.

*I suspect Kristabella is not her real name, probably because she said it was a nickname but I haven't yet found what her real name is.  I accept her usage of the name Kristabella though and will probably refer to her as that forever, just like Shelley (I hope it is with two E's) will always be NPW to me.

Anyway, this brilliant, brilliant woman has solved my not being able to blog at work problem.  I managed to get past the whole posting thing since I can send an email and it will magically appear on my blog but there was the commenting.  I want to comment, damn it!  And I want to do it at work!  The Internet connection is faster, the keyboard here doesn't hate me and leave out random letters in words and, most importantly, commenting at work does not distract from my rabid Pogo usage (www.Pogo.com.  I love this site.  If you find yourself here and want to try out Club Pogo (which has the cooler games, such as Tri-Peaks Solitaire and Jigsaw Detective), email me and I will send you a guest pass (I get three guest passes) to see if you find it worth joining.  A lot of the games are free as well.  And you earn tokens!  The tokens can be redeemed for sweepstakes entries (none of which I've ever won, of course).  Thus concludes the not paid advertising for Pogo).

And again, I got distracted from my whole point.  The point is, she created an Excel spreadsheet that she could use to keep track of the blogs she read and the comments that she wanted to post.  I did this Monday while on lunch and then commented on blogs and was very, very happy!  Happy!  Everything I wanted to say was right there.  I didn't forget anything.  It's amazing!  I didn't have to worry about Keem's stupid keyboard that hates me and the letter E equally.

You would think that with my love for Excel, I would have come up with this years earlier but my problem is that I am just not that organized.  I want to be organized but not enough to actually go through with it.

You can imagine how fun this is for me

I have a doctor's appointment on Friday.  Without giving away too much in the gross details department, let's just say that I've been having a slight digestion problem.  This problem has become more aggravated over the years and I've learned that there are certain foods that I just cannot eat anymore.  And this pisses me right the F off (I would use the actual F word except the work email gods don't let you swear.  I am wondering if damn will get through) because, damn it, I love onions.  I want to eat onions when I want and not worry about whether I'll make it to the bathroom in time. 

The last few weeks, however, things have been getting much worse.  Now, no matter what I eat, I will find myself in the bathroom for long periods of time and things have not been pleasant.  There is pain involved and there have been occasions where I haven't made it.  Plus, it is starting to effect my work.  Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is?  To have to go to your boss and say "I'm sorry, I have to go home.  I soiled myself (okay, apparently some gross details are okay)."  Granted, that doesn't happen very often but I also don't think that it's right that NABABNA pay me for the time I spent in the bathroom or worrying about what the heck is wrong with me or the sick headache that I had Friday that made me finally give up two hours early and go hide out in the Wellness Room until Keem was done working (since we've moved to our new location, I've had to take a cab once.  It's expensive (and also an amusing story) so I wasn't taking one home).

Anyway, since I like to eat food of all sorts of variety and refuse to go on the BRAT diet (I'm sorry but I hate bananas and applesauce.  And rice and toast are only good if there is butter involved) and am getting very tired of this and yes, am finally listening to my friends and family who have said "GO to the DOCTOR already!", I'm going to the doctor already.

I am hoping that it is just Irritable Bowel Syndrome (hoping.  There's a word that isn't used in this situation very often) and not Colitis (Mom had it) or Diverticulitis (which Keem's dad had and can be fatal).  Another thing that is driving me towards finally doing something about this is finding out that one of my brother's had Crohn's Disease and had to have a colostomy.  Don't want that to happen.

Wish me luck. 

Amusing cab story (aka Way to change the subject quickly)

So last Thursday I went to karaoke with Beth.  That meant Friday morning dawned with far too little sleep (and I also didn't take a nap Thursday night, choosing to instead watch Last Comic Standing (Yay!  Iliza won the showdown!)) and I, as I occasionally do, overslept.  Grr.  Keem left me behind.  No big deal.  I'll take a cab.

Yeah.  Big deal.  Big, big, big deal compounded with swear words.  Lots of them. 

Typically I will call Green and White Suburban cab.  Why?  Because their phone number is 222-2222.  I can remember that.  Plus I've had some good luck with them.  Decent cab drivers, pleasant conversations (including but not limited to:  Is Batman a better super hero than Superman?  Answer:  Yes.  Batman is awesome and doesn't have super powers, he uses his giant brain and his really cool gadgets (although Clark Kent is better looking than Bruce Wayne (it's the glasses.  Guys in glasses are hot (well, usually.  This theory doesn't always work)), non-psycho scary people.

But, when I looked outside of my building, there were three cabs.  Why call a cab when there is one outside?  Save yourself some time, Dana.

Ha.  Hahahahahaha.

If you weren't aware of it, I am here to tell you that there is a cab honor policy.  As the consumer, you cannot just choose the cab driver you want (not even if he's really cute), you have to follow the hierarchy.  So I look at the cute driver, hoping he's the one who will drive me to work and wordlessly ask "Which one of you was here first?"  Cute driver wordlessly indicates the guy who hasn't paid any attention to me since I've walked up to the curb because he's too busy reading the paper (and the wrong paper, I might add.  Of course, I grew up on the Saint Paul Pioneer Press.  I concede that the Star Tribune has its good points).  Dang it, I am here.  Stop reading and acknowledge me!*

*I am aware of the irony here, Beth.  I know there have been several times when you have arrived to pick me up and I haven't noticed because I was engrossed in a book.  But I am Dana and my logic is odd and, in some cases, non-existent.

I get into the back seat of the cab.  I tell him where I need to go.  I, fortunately, do not give him the wrong address and end up half way to South Saint Paul before I remember that we moved to Mendota Heights.

Now, we've been at the new office since the end of June.  I have ridden with Keem many, many times.  So you would think I would be prepared when the cab driver asks me what he should take to get there.  You would think this but you would be very wrong.  I am directionally challenged.  Plus, hello, it is not my job to know where things are.  My job is to be amusing and quirky (if only I could get paid for that).  There is a reason why I am going to shell out a large sum of money to you, Mister Cab Driver.

Let's recap.

Cab Driver (CD):  What do I take to get there?
DM:  Uh.  Um, that highway that's up by the Xcel Center.  I think it's 35.

It is 35.  35E South, to be technical.  Thankfully, the cab driver is able to interpret my complicated direction.

CD:  Do I take 494 to Pilot Knob?

Now I am directionally challenged and admit it.  But even I know that Pilot Knob is in Eagan.  And I told you that I needed to go to Mendota Heights, dang it!  And yes, I did learn later that Eagan and Mendota Heights are a lot closer than I thought.  I always think that Eagan is near Minneapolis and it really isn't.  I think I get it confused with Edina.  You know, because they have three of the same letters.

DM:  I don't think so.  I don't remember taking 494.  I can call my roommate to be sure.
CD:  No, that's okay.  I'll ask my dispatcher.

He calls the dispatcher on the radio.

CD:  Hey.  How do I get to Centre Point Drive in Mendota Heights?  Do I take 494 to Pilot Knob?
Dispatcher:  Let me think. 

Two seconds go by.

Dispatcher:  Yeah, that's right.

No it's not!  And how can it only take you two seconds to decide this?  Did it just sound right to you?

I am convinced that this is not right because I don't remember ever going to another highway.  For example, when going to Beth's, I know that we drive on one highway and then we veer off to the right onto another highway.  I don't actually know what those highways are called but I can point you in the right direction.*

*Oh, shut up.  I'm the person who doesn't remember if you go through Michigan to get to Chicago, remember?  Although, to quote Diana, you can go through Michigan.  If you go by way of China first.  Which cracked me up when I reread her comment.

I resolve to pay extra attention to where we are going.  As we journey down the highway, I notice all of my landmarks. There's the sign to indicate that we're driving over the Mississippi River.  There are the odd little sphere shaped things that are on the power lines (I am not sure what they are for.  Keem said it was to warn planes that there were power lines there and not just river.  Which makes sense).  There is the exit for Caribou Coffee.  A-ha (Take on me!  Take me on!  (This has to stop!  How can I get this many songs stuck in my head?)!  I know that the next exit is the one I want.

DM:  You need to take this exit.
CD:  But that's not 494.
DM:  I know.  You don't go on 494.
CD:  But Pilot Knob Road is…
DM:  I don't work on Pilot Knob Road!

He still would have had time to take the exit but had to argue with me. 

CD:  Well, now I have to go to 494.  I missed the exit.

Okay.  I don't say anything because I am quietly seething.  I plan on saying something once I have formulated a response that doesn't sound like "I hate you!  You bastard!  You better hope I don't get a fork anytime soon!"  He then says something that makes me forgive him.

CD:  We'll adjust the meter.

Damn straight you will, buddy! 

The cab driver drives by a business center on Pilot Knob.

CD:  Is this it?

I look at him in disbelief.  The internal dialogue goes through my head:

Let's look at the clues here.  First of all, I have just told you that I don't work on Pilot Knob Road.  Secondly, I said that I worked on Centre Pointe Drive when I first got in the cab.  If you add that up, I think you will reach the logical conclusion that I do not work here!!!!

What I say is no.

The cab driver calls his dispatcher again.  The dispatcher then acknowledges that "Hey, I led you the wrong way!  Sorry about that."

Really?  You're just figuring this out now?

Long story short (too late!), I end up at work about a half hour late.  I say to my co-workers "Hey!  Guess what?  Did you know that we work on Pilot Knob?"

I tell the story.  We laugh.  Co-Worker Christy says she would write the company a letter and complain.  I figure it is not worth it.  Plus, hey, at least I can blog about it, right?  After all, $23 later, I ended up at work.*

*It would have been $28 before adjustment.  I did not tip.  Was that wrong?

************************************

It's actually Thursday now.  I'll post an addendum after my doctor's appointment.  Hope you all have a good weekend.

G is for Growing up on Griffin

Like how I got those two G's in there (3 if you count the one hiding in ing)?  Aren't I clever?  Hahahaha?

Oh shut up.  Like you've never run out of stuff to write about and sit back and wonder what happened to that girl who was going to set the world on fire and had so many ideas and was going to write many stories and people would wait anxiously for her books to come out and complain about the fact that your favorite author takes too long to write and one book a year isn't enough, dang it…

Huh.  That sentence got away from me.  Anyway, been suffering a wee bit from writer's block lately.  But something happened this weekend that reminded me of something that happened in my childhood.  So I broke out the Encyclopedia of Dee Em again (I do not know what I would have done if Laurel hadn't done this first.  It's such a brilliant idea.  Except she has exciting things to write about like figure skating (I could figure skate if I didn't have the weakest ankles in the world)).

G is for Growing Up on Griffin

When I was 5, the guy who owned the house we were renting decided to sell it.  He did not actually inform my parents of this but put a sign under the pine tree in our front yard.  I found it one day when I was playing (I liked to hide under the tree.  Not sure why.  Oh, wait.  I'm shy (I am too!  I'm just shy in a different way than the rest of the world)).  So there was house hunting to be done.

We didn't go far, just a couple of miles.  My folks found a nice house on Griffin Avenue and we settled in.  I lived in that house until 1986, when Mom decided to kick me out because I was not doing very well in college (Apparently, if you don't go to class and instead choose to play Cribbage and Pinball in the cafeteria, you end up receiving poor grades.  Who knew?) and she said "You are just like your father!"*

*Alcohol and drugs.  Such a winning combination.  And yeah, I probably was a lot like my father at that time.  Fortunately for me, I grew out of it.

I am sure I have mentioned before that I don't remember a lot of my childhood, mainly because, as my father was quite the heavy drinker, I spent a lot of time in my bedroom reading.  I loved to read.  I still do, of course, but I'm not as voracious as I was back then.  There was so much more time in the day. 

I remember glancing at the sign for Griffin and wondering what it meant.  Dictionary to the rescue and there it was, a fabled creature - half eagle, half lion.  Hmm.  I wanted more.  Hello, introduction to Greek mythology. 

Here are some of the things that I remember (in no particular order (because let's face it, I am horrible with dates)):

1.      Playing on the swing in the back yard and pretending it was a ship.  Traveling to multiple islands.  The swing also was our rocket ship. 

2.      Acting out a play that I wrote (except I never put it on paper that I recall) where my friends and I were the planets that would come to life at night to be the Roman gods and goddesses they were named after.

3.      Wanting a pet rabbit desperately.  My parents were going to get me one but came home with ears of corn instead.  I was so very upset and was crying.  My dad told me to hush up and carry a bag inside.  He handed me a burlap bag.  I started heading into the house and was shocked when the bag started moving.  Huh?  Corn didn't move.  I opened up the bag and there was a black and white rabbit.

        I don't remember what I named the rabbit or how long we had it and the other rabbits that came along.  I do remember one of the rabbits we had was eaten by a neighbor's dog.  I think that was the end of our rabbit phase.  We stuck to dogs and cats after that.

5.      Finally being considered old enough to ride my bike on Griffin.  My mother, bless her, was somewhat paranoid that we were going to get killed if we were on Griffin.  All those cars rushing by (yeah.  One every hour or so).  Instead we had to stay on the street that ran behind our house. 

        Griffin had this incredibly huge hill (okay, it was huge for me when I was 13 (yes, that's when I learned how to ride a bike.  Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have training wheels when you're 13?)).  I desperately wanted to be able to coast down it.  But Mom had put her foot down and so it was the much smaller hill for me.  And she caught me the one time I got up the guts to disobey her.  If I remember correctly, I wasn't allowed to go to the library that week.  Quite possibly the best punishment she ever came up with.

        When I was a bit older (15 or 16?), the restriction was lifted.  My friends and I would circle around the block and then head for the hill at full speed.  If I close my eyes, I can remember the way it felt to have the wind on my face, my hair flying around.  The sound of my bike hurtling down the hill.

        As I got older, I was then able to take my bike to the library.  You haven't lived until you've tried to get over 100 books home on a bicycle.  It is not easy.  Trust me on this one.

6.      The excitement of being first at the bus stop.  Why this was so exciting, I have no clue.  But there was this big race every school day to get up there.  This stopped being such a big deal once we were in junior high.  We were only two blocks away from the middle school.

7.      Mowing the lawn.  We had a huge lawn and I could typically convince my parents that the lawn was worth 10 bucks (5 for the back, 5 for the front) so I could have spending money.  I loved to cut figures into the grass - squares, hearts, triangles.  I have always had an overactive imagination so it was time for me to spin stories in my head.  There was one summer where these stories were about Bo and Luke Duke coming up the long driveway in the General Lee.  We would get into car chases with Boss Hogg and Roscoe P. Coltrane.  Hey.  I had a thing for Luke.  He was hot (and it worked out well because Kari fancied Bo). 

There are more stories, there are more things that I did growing up.  But these are the ones that stick in my head today.

Now I've got to go because Keem is caught up with her work.  See you.

This is before caffeine

And have any of you ever known me to be perky and/or chipper?


Perhaps chipper in that scary "Fargo" way (by which I mean I am full of biting sarcasm. Not that I am prone to shove bodies into wood chippers. That's just gross).



Created by OnePlusYou

Weekend Fun, a Keem Funny and a Meme

I had a nice long 4 day weekend where I went to LaCrosse with Keem.  It was very relaxing.  We didn't do much except hang out with Keem's mom and shop.  No trip to Shopko (favorite store, no clue why) or a place where I could get my hair cut, unfortunately (and yes, I did cut the bangs again.  Except this time I managed to do it when half of them were tied back off of my face in a pony tail.  So the resulting look is well, um, weird, I guess we could say.  At least I did manage to dye my hair and am not dealing with the white streak down the middle anymore.

*****************************************
Before my department moved to the new building, Keem and I used to drive to work over the Mississippi River on the Wabasha Bridge.  Since summer is here, we have been on the lookout for canoes.  Or as Keem and I call them "canoeseses."*  There is something fun about looking down and seeing tiny canoes on the river.

DM:  Look!  There are canoeseses.
Keem:  There are canoeseses.  I wonder if they are from the Canoe of M?
DM:  Hahahahaha!  You said Canoe of M.
Keem:  U of M.  I made a funny.

*I'm not exactly sure where this came from.  One day, while Keem and I were waiting at the movie theater for someone to meet us (Beth?  My sister?  No clue), we started talking about my fascination with E's, especially double E's, and how I started substituting double E's whenever there was a vowel (so Kim is now Keem, Dana would be Deenee, Beth is Beeth, etc.  Nothing really stuck except for Keem (although I do say Wuter instead of Water which has nothing to do with E's at all but can be summed up in three words.  I am odd)) and started coming up with a language of our own.  Adding eses at the end of plural words may have come from that (Or I may also say "Keem, I am tirededed.").

While in LaCrosse, Keem asked me for the remote.  But she said remoteses.

DM:  You can not say remoteseses.  There is only one remote.
Keem:  I did not say remoteseses.  Remoteseses is plural.  If there is only one remote, than it is a remoteses.
DM:  Our language is weird.
Keem:  Hey!  You started it!

And I can't argue with that.  I did start it.  But again.  I'm odd.

********************************

Hope you all had a great 4th.  And, because I did manage to spend some money on cross stitch supplies, I am going to post this Meme I found on Nancy's website awhile back.

Yes, it is a meme but hey, there are presents involved!  Homemade presents.  Presents are fun. 

Here's the gist.  It is like the movie (or book, if you're me and never actually saw the movie) Pay It Forward but without death and tears (and if you've never seen the movie (or read the book), I apologize but hey, I like to know if I'm going to spend an afternoon crying my eyes out because some kid gets murdered for doing a good deed)…

And yes, once again, I have gone off on another tangent.  Anyway, I will make and send a handmade gift to the first 3 people who leave a comment on this post requesting to join the PIF exchange.  You will post a similar promise on your blog promising hand made gifts to others when they post and then gifts will circle the globe!  There will peace and good will amongst people!  Everyone will be happy!

The gift that I will make will probably be a bookmark of some sort.  I have received some compliments regarding my bookmark making skills.  What type it is will be up to you…have a favorite Buffy the Vampire Slayer quote?  Angel?  Firefly?  I can cross stitch it for you along with a fun pattern of some sort (and yes, I will work with the non-Joss Whedon oeuvre.  I'm doing some Buddhist quote for Co-Worker Beau that says "Not Always So."  And no, not exactly sure what it means but if it makes him happy, I'm okay with it).  Or there's the book mark as well where I take a fun picture and words to make something interesting and then laminate it.  Beth suggested I try doing this with some of my photos and stickers instead of things from a magazine and as we all know, Beth is pretty gosh darn brilliant.

The whole point is that we're all talented in our own way and what better way to share that with others?  Can't knit, cross stitch, etc.?  How about a framed picture that you took?  Pencil sketch?  Mix tape (okay that would be pushing it)?

Hope you're up for the idea of participating!  I am in a creative mood!

D'oh, a deer revisited

Nothing really exciting going around here but I thought it would be fun to revisit some old posts.

We've moved to the new building at work.  It's good.  I like it.  That's pretty much it for new stuff in my life. 

Old post called D'oh, a deer

When I lived in Madison, back so many years ago, my roommate Becky and I would try to come back to Minnesota as often as possible. It wasn’t that we didn’t make friends in Madison or enjoy some of the time there, it was just that after awhile, after so many things went bad (not a lot of money, roommates bailing on us, etc), we would flee back to our familiar friends and familiar hang-outs and just relax for that brief amount of time.

This was back in the early 90’s when I was in my late 20’s and went to the bar every night and drank like a fish and would sleep with strange men when I was drunk or stoned (every Queen has her sordid past) and pretty much thought that I would be young and thin(ner) forever so it didn’t matter what I abused my body with. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and steal the body I used to have. I was cute, dammit.

Anyway, back to the story at hand. I have a slight problem. I fall asleep very easily when I’m in a car. Beth and Keem will vouch for this. There are pictures of me in a backseat, my head tilted back, snoring, in at least two scrapbooks. This drives people crazy, especially if they are tired themselves. And they all have their own way of dealing with the situation. Becky would roll down the window in the middle of winter (Brr). Beth will slam on the brakes (I should mention that this is done only if there is no one traveling too close behind us).

But of these three, Keem is the evilest of all. Keem has the elbow. Imagine, if you will, that you are joyfully snoozing. You are upright so there is none of the pain that comes when you try to sleep on your bed (bad back, knots in my shoulders so it hurts to sleep on either my right or left shoulder (yes, I know I should go to the doctor but I am resisting. I could spend that $30 co-pay on so much more fun things)), perhaps you are dreaming of something sweet and romantic and then BAM! The elbow strikes. Right in your left arm which hurts because of the whole shoulder thing. Which is just horribly wrong.

You may counter with “Well, what the heck are you do falling asleep?” To which I will say, “Why are you always taking Keem’s side?” And then we’ll have this huge fight and it will be very sad and I will cry. Then I’d have to give back the Friends Forever bracelet and vow to never talk to you again. We don’t want that, do we? Don’t make me cry, Internet.

But I digress (yeah and you’re really shocked by that, aren’t you?). So the particular weekend of this story, Becky and I were headed back to Madison. It was late and there weren’t a lot of cars on the road. Since it was dark and the heat was on (this was in November, I think), I started falling asleep. If it had been daytime, I may have been able to stay awake, since I would have been looking for landmarks, such as the dancing trees. The dancing trees were what I named these two trees on a bluff on the side of the road. The way the branches of one tree had grown toward the other made me think of a couple that were dancing together. I found it highly romantic and it amused me. Those of you who know me IRL will not be surprised by that. Those of you who don’t know me IRL are missing a lot. Think of the excitement of driving around with someone who will, at random times, yell out such fascinating facts as SQUIRREL! Or BALLOON! And then I will clap and giggle. Because I am five.

Boy, I sure get distracted easily. Okay, it was dark, the heat was on, I was falling asleep. All the elements of an exciting story. What could be happening up ahead? What awaits our heroine, Becky, as she drives through the night? There are barely any cars around. It’s the perfect opportunity for something horrible to happen. Ooh. What could it be? Is it a chainsaw carrying psycho pacing down the highway? An axe murderer cavorting in the woods? Vicious vampires vanquishing villains (I really like alliteration so I apologize right now for this)?

No. No, it’s none of these things.

I, deep in my sleep, hear something disturbing. It is Becky screaming my name. I open my eyes slowly and what I see in front of me is darkness.

Dark night, dark road, dark lump in the middle of the road.

I have enough time to think “Huh?” I don’t even get to finish with “Why is there a garbage bag in the middle of the road?” The next thing I know, we’ve driven over the garbage bag with a thump.

The car is swerving back and forth, I see a van over to the right to us as we go by. Becky is cursing as she tries to bring the car back into control.

I turn to her. “Why did those people leave a garbage bag in the middle of the road?”

“They didn’t. That was a deer.”

“A deer?” I am horrified. “We ran over a deer? Did we kill it?”

“I am assuming it was already dead because it was hit by that van.”

“Oh. Yuck.”

We drive in silence for a little while. Becky is concerned with the way that the car is responding and decides to pull over and check underneath the car. I stay within the confines of the car and watch her do this. She walks forward, facing me, and slowly leans to look underneath. Suddenly she jumps back, her eyes wide. She runs back to the car and jumps in.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God,” she keeps saying.

“What? What? What is it?”

“I saw eyes.”
Apparently when we ran over the deer, we took a piece of it with us. Becky wants me to look under the car to confirm her sighting. I am quite reluctant to do this but eventually I do get out of the car and look underneath it. And there I see eyes glittering at me. I hurry back to the car and stare at Becky. What are we going to do?

Well, neither of us are willing to crawl under the car and release the head, there are no large sticks to poke at it, so we do the next best thing. We drive along the shoulder, half on the shoulder, half on the dirt on the side of the road, scraping the bottom of the car, hoping to shake off our unwanted passenger.

After a few minutes of this, we think that everything is okay. Time to keep driving. The car seems to be handling a bit better so everything is fine. Everything is just wonderful. It was just a bad experience and it is all over. Right?

Wrong. Suddenly all we can smell is burning flesh and hair. This is the worst thing I have ever smelled in my life. It is worse than mold (I’m allergic), paint (I break into hives), and is probably tied with Clorox and Lime Away mixed together (I had an employee try to kill me once). It is awful, horrible and made our eyes water with the acrid smell.

No longer able to handle the smell or the imminent feeling that we were going to throw up any minute, we pulled into a gas station. We both breathed a sigh of relief when we saw that the lone clerk working there was a man (well, male. He was probably 17 or 18. And pimply. And his voice cracked when he said hello to us (Becky usually had that effect on men)). I believe that women are capable of doing anything they want to do. I believe we should be paid the same as men when performing the same job. I believe that a woman does not need a man to be happy (well, now, I do. 7 years of celibacy will do that to you). What I do not believe is that this particular woman, myself, should have to deal with messy, disgusting, yucky things. Deer heads come into that category.

After the argument about who was going to talk to him (I lost), I approached him and put on my most winning smile. “Hi,” I said casually. “We were wondering if you could help us. We sort of ran over a deer and think the deer head is stuck under the car and we were hoping you might have a broom or something that we can poke underneath the car.”

He stares at us blankly. “Huh?”

I start into my spiel again. As I’m explaining this to him, we see a semi pull up to the gas pumps in the diesel section. A truck driver walks in or I should say swaggers in. He heads over to the coffee pot. As I’m going through my explanation a second time, I notice that the truck driver is listening. The pimply boy (compared to the truck driver, a real MAN (rugged and bearded and wearing flannel (and I’m not sure why this is kind of a turn on since I’m usually attracted to smooth shaven men in fitted suits)) stammers a refusal, there’s no way that he’s going to help us.

The trucker saunters over. “Ran over a deer, did ya?” We nod. He gives that half smile that real manly men give when they see women in distress. He looks at the boy and gives a disdainful sniff, indicating without words that he is completely worthless as a man.

Author’s Note: I know this is wrong. I know that the fact that he had the attitude that we were helpless women completely incapable of taking care of ourselves was sexist and wrong on so many levels and he should have been strung up by his toes. Or even better, I should be strung up by my toes for sighing slightly over his aggressively masculine demeanor. But there are some things that I will just not handle and if that means I have to pretend to be weak and ineffectual and flutter my eyes and say “Oh, you’re such a big strong man,” I’ll do it. I don’t do blood, I don’t do vomit (except for Eddy’s and that’s only because Keem makes me because he’s supposedly my cat (even though he loves only her and she’s the one that insists on feeding him wet cat food)) and I don’t do deer parts (Lioness, I know you’re just shaking your head over this and I apologize but I have always been a little in awe of you, especially when you start talking about cadavers and stuff).

At the time of this experience, I had a list of what men were good for (I don’t have this list anymore because it is wrong to think this way and I should not bash men because most of my friends are men and I adore them). This was my list:

1. Dealing with icky things (bugs, blood, deer parts, you name it).
2. Lifting/Carrying/Opening Jars
3. Sex
4. Hmm, I keep forgetting what that 4th thing is

This would usually get a laugh but it is terrible and wrong and oh so not politically correct. Bad Dana! Bad! That why I don’t have the list anymore. Especially since number 3 is no longer being fulfilled. Damn men.

The trucker leans under the car, fiddles around for a little bit and then backs up, carrying something with him. Becky and I exchange a wordless “Oooh” of dismay (Oooh technically isn’t a word). The trucker brandishes the deer leg at us and says “Got caught in the wheel well (or something like that. I don’t know. Do I drive? No). You should be fine now.” He tosses the leg onto the ground and wanders off into the night, off to show how macho he is to other women.

The clerk looks at the deer leg. He looks at us. He starts to say “You’re going to have to…” We are in the car and on our way out of the parking lot before he finishes his sentence. No way in hell are we touching that thing.

The car smelt of burnt deer hair and fat for about a month. It was awful.

I sometimes wonder what happened when the store manager came in the next day and saw a deer leg lying on the ground. Sometimes I think about the deer and hope that she is in Deer Heaven, with all of her legs, running around, frolicking. There’s a Deer Heaven, right?

Eureka!

I found my keys!  Only been missing for about a week.

Guess where they were.  Go ahead, guess.

Yeah.  On my desk.  The entire time. 

Perhaps I'm not as organized as I like to think I am.

Monday, Monday, you sure are a pain in my tuckus!

I hate Mondays.  A bullet point reason why:

• It is approximately 300 degrees inside my building.
• Okay, yes, that is a slight exaggeration.  Not much of one but still, it is not quite that hot.
• However, it is 80 degrees outside and that feels better than being inside.  That's not good.
• Although, thankfully my department is moving on Friday to a new building, a new state of the art building where we will have many new and exciting things.
• Including, but not limited to, air conditioning that ACTUALLY works!
• I came into work to find out that hey, once again, my computer has spyware on it.  Oh, yay!
• Now I have to get a brand new system. 
• So I'll probably lose everything that I have.  Hmm, should perhaps start moving things to the shared drive so I can move it all back.
• I seem to have lost my keys. 
• I am tired and cranky and slowly melting in a puddle of sweat.

That's pretty much it for the cranky bullet points.  How about some happy ones?

• Keem and my old roommate Jeff was in town this weekend and he came over to visit yesterday. 
• We had a cook out on our deck. It was a lot of fun.
• Even when the rain came pouring down.
• There's an overhang off the side of the building so we moved the table underneath it. 
• Before the rain started, the umbrella over our table shot straight up into the air because of the wind.
• It just hovered for a good five seconds and then crashed off to the side.
• Mike, Jeff's best friend, caught it.
• Did Jeff, who was using my camera, manage to get one picture of this?  Of course not.
• Kari, Eric and Josh were there as well.  Josh decided Mike was his new best friend.
• We went swimming later.  That was also fun.
• After Jeff and Mike left, we watched A Bug's Life.  Love that movie.
• Even with 300 questions from Josh, it was still fun ("What did he say?"  "Why did he do that?" "Is he the bad guy?").
• Today is my sister's birthday.  She is 39.  And has today off. 
• I get to babysit on Thursday.  The first time that I have been trusted alone with the child for more than 15 minutes.  This should be interesting.
• I watched Little Miss Sunshine this weekend.  Very cute movie. 

Okay, I think that's it.  I know I am behind on blogs.  That's because I have been reading Buffy the Vampire Slayer transcripts again at work.  Since someone noticed that I was actually blogging when it is verboten.  I'm going to try to be good again.  Hopefully I'll be able to get caught up in the next few days.

This is seriously cool!

NancyPearlWannabe (or NPW as we cool kids like to call her) posted this photo meme and I thought it was very cool and had to do it myself.

Here are the rules if you also think it is very cool.
a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into flickr search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker.
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name.

And yes, I am aware that I used the word cool 4 times in one (very short) post. I can't help it. I'm a product of my generation.

Why I will never ever go "clubbing" again. Unless it involves the DJ and beating him over the head with an actual club

What did you do this weekend, dear Internet?  Was it filled with excitement?  I certainly hope so.

I had an interesting weekend.  Well, let me rephrase that.  I had an interesting Friday night.  The rest of the weekend was rather tame (although I did go see Chronicles of Narnia, Prince Caspian on Sunday and that was good).

Friday night, Beth picked me up and we journeyed to the wilds of Maplewood for my niece's graduation party.  To give you an idea of how small the world is*, about 3 years ago or so, Beth called me and asked me if I knew an Elizabeth Vittum.  I said I wasn't sure but knew she was related to me somehow, since anyone with the last name Vittum is related to me somehow.  I also said maybe she was Bruce's daughter (Bruce is my youngest half-brother, 10 years older than me (my dad was married two times (possibly 3, depending who is telling the story))) because I was pretty sure Scott didn't have any daughters (Scott is my oldest half-brother.  And apparently he does have two daughters). 

*It's also a good example of how bad my "keeping in touch with my family" skills are.

Anyway, long story short (too late), Betsy is Bruce's daughter and she meets us up at the Chalet on Thursday nights.  We've become friends and I was really pleased to be invited to her graduation party.  Beth was also invited, the only non-family member. 

It was nice seeing Bruce again.  The last time I saw him was at my Dad's funeral in 1994.  I recognized him right away.  He looks very much like my father.  I also met (re-met?) my former sister-in-law Kathy and Bruce's girlfriend.  I felt welcomed and not out of place at all.  Which is definitely not normal for me at family reunions!  Actually, I used to spend most family reunions in the corner, reading, so this is a vast improvement.

I really need to load pictures one of these days.  I got some great ones of the goslings (the party was at Casey Lake) and two of Betsy's cousins rolling down the hill, a small child running with a balloon.  I also have some of Bruce and Scott who was also there.

Here's another example of how bad I am at staying in touch with my family - While Beth and I are sitting at one of the picnic tables, this attractive older man comes up and says "Hi, babe."

DM:  Um, hi.
Beth (sotto voce):  That's Scott.
DM:  Oh my GOD!  Hi!

Beth later explained she heard Bruce call him Scott and that's how she knew who he was.  It's a good thing I have my friends around to remind me of important things, such as who the heck my brother is…don't know what I'd do without her.

Scott and his wife sat down with Beth and I.  When I get nervous, I babble.  When I babble, I lose all sense of whatever I'm saying.  I don't even really remember what we talked about.  Later on, Beth and I were talking.

DM:  Hi!  My name is Dana!  And I babble.  Babble, babble, babble.  Blah, blah, blah.  Hello!  Would you like to hear about my tattoos since I just flashed you, sister-in-law whose name I didn't catch?  Babble, babble, babble!  God.  I flashed my sister-in-law.

Beth:  Yes, you did.  I was going to say something but then you started talking and wouldn't stop.
DM:  I am a babbler.

I think I'm going to ask Co-worker Christy if she can do something with the shirt I was wearing.  It's just a tad too big.  I love it but I don't need to go around exposing various parts of my body to my FAMILY!

It was a good afternoon.  Even with the mosquito bites (that I still have and that are driving me nuts still).  Then things got weird.

Betsy, Nick (Betsy's brother), Bob and Angie (Betsy's cousins on her mother's side) and Beth wanted to go play pool after the party.  I don't necessarily play pool (only when forced) but I enjoy watching it.  The plan was to go to the dive bar.  So, I'm thinking hole in the wall, right?  Not a lot of people, feet sticking to the floor because of the beer, etc.  In other words, not a club.  I don't like clubs.  I am not a club type of person.  Guess what this place was?  Guess.

Yes.  It was a club.  Apparently it's not the dive bar, it's Dive Bar.  Why do you use the word Dive in your title?  Why?

We walk up to the bouncer and he cards Beth.  I ask if he needs to see my ID.

Bouncer:  Sure.

I dig through my purse.  Of course I can't find it.

Bouncer:  Don't bother.  I just asked to make you feel good. 

Thanks, dude.  That doesn't make me feel good at all!

There are flashing lights, loud music that I've never heard before, scantily clad women all over the place.  Oh, joy.

Beth pays the cover and we find our way to the back where Nick is waiting by the pool tables.  We happen to be by the woman's bathroom.  This just adds to the fun since I am now able to view what passes for fashion nowadays (tube tops, tight, tight pants or skirts, etc.  The more of your boobs on display, the better, apparently).

Two girls walk up to the men's room. 

Silly Girl 1:  That's not it.
Silly Girl 2:  Oh, there it is.
Silly Girl 1:  Yay!

They clap.  I admit to getting excited about small things (SQUIRRELS and BALLOONS! come to mind) but I have never Yay'd or clapped at a bathroom. 

Beth and I discuss the last time we paid a cover.  I'm thinking for me it has been at least 20 years and was on New Year's Eve.  Beth thinks the last time was when she went to a gay bar (Technically, I guess the gay bars we used to go to with our old roommates could be considered clubs but they were far less annoying).

DM:  I kind of wish we were at a gay bar.  The guys are much better looking.

Then the television screens start flashing an odd little message.  Possibly programmed by the DJ?  I don't know.

Greg wants to give Ricky a reach around.

DM:  Huh.  Maybe we are at a gay bar.

Then the message changed to:

Indy feels left out.

Why would Indiana Jones feel left out?  Oh, wait.  Is that the DJ's name?

DM (to Beth and Nick):  I want to break a pool cue over the DJ's head.  What do you think he'd do if I asked him to play some CCR?

Beth tries to convince me I should but I chickened out. 

New message:

Greg likes to play with his balls (pool balls that is).

Oh, wow.  That's so clever.  Ha.  Ha ha.  Ha.

The DJ is playing some of the most annoying music I have ever heard.  At one point, the refrain of "Shake your ass for me, girl.  Shake your ass for me" echoes through the room. 

Seriously?  This is considered music?

Then, wonders of wonders, the song "Without Me" starts playing by Eminem.

Beth and DM simultaneously:  I know this song!
DM:  I have never been so happy to hear Eminem in my life.

Three girls strut from the bathroom to the dance floor, holding hands.  I'm pretty sure two of them are the Silly Girls who couldn't find the bathroom earlier.  I am not sure if they realize how silly they look, walking in a line. 

Beth:  I feel like I'm 20 years too old to be here.  And I'm 29!

The song switches from Eminem to one of the worst songs ever recorded.  It is almost worse than Picture but not quite.  It's that stupid Milkshake song.

Sure enough, there's a new message on the TV.

Indy's milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.

Then there's the song about how some woman is a crazy b*tch but gosh darn it if the guy singing doesn't mind enjoying her in a romantic (term used loosely) manner.

Oh, and then it's time for a video!  Let's watch a bunch of women prance around in swimsuits and fawn all over fully dressed men.  That sends a good message, doesn't it?  The song is called Cyclone.  Let's never listen to it again.

Speaking of messages, here's another one from our industrious DJ Indy (who also needs a shot from a hot girl (I was so tempted to bring him one.  Although I wasn't so much hot as somewhat warm)):

Jen moves her body like a cyclone.

Beth:  Do you think she gets dizzy?  I think I'd throw up.

And then Indy follows up with:

And Indy likes to watch.

For the love of God, Indy, if that is in fact your real name, shut the heck up!

Then, wonders of wonders, I hear the opening chords for one of the best songs ever written.

Def Leppard.  "Pour Some Sugar on Me."

DM:  Yes!  I know this song!

Everyone in the immediate vicinity turns and looks at me.

DM:  Yeah, that was kind of loud, wasn't it?

The pounding of the music was seriously getting to both Beth and I.  We were both complaining of headaches.  I asked Beth for some Advil and swallowed some honking large pills.

Beth:  You took the Advil, right?  Not the Cold and Sinus?
DM:  What does the Cold and Sinus look like?

Apparently they look like the pills I just took.  Oops.  Fortunately the pills don't make you tired.

Shortly after that, Beth and I made our escape.  I really, really wanted to take pictures of the experience but I'm pretty sure if I was taking pictures of the random people around the place, someone would notice.  However, I will leave you with these two images.

Imagine, if you will, a blonde woman covered in gold lame.  Gold halter top, gold mini-skirt.

DM:  She's shiny.

Then there was the woman who was wearing what I believe is called a handkerchief skirt.  It was a fairly long skirt but it had slits everywhere that made it pointy AND flappy at the same time.  And the top she paired it with was a backless halter.  I am one who doesn't really care if my bra straps slip and are exposed but I would definitely not wear something that exposed the back of my bra. 

Not that I'm one to talk about fashion.  I flashed my sister-in-law.  Perhaps you could all talk about your past wardrobe malfunctions now to make me feel better. 

Send chocolate. Now.

If yesterday's corrupted files weren't enough, today I spent 4 1/2 hours working on our internal library resource (I'm calling it Libby from now on.  Co-worker Rykken came up with the name when we decided it was haunted by an evil poltergeist).  About an hour later, the entire thing crashed because one of the Tech guys was working on changing some settings or access or God only knows.  And now everything that I added this morning is gone.  GONE!  G - O - N - E, baby.

I am, if you haven't guessed, a little frustrated.  Because now, when I try to go back and duplicate all my work from this morning, I can't save anything.  Libby keeps asking me for my username and password.  I don't HAVE one, you stupid, evil program.

Plus I have become the "go-to" person with questions about Quality or Libby and that's all well and good but people.  I have work to do.  I have an inbox stuffed to the gills for things to update in Libby.  I have 36 calls to monitor by the end of the week.  Stop asking me questions!  ARGH!

Okay.  I feel better.  Somewhat.  Plus, at least my library isn't filled with spiders.  Or smell like sewage.  Which would be kind of difficult for a virtual library to do but I am counting my blessings.

One of those blessings is going to be the lemon bar I'm going to stuff my face with in 2.3 seconds. 
.

The Wild and Crazy Weekend

I came in to work this morning to find that my computer profile decided to become corrupt over the weekend and suddenly I had lost all of my precious, precious computer related things. It was very sad. So, while Computer Guy Eric was working on my computer, I was sitting at Co-Worker Beau's desk, reading my favorite magazine (Woman's World) and then moving on to my new book (Remember Me (by Sophie Kinsella)) when Beau came in. He was a little surprised to see me but I explained that his chair was more comfortable than Co-Worker Rykken's chair.

Beau: What'd you do to your computer?
DM: I'm not sure. My profile is corrupt or something.
Beau: I always knew you were corrupt.

What? How could he say such a thing? Was it because my Sunday was spent jet boating with a much younger man, deep sea fishing? And I was steering the boat without a real driver's license? Could that be it? Must be.

Expect that the much younger man was 4 and the jet boat was in our imaginations.

Saturday, Beth's mom Laurie picked me up and we got to Beth's new house at about 2:30. Beth gave me the tour of her new house and it is terribly, terribly cute. Completely adorable. After Beth left for work, Laurie and I got started on the "fun cleaning," putting in shelf paper in the kitchen. I know this sounds easy but it really wasn't. Other than a lunch break (at Wong's, quite possibly the best chicken chow mein ever, well, outside of David Fongs (which I've only had once but have been craving for years)), we pretty much didn't stop (well, okay, I did take a break or two). It was interesting watching Laurie climb all over the counters and contort herself to get into the lower shelves. I wish I would have remembered to take pictures. I was in charge of cutting the shelf paper. Yeah, maybe not such a good idea because I am measuring challenged and also have a slight problem cutting (let alone walking) in a straight line. Eventually I got the hang of it. At about 9:30, Laurie and I finished the kitchen and thought about doing the linen closet. Common sense won over though and we left.

Sunday, people started arriving at around 11:00. First it was Beth's dad Terry, Laurie and one of Beth's employees, Jennifer. We started hauling boxes and it was soon established that I should not walk down the stairs because a) I am terrified of the stairs, b) it hurts (left knee has arthritis, right heel has foot spur) and c) walking down the stairs requires walking back up the stairs and that results in asthma outbreaks. Wow! I'm useful to have around on a move. But I was able to carry boxes to the top of the stairs at least.

A little while later, Liz and James showed up and so did Sarah, Nicole (another one of Beth's employees) and Nicole's 4 year old son Timmy. Then Scott, Laurie's boyfriend, Dave, Sandy (Scott's brother, sister-in-law) and their daughter (whose name I forgot) were there. Somehow I ended up being in charge of Timmy, distracting him so his mom could help move stuff and also keeping him out of the way.

Other than being told that Dana Marie Vittum was a silly name, Timmy and I got along fabulously. We sat in the chairs in the living room while people moved things around us, pretending we were fishing. Sarah walked by with the smart-ass comment "Fishing? Yeah? Well, keep her a way from fish hooks."

As we were fishing, Timmy protected me from an "ark" that had bit my leg clear off. But Timmy "ixed" it. Timmy has a slight problem pronouncing the first letter of words which led to me saying "Cat food?" and being told by Sarah that he meant harpoon. Yes. Because they sound so much alike.

Timmy also caught two dolphins for me, one a baby and to which I said "I will hug him and kiss him and call him George." The shark was put in a cage.

DM: Should we go jump the shark?
Timmy: Yes!
DM: Okay, let's go. Vroom.
Timmy: Vroom.
DM: Yes! We jumped the shark.
Beth: Laughter.

We also saved Beth's stuffed penguin from the sharks as well. Later, after the chairs were taken away and Timmy was following Beth around, I took him outside. We sat on the concrete outside of her apartment and were using our jet boat to travel to Colorado. I'm not sure what is in Colorado but Timmy suggested it.

DM: Should I drive?
Timmy: Yes.
DM: I don't have a driver's license.
Timmy: Oh. Here you go. I've made you one.

He hands me an imaginary license.

DM: Thank you.
Timmy: Now make me one.
DM: Okay.

I hand him an imaginary license.

Liz is climbing out of the truck.

DM: Liz! I have a driver's license.

The look Liz gets on her face is well, stunned. The best description? Deer caught in the headlights.

Liz: Really?
DM: Yes. Timmy gave it to me.
Liz: I was wondering about that. I was worried it was from the state.

Later, Timmy and I put on our imaginary pajamas (penguins for me, Power Rangers for him. I wouldn't normally choose penguin pajamas but who am I to argue with a small child?) and took a nap on the boat.

James: What are you doing?
DM: We're wearing our pajamas. Mine are penguins. Timmy's are Power Rangers.
James (To Timmy): You know I kick penguins (He pretended to kick the stuffed penguin earlier). Now I'll have to kick her.

DM: You're going to kick me? Gasp.
Timmy: Dump the arks on him!
DM: Okay.

Timmy hands me the shoe box he became fascinated with and asked his mom if he could take it home (it soon became the ark cage). I take the box and pretend to dump the sharks on James' head.

DM: Look. The sharks are biting his ears.
Timmy: They're biting his hair!

Later, at Beth's house, I took Timmy out to the back yard after he was wandering around talking to every one. This way, since the path through Beth's living room was ever shrinking, it would make sure that he did not get smooshed. In the back yard, he showed me his robot dog and how he was living in the box with the sharks.

Timmy almost (operative word almost) made me regret my choice to not have children. He was adorable and funny and seriously, seriously cute. I am sure he is not like this all the time. As he was leaving with his mother and after he had told me he would miss me and then came running back to hug me goodbye, I almost told Nicole that, if she ever needed a babysitter, she should call me. And then I came to my senses.

Keem wasn't able to participate in the move because she went home to LaCrosse for the weekend. She got back into town later in the afternoon and was sitting in the back yard with Beth and myself after everyone else went home (this was an amazingly quick move. But Beth had a huge amount of people helping her (and taking my share of the load. Although I was able to do more than when she moved into her apartment. Then I got to hold the door because I started up with the heat stroke again. I am a wimp)).

Beth: I bought a new wireless router. The guy said the difference was that it was stronger and then I could sit in the back yard and be online.

Keem: I could also sit out here with you on my laptop.
DM: I don't have a laptop.
Beth and Keem (this was back and forth and I don't remember who said what): We could get her a piece of cardboard. And draw a keyboard on it with qwerty. And then she could pretend she was typing.

DM: Uh, yeah, I think I'd read instead. Thanks.

For whatever reason, the top of my right foot decided to start cramping. Beth suggested I get up and walk around and I did. For awhile I was fascinated by the two squirrels that were chasing each other around one of her non-pine trees and then leaping to the pine tree. And there were also birds that I was watching. Eventually, though, I decided to head back to sit with Beth and Keem. It is then that I saw it.

I'm kind of allergic to pine. Because there's mold on pine. So you would think that when I saw the really cool pinecone that wasn't really a pinecone but looked like a pinecone thing on the tree that I would just say "Oh, cool" and walk away. Nope. Not this girl.

I pull the branch down to look at the above mentioned pineconey thing. A strange green substance, almost like smoke, comes drifting down towards my face.

DM: Cool!
Keem: That's pinecone pollen. The tree is germinating. That's how it does it.

Keem knows everything.

DM: Weird.
Beth and Keem: Do it again.
DM: Okay.

I do. More green smoke-like stuff drifts down on my face, I inhale it. You know, because I'm brilliant.

Keem: Um, Dana, I just thought about this. You're allergic to pine.
DM: Oh, crap.

By the time we left Beth's, I was starting to get a headache. By the time we got home, I was starting to wheeze. I popped two Benadryls and then was supposed to get in the shower but was reading my new book (my previous new book (Queen of Babble in the Big City by Meg Cabot)).

Keem: Dana! Stop reading and get in the shower!
DM: I am.

15 minutes later.

Keem: Dana!
DM: Okay.

I was still wheezing a little bit this morning but nothing major. At least I didn't break into hives or throw up or anything like that.

And my computer is fixed (well, obviously since I have sent this via email). Once my computer was fixed, I was able to start working (most relaxing Monday morning ever since it took until after 10 for it to be fixed. An hour and half of reading. Woo-hoo!).

Hope you all had a great weekend!