At War with Myself

There's something else about being sick that I've realized, quite painfully, for the past 2 nights at 3 o'clock in the morning.

I've been taking many, many drugs. Cold and allergy pills. Generic Dayquil. Cough drops. Nasal spray decongestant. I take them all, simultaneously, so that I can function throughout the day.

And I do make it through. I may whine a tad, but I do manage to get to work, stay upright in my chair for 8 hours, and drive home. Where I take all the meds all over again.

But at 3 o'clock in the morning, the meds have all worn off. I wake up, coughing and unable to breathe because my nose is completely congested. My mouth is completely arid from breathing with it hanging open all night, and my chest hurts from the latest coughing fit. I stagger to the bathroom for another round of meds.

It's at this point I realize I'm at war with my body. Until then, I could pretend that the cold is passing, and I'm feeling better naturally. All of these medicines aren't really doing that much, right? Only when my body reverts back to its natural, miserable state do I realize how much the medicines were doing until they're not doing it anymore.

So now I'm afraid to ever be devoid of medicine again. Maybe tonight I'll set my alarm for 2:30, so I can wake up and pop a couple pills before that terrible 3 o'clock realization that I am still truly, horribly sick. Maybe in a few weeks I'll scale back the meds, and see if I can actually breathe on my own or not.

1st Ever Annual

I remember having this argument when trying to start a literary journal on-campus. Myself and the other editor pimped our writing contest as the "First Ever Annual" contest for the journal. Others argued that it couldn't actually be an annual event until the second year. Until then, it's a one-time only thing. So a "first annual," according to these people, is an impossibility.

I was just reminded of this because blogger is pimping the Pixelodeon Fest that's being run by someone they know. (Ahhh, to know the right people.) In the description, it says:

Pixelodeon is an annual independent video festival recognizing innovation, inspiration, and community in global online video. This is our inaugural year!

So is this correct or incorrect? Does anyone really care either way? At least if it's wrong, I'm not the only one to ever make that mistake.

Being Sick Sucks

And being sick when you're a temp and don't get paid for sick time is even worse. We just took off 3 days for the funeral in New York. Then we had last Monday off as a holiday. And this week, I'm sick, courtesy of Keith's family at the funeral.

It's not enough I haven't been able to sleep for a week because Keith is hacking up a lung every night. No! I have to get sick, too.

Looking at Word's clipart depressed me even further. I searched on the word "sick" and it came up with all sorts of sick people laying in bed, being cared for by others. These sickies got to relax and get better. But can I do that? No! Because if I stay home, I don't get paid. And I've already done too much of that.

So I pop various pills and elixirs in the morning, arm myself with cough drops and Kleenex, and head into work. Where people give me the evil eye for showing up and possibly infecting them. But if you would pay me to stay home, I would happily do it!

Then, I head home. And since Keith's sick too, there's no rest to be had. We're both miserable, and we still have to walk the dog, make dinner, clean the kitchen, etc.

Can you tell I'm really a wuss when it comes to getting sick? I've been wallowing in self-pity for a couple days now, so hopefully that means this cold will be on its way soon.

Not Traveling

It's Friday afternoon, I get off work in a few hours, and I feel fabulous. Because tonight, I'm going to go home.

That's it! I'm just going home. I'm not going to Cincinnati, or New York, or Louisville, or even to my parents' on the West side. This weekend, I'm just going to be home.

We do have some errands to run, but I think we can keep them to within a 10-mile radius of our house. Otherwise, we're going to get things done around the house, and maybe even relax a little bit. Sleep in, read a book.

And the best news is that, for June, we don't have any big trips planned. We're going camping, but that's local. So by the time of my sister-in-law's wedding in early July down in Louisville, I might actually be ready for another road trip!

Guilty Pleasure: Workout

I've been doing pretty well working out this year. My New Year's resolution was to do strength training at least 6 times every month and, as of the end of May, I've managed to stick to that. Yay, me!

What has really helped is finding my guilty workout pleasure show on Bravo. It's called, quite simply, Workout, and is a reality TV show about a gym in Los Angeles. There's not a whole lot going on here. Some relationship angst, co-worker fights, etc. But mostly it's beautiful trainers, helping beautiful people stay in shape. But, for good measure, they do throw in a few out-of-shape (aka normal) people that they're rehabilitating.

And even when it drives me crazy, I still love to watch it while I work out. It's not quite the same as having my own personal trainer, but until I have that best-selling novel, this is probably the closest I'll come.

Return to Sender

Before I start my rant about our U.S. Postal Service, I have to add a disclaimer: my father-in-law is a postal carrier. I know that many--probably most--are wonderful, dedicated people who do a fantastic job and make our everyday lives a little easier.

However, that is not the case with our mail carrier. I was always taught that, under certain circumstances, the mailbox is a two-way communication device. If the mail has been delivered to the wrong house, or if you have a package delivery slip that needs to be signed, you can leave these items in the mailbox and your postal carrier will respond appropriately. He or she will take away the incorrect mail, or deliver the package.

At our house, this does not happen. When we leave mail in the mailbox, that's exactly where it stays.

Does our mailman think that we're too lazy to bring in all of our mail? Or maybe, because we don't get a lot of mail, he thinks we like to leave some in the box for the next day. To tide us over, as it were.

So now our dilemma is that, if mail is incorrectly delivered to our house, we have absolutely no way to get it back to its rightful owner without excessive time and effort on our part. The other week, I walked a piece of mail a block over and dropped it in their mailbox. Even though I had to walk the dog anyway, I was still irritated. I spent the whole time thinking, "This isn't my job! I shouldn't be delivering mail!"

We've tried leaving the mailbox open, with the mail sticking up so he notices it. We've tried folding the mail over the edge of the box, so it's hanging halfway out. If anyone has another other ideas of how we might convince our mail carrier we actually left that mail there for a reason, I'm open to suggestions.

A Quiet Homecoming

Well, we're back. The trip to New York was sad and good, if that's possible. Obviously the wake and funeral were hard for everyone, but it was also good to spend time with Keith's family, and hear so many wonderful stories about his uncle.

The next time we'll see them will be under much happier circumstances--at Keith's sister's wedding in early July. That seems far off, but I'm sure it'll be here before we know it.

I'm happy to report that our animals have not forgotten who we are, and actually seemed to miss us. I was afraid that, between cat treats for Gomez at my parent's house, and a rambunctious doggie playmate for Beckett at Erin and Josh's house, they wouldn't want to come home. But they seemed glad to be back at the house, investigating every corner to ensure nothing had changed in their absence. They both slept with us last night, and Gomez even curled up on my lap this morning for a few minutes before work.

I'm really looking forward to walking Beckett when I get home from work, and just getting back into the routine of things. Of the past 6 weekends, we've been gone for 4. I'm excited for some quiet, uneventful time at home.

Sad News

Unfortunately, I have a very good reason to go MIA the rest of the week. Tomorrow morning we're flying out to New York for the wake/funeral of Keith's uncle. He was a wonderful man, and he'll be truly missed. Please keep Keith's family in your thoughts and prayers.

The Nefarious Influence of the Roaming Gnome

While we were in Cincinnati this weekend, the kids stayed with Aunt Erin and Uncle Josh. We were pretty excited about it because Erin and Josh have two large, rambunctious dogs, and the only time I've ever seen Beckett worn out is after a visit to their house. So we were looking forward to picking up a tired puppy and content kitten on Sunday.

One thing we hadn't counted on was the nefarious influence of their Roaming Gnome. As the picture below shows, he had quite a bad effect on our previously angelic dog. Before meeting the gnome, Beckett was perfectly behaved.

He wasn't the kind of dog to steal an entire package of margarine off the counter, leaving only a chewed corner of the box as evidence of the deed. He certainly wouldn't be caught standing in the middle of the dining room table. And assuredly he wasn't the sort of animal who would be on dog bed #3, because he'd ripped the first two to shreds when our backs were turned. Not our baby!

So take this perfect, precious puppy, introduce him to a Roaming Gnome, and see what happens. Beware--it could happen to you, too! (Pictures and storyline courtesy of Erin and Josh.)

Weekend without Running

Yay! For the first time in a few weeks, I don't have a race this weekend. Instead, we're heading down to Cincinnati for my sister-in-law's wedding shower.

I'm looking forward to not running at all on Saturday. I'll be sitting comfortably at the shower, eating cookies and cakes and drinking Coke, working hard to regain any calories I've expended recently during my races. And loving every minute of it!

Parking Etiquette

It doesn't happen often, but sometimes when leaving work, I end up walking to the parking lot with another employee.

Yesterday, it was someone I didn't know. So we didn't really talk, just walked a few feet apart to the lot and got into our respective cars.

Particularly in a small parking lot such as ours, I think there's a certain parking etiquette. Similar to how you don't bowl when the person at the lane next to yours is already up, I think it's impolite to pull out of your parking spot at the same time. But if I get in the car first, and she turns her car on first, who has right of way?

I wasn't in a big hurry, and she seemed like she was further along in the process since her car was running, so I made a show of grabbing my cell phone and calling Keith, clearly yielding to her the right of first exit. But she didn't go! We ended up both sitting in our running cars for a minute or so until she finally pulled out.

Next week: How to politely pass an 80-year-old woman on the sidewalk when you're riding your bike.

Writer's Block: Officially Ended

Life is funny sometimes. I met a Cleveland person on the boards over at Woxy a few months ago. We actually even met in person when Woxy 2.0 went silent last fall. A month or so ago, it came up that we're both writers. She casually mentioned that her writers' group is looking for new members, and asked me if I'd be interested.

I've never really been part of a writers' group before, but they always sound like a good idea. Like-minded, creative individuals, coming together to improve each others' work and also give encouragement. Plus, if you're in a writers' group, doesn't that automatically make you a real writer? For me, that distinction can be a little fuzzy at times. Along the lines of "If a tree falls in the forest....", if I write but no one ever reads it, does that make me a writer?

I said I'd love to join and sent off a piece for their consideration. My Internet buddy made it clear, in the nicest way possible, that you're not "in" just because you're interested. They have to like your work and you have to mesh with the group's personalities.

So last Wednesday, the group + me gathered at one of the members' houses. I thought it went really well. I spoke some, but hopefully wasn't overbearing on my first time. I handled the criticisms of my piece with dignity, I thought. But even better was hearing them talk about the parts that they liked. They said my writing had style and tone! Who knew?!?

After the meeting, I knew I definitely wanted to be in the group. But I had to wait until yesterday to get the official invitation. I'm in!

Hopefully, joining this writers' group will do for me all the things I've never managed to do on my own. Be motivated, write regularly, actually revise my pieces and submit them places. And think of myself as a real writer.

Post-Race Relaxing

Okay, last post about running for quite some time--I promise.

Saturday morning's race was really good. I was glad that Monica and her younger sister Maya could join us, because Mon and I run about the same (tortoise) pace, and Maya could actually keep up with Keith, so everyone had a pace-appropriate partner! I think everyone was happy with their times--I was happy with the doughnut, smoothie (x2), popcorn, and mini-muffin I had afterwards.

My parents came to cheer us on. This is only the second race we've run in Cleveland, and it was great to have them there. After the race we all wandered around the zoo for a bit, but it was a lot colder out than it looked. If you stood in a patch of sun, and the wind was calm, it was a beautiful day. But as soon as the sun disappeared behind the cloud or a breeze blew, you wanted to head inside to warm up.

So I made it through two races in two weekends, and I believe both my legs are still attached and functioning. If that changes, I'll be sure to let you know. I'm looking forward to sitting around all Saturday afternoon at my sister-in-law's wedding shower this coming weekend. A nice change of pace!

Race Day: Part 2

Now that I'm nearly recuperated from the 10k in Cincinnati last weekend .... we have a 5k race tomorrow morning at the Cleveland Zoo.

Normally, we don't run races on back-to-back weekends. When we plan ahead for the summer, we try to get in one race/month. But we like to do the Flying Pig, and after signing up for that we realized that UMDF Run Wild for a Cure was the following weekend. Because the race benefits mitochondrial disorder research, and my sister has a mitochondrial disorder, we decided to do the race despite the timing.

It wouldn't be so bad, except I decided that I've been slacking on the weight-lifting lately, and really needed to get back on that. I did a lower body work-out Tuesday night .... and have been walking funny ever since. My legs are sooo sore. Much more sore than they were after race day last weekend.

I thought I was getting over it. By this morning, I figured most of the soreness should be gone. So Beckett and I ran a few miles to work out the last of the soreness.

Um yeah, that totally backfired. It's worse than ever! Is it possible my 5k time this weekend will be slower than my 10k last weekend? I guess we'll find out!

Maybe I just need to look at this race as laying the foundation for the rest of the summer. The baseline, as it were. So if it's really, really awful, there's no where to go but up!

Running Playlist

Usually, when I'm running around the neighborhood with the dog, I listen to audiobooks. But for races, good, fast music can be a lot more motivational.

So for the Flying Pig 10k, I took all the audiobook tracks off my MP3 player and put on some of my favorite running songs instead. For no particular reason, I've listed some of the tracks below*:
"Ping One Down", "Hamoa Beach" and "Fill My Cup" (live version) by Gomez
"Seventeen Years" by Ratatat
"I Will Follow You Into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie
"Gold Digger" by Kanye West
"She Wants to Move" by N.E.R.D.
"Bullets" by Bob Schneider
"A Peak You Reach" by Badly Drawn Boy
"Pressure Point" by The Zutons
"Flathead" by The Fratellis
"Sons & Daughters" by The Decemberists
"I Love You 'Cause I Have To" by Dogs Die in Hot Cars
"So Says I" by The Shins
"Yeah!" by Usher featuring Lil' John and Ludacris
"The District Sleeps Alone Tonight" by The Postal Service
"Vegas two times" by Stereophonics
"Do You Want To" by Franz Ferdinand
"Hands Open" by Snow Patrol
"World Wide Suicide" by Pearl Jam
"Watch the Girl Destroy Me" by Possum Dixon
"24" by Jem
"Cold Beverage" by G. Love and Special Sauce
"Heavy Metal Drummer" by Wilco
"The Seed (2.0)" by The Roots
"Lady Madonna" by The Beatles
"Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing

* All links are to the albums at lala.com.

The Finish Line

Sorry I didn't get a chance to post earlier; I actually had to work at work. Crazy!

Anyway, the races this past weekend went really well. My goal was to finish in under 68 minutes, and I finished in 64:23. I breezed handily up and over the first bridge, and I thought the rest of the race would be just as easy. Of course, I was wrong. I crashed after the first bridge, and the third bridge just before the finish nearly did me in. But I got the time I wanted in the end, and also celebrated with rivers of Coke, a calzone from La Rosa's, and then Chipotle Sunday evening. So all is right with the world!

Keith had a fabulous half-marathon, and Karen pushed past the pain of her heel injury to finish her second marathon in the past year.

So, well done to the Lubbers family! May 4, 2008 will be here before we know it.

Wish me luck!

In less than 24 hours, I'll be a very happy person. But at 8 o'clock in the morning tomorrow, I'll be pretty miserable.

Keith and I are headed down to Cincinnati tonight for the Flying Pig Marathon. I'm running the 10k* event tomorrow morning, and on Sunday morning Keith's running the half-marathon and my mother-in-law Karen is running the whole enchilada.

I'm pretty nervous. I can count on one hand the number of times I ran December through February, and that was usually only to get the door when the pizza delivery guy showed up. So even though I ran a 10k on Thanksgiving, come March it was like starting from scratch.

I think I've done okay in my training. Last week I ran 6.5 miles, which is actually longer than the race, so I know that in theory I should be able to go the distance without tragically expiring or exploding into flames. But Cincinnati has hills. Lots of them. And bridges, which I like to refer to as "my nemesis." The bridges get me every time.

Did you know that large bridges typically go up in the middle, so you spend half your time on the bridge on an incline? I didn't know that ... until I started running over them. Then it became painfully apparent.

But other than the hills, and the bridges, and all those miles ... I should be just fine. Wish me luck! And on Sunday, 6:30am, send your good thoughts to Keith and Karen!

* Quick Running Distance Primer
10k = 6.2 miles
half-marathon = 13.1 miles
whole enchilada = marathon = 26.2 miles.

My Theory on Searching for Lost Items

As I briefly mentioned in an earlier post, I have this theory about looking for lost items. I know you've all been waiting with bated breath, so I'm finally going to elaborate.

Pretty much, my searching theory is a very passive approach. I don't search. Because if something's gone missing, and I search and don't find it, that means it's really gone. But if it's something I can do without for a while, like a necklace ... or the Neosporin ... once I look in one or two places, I'll stop searching.

I'll keep it in the back of my mind and, if I think of another possible location, I'll search there. But I refuse to turn the house/car/office/commute route upside down just to prove that I've really lost something.

I find this technique surprisingly effective. I'd estimate that, 90% of the time, the lost item turns up eventually. And the other 10% of the time, I just forget about it entirely. Which means I didn't really need it anyway. So I think that adds up to a 100% success rate!

For example, a few weeks ago there was that issue with losing the Neosporin. I looked in the most likely spots, and when I didn't find it I gave up. A few days later, Keith pulled open his bedside drawer and viola! Neosporin.

Which also proves that I haven't turned into my parents quite yet.

Is It Really That Hard? 800 Numbers

Not in the same league as the insurance debacle ... but what's the deal with companies whose 800 numbers have more than 7 digits?

I was online today, trying to reserve a campsite at a state park. For help, they suggest you call their 1-800 number: 1-800-OHIO-PARKS. Okay, if you dialed all those letters, you'd end up with two digits too many.

Obviously, some letters must be combined, like the HI in "OHIO" are probably just one keystroke. But why are you making me think about this?

And the actual number, in digits, was nowhere to be found on the website. Anywhere contact information was given, it was always the stupid spelled-out version. So then I'm looking at the phone, trying to figure out all the possible combinations that would give me 7 digits. Ridiculous! That's time better spent at thesuperficial.com or Ken Jenning's blog.

Seriously people. I am perfectly capable of wasting my time on my own--I don't need any help from your cutesy 800 numbers with that.

Words of Wisdom

I was reminded last week of this eternal truth: If you're stopped at a red light, the best way to make it change is to start digging in the depths of your bag for something. I think it follows along the lines of "a watched pot never boils."

Happy Day, Shakes!

I heard on the drive into work this morning that William Shakespeare is believed to have been born and died on April 23. Quite a significant day for the bard!

Some of my favorite Shakespeare plays all revolve around the circumstances in which I saw them. I enjoy "Twelfth Night" because, for a while there, it seemed like my mom and I couldn't escape it. When we wanted to see some Shakespeare in Cleveland, "Twelfth Night" was showing. We went to Stratford-upon-Avon, and you'll never believe what was the current play ...

Last year we went to "Macbeth" at an outdoor staging at Stan Hywet Hall. In London, my parents and I saw "King Lear" at the re-created Globe Theatre on the bank of the Thames.

I've never really gotten into the history plays much--probably because we never read many of them in any of the 2 Shakespeare or various other literature classes I've taken. Maybe if there's one playing this summer, that will change my mind.

icanhascheezburger

Since my last post was insanely long and you'll need a few breaks if you even try to wade through it .... here's today's post:

icanhascheezburger

You will all love this site--especially if you're related to me and have a cat. Of course, the day I post the link, the site is apparently down. But check back next week!

Is It Really That Hard? Insurance

Alright, I'm going to try and keep this succinct, because every time I think about it, I get twitchy.

After my car was stolen and it took the insurance 5 weeks to get the car back to me (keeping in mind that it was recovered after only one), I was fed up. They raised our rates every 6 months, and I didn't feel like I was being treated like a valued customer. So we switched.

Our next-door neighbor recommended his guy. We talked to the guy and got a quote. He seemed nice enough; he even explained that he was salary and didn't make any money off our policies, so anything he recommended would only be in our best interest--not his. Plus the quote was a significant savings from our old insurance company, so we were all set!

There was one thing that bothered me, though. When discussing our rates, he made a point to remind us of all the things that could be counted against us when looking for new rates. They included:

• My car being stolen
• Keith getting hit (through no fault of his own)
• Me getting into a fender-bender (through some fault of my own) over 4 years ago

He told us that NONE of these things should technically count against us when getting insurance. Insurance companies are legally required to ignore things that aren't your fault and accidents that are over 3 years old. But, he warned us, they'll consider it anyway.

Ummm, okay. Why tell me that? What the hell am I supposed to do about it?!? It just makes me feel helpless before The Man.

But we signed with him anyway, because it really was a great rate ..... then, a week later, we get the bill. And it's for $300 higher than what he'd quoted me.

I emailed him and asked what was going on. He said I was probably confused because the bill was for auto and home. I wasn't--the auto alone was $300 above the quote. He ignored me for a few days, then finally emailed back that there'd been a "miscommunication" about the quote ... but the good news is that we were still saving $133 from our old insurance.

I'm getting seriously pissed. I don't want to save $133. I want to save the $433 you promised me when I chose your insurance company. I say I don't think the client should be responsible for bearing the entire burden of his mistake, and ask him what he's going to do to fix it.

He goes on vacation for a week.

He got back on Tuesday. We needed to mail in our premium by today to make sure it wasn't late. I emailed him Tuesday morning and laid it all out: It's your mistake, your company should make up the difference between the quote and the actual cost. I understand it's a one-time deal, and our insurance would go up to the norm next time, but you should honor your quote.

I don't hear back. I email again Wednesday morning. And then I call and leave a message with both my work phone and cell phone.

8:30 Thursday morning, I call and leave another message with my contact numbers. Keep in mind--I'm calling his cell phone.

10:30 Thursday morning, I call his assistant and explain he's MIA, I want this resolved, and can she please give me the name and number of his supervisor so if I haven't heard back from him by the end of the day, I'll work my way up the chain of command.

I don't want to be doing this. I hate wasting my time and energy correcting other people's mistakes. In this instance--the insurance guy's mistake that he wasn't owning up to. But just because he was avoiding me, I wasn't going to just give up and pay him the money. What other choices did I have?

His assistant refuses to give me his supervisor's name--she says she doesn't know who that would be. But he's in today--she'll transfer me to his office number.

I leave yet another vaguely threatening message with my contact numbers.

An hour later ... Keith calls. The insurance guy CALLED KEITH. That's the lengths to which he'll go to avoid me. He told Keith his hands are tied--the company won't pay us the difference. But he magnanimously offered to send us the $50 commission he was making on our insurance, to make things right.

Keith pointed out to me that he'd originally told us he's solely salary--not commission-based at all. So where's this $50 coming from?

And that's how it ends. We have to pay the $300 above the quote, and he's giving us the commission he wasn't really making. And he refuses to talk to me. Would you have handled it any differently?

Work Wardrobe

Beckett and I ran this morning before work. Unfortunately, because Cleveland is apparently unaware late April should be Spring, I had to wear my winter tights, warm top, and vest.

When I got home and went to get in the shower, I couldn't get the vest unzipped. Partway down, it stuck. It wouldn't go up or down. In the few seconds before I got it unzipped, several different scenarios went through my head.

What all were my options?

• Go to work wearing the stinky grey running shirt and hot pink vest, complete with venting in the back (like a see-through top!)
• Call in sick and stay home because I couldn't get the vest off.

Suddenly I pictured myself wearing the vest at all times. Taking showers in it. Wearing it over work clothes, casual clothes, evening wear. At Keith's sister's wedding. Over my bathing suit (interesting tan lines).

But then the zipper came free, and the vest came off. Anyone expecting to stand within a few feet of me should feel grateful.

What's My Time Worth?

I complain a lot about people and modern society. I hate waiting in lines. I hate dealing with the random public. I like peace and quiet.

I also rant often and at a loud volume about not having enough time. I value my time very highly, which is part of the reason why I hate waiting so much. That time was already allocated to something I'd rather be doing.

So, amid all this self-pity, I discovered yesterday that my time does have a price tag after all. And it's the cost of one Chipotle burrito.

Keith went to Chipotle on Saturday, and discovered that, as a tax-day gimmick, if you bought a burrito on Saturday or Sunday, you could come back on Monday with your receipt and get a free one. Perfect!

When we got to Chipotle, the line was all the way back to the door. And yet, not getting into line didn't even cross our minds. It was a free burrito! So we stood patiently in line. So patiently, in fact, that I couldn't even tell you how long we were there for. 15 minutes, maybe?

All I know is that we got a free burrito. And a free side of guac because the workers were too busy and forgot to charge us for it. Time well spent.

The Office: 4/12 Recap

Michael: Pam, depression is as scary as a baler, right?
Pam: I don't understand the question.
Michael: Working in an office can lead to depression, which can lead to suicide. I mean, this is really serious stuff.... Nobody commits suicide because they work with a baler [....]
Pam: It's really hard to demonstrate depression. Their safety training had visuals.

Dwight: I'm temporarily lifting the shun.
Andy: Thank you.
Dwight: It means nothing. I need you to do something for me.
Andy: Anything.
Dwight: Okay, calm down! I need you to acquire an inflatable house, and/or castle.
Andy: You mean a moonbounce.
Dwight: Whatever you think. You have an hour.
Andy: I'm going to need petty cash.
Dwight: Shunning resumed. (raising right hand to indicate raising a screen.)
Andy: Do you want a drawbridge?
Dwight: (lowering right hand) Unshun.... Yeah, that sounds good. (raising right hand) Re-shun.

Daryl: Mike, you're a very brave man. I mean, it takes courage just to be you. To get out of bed every ... single ... day, knowing full well that you gotta be you.
Michael: Do you really mean that?
Daryl: I couldn't do it! I ain't that strong, and I ain't that brave.

You Say Tomato

I found another way in which Keith and I are opposites.

It happened on Saturday; we were running errands, so we went into several stores in a short time period. At the first store, I paid with my credit card. At the second store, he paid with his plastic.

I couldn't help but notice how quickly he swiped his card through the card reader. "Wow," I exclaimed intelligently. "You're a fast swiper! Aren't you afraid the card reader isn't going to recognize your card?"

Keith stared at me. "No," he said. "But I did notice that you swipe very slowly." Which is true; I want to give the machine plenty of time to collect all of the information it needs.

So there you have it--just another example of how opposites really do attract.

A Good Listener

On Monday night, Keith, Mon, and I went to the Bob Schneider concert at the Beachland Ballroom. This is the third time Keith and I have seen Bob perform, and it's always a great show.

I mean, it's pretty much as low-tech as you can get. So it's not a "Show" with pyrotechnics and fancy lights, etc. But he always engages the audience, and talks between songs. He, personally, is funny and entertaining. This time, he went around the room and let people pick out which song they wanted to hear. That was the majority of the concert. How cool is that?

We got there early enough that we had a table off to the left-hand side. The Ballroom has very high ceilings, and I was cold for most of the night. Not shivering, just slightly chilled. I did eventually take my coat off, but I left on my scarf and either had my hands in my pockets or my arms crossed.

As blogged about previously, when the singer/band can actually see me in the audience, I'm a little lost. I don't really know how to act. I just go to see--not to be seen.

This time, I knew that he could see me because when he pointed to our table for a request, I asked for "Bullets" and he played it. So for most of the show, I felt guilty whenever I had my arms crossed. Because in Communications 101, you're taught basic body language, and that someone who has their arms folded across their chest is closed off and not listening.

But what if she is listening, and she's just cold? Can't she still be enjoying the concert? I'd like to think that, if Bob ever looked my way during the rest of the concert, he knew I was a good--if chilled--listener.

Pursuit of Happiness

I feel like I've been hearing a lot about happiness lately. About how we as a society are obsessed with it, and the pursuit of it. How we haven't achieved it.

"The Pursuit of Happiness in Perspective" by Darrin McMahon puts "the pursuit of happiness" into a historical perspective. I found it's conclusion interesting--that you can only find happiness when that's not your main goal, you're actually working towards something else.

Similarly, "The Science of Lasting Happiness" by Marina Krakovsky suggests that no matter how much we achieve/earn/do, happiness will always seem just out of reach because we adapt to our current state.

So what does this mean for me, personally? I think that I have fallen into the trap of chasing happiness. Feeling that there must always be something out there that will make my life complete. Trying to do more and see more to finally be enough.

According to answers.com, the definition of content is " Desiring no more than what one has; satisfied." I think, in the future, I'll try to focus more on being content than being happy. The competitor in me instantly smells the reek of defeat, in giving up the race. But I prefer to think that I'd be joining a kinder, gentler competition. The kind you were in as a kid, where everyone gets a ribbon just for competing, and everyone feels better for it.

I'll take two!

I got some really good presents this year for my birthday. Keith got me a fabulous scanner, that I can't wait to use for scrapbooking, etc. I also got CDs and a Margaret Atwood book and the gift that keeps on giving--a Borders gift card.

However, in case I couldn't figure it out on my own, I have a surefire way of telling that I got great gifts: my sisters bought them for themselves, too. Amy gave me a really cool deck prism. It's a glass prism that's meant to sit flush with a wooden ship's deck, and distribute the light below deck. It's quirky, elegant, and useful! I love it. As I was exclaiming over it last night, Amy admitted she couldn't resist buying one for herself.

Erin got me some cute clothes for work. Dark grey pants, light turquoise shirt, and a scarf with both colors in it, among others. I'm very excited to have new clothes for work instead of the same old. Erin said I could return the clothes if I wanted to ... but she did try them on and they looked fabulous. Her pants are brown, but the shirt's the same.

I think that's one of the highest compliments a present can get, if the giver wants one for herself too. They really are fabulous gifts, and I think we'll all enjoy them. As long as Keith didn't secretly buy himself a second scanner!

Must holidays always be happy?

According to answers.com, today is a traditional Chinese holiday roughly translated as Grave Sweeping Day. It's a beautiful Spring day, you get outside to enjoy the fresh air, and also to clean off the graves of your beloved, respected, deceased ancestors.

Of course, I think the concept loses some of its hopefulness on a snowy, cold, windy day like today. Especially when it was 70 degrees a mere 48 hours ago. If it were a nice day, one could contemplate death as a part of life and the cycles of nature, while surrounded by the renewal of life that comes with spring.

If I were to go to a graveyard today, however, I would not see the affirmation of life. No birds would be chirping, and any early spring flowers would be bowed under the weight of snow. Maybe in China they can commit to an outdoor holiday early in Spring. Around here, even Memorial Day can be iffy.

Doppelganger

Through a typo, a slip of the left ring finger, I have found my blog Doppelganger.

And it frightens me in so, so many ways.

Behold: arightgapesnest.blogPSot.com

Happy Birthday, Self!

Happy Birthday to me!

Maybe, if I'm lucky, when I get home from work tonight Keith will have a cake waiting for me. Complete with two arms and a happy, happy face for me to eat. Fingers crossed!

I hope everyone enjoys my birthday, even without an animated pink cake.

It's Only a Matter of Time

On the eve of my 29th birthday, I realized that I'm turning into my parents.

When I was a kid, it always drove me crazy that we would get blamed for stuff. You remember how that works, right? If anything's missing/misplaced, immediately the offspring are responsible for it. Miscreants, all!

I am a highly organized person. So, even at a young age, I was very offended to be accused of misplacing things. Especially when my parents' mail system, god love 'em, consisted of coming in the door and laying the day's mail on whatever flat surface happened to be at hand.

The other day, I was looking for some Neosporin to put on a small cut. I looked in the band-aid box, which is where I always keep the Neosporin, but it wasn't there. Keith had already left for work, so I couldn't ask him where it was. I went to work, disgruntled and bacteria-laden (I was sure), because it had been misplaced.

When I got home that night, I tartly inquired of Keith exactly what he'd done with the Neosporin, because it certainly wasn't in its appropriate place. He shrugged. "I haven't used it," he said.

And that's when it hit me. Because I'm usually so organized, when something's missing I automatically assume it can't be my fault. I don't do things like that.

Except, on the rare occasion, I do. But when we have kids, I absolutely know that I'll blame them whenever I can't find something. And it'll be even worse than it was with my parents, because I'll be convinced it can't be my fault. My parents always assumed it was me or my sisters, but there was a sneaking suspicion that they themselves might be responsible.

But I won't have that suspicion. I'll be 100% convinced it wasn't me. I'm turning into my parents, and taking it one step further. Don't all proud parents want their kids to succeed, and possibly even exceed their accomplishments?

Yup, We're Highbrow

The other night, we had a choice. We'd rented Flags of Our Fathers from the library and it was due back shortly. On the other hand, we'd DVRd Legally Blonde off TV a few weeks ago. In one night, we'd only have time to watch one ....

I have to say, Legally Blonde is a fun movie. And Luke Wilson is adorable.

I'm sure we'll get to Flags of Our Fathers some other time, right?

You'd think treads are a good thing

I've discovered a problem with my bright, shiny new running shoes.

When I'm wearing them around the house, and I see an ant, they are no good for squashing it. Since there's actual treads with space in between, he just kept slipping out. Twice! Twice I stepped on him, and still he made his escape.

Of course, if I actually wore the shoes to run in, this wouldn't be such a problem.

Good dog!

I know that Keith and I talk a lot about some of Beckett's less admirable habits. A tendency to "destroy" his dog bed, or make food disappear off counters in a matter of moments.... but he's actually a good dog at heart, I swear!

What happened on our run this morning proves it. Only a few minutes into the run, I went to switch the leash from my right hand to my left. Just like I've done a million times before .... and I dropped it. It fell right out of my hands!

Feeling the freedom, Beckett galloped ahead. As I may have mentioned before, I'm not the fastest runner on a good day. There's NO WAY I could catch up to him if he's running full speed.

But, shockingly, he didn't run full speed. He ran ahead a bit, and looked back at me. I called his name, and he slowed down. He waited for me to catch up to him and pick up his leash, before yanking my arm off again. Good dog!

The Slow Clap

It seems like the slow clap has been everywhere lately. In commercials for BW3 and even one for an insurance company.

In past years, the slow clap has lived only in Disney movies, afterschool specials, and in the heart of my brother-in-law, Nick. I don't think I'd be aware of the Slow Clap at all if it weren't for him.

Apparently, there's an art to it. There's a big group of people in a pivotal scene. The main protagonist makes the right choice/performs some amazing feat, and everyone is stunned. One lone soul stands up, looks around, and starts clapping appreciatively. But very, very slowly.

He looks around, encouraging others to join him. You hear one more pair of hands, and then two. They start out clapping discordantly, but as more of the crowd joins, the clapping swells into a rhythm and then overwhelming applause. The protagonist has triumphed, and all will be right with the world.

If you're watching basketball this weekend, the BW3s commercial when the waitress saves the wings is a perfect example.

If you feel the need to give my blog entry a slow clap while you're reading it at work, by all means, feel free to give it a try. First, stand up from your cube and look around. Then, clap once. Look around, and start clapping more, keeping a rhythm. You let me know how that goes.

Strange Cravings

I had the weirdest food craving the other day. Out of nowhere, I suddenly felt ravenous for sausage rolls. They're popular in the UK, and you can get them from any baker's shop. I think of them like British hot pockets—a small meal or a big snack, wrapped in a fluffy pastry shell.

They're tasty and all, but where did this craving come from?!? It's been months since our trip to the UK. I've heard of craving things like fruit or leafy green vegetables because you're deficient in iron, vitamins, etc. Can I be deficient in sausage?

Happy Vernal Equinox to you all!

Spring has officially arrived! Of course, it doesn't feel much like it around here. But we've gotten enough glimpses of warm weather for me to believe it will arrive soon-ish. Sneaking up on us until I suddenly realize that I think weather in the 40s is chilly, instead of balmy. That's when Spring's really arrived.

Start-up Biz?

So, as my neglected New Year's Resolutions can attest, Keith and I have talked about starting our own business. It would be in web designing—I could create graphics and the text, and Keith would make it all work. I thought it seemed like a great use of our disparate talents.

But I've been wondering lately: do people still hire web designers? I mean, I'm sure large companies would, because they want specific graphics, unique functionalities, etc. But I think our target market would be the smaller, local businesses. The restaurant that wants to put their menu and hours online. The stay-at-home mom who's decided to open a daycare.

As I've been investigating, I've found a whole industry has sprung up that caters to these types of clients. Ones who are happy to use templates and clip art. They're not too particular about having a unique site; they just want something and they don't want to think about it too hard. And for a minimal price, these hosts offer them a package deal. Sure they don't get editing assistance or additional functionality, but do they care?

I'd be interested in hearing your opinions on this before I go to the work of setting up a business. Do you think there's still a need out there for smaller web design businesses? Or would people prefer to pay less for a pre-existing template?

Cabin Fever

Tuesday and Wednesday, the weather was gorgeous here. It reminded me that it's possible to live without piles of snow everywhere, covering every blade of grass. It is possible to walk outside without being bundled and still shivering from an icy wind. I started to believe that, at some point, winter would be over.

Everyone in the house was pretty excited about it. We didn't see Gomez for most of the past two days—she was always perched in one of the open windows, breathing in the fresh air and the scent of birds, skunks, etc. Beckett would be out back for hours, making our yard even muddier (I hadn't thought it was possible!) and sniffing for any sign of squirrels in the yard.

And then it ended. Winter returned this morning. I woke up to a fresh layer of snow on the ground and cold wind whipping through the screens on the previously open windows.

When I let Beckett out back to take care of business before his walk, he was completely dismayed. He trotted onto the porch, looked around, and looked mournfully back at me. I opened the door, and he scurried back inside and to the bottom of the steps. When I reached him, he raced back upstairs, under the comforter.

After another wonderful half-hour in bed, we got up for real this time. In getting ready for work, at one point I was in the living room to see Gomez sitting on the floor, staring up at a window that had been open the day before. She put her head back and cried.

I know how she feels. Spring, we miss you.


p.s. Hard to believe our backyard ever looked like that--or ever will again!

Lubbers Bracketology

Now that March Madness is upon us, Keith laid down the rules the other night. He sat down on the couch where I was sitting, and turned to me.

"You're not allowed to fill out different NCAA brackets," he said. Very matter-of-fact, but it was still a pronouncement, not to be messed with.

"I mean, you can enter as many pools as you want to," he clarified, "but once you pick your teams, you have to use the same picks for all the pools you enter."

Apparently, this is something he'd been considering for a while. And he decided that it's somewhat immoral and wishy-washy to pick different teams in different pools. If you make a pick, you make a pick and that's the end of it.

I was actually kinda glad he'd made this ruling. Since I have a hard enough time picking winners once, I'm perfectly happy to only do it once. And I can see his point about having the guts to make one choice and stick to it.

Now just keep your fingers crossed for Niagara!

Rejection City: Response

Well, after pestering him via email, I heard back from the nefarious agent who'd promised feedback. I have to say, his response was still pretty unsatisfactory.

Basically, he said it's a matter of opinion. There's nothing actually "wrong" with my work. No "grammatical or spelling errors, awkward sentences, or significant structure and composition problems" to blame it on.

He then went on to compare me to Beyonce, in explaining that some people like her music and some don't and it's subjective. Keith liked this, because it made him Jay-Z, but I'm still not satisfied.

He ended by stating that, while "there are no blatant problems with your book, it just did not work for me...thus, I am sure another agent will love it and make a great sale."

I can't decide if this is sincere, or I'm just getting blown off. Either way, no usable feedback! Maybe next time.

Rejection City

I've been getting rejected a lot lately. Which isn't surprising, seeing as how I've just gotten back on track for sending out my romantic comedy manuscript. Ergo, more submissions = more rejections.

This doesn't particularly bother me. I've been preached to by friends, workshop presenters, and writing books alike how rejection is part of writing. Get used to it. I don't take it personally, and all I need is one acceptance, right?

I thought I was getting closer to that acceptance a few weeks ago, when an agent requested the full manuscript for the very first time. Maybe this would be it!

But of course, since today's topic is rejection, obviously it didn't pan out. And I'm okay with that. The only part about it that bothers me is the agency promised to give detailed feedback on why a manuscript was rejected, if they had requested the full version (which they had). Instead, I just got the usual, one-paragraph "Thanks but no thanks, and best of luck."

Writers love feedback. Good, bad, or ugly, we want to hear that our work is being read. Plus, I think I'm pretty bad at viewing my work objectively. Usually I think it's wonderful or it's terrible, when it's probably somewhere in-between. After spending so much time creating a piece, I often can't really tell if it's good or bad. Or, if it goes wrong, what's causing that. Character development? Pace? Dialogue? Too many damn unnecessary and wasteful adjectives? I don't know!!

So, even if I got rejected by this agency, I was looking forward to getting some unbiased, professional feedback. I'm pestering them now; hopefully the feedback is worth it!

Our Youtube Debut

Very exciting news: Keith just emailed me yesterday to tell me that we (and Carrie) had made our Youtube debut!

Below is a video of "Love Is Better than a Warm Trombone" from the Gomez concert at the House of Blues last Saturday. When the camera dips low, you can just make out Keith's red baseball cap and me bouncing enthusiastically next to him. Keith's hat is just in front of Ben (middle singer)'s legs. I'm to the left of him, and Carrie's to the right.

Of course, when Keith called it our debut, it made me wonder. What if it isn't my debut? What if there's some terrible footage from a 5th grade play somewhere out there? It just might be. But I'd much rather prefer to think that my first appearance on Youtube is front and center at a Gomez concert. Much cooler!

My Education Is Lacking

I wish I knew more about the practical aspects of everyday life. The Industrial Arts. The kinds of things they don't teach you in the college prep track in high school.

I guess they assume, as a college graduate, you'll hire someone to take care of those things. Which is what we do. But after getting my car fixed last week and a visit from the plumbers this week, I don't know how much more we can afford. What with all these payments on our student loans, there's not a lot of extra money floating around.

With how expensive college is these days, and how quickly student loan debt is rising, colleges should be forced to offer a minimum of 1-credit hour courses on car care, basic plumbing, handyman 101, etc. Maybe it would decrease the percentage of grads defaulting on their student loans?

Gomez Concert: 3.3.07

Sorry I'm slow, but I still wanted to post about this past weekend. I don't know why, I'm just never motivated to blog on Monday. Or Tuesday ....

Anyway, some friends came up from Dayton/Cincinnati to hang out and see the Gomez show at the House of Blues on Saturday. Luckily for me, Michael, and Angie, Keith and Carrie are both training for events in the Flying Pig Marathon at the beginning of May. Why is this lucky? It means that both Saturday and Sunday mornings, Keith and Carrie got up early to go on ridiculously long runs, as per their training plans, and the rest of us slept in, had a leisurely breakfast, sat around and read ... it was great!

And, of course, the Gomez concert was amazing. I was nervous that they wouldn't enjoy it, but everyone seemed to. When we arrived—after doors opened, but before the first band (Ben Kweller)—there were already quite a few people there. We were about 3 or 4 rows back, which was okay because the stage at the House of Blues was quite high so we could still see. But after being in the front row at Mr Small's, I'd been hoping for something closer.

Luckily, most of the early fans were there for Ben Kweller, so when he finished there was enough of a mass exodus that we could slide to the front row. Yay! Unfortunately for Michael and Angie, they fell victim to one last beer/bathroom run after we moved to the front, and couldn't get wedged back into their spots when they returned, so they watched the show from further back.

The band seemed to be in a really good mood. They were joking around a lot; "Ruff Stuff" is always a fun song because they tend to do strange things with the chorus. Probably the oddest and most amusing part of the concert was when they (Ben, I think?) brought out a huge-ass poster of ... Akron. They'd been there earlier in the day, and apparently had stolen this poster.

Why? I don't know. It just seems very cool and rock star. Kinda like The Beatles in their heady, early days, filming A Hard Day's Night and just being some lads from Liverpool. (Coincidentally, several members of Gomez are from Southport, just outside of Liverpool. I yelled that I loved Scousers, but my cry went unheard.)

If you're interested in seeing a {mostly correct} setlist, hearing about the fight in the audience (we were on the other side of the stage, so I can't really report), or seeing more pics of the boys, go to the Cleveland HOB thread on the Gomez forums. Overall, it was a great concert, as usual. I was pretty sad Sunday, knowing that there's no Gomez show in the immediate future.

I'd be interested in hearing Michael, Carrie, Angie, or Keith's opinions if they'd care to post. I'm not sure about Michael and Angie, but I think Carrie's hooked now! Either way, I'm glad you all could make it up for the show!

Temptation: 257,689 Me: 1

Today, I actually resisted temptation when it came to food. My boss wanted Chipotle for lunch, and even offered to buy me some if I'd go pick it up for her. It was difficult, but I went to Chipotle, got food for her, and didn't get anything for myself. Not one chip, not even a drink.

Granted, it should be known that we're already planning on getting pizza for dinner tonight, and washing it down with liberal amounts of Coke, so it's not like I'm being great. But still, you have to start somewhere, right?

Because Attitude Should be Rewarded

There's always at least one commercial out that drives me crazy. It changes often, because there's so many annoying commercials to choose from. Usually, it revolves around the portrayal of sexes in the media (women doing the grocery shopping and cooking, men buying diamonds for the greedy women in their lives, etc.).

This time, it's a cell phone commercial and it irks me to no end because of how it portrays the parent/child relationship. I think it starts with the dad asking his daughter if she's meeting Jenny later. She says, "Let me check!" and then stares pointedly at him while pretending to dial on her hand, and holding her hand up to her face for an imaginary conversation.

Flash to another scene of daughter sitting on the couch next to dad, having another pretend conversation with her hand/phone. Dad looks at the camera in perplexity—what's a guy to do? Then the voice over moves in, and starts talking about how cheap these family plans are for a certain cell service provider.

Yup, that's right. If your teen-aged daughter is being a whiny brat, what should you do? Give her what she wants! That'll teach her to be polite and discuss things in a rational, mature manner.

I'm picturing all of the commercials that could star this character as she makes her way through life. I see her throwing papers in the air to convince a teacher to give her a higher grade. Giving her boyfriend the silent treatment when he doesn't give her enough jewelry for Valentine's Day. And the commercial always ends with the hapless men in her life buying something to appease her. Because why spend the time and effort forming a mutually beneficial relationship when you can buy your way to happiness?

I'm ready to go shopping!