Yawn

I've noticed something about Cosine. Today it really struck me. Having the youthful Bonnie visiting provides a stark contrast.

Bonnie and Dudley race out the back door into the yard. The squirrels scamper quickly up the nearest tree. I'm not sure why those squirrels are in such a hurry. The dogs, while quick, are not as quick as that! The two of them look quite adorable, similar in color and markings. Bonnie is twice as tall as Dud though. But they seem on a common wavelength outside, as if they've been roaming the yard together for years.

The funny part is when Bonnie is at home on her side of the fence, Dudley does nothing but bark fiercely at her like she's the enemy. He does the same thing to Bonnie's daddy. It's interesting how that works.

Cosi doesn't join them. She totters out the door, ambles around a bit, does her business and comes right back on in. Then she asks for a lift up onto the bed and goes to sleep.

What I noticed today was how much of the day she spends asleep in comparison to the others. She is such a sweet old girl. Slowing down, she is. Are we ready for that? Don't think it much matters whether we are ready or not, does it?

Oh, Joyous Sunday!

Oh yeah! We are raising our hands and rejoicing! Because today, on this given Sunday, my fantasy football team is pitted against Wendy's fantasy football team.

*sigh*

We don't like these days. But we don't don't-like them enough to not play in the same league, do we? So we like to suffer. Or something. Use them to practice good sportsmanship? Sure. That's it.

But never before have we entered a face-off week where one of our teams has yet to win a game. (And yes, that would be my team--for those who have not been paying attention at all.)

Angst. Do we root for our teams and revel if our opponent falls flat? Well. We'll probably root. Quietly. But will not revel. Loudly. It's a delicate balance, doncha know.

Weekend Drudgery?

Wendy and I ran errands today. Evidently, so did 95% of other folks living in our vicinity because there were crowds EVERYWHERE. Particularly in shoe stores. And food courts. Shoe shopping is hungry work after all. We were unsuccessful in our primary shoe objective however. Disappointing.

The battery in my watch had been dead for over a year. The battery in Wendy's watch died about two weeks ago. Today we had fresh ones put in both of them. Now I have to adjust to wearing a watch again. It feels heavy on my wrist. Considering how obsessive I am about punctuality, it is rather surprising it took a year and a dead battery in Wendy's watch to get mine replaced.

So who's who? Which wrist is mine and which watch is Wendy's?

We discreetly held hands while walking the mall today. I adore holding hands with my girlfriend. It's the little things, you know.

We wrapped up our shopping with a visit to the used book store. Just so happened it was the same used book store The Boy and I frequented during his youth. Re-arranged a little, but it's basically the same. They have an area with kids books set up with little chairs and other child-sized bookstore accoutrements. The Boy used to love picking out "Choose Your Own Adventure" books, among others.

The Boy would read for hours. I can still picture him stretched out on the couch wrapped in a comforter with a dog on his legs, reading a book. Those snapshots in my head with him in that position start when he was quite young and continue right up until the present. When he comes home on breaks, he assumes that position quite naturally.

Ayup, a bit of missingness today.

Wendy and I picked out quite a few books in preparation for our upcoming trip next week. More on those later, if they end up being worth mentioning. Right now I'm going to curl up in bed with one of those books. And my girlfriend. I'm a lucky one indeed.

One Friday In the Life of...

Here is a list of things I did yesterday. Not everything. Just some things. It was a busy day.

• Wrote $73,569 in checks with someone else's money. One of them was made out to me. It was for $378.



• Decided again that one trip over the newish Springfield flyover was enough for me. Took the longer way around.



• Spent no less than four hours on the telephone attempting to resolve an issue for a job I don't get paid to do on Fridays. The issue, as of 10:58 pm on Friday evening, was still an issue.



• Discovered one of my favorite kitchen stores at Potomac Mills Mall no longer exists. Sobbed internally.



• Was angrily screamed at by a total stranger and, after a bit of thoughtful reflection, realized I probably deserved it.



• Calmly apologized for the inconvenience to the total stranger who had screamed at me before I even considered an apology may be warranted.



• Rattled because that total stranger had been and still was angrily screaming at me, completely forgot the PIN to my debit card and was unable to complete the purchase of items I was standing in line to buy.



• Remembered my PIN while sitting quietly on an uncomfortable bench in a loud place.



• Replenished our household supply of laundry soap, bath soap, dryer sheets and tuna fish.



• Left a message on The Boy's cell phone asking him to phone home.



• Gave Cosine a bath.



• Attended a JV field hockey game at the local high school. Paid $4 to get in. Acknowledged having to pay was a new development this year. Didn't mind.



• While walking to the game, twisted my left ankle and went sprawling to the ground.



• Felt terribly embarrassed laying there in the grass with a bunch of people around (not one of whom either a--saw me fall, or b--acknowledged having seen me fall).



• Was incredibly relieved to hear my friend Tina's voice as I lay there in the grass. Was very grateful she came and sat with me until my ankle felt well enough to walk on.



• Saw an unfortunate field hockey player get hit in the forehead with the ball. Such things are not pretty.



• Worried about Wendy's commute home because of an accident on the American Legion Bridge which closed two of the four lanes heading to Virginia. Evidently it had been there since noon and was still there during rush hour. WTF?



• Kissed my girlfriend hello in a shopping center parking lot.



• Enjoyed dinner out with Wendy and Tina and her husband (okay to mention your name, dude? hahah... I called Nicho dude... lol).



• Accepted delivery of a weekend guest. Because a house with three dogs is a happy place. Was awarded a pound of Blue Mountain Jamaican coffee as a thank you.



• Observed an incredibly amusing face-off between Bonnie (our neighbor's dog and our weekend guest) and Figero. Figero won. Of course.



• Watched the second presidential debate.



• Got clawed by Figero's sharp pointy claws of agony as he assumed his position in my lap.



• Chewed a piece of nicotine gum and drank a few beers.



• Went to bed late.

Word Up

I've been poking around, learning as much as I can to prepare for the NaNoWriMo experience. There is much to consider outside of actually having an idea, plot, characters, and such. Today I'm thinking of The Schedule.

Writing a 50,000 word novel in a month breaks down to writing 1,667 words a day. Evidently it takes the average person about 1.5 hours to write 1,667 words. It shouldn't be hard to reserve 1.5 hours each day or some weekly combination of reserved hours to total the desired amount of time. I do have spare time. And I have the flexibility to schedule that time as I wish. To a great extent at least. Lucky me!

But November is a busy month. We have one four-day trip and one three-day weekend trip on the calendar already. And those trips will mean lost writing days. Seven lost writing days at 1,667 words per day equals 11,669 words, roughly 23% of the total desired word output. So already it is obvious that careful scheduling of time is necessary.

I'm going to get a big calendar and block out days and such and add word count objectives to each week. Doesn't mean I'll stick with it. But knowing where I should be versus where I am is something I personally need.

Well, it's one thing I need anyway.
I so adore planning ahead!
I so adore planning!

So.....

... I wonder if I am the only woman in America who is bothered by the Tampax box saying "absorbentes internos" and "applicateur" along with those same words in English?

I wonder why it bothers me.
But it does.
Yet not all the time.
But today, yes.

Perhaps I should be pleased. It may serve me well to one day to know the meaning of such phrases as "para la mejor proteccion y mayor comodidad, elija la combinacion de absorbencias adecuada a su flujo" or "fibres qui absorbent naturellement pour aider a bien retenir le fluide".

Good lord I'm arrogant.



UPDATE TO RESPOND TO COMMENTS

When I wrote that, I was in the zone where I'm bothered because I don't think any other language than English is necessary for products used here in America.

See? I told you. Arrogant. Over the top arrogant.

It's not just the language on the tampon box that bothers me. I just happened to notice it on my tampon box the day I wrote about it. That's what brought it to the forefront of my mind and from there to here.

Another instance the need to print in multiple languages bothers me is in instruction manuals. It makes those manuals four or five times as long as they really need to be. It's not always easy to find the English. Wah.

That's how one part of me feels. Sometimes.

Then there's the other part of me. The part that feels it's necessary, important and encouraging for America be more internationally accessible.

That's how the other part of me feels. Sometimes.

Got a Spare Pair?

Pair of arms, that is. Are you using yours today?

My yoga instructor had us doing so much work with our arms last night, I am not surprised that I'd really rather not move them this morning.

Oh sure, it started off innocently enough. We had our wonderful "lie on the floor in the dark, think of nothing but how your body feels, and put everything else out of your mind" beginning. Oh how I love those beginnings. Love love love!

But then. Oh yes. Then he got tricky. Then he made us start doing all these crazy exercises with our arms, masked as stretching which is supposed to feel good but after we did three or four rounds of these "stretching" exercises, it became painfully apparent to everyone in the room (except for the teacher who could probably do these particular exercises all night long and not even feel a twinge) that we would all be feeling it tomorrow.

Yet we all did it. Because that is why we were there.

And although I may not be able to move my arms today, I will always have the memory of the wonderful "lie on the floor in the dark, think of nothing but how your body feels, and put everything else out of your mind" ending.

Yes! That's how we end also. Oh how I love those endings. Love love love!

A festival of flavor and texture.
Don't be the last one on your block to try one!

Pet Catalog

Wendy brought home a Doctors Foster & Smith pet supply catalog a friend from work had given her.

I am amazed by the different types and styles of pet beds they offer. "Doctor's Choice!" products get a star by the entry. There are special instructions on "how to measure for dog beds." They offer a ComfortSpring Bed, basically a small mattress for your dog. And wow! The selection of colors and patterns for the covers!

I must say, with as much difficulty as Wendy and I are having trying to agree on curtains for the living room, we'd probably have even more so deciding on the best doggie bed style and cover for our pets.

However it was the pages on cat accessories that really boggled my mind. OMG. Four pages of litter boxes and litter box accessories, each with their own unique features.

And then there are the Soft Claws Nail Caps:

Apply directly to nails; will not interfere with normal claw extraction and retraction. Lasts about 4 to 6 weeks. Kit contains 40 nail caps, six applicators tips, two tubes of adhesive, and complete instructions. Please click on "More Information" for sizing.

Sizing? Caps? Applicator tips? Adhesive? And a cat is supposed to willingly sit still while one glues and slips those little plastic sleeves over it's claws? Uh. No cat I know. Maybe the kit comes with a tranquilizer also. Yet every time Figero jumps into my lap and my legs get scratched by his pointy sharp little claws of death, I now think of those. And wish he had them.

Anyway, cool catalog. If you adore pets. And we do. So it is.

Frost!

Yippee! We have our first frost warning for tonight!
And it was cold enough to require a jacket today.
Soon it'll be time for fires in the fireplace.

I love love love winter.
I love love love winter clothes.
I love love love fires in the fireplace. :)

Marauders Week 4: 0-4

Oh the agony.
Oh the agony.
And again.... OH THE AGONY!

Oh my hopes were up, so so far up. My players did okay this week. The new receiver I picked up paid off pretty well (Reche Caldwell who plays for the Chargers). At the end of Sunday's games, I had an 8 point lead on my opponent. But he still had Baltimore's kicker to play Monday evening...

And what did that kicker do? Scored 8 fucking points. And what does our league do in case of a tie score? It looks to the bench and how many points those players scored.

His bench beat my bench, so even though our teams tied, I lose.

Oh oh oh the agony.

Did You Know?

In the year 2700 B.C., a Chinese emperor declared wheat one of the five sacred grains. Today, it continues to be one of the world's most important food staples.

I read that on the side of a Trader Joe's Frosted Shredded Bite Size Wheat cereal box. We don't eat much cereal here in our household. And when we do eat it, we eat it dry. Mostly because since The Boy is gone, we don't use enough milk to justify keeping it around. Even the little quart size goes bad before we use it up. I only buy it now when I have a specific recipe in mind that requires it.

Yesterday morning I was eating the Frosted Shredded Bite Size Wheat cereal dry right out of the box. It's good that way, but my jaw sure gets a workout. I recall eating cereal often when I was growing up. With milk. And I took great pleasure in reading the sides of the box while I munched.

One of my clearest memories surrounding cereal is the Captain Crunch mashed potatoes incident. Captain Crunch and mashed potatoes? Ick, you may say. And I would concur. Those are two food items not typically combined. And they weren't combined during the incident of which I speak.

Mashed potatoes have always been one of the foods I just do not like. It's a texture thing. My friend Tina mocks me and says I am "sensorily challenged." Fine. Label me such. Just don't make me eat mashed potatoes. The smooshy texture of them I find revolting. And no, revolting is not too strong a word.

When I was growing up, well, until the Captain Crunch mashed potatoes incident anyway, my parents strictly enforced the "eat what is on your plate or it will be served to you again and again until you do." Wonderful rule, that. Not! Actually now that my sister and I are grown up, it's a super thing to hold over my mother's head. Instant guilt. We don't do that to her often and we all end up laughing together when we do.

One evening when I was, oh, 6 years old or so, my mother prepared mashed potatoes with dinner. Being the stubborn little shit I was back then (and still am today to a large extent), I did not eat them. So I was left sitting at the table long after everyone else had finished. Those mashed potatoes and I just stared at each other. The potatoes mocked me as I wished with all my might for them to disappear. They didn't. With my fork, I pushed them around the plate a bit. I stared some more.

I imagine I was a pretty pathetic figure, sitting alone at the table looking forlorn as I watched my mashed potatoes grow colder and colder. (In hindsight, I now believe that was the point my hair started turning prematurely gray.) After what seemed an eternity, my mother took my plate and with a sympathetic kiss on my head, sent me off to bed. The plate she covered in plastic wrap and put in the refrigerator.

In the morning when I got up, I began anew my stare-down with those mashed potatoes. They were served to me right out of the refrigerator for my breakfast. Oh yeah, baby. Right in the same place on the same plate as the night before. I think I was supposed to be learning a lesson.

I don't know for certain how long I sat at the table that morning. It was evidently long enough to inspire some serious guilt feelings in my parental units. I was an exceptionally cute child, doncha know. Blonde curls, green eyes and a legendary pout. Or so I'm told. Apparently just not exceptionally cute enough to avoid being subjected to the cold-mashed-potatoes-for-breakfast punishment learning experience.

It was parental guilt, however, which inspired a bowl, a spoon, a jug of milk and a box of Captain Crunch to be offered as a substitute for that cold plate of mashed potatoes. Both my parents agree it was my father rather than my mother who gave in first. It was perhaps my first (but not only?) victory in a test of wills with him. Yet I did not recognize it as such. I just did NOT want to eat those potatoes!

This stand led to a new family food rule: the Food Exemption. My sister and I were each allowed to designate one Food Exemption. We would never again be asked or expected to eat our chosen Food Exemption.

I, of course, chose mashed potatoes. My sister, who loved mashed potatoes, chose lima beans instead. She never even thanked me for doing the dirty work to earn her that shiny new Food Exemption! But I also hate lima beans. She used to quietly gloat when I had to eat them. Sisters can be like that at times. Then I figured out that Mutt, our family dog, would take care of them upon request.

Dogs rule. Just a hair more than that Food Exemption though.

Cringe!

Ouch in so many ways.
Gives a whole new flavor to "puppy kisses."

October!

The new topic is up over at The Zero Boss. This month it is "write about a time you were pushed to the brink of insanity (figuratively or literally), and how you lived to tell the tale."

I'm not sure I can do that topic justice. Have to give it some thought, I will.

How about you?

November!

It's all Liz's fault. Ack! Strike that. I'll take responsibility for my actions. It's my fault.

But she planted the seed. I got hooked on her blog, "I Speak of Dreams," a few months back. She touches on some unusual topics to which I might not be otherwise exposed. And she's interesting. Then this.

So now I'm a participant too.
I'm a sucker for a challenge. Are you?

Thanks Liz!

I Don't Belong Everywhere. Imagine.

I belong to a few webrings. Perhaps you've seen them hanging out in the sidebar to the right. Yeah. The font is small, but they are there. And boy-oh-boy, there are a TON of webrings out there! One or more for every shape, size, fetish, hobby, flavor and texture of person with a website.

Before I joined the rings, I surfed them to make sure they were worthy of having my blog as a member (whatever I mean by that, and even I'm not sure at all what I mean). Being an internet junkie of sorts has also made me a bit of an internet snob. So be it. I like what I like what I like. The rings I joined seemed expansive enough and were natural selections. I feel at home in them. With an exception perhaps given to the Crazy/Hip one. That's a bit of a stretch. I'm comfortable yet not completely sure I fit. There are some great sites to visit on those rings.

I once submitted my site for approval into the "Lesbian {something normal and happy and rainbowy that I can't quite remember and am too lazy to look up} Webring." I thought "Hey, I'm lesbian! I don't need to bother to look at the other sites on the ring! Surely I want to be a part of something with "lesbian" in the title! Yippee for lesbians everywhere! Yippee for lesbian webrings! Lesbians like me! I'll fit right in!"

Turns out I was wrong about that. If you've joined a webring before, you know it typically works like this:

1. Apply for membership by submitting your "vitals."
2. Put their webring-supplied code into your template so it appears on your site.
3. Wait for the Person-In-Charge-of-That-Particular-Webring to visit your site and approve your membership.

Simple enough! Except that between the time I applied for inclusion in the "Lesbian {something normal and happy and rainbowy that I can't quite remember and am too lazy to look up} Webring" and the time the little Person-In-Charge-of-That-Particular-Webring visited my site, I spent some time visiting other sites in that ring. Because they were all, well, lesbian and such. Yippee for lesbians everywhere! Yippee for lesbian webrings! Lesbians like me! I'll fit right in!

Yet those sites were nothing with which I would want to be associated. Nary a one. Oops. Can I describe why not without revealing more of my hidden personal nature than I truly care to admit? Well. No, probably not. So I slunk back to my template and edited out that ring. No harm, no foul. Later I got a "rejected" email because I had removed the webring html code from my site. Whew.

Since then, I've been more careful about joining webrings. I re-learned a lesson I'm pretty sure I'd already learned but had never had to apply in a situation like this before. I should look before I leap. I'm lesbian, but not all other lesbians are like me and I'm not like all other lesbians and I won't necessarily be able to relate to every single other lesbian in the world. No more than I can relate to every single other human being in the world. Imagine.

Gotta love that "L" word though, ya know?
Yeah.

I love...

... books too, but would I wear a library on my head?

She looks so happy!

HBJ

Today is the birthday of a very dear friend of ours. This particular birthday will bring her to the "almost legal" age. Well, she's already legal for some things and but a year away from being legal for all things. So.

Happy birthday, Jackie!

This year, wait until your parents leave town before you tie one on, okay? It upsets your mother to see you hungover.

Love you, chickadee. :)

Another Fascinating Greenback Tale?

Odd week for money. Today, what with it being the first of the month, I was running around from place to place. Because that's what I do on or around the first of the month. It's what I've been doing for 12 years or so on or around the first of the month. I must like it. Anyway, in between job sites my stomach asked me to put something in it. Of course I obliged because the request was made so politely. Yeah, like I would not have responded if it had asked rudely.

I pulled into a McDonalds drive-through. One guess as to why I was craving such healthy fare. I ordered my food and drove up to the first window as instructed. My total was $4.19, so I handed the young man at the window a $5 bill and two dimes. He thanked me and turned to his register. Then he reached out and handed me two quarters, two dimes, and three pennies as my change. Needless to say, I was confused. I thought perhaps I had misunderstood the cost, so I asked him to confirm.

He said, in a lovely lilting Jamaican accent, "$4.19."

Just as I had thought.

So as I handed him back the change he had given me, I said "I gave you a $5 bill and two dimes. My change should be a $1 bill and one penny."

This caused great consternation and mild distress. He stared at his register for a bit, pushed some coins around and then looked at me again and asked "One dollar and one penny?" I nodded and smiled encouragingly. He then held up a $1 bill and one penny and asked "Is this right?" I nodded and took the change, thanking him and I pulled forward to the next window.

This baffles me. Why would someone be working a cash register if they have no real understanding of counting and giving change? How the hell do they ever get the drawer to balance at the end of the day? What is up with that?

Baseball Coming Back to DC!

As Wendy and I were on our way to Baltimore last week to see the Orioles play, we had a brief chat about the possibility of a baseball team closer to home.

Would we give up being O's fans? Could we give up being O's fans? What about our fondness for some of the players? Little Brian Roberts, for whom we've cheered since he came up from the minors just a few years ago. Jerry Hairston Jr., the somewhat fragile yet incredibly exciting clutch player. BJ Surhoff, oh how we adore BJ, whom we hope is finally back in Baltimore to stay. Old man Palmiero, another player who has come and gone and come back again. And Melvin Mora, we love love love Melvin, with his hot bat, his incredible reflexes in the field and his adorable quintuplets sitting in the stands with his hot wife (yeah, we pay attention to things like that).

She and I decided it will be nice to be able to take the Metro to the game. And I have, as do many other folks in this area, a special sentiment for RFK Stadium where the team will play for at least the first year. Actually, knowing it's the District that will be in charge of building a new stadium, my prediction is the team will be playing in RFK for at least four years.

I hope they choose to use the old name, Senators, because I like it. There's a group pushing the adoption of the name of the old Washington negro league team and I don't understand why. MLB already has a team named the Braves*! WTF are those people thinking? That Atlanta will give up their name so the new Washington team can have it? Or maybe they think it's okay for two major league teams to have the same name. Uh yeah. Sure.

Baseball in DC. Never thought it would happen.





* UPDATE: Newsflash! I'm an idiot. Confirmation in case you had any remaining doubt. I finally realized the discussion I was listening to on NPR about potential names for the DC baseball team did NOT say the old negro team's name was the Braves. Their name was the Grays. Which makes the rest of that paragraph above completely idiotic and irrelevant. Now in comparison, don't you feel totally smart?