We used to sing
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ear.
- Walt Whitman
I want to get a pet duck and keep it in the bathtub.
I am addicted to chap stick
and altoids. I am freakishly flexible.
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All Rights Reserved.
We used to sing
Well, well, well. I got my first nasty comment last night and it upset me. My first reaction was to delete the comment, which I did. My second reaction was to take this site down. Instead, I decided to repost the comment:
"It's little wonder no one comments on your diary. You're a snobby cunt. Indeed, the window washers were probably peering through the windows wondering why they saw a dumpy, pallid-faced wench instead of an effervescent, well-endowed blonde. You exemplify disillusionment."
Um - do I know you? Wait. are you my ex-boyfriend? Still angry about the whole Paris thing? No, I suppose not. The funny thing is that now I can't figure out why I was so upset when I first saw this. Maybe no one comments on my site because they all agree with you and are just too nice to say it. But I think it has more to do with the fact that no one reads my site, which doesn't really bother me. And I openly admit that I am a snob. The rest of it is just comical. (Although I do like the "pallid-faced wench" bit, makes me think I should be serving ale in some medieval pub.)
So thank you, my anonymous friend, for toughening my skin a bit. To return the favor I'd like to make a recommendation: maybe you could find another hobby?
There are two window washers right outside my office window right this very minute. They are not young or buff or hot or shirtless. I feel so disillusioned. Next thing you know I will run into an unattractive pool boy and it is all downhill from there.
Last fall, I spent two weeks in Paris with my family. Although it has nothing to do with the story I am going to tell, here is a picture from my trip:
Anyway - the flight home was delayed taking off because someone had parked a truck right next to the gate and they couldn't pull the plane up. Now in the U.S. this would have caused the immediate evacuation of the airport and the truck would have been blown up by a robot. But in Paris? They just waited for the driver to show up and move the truck. When the driver didn't show up, they piled us all onto trams and drove us halfway across the airport to where the plane was parked and we climbed the stairs and that was that. Except that I think the tram driver was someone they grabbed off the street who had no actual experience driving the tram and gave us all whiplash by slamming on the breaks every 5 seconds.
Still - none of that has anything to do with the story I am going to tell either.
After all the waiting for the driver of the mystery truck to show up and then all the waiting while the airline developed an alternate plan, they finally announced what was going to happen and people started moving towards the gate. Well, mobbing the gate actually, but whatever. As I looked over towards the group of hundreds of people trying to get in line I noticed that one of those people was none other than my (shit!) ex (fuck!) boyfriend (goddammit!).
This is the guy that I dumped when I met my husband; the guy that was hung up on me for far too many years after that event; the guy who now, 11 years later, still holds a grudge. (Ok, he is probably justified in that, but this is my site so we will pretend that I have always been totally wonderful in all ways and he just has issues.)
So of course, I went over and said hello. Which was just a teensy little bit awkward. And then we were right behind him in line, and 5 feet apart on the tram, and 6 rows apart on the plane and on the same tram again, and 4 people apart at Customs. And he pretended that he did not know I existed the entire time. Several months later he sent me a nastygram (who knows how he got my email) that said "Glad to know you are still alive, I guess." To which I responded, "Glad to know you are still a dick, I guess."
I am trying to figure out whether I spend more time than most people throwing good after bad, or whether I have just become more sensitive to the results. You know how it goes - you work 100 hours a week at a job where they don't appreciate you and you will never be promoted, or keep trying to rebuild a relationship with a friend who has moved you out of their heart. Most of the time, you will never get your investment back and will eventually have to give up and write it off as a mistake or a lesson learned.
Sometimes I do this a lot and sometimes I don't do it enough. But there is one thing in particular that I have put a lot of effort into over a long time and finally the tide has turned and all the things I have worked for and hoped for are happening. But they aren't happening to me. It is like I put my life savings into buying lottery tickets every week and finally bought the winning ticket, and then lost if and someone else found it on the street and collected my prize. The problem is now I don't know whether to stand up and yell that I am the rightful owner of that prize, go back to buying lottery tickets hoping to get lucky again, or accept that it was good thrown after bad and buy mutual funds instead.
Maybe being so concerned about this is a sign that I am too selfish or have a cold and callous soul. Maybe at my core I am simply jealous and covet only those things I cannot have. Maybe I didn't try hard enough and I really didn't earn the prize. Maybe I did. Either way, it is hard to keep buying lottery tickets.
My neighbors drive a Lexus. They have a personalized license plate. It says:
Now, this makes me really jealous. Apparently, Jesus gave these people a Lexus and all he ever gave me was some teenage guilt and confusion. Maybe if Jesus would have given me a car I would have stuck with that whole church thing rather than skipping merrily down the path of heathen bliss which certainly leads straight to hell. So I would like to hereby officially offer to give the religion thing another shot, provided that Jesus provides me with a new car. I think I would like a Mercedes, but if all he has is a Lexus I will take it.
Earlier today, I saw another car with a personalized license plate. This one said:
GOD IS L
And now, suddenly it all makes sense to me. God is L. It is so simple! So obvious! I am going to take to the street corner immediately and begin preaching the gospel of L. Asking people if they have accepted L as their personal savior. Maybe handing out L refrigerator magnets or little L bobble dolls for dashboards. I am also working on bumper stickers that say "My boss is the 12th letter of the alphabet" and t-shirts that say "L Loves You." I am going to lead the world to peace and enlightenment through a deeper and fuller understanding of L.
Just as soon as Jesus comes through with my car.
Every morning on my way to work I drive a windy road through some fairly thick woods - this is out of place with the normal suburban sprawl around here. This morning, I saw the car ahead of me swerve and noticed they were swerving to avoid a fox running across the road. She made it. Then I saw that back where she had started there was another fox - a cub. The cub was terrified to be separated from her mother, but also too scared of the cars to make the dash across the road. So I did what, to my mind, any decent person would do. I stopped my car, flagged down the traffic going to other way, and shooed the little fox across the road to its mother.
I would like to thank my fellow motorists for not running me over, as that would really have ruined my day. I would also like to thank the nice man in the expensive shoes who helped me run through the mud to get the fox moving in the right direction. And for those of you who were so upset about the 2 minute delay in your morning commute that you nearly had seizures and broke the horns of your hummers - I hope that someday someone will do you a small kindness that makes a difference in your life which will allow you to pull your head out of your ass and see that the world is not all about you. I know that little fox doesn't matter to you, but it matters to me, and for what it is worth I made a difference to that fox this morning.
My grandfather had surgery yesterday to remove a cancerous tumor from his nose. Now, considering the things my grandfather has been through in his life (starting with WWII when he got tb and was told he would never make it out of Italy) a little nose cancer is nothing to worry about. I mean really, call me when you have something serious. Like colon cancer. Again.
Anyway, my mom emailed me this morning to tell me that all had gone well and mentioned that my aunt had taken pictures. And then she emailed me the pictures. And then I opened the pictures, expecting a nice shot of Papa in the hospital lobby with some stitches and maybe some flowers and wearing one of those ugly cowboy shirts he likes. Nope. Wrong. These were pictures taken during the surgery. I mean way during the surgery. As in, I have now seen parts of my Papa that there is no reason whatsoever for anyone to see. When I complained to my mom that she ought to warn people before sending pictures like that she said "Well, I told you that my sister took the pictures. What else did you expect from her?" Which is really a very good point.
At least the surgical drape was a little more attractive than then cowboy shirts.
I have spent the last week working on the same report. Everytime I complete the report, it turns out that the result is not what we were looking for after all. I have ventured to mention several times that I thought we were barking up the wrong tree, but apparently that statement is easier to believe once I have taken the time to produce the report that nobody wants. The twist to all of this is, that I have been working with totally unfamiliar data and using an application that before last Thursday I had never used in my life.
If the large soulless corporation that employs me wants to pay me to waste my time, couldn't I at least be wasting it by shoe shopping?
This weekend, I read one of those pregnancy books. Not that what to expect one, one that was a little more snarky just because snarky and I go so well together.
No, I am not pregnant. But I am planning to be at some point in my life (and at this point it my life that is probably closer to sooner than later) and I always like to be prepared. Also, I was sick this weekend and had very little brain power to spare from lying on the couch whining for my husband to bring me crackers and this book was on about a fifth grade reading level. Right up my street. I learned a few interesting things from this book and one very important lesson.
You should never read a pregnancy book before you are pregnant.
If you are already pregnant, go ahead, read all the books you want. You need to know what to expect and the deed is already done. If you are not pregnant, reading a pregnancy book just makes you wonder why in the hell anyone ever goes through that. Voluntarily. Ever.
I think I will get a puppy instead.
Sadly, little Beau from my last entry lost his fight with his heart defect this weekend. The vet had told my in-laws to expect a painful and drawn-out end, which thankfully both they and Beau were spared.
Here's hoping there are lots of good things to sniff in kitty heaven.
Today was a long day at work, most of it spent staring at databases and spreadsheets which always leaves me a little brain dead. After work I headed to the gym. I parked my car, made it all the way across the parking lot, into the gym, and all the way down to the locker room before I noticed I was carrying my laptop instead of my gymbag. Now, I've seen people talk on their cell phones while working out, but I think answering email is taking it a little too far.
My husband sent me the beautifulest bunch of purple and pink tulips today. This is excellent on a number of levels.
1. Tulips are my absolute-a-number-one favorite flowers. I like them so much that I talked the hubby into planting 150 of them in our garden. Our garden consist entirely of red clay, which is pretty heavy even when it has not been raining for 2 straight weeks, which it had.
2. Tulips beat out daffodils as my favorite flower only because tulips come in purple and daffodils do not. Purple is my absolute-a-number-one favorite color. I like it so much that I talked the hubby into painting our bedroom a shade of lavender favored only by me and 10 year old girls.
3. He sent the flowers to work, which means that when I need to take a break from saving the world from badly written and grammatically incorrect sales process documents, I can gaze happily at my tulips. Also, all the other girls in the office get jealous because I have a genius rock star husband and they do not.
4. They came with a Snoopy balloon, which I can use to beat sales reps about the head until they are (even more) senseless.
5. They smell so yummy I could eat them with a spoon.
Thanks honey. :)
Another coworker: Smile Beth, it could be worse. You could have my job.
Me: It could be worse than that. I could have your face.
My coworker: Hey, you really look like crap!
Me: Well I feel like hell on a cracker, glad to know it shows.
Your husband goes to work with your house key, car key and office key.
Welcome to Monday!
... when there are two firetrucks, 3 squad cars, and a hazmat truck parked outside your office.
As the hubby and I were heading out of the house last night:
Him: Do you have your keys?
Me: No, why?
Him: Well, we sure as hell aren't taking my car.
Me: Why not?
Him: (with gobs of righteous indignation and horror) It's filthy!
You got it folks, some local hooligans have obviously broken into my husband's car and defiled it with a huge assortment if Dunkin' Donuts detritus and neckties. What is the world coming to?
Today, I met my 87-year old grandfather's new girlfriend.
My grandmother passed away last spring after a long life and a long love affair with my Papa. Papa was devastated - became deeply depressed, sought counseling and ended up on Prozac. At the time, he felt he would never live life again and we were all concerned he would follow my grandmother far too quickly.
Now he is living in a "senior apartment" and having a wonderful time with the new girlfriend. So wonderful in fact, that they are going on a 2 week tour of Europe next month. Papa's new lady is lovely, I really liked her. I firmly believe she has a lot to do with my Papa taking his life back and enjoying himself again.
But it kinda ooged me out to see Papa with a new woman.
And I wore my grandmother's sapphire ring because I am a loyal loyal girl.
So this is a few days old, but I was too angry to write about it last week. Last Friday I decided to do something daring and unusual and not only take a lunch break, but actually LEAVE THE BUILDING to do it. Now, where I work, the parking garages are cleverly situated as far as possible from the office buildings. I think it is a public service campaign to insure that all employees get at least 20 minutes of exercise a day walking to and from their cars. On Friday, it was also very cold and rainy and decidedly un-spring-like. So I left the building and headed out to my car, which involved a long walk through the Rain Tunnel. The Rain Tunnel is supposed to be a covered walkway from the office to the garage. However, the roof is very narrow, 20 feet above the ground, and was apparently designed by an architect who was unfamiliar with the concept of wind. The result being that if there is so much as a sprinkle you are going to get rained on between the garage and the building. On Friday there was enough rain and wind that I was fairly well drenched by the time I got to my car. This was the point at which I realized that I had left my car keys sitting on my desk. So it was back through the Rain Tunnel, back to the desk, and then all the way back to the garage once again, leaving me wet, cold and grumpy.
I went off to do whatever I did, and returned to work. My office is more secure than most airports, so you have to swipe your security badge to get into the parking lot. Which requires hanging out the window of your car. Which I did, getting wetter and grumpier by the minute. I parked my car and walked back through the storm to the building.
You know what's coming, right?
The security badge I needed to get into the building was on the passenger seat of my car, where I had left it after badging into the parking lot.
This can happen to anyone, but I think it takes special talent to do it twice in an hour.
Why does cold weather seem so much colder after a few warm days? A week ago it was 70 degrees. This morning it is 19 degrees with the windchill. 19 degrees would be pretty standard around here in January or February, but today it feels like it is too cold to support human life.