Somewhere between remodeling, trying to directly influence company revenue and holiday functions galore this season, I've had just about enough energy to remember that it is the exhale that comes after the inhale as I breathe.
I do it every year. Play too much, work too much and inevitably decide to take on something new during the holidays to try and make me feel like I'm having more fun. This year, I donned myself the baker which resulted in nothing short of the Betty Crocker bomb going off in my kitchen. In a frenzy I surrounded myself with pounds of peppermint candy, zucchini apple bread, rice krispie treats (which the cats helped themselves to after finding the treats on the top of the fridge ) and enough cookies to feed a small army.
So now that two of the big three holidays are passed, I find myself looking to prioritize and plan new direction. I'm making a list for myself - and no, I won't call it any sort of new year's resolution - because that is cliche and quite frankly, is the only sure fire way to guarantee it won't get done.
1. Finish the bathroom - Like, NOW
2. Fill my punching bag with the 100lbs of sand that is sitting in the garage
3. Get back to my kata
4. Finish the stack of books that are half read on my nightstand
5. Find a new gym - or yoga studio - or some place where I can go sweat and not leave feeling pissed off and inadequate
6. Unpack the box that has been sitting next to my dresser since September
7. Try snowshoeing or cross country
8. Pull the Pranayama CD out of the wrapper that I bought months ago
9. Finish the computer upgrade I started months ago
As I put this together I see the common thread - Finish that which you start. Maybe I'm looking more at a new mantra instead of a task list. My epiphany, in this moment of typing, is that the scattered feeling inside is coming from running around doing a lot of different things, but not taking the time to see them through. I'm going to tackle this so I can feel a clearer path of direction set before me.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
See
Out of all the senses, it's sight I enjoy most. Especially on days like this... So many of my zen moments happen near the mountains.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Man vs. Woman and the power of the Uterus
I am a strong person who loves her work. I want to see how far I can take my career and support my husband as he does the same. Early in our relationship, we made a conscious decision to not have children (well before my doctor informed me I had to be sure about not wanting to be pregnant before they installed the chromium and cobalt hip that will leach metal into my body and could endanger a fetus).
It's been suggested I'm being selfish and I've been told I'll miss out on the greatest joy a woman can have. But this is my choice.
After sitting through a women & business conference today, I have admiration and respect for women who stay at home to raise their family and especially for those women who have been successful in pursuing a career while also raising a family.
What I wish for is that others would view me as a successful person in business. The fact that I am a woman and especially a woman who has chosen to pursue a career instead of a family, does not make me any better or worse for who I am or what I do. I am a good person. I make good decisions. I offer effective solutions. I am committed to what I do.
Every time I attend a conference like this, I walk away not only wondering why we haven't gotten past the woman vs. man issues in the workforce, but why I'm seen as lesser of a woman for deciding not to have children...
It's been suggested I'm being selfish and I've been told I'll miss out on the greatest joy a woman can have. But this is my choice.
After sitting through a women & business conference today, I have admiration and respect for women who stay at home to raise their family and especially for those women who have been successful in pursuing a career while also raising a family.
What I wish for is that others would view me as a successful person in business. The fact that I am a woman and especially a woman who has chosen to pursue a career instead of a family, does not make me any better or worse for who I am or what I do. I am a good person. I make good decisions. I offer effective solutions. I am committed to what I do.
Every time I attend a conference like this, I walk away not only wondering why we haven't gotten past the woman vs. man issues in the workforce, but why I'm seen as lesser of a woman for deciding not to have children...
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Sneezing in the dust mask is messy
And so is ripping out multiple layers of shit off the floor so we can remodel the bathroom.
Discoveries I made today:
Discovery of original paint color, goofy laminate and finding a good place to start yanking tile...
Demo Dani...Not pretty, but sure a lot of fun. Safety first!
And, this is about the point where I started swearing at the discovery of many additional layers that needed removal/replacement.
Discoveries I made today:
- I'm a sucker for loud noise, big tools and breaking stuff.
- The original paint on the walls of my house were Crest colored green.
- If you smack the floor hard enough with a sledgehammer, you can actually knock part of the wall off the bathroom in the basement down below....didn't particularly care for the gold glittered masonite much anyway, no love lost.
- True to form - as with ANY home project involving tools or flame, I had an injury. Tried to fillet my thumb with glazed porcelain tile - turns out that stuff is REALLY sharp.
- Apparently the toilet in this particular bathroom leaked for some time. And the tar paper that was placed on top of the sub floor to act as a water barrier did not work.
- There were many layers on the floor. Layer #1: sub floor (good), layer #2: tar paper (not good), layer #3: particle board (uh, also not good), layer #4: turquoise with gold glitter laminate, layer #5: mortar, layer #6: backer board, layer #7: mortar and finally layer #8: the porcelain tile. Layers 8 - 4 are gone. Layers 3 and 2 are in progress and #1 will have to be cut out and replaced from leaky toilet listed above (and to think, I was planning on banging out some tile then laying more later in the week...HA!)
- Sneezing in the dust mask creates horrible splash back onto your face and will splatter into safety goggles if said mask is not properly in place.
Discovery of original paint color, goofy laminate and finding a good place to start yanking tile...
Demo Dani...Not pretty, but sure a lot of fun. Safety first!
And, this is about the point where I started swearing at the discovery of many additional layers that needed removal/replacement.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
I'd like to pause the world, please
Minutes ticked by tonight, each one causing more aggravation at my lack of ability to power down for the night.
Three things occurred to me which made me get out of bed, turn off the Ambiance track and sit down in front of the computer.
1. I've become a slave to the clock and there's never enough time
2. I've isolated myself from the people who matter most
3. I really can't remember the last time I took the time for 'me'
My diligent allocation of energy for projects has led me to stress over spending too much or too little time to complete. 10 more minutes at the gym because I need to hit an hour. 60 minutes to run to the store. 30 minutes to answer my email. 90 minutes on editing. 30 minutes to let the door primer cure.
10 minutes to eat? When in the hell did I get to the point where I was struggling to find the time to eat? I've always got time for food...
Oh, and as I start this post, there's only 330 minutes until the alarm summons me to get out of bed and start the day. This is the kind of thinking that allows me to find myself recalculating the universe only to find the alarm going off while I'm in the middle of solving a problem or crafting a new idea.
Since I've started the move, I have also closed myself off to my friends and family because I needed more time to do stuff. And all this 'stuff' is making me feel hollow. It's been weeks since I picked up the phone and had a good conversation with my friend in Colorado who is preparing for a major move, or my friend in Germany, who is going through a major life change. And my family, who I am normally in constant contact with, gets quick chirps of data in between PT, work and trips to Home Depot.
I have lost touch with myself as well. Several months back, I specifically adjusted my schedule to allow for one Dani Day per week. A day where I saw visions of myself chillin' in a coffee shop then walking Buster in the park. Dani Day has turned into Appointment Day, Contractor Day, WTF is in this box Day and sometimes Work Day...The boundary I worked so hard to create for myself has been eroded and it is no wonder I'm beginning to resemble Oscar the Grouch- right down to the bulging eyes and bushy eyebrows.
So this weekend, I'm declaring a moratorium on remodel work and part of Friday will be set aside for me, even if the house is a mess. I'm killing the power to the computer and then I'll turn my cell phones off...both of them. And, if all I end up doing is sitting on my couch staring out the window in my sweats and tattered slippers over a cup of coffee, I'll let myself be OK with that moment and hit the 'control+alt+delete' inside my head.
Three things occurred to me which made me get out of bed, turn off the Ambiance track and sit down in front of the computer.
1. I've become a slave to the clock and there's never enough time
2. I've isolated myself from the people who matter most
3. I really can't remember the last time I took the time for 'me'
My diligent allocation of energy for projects has led me to stress over spending too much or too little time to complete. 10 more minutes at the gym because I need to hit an hour. 60 minutes to run to the store. 30 minutes to answer my email. 90 minutes on editing. 30 minutes to let the door primer cure.
10 minutes to eat? When in the hell did I get to the point where I was struggling to find the time to eat? I've always got time for food...
Oh, and as I start this post, there's only 330 minutes until the alarm summons me to get out of bed and start the day. This is the kind of thinking that allows me to find myself recalculating the universe only to find the alarm going off while I'm in the middle of solving a problem or crafting a new idea.
Since I've started the move, I have also closed myself off to my friends and family because I needed more time to do stuff. And all this 'stuff' is making me feel hollow. It's been weeks since I picked up the phone and had a good conversation with my friend in Colorado who is preparing for a major move, or my friend in Germany, who is going through a major life change. And my family, who I am normally in constant contact with, gets quick chirps of data in between PT, work and trips to Home Depot.
I have lost touch with myself as well. Several months back, I specifically adjusted my schedule to allow for one Dani Day per week. A day where I saw visions of myself chillin' in a coffee shop then walking Buster in the park. Dani Day has turned into Appointment Day, Contractor Day, WTF is in this box Day and sometimes Work Day...The boundary I worked so hard to create for myself has been eroded and it is no wonder I'm beginning to resemble Oscar the Grouch- right down to the bulging eyes and bushy eyebrows.
So this weekend, I'm declaring a moratorium on remodel work and part of Friday will be set aside for me, even if the house is a mess. I'm killing the power to the computer and then I'll turn my cell phones off...both of them. And, if all I end up doing is sitting on my couch staring out the window in my sweats and tattered slippers over a cup of coffee, I'll let myself be OK with that moment and hit the 'control+alt+delete' inside my head.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Our Edamame Monster
My blog is no stranger to goofy stories about our animals. This one is no different.
Several months ago Jason and I were nestled at the kitchen table over a big plate of edamame. Chomping away at the delicious pods, our animals began to circle and beg, which we are accustomed to. But when Norman started to do his little screamy thing, out of curiousity, Jason sat a piece of edamame on the corner of the table.
In lightning speed, Norman grabbed the soybean and scarfed it. And, just to make sure we saw what we thought we saw, Jason did it again. And again. And again.
Check out the video below for a glimpse into the circus that surrounds us every time we pull the edmame bag out for dinner....
Several months ago Jason and I were nestled at the kitchen table over a big plate of edamame. Chomping away at the delicious pods, our animals began to circle and beg, which we are accustomed to. But when Norman started to do his little screamy thing, out of curiousity, Jason sat a piece of edamame on the corner of the table.
In lightning speed, Norman grabbed the soybean and scarfed it. And, just to make sure we saw what we thought we saw, Jason did it again. And again. And again.
Check out the video below for a glimpse into the circus that surrounds us every time we pull the edmame bag out for dinner....
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
I'll tell you why
I will not go to the dentist for another round of crown work on October 31.
It will interfere with my ability to eat candy on Halloween!
Maybe I should have simply told the bookkeeper that it was not going to work with my schedule.
When I blurted my response above, my zeal for gobbling candy did not go over very well with the dentist office.
"Well....you could eat some candy. You'll just need to be more careful."
"No. I'll just take the appointment on the 7th. Thanks."
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
I cast my vote today
Because I care. Because I deserve to be heard. And because I believe in the power of one voice.
On my lunch break, as I sat in a chair in in the back of the Salt Lake County Clerk & Recorder's office waiting for my voter card to be programmed, I observed the mix of people around me and I was filled with pride.
I smiled at the Hispanic family who visited the office together to register to vote and while the words being spoken were not those I understood, I identified with the excitement they had for being there.
I watched a middle aged couple standing closely together, filling out their papers to register to vote.
Another man dressed in his neatly pressed pants, shirt and tie walked in the with a beaming smile on his face as he pulled out his ID card and took his place in line.
Polling workers frantically took information and processed new registration cards with smiles on their faces. As voters handed their programmed cards back to the workers they said, "Wait, don't go until I get you your voter sticker," and happily handed the red, white and blue stickers across the counter.
All of us were in that room for a reason. A reason of passion...and a need to be heard.
It was the year 2000 when I was able to fully appreciate the emotions that surround me when I vote. I worked my little heart out on committees working to defeat Colorado Ballot Amendments 21 and 24. After my hard work, I went to the polls, proudly cast my ballot and anxiously waited on election night as the results trickled in. When the votes were counted and I saw the campaigns I worked on were successful, I breathed a sigh of relief and was filled with a sense of pride.
To this day, every time I go vote, my heart swells a little, and I leave with my head held high.
I am thankful to live in a country where I can freely cast my opinion with out fear of persecution. My vote matters to me, the people in my community and to the people of this nation.
So I'm asking you - my friends, family and community members to rise up. Rise up and take advantage of this opportunity to freely cast your opinion on the issues that matter to you.
On my lunch break, as I sat in a chair in in the back of the Salt Lake County Clerk & Recorder's office waiting for my voter card to be programmed, I observed the mix of people around me and I was filled with pride.
I smiled at the Hispanic family who visited the office together to register to vote and while the words being spoken were not those I understood, I identified with the excitement they had for being there.
I watched a middle aged couple standing closely together, filling out their papers to register to vote.
Another man dressed in his neatly pressed pants, shirt and tie walked in the with a beaming smile on his face as he pulled out his ID card and took his place in line.
Polling workers frantically took information and processed new registration cards with smiles on their faces. As voters handed their programmed cards back to the workers they said, "Wait, don't go until I get you your voter sticker," and happily handed the red, white and blue stickers across the counter.
All of us were in that room for a reason. A reason of passion...and a need to be heard.
It was the year 2000 when I was able to fully appreciate the emotions that surround me when I vote. I worked my little heart out on committees working to defeat Colorado Ballot Amendments 21 and 24. After my hard work, I went to the polls, proudly cast my ballot and anxiously waited on election night as the results trickled in. When the votes were counted and I saw the campaigns I worked on were successful, I breathed a sigh of relief and was filled with a sense of pride.
To this day, every time I go vote, my heart swells a little, and I leave with my head held high.
I am thankful to live in a country where I can freely cast my opinion with out fear of persecution. My vote matters to me, the people in my community and to the people of this nation.
So I'm asking you - my friends, family and community members to rise up. Rise up and take advantage of this opportunity to freely cast your opinion on the issues that matter to you.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Contractor parade
Week one in new home.
While we have successfully escaped the suburbs (and could not be more excited about our new location), we have been busy with projects, both planned and unplanned that have led to meetings/repair work with the following:
Electrician guys
Plumber #1
Plumber #2
Home Depot installer guy
Sears garage door guy
Cultured marble shower guy
ReBath guy
JC Penney window coverings girl
The cats are doing aerial assaults on each other from the stacks of boxes yet unpacked. The master shower leaks into the basement laundry room and mismatched sheets cover the windows in the master bedroom.
And, because none of my adventures are complete without injury, I'm walking around while appearing to be simultaneously flipping people off with one hand and trying to hi-five them with the other...A late night finger smashing followed by a battle with a boxcutter have left the digits a bit on the sore side.
I'm beginning to feel a bit like Shelley Long in The Money Pit...
While we have successfully escaped the suburbs (and could not be more excited about our new location), we have been busy with projects, both planned and unplanned that have led to meetings/repair work with the following:
Electrician guys
Plumber #1
Plumber #2
Home Depot installer guy
Sears garage door guy
Cultured marble shower guy
ReBath guy
JC Penney window coverings girl
The cats are doing aerial assaults on each other from the stacks of boxes yet unpacked. The master shower leaks into the basement laundry room and mismatched sheets cover the windows in the master bedroom.
And, because none of my adventures are complete without injury, I'm walking around while appearing to be simultaneously flipping people off with one hand and trying to hi-five them with the other...A late night finger smashing followed by a battle with a boxcutter have left the digits a bit on the sore side.
I'm beginning to feel a bit like Shelley Long in The Money Pit...
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Deja Vu - dog style...
We just can't have nice things.
Or things from Target for that matter.
I'm moving in two weeks, so naturally my house is chaos. While kitties love chaos, Busters do not.
The other night we had churned up a moth in the house and kitties decided to try and kill it. While it was on the ceiling. I know the cat can't jump that high, but she thought she'd go for it anyways.
She landed on top of my red and bronze Target lamp. It crashed to the floor. The bug flew away.
I thought the lamp was broken, but was then relieved when Jason swapped out the light bulb and the lamp worked just fine. We repositioned it on the table and went back to watching the cat trying to catch said bug.
About, oh, five minutes later, Buster decides he wants to get in on the action and came darting from behind the couch and got tangled in the lamp cord. And freaked.
In slow motion I watched the lamp go up into the air and come crashing down on on its top just as it had before.
Only this time, part of the lampshade broke. And so did the light bulb.
Because I have faith that the lamp will fall yet again, I turned the unbroken side facing out until another animal (or human, probably me) knocks it down for a third time - which I'm sure will finish it off for good.
Just one more reason why I own Target, not Tiffany.
Or things from Target for that matter.
I'm moving in two weeks, so naturally my house is chaos. While kitties love chaos, Busters do not.
The other night we had churned up a moth in the house and kitties decided to try and kill it. While it was on the ceiling. I know the cat can't jump that high, but she thought she'd go for it anyways.
She landed on top of my red and bronze Target lamp. It crashed to the floor. The bug flew away.
I thought the lamp was broken, but was then relieved when Jason swapped out the light bulb and the lamp worked just fine. We repositioned it on the table and went back to watching the cat trying to catch said bug.
About, oh, five minutes later, Buster decides he wants to get in on the action and came darting from behind the couch and got tangled in the lamp cord. And freaked.
In slow motion I watched the lamp go up into the air and come crashing down on on its top just as it had before.
Only this time, part of the lampshade broke. And so did the light bulb.
Because I have faith that the lamp will fall yet again, I turned the unbroken side facing out until another animal (or human, probably me) knocks it down for a third time - which I'm sure will finish it off for good.
Just one more reason why I own Target, not Tiffany.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Large Hadron Rap
Why? Because my boss shared this with the group at work today and I too believe it is worth sharing...
And because my hubby is a chemist and loves this stuff...
AND...because it's hip to get your geek on...
Enjoy!
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Twitter a Mac hater?
As the Marketing Manager for Clark Planetarium, I spent last night in preparation for my presentation to the board of directors about how our organization can better promote itself in the digital arena. As part of my investigation I have not once, not twice, but three times tried to get my Twitter account set up and functional to demonstrate its capabilities.
I set up my account. Tell my computer to remember the password and username as I log into the site after setting up my account. Leave a tweet. Log out. And boom, the next time I try to log in - either using my remembered username and password or typing it in (yes I am using the correct login) this silly page tells me:
I'm out of patience. I invited my group of friends to follow me on this site, now I can't reset my password and I've used up two good usernames that are now registered as taken.
I hear Plurk is a good alternative. Sorry Twitter, you're either a Mac hater or you just plain don't have your act together. Either way, I'm moving on.
I set up my account. Tell my computer to remember the password and username as I log into the site after setting up my account. Leave a tweet. Log out. And boom, the next time I try to log in - either using my remembered username and password or typing it in (yes I am using the correct login) this silly page tells me:
I'm out of patience. I invited my group of friends to follow me on this site, now I can't reset my password and I've used up two good usernames that are now registered as taken.
I hear Plurk is a good alternative. Sorry Twitter, you're either a Mac hater or you just plain don't have your act together. Either way, I'm moving on.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
At least the furniture is protected...
After spending the last hour trying to adhere "Soft Paws" to my cat's feet so she will stop turning everything in my house into scratch post matter, I am now covered in super glue, nail polish remover and lighter fluid.
While I enjoy the protection that the vinyl nail protectors provide my furniture, I will think twice about trying to stabilize a cat between my legs, shoo away a dog and maneuver two tubes of super glue at the same time.
After releasing said cat, trying to pick cat hair out of the quickly drying super glue and ultimately smearing more super glue on to the night stand, I ventured into the bathroom to determine what strength of chemical was best to remove the mess from my hands.
I am now my own personal chemistry set, my eyes burn and a couple of my fingertips are lacking the fingerprints that used to accompany them.
Oh, and yes, the cat will kill me in my sleep if she gets the chance.
While I enjoy the protection that the vinyl nail protectors provide my furniture, I will think twice about trying to stabilize a cat between my legs, shoo away a dog and maneuver two tubes of super glue at the same time.
After releasing said cat, trying to pick cat hair out of the quickly drying super glue and ultimately smearing more super glue on to the night stand, I ventured into the bathroom to determine what strength of chemical was best to remove the mess from my hands.
I am now my own personal chemistry set, my eyes burn and a couple of my fingertips are lacking the fingerprints that used to accompany them.
Oh, and yes, the cat will kill me in my sleep if she gets the chance.
Monday, August 4, 2008
The Universe and my underpants
I tried really hard to not post this blog tonight, but the rational side of my brain has lost the battle....It's a bit too much information, but it is relevant all the same.
I have come to the conclusion that, for now, events in my life have a direct correlation to malfunctioning underpants. Not in a gross way, more in a "Wow. That's pretty inconvenient," kind of way.
Like last week. On the day my house deal began to implode. When I arrived at home, I could not believe how something that started so right, could go so wrong.
Late in the evening I noticed that the underpants, they were on upside down (yes, that's right - I call it upside down when I get dressed in the dark and manage to put the underwear on inside-out. Um, yes, it happens more often than I'd like to admit).
Today, oddities all around me and still more of the house conundrum. Just when I thought I was done dealing with the surprises...Things get just a bit dumber. For example, the moving company informing us that we could not get our deposit back. After two phone calls of being informed that we could get our deposit back if something fell apart or needed to change (with the most recent call being last Thursday), they have informed us today that they will keep the funds.
Dumber yet, was that the underpants decided to feature spontaneously combusting elastic in the leg...And they're new! But I left them there, all crooked and awful, adding to my grouchy, literally lopsided, disposition until I arrived home.
Tonight, as I sit here typing in my lounge pants, I'm contemplating one word quietly to myself ,
"Commando?"
It's worth a try.
I have come to the conclusion that, for now, events in my life have a direct correlation to malfunctioning underpants. Not in a gross way, more in a "Wow. That's pretty inconvenient," kind of way.
Like last week. On the day my house deal began to implode. When I arrived at home, I could not believe how something that started so right, could go so wrong.
Late in the evening I noticed that the underpants, they were on upside down (yes, that's right - I call it upside down when I get dressed in the dark and manage to put the underwear on inside-out. Um, yes, it happens more often than I'd like to admit).
Today, oddities all around me and still more of the house conundrum. Just when I thought I was done dealing with the surprises...Things get just a bit dumber. For example, the moving company informing us that we could not get our deposit back. After two phone calls of being informed that we could get our deposit back if something fell apart or needed to change (with the most recent call being last Thursday), they have informed us today that they will keep the funds.
Dumber yet, was that the underpants decided to feature spontaneously combusting elastic in the leg...And they're new! But I left them there, all crooked and awful, adding to my grouchy, literally lopsided, disposition until I arrived home.
Tonight, as I sit here typing in my lounge pants, I'm contemplating one word quietly to myself ,
"Commando?"
It's worth a try.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Foodie fun - BBQ style
I'm doing an incredible job of procrastinating on preparing for my move across town. I'm scheduling appointments, managing not to bundle my errands together at one time and, today, suggesting going out for as well as making fun food at the house. It comes as no surprise that I only packed three more boxes this afternoon.
As I kind-of packed, I was fantasizing about food and how I planned to prepare the fresh veggies that were sitting in the crisper drawer of the fridge.
It was a masterpiece. My dinner went from this:
To this:
Salmon in hoisin sauce, sweet corn and a mixture of quinoa with grilled eggplant, orange bell pepper, edamame, onion and feta. My thanks to Arikka for reminding me last weekend how good quinoa can be...That and it's got essential amino acids, is a complete protein source and goes with just about anything.
You can purchase it bulk at Whole Foods and it cooks like rice - a 2 to 1 ratio. Unless you want to mix it with other whole grains for a cereal and cook it overnight in the crock pot - then it's a 4 to 1 ratio. To my foodie friends...try this, you'll like it.
As I kind-of packed, I was fantasizing about food and how I planned to prepare the fresh veggies that were sitting in the crisper drawer of the fridge.
It was a masterpiece. My dinner went from this:
To this:
Salmon in hoisin sauce, sweet corn and a mixture of quinoa with grilled eggplant, orange bell pepper, edamame, onion and feta. My thanks to Arikka for reminding me last weekend how good quinoa can be...That and it's got essential amino acids, is a complete protein source and goes with just about anything.
You can purchase it bulk at Whole Foods and it cooks like rice - a 2 to 1 ratio. Unless you want to mix it with other whole grains for a cereal and cook it overnight in the crock pot - then it's a 4 to 1 ratio. To my foodie friends...try this, you'll like it.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Of butts and brides
Today I indulged in a trip to the salon for some pampering and proper gray hair coverage.
Enjoying the contrast of heat on my head and air conditioning on my feet, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a wall of girls in front of the salon windows. Then I saw opposite the girls a photographer taking pictures. Add to that a series of matching flip-flops and the mental math added up to: Wedding party of the hairdo variety.
The door opens, the girls file in and high-pitched voices fill the air over the dryer blowing in my ears. As the girls come closer to my sitting area I'm a bit entertained. It's a bit fun to observe the controlled chaos of excitement and repeated question, "What are you going to do." There's even a large three ring notebook with tabs marking the hair styles for each of the party members.
However, my entertainment quickly turned to discomfort when my personal space quickly began to disappear. They had taken over the dryer chair next to me and as I'm backing my face out of one girls ass, my leg bumps the photog who is directing everyone to get closer so she can get the shot.
I thought they would move away, but they just kept coming. I want to flee or say something, but I can't.
I'm speechless.
And I'm staring. At the skinny butt that is no less than 6 inches from my nose. And then I look at the photog's butt which has moved off to the side of me. And the butt of the hairdresser doing the mother of the bride's hair and I begin dying inside.
Out of all of the scenarios I could have pulled for my Friday afternoon, this went from irritating to awesome. Awesome because I'm pretty sure I was close enough to those girls that there may be a photo out there with a group of pretty young girls, where off to the side an older girl with enough tin foil and product to create Phyllis Diller hair, sits all wide-eyed and grouchy-faced staring at the ass that was encroaching in her space.
Even if the photo doesn't exist, I can sit back and chuckle at what it would have looked like through the lens of a camera.
Enjoying the contrast of heat on my head and air conditioning on my feet, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a wall of girls in front of the salon windows. Then I saw opposite the girls a photographer taking pictures. Add to that a series of matching flip-flops and the mental math added up to: Wedding party of the hairdo variety.
The door opens, the girls file in and high-pitched voices fill the air over the dryer blowing in my ears. As the girls come closer to my sitting area I'm a bit entertained. It's a bit fun to observe the controlled chaos of excitement and repeated question, "What are you going to do." There's even a large three ring notebook with tabs marking the hair styles for each of the party members.
However, my entertainment quickly turned to discomfort when my personal space quickly began to disappear. They had taken over the dryer chair next to me and as I'm backing my face out of one girls ass, my leg bumps the photog who is directing everyone to get closer so she can get the shot.
I thought they would move away, but they just kept coming. I want to flee or say something, but I can't.
I'm speechless.
And I'm staring. At the skinny butt that is no less than 6 inches from my nose. And then I look at the photog's butt which has moved off to the side of me. And the butt of the hairdresser doing the mother of the bride's hair and I begin dying inside.
Out of all of the scenarios I could have pulled for my Friday afternoon, this went from irritating to awesome. Awesome because I'm pretty sure I was close enough to those girls that there may be a photo out there with a group of pretty young girls, where off to the side an older girl with enough tin foil and product to create Phyllis Diller hair, sits all wide-eyed and grouchy-faced staring at the ass that was encroaching in her space.
Even if the photo doesn't exist, I can sit back and chuckle at what it would have looked like through the lens of a camera.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Tatsu - it is me
Dragon (tatsu) --- Born 2000, 1988, 1976, 1964, 1952, 1940, 1928, 1916
People born in the year of the Dragon are healthy, energetic, excitable, short-tempered and stubborn. However, they are honest, sensitive, brave and can inspire trust in most anyone. They are the most peculiar of the 12 signs of the Zodiac cycle.
Yup - that's about it.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
I wanna go home...or beat something up
Either way. I'd be happy.
As I sit with Sam Adams on coffee table, ipod playing Tool, camera plugged in, cell phone open and no less than 6 tabs open in Firefox....My head's racing.
I'm grouchy. Thankful. Anxious. Searching. Thrilled. Jaded. Relieved. Rocking out. Missing my training. Missing the Rockslide. Missing my Mom and Dad.
What a mess.
Places I'd rather be than my couch: My bike. The river. A rock. My dojo floor. Making contact with my kick bag. Jamaica (or other applicable island). The Junk. Dirt. Dirt. Dirt. Oh, and dirt; I've been entirely too clean this season.
Places I'm glad I'm not: My last place of residence. The hospital. Stuck in traffic. Stuck in my shell of a brain and body circa 5 years ago.
What I'll do next: Attempt to shadow box sitting down. Listen to music louder. Bounce my head harder. Visualize myself on top of that mountain back home, in a gi, doing the strongest kata of my life.
As I sit with Sam Adams on coffee table, ipod playing Tool, camera plugged in, cell phone open and no less than 6 tabs open in Firefox....My head's racing.
I'm grouchy. Thankful. Anxious. Searching. Thrilled. Jaded. Relieved. Rocking out. Missing my training. Missing the Rockslide. Missing my Mom and Dad.
What a mess.
Places I'd rather be than my couch: My bike. The river. A rock. My dojo floor. Making contact with my kick bag. Jamaica (or other applicable island). The Junk. Dirt. Dirt. Dirt. Oh, and dirt; I've been entirely too clean this season.
Places I'm glad I'm not: My last place of residence. The hospital. Stuck in traffic. Stuck in my shell of a brain and body circa 5 years ago.
What I'll do next: Attempt to shadow box sitting down. Listen to music louder. Bounce my head harder. Visualize myself on top of that mountain back home, in a gi, doing the strongest kata of my life.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
When the urge strikes...Push-Up!
Driving to my physical therapy appointment today I saw something so random I'm convinced a cell phone with a good camera is a must have.
I was headed east on 600 South up to the U near Trolley Square. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an up-and-down motion along the side of the road.
Paying closer attention, I noticed that the motion was being initiated by a human, with flowing hair...and no shirt. Putting it all together, I then realize it was a shirtless man doing push-ups...on the sidewalk.
Humm, interesting, I thought to myself. You don't see that everyday.
But it got better.
Just after I had the time to process exactly what I was seeing, the man jumped up and seamlessly moved into the motion of walking down the street...as if the push-ups didn't even happen. By now I'm rubbernecking and could have caused impediment, but I slowed my car a bit to watch anyway.
The man, with his large, faded, blackwork tattoo on his shoulder and shirt hanging from his jeans waistband, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a comb. A comb to smooth his chin length brown hair that was messy from the push-ups that tossed it about.
OHMYGAWD! I love the city and I'm buying a new phone. The written description cannot do this post justice.
But if you close your eyes real tight, I know you can see it too.
I was headed east on 600 South up to the U near Trolley Square. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an up-and-down motion along the side of the road.
Paying closer attention, I noticed that the motion was being initiated by a human, with flowing hair...and no shirt. Putting it all together, I then realize it was a shirtless man doing push-ups...on the sidewalk.
Humm, interesting, I thought to myself. You don't see that everyday.
But it got better.
Just after I had the time to process exactly what I was seeing, the man jumped up and seamlessly moved into the motion of walking down the street...as if the push-ups didn't even happen. By now I'm rubbernecking and could have caused impediment, but I slowed my car a bit to watch anyway.
The man, with his large, faded, blackwork tattoo on his shoulder and shirt hanging from his jeans waistband, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a comb. A comb to smooth his chin length brown hair that was messy from the push-ups that tossed it about.
OHMYGAWD! I love the city and I'm buying a new phone. The written description cannot do this post justice.
But if you close your eyes real tight, I know you can see it too.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The hygienist to dentist ratio
If you don't like stereotypes or generalized statements, this is not the blog post for you...
I went to the dentist today to get a proper calculation of how much drilling and capping needed to be done in my mouth and I was again smacked in the face with the reality of the formula of hygienists to dentists that occurs in every dentist office I've been in since I can remember.
Dentist: Nondescript Male
Hygienist: Ratio of 3-to-one for the nondescript dentist male of bubbly, perky, young twenty-something girls eager to stick their fingers in my mouth and ask questions....or, better yet, hygienists who ask the dentist questions about dental hygiene that will make said patient wonder how and the hell the hygienist has the got to the stage where they actually DO have their fingers in patient's mouth.
Just once. I want some brass bitch with dark hair, tattoos and eccentric makeup to walk up to my chair and put it to me straight...You know, tell me my teeth are messed up and that they're going to have to do excessive work, that I'm not going to like it and most importantly, not apologize for having to take proper precautions to ensure I don't end up with dentures by the time I'm 40.
I'm bored with the scenario already.
I'm tired of the bouncy, perky standard battery of, "Are you doing OK?" followed by, "I'm sorry." If you're going to ask me how I feel about needing another round of crowns and fillings and, because I have not had the proper dosage of coffee, I decide to tell you I'm not looking forward to it - tell me something you're sorry I'm feeling grumpy about the fact.
Go ahead - tell me I need to lay off the acidic beverages and hard candy - I can take it. I may not change my habits, but I can take it. If I couldn't, I certainly would not intentionally continue to book my appointments on a 6 month basis - Trust me, I'm not coming in for the company.
So if any of my dear friends in the SLC have a good line on a well educated dentist that has biker chicks doing the hygienist work, let me know. I'm ready for the change...
I went to the dentist today to get a proper calculation of how much drilling and capping needed to be done in my mouth and I was again smacked in the face with the reality of the formula of hygienists to dentists that occurs in every dentist office I've been in since I can remember.
Dentist: Nondescript Male
Hygienist: Ratio of 3-to-one for the nondescript dentist male of bubbly, perky, young twenty-something girls eager to stick their fingers in my mouth and ask questions....or, better yet, hygienists who ask the dentist questions about dental hygiene that will make said patient wonder how and the hell the hygienist has the got to the stage where they actually DO have their fingers in patient's mouth.
Just once. I want some brass bitch with dark hair, tattoos and eccentric makeup to walk up to my chair and put it to me straight...You know, tell me my teeth are messed up and that they're going to have to do excessive work, that I'm not going to like it and most importantly, not apologize for having to take proper precautions to ensure I don't end up with dentures by the time I'm 40.
I'm bored with the scenario already.
I'm tired of the bouncy, perky standard battery of, "Are you doing OK?" followed by, "I'm sorry." If you're going to ask me how I feel about needing another round of crowns and fillings and, because I have not had the proper dosage of coffee, I decide to tell you I'm not looking forward to it - tell me something you're sorry I'm feeling grumpy about the fact.
Go ahead - tell me I need to lay off the acidic beverages and hard candy - I can take it. I may not change my habits, but I can take it. If I couldn't, I certainly would not intentionally continue to book my appointments on a 6 month basis - Trust me, I'm not coming in for the company.
So if any of my dear friends in the SLC have a good line on a well educated dentist that has biker chicks doing the hygienist work, let me know. I'm ready for the change...
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Letter to the UPS Guy
Dear Mr. UPS Guy,You made me sad today.
Your usually prompt and polite service still remains prompt, but the polite factor was somehow missed today when you put my Aveda Conditioner to rest...on top of my lavender plant.
While I understand my plant was in the location you sometimes like to place my packages (between the pillar on my porch and the garage) this plant is sickly and trying to recover from excessive sun exposure.
Your mushing of the not-so-healthy branches is neither welcome nor appreciated. Please, Mr. UPS Guy, just go back to leaving my stuff in front of my door. I trust that the cardboard shipping boxes will tolerate the not-so-soft resting place and can sustain the sun better than my lavender plant at this time.
Sincerely,
Me
Monday, June 23, 2008
I'm bubbly? I'm bubbly!
I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.
Nope, I'm not grouchy. I'm bouncy, skippy and just a bit amused with stuff. Oh, and the first part of this blog is being typed with one hand, while the other hand directs a freshly-baked butterscotch chip cookie right into my mouth - it's fabulous.
Even better, is that Jason was nice enough to bake cookies tonight and hand them to me during trips back and forth to the kitchen as I blog surf.
It's not just cookies that make me happy - they just make things better.
I'm happy because:
Nope, I'm not grouchy. I'm bouncy, skippy and just a bit amused with stuff. Oh, and the first part of this blog is being typed with one hand, while the other hand directs a freshly-baked butterscotch chip cookie right into my mouth - it's fabulous.
Even better, is that Jason was nice enough to bake cookies tonight and hand them to me during trips back and forth to the kitchen as I blog surf.
It's not just cookies that make me happy - they just make things better.
I'm happy because:
- I met my hubby in a bar and thinking about that story made me smile today.
- My family makes me glad I have them to call my family.
- I've got an amazing group of friends that are fun, caring and continually introduce me to cool new people as well as helping me discover different areas of my own personality.
- Beer always tastes better in the summer.
- I'm finally running my air conditioning on a regular basis.
- I can legitimately say I'm doing work while playing with a huge pile of toys on my desk.
- My physical therapist makes me feel like a rockstar.
- I walked all by myself for 25 feet today (it was kinda wobbly and a bit ugly, but I DID IT!).
- I'm able to visualize myself wearing my gi and my belt again.
- The mountains outside my home are beautiful.
- I love the color green and it's all around me.
- Little white dogs with brown ears make the world a better place.
- Did I mention hot, gooey cookies?
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
My heart rate’s over 100 - now what do I do?
Rehabbing from my hip upgrade has been a bit of a bitch (duh - I know). I did really well at home, but not well enough to walk on my own. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I'm expecting to hop up and be back to my old active self after sitting around for two months.
Enter the University of Utah Physical Terrorist (I mean, Therapist) Unit. Really friendly people - really good therapists - really tough for wussies like me.
My guy is charged first with getting me stronger and then we will progress to "gait training" which is just another fancy way of teaching this thirty-something chick that regular people walk without dragging one of their legs behind them like Egore. Which is great. I'm happy for the opportunity. But I like being able to squat down to pee without yelping from pain in my quadriceps, which has been a regular occurrence during the past week.
I'm getting used to the pain part, and feeling like I'm a bit better in control of my strength training situation...but yesterday my guy pointed out I'm making a lot of progress (YAY!) and asked me if I'd like to try some cardio.
Inside, I'm doing cartwheels... "Yes," I said, and we trotted off to the stationary bike to see what I could do (stationary bikes are on the 'approved list' because my previous therapist told me my balance was no where near safe for clip in pedals at this time - and I agree this is a correct analysis).
So I climb on this bike and my guy is explaining to me that I can play with the tension to see what's comfortable for me. He's fiddling with the controls while chatting with me and level "2" was killing my legs and lungs, but I try not to show it.
Then we joked about me not falling off the bike because it'd been so long since I'd had a real workout, but in the back of my mind I had a very clear image of what head down, legs up would look like if I happened to tumble from the equipment I was sitting on.
I'm telling you - 5 minutes on this bike and I felt like I was Sweatin' to the Oldies or hanging out in one of my days of old spin classes. Did I stop? No way. My ego wouldn't let me get off that bike before the guy twice my age next to me did. So I kept going...huffing, puffing and feeling my face and chest turning various shades of red, but I found myself sticking with it and ended up riding 15 minutes, only after I turned the resistance down to "1".
I nodded to my guy on the way out and muttered "Yeah, it felt really good to do some cardio today," and tried to keep the optimistic smiley face on my head.
I wasn't lying, it did feel good to ride the bike - slowly - with little resistance. It was the walk to the car afterwards that damn near killed me. I found myself spending more time than I wanted sitting in my vehicle trying to figure out how to keep my legs from quivering enough to where I could drive myself home.
Later, when I tried to pee, I let out a bit of a whimper as my muscles again reminded me they are in disagreement with the new training regimen as opposed to sitting on my ass seeing how fast I can flip channels on the TV.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Fuzzy kitteh gets summer haircut
No, this is not a picture from a cat fan website....This one belongs to me.
It is amazing how one swipe of the clippers not only revealed how much of Jinxy was hair - not body - but we have discovered a nice kitteh was hidden under all that fur.
Once grouchy kitteh is now friendly - and even purrs on occasion.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Point - Click - Whoops - and Happy Birthday!
This is another installment of "My brain's on vacation, but I'm still playing with hi-tech devices." For a brief history, click here.
This year I wanted to do something really cool for my dad's birthday. So, a couple of weeks ago I started placing phone calls to my mom and sisters to see what ideas they had...
My mom suggested we buy a real estate website package as a surprise for him because it's something he's talked about off-and-on through the years and is something he would really enjoy.
Brilliant!
I spoke with my sisters and I was to take the lead on this project because I still have a bit of free time I'm looking to fill and I know a good vendor back in Junction with the right product.
After emailing back and forth with the account manager about our plans to surprise my dad with this gift, I went online to begin the purchase process. I would purchase the plan under my name and then present it to my dad on his birthday so he could finish building the site.
That was the plan.
Here's what I ended up doing instead...
I filled out all of my contact information EXCEPT for the email address. Yup - it asked for the real estate agent's address...well, that's my dad's email. So that's what I used. Never mind the fact that I had already filled in MY name for the agent, but evidently it is harder to run a laptop and keep track of the Detroit Red Wings vs. Pittsburgh Penguins playoff game than I thought.
When the confirmation page popped up I was horrified. It looked like this:
An email has just been sent to (dad's email) with the details of your sign-up. That email will also include instructions on how to proceed to get your website set up as soon as possible. Check your email in-box in a few moments. If you don't receive an email within 15-20 minutes, give us a call at 970.241.6482, or email us at support@flexisswinr.com.
Kinda hard to surprise dad when the confirmation email goes directly to his address rather than mine. After muttering a sentence that included the key phrases "what, shit, and kidding me?, " I figured I needed to make another round of phone calls to let my co-conspirators the cat was out of the bag - early.
By now I'm giggling at myself. I call mom first and explain the chain of events...how I was not able to draw the correlation between an online purchase order and correct contact information.
She's now giggling too.
Then I ask to explain to dad that he's has an email that's may seem a bit confusing, "Hi Dad...Tomorrow you're going to go to work and sit at your desk and turn on your computer and check your email and see an email that gives you instructions on how to set up a website for Realtor "Dani." But it's not my website, it's your website and it's for your birthday and it was supposed to be a surprise - so surprise and we all worked on it but I accidentally put in your email address instead of my email address so it came to you instead of me...Happy Birthday!"
Yes, the message came out of my mouth as badly as it was typed above. He was kinda quiet on the other line so I was having a hard time telling if he was surprised, confused or both...I'm pretty sure both with a side of "hee, hee, funny" at my slightly inaccurate analytical skills.
Mom took the phone back, still giggling at me. I made the rounds and called my sisters, who also giggled at me - it's typical behavior of me to get really excited about something and then get the delivery just a bit off when it's time to move forward (note: this is why I don't do toasts at weddings and typically need a script when delivering a critical message).
But that's not all...Today my dad forwarded me a copy of the receipt from flexisswinr.com with the purchase amount of his surprise birthday present in the body copy.
Seriously.
Dad: I hope you have an awesome birthday and enjoy your new website...You're the best!
- love all of us
This year I wanted to do something really cool for my dad's birthday. So, a couple of weeks ago I started placing phone calls to my mom and sisters to see what ideas they had...
My mom suggested we buy a real estate website package as a surprise for him because it's something he's talked about off-and-on through the years and is something he would really enjoy.
Brilliant!
I spoke with my sisters and I was to take the lead on this project because I still have a bit of free time I'm looking to fill and I know a good vendor back in Junction with the right product.
After emailing back and forth with the account manager about our plans to surprise my dad with this gift, I went online to begin the purchase process. I would purchase the plan under my name and then present it to my dad on his birthday so he could finish building the site.
That was the plan.
Here's what I ended up doing instead...
I filled out all of my contact information EXCEPT for the email address. Yup - it asked for the real estate agent's address...well, that's my dad's email. So that's what I used. Never mind the fact that I had already filled in MY name for the agent, but evidently it is harder to run a laptop and keep track of the Detroit Red Wings vs. Pittsburgh Penguins playoff game than I thought.
When the confirmation page popped up I was horrified. It looked like this:
An email has just been sent to (dad's email) with the details of your sign-up. That email will also include instructions on how to proceed to get your website set up as soon as possible. Check your email in-box in a few moments. If you don't receive an email within 15-20 minutes, give us a call at 970.241.6482, or email us at support@flexisswinr.com.
Kinda hard to surprise dad when the confirmation email goes directly to his address rather than mine. After muttering a sentence that included the key phrases "what, shit, and kidding me?, " I figured I needed to make another round of phone calls to let my co-conspirators the cat was out of the bag - early.
By now I'm giggling at myself. I call mom first and explain the chain of events...how I was not able to draw the correlation between an online purchase order and correct contact information.
She's now giggling too.
Then I ask to explain to dad that he's has an email that's may seem a bit confusing, "Hi Dad...Tomorrow you're going to go to work and sit at your desk and turn on your computer and check your email and see an email that gives you instructions on how to set up a website for Realtor "Dani." But it's not my website, it's your website and it's for your birthday and it was supposed to be a surprise - so surprise and we all worked on it but I accidentally put in your email address instead of my email address so it came to you instead of me...Happy Birthday!"
Yes, the message came out of my mouth as badly as it was typed above. He was kinda quiet on the other line so I was having a hard time telling if he was surprised, confused or both...I'm pretty sure both with a side of "hee, hee, funny" at my slightly inaccurate analytical skills.
Mom took the phone back, still giggling at me. I made the rounds and called my sisters, who also giggled at me - it's typical behavior of me to get really excited about something and then get the delivery just a bit off when it's time to move forward (note: this is why I don't do toasts at weddings and typically need a script when delivering a critical message).
But that's not all...Today my dad forwarded me a copy of the receipt from flexisswinr.com with the purchase amount of his surprise birthday present in the body copy.
Seriously.
Dad: I hope you have an awesome birthday and enjoy your new website...You're the best!
- love all of us
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Bliss comes in the form of a marshmallow
....That is perfectly roasted over the coals on the backyard barbecue grill. I don't give a damn how silly it looks.
However, next time I'm going to use a hanger instead of a kabob stick because I'm now missing quite a bit of my little knuckle hairs.
However, next time I'm going to use a hanger instead of a kabob stick because I'm now missing quite a bit of my little knuckle hairs.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Living the life.....of a much older woman
It has come down to this:
Compression stockings - check
Slipper Socks to warm chilly toes - check
Slip on Crocs over slipper socks- check
Decorative Cane - check
Messy hair from nap - check
Hollering at Buster to stop eating junk off the ground while standing on the back porch... OMG!
The only elements missing from this picture are the knitting needles, a big ass ball of yarn and thick reading glasses. I already have the adult potty chair and shower chair to boot.
I'm can't help but think I'm supposed to be learning something from all of this. So far, I think it has something to do with developing a nursing home for spunky adults.
On the list of amenities: Turbo-charged scooters, ipod docks, therapy dogs, therapy cats, happy hour, BBQ mixers and big screen TVs.
Compression stockings - checkSlipper Socks to warm chilly toes - check
Slip on Crocs over slipper socks- check
Decorative Cane - check
Messy hair from nap - check
Hollering at Buster to stop eating junk off the ground while standing on the back porch... OMG!
The only elements missing from this picture are the knitting needles, a big ass ball of yarn and thick reading glasses. I already have the adult potty chair and shower chair to boot.
I'm can't help but think I'm supposed to be learning something from all of this. So far, I think it has something to do with developing a nursing home for spunky adults.
On the list of amenities: Turbo-charged scooters, ipod docks, therapy dogs, therapy cats, happy hour, BBQ mixers and big screen TVs.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Mike the Headless Chicken: USDA Funky Chicken Grade
On September 10th, 1945, Fruita, Colorado farmer Lloyd Olsen went to butcher a chicken, but instead gave birth to a legend.
With just the right slip of his axe, Mike's head was removed, but the chicken still lived. For 18 months Mike the Headless Chicken toured the United States and was featured in Life and Time magazines before meeting his maker after choking one night in a hotel room in the Arizona desert.
To celebrate his life, Fruita hosts a Mike the Headless Chicken festival each year the third weekend in May....this Friday and Saturday.
It's true. Weird, but true...and fun I might add.
You see, the history of Mike is near and dear to because not only is this one of my former clients, Mike's part of my family. My very talented aunt, Sally Edginton D'Agostino is one of the festival founders as well as the artist for the posters.
So if you're up for a weekend of small-town Americana complete with Chicken Poop Bingo, a Peeps eating contest and a 5k Run Like a Headless Chicken race, you must go.
Lastly, MIKE FOR PREZ! It's a no brainer!
With just the right slip of his axe, Mike's head was removed, but the chicken still lived. For 18 months Mike the Headless Chicken toured the United States and was featured in Life and Time magazines before meeting his maker after choking one night in a hotel room in the Arizona desert.
To celebrate his life, Fruita hosts a Mike the Headless Chicken festival each year the third weekend in May....this Friday and Saturday.
It's true. Weird, but true...and fun I might add.
You see, the history of Mike is near and dear to because not only is this one of my former clients, Mike's part of my family. My very talented aunt, Sally Edginton D'Agostino is one of the festival founders as well as the artist for the posters.
So if you're up for a weekend of small-town Americana complete with Chicken Poop Bingo, a Peeps eating contest and a 5k Run Like a Headless Chicken race, you must go.
Lastly, MIKE FOR PREZ! It's a no brainer!
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Compression stockings must die
To aid in the prevention of blood clots in my legs, my docs have instructed me to wear compression stockings for four weeks...I've got 17 more days to go.
For the record, I hate the compression stockings. Its like putting on a pair of super strength thigh-high pantyhose that are 10 sizes too small. I never liked pantyhose in the first place - this adventure reaffirms my belief that pantyhose are for torture, not fashion.
These stockings cause a muffin top effect so extreme at the top of my thighs that they look like two chef hats perched above my knees. It's gross.
I'm also not allowed to bend more than 90-degrees right now, so my legs haven't been shaved since the replacement. As the hair on my legs grows, it's getting caught in the weave of the compression stockings.
This is an awful sensation.
Leg hairs get pulled up and down as I crutch about the house. When the stockings begin to slip because the grippy band at the top of the stockings is not worth a crap, I reach down to pull them up, again pulling my leg hairs and agitating the raw, bruised skin on my legs.
I have cankles...I don't know if this is being caused by the compression stockings or not, but because I hate the way they feel - I'll blame them.
The only up side to these way too tight, super unsexy pieces of hospital lingerie is that they hide the very odd bluish tint that is developing from the bruising in my legs...not enough of a benefit to make me happy.
In 17 days I'm going to take great delight in feeling my leg hairs blowing in the wind instead of being mashed and pulled in the damn socks. That will be invigorating.
For the record, I hate the compression stockings. Its like putting on a pair of super strength thigh-high pantyhose that are 10 sizes too small. I never liked pantyhose in the first place - this adventure reaffirms my belief that pantyhose are for torture, not fashion.
These stockings cause a muffin top effect so extreme at the top of my thighs that they look like two chef hats perched above my knees. It's gross.
I'm also not allowed to bend more than 90-degrees right now, so my legs haven't been shaved since the replacement. As the hair on my legs grows, it's getting caught in the weave of the compression stockings.
This is an awful sensation.
Leg hairs get pulled up and down as I crutch about the house. When the stockings begin to slip because the grippy band at the top of the stockings is not worth a crap, I reach down to pull them up, again pulling my leg hairs and agitating the raw, bruised skin on my legs.
I have cankles...I don't know if this is being caused by the compression stockings or not, but because I hate the way they feel - I'll blame them.
The only up side to these way too tight, super unsexy pieces of hospital lingerie is that they hide the very odd bluish tint that is developing from the bruising in my legs...not enough of a benefit to make me happy.
In 17 days I'm going to take great delight in feeling my leg hairs blowing in the wind instead of being mashed and pulled in the damn socks. That will be invigorating.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Launch Her Mind
This card arrived for me earlier this week made by my friend David and signed by my awesome coworkers. I am so fortunate to have a network of people who support me and have a fantastic sense of humor. I am also excited to have suggestions for cool nicknames moving forward: Slash, Cyborg, Cylon, Bionic Woman.
I also have the support of my friend Mike to own a Little Rascal with straight pipes, a souped up motor and confederate flags attached to the back. Yes, instead of a Harley, today I wish this to be my method of transportation as I sport my leathers and scream "Outta my way!" while I zip down the sidewalk.
Above is said card...Notice that Jose Cuervo is the official sponsor of the contents of my IV bag.
I also have the support of my friend Mike to own a Little Rascal with straight pipes, a souped up motor and confederate flags attached to the back. Yes, instead of a Harley, today I wish this to be my method of transportation as I sport my leathers and scream "Outta my way!" while I zip down the sidewalk.
Above is said card...Notice that Jose Cuervo is the official sponsor of the contents of my IV bag.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Poo in the suburbs
Alternate titles for this blog:
24 piles in 2 blocks
-or-
Not my dog
-or-
The case of the Phantom Shitter
Which ever way you look at it. It's unnecessary.
During my past two years in condoland, I have observed a disturbing behavior that drives me crazy when I take Buster for a walk...There is dog poo all over the place.
Yet it doesn't seem to belong to anyone.
"Not my dog," seems to be a typical response. Also common is, "I always pick up after my dog."
Which leads us to the case of the Phantom Shitter. If all of us who own dogs in the suburbs either have dogs that don't poop at all or pick up after our dogs all of the time, then the only possible solution is a phantom creature who's purpose for being is to cruise through neighborhoods late at night strategically placing doggie poo shaped pieces in home owner's yards to cause grief and finger pointing among neighbors.
This creature must take special delight in visiting the gated community near my town home. As I was walking taking notice of the high volume of poo on my way home this evening, I decided to count the piles for the last two blocks leading up to my house. That's right, 24 piles of poo in 2 blocks. I never saw that kind of crap when I lived downtown...is this a suburban thing?
I propose the following:
#1 Buy one of these handy poo baggie dispenser thingys from Pet Nation so you always have bags with you
#2 If you're busy or lazy, call someone like Dr. Scoopy Poo to pick up what your pup leaves behind
It's too bad that it is not socially acceptable to rub a human's nose in poo and tell them "NO! Either pick that up or do it in your own damn yard!" That'd put a different spin things, wouldn't it?
24 piles in 2 blocks
-or-
Not my dog
-or-
The case of the Phantom Shitter
Which ever way you look at it. It's unnecessary.
During my past two years in condoland, I have observed a disturbing behavior that drives me crazy when I take Buster for a walk...There is dog poo all over the place.
Yet it doesn't seem to belong to anyone.
"Not my dog," seems to be a typical response. Also common is, "I always pick up after my dog."
Which leads us to the case of the Phantom Shitter. If all of us who own dogs in the suburbs either have dogs that don't poop at all or pick up after our dogs all of the time, then the only possible solution is a phantom creature who's purpose for being is to cruise through neighborhoods late at night strategically placing doggie poo shaped pieces in home owner's yards to cause grief and finger pointing among neighbors.
This creature must take special delight in visiting the gated community near my town home. As I was walking taking notice of the high volume of poo on my way home this evening, I decided to count the piles for the last two blocks leading up to my house. That's right, 24 piles of poo in 2 blocks. I never saw that kind of crap when I lived downtown...is this a suburban thing?
I propose the following:
#1 Buy one of these handy poo baggie dispenser thingys from Pet Nation so you always have bags with you
#2 If you're busy or lazy, call someone like Dr. Scoopy Poo to pick up what your pup leaves behind
It's too bad that it is not socially acceptable to rub a human's nose in poo and tell them "NO! Either pick that up or do it in your own damn yard!" That'd put a different spin things, wouldn't it?
Monday, April 21, 2008
Eclair love
It's getting to be BBQ season and every good BBQ deserves to be followed with a killer desert. My sister shared this recipe with me a couple of years ago and it deserves to be shared with anyone who is a fan of chocolaty goodness. Oh, it also happens that this treat is super easy to make....
Enjoy!
Easy Eclair dessert
27 whole graham crackers
3 cups cold milk
2 pkgs (4 servings) Jello Vanilla instant pudding
1 tub (16oz) Cool Whip, thawed
1 container (16oz) ready to spread chocolate fudge frosting
Arrange 1/3 of the crackers on the bottom of a 13 x 9 baking pan, breaking crackers to fit if necessary.
Pour milk into large bowl. Add pudding mixes. Beat with wire whisk 2 minutes. Gently stir in cool whip.
Spread 1/2 of the pudding mixture over the crackers. Spread 1/2 of the remaining crackers over the pudding. Top with remaining pudding mixture and crackers.
Remove top and foil from frosting container. Microwave frosting in container on high for 1 minute or until pourable (stirring after 1 minute)
Spread frosting evenly over crackers.
Refrigerate 4 hours or overnight. Cut into squares and serve.
Enjoy!
Easy Eclair dessert
27 whole graham crackers
3 cups cold milk
2 pkgs (4 servings) Jello Vanilla instant pudding
1 tub (16oz) Cool Whip, thawed
1 container (16oz) ready to spread chocolate fudge frosting
Arrange 1/3 of the crackers on the bottom of a 13 x 9 baking pan, breaking crackers to fit if necessary.
Pour milk into large bowl. Add pudding mixes. Beat with wire whisk 2 minutes. Gently stir in cool whip.
Spread 1/2 of the pudding mixture over the crackers. Spread 1/2 of the remaining crackers over the pudding. Top with remaining pudding mixture and crackers.
Remove top and foil from frosting container. Microwave frosting in container on high for 1 minute or until pourable (stirring after 1 minute)
Spread frosting evenly over crackers.
Refrigerate 4 hours or overnight. Cut into squares and serve.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The marketing post that had me ROFLMAO
I love work that presents itself as a puzzle. The task of figuring out how to do things different. Figuring out how to do things better.
Right now I'm diving into the social media pool to see how my company can fit in. I'm reading articles, following blogs and seeing how others have successfully maneuvered their position from the traditional 'speak to the mission statement' ways and developed an online presence that is casual, yet credible.
In my readings today, I came across this....
I laughed out loud as I paged through the slides. Afterwards, I pushed my chair back from my desk and thought, "Yup - Nailed it." Then I forwarded the post to a friend. Now, I'm sharing it with you.
Right now I'm diving into the social media pool to see how my company can fit in. I'm reading articles, following blogs and seeing how others have successfully maneuvered their position from the traditional 'speak to the mission statement' ways and developed an online presence that is casual, yet credible.
In my readings today, I came across this....
I laughed out loud as I paged through the slides. Afterwards, I pushed my chair back from my desk and thought, "Yup - Nailed it." Then I forwarded the post to a friend. Now, I'm sharing it with you.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Small Epiphany...
I pulled my pants out of the drawer yesterday and glanced down in a bit of disbelief...
"Are my legs really that short?"
After 32 years of wearing the same legs. The same short legs, it dawned on me that my pants are, in fact, that short.
Don't get me wrong, I know I'm a shortie. But it's all about perspective.
When I'm standing next to someone taller, I notice that person's taller than me...No big deal.
It's just different to look at my pants, my socks and my bitty size 5.5 shoes from that 3rd person perspective that makes me giggle at how small the shit I own really is.
"Are my legs really that short?"
After 32 years of wearing the same legs. The same short legs, it dawned on me that my pants are, in fact, that short.
Don't get me wrong, I know I'm a shortie. But it's all about perspective.
When I'm standing next to someone taller, I notice that person's taller than me...No big deal.
It's just different to look at my pants, my socks and my bitty size 5.5 shoes from that 3rd person perspective that makes me giggle at how small the shit I own really is.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Giving a warrior time to rest
Anticipation filled my stomach and tears stung my eyes as I glanced down at the clock in the car.
18 minutes until class...will I make it on time?
As I traced the route back home that I know so well, I felt many trips like this one pass through me. I pull into the parking lot of the warehouse I first entered as a student in 1995. It is near empty. I park in the back, like I always do and walk around the side of the building toward the front door.
I know the cracks in the brick. The squeak of the door. The smell of the locker room.
I slide my frayed gym bag off my shoulder and place it on the painted wooden bench. I slip off my shoes and place my bare feet on the cold vinyl floor. The grit from shoes that passed before me sticks to the bottom of my feet, but it makes me smile.
I peel off my clothes and adjust my knee braces. First the left, then the right. I reach into the bag and pull out my gi, which smells a hint of bleach. The pants glide over my now bulky knees and I cinch the waistband into place. The top is too big. If I don't tie it right, it will pull back and bind by shoulders, so I tie the side strings fast and tight so they won't come undone.
My belt is still stiff and shows the marks from folding it in half, then half again. Even though I haven't tied it on in months, my hands know exactly what to do to create the knot that will sit right at the KI tattoo etched on my stomach.
I inhale. Exhale. Exit the locker room, turn to my left and bow before entering the floor. The bounce and creak of the wood beneath me cause me to well with joy.
This floor holds my sweat, my tears and even pieces of my toes. It also holds an energy that I can find nowhere else.
On this floor and on this patch I have been confident, scared, excited and hurt. It is here that I fought hard through ugliness and anger to find "ME." I learned when to let go, when to fight, what matters and that my body will do amazing things if I push it just right. I have also trained with many amazing people.
My mind flows with my body through class, remembering how good it feels to punch and kick. As the evening winds down and I rei out for the last time. I tell Shihan I can't do anymore - my leg won't let me.
I pause to say goodbye to my friend Seila who I have mirrored for years. She and I still have the same belt rank even as I have come and gone. I tell her this is the last class for me for a while, but I'll be back after I'm healed.
Back in the dressing room I carefully remove the belt, the gi and my braces and pack them into my bag with my yin-yang journal that holds tattered newsletters, photos and many instructions from Shihan.
Leaving the locker room I pull the metal chain attached to the light. Click~click, then darkness. I walk out of the locker room and look at the darkened room that holds my patch and I fight back the tears that make my vision blurry.
Shihan and I talk after class like we often do and as we walk out the door I listen to the deadbolt lock the school and I feel a wave of emptiness as we turn to leave.
"The last time I left here it was because I chose to. Now I am leaving because I have to...and it feels...so..."
"Final?"
"Yes."
Sometimes I look back on my decision to leave Grand Junction and wonder if I made the right choice. This is one of those times. It is my dojo and the people surrounding it that make me second guess my decision to leave because this is what makes me whole. Now, as I face the hip surgery that will force me to give up training for up to two years, I know Salt Lake holds the tools I need to get my body where it needs to be when I have the opportunity to return.
But at the same time, I wonder how I will come back...
John Roseberry Hanshi once told me, "Never stop training."
I'm repeating these words over and over. I need my leg to heal so I can continue my physical journey - but now I must focus my energy on the mental journey that lies ahead.
Roseberry Hanshi, Me, Brassette Shihan after workshop in 2005
18 minutes until class...will I make it on time?
As I traced the route back home that I know so well, I felt many trips like this one pass through me. I pull into the parking lot of the warehouse I first entered as a student in 1995. It is near empty. I park in the back, like I always do and walk around the side of the building toward the front door.
I know the cracks in the brick. The squeak of the door. The smell of the locker room.
I slide my frayed gym bag off my shoulder and place it on the painted wooden bench. I slip off my shoes and place my bare feet on the cold vinyl floor. The grit from shoes that passed before me sticks to the bottom of my feet, but it makes me smile.
I peel off my clothes and adjust my knee braces. First the left, then the right. I reach into the bag and pull out my gi, which smells a hint of bleach. The pants glide over my now bulky knees and I cinch the waistband into place. The top is too big. If I don't tie it right, it will pull back and bind by shoulders, so I tie the side strings fast and tight so they won't come undone.
My belt is still stiff and shows the marks from folding it in half, then half again. Even though I haven't tied it on in months, my hands know exactly what to do to create the knot that will sit right at the KI tattoo etched on my stomach.
I inhale. Exhale. Exit the locker room, turn to my left and bow before entering the floor. The bounce and creak of the wood beneath me cause me to well with joy.
This floor holds my sweat, my tears and even pieces of my toes. It also holds an energy that I can find nowhere else.
On this floor and on this patch I have been confident, scared, excited and hurt. It is here that I fought hard through ugliness and anger to find "ME." I learned when to let go, when to fight, what matters and that my body will do amazing things if I push it just right. I have also trained with many amazing people.
My mind flows with my body through class, remembering how good it feels to punch and kick. As the evening winds down and I rei out for the last time. I tell Shihan I can't do anymore - my leg won't let me.
I pause to say goodbye to my friend Seila who I have mirrored for years. She and I still have the same belt rank even as I have come and gone. I tell her this is the last class for me for a while, but I'll be back after I'm healed.
Back in the dressing room I carefully remove the belt, the gi and my braces and pack them into my bag with my yin-yang journal that holds tattered newsletters, photos and many instructions from Shihan.
Leaving the locker room I pull the metal chain attached to the light. Click~click, then darkness. I walk out of the locker room and look at the darkened room that holds my patch and I fight back the tears that make my vision blurry.
Shihan and I talk after class like we often do and as we walk out the door I listen to the deadbolt lock the school and I feel a wave of emptiness as we turn to leave.
"The last time I left here it was because I chose to. Now I am leaving because I have to...and it feels...so..."
"Final?"
"Yes."
Sometimes I look back on my decision to leave Grand Junction and wonder if I made the right choice. This is one of those times. It is my dojo and the people surrounding it that make me second guess my decision to leave because this is what makes me whole. Now, as I face the hip surgery that will force me to give up training for up to two years, I know Salt Lake holds the tools I need to get my body where it needs to be when I have the opportunity to return.
But at the same time, I wonder how I will come back...
John Roseberry Hanshi once told me, "Never stop training."
I'm repeating these words over and over. I need my leg to heal so I can continue my physical journey - but now I must focus my energy on the mental journey that lies ahead.
Roseberry Hanshi, Me, Brassette Shihan after workshop in 2005
Monday, March 17, 2008
Buster vs Gadget
I'm not feeling so much like writing today...so I'm trying my hand at video instead.
I bought this toy at a cool shop in downtown San Francisco for Jason...Buster really didn't like it, but couldn't resist it at the same time.
Kind of like me and cheap chocolate.
I bought this toy at a cool shop in downtown San Francisco for Jason...Buster really didn't like it, but couldn't resist it at the same time.
Kind of like me and cheap chocolate.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Murphy is my co-pilot
Today was one of those days...The type of day that you have to sit back and actually do a self-check to see if what you are experiencing is really happening to you.
I did.
It was.
And after analyzing the thoughts and feelings of myself and those around me. I overcame the fact that Murphy was steering the car today, not me. I accepted it and decided that I will make tomorrow a better day.
I wearily tied up my loose ends and came home to unwind.
I went to empty my hot chocolate powder into my coffee mug. But alas, it was turned upside down and the powder was now balancing on the outside of my cup instead of resting down inside it.
F@#%ing Murphy....
I did.
It was.
And after analyzing the thoughts and feelings of myself and those around me. I overcame the fact that Murphy was steering the car today, not me. I accepted it and decided that I will make tomorrow a better day.
I wearily tied up my loose ends and came home to unwind.
I went to empty my hot chocolate powder into my coffee mug. But alas, it was turned upside down and the powder was now balancing on the outside of my cup instead of resting down inside it.
F@#%ing Murphy....
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Do you have a manual for that?
"If you ever get something really expensive, you better read the manual," Jason says as I rattle off the title of this blog....
HA! He's still getting to know me a bit. He's also partially referring to my asking him if my Bodybugg is placed in the correct location on my arm. His response to my question was, "Your manual will tell you exactly where you're supposed to put it..."
"What?" I say, pretending I didn't register his answer.
My deep rooted inability to thumb through manuals for gadgets goes back about as far as my desire to take stuff apart or enhance it using my imagination, not paper instructions, to guide me.
I love electronics. Cell phones, PDAs, computers and the like. I get so excited when I pick up the new gadgets box...I remove the protective seal, take in the aroma of newness and immediately turn it on.
I can't help it. New techie things call to me. I must to give in to moving parts, power buttons and battery packs. It's my worst ADHD behavior.
Recently I purchased a new cell phone. I was hoping the thickness of the manual was due to being printed in various language options. To my dismay, the first booklet was for me to learn how to operate all of the features in the phone.
I don't have time to read this...Ok, I don't want to take time to read this. I read all day long: Emails, white papers, contracts and the like. I don't want to read about how my cell phone works. I want to see how my cell phone works.
I'm more experimental when I arrive at home in the evening. When I experiment with these types of gadgets, the ripple effect of pain is a lot smaller. It goes from me, to Jason, to tech support. If I experiment like this at work, the circle of pain can extend to my department and then the IT departments support staff and then I have to hide.
I also take great delight in taking things apart to make them bigger, better and usually faster. I started as a small child with electronics given to me by my parents. Stereos, electronic cars and my last major experiment was with a pair of roller blades I wanted to turn into racing skates when I was home one summer from college.
Was I planning on racing? No.
I wanted to do it because I could do it. After three trips to the sporting goods store for racing bearings, axles and high performance wheels, I found myself bored with all of the separate sets of instructions and diagrams, so I tossed them aside.
When the garage door to my parents house came open and my Dad walked in, I actually tried to hide the fact that I knew I needed help. "Oh, shit," said Dad at the grease and small parts scattered around his workstation...."Here we go agin."
This is how a lot of our conversations go. Dad and I share in a lot of bonding as we are very similar in some ways. In others, like paying attention to where the little parts go when you take something apart, we couldn't be more different. But it's fun. It keeps both of us giggling at each other as we explore through life.
This weekend, Dad got a new cell phone and called me on it. Instead of answering the phone, I'm digging around for the new Bluetooth unit I bought to answer it. It's somewhere near the manual I've not read yet.
I miss his call. Return his call. End up in his voice mail. As I leave a message in his voice mail, my voice mail notification 'beep' sounds in the middle of my message to him. I hang up and dial my voice mail.
This is when I take a turn for the unintelligent. I listen to my voice mail from Dad, "Yo Dani. It's Dad. I got a new cell phone and I'm trying to....Oh, there you are....Hello?"
"Hello?" I say into the Bluetooth. I then gasp at the amazement that I just tried to talk to him through a voice mail message. My phone's beeping again. It's Dad.
By now I'm howling. I explain to him what I've done and he proceeds to tell me about a new gun he purchased that a coworker took apart and couldn't return to it's original state. He had to take it to the sporting goods store to have it put back together.
I said, "So he takes stuff apart like I take stuff apart."
He laughed and said, "That's exactly what your Mother said when I told her the story. "
Sometimes, I'm just a bit too predictable.
HA! He's still getting to know me a bit. He's also partially referring to my asking him if my Bodybugg is placed in the correct location on my arm. His response to my question was, "Your manual will tell you exactly where you're supposed to put it..."
"What?" I say, pretending I didn't register his answer.
My deep rooted inability to thumb through manuals for gadgets goes back about as far as my desire to take stuff apart or enhance it using my imagination, not paper instructions, to guide me.
I love electronics. Cell phones, PDAs, computers and the like. I get so excited when I pick up the new gadgets box...I remove the protective seal, take in the aroma of newness and immediately turn it on.
I can't help it. New techie things call to me. I must to give in to moving parts, power buttons and battery packs. It's my worst ADHD behavior.
Recently I purchased a new cell phone. I was hoping the thickness of the manual was due to being printed in various language options. To my dismay, the first booklet was for me to learn how to operate all of the features in the phone.
I don't have time to read this...Ok, I don't want to take time to read this. I read all day long: Emails, white papers, contracts and the like. I don't want to read about how my cell phone works. I want to see how my cell phone works.
I'm more experimental when I arrive at home in the evening. When I experiment with these types of gadgets, the ripple effect of pain is a lot smaller. It goes from me, to Jason, to tech support. If I experiment like this at work, the circle of pain can extend to my department and then the IT departments support staff and then I have to hide.
I also take great delight in taking things apart to make them bigger, better and usually faster. I started as a small child with electronics given to me by my parents. Stereos, electronic cars and my last major experiment was with a pair of roller blades I wanted to turn into racing skates when I was home one summer from college.
Was I planning on racing? No.
I wanted to do it because I could do it. After three trips to the sporting goods store for racing bearings, axles and high performance wheels, I found myself bored with all of the separate sets of instructions and diagrams, so I tossed them aside.
When the garage door to my parents house came open and my Dad walked in, I actually tried to hide the fact that I knew I needed help. "Oh, shit," said Dad at the grease and small parts scattered around his workstation...."Here we go agin."
This is how a lot of our conversations go. Dad and I share in a lot of bonding as we are very similar in some ways. In others, like paying attention to where the little parts go when you take something apart, we couldn't be more different. But it's fun. It keeps both of us giggling at each other as we explore through life.
This weekend, Dad got a new cell phone and called me on it. Instead of answering the phone, I'm digging around for the new Bluetooth unit I bought to answer it. It's somewhere near the manual I've not read yet.
I miss his call. Return his call. End up in his voice mail. As I leave a message in his voice mail, my voice mail notification 'beep' sounds in the middle of my message to him. I hang up and dial my voice mail.
This is when I take a turn for the unintelligent. I listen to my voice mail from Dad, "Yo Dani. It's Dad. I got a new cell phone and I'm trying to....Oh, there you are....Hello?"
"Hello?" I say into the Bluetooth. I then gasp at the amazement that I just tried to talk to him through a voice mail message. My phone's beeping again. It's Dad.
By now I'm howling. I explain to him what I've done and he proceeds to tell me about a new gun he purchased that a coworker took apart and couldn't return to it's original state. He had to take it to the sporting goods store to have it put back together.
I said, "So he takes stuff apart like I take stuff apart."
He laughed and said, "That's exactly what your Mother said when I told her the story. "
Sometimes, I'm just a bit too predictable.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Words to use when you feel like sweating the small stuff...
"Pole vaulting over mouse turds"
This phrase has great use when people ask you, "What you are doing?" and you would like to abruptly end the conversation. Also useful when the little things start to freak you the F$@k out and you need to divert attention from puffy cheeks and the fistful of your own hair poking out between your fingers.
It is a fantastic phrase that was given to me by my dad, who also defines oddities which occur from complex problems as the "Cosmic Crapshoot."
This phrase has great use when people ask you, "What you are doing?" and you would like to abruptly end the conversation. Also useful when the little things start to freak you the F$@k out and you need to divert attention from puffy cheeks and the fistful of your own hair poking out between your fingers.
It is a fantastic phrase that was given to me by my dad, who also defines oddities which occur from complex problems as the "Cosmic Crapshoot."
Monday, February 25, 2008
Colbie Caillat is dead to me...for now anyway
Last week I had the displeasure of enduring a poorly done concert. In fact, it was so poorly done, this was the first concert in which I have actually exited the building to remove myself from the experience.
I've been a Colbie Caillat fan since shortly after her album was available on iTunes. I've taken pleasure with her soothing voice and catchy lyrics over many Sunday morning mochas and danced to her song, Oxygen, at my wedding. So, when Jason told me he had bought us tickets, I was pretty jazzed. The fact that the concert was taking place the weekend of my birthday also added an element of anticipation.
So imagine my disappointment when the first thing I noticed when we entered the crappy little venue was the overwhelming stench of urinal cakes. This was quickly followed by an annoyance at the thicket of 12 year-old girls chomping gummy bears in the way of my view of the stage.
I don't know as that I've ever seen a larger group of brightly-lit cell phone screens with fingers frantically texting messages in my life. The combination of these things coupled with my smashing 5-foot-zero-on-a-good-day-with-big-shoes frame and I'm quickly becoming agitated. As if that was not enough to make me begin second guessing our choice of entertainment for the evening, I had some teenage guy push me aside, move in front of me and then begin pushing his ass into my stomach to make more room for his equally pimple-faced friend.
I tried to ignore the jeans covered flesh pressing into my recently eaten dinner. I pushed back, he pushed more. I leaned forward next to his ear and said, "Are you FU%$!NG kidding me?" He looked back...ok, back and down, saw the look on my face and moved away from my gut.
Still trying to jockey for a viewing position, I overheard a riveting conversation on 99-cent candy, another conversation about a girl playing two guys for nice Valentines Day gifts and decided I needed a drink.
I was pleasured by finding the location where adult beverages were being dispensed. This was better. A gin and tonic is just what I needed to put a different spin on the evening. We moved back into the concert area and again scouted for a place where I might see Ms. Caillat when she took the stage. When she finally did take the stage, I asked Jason, "Is she attached to that scarf I see through that hole over there?"
Then I listened. I listened hard, but was hearing a timid female voice that sounded like she was singing with marbles in her mouth. I strained a bit more and then when the chorus came, the only clear thing I heard was coming from the 14 year-old girls screaming the lyrics to the song.
Horrified, I thought to myself, surely this has to get better. But it didn't, it got worse. The teeny spot that allowed me to see the glorious scarf was covered by a gaggle of men wearing Patchouli and smoking cigarettes. I told Jason I wanted to go back to the kiddie section to see if I could find a place where I could see the stage.
This is where the crowd surfing skills I developed at metal shows during college would have come in handy. But, as I looked at the crowd around me, I knew that crowd surfing was clearly out of the question. Oooooooh, Colbie, why can't you sing just one song that would create a mosh pit that I could climb atop of? The closest she came to inciting crowd movement was when she sang a Bob Marley cover song, but that was so poorly done that I spun around, pouted and told Jason to take me to the liquor store so I could get my own bottle of gin and that I would rather listen to her album from the comfort of my own home.
The gin was fantastic. But I'll tell you, I've tried several times to listen to Coco on my iPod, all I can hear is those girls screaming the chorus to a song I used to love....
I've been a Colbie Caillat fan since shortly after her album was available on iTunes. I've taken pleasure with her soothing voice and catchy lyrics over many Sunday morning mochas and danced to her song, Oxygen, at my wedding. So, when Jason told me he had bought us tickets, I was pretty jazzed. The fact that the concert was taking place the weekend of my birthday also added an element of anticipation.
So imagine my disappointment when the first thing I noticed when we entered the crappy little venue was the overwhelming stench of urinal cakes. This was quickly followed by an annoyance at the thicket of 12 year-old girls chomping gummy bears in the way of my view of the stage.
I don't know as that I've ever seen a larger group of brightly-lit cell phone screens with fingers frantically texting messages in my life. The combination of these things coupled with my smashing 5-foot-zero-on-a-good-day-with-big-shoes frame and I'm quickly becoming agitated. As if that was not enough to make me begin second guessing our choice of entertainment for the evening, I had some teenage guy push me aside, move in front of me and then begin pushing his ass into my stomach to make more room for his equally pimple-faced friend.
I tried to ignore the jeans covered flesh pressing into my recently eaten dinner. I pushed back, he pushed more. I leaned forward next to his ear and said, "Are you FU%$!NG kidding me?" He looked back...ok, back and down, saw the look on my face and moved away from my gut.
Still trying to jockey for a viewing position, I overheard a riveting conversation on 99-cent candy, another conversation about a girl playing two guys for nice Valentines Day gifts and decided I needed a drink.
I was pleasured by finding the location where adult beverages were being dispensed. This was better. A gin and tonic is just what I needed to put a different spin on the evening. We moved back into the concert area and again scouted for a place where I might see Ms. Caillat when she took the stage. When she finally did take the stage, I asked Jason, "Is she attached to that scarf I see through that hole over there?"
Then I listened. I listened hard, but was hearing a timid female voice that sounded like she was singing with marbles in her mouth. I strained a bit more and then when the chorus came, the only clear thing I heard was coming from the 14 year-old girls screaming the lyrics to the song.
Horrified, I thought to myself, surely this has to get better. But it didn't, it got worse. The teeny spot that allowed me to see the glorious scarf was covered by a gaggle of men wearing Patchouli and smoking cigarettes. I told Jason I wanted to go back to the kiddie section to see if I could find a place where I could see the stage.
This is where the crowd surfing skills I developed at metal shows during college would have come in handy. But, as I looked at the crowd around me, I knew that crowd surfing was clearly out of the question. Oooooooh, Colbie, why can't you sing just one song that would create a mosh pit that I could climb atop of? The closest she came to inciting crowd movement was when she sang a Bob Marley cover song, but that was so poorly done that I spun around, pouted and told Jason to take me to the liquor store so I could get my own bottle of gin and that I would rather listen to her album from the comfort of my own home.
The gin was fantastic. But I'll tell you, I've tried several times to listen to Coco on my iPod, all I can hear is those girls screaming the chorus to a song I used to love....
Friday, February 22, 2008
Web 2.0 ... The Machine is Us/ing Us
Kinda long, but a good look at where we're headed with the web right now
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Life Lessons from machine things
Today I remembered there is a very fine line between "I'm rockin' this StairClimber" and "My legs just got so tired I hope I can make it back up to the control panel before this thing throws my ass on the floor."
Note to self...."Self, remember a steady pace is more effective when using equipment at the gym. Self, when you think you are beating the machine at it's own game, you will be swiftly reminded that the machine always wins."
I have had troubles with this before...Once on a elliptical I became excited at my quick pace. This was followed by thirst, grabbing my water bottle, loosing my balance on the machine, mishandling my water bottle and then watching that same water bottle shoot across the room and bounce off of three other pieces of equipment before it came to rest....
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Riding in the desert, sans seat
I'm thinking of being back home today and how I long for a day of riding my bike in the hills.
And I laugh at myself as I think of a the time I tried to ride my mountain bike with the motor cross peeps back home...
It is the story of a mammal. A mammal named Dani and her need to be free...
It was April 2003. Longing for a bike ride I skipped out of work early to get a dose of sun and speed.
I ride my bike about 3 miles from my house to the dirt hills where the motor cross people ride. I needed to feel the up-and-down, boing, boing, boing, sensation that only my bike can give.
I was really enjoying myself on my bright green and yellow pedal powered machine when I raise up off the seat to take a bump and jump the bike. On the way down I keep lowering myself and when my ass touched the frame of the bike, I knew something was wrong.
I pulled my body back up. Stopped the bike. Turned around and realized the seat was gone.
G - O - N - E -!
So there I am among a bunch of men on motorcycles in the desert on a bike with no seat. And to boot, the men are laughing at me and I have no tools. I need help, but don't want to wheel up to the laughing ones and ask for a hand.
I get off the bike, retrieve my seat and began trying to push it down into the frame. It's not working. I started banging my fist on the seat, with a very forceful, "Damnit, damnit, damnit!" Still, nothing from the seat post, but plenty of laughing from the men on the hill above.
I refuse to acknowledge them. Instead I gingerly balance my seat post in the hole it should be sitting tightly in and try to balance myself and try to pedal away. But my seat immediately falls back into the dirt. I try the procedure again without prevail.
I put my seat in my hand and tried to hold my handlebars at the same time as I rode. Then I hit another bump and with my gears set to climb hills, my legs start to give.
Clip in pedals, low gear, no seat...no good!
I clinch my muscles in fear of falling onto my back tire and really giving the men on the hill something to laugh at. Then, I spot a trailer, a disheveled man, two German Shepards and a really beat up truck. Hmmm, this guy lives here, among the motor cross people in the desert with his dogs.
I don't care. I pull up to him, seat in hand, stop my bicycle and say, "Excuse me. Do you have an alan wrench?"
"What?"
"Do...you...have...an...alan wrench. I've lost my seat." I hold the seat up closer for him to see.
After searching the trailer, the man returns with vice grips to back the screw out so the post will fit back in. "Looks like you had the seat too high."
No shit! "Apparently, yes," I mumble.
After fixing my bike I tell the man how appreciative I am and that he has helped me out because I'm a ways from home.
"You're not down there?" he asks, pointing to the many trucks with trailers that haul the dirt bikes for the men who are riding in the hills.
"Oh, no, I'm a few miles from here. Thanks so much."
I hop on my bike and began riding home very fast because:
#1 It's kinda creepy out here at the trailer with the man who helped me.
#2 The men on the hill are still laughing
#3 I'm embarassed
This is the story of a mammal named Dani and her need to learn that the bike tools go with her EVERYWHERE, EVERYTIME!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
A new hip for dani part II - The freakout
I'm done with the logical, motivating speak regarding my hip replacement. After reading my surgery packet over dinner and visiting a truly horrifying website.....Two things.
1. All the people in the brochures and instructive diagrams are wrinkly and hunched over.
I'm not wrinkly and I don't want to use a stick with a grabber claw to put on my underwear! OH PLEASE SAY THAT'S NOT GOING TO BE ME
2. I totally suck at leaving things that say "Enter at your own risk" alone.
Oh, yea - To the asshat that put the real pictures of a total hip replacement on the virtual tour website: WTF! FO! OMG! ETC! When you do things like that, you make people like me click the button that clearly takes that person on an adventure they don't need to be on. That looks like something out of Monster Garage and I was perfectly happy pretending that I would be handled with loving care. I know, silly fantasy, but now it's gone. THANKS A LOT
Anyone else wanting the virtual experience? www. edheads.org
1. All the people in the brochures and instructive diagrams are wrinkly and hunched over.
I'm not wrinkly and I don't want to use a stick with a grabber claw to put on my underwear! OH PLEASE SAY THAT'S NOT GOING TO BE ME
2. I totally suck at leaving things that say "Enter at your own risk" alone.
Oh, yea - To the asshat that put the real pictures of a total hip replacement on the virtual tour website: WTF! FO! OMG! ETC! When you do things like that, you make people like me click the button that clearly takes that person on an adventure they don't need to be on. That looks like something out of Monster Garage and I was perfectly happy pretending that I would be handled with loving care. I know, silly fantasy, but now it's gone. THANKS A LOT
Anyone else wanting the virtual experience? www. edheads.org
A new hip for dani
Finally.
I was born with bad hips. Really bad hips. I'm also a person who does a poor job of sitting still.
Bad hips + move much = bad pain.
I spent 18 months of my life in a body cast from my armpits to my ankles, followed by years in a squeaky brace that held my knees outward to try and mold sockets for my legs to rest in. Imagine a toddling cowgirl who had the horse kicked out from between her legs and a metal bar inserted in its place...that's what I looked like.
It was cool though. My dad built me a pull cart that I could ride in and I had a huge bright red and orange stuffed turtle to rest my legs and brace.
The brace, my parents tell me, was squeaky - hampering my ability to sneak up on people. My mom tells a story of an incident in which I wanted to find my Dad....
The approach: squeak, squeak, squeak
My verbiage: "Where's Richard? I can't find the ol' coot!"
The exit: squeak, squeak, squeak - fade to black.
I think it was my being immobile for so long that led to my hatred for being still. As soon as I lost the brace, I began a life of playing soccer, volleyball, tennis, swimming, hiking, biking and found my true love for martial arts.
About 14 years ago the hips started telling me they didn't want to do it anymore. At first I scaled back my activities. With the pain still persistent, I got pissed off and gave in, thinking that 'rest' and beer would help ease that pain. It just made me fat. After 5 years of 'resting' and clocking in at about 170, my doc told me the pain couldn't go away until I lost the weight.
So I lost it. And threw myself back into the dojo to gain the mental and physical strength I needed to power through my life that consisted of a nagging limp and throbbing pain.
But for the past 4 years I have known the clock was ticking more quickly. My recovery time, even from little workouts, is taking longer. Anti-inflammatory pills have been a necessary beginning and ending to many daily activities. And sometimes, I sit down and cry because I can't climb the stairs at home without someone to help me.
I've also been stalling. Stalling because I know that it is time.
So when the doctor marched in and told me my hip is shot and I need a new one, I smiled. If I don't think about the way my body will sliced open on the operating table, or the fact that I could die...I get pretty damn excited.
Soon I'll have the opportunity to set off airport metal detectors and I'll pee out metal ions as they leech out of of my joint. I also think the Bionic Woman is hot, so I'll get to improve my own self image by living vicariously through a fictional character...
Today is a good day.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Eat your greens!
HI! I'm Buster!
I love salad.
Yes salad.
Yes salad.
Lettuce, tomatoes, spinach, carrots, celery, bell peppers, baby corn, peas, apples, pears, olives, beets, beans, asparagus, and a jalapano once by accident.
Sometimes, I get salad stuck in my teeth. That's when I look to my mom for help....Today, I'm wishing she would stop laughing and remove the baby romaine from my upper k9 so I could go back to having snacks. (Sigh) Humans.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
blog, delete - or - why I toy with the publish button
More blog entries have been created for this page than will ever post. I think part of this comes from my lack of ability to commit to the publish button. The other component lies in my ability to hide in my journal rather than risk commentary from placing my thoughts online.
Not that my blog is dishonest - 'the long and short of it' will be an account of real feelings. I can commit to publishing things that are funny, even if I am the subject. I can also commit to publishing things that may be shocking. What I haven't made the commitment to is publishing the deep emotions and events that help shape who I have become to be.
Because I've been reserving that for paper. I can scribble through the words that I did not mean to write, but their evidence still remains and the thought somewhat intact. I can spell badly and not feel silly for writing loose instead of lose. Grammar - I don't need it in my journal...As long as the context is close and I can remember what I meant, it doesn't matter if it looks pretty.
But when I sit down to do this - to write my thoughts in a place where others might see, I can decide my ramblings are either too off the wall or they are not exciting enough to hit publish. When I hit control+a+delete, I still feel the cleansing that comes with my writing.
I mean, technically I wrote it down. I made note of whatever it was that made me come to my office and type. But when I delete, there are no scribbles. No bad spelling. And finally, no real account of what it was I felt like rambling about.
So can I learn from blog, delete? Probably not. After all, I'm writing about thoughts and events because I feel I need to. If I delete them, no lessons can be learned from the experience...Even if it is something as goofy as the time I hit myself in the face with a flaming marshmallow. Maybe if I had wrote that down, I wouldn't have done it a second time.
Not that my blog is dishonest - 'the long and short of it' will be an account of real feelings. I can commit to publishing things that are funny, even if I am the subject. I can also commit to publishing things that may be shocking. What I haven't made the commitment to is publishing the deep emotions and events that help shape who I have become to be.
Because I've been reserving that for paper. I can scribble through the words that I did not mean to write, but their evidence still remains and the thought somewhat intact. I can spell badly and not feel silly for writing loose instead of lose. Grammar - I don't need it in my journal...As long as the context is close and I can remember what I meant, it doesn't matter if it looks pretty.
But when I sit down to do this - to write my thoughts in a place where others might see, I can decide my ramblings are either too off the wall or they are not exciting enough to hit publish. When I hit control+a+delete, I still feel the cleansing that comes with my writing.
I mean, technically I wrote it down. I made note of whatever it was that made me come to my office and type. But when I delete, there are no scribbles. No bad spelling. And finally, no real account of what it was I felt like rambling about.
So can I learn from blog, delete? Probably not. After all, I'm writing about thoughts and events because I feel I need to. If I delete them, no lessons can be learned from the experience...Even if it is something as goofy as the time I hit myself in the face with a flaming marshmallow. Maybe if I had wrote that down, I wouldn't have done it a second time.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
When sales and science collide....
I don't know much about what this picture is, other than it involves a motherboard and is taking place in my kitchen right now.
I came upstairs after dinner for a bit and when I went back down, this is what I found.
I giggle, snap a couple of pictures and come back up to the office because once again, I'm struck by the differences in this relationship that ultimately allow things to work as well as they do.
I sell stuff. Pretty simple. I'm a strategic thinker who likes to solve problems. I also like to take on a lot of projects - keeps me out of trouble. Oh, and I'm powered largely by caffiene and can be a bit on the 'extremely alert' side.
Jason is a scientist. An analytical thinker who is always looking for a new factoid to learn. Chemistry, particle physics, building computer components - these are the things he's reading about or playing with in his free time. And he's sooooooooo grounded and calm.
I ask a lot of questions.
He has a lot of answers - and the methodology behind why things are the way they are....and the history of how they came to be. This way, I get to learn something new.
I lose things.
He gently leans over and pulls the sunglasses I've been searching for off the top of my head. After that, I can finally leave the house.
I burn myself, a lot.
He laughs his ass off...So I can stop swearing, and start to laughing too.
It works well for us. I think I help him too somedays - maybe I'm the comic relief he was always searching for. And I'm cute, so that helps.
So whether he is building motherboards in my kitchen, or dissentigrating concrete with chemical compounds in the driveway, I'll always admire the mad scientist I found on a barstool in Colorado and decided I just couldn't live without.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Brownies and the downward-facing dog
When I was growing up my parents always told me to wait 30 minutes after eating to go swim. It turns out the same adage goes for yoga...
I'm a person constantly motivated by food. For as long as I can remember I've felt the need to satisfy a nagging sweet craving that never seems to take a vacation.
So as I was going through the mail tonight, my one bite led to two - and then to two-thirds of my chewy chocolate chunk brownie...Then I took a quick phone call from my sister, changed into my super baggy pants and zoomed to the gym.
Into the second series of sun salutations, I was violently reminded why you don't eat and then play hard immediately afterwards. The brownie did really mean things in my tummy while I was upside down, leading me to realize that Newton's laws of gravity apply to all things...even acid reflux.
I'm a person constantly motivated by food. For as long as I can remember I've felt the need to satisfy a nagging sweet craving that never seems to take a vacation.
So as I was going through the mail tonight, my one bite led to two - and then to two-thirds of my chewy chocolate chunk brownie...Then I took a quick phone call from my sister, changed into my super baggy pants and zoomed to the gym.
Into the second series of sun salutations, I was violently reminded why you don't eat and then play hard immediately afterwards. The brownie did really mean things in my tummy while I was upside down, leading me to realize that Newton's laws of gravity apply to all things...even acid reflux.
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