I Have Become My Father

I've spent so much of my life worried I was going to become my MOTHER that I was completely blindsided today by the realization that I am purposely keeping my apartment at 60.

Purposely.

And I didn't even realize it until I had set some Brie out on the counter to warm up. An hour later, it was still not warm.

I stood in the kitchen with a piece of barely warm Brie in my hand and laughed hysterically, standing over the sink, just me in the apartment alone, CACKLING.

My father, somewhere, is also cackling. At least chuckling. And marking off "Battle With My Daughter Over Her Determination To Keep The Homestead At 72" as a W.

I Just Realized What's Wrong With My Writing

I don't have my own voice.

I parrot other voices well, though. And other voices are good. It's not that parroting, or imitating, isn't a good idea. It's how you learn, right?

But I'd like to see if I can develop my own voice. And that will take a lot of work.

Bear with me, kids. Thanks.

That's One Small Step for Woman

I want to make clear that my feet have been shameful, really shameful, for a period of time that is in no way exact, but must span at least years, and perhaps decades.

Really shameful. People couldn't look directly at them in public.

The extra-shameful thing is, I *didn't know*. They were my feet. It seemed normal. Being able to walk on rough pavement and scratch leg itches with the calluses heels (I know) seemed normal to me. I had never known anything else.

This is what happens when you spend your development years at the pool. I had diving coaches whose heels had potholes.

Dear boyfriends of the past: I’m so sorry.

(I once had a pedicurist in St. Louis who spoke very little English pull me aside to give me some friendly advice because she was that concerned. “Don’t spend so much time in water,” she said. “Use more lotion.”)

I snarked about the conversation to "Bobby" later. "Spend less time in water? I barely shower as it is!" And then I waited two years to think about putting lotion on my feet. Turns out you TOTALLY CAN. I know! I KNOW! It's one of those assumptions you didn't know you had until it was suddenly broken: my feet are not some no man's land at the bottom of my legs. (In spite of the advanced topography.) You can, like, wash them, with normal soap, and put lotion on them, and all that stuff, because they are JUST SKIN. (Under the calluses.)

About this same time I discovered that they would also just SELL the magic feet-softening device that pedicurists use in the stores. To the public. Like, for three dollars at Target.

You don't have to show a perdicurists license or anything, if indeed such a thing exists. YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE A TRAINED PROFESSIONAL TO TOUCH YOUR OWN FEET.

I bought TWO.

It is basically a very serious blade that is attached to a handle, like a vegetable peeler only much more serious. It is not actually a softening device, if you are imagining a massager of some kind: it is, in fact, a callus remover. It is extremely unsexy and I don’t care. I have been using it religiously and for the first time last night, or possibly early this morning, I was in the thralls of sleep and I had an itch on my leg and I moved my foot to scratch it—keep in mind, not with the toes, but with the brillo pads helpfully installed on the sides of my heels, and…it didn’t work. For the love of blog, it didn’t work.

My feet may, at some point in the future, be ready for public view.

*This post is terrible and I can't figure out why, but I'm tired of looking at it so I'm just going to post it. SO THERE.

A Song and a Quote

Share Crimson and Clover by Tommy James and the Shondells

Also, everyone must immediately go read The Trephine, whom I found through Maggie Mason, WHO IS AWESOME.

A key quote:

"Cheesy music can really cheer you up. The cheesier, the better, really. Let Destiny’s Child offer you a strong moral message while also providing a beat to dance to in your new apartment. Note that your pets will not, in fact, throw their hands up at you, even if you entreat them to do so. Technically, they are not independent women, so I suppose this makes sense."

I laughed so hard at this that I woke up Roommate.

Boundaries

"Did you bring your bike with you?" he asked me.

"Yes," I said. "And the pump. Who's a poster child for medication? THIS girl."

"Now if only you had arrived ON TIME."

"Hey. Pills aren't MAGIC."

"Anyway. You get away with it this once because it's too nasty to ride anyway."

"I see. Then why did I bring it?"

"Well, I thought we could put it in the storage unit. Then we'll always have the option."

He looked at my face. "What? Did you have plans to ride to work this week?"

"No, but...you're inviting me to put something in your storage unit?

Silence.

"You know what? Good point. Never mind. Let's just keep it in your car."

"Allrighty then."

In Addition, I Return to Aiming For Pretty

Okay, this is flat out ridiculous. I have looked like a baby mole rat for almost a week, including a weekend jaunt to Port Townsend with a Boy to meet all his friends (fortunately, many of whom I had already met) and a couple dates and some important work things and it hasn’t really helped, and I am going back to using eye makeup, goddammit. I don’t care if my eyes fall out. And I have thrown out all the stuff I already owned and I have bought a whole new batch of stuff, and I’m excited about it.

(After some furious internetting, I have determined that what I probably have is blepharitis, which is a good explanation why no one around me seems to have caught what I thought was my pinkeye, including my boyfriend for all of last summer, when it was worst, and also my roommate, who—although we do AIM for separation—uses my eye makeup.)

Oh, I’m just leaving the damn parantheses behind. Blepharitis is basically malfunctioning tear ducts. They block up for some reason, and then your lower eyelids swell. It can be due to an overabundance of oil, which often happens in dandruff (ding!) and rosacea (ding!) sufferers, and it can happen because you’ve been on Accutance (ding!) and apparently the condition can hang on for many years and there isn’t much you can do. Drugs sometimes help if the infection gets bad. (Infection?) Mine aren’t infected, just a little swollen, which causes redness, and occasional eye styes, which are so tiny that no one can see them except for me. ANYWAY. It’s not contagious, and it can be easily managed with good eye hygiene and normal Visine-type eye drops. Good to know. Thanks, Internet.

And I did a little more internetting and poking around and I added a few supplements to my routine, and I learned you can enhance red hair with BEET JUICE, among other things, which I will try. Because I am apparently crazy. And I have given myself a pedicure. During which I bled. Right before a date. That’s the next post.

In Which Mr. Neighbor Makes Himself Useful

Remember the post in which I complained about controlling hardware experts (my, those people DO sound serious) coming over and rearranging one’s entire computer system?

My buddy Mr. Neighbor, formerly a CS major at Carnegie Mellon, now one of the hiring leads for a division at Amazon that is growing so quickly that they’re having to double up on desks (read: Mobile Devices) has, as you might guess, a few opinions on technology. He happened over a few nights ago, sniffing around for tequila to make up for the dinner date that we had already had planned but that I canceled on (obviously, at the last possible minute, it’s a wonder why anyone still speaks to me) and while he was drinking his apology tequila, I showed off the AV system.

“Hmmm,” he said, taking a quick look at the front, but then immediately pulling everything slightly out from the wall and checking out the connections. (The hardware equivalent of first kicking the tires and then popping the hood.) “I see you’re missing a few speakers,” were his first, ill-chosen, words. My hair stood on end.

“I am not MISSING a speaker!” I said, rather too loudly. “Are you saying I somehow need more speakers than what I already have?”

He looked up, surprised. “Well, you have seven channels here,” he said. “I mean, seriously. You could have surround sound PLUS two extra speakers.”

“I know,” I said, feathers settling. “But we wanted the towers. We liked the sound better, and we don’t watch a lot of movies.”

“And you don’t have anything with a slot hooked up to your screen, I notice,” he said, “making it difficult to watch movies anyway.”

“Well, physical ones, anyway. Thanks to your suggestion, we have a Roku box, so we can stream. But the towers are fine for that. We thought about getting a Blu-ray or a PSP, though, just for that reason. For the slot issue.”

“You could hook up your computer, since it’s right here,” he said, peering behind the receiver again. “That is, if you hadn’t made such a mess of hooking up your devices already.”

He was in luck; I was already feeling contrite. “Is there a way I can do it better?”

“Well, sure. This receiver can receive pictures, as well as sound. You could shoot everything here, and then have only one input shooting OUT to the TV. But you’d need more HDMI cables.”

“Oh, I have extras,” I said loftily. “I have a fear of running short of cables and I always buy extra.” (NOT always true, sadly. Roommate and I were stuck without INNERNET for a day after our second rearrange because Bread Winner—that would be me—hadn’t thought ahead about coax. But back to the story.)

“Well, some other time we can rearrange…”

“Um, why not now?”

“Because we’ve been drinking tequila?”

I just looked at him. He shrugged.

“Ooookay, I guess we’ll rearrange things right now.”

We rearranged, and it was good.

And now I have a new problem: my old tower doesn’t have an HDMI input, which means I spent some time standing in front of the “Cables” aisle at Office Depot this morning, trying to remember what kind of inputs I DID have on the back of my tower. VGA, yes, but that was being used. DVI? Well, I guess I’ll just buy it and find out.

Moment of Honesty

I have half a tank of gas, my car’s oil has been changed recently and I just got the emergency brake fixed, along with the thermostat and the cooling system.

 

The liquor cabinet is restocked, I fixed my favorite shoes, I ordered more coconut water from Amazon. I paid my motorcycle tabs. (It needs a lot more work than just tabs, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.) Titan has had his yearly bath.

 

I am not behind at work.

 

I have properly hydrated myself today.

 

And I even have a hair appointment scheduled for next week.

 

Trying to figure out what the heck I’m going to freak out about next!

 

Oh, yes:

 

I own several dresses, but none of them are right for the wedding I’m going to in Houston in a week and a half, and I don’t have shoes, either, OR a purse; and I need a pedicure and my feet are ugly.

 

Short on Kombucha for the apartment.

 

Need a radio for the Jeep.

 

Still haven’t bought window boxes for the apartment.

 

Nor have I cooked in two months at least, maybe more.

 

And finally, I haven’t worked out in two months either, and I could really stand to lose five pounds before the wedding.

 

And post-finally, I can’t seem to wear eye-makeup without my eyes freaking out.

 

Yes, men, this is really what women think about. All. The. Time.

Sitting Here About To Be Late For A Date

This could really be the title of almost all of my blog posts.

What Do Atheists Say When They're Grateful?

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single person in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a deity to thank.

I mean, seriously. I am fed, clothed, watered, and, in fact, indulged. There is money for red wine, and ibuprofen, and coffee. There is money for gas and books, and more importantly, there is time for some of the best conversations I have had in my life, many of which have happened only recently, and from which I am still reeling.

For example, I just saw my friend D whom I adore more now than I ever did, and we had a wonderful conversation about our work. Which doesn't sound very impressive until you know that I routinely fix culture clashes over two billion dollar contracts (that's with a "b") and she was indeed published before she was thirty, which is kind of a big deal, even when you're at Varhard, because she discovered the mechanism behind how to turn off double-stranded RNA when you want to. And in the world of genetics, so, ALL LIFE, that is kind of a big deal.

(And then we talked about why humans do what they do, why xenophobia exists, how to cure cancer--and I am not exaggerating--and epigenetics, not to be confused with eugenics, which sucks. And THEN we talked about boys and kids, just to be normal. And we also discussed biology and the role it plays in sex and gender, and how those are totally different things.)

(And before that, I had several discussions with both old and new flames, about human nature and life, and a wonderful conversation with my roommate about why the homeless exist and why, as a society, humans haven't retained the biological imperative to kill off our weakest, and therefore: eugenics (which still sucks) and why kids change people and how subservient we are to our biological clocks and how that differs in your gender.)

So. The point is, my life is way too good, and I don't know how to properly express my gratitude. Also, my friends are cool. The end.

Right After I Re-Caulk The Grout

Only Male Blonde Squad Member: "When is your trip to Korea?"

Me: "Possibly not until early May."

OMBSM: "That isn't far off!"

Me: "Yeah, my sense of time is a little jacked up."

Me: "Since 'three weeks' is pretty much an eternity right now, at the pace this work is going."

OMBSM: "Understandable. But you have a TV to entertain yourself now, so time should fly. You know, since you have time to use it."

Me: "Yes. I'll be sure and do that right after I start my organic herb garden."

Me: "And then possibly build a chicken coop and learn how to crochet."

OMBSM: "HA."

I Have Worked 64 Hours This Week Already And I Will Respond To Your Text When I Damn Well Please

"Thank you for calling the offices of The Justice League Of Sexy Bitches, Inc. Your call is not important to us at any time, and will not be answered in any order not determined by bribes. Flowers will receive a priority two, jewelery a priority one. Chocolate presenters will be laughed out of the office, but those who arrive in person with red wine may receive an immediate response, but may also be ignored. Now would be the time in which we would thank you for your patience if in fact we would ever do that sort of thing, which we wouldn't. If you get tired of waiting, feel free to visit our would-be rivals, The Simpering League of Overblown Bar Sluts, just down the street. Good day to you."

You Know What's Interesting?

Discovering that if you search my full name + the word blog, you find this blog. NOT good.

Also, you know what's hard?

Google stalking someone who's had top secret clearance, is a very talented coder, and has worked for the DoE.

If that dude does not want to be found, YOU WILL NOT FIND HIM, chemical engineer with barely the ability to remember the bold tag in html.

Just Finished Eight Antacids and Four Ibuprofen

Monday Morning, 6:30 am.

Wake up exhausted and slightly hungover after being gone all weekend in Port Townsend. Stumble around.

Work: Very important Monday 8:00 AM Meeting with my boss, her boss, and his boss.

(While I am ON THE PHONE FOR MY MEETING): Work also calls on the other line. "Need your urgent attention for these major parts of the next Korean class, starting in a month."

Work, again: "The director and deputy director of the business unit we were hoping to utilize for our Kuwait plan just resigned."

Work, again: "Have you ordered those books for the Korean class starting on Monday?"

Work, again. "You've scheduled that celebratory lunch for the end of one of your Korean projects already? Oh. Can you change the reservation from 6 to 16? And where's the certificate?"

Barely 8:15 AM, still on the phone with my boss, her boss, and his boss.

St Louis Work: "SHIT WE FORGOT SOMETHING FOR THE MAJOR KOREAN TRIP." I am on the phone with St. Louis for the next three hours.

Tuesday morning.

Kitchen: "I'm a mess. Please clean me."

Bathroom sink: "I've been clogged for a week and I'm still clogged."

Closet: “All your pants are too big because you’ve lost ten pounds and haven’t taken the time to go shopping. You look terrible in whatever you’re about to put on."

Face: “You haven’t washed me since Saturday and I’m going to fuss about it.”

Hair: “Seriously, my split ends are about to grow spider babies, and my roots are four inches long.”

Work: “Surprise! Brand new 8:00 am meeting with St. Louis!”

My apartment manager, who has been on vacation for a week, calls. "Remember that two bedroom you were going to move in to? The couple wants to switch ASAP. Can you move this weekend?"

Roommate calls. "Remember I'm going to be out of town all day Saturday for the naming ceremony for the baseball field celebrating my grandfather's memory?"

Me, calling Eric. "PLEASE let us move NEXT weekend?"

Personal: "Hey, want to go away with me to a sunny and warm location next weekend? I leave on Thursday, right in the middle of the major Korean Trip and over the weekend when you’re now supposed to move.”

Me: “Um...”

Him: "Buy a bikini, no excuses."

Work calls again. "That new six-person Korean class starting on Monday--you have everything for that, right?"

Work: "Also, that major Korean three-day meeting that starts next Tuesday--your customers want those hotel reservations changed to downtown Seattle, and have you booked the Boeing Transportation yet?"

Personal: "Hey," an old flame says. "Are we still on for that Tuesday night drink and catch up?"

St Louis Work: "WE STILL HAVEN’T SOLVED THAT MAJOR THING WE FORGOT FOR THE ST. LOUIS TRIP."

*Long St. Louis Work Meeting*

Vet calls: "Hi, why haven't you come to pick up Titan's medicine yet? We close at six."

Work: "Have you ordered those books for the Korean class starting on Monday?"

Work: "Please also address these five emergencies for Co-Worker #1, who has been pulled away to work India."

Gary Manuel: “Hi, just calling to remind you that you have a hair appointment on Wednesday afternoon."

Personal: "Hey, want to come shopping with me Wednesday evening?"

Blondie #1: "Hey, the girls and I are getting drinks on Wednesday night! Come or be yelled at."

St. Louis work: “STILL HAVEN’T FIXED MAJOR THING.”

Work: "Given that our first plan just fell through, please take a little time and put together a comprehensive strategy for our entire technical approach in Kuwait for the next six years. Should total about 1.2 billion dollars."

Personal: "We’re still on for that movie on Thursday, right? See you at 6:30. DO NOT BE LATE."

Work: "Please write up a contract amendment for the three Korean projects we're going to be short on. Have that ready by Tuesday. Thanks."

Wednesday Morning.

Kitchen: "I'm still a mess, only more so. PLEASE clean me."

Bathroom Sink: "Hi, I'm still clogged. I know you just had the plumber out here two weeks ago, but I'm still very clogged."

Face: “Wow, I look terrible.”

Hair: “You saw an old flame WITH ME LIKE THIS?"

Closet: “Remember how you don’t have any pants that fit you? Piling them all on your bed is not going to help.”

Sound Transit: "Hey, we have your bike down at the bus station--come by anytime that is convenient for you."

St. Louis work: “Congratulations on fixing major thing. Here’s the next six problems.”

St. Louis work: "I can’t change hotels to stay with our Korean customer—too much to do in Kent. Since you live in downtown Seattle, if we rent you a van, can you walk to their hotel every day at 7:30, and drive them to Kent by 8:30? Thanks. I don’t want to pay over $140 a night."

Work: “Please attend five hours of meetings today.”

Work: “How’s the $1.2 billion Kuwait strategy coming along?”

Work: “What about all these other things for the Korean class that started in a month?”

Blondie, Personal, and Gary Manuel, in unison: “COME SEE ME TONIGHT!”

Thursday Morning.

Kitchen: "I'm now completely unusable and it takes ten minutes to get a glass of water. Let me remind you that you're supposed to move this weekend."

Bathroom Sink: "I'm now going to add ten minutes to your morning routine due to clogging, because I hate you.”

Closet: “It now takes you an additional ten minutes (after the additional ten minutes for the unusable kitchen and the additional additional ten minutes for the clogged bathroom sink) to find anything to wear because you’ve lost ten pounds and nothing fits and you still haven’t gone shopping.”

Acne: “Hi, just showing up to join the party! You haven’t washed your face in at least four days and I hate you! LOL!”

Work: KUWAIT KUWAIT KUWAIT.

Stomach: “I'M GOING TO CRAMP UP NOW.”

Work: MAJOR KOREAN TWO-HOUR CELEBRATION LUNCH.

Me: *whimpers*

Analogy

We were having breakfast at Cyclops.

“I have a hard time letting food go to waste,” I said, as my date eyed me boxing up my one lonely triangle of polenta cake and accompanying tomato romano sauce.

“I’ve noticed that,” he said drily, not needing to mention that I had boxed up most of my chicken dinner the night before at Shelter and insisted that we leave Ballard and take it back to Capitol Hill to put in my fridge, even thought we had to go all the way back to Ballard for the Moisture Festival. It wasn’t a new thing. On our third date I had boxed up most of my carbonara at Café Bendodi and insisted on carrying it around all night, finally getting it safely to his fridge in Belltown but of course forgetting it when I left. (He ate it, of course, and promised to buy me more, a promise I hope to collect on soon.) Hence my recent insistence on getting my leftovers all the way back to Capitol Hill. I had carried boxes of food around on MOST of our dates, except the ones where we ate at Happy Hour or with other people.

“It’s not that I grew up poor,” I said. “There was always PLENTY to eat, and my parents love good food. It’s that food is such a lifeline for me. If I don’t get it, I pass out. I can’t possibly waste it. If I give up this food now, what if I NEED IT LATER?”

He nodded, trying to understand. Being a previously house-trained man, he knew it was important to at least pretend to listen to the woman sitting across the table from you.

“It’s like drugs,” I said, using a metaphor I’ve used before, and one that I knew he’d appreciate. “You just can’t let ANY go to waste.”

The light bulb clicked on, and he laughed. “HA! No kidding. I could have just crumbs of [censored] left in the [censored], but damned if I’m going to throw it out. And that’s probably way less valuable, monetarily, than that amount of food that you just saved. It’s not about saving money.”

“No. It’s about the intrinsic value of the substance to you. The phrase ‘worth its weight in gold’ comes to mind.”

“Yes. It’s worth WAY more than the money itself.”

“Yes.”

“Good analogy, engineer. You broke it down so a sales guy like me could understand.”

“Thanks.”

Blogging The Brainwave: A Passage from Daniel Gilbert's "Stumbling On Happiness".

"What would you do right now if you learned that you were going to die in ten minutes? Would you race upstairs and light that Marlboro you've been hiding in your sock drawer since the Ford administration? Would you waltz into your boss's office and present him with a detailed description of his personal defects? Would you drive out to that steakhouse near the new mall and order a T-bone, medium rare, with an extra side of the really bad cholesterol? Hard to say, of course, but of all the things you might do in your final ten minutes, it's a pretty safe bet that few of them are things you actually did today.

Now, some people will bemoan this fact, wag their fingers in your direction, and tell you sternly that you should live every minute of your life as though it were your last, which only goes to show that some people would spend their final ten minutes giving other people dumb advice."" (End emphasis mine.)

-Daniel Gilbert, Stumbling On Happiness

Note To Self

One of these days, I'll figure out how to make photos from my App Cameras rotate properly BEFORE publishing them through Blogger-Droid.

Fairy tale fountain

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.7

Completed to do list.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.7

More Thoughts In No Particular Order

Holy crap it's been A MONTH since I blogged.

My car insurance is now $75 a month. Sure is nice to have all those tickets gone from my record. (Also note: I obviously haven't gotten any MORE. Whew.)

I am dating SO FREAKING MUCH. I barely have time to do anything else. I love it, and I'm learning a lot about myself.

And other people, of course.

Things I have learned about love:

You can really like someone as a person, and you can really like them as a lover, but sometimes that's not enough. If you can't--or won't--be vulnerable with each other, that is not a relationship.

Things I have learned about myself:

I need my dates to be articulate motormouths.

And I need them to have something going on in their lives. They need to be ABOUT something.

(Cafe Presse is playing Roy Orbison and it makes me smile on the inside.)

Questions for the universe:

Is there a service that will send cards for you? I need that.

How many cracking noises in a windshield is too many?

Is there an extended-life battery made for the HTC Incredible?

How can I move AGAIN? Roomamte and I JUST moved, feels like. We are still moving IN. We just got things rearranged. And now we have to move again. But for a good cause.

I'll hang on to that happy thought.