Livestream of Consciousness

This morning I woke at 7 AM to the muffled sound of a recorded message on an answering machine. The machine wasn’t mine. I could hear the names being recited, though: if you’d like to leave a message for her, press 1, for him, press 2, etc.

This puzzled me, but as I am wont to do early in the morning, I decided it was my neighbor’s machine through the wall.

Until I realized I recognized the names that were being recited, and I knew wasn’t my neighbor – it was the agency I’d phoned yesterday.

I jumped up, thinking I was insane, and began searching for the source of the sounds. I found my cell phone in the bed—I had been lying on it—and the phone itself had placed a call to said agency. I pressed a bunch of buttons but couldn’t get it to hang up. Closed and reopened it—nothing. (Although I was still fuzzy-headed at this point and I have no idea if this was the phone or my brain’s problem.)

I finally got the call to end, and I checked my “Calls Made” list. Every single one of the 20 recent calls made was to that agency phone number. Thank God it was early enough that they weren’t in the office. I really, really hope they don’t have caller ID.

*

One of my Facebook friends referred to “Baby It’s Cold Outside” as the date-rape song. My first reaction was “oh, stop, it’s not about date rape” because I thought it was just about a boy trying to persuade a girl not to leave his house. But today when I heard it on the radio I listened to the lyrics, and I really think you can make the case that it IS a date-rape song. “What’s in this drink?” the girl asks at one point. Roofies, honey.

*

I am declaring that I like sausage. (Get your minds out of the gutter. I’m talking about the actual product.) It was always something I thought I shouldn’t like, because basically it’s just scraps of pig ground up together and stuffed in a casing—gross, right? Well, it can be. BUT . . . good sausage is actually really tasty and awesome. So, I love sausage. Deal with it.

*

I’m burning through my Battlestar Galactica discs at a rapid pace. I rent 5 discs at the video store and finish them in a matter of three or four days. I really, really love this show—but not the spiritual, dreamy Cylon/God/gods crap. I don’t care about that. I like the relationships on the Galactica, the political intrigue, the questions about torture, choices, military action, and (occasionally) some space battles. Really, I would be happy if most of the episodes were just relationship eps. I just noticed in an upcoming one that a character will be dealing with his failed marriage, and that’s the kind of thing that sends thrills through me. Dealings with failed marriages! Hooray!

I think I’m getting old, because I find myself rooting for middle-aged hookups. Of course the hot young people with the sexual chemistry should get together, and of course they will. But what about the older people? They need love and companionship, too! They’re friends who care about each other! They’re both single! Why aren’t they together?! The scenes won’t be the same; there won’t be any blue-lit shots of smooth skin and limbs entwined, because no one wants to see 50-year-old skin, but still. Make it happen, writers. (When the writers don’t write the stories I want them to, I make up new stories in my head when going on walks. I can’t rest until the characters are doing what I think they should do . . . and I'm actually kind of good at calling it. Basically what I thought should happen DID happen in an episode last night. Good times.)

Anyway, if you’re not watching BSG, you should be. That’s the lesson here.

You know what's weird . . .

. . . walking out of your house and seeing twins first thing in the morning. Bah! Seeing double! What’s happening?!

. . . working out on an elliptical at the gym and seeing a shot of an almost identical gym on CNN . . . where a shooter has just killed 3 women.

. . . carrying a tomato around in your purse and a watermelon buckled into the front seat of the car. I feel as though I should write a poem about summer fruits and veggies appearing in random places.

. . . googling your own name and realizing you personally are nowhere on the first three pages. There are a lot of illustrious women out there who share my name, and it’s not even THAT common. (There are also a lot of spam sites.)

. . . knowing your little brother is 28 years old today. If he’s that old, than what am I . . .

Summer doldrums

I’m trying to blog once a week, but sometimes there just isn’t much to say, ya know?

Since I left the old job, I don’t have a lot of good co-worker stories (mostly because I have no co-workers) and drama is pretty much non-existent. I come to my office, do some work, eat some stuff, IM some people, etc.

Earlier this week I helped out with the family of multiples that I sometimes go visit. The kids are now two, and they change every time I see them, stretching out and looking more like kids than babies. We took them out (the first time I’ve gone out with them) to the park and the mall play area, and it was insanity. Three adults barely had a handle on the situation. Multiple toddlers, going multiple directions, in the middle of a mall? Their mom is brave. But they are still amazingly adorable and learning so much. Toddlerhood is exhausting, but fascinating.

Yesterday I ate two bananas, some cantaloupe, watermelon, blueberries, and tomatoes. Yeah, summer!

I want Mad Men to start again. I want a new camera. I want to take a long vacation.

Ranty McRanterson

I must say, because I can’t say it on Facebook, that some people’s status updates make me want to throw up. I hate the political ones that make me seethe quietly, but worse are the banal and very frequent updates from one of my “friends.”

“Going to the gym!”
“Having a good day!”
“Eating lunch!” :0)

I don’t know why these bug me so much, but I’ve actually hidden this person from my public view because I can’t figure out why she needs to post such things every few hours. If you’re going to post status updates, make them a) semi-interesting or b) infrequent. That way, even if they’re not exciting, they’re new and different and people will like to read them.

/rant

Oh, but wait! I have another rant. So, you know that the Obamas have planted an organic garden on the White House lawn. And, whether or not you like them, you’d have to say that this is a pretty good thing to do and a nice idea. I mean, even if it’s just nice b/c it’s saving taxpayers money on herbs and stuff for the White House dinners.

You would THINK that was the case, right?

Well, nope. I hate to break it to you, but there are people who don’t like the Obamas’ garden. What?! It’s true.

Of course, all these people have a financial interest in consumers buying not-fresh and not-local.

The quote, from this article in Slate:

"It's a charming idea and everything, but it's not practical," says Xavier Equihua, who represents the Chilean Exporters Association as well as the Chilean Avocado Committee. The main problem, he says, is that local food is seasonal. For example, avocadoes grow in California during the summer months. Same with grapes. "What happens if you want some grapes during the month of December?" says Equihua. "What are you going to do? Not eat grapes?"

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? NOT EAT GRAPES? OMGOMGIOEPHRJWPEJP! It’s like the craziest idea anyone’s ever possibly had or thought of. How could you NOT EAT GRAPES? You're telling me local food is SEASONAL? HUH? What are we going to DOOOOOO?!

Seriously, this quote about sent me over the edge. No, Xavier, we are NOT going to eat grapes in December. Because that’s not when they are in season. Because we don’t need to have every single fruit and vegetable available to us every (expletive) season of the (expletive) year!

/rant 2

I feel better now.

Gripey

I am cranky.

I don’t know why, really, but I feel like I could cheerfully punch someone, and I’ve felt that way for the past few days. This is when working alone really pays off, although I find emails and phone calls extra irritating. Plus actual work! You expect me to do what?

Monday night I went to Borders and ordered a small javakula (which is their version of a frappucino). Despite having said “small coffee crunch javakula” and then repeating “small” when the clerk asked me again “what size?”, I was definitely handed a large javakula by the drink maker. Both girls seemed pretty bad at their jobs – or at least distracted by other interests – a dog walking by, for example (seriously).

Anyway, I got a large, and you’d THINK I could just quit after drinking half, but those things are good, and it was sitting right there, and I hadn’t really had dinner, and I had exercised . . . I didn’t order a small b/c that’s all the drink I wanted, I ordered a small b/c I knew that would be good for me (which of course the drink maker didn’t understand when I commented on the size of the “small” I’d ordered and she just shrugged and said “enjoy!”). Suffice it to say, the large size proved an irresistible temptation.

All that back story to say that I slept like absolute crap on Monday night – I couldn’t fall asleep, and then I woke up multiple times, sometimes with my restless legs, but mostly just tossing and turning. I think it was the result of piles of caffeine in that stupid drink. And the lack of sleep is what’s making me really pissy. Plus being back at work after five days off last week AND trying to write something that I don’t know enough about, which is like pulling teeth.

I’m going out to Indiana next week, where I’ll have to deal with real co-workers and be a guest in someone’s home, so I’d better be over this mood by Monday.

Super Tuesday

Hi-dilly Ho, Neglecterinos!
I've been sadly neglecting my blog lately. Mostly I've been neglecting everything (minus work) and coming home to hole up and watch HBO series on DVD. Six Feet Under and The Wire. My co-worker called me the "Michael Phelps of HBO DVD watching" so I guess that's something.

So I'm done with The Wire forever. Boo. Season 5 was good, but I really think The Wire peaked at Season 4. Season 4 broke your heart; Season 5 is the cynical burst of laughter that comes after your heart has been broken and you can't care anymore. Or something. Although if Dukie doesn't break your heart again, you have no heart. Just a cold black hole.

Buy Fresh, Buy Local--Thwarted!
I have been bitching regularly about the fact that local produce in our grocery stores actually costs MORE than the stuff from out of town. Wha?! So today after work I drove to CVS to get cash (because who ever has cash) and then stopped at 2 (TWO!) road side stands to buy corn, tomatoes, cantelope, and watermelon. I only had the $20, but I expected to be able to make change . . . isn't that the whole point of the honor system?! Leave that cash out where I can get it.

But no! No change! Nada! And so despite the extra trip to CVS and pulling off the road twice to check out the stands, I was foiled by society. So I stopped at Weis and bought two local peaches (unripe!) and a baguette. The baguette is what I had for dinner. I thought I had cheese here, but that was not the case.

My Next 30 Years
Oh, and today I realized that my birthday is exactly one month away. I remember feeling panicked on my 20th birthday, which is funny looking back now. The 20s have been the best decade so far . . . and I've definitely learned the most about life. So maybe the 30s will be even better that way.

But I'm still going to be panicking. Also reading the letter I wrote to my 30-year-old self from my 20-year-old self. So that should be interesting.

Don't wish it away

“The sooner you realize that the highlight of your week will be a trip to the Olive Garden (if you're lucky) the sooner you'll get over your Quarterlife Crisis.”

I posted this message-board quote a few months ago, because it cracked me up. And then yesterday I got to live it. Tuesday: the highlight of my week . . . and here’s why:
First, they had my favorite soup (tomato bisque) at the grocery store—AND the delicious crusty mini-baguette I like to get to go with it. Neither of these are guaranteed, and they’re rarely there together, but yesterday they had both!

Then, it was such a nice day. Really sunny and warm, but not humid. I went on a quick walk down the shady, breezy street and then got in the car to drive over to my cousin’s house. I put all the windows down and opened the sunroof. And “I Guess that’s Why They Call it the Blues” started the minute I turned on the radio, which is the Elton John song I sing most as I’m going about my daily life. Seriously, I break into this song frequently as I walk around.

So that kept me singing as I drove the few minutes to Tim’s, with the sun slanting through the trees and the breeze blowing in the windows.

And then . . . SUSHI! Delicious, delicious sushi and fruity drinks.

On the way home we stopped to fill my tires with air, so the “low pressure” warning light in my car would go off. And it did.

Then we played music trivia on the computer and got a ton of questions right and made ourselves feel good about how smart we were.

And all this combined made it pretty much a perfect day.

So I think that means that I’ve accepted my life as it is . . . and I’m officially over my quarter-life crisis.

Eatin'

I have temporarily given up sugar. Yes, it’s weird, and it’s very unlike me. I love sugar—well, not PLAIN sugar, but all kinds of things with sugar. Candy and cake and cookies and ice cream. So I’m seeing if I can do without it and I’m also seeing what will happen to me as a result. I’m still eating carbs—fruit, potatoes, brown rice, etc. Just no sugar and no white flour. This little experiment started on Monday, and for the past two days I’ve had a headache, but today it seems to be gone.(I also got a good night sleep last night).

I’m going to try this for two weeks and it’s probably going to almost kill me. And then possibly make me stronger.

I’m cooking our Supper Club meal on Thursday night, and I’m making boneless BBQ pork ribs in the crockpot. I think it’s going to be delish. Last night I went to Costco to purchase bulk meat, and ended up with an 8 lb. tray of ribs that I had to lug like a child on my hip from Costco to home to my parents’ place (which is where I do all my cooking, because my house is too small and messy to host 8-10 people regularly).

I only dropped the tray ‘o meat once. No damages, though, except the ribs are perhaps a little more squished than they would’ve been otherwise. Because 8.47 pounds of ribs is a lot.

And this is completely off-topic, but you know what irritates me? (do you care?) The misuse of the acronym EST. As in 9:00AM EST. EST stands for Eastern Standard Time. Once we are in Daylight Savings Time (as we are now), it's EDT. There is no point in having either the S or the D in there if people aren't going to use them correctly. In fact if you say something will happen at EST and we're living in EDT, you're actually giving people the WRONG TIME. So please, if you live in a place that turns clocks ahead and back, use the right letter. Or use ET and all your bases are covered.

The end.