Saturday, September 29, 2007

Friendly Skies

So, I'll be winging my way south this evening.

Would it be surprising to you to know I am not a fan of flying? I've flown many times. Hell, I've flown alone many times. I know what to do, I know it's statistically safe, and this is a very short flight.

I still get nervous. It's even more nerve wracking these days, with the extra serving of paranoia they give you instead of peanuts. I'm not worried about terrorists. I'm worried about what the airport security staff will decide I am using to take over the airplane. I'm not checking any luggage, so I have to scrutinize everything that goes into my purse and carry on.

And that's crazy-making. I've checked every bottle of liquid and gel stuff I'm carrying. All are clearly marked as being 2oz or less (because a mostly empty 2.5 oz bottle isn't allowed). The sharpest thing I'm taking is a nail clipper with a tiny file that's so freaking frail it might snap off if sneezed on. And my little survival kit of mini-multi-tool and Swiss army knife, that could be really helpful if, heaven forbid, the plane did go down? Got to leave it at home.

In any case, I'll be back -- with The Husband in tow -- tomorrow. And in the mean time, I've been promised a tour of Hidden City. That's worth the airplane ride!

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Good things

Life with hummus is always better than life without it.

The Husband is down south for a yoga conference. I'm flying down on Saturday. Until then, I'm living the single life.

Yeah, right. I'm doing exactly what I usually do, except now only the cats see it.

Hummus makes me happy. And chocolate covered strawberries. Comfort food.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

People Got Teef

To quote an old Whoopie Goldberg routine. (Tell me about dentistry in Jamaica).

I just returned from the dentist.

Good news! Yes, as always, I Need To Floss More, but in general (considering it's been a year and a half since my last cleaning) my mouth is very healthy and my teeth look good. Now they are all shiny and polished. Look, Ma! No Cavities!

Oh, and the new dentist at the office is maybe 1 point less than 'pretty much hot'. That's never bad. I've had two VERY hot (as in HAWT) dentists. One was the first dentist I ever went to as an adult, a young doctor in a new practice I thought was about the best looking thing in a smock and mask. His office was in an older building and not well air conditioned, so he tended not to wear a shirt under his smock, which meant I got glimpses of his muscular chest and back while he worked on my mouth. Talk about Distraction...sometimes I didn't notice when he asked "does that hurt"?

Then there was another hottie doctor several years ago at my current dentist's office -- tall, dark haired, with an aquiline nose and beautiful eyes. I was having jaw pain (the beginning of my TMD) and he was figuring it out. I felt better just looking at him.

*sigh* I hope went we get to the new house and the new life, we can find a competent yet terribly hot dentist. It makes cleanings so much nicer.

All Better

The best thing about headaches is when they GO AWAY. It took some special medication (hidden away in a cabinet because it is soooo tempting) but by evening, I felt good enough to go for a (short) bike ride. It's getting NICE outside. Whoo hoo!

And it's not even funny how much I don't want to be at work anymore. I'm sick to death of this gol tournament and all the weird, half explained forms Bosszilla wants, his sudden ideas about promo items, and his expectation that I can somehow psychically extract information about golf handicaps and phone numbers from the ether or the gold pro. Doesn't he understand that just like he doesn't want everyone on the planet to know his email and cell number, others aren't all that eager to pass the same information around?

So, anyway, feh.

I'm flying down to Miami this weekend. The Husband is attending a 4 day yoga seminar. Now, sitting in a hotel room for 4 days (like I did last time he had a seminar like this) is NOT my idea of fun, plus with two cats needing medication, it's expensive. But it's pretty cheap to fly down, as it happens. I'm hoping to visit with a friend, and I'll drive back with him (chances are I'll be driving, since he will be wiped out from the seminar.) At worst, I'll get some reading done -- sitting in a hotel room.

Monday, September 24, 2007

The Place I'm In

I am in de nada land. I woke up with a headache, which, while beaten back with Aleve, caffeine, an ice pack and chocolate, has only lessened, not abated. My cheekbones hurt.

I've seen the ads for the 'Cavemen' show twice now. Please stop trying to tempt me to watch network TV. I will put in a DVD if you don't stop it. Don't push me. (That link is the IMDB link. The link to ABC is fucking annoying).

I can't take a nap -- my head aches. I can't concentrate -- my head aches. I should get up and do some stuff, but my head aches when I walk around.

I think I'm just going to have a nice quiet pity party here in de nada land.

Friday, September 21, 2007

In The Closet

You might have heard that things were a little stormy in Eustis last night.

It was a long, rainy Thursday. Last night, as we were watching Tim Gunn, it really started to blow and the rain was loud. Then we lost satellite -- which is one of the joys of having satellite. Curious, I checked the weather via Internet since that was still up.

We had a tornado warning in our area. Mt. Plymouth, Mt. Dora, Eustis, Tavares -- they were tracking where the storm was expected to go, giving times and approximate areas. The Husband and I looked at each other, and then, by mutual agreement, we summoned/captured the cats and went to sit in our bedroom closet, as it is about the only space protected enough. The cats thought this was pretty weird. So did I, when I thought about it. I mean, really, aside from the strange intervals of loud wind and silence, there wasn't any sign of the tornado near us. Isn't this silly?

And then I thought about all the shows I'd watched about tornadoes, and I hugged a cat and waited until the warning was over. You never KNOW when the tornado is going to hit until it actually does hit. The warning lasted about 1/2 an hour, after which we were still too keyed up to sleep (it was after 11 pm).

This morning I saw that downtown Eustis, about 3-4 miles away from our house, had been whacked pretty well. So I didn't feel nearly as silly. We're fine, with just the usual clumps of leaves and stuff from a long rainstorm.

Sometimes it is a GOOD thing to stay in the closet.

Thursday, September 20, 2007


That quote about sleep knitting up the raveled sleeve of care or whatever (I'll bet it's Shakespeare, but I'm too lazy to look it up right now) is all true. After a run of sleepless nights, I resorted to the knitting needles of vodka. Now, don't get worried. I'm a lightweight, so my 'nightcap' was a very large cup of milk, about 2 ounces of Dutch Chocolate Vodka, and a little Cask & Cream to smooth it out. Took me about an hour to sip it away, at which time I was quite prepared to become unconscious and drooly.

Last night I didn't need anything but a book.

Sometimes it takes what it takes, but I'm back to looking at the scenery from the top of my rollercoaster, appreciating the breeze and thew view, and fiddling with my seat belt.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Time to Fall Apart

I am falling a little bit apart. Not on the outside, really, but on the inside. So it The Husband. We both have trouble sleeping. We both tend to avoid doing things we know we have to do. We're a little grumpy with each other.

Stress is an amazing, powerful thing. I don't understand it well, especially how it affects me and how I react to it. There's a part of me that just wants a little pill to help me cope, and another that denies such an easy, temporary out. Still, there are breathing issues still, the feeling of choking, the tightness in my chest. All the thinking, meditating, calming and sublimating I can do isn't solving the problem. Putting it out of my mind -- zilch. Distraction -- temporary.

I just want to move. I just want to go forward. It's time. It's time. It is time.

UPDATE: I finally have a metaphor that works to explain what I'm feeling. I feel as if I am strapped into the car on a rollercoaster, and the car is poised at the very top of the first drop. It's just sitting there, and has been since, oh, let's say May. Everything between last September and May was the chunk-chunk-chunk of climbing to the top. Now I'm just there. I've looked at the view. I've considered what's about to happen. Now I'm just waiting, and the one thought in my head is...

"Let's just get the screaming started, ok? OK?"

Also, last visit to the MD, I asked about the Xanax. He said "I don't think so." That amazed me. They've practically pushed pills into my hands for years, for things I didn't even think I needed pills for, but this time? This time he said "I don't think so."

But it's ok. I have cookie dough.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Post Panic

They came -- a half hour early, throwing all our final preparations off (why oh why can't people grasp the idea of ON TIME?) We left, ran errands, and returned long after they were gone.

Now we know, though. The house must be near perfection at all times. No more panic. I hate panic.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Enter Panic Mode....NOW!

Someone is coming to see the house tomorrow.



What Happens When I am Ill

After such a lovely Tuesday, it only makes sense that I've developed a nasty sore throat/ear ache thing.

I'm on day 3. I've slept most of today, as it helps me ignore the stabbing in my neck. It might be serious, it might not be -- I get so many sore throats in a year that I usually just muddle through them.

Still, feh.

Ok, in other news, I made a major departure and watched Tim Gunn's Guide to Style onTV the last two nights. I was surprised. It's a fashion show with little to no meanness, minimal snarkiness, and a lot of very sunshiny positive stuff. It is much less confrontational than TLC's What Not To Wear (which I stopped watching last season). I pay a lot more attention to all these famous designers and so forth being just normal nice than I do to the 'how many clever insulting remarks can we make' sort. I don't want to slam Clinton and Stacy, because I've enjoyed them, too, and I learned a lot that has made me a better dresser and more confident about wearing clothes. But WNTW is as much about the awfulness and how many remarks can be made about the awfulness as it is about creating a positive experience.

So, if Tim Gunn keeps up this attitude and approach, as far as I am concerned, he wins.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Wrongity Wrong

Someone needs to take the socks away from Erin. It has officially gone too far (and I'm swiping that picture for possible blackmail/nightmare possibilities.)

Monday, September 10, 2007

I am reduced to helpless Squees

MySpaceTV: awww the otter by Mazinger

Painfully cute. Major amounts of cute. Do not view if you are diabetic.


Three Sheets

What is this thing about thread count in bed sheets? It seems like something of which I was blissfully unaware until about 1990.

My childhood memories of bed sheets are of my mother hanging them on the clothes line and running between them as the breeze bellied them out against me. I was particularly aware of the quality of sheets because I had a habit of rolling the folded edge of my pillow case between my fingers and rubbing it until I went to sleep. When I was very small, sheets were always smooth and soft. They smelled of fabric softener, Florida sunshine, and occasionally my mother's iron (she hated to iron, but did run one over the sheets).

Then, probably when I was 10 or so, my mother bought a set of sheets for my brand new double bed that were awful. I mean, they were very plastic-y feeling, rough and actually NOISY. I hated them and avoided making my bed with them. I suspect they were both inexpensive and made with some new synthetic. I'm a little sensitive to synthetic fabrics, especially those introduced in the 1970s.

It seems since then, I've had to pay attention to my bedsheets. Still, it wasn't hard to find soft, cotton smooth sheets, and I had several sets I loved well into my 20s.

Then I married, and I was sleeping in a queen sized bed. He, too, had those nice, smooth, cotton sheets, because none of my old bedsheets fit (of course). But years went by and sheets wear out (a lot faster than I remember them doing, but that's another thing). I had to replace sheets.

And that was when I had to learn about thread counts.

I am currently sitting on our bed, which is made up with new sheets we just bought. These sheets are supposedly 250 count, which means they should be smooth and soft. They certainly wrinkle up like 250 count. But they don't feel like them. They are perceptively rough without that nice polished surface. In the closet I have other sets of sheets, some at 300 count and higher. But, as we can't afford to spend $125 for a topsheet and $50 for a pillow case. So, Costco to the rescue, and $60 for a set of sheets. These sheets, for reasons still mysterious to us, bleach where The Husband sleeps on them. I'm serious. Most of the sheets are colored, and there are weird, blotchy, yellow-white places on my husband's pillow case and on the bottom sheet where he has slept. My side shows no such inclinations. Thus it goes for bargain sheets.

So, now that I am very aware of thread count -- yet another piece of relatively useless information thrust upon me, I am quite sure, by marketing agencies and much technological endeavor -- I must also pay attention to the blend, to where the cotton originates, and to how it was prepared. What used to be a regular, ordinary method of weaving, and a regular, ordinary standard of blended cotton used for weaving, has been analyzed and studied and experimented with until the cheapest methods and blends were determined. Thus, poor people can't have what used to be just ordinary bedsheets, and the wealthy can be tricked into thinking there really is something special about 1200 ct Egyptian Cotton sheets.

I just wish I'd managed to hold on to those old sheets of my mom's.

Friday, September 07, 2007


This is what my living room used to look like.

This is what our Labor Day Weekend work has done to it.

Bea likes the chairs.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Who else gets their weblog header made in Greece by an actual Dutchman? I'm so special!

(Thanks and a big hug, Rien!)

Critical Knowledge

Swiped from Lazygal says I'm an Uber Cool Nerd King.  What are you?  Click here!

Technically, since they ask for gender identification, and I said FEMALE, that should be Uber Cool Nerd QUEEN. And I should be at Dragon*Con.

Saturday, September 01, 2007

More of more of the same

Ok, so it is the first day of September. After a long morning of moving furniture, packing up breakables, and a few arguments, we've gotten read to start painting the living room. I get the rather empty victory of being right that we should have bought new paint trays while we were at Lowes this morning.

"The ones we have are fine!" said The Husband when I suggested it. So, I didn't grab them.

But when I said "You get the paint trays, I'll spread the dropcloths", he came back with "Oh, the dried paint on these is peeling. I don't want it to mix with the new paint..." Insert eye-rolling here.

He's on his way to Lowes again. This is the fifth thing in a row he's decided needed doing just as I said "Ok, let's get the paint." He doesn't want to paint. It was his insistence that we need to paint that started this (well, ok, I want to get rid of the salmon color) . We have three rooms to paint this weekend. Furniture must revolve, remove, rearrange. Our lovely faux fireplace and hearth -- gone. Again, The Husband went from "oh, leave it with the house" to "I don't see why we can't keep it."

I think this is all getting to him, too. I don't know that he would admit it, but I think he's feeling a little of the "oyster pried from the bed" sensation I've been feeling. I'm ready to go, I really am. It's this waiting thing. It's the having to remove the "me" from my house. This house is the first one that was actually MINE, and it was a hard, long struggle to make it so -- I'd lived here 10 years before I finally felt like it was my home. So, yes, I'm feeling some resentment over all these changes. This whole "leaving without leaving" thing is awful. It's staying in a relationship after you've broken up. It's having to go back to work at a job after you've already quit. It just won't be OVER.

I know one thing. Once I leave this house, I never want to see it again.