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    Yet another example of why I need to drink on a daily basis

    September 16, 2008

    This is how today went down:

    I finally decided, almost 2 weeks later, that yeah, I REALLY HATE my haircut. It’s either too short to do some things with style-wise or conversely it’s too long to do other things with style-wise. Basically my usual routine (wash and let dry naturally) is not cutting it, currently resulting in even more frumpiness (now with the added bonus of frizz and greasy-ness from too much touching and re-touching of the hair) on top of my head. I found the blow dryer (in a box, where it’s been languishing for oh….only about 3 years now) and blow-drying made things marginally better.

    But then Internet? I had the idea that sent the whole day careening merrily off to Hell in a cute little handbasket.

    I remembered that I also own a flat iron and that if I could locate it (in another different box) and apply it liberally all over my head, I might even like my hair today. So back downstairs Owen and I went, ready to pick through the boxes. I can’t exactly explain my rationale for the next part of the story, but just trust me Internet, I know I must have had good intentions. At some point, and this is where it gets a little hazy because I am trying SO HARD TO FORGET, I went into the room where the furnace is (there are boxes in there as well) and it occured to me that some of the boxes would need to be moved soon as we would be using the furnace in another month or so and the room gets a bit on the warm side when the furnace runs. So I moved some of the boxes out of the room. For some reason, I had the random thought of wondering if there was anything underneath the oil storage tank (oil for the furnace). I took my flashlight and peeked, and sure enough, I could make out something that looked like a box…or packaging material of some kind. Figuring that paper type material hanging out underneath the oil tank falls directly into the category of Potentially Hazardous Things, I managed to get a yard stick and push out whatever it was hanging out underneath there.

    Internet, all I can say is that my eyes, they burn. They STILL BURN. OH IT WAS AWFUL. For what did I find underneath our oil tank, but PORN and even more gross, OTHER PEOPLE’S (like the previous occupants of our house kind of people) PORN. Not that I was trying to uh, look (hey, whatever goes on at your house behind locked doors and windows is totally peachy keen, but our abode is strictly an other naked people getting it on free zone, if you know what I’m saying and I think you do *AHEM*) but the people were naked. REALLY REALLY NAKED AND APPARENTLY REALLY HAPPY TO SEE ONE ANOTHER IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. Black modesty dots? NOWHERE TO BE SEEN. Not that I was uh, severely traumatized or anything. *Bites knuckles*

    I called my husband to tell him of my little find and he laughed. Oh Internet, he LAUGHED at me and told me to just throw what I found away in the trash bin . You know, out where our neighbors could happen to look in and get the wrong idea about what exactly goes on over here at casa YouMeAndABaby. So tomorrow, I get to venture back downstairs and triple bag my little basement treasure to ready it for it’s big (NAKED) trip to the landfill.

    As the topper to my day, I also discovered (tonight, when it was dark no less) that I somehow have brakelights that work but no taillights. My mantra all the way home was “PLEASE DON’T GET PULLED OVER, PLEASE DON’T GET PULLED OVER”. Despite feeling like the Universe had it out for me today, we managed to make it home without running into any police officers. I’m sure tomorrow’s trip to Advance Auto to figure out the problem will result in another highly entertaining blog post.

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    Watching the minutes tick tick tick on by

    August 23, 2007

    I sat down over the weekend and jotted down a list of ideas and topics that I have wanted to write about for a while now. Deep thought posts on subjects like breastfeeding past a year (your chest will never be the same), why it’s okay to want to stay home with your kids (until they start cutting the back molars and then you will be glad to escape to the office), and fond memories of my grandmother’s purse and the candy contained within (mmm…linty cherry lifesavers). As you can plainly see, no such posts have been written. Not even any stuck in the writing purgatory of waiting to be edited and further tweaked.

    Amazing what a week of a 13 month old cutting teeth will do to your resolve to write more often and on better subjects. Plus, the husband is out of town again, so its just me and Owen and after a long afternoon of playing “You want this? No? Okay, maybe this is what you want? Nope again? Hungry? No? What? What? What is it?!!!!”, I tend to be a bit fried mentally by 9:30pm and all I can think is how nice it would be to just melt into the couch. Not the most conducive lead-up to a well written post.

    So instead, I share with you tidbits from the workplace. That, and more evidence that my heart truly is made from something bearing a striking resemblance to a lump of coal.

    There are some very ecclectic personalities where I work. A few are quirky in a fun, “plaid with polka dots really is a good look for you”, sort of way. Others are more quirky in the “You’re heavily medicated for that, right?” vein.

    One of these that falls into the second category works on the same floor as I do. They have a thing for leaving cute little ‘reminder’ notes all over the place, like on the copier, above the communal fax, etc. Normally, the notes fly right under my radar and I don’t give them anything more than a fleeting glance. That is until I went into the bathroom and after shutting the stall door and getting primed for what one does in a bathroom, I looked up and saw a note taped to the backside of the door. A note that instructed me, and any other users of that particular stall to, “…make sure EVERYTHING flushes!”. As soon as I finished up, I peeked behind the door in the other stall and sure enough–another matching sign. It was the third sign, placed on the paper towel dispenser, reminding me that “…washing your hands cuts down on germs!”, that just blew all the circuits in my brain. I realize that not everybody flushes and that even some people don’t wash their hands after they go to the bathroom, but really, cutesy reminder notes are not the answer.

    I came back to my office and was discussing my ‘finds’ with another co-worker and we agreed that all the signs were most likely the handiwork of our floor’s resident quirky employee. Inspiration struck me and I shared with my co-worker the cutesy addendum I wanted to print out and tape below the other two “…make sure EVERYTHING flushes!” signs–”One flush is all you’re getting out of me”, I’d put and then the kicker, “P.S: I touched everything in this stall after I was finished and before I washed my hands. Love, Me”.

    It took nearly all my self-restraint for the rest of the afternoon, but I am grudgingly proud to say that I didn’t follow through on adding my comments to the signs. I may be a meany, but I didn’t want to be responsible for completely pushing someone else over the edge…yet.

    The signs must have bugged someone else far more mature than my witty-jr. high humor-possessing self as all three had completely disappeared the next day.

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    I’d like that do-over now please

    March 31, 2007

    I’m one of those people who hate change. I don’t just dislike change, I loathe, with a large bold capital ‘L’, change. Unfortunately, change can sometimes just pop up out of nowhere which results in a potentially nasty little surprise. When this sudden change happens, it tends to completely fry all the circuits in my brain resulting in my immediately digging my heels in as hard and as fast as I can. Maybe it’s a safety mechanism–you know, by digging said heels in it would theoretically slow things down and give me an opportunity to evaluate said nasty surprise and form a logical and rational plan to deal with it? Notice how I said ‘theoretically’ in that last sentence? That’s because most of the time, while digging in my heels with all my might, I don’t take the moment to just take a deep breath and rationally formulate a response. I dig my heels in and take a quick trip on the irrationality express.

    Take this afternoon for example–my husband and I were hurrying to get him ready to leave town, again, for his job when my husband brought up some things that he had been thinking about regarding switching some things around work-wise. I will admit that his timing wasn’t the greatest, but it wasn’t like he flat out told me, “This is what’s going to happen”. He was the rational one, simply wanting to put some thoughts that he’d been having out there to see what I as the other half of our partnership thought about his thoughts. However, because these thoughts would mean changes, some pretty massive and seemingly impossible and not-workable at first glance kind of changes, I reacted badly. I didn’t yell or get angry but I immediately blurted out sentences involving the words ‘can’t’ ‘won’t’ ‘not’ and ‘unable’. It wasn’t a fight, but when he left, things were sad between us. It’s bad enough that he’ll be away for a week, but his having to leave on an unhappy note makes it worse.

    Now that I’ve had a few hours to calm down and process what he was trying to communicate, I see that my immediate responses should have involved the words ‘maybe’, ‘investigate’, ‘possibility’, ‘more’ and ‘faith’. Unfortunately I won’t be able to talk to him until tomorrow night, so I’m hoping that will give me even more time to continue rationally and logically analyzing the situation which will result in my being able to communicate my thoughts in a more grown-up way.

    You would think that in almost 31 years of living, I would have figured out that taking a breath and stepping back for a moment when things catch me off guard is the better way to react.