Here is the story of the hurricane...

I was going to maybe post some foliage pictures today. I also considered telling you about my great weekend. Instead, Frankenstorm is coming, and I thought it might be fun to liveblog until the power goes out. Right?

2:44 Here's where things stand:

• Frankenstorm (Hurricane Sandy plus a cold front) is headed this way.
• In anticipation, the college I work at has been closed for the day.
• The worst of the storm is supposed to be 2-9 p.m.
• So far, we're getting what would in other circumstances be described as a light shower.
• A year ago, Hurricane Irene was also predicted to be devastating. It was, about 20 miles west. Horrible. Here in my town, we only ever got showers.
• I am attempting neither to over- nor under-react. So: 
• My phone is charged.
• My bathtub is filled with water.
• I know where at least one lantern and at least one candle are located.
• The windows are closed, and so is the garage door.
• I have perhaps naively put some of Beth's Salsa Chicken in the crock pot, which will either mean I have delicious food later or a bunch of half-cooked spicy bacteria I have to throw away because the power went out.

Now I should be cleaning house before I lose the lights, because it's a mess and I'm home and who knows who'll have to come stay in my hillside haven.

Instead, I am starting to watch a movie I initially attempted to explain to you but am now so appalled that I'm about to watch that I'll only tell you about it if I think you should watch it. Sorry, everyone.

3:02 p.m. Oh, also, Joe Biden was supposed to come to the college today. So really, we've just traded one liveblogging opportunity for another. Stay safe, Brett. No pics, Alexis — there's nothing interesting enough to take pics of yet.

3:27 p.m. Still no real wind to speak of. It is raining harder. This movie is terrible. How often do you want updates, and concerning storm, or household activities, or both?It is possible I have bowling tonight, but for now, we're playing it by ear.

3:34 p.m. Raining even a little harder. I'm turning this movie off. If you would also like to avoid it, it's Albert Fish, about a real-life Depression-era child murderer and cannibal. It's at least as bad as that sounds.

3:42 p.m. Movie's off. Extreme Couponing is on. I'm not saying I have great taste in movies and TV; I'm just saying if I'm going to watch crap, I'd prefer it not to make me sick to my stomach. Possibly related: That salsa chicken smells amazing.

3:55 p.m. My mechanic friend just called to ask if he could park his limo and possibly some other cars in my higher-elevation-than-his-shop driveway. hells yes, I say. Also: It is possible that the reason it seems unwindy to me is that the window I am looking out its the one on the side of my house least likely to get wind. When my craving for a Pepsi Throwback gets so bad I need to indulge it, I'll get up and look out a different window and let you know.

4:06 p.m. Pepsi Throwback obtained, but not without incident: I might have spilled a bunch of ice on the floor. Not a lot of wind on any side of the house. I'm considering a fire in the fireplace. Also, a person whose day can be in part described with "she calls the store manager for a routine check on coupon policies" have different routines than mine.

4:25 p.m. Here's the thing about bowling: Even if it's OK when I leave the house at 6:15, if it's not OK when I'm done bowling at 8:30 or 9, I'm stuck at the bowling alley for who knows how long. We should just not go, right? But I love my queer bowling. Sigh.

4:36 p.m. I got bored with Extreme Couponing and also discovered that there was a whole season of Important Things with Demetri Martin I hadn't seen. Everyone should always be watching that show. Unrelated but potentially useful: If you need to find an emergency shelter from the storm, you can text FEMA.

4:57 p.m. Commenter Emily (fun side note: many many of my friends are named Emily. I a little bit wonder which one that is) has requested the recipe for salsa chicken. I assume and hope it's OK to share, but I'd rather check with Beth first. Another fun side note: If you are my IRL persona's Facebook friend (that doesn't sound healthy), you can look at my "notes" and find a whole long one full of awesome Crock Pot recipes.

5:06 p.m. Permission granted! Also, the wind's picking up.

4 boneless chicken breasts
large jar of salsa
can black beans
corn (frozen or canned), however much you want
Put the boneless chicken breasts in your crockpot. Even frozen.
Dump in one large jar of salsa.
Drain and rinse one can of black beans and dump in crockpot.
Turn your crockpot on and leave it there all day. Come back 10 hours later and open the crockpot. Shred up the chicken. Add the corn. Stir it up good.
Serve in bowls with sides of shredded Mexican cheeses and sour cream. Eat with tortillas or tortilla chips. (You could eat it in taco shells, too.)

5:37 p.m. We should really make a decision about bowling.

5:57 p.m. The bowling teammates and I have decided not to bowl. It feels like a smart choice. Especially since, as I was on the phone with one of said teammates:

• we realized there were two other opportunities to hang out in the next two days, and
• the wind picked up. It's starting to feel like a hurricane.

Also, are you impressed by how many times I have managed to type "bowling" and not typed "blowing," especially in the middle of a wind-based storm? I sort of am. Off to call Yankee Lanes.

6:26 p.m. Sorry for these long gaps between posts; I am running out of things to say, a little, except to individuals, which is why I seem to have moved somewhat to gchat and Facebook chat. If I say anything hilarious in either of those media, I will try to repost here. Meanwhile, I am finally going to eat some of that salsa chicken. And maybe start a fire in the fireplace. Or make some lemonade. Or make some lemonade and then turn it into whiskey lemonade. And keep it away from the computer.

7:16 p.m. Wind does not seem to have gotten worse and may have died down. Rain seems neither better nor worse. I am drinking lemonade from a cup with a lid. The salsa chicken is fantastic. If you wonder how much corn is "however much you want" from that recipe above, in my case, it's a lot. A whole lot.

7:35 p.m. I have very few regrets in this life; even most of my bad decisions have gotten me other places I want to be, have helped me learn and grow. But I do kind of wish I'd gone bowling.

7:37 p.m. I'm going to challenge myself. I think I can clean the whole sunroom, have it presentable for guests, in 15 minutes. What do you think? Also, I initially wrote "...have it resentable for guests..." Well, you know what? If you're a guest, and you actually resent my cleaning efforts, you can go to hell, buddy. Right to hell. Sometimes blogging is a procrastination tool. OK. Really going to clean for 15 minutes now.

8:07 p.m. Fifteen minutes was not enough, but 25 minutes was enough to clean the sunroom AND talk about the imminent cancellation of someone else's Halloween party to which I was not invited AND go to the bathroom AND put on pajamas. So, not bad.

8:32 p.m. Local schools are closed tomorrow; still no word on whether I have work. But the rain seems to be getting stronger; I'll be surprised if the worst of the storm is really past us by 9. Are any of you still reading? Comment to keep me (and each other) company.

8:41 p.m. I have a special guest star coming!

8:45 p.m. The guest star has arrived. We are now watching Important Things with Demetri Martin together. This promises to be way more entertaining for me than for you, I think. He is the same guest star as we had for the first debate.

8:49 p.m. ... Except now we are out of episodes. We are going back to watching the last episode of the first season. It's on time. Hahahahahaha.

9:03 p.m. The college is closed until noon tomorrow. So, that's cool.

10:24 p.m. OMG you guys. I am so sorry, I didn't forget about you. But Special Guest Star and i started talking about feminism and stuff and then we started watching Hot In Cleveland which you really should be watching. Still have power, still have a few Fritos (though SGS is making a dent in that), and the storm may actually be winding down.

10:57 p.m. SGS and I think but are not sure the rain has stopped.

Nowhere to hide in a small town

This morning, I got up early and went for a long walk with my neighbor, as I sometimes do.

Then, as I sometimes do, still wearing my exercise clothes, I climbed into the daybed in my sunroom to watch last night's Daily Show.

And then around 8 someone rang the bell. I ignored it, as I sometimes do, because I was not expecting anyone and I was not dressed for company and if it was some political thing, I didn't really have time for a long conversation.

Then that someone knocked, in case I hadn't heard the bell. And then I just froze in place, not making a sound, not wanting to so much as rustle so whoever it was would just go away.

And then whoever it was did go away. Very briefly. Until he started taking apart the room I was in —from the outside. Apparently "someone" was my contractor, who is supposed to be doing some work on my house, but who I did not know was starting this morning. But at this point, I was still a mess, and  also a mess who has pretended not to have heard the doorbell or the knock, which might be reasonable if I was in the shower or something, but which is in no way reasonable when I am sitting in the sunroom.

So I stayed frozen. The Daily Show ended and I didn't put anything else on. I unfroze long enough to pull the covers over my head at one point when he got too close to the window.

And then, finally, after some period longer than several minutes but arguably shorter than the one million years it felt like, there was quiet.

I assumed he'd gone back to his truck to get a tool or something. I scurried from the sunroom back to my bedroom, where I quickly got ready for work. I figured I'd just admit the whole thing, except for the hiding. And so I emerged, smiling, dressed, shod, coiffed, ready to engage with the contractor — and he was nowhere. His tools were in a heap on my deck, but the contractor was gone, and so was his truck.

So I was left with no opportunity to explain, but he was obviously going to notice my car, which had been in the garage, was not anymore.

Obviously, I left the awkwardest note in the universe under his pile of tools and took off for work.

This is a fantastic start to this relationship, I feel.

How's your day going?

New debate, old computer

9:06 Here we go!

9:10 OMG everyone I am so late and they are already talking about Libya. But there are new rules for tonight: No drinks near the computer. It's an oldoldold computer, but it's the one I've got, and it'll have to do for a bit. Of course, the fact that I am so late means I have had no opportunity to make lemonade for whiskey lemonade and therefore have no drink at all. What goes in (soft) cider? More whiskey?

9:14 Hm. Technical difficulties abound.The old computer has a harder time with the faster blogging, and Huff Post Live on the Roku has frozen while it rebuffers. If I'm missing anything important, please let me know. Meanwhile, I'm making a drink.

9:18 Still no debate for me. I'm going to miss those famous zingers! Seriously, is anyone saying anything important? I should probably figure out if my radio works. Maybe if it does, Nixon will win.

9:22 Radio does not, in fact, work, but Huff Post Live is back. The president thinks we want to be careful of who we give weapons to. That's novel.

9:24 Oh, and yes. Whiskey goes just fine in (soft) cider. Mmmmmm. You should all go get some. Oh, hey, Mitt's saying something. 

9:25 The president just totally interrupted Mitt. Now, that's fine by me, but it seems like it'd be against the rules of debating. Someone said on the radio today that what defines a good debate moderator is physical proximity to the candidates. They jokingly suggested handcuffs.

9:31 I have both audio and video, but they are in no way synced and the audio's cutting in and out. This should do wonders for facilitating my already completely shaky understanding of foreign policy. Oh, wait, Mitt says we want a peaceful world. That sounds good. Too bad the sound then immediately cut out completely, rendering me unable to hear what he's going to do about that. Those of you who can hear him, does it involve ensuring everyone has access to, say, food, housing, and medical care?

9:37 Ooooh, President O. Hit him in the small business! Go gogogogogogo!

9:40 Mitt Romney, I went to school in Massachusetts. The kids do well because Massachusetts is FULL of academic parents. Also, in the particular school I went to, which was very highly regarded, cheating was RAMPANT and funding was HUGE. How is that related to you exactly? Whihc part are you responsible for?

9:44 I was at the Salt Lake City Olympics, and they were amazing. I loved Mitt Romney then. I wish he'd sort of faded away after that.

9:55 Is Mitt anti-diplomacy?

9:58 I don't know how you'd even begin to isolate Romney's "biggest whopper," but OK.

10:03 During the first debate, I thought Obama sounded smart and Romney sounded like a liar. Other people thought Obama sounded boring and Romney sounded dynamic. I think the same thing again. Do other people think Obama's boring tonight? Do they think it matters? I mean, I'd take a boring smart president over a dynamic liar, if those were my choices.

10:07 Mitt appears to be sweating a lot. I did not know he could do that. Possibly but not definitely unrelated: I have finished my drink.

10:26 I'm sorry, I'm still here, I just haven't had anything to say in 20 minutes. Don't some of you have something to say?

10:29 "People will look it up," say the candidates. Um...

10:32 Oh, good, Bob Schieffer showed up and he loves teachers. Whatever. P.S. Mitt Romney has the creepiest laugh ever.

10:34 I like the president and I love my country and if I never hear the good ol' U.S. of A. referred to as the "greatest nation in the world," it'll be too soon.

10:35 How the heck does any Republican in 2012 get to be the peace candidate?

10:37 The Huff Post Live crew thought it was a terrible debate. OK. I'll buy that.

What works

I'm off soon for opening night of The Big Play, but I had a thought earlier today that I'd like to expand on.

Every workplace has its pros and cons. Here are some things I dig about my current workplace:

• I have never gotten an e-mail scolding me about the refrigerator.
• We have unisex bathrooms.
• Even though we have unisex bathrooms, I have never had to lower a toilet seat.

So, it's possible. Why isn't it universal?

What's up

There's been a lot going on around here, primarily work and a play I'm doing, but also some other volunteer stuff.

As a result, you get one of those bulleted lists I have become famous for.

• I now think of myself as writing two types of posts: Ones that I hope are hilarious or brilliant and will become viral masterworks, and ones that I write to let my most faithful readers (who include some of my closest friends) know what's up. This is the second kind. You can tell because no one who doesn't know me would care about it.
• I had an MRI yesterday. You do not need to worry about that. You may need to worry about this: when they asked what I wanted on the satellite radio to distract me, I chose classic rock because I was too embarrassed to say what I really wanted, which was conservative talk radio. Rush and Glenn Beck are pretty perfect distractions, but I am not about to discuss that with strangers.
• I got involved in the aforementioned play in such a convoluted way I have to believe it was meant to be. I am not sure if the reason for that was to introduce me to these amazing people, or to get me back in a theater, or to make me think about gender and mental health differently, or something else, or some combination, but I don't care. I'm having the time of my life.
• For this year only, my annual Women's Weekend with many friends has been toned down to a smaller getaway with one female friend, starting right after the show closes. I am looking forward to it enough that it is preventing me from sinking into a deep depression at the thought that the show is closing. So, that's good. Check in on me Tuesday.
• Sometimes, on Facebook, I click the "x" for all the "People You May Know" that I don't actually know, until I get a roster of folks I do know but don't choose to friend on Facebook.
• Having spent a lifetime with allergies, I'm finally seeing an allergist in December. She is apparently a woman and very personable, both of which are apparently unusual for allergists.
• Who has a guess for what the oddest thing I'm allergic to is? I bet it's a doozy.
• The foliage up here is still really pretty. I have taken some pictures. I'll share them soon.
• When I hear the phrase, "women in binders," I (and many queers, I'll warrant) picture this, not this. Or also whatever Mitt meant.
• Although the next debate falls on my bowling night, I should be home in time for it. Let's try the liveblogging thing again, shall we? It was so fun last time.

Come out, come out, wherever you are

Happy National Coming Out Day.

I've done some stuff on outness in the past. (Here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here, specifically.)

This year, I'm saving it for the LGBTQIA folks here on CMC.

I'll pose the same challenge on my own Facebook page, but understanding that some of you readers are not my Facebook friends, and that some of you who are may prefer the anonymity of the blog, we're doing it here, too.  If you have one, use the comments to share a coming-out story. Pick whatever one you'd most like to share (The most recent? The first? The funniest? The weirdest? The most educational?). Heck, tell us a couple. Tell as many as you feel inclined to. Use your real name or a fake one; I don't care.

This should go without saying, but: Your own stories only, please.

If you have something to share that's not a coming-out story, just for today, I'm asking you not to do it here. Feel free to comment on the CMC Facebook page, or to come back and comment on the blog another day, or to e-mail questions or comments or whatever, but for today, this space isn't yours. Please, please, please pass this on to others who might have something to share. I'd love for this comment thread to get loooooong.

I'll start with one, but will likely share one or two others through the day in the comments:

I was a senior in college, and completely freaking out about all the things seniors in college freak out about (what will I do with my life? Who am I, anyway?) and scheduled an appointment with my Women's Studies professor (an excellent professor and influence in a very early-90s gender deconstructionist way) the Tuesday before Thanksgiving to talk about the fact that my passions seemed to be in Women's Studies, but I didn't want to stay in school long enough to teach it, and I didn't want to work in non-profits the rest of my life. So we talked about that, and in very dramatic fashion, I think I told her more or less every thought I had in my head (My boyfriend collects handguns and I don't believe in handguns! I'm in this weird situation with my roommates! I think I'm bisexual* and I don't know what to do with that!). I'd literally never before that moment admitted even to myself that that was even a real possibility. 

And she was my first of many examples that someone can be fine with what you say and still respond in ways you'd prefer they not. Her response (to all of the above, actually), was, "So what?" Which was, in its horrible, dismissive, evil way, fantastic. It did not calm me down any, but it got me to verbalize about what, specifically, was the big deal of my story ("Gender may all be socialized**, but socialization is real, and people have real and sometimes dangerous reactions to people who stray outside the lines, and just because you're an academic doesn't mean I will always have the protection you can claim for yourself!").

And then, I calmed down. 

*I do not, anymore, identify as bisexual, though I did for more than a decade.
**I do not, anymore, think gender is all socialized, but I did at the time and so did she. I should e-mail her and find out if she still thinks that. 

Foliage for Joe (possibly the first in a series)

More than a week ago, frequent reader and commenter Joe asked about the foliage. I have so badly wanted to do a foliage post since, but it has been raining for a week.

Yesterday, it was sunny and in the 70s, and rather than risk the gorgeous weather waiting to have time to take pictures in more scenic locations, you're getting what I shot with my 2-year-old cell phone while walking to get lunch on Main Street. I know some of you wonder, even with all my delightful stories, how I could ever have left the DC area to live in New Hampshire. Wonder no more.

Joe, this one's for you.

Click on any image for a bigger one. I think.

(OK, the sky is not really as blue as it is in this last picture.
As may be obvious, I shot this one from my car while I was at a stoplight, on my way back from dropping off my computer, so that blue is the shade on the top of my windshield.
But the leaf color is all real, and all the colors in the other pics are all real.)

Smells Like Teen Something

Allow me to present a real conversation that just happened to me.

Me: My computer won't turn on. It's possible that it just won't charge.
Service technician younger than my car: OK, I think I talked to you on the phone. You've had it less than a year?
Me: Yes.
STYTMC: [Types a bunch into his computer] OK.
Me: It was working fine Wednesday night until about 10:30, and then, Thursday morning, it wasn't working at all.
STYTMC: OK.
Me: [Hesitates]
STYTMC: [Waits]
Me: Um, here's what I'm afraid might have happened. I was out of the room, and a friend spilled a drink near the computer, and we didn't think he spilled any on the computer, but I'm worried maybe he did and we didn't take care of it right away because we didn't think we needed to.
STYTMC: [Types a bunch into his computer. Looks at me. Smells my laptop.] What do you think might have been spilled on it?
Me: Um, whiskey and lemonade.
STYTMC: [Sighs almost imperceptibly {but not imperceptibly enough, buddy}, types more.] OK. I'll figure it out.

Now, I get that this story makes me look bad, but also:

• What was he typing after I said "whiskey and lemonade"? Is there a service code for whiskey and lemonade?
• When he says, "I'll figure it out," does he mean, "I'll figure out what's wrong with your computer and fix it."? Or does he mean, "I'll figure out whether it was whiskey and lemonade or something else by licking your computer."? Because it kind of seemed like the latter. 
• I think I might be OK with the latter, as long as it's also the former.

In related news, a long weekend starts tomorrow and I will not have a computer until Monday at the earliest. We'll see how I do with that.

Hell yes, I'm liveblogging the debate. What could go wrong?

Remember when I live-ish blogged the vice president's visit to campus?

We're trying that again with the debate.

9:04 blah blah blah rules. Here's my setup: I'm at home, watching the debate on Huffington Post Live through the Roku. I've been home sick-ish from work, trying to nip a cold in the bud, and am now eating a giant salad with my friend and special guest star, who has shockingly not yet earned a nickname on CMC yet, but we'll try to fix that tonight.

9:08 Do you think part of Romney's problem is that he's in the Uncanny Valley?

9:09 Oh, if any of you thought you were going to get any information out of this liveblog, you're in the wrong place. All I have is snarky remarks, with high hopes for occasional real admiration.

9:12 This salad is amazing.

9:13 I think we're going to play the drinking game. That's a lot to juggle. Hang on while I make a drink. I'm leaving the computer with my special guest star, in case he has anything to say about anything.

9:15 Special guest star is having trouble understanding Romney because of glitches in the sound and therefore has very little to say. Also Obama now that he's back on. Oh well.

9:17 Bzzzzgrrrl back again, with a delicious whiskey lemonade. SO MANY sound glitches, and the audio and video do not currently match. BOOOOOOOOO Huffington Post Live through the Roku.

9:18 Special guest star says, and I agree, "Taxes affect me and how hard I have to work and all that, but I mostly just care how people are treated." He then elaborated for a bit on which people he means (hint: ALL THE PEOPLE).

[9:21 taking a break from liveblogging to focus on the drinking game.]

[9:22 except that now we have no sound at all, for huge chunks of time.]

9:25 Sound's back, but this version of the game has people drink if anyone says "taxes." I would be wasted already, just in the several minutes I've been playing, if I could actually keep up with how often they say that. I'm just going to drink my drink at a regular pace instead. Oh, here's some information: whiskey lemonade is the ideal alcoholic beverage when you are sickish. You should not be "chugging" alcohol when you're sick, though, I don't think. And I'm not.

9:30 Special guest star, who is, not coincidentally, a Quaker, said if Romney didn't mention the military in his list of PBS and health care and other things he'll cut, he (special Quaker guest star) would punch him (Romney) in the face. And now I can never reveal who the special guest star is, for fear of Secret Service involvement. But I am now obviously on some list. Thanks a lot, Quaker.

9:38 Commenter Joe just said something funnier than anything I would ever have thought to say. I am not repeating it up here, but you should go read it, especially if you, say, used to work with Commenter Joe and me. Or for any of a number of other fine DC-area publications. SO GLAD you're reading, buddy.

9:42 I can't tell if Jim Lehrer hates them both, or just Romney. But there is some real loathing going on there.

9:46 Special guest star sez: He seems so angry. It's the way his lips are.

9:47 Me to special guest star: Is it gross to you that I'm just eating my salad with my fingers now?
Special guest star: Not in the least.
That, my friends, is what friendship looks like.

9:53 I totally have room in my garage to open a bank. I should do that. My uncle's been pushing for a wood shop.

9:59 "Expensive things hurt families." Special guest star thinks he means when a guy hits his wife with a Tiffany lamp. I just assumed he meant fancy heterosexual weddings.

10:05 When special guest star watches the debate through his glass, it looks like a TV on TV, like when people on TV are watching a TV show.

10:15 Here's my proposed drinking game for the next debate: Drink when Romney smirks inappropriately. I feel like it's simpler than other forms out there, and also would result in a similar amount of drinking. Dude really is a champion smirker.

10:19 We are patently not a nation that believes we're all children of the same God. Some of us believe that, and part of what gives that belief any weight is that we don't have to believe it as a nation. Others of us do not believe that, and what we do believe as a nation is that people can believe what they believe.

10:20 Did he just offer school choice to lower-income children but not poor children?

10:24 "You're entitled to your own house, and your own plane, but not not your own facts." That must be one of those zingers we've heard Romney's been practicing since August.

10:28 That inspiration I was looking for? Got it.

10:30 I have to say, mockery aside, this was a better debate than I was anticipating. More civil. 'Course, Joe's gone to bed now, so what more can there really be to say?

10:33 Just this: "I will not cut the military." Wow.

10:36 And this: Huffington Post Live, a bunch of analysts and journalists sitting at their computers in their offices is not "the definition of an afterparty." You need to get out more.

Things that would not happen in Washington (but would happen in a movie)

In a staff meeting, at my office, discussing a technical freelancer we may hire, my boss had reason to say, "She had a goat emergency yesterday."

I love this series.

Me and my World-Famous Style

I don't often just share things here that are posted by other people — I tend to use the Facebook page for that (hey, have you "liked" the Facebook page yet? Think how much extra fun stuff you might be missing!).

But then sometimes famous fashion bloggers who are also coincidentally my friends and former coworkers blog tell me what to wear on the internet! (Tell me on the internet, not what to wear on the internet. You got that, right?)

So, read her post.

So... how do you feel about that outfit? Think you have a better suggestion?

Beaten

I went to a house concert Saturday night and saw Antje Duvekot perform.

Overall, it was a good show, but then she played one song I disliked a lot and everyone else looooved it, so she said, "If you liked that, you'll like this next one," and I was afraid of what would happen next, because the one before was really just awful, but then she played this piece of awesome and I wanted to share it with you. It's possibly not for the squeamish. But now that I've said that, how can you resist?




You're welcome.

Pointy

It's been a busy time around here, resulting in me attempting to write a handful of bullet-point, scattershot posts of whimsical thoughts and failing at even that by the time I get to about the second bullet point. Why so busy? Glad you asked.

• At work, there are a bunch of big, time-sensitive projects, and we're down three staff (in a roughly 14-person office). That means I'm working lots of extra time, which, for me, in unsustainable. I work a 12-hour day, come in the next morning and can't focus because my brain is fried, don't get much done in the early part of the day, have to stay late, wake up early and do a little work then, come in and can't focus.... You get the picture. I am hopeful that by the end of tomorrow, I'll be done with the crunch and able to focus on work at work, rest and play when not at work.
• I'm also doing a little volunteer work for my church. The volunteer work is in my professional field, which means when I'm too fried to work, I'm also too fried to volunteer.
• Outside of work, I'm stage managing a staged reading. Lots of fun, but it's two rehearsals a week with an hour round-trip commute.
• My car's broken. I've got a crack mechanic working on it now, but meanwhile, I've been on foot off-and-on for about a week and a half.
• I don't need a lot of social time, generally, but I do need some, because my work is largely unsocial and I live by myself. Trying to squeeze that in is one more thing.
• It's still beautiful up here, weatherwise. I want to be outside in it every minute I can before that gets less practical.
• When I'm stressed and busy like this, I tend to most easily cut back on both spiritual practices and physical exercise, which is unacceptable, because while those also take time and focus, they (along with aforementioned social time) are also what enable me to handle the rest of it. So, trying to make time for those.
• Oh, dishes and laundry and figuring out how to fix the front hall light fixture and showering and, you know, stuff.

Fallen asleep yet? OK, for all three of you who are still out there, you get the reward of the bullet-point-or-two from each of those unfinished posts. Woohoo!

• My left calf is significantly bigger than my right.
• Nonetheless, I found boots that fit, and I love them more than at least a couple of my friends. Not you, obviously — you're my favorite. Though the boots were cheaper than you. Wait, now we're getting into a weird place.
• The movie Brazil is less entertaining to me now than it was in 1987 — possibly because I was less aware in 1987, possibly because so much of what we could call "dystopian" then we just have to call "real" now. Or possibly because I don't like all things British — including Terry Gilliam — as much as it seems like I would.
• I know I'm in the minority, but there are few household chores that I find more satisfying than cleaning the bathroom.
• Two of my latest Pandora stations have been "Call Me Maybe" and "You Can Call Me Al." I bet you'd get something interesting if you mixed those two stations.
• Most of the "Bridezilla" phenomenon is a self-perpetuating media invention, and it makes me sad and we won't get into every nuance of feminist theory that applies here (though if any of you would like to, you need to let me know, stat). But here's one thought: How much of it is due to the weird but apparently prevalent idea that every bride-to-be needs to go on a diet before her wedding and is therefore starving and cranky and semidelirious?
• Since I wrote this post and have been, as I said above, on foot a little more often, I have worn a backpack with a shortish skirt three times. The result is, of course, that I am constantly checking my butt, which I am sure makes me look much more normal/self-aware/classy than those women I was judging.

So, how are you?

Walking a fine plank

Can we talk, just for a sec, about Talk Like a Pirate Day?

Almost 20 years ago now, I totalled a car in St. Augustine, Florida, stranding me and two friends at the Bali Hai Motel, which at the time had recently been purchased by two really lovely Hell's Angels named Calvin and Janet. It was an adventure, and it was the spring break of my senior year in college, and it was in northern Florida, so naturally, one of the friends and I began to discuss our options for becoming pirates, stealing a ship, and never going back to New Jersey to finish our degrees.

Eventually, we did go back to New Jersey, finished our degrees, and that trip actually became a turning point that most of the rest of my life points back to.

We did not steal a ship, we joked about being pirates for a few more months, and then, you know, moved on.

I kept a certain fondness in my heart for all things pirate-themed out of nostalgia for that trip for a while.

And then I started thinking about pirates. Pirates aren't like cowboys. They aren't people who were a little rough but had a job to do and yadda yadda independent spirit yadda yadda campfire song.

They were, and are, thieves, at best. Not clever thieves, so much, not con artsists or cat burglars — more like muggers on the high seas. They rape and murder and kidnap and torture and destroy as they need to to steal stuff; they stab their friends in the back; they engage in slave trade. Sometimes, I guess, they sing (or sang) and drink (or drank), and I guess that's fun, and sometimes, they got rich, but even getting rich meant constantly fighting or running away or both. What made piracy a romantic idea to me in the heady days of 1993 was the running away, frankly, but that can't stay fun for too long. And pirates are real, and current. They steal and murder now. Of course, "Talk Like a Pirate Day" is more like Arrr and less like Somali.

But — what's the appeal? Not for the real pirates; I assume money is the appeal for the real pirates. What's the appeal to the rest of us?

I know to some degree we glamorize other violent criminals, too, between mob movies and gangs and people who write to serial killers in prison. But none of those are generally considered good themes for children's birthday parties.

So, if you spent some chunk of yesterday saying "avast" or "wench" or some such — what's the draw?

More sex talk, thanks to Facebook

Warning: This post is about sex, and while it is not especially graphic, it may make, say, people who are squeamish about sex, or elderly relatives of the blogger, or the blogger herself (who is totally unsqueamish about sex, sort of), a little uncomfortable. Read past this point at your own peril.

Disclaimer: None of this comes from any form of personal experience. It is absolutely all just following a logic that has maybe eluded some folks.


A Facebook friend of mine claims that a man, after sex with an acquaintance of hers, actually took said acquaintance's pulse to make sure she wasn't faking it.

A few things about that:

• I'm not sure what the pulse is supposed to prove. I mean, it might tell the difference between bored to death and acting excited, but it won't tell the difference between excited-but-it's-not-gonna-happen-tonight and acting like it already did, right?
• Even if it did help, it's not information you want. If a woman is prepared to fake it, it's not because she's hoping her partner will do something more or different. It's because she would like her partner to stop trying, for some reason. There is no useful information to be gained in the moment from knowing whether she is faking.*
• If what you hope to gain from such a test is an understanding of whether she can be trusted to be honest in intimate moments, because you care so deeply about that particular piece of honesty, you should figure out whether your problem is that you don't trust women or that you don't trust this woman. If it's the former, get yourself some professional help, because you are not making any friends this way. If it's the latter, stop having sex with her.

Anything to add to this, readers? 

*There might be something to be gained from, in an entirely separate and clothed moment, letting said woman know that it won't hurt your feelings if she just asks you to stop — but only if that's true. Under no circumstance should it be connected to any alleged fakery. Oh, and it should go without saying, but may not, that if your partner asks you to stop, you do, immediately, even if you think you could do better or your feelings are hurt. You know that already, right? If not, for real. You have to.

...and it feels so good

I have a friend, C, who I was close to in high school. We've reconnected in recent years, and I love having her back in my life.

A few weeks back, she asked me if I'd like to come along for a weekend-long reunion some of her friends from high school were having — these were folks I'd known, and in some but not all cases been friends with. But I had not seen most of them literally since the 80s. That's the 1980s, for you youngsters, and it was a magical but complicated time to be a teenager.

We'd all stay in a lodge in the mountains, far from any cell phone service (just like high school!). And folks who had them would bring their significant others and kids.

And for some reason, that sounded awesome in the moment C mentioned it, and so I said yes, enthusiastically.

A few days before the gathering (that'd be last week), I wondered what the hell I was thinking. These folks have all kept up with each other for more than two decades. Their kids and significant others all know each other. I'd be living with more than 20 other people for days, and some of those people would likely scream a lot. Probably none of them would even remember me. Probably none of them even liked me in high school, and when they saw me again, they'd remember why. Probably the food would consist entirely of mangos and walnuts and raw onions (all of which I have mild allergies to). Probably everyone would wonder what was wrong with me that I didn't have a spouse or kids. Probably no one would wonder what was wrong with me, because it's obvious.

Maybe I don't talk all that much about being occasionally irrationally inconsistently horrendously insecure here on City Mouse Country. That might be because I assume it's the most boring thing I could blog about, but hey, the Bloggess writes about it all the time and she's got a fantastic blog and a book deal.

So, in a turn that will surprise none of you who are either more rational or more removed from this story than I am, which is all of you, I went and had the time. of. my. life.

I reconnected with people who might have been gone from my life forever. I met the amazing people who've come into their lives since the 80s. And I was, to my shock, welcomed with open arms. Two old friends in particular spent not-insignificant chunks of time just staring at me and saying my name, like it was simultaneously so cool and so unlikely that I was there they couldn't get over it. We laughed and laughed and laughed. There was hiking and playing and music and a campfire and incredible food and lots of time to catch up. These people who were kids the last time I saw them have kids who are just unbelievable. I also learned a bunch, which I'll share soon but not now, because this post is already plenty long enough.

But the very worst thing that happened to me was a mild sunburn that doesn't even hurt.

And that, my friends, is a damn good weekend.

Oh, also: I do observe that my house seems improbably quiet with just me in it. Is it always like this?

Pro Fashion Tip

Privately, I am superjudgmental about fashion. You should not bother trying to impress me, because my opinions are as firm as they are illogical, which is why I rarely share them out loud and also why I ask for advice so frequently.

Publicly, I do not think my judgments of what other people wear matter much, as long as they are happy with how they're dressed.

But sometimes, I just can't imagine people would be happy with how they're dressed. That's where this excellent advice — from an actual blogger with a "getting dressed" label on some of her posts — comes in handy.

COLLEGE WOMEN OF NEW HAMPSHIRE*: You cannot wear both that short fullish skirt and that bookbag-sized backpack. The backpack makes the skirt ride up and I can see your underpants or the part of your tights that is covering your butt. I am not exaggerating.  I have seen your butt. You need to either ditch the backpack or wear pants — or maybe a longer skirt. You could also get one of those 90s teensy backpacks, though I will admit I never really saw the point. I know your skirt is all the way past your mid-thighs in the front, but in the back, people you would like to date you and/or employ you and/or give you a passing grade can see your butt. For real.







*And also anyone else who wears a backpack with a short skirt.

"Wide calf" is a lie.

I do have more pressing things to share, both political and fashionable, but for now, you get the great disappointment of my day.

The most beautiful boots in the world have arrived at my home for $65, and they are:

• not quite (but almost) as beautiful as I thought they'd be 
• way too small in the calf 
• also too small in the foot. 

 Back they go.

A stream of consciousness about scandal

Here is a hint for the folks at the New York Post, and also voyeuristic journalists everywhere: The phrase "sex orgy" is the creepiest way to say what you mean. Just "orgy" is probably sensationalist enough, and "sex party" would get the point across as well.

I had reason to be aware of that helpful tip for writers of things because apparently a porn actor claims Kim Kardashian was in one 10 years ago.

Oh, about that: YAWN.

The only thing that could make me interested in Kim Kardashian's current romantic or sex life is if she was in an exclusive, very normal relationship with an attractive but unflashy woman, in which they were pleasant to each other and their neighbors and stayed off TV about it and didn't talk about sex but did have a fun jokey relationship with Kim's stepdad. Or maybe Chaz Bono. You can let me know if she gets involved with Chaz Bono.

I do not think anything could make me interested in her past sex life, sex orgies or no.

Except Richard Dawkins.

If she has ever been involved with Richard Dawkins, or ever becomes involved with him, I would also like that information.

Otherwise, I am not interested.

I cannot wait to see what search terms drive people to this post.

My new favorite thing about Mitt Romney

Finally, a practical use for the genealogy lesson I gave you all a few weeks ago.

On The Colbert Report last night, Jon Huntsman and Colbert had this exchange:

Stephen Colbert: We've been told that the more we get to know Mitt Romney, the more we're gonna like him. You're a fellow governor, fellow Mormon, fellow businessman — you've known him for years. What are the things that make you just love him as a person?
[Explosive laughter by the audience, Huntsman sits back in his chair, obviously amused and taken aback.]
Colbert: Top five.
Jon Huntsman: Well, I'd have to say that's a little bit unfair as a question, because I'm an insider. He's a relative. You're supposed to like your relatives.
[Colbert leans forward, obviously taken aback.]
Colbert: Are you related to him?
Huntsman: We share the same great great great grandfather — [Wait, what?]
Colbert: And you love everyone in your family?
Huntsman: — and this great  great great grandfather had twelve wives. He was a polygamist — [Wait, what?! No wonder you're not in Tampa. Are you supposed to say that out loud where people outside Utah can hear you?]
Colbert: Really?
Huntsman: — and Mitt clearly came down from the wife with better hair.

So, absorb that chunk of awesome and then fill in the blank:

That makes them                                .

God vs. the RNC (vs. the NFL)

If Hurricane Isaac (or any hurricane) hits Tampa during the Republican National Convention, I will not view that as a sign from God. I don't think God works that way.

I might, however, view it as a sign from the Republican Party that it doesn't have more sense than to hold a convention in coastal Florida during hurricane season.

Which would mean, you know, less sense than the NFL, which holds its big event in February, but only in cities that are warm or have a dome.

Just saying.

War is hell

My latest TV Thing is watching old episodes of Upstairs, Downstairs. It's ridiculous, and soap-opera-y, and very much fun. So! Much! Scandal!

But, my friends, if you find yourself thinking,

"OhmyGawd I wish World War I would end; it's so boring," 

while lying on your couch, watching a 40-year-old show about people a hundred years ago, thanks to the magic of Netflix instant

— that is how you know you're perhaps too comfortable in your life.

Bucking the trend

A true story from Wednesday:

I was leaving a bank in York, Maine, that I'd been in for reasons we won't get into because they make me look stupid, when a customer service person from said bank came running out after me and called me by my (real) first name.

I turned around. She held a dollar out to me. "I have no idea who dropped this in the bank," she said (though she knew for sure it wasn't me). "Here. It's another dollar for tolls."

And that is how I know I'm in rural New England and not, say, any big city or the area around Washington, D.C.

One iota...

I woke up one morning recently with the vague, semi-lucid thought that I'd confused Ikea for Iota.

• Ikea, as you may know, is a store filled with simplecomplex furniture made (by you) of particle board.
• Iota, as you may or may not know, is an excellent bar in Arlington, Virginia, I frequented about twelve years ago, with fabulous live music and good bartenders and amazing food and possibly even better memories.

And having woken completely from that jarring thought, I then started making a list of sentences in which it might be bad to have that confusion.

• "Oh, yeah, I saw Frank Black at Ikea. You know, from the Pixies?"
• "We used to go to Ikea after work at the bar."
• "I love the food at Ikea, but the service is crap."
• "I don't go to Ikea as often as I used to, but I like to go feel like I'm a 28-year-old waitress with cool friends and good taste sometimes."
• "I met this porn director at Ikea once who had coincidentally lived in my exact apartment. Weird, right?"

OK, some of those actually work, disturbingly.

Maybe it's better when I don't share my semi-lucidity with you.

What year is it?

As of Saturday, I am 41. 

You may know that, for the last several years, I've been doing birthday-to-birthday "years of."

• 38 was the year of cute shoes, explained somewhat here (complete with link to the original inspiration for said year). It was awesome. 
• 39 was the year of time management. (Meh. Mildly successful, exactly as boring as it sounds.) 
• 40 was the year of having people over. (Mixed results, but, like the year of cute shoes, it has started me on a path I like a whole lot.)
• And 41 is the year of... I don't know.

That's where you come in.

I've had some ideas, of course, but I'm realizing that what makes a "year of" really successful is the combination of implicit instruction and superfun. So, for the year of cute shoes, I was obviously going to buy a few pairs of, and consistently wear, cute shoes. For the year of having people over, I had people over, alone and in groups. And my current 41 ideas are too big. "The year of love;" "the year of art" — that could mean so many things. I need more obvious goals within my control. More along the lines of "the year of crochet," except that I am not interested enough in crochet for that to be it.

So, it's (partially) up to you. Here and on the Facebook page, I'm taking suggestions. What's this the year of? We're three days in already; it's time to get cracking. Feel free to invite friends, neighbors, and total strangers to join the fun; there's no reason for people who actually know me and my interests to have all the fun.

7 thoughts on chicken sandwiches (but you only have to read #5)

SIGH.

I have stayed mostly out of this Chick-Fil-A business, because, ugh.

But my Facebook still remains full of (mostly straight) people on multiple sides (and you can bet there are more than two) of this issue, and a couple of regular readers have asked me for some thoughts or clarity on this, so here it is, in handy list form:

1. I don't care whether you boycott Chick-Fil-A. We all live in a semi-capitalist society, and unless you are Amish or similar, you will sometimes patronize businesses that support your values, and sometimes patronize businesses that do not. It sucks, but it's true.
2. I do not eat at Chick-Fil-A. I don't call it a boycott, because the nearest Chick-Fil-A is 50 miles from me, so it's a pretty academic distinction. 
3. I deeply support Dan Cathy's right to spend his money, and his privately owned company's foundation's money, however he chooses. Seriously. He is entitled to his opinion.
4. I even more deeply thank Dan Cathy, and all other straightforward folks, for discussing where they spend said money. Understanding point #1, I think we all deserve to know where our money's going, and I'd encourage all people who are going to have company foundations to tell us what's what. Many LGBTQ folks and their allies have had this information for a long time. If you're just now catching on, that doesn't make it new. It means Dan Cathy is doing it right, however abhorrent and oppressive I may find his opinions.
5. If you learn nothing else, here is the one point I hope you know, understand, believe, share with all your friends: Boycotts do not suppress free speech. They are free speech. Our right to free speech means Dan Cathy can say what he wants and not get arrested for it.* It also means other people can do what they want about what he says, within the law. Not eating really sugary chicken with pickles is absolutely one of those things people can do.
6. Please be nice. If you've decided, in keeping with #1, that you're still going to eat at Chick-Fil-A, OK. If you've decided that that is a proud and noble stand to take, I don't get it, but OK. But if you know you have (or may have) queer friends, who are actively suffering (or may have suffered) thanks to the efforts of the Chick-Fil-A Foundation, maybe don't make such a thing of your proud and noble stand on Facebook?
7. That's also not a suppression of free speech. That is a person who tries to be mostly kind hoping that her friends will maybe try to do the same in public spaces they know she'll be in. It's not censorship to remind people I exist.

*BTW, as a wealthy white Christian male, the odds that he'd get arrested for it even without our right to free speech are pretty slim. But whatevs.

Oh, goody. Sickie's got bullet points.

I left work early today with a fever.

Normally, as you know, sickness means two things for me:

• grumpiness, and
• blogging

Today, I think I have worked through the grumpiness, but not the blogging. I also might not have worked through the mild lightheadedness which is totally not to say delirium.

So you get every random thought in my head right now:

• I really like the (real) wood paneling in my house.
• My new favorite drink consists of 3/4 cup gin, one 12-ounce can ginger beer, 1 cup lemonade (serves four).
• My new second favorite drink consists of half a glass of lemonade and half a glass of ginger beer (serves me, repeatedly).
• My new third favorite drink is hibiscus peppermint iced tea.
• This show "Traffic Light"? Isn't bad.
• That show, "Take Me Out"? Kind of is, but I have watched every episode anyway.
• Regarding that, I can understand people wanting to wait until they're married, but doesn't buying a ring for your hypothetical future wife you haven't met yet suggest that you're not able to approach women as individuals, who might have specific tastes (or ring sizes) (or metal allergies)? Or is a man who does that playing it Cinderella-style, where the woman who likes the ring and can wear it is his One True Love?
• I already shared this on the CMC Facebook page, but I need Joe to see it, too. As I said there, "I don't care how you feel about this song, this version is adorable. And sort of crowded."
• I really wish I was watching the Opening Ceremonies. Don't worry, I'll watch them later. You were worried, right? That's sweet of you.
• Sweat is just gross sometimes. And there's, like, a lot.
• No, wait. Lying around sweat is gross. Sweat from working out or hiking or something is, like, pure.
• I think the thermometer might be in the living room.
• 99.0! Woo-hoo ibuprofen!
• I had another thought, but now it's gone. Damn.
• I had a hilarious conversation earlier today that I can't share yet. I'll set it up for tomorrow.
• Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad. 

Tips for not seeming super-creepy

One of many things that came up in the family was a long-ago internet episode that embarrassed two family members and a bunch of morris dancers. The theme of that story is "we don't always know how we're perceived by others."

In that vein, let's say you think you might like a person, but you don't know if she likes you.

Let's walk through some of the steps you might take in pursuing this friendship.

1. Even though she is a complete stranger, introduce yourself in a flirtatious manner. [Hint: Stop here to evaluate response.]
2. When her response is to shut down to the point of semi-open hostility, continue to chat and tease her about how quiet she is. [Hint: Stop. She is not interested.]
3. If, over the course of weeks, you often see her with her friends, wait until they leave and then approach her when she is alone. [Hint: Stop. This is mildly creepy.]
4. Suggest, on one of these approaches, that she should not have ordered food without you but should instead have ordered food that you can share. [Hint: Stop. This is creepier.]
5. Ask where she lives. [Hint: Stop. Super creepy.]
6. When she gives you a town name, ask for a street name. [Hint: Stop. You have taken what could have been a positive sign, that she did not resist your creepiness and instead gave you an answer, and took it to a new level of creepy rather than just holding off to see where it went.]
7. Tell her where you live, explain that you have a farm with goats and chickens but not pigs anymore. Ask if she likes animals. [Hint: Stop. The farm business could have been innocent enough, but her guard is already up, and "do you like animals?" feels like there's something creepy behind it, even if there isn't.]
8. When her friends come back, ask one of them if she thinks you have a chance with "the one in the white pants." [Hint: Stop. You have tipped the friend off to the fact that you are hitting on a woman whose name you don't know, and have been for a couple weeks. Creepy, regardless of the friend's response.]
9. The friend says no, and explains that the woman you are hitting on is on a lesbian bowling team, and that the woman in question doesn't so much date men, and you are a man. [Hint: Stop. Seriously, dude, you are barking up the wrong tree, even if you weren't a creep.]
10. Wait until the friend leaves, and then call the woman in question by name, and ask again where she lives. Push for increasing levels of specificity, down to the house number. [Hint: Stop. She does not date men, and she knows you didn't know her name 20 minutes ago, and you have absolutely, irrevocably passed the point at which she might have been even your friendly bowling alley acquaintance. At this point, you are kind of lucky she isn't calling the police.]

In which I demonstrate the skills I claimed in the last post

Reader nyczoo asked for clarification on the familial relationships. I tried to explain thus: 

• Siblings have a common set of parents
• First cousins have a common set of grandparents
• Second cousins have a common set of great-grandparents
• etc.

"X times removed" is the number of generations off you are.

So, my first cousin and I share grandparents. Her sons and I share common ancestors, but they're skewed by one generation (my grandparents are their great-grandparents).

So we are first cousins once removed.

And then I tried to get into the advanced forms, and decided it would be easier to do a drawing, which is what I always do in person.

Here:

Click to make it larger if that's helpful.

Alice and Bob are married; their children, Cathy and Eric, married Dean and Fern, respectively.
So Henry and Karen are first cousins. Got it?
Henry would therefore be first cousin once removed to Nancy's son Ted.
Henry's daughter Ophelia is second cousin to Ted (same generation, share great-grandparents Alice and Bob).

Even more advanced:
If, in the picture above, George and Jerry are siblings to each other, Penny and Quincy are double first cousins.

Things I learned from a week of having family around, some of them as houseguests

• 12 people's disparate tastes take up a lot of space in the fridge, though they narrow the possibilities for dinner to salmon or Manhattan clam chowder. Heck, in my family, 12 people's disparate tastes in beer alone can fill up the fridge completely.
• If you put an unsealed bag of coffee in the trunk of your car sideways, you'll get coffee all over the space heater and board games and lumber you're storing in your trunk.
• If the best family characteristic of your family is a fantastic and shared sense of humor, and the worst is an inability to plan, then: overall win. 
• Two 12-ounce bags of oyster crackers is too many. Like, way too many.
• You need to listen to every old family story, even the ones you've heard a million times, because somewhere in there, at some point, someone will add a nuance or an offhand remark or a whole new story that will blow. your. mind. This will sound to members of my family like I am talking about one thing, but they will each be thinking of different things. That is how often my mind was blown this week.
• Different people have different roles in an extended family. This is not all I do, but some of my strengths are: having many beds in my house; being willing to draw a family tree on any scrap of paper; keeping straight the differences between first cousins, second cousins, and first cousins once removed. Oh, and being ready to go. Usually.
• There is never enough one-on-one time to get all your questions answered.
• Some of the highlights of a week like this will be sunsets, and hikes, and experiences. A lot of them? Will be short snippets of conversations.
• No matter how much you love your guests, no matter how much fun you have with them, if you otherwise live alone, you will be ready to take your pants off when they leave. And also, maybe then you'll spontaneously fall asleep mid-blog-post.
• When your houseguests return to their lives, they will likely forget something. In this case, "something" means a big pink water bottle and a bottle of shampoo. So far.

Things I learned from two full weeks of dogsitting

• The most desirable place in my yard to poop is the property line with my neighbors.
• If a dog isn't allowed on the bed, and you agree with that philosophically and also respect the dog's owner's wishes, but nonetheless aren't feeling well and would like to snuggle with a doggie, you can lie down on the couch as if it were a bed and have the dog come up there. As long as the dog is allowed on the couch.
• Dogs are better at opening doors than they are at closing them behind them.
• There is always an adult male fishing at Robin Hood Park. He may have a child or a woman or another adult male or no one with him, but he is always there. Not always the same adult male; I think they must have a schedule to be sure all shifts are covered.
• A small dog with a big-dog bark will scare mice away.
• When you return a dog to his owners, with "all his stuff," you will likely forget something. In my case, "something" means food dish, water dish, placemat food and water dish sit on, fleece blanket, destroyed stuffed elephant, destroyed tennis ball, and two sticks of rawhide. So far.

3rd of July

...so now it's July, and I'm committed to writing three posts a week, and it's late Tuesday, and I have very little to say. Oh, well, you know my motto, "when in doubt, make a list." Things I should be doing:

• Finishing up my self-paced online music appreciation class that started in May and ends Saturday. I, um, just took the midterm. But hey, I got a 95! Specifically:
• Completing classes,
• Researching the vibraphone,
• Writing a “concert attendance report” on the opera I went to last week,
• Writing two other short assignments
• Finding a dentist. Part of my tooth fell out last night.
• Cleaning my house in anticipation of the family who will visit soon. Specifically:
• Making the office inhabitable for me.
• Putting away the clothes that are on the bed in my room.
• Cramming the costumes back into the costume trunk in the guest room.
• Tidying the living room.
• Going to the dump. Trash pickup here is so expensive, but not having trash pickup involves actually remembering to go to the dump at a time the dump is open.
• Making dinner.
• Going to the bank.
• Going to the drugstore.

Things I have been doing instead:

• Playing with the dog I'm dog-sitting.
• Feeding the cat I'm cat-sitting.
• Reading an old Danielle Steele novel in the interest of keeping said cat company.
• Playing video games.
• Watching the Seven Up series (which, no kidding, if you haven't seen, you must)
• Watching crappy TV with much less redeeming social value than the Seven Up series
• A little bowling (not very much, seriously)

So, yeah, I should get back to that top list. How about you? What's new?

Not tonight, dear

Things that are less fun with a migraine than they might otherwise be, in chronological order of me discovering it today:

• reading
• editing
• making other people happy
• remembering my coworker's name*
• interacting with the friendly guy at the convenience store
• beautiful sunny days
• active puppies
• waking up from a dream about not having a migraine
• being awake
• watching Community

Oh, in case you were wondering if anything wasn't less fun, I think this wasn't, though you can bet I'll try watching it again when I don't have a headache, just in case it's even better than I think.

*OK, to be fair, this wasn't so much "less fun" as it was "more difficult." This is a close coworker, both geographically and friend-wise, and I've known her for more than a year.

More dog days of summer

You may recall that I am dog-sitting.

The lucky puppy and I are having a blast. Once a day, I try to send a wrap-up text about him and his buddy, who's a cat, to their owners on vacation. And because they're so adorable, I try to include a picture snapped with my phone.

Did I mention he's a puppy?

Here's a small sample of photo attempts:

I did manage to get one acceptably good one:

Cute, right? And deceptively placid-looking? 

Yeah, don't let him fool you.

Blogs I love

It's been a little while since I drew your attention to my blogroll, or since I did anything with it myself, so I'm taking a cue from Genny.

Here's what I'm reading and loving these days. I'm even using (almost) the labels I use in my reader for this post (it gets complicated, because there's overlap, but, well, I do what I can).

The blogs that used to be on my blogroll but aren't anymore are the ones that haven't had any posts in a long time (if by friends) or that I don't really read anymore (if by non-friends). And that's quite enough parentheses for an introduction.

Friends

• Stumbling Towards Career (career by a smart woman and good pal)
• washashore (gorgeous photos)
• People I don't want to date (updated only infrequently, but hilarious when it does get updated)
• my name is hili (a woman named Hili chronicles what the people at Starbucks think her name is)
• Coming Clean (someone cleans her room, which is funnier and more inspiring than it sounds)
• traveldigressions (travel tips from someone who travels a lot)
• 30 Days of Adventures (a country pastor does 30 days of something at a time)
• living dharma (the life of a former Buddhist monk)
• Genny's Journal (fashion and family)
• From Where I Sit (my old boss and current friend's current life, in which she also shares a lot of neat stuff from elsewhere on the internet)
• Happy Living (my former coworker has a fiance and a baby, and she's moving soon)
• Anonykids (a mother of twins tells funny stories)
• Castle Rock Farm (cute pictures of baby animals, among other things)
• I Peed on My Kid! (stay-at-home dadness)
• Polka Dot Cottage (crafts and family)

Funny ha ha

• Bitterly Books
• Text from Dog
• Least Helpful
• Lifetime, Wow!
• "Literally Unbelievable"
• Damn You Auto Correct
• Our Valued Customers
• passive-aggressive notes
• xkcd

Race

• I'm not racist, but...
• Jack and Jill Politics
• Microaggressions (this one could go in any of the diversity categories, but since I listed race first, for now it goes here)
• my culture is not a trend.
• Racialicious

Feminism

• Finally, A Feminism 101 Blog
• I Blame the Patriarchy

LGBTQ

• A Radical TransFeminist
• Dorothy Surrenders

Random strangers

• A Black Girl's Guide to Weight Loss
• Single Dad Laughing
• The Bloggess
• Margaret and Helen
• She Just Walks Around With It
• Steam Me Up, Kid...
• The Creamery
• Tyler Coates
• Holy Prepuce!

So, what's missing? What are you reading or writing on the internets that I don't have on my list? What do you think the rest of us would looooove?

Things I learned from the first 20 hours of two weeks of dog-sitting

• I really am allergic to dogs. Really allergic. As much as I am to cats.
• Dogs really like to be close to people.
• Cetrizine Hydrochloride is no longer an effective allergy medicine for me. At least for my dog allergy.
• If there's one thing dogs love, it's wadded up Kleenex.
• You can't buy allergy medicine with a decongestant unless you have your driver's license.
• If you, say, forgot to bring your driver's license to the drugstore, you can't reasonably "just run in" for it if there's a dog in a crate in your house, because he will go INSANE and you will feel like the meanest person alive.
• There are many reasons I don't own a dog (like allergies and that I prefer to have the option of being irresponsible), but not-unhigh on the list is that I am worried the dog will judge me. The last two dogs I've dogsat for came from households with two adults and two interesting children. I suspect these dogs are bored to tears with me, because the parts of my life that are exciting (me being out of my house) and the parts that are relaxing (me lying around in my house) are both pretty dog-boring. 

Oly, oly, oxen-free

Today, my Rock Star friend tried to send me a video on gchat, but it wouldn't load. I could see that the title was "Vogue (Olympic PC...", so I Googled around a little until I got this, which I could not for the life of me figure out how to embed.

Two thoughts on that video:

• The part where one of the Bryan brothers talks about how important it is that his brother pushes him was hilarious, because one of the Bryan brothers (still not sure which) actually shoved me at an event once. On my birthday.
• Why are the men depicted doing active athletic things, while the women (regardless of whether they are models or athletes) depicted as decoration? Oh, patriarchy.

Oh, and a third:

• That was not at all the video my friend was trying to send me. This was:
  
  It's way more adorable, though it did result in discussion of whether the feather headbands were supposed to signal "flapper" or "indian."
  I'm going with "flapper," because only the girls are wearing them, which means the boys' hats are supposed to be fancy fedoras, and not pilgrim hats.
  I think.

I am the gatekeeper.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that there was a dark, water-stained-looking spot on the ceiling in the common area outside my office.

I reported it to the powers that be, who reported it to the folks at Physical Plant, who could not find a water source, but said they'd replace the tile.

Then, yesterday, I looked at my own office ceiling and noticed similar stains, right over my desk. It also seemed to me that  the common area stain had gotten worse, but I couldn't swear to it. So I went to my office neighbor (ON)'s office. The dark stain over his desk (and several computers) was by far the worst. It was cracked and sagging. Very bad.

We reported it to the powers that be, who reported it to Physical Plant.

Half an hour later, ON came into my office. "You've gotta see this," he said. I went into his office and his stain had gotten even worse. More cracks, more sagging. We decided we needed to move the important stuff out from under it, but of course, we were joking around (and therefore standing around) as we did it.

It could be an incontinent raccoon, we thought. Or bees. Or snakes. And as we discussed these possibilities, the tile in question collapsed onto his desk, missing the computers and me, but barely. Obviously, I shrieked, loudly, and we all scrambled and then assessed the damage by the falling tile. It did hit a beautiful pottery lamp ON's wife had made, but didn't break it. 


I attempted to move my smallish desk (stuffed with files) and couldn't do it myself, so obviously, I wandered off to tell other people of my morning's adventures.

When I came back, action had been taken. The physical plant guys had arrived, had moved my desk out of the way, had removed all of the troubling tiles in all three locations, and had put trash cans and recycling cans under the now very obvious drips. It seems there was a clog in the line of the building's air conditioner and a bunch of other stuff I neither completely understood nor retained and now a lot of water.

My boss was very gracious and understanding when I suggested that, due to the sound of dripping water that was in no way contained to the two buckets in my office but kept dripping on my arm even when I sat at my desk's new location, I'd be working from home the rest of the day, which I did.

This morning, I got up early and took a beautiful hike, punctuated by elephant ears and fruit salad and mimosas with a stunning view of the sunrise. That is in no way related to the rest of the story, but it is nonetheless true and demonstrates that I am awesome.

When I came in to work this morning, the ceiling tiles were all still missing, and there was some water in the trash and recycling cans. No more dripping, though, so that was good.

And now my desk is seemingly comically close to the door. To give you a vague picture: in a roughly 9'x14' office, my roughly 3'x6' desk is directly in front of the door, close enough that you can open the door all the way, but just. I appear to be a receptionist for my own (smallish) office, blocking the entrance and making it uninviting.

And that amuses me enough that I'm keeping it that way.*

It's the little things, amiright?






*Plus, you know, can't really move it myself.

Nailed it

I had a fantastic weekend, thanks for asking, in stark contrast to last weekend. So nice.

Most of what I did was hang out with a very good friend from college and her 7-year-old daughter; she has a husband and a son who I love very much, too, but they were off gallivanting somewhere.

So, in a roughly 24-hour period we called "Girl trip! Woo!" we read and painted nails and had delicious food (including ice cream) and went to church and played Just Dance 3 and had a picnic by a stream and did hot stone massage on each other. It was terrific.

Now, my nails, painted by said 7-year-old with her cool new nail polish that is sparkly and also supposedly tie-dye (except the tie-dye effect only really worked on one nail) look like this:

Here's the question: How long do you think I'll leave them like that?

Possibly relevant factors:

• I am vain.
• The texture of the polish feels funny.
• I currently only have nail polish remover that belongs to someone else and so would need to buy my own to remove it.
• I am lazy.
• I sort of like having nails done by a 7-year-old in theory.

Anyone have any guesses? I have so far already worn them to church and work, if it matters.

Look, Ma!

I subscribe to InStyle magazine's RSS feed. Don't judge me.

Today's daily beauty tip teaser was, "Learn how to master Lake Bell’s 'no makeup' look."

Now, I feel secure in saying I have already mastered my own no makeup look, and I feel like pretty much anyone, regardless of sex or gender, can master my no makeup look without a blog post on it.

In case you were looking for tips on how to achieve it, though, here you go:

• Step 1: Do not apply makeup. 
• Step 2: Do not apply quotation marks.

I am guessing that Lake Bell's "no makeup" look (at least as described by InStyle) involves a lot more makeup.