Fluency

While I am quite fluent in English, having spoken it all my life, I consider my native tongue to be Douchebag. Douchebag is a lot like English yet far more profane. Even when the preface douchebag is unuttered it is implied and at work it seldom remains unuttered these days.

My career in profanity began at the ripe old age at 5, when at the supper table, I asked my grandfather to pass the motherfucking ketchup. Not realizing at the time that it was the granddaddy of all profanity, of course. The mothership and fathership carefully explained to me that this was not acceptable language for a young lady to use. I've seldom gone a day without using some variation on it since.

Oh Fuckity Doo Dah

I tend to like thinking of myself as an astute sort, and I know full damn well that the descaling and cleaning of the coffee pot should be done with white vinegar. Alas, Rachel Ray, I ain't so there was none in the house and I thought red wine vinegar with a couple of extra rinses would be fine. And it probably would have been but I used red wine vinegar with garlic. If hell had a flavor, viennese with cinnamon coffee, red wine vinegar, garlic, half and half and honey would about cover it. It will likely be branded Satan's flavor of the month.

Toenails

The cats actively resist any kind of toe nail maintenance so I usually content myself with clipping 1 or 2 nails at a time whilst the cat in question is perched on my lap for general adoration and such. Today, I got all 20 of Puppy D's toes. This is most unusual, I've not ever gotten all 20 of hers in one session before. Not sure if it's because she's getting older and slightly less spry or because of the position I had her in. Hmmmm. Will have to try a similar position on the spry birthday boy. The Sharkbutt is 3 today. He still doesn't look like a grown up cat, looks pretty kitteny, he does.

Land of the half assed fuck wit

Often in the arcane and inane world of gubmint, decisions are made with such a collossal lack of judgement or even obvious thought that the stupidity demonstrated is almost mystical. Yes, there is a level of stupid that is so stupid it is transcendant and mystical. A perfect storm of stupid, born of arrogance, ignorance and an absolute inability to consider that someone who spends most of her day close to the action and actually managing the action might know better.

I've long maintained that an employer does not really have the ability to make someone care about their job. Go through the motions in order to get paid, sure. But care, really care, nope. But they can make you stop caring. I have begun to approach that point and it ain't pretty.

I've learned to accept a certain level of stupidity and ignorance but once that level is exceeded, my usual levels of relative equanimity fade away and I morph into the crazed loon that I was before I attained the wisdom of 40 and Buddha camp. That crazed loon can actually use 15 or more variations on the word fuck in one 18 word sentence. That crazed loon will also commence the rant by issuing the suggestion to pull one's head out of one's ass preferably one ear at a time to facilitate a less painful and hopefully swifter evacuation of the rectum. A certain amount of raving pertinent to the subject at hand and to close with the always articulate fuck 'em the fucking idiot fuck. After all that energy has been expelled, I give far less of a fuck than I did before and that's the bad news. If I disengage my attention from what I do it won't be pretty. But could be funny. Stay tuned.

Observation 2

I'm what some folks call a person of size, but my current physician and I concur that I'm fat and not getting any damned younger. So as it has been a work in progress for quite some time, I've been engaging my inner gym rat. I notice that compared to some of the 'skinny' folk at the gym my fat is hard. This makes me smirk. A lot.

Observation

By way of deep background, I don't engage in a lot of mirror time, never did much of it, don't do much of it now, as a rule. So that I happened to engage in some mug beating this morning is a bit unusual. And mostly it had something to do with getting moisturizer out of my eye. I noticed more lines around my eyes than I used to have and I have to say I kind of like them, though I'm not quite sure why. I think it might have something to do with my sister always having said "I know you're full of shit, your eyes are smiling." So the lines put me in mind that my eyes have been doing a good bit of smiling of late and that's not always been my way.

And God isn't that the biggest glass half full pile of mess I've ever managed to write?

What I Bring to The Party

A friend asked me what I thought I brought to the friendship, once upon a time. It was a question that gave me pause for a good while. Until it occurred to me the big thing that I bring to the party is that I know I'm crazy. And I try not to make excuses for it and I try really hard to give my friends room for their own brand of crazy. And it's all good.

Thoughts on 46

I have spent 23 years of the 46 working at the same place. 15 at the same job.
Spent 21 years, 10 months of it sober.

And had a deluxe birthday courtesy of my dear friends S and, also known as High IQ Temptress Girl and Pirate Boy Slim.

Updated note: as I'm an accountant and all it occurs to me that having 21 years, 10 months out of 46 years sober might indicate that I took up my drinking career at birth rather than at 15.

Harry Potter

The latest Harry Potter was in my mailbox upon my return from points north last night. The hype and allure of the 3 lbs of literary frolic was quite compelling, and I know me so in order that I be awake for work this morning I read the last 100 pages first, then the first 100 pages. Now I'm confused about what the hell is going on, but I do know how it ends. And I ain't telling.

The Squish

Every year for more years than I care to count, I dutifully take the girls (a/k/a the twins, the boobages) for the squish. My first squish was memorable for two reasons, 1- the technician's head did not come up as high as my breasts and so to hoist the either of the girls onto the appropriate spot on the machine required her to execute what looked essentially a two handed overhead slam dunk with the one or the other as the basketball, ok more like a softball but you get the idea. Needless to say, I was hysterical with laughter because I'd not ever before or since seen my breast at so unique an angle, not to mentioned handled in such a fashion by a perfect stranger whilst I was sober but I digress. So I'm in this state of hysterical laughter and of course, one need be stock still for the xray. And of course, once they put the machine into that very special mode known as FLATTEN IT! the laughter ceased, nor did it return for any of the remainder of the mammography as Lefty required a total of 8 trips through the wringer. Lefty has a lot of calcium deposits,as I used to fight, a lot.

I now go to a specialty breast center ( or as I like to call it, All Breasts All the Time) and I know the drill, as do the girls, who trembled in fear within the comforting confines of my bullet proof sports bra, at least until it was time to put on the robe. FYI - when you go for a mammogram the usual instruction is strip from the waist up, put on the robe. And as I'm a girl who shops in the Vast sector of most major department stores, most off the shelf robes don't fit me, happily this one did, but again I digress. So the drill: whip off the robe (most places will just let you whip one twin out at a time if you're a modest kind of gal (but I like to show off my ink), step to the machine, follow the instructions of the technician. And you want to follow the instructions of the technician because she's got your boobage in her hands and is placing it on the plate where it will transform in shape. Well, BJ, the technician directed me ably and the communication flowed admirably until such time as she had my breast pancaked in the machine, my arm draped around the machinery and my chin(s) tilted up, out of the way of the xray. The resulting muscular tautness ran from my hamstrings (which cramped, I hate that)to my skull and rendered me pretty close to speechless, aside from an occasional muttering of son of a bitch. And then she had the unmitigated gall to say relax. I howled with laughter, loudly. as this was among the most absurd things I've ever heard in my young queer life and mind you I work for the government. Probably would have laughed up a lung had it not been ably trapped in the fucking machine. To add to the indignity, somehow my nipple had managed to curl beneath my breast in fear, so we had to reshoot that mammary portrait. This involves decompressing the breast, having this perfect stranger rearrange it and squish the living shit out of it again. I finally mentioned usually before my boobs are handled thusly we'd have had dinner.

Happily, the doc had good news for me. Perfectly normal. Which I absolutely prefer to the more clinical, unremarkable. Hell, that these boobages are not down around my knees is pretty damned remarkable.

So, if you find yourself 35 or older. Cowgirl up and get it done.

I am a sentimental jackass from hell

Today is the 9th anniversary of Puppy the cat having adopted me. She was a grown cat at the time so I'm not sure of her age or date of birth but I am sure of what day she came home with me. So for the sentimental jackass part, to celebrate I ventured to Wegman's for a half pound of tuna (yellowfin, $21.99 lb. But it gets worse, I fire up the charcoal grill wait for the coals to become grey and hot for searing (but not too much because the cats don't like it) and grilled the tuna, sprayed with PAM for the grill but otherwise as is. No garlic, no lemon, no pepper no nothing. When it was done, I split it and seasoned mine and we sang happy birthday to Puppy(ok, so I sang and the other 2 just looked) and chowed on grilled tuna fish. It was lovely but I am a sentimental ass.

Biography

For various reasons, lately in my professional life there have emerged requests for me to provide a biography. This is usually lackluster and so damnably dull I fall asleep writing it, but hey I'm an accountant so how much WOW! can one reasonably expect.

So here's the one I want to write,

A burly, yet sultry, surly mass of contradictions Sharkb has been occupying herself with paying work for more years that she cares to recall. Chief among the requirements of paying work would be that if it's not entertaining it must take place in silence. Hence, she often finds herself inviting people to help themselves to a hot steaming mug of shut the fuck up. She often entertains herself by baying at the moon, speaking with dogs, cats and fish, also dancing with her brassiere on her head (as a result of that her breasts are no longer amused with her). As a presenter she's highly entertaining and humorous but will lose her train of thought in a heartbeat.

So Crazy Doesn't Always Look or Smell Crazy

Among my very closest friends, I count a number of people who are inordinately sane and kind. All have different ways of coping with stress, but they all seem to cope quite well, so obviously resiliency is among their noteworthy traits. I am around a fairly large collection of people at work some who are friends, many who are not, many of whome are suffering from a bad case of the JFN's (which is DSM-V code for just fucking nuts - the only DSM code anyone will ever need). Somedays it's absolutely amazing how crazy some of the people are. I used to think that my employer held job fairs up at the Psych Hospital and recruited from bedside to deskside without passing go or parties involved necessarily getting therapy or treatment of any kind. Today has found me rethinking that theory, I was observing a fairly lively conversation regarding one coworker's vacation schedule and her boss, in his frustration, asked "don't any of you take vacation in the winter?" And no, they don't. Perhaps rather than being recruited out of the psych hospital which would still explain alot, the recruiting effort concentrates on off season out of work carnies as these folks are for sure an intinerant lot of colorful characters, in the main blessed with loud, booming voices and a steady amount of engaging patter which doesn't seem insane except in retrospect. So, yeah we recruit carnies. It explains a lot.

Observations from Work

It would appear from the contents of the toilets at work that a coworker is strengthening her nethers by carrying coinage in them (or it). Several of the toilets are beginning to look like coin strewn fountains. And I can tell that we who utilize the women's rest facility are all glancing at each other warily, thinking so what kind of freaky shit can you do with your whup now that you're using it as a change purse? Can you make change with it or is this just some kinked up version of a Kegel exercise? Should I ever in life ask for change of a dollar at work again? AND........... If you're keeping your coins in your whatsis, just where are you keeping your dollars?

Hmmmm

My friend J and I were chatting via email and she asked me what animal does she bring to mind. Hers is a very leonine energy, coupled with a hawkish awareness and vigilance. So I said a lion hawk if there was such an animal. When I asked her what she thought I might embody, she said a wolf. Because, I'm a loner when I choose to be, social when I choose to be and mysterious. I can work with that.

An Adventure

My friend J and I had planned a mission to shop for some crystals for energy enhancement and protection purposes. The energy in typical "New Age" shops frequently sends me for a spin so I tend to avoid them. There is a great rockshop out in the wilds of PA that I'de previously visited with a friend. J and I set out for points west at about 10. Got where we were going at nearly 1130. And well, they're not open on Mondays. So we set off East again thinking we'd travel to New Hope and check out one of the New Agey places there. I missed an exit sign so we wound up in Center City Philadelphia. At the zoo, and it was awesome. I do love a zoo. Saw flamingos, elephants, tigers, lions, bears, pumas, penguins and other wild life.

Isn't It Rich?

When things are going especially stupidly at work I will frequently burst into song. The beauty of this is I’m quite tone deaf (pronounced deef in my fluent Jerseyese), the result of which is that everything pretty much sounds sea shantyish ala the Sponge Bob theme song. So, as may have become obvious from previous reading, I work for the government (pronounced gubmint – and in gubmint words like pronounced are convoluted into pronunciated, but I digress) so frequently what does transpire here is escalating stupidity. So the song of choice is often “Send in the Clowns”, because really nothing else fits quite so well.

It's going to get a little graphic here

Got home at midnight on Friday, noticed a missive from the IRS in the mail, the were merely explaining that my serial killer like handwriting precluded them from reading my banking info to direct deposit my refund. If you've got to get mail from the IRS or the initials as I fondly refer to them, that's the kind to get.

So after feeding the cats, and getting ready for bed, within 5 minutes of being in bed, got up to hurl. And felt rather crappy (not literally thankfully) for the rest of the night. Got up the next morning, tried a cracker and coughed that back up. Joy.

I hate stomach virii. Alot.

Unique Expertise

The mothership phoned me today. She was in need of expert advice about how long after the expiration date on the yogurt can one safely eat the yogurt. As I've been researching this very subject for most of my adult life, I can report the following = technically yogurt is not likely to go bad, it already is 'bad'. I've eaten yogurt that was one year past the date and no harm came to me. Although apparently my eyesight is questionable as I coulda sworn it said December 2005 not December 2004. Occasionally, if I have packed a yogurt in my lunch that's a bit well-aged, I will call the consumer advisory line on the container. That's often a hoot, more than once I've driven a frustrated consumer service rep to say "Look lady, if you're waiting for me to tell you it's okay to eat a 6 month old yogurt, it's just not gonna happen.' Call me silly, but that warms my evil little heart every time.

Do not under any circumstances ingest green/blue/pink moldy yogurt and eat it within the expiration date for your optimal enjoyment.

Playin' Hooky

The weather is delightful and work was quiet and stupid today so I ventured up to see the boss and asked him if I could take the afternoon off. He said sure. So I went to the beach, it's about 15 degrees cooler there and quite breezy. Then I went to the gym and did 2 hours of frolic. Now that it's shorts weather, one sees sights at the gym that one need not see. Fortunately, most folks run to baggy shorts, but very occasionally a guy will be wearing a pair of shorts that suffer from cheap hotel syndrome - No Ballroom. And said balls will make a break for it. Not for the faint of heart.

Another Reminder About Attachment

I had another object lesson in attachment recently. About 6 weeks ago I treated myself to the high tech bauble that is the Blackberry Pearl. It’s sleek, gets email and phone calls, plays mp3’s, and is a pda attached. And I quickly filled it up with the myriad mundane yet utterly necessary details of my life, including my exercise routines, my datebook, my phonebook and the all important keeping track of the money I squander. After all, the Pearl is what is euphemistically known as a smart phone. It is deluxe. It is not, however, immersible, let alone submersible.

I found this out the hard way when after excreting some of the coffee I ingested Sunday morning, I stood up to hear the tell-tale plop of something of substance falling out of the pocket into the toilet. The red LED blinked at me most ominously as I attempted to rapidly dry the Pearl. No joy. It no longer functioned and the red LED blinked its last in what I am now certain was Morse code for I’m drowning. Sigh…I had an appointment near the land of the mall and set out for it. After the appointment, I ventured to the mall, with my previously functioning Pearl and my old cell phone. Figuring I needed something of a cell phone ilk, with the weather and so forth. Got the old phone up and running, became well acquainted the fine fine folk at Asurion, the cell phone insurers, who are replacing the Crackberry even as we speak.

Then as news of the flooding from the storm, and the tragedy at VA TECH came up, I’m once again reminded of the fragility of the really important things in life, not just the baubles.

Juicing And Nudity

Damn that sounds nearly pornographic, anyway, I was making beet juice this morning. And beet juice makes for all red all the time all over the place. So I stripped down and of course, the doorbell rings. I must confess to being tempted to answer the door in the state of undress in which I found myself. Even went so far as to peer out the peephole but alas whomever it was, was travelling with small children so I refrained.

Panties

Hmmm, that got your attention. Didn't it?

I'm a functional kind of gal when it comes to me undies. I want the twins to stay where I put 'em and I want my drawers to cover both my business and my butt. I tend to wear black panties, with a rare foray into athletic grey. Once upon a time, a friend waxed so eloquently rhapsodic about the erotic nature of wearing a thong that she talked me into purchasing and wearing one, I can only conclude that either I was wearing it wrong or she's full of shit.

So as happens with most rejected undies that are still somewhat presentable, as presentable as underpants ever are anyway, I recently used it as a face mask whilst cleaning out the cat box. As invariably can be counted upon to happen in such a circumstance (because in addition to sporting the thong as a face mask, I'm clad in sportsbra, tattoos and rubber gloves, oh and sweatpants) the doorbell rings with what I presumed to be local Jehovah's but were, in fact, candidates for the boro council. 'Cuz that's the way my dumb luck runs.

Work

They say distance lends perspective, but sometimes it's difficult to gain perspective on one's work life when change is incremental (when it's not decremental) and one is spending a whole lot of time beating one's head against the wall because it feels so damned good when I stop.

Computers

Wireless networking should be idiot proof for an ably accomplished idiot such as my self and my even more ably accomplished idiot friend but nooooooooooooooooooooooo..... Goddamn router.

My Buddy Ack

My buddy Ack is 7, he has a very organic kind of wisdom. I was hanging out with he and his 2 older sisters who are fairly literal minded down to earth gals when he says, I'm going to read a story with my eyes closed. His sisters told him no, you can't do that. His reply "watch and learn." and he proceeded to tell a story with his eyes closed, it was a good one, Ack's stories are always imaginative and funny and he's quite a character. And I will carry his reply with me for the next time someone tells me I can't do something, or when I start to tell me I can't do something.

Watch and learn!

Overheard at Work

Spokesmodel - Did you see that Dollar Tree across the bridge has Victoria Pannie?
Evil - What are you talkin' about?
Me - Who the hell is Victoria Pannie?
S - You know, pannies from Victoria?
E - Your ass ain't flat what are you going to do with panties from Victoria's Secret?

The Oscars

I don't normally watch the Oscars but I'm up and Sharkbutt is appearing to be no longer nauseous and sitting on my lap. There is something sweet about the way he rubs his head around my hands getting all the pets he can.

Damn Cat

I was out and about today, did my customary Sunday morning massages and then moseyed on up to visit with my friend S. When I returned home the Stripe and the Shark presented themselves for pets and a visit, and I happened to notice the Shark had been scratched on his nose. Clever girl that I am, I went looking for some neosporin for his scratch. Found the Neosporin, put it on his nose and he proceeded to lick it off, we knew this would happen but then he hurled, on my shirt. Y to the u to the c to the k. YUCK! With a capital yuh. Damn cat.

Cats

I periodically sit and observe my cats. I notice that the Shark likes to growl at his toys, Puppy likes to growl at Shark and Stripe. And if Stripe's growling he probably has to go to the vet, because more likely than not, he can't pee.

Work...

I don't just overhear stupid shit at work sometimes it's uttered directly to my face. My second career is as a massage therapist so for that and other reasons my forearms are somewhat sizeable. So one of my work friends, blew into my office for a visit and said "Popeye called, he wants his forearms back." When I was in massage school someone asked me if I could squeeze open his can of spinach. I said no, but I can squeeze your neck until your eyes leave your skull. So, what in hell was the point of all this? Oh, I have mellowed a great deal in my 40's, this is not a bad thing. And work is stupid some days.

Dipshits on the Phone

Some genius called up this week and yelled at me extensively because he shredded his check. I finally said stop yelling at me like I'm the dumbass that put my check through the shredder.

I typically pick up the phone and snarl payroll and genius 1 says is this the credit union? No. says I.

Genius 2 says, may I speak to Ginger? I said no, does this sound like a titty bar to you?

Somethings Just Escape Me

Saw the mothership today, and the sister (and the fathership but he's not germane to this part of the story) I met them in the parking lot near where my sister lives and both of them are wearing flip flops. It's 11 degrees outside, their feet were looking extra blue. So we go to leave my sisters house and they're still wearing flip flops because they had pedicures and don't want to mess their toes up. I'm thinking frostbite and gangrene is apt to fuck your toes up more than putting a sock on fresh polish. But what do I know?

Youth, Skill, Old Age, Treachery and Knees

As I have no doubt prattled on about previously in this blog, I study the martial art Aikido, I had to take a break from it because I managed to get tendonitis in my patellar tendons. This is problematic in Aikido for 2 reasons, first of all getting ones ass up off the mat after one has been tossed to the mat requires quadricep strength and knee extension. Second of all, Aikido features suwari waza, or technique done from kneeling. Yep, even on my knees I'm dangerous. So I'd not return to Aikido even as my knees started to get better and I miss it. So I called and spoke to one of the sempai down there (sempai are senior students) and said that I'm going to have to give up suwari waza and was delighted to learn that this would not be a problem.

So I've got my gi in the laundry and my hakama folded and ready to roll. My weapons are bagged and ready to travel. Yeeha.

Overheard at Work

One of the women with whom I work, T, a/k/a the spokesmodel, dates a farmer in North Carolina, she travels to visit him fairly regularly and has become well acquainted with the farm and the farm animals. Anyway she was repeating a phone call she'd received the previous evening which she was recounting to another co-worker IL.

T - You know Jimmy's goat.
IL - The one you like?
T - Yeah.
IL - I know about it.
T - did I tell you it has pinkeye? and he's afraid it will infect the rest of the herd. I'm going to visit them, do you think I can get pink eye from the goat.
IL - I don't know.

You will notice that the question is not asked by IL - what in hell are you doing with the goat that you'd catch pink eye from it?

Concerning catching pink eye from the goat, apparently one can catch chlamydia from goat pink eye. (and how in hell would you manage that?) And you can catch mycoplasma pink eye - these would be small parasites that apparently feed on eye gook. Nasty!

Needless to say, if Terry comes back from NC with pink eye, she need not come to work until it's gone.

How I spend my Wednesday Nights part 2

Todays adventure included the magical rubber bands and ankle weights attached to my hooves. Somewhere in there we tried to get my heel to touch my butt and it doesn't, and I'm guessing it won't. Then we did bench presses alternating with close grip lat pulldowns. Oh and I got to play catch with a medicine ball while doing crunches.

Good times.

Somedays

I swear this job is stealing IQ points from me. I listened to a conversation today about facial wrinkles and the types of unguents on the market to fight wrinkles. T has quite a wrinkle between her eyes, and has tried masking it with makeup, a la spackle, she's also tried a facial product that she was allergic to, then someone offered her butt lift cream. So we shall see if butt lift cream helps her face at all and if it does, I'll try it myself.

Things about cats

1. Awakening to the dulcet tones of a cat puking.
2. Having to chase the recently puking cat so he or she does not get his face in my cereal.
3. Awakening to the dulcet tones of cats fighting.
4. Trying to hear a phone conversation over a cat fight.
5. Stepping in fresh, hot cat hurl
6. Stepping in stale, cold cat hurl.
7. Cleaning out the cat box. 'nuf said.
8. Smelling the wet cat food.
9. Being awakened by a cat stomping on my bladder.
10. Cat farts.

Ritual

I must pack up my black suit, black shoes and traipse to a funeral later. My father's brother died (didn't we do this already? yes, but that was the oldest one.) He was my godfather and that makes for an interesting relationship. Not good, not bad just interesting. Can't say I ever went to him for spiritual guidance but when I saw him in August we bonded over our great affection for Sedona.

I'm resistant to attend this one, but I will because I can't quite imagine what it's like to lose all your siblings within a 3 month stretch. I know that would send me way near the edge, hell, it would send me way near the edge to lose one of them.

This will be, not surprisingly for this crowd, a funeral mass - Catholic. And there's to be an commitment ceremony (for his cremains, we're not mixing rituals here) but I'm going to miss that and just be there for the mass a/k/a church. If it takes place in a church - I just call it church or if it's annoying to me church fucking church. There was a time when I thought I wanted to be a nun. Brief time, because well there's the whole sex thing, and the whole Catholic thing. Overtime the Catholic thing lapsed to the point where I took vows as a Buddhist. Vows that include one about engaging in responsible sexual behavior. But hey, that works for me. Swearing it off entirely would not.

So I start off talking about a dirt nap and end with sex. Kind of the reverse of how it works for us getting here, huh?

When someone passes, Buddhists will pray and offer sacrifices (water, incense, flowers, fruit) for an easy Bardo, transition into the next phase, whatever phase that might be. And so I have offered the prayers and so forth and hopefully the Bardo will be easy for him. But I know the transition into life without B will be in many ways harder for those he left behind so I offer prayers and good energy for them too.

Happy trails, B.

J the Torturer or How I Spend Wednesday Night

I've worked with peronal trainers intermittently over the past 15 years. But about 2 years ago I found a world class trainer known as JTT (or J the torturer). We do some fun stuff. Todays adventure involved tug o' war between J, a giant rubber band and my butt, not for the faint of heart. Also, a collection of 3 giant rubber bands clipped to a manacle on my leg. We also do stretches and different kinds of upper body work.

The Wonders of Biology

There are certain biochemical phenomena that have been taking place within me monthly since I was 12. And to not put too fine a point on it I get nuts, stark staring, jumping out of my skin nuts and then in the hours leading up to the big event I find that I'm exhausted. As in, I could sleep standing up or while giving a massage (I've done it.)

I'm just curious as to if I'm exhausted from the energy devoted to being nuts whilst trying not to let it show, or if I'm just exhausted.

Hmm, wonder if I can patent this

If you've read other posts it will not surprise you to know that I have cats, 3 of them and just dropped a bundle on the artist known as Big Stripey. So in my infinitely twisted sense of balance and the rightness of things, I've decided that the four of us need to exercise. My latest exercise kick is a Latin Dance DVD by the good folk at Crunch Fitness. To involve the wildlife in this I've taken to fixing a stringed toy to my belt so it dangles and they can chase it. Yes, while I'm trying to figure out the difference between a samba step and a chacha. It keeps us all hopping and as we always said when I was growing up, it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

Grand

Both my grandfathers were born in January. One in 1892 and one in 1899. They each lived to ripe old ages - 103 and 96 respectively. They were such gentle souls and always over flowing with kindness toward me and my siblings and I still miss them a great deal even though they each delocalized over 10 years ago. I still think of them a great deal but especially in January, when we'd have celebrated their birthdays with dinner and cake and so forth.

My maternal grandfather had a deep rumbly voice but it was always gentle at least when directed at any of us. He was a great one for exercise so when we would visit we would go for walks to get the newspapers, mornings and afternoons. And should we encounter any dogs on the way he would give them a 'little woof-woof'. These would invariably be massive dogs, and they would respond with a woof woof right back and come over for a sniff and a scratch of the ears. And then my grand would laugh, then we'd be on to the next collection of dogs.

My paternal grandfather had a fairly soft voice, a quick wit and an intrinsic sense of the healing powers of chocolate. When he lived with us I spent a lot of time with him, probably because he never yelled. And I'm all about no yelling.

More Overheard at Work

Oh fresh hell, for the last 10 minutes I’ve been listening to a blistering diatribe on the part of one of my staff that another of my staff (who, by the way was kind enough to bring in doughnuts yesterday) should have known that she likes a coconut doughnut, and not a crème doughnut as D was led to believe. I’m all for stating a preference, but let it go, just let it go. Now, two others are being dragged into the fray. This is turning into a epic discussion, both long and inane. Somedays supervising this crew reminds me of being the oldest of 4, except in this instance I am younger than all but one of the characters involved in the discussion.

Another interesting aspect of the day, had one of this collection of characters hand me a pension check and say this needs to be reversed, this person is deadmentation. Hmmm, there's not much that cannot be effectively characterized by throwing the suffix mentation on it.

Oh and of course, I had one of those phone calls that started with I spoke to you last Monday (well, you didn't because I wasn't in), do you remember me? (from the approximately 400 people I speak to on the phone a week? uh, no.) You were gonna send me a check (wait, like I do for 50,000 other people, how about a name babe?) Mary Smith (may I have your retirement number?) What's that? (how about your social security number?) I don't have that with me. (I only have 400 Mary Smiths) Oh, honey I don't know. (don't honey me, fool. where did you retire from?) GE. (this is government, if you did not work for a governmental agency, I cannot help you, bye, bye now)

The Return of the Beast

Apparently, the beast returned from the hospital smelling of hospital so he had two days of the other cats snarling at him until I gave him a swipe with me bathtowel and now he smells like me. At least they're not snarling any more. They seem to be happy he's back.

Homecoming

Stripe J is back! Yay!!!!! Thanks to S and JT who took me to fetch him and helped me spirit him and all his new food home. Aside from trips for a snack or to the box Stripe J has been occupying space within 6 inches of me since his return. He was apparently a very good boy at the hospital and everyone who knew of him spoke highly of him to me. And when his personality changed, they knew he was sick again.

To recap, Monday his urethra blocked and he was unable to pee and in pain. So at 1045pm I whisked him off to the cat er. They unblocked him and kept him for the night, with the plan being to run water in and out of his bladder through the 2nd catheter placed for him. (he chewed through cath#1) The catheter was removed after 24 hours and he reblocked shortly after that. So he was recathed, and that blocked and there was some talk of surgical interventions. Cystotomy to scrape the crystals causing the blockages out of his bladder and PU surgery which is from what I understand amputating part of his penis to widen the opening so he can pee more readily. Fortuitously, it never came to that and now he's on RX food to dissolve the crystals in his bladder. And there we are.

Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit

Stripe J was quite scarce yesterday and I thought not a lot of it. Until I went looking for him at bedtime and heard him essentially scream in pain. So I grabbed a crate, grabbed him and off we went to the cat ER again. And as it turns out he was blocked and could not pee and was in pretty tough shape. They had to catheterize him. And he pulled it out so they had to catheterize him again. So now he pees and since he's feeling better, he's turned into his love sponge self and apparently was concerning himself with being pet and held. So hopefully he'll get out of stir tomorrow and we'll make another set of dietary adjustments.

Hey Aaaaaaabbottttttttttttttttttt

Yes, a facetious reference to the famed Abbott and Costello. The parental units and the sister are travelling this weekend. They are currently visiting a museum and the parents have misplaced the sister and are now in the gift shop. (BTW the sister will never see 30 again, just so we're clear on the players.) I know all this because the mothership phoned me and asked me to call the child's Blackberry to relay the gift shop locale because she cannot raise the child on her cell phone and doesn't have the crackberry phone number. I tell her I don't have the phone number either I will email her. So I do that and I text her, for good measure. She texts me back and when I go to phone the mothership to relay that the prodigal has been found, her phone is off.

I Missed Some Intense Ritual in the 'hood

They buried President Ford today and at the army base across the street from my house they performed a 50 gun salute at 5pm and a 21 gun salute at noon. Or so I'm told and so the stuff that fell off the walls tells me.

Fun.

Vomick!

There are certain things that one can count on to be true in life, where there’s smoke there’s fire, where there’s cabbage, there’s likely to be flatulence and where there’s cats, there’s hurl.

I step in puke fairly often as I have 3 cats and 2 of them vomit with seemingly very little impetus. Now Sharkbutt has joined the party since I step in a fresh, hot spot of hurl this morning. It was a bonding moment for us. Well, not really but there was a dance on my part and I sang the son of a bitch song.

Gratitude

All through my Reiki training, the Reiki masters I trained with were very careful and consistent to remind us to be grateful... to the universe for the lessons it brings to us, to the friends we have that teach us and nurture us, for the people who irk the living shit out of us and the lessons they bring, and to ourselves for being open to the experiences, realizing the learning opportunities.

So thank you and thank me.

Happy New Year!

May all beings know happiness and the source of happiness.
May all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering.
May all beings never be parted from the happiness that has no suffering.
May all beings abide in equanimity without attachment or aversion to near or far.

Watching Someone Else's Trainwreck

I'm watching Glen Beck interview Danny Bonaduce and they're talking about what a trainwreck of substance abuse Bonaduce's life has been. I'd seen parts of this interview one time previously. Apparently, there was a reality show Breaking Bonaduce made of it. I've done the trainwreck thing, although I really only did about 6 years of it before I decided to stop. And aside from alcohol did not encounter any substances worth abusing, the happy news there of course, being had I enjoyed any of my encounters with any other substances I'd be dead or heaven forbid have killed someone else.

Beck asks Bonaduce if he'd want his daughter to marry someone like him, and he said no, but that it's a step up because there was a time when he didn't want his daughter raised by someone like him. That struck me because as I worked through all my shit, I thought I would be an absolutely incompetent parent. And now, I realize I'd likely be able to do it well from a place of a certain amount of semi-enlightenment.

Necessity, Not the Only Mother of Invention

As previously chronicled in this blog, I have three cats. Although, periodically they get up to loud, thundering mischief that makes it seem as if there are more than three of them. Because of previous, expensive antics of these characters around my toilets I'm quite fanatical about the lids being shut after each use. I have noticed recently that there's always at least one shadowing me during any venture to the land of excretion. This morning both boys cornered me for pets in the powder room. And now I know why, this morning after I deposited some coffee, levered my not inconsiderable backside off the pot and hear a small splash as I flushed. Of course, it's a game of volleymouse! With the well oiled grace of a jungle cat, I spun on my heel to see a toy mouse disappearing down the drain. Thinking quickly I thrust my hand into the cool recesses of the bowl to snag the mouse. But too late and now it's too stuck. Fortunately, I have an industrial strength plunger so I do manage to send the mouse toy further on its way to oblivion.

I understand that the cats might be bored, this is why I'm thinking boredom needs to receive more credit as the mother of invention.

Damn cats.

Warming My Heart

My friend S introduced me to the cinematic wonder of A Christmas Story this year and I just love it! One of my buds is also a fan and paraphrased the following quote recently to describe my verbal agility.

Ralphie as Adult: [narrating] Now, I had heard that word at least ten times a day from my old man. He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium; a master.

Warms me heart!

Yee Freakin' Ha!

Spoke to the vet from the cat er today, the Stripey beast's urine culture is back and he doesn't have a bacterial infection. So no Clavamox for us and my nose is once again safe from the invasion of the cat meds.

A New Fresh Hell

When one emerges from the elevators at work, there are entry doors to the left and the right - 2 sets, no waiting. I arrived yesterday at 0715 as I generally do, and there were six people gathered at the doors on the north side of the building, 2 of whom were rather insistently doing a pee pee dance. I said "is that door broken again?" and proceeded to the south side followed by the 6 lemmings who hadn't figured out to walk 15 feet to get into work.

If there's not a sitcom in development entitled DIPSHITS 'R' US, perhaps there should be.

Christmas 2006, the good, the bad and the ugly

The good, well much of it was good, thanks for asking. This is not always the case with me. For some reason or other the hollerday season has historically placed me in the princess of darkness mode and that ain't ever pretty. Specifically what was good, aiding and abetting my friend S in playing Santa Claus for her son. Mainly, I lent moral support, some manual dexterity and an occasional smart remark. Also, delightful returning home from that mission to find a surprise in my mailbox from my friends S&M.

Also, Christmas day was nice, breakfast at the parental units and dinner at the sisters. But this led to the ugly, the sister, a/k/a Zippy was slicing potatoes on a mandoline and sliced her finger, kinda bad. Well, the Zipster, being a bachelor girl seemed to be lacking a first aid kit or bandaids so we had to go with panty shields and scotch tape. Not so effective when one is trying to staunch bleeding. where it got really fun was when the mothership (who by the way has earned the right to use the initials RN, BSN after her name) asks me to discern if the child needs stitches. Incredulous me says to my self "how the fuck do I know?" I saw no tendons, no finger guts so my executive decision was no, doesn't need stitches.

So the bad, went back to work today, to find out my former co-worker and friend M passed away yesterday. She'd had CA, and was the second co-worker in 2 weeks that had died of cancer. And about 5 other co-workers had been diagnosed within the past month. Shit.

Fa La La La Effin' La

For whatever blissful reason, this time of year tends to set my teeth on edge. Is it the crowds? Is it the nuts? Is it that I'm spending money? Or is it that there's not enough daylight?

I'm thinking it's the daylight thing.

Siiiiiiigh!

Here's a story for you, I go home last night - and 50 miles of road, and an iced tea, you know the first place I'm headed after I hit the door. Stripe comes into visit and hops into my pants which is not unusual for our little circle of fun and dysfunction. But I'm starting to smell cat pee, he peed in my pants, the stripey sone of a bitch. So I wrassle him into a crate, with my half nekkid peed upon self, hose off put on some clean pants and drag his ass to the cat ER. $300 later, we probably have a bladder infection but we're running 150 bucks worth of tests on his urine and send me home with antibiotics - liquid bubblegum flavored clavamox. How the hell did he know I had money?

Cut to this morning's dosing and we're int the recliner and I've got his head trapped between my jaw and my shoulder and succeed in shooting the clavamox up my nose instead of into his mouth. Goddamned cat.

Happy Effing Christmas

One would think that with the celebration of the birth of the Christian savior that the vast hordes on the prowl for gifts might put a little of the milk of human kindness into their driving abilities. But no, not so much. I try to be mindful of the aggression with which I drive in general, but now it's all about the defensive driving. Especially in those very special hells known as mall parking lots.

Fresh Hell

So I went to new doc city yesterday to get the results of my blood work and my cholesterol remains remarkable for a fat woman (yes, a doctor has said those words to me, no, I'm no longer a patient.) but my good cholesterol is low. Rather than put my on the liver busting statins, I'm on time release niacin. Niacin causes flushing, an inside out itching combined with the kinds of hot flashes all the denizens of hell enjoy. It's a treat.

Advice From A Shark

Because I readily admit that much of the time I do not display the good sense God gave a grape, I can be slow to dispense advice, or quick to dispense it but not without caveats.

However, Sharkbutt being young, four legged and a know it all will give all the advice you can handle at

Advice from A Shark

Damn It!

While I do try as I might to keep my kitchen counters organized, it does help if I periodically test out my visual accuity and look at what I'm about to ingest. Thought I had grabbed for the chewable Vitamin C, innocuous fruity flavored delight. But no, I grabbed the f&^*ing liver flavored cat supplements. The worse part being that this is not the first time that I've snacked upon the hell that is chewable cat vitamins.

Toys

Ok, you with the mind in the gutter... out! I got a new massage tool, it's called a massage star, and hey, this is a PG rated blog so .... out! I can use it for muscle stripping, cross fiber frictioning and all of the nifty techniques that blow the thumb and finger joints out. It's a beautiful thing, and I can use it on me, to strip the world class knots out of my forearms and ass.

Interesting Week

So I either fired or was fired by one of my reiki students this week. I don't suppose that I'm surprised, being a reiki master candidate using the curriculum that the Center of Living Light uses is a huge commitment. And it's a red hot bitch. It's also the hardest commitment to keep because you essentially make the commitment to yourself for yourself. So it's easy to excuse for yourself, not making enough time, not making enough effort, succumbing to a shortcut and not doing the work. But that doesn't necessarily get you where you want to be. Bottom line, I cannot do the work for anyone other than me, and I do it every day. So good luck to her.

State of Mind

...our state of mind is crucial in determining whether or not we gain joy and happiness. So leaving aside the perspective of Dharma practice, even in worldly terms, in terms of our enjoying a happy day-to-day existence, the greater the level of calmness of our mind, the greater our peace of mind, and the greater our ability to enjoy a happy and joyful life. Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama

I'm finding my equanimity challenged of late, not unusually for me I'm somewhat less than enamored by the 'holiday' season. Not loving the shorter days much either. I know I need to fire up the bright lights, make more of an effort to get outside when it's still light out and so forth. And most importantly be mindful and choose to be calm in my mind - my occasional diatribes into the stupidity I encounter at work are the exceptions, of course.

It can be kind of challenging to resist the darkness, especially because for so long I embraced darkness, not noticing that I had other choices.

Hi, my name is S

and I'm an alcoholic and a gambler. And I spent 4 days in Vegas and didn't lose my shirt. I lost 2 bucks of my money, 10 bucks of Aladdin's money. This is a beautiful thing. I do not recommend that gambling addicts reading this try this at home or any damned where else. It was challenging to stay mindful and not get sucked into the action at a blackjack or poker table. But I managed it.

Vegas, Baby!

So my friend C married her fiancee K on Friday November 24th at Caesar's Palace, Las Vegas. The group known as 'the girls' could not let her go through this alone sooooo, we each made our way out to Sin City. N and her husband T, N served as C's matron of honor, C having served as N's maid of honor last month. K, L, G and I make up the rest of the Las Vegas Lunch crowd - we have described ourselves as such because what happens at lunch stays at lunch. K, L, and G did not arrive until Wednesday pm so N and I went over to keep C company as the makeup artist did the dry run of her wedding day make up. Make no mistake, C is a stunner with no make up but with the help of makeup artist Mimi, C looked astonishingly lovely. After that we lunched at Caesar's buffet and then the rest of the gals arrived and we traipsed back to the Aladdin to greet them.

C is a transcendantly thoughtful sort and so well organized that it scares a random kind of girl like myself. She provided us each with bags of serious swag, anything you might imagine needing in Vegas and then some.

So back to the wedding prep, Friday morning arrives and we whirl over to visit with C while N is getting her mani and pedi done. C is so happy that we're there with her and so happy to be marrying K that she is glowing. We must whirl off to the scene of the reception (Spago - pretty swank food, more on that later) to drop off cake cutting equipment, champagne flutes, and stuff for the tables. We chat with the event manager Brian who is, not surprisingly, also from sunny NJ. Because, everyone is either from Jersey, is related to someone from Jersey or knows someone from Jersey- it's just a fact of living. After lunch we go back to get dressed and then return to C's room to help her get ready and K will do N's eye makeup. At a point, C tells us that she was not a nice person, not looking for new friends and that we simply cared for her and let her care for us and that our presence really enhanced the whole experience and made it all it could be for her. Well, tears, snot and mascara flowed (on the mascara wearers of which I am no longer one). After the tears had cleared sufficiently that we could all speak again, we spoke as one in saying with all the love intended - "shut the fuck up, C." (this is code for I love you)

Made Up Words

Some of the folks with whom I work will make up their own words for things, some are not uncommon like skrimps. Some are seriously deranged like nutmentation, which is a new personal favorite of mine.

What I Overhear...

One of the women I work with was fussing with one of the other women I work with (this is not an ever remotely uncommon occurence.), and said to me "What am I? chopped yogurt?" I said, "Excuse me, I didn't understand what you said." (I wanted to say "What the fuck?")
She repeated, "What am I chopped yogurt?" I said, "no". Because there's no other answer to give although I wanted to say "do you mean chopped liver or chopped vomit?"

What They Don't Tell You About Cats...

When you get a cat, the powers that be in the cat bestowal business hip you up to the cat box business and concomitant smells, the canned food business and concomitant smells there. What they don't warn you about is the instinctive business of cats and how that wreaks havoc with any mice that might find their way indoors. This place is mainly carpeted but there is some linoleum about so when I've got 2 cats within eyeshot and the pitter patter of 2 sets of four feet on the linoleum I know we've got and intruder and with 3 cats, said intruder is close to toast. Also, mice scream, it sounds like keening (yeah, as in keening, wailing and gnashing teeth). That's not a happy sound. Then we got the triumphant stalking return of the cats, fortuitously for me none see fit to gift me with the carcass so I retrieve it and put it in the garbage can. (and yeah, sap that I am offer it Reiki and a chant or two to ease its Bardo (transition).

Reiki

It's hard to believe I've gone through 70 odd posts without mentioning Reiki. So here we go, Reiki is a 2,500 year old Tibetan healing modality based on the Tibetan Buddhist practice of the Medicine Buddha. Reiki consists of two Japanese kanji Rei - universal or spiritual and Ki - life force energy. It's a chakra based system of energy healing, based on the premise that the practitioner of Reiki taps into the universal matrix of energy that surrounds all existence. Energy healing in general is based on the premise that disease in the body is caused by blocked emotions, in chakras or meridians - meridians being energy channels, and chakras are large intersections of energy channels in the body. Reiki is kind of a spiritual Roto-rooter that unblocks.

I was first exposed to Reiki while in massage school, and to say that I was resistant is quite the understatement, I sat in the front row of the presentation arms folded and glaring the eye of doom at the presenter. Quite frankly, I thought the whole energy deal was crap and nonsense. Which just goes to show what I know. So I sit through a talk on the subject, then all folks in attendance are instructed on how to offer one another Reiki. I was working with my friend Ro, receiving Reiki, when one of the presenter came around and put one hand on me and one on Ro. I can be a little prone to hyperbole but it was a life altering experience for me. Not being a very kinetic sort, I was surprised that I needed to jump up and down for about 5 minutes just to get back in balance. And most notably of all, Reiki banished the insomnia that I'd been dealing with for 20 odd years. I was most surprised to start sleeping 5, 6, 7 hours a night for 6 or 7 nights a week. Used to call it a good week when I get 3 hours a night, 4 nights out of 7. So this new sleep pattern was quite deluxe.

Puppy D

Yes, Puppy's middle initial D does stand for Dog. Because what other middle name would you have for a cat named Puppy? She is most oftern photographed with Vinnie a/k/a Stripe. She has a sinister streak that I very much admire. And a gift for demanding attention by batting one upside one's head.

Stripe a/k/a Vinnie

This is the big cat Stripe, he's wearing a cat version of a beater shirt so he was nicknamed Vinnie Bociagalupe. He just needs some bling around his neck.

The Shark

This is Sharkbutt. This is his baby picture, he's two now and just as cute but bigger and doesn't sit still for photos these days, as he's got Stripe and Puppy to annoy the crap out of regularly. He likes to groom them, which all things being equal is cute to observe, at least until the object of his grooming lodges an objection, and swats. Putting Neosporin on a cat is like teaching a pig to sing. Waste of time for both of you and annoying to both of you.

Perspective

Like most folks sometimes, I lose my perspective on what is important, what is manageable and what I have to leave in the hands of the universe. When I need to regain perspective I take myself to the beach and I sit and watch the waves. They're always different, but always there. Always larger than me, my life and whatever problems I might face.

Different Shit, Different Day

At work I have a spokesmodel, will refer to her as S for short. She is my spokesmodel because she is most adept at making coworkers cry. And it's funny because she's not nasty to anyone, just really, really dry - affect is flat and well, her favorite question is" And? As in: phone staff: This person didn't get his check. S: And? PS: Do you have it? And dry... as in this example courtesy of Idiot: Are you going to the ladies room? S: Yes, why? I: can you stop and get me a water? S: want me to pick you a snack off the floor too? The S actually stands for Snarky because pound for pound she's the only one there quite as snarky as me.

Ritual

The church is still standing post my heathen ass in attendance at Unc's funeral. Oh and I didn't snot, although it was sadder than I'd anticipated. Looking around the room for people who would have been there had they not already passed on, including Unc. Listening to the priest deliver the eulogy (and wondering as I always do if he's going to screw up the name of the wife, kids or siblings - no, he didn't). The music was fitting and churchy, the usual suspects of church musicness. Several cousins in attendance, none of us getting any younger (or apparently any saner.) The aunts and uncles and father are not getting any younger, although my mother seems to be getting younger.

Accusations

Because I am a smart ass of somewhat legendary proportions I am often accused of being up to no damn good and not necessarily wrongly accused at that. However, I have also been accused of teaching certain of my nieces how to play Naked Flying Barbie. This was not my invention, nor was it anything I taught anyone to play. I also discouraged it from becoming Naked Flying Flaming Barbie, I'm just saying. It wasn't me.

More Mess I Overhear

One of my staff reported that she spent her day off Friday attempting to secure a copy of her mother's birth certificate for her mother. Her mother is known by many, if not most as Anna May and my friend went in requesting a birth certificate for Anna May. The folks in charge could not find it, mainly because on her birth certificate her name is Ann Mary. Or maybe it's Bob. It's hard to know.

Snarkiness Rewarded

Picture it - an irate man phones because he's managed to run his check through his shredder and is demanding an immediate replacement - my next check date is 11/30. He says, "You mean to tell me that I cannot get a new check until next month, this is ridiculous. He, of course, wants to speak to a supervisor so the spokesmodel passes him off to S, he wants to escalate it futher so they pass it on to me. He tells me his story and becomes increasingly irate because we are not issuing any more checks until 11/30. He loudly exclaims this is ridiculous. Me - "And you running your check through your shredder was somehow not ridiculous?" I get two of those a year.

A Confession of Sorts

My sister and mother were joking last night that the straw drawing has already commenced for who has to sit next to me at my uncle's funeral. There's no other way to put this but that I become emotional to the point were we can characterize it as 'carrying on' at funerals. I'm not certain why, I think it has something to do with some renegade DNA from some Irish mourner type in the family tree. It coulda been schizophrenia or borderline personality disorder so I can't bitch too much. But I can be a real treat at a funeral. The following conversation took place between the sister and the mothership last night. ::imitating me crying:: then in unison further imitating me - 'who's in the box again?' Nice. Real nice. If I were the two of them, I'd hope like hell I'm still around so someone cries over their mean asses. Of course, what makes this an even more interesting situation is I've attended more funerals than you unless you're an undertaker, also, more weddings unless you are professional celebrant of some ilk. While I was living in the hotbed of cosmopolitan living Scranton, PA, one or more of the nuns was kind enough to scrounge me up a gig turning pages for a church organist. Since I mostly attended classes at night, this was a pretty sweet gig for me, as was the fact that I had a mad crush on the organist. I got paid about $5 per service which kept me in beer money without me having to steal, but I managed to get through those services without snotting, but of course, I was drunk, oh and mesmerized by S, the organist's cleavage. Church and breasts, is there anything better?

And What a Long Strange Trip It Continues to Be

My father's eldest brother passed on yesterday afternoon, or in the phrasing of some Buddhist folk of my acquaintance delocalized. He had been suffering from cancer for over a year and while a suboptimal outcome for those who will miss him, not unexpected. When my sister reported this news to me, she asked if I was ok and I demurred (ok, I said why? I don't give a shit.) My concern is with my father and further, his end is certainly closer than his beginning at this point. My father and his two brothers had a most disturbing competition in which they seemed to escalate 'who could be the sickest' for a time the fathership seemed to be in the lead, as he had fallen off of the roof and broke the living shit out of his elbow and arm and upon admission to the hospital, his EKG revealed he suffered a mild heart attack sometime earlier. But then his middle brother who we will refer to as M, had his hip replaced, then O (oldest) got his diagnosis and short term prognosis, which wasn't good. This competition is too bizarre to me, outside of my experience but unfortunately not outside my observation. The mothership by comparison is a paragon of good health, has always been an exercise fiend, absolutely always. I recall her mopping the floor at tennis, racquetball, basketball with comers of any age or gender. I'm glad we've followed in her footsteps, my siblings and I. And I realize that no one gets out of here alive, I do. But why die before your time? And why would you not enjoy the time you've got?

New Doc City

Got a new doc today, and she's a keeper. Most of them aren't. The maintenance of the skeleton and skeletal muscles is in the hands of PW, DC, she of the sharpest elbows on the planet. And of course, I have had my share of gatekeepers over the years. Some good, some bad, many indifferent. Mostly I have a couple of bouts with bronchitis a year, have to have my daily Clarinex because of the cats I live with that I'm allergic to, and have to have an inhaler for the periodic dances with asthma. Oh and of course, one does need someone to send you to the ER if need be when no bones are sticking out. So anyway, the new doc gets points for listening, for coughing up a lung because I was being blisteringly funny and for agreeing with my assessment re: one of the drugs that the fired doc had had me on for something that I ain't got. Oy.

Race for the Cure

Eight friends, the one, the only, the mothership and of course, me walked the Race for the Cure today along with 9 kabillion other people. Ok, it seemed like 9 kabillion other people, it was actually closer to 20,000 people. Still an amazing number of people to gather together to fight breast cancer. The energy was captivating to me. Saw some kids wearing race bibs marked In Memory of My Mom, my heart caught in my throat every time, even seeing 2 was too many and I saw way more than 2. The breast cancer survivors were easy to spot in their pink shirts and pink hats and their energy was infectious. And the friends, took time out of their busy weekend to be a part of this race, to navigate the logistical frolic - the buses to Bristol Myers, 20,000 people 50 portajohns, do the math. Ok, so there were likely more than 50 portajohns, but there were not 20,000 (but as usual, I digress.) Most importantly we were there to walk for the cure, we did and I'm happy we all did it and grateful for their time, effort and attention, for the time, effort and attention of the people who so generously sponsored us. Why I walked - my paternal grandmother died of breast cancer when she was younger than I am now and when treatment options were surgery and pray. And now we have so much more options and I'm grateful. My friend Mindy died last year and how her four daughters must miss her. My friend Ann underwent treatment last year and is still surviving and thriving.

Marriage?

It fascinates me that the prospect of gay marriage stirs up such a ruckus among the allegedly Christian. First of all, with the divorce rate hovering around 58%, it seems to me that the people that already have the right to marry should work harder at staying married and worry less about who is marrying whom. The old responsibility of a priveleged class deal. Also, if the prospect of gay marriage stirs up this much of a ruckus, and no one has the stones to grant this basic right to gay folks, I propose that marriage for all be banned, grandfather the people who are currently married but that's it. After a certain date it's illegal. And peel away all the tax benefits gradually. That way people can focus on their relationships with one another and their kids and not worry so much about denying rights to other people since that right and privelege will be denied to all. And while we're at it, how about licensing people to reproduce. Since it's the actions of the straights that are producing overcrowding, and the social ills created by un or ill parented offspring license, how about licensing people to breed?

Confession Time

I know the cure for cancer. It's money. Could it be found in the human genome? Maybe? Could in be found in mitochondrial structures? Perhaps. But the only way to find that out is through research and the only way to fund research is with money. For many, many years one of my dearest friends has been A, who is also known as the matriarch of cancer research in NJ. She is crazed with passion about cancer research. I have learned at her knee the value of basic scientific research in the fight against cancer. She is also affiliated with this crowd: http://www.komencsnj.org/. They will have 15,000 plus people walking at the Race for the Cure in Princeton this weekend to raise money to fight breast cancer. For a number of reasons, not the least of which being that I've got two of them not far from my chin, breast cancer is very near and dear to my heart. So if you can, walk, donate but be sure to examine your breasts, when it's time for the squish get it. And get a check up every year.

Are You Kidding Me With This?

As a self observation exercise, I spent yesterday and today observing how many times I posed the question 'are YOU fucking kidding me with this?' Whether out loud or in my mind. So yesterday, I was driving to Freehold and someone pulled in front of me going 35 mph in a 50 mph zone, and I let one rip. Today, I had posed the question 11 times before 9:30am. Not for the faint hearted!

Why I Need Patience...

Because some of the clients find it to be too much of an inconvenience to communicate their new addresses to us, we have boxes of checks that have been returned by the postal service. I was fishing through them because it's one of the things I do, in my spare time, and it's done generally because once we've got 3 or 4 checks back there's a good chance that the forwarding address is not on this plane of existence.

For the others, people will call in their new addresses and then we will mail the check back out to them. Sooooooooooo, one of the prizes asks me do I have a check for Weems. I say what's the first name. John is the response I get. I don't have a check for John Weems. I don't have a check for anybody Weems. Client Services says it's on the list. I say ok, spell the last name. W-i-l-l-i-a-m-s. grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Who knew I had to be bilingual for this damned job?

Nemesis

Despite this well-worn air of serenity I tend to give off, from time to time I do get fired up. Especially at work. There’s a lot there to get a girl fired up. My current nemesis is the scheduler, a/k/a that seat sniffing moron. For us to work the magic that we work, it requires a strict schedule that is well planned, oh and makes some sense. We cannot schedule processing activities for weekends, or holidays, because we don’t work weekends or holidays. So someone has got to be fairly conversant in how to read the list of holidays provided on the calendar and of course, one must be able to read and comprehend a calendar. One might think that these would be a desirable skill set for someone whose only productive activity would be writing a schedule for the year.

We issue what we call standard checks the first of each month, then each month we have floating pay dates that we call nonstandard. Nonstandard dates have few requirements, the 1st being that the checks are not dated the first and the second being that no processing events are scheduled for Saturday, Sunday or holidays. So it’s not bad enough that he has nonstandard checks dated 1 May and 1 August but we are running a calculation on the 4th of July. So I had to tell the scheduler, I think fucking not. He doesn’t seem to realize that it’s not up for discussion, nor is it ever prudent to argue with me about this. Which invariably leads to a battle royale, a) because I’m a bitch and b) because I ought not have to babysit this douchebag or listen to his excuses. Just fix the fucking thing, man. And do not let me find any other fuckups in this schedule. Fortuitously for me, my boss’s modus operandi is, if Skull is happy then I’m happy. If Skull is not happy, then we must fix that. Or she's going to hurt someone.

Bureacracy

The point of bureacracy is to be self-sustaining, I'm convinced of it. I know I was taught that it was to provide due process at all levels of governmental interaction, but really it's to be self-sustaining. Picture it, the data processing queen whirls up here to present me a check for $850.57 that is made out to, wait for it, nobody. After Pay to the Order of:, we have a plethora of blank space. As you might imagine this pleases me not at all. So I have to go around barking because this kind of idiocy is why computer programmers have to be clever enough to think of ways to make things idiot resistant. System generated checks with blank payees should simply not be. (yup, more should all over my footwear.) In order to issue a check made payable to someone (and in a perverse turn of events this poor soul is deceased so he'd not have been able to cash the check even were it made out properly.) I have to stop payment on the check, the online system to stop payment on the check requires a payee, soooooooo, I've gotta call the brain trust in Charlotte where for 20 minutes I get ma'amed within an inch of my wit's end about 'our system limitations'. Until patience leaves me and I say "dude, have you got a manual system? Yes, ma'am. Good, try that. Yes, ma'am." It alarms me that only I seemed to have the animal cunning to suggest that solution and we are paying them.

Excuse Me

Ordinarily, I work pretty hard at being civil and polite. It's the compassionate thing to do and it allows people to remain under the impression that I'm a nice person, whether that happens to be true or not. Occassionally, usually when I'm exhausted (okay, or just plain ornery) I will slip. In my travels today I had to whirl into Wawa (the local quickie mart) and utilize the sanitary facilities, there was a certain urgency to my visit so when a woman excused herself to me, I quickly snapped without thinking - "Why? Did ya fart?

Bachelorette Parties

I lunch daily with an extraordinary group of women, they were mentioned in the posting entitled the language of love. (shut the fuck up means I love you in the language we all speak) One of them, N is getting married at the end of the month. This wedding has been a year in the planning and as we come down to the wire the preparatory rituals have commenced. So we celebrated the bachelorette party Friday evening. This involved a visit to a nightclub in PA, this place is apparently known as the biggest wrinkle bar/meat market in the South Jersey/Philadelphia/Delaware suburbs or as my acquaintance D calls it the 4th circle of Dante's Inferno. I will confess to not spending much time in the strange twilight world of the heterosexual, as I am not. And if one is not headless, one can discern this without too much effort. Well, two gentlemen asked me to dance and as this would interfere with my view of my friends cleavage, I demurred. And do think to myself, what are ya blind, buddy? could I look any dykier?

The Depilatory Power of Duct Tape - Who Knew?

Duct tape is widely touted as a product no household should be without. It works wonders in many aspects of home repair and as I overheard in a conversation this afternoon even works as a health and beauty aid. Apparently, one of the women folk with whom I work runs to hirsute. In order to combat overgrowth of her underbrush she utilized the services of a salon’s wax technician. But the salon has changed hands and she is not trusting of the new wax technician, nor the new ownership. She doesn’t want to catch funk from their wax. So she switched her hair removal method to home waxing, which apparently worked just fine for the more readily visible anatomical landmarks, she ran into some trouble in her nether regions and enlisted the handy duct tape. Having wrestled with duct tape during more than one home improvement project I can readily attest to the efficacy with which it can deprive one of hair. So my coworker who we will call Glinda, cut the duct tape into anatomically appropriate slips and went to work. Not surprisingly the duct tape proved an effective depilatory, however, she discovered that she had quite the sensitivity to the adhesive and now has a rash. So much for avoiding funk.

Aikido Metaphor

During a recent Aikido class, I looked around the room and noticed that I’m wearing clothing that’s older than most of the people on the mat. It was a mixed teens/adult class, beginner level and so when the instructor demonstrated the first technique as a Katetori Koshinage, I was quite amused amid the wide-eyed stares of most of my fellow students. By way of explanation, the attacker (uke – the person who ends up receiving the technique) grabs the attackee (nage- the person who ends up executing the technique) by the wrist, pushes her hip/butt into the uke’s midsection so as to drape him over her back and tosses him onto the ground (not gently either). One does not as a rule do a whole lot of koshinage in a beginners class – (koshinage essentially meaning your ass is dangling from a perch atop nages hips and then you as uke get pulled into a roll off of nage’s back which is pretty high up from an ‘oh shit, I’ve got to fall from here’ perspective) because most beginners don’t know how to fall from that kind of a height. In Aikido, it’s essential to learn surrender because if you struggle against gravity you can get pretty badly hurt, where as if you work with the known outcome of gravity (i.e. ass meet mat, mat meet ass) you can generally stay safe. It’s not natural for human beings to surrender to the sensation of falling or having their balance taken from them, you are fighting many atavistic tendencies to do it and to do it safely surrender is key, as is tenacity. Aikido provides many opportunities to practice surrender, being completely in the moment, and taking what life dishes out. The technique we ultimately ended up practicing for the night is called nikkyo, (second technique) with nikkyo nage’s wrist ends up bent in upon itself and the way to maintain balance and connection as well as endure less pain is to turn into the source of the pain and support your center from there. Again, like so many other of life’s lessons this was an Ah-ha moment for me. Avoiding pain doesn’t rid us of it, it just allows it to crop up in more places in life. To face pain head-on and be with it in the moment allows us to maintain some control in the midst of surrender.

Office Adventures

I work in an office (although many days it could be more accurately characterized as an orifice of the crimson anal ilk, but I digress). I whirl in today to the dulcet tones of whining (this is not an uncommon experience). Today’s whine involved the copier and how some people (that work under another straw boss) slam the copier lid down, and break it and leave it broken without telling anyone or calling the service folk. This whine occurs approximately weekly. Apparently, it is assumed that only I have the animal cunning to tell someone to stop slamming the fucking copier or I’ll rip your head off and slam it in it and that only I have the animal cunning to call the repair folk. Today’s solution was to place a sign on the machine that says: OUT OF ORDER, SLAMMING THE LID BROKE THE MACHINE, PARTS ARE ON ORDER.
There’s nothing wrong with this machine but it keeps the whiners and the slammers away from it.

Today’s other adventure involved my friend H. I encountered him as we were waiting to accost our mutual boss, me to sign something that requires top secret approval and H. to recount his adventure of the day lest the boss (F) hear it from the news media. People congregate to smoke by a short wall out near the street. H. smokes, he was outside smoking about ten and saw a small open box with a label bearing the name Connecticut Chief Medical Examiner and it contained what appeared to be specimen slides (for a microscope). Rather than leave them on the wall for some one to break or worse, he brought them into the euphemistically titled security guard in the lobby of our building. He gave them the box, the slides and his phone number. He gets upstairs, his phone is ringing and they want him back down in the lobby. In the lobby, he’s greeted by State Troopers, folks in Haz Mat gear, and firefighters who grill him about the slides. These parties were apparently sufficiently concerned that they were ordering up the portable decontamination trucks when through some official channel they learned that the slides were training slides and innocuous. I surely hope so, but I’ve been feeling right itchy since H told me his story.

Windows

As I mentioned in the previous post, I'm having windows replaced in my house. I had to lock up the cats so they do not make a break for it. And Stripe, of course, was rather recalcitrant so I had to toss him in the room, again, and again and again. There's nothing like tossing a 17lb cat that doesn't want to be tossed.

From Time to Time

I think I'd have been better off being born smart rather than just smart assed.
The window folks are coming to replace my windows and need the window treatments removed, not a problem, unsnap the blinds and take them off easy stuff. Well, I do that and then hop in the shower and of course, hop out and go about the business of getting dressed. I notice that I'm putting the twins in the bra while framed in the blindless window for all the neighborhood to see because I forgot that I took the blinds down. Of course, there's a guy in the front yard, mouth agape edging the lawn and I do what any girl does, wave - my hand, not twins. Well, at least not deliberately the twins.

Beautification Rituals

Most days I think I look on the unkempt side of random. But since I'm evading the grey hair fairies pretty strenuously I go in for cut and color religiously every 8 weeks. Last night was the big night and I went for broke and got the eyebrows waxed. Somehow I look a little more expressive while at the same time looking a little more nuts. It's an amusing look for me and it's all about my own amusement.

Is It Work If?

I'm listening to a conversation knowing it will go into this blog or a book or both?

I'm trying to visualize someone as a small child, mostly so I stop visualizing slapping their adult self senseless (and yeah, mainly it is too late as they've already achieved senseless)?

I answer a question with a question - like what the hell are you prattling on about now?

I answer the inevitable phone question, "Who is this?" with "I don't know I can't see you?"