Author Archives: Cindy

and a happy f'ing St Patty's day to you too

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I am sick. Sick, sick, sickety-sick. I don’t know what brought it on, I guess it’s the change of season. I started feeling bad on Tuesday, my nose was stuffy and I felt like I constantly needed to clear my throat. When I woke up on Wednesday, I could barely swallow. I went to work anyway, but managed to clear my schedule so I could stay home on Thursday.

By the time Thursday rolled around, I felt like death warmed over, and I had obviously crossed the line from “common cold” to “full-on bronchitis”. I managed to get an appointment with my doctor that afternoon, who looked in all of my sinus cavities (ears, nose, throat) and actually said, “Wow”. That can’t be good, can it? She gave me a couple of prescriptions. And it only took the pharmacy an hour to figure out how to fill them. That was fun. It wasn’t like they were all that busy, they just couldn’t seem to figure out something as basic as capsules versus tablets. I almost coughed on the stupid pharmacist without covering my mouth, you know, just as payback. But I didn’t. What can I say, I’m just not that cruel.

I was going to stay home from work again today, but I checked my email this morning and saw a note from my boss that there was some emergency stuff going down and I really needed to be here for it. I doubt I’ll survive the whole day, but I’m hanging in there so far. Thank god for Sudafed. And Angie, that magic potion tea that you told me about? Has saved my life today. It’s not even noon and I’m already on my fourth mug of it.

Not much else going on. I’m just feeling like hell and hoping that time goes by quickly so I can get out of here and go crawl back in bed. No green beer for me tonight. But I will be lining up shots of festively green NyQuil. Close enough.

paternal wisdom

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My parents like to go to Europe whenever they can. They’ve been several times in the past ten years or so. Around the time that they started traveling overseas, they began watching a show, I think it was on the Travel Channel, hosted by a guy named Rick Steves. His show was (is? it might still be on the air, I’m not sure) about cool places to explore in Europe, and my parents absolutely loved it. He wrote books about traveling through Europe, and they loved those too. They even bought Rick Steves-endorsed gear. I currently own two of his backpacks – one my parents gave me as a gift, one I “borrowed” in college and sort of forgot to ever return (my mom let me off the hook, since it gave her an excuse to buy a brand new Rick Steves backpack). And they are pretty awesome for traveling, I must admit. Lots of nifty compartments and whatnot.

It turns out that Rick Steves lives in Seattle. (Well, he lives in the suburbs, but close enough.) So when I saw this article about him in our local paper, I had to email the link to my parents. I wasn’t sure how they would react to the whole topic of marijuana legalization since I don’t think it’s something we’ve ever talked about. Although my dad did once suggest to me that since Dave and I have so much land, I could grow pot as an alternative source of income, and it’s doubtful that anyone would ever notice since our neighbors are so far away.

I’m almost positive he was kidding.

My dad is a man of few words. This was his reply, which I am still laughing about. I can imagine him saying this in his Foghorn Leghorn-esque (“now-uh, now-uh, son, I say, son….”) southern accent:

Well, don’t reckon we ought to buy his book no more. Probably a communist, too.

That was his entire email. The end. God, I love my dad.

the alphababy

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I’ve known about this for a while, but I wasn’t allowed to say anything until the official announcement was made: my cousin Cat is pregnant!! Woo-hoo!! I’m so excited for her and her husband Tony, because I know they will be kick-ass parents.

And I promise that I’m only the teeny-weensiest bit jealous, because they are both so cool that I can’t possibly drudge up any remotely negative thoughts about either of them. So congrats, you crazy kids.

Y’all should go stop by her blog and give her a little shout-out.

a watched pot never boils

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I have been trying so hard to come up with something funny to blog about, and honestly? I got nothin’. So instead, I’ll share a story of how someone managed to piss me off this weekend.

Saturday night, a couple of girls I don’t know very well (they’re friends of my friend Linda) were having a combined birthday party, and for some unfathomable reason I was invited, so Kris and I went. Dave was supposed to go too, but he had worked all day, and none of his buddies were going to be there, so I let him off the hook. He stayed home and played video games, and was a very happy camper. (I’m such an understanding wife. Really.) The birthday party was at a bowling alley, so obviously these two girls were totally copying Linda and me, but whatever. Only their party was at a different bowling alley in Seattle, which I must say (for lack of a better word) sucked. They were playing 80’s music when we first got there; I heard both Duran Duran and the Eurythmics, and that was cool. About 15 minutes later, they switched to heavy metal. And it wasn’t even fun, silly metal, they played stuff like Black Sabbath and Motorhead, songs that none of us knew, and it was ear-splittingly loud. Kris asked the DJ if he was going to be playing metal all night, he gave her the metal “horns” hand gesture and said “RAAAWWWKKK!!!” (or something to that effect). Right. Kris and I decided that the only person there that we really knew was Linda, and the music sucked, so we bought each of the birthday girls a drink, wished them much fun and merriment, and we took off.

We spent the rest of the evening playing pool and dancing at a gay club in Seattle that I haven’t been to in ages. It was fabulous.

However, at the party, I had this little exchange that lasted maybe 20 or 30 seconds, and it has managed to burn itself into my brain to such a point that I’m still seething about it. (I’m so full of seething-ness that I’m not even sure that last sentence made any sense at all.) One of the birthday girls, Ashley, is someone who I’ve met now maybe two or three times. I definitely wouldn’t say that we’re friends; in fact, I’m not even sure that I like her. And after this last conversation, I’m pretty sure that I don’t. We’ve spoken maybe twenty words to each other in the entire time I’ve known her. To sum up: I hardly know the chick.

So imagine my surprise when out of the blue, she turned to me and said, “So, have you and Dave had any luck getting pregnant yet?” Wow. I don’t know how she even knows that we’re trying, because I sure as hell didn’t tell her. I’m guessing she heard about it from Linda or one of our other mutual friends. And I suppose it’s really no big deal, I’m just very sensitive about that subject because I’ve had five (5!) cycles since I got off birth control, and no, I’m not pregnant. Yet. (I think the “yet” on the end of her sentence bugged me more than anything.) I don’t really talk about my frustration with that to anyone. Of course Dave hears about a lot of my fears and anxieties, but even then, there’s still an awful lot that goes on in my brain that I keep to myself. I can’t explain why, but it’s a touchy subject, and I’m scared to talk about it because I don’t want to jinx the whole damn thing. But honestly, even if I was pregnant, I doubt that I’d be announcing it to people who barely even qualify as acquaintances, you know?

So, back to Ashley. She asked me if I was pregnant (yet), and I said, “Um, no…” and started looking around the room for any kind of imaginable diversion. (In hindsight, I should’ve pointed to my empty cocktail glass and asked her if she really thinks I would’ve just slurped down a vodka and cranberry juice if I was pregnant. Seriously, lady: duh.) Immediately, she followed up with, “You guys have been trying for a while, haven’t you? Have you been to your doctor about that yet?”

Blink. Blink blink.

I didn’t know how to react to that. In all fairness, she’s the mother of a toddler herself, so maybe she just wanted to share some pregnancy/mommy wisdom with me. But at the same time, doesn’t that seem awfully personal? I mean, especially considering that we don’t know each other very well and the fact that I never told her I was trying to get pregnant? I wanted to say back to her, “Ok, (a) what’s with all the yet’s, (b) define ‘a while’, and (c) is my medical care any of your f-ing business?”

But I didn’t. I just said, “Well, I haven’t been to my doctor lately…” Kris and her flawless sense of timing showed up then to ask if any of us needed refills for our drinks. (Thank god.) I excused myself to the ladies’ room and took deep breaths to get my pulse rate back to normal. I still don’t know why that conversation shook me as much as it did. I guess it was because I was caught off guard. But that was around the time that I decided that honestly? A gay dance club sounded pretty darn good.

I mean, if I was pregnant, would I be able to shake my groove thing to a techno remix of “I’m a Slave 4 U” by Britney Spears, surrounded by hot, sweaty, shirtless men and drag queens? I think not.

priorities

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Have you ever had the kind of morning where you realize, before you even leave the house, that if you make it until 7:00 p.m. without bursting into tears, your day will be a screaming success?

Yeah. I’m having one of those.

Nothing is exactly wrong per se, it’s just a bunch of little things: I have a headache; I have about a hundred things to do at work and I’m pretty sure I’ll be stuck here until late; there are some personnel changes at work that are stressing me out (nothing that affects my job security, just new people that I’m trying to learn how to “click” with); way too many meetings; still dealing with the homeowner’s insurance people from our flooding problem back in December; my car needs to go in the shop because my “check engine” light came on and I don’t have time to take it in; and so forth. I think it’s just the accumulation of little annoyances and problems that’s making me feel overwhelmed.

Blarggh. Deep breath in, deep breath out, this too shall pass…

girls are in da hizzouse

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There hasn’t been a whole lot to write about lately. Work is crazy busy this week, which is good because I don’t do well when I’m bored. (Hello, online games! Ah Rocket Mania, how I love you so.) And I’m actually enjoying the work that I’m doing, so that’s fantastic.

This past weekend, since Dave was in Oregon, Kris and I had sort of a “girls’ weekend”. Which doesn’t really mean much of anything, it’s not like we stayed up late doing each other’s hair and painting our toenails or anything. But we were on our own, without the presence of males (save for one neutered male cat, Beaumont), so I guess that’s close enough. Saturday, we drove around Seattle and checked out neighborhoods, so Kris can think about where she wants to live when she gets an apartment. We took a few photos, which will be online soon. We brought Lucky with us too, because we thought that she enjoyed riding in the car. As it turns out, she either ate too much grass when we stopped at the park, or else she got motion sickness, because she barfed all over the backseat. That was my first exposure to dog barf, and let me tell you, it is at least a thousand times grosser than cat barf. My god, that was horrifying. It reminded me of why I’m (still pretty much) a cat person.

That night, we went out for dinner, played pool and drank many beers. Well, I only had two beers because I had to drive. But I drank many more after we got home because I needed to catch up with Kris’s tipsiness. And boy, did I ever. I think we both passed out around 1 a.m. Because apparently we are old, and we can’t stay up all night anymore. But see what I mean about not having a stereotypical girls’ weekend? We are all about the beer and pool.

Sunday morning, Dave got home from Oregon – yay! We went to the store, stocked up on ridiculous amounts of groceries, watched the Oscars, and called it a night.

Last night was “all-you-can-eat crab legs” night at a restaurant that I normally consider somewhat sketchy, but I loves me some crab legs, so Kris and I went anyway. Dave doesn’t eat shellfish, and his tummy wasn’t feeling too good, so he didn’t come with us. I tease him about his anti-shellfish habits a lot, but seriously, it’s not like he’s allergic or anything. He just doesn’t like the whole “cracking of the shell” element. He’ll eat crab cakes, though. Just so long as he doesn’t have to get the meat out of the shell himself, he’s fine. He has no idea what he’s missing out on. Kee-razy. And for the record, sketchy restaurant or no, the crab legs were awesome.

And, that’s about it. I have (literally) about a dozen meetings between now and Friday, so I’ll try to update again soon, hopefully with something more interesting than this post, but don’t worry if you don’t hear from me.

thursday drama

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Dave left yesterday afternoon for Oregon. He has some work thing in Portland, and he’s going to stay the weekend to do some sightseeing. I love Portland, and I have two uncles there who I adore and would love to see, so it would’ve been great if I could have gone with him. But, I had meetings today that I couldn’t cancel, so instead, he’s off in Oregon on his own. He’d better bring me back something pretty.

So, Kris has been leaving for work really early in the morning because she has an insane commute. From our house to her office is over 30 miles, which in Seattle rush hour traffic takes well over an hour. Since I leave almost two hours after she does, I’ve been taking Lucky out in the morning so she can go potty one last time before she gets locked up in the house for the day. I really love the dog, so I don’t mind doing that at all. Yesterday morning, however, she somehow managed to yank the leash out of my hand. She runs to the end of the leash all the time, so I don’t know how she caught me off guard, I guess I wasn’t fully awake yet. But she got a running start, and bam! The leash hit the ground, which might as well have been a starter pistol for how fast she took off down the driveway and across the street. The plastic handle of the leash bouncing on the ground behind her sounded kind of similar to the noise that kids’ bikes make when there are playing cards in the wheel spokes.

I went chasing after her – in clogs, because I am lazy and didn’t feel like putting on real shoes for taking the dog out – screaming for her to come back (morning, neighbors!), which of course she totally ignored. (And for the record, she does know that command because it works when we’re inside the house, or if the gate is closed and she’s running around the fenced-in yard. The dog just has selective hearing. Apparently she and my dad have a lot in common.) She headed down a dead-end street, so I wasn’t totally terrified of her getting hit by a car, but I was a little worried about having to chase after her into our neighbors’ yards.

I finally caught up with her a good five or ten minutes later, making me officially late for work. She had found an interesting scent in our neighbor’s hedges, and the leash was lying in the street, so I managed to grab the leash and yank her over to me. I was so mad that I smacked her on the head and yelled, “Bad dog!!” Now, before anyone freaks out on me: I didn’t hit the dog hard at all. I used the tips of my fingers, not the palm of my hand. I use more force when I’m smoothing down my own hair. I just wanted to make sure I had her attention. And boy, did I ever. The look she gave me when I yelled at her can only be described as utter shock and betrayal. Because, you know, I’m supposed to be the fun aunt, not the mean mommy. For the rest of the walk back to our house, every couple of minutes she’d look at me, then duck her head in shame. I felt sort of horrible about it, so I gave her a milk-bone when we got back to the house, and all was forgiven.

That evening, I was driving home from work, talking on my cell phone to my dad about how to post pictures of the used golf clubs that he wants to sell on eBay. (Yes, I talk and drive. I am that girl. Sorry if I accidentally cut you off. Feel free to flip the bird at me, I probably won’t notice since I’m too busy chatting away.) My other line beeped, and I saw that it was Kris, so I told my dad that I’d call him back. Kris said she couldn’t unlock the front door. She unlocked the deadbolt, but the doorknob itself was locked, and she didn’t have a key for that. Problem? Neither do I! We never lock the doorknob (hi, potential burglars!). It’s just a simple push-and-twist lock, it seems pretty useless, so we only use the deadbolt. Our housekeeper came yesterday, so she must’ve locked it on her way out. It’s probably my fault for not explaining exactly how to lock up when she was done, but the woman barely understands English, so I just never bothered. (I’m going to put some duct tape over the lock so it won’t happen again.)

Ok, so. Locked out. Fun! The only person who might have had a key for the bottom lock would be Dave – and oh, did I mention that he’s in Oregon? I stopped at the store on my way home and bought bobby pins, to see if I could pop the lock that way. I’ve accidentally locked the push-button lock on my bedroom door before, and I used a hairpin to unlock that, so I figured this couldn’t be too different. HA! I was wrong. Meanwhile, Lucky had her nose pressed against the window, anxiously waiting for us to get in, so we could take her outside to pee. Poor dog.

I headed to my neighbor Carol’s house across the street. I asked her what she knew about breaking and entering. She said not much, but she came over with her swiss army knife to see if she could do it. Her fifteen year-old daughter was with her, going, “Um, mom? If you really manage to pick that lock, I’m going to have a whooole lot of questions to ask you…”

Carol couldn’t pick the lock. I remembered that our bedroom window was unlocked (hi again, burglars!), so I asked her if she had a tall extension ladder. She did. Charlotte (her daughter) went back across the street to get it, and she and Kris held the ladder while I climbed up and into my own bedroom window. The sight of me hauling myself headfirst through a window (I landed in an awkward “oof!” handstand formation on the other side) must’ve been hilarious to any neighbors who happened to see us. Teenie was sitting on the bed, looking at me like, “WTF? You’ve never come in that way before!”

So, yeah. That about sums up my Thursday. I am so ready for the weekend, you cannot even imagine.