Monday, May 31, 2010

The New Baby

Well, I did it. I actually did it. I... [deep breath] bought a computer.

Quit laughing. I swear to Pete, I won't tell you about this if you keep it up. Done? Okay.

I've been using computers both personally and professionally for some time now, but I've never actually purchased one myself before. I've been using laptopasaurus for years now.

Laptopasaurus, for those of you who are unaware, was a gift from my parents when I went back to school. In 1997. Laptopasaurus was old and rehabbed then. I know. I know!

Since the advent of laptopasaurus in my life, I've been with other computers. That's right. I've cheated on my technology. And I'm not just talking about the computers at work or the library. A friend built a desktop computer for me out of leftover parts he had lying around. I don't even want to know how you get to the point of having enough leftover computer parts that you can build a whole computer, but there you are. Then, three years ago, my roommate bought a new desktop computer. It's a lovely computer despite its operating system.

No, I don't want to talk about it. Mac people, be quiet.

So I've made through the last decade of so without buying anything new. Part of my reason for doing so has been fiscal, part has been fear-based. I was terrified to buy a new computer. Picture this: I finally summon up the nerve to throw down an enormous volume of money. I do the research. I watch the sale ads. I find the right machine for me and my needs and I march down to whatever store I've chosen, point to my computer and hand over my debit card. After loading up hard drive, monitor, printer, approximately nine billion cables and anything else I absolutely must have, I walk to the front of the store where I am stopped by a kind, friendly, helpful store employee.

"Ma'am? Did you just buy the new ___________?"

"Yes, it's right here. I have my receipt."

"Oh, that won't be necessary. I'm sorry to tell you, ma'am, but that computer is now obsolete. If you'll just come back to the counter, we'll take care of upgrading your equipment."


But I pushed aside my fears and I bought a netbook. Well, no, to be accurate, I bought my roommate a ridiculously expensive phone [adding her to my cell service plan] and got the netbook for "free." Yet another reason why people think we're a couple, but that's a whole different topic. But I have the netbook.

Now. To get to work on it.

No pressure.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Monday, Monday

Is it a bad sign, do you suppose, when all your work passwords are variations on curses and other foul language?

I've known for some time that I really, really need to move on from my job. After all, twenty years of sticking people with needles really ought to be enough. And between the length of time I've spent doing this and my general ill-will toward others, there isn't much faith in my ability to do other things. Or willingness to welcome me with open arms into another department. Go figure.
[Let me say, in regards to my job...why would anyone want to irritate me before I draw blood from him? And why, WHY do people insist on telling me how to do my freaking job? "Really, sir? You've had blood drawn once a month for ten years? Wow. Impressive. Of course, I do a larger number of draws than that in less than a week, but surely, surely you know more than I. Thank goodness that you're telling me what to do!!"]

So here are my options as I see them, my dear imaginary reader:

1) I can move into another job and take an enormous pay cut. [Take your time with this one; I know it's tempting.]

2) I can go back to school and get a graduate degree. Or a vocational graduate degree, like Medical Technology. [And again, let's be honest, unless I do something everyone clamoring to hire, I'm looking at a pay cut. Ooo! The choices!]

3) I can get off my tookus and actually write, as I've longed to do. Why I've been so bloody lazy is beyond me on this. The real question is, can I change my slothful ways? And even assuming I do, we both know that'll selling and seeing income from this is unlikely/slow as a teenager faced with punishment chores.

In my own defense, I've managed to stay on the Diet From Hell--more or less--for several months. I've pulled out one of the Tool-of-Satan exercise machines that litter our basement. I've managed to do this job without committing a felony. Why shouldn't I get off my literary behind?
No, I don't want to hear a list of reasons. Thank you. Sheesh.

[The TOS machine to which I refer is called "Leg Magic," by the way. See image above. I find nothing magical about it.]

In other news, the Chicago Blackhawks swept the San Jose Sharks and the Montreal Canadians face the Philadelphia Flyers in Game 5 tonight. Their series is 3-1, Flyers. We'll see....
And yet another eSchmarmony guy has become an IDM. I'm beginning to take it personally.
Mondays. Gah.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Moose 1, Volvo 0

Okay, this is what happened.
My friend Jennifer needed a weekend away to refocus her writing. She also loves my family's lake place in northern Idaho [who can blame her?] and asked a while back if we could meet there and write like fiends. I thought this was a wonderful idea. I got the okay from Those Who Have Power, and we planned this lovely weekend.

Thursday, the day I left for the lake weekend, rolled around. My roommate and I ended up spending far too much time at Costco and Safeway and a couple of other places I have no idea why we visited, so I left town at 6:30 PM. This was about 3-5 hours later than I planned. I wasn't thrilled about this, but it happened, so what to do, right? I made it to my parents' house in Spokane [Mom had a bunch of stuff for me to take to the cabin. Of course she did.] at 11:00-ish, and took off about a half hour later for the final leg of my trip.

At this point, my darling imaginary reader, you might be asking yourself why the HELL I didn't stay the night in Spokane. I will tell you. One big reason:

My mother.

No, no. Don't roll your eyes. Mom just likes to delay my departures. I don't think she even realizes it, but God love her, she does it. If I don't mind losing half a day at the lake, I sleep over at my parents then get up and get dragged over half of Spokane with Mom. She swears, every time, this will not happen, and does. She can't help it. She isn't bad. She's just drawn that way.

And okay, I love waking up that first morning at the lake. It's so quiet and peaceful and I'm so happy that I'm there. [sigh]

What? Oh! Right. Back to the story.

The last leg of the journey extends from the edge of Spokane to the cabin at Priest Lake. It's about 90 minutes of driving [more or less, depending on who you are] and within that distance is the ONE PLACE on the whole drive that has no cell coverage.

Enter The Moose.

I was coming around a bend, or that's how my memory tells it, and there it was. I had time to slow a bit, turn a bit and yell "NO NO NO NO!!!" and then....
Moose met car. Car knocked over moose. Moose destroyed windshield and dented car in retaliation.
When I caught my breath and looked around, I could see the moose starting to stir. I knew I couldn't call anyone. I knew moose can do big damage to human beings. I knew this moose was probably pissed. I knew I had to get out of there.
I drove 12-15 miles with a shattered windshield to the cabin. Remind me NOT to do this again.

Monday, May 10, 2010

In defense of Roberto Luongo is irritating the holy living snot out of me.

Why is it, every freaking time, Roberto Luongo gets treated like the orphan stepchild of NHL goalies?? Hmmmm???? Does anyone have a clue????

Throughout the year, Luongo's taken plenty of hits. He has. And not just on the ice, my imaginary reader, oh no. He's taken crap in press articles, in interviews, in commentary from other players. If there's a Goals Of The Week reel on, a goal scored on him will be on it. But are any of his saves on the Saves Of The Week? No. NO. Of Course not. I, for one, am SICK of it.

Roberto Luongo is awesome. He really is. Not only is he a damn fine goalie, but he's also the captain of the Vancouver Canucks. And while most goalies can stay in their crease and focus on their game, Luongo has to do that while keeping his team on track. He's got to keep players like Shane O'Brien from climbing over the wall to the opponents' bench and wreaking havoc with the opposing team. Not to say that I don't like O'Brien; I do. He's a hoot as well as a kick-ass player. But imagine trying to keep that guy under control....

Luongo owns every single loss and redirects every single win back to his teammates. And yeah, okay, with a few notable exceptions, this is a common practice among NHL players. But he does it. And we all know there are games won solely on the strength of the goalie. Halak and the Montreal Canadiens are beautiful examples of that in the playoffs this year. Luongo doesn't try to shift blame or dodge the bullets fired at him; he takes it and he does his level best to move on.

And what is this crap about his "inability" to win big games??? Come on!!! He is THE biggest reason that his country handed my country its ass during the Olympics this year.

What's that, my imaginary reader? Sidney Crosby? Oh yes, Sid the Kid made some lovely goals. Um...was Sidney in the first game? You know, the one the US won against Canada??? Oh, that's right. He was. Was Luongo?

No. He wasn't.

This is not to say that Martin Brodeur isn't an amazing freaking goalie. Martin Brodeur is a rockstar. But when it comes down to brass tacks, it was Luongo who was the winning goalie for Canada in 2010. It was Luongo who defeated his own Canucks teammate, Ryan Kesler. It was Luongo who made it happen for Canada.

I will say it again, imaginary friend. Roberto Luongo is awesome. And if anyone has anything else to say about him, that foolish person can just come talk to me.

Now, get off his back,

Monday, May 3, 2010


Hello, dear imaginary friend! I'm so sorry I disappeared for so long; I have no decent excuse. Oh, sure, I could lie and tell you a story, but somehow, I just know you'd know that I was lying. And really, after all we've meant to each other, I couldn't do that to you.

Okay, that, and I don't feel like working that hard on a lie that I won't even get away with. Pfft. What a waste of time. Completely not what I'm about...other than the blogging thing. Heehee!

Our topic of discussion is apropos, given my recent invisibility. Now, I'd considered this topic a while back, but every time I'd tried to discuss it, it just sounded so whiny. I know! Again, completely not who I am.

Why are you laughing? Yes, you are. Yes, you are! Are you done now? Fine. Moving on.

As I was saying, before being interrupted by mockery, our topic of discussion is the IDM. The Incredible Disappearing Man. Many have not heard of this phenomena. Many may believe that this is something I've invented. Such is not the case, my fictional reader.

Imagine, if you will, meeting a nice man. [Yes, yes. I know. Just play along. Sheesh!] It could be online, it could be at church, it could be in a bar. You talk, or email, or IM. You have a lovely time. You even go on a date, or two. And then....

He disappears.

Gone. Like the great woolly mammoth. Gone. GONE. And you can't get ahold of him. Nope. Not by phone, not by text, not by letter, not by telegram, not by email, not by IM, not by carrier pigeon, not even by freaking smoke signal. It is as if the hand of God has reached down and plucked him off the face of the earth, and swept into an alternate universe where no one, but no one, can reach him. Now, if you think like I do, your immediate thought will include this man's accidental death in a ditch, caused by some hideous but preventable health concern. "Oh, my lord! He must be dead in a ditch somewhere from a pulmonary embolism; he was such a nice man and...and he said he'd call me!"

Sadly, no. The IDM is alive and well, but pretending you [or I] do not exist. And it's not like anyone did anything stupid on the date, like mention what your first three children will be named or describe your ideal engagement ring. No one spent any time slamming ex significant others. It wasn't a one night stand; no standing occurred.

So wtf?

I do not understand the IDM. Really, isn't it easier just to leave a voice mail, or an email, or text message, fer chrissakes, saying thank you for a lovely evening, but this just isn't what he's looking for? He wouldn't have to block anyone's number on the phone, he wouldn't have to delete emails. Why the disappearing act? I hate to fall back on the men-are-poopooheads standby, but in this case, it does seem appropriate.

IDMs are just big poopooheads.