Welcome to my office

It took longer than usual to get to work this morning, as the fog was thick as troll boogers. I played it safe, drove slowly, and only arrived 18 minutes late. Not too bad, considering my drive is over an hour long.

I put my things away and began to settle in for the day, but found that since we had to re-install our old version of Quickbooks on my computer, I needed to run about five major updates before I could even start to run payroll. Once I had the updates fired up and running (at about one percent a minute), I meandered out to the lunch room, where today's paper sat on the uber-attractive, chipped brown formica folding table against the wall.

I had just flicked through today's horrific headlines and was perusing the advice column, when one of our illustrious office employees came out from the nook where the refrigerator and microwave live. She was holding a kitchen sponge by one corner and looking puzzled.

The sponge had a huge burned black spot in the middle, and smoke was billowing from it in a long, white stream. She said that "someone" had told her that putting a nasty, bacteria-riddled kitchen sponge in the microwave for three minutes would "get rid of the smell".

I resisted the immediate urge to ask her the age-old question, "If someone told you to jump off a bridge, would you?", because I would then be required to resist the urge to give her directions to the nearest one - and I don't think I could have done it.

There were just so many things wrong with this little scenario that I didn't know where to begin, but I suggested that the smell might indicate that it was actually time to throw the sponge away and get a new one. Or (call me crazy) perhaps to immerse the sponge in -gasp- bleach and water, and rinse it out? Just a suggestion.

At this point, Einstein decided to wave the sponge around, and then turned on her heel and marched over to the window air conditioner next to the microwave and turned it on full blast. Then she threw the sponge in the sink, and ran cold water over it. Of course, since we have no hot running water in the building, there was no other option. I just wanted to underscore which circle of hell this place really is.

Of course, the air conditioner did nothing but blow all the hot, nasty, germ-infested stank out into the rest of the office, where I proceeded to gag and run into my room, shut the door, and grab a wintergreen mint to get the smell (the taste?) out of my nose and throat. I just know that the invasive burnt sponge miasma is a cancer-causing agent. Nothing else could smell so foul. Except maybe when I've eaten one bean burrito too many... but I digress.

I'm fairly certain that this smell will never, ever, be vanquished from the lunch room. I am absolutely certain that no morsel of food that touches my lips will ever come within a mile of that microwave. Which limits my lunch choices considerably, but since I'll probably croak as a result of breathing in toasted mold spores and manmade plastic sponge matter, it won't matter all that much anyway.

Double - oh - whatthefuck?

Went to see "Casino Royale" last night. Liked the movie, but it just wasn't a real "Bond flick". There were no cool Bond gadgets. No shoe phones. No hats that turn into helicopters. Bond himself was more likely to get drunk and take you out back and break your teeth in than to slickly maneuvre his way into a winning position.

And.

THIS is the new "Bond girl".

Okay, I admit this picture wasn't taken from the movie, but it's the only one I could find that correctly conveyed how very wrong she was for Bond's main squeeze. Jugs, sure, she had nice ones - but unfortunately the handles for those jugs were sticking out the sides of her melon. And big buck teeth, to boot! An accent so sloppy you can't even understand what she's saying for most of the movie. Ugh. She's also geeky and awkward, and can't pull off walking seductively in an evening gown - a must for all Bond girls! And when she saw Bond off a bad guy or two, she sat in the shower and cried - what a WIMP!

What happened to the Bond girls who were powerful, seductive, could walk a tightrope in seven inch stilettos, and always had a great one-liner answer for everything? And her name - Vespa? What the hell? Why not "Hummer", or some other vehicle with real balls? Actually, in honor of the upcoming holidays, they could have just gone with the actress' real name, "Eva Green". Get it? Evagreen? Okay.

Now to Bond himself - let's just acknowledge he's got a body from hell, and move on. What's with the lips? He sticks them out in what would be a bad-boy pout, but someone should have told him that trick only works if you actually have an upper lip.

The result here is something more like a bird's beak! Sexy? No, I think not. And I suppose I understand why they picked Miss Teapot Head, after all - they wanted her ears to match Bond's.

The best part of the movie were the stunt and chase scenes, which had me gasping for breath. The foot pursuits amaze, the car stunts astound... which, after all, is what makes a good action flick.

Have you ever been haunted by a song? I have...

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high
There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true

Someday I'll wish upon a star and wake up
Where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops,
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow - why, then, oh why can't I?

If happy little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?

***

For the past six or seven years, I have heard this song wherever I go - in stores, elevators, other people's car stereos in traffic. I have no idea why I keep hearing this song over and over. Of course, each time I hear it I get a little more freaked out by it... is there some deep meaning I'm supposed to be getting? I mean, it's been years and years since this was a "top 40" song, so there's really no reason why I should be hearing it all the time like I do.

What gives?

This made me weepy. I am a complete SAP.

Marcheline's Little Known Facts #3A

This is the moon. The same moon we all see at its fullest each month. The man in the moon, with his perpetually surprised expression, is something we pretty much take for granted. We've incorporated his face into fairy tales, children's bedtime lullabyes, and even anthropomorphized him by creating mirrors, jewelry, and paintings where the moon is depicted with an actual human face.


It was Margie, my best friend from South Africa, that first made me realize that the whole world does not, in fact, recognize "the man in the moon". In South Africa, due to the position of its continent, when they look up at the full moon, they see "the baby in the moon".

One of my favorite memories of my time spent with Margs - before she went back to South Africa to live - is the two of us standing on the beach, leaning sideways with our heads hung upside down, while she tried to show me how to see the baby in the moon. When I finally saw it, I was thrilled! There's something so exciting about seeing the world through new eyes, and realizing that there are new and different ways to experience things that we see every day. Now, when I look at the full moon, I can see the baby in the moon in my mind's eye without turning my head upside down, and I think of Margie and hope that the moon is shining down on her with good fortune.

I've taken the picture from the top of this post and turned it so that you, my blogging friends, can see it too. I present: The Baby in the Moon!




Since it's unfamiliar, it may be hard to see - here's my rather crudely photoshopped version...



That's all for this edition of Marcheline's Little Known Facts. Keep your eyes on the skies!

Over and out.

Holiday Madness

Tonight, after my husband left for his bartending gig, I turned into the mad scientist that I truly am (underneath my veneer of suburban housewife, which is just underneath my veneer of combat boot stompin' badass bricklayer). I put on goggles and gloves, got out my vials and bottles, and cackled wildly as I melted gold over an open flame.

Okay, well maybe I just decided to get into the holiday spirit a little more and bottle my homemade red wine vinegar. Thanks to ebay, I have a nice little collection of vintage and just plain wacky bottles, which have been hanging around looking decorative among the plants in my front windows, waiting for the call of the mastermind.

Bear and I stopped in to our local home brewing store today and picked up some fethtive! gold bottle wax (for sealing). I'd already bought a small variety-size bag of corks at the local craft store, and so all I needed were some fresh herbs and I'd be ready to go. No problem, I thought - I'd just breep out to the grocery store after Bear went to work.

There is an unwritten law of my universe which states that every year, no matter what, I must venture forth on some seemingly small, easy-to-accomplish errand on the same night that my town holds its annual Gadam Christmas parade. No, you haven't Rip Van Winkled yourself out of your remaining shopping days - today is November 25. As in, an entire month before Christmas. It's just lucky that a town can't die of terminal stupidity, because if one could, mine certainly would. They have the Christmas parade in November. Their St. Patrick's Day parade is in April. The list goes on. In any case, their idea of a Christmas parade is getting every fire truck, ambulance, and volunteer fireperson's vehicle within a ten mile radius to drive through town at two miles per hour, as the local police simultaneously block off every entrance to Main Street coming and going.

As a result, it took me nearly 45 minutes to breep to the grocery store and pick up my chives, rosemary, tarragon, sage, and thyme. I guess I was hoping to take a little less thyme. On the good side, it gave me a chance to listen to the last chapter of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. On the bad side, I always get weepy at that part, and so I was snurfling when I pulled in the driveway.

I soaked all my bottles in a solution of bleach and water, rinsed and dried them, and then muscled my vinegar crock over to the kitchen sink, where I began the process of filtering the vinegar through a coffee filter and into the bottles. I found out it's easier to put the herbs in the bottles first and then fill them with vinegar, so that's what I did.

After corking the bottles, I melted the gold sealing wax in some aluminum foil suspended over a pot of boiling water (to keep from burning the wax and discoloring it). Then I took each bottle and dipped the cork end in the wax, turning and turning it as I moved it away from the heat, to evenly distribute the wax over the cork and the edge of the bottle. Some of the bottles had to be double dipped, since the edges of the cork were showing through the wax.

Here's how they looked when I got through:

MWAHAHAHAHAAA!!!!!

Now all I need to do is make some wee tags... "Yuletide Greetings From Thistlebright Kitchens To You and Yours" or some such, and attach with ribbons and a sprig of holly leaves and berries, or maybe pine cones... and voila! Zee olliday geefts, zey arrre feenee!

Meet Murtaugh!

This is Murtaugh. He's the newest addition to the Thistlebright family. We were out and about today, and "happened" to drive by our yearly Yule tree nursery, just to see if they've got any trees yet. Do they ever!

We aren't ready to buy our indoor Yule tree yet, but they had these lovely fresh dug pines with burlapped root balls, and Murtaugh here caught our eye. Even though Bear's back was hurting him from hauling bartending stuff the night before, he helped me wangle the very heavy little tree from the back of the Explorer into the wheelbarrow, through to the backyard, and into his new home near the back fence.

Murtaugh stands about five feet tall, and he's just what that corner was needing! Here's a shot of him in his new surroundings:

I was feeling a bit blah today, a bit un-holiday-ish, a bit down to tell the truth, and just the simple act of planting a tree has made all the difference. The fact that Murtaugh will be here year in and year out, a live, green, fragrant reminder of Yule 2006 makes me very happy, indeed.

Why Today Sucked - and other stories!

Right, well, let's just start with the fact that Bear is sick. That's pretty much bad enough, because damn, Bear is a great guy, and I love him, and it sucks that he was sick right through Thanksgiving. Coughing, feverish, the works. Then, last night at around midnight, after being woken up the fifteenth time by his hacking cough punctuated by loud snores, I realized that I was not going to get any sleep at all, and I had to work a double today at the restaurant, so I moved to the couch downstairs.

Problem is, downstairs is all dark and scary when I'm down there alone, and Bear is upstairs snoring and coughing. So, in a muzzy haze, I quickly thumbed through our DVD collection, looking for the longest movie we own. Turns out it's "Lord of the Rings: Return of the King" - which tops out at 200 minutes. I put it on, turned the volume WAY down, and settled myself on the extremely lumpy, bottomed-out sofa to try and get to sleep. Big mistake. First of all, the sofa threw my neck out and twisted my spine into something resembling a half-melted licorice stick. Secondly, that particular Lord of the Rings movie will give you REALLY fucked up dreams, especially when the volume is turned down so low that only your subconscious can pick up the vibes of Gollum murdering his brother, so that it creeps insidiously into your subconscious. Thirdly, Bear woke up at around two or so and came to the head of the stairs and called my name, inquiring as to my whereabouts, which woke me up again, and I told him that no, I wasn't coming back to bed. Too much snoring. According to him, I promptly fell asleep and began snoring so loudly myself that he could hear me all the way upstairs. I just know this foretells my getting sick, just like him....

When Bear got up at 6:30AM to get ready for work, I gathered my pillows, turned off the TV, and staggered blearily up the stairs to fling myself into the bed for a solid 2 hour sleep, which is all I could afford because I had to get up and mail my application for that job I really want before going in to the restaurant for my double shift.

Happily, I mailed off my application and picked up the laundry without any problem. Just as I was getting ready to leave the house for work, someone at work called me and said I was supposed to be there at ELEVEN, not 11:30, which is my usual Friday schedule. I said I'd be there directly. I got there, and had ONE LOUSY TABLE the whole day... one! By the time the dinner crowd started coming in, I was already so bored and annoyed that I just wanted to go home. But I hung in there and just barely managed to scrape a halfway decent tip out of a couple of tables before I was cut.

The bright spot in the day was the three minutes where Bear stopped by the restaurant to say hi to me between his day job and his bartending job. He texted me just a while ago that he wouldn't be home until maybe 2AM.... sigh....

Today pretty much bit the big one.

Happy Turkey Day!!!

Here it is, Thanksgiving Day, and I am pleasantly humming as a result of a LOVE-ly morning with Bear (mmmm!), and a smooth glass or two of red wine, accompanied by cheese, crackers, and pepperoni... our usual "preparing the turkey" snacks. The bird is in the oven, doing its thing, and the side dishes are either already prepared or prepped and ready to cook. Life is good!

Now - here are the recipes I promised:

* Mom's Pumpkin Soup *

• Chop 1 small onion and sautee in 1 tbsp of butter until onion is transparent.

• Add 3 cups chicken broth and 2.5 cups canned punkin (or mashed cooked fresh punkin). Stir until blended.
  
• Add 1 tbsp curry powder (or more, if you like) and salt and pepper to taste.
• Use either a cuisinart or regular blender to blend the soup to a fine puree (so there are no onion lumps visible).
• Return soup to pot, on very low heat, and add 1 cup half 'n' half - perhaps more, until soup is a light orange color and the consistency that you like your soup. Take care not to let soup come to a boil after you add the half 'n' half.
• Serve immediately and enjoy!

Note: I also find that the leftover soup makes a fantastic gravy for turkey and stuffing!

Cranberry Chutney

1 bag fresh cranberries (16 oz.)
2 cups sugar
1 cup water
1 cup orange juice
3/4 cup golden raisins
3/4 cup regular raisins
1 cup chopped walnuts
1 cup chopped celery
1 chopped red McIntosh apple
1 chopped green Granny Smith apple
1 tbsp grated orange peel
1 tsp ground ginger

• Bring cranberries, water, and sugar to boil in a saucepan, stirring frequently.
• Turn heat to low, cover, and simmer 15 minutes (watch carefully, as it likes to boil over!)
• Remove from heat, add all other ingredients.
• Leave until mixture reaches room temp, then cover and refrigerate.
• Serve cold - enjoy!

Note: I find that this recipe makes a lot of chutney, so if you're having company, buy a couple of small mason jars ahead of time, and send your guests home with a pretty jar of delicious memories!

Scuttlebutt

Here it is, the day before Thanksgiving. I would be posting my recipes for pumpkin soup and my mom's cranberry chutney, but I'm (ahem) not at home just at the mo, so I will have to postpone that particular joy until later on this evening, perhaps.

I am extremely grateful to have received (finally) both transcripts I needed in order to apply for that job I want. I sat for an hour, going over my application (which they oh-so-casually mentioned, in a tiny sentence hidden amongst the other instructions, is part of the examination!!!) to make sure all the i's are dotted, all the t's crossed. I made sure my application test fee check had the prerequisite social security number and name of the job being applied for on the front, as instructed. Finally, I arranged everything neatly, folded it, and placed it in an envelope. It is now sitting on my computer desk, humming and glowing slightly whenever I look at it, until Friday morning, when it will be lovingly carted to the post office and mailed, certified, return receipt requested. Then, perhaps, I will be able to breathe again.

Last night, the plan was to stop off at the grocery store on my way home from work and pick up our Turkey Day fixin's. On my way home, it became apparent to me that my... uh... monthly personal hygiene accoutrements... were not functioning properly, and so I went straight home, got everything back in order, and then left the house again to go shopping. (The cats were very confused at this point, having just done their respective happy dances that I was home, home, HOME!!!)

As I neared the entrance to Waldbaum's, I saw flashing lights and heard sirens, and saw flares set out - and was detoured away from the shopping center. RATS. I headed over to the next closest grocery, a somewhat crappy King Kullen. I had about half my cart full when I realized that the produce section showed no signs whatsoever of offering me the bag of fresh cranberries that I needed for the abovementioned cranberry chutney. The store clerk confirmed my fears, telling me that no, even though Thanksgiving was a mere two days away, they hadn't bothered to stock any fresh cranberries. The nerve! I was decent enough to return my turkey to the refrigerated section, but I left my cart mid-aisle and sulked all the way to my car.

Then I drove the long way 'round, back up to the highway, to gain entry to my Waldbaum's from the other direction. This worked, but it was nearly 8pm by this time. I was exhausted, and not exactly in the most cheerful of holiday moods. But my trusty store didn't fail me - I found fresh cranberries, as well as huge turnips, chopped walnuts, and golden raisins.

Happily, Bear met me at the store on his way home from an appointment, and helped me get home with all the goodies. We then changed into comfy clothes and threw ourselves on the couch with a salad and some hot chicken pot pie, to watch a wonderfully horrible '70s sci-fi flick about an alien that comes to Earth and gets chased around the woods by (as described on the film jacket) "a bunch of drunken rednecks". One of the funniest things about this movie was the New Jersey accents on the supposed rednecks.

I'm pretty chuffed about two new movies out - the new Bond flick, and Happy Feet. Hopefully Bear and I will get a few hours off to catch a matinee one of these fine days.

Of course I know where I'm going!

HUGE row with the boss today.

Boss insisted (AGAIN) that I attend one of those vapid, stupid, ultimately pointless telephone conference seminars.... smack dab in the middle of the single busiest day of my week. When I wasn't all jump-for-joy happy about it, Boss screamed at me that I was not allowed to doodle while listening to the phone conferences, as I was supposed to be listening. I informed Boss that I listen better while I draw, and that I would be happy to repeat back any portion of the conference that Boss wished to test me on. I said that I take notes better when I draw, as any notebook from my schoolwork can prove. Boss said that was not the way to "show support" (what am I, a friggin' BRA???) and that I couldn't possibly be paying attention. I informed Boss that I graduated college on the Dean's list, and was an honor roll student in high school, and I really didn't need anyone to tell me how to take notes.

Can you tell I was pissed off royally by this point? Not only am I forced to attend crap that has absolutely nothing to do with my area of the company, now the way I take notes (or don't) is being critiqued??? Give me a break!

You would think any boss would be thrilled to have an employee who could really do a good job at their actual JOB. Apparently that is just too much to hope for. I just want to be left alone to do what I do.

My job entails a lot of detail- and number-oriented work, and to be interrupted constantly for "rah rah" meetings where we all pat ourselves on the back and tell each other the company is running so well (snort) is just not conducive to my doing the kind of quality work that I normally execute. Also, having Boss come to my desk, lean way over and say, "HOW'S IT GOING?" in a loud voice every half an hour doesn't do anything for my concentration level. I wished so badly for a Boston cream pie to magically appear in my hands each time this happened. It would have been so satisfying to let Boss have it POW! right in the kisser.

Oh, and if you think that I might get cut some slack for being interrupted six ways from Sunday if my work doesn't turn out perfectly, think again. When I arrive Monday, if there were any errors, trust that they have all been photocopied and left on my desk where they can easily be shoved right up my arsehole. Where's all the love and back-patting then, I ask you?

After arguing with Boss until Boss realized there was no winning, Boss put two hands on the desk and leaned over and yelled at top volume, "I JUST WANT YOU TO BUY INTO IT!"

Which means that:

a) Boss realizes that all of this actually IS a load of horse hockey, and that my participation is necessary in order to pull off the illusion.

b) Boss has no idea of my personal fortitude nor my ability to stand by what I believe in, or, more accurately, to NOT stand by what I do NOT believe in, ie: these stupid, pointless phone conferences and (I barf to mention them) "webinars".

I was looking back over this day and thinking that I was possibly being a complete prat... but then it occurred to me: I used to have to attend meetings, seminars, and conferences at other jobs I've had, but they never bothered me. In fact, they were treated something like mini-vacations by the staff. They were enjoyable, usually accompanied by coffee and snacks, and a good time was wasted had by all.

So, what made the difference? Why do I get hives at the very mention of one of these interruptive interludes in my work week?

I'll tell you why.

Because the people running this company don't really care about the employees. How do I know this? Little things - like the way Boss and Not-Boss (the one who thinks she rules the universe but actually does not) are the only people in the office that refuse to put a new roll of toilet paper up when they've used the last of the old roll.. because they are so much better than us, they shouldn't have to. They also make a big show of having meetings to "hear what the employees have to say" and "give their input"... and each and every suggestion and request is met with naysaying and excuses.

Piece de resistance:

When I asked Boss why we don't actually have the employees necessary to run the business properly, I was told we "couldn't afford it". My eyebrows must have twitched, and Boss said, "Do I live comfortably? Yes. But I don't go to Europe every year...".

Oh. Excuse me. You don't? Actually, I personally know of at least five trips to Europe in the last SEVEN years, and is that really the barometer of someone who is on the brink of poverty? You don't go to Europe every year? Poor baby! I can count the times I've been to Europe in my ENTIRE LIFE on one hand, if three fingers were missing - and that was only because I worked for an airline and flew for free!

I swear, it took every ounce of my self control not to laugh hysterically when Boss threw that little gem out there. What a moron I must be in Boss's eyes. Thinks I buy all that "we don't have money" shit.

Whatever. The bottom line is, the employees don't hold any weight in this company - we're supposed to shut up and conform to the program.

Good luck.

On a happier note, I got the paperwork necessary to apply for that job I really want... yay! It's about time. But really.

Where the heart is

Lately I've noticed that the more the office sucks big donkey balls, the more I look forward to going home. That might sound patently obvious, but by "going home", I don't just mean leaving the office.

I really, really love going home. Home to my husband, whom I love more than chocolate biscuits ("Dancing at Lughnasa" movie reference), and who loves me like a treasure. Home to my kitties, who give my heart joy. Home to our little cottage, with its clambering roses and meandering, ever-changing gardens. Home to the yummy smells of incense, herbs, and homemade soups. Home to old movies, fuzzy slippers, comfy places to curl up, huge bowls of popcorn, and lots of love.

The part of me that longs for vacations to faraway places gets embarrassed when I think of how very fortunate I am to have such a wonderful center to my every day life - a real home, and someone I love to share it with.

be honest...

The first thing that crossed your mind when you saw this picture was the word "photoshop", wasn't it?




Nah, me neither.

the grim

I was at a family picnic-type gathering, although I don't remember whose family it was. I didn't recognize anyone there. Perhaps it more reminded me of one of the company picnics I attended when I was a cop - tons of kids and people milling around, not many of whom I knew but it didn't seem to matter much.

The main thing drawing my attention at the moment was a bicycle rack off to one side. A couple of kids' bikes were standing in it, and there was a dog in there behind the blue bike with the banana seat. A black dog, on the large-ish side. Some young boys were taunting it, making catcalls and teasing it, the way kids do. I walked a little closer, not sure if I was more concerned for the kids or the dog. Not sure who had the advantage. I was ready to intervene, if necessary, to protect either party. The dog turned its head and looked at me.

Suddenly I could see it so much more clearly. The black fur was matted down and tangled. The eyes were a diseased, crazy yellow. And I knew I'd made a big mistake the moment I made eye contact with the beast. Ignoring the kids, it moved out from behind the bicycle toward me. Slowly, unblinking, as if it had the powers of hypnotism and knew exactly how to use them. As it advanced, my brain whirred into panic mode. Don't run. Don't let it know you're afraid. Don't... don't... don't...

It walked around behind me and leaned heavily against the backs of my legs, buckling my knees until I was on the ground next to it. There was something more than animal about this dog - something almost human. Almost, but not quite. It threw one heavy forepaw up over my shoulders and slowly pushed me to the ground, until we were lying side by side in the mud. I began to wonder if I would live through whatever was to come.

I woke up in a bed. Not just any bed, but a bed whose mattress was the exact size of the room it was in. It was a small for a room, but huge for a bed. I was on the left side of the mattress, and there was a man sleeping under the covers just next to me. I sat up, and saw that on the other side of him was another man, seemingly unconnected to... me?... to us?. He was on the extreme right side of the mattress, at least four feet away from my... companion?... attacker?, facing the other wall. At the foot of the bed, sleeping with her head towards the opposite wall, was my sister.

I sat up, clutching the sheets to my naked body, trying not to look at the man lying next to me. Hoping he would remain asleep. He did not. He sat up in bed and put his arm around me in a languid, possessive way that somehow gave me the feeling that he did it to subdue me, and because there were others in the room. When he moved, it was as if he were on stage, gauging everything by how it would be perceived, rather than how it really was. When he spoke, his voice was like liquid poison - carefully controlled, genteel, suave - the voice of someone extremely used to getting his own way. A voice that was glossy on the outside, but which didn't quite hide the teeth just under the surface.

He asked lazily if I was married. When I said yes, he laughed a Hollywood laugh, flashing his sharp canine teeth, and said that was just too marvelous. I didn't want to look at his face, or his eyes. Something about the weight of his arm around my shoulders reminded me of...

I looked down. The tops of his smooth, aristocratic feet had something protruding from them, just below the knuckles of the big toes.

The claws of a large black dog.

Holy SHIT!!!!!!: Versions I and II

Holy SHIT!!! (Version I):

Against all the dire warnings of my Inner Psychic, or perphaps my Inner Pessimist, I went to work today. Yes, I went to work, even though I lingered over-long in the garden, made a phone call to my mother, and began discussing bulb planting and tree pruning, suddenly realized it was 10:45, and I was due at work at 11:30. I was unshowered, had not a stitch of makeup on, my hair was an oversized rat's nest, and not only did I not have my work clothes on, my work clothes were at the laundromat waiting to be picked up - !!!

So I kept Mom on the line all the way to the laundromat, but then had to hang up so I could deal in pidgin English for my clean laundry and race back home to get ready for work. In all of the hubbub, I ran barefoot into the computer room and nearly broke the little toe of my right foot on the wooden cat scratch post that's leaning by the door. If I had thought ahead enough to set up a camcorder to tape this whole thing, I could win first prize on "America's Funniest Home Videos". Or not, because people would never believe it wasn't staged.

I was only five or ten minutes late for work, and boy, am I glad I got there when I did! (Smell that? That's sarcasm, kids.) I had two whole tables for lunch... TWO. One was an old man, eating alone. At noon. The second was two old ladies, at 3pm. I made a total of ten dollars in tips. As if that wasn't excitement enough, I had a total of what, four tables at dinner...... on a FRIDAY NIGHT - what gives? I made just over fifty dollars today, including the ten from lunch. Suckation of suckerisms.

Well, I was pretty dejected, and glad when they cut me loose to go home. When I arrived home and opened the door, a most delectable smell filled the house, and my husband greeted me with a kiss and a slightly damp hug. He said he'd been delving into that monastery soups cookbook I gave him at Yuletide last year....

I went upstairs to change, and came down to a dinner of bakery-fresh herbed bread and butter, and a thick, hot, chunky soup that consisted of potatoes, artichoke hearts, rosemary, sausage, and just a hint of lemon. When I say that it was heavenly, it's not just because the recipe came from a monastery! I'm talking about raving transports of delight. Moaning with eyes rolling back in the head. The inability to stop saying, "Oh. My. GOD. This is great soup!" over and over and over again, in between spoonfuls. And the really sick thing is, if it's this good the day he made it, tomorrow it's going to be so good it will probably cause me to combust into a shower of fairy sparkles.

Not only do I have a husband that's so cool he's willing to get in the kitchen and make stuff, he's actually REALLY REALLY GOOD at it! Lucky, lucky Marcheline!






Holy SHIT!!!! (Version II):

I had been studiously avoiding this movie for some reason... maybe I had reached my sappy movie quota for the year. Maybe I thought they were just trying to ride on the coattails of the movie "The Notebook". Maybe I just thought they over-explained the plot in the previews, and so how could anything unexpected happen. And what's worse than wasting two hours of your life on a movie you've already figured out ahead of time?

Tonight, while eating Bear's freakin' awesome soup, we watched this movie. And I have to say... Holy SHIT!!! What a great flick. They pulled off the coup de grace of final movie moments. You think you know what's going on, and suddenly you're on the edge of your seat with your ass cheeks squeezed so tightly together you couldn't drag greased dental floss through there with a John Deere tractor, and you're yelling at the screen, as if the characters in the movie are real, and they can hear you, and you're shaking your head and not wanting to watch, yet at the same time riveted, and you're trying so hard not to cry that your sinuses get all congested, but that makes it impossible to breathe through your nose, so you mouth breathe, but have to keep gulping so you can yell at the screen some more, and by the time it's all over, you cry anyway and your eyes get all puffy and you flop back on the couch and reach for the box of Kleenex and say, "Holy SHIT!!! That was a great movie!"

one of those days

I'ts Friday, and I'm having one of those days. I have to be at work in the restaurant by 11:30, and I'll be there all day and all night, until they let me out sometime after 9, most likely. And the thing is, even though I really need the money and am grateful to have the work, I just don't want to go in today.

The sun is shining outside, and I could be brushing more sand into my new brick patio, and raking leaves. I could be crocheting a scarf for someone for the holidays. I could be taking out the cookbooks I never open any more and trying a new recipe for dinner. I could be finishing that Neil Gaiman book I've been trying to read for the past three months. Hell, I could be writing a book.

I think that working nearly 7 days a week is starting to wear on me, frankly. I'm getting to feel surly when I even think about the restaurant. All the petty managerial notes everywhere, the constant press to give us more work and less money. In the beginning, I just ignored all that, but lately every little thing is starting to really get to me.

I have to get over it, go pick up the laundry, and squeeze myself back into that uniform for one more go round.

But today I just hate the thought.

I'm going to go make a cup of coffee and wander around outside in the garden, soak up a little sunshine, until it's time to get ready.

trunk o'junk

I realized I've been too free of late with the buckets of candy littering the office, and intended to make a fresh start today. Chanting a mantra of "drink water instead", I headed off to work this morning carrying my salad and boneless chicken lunch in a tupperware. When I got to work, I walked right past the bowls of leftover Hallowe'en candy, and went to put my lunch in the refrigerator. Where I saw a couple of pieces of pizza wrapped in tin foil, leftover from the office lunch. Damn, there's nothing like cold pizza for breakfast, is there?

***

I'd like to draw your attention to Jemima's blog. She and her new hubby are struggling to make ends meet, and their dog just had to go into the hospital for emergency surgery (chew toy removal) and it's cost them nearly $4K. There's a little button on her blog where you can click and donate something to help defray the cost of Beulahdog's surgery. If you're one of those helpful types who love animals, you might want to take a trip over there and give. It's almost thanksgiving, ya know? 'Tis the season!

***

There's this really cool job opening I've found. It's one of those dream job type of things, where, if I can land it, me and mine would pretty well be taken care of for the duration. Bennies out the ass. It's one of those jobs where I would never be bored, would constantly be challenged, and would be helping the public in a big and very real capacity. And it involves some of my very favorite amateur talents, as well, with the promise of extensive training in those areas.

It's one of those jobs where just getting together the necessary documentation to apply is a job in and of itself. It's one of those jobs where trying not to get all excited about the prospect of actually getting the job is a job in and of itself. It's the kind of thing you haunt the newspapers and the internet for daily, week in and week out, month in and month out, praying to find. It's the kind of job that might actually redeem me from the eternal family shame of having voluntarily quit the police force (a job which, if I had it now, would have us rolling in proverbial clover).

So no, I'm not nervous about this at all. HAH. I have, however, completed the initial process of requesting all my college transcripts, and making the necessary requests for application forms.

It begins.

A Red Letter Day

Today is a very special day. Through a shitload of hard work, years of blood sweat and tears, and a goodly dose of sheer gut-wrenching suffering of such a personal nature that I don't even blog about it, Bear and I have officially Come Out The Other End Of The Tunnel.

We have paid off every last lousy, bloody, muthafarkin' debt. Every one. The only thing we owe right now is the mortgage on our house. Which is now back to square one, as if we'd just bought the house yesterday. And which is now a few hundred dollars more every month than it was before.

This is a new life - it's as if we were just born all over again, as fully functioning adults. See, there are people who make a LOT more money than we do, who live in much fancier houses than ours, and who drive really bitchin' SUVs... but they're in debt up to and past their eyeballs. In some weird cosmic way, we are more wealthy right now than most "rich" people will ever be, because the pressure and guilt and fear that comes with debt is no longer eating away at the lining of our stomachs!

We are going to have to guard this new life with... well, with our lives, as it were. Even though we don't make much money, and we have no tenants in our apartments to help us along (yet), we are going to have to soldier through and make this work. Without diving back into the black abyss that is debt / borrowing / credit cards.

We are not giving in to the commercial pressures and temptations of the upcoming holidays. Everyone is going to get a card and one hand-made gift from us this year. We are going to eat more home-cooked food. We are going to work every weekend for as long as we have to in order to pay our current bills, and to build a savings account for our future.

But that is all yet to come... right now, I am savoring reaching the top of the stairs, in my perspiration-stained grey sweatsuit. I have my fists in the air, and I am jumping up and down in front of the New York City skyline as theme music swells to an emotional crescendo.

DAH dum-dum-dum dah DAH dum-dum-dum, DAH DAH dum-dum-dum dah DAH dum-dum-dum,

DAH D-D-DAH D-DAH-D-DAHHHHHH

BUM BOMMMMMMMMMM!

Welcome Ba-a-ack

• My manager conveniently "forgot" where I put my billing files during my week of vacation, so now I have to do a double batch of invoices. Incidentally, these files were hidden, with great cunning and stealth, in the only drawer in my teeny tiny desk which holds files. They are bright yellow, and I left them sticking up longways, so that they spring upright when the drawer is opened. No wonder the git missed them!
  

• Due to the fact that we live in a secluded spot, we never get trick or treaters at our house. Thus we never buy Hallowe'en candy. As a result, we don't experience that guilt-ridden, week-long sugar rush that most people experience at this time of the year. In my first three hours back at work this morning, I have inhaled two Reese's peanut butter cups, a mini Oreo cookie, an Entenman's chocolate chip cookie, and one chocolate pumpkin-shaped lollipop. Talk about making up for lost time...

• I have now missed three days in a row of writing my affirmations. It occurred to me today to ask the musical question: "Why do I insist on continuing to attempt to force myself into rigid, repetetive behaviors or lifestyles when I know that I am, at heart, a free spirit?" After which I asked, "What is it that lures me into believing that forcing myself into a rigid schedule will somehow make my life better, when everyone I know who lives in a rigid, rule-filled life longs for a more free-spirited existence?" I think it may be the same impetus which causes me to occasionally buy lottery tickets. The old, "Hey, this just might work" theory. Except it doesn't. Not for me.
  

• For our belated anniversary celebration, Bear and I went to hear The Glenn Miller Orchestra on Friday night, in a beautiful old theatre. Yes, THE Glenn Miller Orchestra - the direct descendant of the original, right on down through the years. The minute the first sweeping strains floated out over the audience, I wept. It was that good. I was born in the wrong era, to be sure. This memory goes right up there with the night we went to see "The Phantom of the Opera".

• The kudzu tablets really are working - how weird! During my week's vacation, I only had two drinks. One Amstel Light, last Sunday, and one Cosmo, last night. And neither one gave me even the slightest buzz. Someone commented today that I look as though I've lost some weight. I think it's a pretty good trade.

• I think I've put work off as long as I can - time to go send that double batch of invoices. Grumble, grumble....
  

What I did with two and a half days of vacation - OR - Up yours, Martha Stewart!

This is the part of the back yard I had grown to loathe. The hard packed dirt, the tree roots... it just HAD to go. In the background is one of the two great piles of FREE brick that I got from people who also use the craigslist website. I asked for it, I got it - Toyota.


This is Jack, the tree root removal specialist. He made himself cozy in a pile of freshly raked leaves and gave me pointers on the best way to remove tree roots from hard packed dirt. He said the axe - yes, the axe that my husband had threatened to throw away lest I attempt to use it without his supervision, THAT AXE - was really the way to go. And I have to say I agree with him.


This is just the same plot of dirt from the other side of the yard, standing next to the pile of bricks. All together now... EEEeeeeew!!!


This is an aerial view of the "framing in" procedure. There was no way to take a picture of myself heaving railroad ties onto my already wacked-out neck muscles and weaving like a drunken carny through the maze of hedges, gates, and fences to get from the driveway to the back yard, or I certainly would have posted them here. The comedic value, you know.


Speaking of comedic value, the fact that I even bothered to set up the digital camera to take pictures of myself while trying to do this project is really just a tribute to what a camera hoo-ah I am. Here I am doing my best "sawing railroad ties is killing me" pose. So realistic! So sweaty!


This was the easiest part of the project. Unrolling feather-light black landscaping cloth, and making sure that it overlapped the insides of the railroad ties, to keep the sand from leaking out under the ties. Of course, it was windy that day, thus all the paperweights which look remarkably like bricks.


This is what two yards of sand looks like in a pile in front of the cottage. Doesn't look like much, does it? Well, it's a fucking LOT, I can tell you. How do I know? Because I shoveled it into that wheelbarrow there, and hauled it around back and humped it over a makeshift ramp into the patio frame. Oh, and see the second pile of FREE bricks there in front of the cottage?


This is the world's largest sandbox. Well, the raccoons obviously thought so, anyway - see all their little footprints? Cute little fuckers. Jack left his fair share of pawprints in there, too. I was worried that it might turn into the world's largest litterbox, but happily the next day's raking and screeding turned up no turdly guests.

I got bored and made up a little brick-laying joke:

Q: What did Jesus use when he put in a brick patio?
A: The apostles' screed.

If you're scratching your head right now, just google it. You'll get it. It won't be funny by then, but at least you'll have learned something, which isn't a bad thing.


This is where it really started to look like something was happening. Of course, what I didn't realize was that the pile of bricks in the front of the house and the pile of bricks at the back of the house were different sizes and ages. Which meant that I couldn't just use the bricks that were closest - I had to alternate, using one brick from the front pile, one from the back pile, which entailed much loading and unloading of the wheelbarrow. The final effect was worth the back strain, I do believe.


Yet another cheesy picture of me... this is the "thank goodness for knee pads" pose. Honestly, if those goldarned knee pads fell down around my ankles just ONE more time. And the frackalackin' elastic bands that are supposed to keep them over your knees just about cut the circulation to my lower legs. But thanks to the knee pads, slackers though they may be, my kneecaps are the only places on my entire body that are now pain-free.


Well, and here it is. Yes, yes, I brushed sand between all the cracks afterward like you're supposed to, but it was DARK then, okay? So you don't get any pictures of that.

I can hear you asking where the hell Bear was during this whole escapade, and all I have to say is that Bear was at work, doing his bit to keep a roof over our heads, and he did come home and help me cut the last bricks into little pieces that fit into the ends of the rows of bricks, which come out all odd and toothy.

Thing is, this project was really "my baby". I nurtured it through from beginning to end, and I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm pretty damn proud of myself right about now.

Marcheline's stock buying tip of the day: Invest in BAYER ASPIRIN! I may buy out their entire supply during the next few days....