“I wish you a tolerable Thursday. That’s all any of us can hope for.” – April Winchell
Susie and I had our mid-morning water bottle refilling and check in, and we both decided conclusively, that it should be Friday. My evidence:
Last week was a four day work week, which after two weeks off for vacation completely resets one’s work clock. Luckily next week is another four day week, thanks to Martin Luther King Day. As welcome as this is, I know that it will exacerbate the problem.
I didn’t have time to do my hair this morning, it’s currently twisted up on top of my head – universally recognized as a bad start to a morning, thereby consigning the rest of the day to grumpiness.
I currently have four feet of uniforms and gear (yes, this is accurate, I measured) stacked in piles to find room for in an already stuffed to bursting supply room.
I also need to unpack a pallet of reams of paper.
Tonight, I’ve been asked to give a presentation on personal safety and law enforcement resources to my Ladies Aid Society this evening. Now you may not believe me, ducklings, given my verbosity and general ranting abilities, but I hate public speaking. Hate it. I stammer, I blush constantly, I can’t make eye contact, I speak in spoonerisms, you name it. Not looking forward to it.
So, what say you, minions? Shall we collectively disavow this Thursday?
“Most of life is routine – dull and grubby, but routine is the momentum that keeps a man going.” – Ben Nicholas
I’ve always found post-tragedy a bit surreal. Somehow, in spite of the calamity that has just taken place and probably changed your life forever, the world just keeps on going. People still need to eat, sleep, work, and go about day to day tasks, you can’t just check out. After the typhoons, the damage needs to be cleaned up. After the earthquake, pictures need to be rehung.
Life goes on.
Weird.
It’s hopelessly British, but the stiff upper lip is a lifesaver, kittens. There is nothing to keep you going through a tough slog, or helpful when your nearest and dearest are slogging along their own troubles, like routine.
What small things keep you going when Stuff Happens, m’dears? Nothing is insignificant.
“I don’t have pet peeves. I have whole kennels of irritation.” – Whoopi Goldberg
I have been home and back at work for only two days, but I am already in the tiniest, littlest, most miniscule fight with the cosmos. It’s a small thing really: just our car needing $600 worth of repairs. This is the same car that required $1500 this past September. I’ve retaliated like a grownup – dramatically glaring at my bank account and (continuing to) refuse to unpack my suitcase, but for essentials, until the weekend.
All I can say, darlings, is that it’s a bloody good thing my vacation was so relaxing because if it had not been, Aunty C. might be in a bit of a strop. And we wouldn’t want that, would we, universe?
“I’ve got the brain of a four year old. I’ll bet he was glad to be rid of it.” – Groucho Marx
Apparently, without my knowledge, consent, or approbation, my brain has thrown up its metaphorical hands and decided it’s going on holiday now, the next five days be damned.
My Christmas shopping is done, the presents are (mostly) wrapped, many of them have gone out in the mail, the place card holders for Pieter and Sadie’s wedding are done, and the list of things for her bacherlorette party is done. “Therefore,” my brain thought decisively to itself, “I am done. There is nothing else that I am taking care of until January, and you can’t make me!”
The symptoms of this revolt have been acute and worrying. I tried to do some last minute shopping in Barnes and Nobel the other day when I suddenly felt tired. Spying one of the rarely vacant armchairs was unoccupied, I sat down for a second. Five minutes later I woke up (gasping and clutching my purse in belated panic), but unscathed.
Yesterday I got a quick lunch with a co-worker, which I couldn’t finish so I decided to save in the department fridge for lunch today. This morning, I woke up thinking I’d forgotten to pack a lunch the night before and dashed around the kitchen trying to throw things together at the last moment. Only to get to work and remember that I have a lunch date with Savvy today. So I have a carton of Chinese food and a tupperware of chicken soup sitting pretty in the break room that will just have to come back home with me today.
I’ve lost my keys in my own hand and my glasses on my head. I’ve gone to the library to return things, only to to realize I’ve left the books on the kitchen table. I walk into rooms and completely space why I entered them in the first place.
It’s grim, possums. A vacation is clearly required. Two more days of work, one wedding, and I can check out. In the meantime, is anyone else sliding into a holiday coma, or have I just well and truly shorted out?
“When women are depressed, they eat or go shopping. Men invade another country. It’s a whole different way of thinking.”
~Elayne Boosler
Shopping for men is rough, kittens, and believe me, I know. Most of my friends growing up were boys, my major was mostly made up of men, I preferred hanging out with J.’s roommates to my own when we were dating, the list goes on. I have two brothers and one sister, two godbrothers and one godsister, three brothers-in-law and two sisters-in-law (not counting respective spouses)… the girls are outnumbered. But that’s okay, because most of the ladies I know are pretty lucky in their male chums, significant others, and family members, so we should dig in and get them cool (fake) presents anyway. Any to add to the list?
For your all American brother-in-law who spends the summer either on the green or at the grill.For the guy friend who almost blew a snyapse when he found out they were making a new Muppets movie.For your British mystery loving in-law.For the guy you met in your major who now teaches English in Korea, even though he studied Medieval French Literature, and is an unrepentant nerd.For your nephews who have never seen it - shame!For you guy pal who thinks he's Don Draper, and who you care about too much to disillusion.For you friend who just got his first Real Job and needs to dress the part.For the slightly wacky but nice gun enthusiast neighbor of your parents.
“A Christmas shopper’s complaint is one of long-standing.” – Anonymous
This post shamelessly inspired by Janssen’s fab one on present giving – though not quite as impressively frugal. I’m in the midst of Christmas shopping and nearly done with it, but still very much in the mood. Let’s do some fantasy shopping, ducklings, and pretend that none of us are paying off our husband’s student loans, prepping for a baby, a bit cash strapped this year, putting a wedding together, or just generally Scroogey, and spend fake money together. Ladies first, just click to be linked for more info on what I’d buy you all if I could.
Note to friends and family, ha! As if I’d post your prezzies all over the internet, nice try. Move along and stop trying to peek into the proverbial parents’ closet to figure out what you’re getting, just trust me, you won’t be disappointed.
For your stylish best friend who organizes her bookshelves by color - because they look better that way.For the Francophile, cheese addicted couple.For the globetrotting best friend who still prefers handwritten letters to emails.For the best friend who manages to look chic in sunglasses nearly as large as her face.For the Jane Austen addict best friend.For the best friend who can say she's a writer, and not mean it wistfully.For the girlfriend whose extended family won't stop asking her when she's going to spawn.For you Potterhead/valedictorian friend.For your East Coast relations.For your history nerd friend.For fellow London cronies currently marooned stateside (and other items for the friend who can literally wear anything and get away with it).For the nail polish addict.
What random things have you come across that instantly put a specific person into your head when shopping?
“I must have a prodigious quantity of mind; it takes me as much as a week sometimes to make it up.” – Mark Twain
And we all know the best way to deal with slow days is to enlarge our minds and understandings. Or surf the internet. Whatever.
Things are slow at the Nowhereford, Noneofyourbusinessshire university police department, kittens. The rescue of that unfortunate duck was the most exciting thing to happen for weeks and December is historically a pretty slow month too, so let’s move into it with interesting things to talk about. Today we focus on things you should be watching, reading, listening to. I’m feeling intellectual today, ducklings.
An NPR story on ever changing technology and the troubles that come with trying to determine how these things must be interpreted by the US Constitution.
A blog that gives you inside peaks into houses, collections, works, and pieces belonging to the National Trust.
The Smithsonian on the Science of Sarcasm. Since we all speak it fluently here at Small Dog Enterprises, it behooves us all to know exactly what’s going on with this rich and complex historical language.
The following is a true story as told to C. Small Dog by one of the detectives. Some [tiny, practically unnoticeable] liberties taken.
It was a dark and stormy night* when this dame called up. She’d seen something horrible and thought she was being followed so she couldn’t squeal. I wasn’t in the mood to do the damsel in distress routine, I’d been drinking since noon and musing on the wretchedness of the human state for nearly as long, but she sounded desperate.
I thought about starting a doomed romance, but she was too perky and I like my dames to brood.
As it turned out, she did need me. She’s witnessed a kidnapping and had every reason to suspect the worst. One of ducks that lived at the campus pond had been snatched before her eyes, shoved squawking into a bag by gorilla armed goons and driven off in an unmarked car**. I suspected that the fowl had run afoul of the bootleggers and crooks who run this town – whiskey is normally involved. And if it isn’t, I involve it. I carry a couple flasks just for cases like this. You can’t see what I’ve seen and do this job sober.
A couple of contacts of mine down at the botanical studies buildings tipped me off about the car and I knew enough to trace it to a run down part of town infested with the scum of humanity and broken dreams***. I’d been there more times than I cared to count, but I had a job to do. I had to break a few ribs, but eventually I found the guys that had been hired for the job. A couple of drinks, some moody dialog and veiled threats and they squealed. They told me that this guy they called The Mallard**** came up with the plan to get back at this other guy, The Loon, by using the duck to stir up trouble. They dumped the duck at The Loon’s joint, leaving it to wreck the place and its crap all over the floor (an apt metaphor for life) before returning it, a broken bird, to its pond to live out what remained of its days.
This Mallard was the kingpin of duck trafficking, with the law in his pocket, justice as his dinner guests, and sinister butler to boot. I had to be careful.
I found this Mallard and let him know how many federal laws he’d violated, ducks were protected in this town and he knew it. Turns out he’d had his way with ducks like this before, but I wasn’t going to turning a blind eye to it. His laugh ended when I plugged a bullet in his brain***** and walked out, leaving the assorted persons and waterfowl to contemplate my anti-hero behavior and debate the wisdom of cheering a guy like me on.
I left them there, stuck in moral ambiguity, and went to the bar and let some of the boys from the precinct know I’d been doing their job for them again. They reacted with the usual disdain of the establishment when shown up by an outsider.
“Good job, Duck Tracy.”
“You quacked the case.”
“Any evidence of fowl play?”******
I didn’t care. I’d done my job. I knocked back the whiskey and headed back out streets where I belonged.
Someone's got to clean up this town.
*About 3 in the afternoon
** Partial license plate
***Students
****The idiot whose idea this was
*****No one was harmed in the making of this noir
******Actual puns unleashed by our witty, witty staff
“I love awards, especially if I get them.” – Ben Gazzara
Leila, a fellow admin assistant and writer and cyber pal, gave me the Liebster Blog award! Thanks, darling!
In time honored tradition, I must now pass it on to other deserving people I follow religiously on Google Reader, who I think you should know too!
Janssen at Everyday Reading. Book reviewer, librarian, mother, and (as far as I can tell) gourmet chef. We met at university long ago and reconnected over the internet years later; I’ve been bowled over by her awesomeness ever since.
Sarah at Mattawa Mum. Just your average English girl living on the West Coast. Sarah is another university mate and insanely talented woman who shares recipes for (among other things) English favorites like meat pies and Yorkshire puddings.
Lauren of Little Farmhouse in the Big City. Lauren, who I met over a summer program in Washington DC and New York, and has since worked in all sorts of digital media, including a magazine. And still, in spite of this, found time to buy a house and now renovates it to her heart’s content. Her adventures with home, food, and friends, make decorating my Someday House seem much less intimidating.
Tori from The Ramblings. A girl I have never met but for online, but who has been known to make me fall out of my chair laughing at work. Much to the confusion of my comrades.
Jooj from Paris Is Always A Good Idea. Though I also don’t know this one personally, she is a friend of Peregrine, so I feel some sort of affinity. She and her German husband are pursuing (more) degrees at Oxford, after working with underprivileged women in Brazil for some time.
Thanks again for the shoutout, Leila. Now, readers, go forth. Minions, meet impressive bloggers and friends. Friends, minions. Charmed!
Susie and I had our mid-morning water bottle refilling and check in, and we both decided conclusively, that it should be Friday. My evidence:
Small Dog Syndrome 