Category: Satisfaction

Mothers’ Day, or Why We Shouldn’t Have Kids Soon

“For the record, I hate it when people do things to celebrate ‘future mothers’ on Mothers’ Day, like giving out flowers in church, so I don’t want to do anything with the holiday until we actually have kids.  However, if I’m pregnant on Mothers’ Day, I will expect you to do something, in the name of the fetus.”
“Duly noted.”
– C. and J.

While kids are a long ways off for us, we do have fun thinking about, arguing over, and speculating on our future family.  “You know you can’t swear in front of the kids, right?”,  “They will learn proper grammar, so help me!”, and “Piano lessons and a language are mandatory, ok?”  He looks forward to wrestling with them on the floor and playing catch, I look forward to answering questions and watching them discover the world.  And forcing them to read (though with us as parents, I don’t foresee too great a struggle in that vein).  I like to tease him about how, by marrying a petite woman like me, he’s forfeited his chance at a child playing basketball, and he counters that he’s switched his plans to baseball.  He takes a great deal of pleasure in shooting down all my potential baby names, and I smugly let him think what he wants because after nine months toting the little parasite around, gaining weight, going mental, being violently ill, and forcibly expelling it through a grueling multi-hour ordeal, I think I’ll manage to get the final say. 

 However, we are firmly on the same page regarding one thing about children: slave labor.  Oh, yes.  They will have chores.  Starting young.  It’s going to be fun to make them pull weeds, mow the lawn, and dust the house.  Mummy loves you, darlings!

Ode to Indy

“Never, never, never give up.”
-Winston Churchill

When I graduated university, my parents flew over from England and managed to work my ceremony in with a lot of other traveling.  Amid the rejoicing (and I’m sure the feeling of, “Praise Jupiter, we’re rid of one!”) we had a small soiree at my godparents’ house to celebrate, and at said celebration I was given a fabulous present: my car.

This was a victory on three counts.  First of all, I had just got my U.S. driver license a couple months earlier.  Second, I had a car!  After four years of coordinating eating schedules with flatmates so we’d run out of food at the same time and have to go to the store together.  Bliss!  And finally because my parents had always sworn blind that the one thing they would never do for their kids is buy them a car.  I was such an impressive child that I bent the laws of parental rule (…or my parents really are that cool.  Probably the latter).

My car is not so new, not so shiny, but she is far prettier in my (biased) eyes than this one.

In any event, Mum and I put our heads together immediately to find an appropriate name for my new chariot.  Being classical studies/ history types, a number of unusal literary names were tried and dismissed as being too “foofey,” outré, inappropriate, or ridiculous to suit my old but perfectly serviceable and rugged little Honda CR-V.  Finally in a burst of inspiration, my eyes stretched wide and I breathed victoriously, “Indy!”
“Yeah!” mom echoed, “Perfect!”

Less of this...

To explain.  It is not, as many assume (and J. continues to imply despite my numerous efforts to stop him), a tribute to Indiana Jones.  No, no.  Rather it is the nickname for the ship HMS Indefatigable from Forrester’s “Hornblower” series.  Both Mum and all of us kids love the A&E mini-series, partly from a nerdy liking of the Napoleonic wars, but mostly (on the girls’s end) from a crush on yummy Ioann Gruffudd. 

...more of this.

Indefatigable, definition: unwearying, unremitting in labor or effort.  Perfect for my car which is a decade old and doesn’t do terribly well on highways, but never lets me down!

Indy has earned her title yet again recently after a series of near-disasters.  Last night I went straight from work to GS’s house.  Or rather that was the plan.  The reality included being stuck in traffic for over an hour, getting hopelessly lost, and ultimately getting rear-ended on an overpass.  Defeated (and still lost for a while) I slunk home.

And though I was in a bit of a strop, what of Indy you ask?  There was not a scratch on her (the guy who ran into me had a crumpled license plate, i noticed.  HAH!), and she made it home with just enough gas.  If I hadn’t just bought her new tires I would have now just for being so impressive!

Boob Tube

“And the Lord did grin.  And the people did feast upon the lambs, and sloths, and carp, and orangutans, and breakfast cereals, and fruit bats-”
“Skip a bit, brother…”
– Monty Python and the Holy Grail

No, my darlings, I have not abandoned you, I have merely been extremely busy and important lately (finishing up that so called “Three Month Plan” list Susie gave me to do), but we interrupt this wretched excuse for abandonment to bring you this:

The Cable Gods have looked upon their lowly worshippers (who can afford but the most basic of basic cable packages), shown pity upon them, and twisted the space-time continuum/the cable lines.  The dull waters of ABC and C-SPAN have miraculously  parted and let the humble parishioners pass through to new and exciting channels!  J. is soaking up as much ESPN as possible, while I have been watching The Italian Job, cruising through the Style Network, and even shamefully dipping my toe into the Food Network.  (Have you seen the cake decorating shows?!)

What is not commonly known is that the Cable Gods' evil TV revocation minions resemble cats.
What is not commonly known is that the Cable Gods' evil TV revocation minions resemble cats.

However (realizing that where the Cable Gods giveth, they also taketh away), I called up Comcast to make sure that I won’t be slapped with fees or dour-faced legal types sent to smite (disconnect) us with stern Thou Shalt Not Steal Cable punishments.
“Just making sure there hasn’t been a mistake or a mix-up,” I chirruped into the phone, “because while I think it’s fantastic, I would like to make sure it’s legal.”
“Yep, I checked,” said Carrie, our lovely Comcast customer service representative.  “We have no idea how or why it happened, but you’re not at fault and won’t be penalized for anything.”
“So I should…”
“Live it up while you’ve got it, because I have no idea how long it will last.”

Who am I to question the messanger of the Cable Gods?

Can You Hear Me Now?

“Technology makes it possible for people to gain control over everything, except technology.”
– John Tudor

Our resident IT guy (a species who, as you may remember, is the ancient enemy of secretaries) coming up to me one day and saying, “I’m going to take your phone so that the dispatch center in the stadium can have it.”
C. asking quickly as he started walking away, “Um, can I get a new one?”  
“Yeah, the old stadium one.  It doesn’t work very well, so good luck with that.”


“New phone” being broken to the point that it isn’t recognizing picking up or hanging up, and the surface scratched so badly the screen is unreadable.  Dozens of incoming messages being lost into the netherworld of dropped/missed calls.  Calling up the IT gods where they wither in their dark, lonely cave and demand a solution.  An actual New Phone getting installed and C. learning from the IT minions how to personally program the phone’s appearance.  


Small Dog's means are few, but she takes what she can get!
Small Dog's means are few, but she takes what she can get!

The office IT guy strolling  by and looking down at the screen, where he sees, “WHY ARE YOU READING THIS?!” blazoned across it, and jumps about a mile.  C. seeing the whole thing.


Ode to the Huddled Masses

 “What is that ungodly smell?”
-Get Smart

This appeared above the door for my Classical Literature final freshamn year.
This appeared above the door for my Classical Literature final freshman year. Priceless.

I can always tell when finals week hits this campus: the odor of doom and futility gets a little more pungent, the faces get more harried, and it is impossible to navigate one’s way through the library as it is swarmed with knuckle-gnawing freshman.  However, from the glorious vantage point of one who does not have to suffer through exams, papers, and finals projects, I’ve discovered that the nom de usage of this time of the term I and other used as students (“Hell Week”) isn’t really appropriate.  If we were to be accurate, I think it would be Freak Week.

Cruel perhaps, but still apt.  For example, Hennessy and I were walking down a corridor yesterday on an assignment, when we came suddenly upon a man carrying a pot of rice down the hallway.  No explanation, just clutching it and looking worried.  The theatre and dance people are scrambling around with drag queen worthy layers of makeup on their faces and their arms full of costumes (when they aren’t actually wearing them).  Also, basic hygiene has become optional for many: I have seen (and smelled) a number of the unwashed masses as they scramble past and sleep in hallways. 

This comes from nothing resembling a high horse.  My alarm clock broke the day of my first final of freshman year, luckily I woke up anyway and made record time sprinting from my dorm to my test.  Then once I misread a French exam schedule and showed up on the wrong day.  And of course I had the computer crash right in the middle of a stellar ten page paper on medieval philosophy.  I also had my share of forgone showers and undone makeup (and temporary eating disorders stemming from actually forgetting to eat for days on end, and the inability to let go of my pens following an exam from severe cramp, and…)

All in all, Hell Week/Freak Week/Whatever You Want To Call It looks much better from the outside!