Life

For the Love…

“He looks it, I admit.  But speak-to-me-only-with-thine-eyes isn’t a really reliable reason for embroidering doilies and hemstitching tablecloths.”
– Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of the Island

Sybil, darling, let’s practice shall we?

When your hot Irish revolutionary secret boyfriend says, “I’ll make something of myself… Then bet on me, and if your family cast you off it will not be forever.  They’ll come round.  And until they do, I promise to devote every waking moment to your happiness,” your response should not be, “I’m terribly flattered.”

Try instead, “And you’ve still got my bags, how handy!”

And when said gorgeous, devoted slice of bolshevik goodness declares he’s delaying The Revolution for love of you, “I’ll stay at Downton until you want to run away with me, ” it makes the minions – or maybe just me – want to tear their hair to hear you reply, “Don’t be ridiculous!”

A better idea?  “Gee, show me how fast can you turn that car crank.”

I’m just saying.  I know it’s hard, I know it’s scary, but your world will not last (the very curling irons herald the end of ladies maids and electricity the death of the servant legions) and this man’s the future.  Plus he adores you and is absolutely delicious, this should not be a hard decision!  (We scream, with perfect twentieth century hindsight…).  Fellowes!  I’m losing patience!

No, really, COME ON!
Humor, Office, Work

Casual Friday

“He looked around slowly at the grimy, squat white monolith, and that was the exact moment at which he realized without a shadow of the doubt that his fridge had begun seriously to lurk.”
– Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

Don’t you love it when tiny little jobs that nobody wants to do, allow you to wrangle  subversive concessions?  For example, lacking anything else to do, I volunteered to clean out both of the department fridges, and asked if I could dress more casually in order to do it.  Our department’s dress code is very professional, even student employees dress nicely, and exceptions are almost never made.  But when one volunteers to exorcise/disinfect the more horrid lairs of one’s office, one can usually negotiate.  Thus I’m sitting pretty in jeans and topsliders on this lovely Friday afternoon, feeling pretty good about it. Heck, I only put on mascara this morning!

I’m also in a bit of a mischievous mood today, so throwing away a lot of things (that could probably be successfully used to teach the theory of evolution…) is a little sneakily gratifying.  The more so when some teenage student officer asks what happened to “that sour cream I had in there one time?” and I am able to retort, “Ah yes.  As it turns out, it went bad in 2009.  I may have just saved your life.”

As per usual, though, I fell into a bit of a scope creep vortex when I finished.  My desk has been reorganized, everything I work with has been wiped down with antibacterial cloths, and I’m currently tackling some of the unnecessary files clogging up our server disk space (I’m not sure if that’s the techie term for it all).

So!  I’m going to take a break from that and share some fun links from around the web.  There is nothing like the internet to take your mind off of serious things, now is there?

New favorite tumblr: dogs riding trains around Britain.  J. and I spend an inordinate amount of time wishing for a dog, so this doesn’t help, but we can all agree they’re pretty cute, huh?

Miniskirts and fascinators have been banned at Ascot!  But what will we judge?!

And, in more Downton Abbey news, I may be cheering for the reform minded Lady Sybil and her Irish bolshevik chauffeur (and I may tear Julian Fellowes from my love and bury him forever if screws this one up), but my heart belongs to the Dowager Countess and her fabulous one liners.

We all judge some people on Facebook.  Here’s a list of some of Those Types.

One of my favorite TED talks, a theory on the origin of pleasure, in which a Nazi discovers there’s evil in the world.  Enjoy.

Humor, PBS

Dear Dear, I’ve Drunk the Kool Aid…

“You should never take anything I say seriously.”
– Lady Mary, Downton Abbey

I am a great admirer of Julian Fellowes.  My first exposure to him was his foppish portrayal of the Prince Regent in The Scarlet Pimpernel (which, incidentally, is required viewing for my children and will eventually make it to the list I’m sure).  I loved Gosford Park, and I swallowed his novel Snobs down whole.   His screenplay of The Importance of Being Earnest is common viewing at my parents house, and most people I know liked The Young Victoria.  I’m currently knee deep in his latest novel Past Imperfect with no signs of slowing.  And like most people, I enjoy Downton Abbey, his latest achievement.

Alright.  That’s not true.

I’m sucking down the outrageous drama in great, gasping gulps.  There.  Never say I lie to you, kittens.

One of the worst things about being separated from J. is that he gets to taunt me about all the programming I miss on this, the wrong side of the pond.  Not only did he get the entire series of Downton months ahead of me, he’s just finished up with the second series of Sherlock.  It’s going to affect our marriage soon, if we’re not careful, especially since J. is notoriously closed lipped about spoilers.  It’s very annoying.

Meanwhile, I’m hilariously worked up over the personal life choices of entirely fictional characters.

I mean really, come on!

Although, to be fair, the mark of any good work is whether or not you care about the characters or plot.  So I suppose that anything that makes me want to throw something at the television whenever someone does anything foolish must be good.  Or I’m just someone who hates dillydallying and wants Lady Sybil to run off with her hot Irish chauffeur already.  Either is possible.

And that, my dears, is how I spent my long weekend.  Let’s not judge one another.

Humor

(Insert That Screeching Noise from Psycho Here)

“Its going down, basement.
Friday the 13th guess who’s playing Jason?
Tuck yourself in you better hold on to your teddy.
Its Nightmare on Elm street and guess who’s playing Freddy?”
– Nicki Minaj

Update: yes there was blushing and a little public-speaking-induced dyslexia, but I counteracted the first with a pair of bright red pants so no one would notice the face, and the other with lots of jokes.  People asked a lot of questions and participated, so we’re going to call this one a success.

Savage chickens worked yesterday, why not keep it going?

I am not a superstitious person in the least.  I smile when I see black cats, any number of crows or magpies do not alarm me in the least, horseshoes do nothing for me, and the only reasons that spring to mind to not walk under ladders involve avoiding industrial accidents.  That said, I certainly appreciate the historicity behind lots of superstitions, religious traditions, and folk beliefs, and have fun participating in them.  It’s why I wear green on St. Patrick’s Day, carve pumpkins at Halloween, fills shoes with candy for St. Nicholas’ Day, and make hot cross buns on Good Friday.

But Friday the 13th has always puzzled me.  I know a great many people like me, who seem to have nary a superstitious bone in their body, who get well and truly freaked out when a 13th rolls around.  I’ve seen people stay home from work to avoid accident!  When I was still a student, my flatmates and I would hold a Hitchcock movie party every Friday the 13th, it seemed a much more entertaining way to spend an evening than paranoia.  I think I’ll resurrect the tradition tonight, come to think of it!  All minions are invited to participate vicariously.

Enjoy/dread your Friday the 13th (whichever you prefer)!

Humor, Work

Tomorrow, Please?

“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.

This week has been rough.

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?

Humor, Life, Sad

Not Just Your Grandmother’s War Slogan

“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.

Family, Friends, Life, Sad

Troubles

  “No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as a manor of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man’s death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee”
– John Donne

Life can get a bit overwhelming, darlings, even when you’re a few degrees removed, so please indulge.

Sav lost her brother over the Christmas holiday.

Lizzie is getting divorced.

Marie’s health is still shaky from her pancreatic attacks and other car accident health residue, plus a few family issues, and separation from her own husband for 3 months as he goes through job training.  She’s looking at another surgery soon.

Worst of all, one of Margot’s dear friends ended her life Saturday night.  We’ve tried to help as best we can, Margot in particular has been feeding people, soothing, and being a true lady of mercy, but she’s hurting too.

Troubles do not play favorites, and no one is immune.  Please keep these friends of mine, as well as your own in your thoughts, my dears, and take them time to help a friend out today.  We all know someone who’s hurting or needs just a bit of encouragement (and we very well may be that person!), so let’s do a bit extra to take care of one another.

Humor, Life, Money

Le Sigh

“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?

Family, Fashion, Friends, Holidays

Hi Again

“New Year’s Day – now is the accepted time to make your annual good resolutions.  Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual.”
– Mark Twain

Hello and Happy New Year, kittens!  I have missed our little chats, and I’m sure I should be sorry for neglecting you, but the truth is, I’m not.  Not in the slightest.  I spent nearly two weeks in Virginia with all my siblings (for once!), my parents, Marie and her husband (who spent Christmas with us, aren’t I lucky?), and my husband.  Marie took pictures, and thank goodness because I never remember to, go check them out.  There was shameless amounts of cuddling, lots of games, and way too much food.  Perfect.

The boys went shooting, J. and I spent a couple of days helping Dad clear the land (our “estate” is looking more impressive all the time) and playing with the dogs, and the girls baked up a storm.  We watched movies, slept late, and dined when we damn well pleased.  The Christmas Eve roast was perfect, as were the pies.  J. was conscripted for some heavy labor in moving some furniture around for my parents, whose collection of Asian antiques still is Not Quite Right, even after two years of shuffling it all around (to say nothing of that tiny little earthquake a while back), and helping Dad hang the two deer he and Buddy bagged from the rafters of the garage.  It was lovely.

On New Year’s Day Gio drove us to D.C. and we had a lovely evening out on the town with Peregrine, who graciously put us up for the night and took us to the airport the next morning.  Seeing her always does me good.  She’s a city girl extraordinaire who took us to one of José Andrés’ amazing restaurants, who she claimed spiritually “communes with Brussels sprouts,” and as usual, she was right.  If ever you get the pleasure of dining there, try them roasted.  Trust me.

Now I’m back at home, again husbandless but still happy.  You know it’s been a good vacation when going back to work after a day spent in the airports doesn’t seem entirely like drudgery. I have a refrigerator to stock, friends to see, and things to do.  My life, for all that I complain about it is very, very good and I’m lucky to have it.

So, here’s to good holidays, good friends, good times, and hopefully a good year in 2012.  And here’s to you, ducklings.  Better, cleverer, funnier, lovelier minions there never were.  Small Dog and Co. wish you all the best.  Let’s keep up the adventures in 2012.

Holidays, Humor

Short. Out.

“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?