Tag: Humor

Home, Humor, Husband, University

Scope Creep

“If the psych boys ever got hold of him, they’d never let him go. No. This is a family matter.”
– Louis McMaster Bujold, Memory

I apologize for thinking that it only produced self-congratualting jerks. I mean, I knew J. came out normal and well adjusted, so did Janssen's lovely husband, but I never really gave the institution in general credit for a well rounded education. I herewith apologize. Sort of. History still rules!

One of the reasons I like J. so much is that we have largely completely separate interests.  You’d think this might lead to marital incompatibility, but au contraire!  It means that we’re constantly introducing each other to new things and are obligated to at least try them out once.  I expose him to opera, he takes me hiking, etc.  Occasionally this is not only interesting but useful as he has a whole brain chock full of things from business and accounting that I never learned in a liberal arts degree.

For example, his upcoming move to London.  As it turned out, my good friend Margot may need a place to crash for a while before she jets off to South America for a job (my friends are nifty!), the timing of which just happened to correspond with my grad-school-induced widowhood!  In any event, she need a place to store some things as she figures out life plans, and I needed an excuse to pack up the back room and get it stored, so we decided to kill two  birds with one stone and clear out my space so she could occupy it for a while.

I press ganged J. one evening and we packed up our entire collection of books (no mean feat), our fine china (a present from my parents which I’ve never even used because I’m terrified of breaking it), and our desktop computer and stacked it all in a closet awaiting transport for storage.

Then, on fire with my success, I turned a baleful eye on my front room.  Before I knew what had happened I had cleaned out our closet and reorganized all the coats, athletic gear, shoes, and luggage.  I vacuumed everything.  I dusted.  Everywhere I looked I saw lists of things to be done and my stress level (exacerbated by recent events and circumstances) rose slyly, but steadily.  Finally when I lashed out at J. for leaving the dishes undone, he crossed his arms and declared, “You, my love, are experiencing scope creep.”
“And just what’s that supposed to mean?!” I frothed, clutching the Swiffer Sweeper manically.

And he explained.  Personally I appreciate that he used a business reference rather than a (in my opinion likely more accurate) psychiatrist term.

But see?  A problem properly cataloged and my worldview expanded.  He also sat me on the couch and told me to watch some mindless TV for an hour to calm down.  How handy!

Humor, Life, Weekend, Work

Attempting to Rehabilitate

“Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.”
– Kurt Vonnegut

Possums, I have abandoned you lately and I prostrate myself before you begging forgiveness.

By way of explanation, two weekends ago we went hiking in canyon country and I managed to roll one ankle, strain the opposite calf, and capped off the whole performance by blacking out – which was a peculiar experience.  Angel moved to Hawaii and therefore a last hurrah was in order.  All last week, you may recall, I was swamped with work, and this past weekend was spent with J.’s family as a sister and brother-in-law were in town and nieces and nephews must be played with!

Also, we are officially in crunch time.  J. heads off in three and a half weeks and life just got the tiniest bit hectic.  We had to get him a new suit plus fittings.  We just bought my ticket home (boo!) in addition to tickets to the East Coast (as the original plan was to drive out there, but that was scuppered pretty finally).  We have to register the car for this year (more money), store all of our books and fine china, and try to find J. a place to live in London.

In other words, I’m stressed, tired, not sleeping well, and getting obsessive compulsive about some really ridiculous things.  More on that later.  In the meantime I have a tic in my right eye, an odd twitch in my leg muscle, and apparently I’ve started grinding my teeth in my sleep.  Send something distractive my way, please?  Update me on your life and times!

Humor, Work

Go. Away.

“Yes, I’m very busy and important…”
– Love Actually

I’m doing nearly 200 raises at once.  The next person who disturbs me will be marched into the parking lot and shot through the lung, Iamnotkiddingyouguys.

Humor, Office, University, Work

Mob. Mentality. [Repost]

“People are a problem.”
– Douglas Adams

[Dumplings, it’s that week of the year, when the campus is invaded; it’s also the week that I am processing nearly 200 raises.  Ergo, I’m dead to the world.  Please enjoy this re-post of this time last week, and be assured it’s just as relevant this year.  Upon reflection, this is also the week where my optimism about humanity at large takes a beating…]

As if we were not already desperately busy, especially with Fall semester looming, this is also when the University hosts a conference open to the public. For a mere $44 dollars, you can come spend week going to classes about academic topics, theology, personal development, and probably basket weaving for all I know. This wouldn’t be so bad if it were not for the people.

And we're not leaving without our commemorative mugs!

It is impossible to convey how boorish these invaders are. You’d think they owned the place! Office supplies go missing, we have to lock classrooms so that they can’t get in, they knock people down rushing to classes, they yell at everyone…genuine menaces to society. However, it’s their propensity to complain about everything, usually consequences they’ve brought on themselves by their rude behavior, that really bleaches us of all sympathy. Some favorite complaints:

I couldn’t find a parking space so I had to park in the road against oncoming traffic.
No. You didn’t. That’s like saying, “There were no cigarettes so I had to smoke crack.” Not at all. The circumstances are probably aggravating and cause withdrawals and make you irritable (not unlike frustration with parking), but the solution you propose is still illegal.

We paid good money to come to this conference, get out of our way!
We pay much, much more money to go to school here for four years. Full time. And do you think any of us get our way?

We paid good money to come here [again, please note $44], so we should be able to park wherever we want.
Hm…not really. This is, in fact, a fully functioning university 365 days a year. Which means that we have anywhere between 20,000 and 60,000 people here on a daily basis who are actually working and taking classes who need to park. To put it simply, we trump you. You are visitors, we are permanent.

We can’t find anything on this campus of yours. Don’t you label anything? And where are we supposed to park?
Yes. You will find them on those handy maps you were given on your first day. And you can park in any one of the half-of-the-entire-campus-lots we took away from those mentioned in the complaint above this one and gave them to you to use. For a week. For free. Ingrates.

The bishop encouraged us to come so, since the bishop sent us, you should give us food for free, because of the bishop.
This is not the parish potluck!

We drove a long way to come here, why can’t we leave our car in a handicapped stall?
I don’t care if the Vatican called you personally and declared all your sins would be forgiven if you invaded campus. I don’t care if we get an email from Mecca declaring this the site of this year’s pilgrimage. I don’t care if St. Thomas a Becket re-capitates himself and orders Chaucer resurrected to write another masterpiece about our humble university town. You do not, under any circumstances, get to get away with such unpardonable behavior!

(Cutting in front of whole lines of people, including one in a wheelchair, to buy things at the campus store and then snapping at the people who ask you to move to the back of the queue, “We’re with the conference!”)
Who raised you?!

Friends, Humor, Travel

Travel Wisdom: Scarlett
Learn to adapt.

“I’m in Armenia at the moment, where the plugs are a different shape, and for some reason, the standard American-plug converters don’t work with my laptop.  This would be a major crisis if the hostel didn’t have desktops with internet and Skype!  In the future, I will always obtain and triple-check adaptors and extra batteries for all my electronics BEFORE I hop on an international flight.”
– Scarlett, who is currently organizing a children’s orchestra in Armenia, and may or may not be jetting off to Africa to work in an orphanage next.  She also just finished a triathlon.  And what have you done with your free time recently?

Humor, Travel

Travel and Toiletries

“I’m tired of all this nonsense about beauty being only skin-deep.  That’s deep enough.  What do you want – an adorable pancreas?”
~ Jean Kerr, The Snake Has All the Lines

We will talk about this next travel subject theoretically since it pains me a little and I’m trying awfully hard not to be bitter/depressed that J. is leaving in a month.  Well, so am I, but I’m coming back a week after that which just isn’t the same thing.

So, theoretically, when moving or traveling abroad for an extended period of time, you will save yourself a lot of time and money if you take your own toiletries, makeup, odds, and ends.  Depending on where you go the brands might change significantly and save you the headache of having to figure out (again) what products make you breakout, what acne medications you’re frightfully allergic to, or what not.  Also some countries currency exchange rate makes shopping for “luxuries” (you’ll notice the sarcastic air quotes, yes?  That’s because mascara is a necessity and not a luxury) prohibitively expensive.

Ladies: go through your makeup bag and get rid of anything past its expiration.  Yes, makeup expires.  And old blushes, shadows, mascara, and brushes can be a breeding ground for bacteria that can cause some truly nasty infections – which you simply don’t want to have to deal with abroad.  Clean out or replace your brushes.  Here are some good expiration guidelines.  Do a little research into your skincare regimen: how much does is cost where you live, how much will it cost where you are going, how long does it last?  Figure out if you should take a supply of your products with you.  For example, most drugstore facial care brands make me breakout so I use Clinique’s Three Step System, which lasts me nearly six months.

Next, figure out what you need to buy, and for heaven’s sake, use your experts!  As it turned out I needed to get rid of nearly all of my makeup (let’s not discuss how I found some eyeshadow that I bought back in high school…) and needed to replace it with a good brand that would last me a long time and not reduce my face to a bloated mess.  Luckily a lovely sales associate saw me wandering through the makeup section of Nordstrom and became my trusty guide.  I explained exactly what I needed and she produced a solution with the conjuring powers of a genie!  She showed me how to create multiple looks for day, evening, work, and formal occasions using just four shades of eye shadow, made recommendations on some other products, and alerted me to a future sale (so that I could get what I needed at a slightly later time for a lower price).  The ladies at Clinique did the same and let me tell you, ducklings, I left feeling empowered!

Gentlemen: same goes for your shaving kits.  Get ride of old razors, facial cleansers, and other products past their prime.  Replace them and, if prudent, stock up on spares and replacements for your time abroad.  Are there particular brands that you prefer (shampoos, athlete’s foot powders, hair products), if so take a reasonable supply with you – it will keep you from having to buy an entire medicine cabinet abroad and will get you through until you can find local brands or products you like.

Both genders, if you have prescriptions of any kind, talk to your health care provider and get a supply to take with you, or have them recommend a generic brand that accomplishes the same purpose that you could find abroad.  I have eczema on my scalp that requires a medicated shampoo for flare ups, J. uses a specific facial cleanser to prevent breakouts, so we’re making sure he (not I…hiss…) has a supply to take with him.

Consider this a slightly more frivolous yet equally important lecture on taking care of yourself abroad.

Humor, Travel

Crunch. Time.

“Voyage, travel, and change impart vigor.”
– Seneca

And, ducklings, I’m feeling vigorous!

Let no one tell you otherwise, it is impossible to do everything last minute and you need to give yourself a large bit of time to pack, sort, store, fret, freakout, regroup, and finalize travel plans.  Anyone who says differently doesn’t have your best interests at heart and should be shunned.

We’ve started the packing process for the house and although it’s turned our office into a right mess, it’s good to have a head start.  The original plan was to drive to my parents house and leave most of our things with them, but Her Majesty’s government sort of derailed our original plans and now my lovely in-laws have kindly agreed to put up some of our boxes instead.

I boxed up all of our books, and yes it pained me a bit, but why else did we invent libraries?  I have boxes of china that I’ve owned for years but never unpacked – out of fear of what my klutziness will do.  They’ll be put to use once we have a house with a dishwasher and cupboards without bending shelves and doors that don’t fall off, but need to be stored in the meantime.  We still have a few repeat wedding presents in our spare room closet that we need to get rid of (three grills!  We were given three grills!), and some odds and ends, but I think we’ll be able to condense everything down nicely.

J. is off in a month and a half and so we are also doing some last minute shopping to outfit him (which makes it sound like he’s going on safari).  A few new shirts for dressy occasions and interviews, another pair of khakis, and most importantly a new suit.  I’m a bit envious as all my favorite stores just came out with their fall styles and I’m craving, despite the heat, but I’m soldiering up.

Although, regardless of how much in advance you shop, expecting this sort of trip is just setting yourself for disappointment.

Finally, and I can’t stress this enough, minions, start shopping for travel early!  We found an amazing deal to get to London as well (although now we’re going to have to buy me an unexpected return trip a week later, but thanks to early planning, the financial burden of it is going to be highly manageable).  We’re also looking for deals for Christmas as the plan is for J. and I to meet up halfway at my family’s house on the East Coast.

This could all be done last minute (if we were masochists) but by doing it all in advance, we’re saving time, money, space, and stress.

Humor

Seasonal Affective Disorder

“Anyway, I liked autumn.  Autumn – the season of new boots.”
– Marian Keyes, Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married

Nope. Still not happy.

I am of the of the few, the grumpy, the Perpetually Meteorological Unsatisfied.

In the depths of a Western winter, when I have to dig my car out every day for weeks at a time, I long for spring.  When spring shows up, I tsk at its lack of purpose in waffling back and forth between blizzards and broiling.  As for summer, well, Small Dogs were not meant to be heated (I’m stupidly susceptible to heat stroke and exhaustion).  By all accounts I should be equally aggravated with fall for its schizophrenic weather, but I’m oddly indulgent.  I love fall.  I love the holidays, the new clothes, the cool weather after the sunburned, blistering baking I get June through August.

But I don’t love when Fall teases me with glimpses of cooler weather (relatively, seeing as how we were pushing triple digits here recently) before vanishing until at least October.

It sends me mixed messages.  The temperature dips (for a week) and my brain starts firing.  Sweaters!  Pumpkin in every baked good ever!  Boots!  Halloween!  Hot chocolate every day!  End of summer clothing sales, buy all the things!  College football!  Actually working out regularly because I’m not overheating and getting sick!  Nutmeg!

Then a couple days later I’m literally knocked backwards by the thump of heat that surges inward when I open the door in the morning to go to work.  My brain, which was already planning pies and outfits and pre-winter projects swivels around on itself yelling, “Abort, abort!”

Angst, Birth Control, Family, Humor

My 30 Minute Pregnancy Scare

“Another school dismissed confinements with a cheerful brightness, a ‘so-sorry-I’m-late-darling-I’ve-just-been-having-a-baby-where-shall-we-go-for-supper-afterwards?’ sangfroid which Flora, curiously enough, found equally alarming.”
– Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons

Minions, it’s been at least half a dozen posts since I last confessed my idiocy, I’m sure you’ve been on tenterhooks the whole time to see how I would be able to best my sock freakout.  I’m pleased/dismayed to be able to confirm that I have indeed topped it.  Read on.

This is me rising. Enthusiastically.

So, first J. and I were going to Britain together.  Then Her Majesty’s Government changed their visa laws so we were going separately, him in September (next month, ack!) and myself probably in February.  I’ve reconciled myself to my fate charmingly and just like a Real Live Grownup should.  In spite of the occasional bout of annoyance/minor depression, I’ve risen.

And then, a couple of weeks ago, I torpedoed my emotional scaffolding.

(Dad, don’t read this next bit.)  It was the first scheduled day of my period.  I’m on the pill and regular as clockwork.  And I made it through the entire day until 4:30pm.  The office was practically empty, I was alone with my thoughts (first mistake) and realized that the usual torso-bending cramps that I should have been “enjoying” had failed to put in an appearance.

Consequently, angst.

How shall I put this delicately?  You’d think that impending physical separation from my husband for months at a time would reduce the the, ah, threat of unplanned pregnancy, right?  How wrong you would be!  Suddenly, a cramp free afternoon (which, had I been in my right mind would be an occasion for joy) became and fear-scape of previously unseen proportions.

I saw myself great with child…with said spawn’s father on another bloody continent.  An entire pregnancy by myself, freaking out about every flutter, ultrasound, craving, and ache, without J. to tell me I’m being silly/order me to hospital.  No one to send out on late night runs for ice cream when I’ve overreached my gravitational ability to haul myself upright.  The fear that I wouldn’t be able to drive myself to work, since my feet only touch the pedals when the seat is all the way forward in the car – which would not be remotely possible with a fetus between me and the wheel.  A new horror of my klutziness as I pictured myself slipping and sliding on winter ice, which is nothing new, but suddenly far more terrifying with the risk of harming my child.

AUGH! It's trying to escape!

I saw myself going into labor with only my mother beside me – whose hand I couldn’t possibly reduce to pulp in my agony since she’d, you know, originally reduced Dad’s hand to pulp having me.  It would have smacked of ingratitude.  J. not being able to be there for the birth of our first child, perhaps watching and offering helpful tips (no doubt ungratefully received) via Skype.  I saw myself trying to juggle a newborn and still working so that I could retain my insurance to pay for this wrinkled, squalling, helpless thing… without childcare – this particular vision made me break out in a cold sweat.

I’m tough.  But childbirth scares me.  Childbirth without J. there to take my expletives, hold my hand, and remind me that our kid will totally be worth the current pain – that petrifies me.

As you may have guessed, the torso-bending cramps showed up just after I got home from work and the universe righted itself.  Except for one single trembling woman who had to restrain tears of gratitude as she reached for her “feminine hygiene” products with an unsteady hand.  I’m better now, but you’ll observe it took me a couple of weeks to be able to even write about it.