Doo-doo-doo

My parents got their new car back from the body shop and unless someone told you about the deer incident, you’d never know it. The thing still looks brand new.

I get a kick out of this car. It’s got all sorts of bells and whistles. The sort of stuff you really don’t need but it kind of fun anyway: like a heated steering wheel. Seriously? Can’t you just wear gloves like the rest of the unwashed masses?

But my favorite feature is this little sensor that lets you know when you’ve strayed out of your lane without signaling. I know I’ve mentioned this little alarm before, but I gotta tell ya, I love this thing. Not because it’s a valid safety feature, which it IS (intended to alert drowsy drivers to Wake Up!) but because of the vindication my mother is stewing in.

She’s told him for YEARS that he’s a lane-wanderer and he’s denied it vehemently.

(The car crosses slightly onto the shoulder)
Mom: You’re drifting again!
Dad: Bullshit!
(Dad over-corrects to skirt dangerously close to the semi in the left lane)
Mom: (clutching the door handle) Goddammit, Evans!!

Fun for the whole family!

I read recently that couples who fight frequently sometimes have stronger marriages because it means they’re more “engaged” in the relationship. My parents’ marriage is VERY strong! Hahaha!

As my dad was driving me to the airport on Tuesday, that little alarm got a lot of play. And so did I.

Lane Alarm: Doo-doo-doo
Me: Doo-doo-doo!! Hee hee!
Lane Alarm: Doo-doo-doo
Me: Doo-doo-doo!! Hee hee hee!
Dad: Stop doing that! It’s very annoying.
Me: I find it very entertaining.
Dad: (sighing) Do you want to hear it again?
Me: Yes, PLEASE!!!
Lane Alarm: Doo-doo-doo
Me: Hee hee hee!!!!

:D

Gold, Silver, Bronze, & Butter

I had the dubious honor of attending the Iowa State Fair this weekend. Now, I am not what you’d call a “State Fair person.” I’m not a big fan of Fair food (Deep-fried Oreos? Seriously?) and I’m not terribly interested in over-fed, over-grown cows, pigs, or pumpkins. Nothing wrong with any of that stuff, but it’s just really not my bag.

Why go, then? You might ask. My niece had a tumbling meet at the Fair this weekend. She won second place. Yea! And then, later that same day, she had a gymnastics competition and she won third place. Yea!

Another central Iowa girl did exceedingly well in gymnastics this week. Shawn Johnson is the toast of Iowa these days. Her 1.21 Gigawatt smile packs almost as much punch as her powerful floor routine. The infectious smile flashes across the screen in every other commercial on the Iowa networks, hocking everything from groceries to commemorative jewelry.

She won team Silver in the Olympics, followed by individual Silvers in the all-around and floor, and, in her crowning achievement: a Gold yesterday on the beam.

Yea, Shawn! (I was totally bawling last night as I watched her take the podium!)

And, in typical Iowa fashion, Shawn has been lauded in a truly unique manner: she’s been cast in butter. Every year at the Fair, there is the requisite “Butter Cow” – a life-sized bovine carved out of butter. And every year there is also a “special” butter sculpture. Last year it was the “Butter Harry Potter” in tribute to Book 7. This year there was a “Butter Shawn Johnson”

I think I will consider that I’ve truly “arrived” only when I’ve been replicated in butter at the Iowa State Fair.

Congratulations, Shawn!

Congratulations, Little Miss Thing!!!

Thank God for Gin

If there’s one thing I can’t stand…. Oh, who am I kidding? There are a monkey ton of things I can’t stand. But the thing I can’t stand right now, right this minute, is an asshat. Now, there are many different classes of asshat, but the type of asshat I’m annoyed with today is the teenage, petulant, inconsiderate, ungracious asshat.

I encountered just such an asshat Friday evening while diving headfirst into O’Hare Airport.

The kid was no taller than me, which suggested he still had some growing to do, with buzzed blond hair and glasses. A clean-cut enough looking kid, but a total asshat. He was a wanderer. The sort who drifts as he walks, checking out the scenery, dawdling along; clearly NOT a seasoned traveler. These are all things I’m willing to forgive.

I’m even willing to forgive the fact that this little asshat felt the need to commandeer three bins at the security line, even though he was only carrying his shoes, his belt, and a narrow cardboard tube. Apparently, he felt that each of these items required an individual bin.

Again, this I can forgive.

What pissed me off, though, was this kid’s complete, asshatted ingratitude. As we’re leaving the X-ray line (I managed to put my laptop and my shoes in one bin and my bag, being a bag, did not need a bin) the little asshat forgot his cardboard tube.

I notice this as he’s walking away. I pick it up and use it to tap him on the arm (two birds, one stone and all that) somehow the little asshat still doesn’t notice me trying to get his attention so I whap him a little harder and say, loudly, “Hey! You forgot your… thing!”

He turned, gave me a blank look, grabbed his tube and said, “Oh,” flatly before turning and walking away.

I blinked stoopidly.

There was an instant in time. A moment frozen and lost forever when I could have pretended I didn’t notice. There was no name or other markings on the tube. If he hadn’t noticed its absence, it would have been lost forever. And so I did the right thing.

I don’t expect a medal or fawning adoration (it was probably just a lame-o poster from the Shedd or – more likely – the Science and Industry Museum) but how hard is a simple “Thank you” ???

Asshat.

Slacking

I’ve been slacking on this blog lately. Channeling Nova? (I couldn’t resist! Sorry!) ;P

Seriously, I’ve been slacking at a lot of things lately. I’ve been goofing off at work. The work is getting done, but I really don’t have my eye on the ball. Yesterday was pretty bad. I spent a LOT of time emailing with one particular person – you know who you are! – and I let a few things slide at work. Nothing that can’t be easily caught up today, and the diversion was EXTREMELY entertaining, but still…

Sigh. I really need to get my act together!

(Yeah… That’ll happen!)

Anyway. The weekend is nearly here. I have lots and lots going on.

And just a quick shout out to Shawn Johnson! The little powerhouse from my hometown (she even goes to my high school!) won a Silver Medal yesterday in the Women’s Individual All-Around!

Woo-hoo! You go, girl!!!!

Notebooks

There’s something about a blank page.

Even though I do most of my writing on my computer these days, I still get kind of silly about a fresh notebook. I just love the crisp, naked pages.

I carry a notebook with me at all times.

I’m picky about notebooks, too. (There’s a shocker)

I like spiral, preferably with a hard board cover with at least one pocket for loose pages. I like them thin and about 5x8. And it’s gotta be lined. Lined is key. My good friend Dave prefers unlined notebooks because he likes to do sketches of some of the more bizarre characters and environments he creates.

But I like lines. (This is true of the other sort of line, too. Who doesn’t love a good single-file line???)

I like the order and rationality of 30 perfectly ordered and parallel lines, just waiting to be filled up with my thoughts.

The pen is important, too. There’s nothing I hate more than a cheap Bic ball-point pen. Ugh. My pen of choice is the Pentel micro (0.5mm) in blue. About once a year or so I buy a whole box of them. My mother used to “commandeer” them from her office, but now that she’s retired, I have to feed my pen habit myself.

But, like I said, mostly I write on my laptop: the Cricket. A Dell 12 inch Inspiron 700m (only 4 pounds even with the extended battery so I pretty much have it with me wherever I go) which is slowly falling apart. The external speakers stopped working a month after the warrantee ended (Hahaha!) and it’s starting to do some squirrelly things.

So I’ve been backing up EVERYTHING in my fiction folder and crossing my fingers that the Cricket survives until my next income tax refund comes around in February….

Arrrrggggghhhhh!!!!

This whole plateau thing is getting old.

Sharon’s new theory is that I’m not getting ENOUGH calories.

Buh??

It’s just so confusing. I do cardio five times a week and lift weights at least twice a week. I mix up my workouts: interval running on Mondays & Wednesdays, followed by weights; long moderate-pace walk on Tuesdays; ladders on Thursdays and Sundays.

I’m eating healthily and watching my calories.

But I just can’t seem to break past this fifteen pound barrier.

It’s incredible to me that I can be “maintaining” this weight doing all the hard work that I’m doing now when just a few months ago I was “maintaining” a slightly higher weight by sitting on my ass and eating like a pig.

I just don’t get it and it pisses me off.

Little Miss Thing

Little Miss Thing

My niece turns seven next week. She’s the cutest damn thing you ever saw. She cut off her hair recently for Locks of Love and now she has this cute bob that makes her look like Ramona Quimby. Adorable!

She has this fantastic thick rich pure brown hair that she definitely did NOT inherited from our side of the family – aside from my dad’s graying chestnut, we all have fine, dirt-blond hair.

But she did get our blue eyes. Sort of.

My mother has brown eyes – and she’s the only one. Dave got plain old blue, nothing remarkable but nice. Jo’s eyes are COOL. They’re sky blue, no trace of green or grey, just light blue without being pale. I got my dad’s eyes exactly. Medium blue with streaks of green.

LMT, though, has these amazing, deep, darkest blue eyes. They’re like the color of the abyss, like an ocean trench. And they're HUGE in her cute little face. She got my mother’s French complexion and tans a rich golden brown every summer (partly because she’s outside 36 hours a day!)

She’s also an aspiring gymnast. She recently received an invitation to join a competitive gymnastics team which will mean 5 hours of training a week and competitions every other week.

It weirds me out a bit but she LOVES it. She spends more time walking on her hands than on her feet. (We still have to remind her that she needs to not do that when she’s wearing a dress…) And when she’s practicing her aerial – she just whips herself through the air with complete abandon… It’s a little scary.

And she’s cut. I mean it. The kid’s got a totally little baby six-pack.

Anyway, here’s an early shout-out to Little Miss Thing, my favorite almost-seven-year-old!!!!

I.O.U.S.A.

I saw a documentary at the Landmark last night with my friend Anita. Normally I’m not the sort of person who will attend a documentary screening in a theater. I’ll watch them at home where I can keep one eye on the TV and the other on a game of solitaire or something equally inane.

I went last night because Anita had free tickets and because I didn’t know which film I was going to see. The Midwest Independent Film Festival www.midwestfilm.com/ screens indy films the first Tuesday of each month and I usually love indy films. I love the existentialism and the surreality and the pretension.

So I was sort of ambushed into watching a documentary film about: National Debt.

This is not a topic of particular interest for me. I mean, I’m concerned about it – who isn’t? – but it’s not something I dwell on as much as reproductive rights or civil liberties or conservation.

But MAN! This film was scary – and surprisingly non-partisan. (And included a number of unexpected bits of humor – I officially love Robert Bixby!!!) Granted, they made a number of unnecessary digs at the Shrub but the best, and most disturbing statements were things that came right out of his mouth: “I don’ know much about economics. I think I got a B- in that class, but I’ll tell you what I do know: How to cut taxes!!!!” (He should NOT be allowed to go off script…)

Blame was not laid at his feet. Or at the feet of anyone in particular (though Greenspan did get some guff)

The causes are wide and varied. They are cultural, political, and personal.

Personally, this film made me want to bury my money in the back yard and stop buying ANYTHING that I don’t NEED to live on.

Anyway, I highly recommend this film. I think it should be donated to every Jr. High School in the nation and be required viewing for anyone thinking about opening a credit card. (Haha! THAT will happen!)

Anyway, the film is called I.O.U.S.A. www.imdb.com/title/tt0963807/ and I HIGHLY recommend it.

I need a thunderstorm

I lived in Colorado for three years during grad school (except the summer I spent doing research in Alaska)

The weather in Colorado is about as close to perfection as any place I’ve ever been. It’s temperate, ranging from wicked cold in the winter to damn hot in the summer – just like Des Moines (and Chicago) – but with two major differences: abundant sunshine (320+ sunny days per year) and no humidity.

For the first time in my life, I realized WHY we sweat. I would sweat on a hot day in the summer in Colorado and it would immediately evaporate, cooling me. (Rather than forming a moist, sticky seal between me and my clothes…) And in the winter it would snow (sometimes a lot) but because of the pounding sunshine, it would all melt within a couple days. I did NOT miss the crusty, exhaust-blackened snow turds that form unsightly piles along Midwestern streets in the winter.

What I did miss, though, was thunderstorms. The part of Colorado I lived in was flat but with a clear view of the Front Range of the Rockies. Those same, brutally beautiful mountains that brought all the money into the state also kept the rain away. Few rain clouds survived their easterly trajectory through the mountains, leaving the plains on the other side high and dry.

After three years there, I YEARNED for a thunderstorm. I ached for the wild, uncontrolled fury of Nature screaming and thrashing about in a wild, uninhibited temper tantrum. I could feel the weather’s sexual frustration, its hunger to break out in a stunning, perfect conflagration of pounding rain, sizzling lightning, and roaring thunder all coming together into a raging, explosive orgasm.

I’ve been back in the Midwest long enough now to witness my fair share of storms – we even had a few tornados touch down near Des Moines the last time I was home – but nothing to compare with the STORM that we had last night. My god, that was a thing of beauty.

I know that it did a fair amount of damage and I’m glad that no one was seriously hurt, but MAN! What a gorgeous thing it was.

Someone hand me a cigarette…

Dress code

It’s 8am and I am the only person in my section of the El car not wearing jeans or shorts. Where do these people work? A couple of them, I suppose, might be students, but most appear to be near my age – mid-twenties to mid-thirties. At 8am on a Monday, I would assume that they’re headed to work.

So where do they work that they can wear jeans and baseball caps or shorts and t-shirts?

Our office actually reinforced its dress code recently. The issue was never the men. Their dress code is clear: dress pants, dress shirt, tie. I’m sorry to say the issue was with the women. Too many did not understand what “professional attire” meant. There was never a ban on capri pants or sandals – until now. Too many women looked like they were on their way to a picnic rather than a day at the office.

I know that a lot of hip young offices have adopted loose dress codes where trendy clothes like “dress shorts” can be worn. But we don’t work for a young hip office. We are an old-school organization with old-school rules and expectations. And one of those expectations is to look like you’re a professional and you’re here to WORK.

We can still wear sandals, but flip-flops are strictly verboten and I can’t say I’m sorry. I hate that whap-whap-whap sound and some women in our office clomp around like cows.

And should you have to tell grown women that hoochie spaghetti-strap tops are not “office appropriate”???

Of course people complained (they always do) and when one woman said to me, “But I’m more comfortable in flip-flops” I replied with “I’d be more comfortable with a beer and a cute boy to rub my feet. But I’m here to work.”

OK, so I guess I’m not cool in this regard. But I really feel like people take what they’re doing more seriously if they dress for it.

End rant. Sorry.

Drunk Post: II

Oooh....

You'd think I'd know better by now than to start blogging when I'm obviously impaired (thank goodness for the spellcheck function!)

My friends and I started the evening with a lovely Tattinger brut, moved onto a questionable Chardonnay that advertised that it was "good with food" (????) and finished with my favorite Carneros-style Napa rose of Pinot (It's the loveliest shade of darkest pink and is called "Fleur", Angelique!!!!)

I should know better than to start blogging when I'm clearly buzzed but I just can't seem to help myself... I just feel the urge to write when I drink...

My second NaNoWriMo (www.nanowrimo.org) included a whole slutty passage that I attribute entirely to a bottle of Wilson Creek almond champagne (fanTAStic with chocolate!!!) That same bottle generated a spate of drunk dials in which I requested a writing "dare" from each of my friends. So I had to work an illicit gin-mill, a "flaming duck", and a case of mass-food-poisoning into my novel (Thanks, guys!) in addition to my own personal dare (I include at least one reference to an "armadillo" in each of my novels...)

Anyway...

I drink, I write...

Though, to be fare I write even when I DON'T drink, but when I do, it's sort of impossible to avoid.

I wish I owned "Real Genius" on DVD. I feel like watching it...

Bader.

Stoopid

When I was home recently, I went with my sister to the store to buy my niece’s school supplies.

It was a Saturday and we’d been hanging out in the 3-season room, watching the kids play dominos. (Have you ever watched a 4yo boy play with dominos? It’s… interesting.) My parents were going to a retirement luncheon and my sister wanted to go shopping.

Jo: Do you want to go to the store with LMT* and me?
*LMT = Little Miss Thing, my niece
Me: Sure, I guess.
LMT: Yea!!!!
E-man: Me too???
LMT: No!
Me: (rolling my eyes) If you want me to go, he has to go too. Grandma and Grandpa are leaving and he can’t go with them.
LMT: I don’t want HIM to go!
(Ah… smell the sibling rivalry!)
Me: Then what do you suggest we do? (Yes, I realize I was trying to reason with a 6yo…)
LMT: Leave him here!
Me: By himself?
LMT: Yes!
Me: No. If you want me to go, E-man has to go too.
(argument over)
Me: How long is this going to take?
Jo: About an hour and a half.
Me: What?! An hour and half? At Wal-Mart? On a Saturday? No way! Give me the list!
Jo handed me the list.
Me: There’s no reason this should take any longer than 20 minutes.
Jo: What?
Me: I’m serious! Drop me off at the door and come back 20 minutes later and I’ll have everything. An hour and a half… That’s crazy!

My sister rolled her eyes at my mother, who had long since accepted my “unnatural” hatred of shopping.

So my sister drove us to Wal-Mart, which in my opinion is a store conceived in the seventh ring of Hell. I don’t like shopping, and I really don’t like shopping at stores like Wal-Mart, and I especially don’t like shopping at stores like Wal-Mart on a Saturday unless it’s 8am and the store is practically empty.

As we’re driving I notice that my sister is holding her cell phone in one hand and steering with the other. And then I realize that she’s TEXTING. Now, my sister is not a stoopid girl. She does a lot of stoopid things (we ALL do) but she’s not stoopid. Or so I’ve always thought…

Me: Are you out of your mind?! That is the stoopidest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do! Put your phone away and DRIVE!
Jo: You just don’t like it because it’s illegal in Chicago
Me: What!? No. I don’t like it because it’s STOOPID!
Jo: Whatever.
Me: Put it away or let me and the kids out of the car. You’re driving around in 2 tons of glass and steel. PAY ATTENTION TO THE ROAD!!! Put the phone away! There’s nothing you need to say that can’t wait ten minutes!!! There’s nothing to say that’s worth jeopardizing your life and mine and your CHILDREN’s lives!

Laws are being enacted all over the U.S. to make texting while driving illegal. I’m astounded that this is even necessary. When did this trend start??? Are people really that stoopid???

Yes, E. Yes they are.