Sit back and let me tell you the tale of my life for the past couple of days.
It all starts on Sunday night with some severe stomach cramps that led to a very restless and wakeful night. My constant movement and unsettled attitude clearly had an effect on my dog, who decided that 12:30 a.m. was the proper time to rise and shine for the day ahead.
I was able to convince her to remain in the bedroom, but alas, there was no more sleep to be had for us. This resulted in a "sick day" for my Monday.
It was a fairly lethargic day with one exception. I decided that after my night of pain and drama that I would wash all of my bedding, including the three quilts that cover my bed every night.
Monday night was eagerly awaited as I hoped that my general lack of sleep would make it much easier to get through the night.
This time around, it was not my stomach causing problems; it was Lena's. Around 3 a.m., I was awakened to the strange sound that sounded like laughter at the end of my bed. I saw Lena's outline and quickly switched on the light. I beheld my poor dog sitting over a pool of vomit on my comforter and top sheet. Although I was a bit disappointed to see this on my newly laundered bedclothes, I quickly stripped the soiled linens and put them in the washing machine.
Optimistically, I returned to bed, hoping that this episode with Lena was a glitch and all would be well now. I realize now that this was pretty stupid of me, but it was 3:30 in the morning and I really wanted those last two hours of sleep.
One hour later, Lena was curled up by my side when I heard the faint sound of her lips smacking. Fearing the worst, I turned on the light. Sure enough, she had vomited on the fitted sheet and another quilt. This time, however, it also soaked through to the mattress pad. At this point, I decided to cut my losses and get up.
More laundry was started. I was upset. I was frustrated that I had now washed the same things twice in 24 hours. I was sad that I could not get more sleep. I was worried that something was wrong with my dog.
In response to all of these things, I had to sit down to calm myself and consider my options. I did not want to take another "sick day" to sort this all out, but I could not in good conscience leave my dog alone while I was at work. Not only because of the potential mess I could encounter upon my return, but mostly because I was not sure if she would survive.
My final decision was to pack up and drive down to my parents' house before traffic picked up. My reasoning was that this would allow me time to clear my head and would also bring me closer to my vet clinic.
Before I left the house, I made a quick call to my veterinarian brother in Wisconsin. I knew that it was unlikely that he would be awake at 5:20 a.m. on a Tuesday, but I figured that leaving a message couldn't hurt.
I sent my parents a message to warn them of our imminent arrival and hit the road. Shockingly, Lena did not vomit in the car on on the way to the house. She had already vomited on the carpet of my loft, bringing her tally to that point to three.
We made it to their house safe and sound. The dogs all greeted each other and my concerned parents offered up advice before departing for work. I decided to shower and think about things.
Shortly after I finished my shower, Lena threw up a large amount of what appeared to be water all over the hallway floor. I decided to give my brother another call. This time he answered. After consulting his veterinarian girlfriend, he told me that based on the number of times she had vomited, I should probably bring her in.
I dressed and we left for the emergency vet clinic. Thankfully, we got in right away and the staff was very kind to me. In the end, after more consulting with my brother, I opted to let her stay in their care for the day. I know I did not make the wrong choice, but I am sure the monetary repercussions will not be slight.
So yes, I was able to avoid taking another full "sick day," but I am still unsure about the final diagnosis for Lena. I am hopeful that it will all pass through her system, tonight will be normal and tomorrow will bring no new drama.
The past couple of days have felt like weeks. I have a planned three-day weekend coming up alone with three dogs. As long as there are no more vet visits, I think I should be OK.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Hitching a ride
Weekends are typically slow times for blog updates for everyone that I follow. For some reason, I have chosen to be a bit more prolific as of late. We could explore the reasons, but it probably would not lead to a satisfactory answer, so I will refrain.
Right now I am sitting at my parents' house with three dogs, listening to the barks of two and watching the attentive listening of the third. My mother is at work and my father has taken a day trip out to Brooten. I think that I may put on some better clothing and visit my mom at work when I finish this entry.
Last night, I was able to meet up with some friends for dinner. Two of them are regular readers of this blog - so HI Bill and Rox! We had a lovely dinner at the Downtowner in St. Paul followed by dessert at Cafe Latte. Always lovely. The other friend on this outing was Jill who was gracious enough to be the driver. Now that I have shared how much I love being driven, you know why I truly appreciated this.
We had good conversation and good food, and the only "odd" occurrence came after dinner on the way to the car.
From my vantage point in the restaurant, I had a pretty clear view of the host/hostess desk and entrance. As most of my focus was on my dinner companions, I did not take great notice of the other diners comings and goings.
Towards the end of our meal, I did notice a man wearing a somewhat bright Hawaiian-style shirt conversing with the host, but that was mainly because of his shirt. I might have noted that he was alone and that there did not seem to be any effort to seat him at a table, but I did not.
It turned out that this man had a story to tell and some requests to make. When the restaurant staff was unable to help, he decided to approach Bill and Roxanne as we exited the restaurant. They politely conversed with him as we walked to the parking lot while not complying with his request for transportation assistance or money to get transportation to his intended destination of the Greyhound Bus Depot in downtown Minneapolis.
I do not share this story because I want to make any kind of social point. I share it because of his claim that he had been hitchhiking on the freeway and was stopped by the police. Of course, I have no idea if this was true, but the idea is strange and a bit interesting.
It is my understanding that back in "the day," hitchhiking was not uncommon. In fact, I think that one or more of my parents may have done it. They are both alive today, so it did not end terribly for them. So what happened? Too many bad eggs on both sides of the equation, I would guess.
As for this man, I have no idea where his real story began or where it ended last night. I suspect if he continued to accost customers leaving local restaurants and bars, there may have been a complaint. Perhaps the police showed up and were able to escort him to Minneapolis. Or maybe it was all part of a hidden camera piece for some low budget/low viewership TV show.
If so, keep your eyes peeled and let me know if you see us. I will be the one walking out in front of the group with my friend Jill, exchanging nervous glances and wondering if he is going to follow us all the way to the car. (He did not.)
Right now I am sitting at my parents' house with three dogs, listening to the barks of two and watching the attentive listening of the third. My mother is at work and my father has taken a day trip out to Brooten. I think that I may put on some better clothing and visit my mom at work when I finish this entry.
Last night, I was able to meet up with some friends for dinner. Two of them are regular readers of this blog - so HI Bill and Rox! We had a lovely dinner at the Downtowner in St. Paul followed by dessert at Cafe Latte. Always lovely. The other friend on this outing was Jill who was gracious enough to be the driver. Now that I have shared how much I love being driven, you know why I truly appreciated this.
We had good conversation and good food, and the only "odd" occurrence came after dinner on the way to the car.
From my vantage point in the restaurant, I had a pretty clear view of the host/hostess desk and entrance. As most of my focus was on my dinner companions, I did not take great notice of the other diners comings and goings.
Towards the end of our meal, I did notice a man wearing a somewhat bright Hawaiian-style shirt conversing with the host, but that was mainly because of his shirt. I might have noted that he was alone and that there did not seem to be any effort to seat him at a table, but I did not.
It turned out that this man had a story to tell and some requests to make. When the restaurant staff was unable to help, he decided to approach Bill and Roxanne as we exited the restaurant. They politely conversed with him as we walked to the parking lot while not complying with his request for transportation assistance or money to get transportation to his intended destination of the Greyhound Bus Depot in downtown Minneapolis.
I do not share this story because I want to make any kind of social point. I share it because of his claim that he had been hitchhiking on the freeway and was stopped by the police. Of course, I have no idea if this was true, but the idea is strange and a bit interesting.
It is my understanding that back in "the day," hitchhiking was not uncommon. In fact, I think that one or more of my parents may have done it. They are both alive today, so it did not end terribly for them. So what happened? Too many bad eggs on both sides of the equation, I would guess.
As for this man, I have no idea where his real story began or where it ended last night. I suspect if he continued to accost customers leaving local restaurants and bars, there may have been a complaint. Perhaps the police showed up and were able to escort him to Minneapolis. Or maybe it was all part of a hidden camera piece for some low budget/low viewership TV show.
If so, keep your eyes peeled and let me know if you see us. I will be the one walking out in front of the group with my friend Jill, exchanging nervous glances and wondering if he is going to follow us all the way to the car. (He did not.)
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Wink if you think I'm cute
Don't worry, you're not going crazy. I updated a few things in my blog's layout. I felt it needed a little facelift. While I would also like to change the background drawing, I have yet to feel the artistic inspiration to create a new option. Perhaps if I had some fancy software like Photoshop my problems would be solved. We shall see about that someday.
My father went to see the final Harry Potter yesterday. By himself, of course. My mother returned last night from her visit to see friends with lake homes. I am trying not to be jealous, but it is really really hard when the weather is actually really nice and perfect for being in a lake when I know that there is 0.00% chance that I will be going to any kind of lake in the near future.
Perhaps I should add that to my list of "wants" for my personal ad. In addition to being a willing driver, you must also have some sort of ready access to a good swimming lake in Minnesota during the summer months. I do not really care if it is a fancy pants cabin or not. I suppose one stipulation would be that it be a somewhat private swimming location. I really do not need to see a bunch of scantily clad teenagers wearing age-inappropriate swimwear.
I suppose that now is the time for me to 'fess up and tell you that as much as I seem to mock online dating, I have partaken (partook?) in the practice a few times in the past 10 years. Web sites I have tried include: match.com, eharmony and chemistry.com. I realize that the last site is actually linked to match.com, but it involves a personality quiz, so it has the appearance of being more legit.
Every time I have started up (or re-started up) on one of these sites, I am always cautiously optimistic. Lord knows why. It always runs a similar course, although now that I am in my 30's I am finding that the number of interested parties has decreased a little in general. There just must be something universally appealing about 24 year old women that man cannot resist.
Here is my somewhat faithful account of the cycle of online dating for these sites.
Match.com
This is probably one of the most well-known dating sites, which could be construed as a very positive thing as it is more likely to attract a broader range of person. It is also fairly "open" to searches and viewing, thus leaving much of the selection work up to the user.
There is no qualifying quiz for this site, although all profiles must be approved before they are open to viewing. This eliminates (hopefully) the yuckity-yucks who write about disgusting acts in language that can only marginally be taken as English along with their similiarly disgusting and inappropriate pictures. Save it for Craigslist, folks.
There are a lot of areas for free writing on this site. For me, this is important. While I realize that not every person worth meeting is a good writer, I need to know that someone I would potentially consider dating can at least write originally and convey meaning.
Sadly, the free writing aspect is a problem for some. Many a young man openly and quickly laments the fact that they don't want to write about themselves because they don't know what to say. I understand. Not everyone is confident in their writing skills and not everyone knows how to fully convey the essence of their complex personality in a concise and literary manner.
Still, this makes weeding through profiles very monotonous. There are only so many easy going "athletic and toned" guys who love sports, camping and cuddling that I can take. I have yet to find one that openly states they wish to cook, clean and chauffeur for their significant other.
Eharmony
I have an interesting relationship with this site. When I first tried it, many years ago, I was optimistic. I completed their questionnaire as honestly as possible for me (at the time) and was allowed to be a part of their "elite" singles group.
Unlike match.com, this site does not allow users to simply seek and find people on their own. No, for the extra cost, they take care of locating matches for you and presenting them on a daily basis. You are then left to review the profiles and then initiate contact if you feel so inclined.
In this case, "contact" means that you start the inane process of answering sets of questions designed by eharmony that are chosen by your "match," reviewing their "must haves" and "can't stands," and a few other steps that I can't quite remember. If you make it through all of these steps, you reach the "open communication" phase where you can freely email one another.
At first I found this intriguing. Helpful, perhaps. After a few go 'rounds, I was less eager to continually keep up and became confused over how far along I was with which person and what I really thought of any of them.
I think that I made it through my three month subscription without having a single date.
I did come back to this again, years later, only to re-take the personality test and be told that there were no matches for me. I can only assume that my more jaded and cynical (and perhaps more honest) responses did not meet their criteria. I tried again once more and managed to trick the system into letting me in. After one more three month trial and two dates with one ridiculously incompatible guy, I gave up on that for good.
Whenever I see their TV ads, I always have a pretty good laugh.
Chemistry.com
This site is actually part of match.com, but they are trying to go after the more discerning eharmony crowd by making you take another quiz before you can be on their site. In this case, I don't think that the quiz can disqualify you, but theoretically it is supposed to ensure more compatible matches.
I did this once. They ask very probing and insightful questions, such as "which picture of a hand most resembles your own?" As if proportional finger length is supposed to really mean anything. Also, you have to do these spacing and visual exercises that vaguely remind me of an IQ test I took when I was 5.
In the end, the communication process is not quite as tedious as eharmony, if I remember correctly, but the results were no better than what I saw anywhere else. It did introduce me to Jeff, a young man who still lived with his wealthy parents in Wayzata, installed home sound systems for a living, played mandolin in a bluegrass band and bought pot in his parents' driveway while I was on a date with him. You can guess how long that one lasted.
Conclusion
What did I learn from all of these experiences? It is hard to quantify. I am sure that some people are wildly successful with this mode of dating; my hairdresser is a victorious case-in-point. She has the ability to find new boyfriends immediately after breaking up with the last one just by reactivating her profile on match.com.
As I have a slight aversion to initiating contact in any circumstance, I am left to the advances of those brave enough to contact me. No matter how specific I am about age, marital status, education, location, etc. in my profile, I am inevitably contacted by men over the age of 40 with profiles containing little to no punctuation.
With the amount of time I spend trying to make my profile witty and honest, I have been left a bit depressed with the outcome. Perhaps the universe is trying to tell me to lower my standards, but I think I have a few good years left in me before I have to succumb to the siren call of the illiterate rednecks.
My father went to see the final Harry Potter yesterday. By himself, of course. My mother returned last night from her visit to see friends with lake homes. I am trying not to be jealous, but it is really really hard when the weather is actually really nice and perfect for being in a lake when I know that there is 0.00% chance that I will be going to any kind of lake in the near future.
Perhaps I should add that to my list of "wants" for my personal ad. In addition to being a willing driver, you must also have some sort of ready access to a good swimming lake in Minnesota during the summer months. I do not really care if it is a fancy pants cabin or not. I suppose one stipulation would be that it be a somewhat private swimming location. I really do not need to see a bunch of scantily clad teenagers wearing age-inappropriate swimwear.
I suppose that now is the time for me to 'fess up and tell you that as much as I seem to mock online dating, I have partaken (partook?) in the practice a few times in the past 10 years. Web sites I have tried include: match.com, eharmony and chemistry.com. I realize that the last site is actually linked to match.com, but it involves a personality quiz, so it has the appearance of being more legit.
Every time I have started up (or re-started up) on one of these sites, I am always cautiously optimistic. Lord knows why. It always runs a similar course, although now that I am in my 30's I am finding that the number of interested parties has decreased a little in general. There just must be something universally appealing about 24 year old women that man cannot resist.
Here is my somewhat faithful account of the cycle of online dating for these sites.
Match.com
This is probably one of the most well-known dating sites, which could be construed as a very positive thing as it is more likely to attract a broader range of person. It is also fairly "open" to searches and viewing, thus leaving much of the selection work up to the user.
There is no qualifying quiz for this site, although all profiles must be approved before they are open to viewing. This eliminates (hopefully) the yuckity-yucks who write about disgusting acts in language that can only marginally be taken as English along with their similiarly disgusting and inappropriate pictures. Save it for Craigslist, folks.
There are a lot of areas for free writing on this site. For me, this is important. While I realize that not every person worth meeting is a good writer, I need to know that someone I would potentially consider dating can at least write originally and convey meaning.
Sadly, the free writing aspect is a problem for some. Many a young man openly and quickly laments the fact that they don't want to write about themselves because they don't know what to say. I understand. Not everyone is confident in their writing skills and not everyone knows how to fully convey the essence of their complex personality in a concise and literary manner.
Still, this makes weeding through profiles very monotonous. There are only so many easy going "athletic and toned" guys who love sports, camping and cuddling that I can take. I have yet to find one that openly states they wish to cook, clean and chauffeur for their significant other.
Eharmony
I have an interesting relationship with this site. When I first tried it, many years ago, I was optimistic. I completed their questionnaire as honestly as possible for me (at the time) and was allowed to be a part of their "elite" singles group.
Unlike match.com, this site does not allow users to simply seek and find people on their own. No, for the extra cost, they take care of locating matches for you and presenting them on a daily basis. You are then left to review the profiles and then initiate contact if you feel so inclined.
In this case, "contact" means that you start the inane process of answering sets of questions designed by eharmony that are chosen by your "match," reviewing their "must haves" and "can't stands," and a few other steps that I can't quite remember. If you make it through all of these steps, you reach the "open communication" phase where you can freely email one another.
At first I found this intriguing. Helpful, perhaps. After a few go 'rounds, I was less eager to continually keep up and became confused over how far along I was with which person and what I really thought of any of them.
I think that I made it through my three month subscription without having a single date.
I did come back to this again, years later, only to re-take the personality test and be told that there were no matches for me. I can only assume that my more jaded and cynical (and perhaps more honest) responses did not meet their criteria. I tried again once more and managed to trick the system into letting me in. After one more three month trial and two dates with one ridiculously incompatible guy, I gave up on that for good.
Whenever I see their TV ads, I always have a pretty good laugh.
Chemistry.com
This site is actually part of match.com, but they are trying to go after the more discerning eharmony crowd by making you take another quiz before you can be on their site. In this case, I don't think that the quiz can disqualify you, but theoretically it is supposed to ensure more compatible matches.
I did this once. They ask very probing and insightful questions, such as "which picture of a hand most resembles your own?" As if proportional finger length is supposed to really mean anything. Also, you have to do these spacing and visual exercises that vaguely remind me of an IQ test I took when I was 5.
In the end, the communication process is not quite as tedious as eharmony, if I remember correctly, but the results were no better than what I saw anywhere else. It did introduce me to Jeff, a young man who still lived with his wealthy parents in Wayzata, installed home sound systems for a living, played mandolin in a bluegrass band and bought pot in his parents' driveway while I was on a date with him. You can guess how long that one lasted.
Conclusion
What did I learn from all of these experiences? It is hard to quantify. I am sure that some people are wildly successful with this mode of dating; my hairdresser is a victorious case-in-point. She has the ability to find new boyfriends immediately after breaking up with the last one just by reactivating her profile on match.com.
As I have a slight aversion to initiating contact in any circumstance, I am left to the advances of those brave enough to contact me. No matter how specific I am about age, marital status, education, location, etc. in my profile, I am inevitably contacted by men over the age of 40 with profiles containing little to no punctuation.
With the amount of time I spend trying to make my profile witty and honest, I have been left a bit depressed with the outcome. Perhaps the universe is trying to tell me to lower my standards, but I think I have a few good years left in me before I have to succumb to the siren call of the illiterate rednecks.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Crappy coffee and its side effects
Today may be Friday, but it is shaping up quickly to be one of those days. What do I mean by that?
Well, let me back up a bit.
Last night, I returned to my parents' house for my weekly visit. Nothing strange there, except that my mom is out of town visiting friends, so it was just me and my dad. We took the dogs for a walk and chatted. It was nice.
We stayed up, watched The Daily Show and went to bed.
Here is where the story really makes a shift. Are you ready?
I finally got to sleep in "my" bedroom last night. I use quotation marks in this case because I technically do not share a residence with my parents and therefore have no real right to lay claim to a specific room, but I do it anyway. It comes from old habits of being the oldest child and only girl in my family. The only time I have not been given the choicest room was when they moved to Wisconsin without me and did not feel compelled to award the largest space to an absent person.
Never mind.
So, I believe I have mentioned that I spent most of June and July staying at my parents' house due to school and dog requirements, yes? Good.
I was not the only guest at my parents' house this summer. My chief co-guests were my aunt and uncle who were home for summer break from Belgium. I believe I have spent more time with them than I have in combined hours for the past decade, so I feel fortunate to have been around for that.
However, their presence meant that my sleeping quarters were relocated mostly to "Michael's" bedroom (as named by me) and on rare occasions to the basement couch or twin bed.
Now that their visit is almost over, they have decided to spend most of their time relaxing up at their cabin in Wisconsin. Understandably, I believe. If I had a cabin up in the woods, I know where I would be right now as well.
So when I arrived last night Chez Parents, my father informed me that I would be able to reclaim my bedroom for the first time since June. At first, I took this information with an air of nonchalance. A bed is a bed, right?
Not so, as it turns out. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I slept REALLY hard last night. The only thing that woke me prior to my actual alarm was my over-eager dog leaping from the bed at the sound of her canine companions arising with my father.
While I have never been a morning person, I felt that I was dragging through this entire morning. My sloth-like movement paired with Thor's obsession with barking at trees made my departure time for work much later than intended, with the end result being that I did not have time to stop for a proper coffee drink.
When this happens, I am forced to drink copious amounts of the disgusting sludge provided by my employer just to stay viable. There are sometimes unintended side effects, but I am usually able to restrain the visible signs of my crankiness. Hopefully no one gets hurt.
This entry is pretty pointless, I admit. I would probably not consider posting it, but it does serve to document the state of my brain which could be useful to future research. Just be sure to cite me if you use it.
Well, let me back up a bit.
Last night, I returned to my parents' house for my weekly visit. Nothing strange there, except that my mom is out of town visiting friends, so it was just me and my dad. We took the dogs for a walk and chatted. It was nice.
We stayed up, watched The Daily Show and went to bed.
Here is where the story really makes a shift. Are you ready?
I finally got to sleep in "my" bedroom last night. I use quotation marks in this case because I technically do not share a residence with my parents and therefore have no real right to lay claim to a specific room, but I do it anyway. It comes from old habits of being the oldest child and only girl in my family. The only time I have not been given the choicest room was when they moved to Wisconsin without me and did not feel compelled to award the largest space to an absent person.
Never mind.
So, I believe I have mentioned that I spent most of June and July staying at my parents' house due to school and dog requirements, yes? Good.
I was not the only guest at my parents' house this summer. My chief co-guests were my aunt and uncle who were home for summer break from Belgium. I believe I have spent more time with them than I have in combined hours for the past decade, so I feel fortunate to have been around for that.
However, their presence meant that my sleeping quarters were relocated mostly to "Michael's" bedroom (as named by me) and on rare occasions to the basement couch or twin bed.
Now that their visit is almost over, they have decided to spend most of their time relaxing up at their cabin in Wisconsin. Understandably, I believe. If I had a cabin up in the woods, I know where I would be right now as well.
So when I arrived last night Chez Parents, my father informed me that I would be able to reclaim my bedroom for the first time since June. At first, I took this information with an air of nonchalance. A bed is a bed, right?
Not so, as it turns out. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I slept REALLY hard last night. The only thing that woke me prior to my actual alarm was my over-eager dog leaping from the bed at the sound of her canine companions arising with my father.
While I have never been a morning person, I felt that I was dragging through this entire morning. My sloth-like movement paired with Thor's obsession with barking at trees made my departure time for work much later than intended, with the end result being that I did not have time to stop for a proper coffee drink.
When this happens, I am forced to drink copious amounts of the disgusting sludge provided by my employer just to stay viable. There are sometimes unintended side effects, but I am usually able to restrain the visible signs of my crankiness. Hopefully no one gets hurt.
This entry is pretty pointless, I admit. I would probably not consider posting it, but it does serve to document the state of my brain which could be useful to future research. Just be sure to cite me if you use it.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Baby, you can drive my car
It is amazing how much influence my morning commute has on my morning frame of mind. Sad, really. For reasons that I cannot pinpoint, it seems that drivers continue to get less and less responsible and more and more insane as the years go by. I could run through the litany of stupid things that people do on a regular basis, but most people probably already have seen it.
I wonder if it would help to send everyone back to driving school every 10 years. Or place monitors in cars that record bad driving to report to insurance companies or police. Maybe someday. But then there will be the people who protest that this is an invasion of privacy. Not when you take your idiocy out on to government funded roadways, moron.
My conclusion is that driving is not good for my health. It is dangerous enough to be on the road with other drivers, but when I have to dodge around them and constantly be dealing with people who operate in a constant state of total self-awarded entitlement, my blood pressure escalates.
The solution? I need a driver. Rest assured that I am not speaking of a limo driver, or even a town car driver. I just need someone to operate my vehicle while I sit in the passenger seat, make small talk and admire the scenery. I need to not have to concentrate on the road at all times.
This was illustrated to me perfectly a couple of weeks ago when my mother and I went to St. Cloud for my grandpa's birthday lunch. Normally, I somehow get roped into driving when I am with my parents. Probably because I usually know where I am going and also because my mother gets annoyed with my father's driving habits.
On this day, for some reason, my mother agreed to drive. It was amazing. I noticed signs, buildings, shops, trees; all things that are always there but I never get to see because I must concentrate on the totally un-scenic freeway.
Perhaps you are thinking that the better solution to the problem is obvious: I should use public transportation. Believe me, I totally would if I could. In fact, I live right by a commuter train line. Unfortunately, said train runs to downtown Minneapolis and does not cut through the suburb in which I work. Not by a long shot.
Other cities in the U.S. and around the world possess fantastic public transportation systems. Maybe someday this will be true of Minneapolis/St. Paul. For the moment, it is not. My only option is to drive.
Before you suggest that I take my bike, please note that all roads from my home to work involve some degree of freeway interaction. As I do not have a death wish, I refuse to ride bike on the shoulder of a road that is covered by the very drivers who already make my car commute hazardous. Also, this would defeat my goal entirely as I would still have to concentrate on the road. I would also have to wear a hair-crushing helmet and sweat like a pig while doing it. No thanks.
How can I achieve my new goal of being driven to my various engagements? To add to the complications, I would prefer not to pay this driver.
So. I need someone who will drive me to the places I need to go, will not require payment and will let me sit in the passenger seat. Hm. Sounds like I may need a boyfriend and/or husband. Rats. I may need to construct a personal ad. I will have to be sure that I specify that they need a valid U.S. drivers license. That should take care of it, I think. I will let you know how it goes.
I wonder if it would help to send everyone back to driving school every 10 years. Or place monitors in cars that record bad driving to report to insurance companies or police. Maybe someday. But then there will be the people who protest that this is an invasion of privacy. Not when you take your idiocy out on to government funded roadways, moron.
My conclusion is that driving is not good for my health. It is dangerous enough to be on the road with other drivers, but when I have to dodge around them and constantly be dealing with people who operate in a constant state of total self-awarded entitlement, my blood pressure escalates.
The solution? I need a driver. Rest assured that I am not speaking of a limo driver, or even a town car driver. I just need someone to operate my vehicle while I sit in the passenger seat, make small talk and admire the scenery. I need to not have to concentrate on the road at all times.
This was illustrated to me perfectly a couple of weeks ago when my mother and I went to St. Cloud for my grandpa's birthday lunch. Normally, I somehow get roped into driving when I am with my parents. Probably because I usually know where I am going and also because my mother gets annoyed with my father's driving habits.
On this day, for some reason, my mother agreed to drive. It was amazing. I noticed signs, buildings, shops, trees; all things that are always there but I never get to see because I must concentrate on the totally un-scenic freeway.
Perhaps you are thinking that the better solution to the problem is obvious: I should use public transportation. Believe me, I totally would if I could. In fact, I live right by a commuter train line. Unfortunately, said train runs to downtown Minneapolis and does not cut through the suburb in which I work. Not by a long shot.
Other cities in the U.S. and around the world possess fantastic public transportation systems. Maybe someday this will be true of Minneapolis/St. Paul. For the moment, it is not. My only option is to drive.
Before you suggest that I take my bike, please note that all roads from my home to work involve some degree of freeway interaction. As I do not have a death wish, I refuse to ride bike on the shoulder of a road that is covered by the very drivers who already make my car commute hazardous. Also, this would defeat my goal entirely as I would still have to concentrate on the road. I would also have to wear a hair-crushing helmet and sweat like a pig while doing it. No thanks.
How can I achieve my new goal of being driven to my various engagements? To add to the complications, I would prefer not to pay this driver.
So. I need someone who will drive me to the places I need to go, will not require payment and will let me sit in the passenger seat. Hm. Sounds like I may need a boyfriend and/or husband. Rats. I may need to construct a personal ad. I will have to be sure that I specify that they need a valid U.S. drivers license. That should take care of it, I think. I will let you know how it goes.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Lena does her part to save the planet
Yesterday was lawn mowing day in my neighborhood. One of the many delightful perks of living in a townhouse is that chores such as yardwork, snow shoveling, shrub pruning and the like fall to the hands of the association. Although I have complained about their slow reaction time in the face of major snowfall (and will likely complain about it again someday), they generally do a pretty good job.
Now, I have not been around the house much this summer, but I do believe that the normal day for grass cutting is Monday. Due to the scary/rainy/dangerous weather we had this Monday, the work was postponed until yesterday. OK.
Our copious amounts of rainfall paired with days full of straight on sunshine has made for some pretty lucious lawnage. It grows pretty fast. This means that by the end of the week, things start to look a bit jungle-like. Again, OK.
When long grass is finally cut, one of the potential side-effects is that you may end up with large clumps of clipping scattered at random. Some people use bag attachments to their mowers to avoid this, but the mowers used for huge mass cuttings such as, say, an entire neighborhood are a bit larger and more industrial. No bags here.
Again, does this bother me? Not in the least. I probably wouldn't even notice it, except for the fact that I now have a dog.
It is nothing new to note that dogs sometimes like to eat grass. I have been told that they usually do this when their tummies are upset, but I think sometimes they just think it's fun to munch on vegetation that is not chicken, liver or other meat flavored.
My dog, Lena, takes it to another level. Now that she is becoming a free-range dog during the day when I am at work, I find it necessary (for my own peace of mind) to take her on a walk first thing in the morning. This helps her in her bathroom duties and lets her expend a little energy as well. Plus it gets me moving in the morning.
When Lena walks, it is important not to ignore what she is doing. She loves to sniff around, but occasionally she will pick something up in her mouth. Normally, she will not eat everything she picks up, but if I stop to try and remove it from her mouth, she may try and eat it just to keep me from taking it away. It is a tricky manuever.
Some things she simply cannot eat. Socks, underwear, rocks, feathers, frogs. These are relinquished with relative ease. It is much more difficult when it comes to dirt, leaves and grass.
This morning, literally one minute into our walk Lena had already snatched up a large clump of damp grass clippings. As she is also prone to dropping things as she finds other objects of interest, I decided to let her be for the moment. Unfortunately, things did not go as expected.
Somehow in the course of the first half of our walk, Lena managed to pick up several more clumps of grass. By the time we reached the halfway point, she resembled a baseball player carrying a wad of chewing tobacco in their lip. A very sloppy baseball player who let their chew hang outside their mouth, that is. When I finally stopped her to address the situation, she looked like she was wearing green wax lips.
Fortunately, when the grass is so abundant that it protrudes from her mouth, removal is a bit easier. This means that I do not have to mess with the jaws of death. I simply grab on to the exposed clump, pull out as much as I can and toss it as far away as possible.
I did this a couple of times on our walk this morning. I believe that she did manage to eat a small amount based on the amount of smacking that she did after I threw away the last major clump. By this point in the walk, she had already done her duties bathroom-wise, so I had no problem restricting her wanderings to stay on pavement.
So far this week, my dog has been my major source of entertainment. This may be due to the fact that I have no other live interactions at my house. Or the fact that when we are home, all of Lena's outdoor activities end up being monitored while at my parents' house she is given free reign of the fenced backyard with relatively little micromanaging on my part.
Whatever the reason, I am sure that both of us will be more than ready to return to civilization for the weekend.
Now, I have not been around the house much this summer, but I do believe that the normal day for grass cutting is Monday. Due to the scary/rainy/dangerous weather we had this Monday, the work was postponed until yesterday. OK.
Our copious amounts of rainfall paired with days full of straight on sunshine has made for some pretty lucious lawnage. It grows pretty fast. This means that by the end of the week, things start to look a bit jungle-like. Again, OK.
When long grass is finally cut, one of the potential side-effects is that you may end up with large clumps of clipping scattered at random. Some people use bag attachments to their mowers to avoid this, but the mowers used for huge mass cuttings such as, say, an entire neighborhood are a bit larger and more industrial. No bags here.
Again, does this bother me? Not in the least. I probably wouldn't even notice it, except for the fact that I now have a dog.
It is nothing new to note that dogs sometimes like to eat grass. I have been told that they usually do this when their tummies are upset, but I think sometimes they just think it's fun to munch on vegetation that is not chicken, liver or other meat flavored.
My dog, Lena, takes it to another level. Now that she is becoming a free-range dog during the day when I am at work, I find it necessary (for my own peace of mind) to take her on a walk first thing in the morning. This helps her in her bathroom duties and lets her expend a little energy as well. Plus it gets me moving in the morning.
When Lena walks, it is important not to ignore what she is doing. She loves to sniff around, but occasionally she will pick something up in her mouth. Normally, she will not eat everything she picks up, but if I stop to try and remove it from her mouth, she may try and eat it just to keep me from taking it away. It is a tricky manuever.
Some things she simply cannot eat. Socks, underwear, rocks, feathers, frogs. These are relinquished with relative ease. It is much more difficult when it comes to dirt, leaves and grass.
This morning, literally one minute into our walk Lena had already snatched up a large clump of damp grass clippings. As she is also prone to dropping things as she finds other objects of interest, I decided to let her be for the moment. Unfortunately, things did not go as expected.
Somehow in the course of the first half of our walk, Lena managed to pick up several more clumps of grass. By the time we reached the halfway point, she resembled a baseball player carrying a wad of chewing tobacco in their lip. A very sloppy baseball player who let their chew hang outside their mouth, that is. When I finally stopped her to address the situation, she looked like she was wearing green wax lips.
Fortunately, when the grass is so abundant that it protrudes from her mouth, removal is a bit easier. This means that I do not have to mess with the jaws of death. I simply grab on to the exposed clump, pull out as much as I can and toss it as far away as possible.
I did this a couple of times on our walk this morning. I believe that she did manage to eat a small amount based on the amount of smacking that she did after I threw away the last major clump. By this point in the walk, she had already done her duties bathroom-wise, so I had no problem restricting her wanderings to stay on pavement.
So far this week, my dog has been my major source of entertainment. This may be due to the fact that I have no other live interactions at my house. Or the fact that when we are home, all of Lena's outdoor activities end up being monitored while at my parents' house she is given free reign of the fenced backyard with relatively little micromanaging on my part.
Whatever the reason, I am sure that both of us will be more than ready to return to civilization for the weekend.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Love in the time of cubicles
I know that I should not balk at the thought of telling you exactly what I do for a living (at present), but I am. Know this: I work in a customer service-type position for a relatively small company. I deal with customers face-to-face, over the phone, through the mail and over the interweb.
My partner in this daily endeavor is a young lass by the name of Mary. She sometimes reads this blog, so HEY MARY!!!!
Mary is a lovely person. She is cheerful when I am not and always helpful when trying to figure out what I should eat for lunch. If I didn't have Mary working next to me, this job would be next to impossible. This makes her vacations pretty hard to bear, but I always reassure myself that they are short-term losses.
Anyway, this entry is not really just about Mary and how wonderful she is on a daily basis, because I think she might smack me if I did that. Just kidding, she has never hit me. Yet.
This entry is about Mary's special not-so-secret admirer. To protect privacy, I will not share his name. Let's call him... Eddie. (This is short for Edward, who is Mary's favorite "Twilight" character.) Eddie comes in to see us fairly regularly. In fact, we usually know when he is coming to see us based on the day of the week and time of the month. No further clues, alright?
Eddie is a nice guy. He's been a little down on his luck in the last year, but things are starting to look up for him. Through it all, he has always been upbeat and nice. And in love with Mary.
How do I know? Well, let me tell you.
I don't know where I learned this fact, but I know it was somewhere reputable, but if you wish to show someone that you are truly interested in them and what they have to say, you should call them by their first name as you converse with them.
Example:
Me: Good morning, Lena! How are you doing?
Lena: (Sits and drags butt across floor).
Me: Wow, Lena! That is so special! Lena, thank you for demonstrating that manuever!
Lena: (Burps).
Me: Oh, Lena! You are too funny!
END OF EXAMPLE
Back to Eddie. When he comes in to see us, he usually prefers to work with Mary. Not that he will refuse to work with me, but he typically makes a beeline for her desk. If she is already with someone or on the phone, he may relent and work with me, but he will always make sure that he speaks with her.
Eddie is a man who makes good use of the conversation tip I illustrated above. Where most people would stick to "Hey Mary, how are you?" as their sole use of her name, Eddie finds a way to use it in nearly every sentence.
"Hi Mary! How are you today, Mary?"
"So Mary, got any big plans for the weekend?"
"Yeah, Mary, the new job is going well."
"Hey Mary, do you have any kids?"
The last sentence is not spoken in every encounter; it was only used once. It was over a year ago, and I was not fortunate enough to overhear it. It happened when Mary was first dating her current boyfriend. I suppose Eddie sensed that she was not totally engaged in a serious relationship yet and seized his chance.
His inquiry started normally. It moved into weekend plans. Then it turned to children. Then it became an invitation to do something over the weekend. At this point, Mary had to reveal that she was seeing someone and therefore was not accepting offers for new dates. Eddie took it in stride in his good-natured way.
This rejection would have driven some men to pursue future interactions with another customer service person. Or to conduct business by mail, phone or internet. But not our Eddie. He valiantly continues to come in again and again to face the woman he cannot have and say her name at least four times during the course of his few minute visit.
I wish that I could say that this all goes largely unnoticed. Unfortunately, as you can see by the fact that I have written an entire entry about it, many people know. Including one of the managers. Said manager sits in close proximity to us and if he happens to be around when Eddie comes in, it is not uncommon for him to sit quietly and listen to the conversation.
After Eddie leaves, a little teasing takes place which Mary takes in good humor. As for me, I am patiently waiting for the day when Eddie asks Mary about the state of her love life. I am sure that he has been biding his time and hoping that by making himself repeatedly visible to Mary that she will think of him first should she ever be in need of a new boyfriend. Sadly for Eddie, it is looking as if Mary's current boyfriend may be her last boyfriend (if he ever proposes), so he may have to move on.
Before you jump to any conclusions and think that he may move on to me, think again. Not only will I be moving on to a library setting sometime in the (hopefully) near future, but I am nowhere near as friendly, cute and petite as Mary. Eddie is somewhat vertically challenged which makes Mary's 5'2" height a far more attractive feature than my 5'9" stance.
So that is the current state of affairs for lovesick customers in my office. Truth be told, I prefer the lovesick ones to the irate and complaining ones, so perhaps we should hope for a few more like Eddie.
My partner in this daily endeavor is a young lass by the name of Mary. She sometimes reads this blog, so HEY MARY!!!!
Mary is a lovely person. She is cheerful when I am not and always helpful when trying to figure out what I should eat for lunch. If I didn't have Mary working next to me, this job would be next to impossible. This makes her vacations pretty hard to bear, but I always reassure myself that they are short-term losses.
Anyway, this entry is not really just about Mary and how wonderful she is on a daily basis, because I think she might smack me if I did that. Just kidding, she has never hit me. Yet.
This entry is about Mary's special not-so-secret admirer. To protect privacy, I will not share his name. Let's call him... Eddie. (This is short for Edward, who is Mary's favorite "Twilight" character.) Eddie comes in to see us fairly regularly. In fact, we usually know when he is coming to see us based on the day of the week and time of the month. No further clues, alright?
Eddie is a nice guy. He's been a little down on his luck in the last year, but things are starting to look up for him. Through it all, he has always been upbeat and nice. And in love with Mary.
How do I know? Well, let me tell you.
I don't know where I learned this fact, but I know it was somewhere reputable, but if you wish to show someone that you are truly interested in them and what they have to say, you should call them by their first name as you converse with them.
Example:
Me: Good morning, Lena! How are you doing?
Lena: (Sits and drags butt across floor).
Me: Wow, Lena! That is so special! Lena, thank you for demonstrating that manuever!
Lena: (Burps).
Me: Oh, Lena! You are too funny!
END OF EXAMPLE
Back to Eddie. When he comes in to see us, he usually prefers to work with Mary. Not that he will refuse to work with me, but he typically makes a beeline for her desk. If she is already with someone or on the phone, he may relent and work with me, but he will always make sure that he speaks with her.
Eddie is a man who makes good use of the conversation tip I illustrated above. Where most people would stick to "Hey Mary, how are you?" as their sole use of her name, Eddie finds a way to use it in nearly every sentence.
"Hi Mary! How are you today, Mary?"
"So Mary, got any big plans for the weekend?"
"Yeah, Mary, the new job is going well."
"Hey Mary, do you have any kids?"
The last sentence is not spoken in every encounter; it was only used once. It was over a year ago, and I was not fortunate enough to overhear it. It happened when Mary was first dating her current boyfriend. I suppose Eddie sensed that she was not totally engaged in a serious relationship yet and seized his chance.
His inquiry started normally. It moved into weekend plans. Then it turned to children. Then it became an invitation to do something over the weekend. At this point, Mary had to reveal that she was seeing someone and therefore was not accepting offers for new dates. Eddie took it in stride in his good-natured way.
This rejection would have driven some men to pursue future interactions with another customer service person. Or to conduct business by mail, phone or internet. But not our Eddie. He valiantly continues to come in again and again to face the woman he cannot have and say her name at least four times during the course of his few minute visit.
I wish that I could say that this all goes largely unnoticed. Unfortunately, as you can see by the fact that I have written an entire entry about it, many people know. Including one of the managers. Said manager sits in close proximity to us and if he happens to be around when Eddie comes in, it is not uncommon for him to sit quietly and listen to the conversation.
After Eddie leaves, a little teasing takes place which Mary takes in good humor. As for me, I am patiently waiting for the day when Eddie asks Mary about the state of her love life. I am sure that he has been biding his time and hoping that by making himself repeatedly visible to Mary that she will think of him first should she ever be in need of a new boyfriend. Sadly for Eddie, it is looking as if Mary's current boyfriend may be her last boyfriend (if he ever proposes), so he may have to move on.
Before you jump to any conclusions and think that he may move on to me, think again. Not only will I be moving on to a library setting sometime in the (hopefully) near future, but I am nowhere near as friendly, cute and petite as Mary. Eddie is somewhat vertically challenged which makes Mary's 5'2" height a far more attractive feature than my 5'9" stance.
So that is the current state of affairs for lovesick customers in my office. Truth be told, I prefer the lovesick ones to the irate and complaining ones, so perhaps we should hope for a few more like Eddie.
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