(Title, continued): apparently Blogger does not let you use out of place references using tags that are not part of their HTML structure. Boo-urns, Blogger. Boo-URNS.
And now, back to your regularly scheduled bloggramming:
You know (and I am sure you do), I like to write about cake. I have done it a lot as of late. In fact, tomorrow I will be making yet another cake, but this one shall have a real purpose. We are going out tomorrow night to celebrate the 31st birthday of one of my oldest and best friends, and I want to make her something special. This means chocolate. So you will probably have to endure at least one more entry that concerns cake, but it's OK because this new entry will be posted in a brand-spanking-new month!
Can you believe it is almost October? Gah! Where does the time go? Truly, fall is my favorite season, and I hate to see it pass so quickly, but I have not yet been granted the ability or power to stop time progression, so we will just have to accept it. For now.
At the risk of sounding crazy, I am going to share with you the topic of an alarming number of my thoughts lately: Christmas shopping. I know, it's WAY too early to think about this, but I can't help myself. Fortunately, my mother's birthday falls in the meantime, so I may be able to direct my gift-buying urges elsewhere.
Guess what? No, I did not with the contest for that blue Le Creuset pot on the Pioneer Woman website. Even though I answered honestly that if I had to pick any age to be at for the rest of my life, it would be 25. No, the big surprise is that I am learning a little bit of computer mark-up language and I actually find it... interesting.
My last big foray into the world of real technical computing came when I was in middle school and spent some time on a college campus for "computer camp." Honestly, I had a lot of fun at these sessions, and not just because we got to stay in real college dorms, eat in their cafeterias and go to the water park. Learning how to use computer language to create programs was fascinating to me.
Sadly, this experience did not lead me to become a computer programmer. In high school and college, I unintentionally avoided the computer science courses. This may have been a mistake.
In my current class, we are presently learning the language of XML. To see an example of what this looks like, here is a food menu that has been encoded in XML. (Note: I did not create this file.) Fun, right?
Well, if you would have showed this to me two years ago and expected me to understand it, I probably would have cried. But here I am, two years later with a lot more knowledge and experience, and it makes sense. I know. Crazy, right?
So if you're wondering what I will be doing for the next few months by way of homework, this should give you a baseline idea. I will also apparently be writing a mock grant proposal, but that is done in regular English. Or so I believe.
As a conclusion, if you think of me this evening, hope that I have found something entertaining to do. My father is going to the farm and my mother has book club. This means that from 6:30 to 11 p.m. or midnight, I will be home alone with the dogs. Exciting, no? Don't be jealous. If you want, we can come to your house and visit. Just be sure to have treats - and not just for the dogs.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Hey there, Handsome. Try this cake!
This is my second attempt to write an entry today. My first attempt is still saved in draft form, but it felt just a little bit too... angry. And really, today I am not angry. I am sore, but I am assuming that is due to changes in the weather. Hopefully.
Today is my mother's last day of work at the coffee shop. Wouldn't you know, the big-wigs at Caribou decided to make today a Buy-One-Get-One special day, which meant that when I stopped in this morning to visit her on her last day, the place was packed. I ordered my two lattes and waited with the crowd until my name was called.
From now on, I will probably go to one of the other three Caribous located within the same mile radius as they tend to be less busy, but today in honor of the last time my mother must spend 6-8 hours on her feet without a break, I went to her store.
For those of you who want a cake update, it was a huge success. My coworkers nearly devoured the entire thing over the course of the day due to the fact that several of them came back for seconds and thirds. Oddly, the most ardent admirers of this cake were male. Perhaps this indicates that this particular cake would be well-suited to attracting male admirers in a broader sense. (Outside of work, I mean.)
How should I do this? Walk around with plates and forks in my purse and my cake-save? I could bring it with me to my mother's coffee shop, a place replete with young attractive professional men. After ordering my coffee, I could set my cake up on the table and wait for the men to come over and admire. Once they tried the cake, they would ask for my number. And so on.
The only problem with this plan is that it could create unrealistic expectations. Truthfully, as you all know, I do not make cakes all that often. Yes, my latest cookbook has inspired me to do more cake baking, but I am fairly certain that I am not going to continue making them every few weeks. I am in the test phase right now; trying out the different recipes to find the best and gaining experience in the process.
One of my female coworkers did have an interesting suggestion. Her theory is based on romantic comedy movies in which a young single female opens her own pastry shop only to have a tall dark and handsome man walk in and somehow end up being her magical special someone. While this does sound appealing, there are a few obstacles that would need to be overcome.
First, I would need to be a pastry chef. Baking two cakes in the space of a month does not a professional make. Second, I would need to own my own business. I have no idea how to do this, and I suspect that it would be extremely tiring and time consuming. Third, who would entertain my dog while I baked? She seems to take baking time as the proper moment to demand my undivided attention to the point that I shower her with treats to distract her from my negligence.
So you see, this may not be feasible as a long-term plan. If anyone has other suggestions, please let me know. I am open to new ideas.
Today is my mother's last day of work at the coffee shop. Wouldn't you know, the big-wigs at Caribou decided to make today a Buy-One-Get-One special day, which meant that when I stopped in this morning to visit her on her last day, the place was packed. I ordered my two lattes and waited with the crowd until my name was called.
From now on, I will probably go to one of the other three Caribous located within the same mile radius as they tend to be less busy, but today in honor of the last time my mother must spend 6-8 hours on her feet without a break, I went to her store.
For those of you who want a cake update, it was a huge success. My coworkers nearly devoured the entire thing over the course of the day due to the fact that several of them came back for seconds and thirds. Oddly, the most ardent admirers of this cake were male. Perhaps this indicates that this particular cake would be well-suited to attracting male admirers in a broader sense. (Outside of work, I mean.)
How should I do this? Walk around with plates and forks in my purse and my cake-save? I could bring it with me to my mother's coffee shop, a place replete with young attractive professional men. After ordering my coffee, I could set my cake up on the table and wait for the men to come over and admire. Once they tried the cake, they would ask for my number. And so on.
The only problem with this plan is that it could create unrealistic expectations. Truthfully, as you all know, I do not make cakes all that often. Yes, my latest cookbook has inspired me to do more cake baking, but I am fairly certain that I am not going to continue making them every few weeks. I am in the test phase right now; trying out the different recipes to find the best and gaining experience in the process.
One of my female coworkers did have an interesting suggestion. Her theory is based on romantic comedy movies in which a young single female opens her own pastry shop only to have a tall dark and handsome man walk in and somehow end up being her magical special someone. While this does sound appealing, there are a few obstacles that would need to be overcome.
First, I would need to be a pastry chef. Baking two cakes in the space of a month does not a professional make. Second, I would need to own my own business. I have no idea how to do this, and I suspect that it would be extremely tiring and time consuming. Third, who would entertain my dog while I baked? She seems to take baking time as the proper moment to demand my undivided attention to the point that I shower her with treats to distract her from my negligence.
So you see, this may not be feasible as a long-term plan. If anyone has other suggestions, please let me know. I am open to new ideas.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Cake beats fog!
I was once told that I have a memory like a sponge. This was due to my ability to recall details from major events in high school, not my ability to recall things that I did yesterday.
My problem usually turns out to be in the area of quotations or song names. I will be riding in the car and a song will come on the radio that catches my fancy. I will consult my car's radio screen and try to make a mental note. If this fails, I try and note the time of day for later comparison with the radio station's online playlist. Even so, I sometimes forget.
Yesterday on my drive home, I was listening to the banter between my the "news guy" and the regular DJ on my favorite station, and he finally came to the weather forecast. Now, I am not normally one to pay much attention to the weather as it is typically neither funny nor entertaining. But there was one thing I did note in yesterday's report: patchy fog was expected for this morning.
Actually, it was not so much the fog as it was how the radio man said it: "Patchy fog makes its triumphant return."
If I ever had to lend extra description to fog, I am not sure that I would have immediately turned to "triumphant," which is why I promptly burst out laughing when it was said.
This morning, as I harnessed Lena for our morning walk in the dark, I remembered the words and was therefore not surprised to find that our world was just a bit spookier as we emerged from the front door. Pair this with the fact that I definitely saw some sort of creature dart into the woods when we came out and you can see why I was a bit edgy for our entire outing.
By the time I left for work, the triumphant fog had not yet lifted, but now that the sun is out, it has retreated. Perhaps it declared victory too soon.
On a different note, I did bake that cake last night and it turned out moderately well. Thanks to my first lengthy endeavor, the process seemed to be a bit smoother and faster. Lena, of course, was still confused and remained at my side throughout the process. I tried to distract her with toys and treats, but she kept coming back.
The only major downside to cake baking (in addition to the copious amount of dishes to be cleaned afterwards) is the fact that the oven creates a lot of extra heat in my house. We have entered the time of year when I prefer to keep all forced temperature ventilation turned off. It is not hot enough for air conditioning, but it is certainly not cold enough for the furnace.
We did have a cold spell a few weeks back, and it was nice. Now we are back into the "nicer" fall temperatures (in the high 70's) and I am having trouble. Sure, it's lovely for being outside and for people who do not have a problem opening their windows. But I am no such person.
This means that my house gets a bit stuffy. I try not to do anything to increase the temperature beyond what my normal body heat generates, but I had to make an exception last night for the cake. Luckily, I have fans for my bedroom which makes it possible for me to sleep despite the fact that I share my bed with a very warm and cuddle-friendly dog.
So I know people will hate me for saying this, but I am looking forward to a slight drop in temperature. I like coming into a warm house and having it feel nice, not stifling. I want to be able to burn my fall-scented candles and not worry that I am creating too much unnecessary heat. Knowing that your candles are only there to cover up the smell of one's perspiration is never pleasant.
My problem usually turns out to be in the area of quotations or song names. I will be riding in the car and a song will come on the radio that catches my fancy. I will consult my car's radio screen and try to make a mental note. If this fails, I try and note the time of day for later comparison with the radio station's online playlist. Even so, I sometimes forget.
Yesterday on my drive home, I was listening to the banter between my the "news guy" and the regular DJ on my favorite station, and he finally came to the weather forecast. Now, I am not normally one to pay much attention to the weather as it is typically neither funny nor entertaining. But there was one thing I did note in yesterday's report: patchy fog was expected for this morning.
Actually, it was not so much the fog as it was how the radio man said it: "Patchy fog makes its triumphant return."
If I ever had to lend extra description to fog, I am not sure that I would have immediately turned to "triumphant," which is why I promptly burst out laughing when it was said.
This morning, as I harnessed Lena for our morning walk in the dark, I remembered the words and was therefore not surprised to find that our world was just a bit spookier as we emerged from the front door. Pair this with the fact that I definitely saw some sort of creature dart into the woods when we came out and you can see why I was a bit edgy for our entire outing.
By the time I left for work, the triumphant fog had not yet lifted, but now that the sun is out, it has retreated. Perhaps it declared victory too soon.
On a different note, I did bake that cake last night and it turned out moderately well. Thanks to my first lengthy endeavor, the process seemed to be a bit smoother and faster. Lena, of course, was still confused and remained at my side throughout the process. I tried to distract her with toys and treats, but she kept coming back.
The only major downside to cake baking (in addition to the copious amount of dishes to be cleaned afterwards) is the fact that the oven creates a lot of extra heat in my house. We have entered the time of year when I prefer to keep all forced temperature ventilation turned off. It is not hot enough for air conditioning, but it is certainly not cold enough for the furnace.
We did have a cold spell a few weeks back, and it was nice. Now we are back into the "nicer" fall temperatures (in the high 70's) and I am having trouble. Sure, it's lovely for being outside and for people who do not have a problem opening their windows. But I am no such person.
This means that my house gets a bit stuffy. I try not to do anything to increase the temperature beyond what my normal body heat generates, but I had to make an exception last night for the cake. Luckily, I have fans for my bedroom which makes it possible for me to sleep despite the fact that I share my bed with a very warm and cuddle-friendly dog.
So I know people will hate me for saying this, but I am looking forward to a slight drop in temperature. I like coming into a warm house and having it feel nice, not stifling. I want to be able to burn my fall-scented candles and not worry that I am creating too much unnecessary heat. Knowing that your candles are only there to cover up the smell of one's perspiration is never pleasant.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Personality, memory and missions
There are those who blog with a purpose - to inform, to evaluate, to entertain. But most bloggers, in my opinion, blog to create a sort of diary or memory of their thoughts and actions for posterity. Everything else that happens after that is secondary to their real purpose. How else would I remember what I was thinking about on each particular day? Especially now that days tend to blur into one another so easily.
So here is what I have been thinking about in the past few minutes.
I do not know if it is an American or a human-based phenomenon, but it seems that we are obsessed with self-assessment. As we cannot fully trust ourselves to give objective results, we often turn to the genie in the bottle: the personality test.
These run the range from legitimate tests rooted in psychological study and research to the ridiculous based on someone's partially formed juvenile attempt to be funny. Of course, most tests require the subject to answer honestly, which may prove problematic for some, but theoretically when done correctly, the results should offer us insight into our personal habits, desires, strengths and weaknesses.
While I am not willing to claim that these sort of tests do not ever render useful information, I am skeptical. I often find that they end up either causing confusion, anger, or even misguided self-awareness.
I think that secretly (or not) many people really do want to be pigeon-holed. Labelled. Explained. When you do something strange, you can simply point to this test-given label and say, "See? This is why I did that!" Almost as an excuse, if you will.
Take, for example, the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. This is not one of your cheap fly-by-night online personality tests. This test is big time. Legit. It is supposed to evaluate you and place you into a "type" and helps you know what sort of jobs or experiences you would be best suited to attempt. In a broader sense, I suppose it is supposed to help you understand yourself and your motivations. Psychologists, am I close?
The results for this test come out as four letters. For each of the four, there are two possible options. I have no interest in explaining these, so check out the Wikipedia link above. If you're interested, I am supposedly an INTJ. This is possibly not surprising, but to be honest I have never let it play much of a role in my life or my decisions.
What I find interesting and a bit annoying is when people will use their profiles as excuses for bizarre behavior. Like they cannot help themselves and pointing to this one label should explain everything and make them seem less ridiculous. Oh, so you said something without thinking and someone else found it offensive? Just tell them you are an ENFP and all will be well! Right.
Honestly, I wouldn't say that this test is useless in total. I do think that it can be used to help steer and influence one in the decision-making processes of life and in moments of introspection. I do not think that it should be used as an after-the-fact excuse to explain idiotic moments or lapses in judgement.
Of course, my cynicism on this subject could be due to my general aversion to the lucrative world of self-help. You want to know how to really make your life pleasant? Write a self-help book and sell a ton of copies to the hopeful directionless people of the world and with all your profits I guarantee you will feel much better about your prospects. This seems to be the common thread in most theories: it costs at least $25 to get total clarity and objective analysis of yourself. Oh and you'll also get this handy book/planner/printout/pen to go with it! Wheeeeee!!!!
Where is all this coming from, you say? Well, it just so happens that one of my friends is in the middle of a college class that centers around this sort of thing, including writing a Mission Statement. She is struggling with this assignment, as I know that I would do as well. I mean, seriously. Aren't these things difficult enough to write for businesses? Now we have to write them for people? Hm.
Now that you have read through all my negativity, let me finish by saying that I am not against introspection and self-improvement. In all lives, there is room to grow. We should always seek to better ourselves and to approach our lives in better ways. I do not have a problem with the idea itself; I have a problem with those who seek to profit and control others through their "tools" of enlightenment that may not serve the best outcomes.
This has been a philosophical/preachy entry, and for that I apologize. Every now and again I like to stir up a bit of "controversy" to supplement the usual cake-baking, dog-centered information I share. But if you're interested, I am hoping to bake a cake tonight and spend quality time with my dog.
So here is what I have been thinking about in the past few minutes.
I do not know if it is an American or a human-based phenomenon, but it seems that we are obsessed with self-assessment. As we cannot fully trust ourselves to give objective results, we often turn to the genie in the bottle: the personality test.
These run the range from legitimate tests rooted in psychological study and research to the ridiculous based on someone's partially formed juvenile attempt to be funny. Of course, most tests require the subject to answer honestly, which may prove problematic for some, but theoretically when done correctly, the results should offer us insight into our personal habits, desires, strengths and weaknesses.
While I am not willing to claim that these sort of tests do not ever render useful information, I am skeptical. I often find that they end up either causing confusion, anger, or even misguided self-awareness.
I think that secretly (or not) many people really do want to be pigeon-holed. Labelled. Explained. When you do something strange, you can simply point to this test-given label and say, "See? This is why I did that!" Almost as an excuse, if you will.
Take, for example, the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. This is not one of your cheap fly-by-night online personality tests. This test is big time. Legit. It is supposed to evaluate you and place you into a "type" and helps you know what sort of jobs or experiences you would be best suited to attempt. In a broader sense, I suppose it is supposed to help you understand yourself and your motivations. Psychologists, am I close?
The results for this test come out as four letters. For each of the four, there are two possible options. I have no interest in explaining these, so check out the Wikipedia link above. If you're interested, I am supposedly an INTJ. This is possibly not surprising, but to be honest I have never let it play much of a role in my life or my decisions.
What I find interesting and a bit annoying is when people will use their profiles as excuses for bizarre behavior. Like they cannot help themselves and pointing to this one label should explain everything and make them seem less ridiculous. Oh, so you said something without thinking and someone else found it offensive? Just tell them you are an ENFP and all will be well! Right.
Honestly, I wouldn't say that this test is useless in total. I do think that it can be used to help steer and influence one in the decision-making processes of life and in moments of introspection. I do not think that it should be used as an after-the-fact excuse to explain idiotic moments or lapses in judgement.
Of course, my cynicism on this subject could be due to my general aversion to the lucrative world of self-help. You want to know how to really make your life pleasant? Write a self-help book and sell a ton of copies to the hopeful directionless people of the world and with all your profits I guarantee you will feel much better about your prospects. This seems to be the common thread in most theories: it costs at least $25 to get total clarity and objective analysis of yourself. Oh and you'll also get this handy book/planner/printout/pen to go with it! Wheeeeee!!!!
Where is all this coming from, you say? Well, it just so happens that one of my friends is in the middle of a college class that centers around this sort of thing, including writing a Mission Statement. She is struggling with this assignment, as I know that I would do as well. I mean, seriously. Aren't these things difficult enough to write for businesses? Now we have to write them for people? Hm.
Now that you have read through all my negativity, let me finish by saying that I am not against introspection and self-improvement. In all lives, there is room to grow. We should always seek to better ourselves and to approach our lives in better ways. I do not have a problem with the idea itself; I have a problem with those who seek to profit and control others through their "tools" of enlightenment that may not serve the best outcomes.
This has been a philosophical/preachy entry, and for that I apologize. Every now and again I like to stir up a bit of "controversy" to supplement the usual cake-baking, dog-centered information I share. But if you're interested, I am hoping to bake a cake tonight and spend quality time with my dog.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Cake Dreams
There is something about Mondays that always push me to take a good hard look at my life and figure out what I am doing wrong. Maybe this is pessimism, but who knows.
Lately, I have had problems knowing what day of the week I am in at any given time of day. Yesterday, for instance, I lay in bed wondering if it was Sunday or Friday. Thankfully it was Sunday and I did not have to work, but it was still a bit strange. This morning I had a similar experience, but the outcome was less positive.
Perhaps this is due to the dreams I have had lately. On Saturday night, I dreamt that I was looking at houses with a family. Not my family. I am not sure why I was with them, but apparently I was going to be living with them. Maybe as a nanny? Anyway, one of these houses was enormous. A mansion. Every bedroom had an en suite bathroom. (This detail is probably due to the fact that I have watched way too many episodes of Househunters International.)
We ended up in an attic space that was supposedly a nursery for the children. Then we saw the ghosts. Of children. And toy horses. Both of which could speak. Creepy, no?
My theory for these apparitions is based on the fact that I have slight aversions to both children and horses. But I do love touring historic old houses. I am unclear how to explain why when I opened a crawl space door on the tour expecting to see a monster, I found Lena, Pippi and Thor instead. My own special version of Cerberus?
I realize that I may have blogged about this before, so I won't go into detail, but let us just say that the requirements of school are starting to come into play and it will require quite a bit more concentration than I seem to have these days to keep on track. Internships, grant proposals, instructional presentations and reading reflections, oh my!
In the midst of all this academic hoopla, I have decided that it would perhaps be wise if I took a break from my ongoing job searches. I have not had much success thus far, and it has really only served to make me feel hopeless and very very unsure about myself and my future. Therefore, I have decided to wait until I actually have the required degree completed before opening the door to more rejection.
Maybe this week, in addition to worrying about school, I will endeavor to do something truly creative, like bake a cake. Knowing my coworkers, they will eat most of it for me. However, I really should think about making something for my friends' birthday as well. So maybe this will be a two cake week. Now there's something to be happy about.
Lately, I have had problems knowing what day of the week I am in at any given time of day. Yesterday, for instance, I lay in bed wondering if it was Sunday or Friday. Thankfully it was Sunday and I did not have to work, but it was still a bit strange. This morning I had a similar experience, but the outcome was less positive.
Perhaps this is due to the dreams I have had lately. On Saturday night, I dreamt that I was looking at houses with a family. Not my family. I am not sure why I was with them, but apparently I was going to be living with them. Maybe as a nanny? Anyway, one of these houses was enormous. A mansion. Every bedroom had an en suite bathroom. (This detail is probably due to the fact that I have watched way too many episodes of Househunters International.)
We ended up in an attic space that was supposedly a nursery for the children. Then we saw the ghosts. Of children. And toy horses. Both of which could speak. Creepy, no?
My theory for these apparitions is based on the fact that I have slight aversions to both children and horses. But I do love touring historic old houses. I am unclear how to explain why when I opened a crawl space door on the tour expecting to see a monster, I found Lena, Pippi and Thor instead. My own special version of Cerberus?
I realize that I may have blogged about this before, so I won't go into detail, but let us just say that the requirements of school are starting to come into play and it will require quite a bit more concentration than I seem to have these days to keep on track. Internships, grant proposals, instructional presentations and reading reflections, oh my!
In the midst of all this academic hoopla, I have decided that it would perhaps be wise if I took a break from my ongoing job searches. I have not had much success thus far, and it has really only served to make me feel hopeless and very very unsure about myself and my future. Therefore, I have decided to wait until I actually have the required degree completed before opening the door to more rejection.
Maybe this week, in addition to worrying about school, I will endeavor to do something truly creative, like bake a cake. Knowing my coworkers, they will eat most of it for me. However, I really should think about making something for my friends' birthday as well. So maybe this will be a two cake week. Now there's something to be happy about.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
The Sporting Life
When one has remained relatively stationary in terms of one's career for nearly a decade, one earns the right to wax a bit nostalgic about better times gone by. So sit back, relax and enjoy some jolly good tales, the first of which starts NOW.
Ages ago, when spirits were high and our days were filled with new and challenging activities, we had more exuberance and bonhomie than we could contain. Although we tried many things (boat parties, hoe-downs, bowling, fancy parties), we still found that we had an excess of energy that needed to be spent in a more physical manner.
This is what I can only assume led to the formation of a company softball team. When the idea was announced and interest was being gauged, I carefully refrained from comment. You see, I am not terribly skilled when it comes to team sports. Actually, I am not terribly skilled at non-team sports either. Therefore, I make it my general rule to avoid the temptation to join up.
SIDE NOTE: I forgot, I am actually quite good at badminton. Just ask my college roommates. Oh, and Foosball. I am the champion at that "sport" as well.
Throughout the planning stages of the softball team, I was successful at staying away from the notice of the organizers. This was largely due to the fact that the chief organizers worked at a different geographic location from me and it is much easier simply not to respond to emails than it is to hide from people beneath one's desk.
But then they went and got all crafty on me; they came to my office. Ambushed me, really. I was just sitting at my desk, working away like a little busy bee when the two organizers appeared in my doorway, blocking my exit. I knew immediately that something was up.
At first I played it cool with a smile and a "Hey, what's up guys? Can I help you with something?"
They got right down to business, slamming their sign-up sheet down on my desk.
"So, Megan," they said forcefully, "are you ready to sign up for the softball team?"
"Well... you guys, I don't know. I am not really good at sports. I mean, I can't throw or catch and I really can't run that fast, so I don't think I would really be an asset to our team, so..." I said in my most emphatic tones possible. (Yes, I realize that my choice of wording was not exactly convincing, but whatever.)
They then assured me that my skills did not matter, for most of the team was largely unskilled. As I perused the standing team list, I quickly realized that they were not lying.
"But," I protested, "I am really not good enough. I have never really played, unless you count P.E. in 9th grade, and that was, like, TEN years ago!"
"Don't worry," they persisted, "it doesn't matter. We're just playing for fun."
Then they did the old puppy dog eye trick and I got all flustered and desperate to end this conversation that I caved and agreed to be on their stupid team. My only consolation was that it appeared that many other females had already agreed and that perhaps I would only ever need to be an alternate.
To clarify, this was a co-gender team. In the "D" league of our local municipality. In case you were unsure, "D" is the lowest grade of team allowed, so you can see where our leaders' expectations fell.
One of the league rules was that a certain number of females be on the roster for all games, that the batting order alternated between males and females and that the number of women in the field equal the number of men. Oh, and if you walked a female, she only took one base. If you walk a male, they took two. I gather that this was to avoid deliberate walking of males to get to a female on the assumption that most females were weaker in the hitting department.
There were a bunch of other stupid league-specific rules, but I let the experts deal with that.
Let me just say, when my company decided to go for this, they really went for it. No cheapo t-shirts for us, no sir. We had the high-quality, breathable mesh jersey-type shirts printed. The only thing that they wouldn't agree to was putting our names (or nicknames) on the back. I cursed myself for not using this stipulation as a bargaining tool in our original negotiations, but it was too late.
At this point, you may be assuming that my lack of enthusiasm and skill led to me to skip out on most of the season. True, this was my intention. Unfortunately, it is not what actually happened.
The only night of play that I missed turned out to be our opener, a double-header. This was not due to an overabundance of players; it was because I had been to the doctor that day and received a arm-debilitating tetanus shot. As much as I would like to say that I did not deliberately ask to get the shot in my throwing arm, I cannot. I did it on purpose.
When the painful reaction occurred (as I knew it would) rendering me unable to lift my arm above my shoulder, I informed my captain that I was on the DL for the night. They accepted this excuse, and I created in my head the belief that perhaps after this absence they would realize that they really didn't need me after all and I could spend the games cheering from the bleachers as I wanted all along.
Oh, but our captain was persistent. He was upbeat. He was sickeningly positive. He would not take "Do I really have to?" for an answer.
Thus, I played every single game for the remainder of the season.
To start, they rotated me (along with all the other team incompetents) in that black hole of the outfield, right field. With four allowed outfielders in a game, our captain's strategy was to stagger us to ensure the less confident were covered by people with skills. This worked only some of the time.
My fear was so acute in these situations that I was nearly violently ill every time someone came up to bat. No matter how many practices I attended or tips I received, I lived in constant fear that I would, 1) not catch the ball, 2) not throw the ball to the right person, and 3) not be able to throw the ball at all.
In the end, my captain took pity on me and moved me from the outfield to catcher. As much as I hate to admit it, I did not mind this change very much. Despite the fact that I was constantly running to the backstop to pick up the ball when I failed to stop it with my glove. Despite the fact that the umpires were constantly pulling me back to avoid having my head in the batter's swing circumference. Despite the fact that I did get beaned in the head quite hard by a ball on one special occasion. (I played through the rest of that game, thus garnering a reputation as a "tough person.")
By the end of the first season, I was ready to be done. BUT, as I am loathe to admit, I actually had fun.
So much fun, that when the sign up went around for the next season, I was on it. Our second season was to be a bit less fantastic than our first, but I did have the distinction of hitting an unplanned triple that only traveled a whopping three feet from home plate upon my initial contact with the ball. Beat that, Mauer.
In our third and final season, the captain made the difficult decision to relocate to a league in a different town. This meant that my career as a softball player was over. Mostly because it would be a 30 minute after work commute to get to the field, but also because I was ready to be done.
I was ready to be done because so many of my coworkers had already left the game. In our inaugural season, attendance was high; everyone wanted to be there and contribute. The problem was that we were not a very winning team. On many nights, we were quite pathetic. Oh, we tried. We tried hard. But after so many losses, it is hard to stay motivated, no matter how hard the captain tried to do so.
So when the second season rolled around, only about half the people from the first season agreed to come back. This led to our captain looking outside the company for help. Friends were recruited, and even a couple of "ringers" were brought in (including my brother). We may have had a slightly better record in the second season, but it wasn't enough.
By the third season, the team was almost 75% composed of non-company players. I have no idea how they did because I did not attend a single game. I do know that this was the final season for company softball. It was not just because of low interest; it was also because of changes in the company and a desire to cut back on expenses.
It has been a few years since we have had a team, and hardly anyone mentions it any more. This makes me a little sad. As much as I fought participation and still abhor the thought of playing sports in a public setting, I appreciated the cohesion and sense of community that it fostered. Maybe someday someone will bring it back. Maybe I will have a reason to break out my hot pink softball glove once more. As long as they let me have my lucky number (7) I might just consider it.
Ages ago, when spirits were high and our days were filled with new and challenging activities, we had more exuberance and bonhomie than we could contain. Although we tried many things (boat parties, hoe-downs, bowling, fancy parties), we still found that we had an excess of energy that needed to be spent in a more physical manner.
This is what I can only assume led to the formation of a company softball team. When the idea was announced and interest was being gauged, I carefully refrained from comment. You see, I am not terribly skilled when it comes to team sports. Actually, I am not terribly skilled at non-team sports either. Therefore, I make it my general rule to avoid the temptation to join up.
SIDE NOTE: I forgot, I am actually quite good at badminton. Just ask my college roommates. Oh, and Foosball. I am the champion at that "sport" as well.
Throughout the planning stages of the softball team, I was successful at staying away from the notice of the organizers. This was largely due to the fact that the chief organizers worked at a different geographic location from me and it is much easier simply not to respond to emails than it is to hide from people beneath one's desk.
But then they went and got all crafty on me; they came to my office. Ambushed me, really. I was just sitting at my desk, working away like a little busy bee when the two organizers appeared in my doorway, blocking my exit. I knew immediately that something was up.
At first I played it cool with a smile and a "Hey, what's up guys? Can I help you with something?"
They got right down to business, slamming their sign-up sheet down on my desk.
"So, Megan," they said forcefully, "are you ready to sign up for the softball team?"
"Well... you guys, I don't know. I am not really good at sports. I mean, I can't throw or catch and I really can't run that fast, so I don't think I would really be an asset to our team, so..." I said in my most emphatic tones possible. (Yes, I realize that my choice of wording was not exactly convincing, but whatever.)
They then assured me that my skills did not matter, for most of the team was largely unskilled. As I perused the standing team list, I quickly realized that they were not lying.
"But," I protested, "I am really not good enough. I have never really played, unless you count P.E. in 9th grade, and that was, like, TEN years ago!"
"Don't worry," they persisted, "it doesn't matter. We're just playing for fun."
Then they did the old puppy dog eye trick and I got all flustered and desperate to end this conversation that I caved and agreed to be on their stupid team. My only consolation was that it appeared that many other females had already agreed and that perhaps I would only ever need to be an alternate.
To clarify, this was a co-gender team. In the "D" league of our local municipality. In case you were unsure, "D" is the lowest grade of team allowed, so you can see where our leaders' expectations fell.
One of the league rules was that a certain number of females be on the roster for all games, that the batting order alternated between males and females and that the number of women in the field equal the number of men. Oh, and if you walked a female, she only took one base. If you walk a male, they took two. I gather that this was to avoid deliberate walking of males to get to a female on the assumption that most females were weaker in the hitting department.
There were a bunch of other stupid league-specific rules, but I let the experts deal with that.
Let me just say, when my company decided to go for this, they really went for it. No cheapo t-shirts for us, no sir. We had the high-quality, breathable mesh jersey-type shirts printed. The only thing that they wouldn't agree to was putting our names (or nicknames) on the back. I cursed myself for not using this stipulation as a bargaining tool in our original negotiations, but it was too late.
At this point, you may be assuming that my lack of enthusiasm and skill led to me to skip out on most of the season. True, this was my intention. Unfortunately, it is not what actually happened.
The only night of play that I missed turned out to be our opener, a double-header. This was not due to an overabundance of players; it was because I had been to the doctor that day and received a arm-debilitating tetanus shot. As much as I would like to say that I did not deliberately ask to get the shot in my throwing arm, I cannot. I did it on purpose.
When the painful reaction occurred (as I knew it would) rendering me unable to lift my arm above my shoulder, I informed my captain that I was on the DL for the night. They accepted this excuse, and I created in my head the belief that perhaps after this absence they would realize that they really didn't need me after all and I could spend the games cheering from the bleachers as I wanted all along.
Oh, but our captain was persistent. He was upbeat. He was sickeningly positive. He would not take "Do I really have to?" for an answer.
Thus, I played every single game for the remainder of the season.
To start, they rotated me (along with all the other team incompetents) in that black hole of the outfield, right field. With four allowed outfielders in a game, our captain's strategy was to stagger us to ensure the less confident were covered by people with skills. This worked only some of the time.
My fear was so acute in these situations that I was nearly violently ill every time someone came up to bat. No matter how many practices I attended or tips I received, I lived in constant fear that I would, 1) not catch the ball, 2) not throw the ball to the right person, and 3) not be able to throw the ball at all.
In the end, my captain took pity on me and moved me from the outfield to catcher. As much as I hate to admit it, I did not mind this change very much. Despite the fact that I was constantly running to the backstop to pick up the ball when I failed to stop it with my glove. Despite the fact that the umpires were constantly pulling me back to avoid having my head in the batter's swing circumference. Despite the fact that I did get beaned in the head quite hard by a ball on one special occasion. (I played through the rest of that game, thus garnering a reputation as a "tough person.")
By the end of the first season, I was ready to be done. BUT, as I am loathe to admit, I actually had fun.
So much fun, that when the sign up went around for the next season, I was on it. Our second season was to be a bit less fantastic than our first, but I did have the distinction of hitting an unplanned triple that only traveled a whopping three feet from home plate upon my initial contact with the ball. Beat that, Mauer.
In our third and final season, the captain made the difficult decision to relocate to a league in a different town. This meant that my career as a softball player was over. Mostly because it would be a 30 minute after work commute to get to the field, but also because I was ready to be done.
I was ready to be done because so many of my coworkers had already left the game. In our inaugural season, attendance was high; everyone wanted to be there and contribute. The problem was that we were not a very winning team. On many nights, we were quite pathetic. Oh, we tried. We tried hard. But after so many losses, it is hard to stay motivated, no matter how hard the captain tried to do so.
So when the second season rolled around, only about half the people from the first season agreed to come back. This led to our captain looking outside the company for help. Friends were recruited, and even a couple of "ringers" were brought in (including my brother). We may have had a slightly better record in the second season, but it wasn't enough.
By the third season, the team was almost 75% composed of non-company players. I have no idea how they did because I did not attend a single game. I do know that this was the final season for company softball. It was not just because of low interest; it was also because of changes in the company and a desire to cut back on expenses.
It has been a few years since we have had a team, and hardly anyone mentions it any more. This makes me a little sad. As much as I fought participation and still abhor the thought of playing sports in a public setting, I appreciated the cohesion and sense of community that it fostered. Maybe someday someone will bring it back. Maybe I will have a reason to break out my hot pink softball glove once more. As long as they let me have my lucky number (7) I might just consider it.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Bling bling!
You know how it goes, one minute you're relishing in the fact that your weeknights are blissfully unscheduled, you blink, and things start popping up during your free time?
Last night I attended a jewelry party with a coworker. It was conveniently being held in very close proximity to my parents' house, so how could I not go?
The bad news is that I slightly broke my spending limit, but not by much. Less than $30 over, so that's good. I think. Of course, I have no budgeting husband to answer to, so whatever.
The "good" news is that my coworker and I volunteered to jointly host another party next month. We had no problem assembling a list of at least 30 people to invite and it looks like we have a venue that should be able to accommodate us nicely. The hard part is finding everybody's mailing address.
You would not think this was terribly difficult, but it is. It is truly an example of just how much email and online messaging has replaced traditional mail in that we have email addresses for most people and barring that we at least have Facebook connections with them, but to actually send them a card? It sends us scrambling.
Thankfully, my list is not as long as my co host. Some might be sad that they had fewer friends or seemed less popular, but it is fine by me. Less research to do.
It is strange, there is a part of me that feels like I should be the kind of person who avoids these sales parties like the plague. I couldn't tell you why, but it just seems like a very desperate housewife sort of event, and I am about as far from that lifestyle as you can get.
On the other hand, these parties are made for me. Get me in a comfortable chair in a warm room with snacks, wine and sparkly objects and it is a done deal. Of course, this formula has also worked on me with kitchen gadgetry, candles and baking mixes, so I don't know if the product type really matters. The wine really helps too.
The only thing that really causes me anxiety in these situations is the not-so-subtle push to encourage attendees to host their own parties or even worse, become a sales rep themselves. I realize that this is how the business model works, and I acknowledge that people can be wildly successful at it, but it always makes me nervous. If I didn't have a partner helping me with this, I am sure I would never have volunteered.
That said, I am willing to admit that there was a time in my life when I was nearly drawn into this crazy world. It was about four years ago, and I was constantly worried about money. It was driving me crazy to the point that I started to look into alternative sources of income. Getting a second job was not a palatable option as it would mean giving up what meaningful free time I had left. Although I am not a natural salesperson, I thought that I could somehow learn and parlay things into a lucrative enough business to quit my day job. Big dreams, I know.
I went so far as to submit an inquiry to the company's website. I was promptly contacted by a woman in my area who set up a meeting time with me to go over the setup, rules and answer questions. Even though I had initiated contact, I was still hesitant about moving forward.
Of course, life intervened in this situation, and the death of my brother pretty much put an end to this process. I did host a party because I felt bad for wasting so much of the representative's time, but honestly, I was hugely relieved not to have to continue.
Back to our upcoming party. If you know me personally, one thing you probably notice is that I am not usually heavy on the bling factor. I do not wear a lot of jewelry on a daily basis. Sure, when there is a formal event or I just want to feel pretty, I may throw on a pair of earrings or maybe even a bracelet or ring. But generally, necklaces baffle me completely. I never know what length looks right with different necklines and I am completely unsure of myself when it comes to colors and styles.
When one attends a jewelry party in person, one actually gets to see the necklaces in their natural habitat and assess the features with the added bonus of second opinions from other guests. So last night, for the first time, I found myself drawn to the necklaces. It could be dangerous, but I keep reminding myself that my accessorizing skills may not be advanced enough to handle them.
Every so often I dream that one day I will wake up and have a much better sense of fashion, but every day I get up and face the same type of clothes in my closet. Until I finally get a personal stylist, I think my jewelry budget is going to stay put. But ask me about this again in a few weeks.
Last night I attended a jewelry party with a coworker. It was conveniently being held in very close proximity to my parents' house, so how could I not go?
The bad news is that I slightly broke my spending limit, but not by much. Less than $30 over, so that's good. I think. Of course, I have no budgeting husband to answer to, so whatever.
The "good" news is that my coworker and I volunteered to jointly host another party next month. We had no problem assembling a list of at least 30 people to invite and it looks like we have a venue that should be able to accommodate us nicely. The hard part is finding everybody's mailing address.
You would not think this was terribly difficult, but it is. It is truly an example of just how much email and online messaging has replaced traditional mail in that we have email addresses for most people and barring that we at least have Facebook connections with them, but to actually send them a card? It sends us scrambling.
Thankfully, my list is not as long as my co host. Some might be sad that they had fewer friends or seemed less popular, but it is fine by me. Less research to do.
It is strange, there is a part of me that feels like I should be the kind of person who avoids these sales parties like the plague. I couldn't tell you why, but it just seems like a very desperate housewife sort of event, and I am about as far from that lifestyle as you can get.
On the other hand, these parties are made for me. Get me in a comfortable chair in a warm room with snacks, wine and sparkly objects and it is a done deal. Of course, this formula has also worked on me with kitchen gadgetry, candles and baking mixes, so I don't know if the product type really matters. The wine really helps too.
The only thing that really causes me anxiety in these situations is the not-so-subtle push to encourage attendees to host their own parties or even worse, become a sales rep themselves. I realize that this is how the business model works, and I acknowledge that people can be wildly successful at it, but it always makes me nervous. If I didn't have a partner helping me with this, I am sure I would never have volunteered.
That said, I am willing to admit that there was a time in my life when I was nearly drawn into this crazy world. It was about four years ago, and I was constantly worried about money. It was driving me crazy to the point that I started to look into alternative sources of income. Getting a second job was not a palatable option as it would mean giving up what meaningful free time I had left. Although I am not a natural salesperson, I thought that I could somehow learn and parlay things into a lucrative enough business to quit my day job. Big dreams, I know.
I went so far as to submit an inquiry to the company's website. I was promptly contacted by a woman in my area who set up a meeting time with me to go over the setup, rules and answer questions. Even though I had initiated contact, I was still hesitant about moving forward.
Of course, life intervened in this situation, and the death of my brother pretty much put an end to this process. I did host a party because I felt bad for wasting so much of the representative's time, but honestly, I was hugely relieved not to have to continue.
Back to our upcoming party. If you know me personally, one thing you probably notice is that I am not usually heavy on the bling factor. I do not wear a lot of jewelry on a daily basis. Sure, when there is a formal event or I just want to feel pretty, I may throw on a pair of earrings or maybe even a bracelet or ring. But generally, necklaces baffle me completely. I never know what length looks right with different necklines and I am completely unsure of myself when it comes to colors and styles.
When one attends a jewelry party in person, one actually gets to see the necklaces in their natural habitat and assess the features with the added bonus of second opinions from other guests. So last night, for the first time, I found myself drawn to the necklaces. It could be dangerous, but I keep reminding myself that my accessorizing skills may not be advanced enough to handle them.
Every so often I dream that one day I will wake up and have a much better sense of fashion, but every day I get up and face the same type of clothes in my closet. Until I finally get a personal stylist, I think my jewelry budget is going to stay put. But ask me about this again in a few weeks.
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