Updates

First: The Tudors is back on. It’s funny, but now that they’re following history more closely, their viewers are leaving them in droves. I have several theories: 1) The writers used all their imagination while they re-wrote history in the first season, and now they’re just copying lines out of various textbooks. 2.) The story of one man getting married, getting bored when he doesn’t get a son, and then lining up his next queen before the current one is out of the picture.. well, repeating that 5 times gets a tad predictable around Queen Number Three. 3) All anyone ever cared about was the story of how Anne – that dirty dastardly woman – got to be Queen, because we all know she was just a dirty, filthy femme fatale. In fact, the Catholic Church - back then, not today, –told everyone she had a 6th finger as a sign of her evilness. Did that make it to the storyline? It wasn’t in the 5 cumulative minutes that I’ve watched, so I don’t know. I do know that The Professor has not yelled at the TV once this season. He’s been too busy snoring. I continue to be incredulous that this story can’t be both A) True and B) Fascinating. But there you have it. With “It” meaning “screenwriters can’t do history well and need to just move on to the next comic book”. For God’s sake, look what they (the screenwriters, not the comic books, KEEP UP) did to Beowulf (Ok, not history, but stay with me).THAT made it onto the big screen. Maybe if we could get Angelina Jolie to play all 6 wives, we’d have a winner. Second: In my newly de-coffeed world, I thought about taking at 2 Liter of my Diet Mtn Dew to work every day. Wine was really my first choice, but then I would start buying romance novels for the library instead of military non-fiction. And then I would get fired. In the end, I’ve just been drinking insane amounts of water. To keep me sane and my employees alive, I still have my Dew every morning with breakfast. But I have another myth to debunk for you: Anyone who says that caffeine makes you pee more (more than WHAT?), has never substituted water and then done scientific comparisons. I haven’t been scientific in the least, but I do know that I’m going to the ladies room every hour. And if that last sentence doesn't make you glad you read my ramblings, then I'm dead in the water.

Life after coffee

It’s official. I am no longer a coffee drinker. After a while, I paid attention to all the acid with which my stomach was flooding my esophagus. I tried to outlast it, but apparently, the stomach really doesn’t ever run out of that stuff. It took me wishing for a digestive-track-replacement-surgery to get the message. But now I’m clean. The rest of you can thank your deity of choice for whoever is responsible for Diet Mountain Dew. Final tally: Stomach: 1, Me: 0 The Bestest Friend and I have officially embarked on Operation: Make The Professor’s Head Explode. We had only planned on the satisfaction of redecorating my living/dining room area; the exploding head is merely an added incentive to get it done sooner rather than later. In many houses across this fine land of ours, repainting and re-arranging a living room is not a matter that makes people wheeze into their gin and tonics. But apparently in Chez Professor-land, the placement of the TV has some kind of mystical meaning. Wish I’d known that four years ago, because I think I’ve missed a lot of mysticism and now I’m feeling left out. Final Tally: Mysticism: 1, Me: 0, with an option to change to : Professor’s Head: 0, Me : 1 Also – and this is really very exciting, so hold on to your knickers - : The pictures of Dead People are coming off of my living room walls. I don’t know where they’re going, but you will not be confronted with a couple of dead kings and queens when you walk through my front door anymore. I’m definitely afraid I’ll get home one day and find them hanging above my bed, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take since 95% of the time that I spend in my bedroom I’m sleeping. Final tally: Dead People: 0, Me : 3 We’ve done most of the planning and bought the paint and supplies. And guess what? I have to wait ANOTHER MONTH before I have time to paint. But that also means that it gives me a month to round up people to help with the painting. If I play my cards right, there could be 5 of us. Do you think I could turn that into “I’ll cook a five course meal if you do all the painting for me”? Final Tally : To Be Determined.

Food That....Excuse Me, WHAT?

There's a Captain D's at my exit on the interstate, and a couple of miles before you get off, you're treated to a billboard for it. There's a plate of something fish-like, and a huge slogan: "Food That Loves You Back". Now, I'm not adverse to Captain D's. About twice a year, I get an insane urge for their fish and chips. I don't know what's in their oil, I don't know what kind of fish they use, and I have no idea as to the overall cholesterol content of my chosen meal. And I really don't think I want to. Maybe it's just me, but the idea of "Food That Loves Me Back" makes me very nervous. How, exactly, does it accomplish this? Can it send me greeting cards? Does Halmark make something for this occasion? Am I required to send a Thank You Gift? How, exactly, does food love me back? Do I even really want to know? These are the thoughts that permeate my dreams... I really don't want my meal to remind me of it's presence once it's past my taste buds. As far as my commitment to any one meal, that's kind of my limit. After that point, it's a "better seen and not heard from" situation. I'm great with Food That Loves To Be Eaten. I'm great with Food That Loves, period. Who doesn't want to be loved? But if my dinner is promising to come back from the great beyond that is my digestive track and in any way tell me at 2 AM "Hey, Thanks for eating me!"...well... My love of their Fish N Chips may have been cured.

How to be Popular, in 7 easy steps

1.) Drive into an area that's under a tornado warning. 2.) Get off the interstate and find a truck stop that has free wi-fi. 3.) Power up, do some searching and find a local TV station that has a live stream of their storm coverage. 4) Turn on said stream, volume on low. 5.) Be nice when someone realizes you have outside information and turn your laptop screen so they can see. 6.) When they say "Hey, this girl over here has the TV on!", don't roll your eyes. Just turn the volume up. 7.) Sit back and watch as you become the most popular girl in the truck stop.

How To Make Sure an Argument Doesn't End

Scene: Wife getting ready for overnight trip, buzzing around. Hubby getting ready for a typical day. Somehow, a meaningless comment turns into a meaningless argument. Which turns into sarcasm all around. Both realize it's stupid and pointless at the same time. She laughs, he laughs, and she says "Why are we arguing?" He says "I don't know, why DID you start this?". Really, it's quite remarkable that nothing was thrown at his head.

How My Day Went

6:01 AM: The Professor tries to tell me it’s really time to get up, the alarms haven’t been lying, I-can-do-it-he-knows-I-can, and as an extra special bonus he’s able to do all this without speaking more than one word. He gets to live another day. 6:12 AM: I convince myself that no, really, that light is indeed sunshine, meaning my boss will soon be looking for me. I roll over (on top of a cat) and try to imagine what I could wear this morning. I decide that today is the day I will eat that can of soup I put in my desk last week for a day when I didn’t want to fix lunch before going to work. 6:15: I have to pee, I can smell the coffee and I’ve told myself that if I can drag myself out of bed, I will be rewarded with an Egg McMuffin for breakfast. Deal. 6:32: I get in my car. How in the world did it take me 17 minutes to pee, brush my teeth, put on some clothes, pour my coffee in the thermos, the Mountain Dew in my travel cup and kiss The Prof goodbye? Was I moving underwater with chains on my ankles? On days when I fix my breakfast AND my lunch, I’m usually done in 20 minutes. 6:35: I cruise into McD’s for my “I got out of bed almost all on my own” reward. An Egg McMuffin is never as good as I think it will be, because what I really want is a pound of bacon. With cheese melted over the top. 6:45: I get to leave the Hell that is the McD’s drive through. Why do they have to power wash their drive through during morning rush hour? 7:45: I arrive at work. Angels sing and rainbows appear. Most importantly, I pour my first cup of coffee. This week I’m really spoiling myself – I bought flavored cream. (Cinnamon Bun, if you’re interested). 8:00 On my 2nd cup of coffee. I’ve looked over emails and read a couple of librarian-ish things. Decision time: Work, or look like I’m working? Why do I ALWAYS choose work? 9:00 Begin flurry of emails with My Girls Up North (Where “Up North is really just “Less South” than my garden spot in Alabama). I’m visiting tomorrow and we have a menu to negotiate. A menu that we are going to make as unhealthy as possible, just because we are adults and we can do that if we want to. So there. 9:42 : Get an email from The Professor. He’s made a dentist appointment for me. 9:43 : Regret my decision to let him live. 9:50 : Realize that really, when I can’t order books, there isn’t a whole lot for me to do. Still I must look busy, so I start reading some of the history in the personnel folders in my desk. Fascinating stuff. No really, no sarcasm. 10:00: Curse a lot because of {name redacted} for doing {information you really don’t need to know}. Actually, the cursing was because of things NOT done, but that’s just semantics. The cursing takes 15 minutes, because my boss fuels it and adds some words of her own. All of this snatches away the caffeine buzz I had going on. 10:58: We (The Girls and I) approval the final menu:

• Appetizer: Tator Tots (Oh, Maybe with some cheese melted on top? I just thought of that and must email…)
• Entrée: Boxed Mac N Cheese, tossed at your discretion with or without a portion of Weiner; Fish Sticks.
• Dessert: Chocolate Pudding
• All served with the finest vintage Kool-Aid (or cheap knock off) and your choice of alcoholic additives. Or a glass of wine.
• Pizza rolls will be in reserve in the freezer.

11:29 : Now I’m hungry, thanks to the food discussions, but suddenly soup (Campbell’s Select Light Vegetable and Pasta) isn’t as appealing as it was. I eat my cheese and crackers instead. And pour another cup of coffee. I need to watch it – I think there’s only about a cup left, and 3:45 is a long way away. 1200: Open Google Reader for some updates, and discover that the internet filters have gotten stricter again. I can still see Reader, but the USA Today Tech Section is blocked? 1201: Remember that my book vendor site was also blocked this week. Wonder how many other things I can’t get to. Decide to just let those surprises come as they will. 1207: Realize I’m in the midst of yet another flurry of emails, this time work related, about details that are so minuscule that none of it will ever matter to anyone. Still, it can be fun to drive these things on because one person takes it so seriously and the other will laugh with me later. 1252: Decide that my frame of mind is entirely too pleasant and begin writing an employee’s interim review. 1255: Decide I’ll wait for her self-assessment to hit my inbox before I write anything. That leaves my own self-assessment to work on. 1325: Realize that saying “I exceeded these goals” 5 times in the same paragraph might be overkill and try to find alternative ways to let my chain of command know how much I rock. 1345: Change the placement of my desk lamp. Thanks to cubicles that haven’t been updated in over 30 years, this is way harder than it needs to be. 1400:The soup finally sounds good to my stomach. 1405 : Read this and wonder why I continue to live in Alabama. It must be my crazy love of fried foods. 1408 : Read this and make a mental note for the 273,619th time to NEVER move to Texas. 1446 : Less than an hour to go! I can make it. I think I can, I think I can…

I’m becoming my father: A Pop Quiz (in run-on sentences)

When Person A says “the system won’t let me print the information” and I say “That’s ok, I just need to see it, not print it”, and I go into the system and click “display”, and the info most assuredly does NOT display, and Person A says {gleefully} “I told you that it won’t print!”, I will :

A) Say, “oh, that’s what you meant, thanks” and move on to the other 254 things on my to-do list, or

B) NOT IGNORE THIS OBVIOUS LACK OF UNDERSTANDING OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, because it is IMPERATIVE that everyone know the difference between print and display. RIGHT NOW.

When Person B (who is, by the way, also Person A) says “That Office is across base. It’s next to Building 200” and I say “Building 200 is right next door” and s/he says “Well, That Office used to be next door, next to 200” – and this happens 3 times in the SAME conversation, on the third time that I am told “That office is across base. It’s next to Building 200” (which is now OBVIOUSLY WRONG), I will finally say:

A) “Thanks, I’m sure I’ll find it”, while planning on calling and asking for directions later; or

B) “But you just said that the office is across base. Building 200 is next door. Which is it?” And NO MATTER WHAT they reply (because I need them to say they’re wrong at this point), I’ll say “But you just said…”

I have about 4 more examples of this, but I’m going to let it go.

Until tomorrow that is, when Person A/B tells me to go next door to print a report that won’t display. Then, we will have A LESSON IN THINKING ONE THING AND THEN NOT SAYING SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.

And Now, Happier Things (AWSOFTC(SFBIGTNABO), Part II)

Sidenote: If you sent The Professor and me a very beautiful rose, please let me know! It wasn't signed! A little over 13 months ago, we had what some wonderfully witty person titled the "Alabama Winter Storm Of The Century (So Far, Because I'm Going To Need A Better One)". That person has had her (*ahem*) wish fulfilled. Friday, appropriately, was a Very Stormy Day. We were under tornado watches, severe thunderstorm watches, TORNADO WARNINGS, flash flood warnings - you get the picture - all day. And night. The arriving Original Redhead from Tennessee complained around 8 PM that no one told her to bring an arc. And then, Sunday morning we woke up to snow. We took a drive down to The Professor's University for lunch, and it was still coming down. The University is always pretty; in the snow, it's beautiful. I loved this tree: These were pretty too: In the hour we were there, though, the sun came out; by the time we left, it was starting to melt. Still, there was plenty on the ground when we got home to try and whack The Professor in the butt with a snowball. I missed. But I was distracted by my target.

A Very Loud (and Long) Weeping and Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

A week before That Blessed Date when The Professor and I legally linked our lives together, we went to fill out the requisite paperwork at the county courthouse. I knew that on the way home, we’d be passing the local shelter, and I spontaneously asked The Professor if we could stop and look at the cats. His reaction was a little more … dramatic than I expected: “Damn it woman, I was going to surprise you! Are you going to be two steps ahead of me for the rest of our lives?” {Hint: The answer is yes. But I digress} And so, The Professor got me the best wedding present in the world: A cat. There weren’t a whole lot of cats, and I really didn’t want one of the babies – those are always the top pick and have the best chance of getting adopted. I wanted a young adult. The choice was between two cats: A steel grey charmer, who purred and rubbed against our hands, and a sulky exotic looking cat who cried nonstop and didn’t want to be touched. The Professor made the decision very quickly – he wanted Mr Sulky (named “Shelby” by the shelter) because he was convinced an unaffectionate cat wouldn’t get adopted by anyone else. The shelter told us he had been left on their doorstep in the middle of the night that Hurricane Ivan blew through town. Being this far from the coast, a hurricane isn’t as bad as it could be – but it was still a hurricane when it got here. And Mr. Sulky had spent the storm alone, in a box. We debated what to name him while we filled out the paperwork and waited for the volunteers to bring him to us. “Shelby” didn’t seem right. It just didn’t fit, but we couldn’t think of anything better. When we got in the car, the song “Sultans of Swing” was playing on the radio – and we both yelled out – “Sultan”! Sultan immediately made it known that he was not a quiet cat. He paced, prowled and yowled non-stop. So much so that on the first visit, we asked the vet if we should be worried that something was wrong. He just laughed and said that he was almost positive Sultan’s a Bengal – and Bengals have amazing voices. We left him at home when we went on our honeymoon, leaving The Bestest Friend to come by to take care of him. I think that's when she started referring to him as "Senor Mau-Mau", because of his crazy voice. Halfway through the week, he was hoarse from talking so much. A few months later we introduced the Ever-Fluffy Lucius to the house – and Sultan never talked himself hoarse again. “Crazy Cat” is probably too gentle a term – “Spastic” may be better. But there’s no way to describe a cat to someone who hasn’t met him, except to say “WOW”. Also “Makes Stinky Litter Box”, but then, what cat doesn’t? He warmed up to us very quickly. He claimed The Professor, and every morning he's on the floor for the hour that The Professor does his morning workout - laying down next to him for The Professor to put out a hand and pet him as he does his 100's of crunches - this goes on for about 30 minutes every morning. At night, he's either curled up behind The Professor's shoulder to watch TV, or lounging in front of the fireplace if it's the correct season and we're treating him right. Two weeks ago was the annual checkup, and there was a bunch of fluid coming out of his eyes. He’d also lost 3 pounds in the past year, but he just seemed a little tired lately. The vet put him on ointment for the eyes and scheduled a follow-up for 10 days later (this past Monday) – by which point he’d stopped eating and lost another 1 ½ pounds. We did blood work and some other tests, but couldn’t find anything conclusive, so we scheduled some x-rays. And now, because the past 24 hours are interesting only to a very few people, we still aren’t completely sure what’s wrong. But we do know that it’s one of two Very Bad Things – a tumor that I can’t afford to A) find out about, or B) fix if it’s there; or FIP . The vet is pretty sure it’s FIP, and at such an advanced state that there’s no way to even make him comfortable for long. He hasn’t eaten in a week, so he’s literally wasting away. You know what’s coming… I went to visit him this morning, and I can honestly say it’s the most heart-breaking thing I’ve ever done. He’s lost another half pound this week. I knew then that this afternoon would be the end, but seeing him at half the weight he was just 2 years ago hurt more than I thought. He’s not talking anymore – he doesn’t even make a peep when a large dog barks on the other side of the wall. He just snuggled down into my lap and closed his eyes. In my head, I told myself that he was asking me to make him better. And all I can do is stop him from getting worse. The Professor just left to go be there when they put him to sleep. I had planned on going up to the minute it was time to walk out the door. And I couldn't. For once, I let myself back out of something I didn't want to do. And now...it's time to go buy more wine. I drank just about everything in the house last night, and an empty wine rack is a sad wine rack.

Frightening Thought of the Day

Whilst sending an email to my sister this morning, making plans for a summer vacation, I had an epiphany: Six months from today, StepSon will be living at college. In a dorm. Where no parents are present. Prayers and presents of an alcoholic nature (for ME! Not him!) are much encouraged and appreciated.