True Tales of Triumph and Woe

It's not a toomah!

2007-08-14T21:55:00.000-07:00

I've been on and off crutches for a few weeks now. It was just over three weeks ago that I dislocated my kneecap and made my back to Los Angeles with a nifty cast. The recovery is going really well, but I do keep the crutches around to help my balance and just in case I get stuck in a chair that doesn't have arms.

Tonight, I was looking at my arm and was wondering what was wrong with it. My forearm had this really bizarre bump on it near my elbow. It didn't hurt or anything, it just seemed to pop up out of nowhere. Then I looked at my other arm and noticed the same thing. Hmm... that bump doesn't hurt either. Now that's just weird, right?

Then as I grabbed one of my crutches, I noticed that the little bump came up bigger. Yes, apparently I have so little upper-body strength that I didn't recognize a muscle when I developed one. Nice. At least it's not a toomah!

I'm outta here!

2007-06-18T10:00:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be out of the country, so you can catch me here for the next month or so.

In which our heroine sigh talks about her feelings

2007-04-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

No good stories going on right now. I'm busy with school most of the time, but this is what I have had on my mind:

I'm not a huge LoTR fan, but there's a fantastic line in one of the books. Bilbo is describing why he has to give up the ring. He says that feels like too little butter spread over too much bread. Okay, now that I've said that, I've become obsessed with getting it right, so here's the actual quote: "I feel thin, like butter spread over too much bread."

Anyhow, that's a pretty fair description of how I feel: I feel sharp and brittle; I feel cracked like the desert floor; I feel raw, like a scab you keep re-opening; I feel like I'm swaddled in cotton; I feel like butter spread over too much bread.

I've fought with depression for most of my life. I have chosen to remain unmedicated, and I often review this decision. I ask myself if normal people feel like this. I ask myself whether medication would improve my standard of living. The biggest question for me is about what makes up... well, me. I am my brain, and whatever chemicals I'm stewing in at the moment. I worry about taking anything that will alter my thought process -- I mean, where do I end, and where does the medicine begin? So, I remain unmedicated, and work through my problems the best I can. One day at a time. One hour at a time. One minute at a time. One second at a time.

Part of the problem is that I know I have a hard time managing my time. I'm ever the optimist when it comes to the amount of time something will actually take, and when I pad my time estimates, it usually turns out to be pretty spot on. Unfortunately, that fact doesn't actually stop me from being optimistic. I always think that the next time, I'll get things done faster. The issue? I am right occasionally, and it only enforces my time mismanagement.

The other problem is that I have no idea of how many responsibilities I can handle. One day, I'll be berating myself that I'm so freakin' lazy, and I can definitely get so much more done than I do. The next day, I'll realize that the next time I have a chance to read a book for leisure is in about two months, while I'll be in a plane going to Europe. A very important concept in my life is one of balance, and I can't quite seem to get it quite right.

I'll get there, though. I'll keep trying, I'll keep failing, and eventually I'll get there.

Thoughts in English Class

2007-03-30T21:13:00.000-07:00

I was in my english class, bored out of my skull, and this is what I wrote instead of taking notes:

-------

I live halfway between my real life and my dream life. When I take my shower in the morning, I spend the time grasping at my memories -- seeing which ones fall away and which ones I can keep my hands around. Unfortunately, this means that I can never be sure what is a dream and what is reality until about 10am.

My dreams are in technicolor with dolby surround sound and comfy seats. Real life is a 13-inch black and white TV with bunny ears and crappy reception. My dreams have three acts with sub-plots, villians, heroes, and a wacky neighbor. Life is reruns of a cheesy soap opera you saw 10 years ago. You can't quite remember exactly what happens next, but you're never quite surprised by its convolutions and plot twists.

Would I trade my real life for the small world inside my head? Maybe. Lord knows I tried, but it didn't work out well for me. What's worth more: entertainment or the truth? Are the two mutually exclusive? And how true are my dreams, for that matter? They have more internal logic than the real world, so I suppose that's a good argument against my dreams. Life, on the whole, is not internally consistent.

I love my dreams. They make me laugh, they make me cry, but in the end, I can't share them in all of their colorful glory. Pinning them down takes away their luster. It's like listening to that song you adored in the summer between your junior and senior years, but haven't heard since then, and when you hear it, something is missing. The song no longer sounds like sunshine and freedom, it sounds like over-engineered pop from the early 90s, cotton candy light and cringeworthy. You remember it had these mind-blowing lyrics that, like, totally changed your life, man, and now it makes you laugh at its treacly-sweet platitudes.

So how do I share the stories my brain entertains itself with during my nightly collapse into unconsciousness? How do I take these gossimer strands and weave them into something I can hold up and see how the light shines through it? Movies? My dreams *are* cinematic. Music? They *are* lyrical. Writing? I *am* lazy, and that *is* the easiest way to share things these days.

Unfortunately, it seems like quantum mechanics: the moment you observe them, you change their quality. Dreams are their own medium, and no other will do.

In which our heroine is proposition in the most curious of ways

2007-02-05T10:52:00.000-08:00

This was a while back, but I didn't realize I hadn't blogged it. Here we go:

One of Asimovian and my friends was in town and wanted to go to a club. There is a Friday-night-only club that several friends like to go to, and it was decided that this was the club we would be patronizing, even though we'd never been. This club is... I guess you might consider it a saucy kind of club. Free spankings on stage and all that. However, being freaky is only encouraged, not required, so we fit in just fine. I spent a lot of the evening hanging out with Space Kitty.

Now, I have to take a second to explain a couple of things here. First off, our heroine is not particularly a looker. I mean, everyone who gets to know me totally wants me, of course, but people aren't stopping me on the street to ask my phone number, if you know what I mean. Space Kitty, on the other hand, is adorable as hell and was dressed particularly saucily. And was very drunk. Very, very drunk.

So back to the dance floor. Several of us were shakin' our respective thangs. This creepy guy had been following Space Kitty around (cute + drunk = creepy guy magnet) and he was just STANDING on the dance floor STARING at Space Kitty, looking her up and down, repeatedly. So, I maneuvered myself between Creepy Guy and Space Kitty and turned my back to the guy. So, a few moments later, little creepy guy came up behind me, put his hands on my shoulders (yick), leaned into my ear (double-yick), and said,

Creepy Guy: Hey, wanna come back to my place? I have bagels and salmon.
Me: WHA?
CG: You wanna come over? I have bagels and salmon.
Me: Uh, no. I'm married.
CG: Wha?
Me: Married. ::points at her wedding ring, then points at her visibly upset husband::
CG: Huh?
Me: ::points at wedding ring, then her husband, then waves bye-bye::

I mean, I do look like a gal who enjoys herself some tasty breakfast snacks, but first off, does he not even know what it's called lox? Secondly, EW! Thirdly, don't piss off the black man who has 6 inches and 100 pounds on your scrawny ass.

Truth be told, it was more pathetic than anything and hey, I got a funny story out of it. The most amusing bit is that we're going back to the same club on Friday. I guess I'll bring my appetite in case he offers again. 'Cause who am I to turn down bagels and salmon?

In which our heroine discovers that she's rather predictable...

2006-12-20T09:16:00.000-08:00

Christmas always brings out the best and worst in people. In me, it usually brings out the weird, which is to say, it brings out the best AND the worst in me. I have an odd sense of humor, and not everyone gets it. However, one of our programmers at work totally gets my sense of the absurd. He's also a long-time vegetarian. So, when I was in the $1 bin area of our local Red Dot Boutique (that would be Target), and I spied a "Meat Playset," I knew I had to get it for him. It's a little basket with a pork chop, a steak, a hot dot, a hamburger, and other plastic facsimiles of dead animals. C'mon, it's perfect for the vegetarian programmer in your life.

Anyhow, I wrapped it up in very generic paper, and left it on his chair this morning. I disguised my writing and simply wrote that it was from "Santa." A few hours later, a certain programmer dropped by my office and it went a little something like this:

Veggie Programmer: You got me the meat playset, didn't you?
Me: Wha?
VP: Yeah, someone left it on my desk this morning, and I'm sure it's you?
Me: No, I had David in the gift exchange. I didn't get this... what was it? Meat? for you.
VP: Well, this is the first place I stopped by because I was sure YOU bought it.
Me: So someone buys you meat, and I'm the FIRST person you think of.
VP: Well, it said it was for ages 4 and up...
Me: Haha. Alright, yeah it was me.

Yep, I was the first person he thought of. I'm getting predictable in my old age. And kudos to VP for engaging me in the most surreal conversation I've had all year.

Leaving to go to dinner...

2006-11-30T08:07:00.000-08:00

Jake's sister, TooTall, and her husband, Vroooooom, were getting ready to take Jake out to dinner for her birthday. (Yes, send a card. ) Jake remarked on how freakin' freezing it's been the past few mornings, and how she uses Asimovian as a timer for the heater. ("It's cooooold... go turn on the heeeeeater... then the shooooower... then come back to bed so I can put my cold feeeeeeet on you!")

And now, back to our program already in progress:

TooTall: Well, you could get a thermostat with a timer on it.

Jake: Well, we rent, and it seems awfully complicated.

TooTall: No, it's actually really, really, REALLY easy. I mean, Vrooooom put ours in...

Vroooooom: I'm starting to feel a little insulted here.

TooTall: But, you put it in and it works great.

Vroooooom: You're not making it any better.

TooTall: But what I'm trying to say is...

Vroooooom: Nope, still feeling insulted....

TooTall: [to Jake] He could HELP YOU. He could help you install it is what I'm TRYING to say!

Vroooooom: Uh, no.

Jake: Uh, hey... how's about some dinner?

No marriages were harmed in the making of this scene.

In which our heroine loves her glasses...

2006-11-22T14:17:00.000-08:00

Another quick tale from the aforementioned grocery trip. Also, a little background:

I wear prescription sunglasses. I choose to wear glasses instead of contacts because I think I look better in glasses, and my prescription is primarily for astigmatism. I keep my sunglasses in the car, and sometimes I forget to switch from my sunglasses to my normal glasses. If you see someone walking around the store with their sunglasses on, chances are that it's me, and I'd look all squinty if I took them off.

However, I always feel a bit self-conscious when I wear my sunglasses indoors, so when the grocery trip turned from long to epic, I decided to take off my glasses and try to get used to looking around without them. My evil nephew, BP (Bottomless Pit), turns around and looks at me with surprise. He says, "Aunt Jakey! You have really dark circles under your eyes!"

Me: "That's because I have allergies kid. You have allergies too, right? You're looking at your future, buddy!"

BP: "Yeah, but they came up really suddenly!"

ME: ::puts back on her glasses:: "So, did they disappear?"

BP: "Ohhhhh!"

I guess it didn't help that I was up until 3:30am the night before, but I never miss an opportunity to make my nephew fear for the future. I figure I'll tell him about how guys have to trim their nose hairs the next time he's truly rotten.

In which our heroine terrorizes the local supermarket patrons

2006-11-19T12:22:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is this Thursday. You may commence to sobbing. I, however, decided to be a grown-up about it, so I wiped away my tears and made a shopping list in preparation for my Fakesgiving celebration (that would be making a big dinner on Friday instead of Thursday). I called my sister to ask her something and we ended up deciding to go grocery shopping together. We used to do it more often, but she lives a couple of towns over now, so it's no longer convenient. However, this is a special occasion, so we figured we'd get it done together and spend some quality time (gack!) together.

So, we're moseying around the supermarket. My sister, Jo, has her infant daughter (Babyzilla) in the shopping cart and my 11-year-old nephew, Bottomless Pit (that's BP to his friends), is helping us shop. Well, let me back up. We weren't moseying. We were on a mission. It may have looked like moseying to the untrained eye, but we're hard-core bargain hunters. We were moseying like a motherfucker up in there.

Seeing as how we're both cooking much of the same food, we needed many of the same ingredients. If Jo grabbed olives, she would ask me if I needed a can while she was at it and vice versa. She'd then have BP grab an extra can and put it in my basket. After a while, Babyzilla got a bit impatient with our shopping, so Jo started carrying her while BP pushed the cart. We were in the dairy aisle, and I found that butter was on sale. I checked with Jo that she needed a pound of salted butter, then grabbed it and dumped it in the cart BP was pushing while saying, "Here ya go, kid."

Then BP said, "Uhhh, Aunt Jakey?" I look up and realize that I've put the butter in the wrong kid's cart. There was some random kid passing by, and I stopped him, told him, "Here ya go, kid," then put butter in his cart. The poor random kid was about 10, and looked appalled and confused. I said, "Uh, oops. Sorry. I thought you were my nephew," and took back the butter.

When I saw poor random kid with his mom, I told her that I was sorry I terrorized her kid and tried to put butter in his cart. A random lady passing by laughed and said, "Been there, done that." That was the best time I've had in the supermarket EVER. I'm finding random people and putting stuff in their cart from here on out.

Oh, and the best part: we were shopping at a store that tells you how much money you've saved. Turns out my sister, who taught me my bargain-hunting ways got a 27% discount, and I got a 34% discount. That's right, the student has surpassed the teacher. HA!

In which our heroine sees the street signs

2006-09-03T18:17:00.000-07:00

So, our local radio station has been doing an all 90s weekend. Considering I graduated high school in '94, of COURSE I thought that this was pretty fuckin' cool. So, I've been listening on and off all weekend. A few minutes ago, it hit me: When I was just out of high school, they used to do all 80s music weekends, and I TOTALLY dreaded them. I hated all the "old" music and thought that people who couldn't get on with their lives and start liking the new music were really pathetic.

City: Oldsville
Population: Me

In which our heroine views the world from a different angle

2006-08-31T10:14:00.001-07:00

I've wanted prescription sunglasses ever since I switched to wearing glasses full time. My eyesight is good enough that I could definitely just wear regular sunglasses without a prescription, but because I have astigmatism (or maybe just because I'm a freak), it gives me a headache and makes me feel sick to my stomach to drive or bike without my glasses on.

I'm going to get my motorcycle license soon, and I really needed some sunglasses, so I went a one-hour glasses place. The lady was very nice and went through her whole spiel about how I needed polarized glasses and all that. I knew that I needed polycarbonate because I was going to be on a bike, so I let her quote it all out for me. I also had a AAA discount. She told me that the AAA discount was $80, and I was thinking, "DAMN that's a good discount." Then she told me that with the discount, it would be $200. Uh. Wha? $200? Okay then, no glasses for Jake.

On a whim, I went to my local club store and asked them to quote out a price for me. For frames that I liked better, polycarbonate polarized lenses, and scratch coating, it came out to a total of $80. Hot DAMN I'm all over that. They told me it would be a 7 to 10 working days, and I didn't care because I was getting sunglasses and they were perfect and CHEAP!

However, this is a Tale of Woe, so you have to know that it goes south somewhere, right? Tuesday was my first day of school as well as Space Kitty's birthday. It was the one day where I didn't have 2 minutes of free time to rub together... and of course, it was the day my glasses came back. Oh well. They're not going away or anything, but delayed gratification sucks sometimes.

Wednesday rolled around, and I went in to get them after work. I was SO excited. I got them, and they needed to be adjusted, so we did that. I walked out and put them on, and it was GREAT. The prescription was perfect, and everything seemed wonderfully clear. They really cut down on the glare a LOT.

I got into my car and closed the door... and noticed that that polarization on my glasses interacted with the tinting on the windows. Instead of the normal neutral tint on my windows, there's a very neat, but a bit distracting iridescent rainbow pattern when I look through my car windows. Now I view the world through rainbow colored glasses, I suppose. I also suppose that I'll get used to it, but until then, I'll have to be VERY careful while driving.

Not much of a Tale of Woe, I suppose, but it calls to mine one of those morality tales where you're granted a wish and it backfires on you.

In which our heroine goes back to school

2006-08-30T09:49:00.000-07:00

So school started last night. I hiked up the long and steep hill to my sociology meeting to... wait, time out. I tried to take sociology in spring. I showed up for the meeting, got the add slip, and off I went. However, I forgot to actually add and pay for the class, so even though I had the book and was doing the work, I wasn't really registered and didn't get credit. At least I only wasted a couple of weeks on that. So, I figured I'd take it this semester with the same professor because the book I had bought was customized to him. So, I hiked up the long and steep hill to the meeting, and found that the professor was ill and in the hospital and would probably be replaced for the semester. Uh, d'oh? Hopefully they'll still use the same book, but if not, that's $60 down the drain, or I get to wait yet ANOTHER semester to take it. Just an inconvenience, but irritating. I mean, the poor man is in the hospital. I should try to find a little kindness in my blackened soul, you know?

I went to my next class, which... well, let's not mince words: I don't think I belong in it. At my JC, you have to take an essay test to be placed into english. They put me into the class BELOW freshman english. Nevermind that I've actually passed freshman english at another JC. For a variety of reasons, I don't want to transfer my transcripts over, so I'm stuck with where they placed me. So, I told myself that I needed to take the lower-level english class just to get it over with, or I needed to find out a way to get into the regular freshman english using my transcripts. I bit the bullet and registered for the lower-level english class. I decided that I could definitely use some polishing with my writing (and no, this isn't an example of my best writing. This is just a braindump), so I'm trying to keep a positive attitude about the whole thing. You can look up the required books before class even starts, so I ordered the books online to save some money. Turns out the listing wasn't quite thorough, and one of the books I ended up with isn't quite the right version, and another one of the books I got... well, I didn't need to spend 1/2 as much as I did on it. Damn college textbooks.

The kicker: One of the books is a vocabulary workbook. I'm flipped through the book, and was able to provide a clear and cogent definition for all except one of the words. Seriously. Oh well. At least I'll have it out of the way and will be able to take Astronomy next semester.

Random thoughts for August

2006-08-29T07:26:00.000-07:00

First off, can I just say how happy I am that the summer is at a close? Man, I do NOT like the heat. The only thing I do like is that the sun is up for a lot of hours. But I don't like having to water the hell out of my lawn to keep it from dying, using the air conditioner, and sweating. Bleh. Bring on the rain and gloom, say I!

School is starting for me today. I went over my general ed courses that I needed to take yesterday, and found out that a course I took for GE is no longer acceptable as a fine arts credit. I took the class because it would be fun and fulfill some of my GE requirements and I worked my ass off at it. It was photography, so I was in the classroom at least 5 hours a week, in addition to going out and shooting off a roll of film almost every week as well. And now, to have those 4 credits taken away from me just pisses me off. I think I'll be taking 3 classes instead of just 2 this semester to try to catch up a little bit. I'm torn between taking another academic class and taking a PE class. I need both of them and they're both in the same (very convenient) time slot.

With school starting, it makes me realize that we've begun the sliding slope towards the end of the year. I'll be 30 at the end of this year. It's not a huge deal to me; most everyone I hang out with is already on that side of 30, so I feel like I've already been there. It blows my mind that my mom and dad had 4 kids already by the time they were my age, but everyone's path is different. It also makes me realize that in about 6 weeks, they're going to put up the Thanksgiving decorations, and in about 2 months, they'll be putting up the Christmas decorations. It seems like I've blinked and missed a large chunk of the year. Part of growing older, I'm sure.

Lastly, did you know that if you can't find normal scotch tape, packing tape works surprisingly well for wrapping presents? Happy birthday, Space Kitty. Muahahaha!

In which our heroine tries to determine whether she is being insulted or complimented

2006-08-28T09:39:00.000-07:00

So, my boss came into my office this morning, and I reminded him that I have a class meeting tomorrow, so I'd be leaving work about 30 minutes early. I asked if I could come in early to make up the time, and he said yes. He then went on to tell me that my education was valuable to the company, and that he would always be accomodating. I told him that I was only working on my general education courses right now, so these classes don't have a direct impact, but thank you very much. He paused, then told me I should be a lawyer. I'm not sure it was in response to what I said or not, and I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted! I think I'll go ahead and choose to be complimented, but I'll reserve the right to feel insulted later.

In which our heroine talks about stuffing her bra for the first time

2006-08-20T16:51:00.000-07:00

About a week ago, I went to work like normally and was just sitting at my desk when all of a sudden, I noticed that my bra was poking me in a supurbly uncomfortable way. It didn't feel like a normal kind of thing, so I decided to go into the bathroom to inspect further.

In the bathroom, I discovered that my unerwire had taken this exact moment to break. Now, I've had underwires that decided that they weren't happy with the confines of the bra, but in this case, the metal literally had snapped in half, and the sharp edges were what was poking me. Damn, damn, damn. So, my first thought was to just take out the underwire and not worry about it. Problem: The underwire on the OTHER side was just fine, so the twins wouldn't be identical twins any longer. I was at work and there's NO WAY I was just going to take my bra off because I can't type with my arms crossed against my chest. I figured that I would walk back to my desk and pick up a pair of scissors so I could cut out the underwire on the other side, and then I would be just fine. However, when I took a step, the bra jabbed the hell out of me again, and I decided that I didn't want to take that uncomfortable walk, no matter how short.

So, I took a few squares of toilet paper, folded them over a couple of times, and stuck them between the bra and my skin. Ahhh, relief. I went back to my desk to get the scissors, but figured that this was working so well that I'd just see how it lasted through the day. Surprisingly, it was perfect the rest of the day, and I went home unscathed.

This, my friends, is the very first time I had to stuff my bra with toilet paper. I'm declaring this a Tale of Triumph because I fought the underwire, and I fucking won. We have to take our victories when we can!

In which our heroine gets a root canal and some bad news

2006-08-18T15:40:00.000-07:00

I had a root canal today. I have never had any dental work before. I mean, I've had braces, and I've had teeth removed, but I've never had my teeth drilled. I really wasn't sure what to expect. Well, I mean, people kept saying, "You need a root canal? Oh, I'm SO sorry!" However, the people I spoke with who had actually had one told me that it wasn't such a big deal. So, I figured that the sound of the drill might bother me, but I figured that I would have local anesthetic so at worst, it would just be uncomfortable.

So, I'm happy to announce that I made it through just fine. It took a very, very long time, and the anaesthetic wore off at the end, but I'm hard-core (ha!) and just had them finish up instead of getting another shot and waiting for it to take effect. By the time I left, I was hurting pretty bad, but so far I'm doing okay. The drilling was totally no big deal. I'm sure I'll be hurting more later, but for now, I'm rather pleased with myself. Here's to being a responsible adult and getting my teeth taken care of.

The bad news? I knew that I would have to go in later to get the permanent crown, but unfortunately my dentist wants to let my tooth heal for at least a MONTH before I can go in to get even a temporary crown. So, I still can't chew on that side of my mouth for another month. To make it worse? I need another root canal on the exact same tooth the other side, so unless I reschedule my appointment, there would be almost 3 weeks when I couldn't really chew at all. Yeah, that sounds just fan-damn-tastic. I think I'll reschedule the next root canal until I get the crown. Sometimes being an adult and taking care of business sucks.

In which our heroine cuts herself with a plastic spoon

2006-08-17T21:15:00.000-07:00

Yes, my friends, I cut myself with a plastic spoon yesterday. Not a spork, which one could possibly imagine one of the tines possibly being slightly sharper (possibly) than a pair of safety scissors, but a spoon.

We begin our tale after dinner. I had a pint of Ben and Jerry's Carmel Sutra ice cream waiting for me in the freezer. Asimovian was up and about, so I asked him to bring it when he came back to the couch. Little did I know that my laziness would be my undoing. He kindly brought me the ice cream and a plastic spoon.

Now, let me stop here to defend myself for a moment. Yes, I eat Ben and Jerry's straight from the canister. Yes, I like to use a spoon. Yes, I like using a plastic spoon from time to time because I hate doing dishes. My only defense is that Asi hates chocolate, and I never have to share, so I don't see the use in dirtying up a dish just to be civil. See... I'm saving the environment. Yeah, that's it.

Anyhow, the ice cream had been stashed in the freezer since the day before when the 12-year-old kid at the dairy had flirted with me shamelessly while bringing it to my car. The ice cream was hard as a rock. I set it aside so it would soften up a little bit.

But this is Caramel Sutra ice cream. It's dark fudge chocolate and caramel ice creams with a huge ribbon of caramel running down the middle. One does not just sit there and let the ice cream wait to be eaten. One dives in with reckless abandon and digs right in with the plastic spoon one's infinitely kind husband has provided. However, if one exerts too much force, one might break the spoon. And while the spoon isn't normally sharp, the edge of a broken spoon can be very sharp. In this case, it can, and will, slice open your finger pretty good.

What have we learned? Well, first off, metal spoons are much more suited to ice cream. Secondly, I might want to use a dish and scoop it out of the container in the future. But mostly I've learned that if I'm ever imprisoned, I know how to make a GREAT shiv.