Pen to Paper

Well, today I bought a new journal in which to work out all my post-fire angst. The b/f and I are looking forward to Saturday to kiss this crappy year goodbye. Woo hoo, the year is almost over.

Beanless Christmas

In the ongoing saga of recalling things that I lost in the fire, I had a tragic realization. My VHS copy of Mr. Bean episode, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Bean," the one given to me by Amy back in our Notre Dame days, the one I watch every year with my mom and brother (Bill, I miss you, stay safe,) the one I have completely memorized and is more of a tradition than The Christmas Story was lost in the fire. It's so sad to think about. It/s alsmost a little less like Christmas, which I know is ridiculous. But it's sad to me nonetheless.

30

I don't know what in the hell I was so stressed out about. Anyway, happy birthday to me (and happy anniversary to the b/f!)

Whew!

Okay, the big long drama blog post is done. I can start preparing a lighter, airy entry for Thanksgiving.

Loss

Within a few weeks of the fire, I had received a card from college friend, a sort of condolence card that tries to say, "Sorry you lost everything in a fire. I'm glad you didn't die or get hurt." Amy had noted from one writer to another that I now would have some rich source material from which to write. In the postscript, she observed that I could try to make money off story, that being the great American way. It was the first time someone other than my cat had made me laugh since the fire.

So now, I attempt to write something sensible and poetic about my tragic experience. For a period of a few weeks, I would fall asleep thinking of how I would tell the story. Invariably, I would get emotional and a little weepy, like I am getting right now. One night, I started thinking about how I had felt that night when I woke up, as I moved through the apartment, when the b/f opened the door, making our escape, and watching for almost two hours as the building burned. In a matter of a minute, I was sobbing, my chest heaving with the mourning of everything that changed that night. So much for telling the story in sequential events. It was the first serious cry about the fire and the last time I thought about writing this when falling asleep.

Some would say that it's a mistake to give away the ending early, but then again, this technically isn't the ending. We have moved into a duplex, the ground level. It's bigger and nicer than the apartment we lost, therefore it costs us more to live here. Jack, our cat, frequently goes sliding by on the hardwood laminate, chasing a cat toy. We have a t.v., a computer, cable, & internet. I've even replaced my A&E/BBC production of Pride and Prejudice. The b/f is happily settled in his new job. I just spent $300 on repairs to my Blazer today. Despite its close proximity to a burning building, it has once again proven its reputation as a tank. Over 300,000 miles and going strong. Now with a new engine mount and new radiator mounts.

I now rarely think about the fire, or should I say, "the Fire," as it is slowly moving into the way of legend instead of the newest landmark in my past. I know on some level that I am repressing it and not really dealing with it. I did recently by a candle, so I am making some progress.

Did I mention that the last time I put any serious thought into that night, I lay sobbing uncontrollably in bed for thirty minutes?

For the most part, most of my sadness regarding the fire has pertained to smaller details that relate to a broader scope. I would recall lost possessions that recalled people, places, and periods of my life. Prior to that night, it was junk that I moved begrudgingly from one place to the next in my single, nomadic lifestyle. Football season ticket stubs from my senior year at Notre Dame kept in a small, cedar box that I received from the local furniture store when I graduated from high school. The crucifix in my top dresser drawer that had hung in my childhood bedroom. Two large finished pieces of counted cross stitch in my closet, Garden Verses and Angel of Hope. The pint glass my flatmate had given me to replace the broken original pint glass from which I had my first drink on my 21st birthday, celebrated my semester in London. The very poor watercolor painting of a foot in a sandal, the only painting that I had ever done. It was on the floor next to my dresser. All the books, especially everything from my graduate school work. All my notes, papers, and books gave me hope that I could always go brush up and get a job in the field. I feel as if I might as well have burned the diploma because I've started to forget the knowledge it represents and have lost my backup.

It felt, and still does to a degree, that I lost my life up to that point that night. There are people, places, and events that I will forget without all my little talismen to remember them. To many people, and even occasionally to me, these possessions were junk. I know that it all seemed rather crappy as I approached my 30th birthday, but with it gone, it takes with it so many wonderful parts of my life. This is my one point of rage and mourning, which I want to share at the sentence hearing of the alleged arsonist.

My one great source of anger, frustration, and anxiety, was the management office of the property. I can no longer bring myself to go to the property. After the fire, their modus operandi was the balance of kindness, so as not to appear cold, without doing anything that might indicate a liability regarding any aspect of the whole mess. There was the artful dance they did to keep us out of apartment, which had little fire damage but extensive smoke and water, to avoid a injury liability while our belongings molding away. Ten days later, with the help of a lawyer, we were able to have some of our belongings salvaged. It brought about the only closure that I have had and ended the only nightmare that I had experienced, trying to get in to get what we could. I still have have the handwritten list of four apartment complexes (and their phone numbers) that they gave us to help us relocate (they had called in to say they had openings.) Nevermind that we didn't have our cell phones or a map (even if they had bothered to give us the addresses) because we were newly homeless and still in the clothes we had worn when we fled our home in the middle of the night.

The first time I got emotional was checking in at the Red Cross station. I was getting ready to ask for charity, immediately followed up by a statement to the police. Without the kindness of many people, we would not being faring as well as we are today. Even Jack has spiffy new toys and high quality food thanks to my friend, Jen. We lived with my employers for two weeks while looking for somewhere new to live. They even lent me a truck while I waited for Blazer, due to the delays of turned away tow trucks and insurance inspections. (The vehicle itself had only to have tar removed.) Gifts came in from near and far, the first being socks and a shirt the night of the fire.

I called my parents on a borrowed cell phone and hour after we left the apartment. My dad almost didn't believe me. I apologized for not thinking to get the keys for the Blazer and moving it. Of course, he understood. I made him promise that neither he or my mom would tell my brother what had happened since he needs to focus on his training for active training. (We would later reverse this decision, afraid he'd hear about it and be concerned.) I continued watching the flames and embers rising into the sky behind the building that was now between me and the burning building.

We all like to think of ourselves as the hero in a crisis. After making our initial escape and driving the b/f's truck, with Jack inside, to a safer location. we stood in front of a neighboring building, barefoot and in our pajamas. When a young woman asked me if I wanted a sweatshirt or shoes, I asked to use her bathroom. Not the making of an epic poem. Of course, by this point, I had already proven myself not exactly useful in a middle of the night emergency. The most notable example was when the b/f went back in to get his truck keys, I asked him to grab my purse, but only if he could get it quickly. I cringe to think of this request, especially when I think of waiting for him to come back out.

I am not a morning person. Anyone who knows me knows that this is an understatement. Huge understatement. My brain has a knack for rationalizing away anything that might get me out of bed before my alarm clock sounds, even occasionally when it does. I remember hearing the sound of commotion outside our window. Living in a college town, I chalked it up to students coming back from the bars, as did the b/f. I went back to a sound sleep, only to be woken up by the b/f. I would later learn that a thud and the sound of his car alarm had got him out of bed, when he became aware of the fire. Knowing me, he cut to the chase and told me to get up, that we had to get out. The building was on fire.

Getting up, I recalled thinking that things didn't seem that bad. I thought we were being evacuated as a precaution. Then again, my groggy mind was probably thinking I would be back in bed in a while. When I bent over to get the cat carrier from under the sink, I was overwhelmed by the smell of smoke, as I was when I tried again. The b/f told me to forget it, that he had Jack, and we needed to leave immediately. I was beginning to think things might be serious, but when he opened the door (he had felt it early, a school fire safety lesson apparently lost on me), all doubts were gone.

Orange. The front of the building was bright with the warm, orange glow of a nighttime fire. Okay, the fire was definitely serious, but help was on the way. While we were on the first floor, there was still a small flight of stairs that led to the ground level, but they were already burning in spots and not desirable exit, especially with embers and burning debrit falling in the front yard. For the one and only time that night, I took charge with a good idea. I led the way to the concrete breezeway to the parkway lot. Coming up the back stairs to the lot, the first thing that I saw was someone running by with a ladder. I kept hearing someone shouting "Jump!" Right in front of me, someone landed on the hood of a car. The fire was serious because people were jumping from windows.

Watching the blaze that night, there were two things people were saying. "It spread so fast." "I hope everyone got out okay." Yes, it spread fast, the investigation indicating arson. And sadly, no, not everyone got out okay. Only once have I allowed myself to think what might have happened if the b/f had not been there to wake heavy-sleeping, asthamtic me. I only thought about it for a few seconds, knowing I can't handle thinking what those people went through. A suspect has been arrested. I try to think of what he could have been thinking. The b/f wants him charged with attempted murder for each resident who survived. I want to speak at his sentence hearing. To make part of the public record the pain and suffering he brought down on us, on me.

Now my reflections on the fire and its aftermath take on a more philosophical and emotional distant context. They usually juggle between dichotomies, which I normally detest. There are me feelings on the charity that we received. Neither of us relished needing it, but we were both amazed at how generous a wide variety of people have been. While I don't like relying on the kindness of a network of friends and family, it is gratifying to know that I have one. Ultimately, it's not so much material things they have shared that have meaning, but that they were willing to share them at all, which does generate warm, fuzzy feelings.

There is also the conflict of being known as victim of this fire. I hate to think that this could be the event of my life that defines me though I know it ultimately won't. With some chagrin, I acknowledge bringing up in conversations with people who did not know. It satsifies some selfish need for attention that says, "Dammit! I went through a traumatic experience. I want your sympathy." I am realizing that time is correcting this for me.

The ultimate conflict is how much of my memory do I devote to this experience. I can still close my eyes and in my mind's eye, I still live in that apartment and can picture how it looked and where things were. I debate whether to make a list of things that I had, a kind of journal in which when I think of an object, I note its previous existence and significance. But how long can I dwell on what's lost? The battle of whether to remember something is to honor or is simply living in a past when I should be cherishing that I lived and have a future.

A few weeks after the fire, I talked to a co-worker with a background in psychology, sharing with him some of the turmoil that I had been experiencing. He assured me that all my feelings are natural. I explained that it was so hard to know how I was handling the trauma when I had nothing to compare it to. I still wonder how well I'm handling and whether I will later regret any choices that I make now. I just tell myself that I'm doing the best that I can, and hopefully I won't have something else against which I can compare "the Fire."

Well, life is starting to bear some resemblance of normalcy again. Now that the criticals are taken care of, it frees my mind up to think about what happened, which is a mixed blessing. Last night, I cried myself to sleep. It was the first real cry that I've had since the fire, and once I got started, I kept going.

Needless to say, I didn't feel to rested this morning.

It's so hard to judge how I'm handling this. It's my first major trauma. I don't want to ignore my feelings, but I don't want to be self-centered either. I keep thinking back to what the Red Cross trauma counselor said, "You can't control your feelings." Guess I can't take credit or the blame for them, yet it's still another thing I have limited control of since the fire.

If the arsonist is convicted, I want to speak at the sentence hearing. I want him to hear what impact his actions had on my life. I guess I can't expect him to understand me when I can't understand why he did it.

The Best Excuse Yet

I have sadly come up with the best excuse yet on why I haven't blogged in ages. The dog ate my homework. No, wait, that wasn't it. The fire ate my computer, and my clothes, and furniture, and 99% of my personal belongings. Oh, yeah, and my home too. Yep, that was it.

If I sound glib, I don't mean to be. It's been a few weeks now and I'm still adjusting. I move into a new place this weekend and am at my parents' place foraging for things that I need. I'll try to keep you posted, but with the lack of a computer, details will be scarce for awhile.

The Return of Misc Karen

Well, I've learned an important lesson in the last month. When life gets crazy, one can easily lose the ability or the will to be an informed citizen. Much to my dismay, and my boyfriend's delight, I haven't had the time or energy to keep up with the news. It's been a bit of an adjustment back to myself, and compared to a lot of people, I've had it easy. I do however find myself praying again, due to a long list of people for which to pray.

The Post You'll Never See #1

I just went through the amazing process of writing a post about my month of August and the fantastically crappy day I had at work. Despite a remarkable lack of details, I still don't feel comfortable posting it because in this day and age, who wants to get fired for venting? It might have been a bad day, but I still like being employed at a job for which I am skilled and talented.

I can mention the one bit of personal information that I wrote. My brother is now gone on active duty. I can no longer watch the news without crying.

Wake Me Up When September Begins

Well, less then week to go in the busy stretch of work. I've got 3 days left on a 7 day stretch of work. That isn't even thinking about all the invoicing and credit memo paperwork that I have to catch up on. Me, all alone. Could almost cry at the thought of it. But I've been so busy that I haven't had a chance to think about the one thing that would really make me cry, my brother has reported for active duty. I've been to busy to watch the news, and it's a good thing. The news now makes me cry.

Is It Over Yet?

Retail has its ups and downs. Right now, I can't tell the difference. The next three weeks will be sheer insanity at work. Last night was the first time, since I started this job in February, that this job kept me from getting a good night's sleep.

Paperwork, and I mean small mountains of it, have started to form on my desk. It's going to get a lot worse before it gets a lot better. My mom is probably cringing at the thought, as she knows how disorganized I can get. I'm actually going in to work Saturday, even though I am unscheduled. I think I'm going to have to surrender my illusions of getting caught up and will have to settle for not falling further behind. While I don't have to do much physical work, the paperwork has increased exponentially.

I'm too exhausted to cook when I get home. I was all excited at the thought of going to bed early this evening when the b/f shows me the notice that we received about exterminators spraying all the apartments tomorrow. Instant paranoia that the property management will see what a slob I am hit me. I've been cleaning ever since and am now reasonable satisfied with the appearance of the apartment. Plus, I won't have nearly as much to do during my abbreviated weekend.

It should also please my mom that I am actually doing housework. It pleases me that I found time to post more than a five sentence blurb.

Details at 11

A young woman takes her unsuspecting boyfriend to her hometown for a day. Baked beans, a church festival, and small town gossip ensue. Details on my boyfriend's outstanding debut tomorrow.

Sensory Overload

I can't even imagine what it would be like to have ADD. Lately there has been so much that I have wanted to write about that I have found it difficult to focus on any one thing.

It makes me think of what my mom recently told me about my beloved 80-year-old aunt. She gets emotionally overwhelmed watching the news because current world events are so distressing. It leaves me wanting to make the world a better place because this woman deserves one.

For me, it's not so bleak. There are the relationship quirks that I recently noticed in my b/f that I've been dying to write about, but I am still trying to keep our relationship out of Misc Karen because I know he's a private person. All the truly interesting stuff about work can't be mentioned because heaven help they find it and fire me. Politics always interest me, but I don't really want to pigeonhole myself. Besides, writing about Roberts, Rove, or anything else in the news right now seems a bit obvious. I don't really want to write about anything until I have some insight.

All this stuff bubbling, but none of it edible. Maybe for now, it will just have to be enough to let you know that I'm trying to work my way through it rather than waiting until I've got something good or have forced something mediocre.

Reward

I really need to knock off the cheap jokes about my boss. Today, I was surprised to find out about bonuses. I got a check that was bigger than my paycheck. To celebrate, the b/f and I went out for an early dinner, and I think I am finally going to get some new glasses. A shopping spree in general. The b/f thought I should put all it towards my credit card. I probably will, I'll just match it in new charges.

Bribery

The summer sidewalk sale is in season. Working in retail means I get to take part in the, uh, delightful tradition again. In a heatwave no less. My solution? I took popsicles and ice cream sandwiches to work. No one noticed that I didn't haul in the merchandise at the end of the day.

Speechless

Well, not quite.

As you can see, I have outgrown the template cocoon, thanks to the help of the talented Jen. Jen has asked me to inform you that we are now in the debug phase of the new design, so everything should be settling into normal soon. The sidebar should be filling out nicely soon and there are lots of fun hidden links with more in the works.

I give up a night of reading the new Harry Potter book, that's how much I love this blog. Hope everyone is enjoying the changes as much as I am and hope you are having a good weekend.

Captain, I Think We Have a Problem

Well, the regulars have figured it out. Heck, anyone familiar with Blogger has figured it out. Misc Karen is still in template design, and the new one will not be up and running today as predicted. I've seen what Jen has done and it looks GREAT! Jen and I were on Yahoo messenger last night working (actually she was working, I was blabbing on and on) on the new design. The new target is early next week. So now it's like Christmas is a week long.

Dear Karl,

As my brother prepares for active military service, I have one request. Don't ever talk to anyone in the press about my brother or anyone he serves with. How about not talking about the military in general. Your demonstrated lack of judgment makes it clear that you don't know how to keep a secret.

Thanks!

Misc Karen

Sorrow

For the past 8 months, I have been involved with the founding of a community education non-profit. I'd say that I was on the Board of Directors, but the program is so much in it's infancy that there aren't even by-laws.

Two months ago, some new people came on board in our effort to develop our board of directors, and I have been miserable ever since. They don't like the name and want a different one (like it didn't take us two months to decide a name to begin with.) One of them rewrote the mission statement, including a phrase to which I have strong objections. The same person argued that the idea of "everyone has a voice" is inherent to the group wanted to have a large board of directors filled with the wealthy. I jokingly think of it as a Bush democracy.

Last night, I received the agenda for today's meeting and the latest draft of the by-laws and I wanted to cry. I was on the phone with Jen, who agreed that it was time for me to bail. She didn't even want me to use the excuse of transportation issues. She'll be disappointed to know that I only excused myself for the next few meetings.

Then I find out the person who got the ball rolling is moving out-of-state by month's end and is resigning. I am soooo outta there and the only question is how many bridges to burn on the way out. It makes me want to cry because this organization could have been something I was proud to be involved with.

The Key to Sneak Peaks at Gifts Is Cutting the Tape

This is the advice my brother gave me when checking out what is in those wrapped Christmas gifts. Just rewrap and match the new tape piece over the old one. (Oddly, this is not biggest trouble my brother has gotten in with Christmas gifts.)

Luckily, for Christmas in July, I didn't have to cut any tape. Jen sent me some of the artwork for her new design of my blog. "I saw the side bar! I saw the side bar!" (Done in a very singsong voice.) I am giddy. I am ecstatic! I am on the verge of hyper, and I rarely get hyper. I almost guarranty that once the design is up and running, I will call friends and family to tell them about it. Well, there will be those relatives who will never know about the blog so that I will have the option of writing about them uncensored.

At the request of Jen, I have been advised to warn you that there may be some issues on Wednesday and Thursday while she works out the kinks. In the meantime, I am entertaining suggestions on what I can do to thank Jen.

Coming to a Blog Near Me

Thanks to my good buddy (and talented web designer) Jen, there is a very good possibility that by the end of next week, I will have a new design for Misc Karen. Soon, a blog template will no longer scream to the world, "Misc Karen has no valid web skills." I might even win more Battles of the Blog over at BlogExplosion. This year, Christmas comes in July.

Just Say "No!" to the Magnetic Ribbon

My family is on a mission. Rid the world of the yellow magnetic "Support Our Troops" ribbons.

"Why," you may ask, "would a family with a member in the military oppose such wonderful support for our troops?"

How many people do you know, who have these ribbons, do something to support the troops and their families other than a)saying they support them and b)putting a magnetic ribbon on their vehicle?

These ribbons are extremely popular here in our area of the midwest. People will have several of them on a single vehicle. I about gagged when someone had one that was actually for an NFL team. My mom went to the bank our family has used for years and there was a display of them (the ones that actually were for the troops) that were being sold on behalf of the local chapter of a non-profit. My mom inquired about where the proceeds were going. The local softball program.

There's nothing like hitting people up for their "support" of the troops to support something other than the troops. I don't find these nearly as suspicious as the ribbons that I see at Wal-Mart that I suspect only support the supplier's profits. I find it cheap to use the military, especially during a time of war.

The thing that really gets us, the member in the military included, is the idea of people displaying a ribbon and it absolves of them of having to do anything else because they "support our troops." These same people don't have a clue about military pay, veterans affair benefits, or the practice of stop loss.

As my brother prepares for activation, my mother and I contemplate what we will do while he is gone. The nearest family support group is over a two hour drive away for my mother. Not exactly feasible (therefore not exactly supportive) for my family. I have been my mom to start her own support group that meets locally, and she has finally agreed. She's starting a group with the idea that they can do a lot, and they can. We are talking way more than care packages, though there will definitely be care packages.

So this 4th of July, I encourage you to ditch any ribbons that might be lurking on your vehicle and do something more meaningful for veterans/members of the military. Ask family members if there is anything you can do for them (such as babysit, mow a lawn, chip in money/goods for a care package) or simple ask them how they and those serving are doing. It's amazing how people will act like a person serving overseas has ceased to exist until they return. Study an issue that affects them and write to your elected officials about it. Heck, write a letter to the editor of your local newspaper. Your mind is your limit.

Whatever you do, don't buy a magnetic ribbon.

Signs That You Shouldn't Use the Pool in Your New Apartment Complex

In honor of it being summer and me finally living somewhere that has a pool, I submit the following reasons that I shouldn't use it.

10) The smell of pee when I step out my front door, and the fact that I can't be certain it's not human.

9) Watching a family load into their minivan to go to the public pool.

8) All the weight that I lost before I bought my swimsuit has returned.

Okay, so much for the top 10, let's speed this up.

1) Neighborhood children are actually playing in inflatable pools in the yard rather than the complex pool.

Settling

Well the dust is settling in the apartment from the move, so the b/f and I bolted. Farmer's Market this morning that was a bust due to the rain.

The real adventure's happened downtown. A bonafide downtown shopping district. The b/f even went with me into a cross stitching store. Musicians and goths (aka freaks according to the b/f) walking down the street. Yay! I live in a fun town. Then we tried a new sushi place. Hmmm. Sushi. Hmmmmm. Sushi burps.

A Change Could Do You Good

I spent the better part of last week thinking what a crappy way to spend a break from my blog. Though a week spent hobbling around and moving can still prove a refreshing break from the guilt of not blogging more regularly, plus it proves a source of material, like pondering the etiquette of passing gas on an ambulance ride.

I loved sharing my room at the er with an elderly woman. Care to guess the reason she was there? Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner, broken hip.

This was not some lonely, little old lady. She had the entire blue hair brigade at her bedside. These women could form their own medical website devoted entirely to which doctors were good or bad at this particular hospital. I half expected them to request to thunk each prospective doctor in the head like they were testing a melon for ripeness.

Then my roommate went for x-rays. The blue hair brigade remained. Any guesses on what they discussed? They were swapping their broken hip stories. I laid there, alone on my side of the room and smiled, wishing I had my own blue hair brigade.

I'm Alive

Well, the move is over and the DSL is up and running at the new place.

Highlights of the past few weeks:

1) 90 day eval at job went fabulous. World's supposedly cheapest boss gave me a 10% raise. Woo hoo!

2) Moved into new apartment. (For inquiring minds, this is my 2nd move since November. Move #1 was to home state. Move #2 was for job so that I wouldn't have to commute anymore.) Now have 2.5 mile commute versus 27 and get to sleep extra thirty minutes each money. Will no longer have to spend large chunk of paycheck on gas. New apartment has all utilities included in rent, and with central a/c, I think they will regret that.

3) The accident. I was in auto accident Memorial Day weekend. It could have been really bad, but have managed to come out of it with only knee issues, which don't seem to be resolving themselves like I hoped they would. Driver of other vehicle was at fault and appears not to have insurance. I am not a happy camper though am trying to focus on the b/f and I not being more seriously injured. It did make the move much more difficult.

Well, I know I should post more, but my first meal cooked in the new place is almost done and I have much to catch up on not that I have internet access again.

By the Way...

I know that I have been a bad blogger. I'm going to be bad for at least a few weeks more. With insanity at work, the Blazer not working again, and a move in 10 days, I've got plenty on my plate right now. Don't consider it a sabbatical because I won't be working, but don't expect to hear from me until at least June 7.

Somebody Had It Worse

Well, I've started my run of 10 hour days at work. But the payoff will be Friday, when I have the day off and can head back to parents' place to spend a 3-day weekend with my mom for Mother's Day. It was long and exhausting (with a break for signing my lease). I was so happy to hop in the Blazer and head to the gas station before the trip home. Then it happened.

Crunch.

Girl in car is stopped at the back of a long line of cars at a light. Car full of boys pulls up behind her, going too fast for an intersection where everyone else is either going slow or stopped. Boy brakes at last second and swerves to right, hitting girl's car in back, right corner, spinning it 180 degress into oncoming traffic, where she almost gets rear-ended by tractor-trailor. Luckily, it wasn't me. But having witnessed it, I hung around to give the police a statement because if I was the girl, I would have wanted to kick the boy's ass.

Alive

Yes, I am still alive. Last week, my free time, when not devoted to the scratch wounds I received from Jack, was spent reading the book I had been awaiting. Today, I received word that my rental application was approved, so come June, no more commuting and I'll have air conditioning. May promises to be hectic at work and my "workload" for the non-profit I'm helping to create just jumped today.

A Real Reason Tuesdays Are the Best Day of the Week

Next Tuesday, one of my favorite writers, Laurie Notaro has her new book coming out. I used to think Dave Barry was funny. Not so much now that I've read Laurie's stuff, which is laugh out loud read to someone else funny.

3 Headphones, 1 Telephone, and Many Speakers

Jack is a wire chewer. We have busted him several times with a thin wire in his mouth. Last night, he was caught with his latest prey, the headphones that I bought to replace the headphones I bought to replace the headphones that he destroyed.

On a happy note, the b/f is not moving hundreds of miles away.

Proof

My boyfriend likes to blame my occasional crabbiness with PMS. (Tip: Don't ask a woman who is arguing passionately with you if she's "on the rag." My brother did this once, and only once.)

I am a weather nerd. I grew up in tornado alley, so I watch a lot of the Weather Channel. In fact, I go to weather.com a lot too. It's one of the fews websites I will surf at work (because I generally like to work at work.) While I was in California, weather was boring and I complained about how I missed seasons, thunderstorms, etc. Last week, I was reminded of one of the things that I didn't miss. Tree pollen. Now I am seeing cottonwoods and dogwoods in bloom. Without my Tavist-D, I'd be itching my eyes raw. Really. My eyes water and itch and I rub them so much that sometimes the tear ducts get all irritated.

Back to the weather.com. Yesterday, I was bored so I started reading up on allergies. I don't know if I didn't learn this in my crappy Catholic high school or if I simply forgot it, but pollen is apparently one of the male components of plant sex organs.

Males can irritate a woman having PMS.

The Ride

Won't you join my roller coaster?

Last night, I learned that the b/f had finally received a job offer from the company we were thinking might make an offer. Woo hoo! The project is located approximately seven hours away. Ruh roh! This led to the discussion and decision that I have been dreading.

Do I quit another job to follow especially after only being employed a month and with my savings still depleted?

The decision was made that I would move closer to my job and he would move for his job. Long distance relationship, here we go. Plus, the drive is doable and we round-trip tickets costing app. $100, we just might make it work. I spent the rest of the evening in perma-hug and periodic crying because I know I will miss him not being a part of my daily life after living with him for over a year and a half.

Of course, I now have to find somewhere that I can afford to live, not the easiest proposition when It was going to be close living where I am now.

Then he finds out today that it isn't a job offer, yet. He has one more phone interview regarding the specific project. And for all the reasons I have for wanting him to stay with me, I really want him to get the job. He likes the company and he likes the work. How could I not want him to get the job?

On the good news, I find out my vehicle is repaired, really repaired. The bad news, it costs more than I expected (though less than elsewhere since the mechanic is a friend of my dad's). OH, and by the way, the transmission is fine but the fluid smells bad which is a sign that it will eventually give out. To replace it costs more than the vehicle is worth. Which means the vehicle that my parents let me borrow and don't make me pay the insurance for could become yard art within the next year. Not only do I have to find an apartment that I can afford, I have to consider the prospect of buying another vehicle and finding the means to pay insurance on it. I might have to suck up the higher rent to live in the city to have access to public transportation.

If You Are Looking for Porn, Look Elsewhere

Trauma and horror, I have discovered to my horror through my referrals that a porn search engine site has started posting my photo of Jack licking his paw. EWWWWW!!!! Anyone knowing how I can get them to take this photo off the site, please let me know.

Because the DSL Is Up and I Promised Angry Letters

As you may recall, a few weeks ago I fired off and angry e-mail to Victoria's Secret. I had received a gift card from the b/f, but every time I went into the store (and I tried several stores), they never had what I was looking for in my size, even though I know they make those items in my size.

I expressed my angst with them via e-mail of the displeasure I had for the idea of using the gift card with the website or catalogue and having to use a portion of the card's value for shipping costs when I have a local store that should stock these items. I asked them if it was possible for me to pick up an online order at the store and avoid the shipping charges. This was their reply:

Dear Karen,

Thank you for your e-mail regarding Victoria's Secret. We regret any disappointment this matter may have caused.

Victoria's Secret Stores and Victoria's Secret Direct are sister divisions of the same parent company, Limited Brands, Inc. As such, we function as separate businesses. Unfortunately, we do not have an arrangement where you can order from the catalogue and pick your items up at a Victoria's Secret store.

If you need further assistance, please reply to this e-mail or call anytime.

Thank you for shopping with Victoria's Secret.

Sincerely,

VictoriasSecret.com

Not being satisfied with this response, I replied...

Consider this my notice that I am dissatisfied with your business practices and after I have used my gift card at a store location will no longer shop at Victoria's Secret or any of its sister divisions (I have already instructed my boyfriend to buy future gifts from a different retail chain that I would prefer to give my business.) In addition, please remove my contact information from your mailing lists as I no longer wish to receive your catalogues/promotional mailings.

Karen

I was fired up on this one. I was hopeful that they would realize I mean business and do something to satisfy the dissatisfied customer. I might be pushing 30, but apparently I am idealistic because here's their reply...

Dear Valued Client,

Thank you for your e-mail regarding our catalogue.

Though we’re sorry that you do not want to be on our mailing list, we will, of course, comply with your request.

It may take up to 90 days for you to stop receiving our catalogues as they are preprinted. We appreciate your patience as this change is being implemented.

If for any reason, you receive a catalogue from us after 90 days addressed to any variation of your name or address, please contact us [I'm not given them the benefit of publishing their contact info]; or reply to this e-mail.

Thank you for contacting Victoria's Secret.

Sincerely,

VictoriasSecret.com

If I were truly "Dear Valued Client," they would have actually tried to keep my business. Apparently the threat of the loss of sales from one plus-sized woman does not phase them. I therefore encourage all my readers to boycott Victoria's Secret until VS starts carry all of its sizes in all of its store and stops making the odd sizes pay for shipping.

Looks Like We Made It After All

Happy Birthday to me!!!!

Okay, it's not actually my birthday, but it is the one year anniversary of Misc Karen. Check out the oh so meager beginnings
here. It's so awful that the only reason that I can think of for pointing it out is so you can see the improvement.

This week got off to a terrible start on Monday with the automotive breakdown in rush hour traffic (my vehicle is still in the shop). Tuesday, the b/f's computer went kaput which effectively put my plans for the blog this week on hold. My dialup connection isn't so hot and it makes me pine for his dsl.

I couldn't let this day go in silence however. I thought it might be nice to note some of my favorite posts for the past year (feel free to link to any you liked in the comments.)

1. Misc Karen Goes Political (to no avail)
2. Misc Karen Develops a Readership at the USDOJ
3. Okay, I spend what felt like hours on my dial up connection trying to find my post about helping my mom computer shop. I loved how my claws came out in my mother's interest.
4. Just Reading This Takes Me Back
5. Misc Karen Is Not Blinded by Love

Signs You Survived Monday

1. You overhear the following conversation involving the cigarette-deficient fast food employee.

Customer: "Do you have any medium lids?"

Employee: "Yes, they are right over here.:

C: "I don't like those lids. [They are the kind that can also be used for coffee cups.] Do you have any other medium lids?"

E: [After a stunned pause.] "No, those are the only ones we have. We use them for coffee too. They do have a hole for a straw though."

2. You talk to a business contact of your father's, a contact who was a practicing mechanic for 30 years and still maintains his certifications and happens to live only 20 miles away. He can tell from your conversation that the problem with your jalopy is a component of the distributor. He goes on to explain how the part functions and the symptoms of how it misfunctions and asks a few more questions. You provide the info and go on to mention the problems that you had back in November with your cross-country move which re-affirms his diagnosis as the part would have been more prone to wear out when the engine was running on 4 cylindors. The man offers to take a look at your vehicle on Wednesday and to fix it for the price of parts.

Signs It May Be Monday

1. Vehicle stalls at light during morning rush hour traffic and will not restart. Police officer must divert traffic while waiting for tow truck to haul said vehicle away.
2. Vehicle spends day at mechanic's garage where it starts on every single attempt. It fails to stall once for the three different mechanics who drive it or for the 1 1/2 hours it is left running.
3. Realize that tax preparer is an idiot who does not indicate all the places where signature is required. Acknowledge that another visit to tax preparer is in necessary to avoid audit on state taxes.
4. Go to fast food chain that boyfriend has been craving as a thank you for making him follow you home to make sure vehicle does not stall and leave you stranded. Fast food employee asks if he can bum a cigarette when you pick up food.

It's hard to believe that with a lazy blogging week like this that Misc Karen is on the verge of the one year mark. I'm working on some ideas and I'll definitely be sharing the response to my Victoria's Secret letter.

Misc Karen Writes an Angry Letter

Victoria's Secret has raised my wrath. For some reason, my local store doesn't carry my size even though the company does. I refuse to pay for shipping charges just because my local store is lazy. I'll pick up the order at the store, but I'm not paying $6 in shipping. I have shared my wrath and am waiting for a response. Little do they know that I will hold out using this card until I am convinced I am getting my money's worth.

The Tax Man Cometh

He says I am getting a refund. A bigger one than last year. ;-)

P.S. Sorry about my absence. Stupid Blogger problems.

I know. I'm a bad blogger. Hopefully I will have a real post by the end of the week.

Ten Things I've Done That You Probably Haven't

1. Been on the stage of the Globe, technically the new Globe.
2. Toured a governor's mansion.
3. Taken a ferry over the Irish Sea.
4. Studied Latin in high school.
5. Accidentally removed the better portion of a gerbil's tail. ( I was in the 4th grade and cried a great deal.)
6. Fit my fisted hand into my mouth.
7. Written a letter to my senator.
8. Sprained my ankle by rolling it stepping down froma 2 inch step.
9. Cried what watching the Casper movie. Needless to say, I cry easily watching movies.
10. Done research in the special collections room of the University of London library.

Weekend's Have Meaning Again

Wow, today feels like a day. Well, it actually is. No commute. I slept in to 8:30 this morning. I actually feel like I have time to get stuff done at home. I can go do some shopping. There is one small problem. The b/f went out of town yesterday to go help his sister move and I don't know when he'll be home today (or tomorrow for that matter.) I thought it would be fun to go to the casino except I know he wants me to wait and go with him. I could go grocery shopping, but most likely would need to go again when he gets back. I planned on going to the mall, but that doesn't sound fun anymore. Must fight urge to stay at home like co-dependent blob with no life.

Things I Hope to Never Say #1 & 2

#1 - "frivolous asbestos lawsuits" see Bush's 2005 State of the Union address.

#2 - "Hope I haven't disillusioned you too much. Have a nice day. :-)" see lindsy stephenson jr.'s comment to yesterday's post. It's not so much the idea of him disillusioning me too much but that he assumed he did to any degree. Oh, and then the "Have a nice day." with the smiley. I am starting a new campaign to bring an end to disillusionment with smileys. I don't know which emoticon resolves cynicism, but I am open to suggestions.

A Good "Ow!"

It's rather cute when my cat keeps licking my hand because he's so happy I'm home from work. Even with the sandpaper tongue.

What Is That They Say About First Impressions?

I arrived promptly for the new job. When I went to open the door to the employee entrance, I triggered the alarm system. Turns out all the cars behind the store didn't belong to anyone in the store. At least an employee arrived before the cops. I was having visions of spending my morning at the station getting things sorted out and the company deciding I wasn't worth it.

Today's greeting, "Welcome, Karen. Here you had a rough start with the alarm."

As for my issues with having a master's and working in retail, there is someone who works in the department who has a PhD. Oh, and he's not the manager.

Overall, a good start to a new job.

Open Wide and Yawn

God never intended me to be up at 5 AM. I am not a morning person. Due to poor cell phone reception, I don't know if I am to report at 7:30 or 8:30 for work. Add in the normally 35 minute commute that I have never made before, and I am leaving by 6:30. I'm ready for my coffee now. Oh, and the cat can stop following me wondering what's up.

Perspective

While I've been ho-humming my new job this week, one of my uncles has been undergoing tests that led to his diagnosis today of prostate cancer.

Interview #2 Update or Misc Karen Rides Again

Well, my second interview was yesterday. I spared you the recap then due to it being Valentine's Day. Job hunting should not be the topic du jour on such a day.

So how'd did the interview go?

Extremely well. I had a lot of experience with things they wanted and on the others, my experience gave me a great from of reference. Speaking of references, they knew one of mine, and I got high marks. I had talked to that person in advance about salary and knew what would be the ballpark for the position, so when it came to pay question, I was able to give a reasonable request. Truth be told, I should have asked for more, but as usual, I was trying to justify what I was asking for. They seemed receptive and they let me know that they have two more people to interview and I should know by the end of the week.

Before heading out of the house today, I grabbed my cell phone to find a message. One of the interviewers had called roughly 30 minutes after the interview. I called him back. One quick and oh, they'd like to offer me the job at the low end of the scale that I had mentioned. I tell the guy I would prefer the high end. He tells me to call back in 2 hours and talk to the owner. Yeah, they aren't going any higher and my negotiating skills suck.

So Monday morning I report for work. I have just shy of a thirty mile commute. I am not as thrilled as I thought I would be to be employed. It's not a nightmare job, but it's not a dream job either. This means I'll continue to watch for something better and preferrably in my field. I'll be networking and working on skills and experience and will hopefully be in a better job by fall. If nothing else, I will soon have health insurance and will be bring in more money than I am currently with unemployment in what is a very tight job market.

Ah, mixed relief.

Valentine's Day, Part 1, Special De-Lurking

This is for all of us web surfers and bloggers who have sites we adore.

Today, I encourage all those who read this and have a blog or website to declare their favorites. We all have sites that are listed in our favorites (or Blogmarked) that we are just to lazy to reference on our sites. Publicly acknowledge them and send them a little traffic love. (If you check in the margins, you will see that I have a special section with my favorites.) Give a little public recognition this Valentine's Day.

Valentine's Day, Part 2, Skunk Love Smells Bad

This one goes out to all the Valentine grinches who are suffering today.

My adventures in skunk love date back to my days in Kentucky. It all started one June morning when I noted the faint but distinct smell of skunk in the entryway of the house where I was living. I asked a housemate if she noticed the smell, but no, I was the only one who had apparently acquired my mother's sense of smell for all things bad. I complained to other housemates to no avail. I was the only one who noticed, so I bit my tongue and waited. After a few weeks, the smell subsided.

The following fall, I was not the only one to notice the smell of skunk. This time it was much more pronounced and extended beyond the entryway. We knew that there had to be skunks getting into the house and investigated. Sure enough, one of my housemates discovered a hole on the northside that was serving as a point of entry to the subfloor. We took our findings to the property maintenance where nothing was done. This time it took a month for the smell to go away. I didn't mind so much because at least this time I wasn't the only one suffering. Misery does indeed love company.

All was well until one February night when our house began to fill with the smell of skunk. The next day we put in another request with maintenance. That night, between 11 and 11:30, we noticed the renewed smell of skunk. We had company. We also had clothes that began to smell of skunk. Migraines were becoming the all the rage too. It was then that we learned that February is mating season for skunks in Kentucky. Apparently, Valentine's Day isn't just for lovebirds anymore.

Apparently, the winter hibernation was over. Skunks are nocturnal. Skunks spray when they are amorous. Skunks get in the mood somewhere around 11:15 P.M.

We were rapidly become miserable, but help was on the way. Maintenance came to our aid. The first goal was to make sure all the skunks were out of the house. A trap was set up to catch them going either in or out of our house. Animal lovers should skip the last paragraph. The trap was designed to kill because maintenance recognized we had suffered long enough.

There was one small problem. The trap didn't so much kill the skunks. Oh, it would trap a skunk, a soon extremely pissed-off and scared skunk. A skunk that was alive to spray all night long. If skunk love smell bad, skunk scorned is infinitely worse. The smell that awaited us in the morning made the thought of turning our home to a skunk brothel pleasant in comparison. We felt bad for the maintenance guy who came to check to the trap and discovered a very much alive skunk. He decided it was better to carry a big stick, specifically a very long tree branch.

After three nights of angry skunks, the ordeal was over. Our house was declared skunk-free. The hole was closed. The smell of skunk slowly faded. However, every February I am reminded how I learned the hard way that skunk love smells bad.

Cat 2, Blinds 0

We woke up to discover Jack in the window and the big flap of a tear hanging down.

Cat 1, Blinds 0

Jack has a known affinity for blinds. He bent the mini-blinds in the bedroom window of California apartment. Our current home has those horrible roll-up blinds. We thought they were safe. We thought wrong.

We came home today to discover the blinds on the kitchen window now have a flap. I thought perhaps Jack decided the room needed a little sun. The b/f grabbed the tape, and we set about establishing a temporary fix.

I then discovered the tears, the tears that fit the pattern of his furry little paws. Tears very high on the blinds. Mere inches from the hanging baskets by the window. Apparently, we have a little Tarzan in the making and we need a catsitter if we want to go out.

Interview #2

Woo hoo! Another job interview on Monday. Yes, it is retail, but it's retail management in area of retail that I actually like.

Triple Dog D'oh

I was in the midst of making some smore goodness this evening when my boyfriend came into the kitchen. Damn our small kitchen. I turn quickly to get out of the way and bam my left foot connected with the old, very heavy sewing machine on the floor.

D'oh!

Instant pain. I finish making my smore because smores rock, and then recline to bed with an ice pack and the middle toe on my left foot swelling and turning black and blue. The range of motion seems to indicate that it's not broken, but, yowsa, it hurts. So I rested it and ice it off and on for the bulk of the even.

Later, I hobbled to the kitchen to pour myself a drink (I caved and bought some raspberry Diet Rite today.) As I opened the freezer door, an open bag of sugar (normally I would just keep it in the freezer to make sure it doesn't attract bugs) falls from the top of the fridge forcing me to jump out of the way to keep it from landing on my injured toe.

D'oh!

I confirmed my suspicion that when the b/f made Kool-Aid earlier, he left the sugar on the fridge. "We'll need to vacuum that up tonight." he calls from his computer. Yet he makes no move to do anything about it.

I hobbled to the cluttered back porch to get the vacuum. Vacuum in hand, I turned and headed back to the kitchen when my injured toe just barely manages to catch on the newly acquired bag of cat food.

D'oooooooh!

Despite it being a rather mild encounter, my toe begins to throb with pain that makes me want to curse excessively. I hobbled to the kitchen where I deposit the vacuum, announcing to the b/f my latest injury and informing him that it will be his job to vacuum up the sugar. I then made for the bed where my ice pack waited for me.

Once my toe was feeling better, albeit still very discolored and sore, I made for the computer to blog. The b/f then informed me that the sugar would have to wait until morning. Grrrrr. His behavior led to 2 of my 3 d'oh's tonight and he at least could have cleaned up the mess. I refuse because I know a fourth d'oh awaits me if I attempt it.

The Loss of Kool Krap

I grew up a Kool Aid kid by choice, kind of. My family did not waste money on pop (that's what we call it on the Midwest, though I now call it "soooduh" in a North Dakota/Boston accent.) We drank Kool Aid instead. I would have preferred the soda, but Kool-Aid was far preferable to Wyler's or, egad, the generic Kool-Aid knock-offs. So yes, it was a choice, a choice of the lesser of two evils.

I would periodically ponder the possibilities of saving my Kool-Aid points and getting something really kool with them. I was never big on saving them as the effort rarely seemed worth it for the krap that they offered as prizes. Then I got into high school and turned into a Pepsi fiend. (In college, I made the switch to Diet Coke. Later, it was Diet Pepsi. Then I came to cherish the joy of Diet Vanilla Pepsi.)

Then, I became unemployed and realized that pop is expensive and I drink too much caffeine. The b/f just realized it was too expensive. We have become Kool Aid drinkers, making the occasional foray into the generics. For the most part it's been good, and I feel much better with the drastic decrease in caffeine in my diet. I did start toying with the idea of collecting Kool Aid points.

Last night I decided to swing on over to the Kool Aid website and see what prizes that I could get with my points. If you followed the link, you would have realized that not only is it krap, it's a limited supply of krap. Needless to say, I'm disappointed, again.

Watch Out for Jeff Gannon

I love Fark. It keeps me up on the news. But I personally enjoyed this bit on Jeff Gannon. I hear about bloggers with journalistic bents and I feel bad for not being more like them. (I'm much better at commentary.) Then I read about Jeff Gannon who apparently claims to be a journalist when he's apparently another Bush "yes" man. I may not be journalistic, but at least I don't pretend to be.

Marking Time

There is something very satisfying to me with the beginning of each month, another month added to the list on my archives. Archives seem to be a moot point early on in a blog. Now I feel like there is a sense of history to my blog. I can now go back and review entries that were written long enough ago for me to recall their existence. I enjoy that.

My countdown for Valentine's Day has begun now too. I am desperately thinking of something fun and cheap for gift/date to mark the occasion. With both of us unemployed, we can't afford to do much these days, but occasionally as we are falling asleep, we talk about places we would like to travel to when we have the means. I am toying with making something of a future scrapbook of the places we will go someday. Something about it seems inheritantly too girly and romantic for my guy.

I know that there are those of you out there who have experience with the poverty Valentine's Day. Share with me your wisdom. I need ideas. Pleeeease?

Waiting by the Mailbox

By now, I am sure that you have guessed the job interview did not go well. And it had so much potential.

The interview was with a major retailer. Not my first choice, but a job's a job. Plus, I was thrilled that they called me in knowing that I was asking for at least $9/hr (very reasonable considering my retail experience.) I meet with the first interviewers. All is going very well and schmoozy. I find out that the position is for cashier. I wasn't thrilled, but oh well. I move on to the interview with the store manager. Here too, I'm killing. Then the guy asks me if I don't think I might be a overqualified for the position. With a master's degree and over 3 years of retail experience, I am neither capable or willing to deny it.

"I'd rather be overqualified than underqualified." The reason, he explained for bringing it up, was that I had asked for over $2/hr more than they were willing to offer. He wanted to know if I would be willing to work for the lower sum. I was honest.

"I don't know. I would have to check my finances and see if it would be feasible for me."

There was lots of minor debate, namely on whether to continue the interview. He did not want to waste either or our time. I wasn't going to pretty that I was happy with that kind of wage, and he wasn't going to offer more. I told him that I would think about it over the weekend and would call in Monday if I wanted to go through with the interview process.

I went home and did some math. My unemployment would be margainally less if I decided to file (thank goodness I was eligible to file.) There was the added bonus of not selling out to a completely crappy job that would have scheduled me lots of crazy hours. The wage killed me because a) on the application, I told them the minimum that I would accept was $9/hr, hence they wasted my time simply by calling me in for an interview, b) the guy had the nerve to tell me to think about the long term, how long would it take me to get to a wage I could live on?, and c) I didn't so much feel overqualified on the matter of education (even though I am), what pissed me off is that I have not only 3+ years of retail experience, but I had increasingly greater responsibility over that time. That alone should have helped on the payscale.

So, I bucked up and filed for unemployment. I held off as long as I could. I called my last job and talked to a co-worker for support. Despite my significantly less office experience, she encouraged me to pursue office jobs and offered to provide references (again.) I also found a job listing for my alma mater for grad studies. Academic advisor, which falls in nicely with my graduate degree. I'm going back to visit my former advisor Tuesday to get her advise (and reference letter) for applying for the job. Has to beat the most depressing job I would have ever had.

Waiting by the Phone

One of the things that I hate about jobhunting is waiting to hear a response to an application or resume. Okay, it doesn't phase me that much. Preparing for interviews proves far more nerve wracking. Today, I'm getting over it because I got a call this afternoon for a job interview tomorrow morning. Woo hoo!! Wish me luck.

Take Me out to the Farm

Yesterday was quite the busy compared to the lives of empty unemployment that the boyfriend and I are currently living. We made the three hour round-trip drive to his grandmother's farm.

I always experience mixed emotions every time we make the trip to see his last surving grandparent, his paternal grandmother. I see a lot of parallels. Both of my grandfathers died before I was born. As a second grader, I met my maternal grandmother for the one and only time of my life. She died a year later. My paternal grandmother was the only grandparent with whom I had any relationship. It had its up and downs, much like my grandmother's moods.

The course of our relationship was set by an incident that I cannot even recall occurring when I was three years old. My parents had moved our family the year prior over 600 miles from our extended family. My mother had been diagnosed with cancer and required surgery. My father drove the 1200+ miles to bring his mother to take care of my brother and me. Legend has it that when she came in the door, I threw a fit, complaining that she wasn't my mom, and wouldn't have anything to do with her taking care of me. I stayed on a farm with friends of my father. My only memory of the whole ordeal was when my father came to pick me and bring me home. My grandmother's memory of the affair was not so forgiving. When we'd go to visit her every three or four years, she never conveyed much interest in her eldest granddaughter.

She passed away the summer before my sophomore year of college. Her declining health kept me from mourning her death. A series of small strokes had ravaged her mind to the point that she no longer recognized her own children. What shook me after her death was the realization that in the natural order of things, it would be my aunts, uncles, and parents next.

When I met my boyfriend, both of his grandfathers had long since passed away (though he did get to know them and is nice hearing stories about them.) When we moved back to this area last November, I met both of his grandmothers for the first time. I even went on to spend part of Thanksgiving with each of them. His maternal grandmother was not doing well though. We were woken up on New Year's Day with news of her passing earlier that morning.

I have now gone with the b/f to visit the other grandmother several times at her farm. In many ways, she treats me like a member of the family. She sent back gifts for me at Christmas (I sent her a thank you card back.) She hugs me goodbye. During yesterday's goodbye, she not only told the b/f, "I love you." She said it to me too (It took roughly 6 months of dating for her grandson to say that to me.)

Ah, yes, back to yesterday. The b/f had received word from one of his sisters on Sunday that one of the concrete back walls edging his grandmother's driveway had partially collapsed making the garage inaccessible. The following day, the b/f called his grandmother to make arrangements to go down Tuesday and clear out the debris. She even had him invite me to come down with him for a visit.

When we arrived, the three of us gathered around the kitchen table and spent the next hour catching up. Then the serious work began, the cooking. She had lunch (dinner or supper, I can't remember which one she used) planned. Meatballs and spaghetti, she had been craving them and hated to cook so much food for herself. Pumpkin pie that she made at 3 AM, having woken up to use the restroom and deciding to go ahead and make so it could cool. Salad. Rolls. Deviled eggs.

I love watching this woman cook. Like many women who having been cooking for years, she rarely measures. I personally love cooking without recipes, so I get a kick out watching her. It was made even better by her frequent statement, "I don't know if this is how you do it, but it's how I do it." This was never said out of criticism or meanness, but rather out of apology, making the woman even more precious.

The food turned out fabulous despite all of her modesty and apologies. My second favorite thing about the meal was the salad. I know Miracle Whip claims to be a salad dressing, but until that meal, I had never actually seen it used as a salad dressing. I'm convinced the woman can make anything out of Miracle Whip. I have not only seen the salad usage, but have also witnessed its appearance for cole slaw and deviled eggs. I have also tasted the turkey salad. Granted, none of the uses are original, but she never measures (which I consider particular amazing with deviled eggs.) The best part had to be the meatballs. Oh so tender without sacrificing on flavor. In a wonderful corollary to the meatballs was the sauce. As she was getting ready to open cans of tomato products, the b/f called me into the living room where he quietly forewarned me, "It's not really spaghetti sauce. It's a can of tomato soup and a can of tomato sauce." Sure enough, it was. Not my first choice of a sauce, it grew on me as tasting exactly like SpaghettiOs sauce. Granted, I have always preferred the sauces of Chef Boyardee for my canned pasta, but for sheer amusement, I adored this sauce.

Once assured that we had all had our fill, the meal was finished. The b/f headed outside to tear down and clear what remained of the wall. I helped the grandmother clean up as much as she would allow. We then headed out to see how the work was proceeding. I made my way down to help the b/f despite the g/m's protests that I shouldn't lift those heavy concrete blocks. I didn't think I should lift them either so I started to take care of the fragments of the broken blocks, still to her protest. I loved the woman even more for insisting that her grandson do all the manual labor. Despite such consideration, I knew I could handle to work and wanted to make myself useful for both their sakes. It was a good thing I helped speed up the progress because it started to drizzle. She tried to get me to go in, but I joked that since I wasn't a witch, I was pretty confident that I wouldn't melt. She chuckled, and I went back to work. The whole project took roughly ninety minutes to complete. God love that lady, she stayed out with us the entire time.

We eventually made our way back to the warmth of the kitchen table where we talked for a few more hours. I heard about how her husband, then her fiancc, surprised her upon his return as a POW of WWII. She showed us the matching mother-of-pearl necklace and bracelet that he had brought back from Rome for her. We heard about her travels to Wyoming to visit her sister. She directed so many stories about their extended family to me. There were also the stories that I heard on every visit and stories of things that had happened during previous visits. There were the newspaper clippings and letters that she brought out with each visit. These events brought back so many memories of my own grandmother doing the exact same thing, though during one visit, my grandmother showed my mom and me her toothbrush each morning of our stay.

Of course, walking through the farmhouse itself brings back memories of my own grandmother though I don't remember the farm which was sold when I was still young. The old crocheted knick-knacks in the living room. The packing away of anything that could be useful again someday in either the attic or the store room. The vegetables that were canned longer ago than I care to imagine.

In many ways, it's like getting to known my own grandmother again, but ultimately, spending time with makes me wish that I had the patience to appreciate and get to known my own grandmother and all of my grandparents.

"The List"

I was introduced to the concept of “the list” by a former co-worker. For the uninitiated, “the list” is a person’s list of 5 people they could have a one night stand without complaint from their own significant another. It’s a safe list that has no real chance of happening, just a nice what if.

I immediately devised my list. My boyfriend started one but was far less enthusiastic about the endeavor. Having already forgotten one of my list, I decided it might be best to preserve it. I had a few guidelines to help me. No crushes or infatuations. Try a little variety. 5 tall, dark, handsome, British actors is way too easy. Of course, I didn’t want to err on the other side and add a guy just because he was a certain type. The result is the following men, in order.

**UPDATE** January 23, 2005
I've been thinking about the list lately, or rather, I have been thinking about the guys on "the list." I finally have someone for #4 (look below for the dirt.) Also, Kenneth Branagh, formerly #5, is off "the list." His charms have not held up over the years for me, and I have the sinking suspicion that he is an egotistical jerk. Sadly, I hve come to recognize that the #5 spot will see plenty of rotation.

I have noticed a general theme in my choices. I'm a sucker for guys who sing ballads. Despite my adolescent devotion to hair metal bands, I have definitely fallen for the cheese. I was listening to a song that I love recently, thinking how it would be the perfect song for a couple, and I realized. my b/f and I won't have a song. I would want something mushy. He doesn't listen to mushy. He mocks me for mushy. He likes hard rock. He likes Disturbed, Ozzy Osbourne, Korn, Eminem, etc. Don't get me wrong. I like some of their stuff too. I never would have thought I'd like Rob Zombie. But none of these groups provide my ideal song, and I suspect the b/f would ridicule any potential song on a matter of principal.

So, yeah, if I could convince one these musicians to make one of their songs a song for me, I'd be so there.

***UPDATE*** February 17, 2008

In my post-Valentine's Day, newlywed status, I need to update the list. This one has me a bit torn up.

John Mayer. For years, the thought of him has made me go, mmmmmm. As much as I miss his ballads for the ladies, I do really like that he has grown as a musician and a songwriter. But the hair. OMG, it's laughable. Then I found out that he had dated Jessica Simpson, which really makes me question his intelligence and/or taste. So John's been replaced by someone older, and British.


Colin Firth

I first saw Colin in Valmont, but it wasn’t until he took on the role of Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice that I was hooked. I wasn’t the only one. I think most British and American women ages 25-35 who’ve seen this miniseries would agree. His status was solidified in one screen moment where he looks at his love interest. He looks so happy that he’s practically bursting along with a look of admiration and something a bit more smoldering. It wraps up as something entirely soulful. Tall, dark, and handsome with that great accent, he’s amazing. He’s such a force that in the Bridget Jones sequel, the author wrote of encounter between the heroine and the actual actor. He wins extra points for taking the role of Mark Darcy in the movie, making the currently filming sequel a must-see for me.

Hugh Laurie

It's speaks volumes about this actor's charm that the character of Dr. Gregory House is even remotely likable. Watch him in interviews and he's intelligent and self-mocking. Watch some of his British work, and he's hysterical. Hell, my husband loved his pre-game Super Bowl interview when Ryan Seacrest asked him who he thought would win and it was fairly obvious that he'd never been to an NFL game, knew nothing about the NFL, and could kill Ryan Seacrest for asking him anyway.

Ewan MacGregor

I was amazed with his breakthrough performance in Trainspotting. I adored him Brassed Off. I saw much more of him than I was prepared for in the arthouse film, The Pillow Book, and as a result I couldn’t see any of his films for awhile, I was so embarrassed. But my adoration returned with his amazing performance in Moulin Rouge. Much was made of Nicole Kidman’s singing in this film, but he’s the one who stood out for me. He’s got just so many wonderful vocal moments that get me every time. However, if he ever sings “Your Song” for me, I’m sunk, and I don’t even mind.

Josh Groban

Let's give a warm welcome to the newest member of the list. I must say, I never thought I'd be digging the younger men so much. Don't worry, this mid-twentysomething is legal. It's not so much the looks ( he's attractive, but his looks aren't his best feature.) His best feature is his voice. Josh has been honing that puppy for years, and it shows, errr sounds. This tenor is classically trained, and what could be more romantic than that voice in a romance language? It was his live performance on a tsunami aid fundraiser of his first hit, "To Where You Are" that sadly caused me to realize that the b/f and I will never have a song. Josh also gets bonus points for having the name Josh. For many years, I had the name Joshua picked for my future son (oddly, I got the idea from a character on a soap that I watched as a kid.) Some of the bonus points get deducted due to my view that the name Joshua should never be abridged for a nickname much in the same way as Pete is a type of moss while Peter is a strong name.

Rufus Wainwright

Rufus maintains the spot of #5 until I think of someone else because sadly (for me, most assuredly a good thing for him), Rufus is gay, making him the only true impossible on the list. No one likes to imagine what if when all one can imagine is an awkward moment in which Rufus says, "Thanks, but no thanks." Nonetheless, he is still a very dapper, very, very, very talented Canadian. No, not a Canadian comedian or actor, but a singer/songwriter/musician. Blessed with such amazing songwriting abilities that he proves that God does in fact bless homosexuals contrary to whatever Jerry Falwell might say.

Gas Supply

I've noticed the gas prices climbing again. I am not happy, but I think that I've discovered a new gas supply, Jack. That's right, my cat. I'm sitting on the bed doing some cross-stitching when I notice the most God-awful stench. I was convinced that the cat had poohed on the bedding during our absence. I begin digging through blankets and discovered Jack curled up over by the wall, peacefully passing gas in his sleep. I discovered that he can get pretty gassy.

To Interview or Not to Interview

I made the mistake of watching network tv Friday night. It started with Dateline and sadly deteriorated to a Barbara Walters special. I'd never been able to stomach an entire one before. I decided to give it a try when I realized the subjects of the interview were Pres. Bush and the Mrs. I generally can't stomach them either, but in the upcoming inauguration and a spirit of generosity and open-mindedness, I decided to give it a go.

I failed.

Oh, I sat through it and choked it down. I just wasn't the most open-minded about it. I got off to a bad start when Barbara asked the President for 3 words that described his views going into the second term or some crap like that. I want to ask Mr. Anal over at Crossfire if that question qualified as a softball and whether Barbara held Bush's feet to the fire to get him to answer the "serious" questions.

Sadly, this was not the low point of the special. That moment was "achieved" during a segue to a commercial. The scene was of the President calling to one of his dogs. Barbara's voiceover was to the effect, "But there are limits to the powers of the President." Oooh. Serious journalism. I'm glad she felt the need to point out one limitation, dog obedience, in reference to an administration that answers Freedom of Information Act requests for minutes to energy policy meetings with, "They are private meetings. We don't wanna share them and you can't make us."

So why did I continue to watch? Blog inspiration. I like to suffer for my art.

I found myself pondering the question style during commercial breaks. I began to recognize that I've had job interviews that were tougher. Then I began to really wish that Barbara Walters would interview me for a job. Questions this soft would be a dream. In her defense, she did ask Bush for his position on Roe v. Wade It's a tough question that I think most people know the answer to already. He didn't even answer it. Does this mean if I get a tough or one of the completely random questions that love to find there way into job interviews, and don't have give her an answer? Cool.

Then I realized that she would probably be a tough ass bitch when conducting a job interview. I got a mental picture that literally made me cringe. Not cool. Not even, "Yikes!" More like, "Yikes!!!!!"

So I have ultimately decided that I would not like to undergo a job interview with Barbara Walters because

1. She would be positively evil during the interview (and I suspect as an employer).
2. I would then have to watch stupid questions in horrible celebrity interviews.
3. I could never forget that segue to commercial.

Dateline...Friday Evening

I must say, it's been a busy day for not doing much. The b/f and I went back to our alma mater (bachelor's for him, master's for me) to get sage jobhunting advice for our former faculty. By the time we were done with his department, everyone in mine was gone. Oh well.

Drove back home and threw a pizza in the oven. Hmmmm. Papa Murphy's. Then sat down and watched Dateline on NBC. I have realized that Dateline is the devil. This is the show that gives my mom cause to call me and make sure I'm not dead. Dateline gives people something else to worry about. Though they did have a freaky story tonight about a rare genetic condition that causes a person to suffer such severe insomnia that they don't sleep until they die, which doesn't take long. Yikes!!! No more complaining about deep-thinking induced insomnia. Oh, who am I kidding?

One Day at a Time

Yeah, I soooo caved on the Long John Silver's. I won't be needing another fix for about a year. Otherwise, I have done well food wise. I'm even slowly easing myself off caffeine, again. The coffee maker that I received for Christmas won't help.

I'm also getting over myself on the jobhunt. I admit, I'm a lousy hunter of jobs. New goal: apply for at least one job a day until I get one. So far, applied for 3 jobs this week. Not a big woo hoo, but a woo hoo nonetheless.

The Flesh Is Weak

So far, I have done respectably on my New Year's resolution to lose weight. Five pounds down. Then the b/f suggested Long John Silver's for dinner and suddenly deep fried foods sound scrumptious. The fish. The chicken planks. Those fries. The crispy crunchy little bits of fried batter. Hush puppies dipped in malt vinegar. Sadly, nothing else sounds good enough for dinner.

Quiet Desperation

I've been thinking about the Thoreau quote, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." (Okay, it's technically the mass of men, but most men works for me. I'd even included women.) With it being the new year and me being unemployed, I've been all Dead Poets Society philisophical. It's the cheesy English major in me.

As a mentioned, I've been thinking about this quote, every night as I fall asleep for the last week. And I wonder why I have insomnia. I've wondered what it is that's get people about this idea. Do we feel pity for people leading such lives? Compassion? Disgust? Or do we ultimately identify ourselves as one of them? Inevitably we are called to ponder our own lives.

But as it is night and my mind wonders, the question I find myself posing is, "Which is worse, leading a life of desperation or being quiet about it? I even used Google to find the paragraph (#9 to be specific) from which the quote came to see if the context would help. Frankly, I found it depressing, and at 2 AM, I am not energized enough to read all of Walden to find something reaffirming.

What to make though of the quiet business? There is something about the idea of quiet desperation that makes it seem worse. The whole idea of suffering in silence. The loneliness and isolation of silence make quiet desperation a pretty miserable situation. Then again, we all know people who do not suffer in silence and make everyone else miserable in the process. I say this as a Grade A whiner. I tend to think that a loud desperation lacks the dignity of quiet one.

But since when has desperation been about dignity?

And that's the kicker. Desperation is a different kind of animal. So I reread the paragraph and realize that the quote should extend a little longer. "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation." Resignation. In action, thought, and word. That's a whole different kind of silence. Suddenly, quiet desperation loses all dignity and becomes the greater evil.

Could This Be the Beginning of Something Special?

Have my fortunes turned for the better?

Sure, when I woke up, I discussed my headcold had moved into my chest. This is usually a precursor to bronchitis, never a good thing for the uninsured. Yet I am as giddy as a school girl.

First, I revised my resume and cover letter and applied for a job I had been looking at. Plus, I did it all electronically through monster.com, which is a first, so I am feeling happy and pro-active on the jobhunting front.

Second, I called the loan officer for my Perkins loans. Like many of you, my student loans are a source of some severe angst. To give you an idea of my relationship with my student loans, last night I went to bed happy with my blogging but worried about the call I knew I needed to place today. I had been expecting a payment to have been due around the 1st but had never gotten the bill. I began to worry about late fees and snarkiness when I called in. Oh, and since these are Perkins loans, they are co-signed by my parents and hence the ones I want to pay off first. I was on the verge of an anxiety attack and the stress did a number on my stomach. I spent some time in bathroom, before bed, during the night, and first thing in the morning.

I did not want to call in today. But I didn't want to put it off any longer so I placed the call. Low and behold, Perkins loans are quarterly payments, not monthly like I had thought. With all my deferrments (don't worry, the loan is almost paid off thanks to AmeriCorps vouchers), I had not made regular payments. Only two more to go. And the next one's not due until March. Woo hoo!

Aftershock

Roughly a week and a half ago, I joined the blog traffic exchange known as BlogExplosion. Ninety-seven percent of the people reading this are reading it because of BlogExplosion. For the other three percent, hears your chance to hear about it in a way that will hopefully not bore you as much as Garden State bored my boyfriend.

BlogExplosion is like blogger crack. The more member sites you visit, the more members are sent to your blog. It promises hits and, unlike BlogSnob, it delivers. (Oh the wasted months of stupid BlogSnob ads.) I've noticed several on the BE experience which prodded me to consider the BE influence.

1. 30 seconds. For the non-BE crowd, this is the amount of time a member must be at the site to receive credit for being there. I've heard it said, and I have to agree, sometimes it is the longest 30 seconds you've experienced online. But if the writing is less than ideal, there are always the design and links to check out. As a blogger, I find the 30 seconds to be good. Every entry needs to be good (or at least start good) because it may be the only chance you get.
2. I am a lazy member of the blogosphere. There, I said it. Happy? When I first started this blog, I was very into checking out other blogs, but once I started working again, it was enough to keep up on my own blog and my favorites. I stopped getting to know the neighbors. Now I check out other blogs (and am constantly reminded of my need to learn some code to move beyond the template.) Heck, I even post comments occasionally in recognition that blogging is about the sharing of ideas.
3. It affects the way you write, for better or for worse. Whether it's the 30 seconds or the knowledge that people other than friends and family are reading your blog, you can't help but be aware of others checking out your blog. For example, I have found out that I have a good Catholic teenager reading my blog (Hi James!) who I'm convinced doesn't realize I'm a lapsed Catholic liberal. I full expect him to drop me like the 3 lbs. I've lost this year (let's hear it for that resolution still in place). For his sake, I will swear less often. I have also discovered that almost no one in the Eastern time zone reads my blog, except for Eric in New Jersey who makes me feel young. I am deeply wounded by the lack of East Coast love for my own affection for the Atlantic coast goes unrequited. I have also discovered that there are Texas women who find me amusing. I encourage Molly Ivins to join their numbers.

So yes, I am a BlogExplosion brown noser. Be gentle.

Yes, I Do Really Like Tests

I came across this compliments of TW at Tightly Wound & Highly Strung.

My Bloginality is ISFP!!!

I think the actually name of the test is the Meyers-Brigg, I need to look it up. I've taken the official version. (This online version is pretty short and most likely not even as close to effective in its analysis.) I now feel the urge to dig up my previous test and see if this one matches up.

To Apply or Not to Apply

I was doing my regular monster.com jobsearching and I came across a position that would be a really good fit. I have a master's degree in the field involved but no experience. They are looking for someone with 2-5 years experience and an associate's degree (realistically, they need to look for someone with more education.) Two strikes against me are that I lack knowledge in a specific content area and bilingual is a plus that I don't have. It's a local job, but I'd be submitting my resume out of state.

What is really giving me pause is that I recently applied for a position for which I am really overqualified with the exact same company at the exact same location. I sent my resume to the local office. I am a bit concerned that I look like I'm not interested in either position by applying for both positions. Thoughts or suggestions?

Happy Birthday Dad!

That's right! My family celebrates two birthdays this week. Being unemployed, I feel bad that I cannot afford more than these shameless blog greetings to my parents. Nonetheless, greetings to the man with so much faith in his lapsed-Catholic, livin' in sin daughter to suggest that she get a job with Catholic charities.

Do us (and your cardiologist) proud and put down the Camels and go for a walk. Oh wait, that snow is going to be around for a while. Better use Mom's treadmill. Just want to make sure you're around next year for your 60th because I have to top the baby food I gave you for your 50th.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Yes, I forgot the card, but more importantly, I didn't forget the occasion. All that snow means you even got a day off from work.

Rocky Start

Just wanted to check in and say I won't be blogging much this week. Tomorrow I will be accompanying the b/f to a relative's funeral. Keep a good that for his grandmother and for those who will travel through the winter storm to get to the service.

In the meantime, I've posted a work in progress below to give you something to think about until I can get back.

100 Books

100 Books I Want to Read Before I Die (A Work in Progress)

I've gotten some great suggestions so far but haven't had a chance to add all the suggestions yest. Hopefully sharing what I have will help you come up with more suggestions.

1. The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien (own, have read about 5 pages)
2. The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien (own)
3. The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien (own)
4. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy (own)
5. Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis
6. Les Miserables, Victor Hugo (have Project Gutenberg e-text, app. 200 pages read)
7. Mansfield Park, Jane Austen (own, app. 30 pages read)
8. Vanity Fair, Thackeray
9. Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
10. Nickel and Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich
11. Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie (own)
12. The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood
13. Ulysses, James Joyce
14. 1984, George Orwell
15. A People's History of the United States, Howard Zinn
16. The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
17. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
18. The Bible, (of course I have the Catholic Study Bible)
19. An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith (3824)
20. Origin of Species, Darwin
21. The Color Purple
22. What's the Matter with Kansas?, Thomas Frank
23. How to Win Friends and Influence People, Carnegie
24. The Entire Lemony Snicket series (I know it's more than one book)
25. Man's Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl
26. The Diary of a Young Girl, Anne Frank (unabridged edition)
27. I Know This Much Is True, Wally Lamb
28. Madame Bovary
29. In Cold Blood, Truman Capote

100 Things

1. I have freakishly small hands.
2. My favorite way to celebrate New Year's Eve is by watching Dead Poets' Society.
3. I can touch the tip of my nose with my tongue.
4. In high school, my career goal was to have a job that would pay well enough that I could hire a maid.
5. I am sorry to say that my first concert was New Kids on the Block.
6. My favorite sounds are rain and thunder. Also, my favorite smell is rain.
7. I am left handed.
8. My favorite lines from a song are from John Cougar Mellencamp's "Minutes to Memories" off of the Scarecrow album. They are, "Through the hills of Kentucky 'cross the Ohio river/The old man kept talking 'bout his life and his times/He fell asleep with his head against the window/He said an honest man's pillow is his peace of mind."
9. I cry pathetically easily at movies. I even cried during Casper.
10. My favorite season is fall, though my favorite memories from growing up were staying up late reading on summer nights with the smell of the cool night breeze blowing in my bedroom window.
11. I am the first member of my immediate family to complete college. I am also the first to earn a master's degree.
12. I love to feed ducks, especially mallards. As for geese, I hate them.
13. My number one pet peeve is older men who think that because I am a younger female a) I don't have any views on the subject they are talking about or b) that I if do, I won't share them because my views are "obviously" not as "valid" as theirs. These men generally bring out my more assertive side.
14. The most rewarding work I've ever done is to tutor adults in preparation for the GED.
15. I voted in a presidential election for the first time in '96 by absentee ballot while studying abroad in London. Not surprisingly, I voted for Clinton.
16. I didn't bother to vote in 2000 because I thought that there was no way Bush would get elected.
17. Gay man that I wish was straight: toss up between Rufus Wainwright and Rupert Everett.
18. While of German and Polish heritage, I consider myself honorary Irish (Notre Dame).
19. I studied Latin in high school.
20. I've taken lessons in piano, flute, and guitar (though the guitar lessons lasted only 2 months and occured when I was so young that the guitar was almost as big as me.)
21. My favorite authors are Shakespeare, Jane Austen, and Mark Twain.
22. My favorite book is Middlemarch by George Eliot. It took me nine months to finish it, namely because I got so frustrated with it that I had to stop reading it for a few months. I describe the book as 900 pages on why a person should be certain to marry the correct person.
23. The first guy to kiss me came out of the closet a few years after said event.
24. A lapsed Catholic, I haven't attended mass on a regular basis in 4 years. I still think of myself as Catholic and fully expect to "rejoin the fold" someday. I am, however, tempted to call my old confirmation sponsor to taunt her with my lapsed status. I don't because I'm more mature than that.
25. I generally read from at least 3 different books during any given period.
26. The gift that I am most frequently given is a candle. I am a notorious candle junkie.
27. I am addicted to Food Network. I absolutely love cooking, especially without recipes and just winging it. This leads to tensions as the b/f is more of a Hamburger Helper guy.
28. The only craft that I am good at is counted cross stitch, and, well, I'm really good at it. Especially for being self-taught.
29. My computer's name is Jeeves. The one prior to that was Bertie.
30. The best feeling in the world is getting into a bed with fresh, clean sheets just after shaving my legs.
31. On road trips for which I am not driving, I generally fall asleep within ten minutes.
32. On flights, I've been known to fall asleep during the safety instructions, wake up for the drink cart, fall asleep afterwards, and wake up while the plane taxis to the terminal.
33. I have missed Christmas with my family only once. I was in Kentucky doing volunteer work.
34. I sleep with my toes pointed towards the foot of the bed. I began doing this when 4 or 5 years old. I was aftraid a burglar would break into my room, so I hid under the covers. I then realized that a burglar would still know I was there because my toes pointing up would give me away. I started sleeping with my toes pointed down and became used to it.
35. My first memory of being scared was when I thought I saw the clown doll from Poltergeist on a chair in my bedroom. I must have screamed my head off because my mom came in and told me it was just clothes and that I should keep my room clean.
36. Despite my complete nerd status in school, there was one time I was planning on throwing a party with the two most popular girls in my junior high class. My mom issued an ultimatum. Clean my room or give up the party. I gave up the party.
37. I never got to meet my grandfathers as both of them past away before I was born.
38. I was named after a cheerleader my mom knew in high school.
39. For many years, I had the name "Samantha Ann" picked out if I ever had a daughter. "Samantha" was the name of a kitten I had for 10 days.
40. I was the only person at my junior prom without a date. I had been turned down 5 times.
41. My first date was my senior prom. My date was an old friend who was a year older than me. I have not seen him since.
42. Even I had a stalker in college. His name was Glenn. We went on one date. He finally took the hint after asking me if he could write to me over the summer. I told him he could write but that I had a lot of other people that I'd be writing to and I couldn't guarantee that I'd reply.
43. In junior high, I got into a few political conversations with my state representative, a friend of my dad's. He encouraged me at the time to go into politics.
44. The one and only time that I gave blood, I fainted.
45. The first time that I was pulled over, I was let go before the officer let me go without even asking for my driver's license. He realized that he had pulled over the wrong vehicle. The second time I wasn't so lucky.
46. My brother wanted to buy me handgun for a college graduation gift. I politely, but firmly, declined.
47. If I ever get a tattoo, it will be a henna-colored Celtic cross on my right shoulder.
48. I had my ears pierced when I was 8. 8 years are about how long the holes have been closed.
49. I hate pastels and floral prints.
50. In high school, I missed out on the Catholic Church's World Youth Day in Colorado because I was part of a 6 week academic program. I consoled myself that I would go to a good college and see the pope in Rome someday. When I studied for a semester, I went to Rome. The pope was in France at the time.
51. My favorite childhood pet was named Bourbon.
52. My favorite books as a kid were the Encyclopedia Brown series, I later moved on to Nancy Drew.
53. My brother and I have agreed that if either one of us wins the lottery, we will buy the Catholic high school we went to from the church and then bulldoze it.
54. When I'm trying to stay awake while driving, I think of how I would spend a large Powerball lottery jackpot. When I'm stressed and can't sleep, I think about the same thing. I have a pretty elaborate plan of what I would do with such winnings now despite the fact that I rarely buy lottery tickets.
55. My favorite way to have waffles is with peanut butter and maple syrup.
56. The only celebrity I saw during a week visit to NYC was Valerie Harper. All of my friends then proceeded to make me feel old by not knowing who Valerie Harper was.
57. While typing the last entry, my boyfriend held a BudLight bottle to my mouth for me to drink (at the moment it's the afternoon of New Year's Eve.)
58. My mom once told me that she thought I would make a good nun.
59. Despite being left-handed, I play all sports right-handed.
60. I am notoriously lucky at getting good parking spots.
61. When I turned 21, the guys in the apartment below me had a pool on how early I would get smashed. The earliest bet was for before I even left for the bars. I only had 5 drinks and was probably one of the more sober people at the party.
62. I asked my b/f out first. We had been friends for awhile and I got tired of dropping hints.
63. Despite having flown several times, including 2 transatlantic flights, I have never used an airplane restroom.
64. I have been seasick only twice, both times on the same ferry ride over the Irish Sea.
65. If I could live anywhere, it would be either Boston or London though I really like the Midwest too.
66. I grew up a huge Minnesota Twins fan. After the 1995 strike, I haven't watched a single game.
67. I have never been to a professional sporting event.
68. While living in Southern California, I never went to Disneyland. I had the chance and I chose not to and have no interest in ever going.
69. For the most part, I have had the same hairstylist since the 6th grade. I have gone as long as 11 months without a haircut to wait until I was able to have her cut it.
70. I still have a baby tooth (and yes, it's still in my mouth.) I also was born without bottom wisdom teeth.
71. This list sounded like a much better idea to me when I was still in the 20s.
72. I love handling calls from telemarketers, the pushier the better. I'm never outright mean to them, I just make them feel stupid.
73. I am a major procrastinator.
74. If I could ever be a paid writer, I'd want to be a columnist. Originally, I wanted to be the female Dave Barry, but then I realized I'm not funny all the time. I also realized he's not funny all the time either. Realizing that I don't like being limited to a topic, I came up with Misc Karen which has yet to be fully realized.
75. I love my college buddy, Amy, because among other reasons, she laughs at all of my jokes.
76. I realized after the fact that I shouldn't have told friends & family about this blog. Yeah, I have to censor myself here. That's why I created another blog that is in no way affiliated with this one.
77. My current life's ambition is to be out of debt someday.
78. The morning of my first hangover, I went with friends to Perkins and order Sprite and toast.
79. I don't feel old until I hang around whiny kids in their early 20s. If they annoy me enough, I have to struggle with the urge to yell at them until they cry. Don't even get me started on their blogs.
80. I read Playboy for the articles.
81. The most embarrassing cd in my collection is the soundtrack to Xanadu.
82. I used to be a huge Def Leppard fan and had a major crush on Joe Elliott.
83. It's not that I'm not a morning person, it's that I'm a hostile morning person.
84. The most overused word in blog titles is "rant."
85. I wrote my senior thesis in 2 days and like almost all of my papers, wrote it and one draft and didn't proofread it. I got an A on it.
86. New York City is the most overall overrated place that I have visited.
87. Oh, baby, you better believe I'm moody.
88. I really want a digital camera.
89. I originally thought I would study either Victorian literature or Theology (emphasis on ethics of psychotropic drugs) in graduate school. Ultimately, I studied education.
90. Sushi. Yum.
91. I lettered in three different sports in high school. Now my knees are so bad that when I straigten my legs without any weight on them, I can still feel the grinding in my knees.
92. I'm one of those people who whines about secondhand smoke. I grew up around it (thanks Dad.) I quite frequently would get bronchitis and was later diagnosed with asthma. The better part of my respiratory problems became minimal once I left for college.
93. I cannot drink whiskey in any form.
94. The worst shot of liquor I've ever had was a buffalo sweat. The only thing that kept it down was the thought of tasting it again.
95. The devil is alive and well in the form of my brother's ex-wife.
96. I'm proud to say that I have never seen an episode of Survivor. Don't blame me for all that reality crap.
97. I frequently mistype my name as "Karne." Luckily, I usually catch it.
98. I spent two years in speech therapy. I would switch "f" and "th" sounds. Hence, father became thafer. When I'm nervous speaking, I still do it.
99. In junior high, I had a newspaper route I delivered with my bike. As a result, I had killer legs.
100. My ideal way to spend a day is curled up in a quilt by window, watching snow, reading a book, drinking hot chocolate, and listening to something girlie, like the soundtrack to Far and Away or George Winston's December.