"Congratulations on your acceptance to Babson's Evening MBA program! We're delighted to have you join our entrepreneurial, innovative community and continue our legacy of success."
Praise the Lord!!!!!
Leah did pretty well for November's posts, but I guess it'll be alright if I put in a couple for this new month here. I don't have anything to say about December yet, though: big plans for buying wreaths and stringing lights and things, but I'm afraid right now we still have the pumpkins out. Perhaps that will be able to be remedied tomorrow, however.
And of course, Big Congratulations to Leah on her Grad School accomplishment. Woohoo! (We knew all along she'd be getting in, of course.)
This weekend we are taking care of Lokie, my parents' well-trained yet sensitive Shetland Sheepdog. Mom and Dad dropped him off at 10 last night, just as leah and dan were exhausted from working 12hours straight without a break and lugging around a crazed puppy all day, respectively. The dogs proceeded to go completely bonkers, an activity at which they have yet to relent. We had hoped that Rascal would sleep on the bed and lokie on his doggy bed on the floor, or that even (we had dreamed wistfully) both dogs would sleep on the floor. Unfortunately, the bed was apparently the place to be last night, with Lokie jumping off and on intermitantly, and Rascal waking up each time to roll over and paw us in the face. When i woke up at 6 to go to the bathroom, both puppies started fighting with each other needed to be taken out. 6am in my pajamas with two leashes is not the coolness fashion statement of the year, i have to say. Today both Dan and i look like Zombies.
"Can't i go to work and you stay home with the dogs?" --Dan
Completely unrelatedly, i was talking to my bestest friend in the universe last night.
Oona: So that new Narnia movie comes out soon. Did you read the books?
Leah: I did when i was a kid, but i never realized it was a christian story.
Oona: Well it is, but the Christianity is mostly subtle.
Leah: The lion dies in a sacrifice to save the children and is then brought back to life. C.S. Lewis is like the most Christian guy evar.
Oona: Actually he only came to Christianity later in life. Him and Tolken talked alot about it, and from those conversations came both the Chronicles of Narnia and the Lord of the Rings.
Leah: How do you know so much stuff?
Oona: I'm a big nerd.
Leah: You can't be a nerd, you're too hot.
Oona: Well i like to read a lot.
Leah: Oh. Maybe that's why i'm hotter than you, because i don't like to read.
Oona: I guess so.
Leah: That was a joke. You were supposed to laugh.
Leah isn't kidding about the chaos caused by two dogs and two humans trying to fit into a bed which is, it must be said, properly built for only two creatures of any sort. I'd like those two to be Leah and myself, though it's true that last night I would have accepted a clear shot at getting the doggy bed to myself; I said as much to Leah, but she thought I was joking.
Taking care of the two dogs during the day was thankfully much easier. Walking them both wasn't any trouble at all--I felt kind of like I was flying one of those stunt kites, holding a retractable leash in each hand--and they kept each other pretty well entertained while I was working. They did prevent the running of any significant errands, but watching them fight--er, play--more than made up for that. We should charge admission!
If i speak to you, or call you, or chat with you, or even make eye contact, the proper responce today is:
"It is december 3rd and if your eyes aren't permanently glued to those three photoshop files you are supposed to be working on, You are NEVER going to get into heaven."
[alternate title: (don't) let sleeping dogs lie (on you)]
Another tough night at the squibix household; luckily there's only one more night here with two dogs. Actually, it was Leah took up more than her share of room during the night, but that's fine: the real problem came in the morning, when Loki decided at 6:00 that he was done sleeping and ready to start barking and whining. So I took him out (it was my turn), and he didn't do anything but sit around.
Aside from the sleeping issue, Loki is also teaching our previously taciturn puppy to bark at everything moving outside the house. He was picking it up pretty well by this afternoon. Hopefully this behavior will die down some once Loki is no longer with us; there's nothing so annoying as a barky dog.
Will I ever enjoy sleeping tonight, no that we're down to just one dog again. It'll be all the sweeter for the delayed gratification. Also for the me being really really tired.
I only found out five days ago that i got into grad school, and already i've spent $733.33 on tuition deposit / books. I have to read three text books before i even start!
Wow, they really get you into the swing of things early.
The paying swing.
This morning i hoisted my fat ass onto the scale, and before i passed out from altitude sickness, i found out that i have lost a dismal 4 pounds since i started the south beach diet two weeks ago. Let me qualify this by saying I COULD SPIT FOUR POUNDS FASTER THAN LOSE WEIGHT ON THE F-ING SOUTH BEACH DIET. I could cut my hair and lose more weight than i did by KILLING MYSELF denying any carbs and ANY OTHER FREAKIN THING THAT MIGHT HAVE TASTED GOOD for two weeks. I could file my nails and lose more weight than the EATING SAND diet which purports to make you lose 8 lbs in the first two weeks, and which, apparently is written by lying lyers who lie and tell lies all the time.
I am coming to the realization that if i do ever want to be thin again, i have to suck it up and do what works, the only diet which has evar worked, which is NOT EATING, YOU STUPID FAT COW. sigh. i wish there was a complain-all-the-time-like-a-loser diet. i would be a shoe-in.
A woman on NPR complains about agist "discrimination" at the DMV:
"I'll I have to do is be over 80 years old, with macular degeneration, and if i get into a little fender-bender, who's fault do you think they're going to say it is?"
As she persists in her scathing cratique of "biases against older drivers," i reflect that i have about as much sympathy for 80-year-olds who want to drive as i do for Paris Hilton saying, "I'm so rich and pretty that no one will take me seriously!"
When i lived in Santa Monica an old guy plowed down the promenade killing 12 people. He confused the gas with the break. It wasn't the first time he had gotten in such an accident. If discrimination will keep elderly people off the road, i say bring it on.
For my birthday last year Leah gave me an iPod, and it was a great little thing till it stopped working. Then I kind of forgot about for a while, till an Apple Store opened up at the Burlington Mall; that made it pretty much impossible for me to avoid doing anything about my poor late music player, so today I took it in to see if I could get it fixed.
Imagine my suprise, then, when the fine gentleman at the genius bar took one look (listen) to the machine, agreed with my conclusion that the problem was with the hard drive, and handed over a brand new iPod! Now that's service! Admittedly, I would have been happier with an upgrade to maybe a 30 gig player, maybe with some of those color screens they got now, but I'm sure not complaining. The only downside of the whole thing was that Leah had gotten the back of the iPod engraved for me: it read, 'To Dan, my musical bunny. Your love is like a rap song.' Obviously, the new machine is not so marked.
Still, it provided a chance for the genius to show off his wit: after I told him that the iPod had been broken for some time and he had glanced at the engraving, he asked me, 'so, are you a sad bunny now?' How well they know me!
Thanks to the wonders of modrun technology, I am writing this blog entry from the comfort of the Emerson hospital emergency room, using my TMobile sidekick, and God bless the mobile internet to keep me occupied. Two days ago I woke up with a swolen toe, and no idea how it got that way. It doesn't seem like that big a deal, a swolen toe, but it turns out that it CAN be a big deal, if it's YOUR toe, that keeps getting bigger and bigger and hurtyer and hurtyer over the course of two days. Faced with a toe that might well EXPLODE if not checked, I checked myself into the local ER, at which time the nurse took my info and said "That's a big toe you got there."
So now I'm waiting for X-rays, and then I'll be waiting for the doctor, and hopefully after several hours they'll tell me it's nothing. Or amputate. Either way, I'VE GOT THE INTERNET! Hooray!
PS: I just read this entry over, and it seems relatively short compaired with the time it took me to thumb in the text on this little mobile keyboard of mine. No wonder sidekicks typically talk in short catch-phrases. Holy broken toe, Batman!
Or at least Rascal does. Leah got him a stretchy toy cow with squeakers on each end, and for a little while it was his absolute favorite toy; it probably still is, even, but now it's spread all over the living room floor. Loved to death it was: not unlike a childs blanket, only faster. The tail portion is still intact, but the head has been completely destuffed and desqueaked (the squeaker comprehensively chewed up as well), and now looks a little bit disturbing inside-out. The same sort of thing happens to bones, even the hard rubber ones. Luckily the first toy we got him, the one we brought home with him from the shelter, is made of sterner stuff: the squeaker has passed beyond this mortal vale but otherwise the little sheep-camel is in good shape though much loved and tugged-of-war. Tug-of-warred?
It snowed a great deal the other day, and I meant to make a note of that in this blog, but failed to. Since then it's been melting as fast as ever snow can melt, but the overall level has only gone down perhaps 15%. It may be that we won't see the grass again until Spring.
After four hours of hard-core tetris playing on my sidekick, i finally got a doctor who told me that my toe was not broken, only infected, and here are some anti-biotics for you now get the hell out of my emergency room you not-broken-toe loser.
Yes, the doctor was quite brisk, and i only could have hoped that the four hours sitting in the ER could have been as brisk as her thirteen seconds with me. When i told this to DR. Becky, my pre-med friend and daughter of two doctors and some other doctor step parents so she know her stuff, Dr. B said, "They just gave you antibiotics? Just like that? Did they culture your toe?!"
"No, the doctor didn't even touch it."
"WHAT HOSPITAL WAS THIS?????"
I too had been surprised with the simplicity of not-broken equaling infected, especially since antibiotics have some irritating side-effects, not least of which is making me fertile. Also, i seem to be sick today, with flu-like symptoms, which seems impossible considering I'M ON ANTIBIOTICS but anything can happen i guess in a world where my infected toe doesn't even deserve a culture, while it does deserve a hundred dollars co-pay worth of x-rays.
Almost makes you wanna be a homeopathic hippy. I said ALMOST.
"The most common side effects with antibiotic drugs are diarrhoea, feeling sick and being sick."
What? Why am i taking a drug whose two common side effects are "feeling sick" and "being sick," as TWO SEPERATE THINGS??!!??
sigh. i feel like crap.
And so they told each other fabulous stories, tales of miraculous figments called sick days, when one could stay home when feeling ill and even sleep and get better sometimes...
Don't tell my customers, but they may be out of a jewelry store soon, and me out of a job. Our owners are considering closing the store this spring, for the small silly insignificant reason that we're not making any money. It's hard to hear this, not only because i dread searching for a lesser-paying job, but because i feel that i've done my damn bestest at managing this store. I've worked my butt of these two years. Customers always tell me how much they appreciate my extra above-and-beyond helpfullness, everyone likes our newsletters and beautiful publications, i keep the store sparkling clean, and everyone compliments us on our unique jewlery. In the hard-core numbers analysis, i have a closing ration of 30%, which is SUPER high for the jewelry industry, and business from repeat customers represents at least 50% of our sales, which is also a good sign. It's just that not enough people are coming into the store, and even 30% of not enough is still not enough.
There are only 9 more shopping days before Christmas, and unless a bunch of customers spend like 10gs each, we're not going to get into the black this year, which reads bleak for my future career. (hey, that rhymes! maybe after i lose my job i could become a rapper!) Seriously, the thought of putting up a going-out-of-business sign makes me want to hide under a rock and/or barf. How will i be able to face my customers, to whom i promised life-time service on the jewelry they bought from me? How will i look them in the eye again? Here's my cell-phone number? Call me if your stone gets chipped?
I shudder at the thought. Maybe it's time for me to become a stay-at-home puppy mom.
Tonight we're taking the puppy to obedience school. We took him to the same puppy kindergarten about three weeks ago, but we got kicked out, on account of it being a very prestigious school with a waiting list. Now we're finally taking him again, and he'd better be a good boy, as this might be his last chance for socialization before remedial kindergarten, and i've heard scary stories from wayward puppies about that place.
The poor puppy has been throwing up in the middle of the night the past three nights, which either means that he's sick or craves 2am attention. Because of the sickness, Rascal was super cuddly with me in bed, in that cute way in which he repeatedly thrusts his head into my nose, which was so endearing / pain enducing that i didn't get much sleep. Danny too was sleepy this morning. Plans for childbearing put off... indefinitely!
We had my choir kids over today for a Christmas party, to decorate gingerbread men. We decorated a fair number, and decorated the tablecloth pretty good, but mostly we ate a lot of sugar. And yes, I include myself it that. It wasn't only the candy that was gorged upon; not even primarily the candy, since there wasn't that much that was really tasty on its own (though that didn't stop a few kids from stuffing on marshmallows and chocolate chips). No, the real killer was the frosting, a delicous combination of butter and sugar (with a little hint of milk for spreadability and a little hint of vanilla so we can pretend it's not just sugar flavored). A fair amount of that was concerned by all parties involved, including, I regret to say, Rascal. I won't be suprised if he gets sick tonight; come to think of it, I might say the same thing about myself!
The real damage came when I was cleaning up: no matter that I was already feeling a little over-sugared and uneasy in the tummy, what a shame it would be to just rinse off those spoons and put them in the dishwasher! There's good frosting on there, it would be criminal to waste it! Let me tell you, with six kids and three adults decorating cookies, that makes alot of spoons to lick.
Just a little note to say, I was right. About Rascal getting sick, that is. It's no prize, though, to be woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of your dog vomiting; in his defence, however, it must be said that he only ever throws up on his own bed (even when he'd been sleeping in ours) and he does his best to clean up the mess himself. It just makes me wonder if he's eating his food too quickly the first time when I can hear him chewing--and I mean really crunching on--the contents of his stomach which he has so recently evacuated. He seems to do alright with it though, one way or another.
On an unrelated note, I finally heard that Black Eyed Peas song My Hump--I mean, finally heard the actual recording of it. Leah's been singing it to me for a while now. Let me tell you, she didn't do it justice. That song is bad; worse, much worse than a pile of dog sick. I'm tempted to delete all the other BEP tracks from my music collection to, you know, remove the taint somehow.
This morning before work i attended a welcome breakfast for my grad-school MBA program. The breakfast presentation was optional, unlike orientation and following that, school. Although irritatingly positioned between starting work and sleeping, this meeting snagged me for two reasons: one, to test out driving there one more time before it matters if i'm late, and two, to get an eye-full of my new classmates. On the earlier point, my reasoning proved retarded; if all my classes are in the evening, what is the point of me fighting rush-hour to visit the college at 8am. Neadless to say, i was late, and needed to leave early to make it to work on time. Don't any of you other losers need to go to jobs?? it's the week before Christmas!!!
On the latter point, i sure did get an eyefull of my new classmates, who while apparently fairing better than me in age and experience, could use a bit of a tutorial in how to match a suit jacket to a pant or turn on a hair dryer. My enrolled classmates are unilaterally older than me, most of them male, and most of the males (unconnectedly) are Indian. The ladies, though predominantly not Indian, looked like types who are trying to get a leg up after working 70 hours a week for the past HUNDRED years... I could make a mint introducing botox to this community alone. Only one other woman was blond and had cared to brush her hair in a fashion aiming for attractiveness, and it looked like she was already a studying student, so maybe she'd already learned a thing or two. The only other female there who didn't look like she needed the help of a certain LA doctor was sitting at my table, and she looked like she was absolutely infuriated with the presentation taking so long, when she could simultaniously be correcting the mistakes of careless underlings, trading commodities stocks, teaching her four adoptive asian children how to read, and skewering someone through the heart with her five-inch stiletto heal... Incidentally, this Amarosa was wearing earrings but no necklace; what the hell is wrong with the world?
Anyway, i got to work late, unenthusiastic that i will have to spend the next three and a half years of my life amidst cut-throat bitches and unintelligable accents. I mean, i quit yoga for a REASON. No offence or anything.
Sales have been good at the store this week, i would even say awesome, although it's gonna take a lot to convice MR BOSS that the store isn't worth closing, so for now i'm being tentative with the superlatives. There was one funny moment this morning that i cannot resist sharing, however: a customer so clueless that i thanked the Lord again for my wonderful husband who remembers not only what month i was born but also the date on which we were married. Read on and all will be explained.
So this gentleman knocks on the door at 10 of 10, before we're open, and yells, "Are you open?"
Yes, we just lock the door to make sure you REALLY want to buy jewelry, i think. i open the door for him.
"I'm looking... for a present... I have a daughter.... and also.... a wife."
"Spectacular. We have lovely gifts for both wives and daughters."
"... these birthstone things are good. They like birthstones. My daughter is October..."
"And my wife is... i think... january. ....... or february."
"You're not sure?"
"Well, it always kicks my ass, Christmas and then her birthday, so i know they're close by."
"So she's a January birthday? That's Garnet..."
"But i can't be sure, it might be in February. Shit. It's one or the other. Shit Shit Shit."
"You can't remember?"
"No, i rember it's close to Christmas. Shit. When's her f-ing birthday?"
"I'll call her sister."
Five minutes later, her sister isn't home. Neither is her mother, his mother, or her best friend. He reaches his own sister but she says she'll be damned if she knows when his wife's birthday is, why the hell don't YOU know when it is?
"Well you could take the garnet pendant if you're pretty sure her birthday is in January," i suggest.
"But it could be in February... shit, i'm gonna have to come back."
"What about the pendant for your daughter?"
"Well i don't want to get one if i can't get the other! F-it. I'll have to come back. You know, I'll probobly f-ing remember in the car. Shit. What time do you open tomorrow?"
So we had a dirt road for a while this summer, and I enjoyed it. After a while, though, they put the pavement back, shinier than ever. And now they're installing a traffic light! Country life is over, the city has come to us.
Other than getting married this year, the best thing that happened to me in 2005 was finding a friend at the gym. I have always been an exercise loner, earphones blaring, mirror staring, intense intent on outdoing yesterday's time/calories/weight/reps. I chose this solitary recreation not because i hate chatting with sweaty people, but simply because i never had a friend who could keep up with me. I have a two-hour gym minimum, and i come to WORK, not to walk on the treadmill for 15minutes then sit around the mat talking about Pilates. Dan is not any bit of a gym head, and my attempts to convert him to organized exercise have been less successful than his attempts to convert me to organized religion. I think he still hasn't forgiven me for that competitive rowing incident i sprung on him on our honeymoon. Sorry.
In November everything changed when i met Ashley. To describe Ashley as hot would be like describing the arctic as cold÷ UNDERSTATEMENT. She is so hard you need two syllables to say H-ARD. Her back is like an old He-Man doll, with muscles on top of muscles you thought couldn't sprout muscles. Her abs are so F-LAT you could play xydeco on them. I met Ashley in the [hot, steamy] locker room, and she immediately became my fitness idol. Did you see those abs??? Ripped like Jesus, as Jakey would say (hi jakey!) And if the mere physical results of sculpture-like perfection would not be enough to endear her to you, i'll tell you additionally that Her Tightness used to weigh over 200 pounds! She slimmed down through a diet of all tuna-fish and bear. Sigh, My Hero.
Ashley and i started working out together, and two-hour sessions turned into three-hour power-thons. I had finally met a work-out buddy who, as Dan put it, "makes me look normal." We started off competing with each other: we would make a date for 7pm, and then each of us would surreptitiously sneak in at 6:30 to get a little cardio lead time. ThatĖs before we learned we are both the definition of Hard Core when it comes to devoting time at the gym. Monday morning we did cardio, then abs, then took an hour long weight lifting class, and at the end we looked at each other and said, Good for more?
I wish Ashley could move into my house and make me do crunches while I watch CSI. Sadly, however, Ashley will be moving away in three days. She is getting out of this cold clime and moving to Arizona, where boys wrangle cows and are hopefully predominately heterosexual. Nothing has filled me with such a sense of loss since two months ago when Josh had dinner at our house and casually listed Kate as his first major girlfriend. [No just kidding, i'm f-ing over it JOSH!] Seriously, though, I am nothing short of devastated at AshleyĖs parting, and I have spent every free moment in this week-up-to-Christmas madness at the gym working out devilishly. As if quality sweating time will mean she wonĖt leave! Waaaah, donĖt leave me!!!!!!!! My poor supportive husband hasnĖt eaten dinner with me in over a week, and heĖs doing his buck-upest to be understanding. Good think AshleyĖs moving, he thinks, my puppy canĖt grow up without a mother!
I went to look for another buddy on exercisefriend.com, but when I found someone in my area who looked really hardcore and cool and my fitness level÷ it turned out is was Ashley! No, no one will ever take her place. Ashley, I secretly hope that you will miss me out there, and when your friends say after half a mile ĪitĖs to hooooot for runningĶ I hope you think of me.
Ashley and i are leaving the gym last night. Ashley asks me if i want to work out tomorrow.
"I can't. I'm working all day... wait, when does the gym close?"
"Oh, that's great! I can work all day, work out for an hour, then go staight to church!"
The woman at the front desk overhears me, and sneers sarcastically:
"Sounds like a great day."
Oh come, oh come Emmanuel
and save your people Israel
Emmanuel will come to you Oh Israel!
(ps: we got your gift Oona. No savior for you this year. ;)
That's all I have to say for now.
No stirring here, I can conclusively determine. We are all very tired, and are spending the whole day resting and recovering. And there's another party for us to go to this evening, and then another one tomorrow evening. The social whirlwind never stops! Good thing we got lots of sleep today.
The hospitals say that their Emergency Rooms are much more busy during the holidays... all those people falling of ladders trying to put up lights, not to mention the misadventures caused by too much eggnog... holidays are health disasters.
Well, our holiday was no different. Christmas day at my parents house, i went to borrow some balm for the stress-sore on the inside my lip. The little bottle in the top drawer looked like canker medicine, i swear! But when i dabbed some on my lip and it started burning, and burning, and BURNING!!! I thought, "i don't remember this stuff hurting so much," and that's when i turned over the bottle and read that it was not numbing medicine, but Wart Remover. I ran downstairs to tell Dan that i had just put salicilic acid on the inside of my mouth, and he was like, "Wash it out, you dumbass."
No, just kidding, Dan was actually very concerned over the acid-in-mouth incident, and he ran around trying to find the number for the hospital help-line while my parents just stared at me and said, "What's the matter with you?"
"It looked like the same bottle" I whined, while the entire left side of my mouth turned white and numb.
Oh well, nothing too horrible came of it, as it was decided by consensus vote that the acid couldn't possibly poison me from the inside of my mouth, and furthermore that's what i get for being an idiot.
The next evening, everything seemed to be going fine until i woke up at 11pm with shooting stomach pains, and then proceeded to throw up every hour until 6am. THIS IS NOT AN EXAGERATION: I THREW UP 8 TIMES!!!!! The quality of the vomiting, or lack there of, signaled not poisening but a severe flash case of stomach flu. Several times i was too weak to move from the bathroom floor and needed Dan to carry me back to bed. Then i gave up on moving altogether and made Dan bring me blankets in the hallway. I was absolutely sure i was dying.
The next day, i was not infact dying but sick with the flu, and i slept all day and also watched Mean Girls and three episodes of Buffy. Sometime in the afternoon Dan told me that i was getting better, because i had started communicating in words instead of groans and sobs.
This is apparently what it takes for me to get an extra day off for Christmas. The people need their jewelry, so i am at work today exhaused with a splitting headache.
On a happy note, i have pretty new boots and gloves, and lots of other pretty stuff too that people bought for me. And this is about as much typing i can manage today, so won't write them all.
Leah: "I had a dream last night that we had five dogs."
Dan: "Me Too!!! I had a dream we had four dogs! And i forgot to feed them all."
Leah: "That was in my dream too! I was playing with Rascal and then i remembered that we had all these other dogs!
Dan: "That we hadn't fed in weeks!"
Leah: "And i worried that they might have died!"
Dan: "Me Too!!!!!"
Leah: "Wow. Can you believe we had the same dream on the same night?"
Dan: "I know."
Leah: "It's a statistical probability."
Two extremely rude, extremely Jewish customers accosted me in the store today. "I'll see this now!" ... "These earring backs are too small!"
After antagonizing me for half an hour over a measly $100 pair of earrings, the irritating woman said, "No after christmas sales here? Don't i get a discount?"
"We're celebrating Chanukah still," I responded, deadpan.
She paused for a second, pondering whether my sardonic tone was infact intended to be mocking.
"Us too," she said finally, and reached for her wallet.