200 posts tagged “fluffy stuff”

Today's little luxuries are sponsored by self-injury, inflicted in a small, damp parking lot in the Arboretum, while on the return trip from a run. I had run, in a completely acceptable fashion, the initial 3-and-change miles, and was coming back somewhere along miles 4.5-5.5 when my knee suddenly alerted me that 1. it had had quite enough, thank you and 2. no it really had, and it must be insistent now.

For the past few weeks my knees have been making un-encouraging crunching noises when I crouch down to do things. I've largely ignored them, because I don't like trips to the doctor when success is not assured. (I love trips to the doctor when success is assured: getting pregnancy and STD tests as a virgin was awesome!) I figured I'd wait until something really painful happened and then go to the doctor.

Karma's a bitch.

All I know is I was running. Then we stopped for a pee break. Then we took off again. Then I stopped and decided to walk, because when you put weight on your knee and your knee decides to go "ow" on every footfall, you walk. After a bit of walking the feeling subsided and I started in to run. The knee reminded me that it definitely meant business and visions of bone shards poking through flesh entered my head and I walked.

I walked the remainder of the "run".

I had plans to go to my folk's house (post run, post shower) and so I did, albeit late. Explaining my lateness due to the change of pace my mother instantly applied an ice pack. I really don't like ice packs (fortunately, my father agrees with me on this) but they are necessary (unfortunately, my father agrees with me on this), especially when you have a family history of bum knees (gee thanks Dad). I gritted through lunch and let the ice pack do its thing, which was namely to wet my jeans and make my knee an uncomfortable cold-sort-of-numb. After promising my mother I'd ice it more at home, I didn't.

That's right.

I came home and decided that this was my last "me" time for a bit, and I was going to bloody well enjoy it, knee issues or not. I employed the tried and true methodology of plying myself with a little red wine (yes, a little), some homemade open faced cheese sandwiches (sharp cheddar), and a DVR-enhanced Mythbusters marathon. And then I went into the hot tub.

I love my hot tub. Loooooooooooooove my hot tub. After having six people in it last weekend, though, the water was a bit low, so oh gosh unfortunately I had to sink neck-deep into the soothing, delicious heat in order to keep the highest jet from making that gasping fish noise it does when it doesn't get enough water. Eventually I was able to elevate my leg (see? I was being good!) on the edge and finished a 2nd glass of wine while reading Bill Bryson's Notes on a Small Island.

I sit here, aglow and pink from the 'tub, signing off for the night. I'm going to go read some more (oh, sure, I'll elevate the knee -- but I ain't icing it) and possibly have a cup or two of tea. That sounds just about right to me. 

Pretty durned perfect.

Friday GH and I went out, which is rare for us. We don't tend to go OUT because we tend to talk ourselves out of going OUT, along the lines of, "why go out when I can cook for less?". We went out.

We went to Poppy, and it was quite good. It's a bit like Indian-Style tapas: little platelets of everything. The food was great, the service was great, the wine was good, and the bathrooms were impressive (they have this neat hand-dryer thingie). We walked there and back, which makes me feel only slightly virtuous (having eaten an appetizer AND dinner AND  dessert... yes, it was *that good*).

Also, I got jewelry. Specifically, I got opal rings (yes, plural, no, not for ears or fingers). A quick popover to Slave to the Needle got them installed -- there was nowayinhell I was going to do it myself -- and I'm pretty darned pleased with the results. I've teased GH about posting pictures to Facebook, but as my boss and boss' boss and boss' boss' boss are all on there it doesn't seem appropriate.

Saturday morning I got up and went for a run. I got lost and didn't do the run I planned, but I found little hidden houses and gardens along the way and met an exceptionally well behaved and friendly poodle.

Then I went home to make Bread Thing, as K-bear and Margles and CC and McG came over for dinner. Margles made an apple crisp that was crazy yummy and then we sweated off all of the calories in the hot tub. While chatting we saw the local neighbor kids sneaking out of the house -- someone's van pulled up without their headlights on, doors opened (on my property side of the street), and then 2 teenagers ran like snot to get in and peel away. Good luck kids, play safe.

This morning I discovered that life's too short to drink too much wine (hey, it was a *dinner party* and those beget vino!) and went into a slight cleaning frenzy. Then I went to a babyshower/bbq (in which 2 of my 3 promised team members -- from work -- didn't show up, even though they RSVP'd they would. For some reason I feel responsible to the host, I don't know why).  A popover in Bonney Lake (hi, Ween!) and then boy retrieval; I am now home tired and happy and feeling like much was done.

And I'm actually looking forward to work tomorrow...

You know when you don't want to do something, suddenly you have time for EVERYTHING else?

• I've completely reorganized (and labeled!) my library. All I have to do is log the hardcover fiction, which represents about 15%
• I've repotted a couple of plants
• I've refilled the hot tub and appropriately chemical'd the water, using all 3 parts of the water test kit.
• I've changed banks and reorganized my finances and budget. Again.
• I've visited the local library and checked out pertinent books, and actually read them
• I've set up and hosted playdates
• I've revamped our PTSA webmail notification application
• I've hired a fifth person at work
• I've sold some stuff on eBay

I'm really intimidated about this Sunday. I went out with Amy the Future Sister and while I'm better at shifting, I know that the bike will be my slowest part of the event. We are both literally on the "I just want to finish this" program, but Amy is better at swimming and the bike than I am, and I'm conflicted about her desire for us to "keep together". I don't want to be the reason she lags behind.

I swam a half-mile today at the gym and my time is fine; the gym pool and Lake Washington are substantially different, even though I will have a wetsuit in the lake (buoyancy advantage). I can run 3 miles in 30 minutes (with hills). The bike, though -- with hills, I'm looking at an hour to an hour and a half slog.

I'm avoiding at looking at it though, because I'm catching up on all of these other things.

Except perhaps my blogging. It's been 7 days. Oops. 

I'm blind in my left eye.

Technically, I'm nearing legal blindness in both eyes -- my official prescription is -9.5 in my right and -9 in my left, but my eye doctor tamps down my contacts to -8.5 and -8, and gives me reading glasses, go figure.

Reading glasses don't help when you've had your left contact pop out.

At work.

With no other glasses or spare contacts.

With an interview scheduled and all day meetings.

Fortunately, GH is going to be a hero (again) and drive two lakes over to my house, acquire a fresh lens, and drive to my work (one lake over) and provide said lens. For this I think I owe him a pie.

Now if only he can make the meetings go away...

Scale (eyeing me approaching): GO AWAY!

Me (surprised): What?

Scale: You just got off of vacation. You are going to blame ME for your weight gain, and I don't need to hear it.

Me: You're a scale, I'm getting on.

Scale: groan.

Scale: You weigh a pound less than when you left. Did you watch what you ate?

Me: Well, yes. I watched as I ate biscuits and gravy, fried pickles, BBQ, two kinds of potato salad, cobbler, my mom's macaroni and cheese and meatballs and my dad's scones. Plus, I had Italian food with my other dad.

Scale: So you must have been working out or at least very active...

Me: No. I sat on my ass at the track, on my ass in the car, and on my ass at my mom's. I did one run, for 4 miles, at the tail end of the trip.

Scale: ... You will pay for this, you know that, right?

Me: yep.

"Do you know if you can check in the back to see if you have something?"

The speaker was a upper-middle aged, upper-middle class lady with auburn bobbed hair and what looked to be her "house" sweatpants and shirt. She was in the soda aisle, near but-not-quite-committed-to Pepsi, and she didn't look at me as I passed her. She just asked this, staring fixedly at the soda. There was no one else in the aisle. She did not have a headset on. Ergo, she must be talking to me.

But why would she say this? I don't know who she is, I don't... work here. Aha. She thinks I work here.

Let me describe what I was wearing: black wide-legged pants, black sandals, a white v-neck t-shirt, and a blackberry. That's it. I had my debit card in my pocket and didn't want to be encumbered with anything else; I was there to get a card and get out. So because I was without a purse, a shopping cart, or a disused atheletic/leisure outfit, I must work at the Bellevue Safeway.

I looked straight at her: "I don't work here." For the first time she actually looked at me, made eye contact, and said "Oh... sorry..."

This is what I get for not wearing docs and jeans.

I have some highfalutin' friends. While sitting in a backyard of North Seattle we drank wine and made tacos and played Quelf, which is awesome. We also (briefly) discussed the "seven year itch". Note that of the attendees, I was the only single lady. Or divorced lady.

Ali is married, has been for 10+ years. Mindi and MK are in the 5-ish range (plus years of engagement/dating). CC is a blushing bride with only a year under her belt -- plus 5 years of cohabited bliss. These are happily married, and in most cases procreative women. They are also all professionals, mostly within analytics (or medicine).

We were discussing the seven year itch; and while I admit mine was long past due (X and I tanked at the 10 year mark or thereabouts) MK noted that every 7 years your nerve cells have regenerated.**

Now, they don't all do this at once, because that would be 1. inefficient and 2. painful. They do it in bits and pieces, like the rest of your body, so you don't notice. But the cycle takes 7 years, so the person you are now (in terms of nerves -- if not nerve) is essentially not the person you were 7 years ago.

Think of the possibilities... please. Because I did and I have and I still can't shake it in the giddy mental-masturbatory sense.

*If* you're willing to posit the following: that human beings possess real live energy, that that has to go somewhere when you die (and people don't know where it goes), that your brain and nervous system is what controls that energy, and that it's the nerve cells regenerating... what does that mean?

1. Is psychological damage healable within 7 years if you are willing to "let it go"?
2. When people say, "people can't change", how is that possible with this news?
3. If it is true that you are essentially a "new/different" person every 7 years (and it's a moving target, so from day to day/week to week/month to month you don't really note it) then wouldn't it make sense to limit contractual relationships between individuals (e.g., marriage) to 7 years?

It's an intriguing thought, to consider that it may be just the luck of the draw that marriages beyond 7 years work out because the "change" affected in those individuals allowed them to be compatible as a couple. It would also provide a convenient culprit for those of us who still have to label themselves as "divorced" on legal paperwork. It is *not* my fault, my/his nerves changed! (Then again, I'm very happy where I am, and can't imagine myself still married; so this is a good thing and I'll gladly take the "Credit" instead of the "Blame").

However, I need to look more into this, because (for example) I had a large-ish surgery that severed a nerve about 9 years ago, and I still can't feel anything in a 3 inch diameter around my navel.

Maybe my stomach doesn't have the nerve :p

** I have no idea if this is true, but it wouldn't surprise me. There is no shortage of things that wouldn't surprise me about the human body. Think about all of the neat things yours has done -- and all of the illogical things -- and you'll see what I mean. For examples of illogical, I encourage you to ponder nipples on a man. For neat, I encourage you to ponder reproduction.

Facebook is a highly addictive little site, and I find myself using it as much for voyeurism as I do for exhibitionism. As we've discussed, those things go together.

However, it wants to be smart. While I like things that *try* to be smart, it just makes it all that more depressing when it isn't.

Facebook has regularly wanted me to friend someone named Greg Teaderman. I have no idea who this fellow is. He is not friends with any of my friends, and judging from his profile he is a very nice bloke who has some things in common with me but not enough to separate him from the thousands of other bipedal carbon based life forms in the Puget Sound Area.

This isn't the first time Facebook has wanted to suggest something to me that makes absolutely no sense. Red wine fan? Check. Lillet? I had to look up what it was, so I can hardly be a fan. And it regularly wants me to be a work at home mom, which is really fascinating, because I work at work, and I talk more about work on my FB than the boychild. The last thing it seems to akin to me is varying diet therapies, which is just shitty and makes me feel like having another glass of wine.

Thanks to facebook, I know that Greg Teaderman would enjoy it as well. He went to high school in Napa...

Having finished the male person's window dressing I suddenly found myself without a project... for about five seconds. Friday night I came home and instead of doing what rational people would do (er... relax?) I reorganized my fabric storage and my paperwork and went for a run, and then on Saturday morning I vacuumed out the fireplace and cleaned the floors and hosted a dinner. On Sunday I ran and did errands and started to catalog my library.

Now, I have a library catalog in Excel, but it only includes little things like author's first name, last name, title of book, year published, etc. It does not include the ISBN number, which I need if I'm going to upload to Goodreads. For some reason this is a necessity for me, so I launched that project yesterday.

I took down books in stacks of five and filled up my dining room table. Then I picked up each one and logged it into Excel, sorted it by author's last name (my sorting had got way off in my favorite authors), dusted it, and returned it to the shelf. From logging to returning to shelf for 100 books took about an hour. One hundred books takes up 1/3 of one shelf. I have 7 shelves.

This...should keep me busy for a while.

Last night I went to Cap Hill with Nomi to go have a drink with some folks from work. Thanks to traffic (which hit each of us separately) and some jawjacking at GH's house we arrived about an hour and a half later than we intended to, e.g., as everyone was leaving.

Oh, well.

So, off to Boom Noodle we went, which was most excellent, as we scored a corner table and watched the various interestings on the corner of both 12th and Pike. We ate quasi asian food (it tastes good but sometimes they get weirdly inventive) and our waiter was a trip: looked emo, acted sweet, happy, and friendly. This juxtaposition was termed "Tickle me Emo" by GH this morning as I recounted our "adventures". TME paid attention to us just enough and not too much and toward the end I was pretty sure we three were girlfriend's together. I'm sure to him we were the suburban mommies out having our "Girls Night" wink-wink, nudge-nudge, and that, in his eyes, we were part of the show.

Capitol Hill is a show. We saw a processional of people showing posters and plaques with the "Truth about Foie Gras", which was icky; we saw a couple of transvestites in hot pink tassels (and not much else); we saw some very very well put together men (all gay); we saw hipsters and geeks and goths and various walks of life. Nomi's eyes got bigger and bigger; as she put it, she doesn't get into the city all that often. (For a die-hard eastside suburban mommie, this is about as "risque" as it gets. We didn't go to the Crypt or anything, either).

After a couple of glasses of vino and some good food we walked down to the theatre -- my bad math meant that we walked many more blocks than we thought we would; if you are walking from 12th to 6th on Pine you discover that it isn't six blocks... more like twelve or sixteen. It didn't matter, as we were having fun.

Then we saw Star Trek. Again. (Yes, the new Star Trek movie is *that* good. I rate it the best one thus far, and as an avid Trekker (not Trekkie, that is so 1980's) I mean it.) Not wanting to schlep back up the hill those blocks, we cabbed it -- the most terse cabbie in all of Seattle, probably shipped in from New York as we got to our spot in 5 minutes for 5 bucks --and then headed back to GH's house.

After a brief "Oh My God I've Lost My Keys" moment with Nomi this morning at 1am, she went home and I passed out; it had been a long day.