From one of my two fifteen minute breaks today

I was asked if I wanted to help create new labels for the in bins in my former department. Yes, yes I did want to.

Summah Time

Hello again. Have I mentioned that the AC in my car no longer works? It is, and this is just a rough guesstimate, approximately 743 degrees in my car this afternoon (+/- ten degrees F of course). Naturally, the 90 degree weather we are suffering having isn't helping things at. all. I just took a quick trip to the pet store and the grocery store and I am covered in a fine sheen of sweat and bad attitude. I despise heat. What ever happened to winter? Why didn't we have one this year? Where is my icy beverage and palm frond fan fanners? And I don't want to hear it Hunter, BFF, or Teacher's Wife... I know you all live in places that are much hotter than Columbus but you've each made a lifestyle decision that includes RedNeck Heat, Cracker Country, and The Fucking Desert, respectively. I, on the other hand, should be skipping through fields of flowers enjoying a spring time breeze.

Did I tell you that I have a new friend at work? Yep, Golden Rod*, and we are uncannily alike. She's been at the company for about a month but I didn't start talking to her until she'd completed almost two full weeks. In fact, when Jilly Bean brought GR around to introduce her, I said something like "you'll never really work with me so it doesn't matter who I am. Also, I sit in the hinterlands so there's no need to come all the way over for an introduction." Later I emailed JB and said "I should have told you before; never introduce me to people" because for some strange reason, I am incapable of handling it appropriately and generally make new hires feel uncomfortable or insulted.

In this case, I made myself a liar because GR did have to work with me because I needed to train her on taking minutes at the external meeting downtown and so we met for 30 minutes during which time I told her about the players and the dynamics and what was important to take down etc. She accompanied me to the meeting earlier this month and, afterwards, we went out for breakfast where we got to chatting. It was after I commented on my ridiculous love for gossip - "I just collect it, I don't do anything with it, I just want the knowledge" - that GR said "me too" and I immediately asked "when's your birthday?" "December 21," she replied, "I'm a Sagittarius." It was love from that moment on over our mushroom omelets and coffee. I firmly believe that Sagittarians delight in one another more than any other sign and Golden Rod and I were both very pleased to find we had that in common. We have a lot in common, actually, so much so that she commented on how nice it is to not be the only one. My retort was "yeah, but it is a bit disturbing to have another me in the world." She agreed. Naturally.

But she's lovely and funny and smart and I like everything about her and I'm so happy to have a new friend in the office. OK, so she may have assessed me rather quickly and decided that I suffer from PTSD but that just makes her more fun. She isn't the first to suggest it (I told you about the dead mouse on Service Day, didn't I?) but she is the first to make me actually consider it. Evidently one of the symptoms is denial of having experienced trauma. As I said to Golden Rod "really? I thought that was just something I did that pisses my mother off". It's true, mom frequently gets upset with me for downplaying anything bad, going so far as to make me tear up and/or cry in public when she recounts some horribly maudlin story about me and my youth or telling neurologists that no, no she is not OK, she's terribly affected by her marital separation and the news of this disease.

I told Hunter about that. His wife actually suffers from PTSD and has what I consider a real reason to suffer from it (she was attacked). I told him that whether or not I have it is sort of a moot issue. Either I don't and I continue on or I do and I have done for a long time without treatment. Treatment for me, by the way - again, based on a conversation with Golden Rod who in no way claims to be a clinician - is to basically feel the fear and do it anyway. Not. Bloody. Likely. Still, it's nice to think that I jump three inches to the left of my skin seven times a day and that I have weird public anxiety because maybe there is something wrong with me and not, you know, Cat is just a big old ball of freak.

So you can see why I like the woman. I'm biased, of course I am, because she is a Sagittarius and because she is a phenomenal minutes taker and because she knows what the fuck synesthesia is. I've even invited her to the next Broad Summit (after nominating her to the others and getting approval, of course) and I think she'll be a fine part of the pack. Whilst discussing not always wanting to be the bigger person, she said "oh, I know. I just drink and talk about people behind their backs." What is not to love? Tell me that.

That's all I really have, I'm afraid. It is hotter than fuck and I don't like it and I'm eating terrible food in preparation to begin dieting on June 1. Why June 1st? I don't know, it's the start of the month and because it is getting so hot that I can't keep eating my beloved fried foods and pizza. Plus, I may take a short trip in July and it's always nice to feel light and healthy and vaguely attractive when traveling, especially in the summer, the god awful why must it be this fucking bright summer. That and it really is about time I grew up when it comes to food and health and all things grown up, isn't it? However, I have a few days left so please excuse me whilst I recline on my couch and watch Miss Marple over a few beers.

*Why Golden Rod? GR and I are both synesthesetes. We agree that the number one is black and that the medical specialty of Radiology is red. Her real name is, in my mind, yellow. But she is so much NOT a yellow person that I couldn't call her "Yellow". Golden Rod works though.

Book Reviews

Who knew that blogging would be the new way to get reviews of a book. The Reluctant Laundress made a comment about going shamefacedly to The Marriage Plot. I had heard of that book and so threw it into my library queue as I was in need of a book. I commented on her blog that I'd picked it up and read the flap, which made me tired, only to receive a review from the lovely DWK who HATED it. I've taken that as two nominations for me to simply return the book unread and save myself the time rather than slog through for the sake of it as I did that god awful book that I shall not name again.

Sure, I know, it's odd to take advice from people you've never met. But those are two women who write blogs I greatly admire. Thus I not only trust their opinions, but I find I have a perfectly good excuse to save myself trouble and simply turn to something much more fun, easier to read, and much less loathsome. Thank you cyber ladies!

In the meantime, I am reading a Clive Cussler book. Hunter mentioned he reads Clive Cussler and, since I no longer buy books but borrow them from the library, I'm always looking for something new. So I'm reading Spartan Gold. Perhaps not any great literary grandeur (or perhaps it is, I don't know) but I'm enjoying it thus far and it's nice to read what a friend reads. Gives you a bit of insight. And since I've basically forced Hunter to read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, I kind of owe him.

Stupid Little Things

Johan had a lot of trouble getting into his cage tonight. When it was past time for him to be back, he was under the rolling pantry, laying down in the sort of posture that looked like a bored and sad animal with nothing to do. He couldn't seem to figure out how to get up his ramp and into his cage. He's had that in the past, more so recently, and I do think it might be because I moved his cage and he is under the ceiling fan so maybe the smells being wafted about confused him.

But I take him very seriously. I have a piece of paper in my wallet these days directing emergency staff, should I be in a horrible accident, to either call Boss or J, give them my house key and address (both old and new are listed with dates of when I'll be where) and to please have them take him to his vet and have him boarded because I don't want him to be left alone. The idea of his dying is, of course repellant, and it has been on my mind because I had to ask J.

I had to ask J, "do you want me to notify you if Johan dies?"

And because I've emailed that question, I let my imagination run rampant with what will happen when Johan goes. He's 3 years old now and guinea pigs live, on average, 4 to 5 years. Some live longer but you have to be prepared. All I know is that I will be a mess, I will have to stay home from work if it is a week day, and I will be in shambles.

These are ridiculous and painful things you have to think about as an adult. And I hate it.

UPDATED
Transcript of the very brief email correspondence regarding Johan.

From Me to J:

"Do you want me to let you know if Johan dies? He's just over 3 years old and the expected life is 4-5 years. He really struggled with getting back into his cage, like he couldn't remember how and it took forever. This doesn't necessarily mean anything but it's been on my mind to ask you if you wanted to know.

I'm hoping he was just confused by smells because of the ceiling fan."

From J to Me:

"He's fat.  He can't even get back in his pig jail."

And that is seriously all he said on the matter. It's a good thing though, because it means he is OK to talk to me now, or at least better than he was. Because he knew damn well what kind of response that would elicit (namely me cyber yelling at him about how the pig is NOT fat and the cage is NOT pig prison and Johan LIKES his cage).

Jokes on him though. I totally texted him a picture of the pig.
 

Monday

Vehicular Hilarity

In the past three days, I've seen two really weird incidents involving motorists and I'm hoping to see more of them as I become more observant (how is that going to happen? I don't know either). In fact, I'm going to try and become more observant just so I can witness more of life's hilarity.

Incident One
Jilly Bean and I made a mid-morning dash to a Starbucks on Friday. We went through the drive thru because we are lazy Americans and the line was only two cars. I'm so glad we did! The car in front of mine was at the speaker thing giving her order and then, when I thought she was pulling up to wait her turn for the window, she instead drove off like a bat out of hell, causing JB and I to burst out laughing.

"What do you mean you're out of chai tea?!"

"You no longer carry croissants! This is an outrage!"

"If I'd wanted ice coffee, I would have said I wanted ice coffee. Cancel my order!" 

I mean, who drives off in a fury from the Starbucks drive thru lane? Turns out the real reason was more hilarious than what JB and I came up with. The guy at the window said she was pissed because they'd run out of protein powder, which sent JB and I into roaring laughter. "Yeah, that's how we react to those people too," he informed me, gratified by our reaction. I mean, who the fuck goes to Starbucks for their protein smoothies? Especially when there is, literally, a smoothie shop right down the road? JB and I didn't even know they made smoothies, let alone that they used protein powder. But that lady certainly knew. 

Incident Two
I was walking from a side lot onto the side walk in a nearby shopping center so that I could access the Pet Co (after vacuuming, I realized L&M was out of his beloved Timothy and only had the alfalfa that Hunter very kindly sent for him and although he is OK with the alfalfa, he really likes his Timothy).  I was in the process of double checking that I had, indeed, brought my wallet, when I suddenly noticed a van was stopped in an inconvenient place, right at the spot where she was trying to turn onto the road that abuts the storefronts. Then I saw the car in front of her van was also stopped and so looked to see if they'd had an accident. Instead, the driver of the car in front opened his door and started yelling:

"You wanna start some shit lady?! Huh?! God damn son of a bitch!"

I arrived too late to know who, exactly he was yelling at, so it made it that much more special (or, if you will, specialer... OMG, specialer is a word? I had no idea! But spell check didn't call me out so word) Was he yelling at the lady in the van behind him? I don't think so because, since he went so far as to open his door to yell, I would assume he would have gotten out to at least face her. I think, actually, that he was yelling at a pedestrian who was walking towards a shop behind him. Did she do that obnoxious pedestrian thing of crossing where there isn't a crosswalk? Did she give him shit about something? I have no idea. All I do know is that I was a bit disappointed that whoever the target was didn't yell back. And if it was the pedestrian, I pretty much sided with the driver because he looked like an average Joe whilst she looked like a wealthy wife of a CEO who attends "club dinners" and plays tennis and I loathe those women because I'm a reverse snob. That and because I'm still pissed off at these pedestrians who crossed in front of me last weekend. They crossed a very busy road with a 45 mph speed limit and not at a crosswalk. That's all fine and well and if you can do it, go ahead, but don't take your fucking time about it! They seriously just strolled across and I actually had to apply my breaks and then the fucking chick took her sweet time getting onto the grassy median. And she was talking on her cell phone.

But it's OK because I yelled "I hope you get hit on your way back" and even though I don't think they heard me, I'm pretty certain they felt it. 

I don't hate this post but I don't feel anything warm towards it

All Work and Some Reading
I made it to page 430 of 50 Shades of Grey and then I wrote a negative review of it on Good Reads and then I spit on it and returned it to the library. OK, I didn't really spit on it. But I did shove it with unnecessary force through the drop off slot at the library. It deserved it. Fortunately, Catching Fire came in the very next day and so I wasn't long without a good book. It took me three days and now I have about six weeks to wait for the final book in the trilogy. OK, full disclosure, I finished CF last night but I was tipsy so I need to reread the last two or three chapters but I can't seem to find the damned thing. Like I said, I was tipsy. Hey, it was Friday night after a l-o-n-g week.

Every week is long these days, really. I'm in the process of learning to manage others and I'm not really enjoying it. One of the people assisting me doesn't provide me with updates as often as I'd like (or as often as I've asked) and the other updates me with this weird sense of seriousness and what I can only think of as a "dire" attitude. She's very nervous and hesitant and seems to be afraid of just diving in. It's just data entry but she's stated that the learning process and the weeding through has been a real challenge. I feel bad because I really like her and she's told me that she enjoys the work and is excited about it so I can't just yank it away from her. But I can switch it up and give her the same sort of task only one that is more straightforward. The one who doesn't update me often enough I'll talk to at our next status meeting, which I've scheduled weekly. I need to stress the fact that the work has deadlines and I need to know where she is with what she is doing on a more reliable basis. I also need to know that she truly can devote X numbers hours a week if that is what she's promised and how many hours it takes for her to complete task A B or C. If not, no big deal, I just need to know. So yeah, not enjoying this but I'm doing my best to understand that I have to do it and I have to allow for the reality that I CANNOT DO EVERY SINGLE THING. Shudder.

Dreamer, Packer, Eater, Chef
Woke up before 7 a.m. again today, a weird new Saturday habit. Was extremely exhausted of course, so I just huddled on my couch and watched Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. I liked it but I'm not exactly sure why. I like mysteries of this type, no gore or car chases or anything like that, just intrigue and a search for an answer. It takes place during the Cold War and there is a mole in British intelligence and this older guy who was forced out is asked by a minister (Prime? I don't know) to find the mole*. Very straight forward. However, I didn't read about it so I didn't know it was set during the Cold War until I finally looked it up after obsessively trying to figure out, based on clothing, whether the film took place in the past or present. That's usually pretty easy but when you're watching something about a bunch of government men, you pretty much mainly just see men in suits. In retrospect I did think "well, I guess men probably don't wear suits to work every day anymore. Duh".

The other thing I fixated on was this actor who had a baby face. He didn't look young, he looked like a giant baby. It was really bizarre. Do you remember those old cartoons that played with Bugs Bunny and Wiley Coyote and the like, the ones with the gangsters? There was one that had the baby face and I kept thinking of him when this actor was on the screen. It wasn't funny - it was really, super, ultra creepy. But Colin Firth and Benedict Cumberbatch were also in the movie so I just looked at them and felt happy and warm.

Then I took a quick nap and dreamed I was packing so when I woke up, I packed. Oh! I just remembered that in my dream I came across a whole slew of wooden utensils, packs of them like I'd bought a nice set, forgotten about it, bought another one, and had also been gifted a set. I wonder what kind of life dream me had that required so many wooden spoons and forks and so on and so forth? Really glad I don't actually have them. Real me just has a lot of big knives, some butcher, some serrated, some others.

And now? Now I need to clean and run to the store for soda (generic diet Coke if you're interested... even if you aren't, that's what I'll get) and fight the temptation to take another nap.

*Reread this after my update (below) and saw that I originally wrote "file the mole." Under M, I would think. 

UPDATED

Gahhhhh!!!! Why the hell do kids look so forward to being grownups? I've never understood that and I feel I was always totally right to think it would suck quite a bit.

I set about doing some chores and decided to vacuum, the most odious of chores due to my shitty vacuum and the abundance of hay all around (ahem, Lord and Master likes his hay). Well, the vacuum decided to not suck up anything, not even try. So I set about the lovely task of taking out the canister, checking the filters, and taking the fucker apart, getting filthy, sweating over getting the little screws out, and then throwing my hands in the air and saying "fuck this shit" before putting on proper clothing (read: what I wore yesterday), throwing the 50 Shades* item into the dumpster, and driving to Target where I purchased a insanely expensive** new one. Sweaty and annoyed, I am now home, having put together the Shark Navigator Lift-Away and trying it out. I think it might be a success but I was pretty excited about my old Bissel so who knows. Here's hoping.

*That is my new way of defining truly disagreeable items in life. If they are really worthless and terrible, they are 50 Shades. Thus, my 50 Shades of vacuum has been thrown, with vigor, into the dumpster. 

**Well, expensive for me. It turned out to be $190 something and I know for a fact that a friend of mine who shall remain nameless and only be known as Shunter happens to have a belt that costs more. My vacuum cost less than a belt. But still.