http://www.time.com/time/business/article/0,8599,1724522,00.html
You're not alone, Allie.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Margaret put beans in my ears
You know that story about the boy whose mom tells him never, ever, to go into the kitchen, take a chair and put it next to the counter, climb up onto the counter, reach to the back of the top shelf, take down a jar of dried beans and put the beans in his ears? The boy would never have thought of it on his own, but once it's been put into his mind like that, what's the first thing he does next time his mom leaves the room? Of course -- he goes into the kitchen, takes a chair and puts it next to the counter, climb up onto the counter, reaches to the back of the top shelf, takes down a jar of dried beans and puts the beans in his ears.
Well, yesterday I was running really late to work and barely missed the bus to the metro. I could have just driven in to work, but I didn't want to pay $15 to park downtown. (Yeah, you heard me right. $15.) Anyway, I decided to drive and park as close to the metro as I could and walk the rest of the way there.
As I was parking my car, I remembered Margaret's awesome adventure and made a mental note, "I MUST remember to drive my car home from this spot tonight and not just take the bus."
This morning I was getting ready for work and thinking, as I do many mornings, about the pros and cons of driving vs. metroing to work. And I remembered parking my car the previous morning, but couldn't remember driving it home. In fact, I couldn't remember getting home at all, whether on the bus, walking, driving -- no memory at all of how I got home last night. (And I don't drink or do drugs so that's kind of unusual for me.)
I looked out the window -- no car. I racked my brain. What was I doing last night?
Oh yeah! I met up with Dawn and Susan for dinner and visiting teaching right after work, and Susan gave us both a ride home! So that means my car is ... still parked on Upland Street about a ten minute walk from the metro. (Twenty minute walk from my house.) Awesome.
Would this still have happened if I hadn't read Margaret's detailed account of forgetting to drive her car home? We'll never know.
OK, fine, it probably still would have happened.
Well, yesterday I was running really late to work and barely missed the bus to the metro. I could have just driven in to work, but I didn't want to pay $15 to park downtown. (Yeah, you heard me right. $15.) Anyway, I decided to drive and park as close to the metro as I could and walk the rest of the way there.
As I was parking my car, I remembered Margaret's awesome adventure and made a mental note, "I MUST remember to drive my car home from this spot tonight and not just take the bus."
This morning I was getting ready for work and thinking, as I do many mornings, about the pros and cons of driving vs. metroing to work. And I remembered parking my car the previous morning, but couldn't remember driving it home. In fact, I couldn't remember getting home at all, whether on the bus, walking, driving -- no memory at all of how I got home last night. (And I don't drink or do drugs so that's kind of unusual for me.)
I looked out the window -- no car. I racked my brain. What was I doing last night?
Oh yeah! I met up with Dawn and Susan for dinner and visiting teaching right after work, and Susan gave us both a ride home! So that means my car is ... still parked on Upland Street about a ten minute walk from the metro. (Twenty minute walk from my house.) Awesome.
Would this still have happened if I hadn't read Margaret's detailed account of forgetting to drive her car home? We'll never know.
OK, fine, it probably still would have happened.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
A verbatim text message exchange between Matt and me
(after one or two messages back and forth)
me: I just walked into a pole while texting you.
Matt: Ha. Welcome to your world.
me: I just walked into a pole while texting you.
Matt: Ha. Welcome to your world.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
It. Just. Keeps. Getting. Better.
So I did the classic "drive to work and take the bus home" a couple of weeks ago. But it really is SO much better than that. Here goes:
So I opened my blinds the next morning and panicked for a minute when I didn't see my car, and then realized that sure enough, I had been running late the morning before and missed my bus and drove to campus and parked at the Institute building. And then forgot, and took the bus home from campus. That was Dumb Moment #1.
But wait, there's more!
So since it was Friday that next day, I didn't have class, and just had to be on campus at 12 noon to film some interviews for work. And since there is one bus during rush hour and another in the middle of the day that runs less frequently (every hour instead of every half hour), I had to check the bus schedule to make sure I'd catch the bus in time to be at my building on time. No problem - there was one that would get me there about 45 minutes early. So I went out to my usual bus stop to wait. And the bus didn't come. And then a bus came on the other side of the street, going the other direction, which I had never seen happen before. (Wait for it...) Yes, there is a bus stop on the other side of the street, but I had never before been waiting at one stop and seen a bus going the other direction at the same time. Weird, but there's a first time for everything.
And my bus still didn't come.
And then I saw a bus go by the head of my street, and I thought, "Phew! That's my bus, it's just a little late, and it's running the other part of the loop and will come back down here." (Wait for it...)
But it didn't come.
But since I had SEEN that bus go by, across the top of the street, I KNEW there was a bus out there somewhere, running this route, so I waited. And waited. And waited.
And finally it occurred to me that I had a copy of the bus schedule in my bag. And sure enough, in the middle of the day, the bus does my part of the route BACKWARDS, so that bus that had come to the stop across the street? That was my bus. And the bus that, a few minutes later went past the head of my street? That was my bus. And the bus that I didn't see, but that went down another street on the other side of my apt complex, that I could have caught if I had realized my mistake and RUN? That was my bus, too. Dumb moment #2!
Now ordinarily, not that big of a deal to miss the bus - I could just drive. But wait - I pulled that trick yesterday, and remember Dumb Moment #1? Yup, my car was ALREADY ON CAMPUS!!
So I went back to my apartment, and in the 15 minutes before I had to leave to catch the bus going the right direction, I emailed the guy filming the interviews, hoping against hope that the person we were filming at noon had fallen through, since we hadn't 100% confirmed that time. No such luck - we were on, and I was going to be 15 minutes late for a 20 minute interview. I'm awesome. So I emailed him my pathetic "I can read, just not bus schedules" excuse, and went to catch the bus.
But wait, there's more!
The interviews turned out ok, the rest of the day went ok, and then it was time to go home. I was determined not to leave my car parked at the Institute building ANOTHER night, so I went to catch a bus that would save me the 15 minute walk to the Institute building. At the bus stop I started chatting with this nice lady, and when we were on the bus, exchanging phone numbers so that she could come to church with me on Sunday (I called her and she didn't call me back), yup, you guessed it - I missed the stop that I should have gotten off at for the Institute building. And not only did I miss the stop, but that was the last stop before a "no stop" zone, so I had to ride the bus for a little while before I could get off, and then I'd have to figure out how to get BACK to my car. Dumb Moment #3.
I got off at the next stop, and it just so happened that there was a bus coming the other direction right then, so I hustled across the street, got on that bus, got off at the right stop, and walked the one block to the Institute building, only to find...
...that my car was right there where I had left it. Phew.
So I opened my blinds the next morning and panicked for a minute when I didn't see my car, and then realized that sure enough, I had been running late the morning before and missed my bus and drove to campus and parked at the Institute building. And then forgot, and took the bus home from campus. That was Dumb Moment #1.
But wait, there's more!
So since it was Friday that next day, I didn't have class, and just had to be on campus at 12 noon to film some interviews for work. And since there is one bus during rush hour and another in the middle of the day that runs less frequently (every hour instead of every half hour), I had to check the bus schedule to make sure I'd catch the bus in time to be at my building on time. No problem - there was one that would get me there about 45 minutes early. So I went out to my usual bus stop to wait. And the bus didn't come. And then a bus came on the other side of the street, going the other direction, which I had never seen happen before. (Wait for it...) Yes, there is a bus stop on the other side of the street, but I had never before been waiting at one stop and seen a bus going the other direction at the same time. Weird, but there's a first time for everything.
And my bus still didn't come.
And then I saw a bus go by the head of my street, and I thought, "Phew! That's my bus, it's just a little late, and it's running the other part of the loop and will come back down here." (Wait for it...)
But it didn't come.
But since I had SEEN that bus go by, across the top of the street, I KNEW there was a bus out there somewhere, running this route, so I waited. And waited. And waited.
And finally it occurred to me that I had a copy of the bus schedule in my bag. And sure enough, in the middle of the day, the bus does my part of the route BACKWARDS, so that bus that had come to the stop across the street? That was my bus. And the bus that, a few minutes later went past the head of my street? That was my bus. And the bus that I didn't see, but that went down another street on the other side of my apt complex, that I could have caught if I had realized my mistake and RUN? That was my bus, too. Dumb moment #2!
Now ordinarily, not that big of a deal to miss the bus - I could just drive. But wait - I pulled that trick yesterday, and remember Dumb Moment #1? Yup, my car was ALREADY ON CAMPUS!!
So I went back to my apartment, and in the 15 minutes before I had to leave to catch the bus going the right direction, I emailed the guy filming the interviews, hoping against hope that the person we were filming at noon had fallen through, since we hadn't 100% confirmed that time. No such luck - we were on, and I was going to be 15 minutes late for a 20 minute interview. I'm awesome. So I emailed him my pathetic "I can read, just not bus schedules" excuse, and went to catch the bus.
But wait, there's more!
The interviews turned out ok, the rest of the day went ok, and then it was time to go home. I was determined not to leave my car parked at the Institute building ANOTHER night, so I went to catch a bus that would save me the 15 minute walk to the Institute building. At the bus stop I started chatting with this nice lady, and when we were on the bus, exchanging phone numbers so that she could come to church with me on Sunday (I called her and she didn't call me back), yup, you guessed it - I missed the stop that I should have gotten off at for the Institute building. And not only did I miss the stop, but that was the last stop before a "no stop" zone, so I had to ride the bus for a little while before I could get off, and then I'd have to figure out how to get BACK to my car. Dumb Moment #3.
I got off at the next stop, and it just so happened that there was a bus coming the other direction right then, so I hustled across the street, got on that bus, got off at the right stop, and walked the one block to the Institute building, only to find...
...that my car was right there where I had left it. Phew.
Friday, November 7, 2008
If ye are prepared...
So I'm a grad student, right? And we have these big exams at the end of our second year of classes, and a big reading list to prepare for the exams. So the four of us who started the program this semester get together every two weeks to discuss one of the books on the reading list. And we had a meeting today, and the last couple of weeks have been so crazy that as of Wednesday I hadn't done my reading yet - eep!
And this time we decided that instead of us all attempting to read the whole book, we'd each be responsible for writing up an outline for certain chapters that we'd then share with the rest of the group. So that meant that if I didn't do my reading I'd really be letting down my whole group, since they were expecting me to fill them in on the parts that I had been assigned - double eep!
So on Wednesday I went to the library, in a big rush, and scanned the pages that I was supposed to read for today, and I was bummed because I thought this one section was 100 pages and it was actually 150, but with all my other work I didn't even touch the reading by the time I fell into bed last night, so I got up at 4am today to at least outline the chapters and read the intros and conclusions. And after a group meeting this morning for another class and the interview I had to film for work, I sat down and did some more frantic reading and outlining so that I would at least have SOMETHING to share with my group this afternoon.
And I quickly typed all the headings from all the chapters, and read the intros and conclusions to a couple of the chapters, and 10 minutes before the meeting started I printed out 4 pages to read on the way to the meeting, and I got through 1 of them and was actually feeling pretty good about things...(I know--that's pathetic. Moving on...)
...until I discovered that I had read the wrong book.
Yeah, I had frantically read and outlined and GOT UP AT FOUR IN THE MORNING to blast through selections from a DIFFERENT really fat reference book, from which we read selected chapters for our LAST group meeting, two weeks ago. In my rush on Wednesday, I'd grabbed, ya know, the familiar-looking fat book off the reference shelf. In my defense, the titles are almost the same, and this book ALSO had 7 sections, and there WAS a section 3, with several chapters whose titles looked familiar, and yes, that one section was 150 pages instead of the 100 I was anticipating, but hey, I never claimed I could do math, so I just figured we'd subtracted wrong when we split up the reading.
Nope. Wrong book.
And one of my group members looked at me and said, "Aren't YOU the one who sends the email out to everyone about what book we are reading?"
...
...
Why yes, yes I am.
And this time we decided that instead of us all attempting to read the whole book, we'd each be responsible for writing up an outline for certain chapters that we'd then share with the rest of the group. So that meant that if I didn't do my reading I'd really be letting down my whole group, since they were expecting me to fill them in on the parts that I had been assigned - double eep!
So on Wednesday I went to the library, in a big rush, and scanned the pages that I was supposed to read for today, and I was bummed because I thought this one section was 100 pages and it was actually 150, but with all my other work I didn't even touch the reading by the time I fell into bed last night, so I got up at 4am today to at least outline the chapters and read the intros and conclusions. And after a group meeting this morning for another class and the interview I had to film for work, I sat down and did some more frantic reading and outlining so that I would at least have SOMETHING to share with my group this afternoon.
And I quickly typed all the headings from all the chapters, and read the intros and conclusions to a couple of the chapters, and 10 minutes before the meeting started I printed out 4 pages to read on the way to the meeting, and I got through 1 of them and was actually feeling pretty good about things...(I know--that's pathetic. Moving on...)
...until I discovered that I had read the wrong book.
Yeah, I had frantically read and outlined and GOT UP AT FOUR IN THE MORNING to blast through selections from a DIFFERENT really fat reference book, from which we read selected chapters for our LAST group meeting, two weeks ago. In my rush on Wednesday, I'd grabbed, ya know, the familiar-looking fat book off the reference shelf. In my defense, the titles are almost the same, and this book ALSO had 7 sections, and there WAS a section 3, with several chapters whose titles looked familiar, and yes, that one section was 150 pages instead of the 100 I was anticipating, but hey, I never claimed I could do math, so I just figured we'd subtracted wrong when we split up the reading.
Nope. Wrong book.
And one of my group members looked at me and said, "Aren't YOU the one who sends the email out to everyone about what book we are reading?"
...
...
Why yes, yes I am.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Apparently I have a price attached...
Yeah, so I bought some new pants on Saturday, and while I was talking to someone at work today I went to put my hands into the back pockets, and couldn't, because they were still sewn shut. So why did it feel like there was a rectangular piece of paper INSIDE the sewn-shut pocket??
Oh, it's not inside the POCKET - it's inside the PANTS...
Yup. Welcome to my pants. Next time remove ALL tags before wearing...
Oh, it's not inside the POCKET - it's inside the PANTS...
Yup. Welcome to my pants. Next time remove ALL tags before wearing...
Monday, April 21, 2008
Liquid Assets
I seem to be having lots of little issues lately. If something could or might go a little wrong- it does. I am pretty sure nobody has ever done what I did today. I was at the bank depositing a couple checks. Josh was yelling for a booger sucker (yes- he has confused what I use to suck snot out of Jake's nose.. with a lollipop) and I was fiddling to hurry and fill out the deposit slip. In between my legs I had one of those big plastic water bottles...kinda looks like the thing banks use to collect what your depositing. I continued to put each check in what I thought was the banks little collector dealy. NO..... I was putting it into the waterbottle, full of water. How dumb I felt when I had to beep the lady to explain why all my checks were sopping wet.
(From my friend Megan)
(From my friend Megan)
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Sliding Doors
Today I was standing on the platform at Rosslyn metro station (long story ... I accidentally took the orange line clear to George Mason before I realized that I was not, in fact, on the blue line as I thought, and had to backtrack through Rosslyn ... yeah, welcome to my world ... )
Anyway, a woman's voice came over the loudspeaker with a public service announcement about the doors on metro cars. They are not like elevator doors, she said. They will close on your person or your belongings, so be careful.
Not like elevator doors?! I happen to know otherwise.
This story goes back to New Year's Eve, 2003. Driving home around 1 a.m., I called up Molly to see where she was. Turned out she'd had a bad night and was a little down, so I decided to swing by her apartment building.
The lobby was still hopping, and a couple had just exited the elevator as I walked up. Seeing the doors closing, I reached out my hand to hold them open -- but instead of bouncing back, they closed right on my fingers, just below the knuckles. I tried to yank my hand free, but it was stuck. I called out for help, and the couple came running back and tried to pry the doors open. That is, the guy tried -- his girlfriend was a little, er, drunk, and freaking out about how horrible it would be if I lost my hand (just what I wanted to hear right then). Then she began petting my hair, saying things like, "Oh sweetie, don't worry, we'll get you out of here, you're going to be just fine, just hang in there ... "
The doors didn't budge. A few more people had stopped to see what was happening, and one of them suggested pushing the call button so the elevator would come down and open, and I could get my hand out. Someone pushed it, and everyone waited expectantly. But a different elevator opened, so they sent that one up to the 14th floor and pressed the button again. After all three of the other elevators were on their way to the top of the building, the one holding my hand hostage finally started making its way down to the first floor. (A little note about elevator doors: Apparently, there is an inner set of doors that travels up and down with the elevator, and an outer set of doors on each floor. My hand was caught in the outer set of doors only, which is why my arm didn't get torn off as the elevator went up. I just add that little tidbit because it's a question I get a lot when I tell this story.)
The elevator finally stopped on our level, and the doors ... did not open. In fact, they closed more tightly, making a grinding sound and banging repeatedly on my poor little fingers. I screamed in pain, and the drunk girl started yelling at me to "Shut up! Just shut up! We're going to get you out, OK? Just shut up!"
By this time, a small crowd had gathered in a semi-circle around the elevator. Someone had gone to alert the front desk of the situation, and came back to report that a maintenance worker was on his way. Another helpful person, someone who had clearly just arrived, said, "Hey, I have an idea. We should push the call button, and the elevator will come down and open up." The entire group turned to him, and in near-unison said, "We tried that already!" It was at this point that I had the vague sensation of being in a Seinfeld episode.
The drunk girl was stroking my hair again, and I was imagining my life without a left hand (how would I type? Would I ever play the piano again?) when the elevator maintenance worker shuffled up. He looked in his mid-twenties, with dark blue coveralls and shaggy blond hair hanging in his face. He didn't make eye contact with anyone, just inspected the doors, muttered something about needing a bigger tool and shuffled off again.
In the meantime, the elevator tried once again to open, smashing and re-smashing my hand, and I moaned something about the pressure and the pain. The drunk girl shushed me again, and a woman standing nearby stepped up and wedged a caribbeaner from her key chain into the crack below my fingers, relieving the pressure a little. "Hey honey, don't you have one of those, too?" another woman said, and someone wedged a second caribbeaner above my hand. I moved around and realized I could get all of my knuckles free except the largest one. The two caribbeaner-owners counted to three, put all their weight into leveraging the doors apart, and created a big enough gap that I pulled my hand free!
The crowd cheered as I displayed my swollen fingers, a deep shade of purple and indented to the bone (miraculously, the skin was unbroken). A manager had arrived on the scene and wanted to be sure I could bend all of my fingers (she was probably trying to avoid a lawsuit, but I like to think she was concerned about my well-being, too). It took a minute, but finally I was able to bend each joint, although my hand was a little too swollen to make a fist.
At this point, I just wanted to get out of there and up to Molly's apartment, so I thanked everyone profusely, reassured them that I'd be just fine, and (apprehensively) took an elevator to the tenth floor. It wasn't until I approached Molly's door that the tears started, so that when she opened it she found me standing there, holding up my shaking, battered hand, tears streaming down my face. All I could muster was, "Do you have an ice-pack?"
Fortunately, this story has a happy ending. My hand healed superbly, and I'm here today typing away. I was always a little wary of the elevators in Molly's building after that -- the one that jammed on my hand was out of commission for several weeks -- and I tend to get a little jumpy anytime someone puts out a hand to hold an elevator. Or the metro doors. Especially the metro doors. They're not like elevator doors, you know ...
Anyway, a woman's voice came over the loudspeaker with a public service announcement about the doors on metro cars. They are not like elevator doors, she said. They will close on your person or your belongings, so be careful.
Not like elevator doors?! I happen to know otherwise.
This story goes back to New Year's Eve, 2003. Driving home around 1 a.m., I called up Molly to see where she was. Turned out she'd had a bad night and was a little down, so I decided to swing by her apartment building.
The lobby was still hopping, and a couple had just exited the elevator as I walked up. Seeing the doors closing, I reached out my hand to hold them open -- but instead of bouncing back, they closed right on my fingers, just below the knuckles. I tried to yank my hand free, but it was stuck. I called out for help, and the couple came running back and tried to pry the doors open. That is, the guy tried -- his girlfriend was a little, er, drunk, and freaking out about how horrible it would be if I lost my hand (just what I wanted to hear right then). Then she began petting my hair, saying things like, "Oh sweetie, don't worry, we'll get you out of here, you're going to be just fine, just hang in there ... "
The doors didn't budge. A few more people had stopped to see what was happening, and one of them suggested pushing the call button so the elevator would come down and open, and I could get my hand out. Someone pushed it, and everyone waited expectantly. But a different elevator opened, so they sent that one up to the 14th floor and pressed the button again. After all three of the other elevators were on their way to the top of the building, the one holding my hand hostage finally started making its way down to the first floor. (A little note about elevator doors: Apparently, there is an inner set of doors that travels up and down with the elevator, and an outer set of doors on each floor. My hand was caught in the outer set of doors only, which is why my arm didn't get torn off as the elevator went up. I just add that little tidbit because it's a question I get a lot when I tell this story.)
The elevator finally stopped on our level, and the doors ... did not open. In fact, they closed more tightly, making a grinding sound and banging repeatedly on my poor little fingers. I screamed in pain, and the drunk girl started yelling at me to "Shut up! Just shut up! We're going to get you out, OK? Just shut up!"
By this time, a small crowd had gathered in a semi-circle around the elevator. Someone had gone to alert the front desk of the situation, and came back to report that a maintenance worker was on his way. Another helpful person, someone who had clearly just arrived, said, "Hey, I have an idea. We should push the call button, and the elevator will come down and open up." The entire group turned to him, and in near-unison said, "We tried that already!" It was at this point that I had the vague sensation of being in a Seinfeld episode.
The drunk girl was stroking my hair again, and I was imagining my life without a left hand (how would I type? Would I ever play the piano again?) when the elevator maintenance worker shuffled up. He looked in his mid-twenties, with dark blue coveralls and shaggy blond hair hanging in his face. He didn't make eye contact with anyone, just inspected the doors, muttered something about needing a bigger tool and shuffled off again.
In the meantime, the elevator tried once again to open, smashing and re-smashing my hand, and I moaned something about the pressure and the pain. The drunk girl shushed me again, and a woman standing nearby stepped up and wedged a caribbeaner from her key chain into the crack below my fingers, relieving the pressure a little. "Hey honey, don't you have one of those, too?" another woman said, and someone wedged a second caribbeaner above my hand. I moved around and realized I could get all of my knuckles free except the largest one. The two caribbeaner-owners counted to three, put all their weight into leveraging the doors apart, and created a big enough gap that I pulled my hand free!
The crowd cheered as I displayed my swollen fingers, a deep shade of purple and indented to the bone (miraculously, the skin was unbroken). A manager had arrived on the scene and wanted to be sure I could bend all of my fingers (she was probably trying to avoid a lawsuit, but I like to think she was concerned about my well-being, too). It took a minute, but finally I was able to bend each joint, although my hand was a little too swollen to make a fist.
At this point, I just wanted to get out of there and up to Molly's apartment, so I thanked everyone profusely, reassured them that I'd be just fine, and (apprehensively) took an elevator to the tenth floor. It wasn't until I approached Molly's door that the tears started, so that when she opened it she found me standing there, holding up my shaking, battered hand, tears streaming down my face. All I could muster was, "Do you have an ice-pack?"
Fortunately, this story has a happy ending. My hand healed superbly, and I'm here today typing away. I was always a little wary of the elevators in Molly's building after that -- the one that jammed on my hand was out of commission for several weeks -- and I tend to get a little jumpy anytime someone puts out a hand to hold an elevator. Or the metro doors. Especially the metro doors. They're not like elevator doors, you know ...
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
ICS: Invisible Car Syndrome
Welcome to my world--I swear I'm not paranoid. No really, in fact I really don't think it has much to do with me at all, but it's been happening more lately. Not like all the time, or every day--but once a month or so, I'll be stopped at a stoplight in full traffic swell and I look over and there it is: ICS strikes again.
What is ICS? Well it stands for Invisible Car Syndrome. That's an official diagnosis, by the way, for someone who decides to stop a full car-length back from the crosswalk starting line of a red light. Why do they do this? I have no idea. But I've seen it more frequently here in LA. Truly, people will stop a full car-length back from the crosswalk. I don't get it. Maybe they are fearful or hateful of me and so they refuse to sidle up next to my drivers side window--but a full car length? That could be accomplished in a few feet. Perhaps they had a bad experience with a pedestrian? It's been known to happen--a good hood-pounder from an alcohol clutching man can leave you wary. But a full car-length? I don't get it.
ICS is for real...
What is ICS? Well it stands for Invisible Car Syndrome. That's an official diagnosis, by the way, for someone who decides to stop a full car-length back from the crosswalk starting line of a red light. Why do they do this? I have no idea. But I've seen it more frequently here in LA. Truly, people will stop a full car-length back from the crosswalk. I don't get it. Maybe they are fearful or hateful of me and so they refuse to sidle up next to my drivers side window--but a full car length? That could be accomplished in a few feet. Perhaps they had a bad experience with a pedestrian? It's been known to happen--a good hood-pounder from an alcohol clutching man can leave you wary. But a full car-length? I don't get it.
It can only be one thing: ICS. These people really think there is a car in front of them, and it's just invisible to the rest of us. An invisible car blocking their way so they can't pull all the way up, so they wait at the light one full car-length back. You don't believe me do you? Proof. Here's a picture of it just yesterday. Proof Positive that people are suffering from a strange disorder called ICS. Be careful. Be wary. Look for it in your city...
ICS is for real...Monday, March 10, 2008
Monday Street Cleaning...
From the world of my friend Chelsea...
"You know how I was parked on the street with the 8AM Monday street cleaning? So this morning, I’m almost ready to go but not quite and it’s 7:47. I still have to get dressed and finish up, so I think. “Oh, better play it safe and just go move my car. Surely some people have left for work already and a spot has opened up in front of Miriam’s building.” I head down the stairs and sure enough – rock star parking just outside her door. I jump in my car and zip over to my new spot, run back upstairs feeling like I can relax and not be in such a rush to get out the door. I call my mother to discuss the bulge in my tire (another “welcome to my world” story of its own) that I discovered while moving my car, finish getting dressed, do some final touches on the makeup, brush the teeth, and I’m out the door.
"Cue the tumbleweed and that lonely music they play in western movies when everyone clears the streets for the duel that’s about to start. I am suddenly painfully aware that my car is the only one parked on that side of the street. That’s correct. I moved my car from one 8AM Monday street cleaning street to another 8AM Monday street cleaning street, making my attempt to avoid a parking ticket totally futile. All for the low, low price of $50. (That’s a lot for the girl without a job.)
"Grrrr. Just another day in my world."
"You know how I was parked on the street with the 8AM Monday street cleaning? So this morning, I’m almost ready to go but not quite and it’s 7:47. I still have to get dressed and finish up, so I think. “Oh, better play it safe and just go move my car. Surely some people have left for work already and a spot has opened up in front of Miriam’s building.” I head down the stairs and sure enough – rock star parking just outside her door. I jump in my car and zip over to my new spot, run back upstairs feeling like I can relax and not be in such a rush to get out the door. I call my mother to discuss the bulge in my tire (another “welcome to my world” story of its own) that I discovered while moving my car, finish getting dressed, do some final touches on the makeup, brush the teeth, and I’m out the door.
"Cue the tumbleweed and that lonely music they play in western movies when everyone clears the streets for the duel that’s about to start. I am suddenly painfully aware that my car is the only one parked on that side of the street. That’s correct. I moved my car from one 8AM Monday street cleaning street to another 8AM Monday street cleaning street, making my attempt to avoid a parking ticket totally futile. All for the low, low price of $50. (That’s a lot for the girl without a job.)
"Grrrr. Just another day in my world."
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Grocery Store + Kids=Adventure. Every Time.
Now that I am a blogger, I am realizing how many moments of insanity I have when everything happens all at once and I'm flailing my arms trying to put out the fire. Looking forward to writing up a post helps me sit back in the moment and crack up instead of getting frustrated about it. Here is my latest moment of insanity:
It's 5:30 on Tuesday night, and I've just finished feeding Jake. Ethan and I ate dinner at 4:45 since Kyle was going to be studying late and I figured it would be a nice treat to avoid the daily 5:30 meltdown. (I call it the 5:30 blues, because it doesn't matter if Ethan has had a snack, been outside, read stories, gotten attention, watched a movie... he just loses it at 5:30 at night. It's been that way since he stopped napping) Anyway, I decide spur of the moment to go to the grocery store to grab a few things, wondering if I can be back by 7:30 for the youth to come over the my house. Two hours, I'm thinking... can I make it back in 2 hours if i just grab a few things at the store?! It will be tight... by the time I get everbody ready to go and loaded up....yeah, I can make it. Ridiculolus, I know, but that's the way it is. So we head to Meijer and we get there and of course Ethan wants to ride in "the sitting part" of the shopping cart. I couldn't have bribed him with anything to sit in that thing before Jake was born, but now that Jake's car seat goes there, Ethan has now claimed that spot for himself--which is kind of nice to have him somewhat contained, but it means I have to put Jake's car seat in the big part of the cart, the diaper bag on the bottom, and that leaves room in the cart for about a loaf of bread and a box of cereal. We didn't have a million things to get, so I figured I would capitalize on Ethan being inside the cart and just roll with it. As we go, I load some things around Jake's seat, fill up the bottom with a box of diapers, and then start giving stuff to Ethan to put on his lap. He thought it was really fun, and kept saying, "Look at me, mommy! I'm loaded up with a big load!" He was covered in tomatoes, fruit snacks, avocadoes, bananas, underwear, flushable wipes, and whatever else. Of course, a few minutes before we're ready to check out my blood sugar gets low, so I fumble down to my bag to get my Glucometer and check, and then eat a few glucose tablets. Some good descriptors for how I feel when I'm low are: Annoyed, frustrated, panicky, cold and sweaty, hazy, spacy, and irritable. Awesome combo with two kids, an overfull grocery cart, and check-out lines and a 7:30 deadline at home. So we zoom over to the line, and we get to where there is one person in front of us and two people behind us, and Ethan looks up at me and says, "Mommy, I have some more potty." Oh, man. Let's see. What would be more inconvenient right now? Cleaning up an accident, or weaseling out of this line and taking my kids into the bathroom? Then I think, I can't let Ethan have an accident when he's telling me right now that he has to go. It would devastate him. "Can you hold it for a few minutes, or do you have to go right this second? "Right this second." I am trying as hard as I can not to disclose my frustration and irritability to Ethan because I want him to have a good experience with potty training and for him to feel supported and confident about going in public places--and having low blood sugar, it is taking every ounce of self control I have ever worked to develop in my life. So, we shimmy our way out of line ("excuse me, sorry, thanks...":) and head to the bathroom which I can't find right away and then the second person I ask explains that the bathroom is through the exit doors and then to the left. Someone's genius idea to curb shoplifting, I guess. I wanted to deck that genius in that moment because I couldn't just waltz my cart of unpaid groceries through the exit, but I also didn't really want to take hats and coats and the diaper bag into the bathroom because I only have two arms... And Ethan is completely buried in groceries. So I get to the exit doors and I start offloading stuff from Ethan's lap unto the basket of one of those sit down and drive carts and then I grab Ethan and Jake and my wallet and pray that no one will steal our other stuff and we scurry unto the bathroom. Ethan had a success, so that was great, but as I was unloading the box of diapers off the bottom of the cart onto the conveyor belt, I tried to figure out why everything inside my diaper bag was covered in yogurt, and why that yogurt was also all over the strap of the bag...and all over the floor! Oops. I had squashed Jake's car seat onto a yogurt when I put it back in after our bathroom escapade. 7 paper towels and one burp rag later, we had it all under control, and except for the blob of gooey grocery store floor hairball mixed with yogurt that I found on the shoulder of my coat when I got home (from carrying the bag to the car) I think we managed an ultimate triumph, against all the odds.
I just have to laugh that with two little ones, when everything happens all at once, the most basic daily activity can turn into a full blown circus act. Next time I leave the house maybe I'll bring popcorn for spectators.
It's 5:30 on Tuesday night, and I've just finished feeding Jake. Ethan and I ate dinner at 4:45 since Kyle was going to be studying late and I figured it would be a nice treat to avoid the daily 5:30 meltdown. (I call it the 5:30 blues, because it doesn't matter if Ethan has had a snack, been outside, read stories, gotten attention, watched a movie... he just loses it at 5:30 at night. It's been that way since he stopped napping) Anyway, I decide spur of the moment to go to the grocery store to grab a few things, wondering if I can be back by 7:30 for the youth to come over the my house. Two hours, I'm thinking... can I make it back in 2 hours if i just grab a few things at the store?! It will be tight... by the time I get everbody ready to go and loaded up....yeah, I can make it. Ridiculolus, I know, but that's the way it is. So we head to Meijer and we get there and of course Ethan wants to ride in "the sitting part" of the shopping cart. I couldn't have bribed him with anything to sit in that thing before Jake was born, but now that Jake's car seat goes there, Ethan has now claimed that spot for himself--which is kind of nice to have him somewhat contained, but it means I have to put Jake's car seat in the big part of the cart, the diaper bag on the bottom, and that leaves room in the cart for about a loaf of bread and a box of cereal. We didn't have a million things to get, so I figured I would capitalize on Ethan being inside the cart and just roll with it. As we go, I load some things around Jake's seat, fill up the bottom with a box of diapers, and then start giving stuff to Ethan to put on his lap. He thought it was really fun, and kept saying, "Look at me, mommy! I'm loaded up with a big load!" He was covered in tomatoes, fruit snacks, avocadoes, bananas, underwear, flushable wipes, and whatever else. Of course, a few minutes before we're ready to check out my blood sugar gets low, so I fumble down to my bag to get my Glucometer and check, and then eat a few glucose tablets. Some good descriptors for how I feel when I'm low are: Annoyed, frustrated, panicky, cold and sweaty, hazy, spacy, and irritable. Awesome combo with two kids, an overfull grocery cart, and check-out lines and a 7:30 deadline at home. So we zoom over to the line, and we get to where there is one person in front of us and two people behind us, and Ethan looks up at me and says, "Mommy, I have some more potty." Oh, man. Let's see. What would be more inconvenient right now? Cleaning up an accident, or weaseling out of this line and taking my kids into the bathroom? Then I think, I can't let Ethan have an accident when he's telling me right now that he has to go. It would devastate him. "Can you hold it for a few minutes, or do you have to go right this second? "Right this second." I am trying as hard as I can not to disclose my frustration and irritability to Ethan because I want him to have a good experience with potty training and for him to feel supported and confident about going in public places--and having low blood sugar, it is taking every ounce of self control I have ever worked to develop in my life. So, we shimmy our way out of line ("excuse me, sorry, thanks...":) and head to the bathroom which I can't find right away and then the second person I ask explains that the bathroom is through the exit doors and then to the left. Someone's genius idea to curb shoplifting, I guess. I wanted to deck that genius in that moment because I couldn't just waltz my cart of unpaid groceries through the exit, but I also didn't really want to take hats and coats and the diaper bag into the bathroom because I only have two arms... And Ethan is completely buried in groceries. So I get to the exit doors and I start offloading stuff from Ethan's lap unto the basket of one of those sit down and drive carts and then I grab Ethan and Jake and my wallet and pray that no one will steal our other stuff and we scurry unto the bathroom. Ethan had a success, so that was great, but as I was unloading the box of diapers off the bottom of the cart onto the conveyor belt, I tried to figure out why everything inside my diaper bag was covered in yogurt, and why that yogurt was also all over the strap of the bag...and all over the floor! Oops. I had squashed Jake's car seat onto a yogurt when I put it back in after our bathroom escapade. 7 paper towels and one burp rag later, we had it all under control, and except for the blob of gooey grocery store floor hairball mixed with yogurt that I found on the shoulder of my coat when I got home (from carrying the bag to the car) I think we managed an ultimate triumph, against all the odds.
I just have to laugh that with two little ones, when everything happens all at once, the most basic daily activity can turn into a full blown circus act. Next time I leave the house maybe I'll bring popcorn for spectators.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Carnation Instant Waterfall
Okay, so the other day I was stirring up a glass of carnation instant breakfast, and all of a sudden I felt wet everywhere, with the majority of the feeling focused in just below my waist. WHAT IN THE WORLD?!?! Did I just...?!?! No way...
Well it turns out that as I was stirring, the glass completely broke. But not in a way that I've ever seen before...
Isn't that crazy? A hole in the side of the glass, just like that. But because I was swiriling it around, it came gushing out with a lot of force and it was so sudden and so strong that it really took me a few seconds to figure out what had happened. And the counter happens to hit me right below the waist, so it felt a little weird. Part of this complete breakfast, right?
Oh, and part two to this story is that I wiped it all up with a big blue towel, threw the towel in the laundry room towels bin that I was planning to put in the washer that day, and of course never threw in the load... A few days later, after my 3 year-old puked on me three times in a row (and I helplessly sat there, holding out my hand, like it was going to catch the eruption), I put everything we were wearing and everything else that got contaminated by the throw up in the washing machine and cloroxed up the kitchen and anything that smelled like puke. Still smelling something unsettling, I then sniffed out the now curdled milk towel that I had never washed. Then, I seriously almost puked.
Well it turns out that as I was stirring, the glass completely broke. But not in a way that I've ever seen before...
Isn't that crazy? A hole in the side of the glass, just like that. But because I was swiriling it around, it came gushing out with a lot of force and it was so sudden and so strong that it really took me a few seconds to figure out what had happened. And the counter happens to hit me right below the waist, so it felt a little weird. Part of this complete breakfast, right?
Oh, and part two to this story is that I wiped it all up with a big blue towel, threw the towel in the laundry room towels bin that I was planning to put in the washer that day, and of course never threw in the load... A few days later, after my 3 year-old puked on me three times in a row (and I helplessly sat there, holding out my hand, like it was going to catch the eruption), I put everything we were wearing and everything else that got contaminated by the throw up in the washing machine and cloroxed up the kitchen and anything that smelled like puke. Still smelling something unsettling, I then sniffed out the now curdled milk towel that I had never washed. Then, I seriously almost puked.
I Can't Stand It...
This is a blast from the past from September of 2005 when Ethan was learning how to stand up in his crib. Do you ever feel like this?!?! :)
Friday, February 15, 2008
Stinkin' Valentine's Day
I forgot to put on deodorant yesterday morning.
See, the power is out in half of my house (yes, just half), and the "out" half includes my bathroom, so after showering and brushing my teeth by candlelight (Happy romantic Valentine's Day to you, too), I moved my hair-doing operation to my bedroom, but neglected to bring the deodorant. Huh. I only remembered after I got to my office, which is a 40-minute drive from home, WAY too far to go back, especially when there's a CVS two minutes away.
But I didn't even have to drive to CVS. I only had to go as far as my car in the parking lot, where I applied the deodorant that I had purchased and left in my car three weeks ago, the LAST time I forgot to put on deodorant in the morning.
Yup. Welcome to my world.
See, the power is out in half of my house (yes, just half), and the "out" half includes my bathroom, so after showering and brushing my teeth by candlelight (Happy romantic Valentine's Day to you, too), I moved my hair-doing operation to my bedroom, but neglected to bring the deodorant. Huh. I only remembered after I got to my office, which is a 40-minute drive from home, WAY too far to go back, especially when there's a CVS two minutes away.
But I didn't even have to drive to CVS. I only had to go as far as my car in the parking lot, where I applied the deodorant that I had purchased and left in my car three weeks ago, the LAST time I forgot to put on deodorant in the morning.
Yup. Welcome to my world.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Shopping Cart Love Lost
So after losing my phone at Disneyland (where yes, people are better and nicer and it was returned to the Space Mountain front desk) --I realized cargo pockets don't hold everything in if you go hurtling about in the dark round and round, and made a mental note to try and not misplace things that are important to me.
Less than 24 hours later, I'm just swinging by the grocery store (luckily it wasn't raining so I didn't need an umbrella bag) to pick up a few things--you know, only like $20 bucks worth of the quick things like banannas, a bell pepper, some lysol, couple things of ice cream etc. And I think I started talking on my newly recovered phone or something, cause when I got home, went inside and started unloading the plastic bags (plural) I only had one plastic bag (singular). What the...?! Did I leave it in the car? Checked, nope. Where in the...?! Could I have possibly left it at the grocery store? Did the dang checkout kid not give me one of my bags?! Do I really drive back to the store when it might not even be there, and they'll just laugh at me like I'm escaped?
So I asked my roommate if I should go back, and after ascertaining that there was ice cream involved, he advised there was no question about returning. So back to the store I went and walked in. And after giving a steely eye to that dang checkout kid, I look past him and there it was:
Lovely. Yup. He did his job well, and I promptly left it in the cart and walked out of the store. That's my bag, don't worry about it, I got it. At least no one was like, "Hey free Ben and Jerry's ice cream and walked off with it...Welcome to my World.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Umbrella Bags
I can just see the headline:
"Woman suffocates in mall parking lot. Two-year old and 4 month old boy found alone in the rain."
Well, good thing I realized how dumb I am before it got to that point. Here's what actually happened.
Okay, so I went to the mall yesterday in the rain, (without an umbrella of course)and when I got inside Von Maur, I saw this little stand that said "complimentary umbrella bags" and I thought, "hey, one of those could really come in handy for me on the way out." So, after visiting Old Navy and feeding Jake while Ethan played in the little indoor playground (I think all of that took us about 3 hours) I made it back to the umrella bag stand. I was glad for a landmark to tell me i was at the right door because i have been known to go out the wrong door and not be able to find my car... Anyway, after getting Jake all bundled up in the stroller and Ethan's hat and coat and my coat on, and keys ready, and everything consolidated so we wouldn't have to stand too long in the rain, I decided to try out one of those complimentary bags since I didn't have an umbrella. "I'll just grab one and hold it over my head and it will keep me dry. That's so cool that they have those there for you if you forget to bring your umbrella." Right. So the thing is long and skinny and I'm trying to figure out how to sort of put it over my head and I'm thinking, "I'm going to suffocate myself if I put this on! How is this supposed to work?!" After asking Ethan again not to run through the doors and out into the parking lot until I'm ready, I had the epiphany. "Wait a second, this is not a bag to be used as an umbrella--this is a bag FOR your umbrella." It's long and skinny--shaped exactly like and umbrella--so that when you get inside, you can put the thing over your wet umbrella and then stick it back in your bag and it won't get everything all wet.
I am a moron.
But at least I didn't actually put it on, right?
I hope somebody from a distance got a good laugh. :)
"Woman suffocates in mall parking lot. Two-year old and 4 month old boy found alone in the rain."
Well, good thing I realized how dumb I am before it got to that point. Here's what actually happened.
Okay, so I went to the mall yesterday in the rain, (without an umbrella of course)and when I got inside Von Maur, I saw this little stand that said "complimentary umbrella bags" and I thought, "hey, one of those could really come in handy for me on the way out." So, after visiting Old Navy and feeding Jake while Ethan played in the little indoor playground (I think all of that took us about 3 hours) I made it back to the umrella bag stand. I was glad for a landmark to tell me i was at the right door because i have been known to go out the wrong door and not be able to find my car... Anyway, after getting Jake all bundled up in the stroller and Ethan's hat and coat and my coat on, and keys ready, and everything consolidated so we wouldn't have to stand too long in the rain, I decided to try out one of those complimentary bags since I didn't have an umbrella. "I'll just grab one and hold it over my head and it will keep me dry. That's so cool that they have those there for you if you forget to bring your umbrella." Right. So the thing is long and skinny and I'm trying to figure out how to sort of put it over my head and I'm thinking, "I'm going to suffocate myself if I put this on! How is this supposed to work?!" After asking Ethan again not to run through the doors and out into the parking lot until I'm ready, I had the epiphany. "Wait a second, this is not a bag to be used as an umbrella--this is a bag FOR your umbrella." It's long and skinny--shaped exactly like and umbrella--so that when you get inside, you can put the thing over your wet umbrella and then stick it back in your bag and it won't get everything all wet.
I am a moron.
But at least I didn't actually put it on, right?
I hope somebody from a distance got a good laugh. :)
Gingerpants in my pocket!!
Ok, sometimes things DO go very very right in our worlds! Like when we think the last of the Gingerpants (amazing little gingermen cookies that were to DIE for in DC this year, thank you guy that liked Steph but she wasn't sure so we helped her eat the cookies) are gone and we've said our goodbyes, and then we reach in our pockets and there are a few left!
(Ok, so sometimes it's cause we totally forgot about something we did before and leave food in our coat, and it ends up working out really well, but still!!) Welcome to my Gingerpants.
(Ok, so sometimes it's cause we totally forgot about something we did before and leave food in our coat, and it ends up working out really well, but still!!) Welcome to my Gingerpants.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Allison brought her world to Rexburg, ID
Right after my first son, Ethan, was born, Allison came out to Idaho to help with groceries and dinners and be an aunt and all that good stuff. Her great plan was to cook a double or triple batch of chili and then stock my freezer with it for later. We'll just let the picture tell the rest of the story. 
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Get Your Tickets for the Fire Station Dedication -- Two for $75 bucks...
January 5th, 2007
Zach
I don't get many parking tickets. If I do get a parking ticket, I pay it. But it is usually very crumpled upon mailing because I have squeezed the life out of the sucker and thrown it on to the floor of my vehicle where it remains for days as I try to get over feeling deceived or taken in some way. You see, in LA they have what I like to call "Conditional Parking Signs:"
But that's not even the most "fustrating" part--because oft times they will have not just one, but 3 or 4 ridiculous signs all stacked on top of each other so even if you can find an open parking spot (which is highly unlikely) you'll have to pull out your LSAT prep book to be able to figure out the logic problem of which sign cancels out what time on what day with what colored curb.
With that as background, I'm on my way to sing with a group at the dedication of the Mar Vista Fire Station. How lovely, we are doing some service FOR THE CITY as a motion of goodwill and love. uh-huh. Eyes were wet, hearts were touched, we did a great job. As I return to my vehicle I notice a gift card on my windshield. What?!? Nevermind that it's Saturday--you see there is a meter next to the curb which apparently trumps all Conditional Parking Signs and that meter only takes coins for up to one hour. It's ok, it's ok--I just did service--I find the inner strength to support the city and not crumple the ticket. Upon arriving home, I am startled to find there is another slip of paper inside of the ticket envelope. . . What the. . . ?? Two tickets?!?!? Yes, yes, didn't you know that you can receive an additional ticket for each and every hour you are parked in the one hour parking?--see you're taking away someone else's opportunity to get a ticket you curb-hogging ingrate...
Both tickets are currently crumpled on the floor of my car...
Zach
I don't get many parking tickets. If I do get a parking ticket, I pay it. But it is usually very crumpled upon mailing because I have squeezed the life out of the sucker and thrown it on to the floor of my vehicle where it remains for days as I try to get over feeling deceived or taken in some way. You see, in LA they have what I like to call "Conditional Parking Signs:"
But that's not even the most "fustrating" part--because oft times they will have not just one, but 3 or 4 ridiculous signs all stacked on top of each other so even if you can find an open parking spot (which is highly unlikely) you'll have to pull out your LSAT prep book to be able to figure out the logic problem of which sign cancels out what time on what day with what colored curb.With that as background, I'm on my way to sing with a group at the dedication of the Mar Vista Fire Station. How lovely, we are doing some service FOR THE CITY as a motion of goodwill and love. uh-huh. Eyes were wet, hearts were touched, we did a great job. As I return to my vehicle I notice a gift card on my windshield. What?!? Nevermind that it's Saturday--you see there is a meter next to the curb which apparently trumps all Conditional Parking Signs and that meter only takes coins for up to one hour. It's ok, it's ok--I just did service--I find the inner strength to support the city and not crumple the ticket. Upon arriving home, I am startled to find there is another slip of paper inside of the ticket envelope. . . What the. . . ?? Two tickets?!?!? Yes, yes, didn't you know that you can receive an additional ticket for each and every hour you are parked in the one hour parking?--see you're taking away someone else's opportunity to get a ticket you curb-hogging ingrate...
Both tickets are currently crumpled on the floor of my car...
Oh chute...
August 2007
Zach
For some reason my landlord doesn't have a key anymore to our place to come in and do repairs, so it's just one more thing to add to the list of stuff to get done that I don't have time for. So I'm rushing around, trying to get out the door with my arms full of stuff and finishing up cleaning the apartment before I leave for class, and feeling pretty good cause I have some positive momentum at least and I'm "getting my stuff done."
I even have the foresight to put the key in a white envelope to remind me of the task I need to complete, so I really am working with brilliance here. It's time to go--I grab the envelope, my backpack, my lunch, my gym bag for after class, surplus books that don't fit in my bulging backpack, keys/wallet/phone/ check check check, start the dishwasher, grab the trash to take out on the way...out the door...down the hall...drop the trash in the chute...clink kuh-clink clink clink...
And there's the empty envelope still in my hand as the key escorts the trash down the garbage chute into the depths of the dumpster below...
Zach
For some reason my landlord doesn't have a key anymore to our place to come in and do repairs, so it's just one more thing to add to the list of stuff to get done that I don't have time for. So I'm rushing around, trying to get out the door with my arms full of stuff and finishing up cleaning the apartment before I leave for class, and feeling pretty good cause I have some positive momentum at least and I'm "getting my stuff done."
I even have the foresight to put the key in a white envelope to remind me of the task I need to complete, so I really am working with brilliance here. It's time to go--I grab the envelope, my backpack, my lunch, my gym bag for after class, surplus books that don't fit in my bulging backpack, keys/wallet/phone/ check check check, start the dishwasher, grab the trash to take out on the way...out the door...down the hall...drop the trash in the chute...clink kuh-clink clink clink...
And there's the empty envelope still in my hand as the key escorts the trash down the garbage chute into the depths of the dumpster below...
Friday, January 11, 2008
From the Archives
So, I just typed in “welcome to my world” in my Gmail and came up with some classics, along with a few I didn’t even remember …
February 7, 2007
Allison
Just wanted to let you know that I drove into work today so I could avoid walking to the metro in the cold and snow. Instead, I ended up walking to the gas station in the cold and snow when I ran out of gas 8 blocks from work. picture me in heels and a skirt in the 20 degree weather running down a slippery sidewalk to a gas station (which I think ended up being further from my car than my office), then all the way back carrying two gallons of gas.
the funny thing is that I actually got to work earlier than usual. go figure. :)
May 8, 2006
Allison
I went to the police station on Saturday to get a clearance so I could volunteer, and they told me I had to come back on Monday. So I went this morning before work and when they gave me my clearance, it said I had a DWI in 2001 and did jail time for it. So I got that all straightened out, got to work late, and when I got there realized I left my laptop at home. I had to go back and get it. By the time I got to work it was like 11:00 and I had made my commute 3 times in the rain plus a trip to the police station. Happy Monday to me!
September 13, 2005
Emily
Ok, so I have been waking up at 6:30 every morning for my student teaching to get ready, get Ethan fed and ready for the day, and get breakfast and get to school by 8:15. We had a power surge a few months ago that zapped my alarm clock and I finally got a new one to replace it. So, on Monday I set my alarm and set my phone just to make sure my new alarm was working. Both of them went off so I figured I was all set. PLUS, even on a Saturday I am lucky if I can get Ethan to sleep in until 7:30. PLUS, my blood sugar usually is calling for breakfast by 8:00, PLUS Kyle grew up on a farm and he wakes up with the sun. So, I have about 5 back up systems for making sure I get up in the morning. Well, last night I stayed up really late putting away groceries and making baby food, and thinking about what I can say to these students today (2 high school students were killed in a car accident this weekend so it's been pretty sober and heavy around the high school). Ethan ate his last meal pretty late because I was at the grocery store and then he wasn't very sleepy and probably didn't go to bed until 9:45 or 10:00. Kyle was working until close at Wendy's and I was actually still awake when he got home... anyway, so I set my alarm for 7:00 instead of 6:30 and...
This morning Kyle wakes up and taps me on the shoulder and says, "um Em, do you know what time it is?" And I looked at the clock at it was 8:51!!!! I was supposed to be at school by 8:15 and I didn't even wake up until almost 9!! So Kyle is too tired from working late to wake up with the sun anymore, Ethan was on a crazy schedule yesterday so he didn't wake up, I had had a low blood sugar before I went to bed and must have overtreated it so I woke up high, and my fabulous new alarm has a quirk that I must have overlooked. Plus, since I'm only nursing morning and night, I don't wake up from needing to feed Ethan .Meanwhile, I missed two days last week from being sick and I didn't even show up this morning until I could freak out and grab stuff and go. Oh man. But, Mr. Hinck was up painting his living room unitl 2:00 in the morning so when I told him the story he thought it was pretty funny. Ah, life. I want to welcomed OUT of the welcome to my world club, please.
Allison’s response:
Em -- I feel for you. Sorry I can never be the one to welcome you out of that world -- I think I'm in it permanently. I don't think I can top your story, but check this out: Last week I borrowed some hedge trimmers to do the bushes in our front yard, and none of the four extension cords in our basement would work with them. I suddenly realized that the end of the Christmas lights cord was shaped perfectly, so plugged it in and there I was, with a string of white twinkle lights trailing behind me as I trimmed all the bushes in our front yard (it was dusk so you could really see them -- one of my friends drove by and called out, "Christmas isn't for four more months!") Anyway, it worked great -- until I had only half of a little bush left, and the hedge trimmers ate the Christmas lights :( They aren't really heavy-duty-meant-for-yardwork cords.
Anyway, welcome back in. It's great to have you here in my world.
Mom’s response:
I guess I'll join you just so I won't be lonesome. When I was getting everything de-cluttered and gleaming to show the house, I cleared the George Foreman grill off of the counter tomake it look more spacious. So now, the house is sold, Dad is out of town, and I'm hungry. And George is no where to be found. No where. Where could I have put it???? And the worst....I was cleaning the toilet just now in the main floor bathroom, and the rag got away from me and I couldn't get it back. Great. It went down. So will it clog the sewer again??? I do NOT need a flood right now. So I'm going around the house flushing, flushing, flushing to keep things moving.
August 25, 2005
Allison
So I was having this great morning, because Jen made me French toast for breakfast and then Latricia drove me all the way to the metro. No sooner was I on the metro, however (in a very crowded car, I might add) than I reached into my purse for my book, and just as I did so, the metro driver slammed on the brakes and I went FLYING. Seriously -- I was flailing around, trying to find a bar to grab onto, but nothing. I hit the ground. It even broke the skin on my knee. Umm, EMBARRASSING!! How has YOUR morning been?
Has anyone seen my marbles?
Emily -- I'm taking the liberty of posting this one for you (cut and pasted from your e-mail), since it was part of the inspiration to start this blog!
So I go into the kitchen to finish unloading the groceries and as I'm putting away the strawberries I see another case of strawberries already in the fridge that I bought yesterday. Hello?! Then, I decide to super glue two magnets to the back of my newly purchased dry-erase eraser so I can keep it up on the whiteboard, and I try to unscrew the lid. After 4 or 5 unsuccessful attempts, I assume that I have to unscrew the whole thing instead of just the cap, and right as I am trying to figure out how to make it work and I'm reading the front part of the bottle that says "goof proof," I manage to spill superglue all along the inside of my hand in between my third and fourth finger, pooling right to where my wedding ring is. (I'm just taking this whole eternal marriage thing being SEALED to your spouse so seriously, I wanted to make sure my wedding ring would never come off.) So of course I have to spend the next 10 mintues trying to see if I can get any of it off, and I finally give up and resign myself to feeling like a leper for the next few days until my totally chafed skin sheds off. I put the q-tips away upstairs and realize that there is a brand new box sitting right where I am trying to put the one I just bought. At dinner I realize I never gave Kyle the message from several days ago which primary class he has now and that he is supposed to teach tomorrow, I open the wrong end of the butter box so that I can't re close it, so I put it back on top of the two already opened butter boxes that are crowding the door of the fridge and not fitting, and decide that I have pretty much lost my marbles.
So I go into the kitchen to finish unloading the groceries and as I'm putting away the strawberries I see another case of strawberries already in the fridge that I bought yesterday. Hello?! Then, I decide to super glue two magnets to the back of my newly purchased dry-erase eraser so I can keep it up on the whiteboard, and I try to unscrew the lid. After 4 or 5 unsuccessful attempts, I assume that I have to unscrew the whole thing instead of just the cap, and right as I am trying to figure out how to make it work and I'm reading the front part of the bottle that says "goof proof," I manage to spill superglue all along the inside of my hand in between my third and fourth finger, pooling right to where my wedding ring is. (I'm just taking this whole eternal marriage thing being SEALED to your spouse so seriously, I wanted to make sure my wedding ring would never come off.) So of course I have to spend the next 10 mintues trying to see if I can get any of it off, and I finally give up and resign myself to feeling like a leper for the next few days until my totally chafed skin sheds off. I put the q-tips away upstairs and realize that there is a brand new box sitting right where I am trying to put the one I just bought. At dinner I realize I never gave Kyle the message from several days ago which primary class he has now and that he is supposed to teach tomorrow, I open the wrong end of the butter box so that I can't re close it, so I put it back on top of the two already opened butter boxes that are crowding the door of the fridge and not fitting, and decide that I have pretty much lost my marbles.
Some days you're the windshield; some days you're the bug
So, I’ve got a pretty good one for you guys. This is the sad, sad story of my new driver’s license picture, in which I am … yes, sobbing. (Warning: Settle in for the long version of this story. It seems that’s the only version I know how to tell for most of my stories …)
This story actually starts back in early December, when a series of unfortunate events resulted in my driver’s license getting suspended.
Event #1: I get a traffic ticket for an illegal U-turn. Sigh. I mail in the payment.
Event #2: The court sends me a notice saying the payment arrived late, and that my license will be suspended unless I pay extra court fees by December 26.
Event #3: I go to
So, on Monday I went to the courthouse to pay the fine and sort everything out. Then I hauled over to the DMV and pay another fine to get my license un-suspended (a total of $241 so far for this one little infraction). Then I was informed that I would need to apply for a new driver’s license, and that it would cost me an additional fee. Huh?
I tried to decline, saying I’d like to keep the old one, thank you, but was told this was not an option. “Why, I asked? My license is right here, just scan the little code and make everything right and give it back to me.” Zip, zip. “I’m sorry, ma’am, that’s not our policy.” “Wait, all I did was mail a payment in a day late, and now I have to apply for a new license? That’s ridiculous.” “That’s our policy. Oh, and to get your new license, you’ll need to show proof of citizenship – a birth certificate or a passport.”
“What? You have my old license right there. I’ve had a
So, I was forced to drive home to get my passport, and then back to the DMV. I used the drive to regain control of myself (I have a tendency to cry when I’m angry, even more so than when I’m hurt), and when I got back, the man behind the counter said he didn’t recognize me. “You were here today?” “Yes.” “This morning?” “Yes.” “I don’t remember you.” He kept this up for a while. The woman next to him finally said, “He remembers you, he’s just pulling your chain.” Then he started in with, “Have we met? Do I know you from somewhere?” (The same routine he tried when I came to the counter the first time.) “No, we’ve never met.” I tried to be nice, though, and apologize for being angry earlier, saying, “Well, it’s good if you don’t remember me, because I wasn’t being very nice the last time I was here.”
I don’t think I even saw him open my passport, just mark down that I had proof of citizenship. Then he asked, “How did you get to your house to get your passport? Did you drive?” “Yes.” “On a suspended license?” “Clearly.” “Do you know what could happen to you if you get pulled over driving on a suspended license?” “Well, I didn’t really have another option, did I?”
At this point I was marking the box on the application for a driver’s license that indicated I’d had my license suspended. In the space where I was to state the reason, he said, “Write, ‘Ticket unpaid.’” I glanced up, looked him in the eye and said firmly, “It wasn’t unpaid. It was paid one day late.” But I wrote, “Ticket unpaid” on the line. “That’s right,” he sneered.
This was about the time the angry tears started again, but I pushed them back and handed him the form. I stood there trying to control myself while he entered my information. I told him I’d also received a notification about my car registration, and that I needed to renew it while I was there. He took my old registration and asked, “Did you get a new emissions test?” “No. The letter didn’t say anything about that. It said to bring in a particular form to renew it, and here it is.” “You have to have an emissions test every two years, and you need one this year.” “Why didn’t you say that in the letter you sent?” “I don’t know what letter you got, ma’am. But you need an emissions test.” “Are you kidding me?” “No.” “But I just had the safety inspection done.” “That’s a different thing. You need an emissions test. I can give you an extension … for a fee.”
Well, by now I must have looked real pitiful. Tears were streaming down my face. He was not moved; he did not think mine was a special case. But he did hand me a box of Kleenex, just before he said, “Please step to the right so we can take your picture for your new license.”
The more I tried to stop crying, the angrier I got because I was crying, and the more that made me cry. The girl taking the pictures was actually pretty nice, and offered to let me go to the “powder room” to calm down, but I said I wasn’t likely to stop crying if I went in there, and told her to just take it. The result:
You may or may not be able to tell from this scanned image, but note the red eyes, the tear tracks, the snot, the overall redness, and the lack of remaining eyeliner on my left eye.
I know, you’re thinking, that’s really sad/funny, and now the story is over. No! There’s a kicker. Just a little one. (Not to mention the bumper-to-bumper traffic I encountered as soon as I left the DMV.)
I was about halfway to work when my phone rang. A restricted number. Umm, ok … “This is Allison.” “Allison, this is xxxxxx (the guy from the DMV). I think I gave you the wrong stickers for your registration extension. The ones I gave you won’t do you any good. Can you check and see which stickers I gave you?’” I dig through my purse while attempting not to swerve into the pickup truck one lane over. Turns out they are indeed the wrong stickers. “How far are you from the DMV? Can you come back to get the other stickers?”
“No. No. No, I can’t.”
Luckily, he mailed me the stickers, and I can finish the rest of the process online. But the picture on my license … that will last until 2011. Maybe next time I get pulled over, I won’t even have to try to cry for the cop. I’ll just show him my driver’s license.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Welcome
Have you ever walked home from the bus stop, wondered why your car isn't in the driveway, and remembered you drove to work today? Have you ever made a trip to the grocery store for strawberries and returned home to find your fridge stocked with ... the strawberries you bought yesterday? Have you ever tried to hold an elevator door open and had your hand stuck ... for fifteen minutes?
You have? Well, then, welcome to our world! This blog is especially for people (like us) who consistently find ourselves in situations that are so frustrating at the time, so funny later. Be sure to add your story, and visit often, whether for comic relief or just to know you're not alone.
By the way, the name of this blog comes from an e-mail exchange between my sister Emily and me several years ago. Emily wrote a funny synopsis of an experience she had in an elevator, and I wrote back with four words: Welcome to my World. Since then, anytime one of us see a message with the title "Welcome to my World," we know we're in for good laugh ... possibly at the other's expense ... in a good way :)
So, um ... WELCOME :) It's nice here. You'll like it.
You have? Well, then, welcome to our world! This blog is especially for people (like us) who consistently find ourselves in situations that are so frustrating at the time, so funny later. Be sure to add your story, and visit often, whether for comic relief or just to know you're not alone.
By the way, the name of this blog comes from an e-mail exchange between my sister Emily and me several years ago. Emily wrote a funny synopsis of an experience she had in an elevator, and I wrote back with four words: Welcome to my World. Since then, anytime one of us see a message with the title "Welcome to my World," we know we're in for good laugh ... possibly at the other's expense ... in a good way :)
So, um ... WELCOME :) It's nice here. You'll like it.
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