A person's goals can tell you a lot about them. Upon self-reflection, that has me worried! I am not a big dreamer. I have no desire to conquer Annapurna, sail around the Horn, or discover the cure for cancer. Well, I'd love it if someone found the cure for cancer, but I am probably not the best candidate for that.
Having reached the goal of raising two amazing daughters to adulthood, I occasionally find myself wandering with a blank stare wondering what to do with the rest of my life. I decided to take notes as ideas come to me. It's important for everyone to have something to work toward, a few big things to attempt before blinking and realizing your chances have all passed.
Goal #1: Learn to shake my ass like the backup dancer in Ricky Martin's Livin' La Vida Loca video.
Now, this is a skill I can use at some point! If I climbed a mountain, I'd have some pictures and frostbite scars to show off at parties. Big deal. But, if I learned to shake my ass like that dancer, just think of the impression I could make dancing at my daughter's wedding! She'd probably be right beside me, shakin' her thang!
I haven't told my daughter about my goal yet. I thought it'd be better to just spring it on her when the time comes. I already know her reply, it's an old standard. "You explain so much about me."
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Monday, January 30, 2006
Mouse, Part Deux
I realized as I typed that title just how apropos it is, when I am sitting here worrying about finding mouse part trois, quatre and cinq!
Rescue Kitty (her name is Sophia, but she doesn't respond to it yet) has suddenly remembered that cats catch mice.
I was walking past the fridge into the laundry room when I heard weird noises behind the fridge. Big weird noises. Suddenly, Rescue Kitty came scooting out backwards as fast as a cat can scoot in an area just narrower than she is! Then she ducked her head back behind the fridge.
Uh-oh! She found something! She crawled completely under the fridge for a moment, then scooted out backward - with a baby mouse hanging from her mouth! I was close enough that if I shrieked, she would have dropped the mouse on my feet. Whatever else happened, I did NOT want that mouse on my feet!
I scooted backward out of the kitchen at about the same speed she had moved from behind the fridge, trying so hard to keep my "Woody, there's a bug" noises to myself. I didn't want Woody, the dog, to come flying in and startle the cat into dropping the mouse.
Kitty took the mouse to her room. I tiptoed down and peeked around the door to see what she would do with it. She had it between her paws. I wasn't getting close enough to see what she was doing - I had no desire to see parts, innards, guts, etc! Worse, she might get distracted and the mouse might run my way!
I had to get to work, so I don't know what became of the mouse. I recalled as I drove that I hadn't made my bed. Man, I hope whatever she does to the mouse, it's not done in my bed!
I think I liked it better when she ignored the mice. At least then I wasn't worrying about Mouse, Part Trois ending up under my covers!
Rescue Kitty (her name is Sophia, but she doesn't respond to it yet) has suddenly remembered that cats catch mice.
I was walking past the fridge into the laundry room when I heard weird noises behind the fridge. Big weird noises. Suddenly, Rescue Kitty came scooting out backwards as fast as a cat can scoot in an area just narrower than she is! Then she ducked her head back behind the fridge.
Uh-oh! She found something! She crawled completely under the fridge for a moment, then scooted out backward - with a baby mouse hanging from her mouth! I was close enough that if I shrieked, she would have dropped the mouse on my feet. Whatever else happened, I did NOT want that mouse on my feet!
I scooted backward out of the kitchen at about the same speed she had moved from behind the fridge, trying so hard to keep my "Woody, there's a bug" noises to myself. I didn't want Woody, the dog, to come flying in and startle the cat into dropping the mouse.
Kitty took the mouse to her room. I tiptoed down and peeked around the door to see what she would do with it. She had it between her paws. I wasn't getting close enough to see what she was doing - I had no desire to see parts, innards, guts, etc! Worse, she might get distracted and the mouse might run my way!
I had to get to work, so I don't know what became of the mouse. I recalled as I drove that I hadn't made my bed. Man, I hope whatever she does to the mouse, it's not done in my bed!
I think I liked it better when she ignored the mice. At least then I wasn't worrying about Mouse, Part Trois ending up under my covers!
Sunday, January 29, 2006
It's B.P. Day!
It's here, Bad Picture Day! I rolled out of bed, dressed and ran to the store only to park in front of a sign in the store window that said, "Don't Even Think About Parking Your Big Rear Here." Bad Omen.
At least I discovered my wallet was missing before I got in the store.
On my second trip to the store, I parked in front of an ad for chew. Grabbed a newspaper, and a 44 oz. diet Coke and flew home. I had to reconfirm that picture was as bad as I remember.
It was worse! Oh, Man! Ladies, throw away all your fat clothes now, disarm your snooze alarm, and vow never to leave the house looking like I did that day!
The ad is a half page. Doesn't my boss look perky and cute? And don't I look - geez, don't I look efficient? I look like the girl in school you hoped was going to grow up to be good at something because that was the only life she'd ever have!
"I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER leave the house looking like that!"
Heck, I think I'll start dressing nicer even to sleep, just in case. Full make-up, the works! Obviously, one can never tell when a camera might appear to ruin your life.
Thank goodness the presentation photo turned out okay, and I'm right next to my buddy, Martha! As Leasing Director, she picked up the award for The Montclair. There was a great picture of the resident who won for Best Volunteer, too. I think we should have put her in the ad, not me! Then we could have blown up her photo to a 4-foot banner. Much better advertising, I think, to say we have the best residents around. Not the best puffy lime green receptionist.
At least I discovered my wallet was missing before I got in the store.
On my second trip to the store, I parked in front of an ad for chew. Grabbed a newspaper, and a 44 oz. diet Coke and flew home. I had to reconfirm that picture was as bad as I remember.
It was worse! Oh, Man! Ladies, throw away all your fat clothes now, disarm your snooze alarm, and vow never to leave the house looking like I did that day!
The ad is a half page. Doesn't my boss look perky and cute? And don't I look - geez, don't I look efficient? I look like the girl in school you hoped was going to grow up to be good at something because that was the only life she'd ever have!
"I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER leave the house looking like that!"
Heck, I think I'll start dressing nicer even to sleep, just in case. Full make-up, the works! Obviously, one can never tell when a camera might appear to ruin your life.
Thank goodness the presentation photo turned out okay, and I'm right next to my buddy, Martha! As Leasing Director, she picked up the award for The Montclair. There was a great picture of the resident who won for Best Volunteer, too. I think we should have put her in the ad, not me! Then we could have blown up her photo to a 4-foot banner. Much better advertising, I think, to say we have the best residents around. Not the best puffy lime green receptionist.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Instant Karma
I am not sure if I have pissed off the gods of reception or what, but life has just gotten worse. They took that picture of the Best Old Puffy Green Receptionist and Her Boss and blew it up into a 4-foot banner and posterboard!
Imagine the worst picture ever taken of you - oops, I forgot about 7th grade! Okay, take the second-worst picture ever taken of you and blow it up so big that even your dermatologist wouldn't recognize those pores! And it's not like they airbrush it or anything. I can't go into work on Monday; I can't spend a week or more staring at myself made broader than a barn.
I wonder what kind of offering one can make to appease the gods of reception. I would be more than happy to sacrifice a phone line or two, burn a few pages of messages while I chant, "I will answer all calls by the second ring. I will answer all calls..."
On the other hand, begging might just piss them off more. I could wake up to find myself plastered on a billboard. No wait, that sounds like I am drunk on a billboard and I've promised my kids never to be found that way again. I might find my picture plastered on a billboard.
I'd better pass on the sacrifice. It'd be awful to find out just how vengeful the reception gods can be.
Imagine the worst picture ever taken of you - oops, I forgot about 7th grade! Okay, take the second-worst picture ever taken of you and blow it up so big that even your dermatologist wouldn't recognize those pores! And it's not like they airbrush it or anything. I can't go into work on Monday; I can't spend a week or more staring at myself made broader than a barn.
I wonder what kind of offering one can make to appease the gods of reception. I would be more than happy to sacrifice a phone line or two, burn a few pages of messages while I chant, "I will answer all calls by the second ring. I will answer all calls..."
On the other hand, begging might just piss them off more. I could wake up to find myself plastered on a billboard. No wait, that sounds like I am drunk on a billboard and I've promised my kids never to be found that way again. I might find my picture plastered on a billboard.
I'd better pass on the sacrifice. It'd be awful to find out just how vengeful the reception gods can be.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Morning Eye Opener
I moved 1600 miles from L.A. to get away from traffic, and I recently began to miss the 405 at dawn! I didn't think that was possible!
I have a thirteen-mile drive to work, the first block and last mile of which are on surface roads. The rest are on Missouri highways and the one small stretch they call a freeway. The speed limit is 60 but commuters don't go under 70, except when there is a red light.
Some mornings we are bunched together like we're on the track at Bristol, although we're only doing 70. It never fails, though, that two idiots will come weaving through like they think they have a faster car or truck! Where are they gonna go? We'll all end up bunched back together at the next signal, anyway!
Then we hit the freeway stretch and everyone slows to 60, except those two guys. The guy in front of me thinks his brake pedal is a percussion instrument. I'm never sure which taps are because of the traffic in front of him and which are for rhythm.
If I leave 5 minutes too late, traffic on my exit will be backed up. I swear there are only about 150,000 people here in Springfield; what are they all doing on my offramp? There are three colleges up the road from my work - do all morning classes start at 8:05? Because that's what time I end up arriving if I get stuck behind these guys!
I miss real traffic jams. You knew that traffic would slow as you approached Burbank Blvd., and not get moving again until somewhere after my exit. You'd see the same people in the lanes around you as you met up in traffic every day. There's Bagel Girl, and Cordless Shaver Guy. Oh, and the Girl That Puts On her Mascara as we stop at the 101.
You also knew that if traffic slowed anywhere other than the usual spots, there'd be no trace of an accident when you got there. And if Skylord in the traffic copter warned you about a jam, it'd be gone by the time you got there.
The good old days...when it took sixty minutes to drive a thirty-mile commute.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Word of the Day: Oooga Chacka
Oooga Chacka: Swahili for “I love my job.”
I did my semi annual changing of the CDs in my car’s CD changer this morning. I grabbed several discs that were collections from my daughter. At one point, while sitting at a stoplight, a new song began. “Oooga chacka, oooga chacka...”
Do you know how hard it is to not sing along with that? I hate stoplights for just that reason, it’s too easy to get caught singing along with stupid stuff. I get the giggles trying to sit still and not make a fool of myself like I do whenever I hear “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
I also realized that the phrase was going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. When bosses are standing over my desk wondering why I haven’t finished a task and they are completely oblivious to the 5 pages of phone messages I have taken already this morning, I can just start singing in my head, “Ooga chacka, oooga chacka, oooga oooga...” and keep a smile on my face! It’s much more fun that repeating, “I love my job...”
Care to join me? Oooga chacka, oooga chacka...
I did my semi annual changing of the CDs in my car’s CD changer this morning. I grabbed several discs that were collections from my daughter. At one point, while sitting at a stoplight, a new song began. “Oooga chacka, oooga chacka...”
Do you know how hard it is to not sing along with that? I hate stoplights for just that reason, it’s too easy to get caught singing along with stupid stuff. I get the giggles trying to sit still and not make a fool of myself like I do whenever I hear “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
I also realized that the phrase was going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. When bosses are standing over my desk wondering why I haven’t finished a task and they are completely oblivious to the 5 pages of phone messages I have taken already this morning, I can just start singing in my head, “Ooga chacka, oooga chacka, oooga oooga...” and keep a smile on my face! It’s much more fun that repeating, “I love my job...”
Care to join me? Oooga chacka, oooga chacka...
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Letting Go
Word went round today that Hospice has been called in for one of my favorite ladies. Now, she's 97 and fought her way back after an infection so she could come home to die. At a certain age, it should be easy to say, "She's lived a good life," and let them go. So why is it so hard?
I have all the beliefs I need to know why it's good for her to move on, and I know her husband is right there holding the door. I will miss that smile, and the twinkle in her eye that only 97 years of love can bring. And I'll miss the love she offers with a gentle look. Thank goodness love doesn't fade away.
I have all the beliefs I need to know why it's good for her to move on, and I know her husband is right there holding the door. I will miss that smile, and the twinkle in her eye that only 97 years of love can bring. And I'll miss the love she offers with a gentle look. Thank goodness love doesn't fade away.
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