April 26, 2005
It seems that whatever Chuck has, it’s vaguely contagious. He spent untold hours working on his new format. I will take a moment to point out that Chuck actually grasps the concept of html coding. Me, not so much.
He got so fancy with his blog that I decided I needed to tart things up a bit over here. I added my Avon link, a created my (ok somewhat pathetic, but I did it myself so I’m proud of it) logo.
The Avon link involved basic coding. Something I don’t really know–beyond knowing kind of what needs to go where to make stuff happen. But I do know how to cut and paste and I guess I understand just enough to be really really dangerous which has enormous potential to muck things up royally.
Then, as if the mucking up isn’t bad enough, the result of mucking is grovelling as I now have to beg my husband to fix my boo boos. OK, it’s more whining than grovelling, but in either case, it’s unpleasant.
Apparently at about 11:30 last night (when I was already really tired) I decided that what would make my page perfect would be if my Spanglemonkey Award was actually a link back to Jo’s page. I mean really, why I didn’t think of that sooner is beyond me. But I decided at 11:30 last night that this was positively brilliant.
So I went about coding. OK, not really coding, but copying and pasting. I worked on it for at least an hour–one stupid link on one stupid picture. And for the life of me I could not get it to work.
I put a different link that required the same kind of coding directly above it so I could compare key strokes. No luck.
I managed to completely delete my Spanglemonkey award. I managed to link to it somewhere (but I’m not sure where frankly). I practically managed to turn it upside down. But I could not get it to link.
By this time I’m enormously frustrated because I WANT TO DO IT MYSELF!
Finally I decided to leave the extra coding where it was since, though it didn’t actually work, it didn’t seem to be harming anything, and go to bed. I’d look at it today with fresh eyes–and hopefully I’d think of it before 11:30.
When I got home from work (at 3:30, thank you very much–have I said how much I LOVE my new job lately?????) I decided to have another go at it. I was fresh and somewhat lucid.
So I copied some other code and pasted it directly over the code that was not working. Once again I decided I would go keystroke by keystroke and see what was wrong.
Well, it did not take long. The code should read ” < a href..." (ignore the quotes and spaces, I know they don't go there but without them my page does not show up. Ha! What I had was " < a < href…” Duhhhhhhhhhh. So it took me about 2 seconds to fix.
How I could miss that 47 times last night I still don’t quite get.
And now it’s 11:22, close enough to the danger coding hour, so I will step away the the computer and go to bed.
Good night all.
April 25, 2005
And now the big unveiling of the super fantastic SubUrban Housewife Avon Breast Cancer Walk donation appreciation button.
I, of course, get one automatically, as I’m actually walking (and anteing up because what kind of slacker would I be if I didn’t put my money where my mouth is?).
And, the lovely Treppenwitz‘, who are now the first ones on the block to be proudly featured in my Boobie Hall of Fame (I may need to rethink that Hall of Fame name….going for a little classier than the usual…accepting suggestions). And, besides the personal thank you I sent to them, I would like to publicly offer a big intercontinental shout out and huge huge thank you to David and Zahava for their generous support.
So, fair readers, at the risk of boring you all, click on the pink button. No donation too small (or too large…because we still have the incentive being offered for those big bucks).
April 24, 2005
Back in March I found a lump in my breast. As we all know now, things turned out just fine. And while 80% of the women who find lumps in their breasts do not have cancer, 20% do.
Did you know that a new diagnosis of breast cancer is made every 1.9 minutes?
Breast cancer knows no color boundaries. No social or economic boundaires. No gender boundaires. (Men develop breast cancer too, although they account for less than 1% of the cases.)
Beyond monthly self-examination and annual mammograms, you think there’s nothing else you can do. I thought that too.
But at the risk of sounding all melodramatic, the events of this past March changed me. And now it’s time I did something more.
So that something more is happening this September, when I participate in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.
Over a period of two days I will be walking a marathon. I’ve never undertaken something this big before. Something so outside of myself (OK, unless you consider child birth).
Why am I telling all of you this?
Because I am asking for your support. In order to participate I need to raise a minimum of $1800, though I’ve set a personal goal, which I hope to exceed, of $2000.
Over on the right I’ve added a little pink button. If you click on it, it will take you to my personal donation page. Please give what you can. No amount is too small. Your donations are tax deductible and go to an enormously worthy cause; a cause near and dear to my heart.
And OK, because I’m all about a good bribe, if you donate $100 to my walk, I will send you a lovely “boudoir” shot of my breasts, clad in something deliciously lacy. Talk about motivation!!!! (And yes, Chuck knows about this.) Each and every donation will be recognized in my soon to be super fantastic Boobie Hall of Fame (and hopefully I’ll even organize some kind of groovy logo, suitable for putting on your page to let the entire www know that you supported my walk, but as Chuck is holding the Photoshop hostage, don’t get too excited). Be the first on your block! Give early. Give often.
Update: Reason #4987 why IE sucks: my donation button does not seem to show up.
So, click on this link and you’ll go right to my donation page.
April 22, 2005
I think you have to be a certain kind of person to share with countless unknown others the (sometimes intimate) details of your life by putting it out there on the world wide web.
I am that certain kind of person. I have be journalizing and blogging since 1999. Furthermore, I am married to that kind of person. Chuck has been journalizing and blogging since 1997.
Because we both blog, the foibles of one are always subject to public humiliation by the other.
There are times when we’ll be having a discussion and one of us will get that “look” that says they’re composing an entry about the situation at that very moment.
We had one such moment at dinner tonight.
The moment followed the discussion wherein I informed Chuck that Zoe is getting little breasts. OK, breasts may be a bit of an exaggeration, as these little nubbins are still not worthy of a training bra, but there is something starting to happen there. Chuck turned 45 shades of red, felt compelled to reminded me of our daughter’s age, and though I didn’t think it was something that was actually possible to observe, I watched my husband go into denial.
And he quickly changed the subject.
We started discussing blogs and his new groovy WordPress blog and I innocently asked if he would re-send me the link to the site he’d sent me the other night with all the wordpress themes listed.
I could tell what was coming next (the whole, sheesh, can’t you find anything yourself discussion–but much nicer than I just made that sound) and before he could start I told him that I had already gone to the WordPress site and that I could not find the themes listed.
He told me to Google it and then …. that’s when it all went downhill for him.
Because it was at that moment that Chuck started to tell that he lives and dies by Google and the right click button of his mouse. He went on to add if he had a “personal coat of arms.” (not without stopping to explain to me what a coat of arms was….as if I needed that explanation) it would feature a G on one side and then paused; and because I’m nothing if not helpful I suggested the other side would have a glowing right mouse button on the other side. He said, “exactly.”
Then I got the look. The look that says it’s all over but the crying. The “I’m so writing an entry about this” look. And because apparently this look is possible to observe Chuck said, “you’re composing an entry about this in your head right now.”
And because I’ve kind of publicly mocked my husband, the least I can do with my meager resources is create a coat of arms for said husband. To wit:
(And just so you all know I haven’t lost my mind, freakin Movable Type no longer lets me resize my pix and let you click on them to increase their size.)
I leave it to ustedes to come up with some kind of snappy motto for him. Because really, if you have a coat of arms you have a motto too, no?
Well, I’ve successfully completed my first week of employment at my new gig. (Oh, and btw: I also successfully passed my drug test, so please pass the bong.)
The view from here is entirely rosey. At the end of both Monday and Tuesday I was on total information overload, but by Wednesday I was in a bit of a groove, that continued into yesterday.
I was at the home office on Monday and today, and on two different job sites Tuesday through Thursday. This is the kind of schedule I can live with.
My day today was supposed to be training in the morning and observing an installation this afternoon, but it turns out the installing won’t happen until about 9:00 tonight. When I told my new boss this (I love my new boss) he said to forget about it.
So after lunch I toddled over to boss’ office to ask him what he’d like me to do for the rest of the afternoon.
He (so cleverly) pointed out that it was Friday. I agreed that yes, in fact, it was Friday. He then (even more cleverly) pointed out that since all organized plans had been scuttled I had nothing to do for the afternoon. I readily agreed with this observation as well. He then (in a supreme stroke of brilliance) suggested that I should just go home. I demurred for a brief moment, not wanting to give myself away as the slacker I truly am, but then I agreed with this.
Imagine a boss who treats his direct reports like grown ups. Imagine an environment where there is accountability and respect from the top down and across all lines. Imagine a place where you’re motivated to get up and go to work every day.
Yeah, that’s my job. And have I mentioned yet how much I love my new boss? Yes, I have, but it is worth mentioning again. He totally rocks!
A far cry from my last gig, and clearly how things are at my new gig.
As the title of this entry so plainly says it: it’s the way it should be.
April 21, 2005
After shoe stores (which should go without mentioning frankly) probably my two favorite kinds of stores are hardware and office supply stores.
Big “warehouse-type” hardware stores are OK, but it’s the mom and pop ones that I really love. You don’t see that kind of store much these days (at least not in Los Angeles), alas. When I was little I used to go to the hardware store with my dad. There were all sorts of gadgets and doo dads that fascinated me. I didn’t know what half the stuff was but I loved it.
Then there are office supply stores. I know what all the stuff is, and it’s stuff I love to have. Not big things like desks, chairs, or computer stuff. No, it’s the little stuff. It’s the pens, pencils, fancy paper clips, post-its, and bins of things. I love bins of things.
Tonight Chuck and I stopped at Staples so I could pick up a calendar. Of course I perused the pen aisle and picked up some groovy lavendar mechanical pencils, because, really, who doesn’t need those? I also got some erasers for Zoe.
We then proceeded to the checkout. But, on the way to the checkout there was a bin the I totally missed. A bin filled with things so fabulous, that when Chuck called my attention to its contents, I could not believe I did not hear the angel music as I walked past it. I approached the bin and heard it.
Because, lo, what was this bin filled with? MINI SHARPIES. Yes, the magical, mystical marker of markers has gotten better.
I know, you’re saying to yourself that this is not possible. But ha, it is. Because not only are they MINI SHARPIES, but they are mini Sharpies in fabulous fashion colors. And they have little key chain attachments on them. How fabulous is that?
They are so fabulous I had to have four:
See how compact they are compared to a regular Sharpie?
No need to thank me, after all, I didn’t invent them,
April 19, 2005
I got to this quiz from seeing someone else’s journal in my referrer log and now I don’t know where it was but I’ll find it and shout out there later. In the meantime, yeah, this is probably on the nose (though I’m not in the market to hook up right now).
April 18, 2005
Amongst some of my girlfriends we use the name Bob to refer to a “Battery Operated Boyfriend”. You know what I mean.
Well, imagine my amusement when I showed up for my first day at work and every guy on my team is named Bob. Ha. OK, not all Bob’s, there’s Bob, Bobby, Rob, and Robert. So I collectively refer to them as the Bob’s.
I was laughing inside; where it really counts.
Day one went well, but I’m absolutely beat.
I didn’t sleep well at all last night–too much highly spiced dinner which sent me to bed on a full stomach and the anticipation of a new adventure had me waking up at approximately 90 minute intervals. And the time in between the wakeful periods was filled with bizarre dreams.
I’m off to bed shortly. To sleep. Perchance to dream a little less bizarrely.
Thanks to those of you who sent actual and cosmic juju. It paid off.
In other news, the comments appear to be working again, so feel free to continue to send juju from far and near.
April 17, 2005
Tomorrow morning at 8:30 (ugh) a.m. I start my (what I’m certain will be) fabulous new job.
I haven’t been the new kid in a really long time…14+ years actually…so I’m a bit nervous.
Oh, and I know I mentioned that I have to be there at 8:30 and where I have to go for my 2 weeks of training is further than my old office, the office where I was hard-pressed to arrive at before 9:15 a.m., and on first days you want to make a good impression and all.
So I have to leave the house at 7:00 a.m.
That’s 7:00 a.m. out the door folks. That’s earlier than I used to get up for my old job.
I’m 99.9% certain that the dress code at the new gig is business casual, but they weren’t real particular about telling me for certain, so I’m going to err on the side of caution and go cute and professional but not ultra-dressed up.
Of course this means that I have thought and re-thought my outfit only 9,000,000,000 times.
Last night the planned ensemble required that I buy a new pair of shoes, but when I got to the store to buy the new shoes I couldn’t remember what that outfit was, so I left new-shoeless.
And right there, on the spot, in the store I decided on the perfect outfit, and what was even better was that I actually already own all the parts to it, so while I might have loved to buy something, I’d rather know for sure what I’m going to need to wear on a daily basis and buy more of that than something I might need sometimes.
You know what I mean.
So I’m going to be the new kid tomorrow. And like I said I’m nervous.
So send me some good juju. You can’t comment but you can either send me some mental good vibes, or a groovy e-mail of love.
April 14, 2005
OK, that amused me, but maybe I’m just easily amused. (OK, you see the title of the previous entry was MeMe, so I went with PePe. Get it???????????)
Yeah, I had a date with a specimen cup today. It’s been four weeks minus one day (I think, but then I have no short term memory) since I last smoked pot.
As previously reported, my little “at home” test came up clean, but being me, I still stressed about it. Substantially less, but the reality is, something could go horribly wrong and I’ll find myself really unemployed on Monday.
These last two weeks, while I have been without employment, have not really been “unemployment”. They’ve been “between employment” weeks.
Anyway, I drove for at least an hour to get to bumfuck Whittier today to pee in a cup. We can start with Whittier, but why? After having gone to Whittier today I cannot for the life of me figure out why anyone would want to actually make it a destination, much less live there. But that’s just me. I’m sure lots of people say that about Sherman Oaks. And Paris.
For the last 30 or so minutes of the drive I really had to pee. This is excellent considering I’m driving an hour to pee in a cup.
I arrived at the pee clinic. It turns out it was basically inside the emergency room of a hospital. The authorization form that I brought with me did provide a vague-ish map showing me where to go, but it did not actually tell me it was inside the ER, but after asking around, I found my way.
I was greeted by a most unpleasant clerk at the desk of the pee clinic. She gave me about 25 forms to fill out, giving me instructions in heavily accented English. Now pee clerk is used to getting pee from the masses and has seen these forms 5 million times, and obviously understands what she’s saying. I, however, had never seen the forms before and didn’t so much understand what she was saying. And I really had to pee.
I managed with the forms and turned them in and informed pee clerk that I really had to go. She told me, quite unpleasantly, to have a seat and someone would be with me shortly.
Shortly after my arrival two (obviously) sales people walked in. The woman had a briefcase. The man had a box with a pie in it. They were immediately shown to the back area.
I sat and waited.
More people filed in. Some of them had pee request forms and were given their pile of pee forms to fill in with the same piss poor instructions I received. The others were told to sit and wait. Several of those others (the non-pee-ers) were shown to rooms in the back. I (now with my legs firmly crossed) had to continue to wait.
About 45 minutes into my waiting I approached pee clerk to ask her if it would be much longer as I REALLY had to pee by now. Pee clerk tried to ignore me, but I was having none of that. She told me that it would just be a few more minutes.
An hour into my wait….now rightly fed the fuck up with being made to sit and wait an hour to pee, I find out that the two salespeople were in the back giving the staff some kind of demonstration and serving them pie. (As if anyone who handles pee all day would actually want to eat at their workplace?????? or maybe that’s just me being fussy.)
After I threw a bit of a fit and told pee clerk I had to pee NOW, I was shown to the pee area.
I saw the pee nurse who had me fill out a few more forms (because obviously I couldn’t do that in the hour I sat in the waiting room). I had to show pee nurse my ID to prove that it was me, and shown to a cabinet to lock my purse up. I could take the key to the cabinet into the special pee restroom with me, but nothing else. (I was vaguely surprised that I didn’t get frisked).
Pee nurse squirted some blue stuff into the toilet, handed me a specimen cup, and told me to pee to the line of the cup and not flush when I was done.
I closed the door to the pee restroom (which was not lockable by the way) and peed. I only peed to the line, but I could have probably filled the cup I’d needed to go so badly for so long.
There was a sink in the restroom, but the water was turned off and there was a sign that said I could wash my hands at the sink outside. The sanitary napkin disposal box was taped shut with a note that said something about that being a requirement of a pee restroom.
Whatever. I was just so happy I could finally go. Then I was afraid I’d lose my mind and flush, but thankfully, I kept my wits about me.
I came out and handed pee nurse my specimen and proceeded to wash my hands. She poured some of my specimen into a test tube, which I then had to initial, and then poured the balance of my sample into the toilet and examined the water before flushing.
But it’s all over now. Aren’t you glad I shared with you?
Now I must go. I have to pee.