The following is a short list of fruits I would never consider putting in my morning cereal:
oranges (or any kind of citrus)
The following is a short list of fruits I would never consider putting in my morning cereal:
oranges (or any kind of citrus)
When the queen is happy, the kingdom is happy.
It’s been a wacky week here.
Monday afternoon Zoe and I were driving and out of nowhere a car turned left right in front of us. I had to slam on the brakes and swerve to avoid hitting this brainless person. A close call but we were fine. A little shaken up, but fine.
Then about 10 minutes later we were about to turn left when a motorcycle came tearing around a corner. Once again slam on the brakes. No swerving this time since we weren’t even close to hitting anything, but we take extra care to be mindful of motorcycle drivers in this family.
After this second incident I told Zoe we needed to go home and get in bed for a few days. We had no business being out and about in the world since obviously there was some bad juju for me out there. I just had a bad feeling.
Next day it’s Tuesday. I have to go into the office for a few hours. I mean actually put on real clothes and drive 30+ miles to my actual physical office. It was a blissfully uneventful drive down there. Unforunately, I cannot say the same for the drive home.
As I was merging onto the 5 Freeway I accelerated to get up to speed with the moving traffic (since 55 is a long ago forgotten suggestion and the average speed is 75), and my gas pedal got stuck. In full acceleration mode. I pressed on the brakes with my other foot and used the toe of my driving foot to dislodge the accelerator. Mercifully, the freeway was wide open in front of me as I got the car under control.
I contained my freak out until I could get home, though I was a bit shakey and over-adrenalined (a new medical condition I’ve just invented) for the five or ten miles following the incident.
I once again decide that bed is probably the safest place for me.
Then Wednesday rolls around. We stay indoors for the entire day, but I had a project that night that I had to go to and Zoe had a swim party to attend. After dropping Zoe at the swim party I make my way across the Valley to my installation at a hospital. It was an uneventful drive though I was extra cautious. I was mindful of my bad juju.
I get to the area where we’re working and I put my stuff down: my sunglasses, two cell phones, and my brand new clutch wallet which contains my car key fob, house key, drivers license, ATM cards, credit cards, and about $100 (yes, my entire life).
I walk through the area with the hospital’s project manager. Two of the rooms we’re walking in are in this area then we walk about 10 feet down the hall to the third and final area we’re working in. As we walk down the hall it occurs to me that hey, I left all my stuff out in the open in the other room. Then I figure it’s OK since my crew and their janitor are the only ones in this area at this time of day.
Well, silly me.
We return to the area where my things are less than five minutes after we left and my wallet is gone. Poof. Nowhere in sight. I tear the place apart, getting more frantic by the second.
I filed a report with the hospital’s security people. They were as helpful as you might imagine, asking questions like whether I’d searched the area for my property. Wow, that’s a great idea. I wonder why I hadn’t thought of that??????
My best friend went by my house and grabbed my spare car key and drove it to me. She even gave me all the cash she had ($6.00) so I would have something. I found a locksmith who would take checks come over and change all the locks on the house last night. I cancelled credit cards. (Frankly, I was so pathetic that American Express and Capital One said they would Federal Express the cards to me at no additional charge.) I filed a police report. I made an appointment at DMV for a new license. I filed fraud alerts. I cried.
And I cried. A lot. Disproportionately probably to the size of the event. I wasn’t hurt. It is only things that are gone. But I feel so voilated.
Today things are looking a bit brighter. I’m still teary and since it’s been nearly 24 hours since my wallet vanished I can actually talk about it without completely breaking down.
I was reluctant to even leave the house today but I’m hoping that since bad things happen in 3′s I’m finished. I braved going to the bank since, though I was able to get someone on the phone at Wells Fargo last night, I was stymied by BofA. The automated system was happy to tell me my account balance, but no matter how many times I yelled customer service to the horrible automated system I couldn’t actually get a live person on the phone. The people of Bank of America were surprisingly kind and cashed a check for me even though I don’t have one single piece of identification.
So…I’m going to lay low for the rest of the day. And the next time that inner voice tells me to get in bed, you know I’m going to actually listen.
At 7:18 this evening I received the following text message on my work cell:
Please stop and buy soy milk and buy me a three musketeers.
To whoever sent me this message: No, sorry.
When you have a job, no matter how much you may love it, there are times when you need to take a mental health day. Unfortunately, this has never been an acceptable call-in excuse. So, you are forced to come up with an excuse.
As my sister always said, diarrhea is always an excellent call in reason because no one wants the details.
At one time migraines were a great excuse, but now there are all those medicines that promise immediate relief. So, that formerly fabulous excuse is out the window.
Sick kids are another great one, but since I work from home so much, a sick kid at home is no excuse for not meeting my billable hours.
But the bad thing about calling in “sick” is that I have found that if you spend too much time working on your excuse, 9 times out of 10 you’re going to end up with precisely the ailment you were going to fake.
I called in sick today. Well, I tried to call in, but I couldn’t reach my boss on the phone. So I sent him an e-mail that said: I’m sick. I won’t be in today. Problem solved. No need to make up some excuse.
Well, about 15 minutes ago my work phone rang. I only answered it because my co-worker, who is also my girlfriend was on the line. I told her I was sick. She said, “you don’t sound sick.” So, I told her I had a crashing headache.
I felt fine until about 10 minutes ago. Now, I have a crashing headache.
I am in the process of “working with” my health insurance company so they will approve the cataract surgery my eye doctor says I need. By “working with” I mostly mean me calling them up and yelling at them and then a few days later receiving a form letter from them followed by me calling and yelling and a form letter arriving shortly thereafter. Lather, rinse, and repeat until one of us gives up in frustration. (Note to Blue Cross California: it will not be me giving up.)
While the prospect of getting my eyeball cut into, having the doctor shoot ultrasound waves into my eyeball to liquefy my cloudy lens then sucking it out with an eyeball sized vacuum and then having the doctor insert an intra ocular lens into my eyeball may not sound appealing, I’m actually very excited.
I’m excited for two really good reasons:
1. I will no longer need to wear a corrective lens to see like Steve Austin from my left eye. I wear a correction for my right eye, but it’s so minimal, I often only wear my left lens. Besides, I’m absolutely certain that when focusing my left eye I will hear the Six Million Dollar Man “bionic” sound effect.
2. For about 24 hours after surgery I will have to wear an eye patch. When the doctor told me that I immediately reported to Chuck that for the duration of time that I need to wear an eye patch I will be talking like a pirate. Arrrrrrrrrrr. (As you can imagine, he found this enormously amusing.)
Well, so imagine my surprise and delight when I saw that Carol had a, “What’s Your Pirate Name” quiz. So I immediately went over and took the quiz. Now my family will know what to call me when I’m wearing my eye patch:
Everyone always talks about that recurring dream where you’re giving your big presentation and you discover your naked. Personally, I have never had this dream. And furthermore, I am comfortable in saying that I’ve never left the house having forgotten my clothing.
Tomorrow morning at a waaaay too early time of day I have a big meeting with many mega honchos at my office. I’ve known about the meeting for at least a week and while it’s important, I’m not particularly nervous about it. And really, I was flattered to be included because they want my input on some important stuff.
However, apparently in my deep subconscious I must be a little tweaky because last night I dreamed that I had arrived at the meeting completely unprepared and was frantically trying to reconstruct my notes making a list of my talking points on a scrap of toilet paper.
The absolutely most spectacularly worst day you can have goes a little something like this:
1. Wake up sick (yeah, with that thing that everyone has).
2. Find out that an entire pallet of glass panels somehow got “misplaced”.
3. Find out that your Korean manufacturer who produces low-priced furniture isn’t such a bargain after all since they charge you every time you call them; every time they mis-specify product; they cannot tell you when your container ship is going to dock in the US until about 20 minutes before it does, then tell you you have 2 hours to unload the container which is stacked floor to ceiling and side to side with disorganized product or there are charges; that unless you pay them an extra $350 they cannot guarantee your delivery; and that if you want your product delivered the day after Christmas there is a storage fee for five extra days because they have to load the truck on Friday to get it there on Tuesday.
3. Have a huge wind storm causing tree branches to land on the power poles that service your house, resulting in first intermittent power outages, then a full fledged power outage that lasts about an hour and a half (while you’re trying to work from home).
4. Inadvertently reformatting the hard drive on your computer because you’re too much of a ninny to ask your husband what the problem is and why it won’t boot up.
5. Getting a really nasty e-mail from the cheapass client to ordered the cheapass Korean furniture because they keyboard trays they’d had for a week and didn’t bother to tell you about ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO BE INSTALLED BEFORE 6:00 IN THE MORNING. Oh, and that e-mail will be cc’d to everyone and their uncle. And in that e-mail you’re called incompetent.
6. Going out at 9:00 at night with your husband and daughter in tow so that you can make sure that the fucking keyboard trays that actually made you cry can get installed.
7. Tripping over a chair mat and wrenching your back as you spin to try to avoid smashing your face.
8. Your foreman forgets to tell you that you’re missing about 150 skins for the panels for the cheapass nasty Korean-furniture-ordering-client-who-already-thinks-you’re- incompetent’s project, so there’s no way you can meet an already impossibly tight deadling.
9. Puppy sitting (because you know, when you already have 11 pets what’s one more to keep track of????).
10. Getting your period.
I have to go have a drink now.
Though I haven’t talked about it much, I have been riding my motorcycle. Not much, but I’ve been getting out there. And I’ve been falling. So has my bike.
It goes a little something like this: I pop the clutch. The bike stalls. The bike gets away from me. The bike falls down. I fall down. In the best possible world when that happens I miraculously manage to get out from under the bike before it comes crashing down on me.
Last Saturday when that happened I was out our corner. The bike went down on my right side. I called for Chuck between sobs. He made me pick the bike up.
Yesterday I was over at the local college, heading to the big empty parking lot to practice. This time the bike went down to the left. I miraculously managed to not end up underneath it, but bruised my entire left calf on the inside. Frankly, if it didn’t hurt so damned much I’d be amazed at the spectacular colors it has turned.
Chuck picked the bike up for me yesterday. And I hardly cried at all.
But yesterday instead of giving up in defeat, I spent the next hour (or so) practicing my right turns, doing slalom turns, and otherwise finally somewhat enjoying that whole wind in my hair (OK, helmet) feeling of motorcycle riding.
In fact, I had such a good time that I suggested that we go on a family motorcycle outing today. Clearly something got rattled loose in my brain in one of my many falls. But hell, I’m intrepid.
We agreed that the bagel place was the best destination. Far enough away to qualify as going more than around the block, but in a not overly traffic-y area. In an extremely unlike me manner, I woke up at 7:15 this morning, itching to go. Unfortunately, Zoe didn’t wake up until 9:45 and Chuck didn’t get out of bed until well after 10. So I’d been cooling my heels for 3+ hours and was afraid I was going to lose my nerve. But hell, I’m intrepid.
Off we went. Zoe rode with Chuck. I
zoomed putt putted there under my own speed. But apparently, in finally figuring out how to make right turns I lost my ability to stop my bike. All the way to bagels I kept putting my feet down too early. But we got there. In one piece.
We dined al fresco sucking in the car fumes on Ventura Blvd. I made it there. Alive. Now all I had to do was make it home. As we were leaving we had our first star sighting of the day: Ace Young. His lovely photo has been added to my celeb gallery over there on the right. He was with his family. And the table of four little tweeners two over from us were positively aflutter. Yeah, he’s cute. The ubiquitous wallet chain was mysteriously absent.
Time to go home. Finally. A right then left out of the parking. A right turn up Fulton. A left onto our street, and a right into our driveway. I’d be home.
But noooooooooooooooooooo. Chuck had to stop at Rite Aid. Chuck wanted me to go with him to Rite Aid. I reluctantly agreed to go to Rite Aid. Add another left on Riverside and a right into the parking, then a left out of the parking, a left on our street, and a right into the driveway. I could do it.
I made it into the Rite Aid parking lot with only a minor incident of gear problems. And I even managed to get over my Fred Flinstone inclination to stop the damned motorcycle using my feet!
Star sighting number 2 of the day in the Rite Aid parking lot: Timothy Busfield. I’ve had a crush on Tim Busfield since back in the 30 Something days.
And with the exception of my last left turn into our street, for which the best thing I can say is that I recovered well, I would chalk today’s outing up as a successful one.