February 17, 2009
So this past Saturday was Valentine’s Day. It’s a tough one. Especially on the guys.
Culture has made it a MUST DO to send your beloved a dozen red roses. Even if roses aren’t her favorite flower. Even if they cost $50.00 more to get them to her on that day versus just about any other day of the year.
Me, I’m not so much about roses. My favorite flowers are iris and ranunculus. I like orchids too. And I’m not so much about getting flowers because Hallmark decided that this is the one day to celebrate your love.
Because to me, if you’re not feeling it every day, marking one special day when you’re supposed to feel it is only going to make matters worse.
In fact, I ran into a guy today at one of my jobs. I asked him if he celebrated Valentine’s Day. He said he didn’t have a girlfriend (or a wife either) and thought about going out and getting one just so he’d have someone to share the day with. He said he was glad he didn’t. I agree. If you hook up with someone just to have someone to spend Valentine’s Day with I think you’re creating expectations that are just too great to maintain.
So VD was decidedly low key chez Atkins. Zoe got a box of chocolates and a stuffed teddy proclaiming our love for her. We opted to dine in rather than fight the hoards of loved up people getting frustrated. I do not do well in restaurants with bad service and large crowds and Chuck knows this about me. So I made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas. One of Chuck’s favorite meals.
What did I get you wonder? Well, Chuck gave me cookies his ex girlfriend baked! Very beautiful, very delicious cookies. And because it is true love and an I have an overwhelming sense of security in my relationship that I thought it was one of the best gifts I could have gotten.
August 11, 2007
I have suggested to Chuck that we podcast at least half a dozen times over the last two months.
December 23, 2006
Chuck: (in an irritated tone of voice) Where’s the Razr phone?
Beth: In the pocket of my leather jacket, one sec, I’ll get it for you.
I look in the pocket of my jacket and it’s not there.
B: Did you call the phone?
I call the cell phone. We hear ringing. The sound is coming from behind Chuck somewhere. I go in search.
C: Where’s the damned phone? Every time I turn around the sound is coming from behind me.
C: Oh look, it’s in my back pocket.
August 16, 2006
OK, first, does anyone actually even say that anymore?
Our Akita, Suki, suffers from a variety of skin issues, and a terrible allergy to fleas. We’ve gotten much better at managing this. Staying on top of the flea situation seems to take care of the other skin issues.
But she’s also got eye issues. Seems the eyelashes in her right eye are inverted (or something completely whack), and her eye is chronically irritated. Oh, and she’s prone to pink eye in that eye.
So we have the goop that we have to put on her eye. We do it when it looks bad. Right now it looks like crap. So here it is, 11:00 p.m. and I was just thinking I need to put some medicine in Suki’s eye.
I’m contemplating the best method for doing this. I know I need to use a Q-tip and then wonder if I should take the medicine to the Q-tip which is in my bathroom at the completely opposite side of the house, thus increasing the possibility of losing her medicine, or do I go get a Q-tip and bring it back to the medicine?
For whatever reason, I think before I start to make any huge life-altering decisions, I’d better just double check that Suki’s medicine is in the closet.
Well, not only is the medicine right ther on the shelf in front at eye level, but immediately in front of her tube of eye goop is a tidy little pile of Q-tips. Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. My husband obviously put them there.
August 15, 2006
Chuck is a techno-slut. Anytime anything new and fabulous is on the market he must have it. Immediately.
I’m a little slower on the techno-uptake. And frankly, I’m a bit lazy. I wait for him to have it and then by extension I have it.
Then there’s the computer issue around here. He is (as has been oft-reported by both here and on his pages), the God Of All Things Computer Related. And I’ll freely admit that having a God in my presence (and his being obligated to do my bidding as part of our marriage vows), I’m a bit lazy when it comes to my own personal technology needs. I do not need to clutter my brain with USB, serial ports, and the like. But, you know, sometimes the Gods get a little cranky and you’re better off just doing things your own damned self.
Early last week, in fact mere hours before Chuck was leaving to go somewhere work-related, I downloaded a file that someone had sent me from the office. I used my desktop (read my own personal computer) versus my laptop because I needed to print whatever it was I was sent. Well, don’t you know, this file (which silly me, I assumed was safe because a) it was a pdf, and b) was from a reliable work source) infected my desktop with some horrible virus that deleted some kind of WIN(SOMETHING).DLL from my operating system thus rendering my desktop virtually useless (or as I liked to refer to it, as a huge paperweight).
I had to wait until Chuck’s return from the hinterlands this past weekend to deal with it. I still have my work laptop to use, but it was altogether a pain in the neck.
Saturday morning, before getting on my knees and grovelling for Chuck to a) find the Windows XP install disk so that he could then b) reinstall Windows AGAIN on my machine, I decided to buy a new CPU.
The thing is, technology is so damned cheap anymore (and I’m absolutely convinced that computer in genreal and CPU’s specifically have about a five year self-life, and my CPU was about five years old) that I decided I would just get a new CPU. I dragged Chuck out on an aborted shopping mission, came home, looked some stuff up online, asked Chuck’s opinion, and went to Circuit City and bought a CPU. In case you care it’s a Compaq Presario 1900 NX.
Frankly, my techno-needs are limited–Microsoft Office Suite, CD burning capabilities, and let me surf the internet and I’m a happy camper. $359 I was a happy camper.
I schlep the box home, unpack it, and decide that instead of grovelling to the local God I’m going to do this myself. I unplug all my old stuff. I plug it all into the new machine. But boo hoo, my keyboard wasn’t working. The CPU came with a new keyboard. I tried that one. Still no worky.
I box it all back up, take it to Circuit City, and exchange it for another new one.
I plug in all my stuff again. Still keyboard no worky. Now I start having fits of the Chuck variety. My God finally came to my rescue and somehow got the keyboard to work. He did admit that at first it wasn’t working for him, so I don’t feel so bad about things.
So, groovy new puter. Loving the keyboard that came with it. Beth’s a happy girl.
But here’s the thing. . .
I have a printer. But it’s a crappy Deskjet color jobby that takes an hour to print each page because I swear it sends the document through the printer cable one stinkin letter at a time. So then my whole system freezes up while the printer labors over a four line e-mail.
And let’s remember that I work from home a lot. And working generally means you have to print things out.
So what I’ve been doing for the last few months is this: do my work on my laptop. E-mail it to my desktop across the room from the laptop. Go to the desktop and download whatever it is that I’m working on. Then I send it to Chuck’s laser printer. Then I have to go down the hall into Chuck’s office and retrieve whatever I’ve just printed, and come back to my office to fax it to someone (or put it in a folder, or whatever else I’m going to do with it).
Now I know you’re asking yourself, why doesn’t she just work from the desktop computer, thus eliminating the need to e-mail stuff to herself? Well, because I have all my work files on the work server that I can only access through my laptop. I’m not a complete ninny.
So Sunday night, in a fit of techno-improvements and otherwise cash-draining activities I ordered a new laser printer for myself. And one of the fabulous things about this printer is that it uses a USB cable. And one of the fabulous things about my new desktop computer is that it has three extra USB ports right on the front of it (so no messy monkeying around to get to the back of the CPU). And one of the fabulous things about my laptop are the two extra USB ports on the back (which doesn’t require near the monkeying around because it’s a laptop).
And because Circuit City online is mostly fabulous, I ordered my new printer (and the requisite cables) at 11:30 Sunday night, and at about 10:30 this morning, a new printer was delivered to my front door. But because Circuit City is only mostly fabulous, the USB cable that I needed to hook up the printer will not arrive for a day or two.
But I toddled down to Circuit City and bought the cable this morning. I can return the one they’re shipping to me, and since I didn’t pay for shipping and it was on sale at the store, I’ll actually end up $3.00 ahead of the game.
Long story short, I hooked up my new printer to my laptop today. I was able to print and send a fax without ever having to remove my butt from my chair. Then an hour later when I wanted to print something critical from my desktop, I switched the cable over to one of the fabulous ports on the front of the CPU. The computer recognized the new hardware immediately and I didn’t even have to fuss with installing printer drivers.
Maybe his Godness is rubbing off on me? I don’t know. But I can assure you I’ve heard a hell of a lot of angel music around here. Technology: Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
June 28, 2006
I have this theory. I think that when men go to the bathroom and have to “sit” they make the most of this opportunity and read. I think they do this because they don’t get to sit every time they go to the bathroom. Most women I know do not use their “private time” to catch up on their reading. But that’s because we women sit every time we go to the bathroom, so it’s not a novelty.
My husband is no exception to the “catch up on his reading” theory. In fact, when he heads into the throne room for an “extended visit” reading material is mandatory.
Well I could tell he was recently quite desperate for a good read because instead of the usual diving stuff, or People magazine, I found he’d left this behind.
June 25, 2006
Today marks mine and Chuck’s 11th wedding anniversary.
Eleven years, one daughter, two houses, four jobs, and countless pets and pounds ago we pledged our love to each other in front of family and friends. And today, 11 years later, I love my husband more with each passing day.
Everyone gets hung up on the 5′s and 0′s as the markers for celebrations. But somehow 11 seems more special to us. Maybe because it’s one more than 10.
I’m listening to the mix CD that Chuck gave me for our anniversary, aptly titled 11 songs for 11 years. Naturally I cried when he gave it to me. Naturally I’m crying as I listen to it:
Have I Told You Lately, Van Morrison (this is our song)
Let’s Stay Together, Al Green (a classic)
Day of Reckoning (Burning for You), Robbie Robertson (this is one of the CD’s that was in constant rotation during our courtship)
That’s Her, She’s Mine, Little Feat (Chuck dedicated this song to me a while ago)
The World, Brad Paisley (because Chuck’s a big old country music geek and he loves these lyrics)
Bad Love, Eric Clapton (Clapton, nuff said)
By Her, Beth Hart (another one of Chuck’s faves)
She’s My Kind of Rain, Tim McGraw (see above re country music geek)
Secret World, Tears for Fears (TFF is one of “our bands”)
Valentine’s Day, Bruce Springsteen (need I say more?)
Mustang Sally, The Commitments Soundtrack (OK, this one is a little personal)
Happy Anniversary my love. Thank you for marrying me.
August 23, 2005
Growing up my family had a miniature Schnauzer named Pixie. She was a great dog. She suffered many indignities at the hands of three little girls, but remained calm, gentle, and sweet. She lived a very long happy life, and my mom finally had to put her to sleep at the ripe old dog age of 17. I was in college and hadn’t lived with my mom or this dog for at least five years, but I cried like a baby when my mom called with the sad news.
But that’s not the point.
The point is that at some time in my formative years, Pixie needed to get pills for something or other. Apparently the highly sophisticated wrapping of the pill in American cheese or slathering it in peanut butter did not work, and in order for my dog to take the medication one of my parents had to crush it up and sprinkle it in her dinner.
There was a specific tool used to crush the pills. It was called a Pill Crusher and it looked like this:
Whenever my dad needed this amazing veterinary tool he’d request the Pill Crusher.
Then I grew up and learned that this is not some amazing tool of veterinary science that we were fortunate to own — non-vets though we were. I learned that it’s a regular old tool available at pretty much any hardware store. But it was not until I was an adult that I learned that this tool has another name besides Pill Crusher. It’s called a vise grip (or if you’re in England a mole wrench).
But for whatever reason, I never internatlized that it’s called a vise grip. In fact, a few years ago when my dad was doing something handy and needed the vise grip he asked for the Pill Crusher. I knew exactly what he wanted and even knew where to find one.
My husband has not been very quick on the whole Pill Crusher uptake though. For years he’d be performing some amazing feat of home improvement and would ask for a vise grip. He would be met with a blank stare and I would have no clue what he wanted. He’d then stomp around the house, finally locate one, show it to me and explain — with visual aids that this is what he wanted. And without fail, I’d say, oooooooooooh, the Pill Crusher, you should have just said that.
Well, tonight Chuck was once again performing some amazing repair act and needed a tool. He wondered if I knew where the specific thing was that he wanted. He asked me for the Pill Crusher! I knew exactly what he wanted. Alas, I had no clue where it was. But I knew what he wanted.
July 21, 2005
My husband has a huge crush on the Overstock.com girl .
Despite the fact that we have TiVO and have watched maybe a dozen commercials in the last four years, TV tonight he rewound the TiVO to watch
her the commercial.
July 8, 2005
So yeah, we got a new digital camera.
The thing about digital cameras–like Polaroid’s–is that you can feel free to….ummm…experiment….with the kinds of photos you don’t necessarily want to take over to your local one hour photo place.
Same thing with camera phones. Except with those you can instantly e-mail the photo to the person of your choice, often before common sense kicks in.
My husband is no exception to this rule apparently.
When I came home from work I picked up our new toy and started perusing the pix. The very first one I came upon was … OK, I just spent about 15 minutes trying to think of some delicate way to put this and as I’m not exactly a delicate flower I’ll just come out and say it… a picture of my husband’s (huge) penis. I chuckled (no pun intended) and moved on to numerous adorable pictures of my little dog.
I quickly bored of the camera and moved on to other things.
Then Chuck brought the camera in and wanted to show me the many fabulous features it has so I clicked it back on and you can just guess which was the first picture to show up. Yup, the dick picture again.
Then I flipped through the pictures. And no matter which way I seemed to flick, the next picture I’d always get to was the dick pic again. Sheesh, his penis was stalking me.
So I leave to go get my hair colored and come home to once again play with the camera. I snap a few photos and try to scroll through them, this time using the enlarging and zooming in feature. Which picture that kept coming up on the screen? Yes, it was the stalking penis.
It got to the point of absurdity.
So then I gave Chuck the camera to take a picture of me and Sammy:
He then took the camera into his office to download the photos so I could post this cute picture. Guess which was the first one that came up on his screen?