...and when she caves, she caves absolutely.

I'm the kind of girl who hates things absolutely, until I love them unconditionally. Like the color pink, or cell phones, or cars.

The first cave was cell phones. When I went to grad school, moving to the big city, my mom made me get a cell phone. I was pretty sure I would never use it. One year later, I was living without a landline and my thumbs were texting maniacs. Now I've got an iPhone that is almost never more than ten feet from me and bells a whistles tell me about emails, text messages, and Tweets. I go whole days at home without turning on a computer, because I can just check it all on my handy phone.

A couple of years later I fell in love with a pink Puma t-shirt. Suddenly it was a good thing I was a broke grad student, because I would have bought a lot of pink to regret later - I'm no longer anti-pink, but it's not my favorite color.

Nine and a half years, though. Almost a decade I lived without a car, and I loved it. I got to read and people watch on my way to work, pay attention to the scenery, think, and live in a world without car payments, gas stations, or fuel emissions. It was wonderful. I walked to grocery markets, I took buses and taxis - I even ran to catch public transportation. I Facebooked and Tweeted about the things I saw on my daily rides. But then, things began to go wrong - my 45 min commute (each way) began to slow. There was a Metro crash that had people in Boston calling me to ensure my safety, and as a result WMATA slowed down trains, and the wait between trains went from 3 minutes to over ten - during rush hour! After realizing that my commute was consistently an hour and fifteen minutes (again, each way), and sometimes longer, I started thinking. Then WMATA announced a revamp of the monthly benefits system that takes my pre-tax dollars and turns them into Metro fare. Suddenly, instead of monthly rollover, I was going to lose any money left on my card at the end of the month. A daily rider with an unpredictable travel schedule, I stood to lose 30$/week if I had to go out of town for work unexpectedly. My thinking took a more serious turn. And then, I got a ride home from work. Lady and I were going out to dinner in my neighborhood, so she swung me by my place so I could drop some stuff off and change. We pulled away from my office at 5:05pm, and pulled into the drive of my building at 5:25pm - after going around the block and passing a whole bunch of parking spaces.

That was pretty much it, I drafted monthly budgets, researched mileage per gallon and estimated monthly gas costs, looked into parking and started timing my daily public transit time. All this research was for the future, I figured, because I knew the car I was leaning towards, and it wasn't just sitting on the lot waiting for me. The Toyota Prius III, with sunroof package - SOLAR sunroof package - had to be reserved, and waited for, 2-3 months out. But that baby has a sunroof - a SOLAR sunroof, where solar panels power a ventilation system that keeps the car at the same temperature as the outside world. No more coming out to a car interior heated to a sweltering 130 degrees, because a fan that didn't drain battery life would ensure that the car was as only as gross as the outside world.

So thinking 2-3 months in advance, I put out feelers to local dealers, and by most I was laughed at, told that the solar sunroof package came with the Prius IV, and why wouldn't I want leather seats with butt warmers? I stood firm, however, unconcerned about the amount of time it might take - I wasn't in a hurry. Then, however, I got a call from the one dealer who listened to me and said he could make it happen. The model I wanted, complete with solar sun roof package, and the color I wanted, was coming in - how fortuitous. So I caved. Completely. I reserved parking spots at home and at work, and my commute is now twenty minutes. I have time for both coffee and the blow dryer in the morning, and I'm in comfy pants on the couch no later than six, and often by five-thirty. No one gives me dirty looks for touching them on the seat next to me. I've cooked dinner twice in the past work week, and was able to see my parents on the weekend without spending two hours getting there. I cannot tell a lie, I'm in love with a piece of machinery. I could drink coffee with impunity on my morning commute - if my commute weren't short enough that I don't feel the itch for my next caffeine hit. My iPhone loves my car, because the car stereo speakers so gladly sync up with the little gadget, and the bluetooth makes its connection so I can answer a phone call by shifting a finger on the steering wheel. A friendly navigation systems dings when I should make a turn - though she doesn't understand what I'm doing on the Rock Creek Parkway.

I've caved, and all I need now is a name for the new girl. In college my car was named Phil - short for Mephistopheles, because he was devilish, both in fun and ability to fail me unexpectedly. This car, however, is a female, and I've been thinking about names - crossed off Sylvia and Lydia, pondering Andromeda and Iphigenia, I could call her Genie for short - and have had Julia suggested to me. She's sleek and smart, and her 50mpg makes her eco-friendly and frugal, as well. Other suggestions?

PS - there are still things I hate absolutely. I never see myself caving on the issue of hearts. Blech.

Costume FAIL

I'm not a big fan of Halloween - or any holiday when all the people in the world suddenly decide to descend on my favorite places and act like college freshmen again, thus, I aim to enjoy my birthday enough to be hungover to New Year's Eve each year.

Anyway, if one must go out for Halloween, I think costumes should involve creativity - buying ready-made costumes just seems like cheating. Coming up with something out of my at-home supplies is a challenge. This year I had plans to avoid the holiday altogether, but my aunt sent me an invite to her party, and so I stood in front of my closet and pondered the possibilities. My wardrobe has shrunk over the past two years to focus on work clothes and weekend warrior gear (adventure pants and t-shirts), so there wasn't a whole lot to choose from. The result?

Weekday Walk of Shame.

I created a hairdo my friend Jane would describe as "naughty hair" to top off my raccoon eyes, missing earring, and mis-buttoned shirt. If I'd had a pair of heels I could break one of, my look would have been complete. Off I went, arriving to find my aunt's triangular deck transformed into a pirate ship, complete with cellophane waves and a skeleton bearing a burning tikki torch. I walked in to find my two aunts doling out candy to neighborhood children with skull shaped goblets of wine in their hands. I walked in and gave them each a hug, only to hear, "where is your costume?" and "you're missing an earring!" I explained it was part of the look, but when I said 'walk of shame' there was no recognition in their eyes, and I realized that I had picked the wrong audience for my costume. I also gave them a hard time for the implication that that was how I left the house, but really, I think I'm the loser in this equation...

So the lesson learned? Subtlety has no place on Halloween, and every cliche has an audience. Trick or ... well, there was no treat there.

wine rings in my study book.

So I am at least committed enough to the possibility of going back to grad school that I have a GRE study book. That's right. I have to take the damn GRE again. I can't think of the right idiom for a non-relgious person to use to fully express how glad I am that it's just the general test, but I haven't taken a standardized test in over nine years. I bought a study book. And have drawn up a study schedule. And have even almost fully complied with it. I have a points reward system.

Ironically, my job entails a lob of technical writing and not much in the computation department, so my diagnostic test shows a better verbal score than math. I pretty much wanted to scream. I want to do my best on the math section, so that's where I'm stressing, pushing for speed to make sure I get it all in, and making stupid mistakes.

My new officemate reminded me the other day that stupid is a judgement word. She's right. It's still exactly what I meant.

-- Posted via iPhone.

Old is relative.

I met up with a friend from grad school tonight after work. He has been married as long as I've known him - met his wife in college, got married right after, and spent grad school going home early from the bar while the third in our drinking trio and I went on to second bar to continue our debauchery.

No longer true, the divorce is under way, and my friend finds himself back on the market. So tonight we were in a decided meat market - the average age of females was perhaps 25, and most men had at least a decade on them. It was the typical scene - giggly girls nodding at men who weren't saying anything interesting but their clothes and tone spoke of money and security to the lucky girl who could catch them. The girls were young and pretty, so while I turned a jaded eye to my drink and thought of being home wih my novel, my friend's eyes lit up like a dieter brought to the buffet line. I guess it's all relative.

-- Posted via iPhone.

Return to routine...

I'm back on the bus on a lovely summer day in DC, headed back to work after a week so relaxing I feel as if I'm sort of pouring myself back into the everyday mold. I'm working on a post about vacation, complete with pictures of both salt water and sunburn. But in the meantime I'm finding comfort in familiarity - the sound of coffee while I'm washing dishes, a cat on my lap as I allow myself a few minutes of reading, even the bus ride with its characters.

Also, I planned vacation so I'd come back to a two-day work week. Brilliant.


-- Posted via iPhone.

Baseball, beer, and bonding

Last month ended with baseball week - the Sox were in town for a three-game stand. They weren't up in Baltimore, where getting to and from the game van take as long as the game itself, they were inside DC. Needless to say, I was excited. I've made the trek up to Baltimore once a year since moving down here, which is actually more than I saw the Sox my last couple of years in Boston, when I had to choose between tickets or beer money. And they way things were going at work I deemed beer money a necessity. But I digress. Camden Yards is a great ballpark, but getting there is impossible if you don't have a car. Correction. Getting home is impossible. You can always take the MARC commuter train up there, but because evening commuters are headed away from DC, you can't catch a train home. So I convince my University of Maryland friends that they want to go to a game with me, which involves picking me up at the Metro and giving me a ride back at the end of the night. Less than optimal. You'd think that Baltimore, who lobbied so vehemently against the return of a Washington baseball team because it would cut into their fanbase, would make it easier for folks who live in the city to get to their park.

Anyway, the Red Sox. We know that I love them. One couldn't just buy tickets, however. The Washington Nationals knew that these games were a cash cow, and they made it difficult. At first, you could only get Sox tickets as part of a thirteen game package. That's right, you had to identify ten other times you'd like to see an almost certain conclusion. When they judged that they'd sold as many packages as they were likely to, they instituted a raffle for the chance to buy tickets to just the Sox games. I immediately got everyone I knew (who wasn't likely to want the tickets for themselves) to enter the raffle. It worked. Lady won a raffle slot, and we had a coffee date one morning when we bought tickets to all three games. And so it was that Daddo and I spent three glorious nights in June watching the Red Sox play ball here in DC. Each night we were joined by two other friends - Bill and Anna, a couple of my work buddies, and then Momola and my dad's dad, Pa to me, who grew up in Springfield, Mass. and has been a Sox fan all his life. (Though he felt honor bound to root for the home team, which I couldn't quite fathom. That was the night the Nats won, however, so maybe he knew something we didn't.)

Anyway, the games were great fun and the crowd made for lots of good stories, but the reason I was thinking about baseball here was because last week Daddo and I went to see the Cubs in town with the company tickets. You know, the good seats. And I was reminded of the week of games with him. We'd both head to the stadium, trying to call each other as we got there, missing calls over the din of the vendors, people, and loudspeakers. Instead we'd meet up at the seats, beer in hand - the man taught me my priorities, after all - and sit down to watch the crowd. If I didn't agree to trek for food before the game started I'd hear about it later when the lines were longer. We'd chat a bit, but as the heat kicked in and the games started we settled into the odd baseball or heat-related comment and comfortable silences (although, using the word silence when music was blaring and announcers were at top volume seems wrong). At some point around the seventh inning stretch, Daddo would turn and announce he was headed home at the end of the inning, facing a train ride to his car and the drive home from there. We were both hot and overwhelmed by noise by this point, so a quick 'good night' and we'd part company. We don't talk much during those evenings, but I love going to the games with Daddo. We sit next to each other and share the same experience, right down to the sweaty grossness that is DC summertime, and despite the sweat, the spilled beer or sausage-burned mouth, that obnoxious kid who's bound to sit behind you every so often, and the occassional foul bruise, it's pretty great.

-- Posted via iPhone.

Passport, check. Pants, who needs 'em?

Whenever my passport is required, be it for travel or work, I find myself repeating that line from Bridget Jones. Right before Mark Darcy returns to say he's been a prat, when Bridget's friends come to whisk her away to Paris because she's been such a sad sack. They divide up packing for her and Tom gives her just two responsibilities. "Right, passport, Bridget. Pants."

I booked my holiday Monday night, and had to find my passport to trust I still had it. I'll be out of the country for five days, three full days in Bermuda sitting on a beach, reading books and listening to the water. I'm not taking my computer. I am taking blackberry, but have promised to restrict its use to half an hour. But that's work. iPhone is going with me, so I can photo document, facebook, Twitter, and blog; keep up with the fun aspects of today's connectivity.

And why do I need pants for that?


-- Posted via iPhone.

This is a test.

So there was the realization that I could really access the blog site using mobile devices. First blackberry and then iPhone. But then it occurred to me - there has to be an app for that! And there is. So now, with my keyboard turned sideways in the palm of my hand I'm thinking that I may be able to get back in the swing of this blogging thing. Because the truth is that work isn't getting any less crazy, and I reach for my phone first during the daily commute.


-- Post From My iPhone

sometimes it's the little things...

Today was a Monday that shouldn't have been a Monday. My mood was a reflection of the mood of those around me, and it seemed that everyone around me was having a bad day. So I rolled in the door, thought about the cold pizza in the fridge, and promptly walked out again, heading to the pub, thinking about food and beer. I walked in and found Youk on the tv, getting ready to bat, ordered my favorite beer, and deliberated between fried green tomatoes and fried brussel sprouts.

Crap, while typing this - about how the guy at the bar changed to the Mets game in the middle of the 5th inning and speed with which my mood could go from bad to good and back to bad again, things have plummeted to awful... I ran a quick errand to Bed, Bath, and Beyond tonight - had bought a blender there last week for my brothers, but forgot my coupon for 20% off. No worried, I was told, just bring coupon and receipt back and all will be well. So I did, on my way to the bar, and questioned the girl behind the register when she said it went through alright - I didn't remember seeing where she credited my card, but she said she did, so... NO, NO, NO! So now I've been charged twice for a blender that doesn't even live in my house, and since it's the end of the month I'm going to have to deal with the bank and overdraft fees (have already called them, can do nothing until tomorrow) and still have to go BACK to the store and deal with the mistake - in my spare time. I called their customer service line and yelled at the guy who was less than helpful, but it only made me feel marginally better. I'm all wired and angry, which means it's going to take me a while to calm down, and it's past my early-morning-meeting bedtime, which just makes me more angry. I HATE STUPID PEOPLE!

how do they do it?

How do people who routinely work 12 hour days manage it? I've put in quite a few of those lately, but I was thinking about time allocation the other night, and I realized that a 10 hour day, when added to commuting time, time to get ready in the morning and wind down at night, and I've not got 8 hours for sleep during the night - goodness help me if I want to accomplish any chores around the house. As a result, my sink is full of unwashed dishes and I have one hamper filled with clean laundry, one with dirty. Shoes are scattered everywhere - that cat has taken to curling up with them:

My fridge is stocked with snacks and frozen dinners rather than food to be cooked - when it's not empty, and that's if I don't either order in or go out.

So that's the answer to where I've been - working. Unfortunately, work doesn't make for interesting blog posts, And my wallet doesn't like all the eating out, especially since I've decided that with all this working I've earned a vacation that I can't really afford. I don't think I care, though. I deserve a break, of the sloth-like variety. I tend to be a go-getter, or at least a go-see-er on vacation, but I intend to go somewhere pretty and not see, instead I will just sit. Sit until I don't know what to do with all the time I've got between 8 hour sleeps, or more, and thoughts of getting up before the sun to watch the clock while I cuddle that cat, thinking about whether or not I'll catch the fast bus, or even the one bus, not the one ten minutes later... well, all those thoughts will be forgotten. It's going to be amazing. And maybe all that sitting will give me more interesting things to say.

In the works.

Ok, so this month is somewhat easier for me, if only that so far I'm not working overtime. Instead, I'm cramming my usual weekly workload into four days so that I can be ridiculously busy or out of town on the weekends. So, stories that have happened that I haven't yet posted are:

"Who's got the tickets?" (or, the angriest I've ever almost been at Daddo)
"Rugrats and invalids"
And finally, it took thirty years, but... "Astrowahoo gets the abstinance talk"

So get ready, because when I get a couple of uninterrupted hours I'm ready to unleash on the blogosphere. In the meantime, I'll try to post a couple of pics of the Dumpster, and this coming weekend I'm meeting little ADD!

Tech Addiction

I can justify it, I can, but when it comes right down to it, I wanted one. And mama has worked hard for her money this month and earned a reward. So I did some research - both iPod and phone were reaching the end of their lives, I got better reception with Lady's 3G at the apartment, and the web surfing... Oh, the web surfing! So yesterday after a long day at the office I went by the store "just to look."

And now I'm typing this blog entry from an iPhone. The kicker was that I got to keep my Boston number, that would have been a deal-breaker. But I'm connected and I love it already. App recommendations, anyone?

what do you want to hear first?

Bad news? My hairdryer broke yesterday.

Good news! The off switch broke, so if it's plugged in it's running.

Bad news? I can't reach the bathroom plug above the vanity light.

Good news? Stepping up and down from the toilet for the plug has to be good for me ass.

Wanted: a happy hour.

(note: written Thursday after work via blackberry)

At this moment my day feels like a comedy of errors. I spent all day yesterday at my client's office instead of mine - it was a productive day, but there was no time to breathe. Today promised to be more of the same, so I took a deep breath on the way to work, and fortified myself with a Firehook creation. Except that there was a figurative fire this morning, and my client and cohort raced to deal with it while I focused on the task we had intended for today. Most of my day was spent on my laptop in my client's office with my iPod plugged in as I struggled to ignore the five other people coming, going, and gabbing.

At 230pm I claimed a sanity break and headed over to my office in order to fight a losing battle with our IT department for an email stuck in the company filters. "But I NEED it!," actually left my mouth. I barely contained the foot stamp that wanted to accompany that statement.

My hour up, and a few losing innings of Boston baseball later, I was back at the client site, fighting with file transfers, and watching the clock. Bill and Anna were going to meet me at a new bar I'd spotted on the modified commute, and there were happy hour sushi specials and fruity drinks waiting for me. "I'm leaving at 530pm," I told myself, without much conviction, "or 545pm at the latest.". That was better. That came out with more force. At 545pm, one last print-out came from the printer. "You can spare 5 more minutes, can't you? We'll all feel super virtuous if we finish this," my client said with a hopeful expression. I agreed, doing my very best to sound gracious, despite knowing we would neither be merely 5 minutes, nor finish tonight*. Sure enough, at 6pm I pulled out the blackberry, and checked the next train arrival. "Ok," I said, "now I HAVE to go." I put on my coat and headed for the door - feeling somewhat guilty for leaving my co-worker behind, but I was done. I hit the down button for the elevator, and thought to myself, "I can make it across the street and down into the station in 8 minutes..."

The elevator came, I entered, let the doors close, and pushed the button for the first floor. The button light flashed, and went out; nothing else happened. I frowned, and pushed the button again. The light flashed and went out. I took a deep breath and pushed the 'door open' button. The same thing happened. "Ok, don't panic," I thought as I pushed every single button. Each one flashed in turn before going dark, and still no motion in the elevator. Now here's the thing, I have an irrational fear of being trapped in the elevator. Not in the Speed, some crazy guy's set a bomb and we have to hope Keanu Reeves comes to save the day in the worst movie I own that I can inexplicably watch over and over, kind of fear. An elevator just seems such a helpless sort of place to get trapped. No cell service, no one instantly on the horn to get things moving. I mean, if your metro train gets stuck underground, people know from the get-go. Also, there are people in the train with you. I'm very good at being calmer than the people around me in stressful situations, but you leave me alone, and I go from regular day to freak-out in no time. As evidenced by the fact that all of this went through my head in the 60 seconds between the last button pushed and the elevator kicking into motion. Of course, when you're in an elevator that's not responding to any buttons, but suddenly starts moving - not exactly comforting! Turns out, a woman had called the elevator from the floor below mine. The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and I burst out, almost shouting, "Don't get on this elevator!" She was taken aback, but followed me to the stairs, and I started jogging down the stairs on an ankle that gave a little twinge as I hit the bottom flight of stairs. Of course, without thinking, I'd headed for the set of stairs on the opposite side of the building than I'm used to, and came out in a bare, white hallway, thinking, "I just want out of the building!" I was almost running by this point. The woman following me had to give me directions to the lobby, and I didn't even stop to say thanks, I just headed for the door. I jogged across the street, called my client while walking the block to the Metro station to warn him off the elevators, and headed down the escalator to the sound of a train pulling out of the station. I hit the platform, saw 6 minutes on the board for the next train, flexed my ankle, and let out a quiet, but intense "f___!"

I caught a bus straight out of the Metro and made it to happy hour a mere 10 minutes late, where the drinks were pretty great, the crowd was out of control (and overly gelled), and the decision was made that Anna and I were more Monday-night kind of people. So we let the cucumber mojitos do their things and headed to a lower-key locale for the rest of the night.

*They did finish Thursday night, but not until 7pm.

Oh, Shiny!

Monday night I get a text message: This gorilla is in labor.

Backstory: As I zipped up my suitcase in NYC in February, getting ready to head to the train station to Casey Jones my way up to Boston where I was staying with Eric and Annie, my cell phone gave the DING! of an incoming text message. It said, "this gorilla is in labor," and the number was Annie's. It was a month early for her, but that's not unheard of, and I had seen the photographic evidence that said this kid was on the fast-track. But my very first thought? "Sh!t, where am I going to crash??" So I called Annie, who said she hadn't sent me a text message. There was a pause as she pushed a couple of buttons on her phone, followed by, "Eric! When did you learn to text message?" Needless to say, it was a false alarm.

Monday night, though, was the real deal. I texted good wishes, sent word south to Em, and sat back to wait. OK, I went to bed, but whatever. Tuesday, no word from Boston, an excited g-chat with Em, but we figured we'd hear when there was news. Wednesday, no word. I g-chatted with Em on the Metro ride to the opera, and then left a message with Eric - what news? He left a message while I was ensconced in the restaurant, but Em talked to him, too - the baby had been born the night before (!) and all was well. Except for the fact that he still didn't have a name. Details, people, and it's not like they didn't have anything to call him - what's wrong with Egg Tooth? I have a tiny cell phone pic from Annie with that monniker.

Today I got an email, his name is Andrew, and this is what he looks like:
How ridiculously beautiful is he? He already looks like he's thinking about something that will lead to trouble. Now, his initials? A.D.D., so we're going to hope that doesn't say anything about his attention span, but that it instead ADDs up to some mathematical genius - he gets it from him father. Momola, however, thinks that he spells attention deficit for his parents - why else would they forget to name him for 24 hours? Therefore, in keeping with a current family joke, Momola is referring to little Andrew as "Shiny" to mark his ability to distract.

I'm planning my visit.

delinquint and distracted

I was chastized (by proxy) for not blogging more lately. The thing is, I've been working enough that nothing really story worthy has happened to me, with one exception, but it's not my story to tell. When not working I confess to being distracted by Facebook and Twitter, but 140 characters isn't astrowahoo, and I've got a few half-composed blog posts in my head. Many revolve around one topic, and I wasn't really ready to discuss it here, I wanted to work it out a bit on my own and in more controlled settings. I was pretty sure that life changing decisions granted you a two-year grace period before the next came along. But what the hell, let's lay it out there.

I'm thinking about going back to grad school. Not BU. Not astronomy. I'm about to start talking to a professor my client has lined up about getting a degree in applied mathematics. So now you can all tell me how crazy I am and I'll keep you posted on the famous J----- family decision matrix.

Also, I'll try to post more often.

new and improved

I can now blog from my blackberry. This, when discovered last week, seemed like the penultimate blogging leap forward. Now, however, I can twit (I like that better than tweet) and discovered tonight the ability to connect blog- and tweet-ospheres. True madness envelopes the world, but really, I'm thinking it's a good thing. I'm new to Twitter, but the appeal of the mini-blog was always clear. I like an audience (who doesn't?), I like to tell stories (why else would I be here?), and I like to think others wouldn't mind reading my comments on my world. So I've added a new feature to the sidebar, and will let that be my excitement for the day. It's either that or the hour long sitting session while waiting for the hotel shuttle to pick me up after my meetings today - turns out they thought I wanted to be dropped off at the campus, and were wondering why I hadn't come to the lobby for my ride... Hint: don't ask for my cell phone number if you're not going to use it to locate me. I'm just saying. I'd have gone back to the museum to see the Rodin collection if I'd've known.

Now, after three and a half hours of work phone calls after a full day of meetings? I'm packing it in. Enjoy the twitterific snark, or the snark-tastic tweets. Just don't blow the whistle on my fun. TWEET!!

that's right, sports fans...

Last night while packing I went to run through my mental list of power cords to go in the plastic ziploc inside my suitcase. Rather than rewind the cord in my living room, I went to the computer bag of my new work laptop and grabbed the signature black rectangle that is the PC power cord, already wrapped up small - still in the plastic! - and put it in my travel bag. I've been up for over 16 hours now, six of which were spent on the plane next to weird sleeping man, one of which was spent jostling through the back streets of Palo Alto in a door-to-door van from the airport, and half of one was spent convincing the hotel restaraunt to give me a salad and a big glass of wine. I get back to my room, planning to wind down reading my favorite blogs, checking Facebook, etc. only to find that the new Dell power cord COMES IN TWO PIECES! The reading I did on the plane killed my battery, so now I'm stuck until I can get back from the all day meeting tomorrow evening and walk to the electronic store half a mile away - and I didn't pack walking shoes this trip. Forget the work I was going to try to do in the morning, because I can't log in from a machine with no juice. And I already checked - no spare power cords at the front desk.

In case you're wondering, it too soon to tease me about this.

At my favorite bookstore in August, I came across a book that looked fascinating, Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant. A bunch of well-know authors wrote essays about secret eating habits from their single days. Next time I see it in a store I'm buying it. We all have eating habits that we don't indulge in when others are around - I had a friend in grad school who ate cereal for dinner every night. For months. I remember a time when Meredith's favorite meal was white rice with butter. Jared admitted on Facebook recently that when his wife wasn't in town he eats Taco Bell - yuck!

My super secret food behavior isn't a type of food, rather my last step of food prep. When I eat alone, the last thing I do in the kitchen is to pre-cut all of my food. That's right, as if I were feeding a small child who can't be trusted with a knife, I cut my food into bite-sized pieces. This enables me to eat one-handed, freeing up my other hand to hold a book and turn the pages. There's nothing worse in my book (hah!) than having to put down whatever I'm reading between bites in order to pick up my knife.

Now, when I'm eating on my own in a restaurant, I feel lke I can't do this. Instead, I let my available reading material determine my food choice. If I've brought a magazine, newspaper, paper, or something that lays flat I order meat or anything that requires two hands. If I've got a book with me, then it's pasta, a salad, or some other meal that I can eat with one hand.

It's what works for me.

Radio Silence

I've been quiet lately, with a lot of the usual excuses, work and travel - there was the family trip to Boston for Christopher's wedding, which I have pictures and stories from. I'll post some of that this weekend. I used train rides to write a couple of posts in my blog journal, too, so I just need to get them up here. But this week I've been getting back in the swing of things at work while thinking potentially life-changing thoughts. And those thoughts are taking a lot of energy. So bear with me for a while while I ponder life, the universe, and my place in it.

But hey, I've figured out how to get on the blog site from my blackberry, so that could be fun.

Things lost in bars...

• Favorite winter hat (Boston, MA, Washington Square Tavern) - I loved that herring bone cap with the pink ribbon.
• Favorite winter scarf (Boston, MA) - that was also the night I saw a girl friend get kissed by another girl and picked up the only straight man in a gay bar - worth it.
• Brand new khaki jacket (Boston, MA) - present from Momola, but that doesn't count as lost - it got stolen.
• iPod (Seattle, WA) - fell out of a jacket pocket making the transfer from cab to street at a conference. I was heartbroken and had to go buy myself a replacement immediately.
  
• cellphone (Boston, MA, Beacon Street Tavern) - going away dinner after a good-bye party (and a lot of tequila) at the office - losing your phone the night before people gather to help you move out of your apartment? inadvisable.
• blackberry (Boston, MA, Washington Square Tavern) - last night in Boston on this recent trip, blackberry was the casualty of Daddo's scotch tour. At least that's how I'm telling it.
• We don't need to discuss the number of times I've lost my dignity.
  

the words in my head.

Today's been a rough day. After the week of the fastest sick ever, spending Wednesday at home sleeping, Thursday in meetings, and Friday driving around suburban Virginia in a trek to the biggest waste of time since, I'm gonna say, August, I celebrated the end of the week with dinner at the pub with Momola and a co-worker. We laughed about stupid people (see Early Morning Wake-up Call) and other folks who get on our nerves. It was a good way to end the week, but there was a lot of talking yesterday, and towards the end of the day my throat was a little scratchy.

Twelve hours later, when I woke up, my throat was still sore. Not a big deal, I made a pot of tea, and sat down with the computer and my DVR remote. My morning's are quiet, so it took a while for the blogs to make me laugh and the squawk of my throat to alert me to today's health development. I'd lost my voice. And not just kind of, in a 'let me clear my throat' kind of way. We're not even talking about the voice-loss that goes away at the end of the morning, leaving you thinking you just needed a warm-up. I haven't been able to talk all day. At all. Everything comes out as a whisper, and a sentence leaves me coughing - which is almost funny, because I'm not coughing otherwise.

It's occured to me today just how much I talk in a given day. Even on the weekend days I don't leave the house. I call Meredith and chat with the Dumpster, I call the folks to tell them random things, and I call to bug Christopher about getting together for Sunday brunch. Today it was me, the tv, and the computer - I couldn't even talk the that cat. Talk about stir crazy - if you can call it stir crazy when you're trapped inside your head.

Side note: I didn't do anything useful like catch up on e-mail, or sort through yesterday's mail. But I did join Twitter - that's right, I now tweet. Snarky one-liners all the day long. Sounds like fun, but if I can't talk tomorrow there's going to be some violence.

Oh yeah, and happy Valentine's day, or something. It didn't really occur to me that that's what today was, until my sick and sorry ass fixated on pudding and I wanted someone to run to the market for me. Yup, the only time I really regret the lack of a man in my life is when I want to pout and make someone else go by me some ice cream.

Sick girls shouldn't run for the bus.

Well, I wasn't wrong, this is a truly crazy month, and it just occurred to me that it's almost half over - how did that happen? Work has been busy, the weekend was busy - although much fun, as well - and then this week found me germ infested.

First this weekend, because bottomless champagne brunch and flip-flops in February are so much nicer to ponder than coughing fits and runny noses. That's right, in a sudden burst of sunshine, I went to Indian brunch with Bill and Anna, where chicken curry and palak paneer were simmering, the bubbly flowed, and conversation - well, Bill and Anna are never boring! When Anna and I stumbled upon the topic of mani/pedis and decided to treat ourselves, the day became a holiday in my book. We left the salon wearing the world's most uncomfortable flip flops, but our toes looked great, and I peer-pressured her into my favorite weekend activity, wandering through a bookstore. Even a little bit of work I had to do that evening couldn't dull the shine of my Sunday.

Wednesday, however, I could've done without. I felt fine Monday, and stayed far away from the germy-worms at the office, having dinner with Momola and Daddo that night before heading home to a glass of orange juice and an early bedtime - see, I was good! Tuesday morning I started to feel a little stuffy in the nose area, and by the end of the day I was pretty much crawling. So much so that when Momola offered me a ride home (a.k.a., told me she was driving me home) I didn't have the energy to argue. In fact, the thought of getting on the metro that day made me want to cry. The problem? Wednesday was a big day of meetings at the office - important meetings that I'd helped to arrange and wanted to be part of. However, when showering and walking around in a one-bedroom apartment for half an hour makes you out of breath and in need of a nap, you probably aren't going to be much use outside in the big, wide world. So I waved the white flag, sent the requisite emails, and curled up in a miserable ball. That was pretty much my day. I found enough energy to make tea once, and microwave some soup, and drink OJ. And I slept. A lot. I was glad to wake up this morning feeling much better, and nowhere near as exhausted. I even managed to get ready without feeling the need for a nap. I left the house ready for day two of the meetings I'd missed out on yesterday, and as I got to the top of the hill I saw my bus at the stop - a block away. So I hoofed it. And I made it. But as I sat down and suppressed the coughing spell that threatened to scare my fellow bus riders I realized that I could have waited for the next bus.

Although, maybe if I'd coughed all over the crotch of the man standing in front of me he'd have backed the hell up. I'd say that's a disadvantage of the bus, but on the train, where seats are perpendicular to the side of the car, guys lean their hips on the side of the seat, and you end up with crotch contact at your shoulder - contact.

At least on the bus you can hold your book at a poking height.

buckle your safety belts...

It's going to be a bumpy ride through February. Yesterday at work I was organizing my calendar for the month, and I'm already stressed out about all the stuff we're trying to get done this month - and it's only the 4th! I can't wait for the last week of the month, when I'll be in Boston with the whole family, even little Dumpster! His auntie is taking him to the Museum of Science and the New England Aquarium, and she's hoping there's still snow on the ground since his mean momma moved to Tampa, where hurricanes are more common than snowfall. But for now, it's time to start the day, or attempt a re-boot, as I woke up to the phone before my alarm clock - it was a woman about work. "I'm sorry to call so early..." Let me tell you what, if you call at 6:15am, you'd better have something to say that couldn't go in an email, and that's all I'll say about that.

Super Sunday

Ok, I think the fact that I haven't said anything about football all season tells you about my sports preferences - swiiiiiing, batta batta! I do like a good football game, I just don't really care enough about any particular team to watch most of the time. But I was watching this game, if only because it was an excuse to eat my slow-cooker veggie chili, topped with sour cream, XXXtra sharp cheddar and avacado, with a side of corn bread. Also, Springsteen was playing the halftime show, and a friend from work was singing back-up for him - that's right, remember the choir? My friend was wearing a strangely colored robe, and rocking with Boss. It looked like a wicked good time, and I can't wait to hear what she thought.

Here's the thing, though, it was a great game - run in from the other room because you can hear cheering as the big play is being made kind of game, and there were a couple of those moments! I didn't really care who won, I cheered for and yelled at both sides, and I had a great time. Also, Kurt Warner is HHHOT! Larry Fitzgerald ain't to bad, either. So yeah, not a bad way to spend the evening.

asleep on the couch.

That's a pretty accurate description of me this week. It's been a series of meetings at work, so no time to organize my notes from last week's meeting in California, and no time to follow up on conversations from last week, either. So each night I've come home just looking to unwind, and perhaps cranking the computer back up later to send out some of those emails on my list. Instead, as Keith Obermann railed against Blago and examined the passing of the new stimulus bill, I would start with the long blinks and pass into the land of nod. Waking up with a crick in my neck, I'd hobble off to bed and find myself reading far into the night - evening naps aren't usually a good idea for the sleep schedule. So the week has been a wash, for the most part, and I'll be glad when it's over. I need to do a thorough house-cleaning, a grocery run, and oh yeah, take down my Christmas tree. So here's hoping that I find a hidden energy reserve this weekend. Or at least find the ability to put the smack-down on myself.

one week later...

Ok, so the weekend was a bit of a flurry, what with getting ready to spend this week in California - well, when I wasn't watching the Battlestar Galactica marathon in preparation for the new episode. But the rest of my time was spent getting ready. I wrote in my blog journal, but I'm not typing it in tonight. Tonight I'm in Santa Barbara, and after eleven hours of meetings, I'm so tired that over-cooked pork in my room service dinner made me cry. Maybe it was the forgotten roll. Or the ranch dressing when I asked for blue cheese... whatever tipped me over the edge, I called the kitchen back to say that, yeah, bee-atches, I may have been so hungry that I ate the mashed potatoes, green beans, and one piece of meat that wasn't dry cardboard, but I ain't happy. They took it off my bill, but I'm still a little hungry, and really, that doesn't make me a winner. One more glass of wine and I'm crawling under the covers, hoping tomorrow goes more smoothly.

not in love, in hate.

Dear Metro -

I'm headed out of town next week, and that's probably for the best. I think you and I need to take a break. You just aren't meeting my needs right now, and I need a little time to reassess my feelings about our relationship. You haven't been there for me when I needed you lately, and our fight this week about the SmartTrip card was the final straw.

So good luck next week with the extra millions of passengers, I know it will be stressful for you. I'll be out west, a pedestrian in a land of cars. Hopefully we can both come back at the end of the week recommitted to our relationship.

-Astrowahoo.

What I saw at the zoo...

Yesterday was a zoo day for me, and I walked down (and up) the hill thinking about all the work I had to do this weekend. I still haven't done any of the work I brought home, because while at the zoo our gorilla mama gave birth, and I got to see it! Needless to say I was ridiculously excited about it, and as I was the one who saw the most, I promised to write up what I saw. So follow the link, because it was pretty cool, and I just asked permission to link to a visitor's photos, so I'll let you know when I get permission and put them up.

The Answer.

Spit will freeze before it hits the sidewalk at -40C.

Of course, if you were a fan of XKCD, you'd have seen the answer on Monday.

moving slow.

It's hard to feel that rush to get in to the office when you were there until 7pm last night and there's no meeting or urgent task waiting for you today. I got up at the normal time, made my tea and sat with that cat reading the paper no longer than usual. Then I made the mistake of turning on the computer while still in my pjs. I decided it was time to upload some pictures and say hello. I should be in the shower. Actually, I should be out of the shower, putting on my work clothes and debating the use of the hair dryer - it's cold and rainy out, but the damn thing is so loud.

I haven't told you any of the fun that made up my holidays. Christopher's first viewing of White Christmas, the mystification at Vera Ellen's missing ribs, the production of West Side Story with "I Feel Pretty" sung in Spanish - a nice touch, but I can't sing along with that, my first ever experience sending food back - oh so worth it, in the end, but rather guilt-inducing in the moment. Then there was the birthday, a juvenille celebration of adulthood that I enjoyed immensely, and even (mostly) remember. I took a picture. Actually, I took many, and there were others present, as well, but for now, let this tide you over:


The next day we laid about watching tv, mostly because we couldn't move. I couldn't keep down water. It was the usual New Year's Eve. I've chosen not to make resolutions this year, rather promised a refocusing on larger goals that will require more than a year to achieve. It's life, a work in progress. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday, and I'm back on the blog, so until next time...