Less talkie-talkie...more trick-or-treaty

Happy all Hallow's Eve eve! I hope everyone has their preparations in order. It's going to be a good one this year, I can just feel it. I go home tonight and decorate my porch to majestic heights of festivity. Or something...

Courtesy of Fark, I present to you the GREATEST HALLOWEEN COSTUME IDEA EVAR: A Christopher Walken mask - just click, print and cut. And viola! I tell ya', if I were more ballsy (and unafraid of making a total dorkwad of myself), I would wear this thing all day at work Wednesday. But...I'm a weenie. So I won't.

In honor of the pending holiday, I give you Walken reading Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven":



(Conspicuously absent: cowbell)


And because this is M's favorite (oft quoted!) clip:



("It's gonna hurt...REAL bad. Right here. For 8, 9 seconds.")

Making all of my teeniest, tiniest dreams come true

Yesterday we went to a Pumpkin Fest across the bridge. Although there wasn't much having to actually do with that king among gourds (it was more deep fried foods and what was passing as "crafts" than about pumpkins), we did drive through horse country and I amused everyone with my musing about how I would have physically picked up and stolen away with a miniature pony I saw in someone's yard. Today, it seems that some brilliant person in the UK had the same idea.

Lets do the timewarp. Again.

I was getting coffee this morning - as is customary these days to battle the malaise that overcomes me the minute my foot slips over the threshold into my office - and glanced at the little digital clock on the coffee maker. It was projecting 1:17 PM. I got confused for a second and thought I may have slipped into a fugue state while the better part of the day passed unnoticed by me, so I had to glance around the corner and check the time on the other clock. I was relieved to see that our breakroom clock was about four hours ahead, so I hadn't slipped into a dimensional wormhole or anything. But I was also a little annoyed that the time was off and had to fix it.

The Slate is running an amazing article about what to do to ward off wild monkey attacks. Thank God, people! I would otherwise never have realized that a macaque might be serious about wanting that cookie I'm holding until it had actually engaged its canines in my flesh. But now I'm all freaked out about the possiblity of roaming bands of marauding monkies showing up on my block. So not only do I have to prepare for the inevitable zombie apocalypse, but a monkey mob as well? Great. I suppose some of the same defensive implements could be employed in both scenarios, which would cut down on the cost of stockpiling weapons. Both would be equally messy.

M - it looks like your internet may have been fixed? How exciting! I didn't see you yesterday - how did your interview go? I'll be sending you a message later to check. And there's a club zombie walk planned for October 29th!! I'll have to get photo evidence that they actually organized something cool for once...

I'll give you PUNCH

I just got an e-mail from a coworker announcing there will be cheesecake and punch for his boss's birthday. His boss is my boss-by-proxy, since my actual boss hardly speaks to me or acknowledges that I might make any valuable contributions. In fact, today, while introducing me to some people who were visiting as guests (important ones, I'm guessing), he said "And this is maus (haha, no he said my real name - I don't think he's aware of my plethora of nicknames)...she does such and such, and manages our budgets." He looks at me and says "And how much are our budgets?" and I answer "Roughly X-million dollars for this year", which he repeats to the people he was introducing to me. And then he says "Well, really she doesn't do much but sit there all day in that office." I guess he was joking. I hope he was joking. I didn't find it all that funny, especially since I'd be hard pressed to explain just what it is HE does all day - when he's even here...

What's better than a taser for pest control purposes?

The answer, at least according to a local police officer who sprayed at or near some Muscovy ducks right outside of the police station a few months back, seems to be pepper spray. This has been headlining news for a couple of days on our local 24-hour news loop, which I find both hysterical and pathetic. So let this be a lesson for all cops: pepper spray is for beligerant homeless people, not ducks. And always make sure there are no witnesses.

I received something in the mail the other day with this on the envelope:

My first reaction was to think "No, I suppose not. Neither is the viewing audience. Has that show been yanked from the airwaves yet?" Then I opened up the envelope and saw it was a marketing ploy for Geico - part of their "Up With Cavemen" campaign, with the tagline of "Cavemen are people too". Okay. But they JUST AREN'T FUNNY. And neither was this lame newsletter for car insurance that is lamely masquerading as entertainment that was clogging up my mailbox.

Feasting on taun-tauns

Fall is here - or as close to Fall as the Southeast gets. There's only a couple of weeks until one of my most favorite pagan holidays ever. I have tons of plans for this weekend. I'll be taking tomorrow off. Just because I can. The little guy and I will find some mischief to make, just the two of us. Saturday M and I head downtown to see Hot Hot Heat in concert and raise a ruckus like only we can. I'm torn between recommending we have tapas or sushi pre-show. I guess we'll sort that out once she gets in town. Sunday is bowling. That should be fun. Next weekend I will go with the family to a Pumpkin Festival on a farm near my parents' house for smoked turkey legs, fresh lemonade and deep-fried twinkies. So my next couple of weekends are all booked up, and it feels great.

I have resumed going to the gym. Last night I biked over twelve miles. I wanted to use the other equipment, but I ran out of time. While I was biking (and reading a book), a lady walked up to a food table they had set out and proceeded to stuff her face with chips and the dips that were set out to go with them. I should have known when the membership scanning machine was down that not everyone in the place was necessarily a paying member. After about ten minutes of bingeing, the lady wandered over to the stationary bike next to mine, reeking of guacamole, and proceeded to try and figure out the machine. All the while talking to herself. Mind you, there were identical bikes on the other side of the gym not being used. But, no. Guac-lady had to pick the one next to me. After a few minutes of fast pedalling on the lowest setting she stopped to take off her shoes and socks! That's when I realized they weren't athletic shoes - she was wearing hiking boots. Weird!! At that point, I looked at the clock and decided it was just about time to get going. Tonight when I go I'll be using the bikes on the other side, hidden behind the treadmills where I can be left to work off my gluttonous ways in peace.

Your move...

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera...

M - do yourself a favor and search for a movie called "The Magic Christian".

Murals are not an acceptable form of legal tender

Today a woman keeps coming into my office and standing in the front doorway to stare at the artwork hanging on the interior suite wall right inside the door. She has been here twice. Walk over. Stand. Stare. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. She hasn't said anything to anyone. She's just stared intently at the painting. Taking it all in. But I get a distinct impression she's working up the nerve to be very morally offended. Not that I really blame her. This painting - located inside the office of a quasi-government entity - features the image of a semi-nude female figure rendered in a style similar to what one might find on Greek pottery...or in a bath house, since it's debatable what she is doing to the other only partially rendered (and possibly male) figure in the mixed-media painting. It's a pretty notorious piece within my office. M and I used to ponder the very nature of it on many occassions. The Fine Arts department came and got all of their cheaply framed crappy prints, but left this thing behind, in all of it's exposed breasticle glory displayed in it's dubious place of honor right by the main door. If this lady decides to complain maybe that'll get us some decent decor around this place.

They finished the eatery at work -- the aesthetic part, anyway. Half a million dollars, and what do they have to show for it? Blue tint on the windows and an ugly beaded curtain around a stage that no one may ever actually use. They put this giant mural on one wall, and someone mentioned today that basically that's where our raises went. Let me tell you something: Murals do not pay the bills. We had to buy new equipment for the kitchen at an additional cost. The person who decided this was a good idea needs to be fired. Oh, that's right - he skipped out before this ill-conceived project even got started. And the running of the actual operation of the place needs a LOT of work. Those people have no clue how to actually run a business, and it chills me to the very marrow of my bones. How they expect to turn a profit when they have an "Office Manager" who has tried for three days to fax paperwork to a number that took me all of five seconds to determine was a voicemail number is beyond me.

Coming out swinging

I was just attacked by a ginormous fruit fly. It obviously flew all the way from Chernobyl just to attempt to flit into my eye. Annoying! And gross.

I've had about a dozen e-mails today telling me that I need to go in and approve employee credit card charges. Half of the charges I'm trying to approve are giving me unresolvable errors. I had a mini-ferfluffle with a manager about another department charging his account - and notifying ME, since I'm the account approver instead of the manager, who thinks it's "his" money. We're going to be addressing this again. Next time, I may not be as pleasant about it. All in all, I need to just put all of my anxiety behind me and talk to my boss. I just feel...uncomfortable around him, though. It's tough to broach the subject of what your job is (or is not), and the fact that you are a tier below people who are doing the exact same work (or sometimes less work, even) for considerably more money when you're not sure if the boss understands what your job even is (he's compared me to the lower office staff before, which burns me, since I oversee and manage millions of dollars in funds for the unit - essentially the core of my many, many responsibilites - I'm not just answering phones and ordering supplies for a department). It's driving my husband nuts that I'm so reticent to have this conversation, and he gets a little frustrated with me about it. It's hard to explain to him that when I talk about work I'm not asking for advice (I never preface anything with "What do you think I should do?"), and he's naturally a "fixer", so he has a hard time understanding why I can't just walk into the boss's office and rattle off everything I do that deserves a promotion and/or raise and why my work load is slowly sapping my will to live. I. Just. CAN'T.

Our neighbor came over yesterday because the mailcarrier delivered all of the mail on the block to the wrong addresses. Everyone got the mail for the house next door. While the neighbor was at my house dropping off my mail, she launched into a long story about the drama between her and her now ex-boyfriend. Then she asked us if we could drop her off at the bar up the street because she had some "business" she needed to "conduct" up there and didn't want anyone to see her car there (seriously - her exact words). Since we were on our way out to waste some time and get dinner, we obliged. She also asked if we could keep an eye on her house while she's out of town for anything "suspicious". I can barely stand the excitement of her life.

My son likes to reinact experiences he has. Lately he walks around reciting the morning announcements for school ("Good morning boys and girls, teachers and staff..."). Yesterday while we were in his still unfinished room measuring windows he started putting on a show for us about Sunday school at church. Every minute or so he would bow his head, squeeze his eyes shut and murmur "Let us pray" and "Cheesus Christ" (there is apparently an extreme amount of prayer at Grandmom and Grandpa's church). It was good for a little sacraligious giggle.

Meester Popularitee

This morning when I took my son to school (which I don't usually do - his Dad has that honor most of the time), I couldn't believe how social he was. I swear, he knows half the school, including teachers of higher grades, and some parents. He's only five! Every second or third person he would chirp "Hi, so-and-so". He's very friendly when we're out and about, too, and M is his "best friend". A little while ago I got a message from my Mom saying that the little Dude's picture was in the Sunday paper. I guess they were learning how to safely cross the street at school for national Walk to School Day (which we knew nothing about - big surprise, and I drove him to school that day...reading the newsletter would probably help), and he got his picture taken. He IS awfully adorable and photogenic.

Also - he knew all 54 letters when he was tested at school (all versions of upper case and lower case). This was the second test of the year...the previous test he only missed the lowercase "l". So, not only is he adorable, he's quite smart. And he'll probably be taller than me by the time he's ten. I'll have no end of trouble as he gets older.

Happy Cristoforo Colombo Bumbles His Way Into The West Indies Day

In Fourteen Hundred And Ninety Two, Columbus Sailed the Ocean Blue...

He got the Viking Leif Erikson's sloppy seconds (tomorrow - October 9th - is officially Leif Erikson Day, for those keeping score at home).

(Map courtesy of lost-civilizations.net)

So here we are. Monday again.

The weekend was long, and not as productive as I'd have liked. Of course, after the stress of the last few weeks, any kind of weekend break is welcome. I slept half the day on Saturday, so that was kind of nice. I've been getting headaches and stomachaches again, so that's...not so nice. My sister came to stay for a little bit Saturday evening. I managed to misplace my husband's keys, so he had to take mine to his second job...and to say he wasn't very happy would be an understatement. Lets just say that I could videotape the moments when he gets really angry or stressed, and it would no longer be a complete mystery why his blood pressure is as high as it is. I found the keys later. In the bottom of my purse. I have no recollection of putting them in the purse, but obviously I did. But at least I found them.

My son's bedroom floor got stripped and buffed (and waxed), so we're that much closer to finishing it. The fan was a royal pain in the ass to install on Saturday, and required an electrician to change out the box in the ceiling that was too small (twenty minutes of work for a hundred dollars - so obviously, I made a massive error in my choice of vocation). And there were some tense moments when my husband dropped a screw in the motor of the fan as he was putting it up. So then he had to dismantle the wiring he'd spent the early part of the afternoon installing to take the fan down and get the screw out and he was getting very frustrated. Then, when he'd gotten the fan down and taken the cover off the motor, we realized that the screw had fallen out while he was taking the fan down. But the blasted thing is up now, and my son thinks it's really cool. And that's what counts.

Yesterday morning at breakfast my son said he wanted to be a zombie for Halloween. It makes me so proud!

Shave and a haircut

Just for M (if you ever get reliable internet access again): The Trailer for Richard Burton's Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Muderous, vengeful barbers? Coming this Christmas? Fills me with holiday spirit already...

And something to read by Neil Gaiman, if you have some spare time and are a fan of both Sherlock Holmes and H.P. Lovecraft (I really enjoyed Gaiman's short story collection Smoke and Mirrors, which includes at least one story based on Lovecraftian themes).

Dem bones. And some stones.

Don't you just love getting older? My son has the right idea. He says that when he grows up he's going to get smaller and become a baby again. Little kid logic is great...

Yesterday my husband woke up with a terrible pain in his back and abdomen. Having experienced that same feeling not once but *twice* before I knew pretty much what the problem was - a kidney stone. And I knew it was just going to get worse. So, I got dressed and took my son to school while my husband called and made an appointment with his doctor. I called work and left messages saying I was going to be late, but they should probably plan on me not being there at all. I drove my husband (in extreme, intense pain) to see his doctor. Once there, it took about five seconds for the doctor to evaluate him and announce that he probably did have a kidney stone. So then I drove him to the emergency room of the smaller of the two local hospitals so that he could be admitted for treatment. I sat and waited in reception and passed the time by watching crazy people argue with nurses and interns while my husband was processed in and was given a CT scan. It was at least an hour before I was allowed to go back and sit with him and wait for the results of the scan to confirm what was pretty much a foregone conclusion. In the meantime, a nurse came through and gave him a painkiller and a bag of saline to hasten stone passage. He got inappropriately loopy and was way too happy for someone in the hospital. We stifled giggles as the man across the room explained to the nurse that he hadn't eaten corn in years, and didn't eat shelled nuts (I don't even know if this information was apropos of anything the nurse had been asking) - and then he promptly ordered a cheeseburger from the cafeteria. My husband and I hadn't eaten all day, so all of the talk of the cheeseburger made us very hungry (even if the idea of hospital food is kind of repulsive). The nurse came back and confirmed a kidney stone, prescribed painkillers, told my husband to drink a lot of water, and discharged him. The kidney stone is too small to bother trying to remove, so they just want him to try and pass it. Which should be an enjoyable experience.

So remember kids - when you get old, your body will probably start to turn against you. Get it before it gets you.

I can has mammoth?

Nom nom nom...

In a van. Down by the river.

Have you ever had one of those days where you sit at work and wish they'd just go ahead and fire you, just to put an end to the aggravation? That's me today. I sit here and do twice the work my predocessor did, for signifigantly less money, and all I get is shit and more work and bad skin and a lot of stress. I don't want all of this. I don't get paid to deal with all of this. I'm tired. I want to get away. But there are no prospects for that this year, so I guess I slog it out as best I can and just dream of...something. Anything. I constantly feel like a fox chasing its own tail. I compare what I do all day to juggling chainsaws while balancing on a tightrope over a pit full of angry, rabid bears -- one false move and either you lose an arm or you lose the rope. Either way...you're screwed.

Things seem to be going fairly well at home, though, so it balances out I suppose. We're doing my son's room, and it's slow going - as usual. No project is ever as simple as we think it is, and they tend to drag out for much longer than we plan for. So the house is in total disarray, and I've given up on fighting it for now.

Complacency...it's the new angst!