awkward – Page 93 – Oh Fair New Mexico

Oh The Indignity!

Do you know what I had to do today?

It’s….it’s…a shock!

I had to SCRAPE ice off of my windshield so I could drive my car to work.

I know! Startling!

Back when I lived at a mile high, it was pretty standard stuff to walk to my car and have to deal with all that the frost laying on the windscreen (<- that's for my UK readers). I remember it well. Oh those were the days....I'd fire up the engine, get the defroster blowing some heat then I'd take a firm hold of my deluxe long handled easy-to-use ice scraper. While shivering in my long coat, work clothes and nice shoes, I'd scrape that bad boy squeaky clean. I was rather proud of my ice scraping capabilities back then. Heck, I don't even own an ice scraper anymore. I think I held on to that deluxe ice scraper for about two years after moving here to so-called sunny California. I remember cleaning out the Jeep and lobbing my scraper into the trash with a satisfied "I live in California now, dammit" smile. Let me just say this....an ice scraper doesn't help much with the fog. I simply traded one road hazard for another, really. So this morning, my lack of ice scraper ownage was never more apparent. I looked at the thin but sturdy layer of frost, and sighed. It was time to make do, and my library card was placed into service. Maybe later today I should go to my local library and check out "Call of the Wild” just to remind myself about what being really cold is all about.

(Thank you Albuquerque Public Schools for making me read Jack London so I can reference it now…. From great literature to a blathering blog post in three easy steps.)

There I was, shivering in no coat and my work clothes with nice shoes cursing and fuming as I scrape, scrape, scraped the frost. My old skills came in handy as I quickly knocked down the road hazard and got on my way.

What a way to start my Monday.

Can I get a pobre cita?

No? Fine. I’ll be a grownup today. But I’m not going to like it!

It appears that I’m derivative of myself. It was a year ago that I discussed this same topic. Only back on that day, I was in the haughty position of having parked my car in the garage. No such luck today, The Good Man got the good spot. *sigh* Love AND marriage.

Since You Asked Nicely

Today during my internet wanderings, I spent some time with my friends over at CNN where an article titled “7 digital mistakes to avoid in 2011” caught my eye.

The story prefaces itself by asking you nicely not to do the seven things listed.

So ok. If asked nicely, I’ll consider it.

Let’s check out my report card on the Thou Shalt Not list:

1. Send an unspeakably rude e-mail to one of my employees or co-workers.

Ok, yes. I’ve done this. I’ve gone to rehab. When I feel the vitriol spewing from my fingers as they fly around the keyboard, I usually finish the email, then hit “save as draft” and let it sit a while.

Also, when writing a tacky email, I always delete the name from the address field on the email so I don’t accidentally send the unedited and unfinished email (done it! Lived to tell the tale).

So on item 1, I’m all good. Next!

2. Chase a messy breakup with sad-clown Facebook statuses and hours of sob-wracked ex stalking.

Ew. No. I hardly use Facebook, so no. Ok, I *have*…in the past…been known to mildly cyber stalk an ex. Mostly to see what they are up to these days, but those years are done.

I did have an ex contact me a few years back. We’d ended amicably and I was fairly happy to hear from an old friend. Then he pulled a Brett Favre and I got skeeved. I now avoid online contact with exes. Just better that way.

Next!

3. Waste everyone’s time with inane tweets.

Yeah, I could be guilty of this. But then again, so can anyone who participates in Twitter. I recently read an article where a celeb compared tweets to mental farts shared with the world.

Fair enough!

Let’s call this one, guilty as charged.

Next!

4. Keep my wedding photo as my Facebook profile pic for five months or more.

No worries there.

Next!

5. Leave offensive, sexist, childish or straight-up stupid comments.

Offensive? No.

Sexist? Nah.

Childish? Maaaayyybe.

Straight-up stupid? Certainly not! I’m sure my comments are always brilliant, insightful and add value to situation!

*ahem*

Next!

6. Drunk-text.

Yeeeah. I’ve done it. Was once a big offender. Just ask The Good Man, recipient of far too many drunk texts. However, now that he’s usually around when I’m having a couple sips, I don’t need to drunk text him anymore.

I am recovered (mostly).

And finally:

7. Peck away at my smartphone during dinner.

Ok. I’m guilty. I own it. There you go, my New Year’s resolution. It might be the one I can stick to because, as the article says, “…let’s face it, those whiskey binges and late-night Cheetos you swore off (of) on 1/1/11 aren’t going anywhere.”

True, true. Whiskey binges and late-night Cheetos are a thing of beauty.

Important Medical Tools snicker

Yesterday I had my annual physical with the doctor.

Unfortunately, the good doctor was detained by the patient in the room next door. The gent had experienced complications from drinking too much over the holidays, and in the follow-on checkup meeting wanted to (loudly) argue with his doctor about reducing his alcohol intake.

New Year’s resolutions and all that, I suppose.

Anyhoo…when you leave me in a tiny medical cubicle for over an hour wearing only a rear ventilated paper gown, I’m oh-so very much going to find ways to amuse myself.

Herewith, a photographic treasury from my appointment.

Once I’d gotten myself settled into my paper gown and black socks (a hot look, I can assure you) I shifted my heiney up onto the exam table, where I was instructed to wait.

The first thing my gaze fell upon was this:

That doesn’t…look, um, right. I mean, I live in a first world nation. What exactly are these barbaric tools doing just lying about?

And how exactly is the item on the left is incorporated into the items center and right?

Wait, don’t tell me. I’m not sure I want to know.

Yes, I know that one is a tuning fork to check my hearing and one is a reflex tester to whack at my knee. But do I really need to be lubed up for all that?!?

I felt…uncomfortable.

Which made me start to shiver like a Chihuahua in my little blue gown.

THEN my gaze landed here:

Um. Is that applied to the air? Or is that applied to me? I showered. I’m fresh as a daisy. Honest.

And then you have to think…in a medical facility…they probably get some odors you don’t want to know about.

So I *quickly* shifted my gaze.

Oh, look, there is a rack of brochures! Who doesn’t love a nice brochure?

Whoa. What’s this?

Is this a cautionary tale? Don’t get the piles, kids, or you’ll look like this guy!

Hemorrhoids make you a zombie!! *rooowwwrrrr*

That photo is so wrong. So, so wrong.

And the copy of a copy of a copy gives it such a backoffice, off-label, ‘roid whacking assembly line feeling that doesn’t make me love my current health care provider.

I quickly started digging in the cabinets to find another paper gown to put on backwards, just to cover stuff up. No luck, they must dole out those tiny gowns in the smallest possible increments.

“You know…I’m feeling *fine*…I am fit as a fiddle! I’m just going to go home now, mmmkay?”

If you see a lady sprinting down the road in a tattered blue paper gown and black socks, look away. I’m working out some issues.

Perthpective

What’s that old platitude, something like “you’re not the best judge of your own work?”

The more I give over to my creative side, I keep learning that lesson over and over. I think I have a good eye for editing my own work, and of course I’m usually wrong.

I’ve also learned that the best way to really see something objectively is to give it time.

Time is the great mediator.

(wow, I’m chock full to brimming with platitudes today!)

Anyhow, I got to thinking about this recently while sorting through my iPhoto library. As an amateur photographer, I take *a lot* of photographs. This is the advice of my friend, mentor and teacher, Marty Springer, so I follow her advice.

But this means my iPhoto library fills up fast with fair to middling to downright awful shots. Since all of this dreck was slowing down my iMac, I decided to save the photos elsewhere and start again.

Oh, and also…my New Year’s resolution is to get better about tagging all of my photos as I download them so I can search more quickly.

So in cleaning out my old photos, sifting through the pile, I came across the shot at the end of this post.

The Feline had climbed into the laundry basket that was lying on the ground, so I grabbed my camera and took a few snaps. I considered them throwaway photos. Less than throwaway. I downloaded them to my iMac and never looked back.

But something about this photo…it really works. It was taken probably two or more years ago when I was just learning my camera and had no idea about depth of field. And yet, the depth of field is what makes this photo interesting. It’s not a perfect photo but it’s also not bad. A little imperfect Photoshop adjustments and I’ll be damned…not too bad at all.

Because not only with time comes perspective, but also…I can learn some lessons from three years ago me. The one just learning about photography. The one who just snapped and didn’t think.

A careless shot can be magic.

I guess that’s why my photography teacher tells us never to delete photos. “You never know” she says.

click photo if interested in seeing a larger size

Photo by Karen Fayeth and subject to Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.

The Reckoning

Today, the alarm clock went off and I groaned. Champagne, ham, prime rib, potatoes of all sort and way too many desserts slowed my senses and made me weak.

A Christmas hangover if there ever was one.

But this is December 27th. Christmas is over.

I knew what I needed to do. It was time to confess my sins.

Rising from my warm slumber, I put on the appropriate raiments and went to face the only entity that could absolve me from my indiscretions.

TM* looked at me with that one cold eye. He knew what I’d been up to. The last time we’d visited had been eight days ago.

Eight days.

A lot of bad behavior can happen in eight days.

A lot of bad behavior DID happen in eight days.

There was no turning back now. I entered the confessional and slowly began my ablutions.

The iPod went into my ears and shuffle fired up. No need for a hymnal, I know the words by heart.

Five minutes passed. Hey, I thought to myself, this is not so bad!

At about the fifteen minute mark, my left calf piped up. “Pardon me, but with all that booze you had, we’re a skosh dehydrated. Potassium low and all that. I believe I’ll go ahead and cramp right up.”

I said to myself, “just keep walking.”

At about the twenty five minute mark, my lower back chimed in. “Yes, yes, cramping does seem to be the thing to do. Huzzah!”

“Just keep walking.”

Then my feet had something to say, with a backing chorus from my knees.

“Just keep walking.”

My hip flexors asked, in a rather snotty tone, “Why *exactly* are we doing this?”

The very sweat glands of my body began exhaling stale booze and toxins.

I replied by turning my iPod up louder and putting an ever more determined look on my face and then I…

Just kept walking.

At the fifty minute mark, I’d said all the metaphorical Hail Marys and Glory be to the Fathers I could manage. I’d done my act of contrition.

I was absolved.

Kind of.