Category: cha-cha-changes

Excuse me, your pettiness is showing

I’m going to take a divergence from my usual frivolity and irreverence here on this blog.

Yup, a departure. I’m instead going to sink below all that and slip right over into immature and really, a bit petty.

But I’ll redeem myself by the end. I promise.

Watch me work.

So, last evening I was out and about. I had drinks with a former coworker. A lady who is a friend, a mentor, and someone I respect deeply. It was great to catch up, laugh a little, and have fun.

Later, after we’d parted ways, I wandered over to the ol’ stompin’ grounds located near my former employer. I was looking for a friend I knew would probably be there, having a drink. I was surprised to find not just my buddy, but also a whole group of my former crew from The Company.

These are the folks I worked with, side by side, walking through fire, hand-to-hand combat, and together we had major, major success.

These are some of the best folks, and it was great to see them!

Among those present was a gentleman (using that term loosely) that I worked with pretty closely back in the day. This was quite a few years ago, well before The Good Man.

For the sake of anonymity, let’s call him…Sporto.

Back then, I sorta had a little crush on the guy. Yes, I’ll admit it, I liked ol’ Sporto a lot and might have chased him a little bit. I think he might have liked me a little too, but just a little. He actually liked it better when I was chasing him around.

So of course, I never got any traction there, and eventually gave up.

Whatever.

So last night, there Sporto was, and seemed really happy to see me. He gave me a big hug, a “how *are* you?” and that ol’ charming smile…the one like a ferret about to devour the alligator egg.

After hugs all around the group, we all got a drink and settled around a table. We quickly fell back into our old ways, teasing each other mercilessly and laughing a lot.

At one point, I said to the group something like, “yeah, my husband told me blah blah blah.”

What I said doesn’t matter.

What *does* matter is that when I said the phrase “my husband”, ol’ Sporto’s ears perked up, and he gave me a look like someone had shot his dog.

He caught my eye across the table and mouthed, “You got married?”

I nodded eagerly and held up my ring hand.

And I grinned a Cheshire smile.

Later he caught me aside, “uh…when did you get married? I mean, last time I saw you…you were….”

He left that space empty to imply, “last time I saw you, you were into ME”

Whatever.

I laughed and said, “Yeah, I got married about a year ago, he’s great, we’re having a lot of fun.”

And here’s where I got petty.

I then said to him, concerned hand on his shoulder, “Why do you look so sad?”

He mumbled, “I don’t know…..I guess…..just another good one off the market.”

What I *should* have replied was “YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE, DILLWEED!!”

Here’s where I redeem myself.

What I did reply was, “thanks for saying that…”

He then shuffled off, shot-dog look and shoulder slumped, over to the bar, and ordered another beer.

I went back to my friends and picked up where we left off.

I also *might* have engaged in a small, yet subtle vindication dance.

Lincoln County Wars

Ah yes, Lincoln County, a hotbed of conflict. Sure, the rancher vs storeowner battles of the 19th century were brutal.

But a bit of a war rages today, and there are no fewer guns involved.

See, growing up in New Mexico, I always knew there were certain places you just didn’t go if you weren’t from the community. Many of these kind of towns are sprinkled throughout the state, places where, if you aren’t from here, just keep on going.

This is rather well portrayed in the books “Milagro Beanfield War” where the young reporter is deposited in the town square and is summarily ignored, has rocks thrown at him and is put up in a small room with rattle snakes.

Or in “Red Sky at Morning” where a young Joshua Arnold witnesses a small town New Mexico Christmas ritual, and summarily gets his butt whooped by the locals.

This is not just the stuff of fiction. Nope, reading Bruce Daniel’s article in the ABQJournal, this phenomenon is alive and well.

See, it seems the good people of Lincoln County are a bit reluctant to be counted.

In the last government census (in 2000), only 39% of the people in Lincoln returned their information. The national average was 64%.

So when information isn’t returned, the census people deploy agents to the field to go door to door to make the counts.

And here is where things are getting sticky in Lincoln County. Folks don’t take kindly to strangers, particularly federally employed strangers, clomping about on their property. In fact, County Manager Tom Stewart went so far as to let folks know that “…some census workers could be perceived as trespassers and be shot.”

Not as a fear tactic, mind you, but by way of warning.

He’s not kidding, by the way.

Now, sure, getting a right count on the census may mean more in the way of federal funding and programs. But that don’t matter to the folks in Lincoln County who just want to be left alone.

Often, I think my fair New Mexico has grown too much, too fast. It’s not like it was, rapidly losing those rare and unique qualities. Then I read an article like this and know that there will always be pockets of people who just won’t change.

In a wry way, that makes me glad. And homesick.

These are a few of my perturbing things

No raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens.

No, I’m all kinds of cranky today and need to, you know, just vent.

You know how it goes, you have other friends like me. You are having a perfectly nice day, then they come along and dump their misery. They feel great and you feel bad.

That’s me today.

Here we go.

I’m not cranky about anything in particular, just all the little things are wearing down my last nerve until it’s just a slick spot. I have, what The Good Man calls “bent whiskers.”

So here we go, a few of my most annoying things.

    


  • People who pour the top couple fingers of coffee out into the trash can at the local coffee place. Yes, I know they need room for cream, and there is nowhere else to deposit the excess java, but for some reason this seriously bugs me. I always think “that will melt the can liner and *can’t* be fun for the employee that has to come clean that out.” I dunno, maybe my former S’bucks friend (that’s you, Nat) can assure me this is not such a bad thing?
  • People who drive itty bitty cars and STILL can’t manage to make it between the white lines in the parking lot. Especially when they are using up a full sized space (versus a compact spot). I always want to door ding the %$#@ out of them, but refrain because…
  • …I also really hate people who door ding other cars. Are you NOT in command of your own car door?
  • Microsoft Excel. It’s totally user error, but like most folks, I choose to point the finger outward for my own personal inadequacies. : shrug :

    • 


  • That my manicure lasted less than a week. Grr. I want the heavy-duty shellac put on there! The kind they lay on thick like on a basketball court, with all the gleam. It should be super nuclear attached to my nails! One week!!?!?
  • That my frappin’ iPhone can’t seem to hold a battery charge for more than a day. Remember when mobile phones were only used for making calls? I could make a battery charge last a week on those things. Now with phone, text, email, twitter, web surfing, etc, etc, I wear out that stupid battery in the blink of an eye. Damn you Apple for bringing all of my life onto one tiny energy sucking device!!!!
  • That they only buy the cheapest possible pens at work, but will spring for $400 worth of food for a lunchtime meeting, leaving scads of leftovers. Money down the drain as I scribble with a crap pen. Whatever.
  • That I’m turning forty in a week.

Ok, that last one may be the main perturber…not sure. Either way, I’m massively cranky….

I’m a bit…nervous

There is a big change coming.

Huge.

It’s a good change.

But…it’s just…difficult for someone like me.

Okay, men, here’s the part where you can go ahead and tune out.

May I suggest a click here (how ’bout that NFL draft?) or here (how about that swine flu?)?

Okay ladies….now that it’s just us girls………

See, this weekend, I bought a new purse.

Sure, for you ladies who swap around purse-to-purse depending on mood or outfit, this isn’t a big deal.

For a steady, stubborn Taurus like me…I like to buy a *nice* all occasion purse. And then I Wear. It. The Heck. Out.

Seriously. I am carrying a Kenneth Cole black leather hobo bag right now (smoking sale at Macy’s) and have been for a while. That thing is scuffed to death!

It is time to let it rest.

But it’s *so* hard for me to switch purses. The pockets won’t be in the same spots. The cute little side zippy place for my keys will go away!

Will I know intuitively how to go in there to get my phone when it rings? No! Not for a while.

And my old wallet doesn’t match…so I need a new one. UGH! More change!

Then there is the inevitable clean out of the old purse as the switch is made. I have to let go of the used chewing gum crammed into the mangled business card from my doctor’s office with an old appointment on there.

I’ll have to trash the tired mints rattling around in the bottom.

And I’ll have to actually go through all the stuff I’m carrying around and determine if it is worthy of the new purse!

This is just so difficult for a girl like me!

I have anxiety!

Thanks for listening.

Oh man, now I’m stuck in here…

The wayback machine, that is.

After my post yesterday, I got an email from my best good friend. Turns out she was in the wayback machine yesterday too, but for a whole different reason.

Still a resident of Las Cruces, over the years, she’s given me an on site report on all the things changing in that sleepy college town. Yesterday she saw a sight that made her incredibly sad and she had to tell me about it in email.

Remember how I talked about NMSU being a land grant college?

What that meant to a business major such as me, is that if you walked down the hill toward the Ag College, you would find a big open pasture in which actual cows roamed around, grazing on the actual college campus.

With the wind from the right direction, you were reminded, frequently enough, that you did, in fact, attend an agricultural college.

Personally, I always liked that. Tied us to our roots. Kept us humble.

Once upon a time I even had to help round up a truckload of calves that were being moved to a different pasture. Those buggars had managed to break free. Tiny criminals. If you know anything about calves, you know they don’t naturally have that herding instinct yet.

It was like herding jello. Or the Tasmanian devil. Or some combo therein.

Sadly, the cows haven’t roamed the campus of NMSU for several years, and that open land went pretty much unused.

Until former university president, Michael Martin, agreed to annex that pastureland to the City of Las Cruces for the purpose of building a convention center. In exchange, the university gets money back from events hosted there.

I’d heard this was coming. My friend and I talked at length about it when I visited in February.

As of yesterday, ground has been broken. Construction is underway.

They made my best friend cry. That makes me cry.

There is some quote about not going quietly into that good night. But anymore, I’m not sure it’s worth the calorie expenditure to holler into a hurricane.

Change must happen. At the end of the day, it’s not about the memories, it’s about the dollars. As an NMSU trained businesswoman, I should know better.

Photo by Clay Mathis of NMSU. Source.