Category: drama

Well hey, little lady…don’t get mad there…

Grr.

I got mad today. At work. Really mad. Justifiably mad, actually.

It happens, right? You can never expect to go through life, or least of all, work, without someone ticking you off.

What with everyone having their own *opinion* and everything.

I was mad at a representative from a perpetually maddening organization (*coff*legal*coff*) and was, uh, vocalizing my opinions toward my computer screen.

Being that I sit in a cubicle environment, of course, those seated around me can hear such…vocalizations.

So a couple of coworkers came over…people who are working on this same project and had reason to feel as emotional as me about the recent developments.

Then *it* happened.

“Oh…that’s too bad…calm down,” followed by a pat-pat on the arm.

Here’s a little hint to dealing with me. Never tell me to “calm down” when I’m anything but…and NEVER pat me condescendingly on the arm or head or shoulder.

Never.

And you know who are the worst offenders of this? Women.

Oh yeah. Most women just want to “keep the peace” and have everyone “get along” or whatever.

Would anyone pat-pat a man on the shoulder and tell him to “calm down?”

Not bloody likely.

Oh, I have to be a “good” girl, don’t get loud, don’t get emotional, don’t express feelings. No, just caaaaalm down, : pat pat : and go along to get along.

Working a theme here in my blog this week, I say F that!

Use your words.

Something is wrong with the fuzzy one.

No, not The Good Man. The one that’s more fuzzy.

The Feline.

Something’s amiss and we can’t seem to figure out what, exactly it is.

It’s not from lack of The Feline *trying* to communicate. Oh no, she’s communicatin’

A lot.

Our normally fairly quiet cat is now taken to meowing. Insistently. Incessantly. Bowl is empty, the hailstorm of meows is ceaseless. Fill the bowl, the meows stop for a while, replaced by crunch, crunch sounds. Then, when sated, the meows begin again.

They don’t sound like pain meows. Her ears aren’t hot and she’s not acting sickly.

Just the opposite, actually. She seems in fine health. She’s dropped a couple pounds and her nose has healed up nicely. She seems in great spirits.

So what’s with all the meowing?

I have heard about these devices made in Japan that will “interpret” your cat’s vocalizations.

I can’t help but think if we got one, the translations would be something like, “You people are boring. Get off the couch and hunt something! And what’s with this food? Could I *get* some of that stuff out of that can with the picture of the mermaid on the side? And while we’re at it, I need bottled water in this bowl. And this collar makes me look fat!”

Maybe sometimes it’s better not to reach out and paw someone…

Utter distruction.

I have this fabulous little SmartDisk drive that I adore.

It has this great form factor that rocks. It’s one inch by one inch square with a little flip out arm for the USB connector.

It is twelve nice-and-roomy GB’s. I admit when I bought it, I thought 12GB was an odd size, but whatever.

Been carrying this around in my backpack for about a year now. It has all of my blog post drafts, lots of photos, a couple videos, much of my writing and various other things. I just dig this little guy.

It’s what I use at work so no personal stuff ends up on the work machine. All safely put away on a jump drive. And I can take work files home on it and not have to carry my entire laptop.

About a month ago, my Little Drive turned up missing. I was distraught. I had gone sailing out of the office late for the shuttle bus and was just sure it had fallen out of my handbag as I ran.

I was heartsick. I had made that major IT error. I had failed to back it up. It had several original files on there, including the beginnings of a new novel. I was 6,000 words into it, and sure, I could recreate, but who wants to!?

Highly depressed, I went back to the online store where Little Drive was procured only to discover they no longer make the 12GB version. The best I could do was an 8GB, so I bought one.

I was too depressed to even fire up this new drive. Unsure what to do, I soldiered on. Until I got a call from security at work . Seems they found Little Drive on the shuttle bus. I almost wept with joy. I ran over the security department and retrieved my creative soul. I immediately brought it back to my desk and backed it up to my Big Daddy firewire drive.

Whew.

So, reunited, we began again, writing together, saving interesting tidbits. A letter to the editor. A draft of an entry to a local poetry contest. Yes! We were happy again, side by side.

Then there was yesterday…

For the past several days I’d had that odd back of my mind feeling that I needed to backup Little Drive. Paranoia, I think, after being parted. But when I got to work, I got out Big Daddy drive and backed Little Drive up.

Then I plugged Little Drive in and started working on some stuff.

Later, I had to attend a “lunch and learn” meeting that I’d rather have poked my eyes out than sit through…

So I decided to take my MacBook and “appear” to be working while really working on my own stuff. I had Little Drive attached to the MacBook. In a rush to get to the meeting, I hurriedly picked up my MacBook and whacked Little Drive on the underside of the shelf right above the laptop stand.

Broke the USB connector, yes I did. Well, it was connected…but hanging there by its blue and red and green and yellow wires…

I was able to gingerly plug it back in and it mounted. Yes! I pulled off the files I’d worked on that day (that didn’t make the morning backup) then I ejected the drive.

I peered into the little arm and thought “well, it’s connected, I’ll just push this back in and it will work fine.”

I’ll spare the suspense. I did and it didn’t. Meaning I fixed it but it no longer worked.

So I yanked the USB connecter back out. My “fix” had snapped off all the wires.

Damn.

I pried open the cracked plastic a bit and took a look. It didn’t look good. But I thought maybe I could take it home and fiddle with it. Ok, to be fair, since I’d backed it up, there was no need to resuscitate this drive…I’m just…emotionally attached to it.

Owing to being “raised by engineers” (an honor bestowed on me by the engineering team of which I was a part of…as their financial analyst…right out of college) I figured I could figure this out.

I mean, my dad could make a toaster last for thirty years, I could fix a damn USB connector!

The Good Man suggested that even if I fixed it, odds of “data loss” were high with my kludgy fix.

Well, he needn’t have worried.

In one of those bits made for sitcoms, the more I tried to fix it, the more I broke it. I kept trying to pull the wires out a bit more. Trying to take the shielding off so I could get more space. All I did was fray the wires to unrecognizablility.

Then I thought maybe I could pop out the 12 GB drive and put it in the 8GB case! The one with the working USB connector!

After busting it wide open, I discovered that, yeah, those wires were attached to the drive in such a way as to not be easily removed.

Basically, I pulled a big ol’ Bull in a China shop on this poor little drive. It’s now in many, many pieces on my desk at home.

*sigh* Gonna miss you, old friend…

So the new 8GB has gotten the call to the bullpen. You’re up, fella. Let’s see what you got.

An ode

To the humble cupcake.

Not all cupcakes are humble. Just mine.

Recently, for whatever reason I can’t rightly explain, cupcakes have taken on a certain caché, especially with my fellow Gen X’ers.

And there is a big trend toward really pretty cupcakes.

Many folks are even having these pretty cupcakes for their wedding cake. (no, not mine…)

A really powerful, domestic and “womanly” woman at work makes cupcakes with some frequency. She proudly walks in the office with a trendy cool container full of lovely pink treats.

*sigh*

I detailed recently about making a birfday cake for my ownself, and since then, I’ve been pondering better icing recipes.

So yesterday I decided to make cupcakes, which gave me a chance to whip up some frosting.

The cupcakes? Well. They taste good, anyway.

The Good Man and I ate plenty.

But pretty? No. The frosting turned out an odd consistency. Yummy, but weird.

So when TGM and I had eaten our fill, I packed up the rest and brought them to work.

These wolves will eat anything.

Although, I have to say, there *is* something uniquely satisfying watching people eat my sad little creations. Something weirdly “female” to make good eats that people enjoy.

The reviews so far have been “tasty, not too sweet, but yeah, the frosting looks weird.”

Oh well.

Martha Stewart need not worry about giving up her crown to me…yet.

Here’s a blurry iPhone photo to give you the idea.

And I soldier on…

For the Cause

As you know, I’m a huge fan of The Crafty Chica, the one and only Kathy Cano-Murillo.

I read her blog faithfully and have watched with interest the developing “Safe Sparkle” campaign.

You see, Ellen Degeneres on her very popular show, put out a call for a president who would ban glitter.

She even went so far as to pose the question to presidential candidate, Hillary Clinton.

For The Crafty Chica, whose motto is “Peace, Love, and Glitter”, this was a *gasp* inducing event.

So Kathy has taken it to the streets.

She held a Safe Sparkle rally outside of Ellen’s studios, but so far, no impact.

Her next salvo is this, a YouTube clip begging for peace and understanding. Kathy has asked her friends to help get the word out by posting it to blogs everywhere, and I’m happy to oblige.

It runs about six minutes.

Getcher glitter on!