Category: pondering

Old habits die hard.

Today as I meandered my way over to the shuttle bus to take me to the train, I picked my way through the parking lot at work. “Picked my way” because there is heavy construction going on at the building next door to mine.

Sitting there, by itself, in the lot, was an empty wooden wire spool. You know the type. Found at most construction areas.

Wanna know my first thought? “Man, should I take that?”

You know, it’s been some fifteen years since I graduated college. While I personally never had a wooden spool table, many friends did. I dated a few guys who did. I think the wooden spool furniture sensation is mainly a guy thing. Along with bookshelves made of cinder blocks and plywood.

It’s the same feeling I get when I see empty milk crates. I used many a purloined milk crate in my collegiate career. Good bookshelves, storage devices, and even a bedside table.

I think I still have some of those indestructible blue plastic things in my basement (all apologies to Price’s Dairy from, you know, fifteen years ago. What is the statute of limitations on absconding with a milk crate?).

Oh, is also happens when I see wooden pallets. Back then they were made from a pretty dense wood and if, say, a friend filled up the back of his pickup with a bunch of stolen pallets, piled them up by the river, poured diesel fuel on them and lit a match, you’d not only have a nice roaring fire, you’d have a long lasting warm, bright fire by which to socialize with friends.

For some reason, this old scrounging habit dies hard. The “making it work” when you have no money, and what little you do have must be saved to buy beer phenomenon still lives deep within me on a cellular level.

Despite the fact that I have a real job now and can buy beer, you know, pretty much whenever, I still have that moment of “I could take that…” and think about how it could be made useful.

I seriously considered how to get that spool out of there.

Then remembered a) I don’t need a table. I have one. A nice one. And 2) even if I didn’t have one, I could go to Ikea and buy a nice one. I don’t have to settle for a splintery wood spool.

So I’m still a scrounger from way back. But I refuse to eat Ramen noodles anymore.

Some habits you just gotta leave behind.

I’m in the wrong profession

David Blaine. Why is this guy news?

And yet he is. His front-page feat was to hold his breath for a real long time. On the Oprah show.

Really?

Shoot, I could hold my breath ’til I’m blue in the face and ain’t no one paying me a freaking cent.

Oh, but “he’s an entertainer”. Yeah. I can really crack ’em up around the coffee maker at work, but that isn’t bringing me any income.

What do I do all day? I sit in a fish bowl of a veal pen cubicle and type little words on a little machine to appease bitchy clients and suppliers.

I need a change of venue. Or maybe I’m just hungry. It is almost lunchtime afterall.

I’ll check back after sustenance. Perhaps my mood will have improved.

Cha-cha-changes

2008 is ending up being an oddball year. I mean, we’re a third of the way into it and bizarre sh*t is goin’ on.

In January, The Good Man and I celebrated a year of living together, which is STILL quite a change to me (in the best possible way).

In the first part of February I up and got engaged. Hell, I was never even sure that the whole “marriage” thing was part of the plan for this crazy life of mine, and yet, here it is, all up in my grille.

At work I was up for a promotion but instead in March they hired someone else. My new boss. Who is a VAST change from my last boss, and not in a good way.

On Friday of last week, the entire department I work for up and moved buildings. We’re now in a building at the far reaches of the same town where headquarters is located. You have to drive to get there from here. We’s in the back forty, as they say where I come from.

And in this move, I had to give up my beautiful office (with a window!) and move into an 8×8 cube. As a matter of fact, I think they bought these cubes used off of a veal rancher, because I tell you, wedged in here, my rump steaks are getting mighty marbled.

The fabulous Feline got that weird spot taken off her nose…that had been with her for many years, so even my pet got caught in the winds of change.

It’s an election year = change

I filled up my car this morning and for the first time paid $4.00 for gas. Ouchie change.

And for some reason, I’ve suddenly taken up drinking wine vs the usual mixed drinks I’ve enjoyed for years. What is up with THAT?

That’s it, I’m pulling out my Ziggy Stardust gear, strapping on the platform boots, and singing….

Cha-cha-cha-changes….(Turn and face the strain)

Because you know what?

Time may change me

But I can’t trace time

Sphincteritis

Not the medical kind. The emotional kind. And, oddly, in this case related to medical personnel.

This morning I read this brief article in today’s ABQjournal: Hospital Officials: Prank Not Funny

My first thought was “I’ll bet it is.” I mean, really, office pranks are funny. And hey, a hospital is *prime* for good office comedy. Lots of ways you can go with that.

Well, in reading the article, I discovered the joke in question wasn’t actually all that funny, at least not to me. It probably was to the hospital workers who had put in a twelve hours shift and were punch drunk and silly. And generally an office prank arises out of people being 1) tired, 2) fed up and 3) both.

So these hospital folks were caught on the security camera putting a cartoon image of Stewie in the frame that had recently housed a photo of the Chief Operations Officer.

It might have been a loving, joking tribute to the employee who had moved on to other employment, likening him humorously to the baby bent on world domination. It might also have been an after-the-fact tacky comment on the nature of the hospital executive.

Either way, I don’t know and really, I don’t care. But I do think that the fact this made the newspaper and there is huffing and puffing from the powers that be at the hospital is sort of silly.

Office pranks are everywhere. I’ve done them. I’ve been a victim of them. Hell, I once aided and abetted my coworkers kidnapping a diminutive office mate and wrapping him tightly, still seated in his ergonomic office chair, in shrink-wrap plastic (except for his, you know, breathing areas). Round and round and round on the shrink wrap platform and we then rolled him over, green in the gills, to the pile of racks and equipment that were being moved to a new location.

Had the guy had no sense of humor, I suppose that HR wouldn’t have looked kindly on the prank. Huffing and puffing would have ensued. Turns out the guy has a great sense of humor, and our boss almost peed his pants laughing so hard.

What the hospital employees missed was a few vital keys to a good office prank: Timing. And know your audience.

Ooh, all this talk has me itching for a good interoffice prank. Sadly, my current crop of coworkers have NO sense of humor. The timing is good (the office is in shambles, we’re moving buildings) but the audience…not so much.

Hot or not?

Yes, I think hot.

Been getting a lot of compliments today at work about my outfit.

Well, one aspect of my outfit. My boots. They rock.

So why am I blogging about this?

Well. You see, I bought these little beauties about three months ago. I brought them home and quickly tried them on to show The Good Man. He looked at them, then gave me that sort of look you get when you sniff the milk carton well past its expiry.

He didn’t like them. Said I looked like a CHP Officer (and not in a good way).

And he has REALLY good taste in clothes, so I tend to listen to him.

With sadness, I put them away in my closet. They were so cool. I didn’t want to take them back, but I didn’t think I’d wear them if they give my beloved “that look” on his face.

Over the months I keep seeing cute little gals wearing same or similar kicks, and I keep thinking, “I have some of those…”

Something snapped over the weekend and I decided, “yes, I will wear them, curdled milk face or not.”

This morning I pulled them out from the closet depths, paired them with a fave springtime skirt and an appropriate top.

And as my love and I walked to the CalTrain station, he said, “Hey, I really like those boots”.

Umm hmm.

“I take you in sickness and in health, in odd fashion choices and when you rock the runway…” Can I get an I do on those vows?

Anyhow, here are the kicks in question: