May 24, 2010
This. This is why Dr. Taggart *really* warned me about going to school in “The South”. Of course, it didn’t happen until I’d been out of school for a while and had decided to make my stay more permanent.
See, where I’m from, we don’t have anything called a “sweet gum” tree. Our trees? Would cringe in embarrassment at such a moniker. They are called things like Oak. And Elm. And Beech. And Birch, who is forever trying to prove how manly it is. Maple gets a pass for having a “fancy”, two-syllable name, but only because of its delicious, delicious syrup.
And to a point, they still drop pollen and annoying little propeller things or wormy-looking flower things everywhere. But they do not drop little balls of evil (called gumballs, though they are not sugary or tasty or anything you’d ever want to put in your mouth) all over everything:
Little balls of evil that coat the walkways and grassy areas of your condo complex. So that when you’re carrying something heavy to the trash area, in the dark, you might step on them. And they might roll. And you might falls, possibly partially under the heavy THING you were carrying, ONTO MORE STUPID GUMBALL THINGS.
And then you might wind up with several deep bruises, roughly the size and shape of the stupid little gumball things. Except, of course, that one spot on your hip, where you fell on several of them that had gotten stuck together, so you have a 3-4 gumball-sized bruise.
It might have seemed like Dr. Taggart was talking about cultural differences and the inability to find really good Italian or rye bread, or the extent to which I’d miss a salt bagel with Taylor ham and cheese, but I now understand that this is what she meant.
Beware the sweetgum tree, and all of its Yankee-attacking booby-trapping-ness.
May 21, 2010
Sorry. I’ve been busy being thinky. Because sometimes, you just have to think about things for a long time, even if you kind of know what the outcome should be, because thinking about it will make you okay with the outcome, whereas if you didn’t give yourself enough time to think, you’d be anxious about it FOREVER.
Gmail is being aggravating, in that it keeps locking me out of my email account, which could mean that someone is trying to hack into my account which would suck. But in the meantime, I can’t GET at anything, and it is SO ANNOYING.
Enough with the shouting. On the plus side, I have more tournaments in my future, because my teams are apparently comprised entirely of rockstars (I think I sneaked on as “equipment manager” or some such), and I can spend my whole weekend restoring order to my world, and things like this:
May 18, 2010
I won my first match with my new Monday night league, and one of my Thursday teams made it to the finals, so at least I’ve got that going for me.
However, I forgot the middle part of my sandwich this morning. I’m staring at a ziplock baggie holding two slices of whole wheat bread, with nothing in between.
Which simply means that instead of sitting at my desk all day, I shall brave the drizzle and find myself some tasty sandwich middle.
May 17, 2010
It’s already terrible, awful, no-good and very bad. And I can’t get into it, but I can assure you that no physical harm has occurred, and that big-picture things are mostly okay.
But it’s already terrible, awful, no-good and very bad. Not even the memory of miniature mufalettas can counter the stress-induced knot that’s taken up residence somewhere in my abdomen, so I leave you with the following, which made me smile this weekend:
“Harry: You take someone to the airport, it’s clearly the beginning of a relationship. That’s why I have never taken someone to the airport at the beginning of a relationship.
Harry: Because eventually things move on and you don’t take someone to the airport, and I never wanted anyone to say to me, how come you never take me to the airport anymore?
Sally: It’s amazing. You look like a normal person, but actually you are the angel of death.”
May 12, 2010
And I am lucky as all hell, that I don’t get it. S.E. and I have had our differences, to be sure, and she’s hurt me more deeply than pretty much anyone else could, but she’s also loved me more fiercely. And I her.
So when I hear about other sibling relationships, I’m always somewhat confounded by those that aren’t particularly close, especially those where genuine animosity is present. It just doesn’t compute, on some visceral level.
How do you get to a point where you automatically assume the worst about someone who played with you as a child?
Okay – I mean, intellectually, I understand how some siblings really make any kind of amicable relationship possible. When interning for a J&DR court judge, I attended a divorce proceeding in circuit court wherein the soon-to-be-ex-husband was involved, amorously, with his soon-to-be-ex-sister-in-law. So, yes. I understand it, where something truly heinous has been said or done.
But the stupid, penny-ante sibling rivalry crap? How does THAT happen?
I don’t understand how you let that get to you enough to where you get annoyed every time you think about your sibling. I don’t get how little nitpicky remarks that get made every time you see each other don’t become something you barely hear, something to ignore so that you can peaceably and genuinely enjoy family time.
Is this simply a situation where each sibling is really pissed off that they weren’t an only child? And even if it is, don’t you think that they could just treat each other like co-workers they don’t really like, or something, and be blandly civil when required, rather than sniping constantly?
May 10, 2010
But, I Have Managed To Convince Myself That I Should Eat Dark Chocolate Every Ninety Minutes, So How Bad Can 4 Hours Of Sleep Be, Really?
I had one of those bizarre weekends where I did not manage to sleep in nearly as late as one might think. And last night, I went to bed at 12:30, having been pretty awake up until that point waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in so that neither spasmodic “lower back pain”* nor random convulsions of my gastrocnemius muscles** would interfere with sweet, sweet slumber.
And then I woke up at 4:45, to get to the gym this morning and then drop off dry cleaning that I have to pick up at 6:00 pm today if I’m going to have anything to wear in New Orleans later this week. Because I’m going to New Orleans for work, this week***. 😀
And then I got into the office and the first email I see is a daily digest of some personal interest to me, that highlights an article about a study done on mice in which epicatechin, a flavenol ingredient in dark chocolate, significantly reduced stroke damage in mice, when administered within 90 minutes of the attack. So clearly, I should eat dark chocolate every 90 minutes, just in case I’ve unwittingly had a stroke. You probably should, too.
*oooh, look! A present from the euphemism fairy!
**So, my new running shoes have made it possible for me to run 4-5 days a week, except that my trainer really worked my legs last Wednesday, and when I went for my run on Friday, I could but hobble in pain for the last 1.75 miles. Strictly muscle pain, but boy howdy – when my calves are tired, they don’t f*ck around.
***Sure, be jealous, because I would be too. But just so you’re not too jealous, let me also mention that my new cue? The one I’ve been drooling over for forever? It’s supposed to get here TOMORROW. After I LEAVE. I don’t get back until Friday. That is entirely too long to have to go without playing with my preciousssssss.****
****Heh. That sounds really dirty. I should get 4 hours of sleep more often. Also, I think I’ve given the euphemism fairy another phrase to use!
May 7, 2010
Last night, I played twice. I won one, I lost one.
I was annoyed at my coaches both times. But the one I’m still mad about, was the one where my coach essentially told me that I was going to lose, so I should use the game as a learning experience, and experiment with different types of shots/English that I don’t normally take. I missed my very next shot, and lost.
Now, I’m not an idiot, or illogical, most of the time. And I knew I was going to lose – the girl I was playing was on a completely different level (we can discuss her ranking/sandbagging/completely snotty attitude later).
But there’s something about someone else saying out loud – someone who was supposed to be on my team – that completely demoralized me. And afterward, I told him I thought that was a jerky thing to do – and it was implied that I was overreacting, that I was taking it the wrong way.
I don’t know. I think that in general, unless you have something to say that will get me closer to winning the game at hand, maybe you can just shut the hell up. Telling me that I’m going to lose under the guise of “taking the pressure off” doesn’t survive a cost-benefit analysis.
May 5, 2010
-roared the anguished Humbug, who suddenly realized that that was exactly what he’d eaten twenty-three bowls of.
It’s Wednesday! And we know what happens on Wednesday – I voluntarily submit myself to Trainer for a good pummelling. Today was no different.
Except, well… normally, he has me do X number of reps for each exercise, and that number is announced before I start, and he counts them down for me. And he’ll tell me when I’m halfway done, as a sort of encouraging measure.
Also, when he has me run on the treadmill without turning it on, for three minutes? He’ll tell me when I’m halfway done with that too – which would be more encouraging if time didn’t slow down to half-speed whenever he has me do that. Anyway.
So, normally, that’s what we do. And last week, he increased the weight I was using for a number of the exercises, and that was cool. Painful, but cool. This week?
This week, he KEPT ADDING TEN MORE.
40 reps on the leg extension? Sure. Oh, you’ve got ten more in you, let’s see ’em.
40 reps on the leg curl? Oh, you’ve got ten more in you. Let’s see ’em.
35 reps on the tricep pulldown? 30 on the assisted dip machine? Let’s see another ten on each.
I have never felt so cheated in my life. Okay, that’s a lie. But I certainly thought it was the truth at several points in time this morning.
Which doesn’t explain why – when he had me doing this squat to jump to squat to jump back thing, and he told me to do 50 reps, and then tried to tell me I was done at 40 – why, exactly, I told him that I still had ten more to do.
Because that’s just like asking for another bowl of Subtraction Stew, when you know exactly what it is you’ve eaten twenty-three bowls of already.
May 4, 2010
I just don’t understand why, when people who have been part of the same group of friends for a long time start choosing different ways of life, there has to enter an element of criticism.
How is it possible for people to not understand that one size does not fit all?
Of course, I am not innocent, either. Because I cannot help but feel sorry for people who are so close-minded that they cannot bring themselves to accept alternative paths to happiness. When, in fact, they might be happier being close-minded, than they would be if they let themselves think about other choices, and thus, they are in fact doing what is best for them. So.
I guess I should work on that.