Saturday, March 26, 2011

geek wanted

Any time I've ever started a project, I tend to get a little carried away...I should know better, yet I'm always surprised. Me? Overdo it? Um, yeah...I guess. Totally one of the reasons I don't scrapbook.  I KNOW what that project would look like and I'm telling you, I can't start it.  I had the crazy idea that it would be cool to get my random thoughts on paper...well, virtual paper, and start a blog.  Easy.  Free. It's right there...just type.  Technically, that's all that's required. Done. I'm a blogger.

However, I've got questions...deep thoughts, like the tree falling in the forest with no one to hear it, what happens to blogs that aren't followed? What the hell does it mean to be a follower? How does one follow? Do I need to tell followers I've posted something?  If I have to do that, then why follow me at all? I'll come to you.  If I'm emailing everyone I know with what is essentially a "read this" message, aren't I the one following them around, in a weird kind of way?.  If I'm posting to Facebook, why not just post it there?

Honestly, it doesn't really matter.  The point of the blog was to get it out of my head more than to get it into anyone else's, and God knows I don't say anything earth shattering.  Hell, it's barely relevant.  But still...seems like I ought to do it "right", whatever that means. I'm finding that I'm polling my friends to see if they got notifications, running little tests (my own version of "Can you hear me now?"), experimenting with different types of posts. Driving me nuts...This was SO not the point.

I've entered into a whole new terms, new concepts, new stuff...and it bugs me that I don't understand it. Don't get me wrong...I don't want to actually KNOW how this all works.   I just want someone who does to give a damn and make all the right things happen.  It makes me feel old that I don't know how to "feed" or "import".  Like my parents learning how to use their TV setup, I just don't have the gumption to figure it out, but I also don't have the ability to NOT care that I haven't figured it out.  It's a pickle, really.

Gotta find me a geek. Pronto.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

kitchen fail

I somehow never got that "hunter/gatherer" gene.  I neither hunt nor gather...and most of the time don't feel that bad about it. Today, as we were huddled around the counter trying to scrounge together a meal, I realized I feel a little bad. Sometimes. I'm pathetic.

I am horrible about groceries, cooking...really all manner of providing nutrition for my family or myself. I hate it.  I hate cooking. I hate grocery shopping.  If I lived alone I'm pretty sure I'd live off a diet of crackers, olives and canned soup...maybe some canned beets.  I don't know what's become of me...I used to think the grocery store was my own personal wonderland...I could buy anything I wanted! The freedom!  Yeah, that wore off quickly.  I love eating. I love healthy food...I love having it prepared for me even more. Having a personal chef is right up there with the chauffeur as the staff I'll hire first. You know, once I'm hiring staff. 

Lately I've realized that I never seem to be able to pull together a meal.  Breakfast, the most important meal of the day? Maybe on Sundays when my daughter makes pancakes. Otherwise, cereal is a complete meal.  Lunches? Perfect idea to bring a bag lunch...economical, nutritious, convenient.  Not happening.  I have a little fantasy of someone making my lunch for me every morning...has never happened, not once...which is why it remains a fantasy.  And dinner is even more pathetic...take out, frozen pizza, pasta...  I never seem to have the ingredients for a recipe on hand. Embarrassing, really. Seriously, I would be judging me if I were you. 

Know what's even more embarrassing? I use Peapod!  I'm incapable of placing an online order in a timely manner.  I can even do it from my phone. And I don't.  I've become one of "those people"... poor little me having to rush to order the food from my couch. It's not like I'm walking to the store, hauling groceries! Oh so busy, can't possibly make a few clicks to place the order that the nice delivery guy will bring right to my kitchen.

I'm pathetic. Save me...or at least cook for me.

Monday, March 21, 2011

once more around

Did you ever have ridiculous experience that made you laugh so hard you uncontrollably giggle every time you think of it? I have lots of those. Do I have an extraordinary ability to find the funny in situations and laugh at myself, or am I just a bumbling idiot?  I personally like to think the former is true, but really either answer will be accepted.

My latest hysteria inducer? Revolving doors. Really. I recently realized I can't walk through the revolving door at work without at least smiling, sometimes giggling, and depending on the "spin", downright laughing myself to tears. I'll admit it, I'm even laughing as I write this. This is a relatively new job, so revolving my way through doors multiple times a day is also relatively new.  I need practice, apparently.  So, I have a couple of things to case you find yourself in a spin. 
  • You can only fit one person at a time.  If you don't follow that rule, the silly baby steps walk will feel awfully long as you try to get around with two people squished in the door.  Trust me on this.   
  • You can't hold a conversation while you're revolving.  You just have to put the conversation on hold for the spin. If you are in front, you will look back at the other person and risk missing the "exit",  which means you have to do the dreaded spin of shame...once more around while everyone looks at you (laughs at you?) trying to get back to the opening.  Trust me on this one too. It's a LONG way around the second time.
  • In this same vein, pay attention to what you're doing.  Trying to figure out what the hell the guy in the lobby at the counter is trying to do while you are actually mid-spin will make you miss your exit.  And you know what that means...yes, once more around. VERY VISIBLY.  Seriously, I almost walked back out of the building and back to my car for a do-over that day.
  • In the unfortunate event that one of these things happens to you, try to play it cool and hold in the giggles until you reach the elevator. Try, at least.  Unless you're with other people in the elevator...then hold it in even longer.  Because unless they were witnesses, they won't see the humor and the tears-running-down-your-face laughter will be lost on them. Again, you're going to have to trust me on this.
So now I have to add revolving doors to the list of things that freak me out, right up there with drive-thrus, toll booths and parking garages (stories for another day).  I'm doing my best to remain professional in my office building every day, but it's a losing battle.  I'm telling you, those doors are no joke ;)

Sunday, March 20, 2011

being human

"God, I love it when you're human. It gives hope to the rest of watching a pro golfer shank one."

Yup, today I heard those words from my I found something I had been searching for, tearing apart the house, FOR MONTHS. Let me explain...

I admit, I can be a little impatient when my family loses things.  I can be a little...aggressive, shall we say?... with my organizational tips and tricks.  With the zeal of a hopeless romantic I set up "systems" for the kids' clothes, label drawers and shelves like a maniac, sort and store according to size, color, type, you name it.  This will be the BEST system EVER.  Just wait, this time you'll see the beauty of it.  I know you will...

BUT they invariably come hollering with "MAAAA...where's my (fill in the blank)?"  Me: "Did you check (first, most logical place)? ... Try the (second most logical place)... Forget it, I'll just look myself".   And what do you know, it's often exactly where it ought to be.  The offender is accused of not really trying and I give a big, ole dramatic sigh that says, why, oh why am I forced to live among such barbarians?

So, tonight I was folding laundry FOREVER and I commented that every time I fold laundry I think about the mysterious case of the missing tank top.  It was part of a matching set with a it.  Wore it once and the tank top just disappeared. Really. Disappeared...Bermuda Triangle-style.  It was not in the first most logical place (on the hanger with the cardigan) OR the second most logical place (the tank top drawer, sorted by color and type, of course) AND I looked everywhere else.  Under the bed, behind the dryer, in the kids' had become my laundry obsession.  As I was explaining this system to my husband, I had a moment of clarity ....something that I totally would have done with the kids and I missed it. Rookie mistake...  I forgot to double-check the hanger.  Guess what?  It was there.  One strap had fallen off and it was hidden, slouched down in the cardigan.  On the hanger...Right where it ought to be.

I smiled.  I'm human.  Giving hope to others. :)

Saturday, March 19, 2011

silver linings

Funny thing happened while I was um, dealing, with breast cancer...I started finding the good in it. Yeah, there are actually a handful of positive things that came from the experience. (I'm a list maker - bear with me...)

1.  I like writing...who knew?  It soothes me...  Just the act of getting my thoughts out of my head makes me feel better. I started writing "health updates" to my friends and family and realized it was helping me organize my thoughts, find holes in my knowledge and clear my mind. In times of stress, I'd do practically anything to quiet my mind. Writing works.

2. There are a select few people who actually enjoy "hearing" my thoughts. How cool is that? To write something, anything, and have someone comment in a positive way. Yeah, I like that. Like little pats on the back.

3.  I am able to accept help. And it's good. Friends and family offered help in many ways and I reached the point of, what the hell...let 'em help. And help they did. You don't get any extra credit for going it alone. There are no cancer merit points. Get by however you can and get better.  And I did.

4.  It's okay to not take "help" sometimes.  Every now and again (ok, all the time) I got stories of women who were also dealing with breast cancer, meant to help me in some way.  Sometimes the stories just plain scared the hell out of me.  I quickly came to the realization that the stories weren't helping me, I didn't have to hear them and I could politely change the subject...and it was fine.  The trick is to figure out what 'help" means to you and stick with that.

5.  I'm a stronger person now.  It's a great relief to have a time in your life when you can just lay it out there and be vulnerable. I survived the awful first conversation..."the cells were cancerous" and all the blech that came after it.   Those cancer specialists, they've got a handle on this.  I'm not going anywhere. :)