The Velvet Cerebellum

I am so totally becoming this jerk person. I'm becoming the kind of jerk person who I didn't like when I was a kid! Remember when you were a kid and you felt that if a rule was unfair you shouldn't have to follow it? Also, remember when you laughed at honor boxes because who would pay if no one was watching you? And remember there was that one adult that would explain that not liking a rule doesn't make it unfair, and even if a rule is unfair you still have to follow it and you should always pay the honor box even if no one is looking not for fear of getting caught but because it is the right thing to do?

I have become that adult. Luckily I have not reached the crazy, irritating self righteous stage where I feel the need to point out when people are not following the rules. Also, I still drive too fast so I'm in no position to be vocal about judging anyone else's scoffing of the laws and rules.

I even feel bad, not guilty just bad, when the cashier forgets to ring something up. I was packing up groceries one day and noticed I had forgotten 2 gallons of milk under the cart. At that point I could have left with them, but I didn't because it was wrong. I wasn't worried about getting caught, i knew I wouldn't, it was just wrong.

Also, I always pay the honor box. Always. Especially at State Parks (which is where I run into most of them), mostly because it's right, but also because I like funding the state parks system here.

If something has a pay option or a free option you are not allowed to complain about the free option (like a service or something). You totally have to pay in order to complain.

If you want the state to provide services you have to pay taxes. Also, even if you don't use some of the services a state provides (public education, foster care, tracking the populations of walleye in obscure lakes) you STILL have to pay taxes for those things because we are a group, a society, we all live together and raising the quality of life for one person does help raise your quality of life even if you don't see the direct results.

Unions = awesome. Actually, this has less to do with following rules than it does with my liberal leanings. It's not like "big unions! YAY" but the idea of collective bargaining. The idea that unless the employees work together, they will lose all kinds of rights and benefits. Of course now companies like to say "oh! you want a union? you want to keep your health coverage? Fine, we'll just leave! See how you like them apples!". It's a kind of blackmail. It's a way of saying "you better take the $7 an hour AND the anal rape or we'll go and you won't even have the $7!" and that is wrong. It's wrong in my "right and wrong" issue (of course it's wrong in favor of employees, but you know...Minnesota). It is fine to make a profit on your employees, that why we have companies, but the profit needs to be proportionate to what they get.

Okay, I have to stop with the unions or I'm going to have unmarked helicopters over my house and I'll be kidnapped, beaten and covered in Bush stickers.

Quantum physics? Wrong. Things don't fundamentally change because you THINK they should. 10 dimensions? Wrong. You don't get to make shit up to confuse people. What's the point of 10 dimensions? Who is using all these dimensions? Can I get a refund on the dimensions I don't use? The Uncertainty Principle? Don't get me started. (obviously, this isn't so much a matter of right and wrong as much as it it me being like those old people who were like "vaccinations? we don't need no vaccinations! get your kooky vaccinations away from me")

I listen to supreme court rulings to see how they line up with my interpretation of the constitution. I don't like the idea of private gun ownership, I think it's something of a monstosity, but I accept that the constitution is interpreted in such a way as to make it legal. You are just not allowed to bring a gun into my home.

The thing is, most old people would be like "what's the problem, that's what you are supposed to do.", but it is a problem. The world should not be so black and white, there are all kinds of factors that weigh into situations. So far I've not lost the ability to look at a situation from all sides, but I fear that if this trend continues I will lose that ability and then I'll be one of those rule nazis that everyone hates.

Hell, lots of adults bought me alcohol when I was underage (but in college) and I pretty much refused to after I turned 21. Now that is a jerk maneuver!

The other thing that makes me a total jerk? I've been considering going to a pet-loss grief support group but I can't because I don't want to be nice to other people. See I spend a lot of my time giving advice to people, being a sounding board for their ideas or just generally being a good listener. I love doing that, it's something I am good at. The problem with a pet loss support group thing is that if you get support you must also give support, it's the fundamental dynamic. It's what makes it a support group and not just another room full of hostages. I don't want to help people who have lost their pets. It's stupid and mean and selfish of me, but I want to go there and be supported and leave and that's wrong.

I don't like myself very much when I think about the support group thing. I think I am being an asshole.

Posted by Heather at 7:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

I don't even know how to say sorry for this.

Posted by Heather at 3:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

What did we do on our Friday night?

We bought a bottle of cheap red wine, burritos from Pineda (I got the chili verde burrito, possibly the best burrito in the world) and we came home and watched a documentary about the factors that contribute to the successes of certain ancient peoples. A documentary that I bumped up to the top of my netflix queue because I really wanted to see it.

You may THINK your parties and orgies and plays and dinners out with friends are where it's at, but you are wrong!

Did I mention that I was not wearing pants? it was hot.

Posted by Heather at 6:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

Over the summer we have a number of programs running on campus to teach art to all kinds of kids. We have programs for little kids, programs for tweens and of course programs for late teens eager to get away from home and smoke and drink and have sex as soon as possible.

So we have lots of kids running around in various areas.

The other day a contractor came in to say he had walked into one of the restrooms to find a bunch of kids playing in there. One kid was standing IN A TOILET, and another kid had apparently taken a dump in another toilet and a third kid was standing ON the toilet trying to push the turd around with his foot.

Understandably, all the adults were upset and calls were made to various department heads and requests to watch the kids more closely were issued.

Me? I just laughed and laughed and laughed. I could think of nothing more awesome than the thought process of a 6 year old boy. You could ask those kids why they were doing what they were doing and they couldn't answer you, I honestly don't think they know, but let me tell you something, I wanna understand everything that goes into the decision to stand in a toilet. Where does that come from? I bet it's funnier than hell. Standing IN A TOILET! Pushing a turd with your shoe! whatever. These kids are my new heroes. I don't want to do these things, I've grown past the 6 year old stage, but what a fantastic place to be in.

How marvelous to still exist in a world where standing in a toilet is a correct and viable option.

Posted by Heather at 6:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

Okay, so what happens when your dog eats over a pound of roasted, salted virginia peanuts?

More specifically, What happens when your dog knows that he is not supposed to be eating the peanuts, that he should not have grabbed the bag off the table and brought it to the bed? He knows he's not supposed to do this, he knows that if he is seen he will be in trouble? He knows that if he eats quickly the likelihood of being seen is lessened. Eating quickly means that he will have to give up things like chewing.

So, what happens when a little dogs eats more than a pound of peanuts without chewing? You don't want to know. Really you don't. You think you are disturbed by corn and carrots? You stop by and check out Senor Clowns Special Fountain Of Peanutty Goodness sponsored by the good folks that fill the bulk bin at the grocery store.

When I did find the peanut bag on the bed I figured it was Maddie, that she had found them while we were out earlier in the evening. I showed the bag to her and all she did was snuffle it. Curious. I showed it to Chester and looked away, wagged his tail like a furious helicopter, laid down, scooted away, came back, rolled over, looked away again, and then went completely belly up. Dogs are so easy. They are so incapable of lying. This makes them 10 times easier than kids.

Posted by Heather at 5:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

If you are a musician, or singer, or performer heed this special advice...

It is not necessary to tell me you are in the house. I know you are in the house. I can see you (or alternately, hear you if I am listening to a recording). Announcing to me your presence will only perplex me. Did you think that I did not know it was you? Did you think that previous to this announcement the audience assumed you were a holographic image and that you were not in the house. If you are in the house (or on the radio) I know that you are in the house and you do not have to tell me. Also, you do not have to repeat it.

Additionally, if you plan to rock either the house or me you don't have to actually tell me. Telling me that you are in the house and that you have plans to rock said house does not actually mean you can or will. I will immediately become suspicious of you and your motive.

When Coke spends a lot of money to tell me that it tastes different than Pepsi I know that the size of their lie is directly related to the amount of effort they put forth to convince me of such a thing. If Coke actually did not taste like Pepsi I would know it and you would not have to tell me. They both taste like your mom's ass.

Armed with this simple knowledge of marketing, I feel confident knowing that the more you promise to rock the house, the less rocked I will feel. As a member of the audience I should not cheer your intent to rock the house or me, but I should only cheer the actual event of being rocked. Asking me to approve of your intentions might be fine once, but repeatedly it smacks of cold desperation.

The first rule of writing is "write what you know" and we know how often you break that rule.

The second rule of writing is "show, don't tell".

In your efforts to write a song, please remember these rules. Show me how you intend to rock me or the house. Actually do the rocking. Do not just repeat over and over that you are in the house and that you intend to rock it.

Next week we will discuss the use of simile and metaphor in songs using John Mayer as the bright shining example of everything that is wrong with the state of education in this country (and how it probably got that way because no one wanted to pay taxes because they wanted another garage).

Posted by Heather at 3:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

The problem with listening to the news all the time is that you get pissed off about things more often than say someone who watches American Idol.

Yesterday, NPR was telling all about the 'Cheap Money Era' and how it was coming to an end. I could not find a transcript to the story so you will have to listen to it. The gist is that with all the cheap money available there was a flood of cash. Now there's all this liquid cash and nowhere to invest it. So you have all these uber-rich people and corporations and whatnot sitting on all this cash and saying "man, what the hell am I going to do with all this cash? If I can't invest it then I can't make more money with it".

Wow.

This morning I had to listen to a story about the infant mortality rate in Mississippi. The state with the highest infant mortality rate in the country was getting better, but since 2004 it has gotten worse. Poverty stricken and poorly educated women do not have access to even the most basic healthcare. A woman on Medicaid living in a deeply rural area will not see an actual doctor until she is about 8 months pregnant and only with someone advocating for her. Fewer and fewer doctors are accepting Medicaid and those that do are generally located in the cities.

How exactly does an impoverished woman in the middle of nowhere get to the city to see a doctor?

And then beyond the basic healthcare needs, these women don't even have enough information available on how to take care of themselve or their gestating babies. In a state that regularly ranks near the bottom in k-12 education standards it is no surprise that huge swaths of the population do not understand what goes into a balanced diet or even what good nutrition might entail. Even if they DID know that, I'm still not sure how they would afford much of what they needed to eat.

We won't even get started on sex education and birth control. Hell, even if they knew about it, it's not like they'd have access to it.

It is stuff like this that so deeply shames me. In a nation where the biggest worry of the wealthy is what to do with all that excess cash, we still have people, large numbers of people, who don't even have their basic needs met. Not only are their needs not being met, but they are in a cycle of poverty dug so deep they don't even have the tools to escape it.

So I say a giant FUCK YOU to Laissez-Faire. A great big giant FUCK YOU to anyone who thinks that the best idea is to just leave these things to charity, to trust that they will just be taken care of. These things are not taken care of, they're ignored. The poor and the uneducated are blamed for their decisions, for their circumstances and we say tough luck to you. The rate of return on investing in the poor and the uneducated is just way too low, I guess. It's probably more adventageous to invest in those shoes with the roller skates in them or in oil. I hear the oil industry is set to make record profits again this year. AWESOME!

Am I being too simplistic? yeah, I am. I know that I am, but I also know that the gulf between these two articles I listened to is so deep and so wide and so shameful to every single person in this country that getting pissed off and being simplistic is not the worst sin.

I am ashamed and you ahould be ashamed and this shit needs to stop. We have no right to be proud or happy or smug in our circumstances when so many infants are dying for lack of resources when those resources exist.

Posted by Heather at 10:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

Two weeks ago I was having a crabby weekend. I considered my options...human sacrifice, multi-gun rampage, heroin, turning the ringer off on my phone and doing crossword puzzles...

There we go. I turned the ringer off. Turning the ringer off is completely different than just ignoring my phone. I ignore my phone all the damned time. I hear it ring, I cock my head to the side and then say...meh, i'll check later. This was a good method for a while but it meant that no matter what I was doing, if the phone rang I would have to stop and cock my head to the side and then make a decision to see who is calling and then make a decision as to whether or not I wanted to talk to the person on the phone. Don't take this personally, I just don't like talking on the phone.

If I chose to not even see who was calling, then the worry of not knowing who called would scratch at the surface of my brain until I gave in and checked the phone.

The phone causes a lot of stress for me. Technically, it's just a phone and it should not cause me any stress, but it does.

So I turned the ringer off and forgot about it. It was the best thing I'd done for myself in years. Seriously, this reduced my stress in ways that ice cream or masturbating never could! I completely forgot I had a phone! I forgot that people wanted to talk to me! I just went about my business and did my stuff completely uninterrupted. Then I would remember my phone at like 11pm and go look at it and see who called and think, "oh nice, these people called me!"

I know it's selfish, but sometimes you have to be. I can't be INFP all the damned time.

So I've kept my phone off intermittently for the last two weeks. Of course the universe likes to drive home the point on occasion...

My current ringtone is me singing:
Why don't you pick up the phone
someone wants to talk to you
answer the phone
someone wants to talk to you
doo doo dooot doo
dooo doooooo

It's really irritating.

I left my phone on one day last week and of course I got calls all day. I got 2 calls (TWO CALLS) during my pelvic exam. Let me tell you something, you do not ever want to hear yourself singing when you are in that position and you certainly never ever want your doctor to be laughing while she's in there. It's really disconcerting!

So, to sum up, I'm not avoiding any of you specifically, I'm just avoiding the phone. Email me if you want me to respond. Later this summer, I'll turn the phone back on.

Posted by Heather at 7:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

There are moments when I am driving down the road listening to the news and I need to start screaming at the radio. I'm aware of how dumb this is, it's not a two way transmitter (no matter what the foil hat brigade tries to tell me).

They want to ban certain dog breeds in Minnesota. I wonder how often I can use the word "asinine" in a post. Let's not find out.

Banning specific breeds will do nothing to solve the problem. Nothing at all. The third paragraph of that article even illustrates that this really has nothing to do with facts or statistics, but with knee-jerk reactionism...the kind of knee-jerk reactionism that an uneducated constituencly loves. "You saw something troubling on a 45 second newsbite stuffed between the weather and jokes about hairstyles? You say they used scary graphics? Well, let me get right on that!"

Banning specific breeds for dog bites is a lot like banning alcohol completely for drunk driving deaths. These dogs themselves are not violent, their owners are. Their owners do not take the time to properly train their dogs, the owners may even be trying to make their dogs violent. You cannot blame the dogs, you must make stronger legislation to hold the owners responsible.

We do not blame the car or the alcohol, we blame the person who shrugged off responsibility.

And I say this even though I live in a neighborhood where every month I see a new wanna-be thug and their pit bull puppy walking around. I have seen guys jabbing and poking their dogs as they played so that they would become angry and aggressive. I have these thugs kick their dogs for pulling on the leash when they took them out for the daily thug strut. I look at each of these dogs and my heart breaks because I know that each dog has been handed a death sentence by its owner and it will never be able to plead its case.

I've seen these dogs out there. I understand the fear people have, but it is misplaced.

The dogs that are raised as such surely will have to be put down. I understand this. If you cannot trust that a dog trained to be violent will forever be non-violent then that dog must be put down. This is sad, but necessary. We do not, however, need to ban all dogs. We need to make the dog owners as responsible for the damage their dog does as they would be if they used a weapon on a victim. These dogs are raised to be weapons and should be treated as such.

The dogs that are not, should not be treated like this. Milo, Doti and Bela are and were the sweetest dogs around. They do no harm, they are well trained (or being trained). They are fun and gentle and rambunctious happy dogs. Under this legislation it would be a misdemeanor for Dena and Levi to have these dogs. That is wrong.

People need to stop being reactionary and start thinking for once.

Posted by Heather at 4:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

Friday hauled ass out of work to get home, grab maddie and get to the other side of town to the vet's office.

Let me demonstrate for you the amount of driving I had to do
1) hold your arms in such a way that your left arm is down at an angle, perhaps 4 inches from your hip. Hold your right arm in the air, about 180 degrees from your left arm.
2) I work somewhere to the right of your navel
3) I live on your left wrist
4) the vet is on the middle finger of your right hand, right there on the tip

I did all of this on the day when they decided to turn the bowels of hell into a steam room but they didn't bother to seal it very well. The land was covered in a thick hazy, steamy, humid heat. The AC is still broken on my car. The AC will get fixed very soon. I missed the exit and ended up driving about six inches past your middle finger and had to turn around and go back.

I was hot and crabby and I was damn fucking tired of the MPR member drive. Maddie thought she would express her discomfort by sitting in the back seat and panting wet dog breath on my face.

We got there, on time even, and she tried to figure out if she could actually fight the cat in the cat carrier. Ever since my mom's cat tried to kill me and bury my body in the dirty laundry Maddie has issues with cats. She choce not to fight the cat, though it seemed obvious the cat wanted to fight her.

As a side note, I could not sit down as my butt was all sweaty and I did not want to leave a sweaty butt print on the bench.

Then the magic time came, we got in to se Dr Pierce Fleming, International Vet of Mystery! You know, whenever you go in to meet him he's just regular. His name truly suggests he'd pull some crazy James Bond gadget out of his pocket and incapacite me while grilling me on my plans to take over the world. He doesn't do that. He just does vet things. Don't get me wrong, they are awesome vet things, but I haven't yet seen him use his spy stethoscope, his nerve gas filled ear cone light looker thingy or even his secret rectal thermometer radio transmitter.It's so weird that he would be named Pierce Fleming and not utilize his special spy tools more often.

On the other hand, he utilized much awesomeness and that is an acceptable substitute. We discussed Maddie's condition. Not only did her infected feet come flaming back in but also she was losing patches of fur. The patched of fur are a staph infection that comes from the same staph infection in her feet. Okay. So that can be fixed. Our previous plan of "hold down this infection and punch the shit out of it until it dies a wet and gasping breath" did not work out as well as we hoped. We now moved on to Plan B.

Plan B involves trapping the infection in a cage and regularly poking it with a stick for the rest of Maddie's life. We're still going to beat up the infection with the cephalexin. Beat it up so hard it will beg for mercy. It will get no mercy. I will eat a giant turkey sandwich while it begs and I will laugh at the infection, spraying it with partially chewed sandwich as that is the most disrespectful thing I can come up with (maybe Pierce Fleming and I should join forces and he can catch the baddies and I can interrogate them...hmmm). At the same time that she is receiving the cephalexin for the infection, she will also be getting a lot of prednisone to help keep the swelling and inflammation down.

Once we get everything under control we keep doing the same thing for 14 more days. This is important. Even if everything looks perfect we still keep kicking the infection in the ribs. If you are a staph bacteria on my dog, I will be a total asshole to you.

After her 14 days we will then ramp the prednisone down and try to find the lowest dose we can give her that will still be effective on her feet. This is where things can get troublesome in my heart.

If we can get her down to 1/2 pill every other day there should be no long term side effects to her health, even if she takes it for the rest of her life. I know without a doubt she will need more than that. Long term usage of prednisone can cause some side effects that may tend to shorten a dog's life. This is where we balance quality and quantity. Obviously I want my dogs to live forever and never leave me. Obviously I learned last November just how impossible that it. As such, I want my dogs to live the dog-happiest lives possible, I want them to not only be comfortable but to feel good. Last year when we treated Maddie her whole demeanor changed. She was happy. She brightened up, she was goofy and playful. She was enjoying her life.

And as a person who tries not to anthropomorphize her dogs as much as possible, I mean it when I say she was happy.

This is my goal. I would rather she have fewer happy years than more uncomfortable years. You'd think that would be obvious, but it's hard to accept. It's hard to know that you are going to choose a course of action that could shorten your dog's life, even if you know that the infections make her miserable at least that was not something you chose.

Maddie had such a tough time of it before she came to live with us and my commitment to her is that for the rest of her life, she will be happy, she will be comfortable and she will live without fear.

Last night when I got into bed she laid down next to me and stretched out against my belly. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her head and I knew I was right.

Posted by Heather at 3:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

Took the Myers-Briggs again for the hell of it. As usual I came up as an INFP. I am always the INFP. Essentially I am the wiener of the bunch.

From Keirsy.com

Healer Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in striving for their ends, and investigative and attentive in their interpersonal relations. Healer present a seemingly tranquil, and noticiably pleasant face to the world, and though to all appearances they might seem reserved, and even shy, on the inside they are anything but reserved, having a capacity for caring not always found in other types. They care deeply-indeed, passionately-about a few special persons or a favorite cause, and their fervent aim is to bring peace and integrity to their loved ones and the world.

Healers have a profound sense of idealism derived from a strong personal morality, and they conceive of the world as an ethical, honorable place. Indeed, to understand Healers, we must understand their idealism as almost boundless and selfless, inspiring them to make extraordinary sacrifices for someone or something they believe in. The Healer is the Prince or Princess of fairytale, the King's Champion or Defender of the Faith, like Sir Galahad or Joan of Arc. Healers are found in only 1 percent of the general population, although, at times, their idealism leaves them feeling even more isolated from the rest of humanity.

Healers seek unity in their lives, unity of body and mind, emotions and intellect, perhaps because they are likely to have a sense of inner division threaded through their lives, which comes from their often unhappy childhood. Healers live a fantasy-filled childhood, which, unfortunately, is discouraged or even punished by many parents. In a practical-minded family, required by their parents to be sociable and industrious in concrete ways, and also given down-to-earth siblings who conform to these parental expectations, Healers come to see themselves as ugly ducklings. Other types usually shrug off parental expectations that do not fit them, but not the Healers. Wishing to please their parents and siblings, but not knowing quite how to do it, they try to hide their differences, believing they are bad to be so fanciful, so unlike their more solid brothers and sisters. They wonder, some of them for the rest of their lives, whether they are OK. They are quite OK, just different from the rest of their family-swans reared in a family of ducks. Even so, to realize and really believe this is not easy for them. Deeply committed to the positive and the good, yet taught to believe there is evil in them, Healers can come to develop a certain fascination with the problem of good and evil, sacred and profane. Healers are drawn toward purity, but can become engrossed with the profane, continuously on the lookout for the wickedness that lurks within them. Then, when Healers believe thay have yielded to an impure temptation, they may be given to acts of self-sacrifice in atonement. Others seldom detect this inner turmoil, however, for the struggle between good and evil is within the Healer, who does not feel compelled to make the issue public.

This definitely describes me. Except for the ugly duck/swan family thing. That's just weird.

And then there's this:

INFPs have the ability to see good in almost anyone or anything. Even for the most unlovable the INFP is wont to have pity.

Rest you, my enemy,
Slain without fault,
Life smacks but tastelessly
Lacking your salt!
Stuck in a bog whence naught
May catapult me,
Come from the grave, long-sought,
Come and insult me!
--(Steven Vincent Benet, Elegy for an Enemy)

So there it is, complex personality analyses in just a few short paragraphs. God bless this crazy modern age.

Posted by Heather at 3:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

This is why I hate you.

I have fucking Journey stuck in my head. Over and over again Steve Perry is imploring me to continue to believe in something. Listen, I don't want to believe in anything Steve Perry is selling. I just don't trust the man.

Yeah, like the bulk of fucking america I have that damned song stuck in my head right now. Unlike the bulk of fucking America, I did not watch the HIGHLY ANTICIPATED series conclusion to the Sopranos. I did not watch it but everyone has to talk about it and talk about the damned song and then they have to analyze it and break down the hidden messages!

There are no hidden messages! Shows are not written by amazing space aliens! They do not filter onto the television like magic. Shows are written by people. People like you and me. The ending sounded really obvious! Writer sits down and says "man, how should I end this? I want to surprise everybody. Already everyone is speculating about prison or guns or something. If I want everyone to be surprised I have to write an ending no one will expect. No one will be expecting onion rings. I will write about onion rings."

I've just laid out the bulk of the writing process. There were no hidden messages or agendas or clues to the future. Just straight up the least expected thing.

Okay, but seriously, beyond all the weird analysis of the show, could people stop talking about Journey? Please. They suck. They have always sucked. They have never had a moment when they did not suck. Time has not lessened the suck.

Also, Mary Lucia of 89.3 The Current (minnesota public radio's hip radio station) was interviewing 2 of the guys from Fountains of Wayne and she asked them about the fucking finale and even managed to sound like a gushing 14 year old girl. I'm pretty sure she even used 'ohmigod!' at least once. Between her and Kerri Miller I'm beginning to think that the art of the interview is dying a cold and slow death.

ps I'm not actually cranky today! I was running late this morning and David offered to make and bring a lunch for me. Sandwiches always taste better when someone else makes them.

Posted by Heather at 4:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

That girl careening down East Lake Street at 7:41 this morning with her entire right hand in her mouth? That was me. Once again Sweden has betrayed me with its shitty cupholders. This is even more of a problem since my new awesome travel mug is much more top heavy than the previous one (please note the super keen features of the new mug such as the built in french press and the hidden storage compartment for more coffee grounds for more coffee later (or I could hide some blow in there and get me a hooker). Apparently one must never go flying around corners when you have a mug of coffee next to you in a flimsy crapass cupholder. The laws of physics do not take into account such factors as 1) the atm at burger king was broken 2) I had an 8am appointment over on riverside 3) i needed to find the other TCF atm which was on East Lake Street to get out the cash that I would for my various activities.

I'm not one to waste coffee, even if it is on my hand.

The completely perplexed girl at the volvo dealership? me as well. There was some sort of recall on the emissions something or other on my car and I figured that after 2 years and 7 letters it might be time to take it in and get it fixed. Of course they also found something that would cost $520 to fix. I told them to hold off on that.

But why, you might ask, why was I a confused retard? I walked into the lobby looking for the service desk. A very very old and mumbly man came up to me and mumbled something at me. What? He mumbled something about "are you looking for so and so?" I was in fact looking for something, but it wasn't a person. then he said "if you're looking for the mayor, he just went that way!"

What the fuck? It is slowly dawning on me that this guy doesn't work there so he's not responding in some customer service capacity to my "i'm looking for something" face. He is also old enough to be of the generation when the mayor of a town was pretty big stuff. He was kidding with me! oh that goof! Can't wait to see what the fucking orderlies think of him down at the nursing home. Jesus, I don't even think I could pick the Mayor of Minneapolis out of a line up. Could I describe him? "standard white guy, middle age, white, and a guy. Also...standard."

The girl crying in the vietnamese restaurant in St Paul, that was ME! Went to lunch with my dad and lunch was good. My dad is very concerned and was asking all about things, but then we talked about Ghengis and I lost it. I can keep it together so well around most people, but my dad is awesome and sometimes awesomeness means that it's easy to cry around him. We talked about my depression at length, he wanted to make sure I was okay, and not like "the only correct answer is to say you are okay". he was genuinely concerned. It made me cry more, but it made me feel better. He promised to do anything I needed, no questions asked, to help me get past this thing.

girl swearing at a fucking mid-afternoon traffic jam making her late for the next appointment...yeah, fuck it.

If you were driving on West Lake Street, just past Lake Calhoun and you happened to look up at the Calhoun Executive Center (the building with the neon windsurfer thing on it) and you saw a naked dugong on the second floor, that was me.

...some minutes later, that vagina you saw was mine as well.

I always thought it was peculiar that my doctor's office was in an office building (presumably with gigantic rent) and half of the exam rooms faced out over one of the busiest streets on that side of town. The other exam rooms face Lake Calhoun and are very peaceful. I just think that they should really think about what procedures are going to happen before they assign a room. If it's an old guy with butt pain, he can be in the room over the street. Fat girl getting a pelvic? Put her over the lake, dammit. Do not subject her or the city to this. The funny thing, however, was that I just didn't care. I was standing there getting undressed, a little mesmerized by the traffic and it occurred to me that I was getting undressed in front of many people...then I realized I didn't really care.

By the way, my vagina is fine, thanks for asking.

and lastly, the girl in Barnes and Noble shoving various blank journals into her crochet box trying to find one that would fit with all the other stuff in there. Me too.

Dugong Out.

Posted by Heather at 11:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

I'm not always retarded

The other day I was at Target getting those boring things that you don't care about but need (animal control febreeze, socks, underpants, condoms, scrubbing bubbles, clif bars). I was getting ready to go and decided to take a brief look around at the bras. I have an ample bosom. A really ample bosom. Big, pendulous boobs combined with really narrow shoulders is a problem that television is too ashamed of to talk about. I suffer in silence. Not really, i complain about it alot. The issue is that if you have heavy boobs and narrow shoulders, your boobs pull your bra and your brastraps cannot stay on your shoulders.

For years I had permanent indents on my upper arms from where my brastraps dug in. I would get giant granny bras with 5 hooks and huge padded straps and missile-like cups. It didn't make a difference, the boobs would pull, the straps would fall and I looked like I was about to engage in some mutually assured destruction with my feet.

All this changed when I discovered the convertible bra. hhhwwwwaaaaaaaa the angels sang to me. A convertible bra is essentially a strapless bra that comes with straps. You can connect them in all manner of configurations or not connect them at all. Of course the very thought of me not using the straps has most major governments pulling out the Geneva Conventions and trying to find the section that applies to charging me with crimes against humanity. I take the straps and have them criss-cross across my back. They can't fall down my shoulders because I've got physics on my side.

Okay, so the STYLE of bra is taken care of, but finding it in my size is sometimes an issue. The thing is, big titted women generally have bad luck with strapless bras because there's really only so much you can reasonably expect from some fabric, a couple of underwires and fervent prayer. Technically the convertible bras are sold as strapless bras in lots of places. Also, it is assumed that if you have such an ample chest you are either buying your bras at Sex World or you are buying the aforementioned giant granny bras.

So, back to Target. There I am just wandering through, kind of envying my flat chested sisters and all the amazingly cute options they have when i spied GIANT CONVERTIBLE BRAS!!!!! They were big! and convertible! and available in various colors!!! I grabbed one and tried it on and again the angels sang to me (or it was the lady at the desk by the dressing room, i don't know). It fit! The damned thing fit! The last time i bought a bra at Target it came in a box and reminded me of retirement homes and oatmeal.

I grabbed 4 of those fuckers.

As I was checking out the cashier stopped and looked perplexed. The first bra rang up at the $14.99 suggested retail price, but the other three rang up at $3.74. We were confused. The UPC codes were correct and the description in the computer was correct. We declared it a good day and she was going to go buy a bunch on her break. I would have gotten more, but I felt that karma had already gifted me big time both with finding the bras and with giving me 3 of them at a ridiculous discount. i decided to accept that moment as 'good' and not strain the universe.

I love my new bras! The old ones were purchased about a month after I met David, so they're 2 1/2 years old. They're tired and busted. The elastic was shot, the underwires were drilling into me like an amoral oil company in the wilds of Alaska, and my boobs were always trying to escape out the bottom of the cups. The new bras hold everything in place. The old bras got old slowly and gradually, I forgot what a new, functional bra felt like.

It kind of feels like it's pushing your tits up to your chin.

Posted by Heather at 9:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

Why is it that my retarded moments always have so many steps and variables.

1) I can never remember the URL for adding a post to this site. It involves the IP address a ~ and lots of bins and mt's and whatnot.
2) I can bookmark the link and I have
2a) it's bookmarked on my work computer
2b) it WAS bookmarked on my currently incapacitated laptop
2c) it is not bookmarked on David's computer because It's David's computer and even after almost 3 years I'm still all about "this is your computer, I shall not sully it". Also, he is really meticulous about his computer and he has systems and whatnot and I'm not one to mess with things.
3) when i want to post from home, I have to use David's computer because my laptop is currently (and for a few long months now) incapacitated
3a) Keith and I are going to work together and install the damned hard drive even though I have a fear of opening the damn thing because apparently they used tiny premature chinese orphan babies to construct the very tiny insides of the 12 inch powerbook. All of the instructions say things like "remove CAREFULLY" and "find the very small yellow tab".
3b) If it doesn't work out I'm just gonna yell 'fuck it' and buy a new MacBook Pro through work where I get a discount and interest free financing...except I've heard rumors that they are coming out with a 12 inch version and i will wait for that as I have freakishly small hands and I love the smaller laptop even if it means that I must import my own set of illegal chinese orphan babies to maintain the fucking thing. Also, I want the Pro simply because I like the silver and do not like the white and REALLY don't like the black. i know that's dumb.
4) David quite often cleans out the history in the browser when he goes through and tidies things up on the computer. This means that I must REMEMBER and actually TYPE OUT the websites I visit regularly instead of just lazily hitting the first letter and scrolling down until it appears on the list. I try to explain this to him. He is not sympathetic to my laziness.
5) Since I cannot remember the address for adding a post I have to seek it out.
6) to get the address I have to log into the control panel for my domain at the host and look at the stats ('vet numbing lube' is the number two search term bringing people to my site this month, it comes after 'velvet-c'. god bless you people)
7) the address shows up under "connect to site from" in some form or another.
8) I am at David's computer now and I was thinking of writing about my sudden obsession with the New York Times crossword puzzle but as I was trying to find the link I decided that writing about how I was working to find the link was more interesting.
9) maybe I just should have stuck to the crossword puzzle bit.

Posted by Heather at 9:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »

I've been super busy with work and the fiscal year switchover and also with the birthday so I will post bits and pieces. This is the thing I wrote elsewhere about my birthday dinner at Al Vento:

David took me to Al Vento for dinner. Very lovely Italian food. First we debated the wines. David likes very dry cabs and I prefer something less dry and more fruit forward (without being too sweet). The Sommelier recommended something, the name of which completely escapes me. I was skeptical on first try, but he assured me that as it sat, it would open up and it did.

Question, you know when they open the bottle and pour a little and you try it? What's the protocol for saying "actually, I do not want this. It tastes bad!" That didn't happen last night but it happened once before. The wine wasn't recommended, we picked it out so I figured I couldn't tell them we didn't want it, they'd already opened it and yet they had me try a little to see if I liked it. I'm not a 'wine person' per se, i know the stuff I like (sangiovese, tempranillo) but I'm not like "oh the 97 Spongebob Estates Parnouti varietal is really coming into its own this year!"

Anyway, back to the food.

We started with an appetizer of white nectarines wrapped in prosciutto rustica and drizzled with a balsamic reduction. What impressed me the most was that they didn't go all overboard with the drizzling, making stupid designs on the plate and using too much balsamic. The dish was perfectly balanced. The nectarines were sweet and a little tart, and the pieces were rather large. At first I thought they were too large, but it was the right size to counterpoint the saltiness of the prosciutto. Prosciutto rustica is a little more 'meaty' than regular prosciutto, it has more texture. Every few bites you would get a little balsamic reduction, syrupy and sweet with a not over powering tang to it. It was almost cleansing.

For entrees David got the spaghetti with garlic and something something. They used whole cloves of garlic in the sauce. He seemed to enjoy it but I think he wished there was more.

I ordered the lambchops which I had grilled to medium rare. They came on a bed of sauteed mustard greens which were absolutely divine. On first bite yuo picked up the smokiness from the lamb, then garlic, a touch of vinegar, a little mint and finally the bitter green. I cannot put to words how much I adored those greens. David was trying to steal them from me. The plate also came with parmesan crisps and lightly herbed goat cheese.

Whenever the waitress came over she apologized profusely for abandoning us, but we didn't feel abandoned. It's nice to have a meal without someone stopping by every few minutes to bug you. Besides, there were no less than 3 other people who were constantly and silently whisking in the clear plates, fill water and wine glasses and at one point, replace silverware (???). She apologized and offered up free dessert. Awesome!

I ordered the creme brulee sampler, vanilla bean, chocolate espresso and pistachio. David swear the vanilla was excellent, full of vanilla flavor but I started with the pistachio and worked my way around and after 2 very strongly flavored custards, my mouth just couldn't pick up subtlety. Either way, they were velvety smooth and light and they didn't use a metric buttload of sugar to make the crust. I hate a super thick crust on creme brulee, I'm a fan of subtlety. Obviously.

Then we went home and watched Sarah Silverman "Jesus is Magic" and that sucked donkey balls. I mean maybe it would be good to someone who had never heard a shocking thing in their life but you know... oh, I don't know, it sucked balls.

Posted by Heather at 9:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

« May 2007 | Main | July 2007 »