3rd Class Travel

During my flight to Pittsburgh yesterday, smooshed up against the window while sitting next to an overweight, short-limbed snoring man, it occured to me that the airlines should be charging passengers per pound of bodyweight. Or at least a surcharge if they can't be contained in the width of one seat.

As an ineffcient packer, I don't mind (much) paying for luggage, but if I'm being overcharged for my seat, I want to at least enjoy the whole thing.

All men are created equal, but some are more equal than others.

Fg = G (m1*m2)/(d^2)

I thought gravity was taking a toll on me, but at least I haven't simply fallen in the street without warning (or wind, rain, rhyme or reason). Recently, anyway.

Scare Tactics

I found my dentist a few years ago after eating nachos and breaking a molar on a Thursday night. Apparently, the Dentist Union prevents them from working on Fridays, but after about twenty calls, I found one willing to see me. I'm a model patient, flossing daily, drinking wine with a straw, and paying for appointments every six months, even when my insurance is particularly fickle about their portion of our payment plan.

How to scare your patient in 3, 2, 1...: my dentist walked up from behind, warning me not to be alarmed. Why? He'd had a face lift last week and was still recovering, with some major hematomas on his neck. He then proceeded to show me the stitches around both sides of his face, around his hairy ears, down his chin, and across the back side of his head. I nodded and checked out the medical wizardry, but it all looked like something that should be healing within the confines of his own home. He then explained that beauty was painful, but he'd be getting a breast reduction next. I can only hope my timing gets better.

Viva Las Romas!

My favorite place in Las Vegas looks a lot like Italy. Caesars Palace is a newer, cleaner version of Rome, with more glitz, gambling and palm trees. You can even find gelato.

I still prefer the ancient original, however, for the way it touches my soul. Senatus populusque Romanus.

Someone like Us

There may be several someone's like you, but there are none exactly like us.

Caffè Way

Always beyond considerate, RB took my car to the gas station last night to fill up, since I had to leave for Montgomery at 6 a.m. this morning. "Besides, you'll want to leave enough time to get lost on your way there." (which might seem funny, if it wasn't for the fact that members of my family consistently get lost in parking lots).

Apparently, he should also have reminded me to leave enough time to pick up a large coffee, then spill it over my new white linen shirt while fiddling with the lid. And I got lost.

Wonder by Wonder

I expected nothing less than spectacular from the Grand Canyon, and wasn't disappointed. Riding in a jeep with the sides off, drinking Corona and occasionally stopping to buy petrified wood souveneirs.

Life is, indeed, grand.

Public Prattle

I loathe public speaking. Detest it above all else. My face flames crimson, my vocal chords tighten and my mind performs a massive data dump. My dad Tony offered to send me/pay for a Dale Carnegie course once, but the discussion made my palms sweat. I'd rather visit the dentist and the gynecologist in the same afternoon. At a training hospital. And have the procedures televised.

Last month, I was volun-told to be our representative at the two week SHARP (Sexual Harassment/Assault Response Prevention) Course. I didn't mind the ten-hour days or the topic, and the soldiers were infinitely more interesting than my co-workers. Unfortunately, I'm now responsible for giving 3-hour blocks of training to approximately 80 people in our directorate, in groups of 15 at a time. Just thinking obsessing about it sends me into pre-stroke territory.

"Let thy speech be better than silence, or be silent."
~ Dionysius of Halicarnassus

Mo' money, time and cable

Not that I've ever had much of either, but I've definitely noticed money and time seldom co-exist in my world. Unemployed while living in Germany, I could have spent months skiing the Alps (if I knew how) or riding boats down the Rhine. Capital One's propensity to deny charges over my credit limit curbed my reckless abandon, however. Now? I have access to more funds, but work beaucoup hours with minimal vacation. It seldom leaves time for globetrotting.

It's occurred to me that blogging and actually having something to post seem to be mutually exclusive as well. Case in point: I returned home from my trip to Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon, armed with three cameras full of digital photos, only to discover internet and cable had been disconnected in my absence.

When Time Warner changed my account number a few months ago, then charged late fees because they didn't receive payment, I simply stopped paying. I refused to pay for the month that hadn't happened yet, or the reconnection fee. I'll call your bluff, giant corporate monopoly-holding bully.

It turns out six days of bluff calling and quiet introspection is all I really need. I called TW, out of curiousity, to discuss options, then upgraded to digital cable for my old school televisions. Now when I'm at work, I can record all the quality shows I'm missing.

Size Extra Medium

He's nifty! He's fifty! JOE QUINLAN

"I haven't decided - the fact that you're wearing Uncle Joe's t-shirt is either really cool or slightly morbid," I said to my dad Tony after he arrived in town, wearing my deceased uncle's shirt in the kitchen* during our impromptu family get-together last weekend.

*we always sit in the kitchen. I'm not sure why this is, other than the fact that it's closest to the refrigerator so the beer is more accessible. A more practical option might be to hang out near the bathroom.

My sister Tiffany chimed in, "I think it's really cool. Some of the kids in my school would wear the shirts, and it always made me happy when I saw them."

Celebratory shirts. Maybe the best way to feel closer to the people in our lives would be to steal their party clothes. If only my family had better fashion sense.

Days like This

Worse than flying to Tucson, taking a shuttle to a trailer in the middle of the desert in order to rent a miniature Nissan car with manual windows and no cruise controls, was losing the damn thing at the casino the following night. (At least I knew no one had stolen it.)

Encore

Despite the hail storm last weekend, spring is firmly entrenched in Southern Alabama. Life seems brighter with azaleas in bloom.

"If you've never been thrilled to the very edges of your soul by a flower in spring bloom, maybe your soul has never been in bloom.
-- Terri Guillemets

Frenetic

"I put my heart and soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process." - Vincent van Gogh

I've had two years to update my installation's Hazardous Waste Management Plan, hauling papers in a notebook around the country in order to be prepared for unplanned spare time or a missed flight (I've apparently had neither).

The first draft needs to be submitted this afternoon. Is the thrill of procrastinating so rewarding? Or is my plan that boring? Maybe I could call it a cliffhanger by skipping the last few sections?

Savannah v. Savannah

Death Plan, Rev 002

Morbidly, perhaps, I've been overly interested in my own death for most of my life. Ready for a do-over at 42. Doesn't everyone have a top 5 of preferred demises?

1. free-fall over a cliff in a '72 Jaguar (while Cat Stevens plays in the background. Thank you, Harold and Maude).
2. drug overdose (minus the vomit)
3. airplane crash
4. mortal gunshot wound
5. electric chair (without the guilty verdict/jail time)

Over the years, I've come to the realization that this life isn't so bad and fear, instead, the possibility of surviving a medical calamity, destined to spend years paralyzed and dependent on others.

Though I've been taking blood pressure medication for two years, I apparently do not have a free pass from the professional, personal and financial stress I internalize. The numbers are still dangerously high, and frankly? The possibility of a stroke definitely ranks last on the death list.

Rock the Boat, Don't Tip the Boat Over

[St. George Island, Florida]

It's a MoonPie New Year

Central Time Zone. Who wouldn't want to celebrate the New Year with a 600-pound marshmallow pie dropping from the sky? (Mobile, Alabama)

2011: the year of my favorite snack!

Although I'm a former Michigan Wolverine, I cheered for both University of Michigan and Michigan State today in their (separate but equal stompings) bowl games. Since both were scheduled at the same time, RB stacked a 2nd tv on top of the main one in the living room, where we spent the day in our own private Sports Bar, without having to start a tab.

Petite Peeve

Here's a New Year's resolution suggestion for annoying, clustering, clingy fools:

If you go to a matinée in a movie theater, where there are only a handful of individuals trying to eat their popcorn in peace, try not to sit next to another patron. Better yet, get your own row.

If you're at the gym, where there's a whole row of assorted cardio equipment, don't get on the elliptical trainer right next to someone. Branch out, give people their space. It's tough enough dragging my fat ass to the gym without having to share hot, sweaty air. Geez.

And to all a good night...

Camilla

"In the depths of winter I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."

-- Albert Camus

The ed is the beginning is the ed.

I saw an email in my inbox the other day, "Get rid of ED".

A little presumptuous, I thought, to assume I wanted to off my ex-husband. He's kind of large - wouldn't there be evidence? I clicked it open, only to discover Ed is more commonly referred to as 'erectile dysfunction'. The things you learn.

I had always heard that recovery time from a divorce is equal to half the time you were married, but a little rejection goes a long way: I'm ahead of schedule by about 2 years. My (non-ED) boyfriend and I recently celebrated our year anniversary and I did not even freak out. Not even a little. I've been through enough cheap, crazy, cheating, lying toads - I deserve this.

Stiffed

It may not be accurate or fair, but I've always lumped chiropractors in with the rest of my mom's special brand of medical quackery. Her purple power quartz may have helped with pregnancy and delivery, but I'm a scientist, for heaven's sake. I need facts and proof.

This year, though, has seen the birth of a fatter, stiffer and, dare I say, more open-minded version of my previous self. The other day, when I had to move my entire body to look at someone entering my office because my neck no longer turned left or right, it seemed more than a little inconvenient. Driving? I had become the old woman terrorist commuter, accelerating and hoping for the best when changing lanes.

My new chiropractor tells me that my back muscles have been spasming, which has caused them to lock and severely limit my range of motion. Some manipulating, jack hammers, and electrodes later, I was able to turn my head. He thinks I'll need 2 weeks of daily, aggressive treatment, but with a $25 co-pay each visit, we may need to cut it short due to my cheap ass frugalness.

Motherfunk*

*Patrick, at 1-1/2, with his cherubic little face, would screech 'motherfunk' every time he saw a chipmunk in the yard. He would get so excited, I never had the heart to correct him.

An interesting tidbit about chipmunks after they're caught by felines and dragged into the house through the cat door: they hide. They hide exceptionally well, squirrelled away in little cubby holes under the refrigerator or tv, or possibly in a bathroom cabinet, then never try to escape. They seem to be biding their time, waiting to die.

Electoral thieves

I voted the other day, for the first time ever, which I know is lame, but the only place one person's vote ever made a difference was on Survivor. Hopefully, though, in the future, I'll get picked up for more jury duty, sitting in a leather chair from 8-4 with a break for lunch, deciding the fate of a diabetic with a meth pipe in the van he borrowed from a friend. Count me in!

Patrick had a rough night after rocking his vote, when someone smashed the passenger window of his car, then stole his wallet. I looked online at the transactions and saw quite a party: fast food feasts, gas station splurges, some protein products from GNC....until I realized all this had occurred before his wallet was stolen. Never give your kid a credit card to use "in case of an emergency" because there are bound to be errors in translation.

A Hiking Guide to the Internet

Stephen Jay Gould, one of my favorite authors and paleontologists, published a theory of punctuated equilibrium as a mechanism for evolutionary biology, which was the opposite of that given by the Darwin school. Basically, he said, there are extended periods of stasis, followed by rare events of dramatic change.

It seems like technology enters my life in much the same way - multiple gadgets and devices forcing my brain to adapt rapidly (and kicking my ass in the process). I spent the majority of the week frustrated, trying to figure out how to create and publish Robert's website. Turns out I've learned very little useful information from years of reading blogs on the internet.

Saturday, we went hiking in Providence Canyon in Georgia, which was breathtaking! The "Little Grand Canyon" is the result of poor farming practices by early settlers, who cleared trees to plant crops. Nevertheless, my brain was revived and I was able to renavigate the treacherous world of websites - until I installed the code for an interactive calendar and accidentally deleted the home page a couple of hours ago. It might be another long week.

Case DIS-MISSED!

My first thought upon leaving the courtroom this afternoon: PHEW! I don't have to come up with any additional money for fees and fines!

Patrick: DAMN! That's a hot, young prosecuting attorney!

I'm glad he wore his lucky court shirt...

Zen and the Fine Art of Procrastination

I've always been a gifted procrastinator, perhaps even a child prodigy, throwing down the gauntlet of procrastination for years with my dad Tony ("I have 2 days to file for social security." "Yeah? Well, my taxes are due in 3 hours!"). I'm even a driving procrastinator, leaving myself exactly 22 minutes for a 22 minute drive to work (but wind up speeding, just a little bit, or sometimes a lot). The game just never gets old.

Every single year, without exception, I'm required to submit an extremely detailed report to the state of Alabama by the 15th of October. I know it's coming, but manage to put it off until the last minute. I've read articles (while stalling) about how procrastinators are perfectionists, giving themselves a built-in excuse and how unproductive this technique is. Au contraire. I manage to accomplish twice as many other things the longer I avoid the task at hand. This year, I brought in plants/flowers to create a work oasis for my office, and spent 4-5 hours rearranging furniture. I figured the new perspective would help with inspiration, or at least smell nice to cover the scent of my nervous perspiration on the 14th.

Patrick's DUI trial, originally scheduled for December 2nd, has been moved to October 21st. My first inclination was to call and get it changed back. Patrick? Decided to keep it in October, so it wouldn't be hanging over his head. Where did I go wrong? You try to teach your kid, give them a navigational tool for life, and this is how they pay you back? Ungrateful anticrastinator.

Revolution No. 20

While visiting my son Patrick, we took a road trip to Savannah, about an hour away, so he could tell his dad about the assault. He didn't necessarily want to, but I mentioned that all the medical tests and treatment would be showing up on insurance bills, and it might be wise to give advanced warning. Better to get yelled at now, while his bruises might garner a wee bit of sympathy.*

*True to form, his dad yelled. "What were you doing in a bar?! And in a parking lot at that time of night?!" Then yelled some more. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? And I'm not paying that ticket!" He's nothing, if not predictable.

I wisely killed an hour at the mall, then waited in the bookstore, while Patrick did his time. When he came back to get me, I told him to pick out a book, which he did with enthusiasm. Fidel Castro: My Life: A Spoken Autobiography. He's pretty sure I'll be reading the 700+ page endeavor after he finishes. I'm pretty sure I won't.

Now on his Facebook page: ‎"A man is not entirely the master of his own destiny. A man is also the child of circumstances, of difficulties, of struggle. Problems gradually sculpt him like a lathe sculpts a piece of metal. A man is not born a revolutionary, I'd venture to say." - FC.

Ice, Ice Baby

When I see parents exasperated, chasing toddler boys, I always say, "Don't worry, it may seem more difficult now, but boys are much easier when they're older." Really? Why do I lie to complete strangers?

Early Saturday morning, a Georgia police officer left a voice message on my cell phone, informing me that my son was in the hospital...(mumbling southern accent)...or the police station...(mumble, mumble)...assaulted in a parking lot...(southern drawl)...followed by phone numbers (ya'll).

When I finally reached Patrick on the phone, I had a difficult time understanding details of the assault, probably due to the punches that had landed on his jaw. He had been walking home from the bar, when a handful of guys jumped him in the parking lot. He took a few blows to the face before hitting the asphalt, and managed to break the fall with his forehead and elbows, before they gave him a few kicks to his kidneys, took his $20, and left.

Unconscious for a while, the next thing he remembered was being on someone's porch, then walking around the hospital, where he was treated, and given a $480 ticket for being a minor under the influence of alcohol. I suppose I should be grateful they didn't throw him in jail for bleeding on public property.

Full Circle

Events of the past three weeks include: my boyfriend moving in, a week-long conference in Orlando, a belated divorce settlement, training in Mobile, death of a family member, bailing my son out of jail, my first $500 casino chip, more Bud Light than you could shake a stick at, assault and battery in a parking lot, followed by my boyfriend moving back out. And so begins the winter of our disconnect.