Blown Fuse

Beating the system

I'm in the process of trying to get preapproval for a car loan. The fact that my precious has over 100,000 miles on it is sort of disconcertng. Also, I know that cars operate under the principle of "Once shit starts breaking it all goes downhill."

I've basically been given the smackdown by certain banks who shall remain nameless because they all use Equifax to screen your application.

I happen to know that my Equifax credit report has erroneously submitted negative information on it. I've been crying and begging the creditor who put it there AND Equifax to take it off, but of course Equifax will take the side of the creditor even if the consumer has proof otherwise (that will stand up in court).

I just got preliminary approval from a bank that uses Experian instead. Well, well. Looks like I'm going test driving.

Good news and bad news

Bad news first: my car cost $435 to fix...well, $20 was an oil change I was overdue for, but the rest was for replacing my worn out master and slave cylinders. I'll give you a minute to let that sink in.

The good news: my new digital camera arrived!

The photo on the left, obviously, is my cat eating my foot while I fiddled with the controls on my new camera. Since I didn't think to buy a memory stick to go with it I can only tak three pictures at a time at the high-definition setting. Frankly, I think it's pointless to take a digital picture if you don't use the best setting.

Hmm. I was just sitting here thinking about how I could knit a really cute case for it and while pondering about that whole memory stick thing I went back to the website I ordered it from to see if it was supposed to come with a stick. No, but there IS supposed to be a case. I don't see it. Are they talking about this little grey strap? Because, that's sort of not a case. Shit.

Oh Fudge.

My car's in the shop. I know already that the sense of foreboding I experienced this morning would preceed some tragic car drama coming to fruitiion.

My car is a pretty-well maintained '97 Accord. It has over 100,000 miles on it (no, I didn't do that.) and in addition to the cracked windshield I bitched about last week it also sports bald tires and has a possessed electrical system. Walk by on any given day the car locks will start popping all by themselves.

Those are minor problems: those are called "quirks." They're the sort of things you tell your friends and coworkers about when you complain about your car because they usually have the same problem.

This morning I backed out of the driveway as always and immediately began having problems with my shifter. I was just having the damndest time getting it into gear. It was as if there was a gnome strapped beneath my chassis holding onto a string and preventing me from moving it.

Several times at lights the only gear I could get into was second. Have you ever tried accelerating from 0 from second gear? To all but experienced drivers like myself you would have heard at least two tires peeling.

I didn't want to pull over to the side of the road because I was somewhat concered sbout what sort of people would offer assistance in that neighborhood so I just stuck it out until I got to work. I got into my usual space, shut the engine, and then on a whim started the car back up again. I could shift fine.

Weird. I wrote it off to the car being cold and didn't think about it again until this afternoon when I couldn't back out of my space. Various coworkers and myself all tried to find some insight to the situation but were unsuccessful in getting the stick to budge.

Needless to say that by the time Scott got there he got it to move just fine. That's the way it works, right? It's just like calling the exterminator. When they get to the house all the roaches are gone. Or like going to the doctor: when they're putting that thingie into your ear your ear infection magically dissipates.

The car is at the dealership now. Pray this isn't some costly repair. The last time my transmission stopped working I had to get a new car.

Book smart.

Last night I finished The Da Vinci Code. Yes, I do realize that I'm more than two years late to catch the hype of this one.

I got sick of hearing everyone (including my mother-in-law) talk about it. I've watched a couple of documentaries inspired by the book and felt hopelessly lost.

Having read the book I've got to confess that I've never been so impressed with a writer's fearlessness in actually presenting a novel that is so intelligent. The amount of reasearch that must have gone into this book is astonishing. I can see why so many people have been so enthralled with the questions the book asks.

I hear through the grapevine that a lot of die-hard fans for the book are unimpressed with the movie of it that is being made. I hope it doesn't turn into a fiasco like those Anne Rice attempts.

In Support of the Susan G. Komen Foundation

Pink batteries: cute, huh?

Public Domain

So...if you have a cup on your desk with supplies like scissors and pens in it which happens to be your own personal cup and your on personal supplies, do people have the right to steal pens from it if it is sitting on desk belonging to the business?

Discuss amongst yourselves while I go bitchsmack the person that stole the last gel pen.

Song o' the Mornin' Commute

What is it about some people who drive vanity vehicles (specifically SUVs that would serve them no utilitarian purpose should they actually have to deal with inclement weather) who drive as if their car is a new piece of electronic equipment that they're afraid to take the plastic film off of?

If you're driving in a two-lane road and are the first car in line after the light, HAVE THE COURTESY OF DRIVING AT LEAST THE SPEED LIMIT.

Further, I know your new tricked out Explorer is still your baby right now, but for crying out loud you don't need to wait at a stop sign for a car that is all the way in fucking bumfuck Egypt to pass. Turn right and put your foot on the dadblasted petal.

That is all.

Fiskars rocks.

I bought a pair of Fiskars 5/8" pruners from Home Depot before we went on vacation. I took them home to be used immedately and handed them off to Scott who was in the back yard cleaning up some overgrown vines...or something.

I guess twenty minutes later Scott went to the front yard where I was trimming back bulb foliage to confront me about the clippers. Apparently the blades hadn't been properly forged and prevented them to close around branches the way they were made to.

I noticed on the back of the package that Fiskars offers a replacement warranty on their products. I sent them an email, and sure enough they replaced them NO QUESTIONS ASKED.

It's nice that there are actually companies out there that stand by their word without giving you a hassle in the process.

The COM port Triangle

In case you were wondering, I got the COM port situation resolved. Sort of.

Yesterday morning I went into work with a renewed pisstivity at the situation and emailed tech support, detailing my frustration with getting the damned panel replaced and apparently someone was feeling magnanimous enough to just send me the damn thing. It arrived this morning.

Next problem: I can't install it. Actually, I probably could but would most likely end up breaking something else in the process. I called our tech people (Take 2) and asked if I could send it to them and have them install it. After all, we do pay them thousands of dollars each year to keep them on retainer for these sorts of situations. I was given a brief runaround and then was told that they would find me someone local to come install it.

My contact calls me back a couple hours later and tells me that he got me confused with "The Tiffany in Cincinnati" and didn't know of a technician in our area that would do non-warranty service -- but he would keep looking.

By end of day today I heard nothing.

So, what good are they? They never follow up on anything urgent unless there's additional money involved. I bet you that I can go into the office tomorrow, make one phone call and have the whole thing solved...but we pay other people to do that for us!

Fuckity fuck.

I have to drive through RTP to get to and from work. T.W. Alexander Drive is a major thoroughfare spanning. This road gets a lot more traffic than it was built to accomodate so there are potholes the size of minifridges in very opportunity places.

Someone finally decided that it would be a good idea to repave. Yay! Yippie!

Okay, but here's the problem: they're leaving little asphalt chards everywhere.

I noticed this yesterday when I was driving into work and thought, "Shit. Someone's going to break a window."

Guess who did?

Yeah, me. This morning when I got to work there was a little gunshot-sized hole at the far right edge of my windshield. By 4:30 when I dropped myself into the car to go home, the hole had turned into a horizontal crack about one foot long.

I fully expect to wake up tomorrow and have a front seat full of glass and no windshield at all. I know insurance will pay for this, but in your opinion who do you think is at fault? I was giving the car in front of me sufficient stopping distance. I would feel like this was 100% my fault if I had been tailgating them, but damn it, this is just unacceptable.

Click click!

I just ordered my very own digital camera. The one in my cell phone is good for taking pictures of the cat and all, but it really isn't good enough to capture those quirky little things about life that happen while I'm away from the house.

Our (meaning Scott's) digital camera is a huge Sony Cyber-Shot that you can't really be discrete about carrying.

If my coworker is wearing mismatched socks with pants that are too short, I want to be able to mock them publicly and electronically!

Anyway. I ordered a Pentax Optio that's small enough to carry around in my briefcase without arousing suspicion. It isn't a tiny credit-card sized camera, so I have the added benefit of not feeling like I'm going to break the damned thing.

Aren't you excited at the prospect of even more pictures of me circulating about the blogosphere?

Bwahahahahaha!

Volunteerism is a Southern woman's duty.

Growing up, I was always that kid who got volunteered to do things...even if I was in absentia at the moment. Whether I was tutoring some little stinkin' country kid on reading or delivering fruit baskets to the sick and infirm if there was something benevolent going on in the county I was most certainly involved.

I obviously have problems saying "No."

Well...I've volunteered to be interviewed at Basil's Blog. I don't know when it'll happen, but here's your chance to ask all those pesky little questions you're just itching to know. Like..."What's your shoe size?" and "What do you like to throw when you get mad?"

Here's a freebie: I throw shoes. Flip flops fly the best, though sneakers have a fun bounce.

Head on over and click on the thingamabob by my name. Keep it clean...at least as clean as my language. :)

"You want me to put what where?"

I hate Indian tech support. Don't get me wrong: I like the idea of "Indians" and tech support is sort of a necessary evil of microcomputing. The problem is when those two forces combine to form a time-wasting, infuriating segment of an industry.

I'm the de facto Ms. Fixit in the office. If someone's PC goes bonkers it's my job to either fix it or complain to someone who can.

There's a PC in our server room that has two purposes: collecting call data from the phone system, and broadcasting the "on hold" music. That's all it does. Nothing else (well.....occassionally I go back there to check my bank balance before lunch without the prying eyes of my cohorts). About a month ago the computer stopped collecting data from the phone system. This was very confusing and sent the entire office into an emasculating clusterfuck. You see, the boys don't know what to do with themselves if they don't know how many phone calls they've made.

I hounded the software manufacturer and discovered it wasn't their fault. Nor was it a problem with the phone system as it was sending data as programmed. After much back and forth we learned the problem was a busted COM port.

The remote tech people we have on retainer informed me that the unit itself was no longer under service warranty but the part itself was eligible for replacement. They never got back to me on that, but being armed with this information I attempted to get the problem solved directly through the OEM.

Let me tell you - I wasted two hours of my life this morning dealing with some bozo who didn't even understand the problem. Such is the case when you have people sit around all day, scan for keywords, and search a F.A.Q. database.

He tried to walk me through taking the machine apart (which I pretended to do), resetting this and that, and finally determined that problem was with the external modem which was not shipped with the unit and therefore not covered by warranty.

Um...WHAT EXTERNAL MODEM? This dude needed to be blindfolded and whipped.

I logged out of the session and gave up. Tomorrow I have to try this all over again. Pray for me.

Tiiiiiimmmmbeeeer!

Um. I'm a creature of habit. Some people might actually go as far as to say that I can be anal retentive when it comes to having routines.

At work I like to do the same tasks in the same order every day so that I don't omit anything. If someone comes up to me and asks me to do some random task I get angry because it kills my flow.

When I come home I like to live routines at the door so that I can relax. Okay, I guess that's sort of a routine, too. My plan for today was to spend thirty minutes catching up on some work stuff and then fiddle a bit with a short story I've been trying to finish.

That dream sort of got squashed when I pulled into the driveway and saw a big ole piece of tree on the front lawn.

I have to admit that I was momentarily pissed because I really wanted to believe that one of the neighbors had dragged it over from their yard. Realizing that the very idea was silly and childish I went about cutting it up before too many people saw it. I knew Scott wouldn't be home before dark so it was either up to me or the termites to deal with it.

If you can't tell from the photo above, this is not a branch. It is was the top quarter of the left-most tree...one with a skinny trunk, but all the same it ain't a branch. It's about 18 feet long and it's a miracle it didn't fall on the roof.

As we don't own a chainsaw I cut it into four-foot segments with a hand saw. The people taking their dogs for walks were walking annoyingly slow past my yard as I flicked sweat off my brow and tried breaking tree with my bare hands. I know for a fact that my neighbor (one who walked by with dogs) owns a chainsaw. He couldn't offer to make the four necessary cuts to the damned thing to get it down to a manageable size? Where has all the chivalry gone? People think it's so fucking fun to look out the window (I'm not exaggerating) and watch their neighbors work like dogs, or else they find it satisfying that their yard is cleaner than yours.

If my hip were at 100% I would have just sawed through part way and then kicked the shit apart. I tried that once and....well, you remember that scene from Napoleon Dynamite where he tries going over the bike ramp? Well...imagine that, but in the scenario of an angry little woman jumping on a bowed branch.

It's done. There's my exercise for the month.

Stretch it or you'll wreck it.

I think I really fucked up something in my right hip flexor. Over the weekend it was just the outside of my hip hurting - I couldn't really localize it other than that, but I knew the area in general didn't feel up to snuff. Today I knew exactly what the problem was because I've experienced it before.

At one point or another I did serious damage to both sides during high school cheerleading. Between that, the falling arches, and shin splints, I always seemed to be in some sort of excruciating pain. This isn't really an injury you can wrap and tape and suffer through. It's like breaking a toe. No doctor is going to put a cast on your pinky toe, right? They're just going to give you a foot splint and tell you to tread lightly. In this case, you wear flats and try not to put pressure on that side for a few days...hard to do when your rolling desk chair is on carpet and you have to shuttle back and forth to the file cabinet.

[aside: the cat is sitting next to my chair and staring up at me. She's been in this stance for five minutes. Does she want to eat me?]

I'm trying to figure out when I strained it...I think it may be when we were on Bald Head on bikes and my seat was too high. The Sudafed high I've been on for the past couple of days have distracted me from HOW FUCKING PAINFUL it is. The pain is shooting down my leg in little ripples. How cute.

Image credit to University Sports Medicine

Tortured Artist

Okay...so, I slacked off a little.

I know I said I was going to get myself on a strict writing schedule and have a submission going out every month.

I rewarded myself for getting the first piece out by going to Office Depot and buying myself a matching suite of manuscript and return envelopes that I could be pround to send out. I bought correction pencils and those expensive-ass Avery labels.

I just knew I would be cranking.

I started carrying around my draft notebook with me, although I knew deep down that I wouldn't be writing anything of quality during lunch because my coworkers have the invasive habit of reading over your shoulder.

I am officially 19 days behind in my self-inflicted imposed schedule. I was supposed to have something postmarked on 9/15, but...I got distracted by the cat. She's soooooooooooooooooooooo cute.

Okay - so, I'm being sort of facetious. I can't blame it on anything other than the fact that I'd rather be doing other things. Most of the time those other things involve becoming a vacuous blanket-wrapped blob in front of the television.

This is hard, folks. It's one thing to fiddle around with the blog and rant about who/whatever it is I can't stand in a given day, but when it comes to my fiction writing I'm never satisfied. I'd rather leave a piece unfinished than bungle it up in a fit of try-too-hard.

If I can spend an hour each day working on perfecting my craft (my, my that reads high brow, eh?) then it'd seem less like some obligation I'm resistant to...right?

Oh, by the way...the new Sims 2 expansion is out. :)

All the Black Eyed Peas a girl could want.

I don't get excited about much - it's in my nature as a cynic and skeptic, and it makes it impossible for people to buy me gifts.

That being said, I have to confess that there is a e-gadget that makes me moisten my pants slightly.

One of my friends asked if I used Yahoo! messenger. I typically don't use a messenger at home because it distracts me away from playing with the Sims. Since the phone reception I get in my home is shoddier than average I downloaded the new version so that we could have our usual expletive-laced conversations without worrying about me sitting in the 3' x 3' corner of the house where my phone actually works.

It's not the messenger itself that I'm so hyped up about, but the streaming radio tool that's integrated into it. You get limited features with the free version, such as only five song skips per hour, and after a certain number of hours of play each much they cut you off.

I actually liked the service so much that I upgraded to the paid service.

The really cute thing about it is it's ability to tell your buddylist something about you. You can set it up so that who and what you're listening to displays next to your user name. A friend who knows me very well asked "Why are you listening to Trick Daddy?" It just happened to be on the "Today's Big Hits" list on that day, but either way it was a good laugh.

I don't listen to a whole lot of music radio at home or in the car, so I'm getting familiar with a few new great artists that I may add to my disc collection.

I dig it.

Like that dude sledgehammered in Misery

There's nothing like a vacation to remind you of how woefully inadequate your mattress is. I hate to sound like a hypochondriac, but yesterday we went to Home Depot for some switches and plates and I really felt like I needed to be leaning on a walker. I thought, "What's wrong with me? Do I have the flu?" I've never actually had the flu but achy joints come with it, right?

This morning when the cat was jumping on my head for her half-can of smelly slop I realized then and there that the problem is our relatively new mattress. My hip felt as if there were an anvil on top of it and my ankles felt like they were at the wrong end of a misbalanced teeter-totter (such is the case when you have child-bearin' hips).

The mattresses we slept on on Bald Head were super-firm. I'm not a fan of hard beds because I don't use a pillow, but I can see why people rave about them.

Our mattress set came out of my grandma's old house. She bought them for my room a couple of years after I left for college and really never had an occupant until my mom and the half-spawn moved down. You'd think that an eleven-year old kid wouldn't do that much damage to a new mattress...unless they're jumping on it and damaging the springs and slats....which he did and I realized after the fact.

Damn. It just seems like we're constantly throwing money into a pit with this house. We still haven't even furnished our living room - there's always something, but DAMN we need a better mattress.

Oh, no they di-in't

My across-the-street neighbors got a new mailbox and post. Good. That's good thinking - we need to do the same and are simply still shopping for a unique mailbox that fits the architecture of our home. We live in one of those neighborhoods where everyone has the same front door - merely in different colors. Everyone has the same mailbox - merely on different posts. We're trying to change both of those things. No, there are no community bylaws preventing such. People are just lazy and too afraid to purchase items that can't be found at Home Depot.

Previously our mailboxes were posted about one foot apart and they (the neighbors) have a ugly-ass Nandina growing in front of theirs which they don't prune. Its roots have impeded the growth of the perennials I plant there each spring. We sneak out there on occasion when we're doing yard work and knock it down a couple of feet so that we can access our mailbox without daddy long legs jumping on us. Well, they've moved their mailbox about eight feet away from ours and have left that damned bush behind.

I'll wait until tomorrow while they're circling the neighborhood walking their dogs to rip the entire plant out from the roots. I'll make sure they can see me. I see them in their yard admiring their mailbox from afar right now.

I'm pissed because if we get a mailbox and post that are totally different than what they just put out there people will think that we're trying to either one-up them or just be contrary. The fact that they moved their new set so far away from ours makes them look like they have a problem with the way our current mailbox looks.

Yes, I'm petty.

Lookie Loos

I'm normally very careful about stepping outside the house on Saturdays and Sundays to get the mail or newspaper. Quite often, I haven't washed my face and the chances are good that my clothes don't match.

I look both ways for neighbors and people walking their dogs.

I was careless this morning. The landscaper who works across the street was outside. Normally the homeowner is outside supervising the crew so they'll basically leave you alone, but occassionally they'll try to step outside their bounds to sell you their service or whatever else you're not in the mood to hear.

I'm so snot-congested and cranky that I'm not in the friendly "I'm glad you're here beautifying our neighborhood" mood. So, when I step out to get my paper, avert your eyes and keep on clipping those hedges. Don't start calling out "Hey. Miss. Excuse me. Hey, Sweetheart?" as if I have something to say to you or else you have anything worth telling me. You may think I'm a snob, but dude...back off, or I'll sic the cat on you.

Skin Eraser

I'm considering seriously the action of having my tattoo removed. I've had people tell me that since I'm not fair-skinned, the scar the removal would leave behind would be just as obvious as the tattoo.

Is this true? Have any of you had this done? Who does this sort of procedure?

Bald Head Photos

Here are the ones where I don't look stoned and Scott doesn't, in his own words, "Look like a fucking android."

I also have some pictures of the leaking roof and the storm in general that I'll post when I'm reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally lacking in content fodder.

I'm home.

I'm back. Safe. A bit frazzled, but home safe. To all of you wishing me a good time, thanks - too bad it was the vacation from hell.

To Sue who believes that I'm an idiot: fuck off. Spend $1,500 non-refundable dollars on a vacation and then decide whether you'd like to flush it down the drain or else wait out the storm. I feel like I need to address this because I'm sure some of you are wondering. I don't like getting confrontational on my own blog because I can simply delete the offending comments, but I've had the week from hell and I'm not in the mood for insensitive assholes who don't know the ins and outs of a situation.

It was a "voluntary" evacuation, which basically means that if you had somewhere to be during or after the time of the storm then YOU SHOULD LEAVE because there would be no guarantees you would have a means out when you needed one. We had nowhere to be until Monday of next week. You should also know that during the time of the suggested evacuation, Ophelia was merely a tropical storm. I've lived through a countless number of these and know what the risks are. I'm a North Carolinian. I know what it's like to expect to wake up the next morning and have to drag fallen trees off your yard.

Ophelia didn't get upgraded back to a hurricane until AFTER the ferries off the island had been shut down. If you had read all the entries, you would see that there was a point where we were making a genuine effort to leave. I wasn't afraid of the fucking storm - I just felt that I could be watching television and playing board games in MY OWN DAMN HOUSE because that's all we'd been doing. The beach was too windy to use and the pool was too cold.

The very next day after the storm, I saw even MORE guests to the island than we saw in the two days preceeding it. These are people who own homes there and judged that it was a safe place to be. While the storm did flood some roads on the island and made hot meals impossible for a day and a half, at no point were we ever told that it was unsafe to be there. We were advised by the owners of the home that the house was built for those sorts of conditions. It is a beach house, after all.

I fully expected someone to be plastering nasty little Katrina reminders on my blog and talking all kinds of shit about the fact that I should have learned a lesson from that. But, you know what - those of you who are long-time readers of this magic carpet ride called Blown Fuse know that I have common sense. I would never put myself or my spouse in a predicament that would be considered in any way dangerous. While we were right in the path or the storm and were hounded by it for FOUR WHOLE DAYS and had to deal with the house taking on water from the roof and windows, the most harmful thing that happened was that I caught a cold.

Would I choose to stay next time? Absolutely. Now, I'm starving and want a hot meal. I would also like to spend some quality time with my cat who seems to be attention-starved and skinnier than I left her. I'll be back in a few hours to post the pictures that weren't taken with my camera phone.

Sleepless

3:15 am and the most brutal part of the storm is on top of us and keeping me awake. Tried to get out yesterday but the ferries weren't running. Tired. Upset.

Taking on Water

This is some Swiss Family Robinson bullshit - the rains have started and the roof of the villa is leaking in 3 places. DISCOUNT!

Knitting my Time Away

I'm knitting a sock. The weather charts say warm and sunny by Thursday and I hope to be sunburned and crispy as a pork rind by Saturday.

VOLUNTARY evacuation.

The wind is picking up and some guests are voluntarily evacuating. I guess they're being safe rather than sorry, but I'm not running for a l'il rain.

By the Marsh

Behind the Villa: we're built near a nature preserve and there are gators about. I haven't seen one yet and I hope I don't.

View of the Villa

The Villa. We've got 3 bedrooms all to ourselves. Ophelia is kicking up in the Atlantic & we're determined to see some sunshine.

Safely Arrived

Greetings from Bald Head Island! It's a bit windy on the coast & the house is shaking on its stilts. We hope to splash around some tomorrow.

You're going to miss me, right?

I don't know why I always end up packing at the last minute. I throw a bunch of stuff in a suitcase and then wonder when I get to my destination why I didn't think to bring a sweater.

*sigh*

Hurricane Tropical Storm Hurricane Ophelia looks like it may threaten North Carolina in the coming week. If you want to see a grown woman cry, tell her she might have to cut her vacation short to evacuate.

How do people plan vacations at all if they're going to worry that some tropical depression is going to send them running home once they get good and settled? Right now I'm trying not to think about it and am hoping that I can at least get a couple of days of relaxation. I'm also hoping that Bodie doesn't freak out when I drop her off at the pet hotel tomorrow. The poor thing will probably think I'm abandoning her. *sigh*

Posting will be sporadic over the next week - I don't know if I'll have access to internet from the house, but I'll be sending pictures through my cell phone and Flickr when appropriate....if I can get a signal.

One last little [ghetto] thing - you know how you transport food items via ferry when you know the only grocery store on the island is super-expensive? In your suitcase. Just fill it with soda and booze and you're good to go. It's like carrying Skittles in your coat pocket that you bought at CVS into a movie theater.

STAY AWAY HURRICANES!

This has been one of those highly stressful weeks at work where it being well-known that i'm taking vacation next week encourages people to pile work on me before I go. I was tied up in a major project this morning and by afternoon I was catching up on the things that I normally do in the morning.

I still need to put my creative juices to work and finish up the campus recruiting packages that will be used next week. I have a guy that needs special documents uploaded and HTML coded for immediate use. (Did I mention that I refuse to work 12 hour days?)

Tomorrow sounds like a pretty shitty day. I know that people are going to be calling in non-stop with some new and exciting way to piss me off. I just checked the voicemail on my cell phone and some weirdo is looking for me to do work-related things in my off-time. Ha. That'll learn me to put my cell-phone number on my work voicemail, huh?

In better news, my new suitcases arrived yesterday. I've never really owned my own set of luggage, and I figured that this seemed as good a time as any to get some. Besides that fact, the suitcase I stole from my grandma has a big bleached out spot in it from where the Clorox tipped over in my car trunk. I got a set of three American Flyer pieces for about 90 clams. While it's not the pink Victorinix I wanted it'll do for the time being. If I ever find myself in a position where I travel more I think I'll definately splurge on something that makes me feel good.

Streaks of Crud.

Why do football players wear that black gunk under their eyes?

That question has been burning in my head for 24 hours, now. Someone PLEASE elucidate me.

Maybe it was that "condescending" part.

Which Food Network chef are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

In case the unreliable Quizilla image isn't showing up for ya, it says Alton Brown.

Via Chad.

These shoes are made for walkin'.

In preparation of our vacation next week (and out of sympathy for my pathetic fall shoe collection), I went back to DSW [the Designer Shoe Warehouse for those of you who don't have one near you] to pick up some shoes that would be competitive with what all the bluebloods on the island would be wearing. I was at DSW on Wednesday when they were moving stock into clearance. They had one shoe on the end display (that Diesel) that I couldn't find on the racks, so I figured it was new and just not out on the floor yet. When I went back yesterday in search of flip-flops, I found it in clearance and almost wet my pants in glee.

Oh, and I got some Rocketdog flip-flops, too. They have the same weird angle about them as my feet, so I think they're fabulous (and comfortable, to boot).

I ordered these on Wednesday for myself: Sperry Top-Sider Bluefish. I plan to strut around a lot and act like I have $100 bills stuffed into my shoe soles.

Now I just need to go try on my old bathing suits to see if they still fit. If not, then...well, you know. *$cha-ching!$*

Micro Vault

This here little gem is the Sony MicroVault USB storage device.

Isn't it cute? It's like a little lipstick. I requested this as my anniversary present from Scott. Now I can carry top-secret documents around in my bra.

I'm pretty excited about it. I wanted a way to transport my short stories around when I'm working on them that didn't require me carrying around CDs and floppy disks. Emailing stuff to myself just got too complicated.

Now I can stick this li'l sucker in my work computer and do some quick edits while I have time during lunch.

I'm stoked.

A Disaster of Biblical Proporations

I know I haven't said anything about Katrina. At first, I was merely trying to avoid knowing anything about it. All I knew early this week was that New Orleans and other gulf cities had endured some flooding. By Wednesday, I knew that the death toll was unreasonably high and that an entire city as we knew it has disappeared.

I feel helpless. Everyone around here is so engrossed in how the devastation is going to effect their ability to get cheap gas. Here's a little perspective for them: there are a lot of folks now who have neither homes nor cars - imagine how abundant that gas will be in two months!

I don't want to watch the live coverage that all the news channels are airing. I know that people who feel like they're balancing on a wire will rely on their gut instincts to get them through a crisis. Civilization isn't something that is innate in human beings - it's a learned behavior. We'll revert to some actions that may be considered dispicable when we're trying to protect ourselves and our families.

I don't condone snipers shooting at the doctors trying to evacuate sick patients from hospitals and the National Guard while trying to deliver food supplies. I don't condone the looting of jewelry, electronics, and other material goods. I must confess that if I were barefooted, starving, and up to my ankles in muddy water with a hungry baby on my hip I don't know how I'd behave. The animal in me would probably claw and snatch to feed my kid...but I don't know if I'd hurt anyone in the process.

It breaks my heart to think about those people my grandma's age who are being ignored in favor of the squeaky wheels making the most noise. It makes me sad to think of the children who haven't had their diapers changed in a couple of days. There are women in the Superdome being raped by morally bankrupt indiviuals.

While I do feel very small and like no matter what I do it'll be just a drop in the bucket, I have to do something.

I'll be donating as large a donation as I can afford to give to Red Cross for immediate needs. Next month I'll donate to some other cause to help some person start over and perhaps have some semblance of normalcy in their lives.

Please help all you can, or as much as you feel comfortable with. Perhaps you had planned to donate money to public radio or to your city's ballet this month. Why not invest it in life instead?

[some unconventional ways to help are in the extended entry]

(These links have been gingerly jacked from Mac - please feel free to post a link to some other ways to help.)

Hurricane Housing: Offer your home for temporary shelter for a family impacted by Katrina.

Coffee Cup Hurricane Aid: Helping to deliver comfort items to refugees

Jett Superior is collecting money to buy KayBee giftcards to refugee children

Celebrating with Beer and Exercise.

Today, I went to my doctor's office and had my final of six Lupron injections.

For those of you just tuning in, earlier this year I had an exploratory laparoscopy to confirm an endometriosis diagnosis.

Actually having the disease prompted my doc to prescribe a six month course of Lupron as a follow-up therapy.

Many of you may remember my kvetching during the first couple of months about the hot flashes and night sweats. Those went away after a while, but the puffy face, swollen knees, and elephant thighs did not.

That is why I'm going to be so freakin' excited when this month is out and I look like myself again. You wouldn't think that a few pounds of water weight could damage a woman's self-esteem, but let me tell you - it can. I've had to buy special clothes to hide my knees and thighs because I feel like they look like they had reverse-liposuction.

I'm stoked.