tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85335894668827294852024-02-07T13:45:57.629-05:00Grin and Baer ItLife isn't any fun unless you see the humor in it.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.comBlogger290125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-43612885382687213792012-05-03T07:36:00.002-04:002012-05-03T07:36:32.448-04:00Love Your Legs Week 2Lets start with the stats. I need to rip those babies off like a sticky band aid on a hairy arm. <br />
<br />
Bust: 39.5" (minus 1.5 inches)<br />
Waist: 34" (same)<br />
Hips: 44" (minus 1 inch)<br />
Left Leg: 25.75" (minus 3/4 inch)<br />
Right Leg: 25.5" (minus 1 inch)<br />
<br />
So I seem to have lost most of me in the boobs. That figures. But the legs and hips are also whittling away, so I suppose I should just be content. I guess I can always stuff with tube socks, right?<br />
<br />
Now for the other stat, and I should warn you that I do not believe the result. It is just too incredible. The Wii official, for the first time ever, played fireworks and threw little flowers across the screen, because I had reached my goal weight.<br />
<br />
Weight: 174.8 lb (minus 7.7 lb)<br />
<br />
This is not likely to be right, because I have not been starving my self, nor did I have a stomach flu. (Last time I tracked weight loss, I got a bug and threw up for a day. This was followed by a day of not eating, and I lost 3.5 lb.) I would be lying if I said I prefer months of planning and conscientious calorie counting over one day of misery once in a while...<br />
<br />
Anyway, I think my last weigh-in was with shoes. So I went and got my shoes and tried to go again, but the Wii only weighs you once a day. Luckily, I also weighed our little kitty, Flower, last week. The vet tells me she already shows signs of obesity, though she is still a kitten. Poor thing, I know how she feels.<br />
<br />
So I tainted her stats with my shoe weight of 1.7 lb. I am pretty sure she will get fireworks and flowers for her next weigh in.<br />
<br />
So, somehow, miraculously, I lost 6.0 lb.<br />
<br />
I still think something is wrong with the Wii. So I will wait for week 3 results before attempting a cartwheel in my tiny living room.<br />NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-8922563358688759922012-04-28T08:36:00.000-04:002012-04-28T08:36:22.961-04:00How Low Can I Go?I have never counted carbs before, choosing instead to subscribe to more all inclusive, but reduced calorie diets. So I am surprised to learn what Ye Atkins Folk already knew: 40 grams of carbs in a day is, like, nothing. I later noted through some astute research that the FDA 2000 calorie diet on most nutrition labels is providing carb percentages based on 300 grams.<br />
<br />
Day #1 of Low Carb Intake was supposed to be Sunday. It was short lived because I forgot and decided to get a Lite Mocha Latte on the way out of the grocery store, which I enjoyed with a chocolate chip cookie. <br />
<br />
Ooops.<br />
<br />
My re-attempt was Wednesday. It turned out to be successful, but I almost missed the mark with four cherry tomatoes. These little gems, tossed innocently over my lunch salad, accounted for almost half my allowance. When I got home, I checked over my meals to see if maybe, just maybe, I could have a beer? The answer was a no, just by a few carbs. <br />
<br />
Breakfast and lunch are relatively easy. Eggs for breakfast, no toast, but cheese is a-ok. I had a lovely little recipe from the internet for lunch - tuna walnut salad over greens (with tomatoes...). This was made with mayo and a little bit of cinnamon, plus some celery. I brought just the ingredients, and mixed them all up at work.<br />
<br />
Dinner takes some planning, and this is exactly what I hoped to avoid. The main dish is easy - meat. But side dishes are tough. I knew potatoes and rice were out, and I was sadly out of salad and cottage cheese thanks to earlier meals. I pulled a bag of mixed veggies from the freezer - peas, corn, carrots, and green beans. I wasn't able to squeeze a full serving in, but I figured they would have to do.<br />
<br />
Now for the hard part. Thursday I had a meeting that would include free pizza, so I was going to have to do Friday for Day #2. And dang it, I did everything I could to make sure that beer at the end of the day would be in my grasp!<br />
<br />
Again, breakfast was no problem. I had eggs with feta cheese, no toast. Lunch, I was out of tuna and walnuts and celery, but had chicken and almonds, so I mixed up the mayo with cinnamon again, and plopped it into my bag. I went to a meeting first thing, about an hour from the office, and returned just in time for lunch. I wasn't really feeling the chicken salad, so I decided to get a salad at Wegmans and sit at a picnic table on a beautiful day. I reached for my purse with the exact salad in mind - they call it a protein salad and it has tofu, almonds, and I think edamame on it. I wouldn't know because I never got that salad. Instead, I realized that my purse was still at the architect's office - just over an hour away.<br />
<br />
In a direction exactly opposite of any direction I would normally head.<br />
<br />
On a Friday.<br />
<br />
Grrrrrrr.<br />
<br />
I had to eat the chicken salad, and forgo the picnic table idea, since I would need to leave the office early. I would have to work through lunch.<br />
<br />
Grrrr....<br />
<br />
As I drove north I passed the exit for a friend's house. If only it weren't during work hours, I could at least stop in and make this trip semi worthwhile....<br />
<br />
I picked up the purse, sheepishly. It is hard to look professional when you are me, I must say. Ah well. I got to the car and remembered my friend's office is closed on Friday afternoons. They do 4 nine hour days, plus only 4 hours on Fridays. So it wasn't a total waste. I went to her place, had a few beers, blew the carb thing.<br />
<br />
But I felt a lot better.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-2507206940150698722012-04-25T21:27:00.000-04:002012-04-25T21:27:00.108-04:00Love Hate RelationshipI may Love My Legs, but My Legs Hate Me. Day #1 (Sunday) of the Love Your Legs workout (click <a href="http://www.fitnessmagazine.com/workout/thighs/exercises/strength-exercises-for-thighs-legs/" target="_blank">here</a>) began a bit later than normal. Typically, I attend two classes at the gym on Sundays: Body Pump (a weight lifting class) and Body Flow (a combo of Thai Chi, Yoga, and Pilates). I decided to do the leg workout instead of weight lifting, and I figured I could sleep a few extra minutes and still have time to shower before going to Body Flow. Unfortunately, a few minutes turned into a few more.<br />
<br />
The workout would take only about 20 minutes by my estimation, but it turns out reading about working out is a lot different than actually working out. (Yes, I have subscribed to Fitness for years, but I have only ever done the treadmill workouts, which are timed.) So, the workout takes more like 45 minutes to an hour when you add in the time spent resting. I have to say Constant Readers, you are already motivating me. After 30 seconds of the first move, I was ready to quit.<br />
<br />
But I didn't.<br />
<br />
I continued on. And even when my brain tried to weasel out by insisting that I should have brought my little hand weights home, I mustered up the inner strength to scan the room for an acceptable substitute. After all, this has never stopped me before - I am constantly subbing ingredients in recipes with statistically favorable results. I spotted a few Yankee candles, and picked them up. They weighed about right and were easily grasped. Problem solved. I should note, however, that the smells of Tropical Fruit and Mango Peach Salsa, inches from your heavily breathing and sweaty face, are a bit nauseating when you are exerting yourself.<br />
<br />
The first move, which looks super easy judging from the picture, is really not. It immediately engages the quadriceps, which are the large rump roasts themselves, front and center. While the move merely raised my heart rate and brought teeny beads of sweat to my brow at the time, it was painfully apparent on Monday that the muscle fibers were worked a bit beyond their comfort zone. And Tuesday, when sitting gracefully into an office chair became more of a flop as my legs gave out, I knew the workout was going to be effective.<br />
<br />
This is not to say that I have high hopes. I read the true <a href="http://www.fitnessmagazine.com/workout/thighs/exercises/leg-makeover-success-stories/?lastPage=true&page=6" target="_blank">testimonies </a>of the women who tried this plan before me. The before pictures are pretty much the same as the afters. However, if the quotes are to be believed - and I am not sure that is the case - the testers were pleased with the results. <br />
<br />
Perhaps, it just goes to show how it is not so much the vision you project to others, but the vision you project to yourself that is important. Or this is a waste of time. Whatever.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-79315002915456954572012-04-24T20:38:00.000-04:002012-04-24T20:38:28.456-04:00Love Your Legs Week 1For the next four weeks, I'll be trying the "Love Your Legs" plan from Fitness magazine. I chose this as my first Project because my bottom half has long been the bane of my existence. There have been many victims of my backside. From knick knacks perched on shelves, to random children on the beach, to the many many items I have accidentally sat upon, the carnage is vast and varied. According to the Fitness article, it is possible to tone the legs and rump to make them smaller, which is quite contrary to the evidence displayed by body builders everywhere. No, this is not to make the muscle bigger, but to make the fat smaller. <br />
<br />
They have some very convincing evidence, but the real motivator is the MRI comparison of two thighs, size 12. The 21-year old thigh slice looks like a marbled steak, just a thin line of fat around the edges. The 71-year old thigh is almost all white fat, with a bit of meat in the middle. (I tried to find this picture to post online, but I didn't find it.) I have a feeling I am closer to a rump roast than a sirloin.<br />
<br />
Along with the exercises, which are focused on the legs and intended to be practiced three times a week on non-consecutive days, there is a 1500 calorie a day diet plan. I went online to find the plan, supposedly <a href="http://fitnessmagazine.com/fitness-tracker/bootcamp/" target="_blank">here</a>. I signed up for some newsletter that is supposed to come by email, but it just wasn't what I thought. I wanted a calendar or something I could just print out and post on the fridge, not 17 articles about nutrition with more advertisements than information. Also, 1500 calories a day requires planning and very little fun. There are times when I am motivated for such endeavors, but lately, I just want to eat what I want, when I want, and lose weight anyway. Is that too much to ask?<br />
<br />
Well, anyone who has embarked on a weight loss journey knows, it is. I found a possible middle ground, however. A recent <a href="http://healthland.time.com/2011/12/08/study-cutting-carbs-two-days-a-week-is-better-than-full-time-dieting/" target="_blank">study </a>showed that women who ate low carbs twice a week, and normally the rest of the time, lost more than those eating 1500 calories a day. This seems totally doable to me.<br />
<br />
So here's the plan: I'll do the "<a href="http://www.fitnessmagazine.com/workout/thighs/exercises/strength-exercises-for-thighs-legs/" target="_blank">Love Your Legs</a>" workout three times a week, and twice a week, my carb intake will be limited to 40 grams or less.<br />
<br />
The hard part about this new blog plan is the statistics. I kinda don't want to share the "before" info. But the thing I really like about the Fitness workouts and articles is their focus on real people. They often feature people who are 5'-6" and weigh 172 lb, who lose 10-15 lb over a period of weeks. I personally find these stories more motivating than the 300 lb Losers who drop 150 lbs. It is awesome, of course, but most of us do not have 36 hours a week to focus on weight loss, forgoing all other aspects of our lives such as Happy Hours, work, family gatherings, errands, and Happy Hours.<br />
<br />
So, in the interest of science, my statistics, as typically reported by Fitness:<br />
<br />
Height: 5'-8"<br />
Weight: (gulp) 182.5 lb. Stupid Wii...<br />
Bust: 41"<br />
Waist: 34"<br />
Bum: 45"<br />
<br />
And, since we're interested, Left and Right Thigh are both 26.5".<br />
<br />
Boo.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-16200546537674336262012-04-03T20:53:00.001-04:002012-04-09T09:45:41.510-04:00Dear Daisy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWbM-peKwQdJjnN1h5K3HiQCWKD_ei2Ofti6eua1tQdWuYyrWkc0YjlIRf280YntmWErtB_r4LM7yNzH4H6lHxihxosGAA3iwb-t79vS7o6HuokDZ1MiK0I5WuXtyE56kuh8GkCB626yM/s1600/DSCF0289.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWbM-peKwQdJjnN1h5K3HiQCWKD_ei2Ofti6eua1tQdWuYyrWkc0YjlIRf280YntmWErtB_r4LM7yNzH4H6lHxihxosGAA3iwb-t79vS7o6HuokDZ1MiK0I5WuXtyE56kuh8GkCB626yM/s320/DSCF0289.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Dear Daisy,<br />
You were the best cat I have ever known. I have loved many cats before you, and I may love many more, for it is a sad fact of life that humans live longer than felines. But you will always have a very special place in my heart. I first heard about you over the phone, from a friend. She found you sitting on her doorstep each day, looking for a home. She tried to tell you that she already had a loving pet, and did not need another, but you were so persistent. Eventually, she knew she would need to find someone who needed you as much as you needed them.<br />
<br />
I was lonely in my new apartment, but I worried about getting a kitten. Kittens are stinky and destructive, despite their sweet exteriors. I did not want a house that smelled like pee with a clawed up couch. But I wanted a friend to come home to every day, and so I decided to take you in. I picked you up just after you had surgery, ensuring you would never be a mother. You were so groggy that you slid around in the cat carrier as I careened down the highway, and I worried that you would not make it. But you did.<br />
<br />
You entered my life, and remained loyal and loving, even though I sometimes came home from work too exhausted to play with you. You never scratched up the furniture and the only time you were stinky was when I forgot to clean your litter box. I remember one such occasion, when you dragged an old rag on top of your litter and pooped on that, rather than find a clean floor or plant. At night, you curled up on my pillow and kneaded my hair, which was cute at first, but quite annoying at 5am. You brought toys into my bed, and I bought you your own area to sleep, hoping for some peace. But you did not like that, and preferred to sleep with me.<br />
<br />
I had to leave you once, when I went on vacation without you. Your Aunt Tiff came to watch you and when the answering machine dutifully played my voice on a recorded message, you went happily in the room. You meowed, something you did not do very often, when you did not find me. I felt so bad for leaving you, my sweet Puss. <br />
<br />
Eventually, you stopped waking me up at night, and you were delighted when your favorite toy, Adam, came to live with us for good. Up to that time, he only visited on weekends, and he was never too sleepy to play with you. We moved to a new apartment, and I thought you would be scared, but you settled in just fine and you seemed not to notice that the walls and floors supporting your things were different. We had a balcony there, and you loved going in and out and back in again. Once, when large cicadas hatched in the summer, you caught one, and you gobbled it up like candy. I guess those big nasty bugs are yummy.<br />
<br />
You got sick one time, and you could not pee. You tried changing your location to my closet, and I knew that my sweet kitty must be in pain and a bit confused about how peeing works. I took you to the vet, and they fixed you. I think you knew that I had helped you, and you were glad to see me when I picked you up. Unfortunately, they fixed you a little too well, and you could not hold it until you got home. You peed in the cat carrier, and flicked the wetness off your paws and into my face as I raced to get you home. That was when you got your first bath, and you did not like it. I did not blame you for the pee in my face or in my hiking shoes, sweet Daisy. I knew that you could not help it. I hope that you did not blame me for that bath.<br />
<br />
You had to take pills after this, and I had to leave you once again. Your Aunt Tiff came because you needed the medicine, and I told her how you would eat it wrapped up in turkey. Easy. I guess you were no fool. You ate the turkey she gave you, but not the yucky pill. She tried to make you take it, and you spit it out, over and over. You were very persistent, once again. Finally, she got that slimy pink pill down your throat, and she petted you as you hocked it up and spit it out so hard that it stuck to the wall. Luckily, you eventually got enough pills to make your infection go away.<br />
<br />
When you were little, you used to crawl into the refrigerator whenever I opened the door. Like the kneading, this was cute at first, but it got annoying. One time, I closed the door in hopes that it would teach you a lesson. I opened it quickly, thinking by the ruckus you made that I had accidentally killed you. In a mere second, you managed a yowl that made my blood curl, and you never crawled in the fridge again.<br />
<br />
Everyone loved you, little Daisy. You were not like other cats, because you did not rub up against legs to trip humans, and you never whined or cried. Nor did you hide away or shy from strangers. You calmly met our friends and family members, and you sat peaceably nearby at all times, just enjoying the company of others. You even allowed a seven year old to carry you around like a baby, though I am pretty sure you learned to avoid second graders like refrigerators. Over and over, folks would tell me what a nice cat I had, and how I was so lucky to have you. But I already knew that.<br />
<br />
We moved to a new apartment once again, and you did not like it right away. You slinked around for two weeks, sniffing at the furniture as if you were unsure that this was truly your new home. But luckily Adam and I were still there, and you adjusted. Adam tried daily to teach you a trick. He wanted you to jump through an old tennis racket with the strings removed, and each day, he held a treat on the other side of the hoop. It made us both smile to see you go around that hoop so many many times, completely ignoring it. Sometimes, you actually would go through it, but only if the turkey was just in the right spot. I wondered who was training who.<br />
<br />
You were so docile and trusting of your toy Adam that he could hold you in the palm of one hand and lift you up to the ceiling. You just sat there, looking around at the new view.<br />
<br />
When Adam and I bought you a new home, I was so worried that you would not like it. You had such a hard time with the previous move. And when we finally took you there, in the middle of an unpredicted snow storm in late January, you hid yourself away. We could not find you for hours, and I feared that you were outside in the cold. But luckily, you were just in a closet, and when I embraced you, you came out of hiding and resumed your normal routine of peaceably sharing in the company of others. You had no problem at all with your new home. You seemed happy.<br />
<br />
When spring came, you missed your balcony. I was afraid to let you outside by yourself because foxes and other animals lived in our new yard, and you had no "street sense". You could not even climb a tree, my poor little Daisy. But I wanted you to be happy, and so I let you out, always supervised. I taught you the limits of the yard, but you did not care to stay within the lines. You would wait until I was not looking, and you would bound away for the neighbor's garage. One day, I could not find you for hours, and I worried the entire time. Apparently, something spooked you, because you came running toward the house in a panic. I was so relieved that at least you had the sense to know where you would be safe.<br />
<br />
I tried to contain you with a leash and collar, but it was a pitiful waste of money. You learned to get the collar off within minutes. I tried a harness, and you managed to wiggle it off in half an hour. You wanted freedom, but I was too afraid to let you have it. I needed you too much, and I could not bear the thought that something would happen to you. I hope you understood.<br />
<br />
In your older age, you began kneading again. You would curl up in my lap on your favorite blanket, and knead away. You purred so loudly, and I loved sitting with you, even though you usually tried to sit on my reading materials. I look over at that blanket now, and I am so sad to see it missing a kitty.<br />
<br />
Your last hours were spent in peace, I hope. I know you were in pain, but you purred when I entered the room, even louder a few minutes later when Adam came in. We will miss you so much, Little One.<br />
<br />
Luckily, you will live on in my memories:<br />
<a href="http://grinandbaerit.blogspot.com/2008/08/mmmmlitter.html">http://grinandbaerit.blogspot.com/2008/08/mmmmlitter.html</a><br />
<a href="http://grinandbaerit.blogspot.com/2009/08/if-cats-could-type.html">http://grinandbaerit.blogspot.com/2009/08/if-cats-could-type.html</a><br />
<a href="http://grinandbaerit.blogspot.com/2011/08/how-i-spent-me-sumer-vacayshun.html">http://grinandbaerit.blogspot.com/2011/08/how-i-spent-me-sumer-vacayshun.html </a><br />
<br />
<br />
Love Always,<br />
-NICKINICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-50279600032970593392012-03-30T23:03:00.000-04:002012-03-30T23:03:44.519-04:00Oh DearOh Dear, my new plan may not work out very well. Here I am, Day No 2 or so, and I am on a business trip with no control over my meals and I am subjected to open bar receptions. This is fine for my professional development and I am making great contacts nationwide - even internationally, as I had a semi lengthy conversation with an Italian engineering professor who lives in New Zealand. I am learning a lot.<br />
<br />
I am not, however, losing weight. In fact, I am so full at the moment that I am a tad disgusted, and I feel bloated, sleepy, and altogether blah. I had lofty goals to show all you Constant Readers how it can be done. How you can make healthy choices, and come out on top, even on business trips. How you can go to the hotel gym. I am told it is on the 27th floor. I am not able to verify that firsthand. <br />
<br />
<br />
I do not understand why this was such a failure. After all, I did no research, no planning, and was only half committed in the first place. What could go wrong?<br />
<br />
Initially, I thought I would take a picture of my meals, and diligently log them into an online food journal when I got back. I began with a large, but healthy breakfast, in hopes that I would not partake of any mid-morning snacks, and I aimed for about 400 calories. This is more than the typical breakfast, which is 300 calories for me, but I figured it was taking the place of a snack. And this did work out. I did not eat again until lunch, when we were served a lovely salad and a chicken breast over beans. Unfortunately, I was still hungry after the healthy stuff, and ate a semi-delicious dessert that had been set out at my place prior to my arrival. The dessert was too sweet, and not to my taste, but I ate it anyway, because it would be wasted if it did not enter my digestive tract.<br />
<br />
Dinner was a bit of a disaster, because after two drinks at the open bar, I no longer remembered or cared about my intentions. And after the, uuhhh, fourth drink, I had lost count of the little quiches and Mexican spring roll thingies.<br />
<br />
Today was worse. Here is what I remember eating today: egg with bacon quiche, two muffins, a small pastry, a chicken wrap, some pasta salad, beans, a lemon bar, a small bag of cheddar and caramel popcorn (in the same bag for some reason), a second lemon bar, a mint-chocolate truffle, a brownie, a few sprigs of asparagus, a piece of celery and a piece of zucchini, a hamburger slider, a chicken bite, a fried spring roll, a piece of brie with pastry and fruit, some adorable little appetizers of unknown, bite size chemistry, a plate of risotto and three Samuel Adams Original Lagers.<br />
<br />
And that's just what I remember.<br />
<br />
I am hoping this little list might help me out tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe, I might check out the 27th floor before I head to get deep dish pizza and tours of the Hancock and Willis Buildings. Did you know that's what they call the Sear Tower now?<br />
<br />
Whachu talkin' bout Willis?NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-39574675885979296662012-03-29T16:51:00.001-04:002012-03-29T16:51:00.283-04:00New DirectionI'm going back to my roots, Constant Readers. This blog began as a means to discuss my awesomeness and occasional struggles with weight loss. It slowly moved away from that as I lost interest in writing about losing weight. Incidentally, I also lost interest in losing weight. Let's face it, folks. It ain't fun. It ain't easy. And it is a tad discouraging. I had weeks of extreme planning, for every little morsel that entered my mouth, and for every expended sweaty calorie. At the ends of those weeks, I managed weight loss - even up to a pound or three. And the next week, I'd try to do it all again. That second week might have a slip or two - maybe a glass of wine or a chocolate chip cookie. Perhaps I would miss a workout. And the result? Not only a significant decrease in my losses, but sometimes a freaking gain!<br />
<br />
What is the point? If I have to be that rigorous every week for weeks and weeks and weeks, it simply isn't worth it. It's not like my self esteem revolves around my waistline, after all. I'm perfectly happy sipping suds poolside in my non-two piece suit. I'm not looking for a modeling deal or a movie star boyfriend. I don't need to replace my wardrobe with items itsy bisty or teeny weeny.<br />
<br />
On the other hand...<br />
I want to be healthy. I want to be able to take the stairs, if I so desire. I remember how good it felt to eat well and to get the most from this less than perfect body. It was nice to fit into smaller clothes, and to know that the image in the mirror was the best me I could be. I never felt bloated or crampy or just plain "blah" when I was watching what I ate. I felt good.<br />
<br />
But how to perform this juggling act? To maintain some interest in the plan, indeed, to have fun with the plan? Well, here's the plan: I'm going to try some healthy diet and exercise plans for one month at a time, and report to you, Constant Readers, on my successes and frustrations.<br />
<br />
But where oh when will I relate my zany exploits? I am thinking they may slide through now and again, much to the chagrin of those among us with attention spans longer than a gnat's. I just can't help it. Case in point? When exiting the gym today I noticed a yoga mat that appeared to be left by its owner, and I stopped at the front desk to tell someone. There were free fruit snacks at the desk - real dried fruit covered in yogurt - and I began searching through the flavors, and forgot to tell them about the mat.<br />
<br />
So if you are missing your yoga mat, it is in locker #53.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-50158962525884808432011-11-12T16:27:00.001-05:002011-11-12T16:31:29.244-05:00WE ARE Penn State<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUWo6-UM1e4OMUyAuaCrCgZMXr1Zq1XN9sZMsJwaFIDPxtkrZthkmT_MraThGQTUHyekCVVhwB10Jv30KL3jPbr31OIQIvn34tdTBGMd3TYIVsHLVviBZk1wH21Vzmtjqoyzr0LGGqBs/s1600/DSCF1361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUWo6-UM1e4OMUyAuaCrCgZMXr1Zq1XN9sZMsJwaFIDPxtkrZthkmT_MraThGQTUHyekCVVhwB10Jv30KL3jPbr31OIQIvn34tdTBGMd3TYIVsHLVviBZk1wH21Vzmtjqoyzr0LGGqBs/s320/DSCF1361.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="background-color: white;">I have a confession to make. I went to Penn State. Until last week, this was a positive thing. I have been very surprised by the benefits I receive due to my Penn State degree. I got my first job from a former Penn Stater and I now talk to many employers who say they specifically seek Penn State grads in my field. (I can't speak for other fields, but the engineering program at Penn State is pretty well respected.) As such, many potential clients and competitors are former Penn Staters, and the most common reactions I get when asked about my alma mater are "Oh, I went there too!", and "Oh, my cousin's nephew's best friend went there, do you know him?" (By the way, I do not.)</div><div style="background-color: white;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white;">This week, the reactions have been more along the lines of, "Oh, I'm sorry." As if I had something to do with the terrible news headlines of late. I even considered not replacing my Penn State magnets on the back of my car after I finished washing it today. So then I thought, how can I turn this around? I have no say in whether Penn State decides to donate their ticket sales this week to a charity (though I like the idea). I have no say in whether the head coach deserves the blame for not doing more. Do the citizens of Germany during the 1940's deserve blame for the horrors of the concentration camps? I think there could be debate for either side, but generally, I say they do not deserve the blame, but they should take responsibility for the solution.</div><div style="background-color: white;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white;">This is why I decided to look up a local charity that helps abused children, their parents, and even the abusers. I made a donation "from a Penn State Alum". It is not much, but maybe if everyone does just one positive thing, we can rise above the actions of one jackass and become the erudite members of society we think WE ARE.</div><div style="background-color: white;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white;">And for good measure, I finally decided to post my version of the "Where I'm From Poem" which I revised to reflect my experience at Penn State. (Post your own or add to the comments. The template can be found <a href="http://www.swva.net/fred1st/wif.htm">here</a>.)</div><div style="background-color: white;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><u><b>WE ARE…</b></u></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><u><b><br />
</b></u></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee;"></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">WE ARE from extra long twin sheets, from Chicken Cosmos and Milwakee’s “Beast” Ice. </div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">WE ARE from the East Halls parking lot (icy, barren, it seemed it would take a lifetime to cross it on a cold winter morning). </div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">WE ARE from Mount Nittany, the unhiked state park trails and cornfields surrounding campus.</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">WE ARE from teapot renditions and dishroom towels, from Louass and Bagg and Boob. </div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">WE ARE from the work study programs and Caps Tournaments. </div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">From “when we grow up we’ll go to Penn State” and “that’s where dad wrote his initials in front of Patee Library.” </div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">WE ARE from “We know god is a Penn State fan because the sky is Blue and White” and using the church next to Beekman’s bagels to point us in the direction of campus.</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">WE ARE Pittsburgh or Philly, from strip sandwiches, whoopie pies, “Death by Chocolate” and “Peachy Paterno”.</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"></div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">From the stolen block of cheese, and did we mention it was five pounds?, and the racing of the keg across town to Suzanne’s place. </div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">WE ARE from Brodie’s old photo albums, so young, so thin, not knowing we’d remember the days till we’re 40.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;">WE ARE.....PENN STATE!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #eeeeee; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: blue; color: #eeeeee; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"> </span><br />
<div style="background-color: white;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">No matter how hard I scrubbed, I just couldn't get the spots from those magnets to blend in, so I'm putting them back on. A testament to the rarity of a car wash? Shut up, Constant Reader, I'm trying to make a point.</span></div></div>NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-11983323009088873552011-11-06T08:33:00.002-05:002011-11-06T08:33:00.079-05:00Paranormal NuerosisA few weeks ago, we flicked through the choices of movies on the Netflix stream and came across "Paranormal Activity". Adam had seen it and said it was good, and I astutely noted that "Paranormal Activity 3" is out, so it must have been decent. (Any sane person, of course, is thinking of "Halloween 14" or whatever they are up to now and realizing the flaw in my logic. The "Sequel Theory" most definitely does not apply to horror films.)<br />
<br />
However, I was in the mood for a mystery, and so we watched the movie. It is one of those "Blair Witch" or "Cloverfield" types that are filmed as if they are everyday folks with their home videos, and the actors use their real names. It was pretty good. Believable, but extraordinary.<br />
<br />
It's about a girl who has been haunted by a demon, off and on, for most of her life. The demon had not shown itself since she was a pre-teen, but had recently returned now that she was an adult, and she was not going to take it anymore. So she and her fiancee start trying to document the issue. Let's just say, it does not end well.<br />
<br />
I didn't think much of it at the time, but, well, the movie has apparently freaked me out. You see, it starts as just some bumps and thuds in the night and a door that creaks as it moves by itself. It only gets worse progressively. <br />
<br />
The other night, the furnace kicked on and made a racket as the baseboards tinked and clinked, and then the cat wedged herself through the slightly open creaky basement door and I nearly had a heart attack. I tried to laugh at myself as I got up and very quickly shut the door on the dark and noisy furnacey basement with the potential demon lurking in the shadows.<br />
<br />
And it has been happening ever since. I inadvertently brought back a fear of the basement, which I thought I licked in high school. Different basement, same scary darkness.<br />
<br />
<br />
Next time, we're watching "Tangled".NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-55939127997946905292011-11-04T19:49:00.000-04:002011-11-04T19:49:06.562-04:00Quick QuestionIs there a way to tactfully tell a co-worker that his weekly project meeting interferes with your morning poop? Just wondering...NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-22970063430309815212011-10-18T22:01:00.001-04:002011-10-18T22:01:00.284-04:00QueuelessI swear, Netflix is messing with me. I just went to "My Queue" because it sent us a movie that I wanted to see, but is available for download at any time through the streaming option. Basically it sent me something I already had for months, and still hadn't bothered to watch. The thing it sent me before that would have been more at home on my sister's queue. It was some romantic comedy starring Christina Applegate, and the only possible reason I could conger up for its presence in my home was that I liked "Married With Children" when I was younger. I have been known to watch a romantic comedy here and there, but generally it is when my mom or sister has some control over the remote control, and I do not recall ever adding it to my queue.<br />
<br />
And no, I don't think Sis got on there and rearranged my selections. I don't even know the password half the time and when I do get through the tight security, I tend to have trouble accessing the Netflix site. <br />
<br />
These last two movies were returned after several days of sitting on the counter in limbo. <br />
<br />
So I just checked out my queue and there is not a single movie on there that I would like to watch. I do remember putting these horrible choices on there, and continually moving them to the bottom. Worse, I cannot think of a recent movie I would like to see. I am sure there are things out there that I would enjoy. <br />
<br />
I went to the "Suggetions For You" section where, I kid you not, the top choices for me are a cartoon about a boy and his magical dog, a comedy special called "Talking Monkeys in Space", and a Nickelodeon TV show aimed at pre-teenage boys in the mid-nineties. I am seriously considering the magic dog, and a nature video about Cuttlefish. You know, the octopi? Come on people, cuttlefish!<br />
<br />
I don't know. I did really like "The Adventures of Scott Pilgrim". Maybe I am a cuttlefish kinda gal.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-66591101137631013102011-10-14T21:40:00.000-04:002011-10-14T21:40:00.085-04:00Me ReplacementOK, I have been watching <a href="http://grinandbaerit.blogspot.com/2011/06/cool-tv.html">The Cool TV</a> for hours and apparently it is a channel watched by many many balding men. The "hair replacement" commercial has been on so many times, I just might be tempted to call. Why? You may ask? Well, my hair follicles seem to be in tact, but: I have noticed that the hair replacement tends to be supplemented by weight loss, nose jobs, and changes in eye color. One man in the commercial, and I quote: "After my hair replacement surgery, I felt like a different person."<br />
<br />
Go figure.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.hairtransplantportland.com/images/portland-hair-transplant-dn1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.hairtransplantportland.com/images/portland-hair-transplant-dn1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-71841814786982857482011-10-11T20:34:00.000-04:002011-10-11T20:34:42.051-04:00Cider House BluesMy apologies, Constant Reader(s). I had the next topic all thought up - as you probably guessed, a continuation of my ever more desperate attempts to reconcile my inconclusive sleep disorder - but I got writers block again. So, the sleep story will have to wait until it is ready to be told. I, apparently, am not in control.<br />
<br />
*******************************<br />
<br />
Last Thursday, I sat at my desk running calculations on a concrete beam, trying to decide how to support an existing structure while this beam is removed and replaced. Truly, I was deep into it, really focused on my work. Or not.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, I realized. I forgot the cider that my Dad had brought last Saturday. This, I surmised, was the explanation for the slightly sweet and slightly sour smell that currently emanated from the interior of my vehicle. Bummer.<br />
<br />
I immediately emailed my Dad to tell him. Perhaps he would buy more cider and drive two hours to deliver it. Perhaps we would work out an elaborate Cider Scheme, for I cannot go an entire Fall without this cider. He gets it from his neighbors, who press the apples, add nothing to them, and put the results in gallon jugs at the end of their driveway. This is not grocery store cider. Oh lament, and alas! Surely, he would be as distraught as I was!<br />
<br />
"Bummer," he writes back. Yeah.<br />
That's what I thought.<br />
<br />
I learned some little known facts this week:<br />
<br />
Fact #1. We all know that fermenting cider turns to vinegar. But, do most of you know that fermenting cider that is alternately heated during the day, then cooled down at night, in a thin plastic jug, will produce enough gas to break the jug?<br />
<br />
Fact #2. We all know that one can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar. But, it turns out one can attract plenty of flies with vinegar. As I emptied the now half empty jug, a swarm of fruit flies was disturbed from its breeding ground. It was at that point that I officially decided the cider was probably better not to drink.<br />
<br />
Fact #3. Breathing in a combination of vinegar and fruit flies is surprisingly less unpleasant than breathing in the smell of the decaying squirrel that got caught under my tire a few years back.<br />
<br />
Fact #4. The smell of decaying squirrel pretty much goes away when said squirrel is hosed out. The smell of vinegar lingers for much longer.<br />
<br />
Fact #5. The results are inconclusive on the effects of flea and tick shampoo on fruit flies. I think I eradicated more of them by driving around with all four windows open.<br />
<br />
Fact #6. The smell of vinegar, wafting through the air via open car windows, attracts bees. Bee #1 will come for an extensive search to find the source of the smell, and finding nothing but a timid human swatting carefully at it with an ice scraper, it will send for a second Bee to aid in the search.<br />
<br />
<br />
I hate bees.<br />
<br />
And I will now have to make a special trip to Pennsylvania, just to get my Cider Fix.<br />
<br />
Bummer.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-27621116875459554662011-09-25T08:15:00.001-04:002011-09-25T08:15:00.495-04:00Sleep StudyI have posted a few times about how I wake up a lot at night, which makes me sleepy during the day. Some days, it is all I can do to get in the door and collapse in my bed when I get home. I feel like I am missing out on my life, because literally, all I do is work and sleep.<br />
<br />
I tried a sleep study to determine what the trouble was. This was before I was blogging, so I will relate this story here:<br />
<br />
I arrived at the appointed location at the appointed time, 9 PM, with pillow in hand. The website indicated the experience would be similar to a hotel, and I would be able to watch TV or read until I drifted off, so I had also brought a book. Several other people lined the hallway with their pillows.<br />
<br />
The place was locked.<br />
<br />
We waited in the hall, not speaking much, until a technician finally arrived, out of breath and with keys jingling as he ran. He let us into a waiting room, which, indeed, had a TV. He went to the reception area and fumbled through papers while we nervously chose seats. No one turned on the TV.<br />
<br />
The technician called a name, and the very large woman across from me spoke up. He asked her, across the rooms, why she was there. She looked around and then reluctantly announced that she was there to check for sleep apnea. (By the way, this is why all the people, except me, were there. And luckily, I was the last patient to be called, so I did not have to tell everyone and his brother my reason for seeing a doctor.) I still refused to talk across the room like that and just got up to talk to the guy. I was there for the night, but also into the day, to check for narcolepsy. Apparently, his shift would end at 7am, and the lab would be closed again until 9am. So there was an issue. Great.<br />
<br />
I was the last one called but the first one to be prepped. They attached about 20 little doo-dads that would monitor my heart rate, breathing rate, brain waves, and a number of other things. He asked how I normally like to sleep. I told him I usually fall asleep on my side in a fetal position.<br />
<br />
"Well, not tonight, you're not," he said. "We need patients to sleep on their backs, and not move too much."<br />
<br />
He then told me I was all set and I should just call out if I needed anything, because they have an intercom system and a camera in the room. I asked if I could read my book (no TV in the room), and he said I could for a short bit while he prepped another patient. Not exactly the "hotel" atmosphere advertised.<br />
<br />
I carefully laid on the cheapo mattress with the scratchy sheets and thin quilt which was provided. I began reading my book, a novel by Stephen King. The technician left and began talking to the gentleman next door. He was thin, but a heavy smoker, and, of course, was there to check for sleep apnea. I heard every word they were saying through the thin walls.<br />
<br />
The man next door was complete, and there was relative silence. Another technician had arrived and prepped the other two people. I was still nervous, trying not to move, and reading my book because I was not sleepy. Suddenly, the room filled with the booming voice of the technician who asked me to stop reading and turn out the lights.<br />
<br />
Obediently, I clicked the light and tried to sleep. Outside the room, I heard the technicians arguing about who would stay with me until the day shift got in. They both had obligations after work, and so they called a supervisor. Apparently, one of them would need to re-arrange a schedule, because they continued to argue. My pinky finger, which had a sensor clipped to the end like a clothespin, was beginning to throb. I was afraid to move, and I did not like the idea of calling out to the empty room. I listened to the sounds of snoring, coming from the room next door. Faintly, I could hear snores down the hall as well.<br />
<br />
I laid in silence, trying to sleep. My pinky hurt. I couldn't move. The snoring was louder. My pinky hurt. Sleep! I tried to will myself. I wondered what time it was. My pinky hurt. The technician was getting a soda from the machine. I couldn't move.<br />
<br />
At one point, boomy voice popped into the room, asking if I needed something. I told him about the pinky, and he came in to adjust the sensor, scolding me for not speaking up. He closed the door and I listened to the snoring some more. Sleep! (but don't move.) Sleep, goddammmit! (but stay on your back.) I wondered again how much time was left.<br />
<br />
Eventually, I did fall asleep for about 2 hours. The technician came in at 5am to "wake" me, and remove the sensors. He said that since I couldn't sleep, there was no way I had narcolepsy, so I could go home. <br />
<br />
"Now?" I said. "I wasn't supposed to be picked up until noon. I didn't bring my car because I am too cheap to pay for parking for that long." <br />
<br />
"Well, we don't need to see you for the day study."<br />
<br />
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, and a very sleepy: "Hello?"<br />
<br />
"Hi, honey!" I cheerily said. "Can you come pick me up?"<br />
<br />
I got home and collapsed into bed, even though I had goo in my hair from some of the doo-dads. I was exhausted after my sleep study, which came back inconclusive due to lack of sleep.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-51113860485764550612011-09-21T19:05:00.000-04:002011-09-21T19:05:00.301-04:00NatureIt's that time of year when yard work is actually enjoyable. The weather is just perfect - perfect temperature, perfect humidity. And the ground is both wet enough and dry enough to be workable. Adam and I planned to head out and enjoy working the land for an hour or two the other day.<br />
<br />
Adam opened the door to the front, which leads to a pleasant little walkway from the drive. There, on the concrete, was "Nature". And not the early scene that sets the mood. No. Not the one that focuses in on a zebra running and then pans out to show the high-grassed meadow and the spectacular sunset, and all the other beautiful zebras racing in the wind.<br />
<br />
This was the close up shot of the lioness, pouncing on one of the smaller zebras and pulling the poor creature to the ground.<br />
<br />
In this case it was a small garter snake with its jaws wide open, trying to devour a toad. It was quite a site. The snake was small, and its head even smaller. I think the toad had warts bigger than that snake's head. The whole scene reminded me of the Flinstones opening credits when Fred orders a dinosaur rib that tips over his stone-wheeled car. For the toad's part, it seemed to be doing very little to resist being eaten. Occasionally, it would hop, with its new snake attachment just clinging onto its rump. There was no flailing of limbs or slaps to the snake's head. Just a hop. On one hand, we figured, nature should take its course. If this toad was meant to be eaten today, then so be it. On the other hand, it was so sad to see this guy get devoured alive.<br />
<br />
Before making a definitive decision, of course, I decided to document the event. I took my turn at nature photography and found that apparently one needs to be more discreet. The snake took one look at the large human pointing a black box in its face, and it slithered away. Somewhere in its little brain, it decided eating animals three times its size was good, but that it should run from animals 100 times its size. I wondered where the cutoff would be.<br />
<br />
After the snake slithered away, we went online to determine the type. We wanted to check that the thing wouldn't strike out at our ankles if we proceeded to the yard. After determining that it was harmless, we went to examine the toad, which was sitting in the same position, breathing heavily, and bleeding.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, when we opened the door, the cat took her opportunity to rush outside. She looked at Mr. Toad, and suddenly he got a burst of energy and began hopping away. The cat was nearly on top of him before Adam rescued the poor thing. I am willing to let a snake eat a meal to stay alive, but believe me, our cat does not need food. She would probably have tortured the thing, pulling off limbs and whatnot, then let him to die on our walkway.<br />
<br />
We took the cat inside, and there was no further sign of Toad or Snake.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4UKaTP4yS7i-OSW2tADUv7RqtVCoiSWOWoJPk-9kVeew_C_RJ92vzLfiMyaSD68OtA3iNw0BB3AocN1gCyMeP8eoP3SqXKX7VAXlBiHuxe8X5zcD1EDqdgOxLPRmJ0k_NssII26SSXOI/s1600/Snake+and+Toad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4UKaTP4yS7i-OSW2tADUv7RqtVCoiSWOWoJPk-9kVeew_C_RJ92vzLfiMyaSD68OtA3iNw0BB3AocN1gCyMeP8eoP3SqXKX7VAXlBiHuxe8X5zcD1EDqdgOxLPRmJ0k_NssII26SSXOI/s320/Snake+and+Toad.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-74040667068357094492011-09-19T18:40:00.001-04:002011-09-19T19:43:13.176-04:00A Letter<a href="http://www.yunbootcamps.com/women%20fat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.yunbootcamps.com/women%20fat.jpg" width="222" /></a>To the Inventor of Skinny Jeans:<br />
<br />
<br />
I hate you.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
<br />
-me (and, presumably, this poor girl.)NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-12668980956595432372011-09-10T15:29:00.000-04:002011-09-10T15:29:21.525-04:00My GraineI know lots of people who suffer from migraines. Me? I hardly ever get headaches. Though I certainly try to sympathize with my friends, I could only imagine what a very bad headache feels like.<br />
<br />
And then Wednesday happened. And kept happening. In fact, I am not sure when it will end.<br />
<br />
I woke up thinking I had clenched my jaw all night, because I had tooth pain.<br />
But this was all right. It would just take time to recover.<br />
<br />
About 1:30 in the afternoon, a co-worker asked if I had any aspirin, and as I handed him some, I decided to take some myself. The tooth pain was worsening, and I had developed a dull ache above my right eye.<br />
But this was all right. The aspirin would do the trick.<br />
<br />
Five o'clock rolled around, and I decided to go to the gym, because that might clear up the sinus blockage or whatever it was. The aspirin didn't seem to do a damn thing, and it was getting a little worse. Also, I began to wonder if there could be a cavity or even an abscess in my lower right wisdom tooth. That would be inconvenient. In the past, going to the gym has either made my headaches go away, or had no effect. I figured it couldn't hurt.<br />
<br />
The class at the gym was hard - the power was out all last week due to Hurricane Irene, and all the instructors seemed to assume we all sat on our asses for a week. (Personally, I preferred a completely prone position, complete with fuzzy blanket and teevee.)<br />
<br />
I left the gym, felt a bit dizzy. Though the headache was not really a bother during my workout, it had come back. It was about then that I felt like puking. So badly, in fact, that I took the top off my water bottle, because, to paraphrase the infinite wisdom of "Waynes World", Dude, if you're gonna spew, you should have something ready to spew into. The drive home was not good.<br />
<br />
As I exited my car, I was hit with smells of the world on a muggy, rainy day. The grass smelled, the air smelled, the garbage can smelled, my body smelled, and my car smelled. I was so sick that ordinarily, I'd have forgotten the throb of my head, but the pain was still there, a piercing myriad of dull pain throughout the right side of my face. I made it inside and turned on a light. Agggh. I had thought the pain couldn't get worse, but I was wrong. I fumbled through the dark house to the bathroom and pretty much laid there until Adam came home, pausing occasionally for unpleasantness.<br />
<br />
I told him my theory of the abscessed tooth, and various other far-fetched reasons for my unfortunate predicament. He forced me to take an advil and told me it sounded like a migraine. He dutifully searched the internet and told me the worst thing I could have done when feeling a migraine setting in was go to the gym. As far as triggers, we couldn't think of anything specific, but I had changed my eating habits due to a new diet.<br />
<br />
So there you have it folks: eating healthy and working out in moderation are bad for me. I guess I should go back to my beer-slugging pasta fests on the couch.<br />
<br />
Also, I apologize to everyone whom I looked down upon, even just a little bit, for missing work or other functions because of a migraine. I had no idea it was more than just a bad headache. Really and truly, this was an all over body ache, focused on the head, but also affecting the stomach, intestines, jaw, upper back and neck, ear, and throat (so far).NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-33614587538423923642011-09-05T16:11:00.000-04:002011-09-05T16:11:34.956-04:00Oops, I Think I Borscht'dLet's talk a second about one of the banes of my existence: beets.<br />
<br />
According to Sara, owner of my CSA (<a href="http://grinandbaerit.blogspot.com/2011/05/strawberry-fields-forever.html">Community Supported Ag</a>) group, "You either love 'em or you hate 'em."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://debsgardens.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/2-lbs-of-beets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://debsgardens.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/2-lbs-of-beets.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>As a kid, we weren't subjected to beets much, so I was more in the "Ain't Never Tried 'Em" group. I got them a few times last year in the share, and they went to waste the first time. As a general rule, I did what I could with my veggies, but I tended to focus first on the ones I was familiar with, second on the ones that smelled and looked good, despite being new to me, and third on the new ones that looked unappealing. Often, by the time I was ready to focus on that third group, a whole new set of veggies had arrived. Beets, as you can see, look like dirty turds and smell slightly better.<br />
<br />
Toward the end of the year, I had rustled up a way to introduce myself to beets without making them the star of the show. I found a recipe for a bundt cake that used beets and orange peels to make a "beautifully pink-fleshed cake." I had forgotten, however, that I am not a very good baker.<br />
<br />
The reason for this is my willingness to substitute whatever is on hand for whatever I am lacking. I don't recall exactly what I subbed in, but said pinch hitter was not good. Cake #1 went largely to the compost pile out back.<br />
<br />
You are right, Constant Reader. One cannot have Cake #1 without Cake #2. This one was prepared for a tailgate and placed next to various more traditional goodies, such as brownies. I do not blame people for their choices. Even I chose the brownies.<br />
<br />
Cake #2 did make it back, mostly in tact. But I was so reminiscent of the ickiness of Cake #1, that it eventually joined its predecessor in the compost heap.<br />
<br />
This year, I have wasted exactly 4 pounds of beets. And I decided it needs to stop. I ain't down wit' wasting food - or beets. (Anymore.) Besides, I had an absolutely delicious felafel wrap at a local fair, which included beets. They couldn't be all bad.<br />
<br />
As a test run, I tried the "Beet and Orange Salad" at Wegman's (a grocery chain similar to Whole Foods or Harris Teeter). It was awful. Possibly rancid. I tasted rancid bruschetta once. The tomatoes had begun to ferment and it was almost soda like with bubbles. This beet salad was just like that. Only, Wegman's is known for their fresh food, and especially their salad bars. So was it really rancid, or is this how it is supposed to taste? I couldn't decide if I should complain, so I focused in on my slice of Ultimate White Cake which is pretty much like very fattening heroin. Ohhhhh.....so good. (By the way, I have not actually tried heroin, but I have seen Trainspotting. Same thing.) Anyway, another pound of beets showed up in my share after that - they are definitely producing better this year - and I just tossed the soft, wrinkly little guys into the compost pile, untouched. <br />
<br />
It was a few weeks later (last Friday, actually) that I tried a Moroccan Salad at California Pizza Kitchen, which included, among many other tasty things, beets.<br />
<br />
And it was delicious! The beets really didn't make the salad bad at all. I would not go so far as to say I would have missed them if they were forgotten, but...<br />
<br />
...so I decided on a whim to toss a few, small, finely chopped pieces into the soup I was making for my lunches this week. Turns out, beets are kind of like the bullies of the bunch. (Maybe that's where the get their name?) Like a banana or cantaloupe in a fruit salad, everything in my blood red soup tastes like a dang beet. It hardly seems like a soup at all. It's a borscht. Sure enough, you really don't use many beets in a borscht. A small gang is all that is needed to take over the neighborhood.<br />
<br />
Oh well. My soup isn't all that bad. And I used a beet on a salad for lunch today. They almost taste good when paired with carrots. I'd say I neither love them nor hate them. But slowly, I am learning not to waste them.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-31500856013026776942011-09-03T12:00:00.001-04:002011-09-03T12:00:04.519-04:00We Are!<div style="text-align: center;">I was at Wal-Mart the other day, searching for superglue, when I found duct tape with the University of Maryland logo on it. It was about a quarter of the size of the standard silver-gray rolls and four times the price.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Thought #1: That's freakin' retarded, who would buy such a thing?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Thought #2: I wonder if they have Penn State?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, folks, it's football season.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Let the tailgates begin.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZxupv-GdavyIC9FZo4nyCd0Hu3HzTGg_M4W0N2j4HtY_g4OBTz4qrRQh8GIXC0yedM3N-8XmCNT6NEojELSLfTdE4l_ofacssvvJYKIX-h-Ge_Fnsb43V43twyOznriJRuIw2CRfm7o/s1600/HPIM0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZxupv-GdavyIC9FZo4nyCd0Hu3HzTGg_M4W0N2j4HtY_g4OBTz4qrRQh8GIXC0yedM3N-8XmCNT6NEojELSLfTdE4l_ofacssvvJYKIX-h-Ge_Fnsb43V43twyOznriJRuIw2CRfm7o/s320/HPIM0007.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiCilDoTLXLXdpXhR5uh2oj5YYIOfkXkWJIiLPS77x-6hMU1WPhySFzORoJ9Nzms7rb3nFZevRkmPgBsO0NiGDEdz_nouY2CNCjDgg3KMc4AkwzzKDlGWmvRZ7Bn_YO_M6TriupQro-I/s1600/HPIM0019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiCilDoTLXLXdpXhR5uh2oj5YYIOfkXkWJIiLPS77x-6hMU1WPhySFzORoJ9Nzms7rb3nFZevRkmPgBsO0NiGDEdz_nouY2CNCjDgg3KMc4AkwzzKDlGWmvRZ7Bn_YO_M6TriupQro-I/s320/HPIM0019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-57357489361733566202011-09-01T21:39:00.000-04:002011-09-01T21:39:56.146-04:00Spotlight on Super GlueI have just been to Wal-Mart, attempting to undo the damage from Hurricane Irene, or rather, from the preparation for damage from Hurricane Irene. We were out of super-glue.<br />
<br />
I spent $78.00.<br />
<br />
Dang super glue. I wasn't sure which aisle it would be in and I ended up traversing the whole freaking store. I found it, along with $75 worth of other stuff, then saw it hanging right next to the checkout line.<br />
<br />
Naturally, I now have super glue in place of skin on most of my fingers. I can only hope it will come off before I travel to Houston on 9-11. I am a bit concerned about the trip because I will need to bring my "engineers bag" again. The last time I took it, I ended up with 15 razor blades in my carry-on. I imagine that another slip up, coupled with the questions about why I have replaced my fingerprints with a wrinkly mass of well adhered plastic will make me miss my plane.<br />
<br />
But I digress.<br />
<br />
I wanted to update y'all on The Glasses Incident, because, frankly, I'm a genius (with superglue on my fingers). I went outside to search, one more time, before Adam mowed the yard.<br />
<br />
In the dark!<br />
<br />
You heard me.<br />
<br />
I took a flashlight out there, and every little dewy blade of grass glistened in the spotlight. I swept back and forth for a while, and had just about given up when, there they were, plain as day. They were exactly where I thought they would be - where I had blindly swept my hands, then scanned, then raked. I call it "Step Six: The Spotlight."<br />
<br />
Based on my theory, prison inmates should attempt to escape in the daytime to avoid detection.<br />
<br />
I will remember this when I go through airport security.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-71526432055811106012011-08-29T21:05:00.000-04:002011-08-29T21:05:02.995-04:00Come on Irene!I have deleted more hurricane-related emails over the past few days than I ever have before. Last Friday, we got a company wide email with a helpful FEMA publication on how to prepare for a hurricane. But I also got the same email at least four times later as people felt the need to "reply all" to the whole company with their two cents. I can only imagine that the Rochester, Pittsburgh, Raleigh, Tampa, Houston, and all the other non-northeastern coastal office folks were more annoyed.<br />
<br />
Aside from that, the advice is generally just common sense. Things like buying ice and filling the bathtub for toilet water and bringing in your patio furniture. I got back to the house and found Adam in full swing, caulking sealer on the roof and tying down the trash cans, among other things.<br />
<br />
I took a different approach and broke my stuff before the hurricane could get to it. I was attempting to squeeze an outdoor table through the doorway when I discovered that the decorative tiles which make up the top are not, in fact, glued in place. They crashed to the concrete floor and shattered. For good measure, I picked up the pieces that were unbroken, but I was still pinned in the doorway by the table, so I didn't place them far. I am not sure how, but they took a dive as well, and one of them broke into two pieces.<br />
<br />
At that point I felt obligated to swear. It wasn't pretty.<br />
<br />
I checked out the weather report and for the first time ever, we had a 100 percent chance of rain. Even with gigantic storm clouds that have lightening bolts shooting all around with static energy, directly over the weather station building, I think they say 70 percent chance of rain, tops.<br />
<br />
Sadly, we did not get to play out scenes from "Storm Chasers" or that movie about twisters. <br />
<br />
We went to West Virginia for a wedding and enjoyed really beautiful weather.<br />
<br />
Before leaving, I gave the neighbors our numbers and told them to call if there were any issues. They never called, so naturally, I assumed they were dead.<br />
<br />
I also assumed we would be driving back into, well, a storm - after all, the forecast for Sunday was giving 70 percent chance of rain. But, it was perfect outside. Skies were blue and humidity was low. We saw a few downed sticks but no downed trees as we made our way across the Maryland panhandle.<br />
<br />
As we neared the house, there were a few more signs that we'd missed some action. Eventually, we were detoured where a tree rested against a power line. However, we were able to drive through the State park on our regular unpaved road to home. It turns out, the neighbors were fine, and the cat was her normal oblivious self. The power was out, but after our <a href="http://grinandbaerit.blogspot.com/2011/02/roughing-it.html">winter storm power outage</a>, we are perpetually prepared for such events. I picked up sticks from the yard while Adam rescued what food he could from the freezer and fridge.<br />
<br />
I surveyed his garbage bag containing melted ice cream and eggs, and noticed the ratatouille that I had made the previous morning, still cold. It used all the veggies from the farm as of late: eggplant, zucchini, leeks, and tomatoes. I planned to eat it for lunch all week.<br />
<br />
"That stuff smells TERRIBLE," he said, "I don't even think the container can be saved."<br />
<br />
I pulled it out (still cold) and sniffed it. It smelled exactly the same as it had yesterday, when I made it. "Geesh, man," I exclaimed, "It's still good!"<br />
<br />
After assuring him that yes, eggplant smells like that, and no, he doesn't have to eat it, I rescued the container and put it in the deep freeze.<br />
<br />
I went outside to lounge in the yard and read a book, where I got sleepy. I took my glasses off for a nap, but when I got up, I folded up the chair and forgot the glasses. For the next hour or two, I searched for them in stages:<br />
<br />
Stage One: "The Thelma" aka, the "Brainy Smurf": While squinting, get down on all fours and sweep the grass blindly, hoping that you will not crawl on your glasses.<br />
<br />
Stage Two: "The Scan": Go into the house and insert contacts onto eyeballs. Return to yard and walk slowly while sweeping the eyes back and forth, hoping that you will not step on your glasses.<br />
<br />
Stage Three: "The Partner": Solicit a partner and insist, numerous times, that you are sure that you took your glasses outside. Once he is convinced, or at least willing to take part in your futile exercise, both people can participate in "The Scan", hoping that you and your buddy will not step on your glasses.<br />
<br />
Stage Four: "The Rake": After a brief search in the house and on your head due to repeated accusations that you did not take your glasses outside, resume search with a rake. Go back to area of alleged loss, and begin raking the yard, hoping that you will not scratch, or step on, your glasses.<br />
<br />
I never found them.<br />
<br />
Lets look at the scoreboard:<br />
<br />
Hurricane Irene: one gallon of ice cream, a few condiments, and some fishsticks.<br />
<br />
Nicki: One $300 table and a pair of glasses.<br />
<br />
And people think hurricanes are destructive.<br />
<br />
Excuse me, I have some emails to delete.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-66388933762422331272011-08-26T21:10:00.000-04:002011-08-26T21:10:00.346-04:00Engineer to the Rescue!This economy has really taken a toll on my industry. I heard some statistic the other day that a huge percentage of architects (I forget how much, and frankly, I am not in the mood for....<br />
<br />
...ok, ok, so I think the overall percentage of unemployment right now is 9.3, but percentage of unemployed architects is 9.8. Apparently, this is hard to measure due to people entering/leaving said occupation, but my point is, that its rough out there. Architects aren't designing things, and sadly, engineers work for architects, so where does that leave us?<br />
<br />
Well, that has temporarily changed. The other day, I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business and working (for lack of actual work) on a proposal to get work. Then, some ginormous dude and two of his dinosaur friends started walking down the aisle between cubes. And then the landscaping guys outside hit the building with a tank-sized lawn mower, and the building was swaying back and forth for like three seconds before I realized this was an earthquake.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, structural engineers are like superstars. Only, they are extremely nervous superstars as they realize that all the hundreds of buildings they've designed over the last ten years have just been tested. The drywall right next to my window was audibly cracking and I was not sure if I should run outside. But, then it stopped.<br />
<br />
I was on the USGS website even before the event was recorded, and hit refresh until a little red box popped up in Virginia. Shortly after, I got an email from a project contractor, building a structure just 45 miles or so from the epicenter. The email was flagged with a little red exclamation point meaning "high importance," and says one word: "Earthquake". Shit, man. Like...shit. What if something happened? Did my building fail? Then I thought about how that particular building was designed to withstand a LOT more than an earthquake, and it seemed really unlikely.<br />
<br />
I called the guy and got a busy signal. Not good.<br />
<br />
So, I play it cool, and email back: "You were a lot closer to the epicenter than we were, any issues?" That's cool right? Not like what's in my brain, which is more along the lines of "OH MY GOD I HOPE YOU"RE NOT DEAD and ifyouareIhopeitsnotmyfault." A minute later, he called me. "I just wanted you to know that everything's fine."<br />
<br />
Seriously, I was so relieved he wasn't dead that I wanted to kill him. "Don't you EVER high importance your email on me without an explanation!!" I nearly shouted.<br />
<br />
About 10 minutes after that, I got a call from the owner on another job. He had someone walk the building, and its all good. But he wanted me to go there (3 hour drive) and let the 500 people standing outside back in. You know, cause I'm a superstar. Oh, and I fly faster than the speed of light and therefore will have no problem getting around Washington DC right after a natural disaster. Oh, and also, I can apparently fight fires because the fire alarm was pulled and the fire department hadn't shown up. <br />
<br />
"Is there a fire?" I asked. <br />
"I don't think so," he says, "I think someone pulled the alarm." <br />
"But how do we, um, know that it wasn't pulled for a fire?"<br />
Silence.<br />
<br />
So, after I convinced him that he should maybe wait for the fire department, I told him someone would be out tomorrow to check for damage. <br />
<br />
Today, I went to three schools, tomorrow a parking garage, and probably another garage next week. So far, I haven't found much to be concerned about, and thank goodness, all my buildings are still standing. But I'm up to my eyeballs in reports to write. (Which is why I am blogging, thank you very much. I'll write them....later.)<br />
<br />
Hurricane, you say? Pfft. No sweat.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-75642679386538543882011-08-24T07:58:00.001-04:002011-08-24T07:58:00.916-04:00Life Support<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYVOWu9m1Ml7T7g9kEd4YwZJUvC3q_8i9tu74_9dVamzjcmaXO79yyY5hjTL4aU5bv9fcz4PfoPiwxxX3DoayipSCokP-cmt3biP0ae1BDd-FvKZ1zKDoLWg2DRVtZ2t4e-0GAViojSc/s1600/DSCF1341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYVOWu9m1Ml7T7g9kEd4YwZJUvC3q_8i9tu74_9dVamzjcmaXO79yyY5hjTL4aU5bv9fcz4PfoPiwxxX3DoayipSCokP-cmt3biP0ae1BDd-FvKZ1zKDoLWg2DRVtZ2t4e-0GAViojSc/s320/DSCF1341.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>I think...it's over. I have had this houseplant since college, and it has dealt with a lot of neglect and abuse over the years. When I first moved to Baltimore, ten years ago (eek!), I had to put all of my things into storage because my apartment wasn't available until September. I left my houseplants with my father, thinking they were in good hands, but he put them in a cooler and let them sit outside. This would have been fine, but when I went to pick them up, I found the cooler nearly full of water, and my plants were drowning inside. I lost one plant, but this guy, and a few of his buddies, survived.<br />
<br />
When I finally did move to my apartment, there wasn't much light. But, this plant did just fine in a dimly lit hallway.<br />
<br />
Seems it is time for a eulogy.<br />
<br />
<br />
This was a plant I got from my friends Josh and Joanne, when they decided to sell or give away everything they owned, except for what could fit in a Volkswagon Golf. They moved across the country to Portland, Oregon and before they left, they gave me this plant, which they never watered. They just let it sit on their balcony, and it seemed to happily exist (but not in a cooler). I have enjoyed the company of the plant much more than the few REM and Sonic Youth CD's that they hadn't been able to sell. Come to think of it, I supposed I enjoyed the company of this plant in place of its previous owners. Josh and Joanne were on their way. I got one postcard. They made it to Oregon, but the VW didn't. They didn't have a permanent address yet, but they were enjoying the ride. And then I never heard from them again. I just loved that idea, of going off into the world without a plan, and seeing what happened. But I was never brave enough to really try it. I stayed with the plants and acted semi-responsible until said plants were submerged in 15 inches of water.<br />
<br />
Anyway, this plant doesn't look like much anymore, but it had quite a life. It was the only plant that seemed to like the new house. Most other plants have been dying off, one by one, due to a lack of light. There are beautiful trees near the house in the yard. Unfortunately, they shade a lot of the sunlight that would otherwise pour through the windows. I still have four plants left...but my army has been significantly decreased since we moved here.<br />
<br />
The other plants were surviving but this plant had been thriving. So much so that it grew another shoot that got pretty tall. And when we returned from vacation, I found it just slumped over. It was as though some cat or something had broken it. But the cat wasn't home. She was on vacation too. Mystery.<br />
<br />
Well, I tied it up to a dowel rod, which is the equivalent of being hooked up to those machines that boop and beep at the hospital. I hoped it would repair itself, but I knew it probably wouldn't be the case when a few days later, it slumped over again, just above the twist ties. I moved the ties up, but poor thing. It's quality of life was not good, and I guess it was just maybe it's time to go.<br />
<br />
Poor little plant. It will be missed.NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-73903792759390623592011-08-21T20:21:00.000-04:002011-08-21T20:21:00.277-04:00I Fought the Yard and the Yard WonI dismantled my garden.<br />
<br />
Let me back up. Last year, when we moved into this house, I was excited to plant a garden. I had a caveat - it would be on MY TERMS, and RELAXING. It would not be the loads of work I remembered from my childhood. Many a summer was spent picking things - peas, beans, more peas, lima beans, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, peaches, cherries, plums, apples. Freezing things - broccoli, beans, corn, peas, peppers. Canning things - peach jelly, blackberry jelly, blueberry jelly, plums, tomatoes, applesauce. <br />
<br />
I did not want this.<br />
<br />
I wanted a peaceful garden, like this one:<br />
<br />
<i>"What is paradise, but, a garden, an orchard of trees and herbs, full of pleasure and nothing there but delights."...William Lawson </i><br />
<br />
I wanted a wonderful hobby, like this guy had:<br />
<div style="font-family: inherit;"> <i><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">"No occupation is so delightful to me as the culture of the earth, and no culture comparable to that of the garden."-- Thomas Jefferson</span></i></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Probably, I should have listened to this guy:</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"Gardening requires lots of water - most of it in the form of perspiration."...Lou Erictson</i><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I did accomplish significant abundance compared to last year:</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Strawberries in 2010: 0.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Strawberries in 2011: 2.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Peppers in 2010: 0.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Peppers in 2011: 8.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Additional crops in 2010: 0.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Additional crops in 2011: 0.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">At this rate, I may be able to make a pie when I am 60. But, the deer and slugs are well fed.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sometimes, I have to try things before I realize that I hate them. Case in point - I willingly stood in line for that "Free Fall" ride at Cedars Point. You know, its the one where they lift a carload of people to the top of a tall tower, and then drop them? That one? I did not realize that I was ABSOLUTELY terrified </span><span style="font-size: small;">of the ride until we got to the top, just before the loud screechy noise that signified the brakes had been released. I have NEVER screamed like that, EVER.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Case #2 - I climbed all the way up to the top of the 10 meter platform at Penn State pool when they let us try it one day. I looked down at that water, 30 feet below, and only then did I realize, I was scared sh*tless. I unceremoniously climbed back down.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I bought a slew of art supplies and drawing pads before I realized that I do not enjoy making art. I have canning supplies in the basement, but no longer desire to can things. And now, I have a plot of land that is being overrun by grass with absolutely no effort, despite hours of time spent trying to kill the grass. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Do I regret doing these things? Not at all. How else will I know I hate something, unless I try it?</span><i><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></i></div>NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8533589466882729485.post-18644982803329410382011-08-19T19:53:00.000-04:002011-08-19T19:53:00.063-04:00How i sPent me Sumer Vacayshun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArE6eY_Rn2kxLSZ-GZvw-qAJR7CvYvUBEpiPnaIBCSDlIhyphenhyphenzHQLA4XCETdfCVRIw4tpuq_zFosa6UmMFyFeDI6zcnN6HkQnY4SQFGG8AdhoDaLMdQDjE9xBZ-BWESxh3gSNp_ML1yykU/s1600/2006-01+Cat02.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArE6eY_Rn2kxLSZ-GZvw-qAJR7CvYvUBEpiPnaIBCSDlIhyphenhyphenzHQLA4XCETdfCVRIw4tpuq_zFosa6UmMFyFeDI6zcnN6HkQnY4SQFGG8AdhoDaLMdQDjE9xBZ-BWESxh3gSNp_ML1yykU/s320/2006-01+Cat02.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>It's me! Your old pal Daisy! Well, I went on vacation too, you know. You did not think my Adam and my Nicki would leave me all alone for a whole week by myself, do you? And I am sure you know them well enough to know that they would not pay $26 a day for me to go to the yucky old vet, right? That's why I got to go to beeutiful, historic, Westminster, Maryland, where my aminal friends, Basil and Sage, live.<br />
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I was a wee bit confused at first, you see. Adam and Nicki left on a Friday, but only with enough food and stuff for the weekend, so I figured I had the house just for a day or two. I called all my cat friends like usual, and we had our normal "the peeps is outta town" kegger. The house was all cleaned up in time for them to get back, and then, in walks my Aunt Tiff.<br />
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She picked me up and tried to stuff me in my Kat Karrier, and I just HATE that thing. I didn't know why Aunt Tiff, whose normally not so pushy, was tryin to take me to the vet, so I peed on her leg. (Like I said, she really confused me, and I guess I am a little sorry, but really I hate the Kat Karrier, you know? You probly woulda done the same thing.)<br />
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Anyway, after a super long and windy car ride, I ended up at her new apartment in Westminster. The first thing I checked out was under the bed, and that's where my new friend, Sage the Cat stays. Sage is a tall, dark, and handsome man-cat, I must say. Meee-yow! I figured I better growl and hiss at him a lot, just sose he'd know I was totally gonna play hard to get. (It's a trick we gals have, it really drives a Tom wild.) He was nice enough to let me stay in his place for a bit, but I figured I better let him have his space. Besides, I really like lookin' out windowsills, and I'd never been to Westminster, so I wanted to check out all the cool old buildings and stuff.<br />
<br />
I know, I know. I was such a tourist.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the service was pretty good. Aunt Tiff still made me take a pill, and I tried to smack her around a bit, but you know, gosh darn it, I think she's actually pretty nice. So I didn't use my claws or nuthin. My meals got put right up there on the windowsill for me, and I really liked that. One day I got a little tipsy, you know, and I sorta accidentally jumped on my food dish. You know how it is on vacation. But, like I said, the service was real good, and it got cleaned up. Aunt Tiff never even said a word about it, so when I had to puke later - look, I was on vacation and livin it up - I decided to try this thing Nicki's always tryin to get me to do, and I puked in the litter box. I don't know. Aunt Tiff seemed to think that was cool, but I'll probably go back to puking in the hallway, or maybe right in the doorway. I think Adam likes to clean it with his socks. Why, as soon as he does it, he goes and gets a second pair so he can do it again!<br />
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Mostly my trip was spent sight seeing on the window sill, and at night, I got to run around and play with Basil and Sage. They do this thing where they jump on the bed with Auntie T and Uncle E, and they play all night long! It is so much fun! I tried getting Nicki to play with me when I got back but she just rolled over and kept sleeping. Humans don't seem to realize that the best sleeping time is in the afternoon with the sun to keep you warm. Their loss, I say.<br />
<br />
When it came time to come home, I had to ride in that icky Kat Karrier again. Only this time, Uncle Eric put me inside. I didn't pee on him, cause I was hoping to get a chance to pee and poop in his car. Then he'd really understand not to put me in the carrier again. Alas, I couldn't muster up a good poo, so I just puked. Uncle Eric got the best of me though, he is one smart cookie. He gave me a bath!! Can you believe that! Cats don't take baths! <br />
<br />
I am plotting my revenge. I hope he gets white carpets in that new house of his.<br />
<br />
But...I did have a fun summer vacation! I can't wait until next year!NICKIhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05918315917202471513noreply@blogger.com1