Is This the Real Life? Is This Just fantasy?

So, dear readers, I've been living in Boise for about two months.  I'm here to tell you about my experiences thus far.  First, it's really beautiful.  That goes without saying.

You know what else is true?  People here are really nice.  Yeah, yeah, it sounds like a platitude.  It's not, though.  People here are supernaturally nice.  Here are some examples:

• When I first got here I had to go buy a bunch of house-y type things:  bathmat, broom, dish rack, you get the idea.  While I was in the store buying these things I was welcomed to Boise by no less than 3 different people.  How did they know to do so?  They just started talking to me!  They noticed that my cart was full of move-in things and they actually initiated human contact.  I had to talk myself out of the belief that they weren't planning on following me home and robbing me of my new pile of housewares.  An extension of this item is that every time a stranger learns that I've just moved to Boise they actually say the words "Welcome to Boise!  I think you'll love it here."  It's like the entire Treasure Valley works for the Chamber of Commerce.
• Somewhere in the move out west, a catch tray on the less-than-a-year old grill disappeared.  Though the grill is still perfectly usable, we decided to see if there were any catch trays in the grill accessories section at Home Depot and Lowe's.  No luck.  The Lowe's employee assigned to that section offered to look up the part in her online database.  It seems that this is not a part that one can order as a lowly consumer.  Typically, I think, this is where  the employees tells us that they're sorry they couldn't help us.  Not this lady.  Lowe's has a super secret ordering system that allows them to get parts for their display models since those get manhandled a lot before they get sold when the newer models arrive.  So rather than just wishing us well, she ordered a catch tray for one of the display grill and will give us a ring when it comes in.  Then she's going to give it to us for free.  Whaaaaat?
• Lest you think the Boise Lowe's is The Most Helpful Place on Earth, let me tell you about Dmitriy at Home Depot.  One of the screws that holds the surround sound speakers to their stands went missing in the move (see a theme here?).  This is a screw that, when looked at pointy end on, looks like a rectangle instead of a circle.  Two opposing sides are threaded and two are flat.  Also, the head where the screwdriver would normally fit is completely flat.  Not surprisingly, no one sells these weird-ass things.  As we stood dejectedly looking at the massive screw collection at Home Depot, my new best friend Dmitriy came along in his little orange apron and helped us find the regular screws that were the right length and threading (for the record, I'd already figured that part out but I appreciated the confirmation). THEN he spent 15 minutes hunched over with a metal file making a screw that looked like the special Sony screw.  He did this for no apparent gain that I can see.
• Last week the sale of the house in Massachusetts required that Huppy deposit a decent chunk of money into a local checking account so that it could then be redistributed as closing costs.  She then asked a the teller how long it would take for the funds to be available so that she didn't send it on too soon.  He tapped a few keys and said "Eh, you're good for it.  It's available now."  Ex-squeeze me?  Baking powder?
• One of the things I had to do before Huppy arrived was make sure I'd found a good place to get haircuts.  After an unpleasant incident before I moved where the guys who work _for_ my former barber refused to cut my hair (he was gone that day) because they don't cut women's hair, I was a little paranoid.  (In their NON-defense, they knew damned well who I was and how long my hair is not)  Anyway, I found one, she's nice (obvs), and Huppy went to get her haircut last week.  Today, the hair dresser called Huppy and said that she had another client in who is also a civil engineer and she told him about her new client who just moved here and it looking for civil work.  He told her to pass his cell phone number and a list of companies on to Huppy.  To be clear, Huppy got a haircut and a headhunter in one swell foop.

I realize these are primarily customer service stories but a) they still count and b) I just got here so my social stories are fewer in number.

Other stray items not related to niceness:

• If people are home, their garage doors are open.  Like, allllll day.  And from what I can tell, their stuff is still there when they shut the door again at bedtime.  
• Every parking lot here has a drainage channel in it that I cannot seem to drive slow enough over not to feel like I'm about to bounce out of my car.  The driveways are the same way.  The reason this is noteworthy is that THIS IS A DESERT.  I have yet to figure out why everything is designed to withstand a flood.  Optimism, maybe?
• A dude kidnapped a young woman after killing her mother and brother in California.  He took her to the wilds of Idaho where he was spotted by four folks on horseback (one of whom works with me!).  On the Today Show when asked why they were suspicious of the pair since the kidnapper was touted as an outdoorsman, one of them replied that he maybe he's California outdoorsy but he's not Idaho outdoorsy.  So, that's a thing.

Enough for now.  All is well here.  My new job is keeping me hopping and eventually I'll be done unpacking all this STUFF that at some point in my life I thought I needed. 

Westward Ho, Part 2

This post will cover the rest of the trip to Idaho and the first couple of days settling in.  The drive from Ohio (where I was during Part 1) to Idaho was fairly uneventful.  The cats continued to be pretty mellow about the trip.  They got comfortable enough to want to sleep in different places throughout the day.  Most of those places were on top of my luggage and pillows which gave them  chance to shed on things that I didn't want them to shed on.  Nothing makes a cat happier.  Well, one thing might.  Shortly after we left the hotel in Wyoming,  Hjørdis dropped a deuce in the cat pan I provided.  The agony didn't last long but it was intense.  I basically got dutch-ovenned by my cat.  She seemed smug if you ask me.

So, what else?

• The house I'm renting was found and leased through the magic of the interwebs.  There were six pictures in the listing.  I was understandably nervous about whether the house would live up to expectation.  Fortunately, it has.  
• I brought with me a bed, a dresser, two Ikea disassembled Ikea chairs, a TV, clothes, and some kitchen stuff.  The house has three bedrooms and a bonus room in addition to a living room.  Since I brought such a small amount of stuff, I look more like a squatter than a renter.  Two of the three bedrooms and the living room are still completely empty.
• The cats are not accustomed to hardwood floors.  In the middle of the night, during freakout time, it sounds like Freddy Kruger is trying to claw his way up through the living room floor.  It probably sounds more like cats on a hardwood floor but at 3 a.m. all I can think of is Freddy.
• Another sound that startles me on the regular is the sprinklers in the lawn.  Boise is a high desert so apparently in order to have grass one must have a sprinkler system.  They're on a schedule to which I am not privy so I've already been ambushed by them once.  
• There's a store here called Fred Meyer.  It's like a Super Walmart but with more stuff (As impossible as that sounds).  
• The farmer's market here takes up about 5 blocks downtown.  Serious business!  I think I've eaten more berries in the last week than I have in my entire life prior to this week.  
• I just got internet at the house today after five days of being here.  The sense of relief and contentment that came over me when it was activated is probably not healthy.
• The doorbell just rang.  It was a dude holding a cell phone and one of those Magic Eraser things.  Apparently he expected his sister to answer the door and seemed surprised to find that she no longer lived here.
• I can't seem to stop being in east coast time which means no matter how long I stay awake at night, I keep waking up between 5 and 6.  How much do you want to bet that abruptly stops on Thursday when I start my new job?
• I think I saw my first person with a permit to carry a firearm that wasn't in law enforcement last night at Walmart.  I mean, he could have been a lawman of some sort, but it wasn't a lock.
• People here are very nice.  The day I moved in a went to Fred Meyer to get a bunch of stuff and was welcomed to Boise by a lady in the cat food aisle and two different FM employees.
• The guy who came to repair the garbage disposal today was also very nice and explained to me how people in Idaho are not fans of the federal government.

I know these posts aren't high in entertainment value but I promised a lot of folks that I would let them know how I'm faring.  So far so good!  

Westward Ho, Part 1

I'm halfway done with my trek from Massachusetts to Idaho.  As I've mentioned (ad nauseum, probably), this road trip is bring done with two cats in the car.  Prior to leaving, I was very concerned about this.  Would they freak out?  Should I bring sedation in case the lose their minds?  How often should I give them an opportunity to drink water or eliminate waste?  Would they be happier in a large carrier together or will the stress cause them to fight?  That's the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my concerns.  It turns out, though, that after the first hour of driving on Saturday (long enough to confirm that this was not a trip to the vet I suspect) they fell asleep and could barely be bothered to accept treats from me at rest stops.  I'm not sure why I was surprised - I've spent a lot of time home alone during the day with these cats so I know damned well that all they do is sleep.  There are, however, a few things I wish I had thought about ahead of time:

• When staying in a hotel room with cats who have been sleeping all day, take their jingle bell equipped collars off before going to bed.  I am positive that they took shifts where one slept on my legs and the other one went to a far corner of the room and did kitty calisthenics.  I really should have seen that one coming.
• I brought litter, a pan, treats, toys, a spare carrier, fleece remnants for comfort, a water bowl for the car, food, cat shampoo wipes, pan liners, paper towels, and about a million other things.  I did not bring a litter scoop, though.  I realized that during the night as the cats enthusiastically used their pan several times.  Despite what seemed like an hour of scraping and digging, they managed to cover exactly 0 out of 3 poops.  I had really weird, smelly dreams.

Other than these oversights, things are going well.  The car is pulling the trailer handily, the cats are chill, and my playlists are awesome.  Tomorrow I will try to get from my mom's house in eastern Iowa to a motel in Laramie, Wyoming.  

It's Like _War_and_Peace_ But With Fences

A couple of months ago, a house down the street from me was put up for sale and subsequently sold.  It's far enough away that I have no idea who lived there before nor would I have any reason to know who lives there now except I have now become obsessed everything related to this home.  Here's the story:

About a month or so ago, as I drove by this house I saw from the corner of my eye that something was different about the front yard.  Specifically, it seemed that someone was building a fence.  This house is a standard raised ranch.  There is absolutely nothing unusual about it.  The first segment of fence was made from two medium-brown 4x4's as posts and some similarly colored 1x5's (1x4's maybe) connecting them horizontally across the top and bottom.   Attached to these horizontal pieces appeared to be pieces of bamboo and the whole fence was about 4 feet tall.  Can you picture it?  I think the reason I noticed it was that the fence looks like it would be quite nice in front of a nice Zen rock garden or maybe a small temple.  In front of a cookie cutter raised range, it's a bit odd.  But, hey, whatever flips your wig, right?

Why am I telling you in tedious detail about this fence?  Partially because it gives me cognitive dissonance every time I look at it but also because the construction of this fence has turned into some kind of epic journey.  This fence, when finished, will probably be about 30 feet long which is not very long in the world of fences.  The homeowners work on this fence all the time and it's still not done.  I drive by and cheer when I see another section has been added.  On several occasions, though, the next time I drive by that section has been dismantled and someone is standing over a pile of bamboo with their hands on their hips.  (Side note:  I now understand that the combination of eastern and western design is a reflection of the couple themselves).

This has been going on for about 6 weeks.  Each weekend and some week days these people are out in their yard building the fence in a two steps forward/one step back fashion.  I'm now heavily invested in their success.  Building a fence (or anything, if I had to guess) is clearly way, way outside their comfort zone but they're out there suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous carpentry like troopers.  

I want to sneak down there in the night and just finish it for them like a giant shoemaker's elf.  I honestly believe I could do it in maybe an hour or two.  Another part of my obsession with this fence is my inability to imagine what could possibly be so difficult.  The bamboo pieces?  None of them are the same length.  Should I leave one of my extra tape measures on their doorstep?  Everyone knows about those, right?  

Today's episode involved the addition of another vertical post so it looks like there's at least one more fence segment coming.  When I drove by this evening I saw that the post is in the ground, the hole filled back in, and it looks nice and vertical.  Huzzah, two more steps forward!

Aaaaand it's about 6 inches taller than the rest of the fence posts.  One step back.

I'm moving in 17 days...I fear this is going to be a cliffhanger.

Westward, Ho! (Shut your mouth!)

Much has happened since I last posted:  On a lark, I decided to submit my resume to a job posting for a school that was looking for a math department chair.  Much to my surprise, it worked!  This job will cause some big changes, the biggest being the need to move from New England to Boise, Idaho.  I get a lot of the same questions about this so I figured I'd make an FAQ.

Q:  Idaho?  Why on earth Idaho?

A:  Well mainly, that's where I got a job.  Also important, though, is the fact that Boise seems to be a healthy city.  It's riddled with bike and walking paths and there's a place to ski/snowboard about 3 minutes away.  Yes, you can ride a bike and ski here in New England as well but it's such a process that I rarely do it.  Plus, Idaho is hella pretty.

Q:  That's where you're from, right?  So you'll be near your family!

A:  Actually I'm from a different I-state, Illinois and my family lives in yet another, Iowa.  It turns out, Iowa is a 20 hour drive from Idaho which is exactly the travel time between Iowa and Massachusetts.  thus I will be no closer or farther from my Iowa family than I am now.  Huppy's brother and his family actually live in Boise so she will go from 40 hours of driving away from that part of her family to about 15 minutes.  She wins.

Q:  Aren't you going to miss Massachusetts?

A:  Of course.  Primarily, I'll miss my friends.  But, it's a very connected world, so my hope is that we will remain in contact.  I have to admit, I'll also miss the luxe level at the local movie theater where you get served food and booze while you watch your movie.  It's the best.  The.  Best.  I'm getting antsy just thinking about seeing movies the old fashioned way.  

Q:  When are you leaving?

A:  The cats and I will probably start driving on or about July 20th.  I have to be in Boise to pick up keys to my rental house on the morning of the 25th.  Huppy will leave once either the house sells or she gets a Boise-based job so that's a bit more nebulous.

Q:  Do you like potatoes?

A:  Duh.

Q:  Are you stressed?

A:  I could projectile vomit at any moment.  A lot of things need to come together the right way for this all to work out in a way that is not financially ruinous but I'm convinced that this is worth it.

Q:  Are you seriously driving from MA to ID with two cats in the car?

A:  I am.  Specifically, in a brand new car that I bought last week.  So, obviously, one of us is going to become incontinent somewhere on the journey.  It'll probably be one of the cats but I should probably cover my own seat in plastic just to be safe.

I hope this helps.  I'm sure I'll have some good, funny stories to tell once I get there. 

It's Not Right, But It's OK

So, I just joined a Facebook group created to help people with languishing blogs.  Each Sunday they will post a topic and the members will (hopefully) write a post on that topic and share it with the group.

This week's topic is "A Game I Love".

Of all the things that might have popped into my brain when I saw that topic, the first game that occurred to me was Peek-A-Boo.  I wish like hell that it was something a little more dignified like football or cribbage or even "The Game of Thrones".  But, no, I land on Peek-A-Boo.

If you don't know me you might just assume that I love babies and therefore love the joy that the game of Peek-A-Book brings to them.  While I'm certainly happy that babies get so much pleasure from simple things like that, it's a remote happy.  I'm on record as not really being a kid person.  I'm not anti-children by any means.  I mean, I know some children and the ones I know well are perfectly fine individuals but as an entire group or segment of the population, I could take e'm or leave 'em.  (Disclaimer:  I am COMPLETELY aware that if you replaced the word "children" with "black people" in those last few sentences I would come off as undeniably racist therefore I might be some kind of ageist but that's a topic for another blog entry).

Back to Peek-A-Boo.  I, a grown-ass 41 year old woman, will laugh hysterically if you play peek-a-boo with me (I'm going to stop capitalizing it now because it's starting to feel like I'm talking about a game by Milton Bradley).  I'm not kidding about this.  This might be completely insane of me OR I'm just the only one who has tried it.  It might be that some of you reading this would have the same reaction if you tried.  Or, the insane thing.  I don't know why I laugh, I fully understand that neither I not the person with whom I'm playing is actually disappearing.  I also am not actually surprised when they reappear.  I don't know.

Now that I've admitted that I might as well go all out.  The other thing that makes me laugh to the point of tears is when I blow my nose and it makes a honk. I know most people probably think it's at least a little funny when they honk like a goose because it is.  But I completely lose it.

To demonstrate what I mean, I made this video.  This is the second video I made after realizing that I had horrible post-snow-shoveling hat head the first time around.

And, yes, it seems that I slapped my knee.  I always thought that was just a euphemism...

I hope at least some of the laughter was infectious.  I wonder what next week's topic will be and if it will prompt me to divulge any more deep dark secrets.

Songbirds and Axe Murderers

I suppose this should have been posted closer to Halloween but, really, Halloween is a year 'round thing for me so I'll let it slide.  And so will you.  Capice?

On that note...

To get to work on time I have to leave the house at about 6:15 to catch a train to Boston.  If I need a little extra prep time in the morning I have to leave by 5:15 to catch the earlier train.  Because of this, it is almost always dark when I get into my car.  There a couple of weeks after we "fall back" where this isn't the case but it doesn't last long.  My point, and I do have one, is that it is dark AND deserted at that hour of the morning.  So, being a person with a relatively active (and often NOT helpful) imagination, I regularly convince myself that there is a murderous stowaway hiding in my back seat as I drive to the train station in the pre-dawn darkness.

Obviously, this is not a welcome thought and it gives me the creeps every time.  I can almost smell the stale sweat and dried blood caked to his clothes.  Perhaps that noise isn't my trailer hitch back there shifting around but is instead the clank of an axe head jostled by a pot hole.

These thoughts don't generally come when I'm getting into the car and can actually perform a visual check.  Nooooo, I wait until I'm ripping down Maple Street to start conjuring up my possible bloody companion.  Obviously, this means I regularly start my day bravely riding the wave of a panic attack.  This may not be for the reasons you think, however.  You see, I'm not worried that the cannibalistic psychopath hitching a ride with me is going to rise up and bludgeon me into a pulp before turning me into a skin bathrobe for his mommy.  My theory is that the killing part would have happened back in my driveway.  Unless this guy is suicidal along with homicidal, he would be foolish to slit my throat from the backseat as I drive.

Nope, what scares me is that this freakshow might have heard me tunelessly bellowing along to the radio.  (shudder)  I would die if that happened.

Nailed It!

This may come as a shock but I am not the girliest girl around.  That title, I think, might belong to my sister.  Anyway, because of this I really don't have any burning desire to paint my nails.  Well, I suppose if I'm building some shelves or something those nails would need to be painted but...you get my drift.

I probably should like it.  I love art and doodling and I triple-word-score* love matching colors so you'd think I'd dig an opportunity to combine all those likes into a socially acceptable act of self-decoration.

I always thought it was my non-girliness that made this nail painting into a thing that didn't interest me. I've been giving it some thought lately, though, and I think I've pinned down my issues regarding nail painting:

1. Some people think that if your toenails have been painted that open-toed shoes are not only acceptable but damned near mandatory.  No.  No.  No.  A thousand times no.  Sometimes applying toenail polish is like putting lipstick on a pig.  Now, I am not saying that people with gnarly feel should not be allowed to wear sandals.  Sandals are comfy and it's good to let the feet run free on occasion.  I'm just saying that if your feet have been well used perhaps putting the visual equivalent of a marching band on them is not the best idea.
2. The second reason that it's not my favorite practice is that it's distracting.  The designs (if there's a design) are so tiny that you have to get a good look to see what they are.  Have you ever seen a cat watching a laser pointer?  That's what I feel like as I track the gesticulating fingertips trying to get a lock on whether that's the Dominican flag or dolphin with a raspberry beret.  It's exhausting.
3. The third, and most significant, objection I have to the painting o'the nails is this:  there is NO way to tell how dirty those nails are.  Just let that percolate for a moment.  You can't tell me that every person who takes the time to paint their claws is guaranteed to be meticulous about their personal hygiene.  Not in a world of hat = hair wash and cologne = shower.  Think about this next time some food service person who has got John 3:16 printed out in its entirety on each finger gives you your yummies.  How much funk is living under that message of love?

* This is my personal saying for "really, really".  Feel free to use it and if it becomes a meme, we'll know that it all started here.

See?  This would be cool but...no.

The sky is blue LOL! SWIDT?

As a savvy netizen, I think I'm relatively current on trends in netspeak.  Also, as a savvy person, I understand the concepts of literal and figurative.  So, I understand that people who write LOL did not necessarily literally laugh out loud.  I get that.  I do, however, feel that using LOL does at a very minimum imply that what has just been written or read, is to some degree, funny.  That's not crazy, right?

So why are there so many people who use it at the end of virtually everything they type?  Do they think it's some kind of fancy internet-only punctuation?  Do they think that LOL stands for something closer to QED?  Or, most horrifying, are they really under the impression that everything is that funny?

For example,

Person 1:  Does anyone know what time the play is tonight?
Person 2:  I think it's at seven lol
Person 1:  Thanks!  lol

Are these two people huffing paint while Facebooking or what?

There's a person who works near me that does this in real life.  I used to think she and her colleagues were having so much fun I was kind of jealous but then I realized that she just laughs at the end of every single sentence.

This is what I imagine when I see a lol infested conversation:

Also, in case you're wondering why I'm able to blog two times in two days: we are in the midst of finals so it's either this or actually grade something (shudder).

It's Been a Pleasure Working Here

Long time no blog!  It's been an eventful few months here in Maialand.  I'll be sure to blog about how I turned 40 and immediately broke my hip but the time for that is not right now.  Instead I'd like to tell you about how I embarrassed myself not once but twice on this, our very last day of classes.

All day.

I had a class that was presenting projects.  This is a computer programming class so many of them had created little games to be demonstrated.  One student had created a game similar to the Family Feud Facebook app and she had chosen another student to be the player.  One of the questions was to name musical instruments that are played at a wedding.  The student playing guessed "harp" and "piano" and "guitar" with varying degrees of success. She then guessed "organs" .  Not "organ" but "organs".  I know it's a subtle different but my immediate thought was "No, that's what gets played _after_ the wedding."  I started giggling and couldn't stop before I had devolved into a teary red faced mess.  So very professional, I am.

Next, I was safely ensconced in my office.  Since the only thing I have left to do is give and grade finals, I was pretty much just following links posted on Facebook.  A colleague had posted a link from a site called http://shitmystudentswrite.tumblr.com which, you can imagine, has a whole bunch of terrible/hilarious gems.  I was clicking through them when I heard a knock on my door.  It was an alum visiting campus saying hello and sharing what's new in his life since graduation.  After a nice little chat he wandered off to see if he could find other familiar faces.  Pleased with our conversation, I turned around to resume my surfing and found that this had been on the screen behind me the whole time.

Normally, on days like this I would head home now and try to minimize the damage I could cause by continuing to be in public.  Today, however, I am going out to dinner with colleagues past and present to celebrate the retirement of one of our number.  Opportunities to continue making the wrong impression abound!

Those Aren't Pillows

OK, there's something I just have to say.

Dear Men of the World,

You know when you stick your hand into your pants pocket and pretend to be jostling your change but you're really scratching and/or fluffing your junk?  You are fooling no one.  No one.  Not even once.

Thank you for your attention,

Maia

My Own Worst Enemy

I have been very fortunate in that I was born with a talent for testing well.  Some people might translate that as being smart but...well, let me tell you a story.

I have one of this really big pill containers that has each day of the week labelled on it.  I'm sure you know what I mean.  While I do have one pill (a low dose of blood pressure medication) that I take every day, I have the enormous pill holder because I also try to remember to take a multi-vitamin, fish oil, glucosamine, and various other (hopefully) healthy supplements and those suckers tend to be pretty big.  Other than that one pill, I only ever take Tylenol and when I fly I take Ativan.

This week just happens to have been the week before spring break.  In case you've completely forgotten what the week before spring break is like, the students are almost completely useless.  This is unfortunate since it's also the midpoint of the semester and therefore this week tends to have lots of tests in it.  Anyway, students aren't the only ones who love their spring breaks.  We profs might not jet off to Daytona Beach for drunken revels but we do nevertheless value the week as a chance to travel or at least catch up on grading papers.  I mentioned to my officemate a few times this week how I was really looking forward to spring break because getting up at 5:30 (4:30 on Monday and Wednesday) was pretty tough this week.  Way more snooze button action than usual.  I didn't even go to the gym at all this week.  Clearly, I was in need of a little me time to reboot my system!

So Thursday night I ate dinner and went to bed nice and early in hopes of reading a little and getting a little extra sleep to fix this pre-break slump.  Huppy noticed as she was brushing her teeth that I had not taken any of the pill container contents on Thursday and possibly only the morning half for Wednesday.  Here's what happened:

Huppy (from bathroom):  Did you not take your blood pressure pill today?  Or yesterday?
Me (in bed reading with my eyes closed):  Ummm...no?  Yes?  I'm not sure.
Huppy:  I don't think you did.  Don't you think you should take today's pill?
Me:  (really comfortable in bed):  Well...probably.  Eh, I'll take it in the morning when I get up.
Huppy:  Uh huh.  How about if I bring it to you now?
Me:  Sure, thanks!
Huppy (walking from with pill and a glass of water):  Isn't your blood pressure pill pink?
Me:  Maybe?  It's the only tablet in the pill thingy, the rest are giant horse pill sized supplements.
Huppy (arriving with pill and water and about to hand them over):  I really think it's supposed to be pink.  This is white.
Me:  Huh.  Maybe they changed?
Huppy (not handing them over yet):  Are you SURE this is the right pill?
Me: Lemme see...ohhhh, wow.  Is that...?  Holy crow, have I been taking Ativan instead?!?
Huppy (heading back to the bathroom with pill in hand):  Good grief, Maia!  This IS Ativan.  Where the hell are the pink pills?
Me (laughing so hard I'm crying):  This explains SO MUCH about this week!
Huppy (very much not laughing):  This isn't funny!  If you are doing this kind of thing at age 40 what the hell are you going to do to yourself at 80?
Me (tring not to laugh):  You're right it's not funny...I should probably be a little worried about this situation but, you see, I'm on Ativan.

I found my blood pressure meds in the kitchen in a basket under the pile of supplement bottles.  My BP was still fine despite the fact that I hadn't taken them in almost a week.  I've since gotten back on track there.

Huppy took away the Ativan bottle with the two untaken pills inside.  Since I took most of the ones I had I now have to remember to get a refill before I go to Oregon in May.  I promise to hand that bottle over to Huppy as well.

So, yeah, clearly I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Assault With Intent to Watch a Movie

I posted a status on Facebook the other day that went as follows:


I think that _if_ I ever end up in a physical altercation with another person (by no means a guarantee because that's not how I roll) but _IF_...it will take place in a movie theatre. This is my prediction.


Now, I think I am generally a person who is fairly easy-going.  Sure, there are things that I find annoying.  
Here are a few:


I get irked when I order pasta in a restaurant and it's over-cooked.  I mean really - a box of pasta costs 89 cents - the profit margin on a plate of it is huge.  Bearing that in mind, I think it's not unreasonable of me to expect it to be cooked properly.  


We have a self-checkout aisle at the grocery store.  We also have hand scanners that allow a shopper to be able to scan and bag their items as they shop.  Then, at the self-checkout aisle, one simply scans a bar code and a customer card and the entire order scrolls across the screen.  It's very convenient as there is no time at the register needed to scan items or bag them.  What drives me batty is when someone uses that lane to process an enormous order that has not been scanned and bagged.  Do they not understand that by doing that they're spending twice as long checking out?  In the "manned" lanes a person is bagging while the food is being rung up but these fools are scanning, then paying, then bagging.  All while I'm standing behind them with the ability to process $200 worth of groceries in 45 seconds.


Buying women's clothes.  Honestly, I think that's a whooooole other blog post.  


OK, so some things get under my skin but I usually just roll my eyes or fume a bit and that's it.  No confrontation, no taking it out on some poor schmo in customer service, and no snide comments.  Life is too short to get really worked up about this stuff.


Except.  


You know when people talk during a movie?  Yeah, that goes up my ass sideways.  I mean, really.  All of my non-confrontational habits go right out the window.  I exhibit both passive-agressive and active-aggressive traits.  I sigh, I stare, I glare, I say things like "Really?!?!", "For frick's sake!", and "This is NOT your living room!".  Sometimes these people are drunk, sometimes stupid, and sometimes a horrible combination of both.  If you're too dumb to watch a movie without needing to make comments to prove that you understand what's happening, stay at home.  The only reason I have not yet gotten into a full-on tussle is that often Huppy is at the movies with me and confrontation is her Kryptonite.  Each time I make any of my little protests she sucks in her breath, bugs her eyes out at me, and dies a little bit inside.  The problem is that this happens almost every time I see a movie.  Do people suck more lately or am I becoming the curmudgeon that I've always wanted to be? 


So yeah, this is clearly a hot button issue for me.  Be forewarned rude movie-goers:  when I finally lose it I'll lose it big time, I have a second degree blackbelt, and I outweigh 90% of my potential opponents.  Let's just all play it safe and shut.  the.  hell.  up.

Just Call Me Ms. Goodwrench

I was at Wal-Mart yesterday.  I feel that in the past I have been fairly critical of Wal-Mart for being such a miserable place to shop.  The lines were always 15 people deep, two-thrirds of the checkout lanes were inactive, the aisles were messy with nothing residing exactly where it was supposed to be, and it often smelled of humanity (liquid, solid, or gas depending on the day and aisle).  In the interest of fairness, I should say that my local Wal-Mart seems to have gone through an overhaul and the last few times I've been there it's been a much more efficient and less sketchy experience.  So, good job to you, North Attleboro Wal-mart.

As I left Wal-Mart and crossed the parking lot to my car I heard someone say "Excuse me!  Can you please help me?"  I looked around and saw a woman standing in front of a large pickup truck with its hood raised.  It seemed as though she was talking to me so I put my stuff in my car and walked over to her.  As I approached, I asked if her truck battery was dead.  She gave me an odd look and then told me that, no, her issue was that when she tried to remove the oil fill cap she came away with the entire oil fill tube instead.  After some discussion I concluded that when her son had last changed her oil, when he screwed the oil fill cap back onto the tube he misthreaded it and tightened it to the point where it was essentially frozen in place.  So, when she went to unscrew it to add some more oil the cap was so stuck that the twisting motion released the entire tube from the engine instead.  Fortunately, I had a flashlight app on my phone (yay technology!) and about 6 additional inches in height (yay genetics!) which allowed me to examine the area closely enough to figure out how the tube needed to be held in order to get it back onto the truck.  It didn't go on perfectly but it did go back on and it was tight enough to form a seal.  I told her I thought she'd be OK to get home but she should get someone to put everything to rights as soon as she could.  She thanked me several times and gave me a couple of handwipes as my hands were black with engine oil.  I told her it was no problem, wished her luck getting home, and left.

It wasn't until I was well away that it occurred to be that there is a good chance that the reason she asked me for help in the first place is that she thought I was a man.  I think that's why she gave me a funny look the first time I spoke to her to ask if her battery was dead.  I don't care one way or another about the mistaken gender identity there - it was getting dark and I have very short hair.  Actually, I guess I should be pleased that from a distance my middle aged lady hips weren't as obvious as I think they are.  What really pleased me, aside from the fact that I think I was actually able to help her, was that it never dawned on me that I wouldn't be a perfectly reasonable person to ask for help.  It was nice to know that I didn't automatically assume that some kind of testosterone-give knowledge was required.

This is a good thing since my efforts at playing the helpless female usually end in disappointment anyway.  A few years ago, a stray cat decided that my garage would be an excellent place to shuffle off its mortal coil.  Unfortunately, thanks to warm weather and a several day stretch in which I didn't need anything from the garage the cat's mortal coil had become quite a haven for disco rice.  Rather than deal with this, I went next door and told my neighbor Jeb about it.  I was hoping that if I seemed traumatized enough he would manfully go into my garage and take care of it.  Instead he got all queasy looking and suggested calling the city animal control office.  This turned out to be excellent advice because about a half an hour later a woman from Animal Control showed up and womanfully took care of it.  My heroine!

They Work Out

I have to admit that I have bought both singles by LMFAO that have been released thus far.  I watched the video for the first, "Party Rock Anthem" and then spent quite a bit of time researching YouTube for instructional videos on "how to shuffle".  My brain now completely understands what needs to be done in order to shuffle (and to dougie, thanks to my last dance-related research) but where the spirit is willing, the flesh remains awkward.

I had seen a few people on Facebook mention the video for the next single, "Sexy And I Know It" but it took a while to get around to watching it.  I'd like to discuss the video a bit, so please check it out if you have a moment.  Don't look at it if you're at work or church, though.

OK, so now you've seen that.

My first reaction was along the lines of "Yikes!" and "I wonder how much therapy costs." upon reflection, though, I realized that they aren't doing anything in this video that women have been doing in music videos since the dawn of MTV.  In addition, lots of people make a point to spend their Super Bowl half-time watching women (sort of) play football in their underwear.  How different is that from rival underwear gangs posturing at each other at the beach?  Aside from gender, it's pretty much the same thing.

So, I'd like to know what you think:  Do you think LMFAO is just trying to be silly and a little disturbing or are they spandex-clad geniuses making a prescient statement on how numb we've become when it comes to female almost-nudity in pop culture?

Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Peck-um, Peppers

One of the great things about teaching is that learning takes place on both sides of the (metaphorical) podium.

So.  Last week I was teaching my statistics class some probability, specifically binomial probability experiments.  Don't worry, I'm not going to explain that now.  What's important, though, is that talking about binomial probability experiments requires one to say the word "success" approximately a million times.  Make that two million because I have two sections of stats.

Here's what I learned:  It is impossible to say the word success a million times (or even twenty) without at some point butchering one's pronunciation.  Unfortunately, for me that means changing "suck-sess" into "suck-sex".  Yeah, so that happened.  A bunch of times.

Sadly, this is not my first foray into being accidentally lewd in the classroom.  When I taught math at a high school in Virginia there was a time when we were covering trigonometric problems.  The abbreviation for the secant function is "sec".  I was using the variable x to represent the angle which meant writing "sec x" on the board several times.  You can see where this is heading.  Yup, in front of a whole room of 17-year olds, I wrote the word sex on the blackboard.  I sent them further into hysterics by saying "Well, ya know, it is Friday."  What I meant was that it had been a long week and I was tired.  What they thought I meant was that Friday = Sexday.  Frickin' fricklebats.

Could Happen to Anyone

I'd like to present this conversation with as little explanation as possible and leave you to determine how it came about.

Me:  Erk!  (accompanied by a wide-eyed look of pain and surprise)

Huppy:  Did you just pinch the skin on your stomach in the hinge of your glasses.

Me:  I did.  It left a mark.

Come conclusions you may draw:  I am very, very flexible.  I have a specific unique facial expression for absolutely every situation.  One of these things is true and one is probably not true.

Situational Awareness Is For Suckers

So we're just coming off a nice three day weekend.  The weather was quite temperate and so a ton of house projects got done.  That's the good part.  The bad part is that in those three days I found three different ways to hit my head on something.  I'm pretty sure the first and the third time were on exactly the same spot.  How did I manage this?  Well, I started out with the locking mechanism from an open trunk lid on Saturday.  The next day I climbed the ladder into the attic and stood up right into a roof beam.  I wrapped up the holiday weekend by hitting my head on a shelf after plugging in some speakers below the shelf.  The lesson I'm taking from this is that it would be best if I just walked around all hunched over because floating just above me is a whole host of crap of stuff waiting to bash me in the noggin.  So, if I start acting weirder than usual I may be concussed.

A-Maia-can Horror Story

I know, it's been a while.  I have a few things saved up to share with you, though, so buckle up!

A few weeks ago we had about a week of dreary, rainy weather.  On one of these days we'd had a respite from the rain and I drove downtown to stop in at my taekwondo school to find out why Master Oh had called me on my cell phone.  I parked in the municipal parking garage behind the school.  When I pulled in I noticed that someone seemed to have parked their wheelchair next to the low wall that separates the garage area from the alley.  The wheel chair was completely draped in a thin red blanket.  If this was to hide it, I'm not sure that red was an ideal color choice, by the way.  As I was straddling the low wall (what, like I'm going to walk all the way around?) near the shrouded chair I glanced over it and saw that there was something in it.  In all the times I have parked there and gone across this wall to get to the school I have never, ever made it over that quickly.  Seriously, if it was a pommel horse I would be sporting a medal right now.  Whatever or whoever (whomever?) was under there was not visible aside from tenting up the blanket in a few odd spot.  It seem to me that there was a smallish person under there taking a nap with their arm up over their head.  On my way back to the car I gave it a wider birth and kept me eyes locked on it the whole time.  No movement.  I sped home.  A hour or so later when Huppy called to say she was on her way home I a) told her about the freaky deaky wheelchair red (blood red!!!) blanket ghoul in the parking garage behind the school and b) made her promise to drive by and see if it was still there.  It was and she was equally creeped out.

I spent the next day thinking about what was obviously either a troll who lost his bridge and hides under this red (blood red!!!) blanket now waiting for unsuspecting people who get to close so he can snatch them and suck the marrow from their long bones OR a pile of dismembered body parts stacked on a wheelchair with a note for the police from a brilliant serial killer who wants to engage in a battle of wits.  That evening, I told Huppy that we were going to drive back there and see if it's still there.  AND IT WAS.  This time I took pictures:

At the time that I took these it had been raining again all day.  As a result, a few things became clear:

1.  It's not a troll in a wheelchair.
2.  It's not a pile of body parts in a wheelchair.
3.  It's not, in fact, a wheel chair.
4.  It is probably someone's bicycle and cart.

Or is it?

Yay! These Pictures Are Gre-...Oh.

At the beginning of May I participated in my first half marathon.  I think I blogged about it already so I won't rehash.

For some reason the company that was contracted to do race photography is based in Germany.  Normally this would be no big deal because I never, ever feel the need to order race pictures.  I have yet to take one where I don't look like I'm having some kind of episode.  In none of my pictures do I look like I'm having fun or even running, for that matter.  I swear I'm doing both.  One time I started running in an exaggerated fashion when I saw the photographer in the hopes that overemphasizing the movements they would show up on camera.  That experiment yielded a series pictures that make me look less like I'm running and more like I'm doing an impromptu roadside audition for Westside story.

So, no spending my money on race pictures for me.  Until now.  I decided that for my first half marathon I really needed to get a picture because it felt like kind of an accomplishment.  Luckily for me, there was a photographer at the finish line getting pictures of people holding their medals.  Perfect!  A race picture where I don't have to be running!  I ordered it and one other one that was only bad but nor outright horrible.

The race photographer's website was very, very slow.  After a million years of trying to look at pictures that would or would not expand from thumbnail I picked the two that I mentioned earlier.  Since the company is in Europe I got hit with an additional fee by my bank.  Thanks bank!  Then the waiting began.  It took about a month but they finally arrived this week.

Here's the one that I was so pleased to order:

I was pretty happy with this one until I looked at it closely.  See it?  Allow me to zoom for you:

I can't decide whether this makes this picture more awesome or less awesome.  On the one hand, look how tough I am!  On the other hand, that is a Buzz Lightyear band-aid.