Friday, September 28, 2007
My husband and I are separating after nine years of marriage. We will be getting a divorce.
I'm not going into the whys and the wherefores here. It's a private matter. Suffice it to say it is the correct move.
So now I'm on the divorce diet (consisting of coffee, cigarettes, and crap), which has already dropped me down another nine pounds from the last time I mentioned my weight (147 current), and is likely going to knock me down a few more until I get back on the quitting smoking wagon.
Oh heck yeah, I'm smoking right now. Like a bloody fiend. Fortunately, I know I can quit and the Elder offspring is nagging me mercilessly.
No more mercilessly than I'm nagging myself, I assure all of you. I'll be back on the Chantix before the end of the year and get this stuff over and done with once and for all.
So anyway, there you all have it, in all its Reader's Digest Condensed Version glory.
My sense of humor will return. It makes the odd peek out here and there even now, and when something mildly amusing strikes me I'll be sure to put it up here lest y'all think I've keeled over or something.
For now, the good things in life are a) that it's Friday, and b) that it's payday.
Can't ask for much more than that regardless of one's life situation, now can you?
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
I do still have a real life (Scott, I'm fine!), and have had major hecticness abounding. My husband has a bit of a gout issue and this week he had a dreadful flare-up which resulted in him being almost unable to walk even on crutches.
See, if you have one foot all nicely flared up, then go and whack your good foot into the step-stool in the kids' bathroom? It kind of messes things up.
Anyway, he does appear to be on the road to recovery with his gout, which is a good thing.
But then his computer crashed out yesterday to a rather revolting extreme. He can't get anything to work, and even with the DOS stuff he brings up -- please note my incredible mastery of technical terminology -- he can't toggle/ arrow over to anything. So, frustration abounds and is not aided by the fact that he's now using my beloved pretty pretty shiny shiny laptop for Second Life while trying to figure out how best to beat his computer back into shape.
If he pours coffee into my keyboard, I will not be held responsible for my reaction. And there isn't a jury of my peers out there who'd convict me.
This would be one reason why virtual coffee has its benefits, although I'll admit to the tiniest addiction to the actual real world java (all hail the Goddess Caffeina!). As a sign-off, I'll put in this picture of me in my lovely duckie jammies, one of a ridiculous number of pairs which I own in SL, and which I wear to drink my virtual coffee.
Oh, and AYC, please e-mail me (it's on the sidebar) and tell me your avatar's name if you'd like to get in touch in-world, okay? I have some landmarks and other stuff I can dump over your way. Let me know!
Thursday, September 13, 2007
First of all, it's very strange to be doing this from my real life blog. I have a Blogger account name for my avatar, but the blog is blank.
Plus, in general I like to keep my Second Life and real life kind of separate. They're going to overlap some, of course. I mean, it's not as if I can be in-world and ignore the children or cats, so the meld kind of just happens for me to some extent.
Note: My husband, however, has incredible skills in this area (although to be fair, he did manage to tear himself off-world yesterday and scoop the litter boxes before I came home, God bless him). It must be some component of that compartmentalization ability guys have?
Anyway regarding the overlap, some of you might have noticed a new commentor, Tycho Beresford, who may appear more familiar with me than most new commentors. That would be because, well, when you've been in a virtual bar in virtual Dublin dancing several nights away with dozens of other avatars bearing rave sticks and other assorted accessories? You kind of get to know each other. He was interested in the etymology of my avatar's last name, and my blog came up during his search. Oops.
So after much thought, you'll notice I edited that post so my Second Life name doesn't appear anymore. Tycho finding me is one thing. Some of the whack jobs out there in the real world who are also in-world? Quite another story.
But Tycho's good peoples.
Moving along now, as I've mentioned here before, sometimes work gets slow. Really, very, painfully slow. As in screaming "move clock, MOVE!" slow. So to occupy time after I've exhausted all the official time-killing duties like cleaning, dusting, sweeping, and so forth, I generally cruise the 'net.
Well, one day I came across an article about Second Life. The concept of a virtual 3-D world intrigued me. I volunteered with an online service provider for five years in a live text-chat environment, and the Second Life interface appeared to be the next step up the evolutionary ladder.
This is nothing like AOL, y'all.
Well, except for the lag. But to dance there? I can live with it.
This was taken by Tycho at Fibber Magee's Nightclub in SL Dublin. I'm the one in the red shirt. And that stomach isn't half bad for a girl who's gone through forty-one-and-a-half weeks of pregnancy twice, eh?
More pictures as Tycho's kindness or my initiative permits.
Yes, it says 12:40.
I know, I know, I'm asking for this by sitting at my desk, but the fact that I was here at 7:50 and won't leave until 5:00 would appear to indicate that I in some way might be having lunch, as it's between noon and 1:00.
As might the sandwich I'm chewing quickly and am about to choke on so I can answer your completely non-essential question.
2. When the copier is out of paper? You, too, can load it!
Really, I'm not so stuck on my job of running all the administrative stuff around here that I need to be consulted for the merest paper change.
Especially when I'm trying to get your timesheets faxed in so you can get paid, and oh, trying to pay the office's bills so we have enough power to RUN the copier.
You don't need to come up here, say, "I think the copier is out of paper," and then admit how you didn't even bother to open the paper bin and freaking check.
Slide open the drawer. Insert one ream of paper (yes, please unwrap it first). Close the drawer. When the copier says "Ready"? Presto! You're good to go.
3. When I say I don't know what the partners will say about your potential overtime charge? It means this:
I. Do. Not. Know.
Standing at my desk (during lunch, yet again) and re-explaining the situation repeatedly (while I'm trying to eat and am not getting paid to listen to you) isn't going to get you any answer other than the aforementioned, along with a suggestion you consult someone who's actually authorized to speak to you about these matters.
Just because I'm related to one of them by an accident of birth doesn't mean they share much at all with me. Employment agreements are not within my knowledge base; they are confidential agreements with the owners of the firm.
Of which I am NOT one.
4. And for vendors I'm calling about an error on our office credit card statement, please note that when I say we didn't make any trips to the Dominican Republic and made no reservations there; and in fact, already declined this charge when called by the reservations website and CANCELLED the card??
I probably don't have a reservation number.
Because We. Didn't. Make. A. Reservation.
Now all this said, yes, YES I'm still PMSsy if there were any doubt. I keep it out of my work life and just about out of everywhere except this blog. I consider it a poor excuse for bitchy behavior, quite honestly. My family, co-workers and friends of all sorts deserve better than Amanda on a Hormonal Rampage.
But I have to vent somewhere. And stupid people piss me off, especially when I'm in a compromised state.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Because then? You wouldn't be worried they'd fall down around your ankles.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
But as I was sitting in my car today running an errand from work, Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American" came on the radio, prefaced by part of Dubbya's Post 9/11 speech. Now I don't talk politics much, but y'all know I'm not a huge fan of the shrub. However, in the days following September 11, 2001, our president truly rose to the occasion.
The lines from his speech coupled with the song and my admittedly hormonally compromised state, which resulted in me bawling like a baby at a traffic light.
Because I do love my country. I mourn the innocence that has passed from our nation. And I am saddened by the feeling of insecurity that still pervades our society six years afterward.
And as would be with any war, I'm heartbroken by the atrocities committed by every side.
But we're still here. And this is my country, dammit.
God Bless the U.S.A.
And that, as a slower-moving individual, occasionally there will those in a great hurry behind me?
Ergo, I should not a) block the entire freaking aisle in the store chattering with my similarly movement-impaired friend, and b) should I forget that, when someone politely says "Excuse me?" as I'm blocking the aisle, I shouldn't freaking GLARE AT THEM???
And why yes, I'm PMSsy. I have no idea how you figured that out.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
I'm innocently getting my purse and keys together. The boys are dressed, the cats are fed, the husband is up. Suddenly . . .
Elder Son: What happened, mama?
Me: Patrick BIT me! On the big toe!
Elder Son: Oh, he's being a bad kitty!
Me: He's being a little sh...
Me (still): ...ugarpants.
Elder Son: You were going to say "shit."
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Which is precisely what I deserve for having questioned her womanhood.
You know, I got my hair re-done this weekend and I'm having a bit of a blonde mome... wait, wait, it's coming to me!
. . .
Crap. Lost it again.
(seriously folks, look UP at the url!)
To learn how to fly (not in an airplane, but "fly like a bird" style).
Failing that, I wanted to be a nurse. Or a ballerina.
I live out part of this through medblogs, obviously. The other part (ballerina) simply wasn't meant to be. Birkenstocks, y'all. Wide, flat, FIRM foundation necessary under me.
Toe shoes wouldn't have cut it.
Uhm, does this mean my favorite soundtrack, or the soundtrack of my life?
My favorite soundtracks, personally, generally are from musicals like Les Mis, Phantom of the Opera, and Cats (I have a tiny fixation with Andrew Lloyd Weber . . . sorry any fans of "real" music out there who disapprove). Disney-wise it would be from Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King.
The soundtrack of my life is a mixture of Jimmy Buffett, Billy Joel, Loreena McKennitt, Natalie Merchant, Meredith Brooks, Bach, and Mozart. The ratio of each artist to the others varies, depending.
I get huge idiot points for this if I say Second Life, don't I? But seriously folks, no laundry, no cooking, no vermin except those which you deliberately purchase and place in your thatch-roofed cottage (I did NOT buy a mouse, thankyouverymuch).
Plus, even when I've retreated into Second Life, it isn't hard for me to both do that and simultaneously take care of the kids and husband (who's also in-world). If I actually ran off to Tibet, that could be an issue.
And I have a sneaking suspicion it might annoy my husband.
Anything I've had while taking Chantix, and I believe I've shared enough of those here.
Oh, you mean "what in my wildest dreams?"
Heh. Sorry, not here.
Realizing I finally, FINALLY look like my favorite picture of myself from ten years ago once again.
Okay, my hair was darker (much)... but I finally feel like I'm me again. Whew.
Outside of making sure the spousal unit's and my sons turn out to be reasonable humans? I'd say the biggest challenge I face/faced was accomplishing the item directly above.
My birthday earlier this year (see April 2007 entries).
Shopping (still need new jeans... arrrgh). And the hair color.
My husband said, after my trip this past Saturday, "Can't you just do that at home?"
You know, because my goal in life is to try to apply base color to my hair with two small boys looking on and commenting on the process, get that done, THEN apply highlights.
In the same spots.
With said offspring in attendance.
"Well, honey, I could, but it's difficult to get the streaks right and since my hair's already processed it might turn green if I switched products..."
That particular line of conversation was dropped post-haste.
Well, it's about to be a new a/c unit for the computer room at home. The old one has this ominous rattling noise going on, and is not reliable in turning on the compressor. This is not how I meant to spend my bonus. Oh well.
The Princess Bride and Legally Blonde are tied for first place.
Go ahead. Laugh.
My children. Their brilliance amazes me and their innocence humbles me.
My life is:
Much less sucktastic than it would have been if I'd stayed in a profession where I couldn't eat bon-bons and play on the computer each day (TM Medblog Addict).
My card is:
NOT American Express.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
I'm sorry it's been so long since my last post. I had excellent intentions of course, but I somehow permitted myself to be sucked into Second Life headfirst.
I strongly suspect that I'm addicted.
That said, there are worse things I could be addicted to (cigarettes, anyone?), so I actually can live quite nicely with my little dependency on Second Life.
In other news, I am still awaiting my Monday Memeing from Addicted to Medblogs. Has it happened yet? NO, it has NOT. ATM, I await your post with great impatience.
The final news item I'd like to share before my lunch hour is over and I need to put on my "Bloggers Do it at Work" shirt (TM Doctor's Girl), is that the mint tingle condom?
. . . and Amanda wanders off, smiling innocently . . .