Cookies, Asthma, and Turkey Soup

Really, that's what's going on in my life right now. Those three things. There's more than that, don't get me wrong -- like my job (going well), dating (occasionally), and getting birthday flowers from the people from the office (well, my boss, anyway -- she's the one who has it all together). All in all, things are going rather well.

I have six large bags of Holiday Cookies in my freezer. Yes, I did listen to Perry Como -- the second, inferior tape, anyway -- while baking them. But really, I still have more cookies yet to bake. I hope everyone I know wants some cookies, otherwise I'll have them until we see 70 degree weather again.

--As a side note, my mother got me a lot of baking supplies for my birthday... how 1950's repressed housewife is that? But I don't care. I like baking. I embrace my domesticity. And I got some cool silicon baking mats that they didn't have in the 1950's, so it's okay.

I have Asthma. Yes, me, Miss Healthy. I have asthma. Now, it's not the wheeze-until-you-can't-breathe asthma, it's the have-a-twitchy-trachea-and-have-coughing-fits asthma. Why do I all of a sudden now have asthma, you may ask? I don't know. I blame Global Warming.

--Which, if you're wondering, global warming is actually a pretty good reason. It turns out that ragweed pollen levels have been through the roof the past few years because they thrive with higher levels of CO2. So, yes, global warming is a pretty good reason. Not that it does me any good to know. I still have asthma.

I have Turkey Soup. A lot of it. You know, there's only one of me (and frankly, that's a good thing for many reasons), but I always seem to cook enough soup for 10 of me. Not that I won't eat it. It's good. It's my mom's recipe, made from the turkey carcass (a happy, organic turkey I bought for Thanksgiving). Turkey Carcass Soup is always good. But I do get weary of the Turkey Carcass Soup after, oh, say, the 15th lunch I've made of it. But I still eat it. It takes a little longer to shove it down on that 15th day, but I do it.

--And in my defense (I had to make some side note, or my old high school English teachers would come back to haunt me), it's hard to make anything for just one person. What, shall I cut a quarter of each vegetable I want to put in? That's just annoying. And I do like leftovers. It's just that I always want this and this and this in the soup. Oh, and then, I should put this in. Oh, and I forgot about this. And then I have to put that in. ...And this is how I wind up with a vat of soup.

Looks like I should have formed a better bond with those high school math teachers during the lessons on fractions. Or taken another cooking course.


Or just learn to eat more soup.

Holiday Music = Perry Como

So it snowed yesterday... HOORAY!!! I like snow, especially this time of year. I'm a big fan of the holiday season. So yesterday in Chicago, when it was cold and snowy, I was happy. And I had to go home, bake cookies, and break out the Holiday music. And not some new CD of something. Oh, no... I'm talking the old RCA tape I stole from my parents that was probably made when they still had 8-tracks. Perry Como is doing his thing, and it's wonderful. However... I CAN'T FIND THE TAPE!!! I was very sad last night. I found the other tape that went along with the first, but it's not nearly as good. I'm afraid that this tape was never even recorded on CD, and I'm afraid I will never find another copy. Oh Perry Como, where are you...

Which, if you'd like to know... he lived in a small town in Pennsylvania, and in that small town (in front of the City Hall/Library/Police Station Building...yes, all in one) they have a bronze statue of him. It plays music. It's like Perry Como is still there, singing all year long (and 24 hours on Christmas). ...Ah, Meredith, the things I learned from you. And speaking of music, I'd like a copy of the "Save the People, Kill the Animals" song. But I digress.

I wish I had a statue of Perry Como in my house so I could listen to him when I bake my holiday cookies.


Well, maybe not the statue. That might just get creepy. I'm not sure how the City Hall Workers/Librarians/Police handle it.

I need you to...

So apparently there is a game you can play with Google. If you type in “[your name here] need”, and search, you will come up with all kinds of things! Make sure you put quotes around it.

Well, here’s what I need, in Google’s opinion. Note: some sites gave me more than one suggestion. How nice of them.

I need a shave.
Well, this is partially true. I’m letting the hair on my legs grow so I can get them waxed. So they’re close on this one.

(This website was actually rather interesting... someone named "Bubbles the Artist" is selling drawings for a couple hundred dollars each. This one was of an obese woman who was sad about how her dress fit, but no one cared because her legs were hairy. I'm not sure what to think of Bubbles. However, I have a feeling I'm going to find out she's some famous artist I haven't heard of, because she has many pictures of famous people holding her art. This is also the one site I came up with when I clicked on the "I'm feeling lucky" button.)

I to be exposed for everything evil I have done, and I need to be brought to my knees.
I’m sure everything I have done in this lifetime has not been all peaches and cream, but is this really necessary?

I need to trust Angel.
Apparently, I am on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

I need a priest; I need to be hooked up; I need to leave everyone alone; I need to grow up; I need to know why demons are taking over.
Wow. That’s a lot. I say it depends on the priest. I have a “hook-up”, thank you. I’m sure I can be meddling at times, and could stand to leave others alone sometimes. I am trying to grow up… I have a job, at least! I don’t know about the demons, though… unless we’re talking about the demons of global warming or evil politicians, then we can talk…

I need to talk about the colour of the paint. I need one more victory. I need to meet the mayor of Israeli Arab town Umm al-Fahm.
Let me tell you, the wall color at work is seriously complicating our plans of getting our logo put on the same wall. I could use some life-victories, but I’m hoping I have more than one left. And although I am pretty good with my geography, I have no idea where Umm al-Fahm is. And I use British English.

I Need A Hand... more correctly, I need a tooth... a few teeth.
I’m not sure what happened to me. I should stop getting into fist fights.

I need to know where I am in my struggle and in my relationship with God. ... I need to hear about my victories over temptation and about my sexual ...
Hmmm…and about my sexual … what? And who said temptation is to be fought over?

I Need to be added to default find-in-files list.
I suppose I am a computer file. No worries, the company I work for deals with IT security.

Hans has disappeared, and I need to find him in order to do the deal.
Are we talking poker or drugs? I’m not sure I want Hans to reappear.


I need to get outta here. Diehard zealots abound.
This is true. They do abound. Watch out for those zealots, no matter what they’re zealotting.



All in all, a good exercise in curing boredom. I highly recommend it.

Halloween should be a National Holiday.

...because, let me tell you... I think it deserves to be a national holiday. And I could really use a vacation right now.


I work at a costume shop. It's a good one, and I enjoy it there. However, the Saturday of the Big Halloween Weekend always blows if you work at a costume shop. I enjoy sewing, and costumes and all... but really. If I can give one piece of advice to anyone, it would be to

NEVER GO TO A COSTUME/HALLOWEEN STORE THE SATURDAY OF HALLOWEEN.

Really. Never. It is not worth your time. It's like trying to rent a Santa suit at 10 am Christmas Eve day. ...Okay, so maybe that's a bad comparison. Let's try this one: as bad as trying to get a rush order of Oil-Rubbed Bronze Schlage doorknobs during Parade of Homes season. ...No? Well... it's just really bad. Don't do it.


So yes, I worked. And I was sewing late at night. I was making my halloween costume -- 19th century undergarments. That includes a corset. Ever know anyone (besides me) who has made a corset -- the real kind with metal stays and everything? No? There's a reason. They suck to make.

NEVER TRY TO MAKE A CORSET.

That's also some good advice. At least I only broke two of my sewing machine needles.


So I was lacking my sleep already. I'm an eight-hours-a-night kinda girl, so this lack of sleep was detrimental to my brain power. Then I had to go to some parties. Yes -- had to, thank you very much. One was a costume party -- and if you think I'm not going to a costume party on Halloween, you don't know me very well. The other party was my own... but not a costume party. My roommate hates costumes. I'm not sure how long our roommate situation will work out under these circumstances, but I think we'll be able to work through our differences over time.

NEVER HAVE A HALLOWEEN PARTY THAT DOESN"T INVOLVE COSTUMES.

Okay... so that's not really advice. It's just my crazed, highly biased opinion. But costumes *are* fun. And that's a fact.

Fooled you!

Okay. So, I could say something like, "Of course I knew that site was a joke, I just wanted to see what you all thought of it."


But I'd be lying. I had no idea until Mary told me that the site she sent me was a joke. I should have known. But I didn't.

My dignity has been lowered signifigantly. I suppose, with time, I will bounce back.

But I still think the FDA and the USDA are run by big business.

And the beef and dairy boards give a lot of money to them so we won't say anything bad.

So there.


But just think... the government could be worse than it already is...

Eat Well!

Okay, so I'm NOT a fan of the web site that I've just been to. And yes, I can be crazy with my healthy habits, and I have my conspiracy theories that the FDA and USDA are funded by big business, but really ... there is no reason anyone should be allowed to read and believe some of this information.

Here is some the great wisdom found on My Pyramid (when you go there, submit your stats for your plan on the right side of the page):


"Make half your grains highly refined (or "processed"). Highly refined grains ease the digestion process by bypassing the pesky nutrient and fiber absorption step."

What? Don't eat fiber? Oh, that's a good idea. Not to mention that refined food is SO nutritious.


"Individually packaged vegetable items from exotic places around the globe are cleaner, more convenient, and keep our friends in the petroleum and petrochemical industries chugging along."

Individually packaged -- good for creating more trash. And let's all use more petroleum, shall we?


"While fruits may be eaten whole, buying canned, frozen or otherwise packaged fruit helps ensure the sterility of the fruit. Some fruits can be rather tart or tangy, so a smart way to make these more appealing to children is to select products with added sweetners."

Yeah, I can't tell you how many times I've had problems with my whole, raw apples not being sterile. And we all know children should have more sugar in their diets.


"Drink milk for healthy bones and teeth! Some "scientific studies" have claimed milk has no connection to healthy bone development. These studies, however, ignore the most obvious correlation - bones, teeth and milk are all white."

Anyone who knows me understands that I don't like pushing my semi-vegan and anti-dairy ideals on others. But *this* is good reasoning: because milk is a certain color, it's good for other parts of the body that are the same color. Is poo good for your hair if you're a brunette?


"Liver and other organ meats are high in cholesterol. Just so you know. But who eats those creepy parts anyways, right?"

Okay, I'm not a huge fan of those particular cuts of meat, either. But as far as I know, they are fairly healthy. And what about the people who eat them all the time? Let's call them creepy, too, while we're at it.


Okay. Am I really out-of-bounds here? I mean, really. I just don't get it. I'm speechless. (Well, almost.)

They like me... they really like me... [sigh, tear]

So guess who has a job!


Um, that would be me. I have a job. *And* they even wanted me back this week. I think I found a winner.


And so have they. tee-hee. [she smiles a smile, the kind that twinkles on the second tooth]

So I'm working for an IT security consulting company. Yeah, I know... not exactly the field I planned on joining. But the people are great. I'm making money. I can wear jeans or a fancy-scmancy skirt to the office. Really, life is pretty good.

Oh, and the CEO said he liked me so much, he didn't even care to see my resume or find out if I had ever been to college.


I wonder if I can call my school and get my money back?

four years of college and plenty of knowledge have earned me this useless degree...

So let me tell you about the job assignment I just finished...

I'm reminded of Meredith's comments about "staffing out" a job that no one else in the company wants to do. Remember, when the city of Bemidji didn't want to teach their second graders about good-touch-bad-touch themselves, so they had us silly Climb actors come in to do it for them?

Well, my job was like that. Except it was no where *near* as exciting as helping children figure out what do to if some stranger knocked on the door when their parents were having sex upstairs.


My job, ladies and gentlemen:

1. Look at the image of a scanned-in piece of paper on the computer screen.

2. If the image has the words going the wrong way, rotate it.

3. Move on to the next image.

4. Do this 60,000 times.


Yes, my friends, that's exactly what I did for the past two days... while standing at a tall counter... in a very cold room. I felt like I was in a sweat shop. Except for that cold part -- I didn't really sweat much. Really, trained monkeys could do this job. Of course, as my mother said, trained monkeys wouldn't *want* the job.

Anyway, I was too efficent, and got the job done in a day and a half instead of three. So they told me I was done, told me I could go, and stopped paying me. (I know -- what a deal for being amazing!)

But I have a job tomorrow checking the grammar in a stack of surveys, and if I'm lucky I'll get to transcribe some WindowsMedia sound files of... well, something. But it's a job. I also have some interviews next week with two companies who really like me, but I'm not getting excited yet.


Maybe I should just be a stripper. Who needs a college degree?

ooh, ooh, me! ME!!! pick me!! ooh, me, pick me, pick me!

That's what I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs (yes, much like a kindergartener, thank you) every time I get on the internet to find a job. Really, people should want me more than they have been lately.

And today it's cloudy. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying the 70-some degree weather. But really. At least give me some sun, here.

But on a happy note, one of the two squirrels in our wall was trapped in a humane (kind of) cage and taken to the nearby park. Hopefully it was indeed one of the two residing in the wall, otherwise it does us no good. Squirrel babies are cute, but not when they're in my wall.

That's really all. I await the sun so I can go to the beach and draw the funny people I see there.

prisoner

And when I say "prisoner", I don't mean as in the-black-and-white-stipes-with-the-bag-of-belongings-kept-for-you-until-you-leave (much like my dear roommate,sivilicious) type of prisoner. I mean by a desk.

So, as I have no permanent job right now, I take whatever the temp agency can find for me. Being a receptionist isn't too bad -- unless you're NEVER ALLOWED TO LEAVE. Okay, so that's a bit extreme. I am allowed to leave my desk from 10-10:15, from 12-1:00, and from 3-3:15. If I smoked, I would. Instead, I go outside (like the smokers do anyway) and sit outside, enjoying my freedom -- knowing full well that I have to go back inside all too soon. I'm like a 6 year old child with ADHD. And since it's a holiday weekend, hardly anyone called, so I had very little to do. I read two plays and two books in two days. Sometimes I just stand up at the desk. Sometimes I tuck one leg under. Sometimes I sit criss-cross-applesauce (thank you, elementary schoolteachers of Minnesota).

Anyway, although I am bored out of my mind, I *am* getting paid. I suppose it could be worse. I could be passing out reduced-fare bus cards to the college students of Chicago.

Oh, wait -- I'm doing that tomorrow.

At least I'll get to commune with life forms and maybe have (somewhat) meaningful conversations.

I wish I had gotten reduced-fare bus passes when I was in college. Lucky kids.


Oh, and an update on the apartment... yes, the shower is fixed. But we do have a squirrel. Think of it -- we got a free pet with the deal!

everything must go!

First, an update:

Okay, so there's not much. I'm still in Chicago. I'm still in the same apartment (the one that can't seem to get a plumber to come), and I'm still trying to find a permanent job. Everyone else since the swanky receptionist job loves me, so my ego is back in place. The two women I worked with the other day said the swanky place didn't hire me because the girl who trained me was intimidated -- I knew more about the copier than she did. We chuckled over that. Anyway, it doesn't so much matter. The job is not mine. (Not that I'm bitter. I'm not. ...stop giving me that look!)

Well, folks, it's time for me to pull out my soapbox. [sound of old, wooden box being dragged against concrete]



So, we're killing the world because we aren't living within the rules of earth's society.


Yeah, you heard me. (Oh, no... she's talking about saving the earth...)

Okay, but this'll be different.

So I read this book called Ishmael by Daniel Quinn for the second time the other day. I recommend it, and his other books are probably just as thought-provoking. There is a website: Ishmael I'm not sure I love the website, but there's at least some info there for you. And now that it has soaked in a little more, I can finally talk (or type) about it and know what I'm saying.

Imagine yourself back in the early 1900's and you are getting ready to try out your new flying machine (I know you didn't realize this, but you've been working on it a long time). Although others say you're crazy, you go to the top of a high cliff and shove off. You're flying! Wow, it's beautiful. You're flying with the birds, high above the trees. Now *this* is the life. You look down and see all the remains of older flying machines and chuckle to yourself. They just weren't as successful as you. This flying thing is amazing! Then you look down again and see the ground getting closer. No big deal -- just pedal faster (you've got one of those cool helicopter-like machines that's powered by bike pedals). And then you realize that no matter how hard you pedal, the ground is still getting closer.

You were never *really* flying. You coundn't have been, because your machine didn't follow the laws of aerodynamics. You only thought you were because you were far enough away from the ground.

And our society doesn't follow those laws, either. Well, not those flying ones. The aerodynamics part we have pretty much down pat. It's the laws of how to live that we haven't got figured out yet. We think we have our society, and yeah, things aren't quite right, but if we pedal faster we'll get past the hunger and disease and everything and it'll be smooth sailing. But I don't think our way of life will ever be smooth sailing. We just think we're flying because we're still far enough above ground and we haven't hit bottom yet.

Our species (most native tribes and indigineous people excluded) is the only one on this planet that eliminates its competitors so it can get ahead. The gazelles don't kill the zebras so they can have more grass and expand their territory. And yes, we are homo sapiens, and we have great brain power, and we have opposable thumbs, but that doesn't mean that we're so great we have to kill everything that doesn't feed us or feed our food sources. Even the gazelle isn't afaid of grazing near the lion if it knows the lion just ate. Why would the lion need to kill again?

We seem to have decided that living amongst others and keeping the natural way of life isn't good enough for us. That's for savages. And why leave our lives in the hands of the gods if we can decide for ourselves if we live or die? Just because we think of ourselves as the end-all-be-all doesn't mean we actually are.

Not that I'm saying we have to go back to living in caves or trees or whatever you're thinking. I'm pretty sure there's a way to enjoy our technology and a respectful way of living (to a point, anyway).

Diversity is good. That allows our earth to keep on going in case of a large catastophe. Some creatures would survive. But we like to kill all things that are in our way (coyotes around herds, bugs around farms, tribes near settlements, etc).

Not that I know how to change things.

That's all. Just ruminate on that for awhile, will ya? Make of it what you can, and tell others what you're thinking. That's the only way to fix things.

Thanks for dealing with the rambling, the sound of the soapbox being dragged, and the run-on sentences.

the pool is closed

Well... so much for the "going swimmingly" part of moving to Chicago. Well, not all of it. I think the kiddie wading pool is still open, so that's at least something.

The swanky receptionist job is no more. Well, correction: the swanky receptionist job is still there, just that I am no more in it. I have NO CLUE why. Neither does my temp recruiter. I mean, really... who can't find me loveable and wonderful?!? And they missed out -- I was going to bring them cookies. Really, it's their loss.

Yesterday, I helped out at the temp agency, proving to them that I am wonderful. Tomorrow I'll be doing the same thing. Today I'm at a swanky financial and investment company downtown... manning the desk ("don't worry about the phones, they're really confusing," she said) and shredding paper.

I've hit the high life at last.

bet your bottom dollar you lose the blues in....

oh, yes, you guessed it -- Chicago! wow. what a big city. I'm offically here, so it seems. I found an apartment (the first one I visited), I found a swanky receptionist job downtown (the first one I interviewed for), and everything in my new place is organized (all my furniture fits perfectly). and, as you may see, everything is going swimmingly (okay for me, since I was a lifeguard). I'm finding some cool cafes I want to check out... that is, after I earn a paycheck or two... or ten. The natural food store is actually comperable to regular grocery stores -- maybe there's just a good enough demand. I've been to the beach a few times. the beach is free. the beach is also pretty fun... I just lay there on the sand for a while, every now and then saying, "a beach. I'm on a beach." although I'm not a huge fan of melanoma, after spending 80 hours a week this summer in a warehouse selling doorknobs and a restaurant selling burritos, basking in the sun was *wonderful*.

everything is as it should be. I only foresee it getting better.

who lives here?

as I currently work for a wholesaler, I fill orders for all kinds of cities and companies with odd names. Here are some of the more interesting town names (I suppose it might be bad to put up the weird company names):

Tea, SD (do they drink a lot? do they make it?)
Winner, SD (hope it is one)
Manilla, IA (like the envelope)
Montezuma, IA (don't drink the water)
Oconomowoc, WI (not somewhere we sell to, I just like saying it)
Correctionville,IA (guess what's located there)
Ladysmith, WI (do they make them there?)
Argyle, MN (like the socks)

and the winner is...

Nimrod, MN


really, now. who was the genius who named this town? I'm sure there was a reason, but I have no idea what it was.

I'm bubble boy!

someone should just put me in a bubble, really. it's apparent to me that the world is trying to make me hurt.

so the mexican polka pains eventually disappeared, a few ben gay patches later. however, I then made the decision to play softball with some old coworkers.

first, I was asleep 5 minutes before the game started, in the middle of a glorius nap. then I got a phone call saying I was late (true, I planned on being there early), so I left, half asleep. got to the game and was placed in center field 15 minutes after waking in a daze... I can't catch to save myself even if I'm *awake*. But I was able to throw to shortstop a number of times, to my surprise.

The kicker was when I was up to bat. keep in mind, I haven't done this in over a year. I HIT THE BALL ON THE FIRST TRY. that was good. then I started to run. I ran. really fast. I ran so fast, in fact, that I felt myself starting to topple forward. I hit the base and tripped over it, causing myself to sprawl out over the dirt and gravel. yeah. you're not supposed to slide at first. they asked me if I was okay, and my reply was, "am I safe?" I, indeed, was safe. my next teammate, however, managed to hit the ball right to second, so I wasn't safe for long.

my knee hurt -- I had ripped my jeans -- but it didn't seem too bad. the next day, however, I thought I might die. I actually wondered if it was getting infected, because it also looked kind of gross. and it hurt. a lot. it was red and hot and oozey. but never, fear, fellow reader -- today it appears that I will be fine, and that my leg won't be amputated after all.

I may, however, have to forgo all future physical activity. and it's a good thing my middle name isn't grace, or my life would be *really* messed up.

good for the sweat glands, not for the cartiledge

so yesterday was an okay day. very good in some respects, not so in others -- hence the average score of "okay". served people food on the patio for the second of my two shifts at the restaurant (that shall remain nameless to protect... um... well, I'm sure someone needs to be protected). didn't make as much money as I should have, but that happens. they were going to close the patio and send me home. they -- in this case, the managers -- then changed their minds, and I stayed a few more hours under the understanding that life is truly unfair. then I went home. the day was going to be over by 10 pm. aaahhhhhhhh.... sleep..... ROOMIE!!!!! that's what I heard as I walked in the door. although screaming was not the noise I wanted to hear upon arriving, at least I knew I still had a roommate. she (of course) asked if I wanted to go out with everyone... they were going latin dancing... here comes my mistake. against my better judgement, I decided to go with them. I figured, "I'm still young, I'm working away my summer, I should have fun, I will suck it up and go out!" I knew I wouldn't get in until after 2 am (something I NEVER do, especially now as I work 80 hours a week) and I had only ten minutes to shower and get ready. The getting ready part was the least of my worries, as all the girls in apartment were impressed at my agility in the bathroom. I got to the place in one piece, and had a good time. danced a lot -- it was kind of a mexican polka, not totally sure. fun, nonetheless. all I know was that I got to work on my not-leading-the-guy-while-dancing skills. Also got a workout that makes up for me not going to the gym this weekend. The guys all paid for EVERYTHING. (that was nice of them!) the getting home after 2 am (2:37, to be precise) wasn't even all that hard, either. The hard part was realizing that I may be getting too old for this.

Is that possible? Me, hardly past my quarter-of-my-life mark (and that does depend on my life expectancy), am too old for *dancing*? Me, who thinks getting older is pretty cool? Me, who even likes the grey hair I have coming in (as long as it comes in a nice set of streaks or something). But also me, whose knees and hips are screaming in pain as I sit in my office chair at work.

really, I just might die tonight at the restaurant. it's time to buy some ace thermal wraps for my knees. I'd get them for my hips, but I don't think that would work well. curse my roommate for her fun activities she gets me into.

the blue hair and cartons of depends are on their way.

chicago is a big city

so I discovered something this weekend: chicago is a big city.

yeah, I know. most people know this already. most of those people are city people. I am not. I realized this over the weekend. between having to grow balls on the highway in a big hurry so I could merge, to needing two people to help me parallel park, I found out how much of a child of suburbia I truly am.

"so what?" you may think. a reasonable thought, I'll admit. I will tell you "what".


this is only a situation because I'm moving there in a month.

yes, in less than a month I'll be moving there with the brilliant sivilicious and her cat. it will be good. it will be a learning experience (to say the least). I will learn to parallel park. I will learn to ride the el. (which can I tell you how glad I am to finally know it is an abbreviation for elevated! I only wish it was an acronym...) I'm sure I will learn other things that I don't even know I don't know yet. I may not even realize that I'm learning things I didn't know I didn't know, I'll just all of a sudden know them.

I hope my odds of survival are in my favor.