Category Archives: Uncategorized

Famous last words #38: What could possibly go wrong?

Deutsch: "Kopfschmerzen". Die wohl b...

Deutsch: “Kopfschmerzen” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Oh, my God.  Week from Hell.  Worst.  Week.  Ever!  to quit caffeine.  There needs to be some kind of Caffeine Anonymous program with sponsors you can call when things get tough:  “Man, I don’t know what to do.  I got three hours of sleep, I have ten errands to run after work, and my computer just blew up.  It would be so much easier to deal with all of this if I could just have some caffeine.”  “Take a deep breath, Little Blind Girl.  You can do this.  Just take it one day at a time.”

I made it through the week, more or less, with rather less in the way of running and rather more in the way of beer and Italian restaurants (sorry, Doc), but only a little more.  I thought I was safe on the weekend.  I’d done the hard part.  I’d gotten through Hell Week without caffeine.  It was Sunday evening.  What could possibly go wrong now?

Slight digression:  there are things you must never say, or even think.  They are as follows:

  1. I’ll be right back.
  2. Everything’s under control.
  3. It’s probably nothing.
  4. What does this button do?
  5. What could possibly go wrong?

Lesson learned.  No sooner had I said this to myself than my Darling Dad called and wanted to know everything about my savings and retirement situations right then over the phone, down to the last penny in the accounts and the tax consequences in the event that I predecease both parents but am survived by my step-nephew.  And he needed to know it immediately!  Slight exaggeration, but only slight.  I don’t have a step-nephew.  That I know of.

I dealt with Darling Dad, hung up the phone, sighed, and decided I needed a soda.  A non-caffeinated one, obviously.  So I started off to the convenience store across the street and what did I find hanging on the handle of my apartment door?  Was it the decapitated head of my pet horse?  A voodoo doll of me with a pin through each eye?  No.  No, it was something far worse, something calculated to cut through all of my defenses and bring me to my knees in mere seconds.

It was a bag of three bottles of Mountain Dew soda.

They were probably from my neighbor trying to be nice, after I’d had such a hard week and all (the nightmares may have clued him in, with me shouting “No!  I swear!  I’ll get the report in by Tuesday!” at 2 in the morning), but really I think it was the Karma Gods coming for me.  It’s only fair.  I knew better.

Now to publish this blog post.  So many widgets and banners and buttons on these blogs…what does this button do?

Mirage Volcano 2

Mirage Volcano 2 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ll be right back!

29 Comments

How to be a bad influence almost anywhere

Matala caves

Matala caves (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I went to a nearby park over the weekend with a friend.  We walked a little ways and then came upon a roped-off area with a sign saying “Please don’t climb in the caves.”  Silly.  Of course we climbed in the caves.  It got a little tricky when the rocks underneath started sliding out from under our feet–possibly the reason for the sign–but for once I wasn’t wearing heels, so we were more or less all right.  I ignore all warning signs on principle, anyway.

A nearby family reunion spilled over into the meadow in front of the caves, and three little kids came up to the rope.  They were old enough to read the signs and young enough to obey them.  That’s a nice age to be at.  All of the curiosity with none of the moral anxiety.  One of them saw us and shouted, “You’re not supposed to be in there!”  I smiled and shouted back “We’re rebels!”  Always trying to set a good example, me.

My friend and I explored the caves as far as our mutual fear of spiders allowed, then set out to climb back down.  Suddenly, we saw the same three boys as before tearing across the meadow on bikes, which I’m fairly sure they weren’t supposed to be doing, shouting “Rebels!” at the tops of their lungs.  I waved at them, then saw their parents glowering at me and pretended I’d been stretching.

And the moral of this story is:  if you work very, very hard and are lucky enough to have the opportunity arise, it is possible to be an extremely bad influence almost anywhere.  Especially if you’re with the Little Blind Girl, who is on the government watch list of Very Bad Influences and has practically set the standard.  Rebels!  Yeah!

8 Comments

No! Take anything you want, but spare the caffeine!

Old Man Grieving - Vincent van Gogh

Old Man Grieving – Vincent van Gogh (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As yet another part of a well-meaning attempt to preserve what vision I have for as long as possible, my doctor has finally gone too far:  he has ordered me to give up caffeine.

Now, there are a few issues this raises.  One of the first that may strike you is–how can my doctor order me to do anything?  The answer is that he was in the army before he went into private practice and, although he doesn’t say anything, I’m pretty sure he knows at least ten different ways to kill me with his bare hands.  I know he has a very pointed look when he asks if I’ve been eating enough green, leafy vegetables.  There are very few people who scare me, but he’s one of them.

The second, and ultimately more important issue is, is it actually possible for me to survive without caffeine?  I know there are people who can, but I think at this point I may be physically composed of caffeine in significant amounts.  I’m not saying giving up caffeine would actually cause my body to shut down, but I’m not eager to find out.  I don’t have the courage to say this to my doctor, however, so the caffeine (I can’t believe I’m saying this) has got to go.

Today is my first day without caffeine.  I found myself, once I was able to reassemble and reattach my skull, experiencing some unfamiliar emotions.  Thoughts popped unbidden into my head.  I started thinking, “I don’t really need to give up caffeine.  I’m fine!  Why is this happening to me?”  I progressed from these thoughts to ones such as “Stupid doctor!  It’s not fair!  This is his fault!”  From there, I went to “Maybe if I just offered to eat more fruit,” and “I’ll donate my life savings to charity if I don’t have to give up caffeine.”

I finally realized what was going on:  I’m going through the five stages of grief.

  1. Denial.  “I don’t really need to give up caffeine”
  2. Anger.  “This is my doctor’s fault!”
  3. Bargaining.  “Maybe if I just ate more fruit”

This leaves me with two more stages:  depression and acceptance.  I’ve already progressed to the depression stage.  “It doesn’t matter, nothing matters anymore.  Life is meaningless without caffeine.”  Wikipedia has this to say about the depression stage of the Kubler-Ross model of grieving:

During the fourth stage, the dying person begins to understand the certainty of death. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and grieving. This process allows the dying person to disconnect from things of love and affection. It is not recommended to attempt to cheer up an individual who is in this stage…. It’s natural to feel sadness, regret, fear, and uncertainty when going through this stage.

Sadness, regret, fear, and uncertainty.  This is what I feel when I contemplate a Monday morning without caffeine.  A tad dramatic, you say?  Just imagine Monday morning at the office, in heels and hose, checking the seventeen messages that have accumulated over the weekend and remembering all those things that got put off from last week because it would all somehow be easier this week.  Now, add caffeine withdrawal.  Doesn’t that make you feel sadness, regret, fear, and uncertainty?

I look forward to the acceptance stage.  I’m told that’s when I come to terms with the tragic event.  Caffeine, you’ve left me too soon.  When I think of all the manic unfocused energy you gave me and the sudden complete physical collapse that came as you wore off, it’s hard to imagine my life without you.  But our time has passed.  And, to be honest, I doubt I’ll lose any sleep over you.  That was kind of the problem in the first place.

33 Comments

Attack of the exercise buddies, or: How I ended up running in the rain

Dvstransomsnow

Dvstransomsnow (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hey, blog people!  I missed you!  I had a computer-intensive project that killed my eyes for a while.  The perils of being a little blind girl.  But I’m back, sort of, with yet more adventures to share with you.  Let us begin:

When I got up this morning, I didn’t intend to go running at any point during the day.  Yes, yes, I know I told my doctor I would, but I’ve been really busy, and then I got food poisoning, and then I was really tired, and then I had a date (+60 points, by the way), and then I just didn’t feel like it.

But a couple of colleagues of mine run after work, and today my office mate convinced me to go with them.  I’m still not sure how it happened; one minute I was downing my third mug of Red Bull, the next minute I’d agreed to throw on my ratty exercise clothes that I’ve had since I was in school and go run laps.

I lost count of the number of excuses I found not to go.  It’s raining; it’s been a long day; I couldn’t possibly leave before this person calls me back; I can’t see the track without my glasses; I think it might kill me.  I’m amazed my colleagues didn’t brain me before we ever got out of the office, but they didn’t, and I ended up at a nearby track in the rain, blind as a bat and ready to run.  Well, if not exactly ready, at least too stubborn to back out.

I didn’t run the whole way.  I did at least keep going the entire time, even though I walked the majority of the way.  I ran sporadically, and I found time to regret not having planned this a little better as I realized that, in the decade since I last exercised regularly, the elastic on my track pants has–shall we say, relaxed a little?  Or a lot?  Seriously, the minute I’d break into a jog, my pants would start slipping down my hips.  I kept having to grab them and yank them back up.  Trot, grab, pull, repeat.  For a mile and a half.

I made terrible time, but at least I didn’t end up performing an unintentional striptease.  That, combined with a wet t-shirt from the rain, would have turned my pathetic attempt at exercise into a totally different experience!  I think I’ll go again the next time my colleagues go.  Next time, however, I’m wearing spandex.  And maybe something with a drawstring.  Do you think it would be going too far to run in suspenders?

26 Comments

How to tell who’s winning the dating game

As many of my regular readers know, I’ve been out on a fair few dates.  Regular readers will also know that I have an unusual approach to dating.  My motto is, make every date an adventure.  It’s hard to tell how a dating adventure is going, so while getting bored waiting for various dates to pick me up, or in the back of my head while making small talk, I came up with a points system to keep track of how things are going.  In the spirit of pooling resources, I thought I would share this system with you and ask for your suggestions.  I’ve broken this down into relationship phases, for ease of perusal:

Asking someone out

  • While sober:  +10 points
  • While drunk:  -15 points
  • Face to face:  +15 points
  • Over the phone:  +5 points
  • Via text message:  0 points
  • On five minutes notice:  -15 points
  • Through poetry:  +25 points, even if it’s bad

Getting to first date location

  • Person who did the asking picks up:  +10 points
  • Person who was asked picks up:  -5 points, unless good reason
  • Meet at location:  0 points
  • Bringing flowers:  +10 points
  • Bringing flowers with vase:  +20 points
  • Overly romantic setting requiring heels:  0 points
  • Casual setting allowing flats:  +5 points
  • Unusual setting (awesome):  +25 points
  • Unusual setting (creepy):  -15 points

First Date

  • Telling date he/she looks nice:  +10 points
  • Not commenting on how late the other person was:  +5 points
  • Not being late in the first place:  +15 points
  • Ordering for the other person:  -20 points (I hate this!)
  • Asking the other person how his/her day was:  0 points
  • Asking the other person how his/her day was and actually listening:  +15 points
  • Discussing politics:  -5 points
  • Discussing religion:  -15 points
  • Discussing ex:  -30 points
  • Getting so engrossed in other person that you don’t notice the restaurant is closing:  +30 points
  • Tipping badly:  -20 points
  • Walking date safely to car/door:  +15 points

Post-date communication

  • Follow-up phone call/email/text within 1 day:  +10 points
  • Within two days:  +5 points
  • Within three days:  0 points
  • No contact until a week has gone by:  -10 points
  • More than five calls/emails/texts within 24 hours:  -5 points
  • Sending inappropriate pictures with suggestive captions after first date:  -50 points
  • Suggesting second date:  +15 points
  • Suggesting second date, then going incommunicado for three days:  -15 points
  • Using words “buddy”, “pal” or “friend” in post-date communication:  just give up

This doesn’t include second date activity or anything after, since a) this isn’t that kind of blog, and b) I rarely get to that stage.  Those of you who want to use this system should remember, as always, that no matter what the numerical result is, you have to take into account that certain inexplicable something that can’t be quantified.  I call it the Johnny Depp factor.  Feel free to rename it however suits you!

So what do you think?  Additions?  Corrections?  Suggestions?  Recriminations?  Does anyone want to do a follow-up for second dates and beyond?

12 Comments

10 celebrities who are disappointed in you

In the vein of 33 animals that are disappointed in you, I bring you 10 celebrities who are disappointed in you, and one who isn’t:

1.  Robert Pattinson…

2.  Kellan Lutz…

3.  Josh Duhamel…

4.  George Clooney…

5.  Bradley Cooper…

6.  Brad Pitt…

7.  Orlando Bloom…

8.  Channing Tatum…

9.  Ryan Gosling…

10.  Liam Hemsworth…

And finally…

Johnny Depp…

And this is why we love Johnny Depp!

34 Comments

My poltergeist’s name is Bas

Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have a poltergeist.  His name is Bas, short for Bastion of Evil.  I’ve had him since college.  I’m not quite sure why he started homing in on me, but I first noticed him when my random player for my music playlist started playing the same few songs over and over again.  Apparently the Bastion of Evil is very fond of Bon Jovi, which I can’t say is surprising.  Birds of a feather, you know.

Bas has expanded his repertoire since then.  He makes all my important emails get caught in the spam filter, eats my socks (only the right sock, for some reason, and he favors patterned socks that can’t easily be paired with other sort-of-similar socks), and hides that thing I’ve been looking for.  He also likes to put my flute in a different place every time I set it down, but I think that’s just because he doesn’t like my flute-playing, which, fair enough.  You don’t have to be a spirit being of malicious mischief for that.

Truth be told, I’ve been impressed at the steady way in which Bas has been working to improve his skills.  He’s been showing real initiative and discipline.  I especially admired the way in which he recently caused two lightbulbs to burn out just after I’d put the ladder away after replacing three other bulbs that had been out for weeks.  It’s Bas’s attention to detail that sets him apart from the other poltergeists.

He’ll go missing sometimes.  It took a while for me to see the pattern, but once I started to look, I realized that, when I didn’t notice him around the apartment for a while, there would be odd stories on the news:  one time after Bas disappeared, the Vice-President shot his friend in the face while duck-hunting.  Another time not long ago, Bas vanished for a while and a British Petroleum oil well in the Gulf of Mexico exploded and started spewing oil uncontrollably.  When Bas reappeared, he seemed particularly smug and put “It’s My Life” on loop for a week (longest week of my life).

Over the years, I’ve tried various techniques to overcome my poltergeist.  Of course, I went with the ever-popular exorcism.  This seemed to go well–no one’s head started spinning around, nothing caught on fire–until the end, when the priest turned to go and found that Bas had tied his shoelaces together.  Subtle.  The computer then started playing “You Give Love A Bad Name” without any apparent cause.  Also, it turns out that holy water stains duvets.  And Bas was still around.

I tried talk therapy, to see if there was some underlying issue we could resolve that would break this cycle of mischief.  I would ask questions like “How does it feel when you inflict injury on others?” to a seemingly empty room.  Then a crash would come from somewhere nearby, and I would run out to see a friend rolling around on the floor with a fork stuck in her foot, whimpering “It hurts!”  And I would yank out the implement, clean up my friend, and stomp back to my room, muttering “You could have just mysteriously typed it on my computer screen, you know.”

Your Ghost Is a Gift

Your Ghost Is a Gift (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the end, I decided to embrace my poltergeist.  Not literally, because I’m guessing that ectoplasm is even worse for fabrics than holy water is, but metaphorically.  Bas is a poltergeist, and he’s mine.  I check my email spam filter regularly, buy new socks to replace the ones he’s eaten and resign myself to listening to a lot of Bon Jovi.  In return, Bas doesn’t blow up my apartment, and he stays out of the way when I’ve got a guy over.  A poltergeist will do a lot for a woman who keeps him well-supplied with socks.

18 Comments

Cripple Barbie

this is a picture of my Barbie doll

Picture of a Barbie doll (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was playing with a friend’s kid the other day.  She’s awesome and smart and cute and funny, but she likes to play with Barbies.  She’s like I was at her age, though; she likes to shave their heads and pull off their arms and leave them lying naked and mutilated all around the house, so that’s all right.  She also likes to dress up Ken in Barbie’s clothes (which will only go on him if you leave them unbuttoned, if you’re curious), which is a refinement of the art that was lost on the pre-teen Little Blind Girl.  I was impressed.

She also likes to use props meant for other games and appropriate them for Barbie.  One of the props she reassigned this time around was a wheelchair; Barbie had gotten in a car accident driving her convertible after taking her “evening soothers” (don’t ask) and had to trade in four wheels for two and kick it in a wheelchair for a while.  This was fine until she got to her Dream House…and the wheelchair wouldn’t go in the door.

That’s right:  Barbie’s Dream House is not handicapped-accessible.  The imperfectly abled may not pass the threshold of Barbie’s home.  Gimps and cripples must sleep outside.  I was appalled at this message of intolerance and indifference to suffering that surrounds our children, insidiously infiltrating their still-forming minds and imparting a lasting disregard for the rights of others. We must stand up against this atrocity!  Well, not Barbie, because she’s now enfeebled, but the rest of us must stand up!

And then I remembered that, if Barbie were a real person, her height would be 7’2, her weight would be 101 pounds, her bust would be 39FF, and both her head and her waist would be 19″ around, and I was like, screw it.  Barbie can gimp it on the streets.  I’m done wheeling her bony butt around.  How’s that for a life lesson?

35 Comments

My doctor wishes I wouldn’t post this

La Maldicion de la Bestia

La Maldicion de la Bestia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

During movie night a while ago, a new friend was invited to join our sacred circle.  Movie night for us involves finding the most cliched, predictable movies available and watching them while yelling insults, throwing things at the screen, drinking boxed wine, and eating horrifically unhealthy snacks.  We don’t invite just anyone to join us while we do this.  We make sure they have really good aim first.  Then we make them buy the wine.

So we’re getting ready for movie night.  We picked a werewolf movie, one of those where the werewolf is the love interest and there’s some sort of vague but agonizing destiny the lovers must overcome.  We give bonus points to the movies if they contain gratuitous violence, so we had high hopes for this one.  We like to take bets on how the movie is going to end before it even starts; winner picks the next movie.  But the really important part about movie night is the snacks.

We’d been having movie night pretty regularly for a while, so we were operating at pro level.  New Girl sat on the couch while the rest of us got the snacks ready.  The key to enjoying movie night properly is to start out with decent wine.  Then, when the spices have deadened your taste buds and the alcohol starts making its way into your system, switch to boxed wine.  At that point, you won’t be able to tell the difference, and it’s much cheaper.  Obviously, though, you have to choose spicy snacks to make this work properly.  So my friends and I are taking out our supplies and putting together our snacks, all talking with each other and not really paying attention because we’ve done this so often.  It went a little something like this:

Little Blind Girl:  (Pulls out Nacho Cheesier Doritos bags) I predict that Werewolf Girl will have some sort of clan-approved Werewolf Mate that she’ll have to kill in order to be with Human Hottie.

Friend 1:  (Heats up Texas Chili, Extra Hot, adding picante sauce) No, Werewolf Girl will be trying to deny her nature to be with Sanctimonious Loverboy, then she’ll go all wolfy and embrace her true destiny and kill the love interest.

Friend 2:  (Adds Taco Seasoning to Texas Chili, Extra Hot; stirs) Yeah, and then she’ll be all consumed with remorse and fight her Wolf King brother, who’s been egging her on.  She kills him and lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart.

Friend 3:  (Heats up storebought Nacho Dip, stirs in chunks of cheddar) No, she’ll bite Human Hottie and turn him into a werewolf.  Then he goes all feral and kills her best friend, and then she has to kill him.  Then she lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart.

LBG:  (adds chili-taco mix to Doritos bags, shakes enthusiastically, pours into large bowl) No, you’ve got to have the love triangle.  Werewolf Mate tries to kill Human Hottie to try to get with Wolf Girl, then she kills Werewolf Mate in front of Human Hottie, who gets all traumatized and can’t look at her.  Then she lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart.

Friend 1:  (pours cheese mixture over Chili Taco Doritos mix in bowl) Then Human Hottie finds her and convinces her that she can overcome her wolfy instincts and they can be together, and then they have a really awkwardly posed kiss and live happily ever after.

Friend 2:  (dumps 2 tubs of sour cream over Cheese Chili Taco Dorito mix)  You’re such a hopeless romantic!  No.  They have a really awkwardly posed kiss and then, as the screen fades to black, you hear a bunch of wolves starting to howl all around them.

Friend 3: (empties enormous tub of extra-spicy salsa over hot mess in bowl) No, no, no!  After Wolf Girl lopes off into the distance to be alone with her broken heart, Human Hottie tries to follow her, despite being grievously wounded from his fight with Werewolf Mate.  Just as he catches a glimpse of her and she looks at him, the moon comes out from behind the clouds and they realize they’re surrounded by the rest of the wolf clan.  Cut to credits.

Friend 4:  (scatters whole hot peppers throughout bowl, mixes up the hot mess, and reaches for the freaky hot green sauce)  You know, maybe we should ask New Girl if she wants freaky hot green sauce on her Chili Taco Dorito Nachos.  It might not be everyone’s cup of tea.

(We all look over at New Girl, who is staring in bewildered, uncomprehending horror at the Gigantic Bowl of Hot Mess on the kitchen table)

New Girl:  Um, no, that’s okay, I think I’m just going to eat some fruit.

(Bewildered, uncomprehending horror from group of friends, which we cleverly cover with a change of topic)

LBG:  So, New Girl, how do you think the movie will end?

New Girl:  I think Wolf Girl and Human Hottie will have a movie night, eat Chili Taco Dorito Nachos, and immediately have fatal heart attacks.

(Pause)

LBG:  I don’t remember seeing that in any of the promos.

Friend 1:  Isn’t there a story where the heroine chokes on an apple?

Friend 2:  That’s Snow White.  No werewolves.

Friend 1:  My point still stands.

Friend 3:  What point would that be?

Friend 1:  Never trust fruit.  That stuff will kill you.

Turns out, movie night isn’t for everyone.  But, you know, that just means more Chili Taco Dorito Nachos for the rest of us.  I don’t remember how the movie ended or who won that particular round, which is usually the sign of a successful movie night.  New Girl got over her horror and tried the nachos.  I think I even had a slice of apple.  But you don’t want to go overboard with that kind of thing.  Aren’t apples what got us kicked out of the Garden of Eden in the first place?

14 Comments

I’m not old! I’m not! I’m not…yes, I am

Kurt Cobain (front) and Krist Novoselic (left)...

Kurt Cobain (front) and Krist Novoselic (left) live at the 1992 MTV Video Music Awards. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I had occasion to hang out with some girls who are a bit younger than I am; I don’t want to admit how much younger because every time I try, I have to go sulk for a while and I want to get this blog post published tonight.  We started out talking about current events, which went fine.  I summarized world events and gave insightful and witty commentary, and the girls all nodded appreciatively because they had no idea what I was talking about.  My favorite kind of audience.

I should add that, throughout the conversation, even when they were all talking excitedly to each other, they all had their cell phones out and were texting and surfing and twittering the entire time.  They either have the most amazing abilities to concentrate on more than one conversation at once, or else they’re talking to me and simultaneously tweeting things like “Sky cloud sleeping greenly lol asdf qwerty #notreallypayingattention #godhelpthefuture”.  I don’t know.  I don’t really understand this Twitter thing.

Which brings me to tonight’s blog topic:  I am not old!  I’m not, really.  It’s just these kids today, with their smart phones and their YouTube…did you know that MTV doesn’t play music videos anymore?  I didn’t know that.  I’m pretty sure I still wouldn’t have known that even if I owned a television.  Oh, and no one actually uses a cell phone to call someone anymore. It’s all texting and tweeting.  The only call I saw any of the girls get was from one of their parents.

One girl was typing away on her netbook (I think that’s what it was) and went to save her work, commenting “I’ve never understood why this icon means ‘save’.  I don’t even know what it is.”  I leaned over; it was the icon for a floppy disk.  I tried really hard to not feel old. I was wearing low-rise jeans!  And I was entitled to!  You can’t do that and be old, right?

Then the conversation turned to our taste in music.  I recognized at least half of the names they mentioned as their favorite artists, which was encouraging.  Some of them even liked Adele and thought she was cool, and I was all “Me, too!  Me too!  Wow, you guys are awesome.  We’re totally bonding.”  Then I plucked up my courage and mentioned Kurt Cobain, musical genius and tortured soul, and how much I enjoy the body of work he left behind.  Four blank stares and complete silence.  Then, and I’m not kidding about this, one of them asked, “Who’s Kurt Cobain?”

And then I gave up.  I’m old.  I’d tweet it to the world if I knew how.

40 Comments