Anonymous

File this under "Housekeeping":
I have had a couple of people ask me over the past couple of weeks why there are virtually no photos on my blog and why all the "code words".

The reasons are twofold.

1. I spend much of my professional life online - Googling my name will pull up a variety of things in which I've been involved over the last several years. I have a very strong need to compartmentalize my personal and professional lives. At one point during my life in VA, I was being stalked at a jobsite and had to travel there with "back-up." It was a lot of unnecessary drama, but made me very cautious about things. (That was re-emphasized during the Great Job Disaster for entirely different reasons). The only way to keep them separate is to not link my personal blog to anything that would identify me in the professional world. It's not that I'm totally anonymous - there are plenty of things that give me away - it just takes some work.

2. While I talk about Grover and Woodstock and Himself, the blog is largely self-reflecting. I don't blog to update family. I blog because it's an outlet ... and I happen not to mind if anyone (or no one) reads it. I'm also not quite comfortable posting photos that visually identify my family in a non-protected space online.

In short, it's caution. Which, given my guarded self, fear of heights and phobia of falling down flights of stairs, it shouldn't be much of a surprise.

End of administrative update.
Back to your regularly scheduled programming.

The Yiddish Mammal Mucous Water Chronicles

I've spent the past hour reading blogs of a dozen or so people I knew from childhood but haven't seen in at least a decade, if not longer. I've been reading the endless littany of updates on the kiddos and the sweet adoring words for the spouses. All on perfectly adorable blogger backgrounds that look like scrapbook pages. (Note: at this point, I sound sarcastic. I am not - this is one of those places where inserting a tone of voice would clarify the words. You just have to trust me on this).

I returned to my own blog, with a slimy green background (like pond scum!), where the only photo in recent memory is of Woodstock's hand petting a sheep's nose. And while there are posts dedicated to Himself's sweetness (did I just use those two words together?!), there are a lot more posts where I am just kvetching (I often long for a Yiddish grandmother, if for nothing more than the food and the fabulous vocabulary).

It is now clear there are two types of bloggers:

Those penning sweet love songs, surrounded by adorable kiddos, angelic choirs and flower petals(99.99%)

-AND-

Those kvetching about sheep's snot in pond scum (0.01%)

I'm just saying ... fitting in isn't exactly my thing.

Um, yeah ...

I have done some big things this week - things that make me want to run screaming in the other direction.

Things like ...

* Quitting my job - without another one to go to and without a single clue how things are going to get paid for after the first week of July.

* Looking for an attorney. I used to think people were so sophisticated growing up when they would say, "well, I had my attorney review it" or "I have to call my attorney." What it really means is people either are in, or anticipate being in, a whole lot of trouble.

* Trying to figure out how to best pack for our move across the fence. Yes, you read it right - it will be "Adieu, Hobbit Hole!" in 3 weeks. We are moving - to the duplex next door. It is a special kind of move - one that involves a special kind of packing - something I am not sure how to define yet.

* Contemplating killing a rodent. I swear I saw something scramble from one corner of the kitchen to underneath the refrigerator this morning. Himself thinks I am suffering the delusional after effects of seeing a giant (3") bug come waddling out from underneath the fridge Wednesday, upon which I promptly attacked it with the mop before scooping it up in a paper towel to dispose of it. It stung me. I about keeled over in panic (motherhood has done strange things to my sense of vulnerability). Anyway, back to the rodent (?). Himself thinks I am insane. I scrubbed the entire kitchen wearing my bathrobe and flip flops just to make sure I was hallucinating. Nothing shows signs of rodent(s). Said rodent cannot remain under the fridge indefinitely - and there just aren't that many places to hang out in the Hobbit Hole kitchen. But I swear I saw something scurry from the top of the electric radiator on the wall (that we don't use) under the fridge. I. Don't. Do. Rodents. Even pet ones. Snakes, bugs (within reason, preferably small and sans any body hair), bees, flies - even ants. But not rodents.

Oy. Pray for me.

Merely a Flesh Wound

(Bonus points to the other nerds like me who can quote the rest of the movie I stole that line from)

I'm not dead, yet.

I'm here. Lurking in the shadows. Swimming upstream and holding my breath.

There have been moments when I've pondered and thought to blog:

...like yesterday, when I discovered I was wearing my turtleneck sweater backwards at a meeting, made a mental note to change it, forgot and wore it backwards ALL DAY (filed under more absurd things Sara has done lately);

...like the day before when I was so intent on getting Baby Girl from the sitter and getting home early to spend the snowy afternoon working from home that I misjudged where the curb should be under the pile o' snow we got that morning and landed in a crumpled heap on the side of the road with an ankle injury;

...like the other day when Himself and I stopped at the Creamery on 9th (formerly Kent's Market) to enjoy the best milkshakes in Happy Valley and I failed to realize that a "large" really meant LARGE - much larger than I could ever hope to consume (though the macadamia nut crunch ice cream was heavenly);

...like my ongoing battles mired in red tape with two state governments, the social security administration, and several different insurance companies;

But none of them has warranted much mention after the moment passed.

So, I'm still here - nursing merely a flesh wound in the grand scheme of things, with not much to say.

21st Century Communication

So, you'll remember my moaning about the ridiculous ticket fees in this post.

Well ... to make a really long story short, Himself and I had a terrible bout of miscommunication, and I ended up purchasing the tickets. When I called to tell him, he said "I thought we agreed $95 wasn't worth paying to see anybody." Um, yes, we did, but then I thought he really, really wanted to go - and, well, I'm a sucker for doing things for others.

So I had two tickets, a horrible virus of some sort and a husband who really didn't care to go and a $95 charge I really can't afford.

What to do.

This morning, I pulled up Craigslist, typed a short advert regarding my need to get rid of my tickets for tonight's concert and said, "if you inquire this morning, I will be in a meeting - please text me."

I got rid of the tickets an hour ago - after a day-long conversation via text with someone named Dustin. We will meet him at will call to pick up/give away/receive payment for our tickets.

I've never actually spoken to him, but I know that he really wanted to go, had to ask his wife if she wanted to/could go and had to make arrangements to meet.

I love the 21st Century. Especially since my rabid sore throat makes talking out loud an incredible challenge at the moment.

Absurdity

There is a concert coming to town this week that I really want to go to. I've always wanted to see this performer in concert - Himself has, and has commented several times on how much he enjoyed it.

Himself and I decided that we'd go and call it the almost-three-months-late-birthday-present-I-didn't-get.

I find out tickets are $35 each - reasonable.

I go to buy them - there are still good seats left. Good.

Then I get to the purchase screen - there are TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS worth of fees! And, if I want to print my own tickets at home, I can add another $3 to that.

Why not say the concert tickets are $49 each and not tell me how much is fees? Funny - I might have purchased them at that point and chalked it up to a splurge.

But I can't justify knowingly paying almost another full ticket price in fees to go to the concert.

So I didn't buy them. I'm in mourning - I really wanted a date night with Himself - and Thursdays are the night our sitter is open late. More than that, I really wanted to see this concert. But all those fees? Am I supposed to clap my hands and jump for joy?

SmithTix stinks.

Killer Kleenexes

My family spent last weekend with us and lovingly shared their germs. Try as we might to remain germ-free, both Baby Girl and I ended up with viruses. Her's manifested as a cold. Mine (as typical, due to a congenital sinus defect) manifested as a minor (though still horrid) sinus infection.

Neither of us are sleeping. Neither of us want to eat, but one of us is way too skinny (not me) to not be eating. Both of us are inhaling saline solution with great regularity. One of us gets to have her "snoogers" sucked out of her via a bulb syringe. The other has the only-slightly-more-appealing option of blowing her snoogers into a tissue.

I made a trek to Target today, because Baby Girl is out of diapers (a testament to how lousy I feel). While there, I discovered something I didn't know existed: Killer Kleenexes.

I'm probably the only idiot on the planet who didn't realize Kleenex makes anti-viral tissues. In a hurry, I threw the box into the cart and went to the checkout (where it was abundantly clear to the cashier that an adult had a cold of some sort and an infant was in dire need of half the baby care aisle - one should not go to Target when ill, hungry, bored or anytime one doesn't have a money tree in the backyard).

Curious about the "killer" properties of the tissues, I actually read the box when I got back to the office. It says,

"Kleenex Anti-Viral tissue has three soft layers, including a moisture-activated middle layer that kills 99.9% of cold and flu viruses in the tissue within 15 minutes ... See below for anti-viral details.

The "see below" portion tells one which viruses the tissues kill, but not HOW they are killed or WHAT kills them.

Still not satiated, I read the ingredients (Does anyone else find this humorous? A tissue box with ingredients?):

Citric Acid .... 7.51%
Sodium Lauryl Sulfate ... 2.02%
Inert ingredients ... 90.47% (ie all the stuff they use to make the non-lethal tissues, I suppose)

Okay - so my killer tissues have Vitamin C and the stuff they use in toothpaste and shampoo to make it lather (which, by the way, is also a known skin irritant if used in large quantities - just what I want in my tissues that are wiping an already angry nose).

Since when does Vitamin C and a lathering/cleansing agent kill viruses? Does that mean when I used to use lemon juice to lighten my hair and then shampoo it out, that I was killing viruses on my head? If I eat candy bubbles (which contain SLS) and drink orange juice at the same time that I'll kill viruses inside me? How about washing my dishes in water with Vitamin C tablets and dishsoap (another product with SLS)?

Being no chemist (and not sure I even want to know the answer), I am stumped.

I do find it humorous that Killer Kleenexes come with "Directions for Use," indicating that I could go to a federal prision if I use the Killer Kleenexes as something other than for which they were intended. Just in case one decides to kill something other than viruses with said tissues, I suppose.

Who knew you'd ever find a Federal Warning, Vitamin C and Tissues all in the same package? Regardless, it makes a great case for sticking with plain ol' toilet paper, which is standard tissue fare in the Hobbit Hole.

The Reign of the Wicked Witch

I am a step-parent, which almost everyone in my life knows.

What they don't know (or refuse to believe) is that, in reality, I am The Wicked Witch. I was just crowned on Thursday evening, as just over a week of drama finally wore me down to the core, and I passed the audition with flying colors.

I didn't mean to sign up for auditions. I really didn't. I didn't even mean to stumble across the notification. I meant to float effortlessly through the three-week span, sparkly wand in hand, glass slippers and frilly dress on display, a la Glinda the Good Witch. Somehow along the way I took a wrong turn down a road filled with "No U-turn" signs and no crossroads. When I arrived at the end, they were holding auditions. I thought I might peak in - laugh at everyone else who was behaving so insanely for the title. Roll my eyes and think, "I'm glad I'm just visiting." Somehow, I ended up staying, and then, I realized I could win.

There was the food incident. The floor incident. The "I swear there is a vast conspiracy against me" incident. The towels and bathing suit incident. The field trip and eating out incident. The DVD incident. The phone call. The stomach ache. Too many more to mention. I passed every single portion of the audition with gusto. I left everyone stunned.

They asked me what I was going to do, as a way to celebrate the beginning of my reign. I vociferously proclaimed, "I'm going to visit The Parents!" They agreed that it was a very Wicked Witch thing to do - abandoning all Wicked Witch responsibilities for two whole days.

By the end of the two days, my crown (er, pointed black hat), was tarnished. I kept thinking of Glinda, and how I had so abruptly abandoned my "fairy godmother/good witch" project. I marveled at how easy it was to win the title. How easily I bowed before those whom I had pitied from the doorway. My heart was sad - a sign that somehow, while I had claimed the title, I was having a hard time bearing the crown (er, pointed black hat).

I don't WANT to be the Wicked Witch, but I'm afraid the audition was signed in blood and the title is non-refundable.