In Keeping with Tradition

In my "baby book," where my mother keeps most of the embarrassing photos from my infancy and childhood, there are many pictures of Kalesy's birthday parties. And most of them have as their backdrop the dull, grey institutional paint covering our garage walls. There's even a newspaper clipping backing up the conclusion drawn - "It Always Rains on July 29".

So, this year, to celebrate my bon anniversaire, I decided to go for a bikeride. I was about 3 miles from home when the sky turned black. I looked up only to see a lightening spear connect with a tree not 200 yards from me. Fun.

But within 10 minutes the violence had blown over and blue skies had returned. So, back onto my bike and try again. Not 10 minutes later, the region had the highest level of flash flooding seen in this area in 10 years.

Good times.

There's a point at which you're so wet you can't get any wetter. I got to that point when I was still 15 miles from home.

Ah, tradition.

Middlesex

Met a new bunch of folks at a (new to me) book group tonight. I had a really good time. As is my usual wont and paranoia, I worried that I came across too loud, too proud for a first meeting. I can't help it. I love books - I love analyzing them, thinking about them, questioning them. And when I get in that place - inspired and motivated - I just get, well, loud. Still, Kalesy should remember that she is an acquired taste....

But I really liked a few of the gals I met tonight and I hope that I could at least possibly have introduced myself to one or two people who might, somehow, someway, become my friends. Because I am tired of being that cat lady.

Of course, the other great upside of being inspired and motivated is that I get all these great ideas to write about. And so I came home and fired up the computer. Alas, it is far too hot in my apartment - and I am far too tired - to get much done. But I did get the beginnings of a story down, so at least I shouldn't forget what I was going to say....

Still no decision as to how to spend the looming birthday weekend. Best decide soon. Keebs is mentioning the hang outage and I really (really) hate to dirt her. But I am truly, honestly, and cross-my-heart worried that if I don't make the drive out to Western MA, Mr. Zips will either hate me or leave me or both. And is my ever increasing level of complete emotional exhaustion (only magnified tenfold by Napolean's decision not to leave town tonight but rather tomorrow night (read, post 5 p.m. on a FRIDAY)) enough to merit a raincheck from a drive out to Western MA? Or, for that matter, is the exhaustion so high that I can't even put up with an argument/discussion so that I'll suck up and do the drive on my Bday just to avoid it because, yes folks, I am that wrung out?

It's not that I don't want to see Mr. ZIps this weekend. I want nothing more. I just don't want to spend my birthday stuck in traffic, behind the wheel of a car with no AC when I could spend it so very easily lying down, flat on my back. In bed or on the beach, either way, it's sleep.

Saved by The Universe

I believe I mentioned that Napolean was in town. This usually isn't good news. And, up until about 15 minutes before I left today, I thought it was a par for course as far as bossman.

But don't forget, The Universe acts in mysterious ways.

Napolean decided he wanted to change the semantics of one of our major descriptions of our product. No big deal - except of course that I had just signed off on our printed brochure. Like yesterday. I sighed, I protested, I made a big show of how much this would rain on my parade. He insisted.

So, I called the printer and cancelled the job. I emailed the designer and told her to "Stop the Presses - Call Me!" She did. We started to walk through the changes one at a time, hoping to make them on the fly and re-submit the files to the printer.

It was then that we realized that one of the two files had a huge chunk of text missing. Which, by the way, just happened to be one of the major competitive differentiators of our product.

Of course, I can now spin this that the changes Napolean requested threw us off our deliverables deadline. And no one is the wiser that I actually signed off on and submitted a HUGELY flawed file to press.

It doesn't seem like a big deal but, with a boss who is super duper anal retentive in his management of me and has mentioned ad naseum that I "don't pay attention to detail" this is the difference between a bigtime probationary period and a decent review.

Thank you, Oh Universe. I can only guess that somehow, someway, something I did karmically paid off. Isn't life grand?

A Royale with Cheese

This makes me sad. Even though McDonalds was my first employer, and even though a MickyD's chicken sandwich with BBQ sauce will be the first thing I eat if I ever fall of the veghead bandwagon, it truly saddens me that their profits are rising while a frighteningly large number of people don't know what my "Eat More Kale" bumper sticker means. (Hint: It's not dirty. It's a leafy grean, people, with lots of iron for us gals...)

I have a lot more to say on that topic, coupled with the passage of the recent Farm Bill (shame on you Dems!) and, of course, this article on why it's just not as simple as eating locally, shopping at a farmers' market, or belonging to a CSA. I have a lot more to say, but I won't bore you.

Not to mention, Napolean is in town and its only a matter of time before he sneaks up behind my cube and says, "Whacha doin?"

No Rest for the, Um....

I love my neighborhood. It's a quiet community where (although Mr. Zips protests) I can leave my car doors unlocked with little fear and even occasionally have fallen asleep without closing my front door. (I don't recommend this, but I'm absent minded...) Everyone sits out on their porch on nice days and neighbors know each other's names -- and the names each other's dogs. It's a great place for families or child-free young adults who like quiet.

So I was a bit surprised when the College Students from HELL moved in next door. It's not bad enough that there seem to be a hundred of them living in the apartment. Or that they drive motorcycles. Or that one of them has a yappy dog that whines incessently until one of the girls screeches "Shut up!" at it. But the icing on the cake came the other night as I headed into my bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready. What was that chanting I heard? Are they religious? I wondered. Calling on Bloody Mary? Looking out the window I saw the cause. They were doing keg stands.

It horrifies me that I have become that neighbor - standing there and shaking my head, tsk tsking their decibal levels. But, really. This ain't Brighton.

Yesterday, though, I glimpsed a respite from party central. After putting some dinner in the oven, I'd headed out to the porch to do some reading. There was a hubbub next door. They were packing cars. Loading cases of beer and pillows into back seats and shouting about CDs to bring. They were going on a trip! It would be quiet! I could sleep!

At 7 a.m. this morning, house painters showed up to get to work on the house. Ladders clanged up. Scraping ensued. Young men chattered in Spanish. Loudly.

Why, oh why, oh why, me?