Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Wicked Awesome Poem Wednesday

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Wake Up!!!

So I jumped out of bed this morning, let the dogs out, hopped in the shower, toweled off, let the dogs back in, brushed my teeth, blew dry my … GRRR! … unwashed … hair. Argh! How does THAT happen?!? I have the exact same routine eh-hev-vary morning, but apparently THIS morning I decided to skip a step.


I have one of those heads of hair that must. Be. Washed. Daily. Not every other day. Not every three days (I so wish I could get away with washing my hair every few days … how luscious that would be). No, if I don’t wash my hair daily, I end up with stringy strands of greasy locks that much resemble a used mop head. Ick poo. And since I’m not an emo boy, Johnny Depp, or Rob Pattinson, greasy hair just doesn’t cut it. But then again, apparently my sebaceous glands KICK ASS! So there’s that.

Moving on … I then got to spend the day with the itchiest head evah … but only in my MAGNIFICENT imagination, which made it worse than if it had been in reality. Because I say so. Meh. Sigh … now all I need are the zits, and I can be a teen all over again.

And Maryann? I’m old enough to be their AUNT!

NOT their mother!


Oh my goodness, that’s prolly worse …

Monday, February 22, 2010

Winter Games!! WINTER GAMES!!

Got off to a slow start with the Winter Olympics this time ‘round, but now I’ve totally got my inner winter sport fan on, and I’m loving it! Although I have noticed that I’ve moved from the “if I work really hard I bet I could be good enough to compete at the next Winter Olympics, in 4 years” mentality to more of a “my, those athletes sure are phenomenal ... kids”.

“Kids” … BWAH HAH HAH HAH! I am getting OLD!!! And yep, when I was a kid I seriously did think I could put in four years of effort and be right in the mix the next time around. But that’s half the fun of the Olympics, isn’t it?

I’ve completely fallen in love with the slightly-different-than-U.S.-speak accent of the Canadian commentators, too … with their enunciation of such words as ‘again’, ‘about’ and whatnot. So very cool.

And that Aksel Lund Svindal? How HOT is he?!?! OMFreakingGOODNESS!!! He. Is. Hawt! Yes, yes … he’s skiing for Norway, whatever … have you SEEN him? Oh, my.

Have to admit I have a soft spot for the boys in general: Bode Miller, Apolo Anton Ohno, Andy Weibrecht, Sean White, Shani Davis … even Evan Lysacek, who I’d never heard of, but what a sweetheart! And of course John Shuster, Jason Smith, John Benton, and Jeff Isaacson.

Although some of the gals are on my radar as well: Debbie McCormick, Nicole Joraanstad, Linsdey Vonn, and Hanna Teter, to name a few.

And some entire teams (well, two): hockey, hocky, hockey!!!!

And aren’t Meryl Davis and Charlie White just plain adorable? VERY! I smile every time I watch them.

Okay, I’ll stop. Just wanted the one’s of ten’s of you to know the main reason I’ve not been around (aside from that pesky computer-on-the-verge-of-plotzing issue). As Arnold once said, “I’ll be back!”

After the Games. Ish.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

For Who’s Sake, Now?

Doesn’t seem like it was all that long ago my signature phrase, for which I was well-known, was “That’s what I’m saying!” … which made my friends out here in the vast Midwest laugh almost every time. Apparently whenever New England island-raised me ran up against a Midwest custom or norm that was completely outside my bailiwick (All. The. Time.), I’d draw attention to the difference and plop my signature phrase somewhere within the resulting conversation.

Usually when my friends … my wonderful, complex, strange, crazy, completely perfect friends out here … figured out what I was expecting to see, or hear, or have happen and fed me the line, to which I’d reply … well, you know.

When I first got out here there was a whole crew of us who worked together for the original Ma Bell. Not only did we see each other at work daily, some of us shared office space, and most of us also played darts together in the ADA. On top of that, we hung out almost every weekend, so as a gang we were together almost all the time.

The past five years or so things have changed drastically … only a couple still work for the new ma bell, the rest of us work for a number of different companies in different industries, children have been born, heath situations have erupted, and priorities have changed. We now mostly stay in touch via electronic means … sometimes the most prolific contact we have is via Facebook (and some of us live within a half mile of each other!).

The people outside our households that we spend the most time with are now our peers at work; they’re now the folk who pick up on our little quirks and idiosyncrasies. This was made abundantly clear to me today, when my signature phrase was revealed to be … wait for it … it is NOT pretty, people … here it is, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Like “fuck” is a person, and whatever is going on that precipitated my (no doubt) exasperated muttering of the phrase is going to impact said person. What?! Yeah, seriously.

So I’m now actively trying to find/replace with “Pete”. So, you know, it’ll all be for PETE’S sake. That Pete, he’s a card all right, and I am very concerned with his wellbeing.

Now, when I’m driving behind the expletive deleted who’s just puttering down the road, or trying to run a meeting with participants straggling in whenever they feel like it (because they’re SO important, blah, blah, Pete-ing blah … notice what I did there? I REPLACED WITH PETE is what I did. SO EASY.), or when the phone rings off the hook, or when someone can’t figure out how to hook up their computer or call in a trouble ticket or LISTEN when I explain what needs to be done, or … I could go on (and on, and on).

But you get my point. Under-my-breath grumbling is one thing, but if I’m actually saying this often enough to base an office pool, I need to pay attention. So. Meet Pete. And stop messing with his day, people!

Wicked Awesome Poem Delayed a Day

The Twilight Turns

The twilight turns from amethyst
To deep and deeper blue,
The lamp fills with a pale green glow
The trees of the avenue.

The old piano plays an air,
Sedate and slow and gay;
She bends upon the yellow keys,
Her head inclines this way.

Shy thought and grave wide eyes and hands
That wander as they list ...
The twilight turns to darker blue
With lights of amethyst.

-James Joyce

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

I’Ma Cut Chew

I’m at the point now where I’m ready to rip someone’s innards out, through their nose, and slam their then-deflated carcass against the wall a few thousand times as a stress release.

No lie, it has taken my expletive deleted computer 23 minutes (TWENTY! THREE! MINUTES!) to open a word document, the internet, and an excel spreadsheet.


And, since I’ve returned to MO from my most awesome vacation, the friggin’ thing has got something running in the background. All. The. Time.

I’ve scanned it and debugged it and cleaned it up nicely … all to no avail. And I totally hate that I’m thinking, “Hmm, it was running FINE before I left for vacation.” How can a desktop be JEALOUS of my vacation?!?

I’m so frustrated that I had to lock all the critters out of the office because I am in NO mood for cute right now. Not having none of it, I tell you.

I haven’t tweeted in ages, and have only facebook’d from work in quick drive-by’s to respond to e-mails; been using my spare work laptop at home, but it won’t work on my cable connection … so, unless I steal wifi from a neighbor (and all the security risks that entails) my option is dial-up. Or, as I like to call it: not gonna freakin’ happen. You know, cuz it takes sooooo looooooooooong.

So, needless to say, I don’t dial-up. And because the wifi is unsecure (seeing as I can get on it … der) I’m not all that computer active these days. Sigh. I miss my internet.

Good thing the Winter Olympics came along, or I’d be out-of-my-MIND bored. I wonder why I enjoy the curling so much during the Olympics, when I couldn’t care less the rest of the year? And I totally love the snowboarding.

I have a pet peeve, though … all these swipes and schnozzles complaining that fans of the Winter Olympics aren’t proper fans at all. Who the hell are you to tell anyone whether they’re “doing it right”? Huh? You watch the way you want to, and so will everyone else, thank-you-very-much.

Fair weather fan, my ass.

Of course, this could be (more) misplaced computer-rage. Maybe.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Happy 99th Birthday, Nam!!

Photo actually taken 07/20/07: Jimmy, George, Mickey, Sara, Joanne, Nam, and Jane, enjoying the cruise.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Wicked Memorial Wednesday

Rest in Peace; Phil Harris, Captain and Co-Owner of F/V Cornelia Marie (02/09/10).

"You got to be a little twisted to do this job."

The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

-Lord Alfred Tennyson

Tuesday, February 9, 2010


Heh Heh Hee Hee Hoo ...

Oh, wait ... yeah, I kind of do.


True story ... this billboard is real, and it's in Minnesota.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Ropey Strings of Snot Notwithstanding

So it’s been a crazy few weeks, starting off with the Best Vacation Ever in that I got to see for myself what I needed to see for myself (Woo to the everlasting HOO!!!) … then escaping catching what appeared to be a horrendous communicable disease (and not the fun kind) from my seatmate on the first leg of my flight back to misery … then catching up on a week’s worth of work, plus current duties, in three days (three days!) because I am that awesome. Yep. Just ask me.

Only to catch the freaking plague last Friday, since half the skeleton crew who decided to show up for work that day came bearing the gift of germ. By 3pm my nose was running non-stop, in that way it does with infants who have a cold and don’t yet know how to blow so the ick just runs down their faces and off their chins in ropey strings of baby-snot. Not that I let it get so far as the ropey strings of snot, but only through proactive tissue-stuffing. Up my right nostril. Which was somehow simultaneously running non-stop and too stuffed to allow airflow of any kind in any direction.

I know! Weird.

So Saturday, Sunday, and Monday were the worst; horrible days of OMGoodness-I-Can’t BREATHE, and WHY-won’t-my-NOSE-work, and my-HEAD-is-exPLODing, and the running of low-grade fever. And tissues stuffed up both nostrils that were leaking non-stop. And sleeping in three minute intervals, only to wake enough to roll over so my sinuses could drain from one side to the other to constantly clear and then block right back up again. All. Night. Long. And DREAMING of when this, this … thing … would move from my head down into my chest (I can handle a cough ever so much better than an every-orifice-on-my-noggin-streaming-some-kind-of-liquid). And “I want my Mommy!” And GAH! Just plain GAH!

Then Tuesday was a not-quite-so-bad day of mucus transition from head to chest, heralding a week of phlegmy coughing, then Wednesday: back to work, playing catch-up again, for the second week in a row. Followed by Thursday, when I made a 633 million dollar error … yes, six hundred thirty three million dollars … to the delight of all (it was in our favor … so, new cars for everyone!), which I discovered Friday morning. And when I demanded to know why no-one had told me the day before (when they all noticed it), that created a gale of laughter, a veritable windstorm of mirth. Boogarheadedjerkfaces.

So now I’m starting my second weekend of recovery, and since this plague has moved to my chest, although I sound like I’m one step from pneumonia-with-a-bronchitis chaser, I’m actually feeling loads better. So well, in fact, that I’m currently reading two books at once. Because THAT’S HOW I ROLL, people. If by ‘roll’ I mean too lazy to go to other room, where the book I’m reading is, so I’ll just start this new book here, because it’s right here. In THIS room. Inches away from my grasping hands.

Sigh. I have laundry to do (lots!), and cleaning to accomplish, and errands to run. But I know none of that will be done today. No use even pretending. Today? Today I’m not leaving this house. I may not shower. I certainly won’t get dressed. I know, I know, “Too much information, Lisa!”

And check this out … Aetna just called me. To set up my next Humira delivery. I love that they do that. I always forget until 3 minutes after they’ve closed for the day (7pm, Eastern), which makes me cuh-razy. Of course, it is the combination of Humira and methotrexate that turn the silly little cold I catch from the average joe into the plague I end up fighting off … but I can’t function without them, so there you have it, ropey strings of snot notwithstanding.

As you can see, my 2010 plan to blog daily lasted all of January (thank goodness I had Wicked Awesome Poem Wednesday to give me a break every six days!), and has now fallen by the wayside. It’s too much work, people; I simply haven’t got it in me. So I’m back to sharing when I have something that interests me (and, with any luck, you).

Like a few days ago, when Maddie accidentally flung herself headlong into the toilet (the lid was up, and her depth perception is pretty much nonexistent), then scrambled to escape her watery prison, and I collapsed in laughter so hard, I had to hold onto the counter for dear life. Or, you know, to not fall down. Poor Mads! Her dignity certainly took a hit on that one.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Wicked Awesome Poem Wednesday

The Microbe

The Microbe is so very small
You cannot make him out at all,
But many sanguine people hope
To see him through a microscope.
His jointed tongue that lies beneath
A hundred curious rows of teeth;
His seven tufted tails with lots
Of lovely pink and purple spots,
On each of which a pattern stands,
Composed of forty separate bands;
His eyebrows of a tender green;
All these have never yet been seen--
But Scientists, who ought to know,
Assure us that they must be so ...
Oh! let us never, never doubt
What nobody is sure about!

-Hilaire Belloc
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