Fretting the Small Stuff

Old and Cranky

This is where I shake my fist at the kids these days riding their bikes across my yard.  I like to think of myself as fairly modern and as my parents would say "with it".  I have an iPhone.  Sorry, I have to say it at least 5,000 more times because I am OBSESSED, I tell you OBSESSED with it.  I blog and I know what blogs are.  I suppose it's good that I know what blogs are because I have one.  It might be of concern if I didn't. 

But the one thing I cannot stand is the music that plays instead of the phone ringing when you call someone's cell phone.  I am on the phone a lot for work and when I call someone who is between the ages of 18 and 24, I hear some hip hop or country song while I wait for said person to pick up the damn phone.  For some reason, it irks me to no end.  I feel my shoulders tighten and I starting gritting my teeth.  One of the secretaries from my old office, who I adore, has the same thing.  I believe I bitched about it to her too. 

So does this mean at the age of 33 I've become old?  I guess that I better find some elastic waistband pants and settle down with the Golden Girls. 

This is where I whine. A lot.

By Andrea

I suck at being sick.  Not like anyone is queen or king of sickness.  I'm sure even Brook Shields looks retched when her nose is clogged and she's hocking up green nastiness.  However, I am sure the lovely Brook Shields does not whine, call her parents for sympathy, and sigh loudly even when no one is around. 

Hi, I'm Andrea and I suck at being sick.   I am a miserable sick person.  As a child, I insisted the nearest adult be with me as I emptied my guts into the puke pan or toilet.  My poor mother would hear an urgent cry, and come running from across the house just in time to see me hurl.  And I am a huge crier when I hurl.

Today I am not puking, thank goodness, but I feel like crap.  Despite having the flu shot, I have the god damn flu.  I ache all over, my throat hurts, and standing for any period of time is difficult.   I went to work briefly to return calls and check messages but the energy level barely lasted an hour.  Oh poor me.  The one bonus is that food seems like a really bad idea.  I know that's not the healthy weight loss solution but...just shut up.  I'm too sickly to think of a witty or smart comeback.  So there.

On my way home, I will stop by the hippy Coop in search of a spicy soup that will clear out the nastiness and I will change back into my pajamas.   I have a good book, Saffron Kitchen waiting for me at home.  Perhaps a swig of flu medicine, some spicy soup, and a cozy book will put me back on track to health.  If you hear a big sigh, that's me, waiting for all the sympathy and poor Andrea's to come my way. 

The Honeymoon Is Over

The hypothetical spouse, i.e. my new job, picked me up, carried me through the threshold, and dumped my big arse on to the cold ground outside our rose petaled suite.  I knew the starry eyed gaze I gave my new career - I think of switching from private practice to legal aid as a new career - would end soon.  And no, I don't want to quit, find a new job, or anything like that at all.  Basically, I had my first "bad" day. 

First, I felt overwhelmed by a case I'm handling.  It is taking much more time than I thought it would and I thought that I was likely way over my head.  Fortunately, today proved I was not, I licked my wounds, and I'm back at fighting the Man.  Stick it to Whitey!  Wait, I am sort of whitey.  Stick it to the Man!  There.

Second, I got a tad bit behind on yet another case on which I'm working.  It happens.  Inside, deep deep inside, I am a perfectionist and if I think I might have missed, forgotten, or stapled the pages to close to the upper left corner, I have a minor fit.  It's almost like a panic attack: tunnel vision, heart palpitations, and seeing myself lined up at the unemployment office.  But then I realize I'm being too hard on myself, regroup, and then go swimming.  Really, I went swimming.  Not outside and it was a private lesson because I'm fancy like that.  I know, you totally wish you were me. 

Third, I did a typical dumb ass move and locked my keys in another office at the end of the day.  You might be wondering, how the heck did I do that?  I'm special and ride the short bus when it comes to logic and common sense.  Essentially, I went to get my printout, put the keys down, and then closed the door.  You know, the locked door?  To the room with my keys?  Behind a locked door?  Of course this was the end of the day when everyone, or so I thought, had left for the day.  I knew our building has security so I ripped through my neatly organized random stack of papers and found the number.  It gave me a quick dial.  So then I dialed it.  No ring.  I tried it a different way.  No ring.  Then I calmly looked through the options slammed the phone down several times until I figured out how to dial out this number and left a message to HELPPPPPPPPPPP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!   After making this call, I noticed that the front office had the light on, and the door, was unlocked, and guess what?  Our receptionist was still there!  And she had a key!  So when security  promptly  eventually got around to calling me back, I had a key to release the keys from their imprisonment and told them so.  My keys were sure glad to see me.

The rest of the evening was swell.  I swam and learned that I indeed can't really swim so well and it's a lot harder to do it the right way.  Perhaps I'll go back to swimming incorrectly so muscles I didn't realized existed in my mid back don't hurt the next day.  Then I watched American Idol and I seriously love the dorky kid who also is a future politician.  He looks like my type in college.  Yes, I was am into geeks.  Hello!?  The Prof is a physical chemist!  The type of chemist that combines the best of both worlds:  physics and chemistry!   Right.

After watching American Idol, we switched to a PBS special on the Mormons.  The two shows are very interconnected in a convoluted Simon as a prophet sort of way.  Okay fine they aren't.  I just have a lot of different interests.  Is that so bad?       

Torture in Three Easy Steps

It might only be two.  The Prof and I have lived in Vermont and Utah where both locations have great skiing.  Utah has extra super great skiing.  Period.  Don't argue.  It's true.  I read it in a book. And yes, I do read books during the four minutes I'm not on the internet. 

Where was I?  Torture? Of course.  My friend told me she is going night skiing at a local resort this week.  I decided to check out Holiday Valley, a place the Prof and I go skiing about once a year, to see what their conditions are like.  What did I read?  Eight to thirty inches of base snow.  Not too bad considering the winter we've been having:  high temperatures, little precipitation.  I genuinely love Holiday Valley because it reminds me of Stowe, the conditions are usually good, and the terrain is pretty diverse.  I wish it was a touch closer because then we would probably go at least twice a month.  Perhaps a shuttle from our little city?  Please?  The other ski resort, Peek N' Peak, seems to have about the same amount of snow but the mountain seems so small that it's not worth going unless we went night skiing.  Maybe next month.

So what did I do to torture myself?  I clicked on Alta Ski Resort.  102 inches of base snow.  Breathtaking views.  Reasonable lift tickets. 

Excuse me while I stab myself in the eye with my pen. 

Oh Don't You Play Dirty, Step-Father Winter

So that is how winter is going to play this year.  As if waking up to a lightening and thunder storm was not enough.  You add a "wintery mix" as the cheerful meteorologists put it thereby causing tree limbs to bend, and break, and fall.  And bright and early as we ready ourselves for the day:  flick! flick! flick!  OUT!   No power.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph (anyone care to guess my ethnic background?).  The Prof and I headed out back with saw and ladder in hand to cut down one of those branches precariously perched above a wire.  We are industrious.  Finally, Step-Father Winter, you slam the nail into that cold bitter casket by making the sidewalks and streets be filled with slushy cold water.  So now I sit at my desk, socks hanging from a chair, boots standing to the side to dry, and a space heater warming my toes. 

At least ski season will start early.