Evidence I live under a rock...

I was at a bar with some co-workers, and they started talking about Cardassians. I asked them which Star Trek they preferred, as I like Deep Space Nine. Turns out they weren't talking about Star Trek at all... Kardashians. Apparently something of a phenomena I've missed since we've cancelled our cable.

And a song...

In honor of my son, and brought to you by my (Still!) lack of sleep - as sung to Bohemian Rhapsody, by Queen

Was that a stinky too?
Or just a big poopy...
You won't know at all,
Until you peek in to my nappy.
Pinch closed your nose,
Pull back the waist and Seeeeeeee.....
I'm just a stinky boy,
You're gonna need new nappies 

Because you never know, what you'll find
What comes out, My behind
Anywhere the poo goes, Doesn't really matter
To me..... To meeee.

Mamma, just pooped again
It was a brand new diaper,
now it's gonna be a five wiper.
Mama, you had just changed me.
But now I've gone and soiled my clean onsie....
Mamma, OoooOooo
Didn't mean to pee on you,
If I've not pooped again this time tomorrow
Feed me prunes!
Feed me prunes
Nothing really matters.
Anyone can see
Poopies do not matter.... To me.

I was interviewed today. Well, sorta

For those of you who don't know, I live in what is called a transitional neighborhood.  In the real estate world, this means a neighborhood that is undergoing a change, hopefully toward gentrification.  In the practical sense, it means the ghetto. 

I shouldn't say that.  I have a lovely historic home, that I'm quite proud of, and I have some wonderful, eccentric, diverse, amazing neighbors, with personality, talent, and honestly, I can't say enough good things about the majority of these folks.  They are committed to improving the area, one house at a time, and have been tenacious enough that I at least moved in here to join these urban pioneers. 

Now the negatives.  A bullet did come through my window a couple years ago on Halloween while I was watching Wrath of Khan.  I would take it as a commentary on William Shatner's acting ability, but it was too scary for me to make jokes about, even now. 

It is a high crime area.  The housing values are comparatively low, and currently, only 1/3 of the homes in the area are owner occupied.  Not that there's anything wrong with renters, but when historic duplexes are converted to hold single room occupants, and have over 10 units, that's a lot of population density for a very low cost of rent. 

One really great thing about the neighborhood, is that the neighbors who are involved in the neighborhood association are working very hard to improve the quality of life.  There is also a lot of interest and money coming in from corporate sponsors.  I truly believe that in 10 years, this area will be a thing of beauty.  I just don't know if I have ten years to give it.  But that's another story.  So enough backstory, you probably want to know about the interview.  Well, maybe you're more interested in where I live,  but the interview story is the one I want to tell today. 

One of the task forces that I am on in the neighborhood association is a NetZero project.  Essentially, this project involves utilizing a Brownfield (area that has been lightly contaminated by a toxin, that is proposed for re-development) to create a solar farm, or other clean source of alternative energy that would be used to benefit the community in some way, be it retrofitting homes in the area so they don't have to pay an energy bill, ever again (! Imagine not having to pay a gas or electric bill....  right?)  or putting in a commercial / industrial building with the same benefit. 

So without discussing too much more back story, one of the things that a purchaser should do before purchasing a piece of land, is to do an environmental site assessment.  In my professional life, I have written a whole heck of a lot of these, so I volunteered to write one - at cost, not counting my time -  for the property.  This isn't an insubstantial gift.  The cost of a basic one ranges from 2-5k.  Small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, but there you go.  It's a small savings I can offer.  They were very excited about it.  I still have to work out details, may have to form an LLC, but that's all future discussions.

Anyway, we had our second public meeting today!  During the question and answer stage, I was coolly able to discuss lead contamination and the subsequent environmental fate and transport in plants versus animals, and how that differed on a cellular level.  Let me tell you, even in retrospect I sounded smart.

Then the reporter walked up to me, stuck a microphone in my face, and asked me, "in your professional opinion, can you please define what a Brownfield is?"  I turned red.  I turned redder.  Then I stammered out something about how I though that she should talk to the state regulator about that.  Then I started apologizing profusely about how I was unable to talk to her because whenever anyone from the media started asking me questions my brain started going faster than my tongue, and I sounded like a blathering idiot.  Yeah, I said that.

Then she assured me that I wasn't live.  And I was all, oh, I know, but you're still going to quote me!  And I'm much better at writing than talking in person.

Oh man, it went downhill from there.  She ended up walking out, promising she'd get me some time.

I swear, I feel like I'm a relatively articulate, personable human being, who does indeed know what the definition of a Brownfield is (see above, yah?)  Holy hockey sticks batman - that microphone...  I swear it killed my brain cells.


 

A tale of turtle terror

When we were kids, my cousins and I used to spend our summers on the family farm.  It consists of about 350 acres of corn and soybeans, and enough space to handle 13 kids without us blowing anything up, or burning anything down.  We did lots of hiking, fishing, trapping and four wheeling and one very memorable summer, turtle hunting. 

Yes...  I said turtle.  Green amphibian, covered in a shell, four retractable legs, and a giant maw that hisses.  For the record, the beasts I am referring to are snapping turtles.  These critters are mean, green biting machines that can take a finger off with one giant snap.  Also, they taste amazing when deep fried or when tossed in soup.  My momma once said if it didn't get her first she'd eat it.  I guess I took her advice.  Take it from me, turtle are goooood. 
 
So yeah.  Once upon a time I went turtle hunting.  For the uninitiated, turtle hunting consists of donning a pair of high boots, getting a group of folks together  -  armed with a golf club, and a shovel, and a burlap sack, and going tromping in the wilderness.  Then you look for turtle sign, which is usually an indent in the mud that's generally shaped like a circle.  You dig it up, and tadda!  hibernating snapping turtle.  Ripe for the burlap sacking.

Whelp - we found us some turtle sign, and dug it up.  You guessed it, there was one mean green turtle that wasn't that interested in being our dinner.  So I taunted it.  I mean, I stood in front of it as my cousins tried to get it to bite on the golf club and drag it in to the sack...

Actually what I mean is that when we dug up the turtle, it slowly started to crawl toward me hissing .  I bravely responded by rapidly trying to back away, convinced it was going to clamp its viscious maw down on my toenails, and splatted on my rear in the mud.  We are talking 6' tall brunette goes flopping on her butt in a mud puddle, not quite screeching in terror, but there is some serious foot kicking going on in the general direction of the turtle.  The cousins are laughing hysterically at this point, and I'm frantically trying to stand up to get away from the snapper, which must be a good six feet  away from me.  There is mud flying, and general screeching before I manage to stand up, and realize that the durn turtle is about three feet away from my feet.  Hysterical laughter ensued.  

There's nothing like sympathy from ones cousins, is there...

On art

It is not a secret that I live in the bustling metropolis of Indianapolis.  Indy, as it is affectionately known is quite a nice city.  It is the home of the world's largest Children's Museum, has historic homes that include the residences of former presidents, successfully hosted the Superbowl, and is generally considered a model for urban redevelopment.  Note I didn't mention race cars or corn.  Nor do I intend to.  In fact, you can forget those two topics for the rest of this post. 

In addition to the aforementioned, we also have a lovely art museum.  Indianapolis Museum of Art (IMA).

My favorite painting they have is a piece by Turner - a watercolor depiction of sailboats during a storm, so that might tell you something about me.  What, I don't know.  But there you have it...  Turner Wikipedia Article


Today, the Captain, the Honey, and the Inlaws and I went to the IMA.  There was a traveling exhibit by Ai Wei Wei.  Let me pause for a disclaimer.  I am an unabashed traditionalist when it comes to both art and literature.  I love trashy books, I cannot lie.  But I do have a tendency to read classic novels on the beach as well.  I also tend to prefer dead white guy poetry (with the possible exception of Pablo Neruda.)  Because OMG...  Not a great translation, but read the Spanish, even if you don't speak it.

Anyway, Ai Wei Wei's work is interesting.  He was billed by the IMA as "The Most Controversial Artist in the World."  I went in expecting to be shocked.  Instead, I was mostly saddened.  I admit, I had a hard time with the exhibit, which was probably the point.  He dropped Han dynasty vases, and photographed it as it was happening.  This vase probably cost more than my car.  I get that he was challenging cultural ideals, but couldn't he have done something better with his money?   He also used industrial paint and covered Han dynasty vases with the vibrant safety yellow colors, and used traditional Qing dynasty techniques to destroy ( I mean make a work of art...  of course) at least 15 stools..  Again, I get it.  But industrial paint? 

Then, he had his tribute to the 2008 earthquake.  I'll admit, this made me sad.  He had rebar from the schools that were destroyed stacked up on the floor, and the names of the kids who were killed.  The names covered an entire wall.

So yes, I have some mixed feelings about what I viewed today.  Not really shock, just mostly sadness.  There's a level of the ephemeral about all of his work.   Photographs of naked people, photographs of Chinese police officers, intermingled with shards of 2,000 year old vases. 

I think I prefer to think of art as beauty.  I like Turner, remember?  I do think there is room for the Ai Wei Wei's of the world, but I paid $12.00 dollars to go visit his traveling exhibit that filled two rooms of the IMA, and all I felt afterward was sad..  My Turner piece I like is in a room with Monet's, Manet's, post impressionists, some paintings from the 1100s in Spain, and an O'keefe or four.  The museum itself doesn't charge for admission.  I sure wouldn't mind a print of that Turner on my wall.  Shards of a Han dynasty vase - well, I guess they are probably in the landfill already. 

Skydiving sucks

This post is triggered by a conversation with the honey and the bro the other day. 

I went skydiving once.  It wasn't exactly for me.  To be perfectly honest, I've never understood why someone would want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.  In fact, I've never understood why someone would want to climb open stairs, or stand on the edge of a cliff and feel the wind in their hair.  Actually, I don't like jumping feet first off the high dive at the pool. 

So I might not exactly have been the best candidate for sky diving. 

Regardless, once when I was in college, I roomed with this gal who was a dare devil.  She might not actually have been a dare devil, she might just have not been afraid of heights.  But whatever.  We lived in a themed dorm, which meant that we got more money to spend on events, and when we all got together to vote on things, it turned out that the majority wanted to sky dive.  I happened to be an elected officer of the dorm (treasurer!).  This meant I had the power...  Actually, it meant I could add the title to my resume.  Actually...  It kinda meant nothing, other than they had to elect someone to count money.  Anyway, I arranged for them to go sky diving, and the room mate convinced me I had to at least go along and watch in case someone plummeted to their doom.  I was after all responsible. 

Away to the sky diving world go us!  (please google pirates of penzance lyrics for that sentence to make sense.)  We arrived at the drop zone, and the skydiving instructors made it sound so easy!  We would be attached by several O rings that we could inspect.  We could see the world, and feel the wind in our hair, and feel alive, and all that jazz.  So I signed the waiver with the goading of the daredevil room mates words in my ears. 

I got myself attached to a burly fella with a mustache.  Not a beard, just a mustache.  The O rings were solid, and up, up, up went the tiny little, perfectly adequate little airplane. 

About halfway up, the panic struck.  What if the airplane crashed?  I guess it was ok, I had a parachute.  But what if my instructor hit his head on the way out of the doorway, and was unconscious, and I didn't realize, and crash landed? 

Just as I was hyperventilating, the instructor that was attached to the daredevil room mate (who was grinning from ear to ear mind you), started pretending to pick lice from her hair and eat them.  I'm pretty sure it was because I looked like I was about to pass out.  Nervous laughter ensued.  I was still halfway away from pleading the burly man to just let me stay on the perfectly adequate airplane, when he asked me if I wanted to do a front flip on the way out. 

I'm pretty sure my incredulous stare was adequate response, because he didn't say anything else, and just grabbed the door frame, and threw us both out of the plane before I could plead for my life. 

I'm proud to say I didn't scream.  I actually didn't think it would matter.  I was busily watching the world rush toward me at 32 feet per second.  Actually, my main concern at this point, was that the wind was causing my sinuses to rapidly empty.  I was convinced that the snot that was rushing out of my nose, and streaming across my cheeks was flying upwards and hitting the burly man in the face.  I was inconceivably concerned about hygiene at 30,000 feet. 

But then I suddenly became aware that the burly man hadn't spoken since we jumped.  What if he passed out and couldn't grab the cord?  My goodness!  Why hadn't we grabbed the cord yet!  Where was the cord anyway?  What if we both died, because he passed out and didn't grab the cord? 

I still didn't scream, but calmly shouted, "Burly man!  Are you alive?"  I'm not proud of that, nor did I actually call him burly man.  His response of "Yeah, I'm still here" was a welcome sound, as was the faint whoosh of the parachute deploying.

Once the parachute deployed, all I could do was hang there limply, thinking about what would happen if a bird collided with our chute, and cropped a hole in it, or what about a freak windstorm that might spring up, and blow us to Kentucky.  Not that I have anything against Kentucky, it just wasn't where my car was.

Long story short...  too late...  we landed.  I didn't get  dragged 400 feet by the parachute, or break my leg on landing,  I also didn't land in Kentucky.

But I don't think skydiving is for me.     

A Game of Thrones... For Kids

Whelp, I finally finished a Dance with Dragons by George R.R Martin.  I'm on the fence about this of one.  A Storm of Swords was my favorite of the lot by far.  I feel a little like this last particular book was more of a - let's move the pieces of the game to where they need to be for the next book.  But regardless, I started thinking - I wonder if this series could conceivably be adapted to a children's story.

Before you dismiss the idea out of hand, hear me out.  A lot of the fairy tales that Disney adapted beyond all recognition, started out as pretty gruesome fairy tales.  I love the originals, Andrew Lang's translations are my favorites.  One year for my birthday (I may have been ten?), my grandparents got me a complete set of his fairy tales, and I've been hooked on them ever since. 

Anyway, Sleeping Beauty comes to mind.  Prince Charming hacked his way in sure enough, and killed the evil sorceress, but he also ahem - had his way?  That'll work as a euphamism...with Sleeping beauty, and love's first kiss was her babies nursing.  Don't even get me started on Hansel and Gretel, or Snow White.

So- Once upon a time, when dragons were extinct, there was an evil king who ruled his realm with fear, precedence, and the history of dragons.  A goodly knight took exception to his craziness, and slew him to save the peasants and the realm, and incidentally, his daddy.  The problem was, that once the mad king was dead, there was some general confusion over who should be king.  After much discussion, the Baratheons took the throne, and the realm prospered for several years.

See?  Generally, and in all other way completely unlike the sack of King's landing, but in my opinion, a legitimate start to a fairy tale. 

Let's get serious for a minute.  GRRM needs to get his rear in gear and finish out a few story lines! 

What to knit for a knitter...

My cousin-in-law is pregnant, and she's a knitter.  When The Captain was born, she made him a Yoda hat.  It was green, had ears, and was all kinds of awesome.  I am somewhat seriously considering sending it back to her, because it is cool enough that it deserves to be on the head of more than one kiddo. 

I am feeling like I ought to knit her something.  This is frustrating, because I am in the middle of several large projects right now.  The wedding rug from heck for my cousin, my brother's knitted armor, and my personal pet peeve, the ugly rug of doom made from my wool scraps, and scheduled for felting the second I get it done.  So lots of large projects. 

I usually knit blankets for babies, but she's a knitter!  She'll know if I take the large garter stitch and acrylic approach, and she'll know if I buy the super nice stuff and use dinky needles and lace stitches.  So What the Heck do I Do?  Knit the super complicated stuff cause she'll know and appreciate it?  Admit that I have no time, and weave something?  Admit that I have no time and garter stitch something, or admit that I have no time, and buy a target gift card that I know will go toward diapers...

Actually, Diapers are a pretty good idea.

But seriously!  It's intimidating.  To compound the issue, her mom quilts, and I know that she will make the baby a blankie.  So any blankie I make will (justifiably!) take second string to grandma's baby blankie.

Grumble grumble.  I guess I could make a sweater?  Or perhaps a pair of booties.   Oh heck yeah!  Baby booties.  Here we come.  Short and sweet.  

A middle manager's guide to mediocrity...

I think I'm going to write a book.  I'm going to call it, "A Middle Manager's Guide to Mediocrity." 

This is triggered by the fact that I just finished reading "Lean In," by Sheryl Sandberg.  You'll be happy to note dear readers, that I did not dent my wall when I flung the book across the room after I finished it.  Actually, I didn't fling the book either.  I would never do that to a library book. 

http://www.amazon.com/Lean-In-Women-Work-Will/dp/0385349947

Anyway, I finished it, and as a working momma, took several hours to digest the fact that this woman, with her dual Harvard degrees, privileged upbringing, and her humongous house expects me to find solidarity in her statement that if I just worked a little harder, and paid a little more attention to my career, I too could find success in my job, and be among the high profile professional women out there.



Anyway, Sheryl seems to think that if I'd just sit at the table with the big boys, and focus on the job, I'd be happier, and more successful.  I call shenanigans.  For all that I'm good at my job, I don't really like it that much.  If I had the option, I'd stay home and take my kiddo to the park all day every day, and be perfectly happy doing it.  Since that isn't an option, I work.  I am fortunate enough to have a wonderful nanny - my momma - best person I can possibly think of to watch after kiddo if the honey and I can't, and he goes to baby school twice a week at a church daycare with some lovely ladies.  So it's not the fact that I couldn't stay and work 50-60 hours a week to impress the CEO with my dedication, it's that I don't want to. 


 Here's the thing - I am darn good at my job.  Yes, it frustrates me to no end some days, but I am very, very good at what I do.  I also work in  a very specialized field, in a position that is traditionally held by men.  Let me put it this way, I wear steel toe boots to work every day.  My job does not now, and never will pay what a CEO's job will pay, but I don't aspire to that.  I just aspire to make enough money to pay the bills, and have a little left over at the end of each month after putting money in kiddo's college fund to save toward a vacation, or a new pair of shoes.  The honey and I are not extravagant people, and we don't live a jet setting lifestyle, and I'm OK with that.  That isn't to say that we don't budget, - of course we do.  In fact, I think most folks would probably describe our household budget as tight or frugal.  We're working on paying off our school debt so I can think about reducing my work hours so I can spend more time with kiddo and the honey.   

Maybe if I'd gone to the Ivy League school that I was accepted too and couldn't attend because of financial issues, instead of the perfectly respectable, well ranked state college that I ended up at I'd feel differently.  Or maybe if I were willing to sacrifice feeding kiddo dinner every night, and having trucks and snuggle time, or didn't value spending weeknights talking to the honey, or hanging out with the rest of my friends and family, I'd feel differently. 

As it is, I go to work because they pay me.  I do the job, because they pay me.  I don't particularly care about the technical documents that I write or the reports I submit to regulatory agencies.  I just care enough to make sure they are done correctly, because, I'm beginning to sound like a broken record here, they pay me. 

If I didn't have to work, I wouldn't.  This isn't my first choice.  But I would never ever, presume to try to speak for other working women, and tell them that if they just worked a little harder, and made a couple more sacrifices, they too could do my job.  Because to be honest, I'd love to have Sheryl Sandberg, wear her Louboutins and try to keep up with me for one day.  I'd crush those tiny little stilletos under the heels of my Redwings without even trying. 

The Low Maintenance Gal's Guide to Gift Giving - For Guys.

Let me preface this by saying that I think I'm low maintenance.  I very well may be the worst type as described by When Harry Met Sally - The dreaded high maintenance type that thinks they are low maintenance.  But regardless.  This advice stems from a conversation with the honey the other day.  It pre-supposes that you are married with at least 1 kiddo and on a fairly tight budget - so think accordingly. 

1)  I don't expect a present for every holiday.  I do however, expect recognition of said holidays.  A hug, and a "I love you so much, Happy XYZ Holiday," will do wonders for me.  Because I love you too, and I'd rather have recognition than the feeling that I am taking away from kiddo's college fund, or the new lawn mower fund.     

2)  That said, if you do want to give a present,  a present of time is a wonderful gift.  If my honey said to me, "I love you so much, Happy XYZ Holiday, I cleaned all the bathrooms in the house and waxed all the hardwood floors, and washed the windows"  I would be exceptionally happy.  Quick note, if the bathroom cleaning and hardwood floor waxing is something you normally do instead of me, it's not that much of a present.  However, if hardwood floor waxing is on my chore list...  You get the idea.

3)  The holidays I expect you to recognize for me are as follows:  Valentine's day, our anniversary, my birthday, mother's day, and Christmas.  Your particular days may vary depending on your nationality / creed / veteran status.  Also, not all holidays are created equal.  Anniversary, birthday, mother's day and Christmas  are all the really important ones - for me anyway.  Flowers or a hug are acceptable for anything else.  Flowers and a hug are also acceptable for the aforementioned. 

As a quick note, push presents for future kiddos are not expected, needed or really even wanted.  However, if there's a family heirloom like the ring my momma gave me after the captain was born that you'd be interested in passing down, I'd treasure it, and make sure that potential future kiddo number 2 was the future recipient.    Also, flowers, see Number 9...

4)  The holidays I expect you to recognize for our kiddo - Well, actually, I like shopping for kiddo - so don't worry about this one.  However, I expect you not to quibble when I want to put together an Easter Basket for The Captain. 

5)  Never under estimate the power of a bottle of wine and a meal cooked together.  My favorite anniversary we have spent together consisted of putting kiddo to bed, cracking open a bottle of red wine, and making steaks and salads together. 

6)  For whatever reason, special dates ending in 5s are more important.  Five year anniversary, 40 birthday, etc.  B's rule of thumb, if the date is something corresponding to a high school reunion that you'd think about attending for more than 5 seconds, I'd like it if you could spend a little more thought on it. 

7)  If you decide you want to buy a present - Experiences are more special to me than physical things.  My favorite birthday present ever was the year my honey bought me a chain to hang my wedding ring (I was pregnant, fat, and couldn't fit my ring over my finger), dinner at a restaurant and symphony tickets together.  That said, my favorite anniversary present ever was the year the honey went to the grocery store, and came home with the fixings for steak, hollandaise sauce, and salads.  That aside, if I say to you - Honey, I want a new crock pot for Insert Holiday Here - I actually mean, buy me a new crockpot and put a dang bow on it.  The honey has honestly looked at me and said, I can't buy you a kitchen appliance for said holiday!  News flash...  If I say I want a new crock pot, it's a strong indication that I'd be happy with said appliance for a holiday gift.  

8)  Anything handmade.  I mean, really.  Anything.  Our daycare painted a clay pot, and dipped the Captain's fingertips in paint and placed them on the outside of the pot and sent it home, and I dissolved in to tears once I got it home.

9)   Flowers - Here are my deep thoughts on flowers.  I love them.  My favorite are Gerber Daisies.  It is totally worth figuring out what your significant other's favorite flowers are.  It's also worth not reserving them for special days.  Bring your honey flowers some random Thursday...Let me explain.  If you bring home flowers some random day, just because - well, who doesn't love flowers.  They are pretty, smell good, brighten up a dining room table, and if you bring them home just to make your honey smile, well, I at least will think - hey!  He thought about me.  I occasionally pick up a bouquet of grocery store flower just cause they make me smile.  How would you feel if you knew that every time someone walked past their dining room table, smiled, and thought of you...So I repeat.  Flowers.  Occasionally, just because.  Flowers are also worth purchasing if your significant other is in the hospital for any reason at all.  Again!  Remember these don't have to be florist flowers.  Grocery store flowers are acceptable, as long as they are pretty. 

I guess in closing, if I could ask for one thing, I'd ask for thoughtfulness.  Hugs and I love you's are the best gift.  Also, remember - Flowers.  Just because. 

Memorial day weekend and veggie burgers

This weekend, we went down to Brown County, IN and stayed with my honey's sister and brother in law, and their 10 year old.  It was a really nice time.  We rented a cabin in the woods, hiked a bit, and hung out.  We also visited a Vegan / Vegetarian restaurant in Bloomington IN.  There was a sign on the bathroom door.  I am going to bungle this up, but it said something to the effect of "Current building codes require us to label one bathroom door Men, and one Women.  We realize some of our customers may identify as something else.  Please use whatever bathroom you wish." 

It made me giggle, and realize that I miss Bloomington.  Where else are you going to find bathroom doors making political statements.  I mean, you expect it from the walls, but from the doorway? 

Since I had today off, I cooked!  Because that's what any sane person does when they have a national holiday...  Meatless Monday this week consisted of an experiment in veggie burgers.  I took leftover hummus, mixed it with grated carrots, mushrooms, cucumber, celery and oatmeal, and pan fried it in olive oil.  It tasted quite good, but the structural integrity was lacking.  I think next time, I'll either add more oatmeal (or maybe brown rice), or deep fry the resulting cakes.  Regardless, I think it's time to do some studying for veggie burgers.

Da new Job

As I've mentioned several times, I've recently (Five months ago!) started a new job.  It's been a bit of a rocky road so far - this place has some interesting personnel to say the least - For example, one of my direct reports goes "Squatching" in his spare time.  As you might infer, this involves hiking through the woods, looking for Bigfoot.  Another of the ladies who works in the front office believes that the ghost of her son's friend haunts her house, and occasionally squeezes her rear.  Another of the guys has serious anger management issues and likes to fling wooden pallets across the room.  Then there's the fella who plays drums, and it's ALL he talks about.  He also gets mad if you try to bring up a topic that isn't his drums.  Like work.  And when he's mad, he ignores you rather pointedly.  It's an interesting place. 

Anyway, I've been hired in to a position that has had a lot of turnover.  So there's a lot to catch up on.  It's made for some stressful interesting days.  It's frustrating by turns, and makes me want to tear my hair out.  But what can you do? 

Also?  They sing.  It's a factory.  And they sing.  A lot.  As in, every day I get serenaded by someone different.  And it's not all Metallica, or Pete Seeger songs.  I get songs from West Side Story, or Doris Day, or Radiohead, or The Wheels on the Bus.  The honey thinks they are putting me on to see how far I'll just smile and nod about this stuff.  Today, I heard a Mrs Robinson, and Taxi duet. 

It makes number crunching a whole lot more interesting.

Derby Day!

I do love the Kentucky Derby.  It makes me ridiculously happy to watch 20 some horses run for about 2.5 minutes.  It's exciting.  The horses are always beautiful, and I just love watching the ladies on tv with their hats and color coordinated separates. 

Today our buddy Kevin came over, and watched the Derby with us.  The Captain was a little fussy, I'm not sure if that's because he's got molars coming in, or if it's because we used the ice crusher to make mint juleps.  Hard to say.  But I made the boys wear hats, and we chatted and watched the Derby.  We've hereby declared that this year is going to be the year of adventures.  Each of us gets to pick a location / event.  If it's not too difficult to get there, we are going to try to go. 

Mine of course is the Derby.  Considering we are an hour away, it's kind of a no brainer.  Other thoughts tossed around were comicon, the Gilroy Garlic Festival, or perhaps a wine festival or two.  After all, you only live once. 

But I already have my Derby outfit picked out...  because I happen to have a pale pink suit, and a kick butt Derby hat.  :)

Sunday's deep thoughts

The honey and I are looking for a new house.  Don't get me wrong, I love our house.  It's over 100 years old, it has hardwood floors, lovely woodwork, a nice layout, and a pretty good sized back yard.  It's a nice house.  It also happens to be in a high crime area of the city.  It's kind of a long story how we ended up here.  But suffice to say, the honey and I had never had to call 911 in our lives before we moved in.  Now we don't even flinch when we have to do so. 

It's sad because there are a lot of memories here.  The honey proposed to me in the kitchen.  The Captain (note bene, from here on out, Baby boy is going to be referred to as The Captain) took his first steps here.  I confused the kitty with The Captain.  But, long story short, I don't think this is a place to raise a child. 

Every time I take The Captain for a walk, I get comments from my neighbors.  They are mostly flattering, such as "You taken?"  Or, "Where's your man?"  I usually respond to such sallies with a smile, and an, "I'm married".  In other circumstances, I think I'd be flattered?  In these, I somehow feel like I ought to hurry home and lock the door. 

There's always trash.  Everywhere.  Trash in the streets.  Trash on the yards.  I try to keep it picked up in front of our house.  The local schools are un-good.  Our garage has been broken in to, a bullet has come through our tv room window, and we've had a shoot out down the street.  Twice.

So we are thinking quite seriously of moving.  I still believe that in about 10 years this area will be lovely.  There are enough hardworking good folks around that will make it so.  The honey and I just don't have ten years to wait.   

New job...

The encouraging phone call translated in to new job.  I now have an impressive sounding title, a whole lot more responsibility, and not that much more pay.  But hey, I no longer have to go back and forth from Wisconsin. 

I do miss some of my old office folks though.  The new job has an interesting mix of high school graduates, and Phd's.  I'm one of the few odd professionals out.  It makes for interesting conversations at the water cooler.  Although I'm getting a whole new repertoire of bad jokes - As in - Did you hear about the cannibal who passed his mother in the woods?  Get it?  ...

I can't say I dislike it.  There's been a big adjustment, but the fellas I work with (it's always fellas) have been helpful, for the most part.  As my momma puts it - B's new job is pretty high level, and somewhat stressful...  I think I wanted the responsibility?  

Baby boy is almost 15 months old.  He is walking well, sorta talking, and still generally awesome.  In the mornings, he wakes up and tackles me.  It's one of my favorite things ever.  His eyes are still blue, and his giggle is well, even better than his tackle. 

The honey and I have been discussing theoretical second baby lately.  After baby boy was born, my Dr. told us not to think about it till he was 18 months old.  That's only three months away!  It's a scary prospect.  Baby boy is wonderful, and I wouldn't trade him for the world.  But the idea of second kiddo is somehow more frightening.  It's like all of a sudden we should get a dog and a white picket fence to go along with our prospective brood, and we're not white picket fence kind of people.  Don't freak out here readers - we haven't bought a mini-van yet. To be brutally honest, I'm not sure that second baby is on the horizon.  It's been hard enough for me to work full time with one.  I keep thinking that being a working mom will get easier each day I pack up and head to the office, but I'll be honest.  It hasn't  I hate leaving him every day, even though my mom is the one watching him.  I just keep thinking I've failed as a momma, even though I finally have the job title I thought I wanted.