July 2008 Archives

I haven't had much to share from the bookstore lately, but I do now.

For example, does it disturb anyone else that there's a Complete Idiot's Guide to Teaching College?

But that's nothing compared to an order I filled today:

Dynamite Fiend
Steal this Vote
The Assassination Business

I find this person troubling.  Either they have really grim tastes in reading, or somebody needs to watch their back.

Last night I finished reading Twilight for the first time at the recommendation of my friend, Sheila.  I'm willing to bet that if you're into this type of book, then you've probably already read it and are thinking something along the lines of "Duh!  Where have you been?"  I don't know.  But I've caught up with you now.

I love this book.

I truly couldn't put it down.  I even skipped work yesterday (since I don't have to go in every day) to finish it.  And the moment I finished it, I ordered the second one, New Moon.  Then I started pacing, because I wanted to keep reading immediately.  In fact, I came very close to re-reading Twilight right then and there to, you know, pick up on nuances I might have missed the first time.  So far, though, I've managed to restrain myself.

I've found myself wondering just what it is about vampires that we find so seductive?  I suspect that, like horses, love of vampires is more of a girl thing.  Or am I wrong?  But why are vampires such erotic beings?  What is it about them that some make you want to walk forward and offer your throat to their fatal kiss?  That's giving yourself in the truest sense; there's no going back.  Would you walk up to a mountain lion, bare your neck and say "Take me now!"

Probably not.

They're both predators, and it's tantamount to the same thing.  Of course, vampires appear human, and that makes a huge difference.  Unless you've got a thing for mountain lions, in which case I guess it's a toss up.

I don't know why vampires are such seductive creatures, but when I read something like Twilight, I know that I am not immune to their power to charm.

Randy turned the tv on at noon, and the news was just coming on.

We've had a lot of nasty storms this summer, and yesterday's was pretty spectacular.  Around 3 PM, a limb came down and toppled a utility pole; there went power, cable, phone.

We weren't too worried about it.  We figured that the power would return after a couple of hours.  I decided to take advantage of the situation by taking a nap.  I don't know why, but I couldn't keep my eyes open.  So back to bed I went, despite the pounding rain, crash of lightning connecting with the ground, and the ominous thunder overhead.  While I'm sure there were people huddled in fear in their homes, I was out like a light.  Which, given the fact that the lights were out anyway, seems appropriate in retrospect.

When I got up around 6 PM, the power was still out.  I read until it got dark, and Randy ran errands.  Only our stretch of road had been affected, so he was able to run into town to pick up some dinner and supplies.  We have a couple of old-fashioned oil lamps, and used those for the most part.  We dug out the cards and played Go Fish, Crazy Eights and Cribbage.  I haven't played cribbage since I was 6 or 7, and I couldn't remember it at all, but Randy patiently taught me and we had a good time.  With the power out, we were forced to interact beyond television comments and dinner conversation.  As it turns out, we still like each other even when we have to pay attention to one another, so that's good.

Randy finally went to bed and I went back to reading by oil lamp and flashlight.  I was finishing up In the Woods by Tana French.  It was a pretty good book for the first 2/3 of it, a real page turner.  It used a lot of foreshadowing, a literary device I don't care for, but I was willing to overlook it.  Then, during that last 1/3 of the book, it went south.  There were 2 mysteries, intertwined and possibly related.  The story is told in 1st person, and when the killer is caught, the narrator informs the reader (me) that I didn't see it coming, that he had given me all the information I needed, and it's my own fault that I couldn't figure out whodunnit.

Guess what pal?  I had it figured out the moment that character was introduced, which is more than I can say for you!

Now I'm arguing with a fictional character.  Great. 

The 2nd mystery was the one I was interested in to the end, and it's the one the author chose to leave unsolved.  I suspect she didn't really know how to wrap it up, so she didn't.

All in all the book was alright; I'm not sorry I read it even though the narrator turned into a jerk in the end.  But it was an Edgar award winner which received rave reviews as a psychological thriller that will baffle the reader until the end.

Which is baffling, because I wasn't baffled.

As I was saying, I'm not sorry I read it.  A lot of it was quite good.  I'm not sure whether I'll read the sequel, The Likeness, however.  It follows up with the more likable characters from the first, so I may give it a try.  If I don't like it, though, I'm done with this author no matter how many raves she gets.

Anyway, I finished the book and went to bed.  The power came on a little after 9 AM, but cable (and therefore my internet connection) wasn't restored until a few minutes ago.  I can do without tv, and I can even do without being online these days, as long as it's my choice.  The fact that I was being denied against my will, though, chafed. 

Now that it's my choice again, I can go back to reading.  *G* 

A family member sent me a link to a great page called Animator vs. Animation.  It's just what it sounds like: a battle between the creator and creation.  Anyone who has used PhotoShop or Paint Shop Pro will especially get a kick out of this.

Enjoy!

I read according to moods, and lately it's been mysteries.  Everything from the coziest of cozies to psychological thrillers that keep you on the edge of your seat (or so they promise), I've been losing myself in them.

I like mysteries.  I like the challenge of trying to figure out whodunit.  This holds true for real life as well as fiction.  Who hasn't tried to figure out the true identity of Jack the Ripper?  Or wondered what happened to Amelia Earhart?  Has anyone figured out yet how the car keys wind up in the 'fridge instead of your purse?

What mystery would you really like to solve?  Do you have any theories?

Personally, I think Colonel Mustard did it in the spaceship with a skateboard.

But what did he do?

*G*

When I start to sing, one cat starts bitching at me while the other runs and hides.

Who says music soothes the savage beast? 

I've been watching It Takes a Thief on Discovery Channel for some time now; Randy and I really enjoy it.  The premise is that two former thieves who have turned their lives around now find homes or businesses whose security is sadly lacking.  They get the homeowners' permission to rob the place within 2 weeks.  The producers outfit the house and property with cameras to catch everything when it goes down.  Jon cases the place until he's ready to break in.  Matt observes from a van, where the footage from the cameras inside the house is being recorded.  After the robbery, Matt meets with the homeowners when they discover what's happened.  They watch the footage together, then meet Jon as he returns their stuff.  Once their vulnerability has been hammered home, a security guard is posted overnight, and then Matt comes back the next day and has state-of-the-art security measures tailor-made for the homeowners' needs installed at no cost.  Finally, Jon and Matt come back once more within a couple of weeks after the place is secured, and Jon tries to get in again, to see if the owners are actually using the security measures put in place for them.

It's a great show, but it has engendered some interesting dreams and a little paranoia.  It's about what you'd expect: people breaking into my house, often Jon and Matt themselves.  Nothing original.

Except for last night.

I dreamt that Matt was my prom date. 

He spiffed up nicely, was a lot of fun and we had a great time.

Go figure.

I keep bumping into things and getting bruised lately.  But here's the thing: I'm not getting the bruises where I'm getting bumped!  For example, I knocked my elbow, but there's a bruise on my leg.

Are the bruises lost?

They must be using MapQuest.

There was a nasty ball of remains on the floor.  I don't know if it was entrails.  I don't know if it was a regurgitated corpse.

I didn't look that closely.

The point is: one of my cats has discovered that mice are not only great playthings, but edible as well.

Oh dear.

I have no idea which one is responsible.  Wheezy went to sit by it when I got up.  I don't know, though, whether that means that she did it and was showing off, or if she was sitting there saying "Now look what Patches has done!"  Or maybe she was responsible for the kill, but was trying to make me think that Patches had done it so he'd get in trouble for her foul deed.

Who knows the inner workings of a cat's mind?

Now if only I didn't know the contents of its stomach.

I was speaking with an AA friend yesterday, and we got around to talking about our days as bar drinkers.  She said that she was always a lightweight, and I told her that I was a heavy-hitter.  I used to drink most of the men under the table as I downed shots of tequila.

For what it's worth, I don't recommend doing that, even if you're not an alcoholic.  Oh the pain of the next day!

My friend was surprised by my revelation.  "I can't see that at all.  It's the total opposite of how you are now!  You're so feminine."

It was my turn to be surprised.

She's not the first one to comment on how ladylike I am, how feminine I am.  But that's not how I see myself at all.  I'm used to thinking of myself as a tomboy; I know I was one growing up.  Skinned knees, dirty clothes, messy hair and bruises were normal for me.  I'd rather be playing ball with the boys than playing with Barbie or having tea parties.  I couldn't stand the thought of being girly and have always tried to be tough, like the guys; I was scornful of girly-girls.  The only way you'd get me in a dress would be to force me, and even then you'd have one heck of a fight on your hands!  First you'd have to be able to climb to the top of the tree to get me, then figure out how to get me out of it without either of us breaking a limb or two.  And I don't mean branches!

I'm not quite sure when this changed.  I know that in college I began to care more about how I looked, how my hair was styled and that my make-up was ok.  I never wore much make-up; I liked to look natural.  I still do, though now you can tell when I am (or am not) wearing it.

As I my drinking progressed, though, I couldn't be bothered to take a bath very often.  Clothes?  I would wear the same things day after day sometimes.  Make-up?  Maybe,but probably not.  It depended more on how much money I had.  If I had enough money to pay for my own drinks then I wouldn't be too bothered about how I looked.  But if I was low on cash, I'd make more of an effort. That way I could "cute" my way into getting guys to buy me drinks.  Naturally this was before I met Randy.

I don't think anyone would have called me "girly" during that time period.  They had other names for me.

Once I got sober I started to take better care of myself, much to the relief of everyone around me.  Still, you'd almost never see me dressy.  I feel self-conscious to this day when I look nice.  Not that I look sloppy (except in the privacy of my own home, where I'm usually wearing pajama bottoms and a tank top), but I'm more of a jeans and t-shirt type of woman.

That's how I think of myself: I'd still rather be barefoot, kicking a ball around.  I can't climb trees anymore because of my wrist.  And let's be real: I never actually do kick a ball around, and I'm rarely outside.  I hate the bugs.  I'm not sure when they began to bother me so much, but they do.  As a kid I used to love camping; I haven' t been in about 20 years.

I still wear jeans and t-shirts, but usually at work.  When I go out, if I'm wearing jeans I usually dress them up with a nice top and shoes.  Even at my most casual, I have to look nice. 

And I wear skirts and dresses.  Sometimes.

When did the feminization fairies pay me a visit?  And what did they slip me so that they could take over my mind and body, and not remember their visit? 

Because, as it turns out my friends are right and I'm wrong.  I may think like a tomboy, but somewhere along the way, I became a woman.

At least they haven't taken away my ability to swear like a sailor when the mood strikes, so I'm still in there somewhere.

Somebody ordered Looking for Alaska today.

I didn't realize it was lost.

Every time I pick a book that has to do with guns- and we have more than a few- I make sure that the book I give them is in as pristine condition as I can find.  I don't want to upset a gun-toting reader!

Today someone ordered a Blue Book of gun values, and also a book on 10 Minute face lifts you can perform at home.

I now have a mental image of a man holding a gun on his wife, demanding that she look 10 years younger or else.  

Or perhaps a woman wants to look younger to attract a certain man but, if the face lift doesn't work, she'll always have the gun for persuasion.

Either way you look at it, face lifts and guns don't mix.

Randy says thanks for the Hatch Day wishes!

I had an interesting day at work.  I was called upstairs to the office, and I was a little apprehensive.  I couldn't think of anything I'd done wrong, but you never know.  My supervisor told me it was nothing bad, but I've never been called up there before, or heard that anyone else had been.

As it turns out, it was an informal job interview.

They need someone to enter orders into the computers, do confirmations, that sort of thing.  Since no one person so far has the availability to cover the hours needed, they're asking a few of us if we'd be interested/willing to work a couple of days in the office to make up the job that would normally fall to one person; this saves from having to hire someone new.  They're talking to a couple more people to see how they can best schedule things, but it seems that a couple of days a week I'll be doing data entry.  This is actually a good thing, I think.  My wrist has been bothering me a lot lately, and being able to put in my hours in a less physical way is probably a good idea.  Besides, it shakes things up a little from the usual routine.

But ask me again once I've done it a few times.  I might hate it.

I'll let you know how things turn out.

My husband likes to say that he wasn't born, he was hatched.  It's his excuse for not celebrating his birthday.

Which is today.

Happy Hatch Day honey!  You're one egg I'm glad your mother laid.

*G*

The next day, after the Slumber Party party, I had to go to a party being thrown by my SIL's future in-laws.  It was a combination engagement party, birthday party (for the father), college graduation for their 2nd son, and high school graduation for their third; Regina's marrying their oldest boy.

Busy day for them.

It was fun at first, especially after the party the night before, a party which was to be kept secret from Regina's family.  It was one of those "I know something you don't know" times, enjoyable in a juvenile sort of way.  But after awhile, I started to feel sick- a stomach/GI thing this time- and couldn't wait to get home.  I was sick the rest of the weekend, and am still not quite up to snuff yet.  I'm rapidly getting better, though, so no worries.  I still went to work for a few hours.

Now I just want to curl up here on the couch, read (The Expected One) and veg until the season openers of The Closer and Saving Grace tonight.  Finally something to look forward to on t.v. again!

Warning- this entry discusses "romance enhancing" products.  It isn't really graphic, but I thought some of you would like a little warning.  Consider yourself warned.

I went to my SIL's Slumber Party tonight.  Though I only knew Randy's sister, I was able to relax after getting to know a couple of her friends.  It was fun except, of course, for the fact that I had to bite my tongue a lot, not wanting to give anything away about my love life with her brother.

A love life which appears to be better than those of the 20-somethings present at the party.  The presenter made all sorts of comments about men's incompetence to hit the right spots or take time, lack of consideration, etc.  Now, it was all jokingly said, but the young women (I was by far the oldest there) all nodded and laughed their agreement.  I kept thinking that if a woman isn't happy with what her lover is doing- or not doing- why doesn't she just tell him what she likes, teach him how to make her happy, rather than simply lying there bored and mentally categorizing him as a bad lover?  It wouldn't hurt to find out some of the things he likes as well.  Just a thought.  Anyway, as she listed the ways in which a man lets a woman down in bed, I was thinking "No.  Nope, don't have that problem.  Nope, he's got that covered..." etc. No worries, I'm not going to go into details.  I'm just saying that even though those girls were laughing at me for being old, it appears that I have by far the best sex life.

I guess some things really do improve with age.

Anyway, some of the toys were scary looking (do I really want something that looks like a cactus coming at me?) and some were funny.  One was flashing a variety of colored lights, circling, extending and contracting while another part of it, resembling antennae, wiggled back and forth.  It was hysterical!   I considered buying it for the laugh factor alone.

I didn't.  Just for the record.

What I did buy was pretty boring for the most part, things like massage oil, body lotion.   Nothing exciting really. 

Except...

You know those blow-up dolls, those Inflatable Suzy dolls?  Well, I bought an inflatable sheep. *

Yes, a sheep.

And I announced it loudly, with a big grin on my face.

"If my SIL is going to put me on the spot by dragging me to one of these things," I thought to myself, "I'm going to make this interesting."

It's something they sell as a gag gift, and I bought it in that spirit.  I have an idea of who I want to give it to, a certain friend whose real name begins with "L" and who occasionally reads my blog.  He knows who he is, and if he likes, I'll drop it off for him the next time I'm out in his neck of the woods.  Not that he has a thing for sheep, mind you, just that this would tickle his sense of humor.

Unless, of course, one of you want it... ?

*G*

*You'll be brought to a page that requires confirmation that you're 18 by clicking on the "Yes I'm over 18" button.  At that point, you can either refresh the link or look under "Novelties and Gag gifts" to find the sheep (or anything else for that matter) if the refresh doesn't work.  Look around anyway.  It could be fun.

Or not. :0)

This morning I dreamt that I had a baby daughter, but all on my own; I was a single mother.  As a token of affection, I gave my Dad the honor of naming her.  It was such a beautiful name, a Gaelic one I believe, and began with an "A."  I thought it was perfect.  The trouble was, I had never heard it before (in fact, I don't think it's a real name at all, or even a real word), and I soon forgot what it was.  I was upset that I couldn't remember my baby's name, and asked Dad to repeat it.  He did, only this time, it began with an "N."  But I couldn't really make it out because he was mumbling.  I prompted him to say it once more, and I could tell he was becoming irritated, so that I hated to ask anymore. 

It sounded like he wanted me to name my child Norepinephrine, which is odd.  I said ok, but then thought "There's no way I can name a child of mine that."  I mean, Gwyneth Paltrow might name her child Apple, and David Carradine named his child I.P. Freely, but I just couldn't bring myself to saddle a child with the name "Norepinephrine."  I think you have to be a celebrity to carry something like that off.  Besides, you need the money that celebrity brings to pay for your child's therapy in later years.

Choosing a child's name is so difficult, don't you think?


(and I don't need the dream analyzed; I know precisely which factors contributed to create it, thanks. :0) )

Another night without sleep.  The bags under my eyes have bags, and there are now dark circles.  I chose to stay home from work today.  Tired as I am, I couldn't sleep if you paid me to.

As I vegged on the couch, an ambulance pulled up at the end of my driveway.  Then the paramedics pulled up behind them.  For a split second I thought "Is there something wrong with me?"  and poked at myself to make sure.  I appeared whole and it occurred to me that if I had somehow mysteriously had a coronary and managed to call for help before lapsing into unconsciousness or- gulp- dying, I surely would have some memory surrounding the event.

All of this skittered through my head much more quickly than it takes to tell.  The paramedics often meet the ambulance en route to the hospital if they are needed; such was the case today.  The ambulance had started for the hospital and called for the paramedics to meet them along the way.  They just happened to rendezvous at the end of my driveway.

The thing of it is, they were there for a few minutes, and cars were driving by all the while.  The bookstore is just down the road from my house, and people are always coming and going.  I wonder how many people, seeing that I wasn't in work today and knowing that I wasn't feeling well yesterday, now think that I'm in the hospital?

I'm sure someone will ask me about it when I go in tomorrow.  Should I tell the truth, or make up a really fun story? *G*

I'm a mess: sore throat, chills alternating with sweats (but I don't think an actual fever), iffy stomach and exhaustion. 

Despite this, I've cleaned (and, thanks to mice, disinfected to the nth degree) and organized most of my kitchen over the past couple of days.  Before I got sick, Randy and I bought some new containers to securely store anything a mouse might find tempting.  Containers must have lids; I've learned that no matter how tall something is, mice can get into them.  I've developed an image of a paratrooper mouse with old-fashioned goggles, leather helmet and jacket replete with white silk scarf deftly guiding his shoot into the target, a big mousy smile on his face as he lands behind enemy lines.

The mice have won many battles, but I'm determined to win the war.  They can just take their parachuting furry backsides to my neighbor's house instead.

It suddenly struck me today that I don't want to be perfect.  It's an awful lot of work for an impossible goal.

No, I don't want to be perfect.

I just want everyone to think I am!

My MIL just got off the phone with her cousin.  It seems that Sandy is staying at one of the casinos and has an opportunity to see someone perform, but the tickets cost $100.  She has never heard of him, and called my MIL to find out if he was worth seeing. My MIL also had never heard of him, but gave her best answer.  Their conversation went something like this:

Sandy: So, who is Billy Joel anyway?

MIL: I don't know.  I think he's a Country Western singer.


I love my in-laws.

Imagine my surprise when I opened my Netflix order- Sex and the City- only to find Free to be You and Me inside the protective sleeve.

Some kid out there is in for a surprise when they open their DVD rental...

So here's the deal:

I've been irritable>exhausted>irritable>exhausted etc. for the past couple of days.  It finally came to a head yesterday at work.  Two days in a row I walked in to find one of my biggest pet (work) peeves in full force.  First I'll have to explain a little about this aspect of the work I do...

When we pick orders, they get put on 8, 16 or 20 carts.  These numbers represent how many slots each cart has, one order per slot; there are usually several books per order.  The size of the orders and/or the size of the books themselves dictate what type of cart they go on, indicated on the order-picking sheet.  Those who are picking books pick up the sheets and grab the appropriate cart, and start pulling the necessary books, placing them in the correctly numbered slot (each book pulled has been assigned a slot number).  When the orders and the carts have been filled, they are brought back into shipping, where the carts are "broken down" one by one.  There are usually 2 or 3 people doing this.  Those who are breaking down take each order from its slot on the cart, weigh it to make sure that it's the right weight,  a process which is necessary for shipping cost purposes.  There's a long, oval shaped conveyor belt with lunch room-style trays on it, and the person breaking down places the weighed order on a tray on the conveyor belt, again one order per tray, until the cart has been emptied and they grab another to unload.  On the other side of the conveyor belt are cubbies with people either "boarding" or "boxing" the orders.  Boxing is pretty self-explanatory; larger orders go in boxes.  However many of our orders aren't that large, and we "board" them.  Simply put, this means that we take a sheet of cardboard and wrap it around the book(s) with its order slip and a copy of our catalog, crimping and stapling the ends before sending it down another conveyor belt for delivery.

With me so far?

So here's my pet peeve.  I come in and want to pick a 20 cart; there are a ton of orders waiting to be filled.  BUT, almost all of the 20 carts are full, waiting to be broken down.  There aren't enough people boarding, and the trays on the conveyor belt are full of books from the 16 and 8 carts.  There are plenty of 16 and 8 carts already available to pickers, but the people breaking down are ignoring this fact and just keep breaking those down as the 20s pile up.  People have their favorite carts to work with, and ignore the others.  I get this with picking, but there's no difference between carts when breaking down.  Maybe they have a touch of OCD too, but they won't break down the 20s unless told to.  Anyway, I jumped into a cubby and started to board in order to clear out some trays for 20s, but the people breaking down continue to fill them with the other orders almost as quickly, and I'm getting steamed.  To make matters worse, the stapling machine in the cubby I ducked into is defective; the staples kept breaking or not going through the cardboard.  I found Joel, the shipping supervisor, and explained what was happening with my stapler.  He came over, tried one staple and of course, it worked for him.  He made some smart crack, and I snapped.  I informed him that I was not in the mood to play, I just wanted it fixed.  It wasn't what I said so much as how I said it, and it felt good to do it I have to admit.  Luckily, he's a mellow person and someone I'm friendly with, so it didn't really bother him.  He moved me to another station and after awhile I got enough orders boarded that I could go break down a 20.  I kept that up almost all day, jumping from breaking down to boarding.  I apologized to Joel later, and he said "That's what I'm here for."  I informed him that he is not there to be snapped at, that he's there to listen when someone has a problem, and to address it if he's able.  He insisted that he's there to be snapped at.  I decided to let it go, wondering all the while how he got so beat down that he believes that he's truly around to get dumped on.  I simply apologized again and thanked him for understanding.

Having had that brief snit, I felt- and continue to feel- better.

That was long, so I'll leave it there for now.  Except that I'll share this fun thing with you...

Leaving out the first name for the sake of this person, I boarded an order for an O Fender.  Say it out loud if you need to. :0)

The address was a legit one, so I think that this is, unfortunately for him, his actual middle initial and last name.

I'm beginning to feel better.  I have to go to work now, but will blog more later...