Inculcate

"To impress upon the mind of another by frequent instruction or repetition"

"To impress upon the mind of another by frequent instruction or repetition"

"To impress upon the mind of another by frequent instruction or repetition"

"To impress upon the mind of another by frequent instruction or repetition"

"To impress upon the mind of another by frequent instruction or repetition"

"To impress upon the mind of another by frequent instruction or repetition"

Inculcate.

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Seven (Plus) Hours of Routine Repetition

Over the past few weeks, certain west coast bloggers and I have had a little fun referencing (and consequently inculcating) lyrics from well-known songs. It was a fun, if occasionally maddening, exchange... even a Texan smart-ass and a Virginian rugby-lovin', wannabe-renaissance man played along. But really, by the fourth day of the same lyrics repeating in my head like a badly-scratched 45, Donna Fargo deserved to have "Freaking" inserted into her name. Likewise, many of the aforementioned bloggers were elevated to smart-ass status*.

Today, however, is a new day. A day that began with a Budweiser commercial on the alarm clock, in fact. Although I'm still waiting for the "True Women of Brilliance" upgrade, more often than not I enjoy Bud's "Real Men of Genius" advertising line. Mr. Boneless Buffalo Wing Inventor, for example. What's not to like about the guy singing, "Hope I'm not eating rear end" with that holdover-from-the-80's rocker inflection?

This morning's wake-up salute was to Mr. Hot-Dog-Eating-Contest Contestant. I don't typically consider "seven hours of routine angioplasty" to be fodder for humor, so it's JUST NOT RIGHT that "my left arm feels tingly" has been reprising in my head since 6:30 a.m.

My frontal lobe feels tingly. It's almost enough to make me long for DonnaFreakingFargo.


*Statement is not intended to include an Art Journalist. Her smart-assedness was established long prior to events referenced in this-here blog entry.

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The King and O?

I've heard a couple of news stories in the past week regarding Oprah Winfrey and renewed speculation that she and Gayle King are, or were, lesbian lovers. The story didn't really interest me that much, although I admit I can totally see Stedman as a "beard." What did interest me, however, was when a couple of my favorite radio talk show hosts were discussing the subject.

"Wow, someone really needs to dive into that story!", said one. "I hope they don't muff it," responded the sidekick.

Is it wrong that I laughed my ass off?

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ARGH!

The Asshat Coworker Strikes Again!

Well i got us a new coffee maker which is also a Thermol Carafe , i made some Mocha for you coffee drinkers i hope it taste good i am not sure how to do the coffee/cup ratio in this pot yet, give me some time so I put one scoop of Mocha which i ordered from the Gevalia company i guess the next pot should be regualar pot and try to use one scoop of that since this is an 8 cupper our other pot was a 10 cupper and i used a scoop and a half, please let me know if you all like this, if not we will go back to our old coffee pot . This one uses new filters which are by our old ones these are cone shaped again feed back would be greatful. MAY ALL OF YOU COFEE DRINKERS ENJOY.

Attention to detail, anyone? Please?

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Suburban Sporks

Subtitle: 'Cause I wanted to post pics, too!

For those of you who have been following the Journey of the Sporks and have expressed concern regarding their welfare given the rapid transition from Southern California to New York City, I'm happy to report the little gals seem to be settling in to their new suburban home.

Although they seemed a little shy at first, the sporks have rebounded nicely from their whirlwind weekend. Perhaps they were jet-lagged, or simply fatigued... or hungover. (Didja see that one spork trying to git into eb's cleavage?) Regardless, a little rest, hydration, and good old suburban TLC have put the sheen right back into their little titanium faces.

They appeared appreciative of the diversity present in suburban Utensiltown, but quickly gravitated to the stainless steel family of implements.


They've also demonstrated a fondness for the dogs, although I'm not sure how Dud feels about it.


They clearly enjoy watching television. They'll spend hours watching the Food Network. Thankfully, they also enjoy sports. I've made it my special mission to ensure they appreciate teams other than the Yankees. One cannot start too early ingraining Yankees hatred.


Our little sporks are quickly becoming adept at "suburban" multi-tasking, and other amusements:




















After so many hours in front of the television and the computer, I began to fear for their sweet little tines. I decided they'd adjusted well enough to assume some basic suburban responsibilities, lest a certain sporks-enthusiast begins protesting over the girls' lack of productivity.


Yes, the sporks are adjusting well. We're so proud. I may introduce them to power tools next!

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A Piece of the Apple

New York City!

What can I say? I went there somewhat dreading the "big city" experience, as the little hick inside of me is somewhat intimidated by hordes of people and concepts like "mass transit." Particularly in NYC, where stories of subway crime, rude pedestrians, maniacal cab drivers, and general filth are legend. (I won't even mention how much I detest the Yankees.) So, the excitement of seeing EB and Bluebonnet (EB/BB) again, and meeting Weese and wife (WeMaw) for the first time*, was somewhat tempered by my general "big city" apprehension.

Fortunately, this-here trip was orchestrated by EB/BB. We had a plan for rendezvousing with them, and then the remainder of the weekend was left in their oh-so-capable hands. The rendezvous was accomplished without a hitch, and we were off to explore the City. Well, we were off to explore Manhattan. Manhattan, FYI to any others housing I'm-afeared-of-the-big-city inner hicks, is nice. Oh, sure, the cab drivers are a bit maniacal. And every once in a while a whiff of something not so pleasant would waft from the sewer grates. The subway is much warmer than DC's modest little mass transit system. But the people were fine, the food was excellent, and the bars were plenty. And the socialization was awesome. The eye-candy was... delicious. It seems skirts or shorts with tank tops are quite common in NYC on a hot summer evening.

So, what can I say? I might not be ready to yell, "I love New York City!", but I can say with confidence, "I heart Manhattan."


*At the time, I didn't know how excited I should've been about meeting BB's niece, Crystal. Drunken New Jersey Lesbian-Wannabes are fun, ya'll.

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It's Time

Recently I heard a news article stating that "time" is the most commonly used noun in the English language. Think about that. What time is it? Do we have enough time? How much time will you need? Time for dinner. That time of the month. Time flies. Time to kill. Time and date. Overtime. Time out of mind. Record time. The time of my life. Out of time. Until next time. Time's wasting. Working against time. Time in a bottle. Time magazine. Arrival/departure time. Why do you do that all of the time? Time immemorial. Time to think. Time to act. Time zone. Greenwich Mean Time. Eastern Standard Time. Daylight Savings Time. Time out!

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.
~Pink Floyd, "Time"

So, what time is it? It's time to go to bed. We must be up early in order to be on time for our plane to NYC. We have plans to spend time with our friends there. I'm hopeful a good time will be had by all. I'm also looking forward to sharing the experience here on Wannabe, but there'll be time enough for that later. In the meantime, enjoy your weekend.

Time does fly - and so shall we.

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It's Not the '80s Anymore

A few of weeks ago, eb published a post regarding the difference between her chronological age and her perception of herself, or how old she "feels." I've turned that thought over in my head a lot recently, analyzing how old I "feel." I think the reason the question lingered for so long was that I kept identifying with my actual age. I don't possess any particular hang-ups over my age, as many of the most important people in my life are a little older. Over the past couple of weekends, though, I realized I do tend to associate with a much younger self when I'm performing physical labor. It always shocks me when my body lets me down, because I expect it to perform the way it did fifteen years ago.

While never an athlete, I've always had confidence in my body. In my teens and twenties, I generally believed myself to be stronger than many women of my average size, with decent balance, dexterity, and endurance. Rarely did a task intimidate me. Even more rarely did I fail. I have a stubborn personality at times and like to be independent, so it's my nature to tackle physical activities with an "I can do it" attitude. In my teens and twenties, I could. And did. Such an attitude kinda comes in handy as a lesbian, as there is no option to defer to the hubby when it comes to hard work (and there's not much point in wishing The Boy were here.)

Now, however, I find that I cannot lift every item in the house without hurting my back. Nor can I rake or shovel for hours on end without looking like a hunchback the following day. Last Sunday, I ran the weedwhacker for well over an hour. Much of that time I was holding it at an inverted angle in order to "trim" our driveways and sidewalk. Today, three days later, the muscles in my arms have finally stopped screaming their righteous protest of such abuse. It's a humbling experience.

Sure, I recognize that I was using muscles in a manner to which they are not accustomed, but the pain still served as a pointed reminder: I do not have the body of a 20-year-old anymore.

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A Simple Question

What's on your keychain?

Mine has the usual collection of house, auto, and office keys, along with the keychain cards for my preferred grocery and pharmacy. The key fob is actually a small patch of leather embossed with the Timberland logo, taken from The Boy's boots back when he wore Tims in high school.

I'm a simple, non-bulky, necessary-or-at-least-sentimental-items-only kinda girl. What about you?

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You Can't Be a Beacon

Before (Boo, hiss):













After (Ooh, aah):













Say it together now: Ooh, aah.

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Today's To-dos

Attempt repair of riding mower
Mow (preferably with riding mower!)
Install new light fixture on back of house*
Laundry**
Publish blog entry
Two of following three:

• Prepare ground for foundation of second shed***
• Assemble foundation of shed
• Assist suddenly husbandless neighbor with unfinished home improvement efforts (military husband has been assimilated for some sort of training at some other location)

Well, that's one down.

*Avoid electrocution
**Must maintain Laundry Queen status
***Ignore snickering

Oh, the Injustice

Suzanne minus Fark.com equals whine.

How dare they perform site maintenance during her prime news-junky viewing hours?

Thankfully, today is a new day.

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There's Always Tomorrow?

Although I enjoy the administrative responsibilities of my job, this is always a taxing time of year. In addition to starting new "consumers" and preparing for an anticipated licensing visit, June 30^th marked the end of our fiscal year. In my world, this means cracking the whip to make sure all of my staff have all of their FY06 paperwork (billing reports, monthly reports, case notes, expense reports, productivity records, etc.) complete, while somehow managing my own documentation responsibilities - most notably writing ten performance evaluations and creating new FY07 electronic "cases" in our piece-of-shit database. Oh yeah, there's also the lingering issue of arranging caseload coverage when two of my staff pop their little buns out of their no-longer-so-little ovens.

Today was my first day back at work following a four-day holiday weekend full of shed-building excitement. Actually, I took leave for Monday in order to gain the four-day weekend; my agency only observes the actual date of Independence Day as a paid holiday. I took the extra day off gladly despite knowing how much work is due by the end of next week. I told myself I'd really start crunching through everything today.

I forgot our Administrative Assistant was planning to come to the office today to do billing, even though she is still technically on maternity leave. She delivered her baby girl on June 11th. Little Kylie put in 7 hours at the office today.


Now really, how was I supposed to get any work done?

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Glog

What is a Glog?   "A Glog^sm is a live game log. It is the expert color commentary, the conversation you are having with your buddies on the couch and the critiques you are making from the cheap seats all rolled into one."   Such is the description on the CBS Sportsline fantasy sports section. Translation: a "live" web broadcast of text-based baseball action, with the addition of pseudo-color commentary (no commas were omitted in the quotation.)

Por ejemple:

CLE 17 - NYY 1 - Bottom 6 - 2 out
Ben Broussard has taken the golden sombrero tonight, as he strikes out for the fourth time tonight. Someone has to make the outs and tonight, that someone has been Broussard.
CLE 17 - NYY 1 - Bottom 6 - 1 out
Victor Martinez has collected his fifth hit of the evening and we are only in the bottom of the sixth inning. The Indians continue to pour it on, taking out some season-long frustrations on the beleaguered Yankees bullpen right now.
CLE 17 - NYY 1 - Bottom 6 - 1 out
Travis Hafner belts his second home run of the evening, both coming to opposite field. That is also the sixth home run of the night for Cleveland batters, as the Indians continue to mash the ball.
CLE 16 - NYY 1 - Bottom 6 - 0 out
We get wholesale changes from the Yankees, as all but A-Rod and Melky Cabrera are getting early showers today in this laugher.
CLE 16 - NYY 1 - Top 6 - 1 out
Ronnie Belliard just makes a ridiculous play at second place. A-Rod sends a ball up the middle for a near single, but Belliard fields it on one-hop and flips behind his back to second for the force. They nearly picked up the improbable double play with A-Rod slowly running to first.
CLE 16 - NYY 1 - End 5
The Indians plate nine runs in the bottom of the fifth inning, as the home team leads by 15. Belliard's comebacker was fielded by Myers to mercifully end the nine-run inning.
CLE 16 - NYY 1 - Bottom 5 - 2 out
The rain starts to fall here, as that is the last thing the Yankees want to see. They just want to get this thing over with. Anyway, Sizemore walks, as Belliard is now the 14th batter of the inning for Cleveland.
CLE 16 - NYY 1 - Bottom 5 - 2 out
It's just one of those days for the Yankees, as Aaron Boone now lines one up the middle for a base hit to plate two more runs. The Indians are now up a whopping 15 runs, as the fireworks have started early here on July 4th for the home team. Sizemore is the 13th batter to come to the plate in this inning.

Oh, did I mention the Yankees got their asses kicked tonight?

What is a Glog? A Glog is fucking awesome in a game like that.

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In the Audience

The first music concert I ever attended was Heart. I *heart* Heart, and it was a great performance. In general, though, I don't do concerts that often. (The exception being our annual pilgramage to Wolf Trap to see the Indigo Girls with our friends.) Sometimes we go with friends, and sometimes it's just Suzanne and me. I hadn't met Suzanne back when I saw Heart, though. Nor when I saw k.d. lang.

In case it isn't obvious, I do have something of a preference for lesbian musicians. My initial introduction to k.d., however, came from my mother. And it was before either k.d. or I had "come out." I believe the first time we ever heard of k.d. was on a Connie Chung interview, which aired when I was still living at home. She played snippets of several of k.d.'s songs, both recorded and live, interspersed with casual interview questions. My mother was blown away by k.d.'s rendition of Roy Orbison's Crying. She also seemed to enjoy a medley k.d. recorded with Kitty Wells, Brenda Lee, and Loretta Lynn. Believe me, I know k.d. is a bit of an odd duck, but one thing is true: the woman has pipes. She really can sing. Even my daddy likes her.

So, fast forward to 1992. I'm now a recently-acknowledged lesbian, in a new relationship. My then-girlfriend and I hear k.d. is coming to Houston and think it would be nice to take my parents to the concert. Both of my parents seem pleased by the idea.

Did I mention k.d. had just come out? The audience was full of lesbians: Old, young, tall, short, butch, femme. The atmosphere would've been phenomenal - if only I weren't with my parents. My parents, good Bible-thumping Republicans dealing with their "baby girl" deciding to leave her husband and pursue a relationship with a woman. k.d. cracked lesbian-oriented jokes throughout the performance. The lesbians sitting right in front of my dad were practically humping each other in their seats. I was mortified. I wanted to scream, "I'm not like that, Daddy!" (Yeah, right, like I'm not into PDAs.)

All these years later, I think sometimes we homos have a tendency to exploit venues where we feel safe and welcome. Since societal norms still prohibit much same-sex hand-holding, kissing, or hugging in public, we jump on any opportunity to do so. In lesbian bars, for example. And certainly at concerts of lesbian artists. I've seen (and initiated) similar PDAs at Indigo Girls, CommonBond, and Melissa Etheridge concerts.

I don't feel it's a bad thing. Just leave your parents at home.

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We Have Been Betrayed

It's raining. Raining. With the full complement of thunder, lightning, and wind.

I wish the storm had held off long enough for us to get the roof of the shed finished.

I really wish we had finished all of the weatherproofing yesterday instead of this morning.

And I so wish there wasn't still a second shed snickering at us from within its nice cardboard box.

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