On Beverages and Being Lazy

It was a lazy Saturday morning. Quite uncharacteristically, we both slept in. Miraculously, the dogs allowed our slovenly behavior. Upon waking, the dogs needs were tended, but we elected to drink our coffee from bed while channel-surfing.

We ended up viewing a History Channel program on the, well, history of beer in America. From the early competition of breweries in Milwaukee to the vision of August Busch in St. Louis and later upstarts in Colorado, we learned of the challenges of bottling, the introduction of canning, and the woeful interlude known as Prohibition. More than once, the narrator mentioned Busch's dream of making America a nation of beer drinkers. After one such occurrence, Suzanne lifted her coffee mug in tribute and exclaimed, "I love these people!"

Coffee on lazy Saturday mornings is good. Almost as good as entrepreneurism and beer.

Salud.

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The Best Damned Day

I don't do birthdays. Oh, I'm fine with celebrating the birthdays of others, just not my own. I don't care to have a lot of fuss; frankly, I hate being the center of attention. I don't drop hints to coworkers or friends when my birthday is approaching, I beg Suzanne not to sing to me... and, this year, I adamantly insisted that I not be the recipient of another blogosphere VaginArt celebration.

Against all odds, my friends both here at home and across the country respected my wish. Of even greater unlikelihood, I am acknowledging--publicly, willfully, gleefully--my birthday. From the handmade gifts that were a total surprise, to the Japanese Maple that now resides in Connecticut (simply waiting for me to claim it), the thoughtfulness of my dear friends demands more than a gracious receipt. They deserve celebration.

The hand-drawn card taped to a beer from my own fridge was pretty damned funny, too.

Thank you all for a wonderful day. :)

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Inanity

I despise the current Wendy's marketing campaign. You've seen them - some guy is wearing that Godawful red-haired pigtail wig that replicates the restaurant's logo while engaging in burger conversation.

I like Wendy's. Hell, I own stock in Wendy's. It's my name. But the ad campaign blows. It's stupid. Annoying. That's Wrong*.

*Almost enough so to make me refrain from purchasing that delectable new hamburger comprised of jalepenos, bacon, and two kinds of cheese, melted between two beef patties. Mmmmmm.

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Hiatal Highlights

Aka, bits and pieces of what was happening while I was not blogging.

I took out a mailbox... while driving a company car, with my newest employee along for the thump. Oops.

A couple of very dear friendships were compromised. *Whine warning* Isn't quitting your job after having a baby enough? Must new mommies move out of state, too?

A couple of budding friendships continued to blossom (y'all know who you are, and I love you).

Virtually nothing changed on the home improvement front. So far, I'm okay with that. I'm thrilled to report the water hoses have been put away for the season; of course, the grass-growing efforts dictate that we blow and bag the leaves nearly every freaking weekend. Ah, well.

My parents visited, and it was relatively (pun intended) painless... even when we all went to lunch with Suzanne's mom (yikes!). My dad climbed another step up on his pedestal by commenting, "What is, is" when I mentioned my mother's avoidance of my lesbianism. Perhaps the moment was cuter because he said it in old-mumbly-man-from-Texas Spanish... or just because he's my daddy and his unconditional love and support are a cornerstone of my life.

We replaced our shitty cell phones. Suzanne's new QWERTY keyboard has vastly impacted the speed with which she texts.

We celebrated Dud's 10th birthday. He remains fit and active, and I continue to believe self-delude that he'll live forever.

We saw The Boy perform when his tour brought him to the area. The show was as cheesy as a fondue pot at a Packers tailgating party, but he was undeniably good. He's also being paid well, a dream come true for parentals of a no-longer-child pursuing a career in music theatre. Go, Boy, go!

I'm certain there were other occurrences, good and bad... but that's a fair nutshell. I, um, also missed my blogging relationships, so it's good to be back. :)

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Kinda Like Back Home...

... where, if one orders a "coke" at a restaurant, the inevitable question is, "What kind?". In small-town Southeast Texas, "coke" is synonymous with "soda" or "pop" to the rest of the country.

In Northern Virginia, or at least in MY household, I note a similar misusage:

Suzanne: Would you bring me a couple of those almond rocas on your way back?
Wen: How many is "a couple"?
Suzanne: Four.

To my knowledge, this largesse of coupling does not apply to sexual interactions.

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Y'all have a couple of nice days this Thanksgiving. :)

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Just in Time for Thanksgiving

Wife of weese thought it was bad when I sorta kinda broke the bathroom door during their visit. That was easily repaired, however, with a little wood glue, sanding, and painting. My mother's treatment of the bathroom sink fixture, however, was a bit more vexing.

Note: We intentionally chose a retro-style fixture to match the, um, style of our 1950's home. That fixture, however, was neither old nor cheap. What the hell!?!?

Although Suzanne and I did manage to procrastinate make do for a couple of weeks, there is NO WAY we can expect our Thanksgiving guests to employ the same strategy... is there?

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Big D Wins!

Meaning Dudley, of course. I wouldn't dare gloat about the Cowboys victory over the Redskins in this household. Certainly not.

After that last interception, Pixie turned her back on the game.

Suzanne was smarter. She went grocery shopping.

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Nothing But a Number

'Twas the night before Chr--

No, that's not right. Let's see. It's supposed to be the story of when I turned 40, but that milestone hasn't actually occurred yet. Lest any of you old farts slightly more youth-challenged folks think I'm glorying in that fact, I am not. I have been acutely aware that nearly all of my blogfriends, many of whom I love dearly, are older. Genteel soul that I am, I won't name names nor point fingers. Some are older than others, of course.

Take Teresa. Hell, she's only turning 40. Forty. Big freaking whoop. Forty is young in my mind, particularly as I witness the energy, activity, and joy of those of greater chronological achievement. Of course, it helps that I'll be able to claim to be in the same decade as Suzanne when I do turn 40. I wonder what other distinctions will herald that hallmark?

• As I will no longer be working for the agency that is slowly crushing my spirit, I may be employed in an entirely new profession.
• I will be nearly three years into the Five Year Plan.*
• I will almost certainly still be wearing braces.**
• I will continue to revel in the joy that I glean from our amazing friends and pets.
• My truck will be paid off.
• We'll likely have a much better concept of The Boy's future.
• My yard will be as beautiful as a golf course.
• And, possibly, I'll finally have changed the picture on my Driver's License, replacing the picture from when I moved to Virginia - when I was 28, with short hair.

Why do I feel like I'll look back at this in a couple of years and laugh? Ah, well. This isn't truly about me, anyway. Today is the 40th birthday of my friend, and I wish her all the enjoyment a day may hold.


*More on that later. Maybe.

**Okay, the idea of braces at 40 isn't all that delightful.

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Ahhhh

A monstrous conflagration roaring fire in the fireplace.
Football on the TV.
Fantasy Football on the computers.
Dogs cuddling.
A cocktail or two.
Good friends, sharing.



A damned near perfect weekend.

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no, No, NO

A brief aside while a guest was on the phone.

W: Remind me later to tell you about [my boss's] great nephew.

S: Her right nipple?

WTF?? If you knew my boss, you'd know why I gagged.

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We're Expanding Our Horizons...

Instead of being embarrassed by the number of beer cans in our recycling bin, we're now chagrined by the abundance of beer cartons in our trash. (I'm not sure if the pizza box helps or hurts our image.)


Whatever. Good times.

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Happy Birthday, Baby

While not precisely how I envisioned employing "power tools" spending the hours preceding football, I'm not complaining. We're a good team. :)

No More, For Now

I've been a lousy blogger this year. Not only is my posting down, but I've struggled to even keep up with all of your blogs.

So, I'm taking a break. I don't want to delete my blog permanently and I'm too lazy to save every freaking post as draft, so this notice will just have to suffice.

Thank you to those of you who expressed concern. All is well. I'll be back when blogging feels like fun again, instead of an obligation.

Alarm!

S, speaking with the righteous indignation of Those Who Get To Sleep In: The neighbor came knocking at the door at like 7 o'clock this morning!

W, thinking something isn't right, the neighbor KNOWS we're bedslugs. Then it clicks: Suzanne, I was still here at 7:00. Try again.

S, busted: Um, okay, it was probably like 9:00.

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Topography

Or... the doggy version of Where's Waldo.


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Say it with Me....

"Awwwwwwww..."


So sweet, isn't he?


Sorry. I know Eva is hot, but I was damned tired of looking at Mr. Longoria.

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There are Worse Names...

I'm guessing he doesn't enjoy it much, even though she is fucking HOT.



See?

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Vision

Today's quote of note:

Don't borrow someone else's spectacles to view yourself with.
~Simon Travaglia (Who?)

Certainly I'm guilty of that. But the question begs: How does one view oneself?

My "glasses" are often quite smudged. Similar to "beer goggles", I recognize that what I "see" may look different in the morning, or next year... and certainly is different than what others see.

We are fluid, we homos homo sapiens. Our perceptions, thoughts, and ideals are naturally influenced by our environment. Whether a subtle shift in interpersonal dynamics, a less-than-satisfactory hair day, a major job change, or a war in another country, we constantly receive external feedback and new information. We sift the data, either consciously or unconsciously; the input may reinforce preconceived notions or challenge them.

Of course, there are some beliefs that are so ingrained they seem an intrinsic part of who we are. A "frame" for the glasses, so to speak. I find I'm quite comfortable with my personal framework.

Now, I just need to polish those lenses.

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Introspection... Exposed

Although I haven't referenced it too often, I have been absolutely miserable at my place of employment for some time. A handful of people that know me well are acutely aware of this, and have been encouraging me to find a new job. I started out thinking about that, but the process somehow morphed into what the fuck do I want?

I don't know why I'm sharing this, except that feedback would be welcome and it's been in my head for too long.

So...

• What do I like? Dogs; food; sports; music; books; computers; processes; writing; the English language; neat, orderly existence


• What do I dislike? People (i.e. interpersonal interactions, answering the phone); bureaucracies, being the center of attention
  


• What are my strengths? Explaining things in terms others can understand; spelling; proficiency with Word, familiarity with Excel; good vocabulary; supervisory experience; good work history of progressive responsibility; excellent attention to detail; typing 80 wpm; sense of humor; significant familiarity with disability rights, issues, and laws; supportive friends and partner; ambition; physical strength, relative good health; persistence; loyalty; sensitivity to others' perceptions


• What are my weaknesses? Limited formal education; distractibility; procrastination; downright lazy at times; poor self-perception; low frustration-tolerance; stubborn; fear of being judged; hearing; some physical limitation due to back/shoulder pain; need for order; competitiveness; difficulty asking for help


• What are my needs? A reasonable income; benefits; a shorter commute; a sane supervisor; stability; approval

So, there I am, exposed vocationally encapsulated. Thoughts welcome.

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Wannabe...

Back when I first started this blog, I struggled a bit with what to call it. I'm not sure what I intended with the Wannabe moniker at the time; wannabe a writer? Wannabe living more in the world and less in my head? Wannabe rich, successful, powerful, beautiful? Wannabe a better partner, daughter, friend, employee? Wannabe living on an island with ten dogs and no cares in the world? I don't think I had a clear concept of what I wanted. I still don't.

My wants today are still diffuse and, largely, unassuming.

I want to finish the renovations of this house.
I want the fuck out of my job.
I want my dogs to live forever.

I know, those are wants, not wannabes. For now, I'll settle for wannabe posting more often than bimonthly.

Ooh, ambition.

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