Sunday morning babble

You people know how to hit my funny bone. I think the only joke you missed is a bad pun; I'm embarrassingly fond of puns, and the worse they are, the better. I can't think of one to save my life, but I'm in proper awe of people who can.
******
What an exciting Saturday night I had! I saw Daniel on TV for the first time--and not as the subject of a Cops episode. My Mother of the Year award should be arriving any day now. I mentioned in this entry that one of his Brain Game matches was taped, and last night it aired. I know this is such a mom thing to say, but Daniel looked so good! His voice sounds great on TV, too--very clear and surprisingly deep. Daniel even admitted he didn't look as "dorky" as he thought he would. His best friend, Paul, cracked me up with his facial expressions. Every time he answered a question right, you could see the thought bubble over his head: "Wow, I really got that one??" The team chose him to answer the lightning-round questions, although he's allowed to get answers from other team members. The entire time, Paul had the funniest deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. I could hear Daniel feeding him some answers, which was cool.

Oh! And I finally got to see the Little Red-Haired Girl who broke my son's heart. She's not as smart as she thinks she is; she got more answers wrong than right, and of course I took immense satisfaction in that. Hateful of me, but don't mess with MY BABY. Hmmmph. Also--and I'll admit I could be biased, and she was probably nervous--she had a rather haughty air I didn't care for. I suspect she's a little smug about her self-perceived superiority. It's possible I could have been looking for that, though, because of something Kevin told me. A girl at Daniel's school just started working at W@lgreen's, and Kevin asked her if she knew LRG. She snorted and said "Yes, and she's the most stuck-up thing I've ever met! She always eats lunch alone because no one likes her attitude." Hmmm. Now that I think about it, I feel a little sorry for her. She's probably been the "smart kid" her whole life and been ostracized for it, which can make you painfully shy. Maybe she's adopted that superior air unconsciously as a self-defense mechanism. OK, I feel like a jerk for secretly exulting at her incorrect answers.

Some of the questions involved math calculations, and they're allowed to use paper and pencil to figure out the answers. I noticed Daniel scribbling away industriously after one algebra question, and I was amazed--math isn't exactly his forte, after all. I asked him if he was close to getting the answer, and he laughed and said "I was doodling cartoons there."

The Z'ville team won by three points, BUT the match might have gone the other way if not for the stupid judges. To the question "What's the saintly name for the light surrounding ships' masts at night?" a Z'ville kid answered "Halo." The judges conferred and gave it to him! Not even close to the correct answer: St. Elmo's fire. He got two points for a wrong answer, damn it. Not that I'm bitter or anything. Heh.
******
I'm feeling a little better, mostly because this ^%$^!# rush job is almost done. I'm still not 100%, however; I feel a little weak and shaky, so I'm not looking forward to driving down to Indianapolis this afternoon. Daniel and I are meeting his dad at a seminar on federal financial aid for college. Sounds like a good time, no? I bet you wish you were me. It'll be worth it if Daniel can get some kind of grant, though. To make up for the tedium, I promised Daniel a trip to Trader Joe's afterward to pick up something fun for dinner. Compared to the local grocery, Trader Joe's is a cornucopia of exotic food choices. With that and the prospect of American Idol's Hollywood round starting this week, I don't know if I can take the excitement!

Begonia or orchid?

Hello, I'm feeling unbelievably crappy. I'm exhausted, and I keep throwing up (TMI, sorry), much like the problem I was having last fall (NOT PREGNANCY). My blood sugar's a little high, which I think is because I'm so stressed with this rush job. I used to handle rush jobs without breaking a sweat and could stay up until all hours working. Now I have to work a little harder than usual, and I'm falling apart. When did I turn into such a hothouse flower? (Hush, Sasha!)
I have no time to post much of anything, but if you like, leave a funny comment for me. It doesn't have to be the height of hilarity, either. You might not know this, but I'm quite the humor slut, and it doesn't take much to crack me up. Make an overworked hothouse flower giggle; it can be your good deed for the day. I promise to be less pathetic soon!

Don't ask me to explain a first down, though

About Rude Workout Lady, I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks of a good comeback hours later. My normal MO, when confronted with rudeness, is to stare disbelievingly, open and close my mouth repeatedly like a giant guppy, mumble something, and walk away fuming. If I'm pushed past a certain point, however, the words just fly out without my brain even engaging--or so it seems. Sometimes that works in my favor, but more often, I wind up saying things I regret.
After I got home, I thought of a lot more I would have liked to say, but I said enough to stand up for myself without resorting to her level of rudeness, I think. Stephanie mentioned reporting her to the manager, and that did cross my mind. The manager's probably gotten similar complaints about this woman--or maybe not. I doubt any apology from her would be sincere, though, and I suspect she isn't going to be saying anything to me in the near future, much less making rude comments. So I don't know . . . should I complain?
******
I heard a few rumors that a big game of some kind is being played today. Is that right? Heh. Sorry, just pulling your leg, football fans. Y'all get so rabid about the Super Bowl that I can't resist teasing you. Actually, I had forgotten about it until yesterday. Kevin and I had to go to the store to pick up dog food, and the place was jammed. I've never seen lines that long there! Then it dawned on me, as I looked at the contents of people's carts: chips, beer, dip, more beer, chicken wings, oh, and beer. I noticed, too, that not one carton of eggs could be found in the store. Apparently, the entire state of Indiana is making deviled eggs.
My friend Lynn called yesterday, so excited she could barely speak. She's a HUGE Colts fan and is going to a Super Bowl party decked out in a blue tinsel wig, a Colts jersey, and a hat with a horse perched on top. Yeah, I'm not sure why we're friends, either. What cracked me up is the way she kept referring to the Colts as "we," as in "We're going to crush the Bears!" On the other hand, if Lynn were in Miami, I could see her leaping onto the field and giving Peyton Manning some tips. Gah, I can't believe I know the name of the Colts quarterback! I guess I'd have had to be in a coma for the past month not to have some football knowledge seep into my consciousness.
Last night, customers kept asking Kevin if he had to work today. When he said yes, they were aghast and expressed the kind of sympathy usually reserved for a death in the family. He's not much of a sports fan--and I'm deeply grateful he's not--but he reassured them that TVs would be set up in the store, and the other employees had planned to bring in snacks. "Oh, thank God," they breathed in relief. Kevin said he was afraid if he told them he'd miss the game, they would have burst into tears or stormed the manager's office, demanding she provide a TV for employees.
There's not much point in W@lgreen's being open tonight, however. I can't imagine many customers coming in. By 6:00, the town is going to be completely deserted, with tumbleweeds blowing down the middle of Main Street and the faint sounds of people crunching chips and munching on deviled eggs echoing through the cold, still air. Well, I'll watch the half-time show at least, in case there's a wardrobe malfunction or Nelly (Nellie? whatever) grabbing his crotch while he sings to amuse me. The Super Bowl has something to entertain everyone, right?

Double the workout, NOT double the fun

Whew. It's been a long week. I took on a rush editing project because I need the money, but I'm beginning to regret it. This author uses 4,237 words to say what most people can say in 385. In one chapter, he's trying to set up a hypothetical company as an example, and I swear he spent three paragraphs describing the company and a problem it's having. After taking my editing axe to the description, I boiled it down to four sentences. Holy unnecessary words, Batman!

******

I feel a little guilty about poking fun at Kevin's forgetfulness in my previous entry, especially because I'm not exactly the Queen of Short-Term Recall. He's so darn cute in his absent-mindedness, though, that I can't help myself. I wish my memory lapses were as amusing, but walking into a room to get something and forgetting--in the 10 seconds it took to walk into the room--what I needed to get isn't quite as endearing. Sometimes it seems as though I spend half my day standing in the middle of a room and mumbling to myself "What did I come in here to do?"

The other half of the day I spend doing things backward. This morning I was making corn muffins and carefully put the milk jug and egg carton in the oven and the muffin tin in the refrigerator. Fortunately, I realized what I'd done before I created a HAZMAT accident in my oven. I don't even want to think about the stink of melted egg carton wafting through my kitchen.

There. Now I feel less guilty after confessing my memory inadequacies.

******

I haven't mentioned my progress with better eating and exercising lately. For the most part, I think I'm slowly incorporating good habits so that I don't have to consciously think about food choices or constantly persuade myself to exercise. I have setbacks, of course. Some days I get busy with work and forget to eat lunch, so at 3:00 I'm suddenly starving and want to eat an entire birthday cake (but I don't--really!). Occasionally, I have to force myself to go work out when I'm so tired that all I want to do is collapse on the couch and watch Seinfeld reruns.

In spite of those bad days, I'm still getting results. I've lost another five pounds for a total of 28, I think. Or maybe 30. I have the damndest time remembering the total amount, and I keep forgetting to ask the nurse after I get weighed. I'm just so excited to see any loss; that's all I can focus on at the moment.

I did remember to get measured at the end of January at Curve$, though. I hate getting measured no matter who does it, but when I went in Monday, the one Curve$ employee I actively dislike was there. She's always making little digs about my weight, which is strange for two reasons. One, the other employees never do that; they go out of their way to be encouraging and positive. Two, she's a big ol' husky girl who probably outweighs me by 50 pounds. Granted, I'm short and weigh too much for my height, but she doesn't have much room to talk. Usually, I grit my teeth and ignore her, but I'd finally had it Monday.

She was taking my measurements and bitching about having a hard time finding my waist. I tried to be nice and said, "Yeah, I'm very short-waisted--I have about half an inch between my rib cage and my hip bones!" I'd lost 1.5 inches from my waist (despite the suffering she went through to FIND my waist) and 1 inch from my hips, so I was happy. Then she went one step too far. She measured my bust and reported I'd lost one-fourth inch. I thought that was kind of funny, compared to my other measurements; it's like I can't get rid of my excess knockers, you know? I made some kind of lame joke, laughing about it being only a fourth of an inch. She said nastily, "Well, if you really want results, you have to come three times a week! You've missed some days, you know, and you have to work hard because of all that extra weight."

When I get really mad, I turn beet-red, and my face felt like it was on fire. Honestly, I thought I was going to burst a blood vessel. I snapped "I AM getting results, and I HAVE been coming here regularly. I missed a few days a couple of weeks ago because I had NO FREAKING CAR. Is there anything else you'd like to say, or can I go exercise now and get the hell away from you?"

She started sputtering indignantly, but I didn't want to hear it or waste any more time on her, so I just walked away and started my workout. I've decided there's no point in trying to deal with rude people. Telling them they're rude doesn't work; either they don't believe you and think you're being oversensitive, or they just plain don't care. One good thing came out of that incident, however: I didn't have to exercise very long to get my heart rate up! Who knew getting mad is an aerobic activity? I think I'll stick with exercising instead of throwing hissy fits to get a cardio workout, though.

I can't wait for actual senility to set in!

I've mentioned this before, but Kevin and I have a running joke about starring in our own sitcom called My Idiot Boyfriend because of all the absent-minded, bone-headed stunts he pulls (and I say that with love, truly). The theme song sounds similar to the one from The Patty Duke Show, in case you're wondering.

Well, last night was a new episode. Kevin got home from work about 10:30 and said it had started snowing again on his walk home, and then asked where I had gone that night. Act I of the episode went like this:

Me: "What do you mean? I didn't go anywhere."

Idiot Boyfriend (IB), looking puzzled: "Then why did you park the car out front?"

Me: "I didn't even go outside, much less move the car for no reason."

IB, now looking worried: "I didn't see the car in the garage when I came in through the back yard."

Me: "Kevin! Are you sure you didn't drive to work?"

IB: "No, no, I walked. Hang on, let me go look out front."

Sound of front door opening. Long pause. The front door slams, followed by the sound of IB running down hallway to my office. Act II begins:

IB: "The car's not out front!"

Me: "And you're sure you didn't drive to work?"

IB: "No!"

Me: "You actually looked in the garage when you came home?"

IB, blank stare: "Well . . . I think so. I'll go look again."

Sound of back door opening and IB's feet crunching on the snow down the path to the garage. Long pause, and then the sound of IB running back inside.

IB: "Lisa, the car's NOT IN THE GARAGE!"

Me, mouth hanging open: "Uh . . . "

IB: "I can't believe someone stole it!"

Me: "Should we call the police? Crap, I'm not dressed!"

IB: "The registration's in the car! Do you remember the license plate number?"

Me: "Of course I don't! And you're positive you didn't drive to work?"

Long pause. The clock ticks. The sun rises and sets repeatedly. Spiderwebs grow in the corner of my office. The buildings outside the window change; some are torn down, and new ones go up. Finally, IB's eyes lose their blank look, and comprehension dawns. Act III begins:

IB: "You know what? I did drive to work."

Me: Wordless sputter, accompanied by look of pure rage.

IB, hastily: "I'll run back and get it!"

IB throws on his coat and runs out the back door. I take this opportunity to look up the benefits of gingko biloba on the Internet and consider hiring a home healthcare worker to accompany IB everywhere.

Finis.

And this is an edited list

I watched Good Morning, Vietnam with Daniel last night (who liked it a lot), and I kept thinking how young Robin Williams, Bruno Kirby, and Forest Whitaker looked. Does that make me old? Oh, hush.

I've tried to start an entry three or four times, and I keep deleting them. I think I have a low-level general pissiness going on, and nothing seems to satisfy me. I'll type a few sentences, and then think "Oh, who wants to read about that?" Does that ever happen to anyone else?

For lack of a topic, I'm just going to list some things that are bugging me, in no particular order of importance:

1. The newspaper changed the format of the Sunday insert for the TV schedule. It's much bigger yet more difficult to read, and the arrangement of each day's listings makes no sense. For example, on one left-hand page are the entries for Tuesday night's cable channels; on the right-hand page are the Tuesday night AND Wednesday night network channels. To see Wednesday night's cable channels, I have to turn the page--and that's just not right. And, AND, there are no show descriptions now. Hmmph.
2. Speaking of the newspaper, would it kill the delivery adult to toss the paper somewhere in the vicinity of my front porch? This morning, I had to scurry outside, in 10 degrees, all the way down my front steps and halfway down the sidewalk to my next-door neighbor's house--while wearing pink pajamas and a huge fuzzy white robe.
3. Daniel called me the other night from a friend's house. When I answered, he said "Hey, Mom. It's Dan." Dan?? Dan who? I have a son named Daniel, who only a few months ago corrected people who called him Dan. I don't like the name Dan. Dan's a breezy jock who likes to have a few brewskies with his buds. Gah. Freakin' Indiana and its residents' propensity for shortening names in any way possible. Ever since I moved here, teachers and other adults have tried to shorten Daniel's name, and in the past few years, kids at school have, too. I'm not sure whether Daniel's caved or wants to establish a new identity; either way, it upsets me.
4. I pay most of my bills online and do about 95% of my work on the computer. Why, then, do I still have stacks and stacks of paper in my office??
5. I've had it with trying to turn over in the middle of the night and being unable to move because a 13-pound cat is draped across my legs. Not curled up sweetly next to me, not lying at the foot of the bed--across my legs.
6. Holly now snores even when she's AWAKE. I have to turn the TV up to deaf-person levels to hear it above her floor-rattling snores.
7. Jon's closing the used bookstore at the end of February because he got a great offer to buy the building and, he claims, he's ready to retire. Where am I supposed to get all my books now? His store was within walking distance, plus I got Daniel's 15% employee discount. The place also functioned as an old-fashioned general store; I could hang out there for an hour drinking free coffee and get all the town gossip and news.
8. Gene, the guy who lives behind me, across the alley in back of my garage, has three grown sons who leave their giant trucks and a freakin' BOAT parked in his driveway, which is approximately two feet long. Therefore, their big-ass vehicles stick partway out into the alley, which means backing out of my garage and into the alley requires excellent hand-eye coordination and split-second timing to turn the wheel at just the right moment. My skillz in both areas? Not so mad.
9. Now that this winter is finally turning cold, my hair is one big ball of static electricity.
10. One of my clients lost an invoice I sent in December. Even with an expedite order on it, I won't see the check for another two weeks.
11. The pain-in-the-ass author I wrote about a few weeks ago is a week behind now on a chapter, and I just found out from another author on the team that he's having surgery for an "old war injury." I don't know what "war" he was in; he's too young to have served in WWII or Vietnam, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't involved in the Gulf War. The other author informed me that PITA author will probably have to drop out of the project. I can't wait to pass that news along to Kid Manager. The poor thing will plotz.
12. Several movies up for Academy Awards are just now hitting theaters around here. Once again, I'll be watching the Oscars having seen only a handful of the nominated movies. Oh, well. Ellen DeGeneres is hosting, so that's some comfort.

That is all--for now. Heh.

Partly scattered babble, clearing toward morning

Here are the answers for the word quiz thingie from the other day:

• Bart's advice to chill out: Don't have a cow, man
• Symbol of Hinduism: Sacred cow
• A long time: Until the cows come home
• A money-making endeavor: Cash cow

The next word quiz has "saint" or "St." in each answer:

• An herb that makes you feel good (no, the other one)
• An orange Monopoly property
• Two of the three U.S. Virgin Islands
• A 1980s TV medical drama

******

I'm feeling scattered this morning, so I'm going to follow up on a couple of past entries to fool myself into thinking I'm all organized and clear-headed and smart. First, Daniel seems to be coping well with the little red-haired girl's rejection of him. He's stopped moping around and dragging his feet, as though the "Volga Boatmen" song was his own personal soundtrack. His dad bought him an iPod as an early birthday present, and a new electronic gadget takes the sting out of quite a few heartbreaks, especially for 17-year-old boys. I suspect he's still harboring a crush for her, but crushes don't go away overnight.

Second, thank you for your understanding comments about my mom. As a few of you pointed out, laughing my irritation off is probably my best option, and usually, I do that fairly well. My sense of humor seems to fly out the window when my mom's around, though. Why is that? I know I'm not the only one with this problem, and I don't think it's confined to daughters, although it might be more common than in sons. I've known friends who are smart, funny, well-adjusted, and capable, yet are reduced to humorless masses of insecurity and self-doubt after one encounter with their mothers. If there's a school where moms learn to wield that power, I missed the enrollment deadline--because of procrastinating, as my mom would be quick to point out.

Third, uh . . . is there a third? I can't think of anything. Well, if I left a question (or participle) dangling, nudge me.

******

AI blather: Tuesday's auditions in Memphis were blessedly less full of The Crazy, although my retinas were still seared by images of unfettered breasts. If that's going to be a theme this season, I'm not strong enough to handle it. A woman named Janita strode into the auditorium with her boobs threatening to escape the tenuous hold of her halter dress and described herself as "innocent and conservative." Clearly, self-awareness has gone out of fashion these days. She also claimed that her attention to fashion details helped boost her "confidentiality." Oy. I swear these contestants say things like that just to cause me pain.

However, I was impressed by a guy with the improbable and vaguely porn-star-like name Sundance Head. Odd Amish beard, but a clear, strong, bluesy voice. I liked Melissa the backup singer, too--gorgeous voice but not much confidence in her talent, or maybe she just has a degree of humility not found in most AI hopefuls. Most surprising was Sean, who looked like a cross between Castro as a young man and a scruffy Jesus dressed in fatigues. Immediately, I thought "Oh, crap, another deluded crazy person." He sang Johnny Cash's "God Is Gonna Cut You Down," an interesting choice (and, much to my relief, not a Christina Aguilera song), and did a decent job. I bet he got a thumbs-up from the Man in Black. If he makes it to the final 10, I'll be curious to see what kind of makeover the AI stylists give him.

Funniest line of the night: When Simon asked Robert "I'm the Next Elvis" Holmes, who also said he's writing a story about his life, how he saw his story ending, he said "With a period." Bwah!