Both Hands

Na na na na na!

I'm going to where it's sunny tomorrow!

It's been raining pretty much every day since Christmas here, I think we've had three "dry" days. I place that in quotes as "dry" just means there is no active rain happening. Everything is still dark and sodden.

I realize that I live in the Pacific Northwest (sort of), but I feel justified in complaining after the following conversation occured last week:

Ensie: I don't want to be the wussy Californian here, but I'm really tired of the rain. Just as of today. It surprisingly hasn't really bothered me up until now. Am I just being a wussy Californian?

Frinklin: No. You're not. People who have lived in Seattle their entire lives and love the rain are sick of the rain.

Ensie: So, even the amphibious folk are trying to dry off?

Frinklin: Pretty much.

San Diego, here I come!

California Girl

Lately, I've noticed a curious resistence to establishing my permanent residence in Washington State. While I applied for my WA driver's license the week after moving, it was only because my CA license expired on my birthday and I had no choice. I have yet to find a dentist, an eye doctor, a hairstylist, etc. The dogs still have their San Diego County rabies tags.

I can't help it. I loved living in California. There was a certain sense of pride that I lived year round where people want to vacation. I know I'll always be from California, but it just isn't the same. And I know there are those who laugh at anyone from CA and think we're all freaks--go ahead--I eat your hate like love.

I've been making strides--the Beetle has Washington plates now. The California registration had only expired in October. Apparently there is a significant fee it one is pulled over with a Washington driver's license and out-of-state plates. I courted danger every day for three months. The truck's California plates expire at the end of February. You won't see me anywhere near the Department of Licensing before the ides of March (and what's up with the "Department of Licensing"? Call it the DMV like normal).

I don't like the doctor I've seen three times. For some reason, my mind refuses to believe that he is my "real" doctor. I'm just seeing him until I can get back home.

I have an appointment with my old dentist on Thursday while in San Diego.

I don't feel completely alone in this. Violet has lived in Chicago for years now and still has her California driver's license. We discuss the pros and cons of driving cross country to get your car smogged very two years. She are I are convinced that eventually we'll end up back in our real home.

I Will NOT Be Sick Again

I'm flying to San Diego for six days on Monday. Surviving a rapidly deteriorating work situation (not the job, but the people I have to be around while doing the job) has been my goal so that I could get to vacation time. After nine years I've hit three weeks of paid vacation per year--allowing me to take vacation now, in the summer, and again at the end of the year. Perfect.

And tonight I have ANOTHER sore throat. I missed three days of work last week due to some nasty thing that required antibiotics and involved a fever over 100 degrees. Then there was the giant canker sore on my left tonsil, which is just as stabbingly painful as it sounds. I swallowed approximately 230 throat lozenges.

I've already dosed myself with Airborne (beware, this link is rather annoying) and a decongenstant, to fight off both virus and post nasal drip.

Oh God--please let this be allergies.

Therapists can be crazy too

Since I had the breakdown a couple of months ago I've been on all sorts of lovely meds to keep myself stable and to help me sleep at night. When I was first given my four (count 'em!) new prescriptions I thought, this new doc might be a little drug-happy. But she was right and I feel about 200% better now that I'm able to get out of bed in the morning and not cry all day long.

But...

At my last appointment with Doctor Meds I started to wonder if this is the right person for me. A couple of the things that stood out include:

1. She told me that animals are psychic and can read our electromagnetic fields, auras, and our minds. Um, OK.

2. In order to "visualize" losing weight, I've been instructed to purchase a doll and stick balls of modeling clay on it. One ball = one pound. I will then remove the balls as I lose pounds. The doll must stay somewhere I will see it each day. My problems with this? Dolls creep me the fuck out and this is just generally a completely weird idea.

There are a few other quirks I've noticed, but she generally is a good person to talk to, and does have some practical advice for some of my issues. Why do I always run across the freaky Docs?

You are standing at the end of a road before a small brick building.

My dad is an electrical engineer. Because of this, I've had a computer in my house since the day I was born. The original machine took up a six-foot banquet table in my parent's bedroom sending simple documents to a dot-matrix printer that screeched like a dying banshee. I often lay awake at night listening to the tortured ink scraping onto the page.

Being an insider in the world of computers gave my Dad access to all sorts of prototype games. These were the most primitive graphics imaginable. I would hunch over the black and green screen for hours shooting asterisks from my X-O-X X-Wing Fighter at Darth Vader's ><-O-><� Tie-Fighter. Atari was light years away. Heck, Pong was several steps up in the technological world.

One of the games I had access to early on was a Beta version of a text game that I played obsessively. The 9-inch floppy disks would slide into the computer and Adventure (aka Colossal Cave) would begin. Oh how I loved Adventure. No images to slow you down--your imagination ran wild as you played. Being only 6 or 7 years old, I never progressed very far, but would play the same half hour introduction for hours at a time. I never thought to purchase the finished version of Adventure, but I’ve played it a couple of times online since—still only progressing only about a half hour into the game.

This great parody of Adventure really killed me. I nearly fell out of my seat with laughter and glee. Frinklin has consistantly mocked me when I try to describe playing a game that played like a “Choose Your Own Adventure� book. The fact that over 250 people commented on his "Xyzzy" (*poof*) post confirms that my nostalgic memories aren't just fluff, but are the same as numerous other devoted Adventure players.

A sampling:

> GIVE CONTRACTS
Who do you want to give the contracts to?

> HALLIBURTON
What kind of contracts do you wish to give to Halliburton?

> NO-BID
You give the no-bid contracts to Halliburton.

> STAY COURSE
The situation in Iraq remains unchanged.

> STAY COURSE
The situation in Iraq remains unchanged.

> WEAR FLIGHTSUIT
You put on the flightsuit.

> SAY "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED"
"Mission accomplished."

> EXAMINE MISSION
The mission is not accomplished.

> STAY COURSE
The situation in Iraq remains unchanged.

Some insurgents arrive.

> STAY COURSE
The situation in Iraq deteriorates.

> STAY COURSE
The situation in Iraq deteriorates.

Some insurgents arrive.
There is a small number of insurgents here.

Genius!

Chicken

The food, not the parrot.

I'm cooking. Right now, as I type. I found what looks to be a great recipe for roast chicken and veggies in the new issue of BUST magazine. It's Martha Wainwright's recipe, to be specific.

If it turns out well I'll post the recipe. But you can always go out and get it yourself. It's so worth it, just for the article on Peaches alone.

I feel so wifey right now.

Vacation Countdown

At a certain point before going on vacation my body ceases to work. I have reached that point. I only have a four-day workweek, as Friday I will walk out the door of Bob’s Hogs in Tacoma and have no plans to return until early February. I’ve even managed to arrange a trip to San Diego to see how many feet my 15-year-old brother has grown in the six months since I’ve last seen him. You should hear him on the phone—he went from sounding like Mickey Mouse to Barry White in about 4 days.

I should be calling potential customers and filling out vendor registration forms. Instead, I’m organizing computer files and blogging at work. Bad sign. I still have three more days to go.

New Years

This is how Matchbox spent New Years.

In a closet, on top of the the shelves. We found him after the fireworks ended.