Evil orange

Fucking hell.

Can’t we have a moment or two to enjoy the first real tast of spring we’ve had? Don’t we deserve that after the gloomy, wet week we just came out of? Is that really too much to ask?

Apparently so.

On my drive in this morning, I saw them. Lined up alongside the road. Laughing at me as I drove by …

Those fucking orange barrels … the ones that can only signal months and months of road construction-induced torture. It takes me over an hour most days to get to work without construction.

Hell is arrived …

Oh yeah, I have a blog …

Maybe I should … I don’t know … write in it, or something?

I know I haven’t been around much, and I have very little excuse for myself. I just haven’t been feeling it lately … 

… dawg.

Not much has been going on anyway. Well … not much interesting has been going on anyway. There has been much rain, rain, rain. And there has been quite a lot of work, work, work.

In my downtime, there has been mostly TV, TV, TV …

So, I could have posted about how happy I was to see Ed Helms back on the Office, or about all of my latest theories on Lost. Or, as so many others did, I could have posted my heartfelt thanks that Sanjaya had finally been given the big boot.

But, I just didn’t.

I guess I still have very little to say. When I do, I’ll surely share it  with you.

In the meantime, I did find this coolish, memish thingy. It comes with a nifty little widgie … but fucking WordPress won’t let me add it in. So, you get a picture and a link instead.

Do enjoy.

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One day, I was already old …

Those are the words that kick off The Lover, by Marguerite Duras. Those are the words that keep ringing around in my head these days.

I’m feeling old.

Maybe it’s the few strands of gray I noticed in my hair. Or, maybe it’s that both the host and the music guest of last week’s Saturday Night Live looked like they were still in high school, and I had never heard of either of them. Maybe it’s that people are starting to refer to music from the 80’s and 90’s as “oldies.”

Whatever it is… it is.

I’m not quite ready to be old yet. I’m still working on getting out of this job that I hate. I still haven’t figured out a way to get us relocated to England. I’m still trying to figure out how to be a parent.

At 36, I guess I can still tell myself that I’m not all that old yet. I just wish I still believed it.

Empty diary

Last night, I was going through my nightstand, looking for a picture, and I found an old diary that I bought, but never used. I looked at it last night, flipping through the empty pages, trying to remember why I had never used it … Had I been extra busy?  Was life just particularly boring at the time? If so, what made me decide to buy it?

I can vaguely remember picking it up off the shelf at the bookstore. It’s a very pretty diary. Maybe it was just that it was so pretty  that made me want to buy it. As if the beauty of the book would be able to rub off on the thoughts and the words that went into it.

I wanted to write in it.

There is something very sad to me now, about the emptiness of that diary. I wish I had filled it. Even if my life was boring at the time. Even if I was too busy.

Now, I know, it will always stay empty. Anytime I want to write, I will do it here. There will be no pretty little book filled with pretty words to leave behind. Just an empty diary, with my name on the front page.

In vindication of procastinators everywhere …

I’m happy to announce that I passed both of my MTELS (MA Test for Educators Licensure).

I think that’s deserving of a

WOOT!

and possibly even a

HELL YEAH!

April hours drift like flowers

Damn …

Where has the time gone? I blinked … and April is already almost a full week old. Monday night in class, my Professor was going over what we will be doing for each of the remaining 4 classes we have, and it was so clear how it would all go … I could feel each week just melting away as he spoke. There is so, so much I have to do this month.

April never stood a chance.

Yesterday afternoon, snow started falling… in fat, white, wet, globs … rendering the afternoon commute to a slow crawl. I had to call Jon and tell him I would not make it on time to pick up Maddie … he had to leave early to go get her himself. With the stress of trying to race the clock at 10 miles an hour gone, I actually felt a little peaceful inching my way through the 20 mile stretch of parking lot that once was a highway.

For a little while there, time just seemed to slow down. And for once … I appreciated that.

It’s going to be a good day …

Here’s how I know …

I was down to the bottom of my bag of coffee… and the new bag of coffee is a different blend. So, at the very least, I am looking at a mixed blend of coffee this morning. But, there’s more.

As is typical when I get to this point, I made a couple of valiant attempts to scoop the coffee out as normal .. but then ultimately lost all patience with my inability to fill up the scoops with the meager supply in the coffee in the bag, and dumped the whole bag into the filter at once.

So, as is typical when I get to this point, I now had to try to size up how many scoops of coffee were in the filter so I could figure out how many scoops of the new coffee I still needed to add.

What was not typical when I get to this point is this …

This pot of coffee kicks ass! I love this pot of coffee.

It does concern me a little that I will probably never be able to replicate this magical blend. But, for now?

It’s looking like it’s going to be a good day…

Phlegm-o-plenty

Sniffle. cough. hack. cough. sniffle. sniffle. cough. hack. Achoo! Achoo! Achoo! (they always come in 3s)

It was 60 degrees out and beautiful today …

For all the good that did me

Backfire

I had a strategy … 

I thought maybe if we could just eat up all the girl scout cookies as quickly as possible, we would be rid of them sooner, and, therefore, my ass would get less bigger. I guess I was working off of the theory that the mere presence of the cookies in the house was the problem.

Now that we’re down to the last box, I have to say… I think there may have been some slight flaws in my logic …

$8,000 later …

I have my car back! Woot!

It’s all hot shit with its brand new engine. (not like that ratty, 8 month-old engine it had before.) 

The good news? The insurance company is covering all except $600 of that monstrous bill. 

The bad news? Any bets on how long it’s going to take the insurance company to kick my ass to the curb?

But… the good news? The insurance company is reimbursing us, not paying the dealer directly … so we are now 8,000 miles closer to that trip to London. 

Gotta love the miles cards.