Several nights ago my husband and I settled into our usual late night dullness to watch a movie. Neither of us could remember who ordered it but we were pretty sure that we'd seen it as a preview before watching another movie. That's actually where we get most of our rental ideas from. Even though we do have a subscription to Entertainment Weekly (it's his subscription, honest) we aren't always on top of what films are trending until they've come and gone. ( Unless they're Woody Allen movies because I've been hooked on his films for 30+ years....except for "September" cause that was so bad it was unintentionally funny)
This one was called , "The Company You Keep" or something like that. I can't remember titles...or names of people..or even plots...but this is new enough for me to remember enough, So anyway it's basically about 1970's American Weather Underground activists who have been wanted for murder and mayhem for for 50 years. They've all been hiding under assumed names in non-descript towns leading ordinary, dull lives. Then one gets caught. (Well, she actually was about to turn herself in... guilt sucks).
It's not the story that bothered me. It was the actors. The film stars Robert Redford and Julie Christie and some other folks like Susan Sarandon, Sam Elliott and Stanley Tucci.. The problem with this cast was what made the movie such a horror for me because everyone I just named looks really OLD. And not in a good way.
I suppose the main problem for me was Robert Redford. Listen the guy is 77 years old - and he looks every damn year of it and more. I'm sorry for being so superficial (but I am) but Robert Redford will always be Hubble in The Way We Were, or that rough and tumble guy in Horse Whisperer, or Bob Woodward in Watergate. But this guy looked like one of those dried apple people you buy at craft fairs. And they tried so hard to make him look younger and it soooo did not work. They even gave him an 8 year old daughter ....(I hate that about men..they can keep reproducing until they keel over).His face was lumpy and they must have tried using fillers but whoever administered the injections was sight impaired with a touch of Parkinson's. Not good. I could not stop staring at his face. sigh
Julie Christie? What? That is the most beautiful woman ever. For me she is Lara in Dr. Zhivago (except for that bizarre lighting that always darkened her face and lit her eyes...that was so odd) or, more recently, she is that stunning older woman with Alzheimer's Away from Her. This Julie sadly visited the same Botox/Restalyne depot as poor old Redford. She looked ....wrong..kinda bloated and, well...wrong. Not as bad as he did...but not as good as she could.
Now Susan Sarandon looks good. Age appropriate. No visible work on the face. Her large breasts sag a bit but hey - who's looking. She did not depress me. She gave me hope. Stanley Tucci is rumored to have some connection to the Picture of Dorian Gray...he never ages, wrinkles, lines or looks any different. Those pacts with the devil work better than Botox. Nick Nolte has actually improved since the mug shot that circulated after his arrest. Sam Elliott ages great. He's still hot. If he could only give some of his aging genes to Redford or Christie maybe they would stop Botoxing and be content with tweaking (not to be confused with twerking) and tucking on occasion.
What this is, for me, is the gentle (like a smack in the head from a 2 by 4) reminder that I am older. That we are older. That the people I grew up admiring are older. There are reasons I avoid the mirror (though is is challenging to tweeze without a mirror...) Almost every glance is a shock...because the me inside who looks out from these eyes (that are beginning to sag) is still 40 years old. It is a constant surprise to look at myself in pictures or in the mirror and realize I'm not that person on the outside (just inside...yummy and fresh inside). I hope that if I ever try so hard to turn back the clock someone will pull me aside and gently say "What the f--k are you doing? You look awful" Because good friends do that.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Put another brick in the wall....
Do you have days when you'd just like to sit down on the floor and rock. No head banging, just rocking. Soothe away the tension with a comforting back and forth motion...and a loose straightjacket. Do you know what I mean? I'm having one of those days.
Two years ago I was probably the most unstimulated, bored person I knew. Nothing (not sex or chocolate) appealed to me. I had no inclination to save the world. I accepted that I would probably never accomplish anything socially meaningful or significant for society. I wasn't going to write the great American novel. I wasn't going to be famous - or infamous- and, worst of all, I was never going to sleep with Antonio Banderas, George Clooney, Dr. McDreamy or Javier Bardim.. I would never live my fantasy of having a makeover that allowed me - for one day - to be gorgeous and sexy. I let all that go....and after I did I realized I'd better get crackin on some new dreams. Hopefully one or two that would be achievable and more realistic.
FAst forward to now. I have always sustained my brain and fought my ADD demons by working for a friend. She always seemed to come up with something challenging when I was at my lowest. To that I added volunteering - although, to be honest, I did that to more to get my husband's fat ass out of the Lazy Boy and his hand out the bag of chips and the box of chocolate. Other writing jobs randomly fell into my lap from unexpected people. And then, this year, an old acquaintance called and asked if I'd like to go back and "start again" to get my permanent Professional Counselor license. (This requires 3000 supervised hours in an accredited clinic setting...at one time I had accumulated 1500 of these hours...and quit)) Why not? I blew the dust off my training license (and paid a hefty fee) and several weeks ago I started working at his clinic.
I only work there one day a week.. That's all I may ever work. I'm already drowning in treatment plans (still unwritten), case notes and a new computer program I have to learn) But my head is having issues jumping from thing to thing. Brain flexibility - something I've never had an issue with - is suddenly a problem. Getting older still sucks.
Today I find myself trying to write the most challenging, miserable report ever for my friend. Every so often I hit the wall with one of these assignments.And I am freaked out about letting her down. This time it is not only a wall - it is a mountain -the straight up kind with nothing to hold onto. Organizing the random bits of information I collected from listening to hours of videotape into a cohesive report has simply escaped me. I just don't see how to put it together. I keep thinking that I will wake up in the morning (or from my nap if I took naps) and the solution will be there. That has happened before. It is not happening now. Damn.
Earlier this afternoon I thought that maybe...just maybe I had a solution. And just as I was inching my way through writing the first three pages - I was told to stop and asked to do something else for the same client. No surprise. This client ALWAYS wants more...and he's a good client...but I was just getting rolling and now I have to stop. I have stopped. STOP IT!!
My favorite part of this new assignment is the written communication that flew by my desk "you can just cut and paste from the old report and from the new one (um that's the one I'm having trouble writing...). Should only take two hours. That's a "reasonable" time frame." No it isn't. It sucks.If it's so damn easy then YOU write it. And it's taking more than two hours because what the client wants requires data and quotes that, in some cases, do not exist. He imagined them. I copped an attitude. My friend is not happy with me (I know this because she always plays her pity card when she's pissed at me) And I am contemplating rocking.
She does not read this blog or I would not write this. For the record.
Two years ago I was probably the most unstimulated, bored person I knew. Nothing (not sex or chocolate) appealed to me. I had no inclination to save the world. I accepted that I would probably never accomplish anything socially meaningful or significant for society. I wasn't going to write the great American novel. I wasn't going to be famous - or infamous- and, worst of all, I was never going to sleep with Antonio Banderas, George Clooney, Dr. McDreamy or Javier Bardim.. I would never live my fantasy of having a makeover that allowed me - for one day - to be gorgeous and sexy. I let all that go....and after I did I realized I'd better get crackin on some new dreams. Hopefully one or two that would be achievable and more realistic.
FAst forward to now. I have always sustained my brain and fought my ADD demons by working for a friend. She always seemed to come up with something challenging when I was at my lowest. To that I added volunteering - although, to be honest, I did that to more to get my husband's fat ass out of the Lazy Boy and his hand out the bag of chips and the box of chocolate. Other writing jobs randomly fell into my lap from unexpected people. And then, this year, an old acquaintance called and asked if I'd like to go back and "start again" to get my permanent Professional Counselor license. (This requires 3000 supervised hours in an accredited clinic setting...at one time I had accumulated 1500 of these hours...and quit)) Why not? I blew the dust off my training license (and paid a hefty fee) and several weeks ago I started working at his clinic.
I only work there one day a week.. That's all I may ever work. I'm already drowning in treatment plans (still unwritten), case notes and a new computer program I have to learn) But my head is having issues jumping from thing to thing. Brain flexibility - something I've never had an issue with - is suddenly a problem. Getting older still sucks.
Today I find myself trying to write the most challenging, miserable report ever for my friend. Every so often I hit the wall with one of these assignments.And I am freaked out about letting her down. This time it is not only a wall - it is a mountain -the straight up kind with nothing to hold onto. Organizing the random bits of information I collected from listening to hours of videotape into a cohesive report has simply escaped me. I just don't see how to put it together. I keep thinking that I will wake up in the morning (or from my nap if I took naps) and the solution will be there. That has happened before. It is not happening now. Damn.
Earlier this afternoon I thought that maybe...just maybe I had a solution. And just as I was inching my way through writing the first three pages - I was told to stop and asked to do something else for the same client. No surprise. This client ALWAYS wants more...and he's a good client...but I was just getting rolling and now I have to stop. I have stopped. STOP IT!!
My favorite part of this new assignment is the written communication that flew by my desk "you can just cut and paste from the old report and from the new one (um that's the one I'm having trouble writing...). Should only take two hours. That's a "reasonable" time frame." No it isn't. It sucks.If it's so damn easy then YOU write it. And it's taking more than two hours because what the client wants requires data and quotes that, in some cases, do not exist. He imagined them. I copped an attitude. My friend is not happy with me (I know this because she always plays her pity card when she's pissed at me) And I am contemplating rocking.
She does not read this blog or I would not write this. For the record.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Peanut butter and Jellyfish
Diana Nyad, age 64, after multiple attempts over 35 years, yesterday successfully completed a 52 hour swim from Cuba to Florida. No shark cage. One jellyfish sting. Lots of planning. Many many dedicated friends, helpers and followers. She even had a friend who fed her by hand while she swam. (Yes, sometimes it was peanut butter) I ask myself - where does that kind of passion come from?
As for me - well, I don't swim - so swimming from Cuba to Florida has never been a blip on my personal Blip screen. The problem, as I see it, is my personal Blip screen is pretty flat...sort of like my chest...but not as flat as I wish my stomach were. A burning passion to accomplish something major..or minor..or even in the key of C...just isn't there. I often say that I never really identified a passion or my "bliss" (chocolate doesn't count). Some people dispute that. I am constantly reminded of how hard I worked and how much resistance I encountered in order to become a mother. Well, we all know how that turned out. Maybe that's why the old Blip screen is so flat. There's always a price for getting what you really really want - at least in my life story.
At 65 I find myself quietly longing for small things...but not too hard and not too loud cause I don't want the gremlins who take away the good stuff to hear me or notice if I get something good. Shhh. I grew up in a house where my Dad(s) was Jewish and my Mom was an Italian Protestant. Yet, it was the Jewish superstitions that stuck with me. For example, it is advised that a family not reveal the name of a baby boy until his Bris (the ceremony for chopping off of the foreskin), If the name is revealed before that the Angel of Death will sweep in and kill the baby. There are many more superstitions like this...and I must believe them somewhere down deep in my soul. You will rarely observe me getting super enthusiastic about anything. I might be partying inside - but the outside is pure Amish. Liking something, or being really exhuberant about something is my equivalent to Diana's jellyfish. It will sting - and I don't like pain.
So my hat's is off to Diana who never gave up. Who showed the world that age is meaningless. Who made us all older women proud yesterday. If I were Diana I would spend today sleeping, nursing my sore muscles and rehydrating with a straw connected to a barrel of Margaritas. (I know - alcohol dehydrates but she can suck on ice cubes) Then I would go to Duval Street and party my saggy butt off. I can even point her in the direction of the nude bar....They don't serve anything there with peanut butter but I do remember a drink called a Jelly Stinger. Here's to you Diana!
As for me - well, I don't swim - so swimming from Cuba to Florida has never been a blip on my personal Blip screen. The problem, as I see it, is my personal Blip screen is pretty flat...sort of like my chest...but not as flat as I wish my stomach were. A burning passion to accomplish something major..or minor..or even in the key of C...just isn't there. I often say that I never really identified a passion or my "bliss" (chocolate doesn't count). Some people dispute that. I am constantly reminded of how hard I worked and how much resistance I encountered in order to become a mother. Well, we all know how that turned out. Maybe that's why the old Blip screen is so flat. There's always a price for getting what you really really want - at least in my life story.
At 65 I find myself quietly longing for small things...but not too hard and not too loud cause I don't want the gremlins who take away the good stuff to hear me or notice if I get something good. Shhh. I grew up in a house where my Dad(s) was Jewish and my Mom was an Italian Protestant. Yet, it was the Jewish superstitions that stuck with me. For example, it is advised that a family not reveal the name of a baby boy until his Bris (the ceremony for chopping off of the foreskin), If the name is revealed before that the Angel of Death will sweep in and kill the baby. There are many more superstitions like this...and I must believe them somewhere down deep in my soul. You will rarely observe me getting super enthusiastic about anything. I might be partying inside - but the outside is pure Amish. Liking something, or being really exhuberant about something is my equivalent to Diana's jellyfish. It will sting - and I don't like pain.
So my hat's is off to Diana who never gave up. Who showed the world that age is meaningless. Who made us all older women proud yesterday. If I were Diana I would spend today sleeping, nursing my sore muscles and rehydrating with a straw connected to a barrel of Margaritas. (I know - alcohol dehydrates but she can suck on ice cubes) Then I would go to Duval Street and party my saggy butt off. I can even point her in the direction of the nude bar....They don't serve anything there with peanut butter but I do remember a drink called a Jelly Stinger. Here's to you Diana!
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Booking it
I'm reading a book. The real kind. With a hard cover and a plastic cover over that. (just like Granny's furniture, only smaller) Ivory colored paper pages that you have to turn with your actual finger.The kind of pages you can dog-ear (even though you shouldn't. But I do. So shoot me) It's a three week book and it's from the LIBRARY. Yep. The library. L-i-b-r-a-r-y. I've gone old school. (Confession: I keep my library card on my phone so I don't look so so old school...)
This book is heavy. Its pages all together are 2 inches thick - not counting the cover. There are 985 of them. But that does not discourage me. It does however strain my wrist and elbow. I love Ken Follett. He writes 'em big, bold and beautifully. I am a sucker for Ken. C'mere Ken baby, let me show ya how much I love your books. Book one of his latest trilogy. Libraries may not even exist by the time I've read all three...(And I don't think book three is out yet)
Most people would ask why I didn't Kindle this. I hate Kindle. It's not real. I can't touch the paper. The dog-ear is electronic. And it doesn't have any booky-smell. I love booky-smell. I think e-readers are great if you're traveling (assuming you're traveling somewhere civilized where they have plugs). They are smaller and probably more convenient. Sure,. you can slip an e-reader into your purse or your tote....but it's still a gadget. Gadgets get loopy. Out of nowhere they turn off or skip..or don't obey your command. I have a kid like that - why would I want a book like that?
It's hard to snuggle up with a Kindle on a big chair with a cup of hot tea. It's not right. It's like sex with a vibrator. It gets the job done but there's something missing.
This book is heavy. Its pages all together are 2 inches thick - not counting the cover. There are 985 of them. But that does not discourage me. It does however strain my wrist and elbow. I love Ken Follett. He writes 'em big, bold and beautifully. I am a sucker for Ken. C'mere Ken baby, let me show ya how much I love your books. Book one of his latest trilogy. Libraries may not even exist by the time I've read all three...(And I don't think book three is out yet)
Most people would ask why I didn't Kindle this. I hate Kindle. It's not real. I can't touch the paper. The dog-ear is electronic. And it doesn't have any booky-smell. I love booky-smell. I think e-readers are great if you're traveling (assuming you're traveling somewhere civilized where they have plugs). They are smaller and probably more convenient. Sure,. you can slip an e-reader into your purse or your tote....but it's still a gadget. Gadgets get loopy. Out of nowhere they turn off or skip..or don't obey your command. I have a kid like that - why would I want a book like that?
It's hard to snuggle up with a Kindle on a big chair with a cup of hot tea. It's not right. It's like sex with a vibrator. It gets the job done but there's something missing.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
The age of confusion
So I've just ended a week in techno Hell. Seriously. In one seven day period I acquired a new phone (well actually a second new phone because the first new phone wouldn't work in my house) and a new laptop. If my hair were not already grey, it would be now. I am not cut out for anything beyond a dumb phone or Windows XP. But I now have a smartphone and Windows 8. Both are baffling.
I'll start with the phone. Once upon a time I had a sweet little slider phone with a keyboard. (Just thin.king about it makes me get all weepy) It was on this phone that I mastered texting and picture sharing. What else could a girl want? Mastering these two key functions made me feel modern, cool, and techno-savvy.. However everyone around me had smartphones or Ipads. They talked to Siri (Tom's daughter?) They mapped their trips guided by a nasty-voiced woman who frequently let out with an exasperated "RECALCULATING!" Over time I felt old and outdated. I wanted a phone that could turn on my DVR if I didn't get home in time to watch "Say yes to the dress" too. (Don't ask) I began researching phones and carriers. I looked forward to the day that I could kiss AT&T goodbye and go with a company that actually cared if my phone worked. After months - yes months - of research I chose US Cellular based mainly on the fact that when we go to Door County or other more remote places my husband's phone always found a signal. In May I committed. I signed away my life (Remember, two years at my age is a long time) and got a Samsung Galaxy S3 (because they were almost giving them away and I'm cheap).
This phone sucked. It was big, bulky and didn't work in my house, my garage or my driveway. Sadly, I didn't realize how bad the reception was until my 15 day deadline had come and gone. I don't call a lot of people so it took awhile to figure this out. I marched back to the store and basked in the beauty of the store manager (see earlier blog entry). He gave me another Galaxy. It sucked too. He had no more suggestions
but he casually mentioned a Motorola phone - the Electrify M and thought it might work better...but he didn't give me one and just left me hanging with my original GS3 that sucked.
I went back to Google and, to my chagrin (because I had researched this phone) I found a whole bunch of unhappy US Cellular customers who hated their GS3s. I wasn't alone - but that wasn't exactly comforting. What to do? What to do?
After days of thinking about my next steps I decided I would use one of my God-given talents - bitching. I went to Facebook and found the user page for US Celluar and launched a seven week attack. I wrote scathing remarks. I responded to everyone who was whining about their phone. I posted updates about how US Cellular was doing nothing. I talked about how there was no other industry where a person could purchase an item and a service and have to pay for it whether it worked or not. I never stopped. I did this day and night. I received reams of emails from their "social service reps". Yes, thats what they call themselves. Seems I had lots of social workers. The more they contacted me, the more pissed I got. Every email they sent was full of standard paragraphs...they all sounded the same. "We are so sorry that you are experiencing problems.." "We want you to be happy and satisfied..." "your problems concern us" etc. Lots of lip service; no action. They offered to find me a Motorola Electrify but, in the terms of my contract, I would have to accept one that had been returned by someone else. Where else would you return an item and have to accept a used item in return? NOWHERE!
The promised "swap phone" never materialized. I pressed harder. I began every week with "This is week #___" and I still have no working phone." Then they started calling me. I think they wanted me to shut up. Last week they "made an exception" and sent me a brand new Electrify. I activated it while someone sat on the other end of the phone and coached me, For two days it sort of worked. On the third day it didn't. Couldn't call, couldn't get calls, couldn't text and couldn't connect to a network anywhere. Oh joy. More bitching. Finally today, I crawled back to the store and spent ten minutes with Gorgeous Guy who found the problem in less than 30 seconds. Wrong SIM number. Phone works...now I just have to learn how to use it....and Gorgeous Guy gave me a new screen protector because "You deserve it". Damn right.
The laptop represents my ongoing challenge with computers. I try to not think about computers. I learn how to do only what I HAVE to do and give myself a round of applause any time I accidentally learn something new. I have been fiercely loyal to Windows XP because I know where things are. When I don't know where something is...I call someone on my friend's staff and they help me find it (after they laugh at me). Hey, it works. But I now need to have a laptop because I am blowing the dust off my counseling license and trying that again. Our client records are stored in a cloud (isn't that too damp?) in Heaven or somewhere and I need to be able to make case notes after I see clients. I need another computer like a need another phone and spending hundreds of bucks on a computer was not part of my plan...but then, what is? So I set out to find the cheapest computer I could - and I did. A brand new Dell for $299 that came with Windows 8.
It is Windows 8 that will finally do me in. The only similarity between XP and 8 is the Windows part. Someone said I could get an app that makes 8 look and run like 7. I laughed. I skipped 7 just like I skipped Vista (whew!) so looking like 7 is no big deal. Windows 8 has funky "tiles" and wierd functions and everything needs an app and I am terrified to download one. What the hell is an app anyway? XP doesn't need apps. My phone needs apps and I'm okay with that because Candy Crush Saga makes perfect sense I "get" that kind of app. And I have to be somewhat proficient by Friday.
Maybe there's a proficiency app.
I'll start with the phone. Once upon a time I had a sweet little slider phone with a keyboard. (Just thin.king about it makes me get all weepy) It was on this phone that I mastered texting and picture sharing. What else could a girl want? Mastering these two key functions made me feel modern, cool, and techno-savvy.. However everyone around me had smartphones or Ipads. They talked to Siri (Tom's daughter?) They mapped their trips guided by a nasty-voiced woman who frequently let out with an exasperated "RECALCULATING!" Over time I felt old and outdated. I wanted a phone that could turn on my DVR if I didn't get home in time to watch "Say yes to the dress" too. (Don't ask) I began researching phones and carriers. I looked forward to the day that I could kiss AT&T goodbye and go with a company that actually cared if my phone worked. After months - yes months - of research I chose US Cellular based mainly on the fact that when we go to Door County or other more remote places my husband's phone always found a signal. In May I committed. I signed away my life (Remember, two years at my age is a long time) and got a Samsung Galaxy S3 (because they were almost giving them away and I'm cheap).
This phone sucked. It was big, bulky and didn't work in my house, my garage or my driveway. Sadly, I didn't realize how bad the reception was until my 15 day deadline had come and gone. I don't call a lot of people so it took awhile to figure this out. I marched back to the store and basked in the beauty of the store manager (see earlier blog entry). He gave me another Galaxy. It sucked too. He had no more suggestions
but he casually mentioned a Motorola phone - the Electrify M and thought it might work better...but he didn't give me one and just left me hanging with my original GS3 that sucked.
I went back to Google and, to my chagrin (because I had researched this phone) I found a whole bunch of unhappy US Cellular customers who hated their GS3s. I wasn't alone - but that wasn't exactly comforting. What to do? What to do?
After days of thinking about my next steps I decided I would use one of my God-given talents - bitching. I went to Facebook and found the user page for US Celluar and launched a seven week attack. I wrote scathing remarks. I responded to everyone who was whining about their phone. I posted updates about how US Cellular was doing nothing. I talked about how there was no other industry where a person could purchase an item and a service and have to pay for it whether it worked or not. I never stopped. I did this day and night. I received reams of emails from their "social service reps". Yes, thats what they call themselves. Seems I had lots of social workers. The more they contacted me, the more pissed I got. Every email they sent was full of standard paragraphs...they all sounded the same. "We are so sorry that you are experiencing problems.." "We want you to be happy and satisfied..." "your problems concern us" etc. Lots of lip service; no action. They offered to find me a Motorola Electrify but, in the terms of my contract, I would have to accept one that had been returned by someone else. Where else would you return an item and have to accept a used item in return? NOWHERE!
The promised "swap phone" never materialized. I pressed harder. I began every week with "This is week #___" and I still have no working phone." Then they started calling me. I think they wanted me to shut up. Last week they "made an exception" and sent me a brand new Electrify. I activated it while someone sat on the other end of the phone and coached me, For two days it sort of worked. On the third day it didn't. Couldn't call, couldn't get calls, couldn't text and couldn't connect to a network anywhere. Oh joy. More bitching. Finally today, I crawled back to the store and spent ten minutes with Gorgeous Guy who found the problem in less than 30 seconds. Wrong SIM number. Phone works...now I just have to learn how to use it....and Gorgeous Guy gave me a new screen protector because "You deserve it". Damn right.
The laptop represents my ongoing challenge with computers. I try to not think about computers. I learn how to do only what I HAVE to do and give myself a round of applause any time I accidentally learn something new. I have been fiercely loyal to Windows XP because I know where things are. When I don't know where something is...I call someone on my friend's staff and they help me find it (after they laugh at me). Hey, it works. But I now need to have a laptop because I am blowing the dust off my counseling license and trying that again. Our client records are stored in a cloud (isn't that too damp?) in Heaven or somewhere and I need to be able to make case notes after I see clients. I need another computer like a need another phone and spending hundreds of bucks on a computer was not part of my plan...but then, what is? So I set out to find the cheapest computer I could - and I did. A brand new Dell for $299 that came with Windows 8.
It is Windows 8 that will finally do me in. The only similarity between XP and 8 is the Windows part. Someone said I could get an app that makes 8 look and run like 7. I laughed. I skipped 7 just like I skipped Vista (whew!) so looking like 7 is no big deal. Windows 8 has funky "tiles" and wierd functions and everything needs an app and I am terrified to download one. What the hell is an app anyway? XP doesn't need apps. My phone needs apps and I'm okay with that because Candy Crush Saga makes perfect sense I "get" that kind of app. And I have to be somewhat proficient by Friday.
Maybe there's a proficiency app.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Appreciating Depreciating
My house is 38 years old. Young by people years; a little bit of a misfit in house years. Not charming, not trendy, sort of dated and not "mid-century" chic (what, can someone please tell me, is chic about a three bedroom ranch with blond wood and a slate foyer??) A house is cool if it's really old or at least over 60 years old (oh wait - that is old)...it's even cooler if it's really young and has all the latest stuff. (I personally believe that granite and stainless steel will be come like the Harvest Gold shag carpet and the Avocado green appliances of the 70's...so I won't and don't have either....). Depends on taste. A 38 year old house, my friend, is never cool UNLESS there has been some extensive - and expensive - "updating". Then it becomes like the Housewives of Your City...still not-quite-right.
When a house nears forty, things start to fall apart. This is what my handy-guy told me this morning. ( It sounds right. I started to fall apart as I neared forty.) When this process of aging and decay begins things crumble, rust, leak and generally suck your bank account dry. I need to point out that this is exactly what happened to my body - except for the bank account thing cause those were the days of really good health insurance.
Like everything else in life, my house is falling apart in bunches. First there was the garage roof shingles that mysteriously started folding into themselves during the relentless Spring rains. ( Much like the effect of humidity on my disgusting silver,grey and black curly -once upon a time straight- hair.) I sat at my computer for weeks watching their edges curl and their middles puff outside my window (not to belabor a point but my body did the same thing) Finally I told my husband who muttered something under his breath and called the roof-guy. Ca-ching $$$$.
Next came the first basement issue - the river running through it. It went from my well tank across the concrete and into a drain conveniently located on the other side of the room. No fish. Shouldn't be there. Call the plumber. My handy-guy ("I don't do basements") stood in my basement waiting for the plumber and taking bets on what was wrong. "You look like you have a hole in your well tank. That'll cost ya." He was wrong. Our basement sink drain was clogged and the water, according to Mr. Plumber, was overflowing - thus creating a river that ran through the basement, into the drain and out into the nether world. The well tank - however - did have a busted pressure valve. I am fortunate that I have not sprung a leak in my body basement. I am blessed that way. Tough bladder and no babies. I do get pissed off a lot though.
Ream out the sink pipes, replace the valve. Ca-ching $$$$$
Fast forward one day. "Bob - I found the source of the water in the basement" I announce. "The wall is wet. The f--king wall is leaking!" This, of course, was the only wall in the basement that hadn't been "waterproofed" years earlier. The wall behind the plugged up sink...(or was it?) Why didn't the $75 an hour plumber guy see this? This was where the wall braces ended. Crap. Now - to continue the analogy of my aging body to the aging house (in case you missed the point of this)...I have had the total opposite experience of leaking...it happens in older women. They can't replace your mortar or brace your walls - but they can give you some stuff that helps. I know. I call my parts-fixing guy and he takes care of things. Just sayin'. But for this, we call the basement fixing-guy. Nice estimate. There goes the trip to Costa Rica.
Last night I was in the basement and heard a waterfall. We don't have a waterfall so I was concerned. There it was. Another leak. From the pipe that comes from the half-bath and forms a tributary of the other river. The wax seal (sounds like a Fellini movie) under my toilet was broken. The wax seal keeps the toilet from leaking. Handy-guy again. We're claiming him as a dependent on our taxes.
I've recently notice that the concrete slab that serves as a "stoop" or ugly-porch at the entrance to my house is pitted. The garage floor has cracks. The soffets in the back of the house appear to be separating from whatever caulk someone used to seal the edges. The back door has been painted so many times I've started calling it "Joan"..no more paint is possible.. New door comin'...
The handy-guy says the house is "settling" How long does a house settle? Am I still settling? I know there have been times in my life when I've "settled" but I had choices. I don't think you get too many choices about how or when your body - or your house- settles. Bummer.
When a house nears forty, things start to fall apart. This is what my handy-guy told me this morning. ( It sounds right. I started to fall apart as I neared forty.) When this process of aging and decay begins things crumble, rust, leak and generally suck your bank account dry. I need to point out that this is exactly what happened to my body - except for the bank account thing cause those were the days of really good health insurance.
Like everything else in life, my house is falling apart in bunches. First there was the garage roof shingles that mysteriously started folding into themselves during the relentless Spring rains. ( Much like the effect of humidity on my disgusting silver,grey and black curly -once upon a time straight- hair.) I sat at my computer for weeks watching their edges curl and their middles puff outside my window (not to belabor a point but my body did the same thing) Finally I told my husband who muttered something under his breath and called the roof-guy. Ca-ching $$$$.
Next came the first basement issue - the river running through it. It went from my well tank across the concrete and into a drain conveniently located on the other side of the room. No fish. Shouldn't be there. Call the plumber. My handy-guy ("I don't do basements") stood in my basement waiting for the plumber and taking bets on what was wrong. "You look like you have a hole in your well tank. That'll cost ya." He was wrong. Our basement sink drain was clogged and the water, according to Mr. Plumber, was overflowing - thus creating a river that ran through the basement, into the drain and out into the nether world. The well tank - however - did have a busted pressure valve. I am fortunate that I have not sprung a leak in my body basement. I am blessed that way. Tough bladder and no babies. I do get pissed off a lot though.
Ream out the sink pipes, replace the valve. Ca-ching $$$$$
Fast forward one day. "Bob - I found the source of the water in the basement" I announce. "The wall is wet. The f--king wall is leaking!" This, of course, was the only wall in the basement that hadn't been "waterproofed" years earlier. The wall behind the plugged up sink...(or was it?) Why didn't the $75 an hour plumber guy see this? This was where the wall braces ended. Crap. Now - to continue the analogy of my aging body to the aging house (in case you missed the point of this)...I have had the total opposite experience of leaking...it happens in older women. They can't replace your mortar or brace your walls - but they can give you some stuff that helps. I know. I call my parts-fixing guy and he takes care of things. Just sayin'. But for this, we call the basement fixing-guy. Nice estimate. There goes the trip to Costa Rica.
Last night I was in the basement and heard a waterfall. We don't have a waterfall so I was concerned. There it was. Another leak. From the pipe that comes from the half-bath and forms a tributary of the other river. The wax seal (sounds like a Fellini movie) under my toilet was broken. The wax seal keeps the toilet from leaking. Handy-guy again. We're claiming him as a dependent on our taxes.
I've recently notice that the concrete slab that serves as a "stoop" or ugly-porch at the entrance to my house is pitted. The garage floor has cracks. The soffets in the back of the house appear to be separating from whatever caulk someone used to seal the edges. The back door has been painted so many times I've started calling it "Joan"..no more paint is possible.. New door comin'...
The handy-guy says the house is "settling" How long does a house settle? Am I still settling? I know there have been times in my life when I've "settled" but I had choices. I don't think you get too many choices about how or when your body - or your house- settles. Bummer.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Trending at a Starbucks near me
I don't drink coffee. I've tried. I've tried it with sugar, cream, and sugar&cream. Naw. Tastes like mud. I don't even like mocha - why ruin perfectly good chocolate with coffee? If I believed in sin - putting coffee and chocolate together would be a BIG one.
No coffee; no daily trips to Starbucks. Right?
Sort of.
When I work, I go to Starbucks and get a Venti Black Iced Tea, unsweetened (shaken, not stirred). Really, they actually shake it. When I was a therapist in West Bend, Wisconsin, I stopped there every morning. I knew all the Baristas. They were all twelve, had perfect skin and were chipper at 7:30am. I'm not even fully awake or aware at 7:30...but still I drive.
Maybe there is something to drinking coffee.
My local Starbuckery is about two miles down the road. I don't go there often, but when I do it's in the morning. Except for today. Today, I stopped in after buying a million dollars worth of fruit and vegetables at an upscale grocery. I had $2.50 left and that's what a Venti Black Iced Tea, unsweetened costs.
What did I see? Not twelve year old women with firm bodies and perky boobs. Not studly men in tight tees working those foamers like they were making art with their own body fluids. Not even anyone who reminded me of all the gay BFFs who have come and gone in my life. I saw WOMEN. Middle aged women with poochy bellies, wiggly butts, and breasts beginning to go south. Real live people. ( I'd guess 50ish...and that would be generous.)
These midlife ladies weren't perky - they were nurturing. When I placed my order the Barista turned her head towards the one youngster Barista and said, "Honey - can you make this nice lady a Venti Black Iced tea, no syrup? Thank you, dear." I could barely move- so stunned was I. "Hon, just wait at the end of the counter and Steffy (or Steffi, or Stephee, or Steffie) will have it right up for you, " she directed.
At the pick-up counter a smiling, raven haired Mom-ista stood smiling. Her bright (and I mean neon bright) red lips beckoning me closer. She produced the tea, smiled big, "Okay darlin' you just have yourself the best day ever! Here ya go."
I don't know if I could be as nurturing or as friendly as those women. By nature I'm sort of a bitch. But at a time in my life when finding a "fun" part-time retirement job is quite a feat, this is a beacon of incandescent light - not one of those horrible curly lights. Older people are easily discounted and invisible. Ask an older person. But here was a chance...a thought...a possibility. I will tuck this information into my tiny, disorganized, brain for "later". (Although I have no idea how much 'later' I actually have) When I am tired of writing reports that frustrate me or tired of listening to the whining and sniffling of clients....I might be come a Gold-ista and start a trend towards Grannies whacked out on caffeine and servin' up a little wisdom...for tips, of course.
No coffee; no daily trips to Starbucks. Right?
Sort of.
When I work, I go to Starbucks and get a Venti Black Iced Tea, unsweetened (shaken, not stirred). Really, they actually shake it. When I was a therapist in West Bend, Wisconsin, I stopped there every morning. I knew all the Baristas. They were all twelve, had perfect skin and were chipper at 7:30am. I'm not even fully awake or aware at 7:30...but still I drive.
Maybe there is something to drinking coffee.
My local Starbuckery is about two miles down the road. I don't go there often, but when I do it's in the morning. Except for today. Today, I stopped in after buying a million dollars worth of fruit and vegetables at an upscale grocery. I had $2.50 left and that's what a Venti Black Iced Tea, unsweetened costs.
What did I see? Not twelve year old women with firm bodies and perky boobs. Not studly men in tight tees working those foamers like they were making art with their own body fluids. Not even anyone who reminded me of all the gay BFFs who have come and gone in my life. I saw WOMEN. Middle aged women with poochy bellies, wiggly butts, and breasts beginning to go south. Real live people. ( I'd guess 50ish...and that would be generous.)
These midlife ladies weren't perky - they were nurturing. When I placed my order the Barista turned her head towards the one youngster Barista and said, "Honey - can you make this nice lady a Venti Black Iced tea, no syrup? Thank you, dear." I could barely move- so stunned was I. "Hon, just wait at the end of the counter and Steffy (or Steffi, or Stephee, or Steffie) will have it right up for you, " she directed.
At the pick-up counter a smiling, raven haired Mom-ista stood smiling. Her bright (and I mean neon bright) red lips beckoning me closer. She produced the tea, smiled big, "Okay darlin' you just have yourself the best day ever! Here ya go."
I don't know if I could be as nurturing or as friendly as those women. By nature I'm sort of a bitch. But at a time in my life when finding a "fun" part-time retirement job is quite a feat, this is a beacon of incandescent light - not one of those horrible curly lights. Older people are easily discounted and invisible. Ask an older person. But here was a chance...a thought...a possibility. I will tuck this information into my tiny, disorganized, brain for "later". (Although I have no idea how much 'later' I actually have) When I am tired of writing reports that frustrate me or tired of listening to the whining and sniffling of clients....I might be come a Gold-ista and start a trend towards Grannies whacked out on caffeine and servin' up a little wisdom...for tips, of course.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)