When Did You Get Peppermint Foot Scrub?

Mike's Comment after my Shower

I like to have soft feet...I ignore them entirely too much, so I don't have them. On top of that, due to my extreme case of Plantar Fascitis, I spend almost all of my time with my foot taped up. Because my lovely and talented husband gets to tape my foot, it's not nearly that neat.

The down side of surgery and plantar fascitis is medical adhesive. It sticks. Forever. Long after you remove whatever it was meant to adhere to your body. In fact, the object of the adherence might JUST fall off. So apparently it just sticks to skin forever. In my current life, it means that I constantly have black and gummy lines on my feet from where the last round of tape was.

Why don't I just wash it off? Two reasons. First? The previous paragraph. Soap don't work. Acetone? Nope. Petroleum Jelly? Ok, takes forever. Second? Well, I shower in the morning, approximately 3 hours AFTER my husband vacates the house. While he's perfectly happy to wake me up to give me shots in the butt before he leaves, I don't have to shower first and I can turn over and go back to sleep.

Tonight, I did some heavy lifting, and it's a bit muggy around here. So, I decided to get a shower before bed. And I decided to clean my foot and make it soft before hubby attacks it with more tape. So, I dug into my quickly emptying tub of Peppermint Foot Scrub. And it felt so good when I did the left foot, I decided to do the right. Unfortunately, I'm a klutz. You knew that. So, I knocked off the tub of peppermint foot scrub onto the bottom of the tub. And milliseconds later, a glob of peppermint foot scrub arrived in my eye. I gotta say that it's ALWAYS hard to flush your eye with water...I mean water doesn't feel good to begin with, and strangely, your eye is designed to shut tight to help create tears and wash out the stuff you got in there. When it's peppermint AND gritty? Yeah, fun.

So, I come out and tell my husband what happened. He cocks his head and I think he's trying to figure out how I managed to get a big glob of peppermint foot scrub into my eye. Nope, he posed the question above.

No good comes of bathing. Or of marriage.

Dark and Stormy Ratholes Investigated Here

I have a vision problem. Whenever I see a problem, I want to fix it. Even when it's not my problem. I like untangling problems. And being right. I'm good at it. I do it professionally, which makes it much easier to live my personal life.

The upshot is that I'm better and faster at things than a lot of folks I work with. I spend my life in a few systems, they access them a few times a month. I've managed the world as a benevolent dictator because...um...well I can. Oh who are we kidding? I like the power trip!

Turns out, this management of the itty bitty details doesn't leave me much time to do the things I'm really good at. This world has been untangled, so it's time to move on to new things that are celestial clusters. So, my boss is trying to clear a lot of this stuff off my plate and give it to the people who really own the processes and the data.

However, there are dark and nasty ratholes that only I can go down. I notice problems. Sure, I could ignore a problem I see, but that's the wrong thing to do. No, I don't own them, but if I let someone else try to figure it out, it will get even more screwed up. Then people OVER my boss will say "Well, Debi should figure this out." Or worse? They'll try to get folks at corporate to do it. Honestly? I like that the folks at corporate love me. I'd prefer not to hand them a big honking mess...I know, vision problem.

Anyway, I'm gonna make me a sign. It's going to say:

Dark and Stormy Ratholes

Investigated Here

Cheerful Service

Reasonable Rates

Stop your laughing.

No Felonies Here

Place of work has recently been acquired. Actually, the company that acquired us a couple of years ago was acquired by a bigger company which is owned by a BIG HONKING company with more than 85,000 employees. Being acquired by such a large company, that is actually quite good at acquisitions, is new for me. Now that I think of it, I've been through five acquisitions now. Huh. But that's not what this is about.

The new company has processes. And a lot of them. I suppose that's important when you've got so many people. One of them is that new employees get a background check. For felonies. Since we're newly acquired employees, that means us.

I'm not sure how the Human Capital director referred to it, but it wasn't clear what would happen if you DO have a felony on your record. I mean, we're already working here. So, in the meeting of 100 of my closest co-workers, I asked. This is suprising, I know. I'm not typically so inquisitive or outspoken? I'm not sure that this question had ever been asked because I was then told, uncertainly, that it would be handled on a case-by-case basis. Ok.

A coworker told me a couple of weeks later that I've raised a lot of eyebrows. Lots of people are speculating about my criminal background. Which is just hysterical. It's not like you can't COME TO ME AND ASK. The only thing I've ever been CAUGHT for is speeding. And the last time that happened was early 1996. Parking tickets (all 2 or 3 of them) don't even count, because they're not moving violations. I'm not saying I haven't done other things. That ugly plant Dana and I stole in the 8th grade comes to mind. But I think we did the nursery a favor, really. And there are a number of photos which document the enormous amount of underage drinking I did at a certain fraternity in Atlanta. But none of those are felonies. And like I said...it's been a while.

Mostly, I asked because it came to our attention several months ago that not only was one of our coworkers a convicted felon, but he was working at our company on work release. Huh. He's gone now. But not because of a background check.

And really, Human Capital? I guess that's supposed to be friendlier than Human Resources, but it kinda makes me feel a little like property. Of course, I'm easy. Pay me enough and you can call me anything you want. Easy, but not cheap. Feel free to file away that useful piece of information.

Thank you for f*cking off...now if you could go ahead and die?

Debi's further instructions for those who do not follow through with both parts of the F.O.A.D. directive

It's been a rough friggin' few weeks. People keep screwing with me. A few have been forced by people who aren't me to shove it up their proverbial...um...whatevers. But still. Aggressive stupidity as defined by the repeated pissing off of ME should be painful. And more painful than me just working to make your life hell.

On top of all this? Someone is spreading the vicious rumor that I am TACTFUL, DIPLOMATIC and above all? PROFESSIONAL. Ok, so I'm professional, but the other two? Oh wait, I should wait for you to stop laughing. Whoa, there. Breathe, please. You're not on my "needs to die list." Well, not yet anyway. There's still plenty of time.

The Queen of RTFM

Comment from Coworker

I'm one of the goddesses of process in my domain. I work with a lot of data, and it's important to keep it straight. Because I HATE it when my director comes to me and says "Why is this data all crooked??"

My main job involves a system with an incredibly crappy user interface. Crappy user interfaces aren't just a pain to work with. They lead to enormous amounts of user error. When something isn't intuitive, you do it wrong. So, since I want clean data, I document stuff. So, no, it isn't your fault. Windows really DOES suck rotten eggs.

I don't just point people to documents that some "professional" put together. I painstakingly put together VERY targeted documents WITH pictures AND cheat sheets that say "This custom data field refers to x and y, but not z. Please don't enter a value for z here. It goes in the next custom data field." Really, I try to make it as easy as possible on folks to work with a system they LOATHE.

Honestly? I get tired of those who say "I don't know how to do that." Well, I've showed you AND I've pointed you to help files AND I've been nice while I've done it for the last 18 months. Ok, so I haven't been nice, but still. No I'm NOT going to send you a hard copy, because you're going to print it and keep it on your desk for 3 years and get all annoyed when you're doing it wrong because I've updated the process 3 times due to changing business requirements.

Well, the coworker in question got me in an educating mood. He couldn't find something in the system, so I gave him a sarcastic comment about teaching him how to use a wildcard search. That's when he called Paul and me "The King and Queen of RTFM". Apparently, Paul had been doing the same thing to him that day. I like to think my coworker meant that with affection. But I like it either way.

Have you gained weight??

Coworker's suggestion for abuse stopping question

I? Was attacked today. It has been over 4 years since I've been verbally attacked in the workplace and over 10 years since it happened in person. It was stupid. I made a mistake and the attacker over-reacted with a vengeance. Nothing like topping off 5 days of irregular heartbeat with a new orifice, eh? As always, the boss has my back. With an equal and opposite vengeance.

I confided in my co-worker-who-shall-remain-nameless about this incident. Coworker has had her/his own problems with the attacker in question. Coworker is a refreshingly deadpan and often serious soul. Coworker looked at me and said quite seriously "The only appropriate response to that is 'Bite me.'" Coworker said if that doesn't work, to drop the above question. Honestly? I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard (sorry, Chris). And coworker is much cherished due this well-timed laugh.

Coworker also told me not to share the knowledge of this very powerful question. However, I figure the 2.6 readers of my blog will keep the secret.

What is this "dignity" you speak of and how does it apply to me?

Yesterday, I had a Vicodin hangover. I very seldom take any type of pain medication. It exacerbates my migraine disorder. So what, you may ask, made me break this cardinal rule?

You may or may not know that I have a very rocky relationship with gravity. I throw myself to the ground. Not intentionally, mind you, but it happens none the less. A few months ago, I missed the last couple of steps going down to the stream in our back yard. Ok, it may have been 3 or 4, but I SWEAR the ivy reached out and grabbed my ankle. Anyway, it wasn't pretty. I am a very practiced faller. I tuck and roll and typically minimize damage.

Friday, I tripped over a embarrassingly low curb in front of PCC. While I thought I was doing ok, by the time I drove the 2 blocks home, I could barely peel myself out of the car. As soon as I convinced my mom that the ER was an unnecessary step (by doing a couple of sad but effective jumping jacks), I was calling for Aleve and Vicodin. On which I stayed for the better part of 4 days.

Anyway, I explained all this to Chris yesterday. He asked "Nothing broken besides your dignity?" I pointed out that I have no dignity and thus nothing was broken. He then suggested a Rascal for trips out of the house. He's OBVIOUSLY nuts. If I can hurt myself this badly fighting nothing but gravity, can you imagine me trying to pry myself out from underneath one of those behemoths?

"The scooter is supposed to prevent your impromptu slapstick routine." Seriously? He rides in the car with me all the time. At best I'm an average driver. "Point taken. If you can't stay upright on those size 10 gunboats of yours, three little rubber tires probably won't fare any better."

For the record? They are size 11 1/2 gunboats. If I were LUCKY enough to have size 10? I'd be able to increase my shoe wardrobe at least 100% with no problem. Which would obviously make the minor reduction in stability entirely worth it.

Idiots are fun. No wonder every village wants one...

Miss Lyndi's Facebook status

Miss Lyndi is the best. Once upon a time when we were at Wizards of the Coast, she made me a tape called "Boys are Icky". And she should know. She also gifted me with the loveliest little ballerina bear. And gothed her up for me upon request. I still have both.

And sometimes? She has SUPER awesome statuses. And she lets me use them. Facebook? Way too much fun. It's really a shame that now that the internet is over I'm gonna have to find something better to do.

Hey Ya'll! Watch this!!!

My boss just pointed out to me that the busiest time in trauma centers is around 4th of July. Not surprising. As anyone who grew up in the south can attest, fireworks are not only rampant, they're used in a most, well, idiotic manner. I'm sure it's not limited to the south, but that's where you most expect to hear this phrase.

My boss and have agreed that all beer and fireworks related issues should be treated under my variant of Darwin's rule which goes "Hey you! OUT OF THE GENE POOL!" It seems like we could spend the money it takes to save these morons on something more important like Viagra prescriptions for the homeless.

How do I know "they" are morons? Well, first, they were me and my friends.

10th grade. Church camp. High entertainment? Shooting bottle rockets into the lake.

Same year, Halloween. 3 guys and a girl riding around in BDUs (we were in a military town). Mission? Shooting bottle rockets from the car, taking the smallest among us trick-or-treating in the rich part of town, and shooting at Pepsi machines with a BB Pistol. My role as Munitions Specialist was rescinded after I landed a bottle rocket on top of someone's house.

Late spring canoe trip down some river or another. All of us making our way lazily down the river, aside from the frequent cross canoe splashing, rock throwing and such. While we were stopped for lunch, a few of the guys came out and told us in a very giddy tone that we should be moving down the river. As Ricky R. was carrying a glass peanut butter jar along with a maniacal face into the woods. Yep, nothing like black powder and a sealed glass vessel. RUN!!!

Summer of that same year. The sociopath I was dating tossed an M-80 at me. Supposedly, it wasn't supposed to get stuck in my waist-length hair and go off as it passed my leg on the way to the ground. Supposedly, it wasn't supposed to tear the hell out of my leg. His response? "You weren't supposed to run." And I dated THAT gem off and on for the next two years.

Much younger days. Out at the beach with mom, step-psycho and friends. BIG rockets. Into the sea oats up on the dunes. Fire ensues. I don't remember how the hell that one got put out. Probably involved a humorous group of jackasses running back and forth from the water to the fire with the shrimp pot and beer bottles.

Ah...good times.

Anyway, the point is that any injury proceeded by this comment is probably well deserved and if it results in something life-threatening it should fall under the "he needed killing" category. Not that I don't revere my distinguished white trash origins. I'm just saying.

Please make that look more like a Muppet vomited SteamPunk

Job Description for new Super Secret Startup

The job description states that you should find this adequate art direction and that you think the word "Please" is superfluous. I like this. If I possessed any of the qualifications, I would consider applying for it.

I also like the description for the Developer. For some reason, the line "You should know how to interact with a database in a healthy, grown-up, passive-aggressive way." It reminds me of my friend and colleague Paul. Although, I think he probably interacts in a purely aggressive way.

Of course, I'm the girl who was lucky enough to start at Wizards of the Coast on Halloween 1995. One of my teammates (a non-observant Jew) was dressed up as an Arab Terrorist. The Admin for the CEO was dressed up as Death. The admin walked up to me in the hall and blocked my way in a most threatening manner. At which point my teammate came up with his fake machine gun and saved this not-yet-Jew from Death. Really? That was one of my normal interactions there.

Serial Monotonist

Overheard at Ron & Robert's Chuppah

My friends Ron & Robert just had their Jewish wedding. They've been together for close to 20 years and this is the third time they married each other. They had a commitment ceremony in 1991, long before anyone thought same-sex marriage would ever happen. They got married in Canada just after it was legalized there. And they were finally ready to cement their lives together in front of their friends and family in our tradition.

One of the traditions of Jewish weddings is that the guests are there to entertain the couple. Period. The first thing that typically happens before signing the wedding contract is called a Tish, which literally means "table". The groom is SUPPOSED to deliver a lesson in Torah, typically based on that week's Torah portion. However, it's seldom more than a sentence or two.

In order to distract the groom from his nervousness, he is interrupted with jokes, songs, dance, and heckling. Robert's tish was probably the best I've ever been to. And it didn't have ANYTHING to do with the fact that I was in the back with the best group of hecklers.

At one point, I asked if marrying the same guy three times made him a serial monogamist. Someone else pointed out that marrying three DIFFERENT people made you a serial monogamist. Marrying the same person 3 times makes you a serial monotonist. Shortly after, for reasons I can't remember, this curly redhead broke out in Annie's Tomorrow. A good time was had by all.

Always do what the nice man with the machine gun tells you

Lesson learned early by all Air Force brats

It would seem that two idiots have tried to invade one of my home town Air Force bases. The only reason I wasn't born on the base is that they were remodeling, so they sent mom over to St. Joseph's which used to be a nice Catholic hospital, nuns and all, but now seems to be owned by the Baptists. But I digress. Anyway, it was less than a mile from my gram's house, so I've spent LOTS of time there.

As a 23-year veteran brat, I've spent lots of time on LOTS of Air Force bases. For those of you who grew up near military bases that were NOT Air Force, you might not realize the security that the Air Force employs. I remember the first time I drove on to Fort Bragg and I couldn't understand why I didn't have to drive up to a little shack, show them my ID, and have the nice man or woman with the scary sidearm wave me through. It was the same on some Naval bases I visited. Just drive on, drive around, go home. I don't know if it's still that way, but I suspect it is.

It used to be you could get waved through the gate at an AF base during the daytime with just a base sticker on your car, but that ended for a while during the first Gulf War and then permanently after September 11.

See, the Air Force locks it down. And if you think the base is hard to get on to, you should see the flight line. That's one of those places where they shoot first and ask questions later. Ok, they wrestle you to the ground, point a machine gun at your head and then ask questions. I suspect they'd only shoot if you were dumb enough to say, not kiss the concrete.

Anyway, I'm not sure what they planned to do...show up at Central Command and THEN be gunned down? Or maybe they were just hoping to rob the commissary. They did go the day BEFORE payday, so maybe they were trying to beat the crowds? They should be happy they were stopped at the gate and just risked bodily harm from the police dogs.

That can go in the box marked "Tragic"

Tacky House

We're addicted to home shows. Not too surprising. Holmes on Homes and Clean House are my two addictions. And we do watch in horror at those new hoarding shows. But Tacky House is on after Clean House sometimes, and we occasionally watch that.

This quote came from the episode where they de-rosed a woman's "Martha's Vineyard" room. That really looked like a bunch of silk rose bushes puked everywhere. As they were cleaning out the room, the host said that something could go in this box.

I know I haven't been around much. Not to linger, but we just finished a round of IVF. It was not successful. After 10 weeks of hormones, that was REALLY great news. But, I'm getting back to normal. And here's proof.

Why would anyone want passable pizza and an attractive woman when a disc of grease and animatronic bears are to be had?

Chris's commentary on our favorite pizza joint vs. Chuck E. Cheese
It's true. Another anniversary of my birth has come and has gone. Chris took me out to lunch for my birthday. And by that I mean that we went to one of the two places we ever go and it was his turn to pay.

Our favorite pizza joint is close by. It has relatively good pizza. It has a really nice ass and decent boobs on parade fairly often. I can't remember her name, because I suck, but she knows us, she likes us, and she's hot.

While discussing options for my special day, I suggested the usual: "Pizza and hot chick". His response? "What? No Chuck E. Cheese?" Maybe I should have taken him up on it and gotten my ass kicked at Ms. PacMan while we were at it.

Turd-sucking bag of possum vomit

Dexter by Design by Jeff Lindsay
Ok, I just got around to listening to this. I'll say it's better than the last Dexter book but still not up to his first two. This line is shouted at Dexter and his sister, in Spanish, by a lewd, crude man in a wheelchair. When he winds down and starts calling Deborah things like bitch repeatedly, Dexter mocks him for his loss of creativity.

They taste like chickpeas...well lubricated chickpeas

Debi's Opinion of the 120 servings of Chickpea Salad

After services on Shabbat, my synagogue has kiddush. Essentially, it's an after-services lunch. Either, someone sponsors it in honor of an event (wedding, bat mitzvah, the Mariners made it to the World Series) or because they wanna. When that doesn't happen, the Shabbos Chefs get together and prep a nice little lunch.

All I wanted to do was make some bread. A specific bread. A 4-foot-long loaf of challah, specifically. For practice. For later. Not withstanding.

So, I was TRYING to coordinate with the person in charge that week so I wouldn't be stepping on her toes while I was trying to bake the challah that ate Cincinnati. She didn't realize it was her week. She'll be out of town. No worries, says I. I've been meaning to do kiddush for a while. I'll do it.

No one who knows me is surprised that I'd just randomly offer to cook for 180 people. What didn't occur to me is that planning during Passover (when you're also having 20 people over for 1st Seder)...well, it never happened. So Tuesday night, I'm busily trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to fix for 180 people so that the lovely head of the chef's committee can do all my bloody shopping for me. It's harder than it sounds to scale up a recipe from 6 servings to 180. No really.

One of my favorite side dishes is a little chickpea salad I like to make. Some chickpeas, green onion and a nice little vinaigrette. Uses hot sauce, so it's got a nice little kick.

Well, with 10 pounds of chickpeas, we made it in turns: flavorless, not quite so flavorless, too spicy for public consumption, better but not saying much. My last opinion was the title of this post. We decided soon after that to quit, let it marinate until Saturday morning, and then add 15 pounds of tomatoes. I actually think it will be quite nice after that. If not, lubricated is good after the season of our constipation.

Is it a classic because it's good or because English teachers assign it?

I recently picked up the first big Zombie Lit book Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I got about 5 chapters in before deciding it might be funnier if I really knew what it was spoofing. Off I hied to the NetLibrary via my local library, and there downloaded all 11 hours of Pride and Prejudice. I have to say that aside from the strain induced by incredibly frequent eye rolls, it kept me engaged and entertained. So much so that I read The Scarlett Pimpernel and I'm about a chapter away from finishing Sense and Sensibility. While I can't say I understand why there are yearly conventions, I suppose the same can be said for many phenomena of my generation.

I had a hate/hate relationship with assigned reading. I don't know that I ever finished an assigned book unless we read it 100% in class. Cliff's Notes? A life saver. Since then, I've tried to go off and read some of them. Cannery Row, Hemmingway, Fitzgerald...I typically got about half a chapter in and never picked them up again. It's a bit easier with audio books. I'm not sure I'd have slogged through any of this stuff.

But who decides? Who decided Lord of the Flies was a "classic" and not just the product of a dude sitting down and thinking "How many symbols can I put in this book to drive sophomores NUTS in Mrs. Jones Advanced English?" I don't get it. Who likes some of this schlock? And if it DOES have merit, why waste it on hormone driven zombie freaks?

I dunno...I think I might pick up some Oscar Wilde next. I have the rest of Jane Austen waiting for me on my iPod. We'll see. Meanwhile, I'm taking suggestions for things that won't make me hate you.

Shakespeare was a prick

So earlier today, I made this my status on Facebook:
Debi is planning on suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune next week. I've got a bit of time on the schedule.
Why did I do this? Well, it sounds like a cool thing to do, eh? Suffering outrageous fortune and all. Not as in money but as in "may you live in interesting times." Then I wondered "What does that mean?" Because anything his contemporary said in 3 words, Bill said in 20. Turns out it ain't so good. Huh.

Which doesn't so much lead to today's quote, but just sort of reinforces it. I hate Shakespeare. Mostly? Because he was a misogynistic schmuck. Well, and that's not even it. What REALLY peaves me is that his protagonists can get away with being the most god-awful bastards for 3 acts, make one little speech at the end, and everyone falls back in love with the dipshit. Not just the women. The men love him again, too.

I read Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet, Julius Ceasar, Hamlet (I think that was it), King Lear. I've seen Shakespeare on stage several times, including twice with the Royal Shakespeare Company. I've seen movies (though honestly, he's MUCH better suited to the stage). I even watched Shakespeare in Love, and Gwen? Seriously?

So I'm perhaps not the most eloquent hater of "the Greatest Writer in the English Language." But I don't get it. Really I don't.

It’s times like these when knowing what I’m doing would really come in handy

Dirty Jobs

Reality TV doesn’t really do it for me for the most part. But I think Reality TV is much more about the drama than the substance. As such, I don’t consider shows like Dirty Jobs and MythBusters to be reality, but they are entertaining. I think in this episode, Mike was busy in a locomotive factory.

I feel his pain on the knowing what he’s doing front. Home remodeling has been like that. For THAT, I put the blame SOLELY on Norm Abram and HGTV. They make everything look so friggin’ easy. And fun. And while it is fun, it’s a time sink. I can run lights in a house now…but it took me 8 hours to do it in the basement. I can drywall and mud and tape. But DAYUM it’s slow going. As First Crush has mentioned, I’ll be a PRO by the time we’re finished with the house. If he didn’t have a new baby, I’d import his used-to-drywall-and-paint-in-college ass from Australia to be my slave for a few weeks. Except he mentioned something about sexually molesting my refrigerator. Which might be even better, especially if I can get pictures.

So, I’m a homeowner (or more like a homeower) who sunk all her money into the home and the electrical. And is damned lucky to have been able to do it in the middle of a crap market. And it’s fun. But no, unless you are my gay boyfriends, I am NOT coming to help you with drywall.

What’s the lingo for when someone slaps you with a flip-flop?

L.L. Cool J on NCIS: Los Angeles

Mike and I LOVE NCIS. Honestly? One of the finest ensemble casts in television. When I just stopped to think about other great casts, M*A*S*H came to mind. Friends. I mean, there are other shows where there are lots of good parts of the cast, but none of the actors NCIS are anything other than a part of an extremely good cast. Even Abby is “just” part of the cast, even if Mike and I would leave one another if she wanted either of us.

NCIS – Los Angeles. First, I don’t know why it’s called NCIS. They don’t really investigate much in the way of Navy stuff. It all seems to be higher level national security. It feels like their just trading on the NCIS name, but whatever. It’s growing on us. This line is delivered by LL Cool J after the geek of the team explains about “friending” on Facebook for those in his audience that didn’t understand the “lingo”.

Truly, the best part of this show is Linda Hunt as Hettie. Hettie is the head of the LA office, by way of the most colorful life imaginable. She alludes to times on movie sets, affairs with stars, and her favorite car still being part of the road in Monte Carlo. She’s an odd choice, and could not be more fun. Like I said, it’s growing on us.

That doesn’t even sound as fun as Yahtzee

Overheard at my aunt and uncle's house
I was in Boston last week. I went up early to spend time with a dear friend from college, and in turn, we went to New Hampshire to see my aunt and uncle at their weekend house. My aunt loves games, and so we were looking through the options to see what we would play. Somehow, a twee little bunko set came to be at the house. With no directions. In pink. So, like any net-savvy person, I googled directions. It was a little odd, but it seemed to involve having multiple tables, and the highest scores from each table coming together to play each other. I didn’t get very far through my description before this comment. And he was totally right. So we played cribbage. Which is more fun than Yahtzee, especially when you’re aunt comes from a 40 point deficient and loses by 2 points.

I’m so cold you could Zamboni my ass

Very Valentine by Adriana Trigiani
Seriously? It is friggin' cold in this house. We haven't gotten the heating quite figured out around here. Our temporary bedroom is above the furnace, so even though it doesn't feel hot in our room when we get into bed, two hours in, we're sweating like it's Florida. Which only makes you colder, burrow under MORE blankets and sweat more. We own non-flannel sheets. I could guess 3 or 4 boxes they MIGHT be in. If I'm lucky.

I already have serious issues regulating foot temperature at night. I sleep with up to 3 pairs of socks in bed with me. Start out with the thick ones. Move to the thin ones. Realize they're not quite warm enough and upgrade to the middle thickness. Move back to the thin ones. It's a nightmare. If I were smart, I'd find my hot water bottle again, because you can always distance yourself from it, and eventually kick it off the bed.

I actually went to Macy's on Saturday night and bought non-flannel sheets. 600 thread count on clearance with an extra 20% off since it was Wear Red weekend and I happened to show up in a red fleece. Don't ask me.

It helped. Sort of. It's even colder when we climb into bed. Last night, I got up an hour after falling asleep to put on pajama bottoms. Then at some point, peeled them off.

This morning? Freezing in my office. Can't run a heater and my computers in this room. Maybe should have run a bigger circuit to the room, but what did I know? Considering running another circuit to the room. A bit beyond my abilities, but so was most electrical stuff before I did it. We'll see.

Never pass up an opportunity to ride a good greased goat

Fellow PM in response to a predicted cluster

There's a term in the project world called "Goat Rodeo". It speaks to, well, the majority of corporate life in a lot of places. Everyone's running around wanting things yesterday, and they can't have them because they didn't do what they needed to do to make it happen.

For instance, when I have to arrange to have some sites updated, you actually need to TELL me that you'd like me to handle it. I used to have a vision problem: If I saw a problem I made it my own. I don't have this problem so much anymore. Frankly, it's no longer my job to go begging for MORE work I don't have time for, even if I know at some point it will probably bite me in the ass. It will bite me in the ass LATER unlike the things that are waiting on my plate to devour me now.

Second, 36 hours is not an appropriate amount of time to do updates for a site that require us to get prior approval. In fact, they tend get pretty pissy with us when we just randomly go in and start changing their setup without them saying "Why yes, we'd LOVE to have you do that for us." Ask me how I know this. I have found that big accounts tend to give you a break when you're ACTUALLY down on your knees when you make that apology call. Even if they can't see it, there's something about the position that helps your voice convey that "for the love of G-D don't yell at my CEO about this" sense of urgency and about-to-piss-oneself fear. In all fairness, when I screw up that big? I tell my boss, his boss and the account manager in micro-seconds. Which MIGHT be why they've got my back.

Third, when I email you and said "I've never been involved with this, so I need more info or the name of who has handled it in the past," you should be prepared to give me one or both. It makes it easier for me to perform miracles. I do pull off miracles. Make me want to pull one off for you.

Finally, I accept several forms of thank you gifts, dark chocolate being my favorite. And if you're going to tell me I rock? Tell my boss. He knows, but he likes it when other people know, too. Just revere me like the rock star I am, and I will make you look good. Ciao!

You know EVERYTHING...except...

One of my gay boyfriends tells this story about his mother. She patently denies it, but I'm going to attribute it to her anyway, because frankly? It sounds just like her.

Jeanie was at a bridge party and one of her table mates was a blowhard. Knew everything about everything. Well, Jeanie, not one to suffer fools finally turned to him and said "Between the two of us, we know everything." The man looked at her quizzically. She said "You know everything except that you're an asshole, and I know that."

Seriously? I can't believe no one ever said that about me. My mom claims "I know everything, just not all at the same time." I'm right there with her!

Billy Idol got a Michael Jackson nose job??

I saw him for the first time on December 30, 2009. In front of Starbucks. As I was walking to my car. Billy Idol. In an 80s miniskirt, leggings, 6-inch wedge platform shoes and a leather jacket. Not pretty. Needed SERIOUS makeup lessons. Even from Mary Kay.

No, it wasn't the REAL Billy Idol. And I don't take pictures with my phone (except to document the insane amount of crap I write on the boss's white board), so I was NOT prepared to whip mine out. And he didn't look like he'd be willing to pose for a fan picture. But seriously? Yikes.

I saw him again today. A little better look at his face. Of course, first I saw the black over-the-knees boots...but I didn't see anything else. Because his nose caught my eye. And by nose, I mean a little-bitty-used-to-be-a-nose. Like Michael Jackson. And it's not like you can get that nose in one surgery. Or at birth.

It's not my first brush with celebrities in drag. I did see the woman version of Joey Ramone at Whole Foods a couple of years ago. Seriously made the REAL Joey Ramone look downright sexy.

Anyway, maybe next time I'll strike up a conversation. I really am wondering WTF happened when he recorded this.

Where are those Con-Mints when you need them?

A mailing list I belong to is having a discussion about "Dragon Breath". The person who brought it up pointed out that it doesn't take much for her to be nauseous for hours after a particularly bad encounter.

Someone suggested Vicks Vapo-rub. Perhaps a change of clothes and a bath. Then our favorite Seattle Cop suggested a cigar, before she went on to describe some of the biohazards she encounters from time to time. So for some ODD reason, I brought up this recollection.

Once upon a time, I worked for a venerable gaming company called Wizards of the Coast. Yep, it's true. In fact, they're the ones responsible for starting me on the path to the computer professional I am today. Now my boss knows who to blame thank. I started after Magic: The Gathering became a world-wide phenomenon, but while it was still HOT! HOT! HOT! Yep, I was the coolest thing ANY boy under the age of 16 had EVER met.

We had a fun director of customer something or another. At the time, Starbucks had just released a mint that truly would combat coffee breath. It's main ingredient may have been some component of Agent Orange. Much stronger than Altoids. Anyway, he called them "Con-Mints". Because if you ate them consistently enough at conventions filled with the target demographic of Magic, you wouldn't actually smell them.

I thought he was kidding. I was wrong. One year, we held the World Championships at the corporate headquarters. These boys? STANKY!!! Woof. And one of my fondest memories of my time at WotC? The clip-on air fresheners clipped to every HVAC vent in the building. Not sure it helped, but it sure as hell didn't hurt.

Come to think of it, I worked with the guys who created these little gems. Not quite Con-Mint strength, but sugar-free AND caffeinated. Perhaps there was a small niche market that was missed?

Human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted

Seriously? Martin Luther King, Junior spoke about me? A nice Jewish girl from a distinguished lower Alabama white trash background? Where we didn't have gay people? And I still heard things like "Salt and Pepper don't mix" from friends? He talked about me before I was even born? Huh.

I'd like to think I'm "creatively maladjusted". While I understand those I grew up with, I don't agree with them. I don't think them less intelligent...though I do feel like they don't listen to their rhetoric before they speak it. Of course, I can name just as many bleeding hearts who do the same. I like to challenge those I grew up with. Their reality is different from mine, though I suspect we're closer than our words would indicate. Of course, I'm the girl who asked her uncle what he'd do if I came home and announced I was gay. He'd told an anti-gay joke. Boy...talk about an uncomfortable family silence!!

What would MLK have done if he hadn't been made a martyr? And Malcolm X? And RFK? What would have been undone if George Wallace had become a martyr?

These weren't perfect people. King had mistresses. Malcolm was an ex-con. Kennedy? Well, he was a Kennedy AND a Joseph P.'s son. George Wallace paid a price for his views and recanted. Whether not he was sincere is pretty much between him and his maker.

I can't fathom what the world looked like even in the year I was born, 1971. While racism was alive and well in my childhood, there was no hitting or spitting or lynching. Amongst my school peers, I don't even remember it being a hard segregation. That wasn't true in the 60s. When American fought American over whether or not someone was inferior due to something beyond their control. Sad to see the hatred hasn't faded, just been re-focused for the most part.

I go back to Garth Brooks. I know. One day, maybe not in my lifetime, We Shall Be Free.

News Flash: Debi Sucks at Calm

For reasons that I shall no go into now, I am trying to be more calm. True, my theory has always been that lack of stress makes me tense, but still. I'm trying to lower the amount of cortisol racing around in my system. If it's catching? Several people are getting stressed off the fumes.

And seriously? The damned air card just ate my GD post. It died and now, the post is gone. I want somebodies head on a platter.

Well, as my friend Elaine just said: "you do tense hysterically". Damned right I do.

Don't Piss Me off...I have SOOOOOO many places to hide the bodies!

Things are going well at Rottenfield Manor. I swear I have a huge number of pictures to post...I'm not sure where my camera is, but I could probably find it. They're going well when it doesn't involve outside forces. This starts with the City of Seattle.

We spent a lot of money with an electrician, and one of the things we did was move the service from the street to the front of the house. Seattle City Light has its act SO together, that I MAY get it switched by next week when I originally inquired on the 17th of December. I have power, but the upshot is that Comcast can't run cable to our house until the service is switched because they have to ground to the new service (this house never had cable run to it). This means no internet and no phone. And I work from home 3 days a week. Now? I work from Barnes & Nobles three days a week:)

So, I checked out an AT&T Aircard from work for when I'm not at a hotspot. Go to install it? It disabled my keyboard and mouse. No kidding. Had to hook up to my docking station (after digging it out of some box). Ok, uninstalling didn't work, so LUCKILY I know enough to do a system restore. Hied off to B&N to use their wifi (and spent 2 hours on chat with Comcast trying to get access to my in-limbo VM). Tried to reinstall the aircard this morning, same thing. Accessed it through my dock, got the keyboard re-enabled followed by BSOD. No, seriously. Rebooted, Aircard starts throwing errors. Finally, after the umpteenth restart, the aircard seems to be playing nicely with the keyboard and mouse. Turns out it's a known issue with my model of computer...*sigh*

Monday started with someone at job who complained about me to someone at the corporate office. You know, one of those folks who I work with and have a very good relationship with...and our closest common boss is probably the CEO. Anyway, he was complaining that I wasn't responding quickly enough to his "simple" request for a report that was ANYTHING but simple. That he requested at the end of the year. When I was planning and executing an upgrade for 500 clients. Mandated by the federal government. That always happens at the end of December. And I took a week of vacation between Christmas and New Years in order to move. I was available to manage the aforementioned upgrade. He said the 5th of January was FINE.

I understand that I'm his sole resource for these numbers. What he apparently fails to understand that if he has an issue with me, he is WELCOME to consult with my boss or my director. And that when I forward the email string, he'll be ignored. And that he's now on the naughty list of the person he reported me to. That controls all our data systems. Sucks to be him, now. My final satisfaction came when my director said "The data Debi said wasn't in the system isn't in the system. You can come see me about it." Heh.

For those that don't know, Rottenfield Manor boasts and enormous amount of storage space. And a ravine in back. I'm not entirely sure there aren't already bodies in said ravine. Hopefully, by the time we clean it out, they'll have all decomposed. I WILL hide your body there. Seriously. Don't screw with me. I hold a grudge.

Calling Dr. Gorgeous

Saturday night in the shower, I happened upon a (as Eddie Izzard would describe it) a big f*ck-off lump. Not your average clogged pore, your average golf ball sized invader that hurts like hell. Between my legs. In that spot between the girl parts and where both buttocks meet. I showed mom and Mike in a pose that is often seen in the pages of Hustler. Mom said “You should call your doctor, that looks like a boil.” Useful suggestion at 9 pm on a Saturday night.

So, I called my doctor at 8:40 on Monday morning, and got an appointment for 9:50. Just enough time to get some tea, right? Well, I ended up being the tiniest smidgen late just because it was full-contact parking day. Doc took one look at it and said "I'm going to give you some antibiotics."

Um, didn’t come here for antibiotics. I came here to have the invader cut off my body. “Can't I have it drained?!?!?!?!" Apparently, most folks go pale at the suggestion, so she doesn’t make it. She said she’d see if Surgery could fit me in.

Um, surgery??? Yeah, apparently this isn't a little poke, it requires a scalpel. Off to surgery where they ushered me into a nice little room within about 5 minutes. A very nice older PA came into the room. Followed not by a medical assistant or a kindly nurse. Followed by SUPER-HOT resident. You know, the popular guy in high school you either wanted to be or date? Because he was SO nice and SOOOOOO hot?? Yep, he’s here to learn from my boil. Yay. I’m happy to help train the next generation of medical professionals.

I’m given one of those teeny-tiny robes, which was at LEAST enough to almost cover by butt in the back. And give me the highly sought after Brittany Spears look if I crawl out of a low slung car in it. I climb up on the not-so-comfy exam table on my tummy to wait for the inevitable re-entrance of kindly PA and SUPER-HOT. Apparently, I was exposing more skin than the PA was comfie with, because he used another gown to cover up my legs so I “wouldn’t feel so exposed”. Yep, bare legs are what have me feeling exposed. They return and there’s not a whole lot I can do in these situations besides crack jokes and laugh. Except when he shot me up with a whole bottle of lidocaine. That hurt, so I did some DEEP BREATHING. I think some of the office paint took flight and is still lodged in my lower left sinus. He sent me off with a prescription for Vicodin to match the prescription for antibiotics my doc had given me.

I was FINE for several hours. Lidocaine? GOOD STUFF MAYNARD. Then? Wore off. And pain commenced. MUCH more pain than when the invader and I had been one. Vicodin is reserved for EXTREME circumstances because I’m mildly allergic to it. So, I endured the pain. And endured. I emailed boss man and said that between a big infection, and not exactly being able to sit, I was going home and going to bed. His sole comment? “Yikes!”

So, today, Thursday, it’s finally feeling better. Mostly. I bought a foam pad to sit on (they don’t call them hemorrhoid donuts anymore). It worked until today when it started to make my coccyx hurt.

So there you go…hope you find joy and meaning in my festering boil. Happy New Year!