Generation Exhausted

Rezz-ooo-may

All the years, I looked forward to the day when I would work somewhere long enough, and know enough, that I could put more than "familiar with most modern cash register systems" on a resume. I figured that with a stable work history, and a significant skill set, my resume would become easy to write.

I was wrong. It's different, but certainly not easier.

On the bright side, I no longer need to put "Able to successfully bribe the Health Inspector with coffee and doughnuts" either. But I'm finding it difficult to place "Can throw a minor tantrum over paper quality and get a printing discount" into the grand scheme of things.

See how far I've come?

Polar opposites

People often ask me where how I can find the humour in life. Perhaps I need only tell them about today.

Action item #1: Get the lawnmower fixed so we can cut the grass.

Action item #2: Get someone to roto-till and level the side of the yard that was dug up for sewer repair so that we can make grass grow in it.

Who wouldn't laugh?

Cyber gremlins!

Had several tense moments today when I thought the Internet was broken. All of a sudden, there was no email (incoming or outgoing), no Web, no MSN. Everytime I clicked Send/Receive or opened my browser, I got an error window that said something to the effect of:

Server cannot be found. In fact, it's lost completely. It's not at all where you'd left it. We've sent out a search party. Check back later to see if it's turned up yet. But later - not two nanoseconds from now, because you'll just get this same message again, but with a more exasperated tone. In fact, since this is the fifty gabillionth time we've told you the same thing in the last ten minutes, maybe the next time the error window will just say "Neener neener, no Internet for you!" Don't you have a life fordogssakes? Go watch TV or something.

So I meditated, and decided that I would give my ISP a chance to remedy whatever was wrong before I called and ranted at them. I was convinced it was the ISP, since neither computer could reach the Internet, and I'd checked all my cables and everything. Then I went out and had a life for the afternoon, and came home.

And it was still broken.

While I was on hold for Tech Support (their message that they were experiencing higher than average call volume only confirmed my suspicions that it was alltheirfault), I started messing around with the Control Panel.

Hmm - looky that. For some reason, my connection was disabled. So I clicked "Enable."

And it was all fixed! And I didn't even have to yell at anyone.

Time gone by

NO! The date on that last post was Wednesday? Four days ago? Couldn't be! No wonder the cobwebs are starting to appear in the corners of this blog. I'd better get back to regular posting, or people are going to start thinking I'm like other bloggers, with their sparse updates.

Back to daily blogging, I promise. Keep coming back.

Bells are ringing 'round here, or rather beeping - cash registers have been humming with the back-to-school shopping frenzy. Took hubby to the out-of-town doctor on Thursday, which of course necessitated a stop at the out-of-town mall.

Now, keep in mind that the out-of-town mall is exactly like the mall here. Exactly. You could come along and lift it up (if it were conceivably possible to lift a whole mall) and drop it back down in a whole other city, and no one would notice. It's a mall. Same stores, same food court. Yet somehow, it being in a different place gives it some appeal. Go figure.

Anyway, found a couple outfits for the little one. Gotta love those BOGO deals. And found a pair of pants for me. This was a landmark moment - I half expected angels to sing, and the whole place to become aglow with surreal light. I found a pair of pants. That fit. That don't have a drawstring waist. That are actually stylish.

So of course I bought them. How could I not? Plus, they gave me a $5 off coupon just for trying them on, as part of their "pants promotion."

I also caught sight of a pink fake leather coat. It was adorable. It was darling. It went perfectly with my kicky pink purse that I've gotten so many compliments on. It was the last thing in the entire world that I needed. I mean, a pink coat? That's awfully frivolous.

You know I bought it too, right?

And this evening, they were no doubt buzzing about me in the lunch room at Price Chopper. It was the big we-haven't-done-a-decent-grocery-shopping-in-a-month-plus-school-lunches-will-be-needed trip. I started unloading groceries onto the belt. I emptied the cart, and motioned to my daughter that she should bring the next one up. The cashier said, with some amazement, "You have two carts?"

Well no, I said.

I have three.

So for the next 20 minutes, the cashier gave me a running commentary on how this was just so unusual, and how she'd never, in all her time working there, rung in such a large order, and ohbytheway Other Customer, you'd better go to the other lane because I'm not going to be done here anytime soon, and howmanychildrendoyouhave?

At first, I was amused. I felt a certain pride in my ability to feed my family so well. Not to mention the fact that I am so ontheball that I can stock up on sales items, and plan ahead, and not have to visit the grocery store for another three weeks, at least.

In the end, though, I found it a little rude. It's not that big a deal. 60 juice boxes doesn't even last a month of school lunches when you have three kids and one of them takes two juices a day. Teenagers eat. A lot. Get over it lady.

Wound up the baseball season with a team party tonight, and a good time was had by all. There's talk of signing them all up for bowling this fall - apparently, it really keeps the pitching arm in shape. It's got to be more relaxing for the spectators - after all, there's no umpire in bowling, right? And no chance of sunburn, either.

There's a song going through my head...

If you travel south down I-75, all the way to the Great State of Florida, you will encounter, just outside Ocala, the Walt Disney World Information Centre. It's like the Disney World warm-up zone. Anyway, they play this song - or at least they did the last time I passed through there, some seven years ago. The song goes like this: We're going to Disney World. We're going to Dis-ney World... And on and on.

I'm singin' it now. 'Cause we're going to Disney World!

But in this case, "we" is not the children. Hubby and I are going all by ourselves to celebrate our anniversary and our birthdays next month. That's right - Mother of the Yearrr moment right there - going to Disney World without the kids.

The tickets are bought, the flights are booked, the room is reserved. I'm so predictable.

What was lost, is found

It's back! It's back! After six...no seven...no nine months, it's finally back!

What? You don't know what I'm talking about? Are you new here? Then allow me to 'splain.

"It" is that little voice inside my head that points out the stories that are right in front of my eyes. "It" helps me see the irony - the hilarity - the universality - of the mundane events that unfold before me on a daily basis. Something will happen - something small and innocuous - and "it" will slap me upside the head (well not really, because "it" is inside my head and how can something slap you upside the head if it's already inside your head? Although "it" is just a concept, not a thing. Not even a real voice. Not really. If people thought there were voices in my head, after all...well, can you just imagine what the PTA would do with that juicy tidbit of information?)

What? I've digressed? You're right. I have. To continue:

"It" will somehow (but without slapping me upside the head, or speaking, because it's not actually a real voice, see above) cause me to snap to attention and see the story. The blurred edges sharpen, the picture focuses and there it is - the difference between thinking "I should write something about that" and knowing, instinctively, that I will write about it. That I am, in fact, already composing the words in my head, without effort.

Then "it" drives me, pushes me toward the keyboard, the tapping begins, the words begin to appear on the page and there - I know without a doubt that the last good thing I wrote was not, after all, going to be the last good thing I wrote.

Magic. Absolute magic. I will never understand where it comes from, nor where it hides when it's missing, but it's there after all. I can relax.

However, trying to get "it" onto the page when someone keeps jumping off the bed and/or slamming the door in the room above my office is unsettling. How long until school starts?

Blotchy

I really must take more care when applying sunscreen. After a weekend spent poolside, I once again have a brilliant red sunburned patch on my shoulder, while the rest of my arm remains burn-free.

A quick jaunt to Walmart on Friday resulted, three hours later, in a $640 total. We just went to get a few school supplies. Honest. But then we needed some windshield wiper blades, and a battery for my watch, and since we were all there we thought we might as well look at school clothes, and well...there you go. It was the Kellogg Breakfast Bars put us over the top, I just know it.

Why do they put the women's fitting rooms right in the middle of Ladies' Underwear? You've got to love a man that will sit patiently amidst the thongs and push-up bras while his daughters parade in and out of the fitting rooms getting approval on their new outfits. Especially when the same daughters, when forced to wait in Men's Underwear while Daddy tries on pants, spend their time going "Ewww..."

They (by that, I mean the "they" that we all refer to when we don't know who else to blame things on) keep trying to bring back 70's fashions. Having finally accepted that the 70's will never - and should never - come back into style, they are now trying to piggyback 70's fashions onto the latest recurrence in 80's styles. With the result that you can now buy leg warmers AND crocheted ponchos.

They also tell me that CBC is providing extensive coverage of the Olympics. Yet somehow I've managed to miss all the gymnastics and most of the swimming. And the baseball. Every time I pass the television, all I see is someone rowing a boat. The only way I can tell it's a different race than the one two days before is by counting the number of rowers.

Thus endeth the weekend. Anniversary trip news tomorrow!

Get those good vibes going

Although I will be occupied with a swim meet all day Sunday, I'll be thinking about baseball. So far we know that Canadians can row a boat and jump up and down (albeit with style) And we can fall with style too. I'm sure we can do better than that.

I know we can do better than that. Go Stubby!

They say it's her birthday

All together now...a-one...two...here we go....

Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday dear LINDAAAAAAAAA
Happy Birthday to you.

That is all.

This isn't weird, right?

I often tease Kim about her need for absolute order in her life. She loves lists, and agendas, and traded in her laptop for a - gasp! - Palm Pilot.

So I think I surprised her yesterday when I confessed to a quirk of my own. We were talking about the morning routine - you know, tumble out of bed, stumble to the kitchen....oh wait, that was a song. Anyway, get the coffee started, go boot the computer, go pour the first cup of coffee while the computer's booting. That kind of thing. Keep in mind that I work from home and spend a huge portion of my day at the computer.

So here's the quirk. I typically leave my email program and Explorer open all day. I also stay logged in to MSN all day. So, the routine goes like this:

Boot computer
Log in to MSN
Open email program
Open Explorer

Now, you know how your task bar shows the windows at the bottom in the order you opened them? It would look like this:

Windows Messenger/Inbox/Name of Web site

Well, if mine aren't in that order, I get all wigged out. They must line up like that, left to right, or I feel completely discombobulated. For example, if I inadvertantly close my email and then open it up again, and it looks like this:

Windows Messenger/Name of Web Site/Inbox

Well, then I'm just off-kilter. It's like wearing your shoes on the wrong feet - you can still walk, but it feels weird, and you have an air of distraction about you.

So there you go - a rare glimpse at one of my neurosis. Nothing weird about that, right?