Sunday, November 25, 2007

How flippin' hard is it?

There's a local radio station that's all-sports 24/7 or so they claim. Guess they're not counting the 4 hours of religious coverage on Sunday mornings, but that's not germane to this discussion. On the weekends, pretty much everything is satellite feed, with the exception of the local Sunday services.

So how come for quite a number of Sunday evenings, their Westwood One coverage of NFL has been replaced by dead air? Is it that hard to find someone who can push a flippin' button? Who can hang around the station to actually listen to what's happening on-air? Student volunteer? Satellite button-pusher having his girlfriend over for a turntable quickie?

How. Flippin. Hard. Is. It??????

At least he got me back on schedule...

Sort of.

Normally, my body clock is wired for me to go to sleep around 11:00 PM or so, and wake around 6:30 to 7:00. This is a minor adjustment from my usual 11:30-7:00 ideal. Okay, 30 minutes, big whoop. I was back on that 11:30-7:00 routine during my Thanksgiving break ..... last night I drifted off around 11:15, but hey, that's fine, right?

Maddox did not agree. This morning around 5:45, I got up and .... er, TCB. Went back to bed as usual, and Maddox said to himself, "Hmm, something is wrong with this picture. She should not be back in bed. HEY! I know! I'll have to go outside and TCB myself. YEAH! That's it!"

Nose, nose, nose. Yep, okay, no biggie, I can go outside and go back to sleep. I noticed that in the dim moonlight and backyard security light, and without my glasses, Maddox was looking like a miniature polar bear in the backyard. Finally he came back in and I got him to lie down. That didn't last long either.

CLANG! CLANG! Maddox was pawing at the doggie-gate. He was thinking, "Okay, something isn't right here. That big guy isn't up and getting ready to go wherever he usually does. This is not good. I have to check and make sure he's alive. I have to." Whimper whimper, clang. FINE. Whatever. Get up and check.

So he does the headcount and make sure we're all alive and accounted for. Dad was getting up anyway so no biggie. I went back to bed, got in about 30 minutes of blissful REM (really! I did dream!) ..... a strange dream where I was in some sort of Irish countryside, and Maddox was on the hill below me and couldn't get to me, and one of my coworkers was there too. Anyway, then Maddox decided, "Oh no! We can't have this. She's not up. This isn't right. Wake up, nice person! Wake up!"

He is now sacked out in the middle of the living room. I'm almost determined NOT to let him sleep. Would that be mean?

But at least I'm back on schedule for tomorrow, as long as I don't nap this afternoon. Please, little baby Jesus in the manger, don't let me snooze. Don't. I won't be worth killing.

Friday, November 23, 2007

And no, my heart is NOT three sizes too small.

It's the Friday after Thanksgiving, and I am avoiding stores like the plague. I need to go to the grocery store, and make two other quick stops -- including a quick run into Staples to make some copies of my holiday newsletter. Mercifully, the cards are mostly DONE, and I plan to get those out by the middle of next week. Just some labels to run, and one more detail to iron out.

I do admit: there were a couple of BF deals that made me look more than once. It had me thinking just ever-so-slightly about shopping on Black Friday. But honestly, the deals weren't quite all that and a bag of chips. Had the offer said "FREE TO (NETTIEMAC)" then I might have considered it. Plus, I didn't really have the available cash on hand for it anyway. I am determined NOT to go into debt this Christmas -- and especially for something for myself. After Christmas sales, well..... it depends on the deal.

Christmas itself, I enjoy. What I dread most of all for the next few weeks is the Canned Holiday Spirit (TM) -- you know, that phony incessant cheeriness piped into all retail facilities. The drone of the Christmas music designed to make us open our wallets -- it merely inspires me to invest in some of those noise-cancelling headphones. The (ahem) dulcet tones of children screaming, "I want! I want! I want! Mamamamamamamama!" which just makes me want to run out screaming myself.

I hate manufactured holidays. Not saying that Christmas is manufactured -- don't get me wrong. I just hate this phony "Christmas season" -- it's all backward. They've turned the peaceful preparation of Advent into the frenzy of SpendNowHowCanYouPassThisUp, WhatAreYouSomeKindOfCommieHippieFreak, Don'tYouLoveYourLovedOnesEnoughTo... Oh, it just goes on and on. Not that I don't love my loved ones, and not that I don't want to get them something. But I am tired of the constant barrage that feeds the beast. I hate that parents feel pressured that if their children don't get the latest gadget or toy for Christmas, then they are "bad parents." Or that if I spend less than $1000 per person on my loved ones, then I'm a bad consumer.

So call me a Grinch or a Scrooge. I don't think it's my heart that's three sizes too small.......

Saturday, November 17, 2007

The O'Malley Twins??

Today, while lunching at Applebee's, these two guys at the bar were engaged in some rather loud conversation. Apparently, they grew up knowing some of the same people back in Jersey (or wherever), and were good-naturedly arguing over whether Bobby had a '44 model or a '43. It was almost comical --- reminded me of this old joke:

This guy was sitting in a bar, and said, "This next round's on me, it's my birthday!" The guy next to him said, "Wow! Mine too!"
The first guy said, "Yep. Born and raised right here in town at St. Joe's Hospital." The second guy said, "Holy cow! Me too!"
This went on and on for a while -- first guy had a factoid, same thing with the second guy.
Finally another bar patron asked the bartender, "So, uh, what's the deal with those two?"
The bartender sighed, shook his head, and said, "Ah, the O'Malley twins are drunk again."

At one point, the place got kind of quiet, and I think they realized they were louder than they should have been. I had just finished paying the check, otherwise, I'd have hung around to watch this version of the O'Malleys.

YEEEEK!

What's wrong with this picture?

I have nothing to blog about.
I must think of something. Soon.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Strange irony.

I am 38. I still battle occasional volcanic facial flare-ups. Usually just one or two spots, but they are there.

And I am about to battle wrinkles as well.

I discovered the first inklings of said wrinkles back when I was in my mid-20s. I prayed it was just a fluke. I moisturized daily. I took pretty decent care of my skin (not great care, but good). And time was kind.

Time no longer is.

There they are -- the big 11's staring at me from the starts of my eyebrows, right at the nose. The little vertical lines that say, "I have stared at this computer screen WAY too long, and nothing makes sense anymore."

I told a friend about this tonight. She is about to turn ..... well, she's celebrating another anniversary of her 29th. She is a tiny bit older than me, and she laughed, saying, "Welcome to my world!!!!"

This is some kind of strange.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

They. Are. Morons. And must be stopped.

Dammitall, if both of the adult contemporary stations aren't in the middle of "Christmas Preview" weekends.

What's the deal with that? PREVIEWS?????? Who's the genius who thought that up?

Idiot 1: "Say, Bob........ I'm betting most people around here would love to hear this stuff we have back in my old market."
Idiot 2: "Really, Tim? What's that?'
Idiot 1: "Christmas music!"
Idiot 2: "I'm.......... not following you. You mean they have special music just for Christmas?"
Idiot 1: "That's right, Bob."
Idiot 2: "WOW!!! Now that's a refreshing concept. But let's make sure people are gonna like it. Let's do a 'preview' weekend....."
Idiot 1: "Capital idea there, Tim!"

Me = pissed x infinity.

Not that I regularly listen to these stations, but if you're scanning the dial, you can't help but come across them. This makes me so glad I keep my MP3 player converter in the car. The next car will have a satellite receiver put in, too.