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Date: December 11, 2002
My day Monday was a bit, just a tad, hairy.
It was long (way too long).
An it was capped with a meeting that ran until 5:15PM
in which 7 people all talked at once for two hours while I tried to take
notes and the temperature climbed.
I am referring to the heat. Physical.
My office is too, way too hot.
I am in short sleeves and tank top in December.
And I am always surprised that outside it is rather
cold!
Well, for a Southern California acclimated native!
Northern California is grey and damp this time of year. I am considering
a fast trip to San Diego.
I drove home in sluggy traffic, a crawl up the freeway
(the 880 part). It's a hour no matter what and now they are cutting the
funds for improvements! They need 880 to be 10 lanes wide. Learn from
LA!
I came home with notebooks and zip disks because
I have to type up that meeting. An assembly language reference manual.
And just today people discovered that I know how to program------ I am
working as the Technical Document person. Read that as secretary. They
seemed to be shocked------
We had only ever achieved a bit of order in this
meeting by using a "talking stick" - in this case a fat yellow highlighter.
Toward the end they threw it at each other amidst hilarious giggling.
No more meetings after 3PM!
I fixed the kid a frozen dinner - the new mixed grills
are not bad. I was not cooking tonight!
I had been trying to get back on Medifast
this day.
Ha ha ha.
I had also done the gym (first time in 10 days).
Amd lunch was coffee and 1/2 egg salad sandwich with Weight-Watcher's
Mayonaise.
I was feeling it.
The food drop and the gym.
By the time I was home, I was in a grazing mood.
And the more I typed, the more I got there.
I turned on BBC America -
the show had started before I got home but it repeats - and I watched
Wire in the Blood - a Profiler
cum CSI British murder mystery.
It ran while I sent out the Fabio Newsletter - to
my new scrubbed mail list.
Well, my G4, which still cannot talk to its printer
(and hence to PDF) since getting a new hard drive, managed to mail to
the OLD mail list - which was immediately evident from the bounces. And
three pissed off people that I have deleted. And a bunch of new people
didn't get it. After all that work!
That was not good! (I have both files - now to sort
the little buggers out.)
And then I set about reading the zip from work so
I could type/edit the document I needed to edit before the next meeting.
This is a treadmill I have been on for weeks now.
The zip disk was immediately expelled by theG4 -
which nearly sent it flying across the room.
Thinking I had done something, I shoved it in again.
(Don't work the first time, push it in harder!)
Back out it came! With equal force I might add.
Well, the zip is a back-up device since I emailed
the file home as well. I am a tad paranoid.
I take a look.
Wait a minute!
The disk is a 250MB Zip and the drive is a 100MB
Zip. The new drive I own is at work and takes either size. I usually just
grab a zip and it's fine.
Out of 5 disks, I had grabbed the only 250 in my
bag!
(Iomega has a 750MB out now - holy moly!)
Ho hum.
So I open the file I had emailed home, and began
typing while the TV show ran.
Took two viewings of the show over 5 hours to get
the story. My son had joined me as CSI Miami
was in reruns.
By 11PM or so, I was in a coma.
I demanded that the See's candy
box (a small one) be opened! Now! I don't care who we got it for!
I had 1/2 Klondike bar
ice cream.
I had fresh nuts I stopped and cracked. The Thanksgiving
nuts. Filberts. Almonds. Walnuts. Brazil nuts.
I had my Cheese Cannelloni Lean Cuisine.
By 11PM, I was reheating 1/2 a baked potato left
from Thanksgiving.
I would have chewed a table leg next.
Medifast has this effect
on me - my body sees this diet coming and goes into a full-scale all-out
war!
The soy stuff, Revival Soy,
does not do that to me. (Both on the web.)
Guess that answers that question! Back to the soy!
But - in the meantime. . . .
Tuesday AM, in a small coma, I staggered out late
to work.
Because it took me 35 minutes to find my car keys!
I had a new bra - but the tank top was to thin for
that bra so I had to change.
It was raining and the dog doesn't like that so I
was outside in bra and high heels, in a towel (fun for the guys in the
neighborhood - if I wasn't also nearly 200 pounds) - but the gate wouldn't
open so I went out to the back with a big hammer.
Whack!
Opened the darn gate!
(Don't work - whack it harder!)
Put wet dog in garage.
Went back in house.
Put on make up.
Remembered to get dog.
Remembered to email the file BACK to the office.
Checked - cereal for kid with milk, and sandwich.
I have the rest of the potato and a left over piece
of turkey (small) and some stuffing in my bag for lunch.
But no keys.
I am back to being 1/2 undressed and frantic when
I find them, under a book on the floor right where I have trained myself
to leave them.Not the book part. They were under "The
Bitch in the House". Ha!
I want to shave my head.
I put the coat on and carry the jacket for the outfit
(house is hot after running around outside in slacks and a bra in heavy
rain - why I was disrobing).
I get to work and type steady up to the next meeting,
do another 2-hour meeting stint (calmer meeting), and then type some more.
I am caught up when I leave work.
I leave 15 minutes early.
Today we will get the tree.
My son wants it. He's nagging. (He's spoiled rotten
and proud of it.)
Once home (takes an hour) I drag the kid (after I
change into jeans and flats) over to the Christmas tree lot. Same lot
where we got the giant 132 lb. pumpkin for Halloween .
We wander up and down aisles. Small? Big? Table-top?
I can have a tree this big. I hold out my arms. We
are downsizing.
We find a tree - smallish but fine. (6' - but they
cheat when measuring.)
I admire my tree. (I get very possessive.)
My son admires the young woman waiting on us.
Once the base is trimmed (it is very small compared
to the trend to the bigger trees we have been through), I lift it and
take it to the truck.
My son giggles.
He said, "There's this big teenager walking out with
a little woman trudging along toting the tree".)
I am 5'5" on my flats - I fit under my 6'1"
son's armpit.
"I don't trudge", I say. I stride! But
it must have looked funny.
I put the tree into the truck - plop!
And we go home.
Love having a Tacoma.
Once home, after attempting to get in the gate, I
stand up the tree, and, leaving my son there, I go in and get the big
hammer, come around from the back in a repeat performance of this morning,
and whack the gate open.
Must remember to use WD-40 and check it out this
weekend.
The dog, now confused (she must eat first then come
in), I take the tree out back and stick it without ceremony in the tree
stand - which is way too big for it but will do.
It stands, after a bit of fiddling with the screws,
and I water it and feed the dog.
We are in.
Tomorrow, the dining table moves back from the window
(I have to have help since the legs will pull off and it's heavy) and
the tree comes right in that glass door. A 3' trip.
I, meanwhile, want FOOD.
I am loud. I am yelling I am bouncing all over the
house. Hyper.
I flick water on the cat who is trying to trip me.
Seems his food dish is empty.
Ranger knows if he puts up with rejection enough
times, I will get guilty and feed him.
I do. But first I flick water at him and yell a bit.
He keeps tangling my legs - which, with my belly, I can't see. (I look
pregnant from the side. Wierdest weight gain pattern I've ever had.)
And I want brownies.
My son clamors for me to calm down. And settle down.
I am bouncing.
I tell him I want wine.
He says I have been drinking.
No, I have not.
I am just overtired.
So I make spaghetti - since the turkey leg I had
planned to finish off, I had frozen.
And I decide ---- time for those brownies!
The fat-free ones with the Special Dark Chocolate.
The candy bar is frozen too.
But I am not dissuaded.
I have found a use for the free weights.
I grab one and use it to mash up the chocolate bar.
Pound it good!
By the time I am finished, I am laughing hysterically.
My son takes the weight away from me.
My chocolate is mashed enough, he says.
"It won't be gooey."
He shows me the crumbs on the weight.
The dough won't mix. I add 1 cup walnuts and try
to stir.
I give up and do a hand job on the dough.
Which leaves me laughing even more as my hands are
now a sticky mess.
I scrape enough into the pan.
And I lick my fingers. Everyone of them.
My son is shaking his head.
He reminds me to go get the spaghetti out of the
pot (just in time) and put it in the sauce (spaghetti sauce with a little
turkey and a can of Portobello mushrooms).
The brownies are cooking.
Ahh. Comfort food.
When you've had a long day.
We watch "What not to Wear"
- on BBC America.
Hilarious.
Don't come to my closet!
I dress like a matron - just like their fashion target.
Well, guess what!
I AM!
But I think I will cut all my hair off.
Before I do that, I need to open the gate one more
time and get the now fed and very wet (rain) dog into the garage.
And the brownies are done.
I have one with Reddi-Whip
on it. Lots.
A big one.
So there. (My doctor will scream I know.)
Now I can go curl up with a book and digest this
comfort dinner.
Yessir.
Time for a Romance Novel!
My son is conviced that I need to be in a home.
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