Reasons to love Rob

1. He did a Grover voice on the phone last night, singing the Sugar Ray song, “When it’s Grover…”

2. He refused to watch The Notebook with me (which I heard was the test of boyfriend worthiness) after he found out it wasn’t about a laptop computer.

“It’s a comedy, right?” he asked. “It’s set in the present?”

I’m sure there are other reasons…but those are just two that made me smile lately.

Slacker girl

I must be feeling guilty about how late I sleep and thus how late I stroll into work. (It’s always “stroll,” never “arrive” or “get to work”) I dreamed that I overslept in a hotel room and missed the bus. Why did no one call to wake me?

Today is a meeting about the changes the corporate takeover will bring. I’m fully vested in my 401(k). That’s important. I’m kinda hoping for a bigger shake-up though. Add some excitement. As long as I’m not suddenly required to be here at 9. Or 9:30. 10 sharp is even pushing it.

Whachu waiting whachu waiting whachu waiting for?

I’ve spent the better part of the day staring at the screen, feeling severe career malaise, completely forgetting that every workday is made better by slipping on a pair of headphones and listing to Zed.

Ahhhhhhhhhh.

I’ve actually torn through the side of my plastic recycle bin (which I had to request) by using it as a footrest.

Panda

How I love the Panda. As far as I can tell, there’s only one that serves fried tofu and eggplant in garlic sauce, but fortunately it’s the restaurant nearest me. Googling the dish finds reference only to string beans and fried tofu with garlic sauce.

Also, I may be the only one eating it. I go to Panda Express once a week, and they know to start making the dish as soon as they see me. Very rarely is there any eggplant in the silver bin under the heat warmer. Obviously their orange chicken is what everyone wants, cus that bin is twice the size of all the others.

Today they coerced me into ordering a double serving of the entree. Coerced by saying, “You want double?” It looked like too much food and yet, I had to stop myself from eating the whole thing.

A Panda Express is under construction in my future hometown, and I really hope they make the dish, otherwise I’m going to have to write a letter to the company.

I’m known to say things like “I can’t eat popcorn,” or potato chips, or Chips Ahoy cookies. But I’ll eat it if it’s like right there. Sometimes. Then regret it. The other day, for employee appreciation day (I felt so unworthy of the appreciation) I ate ciabatta. That was a mistake. Nor can I eat nuts or apples, but never am I tempted by those.

Fortune cookies are definitely something I should not eat, but I do, every time, if only to get at cryptic messages such as: “Don’t ignore your needs in the area of new challenges.”

There’s advice there that I probably need, but I don’t understand it. Is it as simple as “Don’t be afraid to ask for help” ? Or “Don’t neglect your own usual needs while you’re busy tackling new challenges” ?

Relax harder again

Relax harder again

It’s back to this I think. I saw a biofeedback therapist, who is going to “hook me up” when she gets back from her vacation next month. My understanding is that biodfeedback will train me to relax my jaw, by monitoring what it is my muscles and joints are actually doing.

It’s my only hope, Obi Wan. Or my last hope, or whatever.

I sense that I will be expected to actually participate in my own healing. Like she’s going to tell me to spend 20 minutes twice a day relaxing. Who’s got time for that? I hate being told to relax.

All day I’m thinking my shoulders are too hunched and my neck is pitched forward, which stresses the jaw, as it turns out.

4 bruthas

Oh, and John Singleton, don’t think I’m going to let you get away with that piece of crap you call a movie. How is it that the director of Boyz in the Hood and an actor (Marky Mark) who, like, actually was a street thug managed to make a movie that looked like no one involved knew the slightest thing about gangstas? It was like watching a film school project by frat boys playing at being gangstas.

Film experience enhanced by white dudes sitting in front of us (with an empty seat between them, what’s up with that? Homophobic or something?) who, disturbingly, found several scenes hi-larious. And the ladies behind us who gasped when a character we knew was bad shot another character we knew was good, after we’d already watched very many people meet bloody, untimely ends. And a crying baby (in the theater, not getting shot).

Which reminds me. I had to fill out a questionnaire for biofeedback lady where I marked on a scale how much anger I feel. “What’s the anger about?” she asked.

Stupid people, I told her. Not very Zen, I know.

The girl who wouldn’t take credit

I’m definitely feeling inadequate when I refuse to let my boss praise me to my coworker.

“Not to put any pressure on you, but K filed two stories today [for the weekly section]”, she told him. “And she brought me a root beer float.”

I pipe up, “Yeah, but I’m not doing anything else and [coworker] is writing two stories a day for the daily paper.”

Probably shouldn’t have offered that information.

Kaboom

How desensitized am I when I start to skim the New York Times story about a tenacious Chinese man who opened a restaurant in Baghdad, barely registering the bit about his being attacked and almost kidnapped. Ho-hum. That’s what happens in Baghdad. He only does takeout now, cus a suicide bomb damaged his building.

Speaking of international incidents, I was at a day camp today. The kids were singing “I said a Boom Chicka Boom.” The verse is simple, and the counselors prompted different versions by saying “Uh huh. Oh yeah. One more time, Valley Girl style.” Or whatever. It’s gotten more sophisticated than when I was in camp, cus when they do it race car driver style, for example, they say, “Vroom shift a vroom.” And the janitor says, “Broom sweep a broom.” The valley girl said “A boom chicka rocka chicka gag me with a spoon.”

Anyway, the finale was “Atomic Bomb” style, “I said a BOOM chicka BOOM!” Not so inventive. Still, it was an appropriate acknowlegement of the 60th anniversary of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It was funny only because the camp had Japanese exchange students today. They didn’t seem to take offense.

Five servings a day

It’s been one week since my last float. Just bought some carrot “bread” from the vending machine. 450 calories, 22 grams of fat. But 2 grams of fiber and 25 percent of Vitamin A and 10 percent of my daily intake of iron. And hey, since I can’t eat raw carrots anymore…

Zen

A man is being chased by a tiger. He jumps off a cliff and grabs hold of a vine.

Looking down at the ravine below, he sees a second hungry tiger.

Looking up, he sees mice nibbling on the vine.

With nowhere left to escape and facing certain death, he notices some jasmine growing nearby.

He inhales deeply and thinks to himself, “How sweet.”

Mean reds

My reds aren’t mean just yet, but borderline grouchy. It seems that Her Highnessness is a bit of a funk as well. (Hang in there, Chrek!) No definable reason for me, because on another day, more serious incidents would roll right off my little duck wings.

Was worn oooout when I left work yesterday, but got energized enough by “Kathy Griffin is … not Nicole Kidman” that I went to kickboxing for the first time in 2 weeks. Today I keep thinking how nice it would be to crawl under my desk and lie down.

Am off the floats, mostly because my accomplice is on vacay. Today I had a Green Tea Frappuccino, which would have had as many calories as a float if I’d had it with whipped cream, which I did not.

I also picked up a North African wrap, which contains hummus and tabouleh. The tortilla was chewer than it ought to have been, so I sat with the half-eaten thing on my desk for a while, before wrapping it up in the grocery bag. That fact that the smell of my own lunch is pissing me off is a fairly good indicator of my mood.

Bigger than Adidas-Reebok

As for what this business deal means to me, you’ll never read it here, because that could violate some as-yet written rule about what bloggers can blog about their workplace (especially while sitting at one’s desk at said workplace.) But I think it’s exciting, as it affects my place of employment (which I do not hate) and my sister organization in Rob’s town.

Went on my v. first helicopter ride Sunday. We were headed to Johnston Ridge to see Mount St. Helens ever changing dome, and stopped at a lower observatory to pee. An announcement came over the PA that there were two seats left on a (four-seat, as it turned out) helicopter. Taking off was like being abducted by aliens.