ugh. burnt coffee.
writ at 4/12/2004 5:18:33 pm by shivery
i woke up this morning with dom's nicotine patch stuck to my lower back. we're still baffled.
smoke free for three (weeks) and now some force decides i need the patch? of course, it would make sense, as i've only now developed a smoker's cough. i seem to be going backwards in this whole business of quitting.
writ at 4/12/2004 9:55:07 am by shivery
they say you can tell a lot about a culture based on the way they treat their children and their elders. i think this is true; in particular, i think you can tell a lot about a workplace based on how the brass talk about and treat their kids.
at my old place of employment, it became very clear early on that, while she loved her children to pieces, she loved them largely in the way people love pets, or vases. they were a commodity, a testament to her remarkable ability to play superwoman, juggling two kids, a pregnancy and a high-powered managerial position. on occasions when school was cancelled, or one of them was sick, she spoke about it as though it were a wild inconvenience, something she simply couldn't believe she had to deal with. popular nicknames included: the appendages, the monsters.
on those rare occasions she brought the kids in, we were largely nonplussed--they were just kids, doing kid things. we weren't terrifically bothered by them. but she behaved as though she were mortified that she had to have them there, that she had to present evidence that she wasn't a hard-boiled career woman. this seemed to be the general feeling among the management in the company--kids were okay, as long as they didn't detract from the job. suffice it to say, i wasn't surprised in the slightest to hear that, after laying her off, HR called sally sue in texas, where she'd run to be at her mother's side during a terrible and sudden illness, and announced that her pay for those days off would be taken out of her severance package.
conversely, one of the reasons i feel pretty good about this new job of mine is also based on the good feeling i get about the managers and their kids. because today is a holiday, the eldest son of two of the managers had no school. so, bosslady brought him in. he's been in before, as has their youngest, and every time one of them is in, it's like a light has been turned on inside bosslady and bossman. despite the minor inconvenience of having a tiny person scurrying around the office, they simply love the fact that they get to steal a few extra hours with their kids. absolutely love it.
and the thing is, people respond to it here. my co-workers love it when the kids come in, instead of the strange tiptoeing we did at the old job. it's noisier, and crazier, and a far more pleasant place to be.
writ at 4/9/2004 12:10:10 pm by shivery
it would appear that everyone in the western hemisphere has today off except for neff and biscuit and myself. in response to this horrible injustice, i have been resolutely not overly productive. i'm tinkering in flash, building our virtual tour and listening to the pod (moloko, lilyvolt), thinking about the following things: the agony that is being inside on a day like today; gumdrops, and why i've been obsessed with them for the last few weeks; how strange it feels to actually look forward to such things as doing my laundry and cleaning my closet, both of which i intend to do this weekend; my total denial that i'm going to be moving in seven weeks; how much i love two very different songs called victoria; the fact that a second mouse was discovered in the sink last night by dom and how glad i am that i was not the one to discover it; that my skin is literally aching for summer; why the pod simply refuses to hold a charge; the joy that is suddenly having 728 megs of RAM; how on earth i'm going to survive the next six hours without losing my tiny little mind.
writ at 4/9/2004 11:48:22 am by shivery
i'm not sure i'm entirely au fait with the notion of the L train having a mind of its own
writ at 4/8/2004 2:38:28 pm by shivery
1. i was an hour late for work today. last night was the first night i'd been home since daylight savings began, and it appears that the only clock i didn't reset was my alarm clock. whoops.
2. i dreamed last night that i was being assaulted by a little old man, who i promptly bludgeoned to death with a lamp. once dead, he turned into a stuffed elephant, and i performed cpr to revive him, because i didn't want to be branded a murderer.
3. i occasionally have really questionable taste in music. i really, really do. and i make absolutely no apology for it.
writ at 4/8/2004 12:09:54 pm by shivery
medical care in the great state of brooklyn
dom's roommate a. doesn't miss a trick.
it took him no more than five minutes to notice the paper cuff on my arm and ask me what i'd been doing at the local hospital. while i declined to answer in specific terms (as i will do here--suffice it to say, the reason i went to the hospital was really quite unpleasant and really looked much worse than it actually was), i assured him that i was fine, and went about my business of nursing the very stiff drink i'd poured upon our return to the homestead ten minutes prior.
the saga began three hours before, when the offending incident occurred and i interrupted the construction of dinner to announce that i needed to go to the hospital. immediately. within seconds, dom had dropped everything (quite literally; the fish made a lovely splatting sound upon the counter) and got on the horn to his friend l., who didn't think twice about giving us a ride for expediency's sake. after much hemming and hawing as to which hospital i was to be deposited at (new york methodist? lenox hill? mt. sinai?), we decided that closer was better, and i found myself in the waiting room at the long island college hospital on the arm of a very concerned boy.
now, i've only ever been to the hospital once before in my adult life, two years ago during the anthrax scare. on that day, i made my way to the hospital myself, on foot, and proceeded to have to cope with all the necessary hospital rigamorole on my own, despite my mounting panic over the fact that my ability to breathe was lessening every second. i assumed that last night would be the same, and i prepared myself to be the aggressive person i knew i would need to be to get anything done.
it hadn't even occurred
to me that part of the reason dom was there was to take care of some of the more irritating hospital registration bits (like figuring out who to talk to and what was going on) for me. it hadn't crossed my mind
that he was there to actively make this easier on me. to take care of me.
clearly, it's been a while since i had someone to do that.
long enough that i'd forgotten that it's thoroughly acceptable to cry when i get really, really scared.
which i did. which i was.
they shuffled me through to the examination area in a ridiculously short amount of time--i was in in under two hours, which is unheard of in the new york hospital community. we followed the nurse to the warm, well lit area, where we were deposited in a couple of very comfortable (if heinously ugly) chairs to await further processing. we were there only about ten minutes when an affable man with a spanish lilt to his voice (an anomaly in this building full of cheerful caribbean and west indian accents) who called me "mrs. _____", and kept asking if i wanted my "husband" as my emergency contact...it was as charming as a hospital registration can possibly be expected to be, from the rolling laptop console he used to the gentle way he said that i could take all the time i needed signing the forms if i was having trouble holding the pen (i was shaking pretty visibly).
it took the doctor approximately two minutes to discern what was wrong with me and assure me that i was going to be absolutely fine, as well as tell me that it was good i'd come in--if for no other reason than to be officially told that it looked much, much worse than it actually was.
but like i said. i'm fine. absolutely fit, fine and fighting speed.
and thus ends the hospital adventure.
writ at 4/7/2004 11:15:27 am by shivery
twelve foot ceilings. eight foot windows. beautiful hardwood floors. tree lined block. daffodils in the front patio garden. two giant closets. secure mailbox. gentle landlord. fabulous location. glorious kitchen cabinetry. close to the q. exposed brick in the bedroom.
ours. ours. ours. ours. ours.
we signed the papers today, liebchens. i can already see where i'm going to put the pieces of furniture that survive the move.
writ at 4/2/2004 10:27:10 pm by shivery
a lot has been going down 'round these parts...
first, assuming all goes well and i haven't failed my credit check, this evening, dom and i are going to become the proud tenants (as of june 1) of a fabulous one-bedroom, just a few blocks from the park and the bits of the slope that i really love. more details once we've actually signed in blood.
second, mousezilla has been vanquished, no thanks to the mouse post-its. i'm not sure whether it was a degenerative disease or high heat exposure, perhaps a pervasive sense of ennui, but last night around nine, the mouse crawled out of ONE OF THE BURNERS ON MY STOVE and promptly expired. i say with no small amount of pride that i did not scream, i did not shy away, i did not break stride in the motions of cooking dinner. i did, however, call upon dom to dispose of it for me. i will make french toast out of mouseloaf, but i think some things are really better left to the menfolk. we birth the babies, you can throw out the mice.
**interlude/krissa's thoughts on the mouse: "i can't believe the damn thing was cunning enough to pull the challah off the post-it, and then walked into his own personal inferno of doom!"**
meet the grinning idiots.
writ at 4/2/2004 9:47:01 am by shivery
hold your breath and cross your fingers, count to three--something momentous is potentially about to happen, so send me some good vibes, eh?
writ at 3/31/2004 5:22:15 pm by shivery