hey, Hey, HEY!!!!
Pulling in to the parking garage this morning in font of me was one of those absurdly large trucks. With the extended cab, and it had been raised so it was even taller than normal. Believe me I'm sure the man that owns it is, ahem, all man.
Anyway as I was coming up the ramp he was in front of me trying to pull into a space. Being incredibly large he couldn't fit on the first try. As I was passing him he threw the truck into reverse. Straight back towards me. I slammed on the brakes and horn both as hard as I could. Still he came back, not being able to see tiny me in my SUV. Quick thinking and gear shift into reverse got me out of his way. He didn't see me until after he backed all the way across the ramp.
If I knew I wouldn't see him here at work on a semi-regular basis I would've gotten out and given him what for. Or a least a choice selection of one of my fingers. As it was however, I had to be content with as evil a glare as I could muster.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Cool
I'm a little behind the times but I just found this and thought I'd share what parts of the country I've been in. Check out my map
create your own personalized map of the USA
or write about it on the open travel guide
I'm a little behind the times but I just found this and thought I'd share what parts of the country I've been in. Check out my map
create your own personalized map of the USA
or write about it on the open travel guide
And you may ask yourself, my God, what have I done
I've signed up for a 5K. You know those things where you run? I don't run. I've tried. I just don't do it.
But I got conned into it. A bunch of friends are going and you get a t-shirt. And because it's the Shamrock run, you get free beer. Not that I'm up for a dixie cup of watered down Miller Lite, but hey the t-shirt sounds cool.
And I was promised lunch afterwards. I think I can manage to walk/jog/run a little better than 3 miles if there's the promise of food at the end. At least I hope I can.
I've signed up for a 5K. You know those things where you run? I don't run. I've tried. I just don't do it.
But I got conned into it. A bunch of friends are going and you get a t-shirt. And because it's the Shamrock run, you get free beer. Not that I'm up for a dixie cup of watered down Miller Lite, but hey the t-shirt sounds cool.
And I was promised lunch afterwards. I think I can manage to walk/jog/run a little better than 3 miles if there's the promise of food at the end. At least I hope I can.
Monday, February 23, 2004
Health nut
I'm back on the fitness wagon, sorry to be a bit repetitive. One of my first blogs was observations about people at the gym, and the statement that onehundredCOUGH-ty-eight pounds was too much weight for my height. Oh what I wouldn't give to be back at 1COUGH-ty8.
So, an increased interest in what I put into my mouth has developed. How much and what type of thing now playing much bigger roles than they used to. I found a terrific tool that's been helping immensely. fitday.com keeps track for you of what everything "costs." You just have to be rather religious about filling it in.
The bad part about all this? With the tool keeping track for me, it's becoming increasingly more tempting to do something bad. Like say what happens if I don't eat breakfast or lunch, can I eat the entire box of Samoas sitting in the pantry?
Of course there's that wedding coming up, and the trip we're going on soon, and that 10 year class reunion that I would really like to look stunning at... maybe the samoas aren't the greatest idea.
I'm back on the fitness wagon, sorry to be a bit repetitive. One of my first blogs was observations about people at the gym, and the statement that onehundredCOUGH-ty-eight pounds was too much weight for my height. Oh what I wouldn't give to be back at 1COUGH-ty8.
So, an increased interest in what I put into my mouth has developed. How much and what type of thing now playing much bigger roles than they used to. I found a terrific tool that's been helping immensely. fitday.com keeps track for you of what everything "costs." You just have to be rather religious about filling it in.
The bad part about all this? With the tool keeping track for me, it's becoming increasingly more tempting to do something bad. Like say what happens if I don't eat breakfast or lunch, can I eat the entire box of Samoas sitting in the pantry?
Of course there's that wedding coming up, and the trip we're going on soon, and that 10 year class reunion that I would really like to look stunning at... maybe the samoas aren't the greatest idea.
In my head
Some things never come out quite the way you think they should. When I was little I learned very quickly that I wouldn't become a great artist, because the beautiful drawing in my mind never quite made it's way out onto paper. The tree looking more like a stick, the river more like a blue line. Along a similar vein, my sister and I both took piano lessons and since she was only slightly behind me it was inevitable that we would eventually play the same songs. One day during highschool I walked through the room as Ellen was playing and asked her what it was. It sounded so beautiful. It was the song I had played a month earlier. It had sounded nothing at all like the song she had just been playing. I'm still wondering why my music teacher passed me on that one. Maybe she was sick of the way I was playing it.
Tonight I cooked. Now don't get me wrong, I can cook reasonably well. I can whip up some killer turkey burgers, and the one dish I invented, Nillson Chicken (after the late great Harry Nillson, because you put the lime in the coconut) I can cook superbly, although it tends to taste different every time I make it (If you want the recipe just write me). But tonight I wanted a good square meal, what my Grandmother always called a home cooking. Pork chops, mashed potatoes, corn, and broccoli. And oh yes, fried apples on the side. You can't have pork without apples. Ask any southern gal.
In my head, the dinner was going to be fantastic. In reality there was something a little wrong with each thing. Not that anything tasted bad. Nothing got burned, just a little too salty, a little too gummy, a little too mushy. Except for the corn. That came from a can.
I guess I really should put an apron on more often than once every five years. And next time my Grandmother cooks pay a little bit closer attention.
Some things never come out quite the way you think they should. When I was little I learned very quickly that I wouldn't become a great artist, because the beautiful drawing in my mind never quite made it's way out onto paper. The tree looking more like a stick, the river more like a blue line. Along a similar vein, my sister and I both took piano lessons and since she was only slightly behind me it was inevitable that we would eventually play the same songs. One day during highschool I walked through the room as Ellen was playing and asked her what it was. It sounded so beautiful. It was the song I had played a month earlier. It had sounded nothing at all like the song she had just been playing. I'm still wondering why my music teacher passed me on that one. Maybe she was sick of the way I was playing it.
Tonight I cooked. Now don't get me wrong, I can cook reasonably well. I can whip up some killer turkey burgers, and the one dish I invented, Nillson Chicken (after the late great Harry Nillson, because you put the lime in the coconut) I can cook superbly, although it tends to taste different every time I make it (If you want the recipe just write me). But tonight I wanted a good square meal, what my Grandmother always called a home cooking. Pork chops, mashed potatoes, corn, and broccoli. And oh yes, fried apples on the side. You can't have pork without apples. Ask any southern gal.
In my head, the dinner was going to be fantastic. In reality there was something a little wrong with each thing. Not that anything tasted bad. Nothing got burned, just a little too salty, a little too gummy, a little too mushy. Except for the corn. That came from a can.
I guess I really should put an apron on more often than once every five years. And next time my Grandmother cooks pay a little bit closer attention.
Friday, February 06, 2004
Back on the horse
I used to swim. In fact I used to swim a lot. As a kid, over the summer, for school, on a USS team. I was super-chlorinated most of the time. If it wasn't swimmer's ear, it was blonde/green hair.
I swam in college for a month, then quit. I swam the following year for a week, then quit. Finally my senior year I swam the whole year.
For 2 years in the working world I didn't go near the water. Then I found a swim buddy and we swam a couple times a week at lunch. Then I changed jobs.
Add on another year, another job change, and add on one more year. My swim buddy just started swimming again. Since I'm close to the pool again, this week I decided to join him.
It sure felt good to be back in that water again.
Maybe I've just been going through chlorine withdrawl.
I used to swim. In fact I used to swim a lot. As a kid, over the summer, for school, on a USS team. I was super-chlorinated most of the time. If it wasn't swimmer's ear, it was blonde/green hair.
I swam in college for a month, then quit. I swam the following year for a week, then quit. Finally my senior year I swam the whole year.
For 2 years in the working world I didn't go near the water. Then I found a swim buddy and we swam a couple times a week at lunch. Then I changed jobs.
Add on another year, another job change, and add on one more year. My swim buddy just started swimming again. Since I'm close to the pool again, this week I decided to join him.
It sure felt good to be back in that water again.
Maybe I've just been going through chlorine withdrawl.
Monday, February 02, 2004
Kids are the greatest
A woman in my office is pregnant with her third (and LAST she says) child. Her two boys are 5 and 3 years old. The other day the 3 year old came up to her and asked "Mom, when is the baby going to be gone?"
Confused she asked "Do you mean when is the baby going to be here?"
Shaking his head, her son said "No, I mean when is she going to be gone? You're taking her to the hospital to get rid of her, right?"
Her older son gracefully stepped in at this point and explained to the 3 year old "No Joe, she's going to come here and live with us."
The youngest then scowled and said "But I don't want her to!"
How this woman kept a straight face I have no idea. I guess its a parenting skill you pick up along the way. I personally was dying laughing as she told me the story.
A woman in my office is pregnant with her third (and LAST she says) child. Her two boys are 5 and 3 years old. The other day the 3 year old came up to her and asked "Mom, when is the baby going to be gone?"
Confused she asked "Do you mean when is the baby going to be here?"
Shaking his head, her son said "No, I mean when is she going to be gone? You're taking her to the hospital to get rid of her, right?"
Her older son gracefully stepped in at this point and explained to the 3 year old "No Joe, she's going to come here and live with us."
The youngest then scowled and said "But I don't want her to!"
How this woman kept a straight face I have no idea. I guess its a parenting skill you pick up along the way. I personally was dying laughing as she told me the story.
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