Argephontes
12/14/2002
Guess what, folks? Thursday, December 12 th was my bloggy's very first birthday. And I forgot all about it.
This is me, wishing Argephontes the Blog (Journal if you want to be snooty about it) a very happy if belated birthday. Don't worry, I'm not going to sing.
This is the last weekend I'm going to be in town for a while. We're heading out on Thursday after work. We're going to spend the night at my Dad's house, and then head on up Northwards on Friday. This means there's lots to do. Laundry, for instance. So that we might pack. Wrapping Christmas presents, so that they might be brought. I'm having responsibility avoidance until the coffee is gone.
¶ 12/14/2002 01:10:00 PM
This is me, wishing Argephontes the Blog (Journal if you want to be snooty about it) a very happy if belated birthday. Don't worry, I'm not going to sing.
This is the last weekend I'm going to be in town for a while. We're heading out on Thursday after work. We're going to spend the night at my Dad's house, and then head on up Northwards on Friday. This means there's lots to do. Laundry, for instance. So that we might pack. Wrapping Christmas presents, so that they might be brought. I'm having responsibility avoidance until the coffee is gone.
¶ 12/14/2002 01:10:00 PM
12/13/2002
Dirty Santa update: Ok, so the Vegetarian got her ham stolen and ended up with a back massager...but her husband ended up with the Bellagio hot cocoa I'd put under the tree. I just found out he's lactose intolerant.
It just keeps getting funnier. ¶ 12/13/2002 04:44:00 PM
It just keeps getting funnier. ¶ 12/13/2002 04:44:00 PM
Only in the South will someone bring a plate of pickles and okra to a potluck. You got to love it.
The office Christmas party was a hoot this year. We played "Dirty Santa," a gift exchange game where everyone gets an opportunity to either pick a random gift or steal someone elses. I made out with a $20 gift card to WaldenBooks! I stole it from someone else, and I was ready to clobber anyone who dared try to take it from me. Luckily, they didn't. I think I definately made out better than the vegetarian who got a ham, and the cranky old professor (male) who got a smelly candle and a set of every variety of Burt's Bees lipbalm ever made. Color me rude, but I think that's just delightful.
I was catching up on some blog-reading a bit ago, and Nicole from Go Fish was talking about over-involved parents, something I deal with on a regular basis. It sort of hit a spot with me. Working at public university, I'm used to talking to parents. Parents who follow their children around like dogs at Orientation. Parents who call me because they can't figure out the registration system, or a class is closed (Why are you registering your child for classes? Huh?). Parents who are upset because Mary Ma-whatever got a B, and it should have been an A. Parents who haven't got anything to say at all, really, but for some reason feel they ought to call and whine at you anyway.
One in particular specifically calls me all the time. Yesterday afternoon, in fact. Ms. My Daughter Needs A Scholarship But Can't Be Bothered To Come Talk To You Herself. No matter how many times I tell her the scholarship application procedure, she still thinks that maybe, if she wastes a half hour of my day whining on the phone at me, there might just be something else. Um.... no. There are scholarships. This is how and when you apply for them. End of story.
This morning we were having a general bitch session about such folk in the main office when one of the profs, who moonlights as the CFO for the company the Boy actually works for, told us about the grown woman whose car they had towed for parking in their private lot. The grown woman who had her 65 year old daddy come up to the office to cause a stink because of it. Now that's pathetic.
I try to communicate to the parents as professionally as I can that I need to talk to the student about whatever the issue is, but they never seem to get it. I hope that on the rare occasion that they do, I'm contributing to a future where fewer old men come to bail their grown daughters out of parking issues. Wouldn't that be nice? ¶ 12/13/2002 03:33:00 PM
The office Christmas party was a hoot this year. We played "Dirty Santa," a gift exchange game where everyone gets an opportunity to either pick a random gift or steal someone elses. I made out with a $20 gift card to WaldenBooks! I stole it from someone else, and I was ready to clobber anyone who dared try to take it from me. Luckily, they didn't. I think I definately made out better than the vegetarian who got a ham, and the cranky old professor (male) who got a smelly candle and a set of every variety of Burt's Bees lipbalm ever made. Color me rude, but I think that's just delightful.
I was catching up on some blog-reading a bit ago, and Nicole from Go Fish was talking about over-involved parents, something I deal with on a regular basis. It sort of hit a spot with me. Working at public university, I'm used to talking to parents. Parents who follow their children around like dogs at Orientation. Parents who call me because they can't figure out the registration system, or a class is closed (Why are you registering your child for classes? Huh?). Parents who are upset because Mary Ma-whatever got a B, and it should have been an A. Parents who haven't got anything to say at all, really, but for some reason feel they ought to call and whine at you anyway.
One in particular specifically calls me all the time. Yesterday afternoon, in fact. Ms. My Daughter Needs A Scholarship But Can't Be Bothered To Come Talk To You Herself. No matter how many times I tell her the scholarship application procedure, she still thinks that maybe, if she wastes a half hour of my day whining on the phone at me, there might just be something else. Um.... no. There are scholarships. This is how and when you apply for them. End of story.
This morning we were having a general bitch session about such folk in the main office when one of the profs, who moonlights as the CFO for the company the Boy actually works for, told us about the grown woman whose car they had towed for parking in their private lot. The grown woman who had her 65 year old daddy come up to the office to cause a stink because of it. Now that's pathetic.
I try to communicate to the parents as professionally as I can that I need to talk to the student about whatever the issue is, but they never seem to get it. I hope that on the rare occasion that they do, I'm contributing to a future where fewer old men come to bail their grown daughters out of parking issues. Wouldn't that be nice? ¶ 12/13/2002 03:33:00 PM
12/12/2002
Sick, sick... suck.
Stupid cold. Stupid sniffly not quite being able to breathe right. Stupid sinuses.
Being sick is more annoying to me than it is unpleasant (this type of sick anyway. Having the flu is a different story). I just want to do my thing and not be hampered by having to get a tissue. Is that really too much to ask? ¶ 12/12/2002 11:29:00 AM
Stupid cold. Stupid sniffly not quite being able to breathe right. Stupid sinuses.
Being sick is more annoying to me than it is unpleasant (this type of sick anyway. Having the flu is a different story). I just want to do my thing and not be hampered by having to get a tissue. Is that really too much to ask? ¶ 12/12/2002 11:29:00 AM
12/11/2002
It's so bizarre - there are only 8 working days left before I leave for Christmas Vacation. Daammmmnnn. It doesn't feel like it's that close.
Also happy to report that, for once, most of my Christmas shopping is done. Generally, I finish shopping around the 28th of December. I'm always skipping around trying to cram everyone into the two-week break, and so I don't end up "doing Christmas" with some until well after, so that's actually ok. But this year, I've got it. Of what I do have left to buy, I know exactly what I'm getting (just waiting on that next paycheck to come along). I kept feeling like something was missing this year. Only 8 days?! What do you MEAN? It doesn't feel like Christmas yet!
Oh, yeah. It's the STRESS. I haven't had a stress-free Christmas since I left home. I probably should be a bit more antsy, since I tend to go a bit overboard with the spending this time of year, but for some reason I'm not. I have this sort of zen attitude that everything will be fine.
It's probably just gathering up to hit me full force in January. Heh. ¶ 12/11/2002 11:21:00 AM
Also happy to report that, for once, most of my Christmas shopping is done. Generally, I finish shopping around the 28th of December. I'm always skipping around trying to cram everyone into the two-week break, and so I don't end up "doing Christmas" with some until well after, so that's actually ok. But this year, I've got it. Of what I do have left to buy, I know exactly what I'm getting (just waiting on that next paycheck to come along). I kept feeling like something was missing this year. Only 8 days?! What do you MEAN? It doesn't feel like Christmas yet!
Oh, yeah. It's the STRESS. I haven't had a stress-free Christmas since I left home. I probably should be a bit more antsy, since I tend to go a bit overboard with the spending this time of year, but for some reason I'm not. I have this sort of zen attitude that everything will be fine.
It's probably just gathering up to hit me full force in January. Heh. ¶ 12/11/2002 11:21:00 AM
12/09/2002
Last night the boy and I celebrated our 4-year anniversary.
That's a long damned time.
We drove around and looked at Christmas lights, and went out to dinner, followed by a long trip to Wal-mart. Since we both tend to go overboard at Christmas, this year we decided not to give eachother anniversary gifts. It was nice, quiet, and sweet. ¶ 12/09/2002 04:22:00 PM
That's a long damned time.
We drove around and looked at Christmas lights, and went out to dinner, followed by a long trip to Wal-mart. Since we both tend to go overboard at Christmas, this year we decided not to give eachother anniversary gifts. It was nice, quiet, and sweet. ¶ 12/09/2002 04:22:00 PM
I woke up last night (this morning?) at about 1:30 to a parched throat, dry nose, and killer sinus headache. Humidifier time.
Just about every night for the last two weeks I've thought about how I needed to pull the humidifier out of the closet right as I was drifting off to sleep. That is the absolute worst time for me to think about something that needs to be done, because there's no way in hell I'm dragging myself out of bed at that point to do it. Uh-unh, no sir. Once I reach that hazy place where I can latch on to the tendrils of sleep, there's no pulling me back. Then I would wake up in the morning. Dry. Sinus-y. Uncomfortable. "I ought to pull out that humidifier at some point today," I'd think.
Even last night, waking up miserable, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I needed that humidifier, I still got Ryan, who was absorbed in a crack-book and still awake, to do the deed. What's with that? What's wrong with me that I can procrastinate like that, even over something that makes me miserable.
There's no rhyme nor reason to the odd things here and there that I simply cannot be bothered with. How hard would it have been to go to the closet, pull out the humidifier (not even hard to get to), fill the thingum with water, and plug it in? But for some reason it just seemed like this horrid, awful, task. I don't mind getting on my hands and knees and scrubbing a Code Red stain on my carpet with an old toothbrush - try and stop me! - but I can't find the motivation to get the humidifier? It's no problem to go in the kitchen and spend two hours making baklava, but I will wait until the last possible minute to sit down for 15 minutes and write out checks for bills.
Yes, I am insane. It's the only reasonable answer. ¶ 12/09/2002 12:48:00 PM
Just about every night for the last two weeks I've thought about how I needed to pull the humidifier out of the closet right as I was drifting off to sleep. That is the absolute worst time for me to think about something that needs to be done, because there's no way in hell I'm dragging myself out of bed at that point to do it. Uh-unh, no sir. Once I reach that hazy place where I can latch on to the tendrils of sleep, there's no pulling me back. Then I would wake up in the morning. Dry. Sinus-y. Uncomfortable. "I ought to pull out that humidifier at some point today," I'd think.
Even last night, waking up miserable, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I needed that humidifier, I still got Ryan, who was absorbed in a crack-book and still awake, to do the deed. What's with that? What's wrong with me that I can procrastinate like that, even over something that makes me miserable.
There's no rhyme nor reason to the odd things here and there that I simply cannot be bothered with. How hard would it have been to go to the closet, pull out the humidifier (not even hard to get to), fill the thingum with water, and plug it in? But for some reason it just seemed like this horrid, awful, task. I don't mind getting on my hands and knees and scrubbing a Code Red stain on my carpet with an old toothbrush - try and stop me! - but I can't find the motivation to get the humidifier? It's no problem to go in the kitchen and spend two hours making baklava, but I will wait until the last possible minute to sit down for 15 minutes and write out checks for bills.
Yes, I am insane. It's the only reasonable answer. ¶ 12/09/2002 12:48:00 PM
