To dream...

For the third day in a row, I've opened my blog with the intention of posting, but find that I have nothing to say that is of note. I'm past tired, so there are a million philosophical thoughts rolling around in my head, but most I fear, would lead me down a very personal path. I would be tempted to discuss the inner most workings of my mind; things that we know aren't safe for the page. I'd have to fight the urge to discuss the meaning of happiness and how it plays such random roles in my life. Or why the sky is never quite the color one expects on the horizon.

Instead, I'll force myself to stick to the boring topics. Another work week has passed. Another weekend to come, filled with dinners out and movies watched. Nothing will be accomplished that really matters, no changing the world for me. Just 2 days spent in simple pursuits and then back to the office.

Perhaps tonight I'll fall asleep to the ideas of what I would do if I didn't have to go back to my desk on Monday. If suddenly the only thing on my agenda was fulfilling my desires. What would I do if I could really follow my dreams. Do I even remember what they are? I'll have to dig deep, but I bet they are still there, covered with mothballs.

Drink in a pub in Dublin
Perfect my French
Study Cultural Anthropology
Take Dancing lessons -Ballroom, Latin, Swing...all of it.
Watch every film on all of "AFI's Top 100" lists
Learn to Roman Ride - crazy, but I've wanted to do it since I was 5

I think those dreams will keep me busy for a while. What are yours?

Hiding from Ralphie

Like most every one I know, my sister is addicted to 'A Christmas Story.' Every year, she plays it repeatedly from just after Thanksgiving until the new year. This year, the insanity started today. Not being such a fan myself, I have barricaded myself in my bedroom...far from "the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window." I'm not certain how I will handle bathroom breaks...wait I have earplugs. That should protect me. I have my TV turned up way too loudly, to prevent accidental exposure to Ralphie and his rampant desires for a Red Ryder BB gun. Must keep them from seeping through the walls.

I'm certain my disdain makes my sister think I'm un-American, as anybody living in our country for the last 24 years, clearly must be a die hard fan. Personally, I think one can only laugh at things being "fra-gee-lay" so many times. And no, it's not Italian. I guess I'll just have to embrace my ex-pat status and watch 'White Christmas' in peace.

Domestic Goddess 101

As I sit looking out over a sea of neatly stacked, drying dishes I feel a great sense of accomplishment. The dishwasher has just run it's course, scrubbing all the small things, and I've carefully washed all of the over-sized and non-stick bakeware that just isn't allowed in the dishwasher. I take great pride in my now sparkling kitchen; not only in the order before me, but also in the bread baked from scratch that happens to be the cause of most of the mess.

Like so many Domestic Goddesses before me, I have mastered the craft of perfectly kneaded bread. I'd love to be able to thank my grandmother for this gift, as she was renowned for her skill, but she passed away before I was old enough to learn. My older sisters and cousins tell great stories of summers spent on my grand parent's ranch. Working hours in the kitchen with grandma, cooking for all the men. Of course to them, it was on par with slave labor, as running through the fields outside seemed a much better use of their time. By the time I was born, the ranch had been sold, and there were no men left to cook for. Grandma sat in her chair, crocheting afghans, and eating cocktail peanuts.

I got my lessons from grandma the round about way. She had thought my mother, shortly after my parents were married, and mama taught me. I used to love standing on a chair in the kitchen, watching as mama's skilled hands worked dough for rolls and pastries. I loved the way the dough felt. The yeast working made it almost feel alive. You knew it was done when you stuck your finger in and it sprang back. There was no exact science to it, it just felt right.

I fell in love with making dough. So much stress can be worked out in one good kneading session. I took the lessons mom gave and added my own feel to it. After a while, mom gave up making dough for pizza altogether. I was ecstatic when she said it was because mine turned out better. Really I think it was because she was tired of fighting me for the kitchen when bread was involved. I took over baking cinnamon rolls, as well. Cinnamon rolls are sacred in my family. We all use grandma's recipe which has a brown sugar glaze, rather than cream cheese icing. I've never been more proud than the day my oldest sister said my cinnamon rolls were just like grandma's. So even though I didn't get to spend my days in her kitchen, I like to think that she now spends a few in mine. Helping make my treats turn out just like hers.

Deck the Halls

It's the week before Thanksgiving and in typical American fashion, the Christmas decorations went up in our office. The lobby is now nearly as festive as the North Pole. Pine garlands with shinny gold bows run the length of every banister. Six foot tall Nutcrackers keep sentry over the elevators. Giant wreaths sit waiting to be hung.

But the thing that fascinated me the most was the glitter all over the carpet. Being flung free from it's bonds on plastic snowflakes and glass ornaments; it was everywhere. On one of many trips across the lobby yesterday, all I could think about was how sad it would be when they vacuumed over night and all the glory would be gone. As the floor sparkled beneath my feet, it reminded me of how snow was always shown in our favorite childhood films. Shinning just a little too brightly to be real. Glinting in the sunlight, just like the carpet twinkled under the fluorescent lights.

Today, the glitter was gone. The floor was swept clean and the office was the sadder for it. My holiday wish for you is that you all find your own "glitter on the carpet." That one brief moment this season when you are once again reminded of the magic of Christmas.

A Dating Faux Pas

So yesterday, I spent the entire day essentialy on a really long date. We hit a movie, shopped a little and wandered around in the city. We were having an amazing day until....

On the way to dinner, we passed a construction crane on the side of the road. This is roughly the conversation that followed:

Me>I have this theory about how all the cranes in Bellevue mate at night to make baby cranes.

Him>Huh..

Me> Haven't you noticed all the cranes in downtown Bellevue? They're every 12 feet.

Him> I have really no response to that...

He's as quiet as can be. You can actually hear the crickets. As a sick feeling is settling in my stomach, I'm thinking, "man my joke wasn't that bad."

Him> My roommate is one you know.

I'm thinking "What, is his name Crane?"

Me>Wait, you roommate is one what?

Him> Korean.

Me>OH....yeah. I said "cranes." Industrial sized, used for buildings.

Him> I thought you said "Koreans". Here I was thinking I was going to have to sit you down and have a serious talk about diversity.

Me> Yah, wondered why you were so quiet. Didn't you see the crane we passed?

Him> No. There were 2 guys walking on the side of the street. I thought maybe one of them was Korean, er something...

It just goes to show how quickly a good date can go terribly wrong. Having only recently started seeing each other, we hadn't broached any racial topics thus far. We were having a fun conversation which turned quickly into what he thought was off-color, to say the least. With the CD playing and the road noise, the mix-up was easy to understand. The chat that followed was filled with much laughter as we realized the extent of the error, but the night could have ended right there, on a very ugly note.

So for any of you on first dates, remember not to talk about cranes or Koreans, just to be on the safe side.

Back from the Grave

As fate would have it, it was not Hypnus who was toying with me. It was the first stages of the flu. I tried equating it with the Black Plague, and though I felt like death, I'm certain it really wasn't that bad. I did get in some serious quality time with my couch and caught a few cheesy Lifetime movies. I'm sure both of these lead to my speedy recovery. That and a healthy dose of chicken noodle soup, delivered by a friend :)

Not much else to report tonight. Watch 'Grey's Anatomy', get more sleep and back to work tomorrow to pick up the mess of 2 day's absence.

Life is once again "a quick succession of busy nothings."

Sleep, or Lack There Of...

It's 4:45 in the morning and I should not be awake, but for some unknown reason, I cannot sleep. Could be the fact that I'm coughing like crazy, but that's a sad excuse, as I usually sleep through all illnesses. It's generally my answer for everything. If I can't fix it on my own, I go to sleep. All things are better after a few hours, or days, worth of sleep.

Those of you who know me well, know that something has to be completely off kilter in my universe for me to be wide awake 5 minutes before the alarm goes off, let alone almost 3 hours. Personally, I can't figure out what it is, but I hope it's something massive. The world had better be coming to an end or there will be hell to pay for keeping me awake. And honestly even if the world is in it's final hours, I'd rather sleep through that too.

For my friends out there, if you'd like to offer insight as to why Hypnus is toying with me, I'd really love to know....

Sloth - My favorite deadly sin

I stayed up until 5 am this morning. I can't remember how long it's been since I've been up that late. Needless to say, I didn't get out of bed until almost 1 o'clock. So today....

I did nothing!

I spent most of the day sitting on my bed, trying to convince myself to clean my room. I have a small bedroom, so it only takes about 3 things out of place to make it look like a disaster area. Today it looked like my closet had thrown up on the rest of the room. Not a single surface was visible under all of my scattered garments. This did concern me, but not enough to rouse me from the over-sized pillow I was leaning against and actually straighten up. I do have to commend myself for making it to the studio sofa in order to eat my dinner, but then was back to my bed, this time with a book.

The story is a rather sweet but cheesy tale of love written by a local author. I enjoy her books in that most of them are set here. The characters frequent places I've actually been. It's my favorite way to let off the stress of the work week. So 2 hours and 6 chapters later, I finally decided that I could at least fold the clean towels that were glaring at me from the basket on the floor. Yes they glare, I dare you to prove otherwise.

So at 10 pm, I was finally productive. Folding towels led to folding sweaters, which led to rearranging all the shelves in my closet. This is why I should never start folding. One thing leads to another and all of the sudden I've taken everything from the left side of my room and moved it to the right side. After this, of course, everything that was on the right, now has to go to the left. There goes my beautiful day of slothfulness...folding one towel and I'm doomed to an evening of organizing. So to protect yourself from this awful fate, to protect your slothfulness, I beg you, just throw your towels on the floor and leave them there.

Speaking of towels...

I think it's time for a bath.

There's Never Enough Beer

Last night after work, my whole department, as well as the neighboring one, went out for birthday beers. Having 3 birthdays in our group this week is always cause for celebration, and boy can this group knock back a few. Personally, I don't drink beer, but most everyone else does, so copious quantities of pitchers were passed. It's such fun to watch your co-workers, who are completely respectable during the week, fall prey to the slosh of too much beer. There can never be too much beer, you say? After last night, I'm not so sure ;-)

The best part of everyone else's innebriated state is how comical they think they, well and you, are. Sad jokes beget peels of laughter, often including snorts and red-faces. The simplest phrase heard wrong becomes a tid-bit that just won't die. One such conversation from last night:

>You can't go out for sushi until you're comfortable enough to throw up in his lap.

>What are you doing in his lap? Throwing up sushi or choking on it?

>Choking on sushi? Is that what they call it these days?

>But are you choking or throwing up?

>Does that mean what I think it does? I hope you're not throwing up.

The conversation got slightly more graphic at this point, mostly buried under howling laughter. Needless to say, we were all a little worse for the wear, so funny or not, we giggled until our eyes watered, and breathes had to be gasped. Note to self, next time stick to the safe topics like the melting of the ice caps.

Let's hope next week's beers are just as fun! Cross your fingers for us all...

Days 2 & 3

Once again starting with yesterday....

My annual employee evaluation was yesterday, (see how my years all roll at once?). I got kudos for designing some of our floor displays, as well as always doing everything I'm told, and doing it well. I seemed to fall short in that I don't do more than I'm told often enough to get noticed. Partially, this is my own fault. I don't toot my own horn enough to draw attention to all the things I do that just get brushed over. I've never been good at singing my own praises. It took me years to be able to say "I'm good at what I do." I was brought up to be humble and the two ideals rarely meet. But after 7 years with this company, I may have finally learned that I need to draw attention to myself whenever I can, if I ever want to get to the next level.

However, the next level isn't all it's cracked up to be. Basically you sell your soul and fight to survive to make it to the level after that. Doesn't Corporate America sound fun from where I sit? I do love my job, and am very thankful for how well our company protects it's employees, but its starting to feel like those commercials. You know the ones..."Do more than just survive the work week." I just wonder when I get to be a gladiator with nothing but my keyboard for a weapon.

Today was crammed full of meetings and way too many projects to complete in 8 hours. Just like every other day :) I got to play with a few toys, give my reviews of GPS brands and type frantically.

Thank goodness tomorrow is Friday. I get to wear jeans, comfy shoes and spend all day looking forward to sleeping in on Saturday. There are few things I enjoy more than sleeping in. There's just something about the perfect, all engrossing slumber that comes from knowing there is no alarm clock on the other side. Over the years, I have become a champion at sleeping through alarms. Now I am so afraid I'm going to miss that damned little buzzer that I just don't sleep at all. I won't let myself really sleep, knowing my attendance record is hanging over my head like the quintessential black cloud. Thus the beauty of Saturday morning...no alarm means I sleep like a baby. After 5 work days of essentially no sleep, I've been know to take 14 hours at a time on Friday night. Too bad you can't really ever fix a sleep deficit, but Lord knows I give it a 100% effort.

Only one more night and then the elusive sleep will once again be mine...

Day 1, Year 27

Being inspired to blog by the Rambling Erik, I beg to put before you "attempt number one".

Yesterday was my 27th birthday. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this. Birthday #7 was good...party games, smelly markers, hand-made hair ties. All the childhood greats. Birthday #20 was also not too bad, having spent the prior summer in Germany, I think I was still floating on all that beer (and waiting to drink legally here).

But by #27 they are starting to lose their charm. No more party hats, no more pin the tail on the donkey. Granted I did have a most enjoyable day, filled with good friends and of course "Ghostbusters" in all it's 1984 glory. But I'm not sure it compares to the joy of putting on your best "party" dress. Or the horror, for that matter, of un-inviting a friend...I was 5. Not one of my better moments. Rhiannon: I'm still truly sorry.

How is it that we let ourselves lose the unabashed celebration that used to come with each year? We let ourselves get so bogged down with the hum-drum of life that we forget it's okay to just let go and have a little too much fun. We need to grab hold of silly with both hands, and not let it fall prey to the sands of time.

I apologize if this is a little maudlin for your tastes, but this is just today's view from the tub.