Wow.

President-Elect Barack Obama.

*whew*

Just wanted to see what that looked like.

To be in this city, in this moment, sitting next to my son...is a blessing beyond words.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:18 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Happy Election Day

You know, this is been kind of hard one for me because, in the past, I have voted for BOTH McCain and Obama (different elections, of course).

Although there's a lot of people who feel passionately one way or another, I think there's probably a lot of us who are passionately conflicted...

What's really pissed me off is the fear-mongering and accusations that have flown by. Both sides are guilty of it, and if I were believe it all then the only conclusion I could have come to is that neither candidate is fit to hold office.

Both promised clean, budgeted campaigns. Both, as far as I can tell, broke those promises. Whether by going utterly negative or by spending money like it's water.

I have a bad taste in my mouth as I head to the polls.

But, to be sure, I'm voting.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:02 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Bring It

After me and X broke up, I had to go get a bank account. I didn't want to, because it would be a bank account without him - without anyone else. My own, alone.

We all get gifts/burdens with our spin on the Earth. My mom? Can get a smokin' hott parking space everywhere she goes. I swear, people seem to race out just to move so she won't have to walk more than 10 feet on a rainy day. On the other hand, that woman has been in so many car accidents and tickets that it's bizarre.

Me? I can get a job. I would say it's because I work so frigging hard - and that's part of it, because I really do. But the truth is that opportunities often seem to mesh for me in a way that sometimes feels crazy lucky. On the flip side? Outside of work, bureaucracies HATE me.

Don't believe me? Go with me to the DMV, the bank, and then just for laughs, we'll head over to ComEd. If it's in MY name - it's f*cked beyond all recognition.

No, really.

It's the stuff of legend.

For years, the people who knew me secretly (OK, not-so-secretly) thought I must be an utter flake. Payments would go awry, paperwork would be screwed up, and accounts would shriek red the moment I opened them.

When the X and I split, so many years ago, this is why I was terrified to open a bank account alone. It took me over a year before I broke down and did it - but to safety my bet, I chose a small neighborhood bank where the only bureaucracy was two women in glass offices and a Customer Service guy named Dave.

They were stellar. For 7 years, my little slice of heaven. Credit Cards would hose up, the IRS would audit me, and the DMV sent me chasing 10-year-old tickets. But Baby Bank and I were going steady, and it was F-I-N-E.

Until they were eaten by a mid-sized regional bank. And then, trouble started. I was able to stay on top of it - but just barely. Fees that I was told wouldn't apply to my kind of account hit my bottom line. Checks I deposited started taking 4 and 5 days to clear. Online banking payments would take up to a week to process.

Then National City came along and ate THAT bank - and I was utterly hosed. Over $700 was assessed against my account in 6 months.

Yes, you read that right.

Welcome to the third tier of bureaucratic hell, the coffee machine is over there. I've got a futon if you're staying.

The bounce protection was magically removed from my account. Direct deposits took time to clear, charges were made after deposits were somehow reversed, and charges that had no explanation at all sent me negative for the first time in years. $34 per this, $19 for that.

On August 9, CD and I headed into the Riverside Branch, sat down in front of a guy in a tie, and said "Close the Damn Account."

He nodded and made it so without argument. Smart man.

Except? Stupid man.

I got home from Boston to discover that he never actually closed the account and some charge for $10 the following week made us negative (because, you see, when you close an account you don't leave them your money.) Then, National Bank assessed us an $8 charge PER DAY for being negative. And then tried to dun us for the whole thing.

I've been trying to fix it for a month, and today I did something I never do in dealing with people - I raised my voice. I raised it LOUD. I told the pseudo-manager at the branch that it was her responsibility to fix it - and fix it NOW.

Yes, I know we live in Bush's America. I get that the lone citizen against the Corporation ain't got a chance.

But you know what?

I'm a frigging grown-up. I pay taxes. I don't freak when a cop pulls behind me in traffic, because I'm pretty much always abiding the law. I've been to college, university, Bible Study, and corporate seminars. I've delivered mid-8 figure projects on time, hired and fired, changed my name and back, and given birth. I have crow's feet, a 401(k), and summer clothes packed in cloves in the basement.

So pseudo-managers at bureaucracies may still mess with me - but they've utterly lost their ability to intimidate me. When they continue to TRY, it does nothing but aggravate my waning patience.

I'm sitting here, feeling bad that I shouted at the pseudo-manager. But on the other hand, I doubt she feels bad about trying to throw me over a fence while my credit rating took a hit.

No, it's never OK to be unkind, we're all God's children and all that.

Maybe it's this stupid cyst in my brain, I don't know. But between you and me? I told this woman exactly how to fix this problem. I told her clearly. And when she resisted taking responsibility, I told her loudly.

I'm gonna feel bad about it later. But for right now, damn, I feel good. Is that bad?

Posted by: Elizabeth at 10:41 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Pardon Our Dust

While I was on hiatus (siesta, whatever), I realized that this site gets steady traffic from a couple of certain searches. I told myself if I found the time, I would do an overhaul at some point to make the archives easier to navigate and the layout clearer to understand.

And? I have begun.

Things may look wonky around here for a little bit - I still do all this myself, frightening enough.

(This is where I warn you to 'be afraid'.... in a spooky voice.)

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:20 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Closer To Fine (For You)

November, 2004, was the bottom. The problem with the bottom is that, by the time you get there? You've been falling so long that you don't remember how to climb.

Or even if you want to, anymore.

I never realized, as I blogged about it, that the thing that would most connect my words to the world would be neither my "corporate" self nor my "mommy" one - it would be that of a woman loving someone through the long, slow pain of recovery.

But even after all these years, it's the one thing that brings emails to my box, and pings to my instant messenger. I was talking today with a friend who is just in the absolute shits of something like it and I kept wishing I had the words to make it better.

Words don't make it better.

It sucks that the bad guy looks exactly like the person you love. It sucks that the craziness can seem so sane that it makes you wonder if you've got it all backwards. It sucks that so many people in the world think that "suck it up" is a cure, not a band-aid. It sucks that magic wands and glittery potions belong to Harry Potter and here in America we don't even have mental health coverage.

Honey, I love you. And I know you love him/her. And it's all really hard right now. If there's anything I can do to help, please let me. And if there's nothing I can do to help, then just know - you're strong, and beautiful, and amazing. And you will survive.

You will. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 09:23 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I'm Going To Beat You with Your Bible (Prop.

When I started at Loyola, I thought I knew what "The Bible said".

After all, I was a baptized & confirmed Episcopalian who'd been to Sunday School all my life, volunteered for every kind of committee, and attended over a dozen retreats. I'd even made one regrettable attempt at singing in the choir (which I've promised to never, ever try to do again.)

That made me an expert, right?

Yeah, not so much.

First day of one of my required Theology classes and the teacher, a Jesuit, started writing things on the board. "Marriage is for the weak." "Lobsters are evil." "Be a good slave."

He picked a student, and asked him: "What do all these statements have in common?"

The kid, being quick, said: "They are all in the Bible?"

The teacher nodded.

We all looked at the board and at each other. You just knew after that, it was going to be an interesting class.

And it was.

According to the teacher, "The Bible says..." is a lot like saying "The encyclopedia says..." To attempt to live by the values of it, you must actually know the books, their authors, their contexts, their base languages.

And you must be willing to make very difficult choices.

Because the Bible? Is not a cohesive document. It is a kaleidoscope whose many interpretations have, in turn, launched many faiths and religious ideologies over the centuries.

A guy named A.J. Jacobs recently wrote a (very funny) book about his attempt to live the Bible as literally as possible, and it highlights quite well why people must be interpretive.

So, with that pretty exhaustive preface, I submit to you that, by and large? California has nothing to do with me. I live in Illinois, have no say about how they run things over there other than to choose not to join them.

But man howdy, you wouldn't know it to see my email inbox.

As a radical, Bible-loving Christian, I have been informed, ordered, told, instructed, exhorted, and shamed into registering my support of ">Proposition 8; which would ban Same-Sex Marriage.

Despite the fact that I am NOT a Californian and have no vote, I feel like it's time to take a position.

Because of that teacher, long ago, I could probably sit and debate - from Genesis through Corinthians - God's idea of marriage as represented in the Bible. But because of that same teacher - I learned an even more important lesson.

I can't speak for God.

I can only speak for myself.

The Bible is contradictory and baffling collection, and I must choose how to understand it and define my faith. That is my responsibility, and gift - Free Will.

So here it is:
I am a radical, Bible-loving Christian woman and I believe that any two people who love each other worth a lifetime should never have the right to get married taken away from them - no matter what race, religion, or gender.

God is love. Anyone who says different is just trying sell me something.

/Thus endeth the soapbox.

(P.S. Dad Gone Mad says it much better than me. Of course, he's more liberal with the F-bomb, too.)

Posted by: Elizabeth at 09:31 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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It Just Doesn't Matter

Are you sick of how polarizing politics have become?

I am.

My neighbors to the left have a McCain/Palin sign on their lawn. Across the street, it's Obama/Biden. No one in these families has ever raced to the middle of the road to scream vitriol at each other. Yet I wouldn't be surprised if these same neighbors, united in real life in so many ways, could be found in cyberspace slamming each other's choices.

This? Is how technology's veil has screwed the process. (Yes, it has improved it, too - but that's not my bitch here).

For example, both Senator McCain and Senator Obama have had their citizenship questioned. I've watched as bloggers have ranted and raved about these accusations. Opposite-sided writers will assert "My preferred candidate is SO an American but YOURS isn't!" as though there wasn't some kind of ironic madness to the essential the "I know you are, but what am I?!" playground chanting.

It makes me want to just bang my head against the desk.

So I was grateful to see in my newsfeed this morning that CNN actually did a piece about "Internet Rumors" and how crazy it's become to try and counter them in a campaign.

It reminded me of a story that my mom told me about when she and Dad were still young marrieds. My father was up for a management position at a new company, and as part of the process an executive's wife interviewed my mom. Back then, it was believed that not only did a candidate have to "fit" - but their family did, too.

By the time I was in a similar position in my own career, no one even asked me if I was married - much less asked me if my partner would be an asset to the company. Can you imagine if they did?

I was asked about my management tenets, my strengths and weaknesses, my 5-year plan, my vision for the corporation and how I fit in it. These were questions that really measured how I would suit the team.

These are the kinds of questions I want answered by candidates for the job of President. It's an executive job, perhaps the highest-profile one on the globe. The two candidates could arguably be described as being on the world's most public job interview.

And also the most intrusive. Questions we no longer ask (by law or culture) in any other vetting process are de rigeur in politics.

I ask you - does it help? Does it matter? Does it clear the waters to know McCain adopted three of his seven kids? Does it add to Obama's qualifications to know he came to Christianity as an adult? While these may be interesting aspects of the candidate's lives - do they bear on their abilities to lead and manage?

Sometimes I feel like the crazy person standing in a storm shouting for moderation. But I am a product of the "Free to Be... You and Me" generation. I was told that the heart of the matter is the heart of the person - not the extraneous crap that just gets in the way. I was told anyone can be anything, as long as they have the skill and desire.

And? I believed it.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:52 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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My Cousin Vinny. Well, eventually.

My husband's friend lives pretty far off so we don't see him so often. He's flying in tonight for a visit, so I spent much of the day cleaning and making the guest room back into a guest room. Because when one lives in an ongoing construction site, an extra room turns into a depository for things like air guns and lavatory basins.

Long story short?

That new Swiffer Sweeper dusting spray is very slippery and my ass went over teakettle. Next thing you know, little birdies are flying over my head.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said. "Pause the story. Did you pass out?"

"I don't think so. I napped a little."

"On the floor?"

"The back of my head hurt all the way to my bangs."

"You banged?"

"Ha ha. I'm on, like, an extra handful of drugs right now."

"Including the red ones?"

"Oh, you bethcha."

"But are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Dishes aren't done, though."

"You and your excuses."

"Tell me about it."

"Neurosurgeon's gonna charge extra if you got a lumpy skull."

"Will not, so, too."

"I'm serious, it's in the fine print."

So I warn him to warn his friend that I'll be loopier than usual. At which point, CD cops to the fact that he hasn't, actually, told his friend that I'm pretty much drugged up most of the time these days. Or the reason why.

"When were you planning on telling him?"

"On the ride home from the airport."

"You can't do that. Not at 70 miles an hour. It's just..."

"What?"

"Bambi. Right in the head. Except literally."

"Oh."

"You gotta buy him a drink first. Tell him stationary, at the very least."

"Yeah, OK. Except that might mean it's like 3 hours before we get back from the airport."

"That's cool."

And after we hung up, I thought; 1) CD's obviously still ramping up on those communication skills, 2) Frigging Swiffer Sweeper people got some 'splaining to do, and 3) My Cousin Vinny was like one of THE funniest movies. Ever.

Best quotes after the jump. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 12:48 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Interlude

You know what you need when life's gone to pot? Music. And I've been finding the kind of joy that you have to hum out loud all over the place lately.

So, without further ado.... I would like to thank:

1. Albert Collins. For his uncredited brilliance in 'Adventures in Babysitting'. He manages to steal the show from Vincent D'Onofrio (as Thor!) and Bradley Whitford (and his actual Camaro) with an itchy, echoing blues riff and the refrain "And the girl's probably dead! Yes, it's so haaaard, babysitting these guys..."

2. Yo-Yo Ma. They say he did every take of the Bach Cello Suite No.1 live when he filmed the "Noël" episode on The West Wing. Holy crap. That's all I can say, dude.

3. Harry Belafonte. Sure, sure, his "The World Turns Around" at the end of his Muppets Show episode will make you get all misty. But for me, the brilliance is in the "Banana Boat" song as he gets constantly interrupted by incompetent Muppets and just keeps going with this caramel voice that forces your ass to dance even if the rest of you isn't in the mood. (His reaction to the delivery of eggplants instead of bananas is classic.)

4. Kristen Chenoweth. When she belted "Hopelessly Devoted to You" in Pushing Daisies? I Totally had to go load the entire "Grease" soundtrack into my iTunes. Damn you, Kristen, for making Olivia sound like a wannabe!

5. Hugh Laurie. Actually, it might not have actually been Hugh Laurie. I mean, the guy's a talented musician, I think, but I don't wanna give credit where credit ain't due. So, uh, Hugh Laurie The Commodores. For the opening licks of "Slippery When Wet", which were so brilliantly air-guitared on an episode of House, M.D.

Honorable Mention: The canceled Carpoolers, which I never saw - but has some of the funniest YouTube musical moments around (I DARE you not to laugh as they On*Star the lyrics to "Come on Eileen"!)

Honorable Mention: Matthew Broderick, for lip-synching his way through Ferris Bueller's "Danke Schoen" so beautifully that when Wayne Newton actually sings it, I wonder what he's doing with Bueller's song.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:38 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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You Have To Go There To Come Back (Part 1)

2.5 years ago, I got lost coming home from the bank.

The bank? It's less than a mile from my house. The experience? Scared the shit out of me.

Headaches that had been a growing annoyance became coupled with a sort of sensory fuzziness. It's hard to explain. But getting lost that day forced me to realize that something was really happening to me. I presented myself to the doctors, with the firm instruction that they fix me.

After several false starts at a diagnosis, I was tested from my eyeballs to my kidneys. Test after test gave me reasons to twirl around shouting "EEK!" - but nothing that ever explained the symptoms.

I began to wonder. If the doctors can find nothing, then maybe it was all (Ha Ha) in my head? No, dammit. Something was wrong, but at the same time I told myself that I should hold tight to my place on the wheel. Not lose the present worrying. Embrace the autumn, as the leaves began to turn.

Even though it's been a challenge to slip away from my own words, my own memories, and the people I care about - you'd be amazed how easy it's also been. We humans are magical creatures. We can make anything normal. We are infinitely adaptable - especially to things that happen to us slowly.

This summer, an infection in the base of my skull gave me and my doctors a reason to take a fresh look at what's been happening.

Suddenly, a new pair of eyes told my primary doctor and I what we already suspected. With that came a moment of Grace, when I was offered a way to halt this slide my life has been on.

It's not an easy option. It's a bold, proactive thing. It would demand that I run to the cliff - and jump.

You know, I went to Greece some years ago. A little island no one's ever heard of. Anyway, I was riding my little moped and there was the little cliff and I was feeling bold.

So I went ahead and stripped off my clothes... and jumped.

It was like I was leaping right into my fear. I don't like heights, I've never been thrilled with my naked body, and even worse - as I fell, it occurred to me that I didn't have a plan for getting back UP.

I flew, though. And it was a hell of a thing. A hell of a thing.

But as I waited for that cruise ship to sail by so I could start climbing out of that deep blue sea - I knew, KNEW, I never wanted to do it again.

Ah. Well.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 09:24 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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O.M.G., Like TOTALLY

I've lived everywhere BUT BOSTON for the last 2/3rds of my life, but....

What American accent do you have? Your Result: Boston   You definitely have a Boston accent, even if you think you don't. Of course, that doesn't mean you are from the Boston area, you may also be from New Hampshire or Maine.
The West
The Midland
North Central
Philadelphia
The Northeast
The Inland North
The South
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

YIKES!!!

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:58 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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I'm the crazy lady you live next to

The neighbors are having a new garage built, which means they need to get their cars out of their driveway before all the big rigs arrive in the morning.

Driveways are a premium around here - of the 20 houses on our block, maybe 5 have one. And if you don't have one, you can't get one - so they actually add around 3 grand or more to the worth of your home.

We? Have a driveway. It's beat up and has weeds growing in it, but it's all ours and we love that stretch of asphalt.

The neighbors came by and asked if their son could park their extra car in our driveway for the duration. Our driveway is not quite wide enough for two, but long enough for five. Of course! Says us. Just put it at the top of the drive whenever.

Well, God unleashed a fury on us this evening. A storm, for you lay-folk. It didn't abate until about 1AM, and I was still up writing when I saw the lights crawl past my window and park NEXT TO CD's Passat.

I pulled on pants and ran outside. Waved my arms, my bra-free bosoms bouncing in the night air. "Kid! KID!" I shouted. "Pull all the way up!"

"What?" He demanded, utterly freaked out at my appearance at whatever time in the middle of the night and peering at me disbelievingly.

I crossed my arms and stopped bouncing. "Kid, you gotta pull up! You've blocked me, here!" I tried to be all subtle in pointing out that my van would now need a ramp, Evil Kneivel (or Wile E. Coyote) and 16 ounces of government grade explosives to escape the driveway.

So he pulled the car up. Next to my van. Practically had to crawl out the window to escape his car.

"Kid!" I shouted as he landed with a grunt in the bayberry bush. "Not there, Kid! Up! UP!"

He held up a hand, and dove back through the window back into his car. Pulled it up so it was now halfway past my van.

"KID!" I shouted as he attempted a hurried escape over the fence. "Not THERE, KID! I'll hit you!"

"You'll WHAT?!" He squealed, peering at me from the property line.

"I'LL HIT YOU!!" I waved my arms around, gesturing at the cars. My bosoms once again doing the Macarena. "No DEPTH perception," I explained at a half-boom. "Crash!"

"Uh," he shook his head. "I'm afraid to run over your bush there."

The one you landed in and flattened, not 5 seconds ago? I wondered. "No WORRIES!" I explained. "Just MOVE IT on UP!"

It began to rain again, and he scampered back to the car and started it up. Pulled forward another 5 feet, just clearing the bumper of my van. "Is this OK?" he asked, jogging away again. "Please?!"

"FINE!" I shouted, ducking back onto the front steps. "GOOD NIGHT!!"

"Whatever," he shrugged, disappearing back into his house and turning off the lights before I've even got my front door open.

Clearly? I'm THAT woman in the neighborhood.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:36 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Good Things Out of Unwanted Things

We wanted more than one. We were honest about it, right from the start. The both of us wanted a few children, bunched close together.

Maybe there's some who say a guy can't be 'baby hungry' but mine was - and is.

But he went ahead and picked the chick with the broken biology and, as the pastor says when he holds up the bag of treats for the Sunday Schoolers; "You get what you get."

We got one (1) copper-headed, funny, imaginative, affectionate, sturdy, and brilliant boy, complete with: dog, Transformers obsession, personality quirks, nudist tenancies, and overwhelming love of ketchup.

(The ketchup was extra, but nothing's too good for our kid!)

One? Is more than you can ever dream of - when you're dreaming. We often wondered, because an only child seemed such an unwanted situation, if we should reach out to the universe to find siblings for him.

But, as it turns out, one is its own treasure.

When I reached my limit some months back, frustrated because my son was with his friends (and their mother) and out of contact beyond the time he'd supposed to check in. But despite my repeated tries, she wasn't answering her mobile. I looked at CD and said, "right. order the damn phone."

I wasn't worried about precedent, or having to buy ones for other kids. My (almost) 8 year-old has a cell phone with a GPS locator because for $10/month technology means that his independence doesn't have to equal my stress.

Because it is just him, Bear has taken on a lot of responsibility. Since he was 6, he's been able to go out and start the car and the car heater for me on cold mornings.

The truth is, while he is very much the kid in the family dynamic, because it is just the three of us - we do tend to just hang out and enjoy each other's company without the big wall that both CD and I remember between us and our parents. We regularly decide activities together, by consensus. When something breaks, there's no dodging who did it - and we all pitch in to fix it. We expect honesty from each other, we also expect kindness.

On the one hand, I so sometimes ache to go through the baby years again. To discover a new person as they grow up. To be part of the cycle, again.

But most days, I realize how much I want this life, just as it is.

Oh, and I guess one more benefit? Is that we never, ever FORGET Bear. Not for a second. 'Cuz, you know... "One?!" "Here!"

Just saying.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:19 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Sara, the alert watch-poodle, assesses the back yard

Since we're too stupid for words, it seemed like a good idea to take Sara with us, this year. You know, on our annual trip to New England, In a car. 999 miles each way.



Then it occured to me, you know, that my family should be warned. 'Cuz Sara? She's special.



Here's what I wrote:



OK, I just have to warn you about a couple of things with Sara. Look, she's a great dog. You will not meet a better dog alive. No kidding. I mean, she may look like some pansy poodle, but deep inside? She's got the lion heart of a golden retriever. That's not to say she doesn't have a few...idiosyncrasies. *ahem*



ROCKS

So, uh, Sara likes rocks. She likes to find them, and chase them, and attack them. She likes to race around the yard with one in her mouth, toss it in the air, pounce on it, and race it around some more. She really, really, really likes to collect them. In the house. One for every room, you see. Because no room is really special until it has a rock in it.

If Sara is headed INTO a house, you can sort of bet she's hiding a rock in her mouth. Especially if she's skulking. Skulking is a BIG giveaway of some rock hoarding.



WATER

Water is only good if it's kept cold in a toilet bowl. She doesn't understand why people pee in her water bowls. She especially doesn't understand why people get all snickety with her for dripping water on a bathroom floor. It's tiled, right?

She has not, however, figured out how to open closed toilet lids. That just about stumps her. Just a piece of advice, there.



MOTHS

Sara is a certified level 3 Ninja supersecret moth killer. She hates moths. Moths are evil. Butterflies? Are just incognito moths. And little itty-bitty birds are moths with bird suits on. ALL these suspects need to be barked at, and good. Plus? Chased down and EATEN. Moths make good eating. Don't even need to cook 'em. Sushi Moth, YUM. If Sara sees a moth, you can bet she'll be on the case. And she'll STAY on the case until you remind her, gently (by yelling SARA YOU STUPID OVERGROWN SHEEP GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!) that she needs to stay in the yard and live and let die, moth-wise.



FURNITURE

Sara believes she is a 4-legged person. As such, she should be allowed to sit with other people in people-sitting places. Since she doesn't shed and is somewhat dainty, it's possible her owners let this go on for a little too long and she is now, sort of, kind of, stuck in the habit. She has, however, learned the word 'OFF' and will obey. I mean, there will be a dirty look involved but she's a good girl at the end of the day.


The one place she won't get off of without a mulish staring war is wherever her boy is sleeping. She understands her mortal duty to guard her boy, and in fact if asked 'Where's your boy?' she will race to side wherever he is - even if that's in someone else's house. Sara Sleeps With Boy. This is an understood law of nature, like rain on picnics. One does not mess with it.



STALKING

Once boy is asleep, or at camp, Sara reverts to her deeply held beliefs that a) Any Human in a Pinch Will Do and b) Naps Are Good.



Ipso facto there you go-go, her favorite thing to do in a boy-free environment is to nap leaning on some other human. If a human is not immediately available to be ON then being NEAR is her second-favorite place.



She especially has a knack for leaving her tail under wheelie office chairs. An offended 'WOOF" will accompany any unwarned movement of these chairs. If humans do not comply with THE NAP LAW and persist in moving about, then Sara will - of course- move about with human. Human gets a glass of water? Sara follows. Human does some dishes? Sara follows. Whenever human pauses in one place for more than 10 seconds (the '10 second rule') Sara will slide her looooong legs down to the floor and lie down with a grunt. She will be asleep before her chin actually gets lateral. She will be awake by the time the human (see: STALKEE) takes a step. This is all very cute and sweet the first couple of days. After a while, though, one begins to wonder if an order of protection is necessary. It is not. Simply say "Sara? MOVE!" and with a groan she will seek an alternative human, or lacking that, a spot near a floor fan where she can lay and feel her ears flap in the breeze.



Yes, we bring a floor fan.



And, finally, GOING OUT

Sara is, for all the groaning and once-in-a-while barking, mostly a quiet and gentle dog. One with impossibly long eyelashes and Groucho Marx eyebrows.



DEFCON BERT: When Sara wants 'OUT' (and Sara is a very fastidious dog who does not have accidents, thank you) she will find a human and stare at them. When the human looks back, she will lift an eyebrow. This should be translated as "Excuse me, I need to go out" and can be confirmed by asking her "Go Outside?" to which she will respond by smiling. One needs only experience this once to understand.



DEFCON ERNIE: Should the human wait too long, BOTH eyebrows will start to go up and down. This should be translates as "Excuse me, I am about to explode" and she may even gesture at a door with her chin to make the point.



DEFCON ANIMAL: If the human STILL doesn't notice her needs, she will then stick her head under the human's nearest hand and rub her eyebrows under it. This should be translated as "DON'T YOU READ EYEBROW, YOU DENSE HUMAN?!" One suggests a rapid jog to the door at this point.



OK, that's about all of her weirdness. I think. She doesn't chew furniture, loves to fetch, understands if you won't let her sit in the passenger seat for errands, and allows little children to pull her ears. Comes when called, can carry her own leash, and loves all other creatures. Except moths. Never moths.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:53 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 1095 words, total size 7 kb.

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, LATER!

CD is driving home, for the last time, from C0untryw1de.

For the three of you that may remember, he took that job in 2004 as a contractor. He was hired, not too long after, as the job grew. And grew.

Eventually, he was the IT department supporting like 12 branches and 600 people. Pretty much on his own. He eventually squawked, and they hired him someone to help.

OK, maybe I AM a little biased about my guy. But C0untryw1de agreed - some time back the very remote (like Mount Olympus kind of remote) executives took notice of the dozens of emails from people across the power spectrum about how wonderful CD was and the very dashing way his superhero cape rippled in the wind and informed him that he would be promoted in title and pay to reflect the job he was actually doing.

We all know what happened next.

Yeah. Nothing.

In the meantime, the mortgage pendulum swung and CD watched over 400 people get laid off. Watched them walk by his office on the ground floor, wide-eyed in disbelief and holding a box with their belongings.

While his status in the department shielded him from a layoff, it didn't shield him from what has been going on at that company. One bloody Monday morning, executives stood at the elevators and turned 90 people away as they came into work. CD came home utterly shattered in spirit.

So you can imagine how good it felt for him to finally be offered a job somewhere else that he wanted. After turning down other offers and wondering if his own standards would eventually bite him in the ass.

Anyway, he was graciously sent off by those who were left, today. He's driving home right now, his own cardboard box in the back of the car.

Oh, and the Olympians? Were outraged that he quit. In fact, despite 2 weeks notice, despite confirming it with phone calls, he ended up exiting himself. He called me as he was opening tickets so that his access would be removed and soberly handing over his equipment to his second-in-charge.

By the time he'd left, he was loaded down with hugs and calls and email addresses. But not one of his management so much as said goodbye.

No, I'm not kidding.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:33 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Cracking Myself Up With Myself

So I am going through my archives, cleaning up the category settings and making backups, etc. etc.

When I was leaving my job, I carefully went and hid any post that had anything to do with my job. Now I am un-hiding those, little by little.

Some of them are so, so sad and angry. But others? Just crack me the hell up. (How pompous does THAT sound? Ew.)

How do you know how to deal with this? She asked me.

I could have said; it's standard Project Manager process. Which it is, but of course I didn't learn it that way.

I learned because I once took a flamethrower to a vendor over a 50 million dollar contract. And once I had pretty much burned down the house, the yard, the block, the car, the vendor, and oh - myself.... along came a guy, probably dressed in black.

He leaned over my steaming self and said, calmly; You know Maverick, we got lawyers for this.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:36 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Hate 'Em

I frigging hate National City Bank.

If it was just that their management was a bunch of rude, unhelpful, overcharging, bureaucratic asses - I think I would actually suck it up. You know, I was with that bank when it was MidTown, then MidAmerica. We got history. I know the way to all the branches.

But they have just consistently screwed with me and my money since they took over this spring. So I opened accounts over at Bank of America and planned to go in this morning and shut down National City once and for all.

As a final 'Fuck You' to me, this morning they hit me with a slew of fees including, and this is my favorite, a couple of BOUNCE ones (at $34/each) AHEAD of any charges actually hitting the account.

Now I gotta go in, and smack that shit off my record and get my virtual money back. Oh, yeah. WAY to make me feel warm and fuzzy about leaving you.

And if we lived together? I would SO throw your furniture and Zeppelin CD's onto the lawn.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:41 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 187 words, total size 1 kb.

Big Boy Room

These past weeks, we've been gutting Bear's room and turning it into a 'big boy' room. Emptied out all the extra clutter, patched the walls and ceiling, and CD took an old 4-poster bedframe we've had for years and DIY'd it into a really cool frame for his new queen size bed.



We had to upgrade him from the twins because Sara the dog MUST sleep with him and she totally hogs the bed, dude. Because his room will be painted in cream and white (with the red/white/blue curtains remaining) - we told Bear he could choose a color for his bed if he thought the wood was boring.



And he did. "Phantom Blue" and it totally rocks. We set it up last night, and I'll put a picture up in the photostream as soon as I think of it to show the "after" (although the room isn't done yet).

Can I just say, it's a little bittersweet to be cleaning out the remnants of the "little boy" years? I found myself hiding my tears more than once.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 09:50 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 197 words, total size 2 kb.

It's so hard...

It's hard having a 7 year old smarter than me....

Driving home from camp.

Me: Hey there's a police officer on one of those things!

Him: One of those things?

Me: You know, 2 wheels and a stick?

Him: You mean a Segway, Mommy?

Me: Yeah. Thanks, kid. (Reach back my hand for a high-5, get a knuckle bump instead.)

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:34 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Everything that is done in the world is done by hope*

When you're making 6 figures, you got options. You can live in the city, near the city, or in some palace left of nowhere, just down the lane a mile or two.

But when you're contemplating something a lot less finer for a lot less coinage, then it's time to draw a line down a piece of paper and really weigh what you get for what you give on the geological side of things.

This is not a post about real estate.

Several years ago, CD and I decided to reevaluate how and where we were living. We knew if we were going to cut back to his salary, that it would be smart to move somewhere more rural. And, hey, our dream is a log cabin on a lake somewhere so it wasn't like we were twisting our own arms.

I had a lot of fun, we did really, researching and traveling to different places and getting the flavor of them. All of us enjoyed comparing the realities to the ideas we'd get in our heads, the discoveries, the sort of Hemingway-esque romance of it all.

Last summer, we got the house ready to show and put up on one of those 'sell it yourself' sites. The world hadn't crashed yet, but you could smell it in the air like rain. So even though there was a list of things still to be done - we were willing to lose some of that sweat equity to get it sold.

And then? We didn't sell it. And then? We didn't go anywhere.

So every once in a while, I get these emails; "Hey - you talked about moving for, like, eons. What's up with you still being where you is?"

Instead of continuing to point lovely people at the archives, which don't actually explain why we didn't move, I thought I would actually explain why we didn't move.

Ready? more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:56 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 916 words, total size 5 kb.