Saturday, August 23, 2014

Of Comics, Drafts and Bricks

TODAY IS THE DAY! The 12th Doctor makes his appearance this evening, as it's the day "Doctor Who" returns to the telly. As they say across the pond, "oh, the feels!" The DVR is set and ready for action.

In the waaaaaay-too-much information department, I would like to formally announce that I find myself this fine morning kicking off another round of menstruation. Being that I am 52 years old and have yet to miss a month, I find this to be some form of travesty. My eggs remain indestructible, my uterus in its glory, my cycle commencing on the exact day as anticipated. Somehow, I would think FORTY years of this nonsense would be enough, but I must be mistaken. Perhaps the baby Jesus is waiting for me to shoot out a baby before snuffing the menstrual fires. 

Tonight is my fantasy football league's live draft. I am not prepared. I did not watch one lick of the pre-season. I haven't read even a sentence of a football article and I'm not even sure my kicker's jersey is clean and pressed. Hell, I don't even know what the heck dish-to-pass I'm gonna bring. I'm trying to decide if it's genius or madness to go to a draft completely uninformed. Whichever, I know it will be entertaining. Maybe I'll take a kicker in the first round and REALLY throw people off. Pray for my uterus and my picks.

As for my trip to Chicago Comic-Con yesterday, I must say it was much more entertaining than studying for the draft. I walked around the convention with a stupid grin on my face the entire time I was there, as I was in my glory, surrounded by thousands of nerdy "friends." At first, I was too afraid to take photos, as some of the costumed attendees (or, better called "those engaged in cos play) looked too intensely intense to approach. I mean these people were hard core. Once I figured out they wanted photos taken, I started pointing and clicking. There are no words to fully and accurately describe Comic Con--it must be experienced. Upon my return home, someone asked me if I minded going without anyone. I didn't understand the question as I was with thousands of friends, many of who understood my stupid Doctor Who references. Where else can you walk by someone wearing a fez (or even find someone wearing a fez) and say, "I wear a fez now. Fezzes are cool." Upon hearing this, they give you props for both the recognition AND using the quote. It was nerd nirvana. 

Here's a blurry photo of me with the tenth Doctor. 
My ultimate goal is to get to Comic-Con in San Diego as THAT is the mecca. You mark my words--I'll get there.  

Switching gears: the college of which I attended is tearing down the dorm I lived in for three of the four years I was at the school. I served as an RA in that dorm. I went to parties in that dorm. I played my drum set in that dorm. I threw parachuted army men out the top window in that dorm. I met the wife when I lived in that dorm. (Heck, I met my husband when I lived in that dorm.) I can't really write a whole lot of what went on in that dorm (that's classified information)....suffice it to say, it is beloved to me and the people who resided there over the years. (Perhaps some college dorm stories in a future blog. Perhaps. Perhaps not.)

Side note: The dorm is in such disrepair that I cannot find even one shred of an argument about why the school would revamp the place. No one has lived in it for years and years, it does not even come close to meeting today's codes and it's not the kind of housing students seek today. It needs to be blown off the map. I think we were too hard on it. I have no angst over the demolition of this building. No one can ever take away the memories of all the fun and friendship found there. Who needs the actual building? Just give me a brick and call it a day.

Once I learned they were demolishing the building, I decided I needed to own a few of the bricks--have a piece of history. The wife agreed to go with me on a covert brick-finding mission, which is intriguing, as one my construe the removal of bricks from private property as somehow less than legal. 

If I had been approached by legal authorities during this endeavor, I would have yelled, "My parents paid for part of this building and I'm getting some of their money back!"

I had many a fun memory while standing in front of that decaying building. I snapped a few photos to share with those out of town and then circled the building to take it all in. I spoke aloud as we meanders the perimeter, recalling who lived where, who worked the front desk, how many trip had been taken down that path to the cafeteria. No angst--just smiles and happiness. 

I must admit it is shocking to see how quickly something can fall into complete disrepair--even the pavement around the building was crumbling. 

We had to be careful when seeking a souvenir brick, as I didn't want either of us to have a brick plummet on top of our heads. (That would be an amazing story, but I think I'll pass.) The demolition has yet to begin, so bricks were not in plenty. Thankfully, a few full bricks were lying on the ground near the building. They called to me and thus I felt obliged to take them home. 

There is an excellent fund raiser waiting to be had via the selling of these bricks. Homecoming is just a few short weeks away. I know there are at least two dozen alums who would love to own an official dorm brick. The postage would suck but the memories would be worth it. I wrote to the school and asked if I could have some bricks and pointed out that I knew of many people who wanted one, too. I suppose if the school doesn't answer or declines, I will have to go on covert mission and secure bricks to mail to alums. I'd gladly do that. I'm sure they'd like tangible evidence that they got their money's worth--having a brick is one way to have a bit of that.

Just call me "The Ovulating Black Wolf Brick Ninja." 

Photos are SURE to follow.......

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Move and Zap, one two three

This morning while walking the dogs, I thought of a great topic of which to blog. Too bad I can't remember what it was about. Alas, it will come to me once I finish posting this one.

I have a new job at work...which means I once again had to move offices. I hold the agency record for most office moves at an unbelievable 18.

Who has time to blog when zapped with a new job and another pending office move?

Now, moving can have benefits. After all, the more you move, the less junk you want to haul along. Although I still have plenty of crap filling the corners of any office I inhabit, I've "lost" some volume along the way. It also affords me the opportunity to find lost objects, clean dust-covered trinkets and re-arrange my files and folders. I've found money, lost phone cords, paperwork I swore I had turned in, even lost clothing. (From changing clothes after walking during lunch--not from anything fun, you naughty tidbits.) Thankfully, I do not usually find spoiled food, confidential files or unpaid personal bills. I'm pretty flexible when it comes to moving and I can't say I've ever really minded the chance for new scenery. I am probably one of the only employees who is fine with such nonsense.

I did not enjoy this most recent move as I had only been in office move #17 for two months; in fact, I'm not sure I ever did finish unpacking. When I took the new job, I asked to stay in the current office; after all, I had just moved there, it had kick ass furniture, it was the biggest office I had every been assigned and I had installed my plant light. My boss gave me a scowl and an emphatic "NO." Even though the new office is only three doors down from office move #17, I was told I had to move. I didn't understand but my boss seemed to be in a pissy mood about the whole thing so I scowled back but didn't argue.

I'm sure she knows what my thoughts were on the decision that I had to move. I don't exactly have a poker face.

Imagine my intense displeasure when I was later told by HR I could choose to stay in office #17. This after moving half of my belongings from #17 to #18.  It was not a pretty moment in the Addiverse.

With the start of the new job, I've had no time to organize my new office or even move all my stuff out of the old office. I had to hit the floor running, so I am basically living half-assed between two places, each appearing to have been hit by an F5 tornado. I figure I'll have time to finish the move in about a month; until then, my old office will remain my half-office. No one dare say anything about my failure to move fully from office #17.

The new office has a window, so that's a bonus. I'm the only person on the lower level who has a window, so I am special in that capacity. It doesn't open but I can see the weather, making me a rock star--I know if a tornado is on the way, if it's snowing, if hail is damaging cars. It's a funny window, as it's on the ground level. All I see are feet and legs walk by. Distracting but fun.

The biggest issue I've had in the past week has been the onslaught of house flies in the office areas. No, they are not from lost food products in office #17. No one knows exactly where they are coming from but they are there in full force. They are so bad that I actually went out and purchased a bug zapper.

I got the racket kind--it looks like a badminton racket, only it has batteries in it so you can electrify flies. That means you can swat the flies on the fly or you can wait to zap them while they are unsuspectingly perched on the office window. I got it at the evil conglomerate of Wally World. Only $6.88. How can you beat spending less that $7 to have fun and enjoyment while making a difference in the world?

Oh.My.GOD! I never knew how much fun it could be to zap flies!!! Now, I'm usually a pacifist when it comes to killing things, but those flies have been dive-bombing my head and I'd had enough. I had no idea that a popping, sparking fly could make me so happy. It is quite satisfying, especially after spending three days dodging and weaving from flies zipping at your head.

Did you know that flies SPARK when you electrocute them? Oh, so divine. I am ashamed of myself for enjoying it so much. I do so love it.

Everyone in the area knows I'm zapping flies by several tell-tale signs:
(1) the popping. The flies pop LOUDLY when they are electrocuted--it's a sound unto its own. Sometimes, the flies POP loudly two times....if they don't die with the first electrocution, I have to fry them a second time.
(2) the laughing. I laugh as I fry these buggers.
(3) the swearing. Sometimes they get away, which leads to disdain.
(4) the moving of furniture, especially the sound of dragging chairs on tile flooring. After all, I have to stand on something to fry those who have perched on the ceiling lights.
(5) the smell. I'd be lying if I said a pack of electrocuted flies don't smell like somethings burning.
(6) the sound of victory. I'm not quiet in my success--I cheer, cajole, yell, I laugh. I laugh a lot. Take that, you maggot-making infestation.

Having a bug zapper has made my transition to office move #18 a little more palatable. It's distracting, if nothing else. It's fun and just plain wrong. I like just plain wrong.

Just know that if my boss tells me within the next year that I have to move offices again, I'll be zapping her and I'll zap her right in the ass.....

....and, I will laugh loudly when her butt sparks and pops.

Duty to warn, flies and boss. Duty to warn.


Tuesday, August 05, 2014

Warrior of Mud

Last weekend, I crossed off a "bucket list" item by running--er, I mean walking, crawling, jogging, praying, surviving--a local Warrior Dash. It was loads of fun, even thought I didn't dash very much. Dashing is for athletes. Surviving is for folks like me.

For those of you who are not in the know, the Warrior Dash is for morons like me who think it would be fun to run through an adult-sized obstacle course which features lots of mud.

Yes, that is real mud on my bib and finisher's medal. I didn't put that mud there. It found its way onto (and into) my being. No, I am not going to clean it off. I earned that mud. Yes, I'm going to proudly display this in my office for the rest of my life. Yes, I might wear my medal all this week at work to show my warrior-ness.

Did I mention that's real mud?

Before I talk about the mud, here are some tidbits to consider before taking part in a Warrior Dash:
**When deciding to take part in such an event, it is advisable to train prior to the event.
**When deciding to take part in such an event even though there has not been any training, it is advisable to have at least some form of upper body strength.
**When decided to take part in such an event without training or upper body strength, a good sense of humor and a love for mud will go far.

It was LOTS of fun. I suppose it's because I like mud. I love mud. It's a free mud bath. It reminds me of ceramics class back in the 1980's. It's childhood, come back to life. What's not to like about mud?

Well, okay--there are a few things not to like about mud: 

(1) It doesn't taste very good. You can't avoid getting mud in your mouth at one time or another during a Warrior Dash. I got some in my mouth and it ended up in my gum. My gum crunched for the remainder of my tenure on the course.
(2) It gets in every orifice and crevice. There is no avoiding it. I have resigned myself to finding mud in my ears for the next month. Yesterday at work, a co-worker pointed out some mud on the side of my glasses.
(3) It's cold. We dashed earlier than not, which means the mud had no time to warm; hence, we oozed our way through cold mud. Takes your breath away.
(4) It's dark. You can't see what is underneath the surface. A lot of the mud obstacles were knee deep (or more) with lots of dark, murky water on top. A surprise log scared the bejesus out of me as I slogged my way through one particular mud lake. There were thoughts of snakes. At one point, I wondered how I was going to find my shoe if I had to pull my stuck foot out of the shoe to escape the grasp of the mud. Because it's dark, you can't see how deep it is. Some mud obstacles were shallow (think calf deep) and some obstacles were waist or more deep. That's a lot of darkness.
(5) It has a grip like a vice. See #4. I'm not kidding. I got stuck calf-deep in a deeper than not in a murky pool of mud. Somehow, I got my foot free but it was not without effort. I don't remember having this issue with mud as a kid. Maybe that's because mud puddles of childhood tend not to be several feet deep.
(6) It's heavy. Once the mud got in, on and stuck to my shoes, they were like bricks. No matter how hard I tried to get the mud off the bottom of my shoes, the mud hung on. That left me to walking/jogging/climbing/ crawling with weights on my feet. Having wet shoes is hard enough. Having 10 pounds of mud on each shoe is much harder.
(7) It's impossible to wash off in a pond. The "Warrior Wash" at the end of the race was not, as I had been informed, a fire hose. Instead, this course featured a pond in which you could wade. Let's face it--ponds are just big mud puddles. It was rather pointless. I used my time to pry my shoes and socks off instead of wading in a mud pond.

I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you I was terrified a few times as I traversed the grasslands and cornfields of the Cheddarlands. At one point, I was on top of an obstacle saying aloud, "Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down." I had to say it out loud because just thinking it wasn't enough. I had to convince myself I could do this as long as I didn't look down.

Finishers get medals. Here I am taking a bite of my medal. Not only is the medal cool, it serves as a bottle opener. I kid you not. Warriors must need to be able to open a beer at any given moment.

For the record, I threw my socks out and donated my shoes. I didn't feel like carrying five pound socks home, only to have the wife freak out upon seeing them. Those socks would never have found their way into the house. As for the shoes, the pond didn't get them very clean and they still weighed ten pounds each, so I donated them. I loved those shoes but they had to go. I know they will find a good home, as the race organizers clean them up and donate them to those without shoes. I've never seen such a big pile of muddy shoes in my life. (Actually, I've never seen a pile of muddy shoes in my life, so that's not saying much. Suffice it to say, the pile was taller than me. That's a lot of muddy shoes.)

Now that I've survived and I've removed 90+ percent off the mud from my being, I ask myself: Would I do this again? After all, I did it once, so it's off the bucket list.

The answer is.........

Yes. Of course I would! Next time I might train.....or, at least wear a costume. But, I'll only do another Warrior Dash if they have something better than a pond in which to wash.....and if MJagger will come along...

.....and, if I have duct tape. I'd duct tape my ears shut so there would be no mud in them. Silver duct tape. The real kind of duct tape. Warriors don't wear any of that new-fangled hot pink or patterned duct tape.
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