The Divine Divorcee

And in further news...

nobody@vox.com(DivineDivorcee) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 22:26:22 -0700

...said Weather Person just sent an invite to friend her on Facebook.

I cannot help but acknowledge that this is weird.

I feel stupid for not letting something go that has been festering for the better part of 20 years.

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Kale and Connectivity

nobody@vox.com(DivineDivorcee) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 20:22:26 -0700

Kale is the redheaded, bastard stepchild of the modern garden. People claim to eat it but very few do, and I've discovered that I rather like it. Plus, it has all sorts of health benefits: nature's broom, and all that.

However, my kale recipes are of limited application: saute some garlic, onions, olive oil in a wide saucepan, add kale, and cook as collard greens. Oh, you can mix it up and use some of that Costco sausage -- the chicken spicy stuff, it's too salty on its own for my taste -- but that's about the only thing, minus "traditional salad", that I know that kale works with and/or in.

Off to Google I go.

You see, Ms. Lisa will be harvesting, and purportedly selling, kale. And I will be one of her bigger consumers: while I fully intend to ramp up a small veggie garden, it isn't going to be ready until next year, and will not include kale (onions, tomatoes, carrots, leeks, garlic, chives, corn, bell pepper, zucchini, eggplant, and pumpkin are on the list). Ms Lisa will continue to be my kale dealer, and more likely my occasional kohlrabi dealer (dealress?).

I digress (as a habit!)....

Most of the kale recipes I've found online are mastery of masking kale: enough feta cheese, for example, to start your own Greek restaurant. I'd rather appreciate the strong, almost mustardy flavor if I can. Hey, it puts hair on your chest. Since I have a Lucy this is no real problem for me :) But my quest continues, and if you have ideas, do let me know.

Which segues not at all subtly to my next posit: as much as I think web 2.0 does for the introvert and the populace as a whole, I think this era of facile connectivity has rendered some awkward social circumstances. To wit: one of the people I didn't really altogether like that much in high school has "friended" me on Facebook.

I went to Jr. High and High school with this gal. She was a bit snotty, and I remember one or two particularly acidic barbs, but on the scale of what I was dished out those five years -- and yes, the dish continued to the bitter end -- it was maybe a ph of 5. She is now officially a coworker, in a different department, and was all "lets do lunch" when we ran into each other in the hallway. I.... was at a loss.

I have zero warm feelings for this person and my high school memory factor has all of the warmth of a holiday fruit basket with a preprinted card: what incentive, short of "can't we all get along?", was there for me to say yes and "friend" this person. This person is not a "friend". Why oh why did I do it?

Things are rarely as simple as you envision them. I believe I envisioned adding her, and then ignoring her, "punching the clock" so to speak. But then a certain amount of schadenfreude entered and I started perving on her profile. The friend of hers from high school that became a local Weather celebrity (she was actually nicer), the guy who had fantastic camera talent and was permanently nice (and wouldn't remember me with an annual and detailed notes), six or seven others I didn't even realize I graduated with but apparently did. Web 2.0 has allowed me to know what happend to whom in a list of people I would have, and could have (were I my parents generation) gladly forgotten. Like Humpty Dumpty, I cannot go home and put the shell back; I see the limited profiles of people I hated (yes, I know that's a strong word: wake up every morning for 2 years crying and you will know what it means, too) and people I was at best benign toward, and wonder what happend to them and are they the same and do they remember how mean they were? Probably not.

I have my share of moxie -- and my bitch streak, which I suppose I should thank them for -- and so it surprises even me that I just stood there and made pleasant commentary, and that I clicked the "accept" to the friend request. I don't have any illusions that I will have any further responsibility -- lunch has failed to manifest itself in the subsequent period, for which I am grateful -- but I wonder if I'm somehow letting down the little girl who cried.

I do not mean to diss Web 2.0 -- it's just an eventuality I was unprepared for. Case in point: I never used to "text" -- up until about 2 years ago I firmly believed "text" was solely a noun and would've argued against adding it, like Nero Wolfe arguing "contact". But "text" I do, now, and it has made some things in my life much simpler. I have an entire blog in which to spout my neuroses and offer them up for commentary, and if that isn't an invitation from Web 2.0 to come in for coffee then I don't know what is. I send "evites", I facebook, I blog, I scour other blogs and webzines and forums for content (be it recipes, howto, or again that sweet schadenfreude); I suspect were I to look for a job outside of BTCo I would fully use the different social networks established online. I'm just saying the yin to this particular yang is a bit more awkward than I would have ever thought.

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Girl of Summer

nobody@vox.com(DivineDivorcee) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 20:40:26 -0700

I'm one of those annoying people who claims to love every season (and mostly I try too, but autumn will always be my favorite). Yesterday, with very little warning and a tad fashionably late, summer arrived.

With a vengance.

In the last 36 hours, I have:

driven to Whidbey Island with my 2 dogs and the SC
helped plant corn with the SC and Ms Lisa (formerly Stidbomb)
had the SC help feed chickens and collect eggs
let the dogs run wild
let the SC run wild
collected enough shells to power at least 3 craft projects
tried kholrabi for the first time
played on a beach and watched the kids play
watched the sun go down over the Olympics, with a water view
slept like a child again
ignored (mostly) the series of tubes
washed 2 dogs, one small child, myself, 3 loads of laundry, and one 2001 Rav 4
acquired a sunburn of truly painful but glorious proportion
mowed my lawn
ate dinner outside at the 'rents house
discovered that without the trees that all had to get taken down, my house is 87 degrees inside.

I had a wonderful time on Whidbey Island. We went out to Stidbomb's place (now Ms.Lisa, story commencing) where she has a farm (or two, depending on how you count). Ms Lisa will be selling veggies and eggs and it has been the pet hobby of mine (and others) to provide her with a business name. She didn't want one that required explanation but one that sounded creative, for Whidbey likes to think itself that.

This morning on the phone the SC proudly retold his escapades to his papa, announcing he was at "Ms. Lisa's farm". Ms Lisa's eyes got rather large and she started laughing: she'd found her farm name. I am angling to go up there again, post CC-and-McGuyv-wedding. I am now only half-joking that I want to move there...

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post script

nobody@vox.com(DivineDivorcee) — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 13:54:00 -0700

i got food.

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Testing

nobody@vox.com(DivineDivorcee) — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 13:17:58 -0700

Last night I tried alcohol for the first time in 5 days. That... didn't turn out so well. I took 2 Zantac before I went to GH's house so they should have been fully kicked in by the time we got to K's house, and being all cocky I went and had some wine.

Not one of my better ideas. Let's just say the pay-to-play lesson carries over substantially later from ingestion, so instead of feeling the burn last night while awake I felt it a bit while asleep and it's been ramping up most of the day. And I forgot to bring the Zantac with me.

I have to complete my self review today, and write a lengthy post about my observations on the difference between city and suburban living, with a corollary as to how my life would have been had I divorced without kids or large dogs, but I'm just not in the mood right now. I'm starving and my chest hurts. /whine...

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Ignoring Marketing and Physicians at my Own Peril

nobody@vox.com(DivineDivorcee) — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 13:08:16 -0700

As much as I lust after things (a Mac, a Smart Car, Docs, cocktail rings with Frida Kahlo on them, GH, a 1967 Mustang, a Kindle, Le Creuset, Louboutins, etc. ad nauseam) I only own two of those (well, the Docs, of course, and then there's GH, who isn't really owned but is more of a lease-with-option-to-buy thing).

This morning on KUOW -- my 2nd station for NPR, because I'm a flaming pinko liberal -- on "Weekday" they had Rob Walker, who writes for the NYT and also used to write for Slate, specifically with respect to ads andmarketing and how we're suckers for the shiny. How very few of us will actually run the spreadsheet, go to consumer reports, etc.; we'll go ahead and buy the Viking Range even though we don't really cook or realize it's not the best (and actually one of the least well rated) out there.

I started thinking about my suceptibility to marketing. I am HUGELY suceptible to marketing, and I'm the worst sort because I do not think I am. My proof? After at least five declarations in blosphere in the last 2 years, I still buy coffee. Granted, not nearly as often, and I'm making it consistently at home (decaf only now... more about that later), but I literally have to have a conversation with myself some mornings as I drive past the Starbucks. I'm aware of it, though, and I rationalize my self to or away as necessary.

But I don't own an iPod -- the mp3 player I do have was purchased for me and it suits me fine -- I still drive the same car I've been driving for the last 7 years, I didn't buy that cocktail ring, and the project car is on hold until my savings recovers from the deck project and my inability to stop myself from traveling. (I'm thinking chickens will help with that last). I own not one piece of Le Creuset, my most expensive pair of shoes was purchased for me by my mom (black 20 eye docs, see my logo), I don't intend to purchase a Mac or a Kindle anytime soon -- my 2 year old Gateway (thanks to Zen Ken's suggestions on my power options) is going to last a bit longer, I hope. As to the Louboutins, I don't follow the Sak's guy's advice of skipping my mortgage.

Why has Starbucks succeeded, I wonder, where these others have failed? Largely I suspect with incremental price tag: one latte, about $3.50, one pair of Louboutins, about $2000 (oh, but they were beautiful). The brain can stomach a series of $3.50 charges, it cannot handle a single lump sum of $2000. Not my brain, anyway. One latte purchased every day for 2 years would buy me a set of Louboutins with $500 in spare change; that math may yet help me.

My selective hearing (or suceptibility) is also alive and well with regard to my own health. That little incident last July left zero impression on me, except maybe to punish my GERD by loading up on all of the things (in the ensuing year) that I was supposed to avoid back then: chocolate, alcohol, citrus (including tomatoes), caffeine, fried foods,onions, and large meals. I am Italian, people. I figured well last time I got chest pain it was because I had ice cream late at night: ok, so avoid ice cream late at night. But must I give up citrus? chocolate? alcohol?

The last week or so has found me feeling on occasion like I have one of those little alien chest-bursters from the movie "Alien(s)". Like any minute this *thing* is going to punch out from my ribcage, smack from the middle (which makes no sense, that would be the hardest way out) and explain all of the weird pressure and burning and general ickyness. It's also happening at night, at morning, whether or not I've eaten, etc. I'm not sure if it's psychosomatic or not that chocolate, alcohol, and caffeine seem to irritate the hell out of it. It has woken me up out of a dead sleep the last 3 nights. Off to the doctor I went, tail between my legs. How sad is it that I was hoping she'd say it was something other than GERD?

I am apparently the proud owner of an esophageal ulcer, yay for me. This is what happens when you do not listen to the doctor. (I actually *do* listen to the doctor, and then I completely ignore all suggestions when I go home). I'm also being put on something called AXID. Which I did NOT ignore, really... I just... left the prescription with the pharmacist yesterday.

But I'm going right over to pick it up after work, really I am...

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Petrol and Propulsion

nobody@vox.com(DivineDivorcee) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 11:18:41 -0700

BMW has a semi-snarky, but still edgy-german-cleanliness-feel ad out, about how most of their models get more than 28 miles to the gallon. The semi-snark is courtesy of the ad showing petrol (gasoline, for us Yanks) for about 6+ EUR, which is about $8 USD. We aren't quite there yet, even in Washington where we're above the national average for gas prices (we're at about $4.45 a gallon, as low as $4.30 in some stations), but we're headed there. The days of $2 gas are long gone. (When I got my first car, I could fill the tank -- on a 1981 Volvo 240 DL, about 15 gallons -- for about $10. Oh, the times they are a-changin').

As of this time last year, my ~~monthly~~ biweekly gas budget was $75. That was extravagant and I usually came in about $10 less than that unless I did some sort of road trip weekend or had a lot of extra back and forth. Now I've had to bump it to $100 and I suspect it will soon be more.

I pulled out my old spreadsheet back when I really wanted (still potentially want, too) a Smart Car. Thanks to changes in how the EPA rates mileage for cars, the Smart Car's mileage went down from 45/40 (2007 standards) to 40/33. I plugged in the new figures, plus the new cost of gasoline, and essentially once gas hits $19 I'd break even for the cost of the car (since I'm not trading in the Rav, and Kumster and Thumper will not fit into a Smart Car even without me in it). I'm back to romancing the Shame Train, which has its perks (work pays for it) and its downfalls (being stuck at work or at the mercy of a bus schedule).

I am trying to remember where I saw this article discussing how consumer spending habits would change if (when) gas were to go to $10/gallon. We'll see an explosion (no pun intended) in biodiesel, I think that's a given. I think we'll see more people moving closer to work (or moving work closer to home). The article then went a little farther than I would, though, suggesting people would start growing their own fruit and veg (it didn't go so far as to suggest local cattle communes, though...) and curbing their spending habits. Truth be told, most people assume because there's space on the card (or because they've been making payments on the card regularly) they can continue using the card, without much thought to the balance. Pessimist that I am, I don't see this changing without the credit card companies making it harder to get (and keep) credit, and I don't see that as part of a viable business plan (for them).

I digress... Travel will get more expensive, ergo people will be sticking closer to home. Costco should be seeing green, and Whole Foods should hope it's built a really loyal customer base by now; I don't know that I go there as often as I used to and I do know that it's only an occasional thing. I'm still considering raising chickens for eggs but that is probably a next-year thing. I don't know that I'll be growing all that many veg and fruit (aside from that which I've been growing), but I doubt my neighbors would start.

The article seemed to think the hike in gas prices would bring us to a kindler, gentler something: a sort of rosy utopia where people would walk to work (obesity would go down) and go back to keeping a real pantry store (no more processed foods as the main portion of a diet) and spend less (getting the nation back on track). While I do think that the hike will fuel change (pun intended), I don't know if I can be that optimistic about it.

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Messing with Physics

nobody@vox.com(DivineDivorcee) — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 18:27:36 -0700

Yesterday evening I warped physics and got into a corset. The damn thing was so tight I could barely breathe and it managed to shove every free bit of non-bone-me up above it or below it, in consequence I had heaving bosoms and so forth. It wasn't comfortable but it looked good. As a result, I had half of a piece of pizza (Talarico's pizza, which is about the size of my laptop screen and I have a big laptop screen) and waaaaaaaaaaaaay too much wine. Way way way. Ok, it was a bachelorette party, and yes, I'm only slightly hungover, but the knowledge that I'm making the same "not paying attention to how much I drink" mistake over and over again is a bit annoying.

We went to see The Bedroom Club: Burning Hearts Burlesque which has 2 remainig shows in West Seattle this summer and while I can't make it to the next one, I am absolutely going to the last one. It was fabulous! The women ranged from kinda on the too-thin side to zaftig, the routines traditional to inventive to just plain whaaaa? (My favorite was Lucky Lucy O'Rebel's, my least favorite was the woman who looked like Susan Powter doing a workout routine).

After the show we were invited to go to a bar with some of the show patrons and performers, which is where I ran into my lack of ability to keep track of my alcohol intake, and by the grace of a man named Ken we got home to GH's house. (A cab would've been a 45 minute wait -- Ken was sweet enough to take Alixito home and then CC and myself, we gave him gas money because it's nearly $5/gallon out there and none of us was putting anything out for Ken. As much as men like to be gentlemen and heroic, there needs to be some sort of fitting thanks or reciprocation. Then again, Alixito was dressed as a naughty schoolgirl and CC and I were pulling the corset/bustier move, so maybe the visual would've been enough.)

This morning found me mildly hungover and, once I got home, in need of a shower. To understand the problem I face each time I shower you need to know that my house is 1800 square feet of rambler, just over twice as long as it is wide, so hot water needs to travel south about 70 feet from the hot water heater to said shower. As a consequence, when I start the shower, I have to let the water run to get the water from heater to shower. It takes about 5 minutes or so, which is a tremendous waste, and I try to do things to use it in the meantime. Either brave through it, or use it as an opportunity to clean the shower, or use the sink to get water down the pipe and do things like brush teeth and wash the face.

Today, with hangover receding and small child approaching (his father delivered him, bless that man, when he heard of my state), I turned on the water and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

About 10 minutes into this one part of my fuzzy brain reported to the other part of my fuzzy brain that the water was not hot and therefore perhaps I should shut off the water and go investigate.

My pilot light was out on my hot water heater.

The panel above the pilot is loaded with very admonishing red letters about turning all gas sources off and all sorts of things that made me scared to think, so I called McGuyver who coached me through the process.

The stubborn pilot light did not want to play, the bastard.

14 matches and 40 minutes after I started, I was able to get the bloody thing lit and another half hour later took the hottest shower of my life. The vestiges of the night before's felicitations (including glitter in my hair) washed away, I added "lighting the water heater pilot light" to my personal triumphs in physics for the weekend.

Tomorrow I go back to work after having stayed home ill on Friday; the SC starts swim lessons, and life goes back to suburban normality for me.

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A Spanking! A Spanking!

nobody@vox.com(DivineDivorcee) — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 15:12:32 -0700

..and then, the Oral....

oh, wait, wrong movie.

I'm getting spanked, however, in the stock bet. Thoroughly, completely, and brutally spanked. This is not mommy's hand spanking, this is go-get-the-belt spanking. FSLR is up $30 since I predicted its demise (hell, all of the senior shareholders were selling it like hotcakes) (come to think of it, has anyone seen a run on hotcakes? Do people absolutely need hotcakes and will purchase them at any price? I'm pretty good at making them, maybe I should do that instead of stock bets...)

In other fi$cal observances, my other stuff seems to be surviving and beating the index, so that's nice. I also finally got all of my accounts talking to each other and managed to get all of them to quit sending me paper statements. You'd think its' easy but trust me, it isn't. You click "online statements" or "paperless statements" and they keep right on sending them to you, or my personal favorite, decide you're their favoritest most awesomest person and they upgrade you to the superdy-dooper-card and reissue you a new card with a new number and summarily chuck all of your billing mandates. I very much do not heart the online world of finance sometimes.

I've also eliminated my poop scoop service, for reasons I won't get into because people *like* keeping food in their stomach. Suffice it to say that one egregious act of irresponsibility on THEIR part has lost them bucks and gained me a new biweekly hobby. I no longer recommend the people I was using, in the event you want a service, and I highly recommend you talk to people who have had them for more than, say, 8 months before being convinced. Trust me.

Speaking of spankings, yours truly will be at a Burlesque show (not in it, @ it) with CC and assorted other tarted up girlies, in local celebration of the upcoming nuppage. I will be wearing a short skirt and a corset and fishnets and black boots, and I'm really debating on the accessory whip. I mean really, why stop there? I *do* have a kick @ss pair of pink handcuffs... they really should get seen :)

Also, in completely unrelated but similar yayness news, the SC got off the waiting list and into the cool after school program at his new Big! Kid! Kindergarten!, starting in September.

Maybe I should wear the pink handcuffs and fishnets and boots to the first PTA meeting...

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F words

nobody@vox.com(DivineDivorcee) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 13:40:01 -0700

I am trying in vain to remember who used this word with me the other day... Here's what Merriam Webster has to say about foible:

Main Entry:

foi·ble

Pronunciation:

\ˈfȯi-bəl\

Function:

noun

Etymology:

obsolete French (now faible), from obsolete foible weak, from Old French feble feeble

Date:

circa 1648

1 : the part of a sword or foil blade between the middle and point 2 : a minor flaw or shortcoming in character or behavior : weakness <admired their teacher despite his foibles>

synonyms see fault

Which is altogether interesting because most instances of this word seem to indicate that the minor character flaw is nothing really to worry about, but something to note; like the friend who gets a little too drunk and becomes the life of the party or the friend who never reads the book club book (guilty); the friend who is perpetually 15 minutes early (or late). The idea is that the foible is minor and harmless, a cute cliche to connect to your companion, as it were. (I heart alliteration).

So why is it synonymous with fault? Fault, to me at least, is something to note and be concerned or prepared to deal with; it seems heavier than a foible.

Is it ironic that more often than not you will put significance and concerns to your friends' foibles or faults than those of an acquaintance or stranger? And most often to your significant other? (Assuming you have a significant other and that they have a fault or foible -- GH has neither, naturally) Why is that? Why is it we are less patient or more judgemental with those close to us than we are with complete strangers? I can give a few cases in point but I think everyone here (?) can -- you don't mind the random coworker who has to go out every half hour to smoke because, short of meetings with him/her, you don't smell it or deal with it. But the friend who goes out and smokes you worry: you worry about their health. You don't worry about that guy who comes to your bus stop and sits alone crying to himself, maybe he's depressed or weird or crying happy. You worry about a friend who cries, though, even when it's at something like a Hallmark commercial.

Or maybe you don't, and that's my foible... or fault :)

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