Going to the dogs

Rocky 'n Samantha here.

We've taken over this blog to send a special message to all you canine... Hey! You forgot about the other kinds of animals...you don't even like the other kinds Rocky... A special message to all you animal loving people out there. That's better. Shush Rocky, I'm typing here.

We saw on the tv this morning that some dogs named Mrs. Izippi and Louis and Anna had some huge disaster happen to them. We don't know what that means, but if it messes with our napping schedule, we're against it - tell them about the dogs without homes ... alright, geesh, do you want to type? ...No, you know I can't type... Ok then, shut it!



Brothers! *sigh* Well anyway, there's a whole bunch of dogs without warm beds and chew toys and food and people to love them and we are against that too. See, we think that all hounds - ahem, what about the other kinds?! - *sigh* all animals should have all those things all the time and when a disaster comes barking at your heals, it's up to us more fortunate to lend a paw to help. Don't you think?

So go here and help the animals, would ya?

If you want to help the people, and they sure smell like they can use some help, go here.

Don't make us beg.

nearly complete

I know that my little trip down the surgical aisle was a little more than minor and a lot less than major, but it has brought me face to face with my future. Getting old will suck ass if you're not in good shape. Oy. I have so much empathy for the slow and pained among us. Not that I was a beeatch and didn't care before, but as the ol' saying about walking a mile in high heels goes... your feet are gunna hurt real good.

My recovery is gaining on me and I'm getting back to normal. I still get so tired at the end of the day, and I can't sit for long before my tummy starts to hurt. Sitting in meetings is out. Laying around moaning is in. Doing Pilates on my Balance Ball of Death is out. Hanging out in the backyard pondering where my new rosh bush should go is in.

Exciting things are happening at Creative HQ! The Mac Mini is nearly installed. Gosh, it takes a long time to transfer over crap from a 1997 iMac. It would go much quicker if Ye Old iMac had a Firewire port. But alas, thy computer wast not madeth with thus Firewire portith in 1997.

I'm starting a new project that must be complete by October 1. This is big because it's a large project with many cooks in the kitchen, which usually takes longer than imagined. If all goes as planned, I'll have a second more high profile project to toot my horn about by the end of September as well. Theeeeen, my favorite client in the whole world may have more work for me to boot. I've got a good feeling about September. Indeed I do.

To top it off, I'm starting a new program in September to build my business to new heights! Or so the says the brochure. It's based on Get Clients Now, but it's more of a group thing, where business owners get together to brainstorm, encourage and hold each other accountable to our goals. Now I just have to figure out what my goals are for Q4 2005. Hmm... thinking.

The countertops arrived and magically installed themselves. They are beautiful. I sometimes shuffle down the stairs and into the kitchen to just look at them. Then the most exciting thing of all... running water in the kitchen! This pioneering family is back to the 19th century. Pictures of the nearly complete kitchen coming soon. There are some tiny details like missing doors that I want to fix before I show the world our masterpiece.

So instead I leave you with shameless beagle porn pictures, because I know you enjoy them so much.

random bits

Been trying to post for a few days, but every time, some reminder pops up, or a update starts bouncing, and I get distracted, have to restart, loose all my post, cry like a wee baby, then go have some more applesauce. Check that, I've moved on to bananas and pb on toast. Yum.

Anywho, nothing and everything is happening around here. I've got to make this quick because...

1 got follow-up appointment with cute surgeon today at 10 am.
2 realized that above mentioned cute surgeon saw my belly and other unknown parts at which time I was sedated and unable to suck in gut.
2b I'm married, but not dead, people.
3 stopped taking narcotics on Thursday, one week post-op.
4 narcotics were giving me crazy ass dreams.
5 got to drive to Target on Friday. Wooo hooo!
6 sitting around the house in stretchy pants only makes you realize how few pairs of stretchy pants you own.
7 going to public place after being socially isolated for a week is more than a little overwhelming.
8 CFO and I bought a new computer. Baby's coming today on FedEx Ground. Probably while I'm at above mentioned cute surgeon appointment.
9 Countertops! Yes, I'm still on that topic, and no, I will not let it go. Countertops are coming tomorrow! Countertops are coming tomorrow!
9a being socially isolated+5 weeks without countertops=overly excited about the little things.
10 Princess Samantha Pants has the squirts. Yummy. We're on Day 2. Methinks I should take her to the vet.

Whew! I got it all in this time. Now let me post this sucker so I can go find an appropriate stretchy pants outfit to wear to above mentioned cute surgeon appointment.

thank full

I am full of thanks for the kind wishes and support from everyone, IRL and online, during my recovery. It fills my heart with such happiness that there are so many kind souls in the big, bad world. I received cards, calls and emails from many friends and family over the past week. One dear friend calls me every day to make sure I am feeling better. My BFM calls every other hour to give me a status update on the rest of the world. Last night she called to tell me she was enjoying a Strongbow in my honor. She knows I can't drive til I'm off my meds, so she is safe from me beating her out of jealousy. Yes, I can't drink until I'm fully recovered as well. It's a cruel sentence. I received flowers from multiple sources, all delightful. My darling MIL wanted to send something special. So she did. She sent a rose bush. A. Rose. Bush. That now must be planted. Planted. I am restricted from lifting, straining, carrying, and other wise using any muscles for the the next three weeks. So it will sit, and most likely eventually die, in my nearly complete kitchen. Thank you MIL. It is indeed special.

And as if the Universe was smiling down on me, all this came during an unusually slow week at Creative HQ. I had wrapped up one project, am starting another next week and I am waiting on responses from two others to go forward. Calls were made to cancel appearances, emails of forgiveness were sent, and my week was cleared to spend loafing about, moaning listlessly and drink gallons of juice and water. One would think a week at home doing nothing was heaven, lo! it is not. The first few days I required assistance to sit down and stand up, being that my core muscles were previously cut into, rendering them gobs of goo. Now I can move about on my own and hubby has gone back to work. I putter around slowing, looking at the mounds of dog hair piling up in the corners, cursing the weeds growing in the flower beds, and lament the time wasted when I could be staining trim to match the new floor in my kitchen. And, our house has a funny smell. Dogs+recovery+construction+6 weeks since last cleaned=stanky. Being OCD, it is driving me to the brink. Anyone want to do something special (a-hem, MIL) for the medically challenged? Send Merry Maids and a gallon of bleach. And food. We have none and someone can't drive to the grocery store for a few more days.

One thing I can do is shuffle out to the backyard to check in on my container garden. I don't do big gardens. I tried it the first year we lived here. We have a raised planter at back of our yard and I found that it is too easy to forget to water, weed and care for it since it is "so" far way from the house. So I learned to garden in containers that are on the deck, within reach and relatively low maintenance. I have tomatoes, Anaheim peppers, lavender, basil and mint. There was cilantro, but an early spring heat wave killed it off. I've been waiting for my tomatoes to ripen for about a week. There was one last week that had just started to turn. I went out today to check on it, and it was gone. Gone! Some mutherf*cking squirrel must have taken it. D*mned good for nothing dogs! Bet you carried the little f*cks grocery bags to his car for him, too.

Do you see what my world has been reduced to? Tales of squirrels and groceries.

But I am so thankful. Indeed. Mutherf*cking squirrels.

morphine 1, me 0

Had me some surgery on Thursday night. Figured that I didn't have enough to do in my life and why not have appendicitis while I was at it. Wha? Huh? How? On Thursday, my BFM made me go to the doctor, who made me go to the ER. The very cute, young doctors in the ER made me go to surgery. I couldn't resist because they took my clothes put me on a gurney. And they were cute. So for the next 10-28 days, I'll languish between a drug induced nap and eating applesauce. Dreaming of my cute ER doctors. mmmm.

TTFN.

Discovery

He woke me out of a confusing dream, the kind that happens in the soft light between night and waking. "The shuttle is landing!" he exclaimed, trying to jostle me out of the darkness. "What? Oh, yay" I mumbled as I rubbed the scratchy signs of slumber from eyes glued shut. I reached for my glasses so I could witness the Return to Earth of the Return to Space flight. All I could see was a white blob on a black screen. Without the sound turned on, one would think there was something wrong with the TV. I tried to sit up, but a beagle was lying on my legs, so I half twisted to get a better view of the Blob. Charles Gibson was narrating over the squabble from Mission Control. Beep-Beep-left at 80 degrees to horizontal-Roger That-Beep-Beep, I could hear between Charlie's babbling. God I wish he would just shut up so we could hear Eileen Collins talk to Capcom Ken Ham, I thought. They were going 17,000 miles per hour… 15,400… 14,000…7,400. She banked to the left to slow down the speed. What a dream. This amazing woman was speaking softly into the radio, which was projecting into my bedroom a steady sense of calm. We watched in silence, interrupted by giggles of joy, as the TV switched between views of the incoming shuttle and the onboard camera showing what she was seeing. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she touched down at Edwards, deployed her chutes, slowed to a halt, and was home. I let out a deep breath. I had no idea how long I'd been holding it.

When I was younger, I dreamed of being an astronaut. I wanted so bad to be in Space. I wanted to fly. I fantasized about being a fighter pilot. I grew up outside of an Air Force Base, with A-10s flying over my house on take off and landing. From time to time, an F-16 would visit. You got used to the noise. Now that I've moved away, when I visit my parents I can't believe how loud they are when they rumble overhead. I flew a plane once, when I was about 11, no, maybe 12. We took off from the private area of the airport in a twin engine Cessna. I was allowed to fly for about a half hour, then we landed. It was amazing. Addicting.

But math and science were not my strong suits. And teachers who had no business teaching young children did their best to discourage me from my dream. I suppose if I had a stronger sense of purpose I would not have let anything stop me. By the time I reached high school, I developed a non-violent hippie outlook on life and wouldn't have dreamed of joining the military. I had enormous respect and awe of those who did. But I didn't want them to die, not for me. My "peace club" drove to Nevada one time to protest nuclear testing. Yeah, I was one of those people. We lived in a commune for the weekend. Sang songs by the fire at night, trucked on over to the "line" to say our bit during the day. Some people volunteered to be arrested. Not me. I was too chicken shit. I was 15. Dumb enough to do this, but smart enough not to go too far. This was at the tail end of the Cold War, and we were drunk with thoughts of saving the world.

For the past few days I've thought of Discovery and Eileen Collins, what she means to me, to America, to the world. I've thought of the risks, the chances and the dedication that Commander Collins put into her dream. She had to have faced the meanest naysayers in the pursuit of it all. Math and science education for women/girls is horribly lacking to this day, but when I was growing up it was worse. I had to be nearly non-existent for her. I think about her and the risks she took to command a space shuttle. On the first return to flight after a disaster, no less. I can think of no other phrase other than, damn, the balls on that woman!

Does she know that she is inspiring a generation of girls to follow in her footsteps? Does she know that she is, through her very actions, encouraging women all over the world to wish on a star, take risks and follow our dreams? I think about the risks that I've taken in the past year and it astounds me. I'm not flying a shuttle mission, but it is my own mission into the Unknown. It is scary. It is exciting. It is awe-inspiring, even in myself. I have to step back and look at what I've done to have the guts to go forward. Some days I can't make myself keep going. I just don't have it in me that day.

But then another day comes, and another client calls, or a friend refers me to a new opportunity... and something amazing happens. I bank left 80 degrees to the horizontal, and my perspective shifts. I'm reminded of the little girl that dared to dream big, take risks and seek out adventure. She won't be held back any longer.

I am so not up on this web shite.

Today I learned the term "hotlinking." Hotlinking is vewwy, vewwy bad. People get more than mildly upset with you when you do it to them. I can see how this would make people mad, using their bandwidth without telling them, driving up their web costs. If I've done this to any sites, I wholeheartedly apologize. Please don't hate. I didn't know. But now I do. I won't do it again. Promise.

Not that I got in trouble, I just read about it from several angry peeps on another blog. Dear, oh dear. Are they fired up. So naturally, I went to check my website's stats. Wow. I'm a bandwidth hog myself. I gotta keep a closer eye on that from now on. But, no notice from my hosting company, so it makes me wonder if they care or not. Just to play it safe, I ordered more bandwidth and felt a little better.

Then I started thinking, does the email that I send and receive count against it? 'Cus if so, I'm gunna need a whole lotta bandwidth when I get really big. 'Cus I gots me two new clients last week. 'Cus I'm hot shite. That's right.

Is it Beer:30 yet?

I need a vacation. I decided this the other day when I was tripping over boxes full of kitchen crap to move the clean dishes stacked on top of the clothes washing machine, while answering two different phones and trying to keep a snooping beagle's nose out of my dirty underoos.

I need a beach.
I need a margarita.
I need to eat fresh caught shrimp with my hands.
I need to dig my toes in the sand.
I need children coming up to me saying "chiclet? chiclet?"
I need a sunburn on my crazy white legs.
I need to be embarrassed wearing a swim suit in public.
I need an all-you-can-eat-and-drink-you-lazy-Americans-but-we-like-your-money resort.
I need to see people much worse off than I am so I can appreciate all that I have.

I need a vacation.

What do you need?

Flattery will get you, um, something.

A friend suggested that someone contact me because she was interested in living my life. So this neat lady emails me, resume attached, gushing with flattery about how she wants to do what I do, learn from me, talk with me, have coffee, and so on. She emailed last week during The Kitchen Project, so I put off calling her until today. I also put off opening her resume until this morning. I think I've mentioned previously how I am bi-polar. Non? Well, yeah. There are some awesome days in my life. Days when I am on top o' the world, loving this grand adventure, singing in the shower, feeling like the CEO/Creative Director/Janitor that I am. Then are todays. Crashing. Crushing. Feeling Blue. Wading Through Muck. Doldrums. Pity Central. What ever you want to call it. Days when I can't believe anyone would pay me money for the crap I put out. Days when I tell myself this was all a mistake and I could still be making the medium bucks at BigCo, with decent benefits and a 401(k). So it doesn't help when I open this resume of what is clearly a much more experienced person than I. It's flattering. Almost. Overwhelming. A little. I can't explain it. But the thought that I have something valuable to offer other people, on a day like today, is unbelievable. Catch me tomorrow and I might be different. Maybe not. I've been slowly deflating over the past few weeks. The Kitchen Project only re-directed my attention for a while. Now I'm back to feeling it again. Then this morning a new project! (perhaps) Out of the blue! (a referral from a business friend) With a great company that people have actually heard of. But, but, but. I stammer. I can't believe it. Not today. Today I want to stay in bed and eat ice cream for lunch. Today I want to feel sorry for myself, because, somedays, feeling sorry for yourself feels so good.

I know, I know, I should just exercise and take some vitamins.

Oh, and a few photos from The Kitchen Project:

The supervisors hard at work.

when going to work is taking a rest

The floor. The floor! Oh, the floor. It is done. We completed it laaaaaate last night/wee hours of this morning. There is a Soylent Green dust coating everything in the garage from cutting the laminate. But it is beautiful. And done. We need to find a trim we can live with/afford, apply sealant around the watery areas, and then we can move back in.

George, our countertop cowboy, came on Friday. He didn't double over laughing at what we'd done, so we took that as a good sign. He did, however, point out "two small adjustments" that needed to be made before the countertop arrives. These two teeny, tiny small adjustments took about, oh, 5 hours. Not making them could have disastrous consequences. I'm not talking space walks to fix a broken tile or anything, but our v. expensive solid surface countertop could, gasp!, crack if this was not fixed. No thanks. I'm good.

So now we wait for the countertops. For 3 weeks. Maybe 2. It's a crap shoot. While we wait, we are back at work, which is like a vacation compared to the last 10 days. But hubby gets to run off to an air conditioned building and take naps during meetings while I sit here in the mess we have created. There are piles of kitchen crap everywhere. (How did we fit all this crap in our crappy old kitchen?) I would start putting things back, but I just don't have the arm strength to lift anything. I've got this strange sensation on my hip... what is that? Oh, no tool belt. Gaa. I think I'll go put that on so I can feel whole again.

Sunday morning we hit 23 visits to Lowes/Home Depot. Visits 21 and 22 were made Saturday night 15 minutes before closing. We are on a first name basis with Mike, Terry, John, Bob, Teresa, Mary, Al, and the rest of our extended family. They laughed with us. They cried with us. They took our money, over and over again. More importantly, they took our returns, over and over again. I resorted to calling my dad in Arizona at least three times during our WTF?! moments. One call he suggested I take a picture, draw a schematic, and email it to him for review. Or go to Lowes and ask them what to do. We took door #2.

After all that, we are pretty pleased with ourselves. It turned out beautiful. But we won't do it again. Not unless it's our dream house on 60 acres. Even then, we'll just pay someone to do it. Yes. I think we will.

I almost don't know what to do with myself without a cordless drill and 12 various-sized levels in my hand. Anyone something shimmed? Spackled? No?