Ravings of a Textual Deviant

Happy birthday to my Grandma (yesterday), my brother (today) and my youngest nephew (today).

Grandma turns eighty-something today. She’s an absolutely amazing person, and I hope that I’m doing that well when I’m her age. She takes two ballet classes a week and does more volunteer work than I can keep track of. She also gets a lot of science-fiction pop culture references, which I think is exceptionally cool. One of my friends is very attached to her, and has said to me more than once that if he didn’t have one and a half perfectly good grandmothers of his own, he’d want mine. And it was his idea for me to take her to Venice. After my grandfather died in 1996, she figured that her travelling days were over. Nonsense, I said. Ari and I were taking her to Italy. None of us had ever been to Europe before–although Grandma had been to Alaska, gone whitewater rafting in Australia and trekked around the Galapagos, and Ari had lived in Mexico for a while.

We met up at LaGuardia airport and caught an Air France flight together. (I was amazed to discover that airline food can be good.) All of us were completely fragged by the time our plane landed at Marco Polo airport (Ari especially, as he’d had to fly from Oregon to New York before we even left the country). Despite this–and the fact that none of us spoke Italian–we managed to get through customs, onto the correct bus, and into Venice proper with minimal fuss. The fun part was trying to find our hotel. The map made it look like a shorter walk than it actually was, and we ended up on the wrong side of the Grand Canal, so we had plenty of time to gawk as we made our way to the nearest bridge. I was amazed by the architecture, and I assumed that Grandma was too, because she kept staring at the buildings. Finally, she leaned over to me and whispered “This place is a mess!” Before I could even think about it, I found myself saying “When nine hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not.” And she got the joke.

That same day, we rode the vaporetto (water bus) all the way up and down the Grand Canal. (The gondolas were a little too touristy–and expensive.) Ari and I were sitting on the back, watching the sunset, which was stunning. Ari broke our comfortable silence and said “It’s really beautiful here, but I can’t wiat to get home and smell Portland.”

Much to my surprise, my youngest nephew has survived to his fourth birthday. There has been more than one occasion where I was surprised that his recklessness didn’t do him in…or that we’ve let him live this long. I was the one who gave him his nickname, Puddles, because as a baby, he was a world-champion drooler. In fact, he’s the only person to successfully drool down my dress. This is where my lack of interest in babies becomes a liability; Aunt Li had to learn the hard way that he should sit facing the room.

Girly stuff ahead. Consider yourself warned.

I’ve spent the last couple of weeks methodically and ruthlessly purging my closet of things that don’t fit, are worn out, or are otherwise unflattering. I’m having a little trouble letting go of things I don’t wear very often, but even so, I’ve got a considerable heap to go to Goodwill. The vast majority of the pile falls squarely into the “doesn’t fit” category. (Interestingly enough, it’s also mostly dark colors and neutrals.) I’ve watched my closet get progressively emptier, and I finally realized that almost all of my work clothes have been purged, and that most of the remaining few ought to be.

Combine this with a long-overdue haircut that necessitated a trip to the mall, and I am sure that you can see what’s coming. The total haul included nail polish, a sweater, two skirts, a twinset, a cardigan, a top, a bracelet, and five pairs of earrings. (I’m a sucker for the final clearance rack.) Almost everything I got had lots of color, skirts were shorter (not ankle-length), and I had a great time in the process. It’s amazing what a difference it makes when off-the-rack clothes fit reasonably well.

So, this morning, I headed into work in a new outfit, new haircut, and a fresh manicure/pedicure. I don’t feel totally made over, but I do feel considerably improved. One of my secret vices is TLC’s “What Not To Wear,” mostly because I enjoy the constructive sarcasm. One thing I hear at the end of every show is that the made-over person’s confidence gets a major boost. I used to think that was complete crap–I don’t take a significant percentage of the news seriously, let alone entertainment–but I have to say, there’s something to the confidence thing.

Another story from the help desk…

Ed: ok, close your open programs and let me know when you get back to your desktop

Caller: ok (she puts me on hold and walks back to her desk)

So, one of the things I have discovered in the last year is that when you lose a significant amount of weight, it starts to come off the strangest places. I’ve always had long, spindly fingers, and to be honest, they don’t look all that different to me now than they did a year ago. I had noticed recently that my wedding and engagement rings were getting a little loose, but I didn’t really think about it, except in an isn’t-that-interesting kind of way.

Until yesterday.

Apparently, some time between Monday night and Tuesday morning, both rings slipped right off my finger and I didn’t even notice. Ed found my engagement ring on the bedroom carpet, but the wedding ring is nowhere to be seen. Granted, that one is much less expensive to replace; it’s just a tiny plain gold band. (Ed still jokes about my $30 wedding ring.) I’m sure that the original is in the house somewhere. I could probably even narrow it down to a couple of rooms. Unfortunately, a search of the rooms in question didn’t turn it up. At this point, I’m hoping it’ll turn up when my house gets cleaned on Friday.

I don’t even want to think about a replacement. Even an identical replacement won’t feel right, though. I’m sure that the weight would feel wrong, and it would look too new.

I don’t even know how many projects I’m assigned to–seven or eight, I think. Whole days go by when nobody needs anything. All of the sudden, every effing project needs every effing document ready right effing now. Except that I am now getting edits that contradict each other, people asking questions that should have been asked a few weeks ago, and the usual nonsense. I’ve done three “final” edits on the same documents in the last two days.

More fun than a trip to the dentist.

Update: Make that four final edits.

Recipe for an excellent summer Saturday:

Begin with good weather–low humidity, warm but not hot, and overwhelmingly blue sky.

Sleep late; do not set alarm clock.

To prepare for day, eat breakfast with a good friend. Visit farmer’s market in next parking lot over; acquire really fresh corn, baby onions, yellow beans, radishes with the dirt still on them, and a pair of Amish-baked cookies. Split cookies evenly with friend.

Acquire fabulous item of clothing on sale for ridiculously low price; fold. Slowly add one relaxed lunch, followed by additional shopping. Find fabulous outfit for friend. Unhurried, run a couple of errands.

Add one nap. Set everything else aside for a while.

Spend a couple of hours hanging out with pair of friends who have perfected their banter. Prepare dinner using ridiculously fresh produce acquired at farmer’s market.

Enjoy.

I got another “I need” phone call from my dad last night. He needed to find some documents. Fine. I told him where they were. I did not tell him where he could put them.

Then, he needed me to come in tomorrow (which would now be today). Even when it felt like I was spending half my life at the lab, Thursday nights were always booked. Have been for years. Thursday night is Game Night…even when it’s not, if you get my drift. He knows this. He’s been reminded. And nobody is in a garbage bag in the woods. Yet.

Imagine my joy upon receiving this missive, particularly in the light of some upcoming changes to my gaming life.

Dear Sir or Madam–

We here at Thomlinson and Hamaker, esq., are writing to provide you with
a golden opportunity for investment–an opportunity so golden, it makes
the treasure of the Sierra Madre look like yard sale trash. You have
the opportunity to invest your time in that most valuable commodity:
adventure! Yes! A cross-dimensional role playing game that has been
decades in the making, a game such as the world has awaited for
centuries. A game of multiple genres, unspeakable evils, diabolical
puzzles and ludicrously stereotyped NPCs. All this game needs to make
it perfect is YOU.

I was so excited I could barely type out my enthusiastic acceptance.

And I thought I had a highly-developed sense of theater. I am all a-tingle with anticipation!

Last night at the food court at the Fascist Mall, I watched the cashier at the pizza stand order her supper from the Chinese food stand next door…without ever having to leave her cash register.

Ed works at a help desk. He gets calls like this all the time.

Ed: We’re at 8% now.

Her: How far do we have to go?