Monthly Archives: April 2008

Forgetting the Dressing To Death

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I just almost died as a result of my forgetfulness. (I knew it was going to catch up with me some day.) Allow me to explain:

This morning, I left the house all the necessary ingredients for my lunch for the next three days: Spinach, Strawberries, Pecans, and I even remembered to bring a bowl. When I have these things, I just bring them all in their original containers and make a quick salad for lunch. It’s tasty and fast and means that I don’t have to think about packing a lunch in the morning. In short, it is awesome.

But, we all know that no salad is truly awesome without some kind of a dressing, and dressing, my friends, is exactly what I left in the door of the fridge at the house. I forgot the salad dressing.

I stewed over my lunch options all morning.

Have some money converted to cafeteria approved currency and eat sushi? Tempting, but would require spending more money than I want to spend, and several different flights of stairs in several different buildings. (Usually that’s not an issue, but I wore shoes today that don’t have the rubber tip on the heel, and I’ve about busted THIRTEEN times since this day started just walking around the office. I’m going to go ahead and avoid stairs.)

I could have just gone over to the cafeteria and stolen some dressing, but that would require being moderately covert, and that I am not. See: the shoes. Also, see: how the heck would I have transported it? Also, do they even have raspberry vinaigrette dressing? Because that’s crucial. Can’t be eating this salad with any old ‘Italian’ dressing.

Drive all the way home, spending my entire 30 minute lunch break walking to the car, getting home, getting the dressing, driving back, and then walking back to the office? And it’s kinda hot outside? Pass.

That’s when I decided to go to a bonafide restaurant and get a chicken taco and a bowl of rice for $3.00, and move on. I’ll bring the dressing tomorrow, you know? That’ll work perfectly.

And it did work perfectly. Worked while I was walking, ordering and sitting down. But when I took my second bite of chicken taco deliciousness, I looked up to see none other than The Grim Reaper. He was all, “I’m going to kill you with the food in this world you love the most. And not with your basic heart attack, either. Death by Taco Shell.”

I was all, “crap.”

When I was growing up, my family and I went to Braum’s quite often. We’d all line up to get our Rocky Roads or our Orange Sherbets (depending on the life stage, of course) right in front of a sign that instructed restaurant bystanders how to help someone in case of an emergency. It said things like, “if you are choking, please hold your hands to your neck like so…” and, “if you see someone holding their hands to their necks like so, please FLIPPIN’ DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.”

As I was sitting there, gasping for breath through a hard taco shell, my brain short circuted between two thoughts: 1.) I wish they had one of those signs. I could point to it, or at least go stand by it, so perhaps someone would notice that I am currently CHOKING TO DEATH. and 2.) Wish I’d have remembered that damn dressing.

At The Office

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I’m wearing a dress today to work.  If you were using the reaction of the laides at work as a gauge for how shocking that is, the reading would be OFF THE FREAKING CHARTS.  It’s 11:40 right now, and the comments about my dress are still coming in about every 15 minutes.  Some observations can me made here:

1.) Though it is nice to be noticed, there is a limit to how much “notice” I find comfortable.
2.) Being 30 years younger than everyone I work with is B-I-Z-A-R-R-E.
and 3.) The air conditioner in this building works really, really well.

Yeah.  Think I’m going to stick with the pants from now on.  But it’s been a nice experiment.  I guess I’m just not as comfortable with my knees as I used to be.  I might be more comfortable if my legs were tan, but when choosing between ‘tan with skin cancer’ or ‘pale’ I go ‘pale’ every time, EASY CHOICE.  Live long, wear pants.  Not a bad slogan.

In good, and very much work-related news, a girl my age got a job at the same school as me. (Not in my very department, but three buildings down.)  Not only did she get a job here, but she also got a house that’s in my neighborhood, and all of the sudden I have a buddy.  A girl buddy that lives in my neighborhood and likes dogs and walking and bad TV.  How on Earth did this happen?  She and I are planning to carpool to the office.  We’re going to be green for ALL FOUR MILES round trip.  Welcome, Jennifer, to the goodness that is Never Being In Rushhour Traffic.

Please don’t call the SPCA.

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After a weekend of over-thinking all kinds of doggie decisions, Zack and I returned to our house yesterday afternoon to find that we’d inadvertently locked Cruz the Cat in Katy’s room for over 48 hours. Oops.

Friday before we left, I made sure that his litter box was out, his time-release feeder was full, and that there were little water bowls all over the house for his drinking pleasure. Then I left all the doors upstairs open so he could have free reign over the house, never mind the fact that he most always sleeps exclusively in Katy’s room. And then Zack came around behind me and shut all the doors upstairs so he wouldn’t get cat fur all over everything. Awesome.

Usually we wouldn’t have had to worry about all this, since Katy doesn’t mind feeding Cruz and letting him out when he needs to potty and/or prowl the neighborhood. But Katy is currently on vacation in Chicago with a friend, and Cruz was home alone all weekend. Home alone and STARVING AND ANGRY. I feel like a total animal-parent failure now. Luckily, Cruz seems to have a short memory and isn’t too mad that we locked him up, instead he is THRILLED that we rescued him from his very large, foodless cage.

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Travelling with Scout was easier than I would have guessed it to be. We threw her in the back of the Xterra with a blanket and she slept the whole way there and the whole way back. Glad to finally be home, we put her in the backyard where we don’t have to worry about her every move. Then this morning I let her inside the house to see that her front paws were caked in mud. Walked outside to see that my dog has really been effected by all the “green” commercials on TV, and wants us to have our own garden. That’s the only reason I can think of as to why she TILLED A GARDEN IN THE BACKYARD THIS MORNING. Guess I better go get some Okra seeds. I wonder if she’ll weed the garden for me, too.

Driving Miss Doggie

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Zack and I are taking dog travel to a new level this weekend.

Zack is headed down to Camp Eagle for the annual Search Men’s Retreat. Search is a weekend full of all things manly. They shoot stuff, drink stuff, smoke cigars and make astonishingly thick steaks, all in the name of a weekend away. Zack couldn’t be more thrilled about heading south for the first time since we moved away. Since we’ve been gone they have discovered a bonafide cave entrance on Camp Eagle property, causing much anticipation from Zack regarding his next visit. SO EXCITED!!1!

I decided to hitch a ride with him halfway and hang out in Brownwood with KatyB for the weekend. Since this is the first time we’ve gone out of town since embarking into the brand new exciting world of dog ownership, I had to make a choice. Dogsitter? In-laws? Pay the kids across the street to house Scout for the weekend? All of those options became non-issues when I suddenly remembered that KatyB loves dogs! KatyB probably wouldn’t even let me in the house if I dared come without her! Carpet be damned!

So there you have it. Zack and I are going to pile into our vehicle for almost 3 hours with a canine in the backseat. Maybe not a big deal for some of you dog-owning veterans, but MAN. I’ve only ever had Cruz as a pet. First and foremost, you don’t ever take cats anywhere. Second and secondmost, I shamelessly stuff him in a cage whenever we are forced to take him places (READ: ALMOST NEVER, ONLY WHEN WE MOVE.) How does dog travel even work? How do I know which moan means “gonna vom” and which moan means “need personal attention” as opposed to the moan that means “goodbye good smelling upholstery!” I DON’T. DON’T KNOW AT ALL.

Here’s my attack plan, laid out item by item:
1) Not gonna feed the dog between the time I get home (14:00 hours) and the time we leave (15:30 hours), and continue with the not feeding until we arrive in Brownwood (17:15 hours?) which is around the time she would eat on a regular week day.
2) Leaving the damn squeaky cucumber at home.
3) Creating a bed for her in the back of the Xterra. Blankets cover a multitude of sins, which may or may not include doggie car vomit or doggie tinkle tinkle. I’ve never had a problem with either of these things before, but MAN. Gotta be prepared.
and finally, 4) SNUGGLES.

Think it’ll work?

Sound/Furry

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Today three ladies in my office asked for my help with their computers–miraculously the sound had disappeared from all of them. After unclicking three mute buttons, they were looking at me like I was some sort of a demi-god.

Now, 10 minutes later, I’ve resigned to wearing my iPod at work cause I couldn’t handle all of the noise, all at the same time. Louie Gigglio was preaching at me during a real estate presentation set to music and a video of a three year old reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Heaven, and Pete Yorn, help me through this. Tonight after they all leave, I might have to ‘break’ all their computers again, just for the sake of my sanity.

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Unrelated: I realized today that Scout is huge. I know that’s she’s still a puppy and she’s just 4.5 mos old, but STILL. She’s 25 lbs. bigger than she was when we got her, and she doesn’t fit in my lap like she used to. She was so small! And snuggly! and SMALL! I just want to bury my face in the teeny, furry past and lounge there for a while on the couch. I can’t believe that the puppy stage is coming to a close so quickly. I also can’t believe that I’m a few months away from having a 60 lb. dog lounging around my house. Looking back at those pictures, I ESPECIALLY can’t believe that I was ever upset with something so small and so cute. Sure she peed all over the house, but WHO CARES? SHE WAS SO ADORABLE! HOW WAS I MAD JUST CAUSE SHE ATE AN ENTIRE IVY PLANT? THAT WAS SOOOO CUUUTE. Now this last hour that I have to spend stuck at the office is going to be absolutely intolerable cause all I want to do is go home and play fetch with my adolescent doggie.

Sushi

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Katy and I went for sushi tonight.  Ordered the usual spread, and then fell two.five rolls short of being able to finish it.  Spring is jacking with my appetite.  

TWO AND A HALF ROLLS. 

I felt embarrassed, like I’ve just let Japan down.

Still Missing Papa

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The most surprising thing about my grandpa’s August 2007 death is that it still effects me so profoundly on a consistent basis.

Sunday, I was sitting on the patio at Chipotle with one of my best friends and two virtual strangers when I started to think about Papa. I can’t even remember what made me think of him–if it was a squirrel (that he would have wanted to shoot) or if it was a gumball machine (he had bunches of penny gumball machines that he operated along with his stamp machine business)–but before I knew what was happening, I was crying over my burrito bowl, talking about how I am still sad about my grandpa’s death. I would have never expected that 9 months later, I’d still be at the point where I can easily break into tears upon thinking about him.

Last weekend I was cleaning out one of my cabinets, continuing the never ending quest to reach organization perfection, when I found one of the programs from his funeral. I had it tucked away in one of my journals, along with some letters from my mema–some of the last letters she sent to me while he was still alive. I read the letters and the programs and cried in my bedroom floor as a flood of emotion swept over me. My first instinct was to call my grandma and tell her about the letters, the program, and my shockingly fresh pain.

I would have, but I always have this feeling that I shouldn’t talk to my grandma about how sad I still am about losing Papa. I don’t know what part of me thinks that maybe she hasn’t noticed–I’m sure not a minute goes by that she doesn’t realize she’s alone in the house, alone doing the yardwork that they had done together for the last 60+ years. I reason with myself that maybe she’s having a good day. Maybe she’s having a day where she’s aware of her loss and her solitude, but she’s coping with it. I don’t want to bring my sadness to her, not if she’s busy remembering the years of good things.

I’ve never dealt with death in such a personal way before. When my Granny (mom’s mom) died, I was only 14 and though I thought I was old, I had no idea what I would learn in the next 10 years, and how all that learning would allow for me to understand my Grandpa’s death and its implications on a whole new level. When I lost Granny, I lost a grandma, a place to ride my bike and spend time away from home. I lost SunnyD in the fridge and special trips to get ice cream cones. I knew my mom was experiencing a lot of pain and sadness, but I also knew that we had expected her death for at least two years, and that we had been waiting for it day-in-day-out for a month. Her husband had died 15 years before her, and there was a sense of peace when she died. We knew that she was going to be laid beside him, and they would be together again, and that had a quieting effect on the sadness that we were feeling.

But now, I understood more. I know now what love and marriage feel like. I understand better the role of a Father, and how much my dad means to me even though I’m grown. I understand more about pain, health, life, and death. I understand now that I lost a grandpa, yes, but my Mema lost a husband, and my dad and his sister and lost their father, and each of the hundreds of people that came to his funeral were all experiencing the loss of my grandfather in their own unique way.

Best I can figure, the sense of sorrow and pain that I feel isn’t just me missing the only grandfather that I ever knew. It’s understanding how that loss also effects most of the people I know and love, and being sad about their particular angle of the loss, too. Maybe it’s selfish of me to cry because my Mema is a widow, and maybe that means I need to break down and find a therapist to talk to about how I’m still crying at work about something that happened 9 months ago. Or maybe it’s just my empathetic nature, and it takes more than 9 months to get over losing someone that you loved. I’m not sure.

Thank God For The Workweek

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Last night I experienced physical exhaustion to the point of nausea for the first time in my life. I survived high school, college, Cingular, and Camp Eagle without ever being as totally dead-dog-tired as I was last night, all because The Force Known As Rachel Schwartz came to town.

I need a nap. No, I need 12 naps.

Pre-maturely Old

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Another monster storm rolled through the metroplex last night.  It brought with it wind, heavy rain, hail, and immeasurable amounts of Prime Time angst, as none of North Texas got to see NBC’s famous Thursday Night Comedy Lineup.  The second week back to new shows post-writer’s strike, and what did I watch last night? Hot Pink and Lime Green storm formations floating across Texas on a screen.  Super. 

I guess because I got robbed of my 7 p.m.-9 p.m. shows, I felt the need to stay awake and watch ER, which is out of character for me.  Going to be at 10:15, combined with getting up at 5:15 to take Zack to work (SisterKaty needed my car today) resulted in a lot of yawns today at work.  One of the student workers gazed at me through the cloud of his hangover (THURSDAY NIGHT DRINKING?! KIDS THESE DAYS!) and asked if I’d stayed up late last night.  I said, “Yeah. I was up ’til 10:15.” That was at 11 this morning.  He’s still laughing. 

I’m the oldest 24 year old I know.

Regarding the Current Condition of My Sinuses

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I went to the doctor yesterday to, for once in my life, take care of my sinus congestion before it totally whooped me.  While I was at the doctor they decided that since I’m almost 25, I should have some blood-work done to check on my cholesterol levels.  And while I was totally okay during the extraction of the first vile of blood, but during the extraction of the second vile, I started to see little white and black dots.

I spit out the words, “I’m officially lightheaded” just about the same time that she saw how white my face was.  The very experienced RN then shoved my head between my knees at lightning speed.  I guess most people who say that mean, “I’m about to lose my cookies/pass out, do something now.”  What I meant to communicate was, “I feel as if I have just stood up too fast, and am a little dizzy.”  Next time I’ll know to keep my mouth shut–unless of course I want to get tossed around again by a strong woman.  It was kind of a thrill.

Though I feel better today, the underside of my nose is dangerously raw, and I am still blowing it consistently.  I made the mistake of thinking I could solve some of the chap on the nose by applying some of my Burt’s Bees chap stick directly to the nostrils.  Big mistake.  Don’t do that, unless you like your nostrils to feel like mint au flambe.