Take Me Bak 'Ome

Have any of you ever felt like you just couldn't cram any more information in your heads?

Not one more fact. Not one more thing to remember to do. Not one more appointment.

I envy people who have their lives mapped out for months in advance in a day planner. Or in their Blackberries or whatever. I'm so old school. Who even uses a pen and paper anymore?

I've never been able to keep a planner. I've always had a spot-on memory. For school or work...I'll make a good go of using a planner for about 2 weeks, and then it just sits in the bottom of my bag collecting dust. Or whatever else that's disgusting and lurking at the bottom of my bag.

I use two methods of reminder.

#1:

As you can tell, I'm right handed. I love to write all over my left one. Chuck hates it. He keeps saying I'm going to get ink poisoning.

When my dad was alive, he lived by Post-It-Notes. The whole back side of his front door was covered in them with reminders. You can see I've carried on the tradition.

#2:

But my hand is like a travelling Post-It-Note! Genius! Some days it's covered in so much ink that it looks like a strange tattoo. My hand is unusually devoid of pen marks this morning.

These days though, it seems as though it's not enough.

Chuck and I have little pet peeves about each other's habits, as all couples do. His most irritating habit? He'll come in from work, wash his hands of drywall mud and dust, dry them on the current clean tea towel, and then leave the tea towel crumpled up on the counter or the back of a kitchen chair. Drives me batshit. Even though I'm the messiest person in the world! Go figure!

I do many, many things that drive him nuts. One of them is not turning the shower faucet off correctly. Our faucet is effed up and drips all day long if you don't turn the single knob a certain way before shutting it off.

Drip drip drip drip drip

I forget this every time I take a shower, the latest being this morning. Chuck can remind me about it every time, and I still don't remember. He doesn't understand why. I don't either.

It can be little things like that, or it can be bigger, more irritating things. Last night I closed at work. Got home at 11. Schedule said I had to be back at work for 7am.

I drove there this morning, wishing I could have had an extra hour of sleep. I pull into the parking lot behind what looks like the assistant manager's truck. I was like, wtf? He must have switched shifts with someone, because he wasn't on the schedule I had printed.

Yeah, he switched with someone all right. Me! I completely forgot that I said I would close tonight for him if he could open this morning. Drove all the way into Jacksonville for nothing. I'm such a bonehead.



My head is just too full of stuff. So much is going on at work right now. Holiday set-up is just about complete. Holiday Charity Book Drive is in full swing. Customers are starting their Christmas shopping early.

The District Manager is coming to visit the store next Wednesday, and I'm solely responsible for walking through all the displays with him, and providing rationale for the choices made. I'm not really that anxious about it. He seems to really like my work and my personality. But there are so many things to still think about and get done before then.

And it seems like the closer it gets to Christmas, the more the negativity jumps out at me from everywhere. It's really draining.

I'm the first to admit that I'm not happy happy all the time. I don't eat, sleep and shit rainbows.




But as a person who has a...let's say 'big' personality, I understand that I have the power to use it for good or evil. An individual with a big personality has the ability to influence the mood of an entire room of people.

When I'm feeling negative, I choose to crack jokes and put on voices and do silly walks and such until everyone around me is laughing. Not only does it make me feel better, but everyone else as well. Who can be miserable when I'm doing my awesome Sean Connery impression??



On the occasions when life is just too much and I can't contain my negativity behind a silly face (and it happens), it's almost as if I've lined everyone up and slapped them hard in the face with a brush filled with gray paint. No one is comfortable around a big-personalitied miserable person. And not only do I strongly affect people's moods, I also am strongly affected by people's moods.

There are a few people I know with big personalities, not trying to be egocentric here in only talking about myself. Lately a couple of them have been letting the stress in their lives get to them. In letting it get to them, it bleeds all over everyone else. A cloud of anger, nerves, worry and cynicism descends. I'm not going to get all hippie dippy about it, but it's just bad vibes, Man. Makes me feel absolutely horrible and depressed.

(Oh, and by the way, in case you think I'm talking about you, my dear Reader, I'm not. But this is a public blog, so you never know just who is going to find it.)

So lately I find myself trying to relieve stress dumped on me by other people. Cribbage and chardonnay on the porch. Writing in this blog. Listening to an assload of music.

I am currently chair-dancing to Slade.





I love a man in plaid pants and platform shoes. Or maybe it's the muttonchops that get me.

What do you guys do to relieve stress and channel anger?

Booze? Sex? Dancing? Slapping children? What?

This Bud's For You

It's a week after Halloween, and this is still sitting on my front step.



I'm such a procrastinator. One year when I lived in Edmonton, I actually left the Christmas tree up until March because I couldn't be arsed to take it down.

I've been procrastinating when it comes to garden tasks. Things that should be cut back, deadheaded, or whatever. I know you're all shocked and surprised.

A frost threatens, and I peer out through the window at my potted plants. I don't feel like hauling them all into the garage. I'll just buy new ones next year, I think.

I've been surrounding myself with pansies, because they last through the winter here with little care. I rescued these ones from the Clearance rack yesterday.



The one thing I am pretty pleased about it is my 'Governor Mouton' camellia. This is the third winter it'll have been in the ground, and both of the previous winters it has only had 3 blooms on it.

3.

I've seen the camellia 'twigs' that they sell at Lowe's with more blooms than that on them.

I almost didn't even bother looking at it yesterday. I didn't want to be disappointed again.

But it looks as though it's full of buds! Even though I could only get 3 big ones in a single picture.



Hey, does anyone else on here have a camellia with Yellow Mottle Virus?



I've read that this won't really affect the tree much except in terms of aesthetics, but I was just wondering. I thought maybe this had something to do with lack of blooms. I really wish I would have known to look for YMV when I was buying this thing. Same thing with rose black spot. I learned about that one AFTER I planted my hybrid tea. And that one's been a thorn in my side (heh) ever since.

Speaking of thorns in my side...





The fire ants have built a luxury hotel under my magnolia. They're putting in a pool as we speak. If you're walking through the yard and listen reeeeeally closely, you can hear the sound of hundreds of tiny slot machines...

Fire ants. Yellow Mottle Virus. Deadheading.


Balls!! I say balls to all of it!!




Cribbage and chardonnay on the rear verandah. Much more civilized. Best way to procrastinate, hands down.

It's Not Sheetrocket Science

Chuck is a drywall guy. Or Sheetrock guy, if you prefer. Potato, po-tahto.

He's been a drywall guy since he got out of the Marine Corps in 1983. He's mostly a drywall hanger (well, that's what he most loves to do anyway), but he's also a drywall finisher.

If you would have asked me before I met him if I thought drywall was interesting, I would have said no. After I yawned 3 or 4 times first.

But I've learned a lot! I can walk into a house that just framed up and wired, and tell what room is what (and if the job is going to be a bitch). I can walk into a room that someone has just hung drywall in, and tell if it was well hung (hehe) or if it was a shitty job.

That term 'swear like a sailor?' Hah! Should have been 'swear like a sheetrocker'. They have some fun terms for things:

You want to get the job done fast with lower quality work? You 'rape it and run'.

You get a bunch of drywall hangers together to get a huge job done faster? You're 'gangbanging it'.

The coolest skill Chuck has acquired through 30 years of experience with drywall work?



Stilts.

Chuck uses stilts for drywall finishing. The ones in that picture raise up to about 42in (or almost 4 ft).

He not only walks around in these things. He climbs stairs in them. He holds a pan of drywall mud in one of his hands, and a spreading knife in the other and isn't even looking at the ground as he's walking in these things, scraping mud on a ceiling.

Like I said, before I met him, I didn't know shit about drywalling. But when I saw him do this for the first time?

Bad. Ass.

You don't even know how badass until you see it done.

I find stiltwalking sexy as hell. Thank goodness I have other options than circus performers!



Anyway, the other night we had our friends Sean and Andie over for beer and chicken wings. Chuck's chicken wings are more world famous than Hooters'! (Well, that's what I tell him anyway, to butter him up.)




After dinner, whilst we were sitting at the table in a chicken wing coma, Chuck walks through the door that leads from the garage to the kitchen wearing his drywall stilts.



Of course Sean and Andie had to try them out. That's why we're friends with these people.

Andie went first.



Andie is the only woman besides me that is allowed to be in this position with Chuck. She's lucky and she knows it. ;)

I think Sean got a little jealous (not really) because he had to come over and help "strap 'er in".



This is probably my favourite pic of the night. Andie with a Fonzie-style thumbs-up, Sean with a "sneaky Shocker", and a great smile on Chuckles' face.



There were (still are) handprints all over my ceiling. And a little nail polish.




Sean's turn next. As you will see, I didn't need a turn. Not only was I the camera operator, but I've been on Chuck's stilts before. No need to go again. Trust me.




This one's just funny. Sean looks like he's exorcising demons out of Chuck.



Then he got cocky. The bastard. He was a natural.



The stilts weren't at their full height. Chuck shamed him into raising them up to the 42 inches. Sean's short, but not that short. We had to go outside for this. Click on the pic, and note the completely unsure look on Sean's face (he almost ripped the gutter off).



Sean and Andie aren't married. They're just shacking up. I think they're perfect for each other, and Sean should totally have proposed from the stilts. Would have made a good story for future grandchildren.

"Yeah, I asked your Grandma to marry me at your Great Uncle Chuck's house. I was on stilts at the time. I'd been drinking. But it wasn't a mistake, thank God. Maybe.'



Had such a fun time that night. Who else has stilts just lying around, waiting to be played with? We're so awesome.

And next time, Chuck will remember to put the beer on top of the ladder before he gets on the stilts.



Fail!

Hack This

As I said in my last post: I love the internet. I hate the internet.

I love the internet because it's allowed me to reconnect with people fom school I probably would have never talked to again. I love it because it's given me a creative writing outlet that I've actually stuck with, and highly enjoy. I love the internet because I've met awesome people all over the world. And I can order a book while sitting in my underwear at 2am if I want to!

As you can probably guess from the title of my post, I'm not so in love with the internet this week. You could say the internet is in the doghouse. I'm withholding intimacy and making it sleep on the couch.

I'm well-educated. Polite. Classy if I want to be.

However, I will not be eloquent when it comes to hackers.

Hackers can go fuck themselves sideways.

I do consider myself lucky. My bank account wasn't touched (not yet anyway). I don't believe the hacker used me to spread viruses.

But what a PAIN IN THE ASS.

My husband and I have sort of a ritual in the mornings. The alarm goes off at 5. I sort of lightly doze for another 45 minutes while Chuck watches the news in bed. Then he gets on the computer while I drink my coffee and shake off the rest of the sleep. Then I get on the computer before I rush out the door for work at 6:30.

The hacking occurred a few mornings ago.

'Hey Kyna...you didn't send me an email, did you?' Chuck asked.

'Nope, it's probably a virus or something, I wouldn't open that if I were you,' I said sleepily.

Chuck knows that I never ever use my email. I will use it on occasion, but I always let the recipient know that I'm sending them something.

I didn't think anything of it, this has happened before. When it was my turn to get on the computer, I found that I couldn't get into my email. My password wouldn't work.

I went through the proper channels and finally got into it. All of my contacts had been deleted. I changed the password, and was kind of pissed off. But I had to get to work, and didn't have any time to check anything else.

I had just rolled into Jacksonville when my cell rang. I was concerned, because only Chuck would phone at that time in the morning. And not unless it was for a good reason.

'Hello?' said I.

'Hey Kyna. Um....Meta (a family friend) just phoned,' Chuck said with a brusque tone.

Holy shit, did somebody die? That's the first thing I thought of.

'Yeah, why?'

'Um, she said Jacob (her son) just thought he was chatting to you on Facebook. And he said you said you were in England and needed money because you got mugged.'




And so the whole day went.

I tried to get Chuck to suspend my account whilst I was driving the rest of the way to the store. But it didn't work...they hacked my email a second time, and got into my Facebook again and were hitting everyone up for money all day long.

Every single person who came in to get their paycheck at work on Friday morning stopped by the registers and said, 'Guess what?'

'Yes...I already know...'

My sister-in-law called Chuck at work. My brother Kevin called me that evening. Everyone asking was I really in England??? Was I really crying and penniless???

After I got to work and changed most of my financial-related passwords (didn't really want to get on social networking sites from there, so I let the hackers wreak havoc on FB while I was working all day), I thought....if this wasn't so annoying it would be kind of funny.

Like, who would believe that I was suddenly in England, got mugged and was asking my friends (some of them people on Facebook that I haven't seen in 20 years) for money?

Well, apparently, people were still worried. I'm just glad that none of them sent money to these people. A couple of messages that I received scared me a little, because they sounded as if they believed that it was me that sent the message.

Took me the whole evening after work to get everything straight. Hopefully I made all my new passwords hard enough that it will be tougher to break in. I'm still getting messages from people telling me how weird it was.

It's called a 419 Scam, where the hackers send all your friends messages that you're stranded in a foreign country and need a large amount of money. They ask you to wire it to a Western Union account in said country.

So just a heads up. Make your password something really long and hard. Lots of numbers and different letter sizes. Change it often.

And a warning: I would never ask anyone less connected to me than my siblings for money. And even then, I'd probably rather starve to death in the middle of Picadilly Circus than ask anyone for money. I never use my email, so if you get one from me, it's not me unless I warn you in advance.

And if I had a trip planned to England?

EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU WOULD GET AN UPDATE EVERY 5 MINUTES.

Example: "I'm going to England! I'm going to England! Na-na-na-na-naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Ppbthhttttttttttttttttt!"




Hackers. Suck. Balls.

In The Wink Of A Young Girl's Eye...

Circa 2004 or 2005, Edmonton team. I'm the unattractive red-faced, short-haired, squinty thing in the middle of the back row.

Remember how I was talking about joining a football team after all these years of not being able to find one?

Well, this past Sunday I was able to finally play in a game.

I was SO excited. I knew I'd be a bit out of shape. Also a bit rusty on the field. But the girl who invited me on Facebook said that it wouldn't really matter, and they'd be happy to have me there. It was only a recreational league.

When I got to the field, I felt insanely awkward. I didn't know any of the girls. And I found out that this was a playoff game of sorts. And I also found out when I got there that they were all REALLY young, except the girl who invited me, and she was super fit. The woman had the body of a colt. I have a body like a stack of marshmallows.



When the game started, I was a sub-in with another girl. We were watching the game from the bench, and she leaned over to me and said quietly, 'Don't tell the refs, but I'm only 16! My sister asked me to come play because they needed people. I can't wait for my school soccer season to start up again!'

Yikes.

I leaned over and said in a loud, mock-whisper, 'Don't tell anyone, but I'm almost thirty. And I haven't played in 6 years!' (I had to swallow some wild, nervous laughter.)

The moment came when I was able to get out on the field. I started off pretty good...

Which lasted for about 2 minutes.

The other team looked like they were made up of female Marines. Which, being from this area, they most likely were.



At one point during the first half when I was trying to regain the ball, the muscles in my thighs seized up. Buckled. WOULDN'T WORK. I fell over sideways like I had forgotten that my ankles were shackled together. When I got up and started running around again, I felt very, very dizzy.

I had not realized until that moment that I was too out of shape to play. I voluntarily sat out the second half. If I thought it was embarrassing to uncontrollably keel over on the field while I was still conscious, than it would be mortifying to actually pass out.

At halftime, I did thank the woman who invited me for giving me the chance to come out and play. At least I tried. And I got to see just how out of shape that I am, so I know just how far I have to go to get out of that state. I'm pretty disgusted with myself, to tell you the truth. It was a fail of epic proportions.




I really wanted to leave after that, but I felt like that would be running away with my tail between my legs. I'm 29 effing years old, not 12. So I put on my big-girl pants and stayed to watch the rest of the game no matter how awkward and embarrassed I felt.




I'm glad I did, I missed watching rec football and they were really good. There were people on the team that strongly reminded me of people I played football and Gaelic football with back in Edmonton.

'Our' team ended up winning, so they're going on to the next playoff game. They were very nice and asked me to come back, and I told them I'd be back when I was 30 pounds lighter (and I also wanted to add '10 years younger').




I took off the big-girl pants when I got in my car, and I cried all the way home from the field. A big, red-faced, wailing, snotty cry. Other drivers must have been apalled.I was miserable for the rest of the day.

And you know what?

Luckily I have this little gift of turning an epic fail into a funny story to amuse others. Thank you, Genetics, for letting me be this way.

I went to work the next morning, and I told my friends about it. I did all the actions and everything. The more they laughed, the better I felt.

Like I said, at least I tried. And I got a funny story out of it. That's the most important thing. And I probably needed that cry for many reasons. I hold a lot of stress in. It kind of felt good.

Ok, Mr. Cleese. It's your cue!



There's something else that's bothering me, but nothing to cry about, don't worry.

I'm not one of those people who has to have a ton of 'followers' reading my blog. At my last count, I had 79.

I'm totally cool with that! For someone who had never expected more than 5 people to read my drivel, 79's a ton! I don't actively go out and canvass for people to read my blog. I don't wear a t-shirt advertising my link.

But last night, I came home and saw that the number of followers is now 78.

I'm LOSING follwers??

That kind of makes me feel a teensy-weensy bit insecure.

It's sort of like when someone quietly 'un-friends' you on Facebook with no explanation. And you don't even realize it till months down the road when you decide to leave a comment on their profile to see how they're doing.

I kind of feel like, 'What did I do? What's wrong with me?? Why don't they like me anymore???'

I love the internet. I hate the internet. These are things I just shouldn't care about. So why do I?

Not gaining any followers doesn't bother me a whit. But losing them? Really?

The C-Word

Isn't that sweet?

They made me Employee of the Month whilst I was gone on my vacation.

Apparently, our general manager chose the picture for the posting. I was flattered that he picked a hot chick from Lord of the Rings to represent me! I told him today that it would have been so much funnier had he picked Gollum for the picture instead of Arwen.




I've been working my ass off since getting back from vacation. I'm the one responsible for mapping out what display/promotion is going to go where for the holidays. That's been interesting...at least I get to be semi-creative. But it's a lot of unpaid work at home, and I will be continuing said work after I get this up.

All I need to do is survive the next 2 1/2 weeks. This is the time when the entire store changes into a Winter Wonderland. Signs, displays...*sigh*

This creepy little fellow will be put into every corner of the store.



Apparently he's a 'tradition' here in the US. I'd never heard of it, and just in case you haven't, parents are supposed to place him in strategic spots in the house to watch over children and make sure that they aren't doing naughty things.

Parents think it's genius, I think it's cruel.

Anyway, if you don't see me posting a lot until mid-November, the reason is work exhaustion. I do have some pics that I took from a jaunt up to Beaufort that I may post sometime in the next few days.

If you're starting your Christmas *gasp! I said it!* shopping in the next few days or weeks....make sure you're nice to your friendly, neighbourhood store clerk. :)

Ramble On

I love trees. This area is great if you love trees.

In fact, I have 'favourite' trees all around the area.

There's an old magnolia in a tiny roadside cemetery in Jacksonville...that's probably my favourite favourite tree.

There's a maple in Swansboro that turns a BEAUTIFUL shade of yellow orange in the fall, gorgeous shape to it as well.

And then, right down the road from my house, is a very old oak. It's been on the verge of dying the last few years. Been struck by lightning many times.

I took a picture of it the day we had all that snow last February. I had one with the tree all leafed out, but I can't find it...




Yesterday I went for a walk back where this house is situated for the first time in a couple of weeks. I discovered that the oak has finally kicked the bucket.



Looks like it just toppled over finally. Chuck said all of the flooding we got was probably the culprit.




As you can see in the snow picture, the tree was pruned so that no branches would overhang the road to the left. Also so that no heavy branches were over the house either. With the ground so soft, it just finally gave out in the direction the heaviest branches were pointing.



Chuck always said it looked like hobbits were living in it. As you can see from this poorly taken photo (sun is really bright the last couple of days) of the underside of the root system, it was pretty rotted out.



I was kind of sad when I saw it. That tree has seen a lot of decades pass by.