26 blog (update)

This morning as I left the house for my run, Cheap Trick got me doing the “air drum”.  It was relatively warm out (read: above freezing), the ice sheets and piles of snow are starting to melt, the sun was already up, and the beat was catchy.  “I want you to want me.”  It really can’t be any simpler than that.  “I need you to need me.  I’d love you to love me.  I’m beggin you to beg me.”  Right?? 

So, let’s recap briefly on some of my previous blogs.

Bl(ow)g Tattoo (21): I have since gone back for color.  Didn’t even break a sweat, much less nearly die.  The demons must be gone.  I twitched once, but that was it.  Maybe a residual demon smudge.

Blog-day the 13^th:  I can finally start to answer some of those “what ifs”.  What if I go nuts sitting in a cube all day?  Um, it’s getting seriously close.  What if I don’t like research anymore?  Come on, we know my answer to that is “meh”.  What if they make me do Institutional Review Board submissions?  It’s been threatened/promised.  Wheee.  What if I have to do difficult statistics I don’t even remember how to do anymore?  Not an issue.  Phew.  What if I can’t stream Pandora on my computer there?  Well, I can’t, but my phone has done fairly well in that regard.  What if the girls in the cubes next to me talk all day really loud on the phone or have fake nails that clack on the keyboards and feels like they are typing ON MY BRAIN?  They’re not too loud, my head phones drown out a lot of the noise, and it’s my newly grown out nails that are loud and clacky.  Hah.  And now I have to pay for parking and I won’t get to see my buddies anymore…did I make the right choice?  I do have to pay for parking ($57/month, can you f-ing believe it??).  I see my buddies occasionally; they help pass the time during the day with their texts and I love that no longer being co-workers has really eliminated some boundaries and I believe made us better friends…but as far as making the right choice???  I have no idea.  I can say I don’t miss the travel, the snowy drives over the passes, or the restaurant inspections.  (I did a total of 1,475 restaurant inspections during my career).  I do however, very much miss the camaraderie I had at work.  I was part of a team.  They all knew what it was like to all do the job, and it felt supportive and inclusive.  Here, I am not a part of the team.  I work with a team, but I’m the only one who isn’t a nurse or clinician.  I’m everyone’s afterthought.  I’m invited to meetings or lunches moments before they occur.  They forgot my birthday.  They are clique-y.  Booooo.

The Blog that Comes 9^th in Sequence: I have since received another inspirational email.  “Music is the divine way to tell beautiful, poetic things to the heart”. –Pablo Casals.  Thank you, Pablo, for putting into a short sentence how I feel.

Blog IV: I have successfully completed list of short-term goals.  Slightly longer term goals of 1) ride 50 miles (I made it 40…); 2) Go roller skating again, even if it’s cold out (it’s been icy too…so, no); 3) Attempt to enjoy and not resent the winter in Colorado (impossible, against my very nature); 4) Build and maintain meaningful relationships…success!  Work in progress, but doing well.  Hooray for friends.  As far as long term goals…who fricking knows.  Day at a time.

Blog 1: I am flattered to say that my blog has inspired a friend to also blog.  That is really fricking awesome.

And in re-reading them all, I was amused to see how many of them are about love.  Crazy love, old loves, new loves, falling in love, being in love.  It’s at least, every other blog.  I’m love-sick. 

I can think of worse things. *winky face*

I heart my car (this is the 25th blog)

Here’s a funny little story.

So during that horrendous cold snap earlier this week, I fell even more deeply in love with my heated seats.  My car gave me moments of entertainment, as it showed me the ambient exterior temperature was in fact, minus ten. 

And then when my windshield wiper fluid level was below half, I got a fun little warning reminding me to check said level.

So when my heater started blowing progressively tepid air, I assumed it just was really cold outside and not that there was anything wrong.  I mean, I received no warnings.  I figured there would be some icon of a penguin, or perhaps a fire with a slash through it to represent “no heat”.  A friend offered a possible icon of a popsicle beating up a human.

Finally, I believe there is a real problem.  This occurs to me when it’s 1°, and I feel like I’m being hugged by Angels on my bottom half (via the heated seat) and by the Icy Cold Grip of Death on my top half.  I could see every puff of air come out of my mouth as I sang along to Madonna (“life is a mystery…everyone must stand alone…”).

I take it in to the dealer.  Who of course, is able to produce heat.  Embarrassing enough, but I insist through gesturing and desperate explanation that there is an actual problem.  The service guy offers me a loaner car (read: brand new Mercedes) that I can take while they run their diagnostics.  Awesome.  So we start to go through the paperwork, and this is how that conversation goes:

Him: Now I’ll need to see your license and insurance information.

Me: *hand it over*

Him: Thanks. *Typing*  *hands info back over*

>pause<

Him: When does your license expire?

Me: Let me see… *pulls it out of wallet….heart sinks, face turns red, head drops in shame*  It expired on my birthday!  I can’t believe it’s 2011!  I am so embarrassed.

Him: I can’t let you take the loaner without being legally licensed….

Me: *trying to disappear into the chair* I can come back once I get it renewed…(I say quietly)

Him: …but I’m going to anyway.  You can try to renew your license on line.  You should do that right away.

Me: Yeah, I will.  I’m so embarrassed.  *slinking out of the chair towards the loaner car which is worth more than my annual salary, and possibly my combined household income*

Anyway, later that afternoon he calls with the news that yes, in fact, the thermostat is broken.  And so are my front ball joints (I already know this).  He quotes me the thermostat repair cost, and the cost to replace the joints.  On my “list of things to repair” sheet I got last time I was there, the stated price for the ball joints was $467.  So when he tells me they’d be something like $220 , I’m like, YES!  Please repair those as well.  Thank you so much service man.  Oh, and would you please check to see why my windshield wiper fluid squirter is squirting less on the passenger side?

So when I pick up the car, with completed repairs at almost half the expected cost, and get an additional discount for having an older car, and they have unclogged my squirters for free, I have to wonder….

…was my utter humiliation that charming?  Was the way I said “windshield wiper squirters” that cute?  I must have a knock-out blush to get away with an illegal loaner Mercedes, discount ball-joints, free unclogging, and then additional discounts off parts and labor.  The whole thing cost me about the same as the original ball-joints estimate. 

So, uh, boo-yah?  Thank you, kind service man.  I loved every minute of the heat this morning.  And knowing that I was right about the thermostat takes the sting out of that repair cost.

Painted (XXIV)

  

This blog might get a little “out there”, but try and stick with me. 

So imagine that there’s like, an energy we all carry around with us all the time.  Just a general cloud of “us-ness”, not necessarily visible, but maybe even a little bit tangible (on a different level) and certainly powerful.  Maybe we leave traces of this us-ness on places we’ve been.  Maybe light dustings over roads we travel occasionally, maybe full-on puddles and pools of it in places we love or visit often.  I envision, for example, a strip of this me-ness along the Cherry Creek and Highline Canal paths.  Probably on paths leading to and from jobs, friend's houses, along highways once driven many times.  The more strongly I feel about a place, the depth of whatever emotion I’m feeling while I’m there, or maybe just even how frequently I visit, the more me-ness is left there.

Let’s say that maybe strange places we’ve never been to before feel strange because there’s no you-ness there already.  Or places you’ve never been to before that don’t feel strange may have a touch of someone-else-ness that feels familiar and safe. 

I even think that if I’m driving/biking/walking/running along somewhere, listening to a song, or thinking a particular thought, or just thinking about someone/something in general, that a bit of the me-ness that is left there is tinged with that emotion.  Like, when I’m biking one day, let’s say I’m listening to U2 and thinking about all the things I’ll miss about my old job and things I’m scared about my new job, a little bit of the bike path in Aurora is painted that color.  Or my first independent trip driving through Glenwood Canyon (like, forever ago, before I drove up there all the damn time), listening to ATB, admiring the snow stuck to the rocks, will always be that color first.  It’s been painted probably at least 40 other colors now, with 40 other songs and 400 other thoughts, but that canyon the first time is the strongest.

So that little yellow marker on the bike path is painted Berlin and heartache.  And the tree that a magpie is always sitting in is painted cold and sad, but the sunrise in the east is painted with love and friendship.  Boom Boom Pow is Highline Canal and flatter abs self-acknowledgement (boo-ya).  My new office is Crystal Castles, and finally feels like there’s some me-ness left around.  Not quite so foreign and weird.  Old office is totally covered in me-ness and all my sentimentality.  Bet you didn’t know that, CDPHE.  Me-ness blankets your buildings.  Try and rinse that off!  “Lindsay was here”.   Glenwood Springs and Rifle Hampton Inns, in particular room 401 in Rifle which I seemed to get more often than not for some reason, you’re officially tagged.  Rifle Wal-Mart bakery: BOOM. 

Fort Collins and CSU: don’t even try and get me out of the 12^th floor stairwell of Westfall Hall.  Or the movable shelves in the basement of the library.  Even after you flooded, I’m still there.

This energy that I’ve left in places important to me will forever feed my nostalgia.  This is why I feel so strongly sentimental about all these things (especially [?] songs).  They’ve been possessed by some me-ness, or you-ness, or someone-else-ness that I don’t want to let go of.  Strong associations. 

I’m trying to think of a closing statement, other than it felt important to write down.  I could go on forever.

Happy Blog-day to me! (#23)

I turned 33 yesterday.  It has (and will continue to be) a really nice birthday experience so far.  Just so we are clear, my birthday is generally recognized as beginning the weekend before the week in which it actually occurs, and continues through the following weekend. 

So the weekend before, we were invited to a friend’s house for a dinner with my former co-workers (and now good friends).  I was promised a pirate party hat to wear, which I was pleased to receive.  The food was incredible, as was the company.  Really fun night.  I was even able to successfully execute some of my new dance moves learned in a hip hop class I’m taking.

On my birthday, my phone continually chimed throughout the day as people posted happy (and cake-filled) wishes to my Facebook page and sent me emails.  My Mom called and thanked me for being such an amazing, accomplished daughter.  My Dad has been sending similar praise.  I’m *glowing*.

For dinner, I made us reservations at a restaurant that I have been to with literally almost all of my friends, and poor Husband has not yet tried.  It’s as incredible to him as I’ve described.  We have sweet potato falafel, “Devils on Horseback” (date and goat cheese stuffed peppadews, wrapped in Serrano ham OMG), Hoisin duck confit sliders (as I told several friends: “the best Hoisin sauce and duck fat running down my fingers experience ever), banana crème brulee pie, and croissant bread pudding with a whiskey butter sauce and sour cream ice cream.  AMAZING. 

And to drink, I get the “Pearracuda” with jalapeño-infused agave nectar and Husband gets a “Ginger Mule”, like a ginger beer mojito. 

I checked us in at Root Down on Facebook.  And discover something interesting – three other people apparently have also checked in to Root Down while we were there.  Husband says, “check out their profiles”.  So I do, and start reading this guy’s status updates out loud cuz they were really funny.  Eg: “Watching Yanni on PBS.  Go ahead, challenge my ego”.  Turns out, it was the couple sitting next to us, who overheard me.  Hilarious (or sort of creepy for them).  Ah Facebook, endless amusement.

And then the flowers my mother-in-law had ordered were not delivered to our house yesterday since we weren’t home, were re-delivered to my office today.  Prompting many people to ask why I got flowers, and I am able to humbly/smugly say “it was my birthday yesterday" (read: and you guys didn’t even say anything).  And also enjoy their beauty and subtle fragrance.  Smells like self-satisfaction to me. :-)