Black As Night

This morning it was pitch black when I got up.

I'm wearing 2 different socks. I might be able to understand my mistake if they hadn't been bundled in the sock drawer wrong. Hrm. Did I fold them when it was dark too?

I wanted to crawl into the sock drawer and sleep.

A Done Deal

Last night I signed the contracts for the house renovations. Many, multiple, many mucho thousands of dollahs in a tiny check I signed with a hand shakier than when I signed the mortgage contract. This exact signature was why I started my second job at CoffeeLand in the first place. This loop o' the pen is why I can't sleep at night.

It's done now. I hope I've done the right thing, and I won't regret it down the road. As of next Thursday, let the demo begin!

*gnaws at fingers*

Math. Obviously.

So I'm a somewhat superstitious individual, which is why I didn't mention here that I had an interview on Friday. It's for a nice small little company that my professor works for. She recommended me for a nice little web development position, so I went in to meet the boss. The interview went really well, and they are 'cautiously optimistic'. Basically the deal is that, if I can write the three programs he gave me as homework, he'll hire me on an internship, so we can see how it works out, and then once I graduate, if it's all going well, we'll start doing the paperwork that will switch me from an F1 visa to an H-1B.

When I came home from the interview on Friday, I started freaking out, as I am wont to do. I lost all faith in myself that I could write the programs, and essentially built up a huge barrier for myself. My philosophy appeared to be:

I can't do it, so I'm going to give up.
I look better on paper than I really am in person.
I can't apply the knowledge I have to the real world.

Huge wall. So I ignored the programs all weekend, and yesterday, while Barbara was at work, I ran out of excuses and had to dedicate some time to it. I started on the first program, wrote up the basics in Java, and then got completely rear-ended by the math. I gave up. When Barbara got home, we chatted, ate dinner, and played some Castle Crashers. Finally, as we lay in bed about to go to sleep, I opened up to her and explained my fears. A couple of tears later, and I felt composed enough to actually describe the problem to her.

My sweetie is brilliant, but math is not her strong suit, as science is not mine. We have our fortes, and our areas in which we are lacking, and together we work well. Essentially what I was trying to explain to her was the equivalent of her trying to explain the EndoMuscle System to me, which for those of you just joining us is practically quantum physics. Anyway, as I'm oh-so-calmly explaining the problem, using my examples, Barbara pipes up:

"So for 4 weeks, and a goal of 16, that's 4 a week."

Nice, simple math, right? 4 x 4 = 16. Obviously. Yet, I'd been focusing on small, 0.something numbers so much that I'd fried my brain. This was exactly what I needed. The light in my brain switched on, and I ran to the computer. Huzzah!

So, the program is not complete, but it's a darn sight closer than it was this time yesterday, all because of my girl. So I wanted to say thanks to her, in a nice public forum, for calming me down, and helping me get to the bottom of E= MC².

Old Lady Hands

It's bizarre and I think it's gross. I think it might be from working 10 years as a deep tissue massage therapist, add to that my prior years working as a sous chef in kitchens and burning my hands all night, add to that the millions of small house jobs where I titter around with my hands and usually end up almost losing a digit or two and it makes them look kinda, well, old.

I am not saying I have the permanently clawed hands, or that I have a million liver spots. no! Not by a long shot. But ever since I began at CoffeeLand; digging into soaking coffee grinds, taking insanely hot steel things from the sanitizer that singe my hands and leave searing red marks, hands constantly being in water; I drag myself home at night and my hands feel weird. I look at my fingertips and it's like they aren't really there. So, I tested myself at work today by rolling my own finger prints on the digital screen. It was worse than I thought. I have okay prints on my #1 and #6 fingers. Even #2 and #7 are passable. The rest, however, are nothing but undetectable markings. These are the same prints I lament when I'm printing a 70+ year old woman with a lifetime of scrubbing bare-handed with bleach and smoking filterless Pall Malls. My prints have worn down so far that when I tried to take them again, this time in a special ink, using a ridge raising compound, the results were the same unreadable blobby smear.

Why, oh why didn't I just marry into money and be done with it? Then I'd have pretty hands that would be manicured and perfect.

On My 1st Meeting Of The "Big Boss"

I met the district/regional/whatever is higher than my general manager person the other day at CoffeeLand. By "met" I mean I was walking to the front area to restock, and as I reached where she was standing with my boss, things went 80's slow-motion. I heard him say, "Barbara, this is Blahphembugle, my boss." and for some reason, something happened to my usually oh-so-graceful poise and I stuck out my hand to shake hers, not realizing I was still holding a half open container of whole milk. Slo-mo continued as I watched the container hit the floor with a vigor reserved for truly embarrassing times like these, and milk splattered toward her and spread across the tiled floor like a film noir crime scene.

All I could manage to "udder" at the woman was a very questioning "Moo?"

Haminals

I'm slowly sorting through pictures from our vacation, but came across these two that I'd like to share.

A Crabby Turtle



A Turtley Crab

It's Terminal, Baby...

I've had symptoms for over a year. The slight sniffle back when WNPR started running primary coverage. Then I got chills once the final candidates were "official" on both sides. I got aches and pains when Hillary was completely out. I developed a cough when Biden was announced, and I've been running a fever since the announcement of Palin on the Republican ticket. Now that both sides are running full-on into the November election time, I've fallen into a massive migraine - sure to be followed by gastric-intestinal distress. Apparently, when I have to eat all the shit I'm fed, I tend to get sick. I have a feeling no matter what happens in November, it's going to be fatal.

Or else it's the 80 hour work weeks.

Ungh Mruf Nuh, Hnrugh?

During the course of our wonderful vacation, I broke a tooth. If memory serves correct, I broke it on a burger. Or an egg. Or a donut. I forget which, but suffice to say, it was something soft (and yes, completely off the diet. Screw Ike: South Beach has hit our house again with a vengeance). So for the last four days, the jagged remains of one of my teeth has been ravishing my tongue. And not in that good way.

Today, I got in to see my wonderful dentists, at the 'oh-so-ironic' time of 2:30. Har-di-har. Now I hate dentists. Nothing against them personally, per se, but I have a completely rational fear of them, and the sharp, pointy things they like to torture me with. These guys are just amazing. Incredible. They almost make it a joy to go in for an appointment.

OK, so the Novocaine is still in my system, apparently. I'm delirious.

Almost immediately after I walk in the door, Nicole The Assistant comes out and ushers me into the chair. Dr K gives me 3 shots in the jaw, making me whimper each time. Yes, I'm a wimpy whimperer. Shut up. Nicole's adjusting the chair up a bit, down a bit, down a bit more, flying high...then she giggles. She says that they're supposed to talk to the patients when they move the chair, let us know what they're doing, but that she was having so much fun with me, she just wanted to see how much she could mess with me before I said anything.

Then she's cleaning up the instruments and breaks one, clear in half. The look on her face was priceless, as she realized I was watching. "You didn't see anything. Nothing happened," she giggled.

Mid-way through the best filling I've ever gotten (and believe me, I know fillings), Dr K grabs the needle again. Tools in my mouth, all I can do is whimper "Umf nungh muh!" to which Nicole replies "Don't worry, this isn't like the other needles; this one's to stop the blood."

Talk about a Gazelle in the headlights.

Then Rikki The Assistant wanders in and asks Nicole if she can bring her a coffee. "Medium, light and sweet" is her reply, to which I hold up two fingers, sending them all into fits. Despite all this, apparently they're onto my wily ways, and were talking about how calm I always am in the chair, despite the fact that I'm a quivering mess in the waiting room. Huh. Back again in two weeks, but I can't believe I've finally found a dentist that doesn't butcher me, and has a sense of humor. Hats off to you gals. There's coffee in your future, for sure.

Hatteras Lighthouse: A View from the Top

Last night, Barbara, Mom, and I had tickets to climb Hatteras Lighthouse, at night, under a full moon. It was truly a dream come true for Mom, and I managed to get some great pictures from the top. This one is probably my favorite:



Overall, it's good to be home, and with the Kitten, but I sure will miss doing sweet nothing but the ocean with my days.

For Everything Else, There's Mastercard

Body Board on sale: $3.58


Swimsuit: $24.99


Asthma Inhaler forever in the Atlantic: Priceless