Good Morning

I must be honest with you, I have been grumpy as hell lately. And grumpy is a very polite term for the foul mood I have been in. Almost nothing seems to please me - it's crazy how it can take one small bad thing to overwhelm and squash the many good things that are going on. Or maybe this is just me. Perhaps I am letting the yuck things accumulate and build into a mountain. I should be crushing the molehills.

This morning I was in my yoga class and, usually, I am glad to be in a 6:30 am class because it is too early for my mind to be working. However, today it was whirring away and nothing good was going on up there. I was getting all kinds of frustrated. As I rushed out of class so that I could be at work by nine, I was still all over the place - my feet seemed to big for my boots, my pants didn't fit correctly, I felt strangled by my turtleneck. But as I walked down the street, birds started singing. Perhaps they were squawking in panic. Whatever it was, those birds were chirping their lungs out. It was striking how many were chirping. I thought to myself, are they doing this because there is a storm coming in? Are they trying to warn others about the bad weather approaching? They do say that animals still have the intuition that humans seem to have lost over time. Then again, I mused, whatever it is, it does sound nice. And it is always good to be reminded that we still have a little wildlife in our overcrowded city. I smiled a little.

Then I walked into work and wished my coworkers a good morning as I passed their desks. I was reminded of one my favourite movies, Singin' in the Rain, and that fun song about good mornings. I mean, if I woke up singing that song every day, my days would be way more fun than they currently are. As I sat at my desk I decided that I was glad that I had gone to yoga, it does give me the balance. I am glad that I do all the things that I do in an attempt to remain sane. I have to remind myself often that there are many good things in my life and around my life. I just have to remember to wish the world and myself a very Good Morning! Maybe dance a little while I'm at it.

Coming Clean

There is a show that used to be on HBO called "Taxicab Confessions". In it, people would get into a cab and proceed to share their deepest and, sometimes, darkest, secrets with the stranger who was driving them to their destination. Today, I shall slide into this booth here - a surviving peepshow booth from the red-light-district Times Square of yesteryear - and I shall make my New York Confessions. I am going to come clean:

• For ages, I believed that the subway stop "Astor Place" was where the neighbourhood of Astoria is. It turns out that Astor Place is in Manhattan and Astoria is in Queens. The train that runs to Astor Place goes nowhere near Astoria.
• I have lived in New York for over 10 years and taken the subway since I got here. I found out, only two years ago, that the entrance to downtown trains is always on the west side of the street. I was with Hidef and wondering why he always knew which entrance to use in order to get on a train (I always guessed and mostly got it incorrect). He looked at me and said, "the downtown train is always on the west side of the street." I asked how he knew and he said, "I don't know; everyone knows." Not everyone.
• I lived in New York City, in Brooklyn, for years before I realised that Brooklyn and Queens are located on Long Island. How was I to know? I mean, no one who lives in Brooklyn or Queens ever says that they live in Long Island. Also, when you go to other Long Island towns they just feel like another country. Also on Long Island? The Hamptons.
• I have lived in the same neighbourhood, in Brooklyn, since 2001 and I still am not sure exactly how to direct a cabby exactly how to get home. Over the years, I have learnt how to fake the funk by throwing in phrases like "take Atlantic Avenue" and "if traffic is heavy we can try Eastern Parkway" so it sounds as though I know what I'm talking about. In this way the cabbies does not realise that if they ask me about taking the Van Wyck, I will get the deer-in-the-headlights look and start wondering what I need to say to make sure they don't take me on the expensive scenic route.

Oh my! Exhale! That was cleansing. Yes, I am a New Yorker and there are still mysteries in the city.

Ode...

i love my legs; as far as i know, i always have. i can't remember when i didn't love my, at times spindly, often-referred-to-as-chicken legs. even at a time when i either hated or was indifferent to every other part of me, i loved my legs. my legs, which i love by the way, were built for a life of leisure. they were built for high heels and miniskirts and, you know, that's not a bad thing to be built for. the trouble is that's not what my legs ever wanted to do. my legs wanted to climb trees, crawl through tunnels and fall off speeding bicycles - and they carry the many years of scars to prove it. my legs still want to win races, jump high and long, and play every sport they come across. but that's not all. oh no ... my legs want to run and run and run. ah, those legs. my legs. we always want what we shouldn't have. and when i try to reason with them, my legs ask me - would you rather sprain your ankle stumbling over the insanely high heel of some silly shoe or during a high-octane pick-up basketball game? when you soak your sore feet, isn't it great that it's because of a long run in the glorious outdoors and not because of some ill-fitting instruments of torture strapped to them? how cool is it that your knees hurt, not because you walked around all day on tiptoes, but because you ran faster, and further than you ever imagined possible?

i tell you, it's difficult to argue with my legs and, because i love them and because i want them to be happy and.. well... because they are right, i let them do what they will. these legs that i love.

Tested

i have an irrational fear of heights. i know it's irrational but it doesn't make it any less real. you see, my fear of rodents is completely rational but heights... all i know is that it is there and it is great and soon i may be tested. i shall have to choose which is more powerful - friendship or fear.

i often try to figure out where this fear came from; i remember spending a lot of my childhood climbing trees and other tall structures without a a second thought. one year, though, when i was about 11 years old i went on a class trip. we stayed at a camp and spent our days engaged in various outdoors activities, beginning each day with a run. towards the end of the week, it was time to conquer the mountains that surrounded our camp. the adults packed ropes and we set out, walking the paths up the hills towards rock faces in the distance. i had no idea what i was in for. how could i? i grew up in cities and climbed only trees and urban structures - no ropes involved.

the man in charge left a group of us and the bottom of, what appeared to me to be, a sheer rock face. he clipped rope to our belts and headed on up the path. when he reached the top, he stuck his head over the rock face and yelled that we were to take the short cut, up the sheer face. at first things went well, i clambered up, finding crevices and crannies to lodge my feet and hands and work up the rock face. i was almost at the top when it happened. i'm not completely sure how, maybe i slipped a little, maybe a tiny piece of rock came sliding past me and falling into nothingness. your guess is as good as mine but, whatever happened, i froze right up. i looked back and all i could see was empty air. i imagined myself falling through that air and, for the first time in my life i faced my mortality. i looked up at the man in charge and said, "i can't."
"yes you can."
"no, i can't do this - there's nowhere to put my hands. i can't go any further." my heartbeat had quickened and i was close to hyperventilating. and then he did it. he let go of the safety rope.
"well, you're going to have to do it because i'm not helping you up and now that i've let go of the rope, you are either going to fall or get up here."
it was like my skin grew suction cups or i had turned into a part-spider creature. i scrambled up to the top of the rock and collapsed.
"see, i told you you could do it." i didn't respond. i lay silently, trying to get my heart back from the place outside my body it had run off to. i think that was the beginning of the end.
generally, i live a life mostly on the ground so i almost never have to face this fear of not having terra firma under my feet. but last week i got a call. it was boston's birthday and, to celebrate, she wants to go skydiving. and she wants me to go with her. what to do?

i have reminded her of my fear. i have told her that any skydiving will probably come with screaming and tears (i can only hope i don't pee my pants). but i have said that i shall try. i do hope that friedship is stronger than fear. but my fear is pretty darn great. and who knows what will happen when i look out of the door of the airborne plane. who knows what irrational fear will do...

Do You Dare Look?

i always have too much and for that i blame my mother. i can say that because i also speak of how organised my mother is and wonder i inherited absolutely none of that. but yeah, i always have too much. my mom, she can never throw anything away - she is always convinced that you can squeeze a little more out of anything. i have a pot in the house that barely has a bottom. i mean, seriously, what can one do with a bottomless cooking pot? and yet it is still in my house. so, i can't throw stuff away and, in glorious addition tot hat, i am the queen of just-in-case. to show you, let's take a trip through my handbag.

• I have a small magic wallet that holds my driver's licence, metro card (for the subway), bank cards and a little bit of cash for small things like a snack, water and gum.
• I have a large wallet, in which I keep my health insurance card, my doctors' business cards, receipts, change (magic wallet only holds bills), cheque book, extra cash, just in case I run out of cash in my magic wallet, my New York Roadrunners membership card, my dental benefits card and my eyecare benefits card.
• I have two ChicoBags. One is blue and the other is purple. This is just in case I stop some place for some groceries. Then I can tell them - No plastic bags, thanks, I brought my own.
• I have a litte mini note pad. Just in case I need to write a little mini note.
• I have a mini tub of Vaseline, a lip tube of Vaseline and several lip glosses. Apparently I have a subconcious fear of dry lips.
• I have a mini pouch that I originally got for my change. But that was before I got my current large wallet. Now this pouch holds my AAA membership card (even though I don't have a car), my airline miles club cards and my Prospect Park membership card. Oh and a piece of stone that broke off a necklace about two years ago.
• Sunglasses - just in case it gets sunny.
• Hand cream, for when my hands get dry
• Several different typs of pens and a pencil - for taking notes, and doing puzzles while I travel.
• My Ipod for listenign to music and podcasts
• Allergy pills and eyedrops and a nasal spray. To keep the allergies in check. I almost never use the eyedrops because I hate waiting to be able to see again after I have put the drops in.
• Tissues - just in case I need to blow my nose or offer tissues to a kid with a runny nose on the subway.
• I mini-case holding my business cards. Whenever I go to a meeting at work when I actually need to give someone my business cards, I leave my handbag behind in my office. So this case is quite full and unused.
• A case that has clear pockets that holds my Zipcard for when I rent a Zipcar. The zipcar has these awesome cards that unlock the doors just by holding the card up to the sensor on the windscreen. This case also has a tip table, more airline membership cards, and an expired Costco membership card.
• A clock/calculator that Time Magazine sent me. It is rather unwieldy but sometimes I need a calculator or maybe just to know the time in Moscow.
• A book of matches - I have no idea why that is in my bag.
• Rice paper - apparently for when my face gets shiny. My face gets shiny every day and yet I use the rice paper, maybe, once every three months.
• My work ID - the one that gives me first access to the building, before I start entering pass codes et al.
• My very super old cellphone that works only half the time.
• Sore joint rub, compliments of medicine of the people. It is my Navajo approach to the pain in my knees.
• Nail files for smoothing and shaping my nails - whenever they aren't just breaking.
• A mini torch, aka flashlight, just in case the lights go out.
• Herbal tea bags.
• A book to read (I try to listen to a podcast on my way to work and read on my way home)
• EMERGENCY CHOCOLATE.

So, I don't have a makeup bag because I have not figured out where to find the space without breaking my shoulders. But I do have my other bag for lunch, sports gear (if I'm going to the gym), extra shoes for work (even though I already have about six pairs under my desk, that I sometimes cycle during the day if my feet get sore), a sweater - just in case it gets cold, and any other extras I need to take in to the office.

I also have a drawer at work where I keep an umbrella, just in case it starts raining while I'm at work, another sweater, a spare charger for my barely working phone, more tea, dental floss and brown sugar.

Now, on the weekend, I try to stop and unpack the bag and seriously ask myself - Pandave, do you really need this? And the answer is always - well, just in case.

Is There Hope?

We have already established that I am not a morning person.  But I think I have been backsliding lately.  Last week, I decided to try out 6:30 am yoga classes.  Not only is this rather ambitious, it is also very challenging, in terms of time.  The class is a 90 minute class and, therefore, ends at 8am.  I start work at 9am and I work about a 40 minute subway trip from home and I have to fit a shower in.  Now that I am typing it all out, it seem a tad insane but thinking it through, it made complete sense.  

So to make this work takes planning.  I have to decide what I am going to wear and pack it in my sports bag the night before.  I must pack my shower gear and lay out the yoga wear as well.  Nothing must be left to do in the morning, except feed my fish, Gandanga.  

I wake up at 6am and head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.  I change into the yoga gear, pull a coat on, grab the bags (I leave them near the door the night before) and I walk briskly to the studio.  About 100 minutes later, I am hitting the shower and changing into my work gear.  I make a brief stop at home to drop off the sweaty gear and feed Gandanga and then it is a fast walk to the subway station and off to work.  I am perfecting the art but that is the plan.

Now, to try to keep my body from being traumatised by ever-changing wake-up calls, I have resolved to wake up at 6am every day.  The thinking is that I'll get time in the morning to catch up on life.  Well, last week on Thursday, I woke up at 6am.  God only knows what I did with the time but I found myself rushing out of the house after 8am, with nothing to show for my wasted two hours but sleepiness.  Where did the time go?  What was I doing?

This morning I got some idea.  I think I applied Vaseline to my lips about 3 times.  I forgot stuff maybe twice and I misplaced my mittens and spent a good five minutes looking for them.  Sometimes I spill water while taking my iron and I have to mop up some.  I spend time getting my lunch together - I really should do that the night before.  Sometimes I sit down and find myself drifting off and thinking about how tired I am.  Next thing I know, it's five or ten minutes later.  I have been known to decide to iron some clothes because I think I have extra time.  And all is done in a daze.  

And all the time I wonder - how do people do it?  How do I get to the oiled-machine-get-up-and-go mode.  Most people take about 30 minutes to get ready in the morning - I'd be happy at 45.

I Promise To Tell The Truth... Kinda.

When I was in primary school, I went to the library every Friday, at least. The library helped in this plan by making sure that library books were due every two weeks. It was pretty much a social event; a thing we did every Friday. We would hop on our bicycles after school, ride over to the library and hang out a little after picking out our books. The library was near the local public swimming pool, and near a mini-shopping centre. There was no shortage of things for aimless youths to get up to, and of course, one could always sit in the library and read.

One such Friday, when I was about eleven years old, I was hanging out at the library when one of my friends suggested we go over to a women's clothing store to look at bras. So we checked out our books and headed over, despite the fact that maybe, at a stretch, only one of my friends had a chest worth supporting. But we knew it was coming and we wanted to be ready to wear the lacy contraptions we had spotted in our mothers' laundry. We giggled and gasped and the saleslady was very patient with us but we were soon bored and headed out of the store.
"Pandave, where is your bicycle," one of my friends asked me.
"I must have left it at the library, let's just walk over and get it."
"Didn't you bring it over here?"
"I couldn't have because it's not here, is it?" I fully confident my bicycle would be standing outside the library once we went around the corner.

But it wasn't. It was gone. We walked the block about ten times before I would admit it to myself and someone called the police. A few days later, my father took me in to the police station to give a statement and he sat with me as I gave it. The policeman looked up at me and asked, "So what were you doing when your bicycle was stolen?"
"Um, I had been at the library and then my friends and I went to a women's clothing store."
"What were you doing in the women's store, and how long were you there?"
I glanced over at my father, dead nervous. I talked to my father about many many things, but we had never had a conversation about my boobs and I wasn't about to start now, not in front of this stranger. But, what could I do? The man had asked me a question and was looking at me, expectantly.
"Ummm, looking at dresses."
Yes, I lied. I lied about what I was doing in that store and I could barely sleep that night. I kept imagining the police going into the store and asking about the young girls who were looking at dresses and the saleslady looking surprised. "Dresses? They were not here looking at dresses, they were looking at bras. That little lady is a liar. Prosecute her for perjury."

Oh I worried for months. I worried when they found the man who stole my bicycle and called me in to court, in case I had to take the stand. I wondered what I would do. I wanted to take it back and say I was looking at bras but I couldn't figure out how to do so and not look like some kind of criminal. How could I have lied to the police. The bench was huge, and I sat alone, waiting to be arrested once it came out that I had lied. I worried until the court clerk came out and let me know that my testimony would not be needed and I could go home. I breathed a sigh of relief. For a second I wondered if I had been deemed a bad witness, due to my lies about accessories for my non-existent chest. Then I realised that I was not going to jail. Not that day, anyway.

I have never been so happy to go to school.

Oh What A Heart!!

so my friend from boston? she's is extremely generous. her heart is huge and she gets passionate about things. things she can do something about and things that sometimes overwhelm her. but if you have a problem and you need a friend? she's the one. i'm thinking word must have gotten around. maybe someone's been writing on bathroom walls "you need help? call 1-800-boston" or something. bathroom wall readers must have posted virtual notes online because boston gets email all the time. asking for help.

mostly those in need are in nigeria and their tales are almost all the same. they survived a coup or the military regime but somehow they and their money were separated. maybe it's in a swiss bank account, perhaps it is sitting in a trust in the cayman islands, or possibly in suitcases buried under a hammock in jamaica. but they really need boston's help and though they have never met, they know what a good person she is. they know how trustworthy and honest she is. they just know she is the one. help us and we'll show our appreciation by giving you millions of dollars. just a small token of appreciation. send us all your personal information and let us put mountains of money in your account and then keep a lot of it and just give us enough to live on. so, the other day, boston kindly wrote back to one:


dear dr johnson campbell

what a dear friend you are to think of me. yes , i did get your message from 3 months ago. wow, $500k sounds great. i could get a new condo. and maybe a new car. like one of those hybrid cars. they are really kind of pricey. i wish hyundai would make a hybrid. do you think they will? you know those japanese boys, they dont like to be left behind. what with the kia and all. but the kia's are not bad. not bad at all. there is that one that looks like a merc. i wonder how it drives. you know what i like about the japanese, they are tech people, so you know their cars are not always basic. but what if they come up with like a hummer hybrid. eeeish. that would be interesting. lol. a hybrid hummer. and then they can make all kinds of colors. like pink and purple. orange even.
maybe your secretay that Steve Douglas fellow, maybe he can call the japanese with these ideas. i bet we could make a boat load of money.
okay, well let me know how that goes. oh about that money, i think i'm kind of overloaded a bit with some money i got last year. so maybe u can hold onto it for me for a while. thanks.

Heroes II

then i was sitting on my couch, watching tv and it ambled out of the kitchen... like it owned the place. my feet were off the floor, quicker than lightning. across the neighbour had said i was okay but now i wasn't. i was in peril and it stood between me and my front door.



i called across the hall neighbour. voicemail. very friendly voicemail at that. though i didn't know him as well, i called my neighbour to the left and he was in. but i would have to open the door to let him in. i ran, didn't look into the kitchen, just opened the door and he came in. and found nothing.

check again

there's nothing here.

what am i supposed to do?

just call me when it comes back and i'll come back.



i didn't know him so well, so i pretended to be brave. but the traps came out (the exterminator had left me a supply.) and again i came home to one in a trap (sounds like great odds but you would have to see how many traps i put out then) and called my neighbour to the left. i'm out but i'll be back in a few hours. a few hours? but i can't get into the apartment. but isn't it stuck on a trap? but what if it breaks free? i mean i can hear it. i can't go in. wait a second he says.

knock on my door.

his girlfriend. holding a broom. i hear you have a problem.

and though she was almost as scared as me, she got rid of it.



i ask my roommate - still in nigeria - what is going on. oh so casually, like it's no big deal - well they come up when it gets cold and you know the building is old you just have to put out traps. that is exactly what the exterminator said but that was unacceptable. my heart could only take so much. i was reaching my breaking point.



two nights later it was back (and they say it is cats that have nine lives), trying to join me in the living room. i squeaked out something that let it know that i didn't want the company and grabbed my phone. ring... ring... voicemail. and i start

sorry to bother you but it's back and i don't know what to do. it keeps coming back and i don't know how to stop it and...

my voice broke.

i can't believe i'm crying i'm so sorry.

i hung up. i did tell you that i didn't know him that well

and now he had witnessed me break.

and still he treated me as thought it all made sense (which it does, despite what you say) and helped me get the landlord send someone to try to fill in all the holes. and then he laughed. very hard. my hero

Heroes I

the weather was getting cooler - winter was coming. the landlord had turned the heat on in the building so the cold outside was not yet such a big deal. i was asleep and then suddenly i was awake and terrified. though i had never heard it before i knew what it was, that scratching entered my dreams and i lay in bed terrified. the lights were off but i had to see if i really had heard it or imagined it.

i lay, silently debating - should i chance stepping on the ground to reach the light switch or should i write it off as an over-active imagination and try to get back to sleep? who was i kidding? i wasn't about to sleep! if you gauged my heart, i was about to have a heartattack. i thought about it a little. new york apartment, i could try to reach the switch. so i did. and almost immediately we were looking at each other... eye to eye.

me and that rodent. rat, mouse, i don't care, it wasn't paying rent, it wasn't welcome. and yet it was staring me down and standing between me and the door. i thought, what now? my roommate was in nigeria and i was being held prisoner by this animal. i know, i know. you laugh and you say to me - oh, that little thing! it's more scared of you than you are of it. well, let me tell you something. as we gazed unblinking at each other one of us was petrified, the other had fur.

i stood on my futon and thought, this thing is very close to the ground; i can't stay in this room. i have to take my chances. and what? the only weapon i thought i might have was a can of pledge. and i would only have one chance to make that pledge effective. if i didn't aim accurately and get that rodent dead in the eye, all it would have is a shiny coat and it would attack me and... i couldn't think about it. i leapt for the door, screaming as i went. i slammed the door and ran through the living room into my roommate's empty room and slammed that door shut. then i sealed the bottom of the door with clothes and lay down. i tried to convince myself that i was safe but all i did was watch the clock until the stores were open. i got the glue traps and put them around the apartment and dashed off to work.

i came home to the sound of squeaking and stood, trapped, near the entrance wondering what to do. i knocked on the door of my neighbour across the hall. his mother fears rodents as i do so i didn't even have to finish my sentence. he went in. for a second i wondered if i should be polite and show him in. sensing my hesitation he ordered me out so i wouldn't have to see.

two minutes later. okay, it's gone he says. are you sure? yes. and i believed.

I'm It!

FB tagged me...



The Rules are:-

• We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.


• Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.


• People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.


• At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.


• Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

okay... deep breath and here we go:

1. i am addicted to dr bronner's soap. mainly the peppermint. since 2002. i have tried to break free. i have tried other soaps and body washes. nothing hits the spot like dr bronner's.
2. most of the time my emotions scare me. sometimes i think they scare other people. often they leave people drained. except my sister - bless her.
3. i have a vampire bite. on the back of my right calf. i've shown it to my mother. she said, "are you sure", i said "yes", and she said "okay".
4. i am a people magnet. strangers approach me and tell me their life stories or just their problems. all the time. even when i have headphones on.
5. sometimes i just can't remember someone's name. the name just won't stick. which really sucks when i really like them. it makes them think i don't care - but i do! i really do.
6. i cannot listen to hotel california. it brings the rodents and i am petrified of the rodents. typing this filled me with fear - i hope my words have no power. just the song. which i cannot listen to.
7. my brother has a blog. i stumbled upon it today. he's had it since at least the beginning of last year. why didn't i know this?
8. apparently i have world leader tendencies.

i'm on a right old tear here. once i started, well... but rules is rules and so 8 is 8...

now who can i tag? hmmmm...

the mysterious tu007?
the revolutionary dearcabbie?
the poetic prettylyf?
the globe-trotting carla?
the writer tjidzani?
the erratic black dove?
the creative dodos?
the soulful maddy?

lucky number 8! show me some love!!

MWAH!!!

i must have been in my early teens or maybe late pre-teens... i used to go to watch movies with my girlfriends - no parents in sight. but this is how it worked. back then when i wished so hard that i was cool.



my father would walk me to the movie house. he would pay for my movie ticket - i suppose to make sure that the movie i wanted to watch was appropriate. i tell myself it is not that my father did not trust me... he just trusted no one around me??



he then gave me enough money for popcorn and a soda.

then he would ask the dude at the window what time the movie ended.



"enjoy the movie, my dear, i'll pick you up when it is over" he would boom. yes, my father was a boomer.


and then

even though i would duck my head

try to step back so i would be out of range

he would kiss me goodbye.



and not a kiss that a desperately trying to be cool could pretend no one noticed.

uh-uh. not my booming dad.

it was a kiss with sound effect "MWAH"

could be heard from across the street.

followed by a booming "see you later my dear."



yeah, i was never a cool teen.
i guess i got a lot of kisses though...

At Work, They Don't Know

i still have not figured out what it is about my aura that drives computers crazy... but, ahem... it is happening again. at home, of course my dvd-rw drive doesn't work. i am covered by warranty but the thought of spending two hours on the phone with a tech-support rep that i don't trust. i tell you it feels as though they are stabbing into that darkness i am in. i stand pretty much the same chance of getting lucky - if i decide to troubleshoot on my own. but then if i kill the machine i may no longer be covered by warranty. maybe this weekend.

ah but at work? well, i got a new computer maybe about 6 months ago. a rather nice, compact and quick machine. a little over a month ago our computer support company came in for their monthly maintenance visit. the next day i got my first blue screen of death. two more on that day. but i was getting ready to go to zimbabwe so i thought, i'll deal with this when i get back - i sent them an email and went off to have fun.

i get back, all laid back and relaxed and used only the most essential programmes (mostly cos a bunch just crashed when i tried to start them) and a few days later the techie arrived to fix my machine. full of confidence he "tweaked" my outlook and upgraded me to internet explorer 7.

the next day i got the blue screen of death. once i restarted my machine i emailed him and made an appointment for remote assistance for the next morning. for about 3 hours the next day two different techies ran anti-virus and spyware scans (because they think that wouldn't be the first thing i would do at a time like that. that's cos they don't know my history either). despite all the logs windows keeps of the many crashes, the techs have no idea what is causing the crashing but after removing my google and yahoo toolbars they tell me i should be okay.

my computer crashes that evening. twice. remote access calls again the next day. this time after my long spiel on everything that everyone has done he makes an appointment to come in tomorrow. just to make a point, just after that call, my computer crashes, while i am working on a complicated excel worksheet. even though i had been saving like a crazy person the sheet i recover is all wonky. i want to cry because, of course, i have a deadline. i am only two hours later than i had planned and still on time (for the bosses). i sigh in relief and the computer crashes again. i restart and go home (it is 7pm after all).

today i was in philly, and i tried to remote desktop into my machine. i knew what was coming when my outlook started acting up (outlook dying has been a sign that the blue screen is on the way. i tried to tell tech support but apparently i am not trained so my opinion isn't worth diddly squat). by 10am - dead computer.

i am thinking backup typewriter and abacus.

Dirty Secrets

i have long maintained that in life one must have a bad habit. i used to bite my nails... now i mostly don't. wanna know why? well because my mother introduced me to idols west africa. AND THEN i found the website which has clips of the performances. apparently i may be able to vote there too. it is all a bit much for me... deep breath.

my current favourite - timi. to quote paula "i love how he makes it his own". generally i think the guys are way better than the gals. of course i went to watch the worst audtions - you gotta see collins aka schmook da thug (an aspiring snoop dogg, we believe). it is true, it is not just american idol aspirants that apparently do not have friends.

two minutes ago, through contestant jerrilyn, i discovered what bootlylicious looks like in skin-tight gold lame "pantsuit". yeah, for sure, i was not ready for that jelly. ahem. i am off to do some squats in a second. i must, i must, i must increase my butt...

i am having so much fun with this, i even almost forgive them their wannabe randy dogg jackson judge (why would anyone want that?). and i know it is called idols west africa but is anyone on that show anything other than nigerian? but i am not complaining - i am not biting my nails and i think this is safer than smoking. yep, i'm sure this will tide me over until the new season of big brother africa.

Quirks?

a fellow magnificent blogger, dodos was tagged the other day. the mission? to list 6 "weird" things about yourself. shy person that dodos is, he still managed to put himself out there and thus tagged me. so in a lesser artistic fashion. pandave exposed...

1)

i used to have an awesome disco hula hoop but i gave it away to a lovely young lady, leaving me with red, white and blue. I LOVE TO HULA WITH THE HOOP! roller blading and double dutch are next on the list.

2)

apparently i tend to have the attention span of a gnat. i find myself starting many many things at the same time. i tell myself, focus, focus but last night these were 4 of the things i started... jill of many trades, apparently.

3)

i give my plants names (they are all girls) and i sing and talk to them too. but look at the results. chimoto is growing like a weed! wait a minute...

4)


i adore fabulous tights. the more fabulous the better for stepping out my 8th floor window onto the roof of the building next door!

5)

no plastic bag is safe around me. they are all folded into triangular submission. i can't help myself.

6)
well... apparently i own too many pyjamas. well, naysayers, i couldn't find a pair to take a picture of so i don't know what you're talking about!

TAG!!!

It's All My Fault

since i was about 18 maybe a little older, perhaps a little younger, i have been angry with fashion. first it was sundresses. i mean those strappy tops? where was my bra supposed to go? many a time i threatened to go without and show the world! but fear of my mother's wrath kept me in unfashionable tops or t-shirts under the sundresses.

then i discovered the strapless bra and forgot the battle. and now?

the dresses i see in the store windows would look better on my teenage brother than they could ever hope to look on - if i could squeeze them over my ever-expanding hips. plunging necklines, strappy tops, non-existent backs. what the hell? and the models wearing them in the magazines and on the catwalks - i am trying to figure out if designers want them to look like little girls or teenage boys. either way my way out of puberty self is screwed. i look around and i know i am not alone. and i am not even going to discuss what this fashion says about what we are supposed to find desirable.

so this is what i get. when you give up the fight, it emboldens the enemy or at least the mindless designer. and so for this, for dropping the ball, i say - i apologise.

It Was the Best of Times; It Was the Worst of Times

so i popped over to detroit this weekend. my first visit to detroit, which will be my excuse for why i went now and not in, say any other time. my flight out of new new york was delayed by two hours due to windy conditions at laguardia. and they kept us going. first the flight was delayed by just a couple of minutes, then an hour and then as that hour neared its end, the departure time changed by the minute, and never in a good way.

i woke up this morning to freezing rain in detroit - and tried to walk out of the building. but nothing was salted and there were icy stairs to navigate. my two friends and i walked to the top of the first stare but there was no way we were taking the stairs. that would be like bungee jumping without a rope. luckily there was a ramp to the side that we slid down. we held on to each other for dear life as we slipped across the car park to a totally iced out car. we sat inside the warming vehicle as our heroic hosts scraped the car. i felt bad for them but stayed in the non-slippery, dry and warm car. i took the time to work on the right words of admiration for their great window-scraping skills.

we get to the airport and flight after flight has been cancelled and there are super-long lines waiting to check in because, well, because there are dozens of computer self-check-in booths all over the place but only for those with no luggage to check in. now, tell me, with all the new rules on all the things that are not allowed on a plane, who really has no luggage to check in? apparently no one because every one of those booths was free. there was no way i was going to make my flight if i stood in line. i found an agent who said, well we do not bump anyone up in line so you will just have to stand in line and take the next available flight. this to someone who has just seen that already two flights to new york have been cancelled? i tried to go to skycap to check in but i just missed the deadline for that check in. i find another agent and am told to get in line for those who have to rebook because they have missed their flight. yeah... guess how long that line was. and the woman behind me was trying to get to new york too.

screw it! i went over to the computer booth and checked in, with no carry on luggage. i left my bag behind in detroit, with plans to pick it up from boston next month (a friend will take it there, thanks!) and dashed through security. did i say dashed? i meant, i tried to dash but was pulled aside to be searched. turns out i had forgotten the south african chutney, indian chutney and jamaican jerk sauce that i picked up at world market and thrown into my bag. apparently they qualify as liquids and are too large to be allowed onto a plane. yeah, the thought of that loss brings tears to my eyes still - it is too soon.

then i ran like the wind from security to gate 28. i caught the last few folk boarding the flight and sat down, relieved and ready to go home. and sat. and sat. for an hour and a half. icy conditions. and then the bumpiest take-off and touch down i have experienced in a while. i was feeling really nauseated and felt worse when i got to the bathroom and was the first to discover that the plumbing was frozen. well, technically maybe second but the first person did not think to tell anyone. did i mention the sinus/tension headache? can those things be caused by flight delays?

oh right... and then there was the phone call from my across-the-hall neighbour telling me that my downstairs neighbour had a leak coming from, she believed, my bedroom. yeah, so my flight was filled with thoughts of getting home to a waterlogged home. i was trying to remember what electrical appliances and wires were plugged in and on the floor. i promised myself that i would get renter's insurance.

silver linings:
i got to new york. which is more than some might be able to say today.
my two neighbours - right next door and across the hall popped into my apartment to make sure nothing was amiss (with the intention of fixing anything that was). thankfully nothing was leaking but they are still my heroes.
i had an fabulous time in detroit.

now that i have slept/drugged off the headache, it really was a great weekend.

UPDATE: there IS something going on with my radiator, i just found out this morning as i came into my room to find water pooled around said radiator. sigh...

Revelations

over the last few weeks, one thing has become patently clear: i am not now, nor will i ever be, a morning person.
add in winter temperatures and that whole darkness when you wake up nonsense and... disaster.

since the beginning of the year, i have been going for physiotherapy before i go to work. i start work at 9am and physio is 2 hours long. yeah... one hell of an early wake up. silver lining - mild winter. neutraliser - sun still takes its time about rising, regardless. oh and then i am at work until late, i drag myself home and my eyeballs are too burnt out for me to do much more than be tired and hungry when i get home. i barely read the news (not such a bad thing, cos it's not like there's a lot of good stuff out there these days), i barely blog (a terrible thing cos i am missing out on so many wonderful stories every day) and get next to nothing done (pretty much how things have always been but at least i read the news and blogged back then in the 06's).

my early mornings have made me a totally caffeinated grouch. i spend the entire day trying not to fall asleep at my desk and being more crotchety than a sleepy baby and a bitter old man put together. my poor co-workers. i think i'll take them chocolate tomorrow. and do you know what i think about at any given moment? my greatest desire? a massage to rid my shoulders of the incredible pain and then about a week of sleep. just turn me over occasionally so i don't get bed sores but let me sleep and sleep and sleep. in fact, i can pass on the massage - just hit me over the head so i can sleep and sleep and sleep. and when i wake up, please may someone have come into power who decrees that the day shall begin at 10 am. earliest.

and my sister gets up at 3 am for the morning milking of the cows. totally chirpy. go figure.

Jill Came Tumbling After...

so, after my bookshelf confession, i was feeling all guilty and, even though it was past my bedtime and i had to be up before the sun, i decided to try do something about it. i had put the imminent collapse out there, the option was floating around and who knows what would happen if the bookshelf caught wind of it? so i went to the bookshelf and pulled a couple of books of the shelf.

disaster.

a shelf fell down, the back fell out, the bookshelf leaned even more to the right (i didn't even think it possible). i went all beyonce on it - to the left, to the left - to no avail. i quickly moved more books while pushing hard on the shelf to try to force it to the left. my living room swiftly became a sea of books but... the bookshelf did not fall down - hallelujah! but today i am shopping for a replacement. i am thinking lots of little shelves might be the way to go. apparently big shelf does not mean will take many books.

The Slightest Touch

i was going to take a picture of it but i am afraid that the flash might set of a very unwelcome chain reaction. my trusted bookshelf of several years, lugged from target and up to my fourth floor walkup, is leaning precariously to the right. things have already fallen off the top and i have been afraid to add more books to the shelf (barnes and noble shopfest still in shopping bags). i know i should take all the books off the shelf before something terrible happens. ask me why and you won't get an acceptable answer. i look at the time and think - it's almost my bedtime and where would i put all those books and... and...

before i know it i shall be writing a post on my book avalanche.