Nom de Plume

I have the flu, mainly because I have my own personal Typhoid Stevie who has been sick for the past three weeks. Have managed to fight it off until now. Stayed home yesterday, worked from home today. Back in the office tomorrow, though still not feeling great. Stuffy, achy, wheezy, oh my. The pain, the suffering, the anguish.

Harry ecstatic at not being stuffed into his crate for the past two days. Tomorrow, a rude awakening. Still wish I could take him to work with me. Did manage finally to order him a tag. Now just have to get a WA driver’s license before mine expires on my birthday, new plates for the little red devil, register mhcpugetsound.org, re-register ziamunshi.com, finish Mother’s site, delegate doing the MHC site, and take care of overdue parking ticket (shit).

Also need to take Harry back to the vet for shots, and to schedule a little snippity snippity snip snip. (Steve says I sing that with far too much glee.)

Waiting for Elizabeth to call so we can meet up at the dog park to let the puppies play.

Dazed, confused, rambling on and on. So good night.

Steve wants to dress Harry up for Halloween.

So far, his suggestions include:

1) Britney Spears: Baby tee, belly button ring (ouch) and blonde wig
2) Tina Turner, i.e. your own private prancer: heels (ouch), leather mini, and blonde wig

Note the recurring wig.

I have resigned myself to the fact that we have a freak dog, but DRAW THE LINE at dressing aforementioned dog up for Halloween. Though I suspect that Harry would be all over it, especially if it nets him more attention.

This, from the inbox:

dear zia,
glad we could inspire a laugh…… My name is Tyson, and i am a thug
off drugz.
[rolls eyes] anyways, just thought i would give you a heads up on who and
what we are here.

“The Thugz”

(phew)

It’s been a hellish week, though have to confess that the company offsite wasn’t nearly as painful as I thought it would be. After listening to endless presentations (PowerPoint really needs to be eradicated off the face of the earth), we went on a scanvenger hunt. It wasn’t bad.

Today, annual meeting, then off to buy S some little birthday gifts he can open. His big present is a 90 minute massage at a place that’s 4 blocks from his work.

Steve spent the weekend ripping out the deck attached to the garage–only to discover that the moron who built it (read: previous owner) stuck new lumber on top of old rotting lumber.

I am a little worried about all the pics I took at Mount Hellhole because I stuck them into my luggage, not realizing that the x-ray machine they use for security can burn holes in kryptonite.

Steve, bless his little soul, thinks he’s getting a new surfboard for his birthday.

I’m sitting here in the Stimson Room in the library doing a little work and marveling that some places never change. It’s not true to say that the library hasn’t changed at all–the reserved book area downstairs has been turned into an (eek) cafe–but the reference area is as gorgeous as ever with its vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows.

Although I can see that the Blanchard renovation makes good use of space, I still find it an absolute atrocity. The new addition looks cheap (although I am sure it wasn’t) and like a cross between an airport hub and a mcmansion. But Kendade, the new science building, is fabulous, gorgeous, and other supercomplimentary words. Hey, who knows? If that had been here when I was, perhaps I would be a neurosurgeon today.

Okay, maybe not.

In any case, I have taken pictures, so stay posted. One of these days I’ll get them up here.

It is SO weird being here. The Alumnae Council weekend coincides with both Coming Out Weekend and Las Vegas Nite, which pretty much typifies the social life of this place. Right now we are in the renovated Clapp for an ice cream social–but about 7 of us are in the computer lab checking e-mail because we’re addicts.

Who woulda thunk that this Mount Hellholehellion would end up going back to South Hadley for the Alumnae Council? Cool crisp fall weather, Tailgate’s, Fedora’s, midnight drives over all of Western Mass. It’s all coming back and I’m feeling quite nostalgic. Flying out tomorrow morning, coming back late Monday night.

Just got off the phone with Steve. As he said goodbye, he added “I love you.”

I didn’t wrench it out of him. I didn’t beg for the three little words. AND HIS MOTHER WAS SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO HIM.

If you remember singing “Miss Suzy had a steamboat” when you were a kid, this book’s for you. Completely, utterly delightful–and funny as all hell. You know what? Read the excerpt for yourself.

There is absolutely nothing worse than seeing a cute guy order a frilly drink from Starbucks. I mean really, what normal woman wants to date a guy who drinks venti nonfat soy vanilla mochas with a shot of caramel and extra whip?

The fact is, there are certain things coffee was never meant to do. If you have to take a breath in the middle of reciting your coffee order, get in your car and drive to the nearest Baskin-Robbins instead. You’re not drinking a coffee, you’re drinking a milkshake. Dissolve a No-Doz in it, and you’ll be able to up your caffeine intake while you’re at it.

We had a contest at work to name the conference rooms (we moved into a shiny new building this week) and one of the bright young things, frappucino firmly clutched in one hand, won. “Let’s, like, name them after COFFEE DRINKS!!”

Let’s, like, gag me with a chocolate-covered spoon.

Yesterday, confronted by my woeful dog’s face as I was about to put him in his kennel, decided screw it, I’m taking him into work. After all, we just moved buildings and I have my own office. So we trundled in, Harry in his big box with the $45 pillow the chiropractor foisted on me (good for something), three chew toys, and a ragged blanket.

Only to find out that while my boss and her boss were fine with it, the building absolutely positively DOES NOT ALLOW pets in the building. So I had to take him home. One problem: His box is huge (no way to hide him) and there’s a hefty fine for having a dog in here.

So we stuffed him in a paper recycle box and smuggled him down the elevator and into the car.

He was bummed.

On the other hand, he’s quite enamored of the dog park. There are lots of real dogs to play with there.

Interesting book review at spiked online. I was struck by the assertion that nothing is valued for itself, and is instead valued for what it leads to, whether education, knowledge, or art–something I’ve been saying for years. The result, according to Feludi, are institutions that are more concerned with making people feel good about themselves and/or their relationships with others and less concerned with the quality of art or education. Which, of course, seeps, into every cultural aspect of life, dumbing institutions down.

Why, when I am depressed, am I told to “snap out of it,” yet when Steve is depressed, it’s the end of the world?

Over the dog, that is. Steve steadfastly maintains that he hates Harry P. yet told me this morning that “Harry’s beefy 11 pounds FORCED him to snuggle last night” even though he didn’t want to.

Driving through Seaside, Oregon on the way to Oswald State Park to surf, we always laugh at a little place with homemade signs in the window called “Thugz off Drugz.

Imagine: “Hi, I’m Bob, and I’m a thug off drugs.”

Anyway, this weekend, we looked for the signs–and found they had moved to a bright new facility with real signs–and a huge declaration over one door: Intake Center.

Harry had the best weekend of his short little life. He doesn’t think he’s a pug; he thinks he’s a Rottweiler, and HP just goes and goes and goes until he passes out cold. Which he did several times over the weekend. We had a pretty good time too, finally managing to snag a spot at Oswald State Park, surfing both Saturday and Sunday. I feel like I did better than I have in a long time, catching wave after wave. Steve says it’s because I finally waxed the board.

Yesterday, full of good cheer, I swung into the gas station on the way home from work and pumped a tankload of … diesel.

The fact that the nozzle fit PERFECTLY into the tank should have been a dead giveaway; most of them are far too small for my car’s antiquated system and gush gas all over the place if I’m not careful.

They towed me up the road to a service station, where my tank was emptied once the mechanic had picked himself up off the floor from laughing. Then I zipped on home. No problem. But I have provided endless amusement to all the males I know; Steve was hysterical and Wayne chuckled, which for him is the same thing.

Have the afternoon off since we’re in the process of moving office buildings. Worked from home in the a.m. with a furry little canine nestled on my lap. Now, clean the pigsty and then tire the potsticker out with Koya and Elizabeth in Seward Park.