a waste of a perfectly good bag of Sun Chips

Yesterday my colleague came back from lunch, said she was going to donate blood, and asked if I wanted to come along. It didn't seem like a big deal--as a universal donor (O+) I always mean to do it more often.

The last time I was going to donate was the birthday on which I got laid off. Something about hearing that our whole office was being eliminated made me feel lightheaded enough not to want to lose a pint of blood on top of it. And the time before that, my brother needed blood for his surgery. I lied about my weight to be able to give him two pints, so I could barely walk after that. Hey, it's my baby brother--I'd cut out my own heart if I thought it would help him.

Obviously those other factors were what made me feel dizzy after donating, right? So I filled out the forms, hopped on the table and let the phlebotomist hook me up. It really wasn't a big deal. She gave me a little grip-shaped cylinder to rotate in my hand while the blood came out and after a few minutes the bag was full with 1 pint/1 pound of blood. Everyone was really impressed that I filled it in just 6 minutes, 22 seconds. It was some kind of record.

I felt great. I jumped off the table and to the "recovery area" where an elderly volunteer was handing out chips, cookies and juice. I opened a bag of Sun Chips and started making small talk with him about how many people he'd seen pass out after donating. The volunteer said there were three who blacked out the day before, all in a row, but none so far that day. I was feeling fine, mentioned something about feeling a tiny bit woozy, and one of the phlebotomists ran over and told me to sit closer to the table with my knees under it.

The next thing I remember was that I was having a really vivid dream and woke up to one of those scenes from a movie where silhouettes standing over me were starting to become clearer. I was lying on the floor. There was an ice pack on my neck and on my belly under my shirt, they had a fan on me and the guy was telling me to rock my knees back and forth. And way off in the distance, I heard someone say, "Get me my purse! I have to call her mother!"

With that, I snapped right back into consciousness. Not my mom! Please don't call my mom! She'd already left for the day and was probably still on the road. The last thing you ever want to tell a driving mother is that her kid has had some sort of accident--and of course those people told her I'd blacked out and fallen down somewhere. I started panicking that she'd get into some kind of accident because I was an idiot.

The nurses kept taking my blood pressure (which is always sort of low to begin with) and tsk-tsking me for not having hydrated or eaten more before getting on the table. I looked around and saw the contents of that bag of Sun Chips strewn all around me, crushed to a powder by everyone who had rushed to help.

And mom made great time. She took one look at me, asked if I was feeling okay, then smacked me and demanded to know why I hadn't eaten more for breakfast. Which is exactly what I'd told all of them she would do. I was just glad she hadn't freaked out. She gave me something to eat, scolded me more and told me to get my butt back to work.

When I got back to the office, my coworkers had somehow crammed a full-sized wheelchair behind my desk, covered the arms, back, footrests, the floor around it and my keyboard with blankets, and adorned it with signs that said "Cadiz's wheelchair, do not remove" "I've fallen and I can't get up!" and "I'm not sleeping, I passed out." Then everybody proceeded to make me eat and drink every fifteen minutes for the next several hours.

I came home to find my mother had gone to the store and made a fat pot roast. It was so delicious I forgot how full I already was. I've learned my lesson! Next time I want to donate blood, I'll be sure to have a nice juicy cheeseburger first.

YOU make the call

H and I have been bombarded with questions about when we're going to get married. The day we got engaged, we decided not even to think about setting a date until we had accumulated a certain amount in our "nuptial fund." And while we've both been working very hard (which is why you haven't heard much in the way of posting/commenting lately), it seems like our "2013" estimation is more realistic than we had thought.

So when someone mentioned entering one of those wedding contests, we thought, Why not? We've got an interesting story, right? And we've certainly had to face plenty of challenges together; maybe it's worth a shot.

We spent the afternoon in front of the camera-on-a-timer and had Brian Regan's Comedy Central Special playing in the background to ward off the fake smiles. We probably took more than a thousand shots, but these are the two we feel most look like the normal us. To appease my brother, I'm in half of them without the glasses.

You guys know us pretty well. Which set of these people would you give a dream wedding to?

this is the boy who once made his Christmas list in July

"So are you coming to pick me up from the airport?"

"Yeah, I'll get off work at 8. Please tell me that you're not bringing your entire wardrobe again this time. Getting your baggage takes FOREVER! It'll only be seven days, for God's sake."

"I'm going to bring it, even if it's mostly empty. For all the presents I'm going to need to take back with me. "

"Whoa, greedy, what if all you get for Christmas this year are hugs?"

"Then they'd better come with gift receipts."

you won't get this if you don't listen to Weezer

We just got back from the Weezer concert at the Aragon Ballroom* and I've gotta say, the band put on an excellent show. I only wish I could say the same for the people in the audience. 

Here's a little bit of commentary from H and I, Siskel and Ebert--style.

H: I don't know if I know how to do "Siskel and Ebert--style." Doesn't that mean that one of us has to hate it?

C: No, they agreed sometimes, right? Anyway, we can agree that we both loved the songs (except that one I didn't like) and that Weezer put on a great show. 

H: Agreed.

C: But those motionless dudes in front of us who only came to life for the Pinkerton songs, those guys I could have done without.

H: I could have done without them, the potsmokers, the chick next to me who was constantly updating her Facebook about how much she loved Rivers Cuomo. Coulda done without a lot of them. 

C: I was coveting the balcony seat of that one guy ROCKING OUT above us. Kind of like when we went to see Rancid and my boss hooked us up with center balcony seats. H, what are some highlights for you? (That's part of my s&e spiel.)

H: I just enjoyed Rivers's performance, because he was just fun to watch. And when they had that radio contest winner come out and duet "(If you're wondering if I want you to) I want you to," I thought it was going to be terrible, but it turned out pretty decent. I didn't know if they were putting any prerequisites on whether the person had to know how to sing or not. You know, at first. 

C: She was pretty good. She's from my hometown--of course she'd be good. I liked when he put on the blonde wig and did the Lady Gaga "PokerFace" cover. But the sad thing is that everyone in the audience was surprised. What's that about? That song is on the new album. At concerts I've been to in the past, I always felt lame because everyone already knew all the words to the latest album--which, duh, came out right in time for the tour. NOBODY knew any of the new songs, which I was pretty much rocking out to. I can admit it: I LOVE POP MUSIC.

H: Yeah they did "Let it all hang out" early in the show, and the crowd just stopped moving. Nobody was singing along. They were just standing there like they were waiting for it to be over. 

C: I think people were way too uptight. And I'm tired of people saying Pinkerton is the be-all/end-all of the band's catalog. Seriously people, there are WAY MORE SONGS that do not sound like that. GET OVER IT. As you can see, I'm not much of a fan of Pinkerton. I happen to adore the fact that Weezer's Cuomo is "ticking off some of his hardcore fans." Hello, hip-hop? I'm all about it!

H: It's like you hate Pinkerton on principle now. I think it's a decent album, but I agree, it's not the be-all/end-all, but their entire catalog is solid; there's not an album that I don't like. I don't understand how you're ticking off fans just because you do something they don't like. What are you a fan of the in the first place?  

C: Yes, I now hate it on principle. I can't believe people are stupid enough to think bands are supposed to sound exactly the same from album to album. Bands grow, too, people. Which is sad, because maybe I would have given it a chance if it weren't for the die hards who hate on everything else. Make Believe is the album that resonates with me the most.  

H: I agree. I'm always annoyed when fans don't like a band to experiment. I'm a fan of the *artistic* side of it. If you want to keep re-creating the same album over and over again, I'm just going to get bored with it.

C: Amen.

H: Less Than Jake is the same way. Some of their fans got pissed when they changed up the band a little bit.

C: Same with Madonna.

H: What songs didn't we hear that you wished they would have played? 

C: There were so many. Personally, I would have loved "This is such a pity." I'd say that's the song that made me really start liking them. It reminds me of driving around with you in California and falling in love. I also like "My best friend." But I'm a sappy cheeseball.

H: Those were good times. It's funny because it took me three or four full playthroughs before I started to really like Make Believe. On the flip side, their new album, Raditude**, I've loved from the first time I heard it. 

C: We could go on and on, but then it'd be like that part of I Love You, Man when Paul Rudd and Jason Segel were talking on the phone to "go over the setlist" of the Rush concert and Rashida Jones felt all left out. Actually it's going to be exactly like that. Here's the setlist*** from tonight's show, which was the first stop on their national tour: 

Opening acts: Jack's Mannequin

1. Hash Pipe

2. Let It All Hang Out

3. Tired of Sex

4. (If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To

5. Say It Ain't So

6. Troublemaker

7. My Name Is Jonas

8. Perfect Situation

9. Why Bother

10. Dope Nose

11. Undone (The Sweater Song)

12. Surf Wax America

13. cover of Pink Floyd song that is killing me that I don't remember the name of

14. I'm Your Daddy

15. Can't Stop Partying

16. Beverly Hills

17. Pork and Beans

18. Kids/Poker Face 

19. Island In The Sun****

20. Buddy Holly

*References to Chicago places like this are what made me EXTRA love Audrey Niffenegger's Time Traveler's Wife.

**Apparently, Rainn Wilson came up with the name of the latest album.

***Don't quote us on this order.

****This was the first song in the second encore. Rivers pretty much performed it by himself using a loop-back machine. He started off by playing a few measures on the drums, followed by the bass, then a little rhythm guitar and he had the crowd do the "hep hep"s. Wil Wheaton linked to a similar-technique performance by Kid Beyond. The concept is very cool; probably one of our favorite things of the evening.

all together that's 120 posts, y'all

November 30 (at least for the last four years, anyway) is a bittersweet day. On one hand, there's a huge sigh of relief that I don't have to carve out two hours to dial into my parents' Internet connection and then figure out what the heck to post about anymore. But on the other, I know that when I do a quick sweep of my comrades this year in NBPM*, Syar, Madelyn, CoFo and Jon, there is no longer a guarantee of new material.

I know I phoned it in at least twice this month, but like anything else, writing every day gets less tough the more you do it. And post ideas start to come more easily the longer you need them (Except for days when all you'd like to do is moan about the people you had to deal with all day at the risk of being fired for breach in confidentiality). Right?

So to a close comes another hectic month of posting. I am sad that I couldn't spread my net of comment love farther, but there's only so long I can wait for pages to load (re: dialup), and the swine flu is keeping me clocking some serious overtime.

I don't think my mom will miss it, however; my leaving to go post for hours at a time really cut into our knitting-on-the-couch-while-watching-Hindi-soaps time. But at least now she sort of has an idea of what I've been doing on the computer for the last half a decade.

But thanks for reading, guys. Your comments make it worth all the trouble. And a special shoutout to the unicorn crew for letting me in even though I didn't have the bandwidth or patience to get the button onto my sidebar.

*And also SupaCoo, whose beautiful blog's design I love but unfortunately takes forever to load on dialup, so I haven't always been able to comment.

isn't technology grand?

Jazz just texted me asking if I could please email Ale and ask her to text Jazz as to where Ale and Jazz would be meeting up tomorrow. Something to point out: I'm in Chicago, Jazz is somewhere in Kenya and Ale is just outside of Amsterdam.

my sister's keeper

I just finished reading My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. I approached it with a little hesitation. Mostly because I've always thought of myself as my brother's keeper, but more in the sense that I asked for him, I can't give him back and (don't tell him but) I would never want to. 

I'm not going to go into detail about the book, except that it's about how a family deals with having a daughter with a serious medical condition. Cc is also reading it; she mentioned that it could hit close to home for me and that I didn't have to finish if it made me uncomfortable. And I did identify with some of the book--the helplessness, the confusion, the loving somebody so much that you'd risk anything for them. But that's about it.

As the story unfolded, I started to examine the memories of feelings I had as a kid. Sure it wasn't always a picnic when my brother was in the hospital (and maybe it's because that was so long ago), but I rarely felt overlooked and certainly never felt invisible. I credit my mom for that; she grew up having to share my nani's attention with six other kids and three jobs. It made sense why other, more needy kids got more facetime, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt her. So my parents have always gone out of their way to make sure I had special moments as the center of attention, too, and that I wasn't an afterthought. 

I assumed being vigilant about doling out attention was something everyone's parents do, but as I moved through the book I realized that's not the easy feat my mom and dad made it seem. It must have been tricky to keep sight of something as silly as an extravagant birthday party for your six-year-old when your 2-year-old is getting ready to have open-heart surgery. But I remember all those birthday parties, every special outing, and how they only shuttled me off to some Auntie's house a couple times when the going got really tough, not as a protocol.

Little kids are perceptive. They remember things like the refreshing relief that not everything is about the other guy. And they hold onto feeling loved and special well into their adult life. I can only hope to do just as right by the kids I might have someday.

"shoe-wearing-agility" is right behind "healthy," "intelligent" and "well-adjusted"

[bending down to untie left gym shoe] "Um, are you forgetting something? You've got your coat on and are carrying all that stuff."

"Oh, you mean my shoes?"

[putting on left gym shoe and tying the laces*] "Yeeesssss; don't you want to put that stuff down?"

"Not necessary. [slips feet into gym shoes without use of hands] I got skills."

[untying right gym shoe] "Oh, well not all of us are blessed with such talent. I can only strive to one day be as good at putting my shoes on as you are."

"You'd better hope for the children."




*One of my early childhood memories is being 3 years old and tying my shoe properly for the first time, by myself, not at home and not under the supervision of my parents. It was a sunny day, and the a.m. pre-school class at Little Shepherd School was going outside to play. I stopped on the single step before the long long sidewalk, bent down and did it all by myself, using the bunny-ear way, not the bunny-goes-around-the-tree-way the other kids did**. I'm told I hated the Velcro fasteners. It was a fabulous day.

**I could have sworn I wrote a post long ago about the little song about the bunny going around the tree that people use to teach their kids to tie their shoes. I cannot find it in my archives. Am I crazy*** or do you guys remember that? Syar? (Btw, I added that link you requested for yesterday's post.)

***I AM NOT CRAZY! Blogger's in-blog search sucks!

first Thanksgiving

H and I hosted our first Thanksgiving. We had some issues thawing the turkey (in that it didn't thaw all the way, but we had to start cooking it anyhow), but I'm pretty please with the way the bird came out. My mom even said it was good, and she's a tough critic. H made some awesome vegetarian gumbo, my parents brought over some Indian delights and we all sat around in a food coma while H tried out the new Wii games he got for his birthday. Even after helping us so much with making the food, my mom didn't even let us wash a single dish.

Thankful as I am to have a job (with benefits!), I'm not looking forward to getting up early for another long day tomorrow and Saturday, especially with all this tryptophan in my system. But at least this year I don't have any plans to camp out in front of a store wearing half my wardrobe!

I hope you all had a warm and filling Thanksgiving close to people you love.

never thought i'd say it, but the retailers are right on this one

CHRISTMAS HAS COME BEFORE THANKSGIVING THIS YEAR!!!!

Well, the "giftiness" part of the holiday anyway. H greeted me with our new fancy new DC21 Dyson Stowaway vacuum when I walked through the door at 10 p.m. tonight. And even though I had worked for nearly 14 hours, I got nothing but joy from walking around a little longer to try out its various attachments. 

Our carpets haven't looked this good since I had the place "deep cleaned" after the snotty tenants and their cats moved out (H is allergic). Yes, his sister Amanda was right. 

Thank you in advance to the generous souls who have/will have offered to help make it our Christmas gift--this is something we will enjoy for a VERY long time. 

your wait would be shorter if your doctor wrote legibly

"I hate when doctors use those old-school scripts; I can never figure out what they're saying! Like look at this one: What the heck is "dysuna"? It's not in the dictionary and google says it's not even an English word."

"What's that after it, "renal" something? Oh so it's something to do with the kidneys."

"Yeah, I figured that, but insurance isn't going to pay for it if we put down something nobody's ever heard of."

"Hey, come over here, Cadiz and I can't figure out what this says."

"Dysuna? Man, that's way worse than Die laytah! Bwahahahahaah!"

"Oh my God."

"I got it! It's gotta be "Dysuria, painful urination."

"Yes, that's definitely it. Dude, I'm going to need that anatomy and physiology class sooner rather than later."

i'm ashamed to say i'm wearing Grey's Anatomy-brand pants

H's boss hurt her leg earlier this year and had to wear a boot, over which she often wore hospital scrubs. And every time she wore them she referred to them as her "Armani" scrubs. I've decided she got this from a promotional ad for a television show about nurses called HawthoRNe (get it?). H was unwilling to verify if his boss's pants were in fact made by Giorgio Armani.

I totally rolled my eyes at the Armani Scrubs. I mean COME ON H's boss, I've been wearing reject scrubs forever; they're so soft and comfy from years of washing, and their only markings are sizes labeled haphazardly in permanent ink. Clearly name-brand scrubs are just for suckers.

This new position I have is new to everybody: It's only shared by three other people, no other departments have it, nobody knows what we do and even fewer know who we are. So they're making us wear these khaki pseudo-labcoat-smock-thingies with our names and titles embroidered on them for a little recognition. And after I spent the last month trying to get by wearing my brother's used scrubs and avoiding purchasing said jacket, the director pretty much pointed me out and told me to get one. So I had to suck it up.

So this weekend, when H and I spent an ungodly amount of time in the Medical Uniforms store (mostly because the woman purchasing in front of us couldn't decide between Azure and Merlot; she ended up getting both), I purchased something I would normally scoff at: Grey's Anatomy-brand scrubs. I took one look at the TV-brand line (and their price tag) and harrumphed. Then I tried on every other style and brand and hated them.

The Grey's pants are SO DANG SOFT, as though they'd been washed a thousand times already. The cut is flattering--though I'd rather not have the split-flare leg--and there are beautiful, deep pockets. They don't drag on the floor and don't wrinkle easily, either (MAJOR PLUS). And after 11.5 hours of running around today, they still look as nice as they did when I first tried them on.

I stopped watching the show last season after the plotline became too ridiculous to bear, but a girl's got to put aside her principles when it comes to a nice-fitting pair of pants. I guess no one really has to find out; the khaki jacket more than covers up the waistband label. But I'll know, deep down inside. It's just a matter of how long it'll take to stop bothering me.

nothing says thanks like cupcakes, right?

For awhile now I've been trying to think of something nice to get as a thank-you for the Breast Care Coordinator and the nurse who really went out of their way to be there for my mom during the last few months. I wanted a little something to go with a heartfelt note, but couldn't decide on anything for people I don't really know. Chocolates seem sort of already-done, so I jumped at cc's suggestion of cupcakes. 

There are a ton of great cupcake shops in the city, so tonight H and hopped the 22 Clark into the heart of Lincoln Park to Molly's. I got a box of six minis for each person, another box for H, my parents and I and a fourth for my coworkers, who no doubt would see me bring them in and wonder why they didn't get any. I hope the ladies like them, because I truly appreciate that they were able to give my mom the support she'd never allow us to give her because she's always trying to protect us.

Molly's was named after a 3rd grade teacher who inspired the owner by making cupcakes for the kids whenever it was somebody's birthday. She shared her recipe. 

Aren't these the cutest darn things? Their Red Velvet was named the best in the city.

We just had to take a picture of this sign in the window.

i'll need to figure out where to keep the turkey until Thursday

"Hey, did you eat lunch yet?"

"Um, I just got here an hour ago. Did you eat?"

"Yes, I brought last night's rice and chicken."

"Sounds good. I'm going to have a sandwich. It's so weird that I work right there and I only bump into you in the hallway once in awhile."

"Well, that's how it goes when you work here. By the way, I don't feel like doing Thanksgiving this year; your brother isn't even coming home. So we're coming to the condo. Okay?"

"Uh, ok."

happy 30th, cc

A few weeks ago, cc stopped into town for two weeks to see some good friends and attend a baptism as Godmother. She was feeling a little guilty about being chosen over other friends to love and help guide this baby throughout his life. But honestly, I can't imagine a better choice. The thing about cc--and it's what makes her such an awesome wife, mother and overall friend*--is that she would love the heck out of this kid whether she was named Godmother or not, and even though she's clear out in California, she'll make sure this baby will feel like the most special boy in the world.

Unfortunately, the burst of swine flu kept me working doubles in suburbia during much of cc's visit to the city, and I only got to see her a couple of times. However, with the help of a lot of tea, we packed in a whole lot:

Dim sum at Phoenix and shopping in Chinatown


Dinner at Adobo Grill and a show at The Second City (celebrating 25 years!)

America's Next Top Model viewing, complete with commentary

A visit to The Art Institute's Modern Wing (I'm so glad we have similar taste in art)

High Tea at the Four Seasons

Going back to hip-hop breakdancing class and me getting completely and totally SCHOOLED for not having been for two years; we left early before I died


Listening through the door/peeking through the peephole at the police-involved drama happening outside the condo unit two doors down at 3 a.m.


Shopping at cute boutiques in Lincoln Square, then thai food at Royal Thai (their sticky rice with mango never disappoints)

Brownies at the Palmer House Hilton, where the brownie was invented

Here are a few pictures from our High Tea at the Four Seasons Hotel:

Orchids in what I can only describe as rounded fishbowls of water. Gorgeous!

Hydrangeas by the stairs. This place is SWANK, yo.

We got seated at a couch overlooking the fireplace.

And we ordered a lovely champagne, which goes surprisingly nicely with tea and crumpets. The signature "sleeping" teapot was cool: You put it on its side when you want to steep (the loose tea is in a chamber where it's in contact with the hot water), and sit it up when it's strong enough. I can't remember what we had, but both teas were delicious.

They brought us the customary tiny sandwiches (though no cucumber).

And of course, the tower of sweet goodies! I wasn't expecting to enjoy the Devonshire Cream as much as I did.

They even brought out an awesome mousse-filled chocolate cake for the occasion.

Cc and I were giddy from the fanciness (and champagne). I can't think of another person who would enjoy High Tea with me as much as she did, and I'm so glad she loved it. I can only hope that as little old sixty-year-olds, we'll still have as much fun in each others' company over tea and sandwiches as we do today. I love you, cc. I hope you have a fabulous 30th.




*Cc remembered, from a conversation we'd had years ago, that my mother's favorite flower is the carnation. She went to multiple florists on foot and had a beautiful arrangement put together with a sweet card for me to take home. It really is the little things that mean the most.

sometimes prayers trump privacy, mom

My mom has remained pretty tightlipped about this whole cancer thing, and she has asked me to keep the news to myself as well. I think it's mostly because she doesn't want anyone feeling sorry for her. I understand where she's coming from but I'm conflicted, because hello, one of my favorite things to do is spit out all my complaints onto this blog and then relish in the love and support from my readers. It must be a personality thing.

But the other day, not too long after she heard that they think the cancer was mostly cut out, I felt vindicated. Apparently one of the pathologists (disease-specialist doctors) ran into my mom in the cafeteria after her results came back. This pretty important dude told her that the reason it took slightly longer to get her results is that the laboratory technicians, doctors and analysts were giving the slides of what they cut out and sliced up an extra-thorough search. He said that every single person down there was keeping his or her fingers crossed and praying for my mom. Then this doctor stopped and gave her a big hug.

When she was retelling this story, she got tears in her eyes. To me, it's obvious: When you've worked somewhere for 32 years and have made a name for yourself as a sweetheart who always goes out of her way to help anyone from the janitor to the CEO, word gets around. Even though she might not have met all of these people, everybody knows her--for goodness' sake, on phone directories where numbers are listed by department, instead of the name of her area it just says her name.

I'm glad I opened my trap and told more people about what my mom is going through. Because we're not out of danger yet, and as helpless as I feel about this stuff, any tiny little good vibe that comes her way might just make all the difference.

you shouldn't change your major to English just because you got a C in one calculus class

"He's some kind of engineer."

"I think you would have been a fabulous engineer."

"Yeah, if I hadn't been so stubborn and stupid."

"Stubborn, yes. Stupid, no. Because I'm not stupid and I'd never get with a stupid guy."

"Impeccable logic."

Citibank: The kick in the head that just keeps on giving

One of the things I was most looking forward to about having a full-time job was the possibility of refinancing the condo, which has now been on the market for nearly 19 months. I waited until I'd been getting a steady paycheck for three months before doing a little research on the subject. And let me tell you, what a downer.

Apparently, because I'm making considerably less than I did when I purchased the property (can't count overtime pay) the combination of mortgage, property taxes and assessments takes up roughly 77% of my income--and that's before they take out taxes. I cannot include H's contributions in this calculation because I would list the place as my primary residence. Also, remember the little old issue I had with Citibank? You know, the one where they said I couldn't qualify for any of the government bailout mortgage readjustment plans unless I was a full 30 days past due? And how, against every fiber of my being, I let it go past to get some help? And how they EFFING PROMISED me I'd get a readjustment and even took a check over the phone then COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY SCREWED ME OVER, INSINUATING THAT I MADE IT ALL UP? AND HOW THEY FRICKING SOLD MY MORTGAGE TO SOME COMPANY IN WISCONSIN BEFORE I COULD DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT?

Remember that? Well, the number-one reason I can't refinance is because I had a late payment in the last 12 months.

People who have to give up that much of their take-home pay to have a roof over their heads can't get a refinance, but if it only takes up 28% of your income, you can get a lower rate pretty easily. I mean, I get it, but I DON'T GET IT. Can anyone tell me what I'm doing wrong here, besides the obvious: I didn't have the foresight to know that my industry would collapse a decade after I chose my major? I mean, I thought it was smart to have put the place on the market while I still had a job. Now I get to look at doctors' scripts signed by contemporaries I used to go to the library with, while I've had to start over, wrangling their patients and getting passive-aggresively chewed out at least once an hour.

Yes, I realize that I'm not alone. And that I probably shouldn't complain. I thank heaven every day that the people I love have their health. I just pray that it stays that way.

don't leave your facebook unattended when there's an 11-year-old around

You know how sometimes people tell you a charming anecdote and when they realize you're just not feeling it they say something like "You had to be there"? Well, you may have had to have been there for this little story, which I have shamelessly ripped off from cc, but I never would do so if she had her own blog. I've been laughing about it all week.

Cc's husband, p, is a philosophy professor. He's very scholarly and has studied the greats in their native languages (we're talking French, German, Italian and probably other ones I don't even know about). Dude is smart. He goes to the opera (perhaps not by choice, but he still goes). And he can converse on a vast variety of topics--including "professional" wrestling, as orchestrated by the WWE.

What keeps p (and cc for that matter) so informed on wrestling is that their son, b, is 11 and loves little else more than seeing grown men throwing themselves at each other in a ring. Last year b's favorite performer was Rey Mysterio and apparently he's also a big fan of Jeff Hardy (take a second and click on that last link). Who can blame him? WWE storylines put soap operas like General Hospital to shame. I know, because my brother was an avid fan of old-school characters like Hulk Hogan, Randy "Macho Man" Savage, The Ultimate Warrior and many others I will not name lest I get branded as a fan myself.

So p has a facebook page, which he primarily uses to keep in touch with all his jetsetting intellectual pals from around the globe; I'm willing to bet they're not all as down to earth or as in touch with pop culture as p is. Unfortunately for him, he left his facebook account open one day and came back to a string of mocking messages from his colleagues: b had gone in, become a "fan" of Jeff Hardy and written "I LOVE YOU JEFF HARDY!" on the wrestler's facebook page. Except to Jeff Hardy and the rest of the facebook community, it looks like that message was posted by a 30-something philosophy professor.

When I have a lull in my day and think about how p must have reacted to this turn of events, it makes me snicker out loud. Thanks, b! But maybe it's not as funny to everyone else. I guess you had to be there.

compost happens...hopefully

Since we started the garden project this spring, I'd been thinking about fertilizer for next year--more specifically, compost. I got a book and was all excited to start until I realized it'd be wiser to wait until I had access to some fall leaves.

This weekend I stayed in suburbia to take advantage of the better-than-expected weather (60s!) and the bounty of leaves on the ground. What with the abundance of cherry, apple, maple and oak trees in our back yard, there was more than enough fodder; it was just a matter of time, clear skies and manpower to get it all together.

The book said leaves are practically useless unless they're shredded, and it recommended using a leaf-blower with a vacuum/mulching function or a mulching lawnmower. I didn't really want to invest in those, so I went with a third option: a garbage can and a weed whacker. The book said goggles were a must for this method and it was NOT kidding.

So I put on my earphones and protective goggles I suspect are left over from high school chemistry, poured a mix of oil and gasoline into our decrepit weed whacker and got to work. It wasn't as intuitive as I'd thought, but after about four garbage-canfuls I got the hang of it. By the time it got dark again today, about twelve or thirteen garbage cans of leaves were shredded and stuffed into four chicken-wire compost bins plus one lawn refuse bag (in case I need more later).

It was a lot of physical labor, but I relished the time outside while I can still have it. Yesterday my mom was at work so I didn't have to worry about trying to keep her inside. I had the day to work mindlessly and just think, which is also rare luxury. Today mom was off so of course she was right there helping me, even though she probably shouldn't be lifting too much or pulling weeds (she swears she only did with the arm on her non-post-surgery side). I tried to find other jobs for her like cutting through chicken wire or making tea, or better yet staying inside and watching television but she couldn't imagine sitting on the couch while I was outside working in the yard. I'm certainly going to tell on her when I get back to the hospital tomorrow, but was nice to have another set of hands to keep things steady. And we always make a phenomenal team.

I will try and post pictures of my rudimentary compost piles--hopefully they will cook up into some healthy stuff for the garden next spring. It's my first attempt at this sort of thing and I've got my fingers crossed that it'll turn out well. But even if it doesn't, at least I got that crisp, refreshing satisfaction from laboring outside.

That feeling will have to tide me over until it's time to shovel the driveway.