Archive for August, 2007
-image-Thank you
for the kind words. I forgot to tell you that we had scheduled a trip home for this week. Home, where my aunt (and uncle) live as well. So, morbid coincidence that we’re here for the visitation and funeral.
I should have warned you that I wouldn’t be posting much. My parents love to know what I’m up to and have no qualms about coming up behind you on a computer and reading over your shoulder. That’s all fine when I’m looking for movie times; not so fine when I’m posting to a secret blog.
But it’s 7:52am and they’re both at the gym, Jojo is playing with daddy and mommy has 2 minutes to say “hi” and “thank you for your kind words” and “I miss you all.”
Yesterday, we took Jojo, his cousin, K, to a nearby zoo. They fed giraffes, taunted a crazy, mohawked monkey with a banana (ok, that was me, but I didn’t realize until it jumped at me, looking to claw my face off to get to my banana), and ran around like, well, caged animals recently released. TOTALLY fun. I ran into 2 women I went to high school with, and they both remembered me, and it wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be when I was hmmin’ and hawin’ over whether I should say hi.
Ok, well, saying hi to the second one was a little embarrassing because she was with her mother-in-law, who also happens to be the mother of The Boy I was (so obviously & embarrassingly) in love with from like 2nd grade through graduation and then any point in the future where His name was mentioned. The girl I saw is married to His older brother. And, they had brought His baby with them while the two brothers had gone out by themselves. I think I pulled it together and the restraining order won’t be re-upped.
Let’s hope.
Anyway, I’ll try to sneak on more while I’m home. I have a lot of catch-up reading to do next time I find time to log on…
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
6:59 am |
-image-One of those phone calls
My mom called last night, as we were sitting down to dinner. Mr. Squirrel answered the call, and I could tell my mom had something to tell me, but she didn’t want to interrupt dinner. I took the phone.
She didn’t ask about Jojo. She didn’t tell me about the day’s weather.
She just said, “there’s no easy way to tell you this.”
Fuck.
I hate phone calls like this.
My awesomely funny, smiley, wonderful uncle killed himself yesterday.
I knew he battled alcoholism, but my aunt hid much of the recent relapses from us for her own reasons. And really, what could we have done? She was doing as much as he would allow– and more. His health had deteriorated so much in recent years, and he disregarded his doctor’s words: ‘if you don’t stop drinking, you will die very soon.”
It wasn’t the drink that killed him yesterday. It aided him. It fueled his anger at one more person, my aunt, telling him not to drink — telling him, an adult, what to do. It was the fuel to the fire of his severe depression coupled with the situational anger.
In his right mind, my uncle would never EVER have done this to himself, his wife, my cousins and their children. NEVER. If there is a heaven, he is rightfully there, and he is mourning this awful decision. He is no longer in pain. That much I know. The overwhelming desire to drink…the urgency to hide his need for gin, the gin itself, and his memory gaps — they’re all gone. But so is he.
So is the loving grandfather. The wise-cracking, joking uncle. The golf-loving husband. The smart and kind man I loved from the moment my aunt introduced us to him.
Goodbye, Uncle John. I love you and will remember all the good things you brought to those around you.
May we all heal as completely as possible from this tragic end to a good man’s life.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
8:18 am |
-image-Doh. And YAY!
I was just about to start my Deep Thoughts Friday post when I realized…uh, it’s Thursday. Nertz!
I guess I’ll have to save the random observations for tomorrow.
Instead, today I will give you all the inside scoop on the Casa Blanco visit from Monday. It’s juicy. It’s Washingtonian. It’s complete and utter nothing and as USUAL, someone here built up the visit to everyone as far more fancy schmancy than it was… let’s go back in time… Oh, and that someone isn’t me.
So, as you may remember, we were told to dress nicely, clean up our recently moved/disorganized offices and, as fleetingly mentioned by that certain coworker, prepare for meeting these Casa Blanco Office of This and That representatives, who want to learn more about our successful programs (mine being one of them).
Can I just tell youuuuu I didn’t see a one of the three visitors. Not a one. Nor did 8/12 staff members. It was like “a whole lotta drama for nothin.” The visitors were sequestered in our hideously fugly conference room, given stuffed binders and some PowerPoint presentations. They met with two of the directors and 2 people that I don’t even really know what they do. Apparently something important.
So, yeah. Big whoop.
All I know is that there was a tray full o’ delicious pastries that I missed out on…so naturally, I went searching for the tray and found one of the Chosen Attendants, who had horded 4 pastries for herself and guilted her into giving me one. No really. I did.
Not that I wanted to sit in on this meeting. I didn’t. I really really didn’t, but I think it would have been considerate had the organizer of this visit clued us in on what was really going to go down, so we weren’t on Full Alert Mode all damn day for nothing.
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I want to send out a mucho congratulationso message to my friend, Liz, and her family on the birth of their gorgeous daughter, Elkë! Despite just having given birth last week, Liz has updated her personal & professional websites several times already and even invited us over for dinner last night (ok, her husband invited us when we came by for a late afternoon visit)…but really? This woman’s got her shiznit together. If I didn’t love her, I’d totally hate her.
Jojo had fun with their older daughter in a foofy pink teepee:
He loves him the ladies.
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Also: I hate my new office. I’m SICK of everyone coming in and out and JUST STAY OUT. GOD. GO. AWAY. It’s like Grand Effing Central in here.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
12:58 pm |
-image-I’m Mrs. Crabapple
Why do I have to be the one to discipline/monitor the behavior of my neighbor’s son? I know, I know, I don’t have to do it, but if I don’t, our side yard will turn into a veritable mudpit thanks to his destructive hose play. Today I taught him about erosion and how we enjoy having grass on our lawn instead of say, big mucky pits of mud. I tried to be positive and kind, as I was doing this all in front of his passive mother, but I really just wanted to scream and vent. I’m having some patience issues with the lack of Celexa, but I managed to pull myself together.
For a bit, at least. Then he began scooping up the newly created mud on my lawn and depositing it into a big ass mud puddle in their driveway, which Jojo quickly mimicked. Not only did I NOT want the neighbor boy to be taking our dirt (which used to hold our grass…bitter?) and moving it into their messy driveway, I didn’t want Jojo learning this annoying behavior.
Jojo had other ideas, so naturally, he threw a temper tantrum. Good times. Thanks a bunch.
I feel like all I do lately is complain about Jojo to other people. They’ll comment on how cute he is or how much he’s talking, and I’ll just come back with how much WHINING he does or how his temper tantrums are not cute. I’m letting the random acts of annoying and exhausting dictate my conversations about my usually fun, active and loving son.
So let me just gush a bit about the good things he’s been up to:
– latest words: house and dirt. Funny how these two go together…
– he likes me to build a house on the bed in the guest bedroom with pillows and blankets. Then we bring in all of his Bob the Builder machines and let them in the house. Jojo then pretends to nap in the house and makes this adorable loud sleeping/breathing noise and points to the “floor” so I lie down and nap with him.
– Elmo (Momo) and Cookie Monster are still his favorite Sesame Street characters. He still can’t say Zoe. We hardly watch this show anymore, what with his obsession with “Bob the Builder” and “Dora.” Ok, and “Thomas the Tank Engine.”
– He said “backpack” today after seeing “Dora.” Not that I let him watch tv…
– The other evening, he was whipping around the house, and I thought I caught a poopy diaper smell, so I asked “do I smell a poopy diaper?” “No!” he answered, rushing by. “Do I need to pinch your butt?” (in a playful way; not asking if I can abuse him) “No!” he said, and kept pushing the shopping cart around the house. “Do you need kisses from mommy?” I tried. He stopped the cart, ran over and flung himself into my arms– lifting his face for kisses. It was a.w.e.s.o.m.e.
– When he hears a siren or plane outside, he’ll look to us and ask “what’s that?” while holding his ear in a “hark, what sound maketh that noiseth?” kind of theatrical movement.
– When we build with blocks, he tends to knock over any tower higher than 3 blocks high. Mr. Squirrel angrily growled at him one day for knocking over a very big tower he was building and tried (in vain) to explain to this 21 month old that you don’t knock over other people’s (blah blah blah). The next day, we were again building block towers, and he knocked mine over, pouted his lips, scrunched his eyes, then rubbed my arm consolingly (is that a word)? He still devastates the architectural landscape, but the pouting/petting combo really is quite hilarious.
– Sometimes, when he does the face scrunch/pouty lips look, he gets a suspicious look to him that reminds me of Arnold Jackson.
– He’s waking up from a nap now, and he’s going to reach up, wrap his arms around my waist, and ask for me to read books to him.
I’m lucky. Sometimes I just have to remind my silly (Celexa-free) self about it.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
2:26 pm |
-image-Ok, FINE
I’ll explain a bit about the visit this afternoon from the Casa Blanco. Oh yes, I’ll be all OJ’s maid about it. I just don’t need my work supervisors googling “what should we do about the Whxxx Houxx visiting today?” and coming across my post and then firing me for things said in the past. Although, I don’t blog nearly enough about the ridiculousness around here. That’s a whole ‘nother blog that I could fill up my days and your brain with, but for now, I need the cash, so let’s not get me all Dooced.
So. I work on the campus of a state university. Most of you know or have figured that out. Good work, Nancy. In my department, we work on some federally-funded grants that seem to be making excellent results that, of course, people want to take credit for.
The actual Big Wigs at the Casa Blanco aren’t coming– they’ll be no motorcade. I hope. But the Casa Blanco Office of Photo Ops and Sound Bites That Translate Into No Real Useful Outcomes will be stopping by. I don’t know when. You’d think with all the OMG THE CASA BLANCO IS COMING talk, we’d all get a tart email reminding us to refrain from public nose picking & perhaps, wear something that doesn’t showcase your ta-tas (ok, that’d just go to one employee).
I haven’t heard anything, and it’s after 1pm.
UPDATE: Oh Shit on a Dirty Stick. I really should have dressed nicer. The receptionist, whose normal attire does not leave much to the imagination, completely classed it up and looks very well put together. My black CROPPED COTTON pants (things in CAPS are not good) have a DARK STAIN on them (what the h? Why does black cotton DO this?!?!) and some HUMMUS crusted on them. I FORGOT EARRINGS, and I CANNOT BUTTON the bottom button on my shirt. WHAT WAS I THINKING? If there is a photo op, I have a feeling I’ll be “You, with the crust, yup, just a step or two to the left. Ok, another…and lean a little more to the left…PERFECT” out of the picture. Or I could just stand behind the receptionist.
UPDATE: They’ll be here anytime between NOW and 4pm.
QUESTION: That leaves me with one important question: When can I poop? And where? Oh, that’s 2 questions. I could always go in my office’s bathroom, but considering I’m the only one who would use it, all stink will be attributed to me. Not that I stink, but… Or, do I just go in the public restroom? And when? I should probably go now, right? Oh these are the questions that plague me. Me, a 35 year old adult. I know. Pathetic.
QUESTION: With each passing minute, my insecure mind comes up with another question. Another coworker chose to wear jeans and a blazer. Who looks more professional: jeans/blazer girl or black cropped cotton pants/black shirt/heels girl? Do you need more info? Maybe I should put my hair back– that might set me off as more professional. I should probably blot some of that oil slick off my face, too.
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Disregard my neuroses: Instead, why don’t you go wish Poodle, a HAPPY BIRTHDAY…and maybe egg her into blogging again soon? We miss you, little one.
Speaking of poopy heads, that’d be me. Why, you ask? Because on August 2, I was too pooped to WISH a wonderfully hilarious & fabulously friendly & outgoing LIZARITA a Happy Birthday! It’s never too late to wish her happy anything. Stop by and say HI!
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
12:30 pm |
-image-Deep Thoughts Friday
I h.a.t.e. tailgaters. Like the kind in the cars on the highway. Get the F off my ass, you total asshat idiot. If you hit me, although I’m not usually so quick to sue, I will sue your ugly ass and make your life a living hell. Your blatant disregard for the lives of me and my child creates in me a black hole of anger and hate. You don’t want a part of that. Let me assure you. And you know what else? If you cannot afford to replace your tail light on your Lincoln, perhaps you should have purchased a Malibu instead. The red tape? It’s not fooling anyone.
As I mentioned, I’m moving offices. I went from my own private, locked office to sharing one big office with three yet-to-arrive graduate students. I’m already disturbed by the constant stream of people coming in and out of the office, and this is before the undergraduate students (who will work with these three graduate students) arrive and will be floating in and out of the office. How am I to get work done? I’ve got the attention of a gnat to begin with and now my office will be a hub of activity. I should probably try to get as much done in the next three weeks as humanly possible. While still finding time to blog.
Considering the three grad students aren’t here yet, one of the secretarys has been charged with moving all of the files and CRAP from the two crowded offices they’re moving from, into this one… stacks and stacks of ancient, unsorted crap litter the room, and there’s not even remotely enough room to store everything. This all is extra super duper when I received an email yesterday that begins with this line: Due to the upcoming White House visit on Monday. What? Yes. That White House. Don’t ask. Just don’t — because most of us are completely ignorant as to the who, what and WHY. So now I have to … um … clean up this disaster instead of working. Let’s see…now I know I saw that can of lighter fluid yesterday…
But first, I’m going to use the bathroom in my office. Unfortunately, the doorknob is kind of hanging half in/half out of the door, so I’m a teensy bit afraid I may get stuck in the bathroom holding the knob. No, Carrisa, not that kind of knob. Really? I’m already known as the fire starter; I don’t need to move on up to the “one who locked herself in the bathroom and had to bang on the wall to have someone rescue her. And gee, can’t this place afford air freshener?”
I’ve been carrying this picture around with me when I run errands in case I ran into him. Yes, they’re in town for training, and they bunk, seriously, a few hundred yards from where I’m sitting. Jim is my husband’s favorite Giant, but unfortunately, he’s on injured reserve. I don’t know what exactly that means– he’s injured, but they haven’t fired him? Is he at training camp? Oh shoot. I just read more that he’s out for the season. Crap on a stick, the season hasn’t even started yet. DAMN. Well, now at least I can stop scanning the grocery store for him.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
11:20 am |
-image-Nothing Funny to Say
today. I have tons to complain about with the office move (drama + politics…good combo), but I’ll save it for another day when I’m not constantly refreshing news sources to learn more about that tragic and awful and horrific bridge collapse in Minneapolis.
I lived in Minneapolis for five wonderful years, and not a day goes by when I don’t wonder what life would be life if the Squirrel family relocated there. I miss my friends, the energy, the amazing restaurants, great shopping and beautiful seasons.
My thoughts and prayers are with the lovely people of the Twin Cities and their out-of-state/city family & friends.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
1:33 pm |
-image-What the J?
How many pictures do you think we took in June? Just guess. 1500. Oh yes. And this is after deleting many.
I figured you guys need a non-squirrel-related picture to caption. YES, for those of you not good with wildlife, the caged animals in the picture are NOT squirrels (or chipmunks).
As always, you have at least 48 hours before I pick a winner. You can win more than one time…as an incentive, the prizes increase in value with each subsequent win. Who knows, maybe I’ll even send you swag from BlogHer. Get in while the gettin’s good:
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
12:05 pm |
