Over there, in the sidebar!

(this way) ———————->

It’s a link that you can use to email me your postal address so I can send you a damn Christmas Card. Today’s the last day for submissions.

You know you wanna….

… that not sleeping makes me really cranky? Well it does. Unbearably so. I’m so cranky I’m annoying myself.

If I don’t get a decent amount of sleep tonight, I’m calling in sick tomorrow to try and nap this shit off.

Update, 3:37PM: Oh crap. I remember this feeling. Hi self, welcome to burnout. The only solution at this point is to burst into tears and hide under the covers.

With my fingers in her hair… hand holding the back of her head… as she fights back just a little.. her eyes locked on mine, and mine on hers … both of us thinking “$&%#ing challenge me!”

Just a little tidbit that I found floating around the blogosphere when I should be sleeping but can’t. It pretty much sums up what I’m looking for in a guy. It’s hard to articulate, but I’m going to try to drop a few points - perhaps commenters can fill in some of the blanks I’ll inevitably leave…

I want someone who will challenge me. This does not mean I want someone who will nag me or disrespect me or push me in a direction that I clearly don’t want to go in. A while ago I went on a date with someone who actually did this well… we were talking about our respective educations, and where we were going with them. He’s finishing his PhD while I’m still in the “not quite sure” stage, I but tossed out a couple ideas about what I might do next. He ran with them, and put it back to me in a way that made me think “gee, why aren’t I doing xyz.

The suggestions weren’t his ideas, or his plan for what he’d do in my situation - it was a logical next step that really suits my interests & abilities - and the way he was able to phrase it made me want to move on with things. He clearly respected the direction I had taken thus far (which is extremely different from his own), and had faith in the fact that I could move on in some very interesting and relevant directions if I would choose to - and in fact not moving toward it would be doing myself a great disservice.

Nothing else about that particular encounter worked out - but the equal footing he immediately stepped onto in the above example is something that’s stuck with me, and that’s a point not a lot of other men I’ve known have been able to succeed at getting to. Most seem more interested in gaining a Mother or Daughter than an equal partner in a relationship.

That particular challenge is only one of many that could come up. Generally though, no one else has been able to find that precise point of interaction that makes me want to care about him and his life, rather than either patronizing or injuring him. It’s been hard for me to find someone who can express their interest in me without them coming off as desperate or sleazy. I’m not saying the guys aren’t out there, but I’m obviously deficient in finding them.

Of course, being a female, there isn’t a precise set of instructions that will be the magic formula to make me happy. Instead, there’s a set of extremes that I’m hoping some special person will eventually comfortably fit into the middle of. Basically it comes down to a guy who is a strong, independent individual, comfortable in his own goals and beliefs, and who is looking for an equally strong, independent counterpart.

Perhaps I’m just a little stunned, because many of my complaints seem to be about a total and utter lack of basic manners and respect for either the self or the other person (that other being me). Being with someone simply involves being with them in a way that both parties are comfortable with. It does not involve becoming the other person, or having them become you. It is about respecting the individual, and encouraging them to become the best version of themselves that they can be. Not what the best version of (or most convenient complement to that version of) yourself might be.

I’m now starting to ramble & repeat myself here so I’ll wrap it up. But I really wonder if I’m asking too much to find mutual attraction, respect & equality in a partner these days - because I’m not finding much of it around. All the good ones indeed seem to be taken.

Blogosphere, I’d like you all to meet Ray - my new roommate as of December 15th.

I have no pictures of Ray, and don’t currently know much about him at all, but I will share what I do know:

-He has paid his rent on time and not been any sort of nuisance according to any landlord I’ve spoken to.
-He has a girlfriend whom I suppose I’ll meet in fairly short order.
-He’s a self-confessed geek, and “tinkers” with computers.
-He is employed at a fairly prestigious technology institute, because once he finished his education, they just liked him that much and asked him to stay.
-He collects Transformers
-He comes with a rather large (I think 62″) rear-projection television set and a PS2.

Welcome, Ray! I think we’re going to get along just fine.
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It is not an easy feat to keep a dozen or so baby boomers entertained, well-fed and hydrated over the course of 5-6 hours. Add to this the duties of recording which gifts were from whom, depositing various bouquets of flowers into vases, and cleaning up the entire bag of ice I so cleverly dumped all over the kitchen floor, and it becomes less of a party and more of a three-ring circus, with me as ringleader.

But these are the things one puts herself through when her dear mother turns half a century old.

In addition to this, I tried to play the clever, witty hostess and engage in some casual banter with the guests, the majority of whom have known me as either a tiny baby, or a delinquent teenager, or both.

One gentleman in particular, made fast-friends with my parents’ dog. The dog is normally a skittish beast, and fearful of men in general as he was abused as a puppy. But for some reason, he immediately sidled up to Len and hardly left his ankle area for most of the evening.

Thinking I was being clever (and recalling the scene in As Good As It Gets where Jack Nicholson wins over Verdell the dog with a pocketful of pork product), I said to Len “You must smell like bacon on something!” About three seconds after the sentence leaves my lips, it dawns on me…

Len is a cop.

I should’ve just stayed in the kitchen.

Well, it must be less than a month until my contract expires, because I am officially starting to get a little antsy about it. Last year staff weren’t officially re-signed until a mere 7 days before their deals expired. That doesn’t make me want it done now any less.

I dreamed about work last night. Specifically, about no longer having any. All indications point to renewal, but I won’t be happy until the deal is signed, sealed, delivered.

For all this stress, if/when the renewal is in place, I think I deserve a new bed. Any ideas on where to shop that won’t totally break the bank? And for the record, I’m perfectly happy with a mattress/boxspring/metal frame. I do not need a $300 bedframe today. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.

Apparrently the tendency for a woman to cheat on her partner is accounted for 60% by life experience, and 40% by genetic makeup.

An argument for polyamory? Or just another excuse for humans to get out of taking responsibility for their actions?

I just got a letter from my bank (CIBC) stating that since I never use my very high maximums for direct payment and cash withdrawls off my ATM card, they’re lowering my limits for these transactions to make me less susceptible to damages should fraud on my account occur.

I’ve never known a financial institution to restrict one’s access to money (especially since they make a bundle of interest off of me with the overdraft I stupidly go into) for whatever reason. I immediately suspected that they knew something I didn’t about my credit. I was initially worried.

But mere hours after I opened the letter, a news story broke about how CIBC’s customers’ information has been mistakenly being faxed to a junkyard in North Virginia - meaning that my account and personal information is in the hands of someone else. This person, luckily, seems to be a little scrupulous - or at the very least, has realized that by keeping the information safe and in good faith, his lawsuit against the bank for putting a strain on his business by faxing incessantly, is much stronger than if he sold it to some identity thief.

Of course, I’m still pissed at the bank. I’m glad I keep fairly meticulous records, and would know if anything were amiss with any of my account. Though this situation is no worse than that time a couple years ago that Royal Bank left boxes of customer information (not shredded or otherwise protected) out by a dumpster to be picked up at some point.

But now, instead of pure, unadulterated rage at the situation, I’m having the reaction that the bank is taking their fraud management seriously and being proactive (even though they’re obviously not), just because I opened the letter before I heard the story.

I’m also farily well schooled in media and propaganda. I did a damn degree in it, so I really should be. I’m just wondering how many other people will be placated by the “new security measures” rather than being as angry as they should about the blatent abuse of their privacy and security.

I live less than 2km from work. I love it. The biggest frustration - it makes it very hard for me to justify adding the expense of owning a vehicle onto my already significant debtload.

Also, I get good exercise etc. by walking to work. When the weather gets nicer (and I gain a bit more confidence on two wheels) I’ll bike. Unfortunately, there are always those few days a month where I get totally lazy and I both sleep in, and don’t want to walk. I can’t take the bus on those days, since the bus actually takes longer than walking (It goes on a 10k jaunt around the area I work in, before it passes by on the back side). So I call a cab. It’s a $6 one-way trip - definitely well worth the extra sleep I can get.

This morning was one of those mornings. The cabbie drops me at work, and we realize, we both only have $20 bills. What to do? Well what the cabbie did, was leave me his cell phone number and say “give me a call later this afternoon when you have some change, and I’ll come pick up the fare then.” I could’ve totally ripped him off (it’s only $6 - but still…) and he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it. The only thing he knows about me is the building I work in. Granted, he should’ve had change - but he put a lot of trust in the good of people to do the right thing.

I just gave him a call, and let him know there was an envelope with his fare waiting at reception for him - he can pick it up before four. I hope he gets a few good karma points for giving me a break this morning.

Happy Thanksgiving shout outs to all my brothers and sisters south of the 49th.

Special thanks for y’all not going too crazy at the airports last night, so my dad could get home from LA with a minimum of incident.

It’s a ridiculously beautiful autumn day here - I wonder if I claimed to be American for a day, I could take the day off, go home and frolic?

Oh, and something I’ve noticed about blogs - they all seem to have an “about” page. All except me that is. Do y’all want one? That’s especially for the lurkers out there - it’s not like anyone who knows me would find out anything new.

That would be me:

1. Reply to this post if you want/need me to tell you how cool you are!

2. Watch my blog over the next few days for a post just about you and why I think you rock my socks.

3. Post these instructions in your blog and give your friends a much needed dose of love and adoration!

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And while you’re at it, sign up for your Holiday Cheer on the sidebar. Only a few more days to get me your address so I can send you a festive card!

Since Mandy asked not once, but twice in previous comments, and I don’t have anything else interesting to say at the moment, I present to you:

Jen’s guide for successfully going from very long to very short hair with as little trauma as possible

1. The Decision
Think about it for a long, long time. When you think you really want short hair, think for at least a few more weeks. If you can not go more than 2 weeks without buying some new hair bauble or barette or chopstick-like thing to stick in it - short hair is probably not for you.
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I managed to burn myself, again, on the oven the other day. I think the bulk of this year’s holiday donations are going to the War Amps. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need them someday soon….

Also, thanks to my buddy Eric for drawing my attention to the fact that I need to be eating all the ice cream I can now, because when I have no hands with which to spoon feed myself the ice cream, I’ll be relegated to consuming milkshakes. That’s the kind of logic I can really commit to.

But that’s not what this entry is about. This entry is about me having to wear my watch on my left wrist, because the burn on my right wrist is right on the watch-wearing area. This shouldn’t be a challenge for me, but it is. All day I’ve feel like I’m trying to do everything left-handed. Not just when I look at my watch - but all the damn time.

I really don’t get it, since I normally wear my watch on my right wrist (which now has a bandage on it) and a bracelet on my left wrist. But nooooooo… the watch has thrown everything off. I feel lop-sided. And I am a slave to wearing a watch, so don’t even suggest I take it off for a few days. If I do that, the universe very possibly might implode.

So in the meantime, if you see some girl walking down the street, bumping into shit because she can’t walk straight, don’t worry, it’s just me. But heaven help us if I continue with this self-injury trend and end up with no hands to hold my watch on my wrists at all…

Update: Know what’s even more messed up? The fact that I still do not know my left from my right. I just burnt my *left* wrist, and today am wearing my watch on my *right* wrist. I amaze myself with my brilliance… really…

You know a garlic and onion dip is *good* when you can still taste a bit of garlic breath 24 hours and four vigorous tooth brushings later.

It’s just a good thing we’ve got large cubicles at work….

6:00am
Ears: Blerk Blerk Blerk of alarm
Brain: Bzzzzzzzzzzzz

6:09am
Ears: Blerk Blerk Blerk of alarm
Brain: Bzzzzzzzzzzzz

7:30am
Feet: Pounding Pavement
Brain: Bzzzzzzzzzzzz
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