What’s the lingo for when someone slaps you with a flip-flop?

L.L. Cool J on NCIS: Los Angeles

Mike and I LOVE NCIS. Honestly? One of the finest ensemble casts in television. When I just stopped to think about other great casts, M*A*S*H came to mind. Friends. I mean, there are other shows where there are lots of good parts of the cast, but none of the actors NCIS are anything other than a part of an extremely good cast. Even Abby is “just” part of the cast, even if Mike and I would leave one another if she wanted either of us.

NCIS – Los Angeles. First, I don’t know why it’s called NCIS. They don’t really investigate much in the way of Navy stuff. It all seems to be higher level national security. It feels like their just trading on the NCIS name, but whatever. It’s growing on us. This line is delivered by LL Cool J after the geek of the team explains about “friending” on Facebook for those in his audience that didn’t understand the “lingo”.

Truly, the best part of this show is Linda Hunt as Hettie. Hettie is the head of the LA office, by way of the most colorful life imaginable. She alludes to times on movie sets, affairs with stars, and her favorite car still being part of the road in Monte Carlo. She’s an odd choice, and could not be more fun. Like I said, it’s growing on us.

That doesn’t even sound as fun as Yahtzee

Overheard at my aunt and uncle's house
I was in Boston last week. I went up early to spend time with a dear friend from college, and in turn, we went to New Hampshire to see my aunt and uncle at their weekend house. My aunt loves games, and so we were looking through the options to see what we would play. Somehow, a twee little bunko set came to be at the house. With no directions. In pink. So, like any net-savvy person, I googled directions. It was a little odd, but it seemed to involve having multiple tables, and the highest scores from each table coming together to play each other. I didn’t get very far through my description before this comment. And he was totally right. So we played cribbage. Which is more fun than Yahtzee, especially when you’re aunt comes from a 40 point deficient and loses by 2 points.

I’m so cold you could Zamboni my ass

Very Valentine by Adriana Trigiani
Seriously? It is friggin' cold in this house. We haven't gotten the heating quite figured out around here. Our temporary bedroom is above the furnace, so even though it doesn't feel hot in our room when we get into bed, two hours in, we're sweating like it's Florida. Which only makes you colder, burrow under MORE blankets and sweat more. We own non-flannel sheets. I could guess 3 or 4 boxes they MIGHT be in. If I'm lucky.

I already have serious issues regulating foot temperature at night. I sleep with up to 3 pairs of socks in bed with me. Start out with the thick ones. Move to the thin ones. Realize they're not quite warm enough and upgrade to the middle thickness. Move back to the thin ones. It's a nightmare. If I were smart, I'd find my hot water bottle again, because you can always distance yourself from it, and eventually kick it off the bed.

I actually went to Macy's on Saturday night and bought non-flannel sheets. 600 thread count on clearance with an extra 20% off since it was Wear Red weekend and I happened to show up in a red fleece. Don't ask me.

It helped. Sort of. It's even colder when we climb into bed. Last night, I got up an hour after falling asleep to put on pajama bottoms. Then at some point, peeled them off.

This morning? Freezing in my office. Can't run a heater and my computers in this room. Maybe should have run a bigger circuit to the room, but what did I know? Considering running another circuit to the room. A bit beyond my abilities, but so was most electrical stuff before I did it. We'll see.

Never pass up an opportunity to ride a good greased goat

Fellow PM in response to a predicted cluster

There's a term in the project world called "Goat Rodeo". It speaks to, well, the majority of corporate life in a lot of places. Everyone's running around wanting things yesterday, and they can't have them because they didn't do what they needed to do to make it happen.

For instance, when I have to arrange to have some sites updated, you actually need to TELL me that you'd like me to handle it. I used to have a vision problem: If I saw a problem I made it my own. I don't have this problem so much anymore. Frankly, it's no longer my job to go begging for MORE work I don't have time for, even if I know at some point it will probably bite me in the ass. It will bite me in the ass LATER unlike the things that are waiting on my plate to devour me now.

Second, 36 hours is not an appropriate amount of time to do updates for a site that require us to get prior approval. In fact, they tend get pretty pissy with us when we just randomly go in and start changing their setup without them saying "Why yes, we'd LOVE to have you do that for us." Ask me how I know this. I have found that big accounts tend to give you a break when you're ACTUALLY down on your knees when you make that apology call. Even if they can't see it, there's something about the position that helps your voice convey that "for the love of G-D don't yell at my CEO about this" sense of urgency and about-to-piss-oneself fear. In all fairness, when I screw up that big? I tell my boss, his boss and the account manager in micro-seconds. Which MIGHT be why they've got my back.

Third, when I email you and said "I've never been involved with this, so I need more info or the name of who has handled it in the past," you should be prepared to give me one or both. It makes it easier for me to perform miracles. I do pull off miracles. Make me want to pull one off for you.

Finally, I accept several forms of thank you gifts, dark chocolate being my favorite. And if you're going to tell me I rock? Tell my boss. He knows, but he likes it when other people know, too. Just revere me like the rock star I am, and I will make you look good. Ciao!

You know EVERYTHING...except...

One of my gay boyfriends tells this story about his mother. She patently denies it, but I'm going to attribute it to her anyway, because frankly? It sounds just like her.

Jeanie was at a bridge party and one of her table mates was a blowhard. Knew everything about everything. Well, Jeanie, not one to suffer fools finally turned to him and said "Between the two of us, we know everything." The man looked at her quizzically. She said "You know everything except that you're an asshole, and I know that."

Seriously? I can't believe no one ever said that about me. My mom claims "I know everything, just not all at the same time." I'm right there with her!

Billy Idol got a Michael Jackson nose job??

I saw him for the first time on December 30, 2009. In front of Starbucks. As I was walking to my car. Billy Idol. In an 80s miniskirt, leggings, 6-inch wedge platform shoes and a leather jacket. Not pretty. Needed SERIOUS makeup lessons. Even from Mary Kay.

No, it wasn't the REAL Billy Idol. And I don't take pictures with my phone (except to document the insane amount of crap I write on the boss's white board), so I was NOT prepared to whip mine out. And he didn't look like he'd be willing to pose for a fan picture. But seriously? Yikes.

I saw him again today. A little better look at his face. Of course, first I saw the black over-the-knees boots...but I didn't see anything else. Because his nose caught my eye. And by nose, I mean a little-bitty-used-to-be-a-nose. Like Michael Jackson. And it's not like you can get that nose in one surgery. Or at birth.

It's not my first brush with celebrities in drag. I did see the woman version of Joey Ramone at Whole Foods a couple of years ago. Seriously made the REAL Joey Ramone look downright sexy.

Anyway, maybe next time I'll strike up a conversation. I really am wondering WTF happened when he recorded this.

Where are those Con-Mints when you need them?

A mailing list I belong to is having a discussion about "Dragon Breath". The person who brought it up pointed out that it doesn't take much for her to be nauseous for hours after a particularly bad encounter.

Someone suggested Vicks Vapo-rub. Perhaps a change of clothes and a bath. Then our favorite Seattle Cop suggested a cigar, before she went on to describe some of the biohazards she encounters from time to time. So for some ODD reason, I brought up this recollection.

Once upon a time, I worked for a venerable gaming company called Wizards of the Coast. Yep, it's true. In fact, they're the ones responsible for starting me on the path to the computer professional I am today. Now my boss knows who to blame thank. I started after Magic: The Gathering became a world-wide phenomenon, but while it was still HOT! HOT! HOT! Yep, I was the coolest thing ANY boy under the age of 16 had EVER met.

We had a fun director of customer something or another. At the time, Starbucks had just released a mint that truly would combat coffee breath. It's main ingredient may have been some component of Agent Orange. Much stronger than Altoids. Anyway, he called them "Con-Mints". Because if you ate them consistently enough at conventions filled with the target demographic of Magic, you wouldn't actually smell them.

I thought he was kidding. I was wrong. One year, we held the World Championships at the corporate headquarters. These boys? STANKY!!! Woof. And one of my fondest memories of my time at WotC? The clip-on air fresheners clipped to every HVAC vent in the building. Not sure it helped, but it sure as hell didn't hurt.

Come to think of it, I worked with the guys who created these little gems. Not quite Con-Mint strength, but sugar-free AND caffeinated. Perhaps there was a small niche market that was missed?

Human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted

Seriously? Martin Luther King, Junior spoke about me? A nice Jewish girl from a distinguished lower Alabama white trash background? Where we didn't have gay people? And I still heard things like "Salt and Pepper don't mix" from friends? He talked about me before I was even born? Huh.

I'd like to think I'm "creatively maladjusted". While I understand those I grew up with, I don't agree with them. I don't think them less intelligent...though I do feel like they don't listen to their rhetoric before they speak it. Of course, I can name just as many bleeding hearts who do the same. I like to challenge those I grew up with. Their reality is different from mine, though I suspect we're closer than our words would indicate. Of course, I'm the girl who asked her uncle what he'd do if I came home and announced I was gay. He'd told an anti-gay joke. Boy...talk about an uncomfortable family silence!!

What would MLK have done if he hadn't been made a martyr? And Malcolm X? And RFK? What would have been undone if George Wallace had become a martyr?

These weren't perfect people. King had mistresses. Malcolm was an ex-con. Kennedy? Well, he was a Kennedy AND a Joseph P.'s son. George Wallace paid a price for his views and recanted. Whether not he was sincere is pretty much between him and his maker.

I can't fathom what the world looked like even in the year I was born, 1971. While racism was alive and well in my childhood, there was no hitting or spitting or lynching. Amongst my school peers, I don't even remember it being a hard segregation. That wasn't true in the 60s. When American fought American over whether or not someone was inferior due to something beyond their control. Sad to see the hatred hasn't faded, just been re-focused for the most part.

I go back to Garth Brooks. I know. One day, maybe not in my lifetime, We Shall Be Free.

News Flash: Debi Sucks at Calm

For reasons that I shall no go into now, I am trying to be more calm. True, my theory has always been that lack of stress makes me tense, but still. I'm trying to lower the amount of cortisol racing around in my system. If it's catching? Several people are getting stressed off the fumes.

And seriously? The damned air card just ate my GD post. It died and now, the post is gone. I want somebodies head on a platter.

Well, as my friend Elaine just said: "you do tense hysterically". Damned right I do.

Don't Piss Me off...I have SOOOOOO many places to hide the bodies!

Things are going well at Rottenfield Manor. I swear I have a huge number of pictures to post...I'm not sure where my camera is, but I could probably find it. They're going well when it doesn't involve outside forces. This starts with the City of Seattle.

We spent a lot of money with an electrician, and one of the things we did was move the service from the street to the front of the house. Seattle City Light has its act SO together, that I MAY get it switched by next week when I originally inquired on the 17th of December. I have power, but the upshot is that Comcast can't run cable to our house until the service is switched because they have to ground to the new service (this house never had cable run to it). This means no internet and no phone. And I work from home 3 days a week. Now? I work from Barnes & Nobles three days a week:)

So, I checked out an AT&T Aircard from work for when I'm not at a hotspot. Go to install it? It disabled my keyboard and mouse. No kidding. Had to hook up to my docking station (after digging it out of some box). Ok, uninstalling didn't work, so LUCKILY I know enough to do a system restore. Hied off to B&N to use their wifi (and spent 2 hours on chat with Comcast trying to get access to my in-limbo VM). Tried to reinstall the aircard this morning, same thing. Accessed it through my dock, got the keyboard re-enabled followed by BSOD. No, seriously. Rebooted, Aircard starts throwing errors. Finally, after the umpteenth restart, the aircard seems to be playing nicely with the keyboard and mouse. Turns out it's a known issue with my model of computer...*sigh*

Monday started with someone at job who complained about me to someone at the corporate office. You know, one of those folks who I work with and have a very good relationship with...and our closest common boss is probably the CEO. Anyway, he was complaining that I wasn't responding quickly enough to his "simple" request for a report that was ANYTHING but simple. That he requested at the end of the year. When I was planning and executing an upgrade for 500 clients. Mandated by the federal government. That always happens at the end of December. And I took a week of vacation between Christmas and New Years in order to move. I was available to manage the aforementioned upgrade. He said the 5th of January was FINE.

I understand that I'm his sole resource for these numbers. What he apparently fails to understand that if he has an issue with me, he is WELCOME to consult with my boss or my director. And that when I forward the email string, he'll be ignored. And that he's now on the naughty list of the person he reported me to. That controls all our data systems. Sucks to be him, now. My final satisfaction came when my director said "The data Debi said wasn't in the system isn't in the system. You can come see me about it." Heh.

For those that don't know, Rottenfield Manor boasts and enormous amount of storage space. And a ravine in back. I'm not entirely sure there aren't already bodies in said ravine. Hopefully, by the time we clean it out, they'll have all decomposed. I WILL hide your body there. Seriously. Don't screw with me. I hold a grudge.

Calling Dr. Gorgeous

Saturday night in the shower, I happened upon a (as Eddie Izzard would describe it) a big f*ck-off lump. Not your average clogged pore, your average golf ball sized invader that hurts like hell. Between my legs. In that spot between the girl parts and where both buttocks meet. I showed mom and Mike in a pose that is often seen in the pages of Hustler. Mom said “You should call your doctor, that looks like a boil.” Useful suggestion at 9 pm on a Saturday night.

So, I called my doctor at 8:40 on Monday morning, and got an appointment for 9:50. Just enough time to get some tea, right? Well, I ended up being the tiniest smidgen late just because it was full-contact parking day. Doc took one look at it and said "I'm going to give you some antibiotics."

Um, didn’t come here for antibiotics. I came here to have the invader cut off my body. “Can't I have it drained?!?!?!?!" Apparently, most folks go pale at the suggestion, so she doesn’t make it. She said she’d see if Surgery could fit me in.

Um, surgery??? Yeah, apparently this isn't a little poke, it requires a scalpel. Off to surgery where they ushered me into a nice little room within about 5 minutes. A very nice older PA came into the room. Followed not by a medical assistant or a kindly nurse. Followed by SUPER-HOT resident. You know, the popular guy in high school you either wanted to be or date? Because he was SO nice and SOOOOOO hot?? Yep, he’s here to learn from my boil. Yay. I’m happy to help train the next generation of medical professionals.

I’m given one of those teeny-tiny robes, which was at LEAST enough to almost cover by butt in the back. And give me the highly sought after Brittany Spears look if I crawl out of a low slung car in it. I climb up on the not-so-comfy exam table on my tummy to wait for the inevitable re-entrance of kindly PA and SUPER-HOT. Apparently, I was exposing more skin than the PA was comfie with, because he used another gown to cover up my legs so I “wouldn’t feel so exposed”. Yep, bare legs are what have me feeling exposed. They return and there’s not a whole lot I can do in these situations besides crack jokes and laugh. Except when he shot me up with a whole bottle of lidocaine. That hurt, so I did some DEEP BREATHING. I think some of the office paint took flight and is still lodged in my lower left sinus. He sent me off with a prescription for Vicodin to match the prescription for antibiotics my doc had given me.

I was FINE for several hours. Lidocaine? GOOD STUFF MAYNARD. Then? Wore off. And pain commenced. MUCH more pain than when the invader and I had been one. Vicodin is reserved for EXTREME circumstances because I’m mildly allergic to it. So, I endured the pain. And endured. I emailed boss man and said that between a big infection, and not exactly being able to sit, I was going home and going to bed. His sole comment? “Yikes!”

So, today, Thursday, it’s finally feeling better. Mostly. I bought a foam pad to sit on (they don’t call them hemorrhoid donuts anymore). It worked until today when it started to make my coccyx hurt.

So there you go…hope you find joy and meaning in my festering boil. Happy New Year!

This is my daughter for whom I would gladly return to prison

Quote from First Crush

My first crush and his lovely wife had a baby yesterday. In honor of that, I sent him a quote that I'd seen on Facebook:

Guns dont kill people Daddies with pretty Daughters Do

He sent me this in return. But not before he sent me the news that little Penelope had joined the world:

Mum and bub are beautiful and healthy. Dad is healthy

It's fun having long lost folks back in your life. Between Facebook and Google, I've found just about everyone I ever wondered about. There's a few folks I've still not "found". Chris Thornton for instance (in case he ever ego-surfs). Heather Harris for another, though I think I can find out about her through my sister-in-law. Six degrees and all. Oh! And Dan Watola who first dubbed me Debineezer.

Anyway, I have lots of things collected up from all these weeks of silence. I'll get 'em in here soon.

It's amazing how much fun you have with a gift card and a brick

Luann, 12/13/09

I got nothin' on this one. I blame the new Rottenfield Manor. I'm tired, tired, tired. But this is funny.

Contemplating which of the 7 deadly sins to take on next

What I Did for Love by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

I admit it...I like books with no redeeming mental value. I don't always read complete crap, but it's a good break. Personally? I'm thinking of taking up sloth for a while.

I want more suck for my buck!

Debi to Mike while deciding upon a range hood in Home Depot

I love to cook. Sometimes, I cook at high heat. I'm not saying I burn it, I'm saying that sometimes, a nice steak requires a little bit of singeing under the broiler, and I'm just the kinda girl to do it. Cooking a pizza at 450? Well, unless your oven is immaculate, you're likely to generate a bit of microscopic particulate matter.

Our current "exhaust fan" couldn't suck the whipped cream off a mocha. No seriously. I had NO idea that wall mounted exhaust fans existed...yep, flush to the wall. I think maybe it was supposed to be a bathroom fan or something. But it takes out next to nothing. It often fills the neighborhood with a pleasant aroma and I do tend to cook for an army...but I don't think that's part of its cunning plan.

Smoke alarms are designed to detect this microscopic particulate matter and scream at the top of their little electronic lungs that it's time to panic because...um...FIRE!!!!!!!!! The smoke detector closest to our kitchen is in the stairwell adjacent. It doesn't do it too often because we tend to keep the door to the basement closed. It's cold down there. If the smoke alarm goes off, we always say "Dinner's ready" and 9 times out of 10, it is.

No longer. For my new kitchen, I have obtained he who shall be called "Sir Sucks-a-lot". No, Gabe, he is not a Senator from Nebraska (that's actually "Sir Blows-Hard"), though it is easy to see your confusion written across your ex-patriot face. Sir Sucks-a-lot moves 440 cubic feet of air each and every minute he's powered. Compare this to the 300-350 CFM (Cubic Feet per Minute) that is considered to be on the high end of the spectrum.

Sir Sucks-a-Lot is unlikely to allow conversation in his all-powerful presence. Like his mistress, he demands all attention be paid to him. But it is a small price to pay for suck divine suckitude.

Best of all? I saved $100 because apparently, they're phasing out this model. I suspect there just isn't a market for power over beauty. There were pretty range hoods, but they lacked the power of my beautiful boy.

Mock me if you will. I bought $5 light fixtures for my bedroom and an $8 for the stairwell. Why? Because I have my priorities screwed on straight. And if you're good, I'll cook for you to prove it.

What is that? A Par 3?

Mike's response to Tiger Wood's "Accident"

As you may know, Tiger Woods backed out of his home in a gated community this weekend, ran into his neighbor's tree, bounced off the rim and knocked himself unconscious. Um?

First, the man has way too much money to be backing out of anything. Circular driveway anyone?

Second, how does one hit a neighbor's tree hard enough to ring your proverbial bell while sustaining only minimal damage? Was he driving a friggin' hummer? Don't answer that.

So, Mike's theory was that it went mailbox, tree, street for his three hits. Hey, that's pretty good for a man who wouldn't know par if he met it on the street.

Frankly, I'm glad he's dead

Northwest Washington has experienced the execution of 5 police officers in the last couple of months. This morning, the "suspect" was shot dead.

I've been involved in several conversations surrounding these events. From what my SPD officer acquaintance hoped would happen to the killer to the nature of evil and if it exists.

Judaism does not believe in the standard interpretation of "An eye for an eye." Our tradition teaches that this passage means that reparations must be paid, not that you literally take out another.

When we recite the plagues during the Passover Seder we remove 10 drops of wine from our cups to diminish our joy because of the suffering of the Egyptians.

What I'm saying is that by tradition, we're not a blood-thirsty lot. And yet, I find myself incredibly glad the SOB is dead. I'm more glad that he was going to shoot at yet another police officer and died with one of the guns he stole from a dead officer. Without those? There could have been lingering questions over whether or not the got the right guy.

I had the opportunity this morning to tell two Seattle Police Officers thank you. Thank you for facing death every day. Thank you for doing a job I can't fathom. Thank you for protecting us. I'm glad he's dead. I'm glad he suffered with a belly wound for 2 days. I hope this doesn't speak too much of the blackness of my soul.

What does it mean when the spambots get you?

I've been getting spam. Only on old posts. But it's annoying. Does this mean I'm popular? Or I've just been around long enough to notice?

We DID close on the house on November 20. Between that and the WORST computer month on record, I've been doing a GREAT job of keeping up here, even though I've got funny stuff to say.

Unfortunately, I'm in the post-Thanksgiving dinner haze. So, seriously? Tomorrow. Or DEFINITELY by Monday!

We're wearing garbage bags and paying a lot for the privilege

Debi to Mike before the start of Blue Man Group

This is actual the show that started the path to broke-ness that I chronicled last week. We were wandering up the strip from Mandalay Bay...yep we walked all the way back to the Venetian from there. And that is a BLOODY. LONG. WAY. Navigating around people. Dodging in to places reported to have penny pressing machines. Dodging the lines of men (and a few women) handing out cards, broadsheets and magazines about where to find nude women who will do anything you want. JEEPERS.

Anyway, as we came upon the half price ticket place, I asked Mike if he wanted to see anything. He said he wouldn't mind seeing Blue Man Group, which actually surprised me. But we got ticket vouchers which we had to exchange for actual tickets at the box office.

I didn't want to pay for the more expensive tickets, so we got tickets in the red zone. It turns out that the red zone has the four front rows and then all the ones behind the good seats. The four front rows are called "The Poncho Seats". The gentleman at the box office assured us it was more of a drizzle than a downpour. Miss BittyCrazy said something to the effect of "HA!" on my Facebook page when I mentioned this. So, we got them.

We arrived and donned our clear plastic bags with hoods. And sat. And waited. And sweated a bit. And laughed our way heartily through the show. And nary a drop assaulted us. Mike didn't know what to expect from the show, but he expected to have some form of liquid aimed at him. The lack of this disappointed him. Had I known, I'd have saved some of my water and spit it at him after. Oh well.

I love Homestreet Bank!

This is a true story. I am not a paid spokesperson for Homestreet Bank (though I'm happy to be if you guys call).

I went into the Wedgwood branch of Homestreet today to get out some cash. I ran into Gina who I mentioned my last post. I asked if she'd gotten my amusing (to me) voice mail about vanquishing the ATM machine. She said yes and asked what I'd written in my blog. Huh? It took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about. Then she paraphrased the line I wrote about her jumping right in.

Turns out that their marketing department must have a web crawler that alerts them to "media" hits, and I guess my post must have hit their radar. Apparently, they contacted Gina to find out if there was a problem that needed to be fixed. It went to the head honcho of marketing, did the hokey pokey and ended up with the president of the bank. SERIOUSLY? What's funny is that only two lines of the entry was quoted and it was something like "Gina said". Not very informative. So she was pretty well in the dark.

Apparently, my humorous writing style of my last post didn't entirely convey that not ONLY did Gina make sure my problem was fixed, she and every person at Homestreet Bank ROCKS! I don't go in that often, but they all know me when I do. I don't have to call a corporate number to get help. I call the branch and they either help me right out or they make the calls and get back to me. I've been pointed to a corporate number once and that was for help on the website that the branch simply couldn't help with.

When I had to go back and get copies of our cleared rent checks for a YEAR? One of the employees probably spent an hour going through screen after screen after screen of check images to find the 6 I needed (I had the latest ones). Then called me back late on a Friday afternoon to say they were done and she'd look out for Mike to come and get them.

I've never had an interaction with them that was less than happy making. So honestly? I can't imagine EVER banking anywhere else, and wish we'd switched more than three years ago. I'll be emailing "whomever" to make sure they know this. Although I'm sure it will show up on their webcrawler by Monday morning.