Honey, I'm a Shoe Whore. I may not sleep around, but I see LOTS of other shoes

Comment to Mike after bringing home more new shoes

I'm unapologetic. I love my shoes. I love my cute shoes. I've had foot problems for the last year or so, so I haven't been able to wear what's in my collection, nor have I felt much like acquiring anything new.

Well, the foot is better. It's not great, but it's good enough. And I've got new shoes I don't even have clothes to match. So, I'm buying myself new clothes, too. If ONLY Mike's operating principle wasn't "When we run out of money, you'll stop buying shoes."

When Did You Get Peppermint Foot Scrub?

Mike's Comment after my Shower

I like to have soft feet...I ignore them entirely too much, so I don't have them. On top of that, due to my extreme case of Plantar Fascitis, I spend almost all of my time with my foot taped up. Because my lovely and talented husband gets to tape my foot, it's not nearly that neat.

The down side of surgery and plantar fascitis is medical adhesive. It sticks. Forever. Long after you remove whatever it was meant to adhere to your body. In fact, the object of the adherence might JUST fall off. So apparently it just sticks to skin forever. In my current life, it means that I constantly have black and gummy lines on my feet from where the last round of tape was.

Why don't I just wash it off? Two reasons. First? The previous paragraph. Soap don't work. Acetone? Nope. Petroleum Jelly? Ok, takes forever. Second? Well, I shower in the morning, approximately 3 hours AFTER my husband vacates the house. While he's perfectly happy to wake me up to give me shots in the butt before he leaves, I don't have to shower first and I can turn over and go back to sleep.

Tonight, I did some heavy lifting, and it's a bit muggy around here. So, I decided to get a shower before bed. And I decided to clean my foot and make it soft before hubby attacks it with more tape. So, I dug into my quickly emptying tub of Peppermint Foot Scrub. And it felt so good when I did the left foot, I decided to do the right. Unfortunately, I'm a klutz. You knew that. So, I knocked off the tub of peppermint foot scrub onto the bottom of the tub. And milliseconds later, a glob of peppermint foot scrub arrived in my eye. I gotta say that it's ALWAYS hard to flush your eye with water...I mean water doesn't feel good to begin with, and strangely, your eye is designed to shut tight to help create tears and wash out the stuff you got in there. When it's peppermint AND gritty? Yeah, fun.

So, I come out and tell my husband what happened. He cocks his head and I think he's trying to figure out how I managed to get a big glob of peppermint foot scrub into my eye. Nope, he posed the question above.

No good comes of bathing. Or of marriage.

Dark and Stormy Ratholes Investigated Here

I have a vision problem. Whenever I see a problem, I want to fix it. Even when it's not my problem. I like untangling problems. And being right. I'm good at it. I do it professionally, which makes it much easier to live my personal life.

The upshot is that I'm better and faster at things than a lot of folks I work with. I spend my life in a few systems, they access them a few times a month. I've managed the world as a benevolent dictator because...um...well I can. Oh who are we kidding? I like the power trip!

Turns out, this management of the itty bitty details doesn't leave me much time to do the things I'm really good at. This world has been untangled, so it's time to move on to new things that are celestial clusters. So, my boss is trying to clear a lot of this stuff off my plate and give it to the people who really own the processes and the data.

However, there are dark and nasty ratholes that only I can go down. I notice problems. Sure, I could ignore a problem I see, but that's the wrong thing to do. No, I don't own them, but if I let someone else try to figure it out, it will get even more screwed up. Then people OVER my boss will say "Well, Debi should figure this out." Or worse? They'll try to get folks at corporate to do it. Honestly? I like that the folks at corporate love me. I'd prefer not to hand them a big honking mess...I know, vision problem.

Anyway, I'm gonna make me a sign. It's going to say:

Dark and Stormy Ratholes

Investigated Here

Cheerful Service

Reasonable Rates

Stop your laughing.

No Felonies Here

Place of work has recently been acquired. Actually, the company that acquired us a couple of years ago was acquired by a bigger company which is owned by a BIG HONKING company with more than 85,000 employees. Being acquired by such a large company, that is actually quite good at acquisitions, is new for me. Now that I think of it, I've been through five acquisitions now. Huh. But that's not what this is about.

The new company has processes. And a lot of them. I suppose that's important when you've got so many people. One of them is that new employees get a background check. For felonies. Since we're newly acquired employees, that means us.

I'm not sure how the Human Capital director referred to it, but it wasn't clear what would happen if you DO have a felony on your record. I mean, we're already working here. So, in the meeting of 100 of my closest co-workers, I asked. This is suprising, I know. I'm not typically so inquisitive or outspoken? I'm not sure that this question had ever been asked because I was then told, uncertainly, that it would be handled on a case-by-case basis. Ok.

A coworker told me a couple of weeks later that I've raised a lot of eyebrows. Lots of people are speculating about my criminal background. Which is just hysterical. It's not like you can't COME TO ME AND ASK. The only thing I've ever been CAUGHT for is speeding. And the last time that happened was early 1996. Parking tickets (all 2 or 3 of them) don't even count, because they're not moving violations. I'm not saying I haven't done other things. That ugly plant Dana and I stole in the 8th grade comes to mind. But I think we did the nursery a favor, really. And there are a number of photos which document the enormous amount of underage drinking I did at a certain fraternity in Atlanta. But none of those are felonies. And like I said...it's been a while.

Mostly, I asked because it came to our attention several months ago that not only was one of our coworkers a convicted felon, but he was working at our company on work release. Huh. He's gone now. But not because of a background check.

And really, Human Capital? I guess that's supposed to be friendlier than Human Resources, but it kinda makes me feel a little like property. Of course, I'm easy. Pay me enough and you can call me anything you want. Easy, but not cheap. Feel free to file away that useful piece of information.

Thank you for f*cking off...now if you could go ahead and die?

Debi's further instructions for those who do not follow through with both parts of the F.O.A.D. directive

It's been a rough friggin' few weeks. People keep screwing with me. A few have been forced by people who aren't me to shove it up their proverbial...um...whatevers. But still. Aggressive stupidity as defined by the repeated pissing off of ME should be painful. And more painful than me just working to make your life hell.

On top of all this? Someone is spreading the vicious rumor that I am TACTFUL, DIPLOMATIC and above all? PROFESSIONAL. Ok, so I'm professional, but the other two? Oh wait, I should wait for you to stop laughing. Whoa, there. Breathe, please. You're not on my "needs to die list." Well, not yet anyway. There's still plenty of time.

The Queen of RTFM

Comment from Coworker

I'm one of the goddesses of process in my domain. I work with a lot of data, and it's important to keep it straight. Because I HATE it when my director comes to me and says "Why is this data all crooked??"

My main job involves a system with an incredibly crappy user interface. Crappy user interfaces aren't just a pain to work with. They lead to enormous amounts of user error. When something isn't intuitive, you do it wrong. So, since I want clean data, I document stuff. So, no, it isn't your fault. Windows really DOES suck rotten eggs.

I don't just point people to documents that some "professional" put together. I painstakingly put together VERY targeted documents WITH pictures AND cheat sheets that say "This custom data field refers to x and y, but not z. Please don't enter a value for z here. It goes in the next custom data field." Really, I try to make it as easy as possible on folks to work with a system they LOATHE.

Honestly? I get tired of those who say "I don't know how to do that." Well, I've showed you AND I've pointed you to help files AND I've been nice while I've done it for the last 18 months. Ok, so I haven't been nice, but still. No I'm NOT going to send you a hard copy, because you're going to print it and keep it on your desk for 3 years and get all annoyed when you're doing it wrong because I've updated the process 3 times due to changing business requirements.

Well, the coworker in question got me in an educating mood. He couldn't find something in the system, so I gave him a sarcastic comment about teaching him how to use a wildcard search. That's when he called Paul and me "The King and Queen of RTFM". Apparently, Paul had been doing the same thing to him that day. I like to think my coworker meant that with affection. But I like it either way.

Have you gained weight??

Coworker's suggestion for abuse stopping question

I? Was attacked today. It has been over 4 years since I've been verbally attacked in the workplace and over 10 years since it happened in person. It was stupid. I made a mistake and the attacker over-reacted with a vengeance. Nothing like topping off 5 days of irregular heartbeat with a new orifice, eh? As always, the boss has my back. With an equal and opposite vengeance.

I confided in my co-worker-who-shall-remain-nameless about this incident. Coworker has had her/his own problems with the attacker in question. Coworker is a refreshingly deadpan and often serious soul. Coworker looked at me and said quite seriously "The only appropriate response to that is 'Bite me.'" Coworker said if that doesn't work, to drop the above question. Honestly? I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard (sorry, Chris). And coworker is much cherished due this well-timed laugh.

Coworker also told me not to share the knowledge of this very powerful question. However, I figure the 2.6 readers of my blog will keep the secret.

What is this "dignity" you speak of and how does it apply to me?

Yesterday, I had a Vicodin hangover. I very seldom take any type of pain medication. It exacerbates my migraine disorder. So what, you may ask, made me break this cardinal rule?

You may or may not know that I have a very rocky relationship with gravity. I throw myself to the ground. Not intentionally, mind you, but it happens none the less. A few months ago, I missed the last couple of steps going down to the stream in our back yard. Ok, it may have been 3 or 4, but I SWEAR the ivy reached out and grabbed my ankle. Anyway, it wasn't pretty. I am a very practiced faller. I tuck and roll and typically minimize damage.

Friday, I tripped over a embarrassingly low curb in front of PCC. While I thought I was doing ok, by the time I drove the 2 blocks home, I could barely peel myself out of the car. As soon as I convinced my mom that the ER was an unnecessary step (by doing a couple of sad but effective jumping jacks), I was calling for Aleve and Vicodin. On which I stayed for the better part of 4 days.

Anyway, I explained all this to Chris yesterday. He asked "Nothing broken besides your dignity?" I pointed out that I have no dignity and thus nothing was broken. He then suggested a Rascal for trips out of the house. He's OBVIOUSLY nuts. If I can hurt myself this badly fighting nothing but gravity, can you imagine me trying to pry myself out from underneath one of those behemoths?

"The scooter is supposed to prevent your impromptu slapstick routine." Seriously? He rides in the car with me all the time. At best I'm an average driver. "Point taken. If you can't stay upright on those size 10 gunboats of yours, three little rubber tires probably won't fare any better."

For the record? They are size 11 1/2 gunboats. If I were LUCKY enough to have size 10? I'd be able to increase my shoe wardrobe at least 100% with no problem. Which would obviously make the minor reduction in stability entirely worth it.

Idiots are fun. No wonder every village wants one...

Miss Lyndi's Facebook status

Miss Lyndi is the best. Once upon a time when we were at Wizards of the Coast, she made me a tape called "Boys are Icky". And she should know. She also gifted me with the loveliest little ballerina bear. And gothed her up for me upon request. I still have both.

And sometimes? She has SUPER awesome statuses. And she lets me use them. Facebook? Way too much fun. It's really a shame that now that the internet is over I'm gonna have to find something better to do.

Hey Ya'll! Watch this!!!

My boss just pointed out to me that the busiest time in trauma centers is around 4th of July. Not surprising. As anyone who grew up in the south can attest, fireworks are not only rampant, they're used in a most, well, idiotic manner. I'm sure it's not limited to the south, but that's where you most expect to hear this phrase.

My boss and have agreed that all beer and fireworks related issues should be treated under my variant of Darwin's rule which goes "Hey you! OUT OF THE GENE POOL!" It seems like we could spend the money it takes to save these morons on something more important like Viagra prescriptions for the homeless.

How do I know "they" are morons? Well, first, they were me and my friends.

10th grade. Church camp. High entertainment? Shooting bottle rockets into the lake.

Same year, Halloween. 3 guys and a girl riding around in BDUs (we were in a military town). Mission? Shooting bottle rockets from the car, taking the smallest among us trick-or-treating in the rich part of town, and shooting at Pepsi machines with a BB Pistol. My role as Munitions Specialist was rescinded after I landed a bottle rocket on top of someone's house.

Late spring canoe trip down some river or another. All of us making our way lazily down the river, aside from the frequent cross canoe splashing, rock throwing and such. While we were stopped for lunch, a few of the guys came out and told us in a very giddy tone that we should be moving down the river. As Ricky R. was carrying a glass peanut butter jar along with a maniacal face into the woods. Yep, nothing like black powder and a sealed glass vessel. RUN!!!

Summer of that same year. The sociopath I was dating tossed an M-80 at me. Supposedly, it wasn't supposed to get stuck in my waist-length hair and go off as it passed my leg on the way to the ground. Supposedly, it wasn't supposed to tear the hell out of my leg. His response? "You weren't supposed to run." And I dated THAT gem off and on for the next two years.

Much younger days. Out at the beach with mom, step-psycho and friends. BIG rockets. Into the sea oats up on the dunes. Fire ensues. I don't remember how the hell that one got put out. Probably involved a humorous group of jackasses running back and forth from the water to the fire with the shrimp pot and beer bottles.

Ah...good times.

Anyway, the point is that any injury proceeded by this comment is probably well deserved and if it results in something life-threatening it should fall under the "he needed killing" category. Not that I don't revere my distinguished white trash origins. I'm just saying.

Please make that look more like a Muppet vomited SteamPunk

Job Description for new Super Secret Startup

The job description states that you should find this adequate art direction and that you think the word "Please" is superfluous. I like this. If I possessed any of the qualifications, I would consider applying for it.

I also like the description for the Developer. For some reason, the line "You should know how to interact with a database in a healthy, grown-up, passive-aggressive way." It reminds me of my friend and colleague Paul. Although, I think he probably interacts in a purely aggressive way.

Of course, I'm the girl who was lucky enough to start at Wizards of the Coast on Halloween 1995. One of my teammates (a non-observant Jew) was dressed up as an Arab Terrorist. The Admin for the CEO was dressed up as Death. The admin walked up to me in the hall and blocked my way in a most threatening manner. At which point my teammate came up with his fake machine gun and saved this not-yet-Jew from Death. Really? That was one of my normal interactions there.

Serial Monotonist

Overheard at Ron & Robert's Chuppah

My friends Ron & Robert just had their Jewish wedding. They've been together for close to 20 years and this is the third time they married each other. They had a commitment ceremony in 1991, long before anyone thought same-sex marriage would ever happen. They got married in Canada just after it was legalized there. And they were finally ready to cement their lives together in front of their friends and family in our tradition.

One of the traditions of Jewish weddings is that the guests are there to entertain the couple. Period. The first thing that typically happens before signing the wedding contract is called a Tish, which literally means "table". The groom is SUPPOSED to deliver a lesson in Torah, typically based on that week's Torah portion. However, it's seldom more than a sentence or two.

In order to distract the groom from his nervousness, he is interrupted with jokes, songs, dance, and heckling. Robert's tish was probably the best I've ever been to. And it didn't have ANYTHING to do with the fact that I was in the back with the best group of hecklers.

At one point, I asked if marrying the same guy three times made him a serial monogamist. Someone else pointed out that marrying three DIFFERENT people made you a serial monogamist. Marrying the same person 3 times makes you a serial monotonist. Shortly after, for reasons I can't remember, this curly redhead broke out in Annie's Tomorrow. A good time was had by all.

Always do what the nice man with the machine gun tells you

Lesson learned early by all Air Force brats

It would seem that two idiots have tried to invade one of my home town Air Force bases. The only reason I wasn't born on the base is that they were remodeling, so they sent mom over to St. Joseph's which used to be a nice Catholic hospital, nuns and all, but now seems to be owned by the Baptists. But I digress. Anyway, it was less than a mile from my gram's house, so I've spent LOTS of time there.

As a 23-year veteran brat, I've spent lots of time on LOTS of Air Force bases. For those of you who grew up near military bases that were NOT Air Force, you might not realize the security that the Air Force employs. I remember the first time I drove on to Fort Bragg and I couldn't understand why I didn't have to drive up to a little shack, show them my ID, and have the nice man or woman with the scary sidearm wave me through. It was the same on some Naval bases I visited. Just drive on, drive around, go home. I don't know if it's still that way, but I suspect it is.

It used to be you could get waved through the gate at an AF base during the daytime with just a base sticker on your car, but that ended for a while during the first Gulf War and then permanently after September 11.

See, the Air Force locks it down. And if you think the base is hard to get on to, you should see the flight line. That's one of those places where they shoot first and ask questions later. Ok, they wrestle you to the ground, point a machine gun at your head and then ask questions. I suspect they'd only shoot if you were dumb enough to say, not kiss the concrete.

Anyway, I'm not sure what they planned to do...show up at Central Command and THEN be gunned down? Or maybe they were just hoping to rob the commissary. They did go the day BEFORE payday, so maybe they were trying to beat the crowds? They should be happy they were stopped at the gate and just risked bodily harm from the police dogs.

That can go in the box marked "Tragic"

Tacky House

We're addicted to home shows. Not too surprising. Holmes on Homes and Clean House are my two addictions. And we do watch in horror at those new hoarding shows. But Tacky House is on after Clean House sometimes, and we occasionally watch that.

This quote came from the episode where they de-rosed a woman's "Martha's Vineyard" room. That really looked like a bunch of silk rose bushes puked everywhere. As they were cleaning out the room, the host said that something could go in this box.

I know I haven't been around much. Not to linger, but we just finished a round of IVF. It was not successful. After 10 weeks of hormones, that was REALLY great news. But, I'm getting back to normal. And here's proof.

Why would anyone want passable pizza and an attractive woman when a disc of grease and animatronic bears are to be had?

Chris's commentary on our favorite pizza joint vs. Chuck E. Cheese
It's true. Another anniversary of my birth has come and has gone. Chris took me out to lunch for my birthday. And by that I mean that we went to one of the two places we ever go and it was his turn to pay.

Our favorite pizza joint is close by. It has relatively good pizza. It has a really nice ass and decent boobs on parade fairly often. I can't remember her name, because I suck, but she knows us, she likes us, and she's hot.

While discussing options for my special day, I suggested the usual: "Pizza and hot chick". His response? "What? No Chuck E. Cheese?" Maybe I should have taken him up on it and gotten my ass kicked at Ms. PacMan while we were at it.

Turd-sucking bag of possum vomit

Dexter by Design by Jeff Lindsay
Ok, I just got around to listening to this. I'll say it's better than the last Dexter book but still not up to his first two. This line is shouted at Dexter and his sister, in Spanish, by a lewd, crude man in a wheelchair. When he winds down and starts calling Deborah things like bitch repeatedly, Dexter mocks him for his loss of creativity.

They taste like chickpeas...well lubricated chickpeas

Debi's Opinion of the 120 servings of Chickpea Salad

After services on Shabbat, my synagogue has kiddush. Essentially, it's an after-services lunch. Either, someone sponsors it in honor of an event (wedding, bat mitzvah, the Mariners made it to the World Series) or because they wanna. When that doesn't happen, the Shabbos Chefs get together and prep a nice little lunch.

All I wanted to do was make some bread. A specific bread. A 4-foot-long loaf of challah, specifically. For practice. For later. Not withstanding.

So, I was TRYING to coordinate with the person in charge that week so I wouldn't be stepping on her toes while I was trying to bake the challah that ate Cincinnati. She didn't realize it was her week. She'll be out of town. No worries, says I. I've been meaning to do kiddush for a while. I'll do it.

No one who knows me is surprised that I'd just randomly offer to cook for 180 people. What didn't occur to me is that planning during Passover (when you're also having 20 people over for 1st Seder)...well, it never happened. So Tuesday night, I'm busily trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to fix for 180 people so that the lovely head of the chef's committee can do all my bloody shopping for me. It's harder than it sounds to scale up a recipe from 6 servings to 180. No really.

One of my favorite side dishes is a little chickpea salad I like to make. Some chickpeas, green onion and a nice little vinaigrette. Uses hot sauce, so it's got a nice little kick.

Well, with 10 pounds of chickpeas, we made it in turns: flavorless, not quite so flavorless, too spicy for public consumption, better but not saying much. My last opinion was the title of this post. We decided soon after that to quit, let it marinate until Saturday morning, and then add 15 pounds of tomatoes. I actually think it will be quite nice after that. If not, lubricated is good after the season of our constipation.

Is it a classic because it's good or because English teachers assign it?

I recently picked up the first big Zombie Lit book Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I got about 5 chapters in before deciding it might be funnier if I really knew what it was spoofing. Off I hied to the NetLibrary via my local library, and there downloaded all 11 hours of Pride and Prejudice. I have to say that aside from the strain induced by incredibly frequent eye rolls, it kept me engaged and entertained. So much so that I read The Scarlett Pimpernel and I'm about a chapter away from finishing Sense and Sensibility. While I can't say I understand why there are yearly conventions, I suppose the same can be said for many phenomena of my generation.

I had a hate/hate relationship with assigned reading. I don't know that I ever finished an assigned book unless we read it 100% in class. Cliff's Notes? A life saver. Since then, I've tried to go off and read some of them. Cannery Row, Hemmingway, Fitzgerald...I typically got about half a chapter in and never picked them up again. It's a bit easier with audio books. I'm not sure I'd have slogged through any of this stuff.

But who decides? Who decided Lord of the Flies was a "classic" and not just the product of a dude sitting down and thinking "How many symbols can I put in this book to drive sophomores NUTS in Mrs. Jones Advanced English?" I don't get it. Who likes some of this schlock? And if it DOES have merit, why waste it on hormone driven zombie freaks?

I dunno...I think I might pick up some Oscar Wilde next. I have the rest of Jane Austen waiting for me on my iPod. We'll see. Meanwhile, I'm taking suggestions for things that won't make me hate you.

Shakespeare was a prick

So earlier today, I made this my status on Facebook:
Debi is planning on suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune next week. I've got a bit of time on the schedule.
Why did I do this? Well, it sounds like a cool thing to do, eh? Suffering outrageous fortune and all. Not as in money but as in "may you live in interesting times." Then I wondered "What does that mean?" Because anything his contemporary said in 3 words, Bill said in 20. Turns out it ain't so good. Huh.

Which doesn't so much lead to today's quote, but just sort of reinforces it. I hate Shakespeare. Mostly? Because he was a misogynistic schmuck. Well, and that's not even it. What REALLY peaves me is that his protagonists can get away with being the most god-awful bastards for 3 acts, make one little speech at the end, and everyone falls back in love with the dipshit. Not just the women. The men love him again, too.

I read Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet, Julius Ceasar, Hamlet (I think that was it), King Lear. I've seen Shakespeare on stage several times, including twice with the Royal Shakespeare Company. I've seen movies (though honestly, he's MUCH better suited to the stage). I even watched Shakespeare in Love, and Gwen? Seriously?

So I'm perhaps not the most eloquent hater of "the Greatest Writer in the English Language." But I don't get it. Really I don't.

It’s times like these when knowing what I’m doing would really come in handy

Dirty Jobs

Reality TV doesn’t really do it for me for the most part. But I think Reality TV is much more about the drama than the substance. As such, I don’t consider shows like Dirty Jobs and MythBusters to be reality, but they are entertaining. I think in this episode, Mike was busy in a locomotive factory.

I feel his pain on the knowing what he’s doing front. Home remodeling has been like that. For THAT, I put the blame SOLELY on Norm Abram and HGTV. They make everything look so friggin’ easy. And fun. And while it is fun, it’s a time sink. I can run lights in a house now…but it took me 8 hours to do it in the basement. I can drywall and mud and tape. But DAYUM it’s slow going. As First Crush has mentioned, I’ll be a PRO by the time we’re finished with the house. If he didn’t have a new baby, I’d import his used-to-drywall-and-paint-in-college ass from Australia to be my slave for a few weeks. Except he mentioned something about sexually molesting my refrigerator. Which might be even better, especially if I can get pictures.

So, I’m a homeowner (or more like a homeower) who sunk all her money into the home and the electrical. And is damned lucky to have been able to do it in the middle of a crap market. And it’s fun. But no, unless you are my gay boyfriends, I am NOT coming to help you with drywall.