On Sunday mornings when I was a fidgety child, my mother came up with a slightly different way to keep me quiet during the 40 minute sermon in our Lutheran church. She would hand me the four page church bulletin, with its information on births, deaths, Sunday School, and Christian retreats,... and a ball-point pen. My duty, which I undertook quite solemly, was to fill in all the "circle" letters in the bulletin. The a's, o's, d's, b's - all were filled in with blue ball point pen. It generally took me most of the sermon to finish the job.

This afternoon, as I walked back to my office after a meeting, I looked down at the spreadsheet I'd been studying for the last hour. And all of the o's and q's and a's were filled in with blue, ball-point pen.

Sometimes the smallest moments remind us that we're not as grown up as we think.

A Weekend In Austin (or "How to Procrastinate in 48 Hours or Less):

Saturday -

9:30 AM - Roll out of bed. Ponder that there isn't much food in the house. Debate going to the grocery store. Decide it's too hot outside and besides, you're always the one who goes to the grocery store. Don't go out of spite. Realize this doesn't do anything but make you hungry and spiteful.

11:30 AM - Log in to the game your ex-employer runs. Ponder that ten months is about how long it takes you to get over burnout. After ten months, the game is fun again. After you quit working for Jimmy Buffett, it took you ten months to listen to his music again without gagging. Grumble a bit over the fact that the game is much more difficult without your super-secret tools.

2:00 PM - Dial in to your work connection. Work. Work more. Argue with your uber-boss in email. Lose. Consider how you used to think it would be great to be able to telecommute. Try to remember the last weekend when you didn't spend several hours working. Call your direct boss to ask him something and discover he's in San Antonio. Bless the fact that while you may have to dial in to work, at least you haven't been saddled with a cell phone yet. Knock on your wooden computer desk.

6:00 PM - Putter around the house cleaning things.

7:00 PM - Consider the grocery store again. Call out for pizza. Go back to playing the game.

8:00 PM - Realize you forgot to eat any of the pizza you ordered.

1:00 AM - Curl up with book and cat. Feel guilty about not doing more work. Decide to do it on Sunday.

Sunday

8:30 AM - Wake up from completely embarrassing nightmare in which you discovered the cast of "Sex in the City" not only worked in your building, but was writing notes about mortifying things that happened to you in the dream, and then sharing them with everyone. Shudder and go back to sleep.

10:30 AM - Wake up from a less disturbing dream. Decide to go to the mall.

11:00 AM - Arrive at the mall. Realize it doesn't open until noon. Decide to drive to the other mall. Waste time driving around downtown Austin. Find lots of restaurants that look fun, interesting, and likely to give you food poisoning. Daydream.

12:00 PM - Hit the mall! Buy new clothes. Wish you were a size 4. Get annoyed because the dressing room mirror seems to exist in a different space/time continuum than the one in your bathroom and you look icky and fat. Sulk Refuse to try on any more clothing until the mirror is willing to lie to you. Get over it when you realize you can wear a smaller size than last time you went shopping. Buy a skirt and a purse. At least you can carry the same size purse as a size 4 girl.

12:30 PM - Try to leave the mall, but accidentally walk past the candle store. Be sucked in. Buy candles.

12:45 PM - Choose the route out of the mall past the bookstore. Don't even try to avoid going in. Pick up the new Spider Robinson book. Turn it over. Read the blurb. Set it down. Pick it up. Waffle. Buy the latest Larry Niven paperback instead.

1:45 PM - (Hey, you could spend your entire life in bookstores if given the opportunity, alright?) Hit the food court. Look at all the restaurants. Feel like you're standing in front of a gigantic open refrigerator and you can't decide what you want. Waffle. Choose the one with the longest line under the premise that it has the best food.

2:45 PM - Stop by Eckerd's and buy shampoo, hair bleach, and gold and silver pens. Think of the Paula Poundstone routine about watching people in checkout lines and guessing which item they came to buy, and which items are just padding.

3:00 PM - Go home and promptly put on your new skirt because you can't buy anything new without using it immediately. Light the candles. Start reading the book.

5:00 PM - Play Diablo II.

8:00 PM - Remember the work you were going to do. Decide to get one more level in Diablo. Find a lone frozen Healthy Choice dinner in the freezer. Microwave it.

8:30 PM - Remember the food in the microwave. Reheat it.

10:00 PM - Decide to quit playing Diablo and do that work you'd forgotten about.

10:05 PM - Clean the catbox. Decide to clean the bathroom while you're at it.

10:30 PM - Finish cleaning the bathroom. Pluck your eyebrows. Wonder why you're subjecting yourself to the pain. Go get the Windex and clean the bathroom mirror.

10:35 PM - Decide to get started on that work. Clean the living room instead.

11:00 PM - Turn on your computer. Spend 10 minutes flipping channels on the music only cable stations. Dance around the living room with the cat, pissing him off.

11:30 PM - Check your email and surf the web. Decide to write a quick update for your website.

12:30 AM - Decide to go in to work early on Monday to finish the work. Feel guilty. Get over it. Go back to dancing with the cat.

The way I figure it, if I drive Gryph crazy, push her over the edge, and make her curse the gods of web design, maybe I can nudge her into labor so she can cease being pregnant and thank me for it later. See? My design suggestion was all about her - about her needs.

Either that, or it's revenge for telling me something a few months ago that made me want to gouge my own eyes out with sticks.

You be the judge.

It's Friday, the sun is shining, and the sky is blue. There's been a cardinal fluttering around outside my office window for the past few days, and it just occured to me that cardinals aren't really Texan birds. I wonder if he's lost? The normal bird fare around here leans toward great big, huge, black vultures that occasionally sit on top of the parking garage. I never realized quite how big and creepy those birds are until I saw one from 50 feet.

Other than the disconcerting tendency for all of the creepy wildlife of Texas to show up at my house to party lately, we also have some animals that are interesting only because I've never lived in their natural habitats. The vultures are a good start, but they're backed up by the road runners. Yes. Every time I see them, I do sing, "Rooaad Runner! If the coyote catches you... Roaad Runner! If he catches you you're through." Hey, if you know me, you know I'm a pop culture geek.

The best animals here are the armadillos. I had the pleasure of seeing a live one a month or two ago (before that I thought they were just naturally roadkill), and it was made even more amusing by watching Curtis react to them. Curtis was visiting for the weekend, and we were over at Ben's apartment playing "Settlers". Curtis and I stepped outside to the patio and as we were talking, I heard a noise in the grass behind Ben's apartment and turned to see a pair of armadillos waddling towards us. I said, "Oooh! Look! Live armadillos!" As Curtis turned to look, they saw us and started moving toward the patio at which point Curtis cried, "I don't want those over here. I've heard armadillos are fucking mean!" (Those of you that know Curtis should hear that line in his voice for the amusement value). As he ran for the door, I asked, "What do you mean, 'mean'? How do you know? I've never actually seen a live one!" Dear Curtis. I just can't imagine he'd do well on "Survivor"...

OK, back to work. I have a website to build in four, count 'em, four days. Have I procrastinated until I have four days? No. I really have four days. Aieee!

It's Thursday! (Bounce! Bounce!) And, you know, that's almost Friday, which is the weekend, so I can be all perky and bouncy today.

I get to spend most of today cozied up in a THX sound studio, directing my rag-tag troupe of volunteer voice talent in the finer qualities of recording online game comedy in both one take and in under 8 hours. Whee!

This is actually one of the best parts of my job, and I'm finally starting to get a knack for it and feel comfortable as the director. Given that everyone who works on this project is a volunteer, it's a little difficult to be critical. "No, no. I want you to suck, but not that badly. Thank you." I was terribly nervous producing my first show. OK, nervous isn't the right word. Panicked. Panicked is better. Uh-huh. But I'm better now! And it's handy to have people I know well enough down here to lean on. Derek was quickly recruited into my voice talent pool because I have no qualms about ordering him around.

If anyone is interested in hearing the fruits of my labor (did I mention I get to script these as well?), drop me an email!

I have a nasty habit of weighing choices, decided that the worst possible outcome will happen, and then hiding my head in the sand until it does - proving me right.

I am the Ostrich of Manifest Destiny. Hear me sqwuark and run in fear.

If I could just learn to type with my feet, I could have two computers, two keyboards, and get twice the amount of work done.

Another problem with my lack of FTP access: I can't fix typos on my non-blogged pages. I'll be obsessing over the fact that I misspelled "Algonquin" for the rest of the day.

Chet is prowling around my office at the moment, looking for the perfect sleeping spot in which he may both catch some needed ZZZZ's and be in ideal petting range for any passing visitors who might like to laud His Holiness.

Have I mentioned that my cat rocks?

In other news, it really sucks when your company configures a "productivity" firewall, one that doesn't allow FTP (or porn - but I tend to think surfing porn at the office is a bit, umm, well, like mixing my apples and my oranges into the sort of fruit salad I wouldn't eat at work). I rarely notice the FTP thing, but at the moment I'm obsessing over whether to buy Sting's newest album and I really want to hear an MP3 of "Desert Rose" before I make my decision. But I can't get one. So now I want one even more.

Deny me something and I want it more. I'm so easy to manipulate.

Paraphrased Instant Message Conversations:

Female A: Did you read Suz's site today?
Female B: Poor Chelsea! Poor Suz!
Female A: I know... You know though. It had to happen that way. If anything is going to be leaking body fluids, they'll always end up on Bruce.
Female B: You know you're right.
Female A: Even if Bruce hadn't been there, the fates would have aligned somehow to get him in the vicinity of Chelsea as she dripped.

....

Female A: Suz's birthday is coming up.
Female B: Ahh yes. I need to look at her wish list.
Female A: We should buy Chelsea a bag of corks.


We both love ya, Suz - you and Chelsea - so forgive us if we make horrible jokes about corking your dog. (The Bruce thing doesn't need forgiveness though. It's true.)

Things I Have Learned:

1. People who change things just to exert their ability to change things are not found only in the darker corners of Mooville.
   
2. I have a certain tolerance for people who believe "editing is power", as in "I have power. See? I can make senseless changes to your work. This shows I have power!"
   
3. My tolerance for this behavior is significantly lower that it was a year ago.
   
4. Telling me to do something "because you said so" raises my hackles higher than the John Hancock Center.
   
5. I have been a bad conservationist. I was unaware that we are in drought rationing. I watered my lawn last weekend.
   
6. Apparently, any of my neighbors could have ratted me out to the cops for my lawn watering. I would have faced a $2000 fine.
   
7. I like my neighbors very much, and will be baking them cookies at Christmas time, or perhaps sooner.
   
8. I've got the fever for the flavor of a Pringle.
   
9. That's a lie. I really just want a cookie.
   

Melissa,

You're not the only one junking out on The Real World lately. A moment in my life:

*click*

"I really hate the Real World this season. Hawaii was much more interesting. I can't stand that chick. She tries to pull off an attitude and she just keeps looking like an idiot. What was her thing with the frat boy? Who cares? Why am I watching this? I should change the chann....aha! There she goes again! Hello? Why are you freaking out over him telling you to listen? What's that thing you're doing with your neck? Oh honey, you're just so 'jiggy'. I can't believe I'm watching this. I really hate the Real World this season. I can't stand that... oh. It's over. Stupid show. 10:00PM on Tuesday, huh? I'm not watching it."

*click*

I'm such a slave to pop culture.

I'm bored. I'm frustrated. I'm laughing. I'm inside. I'm contemplative. I'm daydreaming. I'm behind. I'm proud. I'm confident. I'm curious. I'm nervous. I'm impatient. I'm snappish. I'm goofy. I'm procrastinating. I'm dazzling. I'm surly. I'm bemused. I'm vague.

It must be Tuesday.

Woohoo! Steph grew up next to the giant radioactive breasts!

This is only interesting, well, to me actually. I'd never heard of the giant radioactive breasts until they came up in a bulletin board topic I was reading recently. Now I feel so plain - the nuclear power plant I grew up near was just your average, run-of-the-mill, no breasts, powerplant. Hmph!

The Horse Whisperer.

Good book - in a "It's-Like-Bridges-of-Madison-County-with-Horses" way. The movie? Well, the scenery is very beautiful. Spectacular even. It made me long to live out in the west again. I've never seen a sun set more majestically than it does over a Wyoming summer evening.

Other than the sunset and the horses, I was very underwhelmed by this movie. For those of you out there pondering my choices in films, it was on Encore all weekend long. I'm not just saying it was on quite a bit. It was on all weekend.

*click* "The horse is hurt..." *click* "She's got a limp and she's depressed." *click* "The horse feels her pain." *click* "I love you, lizar..I mean, Robert Redford." *click* "He needs a woman who will stay with him on the ranch." *click*

So I basically learned this: Robert Redford may have been sexy as hell when he was younger, but now he's just kind of... not. I'm sure that Kristen Scott Thomas has been in a movie where she played a character that wouldn't completely bore me, but after watching this and "Random Hearts" in which she couldn't even manage chemistry with Harrison Ford, I'm a bit worried. I mean, my desk could manage to have chemistry with Harrison Ford. My Birkenstocks could manage chemistry with Harrison Ford. Kristen Scott Thomas doesn't.

I don't trust anyone who doesn't have chemistry with Harrison Ford. Hmph.

Lessons I have learned in the last few days:

1. The Nuclear Threat is Still Alive and Well in my Psyche

The movie, "The Day After" still creeps the hell out of me. Oddly enough, I watched it the night before Suz posted her thoughts on growing up with the bomb. I know it was cheesy 80's TV, but the image of the missles rising above the Kansas countryside is just frightening.

I remember the bomb drills in elementary school - and the absurd idea that covering my head with my hands would protect me from fallout or a nuclear firestorm. I also remember touring the bomb shelter in my junior high school. Dark and creepy, and filled with big metal cannisters of water and food. The doors to the building had big "Fallout Shelter" stickers on them emblazoned the radiation symbol. I still find that symbol very disturbing.

Oddly enough, and probably a generational thing, my fears were never focused so much on the actual bombs, but on radiation. I grew up near a nuclear power plant and I remember the evactuation zone map on the back of our phone book with the multi-colored circles defining the danger radius. Printed just like they describe the blast radius of a bomb. I lived in the "Oh, if anything happens, you won't die outright, you'll just get horrible cancers and rot away" area of the map.

I remember having serious conversations with my friends in which we decided that if the bomb ever came, we'd head for the blast in hopes of being killed rather than live through a nuclear winter. Pretty deep stuff for a pre-teen who was still wondering what it would be like to, you know, kiss a boy.

2. I'm Not "Girlie"

I went to get a haircut for the first time in, oh, a year and a half? (One of the joys of having longer hair.) I found a "day spa" near my house and managed to get an appointment Wednesday night. I showed up for the appointment and remembered why I hate hair salons, let alone "day spas".

I am not girlie. I get up in the mornings, wash my hair, brush my teeth, pull my hair back into a pony tail, and maybe four times a week remember to put on base and a little blush. If I have time to spare, I toss in eyeliner, and on rare occasions, mascara. I'm so unaccustomed to mascara that I rub it all off by noon anyway and look like a raccoon.

Salons are filled with all these potions and concoctions and big bottles of goop for my hair and my skin. At salons they cut and style and dye and wax and pluck and massage and do all these things that not only do I have no use for, but I find intimidating. I don't know if I have dry skin or oily skin or whether my pores are bigger than anyone elses. I'm not girlie and here I am walking into this place that is inherently girlie. I'm afraid they'll bust me for it. Or quiz me. And I'll somehow fail at being a girl.

And then I can't help but wonder, what would it be like to be that kind of girl? To get up early to style my hair and fix my makeup. To even know what makeup looks good on me? I wouldn't even know where to begin. As I left with my new haircut, I was thinking about the fact that I started growing my hair out in my mid-20's. I had short hair all my life until that point. I know how to french braid, and I know how to put in a butterfly clip. I can tie back a ponytail. But I have no idea what else to do with my hair. I overheard a stylist ask the woman in her chair, "Where do you part your hair?" That question would bring me to a halt. Is "I have no idea whatsoever" a good answer? Perhaps, "Uhhh. It just, you know, does what it wants?"

And I wonder why I never go to salons...

3. "She Sure Can Drone On, Can't She?"

Yes. I can. Once I actually start doing it.

I'm thinking this is a man who just got a very big lesson in the power to "Just Say No" to drugs.

I just love how the reporter fit a reference to "2 to 3 inches long" in the start of the fourth paragraph.