My grouchiness factor is pretty high; this has to do with a badly-designed technology “upgrade” that screwed up everyone’s macro keys, repeatedly. And of course, the “upgrade” runs like an overladen swallow on final approach to Mogadishu.
This grouchiness factor is abated once I get home, smooch David, and pick up Riley-the-kitty for a slouchy cuddle in the leather armchair.
Last night, I watched as two dry leaves skittered around in the wind under the crabapple trees as I left the office. As I got closer, I realized they were actually two tiny little rodents, skirmishing for the scattered fruit of the trees. It was really cold, and they were fearless with hunger, allowing me to approach to within a few feet while they munched busily away on the fruits. Then the bolder one finally scampered away under the bushes. So I pulled a few extra bunches of tiny red fruit down and put them on the ground where they’d be found and walked to my car. Behind me, the rodents skittered around again, fighting their tiny battle for the best, most nourishing fruit. At that distance, in that light, they looked like tiny leaves blowing around in the cold wind again. Something tells me we’re in for a hard winter, after having it so easy in the fall.
I can’t seem to blog much at home; something about being in the basement with the door shut (to keep Riley from coming downstairs and investigating his way into dangerous sump pump and ejector pits and things) gets to my allergies. We’re working out a way to increase the ventilation down there.
We’re also working on a better way to winterize the windows. Might try this “DIY magnetized storm windows” thing.
Note: allergies have been worse at work lately. For some reason, November must be “Wear Wretched Scents To Work Month.” Or perhaps it’s “Make Your Cow-orkers Sneeze Week.”
Things are getting interesting at Holy Moly. Some things are interesting in a good way. Other things are interesting in that “Chinese curse” way.
Something I’ve Been Mulling Over For A While
It has become increasingly clear to me as the years go by that I completely lack the decorator gene. Meaning, I only have a vague idea of style, color and form, so I rely on the copycat technique: when I see something I like on a show or in a store or in someone else’s home, I try to emulate it. This is why Trading Spaces was highly educational for me the first few seasons: there were many times when a decorator (NOT HILDY!) would explain the reasons behind their style or color choices, and my reaction would be a stunned “I did not know that.”
Now, it has also become abundandtly clear to me that I also totally lake the related “decoration gene.” This probably sits on the same allele or near the loci or some other Mendelian claptrap cobbled from CSI reruns on Spike TV. Anyway, I don’t put up seasonal decorations at all except for a tasteful array of Christmas ones. Apparently, everyone else in the world now puts up decorations indoors as well as outdoors for all major and minor feasts and holidays, including but not limited to “Winter, Valentine’s Day, St Patrick’s Day, Easter (with hanging eggs on bushes), Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Generic Summer, Halloween, and Thanksgiving,” and then after Christmas, the religious stuff comes down and the snowmen of Winter reign again. In talking with my cow-orkers, it seems everyone is all in a tig over when they’ll have time to get their Halloween decorations put away, their Thanksgiving ones perfected, and the exterior Christmas lights up. Then they proceeded to list all the holidays they decorate indoors for with figurines, banners, over-dressed fashion geese, and quaintly twee wall placards and garden-stake greetings. When I interjected “That’s odd, I don’t decorate at all for anything other than Christmas, and the box of decorations pretty much stays in the front hall all year,” they looked at me like I was some kind of weirdo.
I guess all those times I sneered at the Big House O’Inflatables and the foibles of my http://www.blogula-rasa.com/archives/000969.phpcow-orkers, it turns out I was the oddball.
As for the BHO’I, they’ve really dialed back on the lawn blimps the last year or so. In spite of my snarking about their display, I’d hate to think that they actually… became aware of it and were hurt or something. Maybe it was just the neighbors telling them it made their wimpy one-blimp displays look lame by comparison? They just had the Zombie Homer and the purple Shelob stunt-double up for Halloween, but I haven’t been by lately to see if they’ve replaced them with the Turkey yet. Last Christmess, they only had a few inflatables. We’ll see on that score later.
High Maintanance, Low Maintanence, NO Maintanance?
And one more thing, also probably related to the complete lack of decoration/decorator genes on my part: I am what you call a “no-maintanance” woman. I don’t buy slick glamour mags, I don’t shop for myself unless my jeans are more holes than denim, and I totally don’t get the whole toenail polish thing. I’m good to go if I brush my teeth and hair before leaving the house.
When I was in college, I wore makeup daily and changed my hairstyle occasionally; now I have long hair that doesn’t change (aside from the bright silver hairs that are now showing up more and more) and I don’t wear makeup very often at all. Never had a manicure or a pedicure in my life (and if you could see my hands and feet, you’d know I was telling the truth). I see women who pamper themselves with accessories and clothes and skin products and facials and all that at work and out and about, and wonder why they bother…I mean, they look all right, if a little artificial. And I am natural, to the point of colorlessness aside from the color of my hair and eyes. Everything else – lashes, skin, lips – is pale, pale, pale.
I look pretty different with makeup, but eh, I could give a rip. What’s the point? Why look different from who I am? That’s why I kind of boggle when I see women tarted up with flashy jewelry and splashy touches of gold on clothing and purses and shoes.
Not to mention the big big fake fake acrylic nails with little beach scenes and palm trees and fake sparkly inset jewels. That last thing is my biggest mind boggler. Do they think men think that’s sexy? Do men actually think that’s sexy? The cashier at the cafeteria at work is always waving her fake nails with a tacky beach scene. Actually, she’s been a series of nearly identically beautiful Latinas, who’ve all been very thin and very sexy and very fashionable, but every now and then they get replaced by another pretty, thin Latina. Also with fake nails and sometimes with belly rings, which are often visible as I’m paying for my popcorn shrimp or whatever.
I’ve never been comfortable with wearing anything strictly as an attention-getting device; I usually preferred to camoflage myself, now even more so as I’m in middle age. I guess I’ve never been comfortable with being the center of attention, unless I’m being comic. I guess that comes from a complete and total lack of self-confidence when it comes to things like appearance and self-image.
And that’s an omnibus of a whole ‘nother story.
