From Oh Hell!...
...to Oh, Fuck It! in no time flat.
How is it that every set of movers I've ever had has managed to make my entire house smell like damp cardboard and cigarette smoke within minutes of walking into my home? Add in the "get high off the fumes" markers and it's a great environment.
Moving clearly does not bring out the best in me.
As far as movers go, these guys are actually pretty good, even if they are pickier than most. Today, the one female mover actually rifled through the few boxes I'd pre-packed (all 4 of them) and pulled out all the nail polish and my Juniper Breeze scented shaving cream. They'll cheerfully pack jars of dill pickles, bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, but frown on that itty bitty bottle of nail polish. Who knew? On a totally unrelated note - can anyone tell me exactly what kind of threat an
allen wrench poses to airport security? Are they somehow afraid I'll dismantle the toilets?
E.Spat borrowed one of my allen wrenches and returned while we were studying for finals - it had lived (quite comfortably, I might add) in my purse until I went through security at Midway last week. Note that I made it
to Midway with no problems....
At any rate, here we are with
245 boxes of stuff waiting to be loaded on the truck Friday morning. I would say I always wonder how we get to this point, except for this...
How did I come to be the proud owner of this fine speciment of rodentia? E.Spat and I found two of them at school one Saturday and took them. (I think she sent hers to M.) This is prime example of why I have way too much shit.
Mr. Q is wanting to make hotel reservations for the Quandary cross-country "see everything, remember nothing" tour. Coming to a state near you - soon.
Because I Always Wanted to be a Power Broker
Airline Passengers of the World, Unite!
A friend sent me the pdf version of
this last week. I have to admit it made me laugh. Maybe you've seen it before. For all I know, it's been circulating the web for weeks, and I'm just now seeing it (entirely possible, since I'm about 250 posts behind in my bloglines reading.)
If you haven't seen it, be sure to look at the pdf versions after you read the text - the little drawings make it funnier.
In unrelated news, we made some pretty big dents in the house prepping today. Many things were recycled, thrown away, or identified for yard sale (time & location TBD). It's amazing how different a house looks when you just take down all the pictures!
Back Home Again...
From Indiana.
Actually, the last post was posted in Illinois, now that I think about it.
It was bizarre coming home last night. For one thing, it was hard to believe I'd been gone a week. And that my dad had been gone for a week. I keep feeling like I should call him - the nightly phone call had been part of my routine for so long.
The other strange thing was the realization that this was the last time that I would fly into TVPNM and have it be home. The movers will be here on Tuesday to start packing up our belongings - not that the house looks like we've done
anything to prepare for their arrival. Tomorrow will be spent in a mad frenzy of doing laundry and identifying which things must come in the cars with us. (The good tequila and Cointreau will ride in the trunk of my car. Duh.) We'll also be emptying out the shed and then locking everything we don't want the movers to touch in there.
As a general rule, these guys don't work for moving companies because they are the sharpest knives in the drawer. During one of my moves, and after multiple warnings that they wouldn't pack "toxic" or "potentially explosive" items, the movers packed both lawn fertilizer, AND my partly full gas can. I know people who have had their
garbage packed up and shipped by the movers. Needless to say, I will be supervising them closely. Unfortunately, there's usually more of them than there are of me. I also have to be at least somewhat nice to them, since they hold the fate of my good china in their rather meaty hands.
Mr. Q informs me that it is time to come upstairs. He's been sorting cd's and has identified several duplicates in our collection. We had
vastly different tastes in music when we met, so I jokingly asked if the duplicates were those couple of cd's we both actually liked enough to purchase separately before we met. He said no, mostly they were ones he bought me as gifts. (
Peter Gabriel and
Indigo Girls among others.)
Note: Please, do NOT interprete this as an invitation to tag me with either the book or the music
viruses memes that I've seen going around. I just don't have time for that right now.
Lightening the Mood Around Here...
Ok, ladies. We need to talk.
It’s just now warming up in TVPNM, but summer is in full swing elsewhere. And the fact that people have shed their winter layers means that certain things that used to be hidden are now more apparent.
Just what the hell am I talking about?
The boobs. OH MY GOD, THE BOOBS!Look, I understand that some of you are into the “Earth Mother” thing or whatever, but I’m telling you - the girls need a little help. Something to boost their spirits, and perhaps give them a little lift. Might I suggest a bra? Victoria’s Secret, Macy’s, JC Penney, and Nordstroms all have a fine selection. And most have a knowledgeable staff to help you find something that fits properly.
Here are a couple of things my mother taught me. Now keep in mind, she’s European and she
still managed to impart this knowledge.
- Nobody likes “fallen fruit.” It’s as true of breasts as it is of produce.
- Your belly is not a shelf for your boobs to rest upon. You should be able to tell where one anatomical area ends and the other begins.
- If you’re not about 14 and still perky, those of you less well endowed might wish to consider something to enhance what you have. Or at least lift and smooth it. Very few things are sadder than pointy and saggy.
- Unless it’s large and saggy. Breasts should live somewhere between the shoulders and the elbows, but shouldn’t go visiting too close to either one. The navel does not make a good neighbor for the girls. It’s the anatomical equivalent of “the wrong side of the tracks,” if you will. And if you’ve got the girls hoisted up too close to your shoulders, might I suggest you relax a bit? That can’t be comfortable for any of you.
- Even given proper support, a little mystery can be a good thing. If you’re over, say, 35, nursed a couple of kids, and/or tanned extensively in your youth, you might want to think twice about how much cleavage you show. Take an honest look in the mirror and ask yourself whether something a little less revealing might look nicer. I’m not saying that the over 35 part is a hard and fast rule – some women can get away with showing a lot more for a lot longer. All I’m saying is that you really might want think about how much to put on display to the general public. The general public thanks you in advance.
- No one is comfortable when they see your nipples coming before they see you. Although people of both genders
can’t and
won’t say anything, they’re silently praying you’ll turn the highbeams down. Trust me – I know of what I speak.
- A corollary for the gentlemen (in case you felt left out.) This comment is especially for those of you who engage in speedwalking. Spandex is a privilege, not a right. I’ve noticed that many of you spandex wearers tend to be a bit older. Even putting aside the fact that spandex went out in the 80s (bicyclists excluded - that's a different case entirely), please trust me when I tell you that no one wants to see your 50 year old plus package on full display. Especially when speedwalking. Do you have any idea how ridiculous this looks??? If you’re trying to attract women in this way - stop. Just stop. The only type of woman this might attract is the “rode hard, put away wet” crowd – you know the ones who desperately look around the bar 15 minutes before closing to decide whom to go home with that night. In the words of one of my friends, it’s flattering, but you don’t want to go there.
Those are all the thoughts I have for now. Feel free to disagree or add on to my list. BUT remember – gravity is NOT your friend, discretion is the better part of valor, and just because they make it in your size, doesn't mean you should wear it.
While Its Still the 23rd...
Happy Anniversary Kirby
Love always,
Mildred
Thank You All
Thank you all for your kind thoughts and words.
My father died Friday afternoon, after having been admitted to the hospital early that morning. For him to have even called the hospital meant he was in pretty severe pain. Although no one in the family was able to make it in time to be with him when he died, both my mother and I were able to talk to him while he was in the hospital. My mom talked to him about 20 minutes before he passed. I got the call from the hospital that he was gone just as they were closing the doors to the plane leaving TVPNM. If you were on my plane, I was the freaky lady weeping in the aisle seat.
It will always bother me that he died alone. As I mentioned to a co-worker a while back, “no one deserves that.” To which he replied (apparently with a movie quote), “deserve's got nothing to do with it.” Which I thought was a remarkably crass comment considering the circumstances.
At any rate, we’re holding up ok here. My mom and I both get a little weepy at times, but there’s honestly so much to do that it doesn’t happen all that often. I’m sure that’ll come though.
The whole experience is really pretty surreal. My aunt and I went to the hospital when I arrived in town. They brought him into one of the conference rooms, and I have to say that deciding to have him embalmed and prepared before my mom saw him was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
Other things I’ve learned on this trip:
- Funerals are expensive. I mean really, really expensive. Even if you don’t go overboard. Just walking in the door at the funeral home cost us $1600, and that was just the beginning. There are dozens of decisions to make within a very short timeframe. I would urge everyone to make arrangements (or at least make your wishes known and set aside some funds) in advance.
- Have a will and know where it is. The signed copy. Seriously – it’s important.
- Funeral directors say things like “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.” But really, when else would you meet them? I mean, I’m sure they have friends and everything, but I’ve never actually socialized with a funeral director.
- Funeral directors have special schools and they get degrees in Mortuary Science, which is sort of a modified B.S., though theoretically, they can stop before getting the B.S, as long as they’ve completed the required courses. (We asked. I was curious.)
- You never want to be in the lead car in a funeral procession. (That’s the hearse.)
- Hearses have model names, just like regular cars. I think “Eureka” is a strange choice of name for a hearse.
- I will always have a special respect for military honor guard members. What they do is so important to the families of veterans.
- People will surprise you with their kindness and generosity. And I don’t just mean your relatives and friends. The hospital staff took such good care of my dad in his last hours. People my dad went to high school and college with drove hours to come to the funeral - even though we didn’t know to invite them. Family members went above and beyond to help us out. Even the people at the Social Security Administration – the last people you’d expect - were so helpful and really kind.
My mom and I are heading to Chicago tomorrow afternoon, and will fly to TVPNM on Friday. Just in time for the movers to come pack the house.
Thanks again to everyone. *hugs*
LQ
Happy Father's Day
To my dad...
17 November 1942 - 17 June 2005
Well I'm Back!
Oooh yeah, yeah, oooh yeah!
Back in Black! [cue air guitars here]
Sorry...reliving the Hair Band days there for a moment.
But Mr. Q and the laptop are back and therefore, so am I. Mr. Q even bought a new
backpack for my laptop on the trip.
And Now For An Exciting Announcement: We have a place to live! We're signing the lease tomorrow. Now if I only had
a brain a school to attend...but I'm working on that. Um, as we speak...
Back to our regularly scheduled and dreaded law school admissions essay writing. And may I just add that it sucks to have to do this
again. /whining.
Withdrawals
I miss my laptop. *sigh*
I miss the way it always loads the pages up the way it should and doesn't give me funny little error messages like "That domain doesn't even exist, you freaking dumbass!" I love how it doesn't take 10 minutes to power up and open up Netscape (b/c IE sucks and I haven't been able to load Foxfire (see previous sentence)). I love that I can sit anywhere in the house and typety type away in complete comfort and not be chained via a keyboard to a huge ass monitor while sitting in an incredibly uncomfortable chair which sits at just the wrong height for typing. I miss the way all my passwords are stored and how bloglines actually works on that computer. Because frankly, going through E.Spat's blogroll to read everyone's latest posts is getting a little tedious. (There actually IS something wrong with my bloglines account right now...sadly, I can't access it from this computer for some unknown reason. My apologies to E.Spat for messing with her stats.)
Oh yeah. I miss Mr. Q too.
It also appears that he's had some luck in finding us a place to live. Now all we have to do is have our application approved...please, please, please....
So Unfair!
Mr. Q has both my laptop and our digital camera with him on the househunting trip.
So I cannot capture (for you and for future blackmail purposes) the image of the little child who threw a temper tantrum at lunch and fell asleep face down on the kitchen floor mid-tantrum.
You'll just have to imagine it.
Is It Friday Already? Spies
From the folks at
BTQ.1. What is the earliest movie you remember watching in the theater?I don't know if a drive-in counts as a theater, but I remember going to see "Murder by Death" with my parents. We filled a big grocery sack up with popcorn from home (see...the cheapness is deeply rooted), put me in my jammies, loaded up the Nova and headed to Council Bluffs! There was also some Western along with it, but I couldn't tell you what it was. Even then, Westerns were boring.
2. If you could strike one word from the English language, which
word would you choose and why?Pass for now.
3. If you were a superhero, what would be your kryptonite?The sound cardboard boxes make when the screeeetch together. Nails on a chalkboard. Anything along those lines, really. I just get goosebumps and shivers and the hair on my body stands straight up. (Seriously! Ask Mr. Q!) Makes me totally powerless to do anything.
4. Would you rather win an Emmy, Grammy, Tony, Golden Globe, Oscar,
Pulitzer, or Noble Nobel Prize? What work would you win it for?I'll take the Golden Globe for $1000, Alex. It would have to be for my award winning television show,
Intentional Tortes. Duh.
Actually, one of the military units I was in charge of won a
Telly Award for a drug prevention video they did. That was pretty freaking cool, and you'd better believe we milked it for all it was worth. Unlike most military training videos, this one didn't totally suck.
5. What is your catch phrase? Don't have one? Then make one up!There are lots of things I've been told I say often. But I'm trying to get a child to sleep at the moment...more on this later.
Part Deux2. I don't know that I have a particular word I think should be stricken from the English language. My pet peeves are mostly conceptual (and I won't get into that here) and grammatical. For example, it drives me NUTS when people say "Please call Ms. Smith or
myself to RSVP." Yes, technically, the dictionary says you can use "myself" this way, but only because people have been using it incorrectly for so long that it has become accepted to do so. Myself is a reflexive - so...I wash myself, I dress myself, I amuse myself, etc. are all fine. But would you say "Call myself" (unless writing a reminder to
yourself)? No. You would say, "call me." /rant
As far as catchphrases go, there are tons of things I say on a fairly regular basis, such as "Yoiks!" "Holy Cats" and "Oh, for the love of Pete!" ("For the Love of GOD!" when I'm really exasperated.) Sometimes I don't even recognize that it's a catchphrase until EC will say something at the dinner table and Mr. Q will bust out laughing, look at me, and say "Mini-Me! Mini-Me!" That happened just last week...but I forget what the phrase was.
Remiss
You would think that with school being over and all that I'd have plenty of spare time on my hands.
You'd be wrong.
Mr. Q is on his way out to *hopefully* find us a place to live. Since nothing adds to the stress level like the knowledge that you're going to be homeless in less than a month.
Just me, two kids, and two cats all weekend long.
Also - does anyone in TVPNM want a fish? Teriyaki needs a new home. Serious inquiries only, please.
2L = Done Deal
A
couple of
people were kind enough to congratulate me on my completion of 2L yesterday. Unfortunately, the congratulations were a bit premature, since I still have to turn in a final for my last class. (Yes, I know
ESpat was all happy about being done earlier. Despite the fact that we consistently complain about the same classes, our schedules are not entirely identical.)
I just finished my final paper, so I am counting this as being done. Note that it is 3:33 in the morning.
I discovered today that studying at Starbucks is much nicer than studying at school. Here's why.
1. No one there exudes stress.
2. The people are nicer than most law students.
3. If you hand over $5, they will make you a cup of coffee.
4. It's quieter than being at school. (Thank you btw to the
3 people who walked into the room I was taking a final in today and started talking to me. Despite the note up on the door. Special thanks to the one of you who came in to store your bicycle and then came back to collect it!)
5. Did I mention the coffee part? In retrospect, 6 shots of espresso was probably excessive.
Hooray.
There's my bit of celebration as I head off to bed. Mr. Q and I have a parent-teached conference for Lil Q at 7:30 in the morning. Aaaaaaaaaaaaagggh!
And the Fun Never Ends
Starting the first final in 7 minutes.
Blah.
A Car that Runs on Dreams and Starlight!
It's Saturday night. I'm studying and taking a quiz about what kind of fairy I am. Take a wild guess on how I answered the question on whether I fit in...
 | You scored as Twilight Mistress Fairy. Peering over the balcony ledge of your castle, you stare into the twilight, dreaming of love. Your love will come. Night is coming, and it's time to dream.
Which Firefly-Path Fairy are you?
created with QuizFarm.com |
As seen on
boobs & legs
Query
Has anyone,
in the history of mankind, been able to empty out a 3 hole punch without spilling confetti all over the floor?
FYI. My study area might be a little messy right now.
Tell Me What You Really Think
As you all know, my dad is pretty sick. I usually try to call once a day to check in with him. I might go 2 days if I'm really short on time - say, when I'm studying for finals. So last night when I called, I was a little concerned when I got a message saying the number had been disconnected. I tried again this morning and still couldn't get through, so I called one of the neighbors, hoping they could verify everything was ok with my dad. I spoke with a very honest teenager.
Me: Hi, this is LQ. I'm Mr. Quandary's daughter. He gave me your number just in case I ever couldn't get through to him.
Neighbor Boy: (sounding groggy) Oh.
Me: Gosh, I'm sorry - did I wake you? (even though it was past 10 A.M.)
NB: No. I've been up for awhile.
Me: Would it be too much to ask for you to go over and just make sure my dad is ok, and let him know I've been trying to call him?
NB: Oh. I saw him a couple of days ago and he's still alive. But he doesn't look good.
NB finally put his dad on the phone. His dad was very nice, and even walked over with the cordless phone so I could talk to my dad. But still. Tact, people. Tact.
No Soup for You.
Other people are doing
Friday Spies. I am taking a break this week. I have enough stupid questions to think about in preparing for finals.
Just in case you were wondering.
Welcome...
Just a big shout out to a few folks.
To
Shell, who has just started dropping by. (Or at least just started commenting.) Also, to
chickenmagazine, who
I think has stopped by and commented before. And who raises the tone around here, being Harvard bound and all.
Also, welcome back to both
Zuska and
M. LePenseur. I was just thinking I hadn't seen either of you around in awhile - and there you were!
Welcome to the blogosphere to my *real life* friend,
Jaye. I know you've been here before, but just wanted to say welcome again as you regale us with tales of your experiences as a solo in Seattle.
That's all. Now back to our regularly scheduled PR outlining. Ugh.
An Unforeseen By-Product of Moving
It's becoming obvious that we're moving soon because we're not replacing certain items in the pantry/refrigerator as we use them up. Like condiments.
We ran out of mustard a couple of weeks ago. It's not that we use a lot of mustard - in fact, I'm the only one who really likes it. And maybe "like" is too strong a word. I'm the only one who eats mustard in combination with a few select foods. For example - grilled cheese. Or hot dogs.
But I also use mustard
in certain recipes. I put a little dijon or German mustard into homemade mac & cheese because it enhances the flavor. Also, you can't make devilled* eggs without mustard. And since I bought 18 eggs yesterday, I need to use them up. Devilled eggs seems like it would be a good way to do it.
I wonder how Teriyaki Eggs would taste?
*deviled? devilled? Deviled just looks wrong. As in: It used to be vile, but then I took care of it - now it's de-viled. On the other hand, devilled looks like a plug for a Cadillac or another 101 Dalmations movie. Maybe that would be DeVilled though.
Going to Hell For Sure
*Warning* Disjointed, rambling post ahead.
I took my sister-in-law to the airport this morning. On our way to Starbucks before the drop off, we passed a truly hideous house. Painted flamingo pink with a red metal roof. I asked SIL what kind of drugs she thought the owners were on that the house didn't make their eyeballs bleed every time they pulled into the driveway. This led to a discussion of some of the other truly bizarre houses in the city, and to E.Spat's comment about the
"Hippies. Oh God. The Hippies."We laughed and I mentioned that I have a neighbor who corrects me every time I say "Oh My God!" with "You mean Gosh." See, no, I don't. Before I moved here, I
never - not even once - had anyone correct me on that. Also, growing up as the child of an Atheist, it just wasn't a big deal.
As I told SIL, my dad's signature phrase was "Jesus H. Christ!" (Alternately, "Christ on a Crutch!") Not that I go around saying that, would teach my kids, or think that it's appropriate for "a nice Catholic lady" to say.
But I have to admit, I still always wonder what the "H" stands for.
*Breathe*
I'm starting to get really panicky about this last set of finals. Coming up in only 4 days and some change.
I invested almost all my time in Admin, read some for PR, and actually did most of the work in Law & Economics because the professor is a total rock star and made the class interesting.
I'm concerned about Admin - mainly because it's just
so much material. Also, because I really liked this Professor too (despite the horrendous reading assigments) and I hate the mental image of him grading my exam, just shaking his head, and thinking "I obviously didn't teach this one a damned thing." What's saving me from full-blown panic in that class? First, the fact that I've read almost everything assigned and taken good notes. Second, the fact that while I've done some outlining, I haven't started the no holds barred studying yet. Therefore, I haven't yet come to the realization that there's so much I don't know. Third, because there's no way I'm the dumbest kid in that class. I'm counting on at least 2 people maintaining their demonstrated lack of motivation or knowledge and fighting it out for the cellar. Hopefully allowing me to come out smack dab in the middle of average land.
The class that IS causing me all kinds of stress is Professional Responsibility. I did some of the reading, but let's face it - the Prof did a lousy job not only of holding us accountable, but of even holding our attention. I've been working on outlining (I'm almost done with Rule 1. Those of you who've taken PR know that Rule 1 accounts for more than HALF of the 96 pages of ABA rules.) I've taken sample exams. And done the flashcards. I think I generally know what you can and can't do, but have problems when it comes to saying why.
This does NOT bode well.
Yes. No. Maybe. Definitely Not.
I really object to the term "plodder" and I think that this is just one more example of how law school has stolen my soul.
| Slow and Steady |
 Your friends see you as painstaking and fussy.
They see you as very cautious, extremely careful, a slow and steady plodder.
It'd really surprise them if you ever did something impulsively or on the spur of the moment.
They expect you to examine everything carefully from every angle and then usually decide against it. |
I Like You Betty
"That's Danny, Sir."
I stopped by our Career Services office this afternoon to ask very quick and simple question of the person in charge of externships. My Career Advisor was there. She's a very nice lady. I enjoy chatting with her. On the other hand, I never get the impression that she's really all that interested in things like "me" and "what I want to do with my life." My suspicions were confirmed today, even though I'll give her points for remembering that I was getting ready to move.
Me: blathering on about my kids while I anxiously wait for the lady I need to talk to...
Her: "How old is your son again?"
Me: "Um, I have 2 daughters."
Her: "Right. Now why did I think you had a son...?"
As I'm leaving, she gives me a general "keep your chin up" and "the quarter is almost over" sort of pep talk.
And as I'm walking out the door shouts "Take care, Liz!"
I know most of you don't know my real name. Here's a hint: It's not Liz. It's not even close to Liz.
