Stanley Cup

Seriously!?!?

Seriously!?!?!

Just END the darn hockey season already!

At least the Penguins swept this last series, so it was only 4 games instead of 7. Optimism, right?

MOTF

One of my colleagues wrote this on my Facebook wall last night, and it cracked me up so much I thought I'd share:

Omg, I ran into The Maureen of the Future (MOTF) on the way to the metro today.

The scene:

- 40-something socialite type wearing tasteful wrap dress and sunglasses, carrying the only Vera Bradley bag in existence that matches more than one outfit.

- Young preppies-in-training (children or nephews aged 8-10) wearing various combinations of the following: polo shirt, sweater vest,cable knit sweater tied jauntily around the neck, khakis. Obvi, shirts were tucked in and worn with a belt (like there's any other way).

- Golf & tennis chatter abounding, but the educated kind not the snooty kind that makes people tune you out in annoyance

- MOTF probably on the way to some sort of cocktail hour (um, hello, it's 5pm somewhere). Kids were, no doubt, off to some sort of sport lesson

Here's the thing. This didn't bother me one bit!

Editor's Note

The previous post has been appropriately modified due to reader feedback.

You may now return to your scheuled programming.

Philanthropist or Skeptic

I've been wrestling with the idea of this post all morning, because I'm not exactly sure how to put into words the evening I had last night. But I decided to take the advice that I'm preaching about a current work project and just "put something out there, then we can change it if we need to."

So I'm just going to write this, without any idea of the end result.

I was invited last night to take part in a book release/ "giving salute"/ networking/ hobnobbing thing. I was invited by a friend that I haven't seen nearly enough of lately, and the invitation actually came through her mother, whose company had put up some $$$ to host 10 people to the event.

That was generous and thoughtful and I wanted to catch up with said friend, so I accepted. Even though I abhor networking. Abhor it.

The event was at the Sewall-Belmont house, which was cool. That's the original home of Alice Paul, the author of the Equal Rights Amendment. It was also used as the headquarters of the National Women's Party, so there is a lot of history inside it.

It was a party to celebrate this new book on the importance of giving back to the world today -- through money, volunteerism, or whatever. The book is a compilation of essays from leaders of philanthropic organizations, nonprofits and foundations. One of the authors is an uber-networker and knows just about every body. I had actually come across her several times through work events (she wouldn't know who I was) in the past. She pulled together quite an impressive guest list to speak to the crowd, including four or five current female senators.

Here's where the torn feelings start. The senators and other women that spoke -- there were about 15 people in all who had a turn at the microphone (yes, 15) -- were all great speakers. They didn't talk long, and were engaging.

But there were more than a dozen of them. Standing outside, on uneven ground, in high heals doesn't exactly put me in the frame of mind to listen to people talk for an hour and a half.

And they all gave messages pertinent to the evenings topic: the importance of giving. Much of it, in fact, felt rally-like.

Only we weren't rallying for anything. Neither the book nor the evening wanted us to do X. Or even, X, Y, or Z. It was just "give." Give... what, exactly? And, where? And, how? And, how much?

There was a disconnect. It was like going to Game 7 of the Stanley Cup playoffs and cheering for both teams. What's the point, exactly?

(Holy crap. Did I just use a hockey analogy? When, oh, WHEN is this damn season going to be over?!?)

And when the speakers did finally wrap up, we were all supposed to network. I just don't get that. I forcibly talk to random people trying to pull out some tidbit of information that will lead me to what they can do for me? All the while knowing that they are listening to all of my words not out of genuine interest but looking for the angle that benefits them? It's all so, Italian guy with greasy slicked-back hair icky.**

Thankfully, my friend hated the situation as much as I did. We stayed and mingled as best we could for her mother's benefit. (Her mother is a corporate recruiter so she does the networking game fantastically. My friend forgot to bring business cards. I thought the mother was going to disown her. Which made the situation even more, "Really? The point again?")

So after a half hour of forced talk with some very nice people we had nothing much to talk about with, we skipped out for dinner on our own.

I feel so... ungrateful for the feelings I walked away with. There were some extremely powerful women under that tent. And even forget the "women" side of it -- there were some extremely powerful people there last night. But I just don't get the point. There was no specific cause they rallied for. They didn't even sell the book, or ask us to pitch the book or tell us where we might get a second copy.

You can't really be against the "giving" message, any more than you can be against puppies. But that doesn't mean I'm going to go run out and find a puppy to save just because I like them.

I don't know. The whole thing was just weird.

So there you go. A ramble just as unfocused as the evening!

** Clarification: not all Italian guys with greasy slicked back hair are icky. Like Joe Bondi. Clearly not icky. I'd also argue he clearly does not slick back his hair. Nor is his hair greasy. Further, I'm not sure anyone that is so excited for Memorial Day so he can pull back out the salmon pants (oh, you know you are) can be icky. It's just not possible.

Mmmmmm...

Just thought I'd share.

This is the closest I've come to imitating a restaurant-quality teriyaki sauce. I'd throw in some snap peas and carrots next time:
http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/aida-mollenkamp/shoyu-chicken-recipe/index.html

Wrong post!

I don't want to be so concieted to think you might have me in your Google Reader, but in case you do... sorry about that last post, "Back in the Saddle"! It probably made not sense to you at all -- because it was meant for the other blog I post to, Not Too Early For Me! I've deleted it, so then second apologies go to those of you who don't have me in your Reader (what's up with that? I'm not important enough to you?) and now have no idea what THIS post is about.

Happy Monday! Now I'll get another cup of coffee...

Goldie's play date

Goldie had a play date last night.

More accurately, it was an audition.

Here's the deal: Mike works with Carson. Carson and Laura have a dog, Cory. For a while now, Mike and Carson have been talking about great it would be if our dogs got along so that we could watch each other's dogs while the other couple was traveling. Now that summer is approaching, what better time?

Cory is still a bit of a puppy -- he's 1. He's a bit smaller than Goldie, only about 45 pounds, black, looks like a small Golden Retriever (only black). I don't remember what kind of mix he is.

Anyway, the dogs got along...ok. Cory really, really, really wanted to play. Goldie really, really, really didn't want to. See, she's in retirement. She'd rather eat, and sleep, and be loved on. Not chase a ball, or wrestle, or run around.

She will play a little bit of "take the bone out of the other dog's mouth," a game she's a pro at from playing with Sadie. And Cory luuuuuuved that game. Cory, not so good at it.

So Goldie passed the audition (except for a few times when I thought she might lose it and snap at Cory). Cory, on the other hand...

He really is an adorable dog. Scratch that. He really is an adorable puppy. While we were eating dinner, he chewed the tassels off of two pillows. He wanted to jump on everything. He ran around and around and around. And he, um, left his mark.

I really, truly am typing this with a smile. Absolutely none of that bothered me at all. It just made me worried about leaving Cory with Goldie in a house, with no people, for 9 hours while we were at work. Because Cory might end up maimed.

And I'm pretty sure that would be bad.

Other interesting things happening today:
-- Mike decided to cook a pound of bacon for breakfast (well, he didn't eat the whole pound for breakfast, but wanted to cook it all) (this was Bacon of the Month bacon, by the way). I was in the shower, and the fire alarm went off. "No biggy," I thought. Until it went on for about five minutes. Then I thought, "I have some nice stuff in this house, I better go check..." All was fine, except for the smoke all over the second floor, and the continuing lingering bacon smell about the house.
-- I'm typing this on my laptop while watching Lost and Gray's Anatomy on the computer. Because I discovered the downfall of Direct TV this week. Storms. Storms + satelite TV = watching the episodes online.

To make up for my whining

Pink Eye

Can you believe it?!? Pink Eye!

Pink eye diagnosis confirmed, the day before eye mapping for my Lasik surgery!!!

I'll pause here so you all can have adequate time to weigh the enormity of this injustice.




I'm not a doctor and I don't even play one on TV, but I guess "pink eye" is a very generic term and there are lots of different kinds and seriousness levels, and I don't have a kind that requires antibiotics or anything. Instead I just have the kind that causes ew-gross oozing and surgery delay. The worst kind, in my opinion.

And to add insult to injury, the rest of this head congestion and sore throatiness is merely a cold, whose remedy is... wait for it... Neti Pot.

Come on! I've got to Neti Pot on top of being upset about the surgery delay?!?

You aren't familiar with this humiliation called Neti Pot? Here, allow a demonstration:




Like, ew, right?

(And sorry to my pregnant friends or sisters in law who must use Neti Pot on a regular basis because you can't take real medicine because of the bambino. Ya'll will have many more ew-gross moments in the next nine months that the Neti Pot doesn't even rank for you. For me? It ranks.)

So I did it when I got home from the doctors. Even Goldie looked at me like, "that's not natural."

I'm awaiting the call back from the Lasik center. The good news is that the pink eye started Saturday and is much improved since then, so I'm hoping for a full and speedy recovery. I promise to wash my eyes with warm soapy water several times daily and Neti Pot twice daily. Just, please, please, let me have this surgery soon!

A bad patient

I am an awful patient.

At first it was ok. The couch, sweatpants, my almost-full DVR. But by the fourth episode of Lost and the beginnings of bed sores, I was kinda over it. And that was last night at 8 p.m.

I did sleep ok last night. Except for the whole I-needed-a-wet-towel-to-open-up-my-crusty-eyes thing this morning.

I told you it was gross. (Oh, wait, I didn't warn you this time. Sorry.)

So today I geared up for another exciting day on the couch. Three more episodes of Lost (yes, that made seven), a Desperate Housewives, two Gray's Anatomy... you get the idea.

I bailed on the Mother's Day brunch for Barb (and Lauren!). Instead, I showered and got myself to the grocery store for the makings of semi-homemade chicken noodle soup.

Pre-cut carrots, celery, and onions, a rotisserie chicken, broth and noodles.



And, 30 minutes later, I had this:

Not gonna lie, it was the highlight of my day. And, it was pretty darn good.

The worst thing about being sick (well, not the worst, but a really bad part of being sick) is that you're home, but you really aren't productive. No laundry getting done (ok, fine. I did one load yesterday and one load today, but that's not really a lot.), no changing out my clothes for the season, no planting spring flowers.

I am getting an awful lot of lying around, though. And I have a killer lying around partner.

I'd write more, but I've now switched from the couch to my bed, in order to take advantage of the shows on the bedroom DVR. I did clean off the living room one, after all.

Hey, maybe that can be considered productive.

Better Days

I do not do sick well. And I’m sick.

I stayed home from work after Monday night’s fiasco. But I went back on Wednesday. Even went to the gym. Sickness is mind over matter after all, right!?! Went to work Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and to the gym Wednesday and Thursday.

Thursday night I started to feel worse, but I’m kinda stubborn, ya know?

This morning wasn’t any improvement – stuffy, head congestion, sore throat. We had a big night planned, though. I scored tix to the Capitals (sorry, Penguins) game, and Mike’s parents are in town. So the plan was to scalp a few more tickets and all go. The best part was – I had scored suite tickets. Obviously, since why would I want to go to a hockey game unless it was in a suite?

So, with the big night planned, I decided to take a nap. A Benadryl came in handy.

One hour later, Mike woke me. It was kinda tough to wake me, because I couldn’t open my left eye. It was… ick. I will spare you the details. Just believe me when I say: iiiiiiiiiccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkyyyyyyyyyyy.

I bailed on the Caps (I mean, Penguins) game. And now I’m enjoying a seven-episode marathon of Lost, courtesy of my DVR.

I hate being sick.

So when I came to...

I told the story of my evening last night to a friend, and she pointed out that whenever you begin a sentence, "so when I came to..." it couldn't be a good story.

Last night was WEIRD! That's the only way to put it. Totally out of the ordinary for me.

I don't get sick. As a general rule, I'm extremely lucky in the colds department. Three weeks ago I came down with a doozy: coughing and sneezing and running nose for an entire week. It was probably the first time in three years I'd had a cold like that.

And I fully expected that pattern to hold: cold, 2009, check. I'll look for you again in 2012, thank you very much.

Yesterday during work I noticed that my throat was really dry, and I was starting to get cotton throat. I drank a lot of water, sucked on some hard candy, figured it would be the end of it. When I came home from work, I walked the dog for about 30 minutes and felt progressively worse on the walk. When we got back home, I actually laid on the couch for 45 minutes before making my dinner -- I had a huge headache, my neck hurt, it was uncomfortable to swallow, the whole gamut.

So I tried to get to bed before 10 p.m., took a half dose of NyQuil for good measure, and set my alarm clock to go running in the morning.

At this point Mike came home from the Penguins/ Capitals game. I stirred a bit, noticed I felt worse, went back to sleep. This patterned kept repeating on the hour every hour until about 3 a.m. I'd wake up in a cold sweat, try to drink some water but my throat felt completely closed, I tossed and turned. At one point, he asked how I felt, and I told him my symptoms. I followed it with, "at least I don't have a fever."

He reached over, touched my forehead, and said, "You don't feel hot?"

I found my thermometer, and indeed, 100.6. Not the end of the world fever, but a high temp.

Around 3, I was moving around a lot and he woke again, too. I was really achy, hot, then cold then hot again, my head felt like it was going to explode. We took the temp again and it was 101.2. That's the wrong direction, ya know?

I started to feel nauseous and stomach crampy, so I staggered to the bathroom. Where I promptly blacked out.

So when I came to...

I don't remember this, but I must have had some sort of consciousness when I was falling, because when I gained my senses, I wasn't lying flat, and hadn't hit my head or anything (thank goodness), but was more slumped on my knees, and bent over resting on my elbows. And I was DRENCHED in sweat.

Poor Mike. He got me up and changed and dressed himself and wanted to go to the ER. But you know how when you've been drinking too much, and you throw up and then that makes you feel all better? I obviously had NOT been drinking, but whatever happened to cause the faint was, like, the culmination of whatever sickness I had. I cooled down, the nauseousness went away, and my temperature was back to normal.

I convinced Mike to just let me try to sleep it off, and he obliged. I was hoping to sleep until noon, but no such luck. Still, I am feeling better. Now it's just the pressure in my head and a sore throat, but otherwise, no temperature or anything bad like that.

Was that just one, big, long, pity me post?

Hm. Well, I guess that's the power of the pen.