Thunder and lightening

Did anybody else catch that crazy thunderstorm that rolled in around 8:00 last night?



Those of us in the Central New Jersey area got slammed with a sudden burst of torrential rain, wind, and what certainly sounded like hail. I was indoors when it happened, and as soon as I heard the pounding on my windows, I knew that a power outage was inevitable.

See, my side of the street is special in that the second we get a drop of inclement weather, the power goes out. The thing that gets me is that every time this happens, it's only my house and the dozen or so other houses on my side of the street that are forced to go without power. The rest of my neighborhood is fine - I know, because the last few times this happened, I made a point of driving around to confirm it.

I've complained to the power company about this on multiple occasions. While I'm no electrical engineer, I have to assume that if everybody else keeps their power while ours goes out the second a breeze rolls in, then it must be due to some type of flaw in the construction or maintenance of our power lines.

The power company, in turn, has assured me that "sometimes, these things just happen," and that there's really nothing they can do about it.

Right. I'm sure it's merely a coincidence that the same twelve houses constantly lose power while our neighbors across the street get to sit there in the comfort of their amply-lit homes, microwaving popcorn and snuggling up to a good movie while the rest of us fumble about for our flashlights and try not to injure ourselves as we seek out our cell phones to call the power company to report the outage to learn that it could be hours before we get power back, to which we complain, to which we are told that "sometimes, these things just happen."

Well sure, maybe these things do just happen, or maybe it's that everybody else's power lines are properly maintained while ours are simply being held up with fun-tak.

Last time I checked, I paid my electric bill on time and didn't receive my "faulty lines" discount...but apparently, I have no right to make any demands of the power company because "these things just happen."

Surprisingly, last night's outage only lasted a few minutes - just long enough for me to have to reset all of my clocks and miss a few pivotal moments of the Law and Order episode I was in the middle of watching.

Still, as I stood there during those few moments of darkness, watching the rain beat against my bedroom window, I couldn't help but take comfort in the fact that I wasn't alone, that my spoiled neighbors across the street, too, had lost power. I realize that sounds kind of petty, but after years of being left along in the dark, you start to give in to your true feelings when these situations arise. I know that's kind of messed up, but hey, sometimes these things just happen.

hot cocoa

I love hot cocoa. It's so warm and wonderful and delicious.



You know what I don't love? Spilling the hot cocoa all over myself because I'm just a giant spaz who apparently can't handle the task of lifting a mug up to her lips and sipping its contents without incident.

I now have hot cocoa drippage all over my chin, chest, and t-shirt. My dog is hovering about, trying to lick off what he can as I desperately try to push him away (dogs and anything chocolately do not mix), and sadly, I don't know what bothers me more: the fact that I'm spastic, the fact that I've clearly stained my shirt, or the fact that I now have fewer sips of warm, wonderful, delicious cocoa to enjoy.

Leaf-blowers

Is there a reason why leaf-blowers have to be so unbelievably freaking loud?



I understand their function, and how helpful they can be when it comes to gardening and yard work...but why is it that one simple leaf-blower is capable of producing the same amount of noise as a small bulldozer?

Imagine that you're sitting in your home office (okay, fine, your bed) trying to get work done, but you can't, because it's lawn maintenance day on your block, and for two and a half consecutive hours, the only thing you hear is the constant blaring buzz of leaves scattering about. Of course, the noisier it is outside, the more my dog is likely to react inside, causing excessive high-pitched barking right in my ear on top of the ever so pleasant leaf-blowing backdrop.

It's a wonder I ever get anything done.

Hot and cold

Is this weather driving anybody else crazy? One day it's 57 degrees, the next day it's under 40. I don't know whether to lower the heat or pull out the down comforter.



The result is that I tend to walk around inside the house in a manner that could only be described as "uniquely dressed." I'll start the day off in shorts and a t-shirt since I tend to wake up all nice and toasty (okay, sweaty) from sleeping with the covers pulled up to my chin and the dog snuggled up against my back, face, or whatever body part he decides to wedge himself into.

By mid-morning, I usually need to add another layer on top, so I'll go for a long-sleeved t-shirt to throw over the regular t-shirt. That tends to do the trick until early afternoon. Around 1:00-2:00, I notice that I'm actually freezing, blue fingers and all. At that point, I'll throw on socks and a heavy sweatshirt, and I'll take a 5-minute "hold the dog" break to warm my hands.

I've noticed that as cold as I might get, I don't actually put on pants unless I am leaving the house. Even at my chilliest point, I'll look like summer on the bottom, winter on the top - kind of like the mullet of household dress ware. It's not a fashionable sight.

Of course, it would be so much easier to dress accordingly if the weather would just make up its mind as to which season we're actually in. But hey, this is New Jersey. We shouldn't expect things to be easy.

To pee or not to pee...

That is the question - especially at 6:00 in the morning when my bladder starts knocking, yet my body doesn't want to move, knowing that the alarm isn't set to go off for another hour and a half.



I'm always torn between my desire to stay in bed and my fear that by holding in pee, one of two things will happen: either I'll develop some sort of painful infection and have no one but myself to blame for it, or that I'll miss my chance and experience what I like to call piss constipation.

Usually resulting from an extended period of holding in pee, piss constipation involves the feeling of having to pee but the inability to release more than a couple of individual drops. The result is a prolonged feeling of discomfort as you try to go about your day, knowing that hitting the bathroom is futile and that the only way to overcome piss constipation is to simply be patient and wait it out.

My theory is that after several hours of holding in pee, the body adapts by having the bladder go into lockdown mode, creating an internal barrier to seal in the urine that would have previously liked to escape. When pushed, the body may be forced to release a few rogue sprinklings, but the majority of the pee will stay firmly in place until the bladder receives a signal that the body is fully awake and functional, and that the brain can be trusted to guide the body to the bathroom and avoid an adult accident.

Until this time, there is nothing you can do to get past the bladder barrier. While regular constipation can be treated with laxatives, drinking extra coffee or water will only make piss constipation worse. This is why it's important to get out of bed and go to the bathroom as soon as you feel like you have to. Chances are, by the time your bladder causes you to wake, the body has already been holding your pee in for you, generously allotting those extra minutes, sometimes hours, of sleep. Pushing yourself any further can easily result in a wicked case of piss constipation, and as nice as your bed might be, it usually ends up not being worth it. Still, try rationalizing that in your head an hour and a half before you really have to get up.

Pondering...

Imagine what the world would be like if human beings were allowed to behave just like dogs.

My little guy, like most dogs, does not understand the meaning of boundaries. Earlier today, I was sitting at my desk (ok, in bed) typing, when all of a sudden, he came up to me, got right in my face, and started sniffing around. He finally found a spot that further sparked his interest and started licking the corner of my cheek incessantly until I gently pushed him away so that I could get back to work.



A few minutes later, he was back, this time sniffing around my...er, lower regions. This time, I nipped things in the bud before he got any unkosher ideas. Of course, he didn't appreciate the rejection and started barking in my face as retaliation.

The whole thing got me thinking...what if it were somehow okay for humans to pull the same sort of act? What if we could walk up to people and start exploring them in random places? What if we could react to disappointment by uttering extended loud noises in the faces of those who did us wrong?

Sure, chaos might ensue, but it would also help eliminate the mind games we humans like to play with one another.

Just something to think about as I once again do my best to fend off my dog...

Bad boys, bad boys...

There's something about the presence of a police car on the road that can make even the best and most conscientious of drivers completely and utterly paranoid.



Earlier today, I was driving home from an appointment (okay, fine, lunch with a friend) when I noticed a marked car with two officers pull up alongside me at a traffic light. From that point on, it was brake light city thanks to the other genius drivers in front of me who figured that they had better go 6 miles an hour in a 40 zone, lest the cops come after them for speeding or reckless driving.

Here's an idea: how about trying the actual speed limit? Don't go over it, but don't go 30+ miles an hour under it. Stay in your lanes, signal when you want to move over, and do your best to keep out of the officers' way. That's how you avoid a ticket.

Still, I have to admit that even I get a little nervous in the presence of cops on the road. I'll be driving along when my mind will start racing with fear: did I remember to stop at that red before turning? Am I going the right way down a one-way street?

The more I try to drive while checking my various windows and mirrors to see where the cops are, the worse a driver I become, thus perpetuating my chances of getting a ticket for doing something stupid that I otherwise would never have done had the cops not shown up and freaked the hell out of me in the first place.

It's a crazy, vicious cycle, but a brilliant plan as far as the various New Jersey townships are concerned. Just stick a bunch of cops on the road in the middle of the day and wait for people to screw up. Issue low-penalty tickets for minor offenses (nobody fights those) and save yourselves the trouble of having to drive up and down the Turnpike at 2:00 in the morning trying to catch the folks going 90 in a 55 zone.

But please, at the very least, start doling out tickets to those like the idiots I countered earlier who see a cop and then decide to take the speed limit, divide it by 10, and start driving the quotient. It's one thing to be paranoid; it's another thing to delay my trip home.<-->

The joy of shopping

One benefit of living out in the middle of New Jersey is the availability of bulk items at wonderfully-reasonable prices. Unfortunately, sometimes all it takes is a couple of company employees to ruin the otherwise fun experience.

So earlier today, I arrived at one of these places - let's call it SuckCo - to do pick up a few quick things. The doors to the place were wide open, people streaming in and out. Therefore, I assumed that I, too, could enter the store to do some shopping as per the privileges inherent in my $50 a year membership.



As I walked in, confidently flashing my membership card, I was stopped in the doorway by an ugly, middle-aged, bitter-looking lady with mullet hair and eyeglasses that went out in the seventies.

"You can't come in," she bluntly informed me.

"Why not?" I countered. "The store appears to be open."

Well that's where I was wrong. You see, just a few weeks earlier, I had downgraded my membership from "executive" to regular old gold. The executive membership cost more, and I decided it wasn't worth keeping it around. Anyway, I didn't think this switch would make one difference in my life until the bitch in the doorway pointed towards the teeny, tiny sign posted on the side wall that explained the store's hours of operation. Apparently, SuckCo is all about invoking the caste system, because meager gold members like me are not allowed to enter the store until 11:00am daily, while executive members can enter as early as 10:00.

I explained to the door guard, politely at first, that I had just recently downgraded my membership and hadn't realized that by switching to gold, I'd be altering the approved timing of my store entry.

"Here, take my card," I had urged her. "You can see for yourself that I just switched over. So what do you say? Could you please help me out this one time and let me in so that I don't have to spend the next 45 minutes standing in the doorway?"

I thought this was a pleasant, simple enough request, but apparently I rubbed this woman the wrong way, because the next thing you know, she was calling for backup in the form of a similarly-dressed, outdated, middle-aged hag. Great.

Since the polite approach hadn't worked on the first woman, I figured there was no way it would win over her cohort. So I tried the not so nice approach, something along the lines of "Are you telling me that you're really going to make me stand here, wasting my time, for the next 45 minutes over an innocent mistake on my part?"

"There's nothing we can do," the second lady-ogre informed me.

"Sure there is. You can step aside and let me into the store."

"No, we can't do that," said the first ogre, arms folded in stubborn fury. "If we let you do it, then we'd have to let everyone do it."

"But there's nobody else here."

Actually, that wasn't true. There was a young mother holding a child a couple of paces back, hovering about nervously while awaiting the outcome of my entry crusade. I suppose, she, too, had fallen from Brahmin status and had made the same mistake of not noting the revised entry-time her new class afforded her.

Still, the situation was getting out of hand. There you had two women working furiously to achieve the goal of keeping me, this other woman and her 8-month-old son out of a space the size of a warehouse. I could've hung my head, walked back out to my car, and waited, or driven away in disgust. But I didn't do that. No, I held my ground. I stood there, smack in the center of the doorway, shifting my gaze back and forth so as to make as much eye contact with both women as possible.

Eventually, one of them left to go back to whatever it is she actually does, leaving the original orge to guard the doorway with every passionate bone in her body.

I decided to sing. After all, I was bored, and a little cold - why not make myself feel better? The doorway bitch glared at me and the woman with the baby started slowly backing away.

A few minutes passed, and at 10:30, a shift change occurred. As a young, agreeable-looking fellow walked over to relieve the doorway bitch of her post, the doorway bitch turned to him and said "watch out for that one; she's trying to get in before 11:00" - as in, "watch out for that psycho, she's trying to break into the vault and steal all the diamonds."

As soon as she walked away, I turned to the guy and explained the situation: I had recently switched my membership, was unaware that my new status restricted my entry time, and could I please be spared the aggravation of standing in a doorway, wasting my time?

Thankfully, this guy was a bit less hung up on the rules. He scanned the area to make sure that the doorway bitch was nowhere to be seen, then motioned for me and the woman with the baby (who had suddenly come back into the picture ) to come in.

"Thank you," I said. He nodded to let me know that he understood, and I quietly made my way towards the back of the store, lest this poor fellow somehow get in trouble for aiding and abetting the fugitive at the door.

The rest of the experience was rather uneventful. I stocked up on potato chips and toilet paper galore, and exited the store without incident.

I realize, for the record, that rules wouldn't be rules if they were constantly getting broken, but perhaps the management of SuckCo ought to consider the ramifications of imposing such parameters on its members. That, and maybe spring for a bigger sign listing the varying store hours, so that those of us pulling off the highway can actually get a decent look before tackling the chore of navigating the store parking lot.

For the most part, I'm over it, and next time I'll plan my SuckCo visit accordingly. But if I ever see either of those two doorway bitches again, I'm going to have to smack the crap out of them, lady-mullets and all.

Show, don't tell

Ok, ok...I know I've been talking a great deal about my dog, but I've yet to show you all what he looks like. My bad.



Here's a picture of the little guy...Warning: he's mighty cute. Don't fall in love with him 'cause you can't have him.

Of course, the cuter they are, the more they get their way...

Trash Collection, or, Why is My Dog Insane?

I won't pretend to love the routine of the garbage truck passing through the neighborhood. It's loud, slow-moving, and, well, you just know that once in awhile, garbage is bound to get spilled onto your front lawn. But other than that, I don't mind it - in fact, I appreciate the removal of icky materials from the general vicinity of my house.



My dog is another story. Now understand, my dog is about fourteen pounds heavy and full of fluff - in other words, far from ferocious. So there he was, sitting quietly in bed, doing his usual lazy thing, when all of a sudden the garbage truck came rolling down the street. And suddenly, bam - my dog was not having it. He started barking and yelping towards the window, as if the garbage truck operators would somehow pick up on his distress call and say to themselves, "Hmm, the little white dog is bothered; we best clear out of here."

When my spoiled little doggy didn't get what he wanted, he started getting fierce - well, as fierce as a fourteen-pounder can get. He started lunging for the window, growling his head off. Of course, there's no way his mini-growls could ever reach the ears of the garbage collectors, leaving happy old me to deal with his insanity for the duration of the trash pickup.

I tried coaxing the dog towards a bag of treats I keep strategically stashed away for these types of situations. Nope. Didn't work. The sneaky little bastard took the treat, ate it, gave me a look that said "I can't believe you fell for it," and hopped back over to the window to continue the barking assault.

As luck would have it, my block has apparently been blessed with the garbage collectors who want to be really good at their jobs, because twenty minutes later, they're still here, and my dog is still barking. Coincidentally, I have not gotten any "real work" done for the past twenty minutes, which is fine, I suppose, since I'm no stranger to laziness, but is still kind of annoying nonetheless.

Anyway, it's not really too big a deal because I know that at some point, the collectors will move on and my dog will eventually be silenced...until Friday, when they come back and we get to do this again.

Rain

There's something so unbelievably energy-zapping about rain. You wake up, notice that it's raining, and immediately want to crawl right back under the covers. Why does rain do this to us? It's just water falling out of the sky.



Right now I am putting up an admirable struggle, treading the line between productivity and defeat. Of course, the fact that I can overhear my dog sleeping soundly in my bed doesn't help. How do I know that he's sleeping? Oh, because my little guy is the loudest snorer I've ever encountered, and with every perfectly-timed snort, an instant message is relayed directly to whatever potion of my brain controls the weakness factor stating "come back to bed, you know you want to." That then causes me to waste time contemplating the benefits of laziness, including soft pillows, warm blankets, and a cuddly, albeit insanely loud dog to hold in my arms while I lounge about.

See, this is the problem with working from home. Your bed is so near yet so very far, and with every moment I spend away from my bed, the more I start to yearn for it. The initially low-grade yearning eventually turns into full-fledged longing, leaving me with no choice but to succumb to my weakness and grant myself a thirty-minute nap, which is precisely what I'm likely to do in a matter of minutes.

However, this type of decision does not come without consequences. I will feel very, very bad about myself for the first few moments. The word "slacker" will surely get smacked around in the forefront of my mind, and with every minute I spend not working during the workday, the more my sense of accomplishment and self-worth will start to moderately degenerate. This will cause me to grow increasingly tired, resulting in an extension of my thirty-minute nap, and so the cycle beings. By the end of the day, I will no doubt feel like a useless sloth, trapped in a whirl of internal berating and disgust.

And yes, I blame all of this on the rain.

Injury on the job

I have a tendency to sit cross-legged while tpying at my desk. What inevitably happens is that one or both of my knees will bang furiously into the sharp corners of my desk, causing pain, bruising, and a great degree of internal disgust at my inability to avoid repeating the same foolish, injury-inducing action time and time again. And the worst part about it is that I know, deep down, that every time it happens, my dog is mocking me for my overwhelming display of clumsiness.



My dog likes to sit at my feet while I type. It's endearing, really, especially when he barks and whines in his high-pitched yelp-style of communication, thereby snatching my train of thought right out of my brain and effectively shoving it out the window.

My dog reacts to just about every noise out there. He flips when the doorbell rings and growls at the clunking noises of the heat coming up. Even the sound of my fingers tapping against the keyboard makes him start panting every now and again. Therefore, when I smacked my right knee into the desk corner just moments ago, I expected a rather significant reaction from the little critter, especially considering the extended stream of expletives that erupted from my mouth in an uncontrolled, screaming fashion. What I got instead was silence coupled with a wide-eyed stare that could only be interpreted to mean "I can't believe you did that again. Who needs training now, lady?"

He has a point, and I'll be sure to contemplate that point while I spend the next twenty minutes icing my poor, damaged knee.