P.S. Scissoring!

That last post I wrote merited a "Scissoring" comment. My best friend, A, coined the term in high school. Basically, in the midst of a crowd, when one wanted to change the subject abruptly, one announced it by saying, "Scissoring!" And the subject was changed.

There was this funny rule, though. A, K and I understood it, but never voiced it. It was unfair, but fun. The rule was this: If you were going to Scissor, you had to switch to a topic you knew would be unanimously appreciated. Otherwise you were just interrupting.

Another high school friend, one of the two guys in our crowd (also A) tried Scissoring many times, but his attempts were always vetoed. In retrospect, I think it must have been because not everyone in the room wanted to talk about whatever his topic was. Or, it might have been because he was a guy. Who knows.

Addictions, August, etc.

I decided on Monday that maybe it would be a good idea to go off caffeine. When I started at CareNet, I resurrected the habit of drinking coffee all day long. What else does one do when confined to a desk? I'm so used to moving around... I couldn't stand it. Anyway. It got bad. In barely a month I reached the point where I was getting headaches if I didn't get some coffee in my system by 7:30 AM.

On Tuesday, when I got up, I thought I'd start weaning myself off the stuff. So I only had a cup and a half - which is the amount I manage to drink before I leave the house. I was fine. No headache, nada. Que bueno, I thought. Today I did the same, expecting to sail through my day. Not so. I spent the day bleary-eyed, slow witted, and fighting off a throbbing headache. All this only convinces me all the more that I should kick the habit. But it's going to be hard.

You know what I find to be one of the saddest sounds in the world? The trill of cicadas. I don't know if I've always felt that way, but I do now. I hear them, and a sense of disappointment and dread fills my stomach. I first heard them in mid-July, and it surprised me. They are usually out in August, and anyway, in our other town we never heard them - there weren't enough trees. Here, the trees are old, and are well stocked with all things good old trees have - squirrels, birds' nests, bats, tire swings, and lots of cicadas. Cicadas mean August, and August means the end of summer and the beginning of school. August also marks the certainty of the coming of Fall. This month always meant a return to the grind for me (both as a student and later as a teacher). And once school started, we hit the ground running - which meant it felt as though Fall had hardly begun before it was time for Thanksgiving. Sigh.

All these bummer feelings associated with August means that my birthday is always rather depressing. I've felt that way for a long, long time. I suppose it will get worse. I'm not 30 yet, but it's not far off. And then I'll have to add "getting old" to the list of Things That Stink About August.

On another note, I saw the trailer for the new Harry Potter movie. That makes me happy. November 21st. I think I'd seriously consider a midnight showing.

I Call It Bonding

Okay, I have to tell this story, because... I have to. I'm hoping my dear sweet husband will forgive me for it. It will reveal some extreme nerdliness on my part, but I'm willing to make the sacrifice.

For those of you who don't know (which would be, um, all of my side of the family), I now watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. I think. I'll go check the box...

Yup, that's it. (There are many eras of Star Trek, I'm told.) D and his roommate, Michael, tried to get me hooked back in our dating days. I started watching for him,because he's persuasive, and I loved him, and I could call it bonding. And it worked... kinda. In my opinion, Star Trek: TNG runs hot or cold. An episode can be great (by ST standards, of course) and the very next one ridiculous. I'll admit - I enjoyed an episode in which the holodeck recreated a Sherlock Holmes story for Geordi and Data. (I am aware of how I sound, family. I'd appreciate no comments from the peanut gallery.) I actually cried in another episode in which Data created a daughter, and then had to deprogram (euthanize?) her. It was sad, darn it!

Anyway. So, we're watching an episode the other night after dinner (we both needed some serious down time), and here's what happened. We're in the middle of an episode, the basic storyline is about this lovely young blond intern that joins the Enterprise. She has some super-amazing powers and voips some things from here to there, and (gasp!) the crew discovers she's a Q! (For my non-Trekkie family, a Q is an omnipotent alien race. Don't ask. It doesn't make much sense to me, either.)

Anyway, she goes through some sort of identity crisis. Turns out that nasty alien race killed her parents by playing God and issuing forth a freak tornado over their home in Kansas while they were assuming human form. Poor little blond Q was left an orphan. Not quite human, not quite Q. Or something.

Moving on. The show is not actually pertinent to my story. Here's what I need to say: Star Trek, by now, is dated. (How much can I hate Counselor Troi? Very much.) Everyone looks very late 80s/early 90s. Pretty blond Q-girl was no exception. She even had this little dark brown beauty mark by her mouth, near her chin. Very Cindy Crawford.

As I sat on the couch next to Vid, I sort of admired it. I reminisced a bit about the days when beauty marks were "in", and thought that perhaps her little mole was rather more flattering than the mole above my right eyebrow (which the dermatologist has assured me is no threat). I never really think about my "beauty mark" except when some little kid points out wonderingly, "Why do you have that above your eye?" Then for a day or two I worry, and get over it. Thank goodness, I thought, that Vid doesn't say anything about it.

So just as I'm finishing these thoughts, my dear sweet husband beside me blurts out, "If she's omnipotent, maybe she should use some of her superpowers to voip that mole off her face!"

"What did you just say?" I squawk, and suddenly, my beloved realizes his slip. He apologizes rather quickly, pecks me on the cheek, and I begin to laugh inside.

And even though I'm not in the least bit upset, I'm once again curious if I should go see a doctor. But even more so, I'm disappointed. I'm sure I missed an opportunity to work that situation more to my advantage, somehow.

Mostly Unpacked... Sort Of

Finally, finally, I have some pictures of the house for those of you who have been curious. Not too many, because, frankly, they're a pain to upload, but enough to give you an idea of how things changed. As I was choosing what to post, I came across the old "before" photos. It was startling, really, to see how much has changed. It is starting to feel like home.

Remember the periwinkle blue master bedroom? Here is what we decided to do. I would have taken a picture from the other direction, but D's somewhat nebulous pile of laundry (Is it clean or isn't it?) was in the way. Sorry for that admission, Vid. You know I love you.

Remember the purple room that took four coats of yellow to cover? We finally got it right. This is my office. Notice Biff and Eeyore in their places of honor.

Here's the living room. The dining room off to the side is nothing more than a table and chairs. Not very exciting really, I promise.

We still have so much to do. My next tasks involve painting the windows in the living room, dining room, and the walls in the bathroom, to be exact. I'm a little tired of the sponge-painted blue polka-dots.

Heading to bed, me. Or, actually, heading to bed with a book to read, me. Wendy Shalit's A Return to Modesty has got me hooked.

WE HAVE INTERNET!!!

And there was much rejoicing.