tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232515892024-03-07T16:26:33.071-08:00I For One.....The musings of a twisted mind.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.comBlogger194125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-79286703656211989452018-02-11T12:51:00.000-08:002018-02-11T12:51:06.033-08:00The Fish Trap<br />
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On a cold Saturday morning, we struggle into the
constrictive, clammy confines of our waders and begin the trek down the hill to
our fish trap. We’re trapping the Arroyo Hondo. Situated in eastern Santa Clara
County, this creek spills into the eastern edge of Calaveras Reservoir, in the outskirts
of Milpitas and a Silicon Valley, virtually oblivious to the untrammeled
wilderness with which it rubs elbows. I am accompanied by our brand new intern,
who happens to have exactly one day more of experience at the new fish trapping
site than me. It is with considerable trepidation that I recognize the possibility
that there might be a trout in the trap. Sure, last summer I had PIT tagged a
few trout, but only small ones that fit easily in the palm of my inexperienced
hand. Certainly, none of the hogs that had been popping up in the trap in the
last couple of days. Nerves twanging, I set about filling out the data sheet,
arranging gear, reviewing protocols. It’s all mundane, routine. Right?<o:p></o:p></div>
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We stuff a burlap bag into opening of the live box, so the
trapped fish can’t escape, unlatch each of the six bolts that secure the box,
and raise the lid. Whoosh! An angry tail whips creek water over the rim of the
live box. Not one, not two, but three big rainbow trout hunkered down in the
cool waters of the Arroyo Hondo, waiting to be weighed, measured and fitted
with a tracking tag. Damnit! I’m not ready for this. So, buying time, we use
small nets to scoop out willow catkins that have accumulated in the live box,
and transfer the ho-hum prickly sculpin and California roach so routine to fish
trapping from the live trap to a plastic bucket. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there is no ignoring those three, enormous
trout that need to be sedated, weighed, measured, PIT tagged and scale-sampled.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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At some point it can’t be postponed anymore, so I fill the
buckets with appropriate amount of creek water, add the baking soda and Alka
Seltzer that will deoxygenate the water and stun the fish, and net the biggest
trout. It struggles as I lift it from the live trap, splashing cold water into
my eyes and hair. It tries to escape from the bucket, thrashing turbulent
sheets of water from the anesthetic bath. This isn’t going to be easy, is it? I
watch nervously as the big fish continues to disturb the water. But the
protocols don’t lie. Four minutes later it repeatedly rolls to its side and surfaces
to gulp for air. It is time. I’ve already weighed it, so I plunk it on the
measuring board. 490 millimeters. Woah. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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I show our intern how I want it oriented, so I can place the
PIT tag correctly; starboard side up, tail pointing away from me. Thank god, she
has a natural feel for this, and the fish is tired, sedated. It goes well. The
tag injector pops through the skin effortlessly, I pull the trigger, extract
the gun, rub the incision, read and note the tag number. Not out of the woods
yet though, scale samples are still needed. I retrieve the tiny pocket knife
from our gear bag, unsheathe the blade, and laboriously scrape exactly one
scale from the exposed side of this monster. I wipe the knife on the contact
paper, and place the scale sample the labeled envelope. Done. Carefully placing
this beauty in the recovery basin, oxygen bubbler merrily churning out air, I
take a breath. A breeze floats down the Arroyo Hondo and cools the sweat on the
back of my neck, raising goose bumps on my arms. I lift a second fish from the
trap. Weigh, measure, tag, scales. Repeat. This, is what I do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-87690061048635282382011-08-24T18:51:00.000-07:002011-08-24T19:09:58.876-07:00The Power of Staying PositiveWhen you go through a tough break-up sometimes the easiest thing to do is sink into the misery of the situation. Let's face it. Sometimes it's flat out necessary! Did you know that stress hormones are released in tears? Too much moping is bad though because moping begets more moping. So, I've been putting the power of positive thinking to work. How am I succeeding?
<br />
<br />You know, not so badly. When I want to call and say "I miss you", I remind myself of the setback I will inflict on my emotional recovery and chose a better activity. Go for a run, take Luke for a walk, write, read the newspaper, call a friend. When my mind goes groping for the answers to the "why" questions I know I'll never get, I take inventory of the things I have control of. My job, the way I choose to spend my time, my schedule, etc. When I'm tempted to feel sorry myself for the loss of my love, I turn the situation on it's head and feel grateful for the time I am now enjoying with friends. And I REALLY am enjoying my time with friends.
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<br />The kicker is trying to put a positive spin on the loss of physical affection. I miss the HELL out of kisses and hugs, and falling asleep spooning. Among other things. The only positive I've found so far is to reflect on just how damned good it'll feel once this dry spell is over.
<br />I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-72466384976108969222011-07-31T11:25:00.000-07:002011-07-31T11:40:47.232-07:00Getting Back to ItForgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been two years since my last post, and what a lot has happened. I'll start with the biggest news and telescope down to the smallest. First, a divorce. After 16 years with my husband, fate flung somebody completely unexpected into my path. I had two choices: safe, secure, predictable or stepping into the abyss to ride a comet. I chose the latter. Now, two years later however, the comet has turned into a chilly asteroid and I find myself with almost nothing to concern myself with save my children, my dog, and my job. Not necessarily in that order and not that those aren't important concerns.<br /><br />I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone, so I decided to sign up with a couple of internet dating sites. Stayed tuned for the success of that adventure, but so far so meh! The interesting thing about setting up a profile on one of these sites is that you realize just what a boring person you really are. "What are your interests?" Hmmm. Well, after I come home from work I look at Facebook, read my email, text a little with a friend, nibble something out of the fridge, have a glass of wine, read my book, and go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. Now I'm examining my life, realizing that I've spent much of the last few years riding on the coat tails of OTHER people's interests. The kids, the ex-husband, the boyfriend.<br /><br />So now begins the period of self-examination. What do I enjoy doing to fill the hours when the boys are with their dad, I'm not at work, and my small group of friends is busy. I've come up with a few things I think I'll launch myself into. Again, stay tuned. The new focus of this blog will be on how this new phase of my life unfolds. This is me breaking a bottle of champagne over the bow of USS I For One.... Wish me luck.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-85858517544501238622009-02-15T12:44:00.000-08:002009-02-15T13:36:34.511-08:00New Office Noises and Valentine's Gestures Gone Wrong<div>UNFORTUNATE NOISES</div><div><br /></div>Nearly six years have passed since I last worked in a crowded office environment, so I've had to take a little time to get used to the presence of co-workers over the course of the last few weeks. Don't get me wrong, everyone is REALLY nice and very pleasant to work with. There is hardly an ego in the place and company politics has yet to rear its ugly head. <div><br /></div><div>The issue at hand is, for lack of a better term, bodily noises. You'd think after so many years in isolation, I would be the person who forgets herself and lets fly with unapologetic flatulence or practices indiscrete nose picking. But it's not me who can be heard unblocking my sinuses with a cacophonous intake of air that sounds like it is rattling my eye sockets. No do I talk to myself nearly constantly, or vigorously and loudly clear my throat once every 15 minutes. It is not me, but a mystery co-worker (I have yet to catch this person in the act), who appears to have been born and raised in a barn. I'm all for letting fly with a good belch when one is among close family or friends, especially when excessive beer is involved, but loud burps in the work place take a little getting used to.</div><div><br /></div><div>Is every workplace filled with people who fail to temper their unfortunate noises throughout the course of the day? Perhaps after working in an office setting for years, these noises will become like the hum of the refrigerator turning on or the whoosh of a passing car, noises I heard but never acknowledged when I was working from home. </div><div><br /></div><div>VALENTINE'S GIFT</div><div><br /></div><div>My husband is very sweet and romantic. It is commonplace for him to leave me little love notes, buy me random flowers, or bring home some small gift just because. I really appreciate these gestures. I always feel loved and appreciated, and who doesn't like a little gift or treat every now and then. But, sometimes the best laid plans go awry. A couple of days ago, before anyone else was up, I was hurrying to get out the door. I had let the dogs back in from their morning pee and was looking in the cupboard for bones for them to gnaw on when I saw Bo drop a small foil-wrapped chocolate heart on the floor. Annoyed, I went to retrieve it, wondering who the heck had been careless enough to leave chocolate where the dogs could get to it. Planning to have a strict chat with children when I got home, I headed for the back door to grab my laptop case from the floor where it was propped. Sitting on top of it was another foil-wrapped chocolate heart with a single letter U carefully colored on it with a black Sharpie. Then it all made sense. Steve must have left me a couple of pieces of chocolate on my laptop case spelling out the message "heart U". Returning to the great room to get my shoes on I found a third foil heart with the letter I. Ah ha, I must have gotten the whole message then. Three hearts that together said "I heart U". I hopped in my car, having tossed all the pieces of chocolate into my purse. Then it hit me. Oh no, what if Steve had left the message that he loved me very, very, very, very much? There could be a major mess of dog sick to clean up by the time he got out of bed to ready the kids for school. Fortunately Steve doesn't love me that much. </div>I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-24995930712208021452009-02-06T18:00:00.001-08:002009-02-06T18:50:42.373-08:00Diarrhrea of the Mouth, Constipation of of the BrainI consider myself a pretty easy-going person. I get along fine with the majority of people, and if I find myself annoyed by somebody I make it a policy to keep things to a polite and respectful level and simply interact with them as little as possible. Typically that works out great, and I can count on one hand with fingers to spare, the number of confrontations I have had with co-workers or other people I have to associate with.<div><br /></div><div>This week proved to be a horrible exception to this general trend. Fortunately it never came to blows or even an unpleasant exchange of words, but if this person could have heard the internal monologue going on inside my brain cage he would have slunk off with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. He wasn't a bad, or even a mean person, and in a general sense I could be around him without continuously suppressing the urge to slug him. The problem was that he just wouldn't shut up! The sound of his own voice droning on about a vast array of horrifically boring topics seemed to be a balm to his psyche without which he could not function. Once he had latched onto a conversational topic, he hung onto it with the tenacity of a pack of wild dogs that have treed a three-legged cat. No facet of a particular subject was left unexplored, including every excruciating reference and sub-reference. His favorite topic was, of course, himself.</div><div><br /></div><div>This individual was not more experienced or at a higher level on the corporate food chain than I. He was simply on the job site to fill in for some hours at the end of the day that I could not cover. Among his many charms was the annoying habit of telling me how to do things I had already done, already knew how to do, or had no need to ever accomplish. Add to that his tendency to call my bosses and suggest new ways for me to do my job, additional tasks that I should be engaged in, as well as a laundry list of problems I had not attended to on the job site, and by the end of this week this particular individual was fortunate not to be using his anal sphincter as a speaking device.</div><div><br /></div><div>Violence is not an option, so instead of pinching his head off between my thumb and forefinger or yelling at him, I took to avoiding him whenever possible. This was not an easy task as all construction sites require personnel to wear Safety Orange or Dayglo Yellow as a safety measure. Fortunately some of the equipment on the site is similarly colored so on occasion I could avoid detection by fading into the contours of a front loader, or sidling up to a crane.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am grateful to report that today was the last day I had to work with this conversational Olympian. As I left my office this evening, backing slowly away and continuously trying to terminate his stream of consciousness, he excitedly filled me in on the recent exorcism of his new home. Apparently the spirits left because they had been informed that he was "a good guy". I didn't have the heart to tell him they probably vacated to get a little peace and quiet.</div>I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-70392913974871895402009-02-01T08:49:00.000-08:002009-02-01T09:24:28.833-08:00Portapotty HellMy first three weeks on the job site at my new position were in a very simple setting. Personnel on the site consisted of myself, two engineers, a security guy, and the biologist that I was replacing. There were no buildings associated with the project, save a single turquoise blue portable toilet. A toilet that I shared with all of these burly men, along with several burly fence-builders, a host of burly truckers, and the occasional burly backhoe operator. <br /><br />Each day before I left for work I attempted to empty myself of all bodily excretions so as not to have to use that portable toilet any more than necessary. Not to put too fine of a point on it, but there are certain acts that are not easily achieved with earth moving equipment rumbling less than twenty feet from your personal refuge. Inevitably, the water with which I had washed down my lunch would come back to haunt me, and I would be forced to use the johnny-on-the-spot.<br /><br />My greatest fear, was that my cellphone or keys would tumble out of my pocket and down the dark hole into the mess below. This fear, however unreasonable, became so overwhelming that I began leaving my phone and keys in my car while relieving myself. Entering little blue building, I'd take a deep breath in attempt to avoid breathing the foul air therein. Inside, I would flip up the lid, trying in vain to avert my eyes from the contents already lurking underneath. Not looking inside a pit toilet is much like trying to tear your eyes from a train wreck. Try as you might, you just can't avoid a quick peek. <br /><br />My second greatest fear was that somehow the portable toilet would become upended by some large piece of equipment working nearby while I was using it. Perhaps it was just this fear at work, but the structure seemed to begin to vibrate and rumble ominously as soon as my efforts had reached critical mass. There I would sit, totally vulnerable, waiting for the shack to tumble. With Murphy's law at work, it would land on it's door, and I would be trapped under a foetid wave of human excrement. My coworkers must have scratched their heads in confusion upon seeing me burst from the Portapotty, wild-eyed in fear, hastily buckling up my jeans.<br /><br />Now that trailers are in place, lots of new people have arrived on the job site and things are not as simple as they once were. A complicated chain of command is in place and it's much more difficult to get things done. You'll here no complaints from me though. I'm just thrilled to have an indoor toilet that flushes, and hot water and soap with which to wash my hands. I for one will not miss a daily update on what recently exited the entails of my co-workers.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-26009232541333861492009-01-25T10:54:00.001-08:002009-01-25T10:56:06.110-08:00Family: The people you can be your real self around. If they put up with you, you know a) you have good family and/or, b) you probably aren't that big of an asshole.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-17379738976477901932009-01-25T08:13:00.000-08:002009-01-25T08:47:11.762-08:00Doer or Slacker?In the last couple of weeks I've been developing a theory about how people work. When deadlines get tight and project hours get long there seem to be two kinds of workers. There are those that buckle down, and no matter how crappy the conditions, how tough the job, how many other items are on their to do list, or how inconvenient the hours may be they just "get 'er done". The other kind shows up late, is missing many of the tools they need to get the job done, has multiple excuses for why they can't complete the task ahead of them, and needs constant supervision and nagging to get the job finished. I am developing a deep admiration for the former (the doer) and an equal disdain for the latter (the slacker).<br /><br />The doer seems to be an expert in task prioritization. If they have a list of 15 things that need to get done over the course of the day, they pick the most important one to get done first or properly order tasks so that work flows smoothly. In the face of an interruption that requires them to step away from one task and deal with some sort of emergency, they do so without grumbling, quickly and efficiently deal with the situation, and then get right back to the original high priority task. You'll never hear them complain about having too much to do. Conversely the slacker jumps from task to task, often inappropriately reacting to an interruption or emergency by permanently switching their focus so that no task ever gets finished properly. Their work flow is not managed well so that badly-needed materials will show up at the job site but are rendered useless because the equipment or personnel needed to use those materials has not been scheduled. The work they do perform is done to a minimum quality standard and will not be improved upon until they are specifically instructed on how to fix their mistakes.<br /><br />The doer seems to always be getting something done. They may be ill, tired, sore and terribly overworked but rather than spending time complaining they lead by quiet example, simply getting the job done. The slacker will start his day enumerating all of the ways he has been ill-used by his boss, his subordinates, the virus that has attacked him, or his car that has broken down. Throughout the day he will stop often to talk with others about how tired he is, how he has been asked to work that falls outside of his job description, or how much more grandiose his former job was. <br /><br />I will admit there have been many times that I have been guilty of being a slacker, and no doubt some of the hardest working doers on the job go home on the weekends and refuse to do little around the house but hold down a recliner and watch football. My goal with this new job is to be viewed whenever possible as a doer. With that said, I think there might be something good on TV right now.....I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-1169676663009046572009-01-20T20:33:00.000-08:002009-01-20T20:56:33.791-08:00Striking a BalanceWe just returned from a four-day weekend in San Diego. Prior to that, northern California had experienced an extended heat wave that drove afternoon temperatures into the upper 70s and low 80s. For a person who is newly employed at a job that keeps her out of doors for about 10 hours a day, the timing couldn't have been better. Week two on the job was great. I've established a pretty good rapport with most of the people who are regularly on site, familiarized myself with the project, and gotten a pretty good handle on how the next few months will go. Adding some spring-time weather to the mix, sans allergies was just the icing on the cake.<br /><br />The only downside to last week, and I imagine this will continue to haunt the coming week(s), was the uncertainty about the hours I am to work. After putting in about four hours of overtime in throughout the course of the week, I was once again asked if I was available to work a weekend. I'm very gung-ho about the success of the project, facilitating the process for the people involved, and being part of the solution. With that said, I'm even more committed to being available to do my grocery shopping, take my dogs for toenail trims, and send my children to school on Monday with clean clothes. But these are chores and duties that I am responsible for. All that aside, I WANT to be home so I can spend a little quality time with my husband, help the kids with homework, and pass a leisurely hour reading a good book. I guess I forgot, over the course of the last five years, what a tough balancing act family and career can be. What's a girl to do?<br /><br />And in other news (because there is no way to segue gracefully into this) DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD!!! George W. Bush has officially left office. I followed the proceedings on TV and on Twitter simultaneously and heard lots of talk of tears and goosebumps. For me however, the most sublime moment was when the new president and first lady escorted George and Laura Bush to their waiting helicopter. The strains of Na Na Hey Hey (Goodbye) by Banana Republic sung by the crowd as the presidential helicopter lifted off and circled the Washington Mall was my sublime moment. Couldn't have said it better myself.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-12674816714034296112009-01-11T07:54:00.000-08:002009-01-11T08:27:01.076-08:00Week One on the JobSo I survived my first week working full-time. By survived I mean I got to the job on time each day, didn't do anything to shame myself or appear ignorant, left on time to pick Garrett up before YMCA closing time almost every day, and managed to get a hot meal on the table at the end of it all. Looking back to Monday, it seems like three weeks ago rather than just one. I met so many new people, had to assimilate so much new information, and spent so many long hours commuting either in my car or on BART that one week worth of activities seem like much more. Here are some of the highlights and low points.<br /><br />* Good - Finding that I really genuinely like all of the people I'll be on the job with over the next couple of years. At the moment I am the lone female in a group of about 15 people that are regularly on the job site. One big crusty Vietnam vet has taken me under his wing and assured me that he will "deal with" anyone who gives me any trouble. I believe him.<br /><br />* Bad - Being told that they expect me to be on the job from 7 to 5. I think this detail will get resolved, but for the time being, with my commute I am gone for about 12 hours a day. My poor dogs miss me.<br /><br />* Good - Sucessfully commuting to San Francisco and back on BART without any major SNAFUs. I have found that riding up the peninsula side of the BART line requires more driving, but makes for a less aromatic ride with fewer colorful characters and less traffic on the way home.<br /><br />* Bad - Finding that getting into and out of San Francisco on BART takes a minimum of an hour and a half. I can't wait for BART to get extended to San Jose.<br /><br />* Good - Getting back out into the fresh air and renewing my acquaintance with field biology.<br /><br />* Bad - Having no office. I will spend the next three years working in a quadruple wide trailer, but those trailers are still being set up, which requires my supervision to avoid environmental impacts. Working in the cold weather for 9 to 10 hours with no place to sit gets COLD and tiring.<div><br /></div><div>*Also good - Having a corner office with a WINDOW! Does a corner office count as a corner office if it's in a trailer?</div><div><br /></div><div>Now it's off to squeeze as much productivity out of my weekend as possible. The toilets will not scrub themselves and all of the dog fur on the carpet and poop on the lawn will not go away without my attention. At least I'll never be bored.......<br /><br /><br /></div>I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-44387785983771394192009-01-01T12:24:00.000-08:002009-01-01T12:50:38.886-08:00Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Back to Work I Go!Happy new year all. 2008 was a wild ride, but I have guarded optimism for 2009. Why? A new president will be taking office a little less than three weeks from now, and I got a job. After over a year of searching, a job offer was finalized on Tuesday of this week and I start work this this coming Monday. The job is full-time which means more income, but less time for blogging. I have every intention of keeping this blog up and running but updates will have to be less frequent so I can continue to spend time with my family and get my household chores done. <br /><br />I'm delighted to be getting back to working as a biologist. This is what I spent four years in school for, and ultimately the work I am best qualified to do. Having the extra income will be a huge relief for us as a family, particularly after a year of more or less living on just one salary. After laying out a large amount of our life savings doing a badly-needed upgrade to our kitchen and then watching another large chunk of it disappear in the stock market melt-down, it will be nice to build the coffers up a bit.<br /><br />Another part of me is a little sad though. I haven't worked full-time since late 2002 when I quit work to take some pressure off of Steve during a stressful period at his old job, and to make myself more available to the kids. I'll no longer be able to see Weston out the door in the morning, drop Garrett off at his classroom, or pick the kids up after school. I will deeply miss these little rituals. I'll also miss having the pooches and the cat as my only office mates. I'm hoping my new human companions will be as easy to get along with (but less prone to flatulence).<br /><br />On the other hand I know our family is very fortunate not only to have escaped any job loss, but to have added a second income during these tough times. I will keep all of you up-to-date on my process of transition from work-at-home mother to full-time bread winner. Thanks for your faithful readership over this last few months, and may 2009 bring good things to your household to0.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-26842094586372049452008-12-30T08:42:00.001-08:002008-12-30T10:22:00.354-08:00Happy Puke Day LukeThe whole family has been lounging, really seriously lounging since boxing day. The boys have dedicated themselves to their new video games with an occasional break to carry on a good-natured spat. Steve has been plinking around with some programming of his own, and I've gotten back to my knitting for the first time since I hurt my shoulder playing hockey. The dogs don't know what to do with all of this family time and sometimes get booted out for a little fresh air due to an excess of enthusiasm for tearing around the house during quiet hour. <div><br /></div><div>On Saturday they spent some time out of doors while I was busy with a project. When Luke came in, he had a strangely swollen look about his midsection. Thinking I was imagining things, I asked Steve if the pup looked bloated to him too. Steve has a tendency to dismiss my concerns about the health of the children and animals, knowing that I am often too quick to worry. This time however, he was in total agreement. Luke seemed otherwise cheerful, if not a bit slow-moving, so I figured that watchful waiting was the best option. The next time the dogs went out, they made a bee-line around the garage and out of sight. Hurrying after them, the source of the bloat was revealed. The little bastards had knocked over a trash bag set on top of the can which had become too full to hold it. Inside was a chicken carcass and five or six large fat-soaked pieces of potato that had cooked with it. I say "was" because by the time we discovered what they had done, these items had disappeared without a trace. </div><div><br /></div><div>Realizing what had occurred, Steve felt the midsection of the much-furrier Bo to see if his belly was as distended as Luke's. It was. Both dogs spent the rest of the afternoon in a rather subdued state. They tried, halfheartedly, to play together, but the first bump from Bo sent Luke sprawling on his side with a piglike grunt, so they gave up in favor of a nap. Asleep at Steve's feet after dinner, Luke leapt up and bolted to the door, vomiting up a copious amount of chicken carcass just short of the exit. The next day he was purging chicken at the other end. Bo, being of somewhat sterner constitution or perhaps having eaten less chicken, seemed to have escaped with few foul effects. It wasn't until the following evening that he returned to the house with a good-sized bun of feces clinging to the area under his tail that the ghost of chicken past came to haunt us. Bo, Steve, and a pair of scissors spent a little quality time together on the back porch to remedy that situation. </div><div><br /></div><div>Later that night I realized that Luke's first birthday, on December 27th, had passed unnoticed and uncelebrated. We felt a little badly until we realized that he and Bo had celebrated it in dog-fashion by partying 'till they popped at the trash can. Happy birthday Luke! May you make it to your second birthday without a repeat of that particular incident.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqOhLHJh8E-zsWRMGoWNCaoAiJ8UQ8hecQZibHg8I9Pvm5OGSLmXKEL7cVY_mohMShg7-X3z17EHV_fmgc_lU_PYWeEYoKlZGI28HNTh9I1aPnb0DTiHnHkRjdW8B_DkJNNuA/s1600-h/DSCF0008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqOhLHJh8E-zsWRMGoWNCaoAiJ8UQ8hecQZibHg8I9Pvm5OGSLmXKEL7cVY_mohMShg7-X3z17EHV_fmgc_lU_PYWeEYoKlZGI28HNTh9I1aPnb0DTiHnHkRjdW8B_DkJNNuA/s400/DSCF0008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285639890413616034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-79292518045808036962008-12-26T08:30:00.001-08:002008-12-26T08:35:32.902-08:00The Little Acorn Doesn't Fall Far...This morning after I finished breakfast I burped. Loudly. I didn't mean to, really. It just popped out. Weston laughed and commented that my burp was even louder than Garrett's. A bit shamefacedly I admitted that Garrett comes by his belching talents honestly. "The sad thing is" Weston replied, "he doesn't get them from Dad." Sigh. I've been reprimanded by my own child.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-27115552060210976532008-12-22T07:32:00.000-08:002008-12-22T17:32:49.075-08:00All I Want For Christmas Is a BasiliskI know what I want for Christmas. I saw it this weekend in San Francisco at the California Academy of Science. For a biologist, this place is like the world's biggest candy shop. Each section of the museum presents another area where I have vowed to spend at least two hours browsing once the huge volume of traffic has died down. In the wake of the renovation and reopening of the museum, weekend crowds have been huge. On our first visit we browsed through the aquarium on the bottom floor with crowds that would have made the British Museum at midsummer proud. The lines for the rain forest exhibit stretched at least 50 people back from its entrance and passes had already been claimed for all of the showings in the planetarium.<br /><br />Steve had a game plan in place for this visit. We dragged ourselves from our beds at the hotel at 7:00, showered, consumed our breakfasts and by about 8:40, were waiting for the doors to open at the museum. At 9:00 we headed straight for the line to get passes for the first planetarium showing, then to the rain forest exhibit where a long line was already forming. Inside the rainforest exhibit were butterflies, birds, and terrariums with all manner of exotic fish and reptiles. And that's where I saw the emerald basilisk lizard.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKatKCEP5gttY4DbMARycD1RlROBc4W5z2m27BVIL5ocghfZGlaRGcSQLC3sEm2vMypD3TIMnRRZSnCQUB-itmT3O25J-zYf2f2YHreZcxSbr8XjkCsm00-jxLD_ilNpBWKsWc/s1600-h/basiliskopt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKatKCEP5gttY4DbMARycD1RlROBc4W5z2m27BVIL5ocghfZGlaRGcSQLC3sEm2vMypD3TIMnRRZSnCQUB-itmT3O25J-zYf2f2YHreZcxSbr8XjkCsm00-jxLD_ilNpBWKsWc/s400/basiliskopt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282790426227352146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A mere photo does not quite do this creature justice. Also known (somewhat irreverently) as the Jesus Christ lizard, the emerald basilisk is named for its ability to run on water.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1wWh4LzWUPY&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1wWh4LzWUPY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />Even a video doesn't fully capture the ruffled scales behind its ears that make the basilisk look like an utterly captivating combination between those exotic birds at the zoo that are forever cocking their head at you through the bars of their enclosure and a tiny green dog with perky ears. I don't actually want to take one of these beauties from, its natural habitat to live out its days in a terrarium, but I would love to get the chance to see one in the wild. Instead, I'll take one of these (a spider tortoise).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioroOsM2NTsDLV_I0c106wHVQwsFxMo6v62nwJvaWMOGKUKOQYtMR13xN1K9cNkXEfDk-ff_W793zQHYpqCdO4kOCiFwKllzSewpW9VvArG45H7y7L3BGLzTtNNEoX7x_VmKFr/s1600-h/tortoiseopt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioroOsM2NTsDLV_I0c106wHVQwsFxMo6v62nwJvaWMOGKUKOQYtMR13xN1K9cNkXEfDk-ff_W793zQHYpqCdO4kOCiFwKllzSewpW9VvArG45H7y7L3BGLzTtNNEoX7x_VmKFr/s400/tortoiseopt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282791559285849426" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thanks to Steve for the great photographs.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-74367330215274725522008-12-15T11:13:00.001-08:002008-12-15T11:34:34.874-08:00My Bookmarks Miss MeWhat do the bookmarks on your web browser say about your life? When I was working more my most frequently visited bookmark file was the one that had links to all of the information for biological reports. There was the Cal Photos with all of its pictures and scientific names for the species that I needed to reference. I also spent a lot of time looking at soils reports at USDA and sleuthing out which rivers and streams were protected for salmon at NOAA. As worked dropped of, I've spent much less time at those bookmarks. <br /><br />The plus side of that was that I had much more time to spend in the Bloggers file in my bookmark toolbar. Those used to be a guilty pleasure while waiting for a call back or a map to finish loading to print. As I spent more time at the blogger bookmarks I got inspired, and I realized I had time to start updating my own blog more. Looking for interesting things to write about, spawned a new file in my bookmark toolbar: sites pertaining to politics. Huffington Post became a favorite hangout, along with the Daily Show, CNN.com, The Washington Post, and a number of sites that kept me up to date on the latest polls. I haven't visited those as frequently now that the election is over.<br /><br />Now my most important category of bookmarks has become my Job Search file. Craigslist is the first one I hit each Monday morning, followed by Simply Hired, and the City of San Jose and County of Santa Clara job boards. I miss spending time in the bookmarks section filed under Biological Reports Information. I miss being a biologist, writing about biology, and getting out and rambling around out of doors as part of my job. I really hope that all of the time I've spent in the Job Search file will bear fruit soon, and allow me to get back to my biology links.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-57276839882319400332008-12-12T09:30:00.000-08:002008-12-12T09:34:34.746-08:00Garrettisms Part I've Lost TrackWalking in to school this morning, a little girl got out of her mother's car and called "Bye mom, I love you. Have a great day." I turned to Garrett and asked why I never got such nice I-love-yous from him. "Mom" he said, "I'm a boy and we don't feel the need to talk about our feelings all the time. I'm not like one of those weird girls who has to sing 'I love bananas and bananas love me'." Makes perfect sense....... right?I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-15171935741333070312008-12-11T10:20:00.000-08:002008-12-13T08:56:31.827-08:00Puppy BloodlettingPoor Luke finally received the long overdue bloodied nose treatment from Kacey, the cat. Bo and Kacey were quite young when we got both of them, and the very first time Bo tried to give Kacey the Tigger treatment that is the typical show of affection bestowed by the Jack Russell terrier, he was rewarded with three bloody scratches down his nose. He has treated her with great respect and care ever since. For some reason Kacey has refused to apply her claws similarly to Luke, and instead has responded in the worst possible way to his curiosity, by running away. Last night was different though.<div><br /></div><div>Full of pep and vinegar, Kacey jumped up on the chair where I was sitting and occupied the Most Favored Pet position usually guarded with great jealousy by Luke. She pulled this off while Luke was busy gobbling his dinner. Kacey had a look about her that any cat owner knows, is the hallmark of a cat spoiling for a little fun. Ambling back into the great room with his belly full, Luke chose to challenge Bo's position on the sofa beside Steve rather that mess with the hissing fur ball on my chair. Responding with a low rumble and a show of teeth, Bo easily rebuffed the pup, so feeling confident he put his front paws up to examine the cat, repeatedly jerking his nose back as she batted at him. Never having encountered her claws, he has little fear of her. That all changed when, tired of his pestering, she sunk a claw into the tender flesh over his left eye, releasing it a moment later with a distinctive "snick" sound. Luke's big brown eyes widened in surprise and he quickly retreated to higher ground on the sofa.</div><div><br /></div><div>This morning he was still giving the cat a wide berth. Each time he had to pass her, he looked at her warily from the corners of his eyes and scuttled by as quickly as he could. After I dropped the kids off, I was relaxing momentarily in my favorite chair while the dogs, who had just come in, sniffed around the room to make sure nothing was amiss. Suddenly a wide-eyed Luke came tearing across the room, ears peeled back, the whites of his eyes showing, and flew into my lap as though the very devil was attached to his stubby tail. Setting my frightened pup down, I got up to see what had put such a scare into him. While investigating the back of the room, he had come across a large plastic Target bag folded loosely around a deep cardboard box. Overcome by curiosity, and the sense that something interesting was inside that box Luke took a closer look, a deep sniff, then BAM!, a hissing cat exploded out of the recesses of the box, sharp claws waving. By the time I put the pieces of the puzzle together, that box contained a cat with a very satisfied look on her face.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6PJdN1daVohZvjlln6BXXBX7X425IHnzO01KTQHBmiVqnBXzRYMFZ6g3sQlmxnI5EAVOb7vgCYtzRbvo0vwB6nxHk7VjFfctwE3H4M6ndSEjDckwBIPEZtY_9sVFM6M-9JWLC/s1600-h/kacey.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6PJdN1daVohZvjlln6BXXBX7X425IHnzO01KTQHBmiVqnBXzRYMFZ6g3sQlmxnI5EAVOb7vgCYtzRbvo0vwB6nxHk7VjFfctwE3H4M6ndSEjDckwBIPEZtY_9sVFM6M-9JWLC/s400/kacey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279319529701350434" border="0" /></a></div>I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-17717774002227125202008-12-10T16:38:00.001-08:002008-12-10T16:54:03.638-08:00Prop 8 Meets The Daily ShowI <a href="http://grommitblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/reality-check-from-wasilla.html">may have mentioned before</a> how much I enjoy Jon Stewart on the Daily Show. I may have also alluded to <a href="http://grommitblog.blogspot.com/2008/10/yes-on-prop-8-mice-have-been-here.html">my opposition to Proposition 8</a>, and <a href="http://grommitblog.blogspot.com/2008/11/prop-8-passes-would-522-of-you-please.html">my total disgust that it passed</a>. Well, now I am happy to present to you, Jon Stewart chatting with guest Governor Mike Huckabee about Proposition 8.<br /><br /><style type="text/css">.cc_box a:hover .cc_home{background:url('http://www.comedycentral.com/comedycentral/video/assets/syndicated-logo-over.png') !important;}.cc_links a{color:#b9b9b9;text-decoration:none;}.cc_show a{color:#707070;text-decoration:none;}.cc_title a{color:#868686;text-decoration:none;}.cc_links a:hover{color:#67bee2;text-decoration:underline;}</style><div class="cc_box" style="position: relative;"><a href="http://www.comedycentral.com/" target="_blank" style="display: inline; float: left; width: 60px; height: 31px;"><div class="cc_home" style="border-style: solid; border-color: rgb(207, 207, 207); border-width: 1px 0px 0px 1px; background: transparent url(http://www.comedycentral.com/comedycentral/video/assets/syndicated-logo-out.png) repeat scroll 0% 50%; float: left; width: 60px; height: 31px; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;"></div></a><div style="border-style: solid; border-color: rgb(207, 207, 207); border-width: 1px 1px 0px 0px; overflow: hidden; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,Verdana,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; font-size: 10px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; float: left; width: 299px; height: 31px; color: rgb(112, 112, 112);"><div class="cc_show" style="overflow: hidden; position: relative; background-color: rgb(229, 229, 229); padding-left: 3px; height: 14px; padding-top: 2px;"><a href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/" target="_blank">The Daily Show With Jon Stewart</a><span style="position: absolute; top: 2px; right: 3px;">M - Th 11p / 10c</span></div><div class="cc_title" style="padding: 1px 3px 3px; overflow: hidden; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(134, 134, 134); background-color: rgb(245, 245, 245); line-height: 14px; height: 21px;"><a href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=213349&title=mike-huckabee-pt.-2" target="_blank">Mike Huckabee Pt. 2</a></div></div><embed style="float: left; clear: left;" src="http://media.mtvnservices.com/mgid:cms:item:comedycentral.com:213349" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="window" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" allownetworking="all" flashvars="autoPlay=false" bgcolor="#000000" height="301" width="360"></embed><div class="cc_links" style="border-style: none solid solid; border-color: -moz-use-text-color rgb(207, 207, 207) rgb(207, 207, 207); border-width: 0px 1px 1px; float: left; clear: left; width: 358px; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,Verdana,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 10px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; color: rgb(185, 185, 185); background-color: rgb(245, 245, 245);"><div style="width: 177px; float: left; padding-left: 3px;"><a target="_blank" href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=166515&title=Barack-Obama-Pt.-1">Barack Obama Interview</a><br /><a target="_blank" href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?videoId=167938&title=John-McCain-Pt.-1">John McCain Interview</a></div><div style="width: 177px; float: left;"><a target="_blank" href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?searchterm=Sarah+Palin&searchtype=site&x=0&y=0">Sarah Palin Video</a><br /><a target="_blank" href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/video/index.jhtml?searchterm=indecision+2008&searchtype=site&x=0&y=0">Funny Election Video</a></div><div style="clear: both;"></div></div><div style="clear: both;"></div></div><br /><br />How great is Jon Stewart? If you wish to take a moment to say a fond thank you to him, you may do so <a href="http://www.couragecampaign.org/page/s/ThankYouJon">here</a>.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-7421887584662428182008-12-10T14:13:00.000-08:002008-12-10T14:14:30.633-08:00People Are Strange When You Are PregnantPeople said strange things to me when I was pregnant. Most of it I was able to take in stride, but some of it really threw me for a loop. Early on in my pregnancy I took a trip down to San Diego to visit family. Figuring I needed the practice, I chose to sit at the front of the plane where all of the parents with small children congregate. Surrounded by small wriggly beings I took careful note of how these parents were handling the task they had undertaken. Most seemed to be enjoying parenthood, but the woman next to me seemed to be having difficulty. Her small son,who having just learned to walk refused to sit quietly in her lap, preferring instead to arch his back so he shot out of her grasp and to the ground where he could kick his heels with impunity. Blowing her bangs off of her sweaty forehead she turned to me, eyebrow raised quizzically and asked, why in the love of God I had chosen to sit with all these children if I didn't have to. When I told her I was pregnant she waited a beat, then snapped, "Well stop now, before it's too late!" My poor mother had to spend the entire ride home from the airport, talking me down.<br /><br />By the time I attended a baby shower for a friend who was about to deliver her first born my condition was much more obvious. While we watched the mother-to-be open her gifts a women, about five or six years my senior took the seat next to me and asked when my baby was due. After a few minutes of polite conversation she indicated her red-headed son playing a few feet away and said, "Don't be worried if your baby is ugly." I must have gaped at her in surprise because she hurriedly went on, "My son was hideous when he was born, and on some level I was aware of it, but as ugly as he was, I thought he was the most beautiful thing ever. All I'm saying is don't worry if your baby isn't cute." It was great to be able to anticipate, after that conversation, the arrival of my little Quasimodo.<br /><br />Then there was the helpful labor and delivery nurse, who assured us that once our baby arrived, we would become callous to anything we previously held dear. Remember how they tell you to bring a focus object with you to the labor and delivery room? Something meaningful that you can direct your energy into when you begin to tire of laboring. I brought a picture of our pet chinchilla Chillie with me. I know, I'm a dork. Taking a peek at the photo, our L&D nurse announced, "After this baby is born, you won't care about your pet anymore. It'll just be one more thing around the house that you have to take care of." The worst thing about it was that she was right.I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-27424066471513714092008-12-08T09:29:00.000-08:002008-12-08T09:32:52.729-08:00Living Nativity???We've lived in our San Jose home since 1997, and each Christmas since we moved here, I've driven past a sign on Hillsdale Avenue that reads "Drive Through Living Nativity". Every time I drove by that sign I imagined a bunch of strange, intensely religious individuals, having recruited somebody's newborn baby as a prop, huddled in robes around a makeshift manger in their front yard. Perhaps a Doberman sporting cow horns and a pug dog in sheep's clothing might accompany their vigil. With that intriguing vision in mind, I cannot explain to you why it has taken until last Thursday night for me to actually visit the living nativity.<br /><br />Determined to finally get a glimpse of this oddity, I tried to persuade Steve and the kids to join me. Since Steve had plans to go out for a bite to eat with coworkers and the boys were involved in a heated game of living room hockey, I set out alone. Undaunted, I followed the signs pointing to the nativity. Upon seeing a bearded man directing traffic into a church parking lot, the truth was revealed. This annual event was not a strange front-yard phenomenon, instead it was an event put on by a church. The <a href="http://www.foxworthy.org/cgtsj/">Foxworthy Baptist Church</a> to be exact, and this is actually a 15-year tradition. I turned into the church parking lot where I was handed a CD that narrated the seven scenes depicting the birth, crucifixion and resurrection of the savior. As promised, each scene was populated by living people and animals. These included a donkey*, a sheep, three wise men, and a freshly arisen Christ in flowing white robes played by an awkward teenage boy who was clearly suffering under the scrutiny of the passing cars.<br /><br />After the final scene had been narrated, and Jesus politely waved me on I turned in my CD and in exchange was handed an candy cane. Attached was a fascinating little note explaining the origin of this traditional Christmas goody. Apparently a candy maker fashioned it into a shape which when held upright resembles a shepherd's staff, or when turned upside down, makes the letter J for Jesus. The stripes on the candy cane represent the prophet Isaiah's words, "by his stripes we are healed" which refer to the wounds Jesus received on the cross. Even the white stripes on the candy cane have meaning, symbolizing purity. The living nativity is free (although I elected to give a small donation for their efforts) and takes about 15 minutes to drive through. While it lacked the campy feeling of my original vision, it was still a nice presentation and, particularly if you celebrate Christmas as a religious holiday, worth the trip.<br /><br />*I was instructed to turn my headlights off as they "scare the donkey".I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-35594915929058238272008-12-05T08:37:00.000-08:002008-12-05T08:39:32.815-08:00The Sexiest Scent a Man Can WearI shall spin you <a href="http://grommitblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/toenail-fairy.html">another Tom story</a>. For those of you who have not encountered Tom in this blog before, he is my formerly single friend, who once lived a life of the most shameless bachelorhood a man could hope to live. He lived in Palo Alto, not far from the Staford University campus where his roommate was a student. Via said roommate, Tom gained many an opportunity to work his charms on nubile young Stanford scholars.<br /><br />Scene 1 (A fine Saturday morning): In a manner not typical of bachelors, Tom has just passed several hours cleaning his apartment. Once finished he relaxes, beer in hand, surveying his handiwork with a satisified smile. Soon his roommate strolls in, and after some boyish banter invites Tom like to join him at a party. Anxious to take his many talents and charms out for a spin, Tom immediately departs, neglecting to shower.<br /><br />Scene 2 (The party) We pan in slowly on Tom chatting with an attractive young lady: She leans into him, drawing her breath deeply through her nose. Alarmed, Tom backs away, worried that neglecting his ablutions may have left him with an excessively manly odor. Once again she sniffs, and despite himself, Tom shoots her a quizzical glance. Seeing his confusion, she asks, "Is that Pinesol I smell? Because there's nothing that smells sexier on a man than Pinesol"I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-17243280055349438512008-12-04T08:40:00.000-08:002008-12-04T08:41:06.418-08:00Co-conspirator and Now Guest Blogger!<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A couple months back I asked my very dear friend Joanna if she'd be interested in occasionally contributing a post to I For One..... I was delighted when she accepted. We share a very similar and warped sense of humor, and since we met, almost eight years ago together, we have succumbed to too many giggling fits to count. Some day I will ask her to share the etymology of the term "fire chops", or perhaps recount how the "Lance Armstrong Rap" came into existence. But for now, Joanna has other things on her mind:</span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />Robin has asked me to be a guest blogger, at my leisure.<span style=""> </span>Now, this was some time ago and I have to admit to being a little intimidated by her amazing blogs during the election season.<span style=""> </span>We spent a lot of time talking politics, but I didn’t have the time or inclination to back-up any personal proclamations by doing the research that Robin was capable of doing.<span style=""> </span>But, with her recent PMS entry, I knew I had an in!<span style=""> </span>Now that is something I can relate to. And with that said – my first blog entry at “I For One.....”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>I recently went off The Pill.<span style=""> </span>If you’ve seen any of the new birth control commercials, and listen to all the subtle warnings they speed-talk into the end, or if you’ve even talked about birth control with your doctor, you know there are all those warnings about “women over 35”, blah, blah, blah. At 36, I thought this would be a good time to go “eau natural” and roll the dice. But, obviously there is a lot I don’t remember or even know about not being on The Pill.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>I had been “on The Pill” for 18 years.<span style=""> </span>I have been hormonally regulated for most of my fertile years (better living through chemistry!)<span style=""> </span>The Pill has been very good to me over the years – less painful cramping, shorter periods; all the good things that come with being on The Pill.<span style=""> </span>And, with the exception of a case of acne that was quickly cleared with a change in prescription, my skin has also benefited – normal to dry with the occasional pimple. Little did I know my complexion would pay the price......</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>Holy Cow!<span style=""> </span>My forehead has become a small oil slick. I’m not sure what is producing this lovely mess, but we might be able to tap into my forehead for the Federal Oil Reserve.<span style=""> </span>I’m honestly at a loss.<span style=""> </span>Somewhat oily skin runs in my family (thanks Mom!) but can’t say I know what to do about it.<span style=""> </span>This is completely un-natural for me.<span style=""> </span>By early afternoon, I dab my forehead with a tissue and off comes any foundation I put on in the morning and that sheen that’s been festering under my bangs.<span style=""> </span>I’m kinda grossed out by my own skin.<span style=""> </span>So far, it’s only on my forehead – Thank goodness!<span style=""> </span>I hope it doesn’t migrate south to the rest of my face. Can anyone suggest a course of action that doesn’t require burning my face off with acid?</p>I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-35003546673674105662008-12-03T09:46:00.000-08:002008-12-03T10:30:28.381-08:00Do You Complain?Are you a complainer? We tend to think of complainers in negative terms, as people who are constantly focused on the negative and who feel the need to make a stink about it so everyone can join them for a swim in their giant pool of crappiness. People that complain too often are generally ignored, in much the same fashion as the fabled wolf-crying boy. Too often have no worthwhile solution to offer that could mitigate their grievance. I'm starting to realize though, that a little judicious crabbing can actually be a good thing.<br /><br />Case in point. Last week I went for my six month dental cleaning during which I had to sit through 45 minutes of aggressive stabbing an poking at my gums. At one point the hygienist proudly showed me a piece of gauze that she had applied to my lower gums whilst conducting this torture, noting that they were "bleeding a lot". This was a massive understatement as I could literally feel the blood gathering at my gum line after she pulled the gory fabric away. I understand that a little bleeding is sometimes a necessary part of having your teeth cleaned, particularly if you are someone who doesn't floss frequently, but I floss daily and my last cleaning was nothing like this. I asked her why so much blood and she explained in a sincere voice that they were "releasing toxins". OK, if by "toxins" you mean "massive quantities of blood". Fast forward to today, when I went back to the dentist to have a small repair made to a tooth. Noting that the offending hygienist wasn't working, I decided to speak up about my bad experience. Turns out my dentist was very appreciative. Apparently this woman was hired as a temp to cover for the regular hygienists vacation, and after my feedback, will most likely not be coming back.<br /><br />Second case in point. People that won't park their car, walk a few hundred feet, and wait for their child outside their classroom really irk me. Even when Garrett was a tiny baby, I could be found, rain or shine standing outside Weston's classroom. For the last two to three weeks as walked into Garrett's school to pick him up, I have passed a woman parked on the corner of an intersection across from the school. I don't know about your state, but in California, you can't park on a corner. The corner in question is also painted in red for The Stupid and those who don't take the time to learn the more obscure rules of parking. Later, I noticed second car occupying the opposite corner, and a third double parked next to the first offender. Imagine how much I enjoyed maneuvering around these three lazy, inconsiderate boobs on narrow streets, with children and their parents crossing the road, and traffic going in three directions. So, I complained. I called the school office and requested some additional traffic enforcement at that intersection. Yesterday both corners were clear and no double parkers were in evidence. Corner parker was just getting out of her car, which was parked a mere half block further down the street, to walk in to meet her child. Complaining is a public service!I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-15470024450380936272008-12-02T10:14:00.000-08:002008-12-02T13:18:30.976-08:00I For One Contest. Plus a Trip to the Desolate Mall<div style="float: right;border:none"><img src="https://store1.adobe.com/images/store/product_boxshots/150x150/box_photoshop_cs4_150x150.jpg" border="none" alt="Photoshop CS4" /></div>I'm launching a contest here at I For One..... with the hope of coaxing you lurking readers out of the woodwork to make a comment or three. So here are the details. For every comment you post between now and December 31, you will be entered in a drawing to win a copy of Adobe Photoshop CS4 (Mac or Win, your choice). In order to be eligible, I'll need to be able to email you, so you'll need to have a Blogger account, which means no anonymous commentary. Sorry, immediate (parents and siblings) family members are excluded from this contest. In the spirit of clean competition, please try to keep your comments constructive, erudite, and worthwhile. Comments to posts older that November 1, 2008 will not be counted. Thanks for reading.<br /><br />In other news... have you been to the mall lately? Because wow! Weston and I went last night (the boy has blown through yet another pair of expensive skate shoes) and the evidence of the recession is everywhere. Even in the parking lot where we were able to immediately find a parking spot about three stalls from the entrance to Sears. Upon entering the mall, I did not see a single store that wasn't advertising a sale with a big banner in their window. Prices were marked down between thirty and sixty (!!!) percent. Several jewelery stores were liquidating their assets because they were closing their doors for good (EVERYTHING MUST GO!). It was striking how many stores had only two or three people working, and by working I mean sitting around the store carrying on a conversation with their soon to be laid off co-worker. Many shops had no customers at all. Those selling relatively worthless knick knacks (carved wooden tchotchkes, scented neck warmers, stuffed sleeping cats) seemed to be suffering the worst. If things look this bad in the malls on December 1, how will they look in a month after the big shopping season is over?I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23251589.post-62166956022150443372008-12-01T10:39:00.000-08:002008-12-01T10:54:28.147-08:00The Lone Vagina (aka The PMS Post)<p class="MsoNormal">No, this is not a post about a masked hoochie that rides around the Old West on a white horse named Silver with her trusty side kick Tonto.<span style=""> </span>Instead it is meant to give those women blessed with daughters, living in a lesbian relationship, or otherwise fortunate enough to share their domicile with an estrogen producing being, what it is like to be a lone woman living in a house with all males.<span style=""> </span>It means:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Knowing there is always a puddle of urine somewhere in the vicinity of one of your toilets.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Never being deprived of cleaning up that dish left next to the recliner or sofa.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Not being at all surprised to find three weeks worth of snack wrappers scattered around the computer.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Sighing in resignation as you discover that picking those wrappers up has resulted in the computer keyboard becoming filled with crumbs.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Finding identical piles of snack wrappers around the television and next to the video game console.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Walking by a sock deserted in the hallway and knowing without a shred of doubt that it will stay there until you, yourself bend over and pick it up.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Explaining multiple times that, on the floor and in the laundry basket are not the same place.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>The amount of effort required to collect 6 loads of laundry, wash, dry, fold, and place them back in the appropriate drawer apparently requires less energetic outlay than dropping dirty clothes in the laundry basket.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>Two sauce pans, a sieve, a measuring cup, a bowl and a spoon are necessary to make and enjoy a simple meal of dehydrated soup mix.</p>Surviving in a living space in which you are outnumbered by males requires infinite patients, a good sense of humor, and a keen intuition about when to just shut up and deal. All of those talents will leave you when you are deep in the throes of PMS. At that point, the prudent owner of an X and Y chromosome will quietly tip toe around the house giving you lots of extra space. My final observation? There is no such thing as a prudent owner of an X and Y chromosome.<br /><br />(Steve, Weston and Garrett - I love you guys. And Steve? Thanks for doing the dishes this morning!)I For One.....http://www.blogger.com/profile/04677769008818921943noreply@blogger.com9