Ford Super Chief

Ok, obviously I'm going to get all my blogging done for the week in this one hour. (laugh)

This past weekend, we went to the Cleveland Auto Show. We've become frequent guests of the I-X Center in Cleveland. We've been to several RV shows, the boat show and now the auto show. I wasn't all that jazzed about going but I'm glad I did. I had a lot more fun than I thought I would.

My dad is a car guy. He retired from GM after 36 years of employment as an engineer. I grew up in car country. Everyone in my neighborhood worked for GM. It was my way of life. I've never owned a car other than a Chevy. Every year, I take my mom and dad to the Glenmoor Gathering of Significant Automobiles. It's this swanky car show that is by invitation only for the exhibitors. It's an outstanding car show. One-of-a-kinds, everywhere. My dad looks forward to it every year. This past year was even more fun because there was a 1967 GTO on display, the very first brand-new car my parents owned as a married couple. It was fun to watch them get misty and reminiscent of times long ago. I guess now, I'm a car person too, because I knew a lot about the cars showcased at the Auto Show.

One thing is for certain, I'm clearly a European sedan person. I love the sleakness and design of a fine crafted European automobile. The BMW 760Li is sex on four wheels. I was moved looking at that car. And sitting in it, well, let's just say I hope I didn't leave a stain. (laugh)



But back to the title of my post. The Ford Super Chief. Something about that truck has stuck with me. Granted, it's a concept truck and I'm sure some serious modifications will take place before it ever hits the market. I was in awe viewing this truck. I can't even say for certain that I liked it all that much. All I can say is that it was sick, man, sick. That truck was sick. You have to see it in person to know what I'm talking about. The Range Rover didn't have that effect on me. Dodge's Mega Cab, albeit impressive roominess, didn't thrill me like the Super Chief. The H2, please! When we entered the show, the Super Chief was right there, luring you in. I thought to myself, "Cripes, someone has penis-envy."

But when I spent some time viewing it, I found myself being impressed. And embarrassed that I was impressed. I mean, this truck is sick! But something about it spoke American. Lavish American simplicity. A contradiction of so many autoemotions. Judge for yourself. Go to a 2006 Auto Show near you. You won't regret it.

Notice the bar. And glass roof. Sick, man, sick.

It's a DMB kind of day

Dave, take me away.

I woke up with that infamous feeling of dread. You know that feeling. The feeling of dread. That ominous feeling that overcomes you and you have no idea why.

During the winter months, I expect to have several days of dread. Ohio winters suck. However, this year, it's been extremely mild and nothing to complain about. Mild or not, I'm ready for spring. And green. And driving with my windows down.

Today's dreadfest is not comforting in the least. So before clamoring out of my SUV to head into the office, I grabbed my CD case. I knew the Dave Matthews Band would soothe my soul and send me to places outside of the four gray walls of my office.

I have to admit, I didn't discover DMB until about four years ago. A few of my online buds sang Dave's praises so I decided to give DMB a whirl. I mean, sure, I was conscious of the effect Dave had on college campuses and I knew he had the kind of following that pseudomimicked the family of followers of the Grateful Dead. I was into those kind of crowds. Before Jerry passed away, I was fortunate enough to have been to a few Dead shows. Those were some of the happiest days of my life. I'll never define myself as much of a free spirit, but when I was in the presence of the deadheads, I was one of the them. I was alive. I was in touch with my inner existence. I was free of the burdens of life. Peace, love and tranquility, man.

I always liked DMB's music. I was a victim of mainstream radio, however. Dave emerged when I was exiting my college days and setting up shop as a productive citizen of society - i.e. first job that paid the bills (and student loans), first apartment, engagement, wedding planning, being a grown-up, etc. I knew of his top 40 hits but wasn't familiar with the darker, more intricate tracks. Thanks to my friends, I discovered these hidden gems and have been a DMB fan since. I see the irony in that I receive my spiritual guidance from Dave. I don't care. It needs to come from somewhere.

My sister is six years my junior so she was much more in tune with Dave and the merriment he brings. Her friends were all big DMB fans. Last summer, she went to Seattle to see one of her friends. My sister's daughter had to pee so they walked into this little off-the-beaten-path coffee shop so she could do her business. As they were standing there waiting, Dave came in. Donning a skull cap and blending in like everyone else, Dave was standing before her. She instantly recognized his familiarity, but wasn't sure. She looked at the coffee clerk and as if she read her mind, she said, "Yes, that's Dave Matthews. He's a regular." My sister freaked. She smiled and said hello, and he did the same. I'm sure Dave knew that he was recognized but my sister played it cool. She didn't do the star struck thing, she went about her business, although the smile on her face was about 10 miles wide. After their encounter, she called me. Of course I was screaming on the phone, "It's not fair, it's not fair! That should have been me!" In any case, I was happy she got some facetime with Dave. Like the six degrees of Kevin Bacon, I was two degrees away from Dave Matthews.

DMB went on tour this past summer and I went with my friend, my sister, her fiance and many of her friends. I was a DMB concert virgin. It was glorious. I had so much fun. It reminded me of the days of being at Dead shows. There was a comaraderie among the concert goers. I let it all go and soaked in every fabulous moment. I felt like I was 21 again. If I could capture that feeling in a bottle, I would, but I wouldn't market it, I'd keep it all to myself. I'm greedy like that. After that concert, I was glistening from the silver lining on Cloud 9 for several days.

So today, Dave is comforting me. And it's working. I'm feeling the funk dissipate. I'm getting perkier. Despite the snow that fell overnight, the sun is shining. Sure sign that spring is on it's way. DMB season awaits.

I'm only this far.
And only tomorrow leads my way.

Valentine's Day Wrap-Up

Argh. The hype this day brings. My husband and I have been married for nearly 13 years and we've never been a couple who focuses on "romance" in our relationship. For us, romance is setting up the programmable coffeemaker the night before for the other person, or taking out the garbage when it's not your turn. It's a much more realistic and attainable form of romance. It works for us.

Occasionally, he surprises me. A few years ago he brought home chocolate covered strawberries the size of Kansas. This, of course, was after several years of purchasing me music boxes that I never collected, or liked. I finally told him so thus putting an end to an era of "what the hell am I going to do with this?" gifts. Please don't misunderstand, I truly appreciated the effort, but I often wondered what cues I gave off for him to think that this was something I actually wanted, or enjoyed. We joke about it now because he can be so predictable with his gift giving. The last few Christmases I've been given CDs that only he likes. I open them and look at him and say, "this is really for you, isn't it?" Of course it is. It's how we operate. I purchase my own gifts and get exactly what I want. He purchases his own gifts, gives them to me, I give them back to him, and he ends up getting exactly what he wants. We don't pressure each other into finding the perfect gifts. We're realists. Or lackluster boring old married folk.

His card purchasing lacks a bit, as well. For our last anniversary, he bought me a card that was clearly designed with a African-American couple in mind. Seriously. I read it, looked at him, and said, "You've got to be kidding me." He said, "What?" I asked, "Did you EVEN READ THIS BEFORE YOU BOUGHT IT?" The expression on his face changed to a bit more serious. "What, did I get you a sympathy card or something?" Oy. Busted. He fessed up that he hadn't read it. And we all got a huge laugh over my African-American themed anniversary card.

This Valentine's Day, however, he came through. I don't expect great things on these so-called Hallmark holidays. The last few years of our marriage has had it's ups and downs, and sadly, the downs are becoming a bit more frequent. Marriage is hard. It takes work. We're committed to each other and our family so throwing in the towel simply isn't an option. Besides, I'm a lifer. My parents are lifers, and their parents were lifers. Through thick and thin, you find a way to make it work. Compromise, compromise, compromise. Period.

He read today's card purchase. For someone as stubborn as him, I sensed a great deal of remorse in the words of this card. And it made me cry.

For My Wife

I know I sometimes let you down,

and that I don't always do the things the way you would do them.

I know I'm not able to give you all the things you deserve...

but when it comes to loving you,

I can't believe that any man has ever loved his wife

more than I love you.

It pleased me to no end. And when I burst into tears and snuggled up to him on the couch, crying into his sweatshirt, he didn't laugh or make fun of me. He just hugged me. No jokes about me being a sap. No smart-ass remarks about the silliness of the day. Just him finding the right card with the right words to say the things he's too stubborn to say.

That, my friends, was the perfect Valentine's Day gift.

Oleyme! and the RHS

When commenting on my blog, or a number of other blogs, you'll encounter the word verification box before you're able to post your message. I'm becoming quite fond of the secret decoder words. Today, while posting back and forth with Stray Dog, one of my verification words was oleyme.

Oleyme.

I love it. It's my word of the day. I've rattled it off about 100 times already. Sure, sure, you can take it to the next step and assume my subliminal psyche is itching for a little sumthin', sumthin'...but really, quite innocently, I think it's simply funny.

In other news, marginal work has been accomplished today as we prepare for a tour group that's coming in around 3:30. Occasionally, we are asked by civic groups if they can come on campus and take a tour. Today, we have the 50+ lovelies from the Red Hat Society coming in. A-Bomb will be welcoming these ladies in red and of course, we've been picking on him all day. A-Bomb is a mid-twenties cutie and the Red Hat ladies are going to LOVE him.

I slapped this picture together while A-Bomb was at lunch. It's hanging on his door.

P.S. Note that A-bomb is wearing a prison jump suit, donning handcuffs and a knife. No, he's not a convict, he wore that for Halloween one year. He's the Red Hat Society's Prisoner of Luuuv.

I think I OD'd on my birth control

So this morning I woke up with a nasty headache, the kind of headache that requires immediate medication yet if you move 3 inches, the vice tightens even more around your head. So you lay there hoping to either fall back asleep or die. Death didn't become me so I had to get up and get ready for work. In my search for pain meds, I realized that I had forgotten to take my birth control pill not once, but twice! Well hell, I needed to rectify that situation so I took 2 Aleve and 2 bc pills.

Now I'm paying for it. My head feels like it weighs 200 lbs. and aches with every inch of movement, and my stomach is on the verge of purge. Taking two pills at the same time probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. Too many Ortho Novum 7/7/7's coursing through my veins. And my mainline of coffee probably isn't helping the situation much either.

Sometimes I do the dumbest shit. I am Pilltard.


Oh, speaking of tards. I know, I know, it's completely UNCOOL of me to make reference to tards and so very unpolitically correct, but tard is such a universal word, and it gets directly to the point.

You must check out Techtard's blog today. "Everything BY the Kitchen Sink." People, I work for this woman!

I can't stop laughing.

Magical movie moment and I was the star - for 30 seconds

Techtard is yelling at me to eat something so I don't end up getting sick. Funny how we blame food and weather for our everyday illnesses such as colds. Put on your coat or you'll catch a cold. See what happens when you don't eat? You end up sick. I suppose there is some merit there, at least in regards to the intake of sustenance. So I took Techtard's advice and warmed myself a cup of soup.

During this lunch stint, I've decided to blog instead of work. Lately, I've been working through my lunches. Not so much today. I'm down. About an hour ago, I read NoDak Mark's blog and discovered that Mark's brother-in-law committed suicide. He was only 22. That's painful. So here I sit mourning for Mark and Liz, their kids, Liz's family and friends, and everyone else who has been affected by the loss. I have nothing to say other than I'm sorry. I can't imagine the pain you must feel. Hang in there.

Gear Switch: This morning I had one of those magical movie moments. Discussing this in light of Mark's news may be characterized as cold, but I know Mark and he'll understand. He knows I'm a heartless wench. *grin* At times I'm mesmerized by cinematography. I like things that make me think. Poignant things. Things that make me see more than what is really there.

Techtard and I were discussing the other day in the car about how we, as teenagers, lived much of our fantasy life in music videos and/or movies. We inserted ourselves into those roles that we found so touching and fascinating. Examples: I wanted to be the girl in the diner in the Ah-Ha video "Take On Me." Or, I wanted to be Diane, the smart and pretty object of Lloyd Dobler's affection in "Say Anything."

This morning, I had one of those moments. Not that it was anything special, but all the pieces were there for great cinematography. I was driving Joonya to school. He was chattering on about how he hurt his finger playing basketball the night before. I was holding his gloved hand as he spoke. Jack Johnson was playing on the radio seguing into David Gray's Babylon. It was snowing those big fat flakes that stick to your windshield. After kissing him goodbye and wishing him a great day, Joonya got out of the car to make his trek into school, then stopped and turned around. He smiled and waved at me. For a split second everything seemed perfect in the world. My life had a soundtrack. I watched the snowflake that landed on Joonya's seat melt because his warmth - his life - had been there. I was awash with contentment. That doesn't happen too often with me and when it does, I've learned to take notice. It felt as though I was watching those 30 seconds of my life on the big screen, the music and special effects enhancing the moment. I hope I don't forget this morning. I'm sure I will, but today, it lives with me. I suppose I can't ask for anything more.

By the way, this soup blows. Bah. Pleck. Normally I'm a fan of the "Cup-a-Soup", but this broccoli cheese flavor is digusting. I'm equating this to a packet of powdered cheese from the Kraft mac-n-cheese box with flakes of freeze-dried broccoli specks. El yucko supremo. Even the Diet Squirt I'm nursing can't mask the wretched flavor in my mouth. Lipton bombed with this flavor.

Well I suppose my time is up and I need to get back to working on a presentation. My head was pretty clouded earlier, I hope that it's managed to shake itself clear of the cobwebs and distractions so that I can work.

I am hopeful, full of doubt. And a finger in forbidden places.

That's one of my favorite lyrics from a Better Than Ezra tune. I am hopeful, full of doubt. It's so perfect. I have a lot of things cooking at work, one being a major shift in job responsibilities, thus adding to my hopefulness that something good this way comes while increasing my doubt that it's ever going to happen.

Hopeful.
Doubt.

This is the world I live in. If there is news, I'll keep you posted. For now, it'll remain a mystery. I know you are all on the edge of your seats. Hope you don't get a butt cramp.

On a lighter note, here's a funny Techtard story. Remember Techtard? She's my boss. And technologically challenged, hence the nickname Techtard. If you really feel like being politically incorrect, say Techtard like Corky. And put on a helmet. And prepare for dirty looks. (but I'll laugh!)

Back to my story. Techtard has been having some gastrointestinal troubles and went to see a gastrointestinal doctor today. Gastrointestinal is a fun word to say. Kind of like when Jimmy goes to get his annual colonoscopy. He calls it his rectalectalectamy. Another fun one. Just before Techtard leaves for her doctor's appointment, she and I decide we're going to split a pizza. Probably not the smartest move when you're having a gastro troubles. But let me tell you, Gionino's makes a damn good pie.

She returns from her doctor's visit 45 minutes later and immediately IMs me. "God, I thought I was going to blast pizza all over the wall."

Ok, a couple of words pass through my overactive brain. "Blast, pizza, gastro, doctor..."

She then appears in my doorway. She says..."You wouldn't believe how HOT my doctor was."

And I responded..."And you let him shove his finger up your ass?"

Okay, miscommunicay. She bursts out laughing, then her expression changes, and wonders to herself, "Oh my God, did I just send an email out to the entire office that I was getting a finger shoved up my ass?"

And I'm wondering, "Why did I assume she had a finger shoved up her ass? What's going on in my subliminal psyche?"

We laughed hard. She proceeded to explain the pizza blasting scenario. Because she was laying down and he was pressing hard on her abdomen, it felt as though the pizza was going to expel from her body and blast the wall. I assumed she got a finger shoved up her ass. Someone figure out the correlation.

In any case, it was a true Techtard/JMR moment. We have many, many of those each day. Now, for the next few days I'm going to marvel at the blog/search engine hits I'll get with the words finger, ass, shoved, hard and hot in this post. And I thought Sex and the City brought in some doozies.

Oh yeah, in case you're wondering, Techtard is fine. Dr. Dirty Sanchez thinks it's a reaction to a medication she's presently taking and not drinking enough water.

New Parentdom

No explanation needed.