cindy's world

While driving on the freeway this morning, I saw a large wooden spool with wires or cables wound around it. It was rolling across the freeway. I was in the left-most lane, and the spool rolled from the dividing wall across my lane without being hit by the car in front of me, and I thought, “Whew, I’m safe.” It rolled into the lane to my right, and the moron drove right into it. I watched it break and ricochet in a diagonal beeline directly at my car! There was no avoiding it. I cringed as I heard the “BADA-CLUNK!” I don’t know how many pieces of it hit the right front of my car, or what happened to it after it hit. But I was pissed. I wasn’t going to get out to check my car, so I finished the 35 minute drive home and dreadingly came out to look after I’d parked in the garage.

The damage is small chips into the paint in the right corner bumper, as if someone jabbed a metal pen into it repeatedly, and a scrape around the corner of the bumper. Most of the scrape wiped off, but some light scratches remain. ARGH! I guess I’ll be Zaino-ing my car this weekend with Z5 scratch remover! I hope it comes out!! At least it was in the corner where it could do the least damage. If I had sped up, it would’ve hit the side of my car and probably dented it and left a longer scratch. If I’d slowed down, it would’ve hit across the front of my car and scraped up the length of the front bumper, or worse, bounced up and hit my hood and windshield. So thank heavens for mitigating blessings.

I think the most interesting thing in all this is what happened in my mind as soon as I got over the shock of the impact. I immediately thought to call Mr. W, but I realized my purse was in the back seat so I dropped that idea. Then I thought, “I’m gonna blog this.” Some years ago, when I was having a very rough breakup, I had no energy to go to the gym or to go out and socialize at lunchtime, so I just sat in my car in the parking structure to be alone. Next thing I knew, a public defender getting into his SUV parked to my right opened his door into my car so hard that it shook my car for several seconds. Incredulous, I stepped out of my car and walked around it to him. He looked up at me. “You know you just hit my car, right?” I said, forcing a calmness that was very apparently…well…forced. He played dumb. I almost lost it. I didn’t speak to that public defender for almost a year afterwards. But my point is that after this happened and he pulled out and left to lunch, I sat back in my car and the same thoughts ran through my mind. I wanted to call my significant other and tell him about this. But we were breaking up. So I couldn’t. And the helplessness of not having someone to help shoulder my emotional burden just cracked me and I sat there and cried. That was, of course, before I had a blog.

The house is vibrating with Mr. W’s operation of a red plastic guitar as he strums to Playstation 2’s “Guitar Hero 2.” Yes, he bought the game. Why am I not playing? Because I have gone blind from passing the game on Medium level. Yes! I passed the game. The secret super duper bonus when you get to the end is an encore with the classic Lynard Skynard hit, “Freebird.” Cool! That’s, like, the only song I know in the whole game since I don’t listen to punk or hard core rock.

My head and fingertips hurt.

*listening to Mr. W play a slowed-down practice session on Easy Mode*

Baileys! I need Baileys!

I am so unmotivated to work out. I didn’t eat breakfast and only had lunch less than half the time in the past 2 weeks, so my anorexia kicked in and I gained 3 pounds, despite all the gymming and cardio I’d been doing. So now I’m discouraged. I actually stayed in and worked through lunch today rather than go to the gym. And even tho Mr. W was kindly offering gymming to me this evening, I couldn’t lift my fat ass off the couch, or my eyes from the scrolling TV screen, since my fingers had cellularly bonded to the Guitar Hero guitar buttons. When I finally looked up again the TV and its surroundings were wavy, which I knew to be an optical illusion because of the constant staring at the dropping notes playing the game. It’s the same effect after running on the treadmill, when things seem to fly by you faster after you stop. And since the effect of this game was so similar to the treadmill, I consider myself to have worked out and am going to bed.

Baileys! Hello!! Or maybe a Frangelico. I’m not picky!

I have something for you plane buffs, or anyone who’s a fan of flying, or even if you’ve simply flown in a commercial plane before, or if you have seen a commercial plane in flight or in landing, or if you feel like getting a good laugh. Check out my sidebar links under “Pages,” to your right. I’ve added a new humor page called “Just Plane Funny.” I know, I know, it’s cheesy. But not as cheesy as an email I received from a coworker earlier, with the following riddle:

Q: If athletes get athlete’s foot, what do astronauts get?
A: Mistletoe!

I remember that joke from my 4th grade spelling textbook. Or it may have been on an issue of Highlights for Children. Or maybe it was printed on a woodcase pencil that we used back then. Or maybe it was in my Big Book of Children’s Jokes, which contains equally silly jokes such as:

Q: What do you get if you throw a white rabbit into the Red Sea?
A: A wet rabbit!

For smarter, at least smartasser, humor, check out the page I just told you about.

My jujitsu instructor told us some time ago during warmups (when we usually have casual class chats) that he met a guy who was being very pompous while talking to my instructor. The instructor asked him, “What do you do?”
The jerk said proudly, “I’m a rapper.”
Ever unimpressed by people’s egos, my instructor said irreverently, “Oh, you must be really busy around Christmas-time, then.”
He said the guy didn’t find it funny.
I thought it was hi-larious.

I got to catch up with a close friend yesterday on the phone. She was tossing around holiday gift ideas for her boyfriend. And then she said, “I gotta be careful what I say I want these days!” Because the last time she carelessly said that she wanted something she saw on TV, and it was close to Christmas, she ended up with a Showtime Rotisserie Grill from her then-boyfriend. I remember getting the phone call from her; she was sooo upset that it was laughable. “I have never ever gotten an appliance from a boyfriend for a Christmas gift before!” she’d complained. And the poor guy had been so proud of his gift, hinting that it was something she’d expressed that she’d really, really wanted. Recently, she happened to have caught an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond in which Ray gave his wife Deborah a crock pot for Christmas, and to top it off and make it even better, he bought her a set of pots and pans. Deborah was beyond offended. Seeing that episode did not allay her fears.

This year, she’s afraid she may have “accidentally” over-expressed her desire for a Chia Pet Herb Garden. It’s something she’d likely buy for herself if she decides she wants to cook more, but definitely something she does not want to unwrap Christmas morning. “I hope he forgot I made that comment, it was months ago,” she said yesterday. The conversation moved to bathrobes, and she mentioned she saw some really nice ones at Old Navy (?) recently when she was out shopping with her boyfriend. Then she paused. “Oh crap, I said I really liked the bathrobe and that I needed a new one, I hope he doesn’t buy me a bathrobe for Christmas!!” Hahaha!

I’m actually okay getting an appliance from a boyfriend, provided it’s something I have really been wanting. My judge got me a hand-held vacuum cleaner for my birthday a few years ago, and the staff pooled together and got me a scanner. Some other time I got a Tanita body fat scale. I was delighted every time. But then those aren’t my boyfriends. Hmm. I’ve never gotten an appliance from a boyfriend, either.

My gym trainee forgot her gym clothes, so I jumped on the opportunity to suggest a margarita lunch outing. I deserve it cuz I’m having a crappy day, right? While at lunch, I confessed that I don’t understand the concept of, “Oh, I’m having a bad day so I’m gonna have a drink,” because drinking really doesn’t help me feel better. She said she doesn’t understand it either as all alcohol does is make her sleepy, but that she uses the “bad day” thing as an excuse to drink. I confessed that’s what I did today, too, as I sucked on my margarita.

The funny thing about having really strong margaritas is that when you’re back at work, it feels like you’re sitting and walking at a 45-degree angle from the ground, but as diagonal as you are, you don’t fall over. Funky.

Is this another bad sign? After my run-in with Ms. Tactless this morning, I looked up my horoscope for today. It says:

Loving Venus is now in your 7th House of Relationships, but your romantic life may be fraught with problems, for the love planet needs rules when in Capricorn. This can create an unsettling situation, for you may now be offered the security you seek, but with enough restrictions to make you uncomfortable. Think about what you’re willing to give up for emotional safety. Even if the circumstances seem out of your control, your response is your decision.

So what’s that supposed to mean? That my relationship is stable but really terrible? And I’m short-changing myself in order to be emotionally placid? The last few months of this horoscope has not applied to me so I’d been sending it on to college roommie Diana, who’s also a Cancer, and she’s been saying that it’s applied to her, so maybe this is her horoscope instead of mine again. I don’t know.

Trouble walked up to me before I even got in the elevator to get to my floor at work this morning. I’m still standing there waiting for the elevator to come down and this coworker — this oversensitive, tactless woman as her reputation is not only known to be but personally experienced by everyone — decided to make some inappropriate comment at me about something that’s none of her business and in fact, even made her sort of a hypocrite. Of course I defended myself and she wanted to have a bickersesh with me, so I just clammed up and refused to make any further eye contact with her. Finally inside the elevator, there was a 3rd person so I just stared at the buttons, feeling my face grow hot with my anger. The coworker spoke again. “*scoff* You are just getting skinnier and skinnier.” I didn’t turn around. She said, “You. Cindy. Aren’t you getting skinnier and skinnier?” This would be a compliment coming from anyone else, but even last Friday other coworkers were commiserating to me about how this very same coworker has been on their nerves accusing them of starving themselves and looking too sickly with weight loss, when my coworkers have felt just fine about themselves and didn’t need her critique. I told her in the elevator, “I don’t know. I don’t think I am.” She kept going on insisting that I’m dissolving and what am I trying to do? I said that I haven’t done anything, whatever I do isn’t working. Then my floor was up and I stepped out.

What a way to ruin the day. First thing at work. She couldn’t even wait until she was standing with me waiting for the elevator before she started; she had to talk crap as she was still walking toward me! I totally covered her butt last week, too, because for 3 days, she was supposed to work this specialized very busy courtroom, she had a fit, so I covered both that courtroom and my own courtroom so that she could go sit in her cushy relaxed courtroom. See if I ever do HER any more favors. Hmmph.

Our holiday shopping errands took Mr. W and I to Target at the Irvine Spectrum yesterday, and what do we see hanging on the shelves? GigaPets! There’s a GigaTomcat and GigaDogs…right next to — that’s right — Tamagotchi keychains!! What the hey?? I didn’t know they were making a comeback! I was just writing about what awful things those gadgets are. I can see a parent saying, “No, we’re not getting you a dog for Christmas. You can have this GigaDog, though, and if you can take good care of it and have it not die, then we’ll consider getting you a real dog. *snicker* “

Whoa. I just typed the following sentence:

The seventh cause of action for breach of implied covenant of good faith and fair dealing is dependent on the first cause of action for breach of contract, which is defective.

And then I paused. Isn’t it d-e-p-e-n-d-A-n-t? Or maybe it’s one of those affect/effect things where one version is a verb and the other is a noun. Maybe “dependent” is a verb, like when you’re dependent on someone. And dependant is a person, like a child. So I looked it up.

DependAnt does not exist!! Did you guys know that?! I’ve been misspelling this word my entire life?! I’m sure I’ve typed things like “I’m independant,” “she’s co-dependant,” all over this blog.

I am humbled.

**Addendum: What’s even weirder is that I looked up both “dependant” and “dependent” on my search fields on this blog, and apparently I’ve been using it correctly way more times than I’ve used it incorrectly, which is like once. So I KNEW about this spelling, but had somehow FORGOTTEN? What’s going on with my brain today?!