Her Ladyship

Notes from the gutter.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Honeymoon's over

Sorry Obama, FAIL. Only one week in and we in Texas are under a winter storm warning. A winter storm warning! And here I was expecting sunshine and rainbows for the term of your presidency. Thanks for nothing.


In other news, I learned a valuable lesson about respecting the rules last week. My job now has me going to a site twice a week for meetings that is still under some construction. I'm learning all the shortcuts and am always looking for ways to shave valuable seconds to my walk from the parking lot. (Time, money, etc.) The other day I realized that it was almost a direct line from the parking lot to the back of the building where I was headed, if I walked through the grass. No problem, I thought.

Turned out what looked like innocent grass was in actuality a hidden marsh. I took two steps in the "grass" and sunk to my feet in mud. And it wasn't regular mud: it was clay, which basically engulfed my feet and turned them into two rectangular blocks. As I tried to free myself, the mud sucked the shoes off of my feet. Fortunately, I was wearing flip-flops, so after getting out of the marsh, I shuffled through the grass and got the worst of the mud off of me. My shoes, however, would take some doing to get clean. So I just abandoned them at the side of the building - no way was I going to show up at my meeting with two filthy flip-flops in hand. After the meeting, I scurried over and, studiously casual, gathered them up for the hike back to my car.

So take it from me: when walking through a new construction site with implanted sod that may not have taken yet to the ground, STAY OFF THE GRASS.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

And then there was light

Number of days of gorgeous, dry, cool-yet-sunny sparkling days we've had in a row: 2

Number of days Obama has been in office: 2


Sunday, January 18, 2009

Getting caught up

Life is finally calming down a bit. Just a word to the wise: never, EVER assume that you can work a week from your parents' house without having outside confirmation that the internet connection is a) reliable and b) relatively speedy. When I'd last visited, back in March, everything was dandy, but things have for some reason gotten belabored with my dad's wifi connection (The Texan and my brother-in-law, Roadrunner, both think that the computer has become infested with spyware and needs a good cleaning). So while all my colleagues came back from their winter holidays and got right back to business, I was barely keeping afloat with an internet connection that dragged its ass and forced me to spend about half every day at a local coffee house, which kind of bagged the point of spending the time at my parents' house to begin with.


Everyone else in the house is napping right now, which is the best way to spend a lovely balmy Sunday afternoon. I think I may have to join them shortly. I am reluctant to stop revelling in the speedy internet connection though. (How bad was the internet situation? So bad that I couldn't play in any of my Scramble games on Facebook and GOT BOOTED from all of them. WAH.)

Friday, January 02, 2009


I've been writing "2009" since about October, which I guess my subconscious trying to hurry up and get done with 2008 already. But now my subconscious and I can revel in the gloriousness that is the new year. Hooray.

The Texan and I plan to get it off to a bangin' start: taking down our holiday lights and decorations. Including the tree, sigh. Had to happen, though: no one wants a repeat of the year that I waited until Valentine's Day to haul the tree out and surreptitiously stow it in the dumpster of the building next door, then having to sweep up the trail of pine needles which lead straight back to my front door. (I don't think I'd be a very good criminal.)

I already got started on that, sort of. Last week, for xmas, The Texan made a turkey. Because we had the whole carcass at our disposal, he decided to boil it and make soup. A few days later, I started to smell something that, frankly, was rotting. And being the supportive, loving wife that I am, I immediately assumed that it was the turkey. It wasn't until I was wandering around the living room, going, "God, this almost smells like...rotten fruit" that it came to me. It was those damn oranges I'd made "decorations" out of by poking cloves in them and hanging up in the tree. They were all withering away on our tree of death, forcing me to toss every last one of them. I would like to point out that NONE of the sources I consulted on how to make those ornaments said anything about needing to take extra steps to preserve them. Stupid fruit. Say what you will about Twinkies, but those things preserve themselves.