You Must Be This Freaked Out to Ride

Sorry guys, no post last night. I was way too busy having an anxiety attack.

Unlike Binkley, my anxieties refuse to politely confine themselves
to a single room.

I'm going to have to get this under control. Because if I fail to post every time I have an anxiety attack, it could be weeks before I post again.

Yeah, I'm pretty much penciling in an anxiety attack every night for the next...calendar season.

Welcome to my well-organized psyche.

Yesterday, I spent eight hours at work tap dancing around numerous deadlines. Which is all I could do, because we had no: phones, internet, server access, email, or network connection.

Yesterday, I discovered that in 2015, there is literally no part of my job that I can do without a network connection. Except drink coffee. Which I absolutely consider part of my job.

If they ever invent a coffeemaker that runs on
a CAT-6 connection, I'm screwed, people.

Once all those precious functionalities were restored, I spent another two and a half hours frantically trying to rectify at least the most grievous disappointments to our clients.

When I got home, completely wiped out, I began to obsess over the fact that the photographer was going to be at our house in less than 24 hours, and OMG we're not ready. Somehow all the hard work Precocious Daughter and I had put into to cleaning the place was completely undone, and the place was a pigsty.

Possibly I was seeing things through the lens of anxiety.

I hadn't slept well the night before. Because anxiety. And after a frantic bout of cleaning that I'm sure made my family a bit worried about my emotional well-being, I went to bed early. And couldn't get to sleep again.

Because anxiety.

See the pattern?

So...two more days until the house goes on the market, x number of days before we get an offer (where x hopefully will be a single-digit number), y number of days until closing OR the buyer deciding they hate the house, me, and everything I stand for and backing out...

I'd like to get off this Being a Grownup ride, please. Turns out it's scary and makes me want to throw up.

I'm going to have some more coffee. Reliable, dependable coffee. Tastes good, perks me up, makes me poop.

I'll post again tonight. Unless, you know...anxiety.

The Worst Hangover I Ever Had

Not long ago, I talked to my physician about my drinking. We discussed various health risks and strategies for managing it, etc. The thing that sticks in my head is when she told me, "The last thing we want to do with someone who drinks as much as you do is to have you go cold turkey."

Medical-bitch, please. I'm the queen of cold turkey.

Completely unsolicited endorsement:
Worth1000.com is one of my favorite websites.

Not to belittle anyone who has gone through alcohol withdrawal symptoms - because as you'll understand in a minute, I know from withdrawal symptoms - but, as the old joke goes, I'm an expert at quitting drinking. I've done it a million times.

My withdrawal symptoms when I stop drinking run the gamut from not sleeping well for a night or two to...no, that's about it. Forty-eight hours of restless nights and weird dreams, and then I feel great. I actually enjoy not drinking at all. And I enjoy drinking a lot. It's drinking a little bit that sucks.

An oldie but a goodie.

But that's not what I'm talking about tonight. Right now I'm suffering from terrible withdrawal symptoms related to an entirely different addictive substance.

I haven't been drinking coffee lately.

Liquid crack, in its bean state.

It wasn't really a conscious decision. It's just that I really like coffee, so I tend to drink it by the potful, and as I get older, it's starting to tear my stomach up. In a nutshell, the thing I drink when I'm hungover has started to make me feel worse than the hangover. So most mornings for the last week or so, when I ask myself, "Hey...coffee?" the answer has been, "Nah, I'll just drain this five-gallon water cooler, thanks."

A charming stock photo of a little girl drinking
water from a...pilsner glass. What.

And then this morning, after several days without coffee - and even though I typically have a caffeinated Coke Zero in the evening - I got hit with the Monster Headache of Achingskullsylvania.

All damn day this beast sat on my brain and squeezed my tender think-bits. It was horrible.

Vodka never did this to me - not when I drank it, not when I stopped drinking it.

Vodka doesn't get all up in my business.

Tomorrow I'm totally caving into the beast. I'm going to straight to the coffeemaker in the morning and brewing myself some anti-headache potion.

I'm an addict. I'm weak.

How come there's not a 12-step program for java?*

*Because the coffee lobby has a stranglehold on Congress and is forcing its caffeinist agenda down the throat of true Americans and...oh, sorry, I've been reading a lot of crap about the Hobby Lobby decision today. Last thing I want to do is place my coffee addiction in the hands of the same "higher power" that thinks women should stay at home and wait for their man's company-funded Viagra to take hold.**

**hehehehehe

Blatant Discrimination

I have a very simple coffeemaker at home.

I'm not sure what that tiny little cup-like object is, though.
I use a mug the size of a gas tank.

It's literally the simplest coffeemaker you can buy. It has a carafe, a heating element, and an on/off switch. I could achieve the same level of technology by boiling coffee in a tin can on my stove.

And that's fine with me. It makes a damn good cup of Joe without fancy timers or multiple brew cycles or snotty little beeps that tell you when it's turning itself on and off.

But it has one feature that I must admit I took for granted until recently. It's ambidextrous. By which I mean the carafe has numbers printed on both sides, and the water reservoir shows the water level on both the left and right side of the machine.

Because - news flash - some people are right-handed, and some people use the correct hand.

Left on, Brother Ned.

So I started a new job recently, as many of you know. And just about the first thing I did was buy a coffeemaker for the office, since none of my co-workers were coffee drinkers. I love them, they're wonderful people, but who doesn't fucking drink coffee?

Anyway, I found a Black & Decker coffeemaker on sale.

Shiny.

It was a good deal. It probably cost what my do-nothing Mr. Coffee cost, but it has a clock and a timer and an auto shut-off. You know, businessy stuff. Because a businesswoman such as myself is judged by the professionalism of her coffee conveyance system.

I will not work for a company that thinks this
douchebag thing is a coffeemaker. Period.

The office coffeemaker makes a fine cup of joe, which I what I expect an office coffeemaker to do. But I can't give it a positive performance review. Because it's a bigot.

Did you know coffeemakers could be bigots? I didn't. I didn't know until I actually started using the thing to make my morning pot of go-juice. Oh, it looks like a nice, normal, cordial co-worker. But it hides a dark secret.

It's for right-handers only.

How ironic that "sinister" is Latin for "left."

The carafe is printed on one side only - the side that is visible if you pick it up with your right hand. And the reservoir is marked only on the left side - so that if you're pouring water in from the left, you can't see what you're doing.

Why is this even legal, people?

I thought we we had evolved as a nation.

It take me upwards of 30 seconds longer to make a pot of coffee in the morning because I'm handicapped by the blatant right-handedness of this coffeemaker. That hurts my productivity. And that hurts America.

Shame on you, Black & Decker.

I may have to buy a new coffeemaker for the office because of this. And I totally think my company should pay for it. Aren't there laws that require reasonable accommodations for workers? How reasonable is it to ask that my office coffeemaker be compatible with left-handed employees?  Extremely reasonable, I think.

This is totally going on the agenda for the next staff meeting. It's time to make a stand for equality, inclusiveness, and not having to twist my head around like a spaz to see how much water I've poured into the coffee-hole.

I'm going to sing "We Shall Overcome" now. And drink some left-handed coffee. Although possibly I've already had enough for one day.

Good News, Bad News

First day of the new job: completed.

Aaaawww, yeeeaaaah.

I got me a computer with a monitor that's bigger than the first three TVs I owned.



No, really.

I bought a programmable coffee maker and my favorite Community Coffee Dark Roast...and expensed it.


Is there any better kind?

My boss took me to lunch.

Mmmm...fruit salad. Omnomnom.

And I made nice with people in other offices.

Without being awkward about it.

I even made a friend right outside the door of my suite as I was leaving.

I will call her Suitie. Get it?

It was a good day and a good experience. I wonder what I should do tomorrow?

What?

WHAT??

What do you mean I have to go back tomorrow?



Shit. Really?

OK. But I'm gonna need a bigger coffee cup.


Pssst...like the surprised animal pics? I found them here.

Pumpk'd

This morning on my Facebook page, I posted this:

Do you follow me on Facebook? Why the hell not, fool?
Or thank you very much, as the case may be.

I enjoy pumpkin-based comestibles - to a point. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin cake, even pumpkin soup (the secret is freshly grated ginger). But at this time of year people start going crazy over some overpriced concoction from Starbucks called a pumpkin spice latte, and I don't get it.

I freely admit to an anti-Starbucks bias.

I would have carved out a slice for the Apple Store,
but basically, yeah.

The appeal of the corporate coffeehouse culture eludes me. More fundamentally, however, I'm just not a fan of so-called "coffee drinks." Milk, sugar, chocolate shavings, and whipped cream are all wonderful things, but they have no business mixing with the noble coffee bean. I like my coffee the way I like my men: strong and black.

Diamonds optional.
Also, Beloved Spouse is neither black nor particularly strong.
But it's too good a line to go to waste.

But I know a lot of people who disagree with me. Rabidly. I mean, I know people who probably would, given the chance, change their Facebook relationship status to "sucking face with Pumpkin Spice Latte." Those people are going to hate me for posting this:

It's not easy to pack 410 calories and 10g of saturated fat into a cup of coffee,
but Starbucks is willing to do it and charge you five bucks to drink it.

I respect others' coffee choices. After all, I think PB&J vodka is among the greatest inventions of the 21st century. Your mileage may vary.



Note to self: Possible to inject vodka into Uncrustables? Investigate.

Anyway, the pumpkin spice latte is what inspired the photo and accompanying caption on my Facebook page. Minutes later, someone sent me this.

/ferceperm

All right, now.

First: Saying it in Ermahgerd does not exempt you from being beaned with a pumpkin.

Second: Can we all stop using Ermahgerd soon? We've had a good laugh, but enough is enough. Our guinea pig's middle name is Ermahgerd, for crying out loud. In a couple of years she's going to feel like all the kids whose parents named them Rainbow and Miracle in the 60s.

Third: If that drawing doesn't prove the zombies-Starbucks link, I don't what know what does. Seriously, that is frightening.

Fourth: Did she become zombiefied in 1986? Because that's the last time I saw anyone rock the baggy sweater with paisley vest look. Maybe she was bitten by Nancy Reagan.

Fifth: I just now realized: The pumpkin spice latte is the McRib of the coffee world, isn't it?

Anyway, enjoy your pumpkin spice lattes, devotees of pumpkin spice lattes. I'll stick to plain coffee and flavored vodkas. Both of which are available year-round, by the way. Mmmmm...cheap, plentiful drugs.

And whatever you do, don't offer me one. I would most likely find it delicious and become a zombie.

Ermahgerd.

Today's Lesson Is, Chicken Artists Are Very Sensitive

I have arrived.

WOOHOO!

I recently received my first C&D notice.

That's Cease and Desist, bitches!

I said knock it off!

That's right, someone noticed that I had used a copyrighted image without permission in one of my posts and requested I remove it. Wait, let me edit that: Someone noticed...one of my posts! Cool. Anyway, I guess I'm like a total scofflaw or something.

Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.

Here's what went down. I was writing about coffee, see, and I went a-Googling for a java-related image. And I found one on the website of an artist who paints all kinds of cool stuff. In fact, I was so impressed that I went out of my way to give the artist's name and a link to her website directly under the image I borrowed. I hardly ever do that - being a modern citizen of the Internet, I usually just blatantly take stuff and use it for my own ends - but in this case, I remember specifically thinking, "Huh, this is a working artist. I'd like to give her due credit and maybe drive a little traffic to her site."

Except the artist in question didn't see it that way. I don't know how she came to see my post - I'm going to guess she Googles herself in extended lulls between selling paintings - but about a week after I published it, she left a comment that said she didn't allow anyone to use her work and wanted me to take down her picture of a chicken drinking coffee that I had put up.

Hey, you kids! Quit looking at my painting!

It was a reasonable, if slightly snotty, request, so I immediately removed the picture and replaced it with this:

I had a great image here, but the artist

didn't want it used. I will respect her wishes to

not have others exposed to her work.

Of course, her name and the link to her website also goes.

I wish I were rich and famous enough to not want

people to know about me.

Really, I was just having a little fun. I honestly had never heard of an artist who didn't want people to look at her art or go to her website. I thought everyone was an attention whore like me.

And these two.

Anyway, life went on, and I was writing about Peeps and drummers and shit. And then I get an e-mail from the fine folks at Blogger, telling me that a C&D had been filed against my blog! After I had already taken down the offending picture of a goddamn chicken drinking coffee!

Now wait, I say, wait just a cotton-pickin' minute!

Sheesh. What was I supposed to do? I had already removed the picture, eradicated any reference to the artist, deleted the link, and ritualistically burned the keyboard I had used to type it in the first place. I thought of actually putting the image back up, just so I could cease-and-desist it all over again. Maybe that would make Chicken Artist Lady happy.

I want everyone to be happy.
Even crazy people.

Clearly, I cannot cease and desist something I have already ceased and desisted. So instead of taking down any images of chicken art, I decided to post a few of my own. And I just want to say to each and every one of you that you are welcome to do anything you freaking want to do with my chicken art. Copy it, forward it, print it on glossy paper and eat it with fava beans and a nice chianti. My chicken art belongs to the world.

Please enjoy this work, which I call "Chicken Mainlining Heroin."

Or a little piece I have titled "Chicken Deep-Throating a Sausage Being Held by a Flying Fairy."

And I do hope you like the haunting and evocative "Chicken ODing on Energy Drinks and Listening to Old Depeche Mode Records After a Bad Breakup."

By the way, in addition to being beautiful and certain collectors' items, my chicken art is made of public-domain clip art images that I slapped together. I think the results speak for themselves. And I don't think anyone can complain that I used their shit. But if any chicken artists (or chickens, for that matter) are offended, just send a C&D notice to me c/o Blogger.

I like the attention.



Miscellaneous Matters

Just a few quick observations today. Who doesn't like quickies, right?

1. OK, so I'm drinking coffee today. After three days of existential angst, I walked into the office this morning and made myself a pot of coffee. No biggie. I made it, I drank it, it was yummy, the heavens did not open, nor did choirs of angels sing.

Not even a chorus of Stooges.

I don't know what the hell is wrong with me sometimes. Maybe the fact that I fell asleep on the couch at nine o'clock last night cued my body in to its fundamental need for caffeine. Or maybe, you know, oh God, the menopause. Don't worry, I'm not going to run the chicken cartoon again.

I'll run the happy squirrel drinking coffee instead. D'awww!

2. I'm going to flip my Facebook page over to the new Timeline today. You should check it out and let me know what you think. And like me over there on FB, too, if you haven't kindly done so already. It costs you nothing and makes me inordinately happy. And each "like" brings America closer to true health-care reform.

OK, that last part is a blatant lie. Do it anyway. For the baby otters.

It doesn't do anything for the baby otters, either.
But this picture is way more entertaining than watching
the Supreme Court arguing about health care.
So there's that.

3. Speaking of health care reform, can we all stop using the term "Obamacare"? Like, right now and forever? This is about the constitutionality of mandatory insurance coverage and the freedom of individuals to make choices about their health care. It's not about "waaah, I don't like the democratically elected President of the United States and therefore I'm going to politicize every policy issue he tackles and hope stupid people outnumber smart ones." I've previously discussed in this space my own feelings about so-called universal health care, including my opinion of duly elected representatives who won't pull their hands out of the insurance companies' pants long enough to enact true reform.

They musta had a big lump of wet sand in there or somethin.'
(Don't get the reference? Read this.)

In any event, the term "Obamacare," besides being misleading and also shorthand for "Don't forget he's a closet Muslim," trivializes a far-from-trivial issue. If you can't discuss it on its merits, maybe you should read up on it. Hint: Don't consult any media that use the term "Obamacare." Mmmm-kay?

4. I forgot to mention that Monday was Steven Tyler's birthday. He's 64 (cue Beatles song, if you must) and still looking pretty fine for an old, many-times-rehabbed rocker. He spent his birthday at the beach and oh my God what's up with his feet?

Is there not surgery to correct those ghastly piggies? Is that what you get for jumping around onstage like a madman for forty years? Do you have to call attention to your extreme hammer toes with blue nail polish?

I love you, Steve. But...gross. Happy Birthday.

5. Does anyone remember my collection of tiny forks?

I used them to recreate works of art,
like Edvard Munch's The Scream.

I just wanted everyone to know that my collection now numbers 42 tiny forks from packages of Asian noodles. That's an awesome number, and I may have to create a Hitchhiker's Guide-themed fork sculpture out them. Later, when my boss isn't around. He's not the type to appreciate fork-based art. I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a soul.

But here are the raw materials for a future post about my forks:

I call it "Man's Inhumanity to Utensils."

Yes, they do take up most of an entire drawer in my desk. How awesome is that?

OK, that's it for today's roundup of rant. To summarize: Coffee and Facebook Timeline - yes, Obamacare and Steven Tyler's toes - no, tiny forks - maybe. Thank you.

Oh, and did you know that Beck's beer is no longer brewed in Germany? Apparently that's upsetting to some people.

I'm Pretty Sure the World Is About to End

I can't use bad puns today - I gave them up for 1/40th of Lent. So this is going to be a hard post to write. Because there are so many coffee-related puns, and I have a coffee-related issue to discuss.

Coffee with a side of coffee beans? Sure, why not?

Seriously, my brain keeps wanting to write sentences involving "brewing" and "grounds" and "bean/been." Horrible, wonderful puns about coffee that I promised not to do today on account of Jesus. My brain does not support my religion. Ha ha, whose brain does? But I digress.

Here's the thing: I didn't drink any coffee yesterday. And I didn't drink any coffee this morning. I could have had coffee either day. I had time to make it, and I had stuff to make it with. And on both mornings, a few cups of strong black coffee probably would have done me a world of good.

I'm just saying.

But I didn't. Because...because...

...this is so hard to say...

I didn't feel like drinking coffee.

Whaaaaaaat?

I just didn't want any coffee yesterday. Or today. You have to understand, on Sunday morning I always - always - brew a pot of coffee and drink it while reading the newspaper, checking Facebook, avoiding housework, etc. Even in the middle of a Texas summer, when it's already 80 degrees at freaking sunrise on its way to being hot enough to roast a chicken in the evil, burning sun, I always drink coffee on Sunday mornings. Because I love the routine, and I love coffee.

Yesterday I just didn't feel like it. I thought about it, I looked at the coffee maker, and a little voice in my head said, "Nah." Which shocked me, frankly, and I almost went ahead and made coffee anyway, just to scald the little bugger for speaking such heresy. But the plain fact was, I didn't want any.

I know, right?

So...OK. Not the end of the world. I skipped the coffee, and life went on. Went grocery shopping, saw The Hunger Games with the family, did some laundry. While I was grocery shopping, I actually bought a bag of coffee for the office, because I'm almost out. Of course, the first thing I do when I get to work in the morning is make a pot of coffee. I mean, respond to important e-mails and check my calendar. Then make coffee.

Good one, huh?

But this morning, even with a shiny new bag of Community Club Dark Roast in hand, I...just didn't feel like making it. Didn't have the craving. Couldn't muster up the enthusiasm. Didn't want coffee.

That's a symptom of serious crazy, isn't it?

Two days in a row without coffee. Without wanting coffee. Am I ill? Do I have something terribly wrong with me?

Oh God, it's menopause, isn't it?

I'm too young to fry.

Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe I'll wake up thinking about wonderful, hot, tasty java. And the craving will hit when I get to work, and I'll brew up a pot of mm-mm-good coffee.

Or maybe...maybe there's a coffee switch in my head, and something has flipped it.

I like the idea of my brain consisting of a vast bank
of toggle switches. Nearly all of them off.



Am I done drinking coffee? Do I have years and decades of being a non-coffeehead ahead of me? Or is my body trying to tell me something...like I have a monster tumor that feeds on caffeine and I'd better quit feeding it?

Gimme gimme gimme.

Tune in tomorrow to find out if this is just a temporary thing or something far more sinister. Tomorrow I can use all my coffee puns, too. So that'll be excruciating  fun. And maybe I'll discover my body has decided to dump my cravings for cookie dough or pizza while it's at it, and you can all watch my head explode.

I'm going to go have a cup of stinkin' water now.