You're Doing It Wrong

Guess what? It isn’t snowing right now.

The weather people have been on overdrive this week because there was the possibility of snow. *possibility*

Yesterday’s forecast insisted that we’d have snow overnight with huge accumulations. It didn’t feel cold enough to snow but I did some grocery shopping, just in case.

This morning when the alarm went off I could hear a little wind outside. I jumped up and looked out the window and: nothing. Wet. Rain. Still not cold enough to snow.

I turned on the TV to see what the story was and the news teams’ disappointment was palpable. They ran us through all their carefully accumulated footage of buses being chained up (for nothing) and took us to Hood River NOT EVEN CLOSE to the metro area to show us a “winter wonderland” which means there was enough snow flying around to make things look white. I imagine they would have delivered the report from Saskatoon if that’s what it took to show us snow. It was colossally stupid.

Then they ran us through some footage of someone preparing for an emergency. Buying a giant plastic tub to keep things dry. Buying jugs of water. I turned it off at that point because since when is snow a disaster? The people who live around the Great Lakes would be laughing their asses off right now except they’re getting on with their lives, working, playing, getting water out of the tap, eating food out of their dry cupboards even though there is snow outside.

I prepared for the pending snow disaster and took a big pile of work projects I could do at home. Then I forgot all that stuff when I came to work this morning.

If you could eliminate any musical artist from the planet — their entire catalog, who would you pick? Don’t waste it on just one song that you hate. Like I HATE The Safety Dance. Yesterday I asked Billy which artist he would eliminate — he couldn’t come up with someone right away — but I said, don’t waste it on just a song, like The Safety Dance. And he didn’t know The Safety Dance. He did not know:

We can dance if we want to
We can leave your friends behind
'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance
Well they're no friends of mine

I’m sighing with great exasperation even just typing that. Last night when I was driving home and radio surfing trying to find a good song I land on a station and what’s that tune … ? AK! The Safety Dance. I gasped and swerved and quickly punched another button.

But back to the artist I would eliminate. Off the top of my head: Phil Collins.

Turns out I am not having the hairy week I had expected. I had several in-office big projects that have been revised and then I was supposed to go to Idaho for a work related thing for several days and where it is snowing and the low is in the range of 23 degrees. There was an unfortunate event and the meeting(s) have been rescheduled for next week when I’m sure the temperatures will have climbed to a more reasonable range. Yeah, I know if anyone from Nome or Minnesota is reading this blog right now (ha ha) you are laughing into your triple layer wool underwear about now but, I am a California girl. I chill easily.

My Honda CRX had a windshield wiper on the back. Maybe because of the angle since it was a hatch they had to put it on there but I miss it. If you had one you’d realize how useful they are. Last night my Camry back window was dewed up or something that defrost was not going to solve. Not enough rain to wash it clear but a little too murky to make it useful to see out of.

Traffic was all backed up going home from yoga last night — took me 45 minutes when I left downtown at 7:15p. But I did not get impatient since I had 2.5 hours of class yesterday (Noon and 5:30p)(I had rearranged my yoga and other schedules in antipation of going to Idaho and decided to stick with it since I had my clothes and everything.) I drove peacefully in my blissful yoga daze with Def Leppard pounding out of the speakers.

Did I ever tell you about the time I hung out with Boba Fett? Yeah, well. You know what they say: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

I’ve been working on the feking-arsh PamNewsletter 05 ALL DAY. I don’t know why I’m in such a panic. It’s still November fercrissakes. It just seemed imperative that I get the thing done today.

I’ve been sitting here since about 9am just trying to get the CSS template the way I want it. Too bad I have no clue what I’m doing. In case you are curious, CSS is (simplified) the thing that makes the online newsletter look the way I want it to. It takes me about 10 minutes to write the text, 30 minutes to do the pictures and 15 hours to lay the thing out for the web plus another 12 hours to lay the thing out for the luddite paper version. And not like it looks so pretty. Oh well. When I was a girl we didn’t have computers. I’m unfrozen caveman legal assistant: your modern ways, they confuse and frighten me.

So here’s the update.

I cooked the Thanksgiving dinner. Yeah, sure it was only for 3 people, but I could have handled 10. I said I made mashed potatoes for 30 and Priscilla looked into the bowl with doubt and I said: I already put twice that much in a container in the fridge.

I’ve only done the whole dinner myself a couple of other times. I’m usually the assistant and Erin and Mom run the show. If there is any doubt: it turned out awesome. I made cheeseballs. Bob has been making turkey cheeseball sandwiches. Cheeseballs rock!

I don’t know where I was going with that. At dinner I said cooking was like yoga. If you practice the basics then when it’s time to do the advanced stuff: you’re ready for it. I was like a leaf. I floated on the wind.

Next week I have the most insanely hairy week. I doubt you’ll see me here again until next weekend. And hopefully you’ll have the Pamnewsletter to look forward to. Meanwhile, you can read the old versions here.

I found out the bus stop has been remodeled. This is the real bus stop for the kids in Orleans. Sorry for the confusion. I’ll try to get a photo with the xmas lights when I’m down there next month.

If you’ve never divided dahlias before and you think you’re going to run out there, dig ’em up, sort them in the garage, stick them in a box and then be nice and warm inside, sipping some wine and reading your book in an hour or two, you are sadly mistaken.

I had no idea what a job this was. I started in the front where the bulbs have done squat probably because the soil is completely dry, boiling hot in summer and a major catbox for the neighborhood. I dug those up in a flash and they emerged much as they’d gone into the ground.

Then I started on the back. omigod. Shouldn’t there be more warning to people? It was like a Stephen King novel where the dahlias took over the world. I think it will be four years in Spring since I put these in the ground. Maybe five. What if I waited a few more years? Are there abandoned farms from the olden days with dahlia bulb masses the size of Vermont?

Look at the size of this thing. (Actual not-Photoshopped photo. That’s our lawnmower in the background.)

Am I really supposed to wash all these things off and cut them apart and carefully put them away, with labels, for spring? I don’t want to. I’m already tired of the job and I barely made a dent in it. It was cold. And washing them made it colder.

Look how much I have left:

I wanted to have some to share. Now I’ll be paying people to take them. Begging them. If its sunny tomorrow I’ll put in another hour or so, maybe.

Me Hanging Out with Star Wars

What I Hate About Yamhill Station
I ALWAYS make sure that I have my train ticket in advance. This has to do with not missing the train and having to stand there for 15 minutes because I had to buy a train ticket while the train came and went. I also always make sure that I buy my tickets (10 at a time) in the morning or at my lunch hour, not on the way home.

The train station on the way home is near a mini-mart and is a hot spot for panhandlers, scammers and if I can just say the word: losers. I do not want to have my wallet out in this area.

But on Thursday morning I didn’t think I had time before the train arrived. (The recorded message said I had 3 minutes and those piece of crap ticket machines TriMet has sometimes take more than 3 minutes.) Turned out the train didn’t arrive for like 11 minutes, but who’s counting?

I totally forgot on my lunch break so now I’m stuck buying a ticket in scumville after work. Rather than putting in my $20 for the 10 tickets, I opted for the 1-way ticket and got my 2 singles out ahead of time: so I wouldn’t have to take my wallet out.

And sure enough, I don’t even have a button pressed on the machine and some scumbag is rushing over, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, “Ma’am? Ma’am?” Like that’s more polite when you’ve got your hand out. WTF? Yeah, I know some people have hard times. I’m not totally without compassion. But I’m not going to hand money over to people just because they ask and I don’t like being bullied at the ticket machine.

Sometime after I graduated from college I had a party called the Bridesmaid Promenade. The girls were instructed to wear a bridesmaid dress (the bride always says: you can wear it again) and the boys were instructed to wear bad ties. I would love to take credit for this idea but actually it was Trish.

The featured beverage was the upside down margarita. You sit in a chair and tilt your head back while your friends pour the ingredients into your mouth. Then they take a towel and cover your mouth and gently shake your head. (And imagine what “gently” means after you’ve gone a few rounds). Delicious.

This is a drink to enjoy in your youth. Fortunately, I did.

I didn’t have a bridesmaid dress at the time so the dress in the photo is my prom dress. It was pink with hand-painted flowers. It was later damaged by water leaking in the closet. Otherwise I’d probably be wearing it to parties still.

And yet another picture of my sister, this time with a soggy upside down margarita towel to go with her smile.

I call this one: A Day Without Potter.