April 14, 2003

Musings while eating lunch at my desk.

This is not likely to be the most profound of entries.

One thing I neglected to mention in yesterday's entry was the fact that we found another home for Kye a couple of weeks ago. A very nice retired couple responded to the ad we placed in the paper ("Free to loving home - one lop-eared slightly dimwitted German Shepherd who will play fetch until her legs fall off.") (No, not really.). At 7:00 in the morning (we'd specified "call evenings" in the ad), they were the first of FIVE THOUSAND (again, no, not really, but close) phone calls we got.

Anyway, Kye. The couple fell in love with her immediately, and she warmed to them the way she generally doesn't with strangers. I told them all about her little quirks ("She'll only chase a tennis ball. Not a baseball, not a racquet ball. Tennis."), and they exclaimed over her markings and personality. I loaded them up with her favorite food, dish, toys, and treats. They took her out to their van, and she hopped in the back like she'd done it a thousand times. They've called a few times to let us know how she's doing (fine). They go RV-ing a lot and they treat their dogs like their children. I think Kye was a really good fit for them - they'll certainly be able to pay a lot more attention to her than we were able to.

Gadget and Gypsy haven't missed a beat. They're indoors more than they were able to be before, but other than that they don't seem to be viewing her absence with any kind of doggie despair.

Thanks to Robyn and some torture that she's had to undergo as a result of some on-line idiot stealing a picture of her off her website, and posing as her on a forum, I now have java code that disables the ability to right-click on a picture and save it. Go ahead, try it on Ozzy's picture. Which, it so happens, I snagged by right clicking on the picture out of one of my entries in my browser here at work, and copying it to my hard drive. Picture stealers take note - if you want my pictures you have a limited amount of time before I backward-proliferate this code into my archives!

Code courtesy of CodeLifter. Nifty, no?

Eyes are incredible things. They are wondrous in their ability to see light, color, beauty. They are brilliant in their ability to show expression. They are amazing in their ability to make absolutely EVERYTHING come to a GRINDING HALT because there is (what turned out to be) a one-inch long, very fine hair lodged up under the top eyelid.

It must have happened while I was in the shower, because all throughout getting ready for work this morning, my eye was irritated. It wasn't so bad, at first... got through breakfast, made my lunch, applied foundation and blush. But then I started applying my mascara. The weird lean-forward-eye-strain-open-wide-don't-blink thing women do when they apply mascara suddenly caused this irritation to become my A-NUMBER-ONE PRIORITY, like, NOW. Tears were POURING out of my eye. I rubbed and cursed and totally raccooned myself, resigning myself to the fact that I'd have to re-do foundation, blush, and mascara on the entire right side of my face. I switched from the bathroom mirror (where I have to lean over the sink to get in close) and the mirrored closet doors in the bedroom (where I can stand upright, but the light isn't as good), and back again. I kept peeling up the eyelid and rolling my eye around, trying to find the source of the irritation. I leaned waaaay in and bumped my nose against the glass, glaring into my own eyeball (which, when not bloodshot and teary, is a pretty cool thing. They're never just one color). I spotted the near-transparent culprit, and rubbed and pulled and cursed and watered until I finally removed it.

Man, that sucked.

My odd little lunch consists of Cool Chick Salad (diced chicken, black beans, corn, diced tomatoes, diced red onion, lime juice, cilantro, and olive oil), which is shoveled by the forkful into my mouth, chewed twice before adding a wheat cracker and a nibble of hot pepper, and chased with V-8. Scoop, shovel, chew, stuff, nibble, gulp. When I'm eating in my cubicle, instead of in the cafeteria where everyone can see me, I completely lack any semblance of grace.

Another thing which is somewhat on-topic because it has to to with me, at work - I've been dressing like a teenager lately. A recent trip to Mervyn's won me new acquisitions in the form of collared stretchy short sleeved shirts (in red! and blue! and brown, with stripes!), baggy "stovepipe" jeans, and cargo capris. A trip to Payless on the same day stocked me up on clunky platform sandals (which can be work with my boot cut jeans!), chunky white tennis shoes, and flip flops. Add a pony tail, and the comments at my appearance range from "cute" to "sporty" to "you look like you're frickin' twelve". Which, you know, can't be a bad thing, considering I'll be thirty in a little over a year.

Today, I stood in front of the mirror wearing my boot cut jeans, black platform sandals, and blue t-shirt with the laced tie in the front. My immediate thought was, "Man, I look like Marie." Followed by, "Heh. Cool."

Too bad that doesn't include being a size one, too.

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©Laura Charon 2000 - 2003.