GetSheila

Away Message

Hello. I’m sorry I can’t come to the blog right now. I am either:

A) Trapped under something heavy and cannot reach the keyboard,

B) Digging in the dirt and wondering why I did not discover this gardening thing years ago,

C) Trying to hide from the eleventy billion Facebook friend confirmation requests I received in the last week  (and wondering how this is possible considering I do not have a Facebook account),

D) Banging my head against my desk at work counting the days until April 15th Freedom Day, or

E) Sleeping.

Ha! That last one. So funny.

Okay people, I just joined Facebook against my better judgment. Because you begged.

I have been assimilated.

 

Technorati Tags: tax follies,facebook

Hug Your Mom

My good friend G’s mother passed away yesterday. She was 92.

I met G’s mom when G, JennBo and I went to D.C. for some KPMG tax training. Was it really over ten years ago? Sheesh.

The best part of that trip was meeting G’s family: G’s very BIG, very ITALIAN family. Some were alarming, in a fun and nonthreatening way, of course. (Confirmed: G takes after his dad.) But overall the G clan was a warm and loving bunch.

I remember G’s mom as being in the kitchen, which is how I remember my grandmother and pretty much every woman in my family. So it felt like home. And meatballs. There was something about meatballs. Either she was making them or we were talking about them or several of us were eating them, perhaps all of the above. Meatballs and the making thereof have always been a mystery to me so it kind of stands out. That, and the search for a specific Yellow Cab, which we never did find. But that is a G’s Dad story for another day.

G sent me a message to hug my mom. I pass his words of wisdom on to you:

HUG YOUR MOM. NOW.

You are in my thoughts, G, along with your dad and the other G and D and A and all of your kooky and loving brothers and sisters. Much love, Sheila.

Cycle of Life, How Very Sucky

Sad news: JCW's mom died Wednesday morning after months bouncing back and forth between hospitals and convalescent homes.

JCW is a frequent commenter here who always makes me laugh with his outrageous sense of humor. He is also my friend from way back. How far back? Before cell phones...before the first home computer, even.

Shut up. That was not really very long ago, you know.

I owe Mrs. C an ode but I just do not have it in me this morning. I am great with odes to cats and people who humiliated me back in the sixth grade. When it comes to people with hurting families who live down the street, I worry I will say something stupid and make their pain even worse.

I love you John. Big hugs and kisses. Looking forward to the Life Celebration after the services, where we will toast your ma and I can find out what she was really like.

 

Technorati Tags: Clerkin,cycle of life,obituary

GFW – Girls Fun Weekend

GFW has been canceled due to lack of interest.

GFW is an annual event where a group of women get together at an exotic location for a weekend of eating, drinking, and being merry, with sleep thrown in somewhere just for good measure.

So far, “group” means three, “annual” means whenever the stars align in the form of our schedules and our finances, and “exotic” can be anything from Seattle to Las Vegas to my backyard jacuzzi. As long as we are together, we really do not care where we are. It is just nice to see each other and catch up.

This year’s location was to be at my house, since my gals had not yet visited my new digs and I have a jacuzzi. What more does one need?

Alas, SOMEONE went incommunicado the week before her scheduled arrival after telling me she would be traveling to one state then coming to my place early on perhaps Wednesday or Thursday. Beginning on Sunday, the email and voicemail messages I left on her cell phone, at work, and at home became increasingly frantic as the week progressed.

I was not REALLY worried. My friend is very reliable. My only concern was whether I needed to take off work to pick her up at the airport – which airport? – and whether I needed to reschedule my Friday afternoon beautification appointments.

She called Thursday evening around 6:00 to say she was not coming and was, in fact, back home two states away.

It did not occur to me until after we hung up that she must have known she was not coming weeks ago when she made her airline reservation. *grump*

She DID apologize for not communicating with me and I know she has an awful lot going on with both family issues and a job that has recently become substantially more complicated and stressful. But that is when you need your girlfriends most, yes?

All is well, my friend. I hope to see you soon. Don’t hate me for blogging about it.

Girlfriend #2 was, I think, secretly relieved the weekend was canceled. She just got back from a business trip on the other side of the country and no one likes to travel again so soon. Her work is busy and stressful right now, too, so I suspect she took the weekend to catch up. I think I will drive up to see her one weekend very soon.

As for me, I was quite productive with my newfound free time. I* changed out all my front sprinklers so the rotor ones actually, you know, rotate so ALL my grass gets water, not just the strip down the middle where I pointed the broken rotor head so at least some of the grass would get wet.

I also installed a wireless network at a friend’s house, set up a new computer system at my house, set up a second new computer system at my sister’s house an hour away, and began the laborious process of grooming my former computer to become my 80 year old mommy’s new best friend.

Not a wasted weekend at all.

Technorati Tags: staying connected

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*By “I,” of course I mean I stood and watched while my kind and helpful neighbor dug up the old heads and installed the new ones. But I did BUY the new heads and I ADJUSTED them to the correct distance and pattern. I got wet and muddy, too!

The Not-So-New Year's Non-Resolution

Bitch, bitch, bitch...that is all I seem to do lately, isn't it?

I do not make New Year's Resolutions, but if I did, this year's would be:

BE LESS NEGATIVE

For example:

When someone pisses me off, instead of saying "Fuck off!" in my mind (or sometimes out loud, under my breath, when I think I am alone), I will say "Piss off."

What? Baby steps, people. One cannot go from "Fuck off" to "Have a nice day" all at once. There is a process. It goes something like this:

1. "Piss off"
2. "I am sorry you feel that way but it has nothing to do with me. I suggest you take a look at where your unhappiness is really coming from."
3. "I just cannot deal with you right now. Please, please go bother someone else."
4. "Yeah, sure, okay, whatever you want. We are all going to die, anyway, so what do I care?"

* freak catastrophic event occurs leaving me brain damaged *

5. "Have a nice day"

Did I miss one? Let's see: anger, denial, bargaining, depression, - complete personality change due to outside forces beyond my control -, acceptance.

Yep, that about covers it.

Tags: mental health, resolutions, anger

ScribeBob NoPants

Beware the Chowchilla Women's Prison, for they shall take your pants.

My friend Bob* is a writer. Or he would call himself that if only he could get something published. In the meantime, he writes. Bob is also a lawyer, but that is not his day job either. It does, however, come in handy when writing the story of a young woman in prison for life for killing her boyfriend. Lawyers are provided more access to prisoners than regular visitors. They are also allowed to bring more accessories, like tape recorders and writing tools.

But not pants. At least, not blue pants that resemble those of the inmates.

I can only guess this is to prevent a visitor from trading places with an inmate, thus facilitating a daring escape. But it is a women's prison and Bob is, as you may have guess by his name, not a woman. He is not a big, hairy biker, either, but I do not see how even the most unobservant of guards could mistake him for a woman.

Bob wears navy blue Dockers along with a dress shirt, jacket, and tie for his 6-hour interview visit. He swears he has worn blue pants before but apparently this pair resembles California State-issued inmate blue denim pants and is verboten. The California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation is nothing if not prepared. There is a handy little store nearby where you can trade your prohibited attire for something acceptable via a complicated sign in/sign out process that does not include getting to choose what you end up with.

Bob returns to the prison in his dress shirt, jacket, tie, and...sweatpants, then proceeds to tell everyone he makes eye contact with that they are not his pants. Like they care. This actually happens after a second trip to the Pants Exchange, required when he realizes the sweatpants have no pockets and he needs pockets to transport all his stuff. (Hey! Doesn't the jacket have pockets? I was laughing so hard at this point I forgot to ask.)

There is additional tomfoolery surrounding a tape recorder and a longer-than-usual waiting line due to Volunteer Day, but it all comes down to this: STAY AWAY FROM PRISON.

Good luck with the book, Bob.

PRISON TRIVIA: 

• More women are incarcerated in the small Central Valley town of Chowchilla - where the largest women's prison in the country is across the street from the second largest - than any other place in America. The two adjacent state prisons are the Central California Women's Facility with around 3,500 inmates, and the Valley State Prison for Women, with another 3,400 (both facilities were designed to house 2,000 inmates each). (via)
• Inmate Visiting Guide. Check out prohibited attire and items, like no gum. (!!)

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*Bob is the universal name for any person you wish to remain anonymous. Did you know?

Tags: women's prison

The Devil Wears Crocs and Smells of Pork Chops

I learned something disturbing this weekend: I can no longer drink to excess without consequence.

Bummer.

I had my first inkling of this last year at the office's after-tax-season Survivor's Party. It was held at an Indian gaming casino with attached swanky hotel. The Kahunas sprang for everyone to stay the night so we could party hearty, which we did, much to my regret the next morning.

Have no fear. I am not about to regale you with gleeful stories of fluids evacuating my body at various speeds and trajectories. No, that would be crude. I speak rather of what happens to the mind when confronted with the knowledge that 1) you are very sick, 2) you are going to be very sick for several hours yet to come, and 3) you are not sick enough to actually die and thus end the horror in which you now find yourself.

I had never before experienced the phenomenon of being so miserable I could not sleep. If you have not experienced this, I hope you never do. It is torture. All I could think about were cancer patients and other people who live with constant pain and nausea for weeks and months and years on end and, DEAR GOD, how do they do it?

So then I had the additional burden of guilt over feeling sorry for myself after a mere six hours of misery when there was a chemo patient somewhere at that very moment puking her guts out and not having the luxury of knowing whether she was going to live in the end.

That is where my mind goes when confronted with sleepless pain and nausea. Where does yours go?

I finally got a little sleep after an emergency air drop of Advil and Tums. While I slept, the office crew had a 10 o'clock breakfast meeting to talk about how to get my sick ass AND my car down the mountain, since I would be in no shape to drive by the noon checkout time. Little did they know the combination of Advil, Tums, and and hour and a half of sleep is The Secret of Life. By the time they got to my door at 11:45, I was brushing my teeth and giddy with the euphoria of normalcy.

What does all of this have to do with this past weekend, you ask? Well, my dear friend Tania got me drunk. Damn her! The good news is it was not as bad as last year, pirin tablets were close at hand, and I had a private bed available for as long as I wanted, with no noon checkout hanging over my head. I slept until 2:00, then did her taxes. (Note to self: taxes first, drunkenness after.)

I got back at her, though. I broke her wireless network. She had to get on the phone with tech support to get it fixed. But wait, that was before the drinks started coming fast and furious. DAMN YOU, TANIA!

LESSONS LEARNED  Do not drink to excess; If there is a chance you may violate lesson #1, be sure to have pain pills and Tums on hand; Always have a bed available with no time restrictions on its usage; If you break someone's wireless home network, accept no food or beverages from that person for the rest of the day (or possibly forever.)

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Note about the post title: Tania does not really smell of pork chops but she did have one waiting for me when I arrived. So thoughtful. And though I saw some crocs in the shoe pile, I cannot say for sure they were hers.

Tags: drinking, tania, tax season follies

THE KITTY TIMES - February 21, 2007

NICK CLERKIN-WHITCOMB
Warrior - Lover - Cat

John and Charles Whitcomb have lost a good friend. Nick the Cat died early Monday as a result of Saddle Thrombus, a nasty event that strikes quickly and without warning. Nick was eight, which makes him almost fifty in cat years.

Not that Nick was a retiring old gent. Far from it. Nick was known to destroy furniture, draperies, carpeting, and window screens without a second thought. Between destruction raids, he bullied his sister incessantly and demanded constant attention from his owners in the form of being held, petted and loved every waking hour of the day. If Nick had been a girl, he would have been a princess.

Why would anyone miss such a cat? Because he gave as much love as he got...and more.

Nick was a large, black and white long-hair with tuxedo markings. He was named jointly after Nick Charles from The Thin Man movies -- always impeccable in his tux -- and St. Nick, because he found his owners Christmas night. In true celebrity fashion, Nick shunned the spotlight, never venturing out from under the bed when a stranger came to call. Precious few were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of him, much less snap a candid shot to sell to the tabloids. He foiled the paparazzi to the very end.

Nick was loved fiercely and he takes that love with him wherever he has gone. Perhaps to the Rainbow Bridge, where he will greet his owners when they join him there one day.

So leave the fluffy clumps of black hair lying on the carpet. Vacuum later, for now you must mourn. Mourn the loss of your beloved cat and celebrate the joy and wonder Nick brought into your life.

(Unless you are Nick's sister, in which case just be happy you can now eat in peace without fear of a stealth attack from a black and white ninja-kitty. You will miss the ninja-kitty one day.)

"No matter how we suffer now, if that's the price for having loved him and been loved in return, it's well worth it. There can be no life without death, and I believe it's always good to keep that in mind." -- John Clerkin-Whitcomb

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Compiled from John's emails

Tags: cat obituary, pet loss, nick the cat

Good-bye Little Nicky

My friend John's kitty Nick died yesterday. Nick was afflicted with Saddle Thrombosis Thrombus, which is a blood clot in the aorta. Poor little guy.

You know John here as the commenter JCW. He does not have his own blog so please feel free to leave him lots of love and kindness here.

More about the perky furball that was Nick to follow in another post.

In the meantime, John, I love you and I am so sorry about Nick. My sister Karen sent me a link to Rainbow Bridge when I was dealing with pet loss last year. It made me bawl but made me feel better at the same time. Maybe it will do the same for you.

Even better, she also sent me a link to Dealing With the Guilt. Don't beat yourself up.

Thinking of you, John and Chas.

Tags: cats, pet loss, jcw

Robert Scoble - Husband and Dork

So says his lovely wife, Maryam. Oh wait, I don't thing she used the word dork.

I met Robert and Patrick once, at Blogher, and I subscribe to Robert's blog.

I have exchanged a few emails with Maryam and get all my best links from her blog.

That is the sum total of my contact with the Scobles.

So why am I linking to Maryam now? Because they are so cute as a couple and so in love and Maryam is so proud of her dorky husband right now that I had to share.

Except she did not call him a dork. Just so we are clear on that point.

Tags: robert scoble, maryam scoble