Happenings

Hello, my friends. It's Friday. That means that I'm in that crazy-tired, can't-wait-to-go-home, but-still-kinda-actually-have-a-lot-to-do-at-work funk that leaves only one option for my over-caffeinated brain. Blogging is the answer. Always.

Val did a "stream-of-consciousness" blog last night, and I daresay that it was not only entertaining, but I'm sure very therapeutic. So here goes:

On Monday night, Adam pushed me through CostCo on one of those giant flat carts, designed for coffee tables and work-out sets, but also perfect for girls with hurt feet. It was actually really fun. "Turn here! I want fruit! And a gallon of soap! Stop!" He got to have some fun too, riding up and down the aisles on a mountain bike and defending me from slightly creepy old men who asked how much I cost.

While at CostCo, I bought two pounds of shampoo and conditioner. That's right. I have TWO 1 lb. bottles, who are now lording it over the little drugstore-sized containers in my shower. "Ha. We're from CostCo. We could smash with our beauty, cheapness and weight, you little pedestrian hair care products. We were only eight dollars a piece. Beat that!" When I bought these snobby big containers, Adam looked at me like I was crazy. "You're really going to use ALL this?!" Honey. They are EIGHT DOLLARS. For roughly six months of clean, great-smelling hair and bonus arm-work-outs every morning in the shower? Yes. I'll take two.

This morning, when I packed my lunch, I realized that I have a crisis on my hands. I'm OUT OF DIET COKE. Yes. This is a very serious plight, and I don't think I can go on with my weekend plans until it's resolved.

Also this morning, I went to pour delicious, hot coffee into my travel mug, but no coffee came out. I had forgotten to actually put COFFEE in the coffee-maker, (kind of an important step,) so I got a mug of hot water and cream. Ew. I lasted about 10 minutes at my desk before I had to go to Starbucks.

I was informed on Wednesday that I'm moving my desk. I keep expecting an army of IT guys to pop around the corner any minute and move me, but they never do... old desks and monitors and cables and fans and office furniture just keep piling around me. I figure pretty soon they'll forget about me and I can use all this discarded furniture to build a fort. I can even use a rope ladder to get in and out and defend it from the rest of the office with Nerf guns. That's way better than a usable desk, any day.

The other night we went to dinner with Adam's cousins, (Brent, Kim and Jill,) Mom (Karen) and Ashley, and it was a blast. We got gelato afterwards and heard hilarious stories about the Nichols/Zakaryan childhood experience. We also realized that several things are weird about Texas, including, but not limited to: Bridal portraits, wedding/engagement announcements in the paper, Mums, Texas highschool Homecoming in general, and property owners in Lone Oak.

Tomorrow is Adam's and my first-ever Engagement Party.* I'm so excited to get to officially celebrate... BECAUSE WE'RE GETTING MARRIED. I know! Isn't it great? I can't believe it either.

*Thanks again to Brent and Kim for hosting. I'm so excited to get to be part of such a cool family.

Forgetting to Worry

Adam: "It'll be OK. Why are you upset?"
Me: "Hi. I'm your fiancee, who is given to desperate sorrow and vehement proclamations that all is lost."
Adam: "All is not lost, Dani! Hang on!"
To which I laugh, and do hang on, and all is not lost, in fact, it's so very far from lost that I recognize my own propensity for such doom and gloom as completely ridiculous.

I know I'm a worrier. I know it's lame. I know I need to buck up, cheer up, move on and stop being dumb. But sometimes, the best medicine for a stupid illness is just a little distraction. So here, my friends. Enjoy:

Teen Girl Squad - 14

Scantron Armor..... ASSEMBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In Which Dani Gets Swallowed By Cubicles and Forgets That Sunshine Exists

Work has been stressful lately. That's really all I need to say, because recounting the stress simply serves to remind me of the stress, which simply serves to make the stress worse. Yes, close friends, family, boyfriend, and frightened acquaintances at the grocery store to whom I vomit my daily outpouring of recounting pointless stress, I realize that I am a walking, talking contradiction. But that's what makes me fun. Right? Right.

Anyway, when I get stressed, rather than do something healthy like go outside and recall that flowers still grow, or pet a cat or feed a baby or knit a sweater for a cold person or something else lovably wholesome, I wallow in the dullness of my life in a horribly sad and sniffle-inducing way.

I sit here, pointlessly wringing my hands and making to-do lists, looking around the gray walls of my cubicle, which are just sad, being only spruced up by shiny industry posters and the occasional horrible email.

It's lame. I know it is. Even when I force myself out of the office for lunch, though the faint hint of a summer breeze ruffles my hair and I am slightly wooed by the sunshine on my cheeks, I march myself staunchly into the cold dark of the parking garage and sit in Rocky, bemoaning my fate and listening to Dr. Laura tell people how dumb they are.

I just realized today after one such pointless lunch hour how really absurdly stupid this is, and how it doesn't help anything, and how if I keep on in this stressed-out state I might just have a coronary by the time I'm 30. So today, as soon as the bell rings, I am living up to my NEW to-do list, which has NOTHING to do with anything essential, at least in the traditional way.

I will:

1. Laugh
2. Work out
3. Eat something healthy and good
4. Enjoy the hint of summer swirling around
5. Go see my friends
6. Laugh more
7. Give good hugs
8. Steal a kiss
   

Hey Mr. Grumpy Gills...

"You know what you gotta do when life starts getting you down? Just keep swimming..."

I will openly admit that I'm grumpy today. I don't want to keep swimming, I don't want you to tell me it'll be OK, I don't want you tell me it won't be OK, I want to be alone, I want to be with people, I want chocolate, I feel fat. All of you Internet ladies, (and non-Internet ladies, too, but I can't really talk to you, no offense,) know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. Unfortunately, the Internet gentlemen don't, because guys are the most even-keel creatures on the planet, a fact that is currently very infuriating to someone who feels so very out-of-joint.

My day got off to an ugly start. I fell asleep to the soothing sounds of the Pilot episode of Lois and Clark - remember the one where the space station is going to cure sick kids but Lex Luthor wants to kill them instead and somehow make money on this nefarious plan while Lois tries to stop him by bossing Clark and his swishy man-hair around and pretending like she isn't bewitched by his adorable smile and big super-muscles? That one?

Anyways, I woke up this morning... Lois and Clark were long since vanished, my laptop having breathed its desperate last breath, begging for electricity, sometime in the night. The sunshine streaming in my window seemed awfully bright for 5:30, and I was just wondering why my light was still on when it hit me. IT'S 6:30. As in, a half hour after I was supposed to leave, and I yelled a grown-up word on my way to the bathroom. I got to work about a half-hour late, did not get to take Rocky to the shop before and so had to do so on my lunch break, and have felt crummy ever since.

But here's the good news:
Rocky will soon have fresh oil, rotated tires and a clean countenance, for which I'm sure he will thank me.
Work is just work, and staying a half-hour later tonight won't kill me.
I'm going to eat chocolate. Fat or no fat.

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming..."

How I Find Purpose, Fulfillment and a Reason to Get Up in the Morning

This email totally made my day. Right now, it's taped to my cabinets at work and highlighted in key hilarious places - an ever-shining testament to the IQs of our readership.

I like how he feels legitimately upset that his truck is not a boat, and his best insult is "stupid comes to my mind them".

E-mail, angrily entitled: "the public needs to know"

Hi my mane is Dave

I own a 2001 dodge ram 1500. lifted with off road tires, well I decided to go 4x4 ing with it last weed end well we went out had some fun in the mud, played for about 2 hours, well I got stuck in the mud and water imagion that. ?

as I was getting pulled out got muddy and wet had the time of my life playing in the mud.

I started to drive home it was about 2 hours home, my truck started overheating, and trannie oil started to spray all over my exhaust, needs less to say I barly made it home.

I sent the truck in to the shop to have it looked at well they called me back and said the hole system trannie transfercase differentials were full of water?? well to my suprise my truck is not water proof ??????

Who makes a truck that cant drive in a couple feet of water and mud , so I find out after 3100.00 dollars later I realize dodge trucks have vents in the tranny and transfercase to let out warm air, so I suck and what an idot I never though that the new trucks are not made for 4x4 ing?????

what kind of thinking dose the designers who make 4x4 trucks are they People that have no idea what 4x4ing can consist of .... stupid comes to my mind them for putting vents in to a place that can get water and me for not realizing that they dont know @#$% about what they are designing.

I am working on a design to fix that problem with the vent issue,, I am not mr know it all but is there an easier way to fix my truck to stop that water problem?????

by pluging or extending the vents some where , the water will not make it????

thanks for listing

dave

Let this be a lesson to you, kids: They people don't know nothin', and watch out when you're 4x4ing on the weed ends. Oh, and my mane is Dave.

And Though You Protest Your Disinterest, I Know Clandestinely...

Why do we still long to be popular? Why do we want so badly to be liked?

I was asking myself that I wandered the floor of a trade show today, feeling distinctly out-of-place and far from accepted. I stood in a group of my colleagues, wondering why suddenly my hair felt really big, my shirt (unflattering as it is, thanks, man-clothes,) felt even more boxy, and I wondered if I looked as inept as I felt. I'm here to cover the show - covering being the journalistic term used for fast writing and desperate quote-seeking. As Ike Graham said in Runaway Bride: "Journalism is literature in a hurry," and nowhere is that more true than when covering a trade show for an online publication.

When I step back and look at the situation, I see my insecurity for what it is - a foolish indulgence of my own fears. I know, in my head, that I'm a competent writer and editor, that I can hold my own in this industry and that I don't really care about what people think. I know that I have good friends, a great family, a wonderful boyfriend and a blessed life.

So someone please explain to me why the coldness of my colleagues leaves such a mark on my spirits. Why can't I live in what I know versus how I feel?

We're sharing the Convention Center with a Cheer/Dance competition this weekend, and walking past these societal microcosms reminds me of how I felt as a gangly teenager (or 24-year-old... I mean, what? I'm totally secure.) watching the pretty, confident girls strut their stuff and giggle their way into popularity with a toss of their impeccable hair.

I feel the same ache when my colleagues leave me behind as I did on the playground as a child. Don't we outgrow this stuff? Aren't I mature enough to not compare myself to "perfect" bodies and clusters of friends?

Here's what I know - I am a daughter of the King. I am loved and created uniquely for a divine purpose that I am still discovering. Now I just have to walk out and live in that truth... simple, right?

PS - Sorry that this turned into a giant public therapy session - it probably wasn't the best idea to start writing "out loud", but it's done now. Thanks for "listening".

Word Answer Girl

One of my friends recently discovered that I like words and stuff, (what? you don't read the AP Stylebook for fun?) and decided to ask me some English language questions, despite the fact that I occasionally say things like: "For reals."

Here is the transcription of our witty email banter - a testament to the joys of desk jobs and the weirdness of English in general. Enjoy:

----------------------

On Mon, Mar 3, 2008 at 7:53 AM, Phil Casalegno wrote:

Dani,

I have a question I have been meaning to ask you for a while and keep forgetting. Why is it that when authors write the past tense of words like leap they use leaped? Isn't 'lept' the proper past tense? Creap should be crept not creaped right, etc....

Random wonderings of Phil

----------------------------------------------------

On Mon, Mar 3, 2008 at 1:07 PM, Dani Linthicum wrote:

Dear Random Wonderings,

You pose an excellent question. To be quite honest, I had not thought a great deal about the leapt/leaped phenomenon until you brought it to my attention... which makes me wonder what exactly you're trying to write. Is it for your Website bio? "Also, I've leapt/leaped great distances with little to no sweat coming from my super-manly pores."
Anyways. I digress.
I think "leapt" is more common in the UK, while "leaped" is the US spelling, cuz we talk good ovah heah. It is pronounced the same though.
(Also, you are right, that "creep" would be "crept", unless you were saying "That guy who doesn't sweat creeped me out!" in which case "crept" wouldn't work. Oh slang. You're so fun.)
That's my best shot.

~Word Answer Girl

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On Mon, Mar 3, 2008 at 2:02 PM, Phil Casalegno wrote:

Word Answer Girl,

What you wrote makes alot of sense, but it isn't what I have seen. The most common example I have seen has been the word sneak. Everytime I see this past tense it is written sneaked. "John sneaked down the hall" I have seen this in both UK and american writers. The creaped example was from a UK writer. Shouldn't sneaked be snuck? I admit that snuck is kind of an ugly-looking word, but we don't say digged unless we are from the south.

Random Wonderings

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On Mon, Mar 3, 2008 at 4:32 PM, Dani Linthicum wrote:

Random Wonderings,

I can see that you are a true student of language. I applaud you. However, I have researched sundry and dusty tomes to find the answer you seek (as well as my personal vault of vast wordy knowledge), and I............ have no idea. However, I completely agree with you that sneaked should be snuck, and I'll thank you not to say mean things about my man even if he is from the South. However, according to the Dictionary, both sneaked and snuck are right, one is just ugly and the other sounds bad. I guess we can't have it all.

~Word Answer Girl

I've been temporarily distracted by... anything.

I can be a rather staid person, sometimes to the point of being so responsible that I forget to have fun. (You're thinking: we know you're no fun, and now you're Captain Obvious. Wow, Dani, this is really boring. If I wasn't stuck at work, I'd leave this awful blog and never come back... Well, fine then. Nobody is making you stay. Shoo. You and your mean thoughts. Anyways.)

Lately, though, I am completely distracted at the slightest provocation. Actually, the above paragraph is a perfect example. I started out telling you that I'm very grown-up and responsible, and ended with a snarky conversation between myself and my reader's imaginary thoughts. This imagination thing takes distraction to a whole new level.

Because of my complete inability to hold one thought for longer then a minute at a time, (My hands smell funny. Is that the keyboard smell? Wait, blog? Ummm, yes.) Anyway, because of the short-attention-span that is plaguing my life lately, today's post is in bulleted points of whatever random thoughts fly into my head. Enter at your own risk. (Mmmm. Blueberry muffin. This is definitely blueberry muffin weather. I wonder if Starbucks still has those lowfat-but-not-really ones? That sounds so good right now.)

Oh yeah. Blogging. First Bullet. GO.

• It's blueberry muffin weather.
• "Blueberry muffin weather" is when it's the perfect blend of stormy and fall-ish and we all (my family) hung out cooking (and eating) eggs and muffins until late morning, at which point we all just wanted to go back to bed thanks to our distended tummies, but instead would foolishly go chop firewood or something.
• Christmastime is here! Well, not really. But the mall and Starbucks are sellin' the Corporate Christmas Scene and I'm buyin'. I can't help myself. Something about the red ribbons, twinkle lights and eggnog just makes me happy...
• Naps are amazing. I've taken to getting home around 4:30 and crashing for at least an hour before my nightly activities begin. It's one of the best things about my entire day. Which is actually a little sad when you think about it...
• I need to work out more. Lately naps have had priority over sweat, so my fat has had priority over my muscles. Yuck.
  
• Speaking of working out, I work on the 6th floor of my office building, and can often be found running up and down the stairs following particularly aggravating projects - it doesn't work so well in heels, though. Frustration management and traditional business wear don't mix. I almost tumbled to my death last week.
• Hence, today I am taking advantage of the fact that it's Friday, and am in baggy pants and sneaks. I've already run the stairs twice and it's only 10 a.m.
• Friday. Just the name brings a smile to my face and a sparkle to my eye.
• I have to work this weekend though. Boo that.
• Diet Coke doesn't have the polar bears on their Christmas cans anymore, and this is very sad. They've replaced caffeine-addicted fuzzy characters with generic holiday-ish patterns and I am not a fan. Way to lose your edge, Diet Coke. At least Original Coca-Cola stayed true to Saint Nick.
• I got involved in an interesting discussion of facial hair last night. OK, so I wasn't really involved per se - I didn't have a whole lot to add as far as my facial hair growth patterns - but I was fascinated. How do bristles just sprout out of the side of your face? All six or so guys standing around had funny stories about shaving too often or with a wild boar tusk or something. That would actually make a great book. "Not by the Hair of My Chinny-Chin-Chin - Manhood, boyhood, the first shave and the quest for beardedness" Nobody steal this - I'm sensing a Bestseller here.
• One of my good friends is having a black and white birthday party tonight. I realized I don't have anything black and white. Nothing. So I bought a white shirt and will get away with pin-striped pants, I hope. If I still lived with Val some serious closet-raiding would be happening tonight.
• I cut my hair. Just cut it all off. Kirsten and I went to dinner the other night and were both complaining about our hair, so we decided to fix it then and there. We went to SuperCuts 'cause we're classy like that, and paid $18 for incredibly smokin' new wigs. Anyway, I cut about 5 inches off all the way around. Shorter in the front, longer in the back - but not a mullet. Just so we're clear.
• White-Out is so fun. I've pretty much mastered the White-Out on Post-It Note art form. Wait, what? I don't know who that girl is. I'm working.
• I bought a table at a garage sale for a buck and then spent $30 on paint and stuff to re-finish it, because that math makes perfect sense. Actually, though, "working in the shop" has been super fun, and I'm really looking forward to getting grubby again this weekend.
• Speaking of the shop, we've transformed Adam's fun garage into a SUPER fun garage, with two kayaks, a mountain bike, fishing gear, body boards and now, woodworking projects. His neighbors love us.
  
• Since the woodworking craze began, I call Adam's garage "The Shop", FYI.
• And, he's building me a chest/home for a very small, very naughty person who needs to be locked up in a box. Actually, I jest. It's gonna be awesome and I can't wait to fill it with stuff and set my hot cocoa on it on a winter evening. We even found the perfect hardware for it.
• I need to go kayaking.
• I need to quit making a random list and get back to work.
  

Commute-a-licious

As I have now joined the proud ranks of road-raging California commuters, I would like to add my horn to the noise. Here are a few tips on driving on the California highways, byways (hat tip to Steven Moore) and side streets and on being a good driver/pedestrian/commuter, or at least not a completely comatose one, as so many apparently are.

The likelihood that anybody who shares the roads with me will ever read this is incredibly slim. I know this. But writing out my woes is cathartic, and you are stuck at work, blog-surfing, and thus a captive audience - so you will read this, no matter how dull the story of my commute may be.

1. It appears to be a law that if there is one large, weighed-down, slow-moving, repair-man-type truck on the road, there will be another, taking up the other lane and slowing everybody down. Repair men of the world, listen to me. WE LOVE YOU. We do. You fix our plugged drains, unrattle our rattling doors, and fearlessly stare down the bad circuitry demons. However, our love fades every time you go 35 in a 55... and especially when you team up to make passing you impossible. We respect that your trucks are big and weighed down and you get paid by the hour. Just let the rest of us by... and our love will remain untarnished.
2. Same goes for moms. I salute you, moms. You guys work hard and have some of the toughest jobs in the universe. However, I also know that when I am behind a mini-van with "Honor-Roll Student" stickers on the bumper and shades in the windows, I am in for a slow drive. Unless, of course, Junior spits up in a big way. In which case we must always be prepared for the quick exit to the nearest parking lot/bathroom/wherever moms go to make do. Not really having much experience with the whole kid scene, I can't really hold a grudge here though. Just... good job, moms. Keep it up, and... well, you could move into the slow lane now and then. If you think about it.
3. Nobody in California waves. EVER. Megan and I perfected the art of "Dallas Driving" (one hand on the steering wheel, one hand waving frantically out the back window at everybody whom you're cutting off as you cross several lanes of traffic for an exit that you should have noticed a lot earlier, but were too busy jamming out to the sweet lovin' sounds of Plus One...) So I wave. I think as I get into somebody's lane and give a cheery wave, they must think "Aw, how quaint. She waved with her whole hand! She must be from the South." This, I assume, makes their day better because they start thinking about Grandma Hazel's Sweet Potato Pie and not the thousands of dollars in debt they racked up last night in South Coast Plaza. At least I hope so. They're probably just wondering what the heck I'm doing.
4. STEREOTYPE ALERT. When someone is driving incredibly poorly, if I finally get up next to them, I always look to see what kind of person has been so blissfully wrecking my morning. 99% of the time they are women, and 80% of the time they are on cell phones - typically very bling-y ones with large jewels stuck in conspicuous places. Girls, girls. Throw woman-kind a bone here. Silence is golden. Or the radio. Or maybe just watching the road instead of discussing your eyeliner application with your girlfriends. Or maybe you could talk about driving, and that would keep you focused. Something has to change, though. Please.
5. Pedestrians. Walking is good for both body and soul. I am completely in support of walking, and think everybody should walk and use cross-walks and all that good stuff. I would also just like to remind the foot-traveling population that crosswalks are kind of a favor on the car-bound people's part. Really. We have agreed that while you're walking in-between the white lines from sidewalk to sidewalk, we will not run you over. However, that does not mean that you can abuse the privilege. The cross-walk is not the place to begin deep discussions, check out your manicure, or drink in the scenery. I join your ranks almost every evening, and I KNOW that the street can be crossed before the light changes. Please endeavor to do so, and we will gladly continue not running you over.
   
6. Honking. Really, guys? Honking is to driving what "How to Save a Life" is to music. Overdone. Overplayed. Worn out. Please stop.
7. When people think they're being sneaky, they're really just being rude. There's a place right by work where you can get onto the 55 going either North or South. The southbound lanes are always clear, Northbound are always packed. So certain sneaky people think they can blaze up the Southbound end until just before it splits, then gracefully merge, with no one the wiser and their own selfish tushes a few hundred yards further down the freeway. It doesn't work. For reals. All that happens is the Southbounders get slowed down and annoyed by the unsuccessful merging attempts, the Northbounders get righteously indignant at "sneakers" lack of courtesy, and everybody is honking and tailgating and nobody is better off... and it happens EVERY DAY. Oh, dumb Californians.
8. If you're a guy and you pull up next to me, this does not mean that the Freeway Gods have ordained that we are destined to be together. It does not mean that I think you're cute. It does not mean that my window is down in order to talk to random guys, including you. It does not mean anything. Go away and learn to not be creepy.
9. If you tailgate me, I want to slam on my brakes. I have not done it yet, but be warned. No bueno.
10. Finally, be NICE. I seriously believe that people get in their cars and assume their mean driving alter ego. Wave. Smile. Take a sip of your $10 latte. Commuters are people too!
    

A Tale of Two Jobs ...er, wait, it's been more than that...

Ah, college. When you're in those dear old halls of higher learning, all that seems to matter is the getting of great grades and getting out. We are assured regularly that as soon as we step out, beyond our campus - with our funny-looking black hat and hard-won diploma in hand - we shall want for nothing. Great jobs will fall from the sky, and employers will be dying to hire such bright and shining new grads, with a gleam in our eyes and the world at our fingertips.

OK.

So maybe nobody ever said exactly that to me, but subconsciously, however much I talked the tough talk of a hard-knock life, I expected something awesome to just kind of... well... happen.

So I packed up my little couch and endless pictures and punching bag and memories, and waved a tearful goodbye to House 9... knowing that as much as it hurt, something great was just around the bend. A year and a half later, I'm still straining to see around the bend, and still hoping against hope for something great.

Today I am stuck in the middle... in-between my heart and my wallet, my dreams and what makes sense, the idea of a career versus being fulfilled in daily life. None of these questions have been answered for me. I have found with certainty what I absolutely do not want to do with my life, (Thank you, LA Times...) but beyond that, I swing strangely between the desire to do something great and memorable, and the simple desire to get off early enough to go kayaking before sunset.

This week I'll be making a choice about which direction my life goes. I know that I'm being rather dramatic, but I believe that all of our little choices affect the big picture. I also know that He hasn't led me this far to leave me... and no matter how many other jobs I take, or where this bend leads, I can rest in knowing that, ultimately, I'm not really in charge here.

And once you get past the scary part, that's actually a comforting thought.