Friday, May 18, 2012

Internet Rules

Rule #1 of internet boredom is to not - under ANY circumstances - google your ex-boyfriends.  Because it will just create a downward spiral of self-doubt, feelings of inadequacy, and a whole lot of "what was wrong with ME???"  Assuming that you were seriously interested in this guy.  Otherwise said search may invoke feelings of elation and self-validation when you see what ol' Bubba is up to now.  (Why you ever thought it was a good idea to date someone named "Bubba" is on you though.)

For example, just today, I typed Scott Klonczynski* into dorkbook just to see what would happen.  I don't even know what made me think of him.  It's been at least five - nearly six - years since I've had any contact with him.  Last I knew he was a too tall, too skinny, high school rowing coach working the door of a bar in southern Oregon to make some extra cash.  (That was also a point in my life where I didn't have the first clue about what the hell I wanted, let alone from whom or when.  I was 24; he was 23, so we both pretty much knew jack-diggly.  But goddam, he was good in the sack.)  The only viable result came with a profile picture of two little kids.  No way, I thought.  But my curiosity had been piqued, so off to google I went.  Sure enough, Screw Responsibility Scott has himself a pretty wife, two totally adorable children, and was named Amateur Athlete of the Week by the local news station for some ridiculous running endeavor.**  I was crazy about this guy at the time, and he about me.  Obviously it didn't work out, and really, for obvious reasons (refer to "I was 24; he was 23..."), but it still twinged a nerve.  The idea that someone else has what I ultimately want.  The fact that he and Mrs. K are (assumedly) happily married with hopes and promises of a bright future together.  The fact that I'm still searching for just that - someone who wants to be with me until we take our respective dirt naps.  Someone to grow up and grow old with, and yes, even reproduce.

Then I reminded myself that this is the path I chose.  If baby making, husband supporting, dish washing was all I wanted, I could have settled in years ago.  But it's not.  It's not all of who I want to be.  It's certainly a part of it, and I fully admit that part of me feels totally inadequate that I haven't met a man who wants to make an honest woman out of me.  But I have a hell of good thing going, and even though it doesn't involve a ring on my finger, it's not to be discredited (not even by self-doubt).

And, to make the point, there is a terribly sexy man back at my place waiting to cook me dinner.

*Name changed to protect the not-so-innocent, or at least to avoid a potentially very awkward phone call.  I apologize if there is a real Scott Klonczynski reading this, you're not who I'm talking about.  Or if your current girlfriend/wife/mistress finds this offensive, also not my intent.  But, assuming you're just as good in the sack at the fictional Scott, she should consider herself lucky.

**And this is why you should google yourself and get all that kind of information off the interwebs, otherwise one of your exes will be writing a blog post about you too before too long.  TBD whether you will fall into the Scott or Bubba category.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Cranky Pants

I get to the test today and every one is cranky.  And Phil - who's not even here - was spreading the crank love all over the lab.  We ended up retaking some data, ulitmately due to a failed bit of equipment.  But the finger pointing was all over, on shaker force levels, on data analysis, on how-didn't-you-catch-this-or-that, or why-did-you-use-those-values.  Massive miscommunication.  (Like, when you say "this file here is the plan that we will follow to the letter" you need to SAY that you actually mean "this is a general guideline to what we may or may not do over the next few weeks" and when I say "I'm not really sure what I'm doing" you cannot say "oh, you'll be fine... NO, DON'T DO IT THAT WAY.")  I got chewed out, I did some chewing out, and ended up pretty pissed off about the whole thing.

And then I took it out on FNG.  And now I feel like a jerk.  He kind of walked in the midst of everything and since I was getting the finger pointed at me, I passed it on to him, which was not cool.  I apologized, he told me he would turn my skin into a sweater and we moved on.  But I still feel like a jerk.  And like we're tiptoeing around each other.  But it's day six of testing, day six of long days, missing our home lives, not getting enough sleep, and not making great strides towards finishing the testing.  This is about when we all start bitching at each other.  Another day or two and we'll all be over it.

I did pick up some phad thai on my way in, which was good - even cold by the time I got to it.  It fared much better than the sushi from the deli yesterday after it sat around for two hours.  Guts are fairly unhappy - probably from the package of GF oreos ("dream cookies") that I've demolished over the last three days.  And the Flying Apron cinnamon roll.  Or maybe the fact that it's 83.7 degrees in the motorhome and my sandwich is practically melted by the time I get to it.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Oh, Canada

Adam is taking full advantage of his last few days of unemployment and has run off to Canada with Evan and some girl.  They'll be climbing in Squamish at some ginormous wall for the rest of the week, which means GIRL TIME!  Gaia and I will eat all the chicken, kale and sweet potato we damn well please, and we will do it without East Coast froofy food and wine judgement being cast upon us.  I think my fridge is actually totally full at this point - almost reminiscent of college where we had four different food contributors.

Still here on the night shift - probably not all the way til midnight again.  Slow start to the testing, per usual.  Tomorrow the evil skin patch testing begins, where they will put allergens on my back and leave them there for two whole days, then monitor the reaction for another three.  I'm not entirely sure how testing the everyday stuff I use will help determine why my skin breaks out when I leave my safe bubble, but it's worth a shot.  But that means no showering or sweating or big back muscle movements for five days, and that does not sound appealing AT ALL.

I feel like there's not a whole lot else to report.  Perhaps I will write up the epic dryer saga.  Or address some emails I've been avoiding.  Or have another cookie.

Sunday, May 13, 2012


Here we are, day three of GVT'ing.  There's hope that we'll be out before midnight tonight, but since we're all so damn excited with the prospect, it won't happen.

Adam's out climbing for the weekend, so it was girls' night last night at my place.  Gaia and I had snacks and beer for dinner, put on our comfy pants and watched some SNL.  And by that I mean, I had snacks and beer, put on my comfy pants and watched SNL.  Gaia got kibble, a pee treat and then stared at my cookie until I ate it all, then gave me the "F-U, Darling," plopped down on the opposite side of the couch and passed out.

Friday night when I got home there was a white Camry in my spot, so I parked it in and left a note that said "You've parked in my spot and now you must wait until I'm ready to leave.  If you park here again I will have you towed."  Which I think got the message across.  But then I spent the rest of the night worrying that the car belonged to the stalker or that they'd relatiate and slash all my tires (which, Adam pointed out, would still not improve their situation at all, so then we could at least have a confrontation about it).  Either way, they had figured out how to get out Saturday morning, and my bumper still looks in tact, so it's FINE.  But the whole thing put a damper on what was otherwise a wonderful dinner made ready when I walked through the door, bottle of wine ready and everything.  Adam slow roasted the pork shoulder, made mushroom risotto, and sauteed zucchini.  It was pretty much amazing.  And now I'm getting hungry for the leftovers that are still in the fridge.  Salad again today.

Today is mother's day, and I left a message for Mom Potter.  It feels more like a silly Hallmark holiday than anything.  Why should I not love my mom just as much every other day of the year?  Well, jokes on you Hallmark, since no one in the family has it together enough to get Mom something on this day anyway.  Andrew said he'd Facebook friend her as a gift.  Not sure my dad's radar even pinged this day.  I read an article yesterday written by a mother who had lost a child, giving her perspective on the whole thing.  Heartwrenching.  Just another marker in the year for a reminder of the loss.  Again, screw you Hallmark.

Anyway, pulling out of that... not much more to report - it's still 75+ and perfect here.  Got the bike on the back of the jeep, so hopefully we're out of here enough before dark that I can ride home.

Friday, May 11, 2012

Night Moves

Here we are, another round of GVT'ing.  Twelve hour shifts are much more appealing when it's NOT 75 and sunny and perfect.  Technically I'm on the 2p-Midnight shift, but that really means I'm on the noon-midnight-thirty shift, so that I can get in and get my day job done for two hours and tidy up post shift.  The first day is always the worst - partly because there are potentially 19 more days exactly like it, and partly because these things are always slow to get rolling, so there's really not much at all to do the first few shifts.  I've already determined that I did not bring enough snacks for tonight - in fact, I'm barely halfway through this shift, and I've already gone through all of my food.  I'll make a run back up to the lab pretty soon to snag some almond butter to eat on Mark's rice cakes that he foolishly left here in the motorhome.  The OT will be good for the next few weeks, but it will also destroy all possibilities for a trip to Whitefish over Memorial Day weekend.  I can already tell that I'm allergic to something in this motorhome; it's very reminiscent of Roger & Sharon's camper van and the upholstery on their seats.  Adding "hand lotion" and "anti-histamines" to the list of things to remember tomorrow.  Along with "more rations" and "a book or some other form of entertainment."  Because while I'm SURE you all would love to read my stream of consciousness for the next five hours, I'm just not sure I can actually type for that long.  Sorry.  I'll do what I can to make it up to you.  First order of business may be getting the hell out of this trailer so I don't skin my own hands to stop the itching.  That would make it even harder to type - or at least messier.

Anyway, so other than the big news about little Dylan, I've been kind of off the map again, eh?  Since you last heard, Adam had landed a job with a group of interventional radiology folks in what you could call the "greater Seattle" area.  He'll have a bit of a drive every day, but since he only has to work FOUR days a week, I'm not exactly pouring out the sympathy.  And because he's got that Riding-On-Clouds-4Runner.  So that's really the secondary big exciting news around here.  Frankly, he's kind of annoying when he's not working and isn't being stimulated during the day.  He'd probably be a whole lot less annoying if I weren't being stimulated all day long with stupid flight test queries, but either way, the days he's gotten out to play and we spend the evenings together have been the best.

We did get out to Leavenworth a couple of weekends ago and I got my first Washington rock climbing experience.  Crack climbing is HARRRRRRRD.  Physically and mentally.  But it's also terribly satisfying to reach the top of route, which makes it addicting.  Or at least makes me want to up my endurance so I don't have to take a break halfway up a route (and 5/8 up, and 3/4 up, and every time I get to a point where the next move isn't obvious).   It's also an awesome precursor to sit on the deck in Skykomish and watch the river roll by with a beer in hand.

Last weekend was Opening Day, or the annual Dog & Pony show through the cut.  Hung out with the usual LWRC suspects to watch the races, swung by Conibear Shellhouse to say hi to the Harshman sisters and Tom's boat.  Chance came with us and was pretty awed by the boathouse in full operation.  Minor detour to Recycled Cycles to get a new tube for Adam's bike, then on to Pocock for the after party.  There has recently been a mass exodus from Lake Union to PRC because of a coaching change, so now PRC has FORTY TWO WOMEN rowing in the morning program.  I just don't understand these girls that jump from club to club with the phase of the moon.  1) Isn't it expensive to keep buying new unis?  2) Don't you feel ANY kind of loyalty to those you were rowing with or for before?  and 3) If you ALL go to the same club, you know there won't be anyone for you to race but yourselves, right?  Bullet #3 there was in full effect during the races - the Women's 60+ eight was the most exciting race of the day.  Anyway, the PRC after party was everything I hoped for - Matt Lacey in a big Mexican blanket sweater, a large bowl of delicious sangria, and a pinata full of mini bottles of tequila.  Around 3p we realized that even one drink is too many on no food, so we set off with Chance to remedy that.  A full meal at Shultzy's, and a bit of intoxicated bike riding back to Ballard.

This week was mostly uneventful, except for a mid-week BBQ at Farmer's.  Tasha tried to make BBQ sauce, but wasn't being very successful, so she started drinking.  It turned out just fine, and I snagged the leftover Gretchen's 18-layer bean dip and a box of tortilla chips from the Flutter room for the occasion.  En route to Farmer's, we swung by Dana's to drop off a cycling kit that will fit her much better than it would ever fit me, and ended up enjoying a bottle of Rose, and some cheese & crackers.  Then, nearly a full bottle of Rioja at Farmer's and I was cursing the grapes the next day.

About time to roll up to the lab to investigate some more snacks.  Miller left some unsuspecting rice cakes sitting here and I think I have a stash of almond butter that will complement them nicely.  Or adequately, anyway.

 Author's note:  I re-read this and realized I mentioned the almond butter and rice cakes at least twice.  I have concluded that I was very hungry while typing - and probably really bored too.

Friday, May 4, 2012

Welcome, Dylan

Dylan Benjamin Piccioni, the new love of my life.  Born April 28, 3:46am.  (Really, kid?  No one likes that hour - NO ONE.)  This is my favorite picture of the week-old boy.  Notice that Mona's head is approximately the same size as Dylan.

Mona, Dylan.  Dylan, Mona.