It's Thanksgiving, y'all, and you're lucky I'm wearing pants. (If there were a shirt that said that, I'd totally buy and wear it.)
Ok, well, actually, I'm not wearing pants. I've got a tights, and knee high black boots.
Anyhow. You're lucky I'm not wearing really large amounts of fleece. And drinking. And planning how I'm going to spend massive amounts of money tomorrow. And basting. Lots and lots of basting.
But I'm here. Dressed and in the office. In a previously advertised funk (I told New Boss Guy that I really wouldn't be that effective today.)
The problem is that despite the fact that I do love them, boys aren't very perceptive. Or rather, them that’s I work with.
So as a general public service announcement: Dude. If I've got an ipod on at my desk, Quit Poking. Figure it the Hell out on your own.
It's the one thing keeping everyone here from crying. Ok?
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Conversations with MlleL
She is supposed to be asleep, but she hears me laugh downstairs, and asks her Papa "Is Jennifer downstairs?"
"No, MlleL," he says, "Jennifer is not downstairs."
"No," she says, "Jennifer my dog."
While I am in the bathroom, she starts to open the door without knocking.
"This had better be an emergency," I tell her. "Before you open the door, I want you to be sure that this is an emergency. Is this an emergency?"
She opens the door anyway, mutely hands me a spool of green ribbon, and leaning on it from the other side, closes the door.
"Your caught your hair," I tell her.
"No, MlleL," he says, "Jennifer is not downstairs."
"No," she says, "Jennifer my dog."
While I am in the bathroom, she starts to open the door without knocking.
"This had better be an emergency," I tell her. "Before you open the door, I want you to be sure that this is an emergency. Is this an emergency?"
She opens the door anyway, mutely hands me a spool of green ribbon, and leaning on it from the other side, closes the door.
"Your caught your hair," I tell her.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Vow renewal
When we married, Husband and I wanted a beach wedding, but couldn't live with the guilt of asking our families (then with younger kids) to fly somewhere far, far away from where we were to witness the whole event.
We promised each other a lot of things then, things like hanging out till' death came to one of us, being around if the other was puking, well, and some other stuff too. But we also promised that in 10 years, when we were old, you see, and well established, we'd make those promises again. In the sun, with our toes in the sand.
The funny thing is, I don't feel that old, and, ironically, don't feel that well established, but the deadline, my dears, is here. It's been 10 years!
And so in advance of booking the trip, I'm tying up loose ends - renewing my passport, deciding on a resort and booking it, and oh yeah, taking a good hard look at my own loose end.
Let's just say that with re-weddings, came re-spinning today. And I was reminded of the driveway. Oh lord the driveway. This gets better, right?
We promised each other a lot of things then, things like hanging out till' death came to one of us, being around if the other was puking, well, and some other stuff too. But we also promised that in 10 years, when we were old, you see, and well established, we'd make those promises again. In the sun, with our toes in the sand.
The funny thing is, I don't feel that old, and, ironically, don't feel that well established, but the deadline, my dears, is here. It's been 10 years!
And so in advance of booking the trip, I'm tying up loose ends - renewing my passport, deciding on a resort and booking it, and oh yeah, taking a good hard look at my own loose end.
Let's just say that with re-weddings, came re-spinning today. And I was reminded of the driveway. Oh lord the driveway. This gets better, right?
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Bedtime for grown ups.
And yet?
I'm sitting with my Berry, and sending emails from my home account. Why? Well, kids, there's a new boss in town, and I'm applying for the position of right-hand man. Go-to-girl. I gets his jokes and he gets mine. We crack each other up. That can only mean good things, right?
That, and there's this ridiculous briefing tomorrow morning at 9 with that previously mentioned ADM, and we have no idea of what to say. Ok, well, we've got a plan, but it's hardly detailed, and might just involve one of us looking pretty, and one of us yelling 'HEY! Look over there!' (maybe the same person) while we both run away. (Special note to Dr. Watson: THURSDAY may just come up.)
That and I may have received my very first work call on the Berry. After two years. (It's got a really weird ring.) So I'm betting I probably should at some point soon figure out how to access my voicemail. Right?
Sigh.
New Boss-Man has already noticed distinct lack of technological skilz, y'all - which has been long noted in all who know me at all (Janey explaining web servers "see, there's these little trolls that go and get your information" [p.s. shut up. I'll have you know that just today, I had a very lengthy conversation where I used the words "on-line job posting meta sites" and "wanted" and "crawler technology" to explain to a province how we would be addressing identified job vacancy gaps in LMI and MEANT it....] Wondermom and her step-by-step instructions on Facebook on just how to add fancy buttons to this here blog, Glidinglara on how to use Twitter [ok, that might not be just for me, but I know who you're looking at, and btw, I'm still not convinced that it won't take constant care, like a tamagachi pet, and I'm pretty sure I'd kill one of those. I've got kids, and cats and no smart phone, and I don't think I can do it on my Berry.]
But the Berry, despite having been a companion (not a partner like some I might mention, but a companion) for oh, probably at least 4.5 years is still pretty much a mystery to me. Sure, I can pin, kinda, and um, email, sure, oo! and IM!, and of course do my schedule, but for example, I only learned today that I can get to the top or bottom of my inbox by pushing a SINGLE BUTTON! (man, that's useful! Wish I'da known that sooner!)
What else am I missing?????
I'm sitting with my Berry, and sending emails from my home account. Why? Well, kids, there's a new boss in town, and I'm applying for the position of right-hand man. Go-to-girl. I gets his jokes and he gets mine. We crack each other up. That can only mean good things, right?
That, and there's this ridiculous briefing tomorrow morning at 9 with that previously mentioned ADM, and we have no idea of what to say. Ok, well, we've got a plan, but it's hardly detailed, and might just involve one of us looking pretty, and one of us yelling 'HEY! Look over there!' (maybe the same person) while we both run away. (Special note to Dr. Watson: THURSDAY may just come up.)
That and I may have received my very first work call on the Berry. After two years. (It's got a really weird ring.) So I'm betting I probably should at some point soon figure out how to access my voicemail. Right?
Sigh.
New Boss-Man has already noticed distinct lack of technological skilz, y'all - which has been long noted in all who know me at all (Janey explaining web servers "see, there's these little trolls that go and get your information" [p.s. shut up. I'll have you know that just today, I had a very lengthy conversation where I used the words "on-line job posting meta sites" and "wanted" and "crawler technology" to explain to a province how we would be addressing identified job vacancy gaps in LMI and MEANT it....] Wondermom and her step-by-step instructions on Facebook on just how to add fancy buttons to this here blog, Glidinglara on how to use Twitter [ok, that might not be just for me, but I know who you're looking at, and btw, I'm still not convinced that it won't take constant care, like a tamagachi pet, and I'm pretty sure I'd kill one of those. I've got kids, and cats and no smart phone, and I don't think I can do it on my Berry.]
But the Berry, despite having been a companion (not a partner like some I might mention, but a companion) for oh, probably at least 4.5 years is still pretty much a mystery to me. Sure, I can pin, kinda, and um, email, sure, oo! and IM!, and of course do my schedule, but for example, I only learned today that I can get to the top or bottom of my inbox by pushing a SINGLE BUTTON! (man, that's useful! Wish I'da known that sooner!)
What else am I missing?????
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Fambily Reunion
I don't think I've ever mentioned the little known fact that I've graduated from two high schools, have I?
There's home town from grade 12, but then, there's also that other place, Parts North from grade 13. Anyhow, the only person I'm currently in touch with from that year is Mindy, and honestly, that's probably more because of the genetic link than it is the deep bond we formed during that year our high school experience overlapped - she in grade 9 and me in 13 - excellent though that time was.
Imagine my surprise, then, to have found myself smack in the middle of a Parts North high school micro reunion. Which, really, is strange, considering I had no idea who these people were. Well, except a few.
See, Mindy's got a few best friends from her time there, so when she's in North America, she usually tries to get a visit in with them - and luckily for me, one of them is in the Toronto area. This visit, we weren't able to make it to Parts North, so we met up with the fam in Toronto. At Ms. R's place for a wonderful weekend slice of family and kids together time.
Ms. R married her high school sweetie. Who invited his high school best friend over to dinner. Both kindly asked if I knew their older brothers. (NO.) They were born in 72? Nope. Still older than that.
But Ms. R's awful older sister? (Yep. I said it.) Oh, as soon as she walked in the door, I remembered her. Sigh.
As I walked in the door from the drive on that first night, Ms R's first words were 'Hi honey! You look exactly the same as you did in high school!'
The thing is, I like to think of myself as rendered near unrecognizable through the urban fabulousness of 20 years of hard work, beautification and polish. True, I wore a bob that year, much as I do now. Apparently, the truth is, I still look like an 18 year old from a small town in the mid-west living on a remote island in Northern Ontario, riding the bus for an hour and a half each way and eating far, far, far too much buttered toast.
And Mindy? Mindy is so unrecognizable that I spent the weekend looking into her grown up turquoise eyes (still, stupidly unfair of genetics to do that to me) and trying to see in her the teenager I remember. She is a virtual stranger, my only sister with an incredibly gorgeous blonde German baby - a confident, smart, accomplished and beautiful stranger, pulled together and fabulous, and I am 18 and unchanged to the world.
I know it is so unfair to say this, but I am looking forward to the expiration of the Irish visa in 2014. I'm hoping Berlin doesn't make the cut (although I somehow expect that it will), and I'm really, really hoping I get the chance to reaquaint myself with the girl who left 10 years ago.
There's home town from grade 12, but then, there's also that other place, Parts North from grade 13. Anyhow, the only person I'm currently in touch with from that year is Mindy, and honestly, that's probably more because of the genetic link than it is the deep bond we formed during that year our high school experience overlapped - she in grade 9 and me in 13 - excellent though that time was.
Imagine my surprise, then, to have found myself smack in the middle of a Parts North high school micro reunion. Which, really, is strange, considering I had no idea who these people were. Well, except a few.
See, Mindy's got a few best friends from her time there, so when she's in North America, she usually tries to get a visit in with them - and luckily for me, one of them is in the Toronto area. This visit, we weren't able to make it to Parts North, so we met up with the fam in Toronto. At Ms. R's place for a wonderful weekend slice of family and kids together time.
Ms. R married her high school sweetie. Who invited his high school best friend over to dinner. Both kindly asked if I knew their older brothers. (NO.) They were born in 72? Nope. Still older than that.
But Ms. R's awful older sister? (Yep. I said it.) Oh, as soon as she walked in the door, I remembered her. Sigh.
As I walked in the door from the drive on that first night, Ms R's first words were 'Hi honey! You look exactly the same as you did in high school!'
The thing is, I like to think of myself as rendered near unrecognizable through the urban fabulousness of 20 years of hard work, beautification and polish. True, I wore a bob that year, much as I do now. Apparently, the truth is, I still look like an 18 year old from a small town in the mid-west living on a remote island in Northern Ontario, riding the bus for an hour and a half each way and eating far, far, far too much buttered toast.
And Mindy? Mindy is so unrecognizable that I spent the weekend looking into her grown up turquoise eyes (still, stupidly unfair of genetics to do that to me) and trying to see in her the teenager I remember. She is a virtual stranger, my only sister with an incredibly gorgeous blonde German baby - a confident, smart, accomplished and beautiful stranger, pulled together and fabulous, and I am 18 and unchanged to the world.
I know it is so unfair to say this, but I am looking forward to the expiration of the Irish visa in 2014. I'm hoping Berlin doesn't make the cut (although I somehow expect that it will), and I'm really, really hoping I get the chance to reaquaint myself with the girl who left 10 years ago.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
FAQs
In response to questions I recieve via the google search terms [actual searches used to view this blog], I'd like to take a few moments to start a new feature and answer what I can:
Q) Does Katie Valentine have fake boobs?
A) No. These lying down and taking a nap rapidly disappearing wonders of female magnatism are all natural, baby!
Q) [Can I see] Katie Valentine naked?
A) Only if you live in the Casa Valentine. Or on really, really special occasions! (Like those fed/prov meetings or yoga classes I show up for in my dreams having forgotten some very important things.)
Keep em' coming! You know I'm responsive, if secretive...
Q) [Can I see] Katie Valentine fotos/petartas?
A) Aww, sweetie(s)! I'm super flattered. And yes, there are 'fotos' (But no petardas. Come ON!) of me available, but, honey(ies), this isn't my real name. In case you hadn't noticed from the pseudonyms and all.
Q) Does Katie Valentine have fake boobs?
A) No. These lying down and taking a nap rapidly disappearing wonders of female magnatism are all natural, baby!
Q) [Can I see] Katie Valentine naked?
A) Only if you live in the Casa Valentine. Or on really, really special occasions! (Like those fed/prov meetings or yoga classes I show up for in my dreams having forgotten some very important things.)
Keep em' coming! You know I'm responsive, if secretive...
The plagues.
Well, hell.
Here's a little story about something I wish hadn't happened last week:
On Monday night, as the skies opened and Husband stepped out of the bathroom, there came a weird extended pouring water from a bucket noise. (or, in a particularly fitting nod to Mr. Maiden, piss from a boot. Him so classy!)
Strange enough for me to raise my head and look at Husband. Who looked right back and opened the basement door.
And descended the steps only to begin cursing.
Yes, my dears. Yes.
Through a process of scientific elimination, it was made clear that indeed, it did rain in the basement when we flushed the powder room toilet.
Well, I guess, thank the Lord for small mercies - I've got a little Bissel cleaner to suck all the water up (and scrub), and it had been a 'clean water flush', whatever that is.
I managed to convince Husband that it was time for the professionals and perhaps a new toilet (low-flow, natch), and so by Friday evening, and after a fairly hefty investment, I think we'll be able to flush again. With, hopefully, a lower water bill.
It should offset the cost in, I'm thinking, roughly 5-6 years, but everything after that is just gravy, right???
Here's a little story about something I wish hadn't happened last week:
On Monday night, as the skies opened and Husband stepped out of the bathroom, there came a weird extended pouring water from a bucket noise. (or, in a particularly fitting nod to Mr. Maiden, piss from a boot. Him so classy!)
Strange enough for me to raise my head and look at Husband. Who looked right back and opened the basement door.
And descended the steps only to begin cursing.
Yes, my dears. Yes.
Through a process of scientific elimination, it was made clear that indeed, it did rain in the basement when we flushed the powder room toilet.
Well, I guess, thank the Lord for small mercies - I've got a little Bissel cleaner to suck all the water up (and scrub), and it had been a 'clean water flush', whatever that is.
I managed to convince Husband that it was time for the professionals and perhaps a new toilet (low-flow, natch), and so by Friday evening, and after a fairly hefty investment, I think we'll be able to flush again. With, hopefully, a lower water bill.
It should offset the cost in, I'm thinking, roughly 5-6 years, but everything after that is just gravy, right???
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