Floating in Blue

A few weeks ago, one of our beloved Betta fish took ill (as Bettas are wont to do).

At wits end wondering how to help our little female fish through the rough spot, The Good Man consulted with a fairly fish knowledgeable employee at the store where we got the Betta.

Most fish owners will just dump an antibiotic like Tetracycline into the tank and hope for the best. Not knowing exactly what is wrong, we didn't want to go that route.

The pet store guy recommended something called Betta Revive as a first defense.

It covers a broad spectrum of low-level medications to address a whole host of potential fish illnesses.

One of the main ingredients in this remedy is Methylene blue.

For those a little short on their anti-psychotic knowledge, Methylene blue, also known as Thorazine, became a heavily favored drug for psychiatric use in the 1950's and 1960's.

Apparently, it also has an antifungal effect, so is included in the fish remedy to ward off the dreaded Ich.

We got the Betta Revive and made up a fresh batch of water and added the remedy. Predictably, it turned the water a nice shade of medium blue. Pretty much the color of airplane toilet water.

We floated our sick fish in the blue water, changing it daily, for about a week. She's mostly recovered and is eating again, which is a good sign.

I’m blathering on about blue water to get to a point. It's coming, don't lose me now....

Over this past weekend my body decided to avoid the holiday rush and succumb to a nasty early winter cold.

It the usual stuff, runny nose, sinus pressure, achy joints, low-grade fever and a raging, uncontrollable cough.

I feel like crap and I'm a little depressed. In an effort to cheer myself up, I took a nice hot bath last night.

While soaking, I thought to myself, "Hey, I wish I had some of the blue water to soak in. I don't know if what I have is viral or bacterial, so a broad spectrum fix might be just the ticket!"

I mean hell, it'll make my scales lay down nicely and the Thorazine will help me feel aaallll right about the world.

I asked The Good Man if I could soak in some blue water. Gonna have to get a big container of the stuff, but I'm ready!

He gave me that one-eyed squinty look that says, "I'm just going to nod my head and walk away." And so he did.

I may be sick, but my creative brain is always working out the angles. Even if The Good Man doesn't buy into all of my (fabulous) ideas.

My Magnetic Personality

For years I have told friends that I am a "freak magnet," and for years, I've had them tell me, "Oh, don't be silly! Everyone says that."

Then we go out to a bar or a dance club or a restaurant and sure enough, the wackiest person in the room will find their way to me like a moth to a flame.

I don't head out to the bars and clubs much anymore, so I think I've grown a little soft in my ability to head off the loo-loos who inevitably end up sitting next to me.

Wednesday this week, I got invited to a "customer appreciation event" associated with my job.

Well, ok. Appreciate me!

It was a HUGE event with piles of free food, an endless flow of free booze and lots and lots of live musical entertainment.

While I had a gosh dang good time, I was always aware of the fact that I was having a gosh dang good time along with my boss and several coworkers.

I had a few glasses of wine then switched to water about two hours before my anticipated departure time.

At the end of the evening my boss, coworkers and I parted ways at the shuttle busses. The various busses were on different routes to take people back to their hotels and parking in different parts of the city.

Sadly, my route was the most popular, so I stood in a very long line for about forty-five minutes. People were yelling at each other for cutting in line, being snotty and aggressive, and generally at the end of their tether.

I practiced my meditation and art of being calm while I waited my way to the front of the line. Finally I got on a bus and found a seat.

And here's where my magnetic personality comes in.

The drunkest, largest male human I may have ever encountered stumbled his way onto the shuttle, looked over his seating opportunities, and flung himself into the seat next to me.

Then passed out.

Hey, fine. I'm down with that. It will make for a quiet ride.

Oh nooo. That would be too easy.

As the bus jerked to a start, The Mountain next to me woke up and began making those burping, choking sounds.

"Dude," I said, forcefully, "are you going to throw up?"

He looked at me somberly and nodded.

"THEN GET OFF THE BUS!" I hollered.

Well. He was at that stage of drunk where all your bones have gone gelatinous, and was unable to stand. Or move. Or do much of anything other than....

Begin vomiting.

He at least had the grace to vomit toward the aisle and not on me.

However...this is where I lost my mind.

I'd been up for a 7am meeting, working hard all day, celebrating heavily all night, and at 1:00 in the morning, wedged in at the window seat next to a vomit breathing dragon, I'd lost my sense of humor.

"Somebody help me! This guy is throwing up!" I yelled to my fellow travelers.

I heard someone go "Ew." But that was all.

So I tried again, "Help me! Please! This guy needs to get off the bus! He's throwing up all over the place!"

The bus driver walked down the aisle, saw the guy throwing up, make a "yuck" face and turned around and went back to the front of the bus.

"Are you serious?!? You aren't going to help me!?!" I yelled at his retreating back.

I was ignored.

So I ratcheted up my freak out and began yelling with renewed energy.

Finally, the guy who appeared to be the friend of Captain Puke came over and in the most condescending way possible asked, "Are you ok?"

"NO!" I replied.

"Do you want out of that seat?"

"YES!" I replied.

So he grabbed my arm and tugged and I pushed off with my legs and we sort of drag vaulted me over the top of the now passed out guy.

An incredible gentleman in the back of the bus stood up and told me that back home in Chicago he commutes to work every day on a bus, and was used to standing. He gave up his seat for me. I thanked him profusely.

When we finally arrived at our destination, as we exited the chartered shuttle bus, we all filed past Barf Boy. He was still passed out in the seat, vomit all down his front.

His friend...the guy that told me what a "good guy" his friend was as he dragged me out of the seat?

He left the unconscious man on the bus.

Fabulous.

What a talent I have, attracting the elite of the world to sit next to me.

The Universal Tech Support Answer

Today, I reached my wits end with my desk phone at work.

I am on conference calls at least half of the working hours of every day on calls with the UK, South America, Hong Kong, and Australia, and many points in between.

My phone decided, in the midst of an already trying day, to act up. I'd push the number 4, it would show onscreen that I'd inputted 4444.

I'd hit speakerphone button just once and it would come on, go off, come on, go off, come on, go off, etc.

This creates a bit of trouble when one is dialing an overseas number.

For example, to call Britain, one must dial 011 then 44 and then the person's phone number.

So with this buy-one-get-four free plan my phone seems to favor, I would not even be to the actual person's number, and my phone would think I had punched in

000111111144444

Gah!

And yet again I say GAH!

I tried a number of different creative ways to get my numbers dialed. I tried mashing the buttons really hard. Nope. I tried hitting them very lightly. Sort of success.

I found that using a pen to dial and hitting the numbers very fast seemed to work. At least enough to get into scheduled conference calls (though it would take five or six tries).

But come ON here people! This is no way to conduct business!

So when I had a gap in meetings, I went online and raised an IT trouble ticket.

I expected it would take a week to hear back as one person's desk phone crying in the dark isn't enough to rouse the passions of the IT department.

Imagine my surprise when I got a call some four hours later from an actual person with actual knowledge of the issue.

Yes! Hello good sir! What can be done!?

His recommended fix? Power cycle the phone.

That's it. Unplug it. Plug it back in. Should be fine.

I then applied a smack to my own forehead. Of course! I should have thought of that first.

The Universal IT fix for whatever ails you. Power off, power on.

What the systems administrators in my old team used to call "bouncing the machine"

So I bounced the phone. It's back on line and working fine. We're back to a one for one button press to digit input value.

Now if I could only get my nerves to be as docile.

Gah!

And a mental note to self: Always try bouncing the machine first.

Oh The Humanity!

Side note:

I'd considered taking the week off from blogging because awkward commentary on awkward things seemed, perhaps, inappropriate after yesterday's post.

But then I decided...well hell, writing this blog, no matter how trivial the topic, is what keeps me sane. I need to write something, anything, every day. And so, dear readers, despite my ongoing grief and my travel plans that will take me back to New Mexico for a few days, I'm going to try to keep on writing this week. Because it's who I am.

Thanks to all for your support in comments and via email. Ya'll rock.

And now, onward......

So I have a topic I've been wanting to talk about for a while.

I've not brought it up before because, well, I was dealing with all the emotions.

It's essential that I my footing on this and make peace.

I don't think it is any secret that I mostly use Apple products for my computing needs.

I had the great fortune to be able to use a Mac for work in my last three jobs, a time frame of almost fifteen years.

I have Macs at home. I have an iPhone.

Yes. I'm a Mac person.

Doesn't mean I don’t know how to use the PC, I just haven't had a lot of need to. Sure the occasional lookup on the PC at the library. Sometimes using my best friend's machine to check email.

Not a problem.

Well. A month ago, I came to work on my first day, and into my hands they plopped....

A Dell.

Not just a Dell. A three year old Dell.

A three year old Dell that originally came with Vista but has since been blasted with some corporate approved version of some other member of the Windows family. I'll be dag blarned if I can remember what it is.

(Because one click on the Apple logo in the upper left corner and it will tell me what OS I'm running, but I can't find the similar on this machine. Oh wait...start....control panel....system.... Ah ha! Windows XP.)

The Good Man assures me that whatever the OS is on this machine is better than Vista.

Oh? So...ok.

I'm getting used to it, using this machine day by day.

It's slow. It's stodgy. It's....well...it's Windows.

I'm used to "hey, I wish this thingamabooper was over there instead of over here" and so I drag it over and off it goes, happier than anything, to its new location and it just does what it's supposed to do.

Not so with my Windows. You have to find the thingamabooper in the right file and ask it nicely, maybe even coax it, to come over and perhaps make the transfer. Like a professional bureaucrat, it wants rubber stamps and approvals and nodding heads to let it know that, yes, it might be ok to be over there.

And it will go over there.

And then, later, it will go back to where it came from, without asking.

So okay. I'm adapting. It's all just fine.

But I have a confession to make...

(I'm so ashamed.)

I find I really kind of like the ol' right click. I never thought I needed more than one button on my mouse. It turns out...right click is pretty darn handy.

This whole PC thing is not so bad, really!

Sssh. Don't tell Steve Jobs. He'd be so disappointed!

Can't I Just Have Something Nice!?!

That title must be said in an Edith Bunker sort of voice.

Come with me to the Wayback Machine...

I remember back in the day, grade school era in Albuquerque, when I used to spend time over at my best friend Kathy's house. It was small, white with pink trim, located over by Montgomery park, across from the public swimming pool.

That little house had this front room, right as you came in the door, that featured these really nice blue velour couches. Very cushiony.

However, those pretty couches were covered with thick plastic wrap. Her mother explained that was "to protect" the couches.

In Albuquerque on a hot summer day, those dang couches were miserable.

There were also plastic runners on the floor. This was "to protect" the carpet.

I once stepped outside the line, as is my way, and got my ear chewed off by Kathy's mom.

That tiny Hispanic lady also drove a metallic blue Oldsmobile. Kathy and I used to take gymnastics lessons at the YMCA. Kathy's mom would take that Olds to the car wash every single week during the hour we had our lessons.

She wouldn't pay to have it dried, just washed, so she'd roll up with water droplets hanging off the sides. (You can get away with that in the 7% humidity of New Mexico.)

Why am I telling you this?

I got to thinking about Kathy's mom today as I was looking at my brand spanking new iPhone 4.

It's a beauty of a new phone. A bit heaver than the last model. The screen is amazingly clear. The black and chrome styling. Haaawt!

So here I am with this beautiful phone that isn't cheap. It's something really, really nice. And what did I do? I put an ugly plastic case around this marvel of industrial engineering.

You know, "to protect" it.

I tried to find the coolest case I could, but really, there's not much out there that enhances the beauty and design of the iPhone.

I'm just "keeping it for nice."

I know you know what I mean.

I Left My Heart....

Wait. Where did I leave my heart?

If you are a Twitter type of person and you follow my tweets, you may have gotten some of-the-moment tweeting about what I'm about to describe.

There was an "incident" upon my departure from New Mexico about three weeks ago. I've tried to brush it off, but I find I cannot. I'm rather shaken to my core.

The executive summary is this: I got my heart broke by an eight year old girl.

And I may never recover properly.

I flew out to New Mexico for one of the annual "Chick's Trips" that my best friend and I love to put together.

I came in on a Thursday afternoon and my friend picked me up at the airport. Earlier that day, her husband had taken their two daughters, my goddaughters, on a camping trip. He was out spotting elk for an upcoming hunt His girls are avid outdoors women, so they are able to help.

Fabulous. That meant some one-on-one girl time with my best friend in the world.

There was cussing. There was discussing. There was a trip to the Ruidoso Downs.

Big fun!

We all got back my friend's house in Las Cruces on Sunday afternoon. I had to fly out Monday.

So Sunday evening I got to have some quality time with my little girls (who are not so little anymore).

I had a chance to chat with the older of the two, she's ten, and has had some troubles with another girl at school. I wanted to make sure that going into fifth grade, she was holding up ok.

I got to sit next to the younger of the two, she's eight, at dinner.

The next morning, the eight year old asked me to go on a walk with her out to look at her flowers in her yard. I told her I would be happy to.

As time will do, it went all slippery and got away from us. Nina Karen didn't get her walk in with the younger goddaughter.

This all came to a head at the El Paso airport. We arrived a bit early and my kids wanted to come inside the airport to see me off.

Without delay, my younger goddaughter began insisting to her mom that she needed to come with me on the plane.

Her mom told her that she couldn't come with me.

"But why!?!?" was the inevitable reply.

What followed was a long and persistent debate between mom and child about, logically, why she couldn't just get on the plane and come home with me.

Then the tears began in earnest. My younger goddaughter began sobbing.

And that's when the truth started pouring out....

"You and Nina Karen always go off somewhere and we never get to go!"

Early on, my friend laid down some age requirements for chick's trips. Plus, sometimes Mama just needs a break.

"We always have to go with dad and you get to go have fun!"

Which isn't very nice to the dad who is lots of fun. But he's a boy and boy fun is different.

"Nina Karen always comes out here and we never get to go to California."

Well, sure. Since I don't have little ones, and I get awful homesick, I do tend to fly that way a bit more often.

"Other than her name, I don't even know Nina Karen!"

Ok, that one hurt. That's so not true, and she later apologized for having said it. But in that moment, she broke my heart.

She wasn't done by a long shot.

I held my baby girl in my arms as she cried and cried, her tiny body racked with sobs. Of course, I started crying too. Then her mom was bawling. And her big sister was crying from the get go.

Four weepy girls all clutched together at the El Paso Airport.

I apologized to my girl and through tears she said she forgave me.

After a while, her sobs began to slow down. Then, time went and got us again. The long hand moved too quickly on the clock face, and it was time for me to leave.

I had to go home. But which home? My California home because The Good Man waited for me there. He is my heart.

But that little crying girl is also my heart.

I've never felt so torn between two places in all my life. It literally felt like being ripped in two.

I cried all the way through the security line, and the TSA man shooed me along.

Then I cried all the way through the terminal.

I used my phone to call my husband to tell him what happened, and started sobbing even harder.

With every tear, my heart broke a little bit more. Ground glass under a bootheel.

I'm not sure yet how I'm going to try to make this right.

My best friend is working on a road trip out here, maybe, to cut costs and make it easier for them all to come out here to California.

I'm working over in my mind a plan to go back to New Mexico. But when? Our weekends are booked through Labor Day.

I just know that I am as heartbroke today as I was three weeks ago.

The Hispanic culture embraces a concept called "Comadres". Co-Mothers. Best friends are like mothers to each others children.

I don't have kids of my own, but actually, I do. Those two girls are as dear to me as if I'd birthed them from my own body. I feel their pain, I revel in their joy. I would sacrifice for them with nary a thought.

Nina Karen has got to make things right.

I'll tell you this, I'll never again miss the chance to take a walk with my girls just to look at the flowers.

"Las Comadres," a painting by Juana Alicia.

The Loneliest Decaf Drinker in the Office

It’s been a while since I was working in an corporate office atmosphere. Well, not that long, but less than a year, and it is amazing how fast you develop new habits.

Don’t get me wrong, working from home was great.

But other than The Feline, I didn’t have any coworkers to render their opinions on my style. Or quirks. Or the number of times I have to use the bathroom in a day.

And I didn’t have to suffer the politics of the break room.

When you get to buy your own coffee, you buy the *really* good coffee. And you make it in a Bialetti. Or a melitta. You make a strong aromatic brew. And you have real half & half on hand.

You enjoy the time and the inclination to savor a cuppa before you dive into the day’s work.

I’m here to tell you, I believe I have found the world’s repository for the absolute worst coffee in the world.

Made from one of those typical office makers that’s seen better days, it’s weak, usually burnt and really sort of dull.

Add to the equation that I can’t tolerate large doses of caffeine, so I am the ONLY person drinking decaf, thus I am the only person making up the orange topped pot. I get strange side looks like “why bother” as I make up the dull brown water.

But today I found a partner in crime. I was making up a crappy pot of decaf with a packet of coffee that is god only knows old (since, seriously, nobody drinks decaf), and one of my new coworkers happened by the break room.

“That really is terrible coffee, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes,” I replied, not wanting to be too complainy on my first week of work.

“You know the coffee bar downstairs serves Peets, don’t you?”

Wha?

My head tilted like a dog who just heard kibble drop in the distant bowl.

“Excuse me?” I replied.

“Yeah. Right downstairs. Behind the elevators. Peets.” I could tell he used small words since I was making it clear I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the corporate sign.

“Wow, I didn’t know. Thank you,” I said.

He left the breakroom.

I dumped the freshly poured cup of decaf with fake creamer in it (gack) down the drain.

I RAN down stairs and found this coffee bar of which he spoke. I bowed as a worshipper honoring their god and ordered a latte.

Oh sweet mystery of life, at last I’ve found you.

I Believe...

If you've ever had occasion to see a "Blue Collar Comedy" live show, then you know they end each performance with a litany of items that each of the four comedians believes.

Here is my I Believe list for today. Subject to change. Some restrictions apply. Offer ends July 20, 2010. Not valid in all 50 states.

I Beeeelieve....

...that Costco stores, like casinos, pump some substance into their ventilation system that causes me to behave in odd ways. How else can you explain my hitting all the sample tables like a drunk at a buffet bar, then buying a two thousand pack of toilet paper?

...that the first Indiana Jones movie is the one true Indiana Jones movie, and all else are just weak riffs on the original. I rate the movies on likability in the order in which they were made.

That said...

I also beeelieve that the "Crystal Skull" movie was not quite as bad as everyone made it out to be.

...that green chile has curative powers that extend beyond just physical health. I think we can achieve world peace and fix the global economy over a plate of enchiladas. Sour cream and fried egg on top.

...that Paris Hilton did, indeed, inhale. Yea verily though she has been busted for possession twice and gotten off scott free twice, I believe the clock is ticking and she will soon be cellmates with Lindsey.

...that coffee is the work of dark, evil forces. For though I welcome coffee with both arms and hug it to my person like a long lost sibling, it does terrible things to my stomach causing pain and acid reflux and generally causing havoc. And yet, I can't seem to quit the dark beckoning brew.

...that red light cameras are patently unfair and unconstitutional and defy the Bill of Rights and upset the Code of Conduct and Robert's Rules of Order and some other stuff I can't think of right now. They don't allow me to face my accuser in court! It's bad! Real bad! Obviously, I'm still not over it.

...that AT&T is not quite as evil as we think (though they are still evil). Apple is not quite a cool as we think (though they are still cool). And that for some reason that I can't explain, I dreamt last night that I met Bill Gates. And he hit on me. : shudder :

...that the 1970's were weird and awkward during the 1970's, and somehow time has made us all forget that. Now we remember the decade as cool.

...that times have gotten a little tough when grownups are stealing girl scout cookies. And stealing their money. And stealing their cookies. What's next? Nun's stealing babies? Oh. Weird.

...that white chocolate is just as delicious as regular chocolate and should be afforded all rights pertaining thereto. Same goes for vanilla ice cream. Oh, and also that something must be done *immediately* regarding the vanilla shortage. Code Red, people.

...that by writing this list of I Believe items, I have successfully avoided doing any real work for an hour and a half.

When you point a finger...

How does that old saying go? When you point a finger at someone, there are three pointing back at you?

Something like that.

Was pulling the virtual slot machine lever on a blog idea generator, and the topic came up, "Write a letter to someone you need to forgive."

Well geez. Make it easy, why don'tcha?

So I thought to myself, "Who do I have to forgive?" and an image came immediately to mind.

You see, there seems to be something I can't get over. It's childish and stupid, but for some reason I'm hanging on to this.

In considering how I'd write a letter to forgive, I realized...it's not the other person I need to forgive. It's me. I have to forgive myself for being such an assh*le sometimes.

Here's the background:

It's Saturday night, at the Gipsy Kings concert, sitting in the second row with my husband, excited for the show to start.

As showtime is close, in walks a gorgeous woman with dark hair, red lips, long toned legs clad in tiny white shorts, her top half in a tiny halter-top. She's also wearing a radiant smile.

She's beautiful. And she sits right in front of us.

Fine. Oh just...fine.

I look at her and I want to hate her. No. I look at her and I want to be her. On the outside, anyway.

The show starts and she and the guy she is with are drinking, they are laughing, they are having fun. She gets up to dance and catches the eye of the entire audience, the band, the roadies, the ushers, everyone.

She's beautiful and she has rhythm and she lacks self-consciousness and she dances well. We can't help but watch her.

I want to stop envying her, but I can't. And all those ugly things that women think about each other I'm thinking in my mind.

As the show goes on, I stop looking at the woman and I get into the show. As I described yesterday, it was an amazing musical experience.

Toward the end of the show, I start to notice the lady in front of me again.

Everything she's been drinking all night has started to catch up to her. She's got her eyes laser set on one member of the band and she's doing all she can to get and keep his attention.

She's trying to dance just for him, but she's so drunk, she's wobbling on her high heels.

She shakes her medically enhanced boobs for the singer, and one pops out of her halter-top. Her boyfriend stuffs it back in and speaks sharply into her ear. He's not happy.

She's so drunk, she doesn't care.

She keeps trying to dance in a sexy way for the guy in the band, but now it's become sad. She's stumbling around and sloppy drunk.

And I feel a little haughty. A little Dana Carvey as Church Lady high and mighty.

When the show ends and the band members are taking bows, she rushes up to the stage and summons the man she's been vigorously trying to get the attention of all night, much to the dismay of her boyfriend.

He comes over to shake her hand and she tugs at him hard, almost pulling him off the stage. When he's in range, she plants a sloppy kiss on his lips. The band man isn't happy. The boyfriend isn't happy. The lady throws her hands up in the air like a referee signaling a touchdown.

Now I'm embarrassed for her. In that haughty way I have.

The lady's boyfriend says some words to her, trying to keep his cool. She's so drunk, nothing is sinking in, so he grabs her hand and drags her away. He has to help her up the stairs out of the venue.

As we leave, we see them sitting on a low wall talking. Well, he's talking. She's trying not to pass out.

The Good Man and I go out to our car and we sit there waiting for the parking lot to empty out a bit. When we find a gap in the flow of cars, The Good Man turns on the car and hits the headlights. In the spotlight, we see the couple again. She's now slipped-over-the-line drunk, unable to walk. Her high heels are off and she can hardly stand.

The suffering boyfriend now picks her up like a sack of flour, under his arm, and carries her drunk dead weight to their car.

I feel sorry for the man. And the lady.

And I feel smug.

As we drive home, for some reason all I can talk about is the lady and her boyfriend, and I don't know why.

Why does this bother me? Why can't I stop obsessing??

And so here's the forgiveness part:

Dear Karen,

On the night of July 10, you, as they say in the vernacular, showed your ass.

Just because someone is physically attractive does not mean they are a better person than you...and just because they show they are human does not mean you are better than them.

It just means we're all human.

How about you forgive yourself for all the things you think you should be and aren't, and all the things you think you are but shouldn’t be?

How about just being ok being you?

Betcha it might make your days go a whole lot easier.

I forgive you. Now you forgive you too.

Go get 'em, tiger.

Love,

You

Insomnia, Plaything of the Creative Mind

Yeah, so I'm pretty much not sleeping these days.

Can't say I have a lot of worries on my mind keeping me up. All the standard stuff, nothing especially taxing.

Yesterday, I was firmly awake by 5:30am, so I thought, what the heck, I'll get up and get on the day.

I rose with a vigor unusual for one who hasn't had much sleep. Ok, I did take on a bit of caffeine, and that probably helped, but man oh manischewitz, I was full of energy and had a wonderfully creative day.

I was in the flow. It's rather addictive, actually, being in the creative flow.

I got a lot of the To Do's done and even many of the I'd Like To Do's made progress.

Good stuff. I felt pleasantly tired by the end of the day. Like I'd put in a good, valuable day's work.

So I dropped off to sleep.

Then, at 4:01 this morning (I know cuz I checked the clock) I was awake again.

I had an idea!

And at 4:01 in the morning, it seemed like a super duper blog idea!

Oh yeah, I was fairly salivating to get the blog post written about this idea. It would be funny! Witty! And maybe even a bit touching!

So I *had* to jot it down, quickly opening notes on the iPhone and tapping out the idea.

Yes! I couldn’t go back to sleep I was so excited about the idea! I'd get up right away with the alarm and do some Google work to support the idea!

It was going to rock!

Hooray me!

Yeah. This is how lack of sleep and middle of the night ideas can fool you.

My fabulous 4:01 am idea was: "The Least Favorite Color of Crayon"

Yeah. Woo!

It was going to be an indictment of people who gaze on less vibrant colors and don't give them a chance in the sixty-four count universe.

I was sure the least favorite crayon color would be black. This focus on the color black is likely due to the canvas I'm currently crafting. It has a deep black background and I'm totally into it. So maybe my brain is processing the color...or something.

Except, it turns out that the least favorite crayon color is *not* black, it's white. Which makes sense because kids most often use crayons on a sheet of white paper, and so then what is the use?

And while this makes for an interesting bit of trivia, it does not, however, make for a scintillating blog post.

By the way, the favorite crayon colors are red and blue. So now you know. Drop that one at a cocktail party.

Also found as part of my Google research:

Behold, Crayola's Thirteen Retired Colors. I grieve for them all. Alas poor raw umber, I hardly knew you.......

Image from Wikipedia and used under a Creative Commons License

Flash Fiction - Day Four & Final

Whoooo, yes! Fist pumps and happy jigs. I managed to pull off this massive stretch goal of writing a new Flash Fiction story four days in a row.

I'm not going to lie to ya, this has been challenging. Getting today's story done was tough, and I think it reads like it. This challenge really took some work.

Today, the overworked Muse got a little silly. I hope you're willing to come along for this final ride.

Tomorrow, as promised, I'll be posting an oral reading of a New Mexico folktale as my wrap up of this crazy off beat week of Flash Fiction and Fables.

It's a good one, I think you're going to like it, especially the readers/listeners from my home state.

But for today, my randomly generated word is: portability

Without further ado:

The Device

by Karen Fayeth

Darryl and Sean worked quietly, side-by-side in the corrugated metal work shed they referred to as "The Lair."

Work was wrapping up on their invention, a device without a name so far. If you asked them, it was totally a fusion reacting, power providing, super über top of the line invention.

The whole deal was this, it was a small reactor that creates enough power to run a small city. Clean burning, no electricity or fuel required, and it only fills up a small footprint.

The genesis of the invention came when Darryl had entered a project in his college science fair to show how he could make small fusion reactions.

Sean had also worked on an entry for the fair, but wasn't able to complete it in time. His was a device for efficient distribution of power in a small space and without heat or exhaust.

The two ideas put together was an invention in which Pajaro Ventures had invested $3 million in R&D money. It would totally pay off, assuming they could get the device to be stable.

Initial trials were not as successful as they'd hoped.

The Lair had been replaced three times due to what the boys referred to as "misfires."

But if they got it to work right, they could rule the world. Literally, they hoped, because that would be cool.

When they weren't working on, or fighting over what to call the device, they were arguing over what to call themselves. Darryl favored Captain Hazard as his superhero slash evildoer name. His costume included a bright yellow vest, the kind road crews wear to be seen by passing cars.

Sean was leaning toward Dr. Reaction. His costume was a bit more ill defined, consisting mostly of a white lab coat with nuclear symbols attached to both shoulders like epaulettes.

The U.S. Army was interested in the unnamed device, as they needed strong, reliable power at many of their installations in the Middle East. A clean burning self-contained unit that kept them off either generators requiring gasoline or power lines requiring infrastructure was looking real enticing.

However, the U.S. Army was a bit skeptical that two recent college grads had the gonads to actually pull this thing off. No matter, the risk was on Pajaro Ventures. If it worked, Parajo got a huge contract. If it didn't, Pajaro ate the R&D fees and the U.S. Army would keep on looking.

Early on, Darryl and Sean had flown out to Washington to meet with senior ranking officials, including one five star general. The field commanders gave the boys their list of must haves and nice to haves around this thing.

The team agreed on device specs. Darryl and Sean would come back in six months to demo their progress.

That demo was due to take place the next morning. After a good night's sleep, the boys rose early and got ready. A black Suburban rolled up and men in dark sunglasses loaded up The Device and the boys and delivered them to the airport, where they boarded the Parjaro private plane headed for the Pentagon.

The flight went without a hitch and soon Darryl and Sean found themselves in a large auditorium surrounded by a lot of people, most wearing dark green uniforms.

"Yeah, so, ok, let's get right into this," Darryl said, doing the talking. He was the more eloquent of the two.

The Device sat on the floor in front. When signaled, Sean hit the go button.

Fans whirred, parts rumbled and the machine's lights flashed.

"As you can see," Darryl said, "It takes only a few moments to come online. Once you see an orange light here, at the side, it's fully charged and ready to go."

The light came on, and Darryl took the plugs from a refrigerator, a clothes dryer and a microwave and plugged them into the outlets built into The Device.

"These high power drawing items are but a fraction of what The Device can power. When up to full capacity, this device could power a small city, say the size of Austin."

The assembled crowed murmured their approval.

It worked. The Device was generating smooth power. It shook a little, but no fires so far.

"Gentlemen, I believe this meets your requirements for high voltage yet safe and steady power. We have achieved your list of must haves. Oh, wait, there's one more item we haven't demoed," Darryl said, flipping a red switch on the back panel.

Immediately a bright blue undulating hole, about a foot wide, ripped into the fabric of time and space above the machine.

"And there you have it, General, sir. Your requirement is complete."

General Johanssen looked at the eerie opening in the air that was starting to exert a gravitational pull.

"What the sam hell have you boys done?" he shouted.

"You said that your key requirement was portal ability. We've succeeded. The Device not only facilitates powering your base camps, but also provides the beginning stages of time travel. This really is a cutting edge machine."

General Johanssen's face turned tomato red with anger. "I said it was mandatory that this device have PORTability, meaning moving the stupid thing as our troops relocate around the world. I did NOT ask for goddamn portal ability! What the hell is that, anyway?"

Darryl and Sean looked at each other, eyes wide. Darryl began frantically fiddling with the red switch.

"Boys, close that goddamn worm hole before someone gets hurt!" a major called out from their left side.

"Um, I'm trying, sir," Darryl said, sounding panicked.

Suddenly, a nearby office chair was sucked into the depths of the wormhole and sent two thousand light years ahead into space. It landed with a "whump" on the fifth moon of the planet Kranon, killing the opposition leader of the attempted violent overthrow of the King of the Kranonians.

Two thousand light years back on Earth, Darryl could only reply, "Whoops."

"The Device" by Karen Fayeth is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 United States License.

Flash Fiction - Day Three

I wanted to take a minute to thank my usual readers for sticking with me through this week of a bit different sort of blog post.

I'm not going to lie to ya, this challenge has been a lot harder than I expected. I compete in contests where we have 48 hours to write a thousand word story, and even then, the time feels tight. I've been producing the stories this week in around five to six hours.

I'm pretty pleased so far. They all could do with more time and distance to allow for extra editing, but I'm not ashamed of anything I've written so far.

I hope at least a few of you are enjoying reading them as much as I am writing them.

My goal for this week has worked. I needed to shake things up to get back into my blogging head and it's working. I'm looking forward to getting back into my groove next week.

For now, here's Day Three's story.

Today's randomly generated is: representation

Top O' The World, Ma!

by Karen Fayeth

Alex was on top of the world. Six months ago, he'd been promoted to Senior Director of Sales and he was rolling. He was the fair-haired boy employed at one of the fastest growing companies just shy of Fortune's top 100.

Yesterday the Executive VP of Sales had called Alex personally to congratulate him on landing the biggest client in the history of Jackflash Software. The ink was barely dry on the deal.

Alex and his boys had properly celebrated the victory.

After just two hours of sleep, Alex now looked at himself up and down in the mirror because he knew he looked good. Not just "hey, that's a nice suit" but "damn! You look GOOD in that Prada suit" sort of good.

Even his hair looked good and his eyes weren't the slightest bit puffy. A little chin stubble told the tale, but hell, that would just make him look a little rugged today.

If asked, he could say he was up all night on an overseas call. They'd buy that.

This morning he had a date with the CEO of Jackflash, Bob Jackson. The invitation had come quite a few days before the new contract had settled and had been somewhat vague as to the agenda.

Jackflash was still a pretty small company, so meeting with the CEO wasn't entirely unusual. Maybe there was another big deal in the works? Or maybe there was even a big bonus coming his way. He smiled at the thought. Oh so many toys like boats and cars he would buy...

Alex looked at himself in the mirror. "God, it's a great day to be me," he said to his reflection.

Turning from the mirror and picking up his car keys, he felt the burn from lack of sleep around his eyes. Unacceptable, he told his wavering body.

Revving the engine of his brighter-than-the-sun yellow Porsche, his first stop on the way into work was a 7-Eleven. Two Rockstar energy drinks should do the trick.

Alex was guzzling the second Rockstar when he parked and walked into the office. Burping loudly from the fizzy drink and tossing the can in the trash, he put on his winningest smile when he saw people in the lobby turn to look at him with nods and waves.

News must be out, he thought. But not everyone was smiling. Jealous, probably, he thought to himself.

He smiled and made like a politician. If there was a baby in the room, he would have kissed it.

After all the schmoozing and stopping by to talk to friends along the way, it took him a half hour to get from the front door to his office. His heart was trip hammering in his chest from all the caffeine and he couldn't sit still. He glanced briefly at email and ignored the flashing message light on his phone.

A note was taped to his monitor. Terry, his boss, wanted to see him as soon as he came in. He checked his watch, 9:45. Terry was probably already in the day's meetings, but he figured he'd give it a try.

Alex walked so fast to the elevators, the back of his jacket trailed out behind him like a little woolen cape.

"Hey Susan! Is she in?" Alex said, putting on his charming voice for Terry's admin. Susan wielded all the power in the organization, including whether or not Alex flew first class, so he treaded lightly.

Susan looked at Alex with a face drained of blood. "No, Alex. She's gone."

"Gone? You mean meetings?

"No. I mean gone. Fired." Susan whispered the last word.

"Fired? What the hell?"

Susan shrugged.

Alex checked the Rolex on his right wrist and noted he had five minutes to get upstairs to meet Bob.

"Ok, I'm going up," Alex said, pointing toward the ceiling, the company recognized gesture to indicate Bob's office on the top floor.

Susan was VP of Sales. If she was gone, and with Alex coming off such a huge victory...well, the writing was on the wall. He was going to get promoted again.

Alone in the elevator, he did a little "yes!" fist pump dance/jig sort of a move.

When the elevator doors opened, he was met by Bob's Admin, Charlene. "He's here," she said into her boss' open office door, then with an out of character syrupy voice, "I believe Bob is ready for you. Go on in."

Alex walked into the office with his head high, but faltered when he saw Ellen Banks, VP of Human Resources and Stan Ingersol, Jackflash General Counsel already seated at the conference table.

"Hello Stan," he said, shaking the man's hand, "Ellen," he said, nodding. "Bob, how great to see you! You heard about the Techtron Telco deal, I assume?" Alex said, all smiles and sales training in his demeanor.

"Yes, I've heard. But that's not what we're here for. Alex, why don't you have a seat?"

Alex was still grinning ear to ear when he sat down at the head of the table.

Alex drummed his fingers on the table impatiently and looked at Bob who turned instead to Stan. "How about you take the lead on this meeting?"

Stan cleared his throat and shuffled through the stack of paperwork in front of him. He found the page he needed and held it up.

"Alex, this is a copy of the resume you submitted when you applied to Jackflash."

Alex leaned forward to squint at the document, then nodded.

"It was your representation at the time you were hired that you both attended and graduated from Yale School of Management. Your hiring manager failed to do a background check before extending the very generous offer. During a routine audit, Ellen's team found the lapse in procedure and conducted the appropriate check."

Alex swallowed. He knew what was coming next.

"Son, you never even graduated high school."

Alex closed his eyes.

Visions of Masaratis stopped dancing in his head.

"Top O' The World, Ma!" by Karen Fayeth is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 United States License.

A boy scout, I am not...

"Be prepared."

Yup, that is the motto to which all those two-finger-holder-upper kids with the yellow kerchief around their necks swear to every chance they get.

Ah yes, be prepared. Think ahead. Plan your next move. Expect the worst and all that.

Sometimes, as the grown up I've become, I'm quite prepared. Oh I'm thinking about "what's the worst that could happen and how will I take my bacon back outta the fire when it does."

And then there are the days where the gas tank light is on and the needle quivers over the E and I forgot the tickets for the event I'm attending and I can't put my shoes on the correct feet.

So which was it on Sunday? You see, by the good grace of the baseball gods, I had some of the best seats in the major league stadium where I like to watch my favorite baseball team play. On this day of interleague play, my Giants are facing their across the Bay rivals.

Ooh baby! I'm ready! I'm prepared!

Tickets? Got 'em right here.

Gas? Plenty!

Sunglasses? Yes.

Spending cash for ballpark schwag. Certainly!

Portable radio already set to KNBR? Heck yeah!

Cool clothing for the warm day? Check.

Jacket in case it cools off? Sure.

Parking pass? Without a doubt.

Hooray! I've got it wired tight!

Off we go! We get to the park and plop into our seats that are THISCLOSE to the field and oooh, there's the players almost close enough to touch and what a beautiful day and rock ooooon!

So the game is starting, and what do I do?

Well, I'm a burgeoning photographer! I pull out my carefully packed camera and my 75-300 lens that will get me RIGHT in the middle of the action!

Yes! I even remembered to charge my battery! And the spare battery too!

This is gonna be so great! I’m going to wow the world with these shots! I will win awards! There will be accolades! I will get my invite to be an AP photographer with open access to the camera well on the field.

I am a rock star!!!

And so I begin to snap some photos, looking to take light levels and see about making adjustments for this bright sunlight.

Click goes the shutter.

And click once more.

Then I hit that little play button to review the shots.

And the camera says on its pretty little LCD screen:

No CF card,

NO CF CARD?!?!?!? What the seventeen kinds of sam hell does this damn camera mean no cf card?

And then I remember...

I left the memory card on my desk at home.

I was feeling sooooo Captain Prepared that I was going to do a full clean off of the memory card, reformat and be ready for the game.

Except I forgot to do that with all my attention on all the other careful pre-game preparations.

Uh. Whoops.

So you see, here's that amazing shot of Aubrey Huff at the plate right before he hit that first homerun:

Oh wait...

And that amazing shot of Pablo Sandoval taking a walk:

Yeah, no.

And that fabulous look of concentration while Andres Torres runs like a cheetah around the bases!

Heh. Nope.

Be prepared.

Be fracking prepared!

BE PREPARED DAMN IT!

Prepared, my ass.......

I am sooo, like, you know, literate!

For my recently celebrated birthday, The Good Man scored me a most awesome present.

I gots me a Kindle!

Oh my stars and bars, how I love that Kindle.

We'd had a lot of philosophical talks over Sunday morning breakfast about iPad vs Kindle and what did we *really* want from such a device.

I thought it was all idle chatter until a Kindle showed up under all that wrapping paper.

Fabulous!

So, being the cheapy cheaperson that I am, I immediately went to the free section of the Kindle store on Amazon, and began downloading my bootie off.

I did pay for a couple books that'd I'd wanted, like the new Jeannette Walls book, "Half Broke Horses" (a five star recommend from me! This and her first book "The Glass Castle"), but mostly I downloaded the free stuff.

There are a few for free trashy romance novels in there. I downloaded a couple but I doubt I'll get to them.

The biggest portion included in the free section are books that are in the public domain, meaning their copyright has expired.

I guess anything published prior to 1930 is now public domain. There are quite a few of the classics in the free collection.

Let's be honest here, I wasn't exposed to a lot of the classics during the course of my education. Ok, some of the basics. "To Kill a Mockingbird" was on the list. "Grapes of Wrath" (haaate it!) was a forced read. And there was also a lot of bits and bites, but not full books. No "Scarlet Letter" or "Moby Dick" made it across my transom.

On the other hand, The Good Man has read almost all of the classics, many more than once, and it's no wonder he's so much more well spoken and intelligent than me.

But! The Kindle may just even out the game.

I have things like "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" and "The Jungle Book" and "The Last of the Mohicans" and "Pride and Prejudice" to name just a few that are loaded up and ready for me to get into.

I also have beautiful classic books that I have already read like "Red Badge of Courage" and "The Secret Garden" and "The Velveteen Rabbit" on the Kindle. They are like old friends, lost to the sands of time, who have returned to me.

My only issue is that sometimes I have a hard time reading the classics. The language or style can be tough.

I do love the Kindle's in line dictionary that makes looking up tough words a snap.

But all the Oxford English Dictionaries in the world can't help me get around some of the archaic language.

Right now, The Good Man and I are taking on our latest book club title. It is just us in our book club. We read together and then discuss.

Currently we are reading "The Picture of Dorian Gray" by Oscar Wilde. The Good Man is a confirmed Wilde fan. Until I got the Kindle last month, I'd read zero Wilde. I started with the play "The Importance of Being Earnest" and really enjoyed it.

But I'm finding ol' Dorian Gray to be a bit of a slog. All the reasons that The Good Man likes it, the deep thought and philosophizing...well, that just makes me ape sh*t. I want some story to move the thing along!

I'm doin' it. I'm chugging though the pages. Currently about halfway done. The story part of the story is really fascinating. Well drawn characters and quotable pithy sayings.

But the expository pieces that run for pages and pages are about to make me insane. I *know* that's why people love Wilde and I *get* that he was a great thinker and artist of his time.

But damnit! I'm just a girl who likes a little Louis L'Amour sprinkled in her day. There is a cowboy, he fights another cowboy over stolen cattle or water rights, and then gets the girl. The end.

I know, I know. This high-minded literature stuff is good for me.

And I really am enjoying it.

Tell me, what do YOU make of: "But he never fell into the error of arresting his intellectual development by any formal acceptance of creed or system, or of mistaking, for a house in which to live, an inn that is but suitable for the sojourn of a night, or for a few hours of a night in which there are no stars and the moon is in travail."

I spent a while working on just that one sentence. I get it now, but my brain is tired.

Maybe wearing out the ol' brain on classic literature will help stave off dementia. It's a nice thought, anyway.

Oh my mortality

I had a doctor's visit this morning. Nothing special, just a routine check up for blood pressure and all of that.

My doctor was running late so I had some time to sit and entertain myself.

When all my email was read on the iPhone and I'd caught up on Twitter, I started people watching. You know, people watching at a medical center is quite a thing. You see a lot...

Anyhow, pretty soon, a nurse came down the hall pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair.

They came into our waiting area and the nurse helped the man to get up onto his feet, and he then took a few steps with the aid of a cane.

As he shakily got to his feet, he said to the young nurse, "Who would have thought it would come to this, eh?"

He said it in a wry way, but it carried a deep note of sadness.

The man was, by all appearances, pretty healthy. He was probably in his late seventies and from what I could see, was suffering a very bad hip.

The nurse helped the man get settled into the seat, with a groan.

He gave me a weary smile and I smiled back.

The nurse said to the man, as she departed, "one of my patients told me that his best advice was simply this: just don't get old."

"Yes, certainly," said the man, with a sigh.

The whole exchange made me a bit melancholy. I remember when my dad struggled with rapidly advancing lung disease. His mind was fine but his body crapped out on him way too early.

How angry that must make a person, your legs, your lungs, your eyes, your whatever body part you want to name just doesn't work like you know it should.

Ugh.

And me. Still fairly young but full of the knowledge that I'm not taking care of myself as well as I should. Now is the time to tend to these things.

Time marches on, whether I'm keeping step with it or not.

And even now, I know some parts of this ol' rig don't work like they should. But I still have time.

Time to remember to enjoy my legs that still carry me easily, a heart that still beats strong. Lungs that take in air without coughing.

Yes. It was just a nice reminder, a needed wake up call.

Because one day I might be uttering to a kindly young nurse, "who would have thought it would come to this?"

Sorry for the sort of down post today. The rain and the doctor's waiting room has me in a very thoughtful place.

New Mexifail!

Whoooo! Some homestate love once more on the Failblog!

Oh Fair New Mexico!!!

Wait. That's not the shape of New Mexico.

Uh.....

I know, I know...the *name* of the company is New Mexico Soap. But...it's still confusing.

Maybe the label could be..."State Shaped Soap, brought to you by New Mexico Soap" or something similar to avoid the perils of the Failblog?

For the record, the people at New Mexico Soap also carry this little product:

There ya go! That's the right shape! They left off that little jut up near Oklahoma, but that's ok.

I'm sure the people who live up in the jut (uh, that would be round about Clayton, NM) don't mind being left off the soap. Much.

By the by, this is not the only New Mexico fail on the failblog. Here's the one I posted back in October.