I Am a Hippie Farm Co op Member

No, not weed.

At least, I don't THINK so. Ask me Saturday.

I have just ordered my first basket from the Bountiful Baskets Food Co Op. On Saturday, I will get in my car that runs on used banana peels and head on down to the pick up.

What will I get?

In my imagination, I am standing there in braids and a tie dye skirt, with a baby tied to my body. I am holding a wicker basket literally *BURSTING* with fresh fruits and vegetables, and fresh bread made by monks. The sun is shining brightly and there  is goodwill everywhere.  I hug the other Co op members goodbye. I go home and can some of the  offerings and use the bruised fruit to make some lovely jam. Then, I smoke a medical marijuana doobie, to help with my TMJ and/or glaucoma.  Then, we will gather 'round for a bit of singing. I will play the tambourine.

This would be my life partner, Hans. He would accompany me
instead of stay home and watch Poker Stars.

In reality, we will be racing all over town that day, burning gas and energy, attending consumerism based birthday gatherings, eating processed food, and using plastic bags. At 2:45, I will be racing across town to get my vegetables, and will forget boxes. I will be stuffing the goods in a series of containers that are still in my car like my briefcase, a shoe box from a recent animal hide purchase, and an empty Starbucks cup. It will be snowing, and there will be a gale force wind. There will be a line, and I will wish for wine. I will drag all of the loot out of the containers and stack it on the counter. There will be a lot of odd shaped vegetables and fruits and some I don't recognize. The Baboos will yelp at the sight of the bounty and point at all of the things "there is no way {they} are eating". I will order the kids a pizza while Special Agent and I go out to an elitist wine-paired dinner where we will consume half of a bloody hormone-enhanced cow. And wine.

Ok, ...I am certainly exaggerating here. I might have the tuna.

It's free range tuna - don't judge.

Super Effin' Fabulous Academy Awards Party *Tonight*

In my dreams, this is what I am saying/writing:

So sorry my dear, I wish I could write a longer post, but I am much, much too busy working with the caterer to make sure my edible gold Academy award statuettes and Crudités are ready to be placed upon the buffet for my spectacular Academy Awards party tonight. Sorry, I wish there were more openings for you to attend, but I am certain, absolutely certain you would find such a high brow soiree a complete and total bore, dahling.

In reality, I will probably lay on the couch in my see-no-yoga yoga pants half asnooze, hoping to come to life to wipe the slobber off of my couch pillow to see Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Movie, etc.

Unfortunately, my timing will be off so I will probably be jarred to life just in time to see the award presented for Best Sound Mixing. Or that time when they talk about how the Academy ballot system works. Time for some more Thin Mints out of the freezer, methinks! (Hey, who slobbered on this pillow? Kids are so gross)

Sadly, I haven't even seen but one of the major movies nominated this year. I HAVE seen a shitload of 5th grade basketball games however. So while I can speak in detail about the Orange Crush whipping ass and having said ass whipped by other throngs of 5th graders, I've got nothing on the movies, for the  most part.

I considered spending this entire weekend going to movie after movie, since some of the Academy movies were/are here, but A) what am I, childless? and B) what am I, a millionaire? C) what am I, paying close enough attention to realize only the King's Speech is still here?

I was able to catch The Social Network last night, and while I am not sure it was as life changing as Facebook itself, it was a compelling story and the acting was as expected.

The actor playing an almost Asperger-like Zuckerberg did a great job of portraying a lonesome kid who has a tough time making connections with people, but no trouble making computer connections. I was reminded of my Engineer post, and the often heard joke

"Engineers: they know 1,000 ways to fuck, but don't know any women" (sorry, Mom).

I thought the Winklevoss brothers Zuckerberg is accused of stealing the Facebook idea from were are a little bit contrived, and make me think of  every John Hughes rich pretty boy character from the 80's. However, after looking them up, they do in fact, look like the preppy douches portrayed. Good work, casting!

Special Agent actually walked by this photo and asked "are those girls??"

Justin T. does a good (but nothing spectacular job) of being the coattail riding sleaze Ryan Parker of Napster fame. I definitely felt bad for the one true friend of Zuckerberg, who truly gets screwed in the movie. I hope his unpublished settlement was worth being cut out.

I can't help but wonder how accurate the story is. While the settlements were factual, there is no telling how much of the rest of the movie is, especially since Mark Zuckerberg hasn't spoken about what isn't true in the movie, just that it isn't a true representation. In any case, it is completely interesting to me, as a current Facebook addict.

Still, it doesn't seem that it is worth a gold statue. Of course, what would I know? Its the only movie in the bunch that I've seen.

Enjoy the Academy Awards tonight, Dahlingzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

**By the way, my pal JS actually got to go to the awards with her Techie-amazing husband, and got to walk on the red carpet. She rocks. Me and my socks, not so much. ***

I Repel Engineers

An engineer is a professional practitioner of engineering, concerned with applying scientific knowledge, mathematics and ingenuity to develop solutions for technical problems. Engineers design materials, structures, machines and systems while considering the limitations imposed by practicality, safety and cost. The word engineer is derived from the Latin root ingenium, meaning "cleverness".

Engineers are grounded in applied sciences, and their work in research and development is distinct from the basic research focus of scientists. The work of engineers forms the link between scientific discoveries and the applications that meet the needs of society.

(This makes them sound much easier to work with than they are.)

Dear Engineers,


When you are speaking to me, do I look slightly terrified?
Because I am.


Do I look as if I am considering running away?
Because I am.


Please don't take it personally, I feel this way whenever I talk to someone who thinks on such a different level than I do. And. I am afraid you will ask me a lot of questions I don't know the answer to, confirming that I am as big of a bullshit artist as you supposed I was. I'd hate to confirm that.

I don't TRY to avoid Engineers. OK, that's a lie. Sometimes I do. They make me NERVOUS, and I feel that there is always going to be a test at the end, or I am going to be asked to formulate my blabbering into a six page report, complete with proof. And while I luuurve research, I dislike technical data. I like to think big picture, and those detail guys drive me to drink.


I used to have a boss who said "don't tell me about the labor pains, girl. Just SHOW ME THE BABY..".  Exactly, Bob.


Until recently, i have been up to my eyebrows in Engineers and their lack of soft skills. When I try to crack wise to ease the tension, they look at me quizzically. They do not smile. They do not laugh. They do not speak sarcasm, my native tongue. They take my joking seriously, and ask "do you really think so?" Um...no.


For several years, I worked in Public Affairs,  which included working with employee volunteers, community outreach, engaging elected officials and event planning. These are things that engineers disliked and thought was a huge waste of time. It did not factor into production directly. In fact, it was seen as a waste. I was wasteful. I was a waste. I was forced to meet with them regularly and waste more of their time giving them a peppy update while they looked at the clock behind my head and tried to ignore their ringing phone instead of me, overusing the word "SUPER!".

:-|


I don't blame them. They can't see how our giving away donations to local charities and glad-handing the local elected officials paves the way for their upcoming projects. There is no way to measure it. It doesn't calculate. It does not compute.

Several of my friends are married to engineers and I know they see me giving them the chicken eye when we are in a group setting. I am just WAITING for them to catch onto one minute detail of my yap-yap-yap and call me on it. They are listening MUCH to intently to whatever I am yammering on about and I am terrified they will say "what is your basis for that theory, Onion?" and I will literally, truly, turn and sprint away.

Or do that Twix commercial thing, where they shove both pieces of the candy bar in their gob and then stand there helplessly.

Traveling and working with them, I also learned some other basic differences, including:


1. Engineers figure out how to split the bill, including the tip (standard 15%) to the PENNY.


The Onion guesses by taking the total bill, roughly calculating 10% and then roughly doubling that number (waitresses like to see me coming)

Carry the sugar...
www.educationalflashcards.com

2. Engineers explain locations using GPS, maps, or saying travel due North 13.6 miles before turning west and traveling 7.5 miles and then taking the left fork and traveling back east 3 miles...


The Onion needs immobile landmarks (cow herds travel about and can't be trusted) like "turn at the broken green gate and travel until you see the water tank with the giant penis spray-painted on the side. Turn there and go a long way until you go over the big hill with the Dr. Seuss tree at the top.

Where my sister's ex lives. Feel free to TP his house.

 This is not to say that I didn't like some of the crazy engineers I worked with. All were good guys, and committed to trying to help me, if they could only figure out exactly what the hell I wanted from them. I felt the same way, so often we were at an impasse. They said "Onion, just let us know exactly what we can do to help you guys out..(looking at watch)" and I said stupid things like  "we just want to support the field operations, Jim! (note peppy PR smile). 

One thing I am enjoying thus far in my consulting career is that I am no longer feeling tortured or making engineers feel tortured by my ramblings. Instead, I torture you guys.


what?...I don't mean anything by that.
..it isn't really a theory...just my..
No...it was...well, it was just a joke...
No, I mean it was just for cracking wise on the blog...
What's a blog? oh, um...its just this silly thing.
No, it isn't related to the project.
Really, just forg...
Sigh.


((running away))

Random Thought of the Day

Watching episodes of Hoarders makes me feel very tidy and organized.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

I like soup. A lot.

Sick Day

My sweet Baboo is home sick today.

She was up and raring to go to open gym this morning when....nope, she decided to throw up instead.

Open gym out.
Throwing up in.

So here we are, couched up, watching back episodes of Glee, Top Chef and other shows we like. We are sharing a blankie and she is rocking the IPOD touch while I do a little work, and a little blog'n. It's cold outside, so I can certainly think of worse places to be right now.

I remember staying home sick back in the day. My Mom didn't work outside of our home when I was small and I remember wanting to stay with her. Continuously. My teacher's name was Mrs. Klein, and I loved her so much, but she was no match for having my Mom all to myself.

I learned quickly that if I went to the nurse THREE times, she would call my Mom to come and get me. It was tough to keep asking Mrs. Klein to go to the nurse, but she was so nice that she let me. The nurse would ask what was wrong and I would explain a generalized malaise. When she asked "do you want to call your Mom?", I tried not to smile when I nodded.

My status was a Platinum level user

My Mother didn't let us have soda and one thing I remember so clearly about staying home was having 7 Up. And processed saltine crackers (I still think of them as a comfort food. Love. Them. ). This was the rule of stomachache, and I reveled in it. Laying on the couch with a blanket, watching game shows, my Mom doing her thing around the house, and occasionally checking on me. She was mine. Allllll mine. My siblings were at boring old school ((sticking tongue out))

But ol' Sandy was no dummy. If too many sick days occurred, she started throwing out the doctor threat. Subtly at first, and then with gusto. She knew this would break me. Amped up on 7 up and white flour, I would sort of FORGET that I was supposed to be sick, and give myself away.

Me:                Jumping up and down on the couch while watching "Let's Make                          A Deal"
Sandy:            Oh...I see you are feeling better..
Me:                ((Slumping down immediately with the big eyes)) uhhh, a little                              bit..
Sandy:            Oh Good, because if you don't get well, we will have to go see                           Dr. Pat.
Me:                I think I just need to rest
Sandy:            I'm SURE you will be well enough for school tomorrow                                      ((staring pointedly with the big eyes))
Me:                I hope so. (Clutching crackers and jelly jar of 7Up)

Dammit! The Dr. Pat card....mean. She knew I knew that Dr. Pat would would know I wasn't sick, or might think I WAS and give me a big shot or something. Sigh. Back to school. I am trading in my 7Up for a lukewarm milk carton. Sigh, sigh, sigh. At least Mrs. Klein would be there.

My sweet Baboo is wolfing down raviolis , so suffice to say I think she will make it. I am also peeling myself off of the couch and trading in my DVR remote for a community meeting. Sigh, sigh, sigh. Sick day is OVER.

Dammit People! Now, I'm Injured...

I think I am injured.
Yes, really.
No, it isn't from exercising. Duh.I don't work that hard.

It's crackenberry-itis. Yes, it is.

No relation to Frankenberry-itis.

And CERTAINLY not dingleberry-itis.

Two years of 50+ emails a day, travel to hell and back, lap-topping in every podunk airport chair and cramped plane seat, riddled with constant anxiety.... and nothing. My wrists felt dreamy.  Five months of consulting (much of that time spent cooking) and I am benched.

At first I thought I must have done something acute to my arm. I felt pain with I lifted plates from the cabinet and whisking eggs, butter and sugar together was a real chore! I thought for sure it was a truffle rolling injury, or carrying the grocery bags full of butter up the stairs to the kitchen. But, it remained. Nagging. Fleeting.

I decided to blame it on the whisking (WhiskING, not WhisKEY, people - pay attention). But the pain came and went. I knew enough about repetitive trauma to know that this was a swelling of the carpal tunnel of my wrist . I didn't tell anyone that I suspected the crackberry addiction had finally done me in. And I continued to crack away...allll dayyyy long.

My arm hurts from my elbow down, yet I used my limp arm and hand to google my condition and I found this

Are You Suffering From Blackberry Syndrome??

I sent the info to Special Agent (on my blackberry) and came clean as to my suspicions for my injury. As you could imagine, he was terribly worried, and wrote back:

As per the article I suggest you massage and stretch thoroughly before you your daily crackberry addiction. Possibly consider waiting until after you fully open your eyes while laying in bed before you start facebooking, texting, blogging, "researching", tweeting and twating. ...

Blackberry yoga might be another possible solution..

I can't tell you what I wrote back to Special Agent.

I have been trying to crack with my left hand, but it just isn't panning out (insert many masturbation jokes here). I am even trying to lay off the crack (Insert more masturbation jokes here), but to no avail. I need that thing. More than masturbation, even. (Sorry, even i couldn't resist).

I am too cheap to see a Doctor who will tell me that I need to lay off the crack. For now, I am pretending I have tennis elbow, from my extensive tennis career.

I am also considering an IPOD Touch, or a Droid. Next up, touch pad-itis. (Insert mas...oh, never mind.)

"That's Today for Ya!" (A Thanksgiving story and #3 of 3 trips down memory lane)

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 09, 2006

I worked at a grocery store through high school. It was a good job for a student; it didn't require a hairnet, or saying the phrase "you want fries with that?" The only downside was that grocery stores bring on all kids of freaks. Everyone has to eat, right? 

Need fruits and vegetables, cans of Spam; Normal people? Yes. 

Freaks? Hell yes.

One particular guy visited regularly and scared the crap out of me. He was a big guy that dressed like a logger, or the guy from movies you see that "works on the docks" (In Wyoming?); he even wore the cap for it.

Add some scraggly stubble, a plaid shirt
and the crazy eyes, and....this is his mug shot
after my murder.

 He always came stomping through the door, with the look of mental illness on his face. He had that crazy-wild-eyed thing going on, eyes going in different directions or something. And, this guy was continually PISSED OFF. He seemed to be particularly angry at the young, gorgeous (okay, average looking) high school girl working the register. I tried to go on break when this guy would storm in, but the best I could do usually was the primo distraction of cleaning the bathrooms. Every time I was in the bathroom, (cleaning the mirror instead of the toilets for 35 minutes) I would expect to hear the shooting of my co-worker that was not as wise as me to hide out.

On Thanksgiving, all of the students had to work the holiday shifts instead of the adults. It was relatively quiet in the store, since most people were home enjoying their families. I didn't mind working, since a day with the family for a high school kid is kind of like a trip to Shady Acres Retirement Home. 

The store on holiday watch was an escape; almost no one came in, the supervisors were mostly absent, and you could read all of the magazines without paying for them. This is what I was accomplishing when the automatic door whooshed open and "crazy eyes" came in. Oh crap. I looked for an escape route, but I was the only one around. My counterparts in grocery checking were already hiding out somewhere. I was stuck. 

I watched him storm down the aisle. He seemed particularly fired up that day, his boots were really stomping around. He was wearing this dirty coat and I imagined him later throwing it over my dead, crumpled grocery uniform-wearing corpse.

I could hear the stomping and grumbling above the muzak over the loud speakers, as crazy was getting items. I was staring at my ugly uniform pants when he seemed to pop up out of nowhere.... grimacing. Eeeeek.  He was in my line, inches away from me! His dirty coat arms were filled with cans of corn - he must have had 20 of them! I scooted behind my register and waited for the onslaught of gunfire. 

The cans of corn were losing their seating in his arms and began to fall onto the scanner area. When one fell, he would yell "WELL, THAT'S TODAY FOR YA!!!" and set it upright. This would cause another can to fall, and then another. This wasn't that freaky, except that HE KEPT SAYING IT. And the cans kept falling. I just stood there, frozen:

"WELL, THAT'S TODAY FOR YA!" (thunk.) 

"WELL, THAT'S TODAY FOR YA!! (thunk.) 

"WELL, THAT'S TODAY FOR YA!!" (hesitation while cans stabilized) (thunk.). 

It seemed to go on for 20 seconds or 20 minutes. My fight or flight mechanism was telling me to haul ass, but instead I scanned the 20 cans of corn at lightening speed, crammed them in a bag and took the money from Captain Crazy, who was still muttering about the cans. I gave him the change, trying to avoid any skin to skin contact. I swallowed hard and meekly said "Happy Thanksgiving...". 

He stopped muttering abruptly, and stared hard at me. 

I swear, I think I felt pee. 

He turned and stormed off out the door with a whoosh of leaves blowing in as he left. 

I laid on the dog food bags, and that year I was truly thankful.....