Mondays Stink.

There was a fire at a pet shop today in Bloomington. The official tally hasn't come in, but some animals didn't make it out of the fire alive. Some puppies were saved, but no word on the cats. And from down the hall, I hear, "Cats are a dime a dozen." "Cats are mean." Blood beginning to boil, I called down to them that they're not mean and to keep quiet.

I know some people are "dog people", and some people are "cat people", some favor reptiles and others fish, but lives were lost here. Not human lives, but lives of animals that through no fault of their own, were extinguished. Does it matter so much what a creature is? Can't we focus on the fact that those little individual furry lives are gone, be they reptile (so much for fur), feline, or rodent? Yes, there are many animals in the world. Lots of cats, lots of dogs, lots of birds, even chinchillas, and sure, other animals will fill those spaces should the pet shop remodel and reopen. But it's a little insensitive to say that it doesn't matter that a cat is dead and to save all the dogs because their lives mean more. That's bullshit.

Annoyances.

I'm not one to really diet. I've done so in the past, to my detriment. My mother was a dieter all the years that I knew her. And I never wanted to be like that.

However, upon returning to the U.S., there were lots of things I ate that I probably shouldn't have, and now my belly bulge is back, and it brought its cousins with it.

So today I decided to follow the South Beach Diet plan, which I've had moderate success with in the past. And of course, today we had a staff meeting with pizza. Four different kinds. And breadsticks.

Not to mention that my office is a veritable hell for people with weak willpower, such as myself. Candy dishes abound with Starbursts, Hershey's kisses and Miniatures, butterscotch discs, and Sweet Tarts.

But I screwed up my willpower, and ate my vegetables while everyone around me gorged on some mighty fine looking pizza.

So what do I find when I get off work?

Wiley ate a bagel.

Now, perhaps this wouldn't be a big deal to you, Dear Reader, but I was furious. First, we decided to do this together. Second, my willpower is really quite low. So I need the support. But I felt betrayed. How can I get support from someone who says, "I was hungry, and it was offered to me, and I wanted to eat?" I'm still mad about it. Yeah yeah, humans aren't perfect, and all that jazz, but it's not even the end of the first day.

Meh. You hear me, Wiley? Meh.

Where are all the Good Humans?

Do you remember a time when somebody said they'd do something, and they'd actually do it? When someone's word actually meant something? I miss those days.

My landlord called me a liar. He likened me to the Boy Who Cried Wolf because I told him the oven was emitting a funny smell, and now smoke, albeit white, light smoke, not something to fill up the entire house, even after he supposedly looked at it. "I'll come over Sunday," he said. I emailed and texted him late Sunday. No response. I emailed Monday, asking if he was coming on Monday. "Well, the AC worked every time I came over to look at it (which was a lie because the first time it acted up, he was here and called the repairman himself), and it worked every time the repairman came (when he came a few days later and somehow the AC repaired itself). And I came over last week and didn't smell or see anything (the guy has told me he doesn't have a very sensitive nose), so I don't know what to do..."

Hmm..let's ponder. You're the friggin' landlord and you don't know what to do? You take care of your property. You fucking show up when you say you're going to, asshole. You actually come over WHEN I'M HOME so I know you're not making it up when you say you came over. You investigate the issue more than just turning a knob and standing there for 30 seconds (if you really did come over). You don't tell my fiance that I'm the tenant who cried wolf. Where would that get me? I'm trying to be a responsible tenant so YOUR property isn't damaged, and you reward that caution with a backhanded "By the way, I think you're a liar" by comparing me to a boy in a story who wanted attention? You are a slumlord, and I feel sorry for the people renting this after me. Karma's going to bite you in the ass someday, and when it does, I am going to have one hell of a smile on my face.

The Lid, She Is Off

Need to vent.

Why is it so hard to let go of friendships that were false from the start? I have known someone for a period of years (about 8 or so), who I thought was a pretty good friend. Then I got divorced and I think it kinda creeped her out because all of a sudden, I stopped being invited to her house. Around the same time, I found out that this person had been talking about me behind my back (yeah, I know, in this world that's hardly a surprise), but what she said was such a surprise that I literally burst out crying. This was someone who I thought was a very good friend - who was close to me. I let her into my home and let down my guard, and she put a knife in my back.

Time has passed, but I am somewhat unable to let go. I remain cordial because we still share friends, but I really just want to tell this person that I know what she did and it hurt me, and that while everyone else thinks she's the bee's knees, I know deep down that she's not a nice person. But of course, if I ever do mention this, first, she won't remember doing it, and second, she'll go running around to people again talking about my confrontation with her. So in the end, suck it up Melinda and just go on about life and forget about her. Ruminating doesn't change the outcome. That still doesn't make it easy to forgive and forget. Or just forgive.

I feel better.

Turtle-icious

Well, I have to say that Target's SPF 50 certainly did the trick, so save a buck and don't get Coppertone. I'm just as white as I always am. Today I went out with a friend and rented a kayak to go out on Griffy Lake. We had a quick breakfast at the Runcible Spoon and headed on our merry way to this lake that's very close to campus. Before getting in the boat, I slathered on my face sunscreen and my sport sunscreen. We were on the lake for about an hour and a half, and I barely got anything...a little sun would be nice, especially on the legs, but it wasn't to be today.

Instead, what I got was turtles. Lots and lots of turtles. On our way back to the boathouse, we spotted 18 on one single log sunning themselves! All different shapes and sizes. We also saw a heron, an egret, a duck, and several geese.

And to top it all off tonight, I saw a mouse. Outside my back door. Rewind went a little nutters at the door, so I stepped outside and became a statue. After a few minutes, my crouch was rewarded with a little grey nose poking out of the hole under the concrete slab that I was standing on. He took a little bite of leaf, then ducked back under. I wasn't actually sure it was a mouse - I couldn't find any eyes on it at all...in fact, it looked like where the eyes were were just little grey dots of nothing. So part of me wondered if it was a mole. Whatever it was, it was small, and as soon as it smelled me, was gone. Then, not a minute later, I heard rustling of leaves...turns out by my air conditioner, there's a rather large hole going into what I think is the bottom of the house. So I emailed my landlord and said more poison was needed. Then I realized my landlord is a schmuck and decided to put my electronic trap outside to trap The Thing That Lives. We'll see if I'm successful. If I'm not and I have another mouse to deal with inside, you'll be hearing me curse all the way from Indiana.

Have I mentioned how happy I am that I am leaving this place??

Blowing off steam

Customer service is right out the window. I called a flower shop to see about getting a quote for some flowers for the wedding, and as soon as the woman heard October, she cut me off mid-sentence. "We're working Mother's Day," she snapped, like "Hello stupid, you call a flower shop the day before Mother's Day?" "Call me or come in next week and I'll be happy to talk to you about your wedding, but we're swamped right now and don't have time." You're a flower shop and it's Mother's Day weekend. Busy, why, yes, I understand that. But it's not like Mother's Day is a surprise. And lady, had you just given me a chance to spit out that I only wanted to know about a certain flower and what it was going to cost to get them from you, you could've been done with me in 5 minutes and had a sale. As it stands, you've pissed me off and I'm not going to do business with you. Disagree with me all you want, Dear Reader, but even when you're super busy and stressed, you do not take it out on the customer or make the customer feel like they're infringing on your time. Phrasing is everything. Perhaps say, "Ooh, that sounds wonderful! Tell you what - we are just swamped here today since we've got the holiday tomorrow. Is it possible that I give you a call back tonight if I have a little down-time or perhaps talk to you next week? I can't give you the time or the attention you need right now, and I want to be sure I get all the details." How hard would that have been?

Today, We Tackle

the lawn. Landlord came over last night to look at my oven and forgot his electric thingamajiggy to figure out if the current is still there or broken. He asked about the yard and if I was able to get into the shed, and I led him to it, keeping care to not step in any boxer dog-poop (it's a bit of a feat, really). I showed him the hole in the roof, which he didn't know about and is going to fix, and then we got out the "brand new" lawnmower. Landlord showed me how to prime it ("press this button 3 times") and how to pull on the cord, and blue smoke shot out from the side, and the lawnmower died. Landlord tried five more times before deciding to take the lawnmower home with him and fix it. He is supposed to come back today to look at the oven again and give me my lawnmower. As today is the last nice day of the week, my neighbor's friends still haven't bothered to come over and we're running out of time. So screw them, I'm going to do it myself. But it wouldn't surprise me if the landlord brought it back completely empty of gas. After all, buying the gas is my responsibility, and apparently so is getting the gas can. Bull honky, I say, and told him as such. I can get the gas, but he should provide the can. Wal Mart and every other place is on the other side of town so it'll take me a half-hour just to get that, then get the gas. Hopefully he'll get me a new oven soon so I can make those cookies.

Rumble Rumble

In one month, I will be back on US soil. I have mixed emotions about it. I get more miles. I get to see friends and family, get to take a tour of the Plains states seeing said friends and family, get to see one or two of my furballs, get to talk to some sales reps who can tell me more about their jobs to see if I can handle being one myself, get to try on some wedding dresses, see the reception site in the evening, talk to the photographer, even maybe get a massage and a haircut - just a trim, mind you, until I figure out what to do with it. I might even get some cheese curds and a Maid-Rite, and I have high hopes of being able to breathe normally through both nostrils again. But it's all at the expense of leaving Sarajevo, and Wiley, behind. Both are somewhat temporary, but four months is still a long time...in between my arrival and Wiley's arrival, I will have moved from one state to the other and hopefully started a job or two. The roses will bloom in Sarajevo, making it smell wonderful, and Wiley will get to go on more hikes with my camera, and he will be the one to see the majestic mountaintops through the viewfinder, not me. (I guess now we'll see if it's the camera or the person that takes the great shot.) However, I've learned one very important detail about myself: without a goal to work toward, retirement in my old age is really going to bite. (So yes, I will have one.)

And speaking of biting, I really hate writing cover letters. I'd be good at many things. I have a steady job history (been with the last employer 8 years), I'm a fast typer, can use many computer programs, know how to use databases, and have even managed and trained a team of people - attorneys, no less. Think that's easy? Just take a look at Dan and you'll see the egos that are out there, and I've had to deal with that - CONSISTENTLY. It's not much fun to argue with someone and tell them that they're wrong, but I've done it, and I've done it tactfully. I can pour on the sugar like you. would. not. believe. But cover letters remind me of chewing mud (don't ask) or what I imagine struggling to down sawdust must feel like. You want someone. I want to work for you. Here are my qualifications. Like what you see? Then take a number to come talk to me. If I'm not working for you, then you can bet I'm working for your competition. So would you rather have me in-house making you money or taking money from you because I'm working against you? But no. I have to have a format. First paragraph: say where you heard about the job. Second paragraph: explain why you're right for the job. Third paragraph: close the sale. Tell them when you'll be calling to talk about an interview. Sign it however you wish, just make sure everything is in the full upright and locked position to make the landing a pleasant one.

'Splain, Lucy

We have a cop outside our apartment building. We have a cop living across from us. You have to have a key to get into the building. Yet somehow, someone clipped the chain and stole the cop's kid's bike that was on the landing in-between floors - 6 steps from our doors - last night after 9:30. Apparently, the cop outside didn't notice anything fishy, like a bike being wheeled out-of-doors in the middle of winter, late in the evening. So much for that feeling of security.

Frenzied

How is it possible that I feel crunched for time when I have hardly anything to do but plan a small wedding that's not taking place for at least another 10 months?

I blame The Knot. I just get engaged, sign up on the site so I can start looking at wedding dresses, and already, I have a list of 180 things to do, and 17 of them are overdue. And some of them, I might add, are completely ridiculous.

But what has me up in arms at this present time is that when I clicked on the photo gallery of bridal hairstyles, all of these brides have something in common with each other that they don't share with me: they all have long hair.

Is it a sin to be a bride with short hair? Could you be just a little less homogenized and give me some pictures with short-haired brides, please, Knot? Sheesh.

Pissed.

I spent quite a few hours yesterday proofing a paper for someone. Because I know that computers can crap out at any time, and my IT help desk at work always drilled it into me to save, save, save, I hit the save button continuously, thinking I was doing the right thing.

Today, with only five pages to go, I can't find my saved document. I've looked everywhere. Clipit told me that the filepath was invalid. Try somewhere else, he suggested. To no avail. So I had to go through the paper again. Now I am done, but I will go through one more time to make sure I remembered every change I made yesterday. I hope to get a backrub for this, as sitting in this damned chair all day is cramping me up.

I Wonder When

Missouri will actually get some good press. Lately we had the story about the woman who killed the pregnant lady and stole the baby, and now this.

For those of you who don't want to click, in essence, a fictitious boy named Josh contacted a girl named Megan, a 13 year-old who had been diagnosed with ADD and depression, on MySpace. Six weeks after initiating contact, the boy abruptly ended contact, telling Megan she wasn't a very nice person and was mean to her friends. Then there were messages posted about Megan saying she was a slut and fat, which upset her, and she hung herself and died.

This is the part that just floors me: Josh was made up by a neighboring family - a mother, her daughter and "another person". The daughter was a former friend of Megan's. Mom told police she wanted to gain Megan's trust to see what she was saying about her daughter.

Although Megan's parents said they monitored her online communication, she was underage when she opened up her account. A bit of a problem there. And a mother went fishing online to see what this kid was saying about her daughter. An even bigger problem.

Whatever happened to telling kids that it doesn't matter what others say about them? That the only opinion that matters is their own? Or how about teaching some coping mechanisms for the bullies of the world, since they're always around? And by the way, girls are much better bullies than boys. Boys hit; girls are aggressive in other ways, which are really quite painful. Read Odd Girl Out by Rachel Simmons to give you an idea if you're really clueless...but me thinks some of you gals can think of grade school examples in your own lives where you were either the bully or the target.

To the mom who created the profile just to see what this other girl was saying about your daughter, you should be prosecuted. You and your daughter and that "other person" all need to go in for some extensive counseling on how to deal with your problems. Grow up.

A-walking We Will Go

Last night, we walked into town to meet our new friend for coffee. The coffee bar was a wonderful little gem - big tables and a nice big upstairs so you don't have to ask someone to move their chair so you can get out. We were there for quite some time, trading stories about our lives. Wiley and I had a wonderful time.

Today, we struck out around 9:30 for Dobrinje, which is where my doctor is. We walked around all the little shops there and went to the doctor a half-hour early. And, we got in. Try doing that in the US. This time, my doctor was the head honcho, who spoke English with a Russian accent. He had two cronies with him. He surprised me by telling me that I look like the women in Bosnia. For once, I was speechless because I don't think I look like any of them! He told me that my infection isn't gone yet, so I have another antibiotic, decongestant and nose spray to take for a week or so, and then I go back again for a checkup. This visit was a bit more invasive. He stuck these long silver tubes with lights on the end up my nose and lit up each nostril; not exactly pleasant, though it was kinda fun to see one side light up like Rudolph. Then they stuck something that looked like a drill in my ears, testing the inner ear, and that received an all-clear. They are convinced I've done something to my nose. Yes, it's crooked. No, I don't know why. No, I don't remember having any trauma, though I suppose it's possible a wayward volleyball hit me in the face and I don't remember it. Otherwise, I can't think of anything. Then he asked if my mom had problems delivering me. From what I've been told (because while I was there, my memory isn't that good), I was a baby in distress born with the cord around my neck, but can that cause nose problems?? Since this may not be the last time we live abroad, I'm seriously considering talking to Che, as he's known around the office, about the operation he had to repair his deviated septum to avoid further problems with unclean air. I want no one sticking those tubes up my nose again, even if the ones wielding them are nice.

We also went to the Embassy today so Wiley could get a new passport. Very imposing structure. We went early, so we walked around that part of town, and it's beautiful!!! Very Austrian-looking. We found a place to eat, where I had "Vienna steak", which was originally lamb, but they made it out of chicken for me, and gave me a side of fries (and no, I didn't ask). Wiley had some soup. Then we went to the Embassy, where we handed over our passports and were told to go inside. Just as I turn, the guy who has my passport, who received my passport with Wiley's, stopped me and asked if we were together. After I said yes, they opened the door and we stepped through a metal detector, handed over our bags, watched as they ran them through the conveyor belt, watched as they searched Wiley's bag, found our cell phones, turned them off and handed them over, then walked back through the metal detector and got hand-wanded before being told to go through another door to talk to someone about the passport. They were waiting for us, and that took no time at all, and then we were out.

Yesterday, we walked somewhere between seven and eight miles, and today, we walked three. That's a heck of a lot more walking than I did in the States, but the scale has hardly budged for me! Darn their hot chocolates!

Adventures in Mail

Today, our mailman alerted us to the fact that we had a package. He rang our bell and presented Wiley with a yellow piece of paper. Ecstatic to get mail, we finished getting ready and went to the post office. While there, we paid the heating bill and were told that our package was at the other post office, near the train and bus stations. So we hoof it down there, about a mile or so, and step inside. The building couldn't be more confusing. Do we go left or right? We tried left. Stood in line to have a guy look through some papers and then tell us to go down to the other side of the building. So we go outside and go to the back of the building. Again, left or right? This time, a receptionist was there - a male, mind you - and he told us to go right. So we go right, give the paper to a guy, show Wiley's passport, sign a piece of paper, then we're told to go pay for our package through the doors and to the left. Then we can have our package. So then we go left, wait in line, have two people cut in front of us, pay our 9.50 KM for our package, get our paper stamped, then go right again to pick up the package. It's like everyone just wants to wait in line. All told, we stood in four lines today! But we finally got our package with wonderful goodies inside! Thank you thank you thank you for our early Christmas!!! Just as soon as I find cream of tartar, cupcakes shall be made!

Ok, now that I know it works

Here's the new blog. Welcome to Scribblings from Sarajevo, brought to you by the same author as Oggi! Today! I decided to make a new blog and include Wiley in the ramblings. Technically, we should be saving posts for when we actually get over there, and between now and then, blogging will be brief, but I can say a few things:

First, moving sucks. I have been at it all day. Well, all week, but apparently I have a lot of shyt. My 8x10 storage area is just a wee bit small for all the bins I need to put in, so I have to leave some with my good friend Hiney. We moved the big stuff this morning thanks to our other good friends who I'll call Wedded Bliss 1, taking three hours instead of two (because I'm just really slow at this), and then I've just been packing while Wiley's been loading and unloading at the storage facility.

Second, I am catless, which also sucks. Last night we dropped off Rewind and Dixie, and let me just say that my ex is an a**hole. While he was nice and agreed to take Rewind because he knows what a handful he is, when I dropped him off yesterday with extra litter and food (partly because the vet didn't have 9 bags and partly because I figured they could just go get them since the girlfriend is up north sometimes anyway), after making us wait in the driveway while he finished talking to a client, he asked how long the food would last. When I told him it should last three months, he looked at me and said, "And are you going to give me money so I can get him more?" I said that the way the other people were handling it was that they'd bill me and I'd pay when I returned. We're talking about a CPA who makes well over the median salary - and he and GF can't afford $60 for three bags of food and to wait for it?? Come on. Get over yourself. I think he's regretting agreeing to watch Rewind. Suffice it to say, I was a wreck leaving there because of his a**holishness, so I beg of you, if you know of anyone who wants to watch a male cat, please let me know. Rewind has a bit of a history - he likes hands, so if you're not careful, he'll bite, but he's really quite affectionate. So so much for anyone else watching him....sigh. I went to the vet today and got some more food so His High A** won't get his panties in a bunch.

Dropping Dixie off was a much simpler and pleasant task. As soon as she saw Yippy Dog, she stayed perfectly still in my arms and when I put her down, ran promptly under the trunk and wouldn't come out. I've since learned that she can handle herself - she put the smack down on Yippy Dog, and when YD isn't around, she's been out around the pad, getting used to her surroundings.

All right, back to packing. I want to go to bed tonight before leaving for Arkansas in the late morning. Welcome aboard my train!