Review: BEST DOG NAME EVER

Here’s how it goes (maybe this is only funny in MY head…).  This name has two possible conversations when meeting people:

Dog growling and snarling.

Stranger: Wow your dog isn’t too friendly, is he.

Owner: No, my dog is Friendly.

Dog growls and lunges.

Stranger: Ummm… no, your dog is definitely not friendly.

Owner: I’m telling you, the dog IS Friendly.

Stranger: That isn’t any definition of friendly I’d ever use.

Owner: But he IS Friendly.

Or:

Dog wags tail and grins at people.

Stranger: Wow! What a friendly dog.

Owner: Yup. Friendly.

Dog wriggles from shoulders down because of that tail-wag.

Stranger: I don’t think I’ve seen such a sweetie.

Owner: No, he’s Friendly.

Stranger: Well yeah, I said that…

 

I’m telling you – perfect dog name.  As the owner you could have some damn fun conversations.

Life Memories: Lizard

Genkii just brought me a lizard.

My indoor only -not-a-hunter cat brought me a lizard.

A teeny-tiny little thing.

I squealed (benefits of being a female, no one is shocked when I react strongly to things like a lizard in my living room).

So he drops said lizard (with a look of surprise) and it scurries under the couch (damnit!) Oh and the tail comes off.  I know, I know.  They are supposed to.

My cat is fascinated by tail.  Yes, like he’s supposed to be…. but now there is a lizard somewhere in my living room.

I am not happy.

Review: Heroes’ Lunch

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Let’s do this!

Some of this was inspired by all those books where the hero eats “bread and cheese” for a meal – I was poking in my kitchen this weekend and needed a meal. So I took my last 2 deviled eggs, some grapes, homemade bread and put CHEESE on it.

I grew up eating open-faced tomato and cheese sandwiches (kinda like this), but I only had grape tomatoes and didn’t think they would work well.  So I toasted my cheese & bread.

It wasn’t bad. Like 3.5/5.

I knew it wouldn’t be inedible.

Some of the problem is my cheese. This is just regular yellow american. Not the most flavorful cheese in the world. As I was eating I was thinking a nice munster or Gruyere would be better. Especially the Gruyere with the white grapes… cheese and wine are nice but honestly – cheese and grapes are better. Something with a little kick would have made this actually a kind of fabulous meal.

Bacon of course would make a pretty great substitute for the deviled eggs, but the eggs are healthier (and leftovers, so need to eat them up). I can’t come up with an “as good” substitute for the grapes. Maybe a nice honey crisp apple- you need a little tart to offset the sweetness of the cheese.  So if the cheese was like gouda you could flip to like peaches or pears.

What other foods do heroes tend to eat that I should try?

Musings: Perception

I have a strange life. Not literally, in a lot of ways it’s very traditional. I’m cisgendered, white, hetersexually-married with the classic “house in the suburbs” (including a white picket fence actually) with a very corporate “normal” full-time job. And yet, I don’t feel like I’m normal. I sometimes feel like at any moment I will step out of my own skin and go on grand adventures with magic and dragons.

And sometimes I hate the normality. I want to rebel against the corporate enclosure of dress pants, nice shirts and normal-colored hair I put on every day.  I want to dye my hair silver and put on a long dress with a corset instead of a bra. I want to doff the heels (dress flats actually hurt MORE than most heels because they have NO support) and put on boots that lace to the knee – heeled or not! (I know it makes me a “real girl” but I could write a whole post on shoes – but it wouldn’t be how much I love them – my husband can attest to the hatred!)

I want to be a falconer – they still exist! I want support activists making a difference in the world. I want to ride horses (damn but it’s expensive…). I want to sing and dance and write and mentor kids…. I want to travel. God, I love traveling (and hate it sometimes… and not just because it’s expensive and I’d rather buy that juicy book).  I want to be like Mary Shelley and meet awesome people and tell ghost stories with them. I want to be like Anna Lowenstein and pack my life up one day and move to the other side of the world. I want to follow in the footsteps of Jule Mannix and build a non-traditional life that works for me and my husband.

So in my head, I am constantly exploring other lives. It’s part of why I write. I want to follow them to their natural (or entirely unnatural) conclusion.

It’s terrifying. And when I look at those dreams and unpack their reality…. well a lot of them fall apart.  I’m an introvert. A powerfully driven introvert who has days where I hate people. Yes, I know I love people. but I can HATE people. The people who really love travel all the time – they love people all the time. They never want to just go hide in their hotel room with a book. They want to sit at the coffee shop with a complete stranger and find just enough common language to have a conversation. That sentence reflects someone I sometimes wish I could be – but I’m not.  When I meet a stranger I am damn likely to shut down. I don’t enjoy it. At all.

I would love to have a bazillion friends all over the globe who are creative and artistic and we visit one another and have awesome adventures together. It means I have to talk to people.

Granted, it’s partly my perception is that extroverts have more fun – and of course many introverts are not good at sharing how they make these same ideas fun. Being an introvert doesn’t mean I always hate people. I might always hate strangers. Once you get past stranger, I’ll probably like you just fine.  But while you are in “Stranger” state – you are exhausting and terrifying and I might just kind of hate you. You are exhausting.

My perceptions of who I want to be and who I am – don’t always mesh. My skin can be an uncomfortable place because I watch the people being the person I want to be, but I don’t actually want to do what they are doing.  It’s like watching someone swim with sharks. It looks thrilling, and I am super-jealous of the courage it takes to do that (or insanity – debatable). There is no way I have any desire to be in a cage with a great white gnawing on the bars. When I really imagine that, I would hate that. I know I would find that experience AWFUL for so many reasons.

So I live with this conundrum: I am jealous of the life other people live. I love my life and the people in it. I don’t want to meet new people. I want to meet more people and get past the stranger-state immediately. I want to be more like extroverts. I love being an introvert and having a rich mental life (I swear it makes me a better writer). I want to sew and cook and write and laugh and draw… and ride horses and wear long dresses with tall boots.

So, I will continue to find the quiet ways I feel balance my desire to rebel from normalcy (and sometimes modernity) and my desire to be left the hell alone by strangers . ‘Cause that is the other problem with dying my hair silver and wearing a dress with a corset – suddenly everyone would want to talk to me “why? how? where?” Shut up and leave me alone… I will figure out how to be a great introvert wishing to be more like an extrovert without losing all the awesome things that comes from the life of an introvert.

Humor: I am not a pizza place

I don’t know how this happens, but it is frequent enough that I know it does. The worst I had was a debt collector who just would not believe I wasn’t “Simon.” Pretty sure my voice is not that deep… Someone dials the wrong number and just does not believe the person answering is NOT their local pizza place.  I might have been reading Not Always Right and everyone who’s worked in customer service should go there.

I have decided how I will handle it. It would go (I expect) something like this:

Me: Hello?

Lost Soul: Hi, I want to order a pizza.

Me: Oh, you must have dialed the wrong number, I’m not a pizza place.

Lost Soul: Yeah, Pepperoni and fried pickles.

Me: I don’t have pizzas.

Lost Soul: Didn’t you hear me?

Me: Yes. You apparently can’t hear me.  *singing* And he/she was a lost soooooul in the wasteland….

Lost Soul: What? Did you put me on hold?

Me: Nope. You ready to listen now?

Lost Soul: No, I just want to order my  pizza!

Me: Then you should probably hang up and call the pizza place.

Lost Soul: I did!

Me: Wow, impressive how you can hang up and call the same wrong number twice.

Lost Soul: If you don’t take my order, I’ll have you fired!

Me: From where?

Lost Soul: [Pizza Place]

Me: Can you get me a job there first?

I would be merciless. And patient. And laugh at them until they admitted their fault and/or hung up. I would try to record it too to put on the internet, but I suspect by the time I figured out they were this level of dumb, I’d have missed the golden opportunity.

Musing: Meaning of Pacific

I saw the word “pacific” describing someone in a novel and it gave me pause.  So I looked it up (really wish school had covered this one!)

Pacific means (according to Merriam Webster)

 

  1. a :  tending to lessen conflict :  conciliatory
    b :  rejecting the use of force as an instrument of policy

  2.  a :  having a soothing appearance or effect <mild pacific breezes>
    b :  mild of temper :  peaceable

Apply this to the Pacific Ocean and it’s just hilarious.  The “Peaceful Ocean” or the “Lessening conflict Ocean” – I mean I guess it used to lessen conflict ’cause crossing it was a lifetime sort of experience but…

Today I learned….