How else could it be?

The first day of spring, and it's snowing.

Welcome to Wisconsin.

Time to hunker down with a cup of tea and some contest entries and hope this shizzle melts by Monday.

Have a good weekend, everyone!

Let the Games Begin.

I knew this would happen. Therefore, you'd think I would have been more prepared for the backlash of jealousy that accompanied the announcement of my promotion at work. So far it's been snarky comments ("Two promotions in a year? What's your secret?") and sullen, resentful silences accompanied by dagger glares.

On the other hand, there was also an outpouring of congratulations. Ya know, on second thought, I would really prefer to focus on that right now, instead of my insecurities. Already my self-doubt has begun to sabotage me on this project, and I don't want to give it any more ammunition.

Happy holidays, everyone.

And now...

What's the result of too little sleep and a husband who's got a cold?

The crud, that's what. And I've got it.

*sniffle*

Ick. My Indian name is now "Runs With Snot." I'm shaking with fever, and the back of my throat feels like someone's gone at it with an electric sander.

So not fun.

Marital property law dictates sharing of everything in a marriage, but things like this I can live without.

Vegas Vignettes: Day 4, Part 2 - The Bodies Strike Back

As I mentioned in my previous post, my husband, being a hardcore medical professional, *really* wanted to see the Bodies exhibit. Prior to this, he had asked me several times if I wanted to accompany him. Silly me thought, "How bad could it be?" and went in with him.

The first couple of displays were very interesting, but the second room had a couple of complete cadavers on display. My husband is instantly engrossed, muttering, "Oh, so that's what that looks like!" I'm OK until the third room. Now, this is a very graphic display. The cadavers have been stripped of skin and plasticized to preserve them; every organ, every nerve, muscle and major blood vessel is exactly where it should be, only right there in front of us.

My husband is examining the third cadaver when I realize I'm not feeling well. In fact, I'm feeling lousy - nauseated, lightheaded, and feverish. I look at the floor; I feel better. I look at the cadaver - *bang!* - my symptoms return in force. Only this time, my vision is starting to dim. Holy shit, I'm about to faint.

So I grabbed my husband's arm, and said something along these lines: "Honey, I'm not feeling well, so I'm going to leave. I know you really want to see the rest of the exhibit, so I want you to take your time and see everything you want to see. But if I stay, I'm going to either throw up or pass out. So I'll meet you outside. I love you." And I took off. I walked through the rest of the rooms, head down, trying my best not to look at the rest of the displays (healthy vs. diseased lungs, etc.). Fortunately, there's a bypass to the fetal exhibit (thank the PTB!), and soon I'm outside, sitting my shaking, quivering, nauseated self on a bench and ignoring the looks from passersby.

Between 5-10 minutes later my husband emerges, takes one look at me, and promptly hauls me to the nearest Starbucks for some water and a fizzy soda. Smiling, he tells me the medical reason for what happened to me - and that he would have pointed it out on one of the bodies, but I was too busy trying not to faint. Rest assured, dear reader, that although I wanted to, I didn't backhand him. (grin)

Once I had recovered (and my husband was convinced of that fact), we took a taxi over to the Mirage, and visited Sigfried & Roy's Secret Garden. Dolphin and big cat paradise! Took lots of pictures, oohed over the 4-month-old baby leopard (who was enjoying his first day in public that day - yay for good timing!), and enjoyed being out in the sun.

That evening, back at the Bellagio, we celebrated my husband's birthday at Prime, the hotel's premiere steakhouse. More cocktails, a table right next to the windows (which gave us a ringside seat for the fountain show, as well as for the hordes of ducks and ducklings swimming by!), delicious filet mignon, and decadent chocolate for dessert. Fortunately, my flirtation with fainting earlier in the day hadn't affected my appetite.

As the coup de grace, we rented Madagascar 2 back in the hotel room, and laughed ourselves silly. Best movie of the entire trip!

We finally fell into an exhausted sleep around 10:00.

Next post: the horrors of modern travel, part deux....

Sunshine. Finally.

Bad enough that I have a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Add to that the fact that it poured rain the entire weekend, that our basement is wet yet again (*cringe*), that I had an abysmal doctor visit where I was treated like poo, and that I got squat done (including writing), and I had an absolutely dismal weekend.

But this morning the sun is shining, there's birdsong in the air, and I'm determined to shake off the blues. I'm even taking my laptop and my iPod to work with me in the hopes of spending my lunch hour happily immersed in my latest story.

It will get better. That's what I keep telling myself.

Must've Been Something I Ate

I must be getting old. Gray hairs, crow's feet, and now - horror of horrors - a vulnerable tummy. In my younger years I could eat anything, the spicier and the weirder the better, and not feel any effects. Until now.

Last Sunday, my husband took me out for a late lunch/early supper at a local bistro. My salad wasn't great - the lettuce was slightly wilted, and comprised mostly of large, watery stem pieces. But, being hungry, I ate it anyway.

I didn't regret that decision until four hours later, when I was doubled over with the worst cramps I'd ever experienced. Oh, swell...Valentine's Day weekend, and I get food poisoning!

I've been beset by this malady in the past (note to self: avoid all shellfish), but always managed to bounce back fairly quickly. Not this time. I was laid out flat for a day and a half. I knew I was in the clear when I woke up this morning with a pancake craving. Carbs...give me carbs!

Bleah. I'm learning the hard way that my insides aren't made of cast iron as much as I'd like them to be. From now on I'll have to be more careful about my menu choices. Salads? Right out. Shellfish? Ditto.

Like my husband says, no one ever heard of getting food poisoning from a Twinkie.

Why I Hate (Most) Romance Novels

I've mentioned in previous posts that my reading tastes have changed, and that I don't read many romance novels any more. Here's why: romance novels are predicated on the hero and heroine falling in love, despite outward obstacles and their own individual baggage. Not a bad thing in itself. What I hate is when we, as readers, are forced to endure unbelievable characters, contrived plots, and overblown sex for sex's sake (e.g., has nothing to do with forwarding either the character or plot arcs).

Case in point: the book I am reading right now. What's wrong with it?

EVERYTHING.

Let me 'splain.

Hero: Alpha male, which the author has translated to "caveman." Stalks around (wearing black, of course) and broods a lot. Internal monologue consists of "Heroine is so hawt. She's a shrew, but I will enjoy taming her (translation: rape her). I'm so studly I will make her love it."

Heroine: Too Stupid To Live (TSTL), but a Ravishing Beauty (aren't they all?), who stomps her feet and pouts a lot about the Wrongs Done Her. Her internal monologue is basically: "Oh, how I hate this man who has killed my family, claimed my lands, enslaved my people, and constantly threatens to rape me! Oh, but he's so hawt..."

Two-dimensional Friend of Hero (to heroine): You misunderstand him. He's got A Tortured Past. We all have been through Tortured Stuff with him, so we're unquestioningly loyal, even if he is an asshole.

Me: *gag*

I'm about a third of the way through this book, and have lost count of the number of times I've wanted to throw it against the wall. How in the hell did this tripe get published? Granted, the author's use of language is better than many others I've read, but unlikeable, self-absorbed characters like these hold absolutely no interest for me. An author's job is to introduce us, the readers, to sympathetic (if flawed) protagonists in believable situations, culminating in an emotional catharsis. The author of this story, as well as most of her currently published fellows, on the other hand, have introduced me to the fine art of book flinging.

Given the predominance of this type of blather in today's market, Book Flinging could well become the next new olympic event. At this rate, I've got a good shot at the gold.

Oh, the Weather Outside is...

...bloody f*cking awful.

The snow's coming down so hard you can hardly see five feet in front of you, and the wind's not helping.

They're predicting up to 12 inches of accumulation, and if I know our local highway department, the plows won't get to the side streets until tomorrow, which makes even getting out of our driveway problematic.

As much as I would LOVE to stay home, I can't - my boss made the rounds yesterday and told all of us to take lots of extra care and time getting in to work, because we need to be here; our department cannot close, even in extreme weather.

Great.

Anyone got a spare snowmobile or dogsled I can borrow?

Oh, (S)No!

My most abject apologies for my lack of blogging lately - between work, the weather, and the holidays, I'm worn out!

Last night we had (yet another) snowstorm, and it took me twice as long to get home as it normally does. Driving white-knuckled, with my shoulders bunched around my ears, 'cause the roads aren't plowed, I can barely see anything ahead of me for all the snow, and the other drivers are reckless idiots.

Aaaand we're supposed to get socked by another major storm in another couple of days!

Gah.

One of the weather sites I frequent says that this December is supposed to be the harshest month by far all winter. It had damn well better be; if our entire winter was this awful, I'd renounce the outside world completely and become a recluse.

At least the cat would be happy; she'd have a full-time lap! *grin*

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like...

...winter, dammit.

For the past two years we've had a major snowstorm smack us on December 1. This year is no exception - 3 to 5 inches of blowing and drifting white crap, plus a layer of ice underneath, with 1 to 2 more inches on the way.

Three years in a row. Sheesh.

I remember when I used to love snow - when I was ten. Now, I just mutter invective under my breath as we shovel, and shovel, and shovel, and prepare to go to work on slick roads populated with multitudes of idiots who can't seem to remember how to drive in winter conditions.

And it's not even "officially" winter.

*sigh*

Ugh. Again.

I got a flu shot on Friday. I thought I was doing myself a favor and helping to avoid a winter of misery.

Boy, was I wrong.

Saturday, I woke up with my injection-side arm aching in every joint. No problem, I say to myself. Just a little reaction to the vaccine.

Sunday, I'm feeling kind of tired and worn down. No problem, I say to myself. I'd had a busy day, and didn't nap.

Monday, I wake up with that telltale tickle in the back of my throat. My nose begins its impression of a leaky faucet.

Oh, shit. Not again. My hubby has it, too. I'm not sure if I had it first, and was fighting it off until the flu shot came along, or if my husband had it, decided to share, and my immune system couldn't handle both it and the flu shot.

Whatever the pathology, it sucks. And I can't take time off from work; there's too much going on. Hubby has it worse - he's got to fly today for business. Gah. Much suckage all the way around.

Not much to do for it except stock up on more Cold-Eze, Mucinex, and decongestants. Kleenex, anyone?

Ugh.

Well, I now know why I've been so tired: I've come down with the cold virus that's been making the rounds at work. There's no escape; that place is a viral petri dish. Everyone gets what everyone else has. I'm telling you, it's worse than a daycare.

Ugh. Death by mucus. Not fun.

Yes, my head feels like it's about to explode. Yes, it'll probably keep me from going in to work today. But on the upside (and I'm looking very, very hard to find the upside), I should be able to nap, drink tea, and read the books I bought on last weekend's foray to Barnes & Noble.

Then again, if I doctor the aforementioned tea with lemon, honey, and a shot of brandy, I'll probably be doing more napping than reading. But if it keeps me from drowning in my own fluids, I'll make that sacrifice.

Ugh. This sucks.