Monday, December 17, 2007


I know it's not officially winter, but the first Oops, I forgot to open the chimney flue! has ceremoniously heralded in the season for me ... gosh, what a lingering awful smell.

Friday, December 14, 2007

Note to My Future Self

It's going to be okay ... you will find the Microsoft Office disk and then you'll put it in the disk thing on your computer and everything will be juuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuust fine.

Sure, it's not in the bin with all the other hundreds of software disks ... but remember you must have had to give it to the nice man last June or July so he could fix your corrupted computer (you moved and the plastic bin was not with you, remember?, so you'd been borrowing your Dad's laptop for a couple of months) ... so, yeah, okay, your loft office area may appear a smidgen, oh, disorganized? at the moment, but that's because you're a perfectionist, really, and you've been willing to live in chaos for a month or so (what's that? ... oh, right ... 18 months) until you can get your impeccable system in place. It's got to be here, right? Somewhere?

Find it yet?

[consider this post a place holder and I'll tell you later why I'm in this situation. It's so darn funny! O, how I will laugh once this is over ... why, I'm laughing now! Why, I cannot stop laughing! I'm having trouble breathing really, I am laughing so hard! So hard! My eyes are starting to hurt being open this wide while I'm laughing so hard and having trouble breathing...]

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Sample Portfolio from My Brief Hallmark Career

I wouldn’t think it possible
That my love for you could grow
But it does
Much like the mold on my shower curtain
In daily, frightening gobs.

Happy Anniversary!

You must be bummed
At the death of your Mum
But, as you’re aware
You’re her only heir.

Condolences and Congratulations!

Who would have guessed
You’d ever get this old
Hope your remaining time
Is chockablock with fun!

Happy Birthday!

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Ripped from the Headlines

Okay, friend/s, is it just me, or:

* Doesn't the word *waterboarding* sound like a fun, warm-weather sport? [Upon reading beyond headlines, it decidedly is not.]

* Every time I hear about Blackwater the opening of "Black Water" by the Doobie Brothers starts playing in my head and continues until I scream ... lately I only get to "Well, I..."

In case you're wondering, I just finished a spinach salad with apple, shredded cheddar, and baby bella mushrooms with a balsamic vinaigrette.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Amazing! Grace?

Sadly, I've neither had the proper insurance, finances, or follow-through to get the proper psychotherapy that I so obviously would benefit from ... and I'm not a licensed therapist (although I don't tell my patients that) (this joke will have to be pried from my cold, dead lips/fingers) so I've had to do my own tedious self-examined life stuff. I'm probably about a decade behind where I should be, if one is going by age chronology. Whatever!

Anyway, I had an epiphany a few years ago. I was having some hard times with a friend. My knee-jerk, reflexive, default emotional process goes something like this: X doesn't like me; X doesn't want me around. Then it's just reaction into hurt and withdrawal. But in some inspired moment I had the realization that my feelings for X remain the same -- I care for this person deeply. And I tried something new (for me) I acted out of love ... instead of reacting out of hurt. Holy fuck if it didn't work! X and I remain close to this day.

To get up in the morning means I'll be tested constantly ... I so obviously cannot always rise above ... I remain comically imperfect and will probably have to reincarnate a bucketload of times yet ... but this has remained constant -- every time I respond with love I feel better. Every time I allow anger and its twin, hurt, to grab the wheel of my response/s, I disappoint myself. It's a pity, too, because I cut my teeth on sarcasm and the biting remark.

I've experienced an awful lot of loss this year ... I want to transcend hurt and anger.
Right now it feels more like what's happening with finances (basically I am so fucked) so I spend out of a manic energy, kinda. All for others ... Christmas and stuff ... but if I'm clipping coupons for cans of Whiskas and I do not have a cat, I probably shouldn't have been doing what I've been doing. Whatever!
I cannot not buy for a child ... I just can't.

But to continually react and act out of love ... ah, most difficult. Most worth it?

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Rinse. Spin. Supper!

I just defrosted a hunk of salmon; not my favorite of the fish, but it was there in the freezer.

Looking for inspiration on how to prepare it other than throwing it in the broiler, I asked the know-it-all Google. This is one of the billion ideas Google provided me:

Cooking Salmon in a Dishwasher

salmon fillets
aluminum foil
a lemon
a few butter pats
electric dishwasher
the straw that broke the back of the camel in your mind (editor's addenda)

Place the fish on two large sheets of aluminum foil. Squeeze on some lemon juice and place the pats of butter on the salmon fillets. Seal the fillets well in the foil, and place the foil packet in the top wire basket of your electric dishwasher. DO NOT ADD SOAP OR DETERGENT. Close the dishwasher door, set the dishwasher on the hottest wash cycle, complete with drying cycle, and let it run through a full cycle. When the cycle is complete the fish will be cooked just right.
Wow ... has everyone else been doing this except me?
What other clever food preparation shortcuts have not been mine for lack of imagination?
Instead of roasting a chicken in the oven (!) tomorrow with some red potatoes and carrots, why not throw it all in the dryer? What if I left the gas fireplace burning all night with a brisket on the hearth?

Thursday, December 6, 2007

I Will Survive ... Hey ... Hey

Thanks for all the calls, prayer circles, candygrams, flowers, and the llama. I survived the evening and then the morning and afternoon. I can breathe betterer, but now I can feel that horrid kind of scraping thing in my sinuses ... like an itch that cannot be scratched ... only it hurts.
I'm drinking my wine now, for I don't want to be irresponsible and mix it with nighttime cold medicine.

Ticked off today's quotidian To-Do List was calling my mobile phone company and throwing myself on their mercy ... my father suddenly became sick and died mid-October ... and there was a week when I was away in NH and honestly, the last thing on my mind was my phone plan (I normally make or receive one call a year). So, my bill was triple what it normally is and my pockets are not only empty, they've holes. I bring to you, in one act, my conversation with, let's call them S-Mobile:

Extremeley Effete S-Mobile Representative: Good afternoon! Welcome to S-Mobile -- what may I help you with today?
Me: Hi, yes, I was hoping you could help me with my latest bill.
EES-MR: Okay, I'm pulling up your account. First, what is your name, please?
Me: Dianne
EES-MR: Do you have a blog called "Rough Draft"??
Me: Okay that didn't really happen.
EES-MR: No, it didn't. Please tell me your password.
Me: Could I have a hint, please?
EES-MR: I'm sorry, I cannot give you a "hint."
Me: What? Seriously? Is it my mother's maiden name, my father's middle name, my childhood pet, age of first menses, location of my birth, favorite mole location?
EES-MR: I'm sorry! I cannot tell you!
Me: But, but, but... There are a squillion passwords and they tell us to never use the same! You have to give me a hint -- is it a name, location, number?
EES-MR: Ma'am, I cannot divulge that.
Me: This is a bit insane, don't you think? Is it xxxx (my pin number for my debit card).


Damage done, though.
He didn't fully refund or forgive the overcharges, although he did take $30+ off. I resignedly thanked him and told him I appreciated all his help.

Moral: Plan family emergencies better and demand a prompt for passwords.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

As I Sit Dying

I am dying.

Sure, we're all dying from the moment we draw our first breath, blah blah and blah. And I don't wish to alarm all my dear reader, but I fear I suffer from The Cold of Death.

It's tremendously unfair and rude, too, because this is my second cold in a month-ish. I blame the little people, of course. Those wretched little people with their immature immunization systems and their germy, sticky ways. They touch everything, they think nothing of sneezing in your face or coughing in your ears, they insist on breathing ... o, little people! It's a fucking wonder Keebler can keep their shift workers churning out product.

Why I am convinced this cold shall kill me: I cannot breathe.
I took nighttime remedy last night and it not only failed to decongest me, well, that was the most important demand I think, and it failed. I couldn't breathe from my nose (preferred 24-hour method) and then the mouth-breathing was difficult. Left with no other orifice from which to draw life-sustaining air (that I could think of or get to work properly) I fell asleep awkwardly (sitting up, kinda) and imagining my death and how sad it would be when my corpse would finally be found. Plus, the Person Designated With Removing Potentially Tragically-Embarrassing Items Upon My Death lives far away ... too far to help in such a situation. So.

Here it is, early evening, and already I've got the labored breathing mouth thing happening.

I just wanted to warn you.

Take care and I love you. Your Christmas present was about to be ordered, sorry. If you wish, you may choose a gift from my nightstand.