The company Christmas party. Yes, it’s just about that time of year again.
Office Christmas parties can be rough, even if you work with decent folks. There’s just endless opportunities for awkwardness. Example: bringing a date. Do you? Don’t you? All of the married folk will bring their spouses. Who wants to be number seven at an eight-seat table? Awkward. But so is bringing a random date to fill that eighth seat. More awkward. There is bound to be a bit of inquisition, especially since he is not a committed significant other. The best solutions I’ve come up with thus far are to a) bring my mom, or b) join forces with other single gals at the office and claim our own table.
But what if we went for a third option? What if we took the awkwardness up a few more notches? Instead of a regular date with an acquaintance—how about a blind date? Oh boy. Nothing says “doomed to fail” like a blind date at an office party.
Even better—how about all of the single girls in the office all bring a blind date? Now we’re talking pain. All of us could writhe in agony together.
But we’re not quite done—there’s one more bit of awkward joy we could add: each girl brings a buddy of hers as a blind date for one of her coworkers. We could draw names, like Secret Santa.
And the awkward bus has arrived.
So next time you’re at a company Christmas fling, single ladies—remember it could be worse. Much, much worse.
Showing posts with label mischief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mischief. Show all posts
Monday, November 8, 2010
most awkward scenarios ever, part I
Sometimes it’s good to give yourself a little perspective—realize that whatever happened (or didn’t happen) isn’t, perhaps, quite as bad as you thought. Take a step back. Reduce the level of self-induced drama.
One of the most enjoyable ways to do that, in my opinion, is to imagine how horribly it could have gone.
Example: you spill half a glass of red wine on yourself at a party. Sad. But it could have been worse. You could have spilled your glass on another woman (perhaps your boss or pastor), and while floundering to help her clean up, you trip on the shag rug, accidentally grope her, and catch yourself on the wobbly end table—which has candles on it. The candles fall, and the alcohol-infused rug bursts into flame. You put it out, but burn your writing hand. You will now spend at least the next two weeks in awkward, pain-filled misery.
See, spilling some wine on yourself wasn’t so bad, after all, was it?
One of the most enjoyable ways to do that, in my opinion, is to imagine how horribly it could have gone.
Example: you spill half a glass of red wine on yourself at a party. Sad. But it could have been worse. You could have spilled your glass on another woman (perhaps your boss or pastor), and while floundering to help her clean up, you trip on the shag rug, accidentally grope her, and catch yourself on the wobbly end table—which has candles on it. The candles fall, and the alcohol-infused rug bursts into flame. You put it out, but burn your writing hand. You will now spend at least the next two weeks in awkward, pain-filled misery.
See, spilling some wine on yourself wasn’t so bad, after all, was it?
Thursday, September 23, 2010
the refrigerator manifesto
There are two words that can send an icy stab of horror into the most dauntless heart:
community refrigerator.
Ahhhh!
Sorry about that. I lost control for a moment there.
But having just spent waaay too long rummaging through the industrial-sized company refrigerator for my (very brightly colored and distinct) lunch bag only to find it astronomically removed from its previous location, I'm a little...out of patience. It's time to do something. Something...drastic. And somehow, this feeling is...familiar. It's time for the return--the return of...
The Kitchen Nazi!
Not since the hazy golden days of Stryker Cottage '03 has this fearsome creature truly been beheld, standing proudly--sword in one hand and spatula in the other--with her iron-fisted policies of cleanliness and order clearly posted on the wall behind her!
But it might just be time for her return. At the very least, time for her to write a few new rules for the company refrigerator. Harsh? Perhaps. But effective. As always.
The Refrigerator Manifesto
Whereby all personnel who utilize the company refrigerator do so through a wish to keep their food at the appropriate temperature, in sanitary condition, and conveniently accessible:
1. Each individual must use a designated food container to hold all of their items. This container may not be generic (as in a plastic Meijer bag), insulated (seriously--those keep your food cold without a fridge), or incapable of being moved about without spilling its contents. Clearly labeling each designated food container with the name of its owner is also strongly suggested.
2. All food must be properly contained. No open packaging. Not even in your designated food container. If you periodically cannot eat the whole fruit cup in one sitting, keep a ziploc bag in your food container to tuck the cup into until your next nibbling. And get a bigger stomach, for the love of all that's holy.
3. No loose items such as pieces of fruit, tubs of margarine, or bottles of salad dressing will be tolerated. All items must be fully contained in each individual's designated food container.*
*The only exception to this rule is large items such as two-liters of soda and large cartons of milk or other beverages. These may be left on the bottom shelf--provided they are clearly labeled and unexpired.
4. Large, appropriately sealed, and clearly labeled takeout containers will be tolerated temporarily--provided they are not fish, and are removed within six hours of their arrival to the community refrigerator. If they are fish, and left for more than two days--God help you.
5. If it becomes necessary to move another individual's designated food container, it is expected that the mover will do their best to return the container to its original placement. If this cannot be done, a grid system will be initiated, with each individual's designated food container receiving a number that corresponds to a section of the shelving. "Parking tickets" will be issued to all who cannot respect the grid system.
6. "Community" does not mean "communal." Whether an item is labeled or not, if you eat or drink it without explicit permission, you are stealing.* If you are stealing, you're a jerk. If you're a jerk, we get to lock you in the supply closet overnight.
*I can't believe this one even has to be listed, honestly.
7. The community refrigerator will be scrubbed down once a week. All legitimate items will be returned to the shelves; all illegitimate items will piled up in the parking lot, doused with gasoline, and lit on fire. Or thrown away. Whatever.
And remember: if the Kitchen Nazi ain't happy, ain't no one happy. But if she is happy--she bakes! It's a win-win. Sort of.
community refrigerator.
Ahhhh!
Sorry about that. I lost control for a moment there.
But having just spent waaay too long rummaging through the industrial-sized company refrigerator for my (very brightly colored and distinct) lunch bag only to find it astronomically removed from its previous location, I'm a little...out of patience. It's time to do something. Something...drastic. And somehow, this feeling is...familiar. It's time for the return--the return of...
The Kitchen Nazi!
Not since the hazy golden days of Stryker Cottage '03 has this fearsome creature truly been beheld, standing proudly--sword in one hand and spatula in the other--with her iron-fisted policies of cleanliness and order clearly posted on the wall behind her!
But it might just be time for her return. At the very least, time for her to write a few new rules for the company refrigerator. Harsh? Perhaps. But effective. As always.
The Refrigerator Manifesto
Whereby all personnel who utilize the company refrigerator do so through a wish to keep their food at the appropriate temperature, in sanitary condition, and conveniently accessible:
1. Each individual must use a designated food container to hold all of their items. This container may not be generic (as in a plastic Meijer bag), insulated (seriously--those keep your food cold without a fridge), or incapable of being moved about without spilling its contents. Clearly labeling each designated food container with the name of its owner is also strongly suggested.
2. All food must be properly contained. No open packaging. Not even in your designated food container. If you periodically cannot eat the whole fruit cup in one sitting, keep a ziploc bag in your food container to tuck the cup into until your next nibbling. And get a bigger stomach, for the love of all that's holy.
3. No loose items such as pieces of fruit, tubs of margarine, or bottles of salad dressing will be tolerated. All items must be fully contained in each individual's designated food container.*
*The only exception to this rule is large items such as two-liters of soda and large cartons of milk or other beverages. These may be left on the bottom shelf--provided they are clearly labeled and unexpired.
4. Large, appropriately sealed, and clearly labeled takeout containers will be tolerated temporarily--provided they are not fish, and are removed within six hours of their arrival to the community refrigerator. If they are fish, and left for more than two days--God help you.
5. If it becomes necessary to move another individual's designated food container, it is expected that the mover will do their best to return the container to its original placement. If this cannot be done, a grid system will be initiated, with each individual's designated food container receiving a number that corresponds to a section of the shelving. "Parking tickets" will be issued to all who cannot respect the grid system.
6. "Community" does not mean "communal." Whether an item is labeled or not, if you eat or drink it without explicit permission, you are stealing.* If you are stealing, you're a jerk. If you're a jerk, we get to lock you in the supply closet overnight.
*I can't believe this one even has to be listed, honestly.
7. The community refrigerator will be scrubbed down once a week. All legitimate items will be returned to the shelves; all illegitimate items will piled up in the parking lot, doused with gasoline, and lit on fire. Or thrown away. Whatever.
And remember: if the Kitchen Nazi ain't happy, ain't no one happy. But if she is happy--she bakes! It's a win-win. Sort of.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Speed Dating, Spoolstra Style (for Liz)
The lighting was low, meant to be intimate—but in reality, the room was just dim. Looking at the row of small booths, she felt her gut twist with apprehension. Bad idea. I knew this was a bad idea. Two or three people mingled near the registration table. The man sitting behind it saw her, and smiled with hearty shallowness, like a car salesman. She squared her shoulders. You’re here, and you’re going to do it. Buck up and be brave. She smiled back, albeit less intensely, and took the last half-dozen steps to reach the table. If her hand shook with adrenaline, it was subtle enough that she was able to hold the marker steady as she filled out her nametag.
A few minutes later, she took her seat as directed in one of the small booths, feeling as if the small lamp on the table only lit her to the chin. I probably look like I have old lady jowls. The absurd thought startled her into a genuine smile. Around her, the other women also took their places. The men were shadowy figures spread across the dim room, and at the chime of a bell, each picked a table and sat down. Four minutes, and then the bell would ring again, prompting them to shift down the line of women. How anyone thought that such a shallow game would ever germinate a meaningful relationship, she surely didn’t know. You’re just here to practice conversation. No pressure. She reminded herself.
The first man took his seat at her table without introducing himself first. Strike one, she thought, most uncharitably. He was tall, but slight, and the false blonde highlights in his hair stood out even in the crummy lighting.
“Hi,” he said, a little too loudly.
Be nice; he’s probably just nervous, she scolded herself.
“Hi,” she answered.
“I’m Steve,” he said, shifting on the vinyl seat.
“Lindsey,” she answered.
One too many buttons on his oxford shirt was unfastened, and the collar had been popped. Lord, save me. The next four minutes will be an eternity.
And something in her…blossomed to life. And with it came an idea that she could not resist. Instead of shaking the hand he awkwardly offered, she propped her elbow on the table and lifted her hand in a clear invitation to arm wrestle.
“Let’s cut to the chase, ey?” she said. “If I beat you, you’re gone.”
“What?”
She felt a mischievous grin stretch across her face.
“Arm wrestle,” she said. “Let’s go.” She waggled her fingers.
He laughed nervously.
“That’s pretty funny.” He shifted on the seat again, and made no move to grasp her hand. “Is that your ice breaker? It’s a good one.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I’m serious, Steve.”
She beat him.
The next guy refused to take her up on her challenge.
The third guy almost beat her, but she still had three or four inches to fall when the bell rang, so they declared it a draw.
She beat the fourth guy. She beat the fifth guy—left handed, to give her arm a break. The sixth guy also refused to wrestle, and spent three of his minutes texting on his cell phone. That was fine with her; she felt the first beads of sweat trickling down her body, and used the break to drink some water and cool down.
The seventh guy grinned and beat her within thirty seconds. He had a beard she did not like. To pass the remaining time, she went best of seven, and held him off from total victory long enough for the bell to ring.
She went left-handed on the eighth, to rest her arm again. She beat the ninth, but it was a tough match. The last man looked strong, and she almost abandoned the game, but she couldn’t make it this far and quit. When she offered the challenge he took it. He held her off for a long time; she realized he could beat her, and was simply waiting. She did not like that, and told him so. He looked surprised—the pressure on her hand eased, just for a moment. Quickly, instinctively, she slammed his hand down. He laughed, and shook out his fingers.
And then the speed dating nightmare was over. Everyone else gathered around the bar to mingle and enjoy a complimentary drink. She wanted to leave, but she was also quite thirsty. She stayed in her seat and drained her water glass, and contemplated refilling it at the bar. Before she could decide, a waiter appeared with a carafe and offered a refill. She accepted gratefully.
“By the way,” he said, as he filled her glass. “I just won fifty bucks. Thanks, lady.”
“What? How—”
“I bet on you,” he said.
She laughed, loud and freely.
“Didn’t realize I had an audience,” she said, when she could speak. “Glad I could entertain.”
He smiled, and faded away into the shadows. She finished her water and left, quietly. No one else accosted her, and in five minutes she was outside, breathing in the free air.
A few minutes later, she took her seat as directed in one of the small booths, feeling as if the small lamp on the table only lit her to the chin. I probably look like I have old lady jowls. The absurd thought startled her into a genuine smile. Around her, the other women also took their places. The men were shadowy figures spread across the dim room, and at the chime of a bell, each picked a table and sat down. Four minutes, and then the bell would ring again, prompting them to shift down the line of women. How anyone thought that such a shallow game would ever germinate a meaningful relationship, she surely didn’t know. You’re just here to practice conversation. No pressure. She reminded herself.
The first man took his seat at her table without introducing himself first. Strike one, she thought, most uncharitably. He was tall, but slight, and the false blonde highlights in his hair stood out even in the crummy lighting.
“Hi,” he said, a little too loudly.
Be nice; he’s probably just nervous, she scolded herself.
“Hi,” she answered.
“I’m Steve,” he said, shifting on the vinyl seat.
“Lindsey,” she answered.
One too many buttons on his oxford shirt was unfastened, and the collar had been popped. Lord, save me. The next four minutes will be an eternity.
And something in her…blossomed to life. And with it came an idea that she could not resist. Instead of shaking the hand he awkwardly offered, she propped her elbow on the table and lifted her hand in a clear invitation to arm wrestle.
“Let’s cut to the chase, ey?” she said. “If I beat you, you’re gone.”
“What?”
She felt a mischievous grin stretch across her face.
“Arm wrestle,” she said. “Let’s go.” She waggled her fingers.
He laughed nervously.
“That’s pretty funny.” He shifted on the seat again, and made no move to grasp her hand. “Is that your ice breaker? It’s a good one.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I’m serious, Steve.”
She beat him.
The next guy refused to take her up on her challenge.
The third guy almost beat her, but she still had three or four inches to fall when the bell rang, so they declared it a draw.
She beat the fourth guy. She beat the fifth guy—left handed, to give her arm a break. The sixth guy also refused to wrestle, and spent three of his minutes texting on his cell phone. That was fine with her; she felt the first beads of sweat trickling down her body, and used the break to drink some water and cool down.
The seventh guy grinned and beat her within thirty seconds. He had a beard she did not like. To pass the remaining time, she went best of seven, and held him off from total victory long enough for the bell to ring.
She went left-handed on the eighth, to rest her arm again. She beat the ninth, but it was a tough match. The last man looked strong, and she almost abandoned the game, but she couldn’t make it this far and quit. When she offered the challenge he took it. He held her off for a long time; she realized he could beat her, and was simply waiting. She did not like that, and told him so. He looked surprised—the pressure on her hand eased, just for a moment. Quickly, instinctively, she slammed his hand down. He laughed, and shook out his fingers.
And then the speed dating nightmare was over. Everyone else gathered around the bar to mingle and enjoy a complimentary drink. She wanted to leave, but she was also quite thirsty. She stayed in her seat and drained her water glass, and contemplated refilling it at the bar. Before she could decide, a waiter appeared with a carafe and offered a refill. She accepted gratefully.
“By the way,” he said, as he filled her glass. “I just won fifty bucks. Thanks, lady.”
“What? How—”
“I bet on you,” he said.
She laughed, loud and freely.
“Didn’t realize I had an audience,” she said, when she could speak. “Glad I could entertain.”
He smiled, and faded away into the shadows. She finished her water and left, quietly. No one else accosted her, and in five minutes she was outside, breathing in the free air.
Monday, October 19, 2009
hairspray attack!
Sure, I had better things to do with my time. But Halloween is coming...I had to practice potentials 'dos! It was the responsible thing to do.
And to be honest, I've always wanted to have hair that could do this...and, well, now that I can...
Monday, August 17, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
how I feel today
My offer on house number two was accepted yesterday. The "official" acceptance will be next week, and then it's off into the inspections and all the crap-tastic paperwork. :) But at the end of it I just might own a cute little house. And that's pretty exciting.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
the dress
Ok, so I'm no scaredy-cat. Bugs--no problem. Small animals--no problem. Freakish weather--no problem. Walking alone up a dark country road--not a big deal. Power tools--bring 'em on. Contact sports--no blood, no foul. Public speaking--doesn't throw me.
But this dress...
This dress is a little scary. I know, it may seem strange. I have no problem with pulling off slightly odd, funky clothing--especially things I've made myself. And this is just a simple black dress. Ha. It's stretch satin. It's quite snug. There's no hiding my curves in this thing. And I don't do sexy. I do fun--maybe even cute. But not sexy. It's a bridesmaid's dress, so I'll be standing up at the front of a church...with dozens and dozens of people looking at my keister. Gulp. I'm going to need to summon all my courage for this one.
But this dress...
This dress is a little scary. I know, it may seem strange. I have no problem with pulling off slightly odd, funky clothing--especially things I've made myself. And this is just a simple black dress. Ha. It's stretch satin. It's quite snug. There's no hiding my curves in this thing. And I don't do sexy. I do fun--maybe even cute. But not sexy. It's a bridesmaid's dress, so I'll be standing up at the front of a church...with dozens and dozens of people looking at my keister. Gulp. I'm going to need to summon all my courage for this one.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
new blog!
Hey, everyone! Check out my new blog:
http://spools-sewing.blogspot.com/
Dont' worry--The Amazing Adventures of Wonderspools isn't going anywhere. I've decided it's time to throw a little more of my skillz (yes, with a 'z') out there for y'all to see.
There's not much there yet, but I hope to include pics of all of my recent and favorite projects soon...so stay tuned!
http://spools-sewing.blogspot.com/
Dont' worry--The Amazing Adventures of Wonderspools isn't going anywhere. I've decided it's time to throw a little more of my skillz (yes, with a 'z') out there for y'all to see.
There's not much there yet, but I hope to include pics of all of my recent and favorite projects soon...so stay tuned!
Friday, January 23, 2009
Anti-Valentines Day
Well, as some of you know, I have a special, heartfelt, and very tasty Valentines' Day tradition.
I make hate cookies.
I am always in need of more suggestions, so feel free to chime in! I'll give you a couple weeks to think about it and give me some really good zingers.
I've got a list posted just outside my office, much to the delight of the editorial wing. Here are some of the ideas my colleagues have given me this week:
fragile
thanks for nothing
wimp
can't spell
fantastically dull
UR dumb
when pigs fly
One of our editors thought that all of the phrases had been written by bitter women. Oh, no! Not at all. As I was quick to remind him, this is an equal-opportunity hate fest. Please, join us.
I make hate cookies.
I am always in need of more suggestions, so feel free to chime in! I'll give you a couple weeks to think about it and give me some really good zingers.
I've got a list posted just outside my office, much to the delight of the editorial wing. Here are some of the ideas my colleagues have given me this week:
fragile
thanks for nothing
wimp
can't spell
fantastically dull
UR dumb
when pigs fly
One of our editors thought that all of the phrases had been written by bitter women. Oh, no! Not at all. As I was quick to remind him, this is an equal-opportunity hate fest. Please, join us.
Monday, December 8, 2008
kinda queasy
Well, sports fans, I just submitted my first grad school application. Gulp. I feel sort of like that time I went to prom by myself...
Ha ha. Ok, not that bad.
I should find a way to post my writing sample for y'all to see. It is definitely the largest cohesive chuck of polished writing I've ever done. 40 pages! Hopefully it's good. To be honest, I've read it so many times I don't even know. Well, except for that new ending I stuck in at five o'clock yesterday...
Yeah, guess what I did all weekend. Yep. Nothing but. Ok, so almost nothing but. I did get out for church and coffee and powerflex (gar!), thankfully, or I would have gone mad. But now it's done. It's out of my hands.
Where's the Tums?
Ha ha. Ok, not that bad.
I should find a way to post my writing sample for y'all to see. It is definitely the largest cohesive chuck of polished writing I've ever done. 40 pages! Hopefully it's good. To be honest, I've read it so many times I don't even know. Well, except for that new ending I stuck in at five o'clock yesterday...
Yeah, guess what I did all weekend. Yep. Nothing but. Ok, so almost nothing but. I did get out for church and coffee and powerflex (gar!), thankfully, or I would have gone mad. But now it's done. It's out of my hands.
Where's the Tums?
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
yeah...
I haven't posted in a while. I know, I know. The fam's in town, the leaves need raking, the Christmas presents needs sewing, the cookies and pies need baking, and...
I've decided to apply to grad school. Pretty much need to get all that done right now.
Oh, no. I'm not quite last-minute. Just...relatively close to last-minute. It's a good thing I'm so good at the hustle. What degree? Oh, yeah. I've decided to go for my MFA in creative writing, with a fiction focus.
More details to come, as I get them. Things are still pretty loosy-goosey. My job this week is to select the schools I wish to apply to and set up a schedule of what's due when. And figure out what to send as my writing samples. I have a lot of rewriting to do! I tend to start something and drop it as soon as anew idea comes along, which is fine if you're just writing for recreation. But now I need something...well, something at least mildly impressive...
I've decided to apply to grad school. Pretty much need to get all that done right now.
Oh, no. I'm not quite last-minute. Just...relatively close to last-minute. It's a good thing I'm so good at the hustle. What degree? Oh, yeah. I've decided to go for my MFA in creative writing, with a fiction focus.
More details to come, as I get them. Things are still pretty loosy-goosey. My job this week is to select the schools I wish to apply to and set up a schedule of what's due when. And figure out what to send as my writing samples. I have a lot of rewriting to do! I tend to start something and drop it as soon as anew idea comes along, which is fine if you're just writing for recreation. But now I need something...well, something at least mildly impressive...
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
the old lady's still got it
And that, my friends, is a subject line that I just couldn't resist. But, at the same time, it's strangely accurate. Last night, for the first time in months, I went swing dancing. Not just standing there watching other people dancing, but full-out dancing type dancing.
It was a strange progression of an evening. After work I made my way down to the Hope Lodge, a really groovy organization that provides free lodging to cancer patients and their families who have come to GR for the hospital(s). My old roommate and some other people from her office provide dinner for the residents once a month. She received a last-minute word that, after dinner, there would be a swing band, and they were looking for dancers. I proceeded to drag up as many hipsters as I could. And, after dinner, naturally, we trickled down to the band.
There was a huge swing band--about twenty people--with their very own conductor. All older folk. And they played sloooooow. And the conductor talked between each song. We determined this was because 1) the band just couldn't physically play any faster and 2) the conductor was giving them breaks so no one in the band keeled over from the strain.
But still, it was nice to provide a little entertainment to the dozen or so patients who came to sit and listen. We had our own little audience of one out in the lobby, where we had elected to stay, and she seemed very happy to watch us.
This wrapped up about eight, and that's when things got interesting. One of the other dancers mentioned that there was more dancing in another venue. After an interesting twenty minutes of trying to find parking downtown and ending up in the wrong lane and parking at Burger King, we found ourselves at another swing dance--and instantly went from being the youngest folks to being the oldest. The Grand Rapids Tuesday night swing gang, mostly composed of high school kids and a few college punks, took over the Van Andel museum for the evening. It was fantastic and crowded--a couple hundred exuberant young people--with music at least three times faster than what we had just left. Albeit from a stereo, not a band, but at least we didn't have to worry about killing the band.
All warmed up from our "slow" session, we proceeded to cut many, many rugs, until ten. Ten is when I turn into a pumpkin and have to go home. And...that's when the music stopped. They make you leave when the music stops.
It's funny what bits and pieces are sore the next day when one participates in a strenuous physical activity one has not practiced in some time. In this case: my right hand. My left glute. Hmm.
But at least I don't have a shiner--there was a couple minutes last night when I thought I might. And at least I showed those kids that this old lady's still got it.
It was a strange progression of an evening. After work I made my way down to the Hope Lodge, a really groovy organization that provides free lodging to cancer patients and their families who have come to GR for the hospital(s). My old roommate and some other people from her office provide dinner for the residents once a month. She received a last-minute word that, after dinner, there would be a swing band, and they were looking for dancers. I proceeded to drag up as many hipsters as I could. And, after dinner, naturally, we trickled down to the band.
There was a huge swing band--about twenty people--with their very own conductor. All older folk. And they played sloooooow. And the conductor talked between each song. We determined this was because 1) the band just couldn't physically play any faster and 2) the conductor was giving them breaks so no one in the band keeled over from the strain.
But still, it was nice to provide a little entertainment to the dozen or so patients who came to sit and listen. We had our own little audience of one out in the lobby, where we had elected to stay, and she seemed very happy to watch us.
This wrapped up about eight, and that's when things got interesting. One of the other dancers mentioned that there was more dancing in another venue. After an interesting twenty minutes of trying to find parking downtown and ending up in the wrong lane and parking at Burger King, we found ourselves at another swing dance--and instantly went from being the youngest folks to being the oldest. The Grand Rapids Tuesday night swing gang, mostly composed of high school kids and a few college punks, took over the Van Andel museum for the evening. It was fantastic and crowded--a couple hundred exuberant young people--with music at least three times faster than what we had just left. Albeit from a stereo, not a band, but at least we didn't have to worry about killing the band.
All warmed up from our "slow" session, we proceeded to cut many, many rugs, until ten. Ten is when I turn into a pumpkin and have to go home. And...that's when the music stopped. They make you leave when the music stops.
It's funny what bits and pieces are sore the next day when one participates in a strenuous physical activity one has not practiced in some time. In this case: my right hand. My left glute. Hmm.
But at least I don't have a shiner--there was a couple minutes last night when I thought I might. And at least I showed those kids that this old lady's still got it.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
new dress
A few weeks ago, I found the most fabulous fabric--as you can see. Of course, I wasn't really looking to make a new dress right then, but when opportunity comes knocking, it's best to answer the door, ey? In my repertoire of patterns both old and new, I had one rather magnificent blouse and skirt set from 1977. After a bit of trial and error and a lot of help from Gladys, that fabric and old pattern became this quite funktastically cute dress.
This is one of those rare times when something looks better on me than it does on Gladys, but take a gander at that fantastic neckline and the empire-waist drawstring. 
This dress is quite simply an instant party.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
always makin' a splash
If anyone wants to know how I spent my labor day weekend...
Yeah, this is it. Let me tell you, those lovely Lake Mich waves didn't know what hit 'em.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
happiness is...
Tonight, after work, I'm going to ride my bicycle to the library.
And browse like it's going out of style.
I'm an unashamed and regular library visitor but lately, it seems, I'm usually in and out, picking up and dropping off DVDs and books and flying off to my next destination.
But not tonight. Tonight I'm going to linger in the stacks, letting my fingers run over all the various-sized spines, picking and choosing books with a liberal hand, stopping to read chapters here and there, hunting for something new and worthwhile. Maybe tonight I'll even break my tendency to dismiss a book based on its cover art, and will actually take the time to skim before rejecting. (Contrary to the old phrase, you can almost always judge a book by its cover. Case in point: Harlequin.)
Then I'll ride home, in the golden light of a clear August evening. Sigh. Bliss.
And browse like it's going out of style.
I'm an unashamed and regular library visitor but lately, it seems, I'm usually in and out, picking up and dropping off DVDs and books and flying off to my next destination.
But not tonight. Tonight I'm going to linger in the stacks, letting my fingers run over all the various-sized spines, picking and choosing books with a liberal hand, stopping to read chapters here and there, hunting for something new and worthwhile. Maybe tonight I'll even break my tendency to dismiss a book based on its cover art, and will actually take the time to skim before rejecting. (Contrary to the old phrase, you can almost always judge a book by its cover. Case in point: Harlequin.)
Then I'll ride home, in the golden light of a clear August evening. Sigh. Bliss.
Monday, July 28, 2008
just...
Just another blue-eyed girl. Just another apathetic dreamer. Just another bit of commotion. Just a little bit of brain, a little bit of heart, a little bit of quickening in the spirit. A little dash of possibility. A pinch of perhaps. Just nothing. Just everything. Just me.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
that fresh-bound book smell...
Good books! I'm on the prowl for good books! I can find bad books, no problem, but lately NEW good books have been eluding me.
How is it possible that there is so much bad fiction in the world? Granted, I'm probably pickier than most. And am somewhat setting myself up for it by turning away from good, solid nonfiction (got a huge stack of that waiting) in favor of a fluffy story. But still. Good night, Nancy! Ninety-nine percent of all popular fiction--who reads this stuff? It sells like hotcakes, but I can't even get through a chapter with a straight face. There are exceptions, of course, but in general it makes me want to yack.
So...if y'all have read any good fiction lately, let me know. And if I hate it, I promise not to tell you. Or at least, I promise not to ridicule you publicly. Every one has different tastes in literature, for better or for worse.
There. I've vented. I feel better now. And I managed not to mention any of my employer's titles by name. Success.
How is it possible that there is so much bad fiction in the world? Granted, I'm probably pickier than most. And am somewhat setting myself up for it by turning away from good, solid nonfiction (got a huge stack of that waiting) in favor of a fluffy story. But still. Good night, Nancy! Ninety-nine percent of all popular fiction--who reads this stuff? It sells like hotcakes, but I can't even get through a chapter with a straight face. There are exceptions, of course, but in general it makes me want to yack.
So...if y'all have read any good fiction lately, let me know. And if I hate it, I promise not to tell you. Or at least, I promise not to ridicule you publicly. Every one has different tastes in literature, for better or for worse.
There. I've vented. I feel better now. And I managed not to mention any of my employer's titles by name. Success.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
snippets
I think it's time to present a fun little snippet of story. At some point there will hopefully be more to this scene, but for now it's still quite short. Regardless, I think it has good potential for mischief. Enjoy!
She looked sideways at him, vastly annoyed. What right did he have to look so broad-chested and magnificent—godlike, even—with the evening sun beaming golden and kind against his face, turning his skin to honey gold, his eyes to deep pools under the strong jet-black brows. Even his beard was handsome, with his decisive cheekbones—and she hated beards. The light evening breezes were stirring, rippling his dark cloak. Nancy tore her eyes away before she could be caught staring, and took a reflective, perspective-restoring inventory of the condition of her fingernails. Such nonsense. Such annoying nonsense.
The wind that cast Ardeth’s clothes dramatically about him only made her hair blow into her eyes and sent a fine wave of grit into her nose and mouth. She rubbed her face with a sleeve, then raked her hair back and held it away by clamping her hand down on the top of her head. She had a moment of self-pity at her own lack of romantic suitability for the scene, then jerked herself loose and focused on the view, which was admittedly very fine whether she fit into it or not.
She looked sideways at him, vastly annoyed. What right did he have to look so broad-chested and magnificent—godlike, even—with the evening sun beaming golden and kind against his face, turning his skin to honey gold, his eyes to deep pools under the strong jet-black brows. Even his beard was handsome, with his decisive cheekbones—and she hated beards. The light evening breezes were stirring, rippling his dark cloak. Nancy tore her eyes away before she could be caught staring, and took a reflective, perspective-restoring inventory of the condition of her fingernails. Such nonsense. Such annoying nonsense.
The wind that cast Ardeth’s clothes dramatically about him only made her hair blow into her eyes and sent a fine wave of grit into her nose and mouth. She rubbed her face with a sleeve, then raked her hair back and held it away by clamping her hand down on the top of her head. She had a moment of self-pity at her own lack of romantic suitability for the scene, then jerked herself loose and focused on the view, which was admittedly very fine whether she fit into it or not.
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