Friday, July 28, 2006
Love Languages
This is an interesting quiz that gives you and your partner ideas about the kind of languages we use to feel loved and give love. Fascinating. Post your score, if you dare. My Primary Love Language is: Acts of Service; my Secondary Love Language is: Words of Affirmation.http://www.youthnetsouthampton.org.uk/breakout/lovelanguages.php
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
The date is set.
November 18, 2006 is the day we make it unofficially official. Granted, most of the U.S. is not on board with our desires to establish "a marital trust," but we'll just do it our own way. It's probably better this way anyway, because there are fewer expectations and we can mingle traditions and contemporary iconography at will.
Brenda said something brilliant just this morning, so I will share it here:
"Is doable a word? I mean it doesn't look right somehow. It's not like it's in the dictionary or anything. I mean I don't think it is, maybe I just haven't checked."
Oh, wait, that wasn't it. Wrong cut and paste. She really can say insightful things sometimes, honest... Here it is:
"Weddings are not about joining two people really. They are about testing your relationship in every possible way so you ask yourself about a million times - is it worth it? If you get to the cake then the answer is yes."
So, since I'm on a diet, reading this and the subsequent thread that followed just had me thinking about cake. Any kind of cake, not just wedding cake. I'm trying to drop those last few pounds; I'm looking forward to being that size 2 pretty soon. I recommend eating nothing but organic broccoli and filtered water for optimum lightheadedness.
Mmm cake. Sorry, back to the wedding. We've chosen a little winery in Grapevine to host it - we've gone full-service so that we don't have to work or make our families do work, and we can relax and have fun. R and I are not radicals, and we're not out to be offensive by any means. This is going to be a sweet affair, with some of the traditional and eloquent, but we're two women making a statement of our love for each other - and we have a full understanding that these aren't commonplace, and many - MOST - people in our lives are still adjusting to us as a couple. God knows we love you. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for being in our lives and extending a caring hand. We can't apologize for the life we have together, because being happy is our priority, not what a long history of social mores dictates.
Rant, rant. If Renee' decides to write about the wedding, well it will sound completely different, I'm sure. :)
Brenda said something brilliant just this morning, so I will share it here:
"Is doable a word? I mean it doesn't look right somehow. It's not like it's in the dictionary or anything. I mean I don't think it is, maybe I just haven't checked."
Oh, wait, that wasn't it. Wrong cut and paste. She really can say insightful things sometimes, honest... Here it is:
"Weddings are not about joining two people really. They are about testing your relationship in every possible way so you ask yourself about a million times - is it worth it? If you get to the cake then the answer is yes."
So, since I'm on a diet, reading this and the subsequent thread that followed just had me thinking about cake. Any kind of cake, not just wedding cake. I'm trying to drop those last few pounds; I'm looking forward to being that size 2 pretty soon. I recommend eating nothing but organic broccoli and filtered water for optimum lightheadedness.
Mmm cake. Sorry, back to the wedding. We've chosen a little winery in Grapevine to host it - we've gone full-service so that we don't have to work or make our families do work, and we can relax and have fun. R and I are not radicals, and we're not out to be offensive by any means. This is going to be a sweet affair, with some of the traditional and eloquent, but we're two women making a statement of our love for each other - and we have a full understanding that these aren't commonplace, and many - MOST - people in our lives are still adjusting to us as a couple. God knows we love you. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for being in our lives and extending a caring hand. We can't apologize for the life we have together, because being happy is our priority, not what a long history of social mores dictates.
Rant, rant. If Renee' decides to write about the wedding, well it will sound completely different, I'm sure. :)
From 2nd of 3
Brenda's brother, Majlogon, has created the certificate I've always wanted. Yes, I've been assimilated into the borg. Please see my credentials for any questions or to have my identity authorized. Thank you.
*Despite my best attempts at manipulating the image and/or the uploader, I can't show off my certificate here. I will continue to make adjustments and get back to my fans.
*Despite my best attempts at manipulating the image and/or the uploader, I can't show off my certificate here. I will continue to make adjustments and get back to my fans.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Blister Packaging of Doom
This is an official rant. I want to know why it is that retail stores now are putting everything in blister packaging??? For the lightest, smallest, plastic, non-fragile items even. I just don't get it. We are destroying ourselves with packaging!! Don't they understand that a zip-loc(tm) baggie will do the trick just fine?
R and I went to Best Buy to scope out potential birthday presents for Amanda and to pick up some printer ink and a phone car charger. We realized that we were in for trouble as we scooped all three of these things off the Pointy Display Rods of Destruction(tm).
Once in the car, we figured we might as well get the thing plugged in, as we haven't had a charge on her Cingular phone for a week. So we pull it out of the bag, stare at it, then at each other. R takes a moment to see if she has a switchblade, hacksaw or machete in the car but we'd left all those in the Corolla. The charger is nestled snugly in several layers of plastic, mocking me, but that's fine - we'll get it plugged in later. Renee and I smile at each other innocently, like lambs, if lambs could smile. If only lambs had mastered the skill of opening blister packaging. Baaaaastards.
Getting back to the apartment, I realize the inevitable is at hand. I get a steak knife, a pair of kitchen shears and an Exacto knife at the ready. There's a hammer, a crowbar and my teeth, if it comes to that.
First cuts go into the ink cartridge, and that went fairly well. It was a combo pack, but Lexmark decided that it was important just to contain the two boxes, not to hermetically seal them. Not too bad, didn't take too long. Snip, snip.
Then the car charger. A simple wire appendage, weighing no more than 3 ounces total. It was on clearance, I'm happy to say. So for $1.49 (yes, can you believe that??) we pretty much paid for the resplendent Teflon Kevlar Fibreglass Bliztr-Pak that could both contain polar bears and repel bullets. This deceptively clear and light package was about to become my worst enemy, the BloodLetter, the Blister Packaging of Doom. You don't understand: the battle was on, but I feared it was I who would be dethroned.
I girded my loins. Then, haha, I laughed to myself, as I saw a perforated oval skimming the backside of the container. This should make it easier to open, I thought. No, what this did was make the spring-back of the plastic more unpredictable. Ha ha. I snipped and scissored on the front, the back, the middle. I tore with my fingers and pulled with my teeth but I stopped when I realized I was putting my eyeballs in harm's way. Here is the packaging with me halfway through it. Panting, I get through the first layer only to discover that the cardboard backing is just as hard to bust through. I kid you not. I've been at this for 15 minutes, trying desperately to not slit my own wrists in Retail HariKari. WTF are these manufacturers doing?
I get the cardboard out - I guess the (c) 2006 Dorkwads, Inc. had to be written somewhere. After pulling it out with a banshee holler, there is yet another layer of plastic. I am laughing hysterically and wiping blood and tears off my countenance. Renee' is backing away slowly as I try thrusting the package in her direction: "Here! You! Take it! Fine, then. Get me a bandage and a shredder! Something!"
The charger inside mocks me, snuggled in there, all peaceful. I'm breaking a sweat. I hate this charger and everything it stands for. Corporate America. Commercialism. Materialistic savage retailing capitalists. Stupid cell phones anyway. This last section of plastic is a doozy, but at least it's not ROUNDED. So I'm stabbing, punching and basically disemboweling the remainder of this, this THING. And in my disheveled, rampant anger I nearly, oh so NEARLY, slice the charger cord. This sudden realization makes all the blood drain from my face and I study it carefully as I take it from its molded bed. no no no please let this not have been in vain. I pleaded with the Plastic Dogs of War.
But it's ok, the charger. IS. OK. I hold it up to the light in transcendental glee. I whisper to Renee in a very "Ren and Stimpy" fashion: "Look, Ren! The charger! I pushed the jolly, candy-like BUTTON! This is for you, all for you, MY DARLINGGGGG..."
She comes walking out of the bedroom with a new, unopened calculator and says sweetly, "Can you do this one, too?" So I collapse amidst the sharp, glittering edges hoping one of them finds my jugular.
R and I went to Best Buy to scope out potential birthday presents for Amanda and to pick up some printer ink and a phone car charger. We realized that we were in for trouble as we scooped all three of these things off the Pointy Display Rods of Destruction(tm).
Once in the car, we figured we might as well get the thing plugged in, as we haven't had a charge on her Cingular phone for a week. So we pull it out of the bag, stare at it, then at each other. R takes a moment to see if she has a switchblade, hacksaw or machete in the car but we'd left all those in the Corolla. The charger is nestled snugly in several layers of plastic, mocking me, but that's fine - we'll get it plugged in later. Renee and I smile at each other innocently, like lambs, if lambs could smile. If only lambs had mastered the skill of opening blister packaging. Baaaaastards.
Getting back to the apartment, I realize the inevitable is at hand. I get a steak knife, a pair of kitchen shears and an Exacto knife at the ready. There's a hammer, a crowbar and my teeth, if it comes to that.
First cuts go into the ink cartridge, and that went fairly well. It was a combo pack, but Lexmark decided that it was important just to contain the two boxes, not to hermetically seal them. Not too bad, didn't take too long. Snip, snip.
Then the car charger. A simple wire appendage, weighing no more than 3 ounces total. It was on clearance, I'm happy to say. So for $1.49 (yes, can you believe that??) we pretty much paid for the resplendent Teflon Kevlar Fibreglass Bliztr-Pak that could both contain polar bears and repel bullets. This deceptively clear and light package was about to become my worst enemy, the BloodLetter, the Blister Packaging of Doom. You don't understand: the battle was on, but I feared it was I who would be dethroned.
I girded my loins. Then, haha, I laughed to myself, as I saw a perforated oval skimming the backside of the container. This should make it easier to open, I thought. No, what this did was make the spring-back of the plastic more unpredictable. Ha ha. I snipped and scissored on the front, the back, the middle. I tore with my fingers and pulled with my teeth but I stopped when I realized I was putting my eyeballs in harm's way. Here is the packaging with me halfway through it. Panting, I get through the first layer only to discover that the cardboard backing is just as hard to bust through. I kid you not. I've been at this for 15 minutes, trying desperately to not slit my own wrists in Retail HariKari. WTF are these manufacturers doing?
I get the cardboard out - I guess the (c) 2006 Dorkwads, Inc. had to be written somewhere. After pulling it out with a banshee holler, there is yet another layer of plastic. I am laughing hysterically and wiping blood and tears off my countenance. Renee' is backing away slowly as I try thrusting the package in her direction: "Here! You! Take it! Fine, then. Get me a bandage and a shredder! Something!"
The charger inside mocks me, snuggled in there, all peaceful. I'm breaking a sweat. I hate this charger and everything it stands for. Corporate America. Commercialism. Materialistic savage retailing capitalists. Stupid cell phones anyway. This last section of plastic is a doozy, but at least it's not ROUNDED. So I'm stabbing, punching and basically disemboweling the remainder of this, this THING. And in my disheveled, rampant anger I nearly, oh so NEARLY, slice the charger cord. This sudden realization makes all the blood drain from my face and I study it carefully as I take it from its molded bed. no no no please let this not have been in vain. I pleaded with the Plastic Dogs of War.
But it's ok, the charger. IS. OK. I hold it up to the light in transcendental glee. I whisper to Renee in a very "Ren and Stimpy" fashion: "Look, Ren! The charger! I pushed the jolly, candy-like BUTTON! This is for you, all for you, MY DARLINGGGGG..."
She comes walking out of the bedroom with a new, unopened calculator and says sweetly, "Can you do this one, too?" So I collapse amidst the sharp, glittering edges hoping one of them finds my jugular.
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