*I am again on my way to San Francisco for our annual conference for work.  It is with some trepidation that I am choosing my footwear this year. This post has been rescued from the archives of the other blog.  The one that cannot be named for fear of bringing the stalker back down on my head.

I remember a time in the not too distant past when I could stay up all night for these conferences and not want to die by Friday morning. Those days are past. I have slept somewhere in the neighborhood of 12 hours since Monday and I am EXHAUSTED.

So, let’s pretend it was exhaustion that led to the next set of events. Let’s just pretend.

Yesterday morning, I happily dressed for work, in my business clothes which are more comfortable that anything I have ever worn for work, and felt that I could make the sacrifice for the cute shoes. I stepped out onto the sidewalk and into the pouring rain, quite confidently I might add, and . . .immediately sunk the heel of my shoe into a sidewalk grate. Of course, my left shoe was stuck tight, with my foot in it, but my right leg was moving forward forcefully, propelling the rest of my body with it. My right hand was stuck under the strap of my very heavy bag, the momentum of which was rapidly bringing my face toward the concrete.

In desperation I flailed with my left hand and inadvertently grabbed a hold of, well, a hobo. He had his back to me and was trying to get money from someone on the other side of the sidewalk, so clearly a little freaked out when I was suddenly clutching and pulling at him to prevent a serious case of road rash all over my face. He let me know quite clearly how freaked out he was with plenty of swearing, muttering, screaming, the works. Meanwhile. I am upright, but still stuck. My shoe will not come out of the grate. And I have a decision to make. And I need to make it fast because it’s pouring rain.

Do I stand there, still yanking my foot up but able to defend myself should he start swinging, or step out of the shoe and bend down to pick it up and just pray he won’t kick me in the kidneys while I’m down?

I gave a couple more tugs and realized I had no choice but to bend down. I had to have 2 shoes. It’s required to get into the convention center. And did I mention the pouring rain?

So, while I am apologizing to him and fumbling to get my shoe out while trying to find money to calm him down, a lady going to my convention comes up behind me. She can see that we are going to the same place because of the badges we all have on, and she now feels a need to protect me. Of course she does. I have clearly proven that I can’t actually get myself to the convention with two shoes and without pissing off random homeless men on the street. And I have no umbrella which also seems to bother her.

The funny part of this is that her conflict was totally clear. She can’t bring herself to get close enough to actually share the umbrella with me. I mean, a homeless man is going postal in my face and I am holding one shoe and trying to hop into it. So, she settles for putting the umbrella halfway over me, thereby keeping a safe distance, but assuaging her need to help me out. I can’t say no thank you. I mean, she is putting herself WAY out. Not her umbrella so much, but I really was fine with being wet. I was not fine appearing with a bloody face. Wet seemed like an OK trade off.

So, 6 blocks later, and carefully walking around all grates no matter how small, I arrived for the day. It was very entertaining explaining to my co-workers why I was showing up to the booth with half of my hair frizzy and fluffed around my face and the other half soaking wet, dripping on my blouse. I know, it’s a glamorous life, but someone has to live it.

Go ahead.  Tell me what the dumbest thing is that I’ve done this month.  You know you want to.

Who dives in with their 11 year old to start selling cupcakes around all of So. Cal 3 weeks before their major industry event of the year?  Of course, it’s me.  Because apparently when I feel  a lot of pressure to get things done, instead of focusing on them, I add more things to my plate.  It’s the definition of insanity.  I know.

And, because I’ve been in sales and marketing for the past 15 years, I am also quite talented at generating far more interest than L can handle on her own.  So, the past few days have been consumed with cupcake baking.  And while I don’t regret it one bit, I do admit I’m nuts.  Certifiable.

But look how delicious:

For Dave’s birthday, I got him tickets to see Rent.  Because what man objects to show tickets as a birthday gift?  He’s in touch with his feminine side.  He even held my purse while I shopped in the “intimates” dept yesterday.  Sure. he twittered about it like it was the world’s worst punishment, but I secretly know I could have made it worse by also asking him to carry the bras all through the store once Iwas done picking them out. I’m just saying.

Anyway, so we went to Rent last night.  And we left the house a little early and had dinner and everything.  Almost as if we didn’t have kids, excpet I made the mistake of leaving the cell phone on.

6:00 T: Mom, can I  play the computer?

Me:  Ask R, she’s babysitting.

6:02 R: What did you want us to do for dinner?

Me: Eat something?  Order pizza?  I don’t really care.

6:19 (text from L) is it alright if me and (friend) go to our house?

Me (text back): I’d rather not, as there are no adults there.

L: No adults at her house either and we’re already here.

6:30 R: I can’t remember the password to order pizza online

7:15 T (crying): I have a super really bad awful headache and I took ibuprofen and it won’t go away.

Me: Take 1/2 of the red excedrine and a melatonin and go to bed.  Put a pillow over your face and try to sleep.

T (whimpers): Ok, but I already tried the pillow on my eyes and it really hurts!

I spoke to R at this point and again, hung up the phone.  They knew I was headed into the show and would not be able to talk, so they opted for texting again.

9:04 T: headache all better

9:08 T: it’s all good

9:18 T: mum? Do you need us to go to bed tonight?

Me: Well, I would prefer it. . .

10:37 T: When?  11?  I think R (and her friend) insist on at least that time.  Maybe we’ll stay up until you get home.

Me: No, go get some sleep so your headache doesn’t come back.

10:38 L: Is that directed at me or N and T?

10:30 T: (from Dave’s old cell phone) Hey mum, T is going to text from this phone.

10:56 T: Is you almost home?

10:59 T: Hey mom iz T again

11:01 T: iz u alive?

Nearly as relaxing as an evening before we had kids, no?

But Rent was fabulous.  Very well done and as poignant as ever.

We have a friend in South America, working with a preschool in a remote village.  Over the next couple of weeks, we will be collecting supplies to send to her.

If you feel like helping us, here is a list of things we are looking for:

• Crayons: the kind you get at learning places where you can get a dozen or more of the same color, like 12 reds, 12 blues and so on. If not she’ll take regular crayons but specifically asked for this.
• Felt board cutouts for story time
• Markers – washable
• Legos
• Puzzles (ages 4-5)
• Pencils
• Construction Paper
• Glue
• Googly eyes
• Pipe Cleaners
• Glitter
• Blocks
• Story books (ages 4-5)
• Play doh
• Paints (washable)
• Paint brushes
• Coloring books
• Tape
• Games
• Laminated word cutouts. Not sure what this is but you preschool teachers probably will.
• Basically anything educational or crafty

For anyone that knows/lives by my mom, she’s on her way to my house on Wednesday, and I would be happy to make arrangements with her to collect stuff from you before hand.  Feel free to leave questions for me in the comments.

Totally worth the 5 coats of paint.  The color is even more stunning in person.

The season begins

Mmmm. . . Cupcakes!

Whew!  What a week!

L just launched her new business, FatPants Bakery.

And I have to go clean the kitchen.  Again.

The Les Claypool concert last night was absolutely amazing.  I am a huge Claypool fan since my best friend in high school introduced me to Primus.  Now, whenever they are playing near us, we do our best to make it to the concerts.

And Les never disappoints. Never.  The guy’s talent is astounding.  Here’s a little clip:

While we’re on the topic of flying fingers. Les is currently touring with two amazing drummers and an electric cellist.  I have never seen a cello played so fast and furious.  Such a great concert.  Seriously, buy tickets.  Go see them.  Even if you don’t know their music, they are a blast to see live.

This one has better sound and shows off the percussionists a bit more:

Still searching for a video of the cellist.

Update: On this video, the sound is seriously bad, so if you want to see the cellist, just go to 3:45 or so.  There’s a 40 second clip.  It doesn’t do justice to what we heard last night, but it’s still pretty cool.

For those of you that are into the whole food storage thing, I just wanted to share.

For our house, 15 bottles of  ketchup is not a year’s supply. It will only last 8-ish months

One bottle of mustard is forever.

Does mustard go bad?  Should I check the date on that?

Sorry to be gone so long.  Busy trying to do anything to keep my head above water.  And it’s both good news and bad news to be this busy right now.

But, there is light at the end.

Anyway, I just wanted to pop in and ask an opinion.

I recently saw an exchange between an older man (40+) and an young girl (15 0r 16), on Facebook where he called her a “devilish imp”.

And it didn’t sit well with me.  Not that I think there’s an immediate danger or anything,  just that it seems too casual or affectionate or personal or something, coming from a non-related adult male to a teenage girl.

So, please share your opinion.  And thank you!

There’s a man on campus that i see pretty much every Wednesday.  He is not a student here, as far as I can tell.  He has an employee ID, a large ring of keys, and steel toed boots.  Somewhere between 50 and 60, he is one of the oldest people on campus.  His T-shirt is always rolled so that the sleeves disappear and the shirt becomes a muscle shirt, showing off once powerful arms that are starting to go to fat.  Rain or shine, I have only ever seen him in these muscle T’s, shorts, the steel toed boots, white calf socks, and a baseball cap.  I imagine is does maintenance or some such.  But I don’t know because I never see him working.

I am fascinated by this man because every day I see him come into the library, pull the same thick reference tome off the shelf, and begin to read.  I want to know what the book is, but the closest I can come is that he grabs it from the symbolic logic section.  Nearly every day, he reads diligently for 10 or 15 minutes, flipping back and forth in the book.  Then, he sets it aside and stares out the window, seemingly absorbing the information.  At some point, he returns to the book, absorbing more information.  After 45 minutes or so- about the time of a reasonable lunch break- he returns to book to the general area he got it from and takes the stairs down and back to the rest of campus.

I will see him again on Tuesday.  Maybe I’ll get up the nerve to ask him what he’s reading.