I gotta Run, Bike and Swim?!?

In January I signed up for a triathlon.  What can I say? It was a slow time at work — not much left to buy on the Internet and not much going down in the celebrity world.  At the time it was merely a blip on my radar – I mean it was in August! There were still six months of winter and three hundred dog walks (in sub-zero wind chills) sitting between me and that silly little triathlon.  Well, not anymore! I have exactly three weeks to go and I am officially about thirteen weeks behind in training. I blame IBM. I mean why not. ☺

About two weeks ago I decided to get serious. I ‘googled’ triathlon training programs (once I figured out how to spell ‘triathlon’) and managed to find one that advertised an ‘accelerated’ program.  Since the Internet never lies I figured I this one would do and dug out the cap and goggles and kicked it into high gear.

The running part was cake. I have been running ever since all the other sports started costing money and requiring better planning skills.  I have no idea how far I will be running in this triathlon thing but I do know that I have a super cute “running shirt” picked out. It matches my new kicks – white with some light blue highlights.

Biking is another story. In order to get Mr. Engineer Boyfriend off my back I reluctantly agreed to use the “clippy” pedals. I am not sure if you are familiar with the concept but for someone who can wipe out riding in normal pedals, clippies are a guaranteed injury/injuries. I was given a complete dissertation as to why I should use the “death pedals” to which I paid little attention but then I found some cute blue “clippy shoes” that matched my ensemble and so I was sold. Two skinned knees and pretty banged up elbow later I am pretty good I think. Well as long as I don’t have to stop very often…or bike in crowds.

Finally there is the swim.  Now the problem here is that I hate being cold. Hate it.  I can be cold when it is 85 degrees out – ask anyone.  This, as you can assume, makes swimming in Chicago really, really challenging.  For one there is the fact that the lap-swim hours in the public pool are way early and that chlorine turns my hair green. The second thing is that in order to get the real triathlon experience I was going to have to suck it up and take a dip in the Lake, as in the Lake Michigan – the one that probably borders with Canada or something.

So this past Friday I gave it a go. All gussied up in my wetsuit (which I might add is about the most unflattering of all swimming costumes!), swim cap and goggles I trotted down the beach avoiding the syringes and broken glass to the water. I dipped ‘Lucky’ (my big toe) in and immediately I was frozen. I have no idea how I am going to survive the swim. I lasted about twenty minutes on Friday and spent the next four hours chattering (and picking nasty seaweed out of my hair!).

Basically I think it is safe to say I am, well, screwed. While I might have had grandiose dreams of becoming big on the triathlon scene I think my only goal now is to survive. The same goal I wound up setting for myself when I signed up for the marathon last year. I gotta stop doin’ this. Hopefully this year I will be swamped in January and not go down this path again.

Oh, and can anyone tell me how long each event is in an Olympic Distance triathlon? Or should I just be surprised on the day of the event?


Phantom, Sticky and Lamar

While I was leaving IBM one of my previous teammates threatened me that if he ever came up against me in a competitive situation he was going to spill the beans about Sticky, Phantom and Lamar.  To take a proactive approach on the situation I figured I would air my dirty laundry here beating him to the punch.

I am an only child. (I know, I know, shocker, huh?) Only children have imaginary friends.  Sometimes these friends follow us into adulthood. Sometimes (as it went with Lamar) our real friends are forced to acknowledge our imaginary friends when they almost sit on them in the cab on the way to the airport.

Phantom and I have been friends since I was a kid. Phantom is a hand puppet so he is naturally very expressive, wearing his heart at the end of my sleeve so to speak. With Phantom I always know where I stand. I can tell when he is happy, when he’s sad and when he is uncomfortable. Phantom can bite and pinch too – a presumed quality of the hand puppet.

Sticky, or ‘Msr. Stick’ is French. I think he used to be American because I found him in Texas in ’99 but when I took him to Paris in ’03 he fell so in love with the city that he asked to become a citizen of France. (Finding him a birth certificate and social security card was a real b!tch!) Sticky is very pretentious and incredibly aggressive. He went after Mr. Engineer Boyfriend once – I think it was partly jealousy. Sticky and Phantom DO NOT get along, as Joger can attest to.

Lamar is the baby of the “family”. Joger insists Lamar is African American because of the name but being that he is invisible I don’t think race really applies. Lamar has no arms and no legs. Lost ‘em in the War. (Not sure which War but hey, I’m just repeating what he told me.) His lack of mobility makes him very needy but also really easy to take care of because I can leave him places and know he will be there when I get back. Lamar is Joger’s favorite. Joger used to let him sit on his lap when we would fly to Sao Paulo.

I personally see nothing wrong with hob-knobbing with the invisible.  And to be honest I don’t think Joger sees anything wrong with it either. If you haven’t noticed he is all over all three of my imaginary friends. He knows their name and will oftentimes ask how they are doing. (He used to keep in touch with Lamar over e-mail but since Sticky refuses to help him type anymore that has all fallen by the wayside.) So maybe Joger and I are like two peas in a pod. So take that as a warning my dear Roger (I mean Joger) – you spill the beans on P, S and L to a potential customer and I will make sure to bring up you and Lamar’s little “relationship”.

And yeah, I still believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

*Name changed to protect the innocent.

My Blackberry Can Do That!

Or at least it could have I think – that is before I lost it in the “transition” a little over a week ago. 

You see up until about six days, three hours and forty-two minutes ago I was a self-proclaimed blackberry addict. I mean who isn’t? Yes, I suffered through the dirty looks, the arguments, the injuries and, as of late, the withdrawal but through it all I was a devout “blackberrier”. In my prime I could text with the best of them; could easily pull off the “look and type” – maintaining eye contact with customers while making dinner plans under the desk. Yes, I could even look up phone numbers while driving…oh, I mean while parked on the side of the road. Yeah, I would always pull off to look for those numbers. Totally.

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end and so upon my resignation from IBM I was forced to turn over my beloved blackberry. Kinda in the same way that one might rip a helpless puppy from the hands of its owner and cart it off to some cold, dark shelter. But oh well, I’m not bitter – nope, totally not bitter. (Twitch, pace, grit teeth) I heart IBM. 

So fast forward a couple days and there I am at the AT&T store picking up my new 16GB (white to match my dog) iPhone. I was immediately overwhelmed by this feeling of phone inadequacy. Everything I touched on the iPhone just didn’t feel right, I missed the track ball that stopped working when it rained and the two-day delay in receiving data. I missed that screaming do-do-do! sound when my phone cut out. I missed the brick game.  This new iPhone was trying to fill the void left by my blackberry and it just wasn’t cuttin’ it. Anything that Mr. Engineer Boyfriend, or the sixteen gazillion other people that asked to play with it, showed me I just frowned, looked away and whispered, if only to myself, “My Blackberry could do that.” Sigh. I think I should talk to someone about this. Take more vitamin E or something.

All things considered there was one thing that I didn’t account for. One comment from an old friend (yes, friend, you know who you are!) who came out of left field to throw some more salt on the wound. To let me know that there is one issue that usurps all the others I was experiencing in the transition to the iPhone. A stigma that is attached to each and every iPhone owner, one that I, (in the same way that I believed no one ever boozed it up in High School) had no idea about.  Something he referred to as (his words, not mine) “iphone douchebaggery”.

Although I do sense a bit of “iPhone envy”, I will share his ideas here because he, the unnamed, is too Web 1.0 (chicken 🙂 )  to create his own blog and everyone, even this guy, is entitled to his opinion. 

* Note, I have done some minor editing to remove the 42 instances of the “f” word.  

why the iphone is not cool – it’s too big to fit in your pocket, and as such it is necessary to carry it around in your hand, then when you sit down you have to place it infront of you on the table for everyone else to see that you have an iPhone (you’ll find yourself doing this – a lot) just so you can let everyone know that you can check the temperature in Lusambo in the Democratic Republic of Congo, if you really wanted to.  The placing of ‘large’ electronic items infront of you is unfortunately a key indicator of what I like to call ‘douchebaggery’…  it’s up there with people who pretend to be freelance something or others in coffee shops (or other eating establishments that tolerate people bumming their wifi for hours) who sit way too close to the line and make it freaking obvious that they are being creative by sighing and looking at the Word doc on their Mac…  Apple products have become too ubiquitous and far too closely associated with douchebags to be cool.  I will not be buying an iPhone…  blackberry’s cooler… especially when accompanied by “oh flipping heck” when an email comes through…  indicating I’m carrying this because I have to, works paying for the thing and I’m not going to buy my own phone too.  

This iPhone has become like a really pretty white shiny thorn that does all kinds of cool stuff including, but not limited to, taking pictures, playing music, twittering, giving me that weather in Lesotho, in my side. Whatever, it isn’t the worst.

“All About Me”

…but really nothing about me. Nope, this one is all about none other then my mother, a.k.a. “Ma Self”. And no, contrary to popular belief, she was not an only child like myself, but rather the youngest child, the baby of the family.  Not really sure which is worse – you will have to ask Mr. Engineer Boyfriend that one 🙂

To kinda sorta set the stage let me just fill you in on a few things about the one and only Ma Self. She is an art teacher by trade and an artist by nature. I don’t mean to stereotype or anything but for me this meant I grew up with an interesting mix of business savvy (Pa Self) and um, a complete and utter lack of respect for “the man” (Ma Self).

Yep, it has been Ma Self who has always encouraged me to give up my day job and become a lifeguard. “You always loved the water!” And Ma Self who gave me a “tie dye” kit for my college graduation.  Ma Self who paid an animal psychic to connect with Bill the dog (who left us in ’02) to try and understand how she could have raised us better – sibling rivalry and all. Yes, and it was Ma Self who named the dog, “Bill”.

It was a shock of course to Ma Self when I graduated college and instead of living off the land somewhere went to work for the biggest of all corporations – IBM. It was a shock to me eight years later when she decided to trade in the pens and pencils and take up Powerpoint. Yes, Powerpoint. And not just any version of Powerpoint – but Powerpoint 2007.  (She is way too advanced for all the other versions, her words, not mine.)

So over the course of 2007 and well into 2008 Ma Self took a one credit hour course in Powerpoint. I of course feel as though I took that same course – if only virtually. Yes, while the final deliverable was just a  single (as in one) presentation she could present to her class named “All About Me”, to my mother, the “Blank Template” one finds when selecting New -> Presentation stood as an empty canvas; one just waiting to be painted with jumping dogs, waving hands and ringing bells.

Yes, by the time it was all said and done Ma Self managed to create a presentation that broke every single rule one could think of in the corporate world. It had animation, it had sound effects, it was choreographed, there were different fonts, different transitions…there was the fact that it was 2.1GB and would crash everyone elses laptop except for my own trusty rusty T60. But the one thing it wasn’t was ugly. Although I can safely say her “movie” (I will refer to it that way now since it was way more a production then a presentation would not have flown at any conference to which I have been a presenter it was certainly a true representation of her – imagined, creative and inspired. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.

And so here are just a couple of my personal favorites – some of the smaller ones I could actually take a screen capture of.

(The “I Have Lived in 6 States Slide” is completely animated. With the initial click, a John Deere tractor zooms in from the right to point to Illinois AND makes a honking sound.  Another click and a spinning Alamo lands with a splat in the state of Texas. Click again and a few bowling pins appear in a checkerboard pattern over Ohio. Moments later a crab claws its way onto the screen and so on and so on. This process takes about ten minutes to complete and when it is all said and done the slide alone = 540MB, generally crashing Powerpoint)

(The “My Daughter Angela” slide. This one starts with a drumroll. And some flickering of the background image before a rather unflattering picture of me with a beer and a nasty green background appears on the screen. Oh and did I mention the name “Angela” goes screeching, yes, screeching in from the left and then slides back to the right.)

The Power of Potato

Today at work we started talking science. My only contribution to the conversation was the fact that I once made a potato clock. The funny thing is that the moment the word “potato clock” rolled off my tongue I had this revelation. Why, if we can run a clock off a potato, can we not run a car off a potato? Hmmm. Makin’ you think, huh? 

I think my idea was immediately shot down at work but I brought the idea home to ponder it over with Mr. Engineer Boyfriend figuring if he saw promise in my proposal we could retire early. He of course did not. But we did spend the next few hours debating it because I wasn’t going down without a fight.

The reason was of course, because M.E.B. made the mistake early on of saying, and I quote:

One f*ing potato could maybe get you five feet OR run your radio for maybe a second. That is the most ludicrous f*ing thing I have ever heard.

Huh, so you’re saying there’s a chance…

As you can assume I immediately jumped all over this five foot thing – the ‘ole brain started working. I imagined finding a way to grow bigger potatoes. If a standard Chicago potato could go five feet how far could an Idaho potato go? Could I somehow grow a three-hundred pound potato that could go three-hundred times the distance? And that begged the question, how would one get a three-hundred pound potato on the back of a Toyota Prius? A ha! I would mash it! I would mash hundreds and thousands of potatoes and stuff them in a box and then sell “potato boxes” on the side of the road. A mashed potato had to be way more mobile then a potato shaped potato. Genius!

Are you kidding me?!? (M.E.B. was getting frustrated now) Have you ever tried to stuff a bunch of mashed potatoes in a box? (Um actually, no M.E.B, I haven’t….but I am quite intrigued that you obviously have!) Potatoes expand (blah blah blah some engineering speak here) when they are mashed and mixed with milk. Yuck! Who puts milk in their potatoes?!? – whatever.

Mashed and Monster potatoes aside all I kept coming back to was the fact that said potato could power my car about “five feet”. He said it. I think you all heard it. With that as my inspiration I went to work on what may soon be in every Physics’ text book around the globe, the theory of spud-taneous combustion.  And the following equation that I plan to submit to the EPA or the Emissions’ people or the Department of Energy (whoever deals with this stuff) soon, explains it all to the layman.

(*** In order to present this internationally I have decided to perform all calculations using the metric system)

P = Idaho (big) potato
p = Chicago (standard) potato

P = .7112 meters
p = .3048 meters

My house to the nearest Panera (no radio) = 3862.43 meters
Radio multiplier .75
My house to the nearest Panera (with radio) = 2896.8225 meters

Number of Potatoes (P) to Panera (no radio) = 3862.43 / .7112 = 5430.86
Number of Potatoes (p) to Panera (no radio) = 3862.43 / .3048 = 12672.01

Now if we are selling Potatos for a penny a piece we’re looking at a mere $5.43 to get to Panera. You can’t beat that! Or wait, is it $54.30. Crap. I need a calculator. Either way someones’ makin’ money! I think we all can agree its time to buy futures in potatoes!

(*** Futher note, since I started writing this M.E.B. has continued to argue with me on this idea (which makes me laugh really really hard at the fact he is continuing to research this on the Internet as we speak) and now insists that it allegedly takes five potatoes to power an LCD watch so there is no way a potato could get me five feet. But whatever, he said it. No take backs.)

Highway (or rather skyway) Robbery

This week I was out in San Jose, CA. (Okay, well if you happen to be my manager I am totally kidding. I was in Chicago the whole week workin’ hard and wishing I was in San Jose. Like, Brrrrrr! It was certainly cold out on the lakefront this week. And Argh!, that damn traffic on the Kennedy!!! Yeah, I was totally in Chicago…) Back in the day I was a regular out there flying the aptly named “nerd-bird” from Austin to San Jose every Sunday and every Friday. Now I just make it there on my own dime. Or dimes as the case may be.

Yep, this week Mr. Engineer Boyfriend, the dog, a whole bunch of computer parts and gadgets (because you never want to leave home without your backup to your backup Cat 5 cable), and I headed the approximately 2163.76 miles to San Jose on American Airlines. The goal of course was to use up some Frequent Flier miles before they become as obsolete as an IBM Stock Option but funnily enough there was one member of the party who just couldn’t be paid for with miles and his name just happened to be “Myles”. Yep, the ‘ole puppers was gonna cost us.

Now I should point out that this wasn’t his first flight of course but it had the potential of becoming his last. I feel it is my civil responsibility to educate all the other thirteen pound dog owners (and yeah, thirteen pounds quickly feels more like forty when said dog deadweights himself in the corner of the carryon bag) to the “dog-stortion” going down in the airline industry today. Read on.

It all begins at the vet. Because everyone needs to get their cut on the whole “flying dog” thing, your local vet will charge you about seventy-five bucks for a printed receipt that shows you just paid two-hundred bucks to get your dog up to date on every vaccination known to man, dog and bird. Luckily, it is good for, oh say, about twelve days; enough to “get you there” but not necessarily “get you back”. Do this one time and one time only. There are many creative ways you can “alter” alleged certificate.

Next there is the purchase of the “doggie vestibule”. For those of you, like my mom, who do everything within their power to avoid buying “name brands” best of luck to you. The airline only certifies the something called the “Sherpa” bag. Somehow the same guys that guide you up Mt. Everest have also created a monopoly in “doggie bags”. And these bags don’t come cheap. Mr. Engineer Boyfriend picked up a “Large” at Petco for $125 and complained about it the entire week. I should point out that allegedly every dog, including dogs much larger then my Myles, love this bag. Myles does not. Paws splayed in every direction a chicken strip would not even lure him into the bag (two French Fries from Burger King finally did the trick). And once inside, Myles whined incessantly. At one point I did go against my better judgment and allow him to stretch his legs (I don’t recommend this!) whereby he let me know what he thought of our little family vacation by leaving a present in the middle of Terminal “L”. My recommendation, drug ‘em.

The coup-de-gras however is the cost of his ticket. As I mentioned before he does not qualify for Frequent Flier miles nor can he use them. (And trust me, I have asked.) The dog flies full-fare. Yes, to stuff my little white dog in a carryon bag and shove him under my seat in the same way that I toss my laptop, ipod and latest romance novel, I pay a mind boggling one-hundred dollars – EACH WAY! Up from the eighty bucks I paid just six months ago (and promised that I would pay when I booked him the ticket in March might I add – still gonna take that one up with American Airlines!!!) All this and he doesn’t even get offered a drink of water, no nasty salty peanut/pretzel mix thing; Myles can’t even pop his cute little head out of the bag for a breather. This my friend is skyway robbery. And you know what, I might happily hand over my hard earned hundred bucks and begin to feel at least slightly sorry for the plight of the airline industry if and only if they focused on a little thing called customer service. Yes, American, I am talking to you, when I pay two hundred dollars to fly my dog on a four hour flight the least you could do is “throw him a bone”.

Christmas in July

*** In honor of the 4th of July I figured I would post an abridged version of a Christmas Letter from back in the day when I actually wrote them. 170 days to go!!! ***

Dear Family and Friends,

So it is finally that time of year again and you should feel quite honored to have made the cut and become the proud recipient of the second annual Christmas Letter. Will there be a third? Will you still be on the distribution list might be another question – and honestly, would you be that offended if you weren’t?

This past year saw the passing of Bill. As a result I felt it was only appropriate to begin by dedicating this years’ Christmas Letter to the memory of our dearly departed brother, Bill. (No tears please, he is in a “happy place” now) Bill was a good dog – obedient, polite, accepting of others…sigh, Bill and I got along so well. But time heals all wounds and even while I am still continuing to pluck Bill hairs out of my wool sweaters and distributing him in IBM offices all over the country (as Ma Self says, “he always loved to travel”) he is being replaced with another sibling – a cat named Pippy, Floissa or Marge. Hmmm, I wasn’t allergic to my last sibling – I wonder what Ma Self is trying to tell me here. So anyway, like have a moment of silence for Bill or something but remember I was their first child and he was always stealing my thunder!

Before I really get into my year in review I just want to clear up a couple of things. For one, I think it is perfectly normal to have imaginary friends – I myself have three. “Sticky” – who is currently living in England after a brief stint in Brazil, “Lamar” – currently studying “law” at Harvard, and “Phantom” who happens to be sitting in the seat next to me which was luckily empty. It is perfectly normal to talk to people that may or may not be there. I think so at least. Okay, let’s move on then.

This was undeniably the year of the “Wawa Pretzel”. I am addicted.  Having such a discerning palette it is oftentimes difficult for people like myself to make such bold statements but then again after coming clean about Sticky et al. exposing you to my unique eating obsessions just seems to come with the territory.  It has been years since I labeled a food a “favorite”.  1998 was the year of the “Potato Leek Soup”, the “Pop-Tart” graced to coveted title in 2001, “Italian Wedding Soup” in ’04… but this year, after one bagel (a favorite that has spanned many decades!) too many, our friend the bagel was “retired” into the “Hall of Fame” alongside  “spaghetti with anything” (‘99), “scrambled eggs with hot dog” (‘90), and the “toaster strudel” of 1980-1985. In search of a replacement “carb” I came across the twisted breaded beauty known as the “Wawa Pretzel” while working in Philadelphia. What a culinary masterpiece! If you are not from Philly (which after consulting my distribution list covers every single one of you!) you may not be familiar with “Wawa”. Think “Sheetz”, “Stuckies” or  “Luckys”?  Still lost?  Well, Wawa is just a gas station with a really “sweet” convenience store with a computerized sandwich maker – it doesn’t get much better then that! Being a local institution and the pretzel being like the state flower or something (where do pretzels come from anyway?) it all just fits.  The pretzel itself is seasonal, I mean it is available 365 days a year but the summer month pretzels are way better – the oppressive humidity keeps ‘em soft to the extent that they almost melt in your mouth. Wintertime can often produce a sub par pretzel with a hard outer skin and dried out insides. The pretzel itself does not fly well as they seem to harden up from the altitude and become as difficult to eat as those rice krispie treats or fat-free chocolate chip cookies that I am so famous for. In all seriousness I can’t say enough positive things about these pretzels; you just have to try one for yourself. In fact next time you are in Philadelphia (and you won’t have to look far as there is a Wawa is on every corner) stop in and grab a pretzel and a computer generated sandwich – tell them Angela sent you, I mean they will have no idea who I am but they will probably be nice about it at least.

Eating habits and intangible friends aside, you are probably beginning to wonder if I actually did anything this past year. I did, I mean I think I did, I just have to consult my blackberry – give me a minute. What a delight that toy is by the way!  I mean it is a tossup between it and the iPod for things I couldn’t live without but that again that would just be a whole other pointless story.

IBM is still the same – still solvent. I think I was home about fifteen days this year — maybe sixteen if you were to count that day I didn’t have to fly out until after eight.  All the traveling has been tiring (and often frustrating) but I have had the opportunity to travel to Brazil and Argentina several times (leaving Brazil with my watch and my passport which is always a good thing), spent a whole lot of time in Las Vegas for better or worse (ooh, that reminds me of a story… cue “Ma Self”, Aunt Norma, Aunt Judy, Cousin Jen, Cousin Rhonda and “Fremont Street Experience”), Philly (yes, the “Wawa”), and San Francisco.  I still don’t really know what I do there but I know it has to do with computers and that I make a difference because every December I get an email from Sam Palmisano letting me that he couldn’t have done it without me and my 300,000 closest friends/co-workers. (By next year it will only be 280,000 I’m sure as there are plans for another “Operation Breakaway” in the New Year! ) As much as I joke, I did really like my team this year and the work so working for IBM isn’t the worst.

And so once again we say goodbye to another year and get ready for new one filled with endless possibilities and limitless material for next years letter – lucky number five.  I wish you all the best this holiday season and in the New Year and hope that you remember to leave cookies by the fireplace for Santa and carrots for Rudolph (he’s a vegetarian) because they have a lot of work to do this Christmas.  Feel free to drop in on me this year, you are always welcome. Take care, be safe and have a Happy Holiday and Happy New Year!

Peace and Love,

The “Love Bug”

A while back my non-traveling job took me to Florida – and surprisingly not Orlando. Yes, for the first time I went to a city called Jacksonville. (Alright, well, first I went to Orlando because of a little thing called a “ground stop” at O’Hare and then I drove to Jacksonville, but yeah, my final destination was Jacksonville) I mean honestly, who doesn’t enjoy a short three hour drive in the middle of the night to make it in time for an 8AM meeting with someone else’s customer?!? I have no complaints though, once I finally made it to Jacksonville the people there were really nice; saying “Please!” and “Thank You!” and “Excuse Me” and calling me “Ma’am” – all those little things you never hear in Chicago when someone is trying to run you down at a crosswalk. “Not-my-customer-who-I-had-to-travel-all-the-way-to-Florida-to-do-a-bake-off” (or NMCWIHTTATWTFTDABO for short) was pretty cool too. I learned a lot of fascinating stuff when I was in Florida. Ironically, none of it was work related. 🙂

It was lunchtime on Day Two and “the guys” and I were sitting around the break room eating lunch and talking cars. I generally get enough “car talk” at home with my Engineer Boyfriend (its either cars or Adam Carolla these days) and did my typical “engineer boyfriend tune-out”. For over thirty minutes I  listened to them drone on about what was necessary to preserve the exterior of their cars (yeah, haven’t heard this ONE-THOUSAND times before!) and why a car wash was way too abrasive, etc etc. I was totally bored. But then out of nowhere I heard someone say “and then there is the problem with those love bugs”. The Love Bug I thought! I loved that movie!!! Lindsay Lohan! Man, I could finally contribute!!! I heart celebrity gossip!But no, unfortunately they didn’t seem to be talking pop-culture. My next attempt at including myself in the conversation

“OMG!!, you drive a punch-buggy? I have always wanted a punch buggy. You know with the little holder for the flower and stuff. Do they still have that? I have always wanted one in pink.”

fell flat on its feet as well. (a lot of blank stares and probably some “blonde jokes”). You see what they were referring to was actually an aspect of Florida that I didn’t know anything about! After a lifetime of visiting Disneyworld the only bug I had ever come across was our friend the mosquito. Oh and a cricket. As in Jiminy.Allegedly Florida has this type of bug called the love bug. In fact they actually have a “love bug season” – like we in Chicago have…I’m not sure what we have actually, that “week in the middle of June that is really nice season”? Anyway, these bugs are born or hatched or whatever it is that bugs do, and then immediately attach themselves (in a sexual manner) to another bug.  The duo stay attached to each other for their entire bug life. (Twenty minutes or so) According to wikipedia:

…the “love bug”spends the entirety of its life copulating with its mate. Sometimes they even play a tug of war as one bug tries to fly one way and the other flies the other way.”
I found this story rather sweet. (No one else at the table did). I brought up the fact that doves mated for life as well. (No one saw the connection) Either way I do see this as the ultimate love story in the insect kingdom.  Kinda like “Casablanca”.But it isn’t all fun and games. If you happen to have a little run in with these little nymphomaniacs they will win every time.  They will explode onto your beloved automobile in a big black mess. An acidic mess that begins to eat away at the outside of your car if you don’t clean it off immediately. Man, would that ruin Mr. Engineer Boyfriends day/week/month/year! 

So take this as a public service announcement. And avoid what Floridians refer to as “the black haze”.

When Dogear bites back.

Note* “Dogear” to the layman is a social bookmarking service. A feature of the IBM Lotus Connections product suite.

This weekend, while surfing the Internet I was interrupted by an urgent ‘ping” from a friend of mine in the UK. Normally I would ignore Sametime chats on the weekend, heck I ignore them during the week as well – do the ‘ole wait a few minutes and switch to ‘Away’ trick!  But since it was a slow news day I decided to respond. All I was told by my little British friend was that I needed to quickly check my Intranet Profile as someone must be playing a trick on me.

Damn I thought! Someone hacked my password (Seemingly “passw0rd” isn’t that secure anymore!) and posted that picture of me dressed in a turkey costume again! (key word, again!)

But no, I went to my corporate Intranet Profile and nothing struck me as odd. I looked okay, my “tags” were nothing out of the ordinary, no unauthorized blogs… I don’t understand I asked, what could possibly be ‘off’ on my profile?? “Check out your dogear” is all he said.

Then it hit me. You see about a month ago (yes, it has been there for an entire month – maybe more!) I had to do a demo for a customer of mine – a pharmaceutical company. In an effort to allow my Connections/Quickr demo to resonate with them I decided to randomly pick a drug listed on their website and build away. Paying no particular attention to what the drug actually did (I was lucky I was able to spell it the same way twice and/or even to pronounce it!) I added it to my doggear, tagged myself the resident expert, blogged about it, and populated a team space – all on IBMs Internal deployment of Lotus Connections. (The one we all use everyday) It was only once I arrived at the customer site did I realize that my drug of choice happened to cure a little disease called “Genital Herpes”.  Yes, I was now IBMs expert in all things related to Herpes.

The customer ate it up of course – enjoying the effort that we at IBM had gone through to show we cared but through the entire demo I was just counting down the minutes until I could get back online, make some changes and go back to just knowing stuff about portal and collaboration and themes and dogs. However it was a Friday afternoon. So when I did finally get home (traffic in Chicago can be a real pain!) I went out to dinner and to the mall – retail therapy. My expertise remained untouched – at least until today, (If only they would refresh the damn cache!) thanks to a set of sharp eyes across the pond.

The funny thing is, at the end of our Sametime chat all he said was “its okay, I am sure no one noticed, its not like its been up there for more then a day, right?”. Uh yeah, it’s just been a day. Of course 🙂

Slightly Used Dog Toys $5. OBO.

Tonight I started to go about selling stuff on craigslist. Its been a slow Saturday night – nothing good was on Dateline. For the most part I just want to get rid of this annoying IKEA lamp that I can’t seem to find a home for. And when you live in a 900 sq. foot apartment in the middle of the city with “Mr. Engineer Boyfriend” and his six computers and four video game consoles (oh and did I mention a dog?!?) there is no room for superfluous stuff. I mean lets be honest, in the kitchen cabinet, stuffed next to the spaghetti pot (that I have never used) I have a plastic case of 4 hard-drives. And yes, I know. “It’s for security reasons”.

But after entertaining myself for way too long selling crap on craigslist and being further entertained checking out the crap that others were selling on craigslist this lovely Saturday night I got up to grab myself a Gatorade (purple of course) from the fridge and tripped over…well first I tripped over the dog… but then a “rawhide twisty bone thingy”. Or at least what used to be a “rawhide twisty bone thingy”. And this got me thinkin’. Perhaps I had the energy for just one more post…

Slightly Used Dog Toys $5. OBO. City of Chicago.
Approximately 14 Bone Nubs. Some in better shape then others. Of course these are (or were) small dog bones but a small dog with a big heart. Hey, when you buy jeans you pay a premium for the broken-in look – the same should apply when shopping for rawhide. You dog will thank you.

6 (oh okay Myles, 5. Geez!) Stuffed animals. An elephant, a frog (is that what that thing is?!?), an otter, a cat (of course!) and a duck. Some are missing arms, some legs or wings (whatever the case may be), some both. Don’t let this dissuade you, all are capable of soaring through the air at high speeds and then being “retrieved”.

One super (yes Myles its going) annoying red squeaky ball with spikes that seems to smell like whatever catnip would smell like to a dog. Perhaps your dog is a little more mature and will be able to handle it better then my Myles. (Yes, Myles when you turn 3 we can think about getting you one again) If I hear one more squeak from that thing, followed by incessant whining while on a conference call I am going to post a small white Havanese on craigslist! (Just kidding sweety-pups, mommy loves you.)

Huh, funny. Someone else must have just had a similar idea since I just saw a post for 75 used tennis balls. I hope this doesn’t take away some of my potential buyers.