So the weekend went from bad, to mind boggling horrific, to better, to good, and then back to bad again. The final bad was based on my own stupidity - Sabres should not mix liquor with their beer and wine when they haven’t eaten a bite and are on emotional roller coasters… lest Sabres fall down and hurt their wee domes. And be dragged to the one place they hate the most to have staples put in their precious heads.

*sigh* I don’t have a rational reason for my abject fear of ERs. Well, I do, but it’s private and I can’t explain it. Suffice it to say that I hate the hospital so incredibly much, and given the amount of alcohol running around in me, I was not surprised to be told the next day that I was an absolute bitch to the people there. I was intoxicated and terrified. Yeah, I can see how I may have been a bitch. I can handle my fear of hospitals when I’m sober, not so much when I’m into my cups. However, I have witnesses that will attest to my good humor when I’m not, as Robi just so succinctly put it, tore up from the floor up.

My stove still is not operational, and I’ve been informed that no one will be out to take care of it till tomorrow. Yay.

My hands have been shaking since Friday night and I can’t seem to make them stop. Double yay.

There’s a great disturbance in the Force (hardy har) and I’m sitting here holding my breath, waiting to exhale. I should not have driven into the office, but I had things I needed that I couldn’t access from home. Contemplating a cab home - but damn that’ll be one hell of a fare! I’ll just suck it up and go when it’s time.

A comment on the previous post inquired as to whether or not I’ve smudged my house lately. I haven’t, I should. But, as with so many other things, I have once again lost my faith. I’m treading water, barely holding on, and my faith is the furthest thing away from me.

Maybe a good old fashioned smudging and cleaning ritual is exactly what I need to reacquaint myself with my spirituality.

I’ll look into that. Right after I exhale.

Just looked at the posted time… 3:33. 3 has always been my lucky number. Maybe that’s a fortuitous sign.

The only large burner on my stove decided to take a nose dive last night. In a rather spectacular fashion, I might add. And when it went, it took the whole bloody stove/oven with it.

How so, you may ask?

So here I am, in major cleaning and cooking mode last evening, trying to prepare for some friends coming over to BBQ tonight. I’m cleaning like a mad woman, dancing all over the house with my duster (oh, do stop giggling, I can so dance!), with a pot of potatoes going on the stove. Because, you know, potato salad is always better when it’s made ahead of time.

I wander over to check on the progress of my lovely little friends, and lo! What do I see? Nothing. I see nothing. Not so much as a tiny bubble rising from the pot.

Please to be recalling that this place I call home is not, shall we say, up to today’s standards.

I’ve had some issues with this particular burner before. It’s temperamental, sort of like yours truly. So I give it a little wiggle, as that had worked many times previously. Because, you know, when in doubt, wiggle or kick.

*BAM*

Sparks fly three feet across the room, and I stand there, completely dumbfounded. I wander down to the basement and try to reset the breaker, but alas, it doesn’t want to be reset.

Now, it should also be noted that by this time, all I needed was one little push to set off the tears due to something completely unrelated. And that’s all it took to get it rolling, so of course, the brain is not fully engaged.

I kick the wall, curse a blue streak, you know, the usual.

Eventually, I did get the breaker to reset. So I wander back up the stairs, stare at the stove warily, move the pot to another burner and note that even though all the dials are in the off position, the stove top light is shining brightly, taunting me. As I scratch my head in wonder, the bad burner decides it’s a good time to display some more fireworks.

Except this time? There was shrapnel. Sparks and metal, flying across the room. Pretty! Not really so much, but a girl has to have something to smile about!

Needless to say, at that point I pretty much gave up on ever using it again. Hell, I don’t even like looking at it today, it scared me that badly. So no stove, no oven. Yeah, that makes someone who likes to cook oh so happy.

This morning, I wake to find that something (probably the raccoon from last summer) has had dinner in my garbage can. Well, rather, he took the dinner from my garbage can and strung it across the yard. And neglected to clean up after himself. Furry little bastard.

So after cleaning up a mound of garbage, I decide it’s a good time to get busy with the yard work. The mower complained, the weed-eater is being a total and complete bitch, and I’ve pretty much hit my limit on how much fun I can have today.

And I’m supposed to be entertaining tonight?

Seriously?

At this point, all I can manage to entertain is the thought that at some point, the universe is either going to cut me a break, or I’m going to become the next highway shooter.

A guy posts on a forum that his 91 GT-R was stolen after a prospective “buyer” took it out for a test drive and didn’t return. He posted tons of pictures and information about the car and all the details he could remember about the asshat who drove off with it. Another forum member recognizes the stolen vehicle at the local mall and gets pictures of both the car and driver. The thief is found on Facebook using said pictures. Via Facebook, they get his name, address, and workplace. Long story short, forum members end up locating the car at the address they found. They box it in and call the cops.

Read it all, it’s funny as hell.

Who says there is no real community on The Interwebs?

A conversation I was having with a friend a couple of weeks ago has been rattling around in my brain today. Perception versus reality. One of the points I was trying to make is that while his perception is his reality, he has to allow room for other’s “reality” to get tangled up in it.

When we look at the world from our own viewpoints, as we do simply because we are complex emotional beings with an inherent sense of self, we see our own truth. How we think and feel forms the basis for how we believe others think and feel. At the same time, the face that we present to the world guides others’ perceptions in who they think we are.

I struggle with this.

Our own personal (t)ruth should not be confused with the (T)ruth. The Truth is tangible, measurable, quantifiable. That wall is made of concrete block, that road is paved. Those things can be measured, quantified. They are True. That wall is also unattractive. To me, that’s the truth, but it’s my perception and it cannot be measured.

How I perceive others is based largely upon how they present themselves to me, but also on my own experiences with other people. It’s difficult sometimes, because while people may sometimes do something that someone else has done, I have to remind myself that reacting to it as if they were the other person is going to come out all sorts of wrong. While they may have done something identical, their basis for doing it is probably not the same. Because their perception of reality is entirely different from the other person’s.

I know that how others perceive me is based very much on how I present myself. Some people dislike me immensely, as hard as that is for me to swallow. Usually it is because they perceive me to be a total hardass, with little room for error. Other people love and adore me, which, oddly enough, is also hard for me to swallow. Usually those people feel the way they do about me because they perceive me to be warm and loving and forgiving of mistakes.

Am I really either of those things? Neither? Both? I have no idea. I’m still trying to figure that out myself. However, I am often dismayed at how I believe others perceive me. How I perceive them to perceive me. Yeah, wrap your head around that one. Especially when it is not in the light I’d like to be seen in.

But here’s the catch. I could change things, perhaps say less of this and more of that. Do more of this and less of that. Maybe even learn to bat my lashes, stop flipping people off, and ask for help every now and again. Would I be perceived differently? Would anyone be able to see who I really am, the truth of me?

Would I want them to?

I struggle with this.

Wikipedia describes it thusly: Typically, the scope increase consists of either new products or new features of already approved product designs, without corresponding increases in resources, schedule, or budget. As a result, the project team risks drifting away from its original purpose and scope into unplanned additions. As the scope of a project grows, more tasks must be completed within the budget and schedule originally designed for a smaller set of tasks. Thus, scope creep can result in a project team overrunning its original budget and schedule.

Sabre describes it as follows: “Are you fucking kidding me? When the hell did this get added to the reqs doc? Whose brilliant idea was this? GDI, someone is getting a smackdown!”

Although, it should be noted that Sabres, being somewhat intelligent, don’t respond that way outside of the confines of their small group. Rather, Sabres send out diplomatic emails to the PM noting their objections and expressing concern over their team being expected to come up with unmanageable solutions in unreasonable time frames. Politely. One may even say, if one were so inclined, in a non-adversarial fashion.

*ahem*

So this morning I had to go get more testing done. Oh joy of joys! I never did get in touch with anyone yesterday to find out if I should fast or not, so I erred on the side of caution and didn’t eat anything last night and stopped drinking before midnight. Not even my beloved bedtime glass of water!

And of course, no coffee this morning. Keep that in mind as you peruse my tale of woe, friends, I was decaffeinated.

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Posted with no f’ing comment:

You are probably correct in your thinking today, but you could create harm if others aren’t ready to hear what you have to say. Discretion is necessary so your words can be delivered at the most effective time. You’ll need more than facts to convince anyone to join you. Others need to feel understood and you won’t receive their support until you let them know that you care about their feedback.

Okay, maybe one comment… When am I never correct in my thinking?! It’s the doing that gets me! The hell?

Please note, it’s roughly 2:45 in the afternoon. This is important data.

I called the facility I’m supposed to be going to for more testing (omg, I am so sick of being poked and prodded!) only to be greeted by a very poorly worded recording blathering on about the address and hours of operation. *ahem* Hours of operation being Monday through Friday, 7:30 am to 4:00 pm.

I waited paitently to be directed to press 1 to speak to someone in English, press 2 for Spanish, press 3 to nuke the place. Why? Because I have questions! Do I need to fast? Should I come in the morning or afternoon? How long will the tests take?

But nooooooo, none of that happens. The recording instructed me to call back during normal business hours…

The hell?

Has the entire world gone stupid on me?

Uproarious humor at the doctor’s office today:

I am to cut the following out of my diet: caffeine, peppermint, fatty foods, and alcohol.

*ahem*

I am not a nice person without my morning coffee. Anyone who has ever spent more than a few minutes with me in the morning knows this. Do not get between me and the coffee pot, I can and will bite.

Peppermint? Are you kidding me? Taking away my Altoids? Noooooooooo… That’s an afternoon ritual before getting on the road to go home. A handful of Altoids to nibble on.

Fatty foods, eh, this isn’t a big deal. K, wait, does that include nuts? Oh hell no. French fries I can live without. Peanuts? Pistachios? No no no.

Alcohol? Hang on, I have an answer for that. *middle finger*

This here aging thing and I are not getting off to a good start.

Logic, rational thought, and common sense were run over and killed. They will be missed.

*sigh*

I really need to stop reading the news and become one of those people who just doesn’t give a damn. How do I do that? Any ideas?