This is a Week to be Remembered by All

It’s the week I hand my old Braille Note Classic over to Roger, who will take it swiftly, yet gently from my sight forever. And then …

And then commences my wait for a NEW BrailleNote mPower!! Let the waiting begin!

Odd Survey

This one’s fun:

Grab the book nearest you – turn to page 18 and read line 4:
My Book Port was closest, so I grabbed it and went to line 4 of whatever book it landed me in. It reads: “New York had actually lost ground.” – The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America. A fascinating, anecdotal–but well-researched and excellently-written–account of events at the Chicago World’s Fair centering on the two most influential men (one for the good, and one for … well … for eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeviiiiiiiiiiiiiiil). Honestly, I can barely put it down. (Oh, and this title is available through Book Share as well.

Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. You’re touching:
Alas, naught but air. But if we swivel 30 or so degrees to port … Hmm. A brush with a hair tie on the handle, some bracelets, and a blouse on top of a Windows XP box. Hmmmm.

What is the last thing you watched on TV?
Kyle XY. I thought it was the series finale, but that’s next Monday night. YAY!

Without looking, guess what time it is:
8:01 p.m.

Now look at the clock:
7:48.

With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
The fridge hum, Glen Beck on TV, and Some guy saying “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie” far off outside.

When did you last step outside?
When I Got off the 18 in the Pick’n Save parking lot and walked the rest of the way home from work.

Before you started this survey, what did you look at?
Shanti’s blog.

What are you wearing?
Dress pants and my favorite … well … it’s HOT here, OK? and our last electric bill was $110 from central airing this giant apartment, so I don’t want to turn it on if I can help it. — So why am I wearing dress pants if I’m trying to cool off?
Hmmm. Never thought of that.

Did you dream last night?
Probably, but I don’t remember it.

When did you last laugh?
Well, reading Rachael’s survey answers … But before that, I laughed at Steve who told Laurie to talk louder on the phone because he was blind. Then he said ‘Ah, honey, that was a joke,’ promptly followed by a ‘Huh?’

What is on the walls of the room you are in?
Not much. I’ll tackle that when it comes time to actually decorate in here. Or, you know, four months later.

Seen anything weird lately?
Because I’m not actually seeing, but I have sight memory, my brain is constantly manufacturing probable images to make my eyes feel useful. If I think about seeing something when my eyes are closed, however, it’s always the same thing: uneven tiers of red peaks and lines glowing against a black background. They always move from left to right at the same plodding speed — sometimes it looks kind of like an endless parade of men of varied heights striding past in their black tuxes with red trim.
… But anything strange???? … Sorry, no. That’s the closest I come.

What is the last film you saw?
In the theater, it was “Click” with Adam Sandler. Very funny.

If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy?
I would send a bunch to Rachael’s parents to help them with their work in India. Then I’d send to some other missionaries I know and love in China, and to Bwana Daub in Africa. And then …
Aaaaah … and THEN!
Meet Kajsa, the Swedish fashion student at UW Madison who became my personal shopper the very first week the fortune befell me. — Or was it the week after? — No … no, that was the week of the butler, Chutney’s personal trainer, and Xander, my narrator (who reads me to sleep with his luscious BBC accent [which is a pretty good show, because he grew up saying things like "An' 'ere's me dear old dad: Bo Peep on the rory third night in a row cuz 'e's been drinkin.'"])
But where was I? Oh yes — Kajsa is the one cutting the strap off last week’s Louis Vuitton hand bag. She’s making a portable water dish for Chutney. We’ll need a travel bowl for Chutney tomorrow: we’re hopping around to my weekend places for the photo ops while we plant the homing beacons for my auto-piloted plane. It’s been quite an ordeal, actually. I don’t even want to fly my plane: my hair’s a pain after the headset, and I always chip my nails on the wheel thingy. Oh well, It gets me home, I suppose.
So where’s home? MMMMMM … My loft flat in Boston and my get-away house in Scotland. My little Holland resort is kind of like home, only it’s hit’n miss with the chefs because they don’t know English or Braille. But those places are just for Thursdays, ducky, and for weekends I don’t feel up to yachting the Med. You’d most often find me and Xander burrowed deep in the bowels of my North Chicago estate, where I’ve just completed installation of my state-of-the-art digital audio cocoon with lots of analogue knobs and sliders, and the latest ProTools (which magicly works now for blind users on a PC platform [basically because, being so filthy gleaming rich I have hired a team of guys who know a guy who figured that one out long ago.]) And libraries of libraries of sounds and virtual instruments, and … well, it’s not very kind to brag now, is it?

Tell me something about you that I don’t know:
I’ve never understood how some people can complain about not knowing what to do with their free time. I could read all day and be perfectly happy.

If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?
Make sure everyone goes to bed spiritually and physically full.

Do you like to dance?
MMMMMMMMMMM-Hmmmmmmmm.

George W. Bush:
A man with half the spine I thought he had who makes me want to walk straight through rotted out dry wall into an active lava flow.

Imagine your first child is a girl..what do you call her?
Something Welsh or Swedish probably. I’ll find something not too off the wall.

Imagine your first child is a boy..what do you call him?
Depends on the dynamics with the husband, you know? Do we want a JR. or a name after a grandpa perhaps?

Would you ever consider living abroad?
Oh definitely!

What do you want God to say to you when you reach the pearly gate?
“Jacob … That trickster … Always switching the sign! Yes, we are actually OPEN today …”

Odd day

I feel like writing. How’d you like to read about my day?

It started at 10 minutes after 7 when my cab arrived. The mere fact that a Milwaukee cab arrived so smack-dab on time is something to write about in itself. Milwaukee cabs, you see, are notorious for their tardiness when it comes to picking up people with service animals. And, yes, you are required to specify that they will be transporting a dog, because they’ve also been known to spot the would-be passenger, slow down, notice the dog, and then peel right out of there like a banana waking up in a blender. I kid you not. They’ve seen me with Chutney and left more than once.

Partway through the morning I went to the front desk to be the receptionist because our official one has gone and broken his ankle or something, and us e-commercers are splitting up time covering for him. This is fine. There’s invoicing to do during the downtimes up there. So I did that. And people came in and out and I listened in on the chatter from the offices down the hall. Some guy waiting for his appointment with one of our contractors got kind of flirty, and I tried to hit the right balance of perky/professional and felt a lot like Pam from The Office.

I’m addicted to The Office. I hear the British one’s even better … I think I’ll be checking Net Flics for that soon!

Then, an oddness occurred; a blatant oddness I’d rather have avoided.

Someone stopped in for an appointment with Chuck, the company president.

So far, so good. Someone very business-sounding outside my little reception window wants Chuck. I will call said Chuck post haste.

Ring-ring-ring-[Come on, Chucky, pick it up. There's someone named Ben who's probably actually kind of important and I don't want to look like I can't find you]-ring-ring-ring.

“I’ll just ring through somewhere else,” I tell Ben.

“Tell him it’s Ben. He is expecting me.”

Meanwhile, I’m thinking about what I just said and what a dits I am as I dial a completely unrelated extension. What am I thinking? Ring through? … What BS. How does one ‘ring through’ exactly? Sounds painful. And why was I calling his son now — what would I say when he picked up? Ummm, hey there, Seej! Where’s your daddy?”

So I hung up and decided to page Chuck instead.

Just as I heard the echoing tone announcing to the whole of the plant, the offices, the warehouse, God and everybody that I was about to page someone, it hit me. I’ve heard and conducted many a-page in my brief stay here, but never have I heard anyone page Mr. Chuck himself.

Suddenly, that little fact mattered very much. Simple deduction, my dear Watson. Perhaps the reason we’ve never heard a Chuck page in all our lives is because it simply isn’t done. Perhaps you don’t just blare out orders to the Pres with the plant, the offices, the warehouse, God and everybody listening on.

So I hung up and dialed Steve instead.

‘Yeah?’

[very quietly and turned casually away from His Ben-ness] ‘Yeah. Do we page Chuck?’

What do you mean?’

‘I mean I’ve never heard anyone page Chuck before, and there’s someone to see him, but I don’t know if it’s done.’

‘I’ll page Chuck. Then if something bad happens, I’ll take the wrap for you.’

I wasn’t sure what to think of this, but I let him go to town, and I went on dialing Chuck’s number unsure what else to do.

Archie came by presently to plop another stack of invoicing down in front of me. ‘How ya doin’ here?’

I’m fine. There’s someone here for Chuck.’

‘You called Chuck?’

‘Yes. He’s not there.’

‘Did you page him?’

[blushing] ‘No … But, Steve is.’

‘What? Why Steve?’

‘… Well, I wasn’t sure if … I’d never heard anyone page Chuck before …’

At this point, Arch begins to laugh at me. ‘So you called Steve and told him to do it instead?’

[blushing, blushing, feeling stupid stupid stupid ...

And Chuck comes. Arch stops him in front of me and God and Ben and everybody and tells him that I didn’t tell him Ben was here because I didn’t think Chuck ever got paged! And they both break out laughing endlessly.

I buzz Ben in and they all greet him like old beer buddies. At this point, I am nearly kicking myself thinking, Duh, Sas. Of course you can page Chuck. He’s not the king of Hajmanistan after all. Why would a guy who calls himself Chuck not be pageable? And he hangs out with just plain Ben! What. Were. You. Thinking?

On his way by the desk, Chuck says, ‘Sarah, page Rick, would you? Have him come to my office.’

So, barely thinking, I pick up the phone and hear the cavernous echos over the plant as someone really quite blond in the head says, ‘Rick Weingold, please go to Chuck’s office. Rick Weingold, go to Chuck’s … ah … his office.’

To top it all off, Arch moves to my shoulder and says, ‘The correct terminology is, ‘Please report to Chuck’s office … either that or, Yo, Rick! You get your sorry a** over to Chuck’s office like yesterday or else.’

And that does it for the scribe-worthy content of my day.

Aaaaaaand they’re off! …

This is the latest line from Steve to have me completely losing it at work. Thing is, the break bell in the plant next door (also piped quite loudly through the cafeteria area, unfortunately) sounds exactly like the gate release bell at horse races.

Work is going quite well, I must say. I’m learning the ropes. There’re always more ropes to learn when you think you might be getting it, but they are much fewer and farther between. They take me by surprise now, to be honest.

“Please hold, Sergeant: I’ll ask about that right now. …”

“Ah … Jesse?…”

“Yeah, babe…”

Whaddya do if the cust received an item back in May, stored it away for future use, and is only now claiming that it might possibly have been damaged because the box was wet when he received it — and it’s a cartridge — and Office Max doesn’t take cartridges back, do they?”

“Yes, they do.”

“Oh good. So I can get an ATR (authorized to return) on this and…”

“Ummmm… Are you still working on #IB145399?”

“Yes.”

*Sigh* “That ink cart is from United Stationers … not Office Max … in which case … I’m not sure…”

Sigh is right.

In good news, my boss’s boss took me out to lunch on Friday. (Take a Lowly E-Commerce Peep to Lunch Day, I guess). But it was really nice. He took me to P.F. Chang’s because I’d never been there and I adore Chinese! He then proceeded to order two appetizers (lettuce wraps and crab Rangoon) because I couldn’t decide. I had the ginger chicken with broccoli (had to include all that because — ahhhemmm — some of you — would have asked because you’re *cough*freakishly-obsessed-with-what-people-are-eating-at-any-given-moment*cough* !

Anyhoo. He predictably asked all the “How are you liking it? — How do you feel about frustrated customers? — Where do you see yourself in the future with the company?”-type questions: the answers to which, he was very understanding and supportive of. He didn’t even flinch when I said I’d like to travel in the future and do sales. (I think he was hoping I’d mention sales and marketing, actually, because he jumped immediately into his plans for the future of our department — which included selling!! And commissions!! And he did say “There’s plenty of travel involved in that line” … YAY

I always hesitate when asked things like that, because the president of the company said a few promising things when interviewing me for the job that turned out to be more sparkle than substance when I took the position. What if ‘e-commerce would be a temporary position’ proved to be another fake out? But with this guy, I did feel free to go ahead and have out with the insinuation that although I would be content in customer service for a couple of years, I didn’t want to retire having done nothing but sort out and smooth over customer/supplier relations my whole career. And he wasn’t at all surprised. So, I feel quite good!

The weekend was crazed! My parents came to celebrate Steve and Laurie’s birthdays (two days apart, they are). We went to Ling’s (yyyyum … More Chinese!). Ling’s will be the site of the rehearsal dinner as well, and we needed to approve the menu.

Laurie’s maid of honor and I decided to go with Laurie’s tailor for our final gown alterations, so we went as a group Saturday morning. I’m evidently a bit thinner than I was when buying the dress (I’m in 8 territory now, and loving the view!), so enough about my pizza and Chinese already! I get out. I walk. I play with Chutney, and I run all the way to the vending machines at work at least twice a day. Back up off this. And that’s that.

And then, there’s Laurie! … Can’t say too much more than that (because STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVE is reading this! LOL) — All he’s allowed to know is that Laurie’s get-up has more buttons than the old lady in the cardigan behind the switchboard at Grand Central Station …

Speaking of buttons … I have a new obsession. A new and blazing desire — and it’s all Laurie’s fault. But really, it’s Steve’s, because he took Laurie to Goldi to begin with. (I was along for the ride) Goldi is a high-end discount boutique on Oakland Ave. I guess they’re kind of known for three things: women’s clothing, cool bling for your house, and … and SHOES!!

And there’s this line of cass heels called Indigo from Clark’s of England! SO. FRIGGIN.’ KYUUUUUUTE! The ones we liked (and Steve was going to get her for her birthday) are called Mademoiselle. They were soft leather with an eligant heel and a double row of velvet stitching. They had tread, I tell you, and a darling little button on the front. These babies were all that was fashionable in fashion, plus all that is preferred in comfort. But they didn’t have her size. They had mine … and they were $74 … and I was THIS close to utter happiness … and then I remembered who I was and what was and was not in the bank. *sigh* But they were shoes! And they were, and still are, absolutely perfect.

I love my dad.

Dad, at dinner: “Did you know anyone when you went to that other church?”

Sas: “Yeah.”

Dad: “Like who?”

Sas: “Like Cindy Weihearst, and this guy, Dustin …”

Dad (suddenly intense): “Dustin, huh? Who’s Dustin?”

Sas: “Some guy from Maranatha. He’s really cool.”

Dad: “Oooooooh. How old is he?”

Sas: “My age … but Dad … “

Dad: “There ya go.”

Sas: “Dad. He was kicked out of Maranatha for @&@*$$&#.”

Dad: “Your age? Sarah, you should get to know this guy.”

Sas “Did you not just hear … “

Dad: “You know, I was a rebel, too, in college … Only I left of my own ‘free will’ – Pardon the pun.”

No Apologies – Just Confusion

Hello there.

Why apologize for the way I am? I won’t do it. You’ll just have to live with my being the kind of person who doesn’t update her blog regularly. That’s who I am, I guess. Although I do feel guilty, I won’t apologize. I could make up an excuse, but the truth is, I just didn’t feel like writing: ya savvy? LOL So that’s weird, and a relatively new phenomenon (about a year old, actually). I’m not comfortable with not liking to write. That used to be me: Sarah, the would-be may-be, someday, published novel writer who just writes in her blog in the mean time because she enjoys it so much. Well, that isn’t me anymore. I don’t sit in a little cafe with my Braille Note writing about Charlotte, I don’t troll the online writing forums for tips and plot-thinners, I can’t even make myself blog anymore, and most of all, I don’t know why. I’m still quite surprised, even after a year of it. And I feel it’s a little unfair, because when you’ve got something that purposeful and consuming, and gradually that something goes, the usual protocol is for something else — something just as enjoyable and preferably more constructive to slide obligingly into the void left by your former vice. Yeah … that’s my understanding anyway. … Something else should be sliding in … right about now, to give my creativity some purpose.

…

…

That’s what they tell me anyway … … …

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Ah-hhem … Anytime now …

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Right about now … … … ah … Would be good …