Unnecessary Double-Cliquing

I generally mean what I say.  I try for tact, but I have a very hard time doing things like pretending to like people that I don't.  This made high school strained on occasion, but on the upside I didn't often have to deal with people I didn't want to--a least, not for long.

My social strategy

People like to tell you that this ends after high school, the liars.  It never ends.  College is really no different, depending on what organizations you do or don't join, and a lot of places of employment have similar dynamics.  I used to work for a locally owned business where I had to make a point of not sharing my religious or political beliefs, because I was definitely the odd one out.  Now, that's a good rule of thumb anyway, but this establishment went out of their way to employ people with similar beliefs.  I was once made to feel truly awful, because I offered non-religious condolences to a coworker.  After about ten seconds of guilt I was overcome with fury over the completely unnecessary rude response, which made me guilty all over again because of the situation.  That was a fun day.

I couldn't post her picture, so here's something else that is holier than thou.

I'm lucky right now.  The only interpersonal conflicts at my current employer are due to one person who lacks basic communication skills.  This person holds the unfortunate title of manager, but soon I'll be leaving and it will officially be not my problem.  However, I know someone else who isn't so lucky.

A friend of mine is being bullied at work.  Her coworkers range in age from 19 to mid-30s, and are all female.  As many women can attest, fellow members of their gender can be merciless, particularly in groups.  Due to career reasons, my friend can't quit, doesn't have official recourse that wouldn't similarly jeopardize her job, and seems to spend more time just trying to cope with the perniciousness of her coworkers than being able to do her job.  

And I hate it.

They know who I am, and as an average customer I wouldn't be privy to a lot of the details.  Anything I can witness and report would be reported to her direct manager...who is in on it.  The best I can do is offer a kind ear and (usually) a bottle of wine, and this drives me nuts.  These are grown women, theoretically with working brains.  But still, this kind of thing persists.

Okay, end rant.  Begin point.

The more I hear about her situation (and similar as experienced by others), the more I've been trying this new thing.  If I notice something nice about someone, I tell them.  Sometimes the only response is a startled thanks, but it's astounding how often the person seems to just glow from the inside.  It's usually something small, like a nice pair of earrings or a good hairstyle, but regardless, it's always good to hear something nice about yourself.  While I don't extend many compliments to men (cross-gender relations are tricky), I do the same thing for children.  "Wow, you've got really good manners!"  Things like that.  Granted, I work in a toy store.  I have a lot of contact with children, and it's really gratifying when proto-humans treat people and property with respect.  But my point stands.

And, if you're a customer who witnesses workplace bullying, say something.  The victim appreciates it, and the perpetrator won't expect it.  They count on their position of authority and/or categorization in the customer's mind of "not my problem" to make their behavior excusable.  But it's not.

You've Cat to be Kitten Me Right Meow

I have a super power.

Usually it's not the best idea to broadcast something like that, but in this case I'll make an exception.  See, if I am in a public space and so is something warm and fluffy, I will spot it.  Since this is Alaska, and that description fits many of the males up here, my fluffdar sometimes gets false positives, but for the most part I only notice pets.

It doesn't matter their size.  I once saw an Irish wolfhound, said "Awwwitsapuppy!" and went over to pet it.  The thing was as tall as I am.

As we speak, I am covered in dogs: a lhasa apso/ewok mix, a chiweenie, and a collie.  Fluffy things are a fact of my existence.

Despite the dogpile, I have a confession.

I'm a cat person.

It started when I was a little girl.  We had cats and dogs (and birds and hermit crabs and rats and mice), but I really wanted a kitten of my own.  For my sixth birthday my parents decided to let me participate in the foster program, through Petsmart, to start seeing if I found a kitten I wanted.

Instead I found Ebony.  She was about 4 months old, terrified of people, and solid black.  She hissed through the bars of the cage and tried to scratch me.

Three or four months later, I'd earned her trust.  A few years later she was perfectly comfortable with my parents.  When she was 10 she finally started to be okay around houseguests.

When she was 12, I became allergic.

Isn't that the way it always goes?  I went to the doctor, who said I should get rid of the cat.  I laughed. Even if I'd been inclined to give away my childhood pet, we had two other cats.  That wasn't going to fix things.

Fast-forward seven years.  I am now in possession of a nearly-two year old siamese fiend, Jude.

He's a cat with attitude.  Cattitude.

My allergies haven't gone away.  If anything, they've worsened.  I get hives if he snuggles around my neck, I haven't had a good sense of smell in years, and more often than not I wake to find my eyes glued shut with allergy-induced discharge.  All he has to do is look at me sideways and my arms start itching.  Since he's crosseyed, that's a common occurrence.

And lately, I've been waking up to this:

My mornings are not gentle.

That is what a siamese cat looks like from two inches away, after he has been sleeping in your face all night.

These allergy attacks seem to go in cycles, and while I might spend months at a time being completely okay, lately I have been a sneeze-factory.  And now, after several months of this, one of my ears is slowly filling with liquid.

So if you see me in the real world, and I'm frowning and tugging on my ear, you know who to blame.

The Waiting Game

I'm
Getting new glasses
You will hardly recognize me
I'm so glad
How could I wait this
long to read clearly?
Why do I bother
When the words all look fuzzy
OooOOh, is enough enough?

I'll read the lines
Once I get corrective lenses
I'll be happy I'm looking at small print...


A few days ago I went to the eye doctor and got my first eye exam.  I had to read the little chart thing in high school for a physical, but that was almost ten years ago.  After about a year of grumpily squinting at books and feeling my eyes slide out of focus when I so much as think about a computer screen, enough was enough.  And the results were horrifying.

No longer did I possess the visual acuity of my teen years, when my eyesight was a breathtaking 20/15. It had changed.

To 20/20.

"But Brianna," my hypothetical (astoundingly attractive and intelligent) reader says, "your cleverly rewritten 'I Saw The Sign' lyrics seem to indicate that you're getting glasses."  And that reader would be right.  I'm getting reading glasses.

When walking in, I kind of figured that would be the case.  It's been getting harder and harder to read, particularly things like books, which can't be enlarged.  I've got this browser enlarged 150% right now.  If I do manage to read the words, my eyes spend the entire time sliding out of focus and it becomes a battle that is really not worth the fight.  But in my everyday, non-literary existence, I can see just fine.

I wandered into the doctor's office at 9 AM, cursing mornings and blinking through a fog of exhaustion and residual itchiness from Jude, my catbeast, having slept on my face (ah, but that is a story for another time).  I looked through an overgrown Viewmaster for a few decades, deciding whether A or B were clearer, while the doctor made noncommittal acknowledgement noises.

I'm not the only person who remembers these, right?

Eventually I got to look at a projected chart.  Yes, I could read the bottom line then.  No, not now.  The right side is clearer.  Now the left.  Still left.  And so on.  Finally, the doctor handed me a pair of glasses better suited to a steampunk novel and asked me to read a thing.

"Can you read this without the glasses?"

"...If pressed.  But I wouldn't be happy about it."  He then pushed a button and the words practically jumped out at me.

"How about now?"
"Oh my."

He nodded, wrote something down, and asked, "Do you do a lot of reading or writing?"

Glamorous and talented reader, I'm sure you're laughing as hard now as I did when in that office.  "Do I...yes.  I want to be a technical editor."

"Ah.  Well, in that case you definitely need reading glasses."

Apparently, because I do so much close work, my eyes work overtime to focus (and consequently refocus) any time I look away and then back down.  Getting reading glasses now will, hopefully, significantly reduce the strain.  

They have the technology.  They're making me better.  Faster.  Stronger.

But not for another five days.

It seems that it takes seven to ten days for the frames to come in, etc.  I swear, this is worse than the year of squinting.

But soon.  Soon, I will be able to read.  And that brings me to a small incident from today.

I went to the gas station on the way to the library, to pick up a couple of the girliest energy drinks known to (wo)man.

Take as needed for UTTER EXHAUSTION

There were boxes stacked randomly in between rows of snacks, with one employee searching through them.  I'd been waiting at the register for maybe a minute before another employee came from their store room, yet another box in his hands.  He saw me, sighed, and called to his coworker, "Hey I still can't find it."  She sighed in turn and continued her search.

The employee behind the counter approached and scanned my items.  

"How're you doing today?"
I shrugged, smiled, and yawned.  He nodded and continued the transaction, this time talking to himself.

"Today's gonna be a good day," he said.  "It's gonna be great.  It's all in the attitude."

I nodded, smiled, and left. 

Of the two classmates I was meeting at the library, one was 40 minutes late and the other completely forgot about the meeting.  Tonight I'm streamlining our powerpoint presentation and writing the script for our voiceover...provided the absent classmate sends me his material.  Our crow, Piper, keeps getting all up in my business and our collie, Aja, can't seem to leave Piper alone.  And I still don't have reading glasses.

But you know what?  Today is a good day.

Spring? Break

So right now, I'm in the middle of attempting to finish out my LAST THREE WEEKS of my English degree, and as such these posts will come in fits and starts until about the second week of May.  It'll be great!  With my coveted degree I can finally do what I've always wanted...live a humble existence where I probably won't see many movies in theaters.

As with any college student, spring break is something I have looked forward to every year.  A week off from class!  I can do anything I want!  However, being a college student in Alaska, the "anything I want" tends to take on a different meaning.  Aside from one rather memorable trip to Boston, they have all been spent either in Alaska or visiting family in Oklahoma.  But this was my last spring break!  My very last chance to do something memorable and exciting.

Then I heard about the Pacific octopus.

Not in general, mind.  A specific Pacific octopus.  One that had laid eggs.  And these eggs had hatched.


Before I go any further, I want to take a side trip down a grammar alley.  It is a common misconception that octopus, like hippopotamus, is pluralized as "octopi."  It's not.  Hippopotamus is Latin, hence the "i" ending, whereas octopus is Greek.  Since the word has been incorporated into modern English, the correct pluralization is, in fact, "octopuses."  I know.  I feel like Sylvester from Looney Tunes when I say that.  HOWEVER.  Like I said, octopus is Greek.  As such, the technically correct pluralization is "octopodes," pronounced "octopidees."  We can now back out of the grammar alley, into the sunlight that is this blog.


This particular clutch of octopus eggs was located at the Alaska Sealife Center, waaay down in Seward.  For any non-Alaskan types reading, Seward is a small fishing town about 2 1/2 hours away by car.  The Seward Highway, where it hugs the coast like an insecure spouse, is one of the most dangerous roadways in Alaska, particularly in winter.

But I am brave.

See, an idea had started to percolate.  I was too poor to fly anywhere, and couldn't get the time off from work in any case.  The boyfriend, who works in a lead and zinc mine 500 miles away, would be getting back in town in the middle of my break.  And while I couldn't arrange the time off to take a real trip, a day trip was just about doable.

After outlining my plan of "drive for several hours and see animals," the boyfriend readily agreed.  He, too, is a transplant from Oklahoma, and hasn't seen much of Alaska.  "The wildlife preserve in Portage is open, too!"  I said.  "Their bears are awake!"  I said.  "OOOH!"  He said.

So we went.

The first leg of the drive was uneventful.  The day started sunny, if brisk, and we were hopeful that it would stay that way.

Hah.

By the time we reached Portage, about 1/3 of the way to Seward, the snow had begun to fall.  And fall.  The first animals we saw were a group of moose, looking thoroughly apathetic and moosy.

Sup?

That was taken around 11 AM.  We stayed at the center for about an hour, snapping pictures of more snowy, apathetic Alaskan animals and one very confused eagle.

Humans are dumb.

The highlight of this pitstop was, for the boyfriend, the bears.  The brown bears weren't yet up and moving, but the black bears were.  And lemme tell you, I have lived up here for 16 years.  I have been to this particular center before.  I have seen their bears!  I have not seen their bears this adorably groggy.

ALL the stretches!

I have never wanted to pet an apex predator so much in my entire life.

Thankfully, I have in my possession a modicum of common sense, and refrained from literally poking a bear.  By noon we were driving.

By 1 PM we were incapable of seeing the road.

Unfortunately for us, the weather forecast predicting "snow" was woefully inaccurate.  We had stumbled into a blizzard.

Like, BLIZZARD.

I was spending my spring break up to my eyeballs in snow.

The 2 1/2 hour drive that started at 10 AM finally ended around 2:30 PM.  Not including the hour-long pit stop in Portage, that's an extra hour of travel time, where we desperately hoped and prayed to the snow gods that we would, in fact, stay on the road, and not die a horrible snowy death.

Thankfully it worked, and we arrived in Seward without any problems.

Finally we could see what we came to see.  Octopuses!  

Octopuses!

We spent about an hour in the Sealife Center, gooning around and looking at various other sea critters.

Yo.

As we were getting ready to leave, I realized something.  Remember how I mentioned that Seward is a small fishing town?  Well, in the summer, the population doubles and tourists are catered to.  Everything is open!  There is so much to see and do!

In March, not so much.

Still, though, we had a great time.  There is something to be said for madcap adventures in snow; if nothing else, the terror-fueled adrenaline rush that was the drive there and back was good for us.  

Passive-Aggressive Wasp Disposal, and Other Dad Adventures

It has come to my attention that I should be blogging, so here I am!  Let me tell you about my dad.

Dads are magical creatures.  They fix things, make fun of you when you complain, and are otherwise variously useful.  Mine is no exception.  Through the years, I have come to the conclusion that my dad's motto is "The best solution is whatever's entertaining."  As such, here is a list of problems and the solutions my dad applied.

1. The Dremel Tool - Way More Multipurpose Than Originally Believed

When I was 12, I broke my arm.  Only a matter of time, really, and it definitely could have been worse.  The cast was bright pink, and after six weeks I was ready to never see the thing again.  Unfortunately, my doctor was on vacation and he was apparently the only person in Alaska who could remove that godforsaken cast.  "He'll be back in two weeks," we were told.  "It won't hurt to leave it on that much longer."

My father thanked the nurse, hung up the phone, and gave me this sidelong glance.  "I'll be right back."

Ten minutes later, I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my best not to flinch, while my dad sawed through the fiberglass with the utmost concentration.  The cotton lining nearly caught fire but sure enough, it worked.  I was free!  We still have the cast, as both a testament to my dad's ingenuity and a reminder that I belong nowhere near a snowboard.

The dremel tool used to also be employed as a dog-claw sander, but after an unfortunate incident involving our long-haired dachshund's chest fur, it was retired.


2. Passive Aggressive Wasp Disposal

Wasps are spiteful malcontents who view the world as full of things that either can or cannot be stung.  As one of the many things that can be stung, I tend to view them less than favorably.  This is unfortunate, considering the fact that my house is a wasp magnet.  For instance:

Right on the property line, there was once a stump.  A few years ago, that stump filled with wasps, and made the morning dog-walk somewhat nerve wracking for me.  One day, returning from the jaunt, my dad eyeballed the stump and said "I'll take care of it by morning."

Sure enough, the next morning saw the stump covered in a bucket.  He'd waited until the wasps were asleep in the nest, then doused them with lighter fluid, putting the bucket over to trap the fumes and suffocate the terrors.  Worked like a charm.

However, when they invaded our deck, he was not so merciful.

I woke up one morning to find my dad, standing below the deck, smiling as a small cloud of wasps milled about the planks.

"Dad...what?"
"I found their entrance."
"You...okay."
"No, see, now they can't get in!"
"So you're torturing insects?"
"They started it."

Every time they found a new way in, he'd block it.  Within a week they were gone.



3.  Drawers: The Final Frontier

We live with a bit of a menagerie.  Between the three dogs, three cats, the crow, and the scavenger that is my mom, nothing edible is ever safe.  Well, nothing edible, and my dad's hats.  It was with this in mind that my dad acquired our coffee table.

This thing is less a table and more a solid block of wood with table-like qualities.  There are about three inches between its bottom and the floor, and encased within are several moderately-sized drawers.  Since we are a family of pack rats, it's rare that a drawer goes unused, but sometimes it gets ridiculous.

Several months ago, I was talking to my dad as he sat on our couch.  He had his feet propped up on said table, and a piece of pie (in its own little wedge-shaped container) in his hands.  After a few bites, he put his feet down, closed the container, and put it in a drawer.

"Did you just put pie in the table?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."

He let me look inside the drawer, and next to the pie was the remote and a small package of cookies.

"See, this way the dogs can't get it, and I don't have to go to the kitchen."
"That is a true statement."

Flash forward to two weeks ago.

I couldn't find any pairs of scissors, but dimly recalled fetching them for my dad to use in the living room.  He's recently blown out both knees, so it's become common practice to run and grab things, instead of him having to make the trek himself.  It was with some trepidation that I decided to take a look in the coffee table.

The top drawer held an oatmeal raisin cookie, centered on a white napkin; a scattered assortment of flavored tootsie rolls (the kind no one really eats but always winds up with); and a fake human hand.

No scissors.

The second drawer was empty save for one thing: my dad's fedora-esque hat.

I eventually found the scissors (where they were supposed to be, against all odds), and when I asked my dad about the table's contents, he replied:

"You never know when you might need a hand."