*twitch*

Having a crisis. The lady in Guam left us everything for dealing with a temperature crisis except the code to turn off the temperature alarm. I had to call my now-ex boss.

In other news, I give up. I finally need a cell phone. I just can't comfortably conduct this job hunt without one. So I started looking at pay-as-you-go phones. I might buy one after work; I might order a really good deal via the internet.

And while I was looking, I found this. I'm not sure what disturbs me more, the fisher price colors, the idea that children of an age to think this is cool need cell phones, or the gender-centric buttons. Obviously, if Heather has two mommies, she's not the right kind to carry this phone.

*twitch

Getting off

And not in any kind of fun sense. One of my techs just told me that the oncoming departmental reorganization was described to him as upper management driving the bus, and we can either choose to be on it or not.

And everybody can see it but my poor, nearsighted network manager, who'll play the yes-man until it runs her over.

In practice, upper management might promise they're going to be making the decisions and taking the responsibility when things don't go right. In practice, I haven't seen much of anything but ass-covering and blame-shifting around here when things don't go right. Not in coming up on three years. I suppose I shouldn't taint his idealism with my cynical historical evidence.

Shit flows downhill . . .

which, in this case, is a la norte. The Santa Cruz river, which they're trying to keep from becoming tainted, is one of those unusual rivers that flows south-to-north. It kind of spills out all over Marana (on the northwest side of the Tucson metro area) and its floodplain goes clear out to Casa Grande, I think. We had a delightful demonstration last year of just where that river goes when it's at flood stage (if your definition of delightful includes property damage).

I don't quote know what will come of this (beyond an understanding that parts of our infrastructure are 70 years old?), but I confess, I'm waiting for some national dumbass . . . er, pundit . . . to start complaining about Mexico sending their sewage to the US.

Is my faith in my fellow man so low? Only in certain particulars. However, my faith in the utter lack of understanding exhibted by most USans with regards to the cultural and political exigencies in much of the territory acquired in the Gadsden Purchase knows no bounds.

We finally really have a wedding date! Really!

May 17th. CSU finally confirmed, this morning, that they're not going to fuck things up for us any worse. Took 'em long enough.

Now we can actually start paying for things. Oh joy, oh rapture.

www.romafood.com

Hey, RH, what's worse than the guy in the ten-year-old Honda going around on the right to "cut the line" where traffic merges?

The guy in the semi doing the same thing.

I confess, there are no orange cones a mile off warning that the lane ends. This is a "it always ends here," and it's one you can see from several hilltops quite a distance before you get there. Mind, it's not always possible for a semi to merge neatly, but I kept waiting for him to put on his blinker and he never did. I'd have been happy to make a space and let him over.

I don't know what the driver was thinking. But I know this URL was on the back of the truck.

Ya take the money, ya do the job.

While I was working dial-up support, I once spent an entire afternoon on-again, off-again, helping a customer who started out with a Windows 95 system with no networking compoents and no modem driver work toward actually getting himself online via dial-up. We never quite got it, but we got close. Each time he'd call back, I'd tell him what was wrong with his computer this time, and he'd hang up and go see if he could fix that. After the third or forth time, I told him, "I think you're beating a dead horse, but as long as you're making progress, I'll help you beat it."

It all comes down to a question of what I really get paid for. In my own head, my job is to provide all the information I can to help my boss make the best decision possible. Then I have to execute that decision, whether I ultimately agree with it or not. As long as I've advised to the best of my ability, I feel like I've done my job, even if my advice is ignored.

Today I find my advice being taken on small-scale things, but ignored on a lot of large-scale things. That's okay. It means I'm not happy here, but I don't expect happiness, at this point. I guess mostly I'm feeling angsty because I'm reasonably sure a couple of these large-scale things are going to come back and bite us on the ass. And yeah, it won't technically be my ass. It'll be the ass that made the decision. But I know that particular ass, and I rather like the person who's attached to it. She's not a bad person. In-depth research and long-range planning simply aren't what I consider her best skills.

There's a right way and there's a fast way, and I find that, with my digging in my heels, we're splitting the difference. But I feel like I'm digging furrows in the ground and bloodying my feet, and splitting the difference isn't always the most defensible thing in the world.

I guess I just want out of here. I see the train coming; I don't want to be here when it crashes.

people are weird

I took off my engagement ring this morning to trim the bad spots out of the lettuce while making a salad for lunch. I managed not to put it on before I walked out the door.

This has resulted in my looking for my watch all day. Even though I haven't worn a watch in a year and a half. I keep having this sense of something missing. I can only suppose it's that I've worn a watch longer than I've worn a ring.

Weird. Very werid.

It sounded so much more interesting on the radio

The DJs didn't tell us they were frozen chickens.

Quote of the Week

"At least try to stock only those [sex toys] with decent-looking clamshell packages which discourage impromptu dildo-fencing."

--Shifter, the practical Cat

"What's right? What's wrong? What's left? What the hell is going on?" --Poison

So, on the subject of "What the hell is going on," here's why I've been so quiet on personal stuff lately.

Last Wednesday, during an hour and a half of time no one can quite account for, my boss was advised that it was his last day at work. Officially, this is a fairly cordial transaction: He resigned, and our employer chose the date on which that resignation took effect.

Unofficially, it sure came as a surprise to his staff. He was allowed to tell us himself, and to stay on site the rest of the day to do hand-off types of things. For anybody who doesn't know, I haven't really worked for the company since my first couple of months here--I've worked for my boss. Not only has he been really good to work for (he passes Journey's Personal Loyalty Test), he's one of my favorite playmates. After some consideration of our relationship, I've finally decided that I think we each think the other one is the evil twin.

The following day, they put our Network Administrator in as Interim IT Director. This inspired me to feel slighted and betrayed. Ultimately, the reasons for this action are irrelevant. What's important is that I don't feel I can report to her. She's a wonderful person whom I like a great deal, but she does not pass the aforementioned personal loyalty test. Plus, putting two strong-willed women one over the other in the same department violates a cardinal Girl Rule, and is likely to end in tears or prison.

So . . . I'm looking for a new job while on crutches. I was going to have to look anyway (odds are good they will hire someone with a very different slant into the IT Director position when they finally get around to hiring), but now I feel the need to do this a great deal faster. It's vexing that I've been saving my PTO for a honeymoon and family reunion and now will have to work something out with my new place of employment, but the thing to do is do it as soon as possible, and have as much vacation accumulated at the new place as I can, while hiring in with the understanding that that time is already booked, even if I have to take it without pay.

I've updated my resume and am dilligently hunting, but I'm in the awkward position of being overqualified for Tech 1 positions almost anywhere and underqualified for Tech 2 in a lot of places because I just don't have the level of experience/knowledge around Active Directory that a lot of them would like. So I've ordered some books designed to lead to certifications that will prove I have this knowledge. Normally, I'd wonder when I'd have time to study, but for some reason I no longer feel the need to work 50- and 60-hour weeks.

And yes, I'm still on crutches, and will be for another three weeks or so. In ten days, I'm allowed to begin cautious partial weight-bearing on the affected part of my foot, if it doesn't hurt.

On the plus side, my track record for landing jobs while on crutches is high. On the minus side, that may just indicate that I've been on crutches far too often.

Stupid quiz of the day

Your Score: Linear B

You scored

You are Linear B. Even those who can follow you think you're all Greek to them. Which, after all, is true - Linear B being the first known text for written Greek. To most people, you're incomprehensible. But what do you care? You're tough, hard, long-enduring and have greater nobility than most. Naturally, you don't admit to borrowing extensively from your brother Linear A.

Link: The Which Ancient Language Are You Test written by imipak on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Actually, I particularly like the age/gender comparison. It doesn't seem to display here, but it says that I scored higher than 99% of people my age and gender on all four variables: Ideogramatic, Syllabic, Logogramic, and Alphabetic. (Actually, just knowing those words probably sets me apart from 99% of people my age and gender). Formal confirmation that I'm a freak always amuses me.

We are Limo of Borg

One of the little gems that occurred while we were in San Francisco. We decided to go kill the hour and a half before we had to leave for the airport wandering around Fisherman's Wharf. This isn't far from our hotel, but it's way too far for a broken foot. So RH and I decided we'd see if that cable car coming up the hill was headed there, or if it was the alternate line, and if not, we'd take a taxi.

Sure enough, it was the wrong line. As we're standing there, letting it pull away, this voice says, "Five dollars each to Fisherman's Wharf?" We turn around and this guy's got his head out the driver's window of a stretch limo. What are we going to do, say no?

So we pile in the back. And of course, the limo driver drives just like every cabbie in San Francisco, only with more style. There are some very Blues Brothers moments. Meanwhile, we're listening to him go on to somebody on his cell phone about getting to some city by a particular time to make sure he knows where the big client is and won't be late by virtue of getting lost. It was really quite entertaining.

We reached the top of one particular hill, nose pulled out into the intersection, and we're nose-to-flank with this silver Ford F-150, complete with flames on the side, that's sitting in the middle of the intersection because traffic in front of him is not moving. And I swear to you, the limo acquired the voice of Shaft as it edged forward a few inches, saying, "You do not intimidate me, muscle truck. I will make you move through the sheer power of cool."

We paid the driver ten bucks, and he took off to whatever he was really at Fisherman's Wharf for, and RH and I just looked at each other and broke down laughing.

Quote of the Week

"They won't be able to find their ass with both hands and a road map unless I write them the road map."

--me

The Nine Traffic Circles of Hell

"Yes, I'm sure you're a good person. I just hate Camaros."

Quote of the Day

"The world is collapsing around our ears . . . "

--from "Radio Song," by R.E.M.

Good for a laugh . . .

Found on an ordering FAQ for a bulk flower distributor:

"Delays caused by force Majeure (acts of God, flood, tidal wave, bad weather, armed insurrection, Planetary takeover by Venusians/Martians, etc etc) are not necessarily covered."

Play catch-up

Which takes even longer when you're limping, right?

San Francisco itself was fun. Got to see my aunt, got to see some sights, got to meet more of Pete's extended family and found I like them. Took the day following the massively-screwed-up-return-flight as a day of rest, and felt much more emotionally resilient last week as a result.

We had a humdinger of a storm last Friday, so I unplugged my computer and pulled out a book I'd been waiting for for a long time. Saturday I called about some wedding things and mostly came up bust, but I also found a couple more caterers who look worth investigating, who are actually in our price range.

I am still fighting computer worms. The response time on these suckers getting added to the anti-virus's signature file is not making me happy.

The foot was not-good-but-holding-steady until about Saturday. It's been getting worse since then. So I saw the podiatrist again today. The good news is, he thinks my sandals are fine and I don't need to wear a surgical boot. The bad news is, he wants me on crutches until it stops hurting. Which, really, means no weight on it for a few days and then increasing amounts as I'm able, but is always a pain in the ass.

He sent me for x-rays this time. We still don't know what I did to myself in the first place. He said he should see them later today and will call me. Which is good, because I forgot to press for pain meds. 400mg of ibuprofen used to make a dent in this. Today I'm on 800mg doses and it's not really helping. Couldn't sleep last night because I couldn't get comfortable. If he doesn't want to prescribe anything stronger, I think some Tylenol PM is going to be in order.

RH and I planned to go pick peaches down in Willcox this weekend. With crutches, I might have to re-consider this.

But RH sent me flowers, yesterday. Just because. Every time I start to get too depressed, I look at the flowers and the card and I cheer up a little.

Ted must die.

Ted is United Airline's economy division. So it doesn't surprise me (though it disturbs me) that my few experiences with them have involved some of the the most threadbare and worn-looking airplanes I have ever flown. The first two times I flew Ted, it was no worse than that.

RH and I showed up at the Phoenix airport on Friday, went to the little electronic check-in machine, punched in the magic number, and got "Canceled. Would you like us to stick you on a flight four hours later?" If you answered no, you had to wait in line for a human being. Now, understand, this isn't just the inconvenience of it, or the fact that sitting around an airport for an extra four hours with a broken foot is an excellent excuse for people to run their suitcases into it. In this case, since we were only going out for a two-day jaunt spread out over three calendar days, we would effectively miss an entire day of the event.

They could not find one other airplane flying from Phoenix to San Diego leaving in less than that four hours that they could wedge us onto. The lady in line before us? Yes. But not us. Then, when the four-hours-later flight was meant to be arriving, we found it delayed another 45 minutes by weather coming out of Denver. It was 9:30 PM by the time we got into San Francisco, 10:20 by the time we reached our hotel, and 11:30 before we got supper.

Okay, but these things happen. Presumably even to the best of airlines. Wait till you get a load of the flight back.

They loaded us onto the plane, and as the designated take-off time approached, we were informed that certain things (flight paths, etc.) had to be programmed into the plane, and that would take about 25 minutes. Funny, they usually do that prior to take-off time.

After 25 minutes, the plane starts taxi-ing . . . and is making the most god-awful sounds. The guy next to me hit the call button and asked the flight attendant if that was normal. The flight attendant said yes. When I asked what it was, I was told it was mechanical noises. Y'know what? They're not supposed to sound like that. The volume and awful impression of parts squealling past each other with a sound of distressed metal was really alarming. And I fly a lot, so it's not like I don't have a baseline to judge from.

We get to the end of the taxiway and we sit. And wait. Eventually, the captain comes on and says they're having some kind of a problem they're trying to fix. So we wait. For another 20 minutes. By this time, I know we're not going up, and am actually relieved they're not sending us up in something making those noises.

No, no, it gets better. The captain comes on and says yes, we're going back to the gate, but what's broken is a switch. Which isn't a big deal by itself, but it's the particular switch that lets them toggle back and forth through the various instrument readings. Kind of like driving your car without the speedometer and fuel gauge, only much, much worse.

At the gate, the fasten seatbelt sign is turned off and everyone stands up. We're told we're waiting for a gate agent. Five or ten minutes later, we're asked to sit again. Turns out, maintenance has a replacement part in stock and they're trying to fix the plane while we're still in it. At this point, we've been confined to our seats in this plane on the ground for two hours. This means no bathroom. The natives are getting restless.

Twenty-five minutes later, we're told the part has been replaced and they're waiting for the release form that the captain, the maintenance guy, and somebody elase have to sign, all agreeing that they think the plane is safe to fly. Nice that they think so. None of this addresses the alarming noises.

We get off the ground three hours late. I'm envisioning Eagle by this point and willing us safely into the air. Crow is sitting on my left shoulder making smart-ass remarks.

The flight itself? Not too bad. Then, as we're coming in for a landing, I feel a thump. Landings do not feel like this. I am now attempting to brake the plane with mental power alone, since the gods-awful noises only occurred while on the ground and I've decided they have something to do with the wheels. Raven has a few choice words about this. Crow just laughs.

We don't brake, and after awhile, it occurs to me that we're still in the air. What the hell? Fully ten minutes later, the captain comes on and bothers to tell us that we just did a touch and go. Something about a long approach, but that's okay, they're clearing runway seven, which is longer, and we'll be coming in on that shortly.

I look at RH. That awful thump was a touch-and-go? He says he's got the tower chatter on his headphones coming out of the seat arm. Oh yeah, that was a touch and go. He can hear the tower directing us to runway seven. Five minutes later, we land. It still feels like landing in an aluminum brick, but it's recognizably a landing, and since we walked away from it, I suppose that qualifies it as a good one.

Here's what gets me. They knew what type of plane it was, even if it was three hours late. They had to know what length of runway it needed. Either the tower fucked up, or the pilot fucked up--in which case I would've thought he'd just take another pass at it--or yeah, there was something really wrong with that plane.

I have reached the point where I don't trust Ted. I would pay some extra money and go to some extra inconvenience to avoid Ted. AirTran Airways impressed me as the most nickle-and-dime, pennies-and-minutes airline I've ever flown, but the planes seemed in good repair and everything ran smoothly, if very very tight. Ted . . . Ted has managed to not impress me on a completely different order of magnitude.

Further proof that I am a freak of nature.

A little over two weeks ago, out of the blue, I started having stabbing pains in my left foot. When I saw the chiropractor the following Monday, I mentioned it. He aligned my toes (which feels about as creepy as it sounds) and poked and prodded a little, and suggested I see a podiatrist, because I might have Morton's neuroma.

I read up on it, freaked out, and made the podiatrist appointment. (I didn't post anything here on the irrational "maybe if I don't mention it it won't be real" theory of life). The symptoms seemed to match, and once it was pointed out to me that there were more options than just joints and muscles, the stabbing pain was easily identifiable to me as nerve pain. (Yes, I can identify nerve pain. I have slippery veins, and an over-enthusiastic blood-draw once made me quite acquainted with it).

The podiatrist appointment was yesterday, and the results were surprising. While the general location for Morton's neuroma (between the third and fourth toes) is right, the pain from that should be right between the metatarsals (the "knuckles" of the foot). While I think the nerve pain may have originated there, the pain that I have when somebody pokes at it is actually farther up the foot.

Odds are good that I have one (or more) stress fractures. When the podiatrist suggested this, I thought about the tingling I have in the foot when I pay attention to it (which mostly I don't--I block constant pains fairly strongly. It's new pains that tend to surprise me into noticing) and decided that, while nothing like the pain I originally felt when I stress-fractured my collarbone, the tingling really is like the after-effects of that fracture.

We can't figure out what could have caused the fracture(s). I wasn't doing anything exciting and have no point of injury that I'm aware of. But, as you may have noticed by now, I am a freak of nature. When I fractured my collarbone some years ago, it was the result of doing physical therapy for some weeks. For all I know, I could have done it while breaking in the new hiking boots at Rites this year and just been blocking the low-level pain. I'm a walker. It's what I do for exercise, it's what I do when I need to think . . . And feet don't heal well unless you take the time to give them a little rest.

Helping J and M move on Saturday almost certain exacerbated it, but even so, it was at a level I didn't really notice on Monday.

The initial treatment for either the stress fracture or the Morton's neuroma would be the same: take ibuprofen or naproxen consistently, ice it a little at night, and wear stiff-soled sandals. (Alternately, they prescribed a surgical shoe for me if my Chacos doesn't seem to be doing the trick, but I'm hoping to avoid that). So, after being kicked out of my high heels as a general rule by the chiropractor, I have now been kicked out of my sneakers by the podiatrist.

Today in sandals has been an enlightening experience. With the aggravation from having helped J and M move, I find that I notice the pain a lot more in the sandals. I think the tight lacing of the sneakers was actually providing a kind of splinting effect. Unfortunately, it puts pressure on the part of the foot that doesn't need it and doesn't brace it where it needs to be braced in order to heal.

X-rays were not suggested. There are really only two reasons you choose not to x-ray. One is if confirmation of the break doesn't make any difference (when you think you broke a toe, you just tape it to the one next to it) and the other is when the expected fractures are anticipated to be so small that an x-ray wouldn't show them: You'd need an MRI. I'm guessing this is the latter, based on the fact that it doesn't hurt nearly as much as when I hairlined the collarbone and that the next steps for really separating out the possibility of fracture from the possibility of neuroma still don't include x-rays.

With that said, the stabbing pain I felt may still be a small Morton's neuroma. Which isn't to say that I haven't, oh, been walking a little funny because of the fracture and putting stress on the metatarsals which inflamed the nerve sheath which caused the neuroma, or some other chain of causality like that. But based on the fact that I don't scream when certain places in my foot are poked and prodded, if it is a neuroma, the podiatrist says it's a small one, and likely amenable to treatment. Nowhere near needing surgery. Or even a cortisone shot. This makes me very happy.

I'm still a freak of nature. But I don't feel quite so much like my genetic hand of cards is an inside straight that I drew for and missed, today.

muuuuzak

I have Panda Anti-Virus's hold music stuck in my head. Oh gods, I hope this isn't permanent. *shudder*

Today I hunt the wyrm. I do hope we manage to slay it before we have infected computers at over 85 geographically disparate sites.