Ok, it's not dark outside, at least not yet, but I went to the barn last night after a long and kinda train-wrecky day at work and it got pitch black out there before I could walk down to the paddocks, and there I was stumbling around in the dark, following Topper's voice and using my cell phone to make sure I didn't sprain an ankle.
Fuck, man, it's fall!
On one hand, I'm really glad it's here--cooler weather! College football! Not too hot to eat Italian anymore! I can wear layers!--and on the other hand, I'm freaked out. This usually happens every year when I realize the end of the year is within sight.
This is just a short little thing to say I have NOT forgotten about the rest of the Colorado trip! I will post more about it. At this rate, the final posts will be up almost two months after the trip itself. Two months: That's a motherfucking 1/6 of the year. Wow. I'm lazy. That and I keep forgetting I have to do that when I'm at home and I can hook up the external hard drive where all the pictures are. That and I'm lazy.
On another note: NaNoWriMo starts soon and I will be participating. I know I've said this before, but consider it a PSA: I will post everything on a blog again, but you must have my approval before you log on and read it. Last thing I need is someone telling my editors what a genuinely shitty writer I really am. Leave a comment if you want to get added onto the list.
I also just want to post about ice cream for a second. This little shop opened up here in Fort Worth where you choose from about a dozen fresh-baked cookie flavors and about a dozen Blue Bell ice cream flavors and create your own ice cream sandwiches. Not only is Sweet Sammies the most genius thing I've heard since . . . well, maybe ever, but each sandwich also only costs $2.25. I am cheap and love dairy and baked goods and this is blowing my ever-loving mind. I'm not ashamed to say I went there twice in four days last week.
I'm just letting everyone know right now that I want a franchise for Christmas this year. Start saving your quarters now, friends.
Also? We just added comments onto our website at work, and I think I've already racked up the most hate comments. (It's like two total, but still. And "hate comments" might be inflammatory, but that's why I'm an objective journalist.) I'm glad we have comments, finally--yay for the 21st century!--but I'm also hoping some day to get some real comments going, some discussion, some talk. Come on, readers. I defend you and your intelligence all the time when I'm talking to others who know nothing about journalism. Don't prove me wrong, here.
Showing posts with label Topper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Topper. Show all posts
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
SNOMG
No kidding--SNOMG was the title Dan's TV station used when a record amount of snow fell on North Texas Thursday. It was beautiful, ranging from nine to 12 inches, and while it's not unusual for there to be a hard freeze or snow around Valentine's Day, this was more than anyone expected.
So anyhow, you can see why the news is going down the crapper. When it comes to print, we can't turn down a pun, and when it comes to local TV stations, they inappropriate and unironic uses of textese.
The good news is we all got sent home early on Thursday, and then Friday was declared a work from home day. The work I did? I sent an e-mail. It was awesome.
Before everything turned into a disgusting mess of slush and mud, the way much of the Northeast is for much of the spring, I went out to the barn to let the horses out of their stalls for a while. They have played in snow in New Mexico and in Virginia, but this is the first serious snow in Texas that stuck around long enough for them to (safely) play in. (Topper slipped on ice below snow once and tore a hole through a ligament, part of the reason he's no longer jumping, so I'm always pretty paranoid about when to take him out in it.)
Anyhow, here are some pictures. No real frolicking, since they were on lead lines the whole time, but you can see Topper eat the snow and see Pony push his way through it to eat the grass underneath. You can guess which one of them would survive in the wild. And apologies for the bizarre blue color of some of the Po's photos; I was having flash/no flash existential crises.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Art Form
I've worked a long time, many years, to perfect the need to blog. It only comes when I have something else I should be doing. Tonight, it's my stories for the paper, but what the hell. I'll take 10 minutes before I do anything real.
The holidays were a bit of a whirlwind of bad weather, long weekends, time wasted at work when no one else in the city was at their desks, and spending time with family and friends and the horses. Dan got off a few days, and for the first time ever (in five years, no less) we saw each other for Christmas. Well, ok, it wasn't on Christmas, but it was Christmas Eve, and you can tell it was true love because it was a disaster on the roads, took 40 minutes to see him, we spent 40 minutes together and then each took off for two-hour drives to our respective families when each of those drives normally take only a half-hour in good weather.
Anyway. Last week was a long one, primarily because of a frigid spell that froze up the pipes at the barn and required me to drive out twice a day to haul water buckets for the horses to drink. It was a pain in the ass, but in some ways I liked it. It gave every day a structure. I'd get up, pile on layers, pull on a hat, lug buckets back and forth, feed the horses treats, go home and do it again in 10 hours.
This week I've been seized with the urge to write again. After a month and a half off from the novel from National Novel Writing Month, I think I'm ready to return again, mostly to add more scenes, more background, more cursing, more bad decisions. I know November has come and gone, and a lot of things since then, but I'll admit it still makes to proud to know I can do it. I can write a book while having a full-time newspaper job, a relationship and a horse. Granted, it was probably crap and I didn't sleep much for the whole month, but who cares? That's what they make Diet Coke for. To keep you churning out crap.
(Coffee is the thing that keeps me churning out newspaper story crap. I applied for a fellowship in Boston after being encouraged to apply by the director, and then they chose to give the Texas spot to the Dallas Morning News. The fucking DMN, who has far more resources and more reporters than our paper will ever have. An aside, I know, but I'm still angry. And turning out crap. At least a fellowship may have given me some help in the crap department. And it would have been in Boston. This month marks three years since I moved back to Fort Worth from Boston. Fuck.)
I don't remember where I was going with any of this. I guess I don't have a point. I'm kinda scattered at the moment, which means I probably shouldn't sit down and churn out a story, but who gives a fuck? Maybe it makes me a more brilliant writer.
I think I'll get back into regular blogging soon, as soon as I settle into a routine again. I converted myself into a morning person (que horror!) with daylight savings and have been going to the barn to ride at daybreak, since there's no sun or light by the time I get out there after work. Now I've added a gym routine to my post-work hours, and I'm still working on getting that to fit with other things, like reading, blogging, watching inordinate amounts of Showtime dramas with Netflix.
Some thoughts before I go:
I'm terrifically happy for Andrew and Annie, who got engaged. He was a freshman photographer when I was a senior editor at the college paper, and now he's finishing grad school. We're still friends. He makes me feel partially hip and with it, and partially just like fucking old balls. I'm excited for both of them!
They started mysterious road construction outside my apartment. While not as bad as the jackhammers that would occasionally grace the road outside our place in Boston, it's still pretty offending on the few mornings I can actually sleep in and not go to the barn.
I'm crossing my fingers for Dan on Friday. I don't want to get into it, and I don't want to get my hopes up too much, but I'm hopeful. Wishing. Hopeful. Not the same thing, but I guess I'm both.
I don't want to jinx it, but I think the paycheck we get next Friday will be the fourth one that is normal and non-furlough. I will still have to move out of my apartment when my lease is up, though, and go back to roommates. (Fucking roommates.) The furloughs did a number on my savings (wiped it out) and credit card (ran it up) and it's just not smart to stay here.
Dan got me Eddie Izzard tickets for Christmas. He's in Dallas Jan. 21, and I'm expecting greatness--when we saw him in Austin a few years ago, I nearly keeled over from the awesomeness of it all. I'll report back then and hopefully have some bizarre quotes to share.
(Last time we saw him perform, I took a notepad. Yeah. I know, right? In my purse. And wrote down quotes that I thought were hilarious. Maybe I'll do the same, since goodness knows I'm no less dorky than I was then.)
(My 'thoughts' are as long as the actual blog post body, I think.)
The holidays were a bit of a whirlwind of bad weather, long weekends, time wasted at work when no one else in the city was at their desks, and spending time with family and friends and the horses. Dan got off a few days, and for the first time ever (in five years, no less) we saw each other for Christmas. Well, ok, it wasn't on Christmas, but it was Christmas Eve, and you can tell it was true love because it was a disaster on the roads, took 40 minutes to see him, we spent 40 minutes together and then each took off for two-hour drives to our respective families when each of those drives normally take only a half-hour in good weather.
Anyway. Last week was a long one, primarily because of a frigid spell that froze up the pipes at the barn and required me to drive out twice a day to haul water buckets for the horses to drink. It was a pain in the ass, but in some ways I liked it. It gave every day a structure. I'd get up, pile on layers, pull on a hat, lug buckets back and forth, feed the horses treats, go home and do it again in 10 hours.
This week I've been seized with the urge to write again. After a month and a half off from the novel from National Novel Writing Month, I think I'm ready to return again, mostly to add more scenes, more background, more cursing, more bad decisions. I know November has come and gone, and a lot of things since then, but I'll admit it still makes to proud to know I can do it. I can write a book while having a full-time newspaper job, a relationship and a horse. Granted, it was probably crap and I didn't sleep much for the whole month, but who cares? That's what they make Diet Coke for. To keep you churning out crap.
(Coffee is the thing that keeps me churning out newspaper story crap. I applied for a fellowship in Boston after being encouraged to apply by the director, and then they chose to give the Texas spot to the Dallas Morning News. The fucking DMN, who has far more resources and more reporters than our paper will ever have. An aside, I know, but I'm still angry. And turning out crap. At least a fellowship may have given me some help in the crap department. And it would have been in Boston. This month marks three years since I moved back to Fort Worth from Boston. Fuck.)
I don't remember where I was going with any of this. I guess I don't have a point. I'm kinda scattered at the moment, which means I probably shouldn't sit down and churn out a story, but who gives a fuck? Maybe it makes me a more brilliant writer.
I think I'll get back into regular blogging soon, as soon as I settle into a routine again. I converted myself into a morning person (que horror!) with daylight savings and have been going to the barn to ride at daybreak, since there's no sun or light by the time I get out there after work. Now I've added a gym routine to my post-work hours, and I'm still working on getting that to fit with other things, like reading, blogging, watching inordinate amounts of Showtime dramas with Netflix.
Some thoughts before I go:
I'm terrifically happy for Andrew and Annie, who got engaged. He was a freshman photographer when I was a senior editor at the college paper, and now he's finishing grad school. We're still friends. He makes me feel partially hip and with it, and partially just like fucking old balls. I'm excited for both of them!
They started mysterious road construction outside my apartment. While not as bad as the jackhammers that would occasionally grace the road outside our place in Boston, it's still pretty offending on the few mornings I can actually sleep in and not go to the barn.
I'm crossing my fingers for Dan on Friday. I don't want to get into it, and I don't want to get my hopes up too much, but I'm hopeful. Wishing. Hopeful. Not the same thing, but I guess I'm both.
I don't want to jinx it, but I think the paycheck we get next Friday will be the fourth one that is normal and non-furlough. I will still have to move out of my apartment when my lease is up, though, and go back to roommates. (Fucking roommates.) The furloughs did a number on my savings (wiped it out) and credit card (ran it up) and it's just not smart to stay here.
Dan got me Eddie Izzard tickets for Christmas. He's in Dallas Jan. 21, and I'm expecting greatness--when we saw him in Austin a few years ago, I nearly keeled over from the awesomeness of it all. I'll report back then and hopefully have some bizarre quotes to share.
(Last time we saw him perform, I took a notepad. Yeah. I know, right? In my purse. And wrote down quotes that I thought were hilarious. Maybe I'll do the same, since goodness knows I'm no less dorky than I was then.)
(My 'thoughts' are as long as the actual blog post body, I think.)
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Escape
As if you didn't already know from Monday's post, it has been a shit week. Some other things happened, which I won't bore you with, but I spent most of yesterday simmering with general anger toward the world. I felt better when I saw Dan for a short while last night--he and his sister are roadtripping to California and left today--but it all returned with a vengeance this morning because it's deadline day.
And then, lo, yonder in my inbox, behold: My second couch confirmation. I am going to Albuquerque.
I will be splitting my time staying with two different people, sleeping on their couches. Room service? No. But I will be meeting some cool people who are young and generally poor, like me, and are willing to open their homes up to a stranger with a serious case of furloughitis, as it shall henceforth be called. I found them through the CouchSurfing Project, which I cannot recommend enough. It's free, and you sign up, post information, and give as much as you can. In return, you can take what's offered if you ask nicely. It's taking the idea that travel shouldn't be financially treacherous to the next level.
While I do have a place to stay, I am still considering scaling back my plans once in Albuquerque because of my furlough nonsense. I will get paid a few days into my trip, true, but it will be a furlough paycheck. I have decided there are really only two places I must eat at (the Owl Cafe, which serves a great green chile cheeseburger, and Garduno's, a local chain that makes sopapillas that are so perfect and fluffy and delicious that I'd like to live inside one). I've decided I should probably skip the art museums. I may not drink much beer while there. These are serious decisions. But hiking is abundant and cheap--usually just a few dollars parking--and I like the idea of just being outside in the pretty weather.
Speaking of outside endeavors, I may have also found a lead on leasing out the pony. With the days getting shorter, I will have a hard time riding both of the horses this fall and winter on my own. But a trainer I'm friends with has a student who needs a reliable ride, and Po is nothing if not reliable. Reliable and cute. He's pretty damn cute.
Tonight I'm going to the barn then going to watch Project Runway, which is back on, bless everything that is holy, in Tim Gunn's name we pray, amen. Tomorrow I have a concert after work to go to--free!--and Saturday my mother has offered to take me out and pay for my day. Plus I get to see the house they bought in Rockwall. Sunday I will be lazy, and same goes for Monday. This three-day weekend could not come at a better time.
And then, lo, yonder in my inbox, behold: My second couch confirmation. I am going to Albuquerque.
I will be splitting my time staying with two different people, sleeping on their couches. Room service? No. But I will be meeting some cool people who are young and generally poor, like me, and are willing to open their homes up to a stranger with a serious case of furloughitis, as it shall henceforth be called. I found them through the CouchSurfing Project, which I cannot recommend enough. It's free, and you sign up, post information, and give as much as you can. In return, you can take what's offered if you ask nicely. It's taking the idea that travel shouldn't be financially treacherous to the next level.
While I do have a place to stay, I am still considering scaling back my plans once in Albuquerque because of my furlough nonsense. I will get paid a few days into my trip, true, but it will be a furlough paycheck. I have decided there are really only two places I must eat at (the Owl Cafe, which serves a great green chile cheeseburger, and Garduno's, a local chain that makes sopapillas that are so perfect and fluffy and delicious that I'd like to live inside one). I've decided I should probably skip the art museums. I may not drink much beer while there. These are serious decisions. But hiking is abundant and cheap--usually just a few dollars parking--and I like the idea of just being outside in the pretty weather.
Speaking of outside endeavors, I may have also found a lead on leasing out the pony. With the days getting shorter, I will have a hard time riding both of the horses this fall and winter on my own. But a trainer I'm friends with has a student who needs a reliable ride, and Po is nothing if not reliable. Reliable and cute. He's pretty damn cute.
Tonight I'm going to the barn then going to watch Project Runway, which is back on, bless everything that is holy, in Tim Gunn's name we pray, amen. Tomorrow I have a concert after work to go to--free!--and Saturday my mother has offered to take me out and pay for my day. Plus I get to see the house they bought in Rockwall. Sunday I will be lazy, and same goes for Monday. This three-day weekend could not come at a better time.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Third Time Is No Charm
Yep, a third round of furloughs.
This was announced by e-mail yesterday. It's not exactly the best way to crush the hopes of your employees, but hey, I'm not the boss. I would have preferred they wait until Friday, when I'd gotten paid, because I would have been brilliantly blinded by the non-furlough paycheck I'd just gotten and may not have realized it was the last one until well into the next week.
I'm not going to do the calculations, but I think this means we get more furlough paychecks--paychecks with 10 percent taken right off the top--than regular paychecks this year. It also means there's another five days that have to be dealt with, but no money to help out with them. I'm also stuck with nine vacation days to use, so I scheduled to take off about two weeks straight for the end of September and early October. I'll still have four vacation days to use up somewhere.
I'm still planning to use part of those days to go to Albuquerque, but now my plans have been hit by paycheck worries. I'd planned for N.M. because it was fairly close, fairly cheap, and I thought I'd at least get three or four regular paychecks before going. But no: two regular paychecks, and then back to the skimpy ones. I'm reining in my plans for the trip; not as many museums, not as much food, maybe not buying Christmas gifts there. (Fuck, maybe I'll just scrap Christmas gifts this year. Maybe if I tell everyone now I'll skip accepting them if it means I can skip giving them, my budget will be a bit happier.)
I was really, really pissed off about the whole furlough things yesterday. It happened to fall on a bad day--a Monday, first of all, and secondly I was sore from the crossfit class on Saturday that I think sprained or strained my right elbow. That arm is kinda wonky since I messed it up in college with a bad riding fall and really badly broke it, and I can't straighten it now. I went home and had some wine, took a hoarded muscle relaxer (from the most recent bad riding fall, back in 2007), called my student loan company to get an extension on only paying interest on my loan, and went to bed at 9 p.m.
Today I'm pretty dejected, and I've got shit to do. There are special publication stories to be written and people to track down for this week's normal stories. I just don't want to be here at work today. It's not worth it. I can't really concentrate, and I just need a few days to be in my funk and then I'll be fine. But some days you know you're not going to get much done at work and you still have to be there, and it's frustrating. I'm looking forward to 5 p.m., when I can bolt out of here and go to the barn. A trainer at the barn found a potential family to lease the pony, and both the boys have shoes again, so I'd much rather be at the barn than here at my desk.
I know I'm grateful to have a job, to have health insurance, to be able to afford groceries, even if I'm going to have to redouble my efforts to not spend money. I'm grateful to be with a company that appears to be doing everything it can to not cut people.
But fucking hell, they did a shit job of telling us all this, and we're all pretty damn tired of it. Sometimes I feel like fate is trying to give me a sign but I'm too dumb to take notice and get out. I don't know. What I do know if there's a cold half-bottle of wine in my fridge and I look forward to finishing it.
This was announced by e-mail yesterday. It's not exactly the best way to crush the hopes of your employees, but hey, I'm not the boss. I would have preferred they wait until Friday, when I'd gotten paid, because I would have been brilliantly blinded by the non-furlough paycheck I'd just gotten and may not have realized it was the last one until well into the next week.
I'm not going to do the calculations, but I think this means we get more furlough paychecks--paychecks with 10 percent taken right off the top--than regular paychecks this year. It also means there's another five days that have to be dealt with, but no money to help out with them. I'm also stuck with nine vacation days to use, so I scheduled to take off about two weeks straight for the end of September and early October. I'll still have four vacation days to use up somewhere.
I'm still planning to use part of those days to go to Albuquerque, but now my plans have been hit by paycheck worries. I'd planned for N.M. because it was fairly close, fairly cheap, and I thought I'd at least get three or four regular paychecks before going. But no: two regular paychecks, and then back to the skimpy ones. I'm reining in my plans for the trip; not as many museums, not as much food, maybe not buying Christmas gifts there. (Fuck, maybe I'll just scrap Christmas gifts this year. Maybe if I tell everyone now I'll skip accepting them if it means I can skip giving them, my budget will be a bit happier.)
I was really, really pissed off about the whole furlough things yesterday. It happened to fall on a bad day--a Monday, first of all, and secondly I was sore from the crossfit class on Saturday that I think sprained or strained my right elbow. That arm is kinda wonky since I messed it up in college with a bad riding fall and really badly broke it, and I can't straighten it now. I went home and had some wine, took a hoarded muscle relaxer (from the most recent bad riding fall, back in 2007), called my student loan company to get an extension on only paying interest on my loan, and went to bed at 9 p.m.
Today I'm pretty dejected, and I've got shit to do. There are special publication stories to be written and people to track down for this week's normal stories. I just don't want to be here at work today. It's not worth it. I can't really concentrate, and I just need a few days to be in my funk and then I'll be fine. But some days you know you're not going to get much done at work and you still have to be there, and it's frustrating. I'm looking forward to 5 p.m., when I can bolt out of here and go to the barn. A trainer at the barn found a potential family to lease the pony, and both the boys have shoes again, so I'd much rather be at the barn than here at my desk.
I know I'm grateful to have a job, to have health insurance, to be able to afford groceries, even if I'm going to have to redouble my efforts to not spend money. I'm grateful to be with a company that appears to be doing everything it can to not cut people.
But fucking hell, they did a shit job of telling us all this, and we're all pretty damn tired of it. Sometimes I feel like fate is trying to give me a sign but I'm too dumb to take notice and get out. I don't know. What I do know if there's a cold half-bottle of wine in my fridge and I look forward to finishing it.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The Same But Different
When you put your foot in your mouth, you've embarrassed yourself (or someone else) with what you say. I don't know what you'd call a foot-in-mouth action--something you do that doesn't require words but still feels the same--but I totally pulled it on Friday.
(Maybe they just call that a "fuck-up." For a journalist, I'm having a crap time with words today. Anyhow.)
Friday afternoon I got out of work, went home and changed clothes, grabbed an apple to eat, plugged my iPod into my car's tape deck (and yeah, I have played tapes on it, and I feel like I'm 8 years old when I do) and headed out for the barn. My parents, after being in North Texas for a few weeks, were going to come out and meet me there and watch me ride as well as see the horses. It was their last chance before work caught up with them, as well as all the mechanics of a move, since they bought a house, and they were looking forward to an easy evening.
I meet them at the barn, where they fawn over the horses, since they haven't seen them in a few years, since we moved them out to Texas before my senior year of college. They fed the guys a bag of carrots, I let them split the apple core I had from the drive, and brought them both in from their paddock to get groomed. I tacked up Topper to take him out for a ride, and went out to the arenas while my parents took the pony out on his lead rope to let him graze outside the arena.
The large covered arena had a sprinkler set up in it that was taking up half the arena, and a full course of jumps meant it was pretty crowded when it came down to dodging obstacles as well as sprays of water. I went into one of the smaller arenas at first, but Topper's afraid of it because it's close to the road and the number of 18-wheelers and jackasses in souped-up pickup trucks is pretty high. We walked around once and the footing was crap, all dug up into trenches for some reason, so we went to the covered arena instead.
Topper takes a long time to warm up, especially now that he's recovering from a third serious injury. We took a good long time walking around, and then did some trotting and kept things light. The arena was pretty cramped--there was another horse out there sharing the fraction of space with us--and he was spooky because of the sprinkler and a bit sore with his front feet. I let him off easy and we're walking around next to the other horse and rider. Her horse is stabled across the aisle from Rio and Topper, and she's a middle-aged working professional, so we get along better than me and the middle school girls. I let Topper's reins out long and take my feet out of the stirrups, and we're just relaxing and talking, and all of the sudden Topper's halfway out from under me and I'm precariously balanced in thin air. I held on for about two seconds, my ass hanging out in the breeze to his left side, and I finally come down with a thump.
Topper, like most horses, wants to get away from a dropped rider. He puts one of his hind feet down directly on my foot and pivots to canter off a few steps away from me. I landed almost immediately behind the other horse, so I'm incredibly grateful he was calm and didn't step on me or kick me in the face. (When I was in middle school I knew a girl who ended up brain damaged by getting kicked in the face, and it's always been one of my rotating horse horrors since.) I bounced up immediately, because it was an easy fall and the adrenaline kicked in, and went over to where Topper had stopped a dozen yards away, his ears back in alarm and his eyes rolling. I calm him down and lead him back to the mounting block and we get back on and finish cooling down.
"I hope that wasn't for our benefit," my mother said when we rode past the section of rail where she was standing.
"Trust me, if I could have avoided it, I would have," I said.
It was pretty humiliating. I know my riding has gotten sloppier since I was younger; I haven't been with a trainer since I was 16 (holy shit, that was a decade ago), and there have been lots of time-outs from riding (like semesters at college, studying abroad, Topper's year-long stints on the disabled list, graduate school in Boston, etc etc). I'm still a good, solid rider, but I don't have the same grace and technical skills I used to. I was already nervous about my parents seeing me ride, and I was thinking I got through it well until the last lap or two around the area, walking and cooling off. Then off I go.
It was like putting my foot in my mouth.
Speaking of the foot, it did swell up and was really tender. Flip flops were ok, and walking wasn't too bad, but any pressure on the top was painful. I got myself drunk at a party on Saturday night, though, so that helped. It was the first time in a long time I'd had any substantial amounts of liquor to drink. Usually I'm a beer and wine person, but this was a Big Gulp Coke and Bacardi (thanks, 7-Eleven!) followed by several strong screwdrivers, a cranberry and vodka, and a dobblebock named Lobotomy Bock. I don't remember what it tasted like, since it was the last thing I had to drink, but the name alone will probably prompt me to buy a six-pack of it in the future.
All in all, embarrassing, but not as bad as some of my verbal foot-in-mouth incidents, like making a joke about death in a cancer treatment facility, my second day on the job as a full-time health reporter. Rock on.
(Maybe they just call that a "fuck-up." For a journalist, I'm having a crap time with words today. Anyhow.)
Friday afternoon I got out of work, went home and changed clothes, grabbed an apple to eat, plugged my iPod into my car's tape deck (and yeah, I have played tapes on it, and I feel like I'm 8 years old when I do) and headed out for the barn. My parents, after being in North Texas for a few weeks, were going to come out and meet me there and watch me ride as well as see the horses. It was their last chance before work caught up with them, as well as all the mechanics of a move, since they bought a house, and they were looking forward to an easy evening.
I meet them at the barn, where they fawn over the horses, since they haven't seen them in a few years, since we moved them out to Texas before my senior year of college. They fed the guys a bag of carrots, I let them split the apple core I had from the drive, and brought them both in from their paddock to get groomed. I tacked up Topper to take him out for a ride, and went out to the arenas while my parents took the pony out on his lead rope to let him graze outside the arena.
The large covered arena had a sprinkler set up in it that was taking up half the arena, and a full course of jumps meant it was pretty crowded when it came down to dodging obstacles as well as sprays of water. I went into one of the smaller arenas at first, but Topper's afraid of it because it's close to the road and the number of 18-wheelers and jackasses in souped-up pickup trucks is pretty high. We walked around once and the footing was crap, all dug up into trenches for some reason, so we went to the covered arena instead.
Topper takes a long time to warm up, especially now that he's recovering from a third serious injury. We took a good long time walking around, and then did some trotting and kept things light. The arena was pretty cramped--there was another horse out there sharing the fraction of space with us--and he was spooky because of the sprinkler and a bit sore with his front feet. I let him off easy and we're walking around next to the other horse and rider. Her horse is stabled across the aisle from Rio and Topper, and she's a middle-aged working professional, so we get along better than me and the middle school girls. I let Topper's reins out long and take my feet out of the stirrups, and we're just relaxing and talking, and all of the sudden Topper's halfway out from under me and I'm precariously balanced in thin air. I held on for about two seconds, my ass hanging out in the breeze to his left side, and I finally come down with a thump.
Topper, like most horses, wants to get away from a dropped rider. He puts one of his hind feet down directly on my foot and pivots to canter off a few steps away from me. I landed almost immediately behind the other horse, so I'm incredibly grateful he was calm and didn't step on me or kick me in the face. (When I was in middle school I knew a girl who ended up brain damaged by getting kicked in the face, and it's always been one of my rotating horse horrors since.) I bounced up immediately, because it was an easy fall and the adrenaline kicked in, and went over to where Topper had stopped a dozen yards away, his ears back in alarm and his eyes rolling. I calm him down and lead him back to the mounting block and we get back on and finish cooling down.
"I hope that wasn't for our benefit," my mother said when we rode past the section of rail where she was standing.
"Trust me, if I could have avoided it, I would have," I said.
It was pretty humiliating. I know my riding has gotten sloppier since I was younger; I haven't been with a trainer since I was 16 (holy shit, that was a decade ago), and there have been lots of time-outs from riding (like semesters at college, studying abroad, Topper's year-long stints on the disabled list, graduate school in Boston, etc etc). I'm still a good, solid rider, but I don't have the same grace and technical skills I used to. I was already nervous about my parents seeing me ride, and I was thinking I got through it well until the last lap or two around the area, walking and cooling off. Then off I go.
It was like putting my foot in my mouth.
Speaking of the foot, it did swell up and was really tender. Flip flops were ok, and walking wasn't too bad, but any pressure on the top was painful. I got myself drunk at a party on Saturday night, though, so that helped. It was the first time in a long time I'd had any substantial amounts of liquor to drink. Usually I'm a beer and wine person, but this was a Big Gulp Coke and Bacardi (thanks, 7-Eleven!) followed by several strong screwdrivers, a cranberry and vodka, and a dobblebock named Lobotomy Bock. I don't remember what it tasted like, since it was the last thing I had to drink, but the name alone will probably prompt me to buy a six-pack of it in the future.
All in all, embarrassing, but not as bad as some of my verbal foot-in-mouth incidents, like making a joke about death in a cancer treatment facility, my second day on the job as a full-time health reporter. Rock on.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Mild Forms Of Pain
I heard once that an itch is the lowest form of pain. I'm pretty sure that what the horses went through on Friday was more than that, but they did get drugs, which is nice. When Dan met both of my parents over the weekend, he did not have drugs, so there's that.
Friday was an appointment with our horse vet, who (as I believe has been previously documented) is awesome and cute and funny and smart. He also is passionate about horse teeth for reasons too dorky to get into here, so he came out to float the horses' teeth and make sure their dental works were all good for the next year. I don't know where the term "float" came from, but floating teeth means filing them down, since sharp edges from uneven wear can start to cause sores in a horse's mouth.
Both the horses are decidedly middle-aged, and Topper's got a bit of an overbite, so our vet filed everything down and pulled two pieces of cracked, loose tooth out of the pony's mouth. Topper had teeth pulled last time, so he got out without anything pulled this summer, but they were both heavily sedated during the procedure. I stuck around for a few hours after the procedure, to make sure they woke up okay and could eat and drink, and went home with part of one of Rio's molars in my pocket.
That piece of tooth is what I gave to my parents as a hello gift on Saturday, but I don't think they were particularly impressed. My parents showed up in the grand town of McKinney, Texas, about 30 miles north of Dallas, last week, and they're staying in an apartment there while they find a house (they put a bid on one in Rockwall, east of Dallas, on Sunday, so cross your fingers). Dan and I went out to see them on Saturday night, since I got four tickets to the FC Dallas soccer game that night.
Now, Dan and I have been dating for four and a half years. He has met my father once, briefly, when my dad was in town between flights and took my sister and I (and Dan) out for dinner. Dan has never met my mother. My parents have been living halfway across the country during the time we've been dating, and they've only come through Texas two times, maybe three, but it was always for a day or two. I usually only see them once a year for Christmas, flying home, because of my work schedule (and before that, my school schedule). Dan has had an equally nutty schedule with school and work, so although it sounds bad that he hasn't met them both, it really isn't.
My parents took us out to get burgers before the game, and then the stadium seating separated us all into a row and gave us a game to watch and talk about. It was a beautiful evening after thunderstorming all day, and I think everything went well. I guess you'd have to ask my parents and then Dan to find out how it really went.
Now it's a Monday, and Dan's off with his sister enjoying a day off while I'm watching the clock. He is now switching over to a Tuesday through Saturday work schedule, so we're only going to be able to spend Sundays together, which sucks. A lot. But I guess it's good I got him to meet the parents when I still had the chance. I wonder how long they could have managed to not see each other while living in the same metroplex?
Friday was an appointment with our horse vet, who (as I believe has been previously documented) is awesome and cute and funny and smart. He also is passionate about horse teeth for reasons too dorky to get into here, so he came out to float the horses' teeth and make sure their dental works were all good for the next year. I don't know where the term "float" came from, but floating teeth means filing them down, since sharp edges from uneven wear can start to cause sores in a horse's mouth.
Both the horses are decidedly middle-aged, and Topper's got a bit of an overbite, so our vet filed everything down and pulled two pieces of cracked, loose tooth out of the pony's mouth. Topper had teeth pulled last time, so he got out without anything pulled this summer, but they were both heavily sedated during the procedure. I stuck around for a few hours after the procedure, to make sure they woke up okay and could eat and drink, and went home with part of one of Rio's molars in my pocket.
That piece of tooth is what I gave to my parents as a hello gift on Saturday, but I don't think they were particularly impressed. My parents showed up in the grand town of McKinney, Texas, about 30 miles north of Dallas, last week, and they're staying in an apartment there while they find a house (they put a bid on one in Rockwall, east of Dallas, on Sunday, so cross your fingers). Dan and I went out to see them on Saturday night, since I got four tickets to the FC Dallas soccer game that night.
Now, Dan and I have been dating for four and a half years. He has met my father once, briefly, when my dad was in town between flights and took my sister and I (and Dan) out for dinner. Dan has never met my mother. My parents have been living halfway across the country during the time we've been dating, and they've only come through Texas two times, maybe three, but it was always for a day or two. I usually only see them once a year for Christmas, flying home, because of my work schedule (and before that, my school schedule). Dan has had an equally nutty schedule with school and work, so although it sounds bad that he hasn't met them both, it really isn't.
My parents took us out to get burgers before the game, and then the stadium seating separated us all into a row and gave us a game to watch and talk about. It was a beautiful evening after thunderstorming all day, and I think everything went well. I guess you'd have to ask my parents and then Dan to find out how it really went.
Now it's a Monday, and Dan's off with his sister enjoying a day off while I'm watching the clock. He is now switching over to a Tuesday through Saturday work schedule, so we're only going to be able to spend Sundays together, which sucks. A lot. But I guess it's good I got him to meet the parents when I still had the chance. I wonder how long they could have managed to not see each other while living in the same metroplex?
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Word
I pass this church on the way out to the barn, which is in Mansfield, and it has a marquee outside that has churchy-kind of inspiring sayings or things to make you think Christian-like thoughts, like "Is your life Christ-centered?" and whatnot.
On Saturday I noticed they had something to the effect of "Hope and faith are a choice. So are fear and depression." Now, I totally get what they're saying--you can choose to look at things in a dismal way, or work to make them better. Fine with that. But irked by their (speaking of choices) use of the word "depression."
Today on the way back from the barn I was feeling awesome about myself--Topper and I took a few turns over a little jump, and we both survived!--and I saw the sign. I pulled over, got the phone number off the sign, called and left a message asking them to change the word to "despair" since "depression" is a chemical imbalance in the brain and cannot be wished or prayed or chosen away, even if you're a Scientologist. I left my phone number, too, in case they want to call back and debate medical terminology with me. I'm no nurse, I'm not doctor, but I'm a journalist and it's my job to be picky about words.
I joked to Dan that someone had to defend the depressed because they were too depressed to do it themselves. I dunno if he thought it was funny.
On Saturday I noticed they had something to the effect of "Hope and faith are a choice. So are fear and depression." Now, I totally get what they're saying--you can choose to look at things in a dismal way, or work to make them better. Fine with that. But irked by their (speaking of choices) use of the word "depression."
Today on the way back from the barn I was feeling awesome about myself--Topper and I took a few turns over a little jump, and we both survived!--and I saw the sign. I pulled over, got the phone number off the sign, called and left a message asking them to change the word to "despair" since "depression" is a chemical imbalance in the brain and cannot be wished or prayed or chosen away, even if you're a Scientologist. I left my phone number, too, in case they want to call back and debate medical terminology with me. I'm no nurse, I'm not doctor, but I'm a journalist and it's my job to be picky about words.
I joked to Dan that someone had to defend the depressed because they were too depressed to do it themselves. I dunno if he thought it was funny.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Counting Days
I realize it's been a while since I updated. I fell into a sort of blog slump. It came from various things, including a new workout schedule, being busier at work, and just a general "eh" feeling when it comes to writing. Well, I take that back--I've been writing, but not here. All I can say is that I suddenly decided I could write short stories since I've been reading dozens and dozens of them lately. They're a new obsession. Two days ago I finally set down the anthologies and picked up a normal novel for the first time since some time in January. It's a fairly crazy idea of mine, but what the hell, it's writing, it amuses me, why not, right?
Anyway. Today is essentially my Friday, since tomorrow is one of my unpaid personal days to save the company money and hopefully save my job. Every week should be four days, I've decided. This is no huge epiphany--I've said this over and over, but I continue to stand by it. It's good to have convictions.
Also, I've been anticipating tomorrow all week--not just because it's a day off, but also because the equine vet is coming out to the barn to check on Topper's legs. This is a huge thing for me. I had a mini breakdown over the weekend about this. Topper's accident-prone: About five years ago he put a hole through the major tendon in one of his front legs, and he couldn't go out for a ride or be turned out or anything for a whole year. He was only allowed to walk. He finally healed, and scar tissue filled in the hole, and I rehabbed him with slow work over the course of months, and he was fine again. Then about three years ago he somehow tore a ligament in a back leg, up in his hips, and he went through a treatment where the vet irritated the area with these injections to cause scar tissue to grow and connect everything back together again. It worked, and I rehabbed him again, but he hasn't really been able to jump since then.
Two months ago he got this mysterious lump halfway down his lower leg on the right side. There was no heat, no pain, and he was never lame, so I just kept an eye on it but kept riding. About three weeks ago he developed a similar lump on the left side, and now he's off. He doesn't want to work when I ride him, so we only walk around, and he just looks lame. I've waited for it to heal, but he's still off, so now the vet comes in.
The reason I'm so freaked out is I'm afraid this is finally the injury that will retire him and he won't be allowed to do anything but walk ever again. Or he can't do anything and has to be on stall rest for a year. He's miserable on stall rest. We had to drug him the first time around because he got so wound up in his stall. He was bred to be a race horse, he loves to go out for rides and work and jump, and when he can't, I just feel sorry for him. There's an awful lot of feeling sorry for myself, too--what if I can't really ride my horse anymore? I love jumping, and I miss it so much, and to lose riding altogether? Real riding, not just walking? Terrible.
The good thing is I can ride the pony, since he's back up to riding condition, and he's good and fun to ride and loves to jump as much as Topper. For a while, if Topper has to be off a bit, I have someone to ride. I know I'm also jumping ahead to worse-case scenarios (that's what I do). Maybe Topper just needs some time off or something simple. I am so wound up and nervous about this that I become nauseated when I think about it too much.
Other days I'm anticipating--next Sunday, a little over a week from now, daylight savings will dictate we move clocks forward an hour and gain an hour of evening sunlight. I'm so excited! That means I won't have to worry about getting out of work as soon as possible to get to the barn while it's still light outside. Whew. I love evenings, and I'd much rather deal with dark mornings than dark nights.
In journalism news, the Pentagon lifted its ban on photographing coffins of military members. Photos are ok, but only with the family's permission. I'd like to say congrats to the military for doing this. It's about time. These military personnel fought and died, in part, for the freedom of the press, so I think it's only right there should be access. I think there should be full access, but you have to take what you're given. Positive reinforcement! But this will let others recognize and honor those who died through the media, and that's a huge thing.
I'm sure tomorrow I'll update with what the vet says. If I can get going with blogging consistently for a few days, both here and on the Dork Reporter, then hopefully I'll be out of this blogging-block.
Anyway. Today is essentially my Friday, since tomorrow is one of my unpaid personal days to save the company money and hopefully save my job. Every week should be four days, I've decided. This is no huge epiphany--I've said this over and over, but I continue to stand by it. It's good to have convictions.
Also, I've been anticipating tomorrow all week--not just because it's a day off, but also because the equine vet is coming out to the barn to check on Topper's legs. This is a huge thing for me. I had a mini breakdown over the weekend about this. Topper's accident-prone: About five years ago he put a hole through the major tendon in one of his front legs, and he couldn't go out for a ride or be turned out or anything for a whole year. He was only allowed to walk. He finally healed, and scar tissue filled in the hole, and I rehabbed him with slow work over the course of months, and he was fine again. Then about three years ago he somehow tore a ligament in a back leg, up in his hips, and he went through a treatment where the vet irritated the area with these injections to cause scar tissue to grow and connect everything back together again. It worked, and I rehabbed him again, but he hasn't really been able to jump since then.
Two months ago he got this mysterious lump halfway down his lower leg on the right side. There was no heat, no pain, and he was never lame, so I just kept an eye on it but kept riding. About three weeks ago he developed a similar lump on the left side, and now he's off. He doesn't want to work when I ride him, so we only walk around, and he just looks lame. I've waited for it to heal, but he's still off, so now the vet comes in.
The reason I'm so freaked out is I'm afraid this is finally the injury that will retire him and he won't be allowed to do anything but walk ever again. Or he can't do anything and has to be on stall rest for a year. He's miserable on stall rest. We had to drug him the first time around because he got so wound up in his stall. He was bred to be a race horse, he loves to go out for rides and work and jump, and when he can't, I just feel sorry for him. There's an awful lot of feeling sorry for myself, too--what if I can't really ride my horse anymore? I love jumping, and I miss it so much, and to lose riding altogether? Real riding, not just walking? Terrible.
The good thing is I can ride the pony, since he's back up to riding condition, and he's good and fun to ride and loves to jump as much as Topper. For a while, if Topper has to be off a bit, I have someone to ride. I know I'm also jumping ahead to worse-case scenarios (that's what I do). Maybe Topper just needs some time off or something simple. I am so wound up and nervous about this that I become nauseated when I think about it too much.
Other days I'm anticipating--next Sunday, a little over a week from now, daylight savings will dictate we move clocks forward an hour and gain an hour of evening sunlight. I'm so excited! That means I won't have to worry about getting out of work as soon as possible to get to the barn while it's still light outside. Whew. I love evenings, and I'd much rather deal with dark mornings than dark nights.
In journalism news, the Pentagon lifted its ban on photographing coffins of military members. Photos are ok, but only with the family's permission. I'd like to say congrats to the military for doing this. It's about time. These military personnel fought and died, in part, for the freedom of the press, so I think it's only right there should be access. I think there should be full access, but you have to take what you're given. Positive reinforcement! But this will let others recognize and honor those who died through the media, and that's a huge thing.
I'm sure tomorrow I'll update with what the vet says. If I can get going with blogging consistently for a few days, both here and on the Dork Reporter, then hopefully I'll be out of this blogging-block.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Productivity
Today was a full day and I got a lot done, and today feels about the same--I've finished reporting for stories for this week, and half finished for next week. Tomorrow I'm taking a half day, and so will probably spend the morning writing up this week's stories, and then I'll leave for lunch, go ride Topper, take a nap, watch some crap TV, and start packing. Every week should be only 2.5 work days. It makes me feel so much more productive. When you take all the spare time out of the work week, the time spent waiting on call backs, the actual amount of work I do every week is really only 2.5 days. And that includes time to still read the news and check my usual blogs.
Yesterday I got off work, went for a short run and got myself all winded and tight chested. I haven't gone seriously running in about two weeks because I thought I had a cold and now I'm obsessed with daylight after work. I like being able to get to the barn and get onto Topper before it gets dark because even if it gets dark once I'm on him, he's better if we start in the light rather than starting in the dark. I don't know why he's like this. We've already established he's a weirdo, so who knows what's up with that behavior.
But yesterday I made the run shorter, since I haven't been out in a bit, but tried to step the pace up instead. It was good, except at the end I had to fish my inhaler out of my purse, where it was under receipts from Target and books. Today I'm hoping for a mile and a half before I go to the barn and hopefully tack up quickly.
Thursday morning Dan and I are flying to San Francisco, and it would be an understatement to say I'm excited. I'm really, really looking forward to this. I've been planning and scheming and now, finally, we can go and I can wear my fucking awesome silver strappy shoes to the wedding on Saturday. Additionally, I can hopefully dink around in Chinatown. I love Chinatowns. The Asian sector of any city is one of the best places to walk around. The general neighborhood we'll be staying at is really central and Chinatown should be within walking distance, so I'm hoping for dumplings. That's not too much to ask, right?
It's finally fall and chilly and I can't function at work without my space heater on. If it ever breaks, I'm going to bust out the fingerless gloves I have from being in Boston. I got them because I couldn't work my cell phone with normal gloves on. That, and I was too lazy to take my gloves off when I'd go grocery shopping.
Yesterday I got off work, went for a short run and got myself all winded and tight chested. I haven't gone seriously running in about two weeks because I thought I had a cold and now I'm obsessed with daylight after work. I like being able to get to the barn and get onto Topper before it gets dark because even if it gets dark once I'm on him, he's better if we start in the light rather than starting in the dark. I don't know why he's like this. We've already established he's a weirdo, so who knows what's up with that behavior.
But yesterday I made the run shorter, since I haven't been out in a bit, but tried to step the pace up instead. It was good, except at the end I had to fish my inhaler out of my purse, where it was under receipts from Target and books. Today I'm hoping for a mile and a half before I go to the barn and hopefully tack up quickly.
Thursday morning Dan and I are flying to San Francisco, and it would be an understatement to say I'm excited. I'm really, really looking forward to this. I've been planning and scheming and now, finally, we can go and I can wear my fucking awesome silver strappy shoes to the wedding on Saturday. Additionally, I can hopefully dink around in Chinatown. I love Chinatowns. The Asian sector of any city is one of the best places to walk around. The general neighborhood we'll be staying at is really central and Chinatown should be within walking distance, so I'm hoping for dumplings. That's not too much to ask, right?
It's finally fall and chilly and I can't function at work without my space heater on. If it ever breaks, I'm going to bust out the fingerless gloves I have from being in Boston. I got them because I couldn't work my cell phone with normal gloves on. That, and I was too lazy to take my gloves off when I'd go grocery shopping.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Need More Sex In Headlines
Today was press day (hooray!) and I spent half my day proofing pages and the other half at a board meeting for the county hospital system. The board meeting was pretty successful, in that it was exciting enough to keep everyone awake and people were throwing out tons of numbers and stats. I adore stats and numbers, and I tell everyone this. All of my coworkers have probably heard me say this like 1,000 times, but it's because grad school put the FEAR of BAD STUDIES into my heart.
Anyway, a bunch of us reporters were milling around looking at final pages when Aleshia commented on the headline "Get your groove on to put food on the table." It was about a '60s music festival kind of fund raiser thing for a food bank, and it's something I wrote in the morning because we needed a long headline. Groove is totally '60s music, right? It's also kind of a euphemism for sex, as Aleshia pointed out. Whoops. I completely did not see that.
Nor did I see it when John pointed out a headline on one of his stories, which said something like "CEOs expect more blows during holiday season." I bet they think it's an awesome Christmas gift.
I was going to ride Topper today, but I'd completely forgotten it rained a lot this week. All of the arenas (except the big covered one) and the lunge pen were flooded into quicksand, and there were 8 horses and show jumps in the covered arena. I was not going to fight with two lessons, that many horses and the arena all blocked up with jumps. Not worth my time. That's part of the reason we moved to this barn; the last one only had one medium-sized arena, and when there were more than 3 horses it was just too damn crowded to function, and Topper would flip his shit and start getting the other horses riled up. If it hadn't rained, it would have been a great night, but oh well. I grazed the horses for a bit in the cool weather instead.
When the horses were busy stuffing their horses, I tried calling my parents, but I think this is the weekend where they're down in Florida at a wake for the MH-53J. Let me explain the 53: This was one of the biggest definers of my family while I was growing up. It's a massive helicopter used for special operations, and my dad piloted one of these for most of his career. He lived and breathed the 53. It was a cool-looking helicopter, lots of guns and rockets hanging off it, and there was a very small community of pilots and their families, and a very small number of bases the helicopters were based out of, so we all knew each other really well. It was the extended family that comes with small niches in the military.
Anyway, they finally retired the 53--it was basically a Vietnam-era aircraft, and while it was effective, the Air Force is moving toward other types of aircraft, like the tiltrotor V-22. All of the 53 pilots are sad, since it's the end of an era--the end of their era--and there's basically a wake for the 53 and its programs and its pilots down in Florida. My mom and dad are going and will probably get tipsy-giggly and trade stories with others, stories about flying incredibly low between the hills in Scotland in thunderstorms and taking Navy SEALS into snow-blinded areas to drop them for missions.
It kind of makes me sad, too. This is something, a career of my father's, an identifier for so long, and now it's gone. It's this reminder that my life is no longer defined by what my parents do but what I do--something that still takes some getting used to. When you're in school, everyone asks, "What do your parents do?" Now, people ask, "What's your job?" It always seems strange to me to say, "I'm a reporter" or "I'm a journalist." (It will be stranger yet when I say "I'm unemployed" because newspapers disappear into a black hole, but hopefully I don't have to get to that point for a while yet.)
Anyway . . . while my parents are mourning, I am not! Not yet! The Red Sox somehow dug themselves out of a hole and won the game tonight and are now 2-3 with the Rays. Whew! I was preparing myself for commiserating comments to others when I wear my Sox hat this weekend (because I hate brushing my hair or showering on Saturdays unless I have to), and now it looks like I have a bit more time. And since we're focusing on headlines today, ESPN's headline of the game story on the main Web page is "Don't Stop Believing." Am I the only one who will now always associate that song with the last 4 minutes of the Sopranos?
Anyway, a bunch of us reporters were milling around looking at final pages when Aleshia commented on the headline "Get your groove on to put food on the table." It was about a '60s music festival kind of fund raiser thing for a food bank, and it's something I wrote in the morning because we needed a long headline. Groove is totally '60s music, right? It's also kind of a euphemism for sex, as Aleshia pointed out. Whoops. I completely did not see that.
Nor did I see it when John pointed out a headline on one of his stories, which said something like "CEOs expect more blows during holiday season." I bet they think it's an awesome Christmas gift.
I was going to ride Topper today, but I'd completely forgotten it rained a lot this week. All of the arenas (except the big covered one) and the lunge pen were flooded into quicksand, and there were 8 horses and show jumps in the covered arena. I was not going to fight with two lessons, that many horses and the arena all blocked up with jumps. Not worth my time. That's part of the reason we moved to this barn; the last one only had one medium-sized arena, and when there were more than 3 horses it was just too damn crowded to function, and Topper would flip his shit and start getting the other horses riled up. If it hadn't rained, it would have been a great night, but oh well. I grazed the horses for a bit in the cool weather instead.
When the horses were busy stuffing their horses, I tried calling my parents, but I think this is the weekend where they're down in Florida at a wake for the MH-53J. Let me explain the 53: This was one of the biggest definers of my family while I was growing up. It's a massive helicopter used for special operations, and my dad piloted one of these for most of his career. He lived and breathed the 53. It was a cool-looking helicopter, lots of guns and rockets hanging off it, and there was a very small community of pilots and their families, and a very small number of bases the helicopters were based out of, so we all knew each other really well. It was the extended family that comes with small niches in the military.
Anyway, they finally retired the 53--it was basically a Vietnam-era aircraft, and while it was effective, the Air Force is moving toward other types of aircraft, like the tiltrotor V-22. All of the 53 pilots are sad, since it's the end of an era--the end of their era--and there's basically a wake for the 53 and its programs and its pilots down in Florida. My mom and dad are going and will probably get tipsy-giggly and trade stories with others, stories about flying incredibly low between the hills in Scotland in thunderstorms and taking Navy SEALS into snow-blinded areas to drop them for missions.
It kind of makes me sad, too. This is something, a career of my father's, an identifier for so long, and now it's gone. It's this reminder that my life is no longer defined by what my parents do but what I do--something that still takes some getting used to. When you're in school, everyone asks, "What do your parents do?" Now, people ask, "What's your job?" It always seems strange to me to say, "I'm a reporter" or "I'm a journalist." (It will be stranger yet when I say "I'm unemployed" because newspapers disappear into a black hole, but hopefully I don't have to get to that point for a while yet.)
Anyway . . . while my parents are mourning, I am not! Not yet! The Red Sox somehow dug themselves out of a hole and won the game tonight and are now 2-3 with the Rays. Whew! I was preparing myself for commiserating comments to others when I wear my Sox hat this weekend (because I hate brushing my hair or showering on Saturdays unless I have to), and now it looks like I have a bit more time. And since we're focusing on headlines today, ESPN's headline of the game story on the main Web page is "Don't Stop Believing." Am I the only one who will now always associate that song with the last 4 minutes of the Sopranos?
Monday, October 13, 2008
Hoping Against Sickness
Boston vs. Tampa Bay. It's stressing me out. Maybe that's why Saturday night, during the ridiculously-long game, my chest started tightening up and I couldn't take a deep breath. I've been glued to my rarely-used asthma inhaler ever since, getting embarrassingly winded going up the stairs to my apartment or up to the office, and I'm just hoping it goes away soon. It makes me tired, slightly hoarse and cranky. I think it's the early stages of a cold and will go away soon, but who knows. As long as I'm not sickly going to San Francisco.
I spent a good amount of time over the weekend reading books, which is nice. It's good to sit on the couch for a few hours, with nothing to do, and work through a book. I picked them up for about a buck each at Thrift Town up off Jacksboro Highway, where I went to find things for a mystery dinner party I'm attending. (The sunglasses I bought make me feel like Elton John . . . and that's just effing cool.) The books were ones I hadn't read before, and it's a good feeling to have lots to read in the coming weeks. I also went to the Halfprice Books by my apartment and chose a copy of a classic that was printed back in 1978 or something, so the total price was 73 cents. That's one of the reasons I like reading classic books--they've been in print for eons, and so it's easy to find a used, ultra-cheap copy. Also, I feel like my high school literature classes were really lacking after 10th grade, once we moved to the sticks of New Mexico and Alabama. Since I was a journalism major and only took the required composition classes in college, I hardly read any books for class as an undergrad. Same thing in grad school. Good thing I love to read on my own, have to read on my own, can't stand the thought of not turning to the characters and symbolism and stories of the printed word.
Today looked like fall but didn't feel like it; it was kind of balmy, almost. My arms felt itchy after I went to the barn and carried flakes of hay out to the horses' paddock. I lunged Topper, since I wasn't feeling up to riding and potentially fighting with him, and he ran and rocked and bucked around like a madman. He seems to have very human moods, and I can empathize with them; sometimes he just doesn't want to deal with me, and stays at the back of his stall or paddock, always slipping out from under my hand. On those days I just let him have his time alone and leave early. Sometimes he frolics like he did today, reveling in the feeling of movement and seemingly happy to have someone to play with. Sometimes he's tired, or lazy, and I have to urge him to work but try to let him off early, and some days he's just anxious and frazzled, can't concentrate and can't be bothered to think about being good.
I need to buy warmer breeches before it gets cold this year. Last winter I suffered through with my summer breeches, which are a thin layer of fabric that doesn't do much to keep warm. I need some gloves, too. The problem is it's an expensive sport--the cheapest breeches are $40 for summer ones. At least the bare-bones gloves can be had for $5.
So many things on my list of things I want, so little time and money. It's a downer sometimes, but luckily I really like thrift stores.
I spent a good amount of time over the weekend reading books, which is nice. It's good to sit on the couch for a few hours, with nothing to do, and work through a book. I picked them up for about a buck each at Thrift Town up off Jacksboro Highway, where I went to find things for a mystery dinner party I'm attending. (The sunglasses I bought make me feel like Elton John . . . and that's just effing cool.) The books were ones I hadn't read before, and it's a good feeling to have lots to read in the coming weeks. I also went to the Halfprice Books by my apartment and chose a copy of a classic that was printed back in 1978 or something, so the total price was 73 cents. That's one of the reasons I like reading classic books--they've been in print for eons, and so it's easy to find a used, ultra-cheap copy. Also, I feel like my high school literature classes were really lacking after 10th grade, once we moved to the sticks of New Mexico and Alabama. Since I was a journalism major and only took the required composition classes in college, I hardly read any books for class as an undergrad. Same thing in grad school. Good thing I love to read on my own, have to read on my own, can't stand the thought of not turning to the characters and symbolism and stories of the printed word.
Today looked like fall but didn't feel like it; it was kind of balmy, almost. My arms felt itchy after I went to the barn and carried flakes of hay out to the horses' paddock. I lunged Topper, since I wasn't feeling up to riding and potentially fighting with him, and he ran and rocked and bucked around like a madman. He seems to have very human moods, and I can empathize with them; sometimes he just doesn't want to deal with me, and stays at the back of his stall or paddock, always slipping out from under my hand. On those days I just let him have his time alone and leave early. Sometimes he frolics like he did today, reveling in the feeling of movement and seemingly happy to have someone to play with. Sometimes he's tired, or lazy, and I have to urge him to work but try to let him off early, and some days he's just anxious and frazzled, can't concentrate and can't be bothered to think about being good.
I need to buy warmer breeches before it gets cold this year. Last winter I suffered through with my summer breeches, which are a thin layer of fabric that doesn't do much to keep warm. I need some gloves, too. The problem is it's an expensive sport--the cheapest breeches are $40 for summer ones. At least the bare-bones gloves can be had for $5.
So many things on my list of things I want, so little time and money. It's a downer sometimes, but luckily I really like thrift stores.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
No Wall Street Journal
Today I've got a whole slew of interviews with doctors set up. I knocked out two earlier today; even though I had to wait a half hour on each interview, it's OK because they were doctors finishing up with patients and the PR person I was waiting with is young and friendly and we just shot the bull for a while.
When I got out of an interview, I had these missed calls from the director of communication at another institution. I'd talked to a communications coordinator earlier in the week, trying to get an interview scheduled, and the coordinator called me back and said the professional I needed was out of the country and only available during one half-hour window by phone. I already had an interview booked for that time, so the coordinator and I decided to e-mail questions to this guy instead.
I guess the coordinator and the director didn't talk to each other, though, because the director left these frantic messages about how I needed to call this professional ASAP. I called her back and explained that I was tied up and couldn't call the guy in Europe. I asked about the e-mail, and the director said the e-mail wasn't the "right format" for the guy I needed and I had to talk. Well, wasn't going to happen. I explained this, and the director said something to the effect of, "Well, we didn't have problems getting in touch with the Wall Street Journal."
That's right. The Wall Street Journal. A PR person trying to compare the Fort Worth Business Press to the Wall Street Journal.
It was frustrating. I think the PR director was just under a lot of pressure and frazzled and was accidentally snide to me, because they've always been very nice and very helpful. But it did make me indignant--don't try to make this seem like my problem. My schedule is first-come, first-served; whoever calls first and books a time gets it. The interview times were already full, and it's not my fault this guy only has a short window for me to call him in Europe. Don't try to make me feel guilty, because I'm not. Your problem, not mine.
I have two more interviews before the end of the day, and both should be fairly straightforward and good, just like the other ones. Then, off for a run (yesterday was another mile and a half, and that dead possum is STILL in the middle of the road; it's a good neighborhood, right by the Bass family, so why hasn't it been scooped up yet?) and to ride Topper. I may wimp out on the riding, since I'd like to see most of the presidential debate tonight, but I feel like I shouldn't squander the evening light because soon it'll be daylight savings and dark at 5:30 or something dismal like that. Then my urge to sleep and eat cake will be doubled as my body keeps hoping I'll just hibernate through the winter.
When I got out of an interview, I had these missed calls from the director of communication at another institution. I'd talked to a communications coordinator earlier in the week, trying to get an interview scheduled, and the coordinator called me back and said the professional I needed was out of the country and only available during one half-hour window by phone. I already had an interview booked for that time, so the coordinator and I decided to e-mail questions to this guy instead.
I guess the coordinator and the director didn't talk to each other, though, because the director left these frantic messages about how I needed to call this professional ASAP. I called her back and explained that I was tied up and couldn't call the guy in Europe. I asked about the e-mail, and the director said the e-mail wasn't the "right format" for the guy I needed and I had to talk. Well, wasn't going to happen. I explained this, and the director said something to the effect of, "Well, we didn't have problems getting in touch with the Wall Street Journal."
That's right. The Wall Street Journal. A PR person trying to compare the Fort Worth Business Press to the Wall Street Journal.
It was frustrating. I think the PR director was just under a lot of pressure and frazzled and was accidentally snide to me, because they've always been very nice and very helpful. But it did make me indignant--don't try to make this seem like my problem. My schedule is first-come, first-served; whoever calls first and books a time gets it. The interview times were already full, and it's not my fault this guy only has a short window for me to call him in Europe. Don't try to make me feel guilty, because I'm not. Your problem, not mine.
I have two more interviews before the end of the day, and both should be fairly straightforward and good, just like the other ones. Then, off for a run (yesterday was another mile and a half, and that dead possum is STILL in the middle of the road; it's a good neighborhood, right by the Bass family, so why hasn't it been scooped up yet?) and to ride Topper. I may wimp out on the riding, since I'd like to see most of the presidential debate tonight, but I feel like I shouldn't squander the evening light because soon it'll be daylight savings and dark at 5:30 or something dismal like that. Then my urge to sleep and eat cake will be doubled as my body keeps hoping I'll just hibernate through the winter.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Avoiding The Breakdown
The weekend was fantastic--drinking and music and Whataburger at 2:30 a.m. on Friday, then artfully slacking on Saturday and Sunday.
So far this week, however, I've been swamped with budgeted work, special pub stories and a last-minute story that got put onto my plate. I've spent so much time on the phone with people that my left eardrum is driving my crazy. I've reached the point where just hearing any voice on the phone in that ear is enough to make me want to tear my hair out. Every time you talk to someone on the phone, there's that slight tinny quality that comes with being blasted through the airwaves, and that tinny feeling vibrates my ear the wrong way and sends the same feeling up my spine that I get from nails on chalkboards.
Yesterday I was extremely busy (why are all these people calling me back? I have an error rate that I work with that's fairly high, so I only expect a percentage of my calls to come through, and when they all call back I'm fucked), and was really excited to get out of work. I bolted as soon as I could, went on a run (good one, hurrah!) and then had an excellent ride with Topper. He didn't try to kill me, didn't even spook once, and I've taken back my title of horse whisperer.
Then I went home and wrote two stories. It made me feel incredibly productive, and I knew my Wednesday would be less stressed because of that, and I got up this morning expecting to feel better. However, I found out my cell phone service had been cancelled because of a past due bill.
Ok, so I should be ashamed that I didn't pay the bill on time or whatever. But I'm not. Using the phone is just something I take for granted and then forget about it. Frankly, I'm more worried about forgetting to pay a student loan bill or rent than I am my cell phone. That's why I have a phone at work too, right? (Kidding. Kind of.) But they slapped on some rather large late fees, and I ended up paying it all off and wiping out all the money I'd been trying to save to the trip to San Francisco at the end of this month for Liz and Pat's wedding. I've already paid for my airline ticket, and still have a small amount that will pay for part of the hotel room, but now I've decided I don't really need to eat in San Franciso.
People aren't calling me back for my last-minute story and I had an interview with a bitchy person that put me in a dour mood. I called Dan (the good thing is my service was back on within about an hour of paying it) and told him I may or may not have a nervous breakdown today. Then I told my editor the same thing, and we decided that getting ice cream would keep us from coming unglued.
The good news is I can see this BS will end soon. The bad news is I'm also not totally sure I should be spending $5 on ice cream.
So far this week, however, I've been swamped with budgeted work, special pub stories and a last-minute story that got put onto my plate. I've spent so much time on the phone with people that my left eardrum is driving my crazy. I've reached the point where just hearing any voice on the phone in that ear is enough to make me want to tear my hair out. Every time you talk to someone on the phone, there's that slight tinny quality that comes with being blasted through the airwaves, and that tinny feeling vibrates my ear the wrong way and sends the same feeling up my spine that I get from nails on chalkboards.
Yesterday I was extremely busy (why are all these people calling me back? I have an error rate that I work with that's fairly high, so I only expect a percentage of my calls to come through, and when they all call back I'm fucked), and was really excited to get out of work. I bolted as soon as I could, went on a run (good one, hurrah!) and then had an excellent ride with Topper. He didn't try to kill me, didn't even spook once, and I've taken back my title of horse whisperer.
Then I went home and wrote two stories. It made me feel incredibly productive, and I knew my Wednesday would be less stressed because of that, and I got up this morning expecting to feel better. However, I found out my cell phone service had been cancelled because of a past due bill.
Ok, so I should be ashamed that I didn't pay the bill on time or whatever. But I'm not. Using the phone is just something I take for granted and then forget about it. Frankly, I'm more worried about forgetting to pay a student loan bill or rent than I am my cell phone. That's why I have a phone at work too, right? (Kidding. Kind of.) But they slapped on some rather large late fees, and I ended up paying it all off and wiping out all the money I'd been trying to save to the trip to San Francisco at the end of this month for Liz and Pat's wedding. I've already paid for my airline ticket, and still have a small amount that will pay for part of the hotel room, but now I've decided I don't really need to eat in San Franciso.
People aren't calling me back for my last-minute story and I had an interview with a bitchy person that put me in a dour mood. I called Dan (the good thing is my service was back on within about an hour of paying it) and told him I may or may not have a nervous breakdown today. Then I told my editor the same thing, and we decided that getting ice cream would keep us from coming unglued.
The good news is I can see this BS will end soon. The bad news is I'm also not totally sure I should be spending $5 on ice cream.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Home Work
Today at work I spent the whole afternoon procrastinating, dinking around, putting off work. About 4 p.m. I knew my chances of getting any work done were shot, and at 5 on the dot I grabbed my stuff and headed out for a short run (blah) and then to go ride Topper (our first really good ride since he tried to kill me, and it was wonderful). It was one of those days where I just couldn't focus, so I thought, Hey, no big deal, I'll just take my stories home with me.
And now here I am at home procrastinating, dinking around, putting off word. Ta-da! That was a wonderful magic trick, right? Of course, the night is still relatively young; I probably won't be in bed until about 11:30 and asleep until close to midnight, and so there's still time to work on stuff. Will I work on it tonight? Sure I will. Eventually. I mean, I worked on the story today at work. Granted, I only did like 150 words of about 750, but I worked on it.
The one interruption of my afternoon was some PR person in Canada calling to see if I got a book about leadership they sent me about two weeks ago. It was written by a woman from North Texas, and it's about leadership from the heart, and this PR person thought that it's health based since it was about the heart. It was a pretty entertaining stretch to hear her explain.
Sometimes when I'm on the phone I start listening to myself and it makes me tired. I have this total phone voice. I can't help it. It happens when I talk to people professionally; I talk louder, like I'm talking across a string between two tin cans, and I have this tone of voice that is completely different from the way I talk outside of work. Outside work, I say the word "dude" with alarming frequency. I curse a lot. My voice is deeper. On the phone, I'm loud and higher pitched and don't curse. I sound fake to myself, but I just hope it doesn't come across as fake on the phone. Who knows.
I'm hoping tomorrow at work will go better. I'll have some last-ditch efforts to track down this woman who will not freaking call me back, even though I'm supposed to write a story about her stable. And when I'm done with work, I get to go to Dallas and watch America's Next Top Model and Project Runway with Dan.
Someday I hope to have a job where I get paid extra for quality dinking off.
And now here I am at home procrastinating, dinking around, putting off word. Ta-da! That was a wonderful magic trick, right? Of course, the night is still relatively young; I probably won't be in bed until about 11:30 and asleep until close to midnight, and so there's still time to work on stuff. Will I work on it tonight? Sure I will. Eventually. I mean, I worked on the story today at work. Granted, I only did like 150 words of about 750, but I worked on it.
The one interruption of my afternoon was some PR person in Canada calling to see if I got a book about leadership they sent me about two weeks ago. It was written by a woman from North Texas, and it's about leadership from the heart, and this PR person thought that it's health based since it was about the heart. It was a pretty entertaining stretch to hear her explain.
Sometimes when I'm on the phone I start listening to myself and it makes me tired. I have this total phone voice. I can't help it. It happens when I talk to people professionally; I talk louder, like I'm talking across a string between two tin cans, and I have this tone of voice that is completely different from the way I talk outside of work. Outside work, I say the word "dude" with alarming frequency. I curse a lot. My voice is deeper. On the phone, I'm loud and higher pitched and don't curse. I sound fake to myself, but I just hope it doesn't come across as fake on the phone. Who knows.
I'm hoping tomorrow at work will go better. I'll have some last-ditch efforts to track down this woman who will not freaking call me back, even though I'm supposed to write a story about her stable. And when I'm done with work, I get to go to Dallas and watch America's Next Top Model and Project Runway with Dan.
Someday I hope to have a job where I get paid extra for quality dinking off.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
So Close
Topper nearly ditched me on Tuesday. He had been off for a few weeks, needing get new shoes, and our farrier retired without telling us so there was a scheduling delay getting a new guy. A few weeks ago I started riding Topper again, though, and he'd been really great, and then Tuesday he exploded out of nowhere and now I'm all sore and whiney.
The thing about Topper is he's just so damn unpredictable. I'm no stranger to getting thrown and falling off (two different things--one is his fault, the other is mine) and getting knocked around by him. But I can just never predict when he's going to spook. I see things I think will set him off--like a backhoe making a ton of noise and crashing around in the back frield--and he never blinks. Then he'll spook at something I don't even see, I don't even notice, and the whole ride is ruined because his nerves are all jangly. I guess that's what you get with a prey animal.
I've never seen another horse be as unpredictable as Topper. They're all unpredictable to some extend, but most horses get calmer with age. I got Topper when I turned 13, and now I'm 25 and he's 17, which is definitely middle age for a horse, and he still hasn't chilled out.
I'm really glad I didn't come off on Tuesday, though. We were cantering in the arena and he was fine, fine, fine, fine, then abruptly he was rearing up and bashed his neck into my body, shoulder and jaw. I'm always amazed at how quickly he moves; it's startling, and I think it's just reflex that kept me on. My back feels all kinky and my shoulder took the worst of it. I've been whacked in the head by him before, rearing up and hitting my face and helmet, and then ended up with a concussion---so at least he hit my body and not my head this time.
Last time I fell off was late last year, end of October, I think. I could barely function for days, and had to get x-rays to make sure he hadn't broken my pelvis. If there's one thing about my childhood I wish I could get back, it would be the springiness of my skeleton. When I was 10, I could fall off, get back on, finish my ride and not feel anything the next day. Now, I'm lucky to not seriously hurt myself in some way when I fall.
I'm 25 and I feel like an old fart. I hate to think how effed up I'm going to be when I'm 60.
The thing about Topper is he's just so damn unpredictable. I'm no stranger to getting thrown and falling off (two different things--one is his fault, the other is mine) and getting knocked around by him. But I can just never predict when he's going to spook. I see things I think will set him off--like a backhoe making a ton of noise and crashing around in the back frield--and he never blinks. Then he'll spook at something I don't even see, I don't even notice, and the whole ride is ruined because his nerves are all jangly. I guess that's what you get with a prey animal.
I've never seen another horse be as unpredictable as Topper. They're all unpredictable to some extend, but most horses get calmer with age. I got Topper when I turned 13, and now I'm 25 and he's 17, which is definitely middle age for a horse, and he still hasn't chilled out.
I'm really glad I didn't come off on Tuesday, though. We were cantering in the arena and he was fine, fine, fine, fine, then abruptly he was rearing up and bashed his neck into my body, shoulder and jaw. I'm always amazed at how quickly he moves; it's startling, and I think it's just reflex that kept me on. My back feels all kinky and my shoulder took the worst of it. I've been whacked in the head by him before, rearing up and hitting my face and helmet, and then ended up with a concussion---so at least he hit my body and not my head this time.
Last time I fell off was late last year, end of October, I think. I could barely function for days, and had to get x-rays to make sure he hadn't broken my pelvis. If there's one thing about my childhood I wish I could get back, it would be the springiness of my skeleton. When I was 10, I could fall off, get back on, finish my ride and not feel anything the next day. Now, I'm lucky to not seriously hurt myself in some way when I fall.
I'm 25 and I feel like an old fart. I hate to think how effed up I'm going to be when I'm 60.
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