Thursday, May 29, 2008

One of the lousier days

What a lousy day. I can't say it was the worst day. Considering both of us are alive and well and nothing too catastrophic happened--plus knowing about Murphy's Law and being aware that if I say it was the worst day ever I could be unpleasantly surprised tomorrow--I can't complain too much. Nonetheless, the day was full of garbage and I'm very, very tired now.

So we head south for a funeral. Somewhere south of Dallas, the back passenger tire blows out. Awesome. Changing a flat on the side of a busy highway is great fun. But several things did work in our favor: 1) It was a back passenger tire, so not only could we steer but we didn't have to change the tire right next to traffic (and yes, I did help), 2) after changing said tire, there was a Discount Tire in view, which was most convenient, and 3) if the tire had blown a mere five minutes later, we would've been a ways from civilization and forced to ride the donut for a long while. It stank, but we were fortunate.

Coming back from the funeral, we pull into Dallas and discover that there's a major wreck causing 5 lanes of traffic to close down to 2. Normally just an inconvenience, but that poses a problem with our little Saturn. You see, the Saturn's new hobby is overheating! And it did so today in this thick mess of cars, but traffic was slow enough that we could just turn the car off for a little while (certainly helped large numbers of people get into the last two lanes). The car neither smoked nor caught fire. Again, fortunate.

Now maybe someone could explain to me why this elicited the greatest angry response out of me. Maybe it was the final straw, maybe it was all the anticipation dashed, but the MP3 players arrived ... and they weren't Mac compatible. I did go off the deep end with this one. But perhaps you'll get a cute little MP3 player for Christmas, that is if you're a good boy/girl. I can no longer fight the sovereignty of the iPod ... if I want to come out with my sanity intact, that is.

Combine all this with 6 total hours of driving, and you understand why I may not get up until noon tomorrow.

At least the cats are always happy to see us.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Ah, Wednesday

Every other Wednesday is that bane of my existence. I have a radio station I love. It's a classical music station, the oldest radio station in Texas, I believe the second oldest west of the Mississippi. It's a public radio station owned by the city of Dallas, and that means that every other Wednesday ... they have to play the Dallas City Council meeting. If you want to know what kind of crazies can come out of the woodwork, or perhaps you're just interested in really knowing what it's like to want to die, tune into WRR from 9:00 AM to 3:00 PM on June 11. Thrills abound.

So I'm desperate for anything good on those days. I've been fishing around on my iTunes thing (I never signed up for it--came with the computer) and discovered that it had radio feeds, so my need for classical music is being met as we speak. (Should that need ever turn into Iranian classical music or Cumbia, I have access to that as well.) I've lucked into a place that's playing "The Planets" by Holst in its entirety, so I'm more than sated.

Chris figured out how long it takes to get from Dallas to Bogotá: Two hours from Dallas to Miami, six hours from Miami to Bogotá. Remarkably short--shorter than the flight to London was and with much less ocean to crash into. (So maybe I've developed a little flight anxiety lately.) So I did the unthinkable. I bought myself an MP3 player. Two, in fact--they were refurbished and only $17 a pop, so Chris gets one and I get one. With a little help from, hopefully the time will fly. I also plan on packing one full of children's books to keep a certain pair from driving us and possibly everyone else mad on the trip home. There's only so much you can do on long flights with young children. I'm sure the layover in Miami will fly by.

So on and so forth. There are my musings for the day.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

I was made for German

If anyone tells you that you roll your R's in German, they're lying. Either that, or they consider it beneath them to make a raspy noise in the back of their throats. I'm an exceptional raspy-noise-maker. I also proved to be good with the complicated German sentence structure, which made my years of learning German a breeze. German prepositions were the bane of my existence, although I'm pretty good at plugging them in now where Spanish prepositions ought to go--chili mit carne, anyone? (I also say Danke instead of Gracias.)

Spanish is so easy compared to German. When I learned that you make something plural by adding S to the end I almost fell out of my chair, bowled over with the happies. Spanish doesn't have 16 words for the. Spanish has two genders and not three (feminine and masculine as opposed to feminine, masculine, and neuter). But Spanish has one thing I can't get over.

I'm so ashamed to say this.

I can't roll my R's.

Surely this is learned and not genetic. Surely if I'd been born in a Latin American country I would've picked it up and not been laughed to scorn by my unfortunate speech impediment. But while my raspy German grunt sounds similar, it's no substitute for the lovely Latin tongue roll.

I was made for German, but I think my Spanish will be serviceable.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

In the bag!

My autobiography is complete! Everything has been hashed out and all that remains is tweaking, but that's light work. All that remains is for Chris to do his and to finish his questions, then the heavy work is done. All that will remain is paperwork and what sounds like miserable trip to the doctor (I know what they do!!). That means I begin learning Spanish monday--hot dog!

Of course, I have nuggets pulled from the draft from when I didn't know how to respond to something and needed time to think it out. Quite a few of these were left in this time. Hope you enjoy!

Behold, the autobiography of the most interesting person in the world to never do anything interesting. Alas, this opening statement was removed in spite of being the most accurate thing in the autobiography.
My name is Chandler ----, which it always has been and will probably continue to be. This was snarkiness, pure and simple. You'll never guess what it got shortened to.
He received his bachelors from Stanford, then attended one whole semester of Harvard Law School before going home to Texas to attend graduate school at the University of Texas. Not to throw my dad under the bus, but I did leave this sentence in as is.
I know she has a masters degree, but I have no clue what in. Oh duh, Library Sciences. Facts didn't always present themselves handily. Sorry, Mom--I forgot your degree again.
... and he works at some library. Like I have any clue where my brother works!
Man, this is sad. I got the joy of reliving the time my grandmother had a stroke when we were home alone with her and all the adjustments that followed. You'd be down in the dumps too.
Does anyone really care what you did in high school? No, but I recounted it dutifully. Running through all the awards and honors I got made me wonder how many other people fell far short of their potential. :)
I’ve had to learn by trial and error things like bread baking, mopping, and why you don’t put the soap you use to wash dishes by hand in the dishwasher. That last one was much more error than trial. This is one of those things that you look back on and laugh, but I doubt the apartment complex management was real keen on the damage to the linoleum. At least I lived on the first floor, right?
Our common interests are church, baseball, discussing current events, baseball, playing games together, baseball, going out together anywhere, and baseball. We love baseball--we take it any way we can get it. Originally I thought this sentence was cute, but it's really kind of clunky.
We’ve prepared so much to adopt older children, in fact, that we often joke about what it would be like if we did have a child of our own: “She soiled herself!! What do I do now?! I think she may need therapy because she won’t stop messing her jumper!!” I bet you think I'm exaggerating. And you bet your boots I left this sentence in!
I have more of the disciplinarian in me than huggly-snuggliness. Nothing I write is complete without a few made-up words.
Chris has already been asked twice if I’m Hispanic, and I know I’ll face the same myself. My prepared snarky reply is, “Yes, that’s why they’re full-blooded Mestizo.” If I'm feeling especially nutty, I'll tell them I'm guero (fair-complected Hispanic).
It’s over! It’s over! I can die in peace now! It's like being a Red Sox fan.