The Clam Rampant

Kasia July 16th, 2008

I often eat lunch at my desk. Which isn’t a big deal in and of itself. Sometimes I leave the door open, and other times I close it, because I do occasionally get tired of people poking their heads in to ask me to do X, Y or Z when I’ve got my mouth full of turkey sandwich or baby carrots.

However, my habit of eating at my desk creates some uncertainty with respect to when, exactly, I am working and not working. As a rule, I try to flex with the system as much as I can – I appreciate that it flexes with me. I mean, I like being shut in my office to recharge, not have to socialize with my co-workers (not that I don’t like them, but I do like some down time), and catch up on my personal Internet use. So if I get a work-related e-mail, I usually skim it and see if it’s pressing. If my boss really needs me, he can always knock.

Phones, however, present more of a challenge in that for all intents and purposes, I do not have caller ID. So it’s always a gamble when I pick up the phone on my lunch: is this pressing? Can I resolve it reasonably quickly? Or is this going to be the effective end of my lunch? I have the same problem to a lesser degree at home, but since 99% of my calls come from either immediate family, the Canuck, or telemarketers, I have no qualms about continuing to eat if the conversation is lasting longer than the heat of my food.

Anyway, today I’d had several interruptions already: someone insistently ringing the front doorbell of the office building, despite the sign announcing that the office is closed from 12 to 1 for lunch, a phone call from a telemarketer, and at least one other phone call. So when the phone rang AGAIN, I glared at it, said “NO!”, and continued eating.

So then I check my voicemail, and it’s one of our students. His mother just died and he wanted me to get an e-mail out to the group about it.

Hand, meet forehead. Clam, you’re a jerk.

(Not really – it’s not like I *knew* that that’s who was calling, or why. I just am having one of those irrational “stupid me” moments. It’ll pass.)

• I'm an idjit , Work
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Kasia February 20th, 2008

Blogging’s been a bit light over the past few months, as you may have noticed, and it’s probably going to get lighter before it gets heavier. Between working both jobs, wedding plans, maintaining my home, marriage prep classes, maintaining my relationship with my fiancé, trying to keep in touch with friends, and family obligations…well, I’m a tired little monkey, and the last thing I’m apt to think when I get home to eat dinner at 9 or 10 o’clock is “Gee, I should blog!”

Don’t get me wrong; I love blogging, and I love my readers. But now I’m developing some minor health issues; really nuisance things in the grand scheme, but on top of everything else they’re the proverbial straw and I’m the camel’s back.

Sooo…I expect to be back to near-normal by Easter, and hope to blog periodically between now and then, but in the meantime, don’t be surprised if my posts are fewer and shorter than usual.

Love you guys!

• Busy-ness , Home , I'm an idjit , My Beloved , Wedding , Work , marriage prep
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Kasia February 14th, 2008

The first day in weeks that I haven’t brought a sweater to work, the boiler breaks.

I’ve already been told to keep my coat on, and (through the workings of our merciful God) the boiler guy was already here. We’re waiting to find out how long the fix will take; if it’s long, I’ll be sent home.

Believe it or not, I’m hoping it is a quick fix. I’ve got too much to finish this week to go home today and like it.

** UPDATE**

Haven’t heard yet about how long the fix will take, but the director found some space heaters for us. Poor guy’s freezing in his own office, but he found a couple for the rest of us…bless his heart…

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Kasia November 19th, 2007

The Canuck already knows that I identify my neighbors primarily by their pets. Oh, not so much the people in my immediate building; I know their names and faces. But when I’m out walking around the neighborhood, I recognize the dogs first and foremost, and then I might be able to successfully identify the people.

In my old neighborhood there was the full-sized Schnauzer, Harry. I forget his owner’s name offhand, but in my defense I *did* know it when I lived there. And there was Mickey, the little Shih Tzu. His owner was named Anne, but I learned that much later than I learned the dog’s name.

In my new neighborhood, there’s the Brittany spaniel, Austin. I don’t know his person’s name, but whenever I see him I shout “AUSTIN!” for all the city to hear. I then pet him, and say hello to whoever’s walking him, which is sometimes his owner and sometimes a friend of hers.

Then there’s Summer, the little miniature chihuahua, whose person I don’t know. And Gracie, the big Golden Retriever-looking dog who’s also 1/3 wolf, whose person I don’t know either.

There’s Daphne, the little black dog with a white patch on her chest. Is she ever a lovebug! She is just too sweet for words! Her owner, a woman about my age, actually recognized me in Kroger and identified herself to me as my neighbor. I couldn’t place her at all until she said she was Daphne’s owner. Boy, was my face red! (But I still don’t remember her name…)

Now, seeing as I know I have this issue, I do try to make a point of remembering faces and names. But when my primary interaction with someone is via the Internet, sometimes it’s difficult.

I recognize Mrs. Kheldar without a problem. I can even place her (tie face to name and how I know her) in five seconds or less, usually less, which for me with someone I primarily interact with online is pretty darned good.

However, I think I may have discovered yesterday that I use that associative memory (pairing people with their dogs, cats, kids, or spouse) a little too much. I am pretty sure I saw Matt S., a.k.a. Kheldar, at the parish town hall meeting yesterday. I saw him. I knew he looked familiar. But I wasn’t sure.

And then it hit me: I have never seen him without at least one of his children around. Usually Lily at least is with him, and sometimes the others as well, to say nothing of Mrs. Kheldar.

So Matt, if that was you, please accept my heartfelt apologies. Mea maxima culpa.

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