It's called spinal stenosis, and as my generation says, it sucks. But at least I have some answers to my back pain. Osteoarthritis in my L5 and S1 vertebrae is causing excessive bone growth in other vertebrae, which is closing the spinal canal. There's also evidence of calcification in the pectoral area, which is the answer to my 'chest pain' issue.

Fortunately aging is not the main cause, although it's a contributor. As I've always known, my right leg is longer than the left, by 9 millimeters. This throws off the pelvis, causing strain and pressure on the back, which over time has resulted in degeneration and stenosis.

At least I have my health.

I owe all this wonderful information to my chiropractor, Dr. Jim Landauer, who insisted I have xrays upon hearing that my regular doctors refused this simple diagnostic tool. Does this remind anyone of Michael Moore's SiCKO? Two xrays, without using my insurance, cost me about seventy bucks. Thanks, Dr. Jim. You rule.

click PLAY for the SiCKO extra about 9/11 workers and the promised national healthcare.

.

Other medical news, doggy style

Our darling Lab, Licorice, has a rapid growth lump on her side that was initially thought to be an abscess. Friday we visited our vet for follow-up, and the lump is larger, not smaller as hoped, and is not softening the way the vet suggested it should with treatment. When the vet couldn't remove fluid from the lump she concluded it is not an abscess. She has never before said the words, "due to her age, I'm very worried. we have to do a biopsy"

Two samples were taken, and we'll have the biopsy results Tuesday or Wednesday.

Our sweetheart, Licorice; such a face!

In the meantime, she's on anti-inflammatory drugs, pain killers, and antibiotics. She's doing more tail wagging now that we've added the painkillers and is behaving a bit more like her usual friendly, overactive self.

Please keep a good thought for our girl.

.

A great MSN article, 13 Women Who Make Us Cringe. Enjoy!

Cherry Blossom Festival

March 29 - April 13

Washington, DC

Also true and correct

The week is over and I can't say enough how relieved I am. Irate clients, begging for last minute appointments, showed up in droves Friday and I gleefully, if stoically, turned them all away. There simply is no time left in my boss's schedule for last minute Louies.

Take that, you procrastinating non-tax-filing...guys.

Everyone in the office is stressed out which makes my day rather interesting. I have managed to take the high road in all situations and haven't let either clients or co-workers destroy my inner Zen. It's been tough, no doubt about it; I've been pissed off more times than George Bush has been confused by his job description. Wait, you mean I'm the President?
In an interesting twist, my co-workers seem determined to find out if I'm going to lose control the way they have over the last two weeks. They're waiting for it, watchful, intrigued. They can't seem to process Why is Shira so darned calm and composed? while the phones are ringing off the hook, clients are screaming, the boss is snarking big time and new tax folders are piling up. What's my secret?

Apathy.

I know that Tax Season 07 will end; they don't seem to realize this basic fact. No one will die. No heads will actually turn 360 degrees, nor will green vomit spew from anyone's pie hole.
the piglet must die.

Sorry. Loss of control.

My boss can snark all he likes about the way I make appointments; oh yes, he did! but he's not going to get under my skin with blanket statements. If he has a beef he can bloody well lay it out specifically or crawl back into his office and hide from clients a little more.
It appears I've grown that thick skin I've heard so much about. I still smile throughout my day, ignore the darkling looks from co-workers, perform excellently well, and take criticism with a grain of salt. Hey, my work is done at the end of the day. It's done right. It's been distributed or mailed or packaged or entered into bookeeping. I go home knowing I've done well, and who can ask for more than that?

more later...

Meet Ricky the Alligator (bag)

Would you pay $16,995 USD for this poor fellow?

(Ralph Lauren says, Inspired by a vintage Cooper saddle carrier, our stunning luxury Ricky bag is crafted from exquisite American alligator and finished with custom Italian hardware. )

would you carry your wallet in this one?

HAPPY SPRING!

Taxes and the Common Dolt

After working this week, I'm finding it hard to come up with anything coherent to write. Bear with me.

Overall, I've concluded that work sucks away my creativity. When once ideas flowed, humor was rampant, and the blog a gay place to put down all my devilish thoughts, now I can think only of how busy Monday will be and how many tax infants will want me to hold their incapable hands until April 15th. I'm feeling a little burnt out.

I don't think I understood how not-savvy people can be about their own finances, and how little they seem to care about this critical lack of education. Perhaps I knew, and only forgot. In any case, now I am getting the dose of full frontal stupidity that I guess I deliberately forgot existed in the realm of the masses. As it has been said, A person is intelligent; people are stupid thoughtless sheep.
Sheeple.
Aye.

I just have to say that if you dropped off your taxes for processing one week ago there is every likelihood that they have not yet been done. It's simple. There are fifty people in front of you. If you didn't make an appointment to meet with your CPA, you go into the queue in the order you arrived.

You are not special.
You are not more important than the lady who dropped her taxes off yesterday.
You will not be bumped ahead because you have been a client for five years.

This is the way it is. Please don't call me angrily twice next week shouting WE CAN'T HAVE AN EXTENSION! I don't care. I don't process your taxes. I just move them around the office. I will not put you through to the boss, who already works from 9 a.m. to 2 a.m. daily. If I do let you talk to him someone else's taxes will be delayed, and that means so will yours.

These are the dilemmas of my current job until April 15. This, and the fact that we do need your social security number to file your taxes. You can't keep it a secret and still file. So please, don't berate me about giving out this "secret" information to your CPA.
Don't make me arrange an audit.

Having said that, please don't stop by the office to ask me 'just a few quick questions' about your filing. I don't know that you had capital gains, nor do I know what that means for your 07 tax picture. I don't care that you sold your condo in Myrtle Beach, adopted a child, inherited a piece of property on Guam, or retired. I can't advise you on your 401k or tell you what the markets are going to do next. All I know is that I'm real glad I no longer work for Bear Stearns.

If you're a last minute Louie, don't give me a rash of sh*t about missing the March 31 deadline for guaranteed completion by April 15. *This* is patently not my problem. Also not my problem, The Patriot Act (yes, it's true) prevents me from telling you over the phone whether you are getting a refund or paying a shortfall. If you are paying, I will not immediately call my boss to come talk to you about why you are paying, or discuss your suspicion that he screwed up your filing on purpose just cuz he thought it was funny.

Oh, and remember that monthly newsletter your CPA sends out with handy information about tax law changes? If you can't take the time to read it eleven months of the year, please don't ask me whether it affects you or not in March.

I certify the above is true and correct.

Your humble tax servant,
Shira

you're invited to my pity party

I worked eighty hours this week if you count getting up at five a.m. as part of the work week.

Things I'd forgotten about working in the 'real world'.

How much I hate being awake at 5 a.m.
The world is 99% dumb asses and 1% blessings in disguise. (the blessings are twice as nice but harder to locate)
That the work day doesn't end til the last kid has been tucked up -- twice.
My sense of humor declines exponentially with the increasing number of hours spent dealing with above mentioned dumb asses.
Going to work is not going to work; it's getting up, coffee, dog, poke 9 year old boy, shower, food, poke the boy again, fix food, yell at boy, dry hair, force boy out of bed, pack purse, make brown bag lunches, seat boy at dining table, hurry boy upstairs, relay evils of not brushing teeth to boy, deflect argument, find boy's shoes comb backpack cell phone coat homework, push boy out the door, warm up car, wave gaily to boy, turn up music while executing Speed Racer maneuver into traffic and cursing the fact that once again my 9 year old has made me late.

Then, I get to do my job, which I am too tired to mention right now.

Sorry I haven't written. I hope to do better during the exciting WEEK TWO of Shira Goes to Work.

tomorrow's post: Taxes and the Common Man

Friday Fun

I don't believe it!

What is the matter with my faithful readers? Not ONE comment on the "Peep Show"??

Are you Marshmallow Peepiphiles or simply hate to see those tasty chicks and bunnies being used for EEEEvil?

::hmph!::
Now I'm not going to tell you all about my first day back on the job after FOUR years. No, don't bother asking. I'm mad.

Poll

Don't be a hater of Democracy; take the poll!

Oh, Intraweb, what evils have you wrought?

Follow the link, then click on the video

Rewards of Journalism

http://www.evtv1.com/player.aspx?itemnum=937

~~~

Bizarre Photo of the Week

'The Peep Show'

Saying goodbye to Lady Emma Speaks

Well, it's done. The old blog has been deleted and I've moved up and on. I still 'own' the address, and so can use it sometime in the future if I want to do. I'm not sure what I'd do with two blogs (who has the time?) but at least I have the option.
It's interesting to read your own thoughts from a year ago. Do we realize how much happens in the space of a twelve-month? How much of it can we really remember? What stood out, what we'd prefer to forget, what we're proud of.

A few memories:

'I love reading The Age of Innocence. "This tendency he had felt from the first in Madame Olenska. The quiet, almost passive young woman struck him as exactly the kind of person to whom things were bound to happen, no matter how much she shrank from them and went out of her way to avoid them. The exciting fact was her having lived in an atmosphere so thick with drama that her own tendency to provoke it had apparently passed unperceived. It was precisely the odd absence of surprise in her that gave him the sense of her having been plucked out of a very maelstrom: the things she took for granted gave the measure of those she had rebelled against."

~~~

Lady E is oft accused of being a pessimist, but I reject that external judgement. I am an unfortunate idealist.

~~~
"We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dream." -Roald Dahl
~~~

...Today's goal is to begin the outline for my new novel.

~~~

Will Lady Em take up wearing long flowing skirts in bright patterns and huaraches? Lick toads? Probably not, but I may go braless.

~~~

...this is where you could choose to go, or somewhere you could end up.

~~~

Last email from baghdad was the first line of his lordship's daily morning note....

~~~

Sunday I realized two things as I went searching for my neil young unplugged cd; that I couldn't put away my Crosby music, that it would surf the top of my cd case ad infinitum staring at me til I gave it my attention, and that I wanted to play the music I was hearing. I need an acoustic guitar. Badly. My happiness is at stake here.

~~~

Well, here tis...the house. The ceiling fans have been counted, the contract signed, the deal set. Barring any major issues during inspection, we get the keys October 10. Wheeee!

~~~

What can I say about moving that hasn't been said? the house is a wreck, i can't find anything, and my feet don't know the rhythm of the floor plan. we need a new kitchen because the original one was crafted by kobolds. i'm existing on yogurt raisins and turkey sandwiches. my books haven't made their way to the bookshelves -- I feel naked.

~~~
What can I say about the beginning of the second year of my forties? Preferably little.'

Coined in the news

BARACKNAPHOBIA: fear of a black president

Here's one that --> SLATE hasn't coined yet. Remember, you heard it here first.

OBAMANATION: disgust with or repugnance for Obama's candidacy or campaign

Get creative. Add your own!

The Plight of the Turtles: -> watch the video <-

People I've Known

J: You told me you loved me then married someone else. I never forgave you.

R: I recall he tried to hit me once. It was the last time he saw me. He's divorced now. His ex got everything. What could one expect from a bowling alley attendant?

Rue Green: Nurse. Kindness embodied. Comfort while my mother lay dying in the middle of the living room. I looked forward to seeing her knitting progress when I got up every morning.

J. called me tenacious. He was a moron, but I am tenacious.

M. was an only child who doted on his aged adoptive parents. He told me I was demanding.

C. called me b*tch. I laughed.

The lady at the World Trade Center who sounded so calm in the midst of the fury. I wish I could thank her personally. I'll never forget her voice.

V. , still one of the most influential people I know. Human, powerful, funny and dear. You are loved.

The Fire Inside

MOMS DON'T GET A SALARY, BUT THEY SHOULD

There have been three times in my life when I’ve found myself speechless. I’m going to tell you about the most recent time because the previous two aren’t fit for public consumption.
And may god have mercy on our souls.

I enjoyed some milk and cookies with my son after school today. The conversation centered as it always does on what he did during the day, teacher issues, homework, and bathroom visits. I can’t fathom how the conversation managed to turn to sex, but it did with all the force of a high-speed-train derailment.

A short time ago, we’d had a perfunctory q&a when my son brought up the subject during Scrubs, at which time I clarified what exactly he thought he knew. Nothing.
We moved on, knowing as parents that the matter now was firmly in our space and thus would remain there.

I was surprised to hear sex over organic milk and Snack Wells, but I think I recovered. I’m sure I blinked several times.

Well, sweetie, I said hopefully keeping a strait face, if you don’t feel comfortable talking to Mom you must go to Dad. Any time. Don’t wait. Ask us anything you don’t understand. K?

Sure, Mom, but I already know what sex is.

My eyelids began sweating.
You do? What’s that? (my smile feels like the ones that are painted on Barbie dolls)

Well, the guys talk about it, so I hear stuff. (shrug)

(I’m almost over the hump. no pun intended. I could get off scot-free. no pun intended. I was doomed before I swallowed another bite of tasty crème filling)

What stuff, I stuttered.

The dam opened. Good god I’m in HADES and 9 year old boys are the DEVIL!

Well, X friend showed me a video that belongs to his mom...

A video? My voice squeaked. Really. What video, honey?

Well it’s a sex thing.
I interrupt wildly – did you WATCH the video?

No, oh no. I just looked at the cover of the dvd box. See, it’s his mom’s and he stole it and she has another video that X watched too. He grimaces. It’s pretty gross.

God, If I don’t die of a massive coronary at 41 I’m going to be so good you’re going to be so happy with me and you can test me anytime, ANY time you like, and send temptations for me to resist just shut Him UP...

How do I explain lovemaking and it’s friend, healthy lust?
In the meantime, I am thinking that my husband is a dead man for wantonly leaving me for ten hours a day to deal with this shit just so we can eat on a regular basis. Food is overrated anyway.
Ok, so you didn’t see the video, you are NOT to watch the video if X offers again, you tell him NO. Got it?

Uh huh. Curious eyes bore into me and I’m sure I can feel wind through my skull.

Honey, what’s in those videos isn’t for you (for now), that’s not how things are between adults who love each other (unless they're real creative)

Oh, it’s not with a guy and a girl, it was two girls who do it and X said later there’s a group of girls ...

JESUS! girl on girl sex videos and my son’s friend is never coming to this house ever ever ever again.

I hate trite sayings but I’m a deer in the headlights. (sorry, ladies) I have no spit left and I’m wondering what I have to say to WRAP THIS UP.

Maybe you should talk to your father.

9/11 ‘survivor’s staircase’ moved

Raving Rabbids

Potpourri

Health issues aside, I'm gearing up to take on THE NEW JOB. I put off my start date for an extra week to return to my usual state of wellness, and to find a nanny who will not earn more money than I will. I went with the Dr. Phil-approved nannies4hire.com.

Some of the interview questions they suggest:
Do you have any body piercings or tattoos?
Have you ever lived away from home? and my favorite,
Have you ever been treated for mental illness?

~~~

El SuperCabineto (the kitchen island) will be installed on Wednesday. At last, a work surface clear of paperwork, keys, Legos, and half-eaten candy bars.

~~~

My son decided that peeing outside is not optimal.

~~~

Today my goal is to buy a rolodex, call a friend, and talk to my sister on her new cell phone.

~~~

We found a landscaper who wants ten thousand dollars to pave the front walkway and side garden entrance. I'm certain his eyes were red and his speech was slurred.

~~~

Did I mention our gay interior designer quit and has taken a spot with a well-known firm in Baltimore? Doesn't he understand we have color issues to resolve? God, these people...

Inhaling pig brains = bad

Everything you never wanted to know about pig brains...and more!
Awww, come on, take a chance.

'A mysterious nerve disorder that hit some slaughterhouse employees with debilitating symptoms apparently was caused by inhaling a fine mist of pig brain tissue.'

Yike! don't tell me there's more?
Too late. There's more.

Let's find out how pig brains are harvested. (nice euphemism, isn't it?)

'State and federal health authorities have said eating pork brains is safe. It's the harvesting method, called "blowing brains," that posed the health risk. In the procedure, high blasts of compressed air were shot into the head cavity to remove the brains. Sometimes the liquid combined with brain tissue and turned into a mist.'

So the story is, a bunch of hapless slaughterhouse workers became sick and it took forever for a few brainiac (heh) doctors to figure it out. Wonder if that ole pig crushin' factory gives insurance benefits to illegals...

But wait! there's a market for Porky the Brain Roast. Where, where?

'The market for pig brain tissue includes the American South, where it's used in dishes such as brains and eggs. It's also sold in some Asian countries, such as Cambodia and China, for various recipes, including stir-fries and stews. The brain tissue processed at QPP was used mainly for export to Asia.'

Ya know, I'm nothing on a Sunday morning until I've had my brains an' eggs.

Read all the fun bits (pun intended) HERE.

Body and Soul

I'm trying. No, really. Doing my best. It seems that the Universe has the problem this time.
I had two great interviews with a small local company and earned my offer letter yesterday. Problem is, as Bridget Jones says, when one part of your life starts to go well another falls spectacularly apart. Cue Mr. Darcy, will ya.
I'd like to have a chat.

The pay is good. The hours are good. The drive is four minutes flat in traffic. Their goal, in part, is to take the businesses to the next levels and class up the joint. Heh. I am to be the office manager, and ultimately hire and manage reception, etc.. You know the deal.

So instead of gettin' it all together, signing the papers, and shaking hands, I have a sprained set of muscles in my back, sciatica, an additional 'girl' issue, and my nanny has disappeared into the fricking ether. Yeah yeah, cue the sad music. If it wasn't for the sprain, the lack of sleep, evil resistant bacteria and the need to find another childcare situation I'd get up from this chair and...

But I digress. My son thinks he is mature enough to be at home, alone, after school for an hour and a half. Ditto vacation days, when school is closed. I disagree. Perhaps that is based on the statement he made earlier this week, Hey Carl! party at my house!
Am I being too overprotective?

Next holiday for the boys is March 20, when the giant tooth-rotting Bunny of Doom rides again. Any thoughts? Ideas? Fixes? Solutions?

Nope. Me neither.

Read all about it

Love and consequences. Indeed.

---> PUBLISHER PULLS FAKE MEMOIR <---

What's not to love about English roses?

~~~

Even Lady Emma would approve.

What would Jack do about HEALTH CARE?

If you chose (A) give yourself a seawater bath. Jack is blithely unaware of the state of his teeth but he would never do 'nothing.'
In choice (B), the question is What's In It for Jack? Prepare to feel the sting of the 'cat.'

Selection (D) has potential, but Elizabeth has no butt. Jack also would never dole out coin for Barbossa's hat and stealing one is another story. Demote yourself to swabby, you dog.

The correct answer is (C): Gnaw a bullet out of his own leg, splash some seawater on it, and then pillage Tortuga. While it's unlikely he would pillage a pirate haven, we must assume he has a reason. By gnawing the bullet out of his leg Jack is taking care of his health needs. Promote yourself to mate.

People I've Known

He dated my roommate one night. He dined her, danced her, and tried to seduce her. A tall Canadian with a skinny bod whose futile attempts at weightlifting were laughable. He loved Piper Sonoma, dancing, and her homemade fruit tarts. My roomie said she didn't really want to go out with him that night but that was only because he and I were still going out.

When I was eight, Trisha and I were friends. Her father was a local physician, and thus they lived in a three storied house on an upscale street with big healthy trees. The house had an elevator in it. Trisha sucked her thumb. She played with me because her mother made her do.

You were everything for one long beautiful moment. I was so happy to give my heart over to you. You didn't want it; only you know why. Therein lay my sadness.

My interviewer on Friday. Nice guy, relaxed office. Mike, I gave good interview.

On The Rack

If you are a fanatic member of Oprah's book club, close this window and go at once to her safe and happy promotional website.
Otherwise...

I'm eager to see the film of Philippa Gregory's novel The Other Boleyn Girl. Although I haven't picked up the book yet, it's on my reading list. Deft, believable characterization and a richly detailed historical backdrop of tense political intrigues make her books consistent winners. Read the hook for TOBG here.

On the other foot...
I'm not exactly sure what the hell Ken Follett was doing with The Pillars of the Earth. Certain distasteful, repetitive - and overdone - scenes mark this Oprah book club selection IMHO as one to be missed. Where was the editor on this one? Why is this book a runaway success when it reads like a How To manual? Who let him ramble on with boring details that read like a well-researched library reference book? Read the shamefully boring opening page here.