skimwitted

Sleepy

Man, this site is all messed up.  Half the time my lists don't appear, the RSS feed is busted, problems galore.  Eventually I'm moving this.

Anyway.

I saw my homeopathic doctor last week and he very adamantly told me that I absolutely need to get in as much sleep before midnight as possible.  For my health.  I practically giggled.  I mean, that's like telling someone, "In order to lose weight you must, MUST eat at least two servings of pizza, a bag of chips, some cake and a milkshake daily."

So of course I took his advice to heart (you know, to SAVE my health) and went to bed at 9.  I was determined to maximize the health benefits I would gain from sleeping 3 hours before midnight.  All I could think about was being the best sleeper ever. 

Of course all that did was give me a case of insomnia.  For three days.

That's right.  The pressure of trying to have the most gains possible before midnight gave me a friggin case of the can't-sleeps.

Finally, yesterday, out of sheer exhaustion, I fell into bed at 8:30 and slept like a rock.  Sleep, you have never been so sweet.

It's now 7:42.  I'm hoping I get another good night's rest.

Um...

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Bad Panda

One of our offshore developers was here in the US last year for about 3-4 months on a project.  I spent a lot of time with him, dragging him with me to yoga classes, dinners, shopping, you name it.  I felt bad for the guy since he was here alone.  Anyway, we got to be really good friends and I miss him terribly.

I found out a few months ago that he and his wife are expecting their first child.  I went nuts and bought a gigantic stuffed panda bear.  I brought it to the office so everyone could see it and sign the card (which was a shirt the panda would wear) and this is what they did to it.

You can't see it in the photo, but there's a sign pointing to the bear that reads, "Skim is busy.  Do not interrupt"

Served

Last Thursday, I served Tim the divorce papers.  Actually, we had our friend Eric do it because legally, a spouse can't.

Eric can marry people (thanks to some internet application) and I felt it only appropriate that he facilitate our divorce.  A full circle kinda thing.  He obliged and was really moving in 'sayin' some words' that were really meaningful: "You promised each other, before God, the state of California and each other to love one another and care for each other for the rest of your lives.  Now we can make void the promise to God and to the state of California but you are still obligated to care for one another for the rest of your lives.  That promise you have to keep."

It was sweet.  Tim and I looked at each other and smiled.  And then kicked Eric out of the room so we could pore over the paperwork.

Turns out Tim and I both have restraining orders against each other by default.  Basically this means he can't change his life insurance policy, etc. and I can't either.  He's still the beneficiary until we actually divorce.  To the state of California, this means 6 months and 1 day from the day he got served.  Ballparking this, it means 2 November 2008.

Weird.

It was the first time in a long while since I'd seen Tim.  He looked good, if a bit on the thin side.  I'm sure he thought I looked good, if a bit on the tubby side.  The conversation was stilted and I felt like i was talking to someone I didn't really know and hadn't seen in 10 years.  Small talk, basically.  The kind you have with an ex.  I guess I thought it would be different with someone I was married to but it turns out, no.  You have the same inane conversation with your husband as you do with the dirtbag you dated in high school, or the chick you used to work with at that one place.

Or at least I do.

No Pyro

The chiminea I got has been such a treat.  I spent much time loving on it, sealing it with floor sealant and making sure everything was just right before I made my first fire.

Not being good with fire and having a healthy fear of it, I made sure it was supervised via the BF.  The BF's mother is an expert pyro who likes to throw batteries into hers.  "Oh, they make such a loud popping noise," she said gleefully when I met her.  (Shudder)  I picked the BF because I needed an expert, someone there in case things went awry so they could help me (a) grab the garden hose and/or (b) pack up my few precious belongings to escape a fiery blaze.  He snorted and rolled his eyes when I mentioned this and said, "It'll be fine."

That's what they all say, I thought.

The last fire we had was last night.  The BF insisted I do it all by myself, which I did.  Except I spent nearly two hours trying (and failing) to get the logs to light.  I did briefly consider tossing a glass of wine on it (nothing like an accelerant) but all it did was smoke for two hours.  I gave up.  The BF patted me on the head and said, "Oh well."

The result of my mini-boy scout lesson?  I got a letter from my upstairs neighbor.  Neatly handwritten with writing that I swear to god, looks like a 7th grade girl's.

"[Previous tenant] had to stop user her fire pit because, like yours, our entire room, closet and clothes end up smelling smoky. (I am also allergic to smoke).  We will mention this to [the landlord] as well.  Many thanks!"

Fucknuts.

The sad thing is, my initial response to this was, "Oh she don't like the smoke?  We'll see how she likes a party.  The kind where I invite The Creature and ply him with every substance, legal or not, known to humankind."

But no, I wouldn't do that.  I mean, what would be the point, right?

YIkes.  But still, I figure The Creature would make the chiminea pale in comparison to the annoyance factor.  And they'd just be grateful he wasn't around and would be okay with the chiminea smoke.  Trust me when I say that's better than listening to The Creature yammer on.

Argh, I need a solution.  I need to be able to light a fire. 

Suggestions welcome.