kris

Barista jinx

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Tuesday mornings, Kris is usually up and out the door by 7:30 am, taking Annie for her happy, happy, joy, joy, all-day hike. Since that isn't happening, I seized on the free morning with Kris and suggested breakfast together.

Imagine - breakfast together on a weekday morning. Together. Breakfast.

Uh, yeah.

Sleep holds a much stronger draw, unfortunately.

We woke up late, snuggled under the comforters for a long while, then finally crept out of bed when we realized the squeaking noise we kept hearing wasn't construction noise from across the street, but rather Annie's stomach growling. "I guess I better feed the dogs," muttered Kris as he rolled out of bed.

We went to Starbucks for a quick pastry for me, pastry and coffee for Kris. We've been ordering much the same items each time we go, that Kris has started handing me cash and standing to the side to see if I can get the "grande drip, room for milk, morning bun and chocolate croissant" order correct. Apparently, coffee drinkers use the term "room for cream" not "room for milk," so I deliberately use milk to annoy them all.

The cashier was very friendly to me. "How are you doing?" "What do you have planned for today?" "Oh, what fun!" and "I hope everything works well for you today!" I usually don't have conversations with the Starbucks people, though I'm sure they recognize me by now as the woman who never buys coffee. "There she is, the milk lady again."

So, I handed Kris his coffee, and walked with him to the milk table. As I was reaching for the napkins, I saw a flash of white to my left, followed by a, "Sorry, babe."

I looked over to see Kris covered in milk from his stomach down, a puddle of milk at his feet. I looked up to his coffee, to see the lid of the half and half floating in his coffee cup, the half and half thermos still tipped in his hand.

I looked up at him. "I blame the barista and her 'hope everything works well for you today.'"

"Yeah, she jinxed us."

"Yeah."

Only 30 in 2005 and 2006

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Bet you didn't know seventy one players have had more than 18 home runs and more than 18 stolen bases in a season since 2001.

Me, either.

Only 30 in 2005 and 2006.

Who knew?

Not me.

"Alex Rodriquez was absolutely ridiculous last year."

"Did you have him last year?"

"No."

"DIdn't I tell you to get him?"

"BABE! I had him for $45. Someone else was willing to offer over $40 for him. I had my time with him. They bought hime. He was Alex Rodriquez again. Someone else had their time with him."

If I could get Alex Rodriquez for $40, you better believe I'd be pulling out my wallet.

"$40! THat's not even a quarter a game!"

Poor Kris. Thinks I'd actually let Alex play baseball during my $40 time with him.

Clearly we're making progress on our dev house projects. Where's the pizza?

Mini dev house

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I missed last weekend's Super Happy Dev House for my first migraine of the year. I was planning on finishing up the code for the launch of rereuse.com, a site that would help people (read: me) give away crap instead of throwing it away (and having the items end up in the already too full, already too large, already a burden landfills). Essentially, streamline the freecycle process so that more people would be interested in giving away crap instead of throwing away crap (hey, if you're throwing it away anyway, why not give it away?).

Instead, I spent the day in bed, and the weekend fighting a headache that wouldn't go away.

Midweek this past week, I complained to Kris about the lost opportunity to crank on the site and launched. More like whining than complaining, actually, and more like lamenting than whining, as I wanted to use the site to get rid of a bunch of my crap in order to reclaim the garage and office. (Goodness, quite the run-on sentence there. I'll take full artistic liberties and leave it in, instead of making it a proper sentence, or four.)

"Are we doing anything this weekend?" Kris asked me.

"Not that I know of."

"Are we both here this weekend?"

"Yeah."

"Let's have our own code-jam weekend, then. I'll work on FBA, you work on mycrap*."

"Whoo! Okay!"

So, here we are, Saturday morning. Kris is at his desk. I'm at my desk. The dogs are in their beds behind us ("... have to stay with the pack!"). Intarweb connection working. Freezer stocked full of easy-to-heat, easy-to-eat goodies. Fridge stocked with beer and colas (and Odwalla Citrus C Monster for me!).

Best part - the JW Gold from Ben waiting for the end of the weekend for us to celebrate.

* "mycrap" is the original website name Kris and I came up with a couple years ago for this project, which is a combination web-lend program and freecycle-enabler program. We could get only the mycrap.org, and not the .com name, which is why I switched it to rereuse for this part of the project. I'll probably roll the two of them back together for the mycrap.org domain, if I launch the second part later.

Echoes of past hammers

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I remember as a child having my dad bring me home from school because I was sick. He had a work schedule that seemed to work with being home for us kids, though probably not with as much sleep as he'd like or wanted.

One afternoon of being home sick is particularly vivid, as Dad had brought me home because I couldn't see: I had a migraine, with the auras, and it was a doozy. He actually hadn't been working the night shift that day, and hence sleeping when the school called. Instead, he had been working on the upstairs bedrooms, refinishing the attic to make a couple more bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.

After picking me up from school, he plunked me in his bed, shut the door, and went back upstairs to continue working on the bathroom.

The bathroom.

The bathroom, which was on the other side of a pillow, through the door, down the hall, up the stairs, around the corner and through another door.

And every hammer hit on a nail was a BOOM through my skull, the sunlight piercing my eyes through clenched lids and, yes, that pillow.

I remember calling for Dad, and asking him to stop hammering. Pleeeeeeeeease?

He did.

Now, fast forward to today, two days after one of the worst migraines I've had in a long time, a mere 36 hours after the ebb of the day long blindness, my vision restored until the next wave. I'm reminded again of the memory of that migraine years ago, listening to Kris' practicing thrum through my head, bouncing between ears before finally leaving.

I let Kris practice. If I concentrate hard enough, maybe I won't notice the constructive interference happening in my head...

First photo of 2008

Daily Photo

By taking lots and lots of photos as the hour of the new year approached, we managed a good first photo of the new year.

2008 is so way going to be the best year in a long, long time.

Sensing

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Kris' mom baking cookies in the kitchen, with the sounds of Kris' dad playing his banjo to Kris' guitar accompaniment. The hottub humming in the background, just calling for a soak.

Yeah, this is going to be a good Christmas. I'm looking forward to this one as much as I'm looking forward to 2008, which is going to be a fabulous year!

Us!

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IQ

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him: "It's an Intelligence Quotient."

*blink*

*blink* *blink*

me: "So what's the denominator?"

"Yes! You knew what I was talking about! Hey, wait, are you writing this down? How many of my crazy sayings end up on your blog?"

"Uh, some?"

Overheard at work

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Heard at work:  "I have a reasonably large body with a lot of small attachments..."

We were cracking up.

Kris

Lazy day

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Ah, a lazy Sunday. The bestest.

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