Fan Girl Wannabe

My all-in-one printer finally died. Since I use it for work, I asked my manager for permission to get a new one. The most likely replacement part was $92 and a whole new printer was $120. Unfortunately, the new printer also required all new ink, because they don't make my model anymore. So I ordered the newer model, the 6600 instead of my trusty 6500.

Was it naïve of me to think the newer model would have all the same features as the previous model? Apparently so. I paid extra for 2nd day delivery, and it arrived late Tuesday. Yesterday morning I set it up, stripped off all the packaging (the quick-start card is very specific) and tried it out. My 2-page document printed on 2 pieces of paper. "Oh yeah, I need to change that setting so it will automatically print two-sided."

Um. Nope. Can't change that setting. It doesn't DO THAT!!!

After much searching, I find a list of footnotes in tiny print. Number 13, the last note says automatic two-sided printing is only available on model 6700.

facepalm 4EVER.

From July 2 to 7, I was in Nashville, TN for DH's family reunion. The reunion was for his mother's side of the family, and many of the cousins there he hadn't seen for 25-40 years. His maternal grandfather had settled in Macon, GA, and the states of South Carolina, North Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, and Texas were heavily represented. So, his family has become southerners by default over the years.

It takes a long time to become a southerner. I lived with DH in S. Carolina for over 12 yrs, and I never managed it. He was originally from Maryland, and had moved there 20 yrs earlier than I did, and was not fully assimilated (I'm pretty sure if he had been, we wouldn't have been together this long). We've been in WI for 14 yrs now, and I think it only took about 2-3 yrs, 5 max for us to be assimilated. It's easy to point out the clique-ishness, how the famed "hospitality" is superficial, the conservative politics, the preponderance of churches, and the ever-lasting racial prejudice. They'll nice you to death, and call you hon or shug, but they'll tear you apart at the least sign of non-conformance. The first thing you're asked upon meeting someone new is "where do you go to church?" If you're not part of the flock, you're fair game for whatever chicanery or moral judgment they feel like imparting. Do I sound bitter or cynical? In over 12 yrs, I became truly close to one person other than DH, and she was originally from Ohio. This wasn't for lack of trying, but I am and always will be a California-tree-hugging-liberal-bisexual- Yankee-feminist. I will never be enough of a southern belle to live comfortably in that culture, no matter how many servings of grits, fried okra or greens I consume.

Recently, DH has been making noise about missing the south and his family, and wondering if we might migrate back there "someday." My gut reaction was "HELL NO" with all of the above flooding my brain at the mere suggestion. And yet, I miss the magnolias and dogwoods and azaleas something fierce. My dad is there with his steps and step-grands in addition to DH's family. "How bad could it be?" whispers the little voice in my head. And then we go to Nashville.

We had a lovely time, mostly. It would have been better with about half the rain (rained steadily for all but our arrival and departure days). The downtown, touristy area was fun, with live music in every venue, and surprisingly tasty local brews. The scenery was pretty, the traffic was annoying, but aside from downtown areas, there is no walking or biking to your destination. The south is more spread out and sprawling and reliant on automobiles than even California. But. There were two encounters with DH's family members that snapped me right back to reality:

1. I spent a fair amount of time chatting with a cousin who is one year older than me, so you'd think we'd have some things in common. And we did. She asked me a lot about my job, and I was happy to discuss it. She grasped the concept of what I do and what my company does pretty quickly and had thoughtful questions. When she asked why we moved to WI, I explained I was transferred by my job of the time, and we loved it so much that when that job ended, we stayed. The next day, she had an equally interesting chat with DH, centered on his bone marrow transplant and how grateful we are that we ended up in such a stellar location for the treatment of his type of cancer. After which, she came up to me and said, "I thought you told me you moved for your job, but after talking to DH, I now know you moved for his medical condition." I reiterated that we did move for my job, and it was several (7) years after the move that he was diagnosed and treated. His health had nothing to do with our decision to move or stay. She would have none of it. We had moved for him and his reasons alone. God had put us on that path. I had forgotten how easily my wants or needs or talents would be dismissed for the male-based narrative of the southern culture. I spent a few more frustrating minutes trying to right her misconception, and then gave up. I left that encounter feeling that even the fact that I'm a rock star at my job, which allows me to fund/finance all the medical drama of the past 7 yrs has no merit. I only have this job so that DH could survive his tribulations, it has nothing to do with my ability.

2. We brought a bottle of Bos Meadery Pomegranate Pyment to share with certain family members we knew would appreciate it (mostly all are DH's nephews and nieces). I was carrying it around and pouring out samples to whomever wanted, when one of DH's uncles expressed interest.
"What is mead?"
"It's honey wine, would you like to try some?" I went into my usual spiel about mead, and how this is called pyment because it also has fruit added. He kept staring at the label, and finally asked, "but why do they call it a 'meadery'?"
"Because that's the name of a place that makes mead."
"But why don't they call it a winery?"
"Because it's not really wine, it's made from honey, so it's called mead." At this point I felt like I was conversing with a toddler. The uncle was older of course, but he was by no means doddering. In fact, he's still a practicing Dr.
"Well I had no idea they could grow grapes up in Wisconsin."
"Um. There are no grapes in mead. It's fermented honey. This has pomegranate for flavoring, but no grapes."
"But isn't Wisconsin to cold for grapes?"
"Actually, we have some thriving wineries in Wisconsin, but this isn't wine. It's mead." He finished his sample and wandered away, which seriously was a good call on his part, as I was about to go postal with frustration.

And that's it in a nutshell. No matter how knowledgeable or skillful I am on any given topic, my gender automatically trumps all cards. No man will follow a woman out of the south for her job, and mansplaining is a way of life. If there are mixed genders in the conversation, then no matter what, the man will be the most knowledgeable and informed and have the most correct opinions. After that, knowledge and veracity are assigned by age. The younger person will never contribute anything of worth to the conversation, much less win an argument. Knowing what I know, feeling what I feel, why would I ever voluntarily live there again?

eta: DW isn't letting me use the rich text editor, and it's also not taking my html for the cut tag. argh.

Attempted to go to bed at a reasonable hour - 10ish last night, what with the lack of sleep on Mon night and the early start to the day. However, as we were heading that way, the girl comes home and announces her mini tire blew out just down the street. Le sigh. La drama. Whatev. She's a big girl, she's made her choices this month, she's going to have to figure something out for herself before I shell out anymore cash.

Get in bed. What's that noise? Apparently M, the neighbor is doing something in his garage. From the banging around, he's looking for something. I'm sure it will quit soon (he finds it or gives up, right?) Wrong. Now there is the distinct sound of a grinder on metal. This goes on for awhile. A long while. I try meditating it out of my awareness. DH is working on his own issue (tooth pain) so the noise is worse for him, with the added bonus of sounding like a dentist's drill. (He did call the dentist yesterday, only to learn that the office is closed for vacation this week.)

Around 11:30, DH says, "I'm so glad M has nothing better to do than grind metal at this time of night," which is followed sometime after by blessed silence. Woah, my ears are ringing. Okay, we can do this thing. We both readjust position for maximum comfort. It's about 11:55. Then, I don't know what, but it sounded like a CHAIN SAW started up next door. "OH. MY. GOD!" DH jumps out of bed, puts on his slippers, and stomps out into our driveway.

"HEY! DON'T YOU KNOW IT'S PAST MIDNIGHT?! GET A !##$!#!!**% CLUE AND QUIET DOWN! Then he stomps back into the house still yelling about people thinking building a FRAKKIN BOAT in their garage in the middle of the night is a good idea.

Blessed silence again. I'm thinking the neighbors in at least the 3 closest houses to ours are quietly cheering for DH.  Of course, sleep does not come easily to the justifiably riled.

Should be doing morning yoga, would rather be sleeping.

Geez!  I've been working my ass off since WisCon!  So, 

panel reports = no 
keeping up with flist = I see you writing, but I ain't got time to read much ::pout::
birthday wishes to friends = no on lj, yes in RL
mush brain = yes
second season of Weeds finished = no
"A Companion to Wolves" read = yes, reviewed = no  (and boy do I have a hell of a lot to say about this book!)
"Multiple O" (play @ Broom Street Theater) = hilarious and waaaay too close to RL
Sheryl Crow concert with the girl last night = excellent (with added side of awesome mother/daughter bonding, and cool covers of old songs)
septic system inspection completed on time = don't even think about it
inheriting new projects at work = I can haz day off now?
zombie project count = 2 (projects that were dead, and now are neither dead nor alive ::sigh::)
pounds lost = -2.5
hours slept between 0600 Wed and 1800 Thurs = 4 + 2
government stimulous $ received to date = 0

Dammit!  Today is supposed to be the first outdoor ABDC event of the year.  A Mothers' Luncheon Al Fresco in our backyard.  And sure, we can seat all 11 attendees (barely) at the indoor table, but I've been looking forward to the outdoor dining for about 2 months now.  I have flowers! and white linens! and wine glasses that were supposed to sparkle in the mid-day sun, while the lilac bush perfumed the air. ::sigh::

Instead, I awoke to the pitter patter of rain on the windows, grey skies and the front door rug draped over the bush by the front door getting soaked.  Also?  Twice before going to bed last night, I reminded the boy to make sure the dishwasher would run before morning.  I didn't want to have to wait to empty and start reloading it this morning with guest arriving at 11:30.  So you can imagine my dismay and ire, upon finding dirty dishes in the dishwasher at 7:30 am.  Happy Mother's Day to me.

We managed to rehang our biggest piece of original art in the great room this morning.  This piece was a wedding present, and in 20 yrs it has hung in the breakfast room, over the mantle (twice) at the top of the stairs, and now over the sofa.  I hope to finish choosing and framing the black and white portraits for the entrance hall soon.  DH did a nice job on the two-tone paint, and I can't wait to see the final dressed-up result.  We think we'll get our newest acquisition hung at the top of the stairs before guests arrive too.

Okay. I'm off to dress the table, play with flowers and prep the "Soup with No Water."  Today's theme is "What would you like to serve your mother?"  This soup is my mother's favorite.  Or it's her favorite thing to serve me.  Or its her favorite thing to serve when she's showing off.  Or maybe it's all of the above.  Anyway, when I told her last weekend about the theme, she asked, "oh, then what are you serving me?" When I said "the Soup with No Water, of course."  She squealed, "Yay!" and clapped her hands.  So that's one motherly vote of approval. :)  Too bad it's only a virtual meal for her, since she is on the coast and I am not.

Last thing, I dreamt I went to a tattoo parlor with my mom to see about getting my tattoo finally.  I've been back and forth about deciding what to get and where to get it.  In my dream, I had decided on the rainbow infinity sign that I picked out the last time I was seriously considering this, and the spot at the outside top of my calf that was my original tattoo location (but was intended to be a comma butterfly).  I had chosen the infinity symbol for the back of my neck at the base.  I didn't get the tattoo in my dream, because we had gone in at the spur of the moment, and I didn't have the pic with me.  But I made an appointment to go back.  It's an odd dream to me, because my mother would never be caught dead in a tattoo parlor, and I hadn't given the tattoo question any thought in months.  I'll have to think about this one.

I'm so fuzzy-headed right now. Last night, we got into the hot tub around 9, and it was sooo lovely. The air was warm and breezy (balmy even) and the water was just the right amount of hot, and we both nodded off. So we decided to come in and go to bed. In bed before 10 and the kids were already tucked in their rooms with the lights out. So peaceful. It was too warm for jammies, so the cool soft sheets were caressing my skin. DH was out like a light.

10:26 phone rings - I awaken and have to pee.

11:06 phone rings - I awaken from strange dream and have to pee.
The girl is in the basement, claiming she was looking for her blanket, with phone in hand. "Who was on the phone?" "It was that guy again. I hung up on him." "Hmmm. Who was it earlier?" "It was him." Great. We haven't heard from 'that guy' in at least a week. He was stalking the girl by phone. At first he was stupid about it and we got his cell phone number on our caller ID. All her guy friends called him up and left threatening messages. Then he blocked his name and number. We don't usually answer any "Private Name, Private Number" calls, but when you're asleep, you forget to check. DH has told him the calls were being traced. We've all hung up on him. Thought he'd finally got over it and quit. No such luck.

11:47 phone rings - I awaken and bellow into the phone "who is this?" "Is Mavis there?" "No one in this house is going to speak to you at this time of night!" CLICK. Dammit. Newfangled cordless phones. Hanging up is not nearly as satisfying when you can't slam the phone into the cradle to cut the connection.
AND. I have to pee. Come back from my 3rd trip to the bathroom, and realize I'm cold enough for jammies now. Fuck. Probably the last night of the year I'll be able to sleep nekkid, and it's ruined. And my peaceful easy feeling is ruined. And my good night's sleep is ruined.

05:03 I awaken because guess what? I have to PEE! That is the last time I drink a quart of water after dinner. Hey, I was thirsty. Mavis gets herself up at 0530 to shower. Rupert doesn't need to get up til 0600 today, so I have about an hour left to sleep. Pull the blanket up and pass out. At 0625, DH comes in to get dressed for work. Which means I have to get up too, get dressed and drive him there. Because I've got to buy groceries today, and the store is near his job, and I'm trying to make all my trips in the car do at least double duty. $3/gallon for gas. Cripes.

Stumbled through a light grocery trip, came home, put up the stuff, ate some breakfast, read some LJ, and this. Now I'm going to shower. Because I want to be presentable when I run downtown for my other errand. I think I'll stop by A Woman's Touch while I'm there as a reward to myself for such a crappy night. I haven't been in so long, that everything will look new and exciting. As opposed to just exciting ::g::