My niece turns one tomorrow (and we just won’t talk about what a shock it is that an entire year could have passed already!), so naturally we bought her a dump truck full of Duplos. Neither of us cared whether it was a ‘girl’ toy or a ‘boy’ toy; it just looked really fun and the pieces were all big enough so she couldn’t eat them.

We flew up to Seattle to deliver the dump truck in person. It wasn’t wrapped, so getting it up there was a bit interesting. The Duplos were in a net bag in the bed of the dump truck, so when I laid it on its side, they spilled out in a little amoeba lump and the whole thing got stuck in the security pass through. Then it didn’t fit in the overhead bin, but luckily the plane was nearly empty, so the flight attendant allowed us to simply belt it into one of the seats. Of course there were the requisite comments about how we were getting a truck for a little girl, suggestions that they put the truck in the aisle as the plane took off, teasing about loading it up with peanuts and giving it a push down the aisle for a ‘self-serve’ approach to flying. Despite all that, the truck made it to Fiona in one piece, and she seemed quite happy to get it. It was full of things that made a satisfying ‘clump!’ when she took them out and dropped them onto the floor. She could gnaw on them without any danger of swallowing or hurting herself. And she quickly learned that some adults will gladly build Duplo towers for her to whack over with glee.

My sister had a birthday lunch for her on Sunday (both she and Bil-2 completely forgot that it was Super Bowl Sunday, and quite frankly, so did Richard and I). Her in-laws and Bil-2’s brother and his family came over, filling the house with the noise of three well-behaved but incredibly energetic little boys, and a whole host of adults who were more than happy to make buffoons of themselves just to get a certain little girl to smile. As it was her first birthday, Fiona was given a chocolate cupcake smeared liberally with frosting. She mushed the frosting a bit, having fun with that texture, but once she was given a bit of the cake itself, there was no stopping her. By the time she was done, she’d managed to smear the chocolate goo all over her face, hands, the tray of the high chair, and (much to my delight), her hair as well.

The trip this weekend was a lot of fun, and not just because I got to see my niece coated in chocolate. This weekend, my sister and I took the opportunity to teach Richard something that he will have to know if he is to be a true member of our family.

The game is based loosely on solitaire, in that you play the cards red/black down in front of you, yet build on the aces as well. However, the numbers are a bit different, and when you’ve got sixteen aces laying on the table to build upon from four players, it can get more than a bit confusing.

I don’t know where the game came from, or why it’s called ‘Nerts’, or who taught it to my parents. But as far back as we can remember, my parents have played it, and the game is always the same – a wild and crazy frenzy of people tossing cards and trying to be the first to get rid of the base pile. How many cards you get into the center is just as crucial as being the first to finish, which means if one of the players has long nails, things could get ugly. And yet it always degrades into laughter and teasing, especially to whoever manages to lose. Back when we were kids, my little sister was the one who tended to lose, usually to me. From their conversations, it appears that she regularly trounces her husband. Despite the teasing Richard received the first game we played, he managed to hold his own in game two.

Just a short entry for tonight. Since we will be out of town this weekend and unable to go take the requisite weekly picture of the house, we went out tonight. We walked around with a flashlight, mapping out lighting plans for the upstairs. It seems like every time we go out there, something else comes up that we should really think about, so it’s nice when we can actually get ahead of the game.

As we climbed the stairs we were greeted by a rather fluffy black and white cat. He seemed rather nonchalant about the fact that he was trespassing (although I’m sure he didn’t see it that way). The entire time we were there, he meandered slowly around the upper floor, rubbing against the beams and occasionally coming over to weave around our ankles and remind us that he was there and we really should bend down and pet him.

I know the dangers if he decides to spray somewhere, just as I also know that there is no way we can keep him (or any of his feline friends) away from our house while it’s still unfinished. And actually, I really don’t mind. Somehow it’s almost comforting to know that our house – such as it is right now – has been given the feline stamp of approval. He thought it seemed like a lovely spot to hang out.

Our house is cat-approved. How much better can it get than that?

***************

As you can see, I finally got motivated to redesign this site. I’m not artistic by any stretch of the imagination, so this was put together with help from my oh-so-patient fiance. Regardless of his (greatly appreciated) assistance, doing this sort of thing is forcing me (kicking and screaming, I might add) to learn how to make my own graphics (although I found the background online, and have referenced accordingly), and I’m also having to learn just a little bit more HTML every time I try to do this. Give me another ten years and I might actually be able to do this completely by myself. Maybe. I think.

I get such pleasure from making people’s lives difficult. Okay, it’s not quite what it sounds like – I’m not deliberately cruel and heartless. What I’m doing, however, is forcing people to accept responsibility and understand the full ramifications of what they’re requesting. I merrily escalated a request from one of the other development teams to a number of people who would have been impacted by this change because the person who submitted the change didn’t even want to listen or care about what would happen if we’d simply done as he asked. Once he finally realized that I was actually serious when I said I would not approve the changes he was requesting, because of the impact it would have on everyone else, there was suddenly a breakthrough. I got at least two his group to admit and accept the issue and to deal with it in a more rational manner. It was victory, and these days on this project, I take any victory I can get, no matter how small or petty.

The skies broke open this afternoon. A few of us clustered by the glass doors and watched the rain pound the parking lot, offering good-natured teasing to those poor souls who had to go outside to their cars in that kind of weather. People used to leaving early lingered by the doors, or went back to their desks in defeat, unwilling to brave the deluge, hoping it would calm down. It subsided a bit by the time I left, although the threat of a little water doesn’t bother me too much these days. My hair style is pretty much of the ‘comb it and go’ variety, so it’s not like I’m worried about looking like a drowned rat. I simply scrambled into my car, laughing, and then turned the heat on high.

It felt strange to come home this evening and have nothing to do. The past two days I didn’t drag myself into the house til after 10pm, so exhausted that I pretty much went through the mail and then crawled into bed. The cats have had to content themselves with stomping on me in my sleep, but even that doesn’t completely wake me on days like those have been.

The reason for my late nights these past two days were two meetings – but what a contrast between them. Tuesday night was an SPCA board meeting, which are too often unorganized and emotional. Everything must be discussed to death, and there are times I feel as if I’m reining in hyperactive children to get them to finish a discussion and make a decision before haring off on the next tangent. Despite all of this, though, it’s been better – far better – than I’d expected when I came back. Things are calmer and clearer now than when I left over a year ago, and while I may not necessarily ever look forward to the meetings with excitement, at least I no longer dread them.

In contrast, the meeting I attended last night was calm and ordered. Each committee made its report, and I dutifully took notes, as I hold the same position on both boards. I had to ask a few process checks – simply to familiarize myself with them because this was my first time at this particular meeting. But there was never a feeling of tension or anger. I didn’t feel as if anyone was trying to advance their own political agenda. I was tired when it was over, but that was merely because of the late hour and the too-long day beforehand, not because I was emotionally drained from the meeting itself. It’s a refreshing change. Too bad this one is only six times per year, and the other is so much more often.

Our builder called to make sure we were okay with a slight upgrade in price on the master bathroom marble accessories. A few hundred dollars more? No problem. We may end up nickelng and diming ourselves to death here, but it seems like such a small and inconsequential amount, really. It makes such a difference when you *have* money than when you don’t. I don’t even blink an eye at this sort of thing anymore, except in retrospect, when I look at what I just agreed to and have a brief moment of amazement. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to that feeling.

He also wanted to get the placement of the bathtub valves, a question which we can gleefully add to the list of ‘Things I Never Dreamed I’d Have To Decide’. Did we want them so that you’d see them when you walked into the bathroom, or did we want them hidden on the other side? Uh….huh? As usual, he offered a suggestion, and as usual, Richard and I agreed. I think we amuse him, both of us so clueless about what we’re doing. Heck, neither of us has even owned a house before and here we are, required to make decisions about where the bathtub faucet should go.

On the down side, he did mention that they’re having delays getting the roof sheeted because of the wind. The steepness of our roof strikes again. Wince. I thought all I had to worry about was the rain – never considered the impact of the wind. If we can just get past the roof and the walls, then it doesn’t matter how nasty the weather is. It’s just getting *past* it that seems to be the problem. I don’t suppose it’s too much to hope for, for the weather to just play nice for two weeks. Is that really too much to ask?

So much for his insistence that he wants to mend the rifts between party lines. President “If I Only Had A Brain” Bush has shown his true colors. Apparently the fact that thousands and thousands of women around the world will lose access to the only affordable health care they might have doesn’t matter a bit to him. He’s got his own agenda, and it’s very anti-choice. I suppose the only positive here is that this blatant act means he’s at least willing to take a stand on something. If his first action while in office is any indication of how things will progress for the next four years, the man who replaces him will have an incredible amount of damage to clean up. Our only consolation, I suppose, is that he’ll only have four years, and if we’re incredibly lucky, there’ll be an increase in the number of Democrats come 2002 in retaliation. I have to believe that the American public can’t possibly be so stupid as to elect him to another term. Of course, I’ve been wrong before, but hell, I’ve got to have at least *some* optimism to cling to, right?

And speaking of stupidity, I caved in to my mindless curiosity and watched Temptation Island. I suppose I could lie and say that it was simply because I was tired and there was nothing else on, but the truth is that I actually checked to see what time it was on, and deliberately turned on the TV for the express purpose of watching this show and no other.

The fact that the commercials before and during were all for things like gun and fishing shows and monster truck rallies should have clued me in immediately as to what sort of audience they were aiming for. Hint – this show is *not* marketed to the testosterone deprived. The second fact that should have clued me in was the fact that all the women on the show apparently are required to wear bikinis, and skimpy ones at that.

So I’ll freely admit to stupidity on my part for watching it. But I really have to wonder about the even more glaring stupidity of the four couples who volunteered to be on it in the first place. They agree to go to an island and surround themselves with singles whose only purpose there is to make them be unfaithful. That in itself indicates a lapse of good judgment, but I can forgive them that much because hey, it was a free vacation and the location seemed beautiful. But the sheer stupidity kicked in when you see them kissing the singles, fondling the singles, and generally doing all sorts of things guaranteed to make their respective partners want to either find the nearest knife and connect blade to genitals, or else curl up in a corner, weeping uncontrollably, because they were being filmed. The whole time! And they knew it!

I mean, come on. Regardless of how little you may value your relationship, and how willing you may be to test that whole monogamy thing, most people have the brains to realize that discretion needs to come into play at *some* point. Or, once again, am I simply giving too much credit here?

I don’t often play these silly political games, but there are times when there is no other option. At work, our team and one other came to a decision that is beneficial to both of us. It would mean a few changes to our processes, and some rough spots to iron out, but the benefits of better communication and more efficient work far outweigh the little issues that still remain to be dealt with. We made this decision Thursday, when a rather nasty and glaring error brought the whole thing to a head, and suddenly we were all coming to the same decision, and instead of pointing fingers, we were cooperating, smiling, eagerly planning how to make this work for all of us.

Until, that is, one particular person who, unfortunately, manages that other team, decided that it didn’t matter to him that the rest of us wanted this – he didn’t see the point. This is not the first time he’s literally pulled the rug out from under us, and when of his team members came to me in frustration, my brain suddenly begin to click. As he watched, grinning, I fired off a bubbly happy email to all those who’d been in that meeting yesterday, as well as a few higher-ups in a number of different development teams, gushing all over about how excited we all were to be making this change, how we were all preparing whatever we had to do to make it happen, etc. In other words, I manipulated, shamelessly, with my oh-so-innocent email. If this man had really wanted to press the issue after that, he would have had to explain to all those other people why he was refusing what the rest of us so obviously wanted. I used his own politics against him, and he caved.

I did it for my own selfish reasons – I don’t like this man and probably never will (although the good news is that I’m among the majority there). But I also did it for both development teams because I believe wholeheartedly that what we’re planning is in the best interests of all of us – and it was rather refreshing to get the thumbs up and the secret grins from those under he whom I manipulated, who knew exactly what I’d accomplished for them.

The surprise was receiving an email from an old friend whom I’d lost contact with too many years before. He was the best friend of the guy I’d been dating at the time, and when that boy left to go to medical school, the friend and I hung out. He introduced me to music I hadn’t ever pondered listening to before. The one and only time I ever smoked pot was with him – when I discovered that it didn’t do a darn thing for me and, much like alcohol (which simply puts me to sleep) – I really didn’t see what could possibly be the big thrill. He was in the middle of a rough time in his life and I knew enough to understand that I couldn’t fix it for him, but I could at least be there to listen. I watched him struggle and worried endlessly about him, and when we lost touch, I thought about him often, wondering how he was doing, hoping he’d made his way past all his demons, and even went so far as to search for him occasionally, but never with any luck.

It was wonderful to hear from him after all this time; not only to know that he’s still out there, but to learn how happy he is in his life now. He’s married and a father, and from the sounds of it, quite the doting husband and daddy too. The emails we’ve exchanged back and forth today were full of little tidbits, catching up on all the years we’d missed. Hearing from him again was an unexpected bonus, and I hope that this time we manage to keep in contact and not drift apart.

Warning. The following is a whine – and a really big one. So if you’re not in the mood, you may as well flip to the next entry, or go check out the progress on our house and come back next time. Consider yourself warned.

I’m not sure how to write this without it coming across as a whine. Hence the caveat above.

When we went to the Consulting Conference last year in Las Vegas for the Big Fish that bought us, they gave out awards to some of the consultants. One thing struck me the most about those awards. The only people who ever won anything were the project managers. This was rather telling, but aside from it being just one more reason why I haven’t been thrilled to be acquired by this particular company, I didn’t really give it much more thought once we left. The benefit of being at this particular project is that I’ve been mostly insulated from all the policies and practices of the Big Fish and I’ve been, mostly, able to ignore them.

Last night I ditched an SPCA board meeting to go to a dinner of all the Big Fish’s people. A bunch of managers drove up to see all of us, and I figured that I ought to do all the political nicey-nice and go, even though I would have much rather been at the board meeting. Heck, I would have preferred scouring the bathroom tile, but I digress. It’s not that I don’t like the people – I do. They’re all quite nice – this little crowd that has suddenly sprung up on this project – but it’s the whole schmoozing thing I hate and have always hated.

Dinner wasn’t bad. It was loud and hard to hear people talking, but at least I managed to chat with my manager about things – general small talk, but still, it wasn’t bad. I was having fun, despite the niggling concern that my own manager seems to be stalling every time I ask her for information on expanding my management experience.

But then the Consulting Director stood up. He noted that this project we’re on is the largest one of its kind in the Big Fish. He noted that it’s very high profile and there’s a lot of pressure to succeed. And then he thanked one person for all of the project’s success so far. He thanked the Testing Manager – a man who also happens to be a recognized Project Manager within the company.

It was a direct slap in the face, and it hurt like hell. My coworker and I may not be ‘official’ Project Managers within the Big Fish, but no one on the project from the customer side to those who work under us would argue that we direct development and are, hence, the managers of the project. The man who was singled out manages testing. Nothing more.

I sat there, pasting on a smile, and pretended to be cheerful, but that really drove something home. This company I work for doesn’t apparently care about the actual contribution. They care about the title. And I know that the man who stood up to make that announcement knew darn well what position at least I play on this project. He’s one of the ones who interviewed me for the management job that I didn’t have a shot in hell of getting, and we discussed exactly what my role was.

I talked to my coworker this morning – the one who manages development with me from the technical side. He suggested I send an email, but as you can see from the tone of this entry, it would only have come across as sour grapes; as a whiny little “but how come you don’t like me, wah wah wah”. I simply didn’t know how to respond or to act. All I could think about was what we’d seen in Las Vegas last year, with only the project managers getting recognition.

The thing about this is, it’s not that I necessarily *want* recognition. I am not hoping that someone will single me out and pat me on the head and say ‘ooh. Good job!’. What I want is simply to be given credit for what I’ve done, and to have my coworker get credit for his role as well. I want to know that everything we’ve accomplished over the past year actually means something to our own company. I want to know that we’re not simply going to be relegated to ‘oh yeah, they worked on this project too’ list, simply because we don’t hold the proper title.

And at the moment, I cannot dredge up even the smallest bit of optimism that this will happen.

I’m finally starting to work up some enthusiasm for this whole wedding planning thing. It’s been hard the last few months, considering how much else I’ve had going on, and really, we hadn’t done much (my mom and I) except determine the where and when. Now we have to start doing the ‘what’.

Today, although not a holiday for my own company, was a holiday for the company for which I’m doing this project. Knowing that I’d have no problem working my 40 hours the rest of the week, I decided to take the holiday anyway, despite it not really being approved by my own manager. Besides, I had stuff to do, and most of the people I’d be dealing with weren’t going to be there anyway, or so they said.

So we headed out and ended up spending most of the day at the fabric store. Or at least it felt like most of the day, although in reality I think it was only a few hours. The good news is, at least, that I’ve finally narrowed down colors for the attendants of the wedding. I’d been toying with the whole concept of having each bridesmaid in a different color, but the seamstress was a truly marvelous woman and made a few helpful suggestions that changed my thinking on that. So now everyone will be in one of two colors (depending on whether they’re male or female, and which role they play). And we also found the fabric for my dress – an acquisition that I find more than a bit humorous. After buying it, I was able to go home and proudly announce to Richard that for our wedding, I’m going to be a sofa. And not just any sofa – but a Martha Stewart sofa, no less.

I didn’t realize that upholstery fabric came in such cool brocades, in other words! And we found some gorgeous ribbons to decorate the bridesmaid dresses. And I decided what it is I’ll be getting my bridesmaids for their gifts (and no, ladies, I am not going to tell you before you get them, so don’t ask!).

It was a tiring day (looking a several hundred bolts of fabric and trying to compare hues to fabric patterns can be quite draining. Take my word for it), but at least I’m starting to get into it more. The seamstress came up with a really cute suggestion for our ring bearer (who’ll be three), and I’ve been pondering a few ideas for the outfit for my niece as well. Thoughts of cabinets and wood stain colors and placement of electrical sockets in the house are being shoved aside and replaced with thoughts of candles and flower bouquets and how we’re going to find enough swords for all the groomsmen to have one.

*****

Just as a side note, in case anyone actually wanted to know, it’s been exactly one year since I started this journal. I begun writing simply because I missed writing – because I kept a written journal but my entries into that often were marked by great gaps in time. And I started keeping that written journal because my memory tends to be full of holes (much like a block of Swiss cheese) and my thought was that this would help me to remember when things happened.

Lately I went back and read through all the entries over the past year (okay, so I was really bored at the time). It’s amazing to me how much has changed over the past year since I replaced paper with html and started posting bits of myself for all the world to see. I used to prefer writing to typing. Now, as a result of this journal, I find that it’s easier to pour out my thoughts via keyboard instead of pen.

And it’s also comforting to see that, despite everything else that has changed in my life over the past year (getting engaged, building a house, the evolution of my job), some things (seven fuzzy things, to be exact) still remain the same.

I could write about how this week went – the design sessions hastily planned, emails sent barely two days ahead, and the people who were required to rearrange their schedules at a moments’ notice to fly in.

I could write about how in the two sessions I was to be involved in (and, in fact, lead), only three of the eight participants showed up, and none of us knew exactly what we were supposed to be discussing, or even where to find the appropriate documentation.

I could write about the cheer that one man received when he walked in, carrying the wealth of information to close out one track, and the bemusement on his face because he had come for other reasons, and had never even received the email on these meetings we were in.

I could mention the fury that rose in my throat, pressing against my chest and exploding in my stomach when I learned that politics, once again, took precedence over getting work done in the most efficient way possible, and how my optimism for the success of this portion of the project crumbled into dust upon receiving that news.

I could pour out onto this page all my bitterness at the news, petty joy at my insistance that things continue as planned, relief at how we managed to minimize the amount of work to do within my two teams, frustration at how far we have yet to go, and worry that once again, we will find ourselves overburdened and surrounded by people who refuse to understand what ‘design is frozen’ really means.

But instead I will simply mention that today we slept, both of us exhausted from the too-long week before, rising between naps only to nibble at food and check email before curling back underneath blankets and purring cats to sink back into that half-asleep state where we spent most of the day.

And I’ll note that, despite our worries that the rain storm that has soaked this area all week had put our house on hold, when we drove out to see it, our fears were washed away. We have a roof. All is well.

I went out to lunch yesterday. I sat in a Burger King and ate my chicken sandwich by myself and stared blankly through the window while I chewed. I didn’t have to talk to anyone, or answer any questions. There was no ringing phone, no ding of urgent email arriving in an inbox, no line of people forming beside my table with questions that needed answering.

The fact that I went out to lunch may not seem all that exciting, but it was unusual, simply because lately I don’t leave the building from the time I arrive in the morning til the timeI leave that evening. Often I drive to work in the dark and drive home the same way. My lunches consist of whatever’s been catered for that particular meeting I’m in, or something obtained from the teeny tiny cafeteria here on site, and I don’t go anywhere to eat it because I know that I’ve got too much to do.

Yesterday wasn’t any different. I still had lots to do – planning for the meetings that begin tomorrow and promise to be intense and insane. But even the project manager deserves some time away. And I really did have the best of intentions – I checked out the cafeteria’s offerings, but they didn’t appeal, so I really didn’t have a choice.

Sad that I feel I need to make excuses for leaving the building, though. It’s hard, lately, to separate myself from work. I watch some of the newcomers to the project and it’s a bit odd to see their detachment. I’m not able to do that anymore, not with this project. I’m too deeply entrenched. I’ve been here a year, so I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. I’m still intending to do my best to get out of consulting, but there’s a part of me that also wants to see this thing through. I told Richard that I might do that. I wonder if I’d be shooting myself in the foot though by pondering postponing moving out of consulting; although what chances I have at actually escaping into management I really don’t know. I do know that I’m good at what I’m doing – but that would continue to require travel. If I could have it go exactly my way, I’d become a conditional Project Manager – go thru the training so I could get the title, but insist that it has to be local.

I hate that I can’t seem to make up my mind anymore. I go back and forth, mainly because of my attachment to this project than any actual desire to stay in consulting. I wish in a way that I could have the decision made for me. For now, all I can do is keep my options open, and take any opportunity to improve my chances. Then I’ll just deal with it as it comes.

Taking a great stride forward in this whole wedding-planning-thing, my mom and I talked to a seamstress on Sunday. She seems quite nice – very direct and open. She came with an armful of outfits for us to see, and a two-month old little girl with fly-away hair and a very serious stare. Seems grandma (the babysitter) was sick, so little Evie had to come along. My mom didn’t mind a bit – she was more than happy to play ‘grandma’ and hold the little one while momma went out to the car to get some other things. Anyway, after spending an hour talking outfits and themes and such, we’ve decided to go with her. The list of outfits is starting to grow – bridesmaids, groomsmen, the ring bearer and the flower girl, the ushers, my parents, and then of course there’s also my dress and Richard’s outfit.

Richard was banished from the house while she was there. I don’t think he minded too much – gave him a chance to go lurk at a bookstore and drink coffee. I’m doing my best to keep him from seeing my dress before the wedding. It’s not going to be elaborate, and it’s certainly not a ‘normal’ wedding dress – but I still would like to keep it a surprise. He doesn’t even get to see the bridesmaid dresses beforehand – well, not if I can help it, at any rate.

We’ll go shopping for fabric this weekend (Monday, actually, as it’s a holiday for me. I could go into work I suppose, but after the way this week looks like it will go, I think I’m going to need the day off). This means everyone needs to scramble to get some preliminary measurements. I don’t like this anymore than anyone else – I was hoping to shrink my measurements a bit before this was necessary. I won’t let it stop me though – I’ll still keep plugging away at that task. She can always take the dress in later. I’m not sure how she’ll handle the outfits for the kids in the wedding, since the tendency of children to have growth spurts is directly proportional to the urgency of knowing what size they will be because you need to have them wear something soon.

But this has raised one big issue. This means I’m finally going to have to commit to colors – something I’ve really been unable to do up til now. Basically, my main constraint is that whatever they wear, they can’t clash with the dark green carpet of the church. My intention is to have the bridesmaids all in different colors, and I’m going to try to avoid solids – preferring a simple pattern for each. I’ve at least narrowed it to five colors, but trying to match hue to maid is where I’m having some of the biggest difficulty. Lucky for them though, it’s not quite enough of an issue to make me want to toss in the towel and make them all wear froths of orange sherbet crepe…yet.

The men are easy – we can actually put them all in the same color and it’ll be fine – the ushers will be in the same thing as the groomsmen, but in a slightly different color theme, and Richard will be in similar attire too. I suppose I could give up and do all the maids in the same color as well, but I’m finding myself strangely reluctant to do that. I’m also hoping that between all our friends, we’ll have enough swords for all the groomsmen to wear and I’m hoping to find one for my dad – I think he’d get a kick out of it if he could wear a sword while walking me down the aisle.

This will be one hurdle covered – assuming we can get all the fabric we need. Getting a photographer is the next big challenge – considering my time constraints these days.