Back in November my impulsive inner child decided she wanted a kitten. The Captain came home that night to be greeted by this face -
He instantly fell in love with her, of course, (who wouldn’t?) and all was happy at our little house.
For a short time.
Posted by Stacey in Adventures in Adulthood, Fur Babies, Memoir, Random
Day 1: Attend my first Intermediate HTML class. Discover that the final project is building a web site with requirements such as “Must have at least one use of event-based ‘feature’ javascript,” “Must have at least 8 examples of ‘SEOed’ text / markup,” and “Must work in both Internet Explorer 6/7 and Firefox with AND without javascript.” Hyperventilate and consider dropping class.
Day 8: Attend second class. Still in state of shock from reading syllabus. Come out of coma long enough to realize I haven’t done much of anything yet and I’m probably in over my head. Decide to wing it.
Posted by Stacey in Adventures in Adulthood, Blog Building, Geek Stuff, Memoir, Web Page Design
To anyone who’s ever said, “I’ll do it myself!” I salute you . . . you crazy son of a bitch.
Long ago I determined that a childhood love of Legos means that I have the makings of a mechanical engineer and can therefore build anything. In my defense, given enough time and an instruction booklet in English, Spanish, French, and Dutch, I usually am able to construct something like the picture on the box. That doesn’t mean I have an easy go at it, of course, as I was reminded when I dug up this journal entry this afternoon:
Posted by Stacey in Adventures in Adulthood, Crash & Burn, Memoir
I remember that as a teenager I thought the lowest form of self-debasement was putting on a chicken suit and dancing outside a dry cleaners to help increase business. (It wasn’t until I became a school mascot for a night that I realized that no one knows who’s actually in the costume, so your dignity isn’t really compromised.)
Nowadays, I flinch the same way whenever I see the Valtrex chick. I couldn’t say how lucrative a business starring in those commercials might be, but I doubt it’s enough money to be forever thereafter known as the “herpes girl.” I mean, even if you actually HAVE herpes, do you really want the whole world to know about it?
