Poppy Cedes

Way back when I lived in Vermont I used to post to this blog about 4 billion times a day and respond to EVERY comment that anyone ever left me, because I was so bored with my entire daily life of non-challenge and both personal and professional/bureaucratic apathy that I had the time to do so.

Now I am lucky to have the time, gumption, and something I consider worth posting about each day. And all that time I used to have for responding to comments is now spent working at a job that actually requires my brain power on a minutely basis or I’m underground where I don’t have access to the interwebs. So when I do have time for blogs I tend to read my friends’ and family members’ blogs and leave comments there instead.

I used to feel bad about my inability to respond to your comments anymore, but then I finally let my mind freestyle for a bit and came to the realization, which I just semi-defended-by-just-passingly-mentioning-on-Sarcastica’s-blog, that I am the one who initiates a conversation here and you, my dear friends, are the responders! And it’s your choice to read what I say here and leave me a comment, so it needs to be my choice as well to have anything witty or responsive to say to you in return.

I hope I just expanded your thought on the matter, or helped you realize that I am singing in your same chorus.

If you don’t agree, feel free to leave me a comment saying so! (Sneaky, aren’t I?)

I was looking through my photos and noticed something.

This was me on March 25, 2008 in Tennessee with my mom and stepdad:

This was me a year later on May 23, 2009 in Washington DC with my BFF Bdogg:

It’s important to remember where you came from, but sometimes it confuses me why I let myself live a life I didn’t want to live for quite so long. It’s not that I didn’t love all the people in my life back then, or didn’t love myself, or didn’t love my girls… I just didn’t feel like me yet. And now I do.

I’m going to Vermont in a little over a week and will be seeing some of the people who knew me best while I lived there, including my Tennessee parents who have, ironically, seen me the most of everyone since I left, except perhaps Break Boy and Knitting Girl. I’m curious to see if there are any dire consequences for my friends and family to me becoming myself. I’m guessing for some people they won’t be able to accept me for me, will see something regressive rather than progressive, but for everyone else they will just be glad that I am happy and that I am truly enjoying life outside of the norm that most everyone I grew up with chose and continue to choose for their life. I am proud of so many of my friends and family for making the choices they wanted to make so that they became the people they wanted to be, and I secretly hope they are happy I finally have that too.

This is try 2 of the panda post. I have no idea why it doesn’t feel like showing up on my blog, only in my feed.

A weekend away for the girls to play from Poppy Cede on Vimeo.

It’s 17 minutes and 26 seconds of me talking. If you wanna skip it, probably the photos kinda tell a bit of the story too. :) B is Bdogg, in case you needed the reminder.

A weekend away for the girls to play from Poppy Cede on Vimeo.

It’s 17 minutes and 26 seconds of me talking. If you wanna skip it, probably the photos kinda tell a bit of the story too. :) B is Bdogg, in case you needed the reminder.

Breakfast of Popstars: Coke and peanut M&M’s.

Tip of the day: if the vending machine won’t take your money call it a little bitch and try again. Seems to work every time in NYC. Your city results may vary.

Well wish for you: I am away for the long weekend doing fun things in a new-to-me city while Dawg and the kittos hold down the fort. I hope you all have a wonderful long American weekend or short non-American weekend.

I was reading an article in New York Magazine about distractions and was reminded that every interruption you experience can be the equivalent of a 25-minute distraction to what you are trying to accomplish. On a day when I am feeling Hilly enough (she’s trying to be less snarky, so I think I’ll need to pick up some of that slack) I do believe I will tell the very next person who calls me or walks up behind me and talks at the back of my head that I am going to dock their salary 1/4 hour for each time they do so again, and that it’s actually a bargain for me to only charge them for 15 minutes of time. And then I am going to say BUT NO GIVE-BACKS and then randomly walk up to them at work and ask them dumb questions like, “have you seen the spatula? oh, hmm, here it is…” and “I heard there’s a vampire bat in the building and I’d really like to be friends with it but I can’t find it, can you help me with that?” and “what’s your bank account number? I wanna see if you have sufficient funds for my new Delorean.” and “does my butt look cute in this?” but never turn around to show them my butt.

By the way, in case you went to read that article up above, here’s the info about The Great Boston Molasses Tragedy of 1919.

Oh, and I won’t see Terminator until after the holiday weekend so please don’t tell me what happens in the comments, thanks.

It all started with an email from my boss after he was away for a week, up through yesterday. It was titled “is everything ok?” and said “if anything is wrong please tell me.” I thought it was a JOKE because I had emailed him updates the whole time he was gone and I said hi to him when he got in and said hi to me, so I laughed it off and didn’t answer it. And then HE FORWARDED IT TO THE DIRECTOR AND CC’D IT TO ME AND COMPLAINED THAT I DIDN’T ANSWER HIM. The director had to read the email 5 times, still didn’t understand, then called my boss and asked him what the hell that was about. I emailed the director saying “I have no idea how to respond to that.” There are many theories as to why my boss did this, and none of them are good. He avoided me for the rest of the day, until the very end, when we had a regular discussion about work stuff. *shrug*

A few choice nuggets happened between this first incident of the day and 5pm when it was time to go home, including someone daring to ask me “what DO you know?” when she asked me where someone was who sits on the other fucking side of a wall because YO I AM SUPPOSED TO KEEP TABS ON MY CO-WORKERS AND ASK THEM WHERE THEY GO IF THEY LEAVE THEIR DESKS JUST IN CASE CRAZIES COME ASK ME WHERE THEY ARE, along with so many other incidents that at one point in the day I actually googled “phases of the moon” only to learn that the full moon was actually on May 17 so I really had no explanation for why so many crazies were trying to insert themselves into my life. I’m pretty sure the count was up to 10 by 5pm, just at work. I didn’t go anywhere all day, brought my lunch.

So, we’re at 5pm now and the elevators aren’t working and the fire warden gets on the building-wide intercom to tell us there has been a false alarm so it will be several minutes before the elevators are working. So a bunch of us go back in our office space to go down the stairs and that “cool” girl I mentioned before who doesn’t understand about work friends starts bitching at me for not holding the door for her and I fall into the trap, trying to explain that she wasn’t even AT the door when I was near it and she turns to her sister-in-law who also works there are starts high school name calling me, loudly saying I’m crazy and need prozac and that what I say doesn’t matter while I’m walking in front of her. I get to the closest stair landing and I yell at her “we are NOT friends. GO. GO!!!!!” and I give her the “don’t you DARE fuck with the Poppy” look and point down the stairs. And she and her SIL walk on by, not daring to say anything more to me. When we get street level I put in my ear phones and say nothing to anyone around me, just walk off to my own sunset.

And all this waiting to get down to the street makes me late to the train which turns into missing the first train that shows up 10 minutes after I get there because it’s just too jam-packed, but the next train arrives directly on its heels and I get a seat on that one. And we’re going, going, going, and we get to Queens Plaza and there is a huge THUD and people start scattering and other people start exiting the train and I look over and see a woman yelling out the door and then a few minutes later I see a Metro worker calling in whatever happened (it sounded like someone fell down, but who knows) and then we’re on our way and I get home a half hour later than life would normally allow me, not bad not bad, but then I’m supposed to walk up the 4 flights of stairs to the apartment, find my bank card that I left in my jeans pocket this weekend, and walk a city block down and a city block over to the bank to get money that I promised to give to Dawg, since it’s rightfully his, that he needs for 6am tomorrow, but I am so done with the day and so exhausted emotionally that I can’t even stand to think of going back down the stairs… so I check my cash stash and, look what I found!, exactly the correct amount that Dawg needs!

Oh, and there was an incident at home with the smoke alarm, and Georgie got locked in the bedroom, and when she finally got out she sat on my lap and she pushed out a big, fat, juicy TEAR from her eye. SHE CRIED! MY BABY CRIED! Broke my heart. I can’t even explain…

I found this at Brandon’s blog:

I felt soooo bad for Maru! And then… I laughed my head off.

I really like the title of this so I’m not going to change it, but I just wanted you to know that I adore my acorn boots, which has nothing to do with kitties in boxes:

Those foot pad things that claim to take the toxins out of you?

Bamboo pads from Poppy Cede on Vimeo.

Yah, that’s what I think about those.

You’re welcome.

I before E except after C, or when sounding like A, as in neighbor and weigh.

One gram of carbohydrate equals 4 calories.
One gram of fat equals 9 calories.
One gram of protein equals 4 calories.

4-9-4

Except for alcohol: 7 calories per gram.

But that is the only broken rule. Do any food add-up that doesn’t involve alcohol and you will see the math always works out. Math is math. It’s not flexible.

Why am I telling you this? Because I’ve been doubted on more than one occasion lately that if something has zero calories then it has zero (or less than one) carbs. And I will not continue to be doubted on something that isn’t subjective. It’s a fact. At least in this universe. :)