the latest from the Borg

After a few weeks at the newish job (a shift from writing marketing copy to policies/procedures copy), friends have asked me what it's like. I don't have a really good answer for them; not yet, anyhow.

The job has its positives: nobody micro-manages me and I have reasonable work deadlines. But what frustrates me is that I wasn't able to just walk into the job and do it without asking questions. This may sound unreasonable, but since I returned from the golden shores of Australia, I never met a writing job I couldn't do better than my predecessors, and without major assistance from others.

I suppose it's stupid to let this bother me. I'm not the sort who dreams of a corner office, and I don't mind admitting my lack of workplace ambition. (My ambitions lie elsewhere, but that's another subject.) But I hate having to ask others if a policy change only applies to conventional loans, or to FHA and VA too - stuff like that.

And there are still too many fricking Snoopys around the office. I came in this morning to find a stuffed Snoopy on my desk. He is wearing a t-shirt that says ONE Getalife. WTF?

no night rider jokes, please

One unforeseen advantage of the Texas Rangers' participation in the World Series is that, during the game, the streets of Dallas are noticeably deserted. This means I can take my motorcycle out after dark without worrying about navigating through heavy traffic.

The reason for all this is that, historically, novice motorcyclists usually get into accidents during the first six months after they get their license, and usually these accidents happen at red lights. Therefore I prefer to practice navigating my first intersections with minimal competition.

So far, the closest I've come to an accident is in my own driveway. And this was because Jessie the porch cat wouldn't move out of my way.

Before I forget: if you're wondering if I'm one of those types that ride unprotected, see below. I have no idea why the laptop camera couldn't focus on the helmet.

What my cats are doing while I'm away

I was all the rage in the 70s

Reading Ian's comment about how my eyes change color during sex, I suddenly feel like a cross between a mistress and a mood ring.

Vow of celibacy? What vow of celibacy?

Recently I've become a fan of early morning sex. In the past, I never really liked it, mainly because I was so terribly self-conscious. I know it sounds neurotic, but I was convinced that men were only aroused by women with their hair and makeup done. (Like my first husband.)

Ian came by around 5:30 this morning, tasting delightfully of blueberries as he'd snagged a muffin on his way over. Early morning congress with a large, warm man who smells good and has rough hands was an extremely pleasant way to be awakened. My work colleagues even noticed how cheerful I was this morning.

Afterwards, I confessed to him that I had always been concerned about how I must look to him at 5:30 am. His answer surprised me: he told me that I was especially attractive to him in the early mornings, as my eyes became a darker shade of green when I became aroused.

"It's really erotic to watch," he said. "I've never seen it before."