www.dennfinn.com is now up and running

I will no longer be updating entries on this blogger site. Please visit me at www.dennfinn.com

Thanks for reading (all four of you)!
And many thanks to Blogger and Google for getting me hooked on the godforsaken, self-indulgent crap!

We're Moving (Cyber-ly, at least)

Big changes are coming to this website. Ryan is getting me set up in wordpress, making a fancy professional layout, and I will have a real actual blog instead of a blogspot site! He’s good for things like that – and to reach the top shelf and to rub my back occasionally.

The new web address will be www.dennfinn.com . I will keep my millions of readers posted.

Make the Cos Proud

Look, I am going to Mexico in seven weeks. So I have seven weeks to get a least a little less jiggle in my jello. Ryan says, “Who cares? You’ll be with me. I love you.” But he misses the point entirely. I am a deadline-driven person. I need a goal to motivate me. I have seven weeks to see what I can do to shrink my large thighs so I feel at least a little cute when spending 4 days on the beach with a margarita in my hand.

I know I should diet, but that is so hard because I live with the human eating machine. I know I should give up alcohol because it is full of empty calories, but I do not want to have to kill people here at work. I looked into doing Gwyneth Paltrow’s “cleanse” yesterday, but that shit is $350.00. I don’t have that kind of extra cash lying around and if I did, I would buy new FLOR tiles for the living room in my quest for my "Revolutionary Road" mid-century modern redo.

So I started running in earnest last Saturday, and have been diligent about it this week. The thing is I already feel better, am sleeping better, and am more cheerful. I do not know WHY I forget this stuff when I am laying on the couch moaning in misery.

Get thee off the couch and work up a sweat! It is a natural mood lifter. While I have not reached that mythical point of “endorphin rush” yet, I am enjoying myself and enjoying that I can run further each day without wanting to die. Or pull a Tonya Harding on one of the petite things in their cute workout gear that pass me while chatting on their cell phones.

I have been taking the Brucester with me to the rail-trail Robert E. Lee because it is shady and soft and we can tromp in the water when he gets hot. The only downside to this is that it takes fully two hours with him as opposed to one hour of working out if I was by myself. That is a big chunk of time out of my evening. But I feel so guilty if I am lacing up my running shoes with the intent of going without him. Ryan says I shouldn’t, that he is happy regardless, but that is one of the main reasons I got a dog. I wanted a running partner, somebody who could make the monotony of running a little less so... monotonous.

Bruce KNOWS what putting on my tennis shoes means. It means we’re going for a walk ohmygosh we’re going for a walk HOLY COW I can’t stand how awesome it is THAT WE ARE GOING FOR A WALK!!!! He gets so excited, but does not get in the way while I lace up, he stands there watching, panting patiently, even if he is about to burst with joy. The one time I left to go for a run without him he stood at the front door, staring at me with dejection. And no, I am not anthropomorphizing my dog here. He was deeee-pressed.

Therefore, I have resolved myself to spending two hours an evening at the park with the dog, sweating and getting stinky creek water on me every day. And the best part is that he likes me more than Ryan this week. Although I am leaving this afternoon for West Virginia without him, so by the time I get back Sunday, he’ll be Ryan’s bitch again. That fickle turd.

Way to Enable

Ice Cream for lunch. Now THAT is an upward spike in my otherwise flat-lining day. Not Cotton Candy Ice Cream, though. That lesson was already learned.

Still Busy. Still Annoyed. Add hungover and tired to that, and I have a...ummm, not really a trifecta – is quadfetca a word? If it is not, do I get credit for inventing it?

Actually, given all the downers in my day, I am in an Excellent Mood, apparently an Excessive Capitalizing Mood, and am now on a sugar and dairy high. Yippeeeeeeee!

Ryan and I went to see “500 Days of Summer” last night at our favorite theater, Landmark. It was an excellent flick, and my girl-crush on Zooey Deschanel is now on par with all the other intellectual-indie-music hipster males' Zooey crushes. Zooey Deschanel is to hipsters as Pamela Anderson is to WWE fans (or maybe Megan Fox these days). The fact that Ms. Deschanel is marrying Ben Gibbard from Death Cab For Cutie only makes her hotter to a certain Pitchfork Media Reading/Urban Outfitters Shopping/Wes Anderson Fan Male. Like my husband. I had to pick his jaw up off the floor of Theater 5 more than once.

The movie was almost pornographic for that demographic of men, with lingering close-ups of her giant, long-lashed, baby blue eyes, her perfectly tousled bangs, her lower lip, and gauzy hints of thigh. Hell, she made ME weak in the knees.

After the movie, we met Jackie at 13.5%, which may become my go-to weeknight spot for a relaxing beverage, after the Windup Space. They earn every penny of their $8 corking fee, by keeping the white wine the perfect cool temperature and topping your glass off before you even realize you need it. Way to go 13.5%, make it easier for me to drink more!

Listening: She & Him, because I haven't had enough of a Zooey overload yet. Gosh, I love this record!

Here I go again, posting my whole life on the internets.

Hectic day. Again. I do not know if this is due to the nature of my job, or the nature of a modern workplace, but I seem to have these days – heck, weeks - where I am completely swamped all day, yet have nothing to show for it. If I am away from my computer for more than five minutes, when I come back I have eight emails and multiple voice mails that need my immediate attention. It is, quite frankly, annoying.

We went to lunch at the Mount Vernon Stable to celebrate a coworker’s retirement after 50-some odd years in the engineering industry, and when I got back it was obvious that my boss was a little unhappy I was gone. On my lunch break. To celebrate a coworker’s retirement. Ugh.

Sometimes I struggle not to get caught up in all the mayhem of the workplace. I know I am over-reactive by nature, get very cranky when stressed, and feed off others’ panic and stress. But I have made a concerted effort the past couple of years not to let that happen. I usually fail miserably.

When it gets right down to it, I just don’t care that much about it all. I think the people here who are SO into their work that it affects their health, or their decisions to cancel vacations, or sacrifice their quality of lives with their families just have a different set of priorities than me. And I do not have such a high opinion of myself that I think the place will fall apart without me. Because it would not. The company would survive. And that is true of ANY employee here, even though many of them will swear otherwise, and I think they place their self-worth on that fact.

I do not love my work. I do my work to be able to do the things I love. And maybe that is not the right perspective to have on life. I dunno, maybe I should be actively trying to find that “calling”... but I do not really think I have one. At least not a practical, realistic one. CLEARLY, THIS STINKING BLOG IS NOT SUPPORTING ME YET. Come on! Where is my following? My mass advertising? Where is my ranking in Forbes Most Powerful Women in Media? Oh the hell!

Listening: Rush Limbaugh on previously mentioned retiring coworker’s radio in his office. What a doofus majorus (Rush, not the coworker. But he WAS listening to him, so....). I think I need a hot, steamy shower of NPR to cleanse my sullied soul.

Ahhh, Monday. You cruel thing.

Hello to computing, hello to engineering. Goodbye to playing in the park and Back to the Future Marathons. Heartbreaking, ain’t it?

Ahhh, Internets, so much to write, so little time to do it.

Like how transcendence was achieved again Friday night at the Honfleur Gallery in the Anacostia Neighborhood in DC as the Bellevederes played a much better set than our previous outing. We were there for a gallery opening of some pretty gay photography. I am not being dismissive here. They were photos of young gay hipsters in odd poses, like bobbing for apples in whitie-tighties. The upside of this – gays like music that is fun to dance to. Again, not being dismissive, that just seemed to be my experience Friday night. I need more gay friends.

And like, since the Brucester was alone for about 10 hours on Friday, I vowed to make it up to him for the remainder of the weekend. I also vowed that this Saturday began my quest for fitness by September 20th – the day we leave for Mexico. This means running five times a week. No Bullshit. That is the only thing that works for me; hard-core, dedicated running. So on Saturday, I took Bruce to the shady, soft rail-trail at Robert E. Lee Park, and ran to the reservoir and back, with stops at the creek for some swimming, splashing and fetching to keep the dog cool, happy, and tired. It is a perfect trail for the dog and for me – I can take him off-leash, it is shady, soft railbed is perfect for my knees, and he has multiple locations he can jump in the Jones Falls and cool off.

Yesterday, though, Bruce was like to die and go to dog heaven, as we took him up to Loch Raven Reservoir to run the stretch of roadway the county closes every Sunday to vehicular traffic. We ran a bit, and as soon as he saw the lake to his right, he detoured down and charged right in. We threw sticks out for fetching for a while and then continued our run. Further along, we saw a large flock of geese along a stretch of beach and on a little island about a hundred yards off shore. After asking the folks near that area if they would be upset if the dog scared off the birds (please do, was their answer), I gave Bruce the word and let him go to town.

It was amazing. I wish I had a camera. Instinct took over and he splashed around for a while – he was actually “tolling”! Then he charged out toward the island, swimming right into the flock, chasing them around. All I could think was we had already been running for an hour, and he had to be exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was wade out into goose poop-infested waters in my tennis shoes if he got too tired to swim back. He was way offshore and loving every minute of it and was not about to be too tired to continue! But being his true obedient self, as soon as we started calling him he turned around and started swimming back to us. I have never seen a happier dog. His tail would not stop wagging. He does smell a bit like a sea urchin now, though.

I told Ryan that I am taking the dog there every Sunday from now on. Or at least until football season begins. Next time I will take a camera.

How to Bore Me Silly

Start talking about your garden.

Seriously.

I know it is all the rage to have a back yard garden. In fact, “I grew it in my back yard” is the new “It’s organic” (And the “It’s Organic” people have made me want to stab myself in my eye, and theirs, for YEARS).

But Seriously.

I grew up on a farm. We usually had a garden in our back yard, my grandmother had a giant strawberry patch up in the hollow, and there was always corn and hay planted in the fields that have to be harvested on the hottest days of the year.

I still can recall, innately, the smell of tomatoes being canned and sauerkraut being pickled – or whatever you do to it to make it sauerkraut – in the basement. It haunts me.

Picking and subsequently stringing beans is boring, hard work. Tilling, de-rocking, and weeding a garden sucks. Walking behind the tractor picking up all the corn that missed the wagon is not cool or hip. And patently uninteresting.

So excuse me if my eyes glaze over while you start telling me about the latest yummy creation that you made from that single heirloom tomato planted in a clay pot on your deck. It is not that I don’t care; it is that I am attempting to suppress a gag.




And truthfully, I don’t care.

AND you have a view of the drug deals on the Avenue!

As I twittered this morning, my mood today is much improved, and my twittering is a full-on addiction now. I am such a sucker for the new technologies that clog up the tubes. But I feel better; I guess my hormones got back in check, my knee is bothering me less, or my wine baseline is stabilized? I don’t know, but something has occurred. I am still completely overwhelmed at work, but I just do not care today. Maybe I have reached the point where I know I am not going to get everything completed, so I’m just internetting it up this morning instead of even attempting get my tasks finished. I have oodles to catch up on in the cyber world! I have read no celebrity gossip for a week! Who knows what could have happened in my absence?

So, Ryan and I hit up 13.5% last night, a new wine bar that opened in Hampden. It does indeed seem an anomaly on the Avenue, hon, but I will tell you what: that place was jumping, the wine selection was boffo, and the prices were astoundingly low.

As much as I like wine, I’ve never been a huge fan of the “wine bar” scene. Too achingly hip and snooty for me. But this place has potential. The interior is swank but not stuffy, and you are immediately made comfortable by the friendly staff and decent music mix unobtrusively playing in the background. They weren’t trying too hard with the whole down-tempo house music thing boom-chicking the night away that seems to be a prerequisite for any swanky wine bar, restaurant, or Anthropologie. They were playing the Supremes, James Brown, some jazz, some Zep, and other old rock and roll. That went a long way towards making the environment more Hampden-friendly. I mean, Ryan came in his John Deere hat and nobody batted an eyelash. That is MY kind of wine bar. I will turn that boy into a wine lover yet, I swear!