Work vs. play vs. work

"As sure as night is dark and day is light,
I keep you on my mind both day and night,
And happiness I've known proves that it's right.
Because you're mine, I walk the line."

-- I Walk the Line, Johnny Cash



I was all over my calendar today... marking up everything from car appointments to next year's camping trip with my cousins. Coincidentally, my boss had me double-checking my vacation days spent, which turned out to be a good idea; he had marked down Saturdays and Sundays -- my days off -- that were counting against me.

Emails were flying around work with various invitations to this and that, going-away parties, gallery receptions, company picnics, NFL exhibition games. This must be the busy social season in Pittsburgh: hurry up and do stuff before it starts snowing.

Joe came over and asked about me attending a city editor's going-away party, hosted by another editor and his wife. I had gotten that invitation in a mass email but promptly dismissed it: It was an editor I had barely exchanged words with. I know that Joe is close to few in the newsroom and these guys... are pretty much them. But I never expected he'd want to drag me along to this event.

In fact, it hit me like a ton of bricks when he asked me.

Joe is an extremely private person. In fact, last weekend, he told his parents for the first time about us having a child together. And as far as work goes, I figure a lot of people probably have put two and two together about us: High-ranking editor involved with young new hire -- and whoa, she's pregnant. But only a few close to Joe have confirmed with him our relationship, and no one I work with directly has even had the balls to hint about the rumors being true.

I noticed even The Editor has had me in his office only once since I became obviously swelled.

Joe and I have been getting along fabulously, so this isn't about any skepticism or trepidation I might have about our future. In fact, I have seen enormous changes in our relationship since our separation, which I think served as more of a wake-up call for us to get out of our short-lived dreamy new-relationship fuzz and get on with reality than it signaled any underlying deal-breaking obstacles. If I had any doubts at all about being in love with him before the separation, they are gone now.

But.... publicly outing ourselves... with coworkers...

....who are reporters and editors... and unnaturally curious....

I KNOW this is a case of me paying more attention to the circumstances than any of my coworkers would dare spend more than a few moments thinking about, but I just imagine me making a total fool of myself, or Joe, when these people are really his social circle and not mine. Or slightly worse, that I'll bear witness to them making fools of themselves. Or that my working relationship will change with them, for better or for worse.

Too much thought, I know. I should just go, and hang on the arm of my loved one and let people get over the fact that we're so damn scandalous yet so damn normal.

AC, or no AC

"Don't you know it's a pity
That the days can't be like the nights
In the summer, in the city"

-- Summer in the City, Lovin' Spoonful




We had a few days of heat, heat, heat. But then, as suddenly as it came, and lingered, and lulled, it was gone. It still heats up during the day, but it drops to the high 50s at night.



On Friday before school, Zoe declared she was cold. She went to school in hat and gloves... kept them on for outings for much of the weekend.

It's still August here. It's still August everywhere else, right?

Driver's ed

My assimilation back to Pennsylvania has been a difficult journey. That journey has gotten only more difficult the more my car clunks and clatters and beeps at me.

A few weeks ago, I finally went for my PA driver's license. That turned into an ordeal because Florida suspended my license there, oh, back in February. Seems my old insurance company has the power to get my license suspended, and then the burden is on me to somehow KNOW that and report my new insurance.

I got that mess straightened out, and even got to keep my Florida license because some idiot didn't confiscate it from me as many times as I offered to hand it over. And then I went for my plate; it took AAA only a few days to transfer my title. It was a sad day, switching the Florida plate for the PA one. I no longer have the assumed excuse that I'm an out-of-towner, so therefore I can screw up more than the average driver.


Dad and Zoe do the dirty work.

In PA, a bunch of people have to look all over your car and smear glue on the inside of your windshield and smack a piece of paper to that in order for you to be allowed to drive. I have not been able to get my car to pass the emissions inspection because of some "oxygen" problem, even though just before I left Florida I had a mechanic who claimed he had fixed all the oxygen sensors throughout my car, even the ones in the visor. The mechanic my dad recommended here wasn't able to do the work (only the dealer can, he claimed), but he was able to conquer a pesky turn signal that was out.

The mechanic did say something about a leak behind my bell housing (hey, that's personal!) and that the computer revealed a secret code that translated into engine work he did not know how to perform. Which all translates into a bill I don't want to afford.

In the meantime, my dad, being the handy guy he is, decided he was going to "fix" the panel around the inside door handle that has been busted since the last time I took it to the dealer in Florida. It seems every time I take the car somewhere to get fixed, it comes back with more things wrong with it. I avoid service like some people avoid dentists.

Anyway, my dad mentioned after driving my car yesterday that the door was sticking. Sticking is an understatement. When I tried to open the door last night, it was like the world's largest wad of bubble gum was wedged in the door. The entire door panel had come loose and was jammed, and at that point I was still unaware my dad had attempted his little "fix."

For my entire drive to return movies, the car chirped at me. Not in a consistent, rhythmic manner, but in the most haphhazard, annoying, screwball manner you can imagine.

Be-beeeeeeep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-be-be-beep. Beep-beep. Beeeeep. Beeeeeeee-be-be-be-be-be-be-be-beeeep.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

By the time I got to Joe's house, I was WEEPING. I figured the stupid mechanic did something to the car, and if I had his home number, he would have gotten an earful right at that moment.

It got better. At precisely 3:35 in the morning, the car alarm started blaring.



As soon as I hit my desk at work this morning, I was on the phone with the credit union. It's time for a new car. In the meantime, I have to remember to not set the alarm and to enter the car from the passenger side. In my condition, that's just damn entertaining.

Glad to be back in PA. There are plenty of gullies and hills and walls and valleys and rivers into which I can drive head-first if I get desperate.