Please Update Your Bookmark

This blog is now living at http://www.andylien.com.

It originally started as Shifting Piles then diversified into various subject-specific blogs under AndyLien.com as an umbrella.  I thought it would be a good move to make it seem like a cohesive website with multiple pages–each with its own blog–but it really just diluted everything.  By spreading it out, it got really ugly on the back end.  Convoluted.  Daunting.

So, now it’s all living together again on one page…and, finally, with me.  It’s no longer hosted on WordPress, but on my own server.

Mine, mine, mine.

Please make the move with me and update your bookmarks.  I appreciate your readership so…and I promise to never change my domain name again.  Even if I should marry a Rockefeller or someone with a fantastic last name that would go perfectly with “Andy,” I will keep the blog at www.andylien.com so as to never make you do this again.

Yours,

Andy

Blue Moon New Year’s Eve

Facebook seems to be hopping tonight…at least, those of us who aren’t out and about seem to be chatty.

A few of us were discussing the fact that it’s not only a full moon tonight, New Year’s Eve, but a blue moon…the second full moon in the same month.  This won’t be happening again on New Year’s Eve until 2028.  I’ll be 51.

One of us mentioned making a wish on this special New Year’s Eve.

I would like to, but I’m not feeling terribly wistful.  It’s not that I’m one of those “Good Riddance, 2009″ folks; I could be, but I’m not.

But, I’m not where I want to be.  To think about where I’d like to be when I’m 51…whoa.  That sends me reeling.

So, I will not make a wish tonight.  I will sit here watching “The Golden Girls” with turkey chili on the stove and Grendel on my feet as the year turns by the light of the blue moon.

I will be thankful that I am happier, healthier, and wiser than ever.

I will scratch Grendel’s belly, knowing that he won’t be with me the next time there’s a blue moon on New Year’s Eve.

Good night, all.

Happy New Year.

Shifting Christmas Piles

No antler tied to his head, no red nose to light the way…no, Grendel was not embracing the roleplaying aspect of this photo.

From third-floor apartment to basement garage space…hauling stuff is never an easy feat, but always well worth it. 

Usually. 

Sometimes. 

It was worth it today.  Okay?

That works.

A Hazy Shade of Winter

I was sitting on the couch last night, filming Grendel eating candy, and I noticed something odd about me.

I was turning grey.  A little tint of red.  A little bit black.

Weird.

I washed my hands and returned to my computer…and “You’ve Got Mail” on E!.

A little while later, after I had cleaned some pots and pans in the kitchen, I returned to my couch.  I was brownish grey again.  What?  I’d just been washing my hands.  How could they be dirty?  Even my fingernails were scummy.  The cracks in my fingers had gathered some brown in them as if I’d been rolling DRUM tobacco cigarettes.

But I’d quit smoking…and hadn’t rolled my own since Josh K. went through a DRUM phase during sophomore year in college.

I looked like I should be begging for alms.

After washing it off again, I put it out of my mind and went about my business.

I was blissfully ignorant of anything awry until I got ready to go to bed.

I brushed my teeth and I doused a cotton pad with astringent.  After wiping it across my face sufficiently, I looked at it…filthy.  I looked at the dirty white cotton against my hobo brown fingers and was shocked.

What was going on?  Was my new laptop toxic?  Did Grendel rub against some really dirty exhaust systems in the parking lot and carry some scum in on his furry body?  Why am I suddenly so very unclean?

I looked around…for a very long time.  I cleaned everything.  I gave up around 1:00 in the morning.

Uncle.

I woke up this morning and stumbled into my closet to throw on clothes from the night before.  Grendel’s morning walk doesn’t require glamor, but it does require that I wear a bra.  Grabbing the one from last night, I noticed its creamy lace was completely tarnished.  Looking down at my hands, they were also grey.  Walking over to my bed, my robin’s egg blue sheets were hazily darkened where I’d slept.  Pulling out the wrinkles showed a deep contrast between the grey sheen and the bright, sweet blue where my sleeping body hadn’t touched the high thread count fabric.

What.

(You know I’m ticked when my question is a demand, without a question mark.)

What is going on.

I looked in the mirror.  I breathed a heavy sigh.

I was the problem.

Let me rephrase that, I was wearing the problem.  I had been wearing it the entire time.

The cute black jersey camisole I’d purchased yesterday at a sample sale was bleeding pigment.

It bled pigment all over my life.

How’s that for dramatic?

I’d forgotten the lessons my mother had taught me as a child that we must check heavily dyed fabric for possible color transfer and–if need be–launder it before wearing the clothing.

So excited about my sassy new camisole, I donned it immediately.  Haste made waste.

I gazed at the carnage and walked over to the soft cream cardigan I’d worn over it the entire evening…and it was black.  The inside of the softer-than-heaven sweater is completely ruined.

There’s nothing much to do about it but look at the sunshine and be thankful that I caught it early, the black virus.

As I am now listening to my thimble-sized washer spin the color out of all of my new black clothes, I am also listening to “Paint it Black” by the Rolling Stones.

When I switch loads and throw in my sheets, the cardigan, and my tarnished bra…I’ll switch to Simon and Garfunkel’s “Hazy Shade of Winter”…

…performed by the Bangles.

I think it’s only appropriate.

The Adult Thing To Do (Updated 12/11/09)

I was at Therapy Thursday last week when our conversation turned to how I choose to react to certain situations.  Talking through my week, I’d had a few examples to examine and was flabbergasted when I learned I’d reacted appropriately to them.  I realize that some folks might not be so forthcoming about seeing a therapist as posting it on a public blog, but let my copay help you.  Please.

My therapist gave me a model that was easy to understand.  I can react to something I don’t like three different ways. I can react as a Parent, a Child, or an Adult:

In the role of a Parent, I would respond by scolding and taking on authoritative airs.  Something I might say would be, “How dare you do that?  Who do you think you are?  You should know better than to do that.  Where did you learn to do such a thing?  Why would you do that?”

In the role of a Child, I would respond by tantrumming and playing a victim.  I’d carry on and say things like, “That’s MINE!  I didn’t take yours…you shouldn’t take mine!  I’m going to take yours now!  I’m telling.  You’re wrong.  I hate you.”

In the role of an Adult…well…that’s a bit more nebulous.  I think that I got the gold star for reacting like an adult in many different situations, but mostly for thinking things through.  Waiting to respond than pouncing as a reaction.  Sometimes, I even chose not to respond.

Believe me, taking the role of the Adult also takes most of the tools in my toolbelt that I’ve gotten through Therapy Thursdays.  And, I got to pull out those tools again tonight.

I went to see a show tonight at a jazz club in downtown Minneapolis.  If you don’t live in Minnesota, you might not know that we’ve got the beginning of a blizzard on our hands right now.  Being a savvy single woman, I drive a Jeep.  Leaving the show at 10:00 tonight wasn’t going to be much different from any other night except for watching out for other drivers flailing in the snow.  So, I went on my merry way and gave them wide berth…making it back to my apartment complex in Minnetonka about 25 minutes after leaving the Dakota.

My apartment complex has many amenities, one of which is the underground heating parking garage.  In Minnesota, it is a very valuable amenity when the vehicle gets to sleep in a 70-degree dedicated parking spot at night, rather than have to be heated and scraped of snow along a curb in the morning.  The price for these parking spots are built in to my rent, I’m sure, and residents are given the option to rent additional spaces for $60 a month.  Many residents choose to pay the extra during the winter.  I don’t blame them.

Apparently, one resident hasn’t chosen to rent an extra one.  One asshole resident.

I am usually on auto pilot when I get to the garage.  I know I’m supposed to drive to the very end of it and veer quickly to the right before I crash into the cinderblock wall.   Easy.  Well, it’s easy when my parking spot is empty.

Tonight, there was a Maxima in it.  I recognized it as the car that is usually directly to the right of my Jeep.  In her spot was an alien Camry.

Asshole.

I went through a short list of options.

First, I thought of parking behind the Maxima.  As far as territory was concerned, I’d marked that spot.  It was mine.  She should pay for her crime against humanity me and get pinned in.  Then, I should call the police on the Camry.  I hate that person and the Camry should be towed.

My second option was that I would park behind the Camry as this was the asshole who started all of us down the slippery slope.  If they thought that they didn’t want their car to get snowed on, they’d find out the hard way that my wrath is worse.  And, being that the Maxima was still in the wrong for parking in my spot, I’d leave a note on her car saying something like, “You should know better.”

How’s that for Minnesota guilt?

I thought about it.

Sigh.

My college friend Sarah once told me, “Andy, you’re one of the nice people.  You don’t get to not be nice.”

Dammit.  She was right.

Not only would I have continued the chain of assholish behavior to tick off the next Andy, I would’ve done myself damage in the process.  My karma would be quashed.  I wouldn’t sleep well worrying about their horrible mornings trying to figure out how to get out of the holes they’d dug for themselves.  I don’t have a job right now, if I can’t park inside tonight I’d have plenty of time to dig out my Jeep in the morning.

On a neurotic note, do YOU think a person who has no regard for who they’re displacing by parking in the wrong spot would have ANY qualms over slashing my tires?  Going Monster Truck on my Jeep?  Smashing my windows?

I’m not saying that disregarding ethics necessarily leads to vandalism.

But I might be thinking it.

So, I did the Adult thing.

I parked my Jeep in the car wash bay and left a note inside the back hatch saying: “Tuesday, 10:30PM: I’m parked here because someone else parked in my spot (#70).”

Why’d I do that?

Because it was the only option short of parking outside in the blizzard.  I couldn’t pin them in.  I couldn’t take someone else’s spot who’d show up 10 minutes after me and have the same problem.  I could only park in a neutral, unused space and leave a note explaining my own actions…and hope someone might learn by my example.  At the very least, I could live with the consequences of the choice I made.

See?  Another gold star for Andy.

I did the Adult thing and then promptly stomped upstairs to write a blog post about it for revenge.

No…I did the Adult thing and then promptly wrote a blog post about it to ensure a pat on the head for myself.

No…I did the Adult thing and then promptly wrote a blog post about it to show you how much my Therapy Thursdays are helping me to become a productive member of our society.

No…I did the Adult thing and now I’m going to go to bed because it’s past my bedtime.

Sleep well.  Let me know if you want to borrow my toolbelt.

It’s adjustable.

_________________________________

Update: 12/11/09

I am happy to report that I made a really good decision.  The next day (after I parked my Jeep in its rightful place), I ran into a guy parking his vehicle in the car wash bay.  He was grumbling something about someone parking in his spot and that he wished he had that Jeep’s sign from the night before.  I smiled and told him I’d be happy to let him use it.  As we walked to my vehicle to fetch it, he explained that he was assigned a temporary parking spot by the management company for $60/month but that someone else was parked in it.  The green Camry.  Next to the Camry was the Maxima.  Next to the Maxima was my Jeep.  It appeared that the Camry owner and this guy both staked a claim on the same spot.  Huh.  And, the night before when the guy parked in his rightful spot, the Camry bumped the Maxima and the Maxima bumped me.  It was starting to make sense.

When I switched apartments, I was assigned a new parking spot, but found out quickly that someone else was using on a temporary basis; the management company hadn’t recorded the parking spot as being used and re-leased it.  Sounds like the same thing had happened in this case.

Sure, the Maxima gal shouldn’t have parked in my spot after being bumped from hers just as the Camry shouldn’t have parked in her spot when bumped by this guy…but I am so relieved that I didn’t do anything like leave a note or pin someone in (like I really, REALLY wanted to).  As it just so happened, it was a mistake made by someone other than the people parking in the garage.  All we could control was how we reacted to the situation.  I chose to only act on the information that I had (that someone had parked in my spot) and not what I had incorrectly assumed to be going on (that people were selfishly nabbing parking spots during a snowstorm).

Because of that Adult decision, I didn’t make myself into the real asshole of the underground parking garage.

Just of my blog.

Phew.

I think I still get to keep the gold star.