14 October 2008
Same as it ever was
I believe I may try this again. I'm not sure that I have anything interesting to say, mind you, but since when has that ever mattered?
22 March 2007
I hear the secrets that you keep
The other day I was a witness to one of the most terrifying moments in a parent's life.
I was on travel in L.A., and had gone to a skewer restaurant in Manhattan Beach. The restaurant was set up like a small sushi joint, with maybe 4 tables and a bar. Not wanting to take up a whole table on a busy night, I seated myself at the bar and placed my order.
Moments later a middle-aged man walked in with his seven- or eight-year-old son. Following is a transcript of that conversation:
Now here's when I began to try very hard to NOT listen to them. I attempted to immerse myself in the hockey game on TV behind the bar, but that cut to commercial, so I had little choice.
Embarassing. But I like to think I helped that poor guy, in that everyone in the restaurant turning to look at me and laughing HAD to have broken the tension of that moment. I have to say the guy handled it pretty well, but man, is that kid going to turn out to be the "I Win" guy!
I was on travel in L.A., and had gone to a skewer restaurant in Manhattan Beach. The restaurant was set up like a small sushi joint, with maybe 4 tables and a bar. Not wanting to take up a whole table on a busy night, I seated myself at the bar and placed my order.
Moments later a middle-aged man walked in with his seven- or eight-year-old son. Following is a transcript of that conversation:
Dad: How's your skull?
Kid: Fine.
Dad: You know, you've really got to cut out the acrobatic stuff, you're going to hurt yourself. Plus you could wind up in the circus. Do you want to wind up in the circus?
Kid: (pouting) Yes.
Dad: No you don't, that makes me sad.
Kid: Good.
Dad: Now that's mean, why would you say that?
Kid: Because you're bad.
Dad: (laughing) Why am I bad? Did I do something wrong?
Kid: I can't tell you.
Dad: C'mon, you can tell me. What did I do?
Kid: I can't tell you, because it's inappropriate.
Now here's when I began to try very hard to NOT listen to them. I attempted to immerse myself in the hockey game on TV behind the bar, but that cut to commercial, so I had little choice.
Dad: Tell me, you have to tell me now.It was at this point that the cook behind the counter tried to hand me my food, and I was trying to valiently not to CRACK UP that I clipped the straw in my glass with the plate and dumped an entire glass of ice water directly into my lap.
Kid: (pausing...) Okay, well...the other day I wanted to watch cartoons, and so I came into your room, and I saw you...on TOP of MOM.
Dad: I was on top of her? What do you mean?
Kid: (laughing) Yes you were on TOP of MOM. And I told my friends about it and they laughed.
Dad: (laughing) We were wrestling. Why would you come into our room without permission?
Kid: (shouting) I wanted to watch cartoons! And YOU WERE ON TOP OF MOM!
Dad: Well yeah, we were wrestling...and I was on top of her because...I was winning.
Embarassing. But I like to think I helped that poor guy, in that everyone in the restaurant turning to look at me and laughing HAD to have broken the tension of that moment. I have to say the guy handled it pretty well, but man, is that kid going to turn out to be the "I Win" guy!
11 March 2007
All apologies
When I walked into my cubicle this Sunday morning, I noticed my phone's message light flashing. Thinking my mom must have been trying to reach me, I picked up the receiver and skipped right past the message details to the message itself. I wasn't prepared for what I was about to hear.
The call was placed at 4:16pm Saturday evening. It sounded as though a woman's phone had dialed my number from insider her purse, or maybe that she'd dialed a number and then placed the receiver on a table. The entire 4-minute message was muffled, but I could distinctly hear two women yelling in the background, presumably at passers-by their house. Well, "house" may be too kind an assumption - from the story that unfolded, "trailer" seems more appropriate.
Following is my best attempt at a transcript of the message. Imagine all of this read in the scratchiest, highest-pitched smoker's voice you possibly can.
Can anyone tell me if this is from a movie? That's the only logical explanation I can formulate. Aside, of course, from the obvious explanation that some crazy broad went on a meth-fueled rampage through her trailer park.
My favorite part is when she sings the Nirvana song. Maybe I should forward this to Courtney Love. Hmmm...maybe it is Courtney Love.
The call was placed at 4:16pm Saturday evening. It sounded as though a woman's phone had dialed my number from insider her purse, or maybe that she'd dialed a number and then placed the receiver on a table. The entire 4-minute message was muffled, but I could distinctly hear two women yelling in the background, presumably at passers-by their house. Well, "house" may be too kind an assumption - from the story that unfolded, "trailer" seems more appropriate.
Following is my best attempt at a transcript of the message. Imagine all of this read in the scratchiest, highest-pitched smoker's voice you possibly can.
That b*tch...c'mon baby, let's go. I'm taking my baseball bat with
me
(muffled conversation)
And that mother-f*ckin...f*ckin.
Wooooo-hooo! Yes I will. I'm taking my bat. He'll
never do that to me again. Ever.
(baby noises)
Ahhhhh! I hate all you motherf*ckers!!
(dog barking)
Crackhead Joe!
(muffled conversation)
I hate this. I'm crazy.
Crackhead Joe. Crackhead. Uh...get out of here, Joe, and go
home. (bark) Nobody wants you up here, so lay off, b*tch.
F*cking crackhead b*tch. Go f*ck some (??) with Joe.
I'm taking my bat with me, you f*ck with me, you f*ck with the wrong
mother. Crackhead Joe! (bark)
(singing) In the sun, in the sun I feel as one, Maaary.
I'll kill him, Goddammit...now I ain't got no (muffled).
No!
How 'bout that, Dean? (laughing) He thinks he's so f*cking bad
Can anyone tell me if this is from a movie? That's the only logical explanation I can formulate. Aside, of course, from the obvious explanation that some crazy broad went on a meth-fueled rampage through her trailer park.
My favorite part is when she sings the Nirvana song. Maybe I should forward this to Courtney Love. Hmmm...maybe it is Courtney Love.
28 February 2007
Happy feet
So yesterday I learned something new about myself. I've had a ton of knee problems and when doctors ask me about my medical history, I really have nothing to say except, "Well, I remember this picture of me as toddler with casts on both legs, but I don't know why." So I called my mom yesterday and learned that I was born with club feet.
No seriously.
And it's weird to learn this about yourself, but it's even weirder to learn it at 25. I mean, I wouldn't hold it against my parents for not telling me, because it's not exactly something you bring up at the dinner table.
"Hey, remember that time when you had that horrible birth defect?"
But it's like I've been living a lie. And I mean that in the most humorous way possible, because guys? I teach DANCE.
So anyway, I'll just add it to my list of maladies. For the folks keeping score at home, that's:
No seriously.
And it's weird to learn this about yourself, but it's even weirder to learn it at 25. I mean, I wouldn't hold it against my parents for not telling me, because it's not exactly something you bring up at the dinner table.
"Hey, remember that time when you had that horrible birth defect?"
But it's like I've been living a lie. And I mean that in the most humorous way possible, because guys? I teach DANCE.
So anyway, I'll just add it to my list of maladies. For the folks keeping score at home, that's:
- mild scoliosis,
- chronic migraines,
- crippling allergies,
- hypothyroidism,
- damaged knee cartilage,
- arthritis, and now
- club feet
26 February 2007
Sister Christian, now the time has come
Way to go, Delta Zeta.
All the personal battles my sisters fought to get the Greek system represented as something more than a casting couch for one-night stands...
All the hours we spent planning ways to recruit bright, interesting women with something to say...
All the philanthropic programs and presentations we participated in to make our little college town, our whole world, a better place...
All pushed aside by one national council's impetuous and tasteless decision. Get ready, folks, the Greek system is about to collapse on itself like a dying star.
I'm not going to lie, when I joined a sorority at LSU, my chapter had a reputation similar to that of the DePauw DZs: a group of largely undesirable women. So many of the active members weren't motivated to study, they weren't interested in their community, they were looking to catch a good buzz and a place to spend the night. But after our initial disappointment on bid day, my pledge class banded together and, with some help from our own national council, took the reins to lead our chapter where we wanted it to be.
And it wasn't easy. There were so many tears and several tough decisions, but within four years we were reeling in the biggest pledge classes on the row. Bright, motivated, outgoing, beautiful women who I'm proud to call my sisters. They're the kind of people I would (and do) surround myself with even today. And we wouldn't have them if it weren't for the efforts of every single member who was willing to do something about it.
I have no doubt that, had Delta Zeta left the chapter in-tact, some concentrated help from their national officers could've turned it completely around. It's one thing to have a "core" group of individuals leading the charge, but as passionate as the existing membership was described as being, I can't imagine they could have hindered progress. There was no need to clean house like that - trust me, I've been there.
Instead of focusing on the alleged "negative" qualities of some of the members, they should have instead sought ways to draw out the positive qualities of all members. Qualities like confidence, friendliness...ability to hold a coherent conversation about meaningful topics. Because for every girl who is looking to a sorority as a status symbol, there are four others like me. Women who'll see through all that pomp and circumstance for the people within. People you can relate to, who you can learn from. Real sisters.
All the personal battles my sisters fought to get the Greek system represented as something more than a casting couch for one-night stands...
All the hours we spent planning ways to recruit bright, interesting women with something to say...
All the philanthropic programs and presentations we participated in to make our little college town, our whole world, a better place...
All pushed aside by one national council's impetuous and tasteless decision. Get ready, folks, the Greek system is about to collapse on itself like a dying star.
I'm not going to lie, when I joined a sorority at LSU, my chapter had a reputation similar to that of the DePauw DZs: a group of largely undesirable women. So many of the active members weren't motivated to study, they weren't interested in their community, they were looking to catch a good buzz and a place to spend the night. But after our initial disappointment on bid day, my pledge class banded together and, with some help from our own national council, took the reins to lead our chapter where we wanted it to be.
And it wasn't easy. There were so many tears and several tough decisions, but within four years we were reeling in the biggest pledge classes on the row. Bright, motivated, outgoing, beautiful women who I'm proud to call my sisters. They're the kind of people I would (and do) surround myself with even today. And we wouldn't have them if it weren't for the efforts of every single member who was willing to do something about it.
I have no doubt that, had Delta Zeta left the chapter in-tact, some concentrated help from their national officers could've turned it completely around. It's one thing to have a "core" group of individuals leading the charge, but as passionate as the existing membership was described as being, I can't imagine they could have hindered progress. There was no need to clean house like that - trust me, I've been there.
Instead of focusing on the alleged "negative" qualities of some of the members, they should have instead sought ways to draw out the positive qualities of all members. Qualities like confidence, friendliness...ability to hold a coherent conversation about meaningful topics. Because for every girl who is looking to a sorority as a status symbol, there are four others like me. Women who'll see through all that pomp and circumstance for the people within. People you can relate to, who you can learn from. Real sisters.
23 February 2007
I'm sitting here at work eating delicious Goldfish crackers, and am reminded of the jingle they had for like, 2.5 seconds:
Here's our Jingle for goldfish
Yes, baked and not fried Goldfish
The tasty snack that smiles back
Until you bite their heads off
Did you know they're made with real cheese
Even though they look like fishies?
The snack that smiles back, Goldfish!
Does anyone else remember this? They must have run the commerial about six times before it was pulled, because every time I refer to it in conversation, people start looking at me like I have 3 heads. And I wonder why it wasn't more successful, because I know I was thoroughly amused by the random acts of violence against harmless, smiling crackers. In fact, I think the guy who wrote that jingle should win some kind of award. Which is probably why I'm not in advertising.
Here's our Jingle for goldfish
Yes, baked and not fried Goldfish
The tasty snack that smiles back
Until you bite their heads off
Did you know they're made with real cheese
Even though they look like fishies?
The snack that smiles back, Goldfish!
Does anyone else remember this? They must have run the commerial about six times before it was pulled, because every time I refer to it in conversation, people start looking at me like I have 3 heads. And I wonder why it wasn't more successful, because I know I was thoroughly amused by the random acts of violence against harmless, smiling crackers. In fact, I think the guy who wrote that jingle should win some kind of award. Which is probably why I'm not in advertising.
21 February 2007
Back in black
Okay, so I'm told my blog has recently caught the fast train to suck-ville, and for that I offer my deepest apologies. I hearby swear that this will not happen again. As much. I will try to post more frequently, but I must warn you that the trade-off for more frequent posting is that there will often be posts that are lame/weird/or otherwise not your cup of tea.
Let me put this in terms Tom will understand: you can now expect to get 16 bottles of white zin when you visit this blog instead of 1 nice bottle of port. Bottoms up.
And now for the important stuff. I need to know if this happens to anyone else. Do normal people sweat from their hips? I don't mean when you're running a marathon, I mean when you're sitting at your desk or in your car. I don't know if this is something that has happened to me forever and I just never noticed, but lately when I stand up it's like the rainforests have migrated to the waistband of my pants. And I'm not sweating anywhere else - no pit stains, no neck or back sweat. Nothing.
Do I need to start applying deodorant to my hipbones?
Let me put this in terms Tom will understand: you can now expect to get 16 bottles of white zin when you visit this blog instead of 1 nice bottle of port. Bottoms up.
And now for the important stuff. I need to know if this happens to anyone else. Do normal people sweat from their hips? I don't mean when you're running a marathon, I mean when you're sitting at your desk or in your car. I don't know if this is something that has happened to me forever and I just never noticed, but lately when I stand up it's like the rainforests have migrated to the waistband of my pants. And I'm not sweating anywhere else - no pit stains, no neck or back sweat. Nothing.
Do I need to start applying deodorant to my hipbones?
01 February 2007
She don't use jelly
So I bought these tangerines and brought one to work as a snack. The trouble is, these things are chock-full of seeds, which means every time I finish a slice, I'm forced to pick up my trashcan and spit 3-4 seeds into it. I'm excited for the time someone walks into my cube mid-spit, which I imagine will happen very soon.
24 January 2007
Don't stand so close to me
The guy who sits in the cube behind me just started snoring! It's loud but intermittent, like he's waking himself up every couple of rips. I'm debating throwing a pen over the wall.
Strange things like this are a natural occurrence at my job, and fortunately the good folks over at the TWoP "Office" forums help me realize that I'm not alone. As it turns out, the same weird things happen all over the country...even all over the world.
We have a bathroom cell phone talker. I truly walk into the restroom at least twice a week to find her chatting it up by the sink. I'm a pretty private person, especially when it comes to bathroom activities, so it makes me antsy that she witnesses everyone walking into the stall, hears them flush, and watches them wash their hands. From what I hear on the forums, though, it could be worse - at least she's preoccupied enough that I don't have to worry about her trying to strike up conversation!
I've always wondered whether the people she talks to can tell where she is by the background noise. Wouldn't that come across as a little disrespectful and/or weird, depending upon the circumstance? But I figured that she probably wasn't close enough to the action for it to make a difference. This morning my concerns were revisited, as I walked into the restroom and heard her unmistakable voice. She herself was nowhere to be seen. That is, except for her feet. She was seated in the stall furthest from the door, and apparently ahd made herself quite comfortable. I quickly and quietly got the hell out of Dodge.
Is behaviour like this normal? Do lots of people multitask like this? I feel like you have to draw the line somewhere, and I think "somewhere" is probably right around "poop."
Strange things like this are a natural occurrence at my job, and fortunately the good folks over at the TWoP "Office" forums help me realize that I'm not alone. As it turns out, the same weird things happen all over the country...even all over the world.
We have a bathroom cell phone talker. I truly walk into the restroom at least twice a week to find her chatting it up by the sink. I'm a pretty private person, especially when it comes to bathroom activities, so it makes me antsy that she witnesses everyone walking into the stall, hears them flush, and watches them wash their hands. From what I hear on the forums, though, it could be worse - at least she's preoccupied enough that I don't have to worry about her trying to strike up conversation!
I've always wondered whether the people she talks to can tell where she is by the background noise. Wouldn't that come across as a little disrespectful and/or weird, depending upon the circumstance? But I figured that she probably wasn't close enough to the action for it to make a difference. This morning my concerns were revisited, as I walked into the restroom and heard her unmistakable voice. She herself was nowhere to be seen. That is, except for her feet. She was seated in the stall furthest from the door, and apparently ahd made herself quite comfortable. I quickly and quietly got the hell out of Dodge.
Is behaviour like this normal? Do lots of people multitask like this? I feel like you have to draw the line somewhere, and I think "somewhere" is probably right around "poop."
23 January 2007
Happiness is a warm gun
My friend and neighbor (we'll call him Mr. Wilson) dragged me with him to see "The Pursuit of Happyness" with him this weekend - unbearable! Honestly, the story had a lot of promise, but the plot just dragged on, showing us the same things in a different way, over and over and over. By the mid-way point, we'd started our own Mystery Science Theater episode. With half an hour left, we were actively rooting against the main character, despite the feel-good ending having been telegraphed by Samual Morse.
So imagine my surprise this morning when I learned that Will Smith got an Oscar nod for his role in the film. Now hear me out, guys. I think Will Smith is a fine actor. I enjoyed Enemy of the State. I guarantee I love him more than Phillip Banks ever did. And I think he did a fine job with the script he was given for "Happyness". But I'm puzzled by this nomination, because that movie is just plain bad.
I guess I just wonder why an actor should get accolades for picking a terrible script. It's like putting Chad Johnson on a Pop Warner team; the field is skewed. I mean, look at Robert DeNiro. DeNiro is arguably one of the best actors of the 20th century, and he didn't get nominated for "Meet the Fockers", because that movie was what it was. "Fockers" wasn't trying to redefine the motion picture industry, or make a statement, or shatter archaic stereotypes. And "Happyness" tried too hard to do all those things, so, to me, it failed. Why reward that?
Bottom line: If you're a good actor in a bad movie, you should get a new agent. Not an Oscar.
So imagine my surprise this morning when I learned that Will Smith got an Oscar nod for his role in the film. Now hear me out, guys. I think Will Smith is a fine actor. I enjoyed Enemy of the State. I guarantee I love him more than Phillip Banks ever did. And I think he did a fine job with the script he was given for "Happyness". But I'm puzzled by this nomination, because that movie is just plain bad.
I guess I just wonder why an actor should get accolades for picking a terrible script. It's like putting Chad Johnson on a Pop Warner team; the field is skewed. I mean, look at Robert DeNiro. DeNiro is arguably one of the best actors of the 20th century, and he didn't get nominated for "Meet the Fockers", because that movie was what it was. "Fockers" wasn't trying to redefine the motion picture industry, or make a statement, or shatter archaic stereotypes. And "Happyness" tried too hard to do all those things, so, to me, it failed. Why reward that?
Bottom line: If you're a good actor in a bad movie, you should get a new agent. Not an Oscar.
18 January 2007
You're as cold as ice
It's raining outside. I know this because the hole in the ceiling tile is dripping. At least it doesn't smell bad. Yet.
And seriously, Texas, what's the deal? I was in a car wreck on Sunday night on a highway ice rink...I mean, on-ramp. I missed work on Monday from a combination of icy road conditions and anxiety from the aforementioned events. Wednesday morning it took me over an hour to get to work because it was snowing-slash-sleeting and also icy. By yesterday evening, we'd thawed out a bit, but tonight it's supposed to start all over again.
The best part of this weather thing is that my company doesn't give us inclement weather provisions. That's right, they'd rather I risk my life and limb to get here, or? If I have it, I'm allowed to take vacation. Oh boy! I'm also explicitly NOT allowed to use pre-approved absence or sick time, of which I'm allotted 5 days a year and rarely use. I knew this on Monday, so I knew the risk I was taking by staying in.
On Wednesday, I looked out the window and said, "Hmm, snow. This is unexpected." Not having 9 spare vacation hours laying around, I got my happy butt out of bed and began my journey. I arrived at work at 8am after a crawling commute and proceeded to go about my day. At 3pm, I received the following broadcast e-mail:
I'm sorry, is this a joke? How can you possibly tell me that Monday's commute was not just as bad as Wednesday's, when I was in an accident the previous night and a) the temperatures had been below freezing since, and b) the sun had not been out? Furthermore, how are you going to send this e-mail out at three pm, after I've wasted my whole day here?
Having 2.2 hours left to work, I immediately packed up and high-tailed it out of there. Because you must have lost your damn mind if you think I'm not charging as much of that three hours as I can. That said, I am dying to see what they do tomorrow when we get yet another "winter blast".
Update: Would you believe that, at the very minute I posted this story, we received another broadcast e-mail allowing us to use the weather/calamity code on Monday?? I can't win for losing.
And seriously, Texas, what's the deal? I was in a car wreck on Sunday night on a highway ice rink...I mean, on-ramp. I missed work on Monday from a combination of icy road conditions and anxiety from the aforementioned events. Wednesday morning it took me over an hour to get to work because it was snowing-slash-sleeting and also icy. By yesterday evening, we'd thawed out a bit, but tonight it's supposed to start all over again.
The best part of this weather thing is that my company doesn't give us inclement weather provisions. That's right, they'd rather I risk my life and limb to get here, or? If I have it, I'm allowed to take vacation. Oh boy! I'm also explicitly NOT allowed to use pre-approved absence or sick time, of which I'm allotted 5 days a year and rarely use. I knew this on Monday, so I knew the risk I was taking by staying in.
On Wednesday, I looked out the window and said, "Hmm, snow. This is unexpected." Not having 9 spare vacation hours laying around, I got my happy butt out of bed and began my journey. I arrived at work at 8am after a crawling commute and proceeded to go about my day. At 3pm, I received the following broadcast e-mail:
"We’ve experienced an unusual situation this week with two days of snow or ice in the same pay period. Due to today’s conditions, many people arrived at work late or decided to stay at home because of road conditions. With that in mind, we have approved the use of the weather or calamity code by all salaried employees for up to three (3) hours of time missed on Wednesday, Jan. 17...Please note that the code cannot be used retroactively to charge for time missed Monday."
I'm sorry, is this a joke? How can you possibly tell me that Monday's commute was not just as bad as Wednesday's, when I was in an accident the previous night and a) the temperatures had been below freezing since, and b) the sun had not been out? Furthermore, how are you going to send this e-mail out at three pm, after I've wasted my whole day here?
Having 2.2 hours left to work, I immediately packed up and high-tailed it out of there. Because you must have lost your damn mind if you think I'm not charging as much of that three hours as I can. That said, I am dying to see what they do tomorrow when we get yet another "winter blast".
Update: Would you believe that, at the very minute I posted this story, we received another broadcast e-mail allowing us to use the weather/calamity code on Monday?? I can't win for losing.
16 January 2007
It's been seven hours and fifteen days
Every year, somewhere between April and June, I forget one of the greatest loves of my life. It's not until it resurfaces in January that I'm able to recall my obession, and once I do it's all I can do to keep my mind from wandering, dreaming of the next time I can experience it.
I'm talking about Thin Mints. You know those delicious Girl Scout cookies in the green box? That vibrant green is almost as recognizable to me as Tiffany blue is to your average female. And every winter they sit in the back of my freezer with aspirations living to see the spring.
But alas, it's not to be. The great annual tragedy plays out in exactly the same way each time. Upon receipt of the box, I immediately treat myself to one serving (4 cookies, to be exact). I attempt to trick myself into forgetting that they're there, but I'm inevitably back for four more (!!) within the hour. I spend the next 30 minutes feeling guilty (and a little sugar-sick), convince myself to eat something healthy - you know, to balance it out - and then head to the gym for 80 minutes of cardio.
Within eight days, both boxes are diminished to crumbs, and my subconscious says, "Finally!" And really I think that's part of why I eat them so quickly - because if I don't, then I have to deal with the temptation that much longer, and people? I have the resolve of a gnat.
The next week, Target puts their swimsuits out on display. I stand in the dressing room wondering why there's a Stay Puft marshmallow man sticker covering the mirror. It's then, through bitter tears, that Thin Mints and I break up.
It's the most unhealthy relationship that ever was. But nothing compares...nothing compares...to high-fructose-corn-syrup.
I'm talking about Thin Mints. You know those delicious Girl Scout cookies in the green box? That vibrant green is almost as recognizable to me as Tiffany blue is to your average female. And every winter they sit in the back of my freezer with aspirations living to see the spring.
But alas, it's not to be. The great annual tragedy plays out in exactly the same way each time. Upon receipt of the box, I immediately treat myself to one serving (4 cookies, to be exact). I attempt to trick myself into forgetting that they're there, but I'm inevitably back for four more (!!) within the hour. I spend the next 30 minutes feeling guilty (and a little sugar-sick), convince myself to eat something healthy - you know, to balance it out - and then head to the gym for 80 minutes of cardio.
Within eight days, both boxes are diminished to crumbs, and my subconscious says, "Finally!" And really I think that's part of why I eat them so quickly - because if I don't, then I have to deal with the temptation that much longer, and people? I have the resolve of a gnat.
The next week, Target puts their swimsuits out on display. I stand in the dressing room wondering why there's a Stay Puft marshmallow man sticker covering the mirror. It's then, through bitter tears, that Thin Mints and I break up.
It's the most unhealthy relationship that ever was. But nothing compares...nothing compares...to high-fructose-corn-syrup.
11 January 2007
We got to move these refrigerators
So it's January 11th and I think maybe I'll take down my Christmas tree. Man, putting up a Christmas tree is so much work, but at least it's fun to put all the ornaments and lights up. Taking that thing down is just as much work, and it's also B-O-R-I-N-G. If my man-friend's parents weren't coming in town tomorrow, I would probably just leave it up another week. As it is, though, it's kind of embarassing.
It's just that, after coming home from a full day of work (and on Wednesdays, teaching), the last thing I want to do is park myself in a room for 3 hours without furniture or a television and try to fit Christmas lights back in those impossible little boxes. And yes, there is no furniture in my dining room right now, although I did just buy a table. That's what happens when you put the contents of a 700 sqft apartment into a 2000 sqft house: empty.
Well, it's really a choice between empty or impoverished. Not a huge fan of "poor", I've convinced myself that I'm just streamlining a bit. There are currently 2 rooms in my house that are completely unfurnished; that count will rapidly grow to three once my roommate moves to Dallas next month. Well, actually it grows to four, but now I have that table, see? So that means I have a dining room that contains one table, and a kitchen with a big empty spot.
Thinking about this too much could potentially drive me nuts, so I choose to focus on the positive: Less dusting. Eating dinner on the couch. Okay, continuing to eat dinner on the couch. Lower heating and air conditioning bills, once I close off those vents. (Who am I kidding? I probably just won't use heating or air conditioning.) And maybe in a year, I'll have enough money for dining room chairs!
10 January 2007
Friends in low places
Man, sometimes I love the Internet revolution, and other times I think it's more trouble than it's worth. The other day I did something that, even though it's definitely "the right thing to do", still left me feeling mean and guilty. Maybe this friend-site thing just isn't for me. Let me know what you think.
I'm a member of Facebook (it's like MySpace), and a day or so ago I got a friend request from probably the last person I'd ever have expected. Maybe I've told you about this girl...we'll call her Crazy Girl. Several years ago, I met Crazy Girl through a group I used to be involved with. At the beginning of our friendship, we went out to the bar downtown, and, after a series of exceptionally benign events, Crazy Girl tried to leave me stranded at the bar with no ride home. Seriously, she just told our ride as she stormed toward the door, "Let's go, she'll be fine." Our ride was able to convince her to come find me so I could head home with them; when she dropped us off, Crazy Girl immediately called me and proceeded to chew me out.
Her reason? We'd been sitting at the bar when a guy walked in, and she casually mentioned that he was "hot". About two hours later, circumstances led me to talk to said guy, and as it turned out we had a friend in common. This turned into a very serious (and completely platonic) conversation about the friend, which apparently made Crazy Girl crazy jealous. Apparently saying a guy is "hot" and then not approaching or making eye contact with him for two hours means that you've laid claim on him, and that your friend has no business talking to him, even if he steps on her toe.
So I was conflicted as to how to resolve this situation. I mean, I haven't talked to this girl in 2 years, and although we remained friendly thoughout the rest of our time in that group, she's made a huge show of passive-agressive hatred toward me the few times she's seen me since. Why on earth would she want to be friends now?
If you know me, you know I'm nothing if not diplomatic and hyper-concerned about being nice to people. So you'll know, then, how hard it was for me to reject this request.
I sat there for several minutes thinking, "Well that's not really nice to reject a friend request. Maybe she's grown up. What if she thinks I'm a huge bitch for not accepting the request? Does that make her the bigger person?" And then I had an epiphany. I owe this person nothing. She was horrible to me while we were friends, we most likely will never see each other again, and if it weren't for this stupid internet popularity contest, we would never have crossed paths this way. And furthermore? So. What. And now that I think about it, maybe this is just what I needed to break me of my habit of "caring too much".
2007 is the year of CHANGE, baby!
I'm a member of Facebook (it's like MySpace), and a day or so ago I got a friend request from probably the last person I'd ever have expected. Maybe I've told you about this girl...we'll call her Crazy Girl. Several years ago, I met Crazy Girl through a group I used to be involved with. At the beginning of our friendship, we went out to the bar downtown, and, after a series of exceptionally benign events, Crazy Girl tried to leave me stranded at the bar with no ride home. Seriously, she just told our ride as she stormed toward the door, "Let's go, she'll be fine." Our ride was able to convince her to come find me so I could head home with them; when she dropped us off, Crazy Girl immediately called me and proceeded to chew me out.
Her reason? We'd been sitting at the bar when a guy walked in, and she casually mentioned that he was "hot". About two hours later, circumstances led me to talk to said guy, and as it turned out we had a friend in common. This turned into a very serious (and completely platonic) conversation about the friend, which apparently made Crazy Girl crazy jealous. Apparently saying a guy is "hot" and then not approaching or making eye contact with him for two hours means that you've laid claim on him, and that your friend has no business talking to him, even if he steps on her toe.
So I was conflicted as to how to resolve this situation. I mean, I haven't talked to this girl in 2 years, and although we remained friendly thoughout the rest of our time in that group, she's made a huge show of passive-agressive hatred toward me the few times she's seen me since. Why on earth would she want to be friends now?
If you know me, you know I'm nothing if not diplomatic and hyper-concerned about being nice to people. So you'll know, then, how hard it was for me to reject this request.
I sat there for several minutes thinking, "Well that's not really nice to reject a friend request. Maybe she's grown up. What if she thinks I'm a huge bitch for not accepting the request? Does that make her the bigger person?" And then I had an epiphany. I owe this person nothing. She was horrible to me while we were friends, we most likely will never see each other again, and if it weren't for this stupid internet popularity contest, we would never have crossed paths this way. And furthermore? So. What. And now that I think about it, maybe this is just what I needed to break me of my habit of "caring too much".
2007 is the year of CHANGE, baby!
07 January 2007
It's not a habit
Only a week into the new year and I've already fallen behind in my blogging. It's been busy at work, as I've taken on two new, nearly-full time responsibilities within the group. Fortunately one of them is only temporary, but it still finds me at work on a Sunday.
I may have explained before the layout of our building, but to remind you, our office space sits on the mezzanine of a factory. Basically it's a building constructed within another, less classy building. Sometimes this creates problems, because frankly the factory wasn't designed for cushiness. The other day it was pouring down rain outside, which led several of the ceiling tiles around my cube to begin buckling and turning this putrid brown color. At approximately 10am, one fell. Onto a guy. Bringing with it about half a gallon of putrid, brown rain water. And the loss of my appetite for lunch.
Apparently we have yet to report this problem to Facilities, because I walked in this afternoon to a putrid, brown smell. Seriously, this is the foulest stench I've smelled in...well, I did go out drinking with my man-friend and his roommates yesterday, so really it's only been about 12 hours, but BEFORE that, it probably would've been days. And I'm starting to get a headache. Do I get workmans' comp for this?
I may have explained before the layout of our building, but to remind you, our office space sits on the mezzanine of a factory. Basically it's a building constructed within another, less classy building. Sometimes this creates problems, because frankly the factory wasn't designed for cushiness. The other day it was pouring down rain outside, which led several of the ceiling tiles around my cube to begin buckling and turning this putrid brown color. At approximately 10am, one fell. Onto a guy. Bringing with it about half a gallon of putrid, brown rain water. And the loss of my appetite for lunch.
Apparently we have yet to report this problem to Facilities, because I walked in this afternoon to a putrid, brown smell. Seriously, this is the foulest stench I've smelled in...well, I did go out drinking with my man-friend and his roommates yesterday, so really it's only been about 12 hours, but BEFORE that, it probably would've been days. And I'm starting to get a headache. Do I get workmans' comp for this?
03 January 2007
Ants marching
In the usual fashion, I ended 2006 with a bang. Actually it was more like a scream and a jump and a hysterical fit of tears, and it was also entirely unintended. Allow me to elaborate...
On New Year's Eve day, I went to lunch with my man-friend and his friends, one of which is his roommate, who will henceforth be referred to as "the soft one". He...wait, wha-? No, y'all, get your minds out of the gutter, he's just got a very soft personality. I wish there were another word to describe it, but there's just not. I'll introduce you sometime, you'll understand.
Anyway. The soft one drove us all to the eating establishment (it could hardly be categorized as a restaurant), so my man-friend did not bring his keys, assuming that most people keep their house key and their car key in the same place. Apparently this is not true of all humans, though, because we returned to the house to find ourselves locked out.
We'd bought some lottery tickets on the way home, so I sat down on the edge of their porch next to a planter and went to work. I began to scratch...and scratch...and then I began to scratch all over. You see, I had plopped myself right down on a fire ant bed. Even better? I'm allergic to fire ants. Down they crawled into my jeans and down my back, and, folks, you know where this is going.
I immediately jumped up, screaming, "Ants in the pants! Ants in the pants!" and leapt across the porch with my hands down my jeans like a damn fool. The guys had shimmied the garage door up about 2 feet during their break-in attempt, so I ducked inside and peeled my jeans off, screaming and thrashing to get the plague away. Finally I was rescued by my man-friend, who swatted the little buggers away and lent me his sweatpants so that I could drive home without fear of stow-aways. Which raises an important question - just how long did he stand on the porch in his boxers before his other roommate arrived? What a swell guy.
Epilogue: My butt looks like a red-and-white leopard. I've probably overdosed on Benedryl at least two of the last 3 days. But hey - now I have something to remember 2006 by, right?
On New Year's Eve day, I went to lunch with my man-friend and his friends, one of which is his roommate, who will henceforth be referred to as "the soft one". He...wait, wha-? No, y'all, get your minds out of the gutter, he's just got a very soft personality. I wish there were another word to describe it, but there's just not. I'll introduce you sometime, you'll understand.
Anyway. The soft one drove us all to the eating establishment (it could hardly be categorized as a restaurant), so my man-friend did not bring his keys, assuming that most people keep their house key and their car key in the same place. Apparently this is not true of all humans, though, because we returned to the house to find ourselves locked out.
We'd bought some lottery tickets on the way home, so I sat down on the edge of their porch next to a planter and went to work. I began to scratch...and scratch...and then I began to scratch all over. You see, I had plopped myself right down on a fire ant bed. Even better? I'm allergic to fire ants. Down they crawled into my jeans and down my back, and, folks, you know where this is going.
I immediately jumped up, screaming, "Ants in the pants! Ants in the pants!" and leapt across the porch with my hands down my jeans like a damn fool. The guys had shimmied the garage door up about 2 feet during their break-in attempt, so I ducked inside and peeled my jeans off, screaming and thrashing to get the plague away. Finally I was rescued by my man-friend, who swatted the little buggers away and lent me his sweatpants so that I could drive home without fear of stow-aways. Which raises an important question - just how long did he stand on the porch in his boxers before his other roommate arrived? What a swell guy.
Epilogue: My butt looks like a red-and-white leopard. I've probably overdosed on Benedryl at least two of the last 3 days. But hey - now I have something to remember 2006 by, right?
02 January 2007
Let's get together before we get much older
** In honor of Sparks-squared **
Tonight I learned a number of things while sharing brewskies with a couple of old classmates...
1) If you want to pique a guy's interest, flirt with his sister. No really - having a boyfriend, and hence zero interest for said guy, I decided to conduct a sort of social experiment. It's a classic question - why do guys seem to go for bitchy, high-maintenance girls? So I tried to jump out of my mild-mannered skin and assume the personality of a mouthy Dallas babe, acting as obnoxious and pushy as possible. And instead of derailing the guy, it actually (and unfortunately) made him far more interested AND far more agressive. Is that what I was doing wrong in college?
2) Whataburger fries are amazing, and also sobriety-enhancing. No, seriously....within minutes of consumption I could've recited the alphabet in reverse order. We need to start a petition to bring back trans fat and all of its restorative properties.
3) It only takes 25 minutes to get to Keller if you assume total disregard of the law.
4) Not everyone automatically assigns handy nicknames to their exes (i.e., Mr. Personality, Tiny Asian Man, Shoeless Joe). But they should.
5) Drinking 1 beer for every 5 fire ant bites sustained will cause you to eventually lose that itchy feeling. Or any feeling. (Refer to tomorrow's post for more details)
Had a great time, you guys!!
Tonight I learned a number of things while sharing brewskies with a couple of old classmates...
1) If you want to pique a guy's interest, flirt with his sister. No really - having a boyfriend, and hence zero interest for said guy, I decided to conduct a sort of social experiment. It's a classic question - why do guys seem to go for bitchy, high-maintenance girls? So I tried to jump out of my mild-mannered skin and assume the personality of a mouthy Dallas babe, acting as obnoxious and pushy as possible. And instead of derailing the guy, it actually (and unfortunately) made him far more interested AND far more agressive. Is that what I was doing wrong in college?
2) Whataburger fries are amazing, and also sobriety-enhancing. No, seriously....within minutes of consumption I could've recited the alphabet in reverse order. We need to start a petition to bring back trans fat and all of its restorative properties.
3) It only takes 25 minutes to get to Keller if you assume total disregard of the law.
4) Not everyone automatically assigns handy nicknames to their exes (i.e., Mr. Personality, Tiny Asian Man, Shoeless Joe). But they should.
5) Drinking 1 beer for every 5 fire ant bites sustained will cause you to eventually lose that itchy feeling. Or any feeling. (Refer to tomorrow's post for more details)
Had a great time, you guys!!
11 October 2006
It's the end of the world as we know it
Behold, the third horseman of the apocalypse:
http://www.jibbitz.com/
Surely this heralds the end of civilization, when one can find a way to adorn the tackiest shoe ever with even more...well, tack.
Look guys, I know they're comfortable. And they're kind of cute, in that same way that an ugly puppy is cute. I'm even fine with you wearing them to the bar, but only if they're worn ironically, the way my man-friend occasionally wears house shoes downtown.
But please? Don't coordinate them with your outfit. It makes the baby Jesus cry.
http://www.jibbitz.com/
Surely this heralds the end of civilization, when one can find a way to adorn the tackiest shoe ever with even more...well, tack.
Look guys, I know they're comfortable. And they're kind of cute, in that same way that an ugly puppy is cute. I'm even fine with you wearing them to the bar, but only if they're worn ironically, the way my man-friend occasionally wears house shoes downtown.
But please? Don't coordinate them with your outfit. It makes the baby Jesus cry.
02 October 2006
I'm sorry, so sorry
Sorry for the lack of posting recently. My friend, Tom, was in town from Iowa or Omaha or wherever on an extended vacation. The week Tom and his friend, Tye, were here went something like this:
Thursday: (arrived at 10 pm) drink drink drink eat
Friday: drink drink eat drink drink eat drink drink drink drink
Saturday: eat drink drink drink eat drink eat drink drink dance drink
Sunday: eat drink sleep drink eat drink drink drink
Monday: work eat work drink eat drink drink gamble drink eat
Tuesday: work work eat drink drink drink eat
Wednesday: work work teach drink drink drink eat
Oh, and there were approximately 4 hours of sleep in between each of those days, that makes me a tired panda. This all made for a very fun, eventful, and, at times, puzzling week.
Thanks, guys!
Thursday: (arrived at 10 pm) drink drink drink eat
Friday: drink drink eat drink drink eat drink drink drink drink
Saturday: eat drink drink drink eat drink eat drink drink dance drink
Sunday: eat drink sleep drink eat drink drink drink
Monday: work eat work drink eat drink drink gamble drink eat
Tuesday: work work eat drink drink drink eat
Wednesday: work work teach drink drink drink eat
Oh, and there were approximately 4 hours of sleep in between each of those days, that makes me a tired panda. This all made for a very fun, eventful, and, at times, puzzling week.
Thanks, guys!
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