I met a guy at the bar this weekend who is 6'9". Six-nine? That's like, a whole foot taller than I am, and I'm considered a tall girl. I wish I remembered more about him, but the manner in which I had to tilt my head ALL the way back to talk to him started to make me kind of dizzy.
My friend noticed us exchanging numbers and shouted out, "Wow, y'all's kids would be freakishly tall!" And you know, mentioning kids is always a sure-fire way to get a guy to call back. I'm guessing the 12-inch height differential formed a pretty decent sound barrier, because we're having dinner sometime this week.
The existence of such guys out there really assuages my fear of winding up as some middle-aged, crazy cat lady. Simply put, I refuse to date any men who are shorter than myself. Now before you get all "equal rights for dwarves" on me, let me assure you that I've given it a fair shot. Twice. Through this brief, empirical study I can tell you that it really messes with a girl's self-esteem to be with a guy so fragile that you might break him at any time.
Now the guys I dated -- the shorties -- seemed to enjoy dating a girl taller than them. In fact, each used to encourage me to wear high heels at all times, and I'm afraid that delves a little further into the "mommy issues" area of things than I'm comfortable with.
Guys, what do you think: "Two legs bad, two very looooong legs good"?
31 October 2005
30 October 2005
Yes, I'm gonna be a star
I'm free!!! My hellbeast Tribute is off to greener pastures, and I haven't stopped smiling since my purchase of the below. New house, new car -- aaaaaand, I'm spent. Anyone know any good Ramen recipes?
27 October 2005
Beep-beep, yeah
Okay, remember a few months ago when I mentioned that my Tribute was the spawn of Satan?
So on Monday, I was driving home from work when I noticed smoke coming out from under the hood of my car. I said to myself, "Self, this can't possibly be a good thing." Fortunately I was in close proximity to the dealership where I used to take it for warranty work, so I pulled into the drive and had someone look at it.
As I suspected, my radiator was leaking, and in such a manner that it needed to be replaced ASAP. I remembered that the radiator had to be replaced from an accident I was in back in August of 2004; a look at my service history at the dealer told us that the radiator was replaced AGAIN in November of 2004. And now, here it is, October 2005, and I've just had installed my 3rd radiator in a 2002 vehicle.
I am so buying a new car.
So on Monday, I was driving home from work when I noticed smoke coming out from under the hood of my car. I said to myself, "Self, this can't possibly be a good thing." Fortunately I was in close proximity to the dealership where I used to take it for warranty work, so I pulled into the drive and had someone look at it.
As I suspected, my radiator was leaking, and in such a manner that it needed to be replaced ASAP. I remembered that the radiator had to be replaced from an accident I was in back in August of 2004; a look at my service history at the dealer told us that the radiator was replaced AGAIN in November of 2004. And now, here it is, October 2005, and I've just had installed my 3rd radiator in a 2002 vehicle.
I am so buying a new car.
24 October 2005
Just push play
If you're living under a rock and somehow haven't seen "The Office" yet, STOP EVERYTHING and go set up your VCR/TiVo/TiFaux right now.
Yes, I know it's never going to be the same as the British version, but it's hilarious in its own right. I sort of admire the fact that it doesn't try to be a carbon-copy of its ancestor and has branched out with its own unique story lines and character sketches. Even the snobbiest of BBCA advocates will admit, this show is great TV.
This is "Office Space" on steriods. It is also 100% taken from my real life. I work with an "Angela", the Bible-beater whose favorite color is probably grey. Where I come from, though, our "Angela" is male, married but completely asexual, and irritatingly good at everything he does. Maybe that's what happens when you've got God on second-string?
We've got a "Ryan, the temp". Well, had. I actually dated him for about 1.5 years, till he moved onward and upward, surpassing the aspirations of mere mortals such as ourselves. I'm sure he looks back on his days here thinking, wow...what a complete waste of my time.
What we have that "The Office" doesn't:
- an otherwise brilliant guy whose daily ritual includes loudly clipping his fingernails at 8am,
- a weasely buyer who thinks the best points are substantiated by shouting, and
- an over-sexed, wholly unattractive admin who unabashedly flirts with (married) supervision.
We also have an assortment of geeks, she-males, and a number of other people who, together, form the benchmark of social ineptitude.
I think my favorite office story has to be the one about "Alvin," from around my first month or two here. My lead's wife had been hospitalized suddenly because she was experiencing internal bleeding. Some days later, our lead came back to work, and our cube, which I shared with him and another teammate, was inundated with folks asking about her progress. Alvin stopped in, and was noticably confused as my lead described what was really wrong with his wife - some kind of ruptured organ, as I recall. A puzzled expression on his face, Alvin said, "Oh, see, when you said internal bleeding, I was thinking something else." My lead said, "Well, we were very fortunate that it was able to be caught early enough." Alvin continued: "Yeah, I mean, when you said internal bleeding, I thought you meant bleeding...from the vagina."
I can't make this stuff up, people.
Yes, I know it's never going to be the same as the British version, but it's hilarious in its own right. I sort of admire the fact that it doesn't try to be a carbon-copy of its ancestor and has branched out with its own unique story lines and character sketches. Even the snobbiest of BBCA advocates will admit, this show is great TV.
This is "Office Space" on steriods. It is also 100% taken from my real life. I work with an "Angela", the Bible-beater whose favorite color is probably grey. Where I come from, though, our "Angela" is male, married but completely asexual, and irritatingly good at everything he does. Maybe that's what happens when you've got God on second-string?
We've got a "Ryan, the temp". Well, had. I actually dated him for about 1.5 years, till he moved onward and upward, surpassing the aspirations of mere mortals such as ourselves. I'm sure he looks back on his days here thinking, wow...what a complete waste of my time.
What we have that "The Office" doesn't:
- an otherwise brilliant guy whose daily ritual includes loudly clipping his fingernails at 8am,
- a weasely buyer who thinks the best points are substantiated by shouting, and
- an over-sexed, wholly unattractive admin who unabashedly flirts with (married) supervision.
We also have an assortment of geeks, she-males, and a number of other people who, together, form the benchmark of social ineptitude.
I think my favorite office story has to be the one about "Alvin," from around my first month or two here. My lead's wife had been hospitalized suddenly because she was experiencing internal bleeding. Some days later, our lead came back to work, and our cube, which I shared with him and another teammate, was inundated with folks asking about her progress. Alvin stopped in, and was noticably confused as my lead described what was really wrong with his wife - some kind of ruptured organ, as I recall. A puzzled expression on his face, Alvin said, "Oh, see, when you said internal bleeding, I was thinking something else." My lead said, "Well, we were very fortunate that it was able to be caught early enough." Alvin continued: "Yeah, I mean, when you said internal bleeding, I thought you meant bleeding...from the vagina."
I can't make this stuff up, people.
03 October 2005
I'm gonna getcha, I'll getcha
On Friday at the mall I was nearly attacked. Not in any real, physically-threatening way, but hunted and stalked like prey by two women at one of those "Here, try this expensive hand cream" booths. I wonder what it is about those booth attendents that a) English is almost never their first (or second) language, and b) they have no qualms about haranguing you to the point where you run screaming toward the mall exit.
Maybe it's because I've never been the "sales" type. Making people buy things they don't need just doesn't do it for me. That said, I'll admit that it was always fun trying to sell clearance socks to everyone that approached the register at J.Crew. (And I ask you, who can't use woolen hiking socks in the summer climes of Destin, FL?) But those people were approaching me, their friendly, knowledgable cashier, and it was really more like a game than anything.
These hand-cream women, though, are ruthless! The first time I walked by, creamer #1 approached me with a pleading, "Ma'am? Ma'am?" that I cut short by fishing my phone out of the bag and pretending to answer. Like a vampire to garlic, she shrunk away; it was like a mall version of King's Quest (but the later, well-animated ones).
On my way back, 5 minutes later, I pulled the phone out again, holding it to my ear. I breathed a sigh of relief, noticing that creamer #1 was already applying peach-scented lotion to the hands of a poor soul who visibly did not want to be bothered. Creamer #2 was lurking around the corner, but I confidently continued my walk. "Ma'am? MA'AM? she yelled out, walking right up into my face.
What nerve this woman had, addressing me while I was pretending to ignore her!! I held up a cautionary, poorly hydrated hand and continued to walk.
In what other industry, if not the mall-kiosk business, is it suitable for people to walk up to you and harass you to buy their products? Even prostitutes and strippers aren't that pushy.
Maybe it's because I've never been the "sales" type. Making people buy things they don't need just doesn't do it for me. That said, I'll admit that it was always fun trying to sell clearance socks to everyone that approached the register at J.Crew. (And I ask you, who can't use woolen hiking socks in the summer climes of Destin, FL?) But those people were approaching me, their friendly, knowledgable cashier, and it was really more like a game than anything.
These hand-cream women, though, are ruthless! The first time I walked by, creamer #1 approached me with a pleading, "Ma'am? Ma'am?" that I cut short by fishing my phone out of the bag and pretending to answer. Like a vampire to garlic, she shrunk away; it was like a mall version of King's Quest (but the later, well-animated ones).
On my way back, 5 minutes later, I pulled the phone out again, holding it to my ear. I breathed a sigh of relief, noticing that creamer #1 was already applying peach-scented lotion to the hands of a poor soul who visibly did not want to be bothered. Creamer #2 was lurking around the corner, but I confidently continued my walk. "Ma'am? MA'AM? she yelled out, walking right up into my face.
What nerve this woman had, addressing me while I was pretending to ignore her!! I held up a cautionary, poorly hydrated hand and continued to walk.
In what other industry, if not the mall-kiosk business, is it suitable for people to walk up to you and harass you to buy their products? Even prostitutes and strippers aren't that pushy.
26 September 2005
Some like it hot
Props to Tom for some fantastic ACL Music Festival tips. We had an amazing time this weekend, it was just what the doctor ordered. Well, figuratively speaking, anyway -- I'm pretty sure the doctor didn't order triple-digit weather and 20mph winds that turned Zilker Park into a giant dust-bowl.
Friday -- Keane was absolutely fantastic and a great way to start things off. Caught the end of Blues Traveler on the way to the Black Crowes, worming our way through the crowd in oppressive 90-degree evening temperatures. After "She Talks to Angels" we made our way behind the sound booth to listen in not so dense a crowd. This simple act made the show 8 times more enjoyable, as it did not involve being surrounded by the armpit smells of 8 or 9 prepubescent boys.
Saturday -- Caught the tail end of Aqualung while walking in, then a bit of Buddy Guy. Death Cab for Cutie was good, but standing in line for shaved ice proved far better, overall. That particular venture toward hydration was prompted by the collapse of two young girls with heat stroke directly to our right. Dude, it's 101 degrees -- try eating or drinking something. Without purging.
Listened to the Walkmen while awaiting Jet; during a lull, a Huey flew over the venue and their lead singer shouted, "Look! It's Oasis!" Laughter ensued. Jet was amazing, definitely a highlight, although I'd always assumed they were British? Hmm. While waiting for Oasis, I realized that I was sweating mud. So much for Hurricane Rita.
Oasis took the stage, and zzzzzzzzz...we left after two songs. Liam really needs to, I don't know, enunciate. I'm told that after we left, he made Noel re-start a song because, "Man, you're doing it all wrong." As fun as it would've been to watch those two fight first-hand, I just couldn't take them anyzzzzzzzz....
Sunday -- After rocking 6th Street all night, we made our way back to the park. Dejected when we realized Rachael Yamagata had just finished, we made our way to Rilo Kiley's stage for some fun folksy weirdness. It was 108 degrees when Jason Mraz took the mike, and at risk of sounding like a rabid fangirl, I'll stick my neck out and say that his was the most exciting performance I saw all weekend. That guy is crazy talented, and he scored major points for his duet with Rachael Yamagata.
By the time the sun set, the dust clouds were obscuring both vision and breathing. We made the executive decision not to stick around for Coldplay and risk permanent damage to our lungs. If you think I'm exaggerating the level of dust out there, e-mail me and I will explain, in graphic detail, the horrible places where I found dirt last night in the shower.
Health issues aside, it was a great weekend -- many thanks to the fine people of Austin for organizing another stellar show!
Friday -- Keane was absolutely fantastic and a great way to start things off. Caught the end of Blues Traveler on the way to the Black Crowes, worming our way through the crowd in oppressive 90-degree evening temperatures. After "She Talks to Angels" we made our way behind the sound booth to listen in not so dense a crowd. This simple act made the show 8 times more enjoyable, as it did not involve being surrounded by the armpit smells of 8 or 9 prepubescent boys.
Saturday -- Caught the tail end of Aqualung while walking in, then a bit of Buddy Guy. Death Cab for Cutie was good, but standing in line for shaved ice proved far better, overall. That particular venture toward hydration was prompted by the collapse of two young girls with heat stroke directly to our right. Dude, it's 101 degrees -- try eating or drinking something. Without purging.
Listened to the Walkmen while awaiting Jet; during a lull, a Huey flew over the venue and their lead singer shouted, "Look! It's Oasis!" Laughter ensued. Jet was amazing, definitely a highlight, although I'd always assumed they were British? Hmm. While waiting for Oasis, I realized that I was sweating mud. So much for Hurricane Rita.
Oasis took the stage, and zzzzzzzzz...we left after two songs. Liam really needs to, I don't know, enunciate. I'm told that after we left, he made Noel re-start a song because, "Man, you're doing it all wrong." As fun as it would've been to watch those two fight first-hand, I just couldn't take them anyzzzzzzzz....
Sunday -- After rocking 6th Street all night, we made our way back to the park. Dejected when we realized Rachael Yamagata had just finished, we made our way to Rilo Kiley's stage for some fun folksy weirdness. It was 108 degrees when Jason Mraz took the mike, and at risk of sounding like a rabid fangirl, I'll stick my neck out and say that his was the most exciting performance I saw all weekend. That guy is crazy talented, and he scored major points for his duet with Rachael Yamagata.
By the time the sun set, the dust clouds were obscuring both vision and breathing. We made the executive decision not to stick around for Coldplay and risk permanent damage to our lungs. If you think I'm exaggerating the level of dust out there, e-mail me and I will explain, in graphic detail, the horrible places where I found dirt last night in the shower.
Health issues aside, it was a great weekend -- many thanks to the fine people of Austin for organizing another stellar show!
20 September 2005
You make the rockin' world go round
My friend is on this insane "Seven Day Slim-Down Diet" that involves eating nothing but egg whites, baby rice, chicken breasts, and spinach, every day for seven days. 6 egg whites in the morning, with a cup of baby rice? Get out of here, that's not breakfast. What it IS, though, is an antidote to a healthy appetite. I'd sooner eat my hand than that tripe. She's done it before, and it really does work, but...why?
I'm going to start a radical new diet plan that will take the world by storm -- it's called the "Don't be a Fat-Ass Diet". Basically it involves not eating stuff that's bad for you, like Oreos and ice cream and beer, and getting up off the couch every once in a while, for a reason other than to get more Oreos, ice cream, and beer.
Call me crazy, but I think it just might work.
I'm going to start a radical new diet plan that will take the world by storm -- it's called the "Don't be a Fat-Ass Diet". Basically it involves not eating stuff that's bad for you, like Oreos and ice cream and beer, and getting up off the couch every once in a while, for a reason other than to get more Oreos, ice cream, and beer.
Call me crazy, but I think it just might work.
15 September 2005
Rocket Man
There's such a random assortment of people in the airport early on a Thursday morning. About 50% of these actually work at the airport. Thirty percent are businessfolks, in their snazzy suits and ties, peering over their noses at my shorts and sneakers - yes, Mr. Metrosexual, I realize I'm in fashion-forward Dallas right now, but in about 5 hours I'll be in New Orleans, and let's face it, there's not really anyone to impress there right now. Then you've got the early-bird contingent (5%), folks who are awake at this hour by choice, and by hormone therapy. And the remaining 15% are kids like me, who stared at the Priceline screen last Friday saying, "Well, how bad can it be?"
"Okay, ma'am, we've got you down for a 4:30 wake-up call."
"Okay, ma'am, we've got you down for a 4:30 wake-up call."
07 September 2005
Nowhere man
For all who were wondering -- and thank you, by the way -- my grandparents' house was largely spared by the hurricane. And by "spared" I mean that it's still standing, which is certainly more than most could ask right now.
My mom, dad, and grandpa traveled out to Slidell 5 times from Pensacola this weekend to survey the damages and begin repairs. They rented some equipment and generators and started to work tearing out carpets and ripping up drywall in all 12 of the downstairs rooms. The surge of the storm brought in 3 feet of water, which eventually settled at 1 foot, according to the water marks and mold on the furniture and walls. My mom opened the drawer under the oven, only to find that giant clumps of seaweed -- Mapquest Slidell, LA, and you'll understand how bizarre that really is.
All the furniture from the first floor will have to be replaced, the drywall redone from floor to ceiling. But hearing about this, the worst part was the slow and painful mental inventory I began to take of all the family history that was certainly lost. Sketches and letters from my great grandfather the vaudevillian, family Bibles, pictures of my mom and her brothers growing up in New Jersey and Puerto Rico, wedding photos, year books. All had floated off the bottom shelves of bookcases and were now strewn around in bathrooms and kitchens.
And yet, they were lucky. I have friends whose families' homes were nothing but foundations and shingles when they returned. Their possessions are probably being pumped into Lake Ponchartrain as we speak.
I hope that we, as a nation, can learn from this disaster; that we can stop pointing fingers and looking for scapegoats (I'm talking to you, Kanye), and support one another.
I've always considered New Orleans my second home. It's the one constant in my life, the city I could count on -- and it's devastating to see it now, a shell of is former self. But New Orleanians are nothing if not resiliant, full of life and hope and love. They will overcome this. Keep watching....
My mom, dad, and grandpa traveled out to Slidell 5 times from Pensacola this weekend to survey the damages and begin repairs. They rented some equipment and generators and started to work tearing out carpets and ripping up drywall in all 12 of the downstairs rooms. The surge of the storm brought in 3 feet of water, which eventually settled at 1 foot, according to the water marks and mold on the furniture and walls. My mom opened the drawer under the oven, only to find that giant clumps of seaweed -- Mapquest Slidell, LA, and you'll understand how bizarre that really is.
All the furniture from the first floor will have to be replaced, the drywall redone from floor to ceiling. But hearing about this, the worst part was the slow and painful mental inventory I began to take of all the family history that was certainly lost. Sketches and letters from my great grandfather the vaudevillian, family Bibles, pictures of my mom and her brothers growing up in New Jersey and Puerto Rico, wedding photos, year books. All had floated off the bottom shelves of bookcases and were now strewn around in bathrooms and kitchens.
And yet, they were lucky. I have friends whose families' homes were nothing but foundations and shingles when they returned. Their possessions are probably being pumped into Lake Ponchartrain as we speak.
I hope that we, as a nation, can learn from this disaster; that we can stop pointing fingers and looking for scapegoats (I'm talking to you, Kanye), and support one another.
I've always considered New Orleans my second home. It's the one constant in my life, the city I could count on -- and it's devastating to see it now, a shell of is former self. But New Orleanians are nothing if not resiliant, full of life and hope and love. They will overcome this. Keep watching....
01 September 2005
Soy un perdador
Today our facilities lady posted a "Welcome" sign on the vacant cube across from me, and said, "Oooh, Tara, you get a new guy sitting across from you! His name is Shawn." I feigned as much enthusiasm as I could until she rounded the corner. I mean, really. Long ago I stopped being excited to meet new people here, never mind casting any thought toward romantic involvement. Not that I would ever date someone I work with (wink!), but anyway I'm not really looking right now. Least of all, here.
As you may know, I work at an engineering firm outside of Fort Worth as a software engineer. This is the trifecta of social ineptitude; the triple-threat. Engineering firms employ mostly men, and roughly 97% of these men a) are over 35 years old, and b) have no personality. Add to that the fact that we're in a small town in Texas, and you get an army of drones espousing antiquated gender mores. They are truly the WASPiest of the WASPs.
Software engineers are a subset of this breed; as engineers go, they are at the far end of the normalcy spectrum, somewhere around Micheal Jackson and that lady on the corner smoking Kools and mumbling about her son, Jimmy Carter, who lives on the moon.
One of my compatriots has a poster of a horse taped up on the wall next to his cube. Well, poster isn't exactly the appropriate term. It's really more of a giant store display for something called "Knicker-Makers". Careful that you don't get too close; a proximity sensor in the display elicits an enthusiastic "neeeeeeeigh" when you enter a 5-foot radius. I'm not altogether sure, but I think he does it so he can safely look at "explicit content" on the 'net without being snuck up on. And by explicit content, I of course mean Amish porn.
Another hasn't quite figured out that women, too, are carbon-based life forms. His MO: the stand-there-and-stare-with-a-blank-expression-while-making-awkward-statements method. "Hi, Tara." Pause. Blink blink. "I heard you were from Slidell." Blink. "I have some family there, too." Head tilt.
I have to get out of here, or I'm going to become a hermit.
As you may know, I work at an engineering firm outside of Fort Worth as a software engineer. This is the trifecta of social ineptitude; the triple-threat. Engineering firms employ mostly men, and roughly 97% of these men a) are over 35 years old, and b) have no personality. Add to that the fact that we're in a small town in Texas, and you get an army of drones espousing antiquated gender mores. They are truly the WASPiest of the WASPs.
Software engineers are a subset of this breed; as engineers go, they are at the far end of the normalcy spectrum, somewhere around Micheal Jackson and that lady on the corner smoking Kools and mumbling about her son, Jimmy Carter, who lives on the moon.
One of my compatriots has a poster of a horse taped up on the wall next to his cube. Well, poster isn't exactly the appropriate term. It's really more of a giant store display for something called "Knicker-Makers". Careful that you don't get too close; a proximity sensor in the display elicits an enthusiastic "neeeeeeeigh" when you enter a 5-foot radius. I'm not altogether sure, but I think he does it so he can safely look at "explicit content" on the 'net without being snuck up on. And by explicit content, I of course mean Amish porn.
Another hasn't quite figured out that women, too, are carbon-based life forms. His MO: the stand-there-and-stare-with-a-blank-expression-while-making-awkward-statements method. "Hi, Tara." Pause. Blink blink. "I heard you were from Slidell." Blink. "I have some family there, too." Head tilt.
I have to get out of here, or I'm going to become a hermit.
31 August 2005
These are the eyes of disarray
Well, I spoke too soon it seems. A levee repair failed in New Orleans yesterday, and the city is anticipated to get 12 more feet of water today. This news coverage makes me nauseous; every story I see reminds me of someone else I need to call and check up on. Roughly half of the people I knew in school are from the areas most affected, and many live there currently. My ex-boyfriend, my freshman year roommate, my Zeta big sis and my grand-lil-sis....
My grandfather and a family friend are heading back soon to survey the damage. I wonder what they'll find when they get there.
My grandfather and a family friend are heading back soon to survey the damage. I wonder what they'll find when they get there.
30 August 2005
When the levee breaks
Please keep in your thoughts all those in the gulf area today -- so much devastation, so many homeless, and we haven't seen the half of the damage yet. My grandparents live in Slidell, the city through which the eyewall tore early yesterday morning. They're safe and sound in central Florida, but only time will tell what damage their home and friends' homes have sustained.
Fortunately New Orleans proper has survived; what a loss it would have been for this nation, that culture and joie de vivre washed away in 145 mph winds. But there's so much more to that area than the French Quarter, so many more bouroughs and cultural centers. A few of the popular rappers of our time, for example, come from the 9th Ward, Magnolia projects -- under 6 feet of water today.
And where do those people go when they're rescued from their rooftops? They have relied on government-subsidized housing for years, for better or for worse. I guess it will truly be an experiment in human nature and resilience; when your safety net is removed, what do you do?
Fortunately New Orleans proper has survived; what a loss it would have been for this nation, that culture and joie de vivre washed away in 145 mph winds. But there's so much more to that area than the French Quarter, so many more bouroughs and cultural centers. A few of the popular rappers of our time, for example, come from the 9th Ward, Magnolia projects -- under 6 feet of water today.
And where do those people go when they're rescued from their rooftops? They have relied on government-subsidized housing for years, for better or for worse. I guess it will truly be an experiment in human nature and resilience; when your safety net is removed, what do you do?
28 August 2005
Break on through
I've been having some difficulty decorating my house. Well, really I suppose the difficulty lies in getting motivated to start such a long process -- and it's really left me wondering whether I'm a commitmentphobe. I'm just scared to buy something and find out, upon consideration, that it was the wrong thing.
I decided a week or so ago that I absolutely needed to get things in gear. In fit of OCD, I ran to Lowes and collected one of ever single paint sample booklet they had. If you've ever perused paint samples at Lowes, you're familiar with these booklets, organized by color family, and featuring monochramatic, coordinating, and other color schemes. Not wanting to look like a crazy bag lady, I stashed the 4-inch stack of booklets in my purse as I headed for the door.
It was at this point I noticed that each of the booklets were barcoded. This, of course, left me to consider whether I was committing an act of theivery or simply taking what was rightfully mine. As I approached the exit, I decided on the latter, for no other reason save that it made me feel better about myself.
I arrived home at 8:30 and laid all the booklets on my living room floor before me. Scissors in hand, I clipped each individual one-by-two-inch sample, arranging them in an imprompteau color wheel before me. I grabbed a few reprentative samples and ran around the house trying to match them to things. I matched my tile, my bedspread, my cabinets, my couch, my houseplants -- everything. I searched through the remaining pile, finding coordinating colors for each of my selections. I was in a zen state, at one with my furniture.
And 4 hours later, I had it -- a color palette that I would use to find coordinating accessories and furniture for each of my rooms. One piece of paper with three individual palettes, one for each room. Shocked, I realized that each would-be room featured different shades of the same 3 colors: red, yellow, and green.
Am I really in that much of a rut?? I blame the couch that my mother bought when I was 10, a plaid in those same colors on a field of off-white. I swear it's imprinted on my retinas to this day. Or maybe the various accidents I've been in have cultivated in me an obsession with traffic lights?
Anyway, I've heard that it's a good design technique to weave the same colors from room to room in a house. It's supposed to lend a sense of cohesion to the decor...or something else that sounds equally based in reality. I'm going to adopt that philosophy as justification for my actions, and press on. Wish me luck!
I decided a week or so ago that I absolutely needed to get things in gear. In fit of OCD, I ran to Lowes and collected one of ever single paint sample booklet they had. If you've ever perused paint samples at Lowes, you're familiar with these booklets, organized by color family, and featuring monochramatic, coordinating, and other color schemes. Not wanting to look like a crazy bag lady, I stashed the 4-inch stack of booklets in my purse as I headed for the door.
It was at this point I noticed that each of the booklets were barcoded. This, of course, left me to consider whether I was committing an act of theivery or simply taking what was rightfully mine. As I approached the exit, I decided on the latter, for no other reason save that it made me feel better about myself.
I arrived home at 8:30 and laid all the booklets on my living room floor before me. Scissors in hand, I clipped each individual one-by-two-inch sample, arranging them in an imprompteau color wheel before me. I grabbed a few reprentative samples and ran around the house trying to match them to things. I matched my tile, my bedspread, my cabinets, my couch, my houseplants -- everything. I searched through the remaining pile, finding coordinating colors for each of my selections. I was in a zen state, at one with my furniture.
And 4 hours later, I had it -- a color palette that I would use to find coordinating accessories and furniture for each of my rooms. One piece of paper with three individual palettes, one for each room. Shocked, I realized that each would-be room featured different shades of the same 3 colors: red, yellow, and green.
Am I really in that much of a rut?? I blame the couch that my mother bought when I was 10, a plaid in those same colors on a field of off-white. I swear it's imprinted on my retinas to this day. Or maybe the various accidents I've been in have cultivated in me an obsession with traffic lights?
Anyway, I've heard that it's a good design technique to weave the same colors from room to room in a house. It's supposed to lend a sense of cohesion to the decor...or something else that sounds equally based in reality. I'm going to adopt that philosophy as justification for my actions, and press on. Wish me luck!
18 August 2005
Have you seen me lately?
I wanted to take a second to point you guys to the funniest blog I've ever read (present company excepted): Kiss & Blog.
It's maintained by two friends, a guy from Sydney and a girl from, I assume, the Midwest, who now reside in Seattle. They take turns blogging about dating, relationships, and sex, and reading their posts is one of the highlights of my day. Now that may sound like a bold statement, but bear in mind that I work in a very boring place. It really is hilarious, though, and you guys should check it out.
It's maintained by two friends, a guy from Sydney and a girl from, I assume, the Midwest, who now reside in Seattle. They take turns blogging about dating, relationships, and sex, and reading their posts is one of the highlights of my day. Now that may sound like a bold statement, but bear in mind that I work in a very boring place. It really is hilarious, though, and you guys should check it out.
04 August 2005
Hello? Is there anybody in there?
You know, for all of Gary's griping about a "loss of novelty" in our collective blogs, he's certainly been quiet!
Michelle and I went to a Jack Johnson concert last night, it was fantastic, as usual.
Highlights:
- All the fashion victims who think pairing skirts with cowboy boots is cute. Newsflash: The combo is not cute, nor is it flattering. The net effect is to make you look stumpier than you already are.
- Jack's encore cover of the Beatles' "Two of Us" -- a pleasant surprise!
- Mmmm, margaritas.
- The doppelganger for that chubby red-headed kid in The Sandlot who rolled down the rear window of his mom's car to blow us kisses and proclaim his undying love for us as we passed them on the interstate.
- The fact that the combo of pot smoke and nachos coming from the row behind us didn't make me puke. (I can't handle that smell, really -- is it not as bad if you're the one smoking it, maybe?? I'm thinking I can safely add that to the list of things I'll never try. Like corndogs.)
We also learned last night that sequins are now in style, and I don't mean a few strategically-placed sequins on one article of clothing. I mean it is now in style to be dripping in them, like Liberace's cat. Bad news for anyone with a body fat percentage greater than 6%; good news for anorexic girls who can't afford a boob job. Thank God the sun set quickly, otherwise my retinas would be burned beyond repair.
01 August 2005
The sounds of silence
I know I've been really quiet on this blog lately, and part of that can be attributed to moving and the 80 gabillion things I have to get done, but another part of that is that I'm trying to find good topics. Don't get me wrong, I have a ton of things clamoring to get out of my head, no shortage of things to say, most of them inane and inconsequential.
I think it's more to do with the diversity of my audience -- I've got friends, exes, and ex-friends reading this thing, and I guess it's a question of image management, really. Not that I'm worried so much about what any of y'all* think of me, per se, but that I'm worried that some of the things I say will be hurtful to people. I realize this sounds like paranoia, but I've already had this happen in the short 2 months that I've been blogging, and I guess it just freaked me out.
Oh well, right? I guess this thing is a forum for my uncensored thoughts, and no one can blame me for speaking the truth. Can they??
Great, now I'm going to have Simon & Garfunkel in my head all freaking day. This always happens!
* Yeah, you heard me -- "y'all".
I think it's more to do with the diversity of my audience -- I've got friends, exes, and ex-friends reading this thing, and I guess it's a question of image management, really. Not that I'm worried so much about what any of y'all* think of me, per se, but that I'm worried that some of the things I say will be hurtful to people. I realize this sounds like paranoia, but I've already had this happen in the short 2 months that I've been blogging, and I guess it just freaked me out.
Oh well, right? I guess this thing is a forum for my uncensored thoughts, and no one can blame me for speaking the truth. Can they??
Great, now I'm going to have Simon & Garfunkel in my head all freaking day. This always happens!
* Yeah, you heard me -- "y'all".
26 July 2005
So much to say
I'm closing on my house Friday, which, frankly, freaks me out. I think it's just the thought of laying down a lot of cash on one thing, really, because living in/owning the house itself doesn't scare me. (Well, except for the utility bills...) Decorating is going to be pretty fun, as soon as I get some more furniture. It'll also be fun to have a roommate again; as long as she doesn't pretend to kill herself or get strung out and attack my friends, everything should be copacetic.
(It's 7:30am and I already have a headache, so go ahead and add your own witticism to this post. Thanks! Kisses!!)
19 July 2005
Sell out
So I just found out that Reel Big Fish played tonight at a theater that's like, 5 minutes from my apartment. Bummer! I loved those guys back in high school, they and Ben Folds Five were favorites.
Which reminds me, when I went to the movies the other night they were playing a new Ben Folds song, sans Five. Has this been out for some time? Lately my dial's been landing on classic rock so I might be a little behind the times.
But not enough...I am embarassed to admit that my girl Laura and I rocked out to "Since You've Been Gone" in the middle of the bar last weekend -- what?! It was my birthday!! Let me have my moment, okay? Jeez... I don't know if that song is getting mad play everywhere, or if we're just special because Kelly Clarkson lives 15 minutes south of Fort Worth, but it just won't die. It's like some kind of sick, deranged, sugar-coated tapeworm. The kind that makes you sing and violently thrash your head around while holding a fake mike.
Stop looking at me like that.
Which reminds me, when I went to the movies the other night they were playing a new Ben Folds song, sans Five. Has this been out for some time? Lately my dial's been landing on classic rock so I might be a little behind the times.
But not enough...I am embarassed to admit that my girl Laura and I rocked out to "Since You've Been Gone" in the middle of the bar last weekend -- what?! It was my birthday!! Let me have my moment, okay? Jeez... I don't know if that song is getting mad play everywhere, or if we're just special because Kelly Clarkson lives 15 minutes south of Fort Worth, but it just won't die. It's like some kind of sick, deranged, sugar-coated tapeworm. The kind that makes you sing and violently thrash your head around while holding a fake mike.
Stop looking at me like that.
18 July 2005
Here in my car
So what better way is there to spend a birthday than dealing with car trouble? It's no secret that I have the worst luck with cars ever, and owning my 2002 Mazda Tribute has been the worst experience ever. Don't get me wrong, I love the car, but it's in the shop every couple of months for recalls, fuel leaks, warning lights, etc.
Driving home from work on Thursday I had huge plans -- I was going to go the gym, then hurry home and get my homework done so that I could enjoy my Friday off and my birthday the next day. As I turned off the interstate and sat on the ramp, waiting to turn down my street, my radio turned off. I said a few choice words and figured, great, another problem, now my radio is dead, and my 3-year warranty just ran out. I turned the corner and was met with some resistance -- the power steering was out. I made it all the way around the corner on fumes and my own stubbornness, and came to a complete halt, blocking a whole lane of traffic.
Sitting in the car I panicked -- I was THAT GIRL. The girl you curse at for not moving her car out of the road? The girl you drive by and think, "Poor thing," as she sits there bawling and screaming?
Luckily my friends Carlos and Jill were driving down the road and spotted me. (In Fort Worth, odds are if you see a stalled Tribute, it's mine.) We flagged down some farmboy to jump the car, giving it just enough to power to push it into a parking lot, and had a tow sent out. The phone call the next day was bad news, the battery had drained completely and mysteriously, wearing out the alternator. It would be $1200 to fix. Oh, and by the way, the brakes are worn out, would you like us to fix those, too?
"My ass," my mom said over the phone, asking me for the number to Mazda's service center. Five hours later, I picked up my car, for a charge of $100 plus tax.
Moral of the story: Moms kick ass, Mazda sucks it.
Driving home from work on Thursday I had huge plans -- I was going to go the gym, then hurry home and get my homework done so that I could enjoy my Friday off and my birthday the next day. As I turned off the interstate and sat on the ramp, waiting to turn down my street, my radio turned off. I said a few choice words and figured, great, another problem, now my radio is dead, and my 3-year warranty just ran out. I turned the corner and was met with some resistance -- the power steering was out. I made it all the way around the corner on fumes and my own stubbornness, and came to a complete halt, blocking a whole lane of traffic.
Sitting in the car I panicked -- I was THAT GIRL. The girl you curse at for not moving her car out of the road? The girl you drive by and think, "Poor thing," as she sits there bawling and screaming?
Luckily my friends Carlos and Jill were driving down the road and spotted me. (In Fort Worth, odds are if you see a stalled Tribute, it's mine.) We flagged down some farmboy to jump the car, giving it just enough to power to push it into a parking lot, and had a tow sent out. The phone call the next day was bad news, the battery had drained completely and mysteriously, wearing out the alternator. It would be $1200 to fix. Oh, and by the way, the brakes are worn out, would you like us to fix those, too?
"My ass," my mom said over the phone, asking me for the number to Mazda's service center. Five hours later, I picked up my car, for a charge of $100 plus tax.
Moral of the story: Moms kick ass, Mazda sucks it.
11 July 2005
I need a remedy
...for what's ailing me.
Austin City Limits 2005
I'll for sure be checking out Keane, the Black Crowes (no question!!), Mraz, Widespread, and Coldplay. If anyone's heard good things about the lesser-knowns on the bill, let me know - I'm in need of some good new music.
Austin City Limits 2005
I'll for sure be checking out Keane, the Black Crowes (no question!!), Mraz, Widespread, and Coldplay. If anyone's heard good things about the lesser-knowns on the bill, let me know - I'm in need of some good new music.
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