So just after I posted what I entitled "Inertia" I found out that I'm being moved in my position at work. I have a week and a half left at my current job and then I begin training on something new. I'm unreasonably excited just to have a new challenge put in front of me. I really don't have much of an idea what I'll be trained into doing, but for now I'm just happy to be given the opportunity to learn something new.
I currently throwing myself into the apartment/roommate search for fall. Right now my main resoure is Craig's List, but I welcome further suggestions.
This post is a dull update after being away for so long, but the intense heat in my apartment is killing me. I can sweat through my clothes while just sitting on the couch. Pleasant.
I promise more with a twist of interesting very soon. Very soon.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Hey, I have that!
The other week I was driving through some part of NE Minneapolis when a familiar shirt caught my eye. I did a double-take out the car window to see a woman dressed in the green Bennies shirt that were for sale my sophomore year of college. I'm a particular fan of the green Bennies shirt because it's such a great shade of green.
Any time I see someone in Bennie or Johnnie gear I also stop to see if I recognize said person. Due to my college being fairly small and isolated there is usually a good chance I will at least recognize the person.
In this instance, however, the person wearing the green Bennies shirt was clearly a homeless person who hadn't been able to wash it for quite a few days. I can't explain exactly why, but it was an odd experience all together.
Any time I see someone in Bennie or Johnnie gear I also stop to see if I recognize said person. Due to my college being fairly small and isolated there is usually a good chance I will at least recognize the person.
In this instance, however, the person wearing the green Bennies shirt was clearly a homeless person who hadn't been able to wash it for quite a few days. I can't explain exactly why, but it was an odd experience all together.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Seriously, what is going on?
Okay, so on my way home tonight there was a man on a corner near my apartment signing to himself. At first I thought he must be signing to someone in a car, but since I was waiting at a red light and he signed in several directions while not receiving any answer I could see I'm pretty sure he was just a crazy man. Is this the deaf person's way of being crazy? As in somewhat equivilent to crazy hearing person's muttering to him or herself?
I'm not saying deaf people don't have the right to be crazy people too. I'm just saying I've never seen one before. AND this was just a crazy person-sighting type of day.
I'm not saying deaf people don't have the right to be crazy people too. I'm just saying I've never seen one before. AND this was just a crazy person-sighting type of day.
What is she? Is that?
This morning as I was coming off the freeway exit ramp onto the fairly industrial street when my company is located I noticed something odd at the bottom of the ramp. A pedestrian! Now, this type of character is very rare in these parts as usually people drive from one building to the next, usually literally less than a block.
However, this pedestrian was especially odd. It was 7:30 in the morning and she was decked out in dress capris, a too-short cotton shirt (and no one really needed to see what she had under said shirt) and dirty tennies. She didn't appear to have any sort of purse or bag, nor did she appear to be working out. In fact, she was actually crocheting as she walked.
Yup, crochet hook, yarn and the occassional glance downward was all this woman needed to construct what looked like a potholder on her way, well, I don't actually have a clue where she was headed. Didn't looked dressed for work, but we have had some odd-looking temps around the office as of late.
Anyway, oddest thing I've seen on my way to work yet.
However, this pedestrian was especially odd. It was 7:30 in the morning and she was decked out in dress capris, a too-short cotton shirt (and no one really needed to see what she had under said shirt) and dirty tennies. She didn't appear to have any sort of purse or bag, nor did she appear to be working out. In fact, she was actually crocheting as she walked.
Yup, crochet hook, yarn and the occassional glance downward was all this woman needed to construct what looked like a potholder on her way, well, I don't actually have a clue where she was headed. Didn't looked dressed for work, but we have had some odd-looking temps around the office as of late.
Anyway, oddest thing I've seen on my way to work yet.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Inertia
Last summer I spent my time outside, tending to a massive flower garden and working for the city parks department. Although there were several occassions where I questioned whether I would sweat to death before the day was out, and suffered through more than one coworker spat (both involving me and not involving me) which I'll chalk up to heat and a boss with a split personality, I found the work satisfying. I could take people there after I was off for the day (amazing being that I wanted to return somewhere I'd already spent the majority of the day) and show them exactly what I had spent my time accomplishing.
That kind of satisfaction is something I could really use right now. Blah.
That kind of satisfaction is something I could really use right now. Blah.
Monday, June 4, 2007
I just wanted a nice latte
On Saturday morning I woke up with a tremendous headache. I'd had it when going to bed the night before, but attributed it to tiredness, dehydration, and the end of a long work week. After I woke up with it on Saturday it was pointed out to me that it was probably the result of caffeine withdrawal--a valid point since I hadn't had caffeine since Wednesday.
So, off I went to Starbucks. By the time I managed to shower, dress and walk down there it was well past the noon hour. It was also incredibly muggy (when HASN'T it been incredibly muggy recently?) and the sun was downright hot. The six or so blocks to the 'Bucks weren't entirely pleasant.
After arriving at my local coffee house I went to the counter and ordered per normal. I tend to get coffee at this same location three to four (or more) times a week. I noted a woman walking away from the counter with a drink as the only other customer ordering.
I told the barista what I thought would best cure my headache and moved over to the pick-up area. Almost instantly, the barista making the coffee called out my drink. Thinking it had been awfully quick I reached out for the straw, and decided that it must have come so fast since it was iced coffee.
All of the sudden the barista preparing the coffee shouted "that's not yours!" In my headache state I was completely shocked and dropped everything like a hot potato. The lady who I had seen at the counter when I came in (who, mind you, was alone and was already holding one drink and was NOT waiting in the pick-up area) came over and snatched the coffee. Our exchange as follows:
To me: "Oh, did you get the same thing?"
Me: "No. Yes. Yes, I did."
To me: "Oh, sorry."
Me: "Sorry."
Wait awkward amount of time...say 4 seconds"
Me: "Oh, it's okay."
Yeah, it totally sounded like I was reassuring myself that it was okay. The lady who actually owned the drink turned and stared (as I probably would have too. What am I, a sweating, crazy drink-stealer?).
I think I turned an attractive shade of purple and pretended to be really absorbed in studying the coffee cups for sale until my actual drink had been made. The whole exchange made me feel like a home-schooled kid who hadn't been to the big city. Seriously.
So, off I went to Starbucks. By the time I managed to shower, dress and walk down there it was well past the noon hour. It was also incredibly muggy (when HASN'T it been incredibly muggy recently?) and the sun was downright hot. The six or so blocks to the 'Bucks weren't entirely pleasant.
After arriving at my local coffee house I went to the counter and ordered per normal. I tend to get coffee at this same location three to four (or more) times a week. I noted a woman walking away from the counter with a drink as the only other customer ordering.
I told the barista what I thought would best cure my headache and moved over to the pick-up area. Almost instantly, the barista making the coffee called out my drink. Thinking it had been awfully quick I reached out for the straw, and decided that it must have come so fast since it was iced coffee.
All of the sudden the barista preparing the coffee shouted "that's not yours!" In my headache state I was completely shocked and dropped everything like a hot potato. The lady who I had seen at the counter when I came in (who, mind you, was alone and was already holding one drink and was NOT waiting in the pick-up area) came over and snatched the coffee. Our exchange as follows:
To me: "Oh, did you get the same thing?"
Me: "No. Yes. Yes, I did."
To me: "Oh, sorry."
Me: "Sorry."
Wait awkward amount of time...say 4 seconds"
Me: "Oh, it's okay."
Yeah, it totally sounded like I was reassuring myself that it was okay. The lady who actually owned the drink turned and stared (as I probably would have too. What am I, a sweating, crazy drink-stealer?).
I think I turned an attractive shade of purple and pretended to be really absorbed in studying the coffee cups for sale until my actual drink had been made. The whole exchange made me feel like a home-schooled kid who hadn't been to the big city. Seriously.
I'm still here
I know, it's been forever since I posted. No internet at home really makes these things difficult. However, I do have an appointment for internet installation this Friday, so after that point I should be back up and running. In the meantime, I will continue to be incredibly isolated as I had my cable taken out last week and now rely on my friend NBC, ABC and CBS to keep me informed.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
It's an addiction...
Last week the neighbors who live directly below me moved out. At first I thought this event was a bonus for me in several ways:
1. They own a giant dog who barks all the time. He's so big he shakes my floor when he barks and drives the cat crazy. I was home sick one day last week and he barked for two solid hours when his owners weren't home.
2. They gave me their window air conditioning unit for free when they left. Maybe to make up for all the barking?
3. I no longer have to feel bad when I accidentially drop things early in the morning or kick books off my bed at night. Both are inevitable happenings.
4. They had a surround sound system and would watch action movies. Every Sunday. All. Day. Long.
However, a few hours after they departed a discovered a very sad reason why their leaving was such sad sorrow for me. Apparently the internet signal I've been using since I moved in was coming from their apartment. No more neighbors, no more internet. Hence my lack of posting over the holiday weekend.
Last night I was so desperate to check my email that I drove down the street to a parking space I knew would pick up a free wireless signal and used said signal from my car. Sad, I know.
I've spent most of today investigating paying for internet and the news is not good. Someone really needs to challenge the local communication monopoly because they want to charge me over $45 a month for internet, plus installation fees. All this after I just downgraded my cable (watching less TV is a good thing, life does go on without DVR) and was charged $10. To downgrade! Jerks.
1. They own a giant dog who barks all the time. He's so big he shakes my floor when he barks and drives the cat crazy. I was home sick one day last week and he barked for two solid hours when his owners weren't home.
2. They gave me their window air conditioning unit for free when they left. Maybe to make up for all the barking?
3. I no longer have to feel bad when I accidentially drop things early in the morning or kick books off my bed at night. Both are inevitable happenings.
4. They had a surround sound system and would watch action movies. Every Sunday. All. Day. Long.
However, a few hours after they departed a discovered a very sad reason why their leaving was such sad sorrow for me. Apparently the internet signal I've been using since I moved in was coming from their apartment. No more neighbors, no more internet. Hence my lack of posting over the holiday weekend.
Last night I was so desperate to check my email that I drove down the street to a parking space I knew would pick up a free wireless signal and used said signal from my car. Sad, I know.
I've spent most of today investigating paying for internet and the news is not good. Someone really needs to challenge the local communication monopoly because they want to charge me over $45 a month for internet, plus installation fees. All this after I just downgraded my cable (watching less TV is a good thing, life does go on without DVR) and was charged $10. To downgrade! Jerks.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Look Ma! Water be comin' from that there sky!
I've discovered a great new distraction at work. The weather! Okay, so this definitely isn't a new distraction. Rather, it's something that most people in offices seem to focus on. This is somewhat ironic since we spend our entire day locked in a climate-controlled, recirculted-air environment.
Anyway, this afternoon around 2 the skies got dark, the wind began to blow, and then the rain moved in. Our first indication that something might be up came when our power flickered more than once. Everyone immediately jumped on their weather radar of choice to see what was up. I myself trust Kare 11, so I tuned into their radar. Sure enough, it was raining. As though we couldn't see that outside.
When I worked outside inclement weather meant we might have to move things inside, tie things down, or herd people to safety. Here it means very little. In fact, our tornado shelter is 3/4 windows. I kid you not. If I actually think a tornado might come I'm definitely trampling some old lady coworkers to reach the shelter area actually NOT by the windows.
Anyway, the weather provided everyone with a great 10 minutes to run from window to window, yelling such astute comments as "Whoa! Look at that rain!" and "The wind is blowing!". Welcome to Minnesota summers, my friends.
Wait, did I mention I was stationed at the window and running over to the next row of cubes to report the tornado warning in the area? I'm not above the comments, just merely able to see my own ridiculousness.
Anyway, this afternoon around 2 the skies got dark, the wind began to blow, and then the rain moved in. Our first indication that something might be up came when our power flickered more than once. Everyone immediately jumped on their weather radar of choice to see what was up. I myself trust Kare 11, so I tuned into their radar. Sure enough, it was raining. As though we couldn't see that outside.
When I worked outside inclement weather meant we might have to move things inside, tie things down, or herd people to safety. Here it means very little. In fact, our tornado shelter is 3/4 windows. I kid you not. If I actually think a tornado might come I'm definitely trampling some old lady coworkers to reach the shelter area actually NOT by the windows.
Anyway, the weather provided everyone with a great 10 minutes to run from window to window, yelling such astute comments as "Whoa! Look at that rain!" and "The wind is blowing!". Welcome to Minnesota summers, my friends.
Wait, did I mention I was stationed at the window and running over to the next row of cubes to report the tornado warning in the area? I'm not above the comments, just merely able to see my own ridiculousness.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Grrrrr
All day I've been working on a pressing issue with someone. I get a phone call this afternoon telling me it's within minutes of being resolved. Then what do I get, mere moments later? An out of office message.
Not cool.
Not cool.
There's really no need to check it twice
In an effort to somewhat better my mind, I'm in the process of making a summer reading list. I've so far complied books I own and have on my pile to read, new titles by authors I enjoy, the books on the list we're reading for my book club, and a couple of classics I've always meant to get around to reading.
The problem is that once I make some sort of list, I feel as though I begin plowing through it just to get things ticked off the list, as is my personality. I see it as a personal challenge because I don't like having things not done on a list. However, I want to remember to enjoy the books I'm reading and not just read to check them off.
Anyway, I've got to make some sort of a goal this summer so I don't end up enveloped in the warm glow of the TV all the time. Not good for my mind :)
The problem is that once I make some sort of list, I feel as though I begin plowing through it just to get things ticked off the list, as is my personality. I see it as a personal challenge because I don't like having things not done on a list. However, I want to remember to enjoy the books I'm reading and not just read to check them off.
Anyway, I've got to make some sort of a goal this summer so I don't end up enveloped in the warm glow of the TV all the time. Not good for my mind :)
Friday, May 18, 2007
Hello, it's me
My phone voice was something that I began developing in early high school without ever really realizing I was prepping myself for my future "career." As a dedicated member of the speech team, I developed a voice which scares the crap out of me just a little, but makes me approachable and friendly-sounding. At least I like to think so.
By the way, I was not only a member of the speech team, but a captain. And a giant nerd. Literally giant before any of the boys had grown in high school. Shocker, I know.
Anyway, My work study job during college involved (wo)manning the phones at a campus office for four years. This is where I really learned about phone voice, whether I'm being yelled at or complimented. Then, right out of college, I had pretty much an admin job so that I could work abroad. Then I got to test out the American phone voice with accents of all kinds. How exciting!
In my current position I also often have to be on the phone trying to talk people into doing things they'd rather not do. Hmmm, that doesn't sound like I want it to. I mean I'm trying to convince people to open up delivery appointments or put 40,000 pounds worth of pies on a truck. In the next hour.
So, my phone voice is all but perfect. Even if I'm incredibly annoyed I like to think no one can tell. If a friend ever happens to call my work line they instantly start laughing. My phone voice is really something that I look forward to shedding someday.
By the way, I was not only a member of the speech team, but a captain. And a giant nerd. Literally giant before any of the boys had grown in high school. Shocker, I know.
Anyway, My work study job during college involved (wo)manning the phones at a campus office for four years. This is where I really learned about phone voice, whether I'm being yelled at or complimented. Then, right out of college, I had pretty much an admin job so that I could work abroad. Then I got to test out the American phone voice with accents of all kinds. How exciting!
In my current position I also often have to be on the phone trying to talk people into doing things they'd rather not do. Hmmm, that doesn't sound like I want it to. I mean I'm trying to convince people to open up delivery appointments or put 40,000 pounds worth of pies on a truck. In the next hour.
So, my phone voice is all but perfect. Even if I'm incredibly annoyed I like to think no one can tell. If a friend ever happens to call my work line they instantly start laughing. My phone voice is really something that I look forward to shedding someday.
OMFG!
Very exciting news on the work front. Our dinosaur heavy-duty stapler has somehow been mysteriously replaced by a new, shiny, made-in-the-last-year years heavy-duty stapler. What is sad is that this is so far the highlight of my Friday morning.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Wait for it, wait for it...
I just wrote an entire piece concerning how I feel about corporate life, but then realized I should actually wait to post it until I don't need my job's current health insurance. Something to look foward to, I guess.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Maybe that $100,000 college degree will be put to good use
One of my pet peeves is when someone tells me they "never watch TV" in a snotty tone, like they just know that I do watch TV and because of that I am a lesser human being. Oh, please, let me be as cool as you so I can look down my nose at everyone who knows the names of the people on the latest season of the Real World (guilty) or wants to know whether Locke is actually dead. It's fine if you don't watch TV, and I know there are alot of people out there who are genuinely uninterested or too busy to spend time with the talking box.
I would like to think that I am not a great consumer of television. However, if I allowed myself to believe that statement I would only be leading myself further into the depths of self-deception. I do like TV. I get attached to shows, I feel like I know characters, and I think TiVo is one of man's greatest inventions to this point. Seriously. So maybe I'm just hearing these snotty tones in my head and taking offense because I feel as though I may be judged by the televisionless person. Or not. You be the judge.
As of late I've felt as though I'm slowly losing my mind and I blame it on a combination of booze, TV, and the confusion of being in my early 20s. I realize that TV is a great distractor, but once I flip it off my overactive mind comes out to play. Having been sent into dormancy while watching Brooke's latest rant on the Real World Denver, I have not only managed to lose a half hour of my life that I'll never get back, but I've also allowed my mind to flip off. Somehow, when the switch for my mind is turned back on thoughts don't just trickle in, the floodgates are literally opened. Pretty sure the levees of my mind are pretty much irrepairable at this point. Plus I have a knack for excessive worrying which I can prove is genetic.
What is the point of the long rant in the last paragraph, one might wonder? Well, I've basically come to the conclusion that I need to spend more of my free time reading and come the end of the this television season I am (gulp) canceling my cable and thus losing my TiVo.
Tonight, as I worked on on latest fun read, I came to the realization that even though I wasn't reading Hemingway or Chaucer, my mind felt active and alive. I was processing my own stories, felt inspired to write blog postings, and was composing scenes for the Next Great American Novel in my head. I am alive! That last Miller Lite did NOT kill off as many brain cells as I had once feared.
Really, it's an unbeatable feeling. My goal for the summer is to keep it up so I feel sharp and ready as fall approaches.
P.S. Entirely unrelated, but Patches is, at the moment, eating red ants which have somehow busted in my second story apartment and are crawling across my floor. Don't know how good that is for her, but I guess she won't be starved for protein, eh?
I would like to think that I am not a great consumer of television. However, if I allowed myself to believe that statement I would only be leading myself further into the depths of self-deception. I do like TV. I get attached to shows, I feel like I know characters, and I think TiVo is one of man's greatest inventions to this point. Seriously. So maybe I'm just hearing these snotty tones in my head and taking offense because I feel as though I may be judged by the televisionless person. Or not. You be the judge.
As of late I've felt as though I'm slowly losing my mind and I blame it on a combination of booze, TV, and the confusion of being in my early 20s. I realize that TV is a great distractor, but once I flip it off my overactive mind comes out to play. Having been sent into dormancy while watching Brooke's latest rant on the Real World Denver, I have not only managed to lose a half hour of my life that I'll never get back, but I've also allowed my mind to flip off. Somehow, when the switch for my mind is turned back on thoughts don't just trickle in, the floodgates are literally opened. Pretty sure the levees of my mind are pretty much irrepairable at this point. Plus I have a knack for excessive worrying which I can prove is genetic.
What is the point of the long rant in the last paragraph, one might wonder? Well, I've basically come to the conclusion that I need to spend more of my free time reading and come the end of the this television season I am (gulp) canceling my cable and thus losing my TiVo.
Tonight, as I worked on on latest fun read, I came to the realization that even though I wasn't reading Hemingway or Chaucer, my mind felt active and alive. I was processing my own stories, felt inspired to write blog postings, and was composing scenes for the Next Great American Novel in my head. I am alive! That last Miller Lite did NOT kill off as many brain cells as I had once feared.
Really, it's an unbeatable feeling. My goal for the summer is to keep it up so I feel sharp and ready as fall approaches.
P.S. Entirely unrelated, but Patches is, at the moment, eating red ants which have somehow busted in my second story apartment and are crawling across my floor. Don't know how good that is for her, but I guess she won't be starved for protein, eh?
I'm hungry, but yet, not
I’m having a bit of a food conundrum. I enjoy eating very much and sadly, it is often the most exciting part of my day. This is especially true during my work day when lunch offers the chance to get away from my desk. However, I despise cooking for one person. There’s something about coming home at night and staring at a bunch of uncooked, unprepared food which causes my appetite to disappear.
Lately this has been especially bad. I can’t even muster up the energy to make it to the grocery store, much less think of meals. I’m sick of battling soccer moms and angry old people just to get the same old pasta that I’m not even really looking forward to eating. Buying food that’s hot and ready is just so much more appealing.
I can hear my mom’s voice echoing in my head right now telling me about wasted money, not to mention calories, sodium and all that good stuff. It just tastes so much better when I don’t have to make it. I think this also may be tied to the fact that I often buy dishes I don’t know how to make. What can I say, I have exotic taste buds. Well, at least by Minnesota standards.
Tonight I’m faced with the fact that I literally have no edible food in my cupboards. Last night I finished off what I had left by preparing a scrumptious dish of whole wheat penne and enchilada sauce. Yeah, it was disgusting.
I have no idea what I’ll do to break out of this food funk.
Lately this has been especially bad. I can’t even muster up the energy to make it to the grocery store, much less think of meals. I’m sick of battling soccer moms and angry old people just to get the same old pasta that I’m not even really looking forward to eating. Buying food that’s hot and ready is just so much more appealing.
I can hear my mom’s voice echoing in my head right now telling me about wasted money, not to mention calories, sodium and all that good stuff. It just tastes so much better when I don’t have to make it. I think this also may be tied to the fact that I often buy dishes I don’t know how to make. What can I say, I have exotic taste buds. Well, at least by Minnesota standards.
Tonight I’m faced with the fact that I literally have no edible food in my cupboards. Last night I finished off what I had left by preparing a scrumptious dish of whole wheat penne and enchilada sauce. Yeah, it was disgusting.
I have no idea what I’ll do to break out of this food funk.
NOT the best part of waking up
The saga of the cats continues. I’ve been checking on my parents’ cat (which here I will term Lucifer) every couple of hours to make sure she hasn’t suffocated in her chose living quarters of my coat closet. She can get in and out (the door doesn’t even latch if I wanted it to, so no danger of that), but every time I try to pick her up or even get within 10 feet of her she hisses, growls and makes other alarming cat noises. I almost lost a limb trying to retrieve my vacuum cleaner from the closet.
Last night I woke up at about 3 am to the feeling someone was watching me. When I looked down the bed there was one set of cat eyes near my feet (my cat, who I’ll term Patches). Then, in a frightening realization, aglow in the light of the neighbor’s patio lighting, I could see another set of eyes shimmering near the door. Yup, Lucifer had emerged.
I congratulated Lucifer on her appearance and rolled over to go back to sleep. However, Lucifer had different plans. About 20 minutes later I was jolted awake by a heavy thud, and a terrifying hissing noise about 5 inches from my head. Apparently Lucifer wanted to sleep on my bed, but she wanted me out of it first. She came at me, paws out, and I grabbed the nearest weapon. It was unfortunately Scottsie, my beloved black Scottie dog stuffed animal which I’ve owned since about second grade and never before even considered sacrificing. However, this was a matter of survival. I covered my exposed forehead with one hand and lunged Scottsie forth with the other.
Lucifer put up a good fight, but Scottsie emerged the victor and beat Lucifer back down off the bed. Patches watched this whole incident from her vantage point somewhere near my feet. Lucifer managed to strike a fear into both of our hearts, so as soon as Lucifer had been beaten back Patches and I huddled the rest of the night for both our safety.
When I got up this morning Lucifer had returned to her closet home and greeted me with a good morning hiss. 7 days and counting until she returns to her home lair.
Last night I woke up at about 3 am to the feeling someone was watching me. When I looked down the bed there was one set of cat eyes near my feet (my cat, who I’ll term Patches). Then, in a frightening realization, aglow in the light of the neighbor’s patio lighting, I could see another set of eyes shimmering near the door. Yup, Lucifer had emerged.
I congratulated Lucifer on her appearance and rolled over to go back to sleep. However, Lucifer had different plans. About 20 minutes later I was jolted awake by a heavy thud, and a terrifying hissing noise about 5 inches from my head. Apparently Lucifer wanted to sleep on my bed, but she wanted me out of it first. She came at me, paws out, and I grabbed the nearest weapon. It was unfortunately Scottsie, my beloved black Scottie dog stuffed animal which I’ve owned since about second grade and never before even considered sacrificing. However, this was a matter of survival. I covered my exposed forehead with one hand and lunged Scottsie forth with the other.
Lucifer put up a good fight, but Scottsie emerged the victor and beat Lucifer back down off the bed. Patches watched this whole incident from her vantage point somewhere near my feet. Lucifer managed to strike a fear into both of our hearts, so as soon as Lucifer had been beaten back Patches and I huddled the rest of the night for both our safety.
When I got up this morning Lucifer had returned to her closet home and greeted me with a good morning hiss. 7 days and counting until she returns to her home lair.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Sunday round-up
I'm currently suffering the consequences of having a backlog of information I meant to write down, but not actually having done so. As much as I was sure I could remember everything I'd wanted to record in the past few days, turns out that's not the case. I should have known better.
I realized about 10 minutes ago that I haven't talked to a single person today with the exception of a cashier at Kowalski's and my cat. I think it may be time for me to get a roommate. I don't function well under these circumstances.
My parents are currently in Europe, so I have their cat while they're gone. My cat is none too happy about this situation, and neither is our visiting cat. She's currently taken up residence in my coat closet and has not come out since some time last night. I moved her food and water in there, as well as a bed, but I feel like her residing there for over a week is not going to be healthy. Why I try to move her she clings to me and cries, and then runs for the nearest cover. I guess she'll be a closet-dweller for the next week. I hope she doesn't lose the ability to see in daylight.
The other day there was a perosn on Grand waiting for the bus who pretty much defied explanation. It was a fairly warm day, so she had taken it upon herself to cut the sleeves and most of the actual t-shirt length off of something which looked like something I used to rock in the early 90s. She had definitely been trying out some different home hair dye colors (or maybe just straight-up bleach) and well as what also looked like a home perm kit. Apparently dissatisfied with the results, she had fixed her hair into two pigtails...on top of her head.
Did I mention this person was, how shall I say this, not of supermodel proportions? This, combined with frightening posture, and what looked to be some profuse sweating, made for the kind of sight which causes double takes when driving. Just one of those things one doesn't easily forget.
I realized about 10 minutes ago that I haven't talked to a single person today with the exception of a cashier at Kowalski's and my cat. I think it may be time for me to get a roommate. I don't function well under these circumstances.
My parents are currently in Europe, so I have their cat while they're gone. My cat is none too happy about this situation, and neither is our visiting cat. She's currently taken up residence in my coat closet and has not come out since some time last night. I moved her food and water in there, as well as a bed, but I feel like her residing there for over a week is not going to be healthy. Why I try to move her she clings to me and cries, and then runs for the nearest cover. I guess she'll be a closet-dweller for the next week. I hope she doesn't lose the ability to see in daylight.
The other day there was a perosn on Grand waiting for the bus who pretty much defied explanation. It was a fairly warm day, so she had taken it upon herself to cut the sleeves and most of the actual t-shirt length off of something which looked like something I used to rock in the early 90s. She had definitely been trying out some different home hair dye colors (or maybe just straight-up bleach) and well as what also looked like a home perm kit. Apparently dissatisfied with the results, she had fixed her hair into two pigtails...on top of her head.
Did I mention this person was, how shall I say this, not of supermodel proportions? This, combined with frightening posture, and what looked to be some profuse sweating, made for the kind of sight which causes double takes when driving. Just one of those things one doesn't easily forget.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Help me!
Can I just mention that I'm watching Lost with my hands over my eyes because it's scaring the crap out of me? Living alone is for the birds.
Seriously
There's just some information a person can go an entire lifetime without ever having to learn. I seemed to be doomed in my workplace positioning, as I am constantly plagued by neighbors "blessed" with the gift of gab. I recently had one such neighbor leave, and I threw myself a little celebration party. Finally, I wouldn't have to spend my days hearing about (and I kid you not) hormone replacement therapy, mammograms, husbands who sleep in different beds, new and old diets, vitamins, and what someone had eaten for lunch. Every. day. that. week.
Apparently the universe was sending me giant "not so fast" signals. My new neighbor moved in this week and I've gotten to hear about a whole new set of issues. Preganancies, hobbies, what someone has eaten for dinner the previous night, and other such sorted subjects are now the focus of my day. By focus I mean I do everything I can to tune it out, but instead feel like hitting my head on the desk because the pain would be more pleasant than the conversation topics overtaking my being.
The last straw came when body art was discussed. Apparently my new neighbor has a penchant for tattoos and decided to share his artwork with the rest of his coworkers. This included discussing a tattoo placed "too close to the nipple" and a graphic display of aforementioned tattoo.
Yup, definitely could have lived me entire life without that display.
Apparently the universe was sending me giant "not so fast" signals. My new neighbor moved in this week and I've gotten to hear about a whole new set of issues. Preganancies, hobbies, what someone has eaten for dinner the previous night, and other such sorted subjects are now the focus of my day. By focus I mean I do everything I can to tune it out, but instead feel like hitting my head on the desk because the pain would be more pleasant than the conversation topics overtaking my being.
The last straw came when body art was discussed. Apparently my new neighbor has a penchant for tattoos and decided to share his artwork with the rest of his coworkers. This included discussing a tattoo placed "too close to the nipple" and a graphic display of aforementioned tattoo.
Yup, definitely could have lived me entire life without that display.
It's only really annoying because they're so LOUD
I’m pretty sure my neighbor is allowing a bunch of random people to stay with her in her apartment. I was clued into this a few weeks ago when my doorbell rang at about 9:00 on a Wednesday evening. My first clue was the fact that technically I don’t have a doorbell. There are three doorbells outside my building (which definitely has more than three units) and none of them are labeled with my apartment number. Anyone who wants to hang out with me either comes in with me or calls me when they arrive.
Anyway, my doorbell started going off, which makes the cat pin her ears back and run around the apartment like her tail is on fire. Her favorite kind of running involves leaping up on my coffee table, knocking off everything laying there, and then leaping back off again. So, doorbell rings, cat flips out, and I’m instantly annoyed.
I’m also conscious of the fact that I’m pretty sure the door isn’t for me and I’m not going to just run downstairs and rip the door open. I went out in the hallway and peeked out the large window which faces the front of the building. Down below I could see two men wandering around who I had definitely never seen before. Yeah, I was most certainly not going to go answer that doorbell ring.
Too bad for me these guys were pretty determined. Instead of going away when no one answered the door they decided the next best technique was to hold their finger on the doorbell. I had about had it at that point and went downstairs. Below is the dialogue that followed:
Me (opening door): “Can you please stop ringing my doorbell?”
Dude #1: “Hey, is Polly Pocket* here?”
Me: “I don’t know. You’re ringing my doorbell and I need you to stop.”
Dude #1: “Polly Pocket? Apartment D2?”
Me: “I don’t know. I’ll check, but you need to stop ringing my doorbell.”
Dude #1: “We’ll just come inside.”
Me: “Uh, no, I can’t let you in. I’ll see if Polly’s here, but you have to wait outside.”
It was at this point that I went to check for Polly. She didn’t answer her door after repeated knocking, so I went back to the front door.
Me: “Polly’s not here, sorry.”
Dude #1: “We’ll come inside and wait.”
Me: “No, she’s not here and I can’t just let you in.”
Dude #1, gesturing to Dude #2 who has been silent through this whole exchange: “He’s come a long way.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to call Polly. I won’t let you in.”
*names changed to protect, well, who am I kidding, names changed to protect myself
Then I closed the door (tightly) and left. The dudes hung around outside for about 10 more minutes (probably waiting to see if someone else would come home and let them in) and then took off.
Since that point I’ve heard a vast amount of noise coming from Polly’s apartment every single time I walk by the place. In addition, our back door has been propped open for extended periods of time more than once where no one appears to be around.
Finally, this morning as I was opening my curtains, I heard something outside. When I looked out the window, low and behold, there are my dude friends from a few weeks ago with another guy, congregated in front of the building. Not sure exactly what’s going on, but I don’t like it. Did I mention that we have a clause in our lease which states we can’t have any one guest stay over for more than one night at a time? Maybe I need to move to a building with fewer crazy single ladies…
Anyway, my doorbell started going off, which makes the cat pin her ears back and run around the apartment like her tail is on fire. Her favorite kind of running involves leaping up on my coffee table, knocking off everything laying there, and then leaping back off again. So, doorbell rings, cat flips out, and I’m instantly annoyed.
I’m also conscious of the fact that I’m pretty sure the door isn’t for me and I’m not going to just run downstairs and rip the door open. I went out in the hallway and peeked out the large window which faces the front of the building. Down below I could see two men wandering around who I had definitely never seen before. Yeah, I was most certainly not going to go answer that doorbell ring.
Too bad for me these guys were pretty determined. Instead of going away when no one answered the door they decided the next best technique was to hold their finger on the doorbell. I had about had it at that point and went downstairs. Below is the dialogue that followed:
Me (opening door): “Can you please stop ringing my doorbell?”
Dude #1: “Hey, is Polly Pocket* here?”
Me: “I don’t know. You’re ringing my doorbell and I need you to stop.”
Dude #1: “Polly Pocket? Apartment D2?”
Me: “I don’t know. I’ll check, but you need to stop ringing my doorbell.”
Dude #1: “We’ll just come inside.”
Me: “Uh, no, I can’t let you in. I’ll see if Polly’s here, but you have to wait outside.”
It was at this point that I went to check for Polly. She didn’t answer her door after repeated knocking, so I went back to the front door.
Me: “Polly’s not here, sorry.”
Dude #1: “We’ll come inside and wait.”
Me: “No, she’s not here and I can’t just let you in.”
Dude #1, gesturing to Dude #2 who has been silent through this whole exchange: “He’s come a long way.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to call Polly. I won’t let you in.”
*names changed to protect, well, who am I kidding, names changed to protect myself
Then I closed the door (tightly) and left. The dudes hung around outside for about 10 more minutes (probably waiting to see if someone else would come home and let them in) and then took off.
Since that point I’ve heard a vast amount of noise coming from Polly’s apartment every single time I walk by the place. In addition, our back door has been propped open for extended periods of time more than once where no one appears to be around.
Finally, this morning as I was opening my curtains, I heard something outside. When I looked out the window, low and behold, there are my dude friends from a few weeks ago with another guy, congregated in front of the building. Not sure exactly what’s going on, but I don’t like it. Did I mention that we have a clause in our lease which states we can’t have any one guest stay over for more than one night at a time? Maybe I need to move to a building with fewer crazy single ladies…
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
She's not going to be happy...
My apartment building doesn't have too many units, but two are them are occupied by women I'm pretty sure are certified cat ladies. One of them was the one who had my keys when I was supposed to move in, and it was from the point I retrieved them from her that she entered my life and has yet to leave.
On the day I was moving in I was waiting with my mom and a friend in my living room on my new futon when there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was my dad trying to get in we yelled such choice things as "Go away! We don't want any!" and "No housekeeping here!". After we got no response I opened the door to find Cat Lady on the other side, slinking away. She was coming to tell me a few rules about living in the building which were apparently essential to my well-being. I had no idea I was signing up for dorm life all over again.
In late October there was a knock on my door on a Sunday evening. I opened it to see Cat Lady once again. Apparently I had been parking my car too far to the right and not leaving enough room for the snow pile. Remember all the snow in October? And November? And December? Oh yeah, that's right, there wasn't any.
After standing there getting my lecture during which I could only nod complacently and act as though I was incredibly concerned about my parking habits I promised to park with the apartment rules. Keep in mind I pay more than $50 a month for the privilege of following these rules.
So imagine my surprise when I arrived home this evening to discover an unfamiliar car parked 3/4 in my neighbor's parking space and 1/4 in my parking space. I assumed my neighbor just had an unfamiliar car for some reason. Nope, not the case, as I saw them pull up a few moments later with a look of confusion. Just wait until the Cat Lady gets to this visitor...
On the day I was moving in I was waiting with my mom and a friend in my living room on my new futon when there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was my dad trying to get in we yelled such choice things as "Go away! We don't want any!" and "No housekeeping here!". After we got no response I opened the door to find Cat Lady on the other side, slinking away. She was coming to tell me a few rules about living in the building which were apparently essential to my well-being. I had no idea I was signing up for dorm life all over again.
In late October there was a knock on my door on a Sunday evening. I opened it to see Cat Lady once again. Apparently I had been parking my car too far to the right and not leaving enough room for the snow pile. Remember all the snow in October? And November? And December? Oh yeah, that's right, there wasn't any.
After standing there getting my lecture during which I could only nod complacently and act as though I was incredibly concerned about my parking habits I promised to park with the apartment rules. Keep in mind I pay more than $50 a month for the privilege of following these rules.
So imagine my surprise when I arrived home this evening to discover an unfamiliar car parked 3/4 in my neighbor's parking space and 1/4 in my parking space. I assumed my neighbor just had an unfamiliar car for some reason. Nope, not the case, as I saw them pull up a few moments later with a look of confusion. Just wait until the Cat Lady gets to this visitor...
Monday, May 7, 2007
Frankie says relax, dammit!
I had an eye appointment this morning. I absolutely despise eye appointments, but about a year ago I managed to lose my reading glasses and as of late I have been developing the headaches which the reading glasses were designed to prevent. I also figured I should probably take advantage of my insurance while it is available to me.
The exam started off pretty typically with me filling out a form about my eye history. The doctor seemed a little disgusted that I'd managed to lose a pair of glasses, so I felt it was necessary to explain that I'm pretty sure customs took them out of my suitcase and forgot to replace them. At least I think so. At least it sounds better than me irresponsibly forgetting to pack them somewhere along the road during my months abroad.
Anyway, in the middle of my explanantion about customs the doctor interrupted "so, you don't have the glasses with you then." Um, no dude, that's what I'm explaining to you.
We went through the normal paces with me covering one eye, reading, covering the other, reading through different lenses, talking about which view was clearer. Then things took a turn for the worse.
"I'm going to give you some drops, check for glaucoma, then dialate you eyes." Did I forget to mention that I absolutely flip out if people touch my eyes? I can't stand eye drops, I don't like fingers coming toward me, anything. The doctor manages to get one drop in my right eye before I start twitching like a crazy person. He goes for the left eye, and it's all over. I scrunch the eye shut and yell droplets run all down my face, pulling my eyeliner and mascara with them. The doctor pries open my left eye and tries again. This time at least something gets inside.
Then I have to sit with my chin in a light contraption while the doctor PUTS A LIGHT ON MY EYEBALL. Yeah, right. He tries it with the right eye, which I immediately scrunch shut. Dialogue as follows:
Dr: "Relax."
Me (nervous giggling): "I'm trying, I don't like having my eyes touched."
Doctor tries again to touch my eye with the machine. I now have involuntary tears running down my cheeks, which are dyed yellow.
Dr: "RELAX! Keep both eyes OPEN!"
Me (still giggling, feeling like a special needs employee): "Seriously, I can't control it. I don't like my eyes touched."
Dr: "BOTH EYES OPEN!"
Yeah, because yelling makes me so relaxed. After he finally semi-checked for glaucoma (pretty sure I'm a little young for that test anyway) he goes to put in the dialating eyedrops. Without warning he grabs my right eyelid and inserts not one, not two, but THREE eyedrops. Then he goes for the left. Suffiice it to say, that was at 10 this morning and I'm currently still sporting the sunglasses and it took me three hours to be able to see enough to clear the eyedrop gunk off my face.
The exam started off pretty typically with me filling out a form about my eye history. The doctor seemed a little disgusted that I'd managed to lose a pair of glasses, so I felt it was necessary to explain that I'm pretty sure customs took them out of my suitcase and forgot to replace them. At least I think so. At least it sounds better than me irresponsibly forgetting to pack them somewhere along the road during my months abroad.
Anyway, in the middle of my explanantion about customs the doctor interrupted "so, you don't have the glasses with you then." Um, no dude, that's what I'm explaining to you.
We went through the normal paces with me covering one eye, reading, covering the other, reading through different lenses, talking about which view was clearer. Then things took a turn for the worse.
"I'm going to give you some drops, check for glaucoma, then dialate you eyes." Did I forget to mention that I absolutely flip out if people touch my eyes? I can't stand eye drops, I don't like fingers coming toward me, anything. The doctor manages to get one drop in my right eye before I start twitching like a crazy person. He goes for the left eye, and it's all over. I scrunch the eye shut and yell droplets run all down my face, pulling my eyeliner and mascara with them. The doctor pries open my left eye and tries again. This time at least something gets inside.
Then I have to sit with my chin in a light contraption while the doctor PUTS A LIGHT ON MY EYEBALL. Yeah, right. He tries it with the right eye, which I immediately scrunch shut. Dialogue as follows:
Dr: "Relax."
Me (nervous giggling): "I'm trying, I don't like having my eyes touched."
Doctor tries again to touch my eye with the machine. I now have involuntary tears running down my cheeks, which are dyed yellow.
Dr: "RELAX! Keep both eyes OPEN!"
Me (still giggling, feeling like a special needs employee): "Seriously, I can't control it. I don't like my eyes touched."
Dr: "BOTH EYES OPEN!"
Yeah, because yelling makes me so relaxed. After he finally semi-checked for glaucoma (pretty sure I'm a little young for that test anyway) he goes to put in the dialating eyedrops. Without warning he grabs my right eyelid and inserts not one, not two, but THREE eyedrops. Then he goes for the left. Suffiice it to say, that was at 10 this morning and I'm currently still sporting the sunglasses and it took me three hours to be able to see enough to clear the eyedrop gunk off my face.
Ode to corporate life
Working in corporate America does something to one's personality which makes them go a little off.
Last week I hadn't gotten the chance to eat any breakfast and I was working on one of the weekly 35+ page faxes that I have to handle. After I'd sent it through the fax I went into the supply room to use the heavy-duty stapler. In a behemoth corporation like the one in which I work you would only assume that we could at least have up-to-date office supplies. Not the case here. This heavy-duty stapler is a relic left from the 1970s. How it still exists here, I have no idea. Someone must have gone to the trouble of actually moving this thing, since the building I work in wasn't constructed until the 90s. I often have to send out large faxes which then have to be kept on file, so I am often in need of the relic stapler. Apparently I'm not the only one, because I've gone in there to use it multiple times only to find it devoid of staples.
Such was the case last week, and it really rubbed me the wrong way. Filling this stapler is unreasonably difficult, as it only fits about 12 staples at a time and there is a 75% chance the stapler-filler will end up stapling his/her own fingers during the filling process. I spent 10 minutes grappling with this "machine", the entire time cursing the last person who had obviously given up on their attempt to complete this desk. Between the lack of breakfast and hitting my head on the cupboard door I had opened myself 30 seconds earlier I finished this task breathing heavily, bleeding and completely pissed off.
Don't worry, I did manage to declare victory over the evil relic stapler, although I did leave the supply room and stop at one of my coworkers cubes to declare my hatred for office supplies. He was polite (or frightened by my appearance) enough not to laugh in my face when I proceeded to talk about how much I hated the stapler for 10 minutes, but this morning I did receive the following email from him:
"The more I think about it, you complaining about having to reload the industrial-sized stapler was the high-light of last week."
This is what corporate America has turned us into.
Last week I hadn't gotten the chance to eat any breakfast and I was working on one of the weekly 35+ page faxes that I have to handle. After I'd sent it through the fax I went into the supply room to use the heavy-duty stapler. In a behemoth corporation like the one in which I work you would only assume that we could at least have up-to-date office supplies. Not the case here. This heavy-duty stapler is a relic left from the 1970s. How it still exists here, I have no idea. Someone must have gone to the trouble of actually moving this thing, since the building I work in wasn't constructed until the 90s. I often have to send out large faxes which then have to be kept on file, so I am often in need of the relic stapler. Apparently I'm not the only one, because I've gone in there to use it multiple times only to find it devoid of staples.
Such was the case last week, and it really rubbed me the wrong way. Filling this stapler is unreasonably difficult, as it only fits about 12 staples at a time and there is a 75% chance the stapler-filler will end up stapling his/her own fingers during the filling process. I spent 10 minutes grappling with this "machine", the entire time cursing the last person who had obviously given up on their attempt to complete this desk. Between the lack of breakfast and hitting my head on the cupboard door I had opened myself 30 seconds earlier I finished this task breathing heavily, bleeding and completely pissed off.
Don't worry, I did manage to declare victory over the evil relic stapler, although I did leave the supply room and stop at one of my coworkers cubes to declare my hatred for office supplies. He was polite (or frightened by my appearance) enough not to laugh in my face when I proceeded to talk about how much I hated the stapler for 10 minutes, but this morning I did receive the following email from him:
"The more I think about it, you complaining about having to reload the industrial-sized stapler was the high-light of last week."
This is what corporate America has turned us into.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Excuse any typos, I'm too lethargic to proofread
Sometimes I wonder where all my energy goes during the day. I'll be zipping along just fine and then all of a sudden I'm crashing into the metaphorical brick wall and metaphorically burning. I can't even muster up the strength to turn to the New York Times online and that it just a sad statement about life.
I also feel zapped creatively. I rack my brain to come up with something I can deem worthy of even attempting to write and I find myself coming up empty. Perhaps my daily atmosphere is an actual cause of writer's block.
It can't possibly be like this in every office. What about marketing people? There's no way they can go for such long periods of time without feeling the slightest bit creative. Are the constantly drinking?
There's something about florescent lights, pumped-in white noise and the sound of people typing which leads me into the hallway of laziness and no brain movement. The other issue is the fact that the nature of my job is to hurry up and wait. Quick, fix this! Oh, wait, you've got to get four different approvals first. What, people aren't responding? Send a follow-up "thressage" with an literal time deadline. That musters a frantic phone call, which leads to more emails, which leads to waiting for more responses. I don't think the human brain was programmed to function this way.
Hey, at least tomorrow's Friday and in the corporate world that means all conversations can include the word's "at least it's Friday!" Look at that, I just typed out a thought and then made fun of the people who have that thought. This can't be good.
I also feel zapped creatively. I rack my brain to come up with something I can deem worthy of even attempting to write and I find myself coming up empty. Perhaps my daily atmosphere is an actual cause of writer's block.
It can't possibly be like this in every office. What about marketing people? There's no way they can go for such long periods of time without feeling the slightest bit creative. Are the constantly drinking?
There's something about florescent lights, pumped-in white noise and the sound of people typing which leads me into the hallway of laziness and no brain movement. The other issue is the fact that the nature of my job is to hurry up and wait. Quick, fix this! Oh, wait, you've got to get four different approvals first. What, people aren't responding? Send a follow-up "thressage" with an literal time deadline. That musters a frantic phone call, which leads to more emails, which leads to waiting for more responses. I don't think the human brain was programmed to function this way.
Hey, at least tomorrow's Friday and in the corporate world that means all conversations can include the word's "at least it's Friday!" Look at that, I just typed out a thought and then made fun of the people who have that thought. This can't be good.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
I need it, I want it...NOW
I recently had to go through some training at work where we underwent a personality analysis. Mine, not surprisingly, came back indicating that I have a "dominant personality." Some major characteristics: direct, domineering, daring, demanding, forceful, risk-taker and adventuresome. Apparently this means I am not peaceful, mild, quiet, unsure, dependent or modest.
Most of my results looked like synonym for biatch. Especially when one of the lines about me reads "Criticism is usually easy for you to deliver, as your drive for innovative solutions and perfectionism often relegates social concerns to the background." I was also the only person in my session to end up with this personality label (out of four possible personality choices in a session of about 12 people). When we went around the room to see if everyone agreed with the personality category our results had indicated one of my coworkers responded "oh yeah!" when we came to me.
This got me thinking about my lack of patience. I know that once I decide I want to have or do something I really don't like to wait for it. I can't stand when I feel like other things are holding me up. I think this is why I have such an issue with impulse shopping. I go to Traget, see cute shoes and think that I need to wear them to work tomorrow. Such was the case on Monday night. I ended up wearing the shoes today, but now I feel like they make my feet look like cloven hooves. Stupid strange toe cutouts (which are very fashionable at the moment). Too bad my personality analysis didn't say anything about that trait. I might have actually been able to apply it last week.
Most of my results looked like synonym for biatch. Especially when one of the lines about me reads "Criticism is usually easy for you to deliver, as your drive for innovative solutions and perfectionism often relegates social concerns to the background." I was also the only person in my session to end up with this personality label (out of four possible personality choices in a session of about 12 people). When we went around the room to see if everyone agreed with the personality category our results had indicated one of my coworkers responded "oh yeah!" when we came to me.
This got me thinking about my lack of patience. I know that once I decide I want to have or do something I really don't like to wait for it. I can't stand when I feel like other things are holding me up. I think this is why I have such an issue with impulse shopping. I go to Traget, see cute shoes and think that I need to wear them to work tomorrow. Such was the case on Monday night. I ended up wearing the shoes today, but now I feel like they make my feet look like cloven hooves. Stupid strange toe cutouts (which are very fashionable at the moment). Too bad my personality analysis didn't say anything about that trait. I might have actually been able to apply it last week.
Monday, April 30, 2007
When the rearview mirror is vibrating with the beat
I've wondered for a long time whether I have enough hobbies. Sure, there's always reading and writing, but how come I don't enjoy scrapbooking (I'd sooner glue my own finger together which, ironically, I tend to do when scrapbooking) or knitting or something? Tonight, however, I discovered a little redemption when I came to the conclusion that one of my favorite hobbies is driving my car around town with the radio turned waaay up, singing at the top of my lungs.
Tonight while driving around I composed a mental top 10 list of my current favorite car sing-along songs:
1. Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne. Yeah, it's complete crap, but incredibly catchy. I especially enjoy it right after work when I point at other drivers while Avril shrieks "Hey! You! I don't like your girlfriend!"
2. Beautiful Liar by Beyonce and Shakira. I love Shakira. I wish I was Shakira. Sometimes, after drinking copious amounts, I believe I am Shakira.
3. Give It To Me. Everything Timbaland touches turns to pure pop gold. I love it.
4. SexyBack by Justin Timberlake. This would be higher on the list, but dancing in the car can actually be dangerous and/or embarrassing.
5. Dirrty by Christina Augilera. Christina with a Brooklyn accent? Christina has been made that much better.
6. Ho by Ludacris. Especially when driving with a certain friend who one ups Luda on the lyrics.
7. Spice Up Your Life by the Spice Girls. I wish the Spice Girls would record a new album. The loss of this group as recording artists is up there with the sadness of the end of Sex and the City. I think they say it best when they say "People of the world! Spice up your life! Ahhhhhhh!
8. Wait A Minute by the Pussycat Dolls. Timbaland again. By pure principle I really shouldn't like these girls, but I do for the same reason I watch The Hills and Laguna Beach.
9. Gasolina by Daddy Yankee. The lyrics are just so dang easy to learn.
10. The Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani. It's Gwen. I mean, come on, it's Gwen.
At least I can rest easy tonight knowing that I am not a boring person. Chalk another hobby up to the list.
Tonight while driving around I composed a mental top 10 list of my current favorite car sing-along songs:
1. Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne. Yeah, it's complete crap, but incredibly catchy. I especially enjoy it right after work when I point at other drivers while Avril shrieks "Hey! You! I don't like your girlfriend!"
2. Beautiful Liar by Beyonce and Shakira. I love Shakira. I wish I was Shakira. Sometimes, after drinking copious amounts, I believe I am Shakira.
3. Give It To Me. Everything Timbaland touches turns to pure pop gold. I love it.
4. SexyBack by Justin Timberlake. This would be higher on the list, but dancing in the car can actually be dangerous and/or embarrassing.
5. Dirrty by Christina Augilera. Christina with a Brooklyn accent? Christina has been made that much better.
6. Ho by Ludacris. Especially when driving with a certain friend who one ups Luda on the lyrics.
7. Spice Up Your Life by the Spice Girls. I wish the Spice Girls would record a new album. The loss of this group as recording artists is up there with the sadness of the end of Sex and the City. I think they say it best when they say "People of the world! Spice up your life! Ahhhhhhh!
8. Wait A Minute by the Pussycat Dolls. Timbaland again. By pure principle I really shouldn't like these girls, but I do for the same reason I watch The Hills and Laguna Beach.
9. Gasolina by Daddy Yankee. The lyrics are just so dang easy to learn.
10. The Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani. It's Gwen. I mean, come on, it's Gwen.
At least I can rest easy tonight knowing that I am not a boring person. Chalk another hobby up to the list.
Then Patches opened the fridge and ate some grapes...
This past winter I was in Super Target at about 9:56 pm on a Sunday (don't worry, it was extended Christmas shopping hours, so I wasn't keeping any employees working at a till who needed to go home). Anyway, I was in purchasing a cat litter box which needed to be procured THAT night and definitely couldn't wait. Long story, sad ending, no need to relive it.
Anyway, when I made it to the cat supply aisle (almost in the back of this behemoth store, how do they expect old fragile cat women to make it that far?) I was horrified to discover that the only cat box available on the self was approximately the size of a mini-fridge and ran something like $35. I searched the shelves desperately for any other option, but the cat box the size of the backseat of my car was all there was to be found. Already feeling like a lonely, desperate woman for even making this sort of purchase (a feeling a relive every time I have to purchase a 20-pound container of litter) to just grabbed the box and hauled it up to the express checkout.
A very nice young man was tending the till who seemed quite befuddled by my purchase. After I set it on the counter (which both sides of which the cat box were actually extending beyond, meaning the entire counter disappeared under my purchase) the young man finally prounced in the LOUDEST voice I have EVER heard "Ohhhhhh! It is for the cat! I see! The cat, he go inside!"
If I could have become Alex Mack and shrunk into a pubble of goo on the floor I would have done so that that moment, even if it meant jeapordizing my genetic makeup for the rest of my life. A college kid in the next aisle buying Spaghetti-O's and Hamburger Helper distinctly smirked. The lady in line behind me leaned over to examine the box, as though this insight was something which had captured her imagination. Never in my life have I felt so catapaulted on the path to crazy old cat-ladyship.
"Ummmm, yup, it's for a cat," was my reply, trying not be be a jerk. The clerk then announced "Oooooooh, you spend so much on the cat. He so expensive! You have lots of money for the cat!" It was at that point that I was pretty sure I was going to get jumped in the parking lot. How sad would that robber be to discover a bunch of receipts and an old student ID?
The clerk muttered to himself for the rest of my seemingly endless transaction about how I was "so nice to the cat" while I pasted on my best Beauty-Pageant-Contestant-even-though-Miss-Bitch-Georgia-just-stepped-on-my-foot-in-stilettos-smile. After finally making it back to the car I threw the catbox in the truck (seriously, it wouldn't go in the backseat) and locked myself in the driver's seat and collasped in giggles. If I couldn't see the humor in the matter, who really could?
Anyway, when I made it to the cat supply aisle (almost in the back of this behemoth store, how do they expect old fragile cat women to make it that far?) I was horrified to discover that the only cat box available on the self was approximately the size of a mini-fridge and ran something like $35. I searched the shelves desperately for any other option, but the cat box the size of the backseat of my car was all there was to be found. Already feeling like a lonely, desperate woman for even making this sort of purchase (a feeling a relive every time I have to purchase a 20-pound container of litter) to just grabbed the box and hauled it up to the express checkout.
A very nice young man was tending the till who seemed quite befuddled by my purchase. After I set it on the counter (which both sides of which the cat box were actually extending beyond, meaning the entire counter disappeared under my purchase) the young man finally prounced in the LOUDEST voice I have EVER heard "Ohhhhhh! It is for the cat! I see! The cat, he go inside!"
If I could have become Alex Mack and shrunk into a pubble of goo on the floor I would have done so that that moment, even if it meant jeapordizing my genetic makeup for the rest of my life. A college kid in the next aisle buying Spaghetti-O's and Hamburger Helper distinctly smirked. The lady in line behind me leaned over to examine the box, as though this insight was something which had captured her imagination. Never in my life have I felt so catapaulted on the path to crazy old cat-ladyship.
"Ummmm, yup, it's for a cat," was my reply, trying not be be a jerk. The clerk then announced "Oooooooh, you spend so much on the cat. He so expensive! You have lots of money for the cat!" It was at that point that I was pretty sure I was going to get jumped in the parking lot. How sad would that robber be to discover a bunch of receipts and an old student ID?
The clerk muttered to himself for the rest of my seemingly endless transaction about how I was "so nice to the cat" while I pasted on my best Beauty-Pageant-Contestant-even-though-Miss-Bitch-Georgia-just-stepped-on-my-foot-in-stilettos-smile. After finally making it back to the car I threw the catbox in the truck (seriously, it wouldn't go in the backseat) and locked myself in the driver's seat and collasped in giggles. If I couldn't see the humor in the matter, who really could?
Yup, I can fill 'er up for about $30
When I was considering where it was that I wanted to move after finally gaining the type of employment where I could afford to move out of Casa de Parents I let my personal enjoyment factors far outweight the practical ones. I don't regret this method of decision-making, but I now pay for it with a certain activity I'm going to deem "the rush hour gauntlet." Every day I drive 15 miles one way during the height of rush hour (which should actually be termed rush most-of-the day. Or we could just call the time when there's not traffic the senior hour).
Anyway, I've learned alot about cutting off lines of cars at difficult exit ramps, which lanes to avoid because I don't want to be cut off by someone cutting of lines of cars at difficult exit ramps, where there are giant sinkholes, how to pick the best ramp signal line, and overall to bring my iPod on the car journey so there's far less chance of me FREAKING OUT if I end up sitting for an extra 45 minutes. Or hour. Or two. No, seriously.
Unfortunately, I don't think driving like this is doing a whole lot for my blood pressure. Why is it that when we're behind the wheel we automatically assume that we're God's gift to the road? Don't deny it, you know it's true. I always find myself muttering things like "learn how to drive, [idiot]" or "yeah, that's okay because I definitely wasn't USING this piece of road [jerk]." (Author's note: creative substitution of words may have occurred in the above dialogue.) I'm also constantly scanning for flying mufflers (following an unfortunate incident this past summer) or dudes who think that I'm towing them.
Maybe I would suffer less if my car wasn't the size of a go-kart. However, then I wouldn't be able to go 300+ miles on about 11 gallons of gas. The trade-off appears to be a broke, but confident driver or a budgeted angry little swearer. For now I have made choice B. However, last week a guy who I'm pretty sure was on a filming break from My Name is Earl threatened to shoot me because he bumped the back of my vehicle. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm female and was alone, or maybe it was because my car isn't exactly imposing, but he managed to scare me badly enough that I just drove off and didn't call the cops. Luckily my car wasn't damaged and so far (knock on wood) the bumper hasn't fallen off or anything, but it did make me wish I had been driving an Excursion which would have rolled the hood of his Tauris back like a tin can.
Oh well, the next time I read the credit limits for running your credit card at the gas pump I can gloat again slightly since that much gas doesn't even come close to fitting in little kart, errrr, car.
Anyway, I've learned alot about cutting off lines of cars at difficult exit ramps, which lanes to avoid because I don't want to be cut off by someone cutting of lines of cars at difficult exit ramps, where there are giant sinkholes, how to pick the best ramp signal line, and overall to bring my iPod on the car journey so there's far less chance of me FREAKING OUT if I end up sitting for an extra 45 minutes. Or hour. Or two. No, seriously.
Unfortunately, I don't think driving like this is doing a whole lot for my blood pressure. Why is it that when we're behind the wheel we automatically assume that we're God's gift to the road? Don't deny it, you know it's true. I always find myself muttering things like "learn how to drive, [idiot]" or "yeah, that's okay because I definitely wasn't USING this piece of road [jerk]." (Author's note: creative substitution of words may have occurred in the above dialogue.) I'm also constantly scanning for flying mufflers (following an unfortunate incident this past summer) or dudes who think that I'm towing them.
Maybe I would suffer less if my car wasn't the size of a go-kart. However, then I wouldn't be able to go 300+ miles on about 11 gallons of gas. The trade-off appears to be a broke, but confident driver or a budgeted angry little swearer. For now I have made choice B. However, last week a guy who I'm pretty sure was on a filming break from My Name is Earl threatened to shoot me because he bumped the back of my vehicle. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm female and was alone, or maybe it was because my car isn't exactly imposing, but he managed to scare me badly enough that I just drove off and didn't call the cops. Luckily my car wasn't damaged and so far (knock on wood) the bumper hasn't fallen off or anything, but it did make me wish I had been driving an Excursion which would have rolled the hood of his Tauris back like a tin can.
Oh well, the next time I read the credit limits for running your credit card at the gas pump I can gloat again slightly since that much gas doesn't even come close to fitting in little kart, errrr, car.
Because it's 5 o'clock somewhere...
The posting ideas are coming fast and furious at the moment. From the time I was fairly young I had a glamorous picture of what it would be like to work in an office. I'm almost ashamed to admit it (as I well should be), but a fair amount of my romanticism about office jobs came from the movie Picture Perfect starring Jennifer Aniston. She seemed so cool in her advertising office, wearing kooky hair and picking up multiple good-looking men who happened to work with her. She even made getting dumped seem just so chic. My 12 year-old mind attributed all of that aura to her office work.
What frustrates me in my current life is that fact that I've never held a job where I feel as though my skills and knowledge are actually utilized to any degree whatsoever. In the past, I always attributed it to the fact that I was working jobs where I wasn't expected to have much formal higher education. They were temporary jobs to get the through short time periods.
However, since college graduation (which seems like yesterday, but is actually rapidly approaching two solid years ago) I still haven't managed to find myself a position where anyone seems to care that I have a pretty good brain up there. I think that when we were in a small liberal arts college we were slightly coddled (sometimes more than slightly) and told how special and brillant we really were. Then what did college do to us? Gave us a piece of paper and the heave-ho after just four years. Suddenly we were playing with the big dogs and their big degrees and connections. During the three months that I was job searching I sometimes felt like it would help me to jump up and down waving my resume and screaming "Look at me! Over here! Look at all my qualifications!!!"
I don't want this to turn into some long ranting post about how much I don't like my job. We all know that there's a club for that, it's called everybody and they meet at the bar. I also don't need to go into what the working world actually produces as far as office atmosphere is concerned, but suffice it to say that the 12 year old inside of me is sorely disappointed. Between this and the Pitt/Aniston divorce I don't even know how the teenager inside still exists at all. Maybe that's why I watch so much MTV.
What frustrates me in my current life is that fact that I've never held a job where I feel as though my skills and knowledge are actually utilized to any degree whatsoever. In the past, I always attributed it to the fact that I was working jobs where I wasn't expected to have much formal higher education. They were temporary jobs to get the through short time periods.
However, since college graduation (which seems like yesterday, but is actually rapidly approaching two solid years ago) I still haven't managed to find myself a position where anyone seems to care that I have a pretty good brain up there. I think that when we were in a small liberal arts college we were slightly coddled (sometimes more than slightly) and told how special and brillant we really were. Then what did college do to us? Gave us a piece of paper and the heave-ho after just four years. Suddenly we were playing with the big dogs and their big degrees and connections. During the three months that I was job searching I sometimes felt like it would help me to jump up and down waving my resume and screaming "Look at me! Over here! Look at all my qualifications!!!"
I don't want this to turn into some long ranting post about how much I don't like my job. We all know that there's a club for that, it's called everybody and they meet at the bar. I also don't need to go into what the working world actually produces as far as office atmosphere is concerned, but suffice it to say that the 12 year old inside of me is sorely disappointed. Between this and the Pitt/Aniston divorce I don't even know how the teenager inside still exists at all. Maybe that's why I watch so much MTV.
Peer pressure
As an on again/off again blogger I've decided the time has come to restart this thing. There's a level of guilt when one is out of school and working in the "real world" about not using one's mind to its full potential. I often find myself formulating little stories in my head and then completely forgetting about them before they're actually recorded somewhere besides my jumble of daily thinking.
So instead of complaining about getting dumber (which I actually excel at. If you ever need help formulating a complaint I'm at your service. Probably not a good thing, eh?) I've decided to at least try to write something worth reading in here every so often. Who knows who will even read this thing, but at least it's out there. Then I can look at it and make myself feel better (look at me, I did something slightly interesting today!).
So instead of complaining about getting dumber (which I actually excel at. If you ever need help formulating a complaint I'm at your service. Probably not a good thing, eh?) I've decided to at least try to write something worth reading in here every so often. Who knows who will even read this thing, but at least it's out there. Then I can look at it and make myself feel better (look at me, I did something slightly interesting today!).
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