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.
Monday, April 30, 2007
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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