So I decide to join the gym with C. We begin going somewhat regular, and I'm feeling proud because I can go to a place where I will have to interract ever so slightly with strangers...while trying to exercise the jiggle away. This is never a comfortable situation, I don't care how un-self conscious anyone claims to be.
SO. We only had one padlock, and just didn't have the time/ability to remember to get a second one. After making C keep my little bag in his locker for like 2 weeks in a row, and realizing it's a pain for him to fetch it when I'm done with my routine and he's got another hour to go, we purchase a lock for me. My very own.
We got it at a hardware store on our way to the gym last night. C set the code for me while I drove.
We get to the gym and I scurry into the locker room and lock up my stuff. I do my jiggle and return to the locker room.
Turns out the combination works fine, but I can't remove the actual lock from the lock holder thingies. It was perfectly sized as to go on there, but never EVER come off of there.
I go out and tell C what happened. He tells me to keep trying. We both figured it went on, it HAS to come off, right?
Nope.
So C fetches a Gym Minion, and she was the most unhappy minion I've ever seen. She was exactly like that Emily the Strange character.
Emily the Unhappy Gym Minion pulls out these HUGE NEON YELLOW lock cutters and leads me back to the locker room. When those things came out, C could tell my eyes were making the "Oh my lord could they be any more conspicuous?" face.
So Emily chopps the lock off and turns around. She smiles for the first time in probably centuries, and says "Would you like me to throw this away for you?" I just shook my head yes and tried to ignore the 5, pink dressed girls who were staring from me to my locker and Emily, transfixed by the commotion.
Emily leaves. I gather my stuff, turn around and nearly run over this elderly lady, dressed only in a towel and with wet hair who says to me: "Whas matter? You forget you combination?"
I WAS BEING MOCKED BY AN ELDERLY, NEKKID CHINESE LADY!
I just shook my head no, and bolted for the door.
Stupid lock cost about $10 and didn't even last as long as a movie!
As they say, one step forward, two steps back.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Everyone Has a Story Inside
Or in my case, just a pamphlet.
Me: "I call our landscape letter of the law YES, spirit of the law NO."
Me: "Did you see the sign? The courts will be closed for re-enovation....WHY can't that be a word? You knew what I meant, right? Case closed."
Me: "I call our landscape letter of the law YES, spirit of the law NO."
Me: "Did you see the sign? The courts will be closed for re-enovation....WHY can't that be a word? You knew what I meant, right? Case closed."
Sunday, May 22, 2005
There's No Escape From Crazy Cat Ladydom
C is awful allergic to dogs and kitties. He was sidelined by asthma through almost all of his childhood. He finally got it under control. Then he met me.
I had a cat. C had dated other women with cats, and had done just fine. This time however, I manged to own the one cat that would bring back an asthma which had been dormant for approximately15 years. He must truly love a challenge.
Through painful experiments and analysis of our situation, it was decided that kitty had to find another home. Which he did with my parents...and I can tell you he's so over me it's not even funny. After all, he's as close to a grandchild as they are ever going to get out of me, and they know it.
So C and I embark on our life together in a new home.
The previous owners had installed a pond, complete with fish. The first set met an untimely death (Read Tales Told by an Idiot for that back story), but have since been replaced.
Then we notice a baby bunny sortof living in our yard. Ok then. We name it Skirball and soon notice a second. His name is Flash. Last night we see two more.
While investigating we realize we also have some kind of family of something else living in our backyard fence. It's either possum, rats, or field mice. It could even be lizzards, we just haven't been able to clearly see what they are yet.
This morning while checking on the fish - a hummingbird tried to kill me in order to get to the fountain in the pond. He's still hanging around. Along with the humming bird sized bumble bees we've been dodging on our way out in the mornings and upon our return in the evenings.
As I sit to write this, I've been able to watch 5 or more birds at a time that are taking dirt baths in the courtyard. I've seen them bathe in the fountain, but never in the dirt. They are knocking each other out of the way in order to do this.
I'm not particularly fond of birds in the first place, and this isn't helping me to think they are anything but dumb dirty creatures. It's been 100 degrees in the last two days - why roll in the dirt? You are not an elephant. You are not creating a mud shield. You are a noisey, pooping machine and you are rolling around in the dirt.
We have giant crows that fly by the restaurants in the shopping center behind us and gather ketchup packets. They bring them to our roof and break them open there. They are also quite skilled at manipulating the miniature plastic side container of salsa that is handed out by the taco place and we've even found soy sauce packets from the japanese place over there.
And I thought that finding a man and having a life would save me from the Crazy Cat Lady thing.
I had a cat. C had dated other women with cats, and had done just fine. This time however, I manged to own the one cat that would bring back an asthma which had been dormant for approximately15 years. He must truly love a challenge.
Through painful experiments and analysis of our situation, it was decided that kitty had to find another home. Which he did with my parents...and I can tell you he's so over me it's not even funny. After all, he's as close to a grandchild as they are ever going to get out of me, and they know it.
So C and I embark on our life together in a new home.
The previous owners had installed a pond, complete with fish. The first set met an untimely death (Read Tales Told by an Idiot for that back story), but have since been replaced.
Then we notice a baby bunny sortof living in our yard. Ok then. We name it Skirball and soon notice a second. His name is Flash. Last night we see two more.
While investigating we realize we also have some kind of family of something else living in our backyard fence. It's either possum, rats, or field mice. It could even be lizzards, we just haven't been able to clearly see what they are yet.
This morning while checking on the fish - a hummingbird tried to kill me in order to get to the fountain in the pond. He's still hanging around. Along with the humming bird sized bumble bees we've been dodging on our way out in the mornings and upon our return in the evenings.
As I sit to write this, I've been able to watch 5 or more birds at a time that are taking dirt baths in the courtyard. I've seen them bathe in the fountain, but never in the dirt. They are knocking each other out of the way in order to do this.
I'm not particularly fond of birds in the first place, and this isn't helping me to think they are anything but dumb dirty creatures. It's been 100 degrees in the last two days - why roll in the dirt? You are not an elephant. You are not creating a mud shield. You are a noisey, pooping machine and you are rolling around in the dirt.
We have giant crows that fly by the restaurants in the shopping center behind us and gather ketchup packets. They bring them to our roof and break them open there. They are also quite skilled at manipulating the miniature plastic side container of salsa that is handed out by the taco place and we've even found soy sauce packets from the japanese place over there.
And I thought that finding a man and having a life would save me from the Crazy Cat Lady thing.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Unclean!
Tonight I had to run an errand with my Mom. We grabbed some dinner afterwards. We were having the same conversation we always have, when she says really loud and points:
"That waiter just stuck his nose in that salad! HE SNIFFED IT!!" Thank goodness it wasn't OUR waiter!"
Whoever she was pointing at, and whatever she saw, was behind me. I had no way of knowing if this was one of those Mom hallucination moments, or if she did witness a freaky salad fetish being indulged.
This is my Mom, who at one point during a visit last year announced to me:
"There is a private investigator watching me. Every time I go out to walk the dog, there's a strange man on the corner. He's there every time. He's a private investigator and he's watching me."
So you can see my dilemma; believe her and do what exactly about it? Or dis-believe her and bring her back to our regularly scheduled discussion.
Instead I decide to try and reassure her through Zoom logic:
Me: "Are you sure he was a waiter? Maybe he was a guy with a plate from the salad bar, and it was HIS salad? Maybe he likes to sniff his salad?"
Her: "No. No. It was a waiter. But not OUR waiter."
Me: "Maybe he tripped and it just looked like he sniffed it? But he was really catching his balance?"
Her: "No. No."
Me: "Maybe he was taking it back to the kitchen after someone complained about it?"
Her: "No. Nevermind."
At this point I don't have the heart to tell Mom that even though it wasn't our waiter she saw sniffing salad, she wasn't safe. See, at that restaurant, the waiter who takes your order isn't the one who delivers the food. It's always someone else.
Which I've often found to be rather odd. But then I don't have to serve a public that is convinced I'm putting my face in their food.
"That waiter just stuck his nose in that salad! HE SNIFFED IT!!" Thank goodness it wasn't OUR waiter!"
Whoever she was pointing at, and whatever she saw, was behind me. I had no way of knowing if this was one of those Mom hallucination moments, or if she did witness a freaky salad fetish being indulged.
This is my Mom, who at one point during a visit last year announced to me:
"There is a private investigator watching me. Every time I go out to walk the dog, there's a strange man on the corner. He's there every time. He's a private investigator and he's watching me."
So you can see my dilemma; believe her and do what exactly about it? Or dis-believe her and bring her back to our regularly scheduled discussion.
Instead I decide to try and reassure her through Zoom logic:
Me: "Are you sure he was a waiter? Maybe he was a guy with a plate from the salad bar, and it was HIS salad? Maybe he likes to sniff his salad?"
Her: "No. No. It was a waiter. But not OUR waiter."
Me: "Maybe he tripped and it just looked like he sniffed it? But he was really catching his balance?"
Her: "No. No."
Me: "Maybe he was taking it back to the kitchen after someone complained about it?"
Her: "No. Nevermind."
At this point I don't have the heart to tell Mom that even though it wasn't our waiter she saw sniffing salad, she wasn't safe. See, at that restaurant, the waiter who takes your order isn't the one who delivers the food. It's always someone else.
Which I've often found to be rather odd. But then I don't have to serve a public that is convinced I'm putting my face in their food.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Scaring Little Kids And Marketing Bric-A-Brac Since 1975?
I will have to check with C's movie rain man brain on the release date of the original Star Wars, because I don't remember exactly which year it came out.
But I was driving around town today when I noticed a large Darth head. I drove around and saw it perched on this here Burger King:
"You, Burger-Lord, how is this meat so pure and clean?"
And I thought "Wow, that's so very disturbing, his saber is limp."
But it had a very weird tie in with a conversation I had earlier today with a friend. Actually, my brain probably created it's own tie in path to it, but whatever.
I said to my pal today: "How was Gyro's ** 4th birthday party?"
Pal: "Fine, until the Bat Man we hired showed up. Gyro was absolutely terrified of him, screamed so loud and cried so hard, we had to send him away. I thought 'gee, there goes $170 worth of Batman down the drain.'"
The cost wasn't the issue. She was just sad that she had frightened her own son while trying to do something nice for him. I guess it's that whole "Batman is fine on t.v., in movies, books and action figure form, but if you bring him home some night and introduce us, I'm going to need therapy later, causing me to seek out women in my adult life who wear capes" thing that kids are incapable of communicating to us when they are that little.
Aside from this story making me giggle, the Darth Burger thing reminded me of how when Star Wars first came out, my Mom took me to see it. If it came out in 1975, I would have been about 6.
When Darth Vader appears for the first time, I started to cry like crazy. Due to my ability to absorbe religious symbolism as literal - I was convinced Darth was the devil's assistant (since the devil himself is red, not black), and he could and would get me.
I calmed down, watched the rest of the film and fell in love with it. This was back when, if you wanted to see a movie more than one time, you had to go to the theater before it "went away", because there was no home video, and in my household, cable and channels such as HBO were not even a possiblity yet. (I can't remember if HBO and cable were around yet in general at that time.)
As most kids who have just exited a most fun ride will do, I begged to be taken to Star Wars again. My mom complied, and damn if I didn't burst into tears when Darth showed up the second time. And I did it again during a THIRD viewing.
My mom, finally getting irritated, wanted to know why I kept asking to see this movie if it was just going to make me cry. I just kept citing the fact that I loved that movie. I don't know if my little kid brain expected it to be different each time? Or if I just underestimated my ability to "handle" seeing evil Darth each time?
I do know that the man I will marry in November purchased a Darth Vader voice changer mask thingie and it lives on a coat rack made out of hockey sticks, in our house.
Coincidence?
**The kid has some proper Greek name I can never pronounce or remember, so I've dubbed him Gyro.
But I was driving around town today when I noticed a large Darth head. I drove around and saw it perched on this here Burger King:
"You, Burger-Lord, how is this meat so pure and clean?"
And I thought "Wow, that's so very disturbing, his saber is limp."
But it had a very weird tie in with a conversation I had earlier today with a friend. Actually, my brain probably created it's own tie in path to it, but whatever.
I said to my pal today: "How was Gyro's ** 4th birthday party?"
Pal: "Fine, until the Bat Man we hired showed up. Gyro was absolutely terrified of him, screamed so loud and cried so hard, we had to send him away. I thought 'gee, there goes $170 worth of Batman down the drain.'"
The cost wasn't the issue. She was just sad that she had frightened her own son while trying to do something nice for him. I guess it's that whole "Batman is fine on t.v., in movies, books and action figure form, but if you bring him home some night and introduce us, I'm going to need therapy later, causing me to seek out women in my adult life who wear capes" thing that kids are incapable of communicating to us when they are that little.
Aside from this story making me giggle, the Darth Burger thing reminded me of how when Star Wars first came out, my Mom took me to see it. If it came out in 1975, I would have been about 6.
When Darth Vader appears for the first time, I started to cry like crazy. Due to my ability to absorbe religious symbolism as literal - I was convinced Darth was the devil's assistant (since the devil himself is red, not black), and he could and would get me.
I calmed down, watched the rest of the film and fell in love with it. This was back when, if you wanted to see a movie more than one time, you had to go to the theater before it "went away", because there was no home video, and in my household, cable and channels such as HBO were not even a possiblity yet. (I can't remember if HBO and cable were around yet in general at that time.)
As most kids who have just exited a most fun ride will do, I begged to be taken to Star Wars again. My mom complied, and damn if I didn't burst into tears when Darth showed up the second time. And I did it again during a THIRD viewing.
My mom, finally getting irritated, wanted to know why I kept asking to see this movie if it was just going to make me cry. I just kept citing the fact that I loved that movie. I don't know if my little kid brain expected it to be different each time? Or if I just underestimated my ability to "handle" seeing evil Darth each time?
I do know that the man I will marry in November purchased a Darth Vader voice changer mask thingie and it lives on a coat rack made out of hockey sticks, in our house.
Coincidence?
**The kid has some proper Greek name I can never pronounce or remember, so I've dubbed him Gyro.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Nothing Says Weekend Booze Fest Like Roses
God this week sucked. I don't have a damn thing worth jibber jabbering about today...and the difference between today and other days is that I very much know it before I post it. So how about you look at some pretty flowers that C and I took pictures of last night while I rant about my impending attitude adjustment via alcohol.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
My Monkey Is Naked
No, seriously.
A court reporting service brought us these little bean bag animals with t-shirts on them to pimp their service. My monkey lost his shirt. He's naked and sitting on my computer monitor. I wish I could get him to throw poo at people.
Which brings me to today's work related grr. One I can actually write about for a change.
When one of our employees goes away to have a critter, why - OH WHY - must we send out an e-mail announcing the birth of said critter?
As a co-worker of that person, if I were truly interested in this knowledge - wouldn't I be privy to it through outside personal exchanges already?
And for the love of all that is loveable, stop with the statistics already. I don't want to know how frigging long it is **, how much it weighed or what fantastically difficult name it's going to carry through its life. Or that mom dad and baby are doing just fine. I'm pretty sure I can figure that one out on my own. I mean really. When has a blanket announcement of a birth been given wherein any one of the family has suffered irreversible damage as a result?
Exactly.
Here's an idea. Let people access their personal on-line e-mail for five minutes a day instead of blocking it entirely with some technological web Nazi. That way should employees be interested in this useless information, they can get it without bothering me. And can I just tell you how much I hate the "Critter's first sneeze" pictures and stories that inevitably follow? After all, if the corporation sanctions announcement, it must think those are dandy too!
My monkey just scratched his ass. I hope management announces that.
**Unless, of course, we are talking about the penises in the office. And I've already got a pretty good idea as to who has one worth talking about anyway - due to the fact that 1) C's is the only one I'm even interested in here and 2) the jackass ratio can pretty much tell me what some guy is or is not carrying in his britches.
A court reporting service brought us these little bean bag animals with t-shirts on them to pimp their service. My monkey lost his shirt. He's naked and sitting on my computer monitor. I wish I could get him to throw poo at people.
Which brings me to today's work related grr. One I can actually write about for a change.
When one of our employees goes away to have a critter, why - OH WHY - must we send out an e-mail announcing the birth of said critter?
As a co-worker of that person, if I were truly interested in this knowledge - wouldn't I be privy to it through outside personal exchanges already?
And for the love of all that is loveable, stop with the statistics already. I don't want to know how frigging long it is **, how much it weighed or what fantastically difficult name it's going to carry through its life. Or that mom dad and baby are doing just fine. I'm pretty sure I can figure that one out on my own. I mean really. When has a blanket announcement of a birth been given wherein any one of the family has suffered irreversible damage as a result?
Exactly.
Here's an idea. Let people access their personal on-line e-mail for five minutes a day instead of blocking it entirely with some technological web Nazi. That way should employees be interested in this useless information, they can get it without bothering me. And can I just tell you how much I hate the "Critter's first sneeze" pictures and stories that inevitably follow? After all, if the corporation sanctions announcement, it must think those are dandy too!
My monkey just scratched his ass. I hope management announces that.
**Unless, of course, we are talking about the penises in the office. And I've already got a pretty good idea as to who has one worth talking about anyway - due to the fact that 1) C's is the only one I'm even interested in here and 2) the jackass ratio can pretty much tell me what some guy is or is not carrying in his britches.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Please Make the Paper Clips Stop Talking
Lunchtime. C and I go to the mall so we can pick up a birthday gift for a pal.
C finds this great set of stainless steel salt and pepper shakers. They are weeble-wooble like, in that they are impossible to tip over. We liked them so much that we got a set for ourselves. They can keep me entertained for hours - and are extra insurance against the Zoom mystical ability to knock things over and into her lap. **
C and I go to the register and the retail minion decides he's going to be comedian guy: "Hello, there is a 5 million dollar minimum today." "These things give new meaning to the phrase 'pass the salt' eh? You can just roll them to the next person."
"Aieeee!" screamed the voices in my head. And that's when I ran away and left C to deal with him.
I find strange sales people trying to be funny almost as annoying as that fucking unhelpful animated paper clip in my Word program that won't go away.
I'M GOING TO BUY SOMETHING ALREADY. YOU AREN'T FUNNY. IN FACT, YOU ARE MAKING ME SAD. STOPPIT. STOPPIT NOW.
Happy Birthday KA!
** I once had to excuse myself from a dinner out with C because I had tipped an entire pint sized glass full of Coke into my lap. I had to go to the loo, hide in the big stall, remove my pants and try to dry them out. The best part of that Zoom display of clumsy was that I was laughing at myself so hard that I didn't hear when another lady came into the bathroom. All she could see/hear was a crazy lady laughing in the big stall with her pants off, waving them in the air. (the door to the stall was closed, but there was enough racket and the pants were flying high enough, she could tell something wasn't right.)
C finds this great set of stainless steel salt and pepper shakers. They are weeble-wooble like, in that they are impossible to tip over. We liked them so much that we got a set for ourselves. They can keep me entertained for hours - and are extra insurance against the Zoom mystical ability to knock things over and into her lap. **
C and I go to the register and the retail minion decides he's going to be comedian guy: "Hello, there is a 5 million dollar minimum today." "These things give new meaning to the phrase 'pass the salt' eh? You can just roll them to the next person."
"Aieeee!" screamed the voices in my head. And that's when I ran away and left C to deal with him.
I find strange sales people trying to be funny almost as annoying as that fucking unhelpful animated paper clip in my Word program that won't go away.
I'M GOING TO BUY SOMETHING ALREADY. YOU AREN'T FUNNY. IN FACT, YOU ARE MAKING ME SAD. STOPPIT. STOPPIT NOW.
Happy Birthday KA!
** I once had to excuse myself from a dinner out with C because I had tipped an entire pint sized glass full of Coke into my lap. I had to go to the loo, hide in the big stall, remove my pants and try to dry them out. The best part of that Zoom display of clumsy was that I was laughing at myself so hard that I didn't hear when another lady came into the bathroom. All she could see/hear was a crazy lady laughing in the big stall with her pants off, waving them in the air. (the door to the stall was closed, but there was enough racket and the pants were flying high enough, she could tell something wasn't right.)
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
She's Visiting the Bishop
I'm pretty sure this post isn't going to hold much value to anyone who happens to stumble upon it - not that anything I put here is intended to benefit anyone but me anyway. This is probably going to be full of contradictions and logical impossibilities, but I don't care. There's a conflict swimming around in my head and I want to put it on virtual paper.
There are two people in my life who are currently involved with one another. The problem is, one of them is married. The other one is fully aware of this fact, but continues the relationship anyway. The spouse does not know about the affair.
Neither one of them know that I know what they are up to.
Many other people approach one or the other of them asking if they want to "do something", as friends often will. Because their relationship is secret, they are constantly coming up with excuses as to why they are unable to attend friend outings.
Now, you should know that I do not believe I have any right to decide if someone else's actions are "wrong" or "right". As long as you aren't hurting me or someone/something I very much care about, to each his own. This isn't to say that I would shrug off finding out someone abused a child or clubbed a seal - the obvious big ones are what I'd call "Wrong wrong wrong."
But here's the thing. As much as I bark about society imposing outdated ideas on people (you must get married and have a baby...you must buy me a gift for Valentines day), I've apparently decided they are right about marriage? That adultery free marriage is is a "should" for people?
WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM?
I mean, I've always believed that marriage would be an adultery free experinece on my part, but since when do I get all wound up if other people don't?
Whenever I hear the two people mentioned above laying the groundwork of "why they can't go out tonight", I find myself boiling with "OOOOOOH, I hope they slip up and get caught!"
Maybe it's just that my head is going to explode because they have taken to using church activities as an excuse:
"I can't. I've got a church function tonight."
"I can't. I've got bible study tonight. Believe it or not."
Oh! silly me. I didn't realize you were a member of Our Lady of the Nooner?
Are you trying to be the Patron Saint of Blow Jobs?
Is that the Church of NoPants?
Enter your own bishop joke here:
There are two people in my life who are currently involved with one another. The problem is, one of them is married. The other one is fully aware of this fact, but continues the relationship anyway. The spouse does not know about the affair.
Neither one of them know that I know what they are up to.
Many other people approach one or the other of them asking if they want to "do something", as friends often will. Because their relationship is secret, they are constantly coming up with excuses as to why they are unable to attend friend outings.
Now, you should know that I do not believe I have any right to decide if someone else's actions are "wrong" or "right". As long as you aren't hurting me or someone/something I very much care about, to each his own. This isn't to say that I would shrug off finding out someone abused a child or clubbed a seal - the obvious big ones are what I'd call "Wrong wrong wrong."
But here's the thing. As much as I bark about society imposing outdated ideas on people (you must get married and have a baby...you must buy me a gift for Valentines day), I've apparently decided they are right about marriage? That adultery free marriage is is a "should" for people?
WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM?
I mean, I've always believed that marriage would be an adultery free experinece on my part, but since when do I get all wound up if other people don't?
Whenever I hear the two people mentioned above laying the groundwork of "why they can't go out tonight", I find myself boiling with "OOOOOOH, I hope they slip up and get caught!"
Maybe it's just that my head is going to explode because they have taken to using church activities as an excuse:
"I can't. I've got a church function tonight."
"I can't. I've got bible study tonight. Believe it or not."
Oh! silly me. I didn't realize you were a member of Our Lady of the Nooner?
Are you trying to be the Patron Saint of Blow Jobs?
Is that the Church of NoPants?
Enter your own bishop joke here:
Monday, May 09, 2005
What Series Is Your Dollar?
I am forever going to be that person who rarely forwards anything, but when she does, everyone has already seen it about 5,349,200,331 times.
Example? The Easter cartoon with the chocolate bunnies, ears missing on one bunny and .... well, I can't remember but I know you've seen it. This year I saw it for the first time, laughed like an idiot for about 3 hours and all of my pals said "aww, that's cute.....and it was cute 3 years ago too."
That being said, let's embrace that girl.
I was digging for cash to purchase my coffee whistle this morning, when I noticed one of my dollar bills had writing on it: www.wheresgeorge.com
Tonight I go there and it's this bill tracking device which allows you to put in the serial number and the series number of any bill, any denomination - and get back a report of where it's been.
http://www.wheresgeorge.com/report.php?key=47cc58c87e5c360daefbcf3de20d92e2
It's like Friendster for money, or something.
My dollar was in Vegas last year. I'd be willing to bet it would like to go back there. I'd also be willing to bet that, even though not on the report, it has been to 75% of the Targets in California.
And be warned. If you do go to George, make sure you find the box where you put the "series" number in. I spent a good 5 minutes asking the reject page "Well where the frick IS THIS BOX you require me to fill in? Because I can't seeeeeeeee itttttttttt."
You don't have to be a member to enter a bill and get a report, but you do have to be a member to do further tracking of that bill.
I did not and will not join. I don't need any more activities requiring exact data input or passwords.
No, apparently I've got to spend my time throwing baby carrots into our courtyard for a wild bunny we've seen around. Way to go, dumbass. The bunny froze, watched me throw the carrots (4), stayed frozen for another 3 minutes solid - and then ran the hell away sans carrot.
Example? The Easter cartoon with the chocolate bunnies, ears missing on one bunny and .... well, I can't remember but I know you've seen it. This year I saw it for the first time, laughed like an idiot for about 3 hours and all of my pals said "aww, that's cute.....and it was cute 3 years ago too."
That being said, let's embrace that girl.
I was digging for cash to purchase my coffee whistle this morning, when I noticed one of my dollar bills had writing on it: www.wheresgeorge.com
Tonight I go there and it's this bill tracking device which allows you to put in the serial number and the series number of any bill, any denomination - and get back a report of where it's been.
http://www.wheresgeorge.com/report.php?key=47cc58c87e5c360daefbcf3de20d92e2
It's like Friendster for money, or something.
My dollar was in Vegas last year. I'd be willing to bet it would like to go back there. I'd also be willing to bet that, even though not on the report, it has been to 75% of the Targets in California.
And be warned. If you do go to George, make sure you find the box where you put the "series" number in. I spent a good 5 minutes asking the reject page "Well where the frick IS THIS BOX you require me to fill in? Because I can't seeeeeeeee itttttttttt."
You don't have to be a member to enter a bill and get a report, but you do have to be a member to do further tracking of that bill.
I did not and will not join. I don't need any more activities requiring exact data input or passwords.
No, apparently I've got to spend my time throwing baby carrots into our courtyard for a wild bunny we've seen around. Way to go, dumbass. The bunny froze, watched me throw the carrots (4), stayed frozen for another 3 minutes solid - and then ran the hell away sans carrot.
Lunchtime Commentary:
C: "Wow. I thought I was white!" <-------- in reference to a co-worker, JW, as he left the restaurant. Me: "Well, you haven't shown your butt yet. I think you can still win this."
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Kids Are Great, In Costume.
There's a giant agricultural area next to this elementary school in Huntington Beach. Yesterday, C and I went to see the bunnies, goats, chickens, etc. that live in there. It is used to teach the kids about taking care of animals, etc.This little girl was walking by with her family, fairy wings and all. She was trying to feed the goats through the fence (her Dad had broken this branch off of a tree for her).
Both C and I think this is probably one of the more fun aspects of having children. The times they find a costume or any other wacky clothing item, and they want to wear it EVERYWHERE. And just because we recognize that kids can be fun and great and whatever, it does not mean that we want any of our own. We just don't. We are more than happy to look on as other people do the tough job of raising little creative clothing souls.
C spent a lot of his earlier working life driving. He was a courier for a law firm. The result of all of that is that anytime someone drives stupid, C is annoyed. It's great, because he's like this perpetual insult machine to other drivers - and it makes me giggle.This here Lincoln Fifth Avenue was the transportation of choice for two fossils. C says "AH, it's the Fifth Avenue Turtle!" Which made me laugh the rest of the day.
I am always intrigued by these. Something happened here so significant, that those affected have continued to memorialize it. Part of the reason I think I find these so interesting is the fact that often passersby will have no way of knowing exactly what it was that happened, but they are somewhat forced to pause anyway.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
This Holiday Season, Don't Cat Nip And Drive.
Meet Slausen. He's a Devon Rex. He has a cat nip habit.
Slausen got this chilli pepper filled with cat dope for Christmas. We have to supervise his play with it, because he licks it so much that he will give himself fake chilli pepper hairballs if we don't watch him. Today seemed like the perfect day to get out the chilli pepper. It is afterall, Cinco De Mayo.
When Tarantino Visits The Amish
I have to give my Mom credit. She was raised butter churner (Sealab), but has managed to assimilate into non-amish life very well.
She adores going to the movies. She and my Dad have probably seen up to 90% of all the main stream movies released in the last 20 years.
Back in 1992 when "Reservoir Dogs" came out, I saw and loved that film. As would often happen, Mom would review her just seen movies with me.
The biggest movie argument we ever had was over Reservoir Dogs. Turns out that we had both seen it that past weekend. I had managed to forget for a moment that my Mom was a former Amish Mom, and darkish comedy-indy-type films just weren't something she could enjoy - so to speak. It was absolutely absurd of me to think she'd even half way support the film - but that's not the reason I'm telling you this story.
Tonight, I went over to the parents house to visit Slausen, my cat. There's a long story associated with the reason Slausen lives with the parents and not me. Short version: C has asthma that is triggered by cat. No pills, washes, voodoo, magic or wonder anything will fix that so Mom and Dad took him in. I try to visit him at least once a week.
So, I go over and start to play with Slausen. Mom says "there's this movie that just started, I don't know what it is, but you are welcome to watch it with us."
I decline, and continue to play with kitty. Pretty soon I realize the words "Titty Twister" and "black pussy, white pussy, smelly pussy - if we ain't got it, you don't want to fuck it" are coming out of the t.v.
There's nothing like seeing your Mom frozen in her recliner with the remote, trying to figure out if she's really hearing what she's hearing. Let's not make her out to be a total prude, as a good action flick with tons of Fuck references does not freak her out. However, the use of the word pussy and titty twister were visibly starting to make her squirm.
I think "CRAP! From Dusk Til Dawn = Tarantino and Mom HATES Tarantino...even though she doesn't realize it's Tarantino she hates..." I shout from the other room "Mom, you aren't going to like this movie, you might want to switch it..." She paused, and I said "MOM. RESERVOIR DOGS."
She immediately clicked to another show.
She adores going to the movies. She and my Dad have probably seen up to 90% of all the main stream movies released in the last 20 years.
Back in 1992 when "Reservoir Dogs" came out, I saw and loved that film. As would often happen, Mom would review her just seen movies with me.
The biggest movie argument we ever had was over Reservoir Dogs. Turns out that we had both seen it that past weekend. I had managed to forget for a moment that my Mom was a former Amish Mom, and darkish comedy-indy-type films just weren't something she could enjoy - so to speak. It was absolutely absurd of me to think she'd even half way support the film - but that's not the reason I'm telling you this story.
Tonight, I went over to the parents house to visit Slausen, my cat. There's a long story associated with the reason Slausen lives with the parents and not me. Short version: C has asthma that is triggered by cat. No pills, washes, voodoo, magic or wonder anything will fix that so Mom and Dad took him in. I try to visit him at least once a week.
So, I go over and start to play with Slausen. Mom says "there's this movie that just started, I don't know what it is, but you are welcome to watch it with us."
I decline, and continue to play with kitty. Pretty soon I realize the words "Titty Twister" and "black pussy, white pussy, smelly pussy - if we ain't got it, you don't want to fuck it" are coming out of the t.v.
There's nothing like seeing your Mom frozen in her recliner with the remote, trying to figure out if she's really hearing what she's hearing. Let's not make her out to be a total prude, as a good action flick with tons of Fuck references does not freak her out. However, the use of the word pussy and titty twister were visibly starting to make her squirm.
I think "CRAP! From Dusk Til Dawn = Tarantino and Mom HATES Tarantino...even though she doesn't realize it's Tarantino she hates..." I shout from the other room "Mom, you aren't going to like this movie, you might want to switch it..." She paused, and I said "MOM. RESERVOIR DOGS."
She immediately clicked to another show.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Worst Pee Test Takers Ever
Our office offers life insurance. We need that now so we signed up.
It turns out that the life insurance company wanted a little somethin somethin from us in exchange for the insurance. They asked us to pee in cups for them.
Which we did.
The lady came to our house with her cups and viles. We signed papers and each took a bathroom. We were both nervous because we forgot the test was today. We had both already made with the "pre-ride home pee" at the office. We kept giving her the "I'm not sure how much is going to come out" speech.
Let's just say C got an A on this test. I got more of a C..C-
C would better describe the mad scientist vibe the Pee Proctor was giving off. I hope he writes about it.
She was making with all kinds of small talk, which we all know I adore. There was a moment after all collections had been made, when I was sure we were going to have to pointedly ask her to leave - "That's a sporinoza pleebme jammieshoe tree, I just bought one of those myself! It's not that big though."
YOU HAVE MY SPECIMIN, IN A CUP, ON MY KITCHEN TABLE. PLEASE STOP TALKING AND LEAVE SO I CAN BOIL THE HOUSE!
I said all of that with my eyes.
It turns out that the life insurance company wanted a little somethin somethin from us in exchange for the insurance. They asked us to pee in cups for them.
Which we did.
The lady came to our house with her cups and viles. We signed papers and each took a bathroom. We were both nervous because we forgot the test was today. We had both already made with the "pre-ride home pee" at the office. We kept giving her the "I'm not sure how much is going to come out" speech.
Let's just say C got an A on this test. I got more of a C..C-
C would better describe the mad scientist vibe the Pee Proctor was giving off. I hope he writes about it.
She was making with all kinds of small talk, which we all know I adore. There was a moment after all collections had been made, when I was sure we were going to have to pointedly ask her to leave - "That's a sporinoza pleebme jammieshoe tree, I just bought one of those myself! It's not that big though."
YOU HAVE MY SPECIMIN, IN A CUP, ON MY KITCHEN TABLE. PLEASE STOP TALKING AND LEAVE SO I CAN BOIL THE HOUSE!
I said all of that with my eyes.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Here's a Ladder, Climb Over Yourself.
We have cable t.v. It came with a control. This control is not complicatred. Unless you are me.
There's a button for t.v., one for audio, and one for cable. There are others on there, but I don't touch those. If I play a DVD, I'll get up and do the flickity flick on the t.v. and DVD player in person. There have been times where entire systems have had to be re-set because of my attempts at using the other features on the control.
This morning before C and I leave for work, I click off T.V. and AUDIO. I have to be super careful to leave the cable part on, so that the cheater Tivo can do it's magical job. C comes over and says "Did you manage to turn off the T.V. this time?"
I've been falling for the remote's ruse of fake T.V. offage. There's no picture, there's no sound, but somehow the damn thing is still "on".
Not knowing that Zoom's sense of humor feature had been turned to "irrational girly deduction mode", C had no way of knowing what was about to happen. I translated C's comment as follows: "You are a secret weapon of domestic doom, aren't you. At this rate, there's going to be an escalation of unintended results which may or may not be surmountable... maybe as we drive away from the house some morning, your clicking of the garage door opener will cause de-magnetization of all of our bank cards...and heck, probably our office security cards too!"
I immediately retorted with something nobody can argue with: "FINE. I'm never turning the T.V. off again. Apparently I can't do it right, so NOPE. Never again." Then I dramatically gatherd things for work and walked out the door towards the car.
Could I have been more ridiculous in reaction? I doubt it.
Now, I pride myself on being able to laugh at my me-ness. How can we not laugh at someone who uses the word "paralyzation" - not only out loud - but with authority? So why the girly reaction from me this morning?
I do not know.
Maybe it happened when I accidentally set off the home security system the other day?
There's a button for t.v., one for audio, and one for cable. There are others on there, but I don't touch those. If I play a DVD, I'll get up and do the flickity flick on the t.v. and DVD player in person. There have been times where entire systems have had to be re-set because of my attempts at using the other features on the control.
This morning before C and I leave for work, I click off T.V. and AUDIO. I have to be super careful to leave the cable part on, so that the cheater Tivo can do it's magical job. C comes over and says "Did you manage to turn off the T.V. this time?"
I've been falling for the remote's ruse of fake T.V. offage. There's no picture, there's no sound, but somehow the damn thing is still "on".
Not knowing that Zoom's sense of humor feature had been turned to "irrational girly deduction mode", C had no way of knowing what was about to happen. I translated C's comment as follows: "You are a secret weapon of domestic doom, aren't you. At this rate, there's going to be an escalation of unintended results which may or may not be surmountable... maybe as we drive away from the house some morning, your clicking of the garage door opener will cause de-magnetization of all of our bank cards...and heck, probably our office security cards too!"
I immediately retorted with something nobody can argue with: "FINE. I'm never turning the T.V. off again. Apparently I can't do it right, so NOPE. Never again." Then I dramatically gatherd things for work and walked out the door towards the car.
Could I have been more ridiculous in reaction? I doubt it.
Now, I pride myself on being able to laugh at my me-ness. How can we not laugh at someone who uses the word "paralyzation" - not only out loud - but with authority? So why the girly reaction from me this morning?
I do not know.
Maybe it happened when I accidentally set off the home security system the other day?
All The Rumors Are True
Me to C, on the way to get some dinner last night: "I wonder if they have chocolate salad."
Sunday, May 01, 2005
I'm a Craptacular Photographer And I Don't Cook
Anybody else ever learn about scary looking bugs in science class and then assume you'd never come face to face with any of them? Unless you traveled to say...Africa or something? Try weeding your own yard. You'll be both amazed and terrified at what lives there. Looks like a colony of mini and not so mini monster models for a depository of standard Sci-Fi imagery.
For the "ways C and I differ" file, I give you project completion.
C is very logical, very on task and efficient. I am ADD symptomatic, or "what is in my field of vision is what I focus on....la la la what was I doing?"
Yesterday C and I decided it was time to get the weeds under control in our yard before the association decides to send us a letter, enhanced with photo evidence of our mis-use of prior free time.
He begins in one corner and systematically works from there. I decide to literally pepper the yard with my assistance. Sometimes I'd make piles of the weeds, sometimes I'd walk each handfull over to the trash can. In fact at this moment, there are about 5 pulled weeds that caught my attention today, that I've managed to leave in the yard in two places. See what I mean?
At one point yesterday I remembered that my new digital camera has a macro function on it that I hadn't found yet. I could have read the directions, but it's easier for me to fumble around with the controls randomly and figure it out.
I got the camera out, found the macro function and began playing with that. There was a moment when I was practically standing on top of C trying to get a shot of something. He didn't even flinch.
It's not that I'm even any good at this picture taking business. Before digital, my dabbling in pictures would only produce "wow, that might have been ok if...." type results. Now that digital is here, they come out with less technical errors - but still remain as bland and uninteresting as they can be. And let's not even get started on the manipulative abilities of Adobe and other programs. Those don't help me much either, and I could never apply them to the pictures I take. Even if the results were good. It would feel like cheating, not like I created something neat out of talent.
But it keeps me wildly entertained.
Which has got to be the only reason I have not managed to overheat and blow out the logic machine in C's brain. He must really love me.
After all, I don't even cook. That's a little more precision and instruction following than I can manage. Or in the words of one of my most admired pals R - "I can microwave a mean rectangular dinner."
For the "ways C and I differ" file, I give you project completion.
C is very logical, very on task and efficient. I am ADD symptomatic, or "what is in my field of vision is what I focus on....la la la what was I doing?"
Yesterday C and I decided it was time to get the weeds under control in our yard before the association decides to send us a letter, enhanced with photo evidence of our mis-use of prior free time.
He begins in one corner and systematically works from there. I decide to literally pepper the yard with my assistance. Sometimes I'd make piles of the weeds, sometimes I'd walk each handfull over to the trash can. In fact at this moment, there are about 5 pulled weeds that caught my attention today, that I've managed to leave in the yard in two places. See what I mean?
At one point yesterday I remembered that my new digital camera has a macro function on it that I hadn't found yet. I could have read the directions, but it's easier for me to fumble around with the controls randomly and figure it out.
I got the camera out, found the macro function and began playing with that. There was a moment when I was practically standing on top of C trying to get a shot of something. He didn't even flinch.
It's not that I'm even any good at this picture taking business. Before digital, my dabbling in pictures would only produce "wow, that might have been ok if...." type results. Now that digital is here, they come out with less technical errors - but still remain as bland and uninteresting as they can be. And let's not even get started on the manipulative abilities of Adobe and other programs. Those don't help me much either, and I could never apply them to the pictures I take. Even if the results were good. It would feel like cheating, not like I created something neat out of talent.
But it keeps me wildly entertained.
Which has got to be the only reason I have not managed to overheat and blow out the logic machine in C's brain. He must really love me.
After all, I don't even cook. That's a little more precision and instruction following than I can manage. Or in the words of one of my most admired pals R - "I can microwave a mean rectangular dinner."
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