I know there are a lot of things in this world that could be worse than dealing with an incorrect fax number. I do know that. I'm not trying to say it is this monumental, life destroying thing.
BUT, there are few things that will make me do the eye roll, sigh, slog to the fax room with more pissed offness than an incorrect fax number on my document.
You have a number. It looks functional. It looks official. Just when you think your day is going fairly well ..... *dddiiing*, it's the fax room calling to say "This here letter doesn't have the right fax number on it. We've been trying to get it through for the last three hours, and well...it appears the number you have listed here is actually a direct line to some kind of mime school."
And the thing that's most irritating is the fact that a fax number is probably the third easist piece of information to find on someone using the internet, if one isn't lucky enough to have the file right there on the desk with the correct number mocking me...er...one.
Stoopid mime schools. Stop with the fax numbers on my stuff already.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Honey, Your Speaker is On.
C and I went to a wedding last night. I was very much looking forward to this one for a couple of reasons. It was the wedding of An and Ma (I've taken to making two letter references to people instead of one), who are good friends, and it was a double ceremony. First was the traditional Christian ceremony and next was the Parsi Zoroastrian one. I love learning about different religions and cultures. And what better way than having it acted out in front of you?
I liked the symbolism and the women's Parsi cothes were very pretty. During the ceremony, the Zoroastrian priests shower the couple with rice and rose petals. Ma being the Parsi by marriage started to get the giggles as they beaned him a few times with these things. We all started to chuckle.
And then my inner 3 year old woke up and I said to C "I want to throw things at Ma too!"
At the reception the tables had candles and a pile of rose petals in the center. When we were called for a group photo, I took a handful of the petals and went up to Ma. I said "I'm feeling a little left out, I want to throw stuff at you too." Then I did.
Later in the evenining is where C would say "Honey, your speaker is on" [meaning, it's ok to think those things, but really you might want to not say them out loud.]
An's Maid of Honor came by to say hello. I, attempting to be friendly and talkative said "I really liked your toast." Now, I should have just left it at that, but of course I didn't. I continued: "Normally, I snooze right through those, but yours was really good!" She looked at me, put on a "awww, you are a little strange" smile and patted me on the arm. "Thank you" she said "That...actually....makes me feel pretty good about it."
Then she moved on to the next table.
I looked at C and said "Seriously. What is it with me? Why? How do I not shut up sometimes, or most of the time?" He assured me it was ok. I wasn't totally sure, until...
An has recently graduated from a nursing program. She had invited a bunch of her fellow nurses to the wedding. There were about 2 tables full of them. We all couldn't believe these really pretty girls were indeed, real nurses. Many of the guys were saying "Gee, I've never encountered a nurse like that when I've been to the hospital! I'll go break my leg right now if I can have one of those!"
They had quite a bit to drink, so they began to dance with each other - and often break into a hair whipping, body jerking cheerleader type routines that had ALL eyes (and videocameras) on the dance floor.
For once, my speaker and inner 3 year old wouldn't have to worry about being the "can you believe" story. Those nurses became my favorite part of the reception.
I liked the symbolism and the women's Parsi cothes were very pretty. During the ceremony, the Zoroastrian priests shower the couple with rice and rose petals. Ma being the Parsi by marriage started to get the giggles as they beaned him a few times with these things. We all started to chuckle.
And then my inner 3 year old woke up and I said to C "I want to throw things at Ma too!"
At the reception the tables had candles and a pile of rose petals in the center. When we were called for a group photo, I took a handful of the petals and went up to Ma. I said "I'm feeling a little left out, I want to throw stuff at you too." Then I did.
Later in the evenining is where C would say "Honey, your speaker is on" [meaning, it's ok to think those things, but really you might want to not say them out loud.]
An's Maid of Honor came by to say hello. I, attempting to be friendly and talkative said "I really liked your toast." Now, I should have just left it at that, but of course I didn't. I continued: "Normally, I snooze right through those, but yours was really good!" She looked at me, put on a "awww, you are a little strange" smile and patted me on the arm. "Thank you" she said "That...actually....makes me feel pretty good about it."
Then she moved on to the next table.
I looked at C and said "Seriously. What is it with me? Why? How do I not shut up sometimes, or most of the time?" He assured me it was ok. I wasn't totally sure, until...
An has recently graduated from a nursing program. She had invited a bunch of her fellow nurses to the wedding. There were about 2 tables full of them. We all couldn't believe these really pretty girls were indeed, real nurses. Many of the guys were saying "Gee, I've never encountered a nurse like that when I've been to the hospital! I'll go break my leg right now if I can have one of those!"
They had quite a bit to drink, so they began to dance with each other - and often break into a hair whipping, body jerking cheerleader type routines that had ALL eyes (and videocameras) on the dance floor.
For once, my speaker and inner 3 year old wouldn't have to worry about being the "can you believe" story. Those nurses became my favorite part of the reception.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Similetarded
Lately I've been trying to commit to memory the difference between a simile and a metaphor. I've got zoom logic getting in the way of my using them correctly. I like the way the word metaphor sounds more than simile, so I'd like to call all of my attempts metaphors; i.e., when I was actually making simile, I called them metaphors.
And all of this pre jibber jabber will hopefully become more clear in a moment.
I recently switched departments within our law firm. The new victims of zoom got their crash course in all things me. Well, not all of them, but at least the introductory ones.
So the inevitable question is asked of me: "Why are you satisfied with being a secretary?"
What happens is that people learn that I have a 2 year degree in paralegal studies, that I have my Certified Legal Assistant certification ("CLA"), and I'm actually about 4 classes away from a 4 year degree in Criminal Justice.
Apparently being a secretary in a law firm is about as respectable as being a porn star. (Simile!) People are really happy and appreciative that you are there and good at what you do, but they can't understand why you don't go for the "better" job, the "more money" they think is guaranteed at any other position. See what I did there? Position? See? See?
Illustrative example: I was in a serious relationship prior to C. I was living with that person. He told his co-workers that I was an attorney at the firm I worked for. Apparently he couldn't bear to admit that his girlfriend was just a secretary. He actually told me about this lie as we were scheduled to be at one of his office functions. He asked me to go along with it. I told him NO, and made him take me home. That was my first inkling that that relationship was not going to work out. I left him shortly after that.
There was a time when I thought I wanted to go to law school. I believed lawyering (and all other jobs, I might add) were exactly what they claimed to be on the surface.
Then I started working in a law firm as a receptionist. I eventually worked my way to paralegal. And I soon learned about billing requirements, office politics, and bad management. The bad management I'm referring to is me. I was all of 22 years old when the firm I was working for put me in charge of a department handling 150+ files a month. The work wasn't an issue. The people skills and experience needed to be a good manager were. I had none of it. NONE. I was absolutely awful at it.
While I liked paralegal research and writing, I hated trying to justify my billing. I hated trying to squeeze another .5 or .2 out of something during my day so I'd have the minimum billable requirement completed. It just wasn't my thing, and to make it even worse, IT WAS MATH. Math and I do not now, nor have we ever gotten along. At all. It's safe to say that Math is the bully and I'm the kid it steals lunch money from every day. Even on weekends.
From all of this I have learned that I not only LOVE being "just a secretary", but I'm good at it. I'm busy and the days fly by. I was busy in those other positions, but I dreaded going to work and I was miserable the entire time I was there.
I am truly a lucky girl. Not only do I enjoy what I do for a living, I've found a guy that supports me no matter what I chose to do. As long as I'm happy. And on those days that things go a little sucky, he brings me carrot cake.
And all of this pre jibber jabber will hopefully become more clear in a moment.
I recently switched departments within our law firm. The new victims of zoom got their crash course in all things me. Well, not all of them, but at least the introductory ones.
So the inevitable question is asked of me: "Why are you satisfied with being a secretary?"
What happens is that people learn that I have a 2 year degree in paralegal studies, that I have my Certified Legal Assistant certification ("CLA"), and I'm actually about 4 classes away from a 4 year degree in Criminal Justice.
Apparently being a secretary in a law firm is about as respectable as being a porn star. (Simile!) People are really happy and appreciative that you are there and good at what you do, but they can't understand why you don't go for the "better" job, the "more money" they think is guaranteed at any other position. See what I did there? Position? See? See?
Illustrative example: I was in a serious relationship prior to C. I was living with that person. He told his co-workers that I was an attorney at the firm I worked for. Apparently he couldn't bear to admit that his girlfriend was just a secretary. He actually told me about this lie as we were scheduled to be at one of his office functions. He asked me to go along with it. I told him NO, and made him take me home. That was my first inkling that that relationship was not going to work out. I left him shortly after that.
There was a time when I thought I wanted to go to law school. I believed lawyering (and all other jobs, I might add) were exactly what they claimed to be on the surface.
Then I started working in a law firm as a receptionist. I eventually worked my way to paralegal. And I soon learned about billing requirements, office politics, and bad management. The bad management I'm referring to is me. I was all of 22 years old when the firm I was working for put me in charge of a department handling 150+ files a month. The work wasn't an issue. The people skills and experience needed to be a good manager were. I had none of it. NONE. I was absolutely awful at it.
While I liked paralegal research and writing, I hated trying to justify my billing. I hated trying to squeeze another .5 or .2 out of something during my day so I'd have the minimum billable requirement completed. It just wasn't my thing, and to make it even worse, IT WAS MATH. Math and I do not now, nor have we ever gotten along. At all. It's safe to say that Math is the bully and I'm the kid it steals lunch money from every day. Even on weekends.
From all of this I have learned that I not only LOVE being "just a secretary", but I'm good at it. I'm busy and the days fly by. I was busy in those other positions, but I dreaded going to work and I was miserable the entire time I was there.
I am truly a lucky girl. Not only do I enjoy what I do for a living, I've found a guy that supports me no matter what I chose to do. As long as I'm happy. And on those days that things go a little sucky, he brings me carrot cake.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Ear Oh
Ok, here's the thing. I'm starting to wory that I've grown far too fond of my post shower ear cleaning routine.
I exit the shower, wrap up in towels and go right for a pair of Q-tips. Normal so far, right? Sure. Then I clean my ears, but I defy all of the warnings on the box and insert the Q-tip waaaaay in there. And I twist it around. AND I LOVE IT! Ok, still somewhat normal, maybe.
But recently I've taken to doing this little dance thing while I go in for another round - and I kid you not I said this to C the other day: "Sometimes I wonder if some of the nerve endings that were supposed to go in my coolie were accidentally placed in my ears....because THIS FEELS ALMOST AS GOOD as sex! Thank goodness I didn't discover this when I was twelve!" And then I'll do this little post orgasmic sigh thing.
Now who's talking not quite normal? That'd be me.
Now, at the risk of burning the eyes of some friends of ours that might be checking in on my koo koo blog....and regretting that they didn't lose this link right about now...let me just tell you that C and I have the great sex. Seriously. So it's not displaced sex needs, and if it is - then it's probably a good thing those needs are displaced because we do have to get to work at some point, and we have to do it fully clothed...if you get what I mean.
And I ask you. If sticking things in our ears was not intended, then why all the good sensitivity in there?
I exit the shower, wrap up in towels and go right for a pair of Q-tips. Normal so far, right? Sure. Then I clean my ears, but I defy all of the warnings on the box and insert the Q-tip waaaaay in there. And I twist it around. AND I LOVE IT! Ok, still somewhat normal, maybe.
But recently I've taken to doing this little dance thing while I go in for another round - and I kid you not I said this to C the other day: "Sometimes I wonder if some of the nerve endings that were supposed to go in my coolie were accidentally placed in my ears....because THIS FEELS ALMOST AS GOOD as sex! Thank goodness I didn't discover this when I was twelve!" And then I'll do this little post orgasmic sigh thing.
Now who's talking not quite normal? That'd be me.
Now, at the risk of burning the eyes of some friends of ours that might be checking in on my koo koo blog....and regretting that they didn't lose this link right about now...let me just tell you that C and I have the great sex. Seriously. So it's not displaced sex needs, and if it is - then it's probably a good thing those needs are displaced because we do have to get to work at some point, and we have to do it fully clothed...if you get what I mean.
And I ask you. If sticking things in our ears was not intended, then why all the good sensitivity in there?
Monday, July 18, 2005
It Really Doesn't Take Much...
...to entertain C and I. This weekend we found ourselves at a seafoodish type restaurant that is right on the water. We've been to this place a jillion times. Imagine our glee when we discovered that their brand new paging system is made up of red plastic pagers shaped just like little lobsters!
Now, I realize some of you have probably already encountered these. Because I know myself. If I find some sort of restaurant brick-a-brack to be entertaining, and new - then there's a 99.9 % chance said bric-a-brack is already yesterday's news to everyone else.
But that's ok with us.
And as you can see, we fall right into the hands of most advertisers.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
When Did I Start Working in a Saloon?
I am a legal secretary. One of the best things for me in my journey with a new case is getting to know opposing counsel through their letters. For the most part, it's business as usual. The mutual courtesies are extended and things are unremarkable.
Sometimes though, I find myself reading some angry, accusatory letter by the other side - what I categorize as a chest thumper.
The last time this happened, it was over discovery. Our office had issued some deposition notices. Per regular, cusotmary practice, we mailed the notices. What we didn't know was that one of the members of our mail room had started taking the overnight mail and the u.s. mail, and depositing them in transposed bins for pick up.
Because opposing counsel got his notice some 4 days after the date on the proof of service, he decided to call us out on our tragically inept practice of law.
The line that qualified this particular letter as a chest thumper was: "Now that I see your firm plays fast and loose with the rules of discovery..."
Fast and loose?
Nevermind that all he had to do was call us up and say "Hey, what's the deal? Can we move the deposition date around? Can we make this mutually agreeable?" or that the rules of mailing documents in California law have specific corrections for situations exactly like this - and we would have gladly worked it out - or that billing your client to write an entire letter over 4 days past a proof of service date on a deposition notice is fairly nit-witted... but
Fast and loose?
When I read those words, I immediately pictured me and my co-workers in a dirty, dusty western saloon. I further pictured us sitting around pimping out ways to get around California Discovery Rules - mad scientist cackle included. Not sure why. Perhaps the first time I heard that phrase I was watching a bad western. My dad had a habit of trying to convince me and my brothers that we loved western films. Clint Eastwood and John Wayne, especially. Do I even have to tell you what life was like at our house when "Pale Rider" or "Tombstone" came out?
It made me giggle. I took it to the attorney I work for on the case and suggested that we write back: "Let's end this now. I'll be waiting for you outside of your office building tonight. We shall duel at sunset in the courtyard next to the decorative fountain. The winner can schedule the deposition on whatever day he wants."
Sometimes though, I find myself reading some angry, accusatory letter by the other side - what I categorize as a chest thumper.
The last time this happened, it was over discovery. Our office had issued some deposition notices. Per regular, cusotmary practice, we mailed the notices. What we didn't know was that one of the members of our mail room had started taking the overnight mail and the u.s. mail, and depositing them in transposed bins for pick up.
Because opposing counsel got his notice some 4 days after the date on the proof of service, he decided to call us out on our tragically inept practice of law.
The line that qualified this particular letter as a chest thumper was: "Now that I see your firm plays fast and loose with the rules of discovery..."
Fast and loose?
Nevermind that all he had to do was call us up and say "Hey, what's the deal? Can we move the deposition date around? Can we make this mutually agreeable?" or that the rules of mailing documents in California law have specific corrections for situations exactly like this - and we would have gladly worked it out - or that billing your client to write an entire letter over 4 days past a proof of service date on a deposition notice is fairly nit-witted... but
Fast and loose?
When I read those words, I immediately pictured me and my co-workers in a dirty, dusty western saloon. I further pictured us sitting around pimping out ways to get around California Discovery Rules - mad scientist cackle included. Not sure why. Perhaps the first time I heard that phrase I was watching a bad western. My dad had a habit of trying to convince me and my brothers that we loved western films. Clint Eastwood and John Wayne, especially. Do I even have to tell you what life was like at our house when "Pale Rider" or "Tombstone" came out?
It made me giggle. I took it to the attorney I work for on the case and suggested that we write back: "Let's end this now. I'll be waiting for you outside of your office building tonight. We shall duel at sunset in the courtyard next to the decorative fountain. The winner can schedule the deposition on whatever day he wants."
Friday, July 15, 2005
Teen Spirit Stick Dessert
Over a year ago, I managed to eat something no one should ever eat. I then told on myself via e-mail to my pal S, or Skillit. I'm just going to call her Skillit. That's her real nick in real life. The story to that nick is weird, so I won't try and explain today.
Anyway, here's the e-mail (date was June 17, 2004):
____________________________________
SUBJECT: I'm going to tell you something REALLY emberrassing...
I can't believe I'm sharing this story with you...but hey...you take the leaf thing so well so now you have some teasing of your own to do:
This morning when getting coffee from the gas station, I spied the powdered doughnuts. C loves those, so I got him some and I had a pack also.
I get to work and I am busy eating (read...inhaling) them. I look at my desk and notice a good sized white spot on the napkin...I think "mmm, powdered sugar drooooolllll" and put it in my mouth...
IT'S DEODORANT!
Do I even have to tell you how wrong that is? I'm making the noises, trying to get it out of my mouth, people are like "um...been eating long?"
Yeah. That just sucked.
I way overdo the deodorant, I know this. However, I've never had it flake off my pitts and run for my doughnuts.
___________________________
That night, Skillit came to my house with a present for me. She said "HI! I brought you dessert!" and she handed me the Berry Blossom Teen Spirit Stick, which you can see lives on my desk at work.
I'm not the kid who ate paste in grade school, I swear. But I might have been better off if I had.
Anyway, here's the e-mail (date was June 17, 2004):
____________________________________
SUBJECT: I'm going to tell you something REALLY emberrassing...
I can't believe I'm sharing this story with you...but hey...you take the leaf thing so well so now you have some teasing of your own to do:
This morning when getting coffee from the gas station, I spied the powdered doughnuts. C loves those, so I got him some and I had a pack also.
I get to work and I am busy eating (read...inhaling) them. I look at my desk and notice a good sized white spot on the napkin...I think "mmm, powdered sugar drooooolllll" and put it in my mouth...
IT'S DEODORANT!
Do I even have to tell you how wrong that is? I'm making the noises, trying to get it out of my mouth, people are like "um...been eating long?"
Yeah. That just sucked.
I way overdo the deodorant, I know this. However, I've never had it flake off my pitts and run for my doughnuts.
___________________________
That night, Skillit came to my house with a present for me. She said "HI! I brought you dessert!" and she handed me the Berry Blossom Teen Spirit Stick, which you can see lives on my desk at work.
I'm not the kid who ate paste in grade school, I swear. But I might have been better off if I had.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Office Supplybrows By Post-It
Someone left a package of purple post-it flags in the library at the office. There's really not much more I can tell you -- other than I was not surprised when C started putting them on. You know those collar holders that dry cleaners put on shirts? The ones our cleaner uses are sticky. One morning I got out of the shower to find C with two of those stuck to his head like crazy eyebrows.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
I Hope Canada Likes My Earring
Yesterday morning I was having a fabulous clothes fight before work. My last step is always the earrings. When I finally found the ones I wanted, I dropped one of them on the floor.
Me: "FRICK! I just dropped one of my earrings and now I'll NEVER find it. It's in Canada by now."
C: *gigglling* "Canada huh?"
See, we have cement acid washed floors. Various rugs are placed around, except in the particular places that I manage to drop things. These floors are great for cleaning, lousy for dropping things on. Anything that doesn't immediately break into 4,201 pieces literally hops in an invisible bobsled and ends up in....Canada. Or Mexico if you drop it while facing the opposite direction.
Today while I managed to avoid a clothes fight or invisible jewelery olympics - I did something far more frustrating.
C asked me if I saw the story on the news about the guy who is walking across the US in order to lose weight. I said "Does he have a car at least following behind him?" C said "No." I said "OHMYGOD, Someone's going to kill him!"
See, apparently I'm not satisfied taking on just my mother's nurosis. This morning's brain train somehow jumped the tracks and headed for a different Mom station. I recognized it almost immediately as the Mom of my pal S.
S's mom is a hoot. At least to C and I. It's hard to explain, but basically any time S goes on a trip with friends, her mom digs up some urban legend about how a girl went on a trip and was killed by her companions. Or some incredibly twisted result that is practically guaranteed the second S walks out the door.
We understand a Mom wanting to protect her kids. We do. I'm sure we'd do the same. What we find humorous is that S's Mom delivers these warnings in such a way that one can't help but find it melodramatic.
Yeah, it's funny - until it possesses YOUR speaker and starts going to town.
Me: "FRICK! I just dropped one of my earrings and now I'll NEVER find it. It's in Canada by now."
C: *gigglling* "Canada huh?"
See, we have cement acid washed floors. Various rugs are placed around, except in the particular places that I manage to drop things. These floors are great for cleaning, lousy for dropping things on. Anything that doesn't immediately break into 4,201 pieces literally hops in an invisible bobsled and ends up in....Canada. Or Mexico if you drop it while facing the opposite direction.
Today while I managed to avoid a clothes fight or invisible jewelery olympics - I did something far more frustrating.
C asked me if I saw the story on the news about the guy who is walking across the US in order to lose weight. I said "Does he have a car at least following behind him?" C said "No." I said "OHMYGOD, Someone's going to kill him!"
See, apparently I'm not satisfied taking on just my mother's nurosis. This morning's brain train somehow jumped the tracks and headed for a different Mom station. I recognized it almost immediately as the Mom of my pal S.
S's mom is a hoot. At least to C and I. It's hard to explain, but basically any time S goes on a trip with friends, her mom digs up some urban legend about how a girl went on a trip and was killed by her companions. Or some incredibly twisted result that is practically guaranteed the second S walks out the door.
We understand a Mom wanting to protect her kids. We do. I'm sure we'd do the same. What we find humorous is that S's Mom delivers these warnings in such a way that one can't help but find it melodramatic.
Yeah, it's funny - until it possesses YOUR speaker and starts going to town.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Nice to See You, Time to Go.
Sunday C and I went to a brunch at a neighbor's house. It was a very nice experience. The best part was when we got kicked out of the house. It wasn't just us, it was everybody.
Our hostess fed us and chatted with us, and then when she was ready to end the affair said "Ok, there's the door. You can stay as long as you want, but if I were you I'd leave!"
There was nothing rude about it. I was relieved to have someone tell me it's time to go. That she had other things she needed/wanted to do that day.
Nobody was offended. In fact, we all had things we really needed to get to anyway. It was nice to have a reason to leave. Not that I didn't have a nice time there - but now I could get on with the rest of my napping on the couch.
I know from being my Mom's dumping ground of grr that whenever she has people over, she gets all wound up if they don't catch her subtle "go away" clues. I never could figure out what she thought was so obvious. Because there's no way I could tell you what to look for. But that's my Mom. She's spent her entire life keeping her real needs/wants hidden from the people who could, and probably would, make them a reality.
And if you asked my Mom what her best qualities were, she would deny that she's got any qualities worth pointing out; that she's just a woman who works hard and tries to make sure her kids are happy. Then she'd go to lunch with me some day and say: "I'm always honest. And I expect people to be honest with me."
Funny that.
Our hostess fed us and chatted with us, and then when she was ready to end the affair said "Ok, there's the door. You can stay as long as you want, but if I were you I'd leave!"
There was nothing rude about it. I was relieved to have someone tell me it's time to go. That she had other things she needed/wanted to do that day.
Nobody was offended. In fact, we all had things we really needed to get to anyway. It was nice to have a reason to leave. Not that I didn't have a nice time there - but now I could get on with the rest of my napping on the couch.
I know from being my Mom's dumping ground of grr that whenever she has people over, she gets all wound up if they don't catch her subtle "go away" clues. I never could figure out what she thought was so obvious. Because there's no way I could tell you what to look for. But that's my Mom. She's spent her entire life keeping her real needs/wants hidden from the people who could, and probably would, make them a reality.
And if you asked my Mom what her best qualities were, she would deny that she's got any qualities worth pointing out; that she's just a woman who works hard and tries to make sure her kids are happy. Then she'd go to lunch with me some day and say: "I'm always honest. And I expect people to be honest with me."
Funny that.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
I Broke the Seal of the Cake, and Behold, No Raisins!
Every other Saturday morning I get up at 8 or so and drag myself to the Salon for princess treatments. I am one of those girls with acrylic fingernails. And I might also mention that I've fallen into that pedicure trap. So I get one of those once a month.
I look at it like other people might look at hiring a housekeeper or gardener. It's just one of those things I can't sit still long enough to do myself, nor do I have the skill for it.
On those occasions I DO paint my own toes, I use the "paint it all up to the first bend in the toe, skin included " method. This requires pre-planning, in that Zoomicures take literally two shower cycles to remove the excess polish and look presentable.
Who has time for that?
But as usual, that's not what this post is about.
It is about the most evil cake I've ever eaten. Evil has been hiding on this Earth as Trader Joe's Carrot Cake. The only reason this cake isn't currently riding around on one of the four horsemen is that the frosting on top was made by angels.
If my wedding dress doesn't fit in November, Trader Joe's is responsible for obtaining a new one for me. I will have probably consumed no less than 350 of their frozen carrot cakes by August, so I can only imagine what kind of mu mu I'm going to need by November.
Why is this cake so evil? It doesn't have raisins in it. THERE ARE NO RAISINS.
I hate raisins in my food, especially cooked food. There is everything wrong with the textrue they have after being cooked. I hate them almost as much as I hate peas. The difference is that I can eat raw raisins out of a box just fine. I simply don't want them mixed in with any other food I might eat. Peas are just impossible for me to eat nekkid, raw or cooked, or with food costumes.
I realized this morning I have a serious carrot cake habit, and this is how I know: As I left the house this morning for my appointments, I had the tin containing what was left of the last carrot cake in one hand, a plastic fork in the front pocket of my overalls, and my car keys in the other hand. !?
Don't worry, I didn't drive and eat it at the same time. Noooooo. I went ahead and had my breakfast in the parking lot of the salon after parking the car. !?
Because that's classy.
I see an all pea diet in my future.
I look at it like other people might look at hiring a housekeeper or gardener. It's just one of those things I can't sit still long enough to do myself, nor do I have the skill for it.
On those occasions I DO paint my own toes, I use the "paint it all up to the first bend in the toe, skin included " method. This requires pre-planning, in that Zoomicures take literally two shower cycles to remove the excess polish and look presentable.
Who has time for that?
But as usual, that's not what this post is about.
It is about the most evil cake I've ever eaten. Evil has been hiding on this Earth as Trader Joe's Carrot Cake. The only reason this cake isn't currently riding around on one of the four horsemen is that the frosting on top was made by angels.
If my wedding dress doesn't fit in November, Trader Joe's is responsible for obtaining a new one for me. I will have probably consumed no less than 350 of their frozen carrot cakes by August, so I can only imagine what kind of mu mu I'm going to need by November.
Why is this cake so evil? It doesn't have raisins in it. THERE ARE NO RAISINS.
I hate raisins in my food, especially cooked food. There is everything wrong with the textrue they have after being cooked. I hate them almost as much as I hate peas. The difference is that I can eat raw raisins out of a box just fine. I simply don't want them mixed in with any other food I might eat. Peas are just impossible for me to eat nekkid, raw or cooked, or with food costumes.
I realized this morning I have a serious carrot cake habit, and this is how I know: As I left the house this morning for my appointments, I had the tin containing what was left of the last carrot cake in one hand, a plastic fork in the front pocket of my overalls, and my car keys in the other hand. !?
Don't worry, I didn't drive and eat it at the same time. Noooooo. I went ahead and had my breakfast in the parking lot of the salon after parking the car. !?
Because that's classy.
I see an all pea diet in my future.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
College Night Life
C and I toured a local college last night for a change of scenery in the exercise routine.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Stop Me Before I Talk Again.
C and I at lunch. Conversation goes like this:
C: "They really need a driving range around here."
Z: "Like automobile... or gun?"
_________________________________
I'm sitting at my desk and notice a red laser light on the wall in front of me. I say to the air "OK, who's messing with me?" and it goes away. An attorney walks by and says "What?" I explain to her that well, there was a red light there on the wall wiggling at me.
Yeah, I expected her to just back away slowly.
So she leaves and the light comes back. And I start laughing, and saying to the air "Seriously. Who is that!!" And I get up and start to look around for any hiding space someone can be in - and I find NOTHING.
The light keeps coming back, and I can tell that it CAN HEAR ME. Because every time I say "WHO ARE YOU!" and jump up to investigate, it goes away.
Finally C comes around the corner with the laser pointer, and he's giggling and very proud of himself. He had been able to hide clear down the hallway and bounce the light off of one of the name plates, onto the wall in front of me. And he could hear me talking to the air the whole time.
God I love him!
C: "They really need a driving range around here."
Z: "Like automobile... or gun?"
_________________________________
I'm sitting at my desk and notice a red laser light on the wall in front of me. I say to the air "OK, who's messing with me?" and it goes away. An attorney walks by and says "What?" I explain to her that well, there was a red light there on the wall wiggling at me.
Yeah, I expected her to just back away slowly.
So she leaves and the light comes back. And I start laughing, and saying to the air "Seriously. Who is that!!" And I get up and start to look around for any hiding space someone can be in - and I find NOTHING.
The light keeps coming back, and I can tell that it CAN HEAR ME. Because every time I say "WHO ARE YOU!" and jump up to investigate, it goes away.
Finally C comes around the corner with the laser pointer, and he's giggling and very proud of himself. He had been able to hide clear down the hallway and bounce the light off of one of the name plates, onto the wall in front of me. And he could hear me talking to the air the whole time.
God I love him!
Sponges Are for Cleaning, Not Brains.
Automatic faucets. These are good things. I love that I can stick my hands in there, go for the soap, and get out without having to turn water on, off, or try to adjust the temperature.
Simple things make me happy. And, those of you getting to know me will probably agree that I really need all the help I can get - especially when it comes to faucets and knobs.
But as is usually the case, I've found a way to make even automatic faucetry a ZoomLiability. A Zoomability.
Yesterday I was in a public loo drying off my paws and I thought "Gee, that automatic faucet might be broken. It hasn't turned off yet....la la la."
Apparently the brain I own can create a logical string to anything, no matter how ridiculous, but it can't remember that the sink I'm using HAS KNOBS. Knobs that I, only seconds before, had turned on myself.
Thank goodness I was never wooed by Moonies. With my sponge of a brain, I'd have probably gone in, made Top Mooney and started my own little Mooney Camp - while my parents hired countless deprogrammers to ride by and throw me in a van for a stern talking to.
Sheesh.
Simple things make me happy. And, those of you getting to know me will probably agree that I really need all the help I can get - especially when it comes to faucets and knobs.
But as is usually the case, I've found a way to make even automatic faucetry a ZoomLiability. A Zoomability.
Yesterday I was in a public loo drying off my paws and I thought "Gee, that automatic faucet might be broken. It hasn't turned off yet....la la la."
Apparently the brain I own can create a logical string to anything, no matter how ridiculous, but it can't remember that the sink I'm using HAS KNOBS. Knobs that I, only seconds before, had turned on myself.
Thank goodness I was never wooed by Moonies. With my sponge of a brain, I'd have probably gone in, made Top Mooney and started my own little Mooney Camp - while my parents hired countless deprogrammers to ride by and throw me in a van for a stern talking to.
Sheesh.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Children Are Not Superglue.
C and I often find ourselves among a group of people who are just learning that we plan to marry soon.
Que wedding advice monster, suspended from the ceiling and swinging through the room. Actually, I must admit that I've been really lucky in this department. Aside from the occasional "OH, you absolutely must consider having my cousin prepare your centerpieces!! What color popsicle sticks should I tell her to buy?" - I've received little unwanted wedding advice.
There is, however, another creature that lives inside people. I've named it the Bitter Marriage Counselor Hyena. Sometimes it's laughing as it chews on my confidence concerning the potential marriage C and I will have.
I believe that these people do have good intentions. And most of them have been and/or are still married as they release the hyena.
A recent example comes from a woman learning that not only are C and I going to get married, but we don't plan on having any children. We are very much accustomed to dealing with the "Aww, come on. You know you want to..." "She will change her mind" "It's different when it's yours" and other type discussions. We can do those with our eyes closed.
What we weren't prepared for was that this woman basically told us that as we manage to arrive at an anniversary or six, we will find that we MUST have children....or at least a pet. Her reason? Without a pet or child, we WILL discover that there's nothing new. We will have done it all. There will be no excitement, no fun, quite literally we will be on the brink of comas without that element in our lives; and we will welcome said coma.
She did offer us one glimmer of hope though. She said we might make it if we decide to travel a lot.
And no, she doesn't currently have any children, but she does have pets. 5 of them. And a husband.
Wow. She's got skills. Her directive of MUST HAVE children combined with the promise of saving our marriage was most creative. I gave it a 4 out of 5 stars.
But I don't buy it. Not for a second.
C and I know that we have no idea how to make a marriage work. We are flying on pure, perhaps naive, blind faith.
Besides. We have fish.
Que wedding advice monster, suspended from the ceiling and swinging through the room. Actually, I must admit that I've been really lucky in this department. Aside from the occasional "OH, you absolutely must consider having my cousin prepare your centerpieces!! What color popsicle sticks should I tell her to buy?" - I've received little unwanted wedding advice.
There is, however, another creature that lives inside people. I've named it the Bitter Marriage Counselor Hyena. Sometimes it's laughing as it chews on my confidence concerning the potential marriage C and I will have.
I believe that these people do have good intentions. And most of them have been and/or are still married as they release the hyena.
A recent example comes from a woman learning that not only are C and I going to get married, but we don't plan on having any children. We are very much accustomed to dealing with the "Aww, come on. You know you want to..." "She will change her mind" "It's different when it's yours" and other type discussions. We can do those with our eyes closed.
What we weren't prepared for was that this woman basically told us that as we manage to arrive at an anniversary or six, we will find that we MUST have children....or at least a pet. Her reason? Without a pet or child, we WILL discover that there's nothing new. We will have done it all. There will be no excitement, no fun, quite literally we will be on the brink of comas without that element in our lives; and we will welcome said coma.
She did offer us one glimmer of hope though. She said we might make it if we decide to travel a lot.
And no, she doesn't currently have any children, but she does have pets. 5 of them. And a husband.
Wow. She's got skills. Her directive of MUST HAVE children combined with the promise of saving our marriage was most creative. I gave it a 4 out of 5 stars.
But I don't buy it. Not for a second.
C and I know that we have no idea how to make a marriage work. We are flying on pure, perhaps naive, blind faith.
Besides. We have fish.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
It's Like You're Gardening
Today C and I went to Home Depot. We needed wood chips for the front yard.
C also wanted to get some tools.
Because I can't resist pointy things, I immediately went for this blue pitch fork and started taking pictures.
C also wanted to get some tools.
Because I can't resist pointy things, I immediately went for this blue pitch fork and started taking pictures.
C demonstrates the weed tool.
Notice the sign in the background: Chain Saws.
You know how I'm always saying "If there's one thing we shouldn't have, it's children."? Well, I need to modify that statement.
"If there are two things we shouldn't have, they are children and a chain saw."
We could barely handle the samples, and they weren't even plugged in.
We are thinking of registering for a chain saw as a wedding gift.
I see lots of over-pruned bushes in our future.
Smith And Hawken
After Home Depot we went to Smith and Hawken. I'd never even heard of the place. And for a week now, I've run around thinking the name was Smith and HawkING.
C found a lot of sparklie tools to take home with us.
C found a lot of sparklie tools to take home with us.
Children of the Corn Collection
C and I were at our third garden store when I found the Holloween yard decoration section. And I thought Christmas decorations came out early.
I now have a new phobia.
Some people fear clowns or mannequins.
I now fear garden ornaments made to look like children.
Chuckie and Rosemary's Baby
I don't know about the rest of you out there, but to me? There's no way that these things are anything but downright terrifying.
I realize the zombie genre is hot right now, but really.
Someone needs to tell Frankengardener that he needs to head on back to the drawing board. Maybe encourage him to work in bunnies or turtles. Even if they come out looking less than cute, I won't need therapy after visiting my local garden store for a bag of freaking wood chips.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Memorial
There is this park near my old home. The one I lived in before I tricked C into thinking he wanted to marry me. When the war started in 2002 (?), this memorial showed up there. Eventually it was taken down.
I drove by today and saw that it was back. Each post has something different on it. It isn't clear as to what, exactly each post represents. They seem to represent anything from one person to 20 that have been lost in the war.
It's quite interesting to watch people walk by and realize that it's a home made memorial. Then they take a detour right into the middle of it. Just like I did.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
From Repossession to Possession.
Our office loo has those automatic faucets and soap dispensers.
I can be in the loo all alone, inside my little loo cubicle, when *spsssssssssss* - one of the faucets turns on...then off.
It happened today, and at least two other times this week when I was in there. It causes me to wonder if anyone else has noticed it.
It's a terribly slow day at the office...can you tell? Seriously, I need my blog reading. Otherwise, this is what I'm reduced to. Wondering if I can strike up a conversation with my co-workers...wondering if I can get a rumor started that there's a ghost in the loo.
Toilet poltergeist.
Oh, and C had to listen to me say "soooouuuuullll traiiiiiin" about 32.4 times this morning on the way to work. He said "Um hum. Somebody's going to land like a lawn dart about 3pm today..."
I can be in the loo all alone, inside my little loo cubicle, when *spsssssssssss* - one of the faucets turns on...then off.
It happened today, and at least two other times this week when I was in there. It causes me to wonder if anyone else has noticed it.
It's a terribly slow day at the office...can you tell? Seriously, I need my blog reading. Otherwise, this is what I'm reduced to. Wondering if I can strike up a conversation with my co-workers...wondering if I can get a rumor started that there's a ghost in the loo.
Toilet poltergeist.
Oh, and C had to listen to me say "soooouuuuullll traiiiiiin" about 32.4 times this morning on the way to work. He said "Um hum. Somebody's going to land like a lawn dart about 3pm today..."
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
I Should Be Sleeping.
I need my sleep. Especially on work nights. If I'm not snoozing by 11pm, there's going to be trouble the next day.
It's 11:30 pm and I've been to bed twice already. Can't sleep.
I can hear a diesel truck, chains, voices, more chains, a hydraulic somethin. And I have visions of my neighbors moving out in the middle of the night. As if they were trying to sneak away by loading all of their possessions into a giant mack truck...inconspicuously...waking up the entire neighborhood in the process?
In my nightie, no slippers, I grab a blankie and my camera and head out to the front yard to investigate. I can't sleep. Might as well see what's going on.
The noise is coming from two or three houses down, and I can tell that a flat bed truck is loading a red pick-up truck onto the bed. But the pick-up truck is being pulled out of the garage. It's not like it was parked on the street.
So now I don't know if this is a repossession or just someone obtaining mechanical assistance for their immobile vehicle. Because my brain has to call it something, and those two scenarios seem likely to it, apparently. I just ride along here - I don't have control of wheel.
I didn't want to snap a bunch of flash pictures. If it is a repossession, they are proceeding far slower than I've come to expect from t.v. and movies. Sheesh. And regardless, I figure it's just best to not draw attention to myself.
You probably can't make out anything in these pictures. In fact, it looks more like aliens are trying to abduct a neighbor's mail box than anything. But one shot did catch a reflection of what appears to be an AAA insignia on the flat-bed truck. That probably means simply mechanical issues, not repossession.
Which also means I can look forward to the symphony of flat-bed trucking to keep me up for a good while longer.
C is still fast asleep. He didn't hear a thing. That's good, because he's going to need his energy to deal with me tomorrow.
Heh, the first picture reminds me of "Sooooouuuuulll Traaaaain". Oh yeah. Tomorrow's going to be a roughie.
Speaking of Talking to Oneself...
Actual conversation I had with C this morning. Ok, wait. It was more like I started talking out loud and he joined in:
Me: "My shoes can beat up your shoes. But they won't. They don't like to use unnecessary force unless it's . . . necessary. . ."
C: "Honey. It's a little early to be drinking."
Yesterday's random speech by me:
"When I use the gym shower, I try to get out of there as fast as I can. You know? It's moldy, and the drain is usually clogged with hair....and I look around and I see feet. I see the feet of past users in there."
Me: "My shoes can beat up your shoes. But they won't. They don't like to use unnecessary force unless it's . . . necessary. . ."
C: "Honey. It's a little early to be drinking."
Yesterday's random speech by me:
"When I use the gym shower, I try to get out of there as fast as I can. You know? It's moldy, and the drain is usually clogged with hair....and I look around and I see feet. I see the feet of past users in there."
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Well There Went That.
Turns out our crack IT department found a way to block the actual viewing of blogs from the office. *snif*. So while I can still update, I can't view it ... and I can't view any other blogs until I get home.
So to my commentors, I'm sorry. I can't even post replys to comments unless I'm at home. And some of you are in a different time zone than I am - so it's probably like midnight by the time I get to reply.
Back to talking to myself from the hours of 9am to 6pm, Monday through Friday.
And in the spirit of that, I'll make with the random tribute to someone even more able to laugh at herself than I am.
In the last few months, these are a few of the things that have honest to goodness happened to her:
1. She was running in high heels in a full, long dress in the streets of downtown LA, because she was late for a wedding. She tripped, and the contents of her purse went flying. People on the street helped her back up and helped her to re-fill her purse. She got to the wedding with a fair sized raspberry on her arm.
2. She went to audition for an infomercial, and her purse was stolen out of the truck of her car.
3. She was walking down the stairs a few weekends ago when her shoe came off and she fell down the stairs.
4. She went to work one day and spent that entire day explaining the phrase "I forgot my pants!" She had worn jeans in the car (for the drive to work) and meant to change into work appropriate pants when she got there. She forgot her pants.
5. Today she comes in and says "Yeah, last night I accidentally waxed off one half of one of my eyebrows. Don't try waxing at home."
Being able to laugh at yourself? Yes, I can. But if all of this had happened to me? I'd probably be in a little crying heap under my kitchen table chewing on chocolate bars.
So to my commentors, I'm sorry. I can't even post replys to comments unless I'm at home. And some of you are in a different time zone than I am - so it's probably like midnight by the time I get to reply.
Back to talking to myself from the hours of 9am to 6pm, Monday through Friday.
And in the spirit of that, I'll make with the random tribute to someone even more able to laugh at herself than I am.
In the last few months, these are a few of the things that have honest to goodness happened to her:
1. She was running in high heels in a full, long dress in the streets of downtown LA, because she was late for a wedding. She tripped, and the contents of her purse went flying. People on the street helped her back up and helped her to re-fill her purse. She got to the wedding with a fair sized raspberry on her arm.
2. She went to audition for an infomercial, and her purse was stolen out of the truck of her car.
3. She was walking down the stairs a few weekends ago when her shoe came off and she fell down the stairs.
4. She went to work one day and spent that entire day explaining the phrase "I forgot my pants!" She had worn jeans in the car (for the drive to work) and meant to change into work appropriate pants when she got there. She forgot her pants.
5. Today she comes in and says "Yeah, last night I accidentally waxed off one half of one of my eyebrows. Don't try waxing at home."
Being able to laugh at yourself? Yes, I can. But if all of this had happened to me? I'd probably be in a little crying heap under my kitchen table chewing on chocolate bars.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Nearsighted Lunch
I don't wear my glasses at lunch. I wear them at work and when I'm driving at night. When C and I go to lunch, I just use regular sun glasses.
I'm nearsighted. So my food and C are always in focus; and yet I still have difficulty getting all of the food in my face and not on my clothes and the surrounding table. C calls this the chipper shredder effect. C has his own food juggling talent. We're quite a duo, I'm telling you.
Oh, and then there was the time we discovered that plastic forks stuck in the metal table outside of Baja Fresh make great catepults.
Anyone need further evidence that we should remain child free? I didn't think so.
Today I look over C's shoulder to the man sitting at a table behind him. This man was reading a magazine called "Making the Cut." I, of course, read it as "Making Out." I gave myself the giggles.
Back at the office I was working on some discovery and instead of writing "seat belt", I wrote "seat bleat". That is STILL making me giggle. Mostly because I know spellcheck would totally let that go. And people keep asking me "What's so funny...." and I try to tell them. But they don't get it. Which is ok with me.
It's like that time I found that Catfish comic and for weeks I cracked myself up with it. People around me were trying to explain that it "just isn't that funny."
I'll bet they have 20/20 vision.
I'm nearsighted. So my food and C are always in focus; and yet I still have difficulty getting all of the food in my face and not on my clothes and the surrounding table. C calls this the chipper shredder effect. C has his own food juggling talent. We're quite a duo, I'm telling you.
Oh, and then there was the time we discovered that plastic forks stuck in the metal table outside of Baja Fresh make great catepults.
Anyone need further evidence that we should remain child free? I didn't think so.
Today I look over C's shoulder to the man sitting at a table behind him. This man was reading a magazine called "Making the Cut." I, of course, read it as "Making Out." I gave myself the giggles.
Back at the office I was working on some discovery and instead of writing "seat belt", I wrote "seat bleat". That is STILL making me giggle. Mostly because I know spellcheck would totally let that go. And people keep asking me "What's so funny...." and I try to tell them. But they don't get it. Which is ok with me.
It's like that time I found that Catfish comic and for weeks I cracked myself up with it. People around me were trying to explain that it "just isn't that funny."
I'll bet they have 20/20 vision.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Today I found God's Satellite Dish...
...and his speedboat.
After going to the gym today, I decided to explore the industrial area right behind it.
Imagine my surprise when I came across the Trinity Broadcasting Network building! I had no idea the studio was practically in my back yard.
I'm not religious. I don't watch their shows. But you can't help but notice them when you are channel surfing.
So yeah. I see the building and across the street is the their giant satellite dish and speed boat.
I was too chicken to get out of my car and take pictures of all of this. You see, there's been more than one occasion where I've drawn the attention and subsequent ire of a security guard in my quest to entertain myself.
Like, last week C had to work late unexpectedly. I almost always have my camera with me, so I just took the car and went to a mall in the area. I snapped some pictures, ate some food, spent about an hour and a half in the bookstore, and then went back to the office to pick him up.
Unfortunately, he had a few more hours of work to do. It was about 9pm at this point. Never being without the ability to entertain myself, I drive straight up to the fifth floor of the parking structure and park the truck.
It was the only car up there. I wanted to look over the side to see what the view was like. See what the street below looked like with traffic, maybe play with taking pictures from up there in the dark.
I had been out of the car maybe about 2 minutes when a security vehicle approached me and the occupant asked "what in the heck do you think you are doing up here?"
I replied: "OH, oh. oH. oH. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to spook anybody. I...er....I my boyfriend works here. ....... and I work here too. ____ floor. Lawyer Lawyer and Lawyer. Yeah. He's working late and I'm waiting for him. I've never been up on this level in the dark before, so I was just looking."
He said "ok", but I knew it wasn't ok. I got back in the car and called C: "Honey, I just got questioned by security. Yeah, I was on the top of the parking structure. Um hm. I think I'll go home where I can't get arrested and you can call me when you are done."
And it's ok that people question what I'm doing. They have no way of knowing that I'm harmless. They are only doing their job. It's just that I don't always think things through before I act. Or look for the security cameras.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Introspectapalooza
This post will be all over the place. Unfortunately, that's just part of my writing. If I edit, I think too hard, and as you will see...when I think too hard I eventually collapse in on myself.
It's been a strange day.
It's a beautiful, sunny Saturday. I have no "have tos" today. None. And while I don't like sun or heat that much, sunny days make for good exploration.
So what do I do? I think "Why what a great day to explore! I used to live up near Santa Ana, and I know there's tons of historic buildings, churches and interesting stuff up there, why not? I've got a camera and a full tank of gas."
This was a great idea, but a somewhat tragic reality.
It didn't take me long to realize that I cannot safely drive my truck through historic streets AND take pictures. There are so many one way streets, cars stopping where they should not and pedestrians shooting out everywhere that I felt like I was filming one of those movies they used to show in high school dirver's ed courses. Do they still show those?
Now, the other alternative would have been to just park and use the footmobile.
But I couldn't.
And here's where my thoughts took me for a mental ride.
Santa Ana. It's truly a historic city. And it's full of .... yes, Mexicans. I hesitate to type that, because it sounds so harsh and offensive. Prejudicial. But what else am I supposed to say? Typing immigrants, or any other "proper" word just seems like I'm dodging the words that appear in my head. So I'm going to be honest about it. And I hope that you will stick with me so I can get my complete thoughts out before you think I'm an insensitive, egotistical and snobby human being.
That city is considered "the bad part of town." The reality may be that it is no more dangerous than my own neighborhood, but shamefully, I've soaked up enough media stereotyping about this city to allow it to affect my ability to park the truck and walk amongst those who live there.
And even if I'd braved it, my white girl nievete would have been the biggest insult I could have unintentionally thrust upon these people. This world is only a 30 minute drive from the mailbox in my front yard...but it might as well be a different country. Actually, that's not true. If it were a different country and I were a tourist, the dynamic would be different.
The spoken language and all of the signs are Spanish. The Catholic influence is unmistakeable, from the Catholic weddings letting out on one side of the street to the Virgin Mary paintings on nearly ever business on the other side of the street. The cowboy hats and 5 children per couple that are stereotypes certainly aren't absent from this place.
I'm incredibly ashamed to admit it, but I am scared.
I have no business being there. I'm a white girl who happens to live in a city that's considered "new, safe and clean." I know from remote experience that my presence can and likely will be perceived as "Some high falutin white girl, must be lost. Thinks she's better than all of us."
And that makes me sad. Sad that I'm forced to realize I'm letting stereotypes control my actions. And I'm talking stereotypes from both sides of the coin here. Them towards me "and my kind", and me towards them. Even saying "them" and "my kind" makes my stomach turn so slightly.
And here's the other thing.
While I can and did return here to my safe little picture perfect street (except for our yard, of course), I'm not comfortable with what I've become.
I don't always feel like I've earned the home and comfort I enjoy. In fact, this city that C and I live in has it's very own sterotype of residents who have ample disposable incomes, white collar jobs, nice cars ... maybe the better way to illustrate it is this: Whenever we are questioned by people as to where we live, and we answer them, we often get the question: "How did you afford that?"
And that's a question I ask myself A LOT. Fact is, we both came from middle class families. I don't know, perhaps our families are considered upper middle? I don't know. But we were taught to work hard at our jobs and just try to live within your means. At the same time, there was the subliminal message that eventually we'd grow up and obtain our own middle class lives.
And here we are, apparently.
Without even realizing it happend.
We bought this house from friends who lived here first. We'd always loved this house. When we offered to buy it upon learning that they were buying another house for their own expanding family, we were half convinced the people who control home loans would laugh us out of the County. But they didn't.
And prior to living in this city, we had discussed the need to avoid it and it's steril atmosphere. We didn't want to be "one of them." We now comfort ourselves by saying "it's not the City we chose, it's the house." And that is true, to a point. Because if this very house had been in another city, we'd have bought it.
But here we are.
It is what we know. It is what we were raised in.
It scares me that most people don't question what I'm doing here.
It's been a strange day.
It's a beautiful, sunny Saturday. I have no "have tos" today. None. And while I don't like sun or heat that much, sunny days make for good exploration.
So what do I do? I think "Why what a great day to explore! I used to live up near Santa Ana, and I know there's tons of historic buildings, churches and interesting stuff up there, why not? I've got a camera and a full tank of gas."
This was a great idea, but a somewhat tragic reality.
It didn't take me long to realize that I cannot safely drive my truck through historic streets AND take pictures. There are so many one way streets, cars stopping where they should not and pedestrians shooting out everywhere that I felt like I was filming one of those movies they used to show in high school dirver's ed courses. Do they still show those?
Now, the other alternative would have been to just park and use the footmobile.
But I couldn't.
And here's where my thoughts took me for a mental ride.
Santa Ana. It's truly a historic city. And it's full of .... yes, Mexicans. I hesitate to type that, because it sounds so harsh and offensive. Prejudicial. But what else am I supposed to say? Typing immigrants, or any other "proper" word just seems like I'm dodging the words that appear in my head. So I'm going to be honest about it. And I hope that you will stick with me so I can get my complete thoughts out before you think I'm an insensitive, egotistical and snobby human being.
That city is considered "the bad part of town." The reality may be that it is no more dangerous than my own neighborhood, but shamefully, I've soaked up enough media stereotyping about this city to allow it to affect my ability to park the truck and walk amongst those who live there.
And even if I'd braved it, my white girl nievete would have been the biggest insult I could have unintentionally thrust upon these people. This world is only a 30 minute drive from the mailbox in my front yard...but it might as well be a different country. Actually, that's not true. If it were a different country and I were a tourist, the dynamic would be different.
The spoken language and all of the signs are Spanish. The Catholic influence is unmistakeable, from the Catholic weddings letting out on one side of the street to the Virgin Mary paintings on nearly ever business on the other side of the street. The cowboy hats and 5 children per couple that are stereotypes certainly aren't absent from this place.
I'm incredibly ashamed to admit it, but I am scared.
I have no business being there. I'm a white girl who happens to live in a city that's considered "new, safe and clean." I know from remote experience that my presence can and likely will be perceived as "Some high falutin white girl, must be lost. Thinks she's better than all of us."
And that makes me sad. Sad that I'm forced to realize I'm letting stereotypes control my actions. And I'm talking stereotypes from both sides of the coin here. Them towards me "and my kind", and me towards them. Even saying "them" and "my kind" makes my stomach turn so slightly.
And here's the other thing.
While I can and did return here to my safe little picture perfect street (except for our yard, of course), I'm not comfortable with what I've become.
I don't always feel like I've earned the home and comfort I enjoy. In fact, this city that C and I live in has it's very own sterotype of residents who have ample disposable incomes, white collar jobs, nice cars ... maybe the better way to illustrate it is this: Whenever we are questioned by people as to where we live, and we answer them, we often get the question: "How did you afford that?"
And that's a question I ask myself A LOT. Fact is, we both came from middle class families. I don't know, perhaps our families are considered upper middle? I don't know. But we were taught to work hard at our jobs and just try to live within your means. At the same time, there was the subliminal message that eventually we'd grow up and obtain our own middle class lives.
And here we are, apparently.
Without even realizing it happend.
We bought this house from friends who lived here first. We'd always loved this house. When we offered to buy it upon learning that they were buying another house for their own expanding family, we were half convinced the people who control home loans would laugh us out of the County. But they didn't.
And prior to living in this city, we had discussed the need to avoid it and it's steril atmosphere. We didn't want to be "one of them." We now comfort ourselves by saying "it's not the City we chose, it's the house." And that is true, to a point. Because if this very house had been in another city, we'd have bought it.
But here we are.
It is what we know. It is what we were raised in.
It scares me that most people don't question what I'm doing here.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
How Can Someone So Sensitive ...
...be so clueless? And when I use the word sensitive to describe myself, I mean in the "strange people can't talk to me because I'll make a jackass of myself and they don't know/understand/love me despite that fact...yet..."
So don't you think that when I'm out in public I'd take a whole lot of preventative measures? Like, oh say....
When I'm at El Pollo Loco with C and the napkins I've put on my lap just magically disappear...do you think I'd look around to see where they went?
No, apparently not. Instead I'll just get another one out of the dispenser and keep going as if napkin disintigration is all kinds of normal. Then I'll get up to refill my drink and this strange lady with friends will say ...
"HEY! NICE SHOES!"
Which is exactly what happened tonight.
Thinking she was actually making a strange, but genuine comment I pretty much said thanks in my meek little voice and continued my scurry to the soda dispenser. But then I looked down and saw that my missing napkin had actually lodged itself into the top of my flip flop and I was dragging it around the restaurant!! Wait. I suppose it was more of a pushing it around that I was doing since the napkin was jutting out like a giant idiot tag, not on the side or in the back of my shoe.
Don't you think I'd notice these things before someone has to point them out? Am I that excited about a soda refill? Or is this a symptom of the same malady that causes me to lose a slipper willy nilly and not notice until 10 minutes later?
So then strange lady follows up with a "HEY, WELL AT LEAST IT WAS JUST A NAPKIN!"
Yeah, thanks a pantload for that.
I brought a stunt napkin home so that I could make this here photo re-creation of the event. The original, sadly, was swept into a trash bin.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Talking in Code
Sarcasm. Sass. Nothing sacred. These are words that people probably use to describe the relationship C and I have. It is, after all, much of what we give the outside world.
What people don't always see is the behind closed doors heart to heart sass-less discussions we do have.
Me personally? I don't do well when someone compliments me. It is a direct, electrical "on" switch to my instinct to run run run away. Therefore, when C says something incredibly sensitive to me, I tend to say "Don't be nice to me!!!"
He understands this to mean "Thank you, I love you too."
And I've caused him to say "Don't be nice to me" on one or more occasions.
I know. I know. We are insane. We are very ok with that.
Then there is the phrase we use when one or the other has made a particularly sassy argument as to something true (about the other), but that person doesn't want to admit it out loud: "You are supposed to love me!"
Here's a better example:
My C loves getting the mail out of the mail box every day. It doesn't matter how many boxes/bags/jackets he is already carrying from the car - he MUST balance all of this AND extract the mail from the mailbox. No second trips are allowed, apparently.
This has provided many an opportunity for sass.
One day C and I are driving home from work when we get to the main corner right before turning on our street. I say to him dramatically "...OH, do you hear that?" and he says "What?" and I say "The mail, do you hear it calling out to you?" to which he says "You are supposed to love me."
Now that you know how we deal with compliments and sass, I can tell you about last night.
Our house came with a ceiling fan in the master bedroom. C loves this fan. It's difficult to illustrate how much.
This weekend the fan stops working. The lights still work, and we can hear the "juice" getting to it, but it refuses to provide its expected fan windery.
C works with the previous owner of the house to figure out who/where/when it was bought. He tracks down the manufacturer, and begins an e-mail conversation with the guy to figure out how to get it fixed. The guy gives him all kinds of things to check out to see if it's a simple fix.
So we get home last night and C messes with the fan for probably an hour when *WHOSH WHOSH* it starts to work again. He says "ooh! I love it when I fix stuff!"
C's face lit up like a 5-year-old receiving a coveted toy on Christmas. I was literally struck. While I had always believed I'd seen pure joy before, I now know I've never truly looked into the eyes of someone experiencing it. Or, that it could be so moving when it's someone you care about so much.
I should have been able to say to him "Wow, honey...I'm so excited to have the fan working again, you are the best! What would I do without you!"
...but I couldn't see past his adorable glee long enough to enforce it with a "damn, good job!"
So C, here it is a whole 12 hours late:
DAMN GOOD JOB HONEY! I really don't know what I'd do without you.
What people don't always see is the behind closed doors heart to heart sass-less discussions we do have.
Me personally? I don't do well when someone compliments me. It is a direct, electrical "on" switch to my instinct to run run run away. Therefore, when C says something incredibly sensitive to me, I tend to say "Don't be nice to me!!!"
He understands this to mean "Thank you, I love you too."
And I've caused him to say "Don't be nice to me" on one or more occasions.
I know. I know. We are insane. We are very ok with that.
Then there is the phrase we use when one or the other has made a particularly sassy argument as to something true (about the other), but that person doesn't want to admit it out loud: "You are supposed to love me!"
Here's a better example:
My C loves getting the mail out of the mail box every day. It doesn't matter how many boxes/bags/jackets he is already carrying from the car - he MUST balance all of this AND extract the mail from the mailbox. No second trips are allowed, apparently.
This has provided many an opportunity for sass.
One day C and I are driving home from work when we get to the main corner right before turning on our street. I say to him dramatically "...OH, do you hear that?" and he says "What?" and I say "The mail, do you hear it calling out to you?" to which he says "You are supposed to love me."
Now that you know how we deal with compliments and sass, I can tell you about last night.
Our house came with a ceiling fan in the master bedroom. C loves this fan. It's difficult to illustrate how much.
This weekend the fan stops working. The lights still work, and we can hear the "juice" getting to it, but it refuses to provide its expected fan windery.
C works with the previous owner of the house to figure out who/where/when it was bought. He tracks down the manufacturer, and begins an e-mail conversation with the guy to figure out how to get it fixed. The guy gives him all kinds of things to check out to see if it's a simple fix.
So we get home last night and C messes with the fan for probably an hour when *WHOSH WHOSH* it starts to work again. He says "ooh! I love it when I fix stuff!"
C's face lit up like a 5-year-old receiving a coveted toy on Christmas. I was literally struck. While I had always believed I'd seen pure joy before, I now know I've never truly looked into the eyes of someone experiencing it. Or, that it could be so moving when it's someone you care about so much.
I should have been able to say to him "Wow, honey...I'm so excited to have the fan working again, you are the best! What would I do without you!"
...but I couldn't see past his adorable glee long enough to enforce it with a "damn, good job!"
So C, here it is a whole 12 hours late:
DAMN GOOD JOB HONEY! I really don't know what I'd do without you.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
My Face is On Drugs!
And this is for Kathy, because believe it or not, this has to do with wedding koo koo. Sorta.
I recently went to see a dermatologist. This is not something I'd normally do, except that I am convinced that I will be sporting a huge horn on my wedding day.
I get the deep, angry break outs once in a while. The kind that threaten to swell one eye shut, the kind that hurt with no physical pressure other than the breeze.
A friend recommended I either visit a dermatologist, or feign some kind of cold a week before the wedding and hope a Dr. gave me some antibiotics.
With my luck, I knew better than to try the acting gig.
I came out of the Dr.'s office armed with a prescription for some kind of antibiotic goo. I've been using it now for about a month, and everything is working out just fine. Jibber jabber cake.
So then, the other day C and I are driving around that part of town where the Dr.'s office is. I, for whatever reason, decide he should know "That street right there is were my face doctor is." He kind of looked at me for a second, and then I added "Yeah! My face is on drugs!"
C says "It's a really good thing people can't hear us sometimes."
Oh, and C's ring for the big day? It's in 3 parts. It fits all together and looks like one ring, but for comfort and ease of movement in that finger, it remains as 3 sorta band-like pieces.
There are currently wagers with Vegas odds as to whether I manage to toss one, two or all three pieces around the church in an attempt to get them on his finger.
If I were you, I'd go for at least two.
Just ask C. We've had morning conversations that go like this:
C: "How did one of your slippers get in the guest room, and one get in the closet in the bedroom? How does that happen?"
Me: "I don't know. All I remember is trying to put my pants on this morning and I only had one slipper on."
I recently went to see a dermatologist. This is not something I'd normally do, except that I am convinced that I will be sporting a huge horn on my wedding day.
I get the deep, angry break outs once in a while. The kind that threaten to swell one eye shut, the kind that hurt with no physical pressure other than the breeze.
A friend recommended I either visit a dermatologist, or feign some kind of cold a week before the wedding and hope a Dr. gave me some antibiotics.
With my luck, I knew better than to try the acting gig.
I came out of the Dr.'s office armed with a prescription for some kind of antibiotic goo. I've been using it now for about a month, and everything is working out just fine. Jibber jabber cake.
So then, the other day C and I are driving around that part of town where the Dr.'s office is. I, for whatever reason, decide he should know "That street right there is were my face doctor is." He kind of looked at me for a second, and then I added "Yeah! My face is on drugs!"
C says "It's a really good thing people can't hear us sometimes."
Oh, and C's ring for the big day? It's in 3 parts. It fits all together and looks like one ring, but for comfort and ease of movement in that finger, it remains as 3 sorta band-like pieces.
There are currently wagers with Vegas odds as to whether I manage to toss one, two or all three pieces around the church in an attempt to get them on his finger.
If I were you, I'd go for at least two.
Just ask C. We've had morning conversations that go like this:
C: "How did one of your slippers get in the guest room, and one get in the closet in the bedroom? How does that happen?"
Me: "I don't know. All I remember is trying to put my pants on this morning and I only had one slipper on."
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Friday Night Ikea Tour
C and I decided to run through Ikea Friday night after work. We love us the Ikea.
We spent about two hours in there. It would have been less, but I got separated from him and then it became this silly game of both of us missing each other in a giant circle for probably a half hour.
So here are a few pictures from our Ikea Tour. I put the bars over his eyes so we can claim we tried to remain anonymous or something.
I do realize though that he's posted pictures of us and some of our friends on his blog without any attempt at blocking identities, so it's pretty useless.
But whatever. I learned some new tools in the photoshop so they stay.
We spent about two hours in there. It would have been less, but I got separated from him and then it became this silly game of both of us missing each other in a giant circle for probably a half hour.
So here are a few pictures from our Ikea Tour. I put the bars over his eyes so we can claim we tried to remain anonymous or something.
I do realize though that he's posted pictures of us and some of our friends on his blog without any attempt at blocking identities, so it's pretty useless.
But whatever. I learned some new tools in the photoshop so they stay.
Is it Really 11:07?
C in the clock section of Ikea. I'm pretty sure the staff was more than happy to see us go, even if we did buy a few things.
Update at 7:31 pm. C, upon viewing this says "Didn't you get my Flava Flave reference here?"
Well, now that you point it out, yes. But at the time? No. I failed you, rain man brain of music, t.v. and movies...
Like a Moth to a Light Bulb
I found these great blue light displays and immediately ran over to take pictures.
C said "hmmm. It's amazing how quickly you are drawn to the lights."
C said "hmmm. It's amazing how quickly you are drawn to the lights."
Mam, Could You Leave the Merchandise on the Shelf?
I found the big silver bowls on the lower level and started playing with the reflections in them.
I started pulling them down and putting them on the floor of the store so I could get different shots.
This photo originally didn't come out this way. I played with the contrast and brightness in photoshop.
I started pulling them down and putting them on the floor of the store so I could get different shots.
This photo originally didn't come out this way. I played with the contrast and brightness in photoshop.
California Misses Ewe
My friend S is on a road trip with some amazing people. I'm going to miss her while she's gone. And the amazing people she's with.
My pal HATES, and I mean HATES mis-spelled (probably incorrect spelling) words. It causes her to make this high pitched squeaky voice that makes C and I giggle.
S, this is for you. I saw this truck with Sikspak on the rear window and got all misty cuz I miss you!
My pal HATES, and I mean HATES mis-spelled (probably incorrect spelling) words. It causes her to make this high pitched squeaky voice that makes C and I giggle.
S, this is for you. I saw this truck with Sikspak on the rear window and got all misty cuz I miss you!
The A HA! Moment
Saw "Batman Begins" last night. I liked the movie far more than I expected I would. I also left the theater with these indisputable facts (for me, anyway):
Christian Bale's lips are always pursed in an "I'm about to say WHAT really loud and with emotion" pout.
It's hard to take a masked man fighting the evil with prominently displayed pre-what lippage seriously.
And....
I want a bat-mobile. I want one bad.
Christian Bale's lips are always pursed in an "I'm about to say WHAT really loud and with emotion" pout.
It's hard to take a masked man fighting the evil with prominently displayed pre-what lippage seriously.
And....
I want a bat-mobile. I want one bad.
Friday, June 17, 2005
The Copy and Paste Entry
I've been running through some e-mails between me and my favorite friend S. Before I found this bloggerific place to dump my thoughts, I would write to her about anything and everything. I still do.
I found a few mails that chronicle some of the events in my life that - had I been doing this at the time, would have ended up here as well.
So, in honor of Friday and losing the battle with C to stay in bed and call into work claiming "we can't come in, we lost a sock in the dryer"... I give you: Contents of Past E-Mails
__________________________________
January 4, 2005:
I had my first official wedding freak out last night. I'm ready to go to Vegas, get Elvis and call it a day. I want more than anything to be married to C, but the pressure and the fluff and the location/hair/dress/cake/favors/food/booze/HIGHPRICES/scary vendors/craziness is officially making me frightened:
Last night I went into the computer room while C was watching soccer highlights. That was at 8:00 p.m.
At 10:45pm, C enters the computer room to find:
Me, deer in the headlights look, multiple VEGAS WEDDING google search results, mumbling "Vegas, let's start scouting packages in Vegas...I can't do this here...it's too much pressure...I just want to get in the dress, do the thing, go to a bar and drink myself into a coma ...I ... kittens and cake...."
He's like "ahh sweetie...I love you too!"
...and on the floor were three empty wrappers that previously contained those little frozen cheesecake things covered in chocolate...and an empty Amstel Light bottle.
______________________________________________________
January 12, 2005
C is Such a Lucky, Lucky Boy:
Me on the drive into work today: "Do you suppose we could ask for sterilization surgery for you as a wedding gift? Or do you suppose that when you go in for surgery on your knee next Friday, they could do it then since you are already unconscious?"
Him, with a tremendous amount of non-surprise that I'd even say this: "Sweetie, it's not a two-fer. We can't just say to the doctor, who is a sports med guy - by the way, that we want two surgeries for one."
Where is my social retardation filter? Where? And I said "sterilization"! Just like that!
I do have a plan though, in case he tries to get away from me before we get married. I'm going to claim that we already got married and he simply forgot!
This will work, no?
__________________________________________________
January 17, 2005
And why is everything cute in miniature? That is one of life's greatest mysteries. At least to me. Our copy company came in with mini boxes with candy in them and I was like "That's adorable". It's an office product that in regular size I use as a trash can. seriously.
______________________________________________
January 25, 2005
The problem with interviewing [wedding] photo people for me is exactly what you said. I don't know a good one from a bad one (sample). Plus, some of the quotes go like this:
Me: So how much?
Them: $4,500 to start, $3.45 per pea we find in the entre`s, $2.00 per drunken guest we have to dodge, and $3,000 for my assistants to help me.
And another $4,500 when anyone flushes a toilet twice in a row during the event. That always means trouble.
Also, if the name of the venue has the word "olde" in it, we charge an additional dollar three eighty per hour.
Me: You do realize this is a wedding, right? A perfectly normal event with somewhat normal human beings. It's not a rock concert or the Queen's birthday....and any tabloid you contact will make you pay them for wasting their time. How much do you charge to photograph, say.....someone's birthday party?
Them: $34.95
________________________________________
Happy Friday World!!
I found a few mails that chronicle some of the events in my life that - had I been doing this at the time, would have ended up here as well.
So, in honor of Friday and losing the battle with C to stay in bed and call into work claiming "we can't come in, we lost a sock in the dryer"... I give you: Contents of Past E-Mails
__________________________________
January 4, 2005:
I had my first official wedding freak out last night. I'm ready to go to Vegas, get Elvis and call it a day. I want more than anything to be married to C, but the pressure and the fluff and the location/hair/dress/cake/favors/food/booze/HIGHPRICES/scary vendors/craziness is officially making me frightened:
Last night I went into the computer room while C was watching soccer highlights. That was at 8:00 p.m.
At 10:45pm, C enters the computer room to find:
Me, deer in the headlights look, multiple VEGAS WEDDING google search results, mumbling "Vegas, let's start scouting packages in Vegas...I can't do this here...it's too much pressure...I just want to get in the dress, do the thing, go to a bar and drink myself into a coma ...I ... kittens and cake...."
He's like "ahh sweetie...I love you too!"
...and on the floor were three empty wrappers that previously contained those little frozen cheesecake things covered in chocolate...and an empty Amstel Light bottle.
______________________________________________________
January 12, 2005
C is Such a Lucky, Lucky Boy:
Me on the drive into work today: "Do you suppose we could ask for sterilization surgery for you as a wedding gift? Or do you suppose that when you go in for surgery on your knee next Friday, they could do it then since you are already unconscious?"
Him, with a tremendous amount of non-surprise that I'd even say this: "Sweetie, it's not a two-fer. We can't just say to the doctor, who is a sports med guy - by the way, that we want two surgeries for one."
Where is my social retardation filter? Where? And I said "sterilization"! Just like that!
I do have a plan though, in case he tries to get away from me before we get married. I'm going to claim that we already got married and he simply forgot!
This will work, no?
__________________________________________________
January 17, 2005
And why is everything cute in miniature? That is one of life's greatest mysteries. At least to me. Our copy company came in with mini boxes with candy in them and I was like "That's adorable". It's an office product that in regular size I use as a trash can. seriously.
______________________________________________
January 25, 2005
The problem with interviewing [wedding] photo people for me is exactly what you said. I don't know a good one from a bad one (sample). Plus, some of the quotes go like this:
Me: So how much?
Them: $4,500 to start, $3.45 per pea we find in the entre`s, $2.00 per drunken guest we have to dodge, and $3,000 for my assistants to help me.
And another $4,500 when anyone flushes a toilet twice in a row during the event. That always means trouble.
Also, if the name of the venue has the word "olde" in it, we charge an additional dollar three eighty per hour.
Me: You do realize this is a wedding, right? A perfectly normal event with somewhat normal human beings. It's not a rock concert or the Queen's birthday....and any tabloid you contact will make you pay them for wasting their time. How much do you charge to photograph, say.....someone's birthday party?
Them: $34.95
________________________________________
Happy Friday World!!
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Tectonic Plates Say "Get Over Yourself":
**This was originally going to be a post about how I'm having trouble picking things to write about lately. I mean, after having a bird land on my head, it was difficult to come up with interesting blog fodder. This post was originally titled something else. Then the earthquake happened right when I was writing this, so I changed the title.
A strange thing has happened to me since I've started regularly updating this blog. I always knew there was a chance people would find and read it. Never did I imagine that some of those people would come back, or even comment.
As it turns out, there are a couple of people out there who stop by regularly and make with the comments. I have also started reading and commenting on their blogs. I never would have found them if they hadn't commented. They are good humored, often insightful blogs; and I'm assuming people as well. I'm going to eventually bat my eyelids at the boy and ask him to make with the links in my humble blog to those blogs.
But that's not what I wanted to say, and of course I wandered off track.
What has happened is that I find myself questioning what I'm going to update with next. Before, I never even thought about it. I just started writing whatever appeared at the front of my consciousness and let' er' rip, as C would say. My only considerations were: Can I get fired for this? Can I get sued for this? Will someone I know find this and be hurt/offended? and the fact that I should probably avoid plastering our names and addresses all over the internet, especially within a personal blog that is essentially open to the entire world.
Now I'm questioning content in a different way: Is this worthy of writing about?
Well isn't that a giant pile of "who do I think I am" that I've climbed upon? And apparently made camp.
...*squeak*. We just had an earthquake and the building went sway....sway....we are 14 stories up.
I just ran to our administrator's office with the shaking hands and the 'ohmygodIhatethesethings". C is in a meeting with big important people, so I couldn't go running to his office. Our office admin got to babysit me for about 5 minutes.
The geologic website thingie says it was a 5. somethinsomethin out in San Berdo.
Well, I guess that just solves my little mind puzzle. I just wrote about my ability to sprint around the interior of our office like a big ol' sissy when we have an earthquake. I suppose the bar has been lowered enough that I can dang well write about anything now!
A strange thing has happened to me since I've started regularly updating this blog. I always knew there was a chance people would find and read it. Never did I imagine that some of those people would come back, or even comment.
As it turns out, there are a couple of people out there who stop by regularly and make with the comments. I have also started reading and commenting on their blogs. I never would have found them if they hadn't commented. They are good humored, often insightful blogs; and I'm assuming people as well. I'm going to eventually bat my eyelids at the boy and ask him to make with the links in my humble blog to those blogs.
But that's not what I wanted to say, and of course I wandered off track.
What has happened is that I find myself questioning what I'm going to update with next. Before, I never even thought about it. I just started writing whatever appeared at the front of my consciousness and let' er' rip, as C would say. My only considerations were: Can I get fired for this? Can I get sued for this? Will someone I know find this and be hurt/offended? and the fact that I should probably avoid plastering our names and addresses all over the internet, especially within a personal blog that is essentially open to the entire world.
Now I'm questioning content in a different way: Is this worthy of writing about?
Well isn't that a giant pile of "who do I think I am" that I've climbed upon? And apparently made camp.
...*squeak*. We just had an earthquake and the building went sway....sway....we are 14 stories up.
I just ran to our administrator's office with the shaking hands and the 'ohmygodIhatethesethings". C is in a meeting with big important people, so I couldn't go running to his office. Our office admin got to babysit me for about 5 minutes.
The geologic website thingie says it was a 5. somethinsomethin out in San Berdo.
Well, I guess that just solves my little mind puzzle. I just wrote about my ability to sprint around the interior of our office like a big ol' sissy when we have an earthquake. I suppose the bar has been lowered enough that I can dang well write about anything now!
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Bird Vengance
How often does a blog update land on your head while you are carrying a cup of coffee back to your car?
The shopping center where I get my morning coffee has signs up that say "Warning: birds are nesting, they will try and kill you." Ok, maybe they don't say that word for word, but it is implied.
I had become de-sensitized to the warnings. After all, I had managed to walk through the danger zone for months without any bird attackage.
This morning though, I must have chosen the "threatening" costume from my closet. I'm shuffling back to my car with my large decaf in one hand, my keys in the other when ...
A bird lands on my head, pecks at me three times and flies away!
Thing is, I had no idea it was a bird. All I knew is that it felt like someone had walked up behind me, poked me in the hair with several pencils, and suddenly gone. And why did I think "pencils"? Who knows. Welcome to my think of something, anything thought process.
I whipped around, and all I saw was a lady emptying the trash cans. She giggled, made a motion to her head and then pointed to where the killer bird had landed and was giving me the stink eye.
I said back to him...not out loud....but with my own stare: "You are lucky, Mr. Bird, that my hair wasn't the curly tumbleweed today that it normally is. Ever hear of quicksand, Mr. Bird?"
The shopping center where I get my morning coffee has signs up that say "Warning: birds are nesting, they will try and kill you." Ok, maybe they don't say that word for word, but it is implied.
I had become de-sensitized to the warnings. After all, I had managed to walk through the danger zone for months without any bird attackage.
This morning though, I must have chosen the "threatening" costume from my closet. I'm shuffling back to my car with my large decaf in one hand, my keys in the other when ...
A bird lands on my head, pecks at me three times and flies away!
Thing is, I had no idea it was a bird. All I knew is that it felt like someone had walked up behind me, poked me in the hair with several pencils, and suddenly gone. And why did I think "pencils"? Who knows. Welcome to my think of something, anything thought process.
I whipped around, and all I saw was a lady emptying the trash cans. She giggled, made a motion to her head and then pointed to where the killer bird had landed and was giving me the stink eye.
I said back to him...not out loud....but with my own stare: "You are lucky, Mr. Bird, that my hair wasn't the curly tumbleweed today that it normally is. Ever hear of quicksand, Mr. Bird?"
Monday, June 13, 2005
Peeking Out from Under a Pile of Laundry...
Busy. Never have I used that word in reference to me so much as in the past year.
I've never been someone who could be bored. There's always something to read, something to organize, t.v. to watch, movies to watch, music to listen to, pictures to take, computer programs to learn or just sleeping to be had...
...as well as the regular have tos: laundry, weeding, cleaning, feeding the critters, going to work every day, taking out the trash, washing the dishes, putting gas in the car, feeding myself, remembering the dry cleaning...etc.
Adding to the regular life is the extra stuff of doctor appointments, hair cuts, baby showers, weddings, birthday / graduation / pre-wedding / and going away parties, housewarmings, congrats on new job and impromptu gatherings, visits from family, dinner plans with friends, lunch plans with friends, and of course celebrations of Mother's Day, Father's Day, Easter, Christmas and Thanksgiving.
Then I went and tried to add going to the gym 3 nights a week.
I'm having a really hard time fitting everything in **. It's not like we are living in squalor, and there are dirty dishes and newspapers creating a maze through the house. However, the weed situation is rapidly gaining on us and we now live in terror of neighborly communications.
Some neighbors on our street apparently have a yearly bruch where they invite everyone to come to their house. They were kind enough to call and invite us.
However, our immediate reaction to neighbors trying to contact us was: "Oh, oh man. Here it comes. They are concerned about the property values and here we are bringing everything down with our 1/3 stubborn, not supposed to be there grass, 1/3 real intentional plant, 1/3 radioactive crazy weed yard."
Oh, and there's currently a "shanty town" [C's description] of boxes on our front porch. Some badly needed furniture we ordered came in on Saturday and we still have to break down and dispose of the boxes.
I realize you make it work when you have to. There's no question when you've got family to provide for. The important stuff rises to the top and it's taken care of.
And I'm not complaining. I know I'm lucky to have a full, busy life.
I guess the whole point of this entry is to say "Wow. For all of you dealing with kids AND every day life, I don't know how you keep it all together, especially you single parents."
That, and me wondering regularly "How close are we to having a house interior we can just hose off?"
** It should be noted that I'm not doing this alone, either. C takes care of just as much around the house as I do, if not more. I only say "me" and "I", because I don't know if he's feeling the same squeeze I am. I tend to be a little perfectionistic - so one sock of mine lying on the dryer that should have been put away might bring me to claim that my entire house is out of order.
I've never been someone who could be bored. There's always something to read, something to organize, t.v. to watch, movies to watch, music to listen to, pictures to take, computer programs to learn or just sleeping to be had...
...as well as the regular have tos: laundry, weeding, cleaning, feeding the critters, going to work every day, taking out the trash, washing the dishes, putting gas in the car, feeding myself, remembering the dry cleaning...etc.
Adding to the regular life is the extra stuff of doctor appointments, hair cuts, baby showers, weddings, birthday / graduation / pre-wedding / and going away parties, housewarmings, congrats on new job and impromptu gatherings, visits from family, dinner plans with friends, lunch plans with friends, and of course celebrations of Mother's Day, Father's Day, Easter, Christmas and Thanksgiving.
Then I went and tried to add going to the gym 3 nights a week.
I'm having a really hard time fitting everything in **. It's not like we are living in squalor, and there are dirty dishes and newspapers creating a maze through the house. However, the weed situation is rapidly gaining on us and we now live in terror of neighborly communications.
Some neighbors on our street apparently have a yearly bruch where they invite everyone to come to their house. They were kind enough to call and invite us.
However, our immediate reaction to neighbors trying to contact us was: "Oh, oh man. Here it comes. They are concerned about the property values and here we are bringing everything down with our 1/3 stubborn, not supposed to be there grass, 1/3 real intentional plant, 1/3 radioactive crazy weed yard."
Oh, and there's currently a "shanty town" [C's description] of boxes on our front porch. Some badly needed furniture we ordered came in on Saturday and we still have to break down and dispose of the boxes.
I realize you make it work when you have to. There's no question when you've got family to provide for. The important stuff rises to the top and it's taken care of.
And I'm not complaining. I know I'm lucky to have a full, busy life.
I guess the whole point of this entry is to say "Wow. For all of you dealing with kids AND every day life, I don't know how you keep it all together, especially you single parents."
That, and me wondering regularly "How close are we to having a house interior we can just hose off?"
** It should be noted that I'm not doing this alone, either. C takes care of just as much around the house as I do, if not more. I only say "me" and "I", because I don't know if he's feeling the same squeeze I am. I tend to be a little perfectionistic - so one sock of mine lying on the dryer that should have been put away might bring me to claim that my entire house is out of order.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Is Your Shirt On Backwards?
Today at lunch, C and I had taken some gifts to a department store to have them wrapped. We are too lazy to wrap gifts ourselves. And one of C's favorite things in the world is a well wrapped gift - so it's well worth the money.
We like to pick the design appropriate for a 5 year old's birthday party and wrap wedding gifts in that, or purse themed paper for a guy friend's birthday. The joke is not unique, but it makes us giggle so we continue to do it.
C takes out his cell phone and starts dialing the office and begins to explainin to our receptionist that we will be late returning from lunch. Before he knew it, I was saying into his phone "Yeah, we are both still naked."
C turned bright red and said "WHO ARE YOU?!"
I'm ME! The girl who is painfully shy with strangers unless I can embarrass you! Your partner in gift wrap foolery!
We like to pick the design appropriate for a 5 year old's birthday party and wrap wedding gifts in that, or purse themed paper for a guy friend's birthday. The joke is not unique, but it makes us giggle so we continue to do it.
C takes out his cell phone and starts dialing the office and begins to explainin to our receptionist that we will be late returning from lunch. Before he knew it, I was saying into his phone "Yeah, we are both still naked."
C turned bright red and said "WHO ARE YOU?!"
I'm ME! The girl who is painfully shy with strangers unless I can embarrass you! Your partner in gift wrap foolery!
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Maybe I'm Channeling a Dead Musical Actress?
I've never been what most would consider a "girly girl."
I spent almost all of my learning years in the company of my two older brothers. Instead of learning about make-up and clothes, I learned how to squeeze my way into the house through the doggie door when they locked me out after school.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying they ruined my life. In fact, they taught me the most important lesson I've learned so far - laugh at yourself, and mean it. Oh, and that being tricked into eating dirt isn't as uncommon as you might think.
Also, you must know that my brothers were the first ones to rescue me when anyone tried to mess with me.
I learned that life is rarely fair, that you must take the Charlie horses and tickle tortures and never tattle, that saying what you mean is more effective than hinting and expecting someone else to figure it out, and that a pair of blue jeans, a t-shirt and doc marten boots are all the non-work clothing someone like me will ever need.
I grew up and became the girl who is not a fan of shopping. Not a fan of makeup. Couldn't get me to wear a dress unless it was a funeral, wedding or required for work. And don't even get me started on my dislike of shoes and shoe shopping.
I have several weddings to attend this year. These will be fairly formal events, so that required that I obtain a suitable dress to wear.
Not wanting to wait until the last minute, I went out this weekend to scout out my options. I went to a department store. I grabbed quite a few to try on, which right there should have been my first clue that something was wrong.
I have never ever been someone who can haul multiple items into a dressing room for trying on. I generally try to find a label, be it at Target, Ross or T.J. Maxx, that I'm familiar with and can just pick off the rack and take home - skipping that whole try on thing.
So I get in the dressing room and I put on this totally extravagant, completely impractical, make me look like I'm attending the Oscars dress (it was on the clearance rack, so I hadn't completely lost my mind). Not only do I put it on, but I'm totally prancing around in the dressing room thinking "Wheee! I feel pretty!"
Have you ever seriously thought "I wonder if I'm schizophrenic, and I just met my other me?" I'll bet the store's security cameras caught my moment on tape. The monitoring process went like this: "Yup, right there....that's where the crack high wore off and she started acting normal again."
I tried on another dress, this one far more simple and exactly what one expects to wear to a wedding. That's the one I bought.
I really hope my brothers never see this other me. I'll never fit through a doggie door now!
I spent almost all of my learning years in the company of my two older brothers. Instead of learning about make-up and clothes, I learned how to squeeze my way into the house through the doggie door when they locked me out after school.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying they ruined my life. In fact, they taught me the most important lesson I've learned so far - laugh at yourself, and mean it. Oh, and that being tricked into eating dirt isn't as uncommon as you might think.
Also, you must know that my brothers were the first ones to rescue me when anyone tried to mess with me.
I learned that life is rarely fair, that you must take the Charlie horses and tickle tortures and never tattle, that saying what you mean is more effective than hinting and expecting someone else to figure it out, and that a pair of blue jeans, a t-shirt and doc marten boots are all the non-work clothing someone like me will ever need.
I grew up and became the girl who is not a fan of shopping. Not a fan of makeup. Couldn't get me to wear a dress unless it was a funeral, wedding or required for work. And don't even get me started on my dislike of shoes and shoe shopping.
I have several weddings to attend this year. These will be fairly formal events, so that required that I obtain a suitable dress to wear.
Not wanting to wait until the last minute, I went out this weekend to scout out my options. I went to a department store. I grabbed quite a few to try on, which right there should have been my first clue that something was wrong.
I have never ever been someone who can haul multiple items into a dressing room for trying on. I generally try to find a label, be it at Target, Ross or T.J. Maxx, that I'm familiar with and can just pick off the rack and take home - skipping that whole try on thing.
So I get in the dressing room and I put on this totally extravagant, completely impractical, make me look like I'm attending the Oscars dress (it was on the clearance rack, so I hadn't completely lost my mind). Not only do I put it on, but I'm totally prancing around in the dressing room thinking "Wheee! I feel pretty!"
Have you ever seriously thought "I wonder if I'm schizophrenic, and I just met my other me?" I'll bet the store's security cameras caught my moment on tape. The monitoring process went like this: "Yup, right there....that's where the crack high wore off and she started acting normal again."
I tried on another dress, this one far more simple and exactly what one expects to wear to a wedding. That's the one I bought.
I really hope my brothers never see this other me. I'll never fit through a doggie door now!
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
I'm Not Just A Member
Because of my creative vision, I've decided that the Sasco trucks I've seen on the freeway are really Sassco. And if there's a company called Sassco, well I am most certainly their President, Founder, and CEO.
C says "It's SASco, not SASSco - as much as you'd like it to be SASS."
"But I am President!, it has to be Sassco" I say. Completely ignoring logic and facts.
This weekend while we were dining, we happened upon a Sasco company event. C just started laughing and said "Look honey, your company is having an event here!" I was so excited! There were my peeps, right there gathering, mingling, and having a good company time.
This event is also where I first learned that Sasco is an electric type company. I only learned that because the signs pointing to their event said "Sasco Electric."
I looked them up on the net today : www.sasco.com
They do electrical construction type stuff.
There's only one thing I didn't like. Without going into detail that might cause me to experience an "accident" involving magical electric wires, or being sued - I will tell you that it appears to this President that someone needs to be excused from the Sassco family.
I said to C, "My company needs me!"
He said, "Yes...oh yes, I know they do."
He's the best VP of Sass anyone could ever ask for.
C says "It's SASco, not SASSco - as much as you'd like it to be SASS."
"But I am President!, it has to be Sassco" I say. Completely ignoring logic and facts.
This weekend while we were dining, we happened upon a Sasco company event. C just started laughing and said "Look honey, your company is having an event here!" I was so excited! There were my peeps, right there gathering, mingling, and having a good company time.
This event is also where I first learned that Sasco is an electric type company. I only learned that because the signs pointing to their event said "Sasco Electric."
I looked them up on the net today : www.sasco.com
They do electrical construction type stuff.
There's only one thing I didn't like. Without going into detail that might cause me to experience an "accident" involving magical electric wires, or being sued - I will tell you that it appears to this President that someone needs to be excused from the Sassco family.
I said to C, "My company needs me!"
He said, "Yes...oh yes, I know they do."
He's the best VP of Sass anyone could ever ask for.
Monday, June 06, 2005
I Might be a Hater
This weekend C had to work for the firm at an off-site presentation type deal. He was the tech guy who got to set up all the computer stuff, but then he was pretty much free in the evenings.
We went to a Japanese restaurant for some sushi. Well, he eats sushi. I eat cheater sushi. A crunchy roll is about all the seaweed I can handle.
We were unfortunately seated next to some very important people. I don't know why they were so important, but they made sure everyone around knew they were. There were 3 of them.
A triumvirate of asshattery, if you will.
They were so very rude to our waitress. Notice I said "our" waitress. See, every time she came to our table for something, Mr. Important would snap his fingers or hiss out "MISSSSSS!" followed by his indignant request.
Mrs. Important couldn't talk. I'm not kidding. She had some health condition wherein all she could do was whisper, but it couldn't have been that serious since they were working out a way to have her play golf and be able to signal "fore". And she had enough wine to keep her whisper talk going for much of the evening.
During this getting-to-know-them session that was involuntary on our part, C's cell phone rang. He always keeps it on and with him when he's working.
The Important Trio went silent, turned to us and glared the most important how dare you glare at us I've ever seen! I was physically stunned at the coordinated effort they displayed.
They soon went back to talking about their most important grand child. The one who is so brilliant, they don't really know what to do with her. You see, she's nearly two and she watches Bob the Builder. She can say "hydraulic jack", so she therefore knows what it is and how it works.
I don't know a thing about kids, but something tells me that unless you wake up one day and she's built her own hydraulic jack there in the living room, she's probably just repeating what she hears. Although it sounds like she's pretty good at repeating the multi-syllabic words in the way I'm pretty good at making up words that don't, and never will, exist.
But that's not the issue. I recognize that I know nothing about kids or what qualifies one as super intelligent.
What I do know is that I find it very rude to snap at wait staff, especially if they are in the middle of serving another table. Even if that server works the neighboring table, it doesn't give those patrons the right to bark orders at them in the middle of their interactions with us.
At the end of the day, I suppose it's not going to make much of a difference. After all, I'm not the knower of all things right and wrong. And even if I were, can you imagine me trying to issue an aversive lecture?
"Ahem. You there, yes...you. You are soo...sooo ugh! ........stooplickity....... *sigh* You need to ..... I can't belive you...... you think you are all chips and er...well YOU JUST SUCK!"
We went to a Japanese restaurant for some sushi. Well, he eats sushi. I eat cheater sushi. A crunchy roll is about all the seaweed I can handle.
We were unfortunately seated next to some very important people. I don't know why they were so important, but they made sure everyone around knew they were. There were 3 of them.
A triumvirate of asshattery, if you will.
They were so very rude to our waitress. Notice I said "our" waitress. See, every time she came to our table for something, Mr. Important would snap his fingers or hiss out "MISSSSSS!" followed by his indignant request.
Mrs. Important couldn't talk. I'm not kidding. She had some health condition wherein all she could do was whisper, but it couldn't have been that serious since they were working out a way to have her play golf and be able to signal "fore". And she had enough wine to keep her whisper talk going for much of the evening.
During this getting-to-know-them session that was involuntary on our part, C's cell phone rang. He always keeps it on and with him when he's working.
The Important Trio went silent, turned to us and glared the most important how dare you glare at us I've ever seen! I was physically stunned at the coordinated effort they displayed.
They soon went back to talking about their most important grand child. The one who is so brilliant, they don't really know what to do with her. You see, she's nearly two and she watches Bob the Builder. She can say "hydraulic jack", so she therefore knows what it is and how it works.
I don't know a thing about kids, but something tells me that unless you wake up one day and she's built her own hydraulic jack there in the living room, she's probably just repeating what she hears. Although it sounds like she's pretty good at repeating the multi-syllabic words in the way I'm pretty good at making up words that don't, and never will, exist.
But that's not the issue. I recognize that I know nothing about kids or what qualifies one as super intelligent.
What I do know is that I find it very rude to snap at wait staff, especially if they are in the middle of serving another table. Even if that server works the neighboring table, it doesn't give those patrons the right to bark orders at them in the middle of their interactions with us.
At the end of the day, I suppose it's not going to make much of a difference. After all, I'm not the knower of all things right and wrong. And even if I were, can you imagine me trying to issue an aversive lecture?
"Ahem. You there, yes...you. You are soo...sooo ugh! ........stooplickity....... *sigh* You need to ..... I can't belive you...... you think you are all chips and er...well YOU JUST SUCK!"
Friday, June 03, 2005
Wait, That's Not Normal...
C and I just returned from lunch. I was putting my purse away at my desk when I heard a "bzzz" and felt a tickle on my neck. Figuring I got my hair caught up in my necklace, I brushed the general area with my hand.
I saw this bee fly right into my "to be filed" box. It flew like it was a drunk bee. It wasn't huge, just normal size. It stood there on my papers doing what looked like washing its face with its front legs.
You might be saying "Um, you heard a bzz and thought it was your hair?" What can I say. Just remember this formula: If it's unpleasant to connect what I heard with what it most likely is, I'll pretend it's something else or I didn't hear it at all.
C does this too. Last night while he was out walking, I found a weed wacker in the garage. I fired it up and went to work on our weedgarden. When he came back, I said "And why haven't I been given the power of the weed wacker before now?" C said "...??We have a weed wacker?? Oh...oh yeah....oh. Oh NOOO." That example wasn't great, but whatever. This isn't a trial, so I think we will all emerge from the experience just fine.
At home, C is responsible for removal of all spiders. I decided he is now responsible for all bee removal at the office, too. I dialed up the extension and he came over with a roll of paper towels. He actually wrapped it up in paper towel and then took it back down the elevater. He went outside and let it go.
Everyone says you shouldn't work in the same office as your significant other. I disagree. Where I am concerned, working anywhere but the same office as C would be bad not just for me, but the people who would have to rescue me from bees and spiders. And melting computers.
I saw this bee fly right into my "to be filed" box. It flew like it was a drunk bee. It wasn't huge, just normal size. It stood there on my papers doing what looked like washing its face with its front legs.
You might be saying "Um, you heard a bzz and thought it was your hair?" What can I say. Just remember this formula: If it's unpleasant to connect what I heard with what it most likely is, I'll pretend it's something else or I didn't hear it at all.
C does this too. Last night while he was out walking, I found a weed wacker in the garage. I fired it up and went to work on our weedgarden. When he came back, I said "And why haven't I been given the power of the weed wacker before now?" C said "...??We have a weed wacker?? Oh...oh yeah....oh. Oh NOOO." That example wasn't great, but whatever. This isn't a trial, so I think we will all emerge from the experience just fine.
At home, C is responsible for removal of all spiders. I decided he is now responsible for all bee removal at the office, too. I dialed up the extension and he came over with a roll of paper towels. He actually wrapped it up in paper towel and then took it back down the elevater. He went outside and let it go.
Everyone says you shouldn't work in the same office as your significant other. I disagree. Where I am concerned, working anywhere but the same office as C would be bad not just for me, but the people who would have to rescue me from bees and spiders. And melting computers.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Reaching Around the NoFunFilter
Since I sometimes have to...HAVE TO... update from work, I can't always access all the features of this here nifty program. Our office web filter blocks all blogs. I can get around it - but only insomuch as I can type text in the "create update" and publish it. I just can't see what actually ends up there - nor can I access the comments that may or may not be left by people.
That up there there was a typical "Zoom has to explain the creation of the world before she just says what she means", and what I mean right now is: Hello nice person who commented today! I get auto e-mail forwarded to an e-mail account I CAN see during business hours...which is the only way I know you were there, or here, or .. you know.
I went to the gym last night and tried to use one of those eliptical machines where the arms and the legs are all going at the same time. All I can say is that I drive one of those about as well as I drive my truck - and I am a typical chick driver in that I am most excellent at curb pinball and I can only park the truck in those parking places that are perfectly straight by approaching them from the right.
I'm not sure why the gods of parking won't allow me to park when I approach from the left (if the spot is on my left as I drive up). It's as if the vehicle swells in size and refuses to get in there in a way that will 1. Allow me to open the door and exit my own vehicle and 2. Not result in angry "F You, way to park too close to my car" "rewards" on the car while I'm away.
When I first insisted I could park coming from any direction, I often found myself sooooo close to another car that I would ultimeately come to the conclusion: "Well, that's it. I'm going to have to leave my car here and run away, run far far away in humiliation, because there's no way this vehicle won't be damaging that vehicle without that vehicle moving, nice job princess dumbass."
Sometimes nice strangers would help direct me out of the mess I had gotten myself into. Should this happen in present day, I just throw up my hands and make a face at C - who then takes over for me.
That up there there was a typical "Zoom has to explain the creation of the world before she just says what she means", and what I mean right now is: Hello nice person who commented today! I get auto e-mail forwarded to an e-mail account I CAN see during business hours...which is the only way I know you were there, or here, or .. you know.
I went to the gym last night and tried to use one of those eliptical machines where the arms and the legs are all going at the same time. All I can say is that I drive one of those about as well as I drive my truck - and I am a typical chick driver in that I am most excellent at curb pinball and I can only park the truck in those parking places that are perfectly straight by approaching them from the right.
I'm not sure why the gods of parking won't allow me to park when I approach from the left (if the spot is on my left as I drive up). It's as if the vehicle swells in size and refuses to get in there in a way that will 1. Allow me to open the door and exit my own vehicle and 2. Not result in angry "F You, way to park too close to my car" "rewards" on the car while I'm away.
When I first insisted I could park coming from any direction, I often found myself sooooo close to another car that I would ultimeately come to the conclusion: "Well, that's it. I'm going to have to leave my car here and run away, run far far away in humiliation, because there's no way this vehicle won't be damaging that vehicle without that vehicle moving, nice job princess dumbass."
Sometimes nice strangers would help direct me out of the mess I had gotten myself into. Should this happen in present day, I just throw up my hands and make a face at C - who then takes over for me.
Thank goodness I can back my butt out of the eliptical machine no matter what side I get in on, without the assistance of complete strangers. Although the "run away, run far far away" urge is still present.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Pooptacular
My day so far:
1. Buy one bag of pretzels from the vending machine at work, and watch them get hung up on the metal curly device - the one that is supposed to distribute, not detain my food. I bought a second package in order to actually get to the first package...and the second package also got hung up. C went and beat up the machine so I could have them both.
2. Completely melt down my office computer. It had to be re-loaded, so to speak. It now works, but it is only a matter of time. I am nothing, if not stealthily efficient at destroying my work computer with mysterious ills. Is stealthily even a word?
3. Take a comment from a former co-worker in a completely un-intended way. Upon seeing this former co-worker in jeans, he said something about us looking casual. C contends that he was talking only about C's outfit, where I was and am still convinced he was talking about both of us and it's not business casual Friday. Therefore, I must look like a complete hillbilly in my outfit today. Of course.
4. Snappily retort to the Office Admin Assistant: "Yeah? Well do you want to plan and pay for my wedding? No? Well that's the reason I'm not going to the office summer paaartyyyyyy, if that's quite ok with the rest of you." I'm sure I mangled the word party because it's rare that I can verbally put two words together, much less an entire sentence. By the time I reached party, I'm sure my brain was saying WAIT WAIT, that's too many words spoken correctly in one breath!
5. I also managed to find my own hidden box of baggage and hurl it directly at C in the form of a snap judgment and a totally uncalled for e-mail.
Anybody want to hang out while I give paper cuts with lemon juice chasers?
1. Buy one bag of pretzels from the vending machine at work, and watch them get hung up on the metal curly device - the one that is supposed to distribute, not detain my food. I bought a second package in order to actually get to the first package...and the second package also got hung up. C went and beat up the machine so I could have them both.
2. Completely melt down my office computer. It had to be re-loaded, so to speak. It now works, but it is only a matter of time. I am nothing, if not stealthily efficient at destroying my work computer with mysterious ills. Is stealthily even a word?
3. Take a comment from a former co-worker in a completely un-intended way. Upon seeing this former co-worker in jeans, he said something about us looking casual. C contends that he was talking only about C's outfit, where I was and am still convinced he was talking about both of us and it's not business casual Friday. Therefore, I must look like a complete hillbilly in my outfit today. Of course.
4. Snappily retort to the Office Admin Assistant: "Yeah? Well do you want to plan and pay for my wedding? No? Well that's the reason I'm not going to the office summer paaartyyyyyy, if that's quite ok with the rest of you." I'm sure I mangled the word party because it's rare that I can verbally put two words together, much less an entire sentence. By the time I reached party, I'm sure my brain was saying WAIT WAIT, that's too many words spoken correctly in one breath!
5. I also managed to find my own hidden box of baggage and hurl it directly at C in the form of a snap judgment and a totally uncalled for e-mail.
Anybody want to hang out while I give paper cuts with lemon juice chasers?
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