Karma, destiny, pre-destined, happenstance, haphazard. How do you live your life?
Me, I am a firm believer in karma. What comes around goes around. Big believer in that. Predestined? Um, not so much. The thought that my whole life has already been all planned out for me? It's too much to think that I don't have any control over path A or path B. Happenstance and haphazard, yeah, those are pretty much how I feel I live my life sometimes. I think I come off as very spontaneous and as if I don't think things through sometimes. Which, okay that's true, but mostly I think things through privately and then announce what I am doing which seems to be out of the blue. Sometimes I just have things that get stuck in my head and then I write them down. This post would be a case of that. (The popping and writing down thing.) Back in March (remember March? What a great month. Mr. London was leaving, my girl friend was secretly stalking Mr. London because, I have no idea why, friends stabbing me in the back, job falling through, school telling me I was one credit short of graduating...good month.) I kept having the date August 24 pop into my head. I finally wrote it down in my planner and wrote, "life will change for the better." in the date blank and that was that. Even up until yesterday I was having doubts about my psychic abilities. Well I'll be damned. I think life did just change for the better.
After a week of coming to terms with the quirks of my apartment, having a friend tell me he could no longer in good conscious be friends with me anymore because he is attracted to me, but dating someone else, going to all of my classes and meeting everyone in the program, but still feeling a bit lonely and misplaced at times the week has come to an end, and a wonderful end at that.
I received a call at 1:24 p.m. today wanting to know what my availability would be for a job I had applied for at 12:03 a.m. this morning. I told them and they quickly hung-up. At 1:28 p.m. I received another call and they wanted to know if I could come in at 2:00 p.m. for an interview. Ah, no. (hair was still wet, I wasn't dressed, and I wasn't sure where the building was.) What about 3? Ah, no. I have a meeting at 3:00. My mind is racing a gazillion miles an hour trying to figure out when and what I could do because I really want this incredibly low-paying, but high networking job. We decided on 4:00 and I will just leave my meeting early (it was a meeting for all of us grad students.)
The interview went magnificent and she (the director) ended the interview with, "I have one last interview on Monday at 8:30." A glance at the other applicant's paperwork and a look of irritation on her face about the prospect, "but I am very excited about you. You stay close to your phone."
Super score! I would be the assistant to the director of the Women's Studies program here at Semi-big U and it is exactly in my area of interest and what my undergrad minor was in. More importantly it is in an area I want to focus in when I am finished with my degree and I can do some serious networking and getting my foot in all the right doors.
The one friend I have here calls it, lesbian studies. He is super excited about all of the lesbians I will meet and he sees it as a way to speed up the process of making his birthday present come to fruition that much quicker (a threesome.) I see it as an excellent opportunity in the area of future employment and that whole, changing the world thing I am so fond of, but I'm guessing it isn't going to do much for the future dating prospects. (Of men. Or is it? You tell me.)
I had decided at the beginning of the week that I would celebrate the end of the week with a trip to the local pizza place in the middle of college central. I ordered the pizza, it was delivered to my door and all five cheeses were nicely melt together. After digging into the third piece (fourth piece) I came to the conclusion that what I was smacking my lips with was stoner food. Complete and total stoner food. I didn't have any pot, but the beer was super gooooood. (I was actively ignoring the brick in my stomach.)
After a particularly harsh Thursday night class (I have 24 papers due just in that one class. No need to re-read that Yes, 2-4. 24 papers for one class. Yay.) I stopped at a local non-mass-marketed-coffee shop. The gal working the counter was adorably cute, friendly, went on and on about the bracelets I was wearing and oogled them even more when I told her I had made them. Is it shallow that this totally made my week? The chocolate goodies I ate on the drive home totally made my night. Score on a cool non-cookie-cutter coffee shop with friendly adorable locals to talk with. The two middle-aged moms sitting at one of the tables knitting sold me on the place.
A neighbor knocking on my door and greeting me with an apology that was nicely phrased in a British accent and sporting a rock star faux-hawk asking if I had water, only to discover I did not; was a lovely pause in my morning. Having the mystery smell disappear from my bathroom once the water returned and stopped running red-brown was a most welcome unexpected development. (I realize that reads as if my water was always red-brown...ah, no. My apartment isn't that gross, it was that color when the water came back on and the pipes cleaned out. It is now the proper water color, which is none.)
Finding the local art store and discovering they have the proper art supplies to make my apartment even cooler, hipper, and more vibrant and alive with color makes the feeling of perpetual dusk that I actually live in bearable.
I am currently trying to talk myself out of going to get ice cream. One, I don't "need it." Two, I have to get dressed (I'm naked a lot.) (actually I'm in my "jammies") (which is naked....)(kidding.) Three, the brick is still in my belly and the ice cream will turn into a bigger brick...but I'm not sure I care about that. Yeah, it's more about having to get dressed. Jammies and nakedness in public needs to become more acceptable. I need to make that a goal.
So, did I win a million dollars? I wouldn't be writing this if I did. Did I meet the love of my life? Again I wouldn't be writing this if I had. Win a trip around the world? Again with the typing thing. No, none of those, but sometimes we have to think about all of the small things, lump them altogether, take them for their greater sum and realize life is pretty great when we focus on the good things and not the bad things. Here's to life changing for the better from here on out.
Oh, and hoping I get that incredibly low-paying, exceptionally high-networking job.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
inner dork: all things whore-like
Oh sure, I may be living in the perpetual dusk thus making it feel like Oregon. I may be living in a monsoon like some randomly chosen Asian country. I may not know what a decent night's sleep feels like because my apartment, mind, and body are all sabotaging me and there may be some sort of funky smell coming from my bathroom that is totally not bathroom related, but inner dork will live on!
So, did you know...
In the 18th century it was common to refer to a penis as a "whore pipe."
(And I am sure a few men of this blog will know start to bring that phrase back.)
In early-sixteenth-century Europe, harlots and courtesans were referred to as "nuns," and a brothel was a "nunnery." The expression "Get thee to a nunnery" was actually an encouragement to go to a brothel.
(I need to go to a nunnery.)
(So, then when did nuns become christians and harlots become whores?)
During the 1800's there were approximately six thousand brothels and eighty to a hundred thousand prostitutes working in metropolitan London.
(And that's why it is refered to as, "Merry 'ol England.")
During the first Crusade, English knights spent their entire campaign fund on prostitutes.
(And that's why there had to be a second, and third Crusade.)
..that's all I's got for today. I have to run off to class. Well, fist I have to get dressed, and then run off to class.
So, did you know...
In the 18th century it was common to refer to a penis as a "whore pipe."
(And I am sure a few men of this blog will know start to bring that phrase back.)
In early-sixteenth-century Europe, harlots and courtesans were referred to as "nuns," and a brothel was a "nunnery." The expression "Get thee to a nunnery" was actually an encouragement to go to a brothel.
(I need to go to a nunnery.)
(So, then when did nuns become christians and harlots become whores?)
During the 1800's there were approximately six thousand brothels and eighty to a hundred thousand prostitutes working in metropolitan London.
(And that's why it is refered to as, "Merry 'ol England.")
During the first Crusade, English knights spent their entire campaign fund on prostitutes.
(And that's why there had to be a second, and third Crusade.)
..that's all I's got for today. I have to run off to class. Well, fist I have to get dressed, and then run off to class.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
and so it begins
Yesterday was the start of classes. Ah, what a vacation, I tell ya.
The class is a seminar, basically a way to get to know everyone in the program and also a way to write a crap load of papers. Today is the start of my most feared class, but I am trying to have a good attitude about it, social statistics. I hate math, math hates me. I'm also pretty sure I have a learning disability towards math, it's called fear, but I am going in with a positive attitude. It's also an undergrad class, the grad stats class is this spring. (I don't have the math requirement, hence the class.)
Anyway, I have all late afternoon and night classes- super score. I also don't have a job- super, super score. I'm also going to fall into a super lazy routine in about another week. To go from six jobs, two classes, two moves, six hours of sleep a night, to- nothing....screech! That would be the sound of my mind coming to a screeching halt. I have gotten decent sleep the last two nights. Here is why that is significant: every night, every single night, something in my apartment has fallen in the middle of the night scaring the crap out of me. The other night I had two pictures fall on my face while sawing some zzz's. That was fun. Last night nothing fell. This meant I actually got out of bed earlier. However, I either need to get up at a decent time and hit the workout and then hit the library or....lupy, bumpy, slug will start to set in...or I will be getting a job. And that's simply sad.
Oh, and I know this will be shocking, but all of my blog time in the past was done from work. I know, shocking. So since I don't have a job right now, um....the blogging might decline. Might. Don't know. Keep checking in.
The class is a seminar, basically a way to get to know everyone in the program and also a way to write a crap load of papers. Today is the start of my most feared class, but I am trying to have a good attitude about it, social statistics. I hate math, math hates me. I'm also pretty sure I have a learning disability towards math, it's called fear, but I am going in with a positive attitude. It's also an undergrad class, the grad stats class is this spring. (I don't have the math requirement, hence the class.)
Anyway, I have all late afternoon and night classes- super score. I also don't have a job- super, super score. I'm also going to fall into a super lazy routine in about another week. To go from six jobs, two classes, two moves, six hours of sleep a night, to- nothing....screech! That would be the sound of my mind coming to a screeching halt. I have gotten decent sleep the last two nights. Here is why that is significant: every night, every single night, something in my apartment has fallen in the middle of the night scaring the crap out of me. The other night I had two pictures fall on my face while sawing some zzz's. That was fun. Last night nothing fell. This meant I actually got out of bed earlier. However, I either need to get up at a decent time and hit the workout and then hit the library or....lupy, bumpy, slug will start to set in...or I will be getting a job. And that's simply sad.
Oh, and I know this will be shocking, but all of my blog time in the past was done from work. I know, shocking. So since I don't have a job right now, um....the blogging might decline. Might. Don't know. Keep checking in.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
chapter 1
It's a game of true and false.
I moved into my apartment site unseen and it is exactly the apartment I was hoping for. (In terms of location and such.)
True. Right building, right side of the building, right floor.
Ta dah!
Friday, when I drove all the way up to my new place to sign my lease, get the keys, and to "clean" my new place, it took about six hours longer than I expected, thus cancelling my master plan for the rest of the day/weekend.
True. I am convinced that I could live in this apartment for two years, never clean, move, and still get all of my deposit back. Yeah. It was gross. Three people living here and apparently never cleaning, gross. I was planning to leave by 2:30 to return home on Friday, however I left around 5 and the place still wasn't clean.
The number of things listed as "broken" vs. "not broken" on the walk-through list is in the "not broken" favors.
False. Pick something, anything, "broken" is written next to it on the walk-through. Plus, I was just given the paper and the keys. No landlord was present. I thought about writing "huge hole in living room wall" because I'm pretty sure there will be one when I move out, I just like to be prepared.
Pretty sure the front door has been kicked in at least once. Definitely once, but I'm leaning more towards three, possibly four times. I feel safe.
Note to self: buy another lock for the door. Buy two. Three. Four? Naw, stick with two. No need to feel like I'm in New York.
"Mold all along the bathroom wall, under sink" is also written on the walk through.
True. And it's the really healthy safe kind, you know, the black kind of mold. The kind that can kill you. Yay!
This caused me not to go out Friday night and also not to pick-up the Uhaul Friday night.
True. So I didn't get the early start I had master planned out for Saturday.
Saturday, move day, couldn't have been hotter.
False. I'm pretty sure hell is hotter. Probably. Probably not by much. Literally. 104 degrees with humidity to match. Awesomeness.
Did I mention I live on the top floor?
Three is the number of times I almost passed out on Saturday due to heat, sweat, and exhaustion.
True. I never actually passed out, however, I did manage to see the nothingness of a black tunnel three times. I also mumbled to my mom that I didn't want mustard on my sandwich at one point when the blackness was most prevalent. See, even in the darkest moments I still have sandwich standards. Mayo, no mustard.
There was a hookah (hookah?) left in the Uhaul.
False. There was a HUGE one in the Uhaul trash, however. My brothers and I stood there in giggling admiration of the discarded pot paraphernalia, but it was in the trash. No amount of alcohol or Dial antibacterial soap would make it clean again.
By Sunday I was basically unpacked and living in a livable living situation.
True. By Sunday night I was hanging pictures and artwork and it was beginning to look like home.
I love the shade tree in front of my apartment.
Um, false. It is so shade-o-riffic that I need to have my lights on all the time. So. I will always be cool and well shaded, but my electric bill will probably be so high I won't be able to live here for much longer.
And it makes working on my tan really difficult.
Note to self: invest in candles for practical purposes.
Monday I was driving around, shopping, and finding stuff.
True. I found my class buildings, bought my books (I'm sure it will be $400.00 well spent. Sure of it.Turns out the bookstore is not owned by the university so financial aid was not an option. Wrote a check, didn't chance it with the debit card. No need to be embarrassed before school starts. Pay day was today.) I found Super Target and Barnes and Noble, coffee shops, organic stores. It was a good day. I haven't found a bagel store, but I have hopes.
Tuesday.
I have no idea what I did Tuesday. I'm sure it involved boxes, nails, hammers, and unpacking, hanging, and rearranging. Sure of it.
Oh wait. Tuesday I masturbated and watched porn. It was a good day.
Wednesday. I decided I was in desperate need of food groups for dinner. I'd been living on turkey sandwiches (mayo, no mustard) for breakfast and dinner (I've been too busy to eat lunch. See references to Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.) I decided I needed green beans as one of the food groups. I had to go to five stores before I was able to locate any.
True/false. I only had to go to three stores. It was a mission. I'm not sure it was from God, but it was a mission to find green beans.
I also received a two-fer from Starbucks again.
True. Messed up order, got the mess-up and the non-mess-up. Twice. Once on Friday once today. The caffeine gods smiled on me and I called it good. Miraculously my headache went away as well. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, and the angles sang down on me.
Today I decided it was time to relax and get my Greek Island tan back.
True. After the great green bean mission, I decided to check out my pool. Hop into my suit, okay more of a pull-on the suit, throw on the pool dress, grab the beach towel (pool towel), book, keys, and cross the two yards. No one is in the pool. Super score. My side of the fence is locked. Hmm, okay cross over to the other side, that side is locked as well. Crap-ola. Oh. Hey. Look at that. There is a big 'ol sign on the gate. "Due to the theft of the floatation device the pool is closed until Thursday at 2:00. Management."
Poop stain.
Walk back to my apartment feeling very much like I was just scolded by my kindergarten teacher.
Tan will have to wait.
Until tomorrow.
I haven't had a decent night's sleep since Wednesday. As in a week ago.
True. It is to the point that I don't think a good night's sleep is possible.
Tomorrow more running around, picture ID, finding an ATM that doesn't charge me to get my own money, (seriously, why? It has to be the greatest idea ever...that and insurance. "Hey, tell you what. You give me your money for protection on something that may or may not happen, but you give me copious amounts of money just in case."
"Wow. That sounds fantastic! How does about $300 a month sound? Excellent. Here you go.", oh, and working on my tan. Damn kids had better returned that floatation device by now. I need to relax! However, most importantly I need a tan.
True. All true.
I moved into my apartment site unseen and it is exactly the apartment I was hoping for. (In terms of location and such.)
True. Right building, right side of the building, right floor.
Ta dah!
Friday, when I drove all the way up to my new place to sign my lease, get the keys, and to "clean" my new place, it took about six hours longer than I expected, thus cancelling my master plan for the rest of the day/weekend.
True. I am convinced that I could live in this apartment for two years, never clean, move, and still get all of my deposit back. Yeah. It was gross. Three people living here and apparently never cleaning, gross. I was planning to leave by 2:30 to return home on Friday, however I left around 5 and the place still wasn't clean.
The number of things listed as "broken" vs. "not broken" on the walk-through list is in the "not broken" favors.
False. Pick something, anything, "broken" is written next to it on the walk-through. Plus, I was just given the paper and the keys. No landlord was present. I thought about writing "huge hole in living room wall" because I'm pretty sure there will be one when I move out, I just like to be prepared.
Pretty sure the front door has been kicked in at least once. Definitely once, but I'm leaning more towards three, possibly four times. I feel safe.
Note to self: buy another lock for the door. Buy two. Three. Four? Naw, stick with two. No need to feel like I'm in New York.
"Mold all along the bathroom wall, under sink" is also written on the walk through.
True. And it's the really healthy safe kind, you know, the black kind of mold. The kind that can kill you. Yay!
This caused me not to go out Friday night and also not to pick-up the Uhaul Friday night.
True. So I didn't get the early start I had master planned out for Saturday.
Saturday, move day, couldn't have been hotter.
False. I'm pretty sure hell is hotter. Probably. Probably not by much. Literally. 104 degrees with humidity to match. Awesomeness.
Did I mention I live on the top floor?
Three is the number of times I almost passed out on Saturday due to heat, sweat, and exhaustion.
True. I never actually passed out, however, I did manage to see the nothingness of a black tunnel three times. I also mumbled to my mom that I didn't want mustard on my sandwich at one point when the blackness was most prevalent. See, even in the darkest moments I still have sandwich standards. Mayo, no mustard.
There was a hookah (hookah?) left in the Uhaul.
False. There was a HUGE one in the Uhaul trash, however. My brothers and I stood there in giggling admiration of the discarded pot paraphernalia, but it was in the trash. No amount of alcohol or Dial antibacterial soap would make it clean again.
By Sunday I was basically unpacked and living in a livable living situation.
True. By Sunday night I was hanging pictures and artwork and it was beginning to look like home.
I love the shade tree in front of my apartment.
Um, false. It is so shade-o-riffic that I need to have my lights on all the time. So. I will always be cool and well shaded, but my electric bill will probably be so high I won't be able to live here for much longer.
And it makes working on my tan really difficult.
Note to self: invest in candles for practical purposes.
Monday I was driving around, shopping, and finding stuff.
True. I found my class buildings, bought my books (I'm sure it will be $400.00 well spent. Sure of it.Turns out the bookstore is not owned by the university so financial aid was not an option. Wrote a check, didn't chance it with the debit card. No need to be embarrassed before school starts. Pay day was today.) I found Super Target and Barnes and Noble, coffee shops, organic stores. It was a good day. I haven't found a bagel store, but I have hopes.
Tuesday.
I have no idea what I did Tuesday. I'm sure it involved boxes, nails, hammers, and unpacking, hanging, and rearranging. Sure of it.
Oh wait. Tuesday I masturbated and watched porn. It was a good day.
Wednesday. I decided I was in desperate need of food groups for dinner. I'd been living on turkey sandwiches (mayo, no mustard) for breakfast and dinner (I've been too busy to eat lunch. See references to Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.) I decided I needed green beans as one of the food groups. I had to go to five stores before I was able to locate any.
True/false. I only had to go to three stores. It was a mission. I'm not sure it was from God, but it was a mission to find green beans.
I also received a two-fer from Starbucks again.
True. Messed up order, got the mess-up and the non-mess-up. Twice. Once on Friday once today. The caffeine gods smiled on me and I called it good. Miraculously my headache went away as well. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, and the angles sang down on me.
Today I decided it was time to relax and get my Greek Island tan back.
True. After the great green bean mission, I decided to check out my pool. Hop into my suit, okay more of a pull-on the suit, throw on the pool dress, grab the beach towel (pool towel), book, keys, and cross the two yards. No one is in the pool. Super score. My side of the fence is locked. Hmm, okay cross over to the other side, that side is locked as well. Crap-ola. Oh. Hey. Look at that. There is a big 'ol sign on the gate. "Due to the theft of the floatation device the pool is closed until Thursday at 2:00. Management."
Poop stain.
Walk back to my apartment feeling very much like I was just scolded by my kindergarten teacher.
Tan will have to wait.
Until tomorrow.
I haven't had a decent night's sleep since Wednesday. As in a week ago.
True. It is to the point that I don't think a good night's sleep is possible.
Tomorrow more running around, picture ID, finding an ATM that doesn't charge me to get my own money, (seriously, why? It has to be the greatest idea ever...that and insurance. "Hey, tell you what. You give me your money for protection on something that may or may not happen, but you give me copious amounts of money just in case."
"Wow. That sounds fantastic! How does about $300 a month sound? Excellent. Here you go.", oh, and working on my tan. Damn kids had better returned that floatation device by now. I need to relax! However, most importantly I need a tan.
True. All true.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
inner dork: PG factoids
All my books along with all of my useless knowledge are boxed up. So I will supply you with useless information 'bout me.
Did you know... (and if you did, um, who are you and why are you stalking me?)
I've been in five car accidents. Two of which should have killed me. However, I have managed to walk (limp) away from all of them.
None of those car accidents were my fault.
One, roll over (rolled three times and landed upside down in a corn field in the middle of B.F.E. and in the backseat.) I was 17.
Hit a bridge embankment due to ice. Around 19 or 20 years old.
Rear-ended a guy (oh, that one was my fault. More damage to my car than his.)I was 17.
Rear-ended by a guy going over 50MPH, I was in the middle of two other cars. My car was mushed really good. I was 21 years old.
Roll-over, mom was driving. I was 22 years old.
(knock on wood.)
I have two brothers. One older (36) one younger (23.) I also have a step-brother and a step-sister (I dunno. If I think they are idiots, do they count?)
My parents divorced when I was 15.
It is still one of the most pivotal moments of my life.
Also one of the best things that ever happened to our family.
I always say goodnight to the moon.
I also always pause to look at the moon.
I love gardening.
Therefore my deck garden is my solace.
I love a weekend that has the phrase: "I read a book while working on
my tan."
When someone says something that I think is sending bad vibes out into
the universe I always knock on wood three times.
When I spill salt I always throw some over my shoulder.
"The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien is one of my all time favorite
books.
But so is the "Lorax" by Dr. Seuss.
I believe it is perpetually 1997.
I have no idea why. It wasn't a particularly good year, but I am always surprised to learn it is not 1997.
So I am surprised a lot.
My first car was a 1981 Citation. My aunt bought it for me, cost
$200.00. That would be total dollars.
It lasted less than a year. We moved the middle of my senior year of high school and I commuted over 50 miles each day.
My porn star name is: He-She Cornell. (Name of my first pet, name of
the first street I lived on.)
My mom couldn't remember if the dog was a "he" or a "she." Hence the name,
He-She.
First pet I owned as an adult was a mean as hell black Cocker Spaniel
named Busker. (Boo-sker.) After the band Busker Soundcheck. He had
separation issues. And territorial issues, and just generally mean as
hell doesn't want anyone he doesn't know around him, issues. He just generally had issues. Otherwise he was a great dog....well, and awesome watch dog.
I lost my virginity at 16. (I'm still trying to find it. "Virginity!" "Virginity come home!")
The first time I got into a bar was 16. (The above are not related.)
I've done professional acting work. (There was no soundtrack of, "Wa-chicky-wa-wa," involved.)
....that's all I can come up with for today.
So, tell me a useless factoid about you.
Did you know... (and if you did, um, who are you and why are you stalking me?)
I've been in five car accidents. Two of which should have killed me. However, I have managed to walk (limp) away from all of them.
None of those car accidents were my fault.
One, roll over (rolled three times and landed upside down in a corn field in the middle of B.F.E. and in the backseat.) I was 17.
Hit a bridge embankment due to ice. Around 19 or 20 years old.
Rear-ended a guy (oh, that one was my fault. More damage to my car than his.)I was 17.
Rear-ended by a guy going over 50MPH, I was in the middle of two other cars. My car was mushed really good. I was 21 years old.
Roll-over, mom was driving. I was 22 years old.
(knock on wood.)
I have two brothers. One older (36) one younger (23.) I also have a step-brother and a step-sister (I dunno. If I think they are idiots, do they count?)
My parents divorced when I was 15.
It is still one of the most pivotal moments of my life.
Also one of the best things that ever happened to our family.
I always say goodnight to the moon.
I also always pause to look at the moon.
I love gardening.
Therefore my deck garden is my solace.
I love a weekend that has the phrase: "I read a book while working on
my tan."
When someone says something that I think is sending bad vibes out into
the universe I always knock on wood three times.
When I spill salt I always throw some over my shoulder.
"The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien is one of my all time favorite
books.
But so is the "Lorax" by Dr. Seuss.
I believe it is perpetually 1997.
I have no idea why. It wasn't a particularly good year, but I am always surprised to learn it is not 1997.
So I am surprised a lot.
My first car was a 1981 Citation. My aunt bought it for me, cost
$200.00. That would be total dollars.
It lasted less than a year. We moved the middle of my senior year of high school and I commuted over 50 miles each day.
My porn star name is: He-She Cornell. (Name of my first pet, name of
the first street I lived on.)
My mom couldn't remember if the dog was a "he" or a "she." Hence the name,
He-She.
First pet I owned as an adult was a mean as hell black Cocker Spaniel
named Busker. (Boo-sker.) After the band Busker Soundcheck. He had
separation issues. And territorial issues, and just generally mean as
hell doesn't want anyone he doesn't know around him, issues. He just generally had issues. Otherwise he was a great dog....well, and awesome watch dog.
I lost my virginity at 16. (I'm still trying to find it. "Virginity!" "Virginity come home!")
The first time I got into a bar was 16. (The above are not related.)
I've done professional acting work. (There was no soundtrack of, "Wa-chicky-wa-wa," involved.)
....that's all I can come up with for today.
So, tell me a useless factoid about you.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
happy sad
Well today was it, my last day at Big College.
It was a lovely send off.
A few care packages to send me on my way.
One large sheet cake (with not a single piece left to bring home. *sigh*)
One corsage made out of money (and it matched my outfit. Awesomeness.)
Several peeps stopping by to wish me well.
One card filled with a lot of money. (A lot of money.)
Many hugs.
A few tears.
Many, many promises to keep in touch and many email addresses shared.
One round of applause when I announced my soapbox plan for the world (make woman powerful, stop the dumbing down of women in society, end the media images of beauty, thinness, and idolizing stupidity. The power of one person to change the world and the ripple effect of those changes. Quite simple really.)
Several students, and a few of my employees came in to campus just to wish me well.
Even the guys in the IT department were sad to see me leave.
I am sad to leave as well, but I am very excited about the first sentence of the new chapter that will begin this weekend. Very excited. It is finally here. I can't wait to see what the first words on the page will be.
It was a lovely send off.
A few care packages to send me on my way.
One large sheet cake (with not a single piece left to bring home. *sigh*)
One corsage made out of money (and it matched my outfit. Awesomeness.)
Several peeps stopping by to wish me well.
One card filled with a lot of money. (A lot of money.)
Many hugs.
A few tears.
Many, many promises to keep in touch and many email addresses shared.
One round of applause when I announced my soapbox plan for the world (make woman powerful, stop the dumbing down of women in society, end the media images of beauty, thinness, and idolizing stupidity. The power of one person to change the world and the ripple effect of those changes. Quite simple really.)
Several students, and a few of my employees came in to campus just to wish me well.
Even the guys in the IT department were sad to see me leave.
I am sad to leave as well, but I am very excited about the first sentence of the new chapter that will begin this weekend. Very excited. It is finally here. I can't wait to see what the first words on the page will be.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Its been a wonderful chapter
He walks by my desk and notices the book I have lying next to my arm, “What’s this?”
“It’s a book that Cynical Sue gave me to read. It’s a book about an immigrant son who is also a first generation college student. She is letting me borrow it because he and are going though some of the same things.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“What that I’m an immigrant or a first generation college student?”
He smiles at the immigrant crack because he knows full well that I am not, “No, that you’re a first generation college student.”
“Yep, I am and there are many, many things that I am having trouble with emotionally in terms of that.” He walks away as my eyes fall to my lap and my mind becomes distant as I get emotional just thinking about it. I come from a very Midwest, very blue collar family. All are very successful (some are happy) in what they do, however, no one has been to college in my immediate, and for that matter I can only think of one cousin who has also attended college and has a Master’s degree, in my entire family.
This whole college business, the whole B.A., the whole Master’s program, the thoughts of going after my Ph.D? Yeah, the family doesn’t understand it. No, I mean they don’t understand it at all. When I came back to school a few semesters ago, my mother’s only advice was, “Just don’t drop out this time.”
Gives you warm fuzzies doesn’t it? Yep, that was the only thing that was said to me. Do you know how many times she told me to drop out over the last two years? Too many to count. She didn’t understand the stress of it and hated to see me going though all of the stress and tears; so the fact that I am willing to go through it all again, and in an even more intense way, why in the hell would I do that to myself? They also don’t understand the difference between a Bachelor’s and a Master’s. They don’t understand the degree I am pursuing (Public Policy) and they don’t understand what is that I want to do, (change the world for all of humankind) why I want to do it, (because I can. It's all about the power of one) or what the degree means (personal happiness, personal freedom, a better job, a better future.) I finally sent my mother the link to the Small State U’s website with the link to the program description because she couldn't remember what the program was called or what it is I want to do. She has since printed it out and tacked it to her bulletin board.
I know they are proud of me, I know they wish me well, I also know they don’t understand me, and can’t for the life of them understand why I would willingly put myself though it again, and I have yet to hear, “Congratulations!” from anyone that has the same blood as me. This doesn’t do a lot for the moral or self-motivation factor. Does a lot for the self-doubt, self reflection, what the hell am I doing, factor.
The parent’s don’t understand the stress, the determination, the love of education and knowledge and the differences in the level of degrees. They don’t understand the money involved in college tuition, the financial sacrifices, the personal life that goes to the way-side, the sleep deprivation, the student loans, the textbooks (one semester in explaining the textbook buyback my mother exclaimed, “Well, that’s just a big ripe off.” Yes, yes it is. Welcome to academia.) any and all of it is misunderstood, which means, I am misunderstood, my goals are misunderstood, so therefore the support system and the words of encouragement are not always what I need, get, or want and the cheerleading is shown in words of, “you need to drop out and get a job.”
So. This next week is going to be rote with emotion. I am leaving my family (who drive me crazy, but I do love ‘em) and friends (who, over the past year, I have discovered who my real ones are and who were only using me) a job I love and adore, a place I have called home for thirty-three years all to start a new chapter in my life. However, the thing I am going to miss the most is the support, love, words of encouragement, and cheerleading I receive everyday when I walk into my job. I don’t think it is a huge secret that I work at a very large college and have for several years. I work within a particular office and I work with a great group of students. The students change with the semesters and with the seasons; many I love many I want to kick to the curb most have been exceptional and have been an inspirational to get to know their stories and see them grow over the years. But it is the staff, the instructors, who I work with, learn from, interact with, and have the most wonderfully random conversations with on a ongoing basis that have truly been the kick I’ve needed to keep going when the days, weeks, months have been tough. Their words of encouragement, wisdom, sarcasm, cynicism, and pats on the back, and cheerleading, which I am going to miss so very dearly. So, so very dearly when I leave next week. The intellectual and the asinine conversations, the loud laughter, the randomness, the sentences of, “…what is wrong with the students today….?!?!?!” The wonderful pressure of, “So, when are you going after your Master’s?” Which have now turned into, “So, where are you going to go for your Ph.D?” The students who say the kindest words to me, wave to me from across campus, who I pass by on the sidewalks, the days when I accomplish nothing at work because everyone stops by to talk and has the need for me to play psychologist, doctor, teacher, bartender, friend who are the encouragement and the push that I need because they see and know things about me that I haven’t had the opportunity to discover in myself yet. Knowing that so many people who I work with, meet, and have conversations with throughout the day have meant so very much to me. But I also have the knowledge that I have meant just as much, and have made such a difference to so many people; and that's when I realize that this chapter is going to be a very diffuclt one to close, but I also realize I truly do have a wonderful life.
“It’s a book that Cynical Sue gave me to read. It’s a book about an immigrant son who is also a first generation college student. She is letting me borrow it because he and are going though some of the same things.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“What that I’m an immigrant or a first generation college student?”
He smiles at the immigrant crack because he knows full well that I am not, “No, that you’re a first generation college student.”
“Yep, I am and there are many, many things that I am having trouble with emotionally in terms of that.” He walks away as my eyes fall to my lap and my mind becomes distant as I get emotional just thinking about it. I come from a very Midwest, very blue collar family. All are very successful (some are happy) in what they do, however, no one has been to college in my immediate, and for that matter I can only think of one cousin who has also attended college and has a Master’s degree, in my entire family.
This whole college business, the whole B.A., the whole Master’s program, the thoughts of going after my Ph.D? Yeah, the family doesn’t understand it. No, I mean they don’t understand it at all. When I came back to school a few semesters ago, my mother’s only advice was, “Just don’t drop out this time.”
Gives you warm fuzzies doesn’t it? Yep, that was the only thing that was said to me. Do you know how many times she told me to drop out over the last two years? Too many to count. She didn’t understand the stress of it and hated to see me going though all of the stress and tears; so the fact that I am willing to go through it all again, and in an even more intense way, why in the hell would I do that to myself? They also don’t understand the difference between a Bachelor’s and a Master’s. They don’t understand the degree I am pursuing (Public Policy) and they don’t understand what is that I want to do, (change the world for all of humankind) why I want to do it, (because I can. It's all about the power of one) or what the degree means (personal happiness, personal freedom, a better job, a better future.) I finally sent my mother the link to the Small State U’s website with the link to the program description because she couldn't remember what the program was called or what it is I want to do. She has since printed it out and tacked it to her bulletin board.
I know they are proud of me, I know they wish me well, I also know they don’t understand me, and can’t for the life of them understand why I would willingly put myself though it again, and I have yet to hear, “Congratulations!” from anyone that has the same blood as me. This doesn’t do a lot for the moral or self-motivation factor. Does a lot for the self-doubt, self reflection, what the hell am I doing, factor.
The parent’s don’t understand the stress, the determination, the love of education and knowledge and the differences in the level of degrees. They don’t understand the money involved in college tuition, the financial sacrifices, the personal life that goes to the way-side, the sleep deprivation, the student loans, the textbooks (one semester in explaining the textbook buyback my mother exclaimed, “Well, that’s just a big ripe off.” Yes, yes it is. Welcome to academia.) any and all of it is misunderstood, which means, I am misunderstood, my goals are misunderstood, so therefore the support system and the words of encouragement are not always what I need, get, or want and the cheerleading is shown in words of, “you need to drop out and get a job.”
So. This next week is going to be rote with emotion. I am leaving my family (who drive me crazy, but I do love ‘em) and friends (who, over the past year, I have discovered who my real ones are and who were only using me) a job I love and adore, a place I have called home for thirty-three years all to start a new chapter in my life. However, the thing I am going to miss the most is the support, love, words of encouragement, and cheerleading I receive everyday when I walk into my job. I don’t think it is a huge secret that I work at a very large college and have for several years. I work within a particular office and I work with a great group of students. The students change with the semesters and with the seasons; many I love many I want to kick to the curb most have been exceptional and have been an inspirational to get to know their stories and see them grow over the years. But it is the staff, the instructors, who I work with, learn from, interact with, and have the most wonderfully random conversations with on a ongoing basis that have truly been the kick I’ve needed to keep going when the days, weeks, months have been tough. Their words of encouragement, wisdom, sarcasm, cynicism, and pats on the back, and cheerleading, which I am going to miss so very dearly. So, so very dearly when I leave next week. The intellectual and the asinine conversations, the loud laughter, the randomness, the sentences of, “…what is wrong with the students today….?!?!?!” The wonderful pressure of, “So, when are you going after your Master’s?” Which have now turned into, “So, where are you going to go for your Ph.D?” The students who say the kindest words to me, wave to me from across campus, who I pass by on the sidewalks, the days when I accomplish nothing at work because everyone stops by to talk and has the need for me to play psychologist, doctor, teacher, bartender, friend who are the encouragement and the push that I need because they see and know things about me that I haven’t had the opportunity to discover in myself yet. Knowing that so many people who I work with, meet, and have conversations with throughout the day have meant so very much to me. But I also have the knowledge that I have meant just as much, and have made such a difference to so many people; and that's when I realize that this chapter is going to be a very diffuclt one to close, but I also realize I truly do have a wonderful life.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
inner dork: apples, and oranges (and other assorted fruit)_
It's all tutti fruity today.
Did you know...
Pomology is the study of fruit.
Tomatoes and cucumbers are fruits.
Apples, not caffeine, are more efficient for waking you up in the morning.(Yes, but coffee doesn't require flossing.)
Fresh apples float because 25% of their volume is air. (Therefore, 25% less calories than a non-fresh apple.)
The avocado has the most calories of any fruit. (But it makes such a tasty dip.) (And facial.)
The most widely eaten fruit in America is the banana. (Hmmm, bananas. They come in their own little carrying case.)
The average banana weighs 126 grams.
Approximately 17,000 bananas are eaten each week in the Boston University dining room. (The other universities refused to comment.)
Bananas do not grow on trees but on rhizomes.
Cranberries are sorted for ripeness by bouncing them; a fully ripened cranberry can be dribbled like a basketball. (She shoots, she scores!)
Lemons contain more sugar than strawberries. (Therefore making a much better beverage.)
Seeds are missing from a navel orange. The bigger the navel, the sweeter the orange. (You say navel, I say belly-button.)
Orange juice helps the body absorb iron easily when consumed with a meal. (And not so easily when it's not taken with a meal.)
Pineapples do not ripen after they have been picked. (How do you know when a pineapple is ripe? I do not wish to knock on its shell as it is prickly.)
Grapes explode when you put them in the microwave. (Totally gonna test this one out.)
A cucumber consists of 96% water. (Therefore contains 96% less calories.)
More than 200 varieties of watermelon are grown in the United States. (I can name two, seeded and seedless.) (Okay four, big and small.) (196 more to go.)
Did you know...
Pomology is the study of fruit.
Tomatoes and cucumbers are fruits.
Apples, not caffeine, are more efficient for waking you up in the morning.(Yes, but coffee doesn't require flossing.)
Fresh apples float because 25% of their volume is air. (Therefore, 25% less calories than a non-fresh apple.)
The avocado has the most calories of any fruit. (But it makes such a tasty dip.) (And facial.)
The most widely eaten fruit in America is the banana. (Hmmm, bananas. They come in their own little carrying case.)
The average banana weighs 126 grams.
Approximately 17,000 bananas are eaten each week in the Boston University dining room. (The other universities refused to comment.)
Bananas do not grow on trees but on rhizomes.
Cranberries are sorted for ripeness by bouncing them; a fully ripened cranberry can be dribbled like a basketball. (She shoots, she scores!)
Lemons contain more sugar than strawberries. (Therefore making a much better beverage.)
Seeds are missing from a navel orange. The bigger the navel, the sweeter the orange. (You say navel, I say belly-button.)
Orange juice helps the body absorb iron easily when consumed with a meal. (And not so easily when it's not taken with a meal.)
Pineapples do not ripen after they have been picked. (How do you know when a pineapple is ripe? I do not wish to knock on its shell as it is prickly.)
Grapes explode when you put them in the microwave. (Totally gonna test this one out.)
A cucumber consists of 96% water. (Therefore contains 96% less calories.)
More than 200 varieties of watermelon are grown in the United States. (I can name two, seeded and seedless.) (Okay four, big and small.) (196 more to go.)
Monday, July 30, 2007
just killin' some time at work
| American Cities That Best Fit You: |
 60% Washington, DC 55% Philadelphia 55% San Francisco 50% Boston 50% Chicago |
well that was fun
First move out of two is finished. As far as moving goes, and moving unnecessarily, it wasn't horrible. Much in the way that having your skin ripped off and rolling around in rock salt isn't horrible. Not pleasant, but I don't think "horrible" is the word I would choose to describe either events.
I wanted to get started around 10, everyone agreed to this.
My phone rang around 9:30.
Everyone wanted to get started now. Right now. Now. Not later. (Much like the candy. If you bite into the the Now or Later you will enjoy it now, not later.)
Fine. I'm not 100% ready, but sure. Come over. (I knew this would happen as I have been part of this family for 33 years. I understand them well.)
I told everyone we would be finished around 12.
We weren't.
The men were getting short-tempered about this.
I told the men to chill-out.
We were finished by 1:00. (I think this is pretty good considering.) Considering I ran out of boxes and we had to improvise by throwing crap into any 'ol thing I could find. (Always fun. Thus I have peroxide in the same box as textbooks, nail polish, and shower hooks.)
Mom and I (notice, no men were involved) finished cleaning by 5:30.
We decided to throw my mattress on top of the hide-a-bed. (Hmm, ever know the name of something, but never put it together until you type it out, or think about it? Yeah, I just did that with the hide-a-bed. It is literally a bed that is hidden. How clever.) So, the bed is comfy, but it is also (literally) waist high. So, I (literally) climb into bed each night.
I have a lifetime stored in 3/4 of a garage. Is that wonderful or sad? And considering how much I threw away, donated, and sold, why do I still have 3/4 of a garage full of my stuff?
But, it's over. One move finished, one more to go. Days until my next big move: 11 and that's just crazy.
I wanted to get started around 10, everyone agreed to this.
My phone rang around 9:30.
Everyone wanted to get started now. Right now. Now. Not later. (Much like the candy. If you bite into the the Now or Later you will enjoy it now, not later.)
Fine. I'm not 100% ready, but sure. Come over. (I knew this would happen as I have been part of this family for 33 years. I understand them well.)
I told everyone we would be finished around 12.
We weren't.
The men were getting short-tempered about this.
I told the men to chill-out.
We were finished by 1:00. (I think this is pretty good considering.) Considering I ran out of boxes and we had to improvise by throwing crap into any 'ol thing I could find. (Always fun. Thus I have peroxide in the same box as textbooks, nail polish, and shower hooks.)
Mom and I (notice, no men were involved) finished cleaning by 5:30.
We decided to throw my mattress on top of the hide-a-bed. (Hmm, ever know the name of something, but never put it together until you type it out, or think about it? Yeah, I just did that with the hide-a-bed. It is literally a bed that is hidden. How clever.) So, the bed is comfy, but it is also (literally) waist high. So, I (literally) climb into bed each night.
I have a lifetime stored in 3/4 of a garage. Is that wonderful or sad? And considering how much I threw away, donated, and sold, why do I still have 3/4 of a garage full of my stuff?
But, it's over. One move finished, one more to go. Days until my next big move: 11 and that's just crazy.
Friday, July 27, 2007
hodge podge
Just a quickie update. (Who doesn't love a quickie?)
This weekend is part one of two of "The Big Moves." (Dun-du-dun!)
It is the completion of moving all my crap-ola into my parent's garage and moving back into my old room for two weeks. (As a refresher: the reason I am doing this is because my landlords decided to be poo heads and wanted a full month's rent for the month of August even though there is nothing in the lease agreement that states this. Why didn't I argue with them? No time to argue. I believe in picking my battles and this wasn't one I wanted to fight. I just "found" my copy of the lease agreement yesterday. A.k.a. I had a brain storm and bypassed my landlords who aren't returning my calls and went straight to the rental/management company and they faxed me a copy of my lease.)
Doncha just love a brainstorm?
I am officially down to three jobs.
(Whoo-hoo!)
I finished one proctor gig and the transcription gig and the gig last night. That leaves me with: full-time (not so secret) profession, one proctor gig, one mentoring gig.
With all of the "extra" funds my savings account looks quite nice.
All of those "extra" funds will be gone by mid-October due to bills and a payment needed for Budapest.
Last night I got to play teacher.
No.
I mean, I actually got to be a teacher.
Just for one night, but it was awesome.
It might have been awesome cause it is not something I get to do very often.
Okay, last night was officially the first time.
I was so in my perfect element with this class. We discussed the play "End Game" by Samuel Beckett.
They told me they hadn't read it before class.
Yeah.
You're not getting off that easy. I guess that means we will have to read it out-loud in class then.
We discussed, existentialism, God, the universe, the war, mortality, religion, changing ideals, ect.
I love college students.
A little over a week ago I received a phone call that completely turned my pissy mood around and was exactly what I needed to move ahead.
London called me.
Completely out of nowhere in the middle of my work day London was on my phone. I simply got up from my desk, walked outside and had a wonderful and lovely conversation as if I had just seen him hours before.
I don't believe in anything as hokey as closure. So it isn't that, but it was what I needed. It was a little, "thank you" note for my heart and for my mind.
I don't want to talk anymore about it because I think it loses its simplicity and loveliness by doing so.
The new chapter in my life starts in exactly 14 days.
I have too much going on and too much stress to really be excited about this. Something about working six jobs, taking two classes, and moving twice. That might have something to do with it.
Not sure.
But maybe.
Other than the Yankee and Red Sox games I went to in May I haven't been to a single baseball game this season.
That makes me sad.
I am missing my boys of summer.
Not to mention my beer and hot dog consumption is way down.
The fact that August is going to be here next week? Ho-lee-crap. Where did the summer go?
My family is throwing me a going away party next weekend.
I will be buying water balloons and lots of alcohol will be present.
The stories of, "My Family the Geniuses" with commence shortly thereafter I am sure.
I was told by a student that I have become very sarcastic this summer.
I replied with, "Really? You think I've just become sarcastic?"
Notice how I replied to the comment about being sarcastic with sarcasm. (I thought it was a nice touch.)
I received a "B" in my econ class.
I am very proud of this achievement.
It's a bit below my standards, but I am very pleased with this considering everything I have going on, how burnt out on school I am, and how I've never taken an econ class before.
So. Go, me.
I am only in the middle of the latest Harry Potter book.
Do NOT tell me anything about it.
I can only steal a few minutes here and there to read it.
However, last night I had to make myself put the book down and go to bed.
Oh, I do love it when a book has that kind of power on me.
I feel like I've been on a continuous countdown since December.
Counting down until London left.
Counting down until I was finished with school.
Counting down until I left for Greece.
Counting down until I heard about grad school.
Counting down until the end of the semester.
Counting down until I move this weekend.
Counting down until my last day at work.
Counting down until I move/move.
Counting down until grad school starts.
Then I am sure it will be a countdown until I leave for Budapest.
And then a countdown until I am finished with the first semester in December.
Do you ever feel like you're on a perpetual countdown?
Isn't life just one big countdown?
Does anyone else have the song, "Final Countdown" in their head right now?
If so, I apologize.
Because it is stuck in mine.
And it is a sucky song.
Why is it that only the sucky songs get stuck in our heads?
Or is it that even the good songs become sucky songs after the same lyrics go round and round in your head for hours on end?
This weekend is part one of two of "The Big Moves." (Dun-du-dun!)
It is the completion of moving all my crap-ola into my parent's garage and moving back into my old room for two weeks. (As a refresher: the reason I am doing this is because my landlords decided to be poo heads and wanted a full month's rent for the month of August even though there is nothing in the lease agreement that states this. Why didn't I argue with them? No time to argue. I believe in picking my battles and this wasn't one I wanted to fight. I just "found" my copy of the lease agreement yesterday. A.k.a. I had a brain storm and bypassed my landlords who aren't returning my calls and went straight to the rental/management company and they faxed me a copy of my lease.)
Doncha just love a brainstorm?
I am officially down to three jobs.
(Whoo-hoo!)
I finished one proctor gig and the transcription gig and the gig last night. That leaves me with: full-time (not so secret) profession, one proctor gig, one mentoring gig.
With all of the "extra" funds my savings account looks quite nice.
All of those "extra" funds will be gone by mid-October due to bills and a payment needed for Budapest.
Last night I got to play teacher.
No.
I mean, I actually got to be a teacher.
Just for one night, but it was awesome.
It might have been awesome cause it is not something I get to do very often.
Okay, last night was officially the first time.
I was so in my perfect element with this class. We discussed the play "End Game" by Samuel Beckett.
They told me they hadn't read it before class.
Yeah.
You're not getting off that easy. I guess that means we will have to read it out-loud in class then.
We discussed, existentialism, God, the universe, the war, mortality, religion, changing ideals, ect.
I love college students.
A little over a week ago I received a phone call that completely turned my pissy mood around and was exactly what I needed to move ahead.
London called me.
Completely out of nowhere in the middle of my work day London was on my phone. I simply got up from my desk, walked outside and had a wonderful and lovely conversation as if I had just seen him hours before.
I don't believe in anything as hokey as closure. So it isn't that, but it was what I needed. It was a little, "thank you" note for my heart and for my mind.
I don't want to talk anymore about it because I think it loses its simplicity and loveliness by doing so.
The new chapter in my life starts in exactly 14 days.
I have too much going on and too much stress to really be excited about this. Something about working six jobs, taking two classes, and moving twice. That might have something to do with it.
Not sure.
But maybe.
Other than the Yankee and Red Sox games I went to in May I haven't been to a single baseball game this season.
That makes me sad.
I am missing my boys of summer.
Not to mention my beer and hot dog consumption is way down.
The fact that August is going to be here next week? Ho-lee-crap. Where did the summer go?
My family is throwing me a going away party next weekend.
I will be buying water balloons and lots of alcohol will be present.
The stories of, "My Family the Geniuses" with commence shortly thereafter I am sure.
I was told by a student that I have become very sarcastic this summer.
I replied with, "Really? You think I've just become sarcastic?"
Notice how I replied to the comment about being sarcastic with sarcasm. (I thought it was a nice touch.)
I received a "B" in my econ class.
I am very proud of this achievement.
It's a bit below my standards, but I am very pleased with this considering everything I have going on, how burnt out on school I am, and how I've never taken an econ class before.
So. Go, me.
I am only in the middle of the latest Harry Potter book.
Do NOT tell me anything about it.
I can only steal a few minutes here and there to read it.
However, last night I had to make myself put the book down and go to bed.
Oh, I do love it when a book has that kind of power on me.
I feel like I've been on a continuous countdown since December.
Counting down until London left.
Counting down until I was finished with school.
Counting down until I left for Greece.
Counting down until I heard about grad school.
Counting down until the end of the semester.
Counting down until I move this weekend.
Counting down until my last day at work.
Counting down until I move/move.
Counting down until grad school starts.
Then I am sure it will be a countdown until I leave for Budapest.
And then a countdown until I am finished with the first semester in December.
Do you ever feel like you're on a perpetual countdown?
Isn't life just one big countdown?
Does anyone else have the song, "Final Countdown" in their head right now?
If so, I apologize.
Because it is stuck in mine.
And it is a sucky song.
Why is it that only the sucky songs get stuck in our heads?
Or is it that even the good songs become sucky songs after the same lyrics go round and round in your head for hours on end?
Thursday, July 26, 2007
inner dork: all things salty
...that are innocent and condiment-like in nature. (but that does pose an interesting question, doesn't it?)
Did you know...
Salt is the only rock humans can eat. (That would mean that someone has actually tried to eat some other type of rock. Yawza! Me, teeth!)
Only 5% of salt produced ends up on the table. The rest is used for packing meat, building roads, feeding livestock (mmm, bloaty moo-cows) tanning leather (mmm, salty-moo-cows.) manufacturing glass, soap, ash, and washing compounds. (mmm, salty clean clothes.)
Salt is one of the few spices that is all taste and no smell.
(I tried to prove this, but I was only successful in inhaling salt up my nose. mmm, melty salt.)
Tabasco sauce is made by fermenting vinegar and hot peppers in a French oak barrels (German barrels are not allowed and could not be reached for comment on how resentful they felt about this snub) that has three inches of salt on top and is aged for three years until all the salt is diffused through the barrel.
(mmm, bloaty, salty, hot sauce.)
Worcestershire sauce is basically anchovy ketchup.
(And it tastes mmm, so good.)
(Do you all say, Worcestershire sauce or do you say, Worcestershireshireiiires sauce?)
I feel all edumacted, but I also feel all bloaty.
Did you know...
Salt is the only rock humans can eat. (That would mean that someone has actually tried to eat some other type of rock. Yawza! Me, teeth!)
Only 5% of salt produced ends up on the table. The rest is used for packing meat, building roads, feeding livestock (mmm, bloaty moo-cows) tanning leather (mmm, salty-moo-cows.) manufacturing glass, soap, ash, and washing compounds. (mmm, salty clean clothes.)
Salt is one of the few spices that is all taste and no smell.
(I tried to prove this, but I was only successful in inhaling salt up my nose. mmm, melty salt.)
Tabasco sauce is made by fermenting vinegar and hot peppers in a French oak barrels (German barrels are not allowed and could not be reached for comment on how resentful they felt about this snub) that has three inches of salt on top and is aged for three years until all the salt is diffused through the barrel.
(mmm, bloaty, salty, hot sauce.)
Worcestershire sauce is basically anchovy ketchup.
(And it tastes mmm, so good.)
(Do you all say, Worcestershire sauce or do you say, Worcestershireshireiiires sauce?)
I feel all edumacted, but I also feel all bloaty.
Monday, July 23, 2007
SOLD!
I sold a painting! I sold a painting!
(...and repeat to infinity.)
I'll admit, when she told me which of my paintings she liked the most, and essentially wanted a copy of, and then told me the colors she wanted, I was apprehensive.
I'll admit it wasn't until I was in the middle of the painting that I saw the colors complimenting each other.
I don't know how you could look at the painting and not have your mood brighten.
In the midst of moving it was nice to have an art project to work on this weekend.
All of that on top of being paid for my artwork, c'mon, are you kidding me? When I take a moment to enjoy this thing called life, I realize that my life really is a verb.
(...and repeat to infinity.)
I'll admit, when she told me which of my paintings she liked the most, and essentially wanted a copy of, and then told me the colors she wanted, I was apprehensive.
I'll admit it wasn't until I was in the middle of the painting that I saw the colors complimenting each other.
I don't know how you could look at the painting and not have your mood brighten.
In the midst of moving it was nice to have an art project to work on this weekend.
All of that on top of being paid for my artwork, c'mon, are you kidding me? When I take a moment to enjoy this thing called life, I realize that my life really is a verb.
The memory of summer and youth
* The smell of books, the smell of libraries, the mustiness of all the knowledge that fills the air. The way the bindings creak and crack when you open an older book, like an attic door being opened and letting out all of its hidden treasures and secrets that have been hidden away waiting for someone to come in. I love looking at the dates on the punch cards in the front of the book to see when the last time someone checked that particular book out. When I was in high school I used to read the names on the punch card in the front of the book to see if a boy I had a crush on had checked the book out sometime before me and therefore we shared something in common. I would imagine the boy in his favorite t-shirt and jeans lying on his back in bed reading the book I now held in my hands.
The knowledge that fills a library reminds me of a childhood basement, the combination of dust, mildew, and damp brick walls that haven’t seen any light through the small ground level widows in a long while. The scent can hit you like a memory sometimes, but then while you’re within the confines of the rows upon rows of books the memories disappear and you can actually feel yourself travel back to your youth. Some of my own books have this same effect on me; when I open the cover and hear the binding crack the aroma of memories and youth hits me. I can feel myself travel back to when I was a pre-teen and I see myself sitting on my twin bed with its white chenille bedspread, the coolness of the air conditioner floating through my room, the bright sun and tall oak trees with their long green arms waving and watching me through my bedroom windows while I was reading the long hot summer days away traveling to wherever the black and white words would take me.
That is exactly how I felt this weekend. Saturday I awoke early to head to my local bookstore purveyor to purchase my copy of Harry Potter. I then proceeded to spend my Saturday afternoon on my deck enjoying the lovely weather while working on my tan as I traveled with Harry and his usual troop of friends on their final adventure. I suddenly flashed back to being 12-years-old when all I wanted to do during the summer was either be outside working on my tan or laying on my bed inside within the cozy comfort of the air conditioning. The fact that I knew there were several million actual 12-year-olds doing the same thing I was on Saturday, well that brought a smile to my face. The fact that there was as much hype and anticipation over a book...a book in the day and age where the i-Phone, i-Pod, and whatever other gadget is hot this summer, well, that brought a gigantic smile to my heart and to my memory bank.
* The first two paragraphs are from a short story I am currently suffering a bout of writer's blocked. It is about the summer I was 11 years-old and my love of books and how I whiled away the summer hours.
The knowledge that fills a library reminds me of a childhood basement, the combination of dust, mildew, and damp brick walls that haven’t seen any light through the small ground level widows in a long while. The scent can hit you like a memory sometimes, but then while you’re within the confines of the rows upon rows of books the memories disappear and you can actually feel yourself travel back to your youth. Some of my own books have this same effect on me; when I open the cover and hear the binding crack the aroma of memories and youth hits me. I can feel myself travel back to when I was a pre-teen and I see myself sitting on my twin bed with its white chenille bedspread, the coolness of the air conditioner floating through my room, the bright sun and tall oak trees with their long green arms waving and watching me through my bedroom windows while I was reading the long hot summer days away traveling to wherever the black and white words would take me.
That is exactly how I felt this weekend. Saturday I awoke early to head to my local bookstore purveyor to purchase my copy of Harry Potter. I then proceeded to spend my Saturday afternoon on my deck enjoying the lovely weather while working on my tan as I traveled with Harry and his usual troop of friends on their final adventure. I suddenly flashed back to being 12-years-old when all I wanted to do during the summer was either be outside working on my tan or laying on my bed inside within the cozy comfort of the air conditioning. The fact that I knew there were several million actual 12-year-olds doing the same thing I was on Saturday, well that brought a smile to my face. The fact that there was as much hype and anticipation over a book...a book in the day and age where the i-Phone, i-Pod, and whatever other gadget is hot this summer, well, that brought a gigantic smile to my heart and to my memory bank.
* The first two paragraphs are from a short story I am currently suffering a bout of writer's blocked. It is about the summer I was 11 years-old and my love of books and how I whiled away the summer hours.
Friday, July 20, 2007
PG's a dork! PG's a dork!
Ok, I just called myself a whale's penis, but that is not the point.
The differences between geeks, nerds, dorks, and maybe dweebs.
Nerds: These are the brilliant types. The ones who know everything in a book and nothing about the street. Somewhere between being locked in the basement to learn about all things electrical, statistical, and mathematical they forgot how to talk to anyone, specifically the opposite sex.
Geek: These are the nerds who have some social skills, street smarts, and business savvy. They put all of the books smarts to use and are now taking over the world. Ala: Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, et al of the computer and Google world. The geeks really are inheriting the Earth.
Dorks: These are the geeks who are oddly brilliant in whatever field they have so chosen to go into, but also have amazing social skills. They might be a bit quirky in their mannerism (lack of eye contact, or the ability to know useless facts, or the ability to look up words in the dictionary.) There is no desire to start or own their own company. They are perfectly happy in their brilliance and ability to be social with a variety of people and places.
Why I believe I am a dork. (Really you need proof?) I learned that there are exactly 216 noodles in every can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup and that the soup is cooked only once it is sealed in the can. If there is one more or one less noodle it is kicked off the assembly line.....I learned that on the Food Network about 3+ years ago. It has stuck with me. In addition to that I can also:
Name all of the astrological signs- in order.
I break into song spontaneously.
I play Jeopardy!
I love to laugh
and I love shoes.
and Art.
and Jewelry (and make most of mine.)
I can have an asinine conversation about intelligent things and an intelligent conversation about asinine things.
I Google useless information All.the.time.
This week I called two women, broads. This then went into floozy, and hussy and what the differences are. I then realized that "broad" is such an odd thing for a woman to be called and I wondered what the word origin of it was. I then looked up the word "broad" in the dictionary. There are 25 definitions for the word "broad." However, I think I came up with the origins. Either definition 8 or 9 and also the word, broad-wife. (really, after that do I need to go on?)
But, I am also someone who loves baseball and boxing. Enjoys a good drink. Can make any comment go straight into the gutter. And enjoys a conversation with a nerd and a geek because inside, we're all a little dorky.
What's your inner dork?
The differences between geeks, nerds, dorks, and maybe dweebs.
Nerds: These are the brilliant types. The ones who know everything in a book and nothing about the street. Somewhere between being locked in the basement to learn about all things electrical, statistical, and mathematical they forgot how to talk to anyone, specifically the opposite sex.
Geek: These are the nerds who have some social skills, street smarts, and business savvy. They put all of the books smarts to use and are now taking over the world. Ala: Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, et al of the computer and Google world. The geeks really are inheriting the Earth.
Dorks: These are the geeks who are oddly brilliant in whatever field they have so chosen to go into, but also have amazing social skills. They might be a bit quirky in their mannerism (lack of eye contact, or the ability to know useless facts, or the ability to look up words in the dictionary.) There is no desire to start or own their own company. They are perfectly happy in their brilliance and ability to be social with a variety of people and places.
Why I believe I am a dork. (Really you need proof?) I learned that there are exactly 216 noodles in every can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup and that the soup is cooked only once it is sealed in the can. If there is one more or one less noodle it is kicked off the assembly line.....I learned that on the Food Network about 3+ years ago. It has stuck with me. In addition to that I can also:
Name all of the astrological signs- in order.
I break into song spontaneously.
I play Jeopardy!
I love to laugh
and I love shoes.
and Art.
and Jewelry (and make most of mine.)
I can have an asinine conversation about intelligent things and an intelligent conversation about asinine things.
I Google useless information All.the.time.
This week I called two women, broads. This then went into floozy, and hussy and what the differences are. I then realized that "broad" is such an odd thing for a woman to be called and I wondered what the word origin of it was. I then looked up the word "broad" in the dictionary. There are 25 definitions for the word "broad." However, I think I came up with the origins. Either definition 8 or 9 and also the word, broad-wife. (really, after that do I need to go on?)
But, I am also someone who loves baseball and boxing. Enjoys a good drink. Can make any comment go straight into the gutter. And enjoys a conversation with a nerd and a geek because inside, we're all a little dorky.
What's your inner dork?
Thursday, July 19, 2007
inner dork: geeks, dorks, and nerds
...Oh my!
K, no useless info today. (I know, sad.) But after yesterday's post got me thinking about the differences between geeks, dorks, and nerds (oh, my!) I then proceeded to look up what Webster's had to say on the subject. (Who's a dork, huh, who?) Which led me into looking up another word, and then another, and then (Yep. I'm that loveable girl you all want to take home with you. Admit it.)
Anyway, so what is your definition of each? Which one are you a self-proclaimed one of? (or something like that.) And who do you think is more loveable, the dork, the nerd, or the geek? I'll post my answer tomorrow.
K, no useless info today. (I know, sad.) But after yesterday's post got me thinking about the differences between geeks, dorks, and nerds (oh, my!) I then proceeded to look up what Webster's had to say on the subject. (Who's a dork, huh, who?) Which led me into looking up another word, and then another, and then (Yep. I'm that loveable girl you all want to take home with you. Admit it.)
Anyway, so what is your definition of each? Which one are you a self-proclaimed one of? (or something like that.) And who do you think is more loveable, the dork, the nerd, or the geek? I'll post my answer tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it
Maybe it is all of the poo.
Maybe it is the inner dork in me who finds the jobs fascinating as many of them are things I never would have thought about other wise.
Maybe it is the humor.
Or perhaps the sarcastic wit.
The blatant attempts for a laugh and more camera time.
The voice.
The fact that the crew is picked on relentlessly.
How unabashedly the show is willing to do anything....anything.
However, chances are the real reason is the host, Mike Rowe.
Perhaps he is the reason "Dirty Jobs" has become my new favorite show and why I love a good marathon.
A good marathon of "Dirty Jobs" that is.
Maybe it is the inner dork in me who finds the jobs fascinating as many of them are things I never would have thought about other wise.
Maybe it is the humor.
Or perhaps the sarcastic wit.
The blatant attempts for a laugh and more camera time.
The voice.
The fact that the crew is picked on relentlessly.
How unabashedly the show is willing to do anything....anything.
However, chances are the real reason is the host, Mike Rowe.
Perhaps he is the reason "Dirty Jobs" has become my new favorite show and why I love a good marathon.
A good marathon of "Dirty Jobs" that is.
Monday, July 16, 2007
wide awake in dreamland
No one likes hearing about another person's dreams. I know this. However, this dream involved some of you, so I thought I would humor you by going inside my head. Also, I rarely remember my dreams once the hot water of the shower hits my face, so apparently these have significance.
Ptg and her husband were in my dream. She was pregnant and he had a very hairy back. His shirt was off, thus the hair was all there for me to see. I don't believe her pregnancy nor his hairy back are related, but one never really knows.
Joefish and Dirty Bunny were also there. They were comforting ptg through her labor pains.
I was apparently useless to help.
There was a stack of cows standing on top of each other eating paint off the side of a house. The house (was) white and was a turn of the century three story, so the cows were stacked very tall as one cow (all brown) was enjoying the lead-free paint from the very tippy-top of the house.
I was on my way to work (my old job from several years ago) when I passed the cows stacked on top of each other eating the paint.
Then suddenly ptg and her hubby, with his shirtless belly and hairy back, showed up and I was in the hospital.
Then Joefish and Dirty Bunny were there.
I thought it was very nice of them to show up to help out.
Then my alarm went off.
Now. I don't actually know ptg or her husband. I don't know if he has a hairy back, but I'm going to assume he doesn't. So I apologize for any harm my subconscious has caused.
I also don't know Joefish or Dirty Bunny either, but they seem like good peeps. I also don't know if they actually know ptg or her hubby, so see they are good peeps because they were willing to help out in a time of need. Good peeps. (better than the marshmallow peeps, I am sure. Although when put in the microwave the marshmallow peeps are fun to watch.)
I also don't believe that cows have the ability to stand on top of each other. I also doubt they would like a diet of lead-free paint, or lead based paint for that matter, but in my dream they seemed to think it was a tasty treat.
No drugs were involved in this dream. Copious amounts of alcohol were involved on Friday and Saturday. I don't remember those dreams at all. Perhaps last night's dream was merely catching up with me.
I will try and incorporate the rest of you into my dreams as soon as I have time.
You're welcome.
Good day.
Ptg and her husband were in my dream. She was pregnant and he had a very hairy back. His shirt was off, thus the hair was all there for me to see. I don't believe her pregnancy nor his hairy back are related, but one never really knows.
Joefish and Dirty Bunny were also there. They were comforting ptg through her labor pains.
I was apparently useless to help.
There was a stack of cows standing on top of each other eating paint off the side of a house. The house (was) white and was a turn of the century three story, so the cows were stacked very tall as one cow (all brown) was enjoying the lead-free paint from the very tippy-top of the house.
I was on my way to work (my old job from several years ago) when I passed the cows stacked on top of each other eating the paint.
Then suddenly ptg and her hubby, with his shirtless belly and hairy back, showed up and I was in the hospital.
Then Joefish and Dirty Bunny were there.
I thought it was very nice of them to show up to help out.
Then my alarm went off.
Now. I don't actually know ptg or her husband. I don't know if he has a hairy back, but I'm going to assume he doesn't. So I apologize for any harm my subconscious has caused.
I also don't know Joefish or Dirty Bunny either, but they seem like good peeps. I also don't know if they actually know ptg or her hubby, so see they are good peeps because they were willing to help out in a time of need. Good peeps. (better than the marshmallow peeps, I am sure. Although when put in the microwave the marshmallow peeps are fun to watch.)
I also don't believe that cows have the ability to stand on top of each other. I also doubt they would like a diet of lead-free paint, or lead based paint for that matter, but in my dream they seemed to think it was a tasty treat.
No drugs were involved in this dream. Copious amounts of alcohol were involved on Friday and Saturday. I don't remember those dreams at all. Perhaps last night's dream was merely catching up with me.
I will try and incorporate the rest of you into my dreams as soon as I have time.
You're welcome.
Good day.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
inner dork: all things useless (I mean, useful)
Yippee-yahoo! It's Inner Dork Thursday. (It really needs to be a national event.) (I will get started on that campaign after this post.)
Did you know...
The slogan on New Hampshire license plates is "Live Free or Die." The license plates are manufactured by prisoners in the state prison in Concord. (Well, that's just mean.)
The abbreviation ORD for Chicago's O'Hare airport comes from the old name Orchard Field. (Now that I know this it makes much more sense.)
The names of the two stone lions in front of the New York Public Library are Patience and Fortitude. They were named by the then-major Fiorello La-Guardia. (Because if you are made of stone and sit in front of a library you need to be patient and have fortitude.) (I really wish I would have made it to see them when I was in NYC.)
The University of Alaska stretches across four time zones. (I need to Google this to see how that is possible.) (What did we do before Google? Oh, yeah. We had to get up an look at books. I wonder how much more instantly intelligent we are because we have it all at our fingertips.) (Okay, that made me laugh. Because people are Googlin' info all over the place. No one is going to porn sites.)
The largest object ever found in the LA sewer system was a motorcycle. (Maybe it just pooped out.)
In 1980, a Las Vegas hospital suspended workers for betting on when patients would die. (Oh c'mon. What's unethical about that?)
A third of Taiwanese funeral processions include a stripper. (Ecstasy, Champagne Showers, and Candy Cane could not be reached for comment.)
Hindu men once believed it to be unlucky to marry a third time. The could avoid misfortune by marrying a tree first. The tree (a.k.a the third wife.) was then burned, freeing the man to marry again. (Do you Bob take thee Maple to be your lawfully wedded wife?)
The glue on Israeli postage stamps is certified kosher. (Because it came from a kosher horse named Ed, of course.)
The radioactive substance Americanium-241 is used in many smoke detectors. (Well, that seems safe.) (And more than slightly counterproductive.)
The bark of a redwood tree is fireproof. Fires that occur in a redwood forest take place inside the trees. (And I'm gonna guess the leaves are not "poof-proof." Just a guess.)
Now, go apply for a chance to be on Jeopardy!
Did you know...
The slogan on New Hampshire license plates is "Live Free or Die." The license plates are manufactured by prisoners in the state prison in Concord. (Well, that's just mean.)
The abbreviation ORD for Chicago's O'Hare airport comes from the old name Orchard Field. (Now that I know this it makes much more sense.)
The names of the two stone lions in front of the New York Public Library are Patience and Fortitude. They were named by the then-major Fiorello La-Guardia. (Because if you are made of stone and sit in front of a library you need to be patient and have fortitude.) (I really wish I would have made it to see them when I was in NYC.)
The University of Alaska stretches across four time zones. (I need to Google this to see how that is possible.) (What did we do before Google? Oh, yeah. We had to get up an look at books. I wonder how much more instantly intelligent we are because we have it all at our fingertips.) (Okay, that made me laugh. Because people are Googlin' info all over the place. No one is going to porn sites.)
The largest object ever found in the LA sewer system was a motorcycle. (Maybe it just pooped out.)
In 1980, a Las Vegas hospital suspended workers for betting on when patients would die. (Oh c'mon. What's unethical about that?)
A third of Taiwanese funeral processions include a stripper. (Ecstasy, Champagne Showers, and Candy Cane could not be reached for comment.)
Hindu men once believed it to be unlucky to marry a third time. The could avoid misfortune by marrying a tree first. The tree (a.k.a the third wife.) was then burned, freeing the man to marry again. (Do you Bob take thee Maple to be your lawfully wedded wife?)
The glue on Israeli postage stamps is certified kosher. (Because it came from a kosher horse named Ed, of course.)
The radioactive substance Americanium-241 is used in many smoke detectors. (Well, that seems safe.) (And more than slightly counterproductive.)
The bark of a redwood tree is fireproof. Fires that occur in a redwood forest take place inside the trees. (And I'm gonna guess the leaves are not "poof-proof." Just a guess.)
Now, go apply for a chance to be on Jeopardy!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
self-doubt
Last week and continuing into this week has been the natural feeling of, what the holy crap am I doing and it is the right decision and am I screwing up my life in major and irreversible ways?
Or something like that.
The natural progression of emotions when a major life change is in the works (or eight major life changes, but whose counting and keeping track?) (well, I am.) One thing that is adding to and not helping the moving on of this natural feeling is that my current place of employment is not making it easy on me. Not making it easy because no one...no one...(no, really, not one single solitary person) wants me to leave. I hear (numerous) (numerous) times a day, "I'm happy for you, but I don't want you to leave." Sometimes it is a simple, "Please, don't leave." Sometimes it actually goes into a full sentence of, "I never thought you would leave and I think when it comes right down to it, you're ultimately not going to leave." and numerous variations thereof.
It's nice to be loved.
I LOVE it here.
I wanted to stay.
My boss wants (really, really, really, really, really, really, really) wants me to stay.
My co-workers, and those who I just generally bs with throughout the day, all want me to stay.
My co-boss (really, really, really, really, really, really) wants me to stay and ultimately she and I had a meeting with my boss-boss to try and convince her to get me to stay. But, (there is always a but) it's not up to my boss-boss, it is a much bigger machine (called state funding) than all of us. The place where I work is not creating any new jobs for the next two years. Mine would have been considered a new job (as it was re-worked and recreated to meet all of my needs, wants, and desires.)
So.
Not much choice.
I want to continue to do what I am, but for more money and in a greater capacity, but it's not going to happen. And I can't continue to be this poor and work five jobs. (no, really. I can't.)
So.
Off to grad school.
But, with all of the "Don't leaves" combined with no words of congratulations from the family, combined with the cycle of my own self-doubt, yeah. I'm questioning my decision.
On a completely unrelated front, after my econ test that I was sure I bombed (I actually didn't. I've already gotten the grade back. I truly most be learning through osmosis.) I decided I need beer. (Because beer makes everything better.)(And don't forget, smarter.)
I hit one bar and I had one beer.
Hit the second bar (and boy did my head hurt!) and had more than one beer. I think I had four...or five, I can't remember exactly. But however many it was, I paid for all of them.
Yep.
Not a single beverage was paid for by someone else. Now I did have conversation. I did have flirtation. I did have a proposition. But, not a dime, a dollar, a nickle was laid down on the bar for my beverage enjoyment.
I'm having doubts about my mo-jo.
Doubts about one's mo-jo is worse than doubts about ones future. Or is it that my future is in doubt over my mo-jo? I dunno. Either way I came home $20.00 shorter than when I left my house. And well, this girl is short enough.
Or something like that.
The natural progression of emotions when a major life change is in the works (or eight major life changes, but whose counting and keeping track?) (well, I am.) One thing that is adding to and not helping the moving on of this natural feeling is that my current place of employment is not making it easy on me. Not making it easy because no one...no one...(no, really, not one single solitary person) wants me to leave. I hear (numerous) (numerous) times a day, "I'm happy for you, but I don't want you to leave." Sometimes it is a simple, "Please, don't leave." Sometimes it actually goes into a full sentence of, "I never thought you would leave and I think when it comes right down to it, you're ultimately not going to leave." and numerous variations thereof.
It's nice to be loved.
I LOVE it here.
I wanted to stay.
My boss wants (really, really, really, really, really, really, really) wants me to stay.
My co-workers, and those who I just generally bs with throughout the day, all want me to stay.
My co-boss (really, really, really, really, really, really) wants me to stay and ultimately she and I had a meeting with my boss-boss to try and convince her to get me to stay. But, (there is always a but) it's not up to my boss-boss, it is a much bigger machine (called state funding) than all of us. The place where I work is not creating any new jobs for the next two years. Mine would have been considered a new job (as it was re-worked and recreated to meet all of my needs, wants, and desires.)
So.
Not much choice.
I want to continue to do what I am, but for more money and in a greater capacity, but it's not going to happen. And I can't continue to be this poor and work five jobs. (no, really. I can't.)
So.
Off to grad school.
But, with all of the "Don't leaves" combined with no words of congratulations from the family, combined with the cycle of my own self-doubt, yeah. I'm questioning my decision.
On a completely unrelated front, after my econ test that I was sure I bombed (I actually didn't. I've already gotten the grade back. I truly most be learning through osmosis.) I decided I need beer. (Because beer makes everything better.)(And don't forget, smarter.)
I hit one bar and I had one beer.
Hit the second bar (and boy did my head hurt!) and had more than one beer. I think I had four...or five, I can't remember exactly. But however many it was, I paid for all of them.
Yep.
Not a single beverage was paid for by someone else. Now I did have conversation. I did have flirtation. I did have a proposition. But, not a dime, a dollar, a nickle was laid down on the bar for my beverage enjoyment.
I'm having doubts about my mo-jo.
Doubts about one's mo-jo is worse than doubts about ones future. Or is it that my future is in doubt over my mo-jo? I dunno. Either way I came home $20.00 shorter than when I left my house. And well, this girl is short enough.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Summer jobs
This morning on the "Today Show" there was a quick story about kids forgoing the summer job. The teens are deciding instead to attend summer school so that they can have an edge with college admissions and in college itself when the time comes.
At the end of the story they cut to Ann and Matt at the news desk and they ask each other what their summer jobs were when they were teens. Ann was a camp counselor and Matt mowed lawns and picked up trash.
Cut to me in my bedroom getting dressed while listening to the TV in living room and the tit for tat between them.
Yeah. I didn't have a summer job. I just had a job.
Apparently I grew-up in a different tax bracket than Ann and Matt.
First job, not counting babysitting, was at 15 working retail. If you count babysitting then my first job was when I was nine.
How about you? What was your first job or what was your summer job? (If you were so lucky to grow-up in that tax bracket.)
At the end of the story they cut to Ann and Matt at the news desk and they ask each other what their summer jobs were when they were teens. Ann was a camp counselor and Matt mowed lawns and picked up trash.
Cut to me in my bedroom getting dressed while listening to the TV in living room and the tit for tat between them.
Yeah. I didn't have a summer job. I just had a job.
Apparently I grew-up in a different tax bracket than Ann and Matt.
First job, not counting babysitting, was at 15 working retail. If you count babysitting then my first job was when I was nine.
How about you? What was your first job or what was your summer job? (If you were so lucky to grow-up in that tax bracket.)
Monday, July 09, 2007
A quick shot of randomness
1) I spent Saturday morning and late into the afternoon packing, moving, throwing away and donating all things mine, in the first stint of: moving away to Medium Sized State U. (And all on four and half hours of sleep. I went to bed at 4:43 (Hmm, most curious) in the a.m. and waking up to the phone ringing (with Mama saying, "You're not up yet?" At the early morning time of 9:18.) A quick brushing of the teeth and a good scrubbing of the face I was ready (well, as ready as I could be) to do the first major over-haul of throwing away and donating under way.
On the way to get a concrete shake from Culver's, I stated I had a tension headache. to which Mama asked (in all seriousness) "why do I have a tension headache?" To which I replied with, "Really?"
I mean, really?
2) When I was asked the other day how old I am I, for the life of me, couldn't remember. (Too much sex?) (Too much alcohol?) (Are those oxymorons?) I went back and forth with it. (Like a sad lonely tennis match) I am 33. No. I can't be 33. I must be 32. No. That's not right. I know I'm not 31. After going back and forth thinking out loud to the person who asked the stupefying question in the first place and who clearly had no idea seeing as how they are the one who asked me. (Baffled, party of one.) I (secretly) had to look on my blogger profile to find out the correct answer (33.) Is that sad or wonderful that I am that clueless as to the number of my age rings?
Is it sad or pathetic that blogger was the light that shined on me for this answer that I should already know?
3) Tonight (about 6 minutes ago actually) (you know, to be exact.) I finished job number two: (not, taking a number two. Job, number two.) (That's even too detailed for me.) (Why is it called "number two?") (Hmm, I'll work on that for Thursday.) (But I digress.) transcribing for the PhD candidate. The job officially became tedious within minutes of the first typing. It became clear I accepted the wrong dollar amount for the job immediately somewhere around page 2 of the first tape. (That was about 50+ interviews and tapes ago.)
The job was only supposed to last until the beginning of May. Yeah. Clearly that didn't happen.(As it is July.) (You're welcome.) That's officially a lot of tedium and seriously a lot of screwing oneself on pay. (Bad, whore. Bad.) (Whore because you are either the pimp or the whore. Most of us are the whore. Just to clarify.) But. It's over. And even though I offered a low price, (my own damn fault and not whore-worthy.) (damn me and my desperateness!) the (extra) (Ha! I laugh at the "extra" part) money has helped out a lot over the past couple months. (So that makes it all okay.)
4) I am now officially down to four jobs: (Not so secret) full-time job, the two proctoring gigs, and the mentoring of my student gig. This makes my stress level happy, but not my checking and (ha!) savings account. (oh, I kill me.)
5) My fingers are numb (not from anything fun or battery operated) so I am calling it a day.
6) This means I am going home to pack, clean, throw-away more things, and study for my econ test.
7) I am! I am the luckiest girl alive!
8) Ramble, over.
On the way to get a concrete shake from Culver's, I stated I had a tension headache. to which Mama asked (in all seriousness) "why do I have a tension headache?" To which I replied with, "Really?"
I mean, really?
2) When I was asked the other day how old I am I, for the life of me, couldn't remember. (Too much sex?) (Too much alcohol?) (Are those oxymorons?) I went back and forth with it. (Like a sad lonely tennis match) I am 33. No. I can't be 33. I must be 32. No. That's not right. I know I'm not 31. After going back and forth thinking out loud to the person who asked the stupefying question in the first place and who clearly had no idea seeing as how they are the one who asked me. (Baffled, party of one.) I (secretly) had to look on my blogger profile to find out the correct answer (33.) Is that sad or wonderful that I am that clueless as to the number of my age rings?
Is it sad or pathetic that blogger was the light that shined on me for this answer that I should already know?
3) Tonight (about 6 minutes ago actually) (you know, to be exact.) I finished job number two: (not, taking a number two. Job, number two.) (That's even too detailed for me.) (Why is it called "number two?") (Hmm, I'll work on that for Thursday.) (But I digress.) transcribing for the PhD candidate. The job officially became tedious within minutes of the first typing. It became clear I accepted the wrong dollar amount for the job immediately somewhere around page 2 of the first tape. (That was about 50+ interviews and tapes ago.)
The job was only supposed to last until the beginning of May. Yeah. Clearly that didn't happen.(As it is July.) (You're welcome.) That's officially a lot of tedium and seriously a lot of screwing oneself on pay. (Bad, whore. Bad.) (Whore because you are either the pimp or the whore. Most of us are the whore. Just to clarify.) But. It's over. And even though I offered a low price, (my own damn fault and not whore-worthy.) (damn me and my desperateness!) the (extra) (Ha! I laugh at the "extra" part) money has helped out a lot over the past couple months. (So that makes it all okay.)
4) I am now officially down to four jobs: (Not so secret) full-time job, the two proctoring gigs, and the mentoring of my student gig. This makes my stress level happy, but not my checking and (ha!) savings account. (oh, I kill me.)
5) My fingers are numb (not from anything fun or battery operated) so I am calling it a day.
6) This means I am going home to pack, clean, throw-away more things, and study for my econ test.
7) I am! I am the luckiest girl alive!
8) Ramble, over.
Friday, July 06, 2007
fall, go boom!
In the continuing episode of, "My Family the Geniuses" I forgot to mention this part in my post about last Saturday's drunken celebration of our nation's Independence from those damn Brits. (Whoo-hoo. London. Suck-ass.)
Anyway. As I was saying.
So my parents have a big house that sits on a corner lot and has a very large yard. Across the street sits some industrial businesses, i.e. businesses with vacant parking lots on a Saturday afternoon. i.e. perfect location to shoot things that explode. So in our infinite wisdom we use the opportunity (every year) to use the vacant lots to explode things (that go, boom and we say, pretty.) My brothers talk on walkie talkies to insure the coast is clear as one stands in the yard and the other runs across the street, hide behind the building, and then lights the exploding stick of firework excitement while my sister-in-law and I sing the song to "Mission Impossible." (Oh. Admit it. You want to be invited next year.)
This year there was only one misfire. (Aside from the tree episode. The neighbors coming over to join in the festivites. Oh. And the family fight with the (stupid) step-siblings.) (Other than that, only one misfire.) It occurred when I heard my younger brother (across the street lighting the stick of flammable flames) say, "Oh, shit" into the walkie talkie and then we see the flaming stick of sparkly flame shoot sideways across the parking lot instead of up in the air and over the building to show the beauty of the flames. When I say, "sideways" I mean it (the flamming stick of sparkles) was aiming straight for things flammable as, (in case you weren't paying attention,) I said, "industrial buildings" when I mentioned the businesses across the street. As in, sparkles of flames hit them and they would go boom! and we wouldn't be alive to say, "pretty."
Oh yeah. Our combined IQ when the family is all together drinking is low. Like, where's the bib to wipe the drool, low. But we sure have a damn good time and (for the most part) no one gets hurt and no one has ever lost an eye and that's sayin' something. (I'm sure it's saying something I'm just not sure what exactly, but it's sayin' somethin'.)
As for the actual fourth. Well, it was a Wednesday. Not much a person can do when I, along with everyone else, has to work before and after and I have to move in a few weeks. So. I worked on my tan, read "1984" and "Sex, Drugs, and Coco-Puffs," (good combo of reading material) packed, watched a marathon of "Monk," ordered a pizza, drank beer, watched the various fireworks from my balcony. It was actually quiet lovely. Boring. Perhaps. But relaxing.
How about you?
Oh. Sorry about the no, dorking. I'll catch you next week. Promise.
Anyway. As I was saying.
So my parents have a big house that sits on a corner lot and has a very large yard. Across the street sits some industrial businesses, i.e. businesses with vacant parking lots on a Saturday afternoon. i.e. perfect location to shoot things that explode. So in our infinite wisdom we use the opportunity (every year) to use the vacant lots to explode things (that go, boom and we say, pretty.) My brothers talk on walkie talkies to insure the coast is clear as one stands in the yard and the other runs across the street, hide behind the building, and then lights the exploding stick of firework excitement while my sister-in-law and I sing the song to "Mission Impossible." (Oh. Admit it. You want to be invited next year.)
This year there was only one misfire. (Aside from the tree episode. The neighbors coming over to join in the festivites. Oh. And the family fight with the (stupid) step-siblings.) (Other than that, only one misfire.) It occurred when I heard my younger brother (across the street lighting the stick of flammable flames) say, "Oh, shit" into the walkie talkie and then we see the flaming stick of sparkly flame shoot sideways across the parking lot instead of up in the air and over the building to show the beauty of the flames. When I say, "sideways" I mean it (the flamming stick of sparkles) was aiming straight for things flammable as, (in case you weren't paying attention,) I said, "industrial buildings" when I mentioned the businesses across the street. As in, sparkles of flames hit them and they would go boom! and we wouldn't be alive to say, "pretty."
Oh yeah. Our combined IQ when the family is all together drinking is low. Like, where's the bib to wipe the drool, low. But we sure have a damn good time and (for the most part) no one gets hurt and no one has ever lost an eye and that's sayin' something. (I'm sure it's saying something I'm just not sure what exactly, but it's sayin' somethin'.)
As for the actual fourth. Well, it was a Wednesday. Not much a person can do when I, along with everyone else, has to work before and after and I have to move in a few weeks. So. I worked on my tan, read "1984" and "Sex, Drugs, and Coco-Puffs," (good combo of reading material) packed, watched a marathon of "Monk," ordered a pizza, drank beer, watched the various fireworks from my balcony. It was actually quiet lovely. Boring. Perhaps. But relaxing.
How about you?
Oh. Sorry about the no, dorking. I'll catch you next week. Promise.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Master plans
Master plans are funny in that I like to pretend that I actually have control over my life and that I am actually indeed, master of my own life plans and stress. Yeah. Hee-larious. So, a quick update.
I was going to go up to my new place around August 1st to drop off applications for jobs and such.
My last day of work was going to be August 8th. (Work is very, very sad to see me go and several people won't even talk about my move or me leaving. Ah, feel the love.)
I was planning to move out of my current place the weekend of August 10th.
Grad school starts August 20th. Thus giving me about two weeks to settle myself and find employment, de-stress, become acquainted with the new surroundings and of being far from home.
Oh, wise readers you see where this update is headed? That's right. I made a Master Plan and the gods laughed and called me foolish.
My current landlords called and left me a message last Tuesday, the 26th, asking if they could show my apartment to a property manager because, and I quote, "my place is always so cute, clean, nice, and tidy..." after a quick scan of my apartment there wasn't anything cute, clean, nice or tidy about my apartment as I hadn't really been home and I had already started to pack and throw things out. My apartment was more in the, "hurl, throw, toss, disheveled" state. I call and leave a message as such and also give my notice stating I will be out no later than August 12. That would be six weeks of vacate notice. I didn't hear anything so I thought I was golden.
Oh, dear wise readers do you see the foreshadowing?
Yep. With my rent envelope that was in my door on Friday (that would be three days after my message) there was a note that read...and I quote: "FYI, you can only give notice on the first of the month. If you can give notice on July 1st and then you have until July 31st to vacate. If you give notice on August 1st you have until August 31st to vacate. There is no rent refund unless your apartment is rented during that time."
...and let the fuming begin. I received her note after 7p.m. on Friday. A.k.a. past any time when I could do anything about the vacate date. I fumed all day Friday. I let it go on Saturday. (See previous post.) Let it go for part of the day on Sunday (see previous post and add in a hang-over.) started to re-fume about it Sunday night and most of yesterday. When I say "fume" I mean, stress. What the crap-oroni am I supposed to do? I can't move to my new place, I can't leave work early, I am NOT paying $1200 in rent for the month of August (rent for both places.) And yes, I know. Just look at my lease agreement, right? Excellent point. Here's why I can't. About two weeks ago, in my little pro-active state, I went through all of my important papers and threw them all out. I put them in a (HUGE) paper sack to burn. I still have the (HUGE) paper sack, but what was an organized mess is now just a (HUGE) mess and I haven't been able to go through the sack of papers and the clock is ticking for me to give my notice.
Finally around 2:00 yesterday I called The Mom.
I will move home for two weeks and then move to the new place. Yep. Lucky me. I get to move twice. Twice within two weeks to be exact. My five weeks has magically turned into three and everything that I was doing at a leisurely pace has gone into warp speed and my plan for a stress-less transition, yeah. The gods are laughing. I am now moving out on the 28th and again on the 11th.
My plan to drop off job applications around the 1st to beat the rush of other applicants has been 86'd as I will now be moving. (Who needs a job? Green backs? Bah! I laugh at your paper money!)
Oh, just for shits and giggles, there is a super-major tiff going on with my step-siblings and my mom and step-dad. (See previous post where step-siblings leave in a huff and I am glad about it.) Basically something that should have been dealt with 10+ years ago with a band-aid is now in hemorrhage mode and imploding all over the place. Yah! I get to move home and be in the middle of it for two weeks during one of the most stressful times of my life...yah!
Why is my life stressful? I am currently: Working four jobs. Yes, four. (technically I have five, but one is currently on hiatus.) Taking two classes, and trying to move. Trying to move to a new apartment, new city, new school, away from the family and trying to sell, pack, and throw-out as much as I possibly can.
Ouch. My chest just clinched. I think I need to throw another rocket into a tree and drink more beer and say, "Pretty" when things explode. I.E. tomorrow.
I was going to go up to my new place around August 1st to drop off applications for jobs and such.
My last day of work was going to be August 8th. (Work is very, very sad to see me go and several people won't even talk about my move or me leaving. Ah, feel the love.)
I was planning to move out of my current place the weekend of August 10th.
Grad school starts August 20th. Thus giving me about two weeks to settle myself and find employment, de-stress, become acquainted with the new surroundings and of being far from home.
Oh, wise readers you see where this update is headed? That's right. I made a Master Plan and the gods laughed and called me foolish.
My current landlords called and left me a message last Tuesday, the 26th, asking if they could show my apartment to a property manager because, and I quote, "my place is always so cute, clean, nice, and tidy..." after a quick scan of my apartment there wasn't anything cute, clean, nice or tidy about my apartment as I hadn't really been home and I had already started to pack and throw things out. My apartment was more in the, "hurl, throw, toss, disheveled" state. I call and leave a message as such and also give my notice stating I will be out no later than August 12. That would be six weeks of vacate notice. I didn't hear anything so I thought I was golden.
Oh, dear wise readers do you see the foreshadowing?
Yep. With my rent envelope that was in my door on Friday (that would be three days after my message) there was a note that read...and I quote: "FYI, you can only give notice on the first of the month. If you can give notice on July 1st and then you have until July 31st to vacate. If you give notice on August 1st you have until August 31st to vacate. There is no rent refund unless your apartment is rented during that time."
...and let the fuming begin. I received her note after 7p.m. on Friday. A.k.a. past any time when I could do anything about the vacate date. I fumed all day Friday. I let it go on Saturday. (See previous post.) Let it go for part of the day on Sunday (see previous post and add in a hang-over.) started to re-fume about it Sunday night and most of yesterday. When I say "fume" I mean, stress. What the crap-oroni am I supposed to do? I can't move to my new place, I can't leave work early, I am NOT paying $1200 in rent for the month of August (rent for both places.) And yes, I know. Just look at my lease agreement, right? Excellent point. Here's why I can't. About two weeks ago, in my little pro-active state, I went through all of my important papers and threw them all out. I put them in a (HUGE) paper sack to burn. I still have the (HUGE) paper sack, but what was an organized mess is now just a (HUGE) mess and I haven't been able to go through the sack of papers and the clock is ticking for me to give my notice.
Finally around 2:00 yesterday I called The Mom.
I will move home for two weeks and then move to the new place. Yep. Lucky me. I get to move twice. Twice within two weeks to be exact. My five weeks has magically turned into three and everything that I was doing at a leisurely pace has gone into warp speed and my plan for a stress-less transition, yeah. The gods are laughing. I am now moving out on the 28th and again on the 11th.
My plan to drop off job applications around the 1st to beat the rush of other applicants has been 86'd as I will now be moving. (Who needs a job? Green backs? Bah! I laugh at your paper money!)
Oh, just for shits and giggles, there is a super-major tiff going on with my step-siblings and my mom and step-dad. (See previous post where step-siblings leave in a huff and I am glad about it.) Basically something that should have been dealt with 10+ years ago with a band-aid is now in hemorrhage mode and imploding all over the place. Yah! I get to move home and be in the middle of it for two weeks during one of the most stressful times of my life...yah!
Why is my life stressful? I am currently: Working four jobs. Yes, four. (technically I have five, but one is currently on hiatus.) Taking two classes, and trying to move. Trying to move to a new apartment, new city, new school, away from the family and trying to sell, pack, and throw-out as much as I possibly can.
Ouch. My chest just clinched. I think I need to throw another rocket into a tree and drink more beer and say, "Pretty" when things explode. I.E. tomorrow.
Monday, July 02, 2007
beer makes you smarter
...and here's proof.
This past weekend we had a family BBQ. Brothers, sister-in-laws, niece and nephew, parents. Lots o' food, lots o' booze, lots o' things to explode when the sun went to bed; basically it was a typical get-together. Something happened with my step-sister (idiot) and my mom (wonderful) so she (idiot) and step-brother (okay) left with his wife (super-duper idiot) before the night really got going. (I was fine with this. When idiot and super-duper idiot aren't there, the night it usually more enjoyable.) Anyway. So we (brothers, sister-in-law (cool) and niece (teenager) and nephew (looks like Mac from the cartoon "Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends") along with myself are shooting off water balloons, water rockets, and all things that go- Boom! and are followed by-"Pretty."
The water rocket lodged itself in a tree (as it does every year.) So we did what any family would do (who has been drinking) we proceed to throw things at the rocket (in the tree) to try and dislodge it. (What could go wrong?) We start by throwing water balloons. When I say "throwing" I mean we are professional water balloon launchers so we are using a water balloon launching slingshot (of course) to aid in our aim and projectile force at the rocket (we.are.geniuses.) This goes on for several hours. (No, really. Several hours) all the while the cars going down the street are slowing down to see why two teenagers (niece and her friend) one child (Mac) and four adults (two brothers,(one older, one younger) sister-in-law, (the cool one) and myself) (awesomeness) are staring up at a tree and throwing things at it. So to aid in our amusement- whoever isn't throwing an object at the top of the (extremely tall tree)(because we all took turns to aid in the hilarity) (I throw like a girl) stands and stares straight-up and points (ala it's a bird, it's a plane, it's Superman) this slows the motorists even more, they point, and we laugh hysterically at our wit and charm.
So, we spend about three hours amusing ourselves (we're simple folk. And just in case it hasn't been assumed by now, we had beer in our hands and we had been drinking for awhile.) I felt my IQ drop significantly throughout the day and I was taking bets on how long it would take before the football became lodged in the tree along with the rocket. (About an hour.)
Crap! Now what can we throw?
Why, a plastic bucket of course! The one that had all of the (now gone) water balloons in it. (Your IQ may be low if...) Yep. That lasted until the handle wouldn't stay on the bucket any longer and we now had an audience of neighbor kids sitting in their yards staring at the adults (they, and we, we're amused by this.) Once the bucket broke we were about to end the night when I suggested we break out the potato gun. (It's just what it sounds like. Tubing that launches potatoes.) It was pointed out that the potato would cause a hole in the rocket. (Excellent observation.) Cow pies? (No cows. No pies.) Hmmm. I notice the neighbor has landscaping rocks in her yard. I also noticed that the neighbors front blinds are now open, when three hours ago they were closed. (Foiled!) I know! I'll see if mom has any vegetables I can throw.
She does!
I gather a sack of onions, potatoes, and limes (oh my!) and we proceed to throw these at the rocket. We had a few cars stop. We even had a few that did a U-turn to see what we were up to. We did not have any cars that offered to help us. (Shocking!) When night fell and we still hadn't managed to dislodge the rocket (or the football) (Stuck on the same branch, by the way) we called it a night. Well, then we decided to change our course and we started to blow things up. The night lasted well past two a.m. and there is a lot more to the story, however, it's about other IQ's that were lowered so that's for another day.
When I went over to my 'rents house on Sunday mom pointed out that the carnage of onions, potatoes, and limes (oh my!) that were left in the yard really didn't smell so good. (something about heat and humidity, I'm sure) but the rocket fell out of the tree.(all by itself!) The football has not. Eh, it just leaves us something to amuse ourselves with at the next family gathering.
This past weekend we had a family BBQ. Brothers, sister-in-laws, niece and nephew, parents. Lots o' food, lots o' booze, lots o' things to explode when the sun went to bed; basically it was a typical get-together. Something happened with my step-sister (idiot) and my mom (wonderful) so she (idiot) and step-brother (okay) left with his wife (super-duper idiot) before the night really got going. (I was fine with this. When idiot and super-duper idiot aren't there, the night it usually more enjoyable.) Anyway. So we (brothers, sister-in-law (cool) and niece (teenager) and nephew (looks like Mac from the cartoon "Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends") along with myself are shooting off water balloons, water rockets, and all things that go- Boom! and are followed by-"Pretty."
The water rocket lodged itself in a tree (as it does every year.) So we did what any family would do (who has been drinking) we proceed to throw things at the rocket (in the tree) to try and dislodge it. (What could go wrong?) We start by throwing water balloons. When I say "throwing" I mean we are professional water balloon launchers so we are using a water balloon launching slingshot (of course) to aid in our aim and projectile force at the rocket (we.are.geniuses.) This goes on for several hours. (No, really. Several hours) all the while the cars going down the street are slowing down to see why two teenagers (niece and her friend) one child (Mac) and four adults (two brothers,(one older, one younger) sister-in-law, (the cool one) and myself) (awesomeness) are staring up at a tree and throwing things at it. So to aid in our amusement- whoever isn't throwing an object at the top of the (extremely tall tree)(because we all took turns to aid in the hilarity) (I throw like a girl) stands and stares straight-up and points (ala it's a bird, it's a plane, it's Superman) this slows the motorists even more, they point, and we laugh hysterically at our wit and charm.
So, we spend about three hours amusing ourselves (we're simple folk. And just in case it hasn't been assumed by now, we had beer in our hands and we had been drinking for awhile.) I felt my IQ drop significantly throughout the day and I was taking bets on how long it would take before the football became lodged in the tree along with the rocket. (About an hour.)
Crap! Now what can we throw?
Why, a plastic bucket of course! The one that had all of the (now gone) water balloons in it. (Your IQ may be low if...) Yep. That lasted until the handle wouldn't stay on the bucket any longer and we now had an audience of neighbor kids sitting in their yards staring at the adults (they, and we, we're amused by this.) Once the bucket broke we were about to end the night when I suggested we break out the potato gun. (It's just what it sounds like. Tubing that launches potatoes.) It was pointed out that the potato would cause a hole in the rocket. (Excellent observation.) Cow pies? (No cows. No pies.) Hmmm. I notice the neighbor has landscaping rocks in her yard. I also noticed that the neighbors front blinds are now open, when three hours ago they were closed. (Foiled!) I know! I'll see if mom has any vegetables I can throw.
She does!
I gather a sack of onions, potatoes, and limes (oh my!) and we proceed to throw these at the rocket. We had a few cars stop. We even had a few that did a U-turn to see what we were up to. We did not have any cars that offered to help us. (Shocking!) When night fell and we still hadn't managed to dislodge the rocket (or the football) (Stuck on the same branch, by the way) we called it a night. Well, then we decided to change our course and we started to blow things up. The night lasted well past two a.m. and there is a lot more to the story, however, it's about other IQ's that were lowered so that's for another day.
When I went over to my 'rents house on Sunday mom pointed out that the carnage of onions, potatoes, and limes (oh my!) that were left in the yard really didn't smell so good. (something about heat and humidity, I'm sure) but the rocket fell out of the tree.(all by itself!) The football has not. Eh, it just leaves us something to amuse ourselves with at the next family gathering.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Free boob job! Get your free boob job here!
Flipping through the local paper the other day I saw an add promoting the wonderfully educational program known as "Girls Gone Wild." A premise that is missed on me. Lots and lots of girls who are, I am assuming, wishful, and hopeful, that they are drunk thus they can't control their urge to flash their breaststeses at the camera and a guy has made gazillions from it, once again showing how wonderfully smart, and bright our young ladies are shown to be. Alrighty. Opps, soapbox moment.
Anyway, half of the ad was a huge promo stating that some lucky lady could win a free boob job! Now. "Free" and "Boob job" are two words (or three words. I guess it depends on how you take the word "job") that I think belong together. I'm also sure some lucky (or unlucky) lady will walk away with silicone disks in her chest (hopefully they will end up straight, pointy and perky) and she will call herself happy. (Or Bunny. Or Crystal Chandelier. Or Champagne Showers.)
But, this got me wondering what I would be willing to do to fix myself and then it go me to wonder what you all would do to fix yourselves.
Me, first.
The thought of sticking something unnatural, ala silicon, in my body isn't a pleasant thought. After watching several boob jobs being performed on health and science shows, Yawza! I don't really want my areola cut off and then stuffed like a Thanksgiving day turkey, but that's me. Doesn't mean I never would if the need so arises, just not my first choice. Maybe having the procedure through my belly button, but not stuffed like a bird.
Liposuction. Yeah. That looks painful. An instrument being jabbed and stabbed into my flesh. Hmm. I'll pass.
Basically I'm all for the non-evasive, non-pain filled procedures that won't cause me pain or any recovery time.
Here's my list:
Professional teeth whitening. I love those little stripes. I'm a big fan of my whitening toothpaste, all for the tarter control (which how much tarter does the mass public have on their teeth? I mean they are always improving the tarter control. Sheesh. Brush, people, brush.) but I would love to go and have it professionally done.
Lasik eye surgery. The thought of having a razor blade coming at my eyeball is a bit disconcerting. The fact that I would have to be awake during it makes me shake. The fact that I would be awake and thus would see the razor blade coming at my eyeball? That freaks me out. However, being able to see first thing in the morning is definitely something I didn't fully appreciate when it was possible to do so; you know, before Corporate America and the computer robbed me of that simple joy and pleasure. So if I have to endure a razor blade coming at my open eyeball so I can see when I stumble out of bed, then so be it.
Permanent hair removal. Everywhere but my head (the big one, not the little one) and my eyebrows. Why? I hate hair and I would like that five minutes back in the morning.
Yeah. That's pretty much it. I know, boring. But with my luck I would do something crazy and not look like myself or I would cause permanent damage to myself in some horrible and horrific way and be stuck with my vanity mistake forever. So, I'll stick with boring. How about you all?
Anyway, half of the ad was a huge promo stating that some lucky lady could win a free boob job! Now. "Free" and "Boob job" are two words (or three words. I guess it depends on how you take the word "job") that I think belong together. I'm also sure some lucky (or unlucky) lady will walk away with silicone disks in her chest (hopefully they will end up straight, pointy and perky) and she will call herself happy. (Or Bunny. Or Crystal Chandelier. Or Champagne Showers.)
But, this got me wondering what I would be willing to do to fix myself and then it go me to wonder what you all would do to fix yourselves.
Me, first.
The thought of sticking something unnatural, ala silicon, in my body isn't a pleasant thought. After watching several boob jobs being performed on health and science shows, Yawza! I don't really want my areola cut off and then stuffed like a Thanksgiving day turkey, but that's me. Doesn't mean I never would if the need so arises, just not my first choice. Maybe having the procedure through my belly button, but not stuffed like a bird.
Liposuction. Yeah. That looks painful. An instrument being jabbed and stabbed into my flesh. Hmm. I'll pass.
Basically I'm all for the non-evasive, non-pain filled procedures that won't cause me pain or any recovery time.
Here's my list:
Professional teeth whitening. I love those little stripes. I'm a big fan of my whitening toothpaste, all for the tarter control (which how much tarter does the mass public have on their teeth? I mean they are always improving the tarter control. Sheesh. Brush, people, brush.) but I would love to go and have it professionally done.
Lasik eye surgery. The thought of having a razor blade coming at my eyeball is a bit disconcerting. The fact that I would have to be awake during it makes me shake. The fact that I would be awake and thus would see the razor blade coming at my eyeball? That freaks me out. However, being able to see first thing in the morning is definitely something I didn't fully appreciate when it was possible to do so; you know, before Corporate America and the computer robbed me of that simple joy and pleasure. So if I have to endure a razor blade coming at my open eyeball so I can see when I stumble out of bed, then so be it.
Permanent hair removal. Everywhere but my head (the big one, not the little one) and my eyebrows. Why? I hate hair and I would like that five minutes back in the morning.
Yeah. That's pretty much it. I know, boring. But with my luck I would do something crazy and not look like myself or I would cause permanent damage to myself in some horrible and horrific way and be stuck with my vanity mistake forever. So, I'll stick with boring. How about you all?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
inner dork: all things food-ish
Yah! Yippee! Yah-who! Gather round boys and girls, it's time for another interesting edition of useless information! (...and the crowd goes wild!)
Did you know...
Carbonated water, with nothing else in it, can disolsve limestone, talc, and many other hard minerals. Coincidentally, carbonated water is the main ingredient in soda pop.
(Or just pop.)
(Or just soda.)
(Are you a pop, or a soda person?)
Coca-cola was originally green.
(Yeah, and it also cured headaches and tiredness in a most peculiar way.)
Seven percent of Americans eat McDonald's everyday.
(Burp.)
(That's just icky.)
McDonald's in New Zealand serves apricot pies instead of cherry pies.
(What? No kiwi?)
Astronauts are not allowed to eat beans before they go into space because passing wind in a space suit damages it.
(Just take Bean-o and there will be no gas.)
(...and if a fart will damage a space suit I really have to question the integrity of the space suit.)
A full 7% of the entire Irish barley crop goes to the production of Guinness beer.
(And God bless.)
The liquid inside young coconuts can be used as a substitute for blood plasma in an emergency.
(I hear the vampires like the change in taste as well.)
Beer foam will go down if you lick your finger and then stick it in the beer.
(So will wiping sweat from your brow. I'm not saying this trick was used when I was first learning the waitressing biz, I'm just sayin' that's where I first heard about it.)
Nutmeg is extremely poisonous if injected intravenously.
(Other than a member of Motley Crue, who would do that?)
(Or know that?)
Chewing gum while peeling onions will keep you from crying.
(No it won't.)
(Neither will holding an unlit match in your mouth)
(A piece of bread in your mouth)
(Or anything else in your mouth.)
(If the onion is powerful, the tears will be plentiful.)
(Speaking of tears and onions: When I was in the restaurant biz I once chopped an onion that was so powerful I couldn't open my eyes for several minutes. The tears were just a streamin' down my face.)
Vikings used the skulls of their enemies as drinking vessels.
(Cheers to Erik!)
(And Lief!)
(And Thore!)
(And! I'm out of Viking names, so anyone Viking-ish, cheers to them!)
Until next week boys and girls!
Did you know...
Carbonated water, with nothing else in it, can disolsve limestone, talc, and many other hard minerals. Coincidentally, carbonated water is the main ingredient in soda pop.
(Or just pop.)
(Or just soda.)
(Are you a pop, or a soda person?)
Coca-cola was originally green.
(Yeah, and it also cured headaches and tiredness in a most peculiar way.)
Seven percent of Americans eat McDonald's everyday.
(Burp.)
(That's just icky.)
McDonald's in New Zealand serves apricot pies instead of cherry pies.
(What? No kiwi?)
Astronauts are not allowed to eat beans before they go into space because passing wind in a space suit damages it.
(Just take Bean-o and there will be no gas.)
(...and if a fart will damage a space suit I really have to question the integrity of the space suit.)
A full 7% of the entire Irish barley crop goes to the production of Guinness beer.
(And God bless.)
The liquid inside young coconuts can be used as a substitute for blood plasma in an emergency.
(I hear the vampires like the change in taste as well.)
Beer foam will go down if you lick your finger and then stick it in the beer.
(So will wiping sweat from your brow. I'm not saying this trick was used when I was first learning the waitressing biz, I'm just sayin' that's where I first heard about it.)
Nutmeg is extremely poisonous if injected intravenously.
(Other than a member of Motley Crue, who would do that?)
(Or know that?)
Chewing gum while peeling onions will keep you from crying.
(No it won't.)
(Neither will holding an unlit match in your mouth)
(A piece of bread in your mouth)
(Or anything else in your mouth.)
(If the onion is powerful, the tears will be plentiful.)
(Speaking of tears and onions: When I was in the restaurant biz I once chopped an onion that was so powerful I couldn't open my eyes for several minutes. The tears were just a streamin' down my face.)
Vikings used the skulls of their enemies as drinking vessels.
(Cheers to Erik!)
(And Lief!)
(And Thore!)
(And! I'm out of Viking names, so anyone Viking-ish, cheers to them!)
Until next week boys and girls!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
the lobster song
It's an early inner dork.
No fear. There will be another one tomorrow. I know. You're all tingly with anticpation. Yes. That is what that tingle is.
The info is good and fun, but listen to the song. That's just pure, good, wholesome, uselessness info.
avoid the bisque
No fear. There will be another one tomorrow. I know. You're all tingly with anticpation. Yes. That is what that tingle is.
The info is good and fun, but listen to the song. That's just pure, good, wholesome, uselessness info.
avoid the bisque
Monday, June 25, 2007
The power of words
Karl asked me to guest blog over at his place, so I did. (And I did feel special for being asked.) This is the post I wrote. I thought I would share.
We all know words have power. They invoke feelings, memories, images, thoughts. It can be everything from:
I love you. I like you. You disgust me. I hate you. A New York City taxi cab. Fenway Park. Hello. Ugh! I hate math! Strawberry Fields. Greece. Spaghetti sauce. Jelly Beans. Vagina. Penis. Fun parts. Condom.
Every single one of those can be connected to something and invoke a reaction from someone, somewhere. But what I have been finding more and more interesting is the power of words and how, we as a society are changing them and how we are making words more powerful or less powerful by the way we are changing them. I've thought about this for a long time and I've had numerous conversations with people about the topic, but when I really noticed a change within society was during the whole Imus hub-bub. (And no. This isn't going to be about him or what he said.) After he made his comment, and we know all to well what it was, society suddenly started referring to words such as "bitch" as "the b-word." Faggot became "the f-word." Slut became "the s-word." And of course the n-word has been around for sometime. But, by changing something and referring to a word by a letter and then adding "word" to it, are we making it more or less powerful? Are we adding to it or taking the power away from it? Most importantly, do we just look like idiots when we say it?
Words change and evolve over time. Fact of language. Faggot used to refer to fire kindling and later referred to the butt of a cigarette, it has evolved to mean homosexual. How a word goes from one to other, who knows. Slang, maybe? Bitch referred to a female dog, now it means an aggressive or bad-ass female, and it has a typically negative connotation. (Interesting.) I also can't help but wonder what other societies and countries must think of us, but that's a side note. Personally I have a very difficult time saying, nigger. Even during my African-American classes when it was appropriate to say during a discussion I had difficulty. Why? It's just one word. One simple word. What is the big deal? Well, society and my upbringing has taught me it is wrong and hurtful to use that word, therefore I don't. I don't say, bitch around those who I know would find it offensive and the same for the word, fuck. I don't call my gay friends, faggot. I refer to them as "my gays." But even gay has taken on a new meaning. Gay now refers to things that are queer. Queer now means: stupid, lame, dumb, idiotic. Remember when gay used to just mean, happy? And is the "f-word" now going to mean faggot and no longer mean, fuck? And is faggot going to be more offensive to say than the word fuck? Will "fuck" be all over TV and radio, but faggot will go back in the closet?
So, if I have a problem saying, "nigger" and I find saying "the n-word" to be ridiculous I guess I simply have to say, African-American, which perhaps is the point. But, to say "b-word," "s-word," and "f-word?" It just seems idiotic, stupid, and lame. In other words, it just seems queer.
We all know words have power. They invoke feelings, memories, images, thoughts. It can be everything from:
I love you. I like you. You disgust me. I hate you. A New York City taxi cab. Fenway Park. Hello. Ugh! I hate math! Strawberry Fields. Greece. Spaghetti sauce. Jelly Beans. Vagina. Penis. Fun parts. Condom.
Every single one of those can be connected to something and invoke a reaction from someone, somewhere. But what I have been finding more and more interesting is the power of words and how, we as a society are changing them and how we are making words more powerful or less powerful by the way we are changing them. I've thought about this for a long time and I've had numerous conversations with people about the topic, but when I really noticed a change within society was during the whole Imus hub-bub. (And no. This isn't going to be about him or what he said.) After he made his comment, and we know all to well what it was, society suddenly started referring to words such as "bitch" as "the b-word." Faggot became "the f-word." Slut became "the s-word." And of course the n-word has been around for sometime. But, by changing something and referring to a word by a letter and then adding "word" to it, are we making it more or less powerful? Are we adding to it or taking the power away from it? Most importantly, do we just look like idiots when we say it?
Words change and evolve over time. Fact of language. Faggot used to refer to fire kindling and later referred to the butt of a cigarette, it has evolved to mean homosexual. How a word goes from one to other, who knows. Slang, maybe? Bitch referred to a female dog, now it means an aggressive or bad-ass female, and it has a typically negative connotation. (Interesting.) I also can't help but wonder what other societies and countries must think of us, but that's a side note. Personally I have a very difficult time saying, nigger. Even during my African-American classes when it was appropriate to say during a discussion I had difficulty. Why? It's just one word. One simple word. What is the big deal? Well, society and my upbringing has taught me it is wrong and hurtful to use that word, therefore I don't. I don't say, bitch around those who I know would find it offensive and the same for the word, fuck. I don't call my gay friends, faggot. I refer to them as "my gays." But even gay has taken on a new meaning. Gay now refers to things that are queer. Queer now means: stupid, lame, dumb, idiotic. Remember when gay used to just mean, happy? And is the "f-word" now going to mean faggot and no longer mean, fuck? And is faggot going to be more offensive to say than the word fuck? Will "fuck" be all over TV and radio, but faggot will go back in the closet?
So, if I have a problem saying, "nigger" and I find saying "the n-word" to be ridiculous I guess I simply have to say, African-American, which perhaps is the point. But, to say "b-word," "s-word," and "f-word?" It just seems idiotic, stupid, and lame. In other words, it just seems queer.
Friday, June 22, 2007
always the safety girl
Last night I had an econ test.
A very icky econ test.
During the test it was apparent I needed a calculator.
Into my purse I go to fish out the digital-do-dad to help me complete my task.
Finding my calculator I pull it from my purse and place it on the table in front of me. I look down and discover that along with my digital do-hickey I also managed to pull out a condom. (Non-used.)
Yep.
Always the safety girl.
Because everything is about economics when you come right down to it.
Even safe sex.
This public service announcement brought to you by the Federal Reserve and Trojan latex condoms with lubrication.
A very icky econ test.
During the test it was apparent I needed a calculator.
Into my purse I go to fish out the digital-do-dad to help me complete my task.
Finding my calculator I pull it from my purse and place it on the table in front of me. I look down and discover that along with my digital do-hickey I also managed to pull out a condom. (Non-used.)
Yep.
Always the safety girl.
Because everything is about economics when you come right down to it.
Even safe sex.
This public service announcement brought to you by the Federal Reserve and Trojan latex condoms with lubrication.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
inner dork: things that make you go, huh?
All things odd, fascinating, interesting, and that make you tilt your head to the side like my dog does when she is puzzled and cornfused.
Did you know...
Mosquito repellents do not repel. They hide you. (Na-na-na-na. You can't see me.) The spray blocks the mosquito's sensors so they do not know you are there.
(Bzz. Bzz. I can smell the blood, but I cannot see the blood. Bzz. I am so confused.)
(Side note: if you don't like spraying chemicals on you, such as OFF! attach a dryer sheet to a fan (using a clothespin and attaching the sheet to the outer plastic covering) and it naturally repels flys and all things which suck blood (or just suck) Honest. It totally works. Plus, no deadly chemicals on you. Ah. Nice.)
The holes in flyswatters are used to lower air resistance.
(...and that's why I prefer a rolled up newspaper.)
Scotch tape has been used as an anti-corrosive shield on the Goodyear Blimp.
(Wow. Don't know about you, but boy I feel safe knowing that. I mean Scotch tape holds all things that are strong and durable, like paper, so a flying object just makes sense.)
The side of a hammer is called a cheek.
(Which makes sense because it is next to the nose.)
The average woman consumes six pounds of lipstick in her lifetime.
(Burp. I wonder how much Lipsmacker the average women consumes?)
(And how much men consume)
Mixing Sani-Flush and Comet cleaners has been known to cause explosions.
(Raise your hand if you're thinking of testing this one out. C'mon. Limpy, Phollower I see the wheels a turnin'.)
People in China (So, Chinese people) sometimes use firecrackers around their homes as fire alarms.
(*Turns head to the side and says, "huh?"* Can someone explain that one to me?) Oooooooohhhhhhhhhhh. Duh. I was totally thinking burglar alarm. Duh. Okay. I got it. Fire would make it go Boom!) (Thanks) (Did I mention I just gradumated?) (And I'm off to grad school?) (Wish me luck.)
Some Eskimos have been known to use refrigerators to keep their food from freezing.
(Okay. Who is picturing a Frigidaire in a ice hut? Uh, who?)
A typical double mattress contains as many as two million house dust mites.
(So how many are in a non-typical mattress?)
(Oh. And ew.)
Did you know...
Mosquito repellents do not repel. They hide you. (Na-na-na-na. You can't see me.) The spray blocks the mosquito's sensors so they do not know you are there.
(Bzz. Bzz. I can smell the blood, but I cannot see the blood. Bzz. I am so confused.)
(Side note: if you don't like spraying chemicals on you, such as OFF! attach a dryer sheet to a fan (using a clothespin and attaching the sheet to the outer plastic covering) and it naturally repels flys and all things which suck blood (or just suck) Honest. It totally works. Plus, no deadly chemicals on you. Ah. Nice.)
The holes in flyswatters are used to lower air resistance.
(...and that's why I prefer a rolled up newspaper.)
Scotch tape has been used as an anti-corrosive shield on the Goodyear Blimp.
(Wow. Don't know about you, but boy I feel safe knowing that. I mean Scotch tape holds all things that are strong and durable, like paper, so a flying object just makes sense.)
The side of a hammer is called a cheek.
(Which makes sense because it is next to the nose.)
The average woman consumes six pounds of lipstick in her lifetime.
(Burp. I wonder how much Lipsmacker the average women consumes?)
(And how much men consume)
Mixing Sani-Flush and Comet cleaners has been known to cause explosions.
(Raise your hand if you're thinking of testing this one out. C'mon. Limpy, Phollower I see the wheels a turnin'.)
People in China (So, Chinese people) sometimes use firecrackers around their homes as fire alarms.
(*Turns head to the side and says, "huh?"* Can someone explain that one to me?) Oooooooohhhhhhhhhhh. Duh. I was totally thinking burglar alarm. Duh. Okay. I got it. Fire would make it go Boom!) (Thanks) (Did I mention I just gradumated?) (And I'm off to grad school?) (Wish me luck.)
Some Eskimos have been known to use refrigerators to keep their food from freezing.
(Okay. Who is picturing a Frigidaire in a ice hut? Uh, who?)
A typical double mattress contains as many as two million house dust mites.
(So how many are in a non-typical mattress?)
(Oh. And ew.)
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
where all my brain cells went
The other day (actually about 9 months ago, but that's not the point of the story and I am feeling all comedian-like) I was listening to the radio and the DJ was talking about the Ramones and seeing them in concert. At the mention of "Ramones" and "concert" my mind wandered off, as it tends to do, and I got to thinking about how cool it would have been to see them in concert. (For those of you who don't know, a few of the Ramones are d-e-a-d. Some of you may argue that they were d-e-a-d to begin with, but keep it to yourself.) Okay. So, I was thinking, "Man. That would have been an awesome concert. Oh well." (I didn't say it was a deep thought I had. It was on the way to work, so it was a early, pre-morning-coffee thought.) Then the DJ mentioned Rage Against the Machine. Again, my mind wanders to, "Wow. Cool. Wish I would-have..." and it goes from there. Then the DJ mentioned Lollapalooza. Then he mentions 1996. Then my mind wanders back to 1996, (Not hard since in my head, for what ever reason, I believe it to be perpetually 1996.) and I realized I was there. Naw. Couldn't have been. Surely I would remember seeing The Ramones and Rage. Naw. That thought process continued for a few minutes. It continued until I remember what 1996 was like for me. It continues until I realize who I was dating and what 1996 was and what all of the Lollapalooza concerts were like for me.
Lollapalooza 1996 consisted of: My boyfriend who is now affectionately known as, Dip Shit, and he sold pot. Lots of pot. Lots and lots and lots of pot. Bricks. Bricks of pot. Pounds. Lots 'o pot. So I was stoned a lot. A LOT. If I wasn't at work or needing to do something productive there was a bowl in my hand and it wasn't of cereal. Well, maybe later in the day it contained cereal. Or brownie batter. Or ice cream. Or spaghetti sauce. Cheese. Something good that triggered the taste buds and never tasted so gooooooood. OKay, so that day (Lollapalooza) consisted of: he and I driving to the concert. Me, tucking an 1/8, it might have even been a 1/4, along the underwire of one boob and the pipe along the underwire of my other boob and then having him feel me up to see if he could feel or detect it. Nope.) (Good boobage.) I also remember making the comment that if they felt me up that good then they owed me something more than a beer. (Much like the airport security guard in Frankfurt). Into the concert we go. Smoke all of the pot and drink beer all day while sitting in a dirt-filled arena all while sitting in the hot, hot sun. Share and pass pot amongst the other concert goers, therefore smoking even more pot. Make numerous trips to the bathroom to pee. Have mad wild dirty (literally) drunken high sex at some point during the afternoon. Return home to take a shower. Go out later that night, and repeat all of the above.
...drift back to present day. Hmmm. Yep. Don't remember any of the bands that played that day, but it was an awesome concert.
Sometime I'll post about the many other concert going experiences. All good. I saw a bunch of up and coming bands when they truly rocked and were actually affordable to see.
Lollapalooza 1996 consisted of: My boyfriend who is now affectionately known as, Dip Shit, and he sold pot. Lots of pot. Lots and lots and lots of pot. Bricks. Bricks of pot. Pounds. Lots 'o pot. So I was stoned a lot. A LOT. If I wasn't at work or needing to do something productive there was a bowl in my hand and it wasn't of cereal. Well, maybe later in the day it contained cereal. Or brownie batter. Or ice cream. Or spaghetti sauce. Cheese. Something good that triggered the taste buds and never tasted so gooooooood. OKay, so that day (Lollapalooza) consisted of: he and I driving to the concert. Me, tucking an 1/8, it might have even been a 1/4, along the underwire of one boob and the pipe along the underwire of my other boob and then having him feel me up to see if he could feel or detect it. Nope.) (Good boobage.) I also remember making the comment that if they felt me up that good then they owed me something more than a beer. (Much like the airport security guard in Frankfurt). Into the concert we go. Smoke all of the pot and drink beer all day while sitting in a dirt-filled arena all while sitting in the hot, hot sun. Share and pass pot amongst the other concert goers, therefore smoking even more pot. Make numerous trips to the bathroom to pee. Have mad wild dirty (literally) drunken high sex at some point during the afternoon. Return home to take a shower. Go out later that night, and repeat all of the above.
...drift back to present day. Hmmm. Yep. Don't remember any of the bands that played that day, but it was an awesome concert.
Sometime I'll post about the many other concert going experiences. All good. I saw a bunch of up and coming bands when they truly rocked and were actually affordable to see.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
just askin'
Does anyone else think, the new reality TV series, "Pirate Master" just sounds like a cheesy porno?
..Or just a porno?
..Or just a porno?
my big, big day
Friday was my big, big day. My interview for grad school, duh. Don't you guys pay attention? Sheesh.
Anywho.
So, I took the day off work, something I never do, had a leisurely morning (what's that?) and then drove up to Medium State U (whoo-hoo!) Stopped at my friend's house (So cool. So married.) and then he went with me to show me where the office and buildings were located.
My big, big interview consisted of: "You have really impressive credentials and we are very happy to have you in our program. We look forward to you joining us in the fall." (Camera turns to focus on me looking like a drunk girl caught in the headlights of an oncoming car and suddenly realizes my mouth is agape. Shut mouth. Say, thank you and I'm looking forward to it as well.)
Jenkies.
Twenty minutes later and I am told what classes I need to take (!) and that I need to talk to the Political Science department to register for two of them because pre-reqs are required, but they are waiving those for me. (Yippee!)
I walk over, register for my classes (13 credits this fall. Eck! Four grad and one undergrad (pre-req, not waived. Poop stain.) my friend gives me a tour of campus and I am off to look at housing.
The grad housing left me feeling dirty and needing a shower in a most desperate and not in a good fun way. More in a, holy hell! They expect me to live in this?!?!?! Type of way. One is about 460 sq ft (for a two-bedroom) and the entire thing is made from cement block (inside and out. Think GI Bill, post WWII, housing.) One is affectionately referred to as "the ant farm" cause that is what it resembles and pretty much how I felt after being inside. (Dirty and crawly.) After being really disappointed with all I decided to look at one that I had no desire to see. Of course. It is awesome. The biggest, cleanest, and when I saw the walk in closet in the master bedroom and I heard the angles sing. (Okay, the angels were me, but still.)
After walking around perusing the town and looking at places I could apply for employment come August, (bars, resturants, art stores, coffee shops, bars, bars, bars, coffee shops) I was feeling pretty good. A night of sitting on the porch drinking beer and talking about all things interesting, political, sexual, asinine, and worldly with my friend; I decided life is pretty good. (Then he told me his wife (who is in China) didn't know I would be staying the night and that he lied to her about me leaving and I was feeling awkward.) Several comments about getting naked and that I should stay in his bed because my room may be too hot, and I wasn't happy with the awkwardness.) (When I told him about my female lovin'- that probably didn't help the situation.)
I came home late Saturday afternoon and went to a family BBQ where no one asked me anything about my big, big weekend. (Whoo.) Wait, my sister-in-law asked me about the housing.(!) Yep. That was it. My mom asked me about my trip literally as I was leaving. (Special.) Not a word was asked until Monday afternoon when my mom called me at work. Aaaand I told her I felt about the lack of asking. She apologized and then asked me all kinds of things. Needless to say, (Why do we say that? If it's needless to say, then just leave it out of the sentence. Note to self.) I have gotten more kudos of awesomeness from all of you and from the people I work with than I have my family. (love, you) But, so it goes.
I go back up this Friday to look at a couple of apartments (hope, hope that they are awesome and what I want.) (Oh, because I am on the wait list for the grad housing where I heard the angels and the chances of me getting into them by August is slim to none.)
So, I have school all lined-up; now I just need shelter and a way to pay for the shelter and all the bills that come with the shelter and it will be all good. Between now and August 11th. That would be awesome.
Anywho.
So, I took the day off work, something I never do, had a leisurely morning (what's that?) and then drove up to Medium State U (whoo-hoo!) Stopped at my friend's house (So cool. So married.) and then he went with me to show me where the office and buildings were located.
My big, big interview consisted of: "You have really impressive credentials and we are very happy to have you in our program. We look forward to you joining us in the fall." (Camera turns to focus on me looking like a drunk girl caught in the headlights of an oncoming car and suddenly realizes my mouth is agape. Shut mouth. Say, thank you and I'm looking forward to it as well.)
Jenkies.
Twenty minutes later and I am told what classes I need to take (!) and that I need to talk to the Political Science department to register for two of them because pre-reqs are required, but they are waiving those for me. (Yippee!)
I walk over, register for my classes (13 credits this fall. Eck! Four grad and one undergrad (pre-req, not waived. Poop stain.) my friend gives me a tour of campus and I am off to look at housing.
The grad housing left me feeling dirty and needing a shower in a most desperate and not in a good fun way. More in a, holy hell! They expect me to live in this?!?!?! Type of way. One is about 460 sq ft (for a two-bedroom) and the entire thing is made from cement block (inside and out. Think GI Bill, post WWII, housing.) One is affectionately referred to as "the ant farm" cause that is what it resembles and pretty much how I felt after being inside. (Dirty and crawly.) After being really disappointed with all I decided to look at one that I had no desire to see. Of course. It is awesome. The biggest, cleanest, and when I saw the walk in closet in the master bedroom and I heard the angles sing. (Okay, the angels were me, but still.)
After walking around perusing the town and looking at places I could apply for employment come August, (bars, resturants, art stores, coffee shops, bars, bars, bars, coffee shops) I was feeling pretty good. A night of sitting on the porch drinking beer and talking about all things interesting, political, sexual, asinine, and worldly with my friend; I decided life is pretty good. (Then he told me his wife (who is in China) didn't know I would be staying the night and that he lied to her about me leaving and I was feeling awkward.) Several comments about getting naked and that I should stay in his bed because my room may be too hot, and I wasn't happy with the awkwardness.) (When I told him about my female lovin'- that probably didn't help the situation.)
I came home late Saturday afternoon and went to a family BBQ where no one asked me anything about my big, big weekend. (Whoo.) Wait, my sister-in-law asked me about the housing.(!) Yep. That was it. My mom asked me about my trip literally as I was leaving. (Special.) Not a word was asked until Monday afternoon when my mom called me at work. Aaaand I told her I felt about the lack of asking. She apologized and then asked me all kinds of things. Needless to say, (Why do we say that? If it's needless to say, then just leave it out of the sentence. Note to self.) I have gotten more kudos of awesomeness from all of you and from the people I work with than I have my family. (love, you) But, so it goes.
I go back up this Friday to look at a couple of apartments (hope, hope that they are awesome and what I want.) (Oh, because I am on the wait list for the grad housing where I heard the angels and the chances of me getting into them by August is slim to none.)
So, I have school all lined-up; now I just need shelter and a way to pay for the shelter and all the bills that come with the shelter and it will be all good. Between now and August 11th. That would be awesome.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
inner dork: lame duck
Whoo-hoo! Is it really time for another inner dork? You bet our lame duck president, it is!
Speaking of lame ducks, let me tell you how that phrase came about. (I know you're just dying to find out and be able to use it in a sentence later today.)
Did you know...
The term is used to describe an elected official who has been defeated, or by law cannot run again, or plans to retire thus their power has been diminished. The phrase apparently originated as slang on the London stock exchange, where it was used to describe a stock jobber or broker who could not make good on his losses and would "waddle out of the alley like a lame duck." (Those Brits, so clever!)
Abe Lincoln is sometimes credited with introducing the phrase to America. (Oh, good 'ol Abe. He was so honest.) When a defeated senator called on Lincoln and asked for a job s commissioner of Indian affairs, Lincoln was quoted as saying afterward, "I usually find that a Senator or Representative out of business is sort of a lame duck." (And sometimes to those who are still in office.) (*cough* Bush.)
Speaking of lame ducks, let me tell you how that phrase came about. (I know you're just dying to find out and be able to use it in a sentence later today.)
Did you know...
The term is used to describe an elected official who has been defeated, or by law cannot run again, or plans to retire thus their power has been diminished. The phrase apparently originated as slang on the London stock exchange, where it was used to describe a stock jobber or broker who could not make good on his losses and would "waddle out of the alley like a lame duck." (Those Brits, so clever!)
Abe Lincoln is sometimes credited with introducing the phrase to America. (Oh, good 'ol Abe. He was so honest.) When a defeated senator called on Lincoln and asked for a job s commissioner of Indian affairs, Lincoln was quoted as saying afterward, "I usually find that a Senator or Representative out of business is sort of a lame duck." (And sometimes to those who are still in office.) (*cough* Bush.)
Monday, June 11, 2007
I's got nothing
Or at least I feel like I have nothing to write about, hence the lack of writing.
Or, maybe I have too much to write about and I don't feel like taking the time to write it all out and explain.
I dunno.
It's definitely one of those.
So. I will give the Cliff notes version of what's up, what's new, what's old, and what's just generally been happening. Or not happening. That's for you to decide.
My "friend" Nick and I no longer talk to each other. Since my birthday disaster cry-fest where I was yelled at and belittled he never apologized nor has he tried to make contact with me. I called him after the incident and we talked for about 2.4 minutes. It is really interesting to see who your friends are in the end.
I finally downloaded the last of my pictures onto flickr. I hope to have the rest of Mykonos and NYC up for you all by the end of the week.
Because I know you're dying to see them.
Since returning from Greece I've been in a funk. Understandable, but blech.
I always knew I wanted to travel, but now I know that it is a need. I need to travel. It is a part of me. It is in me. It is not a want, but a need.
Therefore, I booked a trip to Budapest. I will be there the week of Thanksgiving. I booked it last week.
Mama was not thrilled about that news when I told her last night.
She'll get over it. Slowly, but she will.
The reason she wasn't happy is that her daughter (a.k.a. her only daughter. Her baby girl.) is moving away, thus the news that I wouldn't be home for a major holiday was not welcomed.
I go to my grad school interview with the director of the Public Policy program on Friday. Hopefully by then everything will be finalized and I can start to apply for housing and jobs.
I applied for scholarships and also tuition stipends. Cross fingers, pray to the gods, that those come through for me.
Because I have enough debt.
Between this job being over and grad school starting I will have less than two weeks to move, find a job, and start grad school.
That could be stressful if I let it be.
I am trying really hard not to let it be.
I really wish I wasn't taking classes this summer.
I am uberly burnt out on classes.
But I told them I would.
So. I am.
Although I love my job and the people I interact with everyday, it has become painfully obvious it is time to move on.
So, I am glad the job didn't come through for me.
Life is funny how it works out.
I've been getting regular updates from Mr. London.
I both love his emails.
And hate his emails.
I love hearing from him.
I hate that he loves it there.
This too shall pass.
(That I hate that he loves it there.)
After grad school I plan to join the Peace Corps.
Get back to me in two years, though. My life changes too quickly to really make that a firm commit.
After the 27 month minimum commitment I plan to work for the Peace Corps and eventually start my own organization.
I want to start an organization for women. Teaching them a trade or showing women that the skills they already have can make an income for themselves and for their families.
With the skills and income I hope to show that they then are a valuable contributor to the community and a vital part of the world and to their families, thus they are worth more than the cow on the hierarchy ladder.
I also would like to change the media images and messages women are shown and given here in the U.S. I think we are just as guilty of harming our women and causing permanent damage, we just do it in a much more subtle way.
I would like to start dating again.
Or at least have a boy toy.
But, I don't really want to commit the time and the amazing amounts of effort it takes to find someone who doesn't make me want to gouge my eyes out and kick myself in the head.
Plus, I will only be here for another two months.
Plus, the last couple relationships ended because of moves or transfers not coming through, ect. I don't need that drama a third time.
But, I would really like a summer fling.
Dilemmas.
Or, maybe I have too much to write about and I don't feel like taking the time to write it all out and explain.
I dunno.
It's definitely one of those.
So. I will give the Cliff notes version of what's up, what's new, what's old, and what's just generally been happening. Or not happening. That's for you to decide.
My "friend" Nick and I no longer talk to each other. Since my birthday disaster cry-fest where I was yelled at and belittled he never apologized nor has he tried to make contact with me. I called him after the incident and we talked for about 2.4 minutes. It is really interesting to see who your friends are in the end.
I finally downloaded the last of my pictures onto flickr. I hope to have the rest of Mykonos and NYC up for you all by the end of the week.
Because I know you're dying to see them.
Since returning from Greece I've been in a funk. Understandable, but blech.
I always knew I wanted to travel, but now I know that it is a need. I need to travel. It is a part of me. It is in me. It is not a want, but a need.
Therefore, I booked a trip to Budapest. I will be there the week of Thanksgiving. I booked it last week.
Mama was not thrilled about that news when I told her last night.
She'll get over it. Slowly, but she will.
The reason she wasn't happy is that her daughter (a.k.a. her only daughter. Her baby girl.) is moving away, thus the news that I wouldn't be home for a major holiday was not welcomed.
I go to my grad school interview with the director of the Public Policy program on Friday. Hopefully by then everything will be finalized and I can start to apply for housing and jobs.
I applied for scholarships and also tuition stipends. Cross fingers, pray to the gods, that those come through for me.
Because I have enough debt.
Between this job being over and grad school starting I will have less than two weeks to move, find a job, and start grad school.
That could be stressful if I let it be.
I am trying really hard not to let it be.
I really wish I wasn't taking classes this summer.
I am uberly burnt out on classes.
But I told them I would.
So. I am.
Although I love my job and the people I interact with everyday, it has become painfully obvious it is time to move on.
So, I am glad the job didn't come through for me.
Life is funny how it works out.
I've been getting regular updates from Mr. London.
I both love his emails.
And hate his emails.
I love hearing from him.
I hate that he loves it there.
This too shall pass.
(That I hate that he loves it there.)
After grad school I plan to join the Peace Corps.
Get back to me in two years, though. My life changes too quickly to really make that a firm commit.
After the 27 month minimum commitment I plan to work for the Peace Corps and eventually start my own organization.
I want to start an organization for women. Teaching them a trade or showing women that the skills they already have can make an income for themselves and for their families.
With the skills and income I hope to show that they then are a valuable contributor to the community and a vital part of the world and to their families, thus they are worth more than the cow on the hierarchy ladder.
I also would like to change the media images and messages women are shown and given here in the U.S. I think we are just as guilty of harming our women and causing permanent damage, we just do it in a much more subtle way.
I would like to start dating again.
Or at least have a boy toy.
But, I don't really want to commit the time and the amazing amounts of effort it takes to find someone who doesn't make me want to gouge my eyes out and kick myself in the head.
Plus, I will only be here for another two months.
Plus, the last couple relationships ended because of moves or transfers not coming through, ect. I don't need that drama a third time.
But, I would really like a summer fling.
Dilemmas.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
inner dork: hodge podge
Hey, you know what? It has been forever since I've had a good dorking. But that's another story for another day. In the meantime, how about some useless trivia!
Did you know...
The word "idiot" comes from Greek and it refers to the time when it was popular/required for all men to take one day out of the year and participate in politics. If someone didn't fulfill this requirement, he was an idiot.
(Hmmmm, I still think the original term is appropriate today.)
When a female rhinoceros is feeling in the mood, she'll ram her potential lover with her horn.
(Because she's horny!)
Ra was the sun god of ancient Egypt.
(All bow down. Actually worshipping the sun makes more sense to me than worshiping an invisible being. But's that's for another day as well.)
One in four women can't remember the names of their past lovers.
(Does it count if you didn't know their name to begin with?)
In ancient Japan, public contests were held to see who could fart the longest and loudest. Winners were held in great acclaim.
(Today that's just called Tuesday.)
One in six adults have admitted to having sex with someone simply because they were too embarrassed to say no.
(ooooooooookay.)
The sound of E.T. walking was made by someone squishing her hands in jelly.
(K-Y or grape?)
Fifty-three percent of women prefer sex with the man on top.
(Wanna guess which percentage I am?) (Hint: Not the 53%.)
It was only after 440 C.E. that December 25 was celebrated as the birth date of Jesus.
(The first department store sale was held the following year.)
All organic compounds contain carbon.
(Which makes dating them SO much easier.)
It takes one fifteen-twenty year old tree to produce seven hundred paper grocery bags.
(Plastic it is.)
The poison arrow frog has enough poison to kill approximately twenty-two hundred people.
(Yaw-za! Frogs in trees, let them be.)
Whew! I feel good and dorked.
You?
Did you know...
The word "idiot" comes from Greek and it refers to the time when it was popular/required for all men to take one day out of the year and participate in politics. If someone didn't fulfill this requirement, he was an idiot.
(Hmmmm, I still think the original term is appropriate today.)
When a female rhinoceros is feeling in the mood, she'll ram her potential lover with her horn.
(Because she's horny!)
Ra was the sun god of ancient Egypt.
(All bow down. Actually worshipping the sun makes more sense to me than worshiping an invisible being. But's that's for another day as well.)
One in four women can't remember the names of their past lovers.
(Does it count if you didn't know their name to begin with?)
In ancient Japan, public contests were held to see who could fart the longest and loudest. Winners were held in great acclaim.
(Today that's just called Tuesday.)
One in six adults have admitted to having sex with someone simply because they were too embarrassed to say no.
(ooooooooookay.)
The sound of E.T. walking was made by someone squishing her hands in jelly.
(K-Y or grape?)
Fifty-three percent of women prefer sex with the man on top.
(Wanna guess which percentage I am?) (Hint: Not the 53%.)
It was only after 440 C.E. that December 25 was celebrated as the birth date of Jesus.
(The first department store sale was held the following year.)
All organic compounds contain carbon.
(Which makes dating them SO much easier.)
It takes one fifteen-twenty year old tree to produce seven hundred paper grocery bags.
(Plastic it is.)
The poison arrow frog has enough poison to kill approximately twenty-two hundred people.
(Yaw-za! Frogs in trees, let them be.)
Whew! I feel good and dorked.
You?
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Um. So, yeah. See. The thing is...
Okay, so I gradumated, right? Just about three weeks ago I was completely finished with school, right? I got my big diploma and all of my debt compounded and consolidated for twenty years at a reasonable interest rate, right?
...
Oh, no. I really did gradumate. No need to go there. Whoa. Wanna talk about livid if that was a hoax.
Anway.
Well, see, here’s the thing. I’m actually taking two classes right now. I know, I know. Believe me, my head is being examined.
Anyway, the reason for this sick and twisted masochistic behavior is because I applied to grad school. In my, you-would-have-to-be-complete-idiots-not-to-accept-and-be-completely-blessed-with-my-presance-and-glowing-(not-to-mention)-winning-personality letter. I told them I would take a couple of the undergrad pre-reqs that I haven’t taken. Thereby making it even harder for them to turn me down.
What are the pre-reqs? Macroeconomics and American National Government.
Oh yeah.
Who has two thumbs and knows how to have an awesome summer?
This girl!
So. I applied. I had to wait for my final transcript to arrive at the Biggish State University and wait...and wait...and... (Well, it wasn’t that bad as I was out of the country, but I wanted to be theatrical.) Last week I received word that they had received all of my shtuff. Yesterday I called and spoke with the department head to see if I had been accepted. He said he has accepted me into the program, buuuuuuut that ultimately it isn’t up to him. Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, he didn’t know why I would be turned down. Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, it will be about two more weeks before I know for sure.
So.
What does this mean for me?
More stress and an uncertain future for a few more weeks. (But really, are any of our futures certain?) And when I am accepted I will be moving. Moving away to go to Biggish State University, which also means I will be leaving my job. Sad, but it’s time.
Oh. I suppose you all might want to know the program to which I have applied? Master’s in Public Policy. I pretty much plan to rule the world. Just lettin’ you all know ahead of time.
...
Oh, no. I really did gradumate. No need to go there. Whoa. Wanna talk about livid if that was a hoax.
Anway.
Well, see, here’s the thing. I’m actually taking two classes right now. I know, I know. Believe me, my head is being examined.
Anyway, the reason for this sick and twisted masochistic behavior is because I applied to grad school. In my, you-would-have-to-be-complete-idiots-not-to-accept-and-be-completely-blessed-with-my-presance-and-glowing-(not-to-mention)-winning-personality letter. I told them I would take a couple of the undergrad pre-reqs that I haven’t taken. Thereby making it even harder for them to turn me down.
What are the pre-reqs? Macroeconomics and American National Government.
Oh yeah.
Who has two thumbs and knows how to have an awesome summer?
This girl!
So. I applied. I had to wait for my final transcript to arrive at the Biggish State University and wait...and wait...and... (Well, it wasn’t that bad as I was out of the country, but I wanted to be theatrical.) Last week I received word that they had received all of my shtuff. Yesterday I called and spoke with the department head to see if I had been accepted. He said he has accepted me into the program, buuuuuuut that ultimately it isn’t up to him. Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, he didn’t know why I would be turned down. Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, it will be about two more weeks before I know for sure.
So.
What does this mean for me?
More stress and an uncertain future for a few more weeks. (But really, are any of our futures certain?) And when I am accepted I will be moving. Moving away to go to Biggish State University, which also means I will be leaving my job. Sad, but it’s time.
Oh. I suppose you all might want to know the program to which I have applied? Master’s in Public Policy. I pretty much plan to rule the world. Just lettin’ you all know ahead of time.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
everything but nip
Conversation with someone in the office.
"I love it when you do that." He says with his eyes focused directly on my cleavage. I look down at my chest and discover I am showing everything but nip.
I immediately sit up straight in my office chair and laugh as I pull up my baby doll tank top. "I honestly had no idea I was doing that."
"You do that about three or four times a day. It's like they get to be too much for you and you just need to rest them on the desk."
"I'm not resting them on the desk. I'm thinking deep thoughts...and just being lazy all hunched over in my chair ."
"I never said I mind."
Today, same person, different conversation.
"I would just like to say how disappointed I am with your selection of tops today."
T-shirt, no cleve.
"I was going to wear a similar top as yesterday, and do the everything but nip bit again, but I decided I need to mix it up and keep it surprising."
"You just want to keep your adoring fans around you."
"Pretty much."
"I love it when you do that." He says with his eyes focused directly on my cleavage. I look down at my chest and discover I am showing everything but nip.
I immediately sit up straight in my office chair and laugh as I pull up my baby doll tank top. "I honestly had no idea I was doing that."
"You do that about three or four times a day. It's like they get to be too much for you and you just need to rest them on the desk."
"I'm not resting them on the desk. I'm thinking deep thoughts...and just being lazy all hunched over in my chair ."
"I never said I mind."
Today, same person, different conversation.
"I would just like to say how disappointed I am with your selection of tops today."
T-shirt, no cleve.
"I was going to wear a similar top as yesterday, and do the everything but nip bit again, but I decided I need to mix it up and keep it surprising."
"You just want to keep your adoring fans around you."
"Pretty much."
Monday, June 04, 2007
deep like a puddle
Saturday night I went out to dinner with a co-worker. It was a very nice dinner in an up-scale establishment. However, the night ended too early for me and I decided to hit a few bars on my way home for a few more cocktails.
Bar number one I've been to a few times, but apparently on Saturday night it turns into a dance club. A country dance club. A place where they take their yee-haws and line dancing seriously. I could not take it seriously. I could only sit at the bar and be embarrassed for those who were taking it seriously. One cocktail down and I was out the door.
Bar number two is a small (blue-collar, neighborhood) establishment. I walk in and find an empty spot at the bar and order a drink. In the course of sipping my beverage I take a gander around the place. I am one out of four females in the place. Two of the other females are the bartenders and the third woman is married and not on the slim or attractive side. I suddenly feel very watched. But, I can deal with this. Just let me drink my beverage and enjoy the night.
...
..
(Sigh)
The man to my left moves a bar stool away from me as soon as I sit down (I must have cooties.) I turn and smile at him and I go back to my beverage. Several minutes later I still feel his eyes on me (creepy.) I again, turn and smile at him and go back to my beverage.
Several minutes later he turns to me and says, "I need to tell you that you are a very attractive woman and you have amazing eyebrows. But I have a girlfriend" Only he says it like this, "IneedtotellyouthatyouareaveryattractivewomanandyouhaveamazingeyebrowsbutIhaveagirlfriend." and then like Flash Gordon, he is gone (zoom!)
Um. Thanks.
Then I have a man to my right who is trying to make conversation with me. I am trying to ignore him. Why? Because the conversation is very one-sided (his) and he is drunk (very.)
New man to my left is also talking to me. Conversation is better, but still one-sided (his) and he is not drunk (yet.)
I now have my back to the drunk man, but he isn't getting my subtly as he keeps pinching my elbow and poking my arm (that's the way to make friends and influence people) to get me to turn back to him. I (politely) answer his questions then (subtly) turn my back on him.
New man is engaging me in conversation (his) and buying me drinks (yah!) Drunk man pinches my elbow one last time (it's like a bad tennis match) and asks if he can take me to dinner this week. I (politely) tell him no. He (drunkenly, complete with slurred and pronounced speech) asks why. I tell him because he is very (sloppy) drunk and chances are he won't remember who I am or that we even had this conversation in the morning, so thank you, but I am going to have to say no. He (slurriedly) refutes my claim that he won't remember this conversation in the morning, but doesn't refute the claim that he is drunk. He then continues to talk to me while my back is turned and I have stopped trying to be subtle. (Mean? Perhaps. But do you blame me?)
New guy is at least not drunk, but keeps pointing out how talkative he is and how he is ruling the conversation. Yet he doesn't let me get a word in nor does he offer any questions to me. In fact he didn't even ask me my name until we were hopping off our bar stools and walking out the door. After the bar closes I thank him for the drink and I shake his hand good-bye in the parking lot. (Polite.)
On my way home I stop at the local Gas and Sip for a greasy hot dog (Never, ever a good idea.) I notice one of the men outside the doors, as one of the gentleman I spoke to briefly in the bar (I would have liked to actually speak with him, but drunk man and talky man made that impossible.) As I get out of my car he asks if I am following him. I tell him I thought he was waiting for me. A few more flirts as I walk inside. I buy the (never, ever a good idea hot dog) and leave. A few more flirts later and I get in my car and I leave him with a wink and a smile as a good-bye.
That was the highlight of my evening.
God damn I miss Greece.
Bar number one I've been to a few times, but apparently on Saturday night it turns into a dance club. A country dance club. A place where they take their yee-haws and line dancing seriously. I could not take it seriously. I could only sit at the bar and be embarrassed for those who were taking it seriously. One cocktail down and I was out the door.
Bar number two is a small (blue-collar, neighborhood) establishment. I walk in and find an empty spot at the bar and order a drink. In the course of sipping my beverage I take a gander around the place. I am one out of four females in the place. Two of the other females are the bartenders and the third woman is married and not on the slim or attractive side. I suddenly feel very watched. But, I can deal with this. Just let me drink my beverage and enjoy the night.
...
..
(Sigh)
The man to my left moves a bar stool away from me as soon as I sit down (I must have cooties.) I turn and smile at him and I go back to my beverage. Several minutes later I still feel his eyes on me (creepy.) I again, turn and smile at him and go back to my beverage.
Several minutes later he turns to me and says, "I need to tell you that you are a very attractive woman and you have amazing eyebrows. But I have a girlfriend" Only he says it like this, "IneedtotellyouthatyouareaveryattractivewomanandyouhaveamazingeyebrowsbutIhaveagirlfriend." and then like Flash Gordon, he is gone (zoom!)
Um. Thanks.
Then I have a man to my right who is trying to make conversation with me. I am trying to ignore him. Why? Because the conversation is very one-sided (his) and he is drunk (very.)
New man to my left is also talking to me. Conversation is better, but still one-sided (his) and he is not drunk (yet.)
I now have my back to the drunk man, but he isn't getting my subtly as he keeps pinching my elbow and poking my arm (that's the way to make friends and influence people) to get me to turn back to him. I (politely) answer his questions then (subtly) turn my back on him.
New man is engaging me in conversation (his) and buying me drinks (yah!) Drunk man pinches my elbow one last time (it's like a bad tennis match) and asks if he can take me to dinner this week. I (politely) tell him no. He (drunkenly, complete with slurred and pronounced speech) asks why. I tell him because he is very (sloppy) drunk and chances are he won't remember who I am or that we even had this conversation in the morning, so thank you, but I am going to have to say no. He (slurriedly) refutes my claim that he won't remember this conversation in the morning, but doesn't refute the claim that he is drunk. He then continues to talk to me while my back is turned and I have stopped trying to be subtle. (Mean? Perhaps. But do you blame me?)
New guy is at least not drunk, but keeps pointing out how talkative he is and how he is ruling the conversation. Yet he doesn't let me get a word in nor does he offer any questions to me. In fact he didn't even ask me my name until we were hopping off our bar stools and walking out the door. After the bar closes I thank him for the drink and I shake his hand good-bye in the parking lot. (Polite.)
On my way home I stop at the local Gas and Sip for a greasy hot dog (Never, ever a good idea.) I notice one of the men outside the doors, as one of the gentleman I spoke to briefly in the bar (I would have liked to actually speak with him, but drunk man and talky man made that impossible.) As I get out of my car he asks if I am following him. I tell him I thought he was waiting for me. A few more flirts as I walk inside. I buy the (never, ever a good idea hot dog) and leave. A few more flirts later and I get in my car and I leave him with a wink and a smile as a good-bye.
That was the highlight of my evening.
God damn I miss Greece.
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