I moved to Montgomery in 2001 (I think - it all runs together after a while) and it was then that I heard about this. At the time I was married to J and I said,
"Hey, I'd really like to go to this! Can we?"
He thought I was insane as the last thing he wanted to do was attend a multi-day yard sale that would involve taking at least one day off of work. That was the last time I mentioned it and I moved on.
Now, after my divorce I still wanted to attend the 127 Sale, but like most things in life I'd think about it from time to time and by the time I'd look up the information it had already passed.
So, yesterday Steve calls me up at work and asks,
"What are you doing August 3?"
Me: "You tell me . . . "
Him: "I was doing a search for flea markets and I saw something about the longest yard sale . . . "
I literally could not hear the rest of what he was saying for there was a chorus of angels singing in my ears.
See, Steve has really gotten into collecting antique tools. Stuff that he can display in his workshop and decoratively (after consulting with me) in the house. Right now he's obsessing over a double-claw hammer. I'm cool with this because
1.) It gives me an excuse to go to yard sales
2.) It gives me an excuse to attend flea markets, and
3.) I never have to worry he's bored when we go to yard sales and flea markets.
I think in some way I'd given up the desire to go to the 127 Sale, but Steve reignited that spark and further reminded me of why he's the one for me.
It's right up there with the time he took a detour on our way home from our honeymoon so that I could finally go here.
He just gets me.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Credit Where Credit Is Due
cancion jamas de lidia handal
quiero la letra de la cancion jamas compuesta por lidia handal
Zona: Honduras
Responder a: hercilia20042000@yahoo.es
Fecha: Jueves, 27 de Abril del 2006, 17:14:48
Más anuncios con: cancion jamas de lidia handal
I found this request while looking up the song "Jamas" and I got steamed. What they are looking for is:
"The sheet music for the Lidia Handal song "Jamas."
This made me nuts because according to family lore - Jamas is not a Lidia Handal song. My grandfather wrote that song and then sold it to Ms. Handal and she passed it of as her own. My grandfather Jose Maria Cabus composed the piece, not Ms. Handal.
I Can't Stand Elizabeth Hasselbeck!
A few episodes ago, the women of The View were discussing Valerie Plame and Elizabeth says, "How could a woman that cute go undetected?"
The inital knee-jerk reaction is to assume that Elizabeth is saying a woman that attractive can't be smart enough to go undetected. I don't think that's what Elizabeth is saying.
I think Elizabeth is saying, "How could a woman that attractive go unnoticed?"
This just gets my feminist panties all up in a bunch because it's so looksist.
Regardless of Plame's ability to get the job done, Elizabeth thinks it's impossible for her to be a convincing CIA operative because she's just too pretty. I suppose in EH's mind, only an average looking woman (a brunette of course) can pull off being a CIA agent.
In general I don't agree with EH's politics, but that's not why I dislike her.
I dislike her because she's unable to have a coherent argument. She just gets all high-pitched and emotional so whatever her point is gets lost on me.
I tend to get annoyed with all of the women on The View because watching them argue is like watching me argue with my brother and father - you only when if you have the loudest voice.
But, I bet EH the kind of person who cries to win an argument with her husband.
In all of her political views, EH is such a throwback. She's a huge Bush supporter, she's pro-life, pro-NRA.
Geez - the only issue she doesn't take on is working mothers.
OH NO - instead little miss pro-life-conservative-on-most-issues sympathizes with working mother's guilt.
Why?
Because she is one.
Wow - a conservative whose politics duck and weave to suit her needs.
Such a rarity.
The inital knee-jerk reaction is to assume that Elizabeth is saying a woman that attractive can't be smart enough to go undetected. I don't think that's what Elizabeth is saying.
I think Elizabeth is saying, "How could a woman that attractive go unnoticed?"
This just gets my feminist panties all up in a bunch because it's so looksist.
Regardless of Plame's ability to get the job done, Elizabeth thinks it's impossible for her to be a convincing CIA operative because she's just too pretty. I suppose in EH's mind, only an average looking woman (a brunette of course) can pull off being a CIA agent.
In general I don't agree with EH's politics, but that's not why I dislike her.
I dislike her because she's unable to have a coherent argument. She just gets all high-pitched and emotional so whatever her point is gets lost on me.
I tend to get annoyed with all of the women on The View because watching them argue is like watching me argue with my brother and father - you only when if you have the loudest voice.
But, I bet EH the kind of person who cries to win an argument with her husband.
In all of her political views, EH is such a throwback. She's a huge Bush supporter, she's pro-life, pro-NRA.
Geez - the only issue she doesn't take on is working mothers.
OH NO - instead little miss pro-life-conservative-on-most-issues sympathizes with working mother's guilt.
Why?
Because she is one.
Wow - a conservative whose politics duck and weave to suit her needs.
Such a rarity.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
DIY 2
Before the renovation, this is how much room we had to cook and move around each other:
Right side of kitchen:
Left Side of the kitchen:
When Steve took down the left side of the wall between the dining room and the kitchen he exposed the backside of the fireplace in our room. I love the look of exposed brick and Steve agrees that it adds character so it's staying.
Once the cabinets and the wall came down:
About a third of the way up the chimney, this is what Steve found. We think that at some point there was a wood burning stove in our kitchen and this was part of the ventilation for it. If you're looking at this and you know what it is don't be shy: leave me a comment and fill us in.
Eventually, all that was left of the left side of the kitchen was plaster and lathe.
The lathe is then covered by drywall. Sasha, is totally unimpressed.
The glorious pantry that went up where the cabinets and fridge used to be.
One of the finishing touches will be to turn this into a custom built-in with walls, doors and fancy crown molding.
Right side of kitchen:
Left Side of the kitchen:
When Steve took down the left side of the wall between the dining room and the kitchen he exposed the backside of the fireplace in our room. I love the look of exposed brick and Steve agrees that it adds character so it's staying.
Once the cabinets and the wall came down:
About a third of the way up the chimney, this is what Steve found. We think that at some point there was a wood burning stove in our kitchen and this was part of the ventilation for it. If you're looking at this and you know what it is don't be shy: leave me a comment and fill us in.
Eventually, all that was left of the left side of the kitchen was plaster and lathe.
The lathe is then covered by drywall. Sasha, is totally unimpressed.
The glorious pantry that went up where the cabinets and fridge used to be.
One of the finishing touches will be to turn this into a custom built-in with walls, doors and fancy crown molding.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
DIY
I'm a great idea person, but when it comes to actually doing I tend to falter. So, like any great idea person, I've chosen to surround myself with do-ers. which is totally why I married Steve.
The thing with marrying a do-er though is that you have to be really careful with the things you say. Otherwise, your relaxing day off can turn into this:
That's me tentatively holding the hammer and probably thinking, "Yeah, I can totally help you out here . . . geez, this hammer is really heavy."
In December of 2005 this is what our living room, dining room and kitchen looked like if you were standing at the front door.
Then I painted.
(I love how Sweet Pea's turned away from me all, "Get that camera out of my face bitch!" She still hasn't forgiven me."
Then I said to Steve, "You know, we never actually dine in the dining room. Wouldn't it be awesome if we took down that wall between the kitchen and the dining room and remodeled the kitchen?"
And, I came home to this:
Yeah, the left side of that wall is just gone and there's just a tiny bit above the doorframe hanging from a single nail.
Now, if you'll look just past that counter on the left side you'll see what used to be a set of cabinets with red hardware and the refrigerator. Remember that because that area has been totally redone and will be shown later.
There were a lot of things I didn't like about our kitchen: it was small and only two people could fit in there comfortably, I couldn't hold a conversation with someone in the living room while I was cooking (or watch tv while I cooked) and I had no pantry. Remember that - no pantry.
So, that left wall came down and eventually Steve took down the cabinets around the refrigerator and temporarily moved the fridge. Check out this wall paper behind the cabinets.
(To Be Continued)
The thing with marrying a do-er though is that you have to be really careful with the things you say. Otherwise, your relaxing day off can turn into this:
That's me tentatively holding the hammer and probably thinking, "Yeah, I can totally help you out here . . . geez, this hammer is really heavy."
In December of 2005 this is what our living room, dining room and kitchen looked like if you were standing at the front door.
Then I painted.
(I love how Sweet Pea's turned away from me all, "Get that camera out of my face bitch!" She still hasn't forgiven me."
Then I said to Steve, "You know, we never actually dine in the dining room. Wouldn't it be awesome if we took down that wall between the kitchen and the dining room and remodeled the kitchen?"
And, I came home to this:
Yeah, the left side of that wall is just gone and there's just a tiny bit above the doorframe hanging from a single nail.
Now, if you'll look just past that counter on the left side you'll see what used to be a set of cabinets with red hardware and the refrigerator. Remember that because that area has been totally redone and will be shown later.
There were a lot of things I didn't like about our kitchen: it was small and only two people could fit in there comfortably, I couldn't hold a conversation with someone in the living room while I was cooking (or watch tv while I cooked) and I had no pantry. Remember that - no pantry.
So, that left wall came down and eventually Steve took down the cabinets around the refrigerator and temporarily moved the fridge. Check out this wall paper behind the cabinets.
(To Be Continued)
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Memories
I work at a bank. I don't talk about work because I am paranoid and I don't want to get "dooced."
Anyway, this isn't really about where I work now. Let's just say that I never realized that there would be this perpetual cloud of doom hanging over my employment status. It seems that banks are pretty volatile environments: need to make this year's projections? Fire 500 so management gets their big fat bonus checks. Possibility of a merger or buyout? Pray to Jesus the new owners give you at least a few weeks to find a new job.
So, that's what life has been like at my new job - FUN!
This entry though is more about a job I used to have.
I once worked for a non-profit that "seeks to educate and inspire young people to succeed in a global economy." I worked for the education team and my job title was "Editor." For the 10 months that I worked there, my job was to review participant evaluations and determine what curriculum changes needed to be made to our K-5 products.
We started at K as it needed a major overhaul.
What I didn't quite understand when I got hired was that I was going to actually have to re-write the entire curriculum: from step-by-step volunteer instruction manuals to activities and corresponding manipulatives.
I don't want to mislead anyone though.
I had a lot of input from a small review committee of educators around the country. They helped me develop a comprehensive list of learning objectives, concepts and skills that made sense for 5-6 year-olds. However, when it came time to create the corresponding activities - that was all left up to me.
The main component is a storybook with 5 short stories that introduce the economic roles of individuals - pretty heavy stuff, but I did my best to make it fun.
I keep listing this on my resume because it's one of the projects I'm most proud of. I even keep saying that it's still in use nationwide, and it turns out I'm right.
My friend C has a child in kindergarten and she came across one of the books created for this program. Incidentally, this was the first time this non-profit actually credited an author (yours truly) for the work produced. She just sent me an email asking if I was the same person listed in the book.
It's strange because with all of this instability at the bank I keep thinking about the jobs I've held in the past and which one's were my favorites.
Working at the economics-based non-profit was by far the best.
It's nice to know that what I created still holds up six years later.
Anyway, this isn't really about where I work now. Let's just say that I never realized that there would be this perpetual cloud of doom hanging over my employment status. It seems that banks are pretty volatile environments: need to make this year's projections? Fire 500 so management gets their big fat bonus checks. Possibility of a merger or buyout? Pray to Jesus the new owners give you at least a few weeks to find a new job.
So, that's what life has been like at my new job - FUN!
This entry though is more about a job I used to have.
I once worked for a non-profit that "seeks to educate and inspire young people to succeed in a global economy." I worked for the education team and my job title was "Editor." For the 10 months that I worked there, my job was to review participant evaluations and determine what curriculum changes needed to be made to our K-5 products.
We started at K as it needed a major overhaul.
What I didn't quite understand when I got hired was that I was going to actually have to re-write the entire curriculum: from step-by-step volunteer instruction manuals to activities and corresponding manipulatives.
I don't want to mislead anyone though.
I had a lot of input from a small review committee of educators around the country. They helped me develop a comprehensive list of learning objectives, concepts and skills that made sense for 5-6 year-olds. However, when it came time to create the corresponding activities - that was all left up to me.
The main component is a storybook with 5 short stories that introduce the economic roles of individuals - pretty heavy stuff, but I did my best to make it fun.
I keep listing this on my resume because it's one of the projects I'm most proud of. I even keep saying that it's still in use nationwide, and it turns out I'm right.
My friend C has a child in kindergarten and she came across one of the books created for this program. Incidentally, this was the first time this non-profit actually credited an author (yours truly) for the work produced. She just sent me an email asking if I was the same person listed in the book.
It's strange because with all of this instability at the bank I keep thinking about the jobs I've held in the past and which one's were my favorites.
Working at the economics-based non-profit was by far the best.
It's nice to know that what I created still holds up six years later.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Weeeeeee DID ITTTTTTT!
The wedding was on December 8 and it was wonderful.
The house looked great, the oysters were tasty and the party was amazing.
Steve's family members came from as far as South Dakota.
Okay, now that I can Monday Morning Quarterback it, there are certain things I wish I could have changed. But, it's little stuff - I wish I would have twisted and turned a little bit more in front of the mirror with the seamstress. There were a few pictured where my dress gapped a little too much so you could see my bra strap.
I'd also have paid a little more attention to stuff that needed to be picked up around the house. In some pictures there are stacked bins that pop up in the background of some pictures.
What went wrong?
Our minister showed up an hour and a half late. It seems that even though we'd repeatedly told him the day, date and time he still managed to think our wedding was on Saturday. I know Friday isn't when most couples get married, but December 8th felt right. I knew that I wanted a December wedding. December 8th was my maternal grandmother's birthday and I'd always felt close to her. It was also the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and my grandmother's name was Concepcione. Now that I read that my reasoning seems kind of silly but whatever.
Also, planning this on Friday night threw my cake lady. I'd decided I wasn't going to have a traditional cake. I was going to go with a three milks cake - it's delicious and more typical of what you might find at a hispanic wedding. But, the closer we got to the wedding the more I started to hear my mother's voice, "It just won't look the same in pictures!" And, I had my mom and dad's cake topper from 35+ years ago and I just knew that wouldn't look right on a sheet cake. So, I tromped down to Publix and orded a simple two-tiered cake they call the Simply Devoted.
In the long run, it paid off because the cake lady arrived at my house on Saturday with the cakes. Fortunately, I hadn't paid for them and it was genuinely her mistake not mine.
What went right?
Everything else.
I was mostly surprised that I wasn't nervous. Ever - even when I was sitting in the chair at the salon getting my hair done I was really calm. I just left the house and said, "I'm going to get my hair done. I'll be back." I took off by myself and it was great just being able to enjoy the quiet moments I had leading up to the ceremomy.
The food was amazing.
The oyster bar was a big hit. It was cold outside, but as oyster lovers we braved the frigid temperatures and stuffed ourselves silly with oysters. The oysters were really all I ate, but I tried some of the hot food items and they were delicious as well.
The drink - we bought a lot of beverages, but by far the most popular was the cosmo punch. I watch a lot of the Food Network and during one of the commercial breaks Rachel Ray made a quick little alcoholic punch.
Ya'll, I've never seen people go this crazy over a punch before.
Here is the recipe for your upcoming holiday parties:
Cranberry Punch (also referred to as Cosmo Punch)
1- 750 ml CranFusion Vodka
1/2 Cup Cranberry Flavored Mixer (We used Rose's)
6 Cups Cranberry-Raspberry Juice
3 Cups Fresh Orange Juice
1 lemon - Juiced
1 orange thinly sliced
8 oz fresh or frozen raspberry
1 bottle of sparkling wine.
Except for sparkling wine, mix all ingredients in punch bowl. Add sparkling wine to individual glasses.
Cheers!
The house looked great, the oysters were tasty and the party was amazing.
Steve's family members came from as far as South Dakota.
Okay, now that I can Monday Morning Quarterback it, there are certain things I wish I could have changed. But, it's little stuff - I wish I would have twisted and turned a little bit more in front of the mirror with the seamstress. There were a few pictured where my dress gapped a little too much so you could see my bra strap.
I'd also have paid a little more attention to stuff that needed to be picked up around the house. In some pictures there are stacked bins that pop up in the background of some pictures.
What went wrong?
Our minister showed up an hour and a half late. It seems that even though we'd repeatedly told him the day, date and time he still managed to think our wedding was on Saturday. I know Friday isn't when most couples get married, but December 8th felt right. I knew that I wanted a December wedding. December 8th was my maternal grandmother's birthday and I'd always felt close to her. It was also the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and my grandmother's name was Concepcione. Now that I read that my reasoning seems kind of silly but whatever.
Also, planning this on Friday night threw my cake lady. I'd decided I wasn't going to have a traditional cake. I was going to go with a three milks cake - it's delicious and more typical of what you might find at a hispanic wedding. But, the closer we got to the wedding the more I started to hear my mother's voice, "It just won't look the same in pictures!" And, I had my mom and dad's cake topper from 35+ years ago and I just knew that wouldn't look right on a sheet cake. So, I tromped down to Publix and orded a simple two-tiered cake they call the Simply Devoted.
In the long run, it paid off because the cake lady arrived at my house on Saturday with the cakes. Fortunately, I hadn't paid for them and it was genuinely her mistake not mine.
What went right?
Everything else.
I was mostly surprised that I wasn't nervous. Ever - even when I was sitting in the chair at the salon getting my hair done I was really calm. I just left the house and said, "I'm going to get my hair done. I'll be back." I took off by myself and it was great just being able to enjoy the quiet moments I had leading up to the ceremomy.
The food was amazing.
The oyster bar was a big hit. It was cold outside, but as oyster lovers we braved the frigid temperatures and stuffed ourselves silly with oysters. The oysters were really all I ate, but I tried some of the hot food items and they were delicious as well.
The drink - we bought a lot of beverages, but by far the most popular was the cosmo punch. I watch a lot of the Food Network and during one of the commercial breaks Rachel Ray made a quick little alcoholic punch.
Ya'll, I've never seen people go this crazy over a punch before.
Here is the recipe for your upcoming holiday parties:
Cranberry Punch (also referred to as Cosmo Punch)
1- 750 ml CranFusion Vodka
1/2 Cup Cranberry Flavored Mixer (We used Rose's)
6 Cups Cranberry-Raspberry Juice
3 Cups Fresh Orange Juice
1 lemon - Juiced
1 orange thinly sliced
8 oz fresh or frozen raspberry
1 bottle of sparkling wine.
Except for sparkling wine, mix all ingredients in punch bowl. Add sparkling wine to individual glasses.
Cheers!
Friday, November 17, 2006
I Hate Oprah
My brother has cautioned me against coming out about my Oprah hate, because he is concerned for my safety. He is sure that Oprah's henchmen are trolling the internets looking for Oprah desecrators.
So, if I turn up missing you'll know who to investigate first.
In the early days, I used to watch Oprah with alarming regularity. Then I graduated college and got a job that conflicted with my Oprah habit.
A few years ago, I fell back into the Oprah vortex. I started watching the show with great regularity only to find myself increasingly rolling my eyes.
Why?
OH MY GOD!
Every other comment out of Oprah's mouth is a tale about herself.
It's got nothing to do with the interviewee.
Take for example when she had Jerry Seinfeld on the show (Mind you, this is a dramatic recreation as transcripts from The Oprah Winfrey Show are locked up tighter than Stedman.)
Oprah: Tell me about the first time you went on Carson.
Seinfeld (as heard by Oprah): Woh, woh, woh, woh woh.
Oprah: Oh, I remember the first time I went on Carson . . .
Or, anytime an actor discusses his or he latest film.
Oprah: Tell me about what you did to prepare for that scene.
Actor (as heard by Oprah): Woh, woh, woh, woh woh.
Oprah: Oh, I remember when I was filming The Color Purple, Steven Speilberg . . .
The one that threw me over the edge was the interview she did with Annie Leibovitz on Thursday, November 16, 2006. The audience sees Ms. Leibovitz's powerful images throughout the interview and Oprah goes on and on about her talent and wraps up the interview with this:
"We haven't seen my favorite of Annie's images . . . (wait for it) . . . it's a picture of ME . . . "
I kid you not!!!!!!!!!!!!
This narcissism of hers drives me crazy. I realize it's her show, but I don't watch it because I want to hear the same tired Oprah stories. I watch it because I want to see her interview her guests.
It's like the magazine. Does she really need to have her picture on every cover?
As she's so fond of saying, "Weeeeee, GET IT! It's YOUR magazine!"
Even Martha doesn't feel the need to put her mug on every cover.
But, Oprah is like crack and I cannot break her spell.
So, what I do now is play a drinking game wherein I take a shot everytime Oprah brings the interview back to herself and everytime she makes a veiled lesbian reference about Gail.
I should need that new liver by Christmas.
Today's possible lesbian comment: I'm hear in Seattle with the cast of Grey's Anatomy and I called Gayle at "OUR" Connecticut home.
DRINK!
So, if I turn up missing you'll know who to investigate first.
In the early days, I used to watch Oprah with alarming regularity. Then I graduated college and got a job that conflicted with my Oprah habit.
A few years ago, I fell back into the Oprah vortex. I started watching the show with great regularity only to find myself increasingly rolling my eyes.
Why?
OH MY GOD!
Every other comment out of Oprah's mouth is a tale about herself.
It's got nothing to do with the interviewee.
Take for example when she had Jerry Seinfeld on the show (Mind you, this is a dramatic recreation as transcripts from The Oprah Winfrey Show are locked up tighter than Stedman.)
Oprah: Tell me about the first time you went on Carson.
Seinfeld (as heard by Oprah): Woh, woh, woh, woh woh.
Oprah: Oh, I remember the first time I went on Carson . . .
Or, anytime an actor discusses his or he latest film.
Oprah: Tell me about what you did to prepare for that scene.
Actor (as heard by Oprah): Woh, woh, woh, woh woh.
Oprah: Oh, I remember when I was filming The Color Purple, Steven Speilberg . . .
The one that threw me over the edge was the interview she did with Annie Leibovitz on Thursday, November 16, 2006. The audience sees Ms. Leibovitz's powerful images throughout the interview and Oprah goes on and on about her talent and wraps up the interview with this:
"We haven't seen my favorite of Annie's images . . . (wait for it) . . . it's a picture of ME . . . "
I kid you not!!!!!!!!!!!!
This narcissism of hers drives me crazy. I realize it's her show, but I don't watch it because I want to hear the same tired Oprah stories. I watch it because I want to see her interview her guests.
It's like the magazine. Does she really need to have her picture on every cover?
As she's so fond of saying, "Weeeeee, GET IT! It's YOUR magazine!"
Even Martha doesn't feel the need to put her mug on every cover.
But, Oprah is like crack and I cannot break her spell.
So, what I do now is play a drinking game wherein I take a shot everytime Oprah brings the interview back to herself and everytime she makes a veiled lesbian reference about Gail.
I should need that new liver by Christmas.
Today's possible lesbian comment: I'm hear in Seattle with the cast of Grey's Anatomy and I called Gayle at "OUR" Connecticut home.
DRINK!
Sunday, October 01, 2006
New Kid On the Block
For fear of being "dooced," I won't ever talk about what I think about my boss or the company I work for. Quite frankly, it's all so new that anything I say would be superficial anyway.
I do feel comfortable telling you this: I hate being the new kid.
I spent my first week on my new job with the same upset stomach feeling that I would have whenever I met a new group of kids: first day of middle school, first day of high school. That queasy feeling that makes it impossible to even attempt eating a dry piece of toast.
And that's the bitch!
No matter how old I get I still walk into a new environment with the same worries I had when I was sixteen:
I hope they like me.
I hope I don't make an ass out of myself.
What if I don't fit in?
What's worse is that while my old boss drove me crazy, I was actually considering going back there because it was like a comfy old shoe.
Okay, it was like a comfy old shoe that had dog poop smeared on it, but even if it was stinky it at least fit.
Halfway through my first week I sat in my cubicle (MY CUBICLE - I gave up my corner office, with the windows that opened, for a cubicle.) and realized I can't even fart in private!
Also, what's with the "Ladies must wear pantyhose" dress code? It's as if I step into a time machine set to 1956 when I walk through the front doors.
Like I said, that stuff is superficial.
It's just a new environment and will take some time getting used to.
Soon, my assimilation will be complete.
I do feel comfortable telling you this: I hate being the new kid.
I spent my first week on my new job with the same upset stomach feeling that I would have whenever I met a new group of kids: first day of middle school, first day of high school. That queasy feeling that makes it impossible to even attempt eating a dry piece of toast.
And that's the bitch!
No matter how old I get I still walk into a new environment with the same worries I had when I was sixteen:
I hope they like me.
I hope I don't make an ass out of myself.
What if I don't fit in?
What's worse is that while my old boss drove me crazy, I was actually considering going back there because it was like a comfy old shoe.
Okay, it was like a comfy old shoe that had dog poop smeared on it, but even if it was stinky it at least fit.
Halfway through my first week I sat in my cubicle (MY CUBICLE - I gave up my corner office, with the windows that opened, for a cubicle.) and realized I can't even fart in private!
Also, what's with the "Ladies must wear pantyhose" dress code? It's as if I step into a time machine set to 1956 when I walk through the front doors.
Like I said, that stuff is superficial.
It's just a new environment and will take some time getting used to.
Soon, my assimilation will be complete.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
You're So Vain
I've consistently been using facial moisturizer for about a year now.
I didn't used to be this way. In fact, and at this admission my mother might disown me, I used to be the kind of girl that just washed her face with Ivory before heading out the door.
I've always had issues with acne, and I lived under the assumption that moisturizer would simply clog my pores and lead to more breakouts. This isn't true, but when you spend your teens with as much acne as I did you want as little as possible on your face for fear that it will worsen.
Anyway, I still have the occasional battle with adult acne so my dermatologist has me using Differin. Here is how it works: Differin® Gel normalizes the improper accumulation of skin cells that plug the pores, and effectively keeps them clear.
Before your pores begin to function properly, you first must experience "itching, dryness, redness, burning or peeling" so moisturizing is key.
In the last few weeks, I've even been using a "restorative" eye cream as part of my routine.
Aside from the acne, I was blessed with really good genes. I don't color my hair and I have yet to find a single gray hair (Thanks Mom!). I'm also relatively wrinkle frea. But, the skin around my eyes has always bothered me. I have dark circles that don't disappear no matter how much rest I get. So, I've been using this department store brand's under eye cream that lightens and brightens. It works fine, but I've been thinking I need to try a concealer when low and behold we recieved a flier in the mail advertising my brand's "free gift with purchase" offer.
For most of you, this is junkmail. For me . . . this is porn.
Those of you who know me, know that I don't wear makeup. My mother's last words to me will probably be, "You need a little lipstick." The truth is, my makeup drawer is more like a makeup trunk.
So, when the mailer arrived at my house you'd have thought it was Christmas. Not only do I get to buy makeup, but they are going to give me more makeup for spending $27.50+.
I already needed an eyemakeup remover, so that was $14.00. I just needed to find a good concealer for the dark cirlcles under my eyes, and that's when I saw it:
Clinique | Makeup | Concealers | All About Eyes Concealer
The perfect product: moisturizes, reduces puffiness and hides dark circles.
So, I headed out on a mission and when I got to the counter I couldn't find what I was looking for. I couldn't remember what it was called or what the packaging looked like. I hadn't thought to bring the mailer with me and, much to my dismay, they didn't have a copy of it at the counter . . . uhm, seriously?
All I could remember was that it was three products in one.
I kept telling one of the saleswomen, "I need an undereye concealer that's not so light it gives me that reverse racoon (when your concealer is lighter than your actual skin tone and it looks like you fell asleep in the sun with your sunglasses on) look . It's supposed to help with wrinkles (moisturize) and make me look more rested (reduce puffiness and hide dark circles).
She said, "But honey, you don't even have wrinkles."
To which I looked over my glasses at her and said, "Exactly."
With an, "Ahhhhhh . . . " she busily got to finding my product.
I know I was a huge pain in the ass.
I was one of those people in the library that tells the librarian, "I need help finding a book: it's read with black writing on the cover."
However, the Clinique girls handled it exceptionally well and an hour later I walked away with exactly what I was looking for AND my free gift with purchase.
I didn't used to be this way. In fact, and at this admission my mother might disown me, I used to be the kind of girl that just washed her face with Ivory before heading out the door.
I've always had issues with acne, and I lived under the assumption that moisturizer would simply clog my pores and lead to more breakouts. This isn't true, but when you spend your teens with as much acne as I did you want as little as possible on your face for fear that it will worsen.
Anyway, I still have the occasional battle with adult acne so my dermatologist has me using Differin. Here is how it works: Differin® Gel normalizes the improper accumulation of skin cells that plug the pores, and effectively keeps them clear.
Before your pores begin to function properly, you first must experience "itching, dryness, redness, burning or peeling" so moisturizing is key.
In the last few weeks, I've even been using a "restorative" eye cream as part of my routine.
Aside from the acne, I was blessed with really good genes. I don't color my hair and I have yet to find a single gray hair (Thanks Mom!). I'm also relatively wrinkle frea. But, the skin around my eyes has always bothered me. I have dark circles that don't disappear no matter how much rest I get. So, I've been using this department store brand's under eye cream that lightens and brightens. It works fine, but I've been thinking I need to try a concealer when low and behold we recieved a flier in the mail advertising my brand's "free gift with purchase" offer.
For most of you, this is junkmail. For me . . . this is porn.
Those of you who know me, know that I don't wear makeup. My mother's last words to me will probably be, "You need a little lipstick." The truth is, my makeup drawer is more like a makeup trunk.
So, when the mailer arrived at my house you'd have thought it was Christmas. Not only do I get to buy makeup, but they are going to give me more makeup for spending $27.50+.
I already needed an eyemakeup remover, so that was $14.00. I just needed to find a good concealer for the dark cirlcles under my eyes, and that's when I saw it:
Clinique | Makeup | Concealers | All About Eyes Concealer
The perfect product: moisturizes, reduces puffiness and hides dark circles.
So, I headed out on a mission and when I got to the counter I couldn't find what I was looking for. I couldn't remember what it was called or what the packaging looked like. I hadn't thought to bring the mailer with me and, much to my dismay, they didn't have a copy of it at the counter . . . uhm, seriously?
All I could remember was that it was three products in one.
I kept telling one of the saleswomen, "I need an undereye concealer that's not so light it gives me that reverse racoon (when your concealer is lighter than your actual skin tone and it looks like you fell asleep in the sun with your sunglasses on) look . It's supposed to help with wrinkles (moisturize) and make me look more rested (reduce puffiness and hide dark circles).
She said, "But honey, you don't even have wrinkles."
To which I looked over my glasses at her and said, "Exactly."
With an, "Ahhhhhh . . . " she busily got to finding my product.
I know I was a huge pain in the ass.
I was one of those people in the library that tells the librarian, "I need help finding a book: it's read with black writing on the cover."
However, the Clinique girls handled it exceptionally well and an hour later I walked away with exactly what I was looking for AND my free gift with purchase.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Technical Support
You know how when you work somewhere, there's usually a line in your job description that reads:
". . . and other duties as assigned."
In my time with the ASS I've found more and more of my time being taken up by offering tech support, and much to my surprise, I'm pretty good at it.
We offer our members the convenience of registering for courses online. That is to say, we thought it was convenient.
Here's how a typical call will go:
Receptionist buzzing my phone.
M: Trixie, there's a gentleman on line one having trouble registering for a class online.
(Me, internally, "Of course there is.")
Me: Okay (internal sigh) put him through. Hello, this is Trixie, how may I help you?
Member: I'm trying to register online and my computer won't let me in.
Me: Okay, sir. I'm going to have to ask you to clear out all of the information that you've entered in so far. Are you in front of your computer, sir?
Member: No (huge audible sigh) let me get to it.
Me: If you'll enter into your address bar . . .
Member: My what?
Me, huge internal sigh: See up at the top of your screen where it says "http . . . "
Member: OH! Huh.
Me: Okay sir, if you'll put your pointer on there and click on it then type in www.statenamespelledout.affiliationplural.com and hit enter.
Member: It's going now.
Me: Okay sir, just tell me when you get there, okay?
Member: Oh, okay.
Me - checking my cuticles and realizing I'm in desperate need of a manicure.
Member: Okay, what now?
Me: Sir, do you see where there is a picture of the capitol building at the top of the screen?
Member: Yes.
Me: Okay, underneath that, do you see where it says "Home" and next to that it says, "Education?"
Member: Yes.
Me: Put your pointer on education but don't click it. Do you see the menu that appears underneath it and says "Course Information" and then "Education Calendar?"
Member: Yes.
Me: Click on Education Calendar. Once the Calendar comes up you can choose the class you want to attend.
Member: I don't see the class I want.
Me: See where it says September?
Member: OH! Yes, I see it now!
Me: Okay, so click on the class that you want and then you can register for it.
Member: How do I do that?
Me: Sir, please select the class that you are interested in attending and once that comes up on your computer please let me know.
Me - wondering if I'll make it to the gym in time to catch a spinning class.
Member: Okay, now what?
Me: See where it says "Register for Event?"
Member: No.
Me, internally: Seriously?
Me: Scroll down to the bottom of the page, sir.
Member: I see it now.
Me: Click on that, sir, if this is the class you would like to attend. Once you click on that you'll be asked to login. Please let me know when you get to that page sir.
Member: It wants my login and password. What are those?
Me: Do you see right above that, sir, where it says, "Your login is your NRDS number and your password is your last name in lowercase?"
Member: Heh - I guess I didn't read that.
Me, internally: If I had a dollar for every real estate agent that said that to me . . . seriously, it's frightening.
Me: That's okay sir. Do you know your NRDS number sir? (Already looking it up because I know he's going to say . . . "
Member: No.
Me: Your NRDS number is XXXXXXXXX, Please enter that number and then your last name in LOWER CASE, sir. Then, click on login.
Member: It just sent me back to where I came from.
Me: What do you mean sir?
Member: It just sent me back to the event registration page.
Me: Sir, on the left side of the page, see where it reads: Events at ASS?
Member: Yes.
Me: Sir, above that what does it say?
Member: Hey, look at that: it says welcome myownname.
Me: Okay, that means that you are now logged in and can register for the class.
Member: How do I do that?
Me, internally: God grant me the serenity to accept the things . . .
Me: Sir, scroll down and you'll see a box that reads "Register for this Event" and click on that.
Member: Oh, okay. Now it's asking me if I want to continue shopping or checkout. What do I do?
Me - banging my head against my desk: Sir, would you like to purchase another class?
Member: No, I just want to sign up for this one.
Me: Okay, then all you have to do is click on checkout. From there, you'll be asked to provide us with the credit card information you would like to use and once you've entered that you'll want to scroll down and hit submit. Wait a few minutes after you hit submit because then you'll see a screen that reads "Thank You," and that will be your registration confirmation for the course that you have just paid for.
Member: (Huge audible sigh) Why is this so complicated?
Me: Sir, we find that it's more complicated for some of our members than others. Thank you!
Member: Uhm . . . thank you for your help.
Me: Your welcome. Have a good day!
Click.
". . . and other duties as assigned."
In my time with the ASS I've found more and more of my time being taken up by offering tech support, and much to my surprise, I'm pretty good at it.
We offer our members the convenience of registering for courses online. That is to say, we thought it was convenient.
Here's how a typical call will go:
Receptionist buzzing my phone.
M: Trixie, there's a gentleman on line one having trouble registering for a class online.
(Me, internally, "Of course there is.")
Me: Okay (internal sigh) put him through. Hello, this is Trixie, how may I help you?
Member: I'm trying to register online and my computer won't let me in.
Me: Okay, sir. I'm going to have to ask you to clear out all of the information that you've entered in so far. Are you in front of your computer, sir?
Member: No (huge audible sigh) let me get to it.
Me: If you'll enter into your address bar . . .
Member: My what?
Me, huge internal sigh: See up at the top of your screen where it says "http . . . "
Member: OH! Huh.
Me: Okay sir, if you'll put your pointer on there and click on it then type in www.statenamespelledout.affiliationplural.com and hit enter.
Member: It's going now.
Me: Okay sir, just tell me when you get there, okay?
Member: Oh, okay.
Me - checking my cuticles and realizing I'm in desperate need of a manicure.
Member: Okay, what now?
Me: Sir, do you see where there is a picture of the capitol building at the top of the screen?
Member: Yes.
Me: Okay, underneath that, do you see where it says "Home" and next to that it says, "Education?"
Member: Yes.
Me: Put your pointer on education but don't click it. Do you see the menu that appears underneath it and says "Course Information" and then "Education Calendar?"
Member: Yes.
Me: Click on Education Calendar. Once the Calendar comes up you can choose the class you want to attend.
Member: I don't see the class I want.
Me: See where it says September?
Member: OH! Yes, I see it now!
Me: Okay, so click on the class that you want and then you can register for it.
Member: How do I do that?
Me: Sir, please select the class that you are interested in attending and once that comes up on your computer please let me know.
Me - wondering if I'll make it to the gym in time to catch a spinning class.
Member: Okay, now what?
Me: See where it says "Register for Event?"
Member: No.
Me, internally: Seriously?
Me: Scroll down to the bottom of the page, sir.
Member: I see it now.
Me: Click on that, sir, if this is the class you would like to attend. Once you click on that you'll be asked to login. Please let me know when you get to that page sir.
Member: It wants my login and password. What are those?
Me: Do you see right above that, sir, where it says, "Your login is your NRDS number and your password is your last name in lowercase?"
Member: Heh - I guess I didn't read that.
Me, internally: If I had a dollar for every real estate agent that said that to me . . . seriously, it's frightening.
Me: That's okay sir. Do you know your NRDS number sir? (Already looking it up because I know he's going to say . . . "
Member: No.
Me: Your NRDS number is XXXXXXXXX, Please enter that number and then your last name in LOWER CASE, sir. Then, click on login.
Member: It just sent me back to where I came from.
Me: What do you mean sir?
Member: It just sent me back to the event registration page.
Me: Sir, on the left side of the page, see where it reads: Events at ASS?
Member: Yes.
Me: Sir, above that what does it say?
Member: Hey, look at that: it says welcome myownname.
Me: Okay, that means that you are now logged in and can register for the class.
Member: How do I do that?
Me, internally: God grant me the serenity to accept the things . . .
Me: Sir, scroll down and you'll see a box that reads "Register for this Event" and click on that.
Member: Oh, okay. Now it's asking me if I want to continue shopping or checkout. What do I do?
Me - banging my head against my desk: Sir, would you like to purchase another class?
Member: No, I just want to sign up for this one.
Me: Okay, then all you have to do is click on checkout. From there, you'll be asked to provide us with the credit card information you would like to use and once you've entered that you'll want to scroll down and hit submit. Wait a few minutes after you hit submit because then you'll see a screen that reads "Thank You," and that will be your registration confirmation for the course that you have just paid for.
Member: (Huge audible sigh) Why is this so complicated?
Me: Sir, we find that it's more complicated for some of our members than others. Thank you!
Member: Uhm . . . thank you for your help.
Me: Your welcome. Have a good day!
Click.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Get Me to the Church on Time
The wedding is coming along.
I put a deposit on my dress this weekend.
I'd kind of been putting it off and I was starting to think it was some sort of sign. Like maybe I was trying to forget that I'm getting married and my procrastination was a sign of something deeper.
But, I've realized that I just felt too fat to have the boutique owner wrap that fucking tape measure around my hips. I've been working out though and my "fat pants" have been starting to feel loose so I figured it was time.
It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but I'm nowhere near done with the working out and healthy eating.
I just don't have a lot to say about the wedding. I'm excited and I can't wait to be married to this amazing man, but planning a wedding is boring.
There are a lot of to-do lists and a lot of deposits being paid.
I hate to sound unromantic, but it just doesn't make for good writing.
I did have a moment where I could have kicked myself in the ass.
I was shopping for envelopes for our save-the-date cards and I had one of the cards in my purse to compare colors when I realize that the 50 cards Steve carefully cut for me were WRONG!!!! Our wedding is on December 8th, my grandmother's birthday, and the date of the cards was December 6.
Seriously, this is why you shouldn't edit your own work.
I put a deposit on my dress this weekend.
I'd kind of been putting it off and I was starting to think it was some sort of sign. Like maybe I was trying to forget that I'm getting married and my procrastination was a sign of something deeper.
But, I've realized that I just felt too fat to have the boutique owner wrap that fucking tape measure around my hips. I've been working out though and my "fat pants" have been starting to feel loose so I figured it was time.
It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but I'm nowhere near done with the working out and healthy eating.
I just don't have a lot to say about the wedding. I'm excited and I can't wait to be married to this amazing man, but planning a wedding is boring.
There are a lot of to-do lists and a lot of deposits being paid.
I hate to sound unromantic, but it just doesn't make for good writing.
I did have a moment where I could have kicked myself in the ass.
I was shopping for envelopes for our save-the-date cards and I had one of the cards in my purse to compare colors when I realize that the 50 cards Steve carefully cut for me were WRONG!!!! Our wedding is on December 8th, my grandmother's birthday, and the date of the cards was December 6.
Seriously, this is why you shouldn't edit your own work.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Well, Isn't that Special?
I used to work with a woman named . . . let's call her Ashley, because that was her name and she worked my last nerve.
Anyway, we worked together at a "design firm," don't even get me started on that place. Our boss could have given The Devil Wears Prada's Miranda Priestly's thinly veiled Anna Wintour look sweet.
A (the boss) owned the firm so to some extent I figured, "It's her company . . . " and would often just brush off her "damn it, do it again" attitude. But, it did wear on me and after a while I got to feeling like I just couldn't get anything right.
Now though, I realize that A always knew exactly how she wanted the copy to read, and I never really had any sort of creative license. The big problem was that of all of my talents, mindreader was not one of them.
But this entry is not about A, it's about Ashley.
Anyway, Ashley was fresh out of college and in her first professional job as a designer. Except, designing for a business isn't quite the same as designing a class project. Most students in a university setting have at least a few weeks to develop a concept and execute it. In A's office we were often given a projects that had to be conceptualized and created, if we were lucky, in three days.
Ashley's first stumbling block was that she wasn't used to the pace. It is a shock, but most people would just deal with it. Work longer hours or take projects home (which we were allowed to do) to get the job done. But not our newest employee, Ashley preferred to complain.
I know I sucked at my job, but there were a few times when I did a damn good job on a writing project. So, I'd turn it over to Ashley to flow in the copy and she'd re-type it. Rather than just copy and paste what I had emailed her, she'd go through the trouble of typing it in, typing it in and not spell checking her work. Which, HELLO, made me look really bad because once copy was flowed in it would go directly to our boss.
I finally asked Ashley about it and she said, "Oh yeah, sometimes I do, do that." So, I asked her if that is what she wanted to do then could she at least spell check it. She said that it was no problem and that she'd start doing so. Except the next few projects that come through are again riddled with spelling errors. So, I get my hnds on one of them and ask her, "Did you spell check this?"
She replied, "Yes, absolutely."
To which I replied, "I find that hard to believe. I mean, I know spell check won't catch the difference between wear and where, but it would definitely catch that you mis-typed "the."
I was infuriated. Not because she'd made the mistake, but because she'd lied about it. Just flat out lied without having to because I wasn't her boss. It's not like telling me the truth would have gotten her into trouble. So, why lie about it.
After that, things swiftly went down hill.
She was miss Supa Christian, married to a youth pastor even, so she was completely a against using obscene language but, lying . . . totally okay apparently. Anyway, she didn't use words like ass, damn, shit or fuck, but was completely fine with calling our boss a whore when she'd piss her off.
Seriously? Fuck is off limits but calling someone a whore is okay?
Listen, I minored in Women's and Gender Studies and my feminist tendencies are always near the surface so I really didn't do well sitting by listening to her call another woman a whore. Don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to someone saying, I'm such a make-up (insert your own noun to descrive your vise- mine is shoe) whore."
I understand that, that calling yourself a "----- whore" is in jest, and maybe that doesn't make any sense to you, but to turn around and call another woman a whore because you don't like her management style (or whatever) is just not acceptable to me.
So, I asked her one day, "Could you please not use the word whore?"
To which SHE responded, "Are you kidding me?"
Me, "No, I think it's really offensive."
She smirked and said, "Okay, fine. I find it really offensive when you say fuck. Can you stop saying that?"
Me, "Okay."
You should have seen her face!
She was so pissed because I didn't get into an argument with her about how I felt the two were fundamentally different in their intent. Fuck, to me, just isn't as loaded as whore is.
Christians and two-year olds, as soon as you engage them in an argument you have already lost.
The sad thing is, I think I could have been friends with her if she hadn't been such a contradictory christian. I believe in God so it's not like I'm sitting around in my atheist basket headed for hell. I know with every fiber of my being that there was a higher power pusing me through some of the tougher times in my life, and every day I am grateful for the many blessings in my life.
Now, why am I even taking the time to trash this girl if I haven't seen her in years?
I just found her blog.
I was checking out the blog of a colleague and . . . surprise, surprise her blog is linked to his.
What I don't believe in is playing the good youth pastor's wife on Sunday and then turn around on your blog and trash overweight people in bathing suits, nice old people in the Wal-Mart parking lot that compliment your baby or the teenage girl you saw inappropriately dressed at the pool (at least SHE was thin).
It's bitchy.
It's judgemental.
Maybe even downright . . . unchristian.
Anyway, we worked together at a "design firm," don't even get me started on that place. Our boss could have given The Devil Wears Prada's Miranda Priestly's thinly veiled Anna Wintour look sweet.
A (the boss) owned the firm so to some extent I figured, "It's her company . . . " and would often just brush off her "damn it, do it again" attitude. But, it did wear on me and after a while I got to feeling like I just couldn't get anything right.
Now though, I realize that A always knew exactly how she wanted the copy to read, and I never really had any sort of creative license. The big problem was that of all of my talents, mindreader was not one of them.
But this entry is not about A, it's about Ashley.
Anyway, Ashley was fresh out of college and in her first professional job as a designer. Except, designing for a business isn't quite the same as designing a class project. Most students in a university setting have at least a few weeks to develop a concept and execute it. In A's office we were often given a projects that had to be conceptualized and created, if we were lucky, in three days.
Ashley's first stumbling block was that she wasn't used to the pace. It is a shock, but most people would just deal with it. Work longer hours or take projects home (which we were allowed to do) to get the job done. But not our newest employee, Ashley preferred to complain.
I know I sucked at my job, but there were a few times when I did a damn good job on a writing project. So, I'd turn it over to Ashley to flow in the copy and she'd re-type it. Rather than just copy and paste what I had emailed her, she'd go through the trouble of typing it in, typing it in and not spell checking her work. Which, HELLO, made me look really bad because once copy was flowed in it would go directly to our boss.
I finally asked Ashley about it and she said, "Oh yeah, sometimes I do, do that." So, I asked her if that is what she wanted to do then could she at least spell check it. She said that it was no problem and that she'd start doing so. Except the next few projects that come through are again riddled with spelling errors. So, I get my hnds on one of them and ask her, "Did you spell check this?"
She replied, "Yes, absolutely."
To which I replied, "I find that hard to believe. I mean, I know spell check won't catch the difference between wear and where, but it would definitely catch that you mis-typed "the."
I was infuriated. Not because she'd made the mistake, but because she'd lied about it. Just flat out lied without having to because I wasn't her boss. It's not like telling me the truth would have gotten her into trouble. So, why lie about it.
After that, things swiftly went down hill.
She was miss Supa Christian, married to a youth pastor even, so she was completely a against using obscene language but, lying . . . totally okay apparently. Anyway, she didn't use words like ass, damn, shit or fuck, but was completely fine with calling our boss a whore when she'd piss her off.
Seriously? Fuck is off limits but calling someone a whore is okay?
Listen, I minored in Women's and Gender Studies and my feminist tendencies are always near the surface so I really didn't do well sitting by listening to her call another woman a whore. Don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to someone saying, I'm such a make-up (insert your own noun to descrive your vise- mine is shoe) whore."
I understand that, that calling yourself a "----- whore" is in jest, and maybe that doesn't make any sense to you, but to turn around and call another woman a whore because you don't like her management style (or whatever) is just not acceptable to me.
So, I asked her one day, "Could you please not use the word whore?"
To which SHE responded, "Are you kidding me?"
Me, "No, I think it's really offensive."
She smirked and said, "Okay, fine. I find it really offensive when you say fuck. Can you stop saying that?"
Me, "Okay."
You should have seen her face!
She was so pissed because I didn't get into an argument with her about how I felt the two were fundamentally different in their intent. Fuck, to me, just isn't as loaded as whore is.
Christians and two-year olds, as soon as you engage them in an argument you have already lost.
The sad thing is, I think I could have been friends with her if she hadn't been such a contradictory christian. I believe in God so it's not like I'm sitting around in my atheist basket headed for hell. I know with every fiber of my being that there was a higher power pusing me through some of the tougher times in my life, and every day I am grateful for the many blessings in my life.
Now, why am I even taking the time to trash this girl if I haven't seen her in years?
I just found her blog.
I was checking out the blog of a colleague and . . . surprise, surprise her blog is linked to his.
What I don't believe in is playing the good youth pastor's wife on Sunday and then turn around on your blog and trash overweight people in bathing suits, nice old people in the Wal-Mart parking lot that compliment your baby or the teenage girl you saw inappropriately dressed at the pool (at least SHE was thin).
It's bitchy.
It's judgemental.
Maybe even downright . . . unchristian.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The Waiting Game
They made me an offer I couldn't refuse.
And then, of course, I countered it and they still wanted me.
I don't know if I've said this before, but this job is with a bank so they want to be absolutely sure I'm not going to go all Set It Off on their asses and are currently conducting a background check on me. I also had to go to one of their approved labs and take a drug test. Now I'm just waiting to hear back before I can quit my job.
I've never taken a drug test before, but I knew I was going to have to pee in a cup. In preparation, I drank my normal 64oz of water that day (32 oz by noon and another 32 oz by 5pm). My dad always comments that I must be in the bathroom all the time from all that water, but my bladder has adjusted so I just don't go that often: maybe twice in a four hour period.
Anyway, I finished my second 32 oz and topped it off with a caffeinated soft drink. My plan was to have the caffeine work as a diuretic to help me get that water moving. It totally did the job, but test anxiety is test anxiety.
I showed up without any cash or my checkbook and worried that I might have to pay. Fortunately, my friends VISA and Mastercard had their pictures posted in the office.
I walked in and there was a gentleman in their before me, but we were both called in at about the same time. I followed my lab tech into a refurbished walk-in closet with a sink and she instructed me to wash my hands. I did as I was told and then she handed me my cup and said, "The bathroom is right next door. Fill it to the line and when you're finished don't flush."
Me, "I'm sorry, did you say DON'T flush?"
Her, "Right, DON'T flush."
Me, completely thrown because not flushing just seems so wrong, "Okay . . . "
Then, just as I'm walking out of the room (sauntering really) she says, "You're being timed . . . "
That is when I became fully aware of the tick, tick, tick that must have been going the entire time I was in the room. Now, it was all I could hear: as if I was on some sort of urinary Beat the Clock.
I wasn't worried though, I was ready for this.
Except maybe a little too ready.
From the second I pulled my pants down it was like Niagra Falls. So I hurried up and stuck the cup down there with one hand. I waited a few seconds, cut it off and checked the cup to see if I'd filled it to the line. I was only halfway there and the clock was still ticking.
Finally, finally I hit the damn line, finished up, wiped . . . fuck, the toilet paper!
I'm standing there with an uncovered cup in my hand, my underpants around my ankles and a wad of soiled toilet paper in my hand. My eyes darted around the room and there were signs everywhere. Signs that I should have read when I walked in, but I was so eager to beat the clock that I just got down to business.
Finally, over the toilet I spot a sign that says, "Do not throw toilet paper into trashcan." Which, leads me to believe I CAN throw it in the toilet - which I do. I tell myself, actually have to tell myself, "DON'T flush the toilet." And, still with the unopened cup in my hand I single-handedly put my underpants and pants back on, fastened them and hustleed out to hand the tech my pee cup.
To which she replies, "Wash your hands."
Busted.
I always wash my hands after I pee, but people I was facing a deadline here!
I guess throwing the paper into the toilet was okay since I did not get called back in and it turns out I did not have to pay.
On my way out though, the gentleman that had walked in with me was also walking out and I heard his lab tech tell him, "Just wait a couple of minutes and maybe it will happen for you."
I felt bad for him you know, but . . .
I totally beat his pansy ass.
And then, of course, I countered it and they still wanted me.
I don't know if I've said this before, but this job is with a bank so they want to be absolutely sure I'm not going to go all Set It Off on their asses and are currently conducting a background check on me. I also had to go to one of their approved labs and take a drug test. Now I'm just waiting to hear back before I can quit my job.
I've never taken a drug test before, but I knew I was going to have to pee in a cup. In preparation, I drank my normal 64oz of water that day (32 oz by noon and another 32 oz by 5pm). My dad always comments that I must be in the bathroom all the time from all that water, but my bladder has adjusted so I just don't go that often: maybe twice in a four hour period.
Anyway, I finished my second 32 oz and topped it off with a caffeinated soft drink. My plan was to have the caffeine work as a diuretic to help me get that water moving. It totally did the job, but test anxiety is test anxiety.
I showed up without any cash or my checkbook and worried that I might have to pay. Fortunately, my friends VISA and Mastercard had their pictures posted in the office.
I walked in and there was a gentleman in their before me, but we were both called in at about the same time. I followed my lab tech into a refurbished walk-in closet with a sink and she instructed me to wash my hands. I did as I was told and then she handed me my cup and said, "The bathroom is right next door. Fill it to the line and when you're finished don't flush."
Me, "I'm sorry, did you say DON'T flush?"
Her, "Right, DON'T flush."
Me, completely thrown because not flushing just seems so wrong, "Okay . . . "
Then, just as I'm walking out of the room (sauntering really) she says, "You're being timed . . . "
That is when I became fully aware of the tick, tick, tick that must have been going the entire time I was in the room. Now, it was all I could hear: as if I was on some sort of urinary Beat the Clock.
I wasn't worried though, I was ready for this.
Except maybe a little too ready.
From the second I pulled my pants down it was like Niagra Falls. So I hurried up and stuck the cup down there with one hand. I waited a few seconds, cut it off and checked the cup to see if I'd filled it to the line. I was only halfway there and the clock was still ticking.
Finally, finally I hit the damn line, finished up, wiped . . . fuck, the toilet paper!
I'm standing there with an uncovered cup in my hand, my underpants around my ankles and a wad of soiled toilet paper in my hand. My eyes darted around the room and there were signs everywhere. Signs that I should have read when I walked in, but I was so eager to beat the clock that I just got down to business.
Finally, over the toilet I spot a sign that says, "Do not throw toilet paper into trashcan." Which, leads me to believe I CAN throw it in the toilet - which I do. I tell myself, actually have to tell myself, "DON'T flush the toilet." And, still with the unopened cup in my hand I single-handedly put my underpants and pants back on, fastened them and hustleed out to hand the tech my pee cup.
To which she replies, "Wash your hands."
Busted.
I always wash my hands after I pee, but people I was facing a deadline here!
I guess throwing the paper into the toilet was okay since I did not get called back in and it turns out I did not have to pay.
On my way out though, the gentleman that had walked in with me was also walking out and I heard his lab tech tell him, "Just wait a couple of minutes and maybe it will happen for you."
I felt bad for him you know, but . . .
I totally beat his pansy ass.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
No News is Good News
So, yeah, I don't know anything.
I WAS called in for a second interview, but unfortunately I am still in limbo. I felt that the interviews went well and we will see.
I had a job interview in New Orleans two years ago. It was for a position similar to the one I hold now, but it wouldn't have meant any travel. I would have been running an education department and not have had to drive all over LA.
Clearly, I didn't get it as I am still in AL.
I truly believe everything happens for a reason though because if I had gotten that job Steve and I wouldn't own our own home (home prices are high, high, high in NO) and God knows where I would have been living if I had moved home. I might have lived in a place that got flooded.
And, I love my house!!!
I will have to post pictures on here one of these days, but it really is a sweet two-bedroom, one-bath with french doors leading into the dining room from the living room and an 18' long, 9'deep covered front porch. I've spent hours on our front porch swing with Steve.
We've also decided to have the wedding at home, and our 1920s sweetie is perfect for a home wedding. It will be really small . . . just family and close friends. Having the wedding in AL is also allowing us to keep it on a small budget AND afford an oyster bar. Steve and I adore raw oysters so we are really excited that we'll be able to fit that in our budget. In fact, I joke with him that I knew he loved me because without fail he always offered me the last oyster when we'd order a dozen.
Anyway, not much going on her other than the waiting game.
I WAS called in for a second interview, but unfortunately I am still in limbo. I felt that the interviews went well and we will see.
I had a job interview in New Orleans two years ago. It was for a position similar to the one I hold now, but it wouldn't have meant any travel. I would have been running an education department and not have had to drive all over LA.
Clearly, I didn't get it as I am still in AL.
I truly believe everything happens for a reason though because if I had gotten that job Steve and I wouldn't own our own home (home prices are high, high, high in NO) and God knows where I would have been living if I had moved home. I might have lived in a place that got flooded.
And, I love my house!!!
I will have to post pictures on here one of these days, but it really is a sweet two-bedroom, one-bath with french doors leading into the dining room from the living room and an 18' long, 9'deep covered front porch. I've spent hours on our front porch swing with Steve.
We've also decided to have the wedding at home, and our 1920s sweetie is perfect for a home wedding. It will be really small . . . just family and close friends. Having the wedding in AL is also allowing us to keep it on a small budget AND afford an oyster bar. Steve and I adore raw oysters so we are really excited that we'll be able to fit that in our budget. In fact, I joke with him that I knew he loved me because without fail he always offered me the last oyster when we'd order a dozen.
Anyway, not much going on her other than the waiting game.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
I Hope I Get It
For a few weeks now I've been scanning the local classifieds and online sites for a new job. People who have known me for any length of time won't find this odd. I have had a tendency to move on after a year or so at any one job. Part of it is that I get bored, but a larger part of it is that at a year you are familiar enough with a company's structure to know whether or not there is any possiblity of advancement within that organization.
Take my first job out of college: I worked as a copywriter for a national catalog company. I loved that job! I got to play with new products as they came in and then I got to tell our customers why this or that product was so fantastic. The writing was cheesy, but at least I was writing and for a lot of our products it was creative writing.
I learned one important lesson at that job though: don't pigeon hole yourself.
My copy editor had been at the catalog for 20 years, in fact it had been her first job out of college. She'd been there since the 80's, a time when catalog sales were through the roof. Her bloated salary was a result of those glory years, but then the 90's hit and a catalog scandal chopped them off at the knees. Here's a story my CE shared with me,
"Oh, I never thought the catalog was where I would be after all this time. But, the salary increases were so great I couldn't leave. Then, when I finally sent out my resume I got the feeling that employers in other industries felt that all I could do was write for catalogs, so here I am."
That story depressed me, but it made me realize that I couldn't let that happen to me. I also realized my only possibility for advancement with that company was for my CE to die of a sudden illness or for me to kill her as she wasn't leaving anytime soon.
Neither of which were realistic options for me.
So, after that conversation and an annual review that went like this, "We think you are doing a really great job, we just wish you were turning in perfect copy on your first draft. But, we really love you so here's $100 more a month for you! We wish we could do more, but it's been a hard year on the company. Thanks!"
Okay, first of all, a first "draft" is a draft right? Meaning, it's a preliminary version, and I swear to you, 99% of my copy was letter perfect, the most I would get as far as edits were "Change this word to this word, put this word here . . . "
Secondly, I realize that 4% is standard, but I knew I could be working for more.
So, I left and in an effort to diversify my experience, I went to work for a magazine. It was a quirky trade publication that was fun to work at. I was associate editor of the international version of the magazine so I wrote for the domestic issues and edited and handed out assignments for the international issue. I learned a lot of valuable skills at that job. I sharpened my writing and editing skills and I learned how to take and give criticism diplomatically. The only reason I didn't stay there longer than a year was because: a.) we didn't get bylines so or writing was never credited and b.) our publisher was batshit crazy c.) our editor-in-chief was great about taking credit when we'd done something well, but she'd throw us under the bus in an instant if it meant covering her own ass.
Off I went in search for another job and landed the best job of my professional career. I was a curriculum developer for a large non-profit focused on teaching school children the fundamental principles economics and the free-enterprise system. I had the best boss ever at a company that actively promoted from within. I can say without doubt that I would probably still be there if my ex hadn't been military and I had made the choice to leave with him.
We moved and I took a job that was the equivalent of being in an abusive relationship. Nothing I could do was ever good enough and when I did things the way I was told they needed to be, they still weren't right. It was the first job where I I was counseled on my performance. This is the equivalent of being called to the principals office and being given a warning. The last straw for me was when I broke my leg and had to take two weeks off because of the pain. My supervisor said to me, "You can't just take two weeks off and not leave things prepared for your colleagues," and then slid a written warning across her desk for me to sign. I was lucky enough that I'd already secured employment elsewhere so I told her, "I don't think it would be right for me to sign it since I'm only going to be here for two more weeks." To which she responded, "Well, this was just a huge waste of time then." I don't remember my response, something tells me it was just silence as I stood, adjusted my crutches and hobbled out the door.
My next job was in advertising. A job that I failed at miserably. I just wasn't very good at coming up with catchy headlines and the truth is I really didn't care. I was good at long-form copy and radio scripts though, so it's not like I totally sucked. I just think I'd been working for non-profits for so long that I needed to feel I was making a difference, and writing radio spots for the local mall just wasn't doing it for me. I sent out resumes and a friend of mine told me her organization was hiring. So, I interviewed with them and got the job that I am at currently.
I don't hate my current job, but recent events have lead me to realize that no one really cares what I do as long as I don't piss anyone off. It's not like I'm looking for a pat on the head, but I would like to be somewhere that my projects are worthy of notice. Somewhere that my work in our publication is actually, oh I don't know, read.
I've been at jobs that made my life a living hell, so I know that all I have to do is not make waves and things will be okay. That is what some people want I think: a job where they can fly under the radar and continue to get paid, but I want more.
My boss isn't even that bad. I had one manager that fucked me up so good I would spend at least 30 minutes of every morning before work crying. This wan't Holly Hunter in Broadcast News kind of crying either.
There are also nice perks to my current job: I travel a lot so I'm not in the office a whole lot, but I'm not at home a whole lot either. I haven't had a cell phone bill in two years since the company pays for that and this nifty laptop I'm working on is work-issued. But the truth of it is, I am tired of not using my brain.
My current job doesn't give me any chance to use critical thinking skills and it turns out planning corporate training just leaves me feeling like a well-paid caterer.
So, I'm searching again and here's what's happened so far.
I found an outdated job posting that I responded to anyway. I explained to them that since the posting was still online that maybe they hadn't found the right candidate for the position. I didn't get a reply and within two days they had updated their website.
I was a little bummed because I thought maybe that move made me seem genuinely interested and I was hoping the move was bold enough to peak their interest, but nothing.
Then while I was out of town without internet access (in one of Chicago's chi-chi hotels even) I'd received an email from a local bank. It turns out they found my resume on an internet job site. I had posted my resume on this board, but I only ever got contacted by sketchy companies that were looking for someone in "sales." My instructions were to apply through the bank's website to pursue this further.
Not only did I apply, but in less than 24 hours they called me back to set up an interview. It's definitely a position that would require me to use my brain again, so I'm really excited and really confident seeing as how they made the first move.
I've indicated I'm receptive to an offer. And I am, after all, me. (Hee, slightly edited, but bonus points if you can guess what movie that's from.)
I feel good about this, and I've always felt everything happens for a reason so I can only assume that first organization didn't contact me because this is how things are supposed to happen.
Keep your fingers crossed.
Take my first job out of college: I worked as a copywriter for a national catalog company. I loved that job! I got to play with new products as they came in and then I got to tell our customers why this or that product was so fantastic. The writing was cheesy, but at least I was writing and for a lot of our products it was creative writing.
I learned one important lesson at that job though: don't pigeon hole yourself.
My copy editor had been at the catalog for 20 years, in fact it had been her first job out of college. She'd been there since the 80's, a time when catalog sales were through the roof. Her bloated salary was a result of those glory years, but then the 90's hit and a catalog scandal chopped them off at the knees. Here's a story my CE shared with me,
"Oh, I never thought the catalog was where I would be after all this time. But, the salary increases were so great I couldn't leave. Then, when I finally sent out my resume I got the feeling that employers in other industries felt that all I could do was write for catalogs, so here I am."
That story depressed me, but it made me realize that I couldn't let that happen to me. I also realized my only possibility for advancement with that company was for my CE to die of a sudden illness or for me to kill her as she wasn't leaving anytime soon.
Neither of which were realistic options for me.
So, after that conversation and an annual review that went like this, "We think you are doing a really great job, we just wish you were turning in perfect copy on your first draft. But, we really love you so here's $100 more a month for you! We wish we could do more, but it's been a hard year on the company. Thanks!"
Okay, first of all, a first "draft" is a draft right? Meaning, it's a preliminary version, and I swear to you, 99% of my copy was letter perfect, the most I would get as far as edits were "Change this word to this word, put this word here . . . "
Secondly, I realize that 4% is standard, but I knew I could be working for more.
So, I left and in an effort to diversify my experience, I went to work for a magazine. It was a quirky trade publication that was fun to work at. I was associate editor of the international version of the magazine so I wrote for the domestic issues and edited and handed out assignments for the international issue. I learned a lot of valuable skills at that job. I sharpened my writing and editing skills and I learned how to take and give criticism diplomatically. The only reason I didn't stay there longer than a year was because: a.) we didn't get bylines so or writing was never credited and b.) our publisher was batshit crazy c.) our editor-in-chief was great about taking credit when we'd done something well, but she'd throw us under the bus in an instant if it meant covering her own ass.
Off I went in search for another job and landed the best job of my professional career. I was a curriculum developer for a large non-profit focused on teaching school children the fundamental principles economics and the free-enterprise system. I had the best boss ever at a company that actively promoted from within. I can say without doubt that I would probably still be there if my ex hadn't been military and I had made the choice to leave with him.
We moved and I took a job that was the equivalent of being in an abusive relationship. Nothing I could do was ever good enough and when I did things the way I was told they needed to be, they still weren't right. It was the first job where I I was counseled on my performance. This is the equivalent of being called to the principals office and being given a warning. The last straw for me was when I broke my leg and had to take two weeks off because of the pain. My supervisor said to me, "You can't just take two weeks off and not leave things prepared for your colleagues," and then slid a written warning across her desk for me to sign. I was lucky enough that I'd already secured employment elsewhere so I told her, "I don't think it would be right for me to sign it since I'm only going to be here for two more weeks." To which she responded, "Well, this was just a huge waste of time then." I don't remember my response, something tells me it was just silence as I stood, adjusted my crutches and hobbled out the door.
My next job was in advertising. A job that I failed at miserably. I just wasn't very good at coming up with catchy headlines and the truth is I really didn't care. I was good at long-form copy and radio scripts though, so it's not like I totally sucked. I just think I'd been working for non-profits for so long that I needed to feel I was making a difference, and writing radio spots for the local mall just wasn't doing it for me. I sent out resumes and a friend of mine told me her organization was hiring. So, I interviewed with them and got the job that I am at currently.
I don't hate my current job, but recent events have lead me to realize that no one really cares what I do as long as I don't piss anyone off. It's not like I'm looking for a pat on the head, but I would like to be somewhere that my projects are worthy of notice. Somewhere that my work in our publication is actually, oh I don't know, read.
I've been at jobs that made my life a living hell, so I know that all I have to do is not make waves and things will be okay. That is what some people want I think: a job where they can fly under the radar and continue to get paid, but I want more.
My boss isn't even that bad. I had one manager that fucked me up so good I would spend at least 30 minutes of every morning before work crying. This wan't Holly Hunter in Broadcast News kind of crying either.
There are also nice perks to my current job: I travel a lot so I'm not in the office a whole lot, but I'm not at home a whole lot either. I haven't had a cell phone bill in two years since the company pays for that and this nifty laptop I'm working on is work-issued. But the truth of it is, I am tired of not using my brain.
My current job doesn't give me any chance to use critical thinking skills and it turns out planning corporate training just leaves me feeling like a well-paid caterer.
So, I'm searching again and here's what's happened so far.
I found an outdated job posting that I responded to anyway. I explained to them that since the posting was still online that maybe they hadn't found the right candidate for the position. I didn't get a reply and within two days they had updated their website.
I was a little bummed because I thought maybe that move made me seem genuinely interested and I was hoping the move was bold enough to peak their interest, but nothing.
Then while I was out of town without internet access (in one of Chicago's chi-chi hotels even) I'd received an email from a local bank. It turns out they found my resume on an internet job site. I had posted my resume on this board, but I only ever got contacted by sketchy companies that were looking for someone in "sales." My instructions were to apply through the bank's website to pursue this further.
Not only did I apply, but in less than 24 hours they called me back to set up an interview. It's definitely a position that would require me to use my brain again, so I'm really excited and really confident seeing as how they made the first move.
I've indicated I'm receptive to an offer. And I am, after all, me. (Hee, slightly edited, but bonus points if you can guess what movie that's from.)
I feel good about this, and I've always felt everything happens for a reason so I can only assume that first organization didn't contact me because this is how things are supposed to happen.
Keep your fingers crossed.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
The Notebook
It's 2006 and nothing makes me more giddy than the promise of a new notebook from The Dollar Store. My friend Melissa once shared the following story with me:
"When I was in eight grade, we had Career Day and my favorite presenter was the guy from the local paper. Not because he was from the city and not because of the exciting stories he had to tell, but because when this guy finished his speach he gave away sets of pocket-sized notebooks and golf pencils. I was seated in the back of the room as he handed them out and I remember thinking, 'Please don't run out, please don't run out . . . ' It's really no surprise I grew up to be a writer."
That 5 minute story runs through my head whenever I pull a new notebook from its shelf. It never fails to make me smile because I remember it was the first time I truly identified with a fellow writing geek.
So, I spent Sunday afternoon filling up the first page of my new single-subject, wide-rule Top Flight thinking, "This time it'll be different. This time I'll fill up the entire notebook with my witty prose.
That's the plan anyway.
I could avoid writing on the back of each page, but that's cheating isn't it?
Still, it would be so easy to justify it: writing on the back will just leave an imprint on the back of the cover, or worse, on the back of the previous back.
So?
SO!
Then the back of every page will look sloppy.
Yeah, anything to try to fill up a whole damn notebook.
Only once in my life have I ever filled up an entire notebook: my junior year of high school.
It was my first proper diary - covered in flowery fabric on the exterior and in teenage angst in the interior. It's an incredibly embarrassing tome: as it should be.
It actually starts on my 16th birthday (Technically, March of my sophmore year of high school.). In print, I immortalized my birthday wish,
"Please God, let me have a boyfriend this year."
Seriously, it doesn't get more cringeworthy, 16 year-old than that.
Oh, but it gets better.
For the next three months I whine about the following (not in any particular order):
1. Why wasn't I born with blonde hair!
2. I wish I was popular!
3. I wish I had blue eyes!
4. My parents JUST DON'T GET ME!
5. Please God - let me have a boyfriend this year!
6. I wish I was THIN!
7. SERIOUSLY - MY PARENTS - OH MY GOD!!!!!
That is only the beginning.
And yes, I was incredibly fond of exclamation points and bold print.
"When I was in eight grade, we had Career Day and my favorite presenter was the guy from the local paper. Not because he was from the city and not because of the exciting stories he had to tell, but because when this guy finished his speach he gave away sets of pocket-sized notebooks and golf pencils. I was seated in the back of the room as he handed them out and I remember thinking, 'Please don't run out, please don't run out . . . ' It's really no surprise I grew up to be a writer."
That 5 minute story runs through my head whenever I pull a new notebook from its shelf. It never fails to make me smile because I remember it was the first time I truly identified with a fellow writing geek.
So, I spent Sunday afternoon filling up the first page of my new single-subject, wide-rule Top Flight thinking, "This time it'll be different. This time I'll fill up the entire notebook with my witty prose.
That's the plan anyway.
I could avoid writing on the back of each page, but that's cheating isn't it?
Still, it would be so easy to justify it: writing on the back will just leave an imprint on the back of the cover, or worse, on the back of the previous back.
So?
SO!
Then the back of every page will look sloppy.
Yeah, anything to try to fill up a whole damn notebook.
Only once in my life have I ever filled up an entire notebook: my junior year of high school.
It was my first proper diary - covered in flowery fabric on the exterior and in teenage angst in the interior. It's an incredibly embarrassing tome: as it should be.
It actually starts on my 16th birthday (Technically, March of my sophmore year of high school.). In print, I immortalized my birthday wish,
"Please God, let me have a boyfriend this year."
Seriously, it doesn't get more cringeworthy, 16 year-old than that.
Oh, but it gets better.
For the next three months I whine about the following (not in any particular order):
1. Why wasn't I born with blonde hair!
2. I wish I was popular!
3. I wish I had blue eyes!
4. My parents JUST DON'T GET ME!
5. Please God - let me have a boyfriend this year!
6. I wish I was THIN!
7. SERIOUSLY - MY PARENTS - OH MY GOD!!!!!
That is only the beginning.
And yes, I was incredibly fond of exclamation points and bold print.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Oops, I Need a Stylist
Her "look" was only the beginning of Britney's problems during the Dateline interview with Matt Lauer.
I finally got around to watching the Dateline interview with Matt Lauer and Britney Spears.
I’ve sat back, watching this girl self-destruct just like the rest of you: shaking my head at her thong displays, her barefoot romps through the 7-ll and the rest of her trailer trash behavior.
I’ve snickered at America’s Pop Princess’ fall from grace so this interview . . . this interview was like a hug from Jesus.
Here are some of my favorite excerpts, with a few editorial comments to fill you in on the gestures exhibited by Spears and Lauer
Spears: I think because I was pregnant with my son, I didn’t want to do interviews. I wanted it to be a little private. But I think 90 percent of the world would agree that the tabloids have kind of gone a little [inappropriate air quote] far[inappropriate air quote] with me lately. You try not to respond to trash . . .
Cut to a brilliant edit of Lauer not responding to Spears.
Spears: They like to have the person they [inappropriate air quote] pick on [inappropriate air quote]. I feel like I’m a target and I feel like other girls are. At a certain point in everybody’s career, they’ll get it.
The misuse of air quotes, which are annoying when used correctly, was AWESOME.
Spears: And I still have helicopters [hovering over my house] that come twice a day.
Lauer: Just trying to get a picture of you at the pool?
Spears: Just anything. And they put the captions on their magazines, “Baby in danger” and stuff like that—which is really silly. But I wouldn’t be in danger if I didn’t have like this impactful thing around me all the time.
Uhm, no you self-centered twit, “Baby in Danger” is in reference to YOUR CHILD.
Lauer: You said a couple of times to me already you believe in karma. And as someone who is now several months pregnant, do you ever stop and think, “You know, he left someone else when she was a couple of months pregnant.” Does that ever cross your mind?
[Rapid blinking by Spears and you can almost see the dim bulb above her lighting up, but it never quite makes it.]
Lauer: What do you see in him? What is it about Kevin that makes you love him?
Spears: He’s very simple. Women complicate everything. He’s so simple. His simplicity and just he’s like a boy. He just, you know, and he cares. He cares so much and his—his heart is awesome. He has a really big heart [so that’s what the kids are calling it now] and I love that.
Oh honey, we know he’s simple. What I find so sad about her response is that even she's trying to justify this relationship at this point.
Federline: I have been paying for everything out of my pocket.
From the allowance he’s given, I’m sure.
Spears: You know, he has children now that he wants to support and not just let it be all me. He’s a man.
Sorry Shar, apparently only Brit’s children are important [read: rich] enough to support.
Spears: They make you feel like you have to have your transformation.
Lauer: Well—
Spears: Madonna reinvents herself. Right?
Oh Brit, Madonna may have gone around with a gold tooth and a wifebeater, but never at the same time. Sure, I remember thinking Madonna was just an attention whore during certain points in her career, but I don’t think anyone ever thought, “That Madonna girl, she’s just poor white trash that came into a little money.”
Spears: I like to cook, try to cook, and I like to clean. I’m obsessive like that. If I watch TV, I like to watch the home-redoing-the-house shows.
This bit of dialogue was disturbing to me because it was accompanied by odd Jack Black Kung Fu waving hands and weaving.
Lauer: How far along are you?
Spears: I don’t know.
How many pregnant women do you know that don’t know how far along they are?
Spears: That driving incident, I did it with my dad. I’d sit on his lap and I drive. We’re country.
As if we ever had any doubt about how "country" she is.
And just days after that photo appeared, on a visit to New York City, Britney stumbled again—this time literally.
Lauer: You’re walking with Sean in one arm and you tripped on—what was it, your pants?
Spears: Actually, I didn’t trip on anything. It was a New York street, and just cobblestones. [Uhm, no. I’ve seen the pictures of her stumbling and there were no cobblestones on that street.] And I was walking and I don’t think we were prepared with one security, ‘cause I’ve never had that much paparazzi ever on me in New York. So we didn’t even know there was gonna be that many people. So I think it was a mixture of so many paparazzi and how the road was all messed up [again, I’ve seen the pictures of this incident and it looks like a pretty level street], me just trying to get in the car.
Lauer: And there was a picture taken shortly afterward, I think you were in a store. And you appeared to be crying.
Spears: Oh yeah.
Lauer: Very upset. Were you upset because you just had a close call with your son? Or were you upset because the—
Spears: Because—
Lauer: —lenses were still on?
Spears: Well, because I got in the car and I was hungry.
I just couldn’t decide what to edit out of that because, it’s just ridiculous. So yeah, forget that the baby almost fell and could have busted his head open: she was hungry. Also, if you watch the interview, you can tell that Lauer is trying his best to prompt her towards the better answer, but she keeps interrupting him and it really does her no favors.
But it doesn’t mean she isn’t keeping busy. She found time to do a guest appearance on NBC’s “Will and Grace”.
Lauer: Was it fun for you?
Spears: It was awesome.
Lauer: Why? What was so great about it?
Spears: I hadn’t been out there for so long. So it was really exciting for me. And I just love funny people. Funny people are great. You know? And so hilarious.
Ya’ll know she’s a member of Mensa right?
And now, for Brits’ crimes against grammar: seriously, Momma Spears should NOT have pulled her out of school for her career.
. . . I didn’t have like this impactful thing around me all the time.
Nouns and adjectives – she just makes them up as she goes along.
So in my young mind I’m like, “I’m gonna just get married to someone of my home friends.
Actually, I didn’t know [regarding Federline’s relationship with Shar Jackson]. I didn’t know until two months later. But I don’t blame him because him and his friends—I’ve talked to his friends about this. They weren’t technically together when he came to me anyways.
I’m a motional wreck right now.
I just feel like the editors they don’t realize that there’s not just one magazine—there’s other magazines and they’re all paying to get a story. And I think that's where the energy from the people is coming from.
And I wanted to touch on some things with my husband because of the tabloids, that I try to keep my baby out of this whole thing. That’s what you know what I mean?
I think that’s cruelty when you judge people and—I’m not a Bible Belt.
What? Seriously, is this an anagram?
I kind of feel sorry for her because you can tell she's lost. She was given too much, too soon and didn't have any guidance.
But Britney, it's time to take this runaway horse by the reins and get yourself a team.
Get a publicist, get an image consultant . . . you can afford it.
And, I know it makes you sad to hear this, but ditch Kevin.
He is deadweight. I know he has a big "heart," but there are a lot of men out there with big "hearts."
I finally got around to watching the Dateline interview with Matt Lauer and Britney Spears.
I’ve sat back, watching this girl self-destruct just like the rest of you: shaking my head at her thong displays, her barefoot romps through the 7-ll and the rest of her trailer trash behavior.
I’ve snickered at America’s Pop Princess’ fall from grace so this interview . . . this interview was like a hug from Jesus.
Here are some of my favorite excerpts, with a few editorial comments to fill you in on the gestures exhibited by Spears and Lauer
Spears: I think because I was pregnant with my son, I didn’t want to do interviews. I wanted it to be a little private. But I think 90 percent of the world would agree that the tabloids have kind of gone a little [inappropriate air quote] far[inappropriate air quote] with me lately. You try not to respond to trash . . .
Cut to a brilliant edit of Lauer not responding to Spears.
Spears: They like to have the person they [inappropriate air quote] pick on [inappropriate air quote]. I feel like I’m a target and I feel like other girls are. At a certain point in everybody’s career, they’ll get it.
The misuse of air quotes, which are annoying when used correctly, was AWESOME.
Spears: And I still have helicopters [hovering over my house] that come twice a day.
Lauer: Just trying to get a picture of you at the pool?
Spears: Just anything. And they put the captions on their magazines, “Baby in danger” and stuff like that—which is really silly. But I wouldn’t be in danger if I didn’t have like this impactful thing around me all the time.
Uhm, no you self-centered twit, “Baby in Danger” is in reference to YOUR CHILD.
Lauer: You said a couple of times to me already you believe in karma. And as someone who is now several months pregnant, do you ever stop and think, “You know, he left someone else when she was a couple of months pregnant.” Does that ever cross your mind?
[Rapid blinking by Spears and you can almost see the dim bulb above her lighting up, but it never quite makes it.]
Lauer: What do you see in him? What is it about Kevin that makes you love him?
Spears: He’s very simple. Women complicate everything. He’s so simple. His simplicity and just he’s like a boy. He just, you know, and he cares. He cares so much and his—his heart is awesome. He has a really big heart [so that’s what the kids are calling it now] and I love that.
Oh honey, we know he’s simple. What I find so sad about her response is that even she's trying to justify this relationship at this point.
Federline: I have been paying for everything out of my pocket.
From the allowance he’s given, I’m sure.
Spears: You know, he has children now that he wants to support and not just let it be all me. He’s a man.
Sorry Shar, apparently only Brit’s children are important [read: rich] enough to support.
Spears: They make you feel like you have to have your transformation.
Lauer: Well—
Spears: Madonna reinvents herself. Right?
Oh Brit, Madonna may have gone around with a gold tooth and a wifebeater, but never at the same time. Sure, I remember thinking Madonna was just an attention whore during certain points in her career, but I don’t think anyone ever thought, “That Madonna girl, she’s just poor white trash that came into a little money.”
Spears: I like to cook, try to cook, and I like to clean. I’m obsessive like that. If I watch TV, I like to watch the home-redoing-the-house shows.
This bit of dialogue was disturbing to me because it was accompanied by odd Jack Black Kung Fu waving hands and weaving.
Lauer: How far along are you?
Spears: I don’t know.
How many pregnant women do you know that don’t know how far along they are?
Spears: That driving incident, I did it with my dad. I’d sit on his lap and I drive. We’re country.
As if we ever had any doubt about how "country" she is.
And just days after that photo appeared, on a visit to New York City, Britney stumbled again—this time literally.
Lauer: You’re walking with Sean in one arm and you tripped on—what was it, your pants?
Spears: Actually, I didn’t trip on anything. It was a New York street, and just cobblestones. [Uhm, no. I’ve seen the pictures of her stumbling and there were no cobblestones on that street.] And I was walking and I don’t think we were prepared with one security, ‘cause I’ve never had that much paparazzi ever on me in New York. So we didn’t even know there was gonna be that many people. So I think it was a mixture of so many paparazzi and how the road was all messed up [again, I’ve seen the pictures of this incident and it looks like a pretty level street], me just trying to get in the car.
Lauer: And there was a picture taken shortly afterward, I think you were in a store. And you appeared to be crying.
Spears: Oh yeah.
Lauer: Very upset. Were you upset because you just had a close call with your son? Or were you upset because the—
Spears: Because—
Lauer: —lenses were still on?
Spears: Well, because I got in the car and I was hungry.
I just couldn’t decide what to edit out of that because, it’s just ridiculous. So yeah, forget that the baby almost fell and could have busted his head open: she was hungry. Also, if you watch the interview, you can tell that Lauer is trying his best to prompt her towards the better answer, but she keeps interrupting him and it really does her no favors.
But it doesn’t mean she isn’t keeping busy. She found time to do a guest appearance on NBC’s “Will and Grace”.
Lauer: Was it fun for you?
Spears: It was awesome.
Lauer: Why? What was so great about it?
Spears: I hadn’t been out there for so long. So it was really exciting for me. And I just love funny people. Funny people are great. You know? And so hilarious.
Ya’ll know she’s a member of Mensa right?
And now, for Brits’ crimes against grammar: seriously, Momma Spears should NOT have pulled her out of school for her career.
. . . I didn’t have like this impactful thing around me all the time.
Nouns and adjectives – she just makes them up as she goes along.
So in my young mind I’m like, “I’m gonna just get married to someone of my home friends.
Actually, I didn’t know [regarding Federline’s relationship with Shar Jackson]. I didn’t know until two months later. But I don’t blame him because him and his friends—I’ve talked to his friends about this. They weren’t technically together when he came to me anyways.
I’m a motional wreck right now.
I just feel like the editors they don’t realize that there’s not just one magazine—there’s other magazines and they’re all paying to get a story. And I think that's where the energy from the people is coming from.
And I wanted to touch on some things with my husband because of the tabloids, that I try to keep my baby out of this whole thing. That’s what you know what I mean?
I think that’s cruelty when you judge people and—I’m not a Bible Belt.
What? Seriously, is this an anagram?
I kind of feel sorry for her because you can tell she's lost. She was given too much, too soon and didn't have any guidance.
But Britney, it's time to take this runaway horse by the reins and get yourself a team.
Get a publicist, get an image consultant . . . you can afford it.
And, I know it makes you sad to hear this, but ditch Kevin.
He is deadweight. I know he has a big "heart," but there are a lot of men out there with big "hearts."
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Champagne Supernova
Have you ever been in your car, or at work, listening to the radio, just minding your own business, when a song from a particular time in your past sneaks in and kicks you in the stomach.
Yeah: I'm sitting here at work and fucking Oasis comes on the radio with Champagne Supernova. It was getting heavy airplay during the summer of 1996. I was about to celebrate my first year of marriage, so I was still a giddy newlywed. I remember the song well because I spent a lot of that summer at the natatorium in LSU's pool, and that song played at least once a day on the loudspeaker.
But, I have this one distinct memory of it playing.
I was practicing the backstroke and J showed up at the pool with my friend Jen. I remember taking a break and seeing them at the other end of the pool (heads together in confidence).
I remember feeling really happy.
Happy because I was 21, young, pretty and my husband and best friend got along.
Now, 10 years later, I realize that J was probably telling Jen about the latest gaggly of guys he had fucked, and Jen was doing her best to encourage him to be honest with me.
So, now when I hear Champagne Supernova I feel incredibly sad.
Sad because I still mourn for that happy girl who thought nothing could go wrong.
Oasis - Champagne Supernova
How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky
Wake up the dawn and ask her why
A dreamer dreams she never dies
Wipe that tear away now from your eye
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you when we were getting high?
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky
Cos people believe that they're
Gonna get away for the summer
But you and I, we live and die
The world's still spinning round
We don't know why
Why, why, why, why
How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky
Cos people believe that they're
Gonna get away for the summer
But you and I, we live and die
The world's still spinning round
We don't know why
Why, why, why, why
How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
We were getting high
We were getting high
We were getting high
We were getting high
Yeah: I'm sitting here at work and fucking Oasis comes on the radio with Champagne Supernova. It was getting heavy airplay during the summer of 1996. I was about to celebrate my first year of marriage, so I was still a giddy newlywed. I remember the song well because I spent a lot of that summer at the natatorium in LSU's pool, and that song played at least once a day on the loudspeaker.
But, I have this one distinct memory of it playing.
I was practicing the backstroke and J showed up at the pool with my friend Jen. I remember taking a break and seeing them at the other end of the pool (heads together in confidence).
I remember feeling really happy.
Happy because I was 21, young, pretty and my husband and best friend got along.
Now, 10 years later, I realize that J was probably telling Jen about the latest gaggly of guys he had fucked, and Jen was doing her best to encourage him to be honest with me.
So, now when I hear Champagne Supernova I feel incredibly sad.
Sad because I still mourn for that happy girl who thought nothing could go wrong.
Oasis - Champagne Supernova
How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky
Wake up the dawn and ask her why
A dreamer dreams she never dies
Wipe that tear away now from your eye
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you when we were getting high?
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky
Cos people believe that they're
Gonna get away for the summer
But you and I, we live and die
The world's still spinning round
We don't know why
Why, why, why, why
How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky
Cos people believe that they're
Gonna get away for the summer
But you and I, we live and die
The world's still spinning round
We don't know why
Why, why, why, why
How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
We were getting high
We were getting high
We were getting high
We were getting high
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Three Guesses
What do YOU think Tom is up to in this picture?
Meanwhile, Katie stumbles forward in a drugged stupor.
Meanwhile, Katie stumbles forward in a drugged stupor.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
I'd Rather Be Dancing
I don't usually talk about work because I don't want to get dooced, but I have a job that requires a significant amount of overnight travel. It's not glamorous and it's not fun. It takes me away from S, a set routine and my comfy bed.
But tonight, TONIGHT I discovered an exciting new perk to business travel: trying out new gyms.
This week I'm in a city I've been to a number of times and two trips ago I stayed at a hotel that partners with a club called the Riviera. Usually when I go to the gym I play it safe and do some freeweights and either job on the treadmill or hop on an elliptical. However, the last time I was here I went to the gym at the same time that one of the cardio classes was going on. I couldn't exactly see what they were doing from the machine that I was one, but I could hear the music: PDiddy, Nelly, Ludacris . . . I was intrigued. So I finished up my workout and peeked in - they were dancing! Dancing like they were at 'da club, ya'll.
I danced for 11 years and it's been a long time since I took my last class and at that I only took ballet, tap and jazz because the school I attended didn't offer hiphop. So, when I saw this class I made a mental note to call the gym the next time I was in town and I was in luck.
Tonight was my first night of "Cardio Jam" and it was AWESOME. I felt like JLo up in that joint. There were no mirrors in the class so I just kind of threw it out there and had a good time. In my head I looked awesome and kicked ass, on the outside I'm sure I looked like I belonged in a Rhythmless Nation, but I didn't care.
It's been a long time since I went to the gym and had this much fun and my only true sadness here is that my gym at home doesn't offer a class like this one. But, I'm here through Friday and they are offering another CJ class on Thursday night so you know I'll be shaking it.
But tonight, TONIGHT I discovered an exciting new perk to business travel: trying out new gyms.
This week I'm in a city I've been to a number of times and two trips ago I stayed at a hotel that partners with a club called the Riviera. Usually when I go to the gym I play it safe and do some freeweights and either job on the treadmill or hop on an elliptical. However, the last time I was here I went to the gym at the same time that one of the cardio classes was going on. I couldn't exactly see what they were doing from the machine that I was one, but I could hear the music: PDiddy, Nelly, Ludacris . . . I was intrigued. So I finished up my workout and peeked in - they were dancing! Dancing like they were at 'da club, ya'll.
I danced for 11 years and it's been a long time since I took my last class and at that I only took ballet, tap and jazz because the school I attended didn't offer hiphop. So, when I saw this class I made a mental note to call the gym the next time I was in town and I was in luck.
Tonight was my first night of "Cardio Jam" and it was AWESOME. I felt like JLo up in that joint. There were no mirrors in the class so I just kind of threw it out there and had a good time. In my head I looked awesome and kicked ass, on the outside I'm sure I looked like I belonged in a Rhythmless Nation, but I didn't care.
It's been a long time since I went to the gym and had this much fun and my only true sadness here is that my gym at home doesn't offer a class like this one. But, I'm here through Friday and they are offering another CJ class on Thursday night so you know I'll be shaking it.
Monday, May 08, 2006
I Touch Roses
When we moved into our home (built in the late 1920s) we were pleased with the existing flora on the premises: camellias, fig bushes, lantana, azaleas . . . and a large, gangly rose bush. I don't know much about plants, but I know enough to live in a home through at least one calendar year in order to see what pops up in the yard. I know even less about roses, so I turn to the internets to help me identify this beauty:
Also, it appears to close up at night. I didn't know roses did that.
And, just in case there are any gardeners looking for some porn:
Also, it appears to close up at night. I didn't know roses did that. And, just in case there are any gardeners looking for some porn:
Monday, May 01, 2006
You Make the Call
We are but a few months away from the wedding date and I need to turn to you the internets to help me make an important decision:
Goat
Or, No Goat:
You make the call.
Also, for those of you that I don't get to see on a daily basis, here is a picture of the ring:
Goat
Or, No Goat:
You make the call.
Also, for those of you that I don't get to see on a daily basis, here is a picture of the ring:
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Fat Bottomed Girls Were Not Born to Run
At the beginning of the year, I posted this.
Ya'll saw the pictures I've posted before. I did train with the local group and by our race course practice run I was walk/running a pretty good 5K. Then, I went on some business travel and came down with amoebic dysentery. According to Wikipedia, this is something common when travelers visit "developing nations." I was in Alabama people, which admittedly isn't all that far along, but COME ON!
The plan was to run the Heritage Race through downtown Montgomery, but on the morning of the race I was still experiencing some cramping and discomfort. Not to mention, two weeks of persistent diarrhea can do some pretty effective dehydrating.
So, the race was a no go for me. I was pretty upset because I have a history of not following through. I figured if I'd skipped this chance, then I might just blow it off and not ever run a 5k.
Then, I saw an add for the Joy to Life: Walk of Life 5K Walk/Run.
Six years ago now, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was a post-menopausal woman at the time and her chances of recovery were incredibly high (in the 90th percentile), so I never really worried for her life because I knew that statistically her chances of survival were great.
More importantly, my mom became my biggest hero because her chances of survival were greatly improved by early detection. See, her cancer was detected during her routine, annual mammogram. It was so small that even a monthly self-breast exam wouldn't have found anything. Here doctors actually described the "mass" as being no larger than a grain of sand. My mom was very fortunate to: 1)find it early, 2)be a post-menopausal woman and 3)have a medical plan that allows her to afford annual mammograms.
Which is why Joy to Life: Walk of Life 5K Walk/Run was a no-brainer for me. All proceeds from the annual Walk of Life benefit the Foundation, which supports screenings and early detection of breast cancer for women in the tri-county area who are younger than 50 years old and cannot afford mammograms.
So, I strapped on my running shoes and headed to the race bright and early on Saturday morning. I picked up my number and filled out my "I am walking in honor of: Edna Martinez" form for the back of my shirt and I stood around. I was nervous and excited, but mostly I was scared that I'd fall or do something equally uncoordinated during the race.
Within minutes of arriving, I was approached by a few members of my original running club and our coordinator. I was relieved to see Mary because I'd been needing that validation. That whole, "SEE, I did show up. I did follow-through."
I didn't finish in record time: 00:46:09, but there were still scores of people behind me when I crossed that finish line.
But, as I ran up to the finish line and heard the cheering voices of survivors, current breast cancer patients and other runners that had finished before me, I realized it wasn't about that.
It was about my $25 registration fee helping save someone's mother, daughter, sister, friend.
That, in the end, was my reward.
Ya'll saw the pictures I've posted before. I did train with the local group and by our race course practice run I was walk/running a pretty good 5K. Then, I went on some business travel and came down with amoebic dysentery. According to Wikipedia, this is something common when travelers visit "developing nations." I was in Alabama people, which admittedly isn't all that far along, but COME ON!
The plan was to run the Heritage Race through downtown Montgomery, but on the morning of the race I was still experiencing some cramping and discomfort. Not to mention, two weeks of persistent diarrhea can do some pretty effective dehydrating.
So, the race was a no go for me. I was pretty upset because I have a history of not following through. I figured if I'd skipped this chance, then I might just blow it off and not ever run a 5k.
Then, I saw an add for the Joy to Life: Walk of Life 5K Walk/Run.
Six years ago now, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was a post-menopausal woman at the time and her chances of recovery were incredibly high (in the 90th percentile), so I never really worried for her life because I knew that statistically her chances of survival were great.
More importantly, my mom became my biggest hero because her chances of survival were greatly improved by early detection. See, her cancer was detected during her routine, annual mammogram. It was so small that even a monthly self-breast exam wouldn't have found anything. Here doctors actually described the "mass" as being no larger than a grain of sand. My mom was very fortunate to: 1)find it early, 2)be a post-menopausal woman and 3)have a medical plan that allows her to afford annual mammograms.
Which is why Joy to Life: Walk of Life 5K Walk/Run was a no-brainer for me. All proceeds from the annual Walk of Life benefit the Foundation, which supports screenings and early detection of breast cancer for women in the tri-county area who are younger than 50 years old and cannot afford mammograms.
So, I strapped on my running shoes and headed to the race bright and early on Saturday morning. I picked up my number and filled out my "I am walking in honor of: Edna Martinez" form for the back of my shirt and I stood around. I was nervous and excited, but mostly I was scared that I'd fall or do something equally uncoordinated during the race.
Within minutes of arriving, I was approached by a few members of my original running club and our coordinator. I was relieved to see Mary because I'd been needing that validation. That whole, "SEE, I did show up. I did follow-through."
I didn't finish in record time: 00:46:09, but there were still scores of people behind me when I crossed that finish line.
But, as I ran up to the finish line and heard the cheering voices of survivors, current breast cancer patients and other runners that had finished before me, I realized it wasn't about that.
It was about my $25 registration fee helping save someone's mother, daughter, sister, friend.
That, in the end, was my reward.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Talk To The Hand
I spent a large part of my weekend sacked out on the couch watching The Gilmore Girls Season 1 DVDs (Thanks Secret Squirrel).
I'm not ashamed to admit that I spent that much time loafing. Fuck it, I've earned it. I've been on the road for six weeks now so I think I've earned a little downtime.
What I am ashamed to admit is that I'm not so good with the remote control. I forget which button just rewinds vs taking me back to a previous scene. I also don't know when I can and can't hit certain buttons.
But, you can bet my bitchy DVD player doesn't let me get away with shit.
If, say, I'm trying to look at the menu that shows me the list of episodes before the DVD player is ready, she sassily replies with:
That's right: my DVD playes gives me THE HAND.
I try to fast forward through the FBI Warning to get my GG fix, but she's all:
"You want me to 'hurry up' so you can watch your show? Uh-uh, I don't think so."
Bitch.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I spent that much time loafing. Fuck it, I've earned it. I've been on the road for six weeks now so I think I've earned a little downtime.
What I am ashamed to admit is that I'm not so good with the remote control. I forget which button just rewinds vs taking me back to a previous scene. I also don't know when I can and can't hit certain buttons.
But, you can bet my bitchy DVD player doesn't let me get away with shit.
If, say, I'm trying to look at the menu that shows me the list of episodes before the DVD player is ready, she sassily replies with:
That's right: my DVD playes gives me THE HAND.
I try to fast forward through the FBI Warning to get my GG fix, but she's all:
"You want me to 'hurry up' so you can watch your show? Uh-uh, I don't think so."
Bitch.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Wish List
We are a little over a month away from my birthday, and since I'm fairly certain the only person reading me these days is my brother (Hi Boo!), I'm going to put up my wish list:
1. A subscription to Real Simple Magazine
2. Yoga pants from Old Navy (Size L)
3. Girlmore Girls on DVD (Season 2) (My friend The Secret Squirrel surprised me with this. Thanks B!)
4. this baby.
5. I totally couldn't wait on this so I splurged this weekend and bought this my own damn self.
Check back in for periodic updates :)
1. A subscription to Real Simple Magazine
2. Yoga pants from Old Navy (Size L)
3. Girlmore Girls on DVD (Season 2) (My friend The Secret Squirrel surprised me with this. Thanks B!)
4. this baby.
5. I totally couldn't wait on this so I splurged this weekend and bought this my own damn self.
Check back in for periodic updates :)
Lez Be Friends
Oooh, this is my 100th post. I'll wait while you roll out the big cake with all the candles and start my clip show.
Anyway, my brother has gotten me into watching The L Word. I've never watched this show before because I didn't used to have Showtime. I'm really cheap so I just didn't go for any of the movie channels, but then I moved and the cable company didn't catch on to the fact that they left me the "premium" channels (What?). So, now every Sunday evening finds me watching The L Word.
I love it.
Mostly because I am fascinated by the complexity of women's relationships. No matter how many hateful things they do to each other, they remain in the same web of friendship. Maybe it's that untangling themselves from it would be too complicated. I don't know, the truth is I've never had trouble cutting myself out of a relationship that is past it's prime, so these women fascinate me. Then again, I also have few people that would come to my side if I were diagnosed with breast cancer (as Dana was a few weeks ago).
Anyway, and I think this show has taken heat for this, I have never seen this many beautiful lesbians in one group.
While I may live in the South, where being out isn't exactly embraced, I have had lesbian friends . . . quite a few. I've also been to more than my share of lesbian bars packed with throngs of Sapphic sisters.
Now, it's not like all the lesbian gals down here are sporting mullets, driving beat up trucks and carrying a can of Skoal in their back pocket, but they don't look like that.
What I see a lot down here are fabulous gay men (many of whom I am blessed with their friendship).
Beautiful men that work out, are coifed within an inch of their lives and KNOW how to dress.
Where have all the pretty lesbians gone?
Anyway, my brother has gotten me into watching The L Word. I've never watched this show before because I didn't used to have Showtime. I'm really cheap so I just didn't go for any of the movie channels, but then I moved and the cable company didn't catch on to the fact that they left me the "premium" channels (What?). So, now every Sunday evening finds me watching The L Word.
I love it.
Mostly because I am fascinated by the complexity of women's relationships. No matter how many hateful things they do to each other, they remain in the same web of friendship. Maybe it's that untangling themselves from it would be too complicated. I don't know, the truth is I've never had trouble cutting myself out of a relationship that is past it's prime, so these women fascinate me. Then again, I also have few people that would come to my side if I were diagnosed with breast cancer (as Dana was a few weeks ago).
Anyway, and I think this show has taken heat for this, I have never seen this many beautiful lesbians in one group.
While I may live in the South, where being out isn't exactly embraced, I have had lesbian friends . . . quite a few. I've also been to more than my share of lesbian bars packed with throngs of Sapphic sisters.
Now, it's not like all the lesbian gals down here are sporting mullets, driving beat up trucks and carrying a can of Skoal in their back pocket, but they don't look like that.
What I see a lot down here are fabulous gay men (many of whom I am blessed with their friendship).
Beautiful men that work out, are coifed within an inch of their lives and KNOW how to dress.
Where have all the pretty lesbians gone?
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
I Hear The Secrets That You Keep
Anyone that's had to spend the night with me is well aware of the fact that I talk in my sleep.
It's usually random stuff, nothing that really makes any sense.
So, imagine my surprise last Saturday morning when I hear S say:
"Well, do we qualify?"
I had only just woken up, so I asked, "Are you awake?"
S, with eyes closed, "Yes."
I figured why not find out what we qualify may or may not for. So, I cut my eyes at him and thought, "Why not?"
So, I replied, "What do you want to qualify for?"
S, "Food stamps . . . "
Of all the things we could qualify for (home loan, as adoptive parents, car loan . . . ), he comes up with FOOD STAMPS!
My reply, "Why would we want food stamps?"
S, "If someone else is willing to pay for our food . . . "
At which point I stared at the ceiling and realized: dear God, I am marrying my father.
Me, "S, are you sure you're awake?"
S, still with eyes closed, "Why?"
Me, "You were just talking to me about food stamps."
S, "Hmm, I guess I'm not awake."
And in nanoseconds he was softly snoring.
It's usually random stuff, nothing that really makes any sense.
So, imagine my surprise last Saturday morning when I hear S say:
"Well, do we qualify?"
I had only just woken up, so I asked, "Are you awake?"
S, with eyes closed, "Yes."
I figured why not find out what we qualify may or may not for. So, I cut my eyes at him and thought, "Why not?"
So, I replied, "What do you want to qualify for?"
S, "Food stamps . . . "
Of all the things we could qualify for (home loan, as adoptive parents, car loan . . . ), he comes up with FOOD STAMPS!
My reply, "Why would we want food stamps?"
S, "If someone else is willing to pay for our food . . . "
At which point I stared at the ceiling and realized: dear God, I am marrying my father.
Me, "S, are you sure you're awake?"
S, still with eyes closed, "Why?"
Me, "You were just talking to me about food stamps."
S, "Hmm, I guess I'm not awake."
And in nanoseconds he was softly snoring.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Born to Run
Except, not.
It is so clear in this picture that I am NOT feeling that endorphine rush.
You know what I love about that picture the most?
You can just tell that I'm thinking, "Dear God, why am I doing this to myself?" While the bitch in the background is all, "I love to run . . . weeeeeee!"
Also: my double chin is so massive I look like I have the goiter.
In my defense, I did not know they were taking my picture.
So, two weeks later, when I saw the camera aimed in my direction: I was ready. This, is what you call FIERCE.
I blame my father for cheeks that look like I'm storing nuts for the winter.
It is so clear in this picture that I am NOT feeling that endorphine rush.
You know what I love about that picture the most?
You can just tell that I'm thinking, "Dear God, why am I doing this to myself?" While the bitch in the background is all, "I love to run . . . weeeeeee!"
Also: my double chin is so massive I look like I have the goiter.
In my defense, I did not know they were taking my picture.
So, two weeks later, when I saw the camera aimed in my direction: I was ready. This, is what you call FIERCE.
I blame my father for cheeks that look like I'm storing nuts for the winter.
Book List
S' parents gave me a Barnes & Noble gift certificate for Christmas. I'm rather deliberate in my purchases so it's taken me a while to come up with a list of reading materials worthy of my spending the gc.
On the top of my list was a new calendar. I know this isn't impressive, but I needed one and by the end of January they are 75% off - you know it was prudent of me to wait until after the new year to make this purchase, but I really limited myself. I had a choice of Cute Cats 2006, More Cute Cats 2006 and Dali. I went with the Dali. I don't have any particular affinity for Dali, but his work reminds me of a moment I had during the first spring I lived in Colorado Springs.
Springtime in the Springs is gorgeous. The skies our cloudless and the blue is the most startling shade of indigo. The sky looks even more stunning against the mostly barren terrain. I really can't do it justice. Anyway, this particular spring morning I was on my way to work, anyone that knows me is well aware of the fact that I am not a morning person, so my morning commute was usually my 30 minutes to wake-up and face another day at work. On this particular day, I remember glancing into my rearview mirror to check my eyeliner (what, like I ever look in there to see if I can switch lanes) and I saw this.
"Fuck me," I thought.
Mind you, it was early, I was still groggy and I couldn't make out the basket so for a brief time, on my otherwise boring drive, I truly felt as if I was living inside of a Dali painting. Alas, it was just a hot air balloon.
Later That Same Day . . .
My other purchases at B&N were the latest issue of Real Simple and Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking.
Didion's book has been on my wish list for a while now and it has been worth the expenditure. It's not a cheery book as she recounts for us the death of her husband and the year thereafter, which includes the touch-and-go hospitalization of her daughter, Quintana Roo. Roo, died of acute pancreatitis (not the reason for hospitalization in the boo) after the book's publication.
What moved me was how much her mourning period reminds me of what I went through when my marriage ended.
She opens the novel with:
Joan Didion starts her book:
"Life changes fast
Life changes in an instant
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends."
For me it was a phone call from my spouse and life as I knew it had ended. She goes on about how people always say, "It was just a normal day when . . . " My recollection of the day I found out about J starts out, "It was another beautiful spring day . . . " not unlike the one in which I unexpectedly found myself in a Dali painting.
I can't tell you what happened in the hours after I found out about J. I am only sure of the fact that I finished out my day at work as if it was any other day.
Didion is referred to as a "cool customer" by the paramedics at the hospital. Rather than falling to her knees in a mass of uncontrolled sobbing, Didion takes stock of the moment she is in and focuses on the mundane: I'll need my keys if we are going to the hospital. I don't think she's a "cool customer" as much as she's doing what she needs to deal with the situation.
I could do this with a lot of what Didion when through, but I won't. If you've read my blog, you know the story of J and I so I won't bore you with it here. It would also be awfully naive of me to compare the end of a relationship to the lose of a spouse.
But, the next time a friend, acquaintance or sibling, whatever, goes over their breakup/divorce for the 1000th time don't belittle his or her pain by saying, "Get over it already."
The loss of a spouse/partner is painful, no matter how it happens.
On the top of my list was a new calendar. I know this isn't impressive, but I needed one and by the end of January they are 75% off - you know it was prudent of me to wait until after the new year to make this purchase, but I really limited myself. I had a choice of Cute Cats 2006, More Cute Cats 2006 and Dali. I went with the Dali. I don't have any particular affinity for Dali, but his work reminds me of a moment I had during the first spring I lived in Colorado Springs.
Springtime in the Springs is gorgeous. The skies our cloudless and the blue is the most startling shade of indigo. The sky looks even more stunning against the mostly barren terrain. I really can't do it justice. Anyway, this particular spring morning I was on my way to work, anyone that knows me is well aware of the fact that I am not a morning person, so my morning commute was usually my 30 minutes to wake-up and face another day at work. On this particular day, I remember glancing into my rearview mirror to check my eyeliner (what, like I ever look in there to see if I can switch lanes) and I saw this.
"Fuck me," I thought.
Mind you, it was early, I was still groggy and I couldn't make out the basket so for a brief time, on my otherwise boring drive, I truly felt as if I was living inside of a Dali painting. Alas, it was just a hot air balloon.
Later That Same Day . . .
My other purchases at B&N were the latest issue of Real Simple and Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking.
Didion's book has been on my wish list for a while now and it has been worth the expenditure. It's not a cheery book as she recounts for us the death of her husband and the year thereafter, which includes the touch-and-go hospitalization of her daughter, Quintana Roo. Roo, died of acute pancreatitis (not the reason for hospitalization in the boo) after the book's publication.
What moved me was how much her mourning period reminds me of what I went through when my marriage ended.
She opens the novel with:
Joan Didion starts her book:
"Life changes fast
Life changes in an instant
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends."
For me it was a phone call from my spouse and life as I knew it had ended. She goes on about how people always say, "It was just a normal day when . . . " My recollection of the day I found out about J starts out, "It was another beautiful spring day . . . " not unlike the one in which I unexpectedly found myself in a Dali painting.
I can't tell you what happened in the hours after I found out about J. I am only sure of the fact that I finished out my day at work as if it was any other day.
Didion is referred to as a "cool customer" by the paramedics at the hospital. Rather than falling to her knees in a mass of uncontrolled sobbing, Didion takes stock of the moment she is in and focuses on the mundane: I'll need my keys if we are going to the hospital. I don't think she's a "cool customer" as much as she's doing what she needs to deal with the situation.
I could do this with a lot of what Didion when through, but I won't. If you've read my blog, you know the story of J and I so I won't bore you with it here. It would also be awfully naive of me to compare the end of a relationship to the lose of a spouse.
But, the next time a friend, acquaintance or sibling, whatever, goes over their breakup/divorce for the 1000th time don't belittle his or her pain by saying, "Get over it already."
The loss of a spouse/partner is painful, no matter how it happens.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Suck My Wind
For those of you that have been reading this blog for a while, you might remember that last year I resolved to run a 5K in 2005. Like most resolutions, it didn't happen but I'm figuring this is a new year and a great time to make another go of it.
So, this year I have a plan. See, one of the local tv stations has started a running group and the goal is for all of us to run a 5K together. Last year proved that I can't do this alone, and it's my hope that doing this as part of a team will motivate me to stick with it. So far it's going well. I train on my own during the week (using the Galloway Method), and then every Saturday we meet for a practice run outdoors.
The last time I ran a 5K was in 1999. It was a "Race for the Cure" even and there were cancer patients, cancer patients just out of chemo, that spanked my ass. I was literally one of the last folks to finish. At the time it really wasn't a big deal to me, but looking back I realize that it was pretty embarrassing.
See, the thing is, I don't really think of myself as a competitive person. I'm fairly laid back, and being number one isn't really in my nature.
At least, this is what I used to think.
This past weekend I had my first outdoor practice run with the group. About 60 of us showed up so we had to run in different heats. I was part of group 5, there were maybe 9 of us in my heat.
I kept telling myself, "Don't worry about what the person next to you is doing. You are only competing with yourself." But, after lap 1, when I realized I was one of the last three my competitive spirit went all Whitney on me and, "Hell to the naw," I realized I'd have to pick it up.
I'm running about a 15 minute mile, so I'm not exactly Flo Jo out there, but it felt good and I'm working on redeeming my poor performance in '99.
But, most importantly: I came in first in my group.
Suck it, bitches.
So, this year I have a plan. See, one of the local tv stations has started a running group and the goal is for all of us to run a 5K together. Last year proved that I can't do this alone, and it's my hope that doing this as part of a team will motivate me to stick with it. So far it's going well. I train on my own during the week (using the Galloway Method), and then every Saturday we meet for a practice run outdoors.
The last time I ran a 5K was in 1999. It was a "Race for the Cure" even and there were cancer patients, cancer patients just out of chemo, that spanked my ass. I was literally one of the last folks to finish. At the time it really wasn't a big deal to me, but looking back I realize that it was pretty embarrassing.
See, the thing is, I don't really think of myself as a competitive person. I'm fairly laid back, and being number one isn't really in my nature.
At least, this is what I used to think.
This past weekend I had my first outdoor practice run with the group. About 60 of us showed up so we had to run in different heats. I was part of group 5, there were maybe 9 of us in my heat.
I kept telling myself, "Don't worry about what the person next to you is doing. You are only competing with yourself." But, after lap 1, when I realized I was one of the last three my competitive spirit went all Whitney on me and, "Hell to the naw," I realized I'd have to pick it up.
I'm running about a 15 minute mile, so I'm not exactly Flo Jo out there, but it felt good and I'm working on redeeming my poor performance in '99.
But, most importantly: I came in first in my group.
Suck it, bitches.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
The End is Near
It is clearly a sign of the apocalypse when:
1. Your mother, who has never touched a computer other than to dust it, sends you e-mail.
2. Your brother, finally, starts his own blog.
I'm going to grab S, the cats and go hunker down in our underground bunker for surely it is the end of days.
1. Your mother, who has never touched a computer other than to dust it, sends you e-mail.
2. Your brother, finally, starts his own blog.
I'm going to grab S, the cats and go hunker down in our underground bunker for surely it is the end of days.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
The Announcement
Here's how it went down:
First, S told his parents first thing on Christmas Eve. We waited until then because on the 23rd we were attending his sister's surprise party and we didn't want the engagement to take away any of the attention from her.
They were very pleased and his father told him that he had made a very wise choice. His mother grabbed my face and welcomed me into their family and gushed on about how much she liked me. I was extremely flattered.
Then, we went to my parents' house on the morning of Christmas Eve. My mom and dad's place is wreck right now. It flooded during Katrina so their are exposed studs up to chest high and it looks like the place was robbed. But, this is where they were because mom was cooking on her gas stove (one of the few appliances that survived) as she does not "trust" the electric stove at my brother's apartment (where they have been staying post-Katrina).
My mom brought a dining chair into the living room for S to sit on (I was on the arm of the moldy sofa and dad was on the recliner) and S asked to her take a seat. Mom, not knowing what is going on, says, "No, I can't sit I don't really have the time . . .
S, "Oh, you'll want to sit down for this."
By the way, the entire time, my dad is reading the Sports section of the Times Picayune and only now does he realize, "Hmm, I may want to pay attention, too," and sets it down.
S' speech: Mr. and Mrs. M, I wanted to tell you that I love your daughter . . .
Dad, "We love her, too . . . "
S, "And, that I plan to be around for a very long time."
Dad, "Good . . . "
S, "She is an amazing woman, you did a wonderful job raising her and I'd love to become a part of this family, if you'll have me."
Dad, "Wow, thanks . . . sure, sure."
S, "And, I'd like to ask your permission to marry her."
(At which point he presented the ring.)
Dad, "Yes, yes, of course . . . you can have her."
I was misty eyed and laughing at dad's reaction and S turned to me and said, "If you'll have me . . . will you marry me?"
I said yes, mom was teary eyed, I was teary eyed . . .
Dad, "You could not have given me a better Christmas present."
It was quite nice. Mom told S that, not because I'm her daughter or anything, "But, Melissa is a good woman and you are lucky to have her."
Then she turned to me and said, "You are a very lucky woman to have such love."
After my Aunt V found out, this is what she told S, "I am so happy for you. I knew that when you moved to AL for her, this was good. This was good, strong love."
We celebrated Christmas Eve all evening long: first with his family and then with mine. Many champagne toasts were made.
So many toasts, that at one point at S' family's house the conversation turned to misplaced rings and lost items and his mother's voice rang above everyone else's:
"One more glass of these, and I'll tell you about something else I lost once."
I know I make her sound like a booze hound there, but she's not. Mrs. B is a really cool lady and the B's in general are a warm, welcoming family. Not only did they raise an amazing man, but they welcomed me with open arms.
I'm a very lucky, lucky girl.
Check back later to see if I've posted the Flickr link to our Christmas photos. Guess who got themselves one of them new fangled digital cameras for Christmas?
First, S told his parents first thing on Christmas Eve. We waited until then because on the 23rd we were attending his sister's surprise party and we didn't want the engagement to take away any of the attention from her.
They were very pleased and his father told him that he had made a very wise choice. His mother grabbed my face and welcomed me into their family and gushed on about how much she liked me. I was extremely flattered.
Then, we went to my parents' house on the morning of Christmas Eve. My mom and dad's place is wreck right now. It flooded during Katrina so their are exposed studs up to chest high and it looks like the place was robbed. But, this is where they were because mom was cooking on her gas stove (one of the few appliances that survived) as she does not "trust" the electric stove at my brother's apartment (where they have been staying post-Katrina).
My mom brought a dining chair into the living room for S to sit on (I was on the arm of the moldy sofa and dad was on the recliner) and S asked to her take a seat. Mom, not knowing what is going on, says, "No, I can't sit I don't really have the time . . .
S, "Oh, you'll want to sit down for this."
By the way, the entire time, my dad is reading the Sports section of the Times Picayune and only now does he realize, "Hmm, I may want to pay attention, too," and sets it down.
S' speech: Mr. and Mrs. M, I wanted to tell you that I love your daughter . . .
Dad, "We love her, too . . . "
S, "And, that I plan to be around for a very long time."
Dad, "Good . . . "
S, "She is an amazing woman, you did a wonderful job raising her and I'd love to become a part of this family, if you'll have me."
Dad, "Wow, thanks . . . sure, sure."
S, "And, I'd like to ask your permission to marry her."
(At which point he presented the ring.)
Dad, "Yes, yes, of course . . . you can have her."
I was misty eyed and laughing at dad's reaction and S turned to me and said, "If you'll have me . . . will you marry me?"
I said yes, mom was teary eyed, I was teary eyed . . .
Dad, "You could not have given me a better Christmas present."
It was quite nice. Mom told S that, not because I'm her daughter or anything, "But, Melissa is a good woman and you are lucky to have her."
Then she turned to me and said, "You are a very lucky woman to have such love."
After my Aunt V found out, this is what she told S, "I am so happy for you. I knew that when you moved to AL for her, this was good. This was good, strong love."
We celebrated Christmas Eve all evening long: first with his family and then with mine. Many champagne toasts were made.
So many toasts, that at one point at S' family's house the conversation turned to misplaced rings and lost items and his mother's voice rang above everyone else's:
"One more glass of these, and I'll tell you about something else I lost once."
I know I make her sound like a booze hound there, but she's not. Mrs. B is a really cool lady and the B's in general are a warm, welcoming family. Not only did they raise an amazing man, but they welcomed me with open arms.
I'm a very lucky, lucky girl.
Check back later to see if I've posted the Flickr link to our Christmas photos. Guess who got themselves one of them new fangled digital cameras for Christmas?
Lost in Translation
"This is my daughter Melissa. She has just been compromised."
This, people, is how my father announced my engagement to his neighbor.
You see in Spanish, when the gentleman has made his intentions known, he has offered the family a "compromiso," a promise if you will, to marry.
These slips in translation are the kinds of things that made me cringe when I was 13. Now though, I just wish I'd had the camera to capture the look on his elderly neighbors face as she processed the information she had just received.
This, people, is how my father announced my engagement to his neighbor.
You see in Spanish, when the gentleman has made his intentions known, he has offered the family a "compromiso," a promise if you will, to marry.
These slips in translation are the kinds of things that made me cringe when I was 13. Now though, I just wish I'd had the camera to capture the look on his elderly neighbors face as she processed the information she had just received.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Crazy Pussy
The last time I talked about my c@t, I got a bunch of weird spam comments. So, I'm going to try not to use the word: c@t.
Anyway, I have three pussies and the oldest one is 10-years-old (now, that out to generate some interesting spam). Her name is Sasha and she is so mean that my roommate thinks she is some sort of reincarnation experiment: perhaps a bit Joan Crawford with a splash of Bette Davis.
When she was a young pussy, she would stalk moths. I used to live in Colorado Springs and we'd go through "Miller Moth Season." It's what it sounds like: a ton of annoying migrating moths fly around your bulbs on the front porch and balcony lights and zoom inside at the first chance.
Sasha used to squeeze herself into the space between the top of our kitchen cabinets and ceiling and wait. They'd flit around the ceiling lights and she'd never take her eyes off of them. I never actually saw her catch them, but inevitably I'd look up at her and she'd have a bit of wing poking out of her clenched jaw.
Whatever. It kept them off of me and my wool sweaters.
But, Sasha was just a tiny baby pussy (not like Anne Heche's) with all kinds of energy. These days, she spends most days moving herself from sunny spot to sunny spot: not unlike a retiree on a Florida beach.
Until a few weeks ago. See, she'd been spending an awful lot of time in our kitchen lately. I just assumed it was because we were baking for the holidays and it was one of the toastiest rooms in the house.
Oh, but no.
Little miss had spotted a mouse.
Yes, there was a mouse in my house!
I didn't know but you can bet my pussy knew.
How did we find out?
Turns out the old pussy caught the fucking mouse.
Imagine my surprise when I walked into the kitchen to find her sitting at attention, as proud as you please, with this little gift for me.
There was high praise for her as she dropped it and presented it to me.
She may be considered a "senior" as far as pussies go, but clearly Sasha still has a lot of fight in her.
Anyway, I have three pussies and the oldest one is 10-years-old (now, that out to generate some interesting spam). Her name is Sasha and she is so mean that my roommate thinks she is some sort of reincarnation experiment: perhaps a bit Joan Crawford with a splash of Bette Davis.
When she was a young pussy, she would stalk moths. I used to live in Colorado Springs and we'd go through "Miller Moth Season." It's what it sounds like: a ton of annoying migrating moths fly around your bulbs on the front porch and balcony lights and zoom inside at the first chance.
Sasha used to squeeze herself into the space between the top of our kitchen cabinets and ceiling and wait. They'd flit around the ceiling lights and she'd never take her eyes off of them. I never actually saw her catch them, but inevitably I'd look up at her and she'd have a bit of wing poking out of her clenched jaw.
Whatever. It kept them off of me and my wool sweaters.
But, Sasha was just a tiny baby pussy (not like Anne Heche's) with all kinds of energy. These days, she spends most days moving herself from sunny spot to sunny spot: not unlike a retiree on a Florida beach.
Until a few weeks ago. See, she'd been spending an awful lot of time in our kitchen lately. I just assumed it was because we were baking for the holidays and it was one of the toastiest rooms in the house.
Oh, but no.
Little miss had spotted a mouse.
Yes, there was a mouse in my house!
I didn't know but you can bet my pussy knew.
How did we find out?
Turns out the old pussy caught the fucking mouse.
Imagine my surprise when I walked into the kitchen to find her sitting at attention, as proud as you please, with this little gift for me.
There was high praise for her as she dropped it and presented it to me.
She may be considered a "senior" as far as pussies go, but clearly Sasha still has a lot of fight in her.
Let's Get Ready to Ruuuuuumble!
A few months ago I got into a fight with a friend. Of course, it all started out via email.
Email is a dangerous thing when you are having an argument because there's no tone. It's all inferred. These here internets have been around for some time now and I'm sure other bloggers have covered the dangers of arguing via email much better than I could.
Anyway, my final email wrapped up something like this:
"I've HAD IT. I am THROUGH with you."
The particulars of our fight aren't really important except for one thing: Don't fuck with my family.
My loyalty to them, no matter how misguided sometimes, is unflagging.
Anyway, removing this person from my life was as easy as deleting their phone number from my cell phone. This isn't something that I'm proud of, but it's something that I've done only under extreme cases of betrayal.
And, I'm good at it.
It's not about hate. It's about realizing that clearly this person is not a positive influence in my life so it is better for me if we are no longer friends.
The funny thing is, since I've stopped talking to this person I've realized that I don't really miss him. The only times I am really aware that he is no longer in my life are when I think of something really funny and bitchy to say. He's the only person that will cackle along with me no matter how cutting my comment.
That's also when I realize, "DAMN! I'm bitchy."
It's been quite humbling to realize I am . . . mean.
That's also why I appreciate having S in my life.
Whenever I start to get really bitch, angry or impatient, he's the living angel on my shoulder that always helps me see the other side of a situation. He doesn't indulge my bitchy nature and that's just one of the many little ways in which I realize how good this man is for me.
I've since seen the guy that I had the huge fight with and it wasn't uncomfortable. He was familiar and it was easy falling back into our pattern, but the truth is . . . I don't miss him.
Email is a dangerous thing when you are having an argument because there's no tone. It's all inferred. These here internets have been around for some time now and I'm sure other bloggers have covered the dangers of arguing via email much better than I could.
Anyway, my final email wrapped up something like this:
"I've HAD IT. I am THROUGH with you."
The particulars of our fight aren't really important except for one thing: Don't fuck with my family.
My loyalty to them, no matter how misguided sometimes, is unflagging.
Anyway, removing this person from my life was as easy as deleting their phone number from my cell phone. This isn't something that I'm proud of, but it's something that I've done only under extreme cases of betrayal.
And, I'm good at it.
It's not about hate. It's about realizing that clearly this person is not a positive influence in my life so it is better for me if we are no longer friends.
The funny thing is, since I've stopped talking to this person I've realized that I don't really miss him. The only times I am really aware that he is no longer in my life are when I think of something really funny and bitchy to say. He's the only person that will cackle along with me no matter how cutting my comment.
That's also when I realize, "DAMN! I'm bitchy."
It's been quite humbling to realize I am . . . mean.
That's also why I appreciate having S in my life.
Whenever I start to get really bitch, angry or impatient, he's the living angel on my shoulder that always helps me see the other side of a situation. He doesn't indulge my bitchy nature and that's just one of the many little ways in which I realize how good this man is for me.
I've since seen the guy that I had the huge fight with and it wasn't uncomfortable. He was familiar and it was easy falling back into our pattern, but the truth is . . . I don't miss him.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Pillow Talk
A few weeks ago S and I were in bed cuddling. My head was on his chest and his right hand was playing with my hair. This isn't particularly out of the ordinary as 5 nights our of 7 this is how I fall asleep. While it's fairly typical, it's wonderful because I've never been the kind of person that can fall asleep while being held. Maybe it's just that I'm finally in the arms of the right man.
Anyway, on one such particular night, I was in that blissful place where you're body feels light, your foot does the occasional twitch and you're just about to fall asleep, and S says to me, "You know how we're going home for Christmas and our families are going to meet?"
Me, sleepily, "Mmm,hmmm . . . "
S, "Why don't we make it an engagement party."
Me, still groggily, "Mmm, sounds nice."
And then, my inner bridezilla, the one that's been sitting aroundin her dress and veil, tapping her foot impatiently, stood up and shouted, "BITCH, WAKE THE FUCK UP! THIS IS IT!"
So, my brain started to catch up to everything that was going on and instantly I was awake.
I lifted my head up from S' chest and leaned back so I could look him in the eye.
He was smiling and I said, "Oh."
Bridezilla rolled her eyes and plunked herself back down.
S continued on, "I know how important family is to you and I know how much you want to get married in the church, so instead of getting married in New Orleans . . . what do you think of getting married in Honduras?"
At this point, Bridezilla was glaring at me to answer this man.
And it's true, it had never crossed my mind to have a destination wedding. Much less, having one in Honduras but once he'd suggested it, it all just fell into place. It would be modest and other than tickets and hotel rooms, it could be done inexpensively and beautifully.
Me, now all dewy-eyed, "That's so sweet."
Sweet because I know how important family is to S as well, and getting married out of the country would mean that his four siblings would more than likely be unable to attend. So I said, "But, what about your family?"
S, "Well, I think mom and dad would go. Mom has yet to see any of the churches in Honduras. And, JJT & J are welcome to fly down, but as long as Mom and Dad are there I'd be happy. But, you still haven't said yes."
Me, "Right."
See, this isn't the first time for me.
My first thought was, "I really don't want to screw this one up . . ." which makes no sense at all because I didn't screw the first one up. But, I did make a bad decision. When my ex asked me to marry him I remember a voice in my head screaming, "NOOOOOOooooo . . . " and sort of fading off like a dying super hero.
This time it was different.
This time is was like a cheesy 50's movie where fireworks go off and a marching band starts playing.
I knew that I wanted to, my first instinct was to look into his eyes and say, "Yes." But I was scared. I told S this and he said, "That's understandable, and if you don't want to say yes that's fine, too. I'm not going anywhere so take your time."
The next few weeks went by and nothing changed.
I've always felt part of a team with S. I've always felt that I was in a secure, committed relationship. I know that regardless of marriage, S and I will continue to take care of each other and do all of those little things that couples do for each other. We bought a house together, so clearly I'm committed.
I'm just scared.
Anyway, on one such particular night, I was in that blissful place where you're body feels light, your foot does the occasional twitch and you're just about to fall asleep, and S says to me, "You know how we're going home for Christmas and our families are going to meet?"
Me, sleepily, "Mmm,hmmm . . . "
S, "Why don't we make it an engagement party."
Me, still groggily, "Mmm, sounds nice."
And then, my inner bridezilla, the one that's been sitting aroundin her dress and veil, tapping her foot impatiently, stood up and shouted, "BITCH, WAKE THE FUCK UP! THIS IS IT!"
So, my brain started to catch up to everything that was going on and instantly I was awake.
I lifted my head up from S' chest and leaned back so I could look him in the eye.
He was smiling and I said, "Oh."
Bridezilla rolled her eyes and plunked herself back down.
S continued on, "I know how important family is to you and I know how much you want to get married in the church, so instead of getting married in New Orleans . . . what do you think of getting married in Honduras?"
At this point, Bridezilla was glaring at me to answer this man.
And it's true, it had never crossed my mind to have a destination wedding. Much less, having one in Honduras but once he'd suggested it, it all just fell into place. It would be modest and other than tickets and hotel rooms, it could be done inexpensively and beautifully.
Me, now all dewy-eyed, "That's so sweet."
Sweet because I know how important family is to S as well, and getting married out of the country would mean that his four siblings would more than likely be unable to attend. So I said, "But, what about your family?"
S, "Well, I think mom and dad would go. Mom has yet to see any of the churches in Honduras. And, JJT & J are welcome to fly down, but as long as Mom and Dad are there I'd be happy. But, you still haven't said yes."
Me, "Right."
See, this isn't the first time for me.
My first thought was, "I really don't want to screw this one up . . ." which makes no sense at all because I didn't screw the first one up. But, I did make a bad decision. When my ex asked me to marry him I remember a voice in my head screaming, "NOOOOOOooooo . . . " and sort of fading off like a dying super hero.
This time it was different.
This time is was like a cheesy 50's movie where fireworks go off and a marching band starts playing.
I knew that I wanted to, my first instinct was to look into his eyes and say, "Yes." But I was scared. I told S this and he said, "That's understandable, and if you don't want to say yes that's fine, too. I'm not going anywhere so take your time."
The next few weeks went by and nothing changed.
I've always felt part of a team with S. I've always felt that I was in a secure, committed relationship. I know that regardless of marriage, S and I will continue to take care of each other and do all of those little things that couples do for each other. We bought a house together, so clearly I'm committed.
I'm just scared.
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