Who Saw Britney at the VMAs?

Seriously.

Remember when Paula Abdul was an "it" girl? She had the cute Laker girl with huge hits: Straight Up, Forever Your Girl and she looked awesome slinking around in the Cold Hearted video?

Then she followed that up with Blowing Kisses in the Wind, The Promise of a New Day and Rush Rush and while we still loved Paula, because she wasn't the crazy Paula that she is now, you know you were thinking, "Damn Paula . . . you gotta lay off of that home cooking before you split a seam!"

Honey, that's how I felt watching Britney "sing" her new song Gimme. I'm not saying she looked fat because you're average size 12 American woman is thinking, "Shit, I wouldn't mind looking like that," when Britney comes traipsing across the stage, but Britney isn't normal.

She's a celebrity and I want my celebrities looking fabulous, not running around with a jiggly ass and a flabby stomach.

Hell, I'd be running around my house naked if I wanted to see that.

Gimme? Nuh, uh girl . . . you've got to push away from the table.

Dear Britney,

You can't wear outfits that bare your midriff right now. If you do choose to bare your midriff it's not advisable for you to turn to the side and pop your pelvis. It just makes us think, "Oh no . . . someone needs to lay off the Cheetos." Slap on your Kabbalah bracelet and have Madonna put you in touch with her Pilates instructor.

P.S. You also shouldn't wear short, shorts if you've got to wear them with pantyhose. You just look like Kirstie Alley that time she was on Oprah in a two-piece.

Sincerely,
Someone Who Knows Better

Tim Gunn - Call Britney STAT!

Tina Knowles - Call Britney! You may have designed some tacky ass shit for Beyonce, but you know how to sexily dress a woman with curves.

J-Lo - Call Britney! You know how to look hot and work the curves and you both "sing."

Sardonyx

I've always wanted to be a writer. I've never actually said that I wanted to be a fiction writer, a reporter or even a poet. I've just always known that I wanted to somehow make a living by stringing words together. Except for the 2.5 years when I was working as a training director, I've managed to do just that so I've been pretty lucky.

My first experience as a published writer was in high school.

My friend Janine and I were both on the yearbook staff. I think in my four years I took my sophmore year off because I was petty and immature, but for three years I was on the yearbook staff. I could have joined the newspaper staff, but for whatever reason I thought it was lame.

I think that I was more attracted to the yearbook because for me it had more of a sense of permanence than our school newspaper.

Think about it: the yearbooks were over 200 pages long with nice hardcover bindings. Our newpaper was an over sized glossy that maybe topped out at 8 pages.

If I remember correctly, I didn't actually get to write until my senior year but I did get to select pictures for the yearbook and crop them to fit. Mayn, that was back when dinosaurs roamed the earth because I remember hand cropping pictures with rulers and pens and scissors. Now I'd guess everything is done on a MAC.

Anyway, I think maybe it was at my 10 year reunion that Janine reminded me why we were in yearbook all along.

She said to me, "Don't you remember, we came in for a yearbook meeting and B____ and all her little friends had picked photos with them in it so the yearbook was nothing but them?"

I said, "Huh, not really."

Then Janine said, "Yeah. We looked at them and thought 'OH! UH,UH!' and took out there pictures and added pictures of us and our friends!"

My response, "Hmn, I don't remember that, but it definitely sounds like something I would do."

At which point I thing we burst into giggles because it really was the bitchy kind of retaliation that I still enjoy! We probably even asked ourselves, "Who do they think they are?"

Honestly though I don't remember when that was, but I get the feeling it may have been our junior year because I just flipped through that yearbook and our class candids are really fairly balanced between the student council girls and everyone else.

It's crazy to me how much time we spent worrying about face time in the yearbook, but I like to think Janine and I had a fair and even-handed approach.

The truth is, a lot of those girls that were trying to be on every page are still heavily involved with my alma mater.

Heavily involved: like they work there as adults kind of heavily involved.

I guess you have to have some with that sort of dedication to keep the school and the tradition going, but some part of me wonders if those four years of high school were indeed the best times of their lives.

That's just sad.

US 127 Corridor Sale - Day 2

We are both tired, sunburned and sweaty.

Regardless, we had a wonderful day. It's pretty much just like your typical Saturday yard sale excursion only absolutely everyone in your neighborhood is having a yard sale. You drive along HWY 127 and there are some folks who have houses on the highway so there are a few tables set up in the yard.

Then you drive along and suddenly it's tent city:





What you're seeing is typically just the front row of "booths." Items range in price and style. Some people specialize in niche markets:



Buttons.



Buttons.



A table full of buttons.

One tent was nothing but sewing notions. She even had old sewing advertisements. I immediately thought of my friend Jen. Now, Jen is currently in Korea enjoying the wonders of Fabric Mart, but I know she would have loved this booth.

Steve was kept very busy with all of the old tools. Here are today's finds:



He showed a lot of restraint.

In all we traveled about 60 miles north of Chattanooga today. The traffic isn't bad at all. As a friend of mine put it "you're treasure might be right there" so you have to stop every few feet to check out the "booths."

Here are a few more shots of the "treasures" we found today.



This cute little guy that Steve and I are convinced is from The Land of Make Believe, but we can't confirm it.



This cool Therm-a-Chest metal cooler that you can see is already being put to good use.



This cool new vase that's going to look nice in our living room.



The glasses are for my brother: they are from Disney's 25th Anniversary.



Right now I'm really loving bangles.

It's been a really fun day, but tomorrow I'm going to have to take more pictures.

US 127 Corridor Sale - Day 1

It hasn't been too exciting, yet.

I got off of work at noon only to find that the gas company decided to choose today to move our gas meter. So, we didn't get on the road until 4pm. We made pretty good time though and arrived in Chattanooga at around 11pm EST.

We are really flying by the seat of our pants so we stopped at the TN Visitor's Center and picked up a coupon book. I was a little worried because we didn't have reservations anywhere, and I know there are a lot of people attending this masssive yard sale.

Those coupon books don't really give you a lot to choose from and some of the places in there I just didn't recognize. So, I picked a mid-range hotel that isn't outrageously expensive ($59.95/night), but also isn't so cheap I might get scabies from the mattress. It's not gorgeous, but having spent the better part of two years in hotel rooms you really can't distinguish one from the next.

I mentioned that we didn't have a plan, right? Thanks to Steve we have one now.

We booked this room again tomorrow night so we are going to wake up early and head north a few more hours. The idea is to work our way back down to Chattanooga and spend the night in the same room tomorrow night. Then Saturday morning we head back to Montgomery from Chattanooga and hit the southern end of the corridor sale.

This way we a.) guarantee having a place to stay Friday night and b.) have more room for all the junk we're going to buy during Friday's leg of the sale.

It's a simple plan, but genius in its simplicity.

Tomorrow night: Day 2 - In the Thick of It (with pictures)

New Orleans

Steve and I were in New Orleans this weekend.

We were lucky that Steve's schedule allowed him the time off this weekend so we took advantage of that to go to New Orleans to visit with our parents.

I apologize to any of you who read the site and have emailed me in the last few months and said, "Call me when you're in town and we'll get together."

We were only in for two full days and between Steve's 4 siblings, parents and my family we were kept busy the entire time.

The last time we visited was Mardi Gras so we didn't do a lot of hanging out with either of our parents so on this visit we made it a point to hang out with our parents.

Some exciting news from home: my parents are getting there house shored by this guy. For those of you not familiar with this process, a bunch of guys dig a trench around your house, dig tunnels under your house and then jack the whole thing up with a pneumatic jack.

I called my parents on Tuesday to let them know we'd be in town and to ask them if we could stay at Casa Martinez. The said, "Sure! We'd love to have you!"

So, we show up late Friday night and as we're moving around the house on Saturday morning my mom says, "Oh, by the way, they cut the gas lines so there's no hot water."

Steve is still hoping his scared testicles will someday descend as currently he thinks they might be hiding somewhere near his liver.

I personally didn't find the water to be that cold.

Yes, at first my nipples could have cut glass but after a while your body kind of adjusts to the cold and you can almost convince yourself that the water is scalding.

It was a lot like camping on a primitve site only with a nice comfy mattress at night.

In other family news: the real reason we visited New Orleans last weekend.

Steve's mom is scheduled to have knee surgery today. Anne is an active senior, but once you're in your 70s surgery is always a risky thing. The last news we heard the surgery went well and she was in recovery.

I love home: I love my mom and dad, I love my in-laws, I love The Swamp Room Burgers and beignets, but there's nothing drawing me home.

Sure, my parents are there but if I were home I would stop being me and go back to Melissa - child, daughter.

I once told a former co-worker that I don't live near my parents because they'd always be calling me to handle stuff. She looked at me contemplatively and then said, "I can see that. You're very capable."

When I say "handle stuff" I don't mean helping them by picking up their dry cleaning or buying a gallon of milk on the way to their house. I mean I think they'd call me to say, "Melissa, your father hasn't handled _____________, I need you to (handle it, talk to him, convince him it's his idea . . . )" Or, "Melissa we need reservations at XX hotel, can you call them and make them?"

Now look, English is a second language for my parents but my mom manages to function at the store and with her English-as-a-primary-language friends and employers and my dad speaks English fairly fluently so it's not like I'm hanging them out to dry.

Then there's my brother. C, you know I love you but in a weird way I think your crazy competitive side would come out if I moved home.

Shortly after my divorce I told C that I was interviewing for a job in LA and his immediate response was, "No, you can't move home . . . " in this sort of horrified whine.

I think that while mom and dad might bug him as much as they would bug me, he sort of enjoys being their go-to child.

He can have it.

In AL I just get to be Melissa - homeowner, wife, co-worker, cycling class attendee and most importantly: adult.

Living in a Cube, Cube World

I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work.

Office Space, 1999

I work in an environment where the only people with offices are managers. Fine, whatever, they get to make the hard decisions so they deserve walls that go all the way up to the ceiling and a door that shuts. The rest of us are in cubicles.

Take a look at this site and you'll get an idea of what it's like at the bank.

DON'T GO PASSED THE HOME PAGE.

You'll see some text that says "Or Create a Corporate Labyrinth One Cube at a Time," and then the camera will slowly pan out to give you an expansive look at what my floor at the bank looks like.

As you can see there isn't a lot of privacy and sadly we do not get to choose our neighbors. I currently sit next to a woman who would fill (or overfill) Dolores Umbridge's shoes quite nicely.

Aside from her condescending tone I am blessed with the fact that this woman does not know how the phone works.

She is so loud that I recently turned to a co-worker and said, "Jesus! What . . . does she think she's using tin cans and string?"

Which led to some emails between a co-worker of mine that started with me writing:

Tin Cans and String - that is so going to be the name of my first album.

E replied: Oooh, tell me it's going to be some pissed-off, spoken word shit.

From there E and I started writing "poetry" for said album.

I came up with:

Your voice accosts me.
The listener is helpless:
Until you are stabbed.

E's contribution?

Lotus Blossoms

Ding Dang haunts my dreams
cramped in smoky rooms she sounds
pop, pop, click, ping pong.

EA

Genius.

Thanks E for making my days at the bank a little more bearable.

BFF

If you asked me who my close friends were in high school I'd say Janine and Nicole. If you asked me who my best friend was I'd say Janine.

Some of that was proximity (She lived closer to me and for at least three years we were in the same Spanish class.) and part of it came down to similiarities (We are both Hispanic, similar economic backgrounds, similar sense of humor.)

I was digging through some old boxes recently and came across a notebook that we kept when we were freshman. I don't really know how our system worked, but it looks like I started it and then maybe we passed it off to one another in the halls between classes.

It's a 60 page Lisa Frank notebook and from the looks of it we filled it up in like a month.

I think we devised this plan because we could:

1.) Write in it in class and still look like we were doing classwork, and
2.) Discuss boys and sex between the covers of a notebook that looked like the rest in our backpack so our parents were none the wiser.

So much better than an origami folded note that just screamed: READ ME!

Clearly we were diligent students from the following entry:

Me: Guess what? I'm seeing Chris tomorrow night. He's coming over to give me my Valntine's Day present. How do you get genotype and how do you get phenotype?

Janine: Don't ask me, I don't understand it. Listen do we have a quiz? Forget it she answered my question already. Good luck with Chris.

That entry cracks me up because it's so 15, but what is worse is that my nonlinear way of thinking was clearly established at an early age. This also cracks me up because Janine and I had somehow gotten stuck in this honors biology class and neither one of us belonged in there. It was our lament all year long: Why are we in this class??????

This one is the best:

"Don't laugh: what do you actually DO when you're making out?"

We were also kind of bitchy:

"GOD! The barrett DANA made looks like shit. I don't like the lettering, how about you?"

Ooh, and I refer to some guy as "leper."

Damn, I was bitchy.

And, the little feminist in me started waking up:

He said, "I hope you don't want to go out next weekend," and I'm like, "Why?" So, he said, "Because I won't be here," and I said, "Hey, if I want to go out I don't need your permission."

And you know, I underlined the need three times so I totally meant it.

Sometimes I miss the simplicity of being 15 but there isn't enough money in the world to make me relive those years.

LYLAS

The One

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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.