I mentioned over here that I have a friend who asked for an introduction. I have procrastinated on this in part because she said she wanted a fabulous fake name, but she didn't approve of any of my suggestions. She finally came up with Lob - or maybe Blay came up with it, I don't remember. Either way, she approved of it and it stands for "lazy over-achieving bitch". She thought this was an accurate description, but I haven't been satisfied with it. I wanted to use her "if I ever become a stripper, this will be my stage name" name, Afreaka, but she wouldn't let me. But I've come up with nothing better, so "Lob" it will have to be - she asked for it.
Lob and I become schoolmates in the 6th grade, and she was soon my best friend. We were very similar in many ways - like sense of humor, a fondness for eating (most of our classmates didn't eat much) and immaturity (immature in the way that when Snott was giving Dolly flirting lessons in the 8th grade, we were playing 4-square with the 6th graders.) But very different in that she was perfect in every way and I was average in most every way (some ways I am below average - if you ever ask me to sing, don't say you haven't been warned. Lob can't sing, either though - just ask her about being in "Chorus 2"). Lob wasn't lazy in those days - I definitely beat her in that. She worked hard, and she excelled at everything she tried. She was a top student - when a couple of students from each state were chosen to go meet the President our senior year, she was one of them. And she was a great athlete - she was the ESPN female scholar athlete of the year. She was also a peer leader, on the honor counsel, class officer, blah, blah, blah. She sounds quite horrible, doesn't she? Do you remember that section on college applications that asks you to list your awards and achievements? And it left a lot of space for your little type-written answers? I would rack my brain trying to think of more things to fill up some of that space. Lob complained to me about having to attach a second sheet to list all of her awards and accomplishments. Do you hate her yet? Her legend lived on at school after our time - we'd hear from younger siblings that her name was still spoken in the halls.
Well, maybe she would have been a little unbearable if it weren't for 2 things: 1) I really really enjoyed rubbing it in whenever she did have a shortcoming (maybe twice), and 2) she was actually quite evil.
An example in #1... we once got the same grade on a math test, and she later admitted to me that it was "the most depressing day of her life." Or was that when I got a better grade on her on a math quiz? One of those times... the fact alone that we were put in the same math class was perplexing enough to her, but this was just too much. Oh, and remember the presidential fitness test? Lob was tortured by the fact she couldn't get it due to one task - the "sit and reach." Lob is not so flexible. So she practiced at home - she sat and reached, and she had her father push on her back to try to force the reach. She burst a blood vessel in her eye this way. She came to school with a red eye because she had been practicing the sit and reach. For me, the sit and reach was probably the easiest part of that test. Oh, how I liked to give her a big smile when I did it. (I never got the certificate either, because the one thing I couldn't do was the pull-ups. Difference was, it didn't bother me at all.)
And as for point #2... Everyone thought she was sweet and perfect, but I knew the truth. She had another life... a life of wickedness and debauchery. Ok, maybe that's a little extreme - but she did try to keep her true evil nature a secret. And it has occurred to me now, since she was so determined not to have her real name used, even though the 2 people who read this already know who she is, I could use this site to torture her by revealing all of her secrets! BAHAHAHAHA!
Ok, I wouldn't reveal all of her secrets, because then she might not tell them to me anymore. I'll just share one little anecdote, that is not even a secret, but when her brother who was still in high school heard it, and threatened to spread it around, she was very scared. Scared that her lingering reputation at our old high school would be ruined.
This is it:
Once upon a time Good Morning America came to Lob's college town, and all the students showed up to watch the taping. And who does the show pluck from the audience to appear with them? Lob, of course! Who else? And there she was all pretty and perfect and well-spoken and smiling for the camera. What her friends and family at home didn't know was that among the students there were some from a local school for the mentally challenged. And when the cameras came on, and the crowd suddenly realized that they were standing in the wrong place, there was a mad dash for the spotlight. Lob got jostled by a mentally challenged kid, and she elbowed him in the head (basically, trying to inflict head trauma, as if that's what he needed), knocking him down. She would like for me to add at this point that she only "helped" knock him down, as his balance wasn't so good in the first place. And that it was only in the head because he was short (in other words, a child.) And, that she hesitated for just a second - long enough to look back at him - wondering if she should go back and help him up. She did not. She left him lying there, and she got her place on t.v. If it wasn't apparent from what I said already, Lob is very competitive.
And here's how she defends herself on this story:
if you tell the story about the mentally challenged child, remember to say
that (1) i didn't know when i elbowed him that he was mentally challenged, (2) he elbowed me first, and (3) i'd do it again since i got on Good Morning America. maybe leave out #3.
post script:
I just called Lob to give her a chance to read this and make any recommendations, and she seemed to be quite upset by the way I painted her. She said that reading this was like opening "a window to her soul" and that she now saw her own true evil nature. She said I didn't put in any of her good qualities - like that she has a good-looking husband.
Maybe I did forget that you may not know her and therefore don't automatically know all her good qualities. In addition to her over-achieving tendencies and slight evilness, she is also funny, sharp, and always so much fun to be around. I have laughed with her until I hurt so so many times, and I can't imagine these last -mm... let's not count how many years since we were 11, ok? without her. She's the bestest. She's someone I know I can confess anything to, and she won't think less of me (who is she to judge anyway, right?) Oh, and even though she didn't enjoy my so very slight and fleeting math achievements, she's protective of me, too. It's good to know that you have a friend who will tear up on your behalf when you've been slighted (even if she was enduring some pregnancy hormones at the time), or that will get fired up enough to kick the butt of someone who has messed with you. Actually, she would probably try to enlist her husband to do that for her, while she stood somewhere more safe - I did say she was smart, after all.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
to remind myself to get to this later...
I was listening to a morning radio program this week that was interviewing swingers. One of the things the radio people said was that they were surprised at how attractive the swingers were. One of the swingers said, "Yeah, people think we're freaky old people, but we're not."
Now, I don't know about you and your experience with accidentally going to swingers' parties, but I think "freaky old people" is not so bad a description.
But that's a story for another time. When there's not good Thursday night t.v. to catch up on.
Now, I don't know about you and your experience with accidentally going to swingers' parties, but I think "freaky old people" is not so bad a description.
But that's a story for another time. When there's not good Thursday night t.v. to catch up on.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
a woman of many mens
I just ran into Bathroom Lady, but this time not in the bathroom. In front of the vending machine. (mm... breakfast crackers.) She seemed to be just hanging out.
She asked me her usual list of questions. And she started, as always, by looking me up and down, and this time didn't comment that I was losing weight - this means that I am gaining weight. You don't need a scale with Bathroom Lady around. Anyway, since she was asking me all sorts of personal questions, I asked about her. "And what about you? Have you seen the guy you were telling me about?"
BL: "Who? My boyfriend?"
me: "Uh, no, an old one... and you have mutual friends, and you still both get together with them regularly, so you have to see him?"
BL: (waving her hand) "Uh, no. I don't even know which one you're talking about."
I was already embarrassed that I had to explain at all, I was definitely too embarrassed to say, "You know, the one that you slept with and then he didn't like you anymore? So you slept with a man from the grocery store so you could dump all your stuff out - you know, the whole message from God?"
It seems my divine message was quickly forgotten. I won't let it take away from the moment when the holy wisdom was bestowed, though.
Monday, September 24, 2007
let's see how much complaining I can do today
My work place may be poisoning me.
That's why they send us for a physical every year to the doctor of their choice. Well, it's supposed to be every year. I had my second one today, and my first was after I had been here for 3 years - and not before I started, but they called it the "baseline" anyway, but I digress. The man is cheap, and therefore I have had 2 physicals.
Working in a lab means that you may come into contact with harmful substances, so they check us out every once in a while, you know, so if we ever file a lawsuit, they have paperwork saying we were ok. But the thing is, I work with gases. Carcinogenic gases. So if one day I end up with cancer, was testing my hearing, heart, and reflexes really relevant to my hazardous work environment?
At the end of the appointment, the doctor came in and asked if I had any concerns, and I told him no. Because last time when I expressed my concerns - about how instead of being in a controlled area like it was supposed to, they moved part of my work area down to an old closet - the part where all these gases are set loose - and when I pointed out that I would really not rather be breathing them, they cracked a single ceiling panel as a solution? Because anything else would cost money and/or effort. Anyway, last time I said I was concerned about this, and the doctor said I should ask for a gas mask. (I was not given a gas mask). So I didn't see any point in bringing this up again.
The obvious answer to this would be to change jobs, but instead of talking about how stupid I am, let's talk about things I don't like about doctor's offices.
1. Those big, clanky scales that are out in the middle of the hall where everybody can see them. Do I always get weighed just after a child? Why do they have to keep the thing on 80 pounds, so that it clunks way over as soon as I step on? You know that sound that says, "whoa - we're going to need some major adjusting here". Couldn't they just as easily keep it on 100 and assume that most people aren't going to weigh under that? Or am I the only one this happens to? Am I the heaviest person in the world?
2. When you tell me to put on the robe so that it opens from the back, I'm going to put it on so that it opens from the back. If you know you are about to have to stick 50 different things to my chest for a heart ekg, and the whole thing is going to have to be yanked off anyway, why not just have it open from the front in the first place? At least there is an illusion that some part of it is still there.
3. Needles. You would think after getting shots twice a week as a kid that they wouldn't bother me, and when they actually take the blood, I'm fine. But when they bring out the needle - I shiver. And I cringe even more having to hear other people talk about shots. (I just got some stories from a coworker.) But just once I'd like to have someone give me a shot without the accompanying comment, "You have big veins!" I don't know why this bothers me. Maybe it's because the first person that ever said it was someone I didn't like it very much, and maybe my brain automatically registers negatively when hearing any part of my body described as "big" by a stranger.
4. This one was my fault... no reading material the only time I needed it. The only time I had to wait for a long time was the final doctor's stop in. The other times I was interrupted before I could finish reading the delightful articles on pumpkin carving and barn restoring. Just when I think I'm done, and I'm hanging out in the gown that opens in the back, the technician says, "now just finish undressing and the doctor will be in in a moment." huh? Undress more? And then I was sitting there for the next 30 minutes, wondering what my workplace would need to know that necessitated more undressing. And I didn't have any reading material to distract me, because the magazines were across the room, and I was petrified that if I made a run for it, the door would open at that instant.
5. Has anyone else ever gone to the doctor thinking they were fine, and left with a vague paranoia that they are somewhat diseased? All of my heart/breathing/x-rays/hearing/vision were fine, but since that final doctor's visit I started wondering if something is wrong with me. All he did was listen to my heart (some more) and then mash around my abdomen some. And you know what? That hurt. Like, pretty bad. Not on one side, just on the other. And it has been hurting ever since (mm, about 4 hours now). I told my mom this, and she said, "well did you tell him that it hurt?" no. "Jennifer, you are supposed to tell him if it hurts." But he didn't ask if it hurt! That was my response. Besides, I didn't know it was going to keep hurting. Is this normal people? It doesn't help that this is the exact spot that they've taken some more looks at twice before, never with any conclusive answers.
An upside to my visit (to slightly counterbalance all my whining): The technician that walked me through the whole thing was a klutz. From ramming the ekg machine into the doorway, causing pieces to break off and bounce around the floor, to dropping my x-rays all over the place, she was interesting.
Another highlight of my last 24 hours: I played with my toddler niece yesterday, and for the first time, she preferred me to everyone else around. She turned on her parents, and my mother (the grandmother that she knows spoils her rotten), and only wanted me. (I believe this has something to do with the fact that I also have the mind & disposition of a child. Your mother says you can't play with that? I say you can! Sneak around on the ground, jumping out from behind chairs and doorways over and over and over again? Sounds great!) At the end of the visit she was tired, wouldn't eat, and wanted me to hold her. When I went into the bathroom cried the banged on the door the whole time. My sister wanted me to leave so that she would eat, but it didn't work - she hung on to my neck when I told her bye, and started crying when I left and apparently kept it up for a long time afterwards. So I have that going for me - I am highly desirable and in demand in the world of 1-year-olds. I just hope I don't die of slightly sensitive abdomen disease... who would show her how to open all of mommy's make-up?
That's why they send us for a physical every year to the doctor of their choice. Well, it's supposed to be every year. I had my second one today, and my first was after I had been here for 3 years - and not before I started, but they called it the "baseline" anyway, but I digress. The man is cheap, and therefore I have had 2 physicals.
Working in a lab means that you may come into contact with harmful substances, so they check us out every once in a while, you know, so if we ever file a lawsuit, they have paperwork saying we were ok. But the thing is, I work with gases. Carcinogenic gases. So if one day I end up with cancer, was testing my hearing, heart, and reflexes really relevant to my hazardous work environment?
At the end of the appointment, the doctor came in and asked if I had any concerns, and I told him no. Because last time when I expressed my concerns - about how instead of being in a controlled area like it was supposed to, they moved part of my work area down to an old closet - the part where all these gases are set loose - and when I pointed out that I would really not rather be breathing them, they cracked a single ceiling panel as a solution? Because anything else would cost money and/or effort. Anyway, last time I said I was concerned about this, and the doctor said I should ask for a gas mask. (I was not given a gas mask). So I didn't see any point in bringing this up again.
The obvious answer to this would be to change jobs, but instead of talking about how stupid I am, let's talk about things I don't like about doctor's offices.
1. Those big, clanky scales that are out in the middle of the hall where everybody can see them. Do I always get weighed just after a child? Why do they have to keep the thing on 80 pounds, so that it clunks way over as soon as I step on? You know that sound that says, "whoa - we're going to need some major adjusting here". Couldn't they just as easily keep it on 100 and assume that most people aren't going to weigh under that? Or am I the only one this happens to? Am I the heaviest person in the world?
2. When you tell me to put on the robe so that it opens from the back, I'm going to put it on so that it opens from the back. If you know you are about to have to stick 50 different things to my chest for a heart ekg, and the whole thing is going to have to be yanked off anyway, why not just have it open from the front in the first place? At least there is an illusion that some part of it is still there.
3. Needles. You would think after getting shots twice a week as a kid that they wouldn't bother me, and when they actually take the blood, I'm fine. But when they bring out the needle - I shiver. And I cringe even more having to hear other people talk about shots. (I just got some stories from a coworker.) But just once I'd like to have someone give me a shot without the accompanying comment, "You have big veins!" I don't know why this bothers me. Maybe it's because the first person that ever said it was someone I didn't like it very much, and maybe my brain automatically registers negatively when hearing any part of my body described as "big" by a stranger.
4. This one was my fault... no reading material the only time I needed it. The only time I had to wait for a long time was the final doctor's stop in. The other times I was interrupted before I could finish reading the delightful articles on pumpkin carving and barn restoring. Just when I think I'm done, and I'm hanging out in the gown that opens in the back, the technician says, "now just finish undressing and the doctor will be in in a moment." huh? Undress more? And then I was sitting there for the next 30 minutes, wondering what my workplace would need to know that necessitated more undressing. And I didn't have any reading material to distract me, because the magazines were across the room, and I was petrified that if I made a run for it, the door would open at that instant.
5. Has anyone else ever gone to the doctor thinking they were fine, and left with a vague paranoia that they are somewhat diseased? All of my heart/breathing/x-rays/hearing/vision were fine, but since that final doctor's visit I started wondering if something is wrong with me. All he did was listen to my heart (some more) and then mash around my abdomen some. And you know what? That hurt. Like, pretty bad. Not on one side, just on the other. And it has been hurting ever since (mm, about 4 hours now). I told my mom this, and she said, "well did you tell him that it hurt?" no. "Jennifer, you are supposed to tell him if it hurts." But he didn't ask if it hurt! That was my response. Besides, I didn't know it was going to keep hurting. Is this normal people? It doesn't help that this is the exact spot that they've taken some more looks at twice before, never with any conclusive answers.
An upside to my visit (to slightly counterbalance all my whining): The technician that walked me through the whole thing was a klutz. From ramming the ekg machine into the doorway, causing pieces to break off and bounce around the floor, to dropping my x-rays all over the place, she was interesting.
Another highlight of my last 24 hours: I played with my toddler niece yesterday, and for the first time, she preferred me to everyone else around. She turned on her parents, and my mother (the grandmother that she knows spoils her rotten), and only wanted me. (I believe this has something to do with the fact that I also have the mind & disposition of a child. Your mother says you can't play with that? I say you can! Sneak around on the ground, jumping out from behind chairs and doorways over and over and over again? Sounds great!) At the end of the visit she was tired, wouldn't eat, and wanted me to hold her. When I went into the bathroom cried the banged on the door the whole time. My sister wanted me to leave so that she would eat, but it didn't work - she hung on to my neck when I told her bye, and started crying when I left and apparently kept it up for a long time afterwards. So I have that going for me - I am highly desirable and in demand in the world of 1-year-olds. I just hope I don't die of slightly sensitive abdomen disease... who would show her how to open all of mommy's make-up?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
does writing this down make me a mean person?
I just walked over to Vienna Sausage Lady's area of the lab to get some things I needed for work. I heard this noise behind me, this "eeeeeeeehhhhhhhhh" that was like a fingernails on the chalkboard kind of whine, and I turned to see VSL walking towards me. "What?", I asked. She stopped and looked at me, and she made that noise again. That really irritatingly-pitched, whiny noise, that I guessed was supposed to indicate something was very wrong
"What happened?"
VSL: "I don't know. I mean, it looks like it's going to rain. But it might not rain. It's like it can't decide if it's going to rain or not. And they said there might be clouds today, but I didn't expect these kind of clouds. And this wind - this wind is weird, man. You know?"
me: "uuhh..." (trying to do work)
VSL: "It looks like it should be 30 degrees colder than it is. It's like, "oh, I'm really cold - oh no I'm not! It's 80 degrees!" I don't know, man. Is it going to rain? It's like it doesn't know what to do."
She was stressed about the weather.
If it does rain, when I leave, she's going to run after me and yell, "DON'T TRY TO GO DOWN NORTHSIDE DRIVE! IT FLOODS UNDER THAT BRIDGE!" And I will look her in the eye, and tell her that I AM going to go down Northside Drive! Ha! And then she will look stressed for me. This is how it always goes.
I ate outside today. There was a breeze. I thought, "This feels nice." Maybe I'm just a shallow thinker? Maybe, but I also think she could do with an afternoon cocktail.
"What happened?"
VSL: "I don't know. I mean, it looks like it's going to rain. But it might not rain. It's like it can't decide if it's going to rain or not. And they said there might be clouds today, but I didn't expect these kind of clouds. And this wind - this wind is weird, man. You know?"
me: "uuhh..." (trying to do work)
VSL: "It looks like it should be 30 degrees colder than it is. It's like, "oh, I'm really cold - oh no I'm not! It's 80 degrees!" I don't know, man. Is it going to rain? It's like it doesn't know what to do."
She was stressed about the weather.
If it does rain, when I leave, she's going to run after me and yell, "DON'T TRY TO GO DOWN NORTHSIDE DRIVE! IT FLOODS UNDER THAT BRIDGE!" And I will look her in the eye, and tell her that I AM going to go down Northside Drive! Ha! And then she will look stressed for me. This is how it always goes.
I ate outside today. There was a breeze. I thought, "This feels nice." Maybe I'm just a shallow thinker? Maybe, but I also think she could do with an afternoon cocktail.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
having others do the work for me
I am going to introduce a guest writer today. Actually, I will not formally introduce her, because she wants to remain anonymous, and yet wants an explanation of her being at the same time. Understand? Me neither. And she wants a cool fake name that captures her personality, and yet she offers no suggestions. So I will make this complicated introduction soon when I figure out how to do it.
For now, I’m just going to share her lunch experience yesterday, as she related it to me. Because I appreciate a good bad date story. And because I am lazy.
Here it is:
I just went to a late lunch at Houlihan's. I was sitting in a booth behind a couple. I was facing them, so I was looking at the woman's back and looking at the man's face. It was clear it was a first date of some sort. Eventually, I just started to eavesdrop because I forgot my magazine. They were matched on match.com, and the woman talked non-stop. It was painful to watch. The guy was clearly bored and did not want to be there. She was (1) not that attractive, (2) talked the whole time, and (3) was not at all funny even though she tried to be. It was like watching a train wreck. At one point, she was talking about where she used to live, and I swear this is exactly what was said:
"You know Shady Pines* Hospital? (without waiting for him to respond) I used to live near Shady Pines Hospital. Great hospital. I really like that hospital. My therapist works there. She was the one who helped me get my mind straight when I was bulimic. Oh, wait, or was I anorexic? I've been both. Probably shouldn't be telling you that. It's not like I am going to go throw up my lunch now, even though I should not have eaten that second piece of foccacia bread. But a really good hospital, and a great area to live in."
I swear she actually said this. I was dumbfounded. Anywho, she kept going on and on, and unfortunately, I could not hear everything. But, then, it happened. Her phone rang, and when she bent over to look for it in her purse, he looked at me, mouthed, "Help me," and used his hand to pretend as if he was shooting himself in the head. It was awful. But of course I began to laugh hysterically, which looked particularly odd since I was sitting by myself.
Is it wrong that his misery and her inability to hold a conversation has made my day?
*I changed the name of the hospital, so if you had the exact same conversation on a first match date at Houlihan’s yesterday, don’t just assume it was you. It could have been someone else, talking about a different hospital, and your guy didn’t plead with a stranger for help. (Bonus points if you know where “Shady Pines” comes from. I’m looking at you, Dolly.)
For now, I’m just going to share her lunch experience yesterday, as she related it to me. Because I appreciate a good bad date story. And because I am lazy.
Here it is:
I just went to a late lunch at Houlihan's. I was sitting in a booth behind a couple. I was facing them, so I was looking at the woman's back and looking at the man's face. It was clear it was a first date of some sort. Eventually, I just started to eavesdrop because I forgot my magazine. They were matched on match.com, and the woman talked non-stop. It was painful to watch. The guy was clearly bored and did not want to be there. She was (1) not that attractive, (2) talked the whole time, and (3) was not at all funny even though she tried to be. It was like watching a train wreck. At one point, she was talking about where she used to live, and I swear this is exactly what was said:
"You know Shady Pines* Hospital? (without waiting for him to respond) I used to live near Shady Pines Hospital. Great hospital. I really like that hospital. My therapist works there. She was the one who helped me get my mind straight when I was bulimic. Oh, wait, or was I anorexic? I've been both. Probably shouldn't be telling you that. It's not like I am going to go throw up my lunch now, even though I should not have eaten that second piece of foccacia bread. But a really good hospital, and a great area to live in."
I swear she actually said this. I was dumbfounded. Anywho, she kept going on and on, and unfortunately, I could not hear everything. But, then, it happened. Her phone rang, and when she bent over to look for it in her purse, he looked at me, mouthed, "Help me," and used his hand to pretend as if he was shooting himself in the head. It was awful. But of course I began to laugh hysterically, which looked particularly odd since I was sitting by myself.
Is it wrong that his misery and her inability to hold a conversation has made my day?
*I changed the name of the hospital, so if you had the exact same conversation on a first match date at Houlihan’s yesterday, don’t just assume it was you. It could have been someone else, talking about a different hospital, and your guy didn’t plead with a stranger for help. (Bonus points if you know where “Shady Pines” comes from. I’m looking at you, Dolly.)
Sunday, September 16, 2007
fancy is my name
Or, not so much my name - at all.
I saw an option for putting in a poll, but it seems I can only do it on the side panel there. I guess I'll try it anyway... So, for you 4 people that read this (you know who you is), which one of these templates looks better? The old one with the browns, or this one here. You pick.
I saw an option for putting in a poll, but it seems I can only do it on the side panel there. I guess I'll try it anyway... So, for you 4 people that read this (you know who you is), which one of these templates looks better? The old one with the browns, or this one here. You pick.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
letter to the creepy man who lives upstairs from me
Dear Creepy Man,
Tonight was the second night this month that I’ve come home to see a dark house, except for the light in the stairwell we both share, and your form pressed up against the upstairs window looking out! Do you know how scary that looks? To see a man illuminated in the middle of a dark house on a dark street, watching me walk up to my apartment, from within said apartment???
The first time this happened, it was very late at night, which just added to the creepiness. And I was on the phone, and after seeing you watching from the window, lingered a bit in the driveway before approaching the door. But I saw you start down the stairs as soon as I drove up the driveway, and I saw you crack open the front door, peak out, see me see you, and then shut it quickly again. So when I finally did come to the door, and you “accidentally” bumped into me as I was about to walk through the door with the, “oh, sorry, I was just on my way to get the mail” excuse, I wasn’t buying it. I mean, not only did I just see you waiting within the doorway, but it is now 2 a.m. and we both know you already got the mail when it came early that afternoon! It was lying there on the stairs where you always put it! Do you see how such transparent lies make you seem creepy?
And then tonight, I thought I saw it when I pulled in the driveway. The man in the lighted window. But I hoped I was wrong. Perhaps it was foolish, but I hoped nonetheless. So instead of walking straight to the front door (where I wouldn’t be able to see the window) I walked out to the front yard, and looked up (which made me feel like I was in a scary movie), and you weren’t there! “Phew!”, I thought, “it was just my imagination playing tricks on me!” But then, then! Just your head comes leaning back from where it has apparently already started down the stairs, looking back at me from just over the window ledge! Awful! Awful to see head peaking and staring at me as I walk home! It was so intimidating, that I decided to take a walk up the street. And when I did come back, my roommate said she saw me walking by our front window, and at the same time, heard you overhead hurrying to your door. Why? Why do you do this? I mean, I know you are in the market for female companionship – you have mentioned this more than once - but couldn’t you look apart from your neighbors? You know, to people who have the choice to walk away? Not that I wish them to walk away on you, but it might go better if they didn’t feel so trapped. But to do this, you would have to leave the house sometimes. Which reminds me, you could use some other tips on not being creepy…
Let’s see… where to begin… Ok, making comments like, “you’ve been gone for 42 minutes! That was a long run.” Or, “where’s your roommate? She’s been gone for 3 days. Is she with that boyfriend of hers?” Creepy. You do not need to keep such close track of our comings and goings. Single spaced, type-written letters with lots of misspelled words that you slide under our door? They make you look psycho. Knocking on our door and offering my roommate a wad of cash? Maybe you meant well, but… just don’t do that, ok? Oh, and you know that time two gentlemen came to the door to pick me up, and you (of course) saw them coming and came down to greet them, and I didn’t even realize they were here until I heard three voices conversing right outside my door, and I realized you had trapped them? I opened the door, and you said, “You have a hot date tonight!” And me and one of the guys said, at the same time, “I (she) have (has) two of them!” And then we kind of laughed, but you seemed upset when you said, “No you don’t! That’s your date, and that’s his brother!” while pointing at each one of them in turn like we didn’t know who was who. Well, I let that go. You can’t help it if you’re confused. But then while I was getting out my keys to lock the door behind me, and the guys started to walk away, and you came up beside me and said, “I guess you like it from both sides”? That was entirely, grossly, inappropriate. And once again, does nothing to improve your creepiness factor. And if you don’t know those boundaries, one has to wonder what else you don’t know.
You have not made a good impression thus far, but maybe you could work on it, you know? You could start by not standing in the window and watching us when we come home. Please. My old roommate – I’m sure you remember her, her solution to this was “dude, you should kick him in the balls”, but I hope it does not come to that. In fact, no physical contact whatsoever would be great. I think that both my former and present roommate, our neighbor in the basement, and the three women who live in the houses on either side of us would all agree. (I’m pretty sure, as they have all expressed concern within days of moving in.) Oh, and if you could tell us that you were lying when you told my roommate that you used to work in setting up video surveillance equipment, that would be lovely.
So once again, this is what I would like NOT to see when I get home after dark:
What I saw pulling into the driveway:
And what I saw when I came up the driveway – the head leaning back peak as you start down the stairs (you know, towards the door I will have to use to get to my home):
No repeats would be very much appreciated. Thanks in advance for your cooperation.
your privacy-liking neighbor,
Jenn
Tonight was the second night this month that I’ve come home to see a dark house, except for the light in the stairwell we both share, and your form pressed up against the upstairs window looking out! Do you know how scary that looks? To see a man illuminated in the middle of a dark house on a dark street, watching me walk up to my apartment, from within said apartment???
The first time this happened, it was very late at night, which just added to the creepiness. And I was on the phone, and after seeing you watching from the window, lingered a bit in the driveway before approaching the door. But I saw you start down the stairs as soon as I drove up the driveway, and I saw you crack open the front door, peak out, see me see you, and then shut it quickly again. So when I finally did come to the door, and you “accidentally” bumped into me as I was about to walk through the door with the, “oh, sorry, I was just on my way to get the mail” excuse, I wasn’t buying it. I mean, not only did I just see you waiting within the doorway, but it is now 2 a.m. and we both know you already got the mail when it came early that afternoon! It was lying there on the stairs where you always put it! Do you see how such transparent lies make you seem creepy?
And then tonight, I thought I saw it when I pulled in the driveway. The man in the lighted window. But I hoped I was wrong. Perhaps it was foolish, but I hoped nonetheless. So instead of walking straight to the front door (where I wouldn’t be able to see the window) I walked out to the front yard, and looked up (which made me feel like I was in a scary movie), and you weren’t there! “Phew!”, I thought, “it was just my imagination playing tricks on me!” But then, then! Just your head comes leaning back from where it has apparently already started down the stairs, looking back at me from just over the window ledge! Awful! Awful to see head peaking and staring at me as I walk home! It was so intimidating, that I decided to take a walk up the street. And when I did come back, my roommate said she saw me walking by our front window, and at the same time, heard you overhead hurrying to your door. Why? Why do you do this? I mean, I know you are in the market for female companionship – you have mentioned this more than once - but couldn’t you look apart from your neighbors? You know, to people who have the choice to walk away? Not that I wish them to walk away on you, but it might go better if they didn’t feel so trapped. But to do this, you would have to leave the house sometimes. Which reminds me, you could use some other tips on not being creepy…
Let’s see… where to begin… Ok, making comments like, “you’ve been gone for 42 minutes! That was a long run.” Or, “where’s your roommate? She’s been gone for 3 days. Is she with that boyfriend of hers?” Creepy. You do not need to keep such close track of our comings and goings. Single spaced, type-written letters with lots of misspelled words that you slide under our door? They make you look psycho. Knocking on our door and offering my roommate a wad of cash? Maybe you meant well, but… just don’t do that, ok? Oh, and you know that time two gentlemen came to the door to pick me up, and you (of course) saw them coming and came down to greet them, and I didn’t even realize they were here until I heard three voices conversing right outside my door, and I realized you had trapped them? I opened the door, and you said, “You have a hot date tonight!” And me and one of the guys said, at the same time, “I (she) have (has) two of them!” And then we kind of laughed, but you seemed upset when you said, “No you don’t! That’s your date, and that’s his brother!” while pointing at each one of them in turn like we didn’t know who was who. Well, I let that go. You can’t help it if you’re confused. But then while I was getting out my keys to lock the door behind me, and the guys started to walk away, and you came up beside me and said, “I guess you like it from both sides”? That was entirely, grossly, inappropriate. And once again, does nothing to improve your creepiness factor. And if you don’t know those boundaries, one has to wonder what else you don’t know.
You have not made a good impression thus far, but maybe you could work on it, you know? You could start by not standing in the window and watching us when we come home. Please. My old roommate – I’m sure you remember her, her solution to this was “dude, you should kick him in the balls”, but I hope it does not come to that. In fact, no physical contact whatsoever would be great. I think that both my former and present roommate, our neighbor in the basement, and the three women who live in the houses on either side of us would all agree. (I’m pretty sure, as they have all expressed concern within days of moving in.) Oh, and if you could tell us that you were lying when you told my roommate that you used to work in setting up video surveillance equipment, that would be lovely.
So once again, this is what I would like NOT to see when I get home after dark:
What I saw pulling into the driveway:
And what I saw when I came up the driveway – the head leaning back peak as you start down the stairs (you know, towards the door I will have to use to get to my home):
No repeats would be very much appreciated. Thanks in advance for your cooperation.
your privacy-liking neighbor,
Jenn
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Having Fun with Beakers
I meant to mention before, that I try to make the most of the assortment of odd personalities I have in my midst. For instance, ViennaSausageLady? Always worrying, always fretting, always over-thinking everything? If by some strange chance she is not really early to work – say she is even, heaven forbid, 15 minutes LATE, she comes practically running in – in a very bad mood, I might add, and hopes desperately that she didn’t miss anything important. At these times I like to tell her that the head of the lab had been around looking for her, and we had to tell him that we didn’t know where she was. Her eyes get all big, and she curses, and then I chuckle and tell her that it was a little joke. Because I think that is good for her. She needs to loosen up, right?
Oh, and another fun thing? I throw out the word “drylabbing” and her name in the same sentence. Like this: “Hey VSL, what’s going on? Wait, are you drylabbing? VSL is drylabbing!” “Drylabbing” is a term I learned during an ethics training session during my first week at the lab. Robin and I started together, and because we were young and happy then, we thought it was a funny word. Basically, it means you are making up results without really performing any of the procedures – it can be a criminal offense. Say the word around VSL, and she panics. She shushes and/or curses, and looks around to see if anyone else is listening, and then she tries to use her serious tone to tell us that it’s not funny. But it is – you think so, too, right?
The thing is, as different and hard to understand as I find a lot of my coworkers, I’m pretty sure they think the same about me. It’s not uncommon for the Elvis-Lady to raise her eyebrows at me and declare, “You done lost your mind.”
Can you blame me?
Oh, and another fun thing? I throw out the word “drylabbing” and her name in the same sentence. Like this: “Hey VSL, what’s going on? Wait, are you drylabbing? VSL is drylabbing!” “Drylabbing” is a term I learned during an ethics training session during my first week at the lab. Robin and I started together, and because we were young and happy then, we thought it was a funny word. Basically, it means you are making up results without really performing any of the procedures – it can be a criminal offense. Say the word around VSL, and she panics. She shushes and/or curses, and looks around to see if anyone else is listening, and then she tries to use her serious tone to tell us that it’s not funny. But it is – you think so, too, right?
The thing is, as different and hard to understand as I find a lot of my coworkers, I’m pretty sure they think the same about me. It’s not uncommon for the Elvis-Lady to raise her eyebrows at me and declare, “You done lost your mind.”
Can you blame me?
Monday, September 10, 2007
Surrounded by Beakers
A little explanation for my site address. First of all, the first 10 or so names I tried were already taken. Secondly, I work in a lab. With glass beakers. And then there are the human beakers. You know, this kind of Beaker. (oh Muppets, you are still so applicable to my life.)
I’ll try to give a couple of examples…
CheapMan. CheapMan is a big, tall man with a high-pitched voice. His voice goes up an octave whenever he discovers a price that is higher than he thinks is reasonable. And it doesn’t take too high a price to garner his disdain. This is what I often hear coming from his office: (in high and squeaky voice) “oh my gosh! Their sandwiches cost four dollars!!!”
If a fast food place has a deal on a certain day of the week, he knows about it, and he’s there. He once saw me with a McDonald’s bag eating outside, and he had to come out and ask me about it, “Was there a special today?” No. “…. Why are you eating McDonald’s? Did you buy that? I don’t understand.”
I should mention that he’s an eater. (can’t fault him for that.) Combine that with his thriftiness, and you get a man who loves an all you can eat buffet. When he has a buffet trip planned, his eyes will get big, and he’ll squeal in excitement. And one time, one awful, dark day, when he had planned a trip to the Pizza Hut all you can eat lunch buffet – he told us that he would be taking an enema that night so that he would have maximum space available for the Pizza Hut and get more for his money.
He also loves chocolate. But he won’t buy it unless it’s right after a holiday. Then, he stores up. All the on-sale holiday chocolate he can get his hands on. After one late night at the lab, we found FIVE EMPTY large chocolate bunny boxes strewn about his desk the next day. Apparently, he was scared to leave at night in our neighborhood. I guess this goes along with his not letting his sons play contact sports, because they could get hurt. (Instead he signs them up with girls dance troops – where they wear tights and sequined vests. Then he brings in the photos of them posing with little top hats and canes and spirit fingers, and I have to not laugh – which is very hard.)
He also thinks anyone who lives in the city is crazy, because you the further away you live, the less you have to pay, and he can’t understand that anything else would matter. He drives a long long way every day. And he thinks I’m insane.
He’s also a laboratory genius. And I think it worth mentioning that he has a brother who is a professional Elvis impersonator.
Then there is Vienna Sausage Lady. Oh, where to begin about ViennaSausageLady… Her name: See, ViennaSausageLady takes her work VERY seriously. Even when there is not much work to do, she is there early, and stays late. Just in case. She checks and rechecks her work, she’s constantly stressed – and trust me on this, we do NOT work in a high stress environment. Anyway, because she's so wound up about work, she will very rarely leave to eat lunch. So sometimes she’ll keep a little food around… like, say, cans of Vienna sausages in the fridge. Now, she used to share an office with my friend Robin. Now, Robin has some peculiar eating habits – particularly when it comes to meats. She will only eat meat from certain places, and she would certainly never eat leftovers. Even the deli meat she purchased has to be consumed within a certain number of hours. So when she told me that she felt physically ill when her office mate ate the canned Vienna Sausage right in front of her, I thought it was funny. Oh, silly Robin, being phobic about meat again. But then she told me, she doesn’t just eat it – she uses a spoon to sip the juice from the can. Gross, right? But I’m telling you, you can not appreciate how gross until you witness it for yourself. I was in the office one day talking to VSL, fully warned about the juice sipping, when it happened. She dipped that spoon into that cold, gray liquid, brought it to her lips, and sipped. With noise. And my stomach actually turned over. I completely forgot whatever I had been saying, started stuttering in the middle of a sentence, and tried not to be physically ill. I excused myself as soon as I could and got far far away.
She is also a huge fan of our professional baseball team, and her college football team. She has a bright shiny jacket for one, and a pewter necklace for the other. Speak out against either of them, and you will get yelled at. Leave the door to the lab open for a second longer than necessary, and you will get yelled at. It doesn’t matter who you are, she will scream, “Shut the damn door!” at you, for fear that you let in some contaminant that could interfere with her work (extremely unlikely). But she always worries. It is not uncommon to see her pacing around outside, muttering to herself, or to see her talking to her instruments as if they are people.
She yells, but she is actually very nice. And concerned about others. Too concerned. If she sees me glancing in a direction, she will follow me back to my office and ask, “Were you looking for someone? No? Ok… (I don’t believe you). Is there something I can help you with? What’s going on? What are you doing?”
We really do need to sign her up for some other activities.
Then, of course, there is Bathroom Lady, who I have talked about here and here. There’s also a woman who makes all her own pants in various polyester colors, has a matching pair of shoes and big bow for each color, and is obsessed with Elvis. (see photo).
She is relatively normal.
Then there is my boss, who I love. She’s kind, and warm, and a good and honest worker. And she’s always looking for ways to better her daughter’s education – like, buying books from any other Chinese-Americans that explain how they got their child into Harvard. She also reads a lot of Chinese books on health. One day she was reading one with all sorts of Mandarin characters, and the number “30” – printed really large. I asked about it, and she said it was for women to start preparing for menopause. You know, when they are 30. I don’t ask anymore. But sometimes she offers her advice anyway, like this: “You need hurry up and have babies. Because, sometimes, when you are getting older, the baby come out, and you see something wrong with it.” Yeah, thanks… I’ll get right on that.
There are others, but I think you get the idea. I am surrounded by beakers.
I’ll try to give a couple of examples…
CheapMan. CheapMan is a big, tall man with a high-pitched voice. His voice goes up an octave whenever he discovers a price that is higher than he thinks is reasonable. And it doesn’t take too high a price to garner his disdain. This is what I often hear coming from his office: (in high and squeaky voice) “oh my gosh! Their sandwiches cost four dollars!!!”
If a fast food place has a deal on a certain day of the week, he knows about it, and he’s there. He once saw me with a McDonald’s bag eating outside, and he had to come out and ask me about it, “Was there a special today?” No. “…. Why are you eating McDonald’s? Did you buy that? I don’t understand.”
I should mention that he’s an eater. (can’t fault him for that.) Combine that with his thriftiness, and you get a man who loves an all you can eat buffet. When he has a buffet trip planned, his eyes will get big, and he’ll squeal in excitement. And one time, one awful, dark day, when he had planned a trip to the Pizza Hut all you can eat lunch buffet – he told us that he would be taking an enema that night so that he would have maximum space available for the Pizza Hut and get more for his money.
He also loves chocolate. But he won’t buy it unless it’s right after a holiday. Then, he stores up. All the on-sale holiday chocolate he can get his hands on. After one late night at the lab, we found FIVE EMPTY large chocolate bunny boxes strewn about his desk the next day. Apparently, he was scared to leave at night in our neighborhood. I guess this goes along with his not letting his sons play contact sports, because they could get hurt. (Instead he signs them up with girls dance troops – where they wear tights and sequined vests. Then he brings in the photos of them posing with little top hats and canes and spirit fingers, and I have to not laugh – which is very hard.)
He also thinks anyone who lives in the city is crazy, because you the further away you live, the less you have to pay, and he can’t understand that anything else would matter. He drives a long long way every day. And he thinks I’m insane.
He’s also a laboratory genius. And I think it worth mentioning that he has a brother who is a professional Elvis impersonator.
Then there is Vienna Sausage Lady. Oh, where to begin about ViennaSausageLady… Her name: See, ViennaSausageLady takes her work VERY seriously. Even when there is not much work to do, she is there early, and stays late. Just in case. She checks and rechecks her work, she’s constantly stressed – and trust me on this, we do NOT work in a high stress environment. Anyway, because she's so wound up about work, she will very rarely leave to eat lunch. So sometimes she’ll keep a little food around… like, say, cans of Vienna sausages in the fridge. Now, she used to share an office with my friend Robin. Now, Robin has some peculiar eating habits – particularly when it comes to meats. She will only eat meat from certain places, and she would certainly never eat leftovers. Even the deli meat she purchased has to be consumed within a certain number of hours. So when she told me that she felt physically ill when her office mate ate the canned Vienna Sausage right in front of her, I thought it was funny. Oh, silly Robin, being phobic about meat again. But then she told me, she doesn’t just eat it – she uses a spoon to sip the juice from the can. Gross, right? But I’m telling you, you can not appreciate how gross until you witness it for yourself. I was in the office one day talking to VSL, fully warned about the juice sipping, when it happened. She dipped that spoon into that cold, gray liquid, brought it to her lips, and sipped. With noise. And my stomach actually turned over. I completely forgot whatever I had been saying, started stuttering in the middle of a sentence, and tried not to be physically ill. I excused myself as soon as I could and got far far away.
She is also a huge fan of our professional baseball team, and her college football team. She has a bright shiny jacket for one, and a pewter necklace for the other. Speak out against either of them, and you will get yelled at. Leave the door to the lab open for a second longer than necessary, and you will get yelled at. It doesn’t matter who you are, she will scream, “Shut the damn door!” at you, for fear that you let in some contaminant that could interfere with her work (extremely unlikely). But she always worries. It is not uncommon to see her pacing around outside, muttering to herself, or to see her talking to her instruments as if they are people.
She yells, but she is actually very nice. And concerned about others. Too concerned. If she sees me glancing in a direction, she will follow me back to my office and ask, “Were you looking for someone? No? Ok… (I don’t believe you). Is there something I can help you with? What’s going on? What are you doing?”
We really do need to sign her up for some other activities.
Then, of course, there is Bathroom Lady, who I have talked about here and here. There’s also a woman who makes all her own pants in various polyester colors, has a matching pair of shoes and big bow for each color, and is obsessed with Elvis. (see photo).
She is relatively normal.
Then there is my boss, who I love. She’s kind, and warm, and a good and honest worker. And she’s always looking for ways to better her daughter’s education – like, buying books from any other Chinese-Americans that explain how they got their child into Harvard. She also reads a lot of Chinese books on health. One day she was reading one with all sorts of Mandarin characters, and the number “30” – printed really large. I asked about it, and she said it was for women to start preparing for menopause. You know, when they are 30. I don’t ask anymore. But sometimes she offers her advice anyway, like this: “You need hurry up and have babies. Because, sometimes, when you are getting older, the baby come out, and you see something wrong with it.” Yeah, thanks… I’ll get right on that.
There are others, but I think you get the idea. I am surrounded by beakers.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
next stop, antique
Ok, I know the "skinny jean" (also known to those of us that remember the 80's/early 90's as the "peg-leg") has been back for a year. (Yes, Dolly, a whole year. My friend in Arizona has a special hatred for the tapered leg jean. She's been living in a small town, secluded from fashion trends, and I had the great pleasure of enlightening her in this jean development just recently.) Anyway, it's back - ok. But did we really need to add the tight roll? And then call it "vintage"?? Really???
This photo is from the September '07 J. Crew catalogue I just received in the mail:
"Vintage" is a word that should be used for my mother's old clothing, not mine. And I'm not saying the model looks bad, but she's a model - she's not going to look bad. But what about the rest of us that don't have legs up to our necks, professionals doing our hair and make-up, and air-brushing us? What about those of us that aren't so much "model-shaped", but are maybe a different kind of shape... such as the pear kind of shape? Shortening the pant leg does nothing for stumpiness.
And that isn't all. The big shoe that is pushed is a "ballerina flat" - which means a flat, with a little bow on top. In all different colors. Also, they recommend wearing them with bold colored socks.
So, now we have, tapered leg, rolled jeans, and socks with flats. It's what I used to wear in 7th grade.
I'd like to point to illustration #2 now:
It is unfortunate that I don't have a better photo - you will just have to use your imagination, and trust me that she has both aqua and hot pink socks on with white flats. This is my friend Blay on Halloween our senior year of high school. (I have abided by her wished and concealed her true identity - see Blay, no one can tell who you are! heh, heh) She was an "80's girl" and her costume was great. Know why? Because it was ugly. We were able to laugh at it, because that is what we used to wear when we were young and didn't know better! Now we are 18 and wise, and we will never again wear our hot pink sweater with our turquoise mock t, or have a double hot pink / turquoise scrunchy on top of our heads, or wear socks with flats, or wear any denim that is acid-washed or tight-rolled. No, we will never attire ourselves so foolishly again.
Oh, fashion, you doth make fools of us all.
But I can't go back. I can't embrace the new "vintage" after laughing at it all these years. Do you know what this means? I remember sitting on the bus in college and looking at the graduate students and wondering, "do they know how much they stand out? Do they know that I can tell they are graduate students because they are wearing acid-washed, tight-rolled jeans and rugby shirts?" And then I would wonder if this would happen to me, would I ever be so out of it that someone could tell my age not by my face but by my incredibly out of style clothing? And now I know that it's not quite that... it's not that I don't know, it's that I refuse. I will not go quietly into that good night. I will rage against the dieing of the light. ("The light" in this case being any jeans that don't give my legs the illusion of being even shorter than they really are. Which happens to be very short.)
Ok, I bought some straight-legged jeans, but that's as far as I'm going.
Just thought you might want to know. I'm glad we could have this talk - I feel better now that I've gotten that off my chest. So many deep, meaningful thoughts always burdening me down - it's tough being me.
This photo is from the September '07 J. Crew catalogue I just received in the mail:
"Vintage" is a word that should be used for my mother's old clothing, not mine. And I'm not saying the model looks bad, but she's a model - she's not going to look bad. But what about the rest of us that don't have legs up to our necks, professionals doing our hair and make-up, and air-brushing us? What about those of us that aren't so much "model-shaped", but are maybe a different kind of shape... such as the pear kind of shape? Shortening the pant leg does nothing for stumpiness.
And that isn't all. The big shoe that is pushed is a "ballerina flat" - which means a flat, with a little bow on top. In all different colors. Also, they recommend wearing them with bold colored socks.
So, now we have, tapered leg, rolled jeans, and socks with flats. It's what I used to wear in 7th grade.
I'd like to point to illustration #2 now:
It is unfortunate that I don't have a better photo - you will just have to use your imagination, and trust me that she has both aqua and hot pink socks on with white flats. This is my friend Blay on Halloween our senior year of high school. (I have abided by her wished and concealed her true identity - see Blay, no one can tell who you are! heh, heh) She was an "80's girl" and her costume was great. Know why? Because it was ugly. We were able to laugh at it, because that is what we used to wear when we were young and didn't know better! Now we are 18 and wise, and we will never again wear our hot pink sweater with our turquoise mock t, or have a double hot pink / turquoise scrunchy on top of our heads, or wear socks with flats, or wear any denim that is acid-washed or tight-rolled. No, we will never attire ourselves so foolishly again.
Oh, fashion, you doth make fools of us all.
But I can't go back. I can't embrace the new "vintage" after laughing at it all these years. Do you know what this means? I remember sitting on the bus in college and looking at the graduate students and wondering, "do they know how much they stand out? Do they know that I can tell they are graduate students because they are wearing acid-washed, tight-rolled jeans and rugby shirts?" And then I would wonder if this would happen to me, would I ever be so out of it that someone could tell my age not by my face but by my incredibly out of style clothing? And now I know that it's not quite that... it's not that I don't know, it's that I refuse. I will not go quietly into that good night. I will rage against the dieing of the light. ("The light" in this case being any jeans that don't give my legs the illusion of being even shorter than they really are. Which happens to be very short.)
Ok, I bought some straight-legged jeans, but that's as far as I'm going.
Just thought you might want to know. I'm glad we could have this talk - I feel better now that I've gotten that off my chest. So many deep, meaningful thoughts always burdening me down - it's tough being me.
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