I feel crappy, but at least I don't smell like it.

It's time for a big holiday, and I seem to be getting sick. It started as I embarked out on my day, with a long list of things to do. Like this, "wait, why is my throat hurting?" fast forward several hours, and I went to bed at 4:30, finally rousing myself this evening after many, many snoozes of the alarm. But I feel pretty strongly that I could have slept the night through. My throat is now on fire on one side, and my neck aches, and blah, blah, blah. It's probably just a cold coming on, but I used to get strep every winter, and so help me, if it happens one more time, I might just rip my tonsils out with my bare hands.
ahem. Also, there's been this tendency over the last few years to come down with major illnesses (like a big helping of the old stomach virus) only on holidays. Christmas, New Year's, Memorial Day (what? It counts!)... if I'm going to be sick, I'd like to miss some work out of it, ya know?
Now instead of being out drinking margaritas on my Saturday night, I will probably be bundled up on my couch, crying in front of "Steel Magnolias" or something. I am a delight. (Oh, but will I let this keep me from the party tomorrow of many chefs and treats that are promised to be delicious beyond imagination?? No, if I have to drag my feverous, infectious body there against it's will, I will do so! If I can't taste those treats, I will eat them anyway! I will not miss out on everything!!"
ahem again.

Anyway, instead of writing (whining) to all of you I'm going to share something from someone else.

I think I heard about this somewhere... and now Jamelah has discovered it and captured it quite nicely. Read here.
I guess Burger King is going for a sexy image. Or something. Or just hope they get talked about (in which I am falling into their plot perfectly.) Seriously, the thought of a Burger King scent makes me naseous. And that man in front of the fire could give me nightmares.
Is it real though? I attempted to buy it (what? It could make a great gift for someone you hate!) And I never got redirected to the site it said it was sending me to... hmm...

Dream on, Dreamer.

What? Three posts in one week??? This is CRAZY! Yes, a wild and crazy life I lead... or perhaps I am not so particularly social this week. Nor am I particularly working. What I should be particularly doing is unpacking my new apartment. But why not share a dream instead? That sounds like a good use of our time, right?

My friend Dena emailed me this dream today, and I admit, I kind of enjoyed it. (I kind of enjoy any email I get these days, since I haven't been able to write them from work anymore, the entertainment I receive has dropped off dramatically.) Dena and I used to see each other once a week, but haven't been for a while, and yet this is the second dream she's had about me. (At least that I know of. Maybe she has a crush on me and dreams about me every night. Could we blame her?) I can't find her account of the first dream (although it wasn't for lack of looking - now I want to read it again), but it was something about some star in another country who escaped to America to get away from her fame and adoring fans and pretend to be a normal American girl - and it turned out to be me.

Here's the dream from today:

I have to tell you about the dream I had last night. It was all about you. You were getting married- suddenly and elaborately. I was a bridesmaid along with a huge group of others. We were standing at the front of a cathedral on stairs and the wedding planner was organizing the rows of attendants. Our dresses were different according to our "rank" as friends. The b-lister bridesmaids (the ones that barely made it) had on frumpy, poufy dresses with big sleeves. The closer the friend to Jennifer, the sexier the dress, so your "inner circle" were wearing these net, see-through numbers. Strange.

No one in the bridal party had ever met the groom, but he was apparently artsy and eccentric. While the bridesmaids were being sorted by friend hierarchy, several wedding coordinators were trying to gather up the dancers, acrobats and dressed-up animals that would be in the procession.

So, whatever your mystery fiance did, he did well. We toured your new, overly modern house (mansion) and got to see the special elevator you use to get to the top shelves in the closets. Some of the upstairs rooms had glass floors and you could see into the rooms above and below. (Not practical, Jennifer. People wear dresses and sometimes have boogers, so we don't need to see each other from directly underneath.) At some point in the dream, I realized I had used the bathroom with a clear ceiling. Great.

So, there was my dream. Hope you enjoyed it. Maybe it was prophetic. Be sure to let me know if you get engaged to a crazy bazillionaire. You don't have to make me a bridesmaid, but if you do, I want to be a middle-of-the-road friend, not poufy, not see-through.

Ironically, I have two good friends (we will call them Splann and Lob) who have concerns about their "bridesmaid ranking" in my hypothetical non-existent wedding. First of all people, I'm not getting married. (And how unlike Splann to get ahead of herself when it comes to talking about my life! ahem.) Secondly, where did you get this idea that there was some sort of ranking order to bridesmaids? And thirdly, at some point in your old age doesn't having a bunch of bridesmaids just seem ridiculous? Now a bathroom with a glass floor/ceiling on the other hand... that's just brilliant. Invite guests over and watch them try to figure that one out.
Actually... come to think of it... making some people I know wear horrible dresses doesn't sound like such a bad idea either...

Food and Harry (but not hairy food, that would be gross)

So... what does it say about you when you are a woman of, oh, let's just say 5'4, and you are out to dinner with a man who is 6'8, and you eat just as much as he does? Say he wants to order all this food and share it, and you think, "whatever dude. I guess you need to eat a lot. If you need all this, then so be it." And then 30 minutes later you look around and realize that you've put away half the stuff?
How much would you say you are on your way to weighing?
Blay, this is your area of expertise.
When we were in high school, Blay was one of those girls that was as skinny as those girls who didn't eat (and there were a lot of them) but Blay ate and ate and ate and never exercised, and tiny she remained. And she used to see dates as opportunities to get all the free food she wanted. For instance:
waitress: "Would you like dessert?"
guy: "No thanks."
Blay: "Yes, I will have this!" (points to menu)
waitress: "uh... that's meant to be shared by a whole table..."
Blay: "I'll take it."

And then she would eat the entire platter of dessert. I admire her much.
Although it was me, not her, who was honored at a diner in Chicago while we were there eating together - along with another friend with a big stomach, Lob. I once saw Lob eat half a pizza and a cheeseburger all in one sitting. But again, this was in high school.) So, here we are, full grown women, having breakfast at a Chicago diner. A popular diner - the kind that has a line every morning. The kind where the servers see A LOT of traffic. And our waitress, she was a seasoned one. She had that experienced, no-nonsense, I've been doing this for 30 years look. And yet when she came to take our plates away, we got a surprised double take from her and then this, "I've never seen ANYONE eat ALL of the chocolate chip pancakes before!!!!"

Yes, thank you. I am in Chicago for one weekend, and I take the chocolate chip pancake title.

So my question to you Blay is, how much does admitting to this change as we get older? I mean, as kids, we kind of took pride in the fact that we ate more than carrot scrapings. But now... hmm... I don't think you or Lob find yourselves in these situations anymore. How ashamed should I be?

And one more thing about my dinner last night... well, not the dinner, but the other part. We went to the Harry Connick, Jr. holiday concert. This is my first time hanging out with this guy on my own, and here are a few things I did not expect:
1) Admission to being in a Harry Connick, Jr. fan club (although he was pretty cute/funny last night)
2) Listening to Harry Connick, Jr. Christmas cd's the entire drive to the concert. And then the entire drive back. I mean, aren't we about to/didn't we just see all this live? Do we really need to hear it again?
3) Seeing him weave and bob through the crowd at a brisk jog once we got there and learned it was starting. Moments earlier we had been parking the car and had an exchange like this:
him: I'll drop you off while I park.
me: nah, that's ok. actually... I would like to go to the restroom... if you don't need to, maybe I should go in while you park?
him: ok
2 minutes later: I'll just park! It won't take long! (much much fast turning through parking garage, bringing me close to almost puking the large amount of food I had just eaten. I had also downed 2 beers. It was a bad afternoon at work. I needed it.)
And then there he is running through the doors with our tickets. I took a moment to look towards the bathroom, and then at my bobbing, weaving ticket. I considered never finding my seat... maybe if I had had a car there I would have. But after some hesitation I followed him in.
That man really loves himself some Harry Connick, Jr. Be afraid, Harry. Be very afraid.

A Mystery of Physics

hello the internets,

There are a couple of things from the last couple of weeks that we need to catch up on, but I'm tired so let's keep it simple and start with something small and more recent:

I was recently talked into coming out of soccer retirement to play in an indoor league on Sunday nights. (Ok, they didn't really have to try to hard to talk me into it, but they should have had to, because I REALLY didn't want to do it. The last time I played I was so bad it was just depressing, and I didn't figure months of sitting on my butt and eating cookies had done much to help that. Plus, Sunday nights?? Really? The best time ever to be lazy?) But I decided to make myself do it, simply because I was so against it, I thought maybe I could use it.

Anyway, it's been a lot of fun, and I'm really glad I signed up and blah blah blah, oh! And I'm not even as bad as the last couple of times I played! And the even larger miracle? I showed up the first night and heard, "Get on the field, we're starting, and you have to play the whole game" and I neither puked nor dry-heaved during the course of the game! This made me happy.

So, last night I go out and what do I find? No subs is what I find. And people, I like myself some subs. This is coed soccer, and my friends that asked me to lay are some Englishmen I played with years ago and got to know quite well. It seems that two of them were having a soccer video game party, while the other simply said, "Last night was one for the record books, mate. It was legendary. I'm in no condition for athletics." and didn't show. (This is not so unusual - I used to keep up with them on occasion, but then I got old.)
And then our one girl sub didn't show. But even if I hadn't had a sub, even if we just had some guys to sub at least, I feel that I wouldn't have been quite so tired. Because when your whole team is tired, your tiredness shows more. If you can have some fresh man legs run in there, you can hope to be lazy for a bit and let them do some running for you.

So, this is my mystery of physics:
F=ma, right? Force = mass times acceleration? So how is the following possible:
Picture me, running down the field, like a soccer-skilled gazelle, when some dude hammers a ball in my direction, hitting me on my forearm, which I believe was up by my face, because apparently I run like I'm trying to become a windmill. For a moment, I am aware that both my feet are off the ground (maybe I was in mid-stride? Not sure.) All I do know what there was absolutely no doubt that my feet would be under me on the ground again in the next tiny fraction of a second. So imagine my surprise when instead of that, I feel myself falling through the air, and landing flat on my back, tail-bone first. That jank hurt.
I was still on the ground a few moments later when my team scored a goal (one of 5 we would get before losing 13-5), and still sitting there near the other teams goal when they all lined back up again for the kick-off. I wasn't sure I could get up. My butt, my butt hurt SO MUCH!!!

So the question is, how hard would a small ball have to be kicked to hit me with enough force to propel my entire mass into a horizontal position?? I think the answer is that I way about 100 pounds less than what I thought I weighed. This is the silver lining in my sore butt.

I had to sit on some ice last night. While my mom guilted me about not putting my ornaments on the family Christmas tree. So I tried. But she had very cruelly placed that box on the floor, and every time I tried to pick one up it was a whole process that looked like this:
Damnit! I can't find the video I want! If anyone saw SNL a week ago, I'm thinking of the skit where Kristen Wiig is the new sexy girl at work, until she's not. For instance, she bends down to pick things up with many sounds of pain, and she doesn't so much bend over as she does awkwardly squat, while holding onto her back and legs. That was me. And then I almost started crying. So I went back to sitting on my ice.

And that's my simple story - it's good catching up with you!
Hopefully more to come (insert inward grumbling against work here - work that I did not do tonight like I said I would... tomorrow should be great.)

It's all about the giving

I bought my first Christmas present of this season last night. In fact, besides this purchase, I have given absolutely no thought to my Christmas shopping. #1, I am a procrastinator. #2, my brain is unable to think further than the next upcoming event. And I'm moving this weekend, and I've made absolutely no preparations (see #1), so there you go.

But over Thanksgiving I had the opportunity to spend some time with my two and a half year old niece, and get a peak into her television taste. Sure, she'll stop to watch some Barney if it's on, but I discovered that given the opportunity, she's equally glad to stare slack-jawed at some good ole' fashioned Tom & Jerry or Scooby Doo.

And then I remembered what my friend Darby told me she bought when she heard she was having a niece, and I put that together with the knowledge that she likes tv, and added onto it the fact that I like to try to make her as much like me as possible (if for no other reason than to annoy my sister, who for some reason thinks I'm "weird"), and wa-la! I convinced myself to buy all 3 seasons of The Muppet Show!!









Aren't they beautiful??!!

But here's my problem now... How do I make the time to watch all 3 of these dvds in the little bit of time that my sister's here? I mean, I can't open them up and watch them before Christmas... ok, I could, but since when have I ever been tacky at Christmas? Really, I think I'm going to stress out about this while they're here. I'll be debating between a Christmas party or the Muppets, sleep... or the Muppets? It's going to be a tough call.

Now I just have to figure out what else I want for a little while that I can buy for other people. And I have a new family member this year - and new coworkers who are already talking gift-giving - I predict another year of last minute shopping. Unless anyone has any ideas? Blay, this sounds right up your ally...

Goshdarnit, I WILL update, even if I have nothing to say!

I have not abandoned this blog - not on purpose, at least - and I know I've already used the "work doesn't let me spend all day blogging" excuse, but I have to plead it again. And in two new ways: 1) They took away my gmail! They were already attempting to block all email, but had overlooked gmail, which I could use to mail in posts (which I only did about once, but still, the option was there), and 2) for the last 2 and a half weeks, everything is "an emergency." Everything is urgent, and this urgency is coming from multiple sources (meaning multiple "emergencies") all at once. Causing me to be all tensed up in front of a computer for too many hours, and by the time I'm home, my right shoulder and hand are all cramped up from too much mouse use. Seriously, something has to be done about the shoulder.

So here I am posting just for the sake of posting! Hi! I did have a couple of different topics I was going to write about, but I've forgotten them all. (Another side-effect of work: my brain is so tired by the end of the day! Stinks.) I do remember one was going to be a list of disturbing moments I had had recently, but I can only remember one of those, and that doesn't exactly make a list, does it? But I will tell it to you anyway!
So, I was driving one evening, and while stopped at a light, looked up and saw a sign that read "Fall Festival" - and I immediately got very excited! Because a fall festival sounds like the bestest! And I wanted to go! And then I read more, and saw that that this festival would include a petting zoo. "hmm," I thought, "ok, I must be in front of a school. That's ok. It's ok that I'm excited about something targeted at small children." So then I looked further and saw a sign that read, "Such-and-such Assisted Living. With a special unit for the memory impaired."
Wow. While I'm ok with being a kid, I am not quite so ok with being elderly. And this isn't a little elderly. This is A LOT elderly. Or AM I ready to be put in a home? I mean, I clearly don't like working. I wonder if they have age minimums at those things...

I do have news. I'm moving. Just locally, but it's a move all the same. In fact, my living situation since July is something that could have provided a whole stream of blogworthy material, if only I wasn't too ashamed to write about it. See, my old place that I lived in with Creepy Man was bought, and the new owner decided to renovate and kicked us all out, and I decided I'd be a big girl and buy a home. (And by "home" I mean "tiny condo.") But through a complex series of events, I changed my mind. In the meantime, I needed somewhere to stay while I carefully made me buying decision. So I put all my things in storage, and moved into a temporary living arrangement. That was supposed to be no longer than a couple of months. And here I am at the end of November, with all my winter clothes and shoes in a storage unit in the 'burbs. So I decided it was time to take some action, and I found myself an apartment. Because if December isn't busy enough, I need a move on top of everything else.

And this move is significant because it will be my first time living by myself! I'm excited and a little nervous at the same time. (As one "friend" recently said, "You're moving just in time to be alone for the holidays." Thanks.)

So, before I settled on this ancient apartment with it's ancient fixtures in an ancient building, I was considering other apartments in equally old buildings that were much newer and cuter on the inside and outside. But they were also smaller and more expensive. But everytime the rental lady pointed out something like, "Yes, there's only one closet, but it's a good sized closet!" I found myself thinking, "Totally! It's a great closet! I can definitely fit my extradnarily large amount of crap in here!" Because I am easy like that - I want to believe everything I'm told.

So before committing to these cute pricey apartments, I thought it would be a good idea to bring in a second opinion. I need someone with a critical eye. And who has the most critical eyes in the world? Our mothers.
That poor, poor rental lady. She took me through every one of those apartments again, this time with my mother in tow. And I was right, she was critical. About EVERYTHING. She made me want to hide.
It was everything from, "hm. This is it? hm. It sure is small."
to, "I don't know why it's so dark in this closet." (Lady points out that there's a light.) "Well, I KNOW there's a light. But why on earth are these closest walls so dark? I can't imagine why you haven't painted them white."

to, "Now, what about that window?"
Rental Lady and I both look around, confused. Because we are outside the building, and my mom is pointing at something away from the apartment. We locate a random window in a stairwell.
Rental Lady: "You mean... the cobwebs...?"
Mom: "No. Are they going to replace that window? It's different from the other windows."
RL: "uh... if they haven't now, then no, probably not."
Mom: "Hmph."

to,
Rental Lady: "This was my husband's apartment before we got married." (big smile)
Mom: "This is my least favorite so far."

but my favorite was this series:
Mom: "I smell gas."
RL: "We just painted."
Mom: "It smells like gas."
RL: We JUST painted. I think it's the paint."
Mom assumes a hunched over position, and with her nose in the lead, commences to smell every appliance in the kitchen. we go to the next apartment, and she does it again. She doesn't just look, she SMELLS.

I got my 2nd opinion all right. She told me that although they were cute, with all my stuff, I would "junk them up." So I went with the old place with a little more closet space. Although I have to wonder, if the owner had been showing it to us, instead a cute friendly girl who lived there and had nothing to gain, would I have been influenced the same way?
I know my mother, and I'm going to say probably not.

Well, I'm off to pack! I have a 2 year old niece to play with tomorrow. And I'm guessing you didn't make it this far through this disjointed post, anyway.
Happy Thanksgiving!

lil' Winnie-pooh

I thought I was seeing a younger, sexier Keanu Reeves on collegehumor.com tonight, but wait! It's not Keanu! It's Winston Noel!!
Winston is probably my brother's oldest goodest friend. They first met in elementary school, when Winston was a gangly kid with a bowl-cut and big round glasses. (Brock, you got any pictures? I do enjoy a good awkward years picture.) According to our mothers, they met when they were 4 - because that's when our mothers met in the Santa Claus line. It seems the moms both shared a love of chatting to strangers and holding line spots while dashing out for snacks. They stayed in school together all the way through college, where they were roommates. And Winston recently served as my brother's best man. Basically, he's put up with more Brock than I have.

He was recruited for this Matrix spoof after impressing with a Keanu impression in an improv sketch.

Take a look: It's The Matrix - were it run on Windows XP.

(Note: I just realized that on a wide computer screen I can see the whole picture just fine, but on my little laptop it gets cut off. You could also go to collegehumor.com to watch this. There's probably a way to fix it here, but I am old, and that all sounds like gobbledy-gook. Besides, I have to get to work and get my soul sucked out of me some more.)

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

my communist computer

After an... interesting Halloween, to say the least, I woke up Saturday morning sick.  Well, I woke up with a sore throat, and thought it was due to my interesting Halloween, but by Saturday night I was romanticising about what deadly disease had taken hold of me, and wondering how long before it would bring sweet sweet death.  And then Sunday I woke up and realized I just had a cold.  Anyway.

Because I'm kinda new at work here and I have yet to see a person take a sick day, I came in today all scratchy-voiced and nose-blowing and glassy-eyed.  To show that I can work.  And then you know what happened?  I haven't gotten much done.  My brain is in slow motion.  I just keep making my mugs of hot water with lemon and honey, and looking for files on my computer, and shuffling around papers, and then going back to the microwave to heat my water back up again.  I am going to suffer for this later this week, surely.  But if nothing else, maybe I will lose 20 pounds this week from my new water/lemon/honey diet!  You think?  Or maybe it's more likely that my teeth will just rot out.

 

Because it's the day before election day, and since I'm not getting much done anyway, I attempted to do what I always do the day before an election, and look online for a voter's guide to educate me.  I mean, I know who I'm voting for for president, but I know the ballet is going to be more complicated than that, and as my friend Blay pointed out on her blog today, uneducated voters are kind of despicable.  And you know what??  My work firewall or whatever it is is blocking me from reading educational election related articles that I would like to read!  I mean, if I vote wrong and the country suffers then my company suffers and that's what they get for this firewall!!  And yet, it DID let me look at a picture of Joaquin Phoenix with "goodbye" painted on his knuckles (Blues Brothers style), and read about how he's leaving the movie industry. 

Does this make sense?

And by the way, Joaquin, you will be missed.  You were as creepy as creepy can get in Gladiator, and yet you still made me like you.  This is no small feat.

 

And speaking of actors that will be missed, how is it possible that I have a blog and have not mentioned Paul Newman??  He's my all time favorite.  Did you know that he gives away all his profits from his food?  And all the nice things he says about his wife?  And did you SEE him in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof??  If not, you deserve to.  And I would post some photos right now, but that's right, google image is also blocked.  Although it doesn't really matter since blogger is as well and I can only email in text.  yes, it's a tough life I lead.

I mean, do they expect me to pick up a paper or watch the news on my own time?  sheesh.

 

I'm reading back over this now and wondering what the point was going to be... I think it's purpose was to assist me in having a most unproductive day.  And to wish you best of luck in your time wasting, too.

knee stories: best and worst

The best thing I heard today:

A friend, who is a large 6'8 - I mean, he fills out his height, had knee surgery this past summer, and is still limping around a little bit. But I was never clear on the exact way he injured his knee. So what does one guy friend do for another guy friend? He tells the story for him. Up to this point all I had heard was that there had been a sports injury. Well, apparently there had been a sports injury - a catching a ball and then falling down during a kickball game injury - but this was not the cause for the surgery. It seems that while in a bar one night, my large friend attempted a Michael Jackson dance move - he gave a little kick, and a high-pitched Michael squeal, which was then quickly followed by a groan of pain, and hitting the floor.
He had to be carried out. By another big friend, and one very small friend.

The worst knee injury story I've heard:

(If I've already told this one, well, then just skip ahead. To... uh... nothing.)
A guy who I know is a frequent soccer player has to wear a knee brace when he plays. So when I asked him about his injury, I assumed it was a soccer related one. I mean, soccer players hurt their knees all the time. And he played a lot! And he's an athlete - this makes sense, right? But the story went something like this:
"See, I was out one night, dancing, and this guy, he came up to me, and started dancing. And he was trying to be better than me, so I started doing my moves, and it was just one of my moves that I always do, but somehow, I blew out my knee."
Now, what would make this a great story would be if a friend told me this about a new guy she was seeing. But what makes it a terrible story is that it was a guy I was seeing.
These little details can make all the difference.

Boo.

Happy Halloween, everybody.  And what are you all doing to celebrate this great holiday?  Are you reading this right now from your desk at work, where you are at business as usual, only in costume?  No?

Well, I am.  Did anyone watch The Office last night?  You know how Pam was the only one that was dressed up in her office?  Well, that is me today.  Except I was quite sure that I nobody would be dressing up - it's just not that kind of office environment.  In fact, I first asked my boss what she was coming in as today as a joke, because it is SO not that kind of office environment.  And then, it gradually became a good idea to dress up myself.  I am my boss lady.  I am her on the day she claimed not to be able to work all day, because she had to get her eyes dilated and her eyes are "really sensitive."  So I'm wearing a suit (she's the only one here who ever wears a suit - she's big into "dress for the job you want, not the job you have"), a blonde wig, and dark sunglasses.  Unfortunately, my claim of not being able to work today on account of my eyes didn't get me the day off.  Oh well. 

 

I have a photo of the two of us together, and maybe I'll post it later.  She pointed out to me that I am REALLY NOT a blonde.  Yeah, I didn't need putting on a wig to tell me this.  I can't wear yellow.  I put on a yellow t-shirt and this horrible jaundice-skin transformation takes place.  So, even though she's casual today for Friday, in the photo she still looks tall and glamorous, and I still look short and dowdy.  Not fair.

 

I need to call the lab and ask about Vienna Sausage Lady's costume this year... if I haven't talked about that, maybe it's time for some photos.... VSL loves herself some science-puns halloween costumes.  She takes them quite seriously.

 

Also in honor of Halloween, my friend, who wishes to remain anonymous, has sent me some musings of his and asked that they appear here so he can be a ghost writer.  (Maybe that is his Halloween costume?)  When I asked what name he wanted, he said "either DJ Jazzy Jeff or William Howard Taft.  Pick one."  So I am going with DJ Tanner.  You can call him Deej.

 

And here are some random, random thoughts from DJ:

 

Mustaches- Seriously, what is the deal with the mustache?  Have you seen these things?  Now the beard, I understand the beard.  If done properly the beard can be cool.  But under no circumstances is the mustache cool (with the exception of former A's relief pitcher Rollie Fingers (google rollie fingers and you will understand why).  Do something for me, the next time you see someone with a mustache, stare at it (but be discrete).  And ask yourself, how does this person eat an ice cream cone or drink anything?  Screw the economy, Iraq or this whole energy independence thing….we need to deal with this mustache crisis, now.  More and more people are doing it these days and before you know it will be cool to have a mustache.

Garage/Yard Sale Signs – So we know who puts these signs out everywhere, it's obviously the person or people holding the garage sale.  You've see them everywhere, miles and miles of yard sale and garage sale signs.  But there's one thing that troubles me….who takes these signs down after the sale?  It's clearly not the holder(s) of the yard sale…why would they go through the trouble…they have already profited from a weekend of selling old records no one wants, outdated chinaware and badminton sets (that oh yeah, no contains the ever so critical net).   So who the hell is taking down the signs….is it the people preparing for the upcoming weekend of yard sales? Is there some underground department of sanitary works that removes these signs?  Are these underground sanitary workers invisible (do they already have this technology?)  Is there a garage/yard sale fairy (similar to the tooth fairy or Easter bunny) that removes them?  I'm not sure but from this point on I am going to make it my life's mission to find out whom and report back to the curious public.

Pizza That is Cut Into Square Pieces Instead of Pie Pieces – Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy pizza that is cut into squares. I love those corner pieces especially and all the outer pieces are fabulous.  You've got that outer crust to hold onto while you're eating.  But what pieces get eaten last?  It's those center pieces and not because they are in the center, if eaten correctly the center of this type of cut pizza should be exposed early in the game.  But the center pieces do not have a crust to hold and are typically eaten as a last resort (once all the outer pieces are gone).  So my question is, why doesn't anyone design a pizza that can be cut into squares but still providing each piece with a portion of crust to hold while eating.  The portion size of the square sliced piece is bar far ideal to the pie piece style.  Dominos, Pizza Hut, Little Ceasars Little Ceasars, come on guys, you are multi-million dollar pizza corporations, give us a solution gives a square sliced pizza we deserve.
 
Titlemax – Now I am not sure if this company is only local to Atlanta but I am sure there are similar types of stores throughout the country.  As the commercial goes, I got my title back with TitleMax. Let me tell you, if you are employing the services of Titlemax to get some fast cash then forget about.  Now the ad should read something like this, My credit and financial shortcomings are even more fucked up, thanks TitleMax for that low low 30% interest loan. 

 

Upcoming topics....
American Cheese
Ketchup vs. Catsup
The Flashing Yellow Light (when the stop light is out)...

 

Venus and Mars

I don't know why, but the memory of this little conversation popped into my head recently:

The scene: Irish pub on St. Patrick's Day.
The players: myself, Lob, guy we're friends with, other guy we're just beginning to be friends with, and a bunch of their boys whom we don't know at all.

The topic of conversation: guessing a woman's age

 

Our friend had been explaining to Lob and myself that he can tell any woman's age just by looking at her legs.  We were not as confident in his abilities as he was himself.  I remember insisting that my legs looked no different than they had 10 years earlier.  (That is no longer the case.  Sigh.)

Anyway, I spin off to talk to New Friend, Jay, and maybe it was the St. Patty's beer, but we were still on the age thing and how old people look, and blah, blah, blah.  For whatever reason, I turned to his friend, one of the guys I did not know, and asked (because he was standing apart from us, hadn't heard what were talking about, and didn't know how old I was):

"How old do you think I am?"*

his response?  After a split second of sizing me up:

"A little quiet, but a freak in bed."

me: blink, blink, mouth drops open, "uh.... (blink) ... how... old ... do you think.... I am...?"

him: "Oh.  I thought you said, 'How do you think I am.'  The quiet ones are always freaks in bed."

 

Yes, because that would be a completely natural question that I regularly ask people I've just met.  The part that I find most fascinating is not only how what (he thought) I asked did not phase him at all, but also that he was so immediately ready with a response.

 

These were two different worlds we were coming from.

 

*This took place around 5 years ago - I would never ask this question now, as it would greatly increase the likelihood of me having to state my age.

 

 

Blay's Blog

Over on the left panel there I have a list of other blogs that I sometimes read (or have read, that might need to be updated now that I think about it), and I got to make a change to it recently. I now have it divided into two categories - for sites of friends and sites of strangers. Thanks to my friend Blay (who has written for me here and here), I now know two whole people with blogs, enabling an entire category! It seems that in between raising her daughter and finding cures for diseases, Blay doesn't have much time to chat with friends, so she's keeping us updated on her family via a blog. I was thrilled with this news, and not just because I get more of a peak into Blay's life, but because this makes me less of a freak! Up until now, I've had no friends with blogs, and am always embarrassed to admit to mine. I mean, there was my little brother, but he hardly counts, being a nerd and all. Blay's only a closet nerd.

So, if you are one of Blay's friends and you are reading this, then you are probably Lob, and already know about this anyway. But if you just want to see a cute kid, there's one over there under the Cutcliffe Family link.

Now I've got work to do. Boo.

little things that happen to me

Lob and I have this friend from our youth that we grew out of touch with a long time ago. How do I describe her? Let's just say that her social awareness is not exactly up to adult level. If I ever get really bold, I will tell you about one of the longest weekends of my life - being a bridesmaid in her wedding. And how I will forever be bonded to my fellow bridesmaids - like those who suffered through a war together in the same ditch.

Our meetings since the wedding have been sparse, but recently Lob and I celebrated her birthday with her. This girl carries around a bag of crap with her everywhere she goes. The day I was supposed to driver her up to her wedding, I couldn't get her into the car, or to pack the things she actually needed, because she was too busy collecting crap from the closets of her parents' house. When I put my foot down about the bags of crap in my car (there were 4 of us, and I have a small car), she hid her things under the seats, in the glove compartment, anywhere she could find. I got rid of most of them, but I was finding particularly well hidden things for weeks afterwards. The thing is, she likes to give gifts away. She sees crap and things, "Bob would like this! I will give it to him!" It should be endearing. When I have not spent 8 hours of my vacation trying to coax her into my car, I can remember that.

So at her birthday she was carrying around a big canvas bag o' crap. She had so many gifts for Lob, that a grocery bag had to be found for her to carry them home. This was mostly because Lob has two little boys, and our old friend had plenty of toys for them. Colorful fish soaps, what else Lob? I don't remember - I just know Lob got showered. Well, at the end of the night, as Log and I were trying to leave, she suddenly remembered how she had something for me, too. But it was hard to find in her large bag of crap, so there was much anticipation as she searched. She kept saying, "Wait, Jennifer! Wait! I have something for you! It's perfect for you! I saw it and I thought of you! Wait... it's just for you!!" And at last she pulled something out of her bag, and this is what it was:



"If you can't get a date, grow the perfect mate."
She read that, and out of all the people in the world, she thought of me. Lob walked up and saw it and guffawed. (That wasn't very nice, Lob. She was trying to be thoughtful!)
And here's the back, in cased you wanted more:



does this sound a little... disturbing?

Another small example my typical luck:

This past weekend I was at a music venue to see a band. As soon as I walked in, the guy I was with ran into someone he knew, and while they caught up, I went upstairs to the bathroom. When I came back down, I couldn't find him where I had left him in the foyer. So after looking around the main room, I headed back to the outer hallway where a bunch of folks were standing around talking. On the other side of the open doorway I needed to walk through was one of the largest men I had ever seen. Tall and big. LARGE. So I attempted to slide by near the far side of the doorway, but at the same time, this man was telling a story to two friends that necessitated some violent hand gestures. He flung and arm back, and I took a back-slap right across the cheek bone. (And that stung, too!) It was hard enough to knock me back against the door frame. The guy (who turned out to be the bassist for the opening band), immediately realized what he had done, whipped around towards me and said, "I'm sorry baby-" - he didn't quite finish his sentence. He turned around so fast, he lost his balance. So one second I've been slapped up against a door-frame, and the next I see this incredibly large man start stumbling, waving his arms frantically around, and finally, tilting, and leaning, faster and faster, towards me. Meanwhile, I stayed crouched and frozen where I had fallen against the doorway, watching it in slow motion. But the scariest part was the expressions on his friends' faces. Because although I know all this happened very quickly, I saw all. I saw him falling, slowly, and I saw also, the very panicked faces of the two men near him, and how they jumped forward to try to catch him. But I knew they were too far away.
And just before he fell on me, I looked up and saw my friend I had been looking for in the first place. Because at this point, all heads had turned.

His friends pulled him off, and I didn't get crushed. The knuckles across the cheek was definitely the worst part of it.

As my friend said, "Of all the people that could have fallen on you, you go and find - by far - the largest one."
This is what I do, people.

All work and no play...

makes me complain.

 

When you are overwhelmed with tasks to do at work, and know you will be staying up late into the night hunched over your computer (again), and maybe also you are really tired because you went to a wedding the weekend before and maybe you kind of stayed up all night because you were in a University town and needed to reconnect with your college self (hey - sometimes these things can't be helped!) you know what words you really do not want to hear accompanied by the footsteps in the hall that are approaching your office??

 

"... and if we can teach Jennifer to do these, that would take A LOT of the load off you!!"

 

In typical me style, I tried to keep looking at my computer and pretend they weren't there.  I guess I thought maybe they'd go away, and I wouldn't have to learn about whatever A LOT of load they were talking about.  It didn't work.

When I did turn around, I found two very happy looking men.  Damn them.

My job description just keeps on a'growin'.

 

Also, I think I may start keeping track of how many times I email someone with a very specific "did you want (this) or (this)?" question spelled out for them (I mean, multiple choice - I'm making it easy!) and they email back this answer:  "Yes."

And I thought the scientists were poor communicators.  Sheesh.

 

 

I am completely in favor of the 4 day work week, in case anyone was wondering

So far this morning I have:

 

A) Driven right on past my exit on the way to work.  Hello and goodbye, place I am driving to!

 

B) Parked, walked through the parking lot, waved to one of the VPs I work with, through one building where I chatted to the friendly old security guard, through the courtyard, into my building, through the lobby, where I see more people, and then got onto the elevator to look at my reflection and see that my skirt is on backwards.  And it's a skirt where the back definitely looks like a back - only it was in the front.  So then I desperately tried to tug it around before the elevator could reach the 3rd floor (if only I were on 5!  5 would have been enough.), but the lining was attached to the skirt on both sides, and somehow this wasn't cooperating with the twisting, resulting in my skirt being around but hiked up on each side of me.  So I exited hunched over and tugging down, to no avail.

Got that straightened out in the bathroom.

 

So I came in to find that the lovely people at my company got very active on the email around 11:00 last night (why, people, WHY?), leaving me with about 200 emails of work stuff to get through.  Ok, maybe not quite 200 last night - but does my brain seem capable of dealing with close to that amount?  When it can't even put on a skirt? 

Needless to say, I haven't made much progress.

But it's a good thing I can make time for you, the internets. 

now I also have my daughter to embarrass me

No, I don't suddenly have a daughter. This is a guest post from my friend, Blay. Last time we heard from her she was making inappropriate holiday dinner conversation via her baby's monitor. Now that baby is talking on her own! (I can't believe it. But I am glad to see the direction in which her education is being steered.)

Little story from yesterday:

I took Annabella to the mall and this older lady (probably in her 70s) stopped to talk to her. She was saying things like “you’re too little to be walking,” “oh, you must have baby dolls the same size as you.” and “you’re just a little baby doll yourself.” All the while, Annabella was politely smiling at her and replying with “hi,” and “baby doll!” when she heard the woman say baby doll. So, then the lady says “well, have a nice day, bye bye!” to which Annabella replied “bye, yoda! Bye-bye yoda! BYE YODA!” she kept saying bye yoda louder and louder since the woman wasn’t really responding after that and I was mortified! (and also trying my best not to laugh) I don’t think the woman understood what she was saying but it was clear as day to me! After we went around the corner, I was tearing up with laughter because I guess the lady did kind of look like yoda with a big nose and big ears. Argh – YODA!

why I don't tell my mother anything

Once upon a time not so many years ago, Dolly and I were living in our swingin' bachelorette pad together, when we had a conversation about our extreme difference in one opinion: when and what we would tell our parents regarding boys.

You see Dolly and I had both started dating (different) guys at the same time, and Dolly did not understand why I wouldn't tell my parents about each and every time I would see mine. In fact, months into it, they knew nothing about him at all. Dolly's philosophy, on the other hand, went like this: "Every time I have a date I call my parents and make an announcement so that they don't think I'm a lesbian!"
You see, Dolly's dad had once sat her down and had a talk with her about her singleness. It seemed he thought that because she had never had a boyfriend (she used to refer to herself as "the three date wonder", that she must be gay. I think this was a slightly traumatic conversation for Dolly.)

And now let me give you an example of why I think it's best not to give my mom too much to think about:

This past Sunday afternoon I went over to my parents house, and when my mom asked me what I had been doing, I ignored my instinct and answered her honestly, "I just had lunch with my friend, Hermes*."

Upon hearing a new male name, my mom's head whips all the way around, and she stares at me, with her eyebrows up so high they seem to be attempting to climb off her forehead.
"Oh?", she says, "Who's that?"
"He's a friend. I've known him for a while. I've just gotten to know him better lately."
And this is all she needs to launch into the dozens of questions I was hoping to avoid. She fires them off one after the other, and as my brother would say about shopping at the GAP, it sucks the life out of me.
Among these questions (in addition to many others) are: What does he do? (he's in school) What for? (getting a masters in Divinity) and What does he intend on doing with that? (He's considering becoming an Episcopal priest. yeah, go ahead, Splanny, laugh.)
When I give this last answer, she puts her head in her hands and looks like she's suffering from great pain.
"Oh, Jennifer.." she mumbles through the pain.
"What?"
"I guess that's ok.... it's just that the ministry is a tough life."

Did I say that it is my life? No. Did I say that I am about to elope with a future minister? Noo. Did I say he was my boyfriend? That we were on a date? No and no.
So from there she talks for a few minutes about her day, and just when I think that maybe I'm safe (but only for a while - I'm not so foolish to think there won't be a follow up), she sighs and says,
(with heavy-hearted southern accent)
"You know, I had a cousin who married an Episcopal priest. He had an affair with one of his parishioners. (heavy pause.) She's all alone now."

And THAT is why I keep my silence. Can you blame me?

She knows I have a couple of weddings coming up, and tonight she tried to casually ask me if I was bringing a date. Actually, it wasn't so casual. I told her I had gone to buy make-up after work, and she pointedly asked me how soon a wedding was and if I was bringing a date. I think when I said "I bought make-up" (I was replacing powder) she heard, "I just got a makeover and a new wardrobe is next - I have a future priest to seduce!"

*Hermes is not actually his name of course, but it is one he chose from myself. While he hasn't actually seen the blog (If I told everyone, how would I write about them?) he does know it exists, thanks to someone I will call... let's see... what would a good name for him be... Devil Man. (You know who you are.) Anyway, he had the best reaction possible when he said, "What's my code name going to be? I like either Hermes or Fabio." And Fabio's just not my type.
(And mom, if you are reading this, I put in that last part just to make you worry more - stop it! Also, would you read my diary if you found it sitting out? For shame!)

how to not make a good first impression at work

Marc's comment on my last post got me thinking about the old days when he and I worked together. It was our first job out of college, an abrupt awakening to the real world, and those of us that started together formed a bond that comes from working many, many long hours together. ah, not so good times.

Somehow, my thoughts strayed to this one particular coworker, Toby. (His name wasn't really Toby, but he kind of looked like he should have been a Toby.) Once we finished our first year at the firm, a new crop of bright-eyed newly graduated employees came in. As people who had been molded and hammered down into the image of the firm for the past year, we were each assigned a new person to share an office with. You know, so we could keep an eye on them and make sure they were also on their way to fitting the mold.
I was lucky enough to be assigned Toby.

Toby's problem was that he couldn't stop talking. And I had work to do, people. It wasn't like at the lab, where I could spend hours at a time finding ways to amuse myself. Here, I would be trying to keep my nose to the grindstone (you know, literally not look up, because the work was never ending and in speedy demand)and Toby would sit across me me and drone on and on and on. About nothing. I mean, really nothing. And he wasn't content to just talk to himself, he wanted a response from me. I really can't convey to you how frustrating this was - I couldn't convey it to my coworkers at the time, either. I mean, sure, they understood Toby wasn't exactly a social smoothy, and they got that he talked a lot. But did they get the kinds of things he talked about and the length of time he talked about them? No. And that is why I had to do what I did. I would call Marc, two offices down, on the speaker phone. He would answer silently on the speaker phone. And then all three of us (Marc had an office mate, too) would listen to Toby talk. And then finally, at last, they understood.
Here's an example:
"Hey Jennifer. What if one day you woke up and your thumb was on the other side of your hand??!!! What if that happened, Jennifer? What if you woke up and your thumb was on the other side of your hand?! Wouldn't that be weird? If your thumb was on the other side of your hand? Hey Jennifer! Jenn! Look! Look - I'm showing what it would be like if your thumb was on the other side of your hand! How would you write?? Wouldn't that be weird? Wouldn't it? Hey Jenn, wouldn't it? Jenn? Jenn?"
and so on for the next 45 minutes. I do not exaggerate.

Now, this all happened a bit after Toby technically started, because for about the first month or so, they sent him out traveling. So the poor kid had started his job, but knew none of us at the office. But he was brought back in town for our annual firm retreat, and that's where the fun begins. When we all really got to know Toby.

Maybe Toby was nervous. That would be understandable. And maybe that's why he chose to get really really drunk at the lake with his new coworkers - who were meeting him for the first time. And then he told the same joke over and over again - which was really only calling us all by our email addresses, since that was how he knew us. Ok, new drunk man, we get it. Ok. And then he drank more, and got ridiculous, and I think I kind of remember him running out the door.

Well, later on that night, my friend Kathy was ready to go to sleep. But Kathy was sleeping in "the party house" - meaning the house where all the food and drinks were kept (we were all in a bunch of big nice houses on a lake in the mountains - that part was nice), so it was not as quiet as she would have liked for it to have been. So Kathy went on a mission to clear out that house and get herself to bed. And it was almost easy... It seemed that everyone was gone - yes, there were a few skinny-dippers out back, but as long as they stayed out, she was ok. One little peek into her bathroom and then she would be going to bed. But instead of the peace she was looking for, all Kathy found in that bathroom was Toby, pants down, passed out, on toilet. After having used the toilet, because man, that room stank.

But Kathy knew how to take charge of a situation (she was the office manager for a reason) and immediately began to yell, as louldly as possible, "JON CHARETTE! JON CHARETTE!!" Then, running to the back door, flinging it open, and screaming again, "JON CHARETTE!!!!"
(I changed Toby's nake to protect his identiy, but Jon Charette's is real, because I have nothing bad to say about Jon Charette. And if he should google himself and find this, then, hi Jon! What are you up to these days? Remember when I interviewed you at Georgetown and I called you Jean Sharé? All those people before you with the difficult names in your international business program - it was their fault.)
Poor, poor Jon was our intern, and the nicest guy ever. Kathy took advantage of her authority (yes, Kathy, you know you did!" and ordered
our intern to take away a strange, stinking, pants-less man. And Jon did. Because again, he was that nice.
I don't think Kathy cared where he put Toby, as long as he was out of her house. Yes, in fact, I think I remember her yelling something about "out of my house!" now that I think about it...
I'm sure he made it to some shelter, though. Our intern wouldn't have left him exposed outside. After all, I picked out our intern, so he must have been good, right?

And that was how Toby introduced himself to his new office.
I think he lasted less than a year. Farewell, Toby. I really really hope that none of us ever have to go through that again.

On the phone with my Dad:

With the purpose of discussing airfares, in relation to an upcoming trip to my college town…

 

Dad: "Who are you going to stay with?  Brock?"  (that would be my brother)

Me: "No, he has cats.  Two of them."  (I would be very allergic.)

D: "oh yeah… I forgot about that.  Why does he have cats?"

J: "Because Emily had cats."   (That would be his wife – I almost explained the process of how then the animals live in the same house as the owners, but I didn't.)

D: "hmmm… I don't know about cats…  You're probably going to marry somebody weird.  (Does this mean he thinks cats are weird?  I don't know.)  Are you?  Are you going to marry somebody weird?"

J:  (rubbing face in pain)  "I don't know."

D:  "You probably will.  Do you want me to pick out somebody for you?  ….Hello?"

J:  "…I'm still here…"

D:  "You trust my taste, don't you?  I have good taste.  Don't you think I have good taste?"

J:  "I think I have to go now."

 

And a few minutes later…

D: "You know your mother, always looking for an excuse to complain about (other family member.)  Not like me.  You're fortunate I'm so tolerant.  I'm on the Wall of Tolerance, you know.   …hello?  You know I'm on the Wall of Tolerance, right?"

 

He's serious, too.  He showed me his Wall of Tolerance certificate.  I have no idea what this wall is, but he really likes to throw the name around.  I wonder if the keepers of the wall know his feelings on cats…

happy birthday to blog

I past the one year anniversary of stating this blog this month, and while this is not exactly a momentous event, I thought I'd mark it by posting all my quotes of the week (er, week to 2 weeks)from the past year. And no one will understand them all but me, but that's what this is all about isn't it? Me?
I started this thing a year ago partly out of peer pressure, and partly as an outlet to write about work (and some other stuff) and partly just as a distraction for the time. Oh, and partly because I had SO MUCH time at work where I had nothing to do. And now I have an employer who not only expects me to be working for them at all times, but makes it impossible for me to do otherwise. Boo, internet blocking. Boo.
So until I figure out a magical way around that, or a way to balance my time better, or just give up entirely, the posting will suffer. Like with me posting things I already have before. Like these quotes. Enjoy!

…My dessert stomach is empty…
-AP

My car usually smells like sweaty farts.
-heard within 5 minutes of a first date

Oh, you heard about that? I was going to tell you about my fiancé when we go out.

Money, money, money. Kids cost money. And I hate spending money.
-Cheap Man

I just discovered a “Britain’s Next Top Model” marathon on VH1 and I feel like how Columbus must have felt when he discovered the new world.
-AP

Mommy has my butt paste.
-Oliver, older son of LOB

I have to hand it to you, Jennifer, you’re smart. You find the easiest way to do every drill.”
-youth soccer coach, to me.

LOB, you’ve lost your shape.
-Max, the otherwise silent Russian soccer player

None of my friends can believe how old you are!
-AP, to me

I used to hope someone would like me for my personality, and now they have to.
-Mona

We’re like Sex and the City! Without the sex… and less successful… and unfortunately I think you’re Charlotte and I’m probably Miranda.
-Mona, on our Spanish vacation

I think there’s a part of every girl that would like to think she’s beautiful enough to be a model. That’s why I love seeing them all shot down.
-AP, on America’s Next Top Model

…I was just trying to think of what animal you resemble…
-boy’s explanation as to why he had just referred to me as “the moose”.

What would Catherine Zeta Jones do?
-Mona


“We have another lawyer.”
“Oh yeah?
“Yeah. His name is Jesus.”
-client to my friend, their attorney

Let’s here it for the class of 2007!!
-my friend Kat, on stage at her 10 year high school reunion

I’d rather spend the rest of my life with Beth Holland’s dogs.
-Mona, on the couples on the e-harmony commercials

The women in Spain are feminine, Jennifer.
-Mona, upon seeing what I was packing

Can you tell that these shoes are from 9th grade?
-Veronica, during a Friday night out on the town

Whatever. Men with all their hanging out everywhere – disgusting!
-Gorilla

What does it say about us that we only trust strippers to tell us what parts of our bodies look good? I guess it just means we give all professionals their due respect.
-Blay

As your friend and roommate, I cannot let you see this man of molten lust. And as your friend and roommate, I will go in your place. Because that’s the kind of good friend I am.
-AP

But the best part is, it’s not even butter – it’s cheese!
-Jay, after putting squeeze butter on his hotdog at dinner, his egg, bacon, and bbq sandwich at breakfast, and who knows what else, before hearing someone say, “pass the butter.”

I’m not sure this one will work since your boobs are so soft.
-bra saleslady to a friend, post breast-feeding

My husband is turning 32 – he’s practically 40, Jenn!!
-Splann, 2 months before my 32nd birthday

I just hit 88mph and traveled back in time.
-Foster, while crossing the Georgia/Alabama state line

Unless God tells you to, you should not commute to Norcross. There were no hot men in Norcross last time I checked.
-Mona

OOOHEEE! You know, sometimes it be STANKY in here!
-Bathroom Lady, armed with can of Lysol

If Gilbert Blythe were to show up right now and propose, I might have to divorce (my husband.) But don’t tell him I said that.
-Dolly

I can’t be married to a man with a horseshoe ring – it goes against everything I stand for! He already wears a wedding ring – he can’t be bejeweled!
-Dolly

You wish you were a kid so you could stay longer on the earth.
-my cousin’s 6-year-old daughter, to me

I see 'em, and I'm just like, "nah", cuz, Alabama women? They are red neck.
-chatty man sitting next to me on the plane, on why internet dating isn't working out for him. Instead of me trying to describe him, just try to picture the most ironic situation possible.

Romeo went home with some woman with pink shoes. The shoes were seen outside his door.
-Mona, who really needs to write a book on the adventures of living in a tiny town

Wait, who is that looking at me from your arm??

What do you do when you find out someone you're dating has a tattoo of a giant Jesus head covering their upper arm? (Uh, hypothetically speaking, of course...)
I mean, sure, at first you react like this: stare. stare. blink. stare. "uh... that's a really big Jesus head there..." (awkward silence) "Wait... is his mouth open?"
And then he says, "Yeah, he's laughing."

But then after that part, what do you do?

Do you:
a) Learn to love the giant Jesus head tattoo
b) Pretend like the giant Jesus head tattoo doesn't exist. After all, you're well practiced in the art of denial.
c) Run away. Which maybe you have already partially done a couple of times already, because you are all messed up like that.
d) shake your head and mumble, "How do they find me?" and cringe and bare it.
or e) (my personal favorite) When your friend Dolly says, "that only makes me like him more!" you persuade Dolly's husband to get the exact same tattoo, which maybe he is actually open to. And sure, that doesn't actually fix the original tattoo, but you sure do feel better.

any thoughts?

Does this mean I'm not having a "pretty day"?

You know how some people get offended when someone makes this comment to them: "You look tired today."?

Well, what about this instead...

I returned to my desk a little while ago to find a post-it on my computer with this on it:

"Are you feeling ok?  Do you need to go home?"

 

It seems I have reached a new level in the "you look tired" office-place talk.

 

I think maybe I shouldn't try my luck with a night out on the town tonight.

Backstreet's Back

All Right.

I just got back from my first Backstreet Boys concert. And let me tell you, one good thing about getting old is that I find that I am no longer to cool for boy bands. I will even admit that they were a lot of fun. Almost as much so as the people watching. However, there was a price to pay for the utter coolness of my youth. I learned the hard way that no, A.J. McLean was not in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding", and because a friend requested a photo of Brian Littrell, I took about five thousand photos of Nick Carter. (Trying to get one that wasn't blurry - that guy really likes to hop around.) Can I interest anyone in a little Nick?


The night opened with a warm-up act from Girlicious. Have you heard of Girlicious? This was my first acquaintance myself... apparently they emerged from a reality t.v. show. I think they can be summed up like this:



To get the crowd going, they did a lot of this, "When I say girl, you say licious, "GIRL!"...." At first I tried to be a good sport, but after a few times of saying the (non)word "licious" out loud, I started to lose respect for myself. It would be easy to attribute this to my grumpy old age, but I was happy to see that the table of 13 year olds behind us were staring at them with a mixture of boredom and confusion. Good for you, future women.
But lest we start to feel sorry for these ladies, I'd like to point out that they had at least one super fan there. A gentelman who never sat down. Who knew all the dance moves to every song. And whom often reached out towards the stage, as if he were trying to stretch his body far enough to touch them just for a moment.

(that's not the stretching, this is the stretching:)


And then the boys came out. They may be old for boys, but they maintained their youthfulness. And best of all, they still appeal to the youth. I didn't really expect to see anyone too far under the age of 30 year, but these junior high girls sitting behind us? They loved themselves some Backstreet Boys. And honestly, I kind of wished I could be 13 again so I could join them. Maybe make some plans to drive by a house later. Make a note of the light that's on in a certain room and think, "OHMYGOSH HEMIGHTBEINTHERERIGHTNOW!!!! AAHH!" Those were some good times.




Come on, don't you wish you could be them, too? Just for a night. I don't think I need to live all of junior high over again.

And fellas, you may not think this applies to you, so let me say that I hope you take another lesson from this. All that time we were growing up when you made so much fun of these boy bands, how did you not see the brilliance? Sing a song about how you'd never break her heart, and then put on a hat and sit at a poker table and sing about how lonely you are - you don't even have to learn to dance for that one! And the ladies swoon. It's brilliant, I tell you. Why do we fall for this? We don't know. We can't answer that. It doesn't make sense. But we don't have to make sense! At one time or another in our lives, we our put under a magical spell by singing, dancing boys. Goodness help us.

Even the (just a little bit slightly) older and wise of us could relapse at any time! You know when you did that really cheesy thing by telling us that "If I had the time, I'd come off the stage and give each one of you ladies a kiss" and they all screamed for you? (See how easy that was, guys?) Well, sometimes even the best of us may get carried away, and fan ourselves, Gone With the Wind style, at the thought of an otherwise unnatractive man's with way too much guyliner's kiss.



Why? I don't know. Because we want it that way?

my forgotten bads

After I wrote the last post, I remembered a couple of the (SO VERY IMPORTANT) bad things that were going to go in my list (that I thought about when I was supposed to be learning how to do my job, remember?)

1. I had one day of work before I was shipped off to headquarters to learn stuff, and on this day, I realized that there will be no more lunches out with friends during the day. In fact, there will be no leaving the building at all. Lunch was brought in, and I realized it was expected that we would eat while working. But this wasn't what was as bad as what was to follow: My boxed lunch came with a big chocolate chip cookie, which I happened to know was going to be very good (because maybe I have sampled the chocolate chip cookie from that place before), and I saw that cookie, and I saw that it was good, and I rejoiced. And then I did something crazy - I saved it for later! And I went on working, thinking about how soon I would eat that cookie. And when finally I was ready to ruin my health further reward myself with deliciousness, I discovered that there was a PICKLE sitting on top of that cookie! A hiding pickle! And the cookie was all wet and pickley! And I had to throw it away. And that was a tragedy.
(And yes that did happen over a week ago. And I'm writing about it now - as if it were really important then. What can I say, I like cookies.)

2. Also on my first day, I needed to get all this information they had emailed me, because as I may have complained about mentioned earlier, they kept bothering me before I was actually working for them. So I go into the mail account that they felt free to send work to, and do you know what I found??? Big red letters saying "PROHIBITED!" People, I am working for a company that has completely blocked out email sites!! And the cookie was suddenly no longer the tragedy of my day. This may surprise you, but sometimes, while I was at work, I liked to write emails to my friends. And even to read emails I received. In fact, it may have crossed my mine once or twice, that I didn't understand how people could have gone to work day in and day out for years on end before there was the internet. Perhaps I had thought before that if I had to do this, I would end up one day taking a bat to my computer, and then running out the door screaming, becoming a feral woman in the near-by office place shrubbery.
So, yeah, I am not happy about this. At all.
Here's the temptation: The loud "prohibited" screen I got to said that personal mail sites like yahoo mail and hotmail are prohibited by company policy, but I checked gmail, and it worked. I have a gmail account that I don't use... do I start? Or do I play it safe and never see the sunshine or have contact with the outside world? Advice? I am a spoiled, spoiled, former lab worker. It's amazing I've made it this long without attempting any email.

I do think I'm going to restrict myself from writing about my new coworkers, just to be safe. Which is why I'm not going to talk about the man that talks all day long on his speaker phone in his super loud voice, and the woman in one of our other locations that he always calls. And the horrible conversations they have that I have to hear every word of. Or the horrible nicknames they use. See how well I'm doing? Much self control I have. (Which is what got me into trouble with the cookie.)

cigarettes & popcorn

Cigarettes and popcorn... how does that sound to you? I don't know, maybe you find it an enticing combination. But I am not liking it so much. You see, I have left the happy world of fantasy camp (i.e. temporary unemployment)and am back in the working world with a new job. And for my first full week I have been sent to headquarters to train with the pros (oldtimers), and today and tomorrow, I am working exclusively with a person who smells of cigarettes and popcorn. Or maybe it's just her office that smells like cigarettes and popcorn - I couldn't figure it out. But it wasn't from lack of trying. Basically, I have 2 days to learn what this woman does - and I have been told I really need 2 weeks. This business has an entire language that I'm unfamiliar with, so I really should be listening carefully, but it seems I have an extreme case of ADD. I don't understand it... I never had this problem in school as a kid. In fact, adults that new me told me I was oddly strong in the focusing and listening in following directions area. So what has happened to me now?? I mean, next week, I'm going to be back home, and all these people are going to expect me to know what I'm doing, and this is my chance to learn, but instead, it's like this:
her: blah, blah, blah
me: nodding, but thinking something about the most unimportant thing possible. such as any of the following:
"I wonder what I'm going to eat tonight... hmmm..."
"Man, that guy I worked with 8 years ago was crazy. Remember that time he said that thing? Crazy!"
or: "What the hell is going on with the cigarettes and the popcorn? I mean, the cigarettes are easy enough to figure out - she smokes. But popcorn? I haven't seen her eat any popcorn... where is it coming from? (and leaning in for a closer look) My gosh this popcorn scent only gets stronger!! Does she have popcorn perfume? What is going on here?!"
Meanwhile, I am staring blankly at her and at the computer/papers and nothing is going into my head. That is probably not good. But I got 3 hours of sleep last night and had to rent a car and drive from one strange city to another this morning, and anyone who knows me can attest that not getting lost uses up all of my brain power for one day. So... maybe tomorrow will be better?

here are some other good and bad things from my week - just so I talk about something else:

Good:
The nice lady here drove me around during lunch and showed me where my hotel was and where all the good shopping is.
Bad:
She did this while smoking in the car with the windows rolled up, which not only makes me a little sick, but due to a tobacco allergy, I now cannot breath through my nose. And nobody likes a mouth breather.

Bad:
I was still up at 2 last night, and had to get up at 5 this morning, fly, drive, and work a full day.
Good:
My hotel has a happy hour! With free food and beers and boxed wine and cokes! And even though I didn't drink the boxed wine or the cokes, it made me insanely happy that they were there. I did have a Texas beer, which reminded me of Texas friends, which also made me happy.
Bad:
I also made a dinner from the snacks, mostly of tortilla chips and some kind of mysterious chili-like substance that was all greasy and floating around in a warming pot, and now my stomach feels like it has knives stabbing in it from all directions.

Good:
In describing an awkward social situation I recently had to my friend, Dolly, I actually made her utter a high-pitched squeal of discomfort with my tale of singleness and date good-byes.
Bad:
I'm the one that was actually there for it. But still, totally worth it to make Dolly squirm.

Good:
I have schooled my young 2 year old niece in the art of ABBA, and she can now sing lines from "Dancing Queen" whilst incorporating appropriate dance moves.
Bad:
Only resorted to playing itunes for niece because we were without power for 24 hours, and geez, that is a long time to entertain a 2 year old in the dark. Also, there was much heat.

Bad:
In my kickball game this weekend, I injured myself in my first time up at bat, making myself feel really old. Also, since when did a pulled muscle hurt so much?? Since I got so old, apparently.
Good:
Young man on my alumni kickball team, upon hearing the year I graduated said, "What?! So you were a child genius?? You can't be older than 25!" Bless you my son. Bless you.

There was more (that I thought of while I was supposed to be learning my new trade) but my mind is tiring now... I was going to go out in search of allergy meds, but the chili knives in my stomach are demanding bed, instead. Later!

A Shortage of Beakers?

I started this blog for a variety of reasons, old fashioned peer pressure was not the least among them, and although it wasn't intended to be centered around my job, both the story that started it all and the name I chose come directly from work.

As of exactly a week ago, I am no longer surrounded by my glass beakers, or my people Beakers - after seven years (SEVEN!) I had my last day of work in the lab. I had been talking about a change for a while (by "a while" I mean a long, long time) and when an opportunity arose without me even seeking it out, I took it. I'm not sure if this was the best decision... I had planned on starting to look around as soon as I got through some family wedding business, and I got a phone call about a new job the week before I was to get to that. So... I just kinda took it without seeing what else was out there. I guess some people might call this "lazy". It will be a huge change from what I was used to, and frankly, I'm a little scared. I talked to someone this weekend that works in a very similar organization to my own, and when I asked her what she did she said she worked in water, but mostly she checked email. Me, too! I worked in air, but mostly I checked email. But I have a feeling there will be a lot less of the email. I will also not be leaving promptly at 5, or having every other Friday off, or expecting that no one from work would ever, EVER contact me at home. I haven't even started my new job yet, and already - they keep asking me to do things! Like expecting me to work and stuff. I am not so much used to that anymore.

I used up a couple of my vacation days last week so that I could sit in on some meetings with my new coworkers. (I was passed a note about a third of the way trough on the 2nd day that read, "None of this really applies to you - you didn't have to come today. Sorry I didn't think of that sooner!" But I am not bitter. No, not even though I specifically asked if I could be at my old job that day, since I kinda had a lot to do in a hurry before I left, which was very soon, at the request of new job. See how I am starting off all positive?) Anyway, I was excited to be around something all new, but at the same time, it wasn't all happy leaving the land of the beakers.

First of all, my wonderful sweetest boss ever? My direct supervisor who is from China and thinks I am the only person in the world that can write her English for her? She cried when I told her. And she is not a crier. She tried to hide behind some of our instruments so that I wouldn't see. It was like this, "I just think that we are so good together..." tears start, and she ducks down behind a GC Mass Spec. I told her it would be a while before I could start, which is what I had thought, and the next day, it came up that they wanted me right away. So I gave my 2 weeks notice just 2 days after assuring her that I would still be there for a while yet to help out, and she was seriously down all day. Not only would she have to do all my work in addition to her own (because the lab is on a hiring freeze! Yay!) But it also meant that she couldn't take any long trips to China to see her family, because I was the only person in the lab that could cover for her when she was gone. And they aren't allowed to not have all stations manned at all times. So, big bummer for her. And finding all this out did not make me feel exactly good?

But do you know what she did? She responded by gathering up a collection for a going away present, and she made ME write the email to our coworkers. I kept telling her, "I can't write this! Can't you get someone else?" But she wouldn't. And she was saying things like, "Sometimes... my English... I know what in my heart, but I don't know how to say it in English. I want to sat more... about your kindness, and how good you are, and how we are not just losing someone we work with, but a good friend."
See? This was not happy.

And then she brought in a camera and took pictures of me working, and presented me with a scrapbook later on. A scrapbook that she spent a full day and a half putting together. It was so sweet! And so sad!
Do you think anyone at my new job will make me a scrapbook? I'm going to say probably not.

So that is what's going on around here in work world. I guess I won't have any more coworker stories. I'm not planning on writing about my new job, but then I already went and vented a little bit about that, didn't I? That does not bode well.

I'll tell you one thing I won't miss: breathing in carcinogenic gases. Which were not given the proper resources for dealing with. When she took the pictures of me working, she said she wanted to show me "enjoy work" - so here I am loving on some of those gases that poisoned me. It's a goodbye hug. But these, these I won't miss.



See that old gray-hooded sweatshirt I'm wearing? I kept it at work and put it on when I wanted to feel extra sexy. Because if there was one thing my workplace inspired, it was sexiness.

There were a number of other pictures taken of my everyday work tasks. Me staring into a computer, etc. As I brainstormed about what I did every day, one of the things that came to mind was "torment Vienna Sausage Lady." Sometimes I combine this with "exercise" and I would practice my running, flying kicks on her while she is working. Because you never know when a running flying kick might be needed. Or sometimes instead of flying kicks, I would practice my standing crane kick, because if I am cast in the next Karate Kid movie, I want to be ready.



See how much she worked on the little details of the book? I need to give her a call and see how my work is going. And then I need to get back to unemployment. I am soaking it up while I can.
Hope work is going well for you today, real world.

how I can be stupid about the same thing more than once

I can't remember if I wrote about the little eye cream mishap I had a couple of months ago. To recap, a makeup lady (when are they not causing trouble?) went out of her way to stress how much it would mean to her if I would please please use eye cream. So she gave me some for free - because this was very important to her. And I started to use it. And the more I used it, the more I realized, "wow, I really do need this eye cream" - because the skin around my eyes was not looking so good. So I lathered that stuff on. And it looked worse. So I became very diligent in my lathering. And pretty soon my eyes were red and puffy and peeling, and a friend took one look at them and said, "It looks like you're having an allergic reaction." And then the teeny tiny light bulb in my head came on and I stopped using the cream, and my poor little eyes began to shrink back down to a normal size and color.

Recently I bought a new chapstick - and I decided it was the best chapstick ever. It smelled delicious, and it felt so good and soft and creamy when I put it on! So for the first time ever, I paid attention to where I put that chapstick, and did not lose it within it's first two weeks with me. And I used it! I used it all the time. I've never had a big problem with chapped lips - not like my sister. When we were younger, she the corners of her mouth would get cracked, and I would tell her it was because she drooled all the time. I told her that she couldn't tell that it was happening, but that everyone else could see that there were pools of slobber resting in the corners of her mouth all the time. And she believed me, because that's what younger siblings do, which is their most redeeming quality. And then I could gloat a little bit because my own mouth would always remain nice and uncracked. Well, lucky for me I got this lovely chapstick just before I started experiencing my own bought of dry lips! Suddenly I really needed this chapstick, so I used it. And I used it more. And more and more. And yet the problem just got worse. It got so bad that would think I was living on a fishing boat in Norway, and not in hot, humid, Georgia in July. Pretty soon, smiling was a problem. And then it was eating - because you have to open your mouth to put food in it, and it seems that this causes your lips to stretch. And as anyone who knows me knows, you had better not mess with my meal time. So the other night I was dousing myself in chapstick once again, when finally, FINALLY I remembered the eye cream incident, and I furiously wiped off my mouth. I've been carrying around a small container of vaseline ever since, and keeping that stuff all over my mouth. Because it took one day away from my lips falling off my face to figure out that there may be a problem here. So yesterday at work I was training a new guy, and all the time he's asking me questions, and I'm just sticking globs of vaseline all over my mouth. I'm sure he wasn't frightened.

Already my lips are looking less leprous, so I'm pretty sure I've found the problem. Thank you, big brain of mine. Nothing gets past you!
Seriously, is there a boot camp for one's big brain muscle? Because I'm afraid that thing is atrophying away. Wait, can the brain be considered a muscle..? See what I mean?!!

A meeting with Bathroom Lady is like taking a look in a skinny mirror

Unless she is telling you how wide your hips are, at least.

I just ran into her in the hallway, and she greeted me with a, "Wooo-oo! You slimming down!"
(Note: I am most definitely not slimming down.)

me: "No."
BL: "Yes you are! What you doing? I tried to walk today but my foot started hurting."
And I used the hurt foot opening to talk about my own hurt foot, as well as the knees that have been aching ever since I attempted to run 6.2 miles. (The foot is also from the race - it's bruised all over one side - and it hurts! How did I get this old??)
Anyway, while I was talking, she was not looking me in the eye, nor at my knees or foot - she was staring at my mid-section. And mid "I think I'm going to go swimming after work today" sentence she commanded: "Turn around." What I am supposed to do? I turned. So she could size up the size of my butt, I suppose. I don't know what's effecting her vision, but she seemed to think my butt size supported her theory.
BL: "mmhmm! You definitely slimming down! How you do it?"
me: "I'm not doing anything." (sadly true.)
BL: "I know you doing something."
me: "I've been sitting back there eating cookies*."
BL: laughing, as she walks away, "No, that ain't it! You doing something! One day you going to tell me how you do it!"

I don't think she knows I have only 2 more days of working in this building with her. I think I'll actually miss our little run-ins.

*Also sadly true. Just ask Splann. Just moments before we had this conversation:
Splann: "How are you feeling?"
me: "Ok. I'm sitting in the bathroom eating a bag of cookies."
Splann: "So, not good."

I think this is the first time I've ever stooped to eating in the bathroom. But there was no privacy from the rule-enforcing presence today! I had to take a break. I took my phone and the cookies with me. Don't judge.