Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Reverse Darwinism

Society isn’t natural. It rewards people who should have killed themselves off long ago. Case in point:

There’s this lady, I don’t remember what her name is, nor do I give a rat’s ass. She buys a 32-foot Winnebago and, on one of her trips, does something completely… so utterly… off-the-charts… I just-  okay. I’m obviously at a loss as to describe the magnitude of her stupidity, so let me just tell you what she did.  She’s driving on the freeway and sets the cruise control on her RV to go at 70 miles an hour… then proceeds to climb into the back and fix herself a sandwich…  ...  ... Yes, I know. It boggles the brain.  Let me say it again, just to be clear.  She sets the cruise control on her Winnebago RV to go 70mph on the freeway, and then leaves the driver’s seat to go fix a sandwich!

But wait, that’s not the best part! Not only does the bitch survive the crash, she sues the manufacturer for “neglecting” to write in their user’s manual that she was not supposed to do this. She sues them. And wins.  She wins the fucking lawsuit.  What. The. Fuck.

First of all, I seriously doubt she even knew where the manual was, let alone read it. Secondly, did she get smacked in the head repeatedly with VHS taped episodes of Knight Rider or something? Since when do cars drive and steer themselves?? It’s Cruise Control, not fucking Auto Pilot!

And what did this… this fucktard (hooray I got to use my new vocabulary word!) get out of all this?  She wins a brand new Winnebago and ...a million dollars. A million fucking dollars awarded to the queen of morons who long ago should have chopped her own head off with a butter knife because the manual didn’t tell her not to.

Maybe I should go back to my home planet.

Powerlessness

Today my sweetheart requested a particular gift for her birthday. It isn’t a crazy expensive item, but it’s a little more than we can afford right now. I can’t say no to her, I just can’t. Whatever she desires, I want to get it for her. I want to make sure she’s happy at all times. It really pained me to say no. The mortgage (shit, that thing is due AGAIN??) and my car payment just about wipes me out, but there’s still the gas bill, the electric bill and all the other fucking blood-suckers out there.

None of this is new. And I’m sure most of you have no pity for my situation, because it’s the same situation that the majority of Americans find themselves in. But here’s the thing—nothing frustrates an Aries girl like myself more than the feeling that she can do nothing. It’s this excruciating sense of absolute powerlessness in the face of no options. I stared at my bank balance, did the math, and came up with nothing. Nothing. I could do nothing. The thought reverberated through my skull like a church bell. Frustration filled me to the point of overflowing… and the tears fell. I was mortified, crying over not being able to buy the gift. Why was I being so stupid and emotional? It’s not like we lost the house, or even my car.

My honey assured me that it was fine, we didn’t need to get it. It can wait until later when things were better for us. She reminded me that she would love me no matter what. And I knew that already. That’s not what had crushed my spirit in that small moment. It was just everything banding together into this overwhelming weight.

I decided to go walk off the depression (and pick up some yogurt too). I listened to some music while I walked. A song came on from BT called “Simply Being Loved Is More Than Enough”. The walk helped me get past my emotional state, and the song helped put things into perspective.

By the time I got back, I was all better. And I had yogurt. I was ready for the world once again. Bring it on.

Memory Like a Sieve

I meant to post something about this earlier, but I forgot… and forgot again… and again. I’ve mentioned before that my brain churns out thoughts at 300 miles an hour. That might make me seem like a genius. Unfortunately I can handle only two to three of them at a time. Usually two. That means I have several brilliant thoughts a day, but I only act on a fraction of them (if any at all… of the brilliant ones anyway. The non-brilliant ones tend to crowd them out.) It’s sad.

At home when I try to act upon more than one at a time, here’s what will usually happen. (Note, the following example contains no brilliant thoughts because, well, I can’t remember what they were.) I’ll be watching TV and decide I need a glass of water. I’ll get up, go to the kitchen and notice that the garbage if full. So I’ll take it outside. While out there I’ll notice how bright it is and wonder what time it is. I’ll look at my watch and find out that I didn’t put it on that morning. Better put that watch on. On my way to my room I’ll think of a couple other things, like “Is my blog putting people to sleep?” and “I really need to wash my car.” When I get to my room I’ll have a Beavis and Butthead moment. “Uhh… huh huh huh… what did I come in here for?” I have about a 50/50 chance of remembering my watch, higher if the watch is visible on the nightstand. Afterwards I’ll go back to the kitchen and see the big bag of M&Ms we bought last week. I’ll cut it open and, upon throwing the piece of plastic away, notice I forgot to replace the garbage bag. I’ll replace the bag and bring my M&Ms back to the TV room, finally sitting down again. It’s then that I realize I never got that glass of water I originally got up for.

It’s worse when I start doing other things after I fill up a glass of water. Because later on I have to backtrack to figure out where the hell I left it! I need more RAM to better process all these thoughts flying around. Where can I get an upgrade?

Monday, January 30, 2006

Blogs aren't interesting unless you bitch about something

In case you’re a person who enjoys wallowing in someone else’s self pity, here’s something for you. I figured some people are probably falling asleep with my running commentary about my boring-ass life. Well here’s something I want to bitch about.

Remember that birthday sleepover I mentioned? When I went to get ice cream I took my sweety’s car (is that spelled sweety or sweetie?? I can’t decide.) I start it up and drive four feet when I notice a light on her dashboard that I’ve never seen before. It’s an angry yellow exclamation point surrounded by a weird U shape… with, um, spikes on it, or something. I didn’t know what the hell that was! Damn esoteric little icons. I had to stop the car and go digging into the glove compartment for the manual. I managed to find it in the manual—turns out it’s the tire pressure alarm. Tire pressure alarm? How come my car doesn’t have one of those? And why can’t they just make the damn thing SAY “Check tire pressure” or “Check tires”. Hell even just the word “Tires” would’ve made more sense to me than this angry little exclamation point with the funky shape around it (which is supposed to look like a tire but looks more like some kind of S&M device… Uh, not that I’d know anything about that… um, heh.)

So I guess the tires need air? I got out and looked at the tires. All of them. They looked fine. One looked like it might be a tiny bit low. I decided to go get the ice cream anyway. The car feels fine despite the potholes everywhere. I picked up the ice cream and got back in the car. There’s the angry light again, glaring at me, screaming, “The frickin tires need air you lazy dolt!” See it’s a polite car. It could have said, “The fucking tires need air you fucking lard-ass!” But it didn’t. Still, it bothered me.

Fine, fine, I’ll take the damn thing to a gas station and check the air. I rummaged around for a tire pressure gauge. There isn’t one. Sweety, I love you with all my heart, but didn’t I give you one to put in there? It probably got thrown away with the other “useless gadgets”. Fine, I’ll just put a little bit of air into all the tires and hope they don’t blow up in my face. I know it will take a huge amount of pressure for this to happen, but I’m one of those people who are afraid to blow balloons up too much for fear of the loud noise they make when they explode.

I dig out a quarter and go to the machine. It’s 50 cents. Fifty freaking cents for air? Didn’t these things used to be free? Then they started charging a quarter for it. Now it’s doubled. Wah wah wah so I dig out another quarter and put air in all four tires, kept on pumping until the time ran out and the generator stopped. That should do it.

I got back in the car and started it up. Blink. There it is, the same yellow angry icon on the dashboard. What, did I put in too much air? WHAT?? Be specific you piece of *;$`&#@  *-!@#$^#^$  =@##+*$@!!!! (I had to resort to random character bleeps because I’m not as creative a cusser as many of you are. I learned the word “fucktard” recently and rather like it. I hope to use it someday.)

I gave up and drove back to the party with my ice cream. Hmm, I’m hungry now. Ice cream sounds good.

What a lovely Sunday

It’s not often I use the word “lovely”. I associate it with words like “dah-ling”. For example, “Dah-ling what a lovely pah-ty, do share a spot of tea with me, I am simply pah-ched after shagging your husband.” See what I mean?

However I’m not afraid to admit when I’ve had a lovely day. Yesterday was such a day. Spent most of it lounging and cuddling with my sweetheart while we watched episodes of Lost and The L Word on DVD. Well, we did have a dumb little spat about this again, but it was resolved fairly quickly and we went back to the nuzzling like lovesick teenagers.

It’s nice when you have nothing that you have to do. Well we did laundry, but it pretty much does itself after you throw it in the washer. Oh shit, I think we left it in the dryer all night. Probably wrinkled beyond belief now. Um, anyway! She got to playing with my hair. I usually keep it pretty short (a lazy person’s haircut) but it’s getting pretty shaggy these days. Need another haircut, like now. She gathered my bangs together and made some kind of a ponytail. Only I wouldn’t call it a pony tail. Not sure what to call it really. She said it was a little mushroom. I felt it with my hands and said it probably looked like a little nuclear cloud on my head. Curious, I scampered to the mirror to survey her handiwork. I came back and told her that that it actually looked more like a water fountain. Here, you be the judge:

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Why Dragons?

You’ve probably noticed a certain fascination I have with dragons. I tend to idolize people or things that embody the qualities that I admire. To help you understand why I chose dragons, here’s a little thing I wrote about 8 or 9 years ago when I first learned HTML. (I have since taken down that web page it was a fine example of an amateur’s first page.)

Love Thy Dragon

Whether in the realm of reality or imagination, dragons are nothing short of fascinating. These wonderful creatures are the embodiment of majesty, wisdom, and raw power. They fear nothing.

They come in all sizes, shapes, colors and temperaments. Their diversity reflects ours. The dragon is beautiful, and we must do our best to educate the ignorant ones who would vanquish them.

They are creatures of legend, often misunderstood. We fear what we don’t understand. We must open our eyes and see the dragons that live among us. We must open our hearts and learn to love them. And finally we must open our minds, because we have so much to learn.

I’ve seen this passage show up on various other sites without crediting me. So if you see it one day, it’s mine dammit!

One thing I forgot to mention is they can fly! I’d love to fly, and I don’t mean airplanes. Flying dreams are my favorite. I also wouldn’t mind being able to lift cars over my head like they were made of styrofoam. So basically I’d like to be Supergirl. But in the meantime I’ll settle for Geeky Dragon Girl with her meager powers of sarcasm, imaginary dialog and general computer geekery.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

What am I, 14 again?

I just got back from a birthday sleepover. What am I, 14 again? We watched movies all night, crashed there, and then watched movies all day. I feel like such the slug. The only time I saw daylight was when I volunteered to go pick up some ice cream. What’s a day of sloth and sluggishness without ice cream?

The funny thing is I kept thinking, “I havn’t written anything in my blog today!” I actually tried to this morning. I woke up before everyone else and booted up their computer. That thing had so many security settings turned on in their browser I couldn’t even log into Blogger. It was quite annoying. Probably something to do with cookies being blocked. So rather than messing with their setup, I decided to deprive you all of my witty and generally pointless postings until now. Instead I checked their computer for spyware and found two of them. So much for their uptight security.

Anyway, now I’m full of pizza and ice cream, sitting in front of the computer. I feel like I need to go jog 10 miles to make up for the gluttony and malaise. Only I hate jogging. Makes me wheeze. I am an asthmatic geek, how typical. Maybe I’ll go stare at the treadmill awhile and imagine myself on it for 10 miles instead. Nevermind, Big Pest and Little Brat and staring at me and trying to use their doggie mind tricks to get me to take them around the block. I think it’s working.

Friday, January 27, 2006

Meet the Furballs

On occasion I’ve mentioned my little happy yappers. It’s time you met them. I had a little chat with them and they told me they would prefer to keep their names anonymous. They are, after all, very cute and would develop stalkers of some kind if someone could Google their names… according to them. Whatever. You’re furballs, what do you know? Ouch. Please stop that squeaky barking.

Okay, so there are two of them. The bigger one is named T- ...What? Oh for crying out loud, fine! Let’s call him BIG FAT PEST! ...Will you shut up? No not you, I’m talking to the dog. Okay, he’s not fat. Let’s call him Big Pest. His smaller, more hyperactive friend is named… nevermind. We’ll call her Little Brat.

Big Pest enjoys long, moonlit walks around the block, cuddling and begging for whatever’s on your plate. At 12 pounds he’s a little big and kinda muscular for a chihuahua. He’s a sweet, mellow boy, until he thinks a stranger is invading his turf. Then he turns into a bristling, loud guard dog. I call this photo his “I’m Too Sexy for Your Camera” pose.

Little Brat is only 6 pounds and very fast. She prizes staying warm very much, but will venture out from under the blanket in winter to steal bones and chewies from Big Pest, go for a walk, or bark madly at any random noise believed to be an intruder. Other dogs make her go absolutely nuts—she will not hesitate to pick a fight with a Doberman (since she thinks she is one). She is slightly neurotic and has obsessive compulsive licking behavior.

So now you’ve met my furry little children. Are they annoying? Yes. Do I love ‘em? Absolutely!

The pressure is on

Ever since discovering The Bitches, I’ve been checking out their site every day, and not because I’m expecting them to have reviewed my blog already (too soon for that). They’re just so wickedly snarky all the time, I can’t decide if I’m in awe or just jealous because I’m not that fearless. In other words, they are freaking hilarious! Especially this one (skip down to #3), it had me giggling like a 12 year old girl for days.

Anyway, I know I really have to wean myself off this Blogger template. I’ve taken the first step and designed a title banner thingy. You likey? Last night I started coding a brand new template from scratch. I like the colors on this one, so I’ll probably stick with them, but hopefully it’ll be different enough to look like my own creation. I’m on a mission and the pressure is on!

I just reminded myself of that 80’s song “The Heat is On”. Who was that, Glen Fry? Frye? Whatever. The saxophones just won’t stop playing in my head! “The heat is on!” (Well, not really, my house has no heat, remember?)

Thursday, January 26, 2006

What's that on my desk?

Uh oh, it's Elmo

I heard on the radio this morning that they’ve come up with a new talking Elmo book. As if that alone wasn’t enough to scare me, there seems to be a bit of controversy around this one. On pressing one of the buttons, he’s supposed to be saying “Uh oh, it’s time to go!” (Does it also pee on cue?) However when you play it, it sounds like “Uh oh, it’s time to die!” I didn’t think that could be possible, the two words don’t even rhyme. But then they played it over the radio, and sure enough you hear the tinny little demon voice gleefully informing you that it’s time to die. I was laughing so hard, you have to hear this! (Links to a video clip. Actual clip plays after a commercial. Sorry, it was the only one I could find.)

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius...

I decided to put my age in my Blogger profile, more to remind myself than anything else. No, seriously. On my birthday last year my coworkers were asking me how old I was. I told everyone I had just turned 31. I went on believing that for the rest of the day, until I got home and opened a birthday card from an old classmate that said, “I can’t believe we’re 32 now.” I was all, “Really? Oh, but, I thought… really?” I did the math and she was right, I was wrong.

Understand this is coming from a girl who relies on her watch to tell her if it’s Thursday or Friday.

Of more interest though is the Chinese zodiac sign that they list if you put your birth year into your profile. I’m the year of the Ox—slow, methodical, reliable, stable, strong, reserved, not very creative, and stubborn. I’m also an Aries by the monthly zodiac—courageous, outgoing, likeable, creative, impatient, headstrong, high energy and initiative, and… stubborn. My two signs are almost like polar opposites, and yet I find I’m a weird combination of both. But they both have one thing in common: I’m stubborn, stubborn stubborn!

Smile? Are you TRYING to annoy me?

I have one of those faces that, while relaxed, makes me look depressed or angry. I don’t know which, I guess it depends on who you talk to. I’m not sure what it is, maybe the corners of my mouth point down when I’m not actively smiling. Maybe I look droopy. I don’t know, it’s something. Whatever this something is, some people take it upon themselves to try to cheer me up. Now this is fine considering their intentions, but so many of them go about it completely the wrong way.

The worst of these are the ones who tell me to smile. “Smile!” they’ll tell me with an expectant Mary Poppins expression on their faces. Oh, is that an order? I was deep in thought about something until you decided to interrupt me with your “good deed for the day”. Did I somehow offend you with my expressionless face? Oh you thought I was sad? Well you read wrong! And even if I was sad, would you bossing me around telling me to smile make me feel any better? Or maybe you thought I was angry? Well maybe I am. Even if I wasn’t, I sure would be now. Why don’t you mind your own business? If I wanted to talk to you I would look you in the eye. And even if I looked you in the eye, that still doesn’t give you permission to annoy me with your misguided intentions.

I’m not naturally a bitter person, but an entire lifetime of people telling me to smile deserves at least one ranting blog post about it.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Victory at last

Most of you could care less about my Tivo trials and tribulations, but I’ve been wrestling with the networking problem for so long I just have to comment about it when I finally kicked its hairy electronic butt this evening. Ooh yeah, I did it! I watched the angry “what’s wrong with you” screen change into the happy “connection successful” screen. You should have heard my victory whoop and seen my victory dance. The dogs heard it. They immediately started a barking frenzy, assuming there was an intruder in the house since I don’t whoop on regular basis. Whooping is good. You should try it.

As for my victory dance, well, let’s just say I’m glad there were no video cameras around. It was shameful. Not even comical. It was just… sad. (Sad but happy!) As I’ve reported in a previous post, I have no skills in that department. I probably injured some furniture in the process.

But boy was I happy.

My Tivo does not love me

I was doing just fine with the Tivo hooked up to the phone line. But then the phone line went weird and we can only get incoming calls, no outgoing calls. There’s just no dial tone. The bastards at the phone company say they can’t get here to check on it until Saturday. Is this not a frickin disruption of service?

Okay, whatever, they’re the monstrous utility company and I just have to take it like a good little consumer. In the meantime my Tivo is about to run out of its subscription information. It can’t dial out, meaning it can’t update its recording schedule, meaning it won’t record anything. Big fat bummer!

I then decide to hook it up to my home network. I never bothered with it before because the phone line was so much easier. So much easier. I’ll leave out the boring technical details, but suffice it to say that the Tivo really needs to have some user interface settings to choose from. I want to be able to click a button that says “For the Technically Inclined” and then I can go in and change all the nit-picky little parameters that are preventing me from getting the setup right. Those who don’t want to deal with this and prefer the pretty interface can click on the “Everyone Else” button to let the Tivo set everything (incorrectly) for you.

Incidents like these make me feel like less of a geek, less proud of my obviously limited intellect. Technology should be predictable, not wonky and temperamental. How else am I supposed to appear more capable than I actually am?

Site Statistics

This page has been viewed 813472 times
Page rendered in 0.2884 seconds
Total Entries: 640
Total Comments: 5762
Total Trackbacks: 0
Most Recent Entry: 08/09/2010 09:40 am
Most Recent Comment on: 08/13/2010 08:52 am
Total Members: 1
Total Logged in members: 0
Total guests: 12
Total anonymous users: 0
Most Recent Visitor on: 09/10/2010 06:54 pm
The most visitors ever was 781 on 03/02/2007 06:25 am