Tuesday, June 13, 2006

The question of the day

A few days ago I finally received the pink slip for my newly paid-for car. It was a joyous moment. I pranced around the house like a proud dog with a huge T-bone. The car payments are done!

I was thinking about this today as I was driving to work. I thought about that pink slip, smiling. However my smile gradually faded as another thought dawned on me, “Hmm… shit, where did I put that thing??”

Monday, June 12, 2006

Just a little more respect please

In my mind, respect is a very simple concept. You treat others as you would like to be treated. You give them the same courtesies that you expect to be given. You shouldn’t even have to think about it. If you were in that person’s shoes, how would you like to be treated? That person is a human being just like you. You disrespect them, you are disrespecting yourself.

Judgement is an enormous waste of time. What makes you so superior that you think you get to decide what is right and wrong? What do you gain from snubbing your nose? Do you feel better about yourself by belittling others? Those of you who believe in a higher power, do you honestly believe YOU are in the same league as your deity as to pass judgement like a god?

I try to avoid the narrow shitheads who like to think they are above everyone else and beyond reproach. Nothing you say will ever make them change their misguided beliefs. But sometimes my nose gets rubbed in it so often I just have to blurt my little piece into the ether. No one who needs to hear it will listen, but at least I said something.

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Backyard Lounging

We’ve created quite a little paradise under our patio. You might have seen previous photos of the luscious plants my sweety has growing. We also have a hammock strung right across the middle for the ultimate in backyard lounging.

We’re not normally sports people, but when the World Cup tournaments start up, my honey turns into a soccer fan. I don’t really care for it, but I can follow a game. This year, just because we can, we decided to take our game-watching/geeking/lounging outside. Check out our setup:

Friday, June 09, 2006

You know you're out of shape when...

Few things say “you’re out of shape” more loudly than screaming calf muscles the day after a fire drill.

It’s sad really. Two days ago my office building had a fire drill. We all had to shuffle over to the stairwell and head down to the ground floor.  Well I’m up on the 13th floor, so I got to circle around those steps 13 times before reaching the bottom. It felt fine while I was doing it. I felt fine after going home later that day as well.

But the next day… man. Both calf muscles were soooo sore. I couldn’t race around at my usual breakneck walking speed (I’m very impatient to get to where I’m going). I had to plod along like a Clydesdale horse. Plod, ouch. Plod, ouch. This is much worse than last year’s fire drill. I was only a little bit sore then. This year, I’ve been so lax. Lazy. Inactive.

I gotta make myself get out more. I talk a good talk, even started a health blog. But physical activity is really something I need to work harder on. I am soooo out of shape. It’s two days after the fire drill and I’m still sore. I’ll likely still be sore tomorrow. But I’m still thankful it was only 13 floors. I can’t imagine working downtown in the high-rises and having to descend down 60 flights of stairs! Eek.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

What if we were all bald...

I rushed out the door this morning and didn’t realize until I was standing in the elevator of the office building that I hadn’t brushed my hair. Hadn’t even given it a single thought. Sometimes it’s a wonder I don’t leave the house without my pants on. (That’s likely something Mike would do… on purpose, heh.)

Luckily I have one of those short haircuts that can be tamed with a bit of finger-combing. I wouldn’t want to have it any other way, because then I’d look like wild woman half the time. I’d have to start leaving myself embarrassing notes that said, “Remember to brush hair.”

I often think, wouldn’t it be nice if humans didn’t have hair on their head? I mean, what purpose does it serve anyway? The only thing good about it is it keeps the tops of our heads from getting sunburned. And while that is a useful thing, hats are even better at it. Imagine if everyone was bald, people would save so much time. Shower times would be cut in half; morning preparations also cut in half. You wouldn’t have to waste time getting haircuts or dyeing it. It would be awesome.

A lot of industries would be out of business though. Hair is a huge business. Shampoos, hair sprays, barbers, beauty salons, styling gel, hair dye, frizz control… the list goes on and on. All those things would be unnecessary. Wouldn’t that be weird? You’d clear an entire aisle at the grocery store if we had no hair.

Lame thoughts, I know. These are the things that crowd the precious space in my brain. No wonder I forgot to brush my hair.

You know who likely never forgets such things? Why yes, it’s my renter! She’s got nice long hair that would probably look good even if it was wild. Head on over and say hi!

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

I could've become a different person

The other night my sweety asked me if I thought I might have grown up differently if I’d been adopted and raised by a family like hers.  I said most definitely.  My core personality would still be the same—I’d still have a quirky, easy-going, fun-loving-yet-sometimes-boring personality. However I think I’d be a lot less neurotic. 

I wouldn’t feel the constant need for approval from others. I wouldn’t be so self-conscious. I wouldn’t doubt myself as often as I have in the past. I’d be more outgoing in real life. I think here, online, I’m the person I was meant to be.  In my day to day interactions with people I am plagued by inhibitions. I worry what others think. I embarrass very easily. I do not take criticism well. I’m one of the most defensive people you will ever meet.

Had I been raised by a mother who showed more affection and support, with less criticism and fewer “we must have results” actions, I could very well be a gregarious, social person who likes people. I might not shake like a leaf when speaking in front of a group. I might not have been an elementary school outcast. I would definitely have developed some self-confidence much earlier in life.

I’ve always been a highly sensitive person. Perhaps harsh words affect me more than others. Perhaps another person raised in the same environment would have fared better. I don’t know. It was just interesting to think about. My sweetheart’s family is so happy and openly loving. My parents were cold, distant and uncommunicative. What a contrast. Doesn’t it make you wonder how you would have turned out if you’d been raised in a different environment?

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

This could've easily blown up in my face

Before engaging in snarky behavior, it is vitally important that the person on the receiving end is in a good mood.

Sweetheart: Baby, can you get the broom for me please?
Me: Sure, are we going somewhere?

Bad mood response: Oh so I’m a witch now, huh? Do you like living in filth??
Good mood response: *bursts into laughter* Hey! What are you saying?

Lucky for me I chose a good moment. We had a good laugh. If you’d like a few more laughs, try visiting her!

Monday, June 05, 2006

Loaf of meat, yum

Over the weekend we had dinner at a Marie Callender’s restaurant. I’m not sure what possessed me, but I ordered meatloaf. I haven’t had meatloaf in years, and I mean like at least a decade. I liked the meatloaf my mom used to make. I always like to try something different on the menu, so I ignored the negative stigma that meatloaf carries with it (even the name itself is unappetizing—meatloaf. It’s a loaf of meat. Sounds like it would go clunk in your stomach.) and ordered it with gusto.

It tasted weird. The consistency was unlike any meatloaf I’d ever seen. It’s supposed to be ground beef, right? It was the right color, but the consistency was more like… quiche, or something. What did they do, put the meat in a blender to make beef paste? The meatloaf itself didn’t taste bad. It wasn’t dry. It was just… weird.

The lesson here? If the bar for your food expectations were set by your mom, don’t ever expect a restaurant to meet them. You’re likely to be sorely dissappointed.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Doggone mail service

When I was a kid, mailboxes used to have this red flag on the side that you could slide up if you had mail for them to pick up. I gradually started to see these disappear. It started with neighborhood dumbshits ripping them off the mailboxes in the neighborhood. The one at our house was reduced to a twisted metal stub one day. Mailboxes these days don’t have those. Is this because they expect you to go dump your mail elsewhere now? If I put letters to be mailed someplace obvious he’ll take it, otherwise it’s completely ignored. I just take it work instead and mail it there because I don’t trust it will get mailed otherwise. No big deal, but it’s an interesting change in service.

Since moving into this house, my mail service has become significantly more annoying. I don’t get my mail until sometime after 6pm. Aren’t the mail carriers supposed to be home by then? My Netflix shipments started taking longer and longer. The last straw was when it took an entire week for the stupid thing to get here. I thought it had gotten lost. I reported it as lost and that same day it finally arrived. WTF? Is the postal service secretly borrowing my movies before giving them to me?? It’s not like I live in some podunk rural part of the nation. I’m about an hour away from the darn shipping center! I ended up cancelling Netflix because it got to be too annoying, and I can’t have it delivered to the office.

Oh well. One thing remains the same no matter where I move—my furballs hate the mailman! RAAFRARARARARARA! Arf! (That last part is Dog for “And stay out!")

Friday, June 02, 2006

Don't read this if you're eating

Adena’s post about her grandmother vacuuming up bees, then causing the thing to explode after sucking up all kinds of chemicals to kill them reminds me of a story from my childhood involving household chemicals and creepy crawlies.

My mom was going on one of her infrequent trips to Taiwan. These usually last about a month. My sister and I stayed home with our dad. Well about two weeks into our little vacation (we considered it a vacation even though we still had school because mom was a total taskmaster. Life was so much simpler and easier when she was not there.) we started to smell something in the kitchen. Something really stinky and nasty. We were perplexed as to what it might be, we kept the sink empty of dishes and the garbage was taken out regularly. What could that awful rotting smell be from?

Finally we looked at the stove. There was a large pressure cooker sitting there from when my mom made stew or beans or something. Carefully we lifted the lid and peeked inside. We were bathed in a whole new world of stink. The pot was mostly empty except for a thin layer of soup at the bottom… and maggots. Maggots everywhere. They were stuck on all sides of the pot, squirming. The entire inside of the pot was covered in squirming little white grubby things. It was the most disgusting thing we’d ever seen.

We immediately slammed the lid back into place and gripped our stomachs. My sister looked like she wanted to hurl. It was really gross. What were we supposed to do? My dad wasn’t home yet. No way in HELL am I scrubbing that thing, ew ew ew EW NO! Just the thought of even trying to scrub that squirmy pot gives me heebie jeebies. My skins is crawling as we speak.

We decided to drown the little fuckers. I put on the biggest oven mitt I could find and carefully picked up the pot and put it into the sink. Then, taking a deep breath of clean air and holding it, I removed the lid and turned on the tap as high as it could go. We filled it up with water and watched intently. They were still wiggling. Ew those things were sooo gross. At least the smell wasn’t so bad anymore. We waited five minutes and looked again. Still squirming. Damn those things were tough!

So we poured some dish soap into the pot and waited. No effect. Damn again. These things obviously needed something tougher in order to die, so we opened the cabinet under the sink and stared at the vast array of chemicals. Hey look, Ajax, let’s put some of that in. And this other soap too, with that other cleaner. And ooooh BLEACH! That would be perfect! Die motherfuckers die! After pouring unknown quantities of these things into the pot, we continued to stare intently into the roiling chemical brew. A few minutes later we started noticing an odd white vapor emanating from the pot o’ poisons. It smelled… bad. Not stinky, but like “I shouldn’t be breathing this” bad. We felt slightly woozy. “Maybe we shouldn’t have done that,” my sister said.

I put the lid back on the pot. I recalled something I’d seen on TV about mixing chemicals and producing caustic vapors. Is that what we just did? Oops. Okay, pouring it down the sink would be stupid, and I did NOT want to deal with those maggots in the sink either. I put the oven mitt back on and rushed the pot out to the back yard, with my sister opening the door for me. I dumped it in the farthest corner of the yard and ended up hosing everything down with the garden sprayer. I must’ve aimed the strong spray at the pot for at least five minutes to make sure not a single wiggly creature was left.

Since then I have been paranoid about mixing any household chemicals together. And I use bleach for laundry and that’s it.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Hooray it's fixed!

So the folks at Blog Explosion were finally able to unearth that rogue thumbnail from my rental thingy. Hooray! But look, the same thumbnail is back again! Heh, this time it’s there for real, like all official-like. Happy times. I rented out space on her blog as a good luck charm and I guess it worked!

I’m imagining those who do that Click and Comment Day will get a little peeved to click through to her, then find out that her rental goes back to me. Or vice versa. Ha. I sound a bit waspish, don’t I? Waspish… that’s a word I’ve not used before. I’d better look it up to make sure it doesn’t mean “uptight due to an obnoxiously skinny waist” because that’s so not me. Oh I see, it means “easily irritated or annoyed”. Hmm, not what I meant. I was going for “easily irritates or annoys others”. Oh well.

International Hooters

I’m not sure how, but somehow I’ve been put onto some spamming list that sends me junk in spanish, specifically for services in Guatemala. How’d they get my name?? My sweetheart is from Guatemala, not me.

Today I got one advertising breakfast at Hooters. Now, I don’t mind going to Hooters, their food is pretty good, and the scenery is nice. (However if you see me drooling, it’s over the food, not the scenery!) Last time I saw their menu it had things like hot wings and burgers on it, basically finger foods. What exactly is on the Hooters menu in Guatemala… for breakfast? Frijoles and eggs rancheros?

The ad goes on to say it’s the best reason to be late to work. I suppose it’s better than getting a flat tire, but I don’t think it’s going to fly well with the boss.

“Why are you so late?”
“I was… at a meeting!”
“Really? I wasn’t aware of this. Where was it?”
“It was at… um, Hooters.”
“...”
“It was good food.”
“There’s no need to lie.”
“Okay there wasn’t actually a meeting.”
“There wasn’t? I was talking about Hooters. They have a breakfast menu?”

Site Statistics

This page has been viewed 1008227 times
Page rendered in 0.4286 seconds
Total Entries: 642
Total Comments: 5769
Total Trackbacks: 0
Most Recent Entry: 03/23/2011 08:26 am
Most Recent Comment on: 03/26/2011 10:14 am
Total Members: 1
Total Logged in members: 0
Total guests: 8
Total anonymous users: 0
Most Recent Visitor on: 02/06/2012 03:30 pm
The most visitors ever was 781 on 03/02/2007 04:25 am