Because She Could

I'm writing this from the couch with my trusty tried and true pencil and pad of paper. Well, actually, they are none of those T's. The pencil and paper were just close and convenient. I've sat at the computer several times this weekend to write the following events/thoughts/bitchy complaints and I just couldn't get around to opening up that word document and typing away at it. Instead, I checked emails, read some blogs, and cleaned the gunky buildup off of the computer mouse's inner wheel thingies.

Okay, time for a quick confession. For some unknown reason I find this task immensely satisfying. And like when you're sharpening a pencil with a little hand held sharpener and you try and make one long continuous pencil shaving, when I wipe the gunk off of the rollers I try and wipe it off in one long gunk strip. Which is the main reason I haven't switched to a ball-less mouse yet. Because cleaning the gunky mouse wheel is fun. And challenging. And... hey, quit looking at me like that! Sheesh.

So when it came to actually typing I thought of something better to do. Why I was procrastinating I have no idea. But I have some theories.

Theory 1: Blank Page Cooties

I'm having serious mental writer's block issues with this story I'm trying to write. I've got the first part written down in hastily scribbled notes and I keep trying to write it out in actual sentences but whenever I sit at the computer to do so my mind goes duhhhhh. The Evil Blank Page Cooties are following me wherever I type, no matter what I'm typing. And cooties are bad so I'm trying to avoid them. For the moment at least.

Theory 2: Crick In The Butt Syndrome

The chair at the computer desk is uncomfortable. When I sit on it I'm always shifting around, trying to avoid getting a crick in the butt (which is like a crick in the neck, only lower) and that's not conducive to the typing frame of mind I need to be in to type.

Theory 3: Computer Monitor Death Rays

Staring too long at a monitor all day at work is slowly melting my eyeballs. The computer at home isn't helping matters. (I think I might need glasses, but that's a story for another time. And another post.)

Theory 4: Alien Interface Interference

The chip the aliens implanted in my head starts to short circuit at the click clack sounds of fingers typing away at a keyboard. The chip has this self defense mechanism that keeps me from typing until its absolutely necessary (like typing this stupid thing for publishing status).

I don't know why I couldn't type this out first on the computer. I'm sure it has something to do with some combination of the above theories. Which ever it is, I'm sitting here writing this out by hand and typing it up later. Is this post really worth the time and effort? Probably not. But I'm doing it anyway. Because I can dammit.

You know, that'd be a cool gravestone quote:

Because she could.

Ah crap, its getting late and I need to go to bed soon (gah! I feel old saying that) and I've already written more than I thought I was going to on this part. I'm going to post this now and post the rest of it later. Maybe possibly tomorrow. For now I think I need to re-de-gunkify my mouse. :)

Ground Control to Major Suckage

Well my week has gone from crappy to double crappy, super sized. From Scrappy doo to Scooby sized doo doo.

Because I am currently without car.

*whine*

I'm trying not to worry about it. Mainly because worrying is giving me a headache, and I've had one since Tuesday night. (A headache. Not a car. *whine*) Also, its pointless to worry because I don't know how bad it all is yet. Why worry now when I can totally freak out later when I get the bill! Wheeee!

Okay, so here's what happened. I was driving home Tuesday after work and as I took the off ramp from one highway to another this Huge Piece of Metal suddenly appears in the road in front of me. And no joke about the 'suddenly' part. The highway was full of commuters both in front of me and to each side of me, and I didn't see anyone hit their brakes or try and swerve to avoid this Huge Piece of Metal in the road. I only saw it after the van in front of me drove completely over it. Which, unfortunately, by then was too late to do anything but drive over it myself. The van drove over the HPoM without a problem because it's under belly was high off the ground. But my granny car is also a low rider car, apparently, and it would not yield. The Huge Piece of Metal looked like it was the tail gate of some truck, all bent to hell, and I really didn't want to drive over it. But I didn't have time to move to another lane or slow down enough to avoid it so over it I drove. And it totally freaked me out as I heard it rattled around down there and violate my poor car.

I got home safely (bright side!). While my poor nerves were shot to hell my car fared far worse. I took it in Wednesday to get repaired by someone the HB had gone to before, and really liked. While it was getting fixed (the Evil Huge Piece of Metal dented in my transmission fluid pan thingy) the HB and I spent a perfect rainy morning eating at our new favorite breakfast place (bright side!), this little whole-in-the-wall type restaurant that has only about ten tables and is always packed. We sat by the window, drank lots of coffee, chatted and watched the rain pitter patter away, and I tried not to worry about my car. And about how I wasn't at work.

I don't know what it is about me, but I felt bad for not being at work. I don't love my job, I don't get an abundance of fulfillment every day that I'm at my desk, there was nothing urgent for me to do, nothing that anyone else couldn't have handled. I was not needed at work by any means, really. And yet a tiny part of me, which my rebel badass part tried its best to smother with a pillow, felt bad because I could have gotten a ride to work but chose not to. It's like some Good Angel brain chip was implanted in my brain at birth that would cause me to feel guilty for doing something I know I shouldn't be doing. At least it only works in regards to my job. :) Damn work responsibility mind chip!

So anyway, the HB and I went and picked up my car later that Wednesday. It hiccupped on the drive home, but I thought that maybe it would take awhile to warm up. Or whatever. Because Mechanic Guy said he drove it and everything seemed fine. He also quoted us a price for having to replace the whole pan thingy and the repairs ended up costing more for just un-denting the damn thing. *grumble grumble grumble*

I drove it to work yesterday, which was Thursday, and everything seemed fine. But then I drove the car to get lunch and the damn thing kept doing this jerky maneuver on me. "It's your transmission!" the guys back at work diagnosed after I listed the car's symptoms. (I work with a bunch of mechanics, which comes in handy sometimes). So I left work early to go take my car back to the shop. I explained what was wrong to Mechanic Guy and he looked perplexed, as though since he drove it around the block and everything seemed fine I must be crazy for thinking anything else was wrong with it after I drove it out on the freeway and all that shit.

So, to make this long story even longer, here I am. It's Friday morning. I am without car. And I am not at work.

I keep thinking, 'hey, since I'm not at work I could go... d'oh! No car!' And that just bums me out all over again. I try not to think about how much it will cost to fix my transmission, or whatever is wrong with my poor car. Hopefully I've good enough car insurance that will pay for most, if not all of it.

But after all, today is another day. I said that last night as I stood looking defiantly over Tara, vowing never to go hungry ag... oh wait. I'm thinking about the wrong movie here. Excuse me, I've been on a mental spaz jag for the last couple of days. Which caused the headache, so I'm trying to be less brain spazzy.

Which is hard to do, since this week has been so crappy. I tried to do laundry the other day and one of the machines I put money in and thought was working was just faking it. It wasn't working. So I had to make an extra trip down to the laundry room. *grumble grumble* And another washing machine was slower than the others so I had to wait a few extra minutes for its slow ass to finish its spin thing. And when the washing machines were finally done there wasn't a free dryer because two thirds of the dryers were broken and the rest were being used and... *sigh*

I tell ya, the world is conspiring against me this week.

*sneaks paranoid glance around apartment and wonders what seemingly harmless inanimate object is going to attack next*

But, as Eric Idle sings, always look on the bright side of life. Which I'm doing. Really. Even if it doesn't sound like it here in this rant. I can't help myself, really. I was talking to my mom about all the crap last night and she called me a Pollyanna, because while I called it all crap I was still pointing out 'well at least this... and at least that...' I totally inherited the Pollyanna gene from her. It got watered down a bit in the passing down, but a little bit of it is still there. I've imagined the worst that could have happened to my car (and my wallet *whine*), and now I'm reminding myself of the positives...

Because my car wasn't totally defeated by the Evil Huge Piece of Metal. It managed to deliver me home safe and sound.

Because its bright and sunny outside and I don't have to be at work until later today, if at all. I'm not worry about it any more. Because I have a cool boss that said sure, I could leave work early, before even hearing why I needed to.

And because if my poor car wasn't in the shop right now I'd be at work, and I wouldn't have been here at home, logged into yahoo messenger when a friend I haven't chatted with in awhile decides to log in as well and say hello.

And MMMBop was playing on launchcast a few minutes ago. And that damn song always makes me smile.

Oh yes. Today will be a good day.

It will dammit! Because I'm settling for nothing less. :)

Would you rather...

1. wear your hair like liberace OR telly savalas?

Well, I've seen pictures of myself in a swim cap, so I know I'd look pretty funny without any hair. More so than with a Liberace 'do, I think. Besides, I could so rock the Liberace 'do.

2. be world famous for your black velvet paintings OR for your grilled cheese sandwiches?

While I would have really spectacular grilled cheese sandwiches (my onion and hot dog supreme sandwich being the most famous of famous cheese sandwiches ever!!!) I'd rather be world famous for my black velvet paintings.

Because not everyone can enjoy cheese. Some are allergic to it.

But black velvet is universal. Everyone can enjoy the awesome beauty of black velvet paintings!

3. smell like a water buffalo OR old cheese?

Uh... I'd rather smell like old cheese. Because that's a smell I could explain.

"Oh, that smell? That's... uh... I left some cheese in the fridge a couple years ago and it spontaneously combusted the other day and I haven't been able to clean it all up yet."

It'd be harder to explain away the smell of water buffalo.

I think.

I mean, it's not like I've had any experience with that sort of thing. Sheesh!

4. eat monkey brain OR kitten?

Monkey brain. Reason? Er... less fur. And, oh yeah, eating kitties is just WRONG!

Why yes, I am wearing the new coffee scented pants from Scratch-N-Sniff Apparel. Thanks for noticing!

And while I'm on the subject of coffee pants, I'd like to give a quick shout out to whoever invented the color black. Dude, you rock!

Because I spilled was attacked by evil coffee and some of it got on my black pants and you can't see anything! It's like it never happened!

Except I might smell a bit like coffee now...

But probably only to people sniffing my pants. And since no one is currently doing that I think I'm safe. No one will know my secret! At least no one here in the office. Where I'm surrounded by peers that may judge and ridicule me for not being skilled enough to pick up and hold a paper coffee cup in my hand.

Okay. I'm seriously over the whole coffee-pants thing now. Really.

I came. I saw. I wet my pants.

I came into work this morning with a cup of starbuck's coffee (that tried to kill me in the car - death by scalding - had nothing to do with how uncoordinated I am - honest) and a piece of crumbly coffee cake. Yum.

As I sat down at my desk with my breakfast this Old Crabby Guy tries to give me a bad time (like he always does) and says, "Look at her, bringin' in brefas (de-ebonic-fied: breakfast) for herself and not thinkin' 'bout the rest of us."

And I said, still wet in the pants from having just barely staved off an attack from the conspiring killer coffee cup and lid, "Oh, I thought about you guys. And the thought of eating this in front of y'all and not sharing even one little crumb gave me the warmest of fuzzy feelings."

What can I say, I get kinda cranky when my pants are wet. :)

But I said it with a smile. A smile so bright that if I was in an Orbitz commercial you would have heard the ding of my bright shiny teeth a mile away. And that's all that matters, especially in this office.

"I see how ya is," Old Crabby Guy says, sounding crabby but smiling just the same.

Then he went to go crab to someone else and I went into the bathroom to try and de-coffee my pants. And such was the beginnings of this wonderful day.

Hi Ku! How's it going?

putting on black pants
this morn was preemptive strike.
spilt coffee is fun!

evil coffee cup
attacks innocent drinker
News at Eleven

1. Material world:: Madonna's plane of existence
   
2. Satin sheets:: red
   
3. Blizzard:: ice cream
   
4. Real estate:: houses
   
5. Dress up:: barbie
   
6. Wesley:: Crusher ... *hopelessly dreamy sigh* :)
   
7. Robber:: barron
   
8. Saliva:: spit
   
9. Slave:: love
   
10. Shift:: 3rd ... which the HB is working right now *bummed sigh*
    

pay no attention to that woman behind the curtain...

... because she's trying to figure something out and its driving her mad.

MAD I TELL YOU!

sorry, didn't mean to get all big-font-y there. but you see, i've added blogger comments to the blog that you can see with out having the haloscan pop up window. i don't particularly like it better than haloscan, but it took me a awhile to figure out how to do it, and i'm not going to let all that hard work go to waste. so woohoo! new comment system! :)

only thing is, i can't seem to get the little 'delete this comment' icon to show up. it shows up on other blogs, other blogs that still have the blogger template on them. i've looked at the codes of both and have no idea what i'm missing in my template. there's a little invisible space where the icon should be. so i can delete a post if i want to, i just can't see the damn icon!

grrrrrrrr!!!

if i don't figure it out by the end of another cycle through my new Darren Hayes CD (i've listened to it the whole way through at least four times while i've been sitting at the computer playing - do i know how to spend a saturday or what!) i think i'll give up. for today at least. and tackle the problem later from a fresh point of view.

I must be lost. I could have sworn Bankruptcity was just up ahead.

Loon Highway Loony-Bin Lane 3 Hobotown 22 Contentment Meadows 42 Lake Love 126 Bankruptcity 292 Please Drive Carefully

Username:

Where are you on the highway of life?

From Go-Quiz.com

Because I'm on a very important exploration of self today (ie its Friday and I'm avoiding work)

Your Icecream Flavour is...Neopolitan!

You aren't satisfied with just one flavor. They say variety is the spice of life and this shines through in your Ice cream of choice! Just don't eat all the chocolate and leave the strawberry and vanilla behind!

What is your Icecream Flavour?

Find out at Go Quiz

Icky ick! I hate strawberry ice cream. I hate pretty much everything strawberry flavored, except for strawberries themselves (which I love, go figure).

It's just that anything artificially strawberry flavored is too sweet. Too non-strawberry. Too bleagh. Strawberry ice cream, strawberry gum, strawberry lollipops, it all taste gross to me.

So I will be eating all the chocolate, and all the vanilla, and leaving the icky strawberry ice cream behind. Doesn't matter though, because I'll still be plenty spicy with variety. And I could stand to loose a few pounds. Strawberry is the heaviest of the ice creams, isn't it? What with all those strawberry chunks in it? So yeah, I'll just pass on the chunky part thank you very much and gobble up the other too.

Now here I am, all in the mood for some ice cream, and trying not to think about the Cold Stone Creamery that's just a few minutes drive away. Evil thoughts!

F.Y.I.

And I don't mean Fruggle Yodeling Instructors...

loon is poisonous! Induce vomitting if ingested.

N POISON

Username:

From Go-Quiz.com


So don't y'all be gettin' any ideas about ingesting me or anything like that. Eat me and die! *Tee hee*

Would you rather...

1. be the world's best dodgeball player OR the world's best chess player?

When I was but a wee lass I had a love/hate relationship with dodgeball (heavy on the hate). Sometimes the game was a blast to play, no matter if I was the first one out or the last one standing (which happened once! No, really!) But most of the time the game seemed like just a handy means of adolescent ritualistic mortification, all at my expense.

Now that I'm all grown up and mature and not so easily bruised by taunts and mean words and balls traveling at the speed of light (young boys can throw pretty hard when they want to!) I think I could once again love the game. Plus, I learned all about the love of playing violent sports in high school (*tee hee*).

So I think I'd rather be the world's best dodgeball player. Especially if I was playing it 'extreme' style. Extreme Dodgeball on GSN looks like such a blast. Watching it makes me want to put on a jersey, warm up my rocket arm, and start throwing big red rubber balls at people.

2. be allergic to egg products OR wheat products?

Allergic to egg products. What the hell else is an egg product other than egg? And they've got fake eggs right? No problem then.

3. be able to go back in time to when JFK was assassinated OR Abraham Lincoln?

Err... JFK's time. Because I'd be able to wear more fashionable clothes than I would in Abe's time. And the television wasn't invented yet when Abe got a cap popped in his head. And...

4. be able to do complex math equations instantly OR sing professionally?

SING! Oh how I'd love to get paid to sing. To have people give me enough money so that I wouldn't have to do anything else but sing - that'd be the life! And I'm not talking about the Mega-Supa-Star Stadium Rocker type professionaI singer. I'm thinking more along the lines of a lounge singer. A dusky jazz club singer. Or even a Broadway musical singer! I'd be joyously happy being up on a stage singing jazzy tunes, show tunes, sultry tunes, and god-I-wish-I-had-a-voice-like-her tunes. Even if its in a dinky little lounge somewhere. If only I had that kind of voice...

It's a scenario that I know will never happen, but I still like to dream about it. It's a fun dream to have. Just like my I'm-A-Ballerina dream and my I'm-A-Real-Life-Charlie's-Angels dream.

Pretty in FFC0CB

I'm infatuated with pink lately. Don't know why, really. It's just one of those things where your taste in something changes over time.

When I was (a lot) younger, I used to think long hair on guys was gross. All guys. No matter what. Icky icky bleagh! Now (depending on the guy of course) I think long hair is kind of hot. Rowr!

I used to think mushrooms were fungi of the devil himself and couldn't stand to have them associating with my food in any way whatsoever. Now I don't mind them (too much). Even on my pizza. In moderation, of course. Let's not get silly now and ruin a perfectly good piece of pizza with evil fungi.

I used to hate anything with honey in it. My mom thought that was the weirdest thing; a kid not liking honey. Now I like the stuff.

And I was never a fan of the color pink. But now I am.

In moderation, of course.

I never carried around anti-pink signs ("Die pinkie scum!") or anything of the sort. I didn't run screaming if the color came anywhere near me ("The pink it touched me! I'm so unclean!"). I didn't segregate the pink crayon from the rest of its crayon friends ("You are hereby now and forever banned from the crayon box!"). I wasn't averse to the color in anyway. I just wasn't a fan. I didn't wear pink, collect pink, buy pink, think pink, etc.

But lately the color, in all its glorious shades and tones, is grabbing my attention. I walk in a store and the pink clothes catch my eye first and I can't helping thinking how gosh darn cute they all look (?!?!?). I walk down the toothbrush aisle in the grocery store and I'm inexplicably drawn to the pink ones. (The pink in my new toothbrush, if it was a nail polish or lipstick, would be called Kick Ass Pink. Because it's a kick ass looking toothbrush with pink racing stripes.) I'm even drinking more pink lemonade!*

I don't know why this is happening. I don't know why I'm liking pink more and more these days. And now I've gone and draped the blog in massive pinkness! I wonder if its just a phase.

I also wonder what taste will change next. Taste in music, perhaps? Will I suddenly become obsessed with buying my favorite elevator music CD's?

Holy crap I hope not.

* This claim is unsubstantiated due to the fact that I haven't really been measuring how much lemonade, pink or otherwise, I have been drinking. There's no data in which I might graph my consumption variances. So it's all just hearsay at the moment. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Tip Of The Day:

don't ever read a George Carlin joke while on a conference call with Big Head Office Cheeses.

any number of muscles/organs maybe pulled/strained in the effort to not snortle out loud.