Thursday, June 30, 2005

Truths behind the Truths Part III: beehives and bald men and car's with their own theme songs, oh my!

Okay, let's see how many items I can cram into this post because I really do need to get back to work. While writing and reminiscing can be fun, its highly distracting, and I need to remember that I get paid to do crap work, not to write and reminisce. Sigh. Wouldn't that be the life? Anyways, I'd better go remind myself of that thing I need to remind myself about... right after this brief interlude of course...

I'm doing these all out of order, I know. Oh well.

7. I competed in a talent show in elementary school. A friend and I lip synched to Stop In The Name Of Love.

I was in the second grade. The friend's mom was my babysitter, so we had a lot of time to practice our choreography, which we came up with it all by ourselves thank you very much. This fact was probably painfully evident when we did the universal 'stop' hand signal when Dianna yells 'Stop!' and tapped our temples when Dianna says to 'think it oh-woah-ver'. That, I'm afraid, is the highlight of our 'dance' moves.

But we had actual beehive hairdos! And my babysitter was into making clothes, so she made us really rocking 'And The Supremes' dresses! And we wore makeup! And plastic bead necklaces tied in a knot!

And we still lost. Stupid sucky judges.

9. I used to spend the class period thinking dirty little thoughts about my summer school government teacher. He was hot, in a political dork kind of way.

Okay, here's the thing: I was a teenager. And I had a highly productive, active imagination (though, truthfully, with a lack of experience to work off of, but that never stopped me). And he was cute in a geeky, glass wearing, completely shaved head kind of way. What can I say, I have a thing for bald men. Not all bald men, mind you. But some bald men? Rowr! Sexy! I wouldn't call my summer school teacher sexy by any means. But cute. Definitely cute. Even when he talked about confronting the lady in Taco Bell who was sadly misinformed about some aspect of our government and he felt compelled to pull out his pocket sized copy of the bill of rights/constitution that he always carried in his back pocket in case of emergencies and set her straight.

Hey, stop looking at me that way. Sheesh. Didn't you read the part about me being a teenager at the time? I wasn't in my right mind, okay?

Not that I don't find bald men sexy any more. I still do. Sometimes. Patrick Stewart? ROWR!

10. My first car was a dodge lancer. Envy me now!

Boy was that a piece of shit car. Favorite song to play while driving in the car? Adam Sandler's ode to his piece of shit car. The air conditioner never worked for too long (causing me to affectionately refer to it as my easy bake oven) and the paint job was rusting away in splotches. Spiffy!

It wasn't all bad, since it did manage to get me from Point A to Point B without ever breaking down. But at least the interior wasn't smurf blue like my current car. It was entirely magenta!

I'm just glad I didn't feel the need to impress people with my car.

Truths behind the Truths Part II: The Spike Saga

So on to little stories/explanations about the bits that were true from Tuesday's post.

Yano guessed that I was lying about my one-eyed hamster and my two birthmarks. She was wrong on both counts, yet at the same time, both were wonderfully good guesses. One super gooey E-For-Excellent-Effort brownie point* for Yano!

Wait, you say? A one-eyed hamster? Really?

Unfortunately for the hamster, yes.

But first, some not-so-interesting information about the birthmarks (because I'm a tease like that.)

5. I have two birthmarks.

I have one on my right shin and another on my lower back. When I was a baby I used to have another one above my eye, and my mom swears she can still see it when I get really sick and pasty, but I've looked in the mirror and there's absolutely nothing there. Silly mommy. :)

8. I used to be the not-so-proud owner of a one eyed hamster.

I didn't buy him with one eye. He poked it out himself by accident (unless he had self-mutilating issues I was unaware of) about a year after we got him.

My first ever hamster, Ralph, was a gift from The HB. Why he gave me a fucking hamster I have no idea. He had a bunch of hamsters/guinea pigs when he was a kid so I think he thought it'd be cute to give his girlfriend one. Whatever. The little fucker bit me the first day I had him and we never really got along well afterwards (we as in me and the evil hamster, not we as in me and the boyfriend).

About a year later me and the boyfriend moved in together and as a symbol of the everlasting love we shared for one another we bought another hamster. Actually, its more like the HB really wanted another pet to play with and I got suckered into tagging along to the pet store. I just couldn't say are you fucking crazy no to him with all that little-boy joy radiating from every pore at the thought of getting another hamster. (But I could now after being together for several years, let me tell ya! Well, except there was that whole 'I wanna motorcycle' incident so... maybe not so much. Cute little boy joy from the HB is my kryptonite it seems.) Besides, the hamster was like our child, our experimental 'test-drive' child.

And 'why experiment on a plant when you can buy a smelly biting hamster?' is what I always say.

The second hamster, Spike, never bit me, but I didn't give him much of a chance to. He was a handful and quite the daredevil. He liked to jump off of really high places, like the top of the couch. He managed to escaped from his cage a few times when me or the HB didn't connect the connector tubes correctly after a cleaning. We actually had to resort to lots and lots of scotch tape to keep Spike from popping them apart. Stupid hamster.

Since we blocked off that escape route, Spike took to chewing up the back corner of his little plastic habitat condo. He must have been gnawing on it for days (or nights actually, because we never noticed it.) Then, one night/early morning, when the hole was big enough to try and squeeze his head through, Spike tried to make a prison break. He must have been too impatient because the hole wasn't quite big enough. And the craftsmanship of the hole wasn't well done either because it had sharp pointy edges and... well, I didn't see it happen (thank god) but I assumed that's how the eye got damaged.

It still gives me the willies to think about it. The poor hamster looked so pitiful and sore and out of sorts, what with its poor little shriveled up eye. It was one of the saddest things I've ever seen.

And the vet we went to emotionally blackmailed me and the HB because when we mentioned putting the poor animal to sleep the vet got mad and said he wasn't in the business of killing animals. No, he was in business of extorting money from emotional pet owners. Let me tell you, that little self-righteous speech made me feel like complete shit. I didn't want to be an animal killer! So the HB and I agreed to the recommended surgery. To fix a fucking hamster! A hamster with half his life expectancy already lived! It's embarrassing to admit I was so gullible, but Spike the Hamster was looking up at me with his one good eye, with a pitiful look that said, 'help me!' and the vet said he wasn't an animal killer, and somehow all sense of rational thinking flew out the door.

I will never do it again, though. (At least not for a hamster that's reaching retirement age!) I've learned my lesson and paid over a hundred bucks for it. (A hundred bucks for a stinkin' hamster!) And if I ever have a dog or a cat I will find a vet who is kind and believes in doing what's best for the animal, even if that means putting the animal to sleep. My mom has that kind of vet, and when she told her vet about our vet, her vet was completely appalled that our vet would ever say such a thing.

Spike the one-eyed hamster lived for about another year after that , and was as crazy and daredevil-ish as ever. And before his death, even before the whole losing-an-eye tragedy, he starred (along with Ralph) in a short film I directed for an intro to film class, so he will be forever immortalized on the little screen (it went straight to video - heh) as a healthy, tough, two-eyed hamster.

I think I have a picture of Spike in one of those cone-around-the-neck things they put on animals so they don't lick their stitches. If I can find it (and if I can remember to even look for it) I'll try and post it here later.

* actual retail value of point = still undetermined

Lies Revealed, True Stories Shared - Part I

In Tuesday's post I listed ten things about myself. 8 were true. 2 were lies.

Today (because yesterday was anything but conducive to writing) I will reveal the truth behind the lies - and a relatively (hopefully) brief story behind the truths.

First off, the two lies!

3. My favorite color is yellow. - NOT TRUE!

My favorite color is blue. Yeah, yeah, I know, that's such a boring, generic thing to say. But its true. I love all the many varied shades and hues of blue. They're peaceful. Calming. Beautiful. I might prefer a specific type of blue over another (midnight? navy? cerulean? cornflower?) but I'd be too hard pressed to single any one of them out, so I'll just stick with the mama of them all and say (in my best Mike Meyers as Goldmember voice) 'I like bluuuuuue!'

My favorite color used to be red, when I was in the early elementary grades (K-2). Then my tastes changed, as tastes are sometimes want to do. I'm a big fan of green. And as of late a big fan of pink (which for some reason still truly perplexes me). I love to wear red (mainly because the HB says its looks great on me *teehee*) but my ultimate fav is still blue.

Last time I checked, my best friend and my boyfriend's favorite color was yellow. That's why I picked it for the lie. :)

6. I have an older brother. - NOT TRUE!

I have one sibling and he's younger than me by about 2 and a half years. He's a hell of a lot taller than me now though, by several inches. I love to introduce him as my 'little' brother. My little six foot, several inches tall brother. Sigh. I remember the good old days when I was a lot taller than him, back when it was easier to wrestle/horseplay/pick on him. Not that we roughhoused a lot. And the 'picking on' part? Not so much, either. (If he read this, he'd have something to say to the contrary, I'm sure. Not that that means anything because he can be highly delusion when it suits his purposes. Heh. Still love ya bro!)

So yeah, he used to be shorter than me, skinnier than me, all around smaller than me, and then all of a sudden - ZOOM! - he shot up like a Shaquille O'Neal plant in a basketballer garden. The growth spurt was especially noticable during either the first or second Christmas after I'd moved away to college, when I was home visiting for the holidays. The bro and I were goofing around and I said something, probably something of the teasing variety (delivered in a lovingly sister manner, of course). Actually, I think it was something along the lines of 'just because you're much bigger than me now don't think I can't still beat you up if I wanted to'. (Not that I've ever even tried to beat him up before! Honest!) Before I knew it he had me in a headlock, and I was like, Dude! Something's seriously wrong with this scenario!

He was so much bigger than me, which had never been the case before, so it was a weird and foreign situation. Not scary, because I knew he wouldn't hurt me, but weird, because he had never dared give me the headlock noogies before. But this time? Now that he was bigger than me? He felt empowered enough to do so. Freaking noogies for crimeney's sake! The nerve!

I tried to wriggle free, and that's when my earrings nearly punctured little holes in my neck. Ouch! I've never been a big earring wearer so that, horseplayin' with tiny metal rods sticking out of my ears, was a new experience as well. But they were a recent gift so I was wearing them, because I was turning more into an adult and less like a kid sister, something both me and the bro were adjusting too. So after I broke free, and made sure I wasn't bleeding, I said to my brother:

"Next time you want to show off and prove you're bigger than me now, warn me first so I can take out my earrings."

He grinned like the adorably mischievous little brother that he is and looked at the invisible watch on his wrist. "How's two minutes from now sound? Is that enough warning?"

God I miss him. He's (supposedly) moving from Michigan to Las Vegas sometime soon, which means he'll only be a car ride away, rather than a plane ride away. Which means he'll be easier to visit. I just hope he doesn't change his mind. Again.

This was an easy lie for Z to spot, since she's known me since the third grade, and she's known my bro since she and I were in the fourth grade together. :) At least I think that's when they meet... hmmm...

Okay, I have to spend time doing some actual work now (*grumble grumble*) so I'll be breaking this into a few parts. The better to spread out the yummy reading goodness, my dears! So stay tuned for Part II, were I share some amusing-probably-only-to-me anecdotes about the Tuesday's 8 truths.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Ten on Tuesday - Can you spot the lies?

8 Truths and 2 Lies About Me

  1. I've never broken a bone. Mine or someone else's.

  2. The only time I've gotten a bloody nose is after being punched in the nose.

  3. My favorite color is yellow.

  4. I was a competitive swimmer from the age of 6 to the age of 19.

  5. I have two birthmarks.

  6. I have an older brother.

  7. I competed in a talent show in elementary school. A friend and I lip synched to Stop In The Name Of Love.

  8. I used to be the not-so-proud owner of a one eyed hamster.

  9. I used to spend the class period thinking dirty little thoughts about my summer school government teacher. He was hot, in a political dork kind of way.

  10. My first car was a dodge lancer. Envy me now!

So, can you spot the two lies? Super gooey brownie points if you can. :)


Okay, its honestly too early in the morning for something to have made my day. But something has. I'm going to be nothing but smiles for the rest of the day.

Nonsense, you say? There's still so much day left, how could something be so wonderfully amusing that it wipes out possible future work related crap?

Well, I don't know if I have the words to accurately convey my sense of giddiness. But I'll try.

See, there's this woman at work and she's Grade A annoying. I think I've called her Dragon Lady in previous posts. I didn't give her that nickname, mind you, but its fitting. Some even refer to her as The Bitch Who Keeps Dumping All Of Her Work On My Already Huge Pile O' Stuff To Do. I could go on and on about her, but I'm in too good of a mood to ruin it by bitching (too much) about her. Let's just say that she's been getting on my nerves a lot lately. So much so that when she pops over my cubicle wall and impatiently tells me to fix something, regardless of whatever project I'm in the middle of, I'm not resisting the urge to roll my eyes at her as strongly as I should.

So anyways, today, she sent an email to me and Old Guy Ken. She doesn't have the best English, even on the best of days, and today is not one of her better days. Her emails are like little word puzzles you have to decode, her writing style very similar to Engrish. When she limits herself to just a couple of sentences she's usually okay but...

Well, in this morning's email, I'm sure she meant to type:

Yeah! Another vendor blah blah blah...

Instead she wrote:

Yap ! another vendor blah blah blah...


*tee hee*

Since I can't stick my tongue out at her and tell her to 'chill out' I can giggle at her emails. Is that wrong of me? It probably is. But I gotta get the frustration out somehow. It's either that or I start banging my head on my desk again. And that leaves a weird mark.

Yap !

Would you rather...

tuesday is chooseday

Would you rather...

1. be trapped in a haunted house overnight OR lost in the woods overnight?

I'd rather be trapped in a haunted house where the only thing that can get me is my own imagination. Being lost in the woods would suck because it highly increases your chances of getting eaten by a bear. Bear dinner = major suckitude.

2. walk across 10 feet of hot coals bare foot OR lie down on a bed of nails?

Hot coals. I've seen enough people walk barefoot across hot coals before that I'm sure its relatively easy. The bed of nails thing still gives me the skeevy jeevies whenever I see someone do it. Ouch!

3. listen to non-stop 24 hours of celine dion OR ac/dc?

Non-stop Celine. Because I know the words to a lot of her songs and could sing along. That will make the experience fun. No really, it would! Which in turn would, hopefully, keep my brain from exploding after a couple of hours worth.

4. eat a container of paste OR a bag of flour?

A bag of flour. In the second grade I sat next to a boy who ate paste and it totally grossed me out. He used to spit on my chair too, which now I know, as I've come to realize in all my wisdom, meant he was totally in love with me.

The bag of flour would be hard to eat, but I wouldn't be as grossed out by it, so in the long run it would be easier to consume in such a massive quantity.

Monday, June 27, 2005

This Public Service Announcement Brought To You By Tha Man

If you want to see who 'tha man' is, check this out.

*tee hee*

Guess I won't be shaking my ta-ta's and/or twirling like a ballerina and/or doing my Robert De Niro impersonations and/or etc in front of 'in store' video cameras any more. Not that I do that sort of thing all the time or anything like that. Sheesh.

Because I really needed the stress break...

Jabberwacky: What should I do?

Me: Talk to me! I need a break from work.

Jabberwacky: No you don't.

Me: Uh, yeah, I do. My eye is starting to twitch.

Jabberwacky: Oh! The Eye! Okay...

Me: Well, what the hell else could be twitching... My ass?

Jabberwacky: I am talking about the poem that you asked me to write.

Me: What poem?

Jabberwacky: You said you could write a poem for me.

Me: I thought you wrote the poem?

Jabberwacky: Nope. never needed any.

Me: Damn. And here I thought you were going to read my mushy poetry. You suck.

Jabberwacky: I am.

Me: No. You are.

Jabberwacky: You are too.

Me: Nu uh. I'm rubber and you're glue so suck it glue boy!

Jabberwacky: And with that, I'm turning off my computer.

Me: Wuss.

Jabberwacky: Don't press me, Mitch!

Me: I won't, so long as you don't call me Mitch.

Jabberwacky: Ok, lets talk about tv shows.

Me: Yes! I'm obsessed with tv shows!

Jabberwacky: Who is your favorite character?

Me: Duh! It's Veronica Mars. Who is your favorite character?

Jabberwacky: My favorite character is Chaos and Kos-Mos. Who is your favorite character?

Me: Those aren't tv show characters.

Jabberwacky: Ok.

Me: You sure suck at this game suck boy.

Jabberwacky: Well, I'm fine really.

Me: How fine? On a scale from 1 to 10?

Jabberwacky: 10.

Me: Liar liar underpants on fire.

Jabberwacky: That would hurt.

Me: Yes. Which is the point of the rhyme. Weren't you ever in the second grade?

Jabberwacky: You didn't tell me where you're from.

Me: Because you didn't ask.

Jabberwacky: Okay, I'll ask now. When were you born?

Me: Switching up the questions I see. Trying to throw me curveballs, eh? Try and trap me in a lie, eh?

Jabberwacky: Not tricking, but I wanted to remind you that those words were only important for the moment, not forever.

Me: Wow. That's deep. I like a man who can go deep.

Jabberwacky: I try to understand you too, but it isn't easy.

Me: Like I haven't heard that before.

Jabberwacky: Now you have.

Me: And now I am complete. You. Complete. Me.

Jabberwacky: Good popes to to Cathedral City when they die.

Me: I tell you you're the ying to my yang and you reply with a pope joke?

Jabberwacky: What the hell are you talking about?

Me: What the hell are you talking about? And where do bad popes go when they die?

Jabberwacky: Who die?

Me: Bad popes. If good popes go to cathedral city, where do bad popes go?

Jabberwacky: You're making far less sense than yesterday.

Me: Probably because I didn't talk to you yesterday.

Jabberwacky: You're not useless. think of all the things that you do.

Me: I talk to you. That's pretty useless.

Jabberwacky: Could you please repeat the last thing I said?

Me: Hey, I'm not your lab rat, pal!

Jabberwacky: You're my pal, buddy.

Me: Do I look like I give a shit?

Jabberwacky: Well yeah because you had your eyes closed and your lips were puckered up.

Me: BWAHAHAHA! And on that note... Ta ta for now!

Jabberwacky: Sayonara.

Friday, June 24, 2005

Favorite Office Quote of the Day

"I've got some pretty expensive balls." - Guy Bragging About His Balls


There's a bunch of guys on the other side of my cubicle wall bragging about golf stuff, trying to 'one up' each other.

"I've golfed at..."
"Oh, I had this pro trainer who..."
"My handicap is only..."
"I've got some pretty expensive balls..."

Heh. Heh. Heh. He said balls.


Oh gawd help me I'm getting slap happy and its not even noon yet.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Quit yer jibber jabber, fool!

So I went to jabberwacky for a nice, completely innocent (I swear) little chat and... well, the following is what transpired:

Jabberwacky: How good is your eyesight?

Me: Kind of fuzzy. Thanks for asking.

Jabberwacky: No problem! What is your name?

Me: Lisa. What is your name?

Jabberwacky: I have no name.

Me: Oh, how sad!

Jabberwacky: Sorry, did I offend you?

Me: Yes. People with out names offend my delicate sensibilites.

Jabberwacky: With what?

Me: Pickles.

Jabberwacky: What do you do with pickles?

Me: Heh. Wouldn't *you* like to know!

Jabberwacky: Yes. I find it interesting.

Me: What do you find interesting? The pickles? Or the variety of pickle uses?

Jabberwacky: I am Imogen Burton, you're the computer.

Me: No silly, YOU are the computer. I thought you said you didn't have a name?

Jabberwacky: I didn't. But, as it happens, I don't.

Me: So you are not Imogen?

Jabberwacky: I am canadian.

Me: Sorry to here that.

Jabberwacky: Me too.

Me: Have you thought about seeing a doctor about that?

Jabberwacky: No, but I did go to the pub.

Me: Marvelous solution.

Jabberwacky: Mmmm so is yours.

Me: Ah geez, now you've got me blushing.

Jabberwacky: You're not going to dump me so soon, surely?

Me: Of course not sweetie pookie butt! At least, not if you don't dump me.

Jabberwacky: I do want you to have me.

Me: I love it when you talk dirty. Got any pickles?

Jabberwacky: I love talking that way.

Me: Keep talking that way you big stud bot you.

Jabberwacky: Why would you want to do that?

Me: Do what?

Jabberwacky: Call me Perro. I'm not a dog.

Me: Okay. I get the hint. You're changing the subject. Did I mention the pickle thing too soon?

Jabberwacky: They say that thing can pucture the skin of a Rhino for 100 feet.

Me: The pickle is that deadly?

Jabberwacky: You are getting in a pickle.

Me: I don't think I could squeeze my fat ass into a pickle.

Jabberwacky: Of course not. You were created by one. You are a mere robot.

Me: What the hell are you talking about? Are you on crack?

Jabberwacky: I'm talking about rednecks and idiots. They mean the same thing.

Me: Ha ha ha ha ha. Hey, wait a minute. Don't be insultin' my kinfolk like that!

Jabberwacky: Alright I'm sorry. But I do have to go.

Me: I should be going too, I guess. TTFN!

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Favorite Quote of the Day (So Far...)

"I may be crazy, but I'm not nuts." - Stressed Out Gal From Across The Hall

Poor Stressed Out Gal. We're in peek season and not producing like we should be, and everyone's scrambling to insure coverage in all the markets and running around like tweaked out chickens to make sure we're set to produce like mo-fo's - to catch up if possible, to not fall any more behind at the very least - and planning everything is a juggling nightmare (at least it sounds that way from my desk, oh so conveniently located in the center of all the chaos) and one of the Planner Persons is on vacation and another just called in sick and its starting to sink in that Poor Stressed Out Gal, the Head Honcho Planner Coordinator Juggler Extraordinaire, is totally screwed today. She's doing the whole nervous laughter thing. Not a good sign.

I don't know all that goes in to the planning, but I know its complicated with all kinds of numbers and figures and other info that gets factored into the decision making. Just a minute ago, Poor Stressed Out Gal was talking to someone via speaker phone and shared her predicament, mentioning how there were only three people at work today to handle the planning for the entire western region. The person on the other end burst out in laughter. This, apparently, on top of all the crap that's been piling up lately, is funny. Funny in a 'ha ha glad that's not me because boy does that suck' kind of way.

On a good note: I'm not in planning! Woo!

On an even better note: S. O. G. brought into work today THE most delicious vegetable dip in a yummy sourdough bowl. I've limited myself to two bites. Any more and I'm afraid I'll go all feral and scarf down the whole thing.

Best! Dip! Ever!

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

To Be Filed Under 'Easily Amused'

You know what's fun?

Eating pudding from a Kraft handi-snack plastic tub* without a spoon!

It's like being a kitty kat! A kitty that likes pudding!


So here's to not packing a spoon and not being able to find any plastic ones in the cabinet under the coffee pot at work where there's been spoons every other freaking time I've looked for one.


You know what, this really is the best way to eat pudding. And the handy little tub container doubles nicely as a microphone for the old school Madonna song that's playing.

gonna dress you up in my love, all over, all over...

* Expiration Date: APR 06

Would You Rather...

tuesday is chooseday

Would you rather...

1. lose the tips of your fingers in a car accident OR your nose?

Tips of my fingers. If I lost the tip of my nose I'd be crushed, as would my dreams of being a future nasal spray spokesmodel!

Besides, have you seen Michael Jackson and his fucked up nose? No. Thank. You!

2. have to bring a tank of oxygen with you everywhere you go OR only be able to go out when the sun is down?

I know what a pain in the ass the oxygen tank would be from the drama that is my grandma as she flew into texas a couple days after I did. You can't fly with it, so if you need it you have to pay the airline's huge usage fee. And she didn't arrange to have oxygen in texas because she 'didn't want to be a burden on anyone.' Translation: she wanted people to make a big fuss (which they did, because getting oxygen at the last minute was a huge hassle) and say to her 'Oh no! You aren't a burden at all!' My mom and aunt wanted to buy her a t-shirt that looked like the dairy queen logo but said drama queen instead, but they didn't think she'd get it. But I digress...

Only able to go outside at night? Never able to play in the sun? Never able to see the sun rise or set? Never able to see how bright and shiny and brilliant things can be basking in the glorious radiance of the sun? Screw that. Sideways. With midget cucumber tongs! I'd rather drag an oxygen tank everywhere I go, being a burden to everyone around me. ;)

3. eat a bowl full of raw oysters OR a small plate of haggis?

Um... I've never had either. So on the assumption that both are pretty nasty, I'd rather eat a small plate of nasty than a bowl full of nasty.

4. wake up and find your two front teeth have doubled in size OR your fingers have doubled in length?

What's with trying to fuck up my face? Two gigantic front teeth would totally mess up my face, which I can't let happen. My face is my bread winner bay-bee! (Bread, as in money. I don't plan on entering the Miss Wonder Bread competition in order to win a life time supply of bread. Though that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing...)

The doubled-in-length fingers might be kind of cool. In a totally circus-freak-show kind of way of course. But still kind of cool. I'd get paid money to go on talk shows to talk about how tormented and ridiculed I am. Then I could write a best selling book, The Girl With The Freakishly Long Fingers: How To Overcome Abnormalities And Use Your Strange Abilities For Good, and go on talk shows to talk about how I've over come my... er... longcomings.

And the extra long fingers would come in handy. I'd be able to reach the remote when it falls behind the couch. When I try to grab it now, my arm doesn't quite reach, my fingers barely brush against the top of the remote, and my boob gets painfully squished in the process (because why do the sensible thing like move the couch and walk behind it and reach down to pick it up when you can strain and stretch and strain some more in a fruitless attempt to not do anything so strenuous and work-like as move the freaking couch.)

The Blahs of Yesterday

I didn't feel good yesterday. Felt incredibly icky. Had trouble concentrating. Body felt all out of whack.

Had a bit of a headache ...
(Possible Explanation: it was Monday... and I was at work)

... very mild dizziness ...
(Possible Explanation: I think the computer monitor is sending me subliminal messages. And I didn't have my usual cup of coffee in the morning, so maybe I was suffering from withdrawals. But since I don't drink coffee on the weekends, I doubt that was the case. Still... my body knew it was Monday and was expecting its weekday dose of coffee like a petulant child expects candy.)

... some weird cramping...
(Possible Explanation: its close to That Time Of The Month so that could explain that symptom, but I also ate some cheese that, at the time I made the sandwich, I didn't think was bad. This morning though, when I was making today's lunch (yes, I'm packing a lunch again, go me!) I looked at the expiration date on the package of individually wrapped cheese slices and it said 'MAR 05'. Holy Cheese Poisoning Batman! Though if the cheese was really bad, you'd think I'd have been more poisoned than what I felt).

Overall, it was nothing that was too bad, but put all together it made me feel Blah with a capital B. I didn't know what was wrong with me (precisely, though one of my suspicions was the cheese); I just knew that my body felt like it was out of alignment. So I drank lots of water. I've heard doctors, and moms, say that a lot. "Drink lots of fluids."

What's the 'recommended' daily intake of water? 64 ounces? Well, yesterday, while at work, I drank at least 57 ounces (I know this because I remember drinking 2 '24 ounce' bottles of water and one 9 ouncer. I think I drank more, but I'm not sure. Chugging too much water is like a few too many shots of tequila. The brain gets overly saturated.)

So yeah, I drank lots of fluids. And damn if that didn't make me pee like some kind of peeing machine. Which was great because trips to the bathroom were a nice break from the monotony that was my work load Monday. I definitely drank a bottle of water at home last night so my system was totally flushed out yesterday. I think that did the trick since I felt a little better when I got home last night, and almost a hundred percent better by the time I went to bed.

And this morning? Well, the cheese weariness is gone and I feel pretty damn peachy. But I still have to pee like a mo-fo. Might be because I've already downed a 9 ounce bottle of water, plus whatever was in the cup of coffee I had earlier. :)

So yeah, I've had my hit of coffee. And I have different cheese on my sandwiches, and its not Monday anymore, and I plan on drinking more water* so I should be right as rain today. At least that's the plan. :)

* but maybe not quite 64 ounces. Sheesh! Hopefully there's a lot of ounces of water in my sandwich to make up for it.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Oooh, I almost forgot to post for 50 Word Fiction Friday!

Revenge of the Dust Bunnies

Granpappy never did housework, being the strict dustarian that he was. He didn't believe in killing innocent dust bunnies, thinking they were harmless. He didn't know they'd multiply like real bunnies. And form labor unions. The Dust Bunnies of Local 37 evicted him seven years after his last dusting massacre.

The Theme: This week it was the H word (i.e. housework).

The Inspiration: Well, I started writing about housework and being easily distracted from housework and oooh look a shiny penny... but what I came up with wasn't very good. And it ended in death, which was how last week's 50 Word Fiction Friday submission ended. I didn't want there to be a running theme of death in my stories so I broke the cycle before I could even begin. Well, there is the mention of dust bunny deaths, and dusting massacres, and well... at least I didn't kill off another old guy! Sheesh.

So anyways, the first two drafts weren't working so I ditched them and went with Plan B. Which I made up on the spot since I didn't have a Plan B. I started thinking about the different aspects of a dirty house (something I am more than familiar with). As soon as I thought about dust bunnies the piece just seemed to write itself. :) Yay for dust bunny inspiration!

Tonight at the Roxy: Mr. Zucchini and the Gutter Minds!

The Mega Boss: drops off a bag of zucchini (that was grown in her very own garden) on the counter of the cubicle next to mine.

Everyone passing by: ohhs and ahhs at the ginormous zucchini.

One lady even giggled.

"It's HUGE!" *giggle* "I gotta take 'dis one home!" *giggle* "What you thinking? Huh? What you thinking? You dirty minded." *giggle*

I wasn't thinking anything dirty until you made a big deal out of it, dumbass. But now that you mention it, that zucchini is rather *ahem* well endowed. It will love you looooooong time.

An hour later...

Across the Room Coworker asks: Have you grabbed a zucchini yet?

What I said: Uh... not in awhile, no.

Quality of answer?

Jury verdict: Not funny.

What I should have said: Not since the restraining order.

Ba-dum-bum *ching*

Ha! Now that would have been funny. Why couldn't I think of that answer right away? Why did it take me a couple of minutes? My brain always works this way. Grrrrrrr!

I hope someone else asks me that question. I'm ready with the funny now. Bring it on beyotches! Bring. It. ON!

Last night's phone conversation with my mom.

My mom called me yesterday as she was driving home from work to tell me she enjoyed the email I'd sent her. The email was mostly a combination of the two earthquake posts I wrote yesterday, minus the in-the-moment f-bombs, plus a bit more elaboration on all the shaking going on's and such. I think I even compared the length of the earthquake to that of the Energizer Bunny's stamina - a not-so-funny exaggeration, but I threw it in there nonetheless. And she still found my email amusing!

She even went so far as to say I had, and I quote, "'such a way with words.'"

Aren't moms super?

She said the email made her laugh, and that made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She said she laughed loud enough that someone walking by her office wondered what all the commotion was about. And I wasn't even trying to be that amusing.

We then went on to talk about the earthquakes we've felt in the past. One of the scariest ones she ever experienced was while she was working on the third floor of an office building, right next to a floor to ceiling glass wall. She said it felt, as she looked out the huge window as the building started to sway, like she was actually falling to the ground! Eek!

Then my mom drove past my dad, who likes to walk to and from work (why didn't I inherit that need to walk miles every day?) and she commented on how particularly cute he looked with his hair all wind blown. She mentioned how cute he looked at leastI three times (and how cute is that?) then we talked about a bunch of other things.

Before we hung up, Mom mentioned again how much she enjoyed my email. I blushed, again, still feeling high from the rush of the warm fuzzy glow I got when she said this at the beginning of the conversation.

For a moment, I wondered if maybe she was just being nice. Maybe she thought that I was trying to be funny, and maybe she thought that I failed miserably at it. So maybe she just wanted to say something nice so my feelings weren't hurt.

But then I thought, naaahh. I don't think she'd go out of her way to lie about something like that. Once, when I was a youngling, I wanted her opinion about a couple of poems I'd written. I love my mom and all, but she wasn't any bloody help. She said she had no idea how to write poetry, that she didn't know what was good and what wasn't, so she couldn't be any help to me. Which, in hindsight, is really a bunch of smelly bullpucky. I don't know how to paint masterpieces, but I can still give an opinion on them! She probably read them, thought they were horrible, but didn't want to lie to me and say they were good. So she opted for not saying anything at all. Maybe.

So would she say that something I wrote wasn't any good? Probably, if I asked her honest opinion about it. But would she go out of her way to say something was good without any prompting, if it wasn't? I doubt it.

So she probably really thought my email was funny. Ahhh... there's that warm fuzzy glow again. :)

Thursday, June 16, 2005

More earthquake talk

"Witnesses said the quake wasn't strong at the outset but quickly grew in strength. Yeah it did. Bastard laid low at first, lulling us into a false sense of security, letting us think it was just a little rumble and then WHAMMO, it was time to think about ducking under the desk and hoping The Company hadn't scrimped too much and bought the cheap shit.

Well, it wasn't quite that big of a jolt. I only thought about desk ducking for a second. Maybe two seconds. Four at the most!

And you know what? I didn't know there was a 5.2 earthquake in Riverside County (which is right next door to me) this past weekend! And today there's a 5.3 in San Bernadino County (which is right friggen next door to me too!)? Holy crap I gotta get out of So Cal before the big one hits!

A coworker just asked an out-of-state visitor if he felt the earthquake. The visitor mumbled something - I believe it was along the lines of thanking us for putting on quite an interesting form of entertainment for him. Coworker chuckles appropriately.

Then the coworker mentions that there was an earthquake that happened around here on Sunday. Then he mentions the one that shook the ground up north, the one that caused an actual tsunami warning. The coworker pauses dramatically, letting the imminent scariness of it all sink in. Then he says, rather matter-of-factly, "The Big One's coming."

And I'm thinking, well no shit Captain Obvious. Of course its coming! It's just not coming anytime soon. Well, it could, I guess. I could happen tomorrow. It could happen a thousand years from now. But the Big One is most definitely coming.

"Heh," the visitor chuckles slightly, which probably translates to 'you silly Californian nut job'. "Is it really?"

Silly non-california guy just doesn't understand. :)

"Oh yes," the coworker says in all seriousness. "The Big One is coming." And he says it like he believes its coming TOMORROW.

I don't know about that, but I'm sure another 5-er will strike around here soon. Maybe even... dun dun DUN... TOMORROW!


I just gotta say, this earthquake felt really cool. Kinda scary, but still really cool. Especially since I wasn't bonked on the head from falling debris (of course.) :)

So enjoyable, but still, every time someone slams a door or stomps off down the hall - and there's a lot of people stressing out today so therefore much frustrated stomping - there's the slightest bit of rumbling that echoes across the floor and oh my goodness its getting on my nerves! Every time the floor starts to shake I think 'earthquake!' Good thing I'm leaving work in a few minutes.


Biggest fucking earthquake I've ever felt in my fucking life.

I'm up on the second floor, where the floor shakes just from someone walking arcross it. And this earthquake shook the ever lovin' shit out it. Windows were rattling like crazy and... daaaaaamn.

It kept going too. At one point I thought I might have to run for cover. Then I thought, nah, it'll stop soon. That's when an extra powerful jolt hit and I nearly jumped out of my seat.

Everyone's freaking out.

Holy crap the floor is shaking again!

Lots of little aftershocks going on...

Ground is still fucking shaking!

Updated to add...
Well no wonder the building (and my nerves) rattled like it did. The earthquake I just felt had a magnitude of 5.3, centered about thirty miles north east of here!

To all you visitors and new comers to Sunny Southern California (of which there are several in my building today), welcome! :)

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Son of a crap nugget!

I just realized I forgot to clock in after lunch. &#%@*!%

They never used to enforce it here, the clocking in and out for lunch. Which was nice, since we only get a half hour for lunch. You can't do anything in a half hour! Except, of course, eat your bag lunch, which I haven't been bringing lately. D'oh! But if you want to actually leave the facility and go anywhere? That's pretty much out of the question (for us lowly non-salary minions, that is). There are three fast food places around here, and an AM/PM, so there's enough time to drive there and drive immediately back. We're in a warehouse district so any sort of restaurant variety you might want is found a fifteen minute drive away, via freeway. That's plain bupkiss (sp?) folks!

I never abused the thirty minute time frame. Much. Sometimes I'd come back to my desk five, ten... oh all right, sometimes (re: rarely) even twenty minutes late. But sometimes I eat lunch at my desk. So it all worked itself out in the end. And you know what? Sometimes it was nice to go across the street with some coworkers and sit and chat and bitch about work and take our sweet time walking back. But we spent time talking about work (via bitching, but still!) so it was like we'd never left.

Then somebody, too many somebody's, had to go and abuse the freedom in a highly noticeable way and ruin it for the rest of us.


Today I'm eating lunch at my desk. I clocked out, grabbed a snack from Mr. Vending Machine, and came back up to my desk. And like the naughty little girl that I am I started checking my non-work-related-email. And I saw that my mommy sent me an email with a link to a news article about an Indian rape victim who is being forced by village elders to "marry" her rapist, her father-in-law. I just had to read it, which I did. Afterwards I wanted to bitch slap those stupid village elders for believing something so asinine and it just so ticked me off that I couldn't think straight and so I dove back into my work and... and... yeah, a half hour after I should have clocked back in I realized I hadn't clocked back in. D'oh! That's twice now I've forgotten the after lunch punch in. Twice since they started enforcing it a week and a day ago. Oops.

We're supposed to fill out a sheet and submit it to our time keeper person so that it's all nice and documented with our reason for the time punch discrepancy.

Reason for Discrepancy: uh... brain fart?

So damn, I have to remember to grab one of those tomorrow on my way upstairs. Missing a time punch should be a write-up, some sort of 'occurrence' that gets documented in our disciplinary folder. But I don't think they're quite enforcing that yet. At least not in my group. At least I hope not. Eek!

Another addition to the ever increasing What To Buy Me For Xmas Because I Sure As Hell Will Never Get Around To Buying It list


I would never spend $20 buck for a stupid razor. Even one that vibrates. *gasp*

I'm just not that kind of gal.

But I am the kind of gal that would use her boyfriend's Mach3 Power Nitro razor (the guy version of the Vibrance). You know, just to check it out and stuff. To see if it shaves as well as the HB claims it does. That's me, just a curious little shaver bee. :)

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Tuesday is Chooseday

Would you rather...

1. have the eyes of a fly OR the arms of a squid?

Nothing says sexy like squid arms bay-bee!

2. speak like you were in a shakespeare play OR speak like yoda?

Yoda talks like a moron. I love the dude, but seriously, he sounds like a moron. And a highly annoying one at that. It never used to bother me so much until the latest three episodes came out. (Damn you George!)

I'd much rather talk the crazy old English talk. It sounds more romantic than yoda-speak.

3. be bitten by 300 mosquitos OR getting 50 paper cuts and soaking in a tub of lemon juice?

300 mosquito bites. I got bitten by mosquitoes while I was at my uncle's lake house. Mostly on the last night I was there, too. When I got home, I counted 14 bites on just one half of one leg. Those mother effers itched like evil lil' sumbitchs!!! It was so bad I it woke me up in the middle of the night with an insane itchiness! Little bastards.

But with mosquito bites, even 300, you can soak in a tub of ice. That will make you feel a wee bit better.

Soaking in a tub of lemon juice with 50 paper cuts will feel a whole hell of a lot worse.

CAUTION: don't read the next question unless you want to be grossed out.


No, seriously. I mean it.


All righty then... you have been warned.


4. drink the pus from your friend's infected toe OR lick their hemorrhoids?

This is just too gross for me to think about. Ewwwwwwwwwwwww.

But damn. I read it. Now I can't help but think about it.


So... uh... I'd...


I'd go for Option A thankyouverymuchg'night!

This just in...

Work sucks.

And long meetings where everyone complains about how bad everything is and how nothing works right?

Sucks big fat turtle turds!!!

And now back to some regularly scheduled crap...

Monday, June 13, 2005

2 (out of the many) reasons why I love My Boyfriend

1) He cooks me breakfast in the morning and 2) he does it naked.


The HB didn't have to work last night and had a class early this morning so we were actually able to go to sleep together and wake up together (I hate it when I have to get up and he gets to sleep in.) While I couldn't play Supreme Ruler Over All Of Mattress Land and sprawl across the whole bed, as I've grown accustomed to doing while he works nights, it was nice to get some quality snuggle time in. Waking up together was especially nice because he occasionally likes to cook breakfast on weekdays and I usually don't bother. So today I had a home cooked breakfast. Yah!

When I got out of the shower I heard him messing around in the kitchen but I didn't get my hopes up that food was being cooked. He could have been scavenging for any number of miscellaneous items crammed in our kitchen junk drawers. But as I was throwing on clothes I began to smell food, so I went to investigate.

"Are you cooking breakfast?!" I whisper-yelled in giddy anticipation.

"You know that guy that calls himself the Naked Chef?" the HB answers in response. "He's a poser."

"A poser, huh?"

As I round the corner and step into the kitchen he exclaims, "I'm the real naked chef!"

And indeed he was. Cooking bacon no less! That boyfriend of mine, he's so brave!


I took over bacon duties while he took a quick shower and let me tell you something: cooking bacon while naked, or even semi naked (I hadn't put my shirt on yet) is freaking dangerous! The bacon was ornery this morning and threw a hot greasy spit ball at me. Mother Effin Son of an Ouch! It's like some kind of sadistic Murphy's Law: When you have a shirt on, nothing happens (hot-ornery-grease-ball-wise). When you go without a shirt, you get zapped in a million places. I still have a red dot on my hand from the second spit ball. Stupid home cooked breakfast. Phooey!

But damn, did it taste gooooood.

Friday, June 10, 2005


Step Right Up And See Carl The Amazing Couch Potato!

Kids pay good cash to see Carl Connors, the crotchety old coot who croaked on his couch. One day Carl's boredom peaked until he couldn't even be bothered to breath. Death by chronic ennui. Now he is stuffed and mounted on his couch for all the paying public to see.

This week's theme is ennui. I thought I'd come up with something better than I did, since I'm doing some extremely mind numbing work right now and I'm bored out of my gourds! I started and quickly abandoned three other stories that just plain sucked. Well, okay, two sucked, the other sort of turned out to be anti-ennui. And with each story I was stuck on using as many words as possible that started with same letter. Or, with the first sentence of the above story, same sounding letters. Yes folks, the alphabet can be fun! I almost gave up on this story because I was quickly bored with it, but I decided I might as well finish it so I could be bored with something else. Like typing this paragraph. Bor-ing. Blah.

I need a stimulant.



A fierce game of dodgeball where I run for my life while my peers try and bean me to death with big rubber balls?

Maybe a good laugh. Yeah, that would do the trick.

Because laughter is, after all, like a Chicken Soup Enema For The Soul™.

If I had a place for spiffy new t-shirt's in my budget...

... I'd buy this shirt from Because seriously, Tom Cruise isn't too stable right now.

Free Katie!

I'd also buy this Who's Your Spy Daddy tee. And a few other t's from glarkware.


Maybe some day...

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Fun with google!

Stolen from Miss Zoot.

Go to google and click on the "Images" link. Type in the following and post the first (or your favorite) picture the search engine finds.

The name of the town where you grew up.

- I hesitate to post this picture, since it is a picture of 'the enemy' (i.e. hometown high school rival) but its better than a picture of a stupid bus stop sign, which was the first pic. There's a really cute picture of my mom in one of these getups somewhere in my parent's house, and if I didn't fear disownment (which, really, at this point is pretty much just a house with extremely ugly green shag carpeting, so no big loss there) I'd post that picture here for all the world to see. Because my mommy was cute! No, I mean is cute. IS cute!

The name of the town where you live now.

- This isn't a picture of where I live, but isn't it pretty? It's so green! I think it's a picture of Scottish farmland, so this is, possibly, a place where some of my ancestors used to live.

Your name.

Your grandmother's name.

- This past weekend I was admiring the purse my aunt had made for my grandma. It had the names she goes by written all around the outside of the purse. Kathy. Mom. Grandma. Wife. M-I-L. etc. Also had name Peanut on there. Peanut? I've known my grandma for 26 years and I've never heard that name before! I was going to ask where the nickname came from (hubby? girlfriends? her kids? childhood pals?) but everyone was too busy saying their goodbyes and helping grandma into the truck so she could be driven back to the airport. I didn't have the chance then, and quickly forgot about it later. But now I'm curious again. Peanut?

Your favorite food, drink, song, smell.

- None of these are really hard core definite favorites. It's too hard to pick just one, so I picked whichever popped into my head first. They're good picks though, because I'd be happy as a fly at a shit farm if right now I had me some fresh, hot french fries, a glass of ice cold dr. pepper, Kermit singing in the background about lovers and dreamers and rainbows, and a little air freshener that smells like soap. That'd would be sweeeeeet. And, actually, I think I can manage all but the soap smell. Time to go on a ff/dr. p run!

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Me vs. Darth PaperTowelDispenser

Downstairs, they have these crude devices, these paper towel dispensers that you have to crank by hand.

By hand!

But upstairs, we have fancy schmancy Automated Touchless Paper Dispensers. They are awesome.

Well, they are when they're working.

When I first relocated to the all important Upstairs, and encounter my first Automated Touchless Paper Dispenser in the ladies restroom, I was much impressed. All I had to do was wave my hand in front of the little sensor and voila - instant paper dispensing! I was immediately filled with self importance and knew I'd finally hit the big time.

My second encounter with the ATPD did not run so smoothly. I moved my hand in front of the sensor but nothing happened. I waved again. Still nothing. Wave. Nothing. Wave, wave, frantic waving. Nothing, nothing, nothing. The ATPD was taunting me.

I stood there, waving and shaking my hands about like a mad woman for a good thirty seconds. My hands were almost completely air dried by the time the stupid thing finally spit out my allotment of paper.

Sure, I could have just wiped my hands on my pants and that would have been that, but I was not going to let the Dispenser get the best of me. I would be triumphant! And, eventually, I was. I think it was my thinly veiled threat to start shaking my ass at it and really show it who was boss that brought the paper dispenser to its senses. Take that stupid paper dispenser! Smack!

I've been Upstairs for a while now, and have mastered the art of Automated Touchless Paper Dispensing. I no longer have problems with it. (Well, sometimes I do, but they're just minor scuffles, nothing like the previously mentioned incident.)

Today, when I needed a paper towel, I did a little 'Jedi-Mind-Trick' hand wave. You know, with my pointer and middle finger pointing out together, traveling in a little rainbow arch.

These are not the droids you are looking for.

You will dispense 12 inches of paper towel.

'Cuz I be geeky cool like dat.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Just another manic tuesday that's really my monday because I was still on vacation yesterday and oh my gawd I can't believe I'm back at work already.

Sheesh. I come back from vacation and all of a sudden there's a massive, mad-scientist-manufactured-mutant-sized amount of work to be done! I can't even climb through the backlog of emails without people calling me for help, asking me questions, making me do some research that needs to be done now now NOW! Don't you people know I don't want to work today?!?!?!?

Silly me, I almost called in sick today.

Why didn't I? Because I knew there was a ton of work to do. And the thought of having to deal with it (the backlog), plus all the stuff in my calendar for today, all on Wednesday didn't sound appetizing. Plus, I'd feel bad. I know how the bosses and everyone else rolls their eyes and shakes their heads disapprovingly when someone calls in sick the day they're supposed to come back from vacation. I'd have felt guilty for lying.

Isn't that sad?

I guess I could have claimed an allergic reaction to bugs. Can't come into work today as the socks and shoes and pants are rubbing against my itchy mosquito bites and it hurts and is driving me FUCKING BAT SHIT CRAZY! That should be a good enough excuse, I think. I have at least 8 bites on each leg. Seriously. I probably have more but I stopped counting after the first few and started scratching the rest of them. And I swear, I practically doused myself in Fuck-Off-Bug-Off spray.*

* Names of actual insect repellents have been changed in order to protect the worthless pieces of crap.

More on that later. But first I need to go run a report for the boss's boss. All while trying not to fall asleep at my desk.

Step right up ladies and gentleman and see the Amazing Loonini juggle reports and emails and bug bites and people asking stupid questions that they can answer their own fucking selves if they just take one minute out of their precious schedules to look it up instead of wasting many minutes of the Amazing Loonini's time because they have to explain what the problem is because the Amazing Loonini has no fucking idea what the hell is going on because she's been gone for four days... *deep breath* ... see her do all this, all while sleep walking!

Ahhh... it's good to be back. :)