The Friday Five
You have just won one million dollars:
1. Who do you call first?
The HB. Unless he's there with me when I win, then I'd call my mommy.
2. What is the first thing you buy for yourself?
The very first thing? Once the money is safe and sound and thoroughly verified of its residency in my bank account, I'd probably buy myself a ridiculously expensive bottle of champagne and an outrageously expensive fancy dinner. And I'd invite a close-knit group of family and friends. And dinner would be on me! And if they're nice, I'll buy another bottle of champagne for them all to share. That first bottle is all mine!
The first big item I'd buy would be a new car. One that doesn't look like a granny car. One that has spunk. And a hybrid engine. Yeah. That'd be awesome.
3. What is the first thing you buy for someone else?
After the dinner...
My first thought was I'd buy the HB his dream car, but the car is not just his dream, it's a goal he's reaching for. I can't just buy his goal for him - he wants to earn it. But maybe he doesn't necessarily feel the need to earn the motorcycle he's been jonsing for over the last couple of years.
But... I don't really want him to have a motorcycle. The last time he owned one some crazy driver ran him and a friend off the road. His bike was totaled, but luckily he walked away with only a bit of road burn. So a motorcycle? Eh... maybe not.
Okay. I'd buy him whatever fancy paintball accessory he wants. That shit can get expensive, but if I had a million dollars it would no longer matter.
Then I'd buy something for my parents. Like new carpeting!!! Since my parents don't have kids at home to spend money on anymore they're re-vamping the house. And apparently they're leaving the ugly green and black shag carpeting (that for some reason was cool back when the house was built) for the very end. Bleagh.
4. Do you give any away? If yes, to whom?
Yes. I'd give some to charities. I don't know which ones exactly. I'd do a lot of research first and find out which ones would utilize my hard won money the best. Mainly though, I'd give money to causes that mean a lot to my family and friends.
I'd also give money to my old high school and elementary school. I'd love to be an 'anonymous benefactor' giving the kids money for stuff like special school trips.
5. Do you invest any? If so, how?
Hell yes! I'm investing lots of it. That way I can make lots and lots more. I need to make enough for me to give a lot away, spend a lot for the rest of my life (and I'm young with a lot of spending years still left in me), and still have enough so that my mom can take champagne baths everyday if she wanted to. Because that would be one of the perks of being my financial advisor, which my mom will be once I win my million (or more) dollars.
Now if I could just get this Barenaked Ladies song stuck out of my head...
Friday, January 30, 2004
fifty word fiction
| Advice
When I was growing up, Grandpa would always say to me, "Jason, never bring a one eyed hamster to a gopher fight." My reply was always, "Grandpa, my name isn't Jason." I thought Grandpa was crazy until I got into the underground rodent fighting scene. Thanks for the advice Grandpa! |
I'd like to dedicate this short piece of fiction to Spike, my dearly departed one-eyed hamster. He was one bad ass mo-fo.
This is my first submission to fifty word fiction. *crosses fingers in hope that the site is still taking submissions* It was fun to write, and a bit challenging to get it exactly fifty words. Hopefully I get inspired again with an idea I can condense into fifty words. :) Until then though... I think might work on an old hamster story I'd started a long time ago... about a certain hamster detective named Spike... hmmm... *can feel creative hamster wheel in brain start to spin*
Thursday, January 29, 2004
the spanish flea is a little bit country, i'm a little bit rock n roll
Mr. Nice doesn't have any arms or hands. But that doesn't stop him from dancing. Do you want to see him dance? Go on. See him dance.
I found the link to Mr. Nice here while I was trying to find Homer Simpson's version of Spanish Flea, which I finally found here. Yay! My day can now officially start. :)
There was a little spanish flea
A record star he thought he'd be
He heard of singers like Beetles
and The Chipmunks he'd seen on TV
Why not a little spanish flea?
I found the link to Mr. Nice here while I was trying to find Homer Simpson's version of Spanish Flea, which I finally found here. Yay! My day can now officially start. :)
There was a little spanish flea
A record star he thought he'd be
He heard of singers like Beetles
and The Chipmunks he'd seen on TV
Why not a little spanish flea?
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
how much is that doggie in the mirror? arf! arf!
So I was on a treadmill this afternoon. Go me! It was an interesting, and surprisingly not-that-unpleasant experience. The level of unpleasantness was largely due in part to the wussy walking speed I set the machine at. But hey, it was my first time on a treadmill! I wanted to take it easy. Test the waters. Make sure the equipment was safe. Safe as in it wouldn't suddenly explode on me. Reasonable, no? I thought so.
I've worked out in gyms before but have never set foot on a treadmill. I've ridden bikes and climbed stair steppers, but have never milled the tread. So I was a little hesitant at first. I didn't want to just jump on a treadmill and pretend like I knew what I was doing. That would be a sure fire way to have the Exercise Gods punish by way of an embarrassing injury.
Curious George: "What happened to your forehead? Is that rug burn?"
Me: "No. It's uh... *ahem* treadmill burn."
I didn't know what to expect so I expected the worst. You know, like a clumsy feat of tripping over my own feet, spraining/breaking/twisting something, pushing the wrong button and setting the building on fire, decapitation... Anyway, the actual exercise part was fine. Fun even, in that lovely endorphin-induced-euphoria sort of way.
What I didn't like about the experience were the mirrors. See, there's a mini gym at our apartment complex and the HB and I figured we might as well take advantage of it. There's enough room for two treadmills and two cross trainers, side by side, up against one wall. Then there's a small jungle gym of weights and benches in the middle of the room. And that's it. It's a very small gym. But it works for me. The HB would rather get a gym membership where the equipment is better, but to that idea I say 'feh!' The gym here is good enough. Plus with the money we're forking over for rent, I can't afford a gym membership. So the gym here is really good enough.
So anyway... we walk into the 'gym' and I get on the treadmill while the HB gets on the crosstrainer next to me. Our backs are to the rest of the room. And in front of us? A lovely wall of mirror.
I know some people like to watch themselves as they work out. I don't. I don't need to be reminded of what I'm trying to loose. Trust me. I know its there, standing in the exit line, trying to find a taxi to take it some place it's actually wanted, but there are no taxis in sight...
Where was I? Oh. Mirrors. Yeah, so I'm doing my walking thing, and there's a big fucking mirror in front of me. Sure, after I walk my way into becoming a Sexy Mutha Fucka, I wouldn't mind ogling myself while I sweat. But right now? No. I don't want to. So I studied my treadmill readouts and watched as the lights wound around the 'track' to show my progress. That held my attention for a few minutes. Then I was kindly distracted by the guy coming in to workout on the jungle gym behind me. I was wishing at that point that I hadn't worn my ratty 'oh my goodness I think my ass hangs out of these shorts' shorts.
A few minutes of that sort of paranoia goes a long way at killing time. So the next thing I knew I only had two minutes left programmed of my walk. I spent one of those minutes talking with the HB, who was already done. I could have walked a bit more, but since I think we're going to make this an every day thing, I figured it would be a good idea to build up some stamina. Start off slow and build from there. Plus, the minute or so I had left could be used walking back to our apartment. So I pushed the stop button, picked up my walkman, turned around, and when I started to walk off the treadmill I started to seriously trip out. It felt like the treadmill was still moving, going in reverse actually, and IT FELT LIKE I WAS GOING TO SLIDE RIGHT OFF!!! It was major trippy dudes and dudettes. At the end of my treadmill walk, I was wondering way the speed had started to decrease. I guess it's to get your legs readjusted to the real world of non moving walkways. Man, that shit seriously messes with your equilibrium. I tried to walk straight, but it was like trying really hard to act sober when you're so drunk you’re just a room-spinning minute away from passing out. I'm sure I looked really silly trying really hard to stand up straight on wobbly jell-o like legs. Right in front of the HB and some other gym guy. Go me!
I felt my bad knee start to act up a little bit during my walk, but I was careful and it never gave me any problems, so all and all it was good experience. And I'll be back tomorrow, walking with my walkman, strutting my stuff to the tune of my favorite Spice Girls tunes. Though I think I might bring a poster and some scotch tape so I have something more pleasant to stare at. It's such a small room, I ran out of things to stare at after awhile. Maybe I should talk the HB into lifting some weights on the jungle gym. Then I could stare at his ass for a bit. That's a pretty good plan if I do say so myself.
I've worked out in gyms before but have never set foot on a treadmill. I've ridden bikes and climbed stair steppers, but have never milled the tread. So I was a little hesitant at first. I didn't want to just jump on a treadmill and pretend like I knew what I was doing. That would be a sure fire way to have the Exercise Gods punish by way of an embarrassing injury.
Curious George: "What happened to your forehead? Is that rug burn?"
Me: "No. It's uh... *ahem* treadmill burn."
I didn't know what to expect so I expected the worst. You know, like a clumsy feat of tripping over my own feet, spraining/breaking/twisting something, pushing the wrong button and setting the building on fire, decapitation... Anyway, the actual exercise part was fine. Fun even, in that lovely endorphin-induced-euphoria sort of way.
What I didn't like about the experience were the mirrors. See, there's a mini gym at our apartment complex and the HB and I figured we might as well take advantage of it. There's enough room for two treadmills and two cross trainers, side by side, up against one wall. Then there's a small jungle gym of weights and benches in the middle of the room. And that's it. It's a very small gym. But it works for me. The HB would rather get a gym membership where the equipment is better, but to that idea I say 'feh!' The gym here is good enough. Plus with the money we're forking over for rent, I can't afford a gym membership. So the gym here is really good enough.
So anyway... we walk into the 'gym' and I get on the treadmill while the HB gets on the crosstrainer next to me. Our backs are to the rest of the room. And in front of us? A lovely wall of mirror.
I know some people like to watch themselves as they work out. I don't. I don't need to be reminded of what I'm trying to loose. Trust me. I know its there, standing in the exit line, trying to find a taxi to take it some place it's actually wanted, but there are no taxis in sight...
Where was I? Oh. Mirrors. Yeah, so I'm doing my walking thing, and there's a big fucking mirror in front of me. Sure, after I walk my way into becoming a Sexy Mutha Fucka, I wouldn't mind ogling myself while I sweat. But right now? No. I don't want to. So I studied my treadmill readouts and watched as the lights wound around the 'track' to show my progress. That held my attention for a few minutes. Then I was kindly distracted by the guy coming in to workout on the jungle gym behind me. I was wishing at that point that I hadn't worn my ratty 'oh my goodness I think my ass hangs out of these shorts' shorts.
A few minutes of that sort of paranoia goes a long way at killing time. So the next thing I knew I only had two minutes left programmed of my walk. I spent one of those minutes talking with the HB, who was already done. I could have walked a bit more, but since I think we're going to make this an every day thing, I figured it would be a good idea to build up some stamina. Start off slow and build from there. Plus, the minute or so I had left could be used walking back to our apartment. So I pushed the stop button, picked up my walkman, turned around, and when I started to walk off the treadmill I started to seriously trip out. It felt like the treadmill was still moving, going in reverse actually, and IT FELT LIKE I WAS GOING TO SLIDE RIGHT OFF!!! It was major trippy dudes and dudettes. At the end of my treadmill walk, I was wondering way the speed had started to decrease. I guess it's to get your legs readjusted to the real world of non moving walkways. Man, that shit seriously messes with your equilibrium. I tried to walk straight, but it was like trying really hard to act sober when you're so drunk you’re just a room-spinning minute away from passing out. I'm sure I looked really silly trying really hard to stand up straight on wobbly jell-o like legs. Right in front of the HB and some other gym guy. Go me!
I felt my bad knee start to act up a little bit during my walk, but I was careful and it never gave me any problems, so all and all it was good experience. And I'll be back tomorrow, walking with my walkman, strutting my stuff to the tune of my favorite Spice Girls tunes. Though I think I might bring a poster and some scotch tape so I have something more pleasant to stare at. It's such a small room, I ran out of things to stare at after awhile. Maybe I should talk the HB into lifting some weights on the jungle gym. Then I could stare at his ass for a bit. That's a pretty good plan if I do say so myself.
i'm nuts for almonds!
for lunch today i shared a bag of Pop Secret kettle corn with my officemates. it was quite yummy. Paul The Professional Microwave Popcorn Popper did an excellent job of preparing the meal. he knew the precise amount of time the microwave should be programmed for to achieve maximum poppage and minimum burnage. "It's a tricky science," he says. and i says 'kudos to you Mr. Popcorn Man!"
for desert i'm eating a tiny handful of almonds. (no, not all at once. i'm a one-nut-at-a-time kind of gal.) these almonds are quite yummy. except for the one that just tried to choke me. a little piece of almond chewed almond decided to hit, and stick to, the Cough Button at the back of my throat. even after chugging a bottle of water and getting rid of the almond i'm still coughing. evil little bastard. but still... they are quite yummy. think i'll go snag a few more.
wanna see some ten second animations? go to Itching Hands. i wish i could draw something like that. even the bloody 'heads being ripped off' ones. :)
there's no more Bennifer. so be on the lookout for news of Benda.
and now, just because it is wednesday, here are some really lame jokes for you that i found on a couple Wonka Laffy Taffy wrappers. you may now commence with either the laughing out loud or the rolling of the eyes and groaning. your pick.
Why does a chicken coop have only two doors?
If it had four doors we'd have to call it a chicken sedan.
What were Tarzan's last words?
Who greased the vine?
What's the difference between an inlaw and an outlaw?
An outlaw is wanted.
Where do you get dragon milk?
From a cow with short legs.
(get it? took me a while.)
What do you call a chicken crossing the road?
Poultry in motion.
This senseless post was brought to you by the number eh and the letter wheeeeeeee!
for desert i'm eating a tiny handful of almonds. (no, not all at once. i'm a one-nut-at-a-time kind of gal.) these almonds are quite yummy. except for the one that just tried to choke me. a little piece of almond chewed almond decided to hit, and stick to, the Cough Button at the back of my throat. even after chugging a bottle of water and getting rid of the almond i'm still coughing. evil little bastard. but still... they are quite yummy. think i'll go snag a few more.
wanna see some ten second animations? go to Itching Hands. i wish i could draw something like that. even the bloody 'heads being ripped off' ones. :)
there's no more Bennifer. so be on the lookout for news of Benda.
and now, just because it is wednesday, here are some really lame jokes for you that i found on a couple Wonka Laffy Taffy wrappers. you may now commence with either the laughing out loud or the rolling of the eyes and groaning. your pick.
Why does a chicken coop have only two doors?
If it had four doors we'd have to call it a chicken sedan.
What were Tarzan's last words?
Who greased the vine?
What's the difference between an inlaw and an outlaw?
An outlaw is wanted.
Where do you get dragon milk?
From a cow with short legs.
(get it? took me a while.)
What do you call a chicken crossing the road?
Poultry in motion.
This senseless post was brought to you by the number eh and the letter wheeeeeeee!
I'd like an order of Super Sauce please
I want to get my own web domain. My own little personal web space that is my very own. I would love it and hug it and squeeze it and call it George. Then I could get my own fancy shmancy web address that people would want to link to just because it is that cool. And I would put all kinds of things on my website. Super cool things. Of course I'd make an exception for this blog and include it too. And I'd be able to upload pictures easier and post them on my blog to share them with the loony blog-viewing public. And I'd be able to upload and offer up songs for the faithful readers as well. And it would be awesome.
I've wanted my own domain for a while now. I'll probably be wanting one for a bit longer. Several bits even. Because what if I suddenly get really really really busy and stop playing on the internet one day? I will have wasted all that money buying myself my little 'net acre. What if I suddenly loose all my money and can't shell out the money to renew my web contracts? Then I won't be able to bring joy to the masses via internet, and the people will be so disappointed. I couldn't do that to my peeps, just leaving 'em cold like that, could I? Though, to be honest, the real reason I haven't done it yet is because I'm a procrastinator and haven't had time to research things. But maybe one day I will. And the people will rejoice! At least the voices in my head will. And its always a good thing to please the voices.
What made me think for the zillionth time 'gee I wish I had my own non-blogspot site' was Super Chicken. The Super Chicken theme song actually. Super Chicken was before my time, so I don't remember the cartoon very much, but it wasn't before Paul's time. Paul, the guy whose desk is right next to mine, looooves Super Chicken. He started to play the Super Chicken theme song on his computer for me today as soon as I stepped into the office. It's like a miracle cure for grumpiness - it's just that cute. Not that I was grumpy when I walked in this morning, but it was 6 am and I was at work. Those aren't the greatest conditions for smiles and cartwheels and spontaneous releases of joy. But just one hit of the Super Chicken theme song and I was smiling like a fool.
Paul gave me a disk with the song on it - Woo! - and I thought to myself, 'wow, I wish I could upload this song to my blog and let everyone here it.' Then I realized I didn't have a database to do that. Darn it.
But then my super genius brain decided to see if I could find it on the 'net. And I did. So, if you want to listen to the Super Chicken theme song (and I highly recommend it) click here. More sounds, and sound formats, can be found here. Paul and I also love the Super Chicken Charge.
I've wanted my own domain for a while now. I'll probably be wanting one for a bit longer. Several bits even. Because what if I suddenly get really really really busy and stop playing on the internet one day? I will have wasted all that money buying myself my little 'net acre. What if I suddenly loose all my money and can't shell out the money to renew my web contracts? Then I won't be able to bring joy to the masses via internet, and the people will be so disappointed. I couldn't do that to my peeps, just leaving 'em cold like that, could I? Though, to be honest, the real reason I haven't done it yet is because I'm a procrastinator and haven't had time to research things. But maybe one day I will. And the people will rejoice! At least the voices in my head will. And its always a good thing to please the voices.
What made me think for the zillionth time 'gee I wish I had my own non-blogspot site' was Super Chicken. The Super Chicken theme song actually. Super Chicken was before my time, so I don't remember the cartoon very much, but it wasn't before Paul's time. Paul, the guy whose desk is right next to mine, looooves Super Chicken. He started to play the Super Chicken theme song on his computer for me today as soon as I stepped into the office. It's like a miracle cure for grumpiness - it's just that cute. Not that I was grumpy when I walked in this morning, but it was 6 am and I was at work. Those aren't the greatest conditions for smiles and cartwheels and spontaneous releases of joy. But just one hit of the Super Chicken theme song and I was smiling like a fool.
Paul gave me a disk with the song on it - Woo! - and I thought to myself, 'wow, I wish I could upload this song to my blog and let everyone here it.' Then I realized I didn't have a database to do that. Darn it.
But then my super genius brain decided to see if I could find it on the 'net. And I did. So, if you want to listen to the Super Chicken theme song (and I highly recommend it) click here. More sounds, and sound formats, can be found here. Paul and I also love the Super Chicken Charge.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
I Am Princess. Hear Me Ring My Servant's Bell.
Mr. BigBossMan comes into the office a while ago. There's no one here to bug except for me. Not even my immediate boss, Mr. BigBossMan's right hand gopher lackey boy. This upsets Mr. BigBossMan so. I can tell. He wishes he were a cartoon so steam could shoot out of his ears. That way his minions would know how much this upsets him, this not being exactly where he wants them to be the second he wants them. Mr. BigBossMan plays it cool, but I'm on to him. Oh yes I am.
Mr. BBM: do you know where Lackey Boy is?
Me: I have no idea.
Mr. BBM: Hmmm...
Mr. BBM: *stands there for a few seconds - maybe looking to make sure no one's hiding from him under a desk*
Mr. BBM: *pictures how boss-like he'd look with steam coming out ears*
Mr. BBM: ...Why don't I just call him on his cell?
Me: *realizes this is rhetorical question and does not need to be answered with 'because you don't want to harass your employees anymore than you have already this morning'*
Mr. BBM: *whips out phone and dials Lackey Boy's cell phone number* [pause] Hey there Studly.
Studly? He called him Studly??? Is he trying to be funny? Or flattering? I feel as though I've missed a particularly interesting memo.
There used to be two Lackey Boys working here. And they used to whisper sweet nothings into the phone when talking to each other, making you think they were talking to their wives, then they'd say 'Okay. Talk to you later [Insert Male Coworker Name Here]' and hang up. And that was funny. At least the first couple of times they did it. Is Mr. BigBossMan trying to hone in on that friendly playful vibe? If he is, it isn't working out to well.
Studly?
*shudder*
I don't know if that's better than what one of the supervisors called me yesterday. I was helping him clear out some records in the computer software system we use. He gets distracted by one of the other supervisors, then returns his attention back to me. And he says, "Now where were we princess?"
Princess? That weirded me out a bit. Not in a 'he's so pervy' kind of way. It's just that that's something he should be calling his daughter. Not a coworker. Maybe its because I'm so much younger than him. And maybe it's partly a language barrier thing. Still, it made me feel like I should be wearing a shiny dress with a poofy skirt and a tiara. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing... its just not an outfit I can wear to work. Bummer that. ::sigh::
Hmm... I wonder... next time the company wants to pretend like they're promoting me to a new position, one with more work and responsibilities sans the pay increase, they'll have to come up with a new job title. I wonder if I can squeeze the word princess in there. Office Princess. Has a nice ring to it.
Mr. BBM: do you know where Lackey Boy is?
Me: I have no idea.
Mr. BBM: Hmmm...
Mr. BBM: *stands there for a few seconds - maybe looking to make sure no one's hiding from him under a desk*
Mr. BBM: *pictures how boss-like he'd look with steam coming out ears*
Mr. BBM: ...Why don't I just call him on his cell?
Me: *realizes this is rhetorical question and does not need to be answered with 'because you don't want to harass your employees anymore than you have already this morning'*
Mr. BBM: *whips out phone and dials Lackey Boy's cell phone number* [pause] Hey there Studly.
Studly? He called him Studly??? Is he trying to be funny? Or flattering? I feel as though I've missed a particularly interesting memo.
There used to be two Lackey Boys working here. And they used to whisper sweet nothings into the phone when talking to each other, making you think they were talking to their wives, then they'd say 'Okay. Talk to you later [Insert Male Coworker Name Here]' and hang up. And that was funny. At least the first couple of times they did it. Is Mr. BigBossMan trying to hone in on that friendly playful vibe? If he is, it isn't working out to well.
Studly?
*shudder*
I don't know if that's better than what one of the supervisors called me yesterday. I was helping him clear out some records in the computer software system we use. He gets distracted by one of the other supervisors, then returns his attention back to me. And he says, "Now where were we princess?"
Princess? That weirded me out a bit. Not in a 'he's so pervy' kind of way. It's just that that's something he should be calling his daughter. Not a coworker. Maybe its because I'm so much younger than him. And maybe it's partly a language barrier thing. Still, it made me feel like I should be wearing a shiny dress with a poofy skirt and a tiara. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing... its just not an outfit I can wear to work. Bummer that. ::sigh::
Hmm... I wonder... next time the company wants to pretend like they're promoting me to a new position, one with more work and responsibilities sans the pay increase, they'll have to come up with a new job title. I wonder if I can squeeze the word princess in there. Office Princess. Has a nice ring to it.
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