I don't know what I'd do without great friends.
An e-mail sent by one such "friend" today after I expressed much stress over my impending 70,000 word writing spree:
****
I understand that part of the process for you is to give yourself a heart attack thinking about all the work you have to do, meanwhile procrastinating until the very end when you HAVE to do the work, so I'm not too worried about you yet.
Perhaps don't break it down into a word count -- you're just begging for trouble. A 200 page book is relatively short. And just think of all the edits and rewrites you'll have to go through. Man, you are going to pull all of your hair out by the time the book is on the stands. Isn't it fun to be a published author?
I hope you don't have a stroke at the age of 28 (right, man you're old), before your book is published, it would be so very sad. But maybe if it were published posthumously then sales would skyrocket and your parents would get rich and go on even more cruises, but this time they could afford the biggest cabin on the ship. And maybe they would take me with them. And then after I go to your funeral and make a big scene by crying and bemoaning your short life, I will be asked to write a story about being your friend, which will reach the bestseller list and I'll become rich and famous and send pretty flowers to your grave every year.
It's a win-win, really.
****
Everyone's a comedian.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Things
So then.
About the book.
And the writing of it.
It has to be 70,000 words.
That’s a lot of words. A really lot.
Perhaps I should get to writing them?
But first!
I received an e-mail update today alerting me to the theater coming to San Francisco this year. I love being so close to SF, cause I can go there and see decent theater all the time. And a lot of times shows hit SF before they go to Broadway, so it’s like a sneak preview. For instance: We knew on this coast that Lestat sucked monkey balls long before it opened on Broadway.
Anywho. I got the list of plays and musicals coming to SF this year and some of them will be heading to Broadway after stopping here. You know Broadway. The one with all the talent and culture and history and slightly self-important tone? Yeah, that one. On that very Broadway next year:
Really? Has it come to this? Has the stupidity of a majority of America really seeped into Broadway? Well, I know that “seeped” might be the wrong word, cause with shows like “Footloose” and “Movin’ Out” on the Great White Way obviously the bar has been lowered a little bit as far as class goes. But still. Legally Blonde? What are people doing? Come on. Does this seem right to anyone? Please. God. Don’t let them turn “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days” into a musical. I promise to never ask for anything again.
Edward Scissorhands is also a little out there as far as theater choices, but it’s a Tim Burton movie, and it’s quirkiness just may translate well to the stage. But if we are looking for old movies to turn into Broadway shows, might I recommend the entire Molly Ringwald collection? Hell you could probably even get Molly herself to be in them, she’s not doing anything except trying to find what’s left of her career.
All this that I just wrote? 329 words. Yeah. And I don’t even think my publisher will let me use it. She just doesn’t get my art.
About the book.
And the writing of it.
It has to be 70,000 words.
That’s a lot of words. A really lot.
Perhaps I should get to writing them?
But first!
I received an e-mail update today alerting me to the theater coming to San Francisco this year. I love being so close to SF, cause I can go there and see decent theater all the time. And a lot of times shows hit SF before they go to Broadway, so it’s like a sneak preview. For instance: We knew on this coast that Lestat sucked monkey balls long before it opened on Broadway.
Anywho. I got the list of plays and musicals coming to SF this year and some of them will be heading to Broadway after stopping here. You know Broadway. The one with all the talent and culture and history and slightly self-important tone? Yeah, that one. On that very Broadway next year:
Really? Has it come to this? Has the stupidity of a majority of America really seeped into Broadway? Well, I know that “seeped” might be the wrong word, cause with shows like “Footloose” and “Movin’ Out” on the Great White Way obviously the bar has been lowered a little bit as far as class goes. But still. Legally Blonde? What are people doing? Come on. Does this seem right to anyone? Please. God. Don’t let them turn “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days” into a musical. I promise to never ask for anything again.
Edward Scissorhands is also a little out there as far as theater choices, but it’s a Tim Burton movie, and it’s quirkiness just may translate well to the stage. But if we are looking for old movies to turn into Broadway shows, might I recommend the entire Molly Ringwald collection? Hell you could probably even get Molly herself to be in them, she’s not doing anything except trying to find what’s left of her career.
All this that I just wrote? 329 words. Yeah. And I don’t even think my publisher will let me use it. She just doesn’t get my art.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Good News, Bad News
So have some good news. And I have some bad news. Neither of them involve a ceramic dog, so I doubt that y’all will really care about either, but I’ll discuss them anyways.
Good News: I sold a book.
Bad News: I have yet to finish writing the book.
Good News: I sold a book.
News: It is about running.
Bad News: That means I should probably start running.
So then. There you go. It is all very exciting. Except the whole “have to write a book and run around in circles” part. But other than that, smashing.
Didja guys know I was trying to get a book published? I can’t remember if I mentioned it. Probably not, as listing all the things I’m trying to do could get a bit tedious. But one of the many things I was trying to do was get a book published. Well, first I was trying to get a book proposal written. Then I was trying to get an agent. THEN I was trying to get a book published. Or, well, the agent was trying to get it published I guess. I was just trying not to laugh at said agent’s positive outlook for my future as a published author.
But she did it, she sold it. To prove me wrong, I think. I really wish more people who do great things for me, just to prove me wrong. Life would be a lot easier.
So now I have two months to finish writing the book. Does it seem weird to anyone else that I took like a year to write the damn book proposal and I’m only going to take two months to write the actual book? Compared to the damn book proposal the book will be a sinch. No stats, no research, no trying to make myself sound publish-worthy. With the book I get to just be a smartass for 200 pages. Finally the job I’ve been waiting my whole life for.
But about those 200 pages...
That’s a lot of pages. That I have to finish in two months. While still doing the 238934 jobs that I have. Sleep is overrated anyways.
I really don’t have to write the entire book (anyone interested in ghostwriting?) cause I’ve got a good portion of it done already, so it’s more or less going to be a process of editing and rewriting and seeing how big they will let the font be (to make it more pages). The good news is that the book is meant to be interactive in some areas. I will be including journal pages at the back of the book, so that my reader (my mom) can journal their own running experiences. So you know, if I’m running short on witty and informative information, I could always just make the last 125 pages journal pages. That could work, right?
As for the content of the book, it’s about running. More specifically ME running. And that is what turns it into a humor book. It’s about my ill-advised foray into marathon training awhile back. I kept very detailed records of every muscle ache and lost kneecap and have rolled them all together to form a book. Someone call Oprah, cause I’m gonna be hitting the press circuit come January, and I think if ever there was a woman who could appreciate my hatred of running, it would be Oprah. Of course I might have to cut that section about my drug rehab...
So then, since I’m going to be on Oprah talking about running, I suppose I should get in shape. Oh dear lord. It’s not so much that I’m out of shape, it’s just that I’m, uh, rusty. Nothing like an impending photoshoot for your book jacket to make you think about possibly getting un-rusty. So by December of this year I’ll be in awesome shape, ready to sell my book and myself and probably land a daytime talk show. A girl’s got to dream. And so do you. And you should really write all your dreams down. Can I interest you in a journal (plus three pages of stuff I wrote)?
Good News: I sold a book.
Bad News: I have yet to finish writing the book.
Good News: I sold a book.
News: It is about running.
Bad News: That means I should probably start running.
So then. There you go. It is all very exciting. Except the whole “have to write a book and run around in circles” part. But other than that, smashing.
Didja guys know I was trying to get a book published? I can’t remember if I mentioned it. Probably not, as listing all the things I’m trying to do could get a bit tedious. But one of the many things I was trying to do was get a book published. Well, first I was trying to get a book proposal written. Then I was trying to get an agent. THEN I was trying to get a book published. Or, well, the agent was trying to get it published I guess. I was just trying not to laugh at said agent’s positive outlook for my future as a published author.
But she did it, she sold it. To prove me wrong, I think. I really wish more people who do great things for me, just to prove me wrong. Life would be a lot easier.
So now I have two months to finish writing the book. Does it seem weird to anyone else that I took like a year to write the damn book proposal and I’m only going to take two months to write the actual book? Compared to the damn book proposal the book will be a sinch. No stats, no research, no trying to make myself sound publish-worthy. With the book I get to just be a smartass for 200 pages. Finally the job I’ve been waiting my whole life for.
But about those 200 pages...
That’s a lot of pages. That I have to finish in two months. While still doing the 238934 jobs that I have. Sleep is overrated anyways.
I really don’t have to write the entire book (anyone interested in ghostwriting?) cause I’ve got a good portion of it done already, so it’s more or less going to be a process of editing and rewriting and seeing how big they will let the font be (to make it more pages). The good news is that the book is meant to be interactive in some areas. I will be including journal pages at the back of the book, so that my reader (my mom) can journal their own running experiences. So you know, if I’m running short on witty and informative information, I could always just make the last 125 pages journal pages. That could work, right?
As for the content of the book, it’s about running. More specifically ME running. And that is what turns it into a humor book. It’s about my ill-advised foray into marathon training awhile back. I kept very detailed records of every muscle ache and lost kneecap and have rolled them all together to form a book. Someone call Oprah, cause I’m gonna be hitting the press circuit come January, and I think if ever there was a woman who could appreciate my hatred of running, it would be Oprah. Of course I might have to cut that section about my drug rehab...
So then, since I’m going to be on Oprah talking about running, I suppose I should get in shape. Oh dear lord. It’s not so much that I’m out of shape, it’s just that I’m, uh, rusty. Nothing like an impending photoshoot for your book jacket to make you think about possibly getting un-rusty. So by December of this year I’ll be in awesome shape, ready to sell my book and myself and probably land a daytime talk show. A girl’s got to dream. And so do you. And you should really write all your dreams down. Can I interest you in a journal (plus three pages of stuff I wrote)?
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Random Pictures
Is it bad that I’m still sore two days after playing soccer? I need to get my laundry out of the dryer right now. But uh, the dryer is downstairs, and uh, that would require me to somehow get down the stairs. And then probably back up there stairs. And well, who needs clothes really? Or stairs. Or bendable legs.
Since I’m still sore I will post random pictures today instead of coming up with anything remotely engaging to write about.
These pictures are in no way related, other than the fact that I turned on my digital camera and there they all were. Man do I love digital cameras. Without them we’d miss pictures like these:
Never does it cease to amaze me when I see a HOUSE driving down the freeway. That and those talking chickens on the Foster Farms commercials. Always make me smile. Something about seeing a house driving down the freeway always amuses me so. I think it might be because it’s only half the house driving down the road, as if someone was a little short on their mortgage this month and the bank came by to pick up what they were owed. I remember one time I saw a house broken down on the side of the freeway. Man did that make me laugh. Someone got screwed by their real estate agent. Sure it’s 3000 square fee, but it’s all about location people.
This is my friend. He’s Jewish. I love his shirt.
How the hell did I forget to post this picture? I just don’t know. I do apologize for making you guys wait to see this piece of art. Can I just tell you that it is considerably more difficult to put bunny ears on a real dog than a fake dog? Real dogs aren’t really all that found of being dressed up. I know, shocking, isn’t it. But it ain’t a holiday until someone in the family is uncomfortable, right? This year it seems the dog drew the short straw.
Since I’m still sore I will post random pictures today instead of coming up with anything remotely engaging to write about.
These pictures are in no way related, other than the fact that I turned on my digital camera and there they all were. Man do I love digital cameras. Without them we’d miss pictures like these:
Never does it cease to amaze me when I see a HOUSE driving down the freeway. That and those talking chickens on the Foster Farms commercials. Always make me smile. Something about seeing a house driving down the freeway always amuses me so. I think it might be because it’s only half the house driving down the road, as if someone was a little short on their mortgage this month and the bank came by to pick up what they were owed. I remember one time I saw a house broken down on the side of the freeway. Man did that make me laugh. Someone got screwed by their real estate agent. Sure it’s 3000 square fee, but it’s all about location people.
This is my friend. He’s Jewish. I love his shirt.
How the hell did I forget to post this picture? I just don’t know. I do apologize for making you guys wait to see this piece of art. Can I just tell you that it is considerably more difficult to put bunny ears on a real dog than a fake dog? Real dogs aren’t really all that found of being dressed up. I know, shocking, isn’t it. But it ain’t a holiday until someone in the family is uncomfortable, right? This year it seems the dog drew the short straw.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Doing Nothing
Have you heard about David Blaine’s new thing? He’s gonna spend 7 days underwater. Or something. Man I love this guy. Do ya’ll know who Blaine is? He’s a magician. He can levitate and do awesome tricks and reattach severed chicken heads. But mostly he is famous for doing absolutely nothing. Cause why have a skill when you can get the media to cover you doing nothing? Did I mention how much I love this guy?
This is the guy that stood in ice for like a week a few years back. And then he followed that up by sitting in a box for a month or something. Oh, but before both of those I think he laid in a coffin for a few weeks in New York. And people go crazy for this guy. If I was as brilliant as Blaine I would have had the media surrounding my house a couple weeks ago when I was too sick to leave my room. I don’t know why I didn’t send out a press release announcing my plans to do nothing for days at a time. Apparently I could have been a big star.
I really don’t get this guy. He is an amazing magician who does these tricks that make your brain hurt, because you just can’t figure out how the hell he did them. He’s cute, he seems articulate, he seems to have passion about life. And yet his big claim to fame is seeing how many different places he can do nothing and get Entertainment Tonight to cover it.
This time out Blaine is going to do nothing under water for a week or so. And then, AND THEN!, he is going to take off his breathing mask thingy and he will try to break the world record for holding his breath under water. Apparently the record now stands at 8 minutes, 58 seconds. Seriously. People are out there trying to set records FOR HOLDING THEIR BREATH. People need to get new hobbies. Or new professions I guess, cause Blaine seems to be making quite a decent living off of all this nonsense. According to reports the magician has been undergoing a “grueling regimen in preparation for the big event”. Really? Is the dream of holding your breath for 9 minutes really worth going through anything “grueling”?
I just don’t get it. Of course who am I to talk? I spent 30 minutes of my life playing Tampon Bowling the other day, so obviously I’m not exactly setting an example for time well-spent. But still.
This is the guy that stood in ice for like a week a few years back. And then he followed that up by sitting in a box for a month or something. Oh, but before both of those I think he laid in a coffin for a few weeks in New York. And people go crazy for this guy. If I was as brilliant as Blaine I would have had the media surrounding my house a couple weeks ago when I was too sick to leave my room. I don’t know why I didn’t send out a press release announcing my plans to do nothing for days at a time. Apparently I could have been a big star.
I really don’t get this guy. He is an amazing magician who does these tricks that make your brain hurt, because you just can’t figure out how the hell he did them. He’s cute, he seems articulate, he seems to have passion about life. And yet his big claim to fame is seeing how many different places he can do nothing and get Entertainment Tonight to cover it.
This time out Blaine is going to do nothing under water for a week or so. And then, AND THEN!, he is going to take off his breathing mask thingy and he will try to break the world record for holding his breath under water. Apparently the record now stands at 8 minutes, 58 seconds. Seriously. People are out there trying to set records FOR HOLDING THEIR BREATH. People need to get new hobbies. Or new professions I guess, cause Blaine seems to be making quite a decent living off of all this nonsense. According to reports the magician has been undergoing a “grueling regimen in preparation for the big event”. Really? Is the dream of holding your breath for 9 minutes really worth going through anything “grueling”?
I just don’t get it. Of course who am I to talk? I spent 30 minutes of my life playing Tampon Bowling the other day, so obviously I’m not exactly setting an example for time well-spent. But still.
Rec Sports
**Note: I tried to post this last night, but Blogger is on crack and not working. Well, being on crack would imply that Blogger is moving quickly, and it is not. At all. Blogger is on downers, it seems.**
You know what’s fun? Pretending I’m still in my teens. Pretending that I can just not play sports for months and all of a sudden pick up and play a full soccer game without any consequences. That’s really fun. And by “fun” I mean “really a moronic idea”.
It is quite sad how old I am. And how sore I am right now. Good lord in heaven. Moving shouldn’t hurt this bad.
Today was my first soccer game in quite some time. It was also my first foray into movement for quite sometime. Deciding to make that movement an hour and a half long soccer game mere days after finally being freed of phlegm? Not the best idea ever.
It didn’t help that we had no female subs.
So my happy ass was sprinting up and down the field for an hour and a half. Well, actually, if we’re being honest here I was probably only sprinting that one time, about 10 minutes into the game. Back when I still believed that I was young and able to sprint. Following the inevitable reality check that sprint provided, I chose to slow the rest of my play down to moderate movement. Look, it wasn’t the best I’ve ever played, but we had no subs, so it was the best the team had at their disposal.
I had forgotten how many muscles I have in my legs. I remember them all now. Because I think I pulled every single one. I had to seriously consider sleeping downstairs tonight, just to avoid climbing the stairs in my home. They seemed like way too big a commitment considering my lack of walking abilities.
If only my soccer season went the same way as my softball season has been going, I wouldn’t be sore at all. My friends and I are signed up for the Friday night softball league. Because we have all decided that we are officially lame enough that scheduling softball on Friday night does not interrupt any of our social calendars. Besides, the only reason we play is for an excuse to eat food and drink beer afterwards. That sounds like a good Friday night to me. When we all became 45 years old, I do not know.
So the softball season started 4 weeks ago. In theory. In reality it has been raining Noah-style here for the past 246 weeks or something, so we haven’t actually played a game. This week we were finally looking at a real game, because it was Friday and the sun was out. It was a big day. Then the Softball Organizer called and said, “We have a new schedule, because the season has been rained out so far.” I said, “Fantastic”. She said, “And on the new schedule you have a bye this week.” I said, “Good, good. We weren’t quite up to game ready just yet. Another week of practice will do us good.”
See, this is the kind of rec sport I can get into. We sign up, pay money and don’t actually do anything. Good news is we are still in first place. Bad news is, it’s a 12-way tie for first, but still, I like our chances this year. Especially if the only thing I actually do for the team is call up all the guys and girls on the team every week and tell them that we’re not playing. I think this might be my best chance at excelling in rec sports. Cause lord knows if making phone calls was a rec sport I’d kick the crap out of the competition.
You know what’s fun? Pretending I’m still in my teens. Pretending that I can just not play sports for months and all of a sudden pick up and play a full soccer game without any consequences. That’s really fun. And by “fun” I mean “really a moronic idea”.
It is quite sad how old I am. And how sore I am right now. Good lord in heaven. Moving shouldn’t hurt this bad.
Today was my first soccer game in quite some time. It was also my first foray into movement for quite sometime. Deciding to make that movement an hour and a half long soccer game mere days after finally being freed of phlegm? Not the best idea ever.
It didn’t help that we had no female subs.
So my happy ass was sprinting up and down the field for an hour and a half. Well, actually, if we’re being honest here I was probably only sprinting that one time, about 10 minutes into the game. Back when I still believed that I was young and able to sprint. Following the inevitable reality check that sprint provided, I chose to slow the rest of my play down to moderate movement. Look, it wasn’t the best I’ve ever played, but we had no subs, so it was the best the team had at their disposal.
I had forgotten how many muscles I have in my legs. I remember them all now. Because I think I pulled every single one. I had to seriously consider sleeping downstairs tonight, just to avoid climbing the stairs in my home. They seemed like way too big a commitment considering my lack of walking abilities.
If only my soccer season went the same way as my softball season has been going, I wouldn’t be sore at all. My friends and I are signed up for the Friday night softball league. Because we have all decided that we are officially lame enough that scheduling softball on Friday night does not interrupt any of our social calendars. Besides, the only reason we play is for an excuse to eat food and drink beer afterwards. That sounds like a good Friday night to me. When we all became 45 years old, I do not know.
So the softball season started 4 weeks ago. In theory. In reality it has been raining Noah-style here for the past 246 weeks or something, so we haven’t actually played a game. This week we were finally looking at a real game, because it was Friday and the sun was out. It was a big day. Then the Softball Organizer called and said, “We have a new schedule, because the season has been rained out so far.” I said, “Fantastic”. She said, “And on the new schedule you have a bye this week.” I said, “Good, good. We weren’t quite up to game ready just yet. Another week of practice will do us good.”
See, this is the kind of rec sport I can get into. We sign up, pay money and don’t actually do anything. Good news is we are still in first place. Bad news is, it’s a 12-way tie for first, but still, I like our chances this year. Especially if the only thing I actually do for the team is call up all the guys and girls on the team every week and tell them that we’re not playing. I think this might be my best chance at excelling in rec sports. Cause lord knows if making phone calls was a rec sport I’d kick the crap out of the competition.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Who Knew Tampons Were So Much Fun?
Let's stay on the tampon thing, shall we? We shall. I just went to the Dittie Tampon site: www.dittie.com Someone. Please tell me what is going on.
1. There is music. It sounds vaguely like soft porn.
2. There is a section whose heading actually reads, "Where have your Ditties been?" (http://www.dittie.com/on_the_road.php) Please do not answer that. And for the love of crap, do not send in pictures, as they are requesting you to do.
3. I was trying to find some pull quotes from this section (http://www.dittie.com/barbara.php), but the whole damn thing is a pull quote. It's ridiculous. "Dittie is dedicated to kicking taboos to the curb by creating a network of girls and women who are proud to buy, wear and share their Ditties." Proud? To buy tampons? Is this an accomplishment of some sort? I guess buying tampons means that you officially survived PMS, which is probably more of an accomplishment of those around you.
4. There are images for your desktop. Whyyyy?
5. "Dittie is serious about making your period more fun." So they have a tampon bowling page. http://www.dittie.com/bowling/index.htm I'm sorry. That is just where I draw the line. WHY DOES MY PERIOD NEED TO BE MORE FUN?!!!! And how exactly is internet tampon bowling helping me? I just don't know. All it is really doing is annoying me, because I can't seem to knock down any of the tampons. I think I'm distracted by how extremely large the tampons would have to be in order to really play tampon bowling. They do not look fun.
I'm so going to the store and buying some of these, don't worry dear readers, I'm looking out for you. After we all get done reading them and laughing and hugging and high-fiving and probably taking some Midol we'll line the tampons up for a quick game of bowling.
God I wish I could have my period all the time, this is so much fun.
1. There is music. It sounds vaguely like soft porn.
2. There is a section whose heading actually reads, "Where have your Ditties been?" (http://www.dittie.com/on_the_road.php) Please do not answer that. And for the love of crap, do not send in pictures, as they are requesting you to do.
3. I was trying to find some pull quotes from this section (http://www.dittie.com/barbara.php), but the whole damn thing is a pull quote. It's ridiculous. "Dittie is dedicated to kicking taboos to the curb by creating a network of girls and women who are proud to buy, wear and share their Ditties." Proud? To buy tampons? Is this an accomplishment of some sort? I guess buying tampons means that you officially survived PMS, which is probably more of an accomplishment of those around you.
4. There are images for your desktop. Whyyyy?
5. "Dittie is serious about making your period more fun." So they have a tampon bowling page. http://www.dittie.com/bowling/index.htm I'm sorry. That is just where I draw the line. WHY DOES MY PERIOD NEED TO BE MORE FUN?!!!! And how exactly is internet tampon bowling helping me? I just don't know. All it is really doing is annoying me, because I can't seem to knock down any of the tampons. I think I'm distracted by how extremely large the tampons would have to be in order to really play tampon bowling. They do not look fun.
I'm so going to the store and buying some of these, don't worry dear readers, I'm looking out for you. After we all get done reading them and laughing and hugging and high-fiving and probably taking some Midol we'll line the tampons up for a quick game of bowling.
God I wish I could have my period all the time, this is so much fun.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
WTF
I was at the store today and I saw these:
They are tampons. With messages on them. WTF? Can you see on the boxes? They say "With sassy messages!" and "Mood-lifting messages inside!" WTF? Really? Really.
I was in the store on the cell phone (I can’t imagine why I have $350 phone bills, as I can’t even tampon shop without talking on the phone) and I interrupted a business call (with a man) to say, "Look, I’m sorry, but I have to tell you what I’m looking at right now. I’m staring at tampons that have sassy messages written on them." The person on the other end of the line said, "You mean like fortune cookies?" I said, "Well, I don’t know where you put your fortune cookies, but..."
Can I just tell you how continually amazed I am by the store? I mean, that might be because I go so infrequently that it is like a whole new place every time. But still, I think it might also have to do with the complete abundance of STUFF we as Americans feel that we need. And it’s not even the STUFF so much as the DIFFERENT BRANDS of STUFF. Tampons for instance. Do I need an entire 5 shelves of tampon choices? Do I really? Do we really need people making up NEW tampons? And do they need to have messages on them? Good god. Are we that hungry for constant entertainment that even our tampons have to be sassy? Come on. What is going on? And am I right in my observation that these seem to be marketed towards African American women? Do African American women need their own tampon? Are they feeling left out? Do their whooha’s need catch-phrases? I don’t know.
All I know for sure is that if you’re looking for attention go ahead and take out your digital camera in the middle of the tampon aisle. Then start snapping photos.
They are tampons. With messages on them. WTF? Can you see on the boxes? They say "With sassy messages!" and "Mood-lifting messages inside!" WTF? Really? Really.
I was in the store on the cell phone (I can’t imagine why I have $350 phone bills, as I can’t even tampon shop without talking on the phone) and I interrupted a business call (with a man) to say, "Look, I’m sorry, but I have to tell you what I’m looking at right now. I’m staring at tampons that have sassy messages written on them." The person on the other end of the line said, "You mean like fortune cookies?" I said, "Well, I don’t know where you put your fortune cookies, but..."
Can I just tell you how continually amazed I am by the store? I mean, that might be because I go so infrequently that it is like a whole new place every time. But still, I think it might also have to do with the complete abundance of STUFF we as Americans feel that we need. And it’s not even the STUFF so much as the DIFFERENT BRANDS of STUFF. Tampons for instance. Do I need an entire 5 shelves of tampon choices? Do I really? Do we really need people making up NEW tampons? And do they need to have messages on them? Good god. Are we that hungry for constant entertainment that even our tampons have to be sassy? Come on. What is going on? And am I right in my observation that these seem to be marketed towards African American women? Do African American women need their own tampon? Are they feeling left out? Do their whooha’s need catch-phrases? I don’t know.
All I know for sure is that if you’re looking for attention go ahead and take out your digital camera in the middle of the tampon aisle. Then start snapping photos.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Big Day
Today was a very big day. Not only was is the first day in a week that I’ve felt not completely sick, but overall it was just a big day.
First of all I returned home this morning after a meeting and saw a shiny object on the ground near where I park. I got out of the car and went closer to it. It was the faceplate to my stereo. So turns out the criminals who broke into my car officially stole absolutely nothing. I did lose $150 on replacing the window, but unless they are part of an elaborate business-generating scheme for mobile glass services I don’t see how the criminals really benefitted from breaking into my car. People really need to get hobbies if they’ve got nothing to do besides trash cars. And they need to pick cars that aren’t already trashed inside, cause trashing my car was hardly an accomplishment.
Another big thing today? Tax Day!! Very exciting indeed. Never one to procrastinate I dropped off my taxes at the bright and early time of 7:30 p.m. today. The post office was open till like 9, so I was really getting a jump on things this year. Come to find out - I’m not the only one to put off taxes. As I approached the post office it looked like there was construction going on, all the cars were stopped, lights blinking, cops pointing in different directions. Then I got closer and realized that all the people in this line were paying their taxes at 7:30 pm on tax day. God Bless America. And God Bless the Post Office People who were standing in the middle of the damn road smiling and taking our taxes. But God Extra Bless the one man standing on the sidewalk holding a sign that read “Abolish the IRS”. Really. I love this man. With all the things going on in the world, all the things to try to fight against, he made a sign, walked out to the post office and stood there in hopes of abolishing the IRS. Look for it on the national news. I’m sure he’s going to set off a firestorm of publicity with his efforts.
That whole “not talking on my phone as much” thing? Yeah. Didn’t go so well today. My phone actually died. Just died cause I had talked to much on it. It just gave up. Coincidentally my voice met a similar fate. Today was the first day my voice has been back, but after talking all day the voice has scurried away again. I called my mom tonight and when she answered I said, “Are you in bed yet?” And she said, “Who is this? You have the wrong number.” Then she hung up on me. Then I called back and she said, “What number are you calling?” And I said her number, then she said, “Well, you got that number, who are you trying to reach?” I said her name. She said, “Well, you got her. Who is this?” I said, “Your daughter.” I might need to rest the voice as she thought I was the 98 year old woman who calls once a week after dialing the wrong number.
When I returned home from work late tonight I saw an animal lurking in the shadows. I literally said outloud, “Please be a cat. Please be a cat. Please be a cat.” It wasn’t a cat. It was a racoon. Which is a lot better than a possum. Cause if it was a possum I’d still be outside, hiding in my car. BUT the point of the story is that the racoon was the size of a medium sized dog. And now I wonder if perhaps cussing out my neighbors for walking their pooping dogs in my parking area might have been a bit off-target. Hmmm.
Dog owners wouldn’t be the type to vandalize a car, would they?
First of all I returned home this morning after a meeting and saw a shiny object on the ground near where I park. I got out of the car and went closer to it. It was the faceplate to my stereo. So turns out the criminals who broke into my car officially stole absolutely nothing. I did lose $150 on replacing the window, but unless they are part of an elaborate business-generating scheme for mobile glass services I don’t see how the criminals really benefitted from breaking into my car. People really need to get hobbies if they’ve got nothing to do besides trash cars. And they need to pick cars that aren’t already trashed inside, cause trashing my car was hardly an accomplishment.
Another big thing today? Tax Day!! Very exciting indeed. Never one to procrastinate I dropped off my taxes at the bright and early time of 7:30 p.m. today. The post office was open till like 9, so I was really getting a jump on things this year. Come to find out - I’m not the only one to put off taxes. As I approached the post office it looked like there was construction going on, all the cars were stopped, lights blinking, cops pointing in different directions. Then I got closer and realized that all the people in this line were paying their taxes at 7:30 pm on tax day. God Bless America. And God Bless the Post Office People who were standing in the middle of the damn road smiling and taking our taxes. But God Extra Bless the one man standing on the sidewalk holding a sign that read “Abolish the IRS”. Really. I love this man. With all the things going on in the world, all the things to try to fight against, he made a sign, walked out to the post office and stood there in hopes of abolishing the IRS. Look for it on the national news. I’m sure he’s going to set off a firestorm of publicity with his efforts.
That whole “not talking on my phone as much” thing? Yeah. Didn’t go so well today. My phone actually died. Just died cause I had talked to much on it. It just gave up. Coincidentally my voice met a similar fate. Today was the first day my voice has been back, but after talking all day the voice has scurried away again. I called my mom tonight and when she answered I said, “Are you in bed yet?” And she said, “Who is this? You have the wrong number.” Then she hung up on me. Then I called back and she said, “What number are you calling?” And I said her number, then she said, “Well, you got that number, who are you trying to reach?” I said her name. She said, “Well, you got her. Who is this?” I said, “Your daughter.” I might need to rest the voice as she thought I was the 98 year old woman who calls once a week after dialing the wrong number.
When I returned home from work late tonight I saw an animal lurking in the shadows. I literally said outloud, “Please be a cat. Please be a cat. Please be a cat.” It wasn’t a cat. It was a racoon. Which is a lot better than a possum. Cause if it was a possum I’d still be outside, hiding in my car. BUT the point of the story is that the racoon was the size of a medium sized dog. And now I wonder if perhaps cussing out my neighbors for walking their pooping dogs in my parking area might have been a bit off-target. Hmmm.
Dog owners wouldn’t be the type to vandalize a car, would they?
Monday, April 17, 2006
Not Worth Stealing
You know what would be fun? To stop being sick. Really. It’s just not cute anymore. Breathing through my nose? Would be fun. Being able to speak without sounding like a 13 year old boy going through puberty? Would be fabulous. Life without phlegm? A girl can dream. (A girl can also spend like 5 minutes online trying to figure out how the hell to spell phlegm, cause HELLO “ph” = “f” and a silent “g”?! God, our language is ridiculous.)
In other frustrating news my car got broken into last night. A thief hoping to find my stash of Easter candy, I suppose. I came out this morning to find my door ajar and unlocked and I wondered if I had possibly gone out last night and got so drunk that I blacked out and drove home and didn’t even shut my door. But then I realized that I’m not nearly that much fun so I investigated a little closer and found that the inside of my car looked like someone had picked up the car, tipped it upside down, shook it for a few minutes then returned it to its original position. Oh, and then they had broken the window.
I got in the car and looked around, trying to think of anything that I had of value that might have been stolen. I immediately remembered that I had left my stereo face plate in the glove compartment last night (which I rarely do) and I hadn’t locked the glove compartment (I usually lock it when I put the stereo in the glove compartment. But I had repeatedly found myself already driving and realizing that I wanted to listen to the radio and I needed the key in the ignition to unlock the glove compartment. So I thought I’d just not lock the glove compartment and actually be able to access my radio.) Anywho, I knew that the face plate was gone, and I wasn’t too upset about it, as I’d intentionally picked a cheaper stereo because I figured it would inevitably get stolen.
Then a wave of panic came over me. I jumped out of the car and went to my back seat and looked under the driver’s side seat. Whew! My Easy Spirt shoe box of all my old tapes from Junior High were still there! Lucky break. Lucky break. Those bad boys are worth some CASH. Milli Vanilli? Paula Abdul? New Kids on the Block? Michael Bolton? Bobby Brown? Poison? Heavy D and the Boys? Vanilla Ice? Man did those criminals MISS OUT.
After I returned to the front seat and continued to rack my brain (and soak my ass (yes, it rained last night and no, the criminals couldn’t be bothered to shut any of my doors all the way.)). Then I realized that of all the crap I have in my car there is absolutely nothing that criminals would want. They didn’t take any of my CD’s (including my “Learn Spanish in the Car” series (that would have been “no bueno”....“not good.”.....“no bueno”). They didn’t want any of the stuff in my trunk (even Peter the inflatable Penis). The didn’t even want my porn sunglasses with a rhinestone heart on the bottom of one eye.
They did, however, seem very interested in my change compartment. Pennies everywhere. But sadly they didn’t get much because two weeks ago I left my purse at a friend’s house and didn’t realize it until I had already ordered and was up at the window of a fast food place. At that point I had to find $4.75 in change in my car. That pretty much wiped out any wealth in the coin area of my car.
I kinda feel bad for the people who broke into my car. It looks like it has a lot of stuff, but once you’re in you realize that there is nothing worth stealing really. Besides the face to a radio. Which I’m not sure is a great get. What exactly does one do with a face to a radio? Are those big on the black market?
Actually, they could sell it to me.
In other frustrating news my car got broken into last night. A thief hoping to find my stash of Easter candy, I suppose. I came out this morning to find my door ajar and unlocked and I wondered if I had possibly gone out last night and got so drunk that I blacked out and drove home and didn’t even shut my door. But then I realized that I’m not nearly that much fun so I investigated a little closer and found that the inside of my car looked like someone had picked up the car, tipped it upside down, shook it for a few minutes then returned it to its original position. Oh, and then they had broken the window.
I got in the car and looked around, trying to think of anything that I had of value that might have been stolen. I immediately remembered that I had left my stereo face plate in the glove compartment last night (which I rarely do) and I hadn’t locked the glove compartment (I usually lock it when I put the stereo in the glove compartment. But I had repeatedly found myself already driving and realizing that I wanted to listen to the radio and I needed the key in the ignition to unlock the glove compartment. So I thought I’d just not lock the glove compartment and actually be able to access my radio.) Anywho, I knew that the face plate was gone, and I wasn’t too upset about it, as I’d intentionally picked a cheaper stereo because I figured it would inevitably get stolen.
Then a wave of panic came over me. I jumped out of the car and went to my back seat and looked under the driver’s side seat. Whew! My Easy Spirt shoe box of all my old tapes from Junior High were still there! Lucky break. Lucky break. Those bad boys are worth some CASH. Milli Vanilli? Paula Abdul? New Kids on the Block? Michael Bolton? Bobby Brown? Poison? Heavy D and the Boys? Vanilla Ice? Man did those criminals MISS OUT.
After I returned to the front seat and continued to rack my brain (and soak my ass (yes, it rained last night and no, the criminals couldn’t be bothered to shut any of my doors all the way.)). Then I realized that of all the crap I have in my car there is absolutely nothing that criminals would want. They didn’t take any of my CD’s (including my “Learn Spanish in the Car” series (that would have been “no bueno”....“not good.”.....“no bueno”). They didn’t want any of the stuff in my trunk (even Peter the inflatable Penis). The didn’t even want my porn sunglasses with a rhinestone heart on the bottom of one eye.
They did, however, seem very interested in my change compartment. Pennies everywhere. But sadly they didn’t get much because two weeks ago I left my purse at a friend’s house and didn’t realize it until I had already ordered and was up at the window of a fast food place. At that point I had to find $4.75 in change in my car. That pretty much wiped out any wealth in the coin area of my car.
I kinda feel bad for the people who broke into my car. It looks like it has a lot of stuff, but once you’re in you realize that there is nothing worth stealing really. Besides the face to a radio. Which I’m not sure is a great get. What exactly does one do with a face to a radio? Are those big on the black market?
Actually, they could sell it to me.
Friday, April 14, 2006
2000 Minutes of Talking
I have problems. I got my phone bill yesterday. Who am I talking to? Really. I need to know. Cause I’m talking to them waaaaaay too much. Like 2000 minutes too much. Who talks for 2000 minutes? What could I possibly have to talk about for 2000 minutes? I can only surmise that I’m repeating myself, perhaps telling different people the same information. Because lord knows I do not have enough to say for 2000 minutes. If you do the math, that’s over a day of talking. I spent more than a day last month talking. Holy inevitable brain tumor Batman.
Today, because I am sick and everyone and they’re mother decided to call me (seriously, tell your mother to stop with the calls) I have lost my voice. It’s gone. Perhaps it is a sign. The phone bill came yesterday and my voice left today. It is on strike for being used too much. During peak calling times.
I was thinking maybe I need to start saving some of my calling for PM hours, because I have free nights and weekends. Then the nice help line lady told me that my Night Hours don’t start until 9 p-friggin-m. What the? That’s ridiculous. That’s past some people’s bedtime. Now granted, it’s my midday, but most normal people aren’t waiting to make calls till then. Of course, most normal people don’t need to wait until 9 pm to avoid going over their 1400 minute cell phone plan. Because most normal people don’t have problems, like me.
So I upped my plan to 2100 minutes. For an additional 20 dollars. The fact that I will be relieved to see a $115 phone bill is a sign that things have gone tremendously off course in my world. Something needs to be done. Maybe my voice won’t come back. That may help.
But then there’s always text messaging....
Today, because I am sick and everyone and they’re mother decided to call me (seriously, tell your mother to stop with the calls) I have lost my voice. It’s gone. Perhaps it is a sign. The phone bill came yesterday and my voice left today. It is on strike for being used too much. During peak calling times.
I was thinking maybe I need to start saving some of my calling for PM hours, because I have free nights and weekends. Then the nice help line lady told me that my Night Hours don’t start until 9 p-friggin-m. What the? That’s ridiculous. That’s past some people’s bedtime. Now granted, it’s my midday, but most normal people aren’t waiting to make calls till then. Of course, most normal people don’t need to wait until 9 pm to avoid going over their 1400 minute cell phone plan. Because most normal people don’t have problems, like me.
So I upped my plan to 2100 minutes. For an additional 20 dollars. The fact that I will be relieved to see a $115 phone bill is a sign that things have gone tremendously off course in my world. Something needs to be done. Maybe my voice won’t come back. That may help.
But then there’s always text messaging....
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Pictures Worth Words?
I’m still sick. And have not the energy to type anything worthwhile today. I feel like poo. And the fact that it has been raining here since oh, like 2003, is not helping matters. It’s gloomy. And everything is wet. And people are still walking their dogs back where I park my car. After I made it quite clear to one dog-walker that I was not sane and shouldn’t be pushed beyond the limitations of my meds. As soon as I get any energy back I am going to scoop up her watered down poo and put it on her doorstep. This may get the point across a little better than my attempts at verbal warning.
Because I am high on cold medicine, and left with no real thoughts as a result, I will give you two more pictures today instead of writing anything. I heart digital cameras.
This falls under the "Obvious" category, I’d say. "Product may become hot after heating"? Really? Shouldn’t it be followed by "If it doesn’t become hot, then you might want to revisit your definition of the word ‘heating’." How much do I love that some idiot burned himself with edamame beans and sued this company, so now there is a warning label on the package?
I took this picture in the grocery store. It is Seventh Generation toilet paper. Uhhh. I don’t know how I feel about using seventh generation toilet paper. I’m all about the environment, but I’m thinking that is one thing I only need to use once, thanks so much.
Because I am high on cold medicine, and left with no real thoughts as a result, I will give you two more pictures today instead of writing anything. I heart digital cameras.
This falls under the "Obvious" category, I’d say. "Product may become hot after heating"? Really? Shouldn’t it be followed by "If it doesn’t become hot, then you might want to revisit your definition of the word ‘heating’." How much do I love that some idiot burned himself with edamame beans and sued this company, so now there is a warning label on the package?
I took this picture in the grocery store. It is Seventh Generation toilet paper. Uhhh. I don’t know how I feel about using seventh generation toilet paper. I’m all about the environment, but I’m thinking that is one thing I only need to use once, thanks so much.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Why Salad is Bad for You
I am sick today. No bueno.
I could be sick because I was around two seperate people this weekend who were ill.
Or I could be sick because my Bag 'O Salad is killing me.
It looks fine and fresh and bilingual, but in actuality my Bag 'O Salad may be the cause of my demise. Don't worry, I captured the evidence on film, so that my survivors can sue.
First of all, isn't it kinda weird for the cheese packet to have an individual sticker on it announcing its expiration date? Isn't that the kind of thing that is usually put on the outside of the package? Are there people who are saving the cheese for later?
More bizarre than the sticker is the fact that I noticed that the sticker was on top of another sticker. This is the view of the other sticker from the back of the bag of cheese:
Here it is flipped so you can see why exactly I am being killed by my salad:
Best By Mar/14/06. Hmm. Does it seem shady to anyone else that first of all the expiration date has magically changed and second of all this cheese that was supposed to be eaten by March 14 is now being promoted as a-okay until MAY 13? That's TWO MONTHS DIFFERENCE. On the whole I'm thinking it is not a great idea to guesstimate on whether cheese is good or not.
So then. I'm sick. And I'm pretty sure the cheese did it to me. I don't know why bad cheese would cause me to have a head cold but mold is a tricky thing. I may have to get Erin Brockovich on the case.
I could be sick because I was around two seperate people this weekend who were ill.
Or I could be sick because my Bag 'O Salad is killing me.
It looks fine and fresh and bilingual, but in actuality my Bag 'O Salad may be the cause of my demise. Don't worry, I captured the evidence on film, so that my survivors can sue.
First of all, isn't it kinda weird for the cheese packet to have an individual sticker on it announcing its expiration date? Isn't that the kind of thing that is usually put on the outside of the package? Are there people who are saving the cheese for later?
More bizarre than the sticker is the fact that I noticed that the sticker was on top of another sticker. This is the view of the other sticker from the back of the bag of cheese:
Here it is flipped so you can see why exactly I am being killed by my salad:
Best By Mar/14/06. Hmm. Does it seem shady to anyone else that first of all the expiration date has magically changed and second of all this cheese that was supposed to be eaten by March 14 is now being promoted as a-okay until MAY 13? That's TWO MONTHS DIFFERENCE. On the whole I'm thinking it is not a great idea to guesstimate on whether cheese is good or not.
So then. I'm sick. And I'm pretty sure the cheese did it to me. I don't know why bad cheese would cause me to have a head cold but mold is a tricky thing. I may have to get Erin Brockovich on the case.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
My Roommate May Be Homicidal
It seems as though The Roommate may have been pushed over the edge by our power company. The other day I received an irate ALL CAPS text message going on and on about how she HATED SMUD (one of the two companies that bills us for electricity or gas or something to do with power). Seems as though the bill was a bit too high for her liking. Especially since our PG&E bill was just about the same price. All to live in a home that is always colder inside than it is outside. Lovely.
I ignored her text message, as I always do, because I do not have the patience or finger dexterity to correspond with people via text messages. When I got home this is what I found:
"This is an anti-SMUD home. Enter with caution if you are a SMUD supporter!!"
This is a board right by the front door and because of its location it is extremely difficult to write on the board in anything but handwriting that looks like a drunk 8 year old got ahold of a marker. But still, tell me this handwriting doesn't send off terror alerts.
Then I went to the kitchen and saw that she had written a little message to SMUD on the bill:
Dem’s fightin’ words. I’m thinking that this is a tremendously effective way of dealing with a major corporation. I’m pretty sure they will change all of their billing practices immediately upon receipt of our bill. It’s very Erin Brockovich of The Roommate, really.
I ignored her text message, as I always do, because I do not have the patience or finger dexterity to correspond with people via text messages. When I got home this is what I found:
"This is an anti-SMUD home. Enter with caution if you are a SMUD supporter!!"
This is a board right by the front door and because of its location it is extremely difficult to write on the board in anything but handwriting that looks like a drunk 8 year old got ahold of a marker. But still, tell me this handwriting doesn't send off terror alerts.
Then I went to the kitchen and saw that she had written a little message to SMUD on the bill:
Dem’s fightin’ words. I’m thinking that this is a tremendously effective way of dealing with a major corporation. I’m pretty sure they will change all of their billing practices immediately upon receipt of our bill. It’s very Erin Brockovich of The Roommate, really.
Monday, April 10, 2006
I Think I'm Bipolar
For some reason I'm getting US Weekly in the mail now. I don't know why. I did not order it. Much like the daily newspaper that has been appearing on my porch every morning, US Weekly just started showing up. The subscription gods are apparently blessing me. If you count the delivery of a huge paper I'm never going to read and a tabloid quality magazine as "blessed". I was reading my trashy US Weekly this week, catching up on all things pointless and completely unsubstantiated when I came across this ad:
The page before it said something about depression or something and had some lady staring into a mirror trying to figure out why the guy with the polaroid camera has been following her around.
Then you turn the page and you see the above ad saying that you might be bipolar if you have some of the symptoms that this lady has. Frankly I'm a little worried.
Symptom: Talking too fast.
Who doesn't talk too fast? Except for people in the south. Do you think this is a ploy by my cell phone company to get me to spend even more money? If I talk slower to prevent bipolar-ness then I will be on my damn phone even longer. But I'm sorry, how the hell is talking too fast a sign of being bipolar? If that's the case my friend Jen who averages 4 Go Girl Energy Drinks a day is crazy bipolar. She has been going on her manic phase for about 28 years. That's including womb time.
Symptom: Sleeping less.
That picture of the lady staring blankly into her computer is how I look about 15 hours a day...Sometimes I'm talking fast on the phone while staring into the computer.
Symptom: Buying things you don't need.
Hmph. I think that just with things found in the back of my car alone I could get a prescription for 8 different anti-depression meds.
Symptom: Racing Thoughts
So now I'm bipolar because I have a lot of thoughts? You know I'm thinking that if I just started smoking weed a lot of these things would be taken care of. I'd talk slow, I'd sleep a hell of a lot more and my thoughts would slow down so much they'd probably actually stop. But I would buy quite a few more bags of Cheetos than I needed, so I might have to take a few pills for that.
My favorite photo is the one on the second page in the upper right hand corner, where the chick is screaming into the phone. I don't think she looks bipolar, I think she looks like she is dealing with a voice-activated menu at some company that makes you go through eighteen menus before they transfer you to Pakistan to talk to someone who doesn't understand you or your problem. Yet another reason out-sourcing is bad. It leads to bipolar disorder.
One picture that makes me feel safe is the one on the top of the second page, the one with the lady cleaning. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever do I feel the need to clean. So I must not be bipolar. Phew.
What I love about this ad is that it's in US friggin' Weekly, the most pointless magazine on the face of the planet. Stuffed between a four-page spread on a girl Nick Lachey talked to at a 7-11 and 13 pages of Paris Hilton we get an ad for bipolar disorder. Really? Is this really the best magazine to advertise in? The whole point of US Weekly is to completely remove yourself from any sort of reality. This ad is such a buzzkill.
If I wanted to think about depression I'd put down US Weekly and pick up the actual newspaper. Or I'd call a help line.
The page before it said something about depression or something and had some lady staring into a mirror trying to figure out why the guy with the polaroid camera has been following her around.
Then you turn the page and you see the above ad saying that you might be bipolar if you have some of the symptoms that this lady has. Frankly I'm a little worried.
Symptom: Talking too fast.
Who doesn't talk too fast? Except for people in the south. Do you think this is a ploy by my cell phone company to get me to spend even more money? If I talk slower to prevent bipolar-ness then I will be on my damn phone even longer. But I'm sorry, how the hell is talking too fast a sign of being bipolar? If that's the case my friend Jen who averages 4 Go Girl Energy Drinks a day is crazy bipolar. She has been going on her manic phase for about 28 years. That's including womb time.
Symptom: Sleeping less.
That picture of the lady staring blankly into her computer is how I look about 15 hours a day...Sometimes I'm talking fast on the phone while staring into the computer.
Symptom: Buying things you don't need.
Hmph. I think that just with things found in the back of my car alone I could get a prescription for 8 different anti-depression meds.
Symptom: Racing Thoughts
So now I'm bipolar because I have a lot of thoughts? You know I'm thinking that if I just started smoking weed a lot of these things would be taken care of. I'd talk slow, I'd sleep a hell of a lot more and my thoughts would slow down so much they'd probably actually stop. But I would buy quite a few more bags of Cheetos than I needed, so I might have to take a few pills for that.
My favorite photo is the one on the second page in the upper right hand corner, where the chick is screaming into the phone. I don't think she looks bipolar, I think she looks like she is dealing with a voice-activated menu at some company that makes you go through eighteen menus before they transfer you to Pakistan to talk to someone who doesn't understand you or your problem. Yet another reason out-sourcing is bad. It leads to bipolar disorder.
One picture that makes me feel safe is the one on the top of the second page, the one with the lady cleaning. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever do I feel the need to clean. So I must not be bipolar. Phew.
What I love about this ad is that it's in US friggin' Weekly, the most pointless magazine on the face of the planet. Stuffed between a four-page spread on a girl Nick Lachey talked to at a 7-11 and 13 pages of Paris Hilton we get an ad for bipolar disorder. Really? Is this really the best magazine to advertise in? The whole point of US Weekly is to completely remove yourself from any sort of reality. This ad is such a buzzkill.
If I wanted to think about depression I'd put down US Weekly and pick up the actual newspaper. Or I'd call a help line.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
I Might Have Issues With Throwing Stuff Away
For your Friday entertainment I give you....
The Back of My Car.
As I've mentioned before, I tend to hold on to things that I really have no business keeping in my life. Basically I am easily entertained and also quite sentimental. This leads to pretty much everything in my life being kept for humor or heart's sake. For some reason over the years things have accumulated in the back of my car. I don't know why. It just seems that I throw things back there and they are destined to remain there for eternity.
When I went on vacation last year my mother had my car at her house for a week or so. Not being able to stand the chaos that was the back of my car she organized it for me, even added a cardboard box to keep things contained. So now the random stuff isn't messy, which makes it even less likely to draw my attention and therefore require me to reevaluate why it is I have kept all this crap.
One reason why I kept it? So that ya'll can be entertained by it.
These are the wings from my Halloween costume last year in which I was half devil half angel. And all the way loser for keeping these things. Probably even more loser for the fact that I've put them on since Halloween...
A bunch of balls. All of which are totally flat and useless. The top basketball was actually found on the side of the street one day when a ten-year old riding in my car screamed, "Look at the ball! All alone! Let's save it." And for some reason it seemed totally logical to save the abandoned ball on the side of a busy street.
This is left over from Stripperpalooza. You just never know when you will need a feather boa. "Officer Daahling, I simply couldn't have been speeding, I'm a classy broad wearing a boa!"
I have no idea.
This has been in my car since I moved something like two years ago. The thing that cracks me up about this is that my mom actually folded it up nicely and put it in the box while organizing. She knows me well enough to know that there is a very good chance that I am in someway attached to this bubble wrap. And that I probably need therapy.
The ugliest shirt of all time. We won this like three seasons ago and no one on the team wanted one because they were so ugly. So I still have like 10 of these in my car. "Officer, I could not have been speeding, I'm a SOFTBALL CHAMP! With a boa."
A relatively new addition, this is from my non-birthday party the other night. It's a crown or something. I don't know. But it goes really well with Hostess snack cakes and margaritas, just so you know.
Floppy Discs! When was the last time you used a floppy disc! I'm guessing these have been in this car and my previous car for over 5 years. What is on them I do not know. Probably my manifesto. All looney's have manefesto's, right?
I bought this for camping one year, played one game of the 5 and never opened it again. Turns out only people on tv play games while camping. The rest of us actually just drink beer, eat food and try to sit as physically close to the fire as humanly possible without bursting into flames (and wasting a perfectly good beer).
I think these are from another Halloween costume a few years ago. I'm pretty sure I was a pimp. Or perhaps the ho. Who remembers?
A halo. That oddly enough was not part of the wing costume from above. This was just a halo I had. I wore it to an office Christmas party in which I proceeded to drink 12 bottles of wine. As far as looking stupid goes I needed no help from the halo.
Stripperpalooza set #2. Ride 'em cowboy. Or pay for a lapdance cowboy, as it were.
I bought this on sale at some store and it is by far the coolest thing ever. You hold the end with one hand, pull it back and then let 'er rip. This thing flies FOREVER. It is awesome. I'm pretty sure it was on the discount rack because it had been discontinued when 4 out of 5 children who played with it ended up losing 1 or both of their eyes. Small price to pay for a cool toy, I say.
Ready at a moment's notice for many a sport. Bring it.
My soccer mom chair and also the envy of all fellow campers. This bad boy has a footrest and is probably responsible for my lack of game playing while camping. I could seriously LIVE in this chair and be happy forever. I'm a simple girl, yes, but the footrest is one of the greatest inventions of my time.
This would probably be up there as far as inventions too. This is the inflatable penis/punching bag thingy that I purchased for a bachalorette party many a year ago. I didn't want to keep it in my house because sometimes the before mentioned 10 year old is over there and well, I am just not ready to have the old "6 Foot Punching Pecker" Talk with her yet. But then again, I don't know if I'm ready for the "6 Foot Punching Pecker" Talk with the police man either. "Officer, look, I know that I was speeding in the carpool lane. But I really think of Peter the Penis here as a friend and therefore a fellow passenger. You understand, right? Can I interest you in a softball shirt?"
The Back of My Car.
As I've mentioned before, I tend to hold on to things that I really have no business keeping in my life. Basically I am easily entertained and also quite sentimental. This leads to pretty much everything in my life being kept for humor or heart's sake. For some reason over the years things have accumulated in the back of my car. I don't know why. It just seems that I throw things back there and they are destined to remain there for eternity.
When I went on vacation last year my mother had my car at her house for a week or so. Not being able to stand the chaos that was the back of my car she organized it for me, even added a cardboard box to keep things contained. So now the random stuff isn't messy, which makes it even less likely to draw my attention and therefore require me to reevaluate why it is I have kept all this crap.
One reason why I kept it? So that ya'll can be entertained by it.
These are the wings from my Halloween costume last year in which I was half devil half angel. And all the way loser for keeping these things. Probably even more loser for the fact that I've put them on since Halloween...
A bunch of balls. All of which are totally flat and useless. The top basketball was actually found on the side of the street one day when a ten-year old riding in my car screamed, "Look at the ball! All alone! Let's save it." And for some reason it seemed totally logical to save the abandoned ball on the side of a busy street.
This is left over from Stripperpalooza. You just never know when you will need a feather boa. "Officer Daahling, I simply couldn't have been speeding, I'm a classy broad wearing a boa!"
I have no idea.
This has been in my car since I moved something like two years ago. The thing that cracks me up about this is that my mom actually folded it up nicely and put it in the box while organizing. She knows me well enough to know that there is a very good chance that I am in someway attached to this bubble wrap. And that I probably need therapy.
The ugliest shirt of all time. We won this like three seasons ago and no one on the team wanted one because they were so ugly. So I still have like 10 of these in my car. "Officer, I could not have been speeding, I'm a SOFTBALL CHAMP! With a boa."
A relatively new addition, this is from my non-birthday party the other night. It's a crown or something. I don't know. But it goes really well with Hostess snack cakes and margaritas, just so you know.
Floppy Discs! When was the last time you used a floppy disc! I'm guessing these have been in this car and my previous car for over 5 years. What is on them I do not know. Probably my manifesto. All looney's have manefesto's, right?
I bought this for camping one year, played one game of the 5 and never opened it again. Turns out only people on tv play games while camping. The rest of us actually just drink beer, eat food and try to sit as physically close to the fire as humanly possible without bursting into flames (and wasting a perfectly good beer).
I think these are from another Halloween costume a few years ago. I'm pretty sure I was a pimp. Or perhaps the ho. Who remembers?
A halo. That oddly enough was not part of the wing costume from above. This was just a halo I had. I wore it to an office Christmas party in which I proceeded to drink 12 bottles of wine. As far as looking stupid goes I needed no help from the halo.
Stripperpalooza set #2. Ride 'em cowboy. Or pay for a lapdance cowboy, as it were.
I bought this on sale at some store and it is by far the coolest thing ever. You hold the end with one hand, pull it back and then let 'er rip. This thing flies FOREVER. It is awesome. I'm pretty sure it was on the discount rack because it had been discontinued when 4 out of 5 children who played with it ended up losing 1 or both of their eyes. Small price to pay for a cool toy, I say.
Ready at a moment's notice for many a sport. Bring it.
My soccer mom chair and also the envy of all fellow campers. This bad boy has a footrest and is probably responsible for my lack of game playing while camping. I could seriously LIVE in this chair and be happy forever. I'm a simple girl, yes, but the footrest is one of the greatest inventions of my time.
This would probably be up there as far as inventions too. This is the inflatable penis/punching bag thingy that I purchased for a bachalorette party many a year ago. I didn't want to keep it in my house because sometimes the before mentioned 10 year old is over there and well, I am just not ready to have the old "6 Foot Punching Pecker" Talk with her yet. But then again, I don't know if I'm ready for the "6 Foot Punching Pecker" Talk with the police man either. "Officer, look, I know that I was speeding in the carpool lane. But I really think of Peter the Penis here as a friend and therefore a fellow passenger. You understand, right? Can I interest you in a softball shirt?"
My Lonely Kitchen
It is a big week for pictures, it seems. The digital camera is getting a work out, and therefore you all are being forced to look at the things I deem photo-worthy. Some people think things like cute kids and important events are photo-worthy. I think differently...
Here is the latest hiding place for the dog. Poor guy has been hiding for quite awhile in here. For the past week or so my roommate has continuously asked me if I found the dog yet. I've said no. She said I should have found him quickly because he was somewhere that I should have looked often. I checked in my box of Thin Mints, but he wasn't there, and that is the only place I could think of to look. Then this afternoon I went downstairs for some lunch and opened the cupboard to find the freaky dog.
I think it might say something about my cooking habits that I didn't find the dog in the cupboard for over a week...
But then again, a couple weeks ago I hid the dog in the fridge and The Roommate NEVER found him. Yeah, so it turns out we don't spend a whole lot of time in the kitchen of our house.
But that might all change...
How friggin' cute is this thing? A toaster that makes cute little pictures on the toast? COME ON! How did I go my entire childhood without this? Although I think my childhood would have been darker if I ate Hello Kitty every morning for breakfast. But still, I'm not an impressionable kid anymore, so now I can appreciate the fun this kind of gadget could be. Is it wrong that I instantly thought of the indecent things that could be toasted on unsuspecting breakfast-eater's bread? Maybe. But man, could this thing be fun. It might even be fun enough to get me into my kitchen more than once a month. Hell, I might even consider getting up for breakfast...if they develop the indecent one.
Here is the latest hiding place for the dog. Poor guy has been hiding for quite awhile in here. For the past week or so my roommate has continuously asked me if I found the dog yet. I've said no. She said I should have found him quickly because he was somewhere that I should have looked often. I checked in my box of Thin Mints, but he wasn't there, and that is the only place I could think of to look. Then this afternoon I went downstairs for some lunch and opened the cupboard to find the freaky dog.
I think it might say something about my cooking habits that I didn't find the dog in the cupboard for over a week...
But then again, a couple weeks ago I hid the dog in the fridge and The Roommate NEVER found him. Yeah, so it turns out we don't spend a whole lot of time in the kitchen of our house.
But that might all change...
How friggin' cute is this thing? A toaster that makes cute little pictures on the toast? COME ON! How did I go my entire childhood without this? Although I think my childhood would have been darker if I ate Hello Kitty every morning for breakfast. But still, I'm not an impressionable kid anymore, so now I can appreciate the fun this kind of gadget could be. Is it wrong that I instantly thought of the indecent things that could be toasted on unsuspecting breakfast-eater's bread? Maybe. But man, could this thing be fun. It might even be fun enough to get me into my kitchen more than once a month. Hell, I might even consider getting up for breakfast...if they develop the indecent one.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Some Photos
It's 4:30 and I'm still up. I have no energy to write, so I shall instead show you some pictures:
Here are all of the snack cakes that I received for my non-birthday this weekend. And by "all" I mean "all minus the 23 I've eaten in the last 48 hours". Is this not ridiculous? I think it is. How is a person supposed to sit in the same house as this much cake-like goodness? We'll be generous and say that these things are "cake-like" because after extensive research (aka eating 23) I've come to realize that they don't really taste like any cake I've ever eaten. And trust me, I've eaten some cake.
This is an actual product in my parents' cupboard. Chicken Flavored Crackers? Really? Yes really. You can tell really because there is a picture of a happy chicken on the box. Know why he's happy? Cause of the line that reads "artificially flavored". No chickens were harmed in the making of these crackers. I can make no promises for the well being of the animals that ingest these things though...
I took this at a stop light this weekend. Notice the One Way sign on the right. Then notice the sign with arrows pointing both ways. It's all quite confusing. Not as confusing as why someone invented chicken-flavored crackers, or why my parents bought them, but still, confusing nonetheless.
Finally! Something that makes sense! Fido is all dresses up for Easter. God he is festive. And apparently a big fan of pastels as well. Is it me or does this dog look a little sadder every month? Poor little guy. My dad says he looks like the pope. If the pope were a little hairier I guess. And if the Catholic church was actually a welcoming place. That was my attempt at religious humor, but to be honest I really don't know if the pope is catholic.
I think I remember my mother used to say, "Is the pope catholic?" But that wasn't because she wondered too, it was because she was making a point that something was obvious. Ala, "Does this dog look ridiculous in ears that are twice the size of its head?" then you say, "Is the pope catholic?" as a way of saying, "Of course!" But see that phrase never really worked with me, cause I never really knew if the pope was Catholic, so it really just seemed like we were adding questions instead of trying to get an answer to my original inquiry.
All I know for sure? Chicken crackers and Ding Dongs don't mix. Just take my word for it.
Here are all of the snack cakes that I received for my non-birthday this weekend. And by "all" I mean "all minus the 23 I've eaten in the last 48 hours". Is this not ridiculous? I think it is. How is a person supposed to sit in the same house as this much cake-like goodness? We'll be generous and say that these things are "cake-like" because after extensive research (aka eating 23) I've come to realize that they don't really taste like any cake I've ever eaten. And trust me, I've eaten some cake.
This is an actual product in my parents' cupboard. Chicken Flavored Crackers? Really? Yes really. You can tell really because there is a picture of a happy chicken on the box. Know why he's happy? Cause of the line that reads "artificially flavored". No chickens were harmed in the making of these crackers. I can make no promises for the well being of the animals that ingest these things though...
I took this at a stop light this weekend. Notice the One Way sign on the right. Then notice the sign with arrows pointing both ways. It's all quite confusing. Not as confusing as why someone invented chicken-flavored crackers, or why my parents bought them, but still, confusing nonetheless.
Finally! Something that makes sense! Fido is all dresses up for Easter. God he is festive. And apparently a big fan of pastels as well. Is it me or does this dog look a little sadder every month? Poor little guy. My dad says he looks like the pope. If the pope were a little hairier I guess. And if the Catholic church was actually a welcoming place. That was my attempt at religious humor, but to be honest I really don't know if the pope is catholic.
I think I remember my mother used to say, "Is the pope catholic?" But that wasn't because she wondered too, it was because she was making a point that something was obvious. Ala, "Does this dog look ridiculous in ears that are twice the size of its head?" then you say, "Is the pope catholic?" as a way of saying, "Of course!" But see that phrase never really worked with me, cause I never really knew if the pope was Catholic, so it really just seemed like we were adding questions instead of trying to get an answer to my original inquiry.
All I know for sure? Chicken crackers and Ding Dongs don't mix. Just take my word for it.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Best Birthday in March
Wow did I have a great birthday this weekend. Best Birthday I’ve ever had in March. This is mainly because I had two margaritas and my birthday is actually in January...
A group of friends from my old place of employment sent out an e-mail a couple weeks ago saying that we were all going to get together for a girls night out. Someone said we were going to Mexican food and I e-mailed, "Can I say it’s my birthday, so I can get a free sombrero?" Someone wrote back, "Yes, we can even bring fake presents to really sell it. I’ll bring empty gift bags." Then I wrote, "Empty?"
And that was the end of it. I thought. Until I showed up at the Mexican restaurant on Friday night. Pictures show the good times:
Here is the bringer of the balloons. Yes, I actually had birthday balloons in the bar area. Thank god I didn't get carded.
And then came the gifts. And oh, were they special. My old place of employment has a volunteer department that caters primarily to old ladies who volunteer in hospitals. And old ladies love them some pointless crap. So the girls went to the storage room and filled up a bag with said pointless crap. Oh, and they foud a crown hat too. Which I had to wear. Which I forgot I was wearing when I had to take a call out in the lobby area. Turns out lobby people do not understand birthday spirit.
Best of the pointless crap? This lapel pin. "You have never had bling like that before in your LIFE!"
Here is another shot of the crap, I mean presents. The Mexican restaurant? Less than a mile from the Hostess factory, where one can buy Hostess products for very cheap. And then give them to your friends on their non-birthdays.
Turns out one girl went to Bed Bath and Beyond looking for that Twinkie maker we talked about awhile back, but they were sold out. The helpful BB&B employee offered to call around to other stores to find one, but my friend said, "It's not even really her birthday, I'm not putting out any more effort here."
Please, if you will, make note of some of the other crap I received...a "Volunteering Warms the Heart" t-shirt, notecards with an otter on them, a pocket knife (who knew old ladies dug pocket knives?), candle holders, candles, a flashlight (actually it seems as if they might be catering to the outdoors-y old lady, or at least one who gets lost among the elements a lot), and my personal favorite - a can of peaches. This is awesome. Because one girl actually had this on her DESK. These are so my people.
God Bless America. And the little old ladies who think this crap is cool.
A Series of Events Leading to a Lesson
Combine Hostess products with Volunteer candles and viola! A cake. Yes, they sang.
I'm actually spitting margarita on the flame. We's nothing if not classy.
Pocket knife comes in handy.
Don't try this at home.
What is that I taste?
Knives are sharp, as it turns out. Lessons learned.
Did I get a sombrero? No. Not even flan. What kind of crap is that? We did tip our waitress 10 Hostess snack cakes though.
Part-ay
No respect for the bling.
And now, in Worst Party-Goer Ever news I had to go to a birthday party for my friend's 1 year old on Saturday. And since I had some baloons...
Can you see the kid looking at me like she knows I regifted balloons? Kids are so perceptive. Adults, on the other hand, were wondering why I bought a baloon that had a candle on it that said, "Hello, I'm back!" Leave it to me to bring that balloon to the only birthday party of the kid's life where "Hello, I'm back!" doesn't work.
Thank god I regifted the pocket knife too, so no one noticed the balloons.
A group of friends from my old place of employment sent out an e-mail a couple weeks ago saying that we were all going to get together for a girls night out. Someone said we were going to Mexican food and I e-mailed, "Can I say it’s my birthday, so I can get a free sombrero?" Someone wrote back, "Yes, we can even bring fake presents to really sell it. I’ll bring empty gift bags." Then I wrote, "Empty?"
And that was the end of it. I thought. Until I showed up at the Mexican restaurant on Friday night. Pictures show the good times:
Here is the bringer of the balloons. Yes, I actually had birthday balloons in the bar area. Thank god I didn't get carded.
And then came the gifts. And oh, were they special. My old place of employment has a volunteer department that caters primarily to old ladies who volunteer in hospitals. And old ladies love them some pointless crap. So the girls went to the storage room and filled up a bag with said pointless crap. Oh, and they foud a crown hat too. Which I had to wear. Which I forgot I was wearing when I had to take a call out in the lobby area. Turns out lobby people do not understand birthday spirit.
Best of the pointless crap? This lapel pin. "You have never had bling like that before in your LIFE!"
Here is another shot of the crap, I mean presents. The Mexican restaurant? Less than a mile from the Hostess factory, where one can buy Hostess products for very cheap. And then give them to your friends on their non-birthdays.
Turns out one girl went to Bed Bath and Beyond looking for that Twinkie maker we talked about awhile back, but they were sold out. The helpful BB&B employee offered to call around to other stores to find one, but my friend said, "It's not even really her birthday, I'm not putting out any more effort here."
Please, if you will, make note of some of the other crap I received...a "Volunteering Warms the Heart" t-shirt, notecards with an otter on them, a pocket knife (who knew old ladies dug pocket knives?), candle holders, candles, a flashlight (actually it seems as if they might be catering to the outdoors-y old lady, or at least one who gets lost among the elements a lot), and my personal favorite - a can of peaches. This is awesome. Because one girl actually had this on her DESK. These are so my people.
God Bless America. And the little old ladies who think this crap is cool.
A Series of Events Leading to a Lesson
Combine Hostess products with Volunteer candles and viola! A cake. Yes, they sang.
I'm actually spitting margarita on the flame. We's nothing if not classy.
Pocket knife comes in handy.
Don't try this at home.
What is that I taste?
Knives are sharp, as it turns out. Lessons learned.
Did I get a sombrero? No. Not even flan. What kind of crap is that? We did tip our waitress 10 Hostess snack cakes though.
Part-ay
No respect for the bling.
And now, in Worst Party-Goer Ever news I had to go to a birthday party for my friend's 1 year old on Saturday. And since I had some baloons...
Can you see the kid looking at me like she knows I regifted balloons? Kids are so perceptive. Adults, on the other hand, were wondering why I bought a baloon that had a candle on it that said, "Hello, I'm back!" Leave it to me to bring that balloon to the only birthday party of the kid's life where "Hello, I'm back!" doesn't work.
Thank god I regifted the pocket knife too, so no one noticed the balloons.
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