Why I Miss My Family

Because all good holiday pictures should include monocles.Because every year the Christmas tree gets bigger. Seriously- next year they'll have to cut a hole in the roof.Because you send my sisters outside to put up the Nativity scene in the yard, and this happens:Because they make holiday cookies representing "Peace on the Mothership."Because who else's tree features the Christmas germ?Because they're crazy in all the best ways.

Merry Christmas everyone :)

Christmas Time Is Here

Actually Christmastime has been here for about a week or so, but I haven't gotten anything done. This month is pretty much totally hellacious in terms of work obligations...which is the reason that I won't be seeing any of my family members this holiday season. I'm also using it as my excuse for getting none of my holiday shopping done. So far I have purchased....nothing. Not. A. Thing.

Which is too bad because I have a LOT of people to shop for. Luckily I took a trip to NYC a couple months ago and was too lazy to mail the souvenirs I got for my sisters while I was there. So, I plan to re-gift the gifts that I never gave. Sisters' gifts- check. Unfortunately I also have to think of something stellar to give to my boyfriend fiance...since he's already infinitely topped me. He already bought me an immersion blender. Oh...and this bad boy:
Also, I was included in Tom's family gift swap this year. We all drew names...a lot easier to buy a gift for one person than 8. Of course, I couldn't have picked an easy one...can't just buy his younger brother a couple cans of spray paint and tell him to go wild. Nope. Instead I drew Tom's mother. Which is fine...she's a really sweet person and I think I can get her something she'll like. Certainly I can do better than Thanksgiving when I gave her a case of hives. Yup. My cooking gave Tom's mother hives. She was at work scratching herself out of her skin all night. Thanks a lot foodnetwork.com.

And while we're on the topic of Christmas, a local Boston paper recently critiqued the movie "White Christmas" a 1 out of 3 Ho's (as in Ho, Ho, Ho's). They said that it was just another reason for Bing Crosby to sing "White Christmas." Well let me tell you something Boston Metro. "White Christmas" is the greatest holiday movie of all time. There's singing, dancing, romance, a selfless act, snow, and of course BING CROSBY SINGING CHRISTMAS CAROLS! What could be wrong with that? Also, you can't tell me you don't enjoy this song:

Bing Crosby's joke is hilarious.

Anyway...I'm hoping to revive my blog. So, you'll be hearing more from me. Including photos of my parents' 18 ft. Christmas tree (I am so not joking.) Laters!

Hoping

These two boys waited as a long line of adults greeted Senator Obama before a rally on Martin Luther King Day in Columbia, S.C. They never took their eyes off of him. Their grandmother told me, "Our young men have waited a long time to have someone to look up to, to make them believe Dr. King's words can be true for them." Jan. 21, 2008.

*Image by Callie Shell- see full set here. She has some amazing intimate shots of the Obamas on the campaign trail.

Flashback

I'm 8 years old, sitting in my bedroom reading a book. My mother walks in holding a wooden spoon. The spoon has yarn hair, googly eyes, and mismatched clothing glued to its handle.

Mom: "What do you think about joining the Girl Scouts?!"
Me: pointing to spoon "Is that what Girl Scouts do?"
Mom: "Well, yeah....this is one of the projects. You also get to learn things and earn merit badges."
Me: "No."
Mom: "Are you sure?! It could be fun..."
Me: "I'm not dressing up utensils. Go ask Jessica."

When I think of Girl Scouts, I think of anthropomorphizing spoons. No thanks. Of course, 5 minutes after Mom took Jessica to the scout interest meeting, Dad walked into my room.

Dad: "Not Girl Scout material, huh?"
Me: "God no."
Dad: "Good. Go sweep the kitchen."
Me: "Damn."

I regretted my decision until Jessica came home with that day's project: a pecan with googly-eyes glued to it.

Boy Scout Motto: "Always Be Prepared."
Girl Scout Motto: "Always Be Prepared...to make inanimate objects look like people on drugs."

Unsupervised

My landlady is having the house painted. She's been having the house painted for a month now, and they just finished yesterday. Thank God. For the past month, I've been awakening to the sound of sanding, ladders clattering on the house, and guys speaking some language I've never heard in my life. It's exhausting, and it's annoying. Primarily because I have a penchant for not walking around my house-where I live alone-in a whole lot of clothing. However, there's a window upstairs that's kind of oddly placed, so there's no blinds and no reason to have blinds. Except now there are painters standing at that upstairs window every morning. Everytime I walk from my bedroom to the bathroom now I have to wear pants. Pants! It's a travesty.

Over the course of this month, my landlady calls me all the time and asks me to do things.
8 AM- "Can you open both your doors?"
8 AM- "Are you going anywhere today?"
8 AM- "Can you move your car out onto the street?"

Why she always has to ask me crap while I'm still asleep is beyond me, but such is my life. So, yesterday I left for work early in the morning. The painters were outside my door painting the threshold. I stepped over them, hopped in the car and headed to the office. Later that night, my meetings were over and I was at a bar with some coworkers. My landlady calls.

"Hey Sam, when are you coming home?"
"I don't know, an hour or two? Why?"
"Well, it's just that the painters had to paint the thresholds, so both of your doors are open."
"You opened my doors?"
"Yeah, cause they had to paint."
"So do you need me to come home and guard my stuff? What do you need?"
"Oh no, I would never ask you to do that. I'm here and I'm checking on everything, so no worries."
"Okay bye."

So, I stay at the bar another hour, get home about 3 hours after she called. I arrive home, the house is dark, her car is not in the driveway, and both of my doors are wide open. In my living room sit Tom's computer and various gaming systems. However, nothing's missing, so Tom and I turn on the lights and the Red Sox game and go on about our business. About an hour later we hear the landlady pull up. She's probably left my stuff unguarded for a good 3 hours...I'm sure she was calling to see if I was coming home so she could leave. But, I hate her, I've already renewed my lease, nothing's missing, I'm just gonna leave it alone.

I've been home for about an hour when I walk upstairs to use the restroom. I walk in, and the toilet seat is up. I freak out. You see, in 14 months of living near Tom and even for the year he would come visit me in Alabama, Tom has never once left the toilet seat up. Not once. It's kind of amazing actually. Plus, he hadn't been up to the bathroom since we'd been home and I know I hadn't left it up that morning. Someone had been in my house. Not just in my house, pretty much in every single room of my house because to use the restrooom you have to go all the way upstairs.

So, I run downstairs and call my landlady.
"Hey, did you let your guys use my bathroom?"
"What? No. I'll call them and find out if they used it."
"Fine. I know they used it though- someone did."
"Okay, I'll call them."

So, she calls them and of course one of the painters admits to having used it.
"What? I had to use the toilet!"

She calls me and insists that she was there supervising them all day...oh, except when she went to get her kid. "He must've intentionally waited for me to leave to go in." Yeah, well maybe you should've gotten someone else to pick up the kid, or someone else to watch the house, or NOT open my frikkin' doors without my permission. Cripes.

So, the painter incident, combined with the fact that I wasn't allowed to close my doors til midnite even though it was 50 degrees out (had to let the paint dry) kind of made last night craptastic. If I get robbed this weekend, I think we all know who did it.

The only good thing? On my way out of the bar last night, I found a $50 bill in the street.

For Lack of a Better Word....Art?

I love this so much.

WOW!

It's late, and I have to go to bed, but I just had to tell someone:

I totally love Bela Karolji. Watching him watch the female gymnastics portion of the Olympics is probably the single greatest thing in sports broadcasting ever.

Oh my God I love him. So adorable.

Olympic Spirit

While I was in Alabama, my sisters invented a new sport.

It all began with the genocide (mass suicide) of the amphibian population in my parents yard. Every day when we go out to swim, my sisters first clean out the pool filters. There are various reasons for this, not the least of which that we have found on separate occasions both a giant rat and a snake in the filters. No one wants to swim in snake-infested waters. So, we check and clean out the filters before we hop in. The first day that we were going to swim in the completely-filled pool, the girls went out to check the filters. They found frogs. Lots of frogs. 17 to be exact. Actually, 19 total- 2 alive, the rest not so much. We're not really sure if it was the pool chemicals or the inability to get out of the water that killed them, but there they were. So, they pulled the filter out, trying to balance the stack of frogs all the way to the fence. What we usually do when we find creatures in the pool, is throw them out into the yard. Far out into the yard because that way they won't be right near the pool smelling bad and attracting more creatures that could fall into the pool and drown. So, we kind of fling them.

Thus "frog-flinging" was born.

Jo would first load the frog up into the catapult:
And then Bear would fling it into the yard:
By the end, she had a whole method. According to Bear, when it comes to frog-flinging, it's all in the legs. She's pretty sure she's going to medal in this event.In the end, all the frogs were dispatched to their final resting place and then we all went swimming.
Tom celebrated by diving headfirst into the part of the pool that's only 5 feet deep. :-p

"All I'm Saying Is, She's Got Options."

Dad (about my sister, Jenny): "I think she'll end up being a cat rancher... or a doorstop."

Won't Somebody Think of the Children?!?

Our plane was set to land in Atlanta Friday night, and my mother and sisters were supposed to pick us up. They had NO idea what they were in for.

I'd forwarded our itinerary to my mother 2 months before the trip, but apparently she didn't look very closely at it. Our plane set down right on time, and I called my mother as we taxied down the runway.

Me: "Hi Mom...we're here. Probably be off the plane in the next 10 minutes or so."
Mom: "What airline are you on?!"
Me: "AirTran, why?"
Mom: "Because your itinerary didn't say what airline you were on, so I dropped Bear off at the curb to go in and see if she could figure it out. But now this stupid cop keeps honking at me, and Bear isn't back."
Me: "Just circle around! Bear's 20 years old, she'll be fine, and we'll be out soon."
Mom: "I just let Jo out of the car to look for her!"
Me: "Why would you do that?! Bear will be fine! Jo's too little to be wandering around the Atlanta airport alone!"
Mom: "Oh my GOD this idiot police officer keeps honking at me. I have to go."
Me: "OK...I'll call you when we get out."

So, we get off the plane and head toward baggage claim where Bear is probably waiting for us. Because the Atlanta airport is an absolute monstrosity, we actually have to take a tram to get there. So, I call my Mom again while we're on the tram.

Me: "We're off the plane. Did you at least get Jo back in the car?"
Mom: "Yes. I have Jo, but Bear's still missing."
Me: "Well, just keep circling and we'll find Bear when we get to baggage claim."
Mom: "Well, I would IF THIS ASSHOLE WOULD GIVE ME MY G_DAMN TICKET!"
Me: "MOM! What are you talking about?!?"
Mom: "That jerk cop is taking his sweet time instead of just writing my damn ticket and letting me go."
Me: "What ticket?!"
Mom: "The one he's writing me because he's a jerk. God, what a jerk. I can't believe nobody's killed this guy! Isn't this Atlanta? People have guns here, right?"
Me: "Wow. Okay, we'll be there in a couple minutes."

My Mom never swears, and I'm pretty sure she was hanging out the window of the car while yelling about the cop, so we tried to get out there as fast as we could.

Tom: "What's going on?"
Me: "My Mom's probably going to be arrested for terrorism."

We get off the tram, and of course Bear is waiting right at the top of the escalator for us. We grab her, head out the door, and spend the next 20 minutes trying to find my mother and Jo. Turns out they've parked in the deck and are looking for us on the curb. The curb a full floor below us. We finally figure it out when Tom calls Mom's cell phone and asks, "Look up. Do you see sky or cement? Cement? Okay. We see sky. Don't move." After trudging with our luggage up four flights of stairs, and then back down one because Mom forgot what level they'd parked on, we were in the car. I elected to drive because my Mom couldn't afford another ticket that night, and asked for the story.

Mom let Bear out of the car to figure out what airline we were on, but Bear left her purse and cellphone in the car. So Mom called to tell her that the cop was making her move the car and instead heard the phone ringing right next to her. So, she sent Jo to the entrance where she'd dropped Bear to find her and bring her back to the car. (All the while letting every pedestrian known to man cross in front of her so as to give the illusion of not parking.) Jo couldn't find Bear, and the police officer didn't like the speed with which Mom was moving her car. He followed her and honked his horn over and over yelling "MOVE YOUR CAR!" Finally, he pulled up next to her and told her that if she didn't move right now, he'd give her a ticket.

Mom: "I can't move my car. My daughters are in there."
Cop: "I SAID MOVE YOUR CAR!"
Mom: "I SAID MY DAUGHTERS ARE IN THERE! I CAN'T LEAVE MY DAUGHTER! DO YOU HAVE KIDS??"
Cop: "MOVE THE CAR OR I'M WRITING YOU A TICKET"
Mom: "THEN I GUESS YOU'LL HAVE TO WRITE ME A TICKET!!"

So he goes to write my mother a ticket. She ended up with a $103 violation and is planning to drive all the way to Atlanta to fight it in court. She insists that she did move the car, and so was never technically parked. The ticket says that she repeatedly ignored the officers instructions, so we'll see what the judge thinks. :-p

We all promised not to tell Dad about it. The next day as she had one foot out the door to go to work, she turned to him and said, "Umm...I got a ticket last night. It's by the phone. Love you, bye." Nicely handled, Mom.

Vacation!

Tom and I went to Alabama last week on vacation. Alabama in the middle of July?!? What a great idea! Actually, it was a great idea because despite the fact that the week before we arrived, and my parents' pool looked like this:

At least by the time we arrived, it was looking more like this:

And before we left, it was perfect:
So, as you can probably tell, we had a blast. More to follow, including my Mom swearing at a cop, frog-flinging, and an Alabama lobster. In the meantime, feel free to peruse my Flickr album from the vacation :) Laters!

Commercial Success

Have you guys seen this commercial for Sylvania headlights? If you haven't, please take 30 seconds and indulge me.

I love this commercial. It's possibly the dumbest thing I've ever seen. To start:
"Now you see me"
"Now you don't."
Ummm...yes I do. You're right there. I can totally see you.

"Because the next time you see me, I might not be alone."
This makes me laugh every single time. Do you have that little regard for yourself?! It's going to be a big deal if I hit you with my car! Sure, it'll be worse if I hit a kid too, but hitting one person (even a lowly headlight salesman) is really going to screw up my day. Cripes.

So buy Sylvania headlights. Because if you don't, they'll keep making commercials.

And while we're on the subject of commercials, just a quick question:

Did they not budget for audio equipment? Is there no boom mic on that set? Oxi-Clean removes stains. We get it. No need to yell buddy.

This post wouldn't have happened if the book I was reading was better. Does "New York Times Bestseller" imply that all the people who purchased the book actually read it? I seriously doubt that everyone was this interested in the entire history of Russia as told through various characters with no apparent connection and chapters that are 200 pages long apiece.

Well, it's either Russka or more of those Joan Rivers Geico commercials. Book it is.

The Itsy Bitsy Spiders

*Disclaimer: Daniel, and anyone else with severe arachnophobia probably shouldn't read this.*

My apartment is overrun. I have no idea how this happened, I have no idea why this happened, I just know that it has to stop. For the past 2 days, I've been noticing a lot of spiders. And when I say "a lot" I mean, every single time I sit down on the couch I see at least one. I've lived in my apartment for almost a year now, and never have I had any insect problems. I don't think I've ever had a roach, last year there were no ants, minimal spider activity- I think Tom's had to get rid of 3 in a year tops.

This year, the insects are making up for it. For the past 2 weeks, there have been ants all over the place. I chalked it up to the rain- it rained almost every day for 2 weeks. Ants can't swim, I get it. Now that it's cleared up outside, and I vacuumed up all the rice-cake crumbs, I haven't seen any more. Did the ants lure the spiders? Don't spiders eat flies? I don't remember ants being featured anywhere in that song....of course, I haven't swallowed any flies lately either, so maybe that's not so applicable.

So, regardless of reasoning, the spiders are here. They're probably a millimeter in size...obviously little baby spiders. But here's the problem- there are like a million of them. Is there a GIANT spider in my house that is just laying offspring left and right? I haven't had any spiders until now- is it spider breeding season? Is there a giant male spider in addition to the obviously present female? How long have these things been gestating? Is there some busted-up egg sac in my apartment somewhere, because that would be totally disgusting. Did the Mom die when all the spiders hatched? (Isn't that what happened to that Charlotte spider?) Whatever. I'm trying not to worry about it because I don't know where they're coming from and I assume at some point they'll die from lack of other bugs to eat, or move out of the house into the wild of the suburbs.

Of course, it doesn't help that I get emails like this:

From: Tom@ilovemybuddy.org
To: Sam@spidervilleusa.com
re: omg the spiders

I'm not really worried. What I would do, is try and track down the source of the tiny spiders, and see if you can locate a small nest or something they're sprouting from. Then vacuum it up, and that should solve the problem.

NEST?!? These things nest?!? Also, I am not emptying a vacuum canister full of live spiders. Absolutely not going to happen. So, I'm sitting on the couch, holding a can of bug spray, jumping a mile everytime a strand of hair brushes my shoulder. And my foot itches. I assume it's a spider bite.

So, if I disappear for another month, it's probably a safe bet that I'm cocooned somewhere in the house. Send help.

Dressing for the Summer

Wow. It's obvious that I totally forgot I had a blog because there is no way I would have left evidence of my Star Trek nerd-dom up that long if I'd remembered. Cripes. I haven't blogged in forever because a. as mentioned earlier, I forgot I had a blog. and b. there is not a thing going on in my life. I work, I sit around, I read. That's about it. We're going on a couple of trips this summer, so that's exciting. Such exotic destinations as Cincinnatti, Ohio and Rural, Alabama. Woo. :) Actually, Cincinnatti will be a blast, and Alabama...well, I'll see my friends for a portion of the trip so that'll be fun. And there's no way that hanging out with my sisters won't be a blast. Of course, poor Tom will have to be in the company of my father for a week, so the trip will probably suck for him. And it's Alabama in July, so 1000 degree weather might not help. But we have a pool! I just keep stressing the pool. :-p

So, with that amazing lack of things to post about, let's get back to why this place was really created: for me to complain about things in a forum other than face to face, because honestly, then I just come off as a big whiner. I seem like that here too, but I can pretend I don't know you guys. (Although about 100% of my readership is probably people that actually do know me.) Anyways- on with the show.

I went dress shopping the other day. I need something to wear to Ohio, and I was attending a graduation, and it was a blazing bajillion degrees out, so I thought- how about a nice summer dress. A sundress. Whatever they're called. Something where my legs could be caressed by the breeze rather than encapsulated in denim (as they usually are.) So, I first hit up Old Navy. Why? It's a great question, and one I asked myself several times as I moved among the 12 year old teens in headsets in search of a dress. What is up with those headsets? The store is not that big, and even if it were, I've never seen those headsets used for good. If I need a price check, invariably they yell at the closest tween who then proceeds to walk slowly in circles for ten minutes and come back without an answer. I really wonder if those things are even hooked up to anything. Hopefully they're not using them to look cool, cause Tom has one for playing XBox live, and I can tell you- those things are unequivocally uncool. Nerd-alert. Seriously.

So, I'm wandering around and I see NONE of the dresses that the girls in the commercial were wearing. Shocker, right? The only dress that is remotely what I'm looking for actually has a nice fit...but of course, it's only available in off-white and when I put the dress on I basically become a column with hair. Because such is my skin tone. So, on to the next store. I hit up Target because I can shop and simultaneously obtain the Reese's peanut butter cups I so desperately need at this point in a shopping day. Seriously, shopping feels like crossing a desert to me. It's miserable and hot (for some inexplicable reason) and my hair gets messed up. I hate it. So, I get to Target, find a couple of dresses with cute prints, and decide to bite the bullet and try them on.

Herein lies the problem: I'm pretty thin, and I'm pretty tall. And based on everything television has taught me, I should be able to go to the store and wear whatever I want because everything is made for girls my size. Un-true. All the clothes this summer are pulled straight from the 80's. Remember the 80's? Shoulder pads? Giant t-shirts w/ leggings underneath? Huge sweaters and acid-wash jeans? It's all back. Well, I haven't seen any shoulder pads, but the aesthetic is back. It's all form-masking. Which could work to the advantage of some, but for me, everything is adding 20 pounds. Also everything's really short, which I'm sure is some sort of evil bid to make me wear leggings. Not gonna happen.

The next day I went to the mall and encountered the same problems. I went into one store specifically because the mannequin was wearing a dress I would've purchased. This is my favorite way to shop- someone is already wearing all the pieces of the outfit, I just have to get a salesperson to round them up for me, and I'm out. So, I walk in the store, go to the teenybopper in a headset, and ask for the dress in the window. "Well...I've been standing in this area (points at three racks in a sea of hundreds) and I haven't seen it. So, I'd look over there. (Gestures toward remainder of the store.)" Did she ask someone in the headset? No. Did she make any effort to find the dress? Of course not. Needless to say, I was in there a grand total of 10 minutes before giving up and wandering toward the food court for iced coffee.

Every store has the exact same styles, fabrics (a lot of which are miserable as well...why is rayon back?), and God help me 80's music blaring in the background. Which leads me to wonder: am I going to be relegated to wearing the same outfits until late 90's-early 00's clothing returns? I hate the stores where nothing but Strawberry Shortcake t-shirts are being purchased by kids who aren't old enough to know who the hell Strawberry Shortcake is, but I also have a panic attack when I'm standing in Macy's pawing through a rack with 4 women who are older than my mother. I need a happy medium.

Nudism is a thing, right?

My Dreams: The Final Frontier

Lately I've been having a lot of weird dreams. I don't think it's necessarily new, it's more that I've been remembering the dreams on a more regular basis than I ever have before. I'm finding that it's not something I'm really a huge fan of. I'm learning things about myself that I'd rather have continued to deny. Take for example, my dream from 2 nights ago.

I'm at a huge party in a mansion or similarly-sized dwelling. I don't really know anyone there, but I'm drinking and hanging out and there's music, so it's cool. The next song that plays overhead is "Sweet Child of Mine" by Guns and Roses. All of a sudden, the guy sitting next to me stands up and starts playing the guitar. And I mean PLAYING. Because he is Slash. Slash from G&R was sitting right next to me and now he's jamming out while leaning on me and being altogether awesome. So, he plays the entire song and then people start crowding around him because it's Slash and he has a top hat and is altogether the coolest.


I, since the song's conclusion, am totally freaking out that Slash chose to play while making contact w/ my shoulder. So, I go into the next room to tell someone because HELLO SLASH IS TOTALLY AWESOME. I am making my way into the next room and decide to follow a rather tall muscley guy who is cutting a swathe through the crowd. As I'm trying to get past him, I look over and realize that he is not just any tall goateed man. He is Riker. Commander William Riker of the Starship Enterprise. And this is when I realize several of you will be jumping ship on my friendship*. It's okay, I understand. I'm nerdier than even I realized- as the rest of the dream will illustrate.

So, I strike up a conversation with Riker- something along the lines of OMG YOU'RE RIKER! And we walk together into the next room. I had never understood how he was the "ladies man" on the show, but I started to get the gist in my dreams. That is one charming beardy guy. So, we reach our destination and Riker plunks down next to someone else and starts talking. Guess who? That's right- Picard. Also present are the other main characters from Star Trek: TNG. Including Geordi LaForge who is a double-celebrity because who doesn't love Reading Rainbow? Nobody. That's who. So, we're all talking and laughing and I am seriously star-struck. The night finally ends when Checkov (the Russian guy from original Star Trek) walks in soaking wet. Apparently someone had thrown him into the pool. He walked through the room dripping and cursing in Russian (because I speak Russian in my dreams) and we all shared a laugh. Me and my Star Trek friends. And then I woke up in a great mood.

I'm afraid that my fantasy is a Star Trek cast party with a guest performance by Slash.

Life just got a little bit sadder.

* Except C. You know you love some Star Trek. You've probably already had this dream. :-p

Coming to Terms

Healthcare is full of jargon. Public health is full of jargon. So my job, which includes aspects of both, has a whole frikkin' lot of jargon. This isn't necessarily a bad thing- we have more abbreviations than you can shake a stick at, but it beats the pants off of writing out "arterial blood gas" every 36 seconds. My problem when it comes to the language of my profession, is the buzzwords. Terms that have no real meaning- even for people in the job.

You know that part in "Juno" where people keep asking if she's "sexually active" and she says, "What does that even mean? Can I become sexually inactive or is this a permanent state?" It's just like that. I don't understand what these terms mean, and every time I hear them I want to slam my head into a wall. Por ejemplo:

• Real-Time. As in, "I think it's really important that we take care of this in real-time." or "Oh, you spoke to him in real-time? Then that should be fine." WTF!? What time can I speak to someone when it isn't real? If you want me to speak to someone now, or immediately, I can do that. I refuse to categorize it as a whole new type of time. This isn't Star Trek.
  
• Off-Line. As in, "Well, this is a very interesting conversation we're having, and I think it's very valuable, but let's continue it off-line." If you were referring to working on your computer without the internet, I would be fine with off-line. If all the electronic systems were down, I'd be fine with off-line. You wanna call me back? Fine. I don't need to be told to "take it off-line." Asses.
• Collaborative. As in, "Our plan is to work collaboratively to collaborate on a collaborative plan for collaboration." The problem is not that they don't know how to use it- it's that they use it so much that I feel like my organization is sponsored by the word "Collaborate". And the number 2. It also helps that no one ever works collaboratively. They just talk about it. A lot.

I liked it better at my old job. If you asked to speak to someone off-line in real-time so you could come up with a collaborative plan, they'd probably just punch you in the face. I miss my old job.

Blogpage.

My 93-year-old great-grand-aunt died last week. As a result, my mother has been very busy making arrangements and taking care of estate issues. Unfortunately this has resulted in a lot of back and forth between the bank, lawyers, and funeral home. The funeral has actually been the worst.

Initially my Mom went to the funeral home and asked if my Aunt had made pre-arrangements. The funeral home said no, so my mother went ahead and set everything up and planned to come in a hour before the service the next day to pay for everything. However, when she got home and started going through some of my Aunt's papers, she found where my late Uncle had made arrangements for the two of them in 1984 with this same funeral home. He had recorded the date, time, contact person, exact arrangements, and amount paid. So, my Aunt had ended up re-paying for my Uncle's funeral because the funeral home had denied having any records at the time of his death in 1998, and now they were trying to bilk my Mom for my Aunt's funeral. Unfortunately for them, my Mother is not someone you want to try to rip off...and she's really not someone you want to mess with when she finds out you've already pretty much robbed her sweet elderly Aunt who is now recently deceased. She's gathering her papers for a lawsuit, but in the meantime, she really wants to vent. So she called me last night.

Me: "Hey Mom"
Mom: "Listen: I think I need a blogpage."
Me: giggling my head off "I think that's a great idea. You should absolutely get a blogpage. Why the sudden interest?"
Mom: "I need one so I can warn old people about all these jerks who try to take their money!"
Me: "I'm not certain that a blogpage is the best way to reach that audience, but you should definitely try. I'll set one up for you."
Mom: "It's free?"
Me: "Yup."
Mom: "But I need one that'll be publicshed."
Me: "Are you drunk?"
Mom: "No. I need one that'll be published and read by the public. I just smashed it into one word."
Me: "Like blogpage."
Mom: "What?"
Me: "Nothing. So, make a well-written blogpage and then send the link to AARP."
Mom: "Oh, not AARP. I hate those people."
Me: "So, you only want to help the old people who are not members of AARP? Every old person's in AARP!"
Mom: "I'm not!"
Me: "Why not?! I remember when you were dying to turn 50 just so you could join and get discounts on crap you didn't need."
Mom: "That was before I found out they take your dues and use them to fund political campaigns."
Me: "Ah. I should've known that only your rabid Republicanism could outweigh your love of discount movie tickets."

So, I've created a "blogpage" for my mother, and I'm really hoping and praying that she writes on it. Because I think it would be hilarious. My mother is a riot.

BLOGPAGE!

Observation

I'm in line at the grocery store in a non-express aisle. The woman in front of me is purchasing two bananas. Not two bunches of bananas. Two f-ing bananas. She ripped two bananas off their bunch and then stood in front of me in line.

And then she paid for them with a check.

This is the kind of day I'm having.

In the Basement

My landlady is renovating the basement. She's lowering the floor, painting, adding shelves, the whole nine yards. Unfortunately, the floor-lowering part has been going on for longer than the entire project was supposed to take. For 2 weeks I've been dealing with the fallout from this project.

First to go was the laundry. They had to pour new concrete under the washer/dryer. Thus, I'm unable to do laundry. Of course, I find this out after accruing an entire week of dirty clothing. On the way into the house my landlady spots me and says "Oh, btw, no laundry for about a week or two." Great. Thanks for the heads up. Jerkface.

The next day she calls and offers to let me use her machines, which was very nice of her...but it leads me to think- how can she use her machines (situated directly beside mine) when I can't get to mine? I knock on her door with laundry basket in-hand, and soon have my answer. She has another set. Let me say this again. She has another set. She has two washer/dryer sets and she's complaining to ME about the water bill. Dude- why in the hell would you have two sets?!? And having two sets, why would you make me use a set from 1982 when BOTH of your sets are from 2000 or later? (Actually, I know the answer to that one- I am a lowly tenant.)

So, I put my first load into the washer and she assures me she'll call me when they're done and I can put my next load in/move everything over. A couple hours later, I finally grow weary of waiting for the call, so I give her a ring. "Oh, I went ahead and moved everything over...it should be ready in about 30 mins- I'll give you a call." Umm...you moved everything over? Meaning, you handled my dirty laundry? Gross. Omg my landlady handled my underwear. I'm just a little traumatized.

It's now what feels like day 26 of this nightmare. I've awakened to the sound of jackhammering more times than I'd like to think about, and as I type I'm trying very hard to breathe through my nose so I can filter all of the particulate matter floating about in the apartment. Seriously- tomorrow I'm going to weigh about 10 pounds more because of all the concrete dust that's accumulated in my lungs.

So, to sum up: it's dusty, I'm wearing dusty clothes because I have no laundry access, and somebody's using a sledgehammer on what I can only assume to be the entire foundation of the house. Because it's shaking. Oh, and construction workers are in my parking space. So, situation normal there.

Good Advice Hotline- We're Open All Night

I have a sister who is a perfectionist. This isn't a bad thing, but when you're in college and there is the remotest chance of you not making a perfect score on every exam, evidently life can get a little stressful. So, my sister was having some issues yesterday after doing slightly less than stellar on an exam. I called her as soon as her Facebook status alerted me to the situation (I'm really getting too old to admit I have a Facebook account. And I'm way too old to be constantly motoring around on that site checking up on everyone. Note to self: Get a hobby.) Anyway, so I called her around midnight. She didn't answer, I left a voicemail and went to bed. I was asleep for probably 10 minutes before she called me back. I almost told her I'd call her back the next day, but she sounded so exasperated I decided I'd get on board for the long haul.

I didn't get to sleep til 2 AM. But it was okay, because geez did she need to vent. And not in a Coors Light kind of way. (Brief aside- WTF Coors Light? Those are the dumbest commercials advertising the dumbest concept ever introduced to beer cans. Venting? The beer doesn't get enough air on its way into the glass? Also, keep talking about how cold the beer needs to be. Really. If the number one asset of your beer is its temperature, you should maybe think about what you're doing with your life.)

Basically our entire conversation was one long run-on sentence. Including this exchange:
My sister: "So my friend keeps complaining that she's fat and I try to be a good friend and I always say "aw, you're not fat" but today was just such a horrible day so she said "I'm so fat" and it was the last straw and I said "You're right! So get off your fat ass and go running with me, or shut up about it!" and she did go running with me, and then we went and got coffee and I'm pretty sure her boyfriend is gay. Hey! Did you know that "expresso" is actually "espresso"?"
Me: "Yes."
My sister: "Oh. Well I didn't. And when I call it "espresso" I feel like I'm talking with a lisp. But if I say "expresso" I sound like an idiot! But then I thought I'd rather sound like an idiot than feel like I have a lisp, so I'm just going to keep calling it "expresso."
Me: "You should probably say "espresso"...or quit ordering it."
My sister: "Yeah...you're probably right. And then there's this guy I like but he doesn't like me and I don't even need or want a boyfriend right now! But then I meet a guy who's smart and doesn't have a Southern accent and I think "I better jump on that before someone else does!" and then I get all neurotic."
Me: "Wow. Yeah...you should probably at least wait for finals to be over before you worry about jumping on anything."
My sister: "That's a good point. Okay...well I'm going to bed."
Me: "Okay...g'night."
My sister: "G'night."

This is Public Health

I miss graduate school.

This is Public Health.

It Happened One Night

I got lost in a hospital. I left the floor with specific directions to the parking garage, but at 3:30 AM, I have the short-term memory of a fruitfly on amphetamines. I ended up walking to every floor in that hospital trying to find a bridge that would take me to the parking deck. Finally I give up and decide to just go outside and take the long way to the darkened parking lot. Sure, I'll probably get mugged, but on the upside, at this point I'm so tired I probably won't feel it.

Go to open the door, hey guess what?! The doors are locked. This is what happens in hospitals with children. They go into crisis lockdown mode every night. I understand you don't want your kids snatched, but I also do not want to die in a place where the walls are covered in clowns. After walking up and down the stairs finding neither a way out, nor a person to ask, I decide to stop and use one of the information telephones. There are two numbers that seem promising: security (because they usually show me around in hospitals where I'm lost) or assistance (which is probably manned by 100 year old volunteers and only during daylight hours.) I opt for security because I figure they'll be there.

*Ring*
Gruff security guy: "Emergency Line"
Me: "Oh, this is an emergency line?"
GSG: "Yes ma'am, what is your emergency?"
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry. Bye."

I hang up and try the assistance line. As I thought, they were nowhere to be found. So, I walked a couple more floors, still no parking deck. Actually strike that, I found no less than 2 doors that led to the deck, but they were both locked. So close, and yet so far away. By this point I could cry I am so tired and frustrated and hungry (oh yeah...I hadn't eaten anything all day...so my stomach was complaining almost as loudly as I was.)

I end up back on the floor with the phone.
*Ring*
GSG: "Emergency Line"
Me: "Hi...I called a few minutes ago? I changed my mind. It's kind of an emergency that I get out of this hospital before I start freaking out."
GSG: "Are you a patient?"
Me: "Oh, no. Not really freaking out. I was kidding. I work for [redacted] and just finished up but can't figure out how to get to the parking deck."
GSG sounding frustrated: "Where are you, ma'am?"

So, I finally escaped the confines of the hospital. Got lost (thanks for nothing Magellan) for 30 minutes in the city, and finally got home around 4:30 AM. At this point, my stomach is ready to break free and go hunt for food on its own because I'm definitely not cutting the mustard. I get home, brush my teeth, and realize that I've forgotten to eat. Sleeping is not an option since my stomach sounds like something out of Jurassic Park so I head back downstairs to the kitchen. What to eat, what to eat. I'm too lazy to cook anything, too lazy to prepare anything, and too lazy to microwave anything (not that I had anything microwaveable anyway.) In the end, I got a glass of tap water and a loaf of potato bread and went upstairs. I ate potato bread plain out of a plastic bag while lying in bed. Classy.

So, today I slept in as late as the masonry work in the basement would let me and later I'm going to dustbust my mattress. Woo!

A Love Note

Dear Google,

Best. April. Fools. Ever.

Love,
Me

PS- Everybody, check out any of the featured videos before the end of the day.

In Triplicate

At about 5 this morning, I awakened to the sound of glass being rummaged through. I opened my eyes and tried to concentrate- is the sound coming from thieves rifling through my kitchen cabinets, or is someone stealing beer bottles out of my recycle bin by the curb for deposit money? I weighed my options- thought about the clarity of the sound, the proximity of my bedroom window to the curb, the likelihood that someone would want to steal serving ware consisting of 6 mismatched plates and 4 forks that I just wash over and over again by hand- and decided that someone was stealing beer bottles. I'm okay with that and decided to go back to sleep. Mis-take.

As I fell back to sleep, noises became amplified and meaningful. The sound of the furnace coming off and on suddenly had a story in my dreams. A story that included the washer and dryer being stolen from the basement. A story that included all of my landlady's possessions (that I promised to call 911 to protect if necessary) being stolen. In my dream I awakened to find police and my landlady's family members all over the place. They wanted to question me- had I heard anything? Why didn't I call the police when I heard things in the basement? The answer that I thought it was the furnace was really not going over well. In the end, the stress of it woke me up for real. I can't handle feeling guilty- not one bit. So, woke up, realized it was a dream, also realized that my ongoing alarm set for the daily 9 AM meeting had somehow changed itself to 8 AM to account for daylight savings time. Really Treo? A meeting scheduled for 9 AM everyday will now be at 8 to accommodate the farmers? I believe my "smartphone" to have been grossly overestimated.

So, bravely I fell back asleep. Stupidly rather. Because when I fell back asleep, I awakened back in my dream. The dream in which my landlady has been robbed blind and I have no way to wash clothes. Also featured in this dream is me living across the street from a lake. No idea why. So, due to the stressful events of the last dream, I decide to go sit by the lake in Tom's videogame rocking chair and watch the water ripple. Apparently I also decide to fall asleep. I awaken the next morning on the pier feeling tired and salty- saltwater lake? Who knows.- and walk back to my house. As I approach the front door, I realize that I don't have my keys. OH wait- no problem. I've left the door unlocked. Which was very handy when the robbers came back. That's right, I walk in to find almost everything gone. And I'm freaking out. Primarily because all of Tom's gaming systems are gone and he is going to be one unhappy duck. Plus I left his chair out by the lake, so that's probably gone now too. My couch is gone...my $25 thrift store coffee table is gone, but all my DVDs are still there. The dining table is gone, but the stereo is sitting there mocking me. Tom's Mac is gone, but my work laptop is still sitting right next to the Apple's former home. I was going to say that it was sitting by the Apple's imprint in the rug, but they stole the rug.

This version of reality again woke me from my slumber, mainly because after all these dreams I figured there had to be some reason I was having them. My assumption was that I probably had been robbed. So I dragged my butt out of bed and came downstairs. Primarily because I was afraid of falling back asleep. So now I'm sitting on my sofa, typing on Tom's Mac, with my feet on the coffee table.

Maybe it's harder to steal the couch in my dreams when I'm sleeping on it. I think I'm going to find out because I'm exhausted. Laters.

Special Delivery

My landlady is out of town for 3 weeks. It has thus far been the best time I've ever had in my apartment. I run up and down the stairs at all hours without fear of waking anyone, I've had people over and played "Rock Band" long past the curfew I'd set for the benefit of her child, and *gasp* I've even been parking on a paved surface (despite her instructions to remain parked on the muddy knoll during her absence.) It's been great.

In return for this peaceful little slice of nag-free heaven, I agreed to collect my landlady's mail and toss it in a box in her basement. Totally worth it.

So Saturday I went and grabbed both sets of mail. Included in my mailbox was a magazine packaged in a plastic bag. It was addressed to a house down the street- apparently the mailman made a mistake. The only part of the magazine I could see was a vodka ad- the magazine's cover was concealed by the bag in which it was sealed. I decided that rather than walk all the way down the street, I'd just put the magazine in with my landlady's mail next time I ventured down to the basement and let her deal with it. So, for the time being I tossed it on the desk without a second thought.

A few minutes later, Tom is standing by the desk with the magazine in his hand trying to push the magazine closer to the top of the plastic bag.

Me: "What are you doing?"
Tom, eyeing bag: "This is porn."
Me: "HUH?"
Tom: "That's why the front of the bag is black! You can't mail porn without blocking out the cover."
Me: "Oh. Why are you messing with the bag?"
Tom: "I'm trying to see which magazine it is."
Me: "Why do you want to know WHICH magazine it is?! It's porn!"
Tom: "I can't believe you didn't know this was porn!"

So, what we've learned is that:
1. I'm naive, and
2. My boyfriend is well-versed in the US postal regulations that govern pornographic materials.

I'm still putting it with my landlady's mail.

My Day Sucked, How Was Yours?

I am SO OVER the following entities:

1. My dermatologist
2. T-Mobile
3. Ikea

I had a dermatology appointment this morning. The appointment was made for 2 weeks after my original appointment as my doctor said she would be gone on vacation during the intervening week. Fine. 2 weeks later. I wake up far earlier than my norm in order to be presentable at 9 AM. Make it to the appointment early- cause that's how I roll, sign in and sit down. At this point, I can hear the receptionists loudly talking. Why can't I talk on my cell phone in the waiting room if the alternative is to listen to you harpies moaning about your kids?

Oh, and here's another quick question- if you're a receptionist maybe you can help me out. Why do you have those little glass windows around your area? To preserve the privacy of patients while you're gossiping about them? Okay, fine. HOW ABOUT CLOSING THE WINDOWS BEFORE YOU DO IT?? They're talking literally 2 feet away from me, full volume, do you think I can't hear you because I'm not facing you? Mistake folks. Anyway, they discussed the fact that my appointment had been made in error for a good 5 minutes before calling me over. My favorite part is that no one wanted to take the blame for making the error. "It was two weeks ago! Any of us could've made that appointment! Who didn't know the doctor would be on vacation?" Fascinatingly the woman making these observations was familiar. I'd met her two weeks ago when she'd made my appointment. I made sure to point this out to her. Jerkface. Had to reschedule for next week- you know, when the doctor's not tanning in Jamaica.

So, I wasted valuable time I could've spent sleeping by going to my non-existent appointment. But I had lots of other things to do and thought I'd just take advantage of the early start on the day. Yesterday my phone's SIM card started doing crazy things and by the end of the evening wasn't being recognized at all. So I called T-Mobile, did the IT walk-through which included restarting phone, removing and replacing batteries, and receiving a detailed weather report from the Texas-based technician. Total ditz. But whatever. In the end she figured out she couldn't help me and transferred me to someone who realized from the "SIM card registration failure" error message that perhaps I needed a new SIM card. He instructed me to head into a T-Mobile store today to receive a new SIM card for free. "Do I need a confirmation number or something so I don't have to go through all this again?" "No, it'll all be saved under your phone number." Awesome.

So, I have to sit in the T-Mobile parking lot for 30 minutes waiting for them to open since I'm there hella early (thanks again doc.) Finally get in, tell the guy the problem, he takes out the battery, puts it back in and magically it's working. I tell him that I've gotten it to work too, but that it doesn't last. It keeps breaking. He says that since it's working in front of him right now, he can't give me a new one. Awesome.

Guess I'll just go do my next errand while waiting for my SIM card to go up in a puff of smoke and stop by the store again on my way home. About halfway to my next destination, boom. Phone's out again. No SIM card, no service, no f-ing way I'm putting up with this any longer. I spot a T-Mobile store on the way to Ikea. Stop in. Wait in line for I kid you not 30 minutes. Behind some guy who smelled like a compost heap. I mean, I don't like showering right now when it's so freaking cold out either, but suck it up for the common good buddy. Finally make it to the front and of course I get some punk kid who looks like he just woke up with a hangover. Explain my problem, he says that my phone's gotten wet and will never work correctly again regardless of SIM situation. I say fine, my phone's a piece of crap anyway, what kind of deal can you give me on a new one?

Turns out that my father's name is primary on the account (because he started the account so I wouldn't have to put a $500 deposit down) therefore I cannot make any decisions for the account nor can I take advantage of any discounts offered to the account holder. "Even if I have the last 4 digits of his social?" "nope." "Even if I get him on the phone to talk to you?" "Ma'am, I don't care if you have your father's head in a basket. If he's not physically present, I can't give you the discount." Awesome. The guy decides that he'll give me a new SIM card, but he won't activate it. It's like giving someone a box of chocolate cake mix, the promise is there but it is pretty much worthless at this point in the day. (Although at that point I'm pretty sure I would've huffed powdered cake mix.) He hands me my phone back in pieces and tells me to have a nice day. At this point I've gone from wanting to throw my phone against a wall to wanting to shove it halfway down this kid's throat and watch his bloodshot eyes bug out of his head.

But I will carry-on because I am a bigger person. I take my cell phone chunks, stuff them in my purse and head to Ikea. I should've known this was a mistake. I should've known that when you're having a frustrating day, heading to a giant warehouse looking for things written in Nordic languages is a bad idea. Instead I head directly for the boxes cause I know exactly what I want and the only things I want. I don't want to shop. I want to buy two dining room chairs to bring my total to four. Because at this point when Tom's family comes over for dinner Saturday night half of them are going to be squatting on cushions on the floor, and that's probably not the best situation for people eating enchiladas.

I have a receipt for the last time I bought the chairs, I have the SKU number, color, style, everything. Head right for the place, and you can't differentiate the colors by the boxes. I take a look in two boxes that have already been opened. Neither are the right color. I spend 10 minutes wandering the cavernous isles looking for someone in an Ikea outfit. Either no one works here, or the Ikea uniform is suitable for covert ops.

I finally find some tiny little dude who takes me to the computer, shows me exactly what I'm looking for, and tells me where to find them. I tell him I've been there and they're the wrong color. He looks, agrees they're the wrong color, and suggests I go upstairs to the showroom and confirm they're still available. Why he can find it on the computer and not count that as confirmation is beyond me. But I am a nice person and I will persevere. I go upstairs, immediately find my chairs, confirm they are supposed to be in bin 21 or whatever and head back downstairs. He's gone. I find a new guy who does the same computer check, I once again say that YES THAT IS WHAT I WANT NOW FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE GET IT FOR ME and we head back to the chairs and just start opening boxes. Turns out that sometimes Ikea forgets to stain their chairs. They're labeled that they're stained, but they're really not. They're just not.

So I came home and incorrectly assembled one of the chairs, discovered the new SIM card doesn't work even when activated, and now I'm sitting on the couch drinking vodka in the afternoon. Because that's what today did to me.

Thinking

Is it just me, or is the person who takes this bag as a carry-on a total jackass?As if the line isn't long enough without some moron trying to prove a point. And a stupid point at that.

Apps

I sign into Facebook pretty frequently. I play a *lot* of Scrabulous. So, when I signed in this morning and was greeted by this in my mini-feed, I was a little disturbed:

"Molly has made a baby with Michelle! Click here to make a baby!"

Facebook now has an app to make babies. Lesbian babies? It's possible! Options are "Make a baby alone", "Make a baby together", and "Adopt a baby." I know because I just added the app to figure out what the hell is going on. Answer? Creepy baby-making.

"Edit Your Genetic Profile, it will be used when you Make A Baby with friends.Your genetic profile, along with your mate's, is used by our application to determine the features of your baby."

Apparently this is what my baby will look like. I'm glad she'll be 3 years old at birth. I'm sure that'll save me some trouble. I think my favorite thing about this app is the options. You get to name it, talk about its activities (mine really enjoys rock climbing and sodoku), and then you can give it away! Perhaps best of all is when you're done creating this thing, you get to click a button that says "SAVE MY BABY!" That's pretty hilarious.

So I guess what I'm saying is that soon you won't have to do anything off-line. Including procreate. And though the app is wicked creepy in principle, what comes out isn't nearly as creepy as these bad boys. Because holy crap really who buys those?

Carbomb Cupcakes

Do you know what's delicious?

These:
















Warmed up.

Topped with this ice cream:











Topped with a little bit of this:

















I call them Carbomb Cupcakes. They're awesome and perfect for St. Patrick's Day. Give them a try! :)

My Funny Valentine

I didn't really do a Valentines post- primarily because I thought I really needed photographic evidence of my Valentine's Day gift. So, on to the recap. The night of Valentine's Day, we decided to stay in because a. dining out on Valentine's Day is a hectic mess and b. Lost was on.

Brief aside: Dude, what the hell is up with that show? It's so FRUSTRATING! You never know what the heck is going on, and I have a hard time caring since I have no idea what's real and what's manufactured. (Yes, I know, none of it's real- it's television, but you know what I mean.) One second you're rooting for someone, the next minute you find out they're some kind of psycho killer...you think someone wants off the island, then they don't. Oh my God just make up your minds! The raft thing wasn't unsuccessful except for the whole kidnapping thing- they should try that again. And Ben. WTF Ben. Who is this guy? Really the longer they drag it out, the less I care because I worry it's not going to pay off in the end. I don't want to set myself up for disappointment. Okay...that's enough.

So, Valentine's Day we get to my house and I immediately pounce on the box that Tom brought. I peel open the top and am greeted with this:














And I promptly scream a little bit because when the light hits it right, that thing's eye looks pretty scary. Tom began to explain that because he got me a giant teddy bear last year, he thought he would continue with that theme. But since last year's bear was the size of an adolescent, he thought that purchasing larger and larger bears would soon lead to him buying me a house shaped like a bear and really, where do you go from there? So, he decided to go with the next logical choice.














A giant octopus. For Valentine's Day I got a giant octopus.

And on one of his arms was a purse containing "Wordplay" on DVD and a novella by one of the writers of the Simpsons. Tom's sister said it would've been better if instead of a purse there had been a ring on one of those arms- but what am I going to do with an engaged octopus? It was the best Valentine's Day gift ever. My boyfriend is totally weird. But let's face it- that just makes me look cooler. ;)

Taxes

This past year has been pretty eventful- a big move, a new climate, a new job, a whole new understanding of how much time Tom spends playing videogames- it's a lot to take in. It's also a lot to lay out. In tax forms. This year I have expenses to claim- I spent over a thousand dollars just getting all my crap up to this freakin' ice cap, then I had to buy a GPS to figure out how to get to work on a daily basis. This year I have two different employers to add up and unfortunately and most painful of all- I have two states in which I owe taxes. It also doesn't help that the part of Alabama I came from collects taxes on three different levels- state taxes, county taxes, AND city taxes. No wonder most people try to stay the hell out of Birmingham city limits.

This has lead me to seriously consider professional tax preparation. I've done this in the past- but by a "professional" who was actually just my Dad's friend and in no way certified to do this stuff professionally. I'm not even sure if he was good at it, but when it turned out I owed money he wouldn't take it from me. He would make my Dad pay it. And that's the kind of tax prep I can get behind.

Unfortunately I'm no longer able to use the services of my Dad's friend. I'm sure his limited knowledge of Alabama tax forms would not translate well to the bajillion deductions allowed by the Massachusetts tax forms. So, I called H&R Block. It would cost me at least $80 to get my taxes done- probably a lot more since I have to file in two states. Someone told me that it's a lot of work just getting your documents in order to drop off to the tax prep people. If I'm paying for this, what do they expect me to do? I'm not trying to expend effort here- that's what I'm paying to get out of. Cripes. I figure I'll wander over to H&R Block with a couple of W-2s, a Penske truck receipt, and say "peace out."

I hate taxes.

Clean Slate

Why does Slate Magazine suck now? Slate used to have articles about everything- current events, health, movies, shopping, you name it. Now they have categories for everything, but not necessarily articles. A lot of what I loved about Slate has been mangled into what I assume they think is a "hipper" online magazine.

Now instead of launching right into political commentary, I get to try to close down a full-page pop-up ad for a new American Express card. When I'm trying to surreptitiously read a movie review at work, I'm instead greeted with a video window that won't play on my computer. And I haven't seen an article by Seth Stevenson in forever. (This is probably unrelated to the redesign but dude? He was hilarious. Where did he go?)

Then today I saw this and wondered: is this the way of the future for Slate? Because:
1. This isn't funny.
2. This isn't smart.
3. I want my money back. (And the fact that I didn't pay is beside the point. I deserve reparations for having sat through this. Particularly the chase-scene. If you think you could call it that.)

Bring back Slate! If I'm online to read something, I want to read it! If I'm looking for something funny to watch, I'll search for "baby evil eye" on YouTube.

(Also, make Dear Prudence a column again instead of a stupid video feature. It's like Jerry Springer for the literate.)

A Bug's Life

It really must suck to be an ant. First off, you're an ant. Pretty much everything wants to eat you...or kill you just for existing. Then, you have members of lesser kingdoms trying to take over your body. Harrowing.

Por ejemplo, take cordyceps. It's a fungus! Completely incapable of higher thought. And yet, it can infect the brain of an ant and basically take over its body for its own purposes.


FYI- cordyceps can also infect all kinds of other insects including katydids and caterpillars. I wonder if a human inhaled enough of the spores whether that would have any significant effect on our central nervous system. (Probably not...but if there were enough evolutionary pressure to find a new environment?....hint hint save the rain forests so the bugs can continue to appease the fungus.)

Case 2: A newly discovered nematode causes the abdomen of infected ants to turn red. Why? So they'll look like fruit and become easier for predators to spot, consume, and consequently spread the parasite all over the place.
How creepy is this?!? I'm really not cool with these lower organisms evolving such elegant solutions for the furthering of their species.

It's too bad we haven't come up with anything that impressive to combat the oil crisis, obesity epidemic, or global warming. Hell, we need some kind of parasite to convince half the population these problems even exist.

It's probably easier being an ant.

Comments Welcome

Remember when people used to comment on blogs? You'd have the post, and then you'd have a whole conversation to keep up with in the comments. Particularly when someone had blogged something especially nerdy or controversial. It was fun to gang up on the person and make fun of them! And if it was your blog post, it was fun to know that people were reading and took the time to make fun of you. It was affectionate. And interesting. And I miss it.

Therefore, my New Year's Resolution (because why not) is to comment again. Yes with the advent of RSS readers it is monumentally easier not to go to your individual blogs and sign in and comment- but nertz to that. I like you guys. So, if you're on my list of blogs to read, expect to be hearing from me. If you don't hear from me, it's a safe bet that I'm not reading your blog and you should probably drop me a line with your URL. Because who doesn't love comments? Nobody. That's who.

Viva la Revolucion!

Freedom!

I am officially off orientation. Thank GOD. This means that rather than anxiously awaiting a phone call every single day, I can now look forward to only receiving those calls 9 days a month. Which means that I now have a significant amount of free time. So, today I left the house for something other than work or groceries. (Actually, it was just errands, but it was still better than sitting in my apartment.) So, some observations from the day:

1. It is ridiculous that you can inhale secondhand smoke while driving 70 mph. It's so disgusting to think that all of a sudden you're inhaling chemicals someone else has already EXHALED. Eeew. Cars of smokers should have some sort of negative pressure system.

2. It's really flippin' cold here. I mean, I knew it was cold outside, but I leave my house so infrequently that it hasn't been a huge deal. It's 33 degrees out now (warmer than it has been) and the weather guy is saying temperatures will be dropping at the end of the week. WHY?? The stores in the mall are putting out swimsuits. It's making me sad.

3. I went shopping. By myself. I wanted to eat lunch at a restaurant so I wouldn't be at home eating leftover lasagne by myself for the 3rd day in a row. (And lunch by myself for the...how many days have I been living here?...time in a row.) But I don't know anyone who isn't at work all day or in Alabama, so I decided to stop for takeout. I was craving sushi but it's too cold to take the T into the city, so I decided to try the tiny little sushi place near my house. Bad. Idea. I had to email Tom at work.

"If you find me dead tonight, it's because I ate at Sushi Corner. Just to let you know."

4. No one can replace my watch battery. I went to 3 different jewelry stores, and they all said they'd have to send it out. The result of which would probably be at least 2 weeks without my watch, and about $30 to get it back. Not cool. Especially considering I took it to the Kay Jewelers in the mall in Alabama and for $10 and 5 minutes, I had a new battery. Kay Jewelers up here? "I'll have to send it out." Argh.

So, I'm back at home and I'm going to read a book. While hugging my space heater. And possibly later a bucket because seriously the sushi was such a bad idea. laters.

Trivial Pursuit

Those of us that were left played Trivial Pursuit on the last day of MilONYE.

Q: What star of "There's Something About Mary" was taught to swim by the Pips?

Are things really that bad for the Pips? They did have that Velveeta shells 'n cheese commercial- surely they haven't burned through their preservative-laden cheese-product funds yet. Do they have a flier on the bulletin board at the Hollywood Y? And why would the director hire the Pips to teach someone to swim? Who swam in that movie? Couldn't they get a stuntman? How many Pips does it take to teach someone to swim? Aren't there superfluous Pips in this equation? Where the hell is Gladys?!?

A: Ben Stiller.

This still doesn't make any sense.

Time to Google.

Ooooh. It was when he was a kid. That makes a lot more sense.

The Oregon Trail

When I was in elementary school we went to the computer lab once a week. I'm not sure how long computer lab was- I had very little grasp of space and time when I was 8 years old- but I remember how awesome it was. You would go to the computer lab with some stupid assignment- type a letter to someone, or type a story, or choose the right answers on some stupid multiple choice quiz- and when you were done, you could choose a game to play while everyone else finished. The only problem was that the computer lab only had a limited number of floppy disks containing "The Oregon Trail."

4 in fact. 4 children of the roughly 25 in the class would have the opportunity to play "The Oregon Trail." Everyone else would be relegated to MathBlaster or something similarly lame and educational. I'm pretty sure the only things Oregon Trail ever taught me were:

1. It pays to do things quickly.
and
2. Cholera totally blows.

These facts have actually proven themselves through the course of my existence and education. You don't get to take naps at school unless you're an unusually fast test-taker (in which case your teachers encourage you to nap or go get a soda or something- this may only be in Alabama) and everything that I learned in public health points to the fact that yes- cholera really isn't pleasant.

So, when someone invited me to join their wagontrail on Facebook I thought- sweet! Oregon Trail! And I immediately signed on for the journey. But this isn't your 1989 floppy disk black and white version. It's all in color, and the oxen have faces....it's so not cool. I didn't even get to buy my own supplies for the trip.

When I was a kid, I *sucked* at Oregon Trail. It never failed that I would initially purchase nothing of any consequence for survival, the majority of my caravan would succumb to cholera, and the rest would die of starvation because when I was at the store I was saying things like "Seeds? What am I, a farmer? Hells no. I'm a pioneer." I didn't really understand that a pioneer *was* a farmer and not just some dude trying to make it to LA.

So, now I'm playing the modern version and I'm starting to realize the futility of the game. Up until now my wagon had been healthy and I'd just kept pressing on, occasionally hunting (which is monumentally easier with a mouse than it was with arrows and the space bar), and resting up. It's been kind of boring. All of a sudden I get the message that someone "Desperately Needs Water." I have 300 pounds of food, 28 rounds of ammunition and 800 bucks...but nary a drop to drink. In fact, there's no record of the water. So, I figure I can't do anything and continue on. We come to a river crossing and I assume that he'll stick his face in the water and we'll be set. I have no option to toss him in myself, so I just move through the river and continue on. Guess what? He's still dying of thirst. I've decided that if he crosses the Rio Grande and is too stupid to take a sip, it's not going to be a huge loss on my part. Mysteriously he recovers on his own 30 miles down the road.

So, I have full health and the weather changes every 15 miles from "snow" to "sweltering" to "hail" and I wonder how we haven't died in a tornado by now. All of a sudden, someone has cholera. I start having flashbacks.


















I'm going to be proactive. Have to avoid wagon epidemic. The question rapidly becomes, what do I do with her? Chances are she's going to pass it to someone else. So, I'd like to off her, or dump her in the woods. The only option the stupid modern-day game gives me is to eat her. First of all- eew. Second of all- really eew. Chick has cholera- why the heck would I want to eat her? Third- eating someone really opens the door for a whole host of new health problems. Like Kuru. Which basically turns your brain into a sponge.

















This new Oregon Trail game really sucks.