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.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
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.
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:
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.
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?
"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?
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