Transplant

Tainted Love

2010-10-18T12:47:00.005-04:00

The internet is a strange and wonderful place. I'm sitting at the table trying to put the postage on the Halloween cards for my family (or in my Mom's case, her Halloween "cod"- hilarious!) so I can have them arrive PRIOR to the holiday for the first time ever. The card that I got for my sisters has that stupid little "Requires Extra Postage" mark in the corner. Typically I just stick an extra stamp on and send whatever on its way...I hate going to the post office so whatever why not. However, because this card will be going to my parents' house- where my Dad the former postal worker lives- I was a little leery of the lecture that might accompany the wasting of an extra stamp where maybe a 3 cent will suffice.

So, because my father isn't answering the phone this afternoon (most likely because the subject of our last conversation was one Barack Obama) I decided I would google how much postage actually is warranted when "extra" is indicated. I believe my exact google search term was "extra postage required" how much. I clicked the first return. And immediately I was taken to this website.

That's right. PRISON TALK! Just the single page of the forum (which, bt-dubs did not give me the answer to my query) is full of amazingness.

One user had the following signature:

Tell me He's Lazy, Tell Me He's Slow, Tell Me He's Crazy, Maybe I Know...Can't Help Lovin' That Man of Mine!

What is that emoticon doing!???

AUGH God I love the internet.

Compromise

2010-06-29T14:41:00.003-04:00

People ask me how it works that I'm a vegetarian, and my husband is not.

There ya go.

Despise Thy Neighbor

2010-05-27T19:33:00.004-04:00

So, it is not lost on me that I am constantly complaining about those who share my habitat. This blog could previously have been named "OH MY GOD I HATE MY LANDLADY." And then we bought a house, and I was no longer under the tyrannical rule of a woman who would arbitrarily cut me off from the water supply or allow random workmen to use my toilet. And life was good.

But then we lived here a while, and I started to realize that I may hate my neighbor. Like, a lot. You see, my neighbors are annoying. And obnoxious. Actually, I suspect it's actually my neighbor's 20-something punk son that I hate and the Dad is actually decent, but those genes came from somewhere. So I hate them both.

First, they started to park in front of our house. Which shouldn't be a big deal. We live on a street on which parking is allowed- actually it's allowed on both sides of the street which is ri-friggin-diculous, but that's a grievance for the city. I don't mind if you park your Honda Accord in front of my house. I'm not going to see it over our hedge anyway. And we have room in our driveway for both of our cars, plus a bonus invisible car that probably drives better than my Chevy pickup despite the limitation of NOT EXISTING (sorry..also hate my truck.) So I don't need the street parking in front of my house. But you know what I am bothered by parking in front of my house? Your Ford F-5000. Seriously. This truck is as tall as my house.

This is not my neighbor. But I'd probably like him better if it was. This guy looks hilarious.

So when I open my windows in the living room and look out to enjoy the neighborhood (or check out what's happening with the 2 police cruisers in front of my other neighbor's house like this morning- juicy!) my view is hindered by this MONSTROSITY. It's also kind of tough to see past when I'm trying to back out of my driveway. I've almost been hit twice, but really I'm more bothered by the aesthetics.

This is extra annoying because I'm pretty sure that my neighbors are single-handedly fueling the demand for off-shore drilling. They own the above tank, another pick-up of similar size, 2 SUVs, and the kid has a motorcycle (which is obnoxiously loud)! There are only 2 people living in the house! And we live in the suburbs of Boston, people. I'm from the South and people didn't own this many gas guzzlers. I feel like there should be some kind of evil stupidity tax.

Finally, today I went into the back yard to put down ant spikes (my yard is overrun by ants-augh!) and found a dead bird. Actually dead bird number 2 in the last week. My yard might be the epicenter of West Nile Virus this summer. Sooo, sorry about that. Anyway, found the bird, was disgusted, put down ant spikes. Then an hour later I went out to pick my husband up from the train and noticed a piece of paper next to the bird that had not been there before. When I got home I went and picked it up. It was a piece of mail addressed to us. Where did it come from?!

Here's my theory: the punk kid got it in their mail (our mailman sucks and constantly mis-delivers things) and then just threw it over the fence rather than walk all the way to our mailbox. I have absolutely no evidence to back this up, but I almost flung a dead bird into their pool in the name of vengeance.

Speaking of their pool, they have a pool. Bastards.

It's going to be a long summer.

The Plot Against Me Thickens

2010-04-12T15:42:00.005-04:00

So I received a brochure in the mail today. Addressed specifically to me. Not "Current Resident" or "Our Neighbor" or even to both of us. No. Addressed to me.

On the front it says, "Can we help with your Planning?" and this picture:

The subheading describes this patch of grass as "One of the most naturally beautiful settings in New England!" Nice try, Puritans.

So, I assumed it was a wedding brochure (Tip: never ever get a profile on TheKnot.com) Get married or have your reception in this big field! Something like that.

No.

Open the brochure, it's from "Puritan Lawn Memorial Park" and below is the subheading "If this arrives at a time of sickness or sorrow, please accept our sincerest apologies."

And then it goes on to outline my traditional and cremation planning options. And if I return the postage-paid info card, they'll send a complimentary guide for my survivors. Sooo, when the rocks finally get me, I'll have my arrangements all set.

I am 26 frakkin' years old. WTF.

Really Universe?

2010-04-08T13:12:00.008-04:00

So this afternoon I went to pick up this hammock stand:

Whaaaaaaaaaaat??!???!!!

From a dude named Cesar that looked a lot like this:

So not kidding. Thank you Craigslist.

So I think we can all agree, my day was going pretty well. And then I drove home.

It's gorgeous out, not as warm as yesterday (86 degrees in April? Yes please.) but definitely nice enough to have the windows down. I have a ton of hair that is easily blown into knots, so I rarely have my window down further than an inch- as was the case today.

So I'm driving with my sunglasses on, I hear something like a rock hitting the windshield, and all of a sudden it feels as though the glasses have moved on my face. You know what happened?

A ROCK CAME IN THROUGH THE 1-INCH CRACK IN THE WINDOW, PLINKED ME IN THE FACE, AND BROKE MY SUNGLASSES!

Look at these things!!! That missing chunk could easily have been my forehead. Or cornea.

Seriously what the hell?! How does that happen?! I couldn't find the assassin rock, or the missing piece of plastic. I guess they both disintegrated. There's an entire windshield for minerals to target, but instead they choose my face. Either this kind of thing happens to everyone and I'm just better with documentation, or there's an entire Kingdom that is out to destroy me. So now I am without sunglasses (AKA much-needed armor for my eyeballs.)

I guess I'll be parking the hammock in the shade.

Ordering

2010-03-30T09:39:00.003-04:00

I worked overnight and was completely starved and exhausted. So, I stopped at a gas station for fuel and a sandwich. And yes, it is totally gross that I ate at a gas station Subway.

I intended to order the same thing I always order at Subway. A tuna salad sandwich with lettuce, tomato, olives, and topped with oil and vinegar. Again, gross, I know. Instead, Zombie Sam decided to order the food.

Subway Kid: "What can I get for you?"
Zombie Me: "I'll have an egg and cheese on honey...wow. No I won't. Sorry. Can I get a tuna sandwich on....do you have some kind of honey bread?"
SK: "Honey Oat?"
Me: "Yes! That please."
Note: At this point this kid is looking at me like he really wishes he had some of whatever I was on.
SK: "What would you like on it?"
Me: "Lettuce, tomato, and olives"
SK: "Mayonnaise or mustard?"
Me: "No, just salt and vinegar."
SK: "Ok...salt and vinegar."
And he starts shaking salt onto my sandwich.
Me: "Why are you putting salt on my sandwich?!"
SK: "You wanted salt and vinegar?"
Me: "Salt and vinegar? Oh my God no....OIL and vinegar. I'm sorry. Just give it to me."
SK: "Are you sure? I can make you another one."
Me: "No no, it's my fault. I'll eat it. Thanks."

FYI...it was gross. Luckily I'd also purchased a bag of pepperidge far macadamia nut cookies to wash it down with. Mmmmm....healthy. :-p

Open Letter

2010-03-22T16:45:00.003-04:00

Dear Census,

I was on your side. Why are you doing this to me?

When my raging Republican father told me that the Census was a government ploy to enter our homes and give all our personal information to corrupt ACORN workers, I calmly defended you. When Michelle Bachman popped up urging me not to answer the Census, I threw things at my own television. And when my mother said that despite what I thought about the usefulness of Census data, it was still a huge waste of money, I again explained to her your value.

Please stop proving my mother right. It is painful to me.

Two weeks ago I received a letter in the mail with a return address of "Census 2010." I was genuinely excited to have received my very own Census form. I was going to answer every question just to spite my parents. Also because I love public health and understand the ramifications of frikkin' Census data. So imagine my surprise when I opened the letter, pencil in hand, to find that it was not a survey. Rather it was a letter explaining that in the next week or so, I would be receiving a Census survey. Um...okay? That was a waste of whatever in God's name postage costs this week. And I shudder to think of what you spent sending that letter to every household in America. Particularly because I am of the opinion that those members of society least likely to answer the Census accurately and completely (i.e. The Teabaggers...God I love that they call themselves that) are going to need more than a letter outlining the way the Census benefits our society to change their minds. Pretty sure they're immune to facts. And Glenn Beck is taking down social justice too, so it's all downhill from here.

(I could only watch about 3 minutes of this before I choked on my own rage.)

Anyway, I thought the letter was dumb. I put my pencil down and awaited the (way too) heralded arrival of my actual census form.

About 5 days later, it came. I got the short form. None of the questions that my father feared were destroying America were even there! And I was so looking forward to telling Barack Hussein Obama my life story! In the end I put my and Tom's names in the little blanks, confessed to being totally uninteresting in the ethnicity department, and mailed the stupid thing back in. How anti-climactic.

And then today I got a postcard in the mail. From the Census Bureau. Letting me know that a few days ago I should have received a request to participate in the Census. And that it was important that I respond. You know what's really important? Not sending $3 worth of postage for no reason! Holy crap! I support the Census. I love that it saved me a lot of leg work on papers in grad school. But I do not love that it's making my mother do her "I told you so" dance via telephone.

Not cool Census Bureau. Knock it off.

Thanks,
~Sam

Well-Read

2010-03-22T09:53:00.002-04:00

I know I've completely stopped writing in this blog, which I really regret. I've always enjoyed writing, and the format of the blog was especially fun because you could get instantaneous feedback. Unfortunately instant feedback is also an included feature with the institute of marriage. Plus there's twitter. So I am the worst.

But, I've not just left you guys for Twitter. I've really stopped a lot of my writing because I've been too busy reading. My friend C gave me (us I guess but really me) a membership in a book club as a wedding gift. It's awesome- every month I get a signed first-edition of a book. I guess I'm probably not supposed to be reading these books, or at least not the way that I read books (I am a destroyer of spines) but I'm really enjoying them. The selections are skewed toward Southern authors- probably because that's who's willing to stop by the Alabama Booksellers and sign stuff, but I've enjoyed the vast majority so far.

So basically I have been ravenously tearing through books for the past several months. Which works well for my love of reading and my love of not watching my husband play video games. It's the gift that keeps on giving!

If you're looking for any book recommendations, feel free to drop me a line in the comments. I have a ton of suggestions. Or you can find me on Goodreads where I am writing crappy little reviews of the books that I've read. I find it really difficult to review books- I either generalize ("This was a very interesting book.") or spoil ("I really liked the part where the main character killed the bad guy.") I should probably work on that.

Low Sodium

2009-12-28T13:03:00.003-05:00

I'm looking for appetizer recipes to serve at our BONYE Mafia party. I was just thumbing through a Crock-Pot cookbook my mother gave me a couple years ago (bc I just unearthed it from the upstairs bookcase.) I like the health tip at the end of it.

Mexican Bean and Cheese Dip

15-oz can refried beans
8 oz jar taco sauce
1 lb. velveeta cheese, cubed
1 pkg. dry taco seasoning

Combine ingredients in slow cooker. Cover, cook 2-3 hrs. Serve warm from the cooker with tortilla chips.

Note: If you're cautious about salt, choose minimally salted chips.

Let me translate this recipe for you.

Mexican Salt Dip

15-oz can beans dredged in salt then fried
8 oz jar liquid salt, taco style
1 lb. gelatinous cheese-flavored salt lick
1 pkg. taco-flavored salt

Combine ingredients in slow cooker. Cover, cook 2-3 hrs. Serve warm from the cooker with tortilla chips.

Note: If you're cautious about salt, maybe skip this recipe.

Reading

2009-11-12T17:56:00.001-05:00

People are calling this Obama's best speech ever.

Remarks of President Barack Obama - As Prepared for Delivery

Memorial Service at Fort Hood

November 10, 2009

I wholeheartedly agree.

Pantless

2009-11-02T15:56:00.003-05:00

A couple weeks ago my friend and I went shopping at the outlet mall. I bought 3 pairs of pants, none of which were the right length. But, my friend convinced me that I am old enough to handle getting my pants hemmed and should purchase them anyway. So, here I am with 3 pairs of unwearable pants (they are sooo long.) I finally decided to expend some effort and get the stupid things up off the ground. My friend recommended that I take the pants to the stores that sell them at the mall to get them hemmed because then the hem will match that of the original manufacturer. The pants are trouser style jeans and a pair of cords, so I could see the value in having a matching hem. Plus she said it was pretty inexpensive, so why not. I head to the mall.

Go into J. Crew and the staff is great. There's only one chick in the store who knows how to pin pants for hemming, but we finally find her and we're on our way. I ask her whether I can also get a pair of jeans originally sold at Banana Republic hemmed. I figured that because I am paying to have them hemmed, it really shouldn't matter what kind of pants they are. Also I am lazy and didn't want to walk to Banana Republic. The saleslady thinks that would probably be fine but she'll have to check their policy. In the meantime she's happy to pin them for me anyway. Cool beans, I like J. Crew.

Get to the desk and it turns out that they cannot hem pants that aren't from their store. Fiiiiiine. I'll go to stupid Banana. She also tells me that the pants go out to their tailor on Thursday and return the following Thursday. It's going to be a red hot second to get these pants back...but that's fine.

I set off for the Banana Republic to get the stupid almost identical pair of jeans sewn by that company. Walk in and the people working there haven't a clue. They looked terrified that they'd have to pin the pants. I told them not to worry, they're already pinned, just hem them for me. The girl has me fill out a slip and then she goes to look at the tag. I assume to confirm that they're from Banana Republic.

Girl: "Oh. These are from the outlet."
Me: "Yes. The Banana Republic outlet."
Girl: "We don't do alterations on outlet clothes."
Me: "Why not?"
Girl: "The outlet is different. They have different stock and different clothes..."
Me: "Yes...they have the clothes you guys used to have in stock. I don't understand the problem."
Girl: "We don't alter outlet clothes because we're not the same store."
Me: "The pants are already pinned. I will give you money to have someone sew the pants. How is this a problem??"
Girl: "Umm....these are from the outlet....sooo....we can't alter them."
Me: "Oh my God that is so stupid. Okay fine thanks."

My favorite part is that she had already explained to me that the pants go out to their tailor on Thursday and return the following Thursday. I would lay down good money that J. Crew and Banana Republic use the same tailor. AUUUGHGH.

So I guess I'm going to have to fix the Banana pants myself. My Mom got halfway through explaining the hemming process to me before I finally stopped her and explained that I owned neither needle nor thread. So that might be step one. Or I could just pull out the super-glue.

**I bet this was the most boring "pantless" post you could ever have imagined. How disappointing.

Texts from Last Night

2009-10-08T09:12:00.005-04:00

I am in bed with my husband at 11:30 PM last night. His phone starts making some noise from Star Wars signifying that he has a text message.

Him: "Who the hell is texting me this late?" and grabs the phone.
Me: "Who is it?"
Him: "It's Timmy. He wants to know whether I remember the cheat code for Sonic off the top of my head."

Silence.

Me: "Oh my God do you?!"
Him: "I think it's up-down-up-down-left-right-B."
Me: "omg I am married to you."

He texts back, sets down the phone and rolls back over. Then doesn't move.

Me: "What's the matter?"
Him: "I think it's actually up-down-up-down-B-A-B."
Me: "Sweet baby Jesus."

He grabs the phone and texts Timmy back with the new code. Timmy replies.

Timmy: "It's okay...I was just proving a point to my roommates."
Me: "His point is that you are a huge nerd."

3 Rivers Liveblog

2009-10-04T21:16:00.008-04:00

So, I'm watching this show so I can talk about it at work. And it is already painful to me.

We're toward the beginning and they're going into their "Transplant Committee Meeting." I haven't really been paying attention, primarily because if the idiot kid in the tie who was surprised that livers could be split turned out to be the transplant coordinator, I was going to throw Tom's laptop through the television. Let's take it from there.

21:17- OMG do they have their staff meetings at CNN headquarters? What is up with that CRAZY technology?! Also, projecting patient histories onto a glass wall seems like it would be a pretty big HIPAA violation.
21:18- It takes longer than "how about right now" to decide to put in a VAD. How about some workup people? She walked in off the street 20 minutes ago. Cripes.
21:19- Who is this random woman in a lab coat asking about organ donation at the bedside? Make it stop!!!!!!!
21:20- I can't liveblog this anymore. It hurts me so badly. Also Counselor Troi has aged terribly and isn't really great at doing an accent other than her own.
21:21- Okay, so Troi's husband is going to donate...the pregnant chick gets the heart...what is up with the kid who swallows things? I am confused.
21:24- Nobody spouts off their doctor's credentials to them. They are well-aware of their abilities.
21:26- All of these patients look totally great for needing a heart transplant.
21:26- Umm...your son eats metal. This is obviously a problem.
21:27- Via Tom "Also, his name is f-ing Auden! Auden Drinkwater?! There's no way he would've lived long enough to eat metal because he would've already been pummeled to death!"
21:28- Oh lord I think the woman who got consent at the bedside was probably the donation coordinator. Auuuugh.
21:29- Yup. The idiot is a transplant coordinator. I will cry soon.
21:30- Ummmm....jet is on standby? Really? Also, what a kickass tablet. We don't actually have these.
21:30- Good thing that dude fell off the ladder. Otherwise his wife wouldn't be having a c-section and a heart transplant all in the same day.

Commercial break: I love that now when people ask what I do for a living I can say, "You know that kid on 3 Rivers who has the IQ of an amoeba and fetches donuts for the staff meeting? That's me." Awesome. Way to totally de-glamourize the role of transplant coordination. Aaand we're back.

21:33- Of course the doctor identifies with the metal eating kid. I'm sorry, but no physician is going to tell her boss that her father wasn't home enough waaaah.
21:34- Alfre Woodard, I liked you better in basically everything else you've ever done.
21:35- Aaaand, we're back to the donor side. Time for the daughter to pitch a fit about organ donation.
21:36- CALLED IT! Also, why are the surgeons getting on a jet when the wife had already said that she didn't want to do anything til her daughter got there? The timing on this is so unrealistic. Also I want to punch the coordinator kid in the face.
21:37- omg omg omg omg that kid has to get out of there. Why would he be within 100 feet of a donor family, let alone speak to one? Who lets the cooler guys into the unit? Nobody. That's who.
21:38- How is this kid not fired right now? What is their screening process for hiring transplant coordinators? Do they go to the nearest high school and pick the dumbest kid they can find?
21:39- Is this kid going to need a transplant or is this all back-story for the whiny doctor with an absent-parent complex?
21:40- "My brain itches." So of course I swallowed tweezers and a pair of scissors. Makes sense.
21:42- And of course the pregnant chick crashes. If the solution is for the transplant team to talk to the donor family I will just die.

Commercial break: This is unrelated, but there was just a Kohler commercial where this guy flushed like 30 things down his toilet. Call me crazy, but that seems like the worst idea ever. I don't care what brand of toilet you have.

21:46- "Given everything that Terri's been through today..." You mean, her husband falling off a ladder, and then her heart stopping like 12 times?
21:47- Holy crap is she going to be a donor too? This show is depressing.
21:47- Oh Jesus please don't talk to her again. I knew they were going to turn this into a good thing. Stupid show.
21:49- This child should not be talking to this poor donor family member. I really want him off of this show. And I kind of want to choke him. A lot.
21:50- Also, way to break patient confidentiality. Yes...tell the donor family everything about the recipient. We totally do that. NOT.
21:51- Those are some pretty healthy lungs on that kid. Ah, the miracles of television.
21:52- LOL the donor's breathing tube isn't hooked up to anything.
21:53- I'm still confused why the metal eating kid is on this show. He's not getting any new organs or anything. And he's not a very cute kid. Plus he eats metal. Did she just confiscate a railroad spike from him?
21:54- Seriously...the doctor is going to be holding her hand when she wakes up? Where is her HUSBAND? And child?!
21:55- "Hi. We stole your baby and implanted you with a new heart. That'll teach you for bringing your husband into the ER with a minor scalp lac. Next time use a band-aid."
21:56- Oh Jesus. There is a satellite uplink into the nursery? They couldn't bring the baby into the room with her? The husband didn't want to be there when she woke up? Worst. Family. Ever.
21:57- I do not know a single male surgeon who would wear powder blue scrubs.

Wrap Up: Okay, so it's over. And my TV and the laptop survived. Primarily bc I needed the laptop to convey my dissatisfaction to the masses. There were some pretty glaring inaccuracies in the portrayal of the transplant process...like the timing...and some medical mistakes...like how he said her "injection fraction" was low (it's EJECTION fraction)...but overall it was just terrible. Plus really what the heck with the metal-eating kid? He didn't give or receive a transplant! Also, most doctors would've figured out that he had pica way before assuming that mommy going away for meetings once a week was making a teenager swallow tweezers.

I'll probably pop in next week to mock it again though. Because I've gotten too lazy to have original thoughts for my blog, and this show is easy to mock. Although not as easy as this show:

Til next week!

Flushed Away

2009-09-04T10:27:00.004-04:00

Mom: "Ugh, my pager's going off. I wish I hadn't replaced it."
Me: "What happened to your other pager?"
Mom: "Oh, I flushed it."
Me: "Is that a euphemism?"
Mom: "Oh no. I flushed and then noticed 'OH MY GOD THAT'S MY PAGER!'"
Me: "Very astute. How did you manage that?"
Mom: "Well, you know, it fell in the toilet! And I didn't notice until it was too late. So, I plunged it thinking that maybe it would float to the top. But it must've really been far in there! I was actually pretty impressed- it's just a normal household toilet. Pretty powerful. So, I flushed it like 5 more times and hoped for the best."
Me: "Wow. Quite a solution."
Mom: "Yeah. So then I told Karen* that I'd flushed my pager so she'd have to call me at home if she needed anything because my pager was gone."
Me: "Good idea."
Mom: "And then she said it hadn't gone far enough. The toilet almost overflowed yesterday. It is really jammed."
Me: "Wow. That is totally embarrassing."
Mom: "Yeah. I hope I don't have to pay a plumber to go fishing for my pager."

My only hope is that slugs are dancing around with it.

*Mom's co-worker
*Felecia, C&C Music Factory is BACK

Bowl of Self-Esteem

2009-09-01T08:23:00.003-04:00

I got married on Saturday, August 15th. And it was an absolute blast. It was everything I hoped it would be. Namely, my sisters sang with pretend microphones all night and when it was over I didn't drive Tom home. Mission accomplished.

So, married Saturday, dying of some horrible infection on Tuesday. What was it? "In sickness and in health"? 90% of our marriage thus far has been the sickness part. I blame the air conditioner. Before I moved to Massachusetts 2 years ago, my future landlady (and unbeknownst to me, archnemesis) called and said that her current tenant had an air conditioner that she wouldn't need in her next apartment. I could purchase it from her at a discount. At the time I was living in Alabama in July and an air conditioner sounded like the best idea ever.

So, I bought it. Moved here and realized that my apartment stayed 20 degrees cooler than the rest of the world. Which was great in the summer. Pretty miserable in the winter. But that's beside the point. We took the unit out of the window when cold air started coming in, and it sat in the closet ever after. 2 years. Bottom of the closet. Never cleaned.

When we got back to our new house (yay new house no landlady woo!) after the wedding, it was 1000 degrees. Really. I used a candy thermometer. So, we put the A/C in the window and cranked that bad boy up. I woke up sounding like a 40 pack year smoker. Hmmm. Maybe I wasn't used to air conditioning. It'll be okay. Used it again the next night, woke up even froggier. And a little sniffly.

Me: "Do window units have air filters or anything on them?"
Tom: "Yeah."
Me: "Did we clean it before we used it?"
Tom: "I don't think so."
Me: "We should probably do that."

Pull out the filter. It is DISGUSTING. It is black with filth. Covered with mold and other particles that I have been breathing for two nights. Awesome. So, we clean it, pop it back in and hope for the best. The next morning I can't breathe. But as the day progresses I feel better and I assume I've caught a cold on top of the horrible allergic reaction that started the week. I do a 24 hour shift, and things go downhill from there. On Thursday I ended up having to get someone to relieve me at work because I was too sick to be on the hospital unit. The nurses were all eyeing me. Hello our patients are already sick, they don't need whatever you have too.

Went home and decided to try to have a bowl of soup to soothe my throat. I went to the cabinet to pull out a bowl, and there was my trusty "Bowl of Self-Esteem." It was a graduation gift from my master's thesis advisor, and it's my favorite bowl because it will hold an entire package of ramen noodles in broth without coming anywhere near spilling. It's a huge bowl. I only use it when I'm sick, but it never fails. When it gets to the point that I'm resorting to ramen, there's the bowl ready to go. I realized for the first time why this is. Because it is the largest, the bowl of self-esteem is always at the bottom of the stack. It's always ready to go when I am at my sickest because at that point, EVERY OTHER DISH AND BOWL THAT I OWN IS DIRTY. When I am sick, my house becomes a sty.

It took me 4 years to figure this out. Before I just assumed it was magical and sensed when it was needed. Because apparently when I am sick I super-anthropomorphize my dishes. Awesome.

So, I finally went to the doctor on Friday where I was dosed with antibiotics and narcotic cough syrup. I slept 12 hours that night and woke up a much happier camper. Completely better now, and the bowl is back at the bottom of the stack where it belongs. Hopefully I can stay well long enough to make it to my honeymoon on Saturday. :)

The Kid Is Not My Son

2009-07-01T16:19:00.004-04:00

I promise that some day my blog will become something more than a repository of hatred for my landlady.

But not today.

So yesterday I was working at a hospital until about 5 PM. I got home, changed clothes, and received a phone call from my landlady. It's 5:15.

Her: "Hey, there might be someone coming to see the apartment."
Me: "Okay, when?"
Her: "Possibly at 5:45."
Me: "You couldn't give me any more notice than this?!"
Her: "Well, they called this morning and I told them to call back to confirm and they haven't called back. So I'm not even sure whether they're coming...I'd say it's about 50/50."
Me: "Okay, well I have to clean up."
Her: "Well, don't do too much, I don't think they're even coming."

So I get up and dump out the bucket of mop water that's been sitting in the kitchen since the day before. Try to wash the dishes really quickly. Take the giant pile of laundry that I was going to do prior to being called into work and stuff it into a hamper. Try to start cleaning the tub a little when the doorbell rings. Awesome. It's the landlady, and her totally annoying 3 year old. It's 5:20.

Her: "They're definitely coming."
Me: "When?"
Her: "They said they'd be here by 5:30."
Me: "Awesome."

So she's standing in my living room and I can hear her scolding her kid to quit touching things. Meanwhile I am STORMING around upstairs, throwing things in closets, making up the bed, slamming doors, muttering. I go downstairs and she's just staring out holding the kid who is making a fuss. He wants to rip all the DVDs off my shelves. She's grabbing him and telling him to stop but he's still having a tantrum. Also he's wearing nothing but a shirt and a diaper, his face is filthy, and he has some dirty little bootie things on.

Her: "Nobody's going to rent this place if he starts screaming."
Me: "Yeah. Want me to turn on a movie for him?"

Keep in mind that I have a vested interest in this apartment being rented. If she doesn't find a renter by the end of July, I'm paying for August even though we'll be living in the new house by then. I have no desire to pay for this friggin' apartment when I'm not even living here. I can barely bring myself to pay when I am.

Her: "Yeah, if you don't mind, that'd be great."

Of course he wants to watch Monsters Inc, which is not in its case. I try to talk him into any one of the 50 other children's movies I have (Muppet Movie? Madagascar? Alice in Wonderland? Babe? How old am I again?) and he is not having it. The landlady finally says to throw on Little Mermaid and he'll watch it. So I do. As I'm turning on the DVD, the potential renters park on the street. Meanwhile her child is still fussing and yelling that he'd rather watch "Monster movie!"

Her: "Here they are."
Kids still fussing.
Her: "He's not my kid..." (I think she's joking)
And greets the potential renters.

My plan at this point is to turn on the movie, hop in my car, and come back in a half an hour as I've done with every other showing.

The people walk in, the landlady introduces herself to them, and then steps over her kid and I and says "I guess they're going to watch a movie." Then takes the renters upstairs.

I am stuck downstairs and she has just passed her child off as mine. How did that just happen?!??

She's upstairs with them, kid is watching the movie with occasional bouts of "I hate this." I'm wondering if there's any way I can leave this kid sitting here alone without him tearing apart everything I own. 5 minutes in, he hops out of his chair and takes off out the front door. I run after him, grab him, and tell him to plant his butt back in the chair. He behaved the rest of the time. But clearly, if I'd ditched him he would've run into traffic.

The renters have no interest in the apartment and leave. The landlady turns to me and says, smiling:

"They thought he was yours. He looks more like you anyway." And leaves.

I am living in some kind of surreal nightmare world where my landlady is on crazy pills and has no idea how incredibly inappropriate she is. Her poor kid.

Thank-You Note

2009-06-23T16:26:00.003-04:00

Dear Carolyn,

Thank you for the lovely wedding gift. We're putting the Lazy Susan to good use. :)

Love,
Sam

I Can't Live Here Anymore

2009-06-23T10:30:00.004-04:00

As you all well know, my landlady is the worst human being ever to have walked this earth. I'm pretty sure she lives to inconvenience me. Tom and I are in the process of purchasing a house, and every ten minutes I look up and say, "I want to go live in my houuuuse." He has interpreted this as a quality that he never knew about- "You are incredibly impatient." But I don't think that's correct. It's just that every ten minutes it dawns on me that I still live in the same house as this horrible woman- and it dawns on me because I live in constant fear of the next thing she's going to do to completely piss me off.

So, last week she puts a note in my mailbox that she received from the city. The city will be flushing the water mains on every street, so you should check the city website every evening and if they're going to be flushing your street the next day you should go ahead and put some water in pots and pans, or shower the night before. The flushing would only be taking place between 8 AM and 4 PM however, so when you get home you should be all set...just run the water til it's not cloudy anymore. She reiterated the message on the note when I saw her outside later that day- "I don't want a bunch of sediment in my pipes, so make sure you check and don't turn on the water the day that they're flushing." Okay, 'nuff said.

Yesterday was the first day that flushing would be taking place. But, I had a class to attend in Northern China and was therefore gone for most of the day. I didn't get home til about 6 PM. When I got home, the water seemed a little cloudy so I checked the website. My street was completed- the flush had been done that morning. Sweet. I go to pick Tom up from work, stop by the grocery store so I can make dinner, and come home with a plan to run the water until it turns clear and move on with my life. I walk into the kitchen, turn on the faucet, and it's a trickle. Apparently the only reason the toilet flushed and I was able to wash my hands when I got home was that there was that much water left in the system.

So, I call my landlady.
Me: "Hi, is your water working? Mine is off."
Her: "Oh, well they're flushing the water mains, remember?"
Me: "Yes, from 8 AM to 4 PM. It's 7 and my water is off."
Her: "I don't know, I'm not home. That's strange..."
Me: "Well, will you call me when you get home and let me know what's going on?"
Her: "Yeah, I'll be home in about an hour. OH! Oh...it's in the basement...it's....um.....you'll have water later."
Click.

I look at Tom and say, "I'm pretty sure that she turned off the water." So, I can't make dinner, I can't flush the toilet, I can't have a glass of water. Luckily what I really needed at that point was a beer, and I did have that readily accessible. A couple of Tom's brothers came over and hung out (played cards and listened to me call my landlady a whorebag) for a while. So, 2 hours after the initial phone call, I've had some beer and would like to use my bathroom again. I'd also really like to eat some friggin' dinner since it's 9 PM. I call her back:

Me: "Hi, it's me again."
Her: "Hey, what's up?"
Me: "Is there something I can do to get the water back on?"
Her: "You mean it's not back on yet?"
Me: "Should it be? I'll check....nope. Still not on."
Her: "Okay, well I'm having like the worst night ever at work, I was supposed to be home 3 hours ago. Can you just let me deal with this? I'll be home later."
Me: "Well, I'd really like to be able to use my toilet, and it's 9 PM and I haven't been able to make dinner yet. Is there something I can just do to turn the water back on?"
Her: "No. I don't want you touching anything. I'll figure out what's going on when I get home. Could you just order out? I'm just having a terrible night."
Me: "Fine bye."

SHE IS SUCH A TERRIBLE PERSON! Okay, so a few points.
1. "It's not back on yet?" Don't act like the water was going to turn itself back on. You know damn well you turned off the water without notifying me, and then didn't remember to turn it back on before you left the house for the next 6 hours. Don't lie to me. I'm not an idiot. And I hate you.
2. "I'm having the worst night ever at work." I work with dead people. You manage real estate. And half the time you don't have the courtesy to leave my parking space open when I get home after a 24 hour shift. Go screw yourself.
3. "Could you just order out?" Are you gonna pay for it? I just signed up for a mortgage. I cannot afford to order out. Again, screw.

So, she gets home around 10 PM, immediately the water magically reappears. Do you think she calls to let me know the water is back on? Nope. I hate her so much it makes me want to punch a hole in the wall.

This morning she calls. Is it to apologize for turning off the water? Hellz no.
Her: "Hey Sam, I just wanted to remind you that they're flushing the water mains."
Me: "They did it yesterday."
Her: "No, I just called the city and they said that they were on Florence Street today. If you remember, the sheet said that it didn't even start until today."
Me: "No, the sheet said it started yesterday. I checked the website last night and it said our street was completed. And if they didn't do it yesterday then why the hell was my water off last night?"
Her: "The water was off because I turned it off. Last time they did this I got all kinds of sediment it my house and I didn't want that happening again so I turned off the water."
Me: "Well, it's nice of you to let me know you were going to do that."
Her: "I'm going to call them back because I was here all day yesterday and I don't think they flushed the pipes. I'll call you back."

I swear to God if she's going to turn the water off again today I'm going to call and get myself kicked out of this apartment.

Her: "You're right. They did it yesterday. They must've done it after I left."
Me: "Fine. Bye."

I'm not impatient. I just have to get away from her. I want to go live in my new houuuuuuse.

Lester

2009-06-18T15:17:00.003-04:00

I got home from the dress fitting and was trying to unload stuff from the car when I realized that my landlady was standing right next to me.

Me: "What's up?"
Her: "We have a bit of a situation here."
Me: "What's wrong?"
Her: "There's a baby possum trapped in one of the recycling bins."
Me: "Let it out."
Her: "But it's daytime and they're nocturnal!"
Me: "It can take a nap when it gets home."
Her: "Do you know what they eat?"
Me: "You want to feed it?? They eat anything. They eat garbage! I'm sure if you let it get close enough it will try to eat your face." (please please test that theory)
Her: "Well, I put some grass in there with it."
Me: "I don't think it's going to eat grass. It'll eat dog food, but really you should just throw it somewhere."
Her: "But it's a baby!"
Me: "It's a rat."
Her: "Do you think if I tip the bin over tonight its mother will come get it?"
Me: "Sure." (actual answer: no)
Her: "If I pick it up do you think it'll bite?"
Me: "Absolutely."
Her: "Even though it's a baby?"
Me: "If it was a baby, it'd still be living in its mother's pouch. That thing is on its own and I guarantee it has teeth. Either let it out or call Animal Control."
Her: "I'm sorry, I'm a city girl. You're the one from the country, that's why I'm asking you!"
Me: "In the country, someone would shoot it."
Her (looking horrified): "I'll go get some dog food."
Me: "See you later."

This is the first thing I think of when I think of possums. Thank you Disney for taking over my mind. Also, the little yodeling girl is hilaarious in this video. We used to tease my sister for looking like her.

Priorities

2009-06-18T15:08:00.005-04:00

The bridal store called to confirm the appointment I'd made for a fitting.

Salesperson: "Be sure to bring the underwear and shoes you'll be wearing on the wedding day."
Me: "Okay, thanks."

So, since then I've been trying to find shoes to wear. Today, I was getting ready to leave and still didn't have my shoes. Scramble, finally just grab a pair of heels- I figure it really can't matter that much since my dress is short and won't need to have the length altered. And hustle out the door.

Halfway to the store I realize.

I left the dress at home.

There's really no excuse for being this stupid.

Things That Have Happened to Me Lately

2009-06-12T10:58:00.008-04:00

First, I was completely tricked by Tom's entire family. A few weeks before Mother's Day, Tom's sister calls and says she's planning a Mother's Day brunch. She's making all the arrangements, she just wants to see if I'd be off work. I told her I was off that weekend, and would plan to at least make an appearance. My sister was going to be in town and I didn't want to make her go to Tom's family function since she doesn't really know them very well. However, the time comes and she seems fine with going. I have a gift for Tom's mother, wrap it, and we show up at the restaurant. There are gifts and a couple tables full of people. I walk up and Tom's sister says, "This is for you. SURPRISE!"

I totally don't believe them. Also, I'm holding my new nephew Jimmy who I looooove.

It was actually a surprise bridal shower that I had NO idea was coming. I actually didn't even believe them until I saw a couple of my friends there. It was totally awesome, and I cannot BELIEVE they fooled me so completely. My sister is evil, and Tom's family is surprisingly sneaky.

I just realized they weren't kidding. And poor Jimmy's losing his hat.

Later that night, we had my bachelorette party (which I did know about) and this happened.

Enough said.

So, partying done, Tom and I began seriously house hunting. I hate my landlady with the fire of a thousand hells, and want to get out of here. We figured, might as well buy a house instead of having to stuff all our belongings into yet another apartment. Can I just tell you? Open houses SUUUUUUCK. We must've gone to 30 of the stupid things. And apparently the people most affected by this recession are those who 1. own cats, 2. never clean up after said cats, 3. smoke lots of cigarettes while watching the cats pee on every inch of their home. I would leave every house sneezing and retching. It was awful.

So, Tom and I found a house. We walk in, it doesn't smell like cat pee, sold! We actually sign the purchase & sale agreement on the house today, and close July 29th. So, those of you who are coming to our wedding can see the house while you're here. Because I will be living there. And it will be awesome. I have a bunch of photos, but I feel bad posting them here since most of them are full of the current owners' stuff. So, I'll just post a photo of the front.

My crib.

Besides home-buying and wedding planning, it's also been crazy at work. Which of course, means that I have another lovely tale of truckdom for you. As you know, every wheel on my car has fallen off and been reattached at some point. So the other day I was driving home (after using an entire tank of gas in one day...I drove to almost every state in New England) and all of a sudden I hear a clatter. I think that maybe I've run over a bottle? I look in the rear view mirror and see....my spare tire. It has fallen off of the bottom of my truck (apparently the cable that holds it there had rusted through) and is rolling around in 4 lanes of traffic. People are swerving left and right. I am soon going to be responsible for someone's death. Of course by the time I notice it, I'm 5 cars ahead of the tire and can't turn around because I'm on a one-way street. I take a left on the next street so that I can loop around, but it's taking awhile. Of course, this happened to me right at 5 PM. I call the police and tell them the situation.

Operator: "Ma'am, I need to know exactly what street you're on so I can dispatch an officer."
Me: "Umm...I have no idea. It's near the Mass pike, I don't know what street. Hang on. When I circle back I'll read you the street sign."
Operator: "Okay."
Me: "Ok! It's Center Street. Hang on...the cars are stopped at a light, I think I can get the tire."
Operator: "Okay, just let me know."

So I jump out of the car, still on my cell phone, did I mention it's pouring rain? Cause it is. And of course the tire is in the middle lane of traffic, I go to lift it and HOLY CRAP SPARE TIRES ARE HEAVY. Probably doesn't help when they're wet and caked with mud. I can't really pick it up, so I roll it toward the bed of my truck. But then I really do need to lift it because cars are coming, i'm still on the phone, it's still raining, and I'm going to die soon. I heave it up over the side of the truck, toss it in the bed, and get back in the car. I tell the operator that I got the tire and the cops get to stay out of the rain.

And that is how I got a tire track across my arm. It has been a loooong month.

This is Worse Than Snakes on a Plane

2009-05-01T00:04:00.005-04:00

I had to work the other day in an area I don't usually cover. This resulted in me driving 4 hours, working overnight, and then driving 4 hours home after having been awake for 24 hours. I've done this before, and granted it doesn't sound like the safest move in the world, but it's okay. It's much better than having to sleep in a hotel room for a few hours. Do you know how often they wash the blankets in those places? Never. Sheets, all the time. Blankets? Don't kid yourself. Those things have never been washed. Ever.

So, I'm driving home and I'm on the phone pretty much the entire way because otherwise I will lose consciousness. In this instance I called the only person who would understand my need to be on the phone for 4 hours at 7 AM. My mother. We're talking about swine flu and how I should wear a mask when I fly home for a visit next week (yeah...that's not going to freak anyone out. Actually, after Biden's remarks today they'll probably be handing them out at the gate.)

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So, we're chatting and I'm driving about 85 miles an hour on the highway when I look down at the speedometer. And there is an F-ING HUGE SPIDER. It is brown and it is large and it is only a foot away from me.

Mom: "So you need to make sure you grab a mask from the hospital so you'll have one blah blah bl-"
Me: "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD"
Mom: "SAMANTHA what's the matter?!"
Me: "There is a SPIDER and it is crawling right in front of me and it is moving down toward my legs on my god oh my god"
Mom: "It's okay just pull the car over...."
Me: "I AM! It's just that I am going 85 miles an hour on a 4 lane highway talking on a cell phone haven't slept for 24 hours and a SPIDER IS TRYING TO KILL ME!"
Mom: "I KNOW! Be careful."

I successfully pull over to the narrowest shoulder of all time. It is exactly the width of my car. I'm lucky none of my vehicle is hanging over into the nearest lane. I immediately unbuckle and jump out of my seat. I can't jump out of the car because if I open the door, it will immediately be ripped off by a semi and I will be sucked out into traffic by the sheer force of it. Kind of like Titanic but sideways and dry.

Unfortunately during the 5 seconds I took my eyes off the spider to successfully navigate off the highway, it disappeared.

Mom: "Did you kill it?"
Me: "I can't find it! I have no idea where it is! It's probably in my hair!!!"
Mom: "Oh you have to find it...otherwise you'll be freaked out the whole way home!"
Me: "I KNOW!"

Bear in mind that the entire time we're having this really productive conversation, my car is being buffeted like crazy by every passing semi. One of those guys veers a little off the road and I'm going to become real familiar with my steering wheel. Because it's going to be crammed into my chest.

Mom: "Look under the steering wheel."
Me: "You want me to bend over and stick my head under the steering wheel? What if the spider's there? I'm just going to scream and jump into traffic. I'd almost rather not find the stupid spider."
Mom: "Yeah, but I know you. If it pops back up while you're driving, you'll scream and run right off the road."
Me: "This coming from the woman who discovered a bee in the car and rather than pull over to protect the lives of the 5 children she was driving at the time, decided to scream and slap at the air until her 14-year-old daughter could successfully pull them over from the passenger seat?"
Mom: "Shut up. Bee stings hurt! That spider doesn't bite anyway."
Me: "You haven't even seen this spider!"
Mom: "There aren't poisonous spiders that far north."
Me: "What are you, an entymologist?"
Mom: "Maybe you imagined the spider because you're tired."
Me: "I did not. I double-checked before I started screaming. Oh my God I can't find this spider."
Mom: "Well, you can't leave without killing it."
Me: "I have to. My car is going to get sucked into traffic by a semi."

So, I start the engine and jump back onto the highway. Totally suspect of every feeling, thought, sight, and sound. The tiny crack that's been in my windshield for a year? Giant spider. My legs itching like crazy? Spider is tap-dancing up and down my legs just to screw with me. Horrible creaking noise? Spider's going to eat me. (Just kidding! That sound is actually the metal-wrenching noise from my driver's side door that's about to fall off.) I made it back home in record time. I drove with the windows down and the radio up because my mother said that spiders hate wind (I'm pretty sure she made that up) and music (I think that is actually Mormon crickets.)

As for next steps, since the spider's still on the loose? I think Ripley has the right idea.

F-ing spiders.

In Which I Realize Why We're Getting Married

2009-04-28T13:24:00.004-04:00

Our final exercise of the marriage retreat weekend was to write each other a love letter.

Tom wrote me an AIM conversation.

I'm ready for August.

Retreat!

2009-04-28T09:33:00.006-04:00

So we went on the Marriage Preparation Retreat last weekend. And it was awful. More awful than I ever imagined. I think that I had modeled my assumptions about what it would be like on the Simpsons episode where they go on a weekend marriage retreat. You know, some sitting on the couch complaining about each other, and then a bunch of fishing.

(I couldn't find the video I was looking for...and then spent an hour watching Simpsons clips on Hulu. I miss when that show was funny.)

This weekend was much different. First of all, I assumed there may have been 5 or 6 couples. I don't know why I thought that, possibly because I thought more than that would require a great deal more couches to rest upon. We got there and it was like a swarm. There were easily 60 couples there. And we were all packing into the "auditorium" which was code for "room full of REALLY uncomfortable chairs." They looked deceptively padded, but when you actually sat it was like sitting on a piece of plywood. The second day I sat on Tom's sweatshirt because I was still sore from the previous day.

Anyway, so we get there. And we're sitting in the auditorium. And we're being lectured to about marriage by two couples, and a crazy priest. They talk about marriage for half an hour and then we're separated (men stay in the room, women go outside) to fill out worksheets. After 15 minutes, the guys in the auditorium leave to find their fiances outside and "share" their answers/feelings. Of course between Tom and I there was less "sharing" of feelings about marriage and more sharing about the feeling we had toward people lying on the grass with their heads in each other's laps. What is this? Some kind of cheesy commercial? Are you going to feed each other grapes? Everyone's holding hands, in the auditorium they have their arms around each other. It's weird. They even did mass on Sunday and everyone IN CHURCH is touching each other. Not. Cool.

Okay, sorry for the digression. You have to realize...watching 120 people fawning over each other like high school kids in "love" for 2 days straight is pretty little painful. Especially when the majority of them are so unattractive you're just hoping that they don't breed. You know....for the sake of humanity. So, back to the worksheets. Here's a glimpse:

Q: After we are married, if we disagree on a spending issue, who will have the last word?
Tom: Whoever speaks slower.

Q: (Blah blah certain situation) What were my fiance's thoughts and feelings?
Tom: No idea. She was probably thinking about cake. (He's right.)

Q: Do I feel called by the Church to be matrimonied to you?
Tom: I refuse to answer on the grounds that the word "matrimonied" is featured.
Me: I don't know- could you not find a real verb for this?

Q: Is my decision to have a Catholic wedding a free and honest one?
Me: No. The church is charging like $700. It's ridiculous.

Q: What would you like your fiance to do differently when you disagree?
Me: My bidding.

Q: Name some ways I can make a decision to love my fiance when:

I feel angry at him/her: Physically
I don't feel like talking: Physically
My fiance is angry at me: Physically
I realize I have hurt my fiance: Call EMTs.

You can tell that we really worked hard on these. :-p What we actually worked hard on was correcting the worksheets. There were so many grammatical errors. And they're dated from 2001. In 8 years no one has corrected these?! Fiance is spelled incorrectly on every page. And they have these little gems: "What would I most want you, my beloved to change?" There's another comma in there people!! AUGH! Painful.

Anyway, we sat through it. Even though it was the first absolutely beautiful weekend of the year. It was 80 degrees all weekend and we're either sitting in the world's most uncomfortable auditorium or out in my 80 degree car pondering whether we could drive away and still be given our certificates. Included were calculations of how many couples we could take out with the getaway car. Bonus!

So, mission accomplished. And now I understand why Catholics don't get divorced. It's not worth the possibility that you may have to sit through that weekend again. Cripes.

Marriage Favors the Prepared

2009-04-25T16:23:00.005-04:00

This weekend Tom and I are attending a required marriage prep course thingie. Woo Catholicism! So, when I signed us up, they emailed directions to the retreat center, and a list of "Questions for the Engaged Couple." The instructions were to answer the questions and share the answers with one another prior to attending the retreat. So, I forwarded the questions on to Tom. The following is what I got back from him.

Q. What do I hope to gain from the marriage Preparation Weekend and how do I feel about making it?
A. Making what? This is a poorly written question.

Q. How do I feel about moving from my individual personal life to a committed relationship in marriage?
A. Better than I feel about moving all my individual stuff into a shared apartment, I'll tell you that.

Q. What do I mean when I say "I love you"?
A. Who am I addressing? The meaning of the phrase differs dramatically if I'm yelling it at the TV after Lowell homers in a tie game in the bottom of the ninth.

Q. How do I feel about my relationship with God?
A. I feel with my hands.

Q. What particular special (concern, issue, dream) do I want to share with you?
A.
Concern: Whoever wrote these questions wasn't taught proper proofreading skilz.
Issue: My mint condition 100th issue of The Amazing Spider-Man with hologram cover.
Dream: The one where I'm flying and then Peter Pan is there.

I have a bad feeling about this weekend.

Mochanut

2009-04-25T12:35:00.004-04:00

Today it is 80 degrees outside and abso-frikkin-lutely gorgeous. I am wearing a tank-top and capri pants and I couldn't be happier. So, Tom and I decided to take advantage of the weather and walk to Dunkin' Donuts for some iced coffee.

DD Lady: "May I help you?"
Me: "Yes please. Can I get a medium iced coconut with milk and sweet 'n low?"
Tom: "Make it two."
DD Lady: "Okay."
She leans over to the guy who's actually making the coffee.
DD Lady: "2 mochas with milk and sweet 'n low."
Me: "Not mocha, coconut."
DD Lady: "Oh sorry, coconut."
The guy starts making the coffee. He fills two cups with ice and comes back to us.
DD Guy: "What did you want in those? Mocha right?"
Me: "No- COCONUT with milk and sweet 'n low."
DD Guy: "Ohh, mochanut, got it."
And he goes on his way.
Me to Tom: "Did he just say mochanut?"
Tom: "I have no idea. Mocha isn't even on their list of flavors."
Sure enough, the guy walks back from the corner and we can see chocolate syrup in the bottom of the cups. I almost say something, but it's summer now and the world is as it should be.
DD Guy: "Here ya go."
Tom: "Thanks."

We get the coffee, step out into the sunshine, and take a sip. Indeed he has included both chocolate syrup and coconut flavoring. Unfortunately he has also remembered to include the sweet 'n low which, when paired with the actual sugar in the chocolate syrup, makes the whole mixture taste really funky. It's okay though...apparently Tom has discovered his new favorite flavor. He sucked down his coffee and is halfway through mine at this point. Apparently "mochanut" should be a flavor option.

Another triumph at the Dunkin' Donuts.

In Which Meatloaf Conquers My Fear of Death*

2009-04-23T15:09:00.004-04:00

I've always been totally freaked out about dying. Not really the best fear to have when your job is dead people. I'm constantly spending time with the family members of people who are dead/dying in the hospital, and it's awful. I enjoy it, because it's my job to give meaning to death. Yes, your loved one died, and it totally blows. Now, let's use this senseless tragedy to save someone else's life, and tell the Grim Reaper to go screw himself. I have to have these internal monologues to do what I do, and it works. I love my job.

But, when the eye turns inward, things are a little tougher. When I watch a fiance falling apart at the bedside of her future husband's deathbed, I can't help but be a little selfish. I think that if it were my fiance in that bed, I would die. I would just die. And I'm sure that's what she's feeling. When I see parents at the bedside of their child, I think that when I have kids, they will live in a padded room, wear a helmet, and drink their meals through a straw. I know how incredibly easy it is for something simple to kill someone. And it freaks the living hell out of me.

And I've always wondered...when you're like 70 years old, do you just constantly think about death? I know a lot of really happy-seeming old people. They enjoy themselves, don't seem to have a care in the world, and I think if I were them I would be on constant death-alert. You see it on television and people say "I'm ready" or "let me go" and I've always thought, "YOU'RE CRAZY!! BREATHE!!!" I really don't understand people that are okay with death.

So last week I was watching "House." And yes, the show is ridiculous and it's never lupus and all that jazz, but I love Hugh Laurie and find the show diverting. So I'm watching, and the story is that Meatloaf is going to die of lung cancer. In the opening scene. He's on his deathbed, he's telling his wife goodbye, I'm thinking what a waste it is of a perfectly good Meatloaf cameo, and he looks like he's slipping away. And I mean, it really looks like he's going. You know when you're sooooo tired that you're falling asleep in spite of yourself? And you know how good it feels when you finally give into it? Like when you're sick and you knock yourself out with Nyquil?

That is the exact look that Meatloaf had. I felt that peaceful sleepy feeling just looking at him. And then I realized. That's how you feel when you die. (You know, unless you have some horrible traumatic accident and in those cases you're gone so fast you never feel anything anyway.) It's like the longest nap ever. And I thought, I love naps. This is how older people deal with death. They're so tired from doing their jobs, cooking, cleaning, and dealing with a-holes at Dunkin' Donuts, that death looks like a vacation. And now when I think of that wonderful slipping off to sleep feeling, I think that death will eventually be okay.

And that is how in one brilliant guest appearance, Meatloaf conquered my fear of death.

*This post is dedicated to Donny. The only person I know who appreciates the true genius that is Meatloaf.

Earth Day Resolution

2009-04-22T23:57:00.003-04:00

This morning I had a presentation to give at a hospital. I needed to be there by 8 AM, so I woke up at the crack of dawn, sat in traffic, and arrived to the hospital 15 minutes early. This punctuality meant that I deserved a trip to the Dunkin' Donuts situated on the ground floor of the hospital. Woo coffee and croissanwich (which I don't think is what they call it, but that's what it is.) I walk in and take my place in line. Ahead of me is a woman of petite stature, and not so petite proportions. She is wearing gigantic sunglasses, texting incessantly, and looking completely ridiculous.

DD Employee: "May I help you?"
Ridiculous Woman: "Yeah, can I get a bagel with cream cheese, and a coolata?"
DDE: "Yes ma'am, would you like the cream cheese on the bagel?"
RW: "Yeah!"
The DD lady grabs a bagel and starts toward the prep station. The ridiculous woman basically runs after her yelling,
RW: "Can you make it a coconut coolata? COCONUT COOLATA!"
DDE: "Sure."

Apparently she then orders a waffle breakfast sandwich. First of all, there is no reason to order a breakfast housed between two blueberry hockey pucks, but I doubt reason comes into play in RW's daily life at all.

DDE: "I'm sorry ma'am, we're fresh out of waffles."
Me muttering: "Omg there is nothing fresh about those waffles."
RW: "Hang on a second, I'll be right back."

Now, to get a good picture of this, you need to remember that throughout the requests, the stalking up and down the store following the poor Dunkin' Donuts chick behind the counter, the being INDOORS, this ridiculous woman has yet to:
1. Take off her ginormous sunglasses or
2. Stop texting for a single frikkin' second.

So, she goes to the door. She opens the door, and keeping one foot in the store at all times as if she would be melted by lava if she stepped all the way out, she starts yelling.

RW: "Wanda!"
RW: "WANDA!"
RW: "WANDA!!!!"

Everyone in the store flinches, but apparently she's gotten Wanda's attention. Bully for her.

RW: "They're outta waffles!"
RW: "THEY'RE OUTTA WAFFLES!"
RW: "THEY AIN'T GOT NO MORE WAFFLES!!!"

Sweet baby Jesus Wanda there is a waffle crisis, DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!

So wouldn't you know it, the impending waffle famine spurs Wanda indoors to make the decision of a lifetime. She walks in, and I'm seeing double. She's the exact same size and shape as RW, and apparently they took a trip together to the Sunglass Hut. At least Wanda has the good sense to remove her blinders indoors.

They walk in together and move toward the food prep station where RW had previously been barking orders over the barricade. Then they promptly stop. Right in front of me. They're standing right in front of me, and they're texting. Not moving, not making decisions, not getting the hell out of my way. The lady at the counter is asking for the next customer and I am trapped behind a waffle-lovin' wall of stupidity. I finally make my way around the T-mobile twins and ask for a cup of coffee. I'm about to order my breakfast sandwich when I hear Wanda ask whether she can add bacon to her sandwich and whipped cream to her Coolata.

DD Employee: "And can I get you anything else?"
Me: "Oh my God, just whatever you can reach the fastest."

She smiled, glanced at me sympathetically and threw a Boston creme donut in a bag. I paid and left as quickly as possible as Wanda and RW's food sat on the counter unclaimed while they texted.

Screw the earth. From now on I'm using the drive-thru.

Talkin' About My Generation

2009-04-15T15:06:00.004-04:00

I'm at the grocery store waiting at the seafood counter. There is a well-dressed woman in her 40's yapping away on her cellphone behind me. All of a sudden an announcement comes over the PA system about some sale they're having.

Yappie McGee: "Could that announcement have been any FUCKING louder?! Jesus!"

I look back at her, wondering who she's talking to and thinking that Jesus probably doesn't appreciate that kind of language. Unless Chris Rock is using it...then he probably finds it hilarious like the rest of us.

The guy working the seafood counter comes up and takes my order. I ask him for salmon and to please remove the skin (because I am lazy.) The guy smiles, says sure, and starts to work. As he's procuring the fish and the instruments necessary for its denudement, he starts chatting with his coworkers. All of a sudden, I realize Yappie McGee has sidled up to me.

Yappie McGee: "Doesn't that just make you crazy?"
Me: "What?"
YM: "The fact that he's having a conversation while he's servicing you*."
Me: "No...he's getting my stuff...as long as I don't have to take the skin off that fish, I don't care what he does."
YM: "Hmph. Well...I guess that just shows the difference between the younger and older generations."

I'm thinking that the difference she's sensing is actually that of nice person vs. total bitch, but I'm ready to make a break for it. Seafood guy smiles, hands me my fish, and asks if I need anything else. I say no and walk away as quickly as possible to the sounds of:

Yappie McGee: "Why is that fish so white?"
Seafood Guy: "It's a whitefish. It's supposed to be white."

Poor Seafood Guy.

*I had to stifle a major giggle when she said this. hehehe servicing :-p

Diagnosis: Your Car Hates You

2009-04-15T14:47:00.002-04:00

The mechanic finally got around to taking a look at my poor pathetic mode of transportation. Their opinion? I am mean to my car. The guy calls me at about 7:30 last night. What he's still doing at his garage at that hour, I don't know...obviously I was at the bar by then...but it's nice to know he's dedicated to his work.

Mechanic: "Hi Sam, just wanted to give you a call about your truck."
Me: "Great. How does it look?""
Mechanic: "Well, it's not good. Tell me- did you recently hit anything?"
Me: "Well, it's the end of winter in New England. I'm sure I've hit a lot of things. Not like kids, or animals, or anything...but probably my share of potholes."
Mechanic: Yeah...that makes sense. You've got a few problems that we'll need to fix. First of all, your front right rotor is shattered. It isn't worn out, it's more like you hit something and it broke into a bunch of pieces. Actually that whole assembly is destroyed. It's lucky you had it towed in here because that wheel was actually about to fall off of your car*.
Me: "Wow. Good thing."
Mechanic: "The second thing we'd want to fix is your shocks. You have no shocks on the front of your car. They're so....fluid....not even working...much smoother ride..." (at this point I had no idea what he was talking about and kind of tuned out.)
Me: "Okay...smoother ride sounds good."
Mechanic: "So, I'm thinking at the absolute most it's going to end up being about $900 and I can hopefully get it back to you by the end of the week."
Me: "OK. Thanks?"

I wish I knew anything about cars. I think he's also doing something else to the car, and according to my companions at the bar the front end stuff will take a lot of labor. So maybe $900 isn't the worst price of all time. But then I think about the bluebook value of my truck (maaaybe $1500 if I was lucky) and shudder. I have doubled the value of my truck twice in 2 years. The thing is a rolling moneypit.

*Aside: Those of you who read my previous blog about the trip from Atlanta will remember that this is the EXACT same problem that I had two years ago. And which I drove on for a grand total of 3 hrs on an interstate prior to getting repairs. Wildcard!

Dear Bacteria: We're Onto You

2009-04-13T18:23:00.001-04:00

Science is totally awesome.

In Which My Car Was Probably Trying To Tell Me Something

2009-04-13T13:25:00.006-04:00

Readers of my previous blog may recall the last time my car made funny noises. It sounded like metal grinding on metal- primarily because that's exactly what had happened. My rotors had exploded and my axle was pretty much just held in place by the will of God. As a solution, I of course drove the car 60 mph for 2 hrs until the wheels almost literally fell off.

So, when my car started making funny noises yesterday...I'm sure you can all guess where this is headed. The car has been making occasional strange noises for a while now, but I just chalked that up to my car being a total piece of crap. Leave well enough alone is my motto, and I had extended it to "Leave well enough alone and the sound of ducks dying is a standard feature in American-made cars." I lead a rich fantasy life. But yesterday the noise became less of an occasional squeak or quack and more of a rubbing that simultaneously tried to pull me off the road. I knew I would have to take it to a mechanic today, but thought I'd be able to make it to my meetings in Boston first. The truck only has 130K miles on it- it'll be fine, right?

Not so much. The view from my windshield quickly became the view from Timmy's windshield...and it really needs cleaning.I made it about 3 miles before the rubbing sound became more akin to the sound of all my car's parts being run through a dryer. It sounded terrible. So I decided to pull over. I applied the brake...applied more brake...sweet Jesus I am braking aren't I?! Before finally grinding to a halt. Needless to say I was a little terrified to drive any further and had to call my friendly roadside assistance provider.

Now my car is sitting outside a mechanic's near my house where they "might" get around to doing a diagnostic today. I have a bad feeling about how much this is going to cost...and how long it's going to take. As Timmy was driving me home I just stared at my pitiful vehicle and thought, "I am never buying American again."

In Which Graduation Can't Come Soon Enough

2009-04-10T20:51:00.006-04:00

My Sister: "Someone called and said that they'd planted a bomb on the football field."
Me: "Cripes. So that's far enough away from the school they won't even let you out of class or anything?"
MS: "Nope. The principal said that it was a trick to get us to stay in the school where they'd really hidden the bomb."
Me: "So what did they do?"
MS: "They evacuated us to the football field."

I Suck at Dy(e)ing

2009-04-08T16:43:00.008-04:00

In honor of Easter and nostalgia for my childhood, I've decided to dye eggs this year. So, I went to the grocery store and purchased 2 dozen thinking that maybe Tom's younger siblings would want to come over and help. I bought the eggs I usually buy- vegetarian, cage-free. Because I have a conscience, but primarily because I don't want to die of mad-chicken disease (oh, it's coming people.)

Anybody else see the problem with this?Go ahead, think about it. I'll wait.

Need a hint?
They're brown. I bought 2 dozen BROWN eggs to dye. I'm officially a moron.

First Pug

2009-04-08T12:51:00.014-04:00

I am in a hospital basement. I've just left the cafeteria and am taking the elevator to the 8th floor. The elevator stops on the first floor. A woman walks in with a dog. The dog is wearing a pearl necklace with a pink bow, and pearl "bracelets" around each of her(?) front paws. The dog is running laps around the woman and tangling her up in the leash.

Me: "Your dog is dressed to the nines"
Dog Lady: "Yes. Today she's Barbara Bush."

And then she and Barbara walk off the elevator.

I assume the 1st floor houses the psych ward. Primarily because if you're going to dress your dog as someone, I think we all know the obvious choice:

In Which Relics Are Defaced

2009-04-03T13:44:00.002-04:00

Mom: So, I've been thinking, and you just can't wear green shoes with your wedding dress.
Me: I know. You told me that as soon as I mentioned it.
Mom: It's just not going to look good. Tell you what we can do- your dress has rhinestones on it, right?
Me: No.
Mom: It has something though, right?
Me: Yes. It has tiny glass beads around the waist.
Mom: Okay, so what we can do is go to the craft store and buy some green beads, and then attach a few of those to your shoes.
Me: I can buy shoes with green beads. I saw some yesterday.
Mom: Yeah, but we can just add them and it'll be easier.
Me: No it won't. Buying shoes with beads is one step. Bam. Beaded shoes. Your plan involves a craft store. Not easier.
Mom: Yeah, but you haven't heard my whole plan! Have you thought about how you're doing your hair?
Me: I figure it'll be hot in August, so....up.
Mom: Okay, so I have one of Granny's old combs that's decorated with rhinestones. What we can do is pop the rhinestones out and put in the green beads that we get at the craft store!
Me: I'm not going to let you deface some family heirloom with craft-store beads.
Mom: No, it's okay! I think we can just pop the rhinestones back in when we're done.
Me: You can't just "pop" things in and out of 90-year-old antiques.
Mom: I think you can.

My mother is the little-engine-that-could of bad ideas.

In Which the Word "Majestic" Loses All Meaning

2009-04-03T12:59:00.004-04:00

Mom: I was talking to a girl at work about her daughter's wedding. She said that for a centerpiece they had a big majestic vase that they filled with apples, and then put some flowers on top.
Me: How is that different from what I said last week about filling the bottom of the vases with limes and then putting flowers in? You didn't like that idea at all.
Mom: No, you don't understand. They had a big majestic vase filled with apples, and that's it!
Me: Oh...one big majestic vase. I get it.
Mom: One majestic vase! In the middle of the room, and everyone could look at it.
Me: Wait...one? Like, one centerpiece.
Mom: Yeah! A majestic one.
Me: So what was on the tables?
Mom: Nothing! The big vase was so pretty that everyone just looked at that!
Me: So, you want me to have white linens...and one giant majestic apple-filled vase that everyone will spend the entire reception staring at?
Mom: What? You don't think that will be nice?

This is why when people ask me, "How's the wedding planning coming?" I just walk away.

Jinxed

2009-03-30T15:43:00.002-04:00

I think that last post jinxed me. My landlady's boyfriend(?) no idea who he actually is, but he's been picking up her mail...just rang the doorbell. He just stopped by to tell me that I need to get my car out of the driveway because my landlady is coming back early. As in tomorrow morning.

Luckily for me it just happens to coincide with the only rain we've had in two weeks. Meaning I get to go park my car in the mud pit.

I hate her.

Still Here

2009-03-30T14:02:00.002-04:00

I haven't updated this blog in over a month. It's getting sad. Although with no daytime television, you'd think I'd start updating more. So, let's get you all caught up. (Shouldn't take long...my life isn't that interesting.)

In February we went to Alabama to visit my family. My Dad has decided he hates my fiance. I kind of already knew this, but it was nice to have my suspicions confirmed by pleas not to marry him. Definitely a feel-good moment.
While in Alabama, my former roommates C and P threw an engagement party for Tom and I. It was the most fun I'd had in a really long time. There was delicious food, a kickass cake, and Pranathi made us play her version of the Newlywed Game. My favorite question/answer combo? Q: What is the first thing Tom noticed about Sam? A: Her typing speed. (My favorite part was that I would never have thought of that answer, and two of my friends that had never met each other both said it. This is what happens when your relationship starts via blog.)
While on the topic of weddings, I've been attempting to do a lot of planning. I know a lot of my readers are getting or have recently gotten married. Dudes, what the hell?! It is SO expensive! My parents are paying for it, but if you've met my parents you know that it's like squeezing pennies from a turnip. That doesn't even make sense, and that's why it's applicable. It's almost impossible. And I don't like doing it. Every other day I say, "screw it, we're having sandwiches and iPod music." Because seriously, DJs are making several hundred dollars an hour. And I understand that they have equipment blah blah blah, but they're not buying new equipment for every performance. Actually, Tom is in charge of the DJ and I've been pretty impressed with his bargaining skills. We're down to $800 from a quote of $1500. At this point I'd marry him just for that.
So far I have ordered my wedding dress (finally), we have a reception site (cheap), but one which will require us to rent pretty much everything including tables and chairs (expensive), and we have the church. I am pretty much appalled by the amount of money the church is charging us...AND apparently we have to deal with some crazy music lady. I'm a step away from City Hall.
The best thing about March has been my living situation. My landlady is out of town. For a MONTH. I have been parking in the driveway, playing music at whatever volume I damn well please, and sleeping in as late as I like because there's no 3 year old in clodhoppers running back and forth down the hallway. It's heaven. I've also been able to have people over. So far it's only been Tom's family, but hopefully we'll extend it out before she gets back. We've been having Trivia Nights on Saturdays. We were playing Trivial Pursuit, but people were frustrated with 1. the difficulty of the questions and 2. the fact that Trivial Pursuit (when played the right way- something we never did in my childhood) NEVER ENDS. Seriously. The game takes hours. So, we purchased the Mental Floss trivia game. It's an easier, shorter, more fun version of Trivial Pursuit created by the same guys who do the Mental Floss Magazine in Birmingham, AL. It's a great magazine, and I'm loving the game. You should buy it. Really.
Also in March, John came to visit! Yay! It's always nice to have people visit...even nicer when they treat you to dinner. We went out not realizing it was restaurant week. We went to this little place in the North End that Tom and I had taken C and P to when they visited. The food was awesome. Not so awesome was the fact that I hadn't realized we'd be trekking all over the city and therefore wore some high-heeled boots. I think I ended up walking a couple miles that night. My feet were bruised the next day. Thank goodness I was on call the next day and was therefore able to wear comfy sneakers to work. Also, John had a Kindle 2 and it looked awesome. This post is becoming a gift-guide.
It's almost April and it has FINALLY warmed up. I'm pretty excited. Tom spent all weekend sick as a dog, so hopefully that will be his one bout of illness for the year and we can enjoy the Spring and Summer now :)

I'll try to keep this thing updated, but there are no guarantees. There are days when I think, "Should I blog, or lie down on the couch and take a nap?" and those that know me are not surprised by the way that plays out. Every. Time.

Also, why does my blogger now have a tab that says "Monetize"? I just noticed that...going to investigate. Laters :)

Sacrificing Daytime Television

2009-02-03T15:47:00.003-05:00

This year for Lent I've decided to give up daytime television. It's not that I'm particularly attached to daytime TV...it's more that I'm here in the daytime and so is the television. I don't think this would be an issue if I didn't have cable...I hate soap operas and would certainly turn the television off before watching one....but I do have cable. Which means that I can watch "Monk" reruns...or stand-up comedy...or Food network. Which results in a lot of time staring at the television screen over the soft glow of the computer in my lap.

I've decided to not let myself turn on the television until Tom gets home around 6 PM every day. This is going to (hopefully) result in my reading more books, doing more work, and killing less brain cells. It's going to be good, right?! I think so.

An unfortunate side effect, however, is the time preceding Ash Wednesday. I have until February 25th to watch as much daytime television as I like. Which in itself isn't much, but I have some inexplicable need to turn it on now because my mind is saying "You're not going to be watching it for a whole 2 months! You should watch it now!" And thus here I am, blogging, while telling John O'Hurley and the Collay family that "TIME OFF" is something that a boss would say no to. Damn Family Feud.

It's okay...3 more weeks...brain cells regenerate, right?

Seasons of Denial

2009-02-03T15:30:00.003-05:00

Yesterday it was almost 60 degrees here in Boston. It was a beautiful, sunny day. I had my coat on, but it wasn't buttoned...I was wearing a sweater and a thermal undershirt but I didn't have to put on a scarf. These are the things that pass for warmth up here in February. So, I thought we'd finally turned a corner. Then last night the weatherman said the word "accumulation". I promptly stuck my fingers in my ears and started singing the theme from "The Love Boat." Because it felt like Spring yesterday, and therefore it is Spring.

Today I'm getting ready to go to a meeting at work. I put on my corduroys, socks to my knees, a turtleneck and a sweater. And before I walk to the door I think, "I'll wear my light jacket today...because it is Spring. And I'll wear my dress boots...because the ice melted yesterday." And I left the house. I climbed in the car... and snowflakes began to fall.

SNOWFLAKES!!! WHAT THE HELL!!!

Defiant, I started the vehicle and drove to work. I parked in the deck, and decided to walk to the Dunkin' Donuts across the street for coffee. I shielded my eyes so that the falling ice crystals wouldn't impale my corneas and still I denied. I walked into the office, did my work, packed up my things and got ready to brave the weather again. I thought, it's snowing but it's not that cold...it can still be Spring. I walked toward my car with my backpack, keys in hand, refusing to give in to my rage at the groundhog.

And then I slip. And I fall. Because that is what happens when you're wearing boots that have no tread and 3 inch heels in the snow. I effing hate winter.

Open Letter

2009-01-30T15:12:00.003-05:00

Dear National Grid,

I am a paying customer of yours, partaking in both your electrical and natural gas services. If I had any choice at all in the matter, I would get a waterwheel and tell you to go screw yourselves. My electric bill DirectPay option is set up to withdraw from an account that I no longer replenish. So, the well has finally runneth dry and I need to change my payment options. Because National Grid swallowed up the company that used to provide my electric services, I went to your website to reset my payment options. Apparently the natural gas and electric divisions of the company are separate, and to inconvenience me in the maximum amount possible, you use separate account numbers to represent the different services even though they are for the same customer. Thanks so much for that.

So, I have my account information for my natural gas billing, because I receive monthly email statements. My electric bill is also supposed to be paperless, but I never receive them. So, I just have my account direct-pay and hope that you don't overcharge me. Such is my faith in the goodness of man, and my laziness about resetting any options. Unfortunately recently my outdated account became overdrawn as my electric bills have finally used up all the money. So, I need to reset the directpay to draw from a different account. Enter me putting my fist through a wall.

I come home today with the intention of accomplishing Operation Directpay Reset. I go to the national grid website. Of course I don't remember any of my login information- or what I thought the information was, it wasn't. So, I go to the "Forgot password" form. Apparently my username is incorrect. So I go to the "Forgot username" form. It asks me to enter my email address affiliated with the account. I do and it says that "Email addresses should be in the form address@isp.com". Umm...duh? I know what an effing email address looks like...and furthermore, I know what MY email address looks like. So, obviously, your company has no idea that I exist...probably a remnant of your hostile takeover of my former provider.

I have no choice but to call the company. I know it's not going to be pleasant, I know it's going to take forever, but it has to be done. Because overdraft charges suck. So, I call. First I have to listen to a 5 minute announcement about a power outage that doesn't apply to my area. Fine. Then we get to the automated operator. He reads a menu, I choose an option. He reads another menu, I choose another option. I have to listen to 4 different scripts before the phone starts ringing. At this point, I'm informed that all operators are (shockingly) busy assisting other customers, but they have this great system where they'll call ME back when they're ready. Great. Sign me up. I enter my information and wait 20 minutes for a call back. Which is fine because honestly this game is like crack.

When the phone finally rings, it's another automated operator. "We're calling for...(recording of me saying my name). Please press 1 when this person is on the line." I immediately press 1, and I kid you not am placed on hold. The old familiar sound of "All operators are busy assisting other customers, but your call is important to us. Please stay on the line." Didn't I have you call me so I didn't have to listen to this?!? The phone finally rings through to an operator and all of a sudden the line is dead. Dead. I was disconnected. At this point I have spent an hour trying to switch the credit card billing information on my electric bill.

So, I go back to the website. I try alternate emails and passwords (even though I know which email address should work.) After 3 tries, the system locks me out. I close the window, I'm still locked out. So I have no option but to call back. I call and again hear the message about the power outage. No amount of button mashing will get me around it. I again get the automated menu. I swear and yell in the hopes that you have one of those systems that recognizes when the caller is pissed. Apparently you do because the automated guy apologizes to me and immediately puts me on the phone with a person in billing.

Billing makes sense, right? I'm trying to update my automated BILLING option. I want to give you money. Payments and billing should be the right people, if your company made any sense. But it doesn't. On the other end of the line was the loudest woman in the world, totally pissed that I didn't have my account number ready.

Billing Lady: "You don't know your account number?"
Me: "I know my gas account number, I don't know my electric because I do online statements and I can't access my account."
Billing Lady: "Those are totally separate accounts."
Me: "Okay, so what do we do?"
Billing Lady: "What's your social?"

So she finds my account and then asks me what I need. I tell her I need to update my DirectPay.

Billing Lady: "Oh! That's customer service. Customer service does that. We don't do that. Your account number is 123455432324 (spouted off quickly without even asking whether I had paper and pen handy, which I didn't), call the 800 number then option 2 then option 4."

Does she offer to transfer me? Does she help me in any way? Of course not...God forbid the payment department have anything to do with helping you make a payment.

I called back, listened to the outage message, hit 2 and then 4, ended up having to listen to the menu anyway because hitting numbers didn't get me to the right place. I eventually screamed "CUSTOMER SERVICE" and a couple f-bombs and was placed on hold for a representative. I didn't opt to have them call me back because that obviously is a ploy. When given my estimated 20 minute wait time on the phone, I took into consideration the fact that my next payment wasn't to be deducted until February and decided to give the blood vessel in my forehead a break. After 10 minutes on hold, I hung up and screamed into a pillow.

I guess I'll call back tomorrow. Or stop using electricity. Because seriously, I hate your company.

Thanks for nothing,
Sam

Why I Miss My Family

2008-12-24T00:18:00.007-05:00

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

2008-12-08T18:54:00.004-05:00

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

2008-10-30T15:38:00.005-04:00

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

2008-09-19T10:06:00.003-04:00

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

2008-09-18T13:05:00.003-04:00

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?

2008-08-22T11:29:00.001-04:00

I love this so much.

WOW!

2008-08-15T01:03:00.004-04:00

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

2008-08-05T11:01:00.006-04:00

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."

2008-08-01T17:43:00.005-04:00

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?!?

2008-07-31T13:26:00.007-04:00

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!

2008-07-30T12:13:00.009-04:00

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

2008-07-10T10:15:00.004-04:00

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

2008-07-09T15:42:00.003-04:00

*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

2008-06-09T15:26:00.004-04:00

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

2008-05-15T13:58:00.004-04:00

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

2008-05-03T13:31:00.003-04:00

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.

2008-05-02T14:44:00.003-04:00

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

2008-04-30T16:36:00.003-04:00

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

2008-04-18T12:28:00.003-04:00

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

2008-04-15T15:56:00.003-04:00

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

2008-04-14T15:09:00.002-04:00

I miss graduate school.

This is Public Health.

It Happened One Night

2008-04-01T14:55:00.002-04:00

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

2008-04-01T14:42:00.002-04:00

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

2008-03-11T08:48:00.003-04:00

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

2008-03-10T13:26:00.003-04:00

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?

2008-03-06T14:28:00.006-05:00

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

2008-03-05T10:55:00.003-05:00

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

2008-03-05T10:23:00.006-05:00

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

2008-02-26T16:15:00.006-05:00

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

2008-02-25T13:57:00.004-05:00

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

2008-02-19T10:38:00.004-05:00

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

2008-01-28T17:26:00.001-05:00

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

2008-01-24T18:33:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-23T16:50:00.000-05:00

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!

2008-01-23T14:17:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-10T23:59:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-09T16:37:00.000-05:00

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.

20 Questions: MilONYE Edition

2008-01-05T16:39:00.000-05:00

Question 1:
What was everyone's first thought upon arriving at the Milwaukee airport?
a. "Woo! Go Brewers!"
b. "I'm totally eating a ButterBurger."
c. "I should be able to score some awesome cheese here."
d. "What the hell am I doing in Milwaukee?"

Question 2:
What was the most popular website of MilONYE?
a. Blogger.com
b. FreeRice.com
c. Facebook.com
d. Manhunt.net

Question 3:
When ordering something containing "brick cheese" at a Wisconsin restaurant, what is not appropriate to ask?
a. "May I have some more, sir?"
b. "Where's your restroom?"
c. "Does that come with Lactaid?"
d. "Is brick cheese like...Velveeta?"

Question 4:
What is Thomas thinking in this picture?
a. "This is a bad idea."
b. "Goodbye Maureen."
c. "I can't believe I finally talked them into taking me to get a ButterBurger. And the rest of those suckers are sitting at the house starving. Suckas!"
d. "ButterBurger, you are my Everest."

Question 5:
Where do tiny lawyers buy their pants?
a. Wal-Mart (no...that's where their wives buy them pants. Ohh...sorry Adina.) :-p
b. Tom Thumb's Pant Emporium
c. Gary Coleman Clothiers
d. Napoleon's Tailor

Question 6:
What is the term for this anatomical feature?
a. Cleft chin
b. Butt chin
c. Dimples
d. Penis rest

Question 7:
In a MilONYE game of spades, who do you want as your partner?
a. Adina
b. Paul
c. Donny
d. Anyone but Tom or Jackie

Question 8:
What is Donny doing in this picture?
a. Singing with Sam.
b. Praising Sam's mad singing skillz.
c. Telling Sam he's going to go pee on a house. (Oh wait, that was someone else.)
d. Informing Sam that she's no longer welcome in his house for singing Kelly Clarkson.

Question 9:

What is John's biggest complaint following the incident at left?
a. "I'm cold."
b. "I have to fly home in these jeans."
c. "I'm covered in beer I can't drink."
d. "My penis is sticky."

Question 10:
Why does Donny look like this?
a. Only his mother knows for sure.
b. He just kicked Sam out of the house.
c. Everything is going according to his evil plan.
d. He's watching the waitress clean up the 17 glasses he just broke.

Question 11:
How racist are the shirts available for purchase at Long Wong's Chinese-American sports bar?
a. Wow. So racist.
b. Mr. Wong was wearing one.
c. What are you talking about? Those are hilarious!
d. How much?

Question 12:
Which of these guys is from North Dakota?
a. The one on the left.
b. The one on the right.
c. They're both wearing flannel.
d. North Dakota doesn't exist anymore, the Lakotas have declared their independence.

Question 13:
What is Donny doing?
a. Dancing to "Soulja Boy."
b. Walking like an Egyptian.
c. Terrorizing Jackie.
d. Dancing to "Thriller."

Question 14:
What was most memorable about this guy? (Turn down the volume or you'll die.)
a. His amazing rendition of an Enrique Iglesias song.
b. His bold assertion that everyone should "hold on to your woman...before I do."
c. His ability to attract bats with his singing.
d. The fact that he would inflict that voice upon the world without shame.

Question 15:

What was Donny's bar tab on New Year's Eve?

a. $200
b. $38.50, plus $40 in glassware.
c. $10
d. He left his credit card at the bar. He may still be buying drinks.

Question 16:
What was the best part about Kopp's?
a. Jenn's grilled cheese taking longer than 12 burgers.
b. No chairs!
c. The Velveeta on the cheeseburgers/grilled cheese.
d. The cows outside that were perfect for Gentle Handing.

Question 17:
What karaoke favorite is Adina singing?
a. The Canadian national anthem.
b. "Soulja Boy"
c. "It's Getting Hot in Here" (Nope...Steph covered that one.)
d. "I Will Survive."

Question 18:
What is Jenn thinking in this picture?
a. "Quick! Take the picture!"
b. "Oh my God he's going to lick me."
c. "I'm not drunk enough for this."
d. "Dude...has he even had anything to drink? I mean...I know he's spilled a lot..."

Question 19:
What was Ray's contribution to MilONYE?
a. A box of gun parts.
b. A mixtape of Disney songs.
c. A variety pack of ammunition.
d. A box of cigars.

Question 20:
When in Milwaukee, where's the best place to stay?
a. At the airport.
b. At Donny's house.
c. At Christy's house.
d. At the Pfister.

The rest of my (now labeled, but still completely out of order) MilONYE '08 pics can be found on my Flickr site. Enjoy!

Holiday Toast

2007-12-24T12:30:00.000-05:00

I came home from work the other night to find my boyfriend in the living room playing videogames. Next to the toaster.

Me: "What are you doing?"
Him: "Playing Crackdown."
Me: "Why is the toaster on the living room floor?"
Him: "I was going to toast a bagel, but the toaster caught on fire."
Me: "Fire?!"
Him: "Well, not really....a little bit. I pushed the bagel down and the instead of heating up, a puff of smoke just came up. I unplugged it and thought I could just leave it, but the little fire kept getting bigger, so I brought it into the living room so I could keep an eye on it."
Me: "You couldn't stay in the kitchen and watch it?"
Him: "I wanted to play Crackdown."
Me: "Oh."
Him: "You need a new toaster."

So, hopefully Santa will bring me a toaster. :-p

Road Conditions

2007-12-18T17:18:00.000-05:00

When I moved to New England in July of this year, I had to do quite a bit of adjustment to my driving style. Rather than making eye contact to merge, I had to start fastidiously avoiding eye contact and instead barrel into traffic with no regard for life or vehicle. Another huge adjustment was lane demarcation. I came from Alabama. Home of dirt roads. But at least in Alabama when a road is paved, it has lanes clearly marked. Here you can be driving down a 4 lane road, and all of a sudden, there's no lane paint. Where's my lane?!?? Who knows. I've learned to just follow the car in front of me and hope for the best (the best being that they get hit first and I have time to slam on the brakes.) So far that strategy has worked...everything's cool.

But now it's snowing. Well, not actively snowing right this minute, but there is snow around. Meaning that the width of the roads has markedly decreased. There are still no lines telling you where your lane is, but now sometimes when you're in what would usually at least be functioning as a lane...all of a sudden you're looking at a 4 foot wall of snow. Merging becomes necessary at a moment's notice. It also doesn't help that cars parked on the side of the road are now jutting out 4 feet farther than usual and pedestrians are using the road as a sidewalk.

So now the roads are 10 feet wide trying to accommodate two cars and pedestrians who are dressed to climb Everest (not that I blame them, but it makes them extra-wide.) I kind of hate driving up here right now. And as I'm braving the elements earlier, I hear this on the radio: "tonight, lows in the single digits! And tomorrow, we could be getting another 1-3 inches of snow."

Bring it New England.

Everybody Ready?

2007-12-10T07:56:00.000-05:00

It's time for another tirade about my landlady! Woo!

So, about a week and a half ago I wake up at 7 AM to my entire house shaking. Shaking. I go downstairs to figure out what the heck is going on and there it is. The now familiar sound of men yelling at each other about construction. Look out the window- the front porch is gone. Could I have walked out the front door and fallen 5 feet to my death? Sure. If I was deaf... or uninquisitive beyond all reason. But I'm neither of these and therefore was forewarned of the danger outside my front door. Did my landlady call to let me know this would be happening? Of course not. My parents' suggestion was that next time she does unannounced construction, I just take one for the team and then sue the crap out of her. That is looking more and more appealing by the day.

So, that day was the day before I left for my vacation in Alabama. I was getting everything ready to go- the plan was for Tom to come over whenever he wanted and drop my rent check off in my landlady's mailbox when we regained mailbox access. He would also have my car keys for the week in case he needed to drive my truck, or my landlady needed my truck moved (as happens usually at least once a week.) So, the night before I leave, my landlady calls. Keep in mind, this is about 10 PM.

Landlady: "Hey Sam, just wanted to call and let you know that they're working on the porch."
Me: "Yeah. I figured that out."
Landlady: "Yeah, I just needed to call and let you know...you know...officially."
Me: "Gotcha. Very helpful. Thanks. Oh, and just to let you know, I'm going out of town for a few days, but Tom will bring you the rent and if you need my car moved just give me a call cause he'll have the key."
Landlady: "Oh. Well, if I need your car moved, I need it moved right then. I can't be waiting for him to come over and move it. Why don't you just put your car key in my mailbox and that way I can move it whenever."
Me: "Yeah, I can't get to your mailbox cause there's no porch, and also I want Tom to have the car key so he can use my truck if he needs it."
Landlady: "I've been meaning to talk to you about that."
Me: "About what?"
Landlady: "We need to talk about Tom."
Me: "Excuse me?"
Landlady: "We need to talk about Tom and the amount of time he spends there."
Me: "Why?"
Landlady: "Well, technically, he's a tenant."
Me: "No, he's not. He doesn't live here, so he's not a tenant."
Landlady: "Well, technically the amount of time he spends here makes him a tenant."
Me: "No it doesn't. He doesn't live here, so he's not a tenant."
Landlady: "Well, don't worry about it right now, we'll talk about it when you get back."
Me: "Um....okay."

Really? She wants to talk about the amount of time my boyfriend spends here? She leased the apartment to me only having met him! I *told* her he would be here all the time! In the end, I parked my car at Tom's house for the duration of my vacation so that it wouldn't be spoiled by her calling me. I've never let her drive my car- despite her numerous requests- and I have no intention of doing so in the future. It really makes me miss living in apartment complexes. I hate sharing a wall with my landlady. Especially one that's as nosy as mine. Ugh. And she's seen Tom a couple times since I've been back and is yet to call me for a discussion about him. Too bad, since I consulted with a lawyer while I was in Alabama. (Aww....C, you're such a grown-up.) Actually I had a margarita or two with a lawyer, but she emailed me laws that I can use against my stupid landlady. So that was helpful. And margaritas were delicious. :)

So I came back to about 3 inches of snow on the ground and my landlady outside shoveling the driveway. My lease states that I have to share in the shoveling responsibilities. If she were a nice person, I would've gone inside, gotten a shovel and helped. But I hate her and therefore went inside so I wouldn't have to talk to her. She shoveled the entire driveway, and then I guess she went in the house. Did she lay down salt, or sand, or some sort of salt-sand-absorbent-hybrid? No. The next day was my driveway one giant sheet of deadly ice? Um, yes. Did it remain that way for 3 days? Yes. You see, my back porch light doesn't work....because she won't fix it. Instead she fixed the lighting problem by turning the motion sensor on the garage to the direction of my back door. This is great when I actually get to the door (assuming she hasn't turned the light off- which she does on occasion- she might actively be trying to kill me) but on the trip from the place where I park (a snowy bank to the side of the driveway) to the door, there is no lighting. So tiptoeing across a giant sheet of ice in the dark becomes my sad reality. Immediately following one of these death skates, I called her.

Me: "Hey, I just came in from my car and I was wondering- are you going to put down salt or sand or something because I'm totally going to die out there."
Landlady: "Oh, well, it's supposed to be like 30 tomorrow..."
Me: "Ookay? So salt...?"
Landlady: "I mean 40, it's supposed to be 40 tomorrow."
Me: "So you're saying it's going to melt tomorrow anyway, so you're not going to put anything down."
Landlady: "Right. Well, when it freezes like that the salt can't penetrate or anything so it wouldn't do any good. But, yeah, that's my responsibility to take care of putting stuff down out there, so don't worry about it."
Me: "Um...okay."

I don't know anything about salt for the purposes of winter, so I just go with it. Tom comes over and informs me that yes, duh, she should've laid the stuff down when she finished shoveling, but apparently my landlady is an idiot and she should go out there now and put something down. I go with the "it's gonna melt tomorrow anyway" defense and move on with my life. It's been over a week now, my driveway is yet to thaw- and last night there was freezing rain, which was a real treat when I walked outside at 7 AM. Driveway is slicker than ever. And now, the snowy bank parking has become icy rut parking. Tom had to push me out of my space this morning.

It's going to be a long winter.

Oh Christmas Tree

2007-12-07T10:48:00.000-05:00

As in, "Oh my God it's falling over again."

Those familiar with my previous blog will remember my family's past Christmas tree follies. Specifically last year's "principle tree" which consisted of my entire family pretending that a tree that looked as though it had the mange was actually quite beautiful- just to punish my father who deliberately chose this specimen so that Mom would cave and let him purchase a tree rather than finding one in a cow pasture. (It's Alabama people- that stuff totally happens.) So last year's wasn't great, and this year was going to be different. Actually it started out not being different- my mother and I initially climbed into my Dad's 1995 Chevy AstroVan with a saw and two pairs of gloves and headed for my grandparent's pasture. However, logic prevailed and rather than let my grandfather sit in a chair unbuckled driving through a pasture to find a cedar tree that would invariably die prior to Christmas, we decided to drive to Home Depot and buy a tree.

Behold! The glorious store-bought tree!

This tree was magnificent. Much shorter than the trees of the past (topping out at a measily 8-9 feet rather than our customary 12 ft. and wired to the rafters.) But it was full...and with the childhood ornaments of 5 kids, fullness is a plus. We loaded this tree down- every square inch has something hanging- and it looked great. I think it was the prettiest tree we've ever had. Of course, about 24 hours later, everyone heard a crash and half the ornaments were gone and the entire tree was on the floor. So now, the tree is redecorated with a minor addition. There's now a giant rope tying the tree to the fireplace. But Jo hung some stockings along the rope, so at least it looks festively tacky :-p Unfortunately there are no pictures of the tree's McGyver-esque support. However, there are plenty of pictures of the rest of the evening's festivities. Including the traditional hanging of the "Christmas Germ", the decorating of Bear the Christmas Tree, and a visit from Santa.
You can see them all on my flickr set. Merry Christmas!

I'm so proud

2007-12-07T10:41:00.000-05:00

Apparently you guys are pretty smart. :-p

In Case of Emergency

2007-11-23T15:33:00.000-05:00

"Hello, you've reached the some transplant center in Canada. Our office hours are from 8 AM until 6 PM Monday through Friday. Please leave a message and someone will respond to your call during office hours. If this this an emergency, press 2."
*2*
"That is an invalid option. Our office hours are from 8 AM until 6 PM Monday through Friday. Please leave a message and someone will respond to your call during office hours. If this this an emergency, press 2."
*2*
"That is an invalid option. Our office hours are from 8 AM until 6 PM Monday through Friday. Please leave a message and someone will respond to your call during office hours. If this this an emergency, press 2."
*2*
"That is an invalid option...."
OH FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY!!

So, at 3 AM, I composed a short note to Canada.

Dear Canada,

I hate you. I hate that you don't have a national computer database for transplant patients, because it means I have to call and speak to people on the phone giving the same information over and over at the speed of snail drool because half of what I say doesn't make it through the translation anyway. I hate your menu options in French because let me tell you, after 24 hours, I start believing that I understand it and that just makes everything worse. Also half your menu options are invalid. WTF? I'm glad my liver wasn't exploding or something. Geez.

I hate the people that answer the phone and attempt to speak English to me- I don't know how to say alkaline phosphatase in French, and they don't know how to say it in English, and in the end I have to spell alkaline phosphatase, and at this point in the morning I can barely spell my own name. Also why the hell do you need liver numbers when I'm offering you a heart! (Probably because you have no idea what alk phos is.)

But most of all, I hate you for making me use a calling card after being awake for 24 hours and 3 cups of coffee. Do you have any idea how many times I had to hang up and start again? Dialing 34 digits consecutively is a bit of a challenge when looking at the phone makes you dizzy. How about investing in a little bit of technology?

And an English-French medical dictionary.

Just to reiterate-I hate you,
Sam

Disoriented

2007-11-21T16:05:00.000-05:00

You know what's great?
Getting dressed at 5:30 AM after about 4 hours of sleep to go on *yet another* frikkin' case.

You know what's better?
Realizing at 4 PM when you finally get home that you've had your panties on inside-out all day.

I hate orientation.

Roadhouse

2007-11-21T00:25:00.000-05:00

We went to the Texas Roadhouse for Tom's Dad's birthday last week. As soon as we got the menu, everyone turned to me and realized that they'd brought a vegetarian to a steakhouse.

So, the waitress comes by and gets everyone's order.
Tom's Dad: "Steak."
Tom's Mom: "Hamburger."
Tom's Brother-in-law: "Steak."
Tom's Sister: "Steak."
Tom: "Steak tips."
Me: "I'll have the country veg plate- with the mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables, sweet potato..."
Waitress: "Sorry, are you a vegetarian?"
Me: "Yes."
Waitress: "Okay, the mashed potatoes are made with chicken stock, the green beans are cooked with bacon, and the sweet potato is rolled in pork fat."
My jaw is on the floor.
Waitress: "If you're a vegetarian, your choices are apple sauce, french fries, mixed vegetables, and macaroni and cheese."
Me: "Um. Okay. I guess I'll have those except the apple sauce."
Waitress: "Okay."

The sweet potato is rolled in pork fat. The salad's probably tossed with meat gravy. Stupid steakhouses.

DNR

2007-11-21T00:17:00.000-05:00

Can I just tell you how tired I am of working at this point? I've been on orientation for almost 4 months now. 4 months with about 20 call days a month rather than the 9 I'll be required to do after orientation. 9 days. The rest of the time, I won't have to worry about when I should go buy groceries, what days I'm least likely to be paged out of a movie, or when I'll be able to do laundry without getting paged while clothes are in the washer. I had this checklist I had to get signed off. Yesterday I worked 24 hours straight and did two consecutive cases. Everything is checked off.

I'm coming off orientation. Or I'm going to die.

Sensational

2007-11-08T11:28:00.000-05:00

Last night on a teaser for the 10 o'clock news:

"The lowest temperatures in 7 months! We'll fill you in tonight at 10."

For a second I thought, "This is it. This is how I die."

And then I realized. 7 months ago was April. Of course this is the coldest weather in 7 months- it's almost winter! 7 months ago was spring! Ridiculous.

They're forecasting snow this weekend. So, I'm probably going to die.

Nice knowin' ya. :)

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2007-11-05T15:05:00.000-05:00

Today I was cleaning my kitchen, looked down, and said:

"Oh my God, those baseboards are disgusting!"

And cleaned them. This is disturbing for the following reasons:

1. I noticed a baseboard.
2. I cleaned it without being asked to.
3. I felt better afterwards.

It's official- I've become my mother.

Thinking

2007-11-05T10:18:00.000-05:00

Calling your charitable organization "Hits for Kids" already made me do a double take.

Calling your event "Crackin' It Up" really just makes me start to think you're doing it on purpose.I worry that if you didn't know the context, you might think that Kevin Youkilis has a charitable organization dedicated to providing kids with cocaine.

*Disclaimer: I totally love Kevin Youkilis- he's awesome. I just think it's funny that his charity could raise some DEA suspicion.
**If I had any money, I would go to this event. His last event was the dating game with Red Sox players and their wives and was scripted by Seth Myers from SNL. I bet it was a blast.
***The link for tickets is above, but cocaine is probably cheaper.

Raving Rabbids

2007-11-01T12:09:00.000-04:00

I'm not much of a videogamer. I lack the patience to master the various gaming systems and lack the will to try more than once after failing to win a game. I really enjoy MarioKart because it's short and really difficult to lose. That's the extent of my gaming expertise: not losing at MarioKart. However, there is now a Wii at my house and it's kind of fun. Kind of a lot of fun.

The other day Tom purchased Rayman's Raving Rabbids. A game I've wanted since watching the commercials and realizing that it centered around cartoony rabbits that dance. The game arrived yesterday and it does not disappoint.

It's hilarious. The rabbits randomly run, scream, dance, and shoot at you with plungers. It's basically a bunch of mini-games, which is nice for my short attention span. So far I've shot multiple bunnies with plungers, pulled worms from a bunny's teeth (eew), thrown a bunny dressed in a superhero costume as far as was humanly possible, and danced to hiphop, disco, and "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." If you have a Wii, you should get this game. For this, if nothing else:

Boo!

2007-10-31T16:17:00.000-04:00

I'll tell you what will make you feel better fast: mixing up a giant bowl of candy, sticky eyeballs, assorted Halloween-themed plastic rings, and skeleton keychains in preparation for trick-or-treaters. I plan to let them choose 3 things apiece. Such is the abundance of Halloween goodies. I'm excited.

It feels like Halloween for the first time in a very long time. :)

*This is not a picture of my Halloween candy- I had to stop purchasing any chocolate items for the kids after the second time I ate all the Halloween candy before the month of October. My kids are getting tootsie rolls, Dots (whatever the heck those are), and other gelatinous things I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. But I bought them sticky eyeballs! :-p

Little Miss Sunshine

2007-10-31T14:01:00.000-04:00

I think my bluebird of happiness died. Seriously, I don't know what it is lately (yes I do) but I am totally miserable. Which is unusual for me. It doesn't take much to make me happy, but I think what little it does is lacking. Something has to be done. Luckily, I'm going home for a visit at the end of the month, so I have something to look forward to. Right now though, I'm wallowing through in "everything sucks" mode. And here's why:

1. Work. Work, work, a thousand times work. Which is perhaps the biggest blow to my happiness, because I have always taken a great deal of pride in what I do and how well I do it. My job is important, I'm good at it, and it helps people. Makes it possible to pull 24 hour shifts without committing suicide. When I was offered the position up here, everything was all "Oh, you have experience, you'll be off orientation in no time, blah blah blah." Lately it's been more, "This person thinks you should do this many things to be up to *our* standards" and then after I've completed those things, the rug is promptly pulled from beneath my feet and I'm starting again at ground zero. It's frustrating to say the least. It's going to make me tear my hair out. My big problem is that I don't see that big of a difference between what goes on up here and what went on at my old place of employ. I can do this job, I was hired to do this job, please for the love of God let me do my job and be happy. Also not on call every freaking weekend. I honestly have like a million more things to say about work, but I'll try and curtail it. Let's move on, shall we?
2. Home. My house is frigid. Like 12 degrees colder than outside. I wake up and need to go outdoors to warm up. It's kind of ridiculous. Also, my landlady is currently having the house painted. Toward that end, there is a man outside at this very minute pressure-washing the entire exterior of the house. Fine. What is not fine is being too lazy to move my two jack-o-lanterns and package from Amazon off the patio before you commence with the high pressure beam of ice water. Everything soaked. Pumpkins on the ground, saturated- those will be nice and easy to light tonight I'm sure. Halloween decorations on the door completely soaked. Cardboard of the Amazon box nice and and soggy. Way to be a total jackass, house painter guy.
3. People. I miss my friends. I miss my coworkers (who incidentally, were my friends.) I miss having lunch with someone other than my television and microwave. I miss going to the movies and eating ridiculous amounts of smuggled food out of C's Mary-Poppins-esque purse. I miss P randomly showing up at my apartment for a nap and I miss nights at the Phoenix.
4. Illness. I've been sick for a week now (thanks Mom.) Hacking my lungs out, choking on air, medicating to the point of having to Google "acetaminophen overdose", and otherwise feeling blah. (FYI, more than 4000 mg of tylenol in a day is bad news for your liver...says the girl who was at 3700 when she figured this out.)
5. It's cold. Did I mention I'm cold? Cause I am.

Anyways, I'm sure everything will get better. My Dad just sent me I swear to God 18 lbs of chocolate, so things are looking up already. I just can't wait to see everybody at the end of the month. Also, we're going to eat non-stop, because I can't narrow down which restaurants I miss the most. Prepare yourselves. :)

The Surprise

2007-10-25T11:49:00.000-04:00

Sorry I've been MIA from the blog for pretty much the entire month. You see, I had a big surprise. A little over a week ago, my Dad called me.

Dad: "Your mother needs a vacation, I need a vacation, I'm sending her to come see you."
Me: "Great!"
Thinking I haven't seen my family in 3 months, it would be cool if they came to visit.
Me: "When are they coming?"
Dad: "How about Saturday?"
It's Thursday.
Me: "This Saturday?"
Dad: "Sure."
Me: "Dad, it's Thursday. Tickets are going to be wicked expensive, I'm on call at work almost every day next week, and I have to spend a day in New Hampshire at a conference."
Dad: "Take her with you."
Me: "Mom and Jo (who is 12 years old)?"
Dad: "Sure, whatever. Just buy the tickets, I'll pay you back."

And thus began my week with Mom and Jo. I found out Thursday night, they arrived Saturday afternoon. Friday was a day of frantic cleaning (not that it did me any good as Jo went around taking pictures of the apartment after it got messy again, and with the closet doors deliberately opened so people could see "what my apartment *really* looked like.")

Luckily I now have both Tom's Wii and his XBox 360 at my apartment. I found that they are pretty useful in entertaining people when you're not around. My mother and Jo played Lego Star Wars on the xbox every morning (you could hear them shouting at each other from upstairs) and Jo and Tom played various Wii and xbox games every night. My favorite though, had to be the first night. They arrived at my apartment, I gave them the tour, and then Tom showed them how to play the Wii. And over the next few hours there was a lot of laughter, a lot of yelling, and even some glass breakage. (I was bowling, swung my arm up, completely shattered the top of a glass. Only the top though...didn't spill a drop of water. Skillz babay.)

The day after they arrived, I was on call and had to go to work at about 7 AM and arrived home after they went to bed. I told them how to get to the train station, and told them which stop to get off at to arrive in the city. Of course, they got lost going to the train, walked like 26 miles over the course of the day, but ended up seeing a lot of stuff. Not that that was much consolation to the sullen 12 year old with the tired little feet. They seemed to get around pretty well, and ended up having to spend a lot of time without me during their trip. They went to Salem, MA one day- Jo brought me back this badass souvenir (pic).

They went to the Science Museum, the USS Constitution, Quincy Market, Faneuil Hall, all over the place. They even hiked over to the Bunker Hill Monument. But I did have a couple days that I was able to spend with them. And of course, I wanted to spend those days showing them the best the city has to offer. I'm talking of course, about little blue penguins. We went to the aquarium on Monday and got to see them feed the little blues! A-dorable. Seriously. We were at the little talk that the keepers do and they were talking about how the African penguins will be extinct by 2040 (huh!??) and I got really worried about the lil' blues. According to the keepers, the lil' blues aren't even on the threatened list. Apparently everyone knows they're too adorable to eat. So, phew, no problems there.

Here's a note for people that live in Boston, or plan to visit. When you walk into the aquarium, and they make you take that stupid picture that they'll try to sell to you when you're walking out the door, finish and then take a left. I always try to get past that cameraman as quickly as I can. There's no sense in wasting paper and chemicals on a photo that I swear to you I will not pay $10 for. So, I rush past him and then walk straight into the aquarium to the right. Because of this, I've NEVER noticed that there is an entire exhibit area to the left of the cameraman. Right now they have a jellyfish exhibit that is totally awesome, and I would've missed it had my mother not needed to hit the restroom on the way out! That is poor signage on the part of the aquarium, but I prefer to blame the camera people. It's ridiculous.

The other day I had off I took them to Fenway Park, and walking through Boston Common and the Public Gardens. This was perhaps my favorite part about the trip. Why? I will tell you why. My mother has some kind of weird bird guano radar when she's on vacation. A couple years ago when we were on vacation, Mom was crapped on by a seagull at the zoo in Chicago. You may remember the famous photo. So, when we were in the public gardens and I sent Mom and Jo up on a bridge to take their picture, it kicked in again. Mom put her hand on a little-used section of railing. Perhaps it's little used because it is actually covered by a heaping pile of bird dung. In the picture at left, my mother's right hand is covered in bird crap and Jo can't stop laughing at her. We ended up walking under the bridge and pouring sprite all over Mom's hand to clean it. We later lost her in a 5 story Banana Republic where she tried to find a restroom to wash her hands. Everything's an adventure with these two. :-p

So, in the end they saw most of the city, and I got to hang out with them a grand total of two days of the seven they were here. It was a little crazy. But, I think we all had fun and that's what counts I guess. Well, that and the fact that you can't bring baseball bats on an airplane (even little souvenir ones wielded by 12 year old girls.) That is also important as my mother discovered on the way back. Hehe. :-p

The End.

PS- To my AOC readers: my mother doesn't know about my blog. Let's keep it that way. ;)

Letter from the Grave

2007-10-23T13:43:00.001-04:00

Dear Zicam,

You are *not* virtually undetectable in any liquid. You taste like propane.

Also, I hate you.

Sincerely,
Samantha

The Pact

2007-10-09T12:54:00.000-04:00

My Dad is taking our dog to the veterinarian's office tomorrow. Cookie has had skin issues for a while, but now he's having trouble getting up and down the stairs and his spine is cracking like Bruce Lee's knuckles. So, we're kind of worried. Dad called this morning.

Dad: "I'm taking Cookie to the vet tomorrow."
Me: "What do you think is wrong with him?"
Dad: "I dunno. But if he's in pain, I've gotta do something about it."
Me: "Yeah."
Dad: "We made a promise to one another. If it ever came down to it, he'd do me and I'd do him."
Me: "Is this during or after a game of POW (poodles of war)?"
Dad: "It's not a game, it's a simulation."
Me: "There's something seriously wrong with you."

The SKP

2007-10-08T12:47:00.000-04:00

My parents' house is located down the street from an assisted living/nursing home for mentally challenged elderly people. I'm not really sure whether they've always been challenged, or they're Alzheimer's patients, or what. I just know that we drive past every day and there's always at least one guy in a helmet sitting in a rocking chair on the porch waving at every car that goes by. We've always waved back because my mother used to work at a nursing home and loves old people.

She made me volunteer at the nursing home when I was a kid...in retrospect I'm sure it made me a better person and all that jazz...really it just helped me develop mad domino skillz. Also, I was suckered by some diabetic octogenarian into giving him a deadly batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies and spent certain days forcibly removing bacon from one guy's socks. Good times. Anyway, that's not the point of the post. The point is that my sister Jo called me the other day.

Jo: "They're building a fence around the nursing home."
Me: "Why?"
Jo: "Probably for the SKPs."
Me: "Huh?"
Jo: "Didn't you hear what happened? We came home from school one day and there was some old guy out on the porch just sitting in a chair. With a blanket. And one shoe. We went in the house while Daddy talked to him.
Dad: "How are you today, sir?"
Old Guy: "Doin' juuuuust fine."
Dad: "You okay out here by yourself?"
Old Guy: "Doin' juuuuust fine."
Dad: "Okay."
So Dad came in the house and told Mom there was some old dude out on our porch and that she should probably go take care of him. Mom went out to talk to him.
Mom: "How are you doing?"
Old Guy: "Doin' juuuuuust fine."
Mom: "Can I get you anything?"
Old Guy: "I sure would like some biscuits and coffee."
Mom: "Okay, come in the house."
So Mom brought him in and he drank 3 cups of coffee and ate 2 biscuits! Then Mom called the nursing home to come get him."
Me: "Wow."
Jo: "Yeah, they must not be feeding them down there, cause he was really hungry! And now they're building a fence so there won't be any more SKPs."
Me: "SKPs? What the heck is a...escapees. It's pronounced "escapees", Jo."
Jo: "Whatever you call them, soon they're gonna have to start tunneling out for biscuits."

Only my family. Psychos.

Ignorance is Murder

2007-10-02T09:21:00.000-04:00

I was reading the headlines yesterday and ran across this little gem:

"The head of the Catholic Church in Mozambique has told the BBC he believes some European-made condoms are infected with HIV deliberately. "

I can't tell you how much this disgusts me. This archbishop is telling people that he personally knows of two countries in Europe that are making condoms coated in the HIV virus. Why would you even do that?! Is it *that* important that people don't use condoms? He also said that the antiretroviral drugs were infected "in order to finish quickly the African people." Paranoid much? Honestly, I have quite a number of issues with this, but I'll break it down for you.1. I don't go around telling people they're going to hell, why don't you stop going around telling people they're going to get AIDS? I will yield to the Church on dissemination of any and all information about Jesus, if they will yield to someone who knows what the hell they're talking about on the matter of HIV prevention and treatment.
2. If you're going to give information about something you know nothing about, at least give out the right information. Telling people that ARV's are contaminated isn't some shrewd move by the Church to convince people not to use condoms. It's a lie that succeeds only in killing people. As far as I'm concerned, it's murder.

I could go on for days about everything that's wrong with the Catholic church's approach to AIDS. In the end, it's about being consistent. If the Church is pro-life, they cannot be anti-condom. Condoms in countries where the virus is spreading like wildfire are not to stop reproduction, they're to stop death. Not only for the sexual partner, but for the HIV-positive children that they might have produced.

Honestly, I have a really hard time seeing what's not to understand in this whole situation. It's the "fight against HIV/AIDS" but I think activists spend more time in the fight against ignorance. And public figures spreading misinformation isn't making that fight any easier. Ugh.

*If you're interested in reading more, I enjoyed this article (actually posted in a Catholic magazine!) It's old, but whatever. Unfortunately not much has changed.