I shouldn’t get married, men drive me crazy. I don’t mean that in a bad way, but it really is true. I have no idea how to communicate with them. I’ll compose one phrase in my head but it comes out of my mouth in another way. I don’t know how that happens. I don’t know how to present myself to them. I over analyze everything that occurs when I’m around them. I don’t know how to flirt. I’m not kidding when I shyly look away, I really am shy. I get suddenly embarrassed and I’m not certain what I’m supposed to do next. No literally, what is the next move? Do I keep eye contact or am I supposed to smile? Am I supposed to say something? I have no idea. I think my fate is sealed now. I think it’s too late to learn new tricks.
Don’t misunderstand, I know HOW to do things meaning that I understand how to work my vocal chords in tandem with my mouth muscles to form words and I could describe all facets and definitions of sex to an alien well enough that the being would have a mental picture of it, but it’s one thing to describe it and another to be able to intuit when one move is done and another move should begin. It’s the transitions that I don’t understand. At what point do you go from just standing there to kissing? Watching movies is no good, their cues are in the script. It’s like watching a flock of geese swimming around on a lake and then suddenly something happens where they all take off into the air. I sat there once for almost an hour trying to see that one little cue that tipped them all off. I never saw it. How did they all know to start flying at the same time?!
I feel like there’s a part missing in my head, like I’m short circuited. I’m missing a slot on my motherboard. My imprinting was interrupted by violence at a crucial stage. Man, I wish I could put the blame on that but I can’t. It’s just me. Once you become an adult, you can’t blame your current actions on your past.
I want to skip over the transitions and jump right into having the comfortable, slightly messy TV room which is different from the living room, where you’re sacked out in front of the TV after dinner on one of the big comfy chairs with one kid on the computer and the other kid on the phone and your hubby across the big, wooden coffee table laying in the short, overly soft loveseat, with his feet hanging out over the edge, both of you making one-liners every now and then based on whatever bullshit flashes across the TV screen at any given time.
My friend had that. I used to love to come over and watch America’s Next Top Model with her and her daughter while the son was at the computer NOT doing homework and the hubby was kind of watching with us but kind of not but still making one-liners every now and then based on whatever bullshit Tyra was putting on the screen at any given time. She’s getting a divorce now. I didn’t see that transition at all either.
Fuck it, when does Spring get here? No really, when does Spring get here?
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Um, One Thing
Can someone please take down the billboard on 36th Ave. and Lake St. - the one where Sven Sundgaard is eating pie? It's disturbing. It's for Dining Out For Life thingy on April 24th and since that date has come and gone, I'd like the billboard to do the same thing.
I'm sick of looking for mittens in the morning so I'd like the weather to go with the billboard.
I really don't think I'm asking too much here.
I'm sick of looking for mittens in the morning so I'd like the weather to go with the billboard.
I really don't think I'm asking too much here.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Hassenphefer Anyone?
There are a plethora of rabbits inhabiting Minneapolis right now. Driving home late Saturday night, there was a pack of them in the middle of 32nd Str. and 31st. Ave. They were all crowded around a little table with scrolls looking to be deeply engaged in debate. There are always at least two hanging around my backyard which doesn't mean good things for my future carrots and beats.
I think we should release some lynx and cougars back into their historical native locations, whether there's a city there or not. It would take care of those conniving rabbits and it may also affect the crime rate. I'd release The Cat since he kills everything with fur, but he'd probably drop the carcasses off at my doorstep and want to play with them for awhile.
I missed Friday's Punch Out because I had tickets for Saturday's main stage show and in this time of a slowing economy, both cannot be afforded at once. I figured Saturday would be good since you actually get three shows in one if you go to the 10pm show. I somehow keep getting seated in the same area but I keep missing the flying water which always hits the people sitting next to me instead. The two women who took it in the face last Saturday didn't come back after intermission, unless they sat in different seats. I also threatened a performer. I didn't mean to, it's not how I had planned it at all. It just fell out of my mouth. Sometimes that happens. I guess Penn is right, sometimes I'm a little too mean. Sorry.
Sunday I came down with a craving for a chili dog. Wow, is that one messy food item. I wonder if hotdogs have tryptophan in them because I took a two hour nap after eating it. You'd think that I wouldn't be all that tired by the time I had to actually go to bed but I still was. In fact, I slept through the alarm this morning. Good thing The Cat jumped on my stomach. They have some amazing sensory perception to be able to blindly hit some of your most vulnerable areas.
I don't mean to upset anyone but I swear I'm seeing a few snowflakes outside my window right now. Ugh.
I think we should release some lynx and cougars back into their historical native locations, whether there's a city there or not. It would take care of those conniving rabbits and it may also affect the crime rate. I'd release The Cat since he kills everything with fur, but he'd probably drop the carcasses off at my doorstep and want to play with them for awhile.
I missed Friday's Punch Out because I had tickets for Saturday's main stage show and in this time of a slowing economy, both cannot be afforded at once. I figured Saturday would be good since you actually get three shows in one if you go to the 10pm show. I somehow keep getting seated in the same area but I keep missing the flying water which always hits the people sitting next to me instead. The two women who took it in the face last Saturday didn't come back after intermission, unless they sat in different seats. I also threatened a performer. I didn't mean to, it's not how I had planned it at all. It just fell out of my mouth. Sometimes that happens. I guess Penn is right, sometimes I'm a little too mean. Sorry.
Sunday I came down with a craving for a chili dog. Wow, is that one messy food item. I wonder if hotdogs have tryptophan in them because I took a two hour nap after eating it. You'd think that I wouldn't be all that tired by the time I had to actually go to bed but I still was. In fact, I slept through the alarm this morning. Good thing The Cat jumped on my stomach. They have some amazing sensory perception to be able to blindly hit some of your most vulnerable areas.
I don't mean to upset anyone but I swear I'm seeing a few snowflakes outside my window right now. Ugh.
Friday, April 25, 2008
No, don't turn the furnace off yet.
I need money so I applied for a PT cashier position at Lund's on Ford Parkway; mainly because it's close but also because the discount on groceries that will hopefully be a part of the benefits package will really be handy. It'll be like making even more money since I'll be spending less on food. Since my appetite isn't decreasing, this is the only way to lower expenses.
Lunds/Beyerly's has an online application process which includes a 100-question personality assessment. There were four options to each question: Strongly Agree, Agree, Disagree, and Strongly Disagree. I was distressed with the instructions to take it quickly and not stop to think too long about any one question. I tried to follow the instructions but 100 questions is a lot. I started getting irritated after awhile and could be heard to sigh loudly. I can see where some of the questions would apply to the service industry but others, I don't know.
"Do you enjoy listening to other people talk about themselves?"
"Do you have thoughts of killing your mother?"
"Do you criticize someone for making a small mistake?"
"Have you ever wanted to kill your mother?"
"Do you fake being polite?"
"Have you ever planned your mother's death?"
"Are you sure?"
"What if we triple-dog-dared you to kill your mother?"
"Do you find people annoying?"
I just answered Strongly Agree to everything. I should be fine.
The afternoon was occupied with the debate over whether to hold an election for a 12-seat committee which currently has 11 nominees. When it was pointed out that this situation in no way requires an election, the response was "if you don't, people in the college will think that there was backroom maneuvering to get these people on the committee."
If we were handing out blank checks or if you even got paid for being on the committee, I could understand the concern but there is no gain personally, professionally and definitely not financially other than the satisfaction of attempting to be of service to your co-workers.
The committee hasn't actually done anything. There isn't enough left-over motivation or time because there are too many other changes going on that occupy most of out time.
"Everyone for professional development?" Yes.
"Great, can you put something together?" No.
"Could you attend something if someone else put it together?" No.
Okay then. See you at the next meeting.
I wrapped up the workday by attending the awards ceremony held by the Women's Leadership Institute. Given that all of the people standing at the podium have had extensive experience with a podium, I was amused to see that none of the women could put the microphone in the correct place for their height. I tried to think of a joke about the sexual reference associated with the phrase "speak into the mic" but it was brought to a screeching halt when Dr. Stephanie Valberg dedicated her award to her recently deceased daughter.
Although the ceremony was concluded with a quote from Oprah, I'm willing to overlook that because they served good desserts.
Here's a quote from Zora Hurston's "Dust Tracks on a Dirt Road" which I happen to really like:
"People are prone to build a statue of the kind of person that it pleases them to be. And few people want to be forced to ask themselves 'What if there is no me like my statue?' The thing to do is to grab the broom of anger and drive off the beast of fear."
Lunds/Beyerly's has an online application process which includes a 100-question personality assessment. There were four options to each question: Strongly Agree, Agree, Disagree, and Strongly Disagree. I was distressed with the instructions to take it quickly and not stop to think too long about any one question. I tried to follow the instructions but 100 questions is a lot. I started getting irritated after awhile and could be heard to sigh loudly. I can see where some of the questions would apply to the service industry but others, I don't know.
"Do you enjoy listening to other people talk about themselves?"
"Do you have thoughts of killing your mother?"
"Do you criticize someone for making a small mistake?"
"Have you ever wanted to kill your mother?"
"Do you fake being polite?"
"Have you ever planned your mother's death?"
"Are you sure?"
"What if we triple-dog-dared you to kill your mother?"
"Do you find people annoying?"
I just answered Strongly Agree to everything. I should be fine.
The afternoon was occupied with the debate over whether to hold an election for a 12-seat committee which currently has 11 nominees. When it was pointed out that this situation in no way requires an election, the response was "if you don't, people in the college will think that there was backroom maneuvering to get these people on the committee."
If we were handing out blank checks or if you even got paid for being on the committee, I could understand the concern but there is no gain personally, professionally and definitely not financially other than the satisfaction of attempting to be of service to your co-workers.
The committee hasn't actually done anything. There isn't enough left-over motivation or time because there are too many other changes going on that occupy most of out time.
"Everyone for professional development?" Yes.
"Great, can you put something together?" No.
"Could you attend something if someone else put it together?" No.
Okay then. See you at the next meeting.
I wrapped up the workday by attending the awards ceremony held by the Women's Leadership Institute. Given that all of the people standing at the podium have had extensive experience with a podium, I was amused to see that none of the women could put the microphone in the correct place for their height. I tried to think of a joke about the sexual reference associated with the phrase "speak into the mic" but it was brought to a screeching halt when Dr. Stephanie Valberg dedicated her award to her recently deceased daughter.
Although the ceremony was concluded with a quote from Oprah, I'm willing to overlook that because they served good desserts.
Here's a quote from Zora Hurston's "Dust Tracks on a Dirt Road" which I happen to really like:
"People are prone to build a statue of the kind of person that it pleases them to be. And few people want to be forced to ask themselves 'What if there is no me like my statue?' The thing to do is to grab the broom of anger and drive off the beast of fear."
Thursday, April 24, 2008
There is a certain mode of communication at the U most often utilized by people with no advertising budget but yet feel that what they have to say is extremely important; it's the sidewalk chalk board. This is where all of the candidates for various student body offices will plant their names into your subconscious as well as telling you where and when to vote. The Born-agains will relay their messages from god and the Treehuggers will encourage you to take action.
Yesterday morning, a new group added their message into the mix. I'm not exactly sure what it is their trying to tell me, but apparently there is a being called "cockzilla" on the loose and looks exactly as it sounds - the lower body of godzilla but the neck and head represent the male genitalia except with teeth and little tyrannosaurus arms. It's a shame because I think this rain is going to wash away cockzilla before I can learn what it's mission is.
I watched Coffee and Cigarettes last night which Netflix was kind enough to send me. It's a collection of conversations between actors over, guess what, coffee and cigarettes. It's filmed in black and white and there is always some type of checkered pattern on the set; either the table is checkered, or the floor, or the cups, you get the idea. I didn't really like it immediately but it's starting to grow on me now, kind of like Fargo did.
There were about ten different scripted vignettes but with some of them, I'm not sure how much was actually written and how much was improvised. The first one with Steven Wright and Roberto Benigni looked like they may have just been given an idea and went from there. Roberto Benigni is absolutely adorable.
My favorite was with Alfred Molina and Steve Coogan. A very close second was Iggy Pop and Tom Waits' scene. Iggy is really good at rolling his eyes. I've never heard Tom Waits speak before. Now I want to hear his music. Does anyone have anything by Waits that I could borrow? I promise I won't break it. I would go into more detail about the movie but I don't want to ruin it for anyone. That and I don't want to bore you.
Now I've bored myself. I'm off to mooch coffee off of someone.
Yesterday morning, a new group added their message into the mix. I'm not exactly sure what it is their trying to tell me, but apparently there is a being called "cockzilla" on the loose and looks exactly as it sounds - the lower body of godzilla but the neck and head represent the male genitalia except with teeth and little tyrannosaurus arms. It's a shame because I think this rain is going to wash away cockzilla before I can learn what it's mission is.
I watched Coffee and Cigarettes last night which Netflix was kind enough to send me. It's a collection of conversations between actors over, guess what, coffee and cigarettes. It's filmed in black and white and there is always some type of checkered pattern on the set; either the table is checkered, or the floor, or the cups, you get the idea. I didn't really like it immediately but it's starting to grow on me now, kind of like Fargo did.
There were about ten different scripted vignettes but with some of them, I'm not sure how much was actually written and how much was improvised. The first one with Steven Wright and Roberto Benigni looked like they may have just been given an idea and went from there. Roberto Benigni is absolutely adorable.
My favorite was with Alfred Molina and Steve Coogan. A very close second was Iggy Pop and Tom Waits' scene. Iggy is really good at rolling his eyes. I've never heard Tom Waits speak before. Now I want to hear his music. Does anyone have anything by Waits that I could borrow? I promise I won't break it. I would go into more detail about the movie but I don't want to ruin it for anyone. That and I don't want to bore you.
Now I've bored myself. I'm off to mooch coffee off of someone.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Just do it
Might I suggest that if you're feeling a bit sluggish this morning you should take a walk? I did. I six-mile walk in an hour and a half. I had to drop ye old Buick off at le Shop for le oil change this morning. I have good shoes. I was worried that I may become tired after that but not the case, in fact I'm pretty wide awake. The large iced mocha may have played a part also. I hope I'm still wide awake after work because the six miles will need to be covered again in order to reclaim my vehicle.
I'm also in a good mood because I've been pushed up into the intermediate belly dancing class. I like intermediate. It says that you know the terminology but are still not completely accountable for perfect execution. Have I mentioned that I bought a sword for dancing and am practicing keeping it on my head? Have I mentioned that The Cat is stationed permanently under the couch now because of it? I feel as if I've typed those words before. If not, I've wanted to.
This is a nice little time of the work day when I've sent out information and requests for information and can go no further until information is returned to me. It means I get to sit here and do this. Then I get to go read what you've written.
In case it's been weighing on your mind, rest assured that according to the President, we're not in a recession. We're not! No! It's just a slow-down period. I'm not in office right now. I'm not! I'm just in the area between the hallway and the outside of the building*.
*I'm just attempting to be silly here. Please don't engage me in any type of economical discussion because I won't be able to sustain it and you'll be sorely disappointed in me.
I'm also in a good mood because I've been pushed up into the intermediate belly dancing class. I like intermediate. It says that you know the terminology but are still not completely accountable for perfect execution. Have I mentioned that I bought a sword for dancing and am practicing keeping it on my head? Have I mentioned that The Cat is stationed permanently under the couch now because of it? I feel as if I've typed those words before. If not, I've wanted to.
This is a nice little time of the work day when I've sent out information and requests for information and can go no further until information is returned to me. It means I get to sit here and do this. Then I get to go read what you've written.
In case it's been weighing on your mind, rest assured that according to the President, we're not in a recession. We're not! No! It's just a slow-down period. I'm not in office right now. I'm not! I'm just in the area between the hallway and the outside of the building*.
*I'm just attempting to be silly here. Please don't engage me in any type of economical discussion because I won't be able to sustain it and you'll be sorely disappointed in me.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
I suggest an SPF 30
In case you're wondering if it's possible to get sunburned on a day like this during only a 20-minute jaunt outside, I can say that yes, it is indeed possible. How do I know? It just happened to me. There goes my hopes for a porcelain decolletage this summer a la Venus de Milo, Audrey Hepburn or....Madonna.
At the looks of things right now, I find it hard to believe that I could be walking home in a rainstorm by 4:30pm. Actually, I can't tell if the forecast says that or not. What is the dividing time between afternoon and evening? It's only a few hours away, someone should be able to pinpoint it. I think it's possible that precipitation is in our near future because my hair is frizzy. It does that if there's too much humidity in the air. It also does it when there isn't enough humidity in the air. I believe there will come one moment in time one day when the humidity is exactly as it should be and my hair will not frizz. I hope I have a camera at that moment. Until that moment, I'll continue to keep the gel industry afloat.
I have nine minutes left in my lunch hour, what should I do with it?
At the looks of things right now, I find it hard to believe that I could be walking home in a rainstorm by 4:30pm. Actually, I can't tell if the forecast says that or not. What is the dividing time between afternoon and evening? It's only a few hours away, someone should be able to pinpoint it. I think it's possible that precipitation is in our near future because my hair is frizzy. It does that if there's too much humidity in the air. It also does it when there isn't enough humidity in the air. I believe there will come one moment in time one day when the humidity is exactly as it should be and my hair will not frizz. I hope I have a camera at that moment. Until that moment, I'll continue to keep the gel industry afloat.
I have nine minutes left in my lunch hour, what should I do with it?
I'm not in, leave a message
Phones suck. I'm going to go back to sending smoke signals. They smell a lot better than a phone. Maybe people would respond quicker too. Smoke tends to convey a sense of urgency when seen from far away. I could incorporate different colors like they do when a new pope is elected.
Speaking of popes, that last run-through at Yankee stadium made him look like he was a candidate for Homecoming King. I'm a little disappointed. John Paul really looked like a pope. If someone is going to be the head of the Catholic church for the entire world, he looked the part. Not this new guy. He looks so mean. I don't think that'll do much for recruitment. In fact, he kind of makes me want to go out and have an abortion just to piss him off. Then again, I am a bit of a wackjob.
I got a chance to see Jill Bernard's Drum Machine Friday night. That never ceases to amaze me. Adorable gave a valiant effort but, gosh, it's Drum Machine. I hate to see anyone at Punch Out! lose. The second-place contestants should get cookies. I'll bake them. I'm very good at it. Then everyone will win.
Friday, April 18, 2008
So...what was the score? Did we win?
I'm not necessarily a big sports fan but I love listening to the sports announcers. It's a weird kind of comfort sound. I set the timer on the TV last night for an hour so I could listen to the hockey game as I fell asleep. You'd think that the sudden change in dynamics would jolt me awake but it doesn't. Even the fact that we were losing didn't matter, it still lulled me to sleep.
The type of sport doesn't really matter although I prefer to have baseball on while cleaning the house and football on while baking. Football is probably the most comforting overall. Back when I was managing a friend's booth at the Renaissance, my neighbors at the Royal Stables would haul their TV in and set up a little lounge in the back of the booths. I was two shops down from Bad Manor so the back yard was the last triangular sliver of the big off-stage area in the middle of the island. It was Royal Stables at the tip, then me, then Linden Hills Pottery with the Bad Manor kitchens making up the opposite wall. The cooks would press their faces up to the chicken wire windows in between breaks to get caught up on the scores.
It was a pretty interesting mix of scenes working in that booth. Depending on which direction you were facing, you'd either watch grown men jumping up and down dancing with hankies or watch grown men jumping up and down swearing at the TV. Men are such strange and wondrous creatures.
How 'bout those gas prices, huh?
The type of sport doesn't really matter although I prefer to have baseball on while cleaning the house and football on while baking. Football is probably the most comforting overall. Back when I was managing a friend's booth at the Renaissance, my neighbors at the Royal Stables would haul their TV in and set up a little lounge in the back of the booths. I was two shops down from Bad Manor so the back yard was the last triangular sliver of the big off-stage area in the middle of the island. It was Royal Stables at the tip, then me, then Linden Hills Pottery with the Bad Manor kitchens making up the opposite wall. The cooks would press their faces up to the chicken wire windows in between breaks to get caught up on the scores.
It was a pretty interesting mix of scenes working in that booth. Depending on which direction you were facing, you'd either watch grown men jumping up and down dancing with hankies or watch grown men jumping up and down swearing at the TV. Men are such strange and wondrous creatures.
How 'bout those gas prices, huh?
Thursday, April 17, 2008
'Tis the season
Spring is here, complete with babies and bikers and their dumbass counterparts - cyclists. I almost ran over a few yesterday on the River Road. I mean cyclists, not babies although don't make a habit of leaving your babies on the River Road because I'll run those over too.
There are fifty million miles of bike paths around all of the lakes, rivers, and strip joints because Minnesota caters to every whiner within earshot. After producing the fifty million miles of bike paths, studies have shown that cyclists are safer riding in traffic and are therefore encouraged to ride on the road. Apparently cyclists can't ride around each other or pedestrians without causing chaos. There is also a 10 mph speed limit on bike paths which is outside of the speed range of most cyclists. Their range falls between faster than walkers, rollerbladers and leisure riders to slower than automobiles. The take-home message is: if you hear of a planned bike path for your neighborhood, vehemently oppose it.
I have a meeting and therefore must end my rant. Sorry.
There are fifty million miles of bike paths around all of the lakes, rivers, and strip joints because Minnesota caters to every whiner within earshot. After producing the fifty million miles of bike paths, studies have shown that cyclists are safer riding in traffic and are therefore encouraged to ride on the road. Apparently cyclists can't ride around each other or pedestrians without causing chaos. There is also a 10 mph speed limit on bike paths which is outside of the speed range of most cyclists. Their range falls between faster than walkers, rollerbladers and leisure riders to slower than automobiles. The take-home message is: if you hear of a planned bike path for your neighborhood, vehemently oppose it.
I have a meeting and therefore must end my rant. Sorry.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Four-step Plan
This is it. Finally, the right move. I think I'm becoming a full-fledged adult now. I am taking responsibility for myself and am fully confident that I've made the investment decision of a lifetime - the Scotts 4 Step Lawn Care program. Step 1 will commence this early evening hopefully before the rain starts. I need to speed my way over to St. Louis Park to pick up the spreader after work. I'd try it by hand but I'd probably end up with zebra stripes on my lawn.
Yes, the bane of crabgrass everywhere, the Scotts Lawn Pro® Step™ 1 Crabgrass Preventer Plus Fertilizer will be unleashed across my 1/2 acre after which I expect to hear celestial choirs and see a sunbeam break through and shine only on my lawn. It's critical that this step be applied today. It has to, it HAS TO OR MY PLANS ARE THWARTED! Don't worry, I'll be much more calm at the time of application so that it is done correctly. I was once told that one should not end sentences with an adverb. I don't like that rule. Anyways, it's crucial to apply Step 1 tonight because Step 2 must quickly follow.
I'll get to take a few months off before applying Step 3 and Step 4 doesn't show up until the fall. My plans for total world domination are progressing nicely. (I did it again).
Yes, the bane of crabgrass everywhere, the Scotts Lawn Pro® Step™ 1 Crabgrass Preventer Plus Fertilizer will be unleashed across my 1/2 acre after which I expect to hear celestial choirs and see a sunbeam break through and shine only on my lawn. It's critical that this step be applied today. It has to, it HAS TO OR MY PLANS ARE THWARTED! Don't worry, I'll be much more calm at the time of application so that it is done correctly. I was once told that one should not end sentences with an adverb. I don't like that rule. Anyways, it's crucial to apply Step 1 tonight because Step 2 must quickly follow.
I'll get to take a few months off before applying Step 3 and Step 4 doesn't show up until the fall. My plans for total world domination are progressing nicely. (I did it again).
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Lunch time observations
I have an elementary school teacher's desk that forces everything to within a 2' radius of you; wire bins, phones, 10-keys, plant, oh and that computer thingy. Having to work with only looking forward for eight hours makes a depressed beginning only more depressed. I'll soon turn to fidgeting. I suddenly find it impossible to sit upright in my chair with legs at a 45 degree angle; instead, my torso flattens and my pelvis pushes forward turning me into an ironing board and I slowly sink down until my chin is resting on my ergonomic keyboard.
These Reese's Peanutbutter Cup malts at Annie's are pretty awesome.
Being fidgety and depressed also makes me forget to censor myself. I accidentally sent an email to the wrong Steve this morning which caused me to blurt out "Shit!". The person walking by commented "I know just how you feel" without skipping a beat in her step. It's nice to know that there's someone else out there.
Have I mentioned that Annie's has some big ass malts? Terrible taste in music but good malts.
Courage is a fickle bitch, don't you think? There one minute, gone the next. Shows up when there's lots of information but puts her head in her Guinness whenever there are too many unknowns. Her and her constant bitch cheerleader friend Logic can kiss my tattooed patootee. Odd bedfellows those two. They need to work out more so they can kick Self-doubt's ass. She's so possessive! I can't get a minute's rest with her around. I'm blaming this whole whacked stream of consciousness on the malt.
I lost $0.85 to the vending machine that kept my microwave popcorn teetering between the bottom wrung and the opening making it completely unreachable by any human without a key. I made up for it with a horribly fattening lunch at Annie's, so fattening that I think I'm going to puke. Hopefully not puke because that would be a waste of $15, but a good burp would do about now.
Now I have 3 weeks to undo the damage this will do to my cholesterol. My doctor has a really good knack for making me feel guilty. Oh well; guilty later, better now - that's what I say. I'm going to roll myself out the door now.
These Reese's Peanutbutter Cup malts at Annie's are pretty awesome.
Being fidgety and depressed also makes me forget to censor myself. I accidentally sent an email to the wrong Steve this morning which caused me to blurt out "Shit!". The person walking by commented "I know just how you feel" without skipping a beat in her step. It's nice to know that there's someone else out there.
Have I mentioned that Annie's has some big ass malts? Terrible taste in music but good malts.
Courage is a fickle bitch, don't you think? There one minute, gone the next. Shows up when there's lots of information but puts her head in her Guinness whenever there are too many unknowns. Her and her constant bitch cheerleader friend Logic can kiss my tattooed patootee. Odd bedfellows those two. They need to work out more so they can kick Self-doubt's ass. She's so possessive! I can't get a minute's rest with her around. I'm blaming this whole whacked stream of consciousness on the malt.
I lost $0.85 to the vending machine that kept my microwave popcorn teetering between the bottom wrung and the opening making it completely unreachable by any human without a key. I made up for it with a horribly fattening lunch at Annie's, so fattening that I think I'm going to puke. Hopefully not puke because that would be a waste of $15, but a good burp would do about now.
Now I have 3 weeks to undo the damage this will do to my cholesterol. My doctor has a really good knack for making me feel guilty. Oh well; guilty later, better now - that's what I say. I'm going to roll myself out the door now.
Juan Valdez is rolling in is grave, wait, is he dead yet?
So since it's so windy, I wanted to get coffee at the overpriced Walter Library only because it is directly across the street from my office giving the coffee a better chance at staying hot during the journey. The cafe wasn't open at 7:00am like the little sign on the door said. Luckily, there was a nice, big clock right inside the door so I could check to make sure I wasn't losing my mind. I thought that might be a possibility since the security guard was sitting at a table next to the door watching me try the lo
cked door over and over again. He could probably see the machinery working inside my head as I tried to reconcile the locked doors with the big clock and the little sign but nothing was making sense. He finally got up and walked over to tell me that people had called in sick this morning and the cafe was running behind. Okay, fine, I understand that. People get sick and that's just the way it is so I was willing to stand outside and wait for what the guard described as a few minutes.
cked door over and over again. He could probably see the machinery working inside my head as I tried to reconcile the locked doors with the big clock and the little sign but nothing was making sense. He finally got up and walked over to tell me that people had called in sick this morning and the cafe was running behind. Okay, fine, I understand that. People get sick and that's just the way it is so I was willing to stand outside and wait for what the guard described as a few minutes. He was actually correct in that he was given the 'okay' to open the doors a few minutes later. It was now 7:20am and my little taste buds were screaming for some acidic, crushed seed from a coffee plant. I walked up to the empty counter as what I guessed to be a manager-type person stood behind the empty counter. He asked what I wanted. I said "a medium mocha please" to which he replied that he didn't have that right now. I then asked for a medium regular coffee but again he was to retort with a negative by stating that he only had decaf brewing currently. How about you just tell me the one thing you do have to save us a few precious moments of our lives? Huh?
My understanding at the call-in-sick plight was diminishing in light of the fact that he was clearly lacking in skills of which he is supposed to be managing on a daily basis. I understand how a Hospital Administrator may not know how to perform heart surgery but they at least have an appreciation for what it would take. A coffee cafe manager should be able to make coffee from the machines on which he judges other people's worth. Maybe this is a good time to stop drinking coffee.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Anyone have a band-aid?
The weekend produced two big blisters that are now oozing and complete lack of self-esteem. I guess this last thing isn't something that was produced in the traditional sense of the word, but it's what came out of the weekend so I guess the lack of self-esteem was the coagulated natant of the last 2 1/2 days (since the weekend starts Friday afternoon).
This is also the time of year where I tend to forget that the 50 degree high during that one hour in the afternoon doesn't mean that it'll stay warm in the evening after I've left the windows and door open a little too long. I suddenly become chilled and have to resort to donning the long underwear at bedtime and cranking the thermostat up to 70 degrees. Why is it that two months ago I would have been roasting with this type of night-time temperature but now find it unbearable? It's my mind. I wish it would stop working against me.
On a completely unrelated note, Jill Bernard's Small Book of Improv is highly recommended. I keep it on my kitchen table and read it just about every day. The Daleks intrigue me. If you have eight extra dollars, you should get one. Have it mailed because she'll draw a customized drawing on your envelope. I ripped mine out and it is now serving as the bookmark in the event that I'm not able to finish the book in one sitting.
This is also the time of year where I tend to forget that the 50 degree high during that one hour in the afternoon doesn't mean that it'll stay warm in the evening after I've left the windows and door open a little too long. I suddenly become chilled and have to resort to donning the long underwear at bedtime and cranking the thermostat up to 70 degrees. Why is it that two months ago I would have been roasting with this type of night-time temperature but now find it unbearable? It's my mind. I wish it would stop working against me.
On a completely unrelated note, Jill Bernard's Small Book of Improv is highly recommended. I keep it on my kitchen table and read it just about every day. The Daleks intrigue me. If you have eight extra dollars, you should get one. Have it mailed because she'll draw a customized drawing on your envelope. I ripped mine out and it is now serving as the bookmark in the event that I'm not able to finish the book in one sitting.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Zora! Zora! Zora!
If I were a believer in that hoodoo crap of numerology, I’d say that there’s something suspicious around the birth, life and death of Ms. Zora Neale Hurston. I’ll get to who she is in a minute. Her dates are: b. 1/7/1891 and d. 1/28/1960. Numerology works by adding all of the digits together down to one digit. It doesn’t matter how you do it, you’ll always end up with the same one digit. In Zora’s case, her number is 9. Allow me to illustrate.
Taking her birth date, 1/7/1891, it doesn’t matter if you add 17+1+89+1 or 1+71+8+91 or 171+8+9+1, you’ll end up with 9. See, 17+1+89+1 = 108. Since you have to end up at one digit, you arrive at that final digit by adding the digits together thus: 1+0+8 = 9. If you take the second example, 1+71+8+91 = 171 you still end up with 9 (1+7+1) and so on with the final example. If you do the same thing with her death date, you’ll also get 9. While nine is a nice number, it’s not as cool as 8 since eight is all connected in one pen stroke and when flipped on its side, it becomes the symbol for infinity which I like so much I had it tattooed on my thighs, but I digress.
Since I don’t believe in the hoodoo crap of numerology, I’m not intrigued with the above revelation. Her death date is my birth date (1/28, NOT 1960 though) and that always sparks a little interest. I don’t know why, it just does.
I could go on further if I believed in any of that reincarnation hogwash and say that I have a connection to her since she died on the day I was born except that there was also eleven years between those two momentous occasions. I could then go back to numerology and say that there is still a connection because the 11 years brought down to one digit is 2 and my number is 2 (1+28+1971). Oooooooooooo…..are you creeped out yet? Me neither.
Oh yeah, I was going to tell you who she was. Zora (what a kick-ass name) was a writer but was also called an anthropologist when she agreed to do some story-collecting in the south. Yes, that’s right…I watched American Masters again.
I haven’t read any of her stuff yet and can’t wait to do so, but until then, I’ll have to be content remembering lines like what she called “the boiled down juice of human living” when referring to games, songs and customs of a small town. I’m not sure I agree with her on that but I love the phrase. I just took a few moments to think about it and I’ve changed my mind, I now do agree with her.
I also agree with her when she commented on the intensity of waking up in the night having to write saying “There is no agony like bearing an untold story that is up inside you”. I blame Halle Berry’s post-Oscar curse for making me completely disinterested in seeing the big-screen adaption of “Their Eyes Were Watching God”. Halle and Oprah. I’ll blame Oprah too mainly because I don’t like her.
In comparison, Maya Angelou is a complete wimp and a no-talent hack. “I know why the caged bird sings….” Oh boo hoo! Zora would simply be astonished that you don’t want to be in her presence. That’s more like it. Zora must have agreed with me because it just thundered* when I wrote that. Either that or there is a point of contact between a cold and a warm air mass creating instability in the atmosphere which could subsequently cause a sudden release of electrical energy in a flash of current, or what we would call lightning, which would then be accompanied by a sudden change in temperature, pressure and the expansion of air surrounding the lightning bolt creating a sonic boom.
*I actually wrote this 4/10 at 7:30pm but since I don’t have a computer at home, you’re getting it this morning.
Taking her birth date, 1/7/1891, it doesn’t matter if you add 17+1+89+1 or 1+71+8+91 or 171+8+9+1, you’ll end up with 9. See, 17+1+89+1 = 108. Since you have to end up at one digit, you arrive at that final digit by adding the digits together thus: 1+0+8 = 9. If you take the second example, 1+71+8+91 = 171 you still end up with 9 (1+7+1) and so on with the final example. If you do the same thing with her death date, you’ll also get 9. While nine is a nice number, it’s not as cool as 8 since eight is all connected in one pen stroke and when flipped on its side, it becomes the symbol for infinity which I like so much I had it tattooed on my thighs, but I digress.
Since I don’t believe in the hoodoo crap of numerology, I’m not intrigued with the above revelation. Her death date is my birth date (1/28, NOT 1960 though) and that always sparks a little interest. I don’t know why, it just does.
I could go on further if I believed in any of that reincarnation hogwash and say that I have a connection to her since she died on the day I was born except that there was also eleven years between those two momentous occasions. I could then go back to numerology and say that there is still a connection because the 11 years brought down to one digit is 2 and my number is 2 (1+28+1971). Oooooooooooo…..are you creeped out yet? Me neither.
Oh yeah, I was going to tell you who she was. Zora (what a kick-ass name) was a writer but was also called an anthropologist when she agreed to do some story-collecting in the south. Yes, that’s right…I watched American Masters again.
I haven’t read any of her stuff yet and can’t wait to do so, but until then, I’ll have to be content remembering lines like what she called “the boiled down juice of human living” when referring to games, songs and customs of a small town. I’m not sure I agree with her on that but I love the phrase. I just took a few moments to think about it and I’ve changed my mind, I now do agree with her.
I also agree with her when she commented on the intensity of waking up in the night having to write saying “There is no agony like bearing an untold story that is up inside you”. I blame Halle Berry’s post-Oscar curse for making me completely disinterested in seeing the big-screen adaption of “Their Eyes Were Watching God”. Halle and Oprah. I’ll blame Oprah too mainly because I don’t like her.
In comparison, Maya Angelou is a complete wimp and a no-talent hack. “I know why the caged bird sings….” Oh boo hoo! Zora would simply be astonished that you don’t want to be in her presence. That’s more like it. Zora must have agreed with me because it just thundered* when I wrote that. Either that or there is a point of contact between a cold and a warm air mass creating instability in the atmosphere which could subsequently cause a sudden release of electrical energy in a flash of current, or what we would call lightning, which would then be accompanied by a sudden change in temperature, pressure and the expansion of air surrounding the lightning bolt creating a sonic boom.
*I actually wrote this 4/10 at 7:30pm but since I don’t have a computer at home, you’re getting it this morning.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Modern Conveniences
Sometimes flame and I don't mix well like the time when I was looking for the pilot light on my tiny, old gas stove in my first apartment that I had on my own, living by myself at 712 E. 1st street in Duluth, MN in 1991 and figured I wouldn't have a problem with a gas stove since it looked much like the one my mom had in our tiny trailer we lived out of during the summer when I was a kid in Dresser Township, WI where you had to light the pilot light each time you wanted to use the oven and of course the stove top burners too but the oven was what concerned me the most because that day in Duluth I had just moved in the night before last and now wanted to bake some chocolate chip cookies which are my specialty and I'm not kidding my cookies are so good you'll stand in amazement after eating one not knowing what to do next but before I could make anyone feel that I had to get the oven lit so I turned on the gas which I could hear from the hissing sound and then lit the match and opened the door where the little hole for the pilot light was supposed to be if the oven was like the one in Dresser Township, WI but when I opened the door there was no little hole in the front so I started to look around for the little hole because maybe it was hiding in the corner or up the side or on the back wall and no it wasn't already automatically lit for me because I couldn't feel any heat I could only hear the hissing sound of the open gas line so now I was becoming a bit more frantic because some time had passed and the gas was building up or so I imagined but of course the thought of turning the gas off and looking for the hole first didn't enter my mind because I couldn't believe that I couldn't find the hole in such a small space so stubbornly I continued on where suddenly I saw a little hole back in the corner but since it was dark back there I couldn't see well but luckily I had the match to bring light to the area which it did and then some when the match flame met with the hole and suddenly the WOOSH! happened engulfing my head in a whirl of flame which caused my cat-like instincts to kick in and I jumped backwards out of the tiny inferno in my first kitchen which sent me back against the wall where I slid down holding the wall with both hands with my eyes popping out and my chest heaving as I sat back in shock waiting for the oven to sprout eyes and legs and come after me but those are just silly things your mind does when you're in a stressful situation but I sure did learn a lesson and actually developed a phobia towards gas ovens and even stove-tops that lasted through last year until I got my own new modern oven where no match is required.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Wait...did you hear that?
If left to my own devices for too long, I’ll start to think up some pretty weird crap. It started at lunch when I decided to venture out amongst the other humans and eat in an eatery. Once seated with my purchase from the eatery, I noticed the man sitting at the next table. I couldn’t help but notice him because he was staring at me. He was staring at me with a furrowed brow. I decided to employ my best anticreep technique and ignore him. After a few more tentative glances upwards, I realized that the glare on his glasses only made it seem as if he was staring at me but he was really staring up into space. Why space? Because that’s where you get the elusive answers to the crosswords that you can’t figure out, one of which he was currently working on.
With that mystery solved, I went back to my hoagie only to spot, with my superior peripheral vision, two young men lurking ar
ound the employee’s only door. They were looking to either side of them like the little muppet, Lefty on Sesame Street that was always selling letters. Remember? He wore a trench coat and would ask “Do ya wanna by an O?”. They both then proceeded through the door and down the stairs. I secretly hoped that nothing bad would happen until I finished my cookie. I hate leaving cookies behind. A few minutes later one of them returned with one backpack, one duffel bag, one plastic bag filled with Christmas lights and one jacket. He inspected the lock on the outside of the door. He looked like he was going to shut and lock it, but what about the other guy? Did he bash his head in and leave him for dead down there? Was he now trying to cover up his crimes? No. The second guy came up with the laundry.Nothing exciting ever happens around here.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Dinner anyone?
The woman in the office next to me has one of those bird clocks, the kind that chirps differently at the top of each hour. I'
m going to get a shotgun clock that will play a different caliber shot at the top of every hour. Hopefully it will coincide with the bird call. If I could then somehow get a few feathers to fly out into the hallway, life would be grand.
m going to get a shotgun clock that will play a different caliber shot at the top of every hour. Hopefully it will coincide with the bird call. If I could then somehow get a few feathers to fly out into the hallway, life would be grand. It'll get better soon.....really.
This morning while crossing over I-94 on the River Road, it smelled like mini-donuts. Believe me, I distinctly recognize that smell and it was mini-donuts. Maybe the little vagrants under the bridge by the falls took a break from creating graffiti art to fry up a few.
I had a training session yesterday for the new financial system we're getting in July. It was filled with the usual - the couple of people who are a split-second ahead of the instructor by asking questions on material that she's about to answer (if they would have shut the hell up for a few seconds I could have gotten out of there 20 minutes earlier), the row of computers that don't work quite right, and the chairs with arm rests that are too low and nonadjustable.
There was an assistant instructor for the last half of the session who is lucky to have all of her limbs attached this morning. We were reviewing the new feature to further define how many times a document is put into the cue for processing. The options were don't, once, and always. I think this is pretty clear. You don't even have to know what the cue is or why a document would go in it to understand those three options. The assistant instructor felt we needed further coddling, so she walks to the front of the room and proceeds with the following:
"Let me bring this down to Kindergarten level for you. Let's say that I'm a school bus driver and you're a kid on the corner. If you choose the "always" option, I'll always stop to pick you up. If you choose the "once" option, then I'll only stop once to pick you up. And if you choose the "don't" option, well, then I won't stop at all". Let me bring this down to a threatening level for you. If you ever attempt to use a metaphor not only as ridiculous as that one but in a place where it is completely uncalled for, I will find a school bus and run you the fuck over. The real instructor was irked by her presence also. She actually pulled her own hair at one point. I saw her. It was very funny.
While I realize that I started this new blog page with the anticipation of creating something much more worthwhile to read, I ask for your patience as I continue to modify my document and g-file management techniques. Let me bring this down to Kindergarten level for you - me go work now.
I had a training session yesterday for the new financial system we're getting in July. It was filled with the usual - the couple of people who are a split-second ahead of the instructor by asking questions on material that she's about to answer (if they would have shut the hell up for a few seconds I could have gotten out of there 20 minutes earlier), the row of computers that don't work quite right, and the chairs with arm rests that are too low and nonadjustable.
There was an assistant instructor for the last half of the session who is lucky to have all of her limbs attached this morning. We were reviewing the new feature to further define how many times a document is put into the cue for processing. The options were don't, once, and always. I think this is pretty clear. You don't even have to know what the cue is or why a document would go in it to understand those three options. The assistant instructor felt we needed further coddling, so she walks to the front of the room and proceeds with the following:
"Let me bring this down to Kindergarten level for you. Let's say that I'm a school bus driver and you're a kid on the corner. If you choose the "always" option, I'll always stop to pick you up. If you choose the "once" option, then I'll only stop once to pick you up. And if you choose the "don't" option, well, then I won't stop at all". Let me bring this down to a threatening level for you. If you ever attempt to use a metaphor not only as ridiculous as that one but in a place where it is completely uncalled for, I will find a school bus and run you the fuck over. The real instructor was irked by her presence also. She actually pulled her own hair at one point. I saw her. It was very funny.
While I realize that I started this new blog page with the anticipation of creating something much more worthwhile to read, I ask for your patience as I continue to modify my document and g-file management techniques. Let me bring this down to Kindergarten level for you - me go work now.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Chicken Little
So the weekend was, you know, pretty good, kinda, sorta, well, yeah, I guess it was okay.
Friday night's Punch Out is a lot of fun and you'd be contributing to a worthy cause while indulging in a guilty pleasure...no, they don't have mud wrestling championships yet but I feel it's on it's way. I'm referring to a nice little shot of improv to which your dollars go towards TCIF which will be nothing but good for everyone.
Saurday, my friends came over to take my old cut glass antique kitchen light and bought me a new replacement from Menards. Before you think I got the shaft on that deal, let me just say that the antique light was ugly. There isn't a price tag on true beauty and there isn't a price tag on true ugliness either. They stayed for some kick-ass bbq chicken - because I'm a damn fine cook - and afterwords we all laid around like a pride of lions after a kill complaining about how stuffed we were.
Sunday, I chickened out again on doing something I've been wanting to do since October 2006 and what that is is none of your business. I'm a real snot sometimes. Sorry. Well no, I'm really not sorry, I'm just trying to be polite.
Maybe this week will bring something incredibly exciting. At least it's starting out with an incredibly long training session on the incredibly convaluted new financial system. It can only get better from here.
Friday night's Punch Out is a lot of fun and you'd be contributing to a worthy cause while indulging in a guilty pleasure...no, they don't have mud wrestling championships yet but I feel it's on it's way. I'm referring to a nice little shot of improv to which your dollars go towards TCIF which will be nothing but good for everyone.
Saurday, my friends came over to take my old cut glass antique kitchen light and bought me a new replacement from Menards. Before you think I got the shaft on that deal, let me just say that the antique light was ugly. There isn't a price tag on true beauty and there isn't a price tag on true ugliness either. They stayed for some kick-ass bbq chicken - because I'm a damn fine cook - and afterwords we all laid around like a pride of lions after a kill complaining about how stuffed we were.
Sunday, I chickened out again on doing something I've been wanting to do since October 2006 and what that is is none of your business. I'm a real snot sometimes. Sorry. Well no, I'm really not sorry, I'm just trying to be polite.
Maybe this week will bring something incredibly exciting. At least it's starting out with an incredibly long training session on the incredibly convaluted new financial system. It can only get better from here.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Epilogue
I’m in the healing phase now. I’ve moved on and found another one which so far is treating me very well. It’s considerably easier mostly because I can post pictures directly from my computer and don’t have to go through Photo-goddamn-bucket. Did I mention that there’s spell check? There is. It’s wonderful. Shhh, don’t tell MySpace, we’re not speaking right now. He still hasn’t returned my Stevie Wonder CDs.
I can look back fondly remembering the first day I timidly typed and mouse-clicked my way into his heart. He made me feel welcomed at first by allowing me to present my real self without harsh consequences.
Now that I think back on it, there were a few clues in the beginning that were a sign of things to come but, like all enabling relationships, I chose to ignore them. The first occurred about six months into the relationship when my blog went unposted no matter how many times I hit “post blog”. Unbeknownst to me, the email notifications were still going out to my comrades each time I hit “post blog”. MySpace had caused me to spam my friends with no knowledge of my actions. Thankfully, Mr. Lazarchic was kind enough to alert me to the situation by gently calling into question my intelligence. Future unposts would continue but I would always blame my lack of technical expertise instead of putting the blame squarely where it deserved to be.
As the blind eye was turned against those blog misappropriations, another dysfunctional characteristic reared it’s ugly head; the slow decline of my self-esteem. Yes, I fell prey to the beguiled enchantments of the reader stats. Damn that counter! Damn that counter to hell! Oh sure, at first I was flattered with the ten to fourteen hits my blog would get in a day. Once I got a little though, I wanted more. I wanted that number up in the 30’s, maybe even 50’s. Especially after hearing from others how their counters were giving them numbers in the hundreds, thousands even!
On the outside, I consoled myself with the thought of “For heaven sakes, it’s only MySpace. You’re not Richard Yates, what’d you expect? A Pulitzer? A parade?”. Yes, a parade would be nice, but I again went back to what I knew best and that was to push it all down inside me. Any first-year psychology student can tell you that it’s not good to bottle up your feelings like that and I can tell you why, because it builds up into unhealthy behavior. I soon found myself delving into deep depression if I didn’t get at least a few more hits before ye olde work whistle blew.
Soon, the counter wasn’t enough. It moved on to comments. Why were others getting comments from those people and what did they mean by “Ha! Me too babe! What turn do I take?”. What was this secret language and was it being used against me? Was it a conspiracy? Was it a cult? Was it some depraved sex ring in which I would get caught up in if I asked too many questions? Oh, the images that filled my head!
I soon started to employ scientific inquiry to see if I could match up whether that someone special had been online yet and if so, did my counter increase by 1 meaning that he had to have read my blog? I then started investigating whether systems existed where someone else could track my MySpace lurkings. Did others know that I was tracking their inane comments, their availability status, their choice in songs, whether they had logged on today and if so, why hadn’t they answered my message yet?
As my inner self began to splinter into shards resembling the poor broom of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, a glimmer of light began to enter into my dark, desperate world. A light of hope; a bitchslap of reality. It soon grew in strength and diameter. It grabbed me by the shoulders, shook me and screamed “What the FUCK is WRONG with you woman?!! “. As a side note, I find it odd that the voice resembled my mechanic, but that’s neither here nor there. It was enough to set me on the right path.
At that same time, another MySpace user had pointed out an option to me. Some might call this handy, some may call it fate, I call it devine intervention. It had to have been God. If not him then who? It was the Holy Spirit filling my computer, commanding my fingers to type in that other website. I had found it. The Chrysalis of blogdom. I got out. I put on my high heels and went trucking down the internet highway like Tina Turner running from Ike’s fist. I got out. I was finally free. Oh, glorious day.
I would like to take this opportunity now to introduce you to my new partner, http://peggylarson.blogspot.com. Ah, sweet release.
I can look back fondly remembering the first day I timidly typed and mouse-clicked my way into his heart. He made me feel welcomed at first by allowing me to present my real self without harsh consequences.
Now that I think back on it, there were a few clues in the beginning that were a sign of things to come but, like all enabling relationships, I chose to ignore them. The first occurred about six months into the relationship when my blog went unposted no matter how many times I hit “post blog”. Unbeknownst to me, the email notifications were still going out to my comrades each time I hit “post blog”. MySpace had caused me to spam my friends with no knowledge of my actions. Thankfully, Mr. Lazarchic was kind enough to alert me to the situation by gently calling into question my intelligence. Future unposts would continue but I would always blame my lack of technical expertise instead of putting the blame squarely where it deserved to be.
As the blind eye was turned against those blog misappropriations, another dysfunctional characteristic reared it’s ugly head; the slow decline of my self-esteem. Yes, I fell prey to the beguiled enchantments of the reader stats. Damn that counter! Damn that counter to hell! Oh sure, at first I was flattered with the ten to fourteen hits my blog would get in a day. Once I got a little though, I wanted more. I wanted that number up in the 30’s, maybe even 50’s. Especially after hearing from others how their counters were giving them numbers in the hundreds, thousands even!
On the outside, I consoled myself with the thought of “For heaven sakes, it’s only MySpace. You’re not Richard Yates, what’d you expect? A Pulitzer? A parade?”. Yes, a parade would be nice, but I again went back to what I knew best and that was to push it all down inside me. Any first-year psychology student can tell you that it’s not good to bottle up your feelings like that and I can tell you why, because it builds up into unhealthy behavior. I soon found myself delving into deep depression if I didn’t get at least a few more hits before ye olde work whistle blew.
Soon, the counter wasn’t enough. It moved on to comments. Why were others getting comments from those people and what did they mean by “Ha! Me too babe! What turn do I take?”. What was this secret language and was it being used against me? Was it a conspiracy? Was it a cult? Was it some depraved sex ring in which I would get caught up in if I asked too many questions? Oh, the images that filled my head!
I soon started to employ scientific inquiry to see if I could match up whether that someone special had been online yet and if so, did my counter increase by 1 meaning that he had to have read my blog? I then started investigating whether systems existed where someone else could track my MySpace lurkings. Did others know that I was tracking their inane comments, their availability status, their choice in songs, whether they had logged on today and if so, why hadn’t they answered my message yet?
As my inner self began to splinter into shards resembling the poor broom of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, a glimmer of light began to enter into my dark, desperate world. A light of hope; a bitchslap of reality. It soon grew in strength and diameter. It grabbed me by the shoulders, shook me and screamed “What the FUCK is WRONG with you woman?!! “. As a side note, I find it odd that the voice resembled my mechanic, but that’s neither here nor there. It was enough to set me on the right path.
At that same time, another MySpace user had pointed out an option to me. Some might call this handy, some may call it fate, I call it devine intervention. It had to have been God. If not him then who? It was the Holy Spirit filling my computer, commanding my fingers to type in that other website. I had found it. The Chrysalis of blogdom. I got out. I put on my high heels and went trucking down the internet highway like Tina Turner running from Ike’s fist. I got out. I was finally free. Oh, glorious day.
I would like to take this opportunity now to introduce you to my new partner, http://peggylarson.blogspot.com. Ah, sweet release.
Added pressure
Yes, I think I'm going to like this. Either that or it's just the flush of new love. You know, where you can't keep your hands off of each other? It's only been barely an hour since I was here last.
I feel a bit more pressure here to do a much better job of writing than I've been doing as of late. Good. Keep moving. Forward, always forward.
Look how easy it is to put a picture in:
This is my nephew Michael on his first day of school last fall. It might be a little dark so I'll have to work on that photo editing thing.
In unrelated news; I received a check for $18.42 from my insurance company labeled as a "Safe Driving Bonus". It'll go towards my Valium fund required for driving in this state.
This is a test of my new lover
This is it. I'm taking those first few tentative steps away from that horrid past relationship. I can say so far that I like the tool bar much better. The main reason being that it has spell check. Oh joy! Hopefully I'll quit embarrassing myself with terrable grammer.
Yes, you're right. I'm a sheep following everyone else. Why? Because I'm a sheep...that's what we do. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm grateful to have acquaintances who do all the busy work of finding new modes of communication of which I just then follow along with. I'm comfortable with this label.
I'm going to end this now since it's the first day and all and we're just getting to know each other. I'm anticipating magic happening in the next weeks. A flow of prose so striking that you won't know whether to scratch your watch or wind your butt.
Yes, you're right. I'm a sheep following everyone else. Why? Because I'm a sheep...that's what we do. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm grateful to have acquaintances who do all the busy work of finding new modes of communication of which I just then follow along with. I'm comfortable with this label.
I'm going to end this now since it's the first day and all and we're just getting to know each other. I'm anticipating magic happening in the next weeks. A flow of prose so striking that you won't know whether to scratch your watch or wind your butt.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)