Blown Fuse

Not to be rude, but - dude!

I'd like someone to give me some advice on etiquette for the following situation.

Last night I went out to the grocery store. It was between seven and nine - I went at this time because I had to wait for Scott to get home to keep an eye on Roland, and also the stores tend to be a little less packed during that time (people are at home eating dinner).

I drove out of my way to a grocery store in a swanky neighborhood knowing that the food selection would be better quality and the clientele less obnoxious.

I wandered around the store with my cart, taking my time for once, and making sure that I got everything on my list as I wouldn't have a chance to go back out until tomorrow. When I was done with my shopping I got into a check-out lane where there was no line. The cashier ringing me up didn't have a bagger, so she was sort of just piling things up at the end of the counter and looking around nervously for assistance (the counter was pretty small).

To speed things along, the woman in line behind me comes around and starts bagging my stuff, mumbling something about hating to stand around. Mind you, the store was virtually desserted at this point and she had few enough items to go through the self-check lane.

What the hell? I stood there like a dipshit with a look on my face reading "I'm not in a huge hurry," "there's no one in the other lane - go over there!" and "Fuck you if you think I'm bagging my own groceries at these prices."

Of course, I thanked her for bagging my shit, but how huge do your balls have to be to do that? I was so astounded. Before she walked up there and started bagging my loot I hadn't intended to do that task myself, and I sure as hell wasn't going to engage in it after she started it. I couldn't even say, "Um, that's nice of you, but that's okay - you don't have to bag my shit," because she was obviously a carrier of ants in the pants.

What would you have done?

Word!

Here's another quote from my Stitch 'n Bitch calendar - this one I actually agree with:

"if you always do what interest you, at least one person is pleased." -Katherine Hepburn

That totally opposes last week's tripe, eh?

"You need to pick your afro daddy, because it's flat on one side."

For those who don't know (shameful) that's a Erykah Badu reference. It's particularly apropos because as the barometric pressure rises in The South my hair starts to stick together and flatten.

I don't make a secret out of the fact that I don't comb (or brush) my hair. I don't wear my hair this way because I'm making some cultural statement condemning straightening what's meant to be curly. I wear it this way because I'm lazy as fuck.

For the past several months my hair has been perfectly manageable. It curled where it was supposed to and was full of body. I don't know if it was the pregnancy hormones or what, but it was a fabulous time. Come to think of it, I didn't lose any hair until recently so maybe it was the pregnancy hormone dealie.

Anyway, its starting to mat. Because I take the cavewoman approach to hair care (wet and walk away), whenever there's a clump I just rip it out. If it's a really bad clump I bring in the scissors and just cut the whole wad off. I'm afraid to see what kind of mess has been made when I finally do comb it.

I'm making a pact with myself. This week, I have to run a comb through my hair. All of it. I'm sure I'll be cleaning hair out of the bathroom rug for weeks as a result, but it beats feeling like a slob, I'm sure.

Pictures to follow soon.

Angry "Trek" rambles

You know, normally I'd be so excited about the prospect of a new Trek movie being produced that I'd be clenching every spinchter I possess in giddy anticipation, but with the new one? Not so much.

What made the other ten Star Trek movies so successful (and this is success rated by someone who enjoys Star Trek, mind you) is that they were spun out of the television series and used the existing casts. And I'm not just saying that because I think Patrick Stewart is capital A-Awesome. Trek fans were already comfortable with the actors playing their favorite characters. So, for a movie to be produced with NEW actors playing already-established roles is asinine.

I don't care if it's a prequel - William Shatner will always be engrained in my mind as James Kirk, Leonard Nemoy as Spock, and so on. Gary Sinise as McCoy? Matt Damon as Kirk? Adrien Brody as Spock? Frankly, I'm insulted. It's not so much that I don't think these actors don't have a passing resemblance to the actors who originated the roles, but let's be blunt. Star Trek cast members tend to be predominantly stage actors. That's what gives the show it's theatrical flair and corniness that I love so much. What's bringing big budget stars into a Sci-Fi flick going to accomplish other than to have the audience distracted with making cast comparisons? Mark my words - this will be like replacing Darrin on Bewitched or Becky on Roseanne. It'll be unsettling.

What I don't get is why they'd make a fucking prequel instead of trying to pull a movie out of DS9 or Voyager (God, I would love a Voyager movie - I'd even write it myself!). Am I going to boycott this movie? No. But I'm certainly not going to spend [Scott's] hard-earned money to see it in the theater, but when it makes it to DVD in 2009, I'll give it the consideration it deserves (that means I'll watch it as I'm knitting a particuarly complicated sweater).

a PSA

Yo, it's snowing.

...

And for those who can't find the significance in that, I live in piedmont North Carolina. Snow here is as scarce as cashiers at Wal*Mart.

Oh my dear God.

I am so, so tempted to order these for Rosco just so that I can sit here and have a giggle on demand.

Superhero boots - too damn cute!

Watching the Mail Box

My dubya-2 came today. That would normally make me all giddy and excited for thoughts of the huge refund that Uncle Sam owes us, but as always, I have to wait on Scott. Almost every other tax document we'd need has arrived with the exception of his W-2 and maybe some bank information. I guess the benefit of having worked for a small business is that the payroll department (aka administrative assistant) shoots those documents out IMMEDIATELY after they get delivered at the office. Because Scott's company is owned by an even bigger out-of-state company, I have to sit and nag him every day until the document gets here (knowing full well that I'M the one who checks the mail every day).

We file as early as possible using TaxAct every year - the sooner you transmit the info, the shorter the wait to get your money back.

Actually, I really don't know what I'm excited about. Every year since we got married the state has walloped us with a huge tax bill because we were DINKy. While I did some creative number-crunching at the beginning of 2006 to adjust our withholdings, I'm still afraid we'll owe those idjuts money. The best-case screnario would be that we don't get a refund from them, but don't owe anything either. We also had a kid for six weeks last year that wasn't reflected on our w4 allowances, so maybe that'll help out, too.

Oh well. I'm going to think positively. It'd be nice to pay off some bills and to buy a couple of articles of clothes that fit (since I'm no longer shaped the same as I was before birthin' a baby).

Funky Fridge

(Do you ever sit with headphones on listening to silence because you forgot to turn the music on?)

One of the first concessions people with children have to make is letting things go around the house. This usually begins to occur right around the time that the gravid female loses sight of her toes. Once the child is born, however, momma's nesting instinct may kick into overdrive and she becomes increasingly paranoid that her baby will pick up germs from surfaces and appliances that he isn't even old enough to use (like the floor), and desires to clean everything in sight. As there is rarely enough time available for sufficient disinfection, we do our cleaning in short, unplanned bursts.

Our diet reflects the mess that is our refrigerator. (The nutritional value of our meals has taken a steady downhill turn since our total income increased. Interesting correlation, that.)

While Rosco was taking a 15 minute nap earlier today I did a brief evaluation of the contents of our fridge. It contained dinner leftovers (gorditas, Paula Deen's "farmer's pork chops," a chicken crockpot thingie), drinks (including baby ones), condiments, 1 zucchini, some pathetic looking green onions and the usual refrigerator bric-a-brac (baking soda, etc.). I won't discuss with you the contents of our frezer, however if you're a fan of sodium you'd feel right at home standing in front of it.

Where are the vegetables? Where's all the lean protein ready to be cooked? At the store, probably. I don't have time to cook the meals I want to. Scratch that - I have the time, however that time happens to be in seven-minute increments when Rosco isn't screaming bloody murder from being ignored. That's not really long enough to be all gourmet frou-frou, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, I threw out the rest of the leftovers since they'd been hanging out for more than 48 hours. Tomorrow I'll poke around the jars of unidentified jams and jellies and purge those, too. I think our biggest problem is that we've allowed our refrigerator to become a trash repository instead of a temporary storage device. I mean, after all, a refrigerator should be treated like a cooler with a plug. Once ingredients are taken out and cooked, they shouldn't be put back in leftover form. (Stop being a cheap-ass and just throw it out, Tiffany, you're not going to eat it.)

I don't exactly know what I'm making more room for, but once I finish my sort and purge tomorrow and bleach-clean all the shelves you'd better believe that non-essential items aren't going back in there. I want to lose this last twenty pounds soon, and changes need to be made. Goodbye half can of vanilla frosting. I'll miss ye.

Stuck in my head, now.

I'm proud of my investigatory prowess. There was this song on a Scrubs rerun last night being sung by some cock-eyed dude, and I couldn't help thinking, "Man, I wouldn't mind having that on my iPod. What a great voice!"

Then the little clicker in my brain tuned into one of those 1980's music compilation disc commercials that ran repeatedly during the '90's. I KNEW I had seen that dude somewhere before. It was a music video snippet of "Who Can it Be Now," and they were zooming in on the dude at the mic, eyes looking every'whicha way. At the time, it gave me the heebie jeevies.

It's this dude, Colin Hay, and the song is indeed available on iTunes - "Overkill." Yippie! Take a gander if you haven't heard it.

Duke Lacrosse Players Off the Hook

I haven't talked about this in any detail, but I think that anyone following the case could tell that there were too many holes in the prosecution's bucket to hold any water. (True, we re-elected Mike Nifong in November, but I'm certain that has more to do with Democrats voting straight-ticket than people behing behind him.)

As much as I want to get behind the woman and support her as an alleged victim knowing that so many women who are raped don't come forward, there was something eating away at me regarding her truthfulness in the matter. Additionally, there hasn't been any real evidence supporting her statements - DNA, eye-witness accounts, accurate timeline, or otherwise.

I think that if she was truly lying this entire time (which I see as 98% probable) that she's setting back any progress that has been made in recent years of women taking a stand for themselves to confront those who would do them harm. THIS is why women fear that nobody will believe them because they're simply crying "wolf."

This may be a controversial statement, but I want to know who she is. I want her name put out into the public record. She's put my city under a microscope for the past year making us look like a bunch of damned bumpkins.

:Geek:

Just in case you didn't know (and just in case you have interest in such things), Spike is running a Star Trek Voyager marathon this week. I'm incredibly giddy that they've added the show to their line-up: they now have DS9, TNG, and Voyager in their programming schedule and I suspect they'll be running the three shows together on weekdays come January.

From studying my handy dandy Yahoo! t.v. schedule, it looks like they're running selected episodes from each season on each day this week. I think they did a pretty good job of picking the best of season 1 today.

If unlike me you actually leave the house between 9 am and 6 pm, I guess that in January when they "officially" add it to the line-up they'll rebroadcast the premiere again.

Looks like I can take season 1 out of my Netflix queue.

Hmm, that looks familiar.

Is everyone using the same damn snowflake postage stamp that we are on their holiday greetings? Not that I'm complaining, as I love getting cards in the mail, but can't the post office be a little more creative?

Geez.

Again?

What's going on with all the produce contamination this year?

I remember the last time there was a green onion scare (with the Hep A thing) I was afraid to use them for several months afterwards. Green onions hold a lot of goop and water in their stems, so if you sort of massage them while you're washing them you can get weirded out believing you're expelling radioactive material or something. I used to do a lot of stir-frys using green onions...other dishes, too. It's the only kind of onion Scott will eat if he knows it's present.

Seriously, what do people do to produce that would cause E. coli contamination? Poop on it?

Grr!

If you want to hear a pregnant woman roar like a wookie, wake her up before her time.

I sleep on the alarm clock side of the bed because I don't have to crawl over Scott to get to the bathroom (which I use frequently during the night). Scott likes to remove at least one hearing aid at night, typically on the side he sleeps on. By the time morning comes around he's rolled over to the other side.

What that means is that the alarm clock howls for at least two minutes every nine minutes or so. Sometimes if I get really pissed, I'll take my foot and give him a hard shove to wake him up. Sometimes I turn to him with an angry scowl on my face and stare him awake. Sometimes I hit "snooze" and go back to sleep - let him deal wih the consequences of being ten minutes late.

Anyway, this morning I had one of those "find the noise" dreams when the alarm went off. My dream self could hear the sound of the alarm, but couldn't identify where it was coming from. I was putting my ear to toasters, radios, and all manner of appliances trying to figure out who was trying to set off a bomb or something. I unplugged things and removed batteries and yet the noise still persisted. I really, really thought someone was trying to jack me up. It was when my full bladder got my attention that I finally woke up and shut the damned alarm clock off.

Great. Now I'm cranky.

Tee hee!

Know what I found in the refrigerator? Strawberry jelly. And it doesn't expire until 2008! (I've had this jelly quite a while.) I have a couple of left-over Pillsbury biscuits in the oven right now awaiting a smear of fruit spread.

Giddy!

Musings on Star Wars

Finally got around to watching Star Wars episode III this afternoon. Although Scott went to see it in the theater and bought the DVD as soon as it came out, I just couldn't propel myself to watch it until I was good 'n ready. I have to be in a "mood" to watch movies that have a lot of action/fighting sequences.

I will say that I was pleased that George Lucas tied episodes II and IV together pretty seamlessly. I didn't feel like he was just tossing in a lot of crap to make the series end nice and tidy. Everything made sense, and given that most people who've seen episodes IV-VI would know that certain people get killed off, it didn't feel terribly predictable.

Good movie. I will say, thought, that because I saw Space Balls before I saw Star Wars, I never really thought of Darth Vader as an ominous character - even with the James Earl Jones voice. All I could think about was Rick Moranis in that big-ass helmet. Not so much now.

*blink. blink*

You know, one problem with unemployment (other than the missing expendable income), is that unemployment + pregnacy = not leaving the house. Not leaving the house = boring Tiffany. There's only so much interest you all have in how much my cats fight or how I feel like I'm shaped like an egg.

I needed yarn to finish a project yesterday so I went to AC Moore. Then, I turned that into a full-out assualt to try to find season-appropriate decorating materials for the empty planters in the front yard. AC Moore had too much Halloween stuff. Went to Pier 1 just to be doing something. Went to World Market (bought chocolate; gazed lovingly at gourmet foodstuffs). I was walking around those stores far longer than I would ever be in there, knowing that I only had a limited amount to spend. I'm a run-in-run-out type of personality.

If I weren't such a homebody, I'd be concerned for my sanity at this point.

Why don't you just put "CW" in a circle and call it a day?

Does anyone else think that the CW's logo is sorely lacking in basic aesthetic goodliness?

I mean, crap, even with my ameteur drawing skillz, I can come up with something better than that. And what's with the green? Are they harkening back to that obnoxious Michigan J. Frog?

It's just....ugly.

Perhaps my music analysis skills are slipping.

I downloaded a slew of free music through iTunes two weeks ago, and one of the songs was the MC Hammer song, "YAY."

Could someone please explain to me what "I do it like YAY" means?

*deletes from library*

Genius!

Dude, that's awesome. I'd like to know what pregnant woman thought to take the fitted sheet suspenders off her bed and latch them onto her bra (click on "belly ups" at the bottom).

Why didn't I think of that? I know maternity pants have their limitations - they can't fit everyone's belly perfectly. I feel like every time I sit down there's a draft going down my backside. I'd feel a lot less exposed if I had been keeping my roll-tops in place with a little suspender help.

Ew!

I'm sorry, but why must some men wear shorts so short that they expose cooter?

There was this guy at Office Depot who was wearing short-shorts that ended several inches above his knees. I was so distracted by that I didn't bother to see if he was also committing the sock + sandal faux pas.

When he left the store I watched to see what kind of car he was going to get into.

Two-seater convertable. Repeat after me, kids: "mid-life crisis."

Let's play musical chairs!

I always watch my local NBC affiliate's station. I always have. When I was a kid I watched WAVY-TV 10 out of Virginia. The staff had low-turnover, and to this day the sports and weather guy are the same that I watched 15 years ago.

So when I moved out for college and had to learn a new channel line-up, it seemed natural that I watch NBC's news broadcasts. The station here in the Raleigh-Durham area is NBC-17 - the lowest rated broadcast out of the top 3 (CBS, ABC, NBC). I've tried watching other stations...I just didn't like the way their anchors looked at me :/.

Over the past several months, NBC-17 has been going through a revolving door of staff. It seems like all of the experienced anchors are either leaving "for personal reasons" or are being booted because of the station's takeover.

It's understandable that an anchor I really liked, Sharon Delaney, left after her daughter died to spend more time with her family. Then last night, I caught the anchor who had been her newscast partner, Bill Gaines, giving his final sign-off. NBC won't comment on why he's been asked to leave, but say that they don't blame him completely for the low ratings. I do suspect that their staff scheduling has something to do with the ratings. On some nights, it seems that they have the least diverse news staff in the area.

I got on the internet this morning to find out why Bill was leaving (his speech seemed heavily rehearsed and like he'd been told to keep his mouth shut), and saw that they've already yanked his profile off the website. Helluva fanfare, huh? It wasn't until this morning that I noticed that the chief meteorologist left last month. I thought that new guy that comes on weekend mornings was just fresh meat. Looks like he'll move up rung of the ladder, too.

I have a itching suspicion that the ex-chief meteorologist's husband who anchors the morning newscast has a bounty on his head, too.

I really hope they get their stuff straight. I'd hate to start relying on the Internet for local news like other people who don't read the newspaper.

Muwuhahahahaha!

I totally believe that occasionally, Netflix will send you a movie with a return evelope addressed to some far away state. That way it'll take longer to return, and you spend more days without a movie in your hands, thereby maximizing thier profits.

I watched Brigadoon in the afternoon and wanted to get it to the post office to mail off before five. That way, Netflix would get it back today and we'd have two new movies for the weekend. When I was sealing the envelope, I noticed it was addressed to a distribution center in Arizona. They wouldn't "receive" it until Monday as they don't process on Saturdays.

What did I do? I pulled out an address label and covered up the Arizona destination, and scribbled onto it the address of the Raleigh distribution center. Today, Netflix recieved both discs I mailed yesterday.

I feel like I'm winning their game.

Well, I never!

Found printed inside my Reese's cup wrapper:

"Candy is a treat. Please consume in moderation."

*blink*

*blink blink*

Synchronized Swimmers

"EDINBURGH (Reuters) - Some sperm donation clinics invite men to leave a message behind for their unborn child to hear when they are 18."

"The Sperm Monologues."

Um. I don't know if I would trust the motivations of someone squeeing in a cup to leave a message for my soon-to-be child...is it standard practice for sperm banks to pay the donors? Because, it doesn't seem like a man would be put out that much by relieving some frustration in a cup.

Personally, I would hyperventilate at the very thought of my husband having millions upon millions of little swimmers stored in a cooler somewhere for the sake of being able to afford a bag of potato chips back in college. Whether you feel ethically obligated to support those [potential] kids or not, they're still your kids.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't want to get off track too much here, but I am 100% in favor of people donating sperm and eggs because they genuinely feel bad that some couples can't conceive, but it gets my goat that some people will do it just for the money. It's not like a lock of hair that'll have no consequences on anyone (but you if you've ordered to have a drug test completed and have been smoking the sticky-icky-icky weed).

Okay, point is...what exactly could a sperm donor have to say to a child they never want to meet? If you read the last three paragraphs of the linked story, I can handle those two statements, but certainly not all donors are so noble.

And the Lord said, "Let there be a list..."

Dear GOD after much tinkering, I've finally gotten the fraternal munu blogroll to work. I feel much better about my freeloading now.

The Cold: Day 3

Yes, I do believe this officially qualifies as a cold now, although I should hold off judgment until Scott starts sniffling and sniveling. My faux "nice person" voice has been compromised, and I've been sounding like Bea Arthur all week (I wonder if Golden Girls episodes are ready for iPod download yet...that'd be like having a mini t.v. on my desk at work).

Sometimes I wake up stuffy because we have cats and their hair clogs up the entire air system. By the time I get outside and into my car my head clears. This is a special kind of stuffy - this is a real, honest-to-God head cold. My right ear is popping and stuffy and I'm waking up with bloody nostrils (hi, pregnancy). Today, I even did one of those coughs that makes your diaphram hurt. Nothing came of it, but glad to know this bug is moving in the right direction.

If this just turns out to be another pregnancy oddity, all I can say at this point is that I'd rather sleep with my mouth open at night than have swollen ankles. That's all.

Oh, Fark you.

This listing on yesterday's Fark.com archive annoyed the shit out of me last night: "Tropical depression forms off N.C. coast. Not nearly as depressing as actually living in N.C." It links to this Yahoo! News article.

I find it incredibly bothersome that some narrowminded person who has spent 15 minutes of his/her life in the state, probably driving through a military town or sitting in the airport, can create such a facetious statement for a bunch of people to get offended by.

Mind you, I realize that Fark.com is a link brothel and not a real news source, but at the same time you have to question why the fuck someone would green-light a statement that would create so much hostility on the forums. Oh yeah - they're trying to drive traffic back to the site. Duh.

My suspicion is that some asshat heard from a friend who heard from a friend that Fayetteville sucks because there's a stripper joint on every corner or that there's nothing to do outside the Triangle but tip cows.

I'm not going to post a public defense of North Carolina. If I had been living in Pittsburgh or Gary, IN I'd be equally offended if someone had tried to put my state on blast. Shit happens. Communities become depressed; I'm living in one that's trying to pull itself up by the bootstraps.

Some people choose to move somewhere because they don't like where they are. Others are where they are because they're born there and choose not to leave. I find it disgusting that people can't respect that.

I taste salty.

Because I'm not beneath offering my body to science, I've been participating in a few pregnancy studies through UNC Hospitals. Since there's no real harm to me in being a part of them, it's basically free money.

One study involves tracking what I eat. You put in all your meals in snacks into the website they provide you with and at the end of the day it tells you how close or far off of typical dietary requirements you were.

Almost every day I see that I'm getting half of the number of calories I'm supposed to get and almost 70% more sodium than I'm supposed to get for a full day....so basically, if I were getting 100% of the calories they claim I need, I'd be a salt lick.

When I asked one of the study coordinators about this, she said it was pretty common because of the amount of processed foods Americans eat. I've noticed that in the meals I cook myself, I can easily control how much or how little salt goes into them other than what exists in certain foods naturally. A sprinkle of salt here and a sprinkle there over the course of dinner does not add up to the 1046 mg overage I've been getting. It's got to be in the ready-to-eat stuff. There's enough salt in me that you can fill me with water and my kid would float to the top.

If you pick up a can of soup - seriously, look at the back of one of those Campbell's Soup at Hand things. That one little half-meal contains like 76% of your day's recommended sodium intake.

I think that's kind of disconcerting. In the past it had been suggested that too much salt is a cause of a variety of health problems, but nothing at this point conclusively shows that it really causes hypertension and stroke. It still freaks me out a little bit.

What freaks me out even more is how much I love a hot Burger King french fry.

Just call me "George."

You know, there's a reason I don't mill around the yard and in the driveway. Namely, the neighbors. They like to talk - and not even the kind of talking where they talk about you, but the kind where they talk to you.

I saw something bright and orange by the mailbox. Figuring it was trash, I went to pick it up. Normally, I don't give a shit about trash - that's Scott's thing. He can pick up all the damn trash he wants to. I don't know what propelled me over there, but as I went to pick it up, my across-the-street neighbor drives by, points at my belly, and squeals.

She squealed. I pinned on my "hee hee hee" grin. To make a long story short, she said that because I'm so "cute and little" she just had the overwhelming urge to pick me up and squeeze me.

Fuck, I'm turning into a stuffed animal.

Tell me if I was wrong.

Just out of sheer curiosity, if you were to see "Chopped Steak" on a menu, what would you think it was? To put it in context, it was served on top of a bed of "smashed" potatoes with mushrooms and carmelized onions.

Stupid People

I don't answer my home phone unless I recognize the number. Not even then, sometimes. I just let the answering machine click on.

Our answering machine makes it quite clear who lives here:

"Please leave a message for Tiffany or Scott after the tone."

Tell me why we repeatedly get idiots leaving messages for people other than Tiffany or Scott? Once time, this woman called three times leaving messages demanding that her daughter come home from whoever's house she was at. Scott picked up the fourth time and told her she had the wrong number. Some kid got their arse beat that night for giving out a bad number, for sure.

Today, some lady calls and says: "This is a message for APS. This is XXX and XXX. We have installed a new security system and will no longer be using your services. Thank you."

Um....I was tempted to call her back and tell her that she's going to be incurring another month's charge because, like the answering machine said, this ain't APS. But I didn't. People need to stop going on autopilot when they're dialing phone numbers.

Edited to add: did a google search on the caller ID name. This chick's a lawyer? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

So yellow.

One of my coworkers had the audacity to tell me a couple of days ago that my legs are even more pale than those of a certain very white coworker.

Unfortunately, it's true. I get a pretty good bake from chest up from the car window, so in general I never look like dough all over, but I haven't had a reason to expose my legs yet this year.

For one thing, getting into the shower after brushing my teeth is already an invitation for nausea to crash the party. Although pregnancy makes my body hair grow so fast that I can't keep up with it, it's rare that I have the energy to shave. When I do shave, I get this weird five-o'clock shadow immediately afterwards. So, it just seems pointless.

Anyway, I shaved on Wednesday because I had a doctor's appointment (that's what we women do). I was wearing my stretchy capri-length gaucho pants because they're roomy in the waist. Ms. Thing, made her curious observation and then I was on a hunt to find somewhere to go to put my feet into hot sand for a couple of days.

Because I'd snagged a great deal for a business-related hotel stay for someone last week on Hotwire (a three-star room worth $118 for $32) I went back there to find something on the beach. Any beach. I searched as far north as Virginia Beach (too expensive) and as far south as Myrtle Beach.

I did find a three-star room in Myrtle Beach right on the beach for $62, so we decided to book a three-day weekend on the weekend right before things get expensive. So, in three weeks I'm going to tan myself black. Or as close to black as yellow can get.

Yip!

Scape 'n Paint

Not that I consider my feet to be particuarly gnarly, but as Easter approaches we all know it's the time of year for the toes to make their debut. Some people wear sandals all year long, even through snow and rain - I'm not one of them.

A coworker sent this friendly reminder to some of us ladies:

Ladies,

Just a friendly reminder, it's that time of the year again. Please raise your big toes and repeat after me.

"As a member of the Faux Paux Sisterhood, I pledge to follow The Rules when I wear sandals and other open-toe shoes:

I promise to always wear sandals that fit. My toes will not hang over and touch the ground, nor will my heels spill over the backs. And the sides and tops of my feet will not pudge out between the straps.

I will vow to keep the polish fresh, intact and chip-free. I will not cheat and just touch up my big toe. I will sand down any mounds of skin before they turn hard and yellow.

I will shave the hairs off my big toe.

I won't wear pantyhose even if my misinformed girlfriend/coworker/mother/sister tells me the toe seam really will stay under my toes if I tuck it there.

If a strap breaks, I won't duct-tape, pin, glue or tuck it back into place hoping it will stay put. I will get my shoe fixed or toss it.

I will not live in corn denial; rather I will lean on my good friend Dr.Scholl's if my feet need him.

I will resist the urge to buy jelly shoes at Payless for the low, low price of $4.99 even if my feet are small enough to fit into the kids' sizes. This is out of concern for my safety, and the safety of others. No one can walk properly when standing in a pool of sweat and I would hate to take someone down with me as I fall and break my ankle.

I will take my toe ring off toward the end of the day if my toes swell and begin to look like Vienna sausages.

I will be brutally honest with my girlfriend/sister/coworker when she asks me if her feet are too ugly to wear sandals. Someone has to tell her that her toes look like they've been dragged behind her car on the way to work and no sandal in the world is going to make her feet look good.

I will promise if I wear flip flops, that I will ensure they actually flip and flop, making the correct noise while walking and I will swear NOT to slide or drag my feet while wearing them.

I will promise to go my local beauty shop at least once per season and have a real pedicure (they are about $15 and worth EVERY penny). I say spend another $15.00 and get a even better one.

I will promise to throw away any white/off-white sandals that show of wear... nothing is tackier than dirty white sandals."

Just thought I'd share. :)

Back to my disco ringtone...

For the past week or so I've been missing incoming calls to my cell phone. Generally speaking, I tend not to answer my cell phone to begin with, however I thought it was strange that I could be in a location with three or four reception bars and I still didn't hear it ring.

I discovered three seconds ago that my downloaded ringtone is the culprit. When I downloaded it a few months ago I recall there being a three-month timeframe of which you could use it and then your download period would be up.

I thought they were joking about that.

Flavor Flaaaav

I have to confess that I spent more time than I should have watching Flavor of Love on VH1 last night. I should have been doing laundry or someting productive like that, but noooooooooooo, here I am fixated on a bunch of trashy people (I think "ladies" would be an exaggeration) fighting over a minature Jimmie "JJ" Walker who isn't even creative enough to have a rap name that isn't self-redundant. Flavor. Flav. Flavor Flav. Yeah.

As amusing (read: loud and obnoxious) as Flavor Flav is, I just couldn't help but to find myself gagging at how not-really-that-attractive he is. Yeah, yeah - beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that tripe, but there is nothing, even remotely, sexy about a man who has the nickname "Foofie Foofie." Especially not one who would happily put his mouth on strange flesh while blindfolded. The very thought of him being anywhere near me makes my shoulderblades twitch.

So, yeah, I'm sort of pissed that Hoopz "won" because she's cute and too damned young for him, but at the same time I couldn't help but hope that New York with all of her insane-in-the-mebraneness went down in flames. She was hysterical in the limo on the way out, though. She and Flav would probably be good together.

Mom, check. Auntie, check. Grandma...uh..uhhhh!

This time last year I posted in detail about how Hallmark stores are my kryptonite - I refuse to go in to buy just one card for that very reason.

Everyone I care enough to send a birthday card to have their birthdays within the three month span between March and May. My mother kicks off the birthday seasn on Monday, and I made my quarterly trip to Hallmark today to get enough cards to keep me out of paper stores and department store card aisles until June.

The good news is that I've become very efficient at finding a card for each person quickly - that's pretty hard when you have to consider that you may end up buying the same card you bought them three years ago because Hallmark always keeps the same shit. You also have to balance the "Hmm, I bet so-and-so will buy her this card, so I won't buy that one." The bad news is that I still get teary-eyed at Grandma cards. Very teary. I had to fan my hands in front of my eyes to not look like a fool in front of the Hallmark Grandmas that run the cash registers.

I'm doing better now.

I'm real observative.

Last Tuesday when I was watching American Idol, I couldn't help but to think, "Damn, I've seen those chicks somewhere before!" when I saw the O'Donohue twins enter the audition room.

I racked my poor addled brain to try to remember why they seemed so familiar, and then it struck me that they have been in at least half of the knitting magazines I've owned over the past year.

I guess I could have scanned that picture at higher resolution....but I didn't feel like it.

Props to KintCare by Fairfield...although I guess this sort of counts as free advertising.

Creepy

I'm only 5'2", so I really really shouldn't talk, but isn't it kind of weird when you look out your rear-view-mirror into the cab of the giant SUV tailing you and you can't see a head over the steering wheel? There was some very small person assing me in an Escalade during my commute from work. Seriously, when I got to the light, I stared for a good full minute into the car, and all I could see was hands on the steering wheel and a little pouf of hair.

How is that safe?

The Pop Tart Spawns Again

You've got to be fucking kidding me. Britney Spears is reportedly pregnant again, four months after giving birth KFed offspring #1.

I don't know why the thought of that makes me sick to my stomach. Shit, at least Madonna waited until Lourdes could walk before she gave birth to that little blonde thing.

Damnation.

I left my iPod home today.

Feel...so...naked!

Idol Watching

Let me just disclose here that the individuals seen on the Greensboro, NC segment of American Idol in no way reflect the actual concetration of sanity/breeding/English-speaking in the rest of the state.

Carry on.

Just saying what I mean, is all I'm saying.

I've discovered lately that as I age, I am beginning to lose my censorship chip. When I was younger, I was very concerned about how people perceived what I spoke. I'd be really deliberate in making requests and suggestions.

Not so much, anymore. I was in a seafood restaurant a couple of weeks ago and had half a plate of fried shrimp left over. When the waitress asked if I wanted them boxed up, I simply said, "No. I'm not going to eat them." She looked concerned. I didn't bother to explain any further.

The average person would have said something along the lines of, "No thank you - I'll forget that I have them and won't remember to eat them" or "They were delicious, but I don't eat leftovers."

I can't even turn on the part of my brain that tempers my speech. Don't care, either.

If a mail truck made an animal noise, it'd be "Moo."

This picture was taken earlier in the week...Tuesday, I think. The mail has been running progressively later each week, and these two mail trucks were in front of my house at around 5:15 making a huge racket.

What you can not see is the THIRD mail truck 100 feet in front of the second one in front on my neighbor's mailbox. This confused me greatly. What I think occured was that mail truck #1 broke down in front of our driveway. Mail truck #2 arrived to take over the rest of the route. Mail truck #3 arrived to tow mail truck #1 away.

This was amusing for about 5 minutes and then I was distracted by a ringing phone or meowing cat.

Take me with you.

If you look to your right, you'll see a button for AvantGo - this is for all you folks with handhelds who download blog feeds. AvantGo is a free service up to a certain bandwidth. If you ever use it to download MapQuest directions, you'll see it's the same service.

Now you can read me whereever you go - you decide whether you want the images and link connections, too. Yay!

Yay, Edenton!

It always tickles me to see my hometown appear positively in a news story...unlike the other thing it's known for.

Bob your head.

So, how do you prevent yourself from going absolutely apeshit when loading stuff on your iPod?

I discovered that I had some change available on one of my credit cards this afternoon, and being that I was feeling very music-y devoted five bucks to things I can bob my head to at work.

At times I can be really indiscriminate when buying music (i.e. my "Hair" soundtrack), but for whatever reason I was really picky tonight. The first three songs I already planned to buy: "My Humps" (Black Eyed Peas), "Buttons" (Pussycat Dolls), and "Gold Digger" (Kanye "George Bush hates black people" West).

With there being so many damn songs available to download, I ended up going to MTV.com and listening to some of the songs on iTunes top 100 list. While I learned that Ricky Martin's "I don't care" is a pretty damn good song for dancing raunchily around the house, I settled on Shakira's "La Tortura" (also a ringtone on my cell phone) and "You're Beautiful" by James blunt.

What else is good for dancing with yourself in front of the mirror?

"Can I help you, Mi$$?"

The other thing I HATE about mall shopping (*see previous post*) is that during the holidays, every fucking sales clerk within a 100-yard radius of you is on commission mode and feels the strong need to ask "How are YOU today?" every five minutes.

I think they're trying to distract you so that you don't look at the damned price tags.

On God and Ignorance

I couldn't sleep last night. Every now and then my mind starts wandering right as I try to drop off. I've always been a super-analytical thinker who second-guesses everything (that makes taking multiple-choice tests very difficult). I've had doubts abought the existence of a God since I was 10. At around 3:30 I was able to get to sleep. I read some from a novel to take my mind off of morbid thoughts however in the back of mind I knew that it was merely a curtain covering up heavier things.

That's what keeps me up at night. Thinking that I'm going to die and that's it. It seems like such a waste for us to be so evolved and for our consciousness to just fade away. I want to believe there's something bigger that is responsible for all that lies before us - that is why I consider myself agnostic and not an athiest.

I should mention that I was fully tempted to close commenting on this entry to prevent anyone from shoving unwanted religious advances at me, however I'm curious to know if anyone else feels the way and how they cope with it. I find it hard to fathom that one day I'll close my eyes and the lights will just go out.

Hold it - hold it - - now!

Isn't there a sort of "deadline" on how long a person has to cash a check? I've been wondering, because a $5 check I wrote almost five months ago just got cashed this week.

Can you imagine how that $5 threw me off whenever I looked at my bank statement online?

In case you're wondering, it was a check I wrote to get a sample issue of a literary magazine I may send stuff to.

Damn, that's scary.

I made the mistake of checking my cell phone messages when I got up. The guy whose desk is right behind mine at work left this message - hope you can open it.

I don't know how much bandwidth the site I have that hosted on has, so save and then listen, please. Turn your volume down - he's pretty loud for 7:29 in the morning.

"Happy Birthday, T-Love".

Be a big girl.

One of my little-known pet peeves is when people add "to me" to the end of their sentences. Women are especially notorious for this. We are psychologically wired to require validatation for everything that comes out of our mouths. This is why when we raise our hands in class, our answers sound like questions.

"1492?"

So, when someone says "He's hilarious, to me" or something like it, I get annoyed. It's like saying, "Well, this is my opinion, but I'm sure yours is more important."

Stop it.

Ow

You know that shaky vibrating you get in your arms after you've been holding a jackhammer or week-whacker for a good while?

Pilates will do that to you, too.

No shit.

I have two pilates instructors: the one that teaches the Monday evening class, and the one that teaches the Saturday class. I've gotten used to their varying teaching methods and have been okay at switching back and forth between methods.

Tonight a sub got called in. A sub that normally teaches the sculpting classes. I have a weird feeling that I'm going to wake up tomorrow and not be able to straighten my legs.

Silly Beaureaucrats.

I zipped home during lunch today to unlock my car so that the windshield guy could get in and replace the glass in my Honda. Tuesday is trash day. Since we had all that furniture delivered (in boxes) last week, there was a lot of packing material and cardboard to dispose of.

Imagine my pisstivity when I find these two stickies on my recycling bin and trash can. Since these two are collected by different agencies, it must just be "Let's all shit on Tiffany at once" day.

Here's the one from the recycling people. Okay. My bad. Look, y'all. We had about 30 pounds of cardboard to dispose of. Two pieces were larger than 3' x 3'. Sue me. Of course they left those two pieces in the ditch to teach me a lesson.

All that syrofoam and plastic packing material was sufficient enough to stuff my solid waste bin to the brim - so much so that our real trash had to go outside the bin. Here's the sticker those fuck-heads left. I guess they just checked the first box by default - our trash had been out since last night. The one about only being able to have one additional bag on top of the can? Dude. What were we supposed to do with all that styrofoam? Put it down the garbage disposal? The part about "If you recycle the way you're supposed to, you wouldn't have this problem" really pissed me off. Did I not just recycle 30 pounds of carboard?

*sigh*

*Gush*

Anybody else see Adam Levine on SNL performing with Kanye West last night?

You know, the man who I've gushed who has a voice that drips sex?

I was in bed knitting. I was wearing my glasses for the first time in a couple of weeks and as I really can't see shit when wearing them, I had to physically remove myself from my ditch in the mattress to get up and stare at the screen up close.

I I hadn't planned on buy West's CD, but shit...I have the same sort of affection for this man's voice as I do Sting's...and I love me some Sting.

Beating the system

I'm in the process of trying to get preapproval for a car loan. The fact that my precious has over 100,000 miles on it is sort of disconcertng. Also, I know that cars operate under the principle of "Once shit starts breaking it all goes downhill."

I've basically been given the smackdown by certain banks who shall remain nameless because they all use Equifax to screen your application.

I happen to know that my Equifax credit report has erroneously submitted negative information on it. I've been crying and begging the creditor who put it there AND Equifax to take it off, but of course Equifax will take the side of the creditor even if the consumer has proof otherwise (that will stand up in court).

I just got preliminary approval from a bank that uses Experian instead. Well, well. Looks like I'm going test driving.

Tortured Artist

Okay...so, I slacked off a little.

I know I said I was going to get myself on a strict writing schedule and have a submission going out every month.

I rewarded myself for getting the first piece out by going to Office Depot and buying myself a matching suite of manuscript and return envelopes that I could be pround to send out. I bought correction pencils and those expensive-ass Avery labels.

I just knew I would be cranking.

I started carrying around my draft notebook with me, although I knew deep down that I wouldn't be writing anything of quality during lunch because my coworkers have the invasive habit of reading over your shoulder.

I am officially 19 days behind in my self-inflicted imposed schedule. I was supposed to have something postmarked on 9/15, but...I got distracted by the cat. She's soooooooooooooooooooooo cute.

Okay - so, I'm being sort of facetious. I can't blame it on anything other than the fact that I'd rather be doing other things. Most of the time those other things involve becoming a vacuous blanket-wrapped blob in front of the television.

This is hard, folks. It's one thing to fiddle around with the blog and rant about who/whatever it is I can't stand in a given day, but when it comes to my fiction writing I'm never satisfied. I'd rather leave a piece unfinished than bungle it up in a fit of try-too-hard.

If I can spend an hour each day working on perfecting my craft (my, my that reads high brow, eh?) then it'd seem less like some obligation I'm resistant to...right?

Oh, by the way...the new Sims 2 expansion is out. :)

Like that dude sledgehammered in Misery

There's nothing like a vacation to remind you of how woefully inadequate your mattress is. I hate to sound like a hypochondriac, but yesterday we went to Home Depot for some switches and plates and I really felt like I needed to be leaning on a walker. I thought, "What's wrong with me? Do I have the flu?" I've never actually had the flu but achy joints come with it, right?

This morning when the cat was jumping on my head for her half-can of smelly slop I realized then and there that the problem is our relatively new mattress. My hip felt as if there were an anvil on top of it and my ankles felt like they were at the wrong end of a misbalanced teeter-totter (such is the case when you have child-bearin' hips).

The mattresses we slept on on Bald Head were super-firm. I'm not a fan of hard beds because I don't use a pillow, but I can see why people rave about them.

Our mattress set came out of my grandma's old house. She bought them for my room a couple of years after I left for college and really never had an occupant until my mom and the half-spawn moved down. You'd think that an eleven-year old kid wouldn't do that much damage to a new mattress...unless they're jumping on it and damaging the springs and slats....which he did and I realized after the fact.

Damn. It just seems like we're constantly throwing money into a pit with this house. We still haven't even furnished our living room - there's always something, but DAMN we need a better mattress.

A Disaster of Biblical Proporations

I know I haven't said anything about Katrina. At first, I was merely trying to avoid knowing anything about it. All I knew early this week was that New Orleans and other gulf cities had endured some flooding. By Wednesday, I knew that the death toll was unreasonably high and that an entire city as we knew it has disappeared.

I feel helpless. Everyone around here is so engrossed in how the devastation is going to effect their ability to get cheap gas. Here's a little perspective for them: there are a lot of folks now who have neither homes nor cars - imagine how abundant that gas will be in two months!

I don't want to watch the live coverage that all the news channels are airing. I know that people who feel like they're balancing on a wire will rely on their gut instincts to get them through a crisis. Civilization isn't something that is innate in human beings - it's a learned behavior. We'll revert to some actions that may be considered dispicable when we're trying to protect ourselves and our families.

I don't condone snipers shooting at the doctors trying to evacuate sick patients from hospitals and the National Guard while trying to deliver food supplies. I don't condone the looting of jewelry, electronics, and other material goods. I must confess that if I were barefooted, starving, and up to my ankles in muddy water with a hungry baby on my hip I don't know how I'd behave. The animal in me would probably claw and snatch to feed my kid...but I don't know if I'd hurt anyone in the process.

It breaks my heart to think about those people my grandma's age who are being ignored in favor of the squeaky wheels making the most noise. It makes me sad to think of the children who haven't had their diapers changed in a couple of days. There are women in the Superdome being raped by morally bankrupt indiviuals.

While I do feel very small and like no matter what I do it'll be just a drop in the bucket, I have to do something.

I'll be donating as large a donation as I can afford to give to Red Cross for immediate needs. Next month I'll donate to some other cause to help some person start over and perhaps have some semblance of normalcy in their lives.

Please help all you can, or as much as you feel comfortable with. Perhaps you had planned to donate money to public radio or to your city's ballet this month. Why not invest it in life instead?

[some unconventional ways to help are in the extended entry]

(These links have been gingerly jacked from Mac - please feel free to post a link to some other ways to help.)

Hurricane Housing: Offer your home for temporary shelter for a family impacted by Katrina.

Coffee Cup Hurricane Aid: Helping to deliver comfort items to refugees

Jett Superior is collecting money to buy KayBee giftcards to refugee children

My lungs are as clean as my floors.

I just turned on my old computer for the first time in six months and my SilkQuit program popped up.

I've been officially smoke-free for over 1 year, 6 months.

*sigh*

There are some days where I wish for a cigarette so bad that my eyes water, but I know that if I slip up just once that I'm basically setting myself up for a readdiction.

I'm proud of me. Now I can officially delete this program from my computer.

Show me yours and I'll show you mine.

My bank statement is now five pages long (two pages front & back plus one reconciliation page). Hmm. So, the innovation of check/debit cards that was supposed to save a few trees by preventing us from writing checks has been made moot by lengthy paper statements. Niiiiiice.

How long was your last one?

Skeevy

I walked into a gas station convenience store this morning looking for coffee creamer for the office. The moment I stepped over the threshold and passed some guy waiting in line, he made the loudest, longest whiff at me.

No shit. When I walked past he smelled me.

That is so. Weird.

Family or Not?

Why did I think that Jack White and Meg White were siblings? They just seemed so asexual in regards to either, but I guess "previously married and now divorced" works just fine, too.

I don't know if I could be in a band with someone I'd been [biblical] with in the past. I'd probably oscillate between being pissed at all the groupies crowding my ex and at other times supremely happy because I want someone else to have to be with him just for the sake of verifying that he is, indeed, a fucking psycho.

Updated to add: I just heard in a "Fresh Air" segment that they had in the past told people they were siblings but some reporters had uncovered divorce papers. Jack got married to some model in Brazil recently.

"This is Not A Bill"

I got one of those "Explanation of Benefts" thingies in the mail today from Blue Cross. Basically, the visit to the eye doctor I had a couple of weeks ago wasn't covered by Blue Cross because it had been less than a year since my last visit to an optometrist [to those of you unfamiliar with the inner workings of the insurance industry, you're allowed one visit to the optometrist per year].

Well. If I could find the entry explaining why my old doctor sucks goats I would refer to it here. To briefly summarize, the quality of care at the franchise place I went to last year was dirt poor. I was put into contact lenses that really didn't fit that were impossible to find anywhere else BUT at the doctor's office. When I tried to go back in a couple of weeks after my fitting to complain about the lenses I was told that I would have to pay for another visit. I said "Screw that" and decided to just deal with them for the year.

Well, I ran out of contact lenses last month and couldn't find them anywhere online. They were backordered for at least three weeks at both reputable places I tried. I didn't want to get them from the Doctor's office because I vowed I'd never step foot into that place again.

I wanted to see a new doctor who actually gave a damn about the plastic gliding around my eyeballs, so I set an earlier than September appointment.

There, now we're caught up.

Is it worth filing a petition for them to cover it given the shitty quality of service I got from their provider a year before?

I'm going to write a letter and try to get this resolved, but I bet I'll just end up eating the $125.00 they say I owe.

*le sigh*

FUCK!

Do you know how difficult it really is to transfer funds between unassociated accounts?

Yesterday's discovery that Sam's Club does not accept credit cards prompted me to write a check. Which prompted a need to transfer funds into my account. Which prompted the realization that the only way this could be accomplished was by getting a cash advance off my credit card and depositing into my checking account. Which prompted the hindsight that I shouldn't have shredded my PIN number.

Which prompted the phone call to credit card company who is unable to change PIN numbers at request and will "send me a new one in 7-10 days."

Which prompted an attempt to Western Union money to myself, which the representative very snottily told me that "That is NOT what Western Union is for" and reminding me that this call is being recorded as if I'm some sort of indentity thief.

Which prompted me to attempt to PayPal money to myself, which ALSO can not be done.

Which prompted me to PayPal money to Scott who in turn PayPal'd it back to me.

Which will arrive in my checking account in 3-5 business days.

That shit's going to bounce.

The more you know...

Today I learned that ya can't buy alcohol before noon on Sundays.

I tried flashing them my agnostic i.d. card but it didn't work.

Thank you.

The part of the state that I come from is, to put it mildly, economically depressed. It's been said that if Eastern North Carolina was cut off from the rest of the state, it would no-contest be the poorest state in the U.S.

Some of those small towns are worse off than others. They try so hard to cling to their Main Street way of life and battle Wal*Mart like the plague when they come prospecting in their open fields. As they should. I hope there are some small towns left when it's time for my kids to make a choice on what kind of life they want to live. North Carolina is becoming a rest stop for Northerners looking for somewhere to escape high taxes, insane property costs, and nipple-exploding cold winters.

I digress.

The problem with being from somewhere like Edenton ("The prettiest little town in the South") is that you have to scramble to get out of there. Else, you'll end up at ECU (nothing wrong with that) or some other close-to-home school and you'll find that after graduation home will become a magnet. You HAVE to go back. The kids who really want to get the hell out of Dodge are out scratching peoples' eyes out for scholarships so that they can get at least an hour and a half further away to the capital where they won't feel the lure of returning.

Those who just don't have the grades end up giving their life to some branch of the U.S. Military long before graduation looms. What else is there to do? Work on Daddy's farm? Make grilled cheese sandwiches at the drug store?

Today, I finally found enough courage to scan the names of North Carolina casualties from the current conflict. I didn't know if I'd be able to bear seeing one of my classmates or community memebers listed in there, but would cross that bridge when I got to it.

Fortunately, I didn't recognize any of the names there. The closest casualty to hit home was from another small town (Hertford) about fifteen minutes away. They must be really reeling from that on days like today, and my heart goes out to them. It takes a special kind of person to enlist at any time, whether it be during peace or war.

As much venom as I may spew (or keep swimming around in my head) about this administration or the feeling of futility I sense in some of our military endeavors, for today I'll just say to those patriots: Thanks.

Chad did a memorial trek this weekend. Pictures are up at his site.

Starlu

Last night, Scott and I went to dinner at a new(to us) restaurant called Starlu.

It was a nice change from our circuit of casual dining restaurants that serve steak and shrimp cooked to various degrees of deliciousness. Yes, we are fans of Outback.

I get sick of eating at the same damn places again and again and after an almost-disgusting meal at our local Lone Star on Sunday I knew we needed to step out of our comfort zone.

I'd seen Starlu's sign on the side of the building when I was depositing money into the ATM one day. I finally got around to Googling it and saw what it was.

I wouldn't call this place casual dining by any stretch. I's the sort of place where reservations are recommended and white tablecloths are laid out.

Since it was a Wednesday night, there were paper covers on top of the cloth table dressings and there were people in there who were dressed as if they had drove in from the farm for a special night's dinner...with the newborn baby.

The waitstaff was suitably snooty, but the sunflower seed wheat bread was tasty.

I had baby back ribs. Yum.

I'd go again, if nothing else but to figure out what's in the bread.

Highway Robbery

Do you know how much 12-packs of soda cost at CVS?

$5.69!!!!!

!!!!!

Imagine that those extra exclamation points symbolize me flapping my arms like a bird to gesticulate the absurdity of that price.

Most grocery stores sell them for $4.79 or so when they're not on sale.

Two or three years ago you could get them consistently for 2/$5.00. You still can if you go to the gas station on the right day.

Yes, I just spent $5.69 on one. The only bit of soda in the house is in a special 2005 Tar Heels Coke can and I've been banned from drinking it. I did a bit of research to see which store had soda for the cheapest and ended up at CVS. $2.70 for Coke products.

Most stores realize that Dr Pepper, which the mister drinks, is neither a Coke product nor a Pepsi product, however lump it into the Coke promotions to give people a break.

I didn't realize this until after I got to the register and swiped my card. If I had known that, I would have went straight to the grocery store. I would have spent the exact same. $9.29 on two damn cases.

Congestion like you wouldn't believe.

Graduation weekend.

UNC, Duke, and NC State are all having commencement ceremonies this weekend.

Stay off I-40, folks.

Heavy.

Need a good heaving cry? Watch Hotel Rwanda.

Jeez. A million people dead. I just can't stomach it.

Huh.

Jim got it first. I must be guilty by mu.nu association. I found this email in my box this morning:

"We indexed your site in www.spidergay.com's database. We hope your indexation will provide you with a greater number of GLBT Internet surfers and that you will use Spidergay for your own needs. Your site will appear on Spidergay after the next update."

Who am I to deny traffic?

Whta is the next model in the series?

On Wednesday night I went to the mall with Scott to help him locate a rugged pair of athletic shoes to take on an upcoming business trip. While in Finish Line I saw a very professional all-business-take-no-shit woman in there helping her husband shop for tennis shoes.

You could just tell by the way she crossed her legs that she was a beyotch. The woman's hair was cut into a perfectly symmetrical pageboy. Who wears pageboys nowadays? It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that length (nape) and the too-straight lines with no layers made her look austere. That poor man looked as if she had carefully laid out his clothes the night before and dictated precisely how tightly his shirt should be tucked in and how high on his waist his pants should be.

She was on her cell phone talking to one of their children, I presume. She had them go into their closet to read the exact model number of Dad's shoe so that he could get the exact pair.

Alas, they didn't have that pair because the very nature of the tennis shoe industry is that most pairs go out of production after a year or so.

The woman turned to the sales associate and began questioning him on the make of the shoe and trying to find out what was the "Next model in this series?" The associate looked flabbergasted.

Mind you, homedude already had a pair on his feet that he looked perfectly content in, however they weren't good enough for her.

I find it hard to believe that people have to have such order in their lives that they have to order the lives of those around them, too.

Shaking Branches

It's funny that Amanda should mention family name misspellings in the previous comments because I encountered the same thing last night.

I'd been looking for one particuarly elusive family group and knew they were present in a certain town at a certain time. When I finally found them it was because I realized that someone had transcribed the handwritten census roster incorrectly. They turned cursive "n"s into "u"s. You can see where that would be a problem. I especially was really pissed to learn that "Eufield" is North Carolina town that never existed. Feh.

I saw also that they spelled the person I was looking for's last name incorrectly. It wasn't even phonetic, it was just wrong. I know a lot of people make the same mistake in spelling that name, and the person telling the census taker the info didn't know any better because he couldn't read...I'm sure he didn't give a shit anyway - it was only his stepson. Yes, his own biological children's names were spelled weirdishly as well.

Now that I'm back on the trail I plan on taking a fact-finding trip sometime in the next couple of weekends. I'll spend the day in a town the size of a flea gathering vital records from the clerk's office.

I hope they have a McDonald's...or at least a gas station that sells potato wedges and Nehis.

So helpful.

I have a pretty tough time keeping up with all the online passwords I use to pay bills online. So, I wasn't surprised when today I attempted to pay my Discover Card bill online and couldn't remember the password. It gets tough to remember if this is your standard password that you use for everything, or if it's the password with the numbers AND letters, or if it's the password with the numbers AND letters AND special characters.

Needless to say I surpassed the allowed number of log-in attempts and got frozen out. I really wanted to pay that bill this morning or else I'd forget and would be really pissed at myself when I'm paying late fees next month.

I called 1800-DISCOVER to make a payment by phone.

Computer Voice: "To use our free automatic pay by phone system, press one."

*presses 1*

Computer Voice: "Please wait while I transfer you to an account manager. This call may be recorded for quality assurance purposes."

Huh? I thought it was automatic?

Account Chick: "Can I have your name, birthdate, and mother's maiden name?"

*tells her*

Account Chick: "How can I help you today?"

Me: "I'd like to make a payment by phone."

Account Chick: "That will be a $10 charge."

I thought I heard the computer voice say "Free!!!!" I have to pay $10 to have a person do it? Why couldn't I just use the automated system?

Me: "Um, forget that. I have a few days to get it in. See, the problem was that I tried doing it online and I exceeded my maximum number of attempts for the day."

*waits for helpful solution*

Account Chick: "Do you normally pay online?"

Me: "Yep."

Account Chick: "Hmm, I thought I saw something on your account about that, but I was wrong. That was from a previous month."

Me: "......"

Account Chick: "Can I help you with anything else?"

Me: "No."

I then called the technical support number stated on the log-in screen where the guy asked the same exact questions and cleared the password.

I was waiting for the Account Chick to suggest I call the web support people to fix it if she wasn't going to or at least transfer me, but she didn't.

Thanks a lot, lady.

On the trail.

I've been working on my family tree for a couple of years now and haven't gotten very far. The interviews I've done with family members have made it abundantly clear that no one ever asked questions.

I [finally] have a mimeograph of my grandfather's "delayed certificate of birth registration" which confirms only what I've already known: his mother's name. Although I now know her year of birth and birthplace, I've been thrown off the trail by the fact that Maggie listed her husband's name as "Douglas."

Well, she should know what her husband's name was, right? Well on Grandpop's social security number application, he lists his father's name as "Fred." Fred Douglas.

So, who do I believe?

*shrugs*

I guess I'm going to have to drive out to Podunk to find a marriage record or some graves or something. No other [live] decendants on my maternal side really ever communicate much with other Maggie & Fred/Douglas decendants, and I'm sure there are a few. Maggie's nieces and nephews have all bit the dust recently and I'm sure their kids don't know shit, although if I'm really sneaky, I may be able to wrangle some photos out of them. I'm dying to know what Maggie looked like.

Field trip!

You are like a fly. Your presense bothers me. Poof! Be gone.

Excuse my ignorance, but is it a part of Islamic culture for the men to give the women who walk into their convenience stores looks that say, "If you were in my country you'd be stoned"?

So...hungry.

When I was a smoker my breakfast of choice would be a cup of strong coffee and a couple on non-mentholateds. I miss that. Fucking breakfast of CHAMPIONS.

I miss going outside on the deck and squatting down to find a comfortable balance where I could rest my cup on one knee and flick casually with the other hand.

Now I get up, get dressed, walk out the door, and go straight to the office. I do not pass go, nor do I collect that desperately-needed $200.

Yes, I am starving right now--how did you know?

I've tried light things like yogurt and fruit for breakfast. I've tried cereal. Most of the time my stomach will be growling an hour later in anticipation for lunch.

I guess this is a casual survey - what's a good [light] breakfast that will give me some energy but not have my stomach talking to people on the other end of the phone?

Holy busing, Batman!

I use Topix to keep up with all of the current events in my hometown (and there are SO many events that they have to jack news from surrounding counties to fill the weekly paper).

You know that you've really been away from home for a long time when you read something about one of the four public schools in the county being at a new location.

I need to go home.

*backstory - Chowan county has four schools. Period. There was one "county" elementary school and one in town. The county school got moved closer to town. The town school got moved closer to the country. I am SO pissed, but without you living there it's difficult to explain why.

Oh, my.

Hold up - did NPR just do a story on International Stoner's Day (4/20)?

Too much, too much.

This should make for interesting conversation in the office today.

Here's Johnnie.

Did you hear that Johnnie Cochran died this afternoon?

I certainly didn't see that one coming. Not to take such matters lightly, but it's a good thing I don't play in one of those dead pools. I certainly believed that Rush Limbaugh would go first.

A Public Service Announcement

When eating bunny-shaped ice cream cakes, the ears should be eaten first.

"The Office"

Did anyone else see NBC's new show The Office last night? I made a special effort to keep my eyes open until 9:30 to see it. While I wasn't utterly dissapointed, I did feel like the critics were right: we've taken another British black comedy and dumbed it down.

I actually like [most] British comedy, so I could see where the baton got dropped.

I'll see what happens next Tuesday. I won't pencil it into my permanent schedule just yet.

Well, you'll just have to force me.

I've been forcing paperwhites in my house in different media. The ones in the pictures are basically gravel and water. The rest in the house, which are growing at about 1/3 the rate, are growing in sterilized topsoil.

Eeeeenteresting.

"Bad boys, bad boys..."

I don't like it when large vehicles try to race me from stop lights. Nuh uh.

By no means am I a slow driver. If I'm not going at least five mph over the speed limit, then it's because I'm stuck behind some Noah driving a boat and weaving across the lanes.

Today, let's just say that the Durham police were being nice and not pulling people over. I'm extremely proud of my ability to go from 70 to 55 in less than two seconds.

"Huh? You don't--huh?"

I just went out to get beer and Tater Tots pick up a pair of pants I'd dropped off at the dry cleaner's to have altered. The very last time I personally had something dry-cleaned it was my high school marching band uniform. The pants, tunic, and coat came up to a grand total of about $12.

I don't know why I listen to people. When I expressed to someone that I needed to have some pants shortened, they made it seem like this was going to be the most expensive proposition I'd ever embark upon. They told me they once paid $30 to have a shirt shortened.

I reasoned that since I'd bought the pants for a pretty damn good price ($27 marked down from $90), I'd still be saving if I paid that much to have them hemmed.

Fortunately, I only had to pay $7.49. By check.

For whatever reason, I had to find the one dry cleaner in town that isn't technologically forward enough to take plastic. I ended up messing up one check (when's the last time I had to write a check for less than $10? I accidentally wrote out the cents as dollars.) and writing another. To start with, I usually only write two checks per month: one for my car loan, and the other for my public radio pledge.

I think the clerk made it her own personal joke with the other customer who came in with a pile of linens (whom she knew by name). I could see them laughing through the windows as I went back out to the car. Yes, I am paranoid.

Next time, though, I think I'll go to Susie's Couture and Alterations like I'd originally planned but couldn't find. I bet they'll take plastic.

Weird

How is it possible to be comment spammed without the comments actually showing up on your site?

I just opened my email client and disovered 57 new comment spam messages, and yet they're nowhere to be seen hereabouts.

Kooky.

Precipitation!

It's sleeting.

If you listen really carefully, it sounds like some guy peeing loud.

Worst...parents...ever

Have you ever seen "The Virgin Suicides"? It came on Lifetime (T.V. for women, heh) and I watched it so that I could yank it off my Netflix queue.

That movie is fucking disturbing. I don't know what I was more put off by, the 13-year-old flinging herself out the window to impale herself on the wrought-iron fence or the fact that the parents thought that putting the other four on lockdown and preventing them from leaving the house was "love."

*shudders*

I don't recommend watching this movie prior to bedtime. Seeing as how those kids weren't really allowed to have a childhood, I can see why Wacko Jacko turned out the way he did :-).

HP Opinions

I've narrowed down the field of contenders and have decided that my next computer purchase will be an HP. While I was researching them on Friday I started by letting the site recommend a computer for me. My minimum requirements were 533 Bus, 512 MB RAM, 160 GB hard drive space, 128 MB video ram, and a DVD+ROM drive. Anything above and beyond that were just icing.

The midrange CPUs that I found, the Pavilion a815n and a820n were the frontrunners until I did some investigation and found that if I were willing to take a step back in the model to the a810e, I could save several hundred dollars and get the monitor thrown into the package. They're running rebates on last year's early models, it seems.

Considering the fact that the dinosaur I'm typing on right now will be six years old come April, that little step-back was negligible to me. It's not like I need a super-industrial computer that will be used to hack into Blockbuster Video's customer database or anything....just something stable that isn't going to eat all of my fiction writing if I do some accidental weird key command. And yes, I do want to be able to play bigass games without hearing whirring, crashing, and resoundant thuds.

So. I'm going to customize an a810e and get the most of whatever I can within the $1200 smackeroonies range. It appears that I can get 1 GB ram for an additional $40, or so.

Good thing I'm not interested in the lastest fashions.

So...has anyone heard any bad shit about the a810e line? Basically I'm going to close my eyes and respond with, "Gee, thanks for letting me know," no matter what you say. If they haven't exploded or tried to suck blood, I don't want to hear it.

Greenpeace would be shocked.

It's official. We now have five (four completely different) phone books. Four of them arrived before we even had a landline phone. Obviously they give you a phone book whether you have their service or not. I guess that the only way those people who buy yellowpages ads ever recoup their money.

Yes, I am paranoid that if I throw one out it'll be the one that I needed to find whoever.

Snow?

Okay, so last week we were in the 70-degree range and my male coworkers were walking around our sweltering office in their undershirts...now it's snowing. It's been snowing for about an hour and a half.

As this is N.C. snow, we'll probably get an inch today which will get rained away tomorrow. Then again, us North Carolinians are pretty snow-phobic so this might prove to be a great excuse to go home early--you know, to get out of this "mess."

Ahem.

If I had the balls...

So, American Idol begins yet another vicious cycle tonight. I think that the three or four shows that air first are the most amusing - all the outtakes of all the talentless people who argue that (though they may be astoundingly tonedeaf) they can sing...all the people who think dancing like dervishes will make them better "performers"...

I can't wait. :-)

What, you don't get overtime?

Ever notice that government workers, specifically those in mail trucks and police vehicles, are the most reckless drivers when it gets close to 5 p.m.?

D'oh!

Today, I made the mistake of checking my bank balance online.

When I saw that there was a sum in there that is far too high for it to be the 12th, I immediately panicked and wondered why my student loan funds didn't get sucked out.

Upon closer inspection I saw that they had indeed tried to zap the funds, but because I had balanced my check register 28 cents in the wrong direction, instead of my lender getting their money, my bank got $30.

Interesting how that is. They couldn't be sure that I was good for 28 fucking cents?

I called my lender to see if they were going to try to draft it again and to express that if they did it would merely get bounced again because of that whole 28 cent issue.

Oh well, I'll just pretend this is a blessing in disguise. I'll send my lender a slightly smaller check and have gas money until my next payday.

Cranky.

Why do the people who drive the bare minimum speed know all the shortcuts?

Oy.

I left work at around 12:30 yesterday.

Interesting how you can come in and find even more paper stacked on your desk. I mean, do they not know there's a trash can beside every fucking table in the office?

Holy. Shit.

900 instances of comment spam.

That's what I get for not turning on my computer until 5 o'clock, eh?

I'm very close to saying "fuck this" and giving up this blogging thing. If I have to keep moving like a witness protection participant, it's not worth it.

Chad's home...

I don't even know which one to start with. While this is kind of kooky, I think I should be more concerned with this or perhaps even this.

I think he needs time to adjust.

Weird coinkydink...

Yesterday, I tried submitting a new order for home phone service and got another e-mail today stating that they couldn't validate my address. I called Bell South to find out why in the hell I couldn't get the site to work and was told that Bell South doesn't cover my service area.

Yes, they service Chapel Hill....but not Durham. Mm hmm.

The service rep told me to ask my neighbors who their phone company is. I didn't want to have to because I tend to avoid awkward half-assed efforts at conversation.

Guess what was in my mailbox when I got home?

My neighbors' misdelivered phone bill.

How handy. Looks like I know who my phone company is supposed to be.

Temptation.

Radio of smokers to non-smokers in my office: 4:2.

They're like Satan trying to get me to sell my soul. Thankfully, I have a strong will and after 9 1/2 months of being smoke-free, I'm not going to give up so easily...besides, I don't have $100.

*counts on fingers...*

I just got one of those explanation of benefits things from my health terrorists insurance company.

If I figure this right...my crotch doctor bills approximately $714/hour.

....

That explains all that italian leather she was wearing.

Nice try, bub.

Seen on the bumper sticker of a beater Mazda 323 DX this morning: "Driver carries NO CASH. DRIVER IS MARRIED."

Oh, please. The resourceful wife knows how to link hubby's bank account to hers....

Interesting how they disguise it as junk mail.

I got a mail item today in a plain white envelope
that had "Important Information Enclosed" printed on it. In the return
address window I saw that it was from "Credit Card Center."

I didn't recognzied the address so I naturally thought it was junk
mail. I opened it for the hell of it and saw it was one of those
privacy notices creditors send you every year or so to find out whether
you want to be taken off the address lists that they sell to "Related
Third Parties."

It asks whether you'd like to:

1. Limit the personal information about me that you disclose to nonaffiliated third parties.

2. Limit the personal information about me that you share with Citigroup affiliates.

3. Remove my name from your personal mailing lists used for promotional offers.

4. Remove my name from you relemarketing lists used for promotional offers.

You select which choices you want and then provide them with your full account number.

Uh huh. Well, frankly, they shouldn't be selling my shit to start with.
Second, they haven't had a valid phone number for me in about three
years, so ain't no body calling me.

All the same, I'll spend $0.37 of my own cents to return this to that
the floodgate of Mom & Pop company catalogues don't start up.

Interesting how they make it look like something you don't need to bother to read, though.

Realization.

I had been unsure of where our property ended and where our neighbors' begins. The little pink flag that someone tied to a tree branch to mark the property line has quite obviously moved during the past few years of growth. I, of course, didn't want to be ghetto and sneak out at night with a tape measure, either. I really don't want to risk humilation by asking them, either. The only reason I wondered in the first place was because there is a raised flower bed in the area of contention, as well as some ugly-ass saplings that I want to cut down. They just look so messy there.

Looks like Slicky Ricky next door has been out having fun with his leaf blower. Everything that had been in his driveway and surrounds is now in the daffodil run separating his driveway from our yard. It's about three feet wide and runs from the ditch to the chain link fence that separates our front yard from the back.

I guess the daffodil run is ours. This is process of elimination: he did the same thing last fall and they never got raked up, so the assumption is that it's our property. Leaves make pretty crappy mulch and don't add much to clay soil, so Ms. Green Thumb next door wouldn't have left them there if it was thiers.

I'm not petty...I just want those beds for my evil plans of world domination to plant stuff.