Oh. Holy, Jesus. When did I become Bridget Jones??

Actually--it's been happening for quite some time. Don't believe me?

Read the book."Get the book here"

Not a reader? You can always watch the movie: "Watch this movie!!"

And you will see what a folly my life has become.

Don't believe me? Well children..I SO have a story for you.

What summed it up for me was last Thursday evening. I had a meeting of sorts to go to. I volunteer my time doing PR/Marketing for a smallish local not-for-profit. (Bridget? Works in "Publicity"..the much cuter sounding English equivalent.) So, I leave work..and it's a blizzard out. (In November? Really?) The snow follows me downtown, and I drive round the block of a fancy schmancy hotel (in which we are having said meeting) for ten minutes. Giving up, I park it in the mall and get myself across the street. The e-mail said we were to meet in the bar.

Not the lobby. The BAR.

Now. Let me just say. I am more than a tad under dressed for this place in my slip on, worn completely out work shoes (from Payless), my chocolate colored chinos and green corduroy coat (both from Target). While I have some makeup on..I am far from "made up". Oh! And my hair was in a jaunty pony tail. Mainly because I was too lazy to wash my hair that morning, but that's neither here nor there. (Washing your hair too much? Makes it dull and lifeless. It took my 31 years to figure this one out.) So..let's just say...all these ladies coming in from a convention in 4 inch heels and pencil skirts and exquisite scarves? Yes. They blew me out of the water.

I walked in to the bar and the hostess was helpful enough to point me in the direction of a couple by the window. Considering it was a man with a girl young enough to be his daughter I thought, "Probably not my group..". And no. She was not his daughter. How do I know? Because his hand was so far up her thigh that it made ME blush.

So, I go around the bar again, and there is a very handsome older man, maybe in his 50's, sitting at a large table by himself. He's in a suit that costs more than I make in a month, I'm sure. Drinking scotch, or bourbon, on the rocks. Did I mention he was nice looking? Cause he was. Very. Yowza. "Bingo" I thought to myself. Since I was looking for an academic, I figured this was my guy. I walk up to the man, and the first thing out of his mouth was "You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"

Silly me. I was flattered. Maybe he had seen me on the website or something. I sit down and start to pull my things out. He asks me what I'm drinking. I politely decline and get out my notes and notebook and pen. He looks confused. I am confused by his look of confusion. I ask him if he wasn't Mr. X, and he says no. "So you're not with the committee from the museum?"

Nope.

That's right. I just plopped myself down in front of a very attractive man, obviously a "Somebody", like I knew what in the hell I was doing in a coat from Target and in Payless shoes. And he? Was just another in my very long line of Daniel Cleavers throwing out a cheesy pick up line. And it worked. Oh. Dear. Lord. If the earth could have swallowed me whole in that moment, I would have been ecstatic.

I grab my things, apologize for idiocy and bolt from the bar to wait in the lobby.

Just wait. It gets better.

The concierge kept asking if he could "help" me. I told him I was waiting for someone. I'm pretty sure he thought I was the cheapest hooker he'd seen in a long while. A step up from streetwalker, sure, but not exactly what I would call a fantasy come to life.

I blame the cheap shoes.

So, I do what I should have done before I came to the stupid meeting. I googled the person I was meeting.

And guess who had been sitting in the lobby for the entire time?

You guessed it.

Oh. And it gets worse.

Rhea is not an expert on the topic at hand. Rhea has been brought in to "fanny about with the press releases". I know nothing about these teaching methods (I'm so NOT a teacher...and I have the utmost respect for those of you that are), nor have I read everything a certain author has written.

The guys in my meeting. Are. And Have.

I HATE feeling like the stupidest person in the room. Hate, hate, hate, hate it. But jokes were told that I didn't get. Books dissected that I hadn't read. I had the overwhelming urge to ask "Do you know....where...the toilets are??", but I bit my tongue. I was there for PR and Marketing. I left with no idea how to do either for this project. (Don't fret, it WILL come to me. But I was blindsided by all the academic brilliance and super smart author talk I had been exposed to.)

It made me kind of sad. I so very much want to be one of those super brilliant people who wows people with her smarts. Instead, I got lopsided grins of "Aww..isn't she cute? Trying so hard! It's adorable."

Sigh.

My only saving grace right now is that if I die "fat and alone", I won't be found three weeks later half eaten by wild dogs.

Nope. It will be cats.

And I better not be fat.

At least I didn't wake up in my car....

So. Got to try out the new medication last night...and I will admit--I was a little leery.


Last time I took 100mg of Imitrex, I woke up to find my car parked sideways in the driveway, windows down, my purse in the front seat, and various bags of half eaten food from fast food establishments.

I had a drug induced junk food binge which led to me sleeping for like 12 hours straight.

Scariest part? I remembered none of it. And I'm the kind of person that remembers 95% of the stupid, humiliating, horrid things I say, do, see when I'm intoxicated. It's a curse, really. No blacking out for me..oh no. Even when I've prayed for it to happen...no such luck.

So, last night I'm driving home from the boondocks of Hamilton County and I feel it start. The pulsating behind my eyes, the sudden super (it's crazy how fast this happens) sensitivity to light (which is perfect for night driving--makes it a real treat), feeling like my dinner is going to shoot up my throat any second, and finally the radiation of pain all over my skull, down my neck into my shoulders. Yup. Migraine number two of the week (maybe it's the weather??).

Off to CVS I go to pick up my pills. Nine pills. Just nine. Apparently, that's the highest number of these bad boys you can have at one time. So this explains the 10 refills on my script...cause I thought the doctor said 90 pills with all those refills. Hmm. Maybe I need my hearing checked, too. (YIKES) Paid my little fee, drove home, took my pill, grabbed a book...and waited.

After about a half an hour, I had this grody burning in my nose and an awful taste in my mouth. In fact, it's still kind of there. Like when you chew on aspirin. Nastiness that just won't go away. Still had a headache, but not as pounding (still do, actually).

At midnight, I finished my new book, turned off the light and tried to go to sleep.

And this is where it gets weird.

I had the most insane, weird, creepy dreams. Like falling constantly and seeing people falling with you. Talking to them, watching them splat to the ground (and yes--all people I know) and probably die--but I just kept on falling and falling and falling. It was unnerving just floating about waiting for my turn to squish apart on the ground.

Then the one where Yogi could talk. Oh god. I rolled over to see him sleeping next to me, he turned his head and snarled "Hey lady, back OFF! This be my spot!" (Apparently my little fur ball is an angry Jamaican). It was so real that when I woke up freaking out to see him sleeping next to me I actually got out of bed and moved to the couch for a while because I was so weary of him bitch slapping me and calling me names in my sleep.

So. Today? I'm exhausted. I slept like crap and I still have the remnants of a headache. I'm supposed to give this a month and see how I do. If it doesn't improve?

I get put on a Topamax regimen. And it? It has a side effect I can fully support: Weight Loss.

Web MD--you are the devil. And I'm an idiot.

I have found something tragically true about myself.

I have enough information to be dangerous when it comes to my own health. Very. Dangerous.

For example, I have this funny bump behind my ear. I'll be honest, it's kind of freaking me out. Here's a snippet of my inner dialogue every time I think about said bump or, heaven forbid, touch it. Which is constantly.

"Oh God! Is that a lymph node? I wish I had eyes back there! What color is it? Is this why I'm waking up to hoarf my guts out in the middle of the night?" *Panic* " Is it the nasty C word?!??!"

To make matters worse, I'm a literate adult. Who was raised by a nurse. Who was in school when I was a kid. Who tended to leave textbooks lying about. Who should have realized this was an issue because her four year old was reading almost at an adult level...and able to sound out even the nastiest of diseases. Even better? The same kid came wide eyed at her with freaky looking pictures of diseased bits of people asking "Mommy??? What IS THIS?!!!!" So--nothing was really ever censored in my house. No cute names for your bits and pieces and full disclosure in regards to communicable disease.

Which is probably why I REALLY don't like people touching me.

But back to me and my nodule of death....

I went to WebMD to see what the frack this thing IS. Let's see it could be a cyst (most likely), it could be a blocked hair follicle (behind my ear? probably not), it could be cancer, it could be nothing at all and I'm just a freak of nature that breaks out in weird flesh colored bumps.

My eye? Goes straight to cancer. As in "Oh my god. I have cancer. All the headaches and retching? Make total sense. I'm going to die."

Which is a load of total crap (except the dying part--we all bite the dust at some point). I have to rein myself in and tell myself that I don't have cancer, it's just a weird fluke thing, and it's FINE.

Besides I'm going to the doctor tomorrow anyway for new migraine drugs...and I will tell him what I found online at WebMd and the Mayo Clinic and show him my bump....

And he will laugh.

At me.

Right to my face.

And I will deserve it.

Same as it ever was.....kinda. Sorta. Maybe?

Okay--I have to start off by saying watch this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1wg1DNHbNU&feature=related

I don't know what it is about this song--but it seems appropriate for big decision moments in ones life. For example, I made one yesterday.

Big. Big time.

And it's done. I've put a date on my calendar. I have a deadline to myself--and I refuse to go back on it this time. Refuse!

It's nothing personal--just professional (NO--I am NOT going back to school. I wish! But that's what the future is for. One day, I will be a Dr. of something--trust me.) I sent out a request on Facebook yesterday, and I will repeat it here: If you know anyone who could spare 20 mins of their time to speak to me about Marketing, Advertising, Public Relations (kinda the preferred genre, but I'm not going to be picky), Project Management, etc--please let me know! Know me? Send me an e-mail? Don't know me? Leave me a comment!

So--on a more fun topic...my possessed car? Is fixed!

What was wrong with my car? Well.

Long story short?

It was messed with. The mechanic at the dealership said someone tried to get under the hood of my car--without the benefit of releasing the latch on the inside of my car. This, screwed up the alarm system, which caused the lights to flash and the horn to honk at all hours of the night. It also destroyed the mechanism that keeps the hood down. So--I'm damn lucky it didn't blow up when I was, oh, I don't know, driving on the interstate at 75 miles an hour. I could have killed someone. Or been killed. So--to the stupid, idiotic morons who not only tried to get under my hood, but messed with my tires, too in Bedford?

You will SO get what's coming to you.

Karma? She's a real bitch. And you will deserve: Every. Single. Horrible. Thing. That. Happens. To. You.

So, if it weren't for a really good friend and her amazing soon to be husband? (Thank you Colleene and Mike!!!! You are awesome!)

I would be out some serious cash money.

And you all know how much I hate to be separated from my funds.

And that? Well...I think I will turn to David Byrne again....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Smge23DCE8

Qu'est-ce que c'est??

(And do I plan on causing anyone any harm? No! Because I'm not crazy like so many people are. But I do love that song....)

Sick and the Single Girl

Being sick?

Sucks.

Being sick and living alone?

Double. Sucks.

Now--don't get me wrong. I love living in my little hovel (Right now? I wouldn't let anyone I know through the front door. I've been such a lazy buggar as of late....) solo. No roommate to eat my food, no boyfriend to make me watch Sports Center....again (and again and again and again), no husband that pretends to not know how a dishwasher functions. I mean really--am I missing out on that much?

And yes--that is a rhetorical question people.

So if you value your self esteem--don't answer it.

But..I digress.

Last night, I got home from work around 6:30 pm..and I went to bed. I had a freight train of a migraine going through my head...it hurt so bad I cried like a little girl once my head hit the pillow until I (literally) passed out from pain.

I woke up a little while later, still in agony, but my stomach was making empty noises (Probably because I threw up everything in it off the side of US 136 on my drive home. Classy, no?)

Do you know what I would have given, in that moment, for a real live human being to be living with me? I love my boys, but cats, shouldn't drive. Just ask Toonces. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQkL9LpvKl0)

Besides, Bernie Williams was too busy burrowing into my stomach and Yogi was laying on my feet to be much help for anything.

And all I wanted?

Wonton Soup.

So, I dragged my sad ass outta bed and over to the Chinese place close to my house. $3.25 later, I had a pint of wonton soup and an veggie egg roll.

I really wanted some rainbow sherbet, too--but the grocery was just too far away. (Actually, I don't think my legs would have held me up for too much longer...I got home and fell face first back into bed.)

Drank all the broth, ate half the egg roll, shot back more migraine meds and snuggled in to watch Snapped (A good one! Teenage lesbians continue to go out even though one of them marries a guy to get her family off her back--but the guy finds out about all the sneaking around--and he and the girl he married kill the second girl by cutting her throat...gruesome! Just what I needed to watch to take my mind off things...I know, I know--I'm not right.)

I woke about 3 am...and would have sold my soul for a ginger ale. But the cats, as usual, were not helpful. So, again, I dragged myself out of bed, got my drink, took more pills and prayed for unconsciousness to overtake me. No such luck..but I tried.

Maybe what I need is a live in housekeeper. This would solve two problems for me 1) My house would be so much cleaner! and 2) There would always be someone here to bring me ginger ale.

I think I have a new life goal.....better start the planning to make this happen!

Unless I find some poor sap to put up with me first.

Hmm.....

Better start saving for the maid!

It's Banned Book Week!

Ah...America.


Home of the Free. Home of the Brave.


Home of the "We know better than you so we are going to deny you your constitutional rights to read this book. Trust us--it's for your own good!"

Why do we allow others to think for us like this? You know what other countries banned books?


Nazi Germany

North Korea

Communist Block Countries

USSR/Russia


Um. Last time I checked, we were a Republic, so, yea.
Back off people who think they know everything (Yes. I'm talking to you super, super scary people who think dinosaurs and people walked the earth at the same time.)--and let me enlighten some of you with a list of my all time favorite banned books; enjoy!


1) The Great Gatsby--by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Who doesn't love a story about drunken socialites, LOTS of marital infidelity, and suicide?? This story just reaffirms money doesn't buy happiness. People have the same emotional problems no matter how much money they have in the bank.


2) To Kill a Mockingbird--by Harper Lee.

Probably, no--I'm going to say it--this IS the best American novel of the 20th century. There. I've said it. Can't take it back. If you haven't read this? Leave the country. Now. You don't deserve your citizenship.


3) Lolita--by Vladmir Nabokov.

The genius of this book is, a friend once told me, that you feel sorry for Humbert. You know--the pedophile? He likes girls of a certain age, well, because he's a pervert. And young Lolita? Lolita takes him for everything he's got. You dislike both of them equally....Nabokov is brilliant, no?


4) A Farewell to Arms--Ernest Hemingway.

Again, this was banned because there's S-E-X in it. Not blatant pornographic sex, but when you have an unmarried nurse carrying on with a patient, and then she gets pregnant? Oh the humanity! Actually--this is my favorite Hemingway..I think he captures quite poignantly the innocence he fully lost while serving as an ambulance driver in WWI (and falling in love with a nurse on the battlefields). His later work is misogynistic and not very nice towards women. It's nice to know that at one time, he had the capacity to fully love.

5)Gone with the Wind--by Margaret Mitchell.

I will admit, this is totally a guilty pleasure for me, but it also contains my alter ego (well--let's just say who I really do aspire to be in some ways)--Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler. Oh, she's a real bitch..and I love every single second she's on the page. What's she going to do next? Survival of the fittest never looked so damn good! It's also a fantastic reminder that in the good old days? People were NOT more moral, more Christian, more nice, or even had better manners. It's just human nature wanting to gloss over the ugly parts of the past and pretend that they didn't happen. Kudos to Margaret Mitchell for laying it all out there--you see Old Dixie all right--warts and all.

6) Slaughterhouse Five--by Kurt Vonnegut

Indianapolis' Native Son, a real pioneer of the later half of the 20th century. A humanist with a real soul, if you want my opinion. Who else could really make you feel the plight of Billy Pilgrim? Time traveling prisoner of war? What else can I say to you but READ THIS BOOK. You will be a better person for it. Truly.


7) Lady Chatterly's Lover--D.H. Lawrence.

This is not a "smutty book"! Well--okay. It's kind of smutty, but not in the way you're thinking (get your mind out of the gutter pervert). It's a tragic story. She loves her husband, but then he's paralyzed and becomes emotionally dead to his wife. She's young, she's fairly attractive--she's a physical being who craves the love of a man. The mind alone cannot keep a person satisfied...this is why we have bodies. It's a real warning to those of us (like me), who tend to think we don't need affection or love from another to be fully satisfied souls. Guess what? We really, truly do.

8) An American Tragedy--Theodore Dreiser

Another Indiana boy--and one of my favorite writers, period. It's the story of a street missionary who flees his parents and the uber religious life only to fall in love with the wrong girl. Well, the right girl, actually--he just happens to get another girl pregnant first. Girl number one ends up dead in a lake. Girl number two? The beautiful and rich Sondra--who happens to love Clyde as much as he loves her. His great plan to get rid of Roberta goes horribly wrong..and well. I think you know how this story ends. One of the best book to screen movies ever made, A Place in the Sun, with the ethereal Elizabeth Taylor (so young--so heartbreakingly beautiful), Montgomery Clift, and the superb Shelley Winters, is worth checking out if you come across it.

So there you have--a mere snippet of the literally hundreds of books (which, FYI are mostly young adult and kids novels--Hunger Games, Harry Potter, and Beverly Clearly books have all been banned by countless school systems) that are banned in somewhere in the United States. A little crazy, huh?

Actually--it's a lot crazy.

So read on--and enjoy!

On a serious note...

Sometimes--things just add up and wallop you one right after another.

Trouble with cash flow? Check.

Trouble with my job? Check.

Trouble finding a new job? Check.

Trouble with life in general? Check. Check. And CHECK.

Boy oh boy. What a rough last eight weeks it's been. Silly me, wandering along, thinking for once--just once--things were, to quote Bing Crosby, "Going my Way!". Job prospects, my house was somewhat in order, and a good thing that people gave me nothing but shit for--but in a good natured way.

Well..fast forward. Grrrrr. Not. Bloody. Likely.

I really do try to be a glass half full person. But, being a realist at heart, sometimes this just doesn't work. So you step back and take a look at the clusterfuck that is your life...and you see that....

The problem?

The problem is me.

ME.

Yup. And I'm going to try really hard to fix it. Right now, I'm falling back into some old, scary habits that I really need to get reined in before it gets to be too much. But, I have this need to feel in control of something in my life...

So. For the first time in many (many) years--I know I can't do this myself. I can't fix me alone. And I certainly can't ask my friends to put up with more than they already have. I sat down today and looked into seeing a professional. I sent out some inquiries so we will see how it goes.

Hopefully not like the last time--I paid a stupid amount of money to be told there was nothing wrong with me, that it was the people around me with issues, got a pat on the head and a bill on my way out.

Hmm. While I like to think that part of the above is true--it's probably not 100%.

So--I wonder if Dr. Katz is available?

                                                     

(Sadly--I'm dating myself here, aren't I?)

So. Back to the normal, silly, non-sensical angry girl stuff soon...I promise! But I felt the need to get something this big off my chest.

Guess that's a start in the right direction, huh?

Baby Games....

Okay.

A few months back, I agreed (with no hesitation, mind you) to assist with my dear, dear cousin's baby shower coming up this Saturday.

I pulled game duty. I usually like making snacks or something--but considering there may be 75 people or so there--I think games are just fine by me.

So...my first idea was a baby obsticle course. How fast can you change a diaper? Put clothes on them? Get a kid in a car seat? Get them out of the car seat? I thought it would be fantastic to see people running around like fools. But..apparently, the elderly and the overweight don't like to run.

Or, more likely, the place we are having the baby shower doesn't want any law suits brought against them for when 80 year old ladies bite it on the church carpet.

Oh well. C'est la vie. If I am ever lucky enough (no--this is not said sarcastically) reproduce? This is the kind of farce I want at my baby shower. Please--and I know there are some of you out there who love me enough to do this--make it so.

So. I went with the much safer Baby Food game (pick twelve kinds of baby food--make sure pairs of them look alike. Make people guess which is which). The hardest part of the baby food game? You try finding 12 kinds of baby food that look alike. That don't have meat in them (BARF). Guess who will be having vegetarian offspring...until they can chew their own damn meat, anyway.

So. Right now I have eight jars. I think I'm going to have to broaden my search and go to a few more stores. Maybe tonight if I buy baby food with my cat food--people won't give me that shameful "Oh..you're a single girl. With cats." stare.

My second game is going to be sort of a Baby themed Price is Right. Fun, right? A friend of mine likes this game because it reinforces just how expensive babies are "And if you are freaked out by how much one basket of crap costs? You shouldn't be having any kids!" (And yes-I'm a firm believer if you can't feed yourself--you have NO DAMN BUSINESS reproducing. It's called an IUD. Go get one. I think the state should even pay for it if you already popped one out that you can't afford...Seriously--that's really how I would like my tax dollars to work. Not. Kidding.)

So. I'm explaing the above fun time to my mom. Dear. Mother. Sigh. Please enjoy the following e-mail exchange:

Me: I think one of my games is going to be "Baby Price is Right!" So, if you want to go in on the gift basket idea, I will pick up stuff for the game--and it can be part of our presents. Sound good? That way, you don't have to worry about getting anything else. Sound good??

Mom: I have never heard of the guess the price game. How does it work? (Really?? Mom...really?)

Me: You have items---and people have to guess how much they cost. The person who ends up with the total closes to what the items actually cost, wins the prize.

Carmen likes this game because it shows how expensive babies are. So if you can't afford them--you shouldn't have them : )

Mom:  So do you put Baby items in the basket? 

Me: No..I thought I would find some crack. Maybe a hooker? Or do you think a hooker is too much? Hmm. Maybe a blow up doll, instead.  And do you think condoms would be in bad taste?

Mom: WHAT?!?!

Me: Hey--crazy lady. Of course you put baby things in a basket. Geesh.

And you guys wonder why I'm nuts.

Cat Scratch Fever!!

Oh...fuzzy butts. Is there anything better than after a long hard day coming home to be adored and fawned over by your pet?

If you answered yes to the above--clearly you have a dog.

Me? That's not how I roll. I like to be ignored...until I prove to be useful. You know--when it's time to eat. This is why I have cats.

I guess I should be grateful the boys don't have thumbs in the traditional sense. It would be like living with two tiny, yet incredibly piggy, men.

I complain about them, but they are, actually, pretty nice to have around.

Until they aren't. (I hear this is how most people feel about their spouses, so it must be perfectly normal when you cohabitate with someone to have this "I adore you...please die" dichotomy.)

Right now, sweet, sweet Bernie Williams is covered in nastiness. He's got flea scabs. (OHMYGODYESITISASGROSSASITSOUNDS!!!) I've already taken him to the vet once for this..and it was $170.00.

Let that sink in.

Let me also state--I do not have fleas in my house. Yogi does not have fleas. Bernie doesn't have fleas. It's one random bite that a little booger gets in before their Advantage can kill the bastard off.

One. Bite.

And my cat is covered in scabs. *Shudder* Which is why he's kind of gross to be around right now. And of course, he's the snuggler. If I'm on the couch, he wants to be on my lap. If I'm in bed, he wants to poke his paw in my face every now and again and then curl back up at my feet. (I'm pretty sure they both do this off and on through out the night just to make sure I'm alive. Not because they care about me, don't be fooled, but because they are counting on breakfast.)

So. Since this girl certainly does NOT have another at least 100 bucks to blow, she decided to go homeopathic.

A bath seemed like a great idea.

An oatmeal bath. You know, the kind you give kids when they have chicken pox? Or people with poison ivy? Yeah..it sounded like a great idea.

Until Bernie morphed into the Prince of Darkness himself and tried to rip my face off.

So, after several attempts (and a kitchen covered in cat fur and oatmeal bath), I gave up. I admitted defeat.

I got my ass handed to me by a twelve pound ball of fur.

If that doesn't make you feel like an asshat, I don't know what will.

Happy note?? Oh--you have to check out http://www.girlonguy.net/!! I LOVE Aisha Tyler. Now maybe you will too. I feel like I am her shorter, less pigmented twin. Check out her podcasts and you will learn little nuggets like YES!! They are working on Archer Season 3!!

It kind of makes up for last night.

Sort of.

Taking my life in YOUR hands? Yikes!

So..

Everyday I commute. Everyday, for almost five years I have driven approximately 90 miles a day Mon-Fri. This is not only financially draining, but it also has caused me to pass harsh judgments on people because of the 1) types of cars they drive and 2) the types of plates they put on their cars.

I hate being this way--but stereotypes exist for a reason. Because there is more than a bit of truth involved. I ride in a half ton, partially steel, potential death trap hurtling 70 mph down the interstate. Trust me, I want to be aware of my surroundings. And what potentially may fly off of your POS with the hazard blinkers on.

So---I have to start with:

People who drive Hummers--yeah. They ARE assholes. Go figure! And they usually have personalized plates. In Indiana, where this costs a premium, having personalized plates pretty much also guarantees that you are, in fact, an asshole. Especially when they only make sense to the person driving the car. They are like weird word games, these stupid plates. And I suck at word games. Probably why I loathe these so much.

And why are people still driving Hummers, anyway? You might as well use your cash money for fuel. No--really. Just put a big pile of it in your fireplace...and burn it. Much more cost effective. And I hear money gives off such a nice homey glow when in burns. Hmm...pretty.

(please note: you can replace Hummer with any of the following make of vehicle: Porshe, Maserati, Ferrari, vintage Mustang, Giant Dodge Diesel trucks with Hemis, and oddly enough, Infinity)

I also am weary of anyone who has parts of their car taped on (yes--you read that right. Taped. On.) who insist on getting on the interstate. I'm sorry, if you are that poor, should you really be driving? I'm sure you have friends you could ride with.

Oh wait. Parts of your car are taped on. I bet I am so very wrong about you having friends....sorry!

And if you have a pick up--please, please, please--check in the back every once and while. While I really do enjoy the occasional shit bath my car gets from your garbage flying out of the back of your truck, I really could live with out it. It's just too special of a treat for you to share with a perfect stranger. No. Really. You should hold onto that for yourself.

My next peeve...those ridiculous "Kids First" plates. Give these (mostly ladies) wide berth on the road. You see, they are far too busy talking on their cell phones, facebooking, or just otherwise ignoring the children in the back of the car who are drooling like zombies to some Disney film they've seen for the ten thousandth time. (Why have kids if you don't talk to them? Or engage them one on one? I understand sometimes these innovations come in handy--but you know what? I actually remember my parents talking to me in the car when I was a kid. And road trips--we *gasp* played games! Or I read a book--which is way better for the development of your kid's brain, anyway. Yes! Even picture books are BETTER THAN TV. And if they whine? Well...last time I checked, smacking your kid wasn't illegal. Yet. Enjoy it while it lasts.)

Oh! And those kids aren't the only people these classy ladies are ignoring. These soul-less mombots also are ignoring YOU. They don't care if you have the right away--they have to confirm their manicure, their pilates class, summer sleep away camp for the monsters in the back....something is more important that actually driving. I sometimes imagine they think they've been teleported, crossover and all, to their final destination. I've actually had to lay on my horn  (Which I now cannot do---because the fuse has been removed to save me from my neighbors murdering me at 3 am when the damn alarm goes off...again. And again. And again.) when I was almost backed into--but I was the one who had to throw it in reverse and pray there was no one behind me to keep from getting hit. She didn't look. I was right in my disgust (and right of way). She flipped me the bird and screamed the C word out of her window. And yes--her cherubs were right there in the backseat.

Next: In God We Trust plates.

You. You people. Let me tell you something...so listen up.

You believe in God? Yeah for you! Guess what?

He's not in the car with you. What does this mean? It means you should maybe use your turn signal, look before you merge, pay attention to what lane you are actually driving in, wear your seat belt, make sure your kids are in car seats, know that RED means STOP, not speed up, and learn how in the hell a four way stop works before I start packing heat under my front seat to nudge you along. You see, I'm a lot of things, but omniscient isn't one of them. Ha--probably because I'm not God. And you are so lucky that I am not. These people, hands down, are the WORST drivers on the road. I've said it before--and I'm saying it again. And I will keep saying it until I am as blue as the license plate on the back of their cars. Be aware of these people! It's like common sense gets sucked right out of their heads when they get behind the wheel of the car. And the number of them that I see flipping the bird, running people off roads, and just causing accidents in general? I'm thinking someone might want to require proof of belief before they are allowed to take the plates. They're giving you guys a bad name--for real.

And don't even get me started on some of the others...let me put it this way: want to spread a message?

Get a bumper sticker!

My favorite:



Now that's a message I can get behind!

Road Trippin' It!

So, today, I leave to drive to see my buddy Brit in Iowa.

Sadly, the only thing that keeps popping into my head is "Our State Fair is a GREAT State Fair...." (You know, from the movie State Fair? This movie? With Dana Andrews? Hey--don't make fun of me. This is actually a really good movie.
                                                 

No really! And you can buy a copy and see for yourself. Or, just go talk to someone over the age of 60. They'll set you straight about how under used Dana Andrews was....watch The Best Years of Our Lives. If you get through that and don't tear up? You have no soul. Nope. Nada. None.

But State Fair? There are worse ways to spend a crummy weekend afternoon, for sure.

I actually started out with a song from South Pacific, but it talks about Kansas--which is so not Iowa--so I had to switch gears. (But I do love SP! So much, in fact, I'm making sure I take my CD with me for my drive. I do love Mitzi Gaynor....)

So, I'm soon to be on the road..wish me luck!!

Maybe this time, I will get my traveling tales posted in a more timely manner!

This? This means war!

Hmm. I wonder if that Army Surplus store is still open off of 421??

Cause I'm going to need some supplies for when I open a can of kick ass on a librarian.

Yeah. You read that correctly: A librarian.

(OK--probably actually not a librarian, but a library page. You know, a shelf stocker, checker outer, checker inner...)

I'm thinking scary face paint, helmet--with foliage attached (I'm envisioning Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now....except not so bald. Or fat.), full on combat attire. Boots. Must have boots.

Why? I'll tell you why.

NO. I am not going to pay full price, plus processing, for a book THAT I TURNED IN. What book, you ask? This book:
                                                                    

Which is a great read! Super funny, highly enjoyable--made me laugh out loud (there may, or may not have been the occasional snort. Yes. Tina is that funny. Don't think so? You're dead to me.) If I could be anyone on the planet, it would be Tina Fey. But in actuality? I'm much more like Liz Lemon. Read for yourself--who said this?

“Lovers.. oh, that word bums me out unless it’s between meat and pizza.”


You can't tell, can you???

Well..this one is a good example, too:

Jenna: That guy wanted to buy you a drink!


Liz: Really? But I already have a drink. Do you think he’d buy me mozzarella sticks?




It's like we are the same person. Sadly, she is a tragically funny fictional character that I will never get to hang out with. I am tragically not as funny, but still living her somewhat crappy life. Without her salary. This makes me sad....so sad.

This is has sort of taken the wind out of my sails in regards to storming the library.

I guess it all depends on my response from the library. I sent an e-mail telling them approximately when, and what other books were returned with my copy of Bossypants (like this one: Harry Truman's Excellent Adventure: The True Story of a Great American Road Trip. No really--read it! It's a fun book for summer. And the author is really cool. I kind of sort of met him when he talked about this book at the IMHM: The President Is a Sick Man: Wherein the Supposedly Virtuous Grover Cleveland Survives a Secret Surgery at Sea and Vilifies the Courageous Newspaperman Who Dared Expose the Truth.).

So wish me luck. But I have a bad feeling I'm going to have to go all Rambo on some little old lady.

It will so not be pretty.

On a happy note--I found a 10.00 gift card to Applebees in an old purse. And ten bucks? That will buy a crap ton of mozzarella sticks.

Summer Time...and the Livin' is Easy

Ah..

Summer.

It's time for peaches (peach pie!! peach ice cream! peach tea!), melons, summer squash, tomatoes (YES! My topsy turvy does have tomatoes on it--real ones. That are growing. That I will be able to eat!), sun tea, vacations, road trips, and various other types of summer fun.

And I?

I get to partake! No more part time job at retail hell! So, let me apologize now for no more tales of woe and poop. There is only so much one girl can take--and the last straw was the 30 hour work week I came back to after vacation in early June. Well, that and the fact that I had to stand in a small room with a woman caught shoplifting and watch her clean human waste from her body before the police would put her in the back of their car. No. No. NO!

No job that only pays $7.50 an hour was worth that kind of demoralization.

So. Now I have less money, for sure. (Yikes!) But I am happier than I have been in a long time. Not working 75+ hours a week  is just one component of this--but an important one.

I have time to read! I will get a list up soon (!) of stuff that I have really enjoyed this summer--but so far, you MUST check out Mary Roach's  Packing for Mars: The Curious Science of Life in the Void. This book is so good! Space travel + astronaut food + porn movies made in "space"?? Seriously. Read. This. Book.

I also have time for drive in movies, doing things outside (my patio gardens will not go down in flames this year. I will be conscious enough to water them), working out (A ton! I'm on a kick that I hope becomes a real habit....a good one.) and seeing people! I have the potential to road trip next weekend..so if you know of a giant ball of string, or worlds largest dinosaur shaped diner on 1-74/I-80 heading west into Iowa, please, let me know!

And yes, if I find any of those things, there will be photos!

And on the agenda for this evening? Pool Time!

Summer;  how sweet it is!

Why did I come back from the beach again??

Seems to be a theme, huh? I still haven't posted the rest of my cali travel briefs--but I have the interweb at home again (hooray!), so that should change--possibly tonight, so read up!

Who doesn't enjoy the ramblings of a drunk girl, anyway?

(Ok--just for the record-I don't write drunk. That is professionally irresponsible. But I can take full license to make as much fun of myself as I want after the fact.)

So I just got back from a fantastic time in North Carolina....the trip had it all. Beach, ocean, good company, copious amounts of beverages, and just generally really, really relaxing. My kind of good time.

No! Really! I get to mark some stuff off of my list now : )-

Celebrating the beginning of a marriage is always fun and I'm very happy Trisha wanted me to take part in her and Ryan's happy day...(Damn it! I still have the stupid song stuck in my head....).

I made it home last night, happy, exhausted, and just in a general good spirit--which hasn't been true in a long time. This calls for yoga or a nice turn around the canals downtown tonight.

And maybe some house stuff--but I really DO want to keep my good mood. And unpacking? Makes me grouchy. I don't have much on the agenda for today--and that's fine. (There's only been one little breakdown: Note to self; actually read directions on medicine before popping it down your throat...no one likes a hysterical woman calling the pharmacy. And the hysterical woman? Yea--she doesn't like to hear "You are a moron. Calm down--it's fine!" He could have been nicer about it!)

So grouchy profs? Bad drivers? Just crappy people in general? Yea...you are so getting a free pass today.

Enjoy it while it lasts, people!

Dear FDA: You suck.

Why yes--I do mean that FDA.

The United States Food and Drug Administration.

They suck.

They suck big fat donkey dong.

Why? I'll tell you why--they've taken the best drug ever made, off the market because of a technicality. They say there was never any approved use for the drug...Midrin.

That's been on the market since 1976? Really?

REALLY.

Read this blog (yes..I'm a dork and I read this stuff)..and see just how stupid all this red tape really is. My tax dollars at 'work':

http://migraine.com/blog/midrin-equivalents-for-migraines/

(Okay--and honestly--if anything, you have to read the blog above just for the comment from "tammy norton". Because I'm an asshole, it made me laugh. Or maybe it's just the pain? Nope--pretty sure it's the first bit.)

I've been on this blessed medication since 1994 (when my migraines started in earnest...some people only get them every few years...lucky devils! Try two to three times a month. Every month. Since 1994.)--it is truly a wonder drug. It works. It is a lovely combination of drugs...and caffeine. Just typing that last word makes me happy (odd, I know--but caffeine is part of my preventative care. This is why I drink my weight in coffee and diet dr. pepper and the occasional coke...if I cut back too much too quickly--I can notice drastic results..)

Oh Midrin..I miss you. I miss you so much! Imitrex? Blech. What total crap. It doesn't work worth a damn, I still have a headache, and I can't feel my fingers, toes, or see very well. Total bullocks is what Imitrex is--I took it at five thirty this morning.

And I still have a flipping headache. So on my way to work I chewed on some excederin migraine.

No, really. I literally chewed nasty pills. And tried not to cry.

Because it feels like my eyes are going to shoot out of their sockets.

So--if anyone knows where I can find some Midrin--please, please, please let me know! I'm desperate! There are some similar drugs on the market that I've researched that I will ask for (my doctor is on vacay this week...of all the times!), but in the meantime? I'm hosed.

Travel Journal: California Day 2

Saturday April 16th


Charlie Brown, the Beach and Bourbon!

Saturday is mainly girls’ day. Beth and I start out fairly early and head to one of Santa Rosa’s best attractions: The Charles Schulz Museum (and ice skating rink!). If you ever find yourself within driving distance of Santa Rosa—this is someplace you MUST come to. It’s simply amazing to see everything they’ve done to preserve Mr. Schulz’s work…and you get to see some of his process, original strips, and really cool works of Peanuts based art and really wonderful grounds. The wisteria was blooming everywhere which gives the place not only a fantastic smell—but a beautiful appearance, too. Something you really shouldn’t leave here without (besides some Snoopy souvenirs?) is a Peppermint Patty hot chocolate from the skating rink. And how fun was it to see kids skating, getting ready for hockey or figure skating lessons? Adorable is what it was—and it’s nice to see the place really does get used for what Sparky and his family really intended.

So after the museum Beth and I go on a bike ride on some trails to downtown Santa Rosa.

And apparently—my ass is not as fat as I think; it’s just the rest of me that’s poochy. Why do I think that? Because it’s been three days and my butt is still sore!! And that’s with a pretty damn decent padded seat! But I made it for the ride, we had a nice time eating lunch downtown and riding back. After lunch, we decided to take a drive to the coast—so I got to see the edge of America. And sea chickens galore (I don’t know why—but I do love sea gulls).The views were stunning—the ocean was a bit on the rough side, but Beth and I made the trek down to the beach to walk about and enjoy the view from a different perspective. The sand was much rougher in texture (and blue/grey) and the water is frigid make your parts shrink up cold. These, my friends, are not swimming beaches! But it doesn’t matter—you get the salty sea air, the sounds from the ocean and even the call of the sea gulls to relax you. I do love a beach and am so very glad we had a chance to drive to the coast to explore! From there, we headed back to SR--and we had than more than enough time to rest and clean up for our night out…and bourbon tasting.

We all three went to this great restaurant downtown, Jack and Tony's, and Beth and I started out with whiskey flights. Mine was small batch bourbon (A Woodford Reserve, Knob Creek 9/100, and a Glenn Byron—which was so nasty I couldn’t even finish the drink. The first two, on the other hand, were delightful), Beth’s was Irish (and I honestly cannot remember the name of a single one of them). If you go to their website—you will see just how freaking huge their whiskey list is.
http://jackandtonys.com/
Want to experiment? Then this is certainly a place to hit up. We also had a Japanese whiskey…not something I think I would drink on a regular basis, but not the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth, either.

Dinner was pretty damn good, too. Had lots of things to start (brie, warm spinach salad, red and golden beet salad with a citrus vinaigrette and goat cheese) followed by lamb with mushrooms and a homemade pasta (me), surf and turf (Beth), and some really tasty looking chicken (Triv). Once dinner was done, we went to the Russian River Brewpub and enjoyed (mostly) a sampler. Fifteen bucks for 18 beers? It’s totally something worth checking out if you ever find yourself out here—but beware of the sour beers!! None of us liked a single one of them…and I would consider myself a beer person. Who they are making these for—I’m not sure. Check the link below for more info:

http://russianriverbrewing.com/pages/brewpub.html

Travel Journal: California Day 1

Friday April 15th


Travel Begins…

Busy Day! I cannot be the only one who has a ton of stuff to do last minute before they leave for a trip…or am I? Procrastination is something I certainly excel at, but making sure I come home to clean sheets, putting away laundry, dropping of History Day papers, turning in library books, going to Mug N Bun to buy a gallon of root beer, going to FedEx to drop off said gallon of root beer (in a box full of peanuts, wrapped in bubble wrap, double bagged and rubber banded..let’s hope it made it!) doesn’t necessarily seem the normal way to start a vacation!

All the errands done, I got myself to the airport, hopped in the shuttle (got a little wet in the process), and got inside to catch the plane to beautiful…

Chicago’s Midway

Can I tell you how much I don’t care for Chicago airports? Well..maybe another time—but let’s put it this way: Indianapolis offers you a free couple of hours of wi-fi access. Chicago (one of the largest cities in America)? Not so much.

And of course, from Chicago to Denver—I had to sit next to two people who either made out or went back and forth in this fashion “No…I love YOU more!” “You’re silly! I love you SOOO MUCH!”

This. This behavior is enough to make normal sane people (I’ve never claimed to be one of these…but I think I can pass okay) to want to stab the offending persons in the eye. Or at least bludgeon them to death. I think it’s fantastic that you love your wife, sir, really—I do. I just don’t need to hear it for three and half hours straight.

I had brief pit stop in Denver (Where were the mountains?? I was told I would land in mountains!) and then it was off again. This time, I was stuck next to a farting businessman who double fisted gin and tonics. Sweet, right? How do I get so lucky?

But the scenery? The scenery on that flight was amazing! Can I even begin to explain how surreal it is to be 30,000 feet in the air and see the earth so close up that you feel like you could reach down and touch it? I don’t think I can, actually. The Rocky Mountains from on high look like the top of a perfect meringue pie. It doesn’t even look real. I was glad that, for once, I had taken the window seat—it was something I didn’t regret.

Until we went to land at SFO.

I fell asleep at some point on my flight from Denver, but woke up just in time to see lights sparkling up at me from the city below. I believed we had arrived. Wrong. Thirty minutes later, we are still flying over those sparkly lights—and I am so ready to get off the plane. But eventually—we did land; I got off the plane, got my bag and was promptly picked up by my tour guides, Beth and Triv. Waiting for me in the back seat? Mimosas—made from local bubbly enjoyed from Mason jars. Follow that with a most stunning view of the Golden Gate Bridge from the top and I will tell you I’ve never had a better welcome in any of my travels!

WELCOME TO CALIFORNIA!!

Yes--I'm the lazy bum with the Christmas lights....

Okay..it's officially no longer winter--so I have no excuse to hibernate. Or to be lazy when it comes to cranking out the old blog.

I've got the Spring Cleaning bug, but no time to do it, either. But I don't have a choice this week. My parents are going to be taking care of the boys for the most part when I am gallavanting about Northern California. If my mother came to the door today--I wouldn't let her in. There's dust. That you can see. This could lead her head to explode.

And then there's the reason I don't have time to clean as much as I should: work.

Ah work--the place I go on a regular basis to be insulted.

Like last Thursday..when I helped a woman find a shirt for an alumn. I asked the basic questions "How is she built? How does she like to wear her clothes?"--blah, blah, blah. And the woman says to me (swear to god--you CANNOT make this up): "Well, she's petite like you," (Adorable..I'm petite? No lady--really I'm just short.), "...but not so freakishly endowed."

I'm sorry--what? I thought I had heard her incorrectly, but she spoke on.

"I'll never understand why you girls mutate your bodies that way! It's just sad."

Oh.

Oh my god.

She thought I had purchased my girls? And because I work in customer service (and want to keep my job), I kept my mouth firmly shut. You don't have a lot of recourse when you are insulted in this job. Even when it's to your face.

But the weekend? The weekend was much more pleasant.

Saturday I had to work during the day, but had a most enjoyable evening with dinner with a good glass of wine, a pretty good movie adaptation of Jane Eyre (Which of course Carmen and I found quite funny in a lot of places that others did not. Mainly because of Dame Judi Dench's facial expressions. Classic repressed British woman--what's not to like about that?) with a small bag of THE BEST (yes--I'm going to say it) popcorn in the city. Why THE BEST? Because they use real butter! I'm actually getting hungry for it as I type. Heaven in a bag.

Sunday was a trip up to Atlanta to spend part of the day with the parents. I helped with plumbing (no, really!), and just gawked at the progress and had a BIG breakfast with the rents. Went by Lisa's Pie Shop on my way home--but sadly, she was closed. Sigh. When I got home from all my wanderings, I fired up the grill, threw on some chicken and asparagus and sat outside after dark to enjoy the breeze, my christmas lights (Yes--I am that white trash...but they look so damn festive! This week they are coming down...I promise.), and another bit of wine.

I've also heard a rumor that my bathroom will be painted when I get home next Tuesday...this makes me very happy. That said, I'm not holding my breath.

But it would still be super nice.

Blah. Just Blah. And book fun!

I wish I could say there is something hilarious, exciting, etc going on.

But there's not.

I did get the new Adele CD (21).

It's REALLY good. Pick it up if you get the chance..or download it--whatever. I have a jank tastic Ipod that is a piece of junk...so I'm doing it old school this time. It's not that I'm against digital..but I'm kind of against digital. It's nice to have something tangible that you can pick up and look at and say "MINE". Especially books. I'm just saying "NO" to the digital reader for as long as I can. I like books on shelves. I love the smell of the paper, remembering where the book has (literally and not) been with me, finding what I was thinking or random phone numbers written in the margins. Nothing tops that sense of personal history--period.

Moving on for a bit. What's been up with me?

Hmmm...let's see. I've been arguing with the the po-po (someone might have to come bail me out of jail before this is all done), trying to pay for my plates (thanks State of Indiana for taking away every possible convenient option for those of us who forget until the day the stupid things expire....). I guess you don't even get your sticker day of anymore? They mail it to you? Is there that much freaking fraud in this state that I have to put a piece of paper in my car until the sticker gets to my house? Cause it's so hard to duplicate a piece of paper. Sigh.

Oh! And I paid my bills this morning. Who's sorry now? That would be me.
                                                                         
                                              Bye-bye money!
                                         I'm gonna miss you so!
                                              Bye-bye money!
                                         Why'd you have to go?


I'm no Ann Margaret, so please..don't imagine me singing. It will only make you cry...the tears of the tortured.

I am excited that the first volume of Mark Twain's autobiography is waiting for me at the library..but that's because I'm a big nerd--which should not be news to anyone at this point. I'm too cheap to buy it (before I read it, anyway), but if you are interested..click here: Autobiography of Mark Twain, Vol. 1

I also REALLY want to read Stacy Schiff's Cleopatra: A Life, but I am still waiting for my copy to come through the library. I'm number 58! Woo-hoo. Needless to say, I'm trying to stock pile stuff to read on my trip to California (I think airplanes speed up my reading time by about 10...On the way to Hawaii in 2007, I read back to back (shamefully) Gone With the Wind AND Scarlett: The Sequel to Margaret Mitchell's "Gone With the Wind", (which I found at Goodwill for like 2 bucks! Score!). And I finished them both before I landed in Kahului. By like an hour and half. So I was forced into conversation with a 22 year old sorority girl who was "Like SOOOO excited!!" to be getting married in Maui. If I had had my wits about me, I would have shotgunned baby bottles of Wild Turkey (the only brown booze left by the end of the flight). Trust me--I was that desperate.

I don't want this to happen again, so I think I'm okay so far on the way out with Stieg Larsson's The Girl Who Played with Fire (Vintage Crime/Black Lizard) (I haven't started it yet...cause I know it will go fast. These books? So. Good.). I also have a fun book about Charles Schultz that Beth gave me--and another Schultz biography I might finally finish (but I have the hard back which is bulky, but doable on a plane) Schulz and Peanuts: A Biography. It would also make my day if this next book came my way before I leave..how fun does this sound? Chick Lit and Postfeminism (Cultural Frames, Framing Culture). Doesn't sound fun to you? Pish. You just don't know what fun is!

So I have my trip out planned...working on my trip home. What to read, what to read?

Don't worry. I'll figure it out.

                                                                      

Dear God--Please Just Take My Damn Money!

So...if you care to remember, about a month ago, I received a lovely little present from the people of Whitestown.

A speeding ticket.

I was told to call the court to figure out how much I owed, etc--which I did the very next day. Because there was no notation on the ticket that I was given that said 1) How much to pay 2) How I could pay or 3) Where to pay.
Pretty awesome, right? I know, I know...in theory, it seems like a great way to make sure you get money from people....

So I called the court the first thing on Monday morning.

But they don't open until noon.

In fact, they are only open from noon until 5 pm. How they manage such sweet hours is beyond me...but I'm jealous.

So...I called back. Spoke to a lady who told me where to mail my check to and that it would be $155.00.

$155.00!! What the flaming hell! Do you people think I crap gold coins? (This too, would be awesome. Especially since gas is probably going to be $4.25 a gallon by summer...which means if I don't find a new job closer to home--SOON--I'm going to have to figure out a way to survive on tap water and government cheese.)

Being a good girl (for the most part...let's put it this way--I REALLY would prefer to stay out of a police database), I promptly copied my ticket, wrote out a check to the Whitestown Court, and dropped it in the mail.

But then, the check didn't clear. And didn't clear. So--I called them, because the nice lady at the court told me they had to have my payment by March 1st, or they would issue a warrant for me. (They don't fool around in a small town people.)

The nice lady in the court? A total idiot. I talked to the SAME woman. (How do I know this? She kept calling me 'hon' and 'sweetie'...I'm sorry, do I know you? No? Then knock it off!) And this is what she told me:

My check is coming back to me. They don't take checks. (Really? That's not what you told me the first time I called.) Also--the payment isn't due until March 31st. (Again--do you just make up things as you go?)

So now I have to go get a money order like some poor person at a gas station because I refuse to pay 12.00 for a certified check from my bank when I have perfectly good checks in my checkbook that work just fine. It's not my fault that the general public are too moronic to make sure they have enough money in their bank accounts to cover tickets. I am a responsible grown up, damnit and just because I was doing the state mandated speed limit on a county road, well, that doesn't make me a bad person. (FYI: It may be 55 on a county road--but it's 40 anywhere that Whitestown has incorporated..so be aware if you drive in Boone County, because these jerks don't have signs!!) So off to the gas station I shall go...

But not until I get my check back in the mail. I'm not THAT stupid. They aren't getting a dime from me until March 31st. So ha!

Apocalypse Meow....

Well. I've gone and done it--again.

Made a big old mess of things.

And I blame my Uncle. He's the one who found this cat. This cat who just had to have a good home. With another cat. He's sweet, charming, handsome, seven years old, calm demeanor, the second most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen (Jeter's will always be first)--a really great cat. On paper, it seemed perfect.

So I went to the Humane Society and picked up my new cat--Bernie Williams.

(Yes--the Yankee naming tradition continues in my house. Proudly so. If you don't like Bernie Williams--seriously--something is wrong with you. He's probably the smiliest guy to ever play for New York.)

Bernie the cat didn't even make a peep in the car on the way home except to help pick out his new name (they called him Herman at the shelter. Blech--how awful is that?).

He didn't pee, either--which already makes him a winner in my book.

So I get him home.

And that's when all hell breaks loose, even though I did everything those stupid articles, books, pamphlets--you name it--tell you to do.

Separate them? Check.

Mix scents? Check.

Scrub down and fill litter box with clean, fresh litter? Check, check, and check.

I thought I did everything right. But alas--I was SO very wrong.

And not so surprising? Bernie is not the problem in the equation. The problem is....Yogi.

Sweet, not so little, super dense Yogi Berra. That's what I thought, anyway. Now...not so much. Big fat whiny baby is more like it. Yogi is now terrified of his own shadow, blankets, and especially Bernie. So much so that whenever he even smells Bernie--he freaks the frak out. Completely. There is almost manic yowling going on all hours of the day and night. Poor Bernie is living under my bed, sneaking out to use the litter box or to crawl on my lap. I'm even feeding him under there because Yogi is such a damn turd about the whole thing.

Well, I obviously had to go to work today. On less than three hours of sleep--which is awesome. Night time in my house is now more dangerous than any jungle in Vietnam...trust me on this one. I just start to nod off to sleep and it sounds like a village of small children is being massacred under my bed. Not pleasant to say the least.  They lay in wait for each other....(I fear neither one of them is very much on the bright side) and it does not go well. There is a lot of smack being talked--but little action. Kind of like the Kitty version of the UN.

I just hope this little "adjustment" period is over sooner than later.

I seriously need some sleep.

Eye cream can only do so much!

Standoff with the Man...

Ugh. It's been a long week. And next week will be even longer.

I'm being punished.

What for? (There's a lot that could go here...trust me on this one. A whole lotta shame.....)

But no. It's not even for anything bad. It's for showing up to my part time job, that's what. "We can count on you!". Great. Just great.

So for the week of Inventory, at "work work", I will put in another 25 + hours in Retail Hell.

And if you have ever worked retail--you know just what a flaming hell Inventory can be. Joy of joys. Happiest of days.

I am so very much in need of a vacation just thinking about it. The good news is the new eye cream I  purchased has made a vast improvement to those suitcase sized bags under my eyes. I can go out without make up! And people will stop asking me who's been punching me in the face because the dark circles are pretty much gone, too. Money very well spent if you ask me.

(And FYI--to be a victim of domestic violence..you have to be domestic with someone, sometime.)

But, back to my title. I had an old fashioned standoff with my bank this morning. Strategery was used. And I WON.

I checked my bank account this morning, cruised through the last few days information--and BAM. There it was. $43.00 in fees.

FEES.

For not having $1000.00 a DAY in the account? $10.00.
For using my bank card? $33.00 ($0.50 for every time I used it because I didn't have $1000.00 in the account every day).

It would seem, the account I had with them prior to January of 2011 no longer exists. So they picked the "best" account for me.

You know--the one that charges the most possible fees. To me. To my person.

Look, I will kick someone in the knee over $5.00. Or less. It's not something to be proud of, but when you count pennies the way I do, forty three bucks is nothing to sneeze at. That's grocery money, yo.

And I've gots to eat.

Well...maybe not. I could stand to lose a few pounds, but that's got nothing to do with people taking my money.

So, long story short, not only did I get my money back and my account switched--I also got an apology. From a vice president. For them being a bunch of a-holes who looked for the best possible way to get more out of me.

 Hell hath no fury like a short woman separated from her cash money.

Let that be a lesson to you out there.

I've got a vicious right kick--you've been warned.

Happy times? Sure--why not?

So, this past weekend was my birthday.

I should have had two massive morning hangovers--but the drinking gods were good to me. Also, I remembered the golden rule: hydrate, hydrate, HYDRATE!

So instead--I got a speeding ticket.

In hindsight, I think I would rather have had the hangovers.

They're cheaper, you know it?

Leave it to some piggy in Whitestown to catch me with my foot on floor. Sigh. Lesson learned--do NOT drive the back way to get to Zionsville anymore.

But..I had a blast this weekend. Schnitzel, martinis, margaritas, tequila shots, limes, cake, yummy breakfast on Sunday AND a home cooked meal from the Momster? Ah...life is good.

So, I feel I need to take my good spirits with me as I move onward and upward.

I've got retinol, good booze, great friends...what more could a girl in her early 30's ask for?

Beats the hell outta me!

No more X-mas...and the perils of online "dating"

So. Yesterday, Christmas disappeared from my house. Well..sort of. I still have the wrapping paper in the office (which needs to be fully gutted, cleaned, and put back together--but that's going to take more than a day off here and there) and the lights are still up on my balcony. And yes, they are still on. I realize this is a bit white trash, but they look so festive out there. And they have like six inches of frozen icy snow on top of them, so they aren't going any where for quite a while. And they look pretty. So don't judge!

Also going on--as Roy Rodgers would say, I'm back in the saddle again. Again. Again. Again. How many times have I done this now? With like NO success what so ever? And why do I keep subjecting myself to this? Well, it would be nice to eat with someone who isn't a girl. (No offense to my many friends that are ladies.) And to be able to really laugh at juvenile and raunchy things without getting the "I can't believe you find this funny" look. (But who doesn't find people falling down, farting, or getting kicked in the groin/head/face, etc funny??)

But, let me share with you the little nuggets of joy that have brightened my week so far:

A 21 year old boy who told me "We should hit it! I like old laidees" (Yes. That's just how the little monster spelled it.)

A 36 year old man who wants me to verbally AND physically abuse him. Preferably leaving marks of said abuse. (And he took pictures of himself wearing nothing but a towel. Now there's a great first impression! Barf.)

Another guy who wanted know if I would think about being a part of his harem of ladies. "Sexier than sister wives..I promise! We like to share everything with each other!" And...I promise you I will never respond to your e-mail.

There have, so far, been more freaks than anything (Like the guy I thought posted a picture of himself and his sister and his crazy Mr. and Mrs. Roper looking parents. But I was wrong about one thing. That's not his sister! That would be his 17 year old daughter! And he's 33. YIKES. DELETE!! DELETE!!).

All that said, some of them appear to be completely normal, rational, sane people.

Hmm. That's what they said about Ted Bundy, too, isn't it?

Oh well, this is my lot in life. I might as well dive in head first. If anything--it's good for a laugh!

Damn..I'm Handy! And Hooray for Good Samaritans!

Okay.

So apparently, my Malibu Barbie Car likes to eat turn signal bulbs.

This, buddies, is NOT cool. (Plus--my remote start has stopped working. I think it's just a fuse--so keep your fingers crossed. I just give thanks that the heated seats still keep my bum nice and toasty warm every morning.) It's like a freaking jig saw puzzle to get these things out--but I have developed a technique that is not only functional, but speedy, too.

But...there are these two giant bolts that hold the stupid head lamps on that can slow me down.

Which is where I had problems last night.

I left work and headed toward the gas station (I worked late, so it was too dark to do it in the parking lot as planned after work) to fill up and pop the new lights in.

Driver's side? Piece of cake. In about 2 minutes flat, I had a new, working (!), turn signal. Yeah for not getting killed on the interstate!!

Passenger side? Bolt one? Easy breezy. Bolt two?

Bolt two.

ARGH. Bolt TWO! You SUCK!

It wouldn't budge. Not at all.

Now, what is is so frustrating about this experience is the fact that two truckers, one farm kid, and various other fellows who reside in Johnson County that one might think would be inclined to help a lady by getting their hands dirty didn't say a word. Nope. They just stared.

At me.

Like I was a monkey at the zoo. And believe you me--I was getting peeved enough to throw poo. Once I got the stupid thing off, I knew it would only take me a few seconds to get the new bulb in and the stupid thing reattached to the car. But for over fifteen minutes I worked on getting that bolt off.

Fifteen. Very. Long. Minutes.

When I was about to start swearing at the air and the chubby guy sitting in the Blazer next to me staring at me while he ate his bag of chips and sucked down his Polar Pop (I guess I was the show to go along with his dinner), a very nice older man in a suit that cost more than I make in a month got out of his Volvo and asked me if I needed help. I said yes--please!!--and he proceeded to work on that bolt for over ten minutes. He was determined to get it off for me, and when he was finished, he thanked me. His wife doesn't let him tinker with the cars anymore--she feels they can pay people to do that for them.


So to the nice man in the cashmere blazer driving that beautiful Volvo S80--thank you again for helping a short girl out.

And I'll let you work on my Chevy any time. For serious.

Damn..I knew I should have gotten his name!!

Teddy Bear Tattoos and Food Stamps?

You would think these things do not go together.

I'm here to tell you that they do.


Now--please don't worry! I have not out and gotten myself inked. That said, gather round children--let me tell you a story.

I was at work on Friday night, doing my normal picking up after people thing (and now that the holidays are over, I can honestly say that my second job is like a cake walk. I can do this thing in my sleep if need be. And Friday, I can pretty much guarantee you that I was sleep walking.

Until.

Until a girl that I work with bounded over to me (which takes a lot, because she's damn near close to six feet tall) excited like a six year old.

To show me her new tattoo.

(Which was added to an already giant tattoo on her lower arm, close to her wrist of a rose.)

Her new tat? Is of a Teddy Bear with a bow around his neck. Surrounded by flowers.

She was soo excited, too. This probably made my WTF reaction not so appreciated. I quickly reined it in:

"Is that a...bear?"

"NO! He's not just 'a bear'. It's a Teddy Bear! Just like Mr. SnugglePants, the bear I've had since I was a kid. I love Mr. SnugglePants!"

"Wow.....that's.....neat."

"I had to come to work tonight before we were finished with him. I'm adding some more stuff..you know. Doing a half sleeve thingy. So I will have ink all over the lower part of my arm. Cool, right?"

"Yeah....sooooo cool. You have fun with that."

What the hell do you say to a 22 year old woman/child that has added a 10 inch permanent stuffed animal to her arm. Her lower arm. In an area you will pretty much NEVER be able to cover up? How will you NOT regret such a stupid thing when you are 45?

And, more shocking, her boyfriends (she has more than one--but I forgot to ask if they all knew about each other) all seemed cool with this idea. Encouraged her, even.

Seriously--what man is going to take a look at that and not have his "Crazy Girl with Daddy Issues" alarm not go off? (If you are a guy, and this wouldn't be an issue for you--please explain to me why. In detail.)

So, off to my department I go to get some work done and before we know it, it is time to close. I'm working with BearGirl again and another nice older lady from the suburbs when Bear Girl asks us, out of the blue:

"Do you know where I can buy some Food Stamps? I broke up with the guy I used to get them from...for free--ha ha" (I have to interject here, the way she said this--you would think she was getting diamonds from this guy at no cost. She was proud of this fact.)

Hmm. Well, since that is illegal, and neither of us two old squares have ever been on public assistance (If you actually need it--there is NOTHING wrong with getting a helping hand. However--as this conversation illustrates--there are serious problems with this system.), let alone where to buy Food Stamps off the freaking street. Did she really expect me to be like "Yea...I've got a guy. I'll totally hook you up!"

Not so much.

And if I did have such a sleezeball in my back pocket, do you think I would share this? Especially to a girl with a stupid Teddy Bear on her arm.

Again--not so much.

Working so much, sometimes, does have it's own entertainment value, that's for sure!

You'll pry this sucker out of my cold dead hands....

Alright.

I give up. Every time I find a new one of you guys, it's wonderful. I feel happy to have you with me. It's almost...magical. You know, like unicorns and rainbows and kittens--all rolled into one big ball of glee.

But then...when I really, REALLY, need you--you are no where to be found.

When will I learn to stop trusting cosmetic companies?

First, Almay broke my heart by discontinuing the best lipstick (hands down) in the US market. My poison? #42--Sequin...boy did I look good in Sequin. Pink Copper (#40) was a distant second--but doable in a pinch.

Like when they were out of Sequin.

You can sometimes find a tube here and there online...but it's trickery. They will let you get all the way to the check out before saying "Whoopsie!! We actually don't have that. Sorry! : ( How about this disgusting Estee Lauder?"

Sorry?

Sorry?!

SORRY!!! You're damn right you are sorry. Hell hath no fury like a woman who can't find her lipstick.

(And yes-Estee Lauder lipstick is DISGUSTING. It's like slapping a layer of tinted Turtle Wax on your lips. Foul, foul stuff...)

But..I found sort of a substitute. A step up, if you will, from Prescriptives.

R/O Surprise #14

It smells lovely, it goes on like a dream..and it's a bit more pinky than Almay, but that's okay...it's the closest thing I've found out there.

So, my tube is almost empty.

So I go online to Prescriptives to find out where I can find my new(er) treasure...

Oh. The horror.

DISCONTINUED.

I called a Prescriptives counter...hoping that the information online was incorrect.

It was not.

And yes. I realize this makes me a crazy person.

But do you know how many years I've spent trying to find the perfect neutral lipstick? Let's put it this way..you should be addressing me as "Dr. Cain", as I should have a doctorate in Cosmetic Sourcing.

That said...there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I found ONE website that has ONE tube of (I'm practically bouncing from my seat as I write this)...Almay #42!!!!

So. I'm safe for now. And I have a few months to find a viable substitution.

So if you see me out--NO biatch--you CANNOT use my lipstick.

Why?

My, my, my...someone didn't read the title, did they?