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!!