It's a McSweeney's Kind of Friday.
Alternatives to Setting Your House on Fire to Avoid Foreclosure
Porn for Depressives
Text Messages That Would Have Been Helpful
For Jason: Unfortunate "That's What She Said" Precursors in Casual Sports
Rejected Introductions of Days of Our Lives
Twisted Sister: Where Are They Now?
Increasingly Dangerous Cheeses
Twenty-First Century Computing, As Explained By My Mother
Okay, I have to stop. I could do this all day. I hope you'll read these; several made me laugh out loud.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Whatever will be will be.
Oh and here's a blog I like to read, only I just don't read it super-often because she doesn't post nearly enough.
Anyway, I read this post here and it's pretty perplexing, so I clicked on the comments and read through several, and this one made me particularly happy. Good stuff.
Olive oil. Seriously, if it worked for Cleopatra, who are we to argue? This is how I do it:
Pick a night where you're going to stay in anyway. Plan on wearing a button-down flannel or pajama shirt and hanging out in front of some cheesy dvds.
Fill your palm with just about a teaspoon of olive oil, no more. Really you don't need much at all; it spreads like an oil slick (oddly enough). Massage this into your scalp. Don't worry so much about the ends of your hair, but go ahead and dig those fingers into your itchy, grouchy scalp till you start making noises like the lady in that risque Clairol Herbal Essences commercial where she somehow miraculously washes AND DRIES her hair in an airplane bathroom. (Who IS this woman? I can barely manage to wash and dry my HANDS in an airplane bathroom. You should take my advice anyway, though.)
Ok, now it gets weird: take a plastic grocery bag and pull it around your hair till you can knot the handles at the top of your forehead like Aunt Jemima. The heat from your head in that suffocating plastic pretty much melts the oil into your scalp and hair. At first you feel a little goofy, but after a while your head gets all warm and happy and you start grooving with it, especially if you thought ahead and opened a bottle of wine and popped in a movie before your hands got all greasy and now you're watching Roman Holiday through a chianti haze. You want to do this for at least 20 minutes.
Now head to the bathroom, carefully remove the plastic bag, and wash your hair. (This is where the button-down shirt comes in handy, because your hair is a mess and you don't want to try to pull anything over your head. You may also be wondering why on earth you trusted some internet lurker, but it's far too late now so just go with it.) Shampoo twice, thoroughly massaging the scalp again and rinsing the shampoo all the way from roots to ends, and condition once if it's the rinse-out kind. No leave-in stuff this time. (Ok, look, you can always put in tamer tomorrow if it gets out of hand.) DO NOT - I repeat: DO! NOT! use a hairdryer. Towel dry and make yourself a turban and go finish that movie and bottle of wine. Some cheesecake at this point is also nice.
You can go to bed with your hair still wet if you're not particularly prone to cowlicks. Tomorrow morning, after delightful dreams of Gregory Peck on a Vespa, you will wake up with some seriously bodacious cornsilk locks.
Seriously, I might just do this for fun one night this weekend. Anyone who wants to join me, grab a plastic grocery bag and head on over.
Anyway, I read this post here and it's pretty perplexing, so I clicked on the comments and read through several, and this one made me particularly happy. Good stuff.
Olive oil. Seriously, if it worked for Cleopatra, who are we to argue? This is how I do it:
Pick a night where you're going to stay in anyway. Plan on wearing a button-down flannel or pajama shirt and hanging out in front of some cheesy dvds.
Fill your palm with just about a teaspoon of olive oil, no more. Really you don't need much at all; it spreads like an oil slick (oddly enough). Massage this into your scalp. Don't worry so much about the ends of your hair, but go ahead and dig those fingers into your itchy, grouchy scalp till you start making noises like the lady in that risque Clairol Herbal Essences commercial where she somehow miraculously washes AND DRIES her hair in an airplane bathroom. (Who IS this woman? I can barely manage to wash and dry my HANDS in an airplane bathroom. You should take my advice anyway, though.)
Ok, now it gets weird: take a plastic grocery bag and pull it around your hair till you can knot the handles at the top of your forehead like Aunt Jemima. The heat from your head in that suffocating plastic pretty much melts the oil into your scalp and hair. At first you feel a little goofy, but after a while your head gets all warm and happy and you start grooving with it, especially if you thought ahead and opened a bottle of wine and popped in a movie before your hands got all greasy and now you're watching Roman Holiday through a chianti haze. You want to do this for at least 20 minutes.
Now head to the bathroom, carefully remove the plastic bag, and wash your hair. (This is where the button-down shirt comes in handy, because your hair is a mess and you don't want to try to pull anything over your head. You may also be wondering why on earth you trusted some internet lurker, but it's far too late now so just go with it.) Shampoo twice, thoroughly massaging the scalp again and rinsing the shampoo all the way from roots to ends, and condition once if it's the rinse-out kind. No leave-in stuff this time. (Ok, look, you can always put in tamer tomorrow if it gets out of hand.) DO NOT - I repeat: DO! NOT! use a hairdryer. Towel dry and make yourself a turban and go finish that movie and bottle of wine. Some cheesecake at this point is also nice.
You can go to bed with your hair still wet if you're not particularly prone to cowlicks. Tomorrow morning, after delightful dreams of Gregory Peck on a Vespa, you will wake up with some seriously bodacious cornsilk locks.
Seriously, I might just do this for fun one night this weekend. Anyone who wants to join me, grab a plastic grocery bag and head on over.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
On my packing list: butt plugs and pepto.
Only two weeks until Costa Rica.
Two weeks from this moment I will be tired as hell, probably sitting in the airport in Fort Lauderdale, dreaming of a rooftop bar in San Jose.
Right now I am just hoping, willing us all to be well when this trip happens. I want to be well, and I want Reed to be well so I won't be worried about him while we're gone, and I want my family to be well and our friends to be well. JUST BE WELL, for the love.
Two weeks from this moment I will be tired as hell, probably sitting in the airport in Fort Lauderdale, dreaming of a rooftop bar in San Jose.
Right now I am just hoping, willing us all to be well when this trip happens. I want to be well, and I want Reed to be well so I won't be worried about him while we're gone, and I want my family to be well and our friends to be well. JUST BE WELL, for the love.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Mardi Gras, you slutty bitches.
Lindsey sent these to me last week and I deemed them appropriate for this day, Mardi Gras day:
EVERY SO OFTEN YOU SHOULD USE UP ONE OF YOUR SICK DAYS AT WORK TO GO ON A WILD AND CRAZY ADVENTURE WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND.
EVERY SO OFTEN YOU SHOULD USE UP ONE OF YOUR SICK DAYS AT WORK TO GO ON A WILD AND CRAZY ADVENTURE WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND.
Monday, February 23, 2009
I stole- I STOLE- this from Dooce. It's a marriage/relationship meme. Leave your answers in the comments!
Also, in rereading this I realized that this whole post illustrates perfectly the manic, a.k.a. entire, side of my personality.
What are your middle names?
Andrew and Claire.
How long have you been together?
We've been married for a little over five years, and we were together for a year before we got married, for a total of six years.
How long did you know each other before you started dating?
I think we'd known each other for about six months, maybe a year, before we started "dating", a term I use loosely because we were horny and broke so there weren't a lot of "dates" there in the beginning- unless perpetual sex with a few cigarette breaks thrown in for good measure counts. Hi, mom!
Who asked whom out?
Hm, who did ask whom out? I can't seem to remember... I'm having these odd flashes of myself standing in a bar asking Jason to come home with me... But I don't think that has anything to do with it.
How old are each of you?
I am 29 and Jason is 14. I don't care, he's 14, with just a little bit of 18 thrown in for good measure with all this motorcycle stuff.
Oh, have I not mentioned that? Jason bought a motorcycle; consequently I've started drinking frequently again.
Whose siblings do you see the most?
I suppose we see my sister the most, on account of Reed's second home is my mom's house where India lives. My mom is Reed's Ma and India is his Da. Ma and Da: So Happy Together.
Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
Money, definitely. It sucks that we let it get to us, but it's all very hard, what with my frequent and painful unemployment flare-ups and habitual money-spending, and Jason's I Never Ever Spend Money Ever Except In Secret When You Least Expect It. I think we've magically found a place where we stress out a little less about it, though, and it's been good for our marriage. Our checking account hasn't fared quite as well.
Did you go to the same school?
No. Jason went to somewhat-ghetto, and then somewhat-ghetto-Christian, and I went to possibly-trashy-redneck-or-maybe-just-country. I'm a little bit country, he's a little bit rock and roll.
Are you from the same home town?
If we were out of town and someone asked us where we were from, I think we'd both say Birmingham, so in that way, yes. But really no.
Who is smarter?
It depends on how you're gauging it. Jason can remember hundreds of bread and pastry recipes he has used at past jobs. I can manage to wait until a shirt I really want is clearanced to about 10% of its original price and still get the size and color I want. When the Wonder Twins unite, we form an unstoppable force that will one day rule the world with all our bread and shirts.
Who is the most sensitive?
Well shit, anyone who is reading this who actually knows me knows exactly who it is. It starts with "ME" and ends with "WHAT OF IT, AND WHY DID YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT IN YOUR SLEEP LAST NIGHT?".
Where do you eat out most as a couple?
The local Mexican restaurant, hands down. Jason's butt suffers as a result.
Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
Savannah, Georgia, on our honeymoon. But that'll all change in about two weeks when we go to Costa Rica. Have I not mentioned that?
Who has the craziest exes?
Do you people READ this blog? Because the answer is JASON, JASON HAS THE CRAZIEST EX, NO PLURAL NEEDED BECAUSE SHE'S CRAZY ENOUGH FOR ALL HIS EXES PUT TOGETHER AND WHEN YOU THROW HER NEW HUSBAND WHO SHE MET IN THE NUTHOUSE INTO THE MIX THEY CRAZY ENOUGH FOR EVERYBODY'S EXES, EVERY EX I'VE EVER KNOWN, THEY CRAZY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD AND THEY'RE LIKE, IT'S BIGGER THAN YOURS.
Who has the worst temper?
Jason has an Irish temper that explodes like a bomb when he gets mad, and I have a French and Indian temper that seethes and lurkes just under the surface sneering and smoking cigarettes and drinking a cocktail, ready to just SNAP, CRACKLE, and POP YO ASS. And you just shut your fucking mouth if you have anything to say about it.
Who does the cooking?
We both do, really. I never cooked much before Jason came along, and he always cooked, and cooked well, and isn't afraid to experiment and toss a little of this and a little of that, including my salad. BAH! Now I cook quite a bit, too.
But I don't toss salad.
Who is the neat-freak?
Oh, wow, have I ever written here about socks? The socks, here, there, and everywhere? How the socks whisper to me in the night, how I hear the voices of the socks inside my head, all the live-long day? How I live with FOUR BOYS and that's EIGHT SOCKS A DAY?!? Okay, I have to move on; my hives are coming back.
Who is more stubborn?
I am certain that Jason and I would both say that each of us is simultaneously THE MOST STUBBORN and THE LEAST STUBBORN, about ourselves and about each other, at exactly the same time just as loud as we could force our voices to go.
When Jason and I had been together for about two months I still lived in a teeny, tiny efficiency apartment with a little bitty bathroom, and Jason decided to tell me one day how every time you flush the toilet germs and particles and shit from the toilet spray as far as a six foot radius around the toilet. As six feet was the approximate size of the whole goddamn apartment I WIGGED OUT and decreed that from then on, we would both always ALWAYS put the lid down before we flushed NO MATTER WHAT. From that day forward, I have put the lid down every time, every single bleeding time, that I have flushed the toilet. Jason has not done it once, in spite of my constant nagging, my daily complaints, my frequent prophecies that one day we'll all die and it will be because Jason wouldn't put the lid down. NOT ONE TIME. What does that say about our stubborness?
Who hogs the bed?
Jason's favorite sleeping position is on top of me with 750,000 decibel snores screaming out of his nose. I don't want to talk about it.
Who wakes up earlier?
Jason does. He gets a good night's sleep, lying on top of me with his snore-nose screaming in my ear, and he leaps out of bed revived and refreshed at 6am most mornings to have a nice shit, shower, shave, and fresh cup o' joe, while I stay in bed, covered from the top of my head to the tips of my toes with three heavy blankets except for my lone, tiny fist escaping from the edge of the covers, shaking at him in protest.
Where was your first date?
I think I had a clever answer for this, but I'm just so tired after that last answer.
Who is more jealous?
That would be me, YOU STUPID BITCHES YOU BETTER STEP OFF BEFORE I WARP YOU WITH A TIRE IRON.
How long did it take to get serious?
In the first three months of our relationship, I lost 25 pounds because I was so in love with him, so uninterested in eating, so interested in getting into his panties and then having a cigarette, so consumed by everything about him. It sounds melodramatic, but I was absolutely love sick over Jason. It was very serious very fast.
Who eats more?
That's a toughy; I think we eat similar amounts. Jason's metabolism is definitely higher. We can eat a dinner like pasta with alfredo sauce, broccoli, and grilled chicken, and one hour later Jason will pour himself a huge bowl of frosted mini-spooners for dessert.
Who does the laundry?
I do more laundry than Jason does. He can't seem to noodle the fact that I don't dry my work clothes and my nice shirts. I try to be specific and say things like, "You can wash and dry our socks, underwear, t-shirts, and pajamas, and all of Kane, Jude, and Reed's stuff." And, "The pants that I wear to work are not for the drier." Alas, it's still too confusing. The man can take apart a motorcycle and put it back together, he can clean rust out of the inside of a gas tank with naval jelly (ew!) and screws, but he can't train his brain to look at a shirt and decide if it's one that I wear to bed or one that I wear to work. Science. IT'S FUCK ALL.
Who's better with the computer?
Until about two years ago the answer was a resounding I AM. But now Jason has had all this training in all these programs like Photoshop and Microsoft Word and all that, so I think the playing field has been leveled. I can still type his ass into a corner, though.
Who drives when you are together?
It really doesn't matter. Either way the person in the passenger seat is going to be screaming profanities and clutching the arm rest and Reed will be in the back seat saying, "You not post to say that!"
Also, in rereading this I realized that this whole post illustrates perfectly the manic, a.k.a. entire, side of my personality.
What are your middle names?
Andrew and Claire.
How long have you been together?
We've been married for a little over five years, and we were together for a year before we got married, for a total of six years.
How long did you know each other before you started dating?
I think we'd known each other for about six months, maybe a year, before we started "dating", a term I use loosely because we were horny and broke so there weren't a lot of "dates" there in the beginning- unless perpetual sex with a few cigarette breaks thrown in for good measure counts. Hi, mom!
Who asked whom out?
Hm, who did ask whom out? I can't seem to remember... I'm having these odd flashes of myself standing in a bar asking Jason to come home with me... But I don't think that has anything to do with it.
How old are each of you?
I am 29 and Jason is 14. I don't care, he's 14, with just a little bit of 18 thrown in for good measure with all this motorcycle stuff.
Oh, have I not mentioned that? Jason bought a motorcycle; consequently I've started drinking frequently again.
Whose siblings do you see the most?
I suppose we see my sister the most, on account of Reed's second home is my mom's house where India lives. My mom is Reed's Ma and India is his Da. Ma and Da: So Happy Together.
Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
Money, definitely. It sucks that we let it get to us, but it's all very hard, what with my frequent and painful unemployment flare-ups and habitual money-spending, and Jason's I Never Ever Spend Money Ever Except In Secret When You Least Expect It. I think we've magically found a place where we stress out a little less about it, though, and it's been good for our marriage. Our checking account hasn't fared quite as well.
Did you go to the same school?
No. Jason went to somewhat-ghetto, and then somewhat-ghetto-Christian, and I went to possibly-trashy-redneck-or-maybe-just-country. I'm a little bit country, he's a little bit rock and roll.
Are you from the same home town?
If we were out of town and someone asked us where we were from, I think we'd both say Birmingham, so in that way, yes. But really no.
Who is smarter?
It depends on how you're gauging it. Jason can remember hundreds of bread and pastry recipes he has used at past jobs. I can manage to wait until a shirt I really want is clearanced to about 10% of its original price and still get the size and color I want. When the Wonder Twins unite, we form an unstoppable force that will one day rule the world with all our bread and shirts.
Who is the most sensitive?
Well shit, anyone who is reading this who actually knows me knows exactly who it is. It starts with "ME" and ends with "WHAT OF IT, AND WHY DID YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT IN YOUR SLEEP LAST NIGHT?".
Where do you eat out most as a couple?
The local Mexican restaurant, hands down. Jason's butt suffers as a result.
Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
Savannah, Georgia, on our honeymoon. But that'll all change in about two weeks when we go to Costa Rica. Have I not mentioned that?
Who has the craziest exes?
Do you people READ this blog? Because the answer is JASON, JASON HAS THE CRAZIEST EX, NO PLURAL NEEDED BECAUSE SHE'S CRAZY ENOUGH FOR ALL HIS EXES PUT TOGETHER AND WHEN YOU THROW HER NEW HUSBAND WHO SHE MET IN THE NUTHOUSE INTO THE MIX THEY CRAZY ENOUGH FOR EVERYBODY'S EXES, EVERY EX I'VE EVER KNOWN, THEY CRAZY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD AND THEY'RE LIKE, IT'S BIGGER THAN YOURS.
Who has the worst temper?
Jason has an Irish temper that explodes like a bomb when he gets mad, and I have a French and Indian temper that seethes and lurkes just under the surface sneering and smoking cigarettes and drinking a cocktail, ready to just SNAP, CRACKLE, and POP YO ASS. And you just shut your fucking mouth if you have anything to say about it.
Who does the cooking?
We both do, really. I never cooked much before Jason came along, and he always cooked, and cooked well, and isn't afraid to experiment and toss a little of this and a little of that, including my salad. BAH! Now I cook quite a bit, too.
But I don't toss salad.
Who is the neat-freak?
Oh, wow, have I ever written here about socks? The socks, here, there, and everywhere? How the socks whisper to me in the night, how I hear the voices of the socks inside my head, all the live-long day? How I live with FOUR BOYS and that's EIGHT SOCKS A DAY?!? Okay, I have to move on; my hives are coming back.
Who is more stubborn?
I am certain that Jason and I would both say that each of us is simultaneously THE MOST STUBBORN and THE LEAST STUBBORN, about ourselves and about each other, at exactly the same time just as loud as we could force our voices to go.
When Jason and I had been together for about two months I still lived in a teeny, tiny efficiency apartment with a little bitty bathroom, and Jason decided to tell me one day how every time you flush the toilet germs and particles and shit from the toilet spray as far as a six foot radius around the toilet. As six feet was the approximate size of the whole goddamn apartment I WIGGED OUT and decreed that from then on, we would both always ALWAYS put the lid down before we flushed NO MATTER WHAT. From that day forward, I have put the lid down every time, every single bleeding time, that I have flushed the toilet. Jason has not done it once, in spite of my constant nagging, my daily complaints, my frequent prophecies that one day we'll all die and it will be because Jason wouldn't put the lid down. NOT ONE TIME. What does that say about our stubborness?
Who hogs the bed?
Jason's favorite sleeping position is on top of me with 750,000 decibel snores screaming out of his nose. I don't want to talk about it.
Who wakes up earlier?
Jason does. He gets a good night's sleep, lying on top of me with his snore-nose screaming in my ear, and he leaps out of bed revived and refreshed at 6am most mornings to have a nice shit, shower, shave, and fresh cup o' joe, while I stay in bed, covered from the top of my head to the tips of my toes with three heavy blankets except for my lone, tiny fist escaping from the edge of the covers, shaking at him in protest.
Where was your first date?
I think I had a clever answer for this, but I'm just so tired after that last answer.
Who is more jealous?
That would be me, YOU STUPID BITCHES YOU BETTER STEP OFF BEFORE I WARP YOU WITH A TIRE IRON.
How long did it take to get serious?
In the first three months of our relationship, I lost 25 pounds because I was so in love with him, so uninterested in eating, so interested in getting into his panties and then having a cigarette, so consumed by everything about him. It sounds melodramatic, but I was absolutely love sick over Jason. It was very serious very fast.
Who eats more?
That's a toughy; I think we eat similar amounts. Jason's metabolism is definitely higher. We can eat a dinner like pasta with alfredo sauce, broccoli, and grilled chicken, and one hour later Jason will pour himself a huge bowl of frosted mini-spooners for dessert.
Who does the laundry?
I do more laundry than Jason does. He can't seem to noodle the fact that I don't dry my work clothes and my nice shirts. I try to be specific and say things like, "You can wash and dry our socks, underwear, t-shirts, and pajamas, and all of Kane, Jude, and Reed's stuff." And, "The pants that I wear to work are not for the drier." Alas, it's still too confusing. The man can take apart a motorcycle and put it back together, he can clean rust out of the inside of a gas tank with naval jelly (ew!) and screws, but he can't train his brain to look at a shirt and decide if it's one that I wear to bed or one that I wear to work. Science. IT'S FUCK ALL.
Who's better with the computer?
Until about two years ago the answer was a resounding I AM. But now Jason has had all this training in all these programs like Photoshop and Microsoft Word and all that, so I think the playing field has been leveled. I can still type his ass into a corner, though.
Who drives when you are together?
It really doesn't matter. Either way the person in the passenger seat is going to be screaming profanities and clutching the arm rest and Reed will be in the back seat saying, "You not post to say that!"
Friday, February 20, 2009
This morning I discovered that someone had searched yahoo for "women who have sex using icecycles" and, for what reason I know not, it brought them to my blog here.
This amused me to no end, so I've added a little section down there to the left titled "Search Engine Terms That Bring People Here". I'll update it as funny stuff rolls in.
I think I'm getting too many gadgets over there, but I really like all of 'em so for right now they're all staying.
This amused me to no end, so I've added a little section down there to the left titled "Search Engine Terms That Bring People Here". I'll update it as funny stuff rolls in.
I think I'm getting too many gadgets over there, but I really like all of 'em so for right now they're all staying.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
"Hang on, let me get my map."
While in San Antonio we didn't have a car, so we took cabs everywhere we went. There are some interesting motherfuckers there, let me just say.
When we first arrived, we took a cab from the airport to our hotel; our boss here had said, "Don't try to wait on the shuttle, because you'll be there all night." So we hop in a cab and tell the driver where we're headed. He is visibly and audibly exasperated and says, "AW, you could have just taken the shuttle." We said, "Sorry, we were told not to take the shuttle. We hope you don't mind." He grunted and said, "I've ONLY been sitting there for two hours waiting for somebody." Then, when we got to the hotel and tried to pay with the company card, he refused to take it. "Cash only." The credit card machine was visible in the front of the cab.
We had more than one cab driver who got lost taking us to our print facility there. One guy pulled over and got his map out. Another had to pull his famous u-turn, which he referred to as "my famous u-turn". That's where I got that.
The fellow who took us to the airport when we were departing was very talkative, very excited, and somehow ended up telling us all about his dog, how his dog always wants to take his pork chops and his steaks, and he could tell from the look in the dog's eye that he was doing it on purpose, that the dog knew he was doing something bad, so he had to give the dog away. On account of the dog always wanted the guy's food. Right.
By far my favorite was this pissy little guy who kept coughing and hacking all over the place and saying, "GOD, I hate getting sick." He asked what all we were going to do for fun while we were there, and I made the mistake of mentioning that I love Mexican food so I wanted to go to some good Mexican places. This really incensed him; he kind of rolled his eyes and said, "Well, there are some really good, really authentic Mexican places here, but I wouldn't want to go to any of 'em." I told him the name of a place that had been recommended to me, and he rolled his eyes some more and informed me that that place is entirely too touristy, I don't want to go there, I want to go to this other place. He then proceeded to dig around in all his crap, his cell phone and some pens and some TISSUES, PROBABLY USED, and dug up a business card for the Mexican restaurant he wanted us to go to. I very nearly told him no thank you, I'm not going to take your germy card from your hand that you've been hoarking phlegm into for the past fifteen minutes, but I gave in and took the card. Which I later burned in sacrifice to the god of Oh Please Don't Let Me Get Sick.
We didn't, incidentally, go to the restaurant he suggested because I looked it up and it was, like, $25 a plate, and that wasn't the experience I was looking for.
Anyhow, if you're going to San Antonio, be sure and take a few cabs, just to spice things up a little bit. But for Pete's sakes, DON'T, whatever you do, go to a Mexican restaurant.
When we first arrived, we took a cab from the airport to our hotel; our boss here had said, "Don't try to wait on the shuttle, because you'll be there all night." So we hop in a cab and tell the driver where we're headed. He is visibly and audibly exasperated and says, "AW, you could have just taken the shuttle." We said, "Sorry, we were told not to take the shuttle. We hope you don't mind." He grunted and said, "I've ONLY been sitting there for two hours waiting for somebody." Then, when we got to the hotel and tried to pay with the company card, he refused to take it. "Cash only." The credit card machine was visible in the front of the cab.
We had more than one cab driver who got lost taking us to our print facility there. One guy pulled over and got his map out. Another had to pull his famous u-turn, which he referred to as "my famous u-turn". That's where I got that.
The fellow who took us to the airport when we were departing was very talkative, very excited, and somehow ended up telling us all about his dog, how his dog always wants to take his pork chops and his steaks, and he could tell from the look in the dog's eye that he was doing it on purpose, that the dog knew he was doing something bad, so he had to give the dog away. On account of the dog always wanted the guy's food. Right.
By far my favorite was this pissy little guy who kept coughing and hacking all over the place and saying, "GOD, I hate getting sick." He asked what all we were going to do for fun while we were there, and I made the mistake of mentioning that I love Mexican food so I wanted to go to some good Mexican places. This really incensed him; he kind of rolled his eyes and said, "Well, there are some really good, really authentic Mexican places here, but I wouldn't want to go to any of 'em." I told him the name of a place that had been recommended to me, and he rolled his eyes some more and informed me that that place is entirely too touristy, I don't want to go there, I want to go to this other place. He then proceeded to dig around in all his crap, his cell phone and some pens and some TISSUES, PROBABLY USED, and dug up a business card for the Mexican restaurant he wanted us to go to. I very nearly told him no thank you, I'm not going to take your germy card from your hand that you've been hoarking phlegm into for the past fifteen minutes, but I gave in and took the card. Which I later burned in sacrifice to the god of Oh Please Don't Let Me Get Sick.
We didn't, incidentally, go to the restaurant he suggested because I looked it up and it was, like, $25 a plate, and that wasn't the experience I was looking for.
Anyhow, if you're going to San Antonio, be sure and take a few cabs, just to spice things up a little bit. But for Pete's sakes, DON'T, whatever you do, go to a Mexican restaurant.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Meh. I'm not feeling great this past couple of weeks, and I can't come up with much good to say. I've been trying to be really positive lately, and I think I've used it all up for the time being.
Three weeks from right now I will be on a plane to Fort Lauderdale on my first leg of travel to Costa Rica. Here's to that.
Three weeks from right now I will be on a plane to Fort Lauderdale on my first leg of travel to Costa Rica. Here's to that.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Sunny day, chasin' the clouds away.
BOOM, February is more than half-gone.
San Antonio was pretty fun. It was my first-ever business trip, so that was a little weird- being out of town without Jason or any of my friends there- and it was my first flying experience, which was okay. All except for getting stuck in the bathroom on the Express Jet.
Yes, that's what I said: I got stuck in the bathroom. It was awesome, because I was doing really well, staying calm and all that, and I just really had to use the bathroom, so I forced myself to get up and go even though it was scary. So I went, and I was feeling all proud of myself for not feeling freaked out. Then we hit turbulence and I thought, "I'm fine. See how I'm fine? It's fine." And then I couldn't get the door open. I could get it unlocked, but the door wouldn't budge. Finally I knocked on the door and said, "Hello?" The guy sitting closest to the door opened it for me, and threw in a good eye-roll to all of the other passengers like, "God, get a load of this dumbass." It's okay; I didn't even mind because I was just so excited to be getting out of the bathroom.
Other than that it was all pretty uneventful. I was somewhat ill the whole time, nasty bathroom experiences and headache and all that good stuff. I was happy to come home; that hotel room was lonely at night all by myself. I watched a lot of tv in bed. It was nice, but I would much rather either have someone with me or be at home.
Reed was really sick while I was gone, and Jason had to stay home from work from Monday to Thursday, then I stayed home on Friday. This stomach bug stuff is really rough, I tell you; the doctor said it has been lasting about five days, and Reed's lasted six. Jason talked to the kids on Sunday and Kane has it now. Someone at our facility in San Antonio had it, someone at my mom's work had it, and now my dad has it. It's going around, folks.
So now things will calm down for a bit until Costa Rica, which is just barely over three weeks away. I got my passport and I'm ready to go. Jason and I still need bathing suits: anyone know where to get a Superman Speedo with a fanny cape?
San Antonio was pretty fun. It was my first-ever business trip, so that was a little weird- being out of town without Jason or any of my friends there- and it was my first flying experience, which was okay. All except for getting stuck in the bathroom on the Express Jet.
Yes, that's what I said: I got stuck in the bathroom. It was awesome, because I was doing really well, staying calm and all that, and I just really had to use the bathroom, so I forced myself to get up and go even though it was scary. So I went, and I was feeling all proud of myself for not feeling freaked out. Then we hit turbulence and I thought, "I'm fine. See how I'm fine? It's fine." And then I couldn't get the door open. I could get it unlocked, but the door wouldn't budge. Finally I knocked on the door and said, "Hello?" The guy sitting closest to the door opened it for me, and threw in a good eye-roll to all of the other passengers like, "God, get a load of this dumbass." It's okay; I didn't even mind because I was just so excited to be getting out of the bathroom.
Other than that it was all pretty uneventful. I was somewhat ill the whole time, nasty bathroom experiences and headache and all that good stuff. I was happy to come home; that hotel room was lonely at night all by myself. I watched a lot of tv in bed. It was nice, but I would much rather either have someone with me or be at home.
Reed was really sick while I was gone, and Jason had to stay home from work from Monday to Thursday, then I stayed home on Friday. This stomach bug stuff is really rough, I tell you; the doctor said it has been lasting about five days, and Reed's lasted six. Jason talked to the kids on Sunday and Kane has it now. Someone at our facility in San Antonio had it, someone at my mom's work had it, and now my dad has it. It's going around, folks.
So now things will calm down for a bit until Costa Rica, which is just barely over three weeks away. I got my passport and I'm ready to go. Jason and I still need bathing suits: anyone know where to get a Superman Speedo with a fanny cape?
Friday, February 13, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Monday, February 09, 2009
Oh, it's already been broughten!
Oh man, have I been sick the past few days. I think it boils down to a really awful sinus infection that was causing constant and severe migraine headaches and was slowly moving down into my chest. I spent the past few days on the couch, either in terrible pain or dizzy and out of it from all the medication.
Then last night I came out of my medicoma long enough to pack for my trip to San Antonio.
Oh, wait, back up just a tad. You know I mentioned that Kane had strep throat and the flu a couple of weeks ago? Well last week Jude was feverish and feeling bad, and everyone assumed he was catching what Kane had. Then on Thursday their mom asked (in a text, naturally) if we wanted to take them to a sock hop at Jude's school Friday, since they were coming to our house anyways. So Friday, their mom texted and said nevermind the sock hop, Jude was sick, we should just pick them up at the normal time. Jason asked if she had taken him to the doctor; her response: "No, it's a stomach thing. If it gets worse you can take him to the doctor tomorrow." ("Tomorrow" being a Saturday, FOR FUCKS BLUE EYED SAKES)
Listen, back in the day when they lived with us there were more than one occasion in which their mom would say she was sick, not feeling well, and the kids would just have to stay with us for the weekend instead of going to her house.
Now consider just a couple of factors about this weekend: 1) I was terribly ill, and fairly incapacitated by the meds. 2) Reed was ill as well. 3) Jason is still trying like hell not to catch anything from anybody. 4) I am leaving Monday for a work trip, a trip in which all the arrangements have been made, a trip in which we fly and stay at a hotel, my very first flight ever. 5) Kane is still getting over strep throat and the flu. 6) Jude has a stomach bug.
So I was the bad guy, the mean guy and said, "Listen, I'm sorry, but I'm sick, Reed's sick, Jude's sick, and Kane's sick, and I have to pack and prepare and then manage to GO on a trip on Monday. Kane and Jude need to stay at their mom's this weekend. I can't handle this. That's just the way it's going to have to be."
So of course Jason said that to his crazy ex-wife, and she said, "Oh, I don't think it's a stomach flu or anything. He went to a party Thursday night and had too much cake."
So OF COURSE I was overruled and they came and Jude moped around feeling like shit all weekend.
And today, as I am about to get on a plane for the very first time, Jason is at home with Reed who is squirting poop and throwing up, and I am squirting poop and cramping and having chills and sweats.
FUCK YOU, EX-WIFE. It is on now. I hope you don't think that what you've witnessed to this point was me bringin' it, because NOW I AM GOING TO BRING IT.
P.S. Everybody wish me luck flying. Posting will be light this week as I'll be out of town. Let's hope I make it there and can chug margaritas and regret getting drunk in front of my boss.
Then last night I came out of my medicoma long enough to pack for my trip to San Antonio.
Oh, wait, back up just a tad. You know I mentioned that Kane had strep throat and the flu a couple of weeks ago? Well last week Jude was feverish and feeling bad, and everyone assumed he was catching what Kane had. Then on Thursday their mom asked (in a text, naturally) if we wanted to take them to a sock hop at Jude's school Friday, since they were coming to our house anyways. So Friday, their mom texted and said nevermind the sock hop, Jude was sick, we should just pick them up at the normal time. Jason asked if she had taken him to the doctor; her response: "No, it's a stomach thing. If it gets worse you can take him to the doctor tomorrow." ("Tomorrow" being a Saturday, FOR FUCKS BLUE EYED SAKES)
Listen, back in the day when they lived with us there were more than one occasion in which their mom would say she was sick, not feeling well, and the kids would just have to stay with us for the weekend instead of going to her house.
Now consider just a couple of factors about this weekend: 1) I was terribly ill, and fairly incapacitated by the meds. 2) Reed was ill as well. 3) Jason is still trying like hell not to catch anything from anybody. 4) I am leaving Monday for a work trip, a trip in which all the arrangements have been made, a trip in which we fly and stay at a hotel, my very first flight ever. 5) Kane is still getting over strep throat and the flu. 6) Jude has a stomach bug.
So I was the bad guy, the mean guy and said, "Listen, I'm sorry, but I'm sick, Reed's sick, Jude's sick, and Kane's sick, and I have to pack and prepare and then manage to GO on a trip on Monday. Kane and Jude need to stay at their mom's this weekend. I can't handle this. That's just the way it's going to have to be."
So of course Jason said that to his crazy ex-wife, and she said, "Oh, I don't think it's a stomach flu or anything. He went to a party Thursday night and had too much cake."
So OF COURSE I was overruled and they came and Jude moped around feeling like shit all weekend.
And today, as I am about to get on a plane for the very first time, Jason is at home with Reed who is squirting poop and throwing up, and I am squirting poop and cramping and having chills and sweats.
FUCK YOU, EX-WIFE. It is on now. I hope you don't think that what you've witnessed to this point was me bringin' it, because NOW I AM GOING TO BRING IT.
P.S. Everybody wish me luck flying. Posting will be light this week as I'll be out of town. Let's hope I make it there and can chug margaritas and regret getting drunk in front of my boss.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
You Americans, you're all the same. Always overdressing for the wrong occasions.
5 weeks until Costa Rica, and 5 days until San Antonio. I can't believe all this traveling that I'm doing. Since Jason and I have been married (five years ago), we had a nice honeymoon, a five-day trip to New Orleans, and a five-day trip to Gatlinburg. Besides that, it's just been a couple of weekend trips to friends' houses a few hours away. Not that those aren't nice, but it's very different from getting on a plane and staying in a hotel (or a house in the jungle) and all that. I'm terribly excited, which is why y'all keep having to read about it.
I'm also a little sick. My chest is hurting and I'm feeling pretty low; I think I'm calling the doctor today.
Reed has a really nasty sinus infection. We've been watching a lot of Indiana Jones, or Marianna Jones, as he's determined to call it, and last night he kept saying "I want to watch the one with all the steaks!" He said this over and over, and was totally frustrated that I was like, "I don't think there IS an Indiana Jones with steaks..." Finally I figured out that he was talking about SNAKES, the one with all the SNAKES. Actually there are snakes in pretty much all of the Indiana Jones movies, but I figured out he was referring to the Raiders of the Lost Ark. We happily snuggled under a blanket and watched it for bedtime last night.
When I really think about it, get myself down to the bottom line, this life is the life I've always wanted, with just a few snags here and there (crazy ex-wife, her crazy husband, no-money-having, etc.). We're working on the snags, and it feels good to be able to say that.
I'm also a little sick. My chest is hurting and I'm feeling pretty low; I think I'm calling the doctor today.
Reed has a really nasty sinus infection. We've been watching a lot of Indiana Jones, or Marianna Jones, as he's determined to call it, and last night he kept saying "I want to watch the one with all the steaks!" He said this over and over, and was totally frustrated that I was like, "I don't think there IS an Indiana Jones with steaks..." Finally I figured out that he was talking about SNAKES, the one with all the SNAKES. Actually there are snakes in pretty much all of the Indiana Jones movies, but I figured out he was referring to the Raiders of the Lost Ark. We happily snuggled under a blanket and watched it for bedtime last night.
When I really think about it, get myself down to the bottom line, this life is the life I've always wanted, with just a few snags here and there (crazy ex-wife, her crazy husband, no-money-having, etc.). We're working on the snags, and it feels good to be able to say that.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
San Antonio, birth place of Robert Dyer.
So I have six days until I leave for San Antonio.
I figure this trip will be like dipping my toe in the water as far as being away from Reed for so many days in a row. I'll be gone for four days, and it will be the longest I have ever gone without seeing my baby. I told him last night that I was leaving with work for a few days next week, and he was like, "Yeah. But can I have TWO carters [quarters] for TWO gumballs?" So, you know, he's real sad.
It will also be the longest I've ever been away from Jason. He went on a work trip once, but as I recall he was gone for three days.
It will be weird, sleeping alone in a fancy hotel room (they're putting us up at the Hilton, for pete's sakes), no coughing or talking in sleep or snoring or pitter-patter of feet who have learned to climb out of their crib to wake me up. I hope it will be restful; we do have to work, but we only work eight hours a day which leaves plenty of time for sleeping. And drinking. My boss is about to turn into my drinking buddy, I believe, so this will be an interesting trip.
I just feel so fortunate to have a job at all, and even more fortunate to have one that I like and that is teaching me stuff, and EVEN MORE fortunate to have one that wants to fly me places, basically pay for a vacation for me. It's nice and incredibly different to work for a company that has interest in my life, in my having a life outside of work, that values me as an employee and as a human being. That might all sound like a load of melodramatic crap, but it's very true, and it's a big deal to me.
So, I've been looking at San Antonio weather, and it's been sunny and in the upper sixties and lower seventies for the past several days. Lordy, I hope that weather will hold out for me.
I figure this trip will be like dipping my toe in the water as far as being away from Reed for so many days in a row. I'll be gone for four days, and it will be the longest I have ever gone without seeing my baby. I told him last night that I was leaving with work for a few days next week, and he was like, "Yeah. But can I have TWO carters [quarters] for TWO gumballs?" So, you know, he's real sad.
It will also be the longest I've ever been away from Jason. He went on a work trip once, but as I recall he was gone for three days.
It will be weird, sleeping alone in a fancy hotel room (they're putting us up at the Hilton, for pete's sakes), no coughing or talking in sleep or snoring or pitter-patter of feet who have learned to climb out of their crib to wake me up. I hope it will be restful; we do have to work, but we only work eight hours a day which leaves plenty of time for sleeping. And drinking. My boss is about to turn into my drinking buddy, I believe, so this will be an interesting trip.
I just feel so fortunate to have a job at all, and even more fortunate to have one that I like and that is teaching me stuff, and EVEN MORE fortunate to have one that wants to fly me places, basically pay for a vacation for me. It's nice and incredibly different to work for a company that has interest in my life, in my having a life outside of work, that values me as an employee and as a human being. That might all sound like a load of melodramatic crap, but it's very true, and it's a big deal to me.
So, I've been looking at San Antonio weather, and it's been sunny and in the upper sixties and lower seventies for the past several days. Lordy, I hope that weather will hold out for me.
Monday, February 02, 2009
And now for the Micro Wrestling Federation.
For fuck's sakes, if Kane and Jude's step-dad continues to send these assy, threatening text messages to us, I'm going to visit Pelham with a large bag of poop. I cannot stand this any more. See here for further explanation.
Somehow lately I frequently feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room screaming, and no one is noticing. It's lonely and sad, this feeling, and I'm afraid that feeling it this frequently for this long is starting to make me a shitty person. I feel vindictive, mad, self-centered.
There is a lot going on in the next couple of weeks. There's Midget Wrestling this Thursday (click that link, scroll down to see the poster), we have the kids this weekend, I'm scheduled to go to San Antonio with work February 9th through the 12th, and then Valentine's Day is that weekend. Plus, there are three birthdays in a row from the 14th through the 16th (Josh, Deanna, Johnny). Busy time.
I know some people were having trouble getting to the Cutting Room Floor, and I've checked and re-checked and I'm not sure why that is. I'm linking here again just to see what happens. If that doesn't work, just go to www.flickr.com/photos/cuttingroomfloor.
I'm glad y'all are looking. It makes me happy.
Somehow lately I frequently feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room screaming, and no one is noticing. It's lonely and sad, this feeling, and I'm afraid that feeling it this frequently for this long is starting to make me a shitty person. I feel vindictive, mad, self-centered.
There is a lot going on in the next couple of weeks. There's Midget Wrestling this Thursday (click that link, scroll down to see the poster), we have the kids this weekend, I'm scheduled to go to San Antonio with work February 9th through the 12th, and then Valentine's Day is that weekend. Plus, there are three birthdays in a row from the 14th through the 16th (Josh, Deanna, Johnny). Busy time.
I know some people were having trouble getting to the Cutting Room Floor, and I've checked and re-checked and I'm not sure why that is. I'm linking here again just to see what happens. If that doesn't work, just go to www.flickr.com/photos/cuttingroomfloor.
I'm glad y'all are looking. It makes me happy.
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