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Ryan has a very common looking face. He was once asked "Has a guy who looks like John Malkovich ever told you that you look like Quentin Tarantino?" Years ago, it was Morrissey. Then Tarantino. Then Hank Azaria. (It's the forefivehead)
My friend Scott just sent an email saying "Ryan, I didn't know you felt so strongly about tattoos". I read it 4 times before I noticed the image. HA HA HA
Why can't the vegetarians figure out something else to use as the all-purpose space filler? Like mushrooms or cheese or celery? It seems like anything that I ever see/eat (there's a 'seafood' joke in there somewhere) that is promoted as "vegetarian" is chock full of bell peppers. And I can't cotton to that at all. The taste of bell peppers to me is like... you know that old cast iron skillet that your grandma has? The one that has never been properly washed and is thick with black crust of butter grease and bacon fat and miscellaneous food bits that have adhered themselves over time? Lick the bottom of that, THAT is what bell peppers taste like. So, uh, no thank you.
Ryan's latest project, The Darkness, hits shelves on December 12th. The 8-page preview is available online now if you need a sneak peek. Which, of course, you do. But mostly you want to BUY IT DECEMBER 12TH AT A COMIC BOOK STORE NEAR YOU.
Erin was talking about possibly losing the top of her head in a convertible and it reminded me of the UNSAFE way that I drive every. day.
Once, I was driving near UCI late at night, and got pulled over. The "official" reason was that ONE of the lights that points at my license plate was allegedly burned out. Although I was never allowed to get out of my car to look and by the time I got home the light was miraculously fixed (thanks bored cops!), but anyway... so the cop pulls me over and goes through the whole routine: license, registration, put your shirt back on, get that lettuce out of your hair, your breath stinks like olives. And after reprimanding me with a stern lecture about the importance of license plate illumination, he looked at the placement of my seat (the driver's seat).
Cop: Your seat is awfully close to your steering wheel.
Me: Yeah. What of it, pig? You gonna give me some copper bullshit about not sittin' so close to the steering wheel? Why you gotta hassle me, man? [or something like this, I forget exactly what I said, since I was all hopped up on olive juice.]
Cop: You should move it back.
Me: Well, I can't really.
Cop: Then you should get it fixed. Do I need to write you a fix-it ticket for your seat?
Me: No, I mean, if I move it back I can't reach the pedals.
Cop: What's that supposed to mean? According to your license here, you're... oh... four foot ten.
Me: Yep.
Cop: But that's REALLY unsafe to sit that close.
Me: ...
Cop: If that airbag goes off, it's going to break your neck.
Me: ...
Cop: Or punch a hole in your face.
Me: ...
Cop: Those things come out REALLY fast. You'll probably die.
Me: ...
Cop: So, you should probably move your seat back. At least 6 or 8 inches.
Me: ...but I... *sigh* ok, I will move it. [I moved the seat back]
Cop: That's better, see?
At this point, I was fully reclined in my chair and only the tips of my toes were near the pedals. I also couldn't see over the steering wheel.
Cop: Well, then. Drive carefully. And don't, you know, hit anything. Because of that airbag.
Me: Yeah, thanks. I'm sure this will be fine.
Then, he had to reach all the way inside my car, where my ass was in the wheel well, so that he could give me back my license and insurance card.
The end of the year is coming and you know what that means! It's time to run down the clock with your health insurance providers! If you're like me, you're either limping by and knee-deep in the philosophy of Just Don't Chew On That Side until January 2nd, when your bennies roll over, or you've got a surplus and are trying to calculate how to squeeze 40 more chiropractic visits in before December 31st.
This year (for the first time ever) I am looking at a surplus. And part of that means filling cavities and getting glasses. Oh, and also seeing a dermatologist while it's still free (we've paid our max. deductible for the year, so for the remainder of 2007 no co-pays!). First up is glasses. Which is something that I actually like doing. I am horribly casual with my glasses and only wear them when I am at work in the office and when I'm not, they're tossed somewhere behind my monitor and the pile of stray catalogs. But I still love glasses and frames. I never know at all what I want, and in fact my current pair is green and blue (super cute) but not something that "goes with everything" and since I only wear them at work, I tend not to even consider that I am mis-matched. So I am thinking that 2007 is the right time for something plain. Or maybe something TOTALLY RIDICULOUS.
The link above is to a Flickr page featuring one of these "Blythe" dolls, which I have seen pop up a lot on Flickr. WTF are these dolls? Did I miss out on some new trend memo? I am lost.
Instead of waiting until next week for Superbad to come out on DVD, Ryan and I went to the Dollar Theater to see it again yesterday. Still funny. Even better the second time through, I think.
Although, here's the thing about the Dollar Theater. Weird people go there. Weird, cheap people. Myself included. Sure, I was wearing unattractive sweatpants and had lettuce in my hair, and wanted to tell somebody that I kind of like Seth Rogan with a moustache and feel a little weird about it because he looks like my cousin Eric... but I didn't. That's why I am better than the other weirdoes.
Weirdo One
His cell phone starts ringing during the movie. Too embarrassed to answer it, he stares at the screen with wide eyes (deer in headlights), pretending it's someone else or maybe he doesn't hear it. Repeat. Repeat. He finally reaches into his pocket to try and push a button and the phone falls to the floor. When it starts ringing again 2 minutes later, he again ignores it (ringing on the floor under his feet) until a girl across the aisle picks up his phone and hands it to him. He denies the phone belongs to him. She says "okay, if it's not yours, then I'm taking it to Lost & Found" and he lets her.
Weirdo Two
Emo kid sitting in front of us, alone. Has his cell phone out constantly and is text messaging people constantly. Just seems weird. Then his phone starts ringing, he answers it and carries on a full conversation (with everyone yelling "take it outside") at him.
Weirdoes Three and Four
The couple sitting next to Ryan are maybe early 20's and from the looks of it, they're on a first date. I think some of the strong sexual overtones in the movie make them a bit squirmy, so they decide to just start talking. A whole conversation about work, their friends, what they do for fun, etc. It's like watching TV and listening to the radio. A crappy radio show about relationships. Maybe Dr. Laura or something.
What was so weird is how unembarrassed all of these people were while making spectacles of themselves. They just OWNED it. As if they just did not care that you spent a hard-earned DOLLAR on this movie and that maybe they shouldn't disturb you. The theater was pretty full - and there were lots of people shhh-ing and shut up-ing, and none of them seemed to mind. Damn sociopaths. We're headed for Heck in a Handbasket.
NaBloPoMo was supposed to put my feet to the fire and make me WRITE and instead I have been slacking. Ah, well. This isn't much different EXCEPT that a while back, there was a blogosphere conversation about hearing people's voices when you only know them online... how much the surprise you (kind of like the way it feels when you see a picture of a radio DJ).
So anyway, I don't have any good reason to make a YouTube video of myself talking, so I thought that maybe a good way to do this would be to answer your questions. Or one. Or just make something up. Since I don't have an awesome home to tour or tutorial on how to make yarn or anything, I need a gimmick. So ask me! I know a lot of ridiculous stuff. Seriously.
Earlier I was watching the 30 Rock Season One DVD and during the episode "Jack Meets Dennis", Liz Lemon (Tina Fey) is making a Pros/Cons list about her boyfriend Dennis. I just happened to pause the DVD on the list, which turned out to be a pretty comical read. So I typed it up (of course, after I typed it and formatted into an HTML table, I googled a picture of Dennis and ended up finding the whole list already online. I am an idiot.)
If you haven't seen 30 Rock, as you consider Dennis's pros and cons, keep in mind that he is the Beeper King (the only beeper salesman left in Manhattan!) and is convinced that everyone needs a beeper, because "technology is cyclical".
Pros
Cons
The Full Moon rarely does me any favors and last night was no exception.
11:30pm - Ryan: "I'm tired. Are you tired? I'm ready for bed." Me: "No, but I can watch a movie in bed until I fall asleep."
1:30am - the DVD for The Office Season 2, Disc 2 ends. I am still awake.
1:35am - I settle in for sleep.
1:36am - asleep
1:40am - Ruckus walks across my face going to the window.
1:55am - asleep
2:00am - Ruckus walks across my face coming out of the window.
2:07am - asleep
2:10am - Ruckus pulls my hair, to wake me up.
2:12am - I finish my Sentence of Profanities, directed at Ruckus.
2:15am - asleep
2:18am - Ryan wakes up, goes to bathroom, turns on all the lights. I am temporarily blinded and Ruckus is excited that someone is finally up for him to play with.
2:19am - Ryan returns from bathroom, falls asleep immediately.
2:27am - asleep
2:30am - Ruckus starts softly crying in my ear (asking for breakfast). I swat him away. Repeat in 2 minute cycles.
3am - I give up, feed Ruckus. While in the kitchen, he catches a cricket and eats it.
3:03am - asleep
3:05am - Ruckus runs into bedroom (he runs at high speed with his claws out, so you can hear him barreling across the wood floor and then tearing onto the carpet), stops short at my side of the bed. Loudly barfs breakfast and cricket.
3:06am - out of bed, cleaning cat barf. Repeat Sentence of Profanties. Ruckus looks truly sorry.
3:15am - get back in bed, with Ruckus between my knees. He finally sleeps. So do I.
3:20am - Ruckus gets up. No longer tired, he wants me to play. He head-butts me several times before yelling directly into my eye.
3:30am - I get up and straggle to the kitchen, luring Ruckus out of the bedroom with snackies and lock him out. (I can't actually shut him out, or else he scratches at the door and screams like he's on fire. But generally, if the doors are closed almost all the way, he takes the hint and sleeps elsewhere)
3:32am - asleep
3:35am - Ryan wakes up, debates whether he should "get up" or try to sleep more. I warn him that I am on the brink of committing murder if he keeps talking to me. He goes back to sleep.
4am - I finally fall asleep.
7am - Ruckus comes back, asking for breakfast. Monkey sits behind him, acting as the Chorus. I get up and feed them.
7:05am - asleep
7:15am - Ryan gets out of bed, waking me up by stepping on my foot.
7:30am - go back to sleep
9am - Ryan comes back, asks me if I want to be up already since I had planned on getting an early start on the day. I growl and scratch at him. He retreats.
10:30am - Ryan comes back. "Are you sure you want to sleep?" I bury my head under 20 pillows.
12pm - Ryan wakes me up for real. *sigh* I am exhausted and cranky and my shoulders are pinched in 15 different places from sleeping badly. But I get up, otherwise I will sleep until 4pm.
So basically, I squeezed in about 18 minutes of really crappy sleep last night. So when I fall asleep at 7:30pm you'll know why.
Currently watching: Freaks & Geeks
The Friday after Thanksgiving is a free day off and I totally wasted my whole day. I had a list of things that I wanted to do, chiefly get my shit together to start making/addressing/mailing Christmas cards. But I didn't. I did some online shopping, took a nap, and watched some Reno 911. I completely blew it. I need a do-over.
I hope your Thanksgiving was filled with plenty of love and family and turkey and pumpkin pie. Clearly, ours was.
It was that limbo kind of late. Late enough to not want to start a movie, but too early to close up shop and go to bed.... so what do you do? We debated knocking over mailboxes or toilet papering the neighbor's house, but in the end we settled on Trivial Pursuit, 90's Edition. It was a long road to Trivial Pursuit, but once we got there, it was ON.
The rest is boring to write about (let alone read!) except that in the 90's I was in high school and then college. I was a teenager, then an adult. I was mildly aware of the world around me and yet -- what? -- I SUCK at 90's trivia. Oh sure, some I could guess (if all else fails, go with "yahoo.com"), but it's ridiculous the amount of stuff that I never heard of.
Hopefully, the post-Turkey fambly game time will be Scattergories or Cranium, where I have a decent shot of winning. Not that winning is everything. But yeah, it kind of is.
It's a strange voodoo that the blogosphere has. I find myself dragging my lifeless corpse to web pages that I have read for years because I somehow feel obligated to. People that started off with fun bloggy posts and became friends, so now I must read them, especially when I don't want to.
And hey, I don't begrudge anyone anything. For the people who read this site once or fifteen times and then stop coming: godspeed. But for some reason I have this... loyalty? Idiocy? that makes me continue to read posts that do. not. interest. me. AT. ALL.
Things change, and I get that. People change. We grow, we move apart, that's The Thing about life, isn't it? But the one thing that stays the same is their URL... so I feel that I must go there, read it, maybe comment in case... in case what? The Blog Gestapo comes after me?
Part of the fun about blogs is the insight into people's lives. They have babies! They get married! They buy houses! They grow tumors, adopt dogs, find Jesus, whatever. You get this "whole" feeling for who people are. And especially who they AREN'T. So it's sad when you've been a Blog Friend with someone for a long time and they're changing into someone that you're no longer interested in. Hey, it's not me, it's you. And that's ok. But WHY of why do I keep looking??
The worst is the people who I've gotten to know really well, and then they change/grow and I just know that who they are in public, online, is not who they "really" are. They're not honest anymore, because "someone" might be watching (parents, spouses, children, etc.) and they can't risk saying the wrong thing. So they turn into a blog Seinfeld -- the post about nothing! -- and it just isn't interesting. The friendship withers on the vine and now... I'm ready just to cut it off.
Which feels dishonest too. I feel like I owe them some Dear John kind of letter, so they know why I don't hang around anymore. Because, in a way, we are friends. Maybe the best kind of friends. I'm not just a Yes Man hanging around to LOL in the comments every day, I'm the person who will tell you that your blog post has spinach in its teeth. Maybe you don't want to hear it, and you can flip me the bird or IP ban me or email bomb me or maybe... just maybe... you might appreciate it. Be glad that someone told you and maybe you change or maybe you embrace it more? It's not my site to adminster/life to live. Which is precisely why I've taken you off my Daily Reads list. Sorry. I still really like YOU, but I'm breaking up with your blog.
I honestly can't come up with anything today. Instead, enjoy some Regina Spektor (no video, it's just audio).
Life inside the music box ain't easy.
The mallets hit the gears are always turning
and everyone inside the mechanism
is yearning to get out.
And sing another melody completely
So different from the one they're always singing
I close my eyes and think that I have found me
but then I feel mortality surround me.
I want to sing another melody
so different from the one I always sing
But when I do the dishes
I run the water very very very hot
and then I fill the sink to the top with bubbles of soap
and then I send all the bottle caps I own afloat
and its the greatest voyage in the history of plastic
and then I slip my hands in and start to make waves
and then I dip my tongue in and take a taste
it tastes like soap but it doesn't really taste like soap
and then I lower in my whole mouth in and take a gulp
and start to feel mortality surround me
I close my eyes and think I've found me
but life inside the music box ain't easy
the mallets hit the gears are always turning
and everyone inside the mechanism
is yearning
to get out
and sing another melody completely
is yearing
to get out
is yearning
to get out
is yearning
to get out
My brain has a blinking red light that says "low battereh". But I promised to NaBloPoMo, 'til I just can't NaBloPoMo no mo', so here I go... (whoa)
I finally watched the movie "Friends With Money" and it wasn't super great, but it wasn't the chick-flick drivel I was anticipating (I don't really go for chick flick stuff). It had some really good stuff in it and was super relatable, and not just about the money situations. But the characters were very real, like the way they would talk to each other in the car -- the things that you say when other people aren't listening. It was very true to life. A decent rental, I must say.
Up next in the queue: Freaks & Geeks Season 1 (which I have never seen)
Today was a LAZY day. Well, actually it was totally busy, but I wanted it to be lazy and just could not switch into Living Human Mode. We had a list of about 500 errands to run (written on the back of an envelope) that I just did NOT want to do. So I hatched a scheme to check off everything really super fast so I could get home and get back into my pajama pants. In the interim, I threw on some dirty jeans and a sloppy t-shirt, slicked my hair into a greasy pile and away we went!
Of course, this ended badly. The trip to the library was a hassle (I returned that book on time! Take that $1 charge off my account!). Breakfast was a pain in the ass (walked out of IHOP, after we sat at the table for 15 minutes without seeing a server). The "quick trip" into Ikea for a lamp took 2 hours (we knew the exact one we wanted, entered directly into the warehouse, grabbed said lamp... and then got sucked into the Ikea Vortex). By the time we left Ikea, we only had 25 minutes to get a birthday gift for my sister, go home and shower, and get to the restaurant for dinner with the family. So we dashed to Target to pick up a card (and a clean shirt for me - skip the home trip and shower), but we ran into our friend Jake and his fiancee. Which was embarrassing. I looked like a vagrant, and they were shopping for DVDs.
Dinner was fine, and no one pointed out my greasy mop of hair, which was gracious. Then we went to Target again (a different one this time) to get the rest of the stuff we needed. While we were there, my stomach completely failed me. I had to use the most disgusting restroom ever (why Target?!) which was ultra uncomfortable to begin with, let alone when the janitor and manager had to come in (while my stomach was making noises like a stalled engine) because a lady was complaining LOUDLY about "poop all over the floor! and urine! everywhere!" (wasn't me!!) Then, after I found Ryan again in the store, I was whispering "we have to go NOW because I need to mainline Immodium" and we ran right into one of Ryan's work associates, which meant that I had to smile and play nice and pretend that everything was great and fine and then "please excuse me" while I ran back to the Public Restroom From Hell. Oy.
It was a looooooong day. But, at least Ryan has a desk lamp. And I have cat litter. I'm just hoping that no one comes knocking on the door tonight. I can't contain my crazy anymore. I just want to be in pajamas and poo in a private restroom and not have to entertain anyone. Is that too much to ask?
Since we moved into this new house, I've really had the urge to make things more... permanent. I've stopped settling for the butcher-block cabinet as a TV-stand (no, really) and wanted an "entertainment center" - like a real, live grown-up. Instead of the busted old hand-me-down couches with haphazard slip covers that don't fit, I went to Ikea and bought NEW couches (a first!). Sure, they're the cheapest couches that Ikea sells, but STILL! I took them out of the boxes MYSELF. It feels so mature.
A few months ago, I bought an entertainment center from Craigslist for $15 (or maybe $25, I can't remember) that a college student was selling for quick cash [benefits of living near a college]. It was basic, served its purpose, but wasn't thrilling me. So on Friday, I went back to the Craigslist and found myself another entertainment center for sale. This one, I really like. It has shelves (for knick-knacks!) and a glass cabinet (for knick-knacks!) and plenty of space for a TV.
Our TV was a REALLY busted old piece of crap. It was a hand-me-down of epic proportions. It was manufactured in the early 70's and is the rustiest tube TV in north America. We had the tube replaced 6 years ago and it worked fantastic until a couple of months ago, when the color balance jiggermabob broke. Now everything looks green. It was tolerable... unless you actually saw another TV somewhere ("huh. I never pictured her as a blonde."). So I have been trying to get Ryan to spring for another TV. Unsuccessfully. I've found great deals on Amazon. "No, it's not really a big deal right now." Super sales at Best Buy. "Nah, let's save our money for something else." Spectacular savings at Fry's. "Maybe next Halloween?" GAH. Well, as it turns out, getting a new entertainment center puts things in to perspective.
Today, against all logic and reason, Ryan agreed to buy a new TV. Praise To Jeebus! Once we decided on the basic type (made sometime in the last decade, decent color-vision, remote control, etc.) it was easy. And the crazy sale discounts probably factored in. We went in for a basic tube TV and walked out with a flat screen that is almost taller than me.
Excuse me, I only have 30 hours left in my weekend, and I have at least 28 hours of TV to watch.
Sometimes my empathy runs amok and I get trampled in the aftermath. Fortunately, Ryan has walked a mile in these pinchy-toed shoes, so he at least understands What The Hell Is My Problem.
But this week is really hard. There are so. many. things. going on right now that I am being drawn and quartered. I have hit the brink of what my sanity can hold and that it's just about time to shove Jiminy Cricket's little ass inside a matchbox.
I knew it was time for bed when my eyes kept welling with tears, thinking about the guy in class who was reading out loud and kept saying "insert your name here" over and over instead of actually inserting his name*. I kept thinking how sad it was, that someone didn't understand the concept of 'inserting your name'... that how did he get to be an adult and not know this? I kept thinking about how sad it is for him, all of the things that he doesn't know. But maybe ignorance is bliss? NO! He's being taken advantage of! Someone, somewhere is treating him unfairly and he doesn't even know it.
Of course, this is all projection. By all accounts, this guy is happy - always smiling - very nice, friendly, busy person. But for some reason I just feel it. I feel it in my bones, deep in my heart, at the bottom of my guts that things just aren't well for him. And it kills me. I don't know him, I barely know his first name. He's just a guy. But I want to save him! Scoop him up, take him into my home, feed him chicken pot pie and teach him how to read brackets*! Make him snuggly and warm, where no one would ever need to feel bad for him again.
(Don't even get me started about the 40 year old guy working at K-Mart with the broken glasses).
*like this: "hi, my name is [insert name here] and I want to tell you about..."
I am taking a night class that started a couple of weeks ago. On the first night, I was making my way to class and I saw this guy in the hallway. He was clearly very young, but dressed in a nice suit, spiffy shoes, etc. And sunglasses. At night. In total darkness. A girl was walking around, clearly lost, and she asked for his help finding her classroom. He proudly stated that he had no idea, but what was her name and situation? I kind of laughed to myself and walked away. Oh, P.Diddy, you're such a nerd!
Turns out, that (of course) this guy is IN my class. And all during the class (which runs 'til 10pm, and not a moment sooner) he never takes off his sunglasses. He can hardly see in the dimly lit room, but hell if he's gonna take 'em off. Oooohkay. It's on Night One that he launches into this whole bit about how he doesn't really need this class because he's already a PROFESSIONAL, but whatever. Everyone just laughs behind his back. This happens every week, he interrupts, says something dumb and never takes off his damn glasses.
Until last week. Half of the kids in my class haven't bought the text, so for the times when we need something from the book, someone reads it out loud. We usually switch back and forth, read a couple paragraphs, then pass it on. So it comes to this other guy's turn and the guy isn't a great public speaker, and he's nervous so he's going slow and stuttering a bit, but it's no big deal. Well, P. Diddy decides that he's DONE with listening to this guy, so he just starts reading over him. Which is lame. Everyone is wrinkling their noses and doing the WTF? face, but he just keeps going. Then some other kid with impeccably bad timing starts having a coughing fit. Was it legitimate? I don't know, but the kid was sick. Anyway, Diddy gets ALL upset. He starts yelling "whoever that was is incredibly rude and I will be waiting for you outside." The whole class erupts in laughter.
At the break, the sick kid goes home. But Diddy is still all riled up. He starts yelling at the teacher DEMANDING the kid's name, so that he can go look him up and "explain" to him how rude he was. She played it pretty cool, but in this Brave New World she's legally obligated to report it (he has now threatened a student). So the campus police come, along with Real Police and escort Diddy out.
The teacher explains to us that she is legally required to let us all know that Diddy has been temporarily removed from our class and that he has to go through a series of anger management courses before he can come back on campus. In the meantime, if anyone sees him, call campus security right away and he will be arrested. We also have an officer posted outside of our classroom for the full night, and back-ups come at the end of the night to walk us to our cars. It's very surreal. I'm not at all afraid of this guy (who claims to either be 32 or 17 1/2, depending on the day) who is clearly just a kid looking for attention, but it's weird/scary the way that we have to handle this whole ordeal. It's creepy to be escorted to my car by a cop (so that everyone stares).
They also wanted to expedite (for just our class) the new emergency response system that launches next semester that allows campus security to send text messages and cell phone calls to every student in the event that there is an emergency.
Hooray for technology, but geez. I don't want to think about that we actually need it.
I was tagged on this meme from Erika, so here you go!
Name six guilty pleasures no one would suspect you of having:
1. Reading as an addiction. I read every day. Every. Day. Not always a novel, but I usually try to find something of substance (a book, a news magazine, etc.) to broaden my horizons (or distract my attentions). Otherwise, I'll start reading the backs of shampoo bottles.
2. Reading in the bath. I like to take looooooong baths, and so I need something to entertain myself while soaking in bubbles. This is usually when I get the bulk of my book-reading done, although I've been known to read a Newsweek cover to cover before washing my hair.
3. Reading on the toilet. I don't poop, just for the record, (it's a miracle of science, perfected by Suzanne Somers) but I always have a ready stack of reading materials on the back of the toilet. While sitting on the potty, I can't bring myself to read a book (a. I'm not there long enough and b. it gives me the heeby jeebies), so this is when I usually browse through my trade magazines. Sorry, Brandweek. You're what I'm looking at when I'm taking a tinkle.
4. Being the only person in my current classes that has an office job. It is SO arrogant, but it's kind of nice that the kids think that I am a GENIUS because I know things about copy machines and how inter-departmental mail works. (The kids in my class have an average age of 19 and 100% of them work in restaurants.)
5. Puzzles. From Tetris (crack!) to jig-saw, I really like puzzles. Which is weird, because I really don't care for math. For example, this Sunday evening, Ryan was working and I was watching TV, so I did a 550 piece puzzle on the coffee table. BECAUSE I AM A DWEEB.
6. Trivia. Useless knowledge is totally my thing. My brain retains all kinds of crap, like TV quotes. Basically, everything you say reminds me of something I saw on TV. Yeah, it's sad.
My dear Choppa was debating Febreeze vs. shower this morning (understandable) which reminded me of an EVEN LAZIER option.
My dad is a hunter/sportsman/general ne'erdowell and so has a ready stock of crap that diguises the human scent from animals. Which, of course, means that YOU have no idea if that shirt is a first-worn or dug out of the bottom of the laundry basket (if an animal with an accute sense of smell can't tell, neither can you). So, uh. Yeah. I guess the take-away is #1) get some Smelleze for those late mornings and #2) always be suspicious of my dad.
I should have known when I woke up and I was ON TIME for the first time in the history of the universe. That was weird. But I didn't actually sleep well, so I stopped for caffeine in the form of a Del Taco Coke (in case you don't already know this, Del Taco has BAR NONE the best fountain sodas of any place I can think of). So I drive through and get to work STILL EARLY. Crazy weird.
So I go to Ikea at lunch and am not impressed by ANYTHING. I walked out empty-handed (WHAT?!). Then I stopped on my way back to the office to grab a sandwich and am frantically digging through my purse, because I can't find my debit card. WTF? So I rip apart my car (which already looks like a parade went through there) and it's no where. So I call Del Taco, and yes, they have my card. So I have to rush over to DT, get my card, go BACK to the sandwich place (where the emo kid working there is so over me already) and get my food and go back to work. Once there, my computer starts doing all these great tricks, like throwing up a big red ERROR message whenever I try to do something crazy like open a file. Yay. So I call IT and get some help on how to repair it myself (still not working) and all the while I just want to fall asleep.
Oh, and I keep forgetting my camera cable everywhere, so I haven't uploaded pictures to Flickr in forever. Feast or famine. Oh well. Deep breath.
I will tell you Ryan's favorite joke: "I'm going to bed early tonight" (because I say this nearly EVERY DAY and it has yet to happen in the 10 years since we've been together. 3,650 failures to go to bed early. It has to be a record.)
If you ever have a chance to go into Leonard's office, take it. Not only can you hit the skatepark, but you can see some awesome art. My favorite piece was drawn by his son*, Charlie, when he was 4 or 5 years old.
Charlie has always been very artistic and drew LOTS of cool things when he was tiny. Amazing stuff. This particular piece is done in crayon on a giant piece of butcher paper. It's something like 3 feet long and 1 foot wide. It's a semi-truck, which is surprisingly well done. But the best part is the side of the truck. Charlie couldn't decide what the truck should say on the side, so he went to the bookshelf for inspiration. He had recently learned to write letters, and had been practicing a lot by copying the letters from the covers of books in the house.
So he had been sitting quietly, drawing and copying letters while his parents prepared the house for a Christmas party. Just before the guests came, Charlie finished his picture and presented it to his parents. They were immensly proud and displayed it prominently in the living room for everyone to see.
The picture is this: a semi-truck with 16 wheels, apparently transporting THE COMPLETE KAMA SUTRA.
*I don't know if it's cool to use his real name, so this one is fake.
When I was 20, I left my job as a pre-school teacher and went to work for Diedrich Coffee (where the schedule was more flexible -- allowing me night/weekend shifts). I was part of the first people to work at the brand new store at the Irvine Spectrum (which is no longer there) and was very proud to be there. The company was family-owned, and the store at the Irvine Spectrum was even more special in that it was designed specifically for the owner's wife who was into bellydancing at the time. The store had a moroccan theme, and she would even come and dance some nights. Because this was "her" store, this seemed to be the only location that the Diedrich family frequented. As such, we were the only store with a full kitchen and we had uniforms (everywhere else, anything goes went). The manager was incredibly enthusiastic about his job, and very proud of the staff. In addition to various in-store trainings, we were all sent to a 2-day class on coffee -- from soil to roasting (often done in our own stores) to delivery of the beans -- and had to train for 16 hours before we were allowed to use the espresso machine. It was serious stuff. Everyone on our staff (which would generally be between 10-18 people, depending on the shift) had to be able to differentiate the coffees by smell and taste. To this day, I can accurately distinguish a south american coffee from an African coffee by taste and acidity.
There were (and are) so many things that Diedrich Coffee did right. The coffee beans were imported by farmers who were family friends. Everything was fair-trade. The beans were roasted separately, with adjustments for each variety (unlike the big chains). The recipes we used were authentic. The ingredients were fresh. I still have a very picky taste for hot chocolate, because at Diedrich we made our own "muck" instead of using Hershey's syrup. The coffee was honestly and truly brewed fresh and correctly. If ever there was a batch of coffee that tasted off, we would dump the whole thing and start over. It was a business based on the love of coffee.
Unfortunately, like so many other places, Diedrich has barely survived the Starbucks disease. Not only does Sb have the means to make itself so prolific, but it has also dulled the tastes of American coffee drinkers. No offense if you like Starbucks, but that cappucino is not actually a cappucino, the recipe is all wrong. It's blanded to make it palatable. It's not an exaggeration to compare Sb to McDonald's. They actually have one of the worst tasting products you can buy, and yet millions of people a day stop in to buy it. I can list a million things that I hate about Starbucks, but it's a fruitless list. Who cares? They've won.
But tonight, I went to one of the 2 remaining Diedrich stores in my area (there were something like 20 stores in Irvine alone a decade ago) to get a hot chocolate. And it took me right back to being 20 again. The delicious chocolate taste (Hershey's tastes like cocoa powder), the perfectly steamed milk. And the topper: the fresh-made whipped cream with chocolate shavings on top. One taste of that whipped cream made me giggle. It's real cream, with real powdered sugar, made fresh throughout the day. And the chocolate shavings aren't from a can -- they're actually shaved in the store, by real people, from real bars of chocolate.
It's making me a bit nostalgic. Maybe I should write about some of those crazy nights at that store, when we'd have lines (literally) 100 customers deep, and even with 16 people on staff, we were short-handed. You'd never seen a coffeehouse like this one. It's just too bad that it's not still around to share.
I would like to take a moment to encourage everyone who can get into NYC this week to go see RRRED, the Musical, which is in its final week (ends November 17th - so hurry!!).
Tell me you don't love this premise: Redheads are an endangered species. The Oxford Hair Foundation predicts that by the year 2100 the gene that causes red hair will be extinct. That is a real fact. Look it up, then come see the play based on the fact that redheads would not, no...will not take their impending annihilation lightly. In R.R.R.E.D, the Musical, they hold a secret meeting with Instructional Tutorial Musical Lessons (songs) in an effort mobilize and nip this problem in the bud.
PLUS, you get to see the gorgeous Katie Thompson in person which is well worth the price of admission (only $20! That's cheaper than a Cobb salad at Sardis!).
Along the theme of temp jobs, I am using one of Jenn's stories. My cousin Jenn has worked in the staffing industry for several years and has some great stories about the CRAZIEST people. This is one that we quote on nearly a daily basis.
Jennifer finds a temporary assignment for a Vietnamese lady, a recent immigrant who holds some advanced technical degree in Vietnam, but since it isn't acknowledged by our own country, she's only qualified to work in an entry-level position. And this lady is ecstatic about finding work. She calls several times to say thank you. Her family calls to say thank you. It's all very sweet.
On Friday, she comes into the office to pick up her paycheck and she brings Jennifer 2 cans of beans. I think they were kidney beans or something. She tells her that they are a special gift to thank her for all of her kindness and help with finding work. So Jennifer graciously accepts (albeit confused. Are beans a customary gift in Vietnam? What is the appropriate response?) and the lady tells her that she was going to bring a box of chocolates, but she brought these instead. Jennifer tells her that the thought is very sweet and it's perfect timing, because she's on a diet so now she won't be tempted by chocolate. The lady smiles huge and tells her that the diet is a good idea because:
"You fat, but you have small face."
And, as usual, my co-workers are slacking off.
Now who will file the TPS reports?
I'm giving myself a big ol' pat on the back because I FIGURED A THING OUT. Yeah, you heard me. Check that banner for NaBloPoMo, it's a link now. Check it! AND (AND!!) I updated the template page, so that when you click that NaBloPoMo link, you're not looking at some cheap-o generic page, neither. It looks just like this page. Damn, I really am brilliant.
I have this whole, bigger, funnier (I hope) version of the My First Day of Work story, but it's unpolished and I am impatient, so here is the severely edited version. There is so much more that goes into it, but... consider it a work in progress (yeah! that's it!).
~ ~ ~
By 20 years old, I decided that I was done, once and for all, with working on my feet and instead I needed an Office Job. So I went right home and cracked open a newspaper (and a Pennysaver, for good measure!) and scoured the Want Ads. There were something like eleven million listings for Administrative Assistants and I basically circled all the ones that had fax numbers [ed. note: this was pre-email days, and I was too shy to talk to potential employers by phone] and spent the whole afternoon faxing out resumes.
I got one call back almost immediately, and scheduled an interview for the next morning. I was really nervous and excited, and crossed my fingers as I entered the high-rise building and got into the wrong elevator. The building was so tall that it had sets of elevators that only serviced certain floors - FANCY! - and I had gotten into the wrong one. No matter. I just kept thinking of how someday all this fancy elevator business would be "old hat" (as my mother says) and I would stride into that marble and brass lobby and OWN this place. That was going to be great.
So I met with the interviewer (Jennifer) and everything went swimmingly. She offered me the receptionist job on the spot for even more money than I was asking (based on my awesome skillz) and started me on watching the orientation videos. I was dying with excitement. After the videos, the interviewer was gone, but her assistant was really cool and she congratulated me and reminded me of the 9am start time tomorrow. I was bursting when I left the office. Within 45 minutes, I had charmed my way into an exclusive high-rise building with FANCY elevators. Wooo!
So the next morning, I got up extra super early to make sure that there was no possible way that I would be late. I gave myself an hour to drive through traffic and it wasn't until I pulled into the parking structure 8 minutes later that I realized I had been a little over-zealous. No matter! I went to the cafe in the lobby of the building and had breakfast, read a paper, then at about quarter-of, I went upstairs (on the correct elevator this time). I opened the office door, very nervous about my first day, but also excitedly eyeing that front desk. It was so grand! I couldn't wait to add a candy dish and maybe some pictures of my friends? It was going to be awesome. I was there a few minutes before anyone noticed me standing there and when I explained that I was the new-hire, they smiled politely and offered me the couch in the waiting area while they found Jennifer. A few more minutes passed, and Jennifer's assistant came out to greet me and asked if I had everything that I needed. I nodded and said I was ready to get started. She started looking a bit skeptical and told me to wait, that she would need to consult Jennifer.
I thought that somehow, overnight, I had blown the opportunity. No fancy desk. No high-rise building. They found out that I was an idiot and no longer wanted me. My stomach was in tight knots when Jennifer and her assistant came out, laughing. They explained that it was their mistake and each one had thought the other one had given me the assignment. They giggled through their apologies and the assistant went to fetch a print out. I was dumbfounded and completely confused. I smiled along, grateful that I still had the job, but I had no idea what was going on.
The assistant handed me the print-out, which was an address and telephone number of a location that I was supposed to have been at at 9am. Puzzled, I told Jennifer, "I'm not sure I understand. You want me to go to this address and... what exactly?" She looked doubly confused and laid her hand softly on my shoulder, like maybe she was afraid I was going to scream or hit somebody.
"Uh, you know. Type, file, answer phones. It'll just be for 2 weeks while their regular receptionist is on vacation."
"I'm afraid you've lost me. I work here but for 2 weeks I'll be over there?" I was totally dumbfounded. I felt like a total moron.
"Well, yes. You do understand that this is a temp agency, don't you?" And there it was. Me, being 20, naive, stupid, and a little bit STOOPID had somehow managed to interview at a temp agency and NOT EVEN KNOW IT.
Watching Andy Bernard blather on and on about Cornell University reminded me of this boss that I used to have. She was weird in oh so many ways. Back then (about 7 years ago) she was the Global Director of the corporate travel department* for a Fortune 50 company and I was her assistant. Since she was kind of a flake, I essentially learned how and did everything. Which was great experience for me (want to open your own travel agency? Call me! Seriously, I know how!), but sucked since it wasn't really my job.
But I digress. She loved to advantage of the spoils of her position. Which are many, if you're in the travel/hospitality industry. We got free airline tickets, all-expenses paid resort vacations, free dinners up the ying yang. She loved to go to industry events, because we were one of the first corporate travel departments (CTD) in California, which was kind of a big deal, so a lot of people wanted to talk to us. Because of this, she was invited to attend a training course at Cornell University in Ithaca** and she was ridiculously excited about it. It was basically a 2-day seminar (bo-RING) but she kept giggling about how she was going to tell people that she "went to Cornell" because now, it was true.
When she came back to the office, she brought everyone Cornell coffee mugs and pennants. She had a Cornell sweatshirt for herself (that said "alumni" on it) and a whole bunch of swag for her desk that would indicate that she had "gone to Cornell". Weird. So then shortly after, she started taking a University of Phoenix class which she wasn't good at. She'd bring her scribbly notes and text book and ask ME to do her homework for her. I refused and she had a brief nervous breakdown about how work and school was too hard***and so she quit school. Not too long after that, she was laid off.
So anyway, that was a long time ago. But for shits and giggles, I looked her up in LinkedIn today and guess what? Her education references say CORNELL UNIVERSITY and UNIVERSITY OF PHOENIX. HA HA HA HA.
*basically, we started our own internal travel agency
**Cornell has a big hospitality/tourism program that is well-respected
***then, as now, I was working 50+ hours a week and taking at least 2 night classes
Ryan dragged me out of the house for a bit* last night to go to Leonard's art show ("Junk Intentions") which was really awesome. Leonard makes these amazing shrine boxes (the ones in his house are unspeakably cool) and also did a 4-piece set of screenprint/paintings.
One of the other artists had this whole series of images that made me think of Patrick Hughes (that's a compliment). One picture in particular (below) made me think of Styro.
And then I realized: What kind of compliment is that? That when I see 3 grown men in their underpants wearing scary masks that I think of you? In any case, I still love you Styro.
*haven't been feeling that great, so I bunkered down on the couch this weekend.
There was a statue of a lion that was displaying its balls and I made John go stand by it.
I also learned that you cannot judge an outfit by the duck that is wearing it.
You know how some people can't stand kids? Can't relate to them or whatever? I think I am turning into one of those.
This semester, I am taking 2 evening college classes which I am very excited about. Except one huge, gigantic, glaring thing: the classes are FULL of young people. Now, I am not exactly Methuselah, but I am older by these kids by at least a decade. At least. Some of them are 17 and fresh outta high school. Which wouldn't be so bad except that every single one of them is VAPID. They interrupt and interject every chance they get, derailing the teachers (who have 20 years of industry experience) with their stories of how they work in a restaurant? And it's kind of cool? But the boss is kind of dumb? And they had to work late? And they didn't get a bonus? And isn't that just bad PR? -- and what's worse is when they start interjecting each other with tabloid gossip. Ok, I get that this Mass Communications (public relations) class relates to how celebrities are handled in the media BUT do I need a 10 minute diatribe about how you saw Britney on Montel Williams and Oprah says that she thinks Lindsey will be fine because Paris's doctor prescribed Anna Nicole those pills? No, I don't.
I swear, hand-to-heart, that I remember the 17 year old version of myself and I was NOT like this. I know that I was overly excited about everything in the world. I know for a fact that I wore idiotic clothes that I was sure were so incredibly cool (saddle shoes go with everything!!) and that I'd never trust anyone over 30. But holy shiz whiz man. These kids are so freaking clueless that I am actually afraid for the future of America. Plus, it makes a 6pm-10pm class go THAT. MUCH. SLOWER. And it's the double gut-punch bonus when the teacher asks me for some kind of verification on something (because I have been working in the field for 7 years) and they all sneer at me like I am some kind of suck up. Pshaw.
Yesterday, I was dead tired and burned out and just wanted to get home and go to sleep. But what way is that to kick off NaBloPoMo?! NONE AT ALL.
So instead, I dragged my lifeless corpse to see Regina Spektor last night. FAN-FREAKING-FUCKING-TASTIC. I am totally a way late comer, having a chance encounter with her video on VH1 (*gasp*) in the wee morning hours a few months back. I fell head-first in love and somehow in the past 2 weeks Ryan has followed suit. So I checked the website Regsite and it turns out that she was playing a show very near us - RIGHT NOW. So, despite the tired and grumpy, we went. And I am so glad that we did.
She even played our favorite songs! Ryan is obssessed with the Baby Jesus Song and mine is the Ghost of Corporate Future [video below].
