Bank of America to Buy MBNA in $35B Deal
CHARLOTTE, N.C. - Bank of America Corp. on Thursday said it will acquire MBNA Corp. in a $35 billion cash and stock deal that will result in 6,000 jobs cuts but transform the nation's third-largest bank into one of the world's largest credit card issuers. ...
After the deal is completed, Bank of America will have 40 million active credit card accounts, making it one of the leading worldwide payments-services companies and issuers of credit, debit and prepaid cards based on total purchase volume, Lewis said. ...
The merger also gives MBNA a more powerful distribution channel, Hammonds told analysts.
"We can solicit (nationally) through the mail, but we don't have personal contact with potential customers," he said. "Bank of America has that contact." ....
As if the Bank of Avarice (Absurdity, Airheads, Assholes, All-Your-Money or what ever "A" you want to use) didn't already have enough power! Satan is truly incarnate in this world people... and he is A BANK. THIS IS PROOF!!!!
Why do I still have an account with this evil organization? Why? Because they have a lot of atms that's why. And because I'm used to being in an abusive financial relationship... but there's hope for all of you!! Join a credit union my brothers and sisters before it's too late!!!!
I'm going to go cut up my credit cards and beat myself with reeds now.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Gay Dog At The Four Seasons
Michael had a lousy time in Hawaii. He was so happy to come home. The condo they were working on was in a town called Hilo. He says it was the "armpit" of Hawaii. Let's just say there was no Aloha Spirit to be seen.
They were miserable the whole time. So while they (him and our friend Justin) were there they created this fictional character, Gay Dog to entertain themselves. It's a rainbow colored mutt that is incessantly happy. And depending on how they draw him he looks like a dog or a pig.
Don't ask me how they came up with it. There's a whole story that's not that funny but the little voices they do are hysterical. So he's been going around all week talking in a falsetto voice saying, "Don't Shoot! Gay Dog!.... or Pig."
So any way we are splurging this weekend. One night at the Four Seasons. We are getting the Jazz package which includes dinner and a private guests only Jazz Concert. It's worth the $600 Michael says, "because we get a concert, dinner, we can drink alot because we won't have to drive and we get to have sex at the Four Seasons!" Okay, I'm sold! Now mind you, we can't actually afford the Four Seasons but that's not stopping us. Last year we had no fun at all so we are going for broke (literally) and dedicating ourselves to fun.
But I can just see us having beers on the veranda in the Four Seasons restaurant listening to Jazz and every now and then a little voice piping up out of nowhere "Don't Shoot! Gay Dog!.... or Pig."
They were miserable the whole time. So while they (him and our friend Justin) were there they created this fictional character, Gay Dog to entertain themselves. It's a rainbow colored mutt that is incessantly happy. And depending on how they draw him he looks like a dog or a pig.
Don't ask me how they came up with it. There's a whole story that's not that funny but the little voices they do are hysterical. So he's been going around all week talking in a falsetto voice saying, "Don't Shoot! Gay Dog!.... or Pig."
So any way we are splurging this weekend. One night at the Four Seasons. We are getting the Jazz package which includes dinner and a private guests only Jazz Concert. It's worth the $600 Michael says, "because we get a concert, dinner, we can drink alot because we won't have to drive and we get to have sex at the Four Seasons!" Okay, I'm sold! Now mind you, we can't actually afford the Four Seasons but that's not stopping us. Last year we had no fun at all so we are going for broke (literally) and dedicating ourselves to fun.
But I can just see us having beers on the veranda in the Four Seasons restaurant listening to Jazz and every now and then a little voice piping up out of nowhere "Don't Shoot! Gay Dog!.... or Pig."
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Suggestions Needed
Hey everyone, I'm preparing a preposal for a corporate blog for my company and I'm trying to show my bosses how we can do one basically for free (or very cheaply). Also I'm hoping I can just add blogging to my job description since that's what my ass has been doing a lot lately anyway. Can anyone offer suggestions of other blog services and tools that might be interesting and cheap?
Obviously I have Blogger.com. I also have statcounter.com thanks to Sara. And now Pollhost.com thanks to the Invisible One via Sara. But I'd be interested in similar services from other sites as well as unique services. Maybe a design/template site... I dunno... free stuff basically would be good.
Post away... and thanks in advance!
Obviously I have Blogger.com. I also have statcounter.com thanks to Sara. And now Pollhost.com thanks to the Invisible One via Sara. But I'd be interested in similar services from other sites as well as unique services. Maybe a design/template site... I dunno... free stuff basically would be good.
Post away... and thanks in advance!
Monday, June 27, 2005
Some of My Favorite Foods (In No Special Order)
1. The little egg custard tarts & roasted duck from 99 Ranch Market: It’s an Asian market that has the yummiest things you can imagine. I like the little custard tarts. I can eat like 3 of them in one sitting. In fact I just did, cause I went there for lunch. I also got the 2 item combo which consisted of a mountain of fried rice, vegetables and roast duck for just $4.30. You can buy a whole roasted duck there too for about $6. Cheaper than any other place.
2. Crème Brule & Burgundy Beef Tri Tip from Seaside Market: I can’t go into that place with out coming out with both of these items. Sometimes the guy in the deli/bakery department sees me coming and starts getting a Crème Brule ready. They used make chocolate Crème Brule too but not any more. I miss it. The Tri tip will make you moan with passion it’s so good. That is NOT an exaggeration.
3. Comice Pears: Back in college one hot spring day, I bought a pear from a street vendor. It was the sweetest, juiciest pear I’ve ever tasted. It took about 12 years before I found out what kind of pear it was. If you’ve never tasted one, you don’t know what you’re missing.
4. Cakes & pastries from Sweet Lady Jane’s: It’s a bakery in LA. They make the most orgasmic cakes you’ll ever taste, hands down. They also make a kind of canoli called a Janoli which has a crispy, nutty, caramelized shell.
5. Apricots from our old tree: At our old house we had an apricot tree. I had never tasted apricots until I lived there. They were like God’s candy they were so good. Unfortunately we sold the house to bunch of pseudo religious freaks who ended up screwing us out of thousands of dollars. So they get to have those apricots from now on. Grrrrr.
6. Cheese steaks sandwiches from Donkey’s: Donkey’s is a bar in Camden, my home town. Their steak sandwiches have a devoted following. They will even ship them to you in dry ice if you can’t afford the plane fare and the personal security force to escort you into the no man’s land where it’s located.
7. My own French fries: I am French fry Diva. I can’t tell you how proud I was of my baby cousin when my aunt told me his favorite food was French fries. He and I have a special bond because I was one of the first to hold him when he born. I think I had just eaten French fries so he probably imprinted on the scent of fries like a baby bird or something. My fry secret is simple. High. Low. High. Get oil really hot with the flame up high. Throw in the fries, let them crisp up on the outside for a few minutes. Then turn the flame down for a few minutes to let them cook through. Finally turn it up high until they’re golden brown. That’s the secret. Use it wisely.
8. Creamed Mushrooms & Creamed Spinach: I love mushrooms. I love spinach. I love cream. What can a gal do?
9. Garlic: I’m a garlic-aholic. I’m addicted to it. I have to be careful when I cook because most people, especially my man, don’t have as high a garlic tolerance as I do. I once ate a whole head of roasted elephant garlic in one sitting, by MYSELF. (one head of Elephant Garlic is like 3 regular garlic heads) It was wonderful but I paid dearly for it. Let’s just say a whole bottle of Beano could not have saved me.
10. Bread & cheese: I love breads and cheeses in all their forms. I especially love warm loaves of country French that are hard and crusty on the outside and soft on the inside. And soft cheeses like brie.
11. My mom’s sweet potato pies: I know some people think pumpkin pie is all that but frankly I’m nonplussed. My mom’s sweet potato pie is light and custardy not dense and heavy like some recipes. Mom RULES!!!
12. My Dad’s Collard Greens: I can not for the life of me figure out how to make collard greens. I’m genetically predisposed to it coming from a black family in which virtually every member seams to excel at it- but I just can’t do it. I love my dad’s recipe the best. Followed a close second by my grandmother’s. But don’t tell her that.
13. Carmen’s Pink Potato Salad: It’s made with beets. I thought it was weird when she described it to me. I actually asked her not to make it for a party. Then I went to a party that she made it for. It was so damned good, there was not one forkful of that stuff left. So damned good! I have since apologized to her for doubting the superiority of The Pink.
I could go on and on…I love food. How the hell do I not weigh 300lbs? Don’t even get me started on butter!!!
2. Crème Brule & Burgundy Beef Tri Tip from Seaside Market: I can’t go into that place with out coming out with both of these items. Sometimes the guy in the deli/bakery department sees me coming and starts getting a Crème Brule ready. They used make chocolate Crème Brule too but not any more. I miss it. The Tri tip will make you moan with passion it’s so good. That is NOT an exaggeration.
3. Comice Pears: Back in college one hot spring day, I bought a pear from a street vendor. It was the sweetest, juiciest pear I’ve ever tasted. It took about 12 years before I found out what kind of pear it was. If you’ve never tasted one, you don’t know what you’re missing.
4. Cakes & pastries from Sweet Lady Jane’s: It’s a bakery in LA. They make the most orgasmic cakes you’ll ever taste, hands down. They also make a kind of canoli called a Janoli which has a crispy, nutty, caramelized shell.
5. Apricots from our old tree: At our old house we had an apricot tree. I had never tasted apricots until I lived there. They were like God’s candy they were so good. Unfortunately we sold the house to bunch of pseudo religious freaks who ended up screwing us out of thousands of dollars. So they get to have those apricots from now on. Grrrrr.
6. Cheese steaks sandwiches from Donkey’s: Donkey’s is a bar in Camden, my home town. Their steak sandwiches have a devoted following. They will even ship them to you in dry ice if you can’t afford the plane fare and the personal security force to escort you into the no man’s land where it’s located.
7. My own French fries: I am French fry Diva. I can’t tell you how proud I was of my baby cousin when my aunt told me his favorite food was French fries. He and I have a special bond because I was one of the first to hold him when he born. I think I had just eaten French fries so he probably imprinted on the scent of fries like a baby bird or something. My fry secret is simple. High. Low. High. Get oil really hot with the flame up high. Throw in the fries, let them crisp up on the outside for a few minutes. Then turn the flame down for a few minutes to let them cook through. Finally turn it up high until they’re golden brown. That’s the secret. Use it wisely.
8. Creamed Mushrooms & Creamed Spinach: I love mushrooms. I love spinach. I love cream. What can a gal do?
9. Garlic: I’m a garlic-aholic. I’m addicted to it. I have to be careful when I cook because most people, especially my man, don’t have as high a garlic tolerance as I do. I once ate a whole head of roasted elephant garlic in one sitting, by MYSELF. (one head of Elephant Garlic is like 3 regular garlic heads) It was wonderful but I paid dearly for it. Let’s just say a whole bottle of Beano could not have saved me.
10. Bread & cheese: I love breads and cheeses in all their forms. I especially love warm loaves of country French that are hard and crusty on the outside and soft on the inside. And soft cheeses like brie.
11. My mom’s sweet potato pies: I know some people think pumpkin pie is all that but frankly I’m nonplussed. My mom’s sweet potato pie is light and custardy not dense and heavy like some recipes. Mom RULES!!!
12. My Dad’s Collard Greens: I can not for the life of me figure out how to make collard greens. I’m genetically predisposed to it coming from a black family in which virtually every member seams to excel at it- but I just can’t do it. I love my dad’s recipe the best. Followed a close second by my grandmother’s. But don’t tell her that.
13. Carmen’s Pink Potato Salad: It’s made with beets. I thought it was weird when she described it to me. I actually asked her not to make it for a party. Then I went to a party that she made it for. It was so damned good, there was not one forkful of that stuff left. So damned good! I have since apologized to her for doubting the superiority of The Pink.
I could go on and on…I love food. How the hell do I not weigh 300lbs? Don’t even get me started on butter!!!
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Driving home from work...
there was an accident tonight on the 78. It's funny how you can almost tell what happened just by looking at the scene.
Westbound 78: One police car lights flashing. A green sedan, hood smacked up pretty badly. Hysterical woman being calmed by the cops.
Eastbound 78: Two firetrucks (probably from the station off the last exit) and one police car lights flashing. A Motorcycle, riderless, leans against the concrete t-rail. 50 feet up a pickup truck up against the t-rail. A man in a t-shirt leans over the t-rail with his face in his hands.
One mile down the road, look up in the sky: A lifeflight helicopter lands at the hospital just off the freeway.
What I see in my mind’s eye: Pickup truck clips motorcycle. Motorcycle rider flies over median into oncoming traffic. Westbound woman slams into flying rider and then into median. Hysteria ensues. Police and fire trucks arrive, stop traffic. Helicopter arrives. Lands in Eastbound lane to pick up rider. Helicopter takes off. Me and 900 other drivers crawl by and try to shake off the chill of knowing what happened even though we weren’t there.
Damn. Drive carefully people, Please!
Westbound 78: One police car lights flashing. A green sedan, hood smacked up pretty badly. Hysterical woman being calmed by the cops.
Eastbound 78: Two firetrucks (probably from the station off the last exit) and one police car lights flashing. A Motorcycle, riderless, leans against the concrete t-rail. 50 feet up a pickup truck up against the t-rail. A man in a t-shirt leans over the t-rail with his face in his hands.
One mile down the road, look up in the sky: A lifeflight helicopter lands at the hospital just off the freeway.
What I see in my mind’s eye: Pickup truck clips motorcycle. Motorcycle rider flies over median into oncoming traffic. Westbound woman slams into flying rider and then into median. Hysteria ensues. Police and fire trucks arrive, stop traffic. Helicopter arrives. Lands in Eastbound lane to pick up rider. Helicopter takes off. Me and 900 other drivers crawl by and try to shake off the chill of knowing what happened even though we weren’t there.
Damn. Drive carefully people, Please!
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
The Seven Year Itch
Every seven years or so I go through a spiritual crisis. It’s happening again. I mean it’s not like I'll suddenly stop believing in God. I’m keenly aware of Him. Even when I don’t want to be – which is usually when I’m being an asshole.
I don’t doubt the existence of God but I start to question all the “universal truths” that get foisted upon me daily. It has somewhat to do with my denominational choice but not overwhelmingly so. I’m Catholic because the core elements of Catholicism work for me, they resonate in a good way, in the depths of my soul. Depths that I'd basically wouldn't feel at all if there wasn't some healthy resonating going on. The political dreck on the surface of Catholicism is what I tend to skim off. I mean I have opinions about the political dreck (women priests, homosexuality, abortion, yada, yada, yada…) but I don’t assume that church politics = my politics = God’s politics. In fact I’m 99.999% God is entirely apolitical.
So while the politics might be feeding my mood it’s definitely not causing it. My crisis is one of conversation. How do I communicate with God? My prayer skills are weak. I’ve never been able to sense my own sincerity in “Dear God, please forgive me for…” or “Now I lay me down to sleep…”
During my last spiritual crisis it was the same. It was a little over seven years ago. I was unemployed. Living in Los Angeles. No relationship at the time. My first apartment on my own. Still trying to quiet the raging bitterness of a dead relationship that I had no business in in the first place. I read “The Artist Way.” It was really helpful, over-simplified but liberating. I wrote some really pissed off letters to God. He took it all very well. I read “St. George, the Dragon & the Quest for The Holy Grail” it really helped me look at God in new and different ways. I started watching the stars. I became convinced that the planet Venus (which looks like a star and could be seen from my bedroom window at night) was a special gift from God to me… a nightly reminder that He was there. I always felt like He was LISTENING when I looked at the night sky.
Sometimes I’d put on meditative Native American or African drum music, light incense and dance by candlelight…Seriously, don’t laugh, I did that. It was relaxing; I called it my prayer dance. (It was all very new agey. But I'm sure would have been burned at the stake for it 400 years ago.) And sometimes I just sat in hot bubble-bath and drank wine. I’d go hiking in the mountains, drive up to the Serra Retreat in Malibu or further up to El Pescador beach and watch the ocean. I explored the entire length of Mulholland Drive from Hollywood to the sea, just driving and experiencing it. Everything was about talking to God and listening to what He had to say through the world around me. It was cool. I felt connected and strong.
And then something changed. I got a job. Then it got worse. I got into another relationship I had no business being in. The world started talking to me on it’s own without God’s input and…. Oh that’s a lie… lets’ be honest. I basically dropped God like a hot potato for a regular paycheck and some hot sticky sex.
Well here I am with a different job and in a relationship that is good for me and it’s not enough. I keep trying to strike up a conversation again. But I can’t. I’m pretty sure He’s listening. I’m taking it on faith that God’s above petty attitudes that us mere humans have in such cases. He’s not blowing me off, cause I blew him off. I just don’t know what to say, how to say it or how to listen to any answer.
I’ve been reading the books again. But I can’t stay focused. I’ve got about 6-10 “spirituality” books including the Bible crammed into my nightstand. Oh and one cookbook. The god-books all make perfect sense except that they don’t agree. And I feel like I'm being talked down to. I feel like I'm being sold something. I feel like I'm being distracted from something more important, something special. My mother-in-law sends me daily Christian missives by email. I try to read them but they just seam to shut my soul down. I just want to run away. Maybe to the woods, to listen to God. But I can’t because my life is too busy. It's not fair. I shouldn't have to be lonely and broke to make the connection again. No wonder all the biblical prophets were broke-ass nomads with no woman.
If you told me that I had to spend the rest of my life on a deserted island and I could only take 2 items from my nightstand. At this point I’d take my tweezers and the cookbook, because I think I’d rather God find his own way of communicating with me - sans the babble of his interpreters, because a good meal will be the key to long life and happiness if He decides not to talk to me, and because bushy eyebrows on my face are the most ungodly sight imaginable.
I don’t doubt the existence of God but I start to question all the “universal truths” that get foisted upon me daily. It has somewhat to do with my denominational choice but not overwhelmingly so. I’m Catholic because the core elements of Catholicism work for me, they resonate in a good way, in the depths of my soul. Depths that I'd basically wouldn't feel at all if there wasn't some healthy resonating going on. The political dreck on the surface of Catholicism is what I tend to skim off. I mean I have opinions about the political dreck (women priests, homosexuality, abortion, yada, yada, yada…) but I don’t assume that church politics = my politics = God’s politics. In fact I’m 99.999% God is entirely apolitical.
So while the politics might be feeding my mood it’s definitely not causing it. My crisis is one of conversation. How do I communicate with God? My prayer skills are weak. I’ve never been able to sense my own sincerity in “Dear God, please forgive me for…” or “Now I lay me down to sleep…”
During my last spiritual crisis it was the same. It was a little over seven years ago. I was unemployed. Living in Los Angeles. No relationship at the time. My first apartment on my own. Still trying to quiet the raging bitterness of a dead relationship that I had no business in in the first place. I read “The Artist Way.” It was really helpful, over-simplified but liberating. I wrote some really pissed off letters to God. He took it all very well. I read “St. George, the Dragon & the Quest for The Holy Grail” it really helped me look at God in new and different ways. I started watching the stars. I became convinced that the planet Venus (which looks like a star and could be seen from my bedroom window at night) was a special gift from God to me… a nightly reminder that He was there. I always felt like He was LISTENING when I looked at the night sky.
Sometimes I’d put on meditative Native American or African drum music, light incense and dance by candlelight…Seriously, don’t laugh, I did that. It was relaxing; I called it my prayer dance. (It was all very new agey. But I'm sure would have been burned at the stake for it 400 years ago.) And sometimes I just sat in hot bubble-bath and drank wine. I’d go hiking in the mountains, drive up to the Serra Retreat in Malibu or further up to El Pescador beach and watch the ocean. I explored the entire length of Mulholland Drive from Hollywood to the sea, just driving and experiencing it. Everything was about talking to God and listening to what He had to say through the world around me. It was cool. I felt connected and strong.
And then something changed. I got a job. Then it got worse. I got into another relationship I had no business being in. The world started talking to me on it’s own without God’s input and…. Oh that’s a lie… lets’ be honest. I basically dropped God like a hot potato for a regular paycheck and some hot sticky sex.
Well here I am with a different job and in a relationship that is good for me and it’s not enough. I keep trying to strike up a conversation again. But I can’t. I’m pretty sure He’s listening. I’m taking it on faith that God’s above petty attitudes that us mere humans have in such cases. He’s not blowing me off, cause I blew him off. I just don’t know what to say, how to say it or how to listen to any answer.
I’ve been reading the books again. But I can’t stay focused. I’ve got about 6-10 “spirituality” books including the Bible crammed into my nightstand. Oh and one cookbook. The god-books all make perfect sense except that they don’t agree. And I feel like I'm being talked down to. I feel like I'm being sold something. I feel like I'm being distracted from something more important, something special. My mother-in-law sends me daily Christian missives by email. I try to read them but they just seam to shut my soul down. I just want to run away. Maybe to the woods, to listen to God. But I can’t because my life is too busy. It's not fair. I shouldn't have to be lonely and broke to make the connection again. No wonder all the biblical prophets were broke-ass nomads with no woman.
If you told me that I had to spend the rest of my life on a deserted island and I could only take 2 items from my nightstand. At this point I’d take my tweezers and the cookbook, because I think I’d rather God find his own way of communicating with me - sans the babble of his interpreters, because a good meal will be the key to long life and happiness if He decides not to talk to me, and because bushy eyebrows on my face are the most ungodly sight imaginable.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Hehehehe (nervous laughter)...
Warning: Your Clever Little Blog Could Get You Fired
Note to self: go back and alter dates & times of blog postings to reflect evening and weekends only.
Note to self: go back and alter dates & times of blog postings to reflect evening and weekends only.
Guilty Pleasures
I've added a few new places of interest to the blog roll... ;D
Been haunting these guys alot lately and they haven't flamed me so I figure I should give them a few props.
Bad News Blonde
Humanity Critic
Fat Chance's Movie Dialog
Query Letters I Love
Welcome Ya'll
Been haunting these guys alot lately and they haven't flamed me so I figure I should give them a few props.
Bad News Blonde
Humanity Critic
Fat Chance's Movie Dialog
Query Letters I Love
Welcome Ya'll
Friday, June 10, 2005
My Seven Most Embarrassing Habits
Recently I responded to one of Craig’s posts with a confession about a really bad habit I have. Upon reflection I realized that I have a lot of really bad habits that tend to get me into trouble. Here are seven of them including the one I revealed to Craig.
Feeling Myself Up: Sometimes when my mind wanders, I will actually reach inside my blouse or shirt and start fondling my boobs. It starts out that I’m just stroking my neck but gradually for no apparent reason other than perhaps gravity, my hand just descends into my décolletage (fancy-schmancy speak for “cleavage”) and I start groping myself. I don't know why I do it, it's not intentional. I don't even notice it at first. It just happens! I suddenly realize that I've got a handful of breast and I'm like "oh shit!" I guess it’s the female equivalent of scratching your balls. So far no one's caught me doing it. Incidentally, I’ve also caught myself with my hand down the front of my pants. Fortunately, this has only happened at home, usually after meals when I’ve undone that top button on my jeans while I’m watching T.V. Michael has caught me at that numerous times and constantly hazes me on it. He says I look like the father on Married With Children. T.V is also a contributor to the next bad habit on the list…
Being Late: I hate being late. But I do it a lot. I know better. I know I should go to bed early but I still stay up. I watch T.V., do chores, read, whatever. Then I go to bed late. So, of course, I get up late. In fact, I’ve been know to get up late even when I wake up early. If I’m supposed to get up at 6am but I wake up at 5:45am I’ll feel like I’m cheating myself out of sleep. So I’ll spend 14 minutes forcing myself back to sleep. Then I oversleep by 30 minutes and have to rush to work. I end up 20 minutes late even when I know I have an 8:15 meeting every damn morning. I walk in late and feel like an idiot. I hate myself for it. I curse myself out the whole drive in. And then I berate myself all day for it. Which leads me to…
Talking To Myself: I do this a lot. I have random conversations with myself. I practice what I’m going to say to other people. Usually it’s an argument I plan to have or something clever I want to say but I want it to sound spontaneous. (How ironic is that?) Only I do it out loud. I try to do it in my head. I even THINK I’m doing it in my head. Only I suddenly realize my mouth IS MOVING, SOUND is coming out and I'm GESTICULATING like an angry Italian. I do it in my car a lot. Sometimes I see people looking at me. Then to cover myself, I’ll start bobbing my head to “music” and pretending that I’m singing with the radio. But sometimes I do it in the bathroom at work or in my office. That’s REALLY bad. I once caught myself doing it quietly in the bathroom while someone was in the stall next to me. I had to pretend I was taking a really hard crap and was only groaning. (Intense bowel movements being only slightly less embarrassing than talking to your ass, I reasoned.) Another time a co-worker walked by my office and caught me staring at my desk having an animated but silent discussion with some papers in front of me. I played it off like I was just reading something I had written back to myself. But he still laughed at me. This habit is a close cousin to…
Making Faces: I make faces frequently and inappropriately. It’s actually an empathic response gone awry. For example, the president of our company is a very dramatic man. When he makes speeches meant to fire us up, I tend to absent-mindedly mimic his facial expressions to the point where it looks like I’m mocking him. I’ve gotten the “angry double take” look a few times. Mostly I do it with T.V. though, I just mimic the actors expressions. I only notice when Michael points it out to me. “Man you really get into these shows don’t you?” Er… yeah. Maybe I have a subconscious desire to be an actor. But I wouldn’t be very good because of my other habit of…
Not Having A Poker Face aka Bad Liar Syndrome: There was this really hot guy in college that I had a crush on. Not a serious crush but a Lust From Afar Crush. But all through college he dated this really gorgeous girl and they ended up getting married. Well a few years after graduation we were all at a mutual friend’s wedding. A bunch of the bridesmaids were gathered around him "ooohing and ahhhing" because he was showing pictures of their newborn son. Well I HAD to see this baby, because the kid had the best DNA in the world going for him in the looks department. Maybe my expectations were too high, but when the picture came to me I was in shock. I have never seen a scarier looking baby. I’m not trying to be mean but let me say that anyone who tells you that “all babies are beautiful” hadn’t seen this baby. We're talking 2 bolts shy of Frankenbaby, folks. The head on this kid was GINORMOUS!!! I was stunned… I couldn’t even muster an appropriate response… I just stuttered… "He’s… so…BIG.” Let's just say that's NOT the ideal reaction to have... especially when coupled with the look of horror that was on my face. From Proud Daddy's reaction I may as well of puked on the picture. He practically snatched it back and shoved it in his wallet. I felt like total shit. I want to note that aside from sheer unattractiveness this kid had no other genetic abnormalities that I could see. And while I am quite certain that the child's genetic code will eventually unscramble itself and he will grow up as gorgeous as God intended, there was simply NO WAY I could have convincingly cooed "oh he's sooo cuuute!!" the way my friends were doing. Needless to say Daddy didn’t speak to me again after that. Which is just as well because I would probably have managed to insult him again by forgetting the kid’s name.
Forgetting Names: I know, I know; everybody forgets names. But I’m special. My brain has a 0MB cache for names. “Hi, my name is Joan.” “Oh nice to meet you.” (3 seconds elapse) “What was your name again?” Seriously, that’s how bad it is. The problem could be partially alleviated by repeating the name; ex. “Oh, hi Joan, nice to meet you.” That would help a lot I know. But for some reason I don’t do it. Even when I do, I still seem to suffer from a 5 minute total memory refresh. So I come off as a disinterested ass. Which is only confirmed by…
Not Listening or Pretending to Listen Unconvincingly: Actually it’s not that I don’t listen. I do. It’s that either I’m doing it too slowly or I really need to say something and you’re still talking. For example you might start telling me about the great new car that you just got and in my mind I’m thinking “that’s expensive... a gas-guzzler too... and insurance is gonna rape you…” Only I'm not saying it out loud because you're so happy and I don't want to be a buzzkill. But by this time you’re asking if I want go for a ride and I’m not responding. So now you think that I think your new car sucks or that I could simply care less, which isn't the case at all. However, it's not that I wasn’t listening it’s just that I was listening DEEPLY to the ramifications of a new car on your life. Other times I really need to talk about something but I don’t want to seem pushy so I ask a question to break the ice. I do this to Michael a lot. I’ll ask him how his day was, when I’m really bursting to find out when he’s gonna have time for me, cause he’s been working so much. But the problem is he now thinks I ACTUALLY want to know how his day was. So he says he’s been working in the yard…yada yada yada… but all I hear in my mind is “I wonder if he’s gonna be too tired to go to a movie tonight, maybe he’ll want to go this weekend, unless he decides to work on the car. Maybe I should wear something sexy to change his mind…” But suddenly he's not talking. I have to say something but I don't know where the conversation is because I haven't been paying attention so I say “so did you work in the yard today?” And he looks at me like WTF? “Are you listening to me?! I JUST TOLD YOU I WORKED IN THE YARD ALL DAY!!” Again, it’s not that I wasn't listening exactly, it’s just that I really DIDN’T WANT HIM TO BE TALKING. Which is NOT actually the same thing. Of course, there are other times that I’m not listening, for real. I always get nailed on this, so I should really stop. I do this a lot when I’m talking to people on the phone and trying to do something else at the same time… like responding to emails, cooking dinner, watching T.V. or … feeling myself up.
Feeling Myself Up: Sometimes when my mind wanders, I will actually reach inside my blouse or shirt and start fondling my boobs. It starts out that I’m just stroking my neck but gradually for no apparent reason other than perhaps gravity, my hand just descends into my décolletage (fancy-schmancy speak for “cleavage”) and I start groping myself. I don't know why I do it, it's not intentional. I don't even notice it at first. It just happens! I suddenly realize that I've got a handful of breast and I'm like "oh shit!" I guess it’s the female equivalent of scratching your balls. So far no one's caught me doing it. Incidentally, I’ve also caught myself with my hand down the front of my pants. Fortunately, this has only happened at home, usually after meals when I’ve undone that top button on my jeans while I’m watching T.V. Michael has caught me at that numerous times and constantly hazes me on it. He says I look like the father on Married With Children. T.V is also a contributor to the next bad habit on the list…
Being Late: I hate being late. But I do it a lot. I know better. I know I should go to bed early but I still stay up. I watch T.V., do chores, read, whatever. Then I go to bed late. So, of course, I get up late. In fact, I’ve been know to get up late even when I wake up early. If I’m supposed to get up at 6am but I wake up at 5:45am I’ll feel like I’m cheating myself out of sleep. So I’ll spend 14 minutes forcing myself back to sleep. Then I oversleep by 30 minutes and have to rush to work. I end up 20 minutes late even when I know I have an 8:15 meeting every damn morning. I walk in late and feel like an idiot. I hate myself for it. I curse myself out the whole drive in. And then I berate myself all day for it. Which leads me to…
Talking To Myself: I do this a lot. I have random conversations with myself. I practice what I’m going to say to other people. Usually it’s an argument I plan to have or something clever I want to say but I want it to sound spontaneous. (How ironic is that?) Only I do it out loud. I try to do it in my head. I even THINK I’m doing it in my head. Only I suddenly realize my mouth IS MOVING, SOUND is coming out and I'm GESTICULATING like an angry Italian. I do it in my car a lot. Sometimes I see people looking at me. Then to cover myself, I’ll start bobbing my head to “music” and pretending that I’m singing with the radio. But sometimes I do it in the bathroom at work or in my office. That’s REALLY bad. I once caught myself doing it quietly in the bathroom while someone was in the stall next to me. I had to pretend I was taking a really hard crap and was only groaning. (Intense bowel movements being only slightly less embarrassing than talking to your ass, I reasoned.) Another time a co-worker walked by my office and caught me staring at my desk having an animated but silent discussion with some papers in front of me. I played it off like I was just reading something I had written back to myself. But he still laughed at me. This habit is a close cousin to…
Making Faces: I make faces frequently and inappropriately. It’s actually an empathic response gone awry. For example, the president of our company is a very dramatic man. When he makes speeches meant to fire us up, I tend to absent-mindedly mimic his facial expressions to the point where it looks like I’m mocking him. I’ve gotten the “angry double take” look a few times. Mostly I do it with T.V. though, I just mimic the actors expressions. I only notice when Michael points it out to me. “Man you really get into these shows don’t you?” Er… yeah. Maybe I have a subconscious desire to be an actor. But I wouldn’t be very good because of my other habit of…
Not Having A Poker Face aka Bad Liar Syndrome: There was this really hot guy in college that I had a crush on. Not a serious crush but a Lust From Afar Crush. But all through college he dated this really gorgeous girl and they ended up getting married. Well a few years after graduation we were all at a mutual friend’s wedding. A bunch of the bridesmaids were gathered around him "ooohing and ahhhing" because he was showing pictures of their newborn son. Well I HAD to see this baby, because the kid had the best DNA in the world going for him in the looks department. Maybe my expectations were too high, but when the picture came to me I was in shock. I have never seen a scarier looking baby. I’m not trying to be mean but let me say that anyone who tells you that “all babies are beautiful” hadn’t seen this baby. We're talking 2 bolts shy of Frankenbaby, folks. The head on this kid was GINORMOUS!!! I was stunned… I couldn’t even muster an appropriate response… I just stuttered… "He’s… so…BIG.” Let's just say that's NOT the ideal reaction to have... especially when coupled with the look of horror that was on my face. From Proud Daddy's reaction I may as well of puked on the picture. He practically snatched it back and shoved it in his wallet. I felt like total shit. I want to note that aside from sheer unattractiveness this kid had no other genetic abnormalities that I could see. And while I am quite certain that the child's genetic code will eventually unscramble itself and he will grow up as gorgeous as God intended, there was simply NO WAY I could have convincingly cooed "oh he's sooo cuuute!!" the way my friends were doing. Needless to say Daddy didn’t speak to me again after that. Which is just as well because I would probably have managed to insult him again by forgetting the kid’s name.
Forgetting Names: I know, I know; everybody forgets names. But I’m special. My brain has a 0MB cache for names. “Hi, my name is Joan.” “Oh nice to meet you.” (3 seconds elapse) “What was your name again?” Seriously, that’s how bad it is. The problem could be partially alleviated by repeating the name; ex. “Oh, hi Joan, nice to meet you.” That would help a lot I know. But for some reason I don’t do it. Even when I do, I still seem to suffer from a 5 minute total memory refresh. So I come off as a disinterested ass. Which is only confirmed by…
Not Listening or Pretending to Listen Unconvincingly: Actually it’s not that I don’t listen. I do. It’s that either I’m doing it too slowly or I really need to say something and you’re still talking. For example you might start telling me about the great new car that you just got and in my mind I’m thinking “that’s expensive... a gas-guzzler too... and insurance is gonna rape you…” Only I'm not saying it out loud because you're so happy and I don't want to be a buzzkill. But by this time you’re asking if I want go for a ride and I’m not responding. So now you think that I think your new car sucks or that I could simply care less, which isn't the case at all. However, it's not that I wasn’t listening it’s just that I was listening DEEPLY to the ramifications of a new car on your life. Other times I really need to talk about something but I don’t want to seem pushy so I ask a question to break the ice. I do this to Michael a lot. I’ll ask him how his day was, when I’m really bursting to find out when he’s gonna have time for me, cause he’s been working so much. But the problem is he now thinks I ACTUALLY want to know how his day was. So he says he’s been working in the yard…yada yada yada… but all I hear in my mind is “I wonder if he’s gonna be too tired to go to a movie tonight, maybe he’ll want to go this weekend, unless he decides to work on the car. Maybe I should wear something sexy to change his mind…” But suddenly he's not talking. I have to say something but I don't know where the conversation is because I haven't been paying attention so I say “so did you work in the yard today?” And he looks at me like WTF? “Are you listening to me?! I JUST TOLD YOU I WORKED IN THE YARD ALL DAY!!” Again, it’s not that I wasn't listening exactly, it’s just that I really DIDN’T WANT HIM TO BE TALKING. Which is NOT actually the same thing. Of course, there are other times that I’m not listening, for real. I always get nailed on this, so I should really stop. I do this a lot when I’m talking to people on the phone and trying to do something else at the same time… like responding to emails, cooking dinner, watching T.V. or … feeling myself up.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Bugs
One of the consequences of living in suburbia is that you get all the country bugs. It has nothing to do with how clean you keep your house either. As far at the bugs are concerned your house is just a really interesting tree that may or may not be edible or at least have something edible in it. I’ve pretty much given up on trying to kill and/or evict them by catching them in containers and tossing them out the front door. I just let them starve to death and then vacuum them later. Except for the really BIG ones, those get booted or flushed.
Ants. For some reason the ants really like my dirty underwear. I literally get ants in my pants when I toss them in the hamper. I know it’s my underwear they are after because last night I came home and the hamper was covered in them and the only thing in it was the blue panties I’d worn the previous day. I pondered, “but why party in my dirty panties?” So my logic went something like this… “Ants like sweet things. Sugar is sweet. Candy is made from sugar. Therefore My Ass Smells Like CANDY!!! Yeah!!!” Now testing this theory against past experiences being alone in a room with my own farts, I quickly realized the flaw in my logic. So I reasoned again. “Ants also swarm the decomposing bodies of other hapless insects who die of starvation in our house. Therefore My Ass Smells Like DEATH!!! Damn.” Leave it to ants to make a person feel small.
Spiders. I actually don’t mind spiders. I figure spiders eat most of the other bugs so I pretty much let them live. The exceptions being if they are in the bedroom or the kitchen or if they are bigger than my face. In that case those suckers get captured and evicted. Lately they have taken to hanging out in the shower. I got tired of having to run to the front door wearing nothing but a towel just to toss them outside, so now Itsy Bitsy gets his ass washed down the water spout. But it never fails that in a day or two, a new spider takes its place.
The Country Cousins of Cockroaches. There are certain beetle type bugs that look like the cockroaches and waterbugs we used to get back when I was a kid living in Camden. But they are not cockroaches or waterbugs. I know this because they move too damn slow. Cockroaches and waterbugs have evolved to survive a nuclear holocaust if necessary so the suckers can out run your shoe no problem. These country bugs were basically created to feed elderly birds whose eyesight is failing and who move slowly. There was one in the closet two nights ago. He was weak with exhaustion because he’d gotten his legs caught in the pile of the carpet and couldn’t get loose. That shit would never happen to a cockroach. There was another one about 3 inches long in the bathroom this morning. I caught him in a toilet paper roll (didn’t even have to block the ends of it), dumped him in the bowl and flushed him. A cockroach would never have fallen for that, even if it was sleeping.
Stink Bugs. One of those backwoods cockroach relatives. When they get scared they point their little asses up at you and fart. It’s a defense mechanism. It doesn’t work (except maybe on elderly birds). My nephews like to step on them to release their gaseous fumes.
Rolly Pollys. A stupid little bug that curls up into a ball when it feels threatened. Unfortunately, when danger has passed it usually unrolls and ends up on its back. Then it can’t turn itself back over. It subsequently starves to death in that position and is then eaten by ants on their way to a party in my underwear.
I do love nature.
Ants. For some reason the ants really like my dirty underwear. I literally get ants in my pants when I toss them in the hamper. I know it’s my underwear they are after because last night I came home and the hamper was covered in them and the only thing in it was the blue panties I’d worn the previous day. I pondered, “but why party in my dirty panties?” So my logic went something like this… “Ants like sweet things. Sugar is sweet. Candy is made from sugar. Therefore My Ass Smells Like CANDY!!! Yeah!!!” Now testing this theory against past experiences being alone in a room with my own farts, I quickly realized the flaw in my logic. So I reasoned again. “Ants also swarm the decomposing bodies of other hapless insects who die of starvation in our house. Therefore My Ass Smells Like DEATH!!! Damn.” Leave it to ants to make a person feel small.
Spiders. I actually don’t mind spiders. I figure spiders eat most of the other bugs so I pretty much let them live. The exceptions being if they are in the bedroom or the kitchen or if they are bigger than my face. In that case those suckers get captured and evicted. Lately they have taken to hanging out in the shower. I got tired of having to run to the front door wearing nothing but a towel just to toss them outside, so now Itsy Bitsy gets his ass washed down the water spout. But it never fails that in a day or two, a new spider takes its place.
The Country Cousins of Cockroaches. There are certain beetle type bugs that look like the cockroaches and waterbugs we used to get back when I was a kid living in Camden. But they are not cockroaches or waterbugs. I know this because they move too damn slow. Cockroaches and waterbugs have evolved to survive a nuclear holocaust if necessary so the suckers can out run your shoe no problem. These country bugs were basically created to feed elderly birds whose eyesight is failing and who move slowly. There was one in the closet two nights ago. He was weak with exhaustion because he’d gotten his legs caught in the pile of the carpet and couldn’t get loose. That shit would never happen to a cockroach. There was another one about 3 inches long in the bathroom this morning. I caught him in a toilet paper roll (didn’t even have to block the ends of it), dumped him in the bowl and flushed him. A cockroach would never have fallen for that, even if it was sleeping.
Stink Bugs. One of those backwoods cockroach relatives. When they get scared they point their little asses up at you and fart. It’s a defense mechanism. It doesn’t work (except maybe on elderly birds). My nephews like to step on them to release their gaseous fumes.
Rolly Pollys. A stupid little bug that curls up into a ball when it feels threatened. Unfortunately, when danger has passed it usually unrolls and ends up on its back. Then it can’t turn itself back over. It subsequently starves to death in that position and is then eaten by ants on their way to a party in my underwear.
I do love nature.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
So NOT Focused Today
I am a victim of lack of focus lately. I have shitloads.. and I do mean shitloads of work to do. But my mind is scattered. I don’t understand why. I mean I’ve been taking vitamins. I’ve been sleeping through the night. I haven’t been drinking. What gives?
I think it’s all that’s going on. Wedding planning (mine). Baby shower planning (for 2 different co-workers, not for me). Working the Marathon last weekend. Playing single mom to the cats while my man’s away… (if we have kids and he leaves me, he’s gonna have to take them with him cause the cats are kicking my butt). Keeping the house mostly clean. Ignoring the laundry and ironing. Doing yard work, which I pretty much avoid like the plague. Arranging for deliveries at the house when I’m not there. Training classes at work. My actual job. Trying to find a new location for my reception. Oh and just a bunch of other piddly things that keep me from doing what’s really important in life… BLOGGING!
Of course I’ve be lurking like a fiend lately on everyone else’s site. So I figure I better post something soon before people start flaming my old posts.
I swear I’ll be back to normal next week…. Hopefully.
I think it’s all that’s going on. Wedding planning (mine). Baby shower planning (for 2 different co-workers, not for me). Working the Marathon last weekend. Playing single mom to the cats while my man’s away… (if we have kids and he leaves me, he’s gonna have to take them with him cause the cats are kicking my butt). Keeping the house mostly clean. Ignoring the laundry and ironing. Doing yard work, which I pretty much avoid like the plague. Arranging for deliveries at the house when I’m not there. Training classes at work. My actual job. Trying to find a new location for my reception. Oh and just a bunch of other piddly things that keep me from doing what’s really important in life… BLOGGING!
Of course I’ve be lurking like a fiend lately on everyone else’s site. So I figure I better post something soon before people start flaming my old posts.
I swear I’ll be back to normal next week…. Hopefully.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Do some people really SUCK or what?
What a day! What was supposed to be a productive day working from home has turned into a personal nightmare.
I've been trying to plan our wedding in October. One of the most important things to us was the reception. We both really wanted a laidback casual beach side reception. The kind where everyone can bring their bathing suits, picnic outside, play volleyball, surf...(you can still do that stuff in SD in early October).
I started looking over a month ago and after a few weeks of searching I found the perfect little beach house. It was in our price range, right on the sand, just minutes away from the church. I planned to rent it for a week so we would be able to do a bridal shower and rehearsal dinner at the same place. It was gonna save us more than a thousand dollars , plus offer additional housing for guests who were traveling from out of town.
Two weeks ago I sent a deposit of $500 along with a letter confirming all the details of the rental-- price, security deposit, dates, number of guests, etc. I asked the owner to confirm with me right away if I had mistated anything.
This morning (after 2 WEEKS) she calls me claiming that she had just now read my letter and that I was confused about the rate... that it's $3K not $2k for the week since our reception guest list is 40 people (which I had told her from day one)-- that's 40 people who, by the way, are not actually STAYING there, these are reception guests who will be there total of 6 HOURS!! Apparently ($2K is her rate for 20 people... but she gets $3K for 21-50 people!! ... or for just 2 people depending on which side of her face she's talking out of.) Also if we go over 50 people she will double the total rental. Oh and the refundable security deposit is $200 more than what she originally said. She even changed the check-in and check-out times!
Before I could say anything, she says she'll have to rip up my check and put it back up for rent. And that if I want it I'll have to give her another check. Can you believe this woman? "okay sounds good, Mam, but how much more would it be if you set that hoop on fire and doused me with gasoline before I jump through it."
She must think I'm a fool. I'll bet I know exactly what happened. She more than likely figured out that the date was Columbus Day Weekend. She was probably getting a lot of demand and thought "damn I can get at least another $1000 more for this place." I suspect she'd probably rented it to someone else already and laid down terms too ludicrous for any rational human being to accept.
After having a long cry over the loss of my dream wedding reception; I wrote her an email, far more polite than she deserved, explaining my disappointment and loss of trust.
Now get this... she had the nerve to write me back and say that because of my email I had lost any chance of ever renting that property! You're kidding me right? Does she really think I would ever trust her again? I wrote her back and told her that my email was meant to imply that I had lost all DESIRE to rent the property ever again. Having to get the last word she replies with a terse "Good Luck." What a child! I take that back... I don't want to insult children. I love children. What a petty little bitch! Wait I take that back I like dogs too... especially petty female ones. Aw screw it ...she's not worth the insult!!!
Well I pray that the Karma gods were awake today. I hope whoever she was so hot to rent to is a sociopath who trashes her place... or maybe some drug dealer who sets up a temporary meth lab that explodes... oh how about some college kid who accidentally burns the place down... better yet an attorney who accidentally falls off the balcony and then sues her for everything she's worth and ends up owning that F*#@ing beach house!!!! Amen!
Well I can hope can't I?
There I vented... I feel better now. Thank you all for listening.
I've been trying to plan our wedding in October. One of the most important things to us was the reception. We both really wanted a laidback casual beach side reception. The kind where everyone can bring their bathing suits, picnic outside, play volleyball, surf...(you can still do that stuff in SD in early October).
I started looking over a month ago and after a few weeks of searching I found the perfect little beach house. It was in our price range, right on the sand, just minutes away from the church. I planned to rent it for a week so we would be able to do a bridal shower and rehearsal dinner at the same place. It was gonna save us more than a thousand dollars , plus offer additional housing for guests who were traveling from out of town.
Two weeks ago I sent a deposit of $500 along with a letter confirming all the details of the rental-- price, security deposit, dates, number of guests, etc. I asked the owner to confirm with me right away if I had mistated anything.
This morning (after 2 WEEKS) she calls me claiming that she had just now read my letter and that I was confused about the rate... that it's $3K not $2k for the week since our reception guest list is 40 people (which I had told her from day one)-- that's 40 people who, by the way, are not actually STAYING there, these are reception guests who will be there total of 6 HOURS!! Apparently ($2K is her rate for 20 people... but she gets $3K for 21-50 people!! ... or for just 2 people depending on which side of her face she's talking out of.) Also if we go over 50 people she will double the total rental. Oh and the refundable security deposit is $200 more than what she originally said. She even changed the check-in and check-out times!
Before I could say anything, she says she'll have to rip up my check and put it back up for rent. And that if I want it I'll have to give her another check. Can you believe this woman? "okay sounds good, Mam, but how much more would it be if you set that hoop on fire and doused me with gasoline before I jump through it."
She must think I'm a fool. I'll bet I know exactly what happened. She more than likely figured out that the date was Columbus Day Weekend. She was probably getting a lot of demand and thought "damn I can get at least another $1000 more for this place." I suspect she'd probably rented it to someone else already and laid down terms too ludicrous for any rational human being to accept.
After having a long cry over the loss of my dream wedding reception; I wrote her an email, far more polite than she deserved, explaining my disappointment and loss of trust.
Now get this... she had the nerve to write me back and say that because of my email I had lost any chance of ever renting that property! You're kidding me right? Does she really think I would ever trust her again? I wrote her back and told her that my email was meant to imply that I had lost all DESIRE to rent the property ever again. Having to get the last word she replies with a terse "Good Luck." What a child! I take that back... I don't want to insult children. I love children. What a petty little bitch! Wait I take that back I like dogs too... especially petty female ones. Aw screw it ...she's not worth the insult!!!
Well I pray that the Karma gods were awake today. I hope whoever she was so hot to rent to is a sociopath who trashes her place... or maybe some drug dealer who sets up a temporary meth lab that explodes... oh how about some college kid who accidentally burns the place down... better yet an attorney who accidentally falls off the balcony and then sues her for everything she's worth and ends up owning that F*#@ing beach house!!!! Amen!
Well I can hope can't I?
There I vented... I feel better now. Thank you all for listening.
Telecommuting....
I love telecommunting. It's the only time I can sleep til 7:45. Get up, shower and be at work at 8:00am. Well unless I sleep in the locker room at work. Which would suck. But happily I am here at home. Trying to get done all the crap that I get interrupted doing during the week. And best of all, I don't have to do my hair.
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