Only because everyone else has these lists. These are in addition to the Six Weird Things About Me.
1. I am left-handed.
2. I can drive stick.
3. I cannot do math. At all. Not even add or subtract. My checkbook is always off by some random amount, like right now I'm off by $4.11.
4. States I've lived in include: VA, NC, SC, IN
5. I've never been west of Kansas.
6. I've been in 2 tornadoes. NOT fun.
7. I can't sing, but I love to try when I'm alone.
8. My ethnic background is 2/3 Irish. The rest is Scottish, English and German.
9. I am a bottle blonde. I secretly want platinum blonde hair like Marilyn Monroe.
10. This ethnic makeup means my skin is Honkey White in color. But I tan well.
11. I've been to Italy, Key West and Chicago. I love to travel.
12. I was an ancient history major. Until the age of 21 I wanted to be an archaeologist. Then I realized this meant I'd have to get dirty. A lot. Not my bag.
13. Now I don't know what I want to be. It changes on a daily basis.
14. My siblings and I have semi-unusual names.
15. I hate tea. Hot, cold, sweet, whatever. It's all nasty.
16. I also hate olives, artichokes, sushi and Indian food.
17. Lots of things make me barf. You can say I'm a "puker". I barf a lot.
18. I suffer from migraines and live in fear of them. Thank the Lord for Excedrin or I would kill myself.
19. I have a tendency to over-dress for occassions. I like looking nice and getting dressed up. It's the little girl in me.
20. I drink a cup of coffee every morning. I love it. I must have it.
21. My first impressions of people are always right. Always. I've never been wrong.
22. I am kind of OCD-ADD. This means I get obsessed with a new project, then I get bored and find a new project. I never finish anything. I just move on to the next obsession.
23. I hate cold weather. And by cold I mean anthing below 75 degrees F.
24. I don't mind cleaning bathrooms or kitchens at all. This is because dirty sinks really bug me.
25. But I hate dusting.
26. I'm somewhat of a germophobe. This doesn't stop me from letting my dog lick my face.
27. I am retarded when it comes to home decorating. Just clueless.
28. I am probably the most opinionated person you will ever meet. I have no problem telling anyone how I feel. I don't always sugar-coat it either.
29. I have a grand total of 4 cousins. They are all boys.
30. My family is spread out all over God's Creation. I am jealous of people who can see their whole, extended family all the time. This is foreign to me.
31. Most of the people in my family are good cooks. The biscuit recipe we use is from my great-great grandmother. She was a pioneer out west. I think this is so cool.
32. I am an "indoor girl". This means that camping is not my idea of a good time.
33. But sitting on a porch or walking in a park is nice.
34. You'll never catch me doing anything that would put me at risk for bodily injury. I am a big wuss. I wouldn't even do a wheelie on my bike when I was a kid. I still wouldn't.
35. But I really don't mind public speaking.
36. Or going on blind dates.
37. I'm a social butterfly. Meeting new people is one of my favorite things to do. I am very very friendly.
38. I have a big mouth. No subject is off limits with me.
39. I have the largest makeup collection of anyone I know. I own at least 150 lipsticks alone. I shudder to think how much money I spend on it. But I can't stop.
40. The rest of my spending money goes towards candy, cookies and ice cream. My sweet tooth scares me sometimes.
41. I once ate two pounds of Jelly Belly jellybeans in one day. I only stopped because I ran out of jellybeans.
42. So I went back to the store to get more from the big scoop-em-yourself bins. They were out because I had just bought the last of them. So I busted open the display and I bought those.
43. I want to have a ton of kids one day. Like...five or six. I should probably get on that considering I'm 27 and single.
44. There are only three desserts I won't eat: key lime pie, anything with liquer in it and tiramisu. Yuck!
45. I'm slowly turning into my mother. This isn't too bad. She's pretty cool. Luckily I didn't inherit her short temper. Or her mediocre sense of humor. But she's much better at math. Dang.
46. I don't like the taste of wine. I don't even drink it at church. This has nothing to do with the fact that I don't drink alcohol at all.
47. I love dogs. I just got one and now I want to have 7 or 8. If I don't get married, I'll be a dog lady. And I'll adopt a bunch of kids.
48. But I dislike cats. I think I'm also mildly allergic to them. Plus, I find them very unfriendly and not at all fun to play with. They scratch me.
49. When I don't do anything productive, I get depressed. Busy VB is Happy VB.
50. I'm very old-fashioned in some ways. Door opening is big with me.
51. I am really really good a foreign languages. I can talk to you in French, Latin, Spanish and German.
52. I love anything Italian. Or Southern.
53. I feel I have nothing in common with hippies. Or most Yankees. Or gay people. I'm working on this. Please don't hate me. You can't change what you don't acknowledge. I'm not very p.c. I guess.
54. James Bond and the volleyball scene from Top Gun are the hottest things I've ever seen. They leave me speechless and drooling. Well, uniforms and tuxes are just hot! What can I say?
55. I have a thing for blondes with lots of muscles. Skinny men are really unattractive to me. I'm more of a football-player-build kinda girl.
56. I am totally against the whole Metrosexual movement. Manly men rock!
57. My hair is stick straight. Always. It laughs at me when I try to curl it.
58. I am on a constant quest to have clearer skin and longer nails.
59. I was in a sorority in college.
60. But I was never a cheerleader.
61. I did track for one year in high school.
62. Other than that, I am totally unathletic. I only work out to keep my figure.
63. There isn't a tomboy bone in my body. I am 100% girly girl.
64. But I do enjoy watching the occassional college football or basketball game.
65. I love my boobs but I hate my hips.
66. People think I am a half-Asian blonde girl, but I'm not. I have almond-shaped eyes because they are from the Scottish side of my family.
67. I have lots of random small-world moments. The stories give people chills.
68. I love horror movies, ghost stories and true crime stories.
69. I believe in ghosts. But I've never seen one. I have had weird stuff happen to me, though. I half-way believe in psychics.
70. When I was little, I was obsessed with fairies and My Little Ponies.
71. I think Mike Myers is hilarious. I also find animals very funny.
72. I also like British humor like Monty Python. I realize not everyone likes this.
73. I grew up on a farm. We grew raspberries and tobacco and had horses and cows.
74. I was raised Catholic. Like, old school Catholic. I had to wear a mantilla to church. Mass was in Latin. Because of this, I'm always having a guilt trip about something. It comes with the territory.
75. Then my family switched to Episcopalian a few years ago. We got fed up with the Catholic Church. Sometimes I miss being Catholic.
76. I am a huge history buff. Anything historical is cool.
77. I love to read when I'm in the mood. Usually I am reading to learn something. Yes, I am a big dork. I'm just not that into fiction, ok?
78. Addiction comes easily to me. This is not good.
79. I can play the violin. I played for many years.
80. I always wanted art lessons instead. I like drawing and love art.
81. I really identify with Elle Woods from Legally Blonde, the women on Sex and the City and Miss Piggy. I just realized that makes me sound like a bimbo. I'm not. Okay, maybe I am a little.
82. I really want a red convertible one day. And a house on the beach.
83. But if I won the lottery, I would buy a yacht and sail around the world, partying with all my friends. Kinda like the Big Pimpin' video.
84. I like all kinds of music except jazz. Especially rap. (It's okay to hate me for this.)
85. I am a nerd because I like school. Learning is really fun for me. I want to be in school again. I would take a class just for fun.
86. I am a know-it-all who needs to be called out.
87. I have a tendency to be close-minded and overly-conservative. But I'm working on it.
88. I always know what I want. Always.Wimpy people who are afraid to make decisions and can't make up their minds irritate the piss out of me.
89. Reading over my shoulder will get you an elbow to the face.
90. I once dated a guy with three testicles.
91. Any version of pink or green are my favorite colors.
92. I hate brown. And that mustard color.
93. I am a good person to borrow money from because I will forget about it five minutes later. But if I borrow money from you, I will also forget to repay you.
94. My baby brother died in a sudden drowning accident two years ago to the day. He was 18. Eight months later I lost my dad. Grief sucks. If another one of my family members dies, I'll kill them. Har har.
95. I never have cash on me. Ever.
96. I use my American Express card for everything. I am keeping them in business.
97. I don't usually like mushy and romantic stuff. After about 5 minutes of cheese, I want to barf. Flowers are an exception.
98. My toes are freakishly long. I think I could peel a banana with them, but I haven't tried.
99. I'm a horrible person to play a board game with: I am both a sore loser and a sore winner. I play for blood!!
100. I have a pair of lucky purple shoes. Every time I wear them, something cool happens.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Thanks!
I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has been hoping I'll get better. I went to Dr. Butcher yesterday and he said that I'm healing up very well. It didn't hurt one bit when I had it re-stuffed yesterday. You have no idea how awesome this is. Unless you've ever had one of these things.
I'm going in today to have Dr. Awesome look at it. Unfortunately, I still won't be able to take a shower, swim or exercise for some time. It's still pretty deep, and any kind of water or moisture is a very bad thing. Aside from the fact that bathing is a huge pain in the ass and I'm gaining weight at lightning speed since I can't exercise, I'm fine.
The weird thing now is that since I'm done taking the antibiotic pills, they have switched me to an antibiotic cream. Normally you put it on your skin, but since that could make my infection worse, I have to--get this--put it in my nose. I put a dab in each nostril and massage it in so the medicine gets in my bloodstream. Very strange. It makes my nose numb and feel like it's running. At least it smells okay.
Does anyone know if it's possible to build up a tolerance to Vicodin after only taking it 5 times? Because it just never really kicked in yesterday. I got a little buzzy, but I could still drive. I knew you could build up a tolerance, but I thought it took more than 5 and a half pills. My body does weird things with drugs sometimes.
Did I mention that I have to have my very first cavity filled on Thursday? Woo-hoo the party never ends. No one told me that when I turn 27 my body starts falling apart. I have never valued my health (or lack thereof) more than this year. If I have to see one more needle or listen to one more person give me bad news, I'm going to curl up into the fetal position and start singing to myself.
Then I'll take some Vicodin and everything will be okay again.
I'm going in today to have Dr. Awesome look at it. Unfortunately, I still won't be able to take a shower, swim or exercise for some time. It's still pretty deep, and any kind of water or moisture is a very bad thing. Aside from the fact that bathing is a huge pain in the ass and I'm gaining weight at lightning speed since I can't exercise, I'm fine.
The weird thing now is that since I'm done taking the antibiotic pills, they have switched me to an antibiotic cream. Normally you put it on your skin, but since that could make my infection worse, I have to--get this--put it in my nose. I put a dab in each nostril and massage it in so the medicine gets in my bloodstream. Very strange. It makes my nose numb and feel like it's running. At least it smells okay.
Does anyone know if it's possible to build up a tolerance to Vicodin after only taking it 5 times? Because it just never really kicked in yesterday. I got a little buzzy, but I could still drive. I knew you could build up a tolerance, but I thought it took more than 5 and a half pills. My body does weird things with drugs sometimes.
Did I mention that I have to have my very first cavity filled on Thursday? Woo-hoo the party never ends. No one told me that when I turn 27 my body starts falling apart. I have never valued my health (or lack thereof) more than this year. If I have to see one more needle or listen to one more person give me bad news, I'm going to curl up into the fetal position and start singing to myself.
Then I'll take some Vicodin and everything will be okay again.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Vicodin Lessons: The Return of Anna Nicole Smith
Continuing on with my Adventures in Vicodin:
Anecdote #1:
I "drug-dialed" Lady Starfish before she knew what was wrong with my butt. I left a message on her voicemail. It scared the crap out of her. This is how my message went:
"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaam's!!!" [Remember, that is the nickname we have for each other.]
"Whas-up.....I am on Vicodin and issa good time.....Anyway.... [Insert 2 minute pause here. Yeah, she said it was dead silence. Apparently I totally lost my train of thought.] .......ummmm.....jus call me back so I can tell you why I am on sedated drugs....[Insert massive sigh here.] Aaaaaaaaaaaah....my ass hurts. Call me back. Bye."
I only vaguely remember leaving this message. The lesson? Vidodin is fun.
Anecdote #2-- Last Saturday was yet another doctor's visit. Gotta stuff new gauze into the gaping hole on my ass, you know. At the doctor's office where I go, there are two doctors: Dr. Awesome and Dr. Butcher. Only one works per shift. Their names are directly related to the amount of physical pain they put me through. Based on my calculations, I was due to get Dr. Butcher. Remember, he is the one who made me cry I was in so much pain. It was like what I imagine torture to be. In anticipation of a repeat of my last visit with Dr. Butcher, I decided it would be a good idea to take a little extra Vicodin, just to ease off the pain a little better. So instead of taking one pill, I took one and a half. (Before you freak out and think I'm a drug addict, the docs said I can take up to two at a time.)
When Repo came to pick me up to take me to the doctor, I wuzzzz.....feelin'.....pretty good. I announced to him how much I had taken. He thought that it was a bad idea on my part. I slurringly begged to differ. I was rockin'!
For about an hour. By the time I was in the waiting room, it was Nausea City. They called my name to come to the back, and I looked up at them in my narcotically-induced stupor and informed them that they would have to wait because before I could go anywhere, I had to barf. I think my exact words were, "Ok, hold on. I gotta barf." Then I grabbed the trashcan and hurled into it. Twice. I got most of it into the trashcan. Some of it got on the floor. I thought this was pretty good, considering I would have been unable to spell my name at that point. Then I apologized to everyone. Twice.
Then I felt fine. And luckily (!) it didn't kill my buzz. Suh-weet. The Lesson? One Vicodin good. One and a half bad.
Anecdote #3:
So after my weekly torture with Dr. Butcher, I ask (again, slurringly) about my lab results--what kind of bacterial infection are we looking at, Doc? So he goes to get my lab results. I lay there, ass out for the world to see, buzzing...well, buzzing my ass off.
Dr. Butcher comes back in a few minutes with a grim look on his face. I knew it was bad news. F--k, I thought in my drug-soaked brain, I have an incurable flesh-eating bacteria attacking my ass and the whole thing will fall off....wait....that might be a good thing. Size 6 here I come!
And then I realized he was talking and I hadn't heard anything he'd been saying. But I got the tail end of it: The nurse who had filled out the paperwork for my lab test did so incorrectly and they didn't test it for what they were supposed to test it for. Bottom line? They threw out my ass-swab and now we will never know what kind of bacteria I have. Dr. Butcher was looking at me like he expected me to grab a scalpel and stab him 347 times so he could bleed to death slowly and painfully. Or sue the crap out of him.
Dr. Butcher doesn't understand Vicodin very well.
"Oh. That'ssss okay.... Mistakes happen. I'm sorry I barfed." I replied.
The lesson? When you have bad news to tell patients, tell them when they are hopped up on pills.
Anecdote #4: After some more questions about my medical condition and a new prescription from Dr. Butcher, Repo comes to pick me up. He begs me not to be like last time. He also wants to make sure I'm ok since I barfed (aww.).
Apparently, the last time he picked me up, I would not. stop. talking. He said it was like being with a little kid. I asked questions constantly and kept telling these pointless stories to everyone within 5 feet of me as I stumbled and slurred. These stories included: the benefits of ginger to cure nausea and motion sickness, how a tree fell down and smushed a car in Repo's neighborhood, how the people who owned the tree will probably be sued, how much I love a particular chain of grocery stores here in Columbia, how hard it is for me to find the ginger ale in the drug store, how nauseated I am, how constipated I am, how much it annoys me that Repo drinks all my diet cokes, how much I love my dog Sammy because he doesn't care how I act when I'm on painkillers, how awesome Vicodin is, what I wanted to eat for dinner, what I wanted to do with Repo alone in my room....you get the idea. I also debated with Repo about the level of my voice. He says I was yelling the whole time, I slurringly beg to differ. Basically, I had no internal dialogue. It was just verbal spewage of the worst kind. And I started in the car, continued in the drug store and kept talking for another hour or so when I got home. Everyone around me was either annoyed, scared or laughing at me. It was a good time.
The lesson? Vicodin f--ks me up.
Anecdote #5:
A little-known side effect of Vicodin (for me, at least) is bizarre dreams. I had one the other night. This is how it went: I'm in the grocery store, in the deli. I'm a customer, yet I'm standing behind the counter. The deli people are trying to get me to eat a sandwich, in a peer-pressure kind of way:
Deli Guy: Do you like seafood?
Me: Um, yeah, some of it.
Deli Guy: Just try the sandwich. You'll like it.
I take a bite of sandwich, exclaim that he is right. It's pretty yummy. I take a couple more bites. Then I take a good look at my sandwich. I am eating a squid sandwich. There are big slices of squid all in my sandwich, complete with eyeballs slices and tentacle slices. The squid were sliced lengthwise. Then there was something else in there. I peeled back the bread to reveal: a gigantic spider, marinated in herbs and olive oil. Don't ask me how I knew this. I just knew it was marinated, ok?
Of course, this is disgusting, even to Vicodin-dream VB, so I chuck it into the trashcan. Oh, but wait. What is already in the trashcan? Snakes. Big, black, slimy snakes. Tons of 'em. Why are they slimy, you ask? Because they have been marinating in tomato sauce. So they are all slithering around. Ew ew ew.
[Side note and VB trivia: I have dreams about snakes all the time. Remind me to tell you about the one I had when I was in kindergarten. Don't know what this means, but I'm too scared to look it up.]
I had another dream. I was at a Halloween party, hosted by a hot guy. Good, so far, right? Well, I was already checking him out when I realized that he was also making yummy treats as he was hosting the party! And all the treats were really yummy, unlike my last dream. There were little candies on all of these homemade goodies. So I began to hit on him. I don't remember what happened next, but all I know is that somehow this dream morphed into a third dream where a large group of my friends were camping with me and Sammy and we kept getting separated and lost. But the forest was so pretty, I didn't care. Plus, I had Sammy with me. Hard to be scared when you have your dog with you.
[Side note and VB Trivia: I hate camping. I'd rather eat the squid sandwich.]
The lesson? Vicodin = weird dreams
Well folks, I gotta go. Today I have to go to the doctor (again). That means I have to get going before my Vicodin kicks in. My arms are already getting tingly and it's hard for me to focus on typing this. Stay tuned for more Adventures with Vicodin. I'll be back with more stories, I am sure.
Also, I have to tell you about The Return of Jessica Simpson. But that takes a lot more clear-headedness than I have right now.
Anecdote #1:
I "drug-dialed" Lady Starfish before she knew what was wrong with my butt. I left a message on her voicemail. It scared the crap out of her. This is how my message went:
"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaam's!!!" [Remember, that is the nickname we have for each other.]
"Whas-up.....I am on Vicodin and issa good time.....Anyway.... [Insert 2 minute pause here. Yeah, she said it was dead silence. Apparently I totally lost my train of thought.] .......ummmm.....jus call me back so I can tell you why I am on sedated drugs....[Insert massive sigh here.] Aaaaaaaaaaaah....my ass hurts. Call me back. Bye."
I only vaguely remember leaving this message. The lesson? Vidodin is fun.
Anecdote #2-- Last Saturday was yet another doctor's visit. Gotta stuff new gauze into the gaping hole on my ass, you know. At the doctor's office where I go, there are two doctors: Dr. Awesome and Dr. Butcher. Only one works per shift. Their names are directly related to the amount of physical pain they put me through. Based on my calculations, I was due to get Dr. Butcher. Remember, he is the one who made me cry I was in so much pain. It was like what I imagine torture to be. In anticipation of a repeat of my last visit with Dr. Butcher, I decided it would be a good idea to take a little extra Vicodin, just to ease off the pain a little better. So instead of taking one pill, I took one and a half. (Before you freak out and think I'm a drug addict, the docs said I can take up to two at a time.)
When Repo came to pick me up to take me to the doctor, I wuzzzz.....feelin'.....pretty good. I announced to him how much I had taken. He thought that it was a bad idea on my part. I slurringly begged to differ. I was rockin'!
For about an hour. By the time I was in the waiting room, it was Nausea City. They called my name to come to the back, and I looked up at them in my narcotically-induced stupor and informed them that they would have to wait because before I could go anywhere, I had to barf. I think my exact words were, "Ok, hold on. I gotta barf." Then I grabbed the trashcan and hurled into it. Twice. I got most of it into the trashcan. Some of it got on the floor. I thought this was pretty good, considering I would have been unable to spell my name at that point. Then I apologized to everyone. Twice.
Then I felt fine. And luckily (!) it didn't kill my buzz. Suh-weet. The Lesson? One Vicodin good. One and a half bad.
Anecdote #3:
So after my weekly torture with Dr. Butcher, I ask (again, slurringly) about my lab results--what kind of bacterial infection are we looking at, Doc? So he goes to get my lab results. I lay there, ass out for the world to see, buzzing...well, buzzing my ass off.
Dr. Butcher comes back in a few minutes with a grim look on his face. I knew it was bad news. F--k, I thought in my drug-soaked brain, I have an incurable flesh-eating bacteria attacking my ass and the whole thing will fall off....wait....that might be a good thing. Size 6 here I come!
And then I realized he was talking and I hadn't heard anything he'd been saying. But I got the tail end of it: The nurse who had filled out the paperwork for my lab test did so incorrectly and they didn't test it for what they were supposed to test it for. Bottom line? They threw out my ass-swab and now we will never know what kind of bacteria I have. Dr. Butcher was looking at me like he expected me to grab a scalpel and stab him 347 times so he could bleed to death slowly and painfully. Or sue the crap out of him.
Dr. Butcher doesn't understand Vicodin very well.
"Oh. That'ssss okay.... Mistakes happen. I'm sorry I barfed." I replied.
The lesson? When you have bad news to tell patients, tell them when they are hopped up on pills.
Anecdote #4: After some more questions about my medical condition and a new prescription from Dr. Butcher, Repo comes to pick me up. He begs me not to be like last time. He also wants to make sure I'm ok since I barfed (aww.).
Apparently, the last time he picked me up, I would not. stop. talking. He said it was like being with a little kid. I asked questions constantly and kept telling these pointless stories to everyone within 5 feet of me as I stumbled and slurred. These stories included: the benefits of ginger to cure nausea and motion sickness, how a tree fell down and smushed a car in Repo's neighborhood, how the people who owned the tree will probably be sued, how much I love a particular chain of grocery stores here in Columbia, how hard it is for me to find the ginger ale in the drug store, how nauseated I am, how constipated I am, how much it annoys me that Repo drinks all my diet cokes, how much I love my dog Sammy because he doesn't care how I act when I'm on painkillers, how awesome Vicodin is, what I wanted to eat for dinner, what I wanted to do with Repo alone in my room....you get the idea. I also debated with Repo about the level of my voice. He says I was yelling the whole time, I slurringly beg to differ. Basically, I had no internal dialogue. It was just verbal spewage of the worst kind. And I started in the car, continued in the drug store and kept talking for another hour or so when I got home. Everyone around me was either annoyed, scared or laughing at me. It was a good time.
The lesson? Vicodin f--ks me up.
Anecdote #5:
A little-known side effect of Vicodin (for me, at least) is bizarre dreams. I had one the other night. This is how it went: I'm in the grocery store, in the deli. I'm a customer, yet I'm standing behind the counter. The deli people are trying to get me to eat a sandwich, in a peer-pressure kind of way:
Deli Guy: Do you like seafood?
Me: Um, yeah, some of it.
Deli Guy: Just try the sandwich. You'll like it.
I take a bite of sandwich, exclaim that he is right. It's pretty yummy. I take a couple more bites. Then I take a good look at my sandwich. I am eating a squid sandwich. There are big slices of squid all in my sandwich, complete with eyeballs slices and tentacle slices. The squid were sliced lengthwise. Then there was something else in there. I peeled back the bread to reveal: a gigantic spider, marinated in herbs and olive oil. Don't ask me how I knew this. I just knew it was marinated, ok?
Of course, this is disgusting, even to Vicodin-dream VB, so I chuck it into the trashcan. Oh, but wait. What is already in the trashcan? Snakes. Big, black, slimy snakes. Tons of 'em. Why are they slimy, you ask? Because they have been marinating in tomato sauce. So they are all slithering around. Ew ew ew.
[Side note and VB trivia: I have dreams about snakes all the time. Remind me to tell you about the one I had when I was in kindergarten. Don't know what this means, but I'm too scared to look it up.]
I had another dream. I was at a Halloween party, hosted by a hot guy. Good, so far, right? Well, I was already checking him out when I realized that he was also making yummy treats as he was hosting the party! And all the treats were really yummy, unlike my last dream. There were little candies on all of these homemade goodies. So I began to hit on him. I don't remember what happened next, but all I know is that somehow this dream morphed into a third dream where a large group of my friends were camping with me and Sammy and we kept getting separated and lost. But the forest was so pretty, I didn't care. Plus, I had Sammy with me. Hard to be scared when you have your dog with you.
[Side note and VB Trivia: I hate camping. I'd rather eat the squid sandwich.]
The lesson? Vicodin = weird dreams
Well folks, I gotta go. Today I have to go to the doctor (again). That means I have to get going before my Vicodin kicks in. My arms are already getting tingly and it's hard for me to focus on typing this. Stay tuned for more Adventures with Vicodin. I'll be back with more stories, I am sure.
Also, I have to tell you about The Return of Jessica Simpson. But that takes a lot more clear-headedness than I have right now.
(Late) Fun Friday
I have been slacking on this lately... so to make up for it, here is a picture my friend, Charleston Guy sent. He is currently in Okinawa, Japan, enjoying some sake during his free time from a business trip. I guess they have this special sake called Habu Sake. Know how they put worms in tequila sometimes? Well, I guess the Japanese think worms are wimpy, so they upped the ante with venomous pit vipers in their sake! Crazy! Here is a pic he sent me. Very cool. Crazy, but cool. It seems like something from a James Bond movie to me.
Speaking of which, the new James Bond is hot hot hot!!! There is just something about James Bond, you know?
I just accidentally had to correct my spelling above. I originally typed "James Bone". Hmmm...Freudian slip, perhaps? Moving on...
A little-known fact about VB: I am a HUGE fan of the Muppets. I really identify with Miss Piggy and have considered using a picture of her for my avatar. Anyway, I stumbled on the Muppet Wiki, which led me to these fun sites. Very funny and entertaining. Gotta love spoofs!
Bert is Evil
Grover is Bitter
Janice fer sure!
Various Muppet news
C is for Cookie (a spoof on V is for Vendetta)
I have been looking for spoofs on other characters, but am still working on it...
By the way, I was telling Repo about this and he heard that Ernie was dead. I guess that they wanted to teach kids about grief and so they let one of the Sesame Street characters die, and I guess a bunch of people got upset...has anyone else heard this rumor? Because I was traumatized! I mean, what will Rubber Duckie do now? It's not like Bert is into taking baths! I hope he was just making this up to freak me out.
Enjoy, guys. Hope everyone had a good weekend. Now to catch up on some blogs...
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Guest Columnist
Greetings, readers! About two weeks ago, Lady Starfish attended a wedding. It was held in a tattoo parlor. Yes, a tattoo parlor. This business establishment is owned by the mother of the bride. I was waiting on pins and needles to hear how this kind of wedding works, because it is just too unbelievable. She emailed me her review of the festivities a few days ago.
With her permission, she has allowed me to relay it to you here, under the following conditions: all identifying details will be removed from the story and I have to promise her that y'all won't think she (or her family, for that matter) is some kind of a redneck for even going to this kind of wedding. Promise? Okay. So no trailer jokes. (No, she doesn't live in a trailer.) Oh, and FYI: J is Lady Starfish's boyfriend.
Her email:
I am going to send you some pictures from the wedding. There is so much to talk about regarding that. It was actually a really sweet wedding and I cried. I don’t know why….it just seemed very personal…….maybe because we were crowded into a tiny tattoo parlor surrounded by people with piercings, mo-hawks and sleeved arms. So we go into the parlor – and this is one of my favorite parts – the guest book is right under all the pictures of the naked ladies people can choose to have tattooed. It was a guest book complete with matching pen. The bride walked out to “She’s my Cherry Pie” by Warrant.” Why? I don’t know. I think it is their song. I just don’t know. The bride was in full garb. The dress was strapless which accentuated her sleeved left shoulder. Luckily she took out her piercings, i.e. lip, nose, etc. Her mom was COVERED in tattoos. I mean covered. The guests were an arrangement of older normal looking family members to young punk likes with those big black earrings, lip and nose rings with funky old clothes. Pretty much everyone looked like they belonged in a Linkin Park video. Another classy moment was after the pictures were taken, the bride had to have a smoke. Nothing says class like a young bride with stringy hair smoking a cigarette in a wedding dress. I wanted a picture of that but I was out of film by then. I did get a picture of her dad getting his long ratty grey hair braided as he sat in a seat right before the wedding – the hair matched his long ratty grey beard that resembled an old ZZ Top member. Did I mention he had ONE tooth? She seemed to really love her dad, so that cancelled out all the weirdness. In the pictures you will get to see what I am looking like these days – chubby with hair I hate – and what J looks like. He dressed in a pastel green shirt and khaki pants. He didn’t go well with the wedding party. So after the wedding we have a reception at my brother’s house. Have you ever felt like you were at a party and no one would notice if you left…….and never came back? That is how we felt.
Let me back track. We didn’t get to leave City X until 10:30 p.m. on Saturday night because J didn’t get off work until then. So we ended up making excellent time to getting to my brother’s town.
Once we get into the town, we get sooooooooooooooooo lost. We stopped at 3 different gas stations. At one we witnessed a four and a half foot girl get into a screaming match with a seven foot guy outside of one the gas stations. They stopped the fight in order to buy beer before the cutoff of three a.m. That was neat and scary. So 40 minutes later we finally figure out how to get to my brother’s. Keep in mind that they are in central time. It was 3:40 a.m. but really 4:40 a.m. to us. We get to my brother’s and everyone is awake. We didn’t call because we thought everyone would be asleep. Oh well. So we don’t get into bed until around 4:30 a.m. their time.
We have to get up the next morning around 10:00– there are 10 people staying in the house including us. Can anyone say “Where do I get ready?” We had our own room, but we all had to take showers, iron, etc. In the midst, no one offered us ANY food or ANYTHING to drink. So J and I each ate one of my mom’s chocolate chip cookies I had brought. So we go to the wedding and the back to the reception. By this time it is like 4:00 p.m. and all they have is finger foods. J and I were STARVING.
In the meantime I saw my niece for the first time in 10 years. She has since had a child (he is eight) and just got married to some guy that she met in November. My family is so redneck it is embarrassing. It was nice to see her and we totally get along, but she is one of these people that are just full of crap. Apparently her ex-boyfriend (who is 14 years older than her – she is 26) held her hostage and raped her and now he is in prison. I was like what? I don’t know. And then, if all of this happened why would you go off and marry a guy only after knowing him for 3 months? Because “you just know it’s right” and “you know in your heart” that “he’s the one.” Right….. So after listening to this long, creepy and odd story – and being tired of saying “Oh wow. You seem like you are doing okay now. And I am so happy you found someone who is treating you good.” - I couldn’t take it.
J and I left and found a McDonalds. We then ate our food in 3.6 seconds and the got an apple pie each and devoured it. So 3 minutes later (including eating and drive time) we just sat there in the restaurant taking up time so that we didn’t have to go back. The house was literally packed to the gills with people I didn’t know. So we drove around and called my parents and I vented to them. So we go back and it had kind of settled down. Keep in mind that my family is - for some reason – not overly friendly. No one really went out of their way to talk to us – except the groom and my crazy niece. So we still felt like outsiders. I am still perplexed how no one was hungry and it was like 5:30 p.m. Who goes all day with out one meal?
Okay so now is where is gets weird. Let me explain my family. My brother married S 10 years ago. This is her third marriage. She has two sons. Each from a different marriage. T is the oldest (my age) – he was married and has two daughters. He is now gay. And quite a whore from the stories. He doesn’t act gay and is really good looking – but apparently had a four way with the neighbors. What? I don’t know. Then there is the groom who is in to piercings and tattoos and death metal music – Oh and on a side note…..he and his fiancée both got tattoos the day before the wedding. The groom got a best friend tattoo with his BFF named R. It has a gravestone with the date they met. It has nothing to do with his wife. R got one too that matches. Uh, yeah……..
Also, two of T’s exboyfriends were there. Apparently they are both still in love with him. What it boils down to is T has had so much sex that he is going to end up getting AIDS. He is a great person and doesn’t act gay AT ALL except that he has sex with men. Also S is obsessed with something called “My Space”. I don’t know what it is, but she showed me her website or whatever. I was thinking, ‘you are 50 and married. Why are doing this?’ AND one of T’s exboyfriends was talking about what a whore T was and I asked him what else goes on in this house…..he shut up really quickly and wouldn’t say anything. So I asked if my brother and S were involved in any weird activities. He avoided an answer. J thinks the whole family except for the groom are swingers……and I am thinking it could be true. I am disturbed. All I know is that my parents would DIE if they had been there. I am so the golden child right now.
Love,
Lady Starfish
Ok, now it's me (VB) again. Don't you just love this story??? Like Teahouse Blossom said in her blog the other day--you can't make this stuff up! This is why she needs to get a blog. Stuff like this happens to her all the time. Her family is really sweet and they aren't rednecks, despite what you may be thinking now. But you know how families are--there's always a "weird" branch of the family. They keep everyone else entertained!
I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did. My favorite part is how LS doesn't know about myspace. She kills me. I also love that the bride walks down the "aisle" to Cherry Pie. Classic!
Thanks, LS, for letting me retell this gem of a story. Your emails are so highly anticipated. You don't even know. More! More!
With her permission, she has allowed me to relay it to you here, under the following conditions: all identifying details will be removed from the story and I have to promise her that y'all won't think she (or her family, for that matter) is some kind of a redneck for even going to this kind of wedding. Promise? Okay. So no trailer jokes. (No, she doesn't live in a trailer.) Oh, and FYI: J is Lady Starfish's boyfriend.
Her email:
I am going to send you some pictures from the wedding. There is so much to talk about regarding that. It was actually a really sweet wedding and I cried. I don’t know why….it just seemed very personal…….maybe because we were crowded into a tiny tattoo parlor surrounded by people with piercings, mo-hawks and sleeved arms. So we go into the parlor – and this is one of my favorite parts – the guest book is right under all the pictures of the naked ladies people can choose to have tattooed. It was a guest book complete with matching pen. The bride walked out to “She’s my Cherry Pie” by Warrant.” Why? I don’t know. I think it is their song. I just don’t know. The bride was in full garb. The dress was strapless which accentuated her sleeved left shoulder. Luckily she took out her piercings, i.e. lip, nose, etc. Her mom was COVERED in tattoos. I mean covered. The guests were an arrangement of older normal looking family members to young punk likes with those big black earrings, lip and nose rings with funky old clothes. Pretty much everyone looked like they belonged in a Linkin Park video. Another classy moment was after the pictures were taken, the bride had to have a smoke. Nothing says class like a young bride with stringy hair smoking a cigarette in a wedding dress. I wanted a picture of that but I was out of film by then. I did get a picture of her dad getting his long ratty grey hair braided as he sat in a seat right before the wedding – the hair matched his long ratty grey beard that resembled an old ZZ Top member. Did I mention he had ONE tooth? She seemed to really love her dad, so that cancelled out all the weirdness. In the pictures you will get to see what I am looking like these days – chubby with hair I hate – and what J looks like. He dressed in a pastel green shirt and khaki pants. He didn’t go well with the wedding party. So after the wedding we have a reception at my brother’s house. Have you ever felt like you were at a party and no one would notice if you left…….and never came back? That is how we felt.
Let me back track. We didn’t get to leave City X until 10:30 p.m. on Saturday night because J didn’t get off work until then. So we ended up making excellent time to getting to my brother’s town.
Once we get into the town, we get sooooooooooooooooo lost. We stopped at 3 different gas stations. At one we witnessed a four and a half foot girl get into a screaming match with a seven foot guy outside of one the gas stations. They stopped the fight in order to buy beer before the cutoff of three a.m. That was neat and scary. So 40 minutes later we finally figure out how to get to my brother’s. Keep in mind that they are in central time. It was 3:40 a.m. but really 4:40 a.m. to us. We get to my brother’s and everyone is awake. We didn’t call because we thought everyone would be asleep. Oh well. So we don’t get into bed until around 4:30 a.m. their time.
We have to get up the next morning around 10:00– there are 10 people staying in the house including us. Can anyone say “Where do I get ready?” We had our own room, but we all had to take showers, iron, etc. In the midst, no one offered us ANY food or ANYTHING to drink. So J and I each ate one of my mom’s chocolate chip cookies I had brought. So we go to the wedding and the back to the reception. By this time it is like 4:00 p.m. and all they have is finger foods. J and I were STARVING.
In the meantime I saw my niece for the first time in 10 years. She has since had a child (he is eight) and just got married to some guy that she met in November. My family is so redneck it is embarrassing. It was nice to see her and we totally get along, but she is one of these people that are just full of crap. Apparently her ex-boyfriend (who is 14 years older than her – she is 26) held her hostage and raped her and now he is in prison. I was like what? I don’t know. And then, if all of this happened why would you go off and marry a guy only after knowing him for 3 months? Because “you just know it’s right” and “you know in your heart” that “he’s the one.” Right….. So after listening to this long, creepy and odd story – and being tired of saying “Oh wow. You seem like you are doing okay now. And I am so happy you found someone who is treating you good.” - I couldn’t take it.
J and I left and found a McDonalds. We then ate our food in 3.6 seconds and the got an apple pie each and devoured it. So 3 minutes later (including eating and drive time) we just sat there in the restaurant taking up time so that we didn’t have to go back. The house was literally packed to the gills with people I didn’t know. So we drove around and called my parents and I vented to them. So we go back and it had kind of settled down. Keep in mind that my family is - for some reason – not overly friendly. No one really went out of their way to talk to us – except the groom and my crazy niece. So we still felt like outsiders. I am still perplexed how no one was hungry and it was like 5:30 p.m. Who goes all day with out one meal?
Okay so now is where is gets weird. Let me explain my family. My brother married S 10 years ago. This is her third marriage. She has two sons. Each from a different marriage. T is the oldest (my age) – he was married and has two daughters. He is now gay. And quite a whore from the stories. He doesn’t act gay and is really good looking – but apparently had a four way with the neighbors. What? I don’t know. Then there is the groom who is in to piercings and tattoos and death metal music – Oh and on a side note…..he and his fiancée both got tattoos the day before the wedding. The groom got a best friend tattoo with his BFF named R. It has a gravestone with the date they met. It has nothing to do with his wife. R got one too that matches. Uh, yeah……..
Also, two of T’s exboyfriends were there. Apparently they are both still in love with him. What it boils down to is T has had so much sex that he is going to end up getting AIDS. He is a great person and doesn’t act gay AT ALL except that he has sex with men. Also S is obsessed with something called “My Space”. I don’t know what it is, but she showed me her website or whatever. I was thinking, ‘you are 50 and married. Why are doing this?’ AND one of T’s exboyfriends was talking about what a whore T was and I asked him what else goes on in this house…..he shut up really quickly and wouldn’t say anything. So I asked if my brother and S were involved in any weird activities. He avoided an answer. J thinks the whole family except for the groom are swingers……and I am thinking it could be true. I am disturbed. All I know is that my parents would DIE if they had been there. I am so the golden child right now.
Love,
Lady Starfish
Ok, now it's me (VB) again. Don't you just love this story??? Like Teahouse Blossom said in her blog the other day--you can't make this stuff up! This is why she needs to get a blog. Stuff like this happens to her all the time. Her family is really sweet and they aren't rednecks, despite what you may be thinking now. But you know how families are--there's always a "weird" branch of the family. They keep everyone else entertained!
I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did. My favorite part is how LS doesn't know about myspace. She kills me. I also love that the bride walks down the "aisle" to Cherry Pie. Classic!
Thanks, LS, for letting me retell this gem of a story. Your emails are so highly anticipated. You don't even know. More! More!
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
A Pain in the Ass
Yes, I can assure you, I am alive.
I think this is the longest I've ever gone without posting. But I can explain, really. If anyone is even reading this anymore! So, what's been going on with VB? Let's just say I've met my health insurance deductable. I'll give you the quick n dirty explanation:
I got a bad cold. I have now had it for 10 days. It refuses to die. I've taken 2 sick days for it.
We started doing inventory at work. This involves not only scanning each book, but also putting them in order and then going back to check our work. It wasn't a picnic, but it is a necessary evil. And it was kinda nice to do something different. Doing inventory means that I'm out with the books all day instead of at the desk, reading blogs and posting. So that was a contributing factor in my abscence.
The rest of the days I've been gone are related to yet another medical condition. The real icing on the cake is that I also have somehow managed to get an abscess. Yup, just what Repo got. Did I catch it from him? Probably. But until the lab results come in, I won't know for sure.
I noticed some swelling on Friday night and thought it was just an ingrown hair or something. But by Saturday morning, it was red, extremely painful and very swollen. It was also the size of a small dinner plate. No joke. After seeing what Repo had been through, I pretty much knew what I was dealing with. I knew I was in for it--the pain, the medication, the numerous doctor trips. I said some not-so-nice things to him. Because it takes about a month for these to heal up. And because I had to have FIVE shots. That's FIVE needles. And they HURT.
He lost some serious boyfriend points with this.
According to the doctor, abscesses are spreading all over town, which makes me wonder because I was under the impression that these were hard to catch. I just figured the fact that Repo is naturally averse to hand-washing (no matter how often I ask him to do it) left me in a high-risk environment. I thought it was one of those things where I would have to touch it directly in order to get it. We were very careful about keeping it bandaged and away from my hands. Or so we thought. I guess one time he must not have washed his hands. And then I didn't wash my hands. The Czarina is having a field day with this, implying that he and I are nasty and filthy people who do not bathe:
"Nice couple. Maybe you two can go to the doctor together and get them drained at the same time. Is there a two-for-one special?"
"Yeah, Mom, we can lay on parallel tables and hold hands while they do it. Thanks for the sympathy," I replied.
Did I mention where my abscess is located?
It's ON MY ASS. Of all freakin' places. I'm sorry if that grosses you out, but I can assure you that it's probably the most humiliating thing I've ever had to endure. I think that giving myself a head-to-toe scrub down with the loofah must have opened me up to infection. Either that or something mundane like an ingrown hair. And of course, the kind of luck that I have, it ends up on my ass. Unbelievable. All in the name of having a smooth tushie. Ask me how sexy I feel.
Ever called your boss to say that you can't come in to work because your ass hurts? Not fun.
Please note for the record: This infection does not mean that I am a nasty, filthy person who does not bathe. It's just a bacterial infection. All it takes is one time not washing your hands. And one teeny-tiny opening on your skin. And one itsy bitsy bacterium to get in there. And some people are just naturally more susceptible to getting them. So no jokes about my personal hygeine. And go wash your hands. Trust me, you don't want this.
I'm a little frustrated with medical information of today. I have heard different things from different medical sources. So has Repo. So we have no idea if we can pass it back and forth over and over. He's afraid to touch me because he doesn't want to get it again. We don't know if I can spread it to my coworkers or K. We don't know if Sammy will get it. I don't know if I should be quarantined or sterilize my apartment or what. Do I have to throw away my shower sponge? Boil my sheets? Forbid people from drinking after me? We don't even know how we got it--Repo read something that said the bacteria can be airborne. We can only suppose Repo caught it in the emergency room when he got his eye sewn up. The doctor's attitude to all my questions is "Until the lab results come in and we know what kind of bacteria it is, all I can tell you to do is wash your hands." Not much help. By the time the lab results come in, I could spread it to everyone I know.
Probably the most inconvenient thing about it is that it cannot get wet. Have you ever tried to take a shower without getting your ass wet? Yeah, it doesn't work. So I have to lean over the tub and wash body sections one at a time. And the whole time, I have to pose in angles which don't allow water to run down my back and get my butt wet. It takes about 45 minutes. It's very tiring.
It's probably a staph infection, so it could be serious if left unattended. It's also going to be hard to get rid of. That's why I'm really pumped up with antibiotics right now. That's also why I leave nasty messages on Repo's voice mail every day. Messages like: "Hi. It's me. I can't sit down. In case you forgot, this is all your fault. And P.S.--I hate you. Bye."
He knows I'm kidding. Kinda.
It's also really really painful, especially when they go to change the dressing. It feels like they are taking steel wool and grinding it into the open sore. It hurts so badly that I literally cry and want to punch the doctor in the face. It's the most painful thing I've ever had. It even beats out migraines. There is no way labor is this painful. No way.
Which is why they gave me a prescription for Vicodin. Let me tell ya--I'm having a good time about 45 minutes after taking that. Remember how Anna Nicole Smith was when she was fat and out of it? That's exactly how I am. It's like I'm drunk. I have no internal dialogue and I talk very loudly, according to Repo. And K thinks I'm hilarious when I take it because I bump into furniture and dance to music videos. In case you've never had it, Vicodin doesn't really numb anything so much as you just don't care about anything. Like that scene from Sex and the City where Miranda gets eye surgery and Steve asks her: "Are you okay?" and she replies, "I'm on Valium. Everything's okay." I have never felt so relaxed in my life. It's like vacation in pill format. I had a grin on my face for four hours. Then I passed out.
While I'm a lot better than I was, it will take about 3 more weeks for this to clear up. The good thing is, I caught it very early. But I have to get the dressing changed every other day. So I'll be sponge-bathing and wacked out on meds for a little while. Hopefully no one I know and love will get one. And I'm crossing my fingers that I won't get any side effects from the antibiotics. (Ladies, you know what I mean!) But the doctor did a really good job last night. I noticed a big difference this morning. At least today I can sit.
And yes, I'm leaving out lots of gross parts. Trust me, you don't want to know the dirty details of this kind of infection. Just wash your hands constantly. And pray really hard that you don't get one. On your ass or anywhere else.
Now, when I say that my boyfriend is a pain in my ass, it can be taken literally.
I think this is the longest I've ever gone without posting. But I can explain, really. If anyone is even reading this anymore! So, what's been going on with VB? Let's just say I've met my health insurance deductable. I'll give you the quick n dirty explanation:
I got a bad cold. I have now had it for 10 days. It refuses to die. I've taken 2 sick days for it.
We started doing inventory at work. This involves not only scanning each book, but also putting them in order and then going back to check our work. It wasn't a picnic, but it is a necessary evil. And it was kinda nice to do something different. Doing inventory means that I'm out with the books all day instead of at the desk, reading blogs and posting. So that was a contributing factor in my abscence.
The rest of the days I've been gone are related to yet another medical condition. The real icing on the cake is that I also have somehow managed to get an abscess. Yup, just what Repo got. Did I catch it from him? Probably. But until the lab results come in, I won't know for sure.
I noticed some swelling on Friday night and thought it was just an ingrown hair or something. But by Saturday morning, it was red, extremely painful and very swollen. It was also the size of a small dinner plate. No joke. After seeing what Repo had been through, I pretty much knew what I was dealing with. I knew I was in for it--the pain, the medication, the numerous doctor trips. I said some not-so-nice things to him. Because it takes about a month for these to heal up. And because I had to have FIVE shots. That's FIVE needles. And they HURT.
He lost some serious boyfriend points with this.
According to the doctor, abscesses are spreading all over town, which makes me wonder because I was under the impression that these were hard to catch. I just figured the fact that Repo is naturally averse to hand-washing (no matter how often I ask him to do it) left me in a high-risk environment. I thought it was one of those things where I would have to touch it directly in order to get it. We were very careful about keeping it bandaged and away from my hands. Or so we thought. I guess one time he must not have washed his hands. And then I didn't wash my hands. The Czarina is having a field day with this, implying that he and I are nasty and filthy people who do not bathe:
"Nice couple. Maybe you two can go to the doctor together and get them drained at the same time. Is there a two-for-one special?"
"Yeah, Mom, we can lay on parallel tables and hold hands while they do it. Thanks for the sympathy," I replied.
Did I mention where my abscess is located?
It's ON MY ASS. Of all freakin' places. I'm sorry if that grosses you out, but I can assure you that it's probably the most humiliating thing I've ever had to endure. I think that giving myself a head-to-toe scrub down with the loofah must have opened me up to infection. Either that or something mundane like an ingrown hair. And of course, the kind of luck that I have, it ends up on my ass. Unbelievable. All in the name of having a smooth tushie. Ask me how sexy I feel.
Ever called your boss to say that you can't come in to work because your ass hurts? Not fun.
Please note for the record: This infection does not mean that I am a nasty, filthy person who does not bathe. It's just a bacterial infection. All it takes is one time not washing your hands. And one teeny-tiny opening on your skin. And one itsy bitsy bacterium to get in there. And some people are just naturally more susceptible to getting them. So no jokes about my personal hygeine. And go wash your hands. Trust me, you don't want this.
I'm a little frustrated with medical information of today. I have heard different things from different medical sources. So has Repo. So we have no idea if we can pass it back and forth over and over. He's afraid to touch me because he doesn't want to get it again. We don't know if I can spread it to my coworkers or K. We don't know if Sammy will get it. I don't know if I should be quarantined or sterilize my apartment or what. Do I have to throw away my shower sponge? Boil my sheets? Forbid people from drinking after me? We don't even know how we got it--Repo read something that said the bacteria can be airborne. We can only suppose Repo caught it in the emergency room when he got his eye sewn up. The doctor's attitude to all my questions is "Until the lab results come in and we know what kind of bacteria it is, all I can tell you to do is wash your hands." Not much help. By the time the lab results come in, I could spread it to everyone I know.
Probably the most inconvenient thing about it is that it cannot get wet. Have you ever tried to take a shower without getting your ass wet? Yeah, it doesn't work. So I have to lean over the tub and wash body sections one at a time. And the whole time, I have to pose in angles which don't allow water to run down my back and get my butt wet. It takes about 45 minutes. It's very tiring.
It's probably a staph infection, so it could be serious if left unattended. It's also going to be hard to get rid of. That's why I'm really pumped up with antibiotics right now. That's also why I leave nasty messages on Repo's voice mail every day. Messages like: "Hi. It's me. I can't sit down. In case you forgot, this is all your fault. And P.S.--I hate you. Bye."
He knows I'm kidding. Kinda.
It's also really really painful, especially when they go to change the dressing. It feels like they are taking steel wool and grinding it into the open sore. It hurts so badly that I literally cry and want to punch the doctor in the face. It's the most painful thing I've ever had. It even beats out migraines. There is no way labor is this painful. No way.
Which is why they gave me a prescription for Vicodin. Let me tell ya--I'm having a good time about 45 minutes after taking that. Remember how Anna Nicole Smith was when she was fat and out of it? That's exactly how I am. It's like I'm drunk. I have no internal dialogue and I talk very loudly, according to Repo. And K thinks I'm hilarious when I take it because I bump into furniture and dance to music videos. In case you've never had it, Vicodin doesn't really numb anything so much as you just don't care about anything. Like that scene from Sex and the City where Miranda gets eye surgery and Steve asks her: "Are you okay?" and she replies, "I'm on Valium. Everything's okay." I have never felt so relaxed in my life. It's like vacation in pill format. I had a grin on my face for four hours. Then I passed out.
While I'm a lot better than I was, it will take about 3 more weeks for this to clear up. The good thing is, I caught it very early. But I have to get the dressing changed every other day. So I'll be sponge-bathing and wacked out on meds for a little while. Hopefully no one I know and love will get one. And I'm crossing my fingers that I won't get any side effects from the antibiotics. (Ladies, you know what I mean!) But the doctor did a really good job last night. I noticed a big difference this morning. At least today I can sit.
And yes, I'm leaving out lots of gross parts. Trust me, you don't want to know the dirty details of this kind of infection. Just wash your hands constantly. And pray really hard that you don't get one. On your ass or anywhere else.
Now, when I say that my boyfriend is a pain in my ass, it can be taken literally.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Photos
Ok, she's going to kill me for this, but this is Blonde, in the bathroom, drunk. She is stuck in her dress because she's trying to pee and won't hold still long enough for us to help her. I was laughing while I took this, that's why it's fuzzy. She will now murder me for doing this. But whatever. She was all worried about being drunk there, but after we left, I guess the mother of the bride fell off the stage. So, really, it's no biggie that she got drunk.
Ok, I took this one while I was driving. Pretty good, eh? That's the big redneck truck I was telling you about. My car (a sedan) comes up to the top of the tires. That's how tall this thing was.
One of the big boats I saw from my hotel room window. This picture doesn't do it justice. You can fit a fleet of airplanes inside this thing.
Aww, so cute! My little Sammy! Those are my shoes. And the rug (crumpled from playing with Sammy) was made by my grandma. He's a good boy and doesn't chew on them. The Czarina would scream if she saw this picture, because her mom made the rug and she wants to preserve it forever. Shhh...don't tell on me.
Ok, let me just say that I'm not feeling very well, so I'm going home early today. Apologies to everyone because again, I will be behind on reading everyone's blogs. Please forgive me. I can assure you that my sore throat and dry hacking cough are not pleasant. I feel like crap. I just want to lay down and eat some soup.
And yes, it might be from the three cigarettes I had this weekend. Shut up.
Oh, one more thing. Repo made dinner for me when I got home on Saturday. So sweet! And just what I needed after dealing with The Assholes (see below).
I tried to get my disposable camera photos put onto a CD so I could post them here, but the girl at the drugstore gave me attitude, so I'll have to do it some other time. I got a really good shot of the trees in Savannah, so I'd like to post that sometime. Oh well. That's what I get for being the last human on earth to not own a digital camera. I'll get one some day! Until then, y'all are stuck with my camera phone pictures.
Bye! *cough*
The Assholes
A hotel isn't like a home, but it's better than being a house guest. -- William Feather
My oldest friend in the world, J, came to visit me and her extended family this weekend. She landed here in Columbia on Friday morning, along with her boyfriend, S. It was like we had never skipped a beat. After 13 years, we still get along like peas 'n' carrots. I even like her boyfriend! We had breakfast and then hung out at my house for a little while. She told me she had to be in the Charleston area on Sunday for her family reunion (small world moment: it turns out her family and Repo's family are from the same tiny town near Charleston!). But until then, she would be hanging with S's friends nearby.
I had originally planned to go down for the day on Saturday to hang out with her and S's friends. (I was misinformed--I thought they lived on Isle of Palms, but it was actually James Island, where Folly Beach is located.) But they convinced me to leave right away and spend the entire weekend with them. I asked if I could bring Sammy, and after making a call, they said the hosts didn't mind. So I packed quickly and put Sammy in the car.
An hour and a half later, we arrived at the house. Two minutes after that, I realized I had made a bad decision. It turns out I was staying with The Assholes. Apparently, "hospitality" is a foreign concept to these people. Maybe I've been spoiled by Southern Hospitality, but these people really offended me. (And yes, they were from up north, so I'm not trying to be sterotypical, but....if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, then....)
Have you ever gone somewhere with a group and felt totally left out? You're sitting there thinking, Why am I even here? That's pretty much how my stay went. It started the moment I walked in the door.
Only the host, Mr. Asshole, was home. He scarcely spoke a word to me. Mrs. Asshole was still at work and then had to pick up the kids from school. I was not greeted by Mr. Asshole or instructed on where to put my things. So I left them in the middle of the living room. Since they had a fenced-in yard, I put Sammy out there. Again, this was my idea. I was not told what to do with my dog. When I came back into the kitchen, Mr. Asshole was having a blast, talking to J & S. He never really acknowledged my presence. He made pina coladas for them, and then they went outside to sit on the patio.
Notice that I was not offered anything to drink? Or that I was not invited to join them? Yeah, me too.
An hour or so later, when Mrs. Asshole got home, she offered me something to drink. I was beginning to think it was only Mr. Asshole who was a jerk, until I realized that Mrs. Asshole didn't have a problem with letting me be the babysitter while they all drank and talked amongst theirselves. So I found myself coloring with the kid while they were outside. Gee, fun times. (To be honest, at this point, I would have rather been coloring. At least the kid was nice to me.)
Mrs. Asshole then began to cook dinner, and she then came over to me and said, "Were you planning on taking a shower before we go out?" I told her I was. She said, "Ok, well, can you take your shower now?" Normally, this would not bother me, but I was already feeling uncomfortable because no one was including me in any conversation, so I felt like I was being bossed around like a child. I went up to take a shower. Mrs. Asshole gave me some towels and showed me where I was sleeping. She told me I could bring my things upstairs to her sons' room. Then she showed me a bunk bead. This is fine with me. A bed's a bed. But then she said, "I hope you don't mind that my son will be sleeping in the bunk above you. And I'll change the sheets for you before we go to bed tonight."
She neglected to mention that her son had to get up at 8am the next morning for a baseball game. She also neglected to change the sheets for me. I am wondering--is it too much to ask that a guest have a room to themselves, with clean sheets? When I was little and company had to stay in my room, I just slept on the couch. Maybe this is just my family's way of doing things.
So I took my shower and then went back downstairs. I let Sammy in, and then I was informed that they didn't want the dog inside the house. This would have been helpful information if given in advance. Don't tell me my dog is welcome if he's not. If I had known this, I wouldn't have brought him because they made Sammy sleep outside. Maybe I'm being overprotective or silly, but Sammy is like my child. He sometimes sleeps in the bed with me, so for him to sleep outside in the cold is not something he is used to. He is an inside dog with very short fur, so he gets cold easily. He's not the kind of dog who is cool with being outside to begin with. He is right by my side 99% of the time. He felt like he was being punished, and so he whined and barked for most of the night while on the porch. This brought me to tears. So I stayed outside with him periodically to calm him down and try to explain things to him. The Assholes and J & S looked at me like I was crazy. I wanted to tell them to f--k off. If they had dogs, they would understand.
So we ate dinner, which was yummy. Then the three of them kept drinking. I again was not offered anything, and finally had to ask if I may have some water. And I'm still in the living room with the kid, only now we are watching a kiddie movie. The other adults are in the kitchen laughing it up. Fun times. So then it's time to go out to the bars. To be honest, I didn't want to go. I was tired and downtown parking in Charleston is a big pain in the butt. Especially at night on the weekends, from what I've heard. I hinted around at not going with them (because by this point, I had already decided I would be leaving in the morning). But then Mrs. Asshole turned to me and said, "Ok, we are going out to the bars now. We were thinking we could go in J & S's car, and that you could drive."
Can I just give my readers a word of advice? If you have a friend who doesn't drink and you are going to the bars and you want this sober person to taxi you around all night, let them offer first. Don't assume they will do it. I'm sorry, but this is only polite to let it be my idea, not yours. Sometimes I don't feel like driving! And I'm not your personal taxicab driver! And what's up with ordering me around???
Side note: Mrs. Asshole is all about some economy sized stuff. I have never seen so many economy-sized things in my life. Shampoo, cereal, olive oil, you name it. Everything in the house was in a giant container. I'm as much about saving money as the next person, but that was just weird. I don't know where she finds the room to store it all.
So since I'm a big sucker, I end up going out with them, driving 4 semi-drunk people around in a car that was not mine. Mr. Asshole sat next to me. Whoop-de-doo. His arms were crossed the entire time, and he acted like I had cooties. Whatever. I didn't know where I was going and there was a lot of traffic and a zillion pedestrians. The 4 semi-drunk people all yelled instructions at me as to where to turn, when to stop, etc. Since I have not mastered the art of listening to 4 people at once while driving in these conditions, I came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road and informed them that only one person need to speak and until then, I wasn't moving. I was pretty much at a breaking point and almost in tears by this time. Mr. Asshole was elected to give me directions, which he proceeded to bark out to me without so much as a please or thank you. Oh, and he and Mrs. Asshole had an argument during all of this.
My only revenge was that I had no cash with me, so other people had to pay for parking and my cover charge at the bars. Ha ha!
Needless to say, I was not having a good time and was again left out of all conversations. Luckily, I ran into Charleston Guy. It was so nice to see a friendly face! I had wanted to call him to tell him I was in town, but it was all so last minute and I was in such a crappy mood that I didn't call. I really doubt he and his girlfriend would have had fun with us anyway. I know he is reading this, so I hope he realizes how sorry I am, but also that he wasn't missing out on much.
I was so peeved and stressed out from driving around, I was really craving a smoke. I asked Mr. Asshole and S if I could have once, since they both smoke. They both denied having any smokes. So I bummed one from a very nice stranger. I hope a bunch of really nice things happen to these strangers, because they were so nice to me. Anyway, later on in the evening, we were all on a rooftop bar, sitting at a table. The two men proceed to whip out their packs of cigarettes and light up. Right in front of me, without even offering me one. That was pretty much the last straw. I was done trying to be nice or join in.
Luckily, Mr. Asshole was tired, so we didn't stay out very late. I went to bed right when we got home which was around 2am, but they stayed up until God knows when, talking loudly and playing music. This made it very difficult for me to fall asleep. Keep in mind that the porch is right outside the living room, so poor Sammy was also kept up and didn't get any sleep. Then, as previously alluded, I was woken when the son had to get up for his baseball game at 8am. I fell back asleep and got up at 10am.
I was the only one awake and I was hungry, and knew there wouldn't be any food offered by the hosts, so I helped myself to some Cap'n Crunch. In fact, I had two bowls. I ate it outside so I could hang out with Sammy. I hope he crapped all over their yard. I hope it was runny, too. And I hope the kids tracked it inside. On the white carpet.
A little bit later, the kids and Mrs. Asshole got home from baseball. They are nice kids, so I don't know where they came from. Oh yeah. They had two different daddies, neither of which were Mr. Asshole. That explains it. They loved Sammy and played with him the whole time. I hope they nag their parents for a dog for months. Ha ha!
J&S got up soon after that and wanted Starbuck's, so we went to get it. We decided to take a detour and check out Folly Beach for a minute. Then we went back to the house. By this time, it is about 1pm. Everyone was getting ready to go to lunch and then hit the beach, and I informed J&S that I would not be accompanying them because I was going home after lunch. I wanted to tell The Assholes, but couldn't find them. So I went upstairs to take a quick shower and pack before hitting the road. I figured everyone was getting ready for the beach, so I had time. J came up to ask me what I was doing. It turns out that they were all waiting on me so they could go to the beach. If they had bothered to talk to me, they would have known that I was under the impression that I had lots of time. Apparently, I didn't, because J told me that everyone was waiting on me. So I come downstairs, dripping wet, no makeup on, carrying all my bags by myself. I felt terrible--the feeling that I'm keeping people is a very unpleasant one for me. Everyone is staring at me when I come outside to my car, and load up everything by myself while they watch.
I noticed that Sammy's bed was already in the car. "Hmmm...I don't remember putting that there," I said. S informed me that he had taken it upon himself to put that in the car earlier. Well, it doesn't get much clearer than that, now does it? I was not really welcome to stay. Talk about feeling like they were trying to get rid of me! I went around back to get Sammy. I said, "Sammy, let's get the f--k outta here!" and he gladly went with me to the car.
"So where are we eating for lunch?" I asked when I came back.
"Well, actually, it's getting so late, we are just going to go to Subway." was the reply.
"Oh. Okay. I'll just follow you guys there."
"Well, we were just going to get it and go. We weren't going to eat it there since it's so late now. We wanted to get to the beach a while ago."
Well, if someone had taken the time to talk to me today instead of putting my stuff in the car, I would have known that, I thought.
"You know what?" I said, voice trembling, "I'm just gonna go. I need to be back by dinnertime, anyway."
So I got in my car and left. No one even made sure I knew how to get home! I had to figure it out myself. I had to pull over to look at the map. And also because I was crying.
The worst part about it is, J did absolutely nothing to make my trip easier. I know she saw what was going on and could tell I was not having a good time. I felt totally betrayed. She didn't stick up for me once! Right before I left, I mentioned to her that Mr. Asshole in particular had been acting like I was a leper or something.
"Yeah, I know. He's not the friendliest guy in town."
"Yeah, I sorta already figured that out," I replied.
I sorta already figured out what kind of a friend J is, too.
My oldest friend in the world, J, came to visit me and her extended family this weekend. She landed here in Columbia on Friday morning, along with her boyfriend, S. It was like we had never skipped a beat. After 13 years, we still get along like peas 'n' carrots. I even like her boyfriend! We had breakfast and then hung out at my house for a little while. She told me she had to be in the Charleston area on Sunday for her family reunion (small world moment: it turns out her family and Repo's family are from the same tiny town near Charleston!). But until then, she would be hanging with S's friends nearby.
I had originally planned to go down for the day on Saturday to hang out with her and S's friends. (I was misinformed--I thought they lived on Isle of Palms, but it was actually James Island, where Folly Beach is located.) But they convinced me to leave right away and spend the entire weekend with them. I asked if I could bring Sammy, and after making a call, they said the hosts didn't mind. So I packed quickly and put Sammy in the car.
An hour and a half later, we arrived at the house. Two minutes after that, I realized I had made a bad decision. It turns out I was staying with The Assholes. Apparently, "hospitality" is a foreign concept to these people. Maybe I've been spoiled by Southern Hospitality, but these people really offended me. (And yes, they were from up north, so I'm not trying to be sterotypical, but....if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, then....)
Have you ever gone somewhere with a group and felt totally left out? You're sitting there thinking, Why am I even here? That's pretty much how my stay went. It started the moment I walked in the door.
Only the host, Mr. Asshole, was home. He scarcely spoke a word to me. Mrs. Asshole was still at work and then had to pick up the kids from school. I was not greeted by Mr. Asshole or instructed on where to put my things. So I left them in the middle of the living room. Since they had a fenced-in yard, I put Sammy out there. Again, this was my idea. I was not told what to do with my dog. When I came back into the kitchen, Mr. Asshole was having a blast, talking to J & S. He never really acknowledged my presence. He made pina coladas for them, and then they went outside to sit on the patio.
Notice that I was not offered anything to drink? Or that I was not invited to join them? Yeah, me too.
An hour or so later, when Mrs. Asshole got home, she offered me something to drink. I was beginning to think it was only Mr. Asshole who was a jerk, until I realized that Mrs. Asshole didn't have a problem with letting me be the babysitter while they all drank and talked amongst theirselves. So I found myself coloring with the kid while they were outside. Gee, fun times. (To be honest, at this point, I would have rather been coloring. At least the kid was nice to me.)
Mrs. Asshole then began to cook dinner, and she then came over to me and said, "Were you planning on taking a shower before we go out?" I told her I was. She said, "Ok, well, can you take your shower now?" Normally, this would not bother me, but I was already feeling uncomfortable because no one was including me in any conversation, so I felt like I was being bossed around like a child. I went up to take a shower. Mrs. Asshole gave me some towels and showed me where I was sleeping. She told me I could bring my things upstairs to her sons' room. Then she showed me a bunk bead. This is fine with me. A bed's a bed. But then she said, "I hope you don't mind that my son will be sleeping in the bunk above you. And I'll change the sheets for you before we go to bed tonight."
She neglected to mention that her son had to get up at 8am the next morning for a baseball game. She also neglected to change the sheets for me. I am wondering--is it too much to ask that a guest have a room to themselves, with clean sheets? When I was little and company had to stay in my room, I just slept on the couch. Maybe this is just my family's way of doing things.
So I took my shower and then went back downstairs. I let Sammy in, and then I was informed that they didn't want the dog inside the house. This would have been helpful information if given in advance. Don't tell me my dog is welcome if he's not. If I had known this, I wouldn't have brought him because they made Sammy sleep outside. Maybe I'm being overprotective or silly, but Sammy is like my child. He sometimes sleeps in the bed with me, so for him to sleep outside in the cold is not something he is used to. He is an inside dog with very short fur, so he gets cold easily. He's not the kind of dog who is cool with being outside to begin with. He is right by my side 99% of the time. He felt like he was being punished, and so he whined and barked for most of the night while on the porch. This brought me to tears. So I stayed outside with him periodically to calm him down and try to explain things to him. The Assholes and J & S looked at me like I was crazy. I wanted to tell them to f--k off. If they had dogs, they would understand.
So we ate dinner, which was yummy. Then the three of them kept drinking. I again was not offered anything, and finally had to ask if I may have some water. And I'm still in the living room with the kid, only now we are watching a kiddie movie. The other adults are in the kitchen laughing it up. Fun times. So then it's time to go out to the bars. To be honest, I didn't want to go. I was tired and downtown parking in Charleston is a big pain in the butt. Especially at night on the weekends, from what I've heard. I hinted around at not going with them (because by this point, I had already decided I would be leaving in the morning). But then Mrs. Asshole turned to me and said, "Ok, we are going out to the bars now. We were thinking we could go in J & S's car, and that you could drive."
Can I just give my readers a word of advice? If you have a friend who doesn't drink and you are going to the bars and you want this sober person to taxi you around all night, let them offer first. Don't assume they will do it. I'm sorry, but this is only polite to let it be my idea, not yours. Sometimes I don't feel like driving! And I'm not your personal taxicab driver! And what's up with ordering me around???
Side note: Mrs. Asshole is all about some economy sized stuff. I have never seen so many economy-sized things in my life. Shampoo, cereal, olive oil, you name it. Everything in the house was in a giant container. I'm as much about saving money as the next person, but that was just weird. I don't know where she finds the room to store it all.
So since I'm a big sucker, I end up going out with them, driving 4 semi-drunk people around in a car that was not mine. Mr. Asshole sat next to me. Whoop-de-doo. His arms were crossed the entire time, and he acted like I had cooties. Whatever. I didn't know where I was going and there was a lot of traffic and a zillion pedestrians. The 4 semi-drunk people all yelled instructions at me as to where to turn, when to stop, etc. Since I have not mastered the art of listening to 4 people at once while driving in these conditions, I came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road and informed them that only one person need to speak and until then, I wasn't moving. I was pretty much at a breaking point and almost in tears by this time. Mr. Asshole was elected to give me directions, which he proceeded to bark out to me without so much as a please or thank you. Oh, and he and Mrs. Asshole had an argument during all of this.
My only revenge was that I had no cash with me, so other people had to pay for parking and my cover charge at the bars. Ha ha!
Needless to say, I was not having a good time and was again left out of all conversations. Luckily, I ran into Charleston Guy. It was so nice to see a friendly face! I had wanted to call him to tell him I was in town, but it was all so last minute and I was in such a crappy mood that I didn't call. I really doubt he and his girlfriend would have had fun with us anyway. I know he is reading this, so I hope he realizes how sorry I am, but also that he wasn't missing out on much.
I was so peeved and stressed out from driving around, I was really craving a smoke. I asked Mr. Asshole and S if I could have once, since they both smoke. They both denied having any smokes. So I bummed one from a very nice stranger. I hope a bunch of really nice things happen to these strangers, because they were so nice to me. Anyway, later on in the evening, we were all on a rooftop bar, sitting at a table. The two men proceed to whip out their packs of cigarettes and light up. Right in front of me, without even offering me one. That was pretty much the last straw. I was done trying to be nice or join in.
Luckily, Mr. Asshole was tired, so we didn't stay out very late. I went to bed right when we got home which was around 2am, but they stayed up until God knows when, talking loudly and playing music. This made it very difficult for me to fall asleep. Keep in mind that the porch is right outside the living room, so poor Sammy was also kept up and didn't get any sleep. Then, as previously alluded, I was woken when the son had to get up for his baseball game at 8am. I fell back asleep and got up at 10am.
I was the only one awake and I was hungry, and knew there wouldn't be any food offered by the hosts, so I helped myself to some Cap'n Crunch. In fact, I had two bowls. I ate it outside so I could hang out with Sammy. I hope he crapped all over their yard. I hope it was runny, too. And I hope the kids tracked it inside. On the white carpet.
A little bit later, the kids and Mrs. Asshole got home from baseball. They are nice kids, so I don't know where they came from. Oh yeah. They had two different daddies, neither of which were Mr. Asshole. That explains it. They loved Sammy and played with him the whole time. I hope they nag their parents for a dog for months. Ha ha!
J&S got up soon after that and wanted Starbuck's, so we went to get it. We decided to take a detour and check out Folly Beach for a minute. Then we went back to the house. By this time, it is about 1pm. Everyone was getting ready to go to lunch and then hit the beach, and I informed J&S that I would not be accompanying them because I was going home after lunch. I wanted to tell The Assholes, but couldn't find them. So I went upstairs to take a quick shower and pack before hitting the road. I figured everyone was getting ready for the beach, so I had time. J came up to ask me what I was doing. It turns out that they were all waiting on me so they could go to the beach. If they had bothered to talk to me, they would have known that I was under the impression that I had lots of time. Apparently, I didn't, because J told me that everyone was waiting on me. So I come downstairs, dripping wet, no makeup on, carrying all my bags by myself. I felt terrible--the feeling that I'm keeping people is a very unpleasant one for me. Everyone is staring at me when I come outside to my car, and load up everything by myself while they watch.
I noticed that Sammy's bed was already in the car. "Hmmm...I don't remember putting that there," I said. S informed me that he had taken it upon himself to put that in the car earlier. Well, it doesn't get much clearer than that, now does it? I was not really welcome to stay. Talk about feeling like they were trying to get rid of me! I went around back to get Sammy. I said, "Sammy, let's get the f--k outta here!" and he gladly went with me to the car.
"So where are we eating for lunch?" I asked when I came back.
"Well, actually, it's getting so late, we are just going to go to Subway." was the reply.
"Oh. Okay. I'll just follow you guys there."
"Well, we were just going to get it and go. We weren't going to eat it there since it's so late now. We wanted to get to the beach a while ago."
Well, if someone had taken the time to talk to me today instead of putting my stuff in the car, I would have known that, I thought.
"You know what?" I said, voice trembling, "I'm just gonna go. I need to be back by dinnertime, anyway."
So I got in my car and left. No one even made sure I knew how to get home! I had to figure it out myself. I had to pull over to look at the map. And also because I was crying.
The worst part about it is, J did absolutely nothing to make my trip easier. I know she saw what was going on and could tell I was not having a good time. I felt totally betrayed. She didn't stick up for me once! Right before I left, I mentioned to her that Mr. Asshole in particular had been acting like I was a leper or something.
"Yeah, I know. He's not the friendliest guy in town."
"Yeah, I sorta already figured that out," I replied.
I sorta already figured out what kind of a friend J is, too.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Numbers
No, I'm not at the bottom of the Savannah River. I can assure you I'm alive. Since I've been gone so long, I will try to sum up stuff using numbers and a list. I'm anal like that. This is more-or-less chronological. And way faster, trust me.
8-- the number of days it's been since I've posted.
2--the number of whole days I've worked this week.
1--the number of days I called in sick....you can draw your own conclusions on that one.
3-- the number of trips I will have taken in a two week period.
6--the number of hours of sleep I've had every night for...um, too long to count.
4.7 billion--the number of things I need to do yet cannot find time to do them. Coincidentally, this is also how much money I need to pay my bills because I am B-R-O-K-E. As in, oh shit, that's really all that's left? kind of broke. The not-funny kind.
1--the number of times I've forgotten to feed Sammy this week. Dinner at 11pm? He'll be alright!
30-- the number of minutes I needed to recover from leaving Sammy at the kennel for 5 days. I cried like a baby, y'all. It was pathetic. I couldn't finish sentences. I needed kleenex. And I missed him more than Repo! Shh! Don't tell him that.
0--the number of CDs I could listen to on the drive to Savannah. This is because there was no CD player in the company car. Yes, it was just as horrible as you can imagine. I almost died.
4-- the number of MASSIVELY HUGE boats I saw right out of my window at the Savannah hotel (Pictures forthcoming). They were so freakin' huge. It was really cool, trust me.
1-- the number of yummy meals I had in Savannah (Something is wrong. Seriously wrong.) Breakfast was the worst--dry muffins and a tiny bit of fruit. (Um, what?) This number doesn't include the yummy ice cream cone I had while walking around Savannah, window shopping.
1--the number of ghost stories I heard while eating at the haunted pirate restaurant. Let me just say that the waitress got a big tip from me for sharing it.
39--number of dollars my meal cost, complete with tip. Ouch. Luckily, I get most of that back as comp money. The pecan pie I had to pay on my own. And I'm ok with that.
1--The number of new job offers Repo got while I was gone. He will start in a hotel on May 15th. YAY!!! No more asshole bosses!!! Better hours and pay!!! YAY!!! No need to wear a bullet-proof vest to work!!! YAY!!
2--number of pirate-themed shirts I wanted to buy for Repo, but didn't. The shirts said: "The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves" and "Give Up the Booty". I love pirates. Arrrr! They shiver me timbers.
6--The number of reasons I want to go back to Savannah ASAP (Find better food, go on historic tour, go on ghost tour, take advantage of Repo's new hotel employee discount, sleep in AMAZING Hyatt hotel bed again, find a souvenier that doesn't suck.)
about 5-- the number of pictures I took. Dangit! I always do that!
1.3 zillion--the number of beautiful live oak trees there. Why aren't these trees everywhere??? They are gorgeous.
3--the number of librarians at the conference who were under the age of 40. This number includes yours truly. Only 2/3 of this population were people you would want to grab a beer with. Yes, I'm part of that group. Shut up. I'm cool.
2--the number of talks that were actually kinda interesting at the conference. Ok, not really. I mean, COME ON, it's a librarian conference! It was Yawn City.
Too many to count--The number of Fashion Police alerts. We went waaaaay beyond socks-with-sandals here, folks. And those tshirts with the gray kittens on them? That's kid stuff. Librarians, as a whole, wear industrial-strength dowdywear. Just...wierd outfits. So wrong. So incredibly wrong. I mean, who wears fluorescent orange mesh ballet flats? Shit, who would BUY fluorescent orange mesh ballet flats? I mean, would you go to whatever freak store sells them and say, "Now there's a great pair of shoes! I can wear them to my professional conference!" Jeez Louise.
1--the number of cross-dressing/trannie librarians at the conference. You can't make this stuff up, folks! It was a HE wearing a wig and a power suit. No makeup, hair removal, long nails, hormone replacement therapy or feminine jewelry. Very strange. I just kept wondering: So...is he trying to look like a girl? or not?
5--the number of stars I would give to the hotel. They rocked my socks. Best EVER service. I'm actually emailing them to thank them. [insert shock and awe here]
1--number of tricked-out redneck trucks with massively huge tires seen on drive home. (Again, pictures are coming). It was so obviously owned by white trash....I can't even get into it.
1-- the number of weddings I've been to lately.
4--the number of totally annoying and ridiculously procrastinating students that have bothered me while I'm trying to type this. *VB clenches teeth in sheer rage* Grrrr....semester....almost....over.
8--the number of people I knew at the wedding. 5 of them were girlfriends of mine. We were invited as moral support for Blonde. She finagled invites for us, even though it wasn't her wedding. It was her brother's wedding. We barely know him. But it was really nice of his bridezilla to invite us.
0--the number of times I had laid eyes on the bride prior to the wedding.
1-- number of nice things I'd heard about the bride prior to laying eyes on her.
3--the number of poster-sized prints of her wedding photos, displayed prominantly throughout the country club, which caused Brunette and I to either cringe or say "What...is she....doing...in this picture?"
200--approx. number of CDs burned by the couple as wedding favors for the guests. Aside from a few cheesy songs, it was actually a good CD. Lots of Motown. Probably the best wedding favor ever. Only a true Bridezilla could accomplish such a feat.
12--the number of bridesmaids. No joke.
2--the number of photos displayed at the reception which included the groom. This is out of about 35 pictures.
5:00--the time the wedding started. For real. It was on.the.dot. (Whose wedding starts on time??? She's bridezilla, I'm telling you.)
$20,000--estimated cost of ultra-posh wedding. Complete with band, buffet, 5-layered cake and open bar. For at least 6 hours. Because at midnight, I went home while they raged on.
2--the number of cigarettes I had at the wedding. (I blame my stupid biological clock. I was depressed! The bride was 24! I mean, seriously!!! I had no choice!)
1--number of people I was hoping wouldn't be at the wedding but were there anyway. It was W, a guy that apparently has a big crush on me. (Girlfriends teased me incessantly about this. I guess he just talks a mile a minute when around me, but is dead silent around everyone else. Whatever.) Nice guy, but I've always thought he was kinda boring. Not the funniest guy I've ever met. He used to live in my hometown, so we kind of bonded over that. We were sharing college stories when he informed me that he was a drug dealer while in college. I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. Seriously, if you saw him, you'd think he was Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes. Two smokes--tobacco, not marijuana-- later, we had traded all our train-wreck online dating stories and I had given him the entire history of Me n Repo. Shit. I hate it when I do that. Must. Think. Private.
4--the number of people it took to sneak Blonde out of the wedding, Mission-Impossible style, so that her family wouldn't see how drunk she was.
3--the number of times she puked before passing out.
10--the number of incriminating photos Brunette and I took of her drunk ass.
30--the number of minutes it took to get Blonde out of her bridesmaid dress and into her clean pajamas. (Apparently, she will wear pjs once and consider them "dirty". She also gets really picky about this when she's drunk, leading her to sound rather demanding and bossy. Seriously, am I weird that I wear my pjs until they are so dirty that they can stand on their own? That is just too much laundry! And who has that many pjs?)
1--the number of 12-inch long rips she managed to tear in the lining of the dress before getting out of it.
2--the number of times I almost peed while all this was going on.
0--the number of showers I took before hitting the road to go home the next morning at 10:00 am. Bridezilla, true to form, made everyone wake up at 8:00am so we could see them leave for the honeymoon. If we didn't show at 8, we got no breakfast. I was a zombie. Who does this to their guests, anyway? It was like torture. I was grumpy to the extreme. And I smelled like party. Eww.
$20--the amount of money I owe Brunette from the trip. Crap. Have no money. This doesn't excuse me from paying her back. Crap.
$92--the amount of money I paid to the dentist today for my semi-annual check up.
1--the number of cavities I have. F--k!
$150--the cost to fill said cavity. "But it will be tooth-colored!" he said happily. Yeah, that helps, Dr. Dentist. Asswipe. I hate him. Ok, not really. He's pretty cool. I just hate my crappy insurance and genetics that caused me to inherit my mother's bizarrely deep tooth grooves that are just ripe for cavities.
1-- the number of friends coming to visit me tomorrow!
5--the number of years it's been since I've seen her!!!
13--the number of years I've known her!!!!
1--the number of boyfriends she is bringing with her so I can meet his about-to-propose ass!
1--the number of family reunions she has in Charleston this weekend. (I'm hanging out w/her here in Columbia tomorrow, then meeting her down in Isle of Palms for a Saturday-Day-Trip. Then I'll drive back Saturday night so she can attend her family reunion in Charleston. And yes, Sammy's going with me. It will be his first trip to the beach. Note to self: take pictures.)
Um, ok, I think that about wraps it up. Side bit of info: Repo has been super duper sweet to me lately. He either A) has my house bugged and knows how much I've been bitching about him lately, B) has paid off K to be an informant, C) can indeed read my mind telepathically or D) actually just likes being really sweet to me because now he's realized that showing emotion doesn't mean your penis will fall off!
*sigh* VB is happy. But busy. And broke. Sooooooo broke.
I'll email more next week. Sorry y'all. Gotta run. Have great weekends and I promise I'll catch up on reading blogs next week. I have to blog about my crazy neighbor, my 2nd job dilemma, Sammy's quirks and tell the tale of my most embarrassing moment ever. And post photos. Shit! I have too much to do...hang in there. It's going to be crazy.
8-- the number of days it's been since I've posted.
2--the number of whole days I've worked this week.
1--the number of days I called in sick....you can draw your own conclusions on that one.
3-- the number of trips I will have taken in a two week period.
6--the number of hours of sleep I've had every night for...um, too long to count.
4.7 billion--the number of things I need to do yet cannot find time to do them. Coincidentally, this is also how much money I need to pay my bills because I am B-R-O-K-E. As in, oh shit, that's really all that's left? kind of broke. The not-funny kind.
1--the number of times I've forgotten to feed Sammy this week. Dinner at 11pm? He'll be alright!
30-- the number of minutes I needed to recover from leaving Sammy at the kennel for 5 days. I cried like a baby, y'all. It was pathetic. I couldn't finish sentences. I needed kleenex. And I missed him more than Repo! Shh! Don't tell him that.
0--the number of CDs I could listen to on the drive to Savannah. This is because there was no CD player in the company car. Yes, it was just as horrible as you can imagine. I almost died.
4-- the number of MASSIVELY HUGE boats I saw right out of my window at the Savannah hotel (Pictures forthcoming). They were so freakin' huge. It was really cool, trust me.
1-- the number of yummy meals I had in Savannah (Something is wrong. Seriously wrong.) Breakfast was the worst--dry muffins and a tiny bit of fruit. (Um, what?) This number doesn't include the yummy ice cream cone I had while walking around Savannah, window shopping.
1--the number of ghost stories I heard while eating at the haunted pirate restaurant. Let me just say that the waitress got a big tip from me for sharing it.
39--number of dollars my meal cost, complete with tip. Ouch. Luckily, I get most of that back as comp money. The pecan pie I had to pay on my own. And I'm ok with that.
1--The number of new job offers Repo got while I was gone. He will start in a hotel on May 15th. YAY!!! No more asshole bosses!!! Better hours and pay!!! YAY!!! No need to wear a bullet-proof vest to work!!! YAY!!
2--number of pirate-themed shirts I wanted to buy for Repo, but didn't. The shirts said: "The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves" and "Give Up the Booty". I love pirates. Arrrr! They shiver me timbers.
6--The number of reasons I want to go back to Savannah ASAP (Find better food, go on historic tour, go on ghost tour, take advantage of Repo's new hotel employee discount, sleep in AMAZING Hyatt hotel bed again, find a souvenier that doesn't suck.)
about 5-- the number of pictures I took. Dangit! I always do that!
1.3 zillion--the number of beautiful live oak trees there. Why aren't these trees everywhere??? They are gorgeous.
3--the number of librarians at the conference who were under the age of 40. This number includes yours truly. Only 2/3 of this population were people you would want to grab a beer with. Yes, I'm part of that group. Shut up. I'm cool.
2--the number of talks that were actually kinda interesting at the conference. Ok, not really. I mean, COME ON, it's a librarian conference! It was Yawn City.
Too many to count--The number of Fashion Police alerts. We went waaaaay beyond socks-with-sandals here, folks. And those tshirts with the gray kittens on them? That's kid stuff. Librarians, as a whole, wear industrial-strength dowdywear. Just...wierd outfits. So wrong. So incredibly wrong. I mean, who wears fluorescent orange mesh ballet flats? Shit, who would BUY fluorescent orange mesh ballet flats? I mean, would you go to whatever freak store sells them and say, "Now there's a great pair of shoes! I can wear them to my professional conference!" Jeez Louise.
1--the number of cross-dressing/trannie librarians at the conference. You can't make this stuff up, folks! It was a HE wearing a wig and a power suit. No makeup, hair removal, long nails, hormone replacement therapy or feminine jewelry. Very strange. I just kept wondering: So...is he trying to look like a girl? or not?
5--the number of stars I would give to the hotel. They rocked my socks. Best EVER service. I'm actually emailing them to thank them. [insert shock and awe here]
1--number of tricked-out redneck trucks with massively huge tires seen on drive home. (Again, pictures are coming). It was so obviously owned by white trash....I can't even get into it.
1-- the number of weddings I've been to lately.
4--the number of totally annoying and ridiculously procrastinating students that have bothered me while I'm trying to type this. *VB clenches teeth in sheer rage* Grrrr....semester....almost....over.
8--the number of people I knew at the wedding. 5 of them were girlfriends of mine. We were invited as moral support for Blonde. She finagled invites for us, even though it wasn't her wedding. It was her brother's wedding. We barely know him. But it was really nice of his bridezilla to invite us.
0--the number of times I had laid eyes on the bride prior to the wedding.
1-- number of nice things I'd heard about the bride prior to laying eyes on her.
3--the number of poster-sized prints of her wedding photos, displayed prominantly throughout the country club, which caused Brunette and I to either cringe or say "What...is she....doing...in this picture?"
200--approx. number of CDs burned by the couple as wedding favors for the guests. Aside from a few cheesy songs, it was actually a good CD. Lots of Motown. Probably the best wedding favor ever. Only a true Bridezilla could accomplish such a feat.
12--the number of bridesmaids. No joke.
2--the number of photos displayed at the reception which included the groom. This is out of about 35 pictures.
5:00--the time the wedding started. For real. It was on.the.dot. (Whose wedding starts on time??? She's bridezilla, I'm telling you.)
$20,000--estimated cost of ultra-posh wedding. Complete with band, buffet, 5-layered cake and open bar. For at least 6 hours. Because at midnight, I went home while they raged on.
2--the number of cigarettes I had at the wedding. (I blame my stupid biological clock. I was depressed! The bride was 24! I mean, seriously!!! I had no choice!)
1--number of people I was hoping wouldn't be at the wedding but were there anyway. It was W, a guy that apparently has a big crush on me. (Girlfriends teased me incessantly about this. I guess he just talks a mile a minute when around me, but is dead silent around everyone else. Whatever.) Nice guy, but I've always thought he was kinda boring. Not the funniest guy I've ever met. He used to live in my hometown, so we kind of bonded over that. We were sharing college stories when he informed me that he was a drug dealer while in college. I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. Seriously, if you saw him, you'd think he was Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes. Two smokes--tobacco, not marijuana-- later, we had traded all our train-wreck online dating stories and I had given him the entire history of Me n Repo. Shit. I hate it when I do that. Must. Think. Private.
4--the number of people it took to sneak Blonde out of the wedding, Mission-Impossible style, so that her family wouldn't see how drunk she was.
3--the number of times she puked before passing out.
10--the number of incriminating photos Brunette and I took of her drunk ass.
30--the number of minutes it took to get Blonde out of her bridesmaid dress and into her clean pajamas. (Apparently, she will wear pjs once and consider them "dirty". She also gets really picky about this when she's drunk, leading her to sound rather demanding and bossy. Seriously, am I weird that I wear my pjs until they are so dirty that they can stand on their own? That is just too much laundry! And who has that many pjs?)
1--the number of 12-inch long rips she managed to tear in the lining of the dress before getting out of it.
2--the number of times I almost peed while all this was going on.
0--the number of showers I took before hitting the road to go home the next morning at 10:00 am. Bridezilla, true to form, made everyone wake up at 8:00am so we could see them leave for the honeymoon. If we didn't show at 8, we got no breakfast. I was a zombie. Who does this to their guests, anyway? It was like torture. I was grumpy to the extreme. And I smelled like party. Eww.
$20--the amount of money I owe Brunette from the trip. Crap. Have no money. This doesn't excuse me from paying her back. Crap.
$92--the amount of money I paid to the dentist today for my semi-annual check up.
1--the number of cavities I have. F--k!
$150--the cost to fill said cavity. "But it will be tooth-colored!" he said happily. Yeah, that helps, Dr. Dentist. Asswipe. I hate him. Ok, not really. He's pretty cool. I just hate my crappy insurance and genetics that caused me to inherit my mother's bizarrely deep tooth grooves that are just ripe for cavities.
1-- the number of friends coming to visit me tomorrow!
5--the number of years it's been since I've seen her!!!
13--the number of years I've known her!!!!
1--the number of boyfriends she is bringing with her so I can meet his about-to-propose ass!
1--the number of family reunions she has in Charleston this weekend. (I'm hanging out w/her here in Columbia tomorrow, then meeting her down in Isle of Palms for a Saturday-Day-Trip. Then I'll drive back Saturday night so she can attend her family reunion in Charleston. And yes, Sammy's going with me. It will be his first trip to the beach. Note to self: take pictures.)
Um, ok, I think that about wraps it up. Side bit of info: Repo has been super duper sweet to me lately. He either A) has my house bugged and knows how much I've been bitching about him lately, B) has paid off K to be an informant, C) can indeed read my mind telepathically or D) actually just likes being really sweet to me because now he's realized that showing emotion doesn't mean your penis will fall off!
*sigh* VB is happy. But busy. And broke. Sooooooo broke.
I'll email more next week. Sorry y'all. Gotta run. Have great weekends and I promise I'll catch up on reading blogs next week. I have to blog about my crazy neighbor, my 2nd job dilemma, Sammy's quirks and tell the tale of my most embarrassing moment ever. And post photos. Shit! I have too much to do...hang in there. It's going to be crazy.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Traveling
The saying 'Getting there is half the fun' became obsolete with the advent of commercial airlines. --Henry J. Tillman
I have been away from the blogosphere this week because I have been working on some travel plans. I have so much going on!
Today I'm going to Savannah for a work conference. So I'll be gone for the rest of the week. That's a picture of the 1858 fountain in Forsyth Park, one of the most well-known landmarks of the city. You might recognize it if you've ever seen Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, which is set in Savannah. That's a great movie, by the way. I'm kind of excited since I've never been there before. I hope I'll have time to look around and check out some stuff. Or at least get some great food. There is so much history and culture down there. I'm hoping to dine at The Pirates House because it is supposedly haunted. You know how I love anything ghosty!
While I'm gone, Sammy will be at the kennel. I just dropped him off and I sobbed the whole way back. I couldn't even say goodbye because I was too upset. Needless to say, I'm feeling very over-protective and fear that this will traumatize him. I'm worried he will think he is homeless or something and will sink into a deep depression while I'm gone. I certainly flatter myself, don't I? But the kenned has been highly recommended and is reasonably priced, so it should be ok. Too bad they don't take credit cards. This will be a little more financially challenging for me, but I should be ok. I sure do wish I could take him with me, though. I'll miss him so much! K will be out of town too, so that's why she can't help me out in the dogsitting department. Navy Guy is graduating so she has to go to Charleston this week and then she has to go to a wedding near Charlotte on Saturday.
Speaking of weddings, after I get back from Savannah on Friday night, I have to turn around and pack for a wedding in Hickory, NC. Blonde's brother is getting married and she invited Brunette and me to attend as her guests. I guess that the bride is somewhat of a bridezilla because she is having a dozen or so bridesmaids. These attendants have to buy $250 shoes and $350 dresses. Miss Bridezilla also registered for some pretty hoity-toity fine china and crystal. A dozen of each Kate Spade place setting. Yeah...that comes out to around $250 worth of dinner plates alone. Must be nice. I'm hoping that she has the same taste when it comes to the buffet. Especially since I will know only three people at this wedding--hey, I can keep myself occupied if you have some good food around!
Let's cross our fingers that I'm not too fat to fit into my dress. When the number on the scale is rising like the price of gas, it's time to hit the gym. I have been sleeping and playing with Sammy too much. Note to self: must start working out again. Thank goodness there is a gym in the hotel.
So I'm trying to get a plane ticket so I can visit my friend German Nurse in (where else?) Germany. She just had the cutest baby and wants me to come visit. "No problem!" I say, "I should be able to get a free ticket with all the points I have saved up on my credit card!"
All 32,000 points. Which took me two years to accumulate. Which I got by using the card to spend $32,000 of my hard earned money. Considering it's only about 10,000 miles or so on a map from here to Germany and back again, I figured I had it in the bag, right? I mean, usually for every point you transfer, you get one mile. Right?
Oh, not in my case! I'm not going to mention the credit card or the airline, but this is basically what happened:
I called the credit card people to transfer ALL 32,000 points over to the frequent flier mile program of the airline. I then go to book the flight. Based on some unknown mathematical equation, my 32,000 points are not based on real, actual geographic miles, but some pathetically small fraction of that. So 32,000 miles are not enough for a free ticket to Germany. (Remember, I have spent $32,000 dollars! And it's not enough for one measly little ticket! Never mind the fact that that much money will buy you a lot of airline tickets to Germany!) How many miles do I need? A total of 50,000. So I offered to buy extra miles to make up the difference.
This seemed like my solution until I found out that they only allow a certain number of frequent flier tickets per flight. And every single flight to Germany in June is fresh out of frequent flier tickets. Go figure. So since I would be one of those frequent flier ticket people, I cannot buy a ticket for a flight to Germany in June.
"If you want to wait until July you can go then using that kind of ticket," they said.
"If I wanted to go in July, I would have booked it in July," I said.
"Ok, well, if you want to stay in Milan a couple of days, then go to Germany, you can do that on June 23rd."
"But I don't have any money or enough vacation time to do that," I said, "Besides, I'm obviously broke, because I'm trying to get a free ticket." Duh.
No dice. They can't work with me on this. All the frequent flier tickets have been sold. I ask to speak to a manager. Some lady (who I imagine looks like Frau Farbissina) gets on the phone with me and interrupts me a zillion times. Finally I asked:
"Well, since I'm not paying for the ticket with 100% frequent flier miles, isn't that ok? I mean, I'm willing to pay $600 of my own money. That's really only about half frequent flier." I asked. To which my reply was, "No, if any portion of the ticket is paid for with miles, it is considered a frequent flier ticket." Oh. Kay.
Then she says, "But we do have a special program where if you have 100,000 frequent flier miles, you don't have to worry about that and you can fly on any of our flights at any time. You can take whatever flight you want."
"But I just told you I only have 32,000 miles. So that isn't really an option for me. That doesn't help. I have no choice but to buy a regular ticket at the full price of $1300."
"Oh, but you could buy the missing 68,000 miles you need to total it to 100,000 miles. Let me see how much that costs...um, that would be $1700 approximately."
I don't think she was even listening to me. It's like that scene in Tommy Boy where David Spade says to the airline ticket counter lady, "Hi. I'm Earth. Have we met?" and she says, "I don't think so....?" That's exactly how I felt!
Gosh, how helpful. When I started to get upset (and yes, cry), she said I can write a letter to corporate. Yeah, because they would do something! I told her she must think I'm stupid. That's when I let her have it.
"You know, I used to have sympathy for airlines when I would see on the news that they were going under. But now I understand why. It's because you have crappy customer service and inflexible policies. I'm offering to pay half price for a ticket. Isn't half price better than nothing? You know as well as I do that that seat will probably remain empty because you would rather stick to your silly policies than get half price. And with the cost of jet fuel these days, I'm really surprised at your business practices. It's no wonder your industry goes belly up all the time. Here I am, a new customer, and all that has happened is that I've misunderstood your policies because I didn't see anything about them on your website. Your website never said anything about this during the whole time I was browsing and looking for a ticket. Your other customer service person, whom I called yesterday, told me I wouldn't have a problem doing what I want to do, so apparently, y'all need to work on your consistency because I'm hearing two different things."
I was not aware of their policies about frequent flier tickets because the policies were hidden on their website. I looked for them, trust me! But nothing on the site said anything about special tickets. Oh, sure, I found it later, after she explained to me where it was on the website. But it shouldn't be that hard to find something so important! I told her she needs to tell the website people at Screw You Airlines that they need to re-do their website because it's very confusing and misleading. She said she'd pass the information along. How much more condescending can you get???.
Wanna hear the kicker? Those points I transferred from my credit card CANNOT be put back onto my card. Trust me, I tried. So it's not like I can start over or something. Now I'm stuck with 32,000 frequent flier miles which aren't enough to help me take the trip I want to take. And now I hate this airline, so I don't even want to have anything to do with them. This was two years of point-saving for NADA.
I think what I'm going to do is use 25,000 of them towards a free domestic flight. I'm sure I'll find somewhere to use them. Gotta make sure it's a flight that isn't booked up already! Sheesh! Let's hope I book it in the next 12 months, because if I don't I will lose those too. Don't you love all these little catches?
Then I will never fly again because this is ridiculously complicated and I feel I'm really not getting my money's worth out of these points. Grrrr....I'll just use my points for other things from now on.
But now I'm left with a dilemma. Do I suck it up and shell out $1300 for a plane ticket? I did find a cheaper flight for $1100, but that's not much of a difference. Or, do I tell German Nurse I can't go? She will be heartbroken. She's already emailed me three times about how excited she is that I'm coming to see her. I'd love to go see her and I already have the time off. But I'm b-r-o-k-e. Any advice for VB?? What would you do?
So continuing on with the money theme of this post...I bought some eye cream at Target the other day. I love Target. I think just about every American woman does. I usually am very happy shopping there. But I go to open the eye cream to use it yesterday. The tube is empty. That's because someone used all of the eye cream (I could tell because there were traces of it in the cap) and then put it back into the packaging and returned it to Target, where they didn't bother to check inside before putting it back on the shelf for sale. So someone got a free tube of eye cream, leaving me very ticked off. And I couldn't find the receipt.
Isn't that gross that someone could do that? I mean, what if they had an eye infection? And how cheap can you get--it only cost about $10. I wish I had thought to check, because people used to do that all the time when I worked for Clinique. Some women would even open their half-used bottles of perfume, dilute it with water, then return the "new" bottle to us. Incredible.
Luckily, I found the receipt this morning. Yesss!!! Maybe my luck is turning around.
Better news: I think Repo is going to get a job offer from a nice hotel today. He said his interview went really well and they called him last night for a second interview. Then they said he should be getting another call today. Sounds good! I am really excited about this because he'll be much less stressed. He's happy because he'd be making more money. Woo-hoo!
Ok, I'm off to catch up on reading some blogs before going on my big adventure! Have a good weekend everyone! I'll be back on Monday.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Volunteering
Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live. -- Oscar Wilde
I hate volunteering. I know this sounds really selfish of me, but I do. So sue me. But I have my reasons for being selfish with my time and resentful of people asking me to give up free time. It's not that I have always hated volunteering or think it is bad . I applaud people who do. It's just that every time I volunteer, I feel I've been taken advantage of. I occasionally try to volunteer every so often, just to give it a try again. Each time, I end up resentful. This is because one of two things happens:
1. People swear up and down that I'm needed desperately, then when I go, there is nothing for me to do. It's really irritating to get up early on a Saturday morning and go somewhere, only to twiddle your thumbs. This is a complete waste of my time.
2. I tell people I can help out and I'm given the impression that I'm needed for a couple of hours. Then when I'm ready to help, they inform me that I'm scheduled to work for 10 hours. Again, this is really annoying. If you need me for ten hours, why not just say that instead of surprising me?
Recently, I made the mistake of volunteering for The Three Rivers Music Festival. It's an annual outdoor event here in Columbia this weekend. I didn't have much planned, and it's a hop, skip and a jump away from my front door, so I figured why not. Nice people volunteer. It makes you a better person. It makes you feel good. Blah blah blah.
So I went to the volunteer meeting. Our job is to work the booth where they sell the tshirts. Now, someone had already called me to tell me that they'd probably need me "for a couple of hours Friday night." This was fine, and what I expected. When I got there, the schedule has me down for Friday night and Saturday night--a total of TEN hours.
Yeah, because I have no life, apparently...grrrrrrrr......
Apparently when you tell them that your schedule is flexible and any day would work, they hear "I can be your bitch this weekend." Do they really think people want to do this that badly?? Here I was, thinking I was being a good volunteer by being flexible, when really I should have said "I can give you two hours. Take your pick." Gah, do you really have to spell it out for them like that? I thought it was a pretty safe assumption that I can be there for a little while, not during ALL prime social hours. And I can't believe no one else has to work as many hours! That's just not fair! This must be what I get for being flexible.
So now I hate them and am trying to figure out a way to tell them that this just isn't going to fly. Any ideas? Maybe I can think up a good excuse. I feel deceived and I'm annoyed they seem to think I don't have better things to do with my weekend. I don't mind helping, I just don't want to help that much. I'm selfish, I know.
The good news is, there's a decent chance of rain, which would really affect the attendance, so I'm praying for Monsoon '06 so it will be dead and I can leave early. (The funny thing is, we have not had any rain in like two months, and this concert is on the ONLY weekend where there has been a chance for rain. How ironic.)
This festival, btw, is often called "Bobfest", after our mayor, Bob Coble. He has a tendency to really push for this festival, regardless of its success. I read once that he always makes sure one of his personal favorite performers comes to the festival. And based on most of the acts in the past, he must have really bad taste. I am having a hard time understanding why city council is clinging so desperately to continuing this concert. It's only been around for a few years, and it is plagued with problems. They have lost money every year because of rain or because of crappy bands. This year may prove to be no different. I wish they would just give it up and admit defeat. Or re-tool it into something that works. I think they spread themselves too thin--there are about 50 performers every year, and usually about two are nationally recognized. People want to see bands they know. I think they should try to have fewer, yet more popular, acts. I also think they are too diverse in their music--I think it would work better if they focused it a little more. Few people want to see country, jazz, funk, rap, alternative rock, bluegrass, local bands, etc. I'm thinking they should limit it to just a couple of genres. Just my humble opinion. What do you think? Would you attend this festival? I've lived here for about 4 years now, and have yet to want to buy a ticket. It never appeals to me. (You can see a list of who's performing on their website.)
I read an article in the local paper that brought up a good point. We have a St. Patty's Day festival here. It draws 35,000 people for the one-day shindig. Last year, this 3 day music festival only drew 45,000. I really fail to see how it is working. They should look around and see what they can do differently instead of continuing with something that doesn't work.
Ok, didn't mean for this to be an editorial about the festival. Moving on...
K's boyfriend, Navy Guy, just found out he will end up being stationed in Norfolk, VA. This is a little bit better news, but not much. That's still about 6-7 hours away. So she and her man are in limbo for now. I feel really bad for them because it stinks when the purpose of a relationship is called into question thanks to an uncontrollable, outside source. I've been there. It's not fun. That's why I just simply don't date military men or do long distance any more. It's too painful when it happens.
So my oldest friend ever is coming to see me soon! I've been friends with J since I was 13 and I would probably have committed suicide in high school if it hadn't been for her! She kept me sane in our bizarre little world that was CHS. Remember that show, Beverly Hills 90210? That's what my high school was like--kids with their own Mercedes-Benzes. I graduated with about 750 people. I was one of two who didn't have their own car. Girls got boob jobs for graduation presents. People would buy entire new outfits at Abercrombie & Fitch every weekend so they never had to repeat an outfit. Everyone in that town had money to burn. It was surreal. For teens who lived in regular-sized homes with parents who made average salaries, this was social hell. If it hadn't been for J, I would have shriveled up with insecurity and envy.
Anyway, J is coming with her boyfriend and they are going to her family's reunion in Charleston. So I'll probably go with her. But I'll at least hang out with her when she's here in Columbia for a day. I haven't seen her in about 5 years, so I'm pretty excited.
Repo had a job interview with a hotel the other day, and he said it went really really well. I think he will be getting a job offer, which would be awesome. I think he might even be looking at a raise! My fingers are definitely crossed, even though he'd probably be working hours that are just as bad. But at least he wouldn't be dealing with The Pig or people who pull guns on him when he goes to repossess their stuff. I still can't believe he puts up with that!
In Sammy news, he went to the vet yesterday. He was unbelievably good! He just waited patiently as the vet poked and prodded him. Well, except when she took the stool sample. He didn't really enjoy that. But who would? He was such a good boy! He is perfectly healthy and happy. Yay!
Navy Guy is in town for a few days and he's been taking Sammy for lots of walks and runs. Poor little Sammy was exhausted by the time I got home last night! He was too tired to even jump up and greet me. His eyes were half-closed and he had this look on his face like "Please! Let's go to bed!"
This morning I thought he would like to sleep in, so I didn't wake him up to go potty. (The dog, not Navy Guy.) I figured that since Navy Guy is hanging out at our apartment all day by himself, he would just take Sammy out later. Well....of course, Sammy waited until I was 5 minutes late for work to insist that he needed to go out now. I quickly took him outside, where he made the hugest poop ever. I swear, it was a third of his body weight. And there were all these noises which kept distracting him, so it took him forever to finish. Gah! And it smelled so bad I started gagging and I was in a hurry because I was late for work, and it was all so humorous, I started laughing my butt off. So there I was, standing in the middle of my apartment complex, gagging and laughing my ass off, with a bag of dog shit in my hand, nagging my dog to poop faster. I must have looked like a loony tune!
I hate volunteering. I know this sounds really selfish of me, but I do. So sue me. But I have my reasons for being selfish with my time and resentful of people asking me to give up free time. It's not that I have always hated volunteering or think it is bad . I applaud people who do. It's just that every time I volunteer, I feel I've been taken advantage of. I occasionally try to volunteer every so often, just to give it a try again. Each time, I end up resentful. This is because one of two things happens:
1. People swear up and down that I'm needed desperately, then when I go, there is nothing for me to do. It's really irritating to get up early on a Saturday morning and go somewhere, only to twiddle your thumbs. This is a complete waste of my time.
2. I tell people I can help out and I'm given the impression that I'm needed for a couple of hours. Then when I'm ready to help, they inform me that I'm scheduled to work for 10 hours. Again, this is really annoying. If you need me for ten hours, why not just say that instead of surprising me?
Recently, I made the mistake of volunteering for The Three Rivers Music Festival. It's an annual outdoor event here in Columbia this weekend. I didn't have much planned, and it's a hop, skip and a jump away from my front door, so I figured why not. Nice people volunteer. It makes you a better person. It makes you feel good. Blah blah blah.
So I went to the volunteer meeting. Our job is to work the booth where they sell the tshirts. Now, someone had already called me to tell me that they'd probably need me "for a couple of hours Friday night." This was fine, and what I expected. When I got there, the schedule has me down for Friday night and Saturday night--a total of TEN hours.
Yeah, because I have no life, apparently...grrrrrrrr......
Apparently when you tell them that your schedule is flexible and any day would work, they hear "I can be your bitch this weekend." Do they really think people want to do this that badly?? Here I was, thinking I was being a good volunteer by being flexible, when really I should have said "I can give you two hours. Take your pick." Gah, do you really have to spell it out for them like that? I thought it was a pretty safe assumption that I can be there for a little while, not during ALL prime social hours. And I can't believe no one else has to work as many hours! That's just not fair! This must be what I get for being flexible.
So now I hate them and am trying to figure out a way to tell them that this just isn't going to fly. Any ideas? Maybe I can think up a good excuse. I feel deceived and I'm annoyed they seem to think I don't have better things to do with my weekend. I don't mind helping, I just don't want to help that much. I'm selfish, I know.
The good news is, there's a decent chance of rain, which would really affect the attendance, so I'm praying for Monsoon '06 so it will be dead and I can leave early. (The funny thing is, we have not had any rain in like two months, and this concert is on the ONLY weekend where there has been a chance for rain. How ironic.)
This festival, btw, is often called "Bobfest", after our mayor, Bob Coble. He has a tendency to really push for this festival, regardless of its success. I read once that he always makes sure one of his personal favorite performers comes to the festival. And based on most of the acts in the past, he must have really bad taste. I am having a hard time understanding why city council is clinging so desperately to continuing this concert. It's only been around for a few years, and it is plagued with problems. They have lost money every year because of rain or because of crappy bands. This year may prove to be no different. I wish they would just give it up and admit defeat. Or re-tool it into something that works. I think they spread themselves too thin--there are about 50 performers every year, and usually about two are nationally recognized. People want to see bands they know. I think they should try to have fewer, yet more popular, acts. I also think they are too diverse in their music--I think it would work better if they focused it a little more. Few people want to see country, jazz, funk, rap, alternative rock, bluegrass, local bands, etc. I'm thinking they should limit it to just a couple of genres. Just my humble opinion. What do you think? Would you attend this festival? I've lived here for about 4 years now, and have yet to want to buy a ticket. It never appeals to me. (You can see a list of who's performing on their website.)
I read an article in the local paper that brought up a good point. We have a St. Patty's Day festival here. It draws 35,000 people for the one-day shindig. Last year, this 3 day music festival only drew 45,000. I really fail to see how it is working. They should look around and see what they can do differently instead of continuing with something that doesn't work.
Ok, didn't mean for this to be an editorial about the festival. Moving on...
K's boyfriend, Navy Guy, just found out he will end up being stationed in Norfolk, VA. This is a little bit better news, but not much. That's still about 6-7 hours away. So she and her man are in limbo for now. I feel really bad for them because it stinks when the purpose of a relationship is called into question thanks to an uncontrollable, outside source. I've been there. It's not fun. That's why I just simply don't date military men or do long distance any more. It's too painful when it happens.
So my oldest friend ever is coming to see me soon! I've been friends with J since I was 13 and I would probably have committed suicide in high school if it hadn't been for her! She kept me sane in our bizarre little world that was CHS. Remember that show, Beverly Hills 90210? That's what my high school was like--kids with their own Mercedes-Benzes. I graduated with about 750 people. I was one of two who didn't have their own car. Girls got boob jobs for graduation presents. People would buy entire new outfits at Abercrombie & Fitch every weekend so they never had to repeat an outfit. Everyone in that town had money to burn. It was surreal. For teens who lived in regular-sized homes with parents who made average salaries, this was social hell. If it hadn't been for J, I would have shriveled up with insecurity and envy.
Anyway, J is coming with her boyfriend and they are going to her family's reunion in Charleston. So I'll probably go with her. But I'll at least hang out with her when she's here in Columbia for a day. I haven't seen her in about 5 years, so I'm pretty excited.
Repo had a job interview with a hotel the other day, and he said it went really really well. I think he will be getting a job offer, which would be awesome. I think he might even be looking at a raise! My fingers are definitely crossed, even though he'd probably be working hours that are just as bad. But at least he wouldn't be dealing with The Pig or people who pull guns on him when he goes to repossess their stuff. I still can't believe he puts up with that!
In Sammy news, he went to the vet yesterday. He was unbelievably good! He just waited patiently as the vet poked and prodded him. Well, except when she took the stool sample. He didn't really enjoy that. But who would? He was such a good boy! He is perfectly healthy and happy. Yay!
Navy Guy is in town for a few days and he's been taking Sammy for lots of walks and runs. Poor little Sammy was exhausted by the time I got home last night! He was too tired to even jump up and greet me. His eyes were half-closed and he had this look on his face like "Please! Let's go to bed!"
This morning I thought he would like to sleep in, so I didn't wake him up to go potty. (The dog, not Navy Guy.) I figured that since Navy Guy is hanging out at our apartment all day by himself, he would just take Sammy out later. Well....of course, Sammy waited until I was 5 minutes late for work to insist that he needed to go out now. I quickly took him outside, where he made the hugest poop ever. I swear, it was a third of his body weight. And there were all these noises which kept distracting him, so it took him forever to finish. Gah! And it smelled so bad I started gagging and I was in a hurry because I was late for work, and it was all so humorous, I started laughing my butt off. So there I was, standing in the middle of my apartment complex, gagging and laughing my ass off, with a bag of dog shit in my hand, nagging my dog to poop faster. I must have looked like a loony tune!
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Potpourri #2
I have officially cancelled my match.com subscription. *VB bows.* I feel I don't really need it anymore. Also, I've had far too many bad dates from there and life is too short. Plus, I need the $40 per month. I'm broke.
Was just reminded of a conference I'm going to go to in May. Didn't really want to go, and was told it was optional, but I guess someone decided for me. Thank goodness someone thinks for me. Where would I be otherwise? Oh yeah. On my couch watching TV. Or taking a nap. Right.
Someone at work has taken my scissors. It's not like we have a shortage of scissors around here. There are about 43 pairs floating around. We can even get free scissors from the bookstore if we want. But I'm left handed. That means that only 5% of all scissors in the universe will work for me. Plus, these were new and bright blue and looked quite fetching on my desk. I want them back!! Lady Starfish says that when I find them, I should put a label on them that reads: "Steal these and DIE!" or "Know what it feels like to be stabbed with stolen scissors? You will!"
She kills me.
Just in case anyone has noticed, we call each other "Ma'ams." Don't know why. Can't remember how it started. But it stuck. Deal. We are weird like that.
There is this guy I see every day when I'm driving home from work. He's protesting abortion. He holds this big red Stop Abortion sign and has a babydoll strapped to his chest. Hey, this is America. If you want to spend all day long holding up a picket sign with a baby strapped to your chest, that's your prerogative. But the thing I don't understand is, he does this in the SAME spot every day. You'd think that he would realize that he's expressing himself to the SAME people over and over as we all commute home. By now, we've pretty much noticed him and read his sign and flyer. Our minds are made up, so really, he's beating a dead horse. If he's really that dedicated, why isn't he touring Columbia? Or doing something more productive for his cause? Come on, how many babies can you save by doing that? I don't get it. I'm thinking he's senile.
Jennster reminded me of a funny story about my dad, WLF. He used to watch TV late at night. He loved to watch infomercials and buy crap, which irritated The Czarina, who is a huge tightwad. The thing that used to irritate her was that WLF would buy these food gadgets. His philosophy was that every food should have its own gadget. This is retarded, according to The Czarina, whose kitchen was busting at the seams with onion slicers, yogurt makers and tuna can drainers. (Did you even know you can make yogurt at home??) While he meant well, a lot of the stuff he bought was never used or liked. I mean, why dig around for a special tuna drainer when you can just press your fingers on the top of the opened lid? We always made fun of him. Since I understood The Czarina's plight, and I occasionally stayed up late watching TV with him, she put me in charge of stopping these silly purchases. I had to rip the phone out of his hand to stop him from buying a rotisserie chicken cooker, a jerky maker, a food dehydrator and a large deep fryer. It was a battle! He was convinced we all needed a regular supply of dehydrated foods or perfectly sliced potatoes! Yet none of us were ever wandering around the kitchen saying, "Man! I sure could go for some turkey jerky or homemade curly fries!" Seriously, sometimes he lived in some kind of fantasy world. So I had to flex my debating skills big time. How do you convince someone that his children do not desire deep-fried foods at a moment's notice? We would argue for the entire length of the commercial, but when I reminded him of Czarina Wrath, he would cave and hand over the phone sheepishly.
Repo had a job interview today. He said it went really well and I'm stoked. It would be more pay, better benefits, less stress and it's more in-line with his long-term career goals. When I asked him if he would take it if they offered him the position, do you know what he said? "Yeah, but only if the hours don't conflict with USC football games. I've got season tickets." For Pete's sake! You'd think that any job where people don't pull guns on him would be a shoe-in. But I must be underestimating the male love affair that is college football. Does he think women pick jobs whose schedules are based on the sales at the mall? It never fails to amaze me that the male gender is the one running things. Sheesh.
Speaking of jobs, mine has been stressful lately, what with the Parade of Morons that waltzes in here every day. It's the end of the semester, so they are multiplying tenfold. 3/4 of them have never even been to the library before, yet expect me to show them how to do everything, including picking a topic for their term papers. They are getting stressed and antsy because they've been procrastinating or sleeping in class for three months and now have no idea what the F they are doing. This in turn makes them really stupid and annoying. If you see my picture on the 6 o'clock news, you'll know why: I've murdered a college student. With my stolen scissors.
Was just reminded of a conference I'm going to go to in May. Didn't really want to go, and was told it was optional, but I guess someone decided for me. Thank goodness someone thinks for me. Where would I be otherwise? Oh yeah. On my couch watching TV. Or taking a nap. Right.
Someone at work has taken my scissors. It's not like we have a shortage of scissors around here. There are about 43 pairs floating around. We can even get free scissors from the bookstore if we want. But I'm left handed. That means that only 5% of all scissors in the universe will work for me. Plus, these were new and bright blue and looked quite fetching on my desk. I want them back!! Lady Starfish says that when I find them, I should put a label on them that reads: "Steal these and DIE!" or "Know what it feels like to be stabbed with stolen scissors? You will!"
She kills me.
Just in case anyone has noticed, we call each other "Ma'ams." Don't know why. Can't remember how it started. But it stuck. Deal. We are weird like that.
There is this guy I see every day when I'm driving home from work. He's protesting abortion. He holds this big red Stop Abortion sign and has a babydoll strapped to his chest. Hey, this is America. If you want to spend all day long holding up a picket sign with a baby strapped to your chest, that's your prerogative. But the thing I don't understand is, he does this in the SAME spot every day. You'd think that he would realize that he's expressing himself to the SAME people over and over as we all commute home. By now, we've pretty much noticed him and read his sign and flyer. Our minds are made up, so really, he's beating a dead horse. If he's really that dedicated, why isn't he touring Columbia? Or doing something more productive for his cause? Come on, how many babies can you save by doing that? I don't get it. I'm thinking he's senile.
Jennster reminded me of a funny story about my dad, WLF. He used to watch TV late at night. He loved to watch infomercials and buy crap, which irritated The Czarina, who is a huge tightwad. The thing that used to irritate her was that WLF would buy these food gadgets. His philosophy was that every food should have its own gadget. This is retarded, according to The Czarina, whose kitchen was busting at the seams with onion slicers, yogurt makers and tuna can drainers. (Did you even know you can make yogurt at home??) While he meant well, a lot of the stuff he bought was never used or liked. I mean, why dig around for a special tuna drainer when you can just press your fingers on the top of the opened lid? We always made fun of him. Since I understood The Czarina's plight, and I occasionally stayed up late watching TV with him, she put me in charge of stopping these silly purchases. I had to rip the phone out of his hand to stop him from buying a rotisserie chicken cooker, a jerky maker, a food dehydrator and a large deep fryer. It was a battle! He was convinced we all needed a regular supply of dehydrated foods or perfectly sliced potatoes! Yet none of us were ever wandering around the kitchen saying, "Man! I sure could go for some turkey jerky or homemade curly fries!" Seriously, sometimes he lived in some kind of fantasy world. So I had to flex my debating skills big time. How do you convince someone that his children do not desire deep-fried foods at a moment's notice? We would argue for the entire length of the commercial, but when I reminded him of Czarina Wrath, he would cave and hand over the phone sheepishly.
Repo had a job interview today. He said it went really well and I'm stoked. It would be more pay, better benefits, less stress and it's more in-line with his long-term career goals. When I asked him if he would take it if they offered him the position, do you know what he said? "Yeah, but only if the hours don't conflict with USC football games. I've got season tickets." For Pete's sake! You'd think that any job where people don't pull guns on him would be a shoe-in. But I must be underestimating the male love affair that is college football. Does he think women pick jobs whose schedules are based on the sales at the mall? It never fails to amaze me that the male gender is the one running things. Sheesh.
Speaking of jobs, mine has been stressful lately, what with the Parade of Morons that waltzes in here every day. It's the end of the semester, so they are multiplying tenfold. 3/4 of them have never even been to the library before, yet expect me to show them how to do everything, including picking a topic for their term papers. They are getting stressed and antsy because they've been procrastinating or sleeping in class for three months and now have no idea what the F they are doing. This in turn makes them really stupid and annoying. If you see my picture on the 6 o'clock news, you'll know why: I've murdered a college student. With my stolen scissors.
Weird Things
I've received my first tagging. You might think I'm a dork, but I'm really excited about this. I feel popular now, thanks to Stephanie over at Pickleness. My insecure 13-year-old self thanks you from the bottom of her heart. I've tried to think of six weird things that very few people know about me. This is hard, because Lady Starfish knows pretty much everything about me.
Without further ado, Six Weird Things About Me.
1. I pretty much eat the same thing every day. I know this sounds weird coming from someone who likes to cook, but my breakfast is always the same. My lunch is usually the same and my dinner is sometimes the same. There's a group of foods that I eat over and over without ever growing tired of them: roast beef sandwiches with cheese, pasta with spaghetti sauce from a jar with shredded cheese melted on top, fruit, oatmeal bars, candy, yogurt, nacho cheese Doritos, ice cream and more cheese. Every day. Notice the dairy product theme. I am Dairy Queen. I laugh in the face of osteoporosis.
2. I had plastic surgery when I was ten. There was a big mole on my back and they decided to go ahead and take it off just to be safe. At the last minute, The Czarina, ever the overly-panicky mother that she is, decided that I should go to a plastic surgeon so that I wouldn't get a big scar. "She might want to wear a backless dress to prom!!" she exclaimed. Sheesh. But it worked--the scar is barely visible.
3. I never got to meet either of my grandfathers, and I only met one of my grandmothers. She died when I was ten. Almost everyone in my family dies before age 70. It sucks. Aw, that was kind of sad. I should change that to something happier, but I can't think of anything. How about: I really like stuff that rhymes. I'm like a little kid because that really entertains me. Know what I mean, jellybean?
4. There was a solar eclipse on the day I was born. Or was it the day The Czarina went into labor with me? (She was in labor almost 2 whole days. Whatever, I'm worth it.) Anyway, not quite sure what that means...I hope it's lucky!
5. Squash makes me want to hurl chunks. Cannot stand it. I will literally gag. I also dislike olives, artichokes, sushi, kiwi fruit and peanuts. But I love peanut butter. Especially the chunky kind. Makes no sense.
6. I'm pretty organized and tidy, except when it comes to papers. Bills, magazines, letters, print-outs, newspaper clippings, junk mail, notes, etc.--I'm a mess. I can't ever seem to organize them or throw them out when I'm done using/reading them. I have BAGS of papers needing to be sorted/filed/thrown away. Crazy enough, I can actually find stuff in the mess sometimes. Why do I keep magazines I've already read??? Why?? (Actually, this means I'm turning into my father. He kept his spelling bee flashcards from 2nd grade until the day he died. You think I'm kidding.)
Ok, now I have to pass this on...hmmm....how about Sassafras? Her reward for being such a loyal reader! Ha ha!
Without further ado, Six Weird Things About Me.
1. I pretty much eat the same thing every day. I know this sounds weird coming from someone who likes to cook, but my breakfast is always the same. My lunch is usually the same and my dinner is sometimes the same. There's a group of foods that I eat over and over without ever growing tired of them: roast beef sandwiches with cheese, pasta with spaghetti sauce from a jar with shredded cheese melted on top, fruit, oatmeal bars, candy, yogurt, nacho cheese Doritos, ice cream and more cheese. Every day. Notice the dairy product theme. I am Dairy Queen. I laugh in the face of osteoporosis.
2. I had plastic surgery when I was ten. There was a big mole on my back and they decided to go ahead and take it off just to be safe. At the last minute, The Czarina, ever the overly-panicky mother that she is, decided that I should go to a plastic surgeon so that I wouldn't get a big scar. "She might want to wear a backless dress to prom!!" she exclaimed. Sheesh. But it worked--the scar is barely visible.
3. I never got to meet either of my grandfathers, and I only met one of my grandmothers. She died when I was ten. Almost everyone in my family dies before age 70. It sucks. Aw, that was kind of sad. I should change that to something happier, but I can't think of anything. How about: I really like stuff that rhymes. I'm like a little kid because that really entertains me. Know what I mean, jellybean?
4. There was a solar eclipse on the day I was born. Or was it the day The Czarina went into labor with me? (She was in labor almost 2 whole days. Whatever, I'm worth it.) Anyway, not quite sure what that means...I hope it's lucky!
5. Squash makes me want to hurl chunks. Cannot stand it. I will literally gag. I also dislike olives, artichokes, sushi, kiwi fruit and peanuts. But I love peanut butter. Especially the chunky kind. Makes no sense.
6. I'm pretty organized and tidy, except when it comes to papers. Bills, magazines, letters, print-outs, newspaper clippings, junk mail, notes, etc.--I'm a mess. I can't ever seem to organize them or throw them out when I'm done using/reading them. I have BAGS of papers needing to be sorted/filed/thrown away. Crazy enough, I can actually find stuff in the mess sometimes. Why do I keep magazines I've already read??? Why?? (Actually, this means I'm turning into my father. He kept his spelling bee flashcards from 2nd grade until the day he died. You think I'm kidding.)
Ok, now I have to pass this on...hmmm....how about Sassafras? Her reward for being such a loyal reader! Ha ha!
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